CHAPTER LIII.
THE ATTACK AND COUNTER ATTACK ON THE BLOCK HOUSE—NED WARBECK TO THE RESCUE.
THE ATTACK AND COUNTER ATTACK ON THE BLOCK HOUSE—NED WARBECK TO THE RESCUE.
“To action,” said Death-wing; “to action then; letus attack Captain Jack’s store-house, and for ever silence the babbling of ‘the Dozen;’ they are all braggarts.”
With an unanimous voice the Skeleton Crew proposed to sally forth, and armed themselves to the teeth.
Led on by Death-wing and Phillip Redgill, who was now recognized as one of their chiefs, they went forth into the darkness bent upon sacking the stronghold where for many years the Dozen had kept their plunder.
“We will serve Captain Jack out once and for all,” said Death-wing.
“Yes, if he is there,” said Phillip; “but I doubt it. Both he and old Bates are too old birds to be caught with chaff.”
“No matter,” said Death-wing, “we shall be sure to fall foul of some of the gang, and the beautiful Ellen Harmer shall be the wife of the first one who enters their stronghold.”
“Agreed!” shouted all.
With one accord they moved on through the dark streets like phantoms.
In a short time they reached the strong and barricaded store-house of the Dozen.
The sounds of carousing were heard within.
“They do not suspect that anyone is aware of their doings. We can capture the place without trouble of any kind.”
“But the place is surrounded by high and thick palisadings of timber,” said Phillip; “it has two gates, both of them of amazing strength.”
“So much the better,” said Death-wing, “when we have massacred all within we will keep the place as our own. Does any of the King’s officers know of it?”
“I think not,” said Phillip, “for Captain Jack and his men had it built expressly for themselves in such an out-of-the-way place that I doubt much if even Colonel Blood ever heard of it.”
“Excellent news,” said Death-wing; “if Captain Jack and Bates have thoroughly ransacked the Colonel’s house there must be a great deal of treasure inside.”
“No doubt of it.”
“Then let us surround it quietly. When I give the word let one and all of you scale the walls, and spare no living soul save Ellen Harmer. Have the scouts returned?” asked Death-wing. “We must not commence operations until the coast is clear.”
“Here are the two scouts,” said Phillip; “they have just returned.”
“What news do you bring?” asked Death-wing of them.
“Colonel Blood has been thrown off the scent; he and his soldiers endeavoured to follow Captain Jack and old Bates, but they escaped in the darkness.”
“Hang the trick,” said Death-wing, “so we shan’t have the pleasure of killing those two rascals after all.”
“Never mind,” said Phillip, “it will only be a pleasure for us to do it at some distant time.”
“True,” said Death-wing, “but you don’t know them so long or so well as I do. If these two notorious rascals find that their men have been all killed or disbanded, they will form another gang, most likely, and cause us more trouble than they are worth. No matter, let us hear what the scouts say. What direction has Colonel Blood and his soldiers taken?”
“They have returned to barracks.”
“And the Colonel?”
“I saw him standing at the gate of his own house swearing like a madman at his ill-success.”
“So much the better,” said Death-wing, laughing hoarsely, “if he has been disappointed we shall not be. Come, follow me.”
With this command all the crew followed him silently, like so many shadows.
They approached the outer walls of the timber-built dwelling, and crept out of view.
They could hear the sounds of revelry within, and the tipsy chorus of unsuspecting drunkards.
“Now,” said Death-wing.
At the word of command he and his followers scaled the walls with the agility of monkeys.
The next moment they descended into the spacious court-yard.
The huge old building was surrounded by them.
The doors were smashed open.
In a few moments the clanging of arms and the report of pistols were heard on all sides.
But while this was taking place many good citizens were aroused from their slumbers by the noise and tumult, and stood at a respectful distance from the scene of combat, fearful to have anything to do or say in the matter.
For they were horrified to learn that it was none other than the famous Skeleton Crew and Captain Jack’s band who were fighting within.
This all could plainly perceive, for the skeleton forms of Death-wing’s crew were occasionally seen at the windows and on the roof in deadly struggle with the robbers.
But now a change came over the aspect of the whole scene; Wildfire Ned, with Lieutenant Garnet, Bob Bertram, and Tim, had heard of the atrocious robbery of and abduction of Nelly Harmer from the mansion of Colonel Blood.
