CHAPTER LXV.
DESTRUCTION OF THE SKELETON CREW BY YOUNG LORD WARBECK.
“Well,” said Ned Warbeck, when he had left the condemned cell, in which he had had his interview with Captain Jack and old Bates. “Well,” said he, in astonishment, “wonders never cease.”
“Just to fancy,” said Garnet, “that these scoundrels, with the advice and consent of Phillip Redgill, should for years past have been seeking your disgrace and destruction.”
“True,” said Ned Warbeck; “but evil designs and curses, like chickens, come home to roost. What they intended and wished might fall upon myself and Charley have overtaken themselves.”
“But Death-wing is not yet captured, Ned,” said Garnet; “it would be an excellent finish to all our adventures to arouse the London Apprentices, at least, a select hand of them, and utterly destroy Death-wing and all that remains of his band.”
“I intend to do so,” said Ned, “and to-night shall see the accomplishment of that design.”
During the day, Ned Warbeck, Garnet, Bob Bertram and Tim, were continually on horseback, riding hither and thither, consulting with some of the bravest and choicest spirits among the Apprentices, and towards night all preparations were completed.
Select detachments of the young Apprentices, under the guidance of well-known leaders, assembled at the halls of their several guilds, all armed, and eager for the fray.
The butcher boys with long knives, cleavers, choppers, and ponderous axes, were ready, and marshalled in fours ready to march at the given time.
The blacksmiths’ apprentices, with sledge hammers, crowbars, and other ponderous weapons, were assembled at another place.
The sword makers, cutlers, and others, with all manner of implements of war, sharp and bright, had gathered together.
Five detachments, from no less than six trades, were under arms; but none of them, save their chosen leaders, knew on what errand they were bound.
“Who is to lead us?” some of them whispered.
“Wildfire Ned,” was the answer, given in a suppressed tone of voice.
When this fact became known that Ned Warbeck was to be the commander-in-chief on this secret expedition, all rejoiced, for Ned’s name acted like a charm on the youth of London, who had long heard his name coupled with deeds of daring.
So secretly had the expedition been organized that but few of the good old tradesmen of the town had any notion of what was on foot.
Hence during the night, that is to say, from eight o’clock until eleven, was unusually quiet in the principal streets, and the night watch went their rounds with staff and lantern, calling the hour in croaking voices, but innocent of the great commotion which was shortly to take place.
Carriers and messengers were galloping hither and thither from Ned Warbeck to the leaders of the valiant Apprentices, giving his final instructions and orders.
Chief of these messengers was Tiny Tim.
He did not like fighting much, but as message carrying was not very dangerous work, and as he was passionately fond of riding good horses, he galloped here and there in great glee, and assuming all the airs of a commander-in-chief, that is to say, where he was not known.
Ned Warbeck, however, had been the busiest of all.
During the day he had sent out trusty scouts to ascertain the precise locality in which Death-wing and his infamous gang were secreted.
All manner of reports were brought back to him, but so contradictory that he knew not which nor what to believe.
At last, when night had fairly set in, he went forth himself, accompanied by Bob Bertram and Garnet, and by superior intelligence and tact he soon discovered where Death-wing and his gang were hiding, and laid his plans accordingly.
Death-wing indeed was not without information of what was intended by Ned Warbeck, for he also had scouts out, who speedily informed him of the intended attack; but none of them knew when it was to take place, or the number and class of persons who were to take part in it.
Since his defeat and disgrace at the Block-house the leader of the Skeleton Crew had been recruiting his forces.
He sent messengers to different parts calling in scattered parties of the crew who were out on their usual depredations.
So that on the night in question Death-wing had a large number of followers around him, each and all of whom swore to perish rather than allow Ned Warbeck, that hated name, to triumph over them.
One of the skeleton spies had fast returned to Death-wing with the latest information he was able to procure when all the Skeleton Crew sat down toa splendid repast, and drank wine more extravagantly than ever.
“If this is to be our last night let it be a merry one,” said Death-wing.
“Bravo!” shouted fifty voices.
“I understand that Captain Jack, old Bates, and all his lot were gibbeted to day,” said one.
“No doubt of it; I heard the bells tolling.”
“And I,” said a third, “saw crowds of people following the carts.”
“It was a tremendous gathering, I hear,” said Death-wing; “such a sight as London never saw before.”
“I passed under several of the gibbets to-night,” said one of the scouts, “and the night-birds and vultures were very busy with the bodies already. Colonel Blood kept his word with them.”
“Serve them right,” said Death-wing; “they were always cunning, tricky knaves, every one of them, and our enemies. Has any one heard of Phillip Redgill?” said Death-wing.
“Yes,” one replied; “he is still in the madhouse.”
“I know that; but is he better?”
“I did not hear.”
“Perhaps he will recover, and, when I am gone,” said Death-wing, “he will lead the Crew as I have done.”
