Maryon's own hand put in mine, should have got my end from them. But,
was that all? No. I saw a heap of banded dark hair and a white dress
come thrice between me and them, under my own raised right arm, which
each time might have destroyed the wearer of the white dress; and each
time one of the lot went down, struck dead.

Drooce was armed with a broadsword, too, and did such things with it,
that there was a cry, in half-a-dozen languages, of "Kill that sergeant!"
as I knew, by the cry being raised in English, and taken up in other
tongues. I had received a severe cut across the left arm a few moments
before, and should have known nothing of it, except supposing that
somebody had struck me a smart blow, if I had not felt weak, and seen
myself covered with spouting blood, and, at the same instant of time,
seen Miss Maryon tearing her dress and binding it with Mrs. Fisher's help
round the wound. They called to Tom Packer, who was scouring by, to stop
and guard me for one minute, while I was bound, or I should bleed to
death in trying to defend myself. Tom stopped directly, with a good
sabre in his hand.

In that same moment--all things seem to happen in that same moment, at
such a time--half-a-dozen had rushed howling at Sergeant Drooce. The
Sergeant, stepping back against the wall, stopped one howl for ever with
such a terrible blow, and waited for the rest to come on, with such a
wonderfully unmoved face, that they stopped and looked at him.

"See him now!" cried Tom Packer. "Now, when I could cut him out! Gill!
Did I tell you to mark my words?"

I implored Tom Packer in the Lord's name, as well as I could in my
faintness, to go to the Sergeant's aid.