The war is
past, thank God, but I haven't got over that feeling yet, and now I want
to lead an attack on those Egyptians! Back there over the singers'
gallery I think I see a scuttle that leads up into the loft. Come on,
boys, and fetch a bucket or two, or some baskets. Let's storm the fort!"
The crowd was laughing now, and men were shouting advice of all sorts.
Uncle Hannibal was already on his way to the singers' gallery, and
Addison, hastily thrusting the smoker into my hands, got down from the
ladder and ran to help our distinguished visitor. Others followed them
up the back stairs to the gallery; but the old Squire, seeing what was
likely to happen, came to my assistance on the ladder. Taking the smoker
into his own hands, he worked it vigorously in order to send as much
smoke as possible up into the loft.
But on pushing up the scuttle the opening was found to be no more than
fifteen inches square; and Uncle Hannibal was a two-hundred-pound man
with broad shoulders. He mounted the singers' bench, but he could barely
get his large black head up through the hole.
"Ah!" he cried in disgust. "Why didn't they make it larger? Just my
luck.
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