General Troubridge was not in favour of his officers duelling. He gave Major Faunce strict orders to watch over such “affairs of honour", and unless the cause was such that no gentleman could refrain from “going out", the argument was brought to the General, who acted as peacemaker. Consequently the Dragoons did not fight over such trifles as the correct set of a cravat, nor for any so-called insult over the critical points of a favourite horse or dog. But when the quarrel touched the honour of a lady, why, then the General showed the romantic side of his humanity. He never attempted to stop an affair of honour connected with the officers under him when he learnt that the aggressor had offered insult to the mother, wife, sister or sweetheart of one of his Dragoons. “Go and wing him, sir. Go and spit him, sir,” he would cry, “and may God defend the right and a Gentleman Dragoon.” Now it chanced that a certain officer of a certain regiment of Foot was appointed to a command in Dover Castle. This slim, elegant, though cadaverous fellow went by the rank and name of Captain Raikes. His worst enemy was ready to own that Raikes was a wizard with steel or lead, but would whisper behind his back that never had there been such an evil, cantankerous prince of cats in the British Army. Raikes was a rich man who had travelled widely on the Continent, and had spent much money at the various fencing academies, till he had become the very butcher of a silk button, which his point could pick off with the dexterity of a quick-job tailor. With his a sword fight could be safely continued just so long as it amused him, but whenever it pleased him to terminate further exertion, it was but “one", “two” and the “third” in your bosom.
This undesirable quarreler became acquainted with Troubridge's Dragoons, and feeling, no doubt, the inferiority of the infantry to the acknowledged superiority of the cavalry, went immediately to find occasion for proving that a Captain of Foot could excel any hard-riding Dragoon in the subtleties of the sword or the flight of a bullet.
Knowing the terrible reputation of this man of blood, General Troubridge trembled for the safety of his high-spirited young officers, and put Major Faunce the more on his guard. Perhaps Captain Raikes thought the better of the Dragoons by reason of the tact and skill with which they avoided a meeting with him, and to think the better of anyone was, in the heart of Captain Raikes, to wish a different opinion, which would not be difficult, he knew, if he could but get one of them to face him on the greensward.
Now through information retrieved from spies of the Customs that the Scarecrow was planning another of his colossal contraband runs, the Dragoons were ordered from Canterbury and billeted upon the Foot Regiment at Dover Castle. At the time of the Dragoons' arrival Captain Raikes was Officer of the Mess, and although responsible for his guests' comfort, found that he could as easily irritate them in many little ways. However, thanks to the General's warning and Major Faunce's vigilance, the cavalry officers pretended neither to notice his sneers nor to comprehend his offensive remarks.
And then came the affair of the Garrison Ball, which gave Bully Raikes the opportunity he had been seeking.
Everyone in the neighbourhood that could boast rank or gentility was invited, and Captain Raikes was appointed by his Colonel to undertake the onerous duty of Master of Ceremonies. No doubt the good Colonel thought that the very obligation of such an office would force the quarrelsome Captain to behave himself. In this he was mistaken, for Raikes was determined to make the evening an occasion for fixing a quarrel with one of the Dragoons, and the man he picked upon as the most delectable to quarrel with was young Brackenbury, a handsome officer who had recently been promoted to a captaincy, and was the fortunate husband of Sir Henry Pembury's youngest daughter Kate.
That night it was not only her husband and her father, the Lord of Lympne, but every fair-minded man and woman too in the ballroom who voted her the most beautiful in all that galaxy of beauty. Raikes thought so too, and in his conceit imagined that he could easily gain a double conquest against the hated Dragoons by killing the husband and in time ruining the wife. What was only meant for a smile of the purest courtesy from her kind, ladylike and pure eyes he translated as something more intriguing, something indeed of invitation, which any gentleman knowing Kate Brackenbury would have known was not possible to such a peerless girl.
