"Strike for Hay Hill and vengeance! Let them have it, my
men! And you, little fellows! Small young gentlemen, with the souls of
heroes, and the bodies of elves, who can't strike a very hard blow, aim
where your blows will tell! Aim at their faces. This for Fanny! This for
Edith!" shouted Cloudesley, raining his strokes right and left, but
never at random.
He fought his way through to the miscreant Thorg.
Thorg was still on foot, armed with a sword, and laying about him
savagely among the crowd of foes that had surrounded him.
Cloudesley was still on horseback--he had caught up an ax that lay
carelessly upon the lawn, and now he rushed upon Thorg from behind.
He had no scruple in taking this advantage of the enemy--no scruple
with an unscrupulous monster--an outlawed wretch--a wild beast to be
destroyed, when and where and how it was possible!
And so Cloudesley came on behind, and elevating this formidable weapon
in both hands, raising himself in his stirrups and throwing his whole
weight with the stroke, he dealt a blow upon the head of Thorg that
brought him to the earth stunned. From the impetus Cloudesley himself
had received, he had nearly lost his saddle, but had recovered.
"They fly! They fly! By the bones of Caesar, the miscreants fly! After
them, my men! After them! Pursue! pursue!" shouted Cloudesley, wheeling
his horse around to follow.
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