l was ready. A score of
shot-guns were trained upon the two windows that looked out upon the
space between the stable wall and the church. Over the wall the door was
lifted, and the shot-guns roared, for the negroes had opened fire from
the windows, but necessary caution marred the effect of their aim.
Without a mishap the ram was lowered into the field. And now forward it
went, slowly at first, but faster and faster, the men on a run, the
lower edge of the door sweeping the old cotton stalks. Faster, with a
yell, and the men about the field stood ready to charge. Shot-guns
blazed from the windows, and shot like sharp sleet rattled off the heavy
nail-heads in the door. Faster, and with a stunning _bim_ the ram was
driven against the house. But the logs lay firm. Back again, thirty
feet, another run and a ram, but the logs were firm. From the windows,
almost directly in front, the buck-shot poured, and glancing about,
plucked up the dirt like raindrops in a dusty road. Once more, back
still further, and again they drove with head-long force. The house
shook, the roof trembled, but the logs were sound and stubbornly lay in
place. Back again, but this time not to stop. "To the fence," Jim
ordered. A shout came from the church. The Major stamped the ground.
"Keep your places and wait for me," said Jim to his men. He leaped the
stable wall. "Here, young fellow," he called, "run over to that
store-house and bring a can of coal-oil. I was a fool not to think of
this before. Why, even if we were to batter down the house they would
kill us before our men could get there. Where is that axe?"

He seized the axe and began to split a dry pine log. Every one
understood his plan; no one spoke. He split his kindling fine, whittled
off shavings with his knife, and gathering up his faggots waited for the
oil. The young fellow returned, running. Jim snatched the can and sprang
over the fence. The Englishman smiled when he took his place. "Really
you have quite an odd fancy, you know," he said.

"Once more and easy," Jim commanded. "And may the Lord have mercy on
them. But it has to be done."

Onward they went, leaning inward, treading slowly, and shot was sleeted
at them from the windows. But there was no quickening step as the house
was neared--it was a dead march. At a corner of the church they halted,
and Jim, putting down his oil can, close to the wall, piled his faggots
about it, and then, striking a match, set fire to the shavings