“Well pish an’ tush an”pon my word,
I am the Primrose Warrior.
The day I joined the Long Patrol,
no maid was ever sorrier.
They woke me up at break o’ dawn,
and sent me off to war,
before I’d had a chance to bathe,
or dust each dainty paw.
I went away to fight the foe,
with comrades rude an’ rough.
They’d never seen a perfume spray,
much less a powder puff.
With not a drop of daisy balm,
or any rosehip lotion,
I marched along, a dreadful sight,
my ears shook with emotion.
Then soon we faced the enemy,
an’ it was my firm belief,
between that awful scruffy lot,
was not one handkerchief!
What were their mothers thinking of?
Not one had washed his face.
I mentioned to my Officer,
they looked a real disgrace!
All filled with indignation then,
I charged them single-pawed,
with boudoir mirror for a shield,
and parasol for sword.
I curled their ears and brushed their teeth,
and wiped their runny noses,
then sprayed on toilet water,
until they smelt like roses.
They ran away in swift retreat,
that rabble so unseemly.
My General then promoted me,
for beating them so cleanly.
So when you see me on parade,
you chaps must all salute.
I’m called the Primrose Major now, and
Isn’t that a hoot?”
Everybeast laughed and applauded, especially the shrews.
Log a Log Togey remarked to the lancejack, “Hohoho, that ’un’s a pretty liddle maid, ain’t she?”
Wilderry nodded. “She is indeed, sah, but don’t be fooled. Merriscut is hard as steel, an’ death with a lance. She’s what y’d call a perilous beauty, wot!”
Togey observed drily, “All these young ’uns are perilous, both shrews an’ hares. ’Tis the life we chose.” He turned to Skipper. “Well, matey, wot d’ye reckon to Guosim stew, eh?”
The burly otter was into his third bowl. “Ho, very tasty, very nice! But ain’t you buckoes never ’eard of hotroot pepper?”
Togey pulled a wry face. “Aye, but that stuff’s a bit too warm for Guosim stummicks. No doubt ye’ll soon be slurpin’ it down when ye get t’the Abbey. They prob’ly got lots of hotroot pepper there.”
The otter chieftain gazed fondly into the fire. “They do indeed, mate. Good ole Redwall, I can’t wait for dawn when we begin the march to my Abbey!”
Dawn came soon enough, sooner than some expected, who were looking forward to a late sleep. The camp came abustle with hastily taken breakfast.
Log a Log Togey briefed Tam and Skipper. “I’m takin’ my crews back off t’the logboats. Got some business t’see to, mates. Redwall’s about a couple o’ days good marchin’ from here. I’ll leave ye Oneshrew an’ Twoshrew. They’ll guide ye back to the Abbey.”
After they had said their good-byes, Tam found that, in the absence of Corporal Butty Wopscutt, he was left to give the orders. The Borderer did so with practised ease. Soon his bark was echoing round the camp.
“Come on now, me lucky lads’n’lassies, time to march for Redwall! Fall in the Long Patrol. Lancejack an’ Fieldbud, front’n’centre! Right markers, fall in! Tenshun! Look to your dressin’, yew sloppy lot of fiddle-pawed, wobble-lugged excuses for hares! Silence in the ranks there! By the left! Quick march! Hup two, hup two, hup two. . . .” The column strode off briskly through the morning woodlands.
One of the young hares murmured to his companion, “Strewth! Did ye hear Mister MacBurl then? I thought it was ole Sarge Wonwill for a blinkin’ moment!”
His friend replied, “Sounded jolly well like him, wot! Nearly brought a tear to me flippin’ eye, thinkin’ about Sarge Wonwill, grumpy ole gravel-gutted beast. I miss him.”
“I’ll bring a tear to yore eye, laddie buck!” The young hare cut his eyes sideways to see Tam marching on the other side of him. The Borderer looked every inch the sergeant major, with his dirk tucked horizontally like a swagger stick.
He scowled ferociously at the talkers. “I’ll bring so many tears to both your eyes you’ll think yore marchin’ underwater! Now straighten those shoulders, move those paws an’ shut those mouths! No gossipin’ in the ranks, d’ye hear me?”
Both hares tucked their chins in and bawled simultaneously, “Yes, sah! No gossipin’ in the ranks, sah!”
Tam fell back a pace or two, smiling to himself. Skipper caught up with him, nodding his admiration. “That sounded good, mate! Where’d ye learn to give orders like that? ’Twas just like a proper roughneck officer.”
Tam shrugged. “Oh, here’n there . . . y’know, Skip. For the past few seasons, I’ve been in the service of a fool Squirrelking. You sort of pick it up as y’go along.”
Midafternoon, the shrewscouts reported back. Oneshrew and her sister had nothing urgent to convey—the route was clear, and they had picked out a spot for an early evening stopover.
Tam dismissed them, then called out to his hares, “Listen up now, you bedraggled, bewildered beauties! Our scouts have found an early evenin’ layover spot. D’ye want to stop there, or march on until dark an’ see if we can make Redwall Abbey in record time?”
A roar of well-drilled voices came back at him. “March on, sah, march on!”
Skipper surprised Tam by bellowing out, “March on it is, ye lollopin’ lilies! Keep up the pace there! I want to get to Redwall afore I grow old an’ need a stick. Step lively there!”
The otter chieftain winked at Tam. “How d’ye think I did?”
Tam saluted his friend. “Well done, Skip. Yore a born Sergeant Major! We’ll share the commands from here to Redwall.”
Skipper beamed like a morning sunrise. “Righto, Sergeant!” They camped that night at another spot the shrewscouts had chosen further on. It was dark, and the marchers were weary. Tam and his company bathed their paws in a small brook. After a short snack of haversack rations, they curled up in a shaded glade and fell asleep immediately.
Skipper was awake shortly after daybreak. He roused the hares like a true regimental sergeant. “Come on, my liddle beauties, up on yore dainty paws now! Right, who’d like a luvverly brekkist o’ fresh salad, ’ot scones an’ some blackberry tarts?”
A gullible young hare stretched and yawned. “Oh, I say, sah, that’d just fit the bill nicely!”
The otter chieftain gave him a jaundiced eye, roaring at the unfortunate in a voice like thunder, “Well, you ain’t goin’ t’get nothin’ like that ’ere, laddie buck! Grab an apple an’ some water, then up on yore hunkers an’ get fell in for marchin’! Yew lollop-eared, bottle-nosed, misbegotten muddlers! Move, or I’ll ’ave yore guts for garters an’ yore tails for tea!”
Tam winked at the otter’s verbosity. “I like that one, Skip! Misbegotten muddlers . . . I must remember that. How far to the Abbey now, I wonder?”
Skipper studied the woodlands ahead. “Not too far now, mate. I’m startin’ to recognise a few landmarks. Oneshrew an’ Twoshrew are good liddle maids, they’re trackin’ well. If’n we make fast time, I reckon we’ll reach the Abbey early tomorrow morn.”
They marched on through the day, making only one brief halt in the early noontide. Just before dusk they stopped at a place the two Guosim sisters had chosen for the night’s rest. It was situated on a streambank.
Skipper nodded with satisfaction. “Well, root me rudder, mate! D’ye reckernise this place?”
Tam dabbled his paws in the cooling waters. “Everywhere’s beginnin’ to look the same t’me, Skip. I’m a Borderer, not a Woodlander. Where are we?”
The otter pointed slightly downstream. “Round about there, that’s where wotsisname, the pesky liddle vole robber, hid yore sword an’ the flag. Let’s see!” He dived like an arrow into the water and streaked away beneath the surface.