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The Weathercock: Being the Adventures of a Boy with a Bias, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 13. A Disturbed Night |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTEEN. A DISTURBED NIGHT Just as Vane shivered at the cry, and ran to hurry on some clothes, there was the shape of the door clearly made out in lines of light, and directly after a sharp tapping. "Vane, my boy, asleep?" "No, uncle; dressing." "You heard the bell, then. I'm afraid it means fire." "Yes, fire, fire! I heard them calling." "I can't see anything, can you?" "No, uncle, but I shall be dressed directly, and will go and find out where it is?" "O hey! Master Vane!" came from the outside. "Fire!" It was the gardener's voice, and the lad ran to the window. "Yes, I heard. Where is it?" "Don't know yet, sir. Think it's the rectory." "Oh, dear! oh, dear!" came from Vane's door. "Hi, Vane, lad, I'll dress as quickly as I can. You run on and see if you can help. Whatever you do, try and save the rector's books." Vane grunted and went on dressing, finding everything wrong in the dark, and taking twice as long as usual to get into his clothes. As he dressed, he kept on going to the window to look out, but not to obtain any information, for the gardener had run back at a steady trot, his steps sounding clearly on the hard road, while the bell kept up its incessant clamour, the blows of the clapper following one another rapidly as ever, and with the greatest of regularity. But thrust his head out as far as he would, there was no glare visible, as there had been the year before when the haystack was either set on fire or ignited spontaneously from being built up too wet. Then the whole of the western sky was illumined by the flames, and patches of burning hay rose in great flakes high in air, and were swept away by the breeze. "Dressed, uncle. Going down," cried Vane, as he walked into the passage. "Shan't be five minutes, my boy." "Take care, Vane, dear," came in smothered and suggestive tones. "Don't go too near the fire." "All right, aunt," shouted the boy, as he ran downstairs, and, catching up his cap, unfastened the front door, stepped out, ran down the path, darted out from the gate, and began to run toward where the alarm bell was being rung. It was no great distance, but, in spite of his speed, it seemed to be long that night; and, as Vane ran, looking eagerly the while for the glow from the fire, he came to the conclusion that the brilliancy of the moon was sufficient to render it invisible, and that perhaps the blaze was yet only small. "Hi! Who's that?" cried a voice, whose owner was invisible in the shadow cast by a clump of trees. "I--Vane Lee. Is the rectory on fire, Distin?" "I've just come out of it, and didn't see any flames," said the youth contemptuously. "Here, hi! Distie!" came from the side-road leading to the rectory grounds. "Wait for us. Who's that? Oh, you, Vane. What's the matter?" "I don't know," replied Vane. "I jumped out of bed when I heard the alarm bell." "So did we, and here's Aleck got his trousers on wrong way first." "I haven't," shouted Macey; "but that's my hat you've got." As he spoke, he snatched the hat Gilmore was wearing, and tossed the one he held toward his companion. "Are you fellows coming?" said Distin, coldly. "Of course we are," cried Macey. "Come on, lads; let's go and help them get out the town squirt." They started for the main street at a trot, and Vane panted out:-- "I'll lay a wager that the engine's locked up, and that they can't find the keys." "And when they do, the old pump won't move," cried Gilmore. "And the hose will be all burst," cried Macey. "I thought we were going to help," said Distin, coldly. "If you fellows chatter so, you'll have no breath left." By this time they were among the houses, nearly everyone of which showed a light at the upper window. "Here's Bruff," cried Vane, running up to a group of men, four of whom were carrying poles with iron hooks at the end--implements bearing a striking family resemblance to the pole drags said to be "kept in constant readiness," by wharves, bridges, and docks. "What have you got there, gardener?" shouted Gilmore. "Hooks, sir, to tear off the burning thack." "But where is the burning thatch?" cried Vane. "I dunno, sir," said the gardener. "I arn't even smelt fire yet." "Have they got the engine out?" "No, sir. They arn't got the keys yet. Well, did you make him hear?" continued Bruff, as half-a-dozen men came trotting down the street. "Nay, we can't wacken him