On the instant they formed a strong patrol of citizens, and having well armed them, all marched through the streets on the look-out for any of Captain Jack’s notorious gang.
They were not aware of what Death-wing and his crew were doing that moment at the “Block-House,” but the distant hum of voices told them that something more than ordinary was transpiring down by the river bank.
“Come on,” said Ned to his patrol; “come on, my merry men. There is something up down by the river; who knows, it may be Captain Jack and his vagabond followers, after all? Come on, don’t let us give up our search for nothing. Follow me!”
“Stop! stop! good masters,” said several affrighted citizens. “Stay where you are; several of the king’s men have been murdered! The Skeleton Crew are out to-night; the demons, led on by Death-wing, are making sad havoc down by the river, and nothing can stop them!”
“The Skeleton Crew!” said Ned. “Hurrah, boys, hurrah! we have met them before, haven’t we, Garnet?”
“Yes, my brave lad; and I am willing to meet the scoundrels again, whether on land or sea. Lead on, Ned; lead on.”
With a loud shout Wildfire Ned and his followers rushed towards the scene of tumult.
The citizens made way for them, as, led on by Ned Warbeck, Garnet and Bob Bertram, the gallant band of young citizens and London Apprentices, ran towards the Block-House.
It was at this moment, and just as Ned Warbeck arrived on the scene of action, that the gate of the Block-House was hastily opened and closed again.
A man rushed forth, all bleeding, and with a sword in hand.
“She is mine! she is mine!” said he.
It was Phillip Redgill bearing away the unconscious form of Ellen Harmer from the Block-House!
“She is mine! she is mine!” he said, with savage oaths. “Make way there on your lives!”
The good, simple citizens, supposing that Phillip Redgill was a well-disposed and gallant person, who, at the risk of his own life among the terrible crew, had rescued an innocent girl, made way for him to the right and left, and even cheered him.
“Hold, villain, hold!” said Ned Warbeck, dashing towards Phillip Redgill.
Redgill stood stock still as if he had suddenly beheld a spectre.
“Ned Warbeck,” he gasped, “again across my path! Make way, fool, or die!”
“Stir but another inch with your precious burden,” said Ned Warbeck, with a determined oath. “Stir but an inch farther this way, and my sword to the hilt shall be buried in your craven carcase!”
With wild-looking eyes and dishevelled hair, almost on end with unnatural fright and alarm, Phillip Redgill was about to drop the insensible girl from his arms, when, with a sudden spring, and a gleaming sword, Ned Warbeck plucked her from his grasp.
A terrible hand to hand conflict now took place between these two hereditary enemies.
It seemed as if all the hatred of their forefathers had gathered in the hearts of these two fierce opponents.
Garnet and Bob Bertram would have rushed to Ned’s assistance; but said Ned Warbeck, in tones of confidence—
“Away, friends, away! leave the affair to me! Do you and your followers storm the Block-House, and let not one of the villains escape. Away, I say! let no one interfere! Make a ring, good citizens, and see fair play; I ask nothing more!”
“Give the poor girl to me, my brave lad,” chorused a score of voices; “you cannot fight with her burden in your arms.”
“Never fear, good people,” said Ned, “whether I live or die, this poor girl shall never leave my embrace while I have power to protect her.”
With the ferocity of two tigers Redgill and young Warbeck commenced the duel, surrounded as they were by a numerous company of breathless spectators.
Again and again they cut and thrust at each other with ferocious violence.
Redgill had the advantage of weight, height, and reach, independent of not holding any burden.
But Ned Warbeck was confident and bold.
Again they approached to dangerous nearness, and each moment seemed as if it would decide the combat.
But Ned Warbeck was fully aware of his opponent’s cunning, and treated his cowardly thrust with a loud laugh of contempt.
Once or twice it seemed as if Redgill really intended to murder Ellen Harmer as she unconsciously clung to the brave youth her protector.
In looking after her safety, therefore, Ned Warbeck often missed excellent opportunities for wounding Redgill seriously. On the other hand, however, Ned Warbeck was falling weak, and he received several slight cuts in the arms and legs.
Redgill, thinking that he had his antagonist safe, and need not fear his repeated thrusts, stepped still closer.
This was what Ned Warbeck had long wanted him to do, but had so disguised his wish that Redgill could not understand the trick.
