THE SCARECROW RIDES (38 page)

“I have yet to meet the man who could be delighted at the sight of
his own coffin, Mr. Mipps,” replied Syn.

“Oh, I think he'll like it,” went on Mipps. “He ought to. Well, as I
was saying, when I first heard the screams, I jumped, thinking maybe it
was Waggetts who had gone and his ghost was 'owling at me. Then I goes
out and locates the screams, and thinkin' it was that captain murderin'
poor Meg, I creeps to the rescue and sees that red-bearded 'orror
sticking a pig in the cellar. Not a pleasant night's recreation for a
young bride, I thinks.”

“Captain Vic seems to be asking us to remove him. Well, we shall
see. And in the meanwhile, keep a close eye on him.”

“I'll do a creep that way now and see what he's up to.”

“Are you going home then?” asked the vicar.

“I'm going to harness up the donkey and ride to Aldington while it's
dark. The boys there are building the beacon to-night, and I want to
make sure they will build two.”

“Very wise. Very wise,” replied Dr. Syn. “You're a good lieutenant,
Mipps. Make it clear to the lads of Aldington that the success of both
'runs' depends upon their beacons. They must be able to be picked up
five miles at sea, and make it clear that the Uptons fire the first and
the Scarecrow himself the second. Where are you meeting them?”

“At the Walnut Tree,” said Mipps. “We set out from there to the
Knoll.”

“Are you armed?” asked Syn.

“Aye, aye, sir. The old blunderbuss there in the corner,” replied
the sexton. “She throws as good a broadside as a King's frigate.”

“Well, I think there is little danger of interruption,” said the
vicar. “It's a wild, eerie spot is Aldington Knoll.”

“And could tell a wild, eerified tale too, if it had a tongue in its
head,” grinned the sexton.

Leaving the vicarage, Mipps did one of his 'creeps' beneath the
sea-wall, and producing a brace and bit from his tool-bag, he proceeded
to open up a peep-hole through the cellar door of 'The City of London.'
He knew there was little danger of his being overheard while that heavy
snoring kept regular in the cellar. When the tool gave place to his
eye, the sight which it fell on disgusted him.

The cellar was lighted with a wax dip stuck in a bottle. Hanging in
the centre from a hook in the ceiling was the body of a pig, while
sprawled out beneath it lay the drunken body of Captain Vic, surrounded
with empty bottles.

“A dead pig and a drunk one,” muttered Mipps, as he walked away
towards the coffin shop, saddled his donkey and with his blunderbuss at
the ready jogged away over the winding Marsh roads towards the distant
hill of Aldington, where the white chalk shone out in a pale reflection
towards the beacon on the mast of the old Varne Lightship in the
Channel fairway.

Neither Captain Faunce nor the Dymchurch Preventive Officer were the
men to ignore the information they had gleaned about the Scarecrow's
proposed 'run' on the night of the full moon, and three days before,
the village looked on with secret misgivings at the arrival of Colonel
Troubridge, who had personally led a full squadron of Dragoons from
Dover Castle, to augment the little force already commanded by Captain
Faunce.

They commandeered the big field that lay between the sea-wall and
the 'Ship Inn', and here they set up camp. Although outwardly declaring
that their presence was but due to a summer manoeuvring, it was plainly
evident to the village that they had deliberately come to war against
the mysterious Scarecrow and his men.

Both colonel and captain elected to sleep under canvas and to share
camp discomforts with their men, and the tents had hardly been pitched
and the horse lines laid down before such of the villagers who were in
trade called upon the officers to offer their services and goods.

Of these, Mr. Mipps was the first to come. Followed by a vast crowd
of school children who were attracted by so much pageantry of brass and
scarlet, he entered the colonel's tent, and after saluting that
gentleman in true Royal Naval style, he banged on to the table a
broadsheet advertising the goods he had to dispose of from his little
shop adjoining Old Tree Cottage.

The colonel glared at the paper and then glared at Mipps.

“Who are you and what's this?” he demanded.

“Bit o' paper and Mr. Mipps,” replied the sexton.

Not quite knowing what to say in answer to this, the colonel
shouted: “What?”

Mipps took a deep breath and then shouted at the top of his voice:

“Bit o' paper and Mr. Mipps.”

