She had her reward when, first in 1776, and again in 1779, the British forces were unable to secure possession of the town. The third attempt, made by Sir Henry Clinton in 1780, was successful. For nearly three years the town was in the enemy's control. The Motte house was made headquarters by Clinton and his staff. The Mottes were crowded into a small room, while the British lived in comfort in the large apartments. Mrs. Motte divided her time between her invalid husband, her timid daughters, and the invaders. It was her custom to preside at the long dinner table, but the young ladies were never allowed to appear in the presence of the officers. A reminder of the presence of the unwelcome guests is still to be seen on the marble mantel in one of the rooms--a caricature of Clinton scratched on the polished surface, evidently with a diamond point. In the same room the women of Charleston--who were accustomed to go about the streets in mourning, during the period of the occupation--presented a petition to Lord Rawdon, asking for the pardon of Isaac Hayne, a patriot who had been condemned for some infraction of the regulations of the invaders. Their petition for clemency was in vain, though it was emphasized by the presence of Hayne's two little children. After the death of Mr. Motte, in January, 1781, Mrs. Motte and her daughters secured permission to leave Charleston that they might return to the family plantation on the Congaree, thirty or forty miles from Columbia. They were disappointed in their desire to be alone, for it was not long till the English decided to build on the estate one of their long line of military stations. Earthworks were thrown up around the house, which became known as Fort Motte. Again the family were crowded into a few rooms, while officers occupied the remainder. After a time Mrs. Motte was asked to retire to a small house on the plantation, a rough structure, covered with weather-boards, unplastered and only partially lined. At first it seemed that there was no place here to conceal the silverware brought from Fort Motte. How the difficulty was solved has been told in "Worthy Women of Our First Century": "Some one suggested that the unfinished state of the walls of their sitting-room afforded a convenient hiding place; and they set to work to avail themselves of it. Nailing tacks in the vacancy between the outer and inner boarding, and tying strings around the various pieces of silver, they hung them along the inner wall. Shortly afterwards a band of marauders did actually invade the premises; and one more audacious than the others jumped on a chair and thrust his bayonet into the hollow wall, saying he would soon find what they had come in search of; but, rapping all along on the floor within the wall, he did not once strike against anything to reward bad perseverance."