Close to the head, there was a small door
opening into an apartment of some kind, but the coffin was placed so near
it, that one could not pass between the body and the door.
"My good man," said Treenail, to the solitary mourner, "I must beg leave to
remove the body a bit, and have the goodness to open that door."
"Door, yere honour! It's no door o'mine--and it's not opening that same,
that old Phil Carrol shall busy himself wid."
"Carline," said Mr Treenail, quick and sharp, "remove the body." It was
done.
"Cruel heavy the old dame is, sir, for all her wasted appearance," said one
of the men.
The lieutenant now ranged the press--gang against the wall fronting the
door, and stepping into the middle of the room, drew his pistol and cocked
it. "Messmates," he sung out, as if addressing the skulkers in the other
room, "I know you are here--the house is surrounded--and unless you open
that door now, by the power, but I'll fire slap into you." There was a
bustle, and a rumbling tumbling noise within. "My lads, we are now sure of
your game," sung out Treenail, with great animation. "Sling that clumsy
bench there." He pointed to an oaken form about eight feet long, and nearly
three inches thick. To produce a two--inch rope, and junk it into three
lengths, and rig the battering--ram, was the work of an instant. "One,
two, three,"--and bang the door flew open, and there were our men stowed
away, each sitting on the top of his bag, as snug as could be, although
looking very much like condemned thieves.
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