“Never,” said a sepulchral voice near him.
It was the ghost of Phillip Redgill!
All the Crew started to their feet as they saw this ghastly apparition, all gory and horrible.
“Never!” said a voice.
“Dead!” said Death-wing, dropping a goblet of wine from his hand.
“Dead! Yes; for ever dead!” said the apparition, as it stalked through the apartment. “Dead! for ever dead!” it said, and vanished.
Death-wing and his followers had scarcely seated themselves once more when they were again startled out of their propriety by the entrance of a tall stranger, robed in a black cloak from head to foot.
“Who and what art thou?” said Death-wing, with drawn sword.
“The Red Man of the Gibbet!” said the stranger, dropping the disguise from off his shoulders.
Every one rose.
“What wouldst thou with us, worthy chief?” said Death-wing. “You never come without bad tidings. What would you have us do?”
“Prepare for death!” was the solemn answer; “your hour has come! This is the last time I can ever quit my iron cage and prison house. No more can I walk abroad at certain times, to aid, to guide, and protect you; the spell is broken. Phillip Redgill has ceased to live, and all is over. Farewell, farewell! Ned Warbeck triumphs.”
Thus he spoke, and disappeared.
“Ned Warbeck triumph! never!” said Death-wing, with an oath.
“Never!” shouted all assembled, brandishing swords, daggers, guns, pikes, and all sorts of deadly weapons.
“Let our bones be ground down to powder ere the hated house of Warbeck shall triumph! Victory or death!” said Death-wing. “Comrades, swear!”
Each and all raised a goblet, filled to the brim, and swore, “For victory or death!”
At that moment, however, and as if by magic, all assembled dropped their goblets, and started from their seats.
A loud shout outside rent the air.
“It is Warbeck and his followers; to arms, men, to arms,” said Death-wing; “spare no living soul; each of you seek out Ned Warbeck, for if he falls we shall triumph.”
It must be explained that after making all preparations, Ned Warbeck had issued orders that as the church clocks chimed half-past eleven o’clock all the detachments of London Apprentices should march towards Smithfield, and there join Lieutenant Garnet and Bob Bertram, each of whom had a company of stalwart fellows under his command.
This they did, and in great order, silently marching in military time and step, without disturbing the sleeping inhabitants.
They all arrived before midnight, and were marshalled by Ned Warbeck himself.
When twelve o’clock tolled from old St. Paul’s the order to march was given, and by various routes, guided and commanded by Ned, Garnet, and Bob, they took up various positions within a stone’s throw of Death-wing’s stronghold and rendezvous near the river.
Having done this, and then cut off all hope of retreat for the Skeleton Crew, Ned Warbeck advanced with twenty youths, and examined all the strong points of Death-wing’s retreat.
“Who comes there?” asked one of the Skeleton Crew, who was on guard.
“Ned Warbeck and his merry men,” said Bob Bertram.
“Three cheers for Ned Warbeck, and death to the Skeleton Crew!” shouted the brave apprentice youths.
The three cheers were given with great heartiness, and these were sounds which startled Death-wing in his banquet-hall.
A moment before all was quietness, and silent as the grave.
But now commenced a scene that baffles all description.
One company, under Garnet, advanced from the river side.
A second, under Bob Bertram, marched towards the north side of the rendezvous.
A third attacked the left side with great fury, led on by the chief of the London Apprentices.
And the fourth and last, commanded by Ned Warbeck in person, assailed the front.
In all directions shouts and cheers and yells were heard.
Sledge hammers, crowbars, guns, pistols, swords, and pikes were making a discordant din.
Dogs barked, people rushed from their beds in terror, and ran affrighted through the streets.
Night watchmen bellowed and bawled, and sprung their rattles.
All the river side was in dire affright and commotion.
“’Tis young Ned Warbeck and the Skeleton Crew,” shouted old men and women, in alarm.
“Let us fly—let us fly! we shall all be murdered!”
“Call the night-watch!”
“Go and call out the king’s guard!”
“Murder! thieves! Help, help!”
“Rouse up, good citizens, rouse up, the whole river side is running with human blood!”
These and such like were the cries, now heard on every side; while, on the other hand, nothing but cheers were heard from the bold Apprentices andtheir leaders, as they gallantly assailed Death-wing and his crew from front, flanks, and rear.
It was a most terrible battle, and lasted long.
For Death-wing had an immense quantity of fire-arms, already loaded and at hand, fit for instant use.
This being the case, he and his followers fired quick and deadly volleys into the ranks of the gallant youths, and knocked over very many.
The sight of their bleeding companions only served to nerve the gallant Apprentices, and instil new courage.
Some of them got ladders, and clambered in through the barricaded windows, axes and hatchets in hand, cutting down all and every obstruction before them.
The blacksmiths battered in all the doors and bolts and bars.
Once they had got possession of the doors and passages the scene was most fearful.
