Текст книги "A Smuggler Tale of the Romney Marsh"

Автор книги: Russell Thorndike

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Chapter 9

The End of Sennacherib Pepper

For half a mile out of the village Mr. Rash kept well in the rear of Sennacherib Pepper, and Jerk kept well behind the schoolmaster. It was a weird night. Everything was vivid, either very dark or very light; such grass as they came to was black grass; such roadways they crossed were with roads; the sky was brightly starlit, but the mountainous clouds were black, and the edges of the great dyke sluices were pitch black, but the water and thin mud, silver steel, reflecting the light of the sky. Sennacherib Pepper was a black shadow

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ahead; the schoolmaster was a blacker one; and Jerk—well, he couldn’t see himself; he rather wished he could, for company.

Although Mr. Rash was a very black-looking figure, there was something small and ugly that kept catching the silver steel reflected in the dyke water. What was it? Jerry couldn’t make out. It was something in Mr. Rash’s hand, and he kept bringing it out and thrusting it back into the pocket of his overcoat. But the young adventurer had enough to do, keeping himself from being discovered, else he might have understood and so saved Sennacherib’s life.

When they got about a mile from the village Mr. Rash quickened his pace; Jerry quickened his accordingly, but Sennacherib Pepper, who had no object in doing so, did not quicken his. Once the schoolmaster stopped dead, and the young hangman only just pulled up in time, so near was he; and once again the silver thing came out of the pocket, but this time Mr. Rash looked at it before thrusting it back again. Then he began to run.

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“Is that you, Doctor Pepper?” he called out.

“Now this is strange,” thought Jerk, “for the schoolmaster must surely have known what man he was following, and why hadn’t he cried out before?”

Sennacherib stopped. Jerk drew himself down among the rushes in the dyke and crept as near to the two men as he dared; he was within easy earshot, anyhow.

“Who is it?” asked Pepper; and then, recognizing the shoddy young man, he added: “Why, it’s the schoolmaster!”

“Yes, Doctor Pepper,” replied Rash, “and it’s been a hard job I’ve had to recover you, for it’s an uncanny way over the Marsh.”

Just then there was the sound of horses galloping in the distance, Jerk could hear it distinctly.

“What do you want me for?” asked the physician.

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“It was the vicar sent me for you, sir,” replied the schoolmaster. “He wants you to come at once; there’s somebody dying in the parish.”

“Do you know who it is?” said the physician.

“I believe it’s old Mrs. Tapsole in the Bake House, but I’m none too sure.”

Indeed it seemed to Jerk that uncertainty was the whole attitude of the schoolmaster. He seemed to be listening to the distant noise of galloping and answering old Sennacherib at random. Perhaps the physician also noticed something in his manner, for he looked at him pretty straight and said:

“I don’t think it’s Mrs. Tapsole, either, for I saw her to-day and she was as merry as a cricket.”

“She’s had a fit, sir, that’s about what she’s had,” replied the schoolmaster vaguely.

“Then,” said the physician, “you do know something about it, do you?”

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“I know just what I was asked to say,” returned the schoolmaster irritably. “It’s not my business to tell you what’s the matter with your patients. If you don’t know, I’m sure I don’t. You’re a doctor, ain’t you?”

No doubt old Pepper would have pulled the schoolmaster up with a good round turn for his boorishness and extraordinary manner had he not at that instant caught the sound of the galloping horses. “Look there!” he cried.

At full gallop across the Marsh were going a score or so of horsemen, lit by a light that shone from their faces and from the heads of their mad horses. Jerk could see Rash shaking as if with the ague, but for some reason he pretended not to see the hideous sight.

“What are you looking at?” he said, “for I see nothing.”

“There, there!” screamed old Pepper. “You must see something there!”

“Nothing but dyke, marsh, and the highroad,” faltered the schoolmaster.

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“No! There—look—riders—men on horses. Marsh fiends!” yelled the terrified physician.

“What in hell’s name are you trying to scare me for?” cursed the trembling Rash. “Don’t I tell you I see nothing? Ain’t that enough for you?”

“Then God forgive me!” cried poor Sennacherib, “for I can see ’em and you can’t; there’s something wrong with my soul.”

“Then God have mercy on it!” The words came somehow through the schoolmaster’s set teeth; the silver steel leapt from the pocket of his overcoat, and Sennacherib was savagely struck twice under the arm as he pointed at the riders. He gave one great cry and fell forward, while the schoolmaster, entirely gone to pieces, with quaking limbs and chattering teeth, stooped down and cleaned the knife by stabbing it swiftly up to the hilt in a clump of short grass that grew in the soil by the roadside.

