CHAPTER ELEVEN

Once word got out about what the hares had planned, the entire Abbey came abuzz with anticipation. Dances and songs and music and poetry and storytelling always provided welcome diversions to Redwall's daily routine, and even though everybeast already had the following day's historical pageant to look forward to, none objected to a little extra celebrating before the main celebration.

Dinner was served in Great Hall, since the early spring twilights still held enough of a chill to discourage outdoor dining after sunset. Friar Hugh kept the fare light for this meal, mindful of the minor feast to be served during the morrow's juvenile performances. This scaled-back menu played into Clewiston's plans perfectly, giving his hares just enough food and drink to energize them without unduly overstuffing the scoff-prone creatures.

As dinner wound down, Melanie glanced about Great Hall, and not for the first time that evening. "I say," she remarked to the Colonel alongside her, "I don't think I've seen Mizagelle at all since we parted ways in the orchard. Or Browder either, for that matter."

"Well, that's half a good deal then, wot?" Givadon said, eliciting a snicker from her husband Baxley. "A repast without that fink around t' spoil my appetite's worth missin' sis for, and a deal I'll take any day!"

"Still," Melanie went on, "it's not like either of them to miss a meal, especially with wot we've got on the agenda for afterward."

"Maybe Mizzy's gonna do us a favor an' keep Browder busy elsewhere during our grand hop," Clewiston supposed. "A hare can always hope, eh?"

Elmwood, seated with some of his fellow Mossflower Patrol squirrels across the table from the Colonel, quickly dashed Clewiston's optimism. "Wouldn't count on it, I'm afraid. We saw those two rounding up a few moles and otters and absconding off someplace in a decidedly conspiratorial manner. Didn't look to us like they were planning to miss tonight's festivities."

Clewiston's ears and whiskers drooped. "Ah, well. At least Mizzy's always welcome. An' I like that word, abscondin'. Right fine word that is. Oughta try teachin' that to Browder; mayhaps he'll take th' lesson to heart an' abscond right the fur out of Redwall. Failin' that, mebbe if Browder sits 'imself close enuff to the dance floor tonight, he might take an inadvertent kick or three to th' noggin. All inadvertently, o' course."

"Colonel!" Elmwood chastised. "The Abbot would hardly be amused ... "

Clewiston shrugged. "Accidents will happen, wot?"

The Long Patrol had intended to hold their Dance in Cavern Hole, but once so many others Abbeybeasts (and the Guosim shrews too) voiced their interest in attending this affair as well, it became clear that only Great Hall itself boasted the floor space required for such activities. Thus, after everybeast had had its full share of dinner, drink and dessert, the tables and benches were all pushed back against the walls, arranged in such a way as to create an improvised grandstand of sorts where onlookers could seat themselves in multi-leveled rows, while still affording the hares all the room they could possibly need for their wide-ranging, high-kicking antics. The accommodations seemed to satisfy one and all, even if some of the Long Patrol still seemed reticent about engaging in their traditional social ritual before so many new eyes.

As everybeast settled in for the show, two of the burlier male hares staggered in from the grounds, each bearing a large bucket filled nearly to the brim with pondwater. They set their heavy pails down upon the stone floor with a couple of loud thunks! that reverberated throughout the spacious Hall.

Geoff eyed the sloshing vessels with curiosity. "Expecting to work up quite a thirst for yourselves tonight, are we, Colonel?"

"Oh, that's not for quenchin', old bean," Clewiston told the Abbot. "Why would we bust our scuts haulin' in pondwater when Balla provides such savory offerin's t' wet the old whistle? 'Sides, ought not to imbibe during such exertions as we're anticipatin'. Can cause cramps, don'tcha know."

"Then what's it for?"

"You'll see, my dear mouse, you'll see ... "

Just then Browder and Mizagelle emerged from the dormitory stairs into Great Hall, trailing behind them a veritable parade of music-makers: moles with drums and tambourines and shakers, otters with ottercordians, mice with flutes and whistles and an assortment of other creatures bearing equally assorted instruments. The Abbot raised an eyebrow; not even he had suspected that such a variety of strings, horns, wind and percussion devices were to be found under the roof of his beloved Abbey.

"Wot's all this then?" the Colonel asked, running an appraising eye over the disorganized orchestra as it shuffled to a stop before him.

"Well, hadn't we all agreed we can't very well hold a Dance without music?" Mizagelle explained. "So Browder and I rounded up Foremole an' Skipper Monty t' see about arrangin' a little accompaniment to our voices an' pawclaps. When they heard wot we were about, they put out th' bally call throughout the Abbey to everybeast they heard tell of who possessed a musical bone in their bodies. Turned out there were quite a few, as you can plainly see! Includin' my dear old hubby!"