“And who the hell is Mr. Mipps?” thundered the colonel.

“Undertaker,” answered Mipps sadly, and quickly: “I just called to
say that if so be that any of your gallant Dragoons or you yourself
should find Dymchurch unhealthy and die of it, why, I can fix you up
with a very good coffin and bury you quite pleasant with brass knobs or
not, as you desire. I also sells at a reasonable price, as you will
observe from that there paper, other things besides coffins. Here, give
it me and let me read it to you.”

“Get out of here,” yelled the colonel.

“Good morning, Colonel,” replied Mipps. “And I hopes as how the sea
air will do you good after being cooped up so long in that 'orrible
Dover Castle. Don't it remind you of being in prison? It would me, but
you see, I've never been in prison myself.”

“If you don't get out, you will be,” shouted the colonel. “Or in one
of your own coffins.”

“Now that's an idea, Colonel, that never fails to depress me,” said
Mipps solemnly. “I don't suppose I shall ever take the trouble to knock
up a coffin for myself. Whereas for you now I'd take a lot of trouble.”

“Will you get out, sir, or shall I have you thrown out?” cried the
colonel.

“I'm a-going, sir,” replied Mipps. “And don't forget, if anything
should happen to you, come to me to knock you up solid in pine, elm or
oak. Good morning, Colonel, and thank you kindly.”

And with a grave salute, Mr. Mipps backed out of the presence.

The colonel was speechless with indignation, but on the
disappearance of the facetious sexton, he could not resist picking up
the paper which that worthy had left behind. And this is what he read:

'Cats skins and kettles,

A forge for all metals,

Yards and ham,

Pickles and jam,

Eggs and fishes

Plates and dishes

Sweets for the kiddies

Comforts for widdies,

Apples and onions

Plasters for bunions.

Knock at the door

And open your lips

You'll get what you want

At the shop of old Mipps

And if so be as you wants a good coffin.

You'll own it's a box to knock solid a toff in'.

“And did you ever read such a piece of gross impertinence?” asked
the colonel, when he was joined by Captain Faunce.

Captain Faunce nodded and permitted himself to smile. “I know this
man Mipps. I have had my eye on him for some time, sir. I believe he
could tell us who this Scarecrow is, but he never would. I sometimes
wish that the fellow had been built bigger.”

“Why?” demanded the colonel.

“Because then he might have qualified for a Dragoon, sir,” explained
the captain. “And believe me, sir, there's something about that little
man that makes me covet his loyalty for the regiment. If he serves this
Scarecrow, why then, sir, I envy the Scarecrow his lieutenant.”

“Ah,” said the colonel, “then keep an eye on the little rat.”

And while Colonel Troubridge and Captain Faunce were discussing the
Scarecrow and Mr. Mipps in the tent, Dr. Syn was inspecting Charlotte
Cobtree's new black hunter in the squire's stables.

“And will you tell me, Charlotte, why you have not only bought this
glorious animal when I know you were more than satisfied with Sirius,
but also why you purchased for two guineas that old suit of poor Mipps?
For I believe I see the semblance of a connection between the two
purchases.”

“And that semblance is?” she asked.

“Why, the Scarecrow,” he replied. “The ragged black suit, and the
magnificent black horse.”

“How clever you are, Doctor,” she answered. “Yes, you are quite
right, but I trust you will keep my confession and your guess to
yourself. If this Scarecrow will not tell me who he is, I am curious
enough to take the pains of finding him out. You remember he is one of
my heroes. He, and Clegg and yourself. Perhaps I may even have the
privilege of helping the smugglers as the Scarecrow did. At all events,
I'll satisfy my woman's curiosity. There is, at least, one who can ride
safely on the Marsh at night—the Scarecrow. Well, I have the horse and
I have the clothes, too. If the Scarecrow cannot trust me and say 'I am
the Scarecrow', why, I can ride out as he does until I can say: 'Ah, so
you are the Scarecrow.'“

“I beg of you, Charlotte, not to undertake any such mad adventure,”
said Dr. Syn sternly. You don't realise your danger.”

“My dear doctor, when you ask me to marry you, why then I promise
you I will mend my ways, but till then I must do as I think best.”

