mankind in dreams as a means of giving warnings, orders or comfort.
“And now, my daughter,” he said kindly as he closed his bible, “perhaps you are wondering why I have read
about so many God-sent dreams. I will tell you. The age of such miracles is not yet over, for last night I dreamed a
dream, which may be full of comfort to you. I seemed to see your husband riding with the Scarecrow’s men, and
when I upbraided him for thus breaking the law, he told me that he had done so in order to make more money for
your happiness. The scene then changed and I saw him fishing in the Hart boat. Captain blain and his men hailed
him from the beach, and when he rowed ashore they fell upon him and then until he betrayed the Scarecrow. I
awoke with the feeling that this was true, and while we keep this to ourselves I will try to find out the truth. Perhaps
this very day I may discover where he is, and then I will do what I can to restore him to you.”
Leaving the young woman with this ray of hope, Doctor Syn proceeded to the Coffin Shop for a word with
Mipps, whom he found busy at his bench.
“Any more news about Hart, my good Mipps?” he asked.
“Only a bit of guesswork, Vicar,” replied the Sexton, “which I takes to be as good as news. If Hart was ever in
the Tythe Barn as a prisoner, which according to Percy is a fact, well then, there he is still, ‘cos I’ve had both doors
watched as you ordered, and no one but the King’s men have gone out or in. Even Percy ain’t allowed inside when
he carries round the water-buckets from the well. Why? ‘Cos they don’t wish him to know that Hart’s alive and in
their power. One comfort is that he don’t know nothing that can harm the Scarecrow, and if you was to leave him to
his fate, well it might be hard on his wife, but no more than he deserves for having tried to betray us.”
“If we leave him to his fate, my good Mipps,” said the Vicar quietly, “he’ll be shipped to the Plantations, and his
wife will never hear of him again. We must be merciful to her, and thwart this Captain Blain. Besides, it touches
the reputation of the scarecrow. Anyone betraying him must be judged by him. I have settled how to punish Fred
Hart, but to carry out the punishment he must first be rescued from the Captain. And for that end, my friend, I want
you to cut me a strong wooden wedge from the outside of the Captain’’ room at the Vicarage.”
“I was wondering when you was going to batten him down,” chuckled the sexton. “Been a bit awkward having
had him on top of us, so to speak.”
“It had had its advantages, too,” replied the Vicar. “I billeted him at the Vicarage for two reasons. First that he
would have no suspicions that I could be connected with the scarecrow, and secondly, so that I could keep an eye on
him, and an ear, too. I confess that he’’ s close an oyster as ever I met, for not even in his cups can I make him talk
about his plans. He confines his conversation to naval gossip concerning our old friend Admiral Troubridge, and to
the family history and qualities of his junior officers abroad the Dover Guard ship. I know all about them, but of his
plans, nothing.”
By this time Mipps had fashioned a neat wedge which he handed to his master, saying, “Whether the Captain
snores or no, I should put that in his door whenever things move at night on the Marsh.”
Doctor Syn put it in his pocket. “Thank you, I will, for the Captain’s snores are no longer reassuring to me.
They sound convincing enough, but last night during his nasal trumpetings I heard the squeak of his shutter’s hinge
as he crept to look out of the casement. I know now that the Captain does not snore when asleep, but only when
he’s very much awake. I shall therefore wedge his door when I am ready to join the Nightriders at the Oast House
at Doubledyke’s. You have passed the word for arms and horses?”
Mipps nodded. “thirty, s you ordered, with a spare horse. I suppose now that the extra mount is for Fred hart,
and that we attack the barn.”
Doctor Syn nodded back. “In the meantime continue the watch on the doors, although I think the Captain will
not attempt to move his prisoner in daylight, since it is against his interest to let anyone know that hart is alive.
Keep watch though, all the same.”
Later, at dinner, Doctor Syn tested Captain Blain by asking whether he would be attending the memorial service
to Fred Hart which would be held for the parish if no one brought news that he was alive.
“I think, Vicar, that there can be no doubt as to his death, and that it is quite right to hold the service. I dare say
some of my men would like to attend. I shall come myself out of respect to his widow.”
For which piece of hypocrisy Doctor Syn scored up another mental black mark against his guest.
Earlier than usual that night Doctor Syn suggested retiring to bed. “One of my flock is very ill,” he explained.
“and Doctor Pepper tells me the crisis is at hand, so I must hold myself in readiness for being awakened in the night.
I have also told the Hart family to summon me should poor Fred’s wife need spiritual comfort. We must do what
little we can.”
“I applaud you for taking your duties so seriously, Parson,” replied the Captain.
