“That was a whip’s crack,” said Yeo, “and a woman’s wail. They are close here, lads!”
“A woman’s? Do they drive women in their gangs?” asked Amyas.
“Why not, the brutes? There they are, sir. Did you see their basnets glitter?”
“Men!” said Amyas in a low voice, “I trust you all not to shoot till I do. Then give them one arrow, out swords, and at them! Pass the word along.”
Up they came, slowly, and all hearts beat loud at their coming.
First, about twenty soldiers, only one-half of whom were on foot; the other half being borne, incredible as it may seem, each in a chair on the back of a single Indian, while those who marched had consigned their heavier armor and their arquebuses into the hands of attendant slaves, who were each pricked on at will by the pikes of the soldier behind them.
“The men are made to let their ordnance out of their hands.”
“Oh, sir, an Indian will pray to an arquebus not to shoot him; be sure their artillery is safe enough,” said Yeo.
“Look at the proud villains,” whispered another, “to make dumb beasts of human creatures like that!”
“Ten shot,” counted the businesslike Amyas, “and ten pikes.”