The next day all shore leave was cancelled aboard the Vengeance. Guns and ammunition were looked to, and at dusk all hands were piped to action stations.
The moon was nearly at the full, so that as night set in the Channel was plainly visible. There was a good sea running, for the wind was strong, blowing great white clouds across the moon. It wanted but an hour to midnight when the lookout reported a vessel signalling from the fairway. The Admiral went on deck and made out a long slender vessel rigged fore and aft, that had come to anchor bow pointing down Channel.
“Well, I'm damned,” ejaculated the Admiral. “That's her signal right enough. I never thought the rogue would keep his word.” He thereupon ordered the captain to sail out of the harbour and to fetch up within two cables of the stranger's stern.
“She looks French by her cut, sir,” said the Captain. “Suppose it's the privateer and not this Scarecrow. Do you think they are in league?”
“They'll get pepper together if they are,” the Admiral replied, with his glass upon the vessel. “But I think not. However, they can hardly do us any harm.” As they tacked round and approached the vessel they saw that the stern light was fashioned in the shape of a jack-o'-lantern. A mighty pumpkin, with an orange light behind the eyes and grinning mouth. The man-o'-war hailed her, asking what ship and flag.
For answer there was hoisted to the peak the flapping figure of a scarecrow.
“A good enough omen,” laughed the Admiral. “For one day soon this Scarecrow will hang. And look, sure enough there is the very rascal by the tiller.” With a mighty howling and shrieking which might have been derision or enthusiasm, some fifty figures arose from the deck and waved their arms over the bulwarks, while standing by the tiller the tallest, wildest figure of them all cried out in a raucous voice: “Greetings to the Vengeance and the great Admiral. If you're for seeing British beat the French, follow in our wake. We're off to recover the worth of our tubs from the French privateer.” He sang out an order and his wild screaming Night-riders, now turned sailors, dashed to the ropes, and the Greyhound's sails took the wind as the anchor was weighed, and she was skimming over the sea with the speed of her own name, followed by the slower-going man-o'-war.
The Scarecrow knew his course, for he had arranged that certain of his plans should be betrayed to Captain Delacroix from some of his own French associates, who hated the French captain for having robbed them. Behind them lumbered the great ship of the line. For four hours they sailed on a zigzag course down but steadily across the Channel. The Scarecrow took care that his great escort did not lose sight of him. He calculated that they must be within eight miles of the French coast when they heard cannon fire.
“That will be our decoy luring him towards us,” said the Scarecrow to Hellspite.
“And that looks to me like 'em,” replied the wildly dressed sexton.
Sure enough Mipps was right, and presently across their course flew two luggers with a larger one that carried more sail in pursuit. “That's Delacroix,” said the Scarecrow. “Put a shot across her bows.”
Mipps laid his gun and fired. A great splash arose within ten yards of the privateer's bows, but she held her course.
“Halve the distance, Hellspite,” ordered the Scarecrow.
Mipps reloaded and fired again. This time the splash was within a bare three yards of the Frenchman, who replied insolently with a roaring broadside.
Not a shot struck the Greyhound, for, keeping head on, she presented little enough target.
Perhaps it was then that the Frenchman saw the great spectre of the man-o'war looming in the wake of the Greyhound, for he changed his course, abandoning the pursuit of the smuggling luggers and headed back for French waters. But he was reckoning without the Greyhound.
“Bend more canvas, you jolly dogs,” cried the Scarecrow. “No, no. Strike nothing. Cram on the canvas, every inch. We'll show this Frenchman how to pocket a wind.”
Once more he stood by Hellspite at the gun. “Take your own good time, but when you do fire, I have a fancy to see her mast unstepped.” Mipps took careful aim, hesitating as they plunged up and down upon the moonlit waves. At last he felt sure, and fired. A flash, a roar, and then the noise of rending wood like a great tree felled. And so it proved, for down came the great mast.
The French captain's voice could be heard above the confusion, ordering his crew to cut away wreckage and clear for action.
“Like old times,” said the Scarecrow to Mipps, and then, turning to his crew, cried out, “Boarding party away.” The helmsman had had his orders and he ran in the uptilted bowsprit of the Greyhound across the enemy's stern.
