“How can we? The wretches are at back and front.”
“Yes, it is awkward, Oliver, but we shall not be able to stay here long.”
“We must make for the next floor.”
“All the farther to jump when the bad time comes.”
“Look out, father!—They’re coming up again, uncle.”
The table proved invaluable now, for as the enemy made a fresh attack, swarming up the broken ladder, shots were delivered steadily, and the blows struck by the savage wretches fell vainly upon the stout, hard wood.
Three men fell headlong, but their places were taken directly by others, who were maddened by disappointment, and made the table quiver with the blows they managed to strike with the clumsy axes and swords they bore, till the sharp crack of one of the revolvers tumbled the savage wretches back upon their comrades below, who uttered a chorus of savage yells and threats at every fresh mishap.
But still they came on, till after four final discharges there was a sharp, cracking sound below; glass had evidently been shivered in one of the lower windows, and a rush of flame illumined the smoke that now floated up thickly, while for the first time the besieged had a view of their fierce enemies who paused from their attack and stood back watching the progress of the mischief they had done.
“Don’t show yourselves in the light, either of you,” said Uncle Jeff, doing at once that which he had forbidden.
“Then don’t you!” cried Stan’s father. “Keep back, man—keep back!”