“The muskets of our lads will keep off the Crew inside, while a few of us cut down the stakes; so now, men, as time grows short, let the boys keep a sharp look-out with the ticklers, and I’ll for the timber, let him follow who will. There are boys enough, I take it, to go with.”
Thus saying, the blacksmith pushed forward.
The blacksmith was one of those blunt burly fellows who take with the populace.
It was not difficult for him to procure men where many were ready.
They had listened with much sympathy to the discussion narrated, and as the pomposity and assumption of Tim had made him an object of vulgar ridicule, a desire to rebuke him, not less than a willingness to go with the smith, contributed readily to persuade them to the adventure.
In a few moments the gate of the Block-house was unbarred, and the party sallied through the entrance, the smith at their head.
In the meanwhile, with sleeves rolled up, jacket off, and face that seemed not often to have been entirely free from the begriming blackness of his profession, the smith commenced his tremendous blows upon the contiguous palings, followed with like zeal, if not with equal power, by the men who had volunteered along with him.
Down went the first post beneath his arm, and as, with resolute spirit, he was about to assail another, a huge skeleton warrior stood in the gap which he had made, and with a powerful blow from the mace which he carried, had our blacksmith been less observant, would have soon finished his career.
But the smith was a man of agility as well as strength and spirit, and leaping aside from the stroke, as his eye rose to the corresponding glance from that of his enemy, he gave due warning to his axe-men, who forebore their strokes under his command.
The aperture was yet too small for any combat of the parties; and ignorant of the force against him, surprised also at their appearance, he dispatched one of his men to Lieutenant Garnet, and gave directions, which, had they been complied with, had certainly given them the advantage.