Chapter XIII. Loristan Attends a Drill of the Squad

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

　　The Squad was not forgotten. It found that Loristan himselfwould have regarded neglect as a breach of military duty."You must remember your men," he said, two or three days afterThe Rat became a member of his household. "You must keep uptheir drill. Marco tells me it was very smart. Don't let themget slack.""His men!" The Rat felt what he could not have put into words.He knew he had worked, and that the Squad had worked, in theirhidden holes and corners. Only hidden holes and corners had beenpossible for them because they had existed in spite of theprotest of their world and the vigilance of its policemen. Theyhad tried many refuges before they found the Barracks. No onebut resented the existence of a troop of noisy vagabonds. Butsomehow this man knew that there had evolved from it somethingmore than mere noisy play, that he, The Rat, had meant order anddiscipline."His men!" It made him feel as if he had had the VictoriaCross fastened on his coat. He had brain enough to see manythings, and he knew that it was in this way that Loristan wasfinding him his "place." He knew how.When they went to the Barracks, the Squad greeted them with atumultuous welcome which expressed a great sense of relief.Privately the members had been filled with fears which they hadtalked over together in deep gloom. Marco's father, theydecided, was too big a swell to let the two come back after hehad seen the sort the Squad was made up of. He might be poorjust now, toffs sometimes lost their money for a bit, but youcould see what he was, and fathers like him weren't going to lettheir sons make friends with "such as us." He'd stop the drilland the "Secret Society" game. That's what he'd do!But The Rat came swinging in on his secondhand crutches lookingas if he had been made a general, and Marco came with him; andthe drill the Squad was put through was stricter and finer thanany drill they had ever known."I wish my father could have seen that," Marco said to The Rat.The Rat turned red and white and then red again, but he said nota single word. The mere thought was like a flash of fire passingthrough him. But no fellow could hope for a thing as big asthat. The Secret Party, in its subterranean cavern, surroundedby its piled arms, sat down to read the morning paper.The war news was bad to read. The Maranovitch held the day forthe moment, and while they suffered and wrought cruelties in thecapital city, the Iarovitch suffered and wrought cruelties in thecountry outside. So fierce and dark was the record that Europestood aghast.The Rat folded his paper when he had finished, and sat biting hisnails. Having done this for a few minutes, he began to speak inhis dramatic and hollow Secret Party whisper."The hour has come," he said to his followers. "Themessengers must go forth. They know nothing of what they go for;they only know that they must obey. If they were caught andtortured, they could betray nothing because they know nothing butthat, at certain places, they must utter a certain word. Theycarry no papers. All commands they must learn by heart. Whenthe sign is given, the Secret Party will know what to do--whereto meet and where to attack."He drew plans of the battle on the flagstones, and he sketched animaginary route which the two messengers were to follow. But hisknowledge of the map of Europe was not worth much, and he turnedto Marco."You know more about geography that I do. You know more abouteverything," he said. "I only know Italy is at the bottom andRussia is at one side and England's at the other. How would theSecret Messengers go to Samavia? Can you draw the countriesthey'd have to pass through?"Because any school-boy who knew the map could have done the samething, Marco drew them. He also knew the stations the Secret Twowould arrive at and leave by when they entered a city, thestreets they would walk through and the very uniforms they wouldsee; but of these things he said nothing. The reality hisknowledge gave to the game was, however, a thrilling thing. Hewished he could have been free to explain to The Rat the thingshe knew. Together they could have worked out so many details oftravel and possible adventure that it would have been almost asif they had set out on their journey in fact.As it was, the mere sketching of the route fired The Rat'simagination. He forged ahead with the story of adventure, andfilled it with such mysterious purport and design that the Squadat times gasped for breath. In his glowing version the SecretTwo entered cities by midnight and sang and begged at palacegates where kings driving outward paused to listen and were giventhe Sign."Though it would not always be kings," he said. "Sometimes itwould be the poorest people. Sometimes they might seem to bebeggars like ourselves, when they were only Secret Onesdisguised. A great lord might wear poor clothes and pretend tobe a workman, and we should only know him by the signs we hadlearned by heart. When we were sent to Samavia, we should beobliged to creep in through some back part of the country whereno fighting was being done and where no one would attack. Theirgenerals are not clever enough to protect the parts which arejoined to friendly countries, and they have not forces enough.Two boys could find a way in if they thought it out."He became possessed by the idea of thinking it out on the spot.He drew his rough map of Samavia on the flagstones with hischalk."Look here," he said to Marco, who, with the elated andthrilled Squad, bent over it in a close circle of heads."Beltrazo is here and Carnolitz is here--and here is Jiardasia.Beltrazo and Jiardasia are friendly, though they don't takesides. All the fighting is going on in the country aboutMelzarr. There is no reason why they should prevent singletravelers from coming