Another minute and the fire would
communicate with the pile. Then there was a crash. A shower of
sparks leapt up as the faggot, struck by one of the heavy stones,
was dashed from its place and lay blazing twenty feet distant from
the pile. There it burnt itself out, and for a time the tower was
safe.
For an hour the defenders watched the peasants, who had now lighted
great fires just out of pistol shot from the tower, and were gathered
thickly round them, the light flashing redly from pike head and
scythe.
The uproar of voices was loud; but though the defenders guessed
that they were discussing the next plan of attack they could catch
no meaning from such words as reached them, for the patois of the
Bavarian peasants was unintelligible. At last a large number seized
brands, some approached as before towards the pile, the others
scattered in various directions, while the men with muskets again
opened fire at the top of the tower.
Malcolm took his post at the loophole awaiting attack, but the
men in front of him did not advance. Suddenly a light sprang up
beneath him. There was a sound of falling stones, but the light
grew brighter and brighter, and he knew that this time the pile had
been fired. As he ran upstairs he was met by one of the soldiers
from above.
"They crept round by the back of the church, sir, and round at the
foot of the tower, and they had fired the pile before we saw that
they were there.
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