The general was nonplussed. He even felt inclined to dismiss this arrogant fellow from the service; but fears of encountering a swarm of armed jailers induced him not to dismiss so good a warrior as the Sage was known to be. So, after deliberating a moment, he said, meekly enough, “Boys, we are only losing time here. Let us make a charge, and burst the door open, and then we can fight our way right on.”
Burst open the door! Then indeed the timbers of their raft would be destroyed! But this was no time to reason with Marmaduke, and they consented to the sacrifice cheerfully.
Charles very readily came upon what had once been a pump; and after great and violent efforts the corporals, lieutenants, commodores, generals, etc., succeeded in raising it to their shoulders; and then, with soldier-like disregard for the hideous grubs which nestled on it, they marched, with martial tread, to force an entrance into the prison.
“This will do instead of a genuine ram,” the general observed deprecatingly. “Such people as we are often have to resort to various shifts to do what they wish to do.”
“So do boys,” Charles commented sarcastically, but without a smile.
“Charge!” cried the general valiantly, when about thirty feet from the door.
A blind rush was made; but barely five steps had been taken when the general, who of course led, tripped over a stone, and the entire “squad” fell headlong, the “ram” and its grisly inhabitants descending on their backs with a cruel thud.
Of course no bones were broken, gentle reader, for it is impossible to kill a hero, and, as a general rule, impossible to hurt one. And all these were heroes.
Yet much of their enthusiasm escaped with the “ohs!” that started from each pair of lips.