THE BATTLE OF THE BLACK SHEDS.
This much being settled, the army of Windy Standard advanced upon the
enemy's entrenchments.
Prissy was the only soldier in the force with any religious
convictions of a practical kind. On this occasion she actually wanted
to send a mission to the foe with an offer of peace, on condition of
their giving up Donald to his rightful owners. She instanced as an
example of the kind of thing she meant, the verses about turning the
other cheek. But General Napoleon had his answer ready.
"Well," he said, "that's all right. That's in the Bible, so I s'pose
you have got to believe it. But I was looking at it last Sunday in
sermon time, and it doesn't say what you are to do _after_ you turn
the other cheek. So yesterday I tried it on Tommy Pratt to see how it
worked, and he hit me on the other cheek like winking, and made my
eyes water. So then I took off my coat, and, Jove!--didn't I just give
him Billy-O! Texts aren't so bad. They are mostly all right, if you
only read on a bit!"
"But," said Prissy, "perhaps you forgot that a soft answer turneth
away wrath?"
"Don't, nother," contradicted Sir Toady Lion, whose pronunciation of
"wrath" and "horse" was identical, and who persistently misunderstood
the Scriptural statement which Janet Sheepshanks had once made him
learn without explanation. "Tried soft answer on big horse in the
farm-yard, yesterday, and he didn't turn away a little bit, but comed
right on, and tried to eat me _all_ up!"
Toady Lion always had at least one word in italics in each sentence.
Prissy looked towards her ally and fellow-private for assistance.
"Love your----" suggested Sammy, giving her a new cue. Prissy thanked
him with a look.
"Well," she said, "at least you won't deny that it says in the New
Testament that you are to love your enemies!"
"I don't yike the New Test'ment," commented Toady Lion in his shrill
high pipe, which cuts through all other conversation as easily as a
sharp knife cleaves a bar of soap; "ain't never nobody killed dead in
the New Test'ment!"
"Hush, Arthur George," said Prissy in a shocked voice, "you must not
speak like that about the New Testament. It says 'Love your enemies!'
'Do good to them that hate you!' Now then!"
Hugh John turned away with a disgusted look on his face.
"Oh," he said, "of course, if you were to go on like that, there would
never be any soldiers, nor bloody wars, nor nothing nice!"
Which of course would be absurd.
* * * * *
During this discussion the two Generals of Division had been wholly
silent. To them the New Testament was considerably outside the sphere
of practical politics. Peter Greg indeed had one which he had got from
his mother on his birthday with his name on the first page; and Mike,
who was of the contrary persuasion as to the advisability of
circulating the Written Word in the vulgar tongue, could always
provoke a fight by threatening to burn it, to which Peter Greg
invariably replied by a hasty and ungenerous expression of hope as to
the future welfare of the head of the Catholic religion.
But all this was purely academical discussion. Neither of them knew
nor cared one jot about the matter. Prissy alone was genuinely
distressed, and so affected was she that two big tears of woe trickled
down her cheeks. These she wiped off with her pinafore, turning away
her eyes so that Hugh John might not see them. There was, however, no
great danger of this, for that warrior preoccupied himself with
shouting "Right-left, Right-left," as if he were materially assisting
the success of the expedition by doing so.
At the entrance to the pastures tenanted by butcher Donnan, the army
divided into its two divisions under their several commanders. The
Commander-in-Chief placed himself between the wings as a central
division all by himself. It was Peter Greg who first reached the door,
and with his stout cudgel knocked off the padlock. He had already
entered in triumph, and was about to be followed by his soldiery, when
a loud shout was heard from the edge of the park.
"Here they are--go at them! Give them fits, boys! We'll learn them to
come sneaking into our field."
And over the stone dikes, from the direction of the town of Edam, came
an overpowering force of the enemy led by Nipper Donnan. They seemed
to arrive from all parts at once, and with sticks and stones they
advanced upon the slender array of the forces of Windy Standard. Their
rude language, their threatening gestures, and their loud shouts
intimidated but did not daunt the assailants. Field-Marshal Napoleon
Smith called on his men to do or die; and everyone resolved that that
was just what they were there for--all except Prissy, who promptly
pulled up her skirts and went down the meadow towards the
stepping-stones like a jenny-spinner driven by the wind, and Sir Toady
Lion, who, finding an opening in the hedge about his size in holes,
crept quietly through and was immediately followed by Caesar, the
"potwalloping" Newfoundland pup.
The struggle which raged around those who remained staunch to the
colours was grim and deadly. General-Field-Marshal Napoleon Smith
threw himself into the thickest of the fray, and the cry, "A Smith for
Merry England," alternated with the ringing "Scotland for ever!" which
had so often carried terror into the hearts of the foe. Prince Michael
O'Donowitch performed prodigies of valour, and personally "downed"
three of the enemy with his national weapon. Peter Greg fought a
pitched battle with Nipper Donnan, in which double-jointed words were
as freely used as tightly clenched fists. Cissy Carter "progged" at
least half-a-dozen of the enemy with her pike, before it was wrested
from her by the united efforts of several town lads who were not going
to stand being punched by a girl. Sammy Carter stood well out of the
heady fray, and contented himself with stinging up the enemy with his
vengeful catapult till they howled again.
[Illustration: "THE BATTLE OF THE BLACK SHEDS."]
But the struggle of the many against the few, the strong against the
weak, could only end in one way. In ten minutes the forces of law and
disorder were scattered to the four quarters of heaven, and the
standard that had streamed so rarely on the braes of Edam was in the
hands of the exulting foe.
Prince Michael was wounded on the nose to the effusion of blood,
General Peter Greg was a fugitive with a price on his head, and, most
terrible of all--Field-Marshal Napoleon Smith was taken prisoner.
* * * * *
But Sir Toady Lion was neither among the slain, nor yet among the
wounded or the captives. What then of Toady Lion?