“I suppose you are right, and that Hart is dead,” went on Doctor Syn, “but what mystifies me is not that such a
good fisherman should be capsized, which might happen to the best, but that the boat should have been so savagely
holed when there is but sand in Dymchurch Bay. The nearest rocks, and they are not dangerous , are Sandgate one
way and Littlestone the other. As you must know, they are flat shelves and amply covered at high tide for a fishing
boat. Neither was there a high sea running that night, they tell me.”
“The revenue cutter reported a high wind and something of a swell,” explained the Captain. “His boat may have
been dropped on to some ugly piece of wreckage.”
“I think that unlikely,” returned the Vicar. “Do you know, I have been wondering whether there was any foul
play, though I can find no reason to suppose that the young man had enemies.” The Vicar sighed. “I would give a
lot to be able to hold out some hope to that poor girl.”
“Your suggestion of foul play, Parson has made me wonder whether he might not have been murdered by this
Scarecrow’s orders, for we know him as an unscrupulous rascal.”
Doctor Syn looked shocked. “Surely you have no grounds for any suspicion against young Hart? You do not
suggest that he has been a law-breaker? I have always looked upon him as loyal to both Church and Government.”
“I am glad to hear you say so, since he has gone to his account,” replied the Captain. “After all, you knew the
man, and I did not.” And for this lie Doctor Syn registered another black mark to be dealt with in his dealings with
the Captain.
That night the sailors in the Tythe Barn turned in sooner than usual, for Mipps had taken round two barrels of
rum with the compliments of Mrs. Waggetts, landlady of the Ship Inn, and with their own allowance the Bos’n and
his men were drunker than ever. Even the man on watch allowed himself to sit down, and was soon nodding over
his drawn cutlass that rested on his knees.
Their awakening was surprising and alarming. A clattering of hooves; the cry of the awakened sentry as his
cutlass was struck from his grasp; and then the sharp orders from a terrible figure who had ridden a great black horse
into the barn. Behind him were a score of other mounted figures masked hideously and carrying Jack-o’-Lanterns.
These devils on horseback were all armed, and their leader was crying out to the Bos’n to get out of his hammock,
while all the rest were to remain where they were, or be shot as the Scarecrow’s enemies.
“We are here, Master Bos’n,” said the Scarecrow, “to take from you the person of one Fred Hart, held here as
your prisoner. Deliver him over to us at once.”
“He ain’t ‘ere,” replied the sea-dog, with what courage he could muster.
“Search the barn, some of you,” ordered the Scarecrow. “He was here and must be still since I have had the barn
watched day and night. Unless you tell me where he is within the next thirty seconds I shall employ the other half
minute in hanging you from the rafters.”
“There’s no harm in telling you,” faltered the Bos’n. “The prisoner is abroad the Revenue cutter. He was took
under escort some three hours back. And that’s truth, so ‘elp me.”
“Who watched the barn three hours back?” demanded the Scarecrow of his men.
“I and Curlew,” came the prompt answer from one of them. “And so ‘elp me none come out but four of these
dirty king’s men. One had a drawed cutlass and the rest carried bundles.”
“And ‘cordin’ to Captain’s orders, one of ‘em was this Fred ‘Art, dressed up in poor Joe’s kit, and there’s Joe
been shiverin’ ever since in a blanket.”
“There’s no signs of the prisoner here, Scarecrow,” said one of the search party. “We’ve turned over the straw,
and the barrels are all empty.”
“Very well, replied the Scarecrow. “Then we’ll tear a leaf from the clever Captain’s book. Collect all these
men’s clothes and bring ‘em along, and you, Hellspite, put a dozen or so six-inch nails through the door bars when
we’ve closed these rascals in for the night.”
The Scarecrow’s men worked quickly, and within a few minutes the captured piled arms of the King’s men had
been thrown into the Glebe Field Dyke, and behind nailed-up doors in the dark the party of disconsolate sailors
shivered and cursed, as they listened to the departing horsemen who had taken their clothes and were galloping back
to the Oast House, from which they had set out.
The Scarecrow and Hellspite remained behind, promising to rejoin the Nightriders within a few minutes.
“What now?” asked Hellspite in a whisper.
“Hold Gehenna, Mipps,” replied the Scarecrow. “I have no time to ride to the Mother Handaway’s to change my
clothes to Doctor Syn, so I must leave them for the moment in the hidden stables. Fortunately for my plan, Captain
Blain is a careless drinker when in cups, and slops his wine upon his uniform. Mrs. Fowey, taking it as her duty to
clean them, insists that he leaves them outside his door at night for here collection early in the morning. So, my
good Mipps, I can collect a uniform which will fit me. Despite slopping his wine, he is a man who likes to be trim
on duty, so he also leaves his wig to be freshly powered. I venture to think that I can close my left eye and stare
with the right as he does. We are of a height, too, and it will be dark enough aboard the cutter. We may take our
prisoner therefore without bloodshed.”
