Transcriber’s Note Italic text displayed as: _italic_ Bold text displayed as: =bold= THE SKELETON CREW; OR, WILDFIRE NED. ILLUSTRATED WITH NUMEROUS ENGRAVINGS. LONDON: NEWSAGENTS’ PUBLISHING COMPANY, 147, FLEET STREET. 1867. READ THE BOY SAILOR; OR, LIFE ON BOARD A MAN-OF-WAR. [Illustration: Decoration] ONE OF THE MOST THRILLING TALES OF THE DAY. [Illustration: Decoration] Nos. 1 & Presented Gratis TO EVERY PURCHASER OF THIS NUMBER. PUBLISHED WEEKLY. PRICE ONE PENNY. READ “The Boys of England,” THE FAVOURITE PUBLICATION OF THE DAY. SALE 150,000 WEEKLY. GIFTS CONTINUALLY. PRIZES OF WATCHES, SCARF PINS, CONCERTINAS, CRICKET BATS, FISHING RODS, FOWLS, RABBITS, DUCKS, PET DOGS, and TWO SHETLAND PONIES, WILL BE DRAWN FOR IN A FEW WEEKS. NEW TALE OF “WILD CHARLEY,” AND THE PRIZE TICKET WAS GIVEN WITH No. 13. [Illustration: Decoration] Be in Time for the Next Distribution. THE SKELETON CREW, OR, WILDFIRE NED. [Illustration: Decoration] [Illustration: LOOK! LOOK! ’TIS THE CAPTAIN OF THE SKELETON CREW!!] The most exciting Story for Boys is “THE BOY SOLDIER, OR, GARIBALDI’S YOUNG CAPTAIN.” Four Grand Pictures Given Away. CHAPTER I. THE MERRY PARTY AT THE “BLACK BULL”—THE STRANGE HORSEMAN AND RAMBLING BOB. The incidents of this strange and exciting story occurred more than a hundred years ago. * * * * * It was in the month of December, and all the country was covered with snow to the depth of more than a foot. The moon shone brightly over the pure white landscape, and, as far as the eye could range, nought was to be seen but leafless trees, which bowed and shook in a stiff north-west breeze, and their melancholy flutterings seemed to be like gentle moans and sighings at the white death-like pall which covered nature far and wide. The pretty and picturesque village of Darlington was near the sea, and not more than fifty or sixty miles from London, and was situated in a pleasant valley on the main road, through which mail coaches were wont to pass both night and day. The inhabitants had been long a-bed, for the chimes of the village church had tolled the solemn hour of midnight, and not a light could be seen anywhere save at the “Black Bull,” for on that memorable night some few of the villagers were celebrating the Christmas holidays at the comfortable inn with a merry country dance among themselves. The sounds of fiddles and a flute, and the skipping of feet, could be heard, both in the parlours and tap-room. Merry laughter and boisterous jollity resounded on all sides, and the light-hearted shouts of both men and maidens were caught up and echoed by the passing breeze. The night, though clear and bright, was bitter, bitter cold, and every door and window of the “Black Bull” was firmly closed, and many fires were crackling within.