“I’ll play with you no longer,” said Redgill, with a laugh of triumph. “You have ever been a snake in my path; now, Ned Warbeck, die like a dog!”
With a shout of derision, and with eyes glaring in deadly hate and rage, he rushed upon Ned, and a terrible struggle ensued.
With the stroke of Vulcan, young Warbeck struck down Redgill’s sword point, and at the same moment Phillip Redgill fell to the earth with a loud groan.
Ned Warbeck’s sword had been buried to the hilt in Phillip’s body.
A loud shout applauded this unexpected stroke of good-fortune.
“Brave lad!”
“Hurrah for Wildfire Ned!”
“Good luck to you, young Warbeck!” resounded on all sides.
With an elastic stride, and his sword still dripping with Phillip Redgill’s blood, Ned Warbeck strode through the applauding crowd, still bearing in his arms the form of Ellen Harmer, and took her to a house near by, that restoratives might be administered to her.
But while this was taking place, let us return to Lieutenant Garnet and his men.
Many of them had wildly rushed at the walls and gates, but were unable to force them.
For Death-wing and his party, finding that they themselves were in turn attacked by the citizens, made superhuman exertions to escape from the trap into which they had unconsciously fallen.
Instead, therefore, of Death-wing slaying all he met with in the huge Block-house, he made friends with all Captain Jack’s men that remained unhurt, and they prepared for a terrific resistance to the armed citizen patrol outside, who were making fruitless efforts to break down the heavy, massive wooden stockade which surrounded the immense yard of the Block-House.
They kept up a galling fire upon the citizens with guns, pistols, stones, bricks, and whatever came to hand, from the windows and roof.
Several of the citizens had been killed or wounded long before Ned Warbeck and his friends had arrived on the scene,
When, however, Ned was engaged in the deadly dud with Phillip Redgill, Lieutenant Garnet, like an old and experienced sailor, soon changed the whole aspect of affairs, and cheered on his men.
He took the entire command, re-invigorated their efforts, and completely altered the mode and direction of attack.
He was an able leader, and the consequences of his appearance were soon perceptible in the development of events.
The force immediately beneath the walls, and secure from the shots of the Skeleton Crew, were reinforced, and in so cautious a manner, that the Skeleton Crew were entirely ignorant of their increased strength in that quarter.
Creeping as they did from place to place, now lying prone and silent to the ground, in utter immobility; now rushing, as circumstances prompted, with all rapidity, they put themselves into cover, crossing the intervening space without the loss of a man.
Having thus gathered in force beneath the walls of the Block-House, the greater number, while the rest watched, proceeded to gather up in piles, as they had begun to do before, immense quantities of the dry pine trash and the gummy turpentine wood which the neighbourhood readily afforded.
This they clustered in thick masses around the more accessible points of the wooden walls.
The first intimation which the garrison had of this proceeding was a sudden gust of flame, blazing first about the gate of the area, on one side of the Block-house, then rushing from point to point withamazing rapidity, sweeping and curling widely around the building itself.
The gate, and the palings all around it, studiously made as they had been of strong pine, for its great durability, was as ready an ally of the destructive element as the citizens could have chosen, and licked greedily by the fire, were soon ignited.
Blazing impetuously, it soon aroused the Skeleton Crew to a more acute consciousness of the danger now at hand.
A fierce shout of their assailants, as they beheld the rapid progress of the experiment, warned them to greater exertion, if they hoped to escape the dreadful fate which threatened to engulf them.
To remain where they were was to be consumed in the flames.
To rush forth was to encounter the weapons of an enemy four times their number.
It was a moment of gloomy necessity, that which assembled the chief defenders of the fortress to a sort of war-council. They could only deliberate—to fight was out of the question. Their enemy now was one which they could not oppose.
The citizens showed no front for assault or aim, while the flames, rushing from point to point, and seizing upon numerous places at once, continued to advance, with a degree of celerity which left it impossible, in the dry condition of its timber, that the Block-House could possibly, for any length of time, escape.
Upon the building itself the citizens could not fix the fire at first.
But two ends of it were directly accessible to them, and these were without any entrance, had been pierced with holes for musketry, and were well watched by the vigilant eyes within. The two sides were enclosed by the line of strong palings and posts, and had no need of other guardianship.
