Chapter VI. The Drill and the Secret Party

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

　　Loristan did not forbid Marco to pursue his acquaintance with TheRat and his followers."You will find out for yourself whether they are friends for youor not," he said. "You will know in a few days, and then youcan make your own decision. You have known lads in variouscountries, and you are a good judge of them, I think. You willsoon see whether they are going to be men or mere rabble. TheRat now--how does he strike you?"And the handsome eyes held their keen look of questioning."He'd be a brave soldier if he could stand," said Marco,thinking him over. "But he might be cruel.""A lad who might make a brave soldier cannot be disdained, but aman who is cruel is a fool. Tell him that from me," Loristananswered. "He wastes force--his own and the force of the one hetreats cruelly. Only a fool wastes force.""May I speak of you sometimes?" asked Marco."Yes. You will know how. You will remember the things aboutwhich silence is the order.""I never forget them," said Marco. "I have been trying notto, for such a long time.""You have succeeded well, Comrade!" returned Loristan, from hiswriting-table, to which he had gone and where he was turning overpapers.A strong impulse overpowered the boy. He marched over to thetable and stood very straight, making his soldierly young salute,his whole body glowing."Father!" he said, "you don't know how I love you! I wish youwere a general and I might die in battle for you. When I look atyou, I long and long to do something for you a boy could not do.I would die of a thousand wounds rather than disobey you--orSamavia!"He seized Loristan's hand, and knelt on one knee and kissed it.An English or American boy could not have done such a thing fromunaffected natural impulse. But he was of warm Southern blood."I took my oath of allegiance to you, Father, when I took it toSamavia. It seems as if you were Samavia, too," he said, andkissed his hand again.Loristan had turned toward him with one of the movements whichwere full of dignity and grace. Marco, looking up at him, feltthat there was always a certain remote stateliness in him whichmade it seem quite natural that any one should bend the knee andkiss his hand.A sudden great tenderness glowed in his father's face as heraised the boy and put his hand on his shoulder."Comrade," he said, "you don't know how much I love you--andwhat reason there is that we should love each other! You don'tknow how I have been watching you, and thanking God each yearthat here grew a man for Samavia. That I know you are--a man,though you have lived but twelve years. Twelve years may grow aman--or prove that a man will never grow, though a human thing hemay remain for ninety years. This year may be full of strangethings for both of us. We cannot know what I may have to ask youto do for me--and for Samavia. Perhaps such a thing as notwelve-year- old boy has ever done before.""Every night and every morning," said Marco, "I shall praythat I may be called to do it, and that I may do it well.""You will do it well, Comrade, if you are called. That I couldmake oath," Loristan answered him.The Squad had collected in the inclosure behind the church whenMarco appeared at the arched end of the passage. The boys weredrawn up with their rifles, but they all wore a rather dogged andsullen look. The explanation which darted into Marco's mind wasthat this was because The Rat was in a bad humor. He satcrouched together on his platform biting his nails fiercely, hiselbows on his updrawn knees, his face twisted into a hideousscowl. He did not look around, or even look up from the crackedflagstone of the pavement on which his eyes were fixed.Marco went forward with military step and stopped opposite to himwith prompt salute."Sorry to be late, sir," he said, as if he had been a privatespeaking to his colonel."It's 'im, Rat! 'E's come, Rat!" the Squad shouted. "Look at'im!"But The Rat would not look, and did not even move."What's the matter?" said Marco, with less ceremony than aprivate would have shown. "There's no use in my coming here ifyou don't want me."" 'E's got a grouch on 'cos you're late!" called out the headof the line. "No doin' nothin' when 'e's got a grouch on.""I sha'n't try to do anything," said Marco, his boy-facesetting itself into good stubborn lines. "That's not what Icame here for. I came to drill. I've been with my father. Hecomes first. I can't join the Squad if he doesn't come first.We're not on active service, and we're not in barracks."Then The Rat moved sharply and turned to look at him."I thought you weren't coming at all!" he snapped and growledat once. "My father said you wouldn't. He said you were ayoung swell for all your patched clothes. He said your fatherwould think he was a swell, even if he was only a penny-a-lineron newspapers, and he wouldn't let you have anything to do with avagabond and a nuisance. Nobody begged you to join. Your fathercan go to blazes!""Don't you speak in that way about my father," said Marco,quite quietly, "because I can't knock you down.""I'll