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Sir Toady Lion
[Illustration: "AS THE HIGHLANDERS HAD CLUNG TO THE CAVALRY
STIRRUPS AT BALACLAVA."]
THE SURPRISING ADVENTURES OF SIR TOADY LION
WITH THOSE OF GENERAL NAPOLEON SMITH
AN IMPROVING HISTORY FOR
OLD BOYS, YOUNG BOYS, GOOD BOYS, BAD BOYS,
BIG BOYS, LITTLE BOYS, COW BOYS, AND TOM-BOYS
BY
S. R. CROCKETT
AUTHOR of "SWEETHEART TRAVELLERS", "THE RAIDERS", &c.
ILLUSTRATED BY GORDON BROWNE
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
Copyright, 1897
by
Frederick A. Stokes
Company
[Illustration: TOO GOOD BOYS NOT ALLOWED TO READ THIS BOOK
BY ORDER FIELD MARSHAL NAPOLEON SMITH]
CONTENTS
I. PRISSY, HUGH JOHN, AND SIR TOADY LION,
II. THE GOSPEL OF DASHT-MEAN,
III. HOW HUGH JOHN BECAME GENERAL NAPOLEON,
IV. CASTLE PERILOUS,
V. THE DECLARATION OF WAR,
VI. FIRST BLOOD,
VII. THE POOR WOUNDED HUSSAR,
VIII. THE FAMILIAR SPIRIT,
IX. PUT TO THE QUESTION,
X. A SCOUTING ADVENTURE,
XI. ENEMY'S COUNTRY,
XII. MOBILISATION,
XIII. THE ARMY OF WINDY STANDARD,
XIV. THE BATTLE OF THE BLACK SHEDS,
XV. TOADY LION PLAYS A FIRST LONE HAND,
XVI. THE SMOUTCHY BOYS,
XVII. BEFORE THE INQUISITION,
XVIII. THE CASTLE DUNGEON,
XIX. THE DROP OF WATER,
XX. THE SECRET PASSAGE,
XXI. THE RETURN FROM THE BASTILE,
XXII. MUTINY IN THE CAMP,
XXIII. CISSY CARTER, BOYS' GIRL,
XXIV. CHARITY BEGINS AT HOME--AND ENDS THERE,
XXV. LOVE'S (VERY) YOUNG DREAM,
XXVI. AN IMPERIAL BIRTHDAY,
XXVII. THE BANTAM CHICKENS,
XXVIII. THE GIPSY CAMP,
XXIX. TOADY LION'S LITTLE WAYS,
XXX. SAINT PRISSY, PEACEMAKER,
XXXI. PRISSY'S PICNIC,
XXXII. PLAN OF CAMPAIGN,
XXXIII. TOADY LION'S SECOND LONE HAND,
XXXIV. THE CROWNING MERCY,
XXXV. PRISSY'S COMPROMISE,
XXXVI. HUGH JOHN'S WAY-GOING,
XXXVII. THE GOOD CONDUCT PRIZE,
XXXVIII. HUGH JOHN'S BLIGHTED HEART,
XXXIX. "GIRLS ARE FUNNY THINGS,"
ILLUSTRATIONS
"AS THE HIGHLANDERS HAD CLUNG TO THE CAVALRY STIRRUPS AT BALACLAVA,"
SIR TOADY LION,
HUGH JOHN HAD A SISTER,
THE HIGHWAY LIES DESERTED,
MR. DICK TURPIN, LATE OF YORK AND TYBURN,
HE STOOD ON THE ROADSIDE,
IT COULD NOT HAVE BEEN BETTER DONE FOR A FIELD-MARSHAL,
CASTLE PERILOUS,
AT THE END OF THE STEPPING-STONES,
JANET SHEEPSHANKS AWAITED THIS SORRY PROCESSION WITH A GRIM
TIGHTENING OF THE LIPS,
"I COULDN'T HELP GETTING BEATEN,"
SUCCESS OFTEN BRED ENVY,
SAMBO,
A FEARFUL BLACK COUNTENANCE NODDED AT HIM,
HUGH JOHN TOOK HIS WAY DOWN THE AVENUE,
"WAIT TILL THE NEXT TIME,"
HE WAS OBLIGED TO CLIMB A TREE,
HUGH JOHN TUGGED HER HAIR,
DEPOSITED GENERAL-FIELD-MARSHAL SMITH IN THE HORSE-POND,
GENERALS OF DIVISION, EQUAL IN RANK,
THE ARMY WAS FINALLY MUSTERED,
THE BLACK SHEDS,
THE BATTLE OF THE BLACK SHEDS,
CAUTIOUSLY HE RETURNED THROUGH THE HEDGE,
"OH, THE BONNIE LADDIE!"
