Joe had got his coat and waistcoat and cravat off, and his leather apron on, and passed into the forge. He opened its wooden windows, lighted the fire, and turned to at the bellows, as the rest stood round the blaze, which was soon roaring. Then Joe began to hammer and clink, hammer and clink, and we all looked on.
While they waited, they enjoyed, a bit too much perhaps, swigs from a cask of beer Mrs. Joe brought for them. As I watched them while they all stood clustering about the forge, enjoying themselves so much, I began to worry for my friend on the marshes. It seems two Howl Beasts escaped from the Hulks last night, so, already accounting for the one I witnessed in the fog, where had the other been? Suddenly, my mind began to conjure up images - the man’s chains, his savage contortions, his bulging eyes, his doggish eating – and piece them into one unthinkable picture. His cryptic and terrifying words swirled in my head, settling only when I said to myself, or perhaps even audibly, “He is one of them.”
But rather than fear or anger, all I could summon for the man was remorse. The Hunters were all in lively anticipation of "the two Beasts" being taken, and when the bellows seemed to roar for the fugitives, the fire to flare for them, the smoke to hurry away in pursuit of them, Joe to hammer and clink for them, and all the murky shadows on the wall to shake at them in menace as the blaze rose and sank and the red-hot sparks dropped and died, the morn outside, almost seemed in my pitying young fancy to have turned pale on their account, poor wretches.
At last, Joe's job was done, and the ringing and roaring stopped. As Joe got on his coat, he mustered courage to propose that some of us should go down with the Hunters. Mr. Pumblechook and Mr. Hubble declined, on the plea of a pipe and ladies' society; but Mr. Wopsle said he would go, if Joe would. Joe said he was agreeable, and would take me, if Mrs. Joe approved. We never should have got leave to go, I am sure, but for Mrs. Joe's curiosity to know all about it and how it ended. As it was, she merely stipulated, "If you bring the boy back with his head torn off by a Howler, don't look to me to sew it back on.”
The sergeant took an overly polite leave of the ladies, and parted from Mr. Pumblechook with a sneer. His men resumed their newly wrought weapons and fell in. Mr. Wopsle, Joe, and I, received strict charge to keep in the rear, and to speak no word. When we were all out in the raw air and were steadily moving towards our business, I treasonably whispered to Joe, "I hope, Joe, we shan't find them." Joe looked down at me, and to my great surprise, responded with a muted smile.
