finished as far as he was concerned, and any of his men who escaped with their lives would be fortunate.
Duloge was a rich French gentleman who loved surrounding himself with the expensive luxuries of the time.
The clothes with which he adorned his colossal body, were in the latest mode and cost a fortune. His chateau,
harbour with quay and store -houses, and a fleet of boats, were his own property that had always brought in a
considerable income, but since casting in his lot with the Scarecrow’s organization across the channel, he was
amassing an ever-increasing fortune. There was a large profit for him in every tub that crossed the wa ter, since one
half-anker, weighing when full some fifty-six pounds, and holding four gallons of brandy, could be bought in France
for four shilling a gallon, the same costing in England thirty-six shillings with duty paid. The duty stood at four
shillings a gallon, so that the run of a hundred tubs or half-ankers, was a clear profit of a hundred and twenty
pounds.
Although it had been considered well worth while could one cargo out of three be safely placed, Duloge had
found that since the Scarecrow had managed for him, not one cargo had been lost, though occasionally a decoy boat
carrying a few tubs of inferior spirit was sacrificed for the safety of the cargo proper. The liquor being sometimes as
much as a hundred and eight above proof, was uncolored, and called by the traders white brandy, so that the
smugglers, by mixing it with burnt sugar, could make three full tubs out of one. Enormous profit and well worth the
risk of capture by the Scarecrow for his success, he also had grown to regard him as a friend, and he trembled for his
safety. Ships were scouring the Channel for him. On land, in England, the same search went on relentlessly, for the
reward for his capture mounted as the failure to capture him increased.
Though confident in his colleague’s skill, he had never waited so anxiously for his return. He had his own
anxieties, too. Though the prisoners had worked with a will since the Scarecrow had quelled their mutiny, and a
fleet of luggers were loaded in harbour for the next ‘run,’ he could not fail to notice a growing tension amongst his
prisoners and his armed servants were urged to the greatest vigilance. He knew the cause of the prisoners’ anxiety.
They were sharing with him the same speculation, ‘Had Handgrove reached the Admiralty?’ If the scarecrow had
failed it meant to them a free pardon at home, and a rescue from their slavery by the British Navy. The Scarecrow
had swindled the Government too much. He had defied the King’s ships, and beaten them. Therefore the Navy was
ranged against him,. So with hope in their hearts the prisoners had worked cheerfully in loading the cargoes, hoping
that every tub would fall into the Navy’s hands.
All through the day Duloge watched from his tower. His lackeys for the first time noticed that their master did
not linger over his elaborate meals. He took a mouthful, asked for the next course, and drank his wine hurriedly.
Then back to the tower with his spyglass. As the night wore on he sent for a cloak, ignoring the comfort of his
four-post bed.
“I shall not need my valet. He may retire. I shall watch this night.”
At three in the morning he heard distant gunfire from beyond the river mouth.
At the same time Mipps came to Doctor Syn in the aft cabin of the Four Sisters, and said: “Shot across our
bows, Scarecrow. British Revenue cutter in French waters. She’s no right to tell us to heave-ho.”
“Can you make her out?”
“Aye, it’s light enough to see her lines, though she’s some way off. She’s the Ferret. Should be patrolling
Hastings waters. What’s she doing here?”
“Asking for death. Well, give it her,” replied Syn. “She’s dirty by her name. Give her a dirty end. Sink her.”
“But we can avoid her by out-sailing. And there’s a mist to creep into at the river mouth,” objected Mipps. “And
we have Handgrove aboard,” went on the Sexton. “We have had the luck to get him so far, and we need not risk
failure now.”
“Engage the enemy,” ordered Syn. “We have had luck with us for two days and nights. We have quelled a
mutiny, recaptured a venomous prisoner, and now we’ll play our third card, which will appal our enemies. Sink the
Ferret.”
“But, sir…” faltered Mipps.
Doctor Syn interrupted sharply, “Engage the enemy.”
Mipps went out on deck saying to himself: “Well, when he gets captured, I shall follow him. But if I gets
captured he’ll rescue me. So engage the enemy it is.”
The Four Sisters was a Littlestone boat, and could carry a crew of twenty-five. She was a vessel of good size,
with roomy holds, and had once borne a French name, for she had been a privateer and had been taken by the
Romney Marsh smugglers in a sea fight. She looked smart, was easily handled for speed and could show a quick
stern when chased by anything more powerful in guns, carrying herself only four six-pound carronades.
As the first gun discharge shook the little cabin, Doctor Syn, dressed as the Scarecrow, went on deck to hear
Mipps cry out: “We’ve unstepped her mast at the first shot. No w to bring down her other, and the Ferret will have
on sea-legs.”
“But she still has her teeth,” laughed the Scarecrow, as a broadside fell short of the Four Sisters. “Give her the
rest of the guns below the water-line and then make for the river mouth. Look out.” As he spoke the cutter had
swung round and delivered another broadside. Once more it fell short, though decidedly nearer. The cutter went
about again, but before she could release another broadside the guns of the Four Sisters had struck her below the
water-line.
“If we give her another chance she’ll hit us,” laughed The Scarecrow. “Show her our stern and head for the mist
bank with every stitch we’ve got. The Ferret’s boats are undamaged. There will be no drowning if she sinks.
Cram on the canvas.”
Duloge heard the gunfire and trembled. He calculated that it must be the Scarecrow’s lugger being intercepted
either by British or French patrols.
He would have trembled more had he been able to see the game little Ferret, though holed badly, turn once more
and give chase, to the cheering of her sailors.
The prisoners heard the firing, and gathered it was the British ship sent to rescue them, trying conclusions with
some French man-of-war. But they dared not leave their cottages for fear of being shot down by Duloge’s armed
sentries.
As the dawn stole in they had a pleasant surprise, for they were aroused by a British naval officer attended by two
bluejackets, who ordered all prisoners to dress quickly and to muster on the quay in front of the main store-house.
Within a few minutes of such news a crowd of excited men, women and children were hurrying to the harbour
side.
A strange and glorious sight awaited these poor exiles.
The servants of Monsieur Duloge were roped together on one side of the quay, with their captured muskets
stacked in front of them.
Standing apart, roped and gagged, they saw the elegantly dressed Duloge. His sword had been taken from his
sheath, and lay before him on the cobble-stones. To them his mighty bulk seemed shrunken with dejection. It was
obvious that the British Navy had dealt quickly with him and his sentinels.
Lying in harbour they could see the Four Sisters with the White Ensign flying from her peak, telling them that
the scarecrow’s favorite lugger had been taken at last.