'Leave him to us. Why do you
waste your whole strength on such as he, when a couple of men can finish
him in as many minutes! You lose time. Remember the prisoners! remember
Barnaby!'
The cry ran through the mob. Hammers began to rattle on the walls; and
every man strove to reach the prison, and be among the foremost rank.
Fighting their way through the press and struggle, as desperately as if
they were in the midst of enemies rather than their own friends, the two
men retreated with the locksmith between them, and dragged him through
the very heart of the concourse.
And now the strokes began to fall like hail upon the gate, and on the
strong building; for those who could not reach the door, spent their
fierce rage on anything--even on the great blocks of stone, which
shivered their weapons into fragments, and made their hands and arms to
tingle as if the walls were active in their stout resistance, and dealt
them back their blows. The clash of iron ringing upon iron, mingled
with the deafening tumult and sounded high above it, as the great
sledge-hammers rattled on the nailed and plated door: the sparks flew
off in showers; men worked in gangs, and at short intervals relieved
each other, that all their strength might be devoted to the work; but
there stood the portal still, as grim and dark and strong as ever, and,
saving for the dints upon its battered surface, quite unchanged.
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