“Hurrah for the Skeleton Crew! the Scourge of the Seas!” said the chief, tossing off more wine. “In another hour old Sir Richard, and his braggart lad, Wildfire Ned, as he is called, will be no more. The old hag at the gibbet says the boy has a charmed life, but we shall quickly see. Ha! ha! there is no charm against cold steel, my lads!”
While thus he drank and laughed aloud in mocking tones he suddenly rose to his feet in alarm.
He drew his ponderous sword, and with fiery eyes listened!
A loud noise was now heard without.
The heavy doors were forced open with a crash!
With a loud and ringing cheer, there dashed in upon them fifty bold British tars, pistol and sword in hand, led on by Lieutenant Garnet and Wildfire Ned!
Death-wing (for such the Skeleton Chief was called), with a sudden bound, leaped from his high seat, sword in hand.
“Treachery!” he cried, and dashed upon Wildfire Ned, with bitter curses on his lips.
The conflict on all sides was dreadful.
Lieut. Garnet and his men did all that men could do, and performed prodigies of valour.