Beyond this, however, nothing was visible.
“The sight is indeed horrible,” said Ned, half aloud; “but where is the much-vaunted Skeleton Crew? Where are these savages hidden? and whence came that voice of warning?”
Wildfire Ned’s position, as must be confessed, was a critical one.
Here was a bold youth, alone and single handed, gazing on the dead, and standing, as it were, on enchanted ground.
“Come forth, grim demons of the land and deep,” said Ned, with a ringing defiant tone. “Death-wing, come forth and encounter me!”
He turned his head suddenly.
There stood before him a gaunt, ghastly member of the Skeleton Band, sword in hand.
“Who calls so bravely on the Skeleton Crew, and defies them?” said a sepulchral voice, in mocking tones. “Is Death-wing’s band to be laughed and scoffed at by a babbling boy?”
“Boy!” said Ned, indignantly.
“Yes, brat, if that will suit your pride the better; get you gone from this awful place.”