Brian Jacques - Rakkety Tam

Wonwill saluted and bounced forward a pace. “Sah! They is with us, sah! Mister Rakkety Tam MacBurl h’an’ Mister Wild Doogy Plumm. Ye’ll have to h’excuse ’em lollygaggin’ an’ loiterin’, sah. We had to boff ’em over the brains an’ knock ’em cold to capture ’em last night, sah!”

Tam and Doogy fell in on the left flank of the first rank. The brigadier circled both squirrels, his sharp, monocled eye inspecting them. “Harrumph! Well, at least you chaps have the look o’ seasoned warriors—very good, very good. Eyes front! Seen any action have ye, wot?”

Both squirrels knew a good officer when they saw one. Doogy kept his face straight as he barked out, “Aye, we’ve fought tae get porridge in the breakfast line an’ wounded several bad cooks. Sah!”

Tam added another old campaigner’s jest. “An’ both our blades can peel onions, though we never shed a tear about it. Sah!”

A faint smile hovered around the brigadier’s moustache. “Well said! You two rogues will fit the bally bill fine. So, remember, your mothers might’ve loved ye, but I don’t. It’ll be march ’til your paws drop off, sleep where ye drop an’ blood’n’vinegar for supper. Do I make myself clear, you horrible squirrels?”

Doogy replied, “Clear, sah! ’Twill be a wee life o’ luxury!”

Morning sunlight sparkled off the sea. As a warm breeze ruffled the dry sand above the tideline, the ranks stood fast until Lady Melesme appeared at the main cave entrance. The Long Patrol waved blades, bows, slings, axes and javelins, hailing her with their wild war cry. “Eulaaaaaliiiiiaaaaaa!”

She held up a paw, then addressed her warriors. “Find the vermin who murdered our young hares. Take no prisoners!”

Sergeant Wonwill bellowed out the marching orders. “H’atten . . . shun! Patrol will form off h’in columns of five! Look to yore dressin’, eyes right! By the left, quick march!”

Away they went, with paws pounding up sandy dust as the sergeant shouted, “Present colours!”

A pennant-shaped green banner, centred with a white representation of the mountain fortress, was raised as they paraded past Lady Melesme. Two hares set up a march beat on small snare drums, and a hundred lusty voices began singing a regimental marching song.

“Farewell, dear mother, I’ve been sent,

to march away from here,

along with my good regiment,

an’ a bullyin’ Brigadier.

What a sight to see! Don’t cry for me!

I’m a hare that’s fair, I do declare,

I’ll follow the drums most anywhere!

The dear old Sergeant tucks us up,

he sings to us so nicely.

He’s pretty as a buttercup,

dressed in a frilly nightie.

What a sight to see! Don’t cry for me!

I’m a hare that’s fair, I do declare,

I’ll follow the drums most anywhere!

I’m choked by dust, me paws are split,

me back is broke in two.

I have one wish an’ this is it,

to stay at home with you.

What a sight to see! Don’t cry for me!

I’m a hare that’s fair, I do declare,

I’ll follow the drums most anywhere!”

The march progressed northeast from Salamandastron, cutting at an angle across the shore into the dunes. It was a warm day, and the pace was kept up briskly. As they slogged up the sandhills, Tam winked at Doogy. “This is better than prancing around the groves, wonderin’ what new tricks an’ fancies Idga an’Araltum are up to, eh? Hah, just listen to the Sarge givin’ those greenpaws a bit of his mind.”

Wonwill was haranguing the slower marchers in typical sergeant fashion. “Step lively now, ye bunch o’ ditherin’ daisies—left, right, left, right! Flummerty, sort ’em out, that’s your left! Pick up those paws, you ’orrible little h’animal. Straighten that back, missie, think ’ow lucky you are. Out for a nice walk on a lovely day, eh! Folderon, wipe that smile offa yore face, missie, an’ stop flutterin’ yore lovely eyelashes at young Flunkworthy, or I’ll ’ave yore scut for supper! Keep up at the back there—chins in, chests out, shoulders back, eyes front. That’s the ticket, me buckoes!”

Doogy chuckled at the dismayed faces of the three back rankers. “Flunkworthy, Folderon an’ Flummerty, eh, the awkward squad. Poor wee beasties, they dinna know the sergeant’s all bark an’ no bite tae the young ’uns.”

Tam spat out sand kicked up by the front rank. “Aye, but they’ll learn soon enough. ’Tis one thing goin’ for a walk an’ another keepin’ pace with a regiment.”

It was midnoon before the brigadier gave orders to call a halt, and that was only because he was waiting on reports from the forward scouts. They set up camp where dunes and sand gave onto the heath and flatlands.

Tam and Doogy sat with Wonwill and Corporal Wopscutt, resting whilst they dined off haversack rations. Crumshaw had given orders that no fires were to be lit. The food was plain but nourishing—thick slices of chestnut and barley bread with wedges of yellow cheese, washed down with mint and pennycloud cordial.

Ferdimond De Mayne was sitting with another group close by. His voice could be heard clearly as he directed remarks at Doogy.

“Haw haw haw! Wild Doogy Plumm, eh? What sort of a bloomin’ name is that for a chap, wot? Fat little braggart with a silly great tail who wears a flippin’ skirt. No wonder he’s jolly well wild. Haw haw haw!”

Doogy reached for his claymore, growling, “Ah’ll put a button on yon lanky toad’s lip. That’ll teach him tae mock mah kilt!”

With a firm paw, the sergeant prevented Doogy rising. “Stay put, mate. Pay no ’eed t’young De Mayne. Only a fool rises to the bait of h’another fool.”

Tam had a grip on his friend’s shoulder. “He’s right, Doogy, let it be. The time’ll come when you’ll face him, but not right now.”

The little Highlander thumped his paw against the ground. “Aye well, it cannae come soon enough for me, ye ken!”

Further discussion was cut short by the arrival of two young hares, the scouts Kersey and Dauncey, a twin brother and sister. The brigadier joined his sergeant’s group, beckoning the scouts to sit with them.

“Strewth, here’s the best young gallopers we’ve had in many a season, wot. Corporal Wopscutt, bring ’em vittles an’ something t’drink. Well, chaps, how did the reccy go?”

Dauncey was still panting as he threw a salute. “Phew! Followed the vermin tracks nor’east, sah. . . .”

Kersey continued as her brother paused. “Still the same bunch of villains, sah, with that odd-pawed beast leadin’ ’em. . . .”

Then it was Dauncey’s turn. “They were at a high-banked stream yesterday. Seems they captured some River Rats—Driftail’s bunch it was, sah. . . .”

The brigadier’s monocled eye swivelled to Kersey. “Our old foe Driftail, eh? How did ye know ’twas him?”

Kersey pulled a digusted face. “We found his blinkin’ head, sah. Dreadful thing t’report, but the vermin ate the River Rats!”

Dauncey duly followed his sister. “All save two, sah, whom they took along with ’em when they broke camp. Good golly gosh! Fancy scoffin’ a gang o’ scummy rats, filthy vermin, wot!”

Crumshaw polished his monocle studiously. “I wouldn’t shed any tears over those blighters, young ’un. They’ve done their share of slayin’ in the past. A few less for us to bother about, wot! Where d’you estimate the vermin’s present position, miss?”

Kersey pointed. “Still goin’ slightly east, sah, but cuttin’ off sharp north into Mossflower Woodlands. They should reach the tree fringe by evenin’.”

The twins fell upon the food and drink which Butty had brought them. Wonwill exchanged glances with Crumshaw. “Puts ’em a day an’ some hours in front of us, sah.”