“That accounts for your sudden arrival, then,” smiled the young partisan. “But, tell me, Dogberry, how many Tories are at your master’s place?”
Dogberry’s knowledge of numbers was exceedingly limited; so he slowly and laboriously counted nine upon his fingers and held them up.
“Just dis many, sah, and dey am having dreadful carryings on. De ladies of de fambly is most frightened out of dey wits.”
“Nine, eh!” Tom looked reflectively at Cole and the giant held out his great arms and smiled. There were none too many in his estimation. But his master was doubtful. Tom had partaken of Marion’s caution; he had seen so much of the Swamp-Fox’s success based upon mere carefulness, that he began to give caution a place beside courage in the list of qualities necessary to a soldier.
“How are they armed?” he asked the negro.
“Dey have swords, sah, like yours; and dey have guns—one apiece, for I counted dem. I see dem standing on de lawn under de apple tree.”
“On the lawn under the apple tree!” repeated Tom, his eyes lighting. “Are you sure of that, Dogberry?”
“Yes, sah. Dat’s where I saw ’em put dere guns. And I s’pose dey’s there still.”
“The lawn has no windows overlooking it from the ground floor, Cole,” said Tom slowly. “If we could get those guns we might make an important capture.”
Instantly Cole began to signal to be allowed to try to secure them.