adventure, little Mipps, I promise you.”
7
THE SCARECROW’S EXECUTION
The news spread like wildfire, and lost nothing in the telling. The bare facts of the case were that Admiral
Troubridge, jubilant at finding an opportunity to smash the Scarecrow’s brandy-running from France, had had his
valuable informer snatched from under his nose. One Handgrove, a desperate rascal, who had suffered eleven years’
slavery for treachery against the Scarecrow’s men, had escaped from the secret French harbour where the
contraband was loaded, and had made appointment at the Admiralty to tell all he knew. There was no doubt as to
the reason why he had failed to present himself, for instead of his man, the Admiral received a threatening letter
from the scarecrow, stating that Handgrove’s fate should be a warning to him, and to that ‘meddlesome Parson’,
Doctor Syn of Dymchurch, who had for years been daring enough to attack the crime of smuggling from every
pulpit of Romney Marsh. It was obvious, therefore, that the Scarecrow had retaken his prisoner on the way to
Admiralty House.
By this time the Scarecrow and the doings of his Nightriders had captured the public’s imagination. No longer a
mere local celebrity, his adventures were the chief topic of conversation throughout the inns and taverns of the
London roads, the jokes and jibes of the coffee-houses, as well as the romantic gossips of the fashionable drawingroom. Not a man who did not envy him, neither maid nor mother who did not feel drawn towards his masculine
effrontery. And yet was he masculine? Was he human? Was he not rather the Devil himself? When Doctor Syn
first created the Scarecrow as the leader of the Romney Marsh smugglers, he had striven hard to give him a spiritual
significance, and he was not disappointed in his creation. The Scarecrow was accounted uncanny.
Captain Blain, lodging temporarily at the Vicarage, with his score of sea-dogs billeted in the Tythe barn adjacent,
thought otherwise. Although he had seen the fearful apparition of the Scarecrow, he did not share the superstitions
of his men. He respected the Scarecrow as a dangerous and ingenious enemy whose clever head was joined to an
agile body by a human neck round which he determined to place a hempen collar.
The news of Handgrove’s disappearance came to him in a letter from Admiral Troubridge. The Captain was
given authority to search every house and cottage in the Marsh and ordered to watch the shore, the dykes and the
sluicegates for the body of the missing Handgrove. He was to apply to Admiral Chesham at Dover if he needed
more men, and could inform those immediately under his command that extra pay was scheduled from the
Admiralty, for every encounter with which they might engage the Nightriders of the Marsh. The Admiral also
urged him to work in close cooperation with the Reverend Doctor Syn, whom he described as ‘the bravest
gentleman on Romney Marsh, in that at the risk of his own life he had never ceased to attack the nefarious
smugglers’. He added that in his opinion the only trouble with the vicar of Dymchurch was that he took his
parochial duties too conscientiously. Why could not the fellow find it in his heart to betray what he learned as a
priest under the seal of confession? Not being Roman Catholic the Admiral could not understand why Doctor Syn
was so very scrupulous about keeping secrets heard by him through the confessional comfort of the Church.
To his Bos’n, Captain Blain exclaimed: “Wish the Parson would come back, for I have a suggestion to make to
him. Doctor Pepper tells me that one of his patients is dying. A hard-drinking old rascal of eighty, who seems to be
very afraid of death. A Dymchurch man of that age, and a bad character from all accounts, must know a good deal
about the smugglers. Under the fear of the next world what more easy than for Doctor Syn to make him talk. I shall
try to persuade him that it is for the good of the Marsh parishes. I wonder how long he is staying in London. His
housekeeper says some few days. I only hope old Pepper can keep his patient alive till then. Bos’n, I feel it in my
bones that we can only take the Scarecrow through the help of Doctor Syn. So let us pray for his speedy return.”
Although he did not know it, the Captain’s prayer was answered, for Doctor Syn’s return was certainly speedy.
Once more gratified turnpike keepers opened the road for the generous King’s Messenger, whose magnificent black
horse made short work of the highway. “French spies are on the road,” he whispered, as he paid his toll with a
guinea-piece. “It is not in the interests of the King that any should know I have passed this way. So forget you have
seen a gentleman on a black horse.”
After four and a half hours of hard riding, Doctor Syn turned Gehenna from the road on Lympne Hill, and
descended by a bridle-path to the Marsh Level. He entered his parish by a cross-country gallop, avoiding the village
and making straight for his hidden stables at old Mother Handaway’s hovel. Here he was welcomed by Jimmie
Bone, the Highwayman, who groomed the Scarecrow’s horse, while his master roasted a fat chicken and opened a
bottle of brandy.
“I must not return to the Vicarage,” he said, “till I have crossed the Channel. The lugger, Four Sisters from
London Pool, will lie off Littlestone tomorrow night. Mipps with ten of our London men are bringing her round.
We are unlikely to have any trouble from Captain Blain, since he thinks there is a ‘run’ planned for the next night,
and he will be sparing his men for that encounter, which will not take place. By the way, am I right in thinking that
none of our prisoners in France have ever seen your face?”
“The only ones who have seen me unmasked from Dymchurch,” he replied, “are yourself, the Squire, Mipps and
the Beadle. Why do you ask?”
“Only that I have a strange part for you to play in a somewhat grim adventure,” chuckled Doctor Syn. “I think
that after playing it we shall have no more trouble with our prisoners across the Channel. If Mipps is successful in
carrying out my orders amongst the junk-shops along the quays of London river, we shall teach our enemies a
lesson.”
“But you have not told me what you have done to prevent Handgrove betraying us to the Admiralty,” said the
Highwayman.
“My plan was so simple,” replied Syn, smiling, “that is must have tempted Providence to send It awry. But it
worked, my good James, it worked. I took the rascal from the Admiralty before he had announced himself. He is at
the moment a prisoner in chains below the cargo hatch of the Four Sisters. I will tell you all about it as we eat, and
then I shall get you to sling me a hammock in the empty stall there and let me sleep.”
Across the Channel, in the private harbour from which the Scarecrow’s luggers sailed with their brandy cargoes,
Monsieur Duloge waited anxiously for news from Romney Marsh. From the tower of his chateau above the quay he
could sweep the mouth of the Somme with his spyglass.
He knew that the Scarecrow had returned to England on an enterprise dangerous to them all, and his one thought
since bidding him good-bye was whether his ingenious and brave colleague had succeeded in recapturing their
escaped prisoner, the treacherous Handgrove. If he had failed and Handgrove had succeeded in laying his
information before the Admiralty, at any moment the British Navy might be seen blockading the mouth of t he
Somme. Once it were known that the Scarecrow’s luggers loaded and sailed from his harbour, the brandy trade was