- end_line
- 5027
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:09.927Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 4967
- text
- Whereupon, the old croakers, each with a quinsy, sang thus in cracked
strains:—
Quack! Quack! Quack!
With a toorooloo whack;
Hack away, merry men, hack away.
Who would not die brave,
His ear smote by a stave?
Thwack away, merry men, thwack away!
’Tis glory that calls,
To each hero that falls,
Hack away, merry men, hack away!
Quack! Quack! Quack!
Quack! Quack!
Quack!
Thus it tapered away.
“Ha, ha!” cried Piko, “how they prick their ears at that!”
“Hark ye, my invincibles!” cried Hello. “That pean is for the slain. So
all ye who have lives left, spring to it! Die and be glorified! Now’s
the time!—Strike up again, my ducklings!”
Thus incited, the survivors staggered to their feet; and hammering away
at each others’ sconces, till they rung like a chime of bells going off
with a triple-bob-major, they finally succeeded in immortalizing
themselves by quenching their mortalities all round; the bards still
singing.
“Never mind your music now,” cried Piko.
“It’s all over,” said Hello.
“What valiant fellows we have for subjects,” cried Piko.
“Ho! grave-diggers, clear the field,” cried Hello.
“Who else is for glory?” cried Piko.
“There stand the bards!” cried Hello.
But now there rushed among the crowd a haggard figure, trickling with
blood, and wearing a robe, whose edges were burned and blacked by fire.
Wielding a club, it ran to and fro, with loud yells menacing all.
A noted warrior this; who, distracted at the death of five sons slain
in recent games, wandered from valley to valley, wrestling and
fighting.
With wild cries of “The Despairer! The Despairer!” the appalled
multitude fled; leaving the two kings frozen on their throne, quaking
and quailing, their teeth rattling like dice.
The Despairer strode toward them; when, recovering their senses, they
ran; for a time pursued through the woods by the phantom.
- title
- Chunk 2