A Smuggler Tale of the Romney Marsh

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Therefore, what were the others for? That they were misfits was out of the question, for Mipps was too shrewd a man to make eleven misfits; besides, he would have broken them up for fresh material. No, those eleven coffins were destined for other things besides corpses. And the fourth black mark against the sexton was his terrible hypocrisy and the ready with that hid it. If any man was interested and deeply interested in the great smuggling scheme of Romney Marsh he felt that Mipps was the man, the man-tool of another’s brain, another man mightier than Mipps—the squire probably, Doctor Syn possibly, though he had yet to bring the test to bear upon that curious and enigmatical vicar. But although as yet Doctor Syn was beyond his mental grasp, the Sexton Mipps was within it. He knew that he could make him victim, he was, in fact, sure of his guilt, and, knowing all he did of the man’s character, he fell to wondering how it had been possible for him to fall under the spell of his fascination, for apart from Doctor Syn, whose personality had strongly appealed to him, he would

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rather have had Mipps for his friend than the rest of the village put together, for that odd little man had a rare way of making you like him, for over all his astute cunning hung a veil, an imperceptible something, that was nearly if not altogether lovable. But the hunter goes to no pains to rehearse the beauty of an animal he is stalking, and the captain knew that as soon as he was ready to strike, no amount of personal fascination possessed by any criminal that he was after would stay his hand when the crucial moment came to destroy, and so he puzzled out his plans for cornering not only Mipps but every wrong ’un on the Marsh, and if the squire and Doctor Syn were in the bag—well, so much the better for the bag.

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Chapter 26

The Devil’s Tiring House

If the village was abed by ten o’clock, the coffee shop was very much alive at half an hour after midnight. Jerk, according to his instructions, found himself tapping upon the black window at that very hour and immediately found himself hauled into the house by Mr. Mipps himself. The sexton wore a voluminous riding cloak, heavily tippeted, and a black mask hid the upper part of his face, but Jerk could see by a glance at the fine sharp jaws that Mipps had laid aside his oiliness of manner, his sarcastic wit, and cringing self-complacency, and was allowing the real man that was in him to shine forth for

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once in a way probably for his express advantage. Jerk now saw the iron qualities in the sexton that had struck the love spark upon the flinty bosom of Mrs. Waggetts, for as Mipps walked about among his men, from room to room, and in and out of the coffin shop, which was heavily shuttered, he carried a power upon his shoulders that would have done credit to Boney himself. And the company that Jerk found himself among—well, if the young hangman had suddenly found himself in the greenroom of Drury Lane Theatre in the midst of the great play actors, he could not have been more surprised, for there, collected altogether, were the jack-o’-lanterns, the Marsh witches, and the demon riders, all preparing themselves as for a country fair. Grizzly old men, fishermen, and labourers, as the case might be, were arranging themselves in torn rags of women’s garments, and with a few deft touches of Mipps’s hands, lo! the fishermen and labourers were no more, and Marsh witches took their place. Similarly were the big fellows, hulking great men of Kent,

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metamorphosed into demons, enormous demons upon whose faces Mipps stuck heavy moustaches and hairy eyebrows of a most alarming nature. The grizzled ones likewise used horsehair in long streamers from their conical hats, so that their appearance as witchfolk should be the more pronounced. There were also three little boys and two little girls dressed as jack-o’-lanterns. They were much younger than Jerk, but their rigouts filled him with envy.

“Gentlemen,” said Mipps, leading Jerry into this motley throng of eccentrics, “the new recruit. A young man wot has the eye of an eagle and the nerves of a steel blade. Those who quarrels with this young gent’ll come off worst, if I’m not mistook, but them wot be his friends can bank on his good faith, for he’s as staunch as a dog. Get your brandy flasks out, my devils, and let’s drink to our new recruit. Jerry Jerk his name is, but accordin’ to custom we drops all mention of private names in this organization; so up with your glasses whilst I rechristen him. We has power, we has, we has devils amongst

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us of very great powers, for we has lawyers, and farmers, and squires, and parsons wot be in league with us, but the greatest enemy we has is not the revenue swabs, nor the Admiralty uniforms, nor the bloody redcoats, nor the Prince Regent—God bless him for a vagabond and a ‘rip!’—no, I thinks you knows who we fears more than all that ruck?”

“Jack Ketch! Jack Ketch!” whispered the horrible creatures.

“Why, right you are, for Jack Ketch it be,” retorted the sexton. “And here’s a man wot’s goin’ sooner or later to be a Jack Ketch. He’s got all the gifts of the hangman, he has—just that jolly way with him, he has—and so you’ll all be delighted to hear as how he’s joined us, for with Jack Ketch as our friend we’ll cheat the black cap on the gallows. Gentlemen, Jack Ketch.” Therefore they all drank to Jerk with much spirit, and Jerk, having been presented with a flask, pledged them in return and was introduced to all severally by the sexton. “This is Beelzebub, knocked over a good round dozen revenue swabs in your time,

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ain’t you, Beelzebub? And this is Belch the demon, the finest rider we ever had in our demon horse, and here’s Satan, and this be Cat’seyes, the weirdest old witch you ever met with in a story book, I’ll wager,” and so on until such a vast collection of weird names had been rammed into Jerk’s brains that he felt quite overpowered. However, when his own particular uniform was produced for him to don, his interests were requickened, and before Mipps had half finished attiring him in the strange rags Jerk would have sworn that it wasn’t himself he saw in the old cracked mirror.

“And now, Jack Ketch,” said Mipps, “you only has to follow me into the coffin shop to get your allowance of devil’s face cream, then I thinks you’ll feel real pleased with yourself.”

Into the weird coffin shop accordingly Jerry followed the sexton, and there was that black cauldron that he remembered so well. Now he would discover its use. Mipps stirred the contents and with a great brush began daubing Jerry’s

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face. The curious smell made the youngster close his eyes and he felt the brush pass over them.

“Now,” said the sexton, “I blows out the candles and you shall see.” Jerry opened his eyes as the sexton blew out the lights. “Bring the mirror!” called the sexton to the other room. And then into the coffin shop came the other members of the company, and the mystery of the demon riders was explained, for in the dark room each diabolical face glistened like the moon, and when the cracked mirror had been held up before him he saw that he in his turn burned with the same hellfire. “It’s now time, Satan, to get the scarecrow in, and you, Beelzebub, go and paint the horses with what’s left in that cauldron.”