“None of that, Joe,” said the soldier, sternly.  “Now march back again, or I’ll shoot you;” and Tom heard the click of the hammer as he cocked the piece.  “I’ve fooled long enough with you, and we’ll end this business here.  Come here, at once, or I’ll put a bullet through your head.”

“Don’t shoot!  Don’t shoot!  For mercy’s sake don’t shoot,” cried Mrs. Burnap.

“I’ll give him one minute to obey the order; if he don’t do it then, I’ll fire.  That’s all I’ve got to say.”

Tom saw by the soldier’s manner that he intended to execute his threat.  He saw him brace up his nerves, and otherwise prepare himself for the bloody deed.  But Tom did not think that Joe had the stubbornness or the courage, whichever it might be called, to run the risk of dodging the bullet.  He foresaw, too, that, if Joe gave himself up, his hiding place would be exposed, and the soldier would have two prisoners to conduct back to his officer, instead of one.  It was therefore high time for him to do something for his own protection, if not for that of his host.

The necessity of defending himself, or of doing something to cover his retreat in an emergency, had been anticipated by Tom, and he had made such preparations as the circumstances would admit.  His first suggestion was to dart his bayonet down at the rebel soldier, as he had seen the fishermen of Pinchbrook harpoon a horse mackerel; but the chances of hitting the mark were too uncertain to permit him to risk the loss of his only weapon, and he rejected the plan.  He adopted the method, however, in a modified, form, deciding to use the material of which the chimney was constructed, instead of the bayonet.  The stones being laid in clay instead of mortar, were easily detached from the structure, and he had one in his hands ready for operations.

“Come here, Joe Burnap, or you are a dead man,” repeated the soldier, who evidently had some scruples about depriving the infant Confederacy of an able-bodied recruit.

Tom Somers, being unembarrassed by any such scruples, lifted himself up from his hiding place, and hurled the stone upon the soldier, fully expecting to hit him on the head, and dash out his brains.  The best laid calculations often miscarry, and Tom’s did in part, for the missile, instead of striking the soldier upon the head, hit him on the right arm.  The musket was discharged, either by the blow or by the act of its owner, and fell out of his hands upon the ground.

Now, a stone as big as a man’s head, does not fall from the height of fifteen feet upon any vulnerable part of the human frame without inflicting some injury; and in strict conformity with this doctrine of probabilities, the stone which Tom hurled down upon the rebel, and which struck him upon the right arm, entirely disabled that useful member.  The hero of this achievement was satisfied with the result, though it had not realized his anticipations.  Concluding that the time had arrived for an effective charge, he leaped out of the chimney upon the roof of the house, descended to the eaves, and then jumped down upon the ground.