‘Robespierre has told me of him,’ chuckled the Scarecrow. ‘A pleasant-spoken rascal. I think you’re right. No doubt his history will make me laugh.’
It was this Citizen Decoutier whom the Scarecrow chose to ride beside him, while separating the others to prevent them talking, one ahead to rouse the Barrier guards and one behind. Decoutier certainly was amusing in a grim fashion, but his humorous anecdotes, in which he figured as the central figure, proved him to be a most depraved and despicable character. Indeed the Demon Rider of Romney Marsh could not have been accompanied by three worse fiends had he been the very Devil himself, and when they reached the rendezvous on the banks of the Somme the other three proved every bit as evil. This, as it happened, did not distress the Scarecrow. He was glad of it. It made his plan the easier to carry out. Though when he met his own Lieutenant, the engaging giant Dulonge who organized the fleet of luggers from the secret harbour on his own territory, the Scarecrow confessed that it was good to drink good brandy with another rascal who could lay claim to an honest humanity.
The Scarecrow found that the Revolution had not changed this old friend of his one whit. Like Robespierre and Decoutier, he did not fear to show he was something of a dandy, but in his case no one could criticize, for his huge frame carried an arm that could kill an ox, and such strength could never be concealed beneath lace ruffles.
To him the Scarecrow unfolded Robespierre’s plans and his own. He agreed on every point. They went together to the quay and made arrangements with the captain of the Two Brothers to take the six aboard and feed them, Dulonge vowing he would not spoil his own appetite by sitting down with such villainous characters. ‘For,’ he cried, ‘they all look as though they would rather eat their own grandmothers than my good saddle of lamb.’ The two friends sat down alone, and over their meal served in his spacious ancestral dining-hall they planned their future policy and how to pass quicker news of the movements of the ships of war so active now in the Channel. Certain of one thing, however, that so long as Robespierre’s interests were served their lugger fleet need have no fear from the French Navy.
After this meal they both went to the prison building on the quay, where Pedro welcomed Doctor Syn. Here were housed all those traitors who at some time or other had tried to betray the Scarecrow. ‘I think friend Barsard will not lodge here,’ said Dulonge, ‘for you will deal with him, and if he comes my way I’ll silence him.’
The Two Brothers was ready for sea, and the Scarecrow, after a farewell to Dulonge and Pedro, went aboard, and the voyage began. At the mouth of the river a shot was fired across their bow by a French frigate, and at the Scarecrow’s order the captain hove to and allowed an officer to come aboard. ‘No one may leave home waters,’ said this officer. ‘The British fleet is out and our ships will give battle.’
‘Cast your eye on this, my little citizen,’ replied the Scarecrow, showing him his passport from Robespierre. ‘The arm of La Guillotine can even stretch to sea, as any of your officers will find who hinders the Two Brothers. Tell your captain to put to sea and keep the English from us.’
The officer apologized profusely. He hoped indeed he had not detained the Citizen Captain, who sailed in the Republic’s interest, and he was rowed back to his frigate, where he did not scruple to frighten his captain with what the strange L’Épouvantail had said about La Guillotine.
This incident showed the Scarecrow that so long as Robespierre was all-powerful he had a letter of safety from the French. His only fear of serious interception was therefore from the British. In spite of his secret plan he realized that the presence of French spies aboard would look black for the captain of the Two Brothers and worse since the other passenger (himself) was a notorious malefactor wanted by the Crown. So on this voyage the Scarecrow decided not to be a passenger. He took the tiller. He took command, and in the dark hours before the dawn, no lanterns showing, he ran the gauntlet of a British line of men-o’-war. But these giants were watching for bigger fish to tackle than this swift clipper, that appeared and vanished like a ghost. It was the old Clegg that navigated the Two Brothers to Dungeness. It was here that the six Frenchmen huddled on the deck, close together for warmth, were badly frightened, for the Two Brothers was hailed in the darkness by a voice proclaiming the authority of the Sandgate Revenue cutter. ‘Name your vessel,’ cried the officer. ‘The Twin Sisters, fishing,’ sang back Doctor Syn. ‘We’ll come aboard, and see your catch,’ called out the officer. The Scarecrow had crept forward to the for’ard gun. There was a loud report, a flash of flame, and then the splintering fall of wood. He had unstepped their mast.
Over went the tiller, and the Two Brothers shot out again before the wind, tacked back and then, instead of landing to the west of the long nose of shingle, she crept into the Bay. The three hoots of the owl were heard and answered by the scrape of stones. The Frenchmen did not understand this, but the Scarecrow did. Twelve men, under the command of one called Hellspite, were hurrying across the pebbles with back-stays1 on their feet. The Two Brothers was heading for the land end of the Ness where the old Marsh town of New Romney nestled. Here the horses were ready, and six stalwart fishermen in masks carried the Frenchmen to the shore. They neither asked nor knew what men these were, except that they were landlubbers who feared to wade in the dark. Ashore all they saw in the swinging lantern light were six more Scarecrow’s men, just like themselves — hooded and masked.
‘Is all prepared?’ the Scarecrow had called across the few yards of shallow water from the deck of the Two Brothers.
‘Aye — aye. Hellspite here and horses ready,’ came the answer.
In a few minutes all were transferred from deck to saddle and then, following the Citizen L’Épouvantail, who had proved his loyalty to Robespierre by firing at a British ship of war, the grisly-looking cavalcade set off along the sea-wall road. Passing Littlestone they turned into the Marsh, and in and out the intersecting dykes they galloped. As they rode, the Scarecrow turned his charger alongside that of Hellspite.
Leaning down in the saddle, no one but Hellspite heard the whisper: ‘What of the Beadle?’
It was the voice of the Sexton of Dymchurch that answered: ‘It was too easy. I was drinkin’ with him. But he was out before I ’ad a chance. ’E ain’t got no ’ead for liquor, that there Beadle.’
‘And the keys?’
‘I got ’em. ’Angin’ on me belt. Did you fare well across there?’
‘Aye, Mipps — I’ll have a tale to tell you. At dawn we’ll crack a bottle.’ And the Scarecrow reined back and for a time rode with the Frenchman Decoutier.
They did not ride into the village of Dymchurch, but skirted it, keeping to the Marsh fields that lay behind the Church. Here they dismounted and, tying their horses to a sheepfold fencing, the Scarecrow whispered to the Frenchmen to walk in silence as they were near the end of their journey. He told them that he was taking them to his underground headquarters where there would be good food and drink, as well as security. As the way was difficult, he ordered each Frenchman to be supported on either side by his own men, and then they crossed a bridge and stumbled into the blacker darkness of the Rookery and at last down outside steps, where a door was silently unlocked by the little figure they had heard named Hellspite. ‘Prenez — garde — silence,’ warned the Citizen L’Épouvantail.
1 Flat boards of wood attached to the shoes for crossing the miles of pebbles.