CHAPTER VIII.
THE COFFIN.--THE ABSENCE OF THE DEAD.--THE MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCE, ANDTHE CONSTERNATION OF GEORGE.
They were all silent for a few moments as they looked around them withnatural feelings of curiosity. Two of that party had of course neverbeen in that vault at all, and the brothers, although they had descendedinto it upon the occasion, nearly a year before, of their father beingplaced in it, still looked upon it with almost as curious eyes as theywho now had their first sight of it.
If a man be at all of a thoughtful or imaginative cast of mind, somecurious sensations are sure to come over him, upon standing in such aplace, where he knows around him lie, in the calmness of death, those inwhose veins have flowed kindred blood to him--who bore the same name,and who preceded him in the brief drama of his existence, influencinghis destiny and his position in life probably largely by their actionscompounded of their virtues and their vices.
Henry Bannerworth and his brother George were just the kind of personsto feel strongly such sensations. Both were reflective, imaginative,educated young men, and, as the light from the wax candle flashed upontheir faces, it was evident how deeply they felt the situation in whichthey were placed.
Mr. Chillingworth and Marchdale were silent. They both knew what waspassing in the minds of the brothers, and they had too much delicacy tointerrupt a train of thought which, although from having no affinitywith the dead who lay around, they could not share in, yet theyrespected. Henry at length, with a sudden start, seemed to recoverhimself from his reverie.
"This is a time for action, George," he said, "and not for romanticthought. Let us proceed."
"Yes, yes," said George, and he advanced a step towards the centre ofthe vault.
"Can you find out among all these coffins, for there seem to be nearlytwenty," said Mr. Chillingworth, "which is the one we seek?"
"I think we may," replied Henry. "Some of the earlier coffins of ourrace, I know, were made of marble, and others of metal, both of whichmaterials, I expect, would withstand the encroaches of time for ahundred years, at least."
"Let us examine," said George.
There were shelves or niches built into the walls all round, on whichthe coffins were placed, so that there could not be much difficulty in aminute examination of them all, the one after the other.
When, however, they came to look, they found that "decay's offensivefingers" had been more busy than they could have imagined, and thatwhatever they touched of the earlier coffins crumbled into dust beforetheir very fingers.
In some cases the inscriptions were quite illegible, and, in others, theplates that had borne them had fallen on to the floor of the vault, sothat it was impossible to say to which coffin they belonged.
Of course, the more recent and fresh-looking coffins they did notexamine, because they could not have anything to do with the object ofthat melancholy visit.
"We shall arrive at no conclusion," said George. "All seems to haverotted away among those coffins where we might expect to find the onebelonging to Marmaduke Bannerworth, our ancestor."
"Here is a coffin plate," said Marchdale, taking one from the floor.
He handed it to Mr. Chillingworth, who, upon an inspection of it, closeto the light, exclaimed,--
"It must have belonged to the coffin you seek."
"What says it?"
"Ye mortale remains of Marmaduke Bannerworth, Yeoman. God reste hissoule. A.D. 1540."
"It is the plate belonging to his coffin," said Henry, "and now oursearch is fruitless."
"It is so, indeed," exclaimed George, "for how can we tell to which ofthe coffins that have lost the plates this one really belongs?"
"I should not be so hopeless," said Marchdale. "I have, from time totime, in the pursuit of antiquarian lore, which I was once fond of,entered many vaults, and I have always observed that an inner coffin ofmetal was sound and good, while the outer one of wood had rotted away,and yielded at once to the touch of the first hand that was laid uponit."
"But, admitting that to be the case," said Henry, "how does that assistus in the identification of a coffin?"
"I have always, in my experience, found the name and rank of thedeceased engraved upon the lid of the inner coffin, as well as being setforth in a much more perishable manner on the plate which was secured tothe outer one."
"He is right," said Mr. Chillingworth. "I wonder we never thought ofthat. If your ancestor was buried in a leaden coffin, there will be nodifficulty in finding which it is."
Henry seized the light, and proceeding to one of the coffins, whichseemed to be a mass of decay, he pulled away some of the rotted woodwork, and then suddenly exclaimed,--
"You are quite right. Here is a firm strong leaden coffin within, which,although quite black, does not otherwise appear to have suffered."
