The ruffian, for such he looked then, tried to raise himself, but another lurch of the Bellophron sent him on his back, and myself on my beam-ends. As soon as I recovered my former position, Tom continued—
“Mr. Box, dare I trust you, sir? if I could do so, I’m sartin as how I should soon be easier.”
“Of course,” said I, “of course; out with it, and I promise never to betray your confidence.”
“Then come, come here,” gasped the suffering wretch; “give us your hand, sir.”
I instinctively shrunk back with horror!
“Don’t be long, Mr. Box, for every minute makes it worse,” and then his Saracen’s Head changed to a feminine expression, and resembled the Belle Sauvage.
I couldn’t resist the appeal; so placing my hand in his, Tom put it over his shoulder, and, with a ghastly smile, said, “Pull it out, sir!”
“Pull what out?”
“My secret, Mr. Box; it’s hurting on me!”
I thought that he had grown delirious; so, in order to soothe him as much as possible, I forced my hand under his shirt-collar, and what do you think I found? Why, a PIGTAIL—his pigtail, which he had contrived to conceal between his shirt and his skin, when the barbarous order of the Admiralty had been put into execution.