The next day Doctor Syn rode to Dover Castle with a requisition signed by Sir Antony Cobtree, head Magistrate of the Romney Marsh Level, for an officer and ten troopers to assist against a possible outrage by smugglers believed to be attempted on the following Thursday. No senior officer wishing to meet with the like disaster that had befallen their General and Major Faunce so recently, it was simple enough for young Brackenbury, on a hint from the good Doctor, to get appointed to the command.
To the young officer Doctor Syn was convincing. “If you will pledge me your word of honour not to act on your own initiative but to obey me to the letter, I in my turn will promise that you shall carry the Scarecrow as a prisoner bound to Sir Henry. Such orders as I cannot give myself will reach you by the mouth of my sexton, Mister Mipps. But to no one else must you pay attention, or you will fail.” The young man was prepared to promise anything to achieve such ends, but his curiosity made him add, “But how is it, sir, that you, a parson, can come by such information?”
“By reason of being a parson, and the friend of all, the shepherd of the black sheep as well as the white. You must not question me too closely, lest my conscience shall tell me I am wrong to thwart the black sheep in their sins. But I love your Kate and like you, and who knows perhaps this Scarecrow should be brought to trial.”
“Of course he should, sir,” agreed the officer. “You have surely no sympathy with such a law-breaker.”
“The lost sheep must be tended by the parson,” explained Doctor Syn. “And I shall do my utmost for the poor sinner when he is taken.”
“What a very saintly man!” thought the Cornet. “If more persons were only like him!” On Thursday evening, on orders received from Doctor Syn through the medium of Mipps, young Brackenbury bivouacked horses and men beneath the cover of trees at the foot of Lympne Hill. In due course and under cover of the misty darkness arrived Mipps, driving a farm-cart full of bundles of old clothes, which he commanded the men to unpack. “You'll get the credit for this,” he whispered to the young officer. “You see them other officers rode as Dragoons, and with shiny helmets and all. See 'em comin' for miles. Not you, see? Dress your men in these old rags like the Night-riders themselves, and no one's agoin' to question us.” Leaving the horses tethered under the charge of a line-guard, Mipps crawled along under the cover of the dykes, followed by Cornet Brackenbury and his nine men dressed in ragged clothes and their faces blackened with gunpowder.
After a lengthy and zigzagging crawl the Cornet ventured to suggest that they were somewhat removed from their horses.
“Nearly there,” whispered Mipps, who carried a blunderbuss. “Doctor's orders. He knows. Trust him.” At last they halted, crouched and waited. There was no doubt but that there was great activity going forward. In the weird Marsh light spectral horsemen galloped. Gunpowder flashes kept on signalling. Weird cries were uttered and answered. “Keep still. Keep hid,” enjoined Mipps. A cavalcade of ponies, some three hundred, passed, all carrying kegs. “Keep still. Keep hid,” repeated Mipps. Weird witches mounted and carrying jack-o'-lanterns galloped around them. “Keep hid,” repeated Mipps. Presently he whispered, “if you wants to see the Scarecrow, follow me, but leave your men here quiet till we wants 'em for the arrest.” After traversing many dykes, Mipps halted, and invited the officer to peer over the top. “The Scarecrow,” he whispered.
Brackenbury looked cautiously and saw in the centre of a dyke-bound field a tall, gaunt, weird figure dressed as a Scarecrow despatching and receiving messengers as weird-looking as himself. A great black unsaddled horse was tethered to a post behind him.
“That's him,” whispered Mipps. “Keep him covered with your pistol. I'll go back for your men; then as soon as he's alone we've got him.” A few minutes later and the Scarecrow was alone, but Mipps and the nine troopers with blackened faces were alongside Brackenbury.
Brackenbury was proud of his men. The Scarecrow, who leapt on to his horse, was captured before he could ride clear of them. He admitted his identity and asked where he was to be taken. On being told Lympne Castle, he swore under his mask and turning on Mipps said, “So it was you who betrayed me, was it, you dirty little body-snatcher?”
“It was,” admitted Mipps, “through information received like. And don't you call me names, you awful malefactor.” Piloted by Mipps they soon reached the trees where the horses were tethered, and after ten minutes' riding Brackenbury was thundering on the Castle doors. Their arrival was most opportune, for the Lord of Lympne had been roused from his bed with the news that the smugglers had once more borrowed his horses, and that the stable-boy on guard was bound and gagged in the hay-loft. Sir Henry had roused the Castle in his rage, so that Lady Pembury and her daughters witnessed the triumphal entrance of the prisoner under Brackenbury, whom Miss Kate recognized despite his weird disguise, for they had not wasted time to get back into uniform.
“Gad, sir, I'm proud of you. Kiss him, Kate, and I applaud your choice,” cried the delighted old man. “Now, son-in-law, leave your men here to guard him in the dungeons, and do you ride hot haste just as you are for Dymchurch and arouse the Squire. We'll unmask this rascal in his presence. Now, ladies, off to your beds. I'm the happiest man in Kent!” Off went the delighted Brackenbury in company with the horse-soldier, who was still in uniform, and up to bed went the ladies.
“And now, you scoundrel,” snarled Sir Henry, “you shall taste the dungeons of Lympne Castle till the gallows is prepared.”
“Oh, I think not,” rasped the Scarecrow. “One cry and you are dead. I prefer you to be the laughing-stock to me.”
Sir Henry was certainly not the happiest man in Kent next morning when nine unhorsed, disguised and disgruntled Dragoons, in company with a distracted Brackenbury and an amazed Sir Antony, found him in his brocaded dressing-gown lashed to the gibbet post of Dymchurch, with an inscription nailed above his head, “A laughing-stock, by order of the Scarecrow”.
When Mipps was rated he protested: “Well, I did my best. How was I to know Dragoons from Scarecrow men when all was dressed alike? I tell you my life ain't worth a copper coin now from the Scarecrow's men. You see what comes of being loyal.” It is to be feared that the summing-up of the situation by Doctor Syn did not please Sir Henry, for the genial Vicar only shook his head and said, “Well, there's no doubt but that young Brackenbury fulfilled his bargain and he can thank God that his father-in-law's word has ever been his bond.”
