good fisherman should be capsized, which might happen to the best, but that the boat should have been so savagely
holed when there is but sand in Dymchurch Bay. The nearest rocks, and they are not dangerous , are Sandgate one
way and Littlestone the other. As you must know, they are flat shelves and amply covered at high tide for a fishing
boat. Neither was there a high sea running that night, they tell me.”
“The revenue cutter reported a high wind and something of a swell,” explained the Captain. “His boat may have
been dropped on to some ugly piece of wreckage.”
“I think that unlikely,” returned the Vicar. “Do you know, I have been wondering whether there was any foul
play, though I can find no reason to suppose that the young man had enemies.” The Vicar sighed. “I would give a
lot to be able to hold out some hope to that poor girl.”
“Your suggestion of foul play, Parson has made me wonder whether he might not have been murdered by this
Scarecrow’s orders, for we know him as an unscrupulous rascal.”
Doctor Syn looked shocked. “Surely you have no grounds for any suspicion against young Hart? You do not
suggest that he has been a law-breaker? I have always looked upon him as loyal to both Church and Government.”
“I am glad to hear you say so, since he has gone to his account,” replied the Captain. “After all, you knew the
man, and I did not.” And for this lie Doctor Syn registered another black mark to be dealt with in his dealings with
the Captain.
That night the sailors in the Tythe Barn turned in sooner than usual, for Mipps had taken round two barrels of
rum with the compliments of Mrs. Waggetts, landlady of the Ship Inn, and with their own allowance the Bos’n and
his men were drunker than ever. Even the man on watch allowed himself to sit down, and was soon nodding over
his drawn cutlass that rested on his knees.
Their awakening was surprising and alarming. A clattering of hooves; the cry of the awakened sentry as his
cutlass was struck from his grasp; and then the sharp orders from a terrible figure who had ridden a great black horse
into the barn. Behind him were a score of other mounted figures masked hideously and carrying Jack-o’-Lanterns.
These devils on horseback were all armed, and their leader was crying out to the Bos’n to get out of his hammock,
while all the rest were to remain where they were, or be shot as the Scarecrow’s enemies.
“We are here, Master Bos’n,” said the Scarecrow, “to take from you the person of one Fred Hart, held here as
your prisoner. Deliver him over to us at once.”
“He ain’t ‘ere,” replied the sea-dog, with what courage he could muster.
“Search the barn, some of you,” ordered the Scarecrow. “He was here and must be still since I have had the barn
watched day and night. Unless you tell me where he is within the next thirty seconds I shall employ the other half
minute in hanging you from the rafters.”
“There’s no harm in telling you,” faltered the Bos’n. “The prisoner is abroad the Revenue cutter. He was took
under escort some three hours back. And that’s truth, so ‘elp me.”
“Who watched the barn three hours back?” demanded the Scarecrow of his men.
“I and Curlew,” came the prompt answer from one of them. “And so ‘elp me none come out but four of these
dirty king’s men. One had a drawed cutlass and the rest carried bundles.”
“And ‘cordin’ to Captain’s orders, one of ‘em was this Fred ‘Art, dressed up in poor Joe’s kit, and there’s Joe
been shiverin’ ever since in a blanket.”
“There’s no signs of the prisoner here, Scarecrow,” said one of the search party. “We’ve turned over the straw,
and the barrels are all empty.”
“Very well, replied the Scarecrow. “Then we’ll tear a leaf from the clever Captain’s book. Collect all these
men’s clothes and bring ‘em along, and you, Hellspite, put a dozen or so six-inch nails through the door bars when
we’ve closed these rascals in for the night.”
The Scarecrow’s men worked quickly, and within a few minutes the captured piled arms of the King’s men had
been thrown into the Glebe Field Dyke, and behind nailed-up doors in the dark the party of disconsolate sailors
shivered and cursed, as they listened to the departing horsemen who had taken their clothes and were galloping back
to the Oast House, from which they had set out.
The Scarecrow and Hellspite remained behind, promising to rejoin the Nightriders within a few minutes.
“What now?” asked Hellspite in a whisper.
“Hold Gehenna, Mipps,” replied the Scarecrow. “I have no time to ride to the Mother Handaway’s to change my
clothes to Doctor Syn, so I must leave them for the moment in the hidden stables. Fortunately for my plan, Captain
Blain is a careless drinker when in cups, and slops his wine upon his uniform. Mrs. Fowey, taking it as her duty to
clean them, insists that he leaves them outside his door at night for here collection early in the morning. So, my
good Mipps, I can collect a uniform which will fit me. Despite slopping his wine, he is a man who likes to be trim
on duty, so he also leaves his wig to be freshly powered. I venture to think that I can close my left eye and stare
with the right as he does. We are of a height, too, and it will be dark enough aboard the cutter. We may take our
prisoner therefore without bloodshed.”
Thus it was that Doctor Syn entered his Vicarage quietly as the Scarecrow and in ten minutes emerged in the
uniform of Captain Blain. Luck had been on his side, since his guest had left his sword in the hall with his cloak and
hat, and every other night he had taken his sword to his room. He had also listened at the Captain’s door and had
heard deep breathing, but no snores.
On rejoining Mipps, the little Sexton grinned. “I knows you better than most,” he whispered, “but you ain’t the
Vicar, you ain’t the Scarecrow, but you are Captain Blain, one eye and all.”
On reaching the Oast House, Mipps superintended the Scarecrow’s orders being carried out, picking twenty to
dress in the sailor’s kits they had stolen. The Bos’n uniform gave him an extra one for himself. “The Revenue
cutter carries a crew of twenty men, a petty officer, and a captain. Well, the Scarecrow is the Captain, I’ll be petty
officer, and you the crew. The ten who remain as Nightriders will see to the horses getting back to stables from the
beach at Littlestone, where we shall board the lugger and sail for the Revenue cutter to capture the traitor, Fred
Hart.”
An hour later, Mipps entered the cabin of the lugger where Doctor Syn sat alone, and reported that they were
half-way between Sandgate and Dover and that the cutter lay ahead anchored.
“Run us alongside, Mister Bos’n,” ordered Syn, “and Captain Blain will speak to the officer of the watch.”
Doctor Syn climbed out of the cabin and strode along the dark deck, till level with the companion-ladder. “Is
Mister Swinnerton in charge?” he demanded in Blain’s deep and husky voice. He had got the name from Blain
himself.
“Speaking, sir,” came the answer promptly.
‘Plans are changed, Mister Swinnerton,” went on Doctor Syn. “The prisoner, hart, is to be tried at the
Dymchurch Court House, and I have come to escort him back on this lugger which I have requisitioned. Put him
abroad.”
“Sorry, sir,” replied the officer, “but your orders have been carried out. Hart is in irons abroad the Guard Ship in
Dover harbour. We have only just returned and piped the men below.”
“I was afraid of that,” went on Doctor Syn. “Well, my men are fresh and the cutter is faster than this old tub.