TOADY LION'S SECOND LONE HAND.
Edam Water ran swiftly, surging and pushing southward on its way to
the sea. It was brown and drumly with a wrack of twigs and leaves,
snatched from the low branches of the hazels and alders which fringed
its banks. It fretted and elbowed, frothing like yeast about the
landing-place from which the two boat-loads were to set out for the
attack.
General Napoleon Smith, equipped with sword and sash, sat in the stern
of the first, in order to steer, while Prince Michael O'Donowitch
stood on the jetty and held the boat's head. The others sat still in
their places till the General gave the word. The eager soldiery vented
their feelings in a great shout. Cissy Carter took her place with a
flying leap just as the rope was cast off, and the fateful voyage
began.
At first there was little to be done save in the way of keeping the
vessel's head straight, for the Edam Water, swirling and brown with
the mountain rains, hurried her towards the island with almost too
great speed. With a rush they passed the wide gap between the
unsubmerged stones of the causeway, at which point the boldest held
his breath. The beach of pebbles was immediately beyond. But they were
not to be allowed to land without a struggle; for there, directly on
their front, appeared the massed forces of the enemy, occupying the
high bluff behind, and prepared to prevent the disembarkation by a
desperate fusillade of stones and turf.
It was in this hour of peril that the soldierly qualities of the
leader again came out most strongly.
He kept the boat's head straight for the shore, as if he had been
going to beach her, till she was within a dozen yards; then with a
quick stroke of his steering oar he turned her right for the willow
copses which fringed the island on the eastern side. The water had
risen, so that these were sunk to half their height in the
quick-running flood, and their leaves sucked under with the force of
the current. But behind there was a quiet backwater into which Hugh
John ran his vessel head on till she slanted with a gentle heave up on
the green turf.
"Overboard every man!" he cried, and showed the example himself by
dashing into the water up to the knees, carrying the blue ensign of
his cause. The enemy had not expected this rapid flank movement, and
waited only till the invaders had formed in battle array to retreat
upon the castle, fearful perhaps of being cut off from their
stronghold.
General-Field-Marshal Smith addressed his army.
"Soldiers," he said, "we've got to fight, and it's dead earnest this
time, mind you. We're going to lick the Smoutchies, so that they will
stay licked a long time. Now, come on!"
This brief address was considered on all hands to be a model effort,
and worthy of the imitation of all generals in the face of the enemy.
The most vulnerable part of the castle from the landward side was
undoubtedly the great doorway--an open arch of some six feet wide,
which, however, had to be approached under a galling cross fire from
the ports at either side and from the lintel above.
"It's no use wasting time," cried the General; "follow me to the
door."
And with his sword in his hand he darted valiantly up the steep
incline which led to the castle. Cissy Carter charged at his left
shoulder also sword in hand, while Mike and Peter, with Gregory's
Mixture and the Craw Bogle, were scarcely a step behind.
Stones and mortar hailed down upon the devoted band; sticks and clods
of turf struck them on their shoulders and arms. But with their teeth
clenched and their heads bent low, the storming party rushed
undauntedly upon their foes.
The Smoutchies had built a breast-work of driftwood in front of the
great entrance, but it was so flimsy that Mike and his companions
kicked it away in a moment--yet not before General Smith, light as a
young goat, had overleaped it and launched himself solitary on the
foe. Then, with the way clear, it was cut and thrust from start to
finish.
First among the assailants General Smith crossed swords with the great
Nipper Donnan himself. But his reserves had not yet come up, and so he
was beaten down by three cracks on the head received from different
quarters at the same time. But like Witherington in the ballad, he
still fought upon his knees; and while Prince Michael and Gregory's
Mixture held the enemy at bay with their stout sticks, the stricken
Hugh John kept well down among their legs, and used his sword from
underneath with damaging effect.
"Give them the point--cold steel!" he cried.
"Cowld steel it is!" shouted Prince Michael, as he brought down his
blackthorn upon the right ear of Nipper Donnan.
"Cauld steel--tak' you that!" cried Peter Greg the Scot as he let out
with his left, and knocked Nosey Cuthbert over backwarks into the hall
of the castle.
