Thus we parleyed for a time, all because of the pusillanimity of the
Marshal, when he, at last, said,--"I am tired waiting on you; I see you
are not going to give up. Go to the barn and fetch some straw," said he
to one of his men, "I will set the house on fire, and burn them up."

"Burn us up and welcome," said I. "None but a coward would say the like.
You can burn us, but you can't take us; before I give up, you will see
my ashes scattered on the earth."

By this time day had begun to dawn; and then my wife came to me and
asked if she should blow the horn, to bring friends to our assistance. I
assented, and she went to the garret for the purpose. When the horn
sounded from the garret window, one of the ruffians asked the others
what it meant; and Kline said to me, "What do you mean by blowing that
horn?"

I did not answer. It was a custom with us, when a horn was blown at an
unusual hour, to proceed to the spot promptly to see what was the
matter. Kline ordered his men to shoot any one they saw blowing the
horn. There was a peach-tree at that end of the house. Up it two of the
men climbed; and when my wife went a second time to the window, they
fired as soon as they heard the blast, but missed their aim. My wife
then went down on her knees, and, drawing her head and body below the
range of the window, the horn resting on the sill, blew blast after
blast, while the shots poured thick and fast around her. They must have
fired ten or twelve times. The house was of stone, and the windows were
deep, which alone preserved her life.

They were evidently disconcerted by the blowing of the horn. Gorsuch
said again, "I want my property, and I will have it."

"Old man," said I, "you look as if you belonged to some persuasion."

"Never mind," he answered, "what persuasion I belong to; I want my
property."

While I was leaning out of the window, Kline fired a pistol at me, but
the shot went too high; the ball broke the glass just above my head. I
was talking to Gorsuch at the time. I seized a gun and aimed it at
Gorsuch's breast, for he evidently had instigated Kline to fire; but
Pinckney caught my arm and said, "Don't shoot." The gun went off, just
grazing Gorsuch's shoulder. Another conversation then ensued between
Gorsuch, Kline, and myself, when another one of the party fired at me,
but missed. Dickinson Gorsuch, I then saw, was preparing to shoot; and I
told him if he missed, I would show him where shooting first cam