streamed in through the door and numberless chinks in the walls, making
the cold, rigid, sharp features appear to move, and glimmer, and gibber
as it were, from the changing shades. 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 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 sang 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 powers, but I'll fire slap into
you!" There was a bustle, and a rumbling tumbling noise within. "My
lads, we are now sure of our game," sang 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