nohow." "What, Chakes?" cried Vane. "Ay; we've been after the keys." "But he must be up at the church," said Vane. "It's he who is ringing the bell." "Nay, he arn't theer," chorused several. "We went theer first, and doors is locked." By this time there was quite a little crowd in the street, whose components were, for the most part, asking each other where the fire was; and, to add to the confusion, several had brought their dogs, some of which barked at the incessant ringing of the big bell, while three took part in a quarrel, possibly induced by ill-temper consequent upon their having been roused from their beds. "Then he must have locked himself in," cried Vane. "Not he," said Distin. "Go and knock him up; he's asleep still." "Well," said Bruff, with a chuckle, as he stood his hook pole on end, "owd Mike Chakes can sleep a bit, I know; but if he can do it through all this ting dang, he bets me." "Come and see," cried Vane, making for the church-tower. "No; come and rout him out of bed," cried Distin. Just then a portly figure approached, and the rector's smooth, quick voice was heard asking:-- "Where is the fire, my men?" "That's what we can't none on us mak' out, Parson," said a voice. "Hey! Here's Mester Rounds; he's chutch-waarden; he'll know." "Nay, I don't know," cried the owner of the name; "I've on'y just got out o' bed. Who's that pullin' the big bell at that rate?" "We think it's saxton," cried a voice. "Yes, of course. He has locked himself in." "Silence!" cried the rector; and, as the buzz of voices ceased, he continued, "Has anyone noticed a fire?" "Nay, nay, nay," came from all directions. "But at a distance--at either of the farms?" "Nay, they're all right, parson," said the churchwarden. "We could see if they was alight. Hi! theer! How'd hard!" he roared, with both hands to his mouth. "Don't pull the bell down." For the clangour continued at the same rate,--_Dang, dang dang, dang_. "Owd Mikey Chakes has gone mad, I think," said a voice. "Follow me to the church," said the rector; and, leading the way with his pupils, the rector marched the little crowd up the street, amidst a buzz of voices, many of which came from bedroom windows, now all wide-open, and with the occupants of the chambers gazing out, and shouting questions to neighbours where the fire might be. A few moments' pause was made at the sexton's door, but all was silent there, and no response came to repeated knocks. "He must be at the church, of course," said the rector; and in a few minutes all were gathered at the west door, which was tried, and, as before said, found to be fastened. "Call, somebody with a loud voice." "We did come and shout, sir, and kicked at the door." "Call again," said the rector. "The bell makes so much clamour the ringer cannot hear. Hah! he has stopped." For, as he spoke, the strokes on the bell grew slower, and suddenly ceased. A shout was raised, a curious cry, composed of "Mike"--"Chakes!"--"Shunk" and other familiar appellations. "Hush, hush!" cried the rector. "One of you--Mr Rounds, will you have the goodness to summon the sexton." "Hey! hey! Sax'on!" shouted the miller in a voice of thunder; and he supplemented his summons by kicking loudly at the door. "Excuse me, Mr Rounds," said the rector; "the call will suffice." "But it don't suffice, Parson," said the bluff churchwarden. "Hi, Chakes, man, coom down an' open doooor!" "Straange and queer," said the butcher. "Theer arn't nobody, or they'd say summat." There was another shout. "Plaace arn't harnted, is it?" said a voice from the little crowd. "Will somebody have the goodness to go for my set of the church keys," said the rector with dignity. "You? Thank you, Mr Macey. You know where they hang." Macey went off at a quick pace; and, to fill up the time, the rector knocked with the top of his stick. By this time the doctor had joined the group. "It seems very strange," he said. "The sexton must have gone up himself, nobody else had keys." "And there appears to be nothing to cause him to raise an alarm," said the rector. "Surely the man has not been walking in his sleep." "Tchah!" cried the churchwarden; "not he, sir. Wean't hardly walk a dozen steps, even when he's awake. Why, hallo! what now?" "Here he is! Here he is!" came excitedly from the crowd, as the sexton walked deliberately up with a lantern in one hand, a bunch of keys in the other. "Mr Chakes," said the rector sternly, "what is the meaning of this?" "Dunno, sir. I come to see," replied the sexton. "I thowt I heerd bell tolling, and I got up and as there seems to be some'at the