CHAPTER XV.
IN WHICH SOME OF THE VILLAGERS ARE MADE SANDWICHES OF.
IN WHICH SOME OF THE VILLAGERS ARE MADE SANDWICHES OF.
The village of Walton, near to the abbey, never forgot that memorable night on which Lady Julia, a newly-made bride, was carried off by the chief of the Skeleton Crew, and her young husband cruelly killed.
It was an event which shocked the most hardened.
During the day, the whole village, and its surroundings had been making holiday in honor of Lady Julia’s nuptials, and everything had passed off with the greatest satisfaction to every one.
But few persons were astir, and these consisted of the village clerk, the butcher, the druggist, the post-master, and a few other notabilities, who were warming their legs round the tavern fire, and indulging in all manner of stories, both wild and strange, until long after the church clock had struck the hour of twelve.
The parson’s clerk was just in the middle of a ghost-story; his hearers, with open mouths, and staring eyes, listened in wrapt attention.
The wind sighed down the chimney most dolefully, and the clerk began to look very nervous and shaky.
He had just got to that part of his tale where the ghost appears upon the scene, when the village bells in a discordant peal clanged out upon the silent night.
Every one in the parlor of the “Black Bull” was startled.
For a moment they looked at each other, and then towards the door, as if expecting that the ghost so often mentioned in the story would really step in among them.
They listened again and breathed very hard.
Still they heard the dismal clanging of the village bells.
“Who is that?”
“What can that mean?”
“How comes this?” said one and all.
“Don’t thee hear it?”
“Why, in course we do.”
“What can it mean?”
“Oh, it’s some o’ the drunken ringers as have got into the steeple, and want to frighten us,” said the courageous butcher.
“Then, let us go and stop ’em,” said the clerk. “Who’ll go wi’ me?”
“I will.”
“And so will I,” several replied at once.
They left the cosy parlour, and, lanterns in hand, proceeded through the village, armed with thick, stout cudgels, bent on giving the drunken bell-ringers a sound thrashing for thus disturbing the silence of the night.
It would have been bad enough, the worthies thought, if the ringers had pealed out merrily; but, instead of that, as we have said, it was a muffled funeral peal which issued from the old tower.
Besides the clerk and his friends, there were numerous others, who left their warm beds intent upon finding out the cause of all this strange and startling disturbance.
Straightway this valiant band of villagers proceeded towards the church, and could plainly see lights in the belfry, and the reflection of persons against the windows and through the lattice-work.
Mr. Clerk led the way up the narrow winding stairs of stone, and, if it must be confessed, swearing the while most lustily against the “impudent varlets” who thus disturbed the peace.
He had not gone far up the stairs when the ringing ceased.
All lights were suddenly extinguished in the belfry.
This was a good sign, the clerk thought, and grasped his thick stick with vigour.
With a loud shout, he and the others rushed into the ringers’ room, lanterns in hand.
At that moment the bells, this time unmuffled, gave out a most horrible, clanging sound.
The clerk started back in fright towards the door, and hastily turned on his light.
He and the rest groaned most dolefully, for, there, standing before them, were eight Skeletons, each with a rope in his hand, and, while pulling away most vigorously, grinned most diabolically at the intruders.
The clerk and his friends would have given all the money in Walton to have been a mile or more away.
But there they were, unable to stir, wriggling and writhing, and knowing not which way to retreat, or what to do.
“Oh! mercy on us,” said the clerk, almost distilled to a jelly. “Why, it’s some of the Skeleton Crew; they have changed from a funeral to a joy peal.”
“What can all this horrid thing mean?” said another.
“Mean? Ha! ha!” gruffly laughed one of the skeletons, in a voice that made the entrapped villagers quake again. “Mean, eh? Why, it means that we are so glad to see you, that’s all. We wanted some amusement.”
“What can these monsters mean or intend to do?” sighed the clerk, who much wished to get away if he could.
“Mean? intend?” repeated the horrible voice again. “Why, it means that we intend to celebrate Lady Julia’s marriage with our great chief, Death-wing, and will do honour to the event by hanging every mother’s son of you!”
Dismal groans were now heard on all sides.
Some began to gasp from fear.
Others fell to praying.
But the Skeleton Bell-ringers were as good as their word, as we shall see.
They stopped pealing the bells, and glared most hideously at their intended victims.
“So you came here with stout cudgels in your hands, did you, and intended to give us all a good sound thrashing, I dare say?”
“Not me.”
“Nor me.”
“I hadn’t the remotest idea of any such thing, most august and ghostly strangers,” chimed in the terrified clerk, as his legs almost gave way from under him.
“As we know you are lying, parson’s man as you are, why, you might as well come forward first. We intend to make an example of.”
The poor clerk was dragged out from among his fellows.
Two of the skeletons pulled down the heaviest bell, and much of its slack rope was coiled on the floor.
They held it down.
“That bell is too heavy to swing up one,” saidthe chief. “Take the apothecary, and make a ‘sandwich’ of him and the lying clerk.”
Much to the astonishment of all present, the clerk and the apothecary were placed back to back.
The slack rope of the great bell was twisted and tied round their bodies, and fastened into a knot.
At a given signal the two skeletons who held down the great bell let go the rope.
Up went the two unfortunate devils, shouting at the top of their voices, and dangling in mid-air, like a couple of spiders on a single thread of web.
In like manner all the rest were “sandwiched,” as it was called.
Each rope was wound round the bodies of two at least.
And there they hung, to the infinite amusement of their tormentors, writhing and groaning, their own weight drawing down the bells from time to time, and making the most horrible and discordant noises.
Satisfied with this pleasant handiwork, the Skeleton Bell-ringers left the belfry; and the worthy villagers, fighting like cats tied on a clothes line, pulling each other about, and dancing a most painful hornpipe between the ceiling and floor to the inharmonious jangling of the bells, were left all alone in their glory.