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Tom Cringle's Log by Michael Scott
page 36 of 773 (04%)

It is all true that there was a deep ditch and glacis beyond; but there
was no covered way, and both the scarp and counterscarp were simple
earthen embankments; so that, had the ditch been filled up with fascines,
there was no wall to face the attacking force after crossing it,--nothing
but a green mound, precipitous enough, certainly, and crowned with a low
parapet of masonry, and bristling with batteries about half way down, so
that the muzzles of the guns were flush with the neighbouring country
beyond the ditch. Still there was wanting, to my imagination, the
strength of the high perpendicular wall, with its gaping embrasures, and
frowning cannon. All this time it never occurred to me, that to breach
such a defence as that we looked upon was impossible. You might have
plumped your shot into it until you had converted it into an iron mine,
but no chasm could have been forced in it by all the artillery in Europe;
so battering in a breach was entirely out of the question, and this, in
truth, constituted the great strength of the place.

We arrived, after an hour's drive, at the villa belonging to my
protector's family, and walked into a large room, with a comfortable
stove, and extensive preparations made for a comfortable breakfast.

Presently three young ladies appeared. They were his sisters,--blue--eyed,
fair--haired, white--skinned, round--sterned, plump little partridges.

"Haben sie gefruhstucht?" said the eldest.

"Pas encore," said he in French, with a smile. "But, sisters, I have
brought a stranger here, a young English officer, who was recently
captured in the river."

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