matter I comed." "Then, you did not go into the belfry to ring the alarm," cried the doctor. "Nay, I ben abed and asleep till the noise wackened me." "It is very strange," said the rector. "Ah, here is Mr Macey. Have the goodness to open the door; and, Mr Rounds, will you keep watch over the windows to see if any one escapes. This must be some trick." As the door was opened the rector turned to his pupils. "Surely, young gentlemen," he said in a whisper, "you have not been guilty of any prank." They all indignantly disclaimed participation, and the rector led the way into the great silent tower, where he paused. "I'm afraid I must leave the search to younger men," he said. "That winding staircase will be too much for me." Previously all had hung back out of respect to the rector, but at this a rush was made for the belfry, the rectory pupils leading, and quite a crowd filling the chamber where the ropes hung perfectly still. "Nobody here, sir," shouted Distin, down the staircase. "Dear me!" exclaimed the rector; who was standing at the foot, almost alone, save that he had the companionship of the doctor and that they were in close proximity to the churchwarden and the watchers outside the door. "Go up higher. Perhaps he is hiding by the clock or among the bells." This necessitated Chakes going up first, and unlocking the clock-chamber door, while others went higher to see if any one was hidden among the bells or on the roof. "I know'd there couldn't be no one in here," said Chakes solemnly, as he held up his lantern, and peered about, and round the works of the clock. "How did you know?" said Distin suspiciously. "That's how," replied the sexton, holding up his keys. "No one couldn't get oop here, wi'out my key or parson's." This was received with a solemn murmur, and after communications had been sent to and fro between the rector and Distin, up and down the spiral staircase, which made an excellent speaking-tube, the rector called to everyone to come back. He was obeyed, Chakes desiring the pupils to stay with him while he did the locking up; and as he saw a look exchanged between Macey and Gilmore, he raised his keys to his lips, and blew down the pipes. "Here, hallo!" cried Gilmore, "where's the show and the big drum? He's going to give us Punch and Judy." "Nay, sir, nay, I always blows the doost out. You thought I wanted you to stay because--Nay, I arn't scarred. On'y thought I might want someone to howd lantern." He locked the clock-chamber door, and they descended to the belfry, where several of the people were standing, three having hold of the ropes. "Nay, nay, you mustn't pull they," shouted Chakes. "Bell's been ringing 'nuff to-night. Latt 'em be." "Why, we never looked in those big cupboards," cried Macey suddenly, pointing to the doors behind which the weights hung, and the pendulum, when the clock was going, swung to and fro. "Nay, there's nowt," said the sexton, opening and throwing back the door to show the motionless ropes and pendulum. Vane had moved close up with the others, and he stood there in silence as the doors were closed again, and then they descended to join the group below, the churchwarden now coming to the broad arched door. "Well?" he cried; "caught 'em?" "There's no one there," came chorused back. "Then we must all hev dreamed we heard bell swing," said the churchwarden. "Let's all goo back to bed." "It is very mysterious," said the rector. "Very strange," said the doctor. "The ringing was of so unusual a character, too." "Owd place is harnted," said a deep voice from the crowd, the speaker having covered his mouth with his hand, so as to disguise his voice. "Shame!" said the rector sternly. "I did not think I had a parishioner who could give utterance to such absurd sentiments." "Then what made bell ring?" cried another voice. "I do not know yet," said the rector, gravely; "but there must have been some good and sufficient reason." "Perhaps one of the bells was left sticking up," said Macey--a remark which evoked a roar of laughter. "It is nearly two o'clock, my good friends," said the rector, quietly; "and we are doing no good discussing this little puzzle. Leave it till daylight, and let us all return home to our beds. Chakes, have the goodness to lock the door. Good-night, gentlemen. Doctor, you are coming my way; young gentlemen, please." He marched off with the doctor, followed by his four pupils, till Distin increased his pace a little, and contrived to get so near that the doctor half turned and hesitated for Distin to come level. "Perhaps you can explain it, my young