Thus raged in front the heady fight; and thus with their faces to the
foe and their weapons in their hands, we leave the vanguard of the
army of Windy Standard, in order that for a little we may follow the
fortunes of the other divisions.
* * * * *
Yes, divisions is the word, that is to say Billy Blythe's gipsy
division and--Sir Toady Lion.
For once more Toady Lion was playing a lone hand.
So soon as Prissy and he had been left behind, we regret to be obliged
to report that the behaviour of the distinguished knight left much to
be desired.
"Don't be bad, Toady Lion," said his sister, gently taking him by the
hand; "come and look at nice picture-books."
"Will be bad," growled Toady Lion, stamping his little foot in
impotent wrath; "doan want t' look at pitchur-books--want to go and
fight! And I will go too, so there!"
And in his fiery indignation he even kicked at his sister Prissy, and
threw stones after the boat in which the expedition had sailed. The
gipsy division, which was to wait till they heard the noise of battle
roll up from the castle island before cutting loose, took pity on Sir
Toady Lion, and but for the special nature of the service required of
them, they would, I think, have taken him with them.
"That's a rare well-plucked little 'un!" cried Joe Baillie. "See how
he shuts his fists, and cuts up rough!"
"A little man!" said the leader encouragingly; "walks into his
sister's shins, don't he, the little codger!"
"Let me go wif you, please," pleaded Toady Lion; "I'll kill you
unless!--Kill you every one!" And his voice was full of bloodshed.
"Last time 'twas me that d'livered Donald, when they all runned away
or got took prisoner; and now they won't even take me wif them!"
Billy regretfully shook his head. It would not do to be cumbered with
small boys in the desperate mission on which they were going. The hope
was forlorn enough as it was.
"Wait till we come back, little 'un," he said kindly; "run away and
play with your sister."
Toady Lion stamped on the ground more fiercely than ever.
"Shan't stop and play wif a girl. If you don't let me come, I shall
kill you."
And with sentiments even more discreditable, he pursued their boat as
long as he could reach it with volleys of stones, to the great delight
of the gipsy boys, who stimulated him to yet more desperate exertions
with cries of "Well fielded!" "Chuck her in hard!" "Hit him with a big
one!" While some of those in the stern pretended to stand shaking in
deadly fear, and implored Toady Lion to spare them because they were
orphans.
"Shan't spare none--shall kill 'oo every one!" cried the angry Toady
Lion, lugging at a bigger stone than all, which he could not lift
above three inches from the ground.
"Will smass 'oo with this, Billy Blythe--bad Billy!" he exclaimed, as
he wrestled with the boulder.
"Oh, spare me--think of my family, Toady Lion, my pore wife and
childer," pleaded Billy hypocritically.
"'Oo should have finked of 'oo fambly sooner!" cried Toady Lion,
staggering to the water's edge with the great stone.
But at this moment the noise of the crying of those warring for the
mastery came faintly up from the castle island. The rope that had been
passed through the ring on the landing-stage and held ready in the
hand of Billy Blythe, was loosened, and the second part of the
besieging expedition went down with the rushing spate which reddened
Edam Water. And as they fell away Billy stood up and called for three
cheers for "little Toady Lion, the best man of the lot."
But Toady Lion stood on the shore and fairly bellowed with impotent
rage, and the sound of his crying, "I'll kill 'oo! I'll kill 'oo
dead!" roused Janet Sheepshanks, who was taking advantage of her
master's absence to carry out a complete house-cleaning. She left the
blanket-washing to see what was the matter. But Toady Lion, angry as
he was, had sense enough to know that if Janet got him, he would be
superintended all the morning. So with real alacrity he slipped aside
into the "scrubbery," and there lay hidden till Janet, anxious that
her maids should not scamp their house-work, was compelled to hurry
back to the laundry to see that the blankets were properly washed.
