A Smuggler Tale of the Romney Marsh

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and I only had to be passed through the parson’s hands and get knocked over the sconce with the sexton’s shovel, as Shakespeare says in the play, to be a real ‘goner,’ stiff and proper.”

“A horrible experience, Master Sexton,” returned the captain.

“It was in a sense. But I could tell you horribler. I takes a pride in my business, same as you might in yours. That’s why I went round the world.”

“Oh, you’ve been round the world, have you?” said the captain.

“Not once nor twice, but many times, and do you know why?”

“Perhaps the life of the get-rich-quick buccaneers appealed to you?” remarked Captain Collyer casually.

“There you go—suspicious. Can’t you adapt yourself for five minutes? Can’t you make an effort when you’re a-gossipin’ with honest folk to forget that there is dishonest ones? I never did see the like. Here we be chattin’ quite friendly, and forgettin’ our little differences, and you starts accusin’ me of bein’ a

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Captain Clegg or an England. Do I look like a bold pirate now? Lookin’ at me straight sittin’ up in this ’ere coffin, could you say that I looked like a swaggerin’ gentleman of fortune. No, you couldn’t. Very well, then, why go and make unpleasant insinuations against a respectable sexton o’ the realm? Mind you, I don’t say as how I didn’t come across some of that breed durin’ my travels, and I don’t say as how circumstance, that fickle woman, didn’t at time make me work for ’em. But not for long. I held no sort o’ likes with the likes o’ them, and though some of ’em had most engagin’ ways, it was easy to see that they was all of ’em unadulterated si

“And if it was not for gold and adventure that you went, may I ask what tempted you abroad?”

“Certainly, Captain. It was the love of my work. The zeal to have a look at other sextons, vergers, and undertakers and see what they were a-doin’ with the

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business. But Lord love you, Captain, I soon found as how funerals was done on different plans abroad. Why, I could tell you some things I seed with regard to burials abroad what ’ud make your flesh creep—aye, and now, too, thought the sun is high in the heaven.” different plans abroad. Why, I could tell you some things I seed with regard to burials abroad what ’ud make your flesh creep—aye, and now, too, thought the sun is high in the heaven.”

“Well, I’ve an hour to spare, Master Sexton. What do you say to coming along to the Ship and enjoying a drink and a friendly pipe?”

“I thinks I can do one better than that, thankin’ you kindly,” said the sexton, vaulting with marvellous dexterity out of the lofty coffin to the floor, “for I’ve baccy, pipes, and good brandy all to hand, and if you’d care to spend an hour with Sexton Mipps and listen to his babbles, why, light your ‘strike me dead’ and gulp your spirits and settle your hulk in that there coffin, what hasn’t got no passenger inside—so don’t be frightened—and we’ll shut the window, for it’s a-blowin’ the fire out; and if you ain’t cozy, well, it’s not the fault of the sexton, is it now?” And then Mr. Mipps, after busily providing his guest with

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the requisites for smoke and drink, and after splitting up a coffin plank to renew the fire, sprang back into the coffin, sitting snug with a glass of brandy and his clay pipe. The captain also was ensconced on a coffin in the corner, and to the crackle of the split coffin plank upon the fire the sexton began to yarn.

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Chapter 25

The Sexton Speaks

Funerals may be divided into three classes, for there be solemn funerals, there be grizzly funerals, and there be fu

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you understand, and this very particular priest is always a very sly sort o’ dog. The dead ’un is put into the coffin, and then the family pays their sly dog a considerable sum o’ money in exchange for very hard prayers wot the sly dog makes for ’em to his gods. He goes away and prays for weeks on end, askin’ his gods just where exactly the family ought to bury their dead ’un to enable him to get into heaven by the most convenient route. And as the sly dog gets paid all the time he’s a-prayin’, you can bet your wig that he pretends to string them prayers out to some length. And I can tell you those Chinese parsons were up to one or two smart wrinkles. I’ll tell you about a certain Ling Fu Quong. Well, if I hadn’t rung the curtain down, as the stage players say, upon that gent’s little comedy, I believes he’d be drawin’ in a salary now for a fellow what died some forty years ago. You see it happened like this: I had had business deals on with a smug-faced Chinese merchant wot did business at Shanghai. Well, when I was about to sail for the old country, old smug face came to say how sorry he

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was I was a-goin’ to leave, and hoped he’d have the pleasure of doin’ business with me again when I come back. Well, we started talkin’ and I told him that I should very much like to see a Chinese funeral, and old smug face said that he would gladly oblige me, because a very particular old uncle of his had died and his funeral was shortly to take place. Well, the upshot of it all was that I was invited to go up the river on smug face’s boat to Soochow, where he lived and where his uncle had died, a city some sixty miles away or thereabouts. So there I accordingly went. Have you ever been on one o’ them large sampans, Captain? No? Well, it’s a long sort o’ boat, fitted up very snug indeed, with flowers all trailin’ over the side, and all fixed up to look like an old homestead sailin’ on the river. After a very pleasant trip—and, Lord love you, I did make that old Chinaman laugh tellin’ him things, for I could speak their lingo very well, you understand—well, after a very pleasant trip we gets to Soochow, and a rummy old place it was. It stood right on top of the river, with its old walls ru