I did not answer. It was a custom with us, when a horn was blown at an unusual hour, to proceed to the spot promptly to see what was the matter. Kline ordered his men to shoot any one they saw blowing the horn. There was a peach-tree at that end of the house. Up it two of the men climbed; and when my wife went a second time to the window, they fired as soon as they heard the blast, but missed their aim. My wife then went down on her knees, and, drawing her head and body below the range of the window, the horn resting on the sill, blew blast after blast, while the shots poured thick and fast around her. They must have fired ten or twelve times. The house was of stone, and the windows were deep, which alone preserved her life. They were evidently disconcerted by the blowing of the horn. Gorsuch said again, "I want my property, and I will have it." "Old man," said I, "you look as if you belonged to some persuasion." "Never mind," he answered, "what persuasion I belong to; I want my property." While I was leaning out of the window, Kline fired a pistol at me, but the shot went too high; the ball broke the glass just above my head. I was talking to Gorsuch at the time. I seized a gun and aimed it at Gorsuch's breast, for he evidently had instigated Kline to fire; but Pinckney caught my arm and said, "Don't shoot." The gun went off, just grazing Gorsuch's shoulder. Another conversation then ensued between Gorsuch, Kline, and myself, when another one of the party fired at me, but missed. Dickinson Gorsuch, I then saw, was preparing to shoot; and I told him if he missed, I would show him where shooting first came from. I asked them to consider what they would have done, had they been in our position. "I know you want to kill us," I said, "for you have shot at us time and again. We have only fired twice, although we have guns and ammunition, and could kill you all if we would, but we do not want to shed blood." "If you do not shoot any more," then said Kline, "I will stop my men from firing." They then ceased for a time. This was about sunrise. Mr. Gorsuch now said,--"Give up, and let me have my property. Hear what the Marshal says; the Marshal is your friend. He advises you to give up without more fuss, for my property I will have." I denied that I had his property, when he replied, "You have my men." "Am I your man?" I asked. "No." I then called Pinckney forward. "Is that your man?" "No." Abraham Johnson I called next, but Gorsuch said he was not his man. The only plan left was to call both Pinckney and Johnson again; for had I called the others, he would have recognized them, for they were his slaves. Abraham Johnson said, "Does such a shrivelled up old slaveholder as you own such a nice, genteel young man as I am?"