Some of the men went back for the battering ram while the lads examined the door closely.
“There is blood on the door,” Phil cried, showing the fresh red stains on his hand from contact with the door. “But where does it lead?”
“I believe it goes into the next house,” cried Sydney, “and they’ll get away from us. Tell the lieutenant to order his men to surround both houses on each side.”
The lieutenant, evidently not relishing this uncertain way of attack in a dark cellar with but a poor and inefficient lamp, agreed readily to go back himself to see that both houses were covered by his men.
It seemed an age to the anxious lads until the soldiers returned with the heavy log.
“All hands now,” cried Phil, he and Sydney laying willing hands on the ram. “Together; there she goes.”
The door shivered but stood firm. Again and again the log was launched against the heavy door.
With sweat pouring from their bodies, their lungs choked with dust, they put forth their entire strength.
“It’s giving,” cried Phil, as the ram struck the door a powerful blow, and it gave way suddenly, throwing them face downward on the earth.
A flash of a pistol almost in their faces; a sharp report echoing deafeningly in the tunnel, and all was darkness.