Screws deeply imbedded were pulled out bodily.

A second lighter wrench completed the task, and the door was noiselessly set aside, though Jim was trembling in every muscle.
Benedict stood at the door.
"Here's the robe that Abram sent ye," said Jim, throwing over the poor man's shoulders an ample blanket; and putting one of his large arms around him, he led him shuffling out of the hall, and shut and bolted the door.
He had no sooner done this, than the bedlam inside broke loose.

There were yells, and howls, and curses, but Jim did not stop for these.
Dizzied with his effort, enveloped in thick darkness, and the wind which preceded the approaching shower blowing a fierce gale, he was obliged to stop a moment to make sure that he was walking in the right direction.
He saw the lights of the village, and, finding the road, managed to keep on it until he reached the horse, that had become uneasy under the premonitory tumult of the storm.

Lifting Benedict into the wagon as if he had been a child, he wrapped him warmly, and put the boy in behind him, to kneel and see that his father did not fall out.

Then he turned the horse around, and started toward Number Nine.