CHAPTER CLXIX
[Chapter 187]
THE CHURCHYARD AT HAMPSTEAD. —THE RESUSCITATION OF A VAMPIRE.
It wants half an hour to midnight. The sky is still cloudy, but
glimpses of the moon can be got as occasionally the clouds slip om
before her disc, and then what a glorious flood of silver light spread itself
over the landscape.
And a landscape in every respect more calculated to look beautiful and
rowantic under the chaste moon's ray, than that to which we would now
invite attention, certainly could not have been found elsewhere, within many a
mile of London. It is Hampstead Heath, that favoured spot where upon a small
scale are collected some of the rarest landscape beauties that the most
romantic mountainous counties of England can present to the gratified eye of
the tourist.
Those who are familiar with London and its environs, of course, are well
acquainted with every nook, glade, tree, and dell in that beautiful heath,
where, at all and every time and season, there is much to recommend that
semi-wild spot to notice. Indeed, if it were, as it ought to be, divested of
its donkey-drivers and laundresses, a more delightful place of residence could
scarcely be found than some one of those suburban villas, that are dotted
round the margin of this picturesque waste.
But it is midnight, nearly. That time is forthcoming, at which popular
superstition trembles —that time, at which the voice of ignorance and of
cant lowers to whispers, and when the poor of heart and timid of spirit
imagine worlds of unknown terrors. On this occasion, though, it will be seen
that there would have been some excuses if even the most bold had shrunk back
appalled at what was taking place.
But we will not anticipate for truly in this instance might we say
sufficient for the time are the horrors thereof.
If any one had stood on that portion of the high road which leads right
over the heath and so on to Hendon or to Highgate, according as the left hand
or the right hand route is taken, and after reaching the Castle Tavern, had
looked across the wide expanse of heath to the west, they would have seen
nothing for a while but the clustering bushes of heath blossom, and the
picturesque fir trees, that there are to be beheld in great luxuriance. But,
after a time, something of a more noticeable character would have presented
itself.
At a quarter to twelve there rose up from a tangled mass of brushwood,
which had partially concealed a deep cavernous place where sand had been dug,
a human form, and there it stood in the calm still hour of night so motionless
that it scarcely seemed to possess life, but presently another rose at a short
distance.
And then there was a third, so that these three strange-looking beings
stood like landmarks against the sky, and when the moon shone out from some
clouds which had for a short time obscured her rays, they looked strange and
tall, and superhuman.
One spoke.
"'Tis time," he said, in a deep, hollow voice, that sounded as if it came
from the tomb.
"Yes, time," said another.
"Time has come," said the third.
Then they moved, and by the gestures they used, it seemed as if an
animated discussion was taking place among them, after which they moved along
in perfect silence, and in a most stately manner, towards the village of
Hampstead.
Before reaching it, however, they turned down some narrow shaded walks
among garden walls, and the backs of stables, until they emerged close to the
old churchyard, which stands on high ground, and which was not then —at
least, the western portion of it —overlooked by any buildings. Those villas
which now skirt it, are of recent elevation.
A dense mass of clouds has now been brought up by a south wind, and had
swept over the face of the moon, so that at this juncture, and as twelve
o'clock might be expected every moment to strike, the night was darker than it
had yet been since sunset. The circumstance was probably considered by the
mysterious beings who sought the churchyard as favourable to them, and they
got without difficulty within those sacred precincts devoted to the dead.
Scarcely had they found the way a dozen feet among the old tomb-stones,
when from behind a large square monument, there appeared two more persons; and
if the attorney, Mr. Miller, had been there, he would probably have thought
they bore such a strong resemblance to those whom he had seen in the park, he
would have had but little hesitation in declaring that they were the same.
These two persons joined the other three, who manifested no surprise at
seeing them, and then the whole five stood close to the wall of the church, so
that they were quite secure from observation, and one of them spoke.
"Brothers," he said, "you who prey upon human nature by the law of your
being, we have work to do to-night—that work which we never leave undone,
and which we dare not neglect when we know that it is to do. One of our
fraternity lies here."
"Yes," said the others, with the exception of one, and he spoke
passionately.
"Why," he said, "when there were enough, and more than enough, to do the
work, summon me?"
"Not more than enough, there are but five."
"And why should you not be summoned," said another, "you are one of us.
You ought to do your part with us in setting a brother free from the clay that
presses on his breast."
"I was engaged in my vocation. If the moon shine out in all her lustre
again, you will see that I am wan and wasted, and have need of—"
"Blood," said one.
"Blood, blood, blood," repeated the others. And then the first speaker
said, to him who complained," —
"You are one whom we are glad to have with us on a service of danger.
You are strong and bold, your deeds are known, you have lived long, and are
not yet crushed."
"I do not know our brother's name," said one of the others with an air of
curiosity.
"I go by many."
"So do we all. But by what name may we know you best."
"Slieghton, I was named in the reign of the third Edward. But many have
known me as Varney, the Vampyre!"
There was a visible sensation among those wretched beings as these words
were uttered, and one was about to say something, when Varney interrupted him.
"Come," he said, "I have been summoned here, and I have come to assist in
the exhumation of a brother. It is one of the conditions of our being that we
do so. Let the work be proceeded with then, at once, I have no time to spare.
Let it be done with. Where lies the vampyre? Who was he?"
"A man of good repute, Varney," said the first speaker. "A smooth,
fair-spoken man, a religious man, so far as cant went, a proud, cowardly,
haughty, worldly follower of religion. Ha, ha, ha!"
"And what made him one of us?"
"He dipped his hands in blood. There was a poor boy, a brother's only
child, 'twas left an orphan. He slew the boy, and he is one of us."
"With a weapon."
"Yes, and a sharp one; the weapon of unkindness. The child was young and
gentle, and harsh words, blows, and revilings placed him in his grave. he is
in heaven, while the man will be a vampyre."
"'Tis well—dig him up."
They each produced from under the dark cloaks they wore, a short
double-edged, broad, flat-bladed weapon, not unlike the swords worn by the
Romans, and he who assumed the office of guide, led the way to a newly-made
grave, and dillegently, and with amazing rapidity and power, they commenced
removing the earth.
It was something amazing to see the systematic manner in which they
worked, and in ten minutes one of them struck the blade of his weapon upon the
lid of a coffin, and said,
"It is here."
The lid was then partially raised in the direction of the moon, which,
although now hidden, they could see would in a very short time show itself in
some gaps of the clouds, that were rapidly approaching at great speed across
the heavens.
They then desisted from their labour, and stood around the grave in
silence for a time, until, as the moon was longer showing her fair face, they
began to discourse in whispers.
"What shall become of him," said one, ponting to the grave. "Shall
we aid him."
"No," said Varney, "I have heard that of him which shall not induce me to
lift hand or voice in his behalf. Let him fly, shrieking like a frightened
ghost where he lists."
"Did you not once know some people named Bannerworth."
"I did. You came to see me, I think, at an inn. They are all dead."
"Hush," said another, "look, the moon will soon be free from the vapours
that sail between it and the green earth. Behold, she shines out fresh once
more; there will be life in the coffin soon, and our work will be done."
It was so. The dark clouds passed over the face of the moon, and with a
sudden burst of splendour, it shone out again as before.
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