friend," he said; and Distin joined in the conversation. Meanwhile Gilmore and Macey were talking volubly, while Vane seemed to be listening. "It's all gammon about haunting and ghosts and goblins," said Gilmore. "Chaps who wrote story-books invented all that kind of stuff, same as they did about knights in full armour throwing their arms round beautiful young ladies, and bounding on to their chargers and galloping off." "Oh, come, that's true enough," said Macey. "What!" cried Gilmore, "do you mean to tell me that you believe a fellow dressed in an ironmonger's shop, and with a big pot on his head, and a girl on his arm, could leap on a horse?" "Yes, if he was excited," cried Macey. "He couldn't do it, without the girl." "But they did do it." "No, they didn't. It's impossible. If you want the truth, read some of the proper accounts about the armour they used to wear. Why, it was so heavy that--" "Yes, it was heavy," said Macey, musingly. "Yes, so heavy, that when they galloped at each other with big clothes-prop things, and one of 'em was knocked off his horse, and lay flat on the ground, he couldn't get up again without his squires to help him." "You never read that." "Well, no, but Vane Lee did. He told me all about it. I suppose, then, you're ready to believe that the church-tower's haunted?" "I don't say that," said Macey, "but it does seem very strange." "Oh, yes, of course it does," said Gilmore mockingly. "Depend upon it there was a tiny chap with a cloth cap, ending in a point sitting up on the timbers among the bells with a big hammer in his hands, and he was pounding away at the bell till he saw us coming, and then off he went, hammer and all." "I didn't say I believed that," said Macey; "but I do say it's very strange." "Well, good-night, Syme," said the doctor, who had halted at the turning leading up to the rectory front door. "It is very curious, but I can't help thinking that it was all a prank played by some of the town lads to annoy the sexton. Well, Vane, my boy, ready for bed once more?" Vane started out of a musing fit and said good-night to his tutor and fellow-pupils to walk back with his uncle. "I can't puzzle it out, Vane. I can't puzzle it out," the doctor said, and the nephew shivered, for fear that the old gentleman should turn upon him suddenly and say, "Can you?" But no such question was asked, for the doctor began to talk about different little mysteries which he had met with in his career, all of which had had matter-of-fact explanations that came in time, and then they reached the house, to find a light in the breakfast-room, where Aunt Hannah was dressed, and had prepared some coffee for them. "Oh, I have been so anxious," she cried. "Whose place is burned?" "No one's," said the doctor, cheerily; and then he related their experience. "I'm very thankful it's no worse," said Aunt Hannah. "Some scamps of boys must have had a string tied to the bell, I suppose." Poor old lady, she seemed to think of the great tenor bell in the old tower as if it were something which could easily be swung by hand. They did not sit long; and, ill at ease, and asking himself whether he was going to turn into a disingenuous cowardly cur, Vane gladly sought his chamber once more to sit down on the edge of his bed, and ponder over his day's experience. "It must have been through leaving out those two wheels," he muttered, "that made something go off, and start the weight running down as fast as it could. I must speak about it first thing to-morrow morning, or the people will think the place is full of ghosts. Yes, I'll tell uncle in the morning and he can do what he likes." On coming to this resolve Vane undressed and slipped into bed once more, laid his head on the pillow, and composed himself to sleep; but no sleep came, and with his face burning he glided out of bed again, put on a few things, and then stole out of his bedroom into the passage, where he stood hesitating for a few minutes. "No," he muttered as he drew a deep breath, "I will not be such a coward;" and, creeping along the passage, he tapped softly on the next bedroom door. "Eh? Yes. Someone ill?" cried the doctor. "Down directly." "No, no, uncle, don't get up," cried Vane hoarsely. "I only wanted to tell you something." "Tell me something? Well, what is it?" "I wanted to say that I had been trying to clean the church clock this afternoon, and I left out two of the wheels." "What!" roared the doctor. "Hang it all, boy, I think nature must have left out two of your wheels." _ |
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