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The sudden horror of the thing was too much even for the callous Jerk, for his senses failed him and he slid back into the dyke among the rushes, and when he came to himself the first shreds of dawn were rising over Romney Marsh.

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Chapter 10

Doctor Syn Gives Some Advice

That he was still dreaming was Jerry’s first thought, but he was so bitterly cold—for his clothes were wet with mud and dyke water—that he quickly realized his mistake; however, it took him a power of time and energy, and not a little courage, before he dared creep forth from his hiding-place. When he did the Marsh looked empty. The sheets of mist had rolled away, and it looked as innocent a piece of land as God had ever made. There was no sound save the tickling bubbles that rose from their mud-bed to burst amid the rushes, no one in sight but the old gentleman lying outstretched upon the road. Jerry crept up

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to him and looked. He was lying face downward, just as he had fallen, and the white road was stained with a dark bloody smudge.

“Well,” he said to himself, “here’s another job for old Mipps, and a trip to the ropemaker’s,” and shivering with cold and horror he set off as fast as he could go toward the village.

Now, when he was within sight of his own house, he began to consider what it was he duty to do. He had his own eyesight to prove the schoolmaster’s guilt; but would he be believed? Could the schoolmaster somehow turn the tables upon him? If he breathed a word to his grandparents he would at once be hauled before that brutal captain; and the captain he felt sure would not believe him. The squire might, but the captain would, of course, take the side of authority, and back up the schoolmaster. Denis Cobtree was not old enough to give him counsel, and, besides that, the captain was staying at the Court House.

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No: Doctor Syn was the man to go to. He was kindly and patient, and would anyhow give one leave to speak without interruption. So, crossing the fields, so as not to pass by his grandparents’ windows, he struck out for the vicarage.

Just as he was skirting the churchyard he heard the tramp of feet, and the captain passed along the road, followed by the King’s men. Two of them were bearing a shutter. Then the murder was known already. They were going to get Sennacherib’s body. Yes, it most certainly was, for there was affixed to the church door a new notice. Jerry approached and read the large glaring letters:

A hundred guineas will be paid to any person, or persons, who shall directly cause the arrest of a mulatto, a seaman. White hair; yellow face; no ears; six feet high; when last seen wearing royal navy cook’s uniform. Necklace of sharks’ teeth around neck. Tattoo marks of a gibbet on right forearm; a cockatoo on left wrist; and a brig in full sail executed in two dyes of tattoo work upon his chest.

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This man wanted by the crown for the murder of Sennacherib Pepper, Doctor of Physics and of Romney Marsh.

[Signed] ANTHONY COBTREE, Leveller of the Marsh Scotts, Court House, Dymchurch, and

HOWARD COLLYER, Captain of his Majesty’s Navy, and Coast Agent and Commissioner, Court House, Dymchurch

The writing on this notice was executed in most scholarly style, and Jerk knew the familiar lettering to be the handiwork of the murderous schoolmaster himself. This colossal audacity was quite terrifying to him. It looked as if it had been written in the blood of the victim; for the black ink was still wet.

As he gazed the church door opened and Doctor Syn came out. He looked pale and worried, as well he might, for indeed this shocking affair had already caused a most shaking sensation in the village.

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“This is a bad business, boy,” he said to Jerk, who was still gazing at the notice.

“You may well say that, sir,” replied the boy.

“Poor old Sennacherib,” sighed the cleric. “To think that you went from my friend’s house to meet your death. Well,” he added hotly, shaking his fist across at the Marsh, “let’s hope they catch the rascal, for we will give him short shrift for you, Sennacherib.”

“Aye, indeed, sir,” replied young Jerk, “and let’s hope as how it’ll be the right ’un when they does.”

“The right what?” asked Doctor Syn.

“The right rascal,” said young Jerk, “for that ain’t him.”

“What do you know about it, my lad?” said the Doctor.

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“The whole thing,” replied Jerk, “for I seed the whole of the ugly business. I seed the man with the yellow face last night. I seed him a-comin’ out of your front door with a weapon in his hand.”

“You saw that?” cried the cleric, his eyes shining with excitement. “You could swear that in the Court House?”

“I could do it anywhere,” replied Jerk, “let alone the Court House, and what’s more, I could swear that he never killed Doctor Pepper.”