Thus it was that Doctor Syn entered his Vicarage quietly as the Scarecrow and in ten minutes emerged in the
uniform of Captain Blain. Luck had been on his side, since his guest had left his sword in the hall with his cloak and
hat, and every other night he had taken his sword to his room. He had also listened at the Captain’s door and had
heard deep breathing, but no snores.
On rejoining Mipps, the little Sexton grinned. “I knows you better than most,” he whispered, “but you ain’t the
Vicar, you ain’t the Scarecrow, but you are Captain Blain, one eye and all.”
On reaching the Oast House, Mipps superintended the Scarecrow’s orders being carried out, picking twenty to
dress in the sailor’s kits they had stolen. The Bos’n uniform gave him an extra one for himself. “The Revenue
cutter carries a crew of twenty men, a petty officer, and a captain. Well, the Scarecrow is the Captain, I’ll be petty
officer, and you the crew. The ten who remain as Nightriders will see to the horses getting back to stables from the
beach at Littlestone, where we shall board the lugger and sail for the Revenue cutter to capture the traitor, Fred
Hart.”
An hour later, Mipps entered the cabin of the lugger where Doctor Syn sat alone, and reported that they were
half-way between Sandgate and Dover and that the cutter lay ahead anchored.
“Run us alongside, Mister Bos’n,” ordered Syn, “and Captain Blain will speak to the officer of the watch.”
Doctor Syn climbed out of the cabin and strode along the dark deck, till level with the companion-ladder. “Is
Mister Swinnerton in charge?” he demanded in Blain’s deep and husky voice. He had got the name from Blain
himself.
“Speaking, sir,” came the answer promptly.
‘Plans are changed, Mister Swinnerton,” went on Doctor Syn. “The prisoner, hart, is to be tried at the
Dymchurch Court House, and I have come to escort him back on this lugger which I have requisitioned. Put him
abroad.”
“Sorry, sir,” replied the officer, “but your orders have been carried out. Hart is in irons abroad the Guard Ship in
Dover harbour. We have only just returned and piped the men below.”
“I was afraid of that,” went on Doctor Syn. “Well, my men are fresh and the cutter is faster than this old tub.
We’ll change over crews and you may lie anchored aboard here, while I go and fetch Hart from the Guard Ship. I’ll
come aboard.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied the unsuspecting officer, and as Syn climbed on to the cutter’s deck, he sang out the
necessary orders.
“Make fast, Bos’n, and send our men aboard,” growled Syn.
“Aye, aye, sir,” sang out Mipps.
Before the first man rolled out of the fo’c’sle curing, Syn’s men were at the ropes. Canvas was spread and
anchor weighed, while the workers kept sullen backs to the awakened sleepers. Keeping away from the ship’s
lanterns Syn strode the deck, curing Swinnerton for not driving his men harder, so that in a few minutes the last of
the cutter’s crew was aboard the lugger, and Syn gave a curt good night to the officer as he followed his crew aboard
the unsavoury lugger. As he went over the side with a salute, Swinnerton said, “We’ll stand by you at anchor here,
sir.”
“Right. And between ourselves, Mister Swinnerton, was mister Rowton drunk as usual when you reported
aboard the Guard Ship?”
“Well, sir,” replied the young officer diffidently, “he was not altogether pleasant, but he seemed put out that the
Admiralty have superseded Admiral Troubridge for Admiral Chesham, who I believe is to take over the command.”
“I know Chesham well,” chuckled Syn. ‘He’ll make us jump for him.”
As the cutter drew away into the fairway they heard the anchor being dropped aboard the lugger.
On the way to Dover, Mipps and two others who had served aboard a man-o-war trained the crew as to their
bearing, and in the meanwhile Syn having sent for white paint and tar, and procuring a flag from the locker,
bedaubed a white scarecrow on a black ground. “The adventure has so far been a joke with no bloodshed. With
luck it may so continue, Mipps,” he laughed, “and I have a mind to run this flag up on the guard Ship peak-head.”
The cutter entered the harbour and came alongside the guard Ship without suspicion. The officer of the watch
saluted Syn. “I was appointed here, sir, since you left for shore duty.”
“Name?” growled Syn.
“Osmund, sir.”
“Mister Rowton below?”
“Yes sir.”
“In his cups, too, I’ll be bound.”
“I couldn’t say, sir,” replied the tactful midshipman.
“Order two men to put the prisoner Hart aboard the cutter. I am taking him ashore for trial.”