After this there was but one thing to do, and so the second division,
under Sir Toady Lion, did it. He resolved to turn the enemy's flank,
and attack him with reinforcements from an entirely unexpected
quarter. So, leaving Prissy to her own devices, he took to his heels,
and his fat legs carried him rapidly in the direction of the town of
Edam. Difficulties there were of course, such as the barrier of the
white lodge gate, where old Betty lay in wait for him.
But Toady Lion circumnavigated Betty by going to the lodge-door and
shouting with all his might, "Betty, come quick, p'raps they's some
soldiers comin' down the road--maybe Tom's comin', 'oo come and look."
"Sodjers--where?--what?" cried old Betty, waking up hastily from her
doze, and fumbling in her pocket for the gate-key.
Toady Lion was at her elbow when she undid the latch. Toady Lion
charged past her with a yell. Toady Lion it was who from the safe
middle of the highway made the preposterous explanation, "Oh no, they
isn't no soldiers. 'Tis only a silly old fish-man wif a tin trumpet."
"Come back, sir, or I'll tell your father! Come back at once!" cried
old Betty.
But she might shake her head and nod with her nut-cracker chin till
the black beads on her lace "kep" tinkled. All was in vain. Toady Lion
was out of reach far down the dusty main road along which the Scots
Greys had come the day that Hugh John became a soldier. Toady Lion was
a born pioneer, and usually got what he wanted, first of all by dint
of knowing exactly what he did want, and then "fighting it out on
that line if it took all summer"--or even winter too.
The road to the town of Edam wound underneath trees great and tall,
which hummed with bees and gnats that day as Toady Lion sped along,
his bare feet "plapping" pleasantly in the white hot dust. He was
furtively crying all the time--not from sorrow but with sheer
indignation. He hated all his kind. He was going to desert to the
Smoutchies. He would be a Comanche Cowboy if they would have him,
since his brother and Cissy Carter had turned against him. Nobody
loved him, and he was glad of it. Prissy--oh! yes, but Prissy did not
count. She loved everybody and everything, even stitching and dollies,
and putting on white thread gloves when you went into town. So he ran
on, evading the hay waggons and red farm-carts without looking at
them, till in a trice he had crossed Edam Bridge and entered the
town--in the glaring streets and upon the hot pavement of which the
sunshine was sleeping, and which on Saturday forenoon had more than
its usual aspect of enjoying a perpetual siesta.
The leading chemist was standing at his door, wondering if the rustic
who passed in such a hurry could actually be on the point of entering
the shop of his hated rival. The linen-draper at the corner under the
town clock was divided between keeping an eye on his apprentices to
see that they did not spar with yard sticks, and mentally criticising
the ludicrous and meretricious window-dressing of his next-door
neighbour.
None of them cared at all for the small dusty boy with the
tear-furrowed countenance who kept on trotting so steadily through the
town, turned confidently up the High Street, and finally dodged into
the path which led past the Black Sheds to the wooden bridge which
joined the castle island to the butcher's parks. As he crossed the
grass Toady Lion heard a wrathful voice from somewhere calling loudly,
"Nipper! Nipper-r-r-r! Oh, wait till I catch you!"
For it chanced that this day the leading butcher in Edam was without
the services of both his younger assistants--his son Nipper and his
message boy, Tommy Pratt. Mr. Donnan had a new cane in his hand, and
he was making it whistle through the air in a most unpleasant and
suggestive manner.
"Get away out of my field, little boy--where are you going? What are
you doing there?"
The question was put at short range now, for all unwittingly Sir Toady
Lion had almost run into butcher Donnan's arms.
"Please I finks I'se going to Mist'r Burnham's house," explained Toady
Lion readily but somewhat unaccurately; "I'se keepin' off the
grass--and I didn't know it was your grass anyway, please, sir."
At the same time Toady Lion saluted because he also was a soldier, and
Mr. Donnan, who in his untempered youth had passed several years in
the ranks of Her Majesty's line, mechanically returned the courtesy.
"Why, little shaver," he said not unkindly, "this isn't the way to
Mr. Burnham's house. There it is over among the trees. But, hello,
talk of the--ahem--why, here comes Mr. Burnham himself."
