Mrs. Venning, holding
her daughter's child in her arms, sat on the steps of the little square
trench surrounding the silver-house, encouraging and directing those
women and children as she might have done in the happiest and easiest
time of her life. Then, there was an armed line, under Mr. Macey, across
the width of the enclosure, facing that way and having their backs
towards the gate, in order that they might watch the walls and prevent
our being taken by surprise. Then there was a space of eight or ten feet
deep, in which the spare arms were, and in which Miss Maryon and Mrs.
Fisher, their hands and dresses blackened with the spoilt gunpowder,
worked on their knees, tying such things as knives, old bayonets, and
spear-heads, to the muzzles of the useless muskets. Then, there was a
second armed line, under Sergeant Drooce, also across the width of the
enclosure, but facing to the gate. Then came the breastwork we had made,
with a zigzag way through it for me and my little party to hold good in
retreating, as long as we could, when we were driven from the gate. We
all knew that it was impossible to hold the place long, and that our only
hope was in the timely discovery of the plot by the boats, and in their
coming back.
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