"What is the inscription on that?" said George.
With difficulty the name on the lid was deciphered, but it was found notto be the coffin of him whom they sought.
"We can make short work of this," said Marchdale, "by only examiningthose leaden coffins which have lost the plates from off their outercases. There do not appear to be many in such a state."
He then, with another light, which he lighted from the one that Henrynow carried, commenced actively assisting in the search, which wascarried on silently for more than ten minutes.
Suddenly Mr. Marchdale cried, in a tone of excitement,--
"I have found it. It is here."
They all immediately surrounded the spot where he was, and then hepointed to the lid of a coffin, which he had been rubbing with hishandkerchief, in order to make the inscription more legible, and said,--
"See. It is here."
By the combined light of the candles they saw the words,--
"Marmaduke Bannerworth, Yeoman, 1640."
"Yes, there can be no mistake here," said Henry. "This is the coffin,and it shall be opened."
"I have the iron crowbar here," said Marchdale. "It is an old friend ofmine, and I am accustomed to the use of it. Shall I open the coffin?"
"Do so--do so," said Henry.
They stood around in silence, while Mr. Marchdale, with much care,proceeded to open the coffin, which seemed of great thickness, and wasof solid lead.
It was probably the partial rotting of the metal, in consequence of thedamps of that place, that made it easier to open the coffin than itotherwise would have been, but certain it was that the top came awayremarkably easily. Indeed, so easily did it come off, that anothersupposition might have been hazarded, namely, that it had never at allbeen effectually fastened.
The few moments that elapsed were ones of very great suspense to everyone there present; and it would, indeed, be quite sure to assert, thatall the world was for the time forgotten in the absorbing interest whichappertained to the affair which was in progress.
The candles were now both held by Mr. Chillingworth, and they were soheld as to cast a full and clear light upon the coffin. Now the lid slidoff, and Henry eagerly gazed into the interior.
There lay something certainly there, and an audible "Thank God!" escapedhis lips.
"The body is there!" exclaimed George.
"All right," said Marchdale, "here it is. There is something, and whatelse can it be?"
"Hold the lights," said Mr. Chillingworth; "hold the lights, some ofyou; let us be quite certain."
George took the lights, and Mr. Chillingworth, without any hesitation,dipped his hands at once into the coffin, and took up some fragments ofrags which were there. They were so rotten, that they fell to pieces inhis grasp, like so many pieces of tinder.
There was a death-like pause for some few moments, and then Mr.Chillingworth said, in a low voice,--
"There is not the least vestige of a dead body here."
Henry gave a deep groan, as he said,--
"Mr. Chillingworth, can you take upon yourself to say that no corpse hasundergone the process of decomposition in this coffin?"
"To answ
er your question exactly, as probably in your hurry you haveworded it," said Mr. Chillingworth, "I cannot take upon myself to sayany such thing; but this I can say, namely, that in this coffin thereare no animal remains, and that it is quite impossible that any corpseenclosed here could, in any lapse of time, have so utterly and entirelydisappeared."
"I am answered," said Henry.
"Good God!" exclaimed George, "and has this but added another damningproof, to those we have already on our minds, of one of the mustdreadful superstitions that ever the mind of man conceived?"
"It would seem so," said Marchdale, sadly.
"Oh, that I were dead! This is terrible. God of heaven, why are thesethings? Oh, if I were but dead, and so spared the torture of supposingsuch things possible."
"Think again, Mr. Chillingworth; I pray you think again," criedMarchdale.
"If I were to think for the remainder of my existence," he replied, "Icould come to no other conclusion. It is not a matter of opinion; it isa matter of fact."
"You are positive, then," said Henry, "that the dead body of MarmadukeBannerworth is not rested here?"
"I am positive. Look for yourselves. The lead is but slightlydiscoloured; it looks tolerably clean and fresh; there is not a vestigeof putrefaction--no bones, no dust even."
They did all look for themselves, and the most casual glance wassufficient to satisfy the most sceptical.
"All is over," said Henry; "let us now leave this place; and all I cannow ask of you, my friends, is to lock this dreadful secret deep in yourown hearts."