In this Raikes' experience showed itself misinformed and most lamentably ignorant. As Master of Ceremonies he claimed the right to dance with her once, and dared to whisper something which brought the blush of shame to her cheeks. He misinterpreted that blush and his ignorance of purity plunged him only the further into error. Her exquisite beauty had caught his imagination, and he blundered on to what was eventually to prove his great disaster.
The scene of his disaster was in one of the large card-rooms adjoining the dancing floor. It was during an interval between play, and the Master of Ceremonies was well within his rights to enter in order to persuade the guests to take their promised partners for the next quadrille. Sir Henry Pembury and his daughter were talking to a group of Dragoon officers, amongst whom were General Troubridge and Captain Brackenbury.
Raikes approached them with, “By my faith, gentlemen, but 'tis ill taste of you to hold a council of war when your fair partners are waiting to be led out for the quadrille. Are you sharing condolences that by this time tomorrow your regiment will no doubt be once more the laughing-stock of this low-bred smuggler, the Scarecrow? 'Fore Gad, if I don't forfeit my night's rest and ride out to see the fun. I imagine that the Scarecrow is looking forward to it rather more than yourselves.” Then turning to Kate Brackenbury, and eyeing her through his quizzing-glass, he added, “But the contemplation of yet another disaster to your husband's regiment cannot be very entertaining to you, Madame. I therefore offer you my hand to conduct you to something more lively: to wit, the fiddles and quadrille.”
“My remaining dances for the evening have already been promised, Captain Raikes,” she answered coldly.
“And who has the honour of this one, may I ask?” demanded the Captain.
“If you must know, sir, my husband, Captain Brackenbury,” she retorted.
“Oh, sink me, no!” replied Raikes. “As Master of Ceremonies I refuse to allow such a pretty girl to be bored with her own husband, and I am sure he will reasonably and no doubt gladly release you.”
“I thank you, sir,” was the icy reply, “but I have no wish to be released—”
“Any more than I have, sir,” added young Brackenbury with an angry flush.
Endeavouring to wither the bully with a look of extreme contempt, General Troubridge rapped out: “If in your position of our host you have anything to say to us, sir, I beg that you will do so and withdraw. Sir Henry here will bear me out that we were making use of this card-room to indulge in a little private conversation.”
“I can guess the trend of it,” laughed Raikes. “No doubt you were laying out a plan of campaign to avoid open fight with the Scarecrow's men, eh?”
Sir Henry Pembury, though secure enough by reason of age, gout and his position as magistrate, stepped up to Raikes and said bravely, “I rather think, sir, that you are forgetting your manners in the presence of my daughter.” Young Brackenbury also took a step forward and added, “I suggest, Sir Henry, that Captain Raikes could hardly forget what he has so obviously never learnt.”
“And I suggest something entirely different, and certainly more droll,” said a kind, sweet voice from the door behind the back of the bully Captain, who turned and confronted the neat black-frocked figure of Doctor Syn, Vicar of Dymchurch.
“I don't know that we are very anxious to hear your suggestion, reverend sir, however droll,” sneered Raikes, furious that his opportunity of calling out Brackenbury was for the moment postponed.
“Now look you, sir,” went on Doctor Syn amiably. “Although I cannot say with any particle of truth that any of us have ever heard the smallest thing about you in your favour, my profession compels me ever to put the best complexion upon man or beast, and under whichever category you may be classed, I promise you that I shall feel myself obligated to do you what justice is possible for what I fear is a very bad case. Apart from my duty to my cloth, I confess that I dislike you intensely, as I verily believe every other honest man must do, but still for all that I—”
“Hold your damned interfering tongue, you old fool,” interrupted Captain Raikes. “Your cloth offers you protection which you are using to unfair advantage. One treats a parson as one does a woman—”
“With the full use of your ill-breeding, sir?” suggested Doctor Syn.
“Sink me, sir,” retorted the bully hotly, “but you are taking an unfair advantage—”
“A practice which I understand you so often do yourself,” put in the parson mildly.
“You know very well that I cannot challenge you,” cried out Raikes.
