tin of snuff, and quite suddenly, from one of the livelier cells in his queer and generally sluggish brain, he became
aware of a startling fact which he realized was true, namely, that he was being used to carry these signs at the
Scarecrow’s orders. He knew well enough what the word
LANDINGS signified at the head of the mysterious
list. He knew that there were no landings carried out upon the neighbouring coastline that were not the work of the
Scarecrow. The signs in his buckets meant Littlestone Beach. In spite of the utmost care exerted by all concerned
not to give themselves away when a landing and a run was contemplated, there was a something in the air that made
Percy suspicious. On such nights he would never go out late to dig lug for his patron, Mipps. In fact, Mipps would
generally tell him that he was not in need of lug upon such occasion.
The more Percy thought about it, the more he was convinced that he was being used by the dreaded Scarecrow,
and frightened as he wa s of the gallows permanently standing so close to his well, he was more scared of the
Phantom Rider of the Marsh and his followers of whom such dreadful tales were told.
It was this terror that persuaded him at all costs to keep his dreadful discovery to himself, and not to mention it
even to his mother.
He tried hard to forget what he had guessed, but found it impossible, and to make matters even more frightening
he made another discovery that very evening at the start of his last water-round, which set his heart thumping with
fear.
He was about to enter the open door of the dark barn in which the sailors were billeted when he heard a moan as
of a man in pain. Now Percy had a hatred of pain which made him almost hysterical. He could not bear pain
himself nor to see it in others, and this pitiful moaning coming from the darkness frightened him, and he wished that
there had been a sailor mounting guard outside the barn as there had been in the morning when he had delivered the
water. He then realized that in the morning he had approached the barn from the other side which was the main
entrance. The open door faced the Marsh and not the village. The guard would therefore be outside the closed door
on the opposite side.
Percy stood still and listened. He could hear nothing but those whimpering moans, and thought it must be some
sick sailor left by himself in the barn while his fellows had gone out on duty. He tried to make up his mind what
was best to be done. In the morning the sailor on guard had taken in the buckets of water, saying that Percy was not
allowed abroad. The water cask was inside the barn, and it sounded as though the sick sailor would not have the
strength to take in the buckets, which Percy had no intention of leaving.
It looked therefore as though he must disobey the orders of the morning sentry, and go boldly in himself. It never
occurred to him to go round to the other side of the barn and find the sentry. But there was so much to be afraid of.
The Scarecrow, who was using him to carry messages, without asking his consent, and the sailors themselves. He
was water-carrier to the dragoons, too, and would it infuriate the Scarecrow that he was thus doing service to the
enemies of the Nightriders?
It was then that the groans rose into a pathetic squeal, like that of a trapped animal. Percy suddenly thought
about the story of the Good Samaritan which Doctor Syn had told them about in Sunday school. Christian charity
told him it was his duty to go and see if he could help this sufferer. Perhaps a drink of water would do him good.
He was just going in, on this resolve, when he was pulled up sharp by a voice which he recognized at once as
Captain Blain’s, and its very first sentence made him go weak at the knees.
“That’s enough for the moment, men, or he’ll faint, and an unconscious man cannot give information, and that
we have got to get.”
The relentless tone of that deep husky voice frightened Percy enough, but the words that followed brought a
sweat of panic on to his brow.
“Now, Fred Hart, if that’s your name as I understand, think well. The village thinks you dead. Why? Because
we stoved in your boat. If you persist in refusing to tell me what I wish to know, in the King’s name, I’ll have you
shipped aboard a man-of-war quicker than the Press gang, and no one here will be any wiser. Your conscience tells
you not to be disloyal to your fellows, eh? Well, it is better that you should be when is comes to proving yourself
loyal to your Kung. No man can be blamed for obeying the law of his country, and you have the fortunate
opportunity of being able to atone for your law-breaking by a full confession. If you do the right thing and follow
now the straight path of your duty, you will be accorded safety and reward. If you do not, I can either ship you to
sea, sell you to the Plantations, or, to save a lot of trouble, string you up to the yardarms as a member of this
Scarecrow’s gang. I’ll pledge you my word not to ask awkward questions concerning your own relations. That
bother of yours for instance, who is no doubt as implicated as you are. Blood is thicker than water as the saying
goes, and you should think of your wife and kid. Now then, am I to extract this information by ordering my men to
give you another dose of pain, or do you want to go home with money for your wife and kid? If it’s information got
from torture I warn you there will be no reward and no pardon. If you tell me now with freewill, I’ll see that no one
knows from whom I gained information.”
“The Scarecrow knows everything,” replied Hart’s voice, which, though very weak, Percy recognized.
“And you’re afraid of what he’ll do to you, eh?” retorted the Captain. “Well, I give you my word, he’ll not be
able to do a thing, for he’ll be swinging before he knows a thing against you. Now come along, Hart. You’ve
shown yourself a brave man, according to your lights, and I’ve no wish to duty, and I must do mine. No? Well your
damned obstinacy means good-bye to your wife, kid and home. Give him another, men.”
Whether they did nor not, Percy was not sure. The sharp squeal which Hart let out may have been due to a
horrible anticipation. But the squeal was short -lived and tailed into the sentence of, “I’ll speak and god help me.”
“Sensible fellow,” came the Captain’s voice in a kinder tone. “Now then, Hart, I must know first when and
where the next contraband is going to be landed.”
Percy listened to the weak voice almost whispering: “Tonight, sir, on Littlestone Beach at the low tide. The
Scarecrow will be there, and if you can discover who or what he is you’ll be wiser than any of his followers. Now
set me free in God’s name and let me go home.”
“When I know that your information is correct you will be let go,” replied the Captain’s voice in a tone of
triumph.
Just then Percy had a narrow escape.
A sailor swung out of the darkness and pulled up quickly in the doorway s he saw the unexpected water-carrier.
Percy knew that the agitation he had gone through over what he had overheard must show clearly on his face.
The sailor had every reason to suspect that he had been listening to the Captain interviewing Hart. But Percy was
too quick for him by doing nothing quickly. Very slowly he set the buckets down and unhooked the yoke, allowing
the pain written upon his face to appear as though it had been written there by fatigue.
“Water, sir,” he said wearily.
The whole bearing of the lad convinced the sailor that he had only just got to the door, but to make quite sure he