The COURAGEOUS EXPLOITS OF DOCTOR SYN - Thorndike Russell - Страница 26

very afraid of death. A Dymchurch man of that age, and a bad character from all accounts, must know a good deal

about the smugglers. Under the fear of the next world what more easy than for Doctor Syn to make him talk. I shall

try to persuade him that it is for the good of the Marsh parishes. I wonder how long he is staying in London. His

housekeeper says some few days. I only hope old Pepper can keep his patient alive till then. Bos’n, I feel it in my

bones that we can only take the Scarecrow through the help of Doctor Syn. So let us pray for his speedy return.”

Although he did not know it, the Captain’s prayer was answered, for Doctor Syn’s return was certainly speedy.

Once more gratified turnpike keepers opened the road for the generous King’s Messenger, whose magnificent black

horse made short work of the highway. “French spies are on the road,” he whispered, as he paid his toll with a

guinea-piece. “It is not in the interests of the King that any should know I have passed this way. So forget you have

seen a gentleman on a black horse.”

After four and a half hours of hard riding, Doctor Syn turned Gehenna from the road on Lympne Hill, and

descended by a bridle-path to the Marsh Level. He entered his parish by a cross-country gallop, avoiding the village

and making straight for his hidden stables at old Mother Handaway’s hovel. Here he was welcomed by Jimmie

Bone, the Highwayman, who groomed the Scarecrow’s horse, while his master roasted a fat chicken and opened a

bottle of brandy.

“I must not return to the Vicarage,” he said, “till I have crossed the Channel. The lugger, Four Sisters from

London Pool, will lie off Littlestone tomorrow night. Mipps with ten of our London men are bringing her round.

We are unlikely to have any trouble from Captain Blain, since he thinks there is a ‘run’ planned for the next night,

and he will be sparing his men for that encounter, which will not take place. By the way, am I right in thinking that

none of our prisoners in France have ever seen your face?”

“The only ones who have seen me unmasked from Dymchurch,” he replied, “are yourself, the Squire, Mipps and

the Beadle. Why do you ask?”

“Only that I have a strange part for you to play in a somewhat grim adventure,” chuckled Doctor Syn. “I think

that after playing it we shall have no more trouble with our prisoners across the Channel. If Mipps is successful in

carrying out my orders amongst the junk-shops along the quays of London river, we shall teach our enemies a

lesson.”

“But you have not told me what you have done to prevent Handgrove betraying us to the Admiralty,” said the

Highwayman.

“My plan was so simple,” replied Syn, smiling, “that is must have tempted Providence to send It awry. But it

worked, my good James, it worked. I took the rascal from the Admiralty before he had announced himself. He is at

the moment a prisoner in chains below the cargo hatch of the Four Sisters. I will tell you all about it as we eat, and

then I shall get you to sling me a hammock in the empty stall there and let me sleep.”

Across the Channel, in the private harbour from which the Scarecrow’s luggers sailed with their brandy cargoes,

Monsieur Duloge waited anxiously for news from Romney Marsh. From the tower of his chateau above the quay he

could sweep the mouth of the Somme with his spyglass.

He knew that the Scarecrow had returned to England on an enterprise dangerous to them all, and his one thought

since bidding him good-bye was whether his ingenious and brave colleague had succeeded in recapturing their

escaped prisoner, the treacherous Handgrove. If he had failed and Handgrove had succeeded in laying his

information before the Admiralty, at any moment the British Navy might be seen blockading the mouth of t he

Somme. Once it were known that the Scarecrow’s luggers loaded and sailed from his harbour, the brandy trade was

finished as far as he was concerned, and any of his men who escaped with their lives would be fortunate.

Duloge was a rich French gentleman who loved surrounding himself with the expensive luxuries of the time.

The clothes with which he adorned his colossal body, were in the latest mode and cost a fortune. His chateau,

harbour with quay and store -houses, and a fleet of boats, were his own property that had always brought in a

considerable income, but since casting in his lot with the Scarecrow’s organization across the channel, he was

amassing an ever-increasing fortune. There was a large profit for him in every tub that crossed the wa ter, since one

half-anker, weighing when full some fifty-six pounds, and holding four gallons of brandy, could be bought in France

for four shilling a gallon, the same costing in England thirty-six shillings with duty paid. The duty stood at four

shillings a gallon, so that the run of a hundred tubs or half-ankers, was a clear profit of a hundred and twenty

pounds.

Although it had been considered well worth while could one cargo out of three be safely placed, Duloge had

found that since the Scarecrow had managed for him, not one cargo had been lost, though occasionally a decoy boat

carrying a few tubs of inferior spirit was sacrificed for the safety of the cargo proper. The liquor being sometimes as

much as a hundred and eight above proof, was uncolored, and called by the traders white brandy, so that the

smugglers, by mixing it with burnt sugar, could make three full tubs out of one. Enormous profit and well worth the

risk of capture by the Scarecrow for his success, he also had grown to regard him as a friend, and he trembled for his

safety. Ships were scouring the Channel for him. On land, in England, the same search went on relentlessly, for the

reward for his capture mounted as the failure to capture him increased.

Though confident in his colleague’s skill, he had never waited so anxiously for his return. He had his own

anxieties, too. Though the prisoners had worked with a will since the Scarecrow had quelled their mutiny, and a

fleet of luggers were loaded in harbour for the next ‘run,’ he could not fail to notice a growing tension amongst his

prisoners and his armed servants were urged to the greatest vigilance. He knew the cause of the prisoners’ anxiety.

They were sharing with him the same speculation, ‘Had Handgrove reached the Admiralty?’ If the scarecrow had

failed it meant to them a free pardon at home, and a rescue from their slavery by the British Navy. The Scarecrow

had swindled the Government too much. He had defied the King’s ships, and beaten them. Therefore the Navy was

ranged against him,. So with hope in their hearts the prisoners had worked cheerfully in loading the cargoes, hoping

that every tub would fall into the Navy’s hands.

All through the day Duloge watched from his tower. His lackeys for the first time noticed that their master did

not linger over his elaborate meals. He took a mouthful, asked for the next course, and drank his wine hurriedly.

Then back to the tower with his spyglass. As the night wore on he sent for a cloak, ignoring the comfort of his

four-post bed.

“I shall not need my valet. He may retire. I shall watch this night.”

At three in the morning he heard distant gunfire from beyond the river mouth.

At the same time Mipps came to Doctor Syn in the aft cabin of the Four Sisters, and said: “Shot across our

bows, Scarecrow. British Revenue cutter in French waters. She’s no right to tell us to heave-ho.”

“Can you make her out?”

“Aye, it’s light enough to see her lines, though she’s some way off. She’s the Ferret. Should be patrolling