The terrorite battery proved our most effective weapon in castigating the enemy. I could not thank Professor Rackiron sufficiently for his great genius and mechanical skill in so rapidly perfecting his weapons, which were modelled on the plan of the guns belonging to the Polar King. Every discharge proved a blast of destruction to the foe.
The deadly missiles wrought a fearful slaughter, steadily decimating the ranks of the royal army, which had no similar weapons with which to retaliate upon us.
The frightened hosts, constantly changing their focus, left behind them vast heaps of the dead and wounded and globes of floating blood.
On one occasion the first brigade of fletyemings, led by General Starbottle, in eagerly pursuing the enemy dashed through a pool of blood three feet in thickness, and every wayleal emerged dripping with gore.
Coltonobory, finding further resistance useless, at once surrendered himself and his army to our mercy.
My brave wayleals, flushed with victory, saluted me with cries of "Long live Lexington White, King of Atvatabar!"
But what was success now without the one priceless soul to share my triumph?
Did ever glory so grand and defeat so terrible so mingle themselves in human experience?
My wayleals, now for the first time hearing of the death of their queen, would have torn Coltonobory to pieces had I not protected him.
I knew he was personally innocent, and my wayleals were already in pursuit of the king.