The door was open, as it had been all day, to enable the guards to obtain an occasional view of the prisoners.
The sentinels were evidently in no condition to discharge their duties with fidelity, for they had been marching and fighting for two or three days, and were nearly exhausted.

Leaning against the door, Tom discovered a musket, which the careless guard had left there.

On the floor in the entry lay two rebel soldiers.

They had stretched themselves across the threshold of the door, so that no one could pass in or out of the church without stepping over them.
Tom carefully rose from his recumbent posture, and took possession of the musket.

Then, with the utmost prudence, he stepped over the bodies of the sleeping soldiers; but with all his circumspection, he could not prevent one of his shoes from squeaking a little, and it required only a particle of noise to rouse the guard.
"Who goes there ?" demanded one of them, springing to his feet.
"Is this the way you do your duty ?" replied Tom, as sternly as though he had been a brigadier general.
"Who are you ?" said the soldier, apparently impressed by the words and the tones of him who reproved his neglect.
"Who am I, you sleepy scum! I'll let you know who I am in about ten minutes," added Tom, as he passed out at the front door of the church.
"Give me back my gun--won't you ?" pleaded the confused sentinel.
"I'll give it back to you at the court-martial which will sit on your case to-morrow." "Who goes there ?" challenged one of the sentinels on the outside.
"Who goes there!" added Tom, in a sneering tone.