Hidden by the jibs, the Scarecrow, followed by his boarding party, scrambled along the bowsprit and then with a wild leap he was on the Frenchman's deck with drawn sword, crying out, “A moi, Monsieur le Capitaine Delacroix. En garde!” The Frenchman, who was amidships, drew his sword with a “Qui va là?”
“Je suis l'Epouvantail,” he cried.
The French crew echoed the name in fear, while the Night-riders shouted the word in English as their battle-cry: “The Scarecrow!” But the French captain was brave enough. Telling his men to leave it to him, he rushed aft and met Syn blade to blade. Behind his back Syn's men, armed with pistols and cutlasses, formed a semi-circle, while the Frenchmen formed the like behind their leader.
“Don't fire,” ordered the Admiral on the Vengeance. “Let the rascals kill each other if they wish, and then we will take our prizes.”
“Don't fire,” ordered Syn to the men behind him.
The vessels were drifting slowly together, for the Night-riders had thrown out grappling-irons, but the helmsman on the Greyhound was not idle.
Straining against the great tiller, he brought the locked vessels slowly but surely away from beneath the threatening guns of the man-o'-war. Meanwhile on the deck of the privateer the blades of the two swordsmen hissed and clashed like lightning in the moonlight. The steel slithered like quicksilver.
Twice was the Frenchman beaten to the bulwarks, and twice, as though not willing yet to terminate so good a fight, the tall Scarecrow retreated, encouraging his adversary to a fresh effort.
“They fight like a couple of gentlemen, the rascals,” admitted the watching Admiral.
And then the end came. A howl of triumph from the Scarecrow that rang out into the night, and the Frenchman's sword whirled into the air and fell into the sea. An irrepressible cheer rang out from the man-o'-war's men, for, as they said, the rascally victor was at least British.
The cheer was a signal for a general melée. Pistols flashed. Cutlasses, belaying-pins and hand-spikes joined in the grim struggle. The French captain, who had been seized by two burly Dymchurch men, yet roared out encouragement to his men, but they were no match for the men of Romney Marsh, and in a few minutes were crying out for quarter.
This the Scarecrow allowed immediately, telling them in their own tongue to lay down their arms. When this was done he ordered those who could swim to step to the bulwarks. Some dozen obeyed. They could swim well enough, they said, expecting that the rest were to be put to death out of hand. Those who could not swim looked at the jumbled waters and trembled.
“Then prick 'em overboard, lads,” cried the Scarecrow. “They'll be picked up by the men on the Vengeance. It's a way they have in the British Navy.”
The swimmers did not wait to be pricked over but jumped for it.
“Walkin' the plank, eh?” chuckled Mipps, who had followed his master along the bowsprit. “And what now, sir?” Syn whispered quickly into the sexton's ear, finishing his orders with “Understand?” But Mipps with consternation on his face cried out, “Oh no, not that. It's madness.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Mipps quietly.
“You see,” went on Syn in a kinder tone, “I have always felt a little sorry for General Troubridge. The Scarecrow has treated him damned shabbily on the whole, and I would like to give him cause to laugh back at his twin brother the Admiral.”
A boat was accordingly lowered and Captain Delacroix was told to step into it under guard. The Scarecrow sprang in last and ordered the four oarsmen to pull for the Vengeance. Meanwhile the sailors on the man-o'-war were busy rescuing the swimming Frenchmen.
“I knew they would, and I wanted to give them something to do,” chuckled Syn.
As they pulled alongside the Vengeance, the Scarecrow stood up in the stern sheets and hailed. “The Scarecrow is bringing aboard Captain Delacroix to be tried by the High Court of Admiralty for stealing our tubs. May we come aboard?” Upon the officer of the watch bawling out assent, the Scarecrow made fast the hanging rope ladder and, bowing to the Frenchman, asked him to climb first, following himself immediately behind. As soon as they were on the rope, the boat, according to instructions, pulled away. The officer of the watch never having been placed in such a position seemed a little uncertain of what he should do, but the moment the Scarecrow climbed aboard, that grotesquelooking person took the ordering upon himself. “Your servant, sir,” he said gruffly. “Kindly conduct me and my prisoner to the Admiral.” The Admiral met them on the quarter-deck. “My prisoner, sir,” said the Scarecrow. “And since I speak his tongue I have taken the liberty of assuring him that he will be treated as an officer and gallant foe while under your command.” The Admiral bowed to Captain Delacroix and gave orders for him to be taken below under guard. “As for you, sir,” he continued, addressing the Scarecrow, “since for once you have shown yourself on the side of the authorities, I will ask you to step into my cabin and take a glass of wine with me, though I regret that you must consider yourself my prisoner. I see that you are still wearing your sword, which you use well, but I must ask for it.”
