Father then put his knife
over the door-latch. I began to breathe more freely, but there was no
sleep for father or mother, and but little for me, that night.
Everything had been quiet about two hours when we heard steps, as of two
or three, coming very quietly, in their stocking feet. Father rose, armed
himself with a heavy chair and waited to receive them.
Mother heard the door-latch, and fearing that father would kill, or be
killed, spoke, as if not wishing them to hear, and said: "John have the
pistols ready," (it will be remembered that we had pistols in place of
revolvers in those days) "and the moment they open the door shoot them."
This stratagem worked; they retired as still as possible.
In about two or three hours more, they came again, and although father
told mother to keep still, she said again: "Be ready now and blow them
down the moment they burst open the door."
Away they went again, but came once more just before daylight, stiller
if possible than ever; father was at his station, chair in hand, but
mother was determined all should live, if possible, so she said "They are
coming again, shoot the first one that enters!" &c.
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