THE BATTLE.
It was a warm, sultry night in August; the air was heavy with vapor,
and the grass wet with dew. The large meadow through which the stream
ran was seen through a haze from the clouds of vapor that settled down
over it, and which the still air had not power to lift. Through this
mist the outline of the forest that surrounded the meadow was dimly
seen, the tall trees looking gaunt and ghostlike in the faint light.
The large bog that was formed by the widening of the stream was hardly
visible from the dense mist that stood over it, and as the great red
moon sank behind the forest trees, darkness settled down over all,
until the meadow looked ghostly white, enveloped in its veil of mist.
A little knoll rose on one side of the meadow, and when the moon
disappeared, and all was dark and still, little lights were seen
flitting to and fro. Presently the mist on the meadow seemed to be
broken by innumerable little dark objects that emerged from the edge
of the bog, intermingled with numerous lights gleaming here and there
through the vapor. Gradually these lines lengthened out into lines
parallel with one another, and spread out on each side of the bog, the
same little lights scintillating among them and lighting them on their
way.
Soon the same little sparks might have been seen darting down from
the knoll, and running thence in various directions toward the lines
forming in the meadow by the bog. The little knoll served as the
headquarters of the frog-general, who sent out his aids-de-camp, the
fireflies, with orders for his divisions of valiant soldiers who were
issuing from the bog, armed with sharp spears of grass, wherewith to
attack the wily enemy.
Gradually the dark lines spread out in a semicircle across the meadow,
brilliantly illuminated from time to time by the glinting of the
fireflies, who at intervals, as if by command, emitted brilliant light,
while answering signals flashed from the reeds in the bog to show that
the reserves were holding themselves in readiness.
As the general on the knoll directs his gaze toward the opposite wood,
he beholds tiny blue lights, their steady glow contrasting with the
scintillating lights of his fireflies,--the steady glow rising and
falling and moving among the grass where the meadow merges from the
wood.
The frog-general finds his expectations verified; his preparations,
though secretly and carefully undertaken, have been discovered by the
enemy, the field-mice, under command of that able soldier, General
Squeako. He had pressed the glow-worms into his service, and they were
aiding him by their steady, phosphorescent light.
Regiment after regiment of well-drilled field-mice does the
frog-general see mustering for the fray, silently taking their
positions, endeavoring to extend their flank, lengthening out their
lines, which he fears will overlap his own.
Fearing that his forces will be outflanked, like the cunning tactician
that he is, the frog-general determines on a ruse. Accordingly he
gives the order to his most valiant regiment to advance a company of
soldiers, accompanied by torch-bearers, beyond the extreme left wing of
the enemy, in order to make General Squeako think that there is to be
the attack.
The mouse-general, however, being aware of his old friend Johnny’s
wily tricks, understands that this is only a ruse, and determining to
frustrate the attempt, immediately issues the order,--
“Glow-worms, shut lanterns, and columns advance upon the enemy under
cover of darkness.”
The order is obeyed with military promptness, and not a mouse in the
ranks quails. At the same time his pickets return, confirming the
mouse-general’s opinion that the brilliancy and hubbub raised by the
frogs on the left wing is only a harmless band of fireflies and
a company of soldiers, and not an attacking division supported by
soldiers.
In the mean time the pickets of the advancing mouse-columns hit upon
those of the frogs, who, being brilliantly illuminated, afford the mice
an opportunity to make an attack--which under cover of darkness on
their side is accomplished with great energy and dash--upon the centre
of the unsuspecting frog-army.
The battle, now beginning in the centre, rages in earnest,--mouse
grapples frog, and frog grapples mouse in deadly contest; biting and
wrestling, kicking and scratching, the valiant combatants mingle in
terrible groups.
The orderly lines are broken; the agonized squeaking of the mice, and
the dying “a-hungs” of the frogs, make night hideous. Both generals
urge on their forces from either wing, and the carnage becomes
universal. The orderly lines of fireflies change into disorderly clouds
of sparks; while the rear columns of the mice, taking advantage of the
confusion, advance to the battle-field, lighted by orderly bands of
steady glow-worms, driving back stragglers and deserters, to strengthen
the lines in front.
For a time the fortunes of war tremble in the balance. The frogs,
forced to give way, are driven by the valiant mice to the edge of the
bog, and the more timid ones in the rear, thinking the battle lost,
spring into the water; but at that moment a deep-booming “a-hung!” is
heard amid the bull-rushes, where the valiant frog-general has removed
his staff; a million of lights illumine the swamp, and lo! as if by
magic, the reserves are seen issuing from the bog, swimming toward the
shore, and reinforcing the yielding lines. They repulse by renewed
attack the mouse-centre, through which they threaten to break.
