and since the Scarecrow’s Nightriders had thoroughly worsted them, with two runs on a big scale since their arrival,
their harmless manoeuvres did not worry them.
But a new source of danger was looming over the village, which made the gossipers all the more anxious to see
the Vicar mount his white pony and ride away, so that they could discover from Mipps exactly what the new rumour
meant.
They had just gleaned the news of the arrival that very day of men from the Royal Navy, who were to augment
the already established Dragoons.
The majority had more respect for the Navy than for the Army, and so they took the rumour which Percy had
imparted to them on the bridge very seriously.
Percy was one of the most important members of the village community. Although most of them regarded him
as the village idiot, by reason of his being overgrown, lanky, loose-lipped, round-shouldered, and slow of speech,
discerning folk realized that amongst the may sluggish cells in the brain of this seventeen-year-old lad were some
that could act with the most acute perception. In other words Percy was not always the fool that he looked.
His physical strength enabled him to eke out a reasonably comfortable living for himself and his widowed
mother, by carrying buckets of fresh water from the village well to the various cottages. With their men-fold
working on the land or sea, for most of them were either at the fis hing or farming trades, housewives were only too
happy to save themselves the walk to the well and the labour of drawing and carrying by paying Percy his moderate
charges for two buckets full of well water delivered three times a day. The humblest cottage employed him, for it
was an accepted fact that he had the monopoly of the well.
From one of his clients Percy refused payment for his services, and that was Mipps, who had long promised him
a yoke to enable him to carry the pails of water the easier.
Mipps had measured it to fit the lad’s hunched shoulders, and it was on this particular morning that he was
putting the finishing touches to the work, planing it smooth while the Vicar talked to him in whispers.
The little knot of gossipers sitting outside upon the bridge wall would have been astonished could they have
heard the drift of this consultation, which had to do with the Scarecrow’s business.
“I tell you, my good Mipps,” the Vicar was saying, “that we shall have to adopt even more carefully laid plans in
the immediate future. We are used to the methods of the Dragoons which we have dealt with before when the
Government has seen fit to billet them upon us. But the Navy is a different proposition. This Captain Blain, who
has been detailed from the Guard Ship at Dover to break up our Nightriders, is a man whose record I am well
acquainted with, and believe me he has a strategic brain. He is an opponent worthy of our steel.”
“And he comes today, does he?” asked Mipps.
“And has been invited to the Court House as Sir Antony’s guest,” nodded the Vicar.
“I don’t envy the Squire,” said Mipps. “He’s already cluttered up with the Dragoons officers. Let’s hope they
pay well for the hospitality they receive.
“The Squire feels that the Cobtrees can hardly receive compensation for hospitality,” returned the Vicar, with a
smile, “so I gather that the Government allowance of rum for the troopers.”
“Well, so long as the Squire keeps the officers away from the Vicarage,” said Mipps, “all the easier for us, eh,
Vicar?”
Doctor Syn shook his head. “That’s not my view at all,” he said.
Mipps looked at his master, and checked the query that was on the tip of his tongue. His master was thinking.
Mipps knew Doctor Sy n better than any. Had he not served under him as ship’s carpenter when his master had
walked the deck of the Imogene as Captain Clegg, flying the black flag? Watching the long thin face now he
realized that the Vicar was working out a problem, and would speak in his own good time.
Doctor Syn was an arresting figure as he leant against the coffin. He was tall, slim, elegant and alert. A smile
suddenly broke over the pale intellectual face, and Mipps was fascinated, wondering what was coming.
“I have made up my mind that Captain Blain shall not be billeted with Sir Antony Cobtree at the Court House,”
he said. “He shall be looked after at the Vicarage. We will keep a close eye on him ourselves. It might even be
necessary to see that his door is fastened on the outside. Yes, we’ll put him in the little panelled room because the
door opens outwards. A wedge, eh, Mipps?”
Mipps nodded. “Maybe as well to have him clapped under our own hatches,” he said, and then added miserably,
“but I’ll wa ger that when the time comes you’ll be letting him out so that you’ll have an opponent worthy of you
steel, as you calls him, working against us when the Nightriders are out.”
Doctor Syn chuckled. “The Nightriders may scare some folk from the Marsh when a ‘run’ is on, but I fancy it
will take more to frighten Captain Blain. Their illuminated faces, the phosphorus on the horses, their wild trappings,
as they circle in and out of the mists, will not impress Blain. No, Mipps, we must think out new methods to deal
with this Captain.”
From the village street came the monotonous wail of the lad, Percy, crying out, “Water, water.” The gossipers
saw in him a means for interrupting the conversation going on between the Vicar and the Sexton.
“Hurry up, my lad,” one of them sang out. “Old Mipps is cursing in there for want of a pail of water for his
work.”
“Percy’s on time,” rejoined the half-wit. “In a fine hurry he is, so don’t be hindering him with you talk now. The
Sexton has promised the yoke this morning, and Percy’s lost a good pint of slopping walking fast. All over my
breeches. The yoke will keep the buckets from bumping my legs.”
“You get inside,” said one of the fishermen, “or old Mipps will be out of temper, and you’ll get no yoke at all.”
“If you stop, talking, and don’t go hindering,” drawled Percy, “I’ll go.”
Percy, continuing his trade wail of “Water,” pushed his way through the Coffin Shop door, and was reprimanded
by Mipps for daring to enter when he had seen the Vicar’s white pony tethered to the gate-post.
Doctor Syn came to the rescue by saying kindly that he was glad to be there when Percy received his present of
the yoke, which Mipps had so kindly made for him.
“Let’s see you put it on,” he said.
Percy stood the buckets down and took the yoke in both hands. It was finer than he had imagined. He stroked
the smoothly shaped wood with his finger-tips, and felt the neat splicing of the ship’s rope that gripped the strong
iron hooks. He gave a gurgling moan of appreciation as he finally lifted the yoke over his head and gently lowered
it till it fitted his hunched shoulders.
“Fits shipshape and Bristol fashion,” said Mipps, eyeing his work with admiration. “Pick up the buckets, and
let’s see if all’s easy.
The Vicar bent down and raised the bucket ropes, while Mipps adjusted the hooks. The stooping Percy watched
them with anxiety.
“Now then, take the strain,” ordered Mipps.
Very gingerly the lad began to raise himself. The bucket ropes were taut and then the buckets left the floor.
When Percy saw them swinging he gave vent to another gurgle of joy.
Then he took a slow step forward.
“Steady ‘em with your hands,” ordered Mipps, “or you’ll have ‘em swinging all over the place and slopping