“Dear me, this was most uncalled for,” said David Donner.
John Soam tried to draw his legs up under his coat, vainly. He made terrible sounds of anguish, in his nakedness below and his loneliness up above the ceiling. His fellow-citizens, undecided as to whether they should go outside, for the sake of modesty, or remain and lend further aid to John, looked at one another inquiringly.
“John,” then said Leverett, somewhat sternly, “would you council us to get an ax and knock out the board you have hammered into place?”
“Yes,” bawled the carpenter, “there be two axes in the corner. Let them both be employed!”
“I have chopped down a tree in my youth,” said David Donner.
He therefore took one of the axes, while Governor Winslow took the second.
They were then at a loss to reach the ceiling, wherefore it became necessary for the good men to build up a platform, of boxes and boards, while John Soam’s legs tried to hide, one behind the other.
The platform being hastily constructed, the ax-men mounted and began to swing ill-directed blows upward at the stubborn board which the carpenter had hammered in so thoroughly.
No more than three blows had been delivered when John made protest, howling lustily for the purpose, as the ax-men failed at first to hear him, while busy with their work of salvation.
“It jars me rudely,” he roared out, unable wholly to repress his feelings. “It’s hellish.”