Toady Lion clapped his hands and ran as fast as he could in the
direction of the clergyman. Mr. Burnham was very tall, very soldierly,
very stiff, and his well-fitting black coat and corded silk waistcoat
were the admiration of the ladies of the neighbourhood. He was never
seen out of doors without the glossiest of tall hats, and it was
whispered that he had his trousers made tight about the calves on
purpose to look like a dean. It was also understood in well-informed
circles that he was writing a book on the eastward position--after
which there would be no such thing as the Low Church. Nevertheless an
upright, good, and, above all, kindly heart beat under the immaculate
silk M. B. waistcoat; also strong capable arms were attached to the
armholes of the coat which fitted its owner without a wrinkle. Indeed,
Mr. Burnham had a blue jacket of a dark shade in which he had once
upon a time rowed a famous race. It hung now in a glass cabinet, and
was to the clergyman what Sambo Soulis was to General-Field-Marshal
Smith.
But as we know, the fear of man dwelt not in Sir Toady Lion, and
certainly not fear of his clergyman. He trotted up to him and said, "I
wants to go to the castle. You come."
Now hitherto Mr. Burnham had always seen Sir Toady Lion as he came,
with shining face and liberally plastered hair, from under the tender
mercies of Janet Sheepshanks--with her parting monition to behave
(and perhaps something else) still ringing in his ear.
So that it is no wonder that he did not for the moment recognise in
the tear-stained, dust-caked face of the barefooted imp who addressed
him so unceremoniously, the features of the son of his most prominent
parishioner. He gazed down in mildly bewildered surprise, whereupon
Toady Lion took him familiarly by the hand and reiterated his request,
with an aplomb which had all the finality of a royal invitation.
"Take me to the castle on the island. I 'ants to go there!"
"And who may you be, little boy?"
"Don't 'oo know? 'Oo knows me when 'oo comes to tea at our house!"
cried Toady Lion reproachfully. "I'se Mist'r Smiff's little boy; and I
'ants to go to the castle."
"Why do you want to go to the castle island?" asked Mr. Burnham.
"To find my bruvver Hugh John," said Toady Lion instantly.
The butcher had come up and stood listening silently, after having,
with a certain hereditary respect for the cloth, respectfully saluted
Mr. Burnham.
"This little boy wants to go on the island to find his brother," said
the clergyman; "I suppose I may pass through your field with him?"
"Certainly! The path is over at the other side of the field. But I
don't know but what I'll come along with you. I've lost my son and my
message-boy too. It is possible they may be at the castle.
"There is some dust being kicked up among the boys. I can't get my
rascals to attend to business at all this last week or two."
And Mr. Donnan again caused his cane to whistle through the air in a
way that turned Toady Lion cold, and made him glad that he was "Mr.
Smift's little boy," and neither the son nor yet the errand-boy of the
butcher of Edam.
Presently the three came to the wooden bridge, and from it they could
see the flag flying over the battlements of the castle, and a swarming
press of black figures swaying this way and that across the bright
green turf in front.
"Hurrah--yonder they'se fightin'. Come on, Mist'r Burnham, we'll be in
time yet!" shouted Toady Lion. "They saided that I couldn't come; and
I've comed!"
Suddenly a far-off burst of cheering came to them down the wind. Black
dots swarmed on the perilous battlements of the castle. Other black
dots were unceremoniously pitched off the lower ramparts into the
ditch below. The red and white flag of jacobin rebellion was pulled
under, and a clamorous crowd of disturbed jackdaws rose from the
turrets and hung squalling and circling over the ancient and lofty
walls.
The conflict had indeed joined in earnest. The embattled foes were in
the death grips; and, fearful lest he should arrive too late, Toady
Lion hurried forward his reinforcements, crying, "Come on both of you!
Come on, quick!" Butcher Donnan broke into a run, while Mr. Burnham,
forgetting all about his silk waistcoat, clapped his tall hat on the
back of his head and started forward at his best speed, Toady Lion
hanging manfully on to the long skirts of his coat, as the Highlanders
had clung to the cavalry stirrups at Balaclava till they were borne
into the very floodtide of battle.
There were now two trump-cards in the lone hand.