The COURAGEOUS EXPLOITS OF DOCTOR SYN - Thorndike Russell - Страница 4

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service.”

“They make a brave show,” went on the Vicar, watching the party of sailors swinging towards them along the

winding road.

A tall, thin, hard-bitten naval captain, riding a gaunt charger loaned from the garrison at Dover Castle, headed the

procession of marching, whistling seamen. Behind him wee two little powder-monkeys, one beating lustily upon a

deep side-drum and the other causing a long wry-necked fife to squeal forth a jolly hornpipe to which the company

responded with a swin ging step and a carefree manner.

“I’ll say this for that naval officer,” remarked the Dragoon, “that he sits a horse as though he can ride.”

“Which is more than one can say for most that follow the sea,” put in the Vicar. “Take Mipps, there, my Sexton.

True, he is only mounted upon an ass, but he makes its hindquarters look like thwarts. His is mentally in a boat and

not upon an animal. Why? Because he once followed the sea as a carpenter. I agree that officer rides, even though

his charger walks. One can see that he could follow the hounds.”

“Got a bit of a name, I understand,” went on the Dragoon, “as a prize martinet.”

“A necessary qualification, too,” replied Doctor Syn, “in order to control those jolly dogs.”

“The Scarecrow might well be conceited,” laughed the Major, “if he could only have seen this arrival.”

Perhaps he is here, who knows?” returned the Vicar, looking round upon the staring villagers.

Just then the general interest taken in the approaching detachment was interrupted by a shrill whistling that jarred

against the notes of the nautical air, so proudly blown by the sturdy likkle powder-monkey on his fife.

It was Percy marching beneath his yoke, and blowing lustily upon his new whistle. The crowd roared with

laughter as he strutted from the churchyard to the open space before the Court House, where he took up his position

immediately beneath the gallows.

The Major leant down from his tall charger and whispered to Doctor Syn, “You don’t think he is the Scarecrow,

do you?”

The Vicar looked towards the water-carrier, smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

“That’s an idea certainly,” he whispered back. “I often think that perhaps poor Percy is not quite so simple as he

looks. He would certainly have good opportunity for passing his orders amongst the villagers, if any of them should

be in this dastardly business, which I can never bring myself to think. Against your theory though, we must

remember that both of us have seen the Scarecrow riding, showing a sash that is sadly lacking in that poor lad. No, I

don’t somehow think that Percy can claim that notoriety. Far more likely that he is somebody used to following the

hounds with the Squire, and yet I can think of no one in that category of daring riders who can show the promised of

the Scarecrow’s brain. I think the nearest we ever got to a solution of his mysterious identity was when we tried to

fit that equally elusive rogue Jimmie Bone into the role. But the Scarecrow quickly put him to rights by robbing him

before witnesses of what he had robbed from them. Perhaps the Scarecrow is really the Devil all the time.”

The conversation was terminated because the Captain of the Navy men called a halt.

Doctor Syn rode forward saying: “Welcome to you and to you gallant men, Captain Blain. I am Doctor Syn, the

Vicar here, and I voice the whole parish in saying that Dymchurch is at your service, sir.”

“Thankee, parson,” returned the Captain. “Stand easy, men,” he rapped out, turning in the saddle. “You’re here

on shore duty, but that don’t mean that man-o-war discipline is relaxed. So behave yourselves, and no chalking

drinks at the inns, mind. Bos’n, take charge while I see to the billeting.”

Doctor Syn pointed out the big Tythe Barn in the Vicarage grounds, near by, and said that both he and the Squire

were in agreement that this was the most suitable place for housing the men.

The Captain merely said he would like to see it, and was setting off with the Vicar when the Major introduced

himself, saying that he was very ready to co-operate in the work against the smugglers. To this the Captain made no

sort of acceptance, beyond a gruff grunt, and adding: “Till I have had time to look around and get the strength of the

situation, I cannot say, sir, whether I shall favour cooperation or no. If I find that I want the help of your troopers, I

will let you know all in good time.”

Doctor Syn noted that this somewhat churlish attitude from the Captain was resented by the Major of Dragoons,

who turned his charger and ordered the crowd to stand back, if they didn’t wish to be ridden down. He then sang out

the orders for the squadron to proceed to the horse-lines behind the Ship Inn.

The crowd fell back to let them pass, and then began the volleying of jests between the two branches of the

service.

The sailors, seeing that their Captain was riding away towards the church and vicarage, in company with the

parson, indulged in such taunts as, “Put your little horses away, and don’t let the nasty Scarecrow steal ‘em.”

“You get back to your little hammocks on the guard Ship,” retorted a trooper, riding by. “The Scarecrow ain’t

afraid of little cutlasses and hand-spikes. But he don’t like sabres.”

“He’s never seen ‘em,” scoffed another of the sailors. “You know little boys ain’t allowed out on the Marsh at

nights.”

“You wait till you see us jumping them infernal dykes, while you slips into ‘em, water spaniels.”

The Major, secretly amused, nevertheless thought it his duty to stop further bandying, so rapped out, “Silence.”

The Bos’n, also amused, nevertheless, thought it fit to show his authority too, so sang out, “Fall in.”

The sailors who had rested their kit-bags on the low churchyard wall, hoisted them on to their shoulders once

more, and falling into line began to whistle a sea-song, which encouraged the powder-monkeys to fall to again at

their instruments.

Some distance away, Percy blew louder on his whistle.

The Vicar, riding by him with the Captain, interrupted his remarks about the Tythe Barn which they were

approaching by turning to the water-carrier and saying, “That’s enough, my lad, for now.” They were walking their

horses, or rather the Captain was walking his, and Doctor Syn ambled along to keep pace, Mipps following at

respectful distance on his donkey.

Though the Vicar was chatting about the barn and pointing out the end of it jutting out behind the Vicarage, he

was mentally weighing up the naval officer.

As tall as himself, and sitting straight in the saddle as though he carried a ramrod in his back, his borrowed

charger gave him the advantage in height, so that from his little fat pony the Vicar had to look up at him.

The Captain’s face, he saw, was hard and deeply lined, but his one eye had a roguish twinkle. He had lost the

other against the French. His voice was deep and husky, and his neat-fitting uniform suggested that here was a man

who would keep his vessel trim and brisk. The look of the Captain reminded the Vicar of his own past, for just such

a man had Doctor Syn once been, when he had sailed under the black flag as Captain Clegg. By the time they drew

rein at the barn he had come to the conclusion he had expected to arrive at by what he had heard of Captain Blain,

namely, that here was a personality to whom even the dashing Scarecrow had better show respect.

Aye, Captain Blain was certainly an enemy who would give the best a good fight both with strength and wit.

“It’s a g ood barn, Captain,” remarked Doctor Syn. “Plenty of room inside it. My Sexton here, Mister Mipps,

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