Doctor Syn A Smuggler Tale of the Romney Marsh (15 page)

And the captain was gone. Literally rushed out of the door he had, leaving Jerk alone in a whirl.

“Well,” he said to himself, “if a man ever deserved a third breakfast, I’m the one, and here goes; for both of these fellows is stark, staring mad, though it’s wonderful the way they all seems to take to me.”

And thrusting the precious guinea bit into his pocket, Jerk again vigorously attacked the victuals.

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Talk about an ’ealthy child, and there he is,” said Mrs. Waggetts, entering the sanded parlour with Sexton Mipps. “And eat; nothing like eating to increase your fat, is there, Mister Mipps? But, there, I suppose you never had no fat on you to speak of, ’cos if ever a man was one of Pharaoh’s lean kine, you was.” “It’s hard work wot’s kept me thin, Missus Waggetts,” replied the sinister sexton; “hard work and scheming; and a little of both would do our young Jerry here no harm.”

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“As to work,” replied Jerry, gulping down more food, “there ain’t been no complaints against me, I believes, Missus Waggetts?”

“Certainly not, Jerry, my boy,” responded that lady affably.

“That’s good,” said Jerk, and then turning to the sexton he added: “And as to scheming, Mister Sexton, how do you know I don’t scheme? Some folks are so took up with their own schemes that p’raps they don’t get time to notice wot others are a-doin’. I has lots of schemes, I has. I thinks about ’em by day, I does, and dreams of ’em at night.”

“And they gives you a rare knack of puttin’ away Missus Waggetts’ victuals, I’m a-noticin’,” dryly remarked the sexton.

“Lor’, I’m sure he’s heartily welcome to anything I’ve got,” returned the landlady. “It fair cheers me up to see him eat well, and it’ll be a fine man he’ll be making in a year or so.”

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“Aye, that I will,” cried young Jerk; “and when I’m a hangman I ain’t agoin’ to forget my old friend. I’ll come along from the town every Sunday, I will, and we’ll go and hear Parson Syn preach just the same as we does now, and Mister Mipps will show us into the pew, and everybody will turn round and stare at us and say: ‘Why, there goes hangman Jerk’! Then we’ll come back and have a bite of supper together, that is providing I don’t have to sup with the squire at the Court House.”

“That ’ud be likely,” interrupted Mipps.

“And, after we’ve had supper, I’ll tell you stories about horrible sights I’ve seen in the week, and terrible things I’ve done, and it’ll go hard with Sexton Mipps to keep even with me with weird yarnin’, I tells you.”

“Ha! ha!” chuckled Mipps. “Strike me dead and knock me up slipshod in a buckrum coffin, if the man Jerry Jerk don’t please me. Look at him, Missus Waggetts. Will you please do me the favour of lookin’ at him hard, though

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don’t let it put you off your feed, Jerry. Why, at your age I had just such notions as you’ve got, but then I never had your advantages. Why, at thirteen years of age I was as growed up in my fancies as this Jerk. Sweetmeats to devil, eh, Jerry? for it’s some who grows above such garbage from their first rocking in the cradle. This Jerry Jerk is a man; why, bless you, he’s more a man than lots of ’em what thinks they be. Aye, more a man than some of ’em wot’s a-doin’ man’s work.”

“That’s so,” said Mrs. Waggetts, enthusiastically backing the sexton up. “And don’t you forget that he owns a bit of land on the Marsh, and so he’s a Marshman proper.”

“I doesn’t forget it,” said Mipps, “and I’ve been tellin’ certain folk wot had, how things were goin’ with Hangman Jerk, and I’ve made ’em see that although only a child in regard to age, he ain’t no child in his deeds, and so they agreed with me, Missus Waggetts, that it ’ud be unjust not to let him have

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full Marshman’s privileges; and I’ll go bail that Jerk won’t disgrace me by not

livin’ up to them privileges.”

“P’raps I won’t, Mister Sexton, when I knows what them privileges are.”

“You listen and I’ll tell you,” answered the sexton.

“And listen well, Jerry,” added Mrs. Waggetts, “for what Mister Mipps is agoin’ to say will like as not be the makin’ of you.”

“I will listen most certainly,” replied Jerk, “so soon as Mister Mipps gets on with it. I’m all agog to listen, but there’s no use in listenin’ afore he begins, is there now?”

