'Keep 'em out, in King George's
name. Remember what I have said. Good night!'
There was no more parley. A shower of stones and other missiles
compelled the keeper of the jail to retire; and the mob, pressing on,
and swarming round the walls, forced Gabriel Varden close up to the
door.
In vain the basket of tools was laid upon the ground before him, and
he was urged in turn by promises, by blows, by offers of reward, and
threats of instant death, to do the office for which they had brought
him there. 'No,' cried the sturdy locksmith, 'I will not!'
He had never loved his life so well as then, but nothing could move him.
The savage faces that glared upon him, look where he would; the cries of
those who thirsted, like wild animals, for his blood; the sight of men
pressing forward, and trampling down their fellows, as they strove to
reach him, and struck at him above the heads of other men, with axes and
with iron bars; all failed to daunt him. He looked from man to man, and
face to face, and still, with quickened breath and lessening colour,
cried firmly, 'I will not!'
Dennis dealt him a blow upon the face which felled him to the ground. He
sprung up again like a man in the prime of life, and with blood upon his
forehead, caught him by the throat.
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