BUT alas! even the Three, mighty though they were, could not last
forever against an army which seemed to have no end. In one of the
hottest scrimmages, when the enemy had broken a particularly wide hole
through the fence, I saw Long Arrow’s great figure topple and come down
with a spear sticking in his broad chest.
For another half-hour Bumpo and the Doctor fought on side by side. How
their strength held out so long I cannot tell, for never a second were
they given to get their breath or rest their arms.
The Doctor—the quiet, kindly, peaceable, little Doctor!—well, you
wouldn’t have known him if you had seen him that day dealing out whacks
you could hear a mile off, walloping and swatting in all directions.
As for Bumpo, with staring eye-balls and grim set teeth, he was
a veritable demon. None dared come within yards of that wicked,
wide-circling door-post. But a stone, skilfully thrown, struck him at
last in the centre of the forehead. And down went the second of the
Three. John Dolittle, the last of the Terribles, was left fighting
alone.
Jip and I rushed to his side and tried to take the places of the fallen
ones. But, far too light and too small, we made but a poor exchange.
Another length of the fence crashed down, and through the widened gap
the Bag-jagderags poured in on us like a flood.
“To the canoes!—To the sea!” shouted the Popsipetels. “Fly for your
lives!—All is over!—The war is lost!”
But the Doctor and I never got a chance to fly for our lives. We were
swept off our feet and knocked down flat by the sheer weight of the
mob. And once down, we were unable to get up again. I thought we would
surely be trampled to death.
But at that moment, above the din and racket of the battle, we heard
the most terrifying noise that ever assaulted human ears: the sound of
millions and millions of parrots all screeching with fury together.
The army, which in the nick of time Polynesia had brought to our
rescue, darkened the whole sky to the westward. I asked her afterwards,
how many birds there were; and she said she didn’t know exactly but
that they certainly numbered somewhere between sixty and seventy
millions. In that extraordinarily short space of time she had brought
them from the mainland of South America.
If you have ever heard a parrot screech with anger you will know that
it makes a truly frightful sound; and if you have ever been bitten by
one, you will know that its bite can be a nasty and a painful thing.
The Black Parrots (coal-black all over, they were—except for a scarlet
beak and a streak of red in wing and tail) on the word of command from
Polynesia set to work upon the Bag-jagderags who were now pouring
through the village looking for plunder.
And the Black Parrots’ method of fighting was peculiar. This is what
they did: on the head of each Bag-jagderag three or four parrots
settled and took a good foot-hold in his hair with their claws; then
they leant down over the sides of his head and began clipping snips out
of his ears, for all the world as though they were punching tickets.
That is all they did. They never bit them anywhere else except the
ears. But it won the war for us.
With howls pitiful to hear, the Bag-jagderags fell over one another in
their haste to get out of that accursed village. It was no use their
trying to pull the parrots off their heads; because for each head there
were always four more parrots waiting impatiently to get on.
Some of the enemy were lucky; and with only a snip or two managed to
get outside the fence—where the parrots immediately left them alone.
But with most, before the black birds had done with them, the ears
presented a very singular appearance—like the edge of a postage-stamp.
This treatment, very painful at the time, did not however do them any
permanent harm beyond the change in looks. And it later got to be the
tribal mark of the Bag-jagderags. No really smart young lady of this
tribe would be seen walking with a man who did not have scalloped
ears—for such was a proof that he had been in the Great War. And that
(though it is not generally known to scientists) is how this people
came to be called by the other Indian nations, the _Ragged-Eared
Bag-jagderags_.
As soon as the village was cleared of the enemy the Doctor turned his
attention to the wounded.
In spite of the length and fierceness of the struggle, there were
surprisingly few serious injuries. Poor Long Arrow was the worst off.
However, after the Doctor had washed his wound and got him to bed, he
opened his eyes and said he already felt better. Bumpo was only badly
stunned.
With this part of the business over, the Doctor called to Polynesia
to have the Black Parrots drive the enemy right back into their own
country and to wait there, guarding them all night.
Polynesia gave the short word of command; and like one bird those
millions of parrots opened their red beaks and let out once more their
terrifying battle-scream.
The Bag-jagderags didn’t wait to be bitten a second time, but fled
helter-skelter over the mountains from which they had come; whilst
Polynesia and her victorious army followed watchfully behind like a
great, threatening, black cloud.
The Doctor picked up his high hat which had been knocked off in the
fight, dusted it carefully and put it on.
“To-morrow,” he said, shaking his fist towards the hills, “we will
arrange the terms of peace—and we will arrange them—in the City of
Bag-jagderag!”
His words were greeted with cheers of triumph from the admiring
Popsipetels. The war was over.
_THE SEVENTH CHAPTER_