"He'll stop at nothing," replied the colonel. "But we'll know soon enough. In the meantime haul up those ropes, for methinks we'll have need of them ere long."
We pulled up the bell-ropes as far as the knots for the ringers' hands would allow, then set laboriously to work to chafe through the stout hempen cords by the edge of one of the bells. We had barely sawn through three ropes, and detached their other ends from the massive wheels, when we heard the noise of scuffling feet hastily making the way up the worn steps of the spiral staircase, accompanied by the unmistakable rustle of straw.
[Illustration: Seized by the arms and legs, the terrified rogue was hurled into the river.]
"They are going to burn us out," I exclaimed.
"Trying to, you should say," replied Firestone. "Unless they actually set fire to the steeple, which Heaven forfend, we can laugh at them."
Piling a heap of straw and hay on the stone floor of the tower immediately below the trap-door of the belfry, the rebels called on us once more to come down.
The only reply was a piece of wood, small 'tis true, but thrown with unerring aim. It caught one of the soldiers fairly on the top of his bare head, for he had removed his steel cap, and, with a yell of pain, he dashed for the doorway of the spiral staircase, not knowing in his fright whether he had been shot at or not.
Coming into violent contact with another man who was bringing up some more straw, the twain fell in a confused heap, and we could hear them bumping and jolting down the narrow steps.
"Capitally done, Humphrey!" exclaimed the colonel. "Had we but a goodly store of missiles, we could hold them at bay."