get up and let you!" began The Rat, immediately white andraging. "I can stand up with two sticks. I'll get up and letyou!""No, you won't," said Marco. "If you want to know what myfather said, I can tell you. He said I could come as often as Iliked --till I found out whether we should be friends or not. Hesays I shall find that out for myself."It was a strange thing The Rat did. It must always be rememberedof him that his wretched father, who had each year sunk lower andlower in the under-world, had been a gentleman once, a man whohad been familiar with good manners and had been educated in thecustoms of good breeding. Sometimes when he was drunk, andsometimes when he was partly sober, he talked to The Rat of manythings the boy would otherwise never have heard of. That was whythe lad was different from the other vagabonds. This, also, waswhy he suddenly altered the whole situation by doing this strangeand unexpected thing. He utterly changed his expression andvoice, fixing his sharp eyes shrewdly on Marco's. It was almostas if he were asking him a conundrum. He knew it would have beenone to most boys of the class he appeared outwardly to belong to.He would either know the answer or he wouldn't."I beg your pardon," The Rat said.That was the conundrum. It was what a gentleman and an officerwould have said, if he felt he had been mistaken or rude. He hadheard that from his drunken father."I beg yours--for being late," said Marco.That was the right answer. It was the one another officer andgentleman would have made. It settled the matter at once, and itsettled more than was apparent at the moment. It decided thatMarco was one of those who knew the things The Rat's father hadonce known--the things gentlemen do and say and think. Notanother word was said. It was all right. Marco slipped intoline with the Squad, and The Rat sat erect with his militarybearing and began his drill:"Squad!" 'Tention!"Number!"Slope arms!"Form fours!"Right!"Quick march!"Halt!"Left turn!"Order arms!"Stand at ease!"Stand easy!"They did it so well that it was quite wonderful when oneconsidered the limited space at their disposal. They hadevidently done it often, and The Rat had been not only a smart,but a severe, officer. This morning they repeated the exercise anumber of times, and even varied it with Review Drill, with whichthey seemed just as familiar."Where did you learn it?" The Rat asked, when the arms werestacked again and Marco was sitting by him as he had sat theprevious day."From an old soldier. And I like to watch it, as you do.""If you were a young swell in the Guards, you couldn't besmarter at it," The Rat said. "The way you hold yourself! Theway you stand! You've got it! Wish I was you! It comes naturalto you.""I've always liked to watch it and try to do it myself. I didwhen I was a little fellow," answered Marco."I've been trying to kick it into these chaps for more than ayear," said The Rat. "A nice job I had of it! It nearly mademe sick at first."The semicircle in front of him only giggled or laughed outright.The members of it seemed to take very little offense at hiscavalier treatment of them. He had evidently something to givethem which was entertaining enough to make up for his tyranny andindifference. He thrust his hand into one of the pockets of hisragged coat, and drew out a piece of newspaper."My father brought home this, wrapped round a loaf of bread,"he said. "See what it says there!"He handed it to Marco, pointing to some words printed in largeletters at the head of a column. Marco looked at it and sat verystill.The words he read were: "The Lost Prince.""Silence is still the order," was the first thought whichflashed through his mind. "Silence is still the order.""What does it mean?" he said aloud."There isn't much of it. I wish there was more," The Rat saidfretfully. "Read and see. Of course they say it mayn't betrue--but I believe it is. They say that people think some oneknows where he is--at least where one of his descendants is.It'd be the same thing. He'd be the real king. If he'd justshow himself, it might stop all the fighting. Just read."Marco read, and his skin prickled as the blood went racingthrough his body. But his face did not change. There was asketch of the story of the Lost Prince to begin with. It hadbeen regarded by most people, the article said, as a sort oflegend. Now there was a definite rumor that it was not a legendat all, but a part of the long past history of Samavia. It wassaid that through the centuries there had always been a partysecretly loyal to the memory of this worshiped and lostFedorovitch. It was even said that from father to son,generation after generation after generation, had descended theoath of fealty to him and his descendants. The people had madea god of him, and now, romantic as it seemed, it was beginning tobe an open secret that some persons believed that a descendanthad been found--a Fedorovitch worthy of his young ancestor--andthat a certain Secret Party also held that, if he were calledback to the throne of Samavia, the interminable wars andbloodshed would reach an end.The Rat had begun to bite his nails fast."Do you believe he's found?" he asked feverishly. "Don't you?I do!""I wonder where he is, if it's true? I wonder! Where?"exclaimed Marco. He could say that, and he might seem as eageras he felt.The Squad all began to jabber at once. "Yus, where wos'e?There is no knowin'. It'd be likely to be in some o' thesefurrin places. England'd be too far from Samavia. 