Browder nodded, holding up his set of beloved wood pipes. "Decided it was time I earned my keep 'round here with Mizzy's friends 'n' family, an' since I'd not be welcome in th' Dance itself, I figgered I could still contribute this way." He raised the pipes to his lips and blew hard as he swiped the instrument past his mouth, producing a whimsical upward glide.

"Um, quite." Clewiston turned his gazed upon the others." "But, do any of these bloomin' Abbeybeasts know any of our songs?"

"Wot do you s'pose we were doin' while all you lazy louts were down here scoffin' your faces to oblivion?" Mizagelle asked. "We had a right old proper regimental rehearsal, puttin' all these musical chaps 'n' lasses through their paces, an' goin' over a whole bally bunch of old favorites, top t' bottom an' start t' finish! They're as jolly well ready as any Long Patrol band ever was!"

"There sure are a lot of them," Clewiston observed noncommittally. "Who'da thought we had so many closet noisemakers here at Redwall?"

"Yes," said the mouse Thisal, clutching his tiny harp. "Many of us slaves were forced to learn an instrument for the entertainment of our searat masters. And they'd not hesitate to apply the whip to us if they didn't like what they heard. Some of us were able to bring our belongings with us when we were freed, and the Abbey tinkerers have been wonderful about crafting new instruments for those of us who were lacking. But we've never really had occasion to play all together at once before, so that's why it seems so surprising that there are so many of us."

"Well, no worries 'bout gettin' whipped if you're playin's not up to snuff tonight, chappie. Worst we'll throw your way is a jaundiced eye an' mebbe a raspberry or two if you're really outta sorts. So, let's see wot you've all learned, shall we?" The Colonel clapped his paws for attention. "All right, every hare in its place, an' let's get this hootenanny hoedown underway!"

While half the hares took up position on their makeshift dance floor, their companions settled down along either side of the open space, flanking it along the front row of spectators. It was then that Abbot Geoff and the other Redwallers saw what the water buckets were for; each onlooking hare dipped one footpaw in a pail, saturating fur and flesh.

"Gives us a little extra whomp and wallop," Clewiston explained, bringing his wet paw down upon the floor stones with a loud yet muffled slapping whumph! "Figgered it might be necessary t' help keep the rhythm going. 'Course, now that we got all those tooters, bangers an' strummers down there - " he nodded to where the amateur orchestra had emplaced itself, with a puffed-up Browder stepping in as self-appointed conductor, " - this measure might not be needed, but wet stompers are kind of a tradition at Salamandastron Dances, so may's well add our footpaw thunder to this merry racket, eh?"

Mother Maura, having returned from getting the youngest harebabes nestled in for their night's sleep in their nursery, assumed an honorary spot at the opposite end of Great Hall from the band, symbolically standing in for the lacking Badger Lord - not that she had much chance to look Lordly, having to keep the leverets Lysander, Chevelle, Faylona and Troyall in check. The hare parents had given special leave for this quartet to stay up well past their customary bedtime in order to be present for this special occasion. Fortunately, the other Abbey children were old enough that they could all be put at a table of their own with no adult supervisor necessary. Even Harpreet, Skytop and Brybag, who usually flew up to Warbeak Loft each evening to take their nightly slumbers with their fellow Sparra, had opted to remain earthbound to witness these festivities.

Clewiston called out to Mizagelle, "Right-ho, Mizzy, wot've you an' your merry band got t' start us off with tonight?"

"Naught better'n 'The Silly Song,' is there?"

"'Th' Silly Song?' That's rather silly, isn't it?"

"Prob'ly, Colonel. But that's why it's called 'Th' Silly Song,' wot?"

The wet-pawed bystander hares, who knew these songs better than any of the longtime Redwallers or the more recently arrived former slaves, began stomping and clapping to set the appropriate tempo, showers of fine droplets spraying out with every jaunty impact of their overlarge footpaws. Their percussive rhythm, achieved without any mechanical help, was truly impressive, filling Great Hall with a resounding, repetitive thump like a giant, friendly heartbeat. The musicians joined in on top of this, adding layers of toots and strums and plucks and taps to the joyous cacophony until a wall of sound washed over everybeast gathered there.

With the rhythm thus established, the score of so of Long Patrol in the middle of the room fell into step with the music, kicking up their heels and swinging their arms as if propelled by the beat and guided by the familiar old melody, most capably rendered by the Abbeybeasts who'd only just learned the notes and phrasing a short time before. Then, taking their cue from the Colonel, the clapping, stamping hares drew a deep breath as one and broke into song.

