“If it hadn’t been for you, Reuben,” said the Princess, as they leaned their elbows on the broad rocky ledge of the window, “they might easily have stormed the North Tower—we should not have been ready—all our strongest defenses were massed on the south side. It was there they attacked last time, so the history books tell us.” And now a heavy, thundering sound, faint yet terrible, announced the approach of the enemy—and far away across the sea plain something could be seen moving. A ball of seaweed seemed to drift up the ravine. “A Sea Urchin gone to give the alarm,” said the Princess; “what splendid things Boy Scouts are. We didn’t have them in the last war. My dear father only invented them just before—” She paused and sighed. “Look,” she said. The enemy’s heavy cavalry were moving in a solid mass toward Merland—the great Sea Horses, twenty feet long, and their great riders, who must have been eight or ten feet high, came more and more quickly, heading to the ravine. The riders were the most terrible beings the children had ever seen. Clothed from head to feet in closely fitting scales, with large heads, large ears, large mouths and blunt noses and large, blind-looking eyes, they sat each erect on his armored steed, the long harpoons swaying lightly in their enormous hands. The Sea Horses quickened their pace—and a noise like a hoarse trumpet rang out. “They are sounding the charge,” said the Princess; and as she spoke the Under Folk charged at the ravine, in a determined, furious onrush. “Oh, no one can stand up against that—they can’t,” said Cathay, in despair. From the window they could see right down onto the amphitheater, where the Narwhals were concealed. On came the Sea Cavalry—so far unresisted—but as they neared the ambush bunches of seaweed drifted in the faces of the riders. They floundered and strove to push away the clinging stuff—and as they strove the Narwhals made their sortie—drove their weight against the riders and hurled them from their horses, and from the covers of the rocks the Crabs advanced with an incredible speed and caught the tails of the Sea Horses in their inexorable claws. The riders lay on the ground. The horses were rearing and prancing with fear and pain as the clouds of seaweed, each with a prickly Sea Urchin in it, flung themselves against their faces. The riders stood up, fighting to the last; but the harpoons were no match for the Narwhal’s horns. “Come away,” said the Princess. Already the Sea Horses, urged by the enormous Crabs, were retreating in the wildest disorder, pursued by Narwhals and harassed by Sea Urchins. The Princess and the children went back to the Lobster sentries. “Repulsed,” said the Princess, “with heavy loss”—and the Lobsters cheered. “How’s that, Princess?” said a ball of seaweed, uncurling itself at the gate and presenting the familiar features of Reuben. “How is it?” she said. “It is Victory. And we owe it to you. But you’re wounded?”