“How can you possibly say such a thing?” said Doctor Syn.

“Because I seed the whole thing done, as I keep tellin’ you,” answered Jerk, “and it wasn’t him as did it.”

“How do you know?” asked the Doctor hastily. “Where were you?”

“Out on the Marsh,” said Jerk, “all night.”

“What!” ejaculated the vicar, looking at the boy doubtfully. “Are you speaking the truth, my lad?”

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“The solemn truth,” replied young Jerk.

“You were out on the Marsh all night?” repeated the astonished cleric. “And pray, what were you doing there?”

“Dogging that schoolmaster,” replied Jerk with conviction.

“Come into the vicarage,” said Doctor Syn, “and tell me all about it.” And he led the boy into the house.

When he had finished his tale Doctor Syn took him into the kitchen and lit the fire, bidding him dry his wet clothes, for Jerk was still shivering with the cold of the dyke water. Then he boiled some milk in a saucepan and set it before him, with a cold game pie and a loaf of bread. Jerk made a hearty meal and felt better, his opinion of clergymen going up at a bound when he discovered that a strong dose of excellent ship’s rum had been mixed with the milk. “Rum’s good stuff, my lad, on occasions,” he said cheerily, “and I’ve a

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notion that it’ll drive the cold out of you,” and Jerry thought it a very sensible notion, too.

“And now look here, my lad,” the Doctor went on, when Jerry could eat no more, “what you’ve seen may be true enough, though I tell you I can hardly credit it. It’s a good deal for a thinking man to swallow, you’ll allow, what with the devil riders and all that. Besides which I can see no earthly reason for the schoolmaster committing the crime. As yet I really don’t know what to say, my boy. I’m beat, I confess it. I must think things over for an hour or so. In the meantime I must strongly urge you to keep this adventure to yourself. It is very dangerous to make accusations that you have no means of proving, and certainly you can prove nothing, for there is nothing to go on but what you thought you saw. Well, a nightmare has upset better men than you before now, Jerry, and it is possible that your rich imagination may have supplied the whole thing. Go back then, to your house, and get a couple of hours’ sleep, and then go to school

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as if nothing had happened. Then I’ll tell you what we’ll do, my lad: you come round here and we’ll have a bit of dinner together and talk of this again.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Jerk, very flattered at being asked to dine with the vicar. “I consider that you’ve behaved very sensibly over this horrible affair, though where you get wrong, sir, is over my ‘rich imagination’. That part ain’t true, sir. I knows what i seed, and I sees Rash stick Pepper twice under the arm with his pencil sharpener.”

But Doctor Syn dismissed him with further adjurations to hold his tongue, adding that the whole thing seemed most odd.

On the way back from the vicarage Jerk met the sailors returning to the Court House bearing the remains of Sennacherib Pepper upon the shutter. After his conversation with Doctor Syn he thought it best to keep out of sight, as he was not desirous of being questioned by the captain, and so, when they had passed, he slipped home and managed to get into bed before his grandparents

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were astir. After his goodly feast at the vicarage he found it difficult to eat his usual hearty breakfast, but he did his best, saying that the news of this horrible murder and the thought of the man with the yellow face who was wanted by the King’s men must have put him off his feed. And so his night’s adventure passed unheeded, for everybody was too busy discussing the murder and setting forth their individual opinions upon it to trouble themselves about any suspicious behaviour of “Hangman Jerk.”

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Chapter 11

The Court House Inquiry

Jerry Jerk made it a golden rule to be always late for school, but on this particular morning he intended to be there before the schoolmaster, for he wanted to watch him, and if he saw an opening, make him nervous, without in any way betraying his secret. In the comfort of daylight he had lost all those terrors that had oppressed his spirit; indeed, ever since he had unburdened his mind to Doctor Syn he had entirely recovered his usual confidence. So with jaunty assurance he approached the schoolhouse, determined to be there before the murderer. But this same determination had evidently occurred to the

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schoolmaster, for when Jerry arrived at the schoolhouse he could see Mr. Rash already bending over his desk. Jerry, imagining that he had miscalculated the time, felt highly annoyed, fearing that he may have missed something worth seeing; but on entering the schoolroom he found that not one of his schoolfellows had arrived; consequently his entrance was the more marked. As a matter of fact, Jerk’s young colleagues were hanging about outside the Court House until the last possible moment, for there was much ado going forward, sailors on guard outside the door, people going in and coming out, and the gossips of the village discussing the foul murder of the unfortunate Sennacherib Pepper. Jerk went to his desk, sat down and waited, narrowly watching the schoolmaster, who was writing, keeping his face low to the desk. The boy thought that he would never look up, but after some ten minutes he did, and Jerk stared the murderer straight in the face.

