Doctor Syn A Smuggler Tale of the Romney Marsh (18 page)

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once in a way probably for his express advantage. Jerk now saw the iron qualities in the sexton that had struck the love spark upon the flinty bosom of Mrs. Waggetts, for as Mipps walked about among his men, from room to room, and in and out of the coffin shop, which was heavily shuttered, he carried a power upon his shoulders that would have done credit to Boney himself. And the company that Jerk found himself among—well, if the young hangman had suddenly found himself in the greenroom of Drury Lane Theatre in the midst of the great play actors, he could not have been more surprised, for there, collected altogether, were the jack-o’-lanterns, the Marsh witches, and the demon riders, all preparing themselves as for a country fair. Grizzly old men, fishermen, and labourers, as the case might be, were arranging themselves in torn rags of women’s garments, and with a few deft touches of Mipps’s hands, lo! the fishermen and labourers were no more, and Marsh witches took their place. Similarly were the big fellows, hulking great men of Kent,

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metamorphosed into demons, enormous demons upon whose faces Mipps stuck heavy moustaches and hairy eyebrows of a most alarming nature. The grizzled ones likewise used horsehair in long streamers from their conical hats, so that their appearance as witchfolk should be the more pronounced. There were also three little boys and two little girls dressed as jack-o’-lanterns. They were much younger than Jerk, but their rigouts filled him with envy.

“Gentlemen,” said Mipps, leading Jerry into this motley throng of eccentrics, “the new recruit. A young man wot has the eye of an eagle and the nerves of a steel blade. Those who quarrels with this young gent’ll come off worst, if I’m not mistook, but them wot be his friends can bank on his good faith, for he’s as staunch as a dog. Get your brandy flasks out, my devils, and let’s drink to our new recruit. Jerry Jerk his name is, but accordin’ to custom we drops all mention of private names in this organization; so up with your glasses whilst I rechristen him. We has power, we has, we has devils amongst

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us of very great powers, for we has lawyers, and farmers, and squires, and parsons wot be in league with us, but the greatest enemy we has is not the revenue swabs, nor the Admiralty uniforms, nor the bloody redcoats, nor the Prince Regent—God bless him for a vagabond and a ‘rip!’—no, I thinks you knows who we fears more than all that ruck?”

“Jack Ketch! Jack Ketch!” whispered the horrible creatures.

“Why, right you are, for Jack Ketch it be,” retorted the sexton. “And here’s a man wot’s goin’ sooner or later to be a Jack Ketch. He’s got all the gifts of the hangman, he has—just that jolly way with him, he has—and so you’ll all be delighted to hear as how he’s joined us, for with Jack Ketch as our friend we’ll cheat the black cap on the gallows. Gentlemen, Jack Ketch.” Therefore they all drank to Jerk with much spirit, and Jerk, having been presented with a flask, pledged them in return and was introduced to all severally by the sexton. “This is Beelzebub, knocked over a good round dozen revenue swabs in your time,

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ain’t you, Beelzebub? And this is Belch the demon, the finest rider we ever had in our demon horse, and here’s Satan, and this be Cat’seyes, the weirdest old witch you ever met with in a story book, I’ll wager,” and so on until such a vast collection of weird names had been rammed into Jerk’s brains that he felt quite overpowered. However, when his own particular uniform was produced for him to don, his interests were requickened, and before Mipps had half finished attiring him in the strange rags Jerk would have sworn that it wasn’t himself he saw in the old cracked mirror.

“And now, Jack Ketch,” said Mipps, “you only has to follow me into the coffin shop to get your allowance of devil’s face cream, then I thinks you’ll feel real pleased with yourself.”

Into the weird coffin shop accordingly Jerry followed the sexton, and there was that black cauldron that he remembered so well. Now he would discover its use. Mipps stirred the contents and with a great brush began daubing Jerry’s

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face. The curious smell made the youngster close his eyes and he felt the brush pass over them.

“Now,” said the sexton, “I blows out the candles and you shall see.” Jerry opened his eyes as the sexton blew out the lights. “Bring the mirror!” called the sexton to the other room. And then into the coffin shop came the other members of the company, and the mystery of the demon riders was explained, for in the dark room each diabolical face glistened like the moon, and when the cracked mirror had been held up before him he saw that he in his turn burned with the same hellfire. “It’s now time, Satan, to get the scarecrow in, and you, Beelzebub, go and paint the horses with what’s left in that cauldron.”