It was the water-rat who had by his advice aided the frog-reserves; and
during the engagement the shrewd old fellow had squatted behind the
bog, and taken in every movement of both parties. Confident that owing
to the secrecy employed by the frogs the field-mice would be taken
unawares and unprepared, great was his astonishment to find General
Squeako’s division so well organized and generalled. Not a little
uneasiness did he feel, as the contest progressed, and the field-mice
forced the frog-army back to the bog.
The mouse-forces also had their reserves waiting for the word of
command to advance; and the word was given at the proper moment by the
astute Squeako, the columns moving in double-quick time to the edge of
the bog, where the battle was raging indecisively. The hitherto orderly
retreat of the frogs was turned into an ignominious stampede. Leaping
and plunging into the bog by thousands, the water fairly foamed. Those
in the rear, in their frantic efforts to reach the water’s edge, jumped
upon the struggling mass in front, crushing many, and tumbling them
about in confusion. All those who were not incapacitated, safely dived
into the water out of reach of the mice, who stood squeaking with joy
and exultation on the edge of the bog.
Thus ended the great battle between the mice and the frogs. Those of
the frogs that remained alive having escaped in safety, General Squeako
ordered a retreat, and dismissed his troops at the edge of the wood.
While this terrible battle was raging, Ruffina, being apprised by her
husband that the frogs were in readiness to move on the enemy, made
her preparations accordingly. With great anxiety she waited until the
decisive hour arrived, bustling about nervously meanwhile inside her
den, and making frequent excursions to the entrance, where she turned
her sharp eyes anxiously on the large red moon that was slowly settling
down to the tops of the forest trees. As soon as the last spot of red
disappeared, and the woods were enveloped in darkness, after carefully
inspecting little Fluff, who lay curled up in his corner fast asleep,
and making sure that his slumber was deep, Ruffina issued cautiously
forth.
The sharp-witted little bat Flipwing you may be sure was aware of
everything that took place in the neighborhood of the little prisoner,
whom he had pledged himself to rescue. From his hiding-place near by he
saw the old miser’s wife depart, and, watching her movements until she
disappeared into the woods, he at once flew down to the entrance of the
old rat’s den, and putting his head inside the opening, gently called
the squirrel’s name.
Poor little Fluff, weakened by grief and hardships, was sleeping
soundly, and dreaming of the happy home that was once his. In his
dreams he was again at play with his brothers and sister, frisking over
the tall trees, and jumping from bough to bough. It was no wonder that
when he heard his name called, he considered it as a part of his dream,
for Flipwing’s pleasant voice was a striking contrast to Ruffina’s
shrill, scolding tones, and the miser’s harsh voice. So little Fluff
slept on until the call was repeated several times.
Gradually the little prisoner awoke to the reality that he was in the
old rat’s den, and that a voice very unlike Ruffina’s or her husband’s
was calling him.
“Fluff, wake up!” he now distinctly heard; and starting to his feet, he
was wide awake in an instant.
“Who calls me?” asked the little squirrel, timidly, for the voice was a
new one, and the hope he had at first entertained of friends coming to
his relief had long since deserted him.
“No matter who I am; you don’t know me, but I come from your friends.
Ruffina is away, and if you are ever to escape, now is the time. So
hurry and come out.”
Fluff looked anxiously toward the place where Ruffina usually slept,
and it was indeed empty. So severe, however, had been the little
prisoner’s experiences since his capture, that he had lost faith in
everybody; and now how could he tell but that this was a ruse of
Ruffina to try him? And if he were retaken, what frightful consequences
would ensue!
Thus reasoned Fluff; and meanwhile the stranger outside was entreating
him to come out.
“You will never have another such chance,” urged the voice, “and our
time is short; so make haste, if you value your freedom.”
Although reduced to a condition of misery and despair by his
imprisonment, as Fluff heard these words some of his old energy
returned to him.
“Nothing can be worse than my present condition,” reasoned the poor
little squirrel, “and now that I have the chance offered me, I will
take it;” and he crawled to the opening of the den. Although he had
never seen the little bat before, after one look at his honest face he
unhesitatingly followed him.
The fresh air, of which he had been so long deprived, infused hope and
courage into the little captive’s heart, and he exerted himself to
the utmost to keep pace with his guide; but so cramped had been the
quarters in the den that the legs once so strong and active were now
weak and tremulous, and progress was slow and uncertain. How different
was it from the bounds and leaps Fluff made when in imagination he
found himself once more free!
“Have patience, and we’ll soon be there,” said Flipwing, kindly, as he
noticed the squirrel’s efforts. “We are safe now,--all the water-rats
in the world couldn’t get you; but let me advise you not to venture so
far from home in future.”
“You may be sure of that,” replied Fluff, decidedly; “once let me reach
home, that’s all!”
