This disheartened the remainder, and they, too, were on the point of fleeing, when Smithkin thought of the two hundred and fifty Pin Elves of the old King’s body-guard, who had gone over to the Gnomes with him in the last battle. They were standing together in a body not far off, taking no part in the struggle. Smithkin knew they had turned traitors chiefly because of their personal attachment to himself, and thinking he might win them back again, he waved his spear at them and gave the old battle-cry of the body-guard.
The fellows were really longing to help their old commander, and upon hearing his familiar war-cry they charged the Gnomes madly and were soon beside Smithkin, fighting like tigers.
Thus far the battle had been confined to the lower part of the Hall. But when the Gnomes found they made little impression upon Smithkin’s band, a large body of them quietly withdrew, marched to the upper end of the Hall, and charged the line of men at the foot of the dais. These were, as I have said, picked elves, and being perfectly fresh, they repelled each charge without losing a man or giving way an inch.
The Gnomes then tried a new mode of attack. They retreated a little distance, and forming themselves into a wedge-shaped mass, charged straight for the throne.
Harry saw in a moment what they were about to do, and roared at the top of his voice, “Smithkin! run to help Wamby! he’s in danger!”
With a yell to his men to follow, the brave commander broke through the line of Gnomes in front of him, dashed up the Hall, and reached the attacking party just as they were forcing their way up the steps of the throne. Hearing his terrible battle-cry behind them, the Gnomes turned about and paused an instant. That brief pause saved Wamby from capture, for ere the Gnomes could turn again, Smithkin’s men in two bodies were attacking them on each flank.
Smithkin himself forced his way to the commander of the Gnomes, who was standing on the lower step of the dais, directly in front of the throne. The Pin Elf commander, grasping his stout spear by the shaft, used it as a club or battle-ax, and every time he swung it back and forth a number of Gnomes dropped senseless to the floor. Quickly he hewed a path before him, until he was face to face with the Gnoman commander. Then with a triumphant cry he raised the spear aloft and aimed a mighty blow at the fellow’s head. But the commander of the Gnomes at the same time raised his own spear in both hands horizontally above his head and caught the blow upon it, and Smithkin’s weapon was broken in twain.
Harry groaned aloud as he saw the defenceless plight of the Pin Elf champion.
King Wamby had been sitting on the edge of the throne, watching the conflict with breathless interest. In his hand he held the sceptre, or golden pickax, which the King of the Gnomes had left by the throne. As soon as the accident happened to Smithkin’s spear, he cried out, “Here, Smithkin, take this!” and tossed the golden pickax to him.