"SURRENDER!" CRIED NIPPER DONNAN,
THE HEAD SMOUTCHY,
"GOT YOU AT LAST!"
"WILL YE SAY NOW THAT THE CASTLE IS YOUR FATHER'S?"
"BUT I WON'T CRY--EVEN TO MYSELF,"
HE BENT THE WEIGHT OF HIS BODY THIS WAY AND THAT,
THE PINING CAPTIVE,
THE SECRET PASSAGE,
HE SAW A STRETCH OF RIPPLED RIVER,
HE FLOUNDERED THROUGH,
"I CREATE YOU GENERAL OF THE COMM'SARIAT,"
"DON'T YOU SPEAK AGAINST MY FATHER,"
SAMMY CARTER MUTINOUS,
"ONE, TWO, THREE--AND A TIGER,"
"LOOK AT HIM, MADAM," SAID MRS. BAKER,
TOADY LION SAT PLUMP DOWN,
"LET ME LOOK AT HIM," SHE SAID,
LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM,
"HIT HARD, BRAVE SOLDIER,"
"WASN'T IT SPLENDID?"
TOADY LION PREFERRED TO SLEEP IN THE MOST CURIOUS POSITIONS,
BANTAM CHICKENS,
THE GIPSIES' WOOD,
SHE CARRIED A BACK LOAD OF TINWARE,
THE OLDEST IMPLEMENTS INVENTED FOR THE PURPOSE,
SHE WENT ON HER WAY,
"OH, PLEASE DON'T, SIR!"
WELCOMED BY THE ENEMY,
THE RETURN OF THE TWO SWIFT FOOTMEN,
HYDRAULIC PRESSURE,
THE PLAN OF CAMPAIGN,
TROTTING STEADILY THROUGH THE TOWN,
THE BOUNDING BROTHERS,
THE LIVING CHAIN,
SIXPENCE FOR ADMISSION,
"THEN," SAID PRISSY, "I THINK IT CAN BE MANAGED,"
TOADY LION STOOD LOOKING ON,
A SLIM BUNDLE OF LIMP WOE,
THE GOOD CONDUCT PRIZE,
"SMELL THAT,"
A BLIGHTED BEING,
HE SPRANG OVER THE STILE,
"IT LOOKS LIKE HALF OF A SIXPENCE WHICH SOMEBODY HAS STEPPED UPON.
HOW QUAINT!"
AS IF HER HEART WERE LIGHT WITHIN HER,
Sir Toady Lion.
CHAPTER I.
PRISSY, HUGH JOHN, AND SIR TOADY LION.
It is always difficult to be great, but it is specially difficult when
greatness is thrust upon one, as it were, along with the additional
burden of a distinguished historical name. This was the case with
General Napoleon Smith. Yet when this story opens he was not a
general. That came later, along with the cares of empire and the
management of great campaigns.
But already in secret he was Napoleon Smith, though his nurse
sometimes still referred to him as Johnnie, and his father--but stay.
I will reveal to you the secret of our soldier's life right at the
start. Though a Napoleon, our hero was no Buonaparte. No, his name was
Smith--plain Smith; his father was the owner of four large farms and a
good many smaller ones, near that celebrated Border which separates
the two hostile countries of England and Scotland. Neighbours referred
to the General's father easily as "Picton Smith of Windy Standard,"
from the soughing, mist-nursing mountain of heather and fir-trees
which gave its name to the estate, and to the large farm he had
cultivated himself ever since the death of his wife, chiefly as a
means of distracting his mind, and keeping at a distance loneliness
and sad thoughts.
Hugh John Smith had never mentioned the fact of his Imperial descent
to his father, but in a moment of confidence he had told his old
nurse, who smiled with a world-weary wisdom, which betrayed her
knowledge of the secrets of courts--and said that doubtless it was so.
