Several sided with Darcy, but Jack shook his head. "I am going over. I would like eight or ten to go with me. The others had better remain around town." And so it was arranged. The coming of the Federalists to the plantation owned by Mrs. Mary Ruthven filled St. John with supreme terror. Hearing the firing, the young man got up and dressed himself. He was just finishing when his mother appeared. "St. John, Pompey says the Yankees are coming!" said the mother. "You must arm yourself and try to defend our home." "The Yan--Yankees!" he said, with chattering teeth. "How--how near are they?" "They have passed through the town and are all over the mountain side. Come, do not delay. I have given Pompey a gun and old Louis a pistol. Arm yourself and take charge of them. If we do not protect ourselves, we may all be killed." Shaking so that he could scarcely walk, St. John went below and into the library, where hung a rifle over the chimney piece and also a brace of swords. He got down the rifle and loaded it. Then he strapped the larger of the swords around his waist. "Now you look quite like a soldier," said his mother encouragingly. "I hope you can shoot straight." "I--I don't want to kill--kill anybody," he answered. "If I do, the Yankees will be very--very vindictive." "But you must protect our home!" insisted Mrs. Mary Ruthven. "Come, brace up!" Still trembling, and with a face as white as chalk, St. John walked to the veranda of the homestead. He gazed down the road and saw a body of soldiers approaching, in a cloud of dust and smoke. Then a cannon boomed out, and a ball hit the corner of the house, sending a shower of splinters in all directions. "They have struck the house!" shrieked Mrs. Ruthven. "We shall all be murdered!" "Spare us! spare us!" gasped St. John, as a company of soldiers came up to the mansion on the double-quick. "We have harmed nobody! Spare us!" "You big calf!" cried one of the soldiers. "We aint going to hurt you. Git up from yer knees!" For St. John had indeed fallen upon his knees in his abject terror. "Who--who are you?" "We are Confederates--if you'll only open yer eyes to see. Git up!" And in disgust the Southern soldier pricked St. John's shoulder with his bayonet. The spendthrift let out a yell of fear, rolled over, and dashed into the house, leaving his gun behind him. "St. John, where are you going?" cried his mother, coming after him. "Oh, mother, we are lost!" he wailed. "No, we are not. Go out again, and pick up your gun." "I--I cannot! They will--will shoot me!" he shivered. "But they are our own men, St. John. You are perfectly safe with them." But he would not go, and she left him in the hallway, where he had sunk down on a bench. In one way he was to be pitied, for his fear was beyond his control. Soon the Confederates left the plantation and the Federalists burst into view. The cannon continued to boom forth, and presently came a cry from the rear of the mansion: