“Come in hither, men,” shouted he down the passage, “and sleep here. Haven't you had enough of this villainous sour cider?”
The men came in yawning, and settled themselves to sleep on the floor.
“Where's Yeo?”
No one knew; he had gone out to say his prayers, and had not returned.
“Never mind,” said Amyas, who suspected some plot on the old man's part. “He'll take care of himself, I'll warrant him.”
“No fear of that, sir;” and the four tars were soon snoring in concert round the fire, while Amyas laid himself on the settle, with his saddle for a pillow.
It was about midnight, when Amyas leaped to his feet, or rather fell upon his back, upsetting saddle, settle, and finally, table, under the notion that ten thousand flying dragons were bursting in the window close to his ear, with howls most fierce and fell. The flying dragons past, however, being only a flock of terror-stricken geese, which flew flapping and screaming round the corner of the house; but the noise which had startled them did not pass; and another minute made it evident that a sharp fight was going on in the courtyard, and that Yeo was hallooing lustily for help.
Out turned the men, sword in hand, burst the back door open, stumbling over pails and pitchers, and into the courtyard, where Yeo, his back against the stable-door, was holding his own manfully with sword and buckler against a dozen men.
Dire and manifold was the screaming; geese screamed, chickens screamed, pigs screamed, donkeys screamed, Mary screamed from an upper window; and to complete the chorus, a flock of plovers, attracted by the noise, wheeled round and round overhead, and added their screams also to that Dutch concert.