'Ow far offwos Samavia? Wos it in Roosha, or where the Frenchies were, orthe Germans? But wherever 'e wos, 'e'd be the right sort, an''e'd be the sort a chap'd turn and look at in the street."The Rat continued to bite his nails."He might be anywhere," he said, his small fierce face glowing."That's what I like to think about. He might be passing in thestreet outside there; he might be up in one of those houses,"jerking his head over his shoulder toward the backs of theinclosing dwellings. "Perhaps he knows he's a king, and perhapshe doesn't. He'd know if what you said yesterday was true--aboutthe king always being made ready for Samavia.""Yes, he'd know," put in Marco."Well, it'd be finer if he did," went on The Rat. "Howeverpoor and shabby he was, he'd know the secret all the time. Andif people sneered at him, he'd sneer at them and laugh tohimself. I dare say he'd walk tremendously straight and hold hishead up. If I was him, I'd like to make people suspect a bitthat I wasn't like the common lot o' them." He put out his handand pushed Marco excitedly. "Let's work out plots for him!" hesaid. "That'd be a splendid game! Let's pretend we're theSecret Party!"He was tremendously excited. Out of the ragged pocket he fisheda piece of chalk. Then he leaned forward and began to drawsomething quickly on the flagstones closest to his platform. TheSquad leaned forward also, quite breathlessly, and Marco leanedforward. The chalk was sketching a roughly outlined map, and heknew what map it was, before The Rat spoke."That's a map of Samavia," he said. "It was in that piece ofmagazine I told you about--the one where I read about PrinceIvor. I studied it until it fell to pieces. But I could draw itmyself by that time, so it didn't matter. I could draw it withmy eyes shut. That's the capital city," pointing to a spot."It's called Melzarr. The palace is there. It's the placewhere the first of the Maranovitch killed the last of theFedorovitch--the bad chap that was Ivor's father. It's thepalace Ivor wandered out of singing the shepherds' song thatearly morning. It's where the throne is that his descendantwould sit upon to be crowned--that he's going to sit upon. Ibelieve he is! Let's swear he shall!" He flung down his pieceof chalk and sat up. "Give me two sticks. Help me to get up."Two of the Squad sprang to their feet and came to him. Eachsnatched one of the sticks from the stacked rifles, evidentlyknowing what he wanted. Marco rose too, and watched with sudden,keen curiosity. He had thought that The Rat could not stand up,but it seemed that he could, in a fashion of his own, and he wasgoing to do it. The boys lifted him by his arms, set him againstthe stone coping of the iron railings of the churchyard, and puta stick in each of his hands. They stood at his side, but hesupported himself." 'E could get about if 'e 'ad the money to buy crutches!" saidone whose name was Cad, and he said it quite proudly. The queerthing that Marco had noticed was that the ragamuffins were proudof The Rat, and regarded him as their lord and master. "--'Ecould get about an' stand as well as any one," added the other,and he said it in the tone of one who boasts. His name was Ben."I'm going to stand now, and so are the rest of you," said TheRat. "Squad! 'Tention! You at the head of the line," toMarco. They were in line in a moment--straight, shoulders back,chins up. And Marco stood at the head."We're going to take an oath," said The Rat. "It's an oath ofallegiance. Allegiance means faithfulness to a thing--a king ora country. Ours means allegiance to the King of Samavia. Wedon't know where he is, but we swear to be faithful to him, tofight for him, to plot for him, to die for him, and to bring himback to his throne!" The way in which he flung up his head whenhe said the word "die" was very fine indeed. "We are theSecret Party. We will work in the dark and find out things--andrun risks--and collect an army no one will know anything aboutuntil it is strong enough to suddenly rise at a secret signal,and overwhelm the Maranovitch and Iarovitch, and seize theirforts and citadels. No one even knows we are alive. We are asilent, secret thing that never speaks aloud!"Silent and secret as they were, however, they spoke aloud at thisjuncture. It was such a grand idea for a game, and so full ofpossible larks, that the Squad broke into a howl of an exultantcheer."Hooray!" they yelled. "Hooray for the oath of 'legiance!'Ray! 'ray! 