Of Tim it behoves us to speak a little.
He got very roughly handled by his grim opponent, in the deep pit, but that was all. He extricated himself out of the hole.
He then mounted a tree, and, there perched, had an excellent view of the battle by the light of burning buildings.
He would shout out occasionally, “That’s it, Master Ned!”—“Give it to ’em, Bob!”—“Smash the rascals, my brave sailor boys!”—“Hurrah for Lieutenant Garnet!”—“Bravo, Wildfire Ned!”
But Tim became so noisy during the combat that he attracted the attention of Death-wing.
“Bring that fool down,” said Death-wing to one of his men, as he rode past the spot. “Bring that noisy fool out of the tree, and pitch him into the burning tavern!”
“What a civil devil,” thought Master Tim, and clambered up the tree still higher.
Death-wing’s orders, however, were obeyed.
A skeleton, with a long dagger between his teeth, clambered up the tree.