Brian Jacques - Rakkety Tam

The sergeant was aware of his officer’s plan. He saluted. “H’exactly, sah, just as y’say. H’I take it ye want the Patrol up an’ marchin’, sah. But wot about young Kersey an’ Dauncey, sah?”

Tam shouldered his shield. “We’ll prob’ly meet up with ’em on the march.”

Crumshaw pointed his stick at Tam. “Well said that, chap! Brisk march’ll get the miseries out of us, wot! Maybe the blinkin’ weather’ll buck up soon.”

The Long Patrol were glad to form ranks and march off, even though their paws squished on the damp grass.

Doogy trudged along looking thoughtful. “Suppose those wee gallopers—Kersey’n’Dauncey is it?—suppose they miss us in all this mist?”

Wonwill kept his eyes straight ahead. “That’s a thought, Mister Plumm. Mister De Mayne, sah, would ye oblige us with h’a song? Sing out good’n’loud so the gallopers will ’ear ye. That should do the trick.”

Ferdimond coughed and tried to look distressed. “Actually I’ve got a bit of a jolly old frog in me throat this mornin’, Sarge. Couldn’t some other chap do the singin’?”

Wonwill grinned mischievously. “Nah, nah, young Ferdimond, h’orders is h’orders, let the frog do the singin’, eh?”

The young hare had quite a fair tenor voice, which rang out nicely as he rendered an old barracks room ballad.

“When I joined the regiment my comrades said to me,

there is one beast we fear more than the foe.

An army marches on its stomach, so ’tis plain to see,

that fool we call the cook has got to go!

O the cook! O the cook!

If words could kill, or just a dirty look,

he’d have snuffed it long ago, turned his paws up doncha know,

he’d be gladly written off the record book!

What a greasy fat old toad, that assassin of the road,

we tried to hire him to the enemy.

But they smelt the stew he made, mercy on us they all prayed,

we’ll surrender, you can have him back for free!

O the cook! O the cook!

He could poison a battalion with his chuck.

I’ve seen him boilin’ cabbage, an’ the filthy little savage,

takes a bath in it to wash off all the muck!

He made a batch of scones, big grey lumpy solid ones,

the Sergeant lost four teeth at just one bite.

Then an officer ordered me, sling them at the enemy,

an’ those that we don’t slay we’ll put to flight!

O the cook! O the cook!

He’s stirring porridge with his rusty hook.

Playin’ hopscotch with the toast, he’s the one that we hate most,

tonight we’re goin’ to roast that bloomin’ cook!”

A shout came from out the mist. “What ho, the Long Patrol!”

The brigadier called in reply, “Gallopers come in an’ make your report!”

Kersey and Dauncey came bounding out of the mist. Slowing to the march, they told the tale, each in turn. Kersey went first.

“Followed the vermin to the woodlands, sah! They entered Mossflower at the southwest fringe, on a track twixt some alders an’ buckthorns.”

Dauncey followed his sister with hardly a break. “We got jolly close t’the blighters, sah. Some nasty-lookin’ bits of work among that bloomin’ bunch. Guess what? We saw the Gulo beast, too. My word, what a blinkin’ horror! Hate to bump into him on a dark night, wot!”

Fixing his monocle rigidly upon the pair, the brigadier fumed. “Confounded, perilous young buffoons! My orders were that ye kept a safe distance from those murderin’ cannibals. They ain’t green behind the ears, y’know. You could’ve both been captured an’ eaten alive!”

Kersey pouted airily. “Catch two gallopers like us, sah? Fat flippin’ chance. All those clods would catch’d be mouthfuls of our dust!”

Brigadier Crumshaw looked as if he were about to explode. His moustache bristled as he thundered at the gallopers, “Silence! Insubordination in the bally ranks, wot! Sergeant, place these insolent young blighters on firewood gatherin’ an’ potwashin’ duties as of now!”

Dauncey gave a snort of disbelief. “But, sah, that’s not fair!”

Crumshaw bellowed at the unfortunate pair, “Enough, I say! One more word from either of you malcontents an’ I’ll have ye clapped under close arrest an’ marched back to Salamandastron to cool your paws in the guardhouse! I’m relievin’ you of scoutin’ an’ gallopin’ duties until ye learn to follow orders correctly. Wot!”

Sergeant Wonwill kept his eyes front as he spoke to the downcast twins. “No arguments. You ’eard the h’officer, young ’uns, off y’go now. Report to Corporal Wopscutt. ’E’ll show you yore chores.”

Kersey and Dauncey saluted before marching off stiffly, tears of hot indignation burning bright in their eyes. The brigadier watched their retreating figures with a fatherly eye.

“Hah, young pair o’ buckoes, wot! One day they’ll make splendid officers an’ perilous warriors, mark m’words. But they’ve got to learn some jolly hard lessons first if we’re to keep ’em from bein’ slain. Right, Sergeant?”

Wonwill’s tough face mellowed. “Right y’are, sah, though ye can’t ’elp feelin’ sorry for the young rips. But who’s goin’ t’take their place as gallopers, sah?”

With a sweep of his swagger stick, Crumshaw indicated Tam, Doogy and Ferdimond. “These three ruffians I fancy, wot!”

Wonwill could not help a passing glance at Doogy’s solid little figure. “Hmm, ’ardly cut out for gallopin’, sah.”

Tam interjected. “Maybe not, Sarge, but I don’t think the Brigadier’s lookin’ for gallopers. Things could get a bit sticky keepin’ tabs on a hundred vermin. We’ll need beasts who’ve seen a bit of action, good stalkers who can use their judgement. Eh, sah?”

The brigadier’s swagger stick tapped Tam’s chest. “Took the words out o’me mouth, MacBurl. You an’ Plumm here have been around the trees a few times, I can tell. As for young De Mayne, he could jolly well benefit from the experience. He’ll do all the gallopin’ needed at a pinch.”

Doogy saluted the brigadier with his claymore. “Ah take it we’re tae be the braw new scouts for a wee while. Ah’m wonderin’ whether tae be flattered or battered, sah.”

Crumshaw smiled briefly. “Draw ration packs from Corporal Wopscutt an’ go to it, you chaps. Report back this evenin’. We’ll meet up by those alders’n’buckthorns young Kersey mentioned. That’ll be all for now. Dismissed!”

Three sets of footpaws pounded the mist-shrouded flatlands, headed northeast for the woodlands. Ferdimond was way out in front, with Tam a close second and Doogy trying gallantly but struggling at the rear.

After a while, the little Highlander slowed to a jog. Clutching a paw to his side, he called out to the hare, “Will ye no’ slack off a wee bit, ye lang-legged hairpin? Ah wasnae built for dashin’ aboot like a scalded frog!”

Ferdimond decreased his pace, grinning at Tam. “I say, I can’t see little barrel bottom in this blinkin’ mist. Where d’you supposed he’s got to, wot?”

Tam caught up with Ferdimond and took hold of his paw. “Not so fast, mate, the woods won’t run away. They’ll still be there when we arrive.”

Doogy came out of the mist, panting like a bellows. “Och, there ye are, ah thought ye’d got lost. Ah’ll walk in front an’ ye can follow me at a respectable pace.”

Ferdimond chuckled good-naturedly. “Oh, how can I soar like an eagle when I’m surrounded by waddlin’ ducks, eh?”

Winking slyly at Tam, Doogy stuck out his footpaw and tripped the young hare. Obligingly, he helped Ferdimond up. “Ah’d go easy if’n I were ye. More haste less speed, mah auld grannie used tae say.”

The hare brushed dew from his tunic. “Wise creature, your old grannie. Point taken, old lad.”