Beelzebub obeyed the sexton promptly and, picking up the cauldron, went to the back of the house, Satan accompanying him on his different errand— namely, that of bringing in the scarecrow, a thing that puzzled Jerry exceedingly.

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Mipps seemed to read his thoughts, for he approached and whispered: “Jack Ketch, you’re a-wonderin’ about the scarecrow now, ain’t you? Well, you’ve noticed him, I dare say, all dressed in black, at the bottom of my turnip field, ain’t you?”

“Yes,” replied the new christened Jack Ketch; “I’ve noticed him as long as I can remember, and a very lifelike scarecrow I considers him to be.”

“You’re right,” replied the sexton; “it’s the best scarecrow I ever seed, for it’s lifelike and no mistake, and if you keeps your eyes open you’ll see him a bit more lifelike to-night—you wait.”

Satan soon reappeared bearing on his shoulder the dead lump of the scarecrow. Mipps indicated an old coffin that lay on the floor behind the counter of the shop and Satan at once pushed the scarecrow into it, and covered him with a lid.

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“He’ll be there till the work’s done,” said Mipps, “for you see the great man himself rides out at nights as the scarecrow, and if you keep your eyes open you’ll spot him. Now, Beelzebub,” as that terror reappeared, “I take it that them horses is all ready; so bear in mind that my friend Jack Ketch is new to the game, and stick by him, and good luck to you devils, and may the mists guard the legion from all damned swabs!” And so the company filed out of the Devil’s Tiring House after receiving this parting blessing at the hands of the sexton.

“Ain’t you coming along, Hellspite?” said one of the ghastly crew to the sexton.

“No, Pontius Pilate, I ain’t,” replied Mipps, “for me and the blunderbuss is a-goin’ to watch that damned meddlesome captain.”

And so they left him there, Beelzebub leading Jerry by the hand out of the back door of Old Tree Cottage.

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The company found their steeds in the turnip field at the back of the house, guarded so religiously during the daytime by the old scarecrow that now reposed in the coffin—horses and ponies decked out with weird trappings and all tethered to a low fence that bordered one of the dykes. Jerry’s horse, or, rather, the missing schoolmaster’s horse, was brought to him by Beelzebub himself, whom Jerry very soon discovered to be a most entertaining and affable devil. It was fortunate indeed for Jerry that he was a good rider, and had a knowledge of the Marsh, for the cavalcade immediately set out across the

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fields, breaking into a high gallop, leaping dykes and sluices in such a reckless fashion that it was a marvel indeed to the boy that his old scragbones could keep pace with them; for Beelzebub rode at his side on a strong farm horse and kept urging him to a higher speed. It was nothing more nor less than a haphazard cross-country steeplechase, and the young adventurer was caught in the thrill of it. How exhilarating it was to ride through the night with those reckless fellows, but he would not altogether have relished it had Beelzebub not proved himself an indefectible and capable pilot.

“Heels in hard, Jack Ketch, when I tell you. Now!” And hard went the heels in, and neck to neck went the horses straight at the broad dyke. “Yoikes!” And up they would go, crashing down again into the rush tops on the far side. And in this way they traversed the Marsh for six miles till they reached the highroad under Lympne Hill. There they drew rein at a spot where three roads met. At the bend of these roads Jerry could see a man on a tall gray horse.

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“That’s the Scarecrow,” whispered Beelzebub. “That’s the great man hisself.”

One of the jack-o’-lanterns trotted off on his pony toward this figure, and Jerk saw him salute the Scarecrow, who handed him a paper. Saluting again, the youngster came back to Beelzebub, who took the paper from him and read it carefully by the light of the young jack’s lantern. These boys carried lanterns fixed upon long poles, bearing them standard fashion as they rode.

As he was reading, Beelzebub kept catching in his breath in an excited manner, and as he tucked the paper away in his belt he muttered: “May the Marsh be good to the Scarecrow to-night!” Jerry instinctively looked down the road to where the Scarecrow had been standing, but horse and rider had disappeared. “Ah! Jack Ketch,” said Beelzebub, “you are wondering wot’s become of him, eh? You’d need an eye of quicksilver to keep sight of him. Here, there, and everywhere, and all at once he is, and astride the finest horse

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on Romney Marsh, a horse wot ’ud make the Prince Regent’s mouth water, a

horse more valuable to the Scarecrow than the Bank of England ’ud be.”

