he must be busier than I’d care to be. It’s one thing to ride the Marsh, and scare honest folk from off of it, but
another to run the business side as well.”
Doctor Syn nodded. “He must be a very busy man indeed. I like hard work myself, but after riding the Marsh all
day looking after my scattered flock, I find parochial accounts very irksome in the evenings. What you have said
makes me feel almost sorry for the Scarecrow. I only wish he would rest from his ill-chosen labours.”
As soon as Mipps had persuaded Lightning on to the road, Doctor Syn led the way along the street, followed at a
respectful distance by the villagers, who were joined by others as they passed the scattered cottages and shops, so
that by the time they had entered the Avenue on the way to the church, they mustered a considerable crowd, and
completely blocked the roadway.
The Dragoons, who had finished with their morning exercise, and had trotted in sections of fours behind their
squadron leader, Major Faunce, were obliged to break down into a walk and finally to halt.
The Major by riding on to the footpath was able to bring his charger to the front, where he reined up alongside
Doctor Syn.
“Good morning, Major,” said the Vicar. “It seems that it is a case of ‘All the King’s horses and all the King’s
men,’ come to rid us of our parochial danger. I begin to think that it is money thrown away. I cannot think that the
Scarecrow is of flesh and blood. Do you really think he will ever be caught?”
“If the Navy catches him,” replied the handsome young office, “I will agree that we of the Army are the second
service.”
“They make a brave show,” went on the Vicar, watching the party of sailors swinging towards them along the
winding road.
A tall, thin, hard-bitten naval captain, riding a gaunt charger loaned from the garrison at Dover Castle, headed the
procession of marching, whistling seamen. Behind him wee two little powder-monkeys, one beating lustily upon a
deep side-drum and the other causing a long wry-necked fife to squeal forth a jolly hornpipe to which the company
responded with a swin ging step and a carefree manner.
“I’ll say this for that naval officer,” remarked the Dragoon, “that he sits a horse as though he can ride.”
“Which is more than one can say for most that follow the sea,” put in the Vicar. “Take Mipps, there, my Sexton.
True, he is only mounted upon an ass, but he makes its hindquarters look like thwarts. His is mentally in a boat and
not upon an animal. Why? Because he once followed the sea as a carpenter. I agree that officer rides, even though
his charger walks. One can see that he could follow the hounds.”
“Got a bit of a name, I understand,” went on the Dragoon, “as a prize martinet.”
“A necessary qualification, too,” replied Doctor Syn, “in order to control those jolly dogs.”
“The Scarecrow might well be conceited,” laughed the Major, “if he could only have seen this arrival.”
Perhaps he is here, who knows?” returned the Vicar, looking round upon the staring villagers.
Just then the general interest taken in the approaching detachment was interrupted by a shrill whistling that jarred
against the notes of the nautical air, so proudly blown by the sturdy likkle powder-monkey on his fife.
It was Percy marching beneath his yoke, and blowing lustily upon his new whistle. The crowd roared with
laughter as he strutted from the churchyard to the open space before the Court House, where he took up his position
immediately beneath the gallows.
The Major leant down from his tall charger and whispered to Doctor Syn, “You don’t think he is the Scarecrow,
do you?”
The Vicar looked towards the water-carrier, smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
“That’s an idea certainly,” he whispered back. “I often think that perhaps poor Percy is not quite so simple as he
looks. He would certainly have good opportunity for passing his orders amongst the villagers, if any of them should
be in this dastardly business, which I can never bring myself to think. Against your theory though, we must
remember that both of us have seen the Scarecrow riding, showing a sash that is sadly lacking in that poor lad. No, I
don’t somehow think that Percy can claim that notoriety. Far more likely that he is somebody used to following the
hounds with the Squire, and yet I can think of no one in that category of daring riders who can show the promised of
the Scarecrow’s brain. I think the nearest we ever got to a solution of his mysterious identity was when we tried to
fit that equally elusive rogue Jimmie Bone into the role. But the Scarecrow quickly put him to rights by robbing him
before witnesses of what he had robbed from them. Perhaps the Scarecrow is really the Devil all the time.”
The conversation was terminated because the Captain of the Navy men called a halt.
Doctor Syn rode forward saying: “Welcome to you and to you gallant men, Captain Blain. I am Doctor Syn, the
Vicar here, and I voice the whole parish in saying that Dymchurch is at your service, sir.”
“Thankee, parson,” returned the Captain. “Stand easy, men,” he rapped out, turning in the saddle. “You’re here
on shore duty, but that don’t mean that man-o-war discipline is relaxed. So behave yourselves, and no chalking
drinks at the inns, mind. Bos’n, take charge while I see to the billeting.”
Doctor Syn pointed out the big Tythe Barn in the Vicarage grounds, near by, and said that both he and the Squire
were in agreement that this was the most suitable place for housing the men.
The Captain merely said he would like to see it, and was setting off with the Vicar when the Major introduced
himself, saying that he was very ready to co-operate in the work against the smugglers. To this the Captain made no
sort of acceptance, beyond a gruff grunt, and adding: “Till I have had time to look around and get the strength of the
situation, I cannot say, sir, whether I shall favour cooperation or no. If I find that I want the help of your troopers, I
will let you know all in good time.”
Doctor Syn noted that this somewhat churlish attitude from the Captain was resented by the Major of Dragoons,
who turned his charger and ordered the crowd to stand back, if they didn’t wish to be ridden down. He then sang out
the orders for the squadron to proceed to the horse-lines behind the Ship Inn.
The crowd fell back to let them pass, and then began the volleying of jests between the two branches of the
service.
The sailors, seeing that their Captain was riding away towards the church and vicarage, in company with the
parson, indulged in such taunts as, “Put your little horses away, and don’t let the nasty Scarecrow steal ‘em.”
“You get back to your little hammocks on the guard Ship,” retorted a trooper, riding by. “The Scarecrow ain’t
afraid of little cutlasses and hand-spikes. But he don’t like sabres.”
“He’s never seen ‘em,” scoffed another of the sailors. “You know little boys ain’t allowed out on the Marsh at
nights.”
“You wait till you see us jumping them infernal dykes, while you slips into ‘em, water spaniels.”
The Major, secretly amused, nevertheless thought it his duty to stop further bandying, so rapped out, “Silence.”
The Bos’n, also amused, nevertheless, thought it fit to show his authority too, so sang out, “Fall in.”
The sailors who had rested their kit-bags on the low churchyard wall, hoisted them on to their shoulders once
more, and falling into line began to whistle a sea-song, which encouraged the powder-monkeys to fall to again at