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The schoolmaster bravely tried to return the stare, but failed, and then Jerk knew that he had in a measure failed also, failed in his trust to Doctor Syn, for in that glance Jerry has unconsciously told the malefactor what he knew. Presently Rash spoke without looking up: “Where have those other rascals got to?”

Promptly Jerk answered: “If you’re addressing yourself to a rascal, you ain’t addressing yourself to me, and I scorns to reply; but if I’m mistook—well, I think you knows where they are as well as I do who ain’t no rascal, but a respectable potboy, and no scholard, thank God!”

“I don’t know where they are,” replied the schoolmaster, looking up. “Be so good as to tell me, please, Jerk, and I’ll take this birch,” (and his voice rose high) “and beat ’em all up to the schoolhouse, like a herd of pigs, I will!” Then conquering his emotion, he added: “Please, Jerk, where are they?”

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But Jerk was in no way softened, so placing his forefinger to the side of his nose and solemnly winking one eye, he said: “I don’t know no more than you do, Mister, but if you does want me to guess I don’t mind putting six and six together and saying as how you’ll find ’em hanging about to get a glimpse of old Pepper’s grizzly corpse, wot was brought from the Marsh on a shutter.”

“I’ll teach them!” shrieked the schoolmaster, flourishing the birch and flying out of the door.

“That’s it!” added Jerk. “You do, and I’ll teach you, too, my fine fellow, who rapped my head once, I’ll teach you and teach you till I teaches your head to wriggle snug inside a good rope’s noose.” And having thus given vent to his feelings, Jerk followed the schoolmaster to see the fun.

The crowd outside the Court House was quite large for Dymchurch. Everybody was there, and right in front enjoying the excitement gaped and peered the scholars of the school. But Rash elbowed his way through the throng

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and fell upon them like a sudden squall, using the terrible birch upon the youngsters’ shoulders, quite regardless of the cries of “Shame!” and “Stop him!” from the villagers. But the onslaught of Rash came to a sudden conclusion, for the heavy hand of the captain’s bo’sun fell upon him and ordered him immediately inside the Court House. Jerk saw Rash turn the colour of a jellyfish, asserting wildly that there must be some mistake, and that having his duty to perform at the school he must beg to be excused.

“It’s my opinion,” replied the bo’sun in a hard voice, “that them lads will get a holiday today. The inquiry is going forward about this murder, and I have orders to see that you attend.” So keeping his rough hand upon the teacher’s shoulder he led him, still protesting vehemently, inside the Court House, with the jeers and jibes of the scholars ringing in his ears.

Jerk had by now worked his way to the front of the crowd, and there he stood looking with wonder at the two great seamen who with drawn cutlasses

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were guarding the open door. Dymchurch was having the excitement of its life, and no mistake, and a holiday for the school, even the tragedy of Sennacherib Pepper’s death, was forgotten in the glory of that moment, and the hated schoolmaster had been publicly stopped thrashing the boys and had himself been ordered into the Court House.

“I wonder what for?” thought young Jerk. “I wonder?” He would have given a lot to see inside the upper room, where the inquiry was now about to proceed. Presently the captain himself came out of the hall and stood for a moment on the gravel outside, looking at the crowd. Now there were sailors keeping the crowd back; never had there been such formal times in Dymchurch. The captain glanced at the little knot of schoolboys with their satchels, and suddenly catching sight of Jerk, called out: “Hie you! you’re the potboy of the Ship Inn, ain’t you? Well, I want you. Step this way!” So his wish was granted, and

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followed by the wonder and admiration of the crowd, Jerry Jerk, potboy of the Ship, strutted after the King’s captain into the Court House.