"Some silly words go here, oh yes!

Some silly words go here

Like fizzle, fozzle, swizzle, swozzle,

Fric an' frac an' freer

So say your silly words, wot wot!

Shout 'em loud 'n' clear,

Then toddle off an' toodle pip,

An' have some tea, m'dear!

"Then dance a silly dance to do

Your silly words right proud

Whirl, twirl, swirl, fwirl,

That'll draw a crowd!

Kick up high to touch the sky

Then bring 'er down again

I haven't had such fun, not since

I can't remember when

"It's pitter-pat and clitter-clat

An' hoosker-do-la-roo

Chitter-chat, an' this an' that

And tickety-boo to you!

Mix 'n' match a fine mishmash

Hubbub an' hullaballoo

Then add a dash of balderdash

Claptrap an' ballyhoo

"Babble on an' burble on

An' ramble on as well

Chunner on until the dawn

You just can never tell

Bruhaha an' fruhaha

That faintly rings a bell

Whomp an' clomp an' stomp an' romp

Then give a yell, m'gel!

"Some words are just too silly

They simply should not be

Like shroom-a-room an' floom-a-toom

Who'd talk like that? Not me!

I like my nonsense sensible

'Cos I'm a hare, you see

So spare me your hornswoggle

An' I'll go on merrily!

"So bally-ho an' jolly-wot

An' wot! wot! wot! some more

As I bloomin', blinkin' slide

Across the dancehall floor

These spiffin', spankin', flippin' words

I truly do adore

That's why you'll hear us Long Patrol

Speak thus forever more!"

When the words ran out, Clewiston had his singers go back and repeat several of the verses, and then the other Abbeybeasts picked up on them and repeated them as well. And when the Colonel saw that the dancing hares showed no indication of stopping, he twirled his paw the band's way to keep them carrying the melody even after the last of the singing died away. The dancers seemed very happy to saunter and slide and prance and jump on to the accompaniment of just the instruments, totally caught up in their joy of movement.

At last the dance wound down, the panting participants staggering and, in one case, limping off the floor. "Wot's th' matter, Sergeant?" Clewiston inquired of the gimpy Traughber.

"Think I landed wrong on that last leap of mine ... or mebbe th' one afore that, or the one before - easy t' lose track in th' heat of th' moment, wot? Feels like a sprain, or a pull, right in th' jolly old ankle. 'Fraid it's no more struttin' for this hare t'night, sah. Sorry."

Clewiston clapped him supportively on the shoulder. "No worries, Sergeant, you did your part in providin' inspiration for th' rest of us, includin' m'self. But you'd best head up to the 'firmary to have that looked at."

"Wot?! An' miss th' rest o' this happy harefest? Wouldn't dream of it! 'Sides which ... " His gaze traveled over the assembled crowd. "There wouldn't be anybeast up in th' Infirmary anyway, since both of our healers - mentor and student - are both sittin' right over there!"

"Hmm. Well, if y' wait 'til later to have it treated, it'll grow awful bloomin' stiff ... "

"Then I'll stump around like a peglegged corsair for a couple of days 'til I'm fully back in sorts. But I'm not goin' anywhere until I've seen you dance! Sah."

Clewiston suppressed a smirk. "Very well then. Here, have a seat, an' get yerself off that stressed stump of yours. Maybe you won't be able t' dance or stomp anymore t'night, but you can still clap along with the best of 'em!"

"Oh, I can do better than that, Colonel!" Traughber declared as he took Clewiston's place on the sidelines. "Hey, Mel, wouldja mind fetchin' me that bucket over there?"

Clewiston voiced what he thought Traughber had in mind while his wife retrieved the requested pail. "Good idea there, Sergeant. Give that ankle o' yours a good cold soak, should keep th' swellin' down ... "

"Well, I might do that too, now that'cha mention it, but wot I was really thinkin' was this ... " Traughber raised his unaffected footpaw and sloshed it into the bucket Melanie had set before him. "Only one o' me paws 'as gone gimpy. Long as I'm settled here on my scut for th' rest of th' night, I may's well use th' good one t' stomp along with ev'rybeast else!"

"That's th' spirit, Trobbs!" As the Colonel and his second shift of hares took their own places on the dance floor while the winded first batch caught their grateful rest on the liberated benches, Clewiston ambled down the band's way. "So, wot melodious treat have you got in store for us next, Mizzy?"

