“I thought you meant to help us to beat the enemy off.”
“Of course I do,” cried Stan.
“Well, a steam-engine won’t work without coal, and a human being can’t fight unless you feed him. Come! no nonsense. All our preparations were made yesterday, so we’ve nothing to do but man our works.”
“So as to be ready?” panted Stan, whose breath came short from excitement.
“We don’t want to be ready two hours too soon, and tire the men out with anxious watching before the enemy come near. We’re going to have a regular good hearty meal to put strength and courage into us.”
“Dutch courage,” said Stan rather contemptuously.
“Can’t be Dutch courage, because we are all English who are not Chinese. But that’s a stupid old expression, my lad, meaning, of course, that the Dutch are cowardly. Now, I don’t know much about history, but whenever I’ve read anything about the Dutch in war, it has gone to prove that the Hollanders are a thoroughly sturdy, brave, and obstinate set of men. There! don’t get in a nervous state of flurry; it will spoil your shooting, and I shall want you to fire steadily and well. Why, you don’t want to go into action with your veins jumping and your nerves all of a slack quiver.”
“Of course not,” said Stan huskily.
“That’s right. You want every string screwed up tight and in the best of tune, so that you can play an air that will make the savage scoundrels dance a figure that is quite new to them. Eh?”
“Yes, that’s what I want to do,” said Stan; “but—”