to stay for generations. Once, it was lain down, in some local history, that somewhere in the vicinity of the dry dyke
was an ancient building of sorts, but naturally the Handaways never allowed the interested parties to search for it.
Certain it was to the Vicar, the Sexton and the Highwayman a most excellent dry stable.
The other dykes in the vicinity of the farmyard were all live dykes filled with water, and there were many at this
point of the Marsh that intersected, while the mist ribbons that rose up around their banks gave ample hiding-place
to the farm itself. From a distance it was exceedingly difficult to say what was going on around Mother
Handaway’s,. On the other hand, anyone at her cottage could discern anyone moving on the Marsh for a
considerable distance.
Although there was on this occasion no need for caution, it was taken.
Inside the stable the tall Highwayman received them, endeavouring to conceal his yawns, for he had been out on
the Dover road till the early hours of the morning on his illegal business.
On a rough table at the far end beneath a lighted stable lantern, there was set out a heap of watches, rings, and
other trinkets, with a strong leather bag from which a heap of guineas and crown pieces had been spilled.
“ A good night’s taking,” laughed the Vicar. “ It seems I am come at an opportune moment to collect my tythes.”
“ Which I always pay you, you will own,” replied Gentleman James.
“ Aye, Jimmie Bone is the only honest Gentleman upon the road.” Said Mipps.
Both the pony and donkey had been led into the stable, and were quickly stalled. The vicar first entered
Gehenna’s stall, and made a fuss of the magnificent creature known too well by the Revenue men as the
Scarecrow’s phantom horse. He then went into the next stall and patted Mister Bone’s charger, a black animal like
Gehenna, though of quieter disposition, and trained by his master like any circus horse. As for Gehenna, woe betide
any who tried to touch him other than the three jolly rascals in the stable. Gehenna had never lost a fierceness which
even the gypsy horse-dealers had failed to tame.
“Help yourself, my good Jimmie Bone, to the good things in the pony’s panniers,” said the Vicar. “You’ll find
some good liquor in one of them, and we can all do with a tot of brandy. Then while you make a meal we will get to
work on our new code, Mister Sexton.”
The Highwayman, who depended upon Doctor Syn and old Mother Handaway for his safety
And food, fell to one end of the table upon a cold capon which the Vicar’s housekeeper had prepared, thinking it
was for some poor sick soul upon the Marsh.
Meantime the Vicar, between sips of brandy, dipped a goose-quill into an ink-horn, and wrote out a list of places
along that part of the coast. He then began to sketch in pairs of aces against them.
“You must find time to chisel out these eight pieces of wood for Percy’s buckets this very day,” he said. “We
shall start using them immediately, and I should like to have them when I meet the Nightriders at the Oast House
this evening, in order to give them their instructions.”
An hour later Doctor Syn, with empty panniers, and followed by Mipps, jogged his way back to Dymchurch, in
order to entertain the Captain at dinner.
During the meal, their conversation was general, since Doctor Syn sensed that the Captain was anxious not to
discuss the object of his arrival on the Marsh. So the talk gradually veered into distant parts, for both men had sailed
the seven seas. The Captain in his line of business, and Syn, as he explained, in the cause of spreading the Gospel
amongst the heathenish parts of sea and land. By the time they had lighted their churchwarden pipes, both men had
acquired a respect and liking for each other, while their various adventures were exchanged.
After their long march from Dover, the Captain had instructed his Bos’n to let the men rest in the barn, as he
wished to take them out that very night upon the Marsh in order to accustom them to the dyke-land which he hoped
would be their battlefield in the near future. For the same reason Captain Blain retired to his room, in order to
snatch a little sleep before the night march, and Doctor Syn prepared to set out once more across the Marsh with his
panniers filled with good things for his poor and needy.
Captain Blain set his casement open wide, and for some time studied the lie of the land through his telescope. He
watched particularly the route taken by the Vicar and Sexton, jotting down directions in his note-book.
“I’ll lay that same course,” he said to himself, watching the white pony and donkey as they zigzagged this way
and that, “for they seem to have reached the centre of the Marsh and have not once descended into a dyke.”
At last they disappeared into a belt of mist which prevented him from seeing their arrival at Mother Handaway’s.
Supper having been fixed for ten o’clock, and Doctor Syn, having given Mrs. Fowey, the housekeeper, orders to
call his guest at nine-thirty, the Captain closed his telescope, divested himself of coat, waistcoat and cravat, kicked
off his buckled shoes, and lay down upon his four-poster bed.
Meanwhile the secret stable had once more swallowed up the Vicar of Dymchurch and his Sexton, as well as
both their animals. Here, while Jimmie Bone groomed the three horses, ready for business, Syn and Mipps
perfected the code and committed it to memory. There then followed other affairs connected with the Scarecrow to
be discussed and settled. The various gangs of men had to be allocated to their particular jobs for the next ‘run.’
Doctor Syn, or rather the Scarecrow, had already received the names of the vessels expected for the landing on the
following night, and each vessel had to have sufficient men for the unloading on the beach. The route to be taken
from the coast to the hills way gone over carefully with the help of a large map that marked every twisting lane and
dyke upon the Marsh. Doctor Syn had copied this from amongst the ordinance survey archives in the Court House.
He had made three copies secretly. One he kept at the Vicarage, another in the hidden stable, and a third in the little
summer hut which the Squire had had built for him upon the sea wall, a place in which he very often worked out his
sermons, so that he could keep an eye upon shipping in the fairway of the Channel, when needing a relaxation from
divinity.
By the time Doctor Syn’s plan of campaign had been settled in detail, it was dark outside upon the Marsh.
While Mipps helped his master to divest himself of clerical clothes and to put on the wild rags of the Scarecrow,
the Highwayman painted the faces of the horses with phosphorus.
The three men then put on hideous masks, and mounting their spirited horses, rode from the stable into the dry
dyke, while the old hag, who had been watching from the opening of the door since darkness had settled in, was
ready to close it quickly behind them. Telling her that they would return within the hour, they galloped away across
the lonely Marsh towards the Oast House on double -dyke Farm.
2
THE TWO HEARTS
On arrival they were met by some thirty Nightriders, masked and cloaked, who had already tethered their horses in
the large farmy ard. The leader’s horses were taken to the stables, and as soon as the Scarecrow was satisfied that a
look-out had been placed to guard against any surprise attack, he entered the Oast House, followed by his men.
The interior was lighted by lanterns, and the three leaders sat upon barrels, facing the others who were ranged