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Chapter 12

The Captain Objects

Up the old stairway to the courtroom Jerk followed the captain, wondering why he had been called, what the captain knew about last night, and whatever Doctor Syn would advise him to say if he were questioned. These were nutty problems for Jerry’s young teeth to crack, and though somewhat nervous in consequence, he was on the whole highly delighted at seeing the fun. The procedure of the inquiry was evidently biding the captain’s presence, for as soon as he had taken his seat at the high table the squire rose and in a

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few well-chosen words announced the inquiry to be set and open. The captain seemed to have forgotten the presence of Jerk, who was left standing in the doorway surveying the august company. There was an attorney-at-law and a doctor of medicine from Hythe, an attorney from Romney and a doctor from Romney. At the high table these four gentlemen sat facing the squire, who was in the centre, with Doctor Syn upon his right. On his left was the chair just occupied by the captain, and on fixed oak benches round the room sat the leading lights of Dymchurch: the head preventive officer, three or four well-todo farmers, two owners of fishing luggers, Denis Cobtree, Mrs. Waggetts, and the schoolmaster, besides two or three other villagers. Nobody took much notice of Jerk when he came in, for all eyes were on the captain, but Doctor Syn not only took notice but the trouble to point out an empty space on one of the benches.

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“Are all those summoned for the inquiry present?” asked the captain, looking round at the assemblage.

“All but Mr. Mipps,” said the squire, referring to a list of names before him. “While we were waiting for you, he took the opportunity of viewing the body next door.”

The captain signed to one of the two sailors who were guarding the door of the adjoining room, and he accordingly summoned the undertaker, who with an eye to business was measuring the corpse. Jerk caught a glimpse of this as the door opened, and of the form of Sennacherib Pepper lying on a table. The undertaker, with a footrule in his hands, took his place on one of the benches. Mipps’s entrance seemed to revive the tragedy of the whole business, for there was a pause pending the squire’s opening speech; but the captain was the first to speak. He arose and to the astonishment of everybody took up and lit a pipe which had been lying on the table in front of him.

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“Sir Antony Cobtree and gentlemen,” he said in his great husky sea voice, as he drew the smoke deliberately through the long clay stem and volleyed it back from his set mouth in blue battle clouds across the table, “we have met here to discuss, as Sir Antony Cobtree has already said better than I ever could, the sad and sudden death of Doctor Sennacherib Pepper, killed violently last night on Romney Marsh. The form of this inquiry I leave to the lawyers whose business it is, but before they get busy I’ve got a few things bottled up that I must and will say. I don’t possess the knack of a crafty tongue myself, I’ve the reputation among my colleagues of being the most tactless man in the service; but I’ve also a reputation as a fighter, and when I do fight, it’s a hard fight—a straightforward, open fight. So what I’ve got to say will like enough cause offence to every man in this room from Sir Antony Cobtree downward. I’m no good at strategy; as I say, I fight open; and when I think things—well, I can’t bottle them up; I say ’em out bluntly at the risk of offence. So here it is: I don’t

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like this business—this Doctor Pepper business—” The captain here paused to roll a large volume of smoke across the room.

The squire took advantage of the pause and said: “If that’s all it is, Captain, come now—which of us do?”

The captain thought a moment and added: “If the party or parties who committed the crime didn’t like it, why, in thunder’s name, did they do it?”

“You should know that better than we do,” returned the squire hotly, “for that the murderer was under your employment is fairly obvious.”

“You are referring to the mulatto seaman,” said the captain. “In the first place, I consider that you should have asked my permission before you issued that public notice affixed to the church door. Until the mulatto is found and can be examined, I deny your right or any man’s right to brand him as a murderer.”

“You remarked just now, sir,” cried the squire, “that you preferred to leave the business of lawyers to the lawyers. Please do so, and remember that while I

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am head of this jurisdiction on Romney Marsh I’ll brook no dictation from Admiralty men—no, sir, not from the First Lord downward.”

“Come, come, gentlemen,” said Doctor Syn, drumming his fingers on the table, “I think that this is an ill-fitting time and place for wrangling. The captain has got a bee in his bonnet somehow, and the sooner we get it out for him the better. Let us please hear, sir, what he has to say.”

The squire nodded his head roughly and sat silent, while the rest of the company waited for the captain to continue, which he presently did, still pulling vigorously at his long clay pipe.

“The next thing I don’t like,” he went on, “is Dymchurch itself. I don’t like the Marsh behind it, and I don’t like the flat, open coastline; it looks a deal too innocent for me on the surface, and, not being a strategist, I don’t like it.”

The squire was on edge with irritation.

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“I am sure, sir,” he said sarcastically, “that had the Almighty been notified of your objections during the process of the creation he would have extended Dover Cliffs round Dungeness.” The captain didn’t seem to notice the interruption.