Some of the crew attempted to jump out of the windows, but in doing so they were caught on the spear and pike-heads of those below.
The Butchers’ Apprentices cut all who opposed them limb from limb without mercy.
But still Death-wing and his men fought like demons.
Three times had Ned Warbeck fought with and slain those he supposed to be the Skeleton chief.
But Death-wing was still alive and busy.
More than twenty times he took deliberate aim with guns and pistols at young Ned, and each time had he missed him.
“He is charmed! his life is charmed!” swore the grim chief, as he looked around him, and each instant saw that his men were falling thick and fast.
“Fire the magazine!” said he. “Let us blow up the rendezvous and all in it; better that than defeat and torture at Ned Warbeck’s hands.”
But this could not be done.
Garnet had fought his way to the magazine, and drowned it with water.
“No, no,” thought the gallant sailor, “I know their tricks before to-day; but they are not going to blow up all my brave lads in that way. They must fight; every man-jack of them shall perish with the sword, and their skulls and limbs shall decorate Temple Bar and London Bridge.”
Foiled in all his efforts, surrounded on every side, and with the building burning in half a dozen places, the Skeleton chief held a hasty council of war.
Unexpected, they sallied forth, fifty grim Skeletons, led on by Death-wing.
With loud shouts and oaths, they assailed Ned Warbeck’s little band.
Ned himself singled out Death-wing, and a terrible battle took place between them.
Thrice did Ned Warbeck stab the grim leader, and his life blood was ebbing fast.
But thrice did he refuse to surrender.
He endeavoured to retreat and shun the combat, and had almost succeeded in doing so, when, with the quickness of thought, Ned Warbeck rushed at him, and, after one moment of exciting cutting and thrusting, Ned Warbeck seized Death-wing’s battle flag, and ran the chieftain through and through the heart.
This desperate hand to hand combat was witnessed both by friends and foes, and loud shouts rewarded Ned Warbeck as he waved the banner of the Skeleton Crew high in triumph.
After this episode the battle did not last more than ten minutes.
Every one of the Skeleton Crew were slaughtered, and their bleeding mangled bodies strewed the ground, while the rendezvous itself was committed to the flames amidst the applause and frantic cheering of thousands, who had now run to witness the dreadful conflict, and Ned Warbeck, Garnet, Bob Bertram, and the chief of the London Apprentices, were carried through the streets in triumph, with links and torches, and music, and uproarious applause.
The cheers of assembled thousands greeted him as they carried him to old Sir Richard Warbeck’s mansion; and as his brother Charley and his wife, old Dame Worthington, and others, joyfully welcomed his return, old Sir Richard Warbeck took him by the hand before the whole multitude, and said aloud, “Welcome, Ned, to your ancestor’s home. I am no longer the owner of the estates; here is the royal warrant, read it. Wildfire Ned is now Lord Edward Warbeck, of Darlington Hall, and I simply the faithful steward of his fortunes.”
Our story is now soon brought to a close.
Wildfire Ned, as Sir Richard had said to the multitude, had been created Lord Warbeck, or rather, though the younger brother, the King had granted him the title when fully informed by Sir Richard of how much Sir Edward Lawrence had done and suffered in the cause of Charles the First; and if history is not at fault, young Wildfire Ned not only greatly distinguished himself in after years, but also married one of the lovliest maidens of great title which England could boast, and was long the pride and the boast of every youth who had read of his daring exploits.
Lieutenant Garnet followed the sea for many years, but afterwards distinguished himself so greatly in many ways, that he became one of the Lords of the Admiralty.
Bob Bertram returned to his native village and was honoured and respected by all who knew him.
He succeeded to several very large farms which his father had rented of Sir Richard Warbeck, for Ned, now Lord Warbeck, insisted upon his accepting them.
Bob, and the old miller Harmer, were great companions, and many a night in the village inn would they recount their strange adventures, and of the various villanies of the famous Colonel Blood.
Colonel Blood, for many years hung around the royal court; but how it was the King could countenance such a rascal, history itself has been unable to explain. Suffice it to say that after a career of roguery, he was seized and cast into prison, charged with plotting against the Duke of Buckingham, and soon afterwards died of a broken heart, or, as some said, from want of sleep caused by terrible remorse for all his crimes.
Old Sir Richard lived to a good old age, as did also good dame Worthington, and Charley Warbeck, who, in the company of Clara, seemed to be the happiest of men; and oftentimes at Christmas, when all were assembled round the festive board, to which Tim and Bob Bertram were always invited, Sir Richard used to shout out merrily, “Fill your goblets high, my boys, let me propose the great toast of the evening.”
“Hurrah,” shouted Tim in great glee.
“Bravo, Sir Richard,” Bob would say.
“And the toast, ladies and gentlemen, which I hope we may all live long to give is this,—
“Success, long life, and all honour to Wildfire Ned who exterminated the Skeleton Crew.”
THE END.