'ray!""Shut up, you swine!" shouted The Rat. "Is that the way youkeep yourself secret? You'll call the police in, you fools!Look at him!" pointing to Marco. "He's got some sense."Marco, in fact, had not made any sound."Come here, you Cad and Ben, and put me back on my wheels,"raged the Squad's commander. "I'll not make up the game at all.It's no use with a lot of fat-head, raw recruits like you."The line broke and surrounded him in a moment, pleading andurging."Aw, Rat! We forgot. It's the primest game you've ever thoughtout! Rat! Rat! Don't get a grouch on! We'll keep still, Rat!Primest lark of all 'll be the sneakin' about an' keepin' quiet.Aw, Rat! Keep it up!""Keep it up yourselves!" snarled The Rat."Not another cove of us could do it but you! Not one! There'sno other cove could think it out. You're the only chap that canthink out things. You thought out the Squad! That's why you'recaptain!"This was true. He was the one who could invent entertainment forthem, these street lads who had nothing. Out of that nothing hecould create what excited them, and give them something to fillempty, useless, often cold or wet or foggy, hours. That made himtheir captain and their pride.The Rat began to yield, though grudgingly. He pointed again toMarco, who had not moved, but stood still at attention."Look at him!" he said. "He knows enough to stand where he'sput until he's ordered to break line. He's a soldier, he is--nota raw recruit that don't know the goose-step. He's been inbarracks before."But after this outburst, he deigned to go on."Here's the oath," he said. "We swear to stand any tortureand submit in silence to any death rather than betray our secretand our king. We will obey in silence and in secret. We willswim through seas of blood and fight our way through lakes offire, if we are ordered. Nothing shall bar our way. All we doand say and think is for our country and our king. If any of youhave anything to say, speak out before you take the oath."He saw Marco move a little, and he made a sign to him."You," he said. "Have you something to say?"Marco turned to him and saluted."Here stand ten men for Samavia. God be thanked!" he said. Hedared say that much, and he felt as if his father himself wouldhave told him that they were the right words.The Rat thought they were. Somehow he felt that they struckhome. He reddened with a sudden emotion."Squad!" he said. "I'll let you give three cheers on that.It's for the last time. We'll begin to be quiet afterward."And to the Squad's exultant relief he led the cheer, and theywere allowed to make as much uproar as they liked. They liked tomake a great deal, and when it was at an end, it had done themgood and made them ready for business.The Rat opened the drama at once. Never surely had there everbefore been heard a conspirator's whisper as hollow as his."Secret Ones," he said, "it is midnight. We meet in thedepths of darkness. We dare not meet by day. When we meet inthe daytime, we pretend not to know each other. We are meetingnow in a Samavian city where there is a fortress. We shall haveto take it when the secret sign is given and we make our rising.We are getting everything ready, so that, when we find the king,the secret sign can be given.""What is the name of the city we are in?" whispered Cad."It is called Larrina. It is an important seaport. We musttake it as soon as we rise. The next time we meet I will bring adark lantern and draw a map and show it to you."It would have been a great advantage to the game if Marco couldhave drawn for them the map he could have made, a map which wouldhave shown every fortress--every stronghold and every weak place.Being a boy, he knew what excitement would have thrilled eachbreast, how they would lean forward and pile question onquestion, pointing to this place and to that. He had learned todraw the map before he was ten, and he had drawn it again andagain because there had been times when his father had told himthat changes had taken place. Oh, yes! he could have drawn a mapwhich would have moved them to a frenzy of joy. But he satsilent and listened, only speaking when he asked a question, asif he knew nothing more about Samavia than The Rat did. What aSecret Party they were! They drew themselves together in theclosest of circles; they spoke in unearthly whispers."A sentinel ought to be posted at the end of the passage,"Marco whispered."Ben, take your gun!" commanded The Rat.Ben rose stealthily, and, shouldering his weapon, crept on tiptoeto the opening. There he stood on guard."My father says there's been a Secret Party in Samavia for ahundred years," The Rat whispered."Who told him?" asked Marco."A man who has been in Samavia," answered The Rat. "He saidit was the most wonderful Secret Party in the world, because ithas worked and waited so long, and never given up, though it hashad no reason for hoping. It began among some shepherds andcharcoal-burners who bound themselves by an oath to find the LostPrince and bring him back to the throne. There were too few ofthem to do anything against the Maranovitch, and when the firstlot found they were growing old, they made their sons take thesame oath. It has been passed on from generation to generation,and in each generation the band has grown. No one really knowshow large it is now, but they say that there are people in nearlyall the countries in Europe