The Scarecrow drew his sword and bowed. He heard an order behind him followed by the noise of cutlasses being drawn.
“I agree with you, sir,” he replied, “that I have this night done some service to the Admiralty by ridding the Channel of an enemy privateer. I regret I cannot drink with you, as time presses, but I will so far humour your hospitality.
Within the week I will return to inquire after my prisoner, and then I will very gladly drink your good health.” As he spoke he bowed and backed. Then turning like a tiger, his sword met the drawn cutlasses behind him. One honest sailor dropped his with a curse and the blood streaming from his forearm, and the other blades were turned aside as the weird figure leapt to the bulwarks and jumped overboard.
Admiral, Captain, officers and men rushed to the side, while a Marine officer snatched a musket from one of his men.
“No!” cried the Admiral. “No firing. 'Fore God, I'd rather look a fool ashore than shoot a brave man swimming.” Meanwhile with strong strokes the Scarecrow was seen cresting the waves and being hauled aboard his boat.
“About ship!” roared the Admiral. “Then give 'em a warning shot, and if they don't heave to, after 'em.” But they were reckoning without Sexton Mipps and his former knowledge of the sea. He had been very busy in his master's absence, so that by the time the great seventy-four swung round the Scarecrow was aboard the Greyhound, which, full canvas set and a cable towing the partially disabled privateer in her wake, was gathering speed and wind in favour.
“Good little devil,” cried the dripping Scarecrow, clapping Mipps on the back. “We'll slip that cable if necessary, but we'll find the privateer a useful addition to our smuggling fleet. We've got the start, and we'll keep it so long as we keep out of line of fire. Keep dead ahead of her and tack whenever she swings.” Once only did the guns of the Vengeance roar out after the warning shot, but whether the gunners were in sympathy with the Scarecrow's daring or not, it is certain that the salvo fell short, and the flag-ship returned to Dover harbour next morning with the prize of one French captain.
A week later Doctor Syn once more looked up the rope ladder that hung from the side of H.M.S. Vengeance. This time no sea was running. The harbour was like a mirror. He turned, however, to the sailors who had rowed him out to be entertained by his friend Admiral Troubridge, and shaking his head said:
“You don't expect me to climb up that thing, surely. I simply could not do it.”
“All right, sir,” replied the sailor. “He, there! Let down the gamming chair.”
“What?” replied a sailor of the watch.
“Shove down an Admiral's cradle. A gamming stool. The reverend gentleman don't like ropes.” Down came a cushioned chair with no legs, but hanging straps. Doctor Syn was strapped in. “Right away for heaven then,” cried the sailor. The poor parson, swinging round and round, was hoisted on to deck and conducted to the Admiral, who told him that the Scarecrow had swarmed up that very ropeladder with a heavy swell running.
“But for all that,” said the Admiral, after recounting his adventure, “I am disappointed in the rascal. He told me he would take wine with me within the week, and I've kept this bottle on purpose. Well, he won't come now, so let me pour you out a glass.”
“I rather expect he was just bragging, don't you, sir?” said the parson.
“Aye,” replied the Admiral. “He'll never dare come aboard again and drink with me. But for all that, I rather thought he would.”
“Allow something for a bragging rascal,” smiled the parson, holding up his glass. “In any case you caught the Frenchman.”
“And got no glory for it,” retorted the sea-dog. “Every sailor aboard went ashore telling the facts as they happened, making the Scarecrow more of a hero than ever. However, as I say, he's not quite the man I thought him. He has not dared to come to my cabin and sample this sherry.”
“Well, in his stead, let me drink your very good health, sir,” replied Doctor Syn, who had at least the private satisfaction of knowing that the Scarecrow was no braggart, but he thought it wiser to keep such knowledge to himself.
