The moment his head appeared, one of the crew with a loud shout of joy jumped towards him and seized him by the scurf of the neck.
In a second the poor fellow was dragged out of the hogshead, and pulled along the deck towards where Death-wing stood.
“What, another of ’em,” said the grim chief, with a loud laugh of mockery, “and armed to the teeth, I perceive! This must be one of the head leaders, I think; disarm him.”
In the twinkling of an eye, Tim’s blunderbuss, pistols, dagger, knife and cutlass were taken from him, and he knelt before the chief, trembling and quaking.
Around him danced several dozen skeletons in wild joy, snapping their fingers and making the most horrible noises.
“I think I have seen this rascal’s face before,” said Death-wing, with an oath.
“So do I.”
“Yes, that’s him.”
“Are you not one of my worst enemy’s followers,—Wildfire Ned?”
“Me? lor’ bless you, no,” said Tim, “I never heard of his name afore in all my life.”