His high spirits went before a fall.  As he stood up, in the full glow from the burning go-down, somebody tackled him about the knees and threw him head first on the sand-bags.

“How many times must I give me orders?” barked the little sea-captain.  “Under cover, under cover, and stay under cover, or I’ll send ye below, ye gallivanting—­Oh! it’s you, is it?  Well, there’s your port-hole.”  A stubby finger pointed in the obscurity.  “There! and don’t ye fire till I say so!”

Thus made welcome, Rudolph crawled toward a chink among the bags, ran the muzzle of his gun into place, and lay ready for whatever might come out of the quaking lights and darknesses beyond.

Nothing came, however, except a swollen continuity of sound, a rolling cloud of noises, thick and sullen as the smell of burnt gunpowder.  It was strange, thought Rudolph, how nothing happened from moment to 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?”