He had also a brother and sister, but they were not, at that time, of
the race of the Corporal of Ajaccio. On the contrary, Arthur George,
the younger, aged five, was an engine-driver. There was yet another
who rode in a mail-cart, and puckered up his face upon being
addressed in a strange foreign language, as "Was-it-then? A
darling--goo-goo--then it was!" This creature, however, was not owned
as a brother by Hugh John and Arthur George, and indeed may at this
point be dismissed from the story. The former went so far as stoutly
to deny his brother's sex, in the face of such proofs as were daily
afforded by Baby's tendency to slap his sister's face wherever they
met, and also to seize things and throw them on the floor for the
pleasure of seeing them break. Arthur George, however, had secret
hopes that Baby would even yet turn out a satisfactory boy whenever he
saw him killing flies on the window, and on these occasions hounded
him on to yet deadlier exertions. But he dared not mention his
anticipations to his soldier brother, that haughty scion of an
Imperial race. For reasons afterwards to be given, Arthur George was
usually known as Toady Lion.
Then Hugh John had a sister. Her name was Priscilla. Priscilla was
distinguished also, though not in a military sense. She was literary,
and wrote books "on the sly," as Hugh John said. He considered this
secrecy the only respectable part of a very shady business. Specially
he objected to being made to serve as the hero of Priscilla's tales,
and went so far as to promise to "thump" his sister if he caught her
introducing him as of any military rank under that of either general
or colour-sergeant.
"Look here, Pris," he said on one occasion, "if you put me into your
beastly girl books all about dolls and love and trumpery, I'll bat you
over the head with a wicket!"
"Hum--I dare say, if you could catch me," said Priscilla, with her
nose very much in the air.
"Catch you! I'll catch and bat you now if you say much."
"Much, much! Can't, can't! There! 'Fraid cat! Um-m-um!"
"By Jove, then, I just will!"
It is sad to be obliged to state here, in the very beginning of these
veracious chronicles, that at this time Prissy and Napoleon Smith were
by no means model children, though Prissy afterwards marvellously
improved. Even their best friends admitted as much, and as for their
enemies--well, their old gardener's remarks when they chased each
other over his newly planted beds would be out of place even in a
military periodical, and might be the means of preventing a book with
Mr. Gordon Browne's nice pictures from being included in some
well-conducted Sunday-school libraries.
General Napoleon Smith could not catch Priscilla (as, indeed, he well
knew before he started), especially when she picked up her skirts and
went right at hedges and ditches like a young colt. Napoleon looked
upon this trait in Prissy's character as degrading and unsportsmanlike
in the extreme. He regarded long skirts, streaming hair, and flapping,
aggravating pinafores as the natural handicap of girls in the race of
life, and as particularly useful when they "cheeked" their brothers.
It was therefore wicked to neutralise these equalising disadvantages
by strings tied round above the knees, or by the still more scientific
device of a sash suspended from the belt before, passed between
Prissy's legs, and attached to the belt behind.
But, then, as Napoleon admitted even at ten years of age, girls are
capable of anything; and to his dying day he has never had any reason
to change his opinion--at least, so far as he has yet got.
* * * * *
"All right, then, I will listen to your old stuff if you will say you
are sorry, and promise to be my horse, and let me lick you for an hour
afterwards--besides giving me a penny."
It was thus that Priscilla, to whom in after times great lights of
criticism listened with approval, was compelled to stoop to artifice
and bribery in order to secure and hold her first audience. Whereupon
the authoress took paper from her pocket, and as she did so, held the
manuscript with its back to Napoleon Smith, in order to conceal the
suspicious shortness of the lines. But that great soldier instantly
detected the subterfuge.
"It's a penny more for listening to poetry!" he said, with sudden
alacrity.
"I know it is," replied Prissy sadly, "but you might be nice about it
just this once. I'm dreadfully, dreadfully poor this week, Hugh John!"
"So am I," retorted Napoleon Smith sternly; "if I wasn't, do you think
I would listen at all to your beastly old poetry? Drive on!"