“Jerry,” said the sexton, “you’re just one after my own heart. You ought to have lived in my days, when I was a lad. Gone to sea and got amongst the interestin’ gentlemen like I did. Aye, they was interestin’. And reckless they was, too. They was rough—none rougher; but I don’t grudge ’em all the kicks they give me. Why, it made a man o’ me, young Jerk. I tell you, Master Jerry,

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that bad as them sea adventurers was, and bad they was—my eye—yes, buccaneers, pirates, and all the rest of it—but bad as they was they did some good, for they made a man o’ me, Jerry. I should never have been the sort o’ man I is now if them ruffians hadn’t kindly knocked the nonsense out o’ me.”

“Shouldn’t you, though?” said Jerry.

“Never, never!” said the sexton with conviction. “But mind you,” he went on, “you has advantages wot I never had. I had to learn all the tricks o’ my trade, and I had to buy my experience. There was no kind friend to teach me my tricks o’ trade, no benevolent old cove wot ’ud pay for my experience. No, I had to buy and learn for myself, but, my stars and garters! afore they’d done with me I had ’em all scared o’ me. Even England hisself didn’t a-relish my tantrums; and when I was in a regular blinder, why, I solemnly believes he was scared froze o’ me. There was only one man my superior in all the time I sailed them golden seas, and that man was Clegg hisself. I served on his ship, you

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know, Jerk, I was carpenter, master carpenter, mind you, to Clegg hisself—to no less a man than Clegg. And on Clegg’s own ship it were, too. She was called the Imogene. I never knew why she was called so. It sounds a high fiddaddley sort o’ name for a pirate ship, but then Clegg was a regular gentleman in his tastes. Why, I remember him sittin’ so peaceful on the roundhouse roof one day a-readin’ of Virgil—and not in the vulgar tongue, neither. He was a-readin’ it in the foreign language wot it was first wrote in, so he told me. And you couldn’t somehow get hold o’ the fact that that benign-lookin’ cove wot was sittin’ there so peaceful a-readin’ learned books had maybe half an hour before strung up a mutineer to the yardarms or made some wealthy fat merchant walk the dirty plank. No, he was a rummun, and no mistake, was that damned old pirate Clegg. But I’d pull my forelock, supposing I had one, all day long to old Clegg, even were I the Archbishop of Canterbury and he only an out-at-heel seadog. Now with England it was different, as I told you, though I’ll own he

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could beat the devil hisself for blasphemy when he was put out. But I wasn’t afraid o’ him; he was one you could size up like. But Clegg—oh, he was different. Show me the man wot could size up Clegg, and I’d make him Leveller of Romney Marsh, aye, King of England, supposin’ I had the power. There was only one man wot I ever seed wot made Clegg turn a hair, and that was a rascally Cuban priest, but then he had devil powers, he had. Ugh!” And the sexton relapsed into silence. His listeners watched him, and, watching, they saw him shiver. What old scene of horror was flashing before that curious little man’s mind’s eye? Ah, who could tell? No living body, for the crew of the Imogene had all died violent deaths one after another in different lands, and since Clegg was hanged at Rye, why, Mipps was the only veteran left of that historical ship of crime, the Imogene.

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“Pray get on with the business in hand, Mister Mipps,” said Mrs. Waggetts, “for though I declare I could a-listen to you a-philosophizin’ and a-moralizin’ all day long, young Jerk is all agog. Ain’t you, Jerry?”

“That’s so,” replied young Jerk. “Please get on, Mister Sexton.”

“I will,” said Mr. Mipps. “You may wonder now, Jerry Jerk, how it has been possible for a swaggerin’ adventurer like I be, or rather was at one time, when I was a handsome, fine standin’ young fellow aboard the Imogene—I say you may fall to wonderin’ how I come to be a sexton and to live the dull, dreary life of a humdrum villager. Well, I’ll tell you now straight out, man to man, and when I’ve told you, why, you’ll understand all the mystery wot I’m a-gettin’ at.” The sexton smote his hand upon the table so that all the breakfast dishes jumped into different positions on the table, and the two words he said as his fist crashed down were these: “I couldn’t!”

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“Couldn’t what?” asked Jerk, whose anxiety for the breakfast dishes’ safety had driven the context of the sexton’s speech from his mind.

“Couldn’t live a humdrum life after the high jinks I had at sea.”

“But you did, Mister Sexton, and, what’s more, you’re a-doin’ it now,” replied young Jerk with some show of sarcasm.

“And very prettily you can act, can’t you, Hangman Jerk?” said Mr. Mipps, winking. “I declare you’re a past-master in the way of pretendin’. Well, pretendin’ all’s very well, but it’s often plain-spoken truth wot serves as a safer weapon for roguish fellows, and it’s plain-spoken truth I’m a-goin’ to use to you, believin’ in my heart that if ever there was a roguish fellow livin’, and one after my old heart, why, Hangman Jerk is that fellow.”

