"Oh-h-h! How-now?" ejaculated Bologna, throwing out his nose to reconnoitre the enemy's first line.
"'Sdeath!—'Sdeath!" hastily retorted Mortimer, skirmishing along in his first parallel with spasmodic clawing.
And now, my boy, commenced a series of scientific manœuvres that only Russell, of the London Times, could describe properly. Lord Mortimer advanced circularly to the attack in four columns, affrighting the air with horrid yells of defiance; and I noticed, with a feeling of mysterious awe, that his eyes had turned a dreadful and livid green, whilst an expression of inexpressible bitterness overspread his countenance.
Fathoming the enemy's plan at a glance, Bologna presented his front and rear divisions alternately, to distract the fire of the foe; and then, by a rapid and skillful flank movement, cut off a portion of Lord Mortimer's tail from the main body.
This reminded me of General Mitchell's tactics, my boy.
Here the conservative Kentucky chap wanted to stop the fight. Says he:
"Mortimer will be forever alienated if he loses any more of his tail. I protest against the dog's teeth," says he; "for they'll render future reconciliation between the two impossible. Let him use his paws alone," says the conservative chap, reasoningly, "and he won't injure Mortimer's constitution so much."
"You're too late with your talk about conciliation, my noble Cicero," says I. "It's the cat's nature to show affection for his young ones, even, by licking them, and Mortimer will never be convinced that Bologna cares for him until he has been soundly licked by him."
"Ah—well," says the Kentucky chap, vaguely, "let hostilities proceed."
Finding that the enemy had cut off a portion of his train in the rear, Mortimer quickly massed his four columns and precipitated them upon the head of Bologna's two front divisions, succeeding in destroying a bark half launched, and driving him back four feet.