CHAPTER CCIII.
[Chapter 220]
THE GRAND CONSULTATION AT THE ALE-HOUSE. —THE AWFUL SUGGESTION.
Sir George Crofton and his family could form no idea, owing to not being
in a position to know, of the state of excitement produced in the village by
the mysterious and frightful attack which had been made upon the widow's
daughter.
When people are very much absorbed with their own grief, they are apt to
set a lighter value upon those of others, and thus it was that the family of
the Croftons was so entirely taken up with what itself felt and had to do that
there was little room for sympathy with others.
Mr. Bevan likewise, from his perculiar and respectable position, was not
likely to be made the depository of gossiping secrets; the inhabitants of that
little place were in the habit of approaching him with respect, so that,
although, as we are aware, he had heard from Will Stephens, the sexton, a full
and particular account of what had happened to him in the old church, and was
likewise cognizant of the story of the midnight attack upon the widow's
daughter, he was not fully aware of the startling effect which those
circumstances had had upon the small population of that fishing village.
We are bound to believe that if he had had any idea of the real result of
those operations or of what was contemplated as their result —he would have
done his best to adopt some course to prevent any disastrous collision.
We, however, with all the data and materials of this most singular
narrative before us, are enabled to detail to the reader facts and occurrences
as they took place actually, without waiting the arrival of those periods at
which they reached the knowledge of those actors in the gloomy drama of real
life.
Our readers, then, will please to know that the excitement among the
inhabitants of the place was of that violent and overbearing description, that
all the occupations of the villagers were abandoned, and a spirit of idleness,
sadly suggestive of mischief, began to be prevalent among them.
This feeling was increased by frequent visits to the ale-house, the
liquor of which was well esteemed by Will Stephens, as may be readily
imagined; and towards evening the large old-fashioned parlour of that place of
entertainment became crowded with a motley assemblage, whose sole purpose in
meeting together was to drink strong ale, and discuss the irritating and
exciting subject of the appearance of the vampyre in the village.
This discussion, from being at first a sober, serious, and alarmed one,
became noisy and violent; and at length a blacksmith, who was a great man in
the politics of the place, and who of all things in the world most admired to
hear his own voice, rose and addressed his compeers in something of a set
speech.
"Listen to me," he said; "are we to have the blood sucked out of all our
bodies by a lot of vampyres? Is our wives and daughters to be murdered in the
middle of the night?"
"No, no, no," cried many voices; "certainly not."
"Is we to be made into victims, or isn't we? What's Sir George Crofton
and his family to us? To be sure he's the landlord of some of us, and a very
good landlord he is, too, as long as we pay our rent."
"Here, hear, hear."
"But there's no saying how long he might be so, if we didn't."
"Bravo, Dick!" cried the master of the place, handing the orator a pot;
"bravo, Dick! take a pull at that, old fellow."
"Thank you, Muggins. Now, what I proposes is—"
"Stand on a chair, and let's all hear you."
"Thank you," said the blacksmith; and getting upon a chair, he was about
to commence again, when some one advised him to get upon the table, but in an
effort to accomplish that feat, he unfortunately trod upon what was a mere
flap of the table, which had not sufficient power to support his weight, and
down he came amid an assemblage of pots, jugs, and glasses, which made a most
alarming crash.
This roused the fury of the landlord, who had no idea of being made such
a sufferer in the transaction, and he accordingly began to declaim heavily at
his loss.
A dispute arose as to how he was to be repaid, and it was finally settled
that a general subscription would be the best mode of reimbursing him.
If anything was wanting to work up the feelings of the topers at the
public-house to the highest pitch of aggravation, it certainly was their
having to disburse for breakages a sum of money which, if liquified, would
have trickled most luxuriously down their throats. They were consequently
ripe and ready for anything which promised vengeance upon anybody.
The blacksmith was not discomfited by his fall. When is a man who is
fond of hearing himself talk discomfited by anything? and he soon resumed his
oration in the following words: —
"Is we to be put upon in this kind of way? Why, we shan't be able to
sleep in our beds. All I asks is, is we to put up with it?"
"But what are we to do?" said one.
"Ah! there's the question," said the blacksmith, "I don't know exactly."
"Let's ask old Timothy Brown," said the butcher, "he's the oldest man
here."
This was assented to; and accordingly the individual mentioned was
questioned as to his ideas of the way of avoiding the alarming catastrophe
which seemed to be impending over them. He advised them to wait patiently
till the next night, and keep awake till the unwelcome nocturnal visitor made
its appearance, when whoever it might visit was boldly to assail it, without
any fear of the consequences to himself, till further assistance could be
procured. After Timothy Brown had delivered himself of this piece of advice,
a dead silence ensued among the late boisterous company. There were many
disentients, and a few who seemed in favour of a trial of the practicability
of the plan. Both parties seemed to give some consideration to the
proposition, and they were by far too much engaged in thinking of the advice
which had been given them, to pay much attention to the quarter from whence it
had emanated; more particularly, too, as from his age and infirmities, he was
incapacitated from carrying it out or from giving any active assistance to
those who were disposed to do so.
A great many efforts were made to get him to say more, particularly with
reference to the case under consideration, as being no common one, but the
octogenarian had made his effort, and he only replied to the remonstrances of
those who, alternately by coaxing and bullying, strove to get information from
him, by a vacant stare.
"It's of no use," said the butcher, "you'll get nothing more now from old
Timothy; he's done up now, that's quite clear, and ten to one if the
excitement of to-night won't go a good way towards slaughtering him before his
time."
"Well, it may be so," cried the blacksmith, "but still it's good advice,
and as I said before it comes to this—is we to be afraid to lay down in our
beds at night, or isn't we?"
Before any reply could be made to this interrogatory, the old clock that
was in the public-house parlour struck the hour of eleven, and another peal of
thunder seemed to be answering to the tinkling sounds.
"It's a rough night," said one, "I thought there would be a storm before
morning by the look of the sun at setting—it went down with a strange fiery
redness behind a bank of clouds. I move for going home."
"Who talks of going home," cried the blacksmith, "when vampires are
abroad? hasn't old Timothy said, that a stormy night was the very one to
settle the thing in."
"No," cried another, "he did not say night at all."
"I don't care whether he said night or day; I've made up my mind to do
something; there's no doubt about it but that a vampyre is about the old
church. Who'll come with me and ferret it out? it will be good service done
to everybody's fireside."
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