“Let me go, I say! let me go! I demand the right of every gentleman to defend his honor with his life. I do not propose to submit to this outrage. I swear it by the terrible Styx! This is enough to enrage a subcarboniferous Plesiosaurus! It is enough to make an ornithorhynchus rise in wrath! And I have the blood of Boston in my veins. My ancestors were among the warriors of Bunker Hill and Lexington. My ancestors smote the tyrant and fought for the right and liberties of man. Yea, by Zeus! And shall I, with such examples as that before me, allow my head to be mistaken for a skull? By Melpomene, my very capillary ducts cry out for vengeance!”
This last bit of information was succeeded by another movement in the bushes. The Parson’s head and shoulders appeared again. The Parson was a red skull now. His cheeks were blazing with wrath and his long hair bristling.
He sought to fling himself upon “the enemy.” This, however, he was unable to do, for the reason that some one had hold of him by the feet and wouldn’t let go. In the entrance accordingly he stuck fast, and from that strange position, “poured out his impetuous wrath in burning words.” As his friend Homer somewhere describes it:
“Ye scoundrels,” he began, shaking his fists in impotent wrath. “Scoundrels, I say; for what better term can I use than the one so often employed by the wise and respected Dr. Johnson, a man before whose classical attainments my own meager latinity shrinks—but, by Zeus! I am wandering from my theme! Scoundrels, I say! I would call you Philistines, but the Philistines would rise up in wrath. I would call you vulgus—but you wouldn’t have sense enough to know what it meant! And so I say, scoundrels! By the ’far-darting Apollo,’ I demand satisfaction. Do you hear me? Do you understand me? I will not ’mutely and ingloriously’ swallow your outrageous insinuations. My blood boils with wrath. I am not a skull! I do not look like a skull! And, by Hermes! I challenge any one of you to come forward and prove that I do. By the heroes of the Trojan cycle, I defy you! I demand——”
During the first part of this truly extraordinary outburst the yearlings had been staring in open-mouthed amazement. As it continued, however, the absurdity of the situation overcame them and they fell to howling with laughter. The abrupt pause on the Parson’s part was caused by a new development. Rogers saw an opportunity for vengeance; he stooped, picked up one of the skulls and let it drive at the orator’s head.
The two objects met with a hollow crack and Parson Stanard set up a howl. The rest of the cadets, laughing uproariously, seized whatever came to their hands. From the shower that resulted our friend, the Parson, was glad to be dragged ignominiously in by the feet.
And thus ended his famous oration.
CHAPTER XVI.
ABANDONING THE FORT.
Having rescued their gallant Patrick Henry, the Seven defenders of the cave held a council of war.