“I’ve got a wire fence there, and a gatling. They won’t drop any rocks down on us.”
“Well, and the glass-cylinder dynamite torpedoes?”
“That’s attended to. It’s the prettiest garden that was ever planted. It’s a belt forty feet wide, and goes around the outer fence—distance between it and the fence one hundred yards—kind of neutral ground that space is. There isn’t a single square yard of that whole belt but is equipped with a torpedo. We laid them on the surface of the ground, and sprinkled a layer of sand over them. It’s an innocent looking garden, but you let a man start in to hoe it once, and you’ll see.”
“You tested the torpedoes?”
“Well, I was going to, but—”
“But what? Why, it’s an immense oversight not to apply a—”
“Test? Yes, I know; but they’re all right; I laid a few in the public road beyond our lines and they’ve been tested.”
“Oh, that alters the case. Who did it?”
“A Church committee.”
“How kind!”