“I fail to see why not, unless it is that you are as cowardly as I think you to be,” smiled Doctor Syn. “But let me remind you,” he went on pleasantly, “that if you do so far honour me, that it is my province to choose the weapons, and have you any idea what they would be? No? Well, I will tell you. Like any other bully—and I confess that there is as much of the bully in me as there is in you —I should choose the best weapon for my own advantage, and a weapon which I venture to think I am a greater exponent of than yourself, unless you have been, like I have, an Oxford tutor. I warn you, sir, that this experience has taught me to wield the birch with very good effect, and as they say that to spare the rod is to spoil the child, I will promise not to spoil you.”
“Do you imagine, sir, for one moment that a Captain of Foot, who has fought in affairs of honour all over the world, would fight or even bandy words with a doddering old parson?” The rage of Captain Raikes was the further increased since he was well aware that the Dragoon officers were enjoying this wrangle.
“Quite honestly, sir,” replied Doctor Syn, “I should not be surprised to hear you deny to fight anyone unless you felt entirely safe in doing so, and that brings me to what I called my droll suggestion. Suppose you make good your words about tomorrow night. Suppose you forgo your sleep and ride out to Romney Marsh in order to witness, as you mentioned, the discomfiture of these gallant Dragoons. Suppose, with your superior tactics of war, you locate this Scarecrow yourself and repeat to him some sort of the remarks we have heard you make of him tonight. Let me see, what was it? I think you called him a lowbred smuggler. Although never having met the gentleman face to face, I suppose I must look upon him as one of my parishioners, and, however villainous the rascal is, take an interest in him. I wonder whether you would repeat your words to his face now, eh?”
“What is all this rigmarole aiming at?” demanded Raikes.
“Just this,” continued the Doctor. “You have the reputation of knowing a little about fence. Well, from all I hear, this low-bred smuggler gave a very gentlemanly account of himself when his sword met that of the famous French privateer, Captain Delacroix, who owned at his trial that he counted it no shame to be disarmed by such a gallant swordsman. 'A gallant swordsman' is something more polite than the term you used, 'a low-bred smuggler'. Now, granted first that we are most anxious to rid our Marshes of this impudent fellow, and granted also that this neighbourhood is also anxious to rid itself of your cowardly conceit, my droll suggestion is that you challenge the Scarecrow and either kill him or let him kill you, so that this fair part of Kent may at least be rid of one very dirty scoundrel.”
“Could I come face to face with the rascal,” cried out Raikes, “I would certainly show these tardy Dragoons how to deal with a law-breaker.”
“Good!” exclaimed the parson. “You hear, gentlemen? Captain Raikes has expressed his willingness to fight the Scarecrow. The only difficulty is, how is this to be accomplished? None of us know who the Scarecrow is. However, I rather think that if we spread the news of this challenge, the Scarecrow's spies, who seem to be here, there and everywhere, will inform their elusive master, and I cannot imagine that the Scarecrow will deny himself the pleasure of running Captain Raikes through the body.”
“Beware of making rash promises, Captain Raikes,” put in the General.
“There are many who affirm that this Scarecrow is possessed of supernatural powers, and who knows he may even now be overhearing you. Are you quite sure that you have the courage to face as good a swordsman as you are yourself?”
“Supernatural powers?” echoed Raikes. “You would think so. A very pretty excuse too for your failure to keep him in Dover Castle. But I assure you that I have no fear even of the devil himself.”
“Very comforting for you,” sighed Doctor Syn. “For I think there is very little doubt but that you and the devil will be boon companions when it is your turn to leave this world.”