"I was thinkin' 'Down We Stroll,' Colonel. Sounded pretty decent in rehearsal."

"Hmm. Spankin' dance song, that one. But, um ... " Clewiston threw a glance over his shoulder toward his fellow Long Patrol. "Not sure 'bout th' part wot mentions hares still dwellin' at Salamandastron. Perfectly appropos under Lord Urthfist, but a bit of a melancholy sore spot nowadays."

Mizagelle shrugged off his concerns with a youthful grin. "Oh, nobeast'll mind, sir. Think of it as a reminder of good times past ... an' maybe a portent of good times t' come, wot? Bloodface won't live forever, y'know. Someday there'll be hares back at th' mountain, you can be sure o' that - if not us, then mebbe our sons an' daughters."

Her enthusiastic optimism proved infectious, and the Colonel found himself sharing her grin. "I see Trobbs isn't th' only one of us with spirit t' spare this night. Come along, Mizzy - time for your own turn on the waltzing mall!"

Mizagelle gave Browder a parting peck on the cheek. "I leave th' music-makin' in your capable paws, m'love. Now watch while I show those lazy louts from the first spin wot real hare dancin' is!"

Clewiston and his own half of the Long Patrol assembled in formation in the center of the gathering, and the Colonel called out to Lieutenant Gallatin on the sidelines, "Right, it's gonna be 'Down We Stroll,' 'tenant. Count 'er off, an' keep it brisk!"

Gallatin and his fellow wet-pawed hares may have been tired from their dancing, but the anticipation of putting the braggardly second shift through their paces had them keyed up and raring to go. Within moments they'd struck up their stomping, clapping beat, and then Browder brought the band in, adding layers of melody and complementary percussion atop the hare-made rhythm. Clewiston and his companions on the floor looked to each other, then launched into motion as the singers launched into the song.

"My sister went a-wandrin'

One springtime morn so fair

To roam across the countryside

And breathe th' fresh clean air

Her spirit of adventure

Took her far an' wide

Over mountain, hill an' dale

And to the broad seaside

So muzzle a mole

An' pilfer a pie

Lay on your back

An' look at the sky

Drink up until

The rivers run dry

An' whup! hup! billery-o!

It's down the row we stroll

"My sister, she was standin'

Upon the rolling dunes

Listenin' to the raucous caws

Of gulls an' terns an' loons

She cast her gaze about her

Searched hither an' yon

Then to the misty south she spotted

Salamandastron!

So pickle a pike

An' flummox a fly

Answer a riddle

An' never ask why

Our lot in life's

To do or to die

An' whup! hup! billery-o!

It's down the row we stroll

"My sister, she was welcomed

Into the mountain lair

Feted an' feasted an' waited upon

By Badger Lord and hare

They asked if she would join

Their fabled Long Patrol

Said she, "That is an honor, but

Mine's not a fighting soul!"

So mangle a mackerel

An' spare the small fry

Whistle an' pass

The graveyard right by

The harder you work

The harder you try

An' whup! hup! billery-o!

It's down the row we stroll

"My sister, she was smitten

During that night's dance

She gave her heart an' promise to

A corporal she called Lance

So there my dear sis dwells

Unto this very day

Her seven sons, brave fighters all

The Salam'dastron way!

So wager a waffle

An' hold yer head high

Throw down the gauntlet

Then just let it lie

You can say nay but

I'll always say aye

An' whup! hup! billery-o!

It's down the row we stroll!"

As before, the words ran out long before the capering, jigging and kicking hares were ready to put up their paws. Montybank stepped forward and added a few new verses to the tune in his booming, boisterous voice, making up new lyrics on the spot. (Or so he would have had everybeast believe; in truth, he simply adopted the words to an old sea otter shanty he knew to make them fit the cadence and flow of the venerable Long Patrol favorite. However, except for perhaps a few of his fellow otters, nobeast was any the wiser.) Joining in to bolster their Skipper's efforts, all the otters began banging their thick tails against tabletop and bench and floor and sandstone column and any other surface they could find, matching perfectly the rhythm of of the hares' claps and pawstomps, elevating the thumping, thwomping racket to an entirely new level of merry pandemonium.

The four leverets, thrilled by the sight of their parents letting loose on the dance floor, let loose themselves, jumping up and down in front of their guardian Maura. In their imaginations, they supposed their uncoordinated hopping matched the more intricate, free-flowing choreography of the seasoned Long Patrol hoofers, and nobeast was about to shatter their illusions. Whenever any of the adult dancers wheeled over in the direction of the bouncing, bounding harebabes, they made sure to favor the jubilant youngsters with smiles, winks and laughs, and even the occasional ruffle between the ears, when a free paw could be spared from their larger exertions.