Thus encouraged, Priscilla meekly began--
"_My love he is a soldier bold,
And my love is a knight;
He girds him in a coat of mail,
When he goes forth to fight._"
"That's not quite so bad as usual," said Napoleon condescendingly,
toying meanwhile with the lash of an old dog-whip he had just "boned"
out of the harness-room. Priscilla beamed gratefully upon her critic,
and proceeded--
"_He rides him forth across the sand_----"
"Who rides whom?" cried Napoleon. "Didn't the fool ride a horse?"
"It means himself," said Priscilla meekly.
"Then why doesn't _it_ say so?" cried the critic triumphantly, tapping
his boot with the "boned" dog-whip just like any ordinary lord of
creation in presence of his inferiors.
"It's poetry," explained Priscilla timidly.
"It's silly!" retorted Napoleon, judicially and finally.
Priscilla resumed her reading in a lower and more hurried tone. She
knew that she was skating over thin ice.
"_He rides him forth across the sand,
Upon a stealthy steed._"
"You mean 'stately,' you know," interrupted Napoleon--somewhat rudely,
Priscilla thought. Yet he was quite within his rights, for Priscilla
had not yet learned that a critic always knows what you mean to say
much better than you do yourself.
"No, I don't mean 'stately,'" said Priscilla, "I mean 'stealthy,' the
way a horse goes on sand. You go and gallop on the sea-shore and
you'll find out."
"I shan't. I haven't got any sea-shore," said Napoleon. "But do hurry.
I've listened quite a pennyworth now."
"_He rides him forth across the sand,
Upon a stealthy steed,
And when he sails upon the sea,
He plays upon a reed!_"
"Great soft _he_ was," cried Napoleon Smith; "and if ever I hear you
say that I did such a thing----"
Priscilla hurried on more quickly than ever.
"_In all the world there's none can do
The deeds that he hath done:
When he hath slain his enemies,
Then he comes back alone._"
"That's better!" said Napoleon, nodding encouragement. "At any rate it
isn't long. Now, give me my penny."
"Shan't," said Priscilla, the pride of successful achievement swelling
in her breast; "besides, it isn't Saturday yet, and you've only
listened to three verses anyway. You will have to listen to ever so
much more than that before you get a penny."
"Hugh John! Priscilla!" came a voice from a distance.
The great soldier Napoleon Smith instantly effected a retreat in
masterly fashion behind a gooseberry bush.
"There's Jane calling us," said Priscilla; "she wants us to go in and
be washed for dinner."
"Course she does," sneered Napoleon; "think she's out screeching like
that for fun? Well, let her. I am not going in to be towelled till I'm
all over red and scurfy, and get no end of soap in my eyes."
"But Jane wants you; she'll be _so_ cross if you don't come."
"_I_ don't care for Jane," said Napoleon Smith with dignity, but all
the same making himself as small as possible behind his gooseberry
bush.
"But if you don't come in, Jane will tell father----"
"_I_ don't care for father--" the prone but gallant General was
proceeding to declare in the face of Priscilla's horrified
protestations that he mustn't speak so, when a slow heavy step was
heard on the other side of the hedge, and a deep voice uttered the
single syllable, "_John!_"
"Yes, father," a meek young man standing up behind the gooseberry bush
instantly replied: he was trying to brush himself as clean as
circumstances would permit. "Yes, father; were you calling me,
father?"
Incredible as it seems, the meek and apologetic words were those of
that bold enemy of tyrants, General Napoleon Smith.
Priscilla smiled at the General as he emerged from the hands of Jane,
"red and scurfy," just as he had said. She smiled meaningly and
aggravatingly, so that Napoleon was reduced to shaking his clenched
fist covertly at her.
"Wait till I get you out," he said, using the phrase time-honoured by
such occasions.
Priscilla Smith only smiled more meaningly still. "First catch your
hare!" she said under her breath.
Napoleon Smith stalked in to lunch, the children's dinner at the house
of Windy Standard, with an expression of fixed and Byronic gloom on
his face, which was only lightened by the sight of his favourite
pigeon-pie (with a lovely crust) standing on the side-board.
"Say grace, Hugh John," commanded his father.
And General Napoleon Smith said grace with all the sweet innocence of
a budding angel singing in the cherub choir, aiming at the same time a
kick at his sister underneath the table, which overturned a footstool
and damaged the leg of a chair.