“Now look you here, reverend sir,” retorted Raikes. “My patience is none of the best—”
“Nor mine, sir,” smiled the parson. “I hear the fiddlers inviting us to the quadrille, and whereas Captain Brackenbury was naturally disinclined for you to lead out his wife, I am sure he will release her to me. Come, my dear Kate. I promised you that I would try to dance just once, if you would pilot me. By your leave, gentlemen. Oh, and, Raikes, my good fellow, if you meet this Scarecrow of ours, be warned. They say his face and figure are positively terrifying. Ask Major Faunce there, who has seen him. Ask Captain Brackenbury, who has actually captured him. Horrible, most horrible, they lead me to understand. So don't be frightened, will you? “Now, my dear Kate, for the quadrille,” chuckled the parson, “I confess that I feel very frightened of cutting a comical figure, but at least I am proud of my partner.” And so, to the tune of the fiddles, Doctor Syn led Kate Brackenbury out into the ballroom. Ignoring Raikes, Sir Henry and the General followed, while the laughing Dragoons brought up the rear.
Raikes, however, knowing that he had cut the poorest figure, pulled Brackenbury by the sleeve, saying: “You will give me satisfaction, sir, for your gross insult. I can only presume that you arranged for that fool parson to come along with his insults in the nick of time to save you from meeting me. But that will not do, sir. I shall expect to hear from you.”
“Very well, sir,” assented Brackenbury bravely, though in his heart he knew that he was doomed.
“The choice of weapons is with you,” went on Raikes. “I presume that even a Dragoon will fight like a gentleman and not insist on being mounted and armed with a clumsy sabre.”
“I will take no advantage of a mere infantryman,” replied Brackenbury, with a stiff bow. “Neither will I chance to the flight of a bullet. It will be swords, sir, and if I lose, I shall at least have done my best to rid the Army of a very pretty scoundrel.” And with another bow he joined his brother officers.
Half an hour later a sergeant on duty approached Captain Raikes.
“A letter, sir, addressed to the Master of Ceremonies.”
“Who brought it?” asked Raikes.
“No one, sir. One of the sentries happened to see it lying on the porch steps.” Raikes opened it and read:
Doctor Syn, who is no friend to me, but rather my sworn enemy by reason of his friendship with the Dragoons, told you my spies are everywhere. He was correct. I have already heard that you have publicly styled me “a low-bred smuggler", and have challenged me. I take you up. If you dare face devils and dangers, be at Botolph's Bridge upon Romney Marsh by tomorrow midnight, where one of my Night-riders will await you and arrange matters. I choose swords, and there will be lanterns as well as the full moon. You may bring a second, if you can find one to act for you. I think we may dispense with a surgeon. An undertaker would be more to the purpose.
This was not the only mysterious letter found that night, for as a very wretched Brackenbury handed his wife into Sir Henry's coach, Doctor Syn, who was of their party for the return journey, noticed a paper sealed with a plain wafer upon the seat. It was addressed to Captain Brackenbury, who read it by the light of the coach lamp.
Sir, no reflection upon your skill as a swordsman, but Raikes is a bad butcher. If you would satisfy your honour, and yet live to witness the discomfiture of Raikes, make your appointment a quarter of an hour before midnight at Botolph's Bridge. If you do this, your lady wife will not be deprived by a brute of a very gallant husband.
“What is it, dear?” asked Kate.
“A note of hand for a card debt which I forgot to collect,” lied the Captain, for he had not told his wife of the peril he was in.
“You will do what the note says,” whispered Doctor Syn, who had been shown the message. “For this Scarecrow has a finer sense of honour than your antagonist. For Kate's sake, I beg you to obey.” Back in his study at Dymchurch, Doctor Syn found his faithful Sexton Mipps awaiting orders. Having informed him of the bad business connected with Raikes, Doctor Syn completed arrangements for the next night's “run”.
“I have persuaded the General that his best plan will be to ambush on the sea-wall and attack the smugglers as they land the tubs on Dymchurch sands.
At the same time the Sandgate Revenue cutter is to attack from the sea. Now there will be no unloading upon Dymchurch sands. Let the luggers approach shore about midnight, appear to be suspicious, put to sea again and land the goods when the cutter has gone, upon the far side of Dungeness. This will keep the Dragoons well occupied during my business at Botolph's Bridge, where I hope to show our Night-riders some very pretty sword-play as well as giving this Raikes a lesson which he is not likely to forget.”