But while Lieutenant Garnet, Bob Bertram, and others were using their utmost endeavours to storm the strong Block-house, Master Tim, as usual, was skulking out of danger among the crowd or non-fighters, and seemed more inclined to let others share the dangers while he did the talking.
For Master Tim, as we have seen all through this story, could be very eloquent at times, and speak grandly about war and glory, and all such like topics; but if he could help it, he would not on any account run his own head into danger.
The good citizens, seeing that he wore Ned Warbeck’s livery, expected him to distinguish himself after the manner Wildfire Ned had done, before their own eyes; but, instead of that, Master Tim drank deeply of old ale, and, standing on a door-step, out of danger, began to harangue the idle multitude something in this style:—
“And why, my friends, are we here assembled?” was his sagacious inquiry, looking round as he spoke upon his inattentive audience.
A forced smile on the faces of several, but not a word, attested their several estimates of the speaker.
He proceeded.
“That is the question, my friends—why are we here assembled? I answer, for the good of the people; we are here to protect them if we can, and to perish for and with them, if we must. I cannot forget my duties to my country, and to those in whose behalf I stand before the grim Skeleton Crew and the swords of Captain Jack’s men.
“These teach me, and I would teach it to you, my friends—to fight—to hold out to the last.
“We may not think of parleying with those in the Block-House, my friends, until other hope is gone. Whatever be the peril, till that moment, be it mine to encounter it.
“Whatever be the privation, till that moment I am the man to endure it.
“Be it for me, at least, though I stand alone in this particular, to do for the people whatever wisdom or valour may do, until the moment comes which shall call on us to pardon the villains.
“The question now, my friends, is simply this—has that moment come or not? I pause for a reply.”
“Who talks of parleying with them?” growled a smith, as he cast a glance of ferocity at the speaker. “Who talks of parleying at all to these cursed bloodhounds, that hunt for nothing but our blood? We cannot parley if we would—we must fight, die, do anything but parley with the fiends.”
“So say I—I am ready to fight and die for my country. I say it now, as I have said it a hundred times before, but—”
The speech which Tim had thus begun, the smith again interrupted with a greater bull-dog expression than ever—
“Ay, so you have, and so will say a hundred times more—with as little sense in it one time as another. We are all here to die, if there’s any need for it; but that isn’t the trouble. It’s how we are to die—that’s the question. Are we to stay here and be shot like timber-rats, or to volunteer, as I do now, axe in hand, to go and cut down the palings that immediately join the house? By that we may have a clear dig at the savages inside. I’m for that. If anybody’s willing to go along with me, let him up hands—no talk—we have too much of that already.”
“I’m ready—here!” cried Ned Warbeck, approaching, and laughing good humouredly, and his hands were thrust up at the instant.
“No, Ned Warbeck,” cried the smith, “not you—you must stay and manage here. Your head’s the coolest; and though I’d sooner have your arm alongside of me in the rough time than any other two that I know of, ’twont do to take you from the rest on this risk. Who else is ready? Let him come to the scratch, and no longer talk about it. What do you say, Master Tim? That’s chance enough for you, if you really want to die for your country.”
And as he spoke, he thrust his head forward, while his eyes peered into the very bosom of the little groom, and his axe descended on a door post, near which he stood, with a thundering emphasis that rung through the street.
“I can’t use the axe,” cried Tim, hurriedly; “it’s not my instrument. Sword or pistol for me, my friends. In their exercise I give way to no man, and in their use I ask for no leader; but I am neither wood-chopper nor blacksmith.”
“And this is your way of dying for the good of the people!” said the smith, contemptuously.
“I am willing, even now; I say it again, as I have before said, and as now I solemnly repeat it,” said Tim, pompously; “but I must die for them after my own fashion, and under proper circumstances.
“With sword in hand, crossing the perilous breach, with weapon befitting the use of a noble gentleman, I am ready.
“But I know not any rule that would require of me to perish for my country with the broad axe of a wood-chopper, the cleaver of a butcher, or the sledge of a blacksmith, in my hand,” said Master Tim, in mock dignity.
“Well, I’m no soldier,” retorted the smith; “but I think a man, to be really ready to die for hiscountry, shouldn’t be too nice as to which way he does it.
“Now, the sword and the pistol are of monstrous little use here.
