A Smuggler Tale of the Romney Marsh

“‘All the King’s horses and all the King’s men Could not put captain together again.’

305

Now the poor bo’sun in command had all his life grown so used to taking other people’s orders that he didn’t know what to do for the best. He liked the captain and didn’t want to see him killed, though he knew what he must be suffering in his ridiculous position. He knew that had the captain but got the use of his speech he would have shouted, “Fire! and be damned to’ em!” But then the captain had not got the use of speech. The Scarecrow and Hellspite knew enough of the man to see to that, and as they had no great desire to be fired at, they had seen that the gags were efficient. So it was, after all, small wonder that the old grumbling seadog next to him, who possessed a rollicking vein of humour, laughed until he rolled back into the mud, for the sight was enough to make the proverbial cat laugh, much less a humorous old tar, and the rest of the men were divided into two classes, some following the example of the bo’sun and being struck stiff with amazement and powerless wrath, others joining the laughing tar in the muddy ditch and guffawing over the ridiculous

306

situation of their captain, for he was not the build of man to sit an ass with any dignity, not being at all akin to a Levantine Jew, but very absurd in his naval uniform, with the cocked hat literally cocked right down over his nose. It was this sudden surprise that made the sailors utterly unprepared for what followed. A large party of horse swept out of the mist behind them, and when they turned to see what fresh thing was amiss there was a gallant line of terrible cavalry pulling up on their haunches a few yards in their rear. Thus they were cut off on both sides: at their back the devils with flaming faces, on horses of alarming proportions, and in front, their captain, waiting for them to shoot, to meet his own death by the little demon’s blunderbuss:

“‘If you fire, you good King’s men, Then the devil shall blarst your captain.’”

307

“And you as well, you good King’s men!” shrieked and howled the terrible demons at the back, who covered with pistols or blunderbuss every Jack Tar in the ditch.

Then another rider appeared on the scene. He was tall, thin, and of ungainly appearance, and he rode a light gray thoroughbred. He was the Scarecrow, and all the devils hailed him by that name as he appeared. Behind him came the packponies, some sixty or seventy in all, and on each pony was a wool pack that would have meant a human neck to the King’s hangman if only Collyer were free to work his will. The Scarecrow drew up in the road and watched the great procession of ponies pass along toward the coast. When they had all but passed he gave a signal, and the doors of Mill House barn were opened and ten more heavily laden ponies trotted out and joined the snake of illegal commerce that was wriggling away to the sea. Then like some field-marshal upon the field of battle did the Scarecrow slowly ride over a small bridge and then along the

308

front of his demon cavalry. Jerry Jerk heard him give a short order to Beelzebub as he passed, and then saw him gallop away after the packponies. And then came the ordeal for the King’s men, for they were kept in that uncomfortable position for a full two hours, or maybe even longer. Folly to move, folly to fight, there they had to stop—a foolish-looking group of fighting men, if you like, but more foolish had they attempted resistance, for they were outnumbered in men, in arms, and in wits. Once, indeed, did the bo’sun nearly lose his head, and that was when Hellspite lowered his blunderbuss and produced a clay pipe which he lit. The bo’sun saw a chance, spat in his hand, grasped his cutlass, and clambered from the dyke. But instantaneously came the ominous noise of cocking pistols, and the old seadog grabbed the bo’sun’s leg and pulled him back swearing into the mud. Hellspite chuckled and smoked his pipe, the horsemen covered every man in the ditch with cocked weapons, and so another hour passed over the curious group. Suddenly from over the Marsh came the cry position for a full two hours, or maybe even longer. Folly to move, folly to fight, there they had to stop—a foolish-looking group of fighting men, if you like, but more foolish had they attempted resistance, for they were outnumbered in men, in arms, and in wits. Once, indeed, did the bo’sun nearly lose his head, and that was when Hellspite lowered his blunderbuss and produced a clay pipe which he lit. The bo’sun saw a chance, spat in his hand, grasped his cutlass, and clambered from the dyke. But instantaneously came the ominous noise of cocking pistols, and the old seadog grabbed the bo’sun’s leg and pulled him back swearing into the mud. Hellspite chuckled and smoked his pipe, the horsemen covered every man in the ditch with cocked weapons, and so another hour passed over the curious group. Suddenly from over the Marsh came the cry

309

of a curlew, weird and repeated seven times. Hellspite put up his pipe and muttered an order to the two devils by the donkey, and then he addressed the sailors:

“Now, good sailors, we will trouble you for your arms. Pass them up to good Job Mallet and he shall stretch his legs and lay them at my feet.”

But again Job Mallet lost his head. He arose in the ditch and sang out bravely: “You and the rest of you are damned cowards in silencing the mouth of our captain. Had he his voice you know what he’d say—‘Shoot and be damned to you!’ and well you know it. Why don’t you meet us in fair fight, you damned cowards, instead of using such devil’s tricks?”

“’Cos we ain’t so bloody-minded as the good King’s bo’sun,” answered Hellspite in a piping voice, which drew forth a great laugh from the devils.

One of the seamen, considering that all eyes were now upon the bo’sun, leaped from the ditch and made a rush for Hellspite with his naked cutlass.

310

Five or six pistols cracked behind him and over he fell, face downward in the road. Every shot had taken effect: he was dead.

“Oh, do keep your heads, you silly King’s men!” wailed Hellspite, “for look how we’ve spoiled that nice little man. He’s no use now to fight the French, no use at all. Oh, what a pity, what a pit, what a pity!”

Again came the cry of the curlew, seven times.

“Now, then, those weapons!” ordered Hellspite sharply, “and if they don’t come along quick we’ll put this captain out of service along with his man there.”

There was nothing for it but to obey. They were in the demons’ power. The sailors had found that the smugglers were good shots and that they meant business. No, there was nothing for it but to hand over their arms to the bo’sun, who with bad grace laid them upon the roadway, whence they were picked up by the jack-o’-lanterns, who bore them into the barn.

311

“Now, then, my fine fellows,” said Hellspite, “we’ll plump this ’ere captain on the road. You will pick him up if you want him and take him home to bed, for the dawn ain’t far off, and as the wool packs are safe and away, we’ll bid you good repose.”

The captain was accordingly lifted from the donkey and laid upon the road. The sailors were filed up around him, and conducted ingloriously back to the vicarage barn. Three devils, having been told off for the purpose, bore away the body of the dead seaman, so that before the dawn lit up the Marsh there was no sign of smugglers anywhere, and Jerry Jerk, after disrobing with the others at the coffin shop, was packed off home to bed by Beelzebub, where, without disturbing his grandparents, he fell immediately to sleep, and dreamed his whole adventure over again.

Just as the dawn was breaking Mipps was returning from the vicarage barn, where he had deposited a bundle of weapons outside the door, when he saw a