Presently ten strapping fellows, including the
lieutenant, were before the door, each man with his stretcher in his
hand. It was very tempestuous, although moonlight, night, occasionally
clear, with the moonbeams at one moment sparkling brightly in the small
ripples on the filthy puddles before the door, and one the gem-like
water drops that hung from the eaves of the thatched roof, and lighting
up the dark statue-like figures of the men, and casting their long
shadows strongly against the mud wall of the house; at another, a black
cloud, as it flew across her disk, cast everything into deep shade;
while the only noise we heard was the hoarse dashing of the distant
surf, rising and falling on the fitful gusts of the breeze. We tried
the door. It was fast.
"Surround the house, men," said the lieutenant in a whisper. He rapped
loudly. "Pat Doolan, my man, open the door, will ye?" No answer. "If
you don't, we shall make free to break it open, Patrick, dear."
All this while the light of a fire, or of candles, streamed through the
joints of the door. The threat at length appeared to have the desired
effect. A poor decrepit old man undid the bolt and let us in.
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