“The muskets of our lads will keep off the Crew inside, while a few of us cut down the stakes; so now, men, as time grows short, let the boys keep a sharp look-out with the ticklers, and I’ll for the timber, let him follow who will. There are boys enough, I take it, to go with.”
Thus saying, the blacksmith pushed forward.
The blacksmith was one of those blunt burly fellows who take with the populace.
It was not difficult for him to procure men where many were ready.
They had listened with much sympathy to the discussion narrated, and as the pomposity and assumption of Tim had made him an object of vulgar ridicule, a desire to rebuke him, not less than a willingness to go with the smith, contributed readily to persuade them to the adventure.
In a few moments the gate of the Block-house was unbarred, and the party sallied through the entrance, the smith at their head.
In the meanwhile, with sleeves rolled up, jacket off, and face that seemed not often to have been entirely free from the begriming blackness of his profession, the smith commenced his tremendous blows upon the contiguous palings, followed with like zeal, if not with equal power, by the men who had volunteered along with him.
Down went the first post beneath his arm, and as, with resolute spirit, he was about to assail another, a huge skeleton warrior stood in the gap which he had made, and with a powerful blow from the mace which he carried, had our blacksmith been less observant, would have soon finished his career.
But the smith was a man of agility as well as strength and spirit, and leaping aside from the stroke, as his eye rose to the corresponding glance from that of his enemy, he gave due warning to his axe-men, who forebore their strokes under his command.
The aperture was yet too small for any combat of the parties; and ignorant of the force against him, surprised also at their appearance, he dispatched one of his men to Lieutenant Garnet, and gave directions, which, had they been complied with, had certainly given them the advantage.
The Skeleton Crew rushed upon them, and for a time defeated the aim of Garnet’s musketry.
Fighting like a lion as he retreated to the gate of the Block-house, the brave smith continued to keep unharmed, making at the same time some little employment in the shape of ugly wounds to dress, in the persons of his rash assailants.
Once more they gave back before him, and again the musketry of Garnet was enabled to tell upon them.
A discharge from the Block-house in the meantime retorted with good effect the attack of the sailor, and taught a lesson of caution to Ned Warbeck, of which he soon availed himself.
Three of his men bit the dust in that single fire. The brave smith again reached the door with a single unwounded follower, himself unhurt.
His comrades threw open the entrance, but an instant too late. A parting shot from the muskets of the Skeleton Crew was made with a fatal effect.
The smith sank down upon the threshold as the bullet passed through his body.
The axe fell from his hand.
He grasped at it convulsively, and lay extended in part upon the sill of the door, when Garnet drew him in safety away.
“You are not hurt, my old fellow?” exclaimed Garnet, his voice trembling with the apprehensions which he felt.
“Hurt enough, lieutenant—bad enough. No more grist ground at that mill. But hold in—don’t be frightened; you can beat ’em yet. Ah!” he groaned, in a mortal agony.
They composed his limbs, and pouring some spirits down his throat, he recovered in a few moments, and convulsively said,
“When I die——”
“Die, indeed!—don’t think of such a thing,” said Garnet, sadly.
“Yes,” said the brave smith, “it has come to that at last. I feel it. I have done my duty like a man, and am content to die.”
After a very brief struggle the gallant fellow breathed his last.
“Avenge him! Avenge him!” Ned Warbeck cried.
“Follow me,” shouted Lieutenant Garnet.
With loud shouts, and amid a storm of shot and other missiles showered down upon them, three separate parties of stormers under the leadership of Ned Warbeck, Garnet, and Bob Bertram, assailed the burning stronghold.
On every side the flames were now burning, and illuminated the darkness of the night.
Past the windows and on the roof could be seen flitting about the forms of Death-wing’s and Captain Jack’s men, who were nearly roasted alive.
Bravely they fought, but they dared not rush forth to encounter the valour of Ned Warbeck’s escaped followers.
Some of the Crew leaped from the roof into the river; others jumped from windows upon the weapons of those below, until at last a fearful explosion occurred.
Several barrels of powder exploded in the cellars, and in a moment afterwards the old Block-house, which for years and years had been the rendezvous of Captain Jack’s men, was a mass of ruins.
While in the river were numerous of the Skeleton Crew and others, who were swimming for their very lives far away from the bright crackling mass of timber.