By this time the men had assembled round the pair, and almost forgot the storm in the interest of the moment.
"Hold him, two of you," said Bremner, when his victim was seated submissively on a cask.
"You don't need to hold me," said Forsyth, in a gentle tone.
"Don't we!" said Bremner. "Here, Dove, Ned, grip his arms, and some of you stand by to catch his legs; but you needn't touch them unless he kicks. Ruby, you're a strong fellow; hold his head."
The men obeyed. At that moment Forsyth would have parted with his dearest hopes in life to have escaped, and the toothache, strange to say, left him entirely; but he was a plucky fellow at bottom; having agreed to have it done, he would not draw back.
Bremner introduced the pincers slowly, being anxious to get a good hold of the tooth. Forsyth uttered a groan in anticipation! Alarmed lest he should struggle too soon, Bremner made a sudden grasp and caught the tooth. A wrench followed; a yell was the result, and the pincers slipped! This was fortunate, for he had caught the wrong tooth.
"Now be aisy, boy," said Ned O'Connor, whose sympathies were easily roused.
"Once more," said Bremner, as the unhappy man opened his mouth. "Be still, and it will be all the sooner over."
Again Bremner inserted the instrument, and fortunately caught the right tooth. He gave a terrible tug, that produced its corresponding howl; but the tooth held on. Again! again! again! and the beacon house resounded with the deadly yells of the unhappy man, who struggled violently, despite the strength of those who held him.
"Och! poor sowl!" ejaculated O'Connor.