“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.