After the big gun was loaded the men began to load their own guns, their excitement increasing and the discussion growing loud enough to be heard outside the kiln. At length, the natural leader of the party checked it, and fixed a plan of action.
“The thing to do,” he said, “is this: hail ’em when they get near the shore, an’ if they don’t hold up, rip into ’em a volley from the big gun, an’ hold our other firelocks in resarve.”
But a question at once arose who should fire the big musket. It required a stout man to hold the huge firearm out, and the smallest man of the group, in the haste of gathering, had caught it up in a neighbor’s house.
“I swar I won’t fire it with such a load as that in,” he said; “and I can’t fire it anyway without a rest.”
“You take her, then,” said the leader to one who stood beside him.
“Not a bit of it. I ain’t agoin’ to fire nobody else’s gun but my own.”
“They’re not more’n three gun-shots off,” spoke the sentinel, husking the tones of his voice; “settle upon suthin’ darn quick, ur we’ll hev a han’-to-han’ fight here on the shore.”
“You’re the boy, Jim; you fire it,” said the leader, clapping a negro who stood near him, on the shoulder.
Jim took the gun.