Now familiar landmarks began to present themselves to the little
squirrel,--trees over which he had run, and stumps beneath which he had
hidden; and his tired feet grew lighter at the sight.
There it was at last, the dear old tree, beneath which was the warm
nest he never expected to see again; and giving a loud chirrup of joy,
in sprang the lost Fluff, and in an instant was nestling against his
mother’s soft breast.
* * * * *
To return to Ruffina. As has been stated, she left the den, and entered
the forest. The darkness that followed the setting of the moon was just
what she desired for her expedition, and she chuckled to herself as she
proceeded.
The families of the mice-soldiers had all repaired to the edge of the
wood, that they might watch the contest going on in the meadow, and
their homes were deserted. This, however, made little difference to
Ruffina, for the large water-rat was more than a match for a whole
family of little field-mice.
How Ruffina’s eyes glistened, as in the first home she entered, her
eyes fell on stores of grain laid by for the next winter’s use!
“First of all, I’ll fill myself just as full as I can,” said Ruffina,
“for Rough will not give me anything of what I bring home,--he’ll keep
it all to trade with;” and the half-famished creature helped herself to
the rich food before her until she had made a heartier meal than had
fallen to her lot since she united her fortunes to those of the old
miser.
When she could eat no more, Ruffina stopped, and was startled to find
how little remained of the former piles of grain.
“No matter,” said the water-rat to herself; “there are many more places
as good as this, and now that I’ve had a good supper I can work all
the faster. I’ll go next to Squeako’s,--they say he’s got more stored
away than all the rest put together. I mustn’t forget, though, to do as
Rough told me;” and she tore apart with her strong paws the carefully
made beds, scattering the contents about.
Very near was the den where the mouse-general lived, and that, too, was
deserted. Quite grand and spacious were the long passageways leading
to the main dwelling-room. Ruffina was familiar with the plan adopted
by both rats and mice in the construction of their dwellings, and the
home of the wealthy General Squeako did not differ from the rest,
except that the passageways diverging from the main entrance were more
spacious and numerous than in the homes of the poorer mice.
Ruffina entered one of these passages, and proceeded at once to the
interior of the den. Very large and high was this room; and the
water-rat’s sharp eyes at once detected piles of grain recently stored,
and scraps of meat and pork so tempting, that in spite of her recent
hearty repast, she could not resist the temptation of nibbling. She
knew, however, that her time was short; so she began at once to carry
out the stores and deposit them in a place of safety, until the old
miser should find time to remove them.
While busily engaged in her work, Ruffina heard a slight rustling at
the entrance of the cave. This did not disturb her, however, for she
knew she was more than a match for the mouse-general himself, so she
carelessly turned her head in the direction of the sound.
In an instant Ruffina’s whole manner changed, and a violent trembling
seized her. The new-comer was no timid mouse; the wary water-rat knew,
before his head appeared, that the deadliest enemy of her tribe, the
weasel, was before her.
Completely paralyzed with fear, Ruffina stood as if in a nightmare,
her shaking limbs rooted to the ground, as her pursuer came wriggling
silently toward her. As if bound by a spell did the old rat stand,
her eyes riveted on the long, flexible body and pitiless eyes of her
enemy,--without power to stir, until he approached near enough to give
the final spring. Then, and not till then, did the terrified water-rat
give vent to a squeal of terror, and with a gigantic effort, leap
toward the opening of the cavern.
Directly behind the old water-rat was the weasel. She felt his
presence, although she dared not look behind, and she knew his steady
progress would enable him to keep pace with, or perhaps overreach,
her nervous leaps. Once outside the cave, she stopped but for a
second, to observe the situation, and then, true to the instinct of
self-preservation implanted in every one of God’s creatures, she
started for her native element, the stream!
Thanks to the hearty meal she had just eaten, Ruffina was enabled to
make a great effort. Through the white mist that enveloped the meadow,
the irregularly gleaming sparks of the fireflies and the steady lights
of the glow-worms, that she descried in the neighborhood of the bog,
convinced her that the battle was raging in that quarter; and as she
came nearer, the squeaks of wounded field-mice, and mournful “a-hungs”
of disabled frogs, fell on her ears. All at once a loud hoot was heard,
and she beheld the fierce Blinkeye hovering over the battle-field,
watching for an opportunity to seize his prey.
With the weasel in the rear and Blinkeye above, Ruffina felt her
chances of escape lessening; and driven to desperation, she gathered
together all her strength, and with a few prodigious leaps gained the
stream, into which she sprang, and was hidden from view beneath its
protecting waters.
[Illustration: “As the officer spoke, the Widow O’Warty, who had been
sitting erect, gave a loud croak, and rolled once more upon her back.”]