Jonathan, though a very powerful man, was like an infant in his gripe.

Catching hold of his chin, he bent back the neck, while with his left hand he pulled out a clasp knife, which he opened with his teeth, and grasping Wild's head with his arm, notwithstanding his resistance, cut deeply into his throat.

The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate.

Blueskin drew the knife across his throat a second time, widening and deepening the wound; and wrenching back the head to get it into a more favourable position, would infallibly have severed it from the trunk, if the officers, who by this time had recovered from their terror, had not thrown themselves upon him, and withheld him.
"Now's your time," cried Blueskin, struggling desperately with his assailants and inflicting severe cuts with his knife.

"Fly, Captain--fly!" Aroused to a sense of the possibility of escape, Jack, who had viewed the deadly assault with savage satisfaction, burst from his captors and made for the door.