The contest, however, was too unequal to last long. Sikes had him down and his knee was on his throat, when Crackit pulled him back with a look of alarm and pointed to the window. There were lights gleaming below, voices in loud and earnest conversation, the tramp of hurried footsteps—endless they seemed in number—crossing the nearest wooden-bridge. One man on horseback seemed to be among the crowd, for there was the noise of hoofs rattling on the uneven pavement; the gleam of lights increased, the footsteps came more thickly and noisily on. Then came a loud knocking at the door, and then a hoarse murmur from such a multitude of angry voices as would have made the boldest quail. “Help!” shrieked the boy in a voice that rent the air. “He’s here; he’s here. Break down the door.” “In the King’s name,” cried voices without; and the hoarse cry arose again, but louder. “Break down the door,” screamed the boy. “I tell you they’ll never open it. Run straight to the room where the light is. Break down the door.” Strokes thick and heavy rattled upon the door and lower window-shutters as he ceased to speak, and a loud huzzah burst from the crowd;—giving the listener for the first time some adequate idea of its immense extent. “Open the door of some place where I can lock this screeching Hell-babe,” cried Sikes fiercely; running to and fro, and dragging the boy, now, as easily as if he were an empty sack. “That door. Quick.” He flung him in, bolted it, and turned the key. “Is the down stairs door fast?” “Double-locked and chained,” replied Crackit, who, with the other two men, still remained quite helpless and bewildered. “The panels—are they strong?” “Lined with sheet-iron.” “And the windows too?” “Yes, and the windows.” “Damn you!” cried the desperate ruffian, throwing up the sash and menacing the crowd. “Do your worst; I’ll cheat you yet!” Of all the terrific yells that ever fell on mortal ears none could exceed the cry of that infuriated throng. Some shouted to those who were nearest to set the house on fire; others roared to the officers to shoot him dead. Among them all, none showed such fury as the man on horseback, who, throwing himself out of the saddle, and bursting through the crowd as if he were parting water, cried beneath the window, in a voice that rose above all others, “Twenty guineas to the man who brings a ladder.” The nearest voices took up the cry, and hundreds echoed it. Some called for ladders, some for sledge-hammers; some ran with torches to and fro as if to seek them, and still came back and roared again; some spent their breath in impotent curses and execrations; some pressed forward with the ecstasy of madmen, and thus impeded the progress of those below; some among the boldest attempted to climb up by the water-spout and crevices in the wall; and all waved to and fro in the darkness beneath like a field of corn moved by an angry wind, and joined from time to time in one loud furious roar.