moment. No yellow bodies came charging out of the hubbub. He himself lay
there unhurt; his fellows joked, grumbled, shifted their legs on the
platform. At times the heavier, duller sound, which had been the signal
for the whole disorder,--one ponderous beat, as on a huge and very slack
bass-drum,--told that the Black Dog from Rotterdam was not far off. Yet
even then there followed no shock of round-shot battering at masonry,
but only an access of the stormy whistling and jingling.

"Copper cash," declared the voice of Heywood, in a lull. By the sound,
he was standing on the rungs of the ladder, with his head at the level
of the platform; also by the sound, he was enjoying himself
inordinately. "What a jolly good piece of luck! Scrap metal and copper
cash. Firing money at us--like you, Captain. Just what we thought, too.
Some unruly gang among them wouldn't wait, and forced matters. Tonight
was premature. The beggars have plenty of powder, and little else.
So far."

Rudolph listened in wonder. Here, in the thick of the fight, was a
light-hearted, busy commander, drawing conclusions and extracting news
from chaos.

"Look out for arrows," continued the speaker, as he crawled to a
loophole between Rudolph's and the captain's. "They're shooting arrows
up over. Killed one convert and wounded two, there by the water gate.
They can't get the elevation for you chaps here, though." And again he
added, cheerfully, "So far, at least."

The little band behind the loopholes lay watching through the smoke,
listening through the noise. The Black Dog barked again, and sent a
shower of money clinking along the wall.

"How do you like it, Rudie?" chuckled his friend.

"It is terrible," answered Rudolph, honestly.

"Terrible racket, yes. Fireworks, to frighten us. Wait till their
ammunition comes; then you'll see fun. Fireworks, all this." Heywood
turned to his other companion. "I say, Kneebone, what's your idea?
Sniping all night, will it be?--or shall we get a fair chance at 'em?"

The captain, a small, white, recumbent spectre, lifted his head and
appeared to sniff the smoke judicially.

"They get a chance at us, more like!" he grumbled. "My opinion, the
blighters have shot and burnt themselves into a state o' mind; bloomin'
delusion o' grandeur, that's what. Wildest of 'em will rush us to-night,
once--maybe twice. We stave 'em off, say: that case, they'll settle down
to starve us, right and proper."

"Siege," assented Heyw