“If I could ask you, you know that I would,” he answered. “But for
you and your future, I can still be unselfish, I pray God.”

“Honourable men are so often most selfish in their very
unselfishness,” she answered.

He might then and there have demanded an explanation. He might even
have made the confession that had been in his heart to make to her for
some time, but the squire joined them, full of indignation that the
Dragoons had been so greatly increased in numbers.

“I'll not brook this interference from the Dover military while I am
magistrate upon the Marsh,” he cried. “Captain Faunce is a nice enough
fellow, I admit. His behaviour has always been most respectful towards
me as Lord of the Level, but this colonel is as red in his temper as
his face. I could find in my heart to wish that this Scarecrow fellow
would give him a good fooling.”

“I shouldn't be at all surprised if he does, Father,” said
Charlotte, with a mischievous glance at Dr. Syn.

“I shouldn't be at all surprised either, my dear,” replied the
doctor solemnly.

The worthy squire would have been very much surprised had he read
what was passing in his vicar's brain. And sure enough, the 'fooling'
that the squire wished for took place that very night.

Since there were three nights before the full moon, and the proposed
'run', Colonel Troubridge thought it highly strategic on his part to
allow most of the men village leave till eleven o'clock, and they were
all instructed to keep their ears open for any information that might
be dropped from garrulous villagers in the bars. But Mr. Mipps was
equally strategic, and he trotted from bar to bar and back again, the
picture of injured innocence in the eyes of the troopers, but seeing to
it very ably that the villagers kept their mouths shut.

Certain hints about the full moon 'run' he allowed to get about, but
no one gave away the important fact that thousands of barrels were only
awaiting the signal from Aldington to be landed on Jesson Beach and
carried to the hills for hiding.

The Upton brothers had been instructed to stand by their beacon
after 'lanterns out' had been sounded by the Dragoon trumpeters. They
then were to wait two hours by Monty Upton's great turnip watch, which
could be relied upon, and then the beacon was to be fired.

An hour and a half of this allotted time had gone. The Marsh lay
black and ominous; a vast stretch of mystery and dark horror to the
Dragoon sentry who stood guard upon the sea-wall. He did not feel
comfortable. He recalled a conversation he had had that evening with
the queer little sexton of Dymchurch. “The Marsh? It's an 'orrible
place, my lad. 'Bout this time of year every dyke flowin' in her seems
full of dead men floatin' and waitin' for the moon to rise. And when it
does rise, you sort of see it reflected in their starin' eyes.” Yes, it
had all been very laughable recounted in the crowded bar of the 'Ship
Inn', but now that he was alone on the sea-wall, the Marsh did strike
him as an ''orrible place'. What if the line guards below him in the
field were all asleep? What if he were the only one awake in the whole
camp? He wished that damned sexton had not told him about those
corpses. He wished he were not on foot. He missed the companionship of
his horse. The words of the sexton came back to him. “Once on much such
a night as this will be when the moon gets up, I was diggin' a grave in
the churchyard 'ere. Very still it was. No noise but me old pick and
spade a-workin' fit to kill themselves. Suddenly I sort of feels
there's someone behind me lookin' down at me. I didn't hear no one, you
understand. I just felt someone, and so there was. I turns and sees a
thin, tall old man dressed in black and his face was chalky and his
eyes was glassy. He beckoned me, he did, and I gets out of the grave
and follows him. He glides along to the tythe field and makes straight
for the old brick bridge. When he gets there, he sits on the parapet
and pats it, meaning me to do ditto. I tells him to move up. He did.
There we sits with our legs dangling over the water of the dyke. Then
he begins in a sepulchral voice, sayin' 'Eena, deena, dinah'—you know,
and pointin' down. He was playin' 'eena deena' with corpses floatin'
under our bridge.”

“Where did the corpses come from?” the sentry had laughed.

“Churchyard, of course. Very 'orrible it was, too,” the sexton had
said. “They was all men till he come to the end, you know, where it
says 'Out goes he', and blime! it weren't a he. It was the fattest old
woman corpse I ever see—floatin' beneath us and starin' up.”

The story had been received with howls of laughter. The sentry had
laughed himself—but now it was not so funny. The sight of that Marsh
seemed to make the yarn ring true.