“But where’s he gone to?” asked Jerry.

“About his business and thine, Jack Ketch,” answered Beelzebub.

“I wish I’d seen him go,” returned Jerry, “for I likes to see a good horse on the move. He went very silent, didn’t he?”

“You’ll never hear the noise of the Scarecrow’s horse a-trottin’, Jack Ketch, ’cos he’s got pads on his hoofs. Ah! he’s up to some tricks, is the Scarecrow, and, by hell! he’ll need’ em to-night.”

“Why?” asked Jerk.

“Because he’s had word passed from Hellspite that the King’s men are out, and Scarecrow thinks as how we may have to fight ’em.”

“And don’t you want to do that?”

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“Why, you see it’ ud be awkward if any of us got wounded, as wounded men ain’t easy things to hide in a village now, is they? and it ’ud be a difficult business to explain. Though, come to that, Scarecrow ain’t never put out for an explanation o’ nothing.”

As he was speaking, Beelzebub took Jerry’s rein and started off again at the head of the cavalcade. Their way was now along the road the Scarecrow had gone, and when they had ridden for about half a mile they again sighted him, sitting his horse stockstill in the middle of the road, but this time he was not alone, for there were some half-dozen men leading packponies from the road into a large field. Toward this field Beelzebub led his cavalcade, and consequently they had to pass the grim figure called the Scarecrow. Jerry was ambitious to get a near view of this strange personage, for he wanted if possible to pierce his disguise and see if he could recognize the features. But the nearer he got, the stranger the strange figure became. If it was any one that he knew,

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then it was only the scarecrow in Mipps’s turnip field, for he was as like that as two peas are alike to each other.

And the voice was not like any voice he could put an owner to, although there was something familiar in it. It was a hard, metallic voice, the voice of a commander.

“The King’s men are watching the Mill House Farm, so, Beelzebub, you will circle the packponies as usual till we get half a mile from the house, then you will cut off and decoy them from the rear. If your attack is sudden and fierce they will have all they can do to defend themselves, and so that will afford the Mill House Farm men time to get their packponies in with the others. I will see that they get them away safely, and when you have shaken off the King’s men pick us up again on the Romney road opposite Littlestone Beach. Understood?”

“Understood, Scarecrow, understood,” replied Beelzebub promptly.

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“And,” went on the strange man, “you will stick by Jack Ketch as far as possible, and don’t let him get into any needless danger. I want him to see all the fun that is possible, but I don’t want any hurt to come to him. If I alter the plans, I’ll pass the word. Understood?”

“Understood, Scarecrow, understood,” repeated Beelzebub.

“Then off you go!”

And off they did go, the packponies, trotting under their heavy loads of wool, keeping along the edges of the field, and this with a very good purpose, for where the dykes run zigzag over Romney Marsh a thick mist arises some eight feet high, and even upon nights of full moon these mists hang about the dykes like heavy rolls of a spider’s web, contrasting strangely with the rest of the country, which is all bright and easily seen. And now Jerk had to ride even faster than before, for the packponies, entirely hidden by the mist curtains, were circled and circled all the way by the galloping demons and jack-o’

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lanterns, these last swinging their pole lights round their heads and uttering strange cries like those of the Marsh fowl, weird and ominous. This accounted, then, for all the ghost tales he had heard, for all the ghostly things those not in the secret had seen upon the Marsh, and a very clever scheme Jack thought it was, and a very good way of clearing the ground of the curious. For there is no power like superstition, and nothing that spreads quicker or is more grossly exaggerated than tales of horror and fear. So on they rode in wild circles round and round the packponies. Beelzebub was the actual leader. He it was who gave the orders, but the mysterious Scarecrow would dash out of the mist every now and again just to see that all was well with the legion, and then as quickly would he disappear, borne away like a ghost upon that spectral gray thoroughbred. and round the packponies. Beelzebub was the actual leader. He it was who gave the orders, but the mysterious Scarecrow would dash out of the mist every now and again just to see that all was well with the legion, and then as quickly would he disappear, borne away like a ghost upon that spectral gray thoroughbred.