CHAPTER XXVII.
OLD NETTLES IS SHAVED BY TWO OF THE SKELETON CREW.
A barber’s has been often, and very wisely, called a “gossiping shop.”
If this is true of tonsorial establishments in town, it is particularly of such places in a village.
In a hamlet, or small town, the barber knows all the news, the latest joke, and the newest scandal.
There is nothing that he does not know, in fact.
No item ever escapes the “professor” who cuts your hair, or shaves you.
Thus thought old Nettles, the tavern-keeper, a few days after the eventful and dreadful conflict between Wildfire Ned and the Skeleton Crew, on the ocean.
For many miles around there were wild rumours of the ferocious battle which had taken place.
But no two persons had the same tale to tell.
Some said that Death-wing had killed young Ned Warbeck.
Others swore that Death-wing and most of his crew had been drowned.
But old Nettles knew differently.
Yes; but how?
Through the agency of Sea-Hawk and his smuggler band.
For when Sea-Hawk and his party had been decoyed on to, and afterwards beaten away from the Phantom Ship, they rowed rapidly to their cave again.
Later in the night, however, the sounds of distant fire-arms, and the booming of cannon over the ocean aroused their curiosity.
They took to their boats again, and sallied forth.
At a respectful distance from the scene of conflict, the Smuggler Chief had witnessed all, and was not slow to inform his old companion, Nettles, of the particulars.
When, therefore, Nettles went into the village-barber’s shop to get shaved, the tonsorial professor was very loquacious, and, at great length, told him all he had heard about the conflict.
“Don’t be such an ass, Mr. Barber,” said Nettles, waiting for his turn. “Don’t be such an ass as to tell such idle tales. I tell thee that Ned Warbeck or Wildfire Ned was not killed, nor brave Lieutenant Garnet either, for Ned rescued Lord Walton’s sister from the sinking ship, and she is now safe and sound at the abbey again.”
“Thee doesna’ mean that ’ere, Maister Nettles, does thee?” said the astonished barber.
“Yes; but I do though, and more nor that I did hear that the king has raised Wildfire Ned to the rank of a lieutenant in the navy, and has given him the command of a rakish, fast-sailing, ten-gun sloop of war, and that at this very moment he is cruising about on the bright look-out for this Skeleton Crew, what remains of ’em, and a pretty overhauling they’ll get, too, if Wildfire Ned should fall foul on ’em.”
“But they do say these skeletons are invincible, Maister Nettles,” the barber remarked, “and can’t be hurt by anything.”
“All stuff,” said Nettles, contemptuously. “I dare say they don’t like hard knocks no more than common folk, if the truth was known. I don’t fear none on ’em, if they did set fire to my tavern.”
“They say they be all charmed, maister?”
“So I’ve hearn; but don’t believe it. The Red Man of the Gibbet is worse than all on ’em.”
“How so?”
“Why he were one o’ the founders on ’em, and the story goes that he gets out of his gibbet at certain times, and plies his trade.”
“His trade! Why what does thee mean, Maister Nettles?”
“Mean! Why, didn’t thee hear; the Red Man o’ the Gibbet had been—once on a time—a barber.”
“A barber! Lor’ bless the man! thee can’t mean that.”
“I do, though. He were once a barber, and cut the throat of a nobleman for his money.”
“Awful!”
“Yes, and afore they caught him he joined the Skeleton Crew, but was afterwards gibbeted; but that didn’t seem to concern him much, for they say he can get out at certain times and seasons, and goes on the spree.”
“On the spree! What! a sperit goo on the spree, Maister Nettles?”
“So they say; but I can never believe it, nor will I until I sees it with my own eyes.”
The conversation of Nettles with the village barber so much interested the open-mouthed villagers, that many lounged into the little shop to hear it.
This arose from the fact that all felt greatly interested in listening to his narrative of the brave and heroic exploits of young Warbeck on sea and land, and especially interesting at the present time,since it was whispered that old Sir Richard Warbeck at the Hall was in deep grief through the sad disgrace which Charley, Ned’s elder brother, had fallen into lately in London.
The sudden disappearance of the miller’s daughter, the horrible murder of her rustic lover, the escape of Bob Bertram from prison, and the half strangulation of the sexton, parish clerk, and others in the belfry by the Skeleton Crew, all tended to heighten the interest of any remarks old Nettles might make.
This was more so when it was well known that the old tavern-keeper had actually fought a battle with the terrible Death-wing and his gang,
With staring eyes and open mouths, they listened to Nettles, who gratified his audience with most alarming stories of the Skeleton Crew, so much so as to make many of them tremble in their shoes.
It was now Nettles “turn” to be shaved.
He sat in the chair, and a small boy placed a napkin under his chin.
Yet all the while he was laughing at the villagers about their childish hobgoblin notions regarding the Skeleton Crew.
They in turn began to laugh also, until the shop re-echoed with their boisterous merriment.
When the barber’s boy, lather-box and brush in hand, had half “soaped” Mr. Nettles, he gave a sudden shout of alarm and dropped his utensils on the floor.
His hair stood on end with fright, and he trembled violently in every limb.
And well he might.
He cried for help.
But the barber and his audience rushed out of the shop yelling like lunatics at the sight they saw, leaving Nettles and the boy alone.
How it happened no one could imagine.
But while the valiant Nettles was discoursing about and jeering the many stories about Death-wing’s gang——
A skeleton appeared, razor in hand, and seized Nettles by the hair of his head!
Beside him, and grinning most horribly, stood the black spectre of the Red Man of the Gibbet, sharpening a razor on a strop attached to the wall (see Engraving in No. 7), and preparing to shave his enemy, old Nettles, the terrified tavern keeper.
More dead than alive, Nettles shook in every limb.
The barber’s boy collapsed all of a heap upon the floor, and was howling like a mad dog.
“Shave him!” said the black spectre, in sepulchral tones.
Nettles was almost melted into a jelly.
He was in the hands of his worst enemies.
What became of him we shall shortly see.