against the circular brick wall.
The doors were safely barred, and then the Scarecrow addressed them, calling each man by the name he went by
in the gang.
Indeed, for everyone’s security, no one knew rightly just who his colleagues might be in the ordinary way of life
upon the Marsh. This guarded against any personal betrayal, and gave to each the same feeling of security as the
Scarecrow himself enjoyed. Certainly not one of them had any idea who the great leader was, and though they
might have had a shrewd guess as to one or two identities, the only one they were sure about was Sexton Mipps,
since whether he was dressed as Hellspite or himself, he was the voice of the scarecrow when the leader was not
present.
With the utmost patience the Scarecrow explained the new code and put each man through a rigorous
examination of it.
“Now, Curlew,” he would say in his croaking voice which he always used when playing the Scarecrow, “suppose
Percy carries a wooden diamond floating in his right bucket, and a club in the left, what will you know by that?”
“That the cargo is to be landed at Herring Hang. Scarecrow,” came the answer in the singing tone used by the
Nightriders to disguise their ordinary speech.
“Correct,” replied the Scarecrow. “And now, Raven, if the signs were reversed, what then?”
“Littlestone Beach, Scarecrow,” came the sing-song answer from him who bore the title of the Raven.
It was a long and tedious business, since half of the Nightriders were more valuable in brawn and muscle than
brains, but as Mipps remarked to his master later, Doctor Syn showed the same care in teaching his wild class as
ever he did as the Vicar in the Sunday school.
At last, when satisfied that each of them knew every signal, including those who had been on guard outside
whose places had been taken by those who had learned the code quickest, the Scarecrow warned his men that
Captain Blain would be a real danger, since he was a man of ingenuity, but that if they kept rigidly to the orders he
gave, they could feel confident that the ‘runs’ would be carried out in safety.
He then dismissed them with the order to be prepared for a big ‘landing’ on the following night, and to keep a
weather-eye open for the water-carrier’s buckets.
By ten o’clock Doctor Syn was supping pleasantly with the Captain, but though he gave his guest many details of
the Scarecrow’s past achievements, he was still unable to make the Captain communicative concerning his own
plans, save that he intended to take his men for a night march in order to accustom them at once into the sort of night
work they would be called upon to carry out till the Scarecrow was caught and placed in irons.
“We shall be setting out at midnight, Vicar,” he said.
“Has I not a sermon to prepare against next Sunday, I might have offered you my services as a guide,” replied
Doctor Syn. “But I shall be working after midnight, I fear. My parish is so scattered, and I have so many of my
flock down with the Marsh ague, that I get little time for study during the day, and even in the night hours I am no
more free from being called from my bed than is our good physician Doctor Pepper.”
“Ah well,” said the Captain, “we shall steer a safe enough course I make no doubt, even though it may be taken
by cutlass point. And if you will kindly loan me a key to your front door, I shall be able to let myself in without any
disturbance.”
Doctor Syn did not sit up long after midnight. He did not need to prepare a sermon. He could always depend
upon his own ready tongue when the moment came. It amused him to preach dry-as-dust sermons, because no man
in the Church had an easier facility for preaching good ones that gripped a congregation when he felt the occasion
warranted it. He only became dry-as-dust, to prevent his own preferment in the Church. He did not seek publicity
or popularity as a preacher because it would not have suited his book at all to be transferred from little Dymchurch.
Knowing the value of conserving his strength, he went to bed and to sleep directly the Captain had set out,
knowing also that for that night at least the sea-dogs could do no harm upon the Marsh, which they would find
utterly deserted.
He was awakened by Mrs. Fowey, the housekeeper, with a cup of chocolate at nine o’clock, and so good a host
he was that he ordered her to let the Captain sleep.”
“I have no idea when he came in from his duty,” he said, “but I told him to ring when he woke and needed
chocolate and shaving water. Did you hear him come in?”
Mrs. Fowey had not.
As it happened the Captain had let himself in very quietly about six o’clock, for Percy had seen the sailors return
muddy and weary when he was working the windlass for his first pair of buckets, which he carried round to the
Coffin Shop earlier than usual, since he was anxious to see the new pieces of wood which Mipps had told him about
the night before.
He found the Sexton still in his hammock when he peeped through the open casement, and blew loudly upon his
whistle.
“Belay there with that pipe,” ordered Mipps, “while I lights up mine. Then I’ll show a leg and let you abroad.
Mipps stretched and yawned, and then took a tinderbox from the oak beam above his head and lit his short clay
pipe. He then gripped the beam with his fingers, and unhooked the head end of the hammock, then swinging
himself along to the other end he let the hammock fall to the ground, dropping down lightly on the top of it. He then
rolled it up in man-of-war’s fashion, and stowed it away upon a shelf. All this time clouds of tobacco smoke
surrounded his head. He went to the door and raised the bar, letting Percy in.
“There are your floats,” said the Sexton, pointing to eight neatly chiselled pieces of wood which lay on the coffin
lid
While Percy lifted them carefully one by one, with many a gurgle of delight, Mipps went to another shelf and
took down a tin which Percy knew of old contained snuff.
“You’ll keep them signs here, my lad,” announced the Sexton, “ and each morning I’ll tell you which ones we’ll
put in, eh? Sometimes we’ll have hearts, and sometimes diamonds, clubs or spades, as the fancy strikes us, eh?: I’ll
wager the villagers will be wondering every journey you take which ones will be floating in them bucket. I
shouldn’t be surprised if it don’t encourage betting more than a race-meeting.”
“Will you chooses one and me choose one?” asked Percy, “or do we go turn and turn about?”
“We’ll always ask Judy,” replied the Sexton solemnly, “and I’ll go and ask her now.”
Judy was the mane of a wooden idol which Mipps had acquired in the east Indies. A female figure with large
ears, sleepy-looking eyes, and elaborately carved necklace upon her naked breasts, a tall head-dress and a skirt with
carved snakes all over it. Her hands were clasped upon her middle as she stood with bare feet upon hr block of
wood.
This brown figure, which was about a foot in height, possessed Percy with vague terrors for the soul of mister
Mipps. He thought it misguided of a Christian sexton to posses an idol, until its owner had assured him solemnly
that he had himself baptized the goddess into the Christian Faith, and given her the good name of Judy in place of a
long heathenish title which he had never been able to pronounce.
Mipps held a piece of parchment in front of the idol and thrust his little finger through the crook of her arm.
‘Now, Judy, my beauty,” began the Sexton,” we wants you to point out with the help of my finger, since you