“Some more of you--there,” shouted Ted Pompey, as he came to himself, and saw a number of his soldiers in the rear watching the combat. “You,”--in a rage,--“you go round behind and worry them there; and some of you get up in the tree and hit down.” “O! botheration!” said Mark, as he heard the last order. “We _must_ get Cecil somehow,” said Bevis. “Now then,” yelled Ted Pompey, stamping in terrible fury, “do as I tell you; go round the tree, and ‘bunt’ somebody up into it!” He passed his hand across his bruised forehead, wiping off a fragment of bark which adhered indented in the skin, and rushed into the fight. Ted fought that day like a hero; twice severely punished, he returned to the war with increased determination. He was nervous at lightning, but he feared no mortal being. He was as brave as brave could be. These heavy knocks seemed only to touch him on the quick and arouse a stronger will. When he came in the combat became tremendous. Like knights with their backs to the tree, the four received them. The swords crossed and rattled, and for two or three minutes nothing else was heard; they were too busy to shout. The eight of the column would have succeeded better had not so many of the others pressed in to get a safe knock at Bevis, hitting from behind the bigger ones so as to be themselves in safety. These impeded Val and Phil and the first line. One and all struck at Bevis. The dust flew from his coat, his shoulders smarted, his arms were sore, his left arm, which he used as a guard like a shield, almost numb with knocks. His face grew pale with anger. He frowned and set his lips tight together, his eyes gleamed. The hail of blows descended on him, and though his wrist began to weary, he could not repay one-tenth of that they gave him. “Give in! Give in!” shouted Val, who was in front of him, and he put his left hand on Bevis’s shoulder. With a twist of his wrist Bevis hit his right hand so sharp a knock that the sword flew out of it, and for a second Val was daunted. “Give in! give in!” shouted Phil, pushing to Val’s assistance. “You’re done! It’s no good. You can’t help it. Hurrah!” Two soldiers appeared in the fork of the tree above. Though so huge the trunk was short, and they began to strike down on Mark, who was forced to stand out so far from the tree that he was in great danger of being seized, and would have been, had they not been so bent on Bevis. Bevis breathed hard and panted. So thick came the hail that he could do nothing. If he lifted his sword it was beaten down, if he struck, ten knocks came for one. He received his punishment in silence. Tim had the cord to bind him ready: they made a noose to throw, over his head. “Stick to Bevis,” shouted Mark. “Bevis--Bevis--stick to Bevis--Fred-- ah!”--a smart knock made him grind his teeth, and four or five assailants rushing in separated him from Caesar.