“Next, I don’t like the people here, leaving Doctor Syn out of it—for he’s a parson and I never could make head or tail of parsons. I say that, from the squire down, you’re none of you swimming the surface. Sir Antony Cobtree went to great pains to lavishly entertain me yesterday, in order that he might politely imprison me last night. I enjoy good entertainment and the conversation of witty, clever men, but not at the price of a locked door.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about!” said the squire, livid with rage.

“Don’t you, sir?” retorted Captain Collyer. “Well, I do, as I had to risk breaking my neck when I climbed down the ivy from your top window.”

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“You had only to tell me of your eccentric habits,” said the squire, “and I would have set a ladder against your window in case the door stuck.”

“The door was locked, and well you know it, sir,” cried the captain, suddenly turning on the squire, “for half an hour after I had climbed back through the window—to be exact, at half-past four—I heard stealthy feet come along the passage and unlock it, by which I know that for a period of the night you wanted to make sure of me inside my room, and when on inquiring from your servants I discover that I am the first guest who has ever slept in that particular room, and that the furniture was put into it for the occasion from one of the spare rooms, I begin to see your wisdom, for that room contained no view of the highroad, no view of the Marsh or sea.”

“Gad! sir, you are the first man who has dared to question my hospitality. Perhaps you expected me to give up my room for your accommodation.”

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“Nothing of the king,” answered the captain, “but I expected to be dealt straight with. And this brings me to the end of my complaints, and let me tell you this: I saw enough last night on the Marsh to keep Jack Ketch busy for an hour or so. Gentlemen, I am warning you. You’ll not be the first I’ve sent from the coast to the sessions, nor will you be the last. I warn you, one and all, that I’m going to strike soon. I’m not afraid of your tales of Marsh devils and demon riders. I’ll rout ’em out and see how they look by daylight. I’ve men behind me that I can trust, and they’re pretty hardy fighters. If your demon riders are not of this world, then they’ll do our good steel no harm; but if they are just men playing hanky-panky tricks to frighten fools from the Marsh, well, all I’ve got to say to them is, if they relish British cutlasses in their bowels, let them continue with such pranks as they played upon poor Pepper, and they’ll get Pepper back and be damned to them, for it’s Jack Ketch or the cold steel and

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nothing else.” And having hurled his challenge at the assembly the captain put his pipe upon the table and sat down.

You can imagine that a speech of so staggering a nature had a strange effect upon the company. So sudden was it, so ferocious, so uncalled for, that nearly a minute elapsed before any one moved. At last the squire rose, speaking quietly but in that clear voice that everybody in Dymchurch knew so well and respected.

“Gentlemen, Doctor Syn spoke very wisely, as it is ever his wont to do, when he rebuked us for wrangling, for, as he said, both time and place are ill fitting. This is the first time that I have been insulted during my long sojourn in Romney Marsh, and I am glad that it has been in the presence of my friends and tenants of Dymchurch, who know me well and will do me right in their own minds, never allowing themselves to be warped for a single instant by the scathing and unjust remarks of a stranger upon whom I have, to the best of my

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ability, bestowed hospitality and every mark of friendship. On the other hand, I must honestly affirm that Captain Howard Collyer has given me insult in a straightforward way. In his defence I must say that the Admiralty have chosen a bad man to do their spying for them; when I say bad, I mean, of course, the ‘wrong’ man. I know the captain to be a brave and a good sailor. The splendid though tactless drubbing that he gave to the French man-o’-war Golden Lion in the mouth of the St. Lawrence River describes exactly the sort of character that Collyer carries; and if the Admiralty had left him in command of the Resistance we should have been at war with the odious French long ago. I now give the Admiralty credit for being weatherwise seamen and diplomatists, and think them shrewd in depriving him of a ‘command’. Having now, as it were, given the devil his due, I say to him, in the presence of you all, that his words here this morning have been foolish, ridiculous, and altogether preposterous. It is not in accordance with either my private or public dignity that I should answer the

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vague, hinted accusation of this captain. As I said before, I am judge here, and while I hold the most honourable position of ‘Leveller of Marsh Scotts,’ I decline to entertain any imputations, for should I ever consider myself to be in the position of being rationally accused of any crime of lawlessness, I should, for the honour of my office and the general welfare of Romney Marsh, regard myself compelled to resign. This I have no intention of doing, for it is clearly now my bounden duty to see my poor friend Sennacherib Pepper righted and avenged; and for that duty I sweep aside Captain Collyer’s statements as trivial and impertinent. You gentlemen in this Court House are all good Marshmen, and one and all know me better than I know myself. When you consider me unfit to be your judge I will retire, but not till then.”