"It shall never pass my lips," said Marchdale.
"Nor mine, you may depend," said the doctor. "I was much in hopes thatthis night's work would have had the effect of dissipating, instead ofadding to, the gloomy fancies that now possess you."
"Good heavens!" cried George, "can you call them fancies, Mr.Chillingworth?"
"I do, indeed."
"Have you yet a doubt?"
"My young friend, I told you from the first, that I would not believe inyour vampyre; and I tell you now, that if one was to come and lay holdof me by the throat, as long as I could at all gasp for breath I wouldtell him he was a d----d impostor."
"This is carrying incredulity to the verge of obstinacy."
"Far beyond it, if you please."
"You will not be convinced?" said Marchdale.
"I most decidedly, on this point, will not."
"Then you are one who would doubt a miracle, if you saw it with your owneyes."
"I would, because I do not believe in miracles. I should endeavour tofind some rational and some scientific means of accounting for thephenomenon, and that's the very reason why we have no miraclesnow-a-days, between you and I, and no prophets and saints, and all thatsort of thing."
"I would rather avoid such observations in such a place as this," saidMarchdale.
"Nay, do not be the moral coward," cried Mr. Chillingworth, "to makeyour opinions, or the expression of them, dependent upon any certainlocality."
"I know not what to think," said Henry; "I am bewildered quite. Let usnow come away."
Mr. Marchdale replaced the lid of the coffin, and then the little partymoved towards the staircase. Henry turned before he ascended, andglanced back into the vault.
"Oh," he said, "if I could but think there had been some mistake, someerror of judgment, on which the mind could rest for hope."
"I deeply regret," said Marchdale, "that I so strenuously advised thisexpedition. I did hope that from it would have resulted much good."
"And you had every reason so to hope," said Chillingworth. "I advised itlikewise, and I tell you that its result perfectly astonishes me,although I will not allow myself to embrace at once all the conclusionsto which it would seem to lead me."
"I am satisfied," said Henry; "I know you both advised me for the best.The curse of Heaven seems now to have fallen upon me and my house."
"Oh, nonsense!" said Chillingworth. "What for?"
"Alas! I know not."
"Then you may depend that Heaven would never act so oddly. In the firstplace, Heaven don't curse anybody; and, in the second, it is too just toinflict pain where pain is not amply deserved."
They ascended the gloomy staircase of the vault. The countenances ofboth George and Henry were very much saddened, and it was quite evidentthat their thoughts were by far too busy to enable them to enter intoany conversation. They did not, and particularly George, seem to hearall that was said to them. Their intellects seemed almost stunned by theunexpected circumstance of the disappearance of the body of theirancestor.
All along they had, although almost unknown to themselves, felt a sortof conviction that they must find some remains of Marmaduke Bannerworth,which would render the supposition, even in the most superstitiousminds, that he was the vampyre, a thing totally and physicallyimpossible.
But now the whole question assumed a far more bewildering shape. Thebody was not in its coffin--it had not there quietly slept the longsleep of death common to humanity. Where was it then? What had become ofit? Where, how, and under what circumstances had it been removed? Had ititself burst the bands that held it, and hideously stalked forth intothe world again to make one of its seeming inhabitants, and kept up fora hundred years a dreadful existence by such adventures as it hadconsummated at the hall, where, in the course of ordinary human life, ithad once lived?
All these were questions which irresistibly pressed themselves upon theconsideration of Henry and his brother. They were awful questions.
And yet, take any sober, sane, thinking, educated man, and show him allthat they had seen, subject him to all to which they had been subjected,and say if human reason, and all the arguments that the subtlest braincould back it with, would be able to hold out against such a vastaccumulation of horrible evidences, and say--"I don't believe it."
Mr. Chillingworth's was the only plan. He would not argue the question.He said at once,--
"I will not believe this thing--upon this point I will yield to noevidence whatever."
That was the only way of disposing of such a question; but there are notmany who could so dispose of it, and not one so much interested in it aswere the brothers Bannerworth, who could at all hope to get into such astate of mind.