"Mama!" Chevelle called out to Mizagelle.

"Muvva! Dada!" Faylona cried to Givadon and Baxley.

"Mumma!" Troyal shrieked at the sight of Florissant taking a try on the dance floor, her unborn son or daughter going along for the ride.

And Lysander, still too young to speak in even toddlers' vocabulary, squealed and screeched in delight every time Clewiston and Melanie spun and skipped his way, flailing his paws to make sure they saw him.

When at last the second dance of the evening tapered to a standstill, the Colonel and his shift fairly limped off the floor, some with more noticeable hitches in their step than others. Lieutenant Gallatin looked to his commander with mild concern. "Strain yourself a bit there, sah?"

"Just my old trick knee actin' up, I'm sure," he replied, pounding the shoulder of Traveller as the veteran scout hare passed him. "If this old graymuzzle can shake it around like we just were an' come out of it none th' worse for wear, I've no place t' complain, wot?"

Sergeant Traughber, still soaking his sprained paw in his bucket, gave a snort. "Yah, that ol' runner's a livin' wonder. Oldest hare here, but still one of th' most limber too. Looked half his age, way he was movin' out there. An' if he put even half a notch on his belt loop this winter, then I'm a hedgehog! Dunno wot 'is secret is ... "

Traveller, catching the tail end of Traughber's remarks, leaned in past Clewiston. "Superior breedin', Sarge, don'tcha know! Tho', racin' up an' down th' lands keepin' tabs on His Bloodiness for twenty seasons didn't hurt either. Not a fitness regimen I'd recommend t' anybeast, actshully - even if it has shown its benefits here in my later seasons!"

Clewiston regarded the packed seats with undisguised longing. "Gotta admit, though, I could use a jolly sit-down now t' recover from all that. Rather wearyin' workout, an' thirst-makin' too."

Traughber splashed his paw around in his pail. "Got some nice cool water here, sah," he joked, "if ye're really that parched!"

Clewiston made a sour face. "Thanks, no. Not partial to th' flavor o' footpaw in my drinking water. 'Sides which, if I tried t' drink anything now, I'd probably cramp up. No, all I need now's a bit of a jolly breather, an' then I'll be right 'n' ready for my next round!"

Gallatin looked to the Colonel. "Sah, I was thinkin' mebbe we've had enuff for one night ... "

"After two flippin' songs?! Don't be ridiculous, Lieutenant. You remember how our Salamandastron dances of old carried well inta th' night an' halfway to dawn, don't you?"

"Yeah, well, mebbe we're a bit outta practice, sah. Been awhile since any of us danced like this."

"Oh, pish an' tosh! We've done our share of patrolling, even during th' winter. We're not totally gone, wot! An' I'm sure the band has a few more tunes t' give us. Don't wanna go disappointin' 'em after they went to all th' trouble 'n' fuss of learnin' their repertoire, do we?"

"Well, um ... "

"Remember wot we're doin' this for, 'tenant. We've all got our share of winter weight t' work off - exceptin' maybe Traveller, who's game for this anyway, as you've seen - an' we're just gettin' started! Now, if you lazin' loafers would be so kind as t' free up those benches for your commandin' offisah an' his danced-out crew, t'would be much 'preciated."

Gallatin glanced about, noting the distinct lack of any free seats. "Actshully, Colonel, we were hopin' we'd be able t' rest a bit more ourselves. That 'Silly Song' took quite a bit out of us, don'tcha know ... "

"An' put some silly back into you, I'd say, if you're bellyachin' about that little strut. Why, Traveller an' I just did twice th' dance you lot did. But if you're really that dragged out, tell th' band t' play a nice slow waltz for you, one that'll put you to sleep on yer paws. Then you c'n make up for it your next dance after that, wot? Now up, I say! Up, up, up!"

Gallatin sighed and climbed to his footpaws, prompting the other hares of his first dance shift to do the same. "Yes, sah. Right away, sah. One dance comin' up, sah."

As soon as the benches were clear, Clewiston wasted no time in resting his scut upon them, with Melanie settling down close alongside him. He took her paw in his. "Didn't I tell you, Mel? Just like old times. We'll fill this night with song an' dance, from one end to the other!"

Melanie glanced aside at Sergeant Traughber, taken out of the rest of the night's activities. "That's all well an' good, Clewy, long as we're not fillin' the Infirmary with hares from one end to th' other tomorrow!"