“Please get on, Mister Sexton,” said Jerry, feeling rather important.

“Yes, get on, get on,” repeated Mrs. Waggetts, “for I’m a-longin’ to hear how he takes it.”

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“Can you doubt? I don’t,” replied Mipps. “I beet my head he’ll take it as a man, won’t you, Jerry Jerk, eh?”

“I’ll tell you when I knows wot it is,” replied the boy.

“Why, what a talky old party I’ve become. Time was when I never uttered a word—but do—ah, I was one to do. And much and quick I did, too.”

“We knows that very well, thank you, Mister Sexton,” said Jerry. “That is, we knows it if we knows your word can be relied upon.”

“You may lay to that,” said Mipps, “and you may lay that in our future dealings together you can depend on me a-standin’ by you as long as you lay the straight course with me.”

“I’ll take your word for that,” responded Jerk. “Now p’raps you will get on?”

“Well,” said the sexton, “I must begin with the Marsh—the Romney Marsh. No one knows better than you that she’s a queer sort of a corner, is Romney

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Marsh. I’ve seen you a-prowlin’ and a nosin’ about on her. You scented excitement, you did, on the Marsh. You smelt out a mystery, and like a lad of adventurous spirit you wanted to find out the meanin’ of it all. Very natural. I should have done the same when I was a lad. Well, now the whole business is this: the Marsh don’t approve of people a-nosin’ and a-prowlin’ after her secrets, see?” And the sexton’s face grew suddenly fierce: all those lines of quizzical humour vanished from around that peculiar mouth and left a face of diabolical cruelty, of cunning, and of deceit. But Jerk was not easily unnerved or put out of countenance. There was something about Mipps that put him on his mettle and stimulated him. He liked Mipps, but he liked to keep even with him, for his own self-respect, which was very great, for in some things Jerry Jerk was most inordinately proud.

“Oh, the Marsh don’t approve, eh? And who or what might be the power on the Marsh to tell you so?”

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“The great ruler o’ the Marsh—the man with no name who successfully runs his schemes and makes his sons prosperous.”

“That’ll be the squire, then,” said Jerry promptly, “for he’s the Leveller of the Marsh Scots, ain’t he? He makes the laws for the Marshmen, don’t he?”

“He does that certainly,” agreed the sexton. “But whether or no he’s the power what brings luck to the Marshmen—Marshmen, mind you, worthy of the name—neither you nor me nor nobody can tell. Sufficient for us that the Marsh is ruled by a power, a mysterious power, wot brings gold and to spare to the Marshmen’s pockets.”

“Ah, then,” said Jerry, with his eyes blazing, “then I was right. There are smugglers on the Marsh.”

“There are,” said the sexton; “and it’s wealthy men they be, though you’d never guess at it, and darin’, adventurous cusses they be, and rollickin’ good times they gets, and no danger to speak of, ’cos the whole blessed concern is

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run by a master brain wot never seems to make mistakes, and it was this same master brain wot agreed that you should share the privileges o’ the Marsh, and I was ordered to recruit you.”

“Oh! and what’ll be required o’ me?” asked Jerk, “supposin’ I thinks about it.”

“You’ll be given a horse, and you’ll ride with the Marsh witches, learn their trade, and be apprehended to their callin’.”

“And how do you know I won’t blab and get you and your fellows the rope?” asked Jerry bravely.

“Because we’ve sized you up, we ’as, and we don’t suspect you of treachery. If we did, it wouldn’t much matter to us, though I should be right sorry to have been disappointed in you, for I declare I don’t know when I took to a young man like I ’as to you. You’re my fancy, you are, Jerry. Just like I was at your age. Mad for adventure and for the life of real men.”

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“Yes, but just supposin’ that I did disappoint you, Mister Sexton? It’s well to hear all sides, you know.”

“Aye, it’s well and wise, too, and I’ll tell you. If it was to your advantage to betray us—to that captain p’raps—well, I daresay you’d do it now, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” said Jerk; “all depends. P’raps I might, though. You never knows, does you?”

“No, you never knows. Quite right. But you’d know one thing: that go where you would, or hide where you liked, we’d get you in time, and when we did get you it ’ud be short shrift for you—you may lay to that.”

“I daresay,” said Jerry, “unless, of course, I got you first.”

“You’d have a good number to get, my lad,” laughed the sexton. “But it’s no use a-harguin’ like this. You won’t betray us when it don’t serve your turn to do so, and it won’t do that, ’cos we has very fine prospects open for you, and