With a chisel and a hammer the giant worked, on his knees, and it was almost like cutting through solid iron. The echo of his heavy blows rumbled afar off throughout the timber-land. The detail of men came with the log, the body of a cypress tree, one end smoothly rounded. Jim took his measurements and proceeded with his work. Once he had to drag the door to a better-sheltered spot. Bullets from the church were pecking up the dirt about him. Three times the piece of timber was tried, to find that the hole in the door was not quite large enough, but at last it went through and the giant smiled at the neatness of the work. And now the ram was ready. The firing from the church had fallen and all was silent. "It will take about eight men, four on a side--all strong young fellows," said Taylor. "You old men stand back. Major, order Captain Batts to let go the log." "Captain Batts, turn loose," the Major commanded. "You are too old for such work." With a sigh old Gid stepped back, and sadly he looked upon the young men as they took their places. "Yes, I'm getting old, John, but you needn't keep telling me of it." "Sir, didn't I tell you not to call me John?" "Yes, but I thought you'd forgotten it." Taylor and the Englishman were side by side, the log between them. Auger holes had been bored in the shaft and strong oak pins had been driven in to serve for handles. "Remember to keep a tight grip on your handle," said Jim. "I warrant that," the Briton replied. "Are we all ready? Really quite a lark, you know."