The boards were laid carefully down again, and the screws replaced.Henry found himself unequal to the task, so it was done by Marchdale,who took pains to replace everything in the same state in which they hadfound it, even to the laying even the matting at the bottom of the pew.
Then they extinguished the light, and, with heavy hearts, they allwalked towards the window, to leave the sacred edifice by the same meansthey had entered it.
"Shall we replace the pane of glass?" said Marchdale.
"Oh, it matters not--it matters not," said Henry, listlessly; "nothingmatters now. I care not what becomes of me--I am getting weary of a lifewhich now must be one of misery and dread."
"You must not allow yourself to fall into such a state of mind as this,"said the doctor, "or you will become a patient of mine very quickly."
"I cannot help it."
"Well, but be a man. If there are serious evils affecting you, fight outagainst them the best way you can."
"I cannot."
"Come, now, listen to me. We need not, I think, trouble ourselves aboutthe pane of glass, so come along."
He took the arm of Henry and walked on with him a little in advance ofthe others.
"Henry," he said, "the best way, you may depend, of meeting evils, bethey great or small, is to get up an obstinate feeling of defianceagainst them. Now, when anything occurs which is uncomfortable to me, Iendeavour to convince myself, and I have no great difficulty in doingso, that I am a decidedly injured man."
"Indeed!"
"Yes; I get very angry, and that gets up a kind of obstinacy, whichmakes me not feel half so much mental misery as would be my portion, ifI were to succumb to the evil, and commence whining over it, as manypeople do, under the pretence of being
resigned."
"But this family affliction of mine transcends anything that anybodyelse ever endured."
"I don't know that; but it is a view of the subject which, if I wereyou, would only make me more obstinate."
"What can I do?"
"In the first place, I would say to myself, 'There may or there may notbe supernatural beings, who, from some physical derangement of theordinary nature of things, make themselves obnoxious to living people;if there are, d--n them! There may be vampyres; and if there are, I defythem.' Let the imagination paint its very worst terrors; let fear dowhat it will and what it can in peopling the mind with horrors. Shrinkfrom nothing, and even then I would defy them all."
"Is not that like defying Heaven?"
"Most certainly not; for in all we say and in all we do we act from theimpulses of that mind which is given to us by Heaven itself. If Heavencreates an intellect and a mind of a certain order, Heaven will notquarrel that it does the work which it was adapted to do."
"I know these are your opinions. I have heard you mention them before."
"They are the opinions of every rational person. Henry Bannerworth,because they will stand the test of reason; and what I urge upon you is,not to allow yourself to be mentally prostrated, even if a vampyre haspaid a visit to your house. Defy him, say I--fight him.Self-preservation is a great law of nature, implanted in all our hearts;do you summon it to your aid."
"I will endeavour to think as you would have me. I thought more thanonce of summoning religion to my aid."
"Well, that is religion."
"Indeed!"
"I consider so, and the most rational religion of all. All that we readabout religion that does not seem expressly to agree with it, you mayconsider as an allegory."
"But, Mr. Chillingworth, I cannot and will not renounce the sublimetruths of Scripture. They may be incomprehensible; they may beinconsistent; and some of them may look ridiculous; but still they aresacred and sublime, and I will not renounce them although my reason maynot accord with them, because they are the laws of Heaven."
No wonder this powerful argument silenced Mr. Chillingworth, who was oneof those characters in society who hold most dreadful opinions, and whowould destroy religious beliefs, and all the different sects in theworld, if they could, and endeavour to introduce instead some horriblesystem of human reason and profound philosophy.
But how soon the religious man silences his opponent; and let it not besupposed that, because his opponent says no more upon the subject, hedoes so because he is disgusted with the stupidity of the other; no, itis because he is completely beaten, and has nothing more to say.
The distance now between the church and the hall was nearly traversed,and Mr. Chillingworth, who was a very good man, notwithstanding hisdisbelief in certain things of course paved the way for him to hell,took a kind leave of Mr. Marchdale and the brothers, promising to callon the following morning and see Flora.
Henry and George then, in earnest conversation with Marchdale, proceededhomewards. It was evident that the scene in the vault had made a deepand saddening impression upon them, and one which was not likely easilyto be eradicated.