who belong to it in dead secret, andare sworn to help it when they are called. They are onlywaiting. Some are rich people who will give money, and some arepoor ones who will slip across the frontier to fight or to helpto smuggle in arms. They even say that for all these years therehave been arms made in caves in the mountains, and hidden thereyear after year. There are men who are called Forgers of theSword, and they, and their fathers, and grandfathers, andgreat-grandfathers have always made swords and stored them incaverns no one knows of, hidden caverns underground."Marco spoke aloud the thought which had come into his mind as helistened, a thought which brought fear to him. "If the peoplein the streets talk about it, they won't be hidden long.""It isn't common talk, my father says. Only very few haveguessed, and most of them think it is part of the Lost Princelegend," said The Rat. "The Maranovitch and Iarovitch laugh atit. They have always been great fools. They're too full oftheir own swagger to think anything can interfere with them.""Do you talk much to your father?" Marco asked him.The Rat showed his sharp white teeth in a grin."I know what you're thinking of," he said. "You'reremembering that I said he was always drunk. So he is, exceptwhen he's only half drunk. And when he's half drunk, he's themost splendid talker in London. He remembers everything he hasever learned or read or heard since he was born. I get him goingand listen. He wants to talk and I want to hear. I found outalmost everything I know in that way. He didn't know he wasteaching me, but he was. He goes back into being a gentlemanwhen he's half drunk.""If--if you care about the Samavians, you'd better ask him notto tell people about the Secret Party and the Forgers of theSword," suggested Marco.The Rat started a little."That's true!" he said. "You're sharper than I am. Itoughtn't to be blabbed about, or the Maranovitch might hearenough to make them stop and listen. I'll get him to promise.There's one queer thing about him," he added very slowly, as ifhe were thinking it over, "I suppose it's part of the gentlemanthat's left in him. If he makes a promise, he never breaks it,drunk or sober.""Ask him to make one," said Marco. The next moment he changedthe subject because it seemed the best thing to do. "Go on andtell us what our own Secret Party is to do. We're forgetting,"he whispered.The Rat took up his game with renewed keenness. It was a gamewhich attracted him immensely because it called upon hisimagination and held his audience spellbound, besides plunginghim into war and strategy."We're preparing for the rising," he said. "It must comesoon. We've waited so long. The caverns are stacked with arms.The Maranovitch and the Iarovitch are fighting and using alltheir soldiers, and now is our time." He stopped and thought,his elbows on his knees. He began to bite his nails again."The Secret Signal must be given," he said. Then he stoppedagain, and the Squad held its breath and pressed nearer with asoftly shuffling sound. "Two of the Secret Ones must be chosenby lot and sent forth," he went on; and the Squad almost broughtruin and disgrace upon itself by wanting to cheer again, and onlyjust stopping itself in time. "Must be chosen by lot," The Ratrepeated, looking from one face to another. "Each one will takehis life in his hand when he goes forth. He may have to die athousand deaths, but he must go. He must steal in silence anddisguise from one country to another. Wherever there is one ofthe Secret Party, whether he is in a hovel or on a throne, themessengers must go to him in darkness and stealth and give himthe sign. It will mean, `The hour has come. God save Samavia!'""God save Samavia!" whispered the Squad, excitedly. And,because they saw Marco raise his hand to his forehead, every oneof them saluted.They all began to whisper at once."Let's draw lots now. Let's draw lots, Rat. Don't let's 'aveno waitin'."The Rat began to look about him with dread anxiety. He seemed tobe examining the sky."The darkness is not as thick as it was," he whispered."Midnight has passed. The dawn of day will be upon us. If anyone has a piece of paper or a string, we will draw the lotsbefore we part."Cad had a piece of string, and Marco had a knife which could beused to cut it into lengths. This The Rat did himself. Then,after shutting his eyes and mixing them, he held them in his handready for the drawing."The Secret One who draws the longest lot is chosen. The SecretOne who draws the shortest is chosen," he said solemnly.The drawing was as solemn as his tone. Each boy wanted to draweither the shortest lot or the longest one. The heart of eachthumped somewhat as he drew his piece of string.When the drawing was at an end, each showed his lot. The Rat haddrawn the shortest piece of string, and Marco had drawn thelongest one."Comrade!" said The Rat, taking his hand. "We will face deathand danger together!""God save Samavia!" answered Marco.And the game was at an end for the day. The primest thing, theSquad said, The Rat had ever made up for them. " 'E wos awonder, he wos!"