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Updated: April 30, 2025
One of them took refuge in the village smithy, where, hastily disguising himself, and donning a spare leathern apron, he pretended to be engaged in assisting the smith with his work, when a party of the Douglas followers rushed in. They glanced at the pretended workman at the anvil, and observed him deliver a blow upon it so unskilfully that the hammer-shaft broke in his hand.
He had scarcely spoken, but an attentive observer could have divined his state of mind by the short, petulant blows he gave to the glowing horseshoe on the anvil. Now he stopped in his work, rested his arms on his hammer-shaft, and proceeded, after his fashion, to test the Colonel by questions. "Doesta reckon, Colonel," he began, "that t' schooil-missus is a he-male or a she-male?"
The hammer-shaft was usually of ash, about 9 feet long, clamped at intervals with iron hoops. It was worked by the revolutions of the water-wheel, furnished with projecting arms or knobs to raise the hammer, which fell as each knob passed, the rapidity of its action of course depending on the velocity with which the water-wheel revolved.
I stand, feet well apart, and swing the great "sledge" to whose diapason George's hand-hammer beats a tinkling melody, coming in after each stroke with a ring and clash exact and true, as is, and has been, the way of masters of the smithing craft all the world over from time immemorial. "George," said I, during a momentary lull, leaning my hands upon the long hammer-shaft, "you don't sing."
Thus, despite my opponent's great strength of arm, I was fairly sanguine of the result. Black George took a fresh grip upon the hammer-shaft, twirled it lightly above his head, swung it once, twice, thrice and let it go. With a shout, Job and two or three others ran down the road to mark where it had fallen, and presently returned, pacing out the distance. "Fifty-nine!" they announced.
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