The crowd now had entire possession--without even the sort of control
that an exhortation assumed over them--of the burying-ground, and soon
in a dense mass were these desperate and excited people collected round
the well-known spot where lay the mortal remains of Miles, the butcher. "Silence!" cried a loud voice, and every one obeyed the mandate, looking
towards the speaker, who was a tall, gaunt-looking man, attired in a
suit of faded black, and who now pressed forward to the front of the
throng. "Oh!" cried one, "it's Fletcher, the ranter. What does he do here?" "Hear him! hear him!" cried others; "he won't stop us." "Yes, hear him," cried the tall man, waving his arms about like the
sails of a windmill. "Yes, hear him. Sons of darkness, you're all
vampyres, and are continually sucking the life-blood from each other. No
wonder that the evil one has power over you all. You're as men who walk
in the darkness when the sunlight invites you, and you listen to the
words of humanity when those of a diviner origin are offered to your
acceptance. But there shall be miracles in the land, and even in this
place, set apart with a pretended piety that is in itself most damnable,
you shall find an evidence of the true light; and the proof that those
who will follow me the true path to glory shall be found here within
this grave. Dig up Miles, the butcher!" "Hear, hear, hear, hurra!" said every body. "Mr. Fletcher's not such a
fool, after all. He means well." "Yes, you sinners," said the ranter, "and if you find Miles, the
butcher, decaying--even as men are expected to decay whose mortal
tabernacles are placed within the bowels of the earth--you shall gather
from that a great omen, and a sign that if you follow me you seek the
Lord; but I you find him looking fresh and healthy, as if the warm blood
was still within his veins, you shall take that likewise as a
signification that what I say to you shall be as the Gospel, and that by
coming to the chapel of the Little Boozlehum, ye shall achieve a great
salvation." "Very good," said a brawny fellow, advancing with a spade in his hand;
"you get out of the way, and I'll soon have him up. Here goes, like blue
blazes!" The first shovelful of earth he took up, he cast over his head into the
air, so that it fell in a shower among the mob, which of course raised a
shout of indignation; and, as he continued so to dispose of the
superfluous earth, a general row seemed likely to ensue. Mr. Fletcher
opened his mouth to make a remark, and, as that feature of his face was
rather a capacious one, a descending lump of mould, of a clayey
consistency, fell into it, and got so wedged among his teeth, that in
the process of extracting it he nearly brought some of those essential
portions of his anatomy with it. This was a state of things that could not last long, and he who had been
so liberal with his spadesful of mould was speedily disarmed, and yet he
was a popular favourite, and had done the thing so good-humouredly, that
nobody touched him. Six or eight others, who had brought spades and
pickaxes, now pushed forward to the work, and in an incredibly short
space of time the grave of Miles, the butcher, seemed to be very nearly
excavated. Work of any kind or nature whatever, is speedily executed when done with
a wish to get through it; and never, perhaps, within the memory of man,
was a grave opened in that churchyard with such a wonderful celerity. The excitement of the crowd grew intense--every available spot from
which a view of the grave could be got, was occupied; for the last few
minutes scarcely a remark had been uttered, and when, at last, the spade
of one of those who were digging struck upon something that sounded like
wood, you might have heard a pin drop, and each one there present drew
his breath more shortly than before. "There he is," said the man, whose spade struck upon the coffin. Those few words broke the spell, and there was a general murmur, while
every individual present seemed to shift his position in his anxiety to
obtain a better view of what was about to ensue. The coffin now having been once found, there seemed to be an increased
impetus given to the work; the earth was thrown out with a rapidity that
seemed almost the quick result of the working of some machine; and those
closest to the grave's brink crouched down, and, intent as they were
upon the progress of events, heeded not the damp earth that fell upon
them, nor the frail brittle and humid remains of humanity that
occasionally rolled to their feet. It was, indeed, a scene of intense excitement--a scene which only wanted
a few prominent features in its foreground of a more intellectual and
higher cast than composed the mob, to make it a fit theme for a painter
of the highest talent. And now the last few shovelfuls of earth that hid the top of the coffin
were cast from the grave, and that narrow house which contained the
mortal remains of him who was so well known, while in life, to almost
every one then present, was brought to the gaze of eyes which never had
seemed likely to have looked upon him again. The cry was now for ropes, with which to raise the cumbrous mass; but
these were not to be had, no one thought of providing himself with such
appliances, so that by main strength, only, could the coffin be raised
to the brink. The difficulty of doing this was immense, for there was nothing tangible
to stand upon; and even when the mould from the sides was sufficiently
cleared away, that the handles of the coffin could be laid hold of, they
came away immediately in the grasp of those who did so. But the more trouble that presented itself to the accomplishment of the
designs of the mob, the more intent that body seemed upon carrying out
to the full extent their original designs. Finding it quite impossible by bodily strength to raise the coffin of
the butcher from the position in which it had got imbedded by excessive
rains, a boy was hastily despatched to the village for ropes, and never
did boy run with such speed before, for all his own curiosity was
excited in the issue of an adventure, that to his young imagination was
appallingly interesting. As impatient as mobs usually are, they had not time, in this case, for
the exercise of that quality of mind before the boy came back with the
necessary means of exerting quite a different species of power against
the butcher's coffin. Strong ropes were slid under the inert mass, and twenty hands at once
plied the task of raising that receptacle of the dead from what had been
presumed to be its last resting-place. The ropes strained and creaked,
and many thought that they would burst asunder sooner than raise the
heavy coffin of the defunct butcher. It is singular what reasons people find for backing their opinion. "You may depend he's a vampyre," said one, "or it wouldn't be so
difficult to get him out of the grave."