One colonel and several men of intermediate grade signified their persons. A colonel is one who commanded a “thousand”—that is to say, a body composed of twelve of the hundreds. I perforce use the earth word “colonel,” as the Porovian term is utterly unpronounceable. The colonel gave his name as Wotsn.
Cabot divided the non-officers by lot among the various pootahs. In a few moments the disorderly mob was organized. To Colonel Wotsn was intrusted the disposition of the troops and the posting of guards. Then Cabot, Lilla, and Nan-nan proceeded to one of the upper terraces to get a view of the city.
The night was warm, tropical, moist, and scented, as are all nights on Poros. Beneath them on every side were dotted the street lights of the great city. All was so peaceful and serene that it hardly seemed possible they could actually be at this very moment in the midst of a civil war.
Myles inhaled the fragrant hothouse air with long breaths. The princess leaned against him in perfect contentment as he quoted:
“And over all, as soft as thine own cheek,
Brooded the velvet stillness of the night.”
From time to time Cabot’s earthly ears discerned faint popping noises here and there throughout the capital. It sounded, for all the world, like the night before the Fourth of July in any American city; but Myles realized full and well that it meant that shooting was in progress between the opposing factions. These were not firecrackers—this was war!
Even so, what could they do about it just then?
So the love-starved earthman held his princess close in his arms and waited.
Finally he had an idea; so he dispatched one of the orderlies, who had followed them to the roof, to instruct the colonel to send out patrols into the streets to gather in more of their supporters. Then ensued another period of waiting, during which Myles Cabot and his princess sat side by side on the parapet of the terrace surveying the city below and saying very little. For, “Perfect communion needs no speech,” as Poblath would put it.