A Smuggler Tale of the Romney Marsh

Beelzebub obeyed the sexton promptly and, picking up the cauldron, went to the back of the house, Satan accompanying him on his different errand— namely, that of bringing in the scarecrow, a thing that puzzled Jerry exceedingly.

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Mipps seemed to read his thoughts, for he approached and whispered: “Jack Ketch, you’re a-wonderin’ about the scarecrow now, ain’t you? Well, you’ve noticed him, I dare say, all dressed in black, at the bottom of my turnip field, ain’t you?”

“Yes,” replied the new christened Jack Ketch; “I’ve noticed him as long as I can remember, and a very lifelike scarecrow I considers him to be.”

“You’re right,” replied the sexton; “it’s the best scarecrow I ever seed, for it’s lifelike and no mistake, and if you keeps your eyes open you’ll see him a bit more lifelike to-night—you wait.”

Satan soon reappeared bearing on his shoulder the dead lump of the scarecrow. Mipps indicated an old coffin that lay on the floor behind the counter of the shop and Satan at once pushed the scarecrow into it, and covered him with a lid.

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“He’ll be there till the work’s done,” said Mipps, “for you see the great man himself rides out at nights as the scarecrow, and if you keep your eyes open you’ll spot him. Now, Beelzebub,” as that terror reappeared, “I take it that them horses is all ready; so bear in mind that my friend Jack Ketch is new to the game, and stick by him, and good luck to you devils, and may the mists guard the legion from all damned swabs!” And so the company filed out of the Devil’s Tiring House after receiving this parting blessing at the hands of the sexton.

“Ain’t you coming along, Hellspite?” said one of the ghastly crew to the sexton.

“No, Pontius Pilate, I ain’t,” replied Mipps, “for me and the blunderbuss is a-goin’ to watch that damned meddlesome captain.”

And so they left him there, Beelzebub leading Jerry by the hand out of the back door of Old Tree Cottage.

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Chapter 27

The Scarecrow’s Legion

The company found their steeds in the turnip field at the back of the house, guarded so religiously during the daytime by the old scarecrow that now reposed in the coffin—horses and ponies decked out with weird trappings and all tethered to a low fence that bordered one of the dykes. Jerry’s horse, or, rather, the missing schoolmaster’s horse, was brought to him by Beelzebub himself, whom Jerry very soon discovered to be a most entertaining and affable devil. It was fortunate indeed for Jerry that he was a good rider, and had a knowledge of the Marsh, for the cavalcade immediately set out across the

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fields, breaking into a high gallop, leaping dykes and sluices in such a reckless fashion that it was a marvel indeed to the boy that his old scragbones could keep pace with them; for Beelzebub rode at his side on a strong farm horse and kept urging him to a higher speed. It was nothing more nor less than a haphazard cross-country steeplechase, and the young adventurer was caught in the thrill of it. How exhilarating it was to ride through the night with those reckless fellows, but he would not altogether have relished it had Beelzebub not proved himself an indefectible and capable pilot.

“Heels in hard, Jack Ketch, when I tell you. Now!” And hard went the heels in, and neck to neck went the horses straight at the broad dyke. “Yoikes!” And up they would go, crashing down again into the rush tops on the far side. And in this way they traversed the Marsh for six miles till they reached the highroad under Lympne Hill. There they drew rein at a spot where three roads met. At the bend of these roads Jerry could see a man on a tall gray horse.

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“That’s the Scarecrow,” whispered Beelzebub. “That’s the great man hisself.”

One of the jack-o’-lanterns trotted off on his pony toward this figure, and Jerk saw him salute the Scarecrow, who handed him a paper. Saluting again, the youngster came back to Beelzebub, who took the paper from him and read it carefully by the light of the young jack’s lantern. These boys carried lanterns fixed upon long poles, bearing them standard fashion as they rode.

As he was reading, Beelzebub kept catching in his breath in an excited manner, and as he tucked the paper away in his belt he muttered: “May the Marsh be good to the Scarecrow to-night!” Jerry instinctively looked down the road to where the Scarecrow had been standing, but horse and rider had disappeared. “Ah! Jack Ketch,” said Beelzebub, “you are wondering wot’s become of him, eh? You’d need an eye of quicksilver to keep sight of him. Here, there, and everywhere, and all at once he is, and astride the finest horse

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on Romney Marsh, a horse wot ’ud make the Prince Regent’s mouth water, a

horse more valuable to the Scarecrow than the Bank of England ’ud be.”

“But where’s he gone to?” asked Jerry.

“About his business and thine, Jack Ketch,” answered Beelzebub.

“I wish I’d seen him go,” returned Jerry, “for I likes to see a good horse on the move. He went very silent, didn’t he?”

“You’ll never hear the noise of the Scarecrow’s horse a-trottin’, Jack Ketch, ’cos he’s got pads on his hoofs. Ah! he’s up to some tricks, is the Scarecrow, and, by hell! he’ll need’ em to-night.”

“Why?” asked Jerk.

“Because he’s had word passed from Hellspite that the King’s men are out, and Scarecrow thinks as how we may have to fight ’em.”

“And don’t you want to do that?”

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“Why, you see it’ ud be awkward if any of us got wounded, as wounded men ain’t easy things to hide in a village now, is they? and it ’ud be a difficult business to explain. Though, come to that, Scarecrow ain’t never put out for an explanation o’ nothing.”

As he was speaking, Beelzebub took Jerry’s rein and started off again at the head of the cavalcade. Their way was now along the road the Scarecrow had gone, and when they had ridden for about half a mile they again sighted him, sitting his horse stockstill in the middle of the road, but this time he was not alone, for there were some half-dozen men leading packponies from the road into a large field. Toward this field Beelzebub led his cavalcade, and consequently they had to pass the grim figure called the Scarecrow. Jerry was ambitious to get a near view of this strange personage, for he wanted if possible to pierce his disguise and see if he could recognize the features. But the nearer he got, the stranger the strange figure became. If it was any one that he knew,

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then it was only the scarecrow in Mipps’s turnip field, for he was as like that as two peas are alike to each other.

And the voice was not like any voice he could put an owner to, although there was something familiar in it. It was a hard, metallic voice, the voice of a commander.

“The King’s men are watching the Mill House Farm, so, Beelzebub, you will circle the packponies as usual till we get half a mile from the house, then you will cut off and decoy them from the rear. If your attack is sudden and fierce they will have all they can do to defend themselves, and so that will afford the Mill House Farm men time to get their packponies in with the others. I will see that they get them away safely, and when you have shaken off the King’s men pick us up again on the Romney road opposite Littlestone Beach. Understood?”

“Understood, Scarecrow, understood,” replied Beelzebub promptly.