Club was packed with members and their friends.
As the clock of St. James’s chimed the hour a coach rolled up to the entrance. Two cloaked riders dismounted,
the doors were opened, and from the interior of the vehicle a queer great figure was carried by Mr. Briston, Lord
Strathway, Sir Peter Hemminge, Captain Tandyshall and Sir Harry Sales. Bearing their burden like a corpse they
mounted the grand staircase and entered the card-room, where they called for a chair and dumped the burden into it.
A dead silence fell in the room as all saw the weird dress and mask of the Scarecrow.
“Well, gentlemen, we have succeeded, and have kept our word,” cried Sir Harry. “You will now see the
Scarecrow unmasked. We took him at his work when the King’s men have been decoyed far away. Where they
failed we have succeeded.”
The mask was peeled from the head, and they saw a pale face gagged over mouth and nose,. But the gag did not
disguise the man. The Bucks’ Club were gazing open-mouthed at their most unpopular member, Major Culland.
Two men pushed through the crowd. Admiral Troubridge followed by doctor Syn of Dymchurch.
The Admiral, not sorry to find that others could be fooled by the scarecrow as he had been, roared with laughter.
“I’m glad you are here, Parson,” he laughed. “We are not the only ones the Scarecrow scores off.”
“I am disappointed,” said the Parson. “Do you know I came up to occupy the pulpit at St. Paul’s, Covent Garden,
tomorrow, and I dropped round here in the hopes of seeing our local celebrity. Do you know I nearly forgot my
preaching date in London, and only just caught the coach in time. I did not even say good-bye to the Squire or to
my servants. I sent them word though. I sent them word. I suppose this Major Culland is not really the
Scarecrow?” At which remark the whole club except the gagged member roared with laughter.
9
DOCTOR SYN’S CHRISTMAS MUMMERS
In the days when Doctor Syn was Vicar of Dymchurch-under-the-Wall in the county of Kent, Yuletide was observed
with the fullest ceremonial of ancient days.
Himself and Sir Antony Cobtree, the popular Squire and First Lord of the Level on Romney Marsh, had been
students at Queen’s College, Oxford, which has always maintained the Christmas ritual of the Boar’s Head, so that it
was not surprising to find in the hall of the Court House, the Squire’s residence, that this delightful custom was
carried out faithfully with the half-Latin, half -English carol, sung with due solemnity to the enjoyment of all the
Squire’s guests at Christmas dinner.
Both Squire and Vicar loved such curious whimsicalities, and perhaps the church choir who snag the carol,
headed by “Doctor Syn himself in the part of the Cantor with a cook’s cap upon his reverend head, and the great
dish held by the Squire’s servants above him at their arms’-length, was only eclipsed by the entertainment that
followed on Christmas night. This was a play given by the local talent of the parish, and performed much as the old
mummers had enacted if for generations upon other floors for stages than those on Romney Marsh. Doctor Syn,
with a great love of drama, made a point of coaching the parishioners himself. They had enacted under his direction
many old forms of Christmas Revels, but on the particular year when Captain Blain was guest at the Vicarage, and
his men were quartered for the festival in the Tythe Barn, the good Doctor was determined to give his audience a
more original entertainment that would in a spirit of Christmas fun hold out the finger of scorn at all the failings and
failures of the year. The rehearsals had been carried out with the utmost secrecy, and all actors had been put under
vow not to divulge anything of the matter to those not in the cast.
Now although the chief performance of the Dymchurch Mummers was the one presented at the Court House on
Christmas evening, there were others held on other nights by the same players in other great houses. Indeed all the
Lords of the Level extended Yuletide hospitality to their tenants, rich and poor, and the dates of such festivities were
fixed by the various hosts for the convenience of Doctor Syn’s Mummers who came to form the chief item of
entertainment.
At every manor where these players were asked to perform, there was more than enough food and drink for any
who cared to attend, and those who could walk or ride followed the Mummers wherever they went in order to
partake in yet another feast.
Next in importance to the Dymchurch performance (which was ever the most popular because Sir Antony
Cobtree was the host) was that given at Lympne Castle by Sir Henry Pembury upon the following night.
The castle hall was thronged not only by the tenants on the hills of Lympne and Aldington, but by everyone who
could climb the inland cliff from the Lower Levels of the Marshes. Three districts these Marshes: Romney,
Welland and Denge.
Sir Henry, Lord of Lympne, not only threw his castle doors open to all the common folk who cared to come, but
took the occasion of this Boxing Night Revel to send invitations to all the immediate gentry, most of whom joined in
the dancing that followed the play.
Long before the performance of the festivities about to be described, Sir Henry, hearing form Doctor Syn that
since Dymchurch was honored by harboring so many King’s men in the shape of hands from the Dover guard Ship
and a squadron of Dragoons from Dover Castle, the play had been given extra attention, and was in his opinion well
worth seeing, the fat and pompous Lord of Lympne sent out more invitations than ever before. He left nobody out,
and begged all to come.
One and all gladly accepted with thanks except Captain Blain who curtly replied that he and his men would have
witnessed the play the night previously at the Dymchurch Court House, and that he could not so far play into the
Scarecrow’s hands, as to leave the Marsh when no doubt all good citizens would have left it for Lympne Castle. “It
is a great night for a ‘run’, and no doubt the scarecrow would have been delighted to think that I could leave my post
and the road clear for him. But such a thing I do not intend to do, and should you have an inkling who the rascal is,
you may tell him what I now write to you, declining your kind though misplaced invitation.”
This reply naturally sent the Squire of Lympne into a great rage, and Doctor Syn, who knew something of the
matter, mounted his fat white pony and jogged along to Lympne Castle as a mediator. He had told his guest,
Captain Blain, that in his opinion he had failed to show tact or any tolerance towards an older man, which was
reprehensible during the season of peace on earth and goodwill towards men, and finally he had ridden to the
aggrieved Squire with something of an apology in the Captain’s writing.
On entering the library of the castle, Doctor Syn at once perceived that the Squire was in one of his worst
tempers. He was sitting before the great fire in a large chair with a table at its side, and upon the table lay a letter
which the old lord seemed to be scowling at.
“Come in, and welcome, doctor,” cried Sir Henry. “If you heard me muttering somewhat fretfully when you
entered so quietly, it had nothing to do with you, whom I am always most happy to welcome to the castle. I dare say
you did hear me muttering, eh?”
“To be perfectly frank,” replied Doctor Syn with a smile, “I heard nothing of a fretful muttering, but a good deal
of honest swearing. In fact, that is why I have mounted Lympne Hill. I guessed you would be swearing, and getting