The spirit-room of the tavern was saved, and all it contained, but little else.
Old Nettles, the landlord—for such was his right name—was too much overjoyed at vanquishing the Skeleton Crew to think much of his loss, particularly as Lieutenant Garnet had informed him that he would be recompensed by the king himself for all he had lost, and much more given to him besides, for so bravely fighting in the cause of law and order against Death-wing’s friends.
Full of joy, and not caring a button for his wounds, he helped to gather up all the stock which had been saved, and, amid loud applause, distributed ales, wines, and spirits in abundance to all comers.
The sailors were in their glory, and drank health and long life to Nettles, landlord of the “Grapes,” in many a flowing tankard, and many a brimming glass sparkling with good old Jamaica rum, as they merrily squatted on the green grass smoking their pipes.
Among others who had hurried to the scene of conflict, with his servants well armed (but who by accident arrived too late), was young Lord Walton, from the Abbey, some five miles away.
The old marquis, his father, had a large party of lords and ladies assembled at the Abbey that night to celebrate the marriage of his only daughter, Lady Julia.
Lord Walton, the son, however, did not remain a moment in the ball-room when it was whispered to him that the Skeleton Crew were abroad.
Unknown to any one, he gathered together a band of trusty servants and hurried forth to lend his aid.
But if he arrived too late, he greatly admired the courage and daring of those who had so long contended with the Crew; and in token of his admiration invited Lieutenant Garnet, Wildfire Ned, and Bob Bertram to pass the rest of the night at the Abbey, and partake of the hospitality there, and join in the merry marriage dance.
This just suited the three heroes, and with little pressing they accepted the invitation, particularly as this was the last night which Wildfire Ned intended to pass on shore.