"Help! help! help! Prince Gargantua to the rescue!"
One might live to be as old as Methuselah, and never see such a change in either a general or his army as that which took place in King Picrochole and his troops when they first heard the Friar's cry. The guns dropped from their hands, and all they could do was to turn with white faces and staring eyes towards the opening in the wood.
Then appeared a fearful apparition!
It was that of the Giant, holding, poised as a lance, the trunk of an enormous tree stripped bare of its branches; his eyeballs swollen and blazing with anger; his legs drawn tight to the saddle, while he gave free rein to his Mare, and dashed with the speed of a cyclone straight down upon them. The Mare seemed as mad as the master, for smoke rolled and curled around her wide-open nostrils; she gave short and horrible neighs, as if she couldn't get to Picrochole's rogues fast enough; her mane was stiff and hard, while her broad tail, streaming like a comet behind her, whisked men right and left, high into the air, and jerked down such trees as were in the way as she swept thundering down the hill. So terrible a sight changed the whole field. For a moment or two the enemy seemed stunned. But, as the dreadful Mare came near and nearer, Picrochole's cowardice broke the fearful spell that had come upon himself and men. "It is the Giant!" he shouted; "save himself who can!" and dashed back into the open gates of the city, intending to escape, through another gate, into the country beyond. "The Mare! the Mare! Save us from the Mare!" was all the poor men, as they tried to follow their king, could gasp.
PICROCHOLE DEFENDS THE CASTLE.
Some were lucky enough to gain the city-gates. But before Gargantua could rein in his powerful steed, she had bitten and trampled many to death, to say nothing of those she had swept into the air with her great tail. Gargantua had good reason to be pleased with his victory. It was a decisive one, and gained by himself alone, and the Mare. He rode all over the field, petting the good Mare meanwhile, and never ceasing to look among the killed for Picrochole. Of every officer that returned from pursuit of those who tried to escape he asked:—
THE DEFEAT OF PICROCHOLE.
"Hast thou caught Picrochole?"