With the shadow of death upon him, as all thought, it was not difficult for young Brackenbury to obtain leave from duty, so that soon after the Dragoons had left for Dymchurch he was free to ride by a different route for Botolph's Bridge. It was a cold night with a clear moon. Never had young Brackenbury felt so cut off from the world as he viewed that desolate scene while awaiting his antagonist. For the sake of secrecy they had agreed to fight without seconds and to the death.
The eeriness of that empty Marsh robbed the young officer of all hope. Even the Scarecrow could not save him, for the only moving figure on that wide expanse was Death on Horseback, in the shape of the dreaded Captain Raikes as he trotted towards him along the winding road. The inn by the bridge was dark and close-shuttered. There could be no hope from there, for he was quite sure that its inhabitants and cronies would be far away upon the Scarecrow's business. In a dream he saw the cadaverous Raikes dismount, strip off his riding coat, his vest, roll up his sleeves, look at his fob-watch and scan the Marsh before drawing his sword. In the same dream Brackenbury found that he had done the same, except that his last act, after viewing the time from his fobwatch, was to say a prayer towards the distant heights of Lympne, where in the Castle slept his adorable wife, little realizing that her husband was about to go to death, unless the Scarecrow could perform a miracle.
“We will fence a little first to warm us up,” laughed Raikes.
“I came here to fight, sir, not to fence,” replied the other coldly.
The moment they came on guard Brackenbury attacked furiously, so that Raikes actually had to retreat, which he did with a sneer of amusement on his face. “A gentleman should keep his temper even in a fight,” he said, and then without effort he began to drive back the younger man.
It was then that above the ring of the swords there arose, as from the very bowels of the Marsh, a cry, loud and piercing, as of a thousand devils.
Brackenbury saw a look of terror in his enemy's eyes, and this same terror seemed to arrest his sword-arm. This happened as Brackenbury was making a desperate lunge, and unable to check himself the young man felt his point prick into the other's forearm. Raikes stood still and stared at something behind Brackenbury, who panted out: “I apologize. I did not intend a mean advantage.”
“Look,” whispered Raikes. “In God's name—”
“No, in the devil's name, Mister Butcher Raikes,” cried out a fierce raucous voice. Brackenbury turned and saw a long length of unnatural light shining up from what appeared to be a deep crack in the earth, while above it, as though risen from hell, sat the wild, black, ragged figure of the Scarecrow astride his fierce black steed. At the same time another wild yell of derision arose from the supernatural light, and from it there appeared some fifty ghastly figures— witches and demons.
Out from the deep dry dyke in which they had been concealed, they rode on fantastically trapped horses, and waving their jack-o'-lanterns above their heads, they galloped round the field, closing in a circle around the mazed duellists. Then into that circle of light rode the Scarecrow, with a drawn sword in his hand. Leaping from his horse, his raucous voice croaked through the hideous mask: “Captain Brackenbury, your honour can rest satisfied. You have drawn first blood. In any case, I, the Scarecrow, have first claim to meet this butcher's sword, for he challenged me before he challenged you. So, on guard, Butcher. On guard, and enjoy your last fight for some time.” The Scarecrow leapt forward and Raikes had barely time to guard himself.
Brackenbury confessed afterwards that he was almost sorry for Raikes. He had no chance. The horror of the scene unnerved him. Surrounded by ghastly devils that shrieked with glee at his discomfiture, he was driven round and round in that circle by the Scarecrow's blade, and was unable to cope with a vehemence he had never before experienced.
Twice he fell, and twice was ordered up, only to be driven backwards again by the lightning steel, until at last he went down amidst a howl of derision, while the Scarecrow wiped his sword upon his ragged cloak, saying: “I had a mind to pass it through his heart instead of his shoulder, but this will keep him quiet, I fancy, for a long time. Where's Hellspite?”
A little man dressed as a devil came forward and opened a box of surgical appliances, from which the Scarecrow skilfully dressed the wound. “Ready for the cart,” said the Scarecrow when this was done, and into the circle came an old vegetable cart driven by a yokel muffled up to the eyes. “Captain Brackenbury,” he went on, “we are returning him with these other vegetables to his regiment, while you will be escorted back to Lympne, for I cannot afford to let you communicate with the Dragoons tonight. But you may tell your General in the morning that while his troopers were guarding Dymchurch Wall the Scarecrow carried out a most profitable run upon the further side of Dungeness.
Lead the Captain to his horse. This Raikes will forfeit his, and his charger shall turn pack pony. And now for Dungeness.” As he was led away, Brackenbury saw the Scarecrow pick up Raikes' sword, snap it across his knee and throw it broken into the cart, where Raikes was being covered with the contents of many vegetable baskets.
The next morning a yokel unharnessed his cart-horse before the cookhouse of Dover Castle. “Goin' to get him shod. I'll come back for the cart,” he said.
But that he never did, and when the pile of cabbages was removed they uncovered the half-conscious body of Raikes. His broken sword lay beside him, and a notice was pinned to his coat: “VEGETABLES—WITH THE SCARECROW'S COMPLIMENTS”. And a few days later Doctor Syn chuckled to himself when he heard that Captain Raikes had resigned his commission and left the neighbourhood.