in across the frontiers of friendlyneighbors. They're not fighting with the countries outside, theyare fighting with themselves." He paused a moment and thought."The article in that magazine said something about a huge foreston the eastern frontier. That's here. We could wander into aforest and stay there until we'd planned all we wanted to do.Even the people who had seen us would forget about us. What wehave to do is to make people feel as if we werenothing--nothing."They were in the very midst of it, crowded together, leaningover, stretching necks and breathing quickly with excitement,when Marco lifted his head. Some mysterious impulse made him doit in spite of himself."There's my father!" he said.The chalk dropped, everything dropped, even Samavia. The Rat wasup and on his crutches as if some magic force had swung himthere. How he gave the command, or if he gave it at all, noteven he himself knew. But the Squad stood at salute.Loristan was standing at the opening of the archway as Marco hadstood that first day. He raised his right hand in return saluteand came forward."I was passing the end of the street and remembered the Barrackswas here," he explained. "I thought I should like to look atyour men, Captain."He smiled, but it was not a smile which made his words really ajoke. He looked down at the chalk map drawn on the flagstones."You know that map well," he said. "Even I can see that it isSamavia. What is the Secret Party doing?""The messengers are trying to find a way in," answered Marco."We can get in there," said The Rat, pointing with a crutch."There's a forest where we could hide and find out things.""Reconnoiter," said Loristan, looking down. "Yes. Two strayboys could be very safe in a forest. It's a good game."That he should be there! That he should, in his own wonderfulway, have given them such a thing as this. That he should havecared enough even to look up the Barracks, was what The Rat wasthinking. A batch of ragamuffins they were and nothing else, andhe standing looking at them with his fine smile. There wassomething about him which made him seem even splendid. The Rat'sheart thumped with startled joy."Father," said Marco, "will you watch The Rat drill us? Iwant you to see how well it is done.""Captain, will you do me that honor?" Loristan said to The Rat,and to even these words he gave the right tone, neither jestingnor too serious. Because it was so right a tone, The Rat'spulses beat only with exultation. This god of his had looked athis maps, he had talked of his plans, he had come to see thesoldiers who were his work! The Rat began his drill as if he hadbeen reviewing an army.What Loristan saw done was wonderful in its mechanical exactness.The Squad moved like the perfect parts of a perfect machine.That they could so do it in such space, and that they should haveaccomplished such precision, was an extraordinary testimonial tothe military efficiency and curious qualities of this onehunchbacked, vagabond officer."That is magnificent!" the spectator said, when it was over."It could not be better done. Allow me to congratulate you."He shook The Rat's hand as if it had been a man's, and, after hehad shaken it, he put his own hand lightly on the boy's shoulderand let it rest there as he talked a few minutes to them all.He kept his talk within the game, and his clear comprehension ofit added a flavor which even the dullest member of the Squad waselated by. Sometimes you couldn't understand toffs when theymade a shy at being friendly, but you could understand him, andhe stirred up your spirits. He didn't make jokes with you,either, as if a chap had to be kept grinning. After the fewminutes were over, he went away. Then they sat down again intheir circle and talked about him, because they could talk andthink about nothing else. They stared at Marco furtively,feeling as if he were a creature of another world because he hadlived with this man. They stared at The Rat in a new way also.The wonderful-looking hand had rested on his shoulder, and he hadbeen told that what he had done was magnificent."When you said you wished your father could have seen thedrill," said The Rat, "you took my breath away. I'd never havehad the cheek to think of it myself--and I'd never have dared tolet you ask him, even if you wanted to do it. And he camehimself! It struck me dumb.""If he came," said Marco, "it was because he wanted to seeit."When they had finished talking, it was time for Marco and The Ratto go on their way. Loristan had given The Rat an errand. At acertain hour he was to present himself at a certain shop andreceive a package."Let him do it alone," Loristan said to Marco. "He will bebetter pleased. His desire is to feel that he is trusted to dothings alone."So they parted at a street corner, Marco to walk back to No. 7Philibert Place, The Rat to execute his commission. Marco turnedinto one of the better streets, through which he often passed onhis way home. It was not a fashionable quarter, but it containedsome respectable houses in whose windows here and there were tobe seen neat cards bearing the word "Apartments," which meantthat the owner of the house would let to lodgers his drawing-roomor sitting-room suite.As Marco walked up the street, he saw some one come out of thedoor of one of the houses and walk quickly and lightly down thepavement. It was a young woman wearing an elegant though quietdress, and a hat which looked as if it had been bought in Parisor Vienna. She had, in fact, a slightly foreign air, and it wasthis, indeed, which made Marco look at her long enough to seethat she was also a graceful and lovely person. He wondered whather nationality was. Even at some yards' distance he could seethat she had long dark eyes and a curved mouth which seemed to besmiling to itself. He thought she might be Spanish or Italian.He was trying to decide which of the two countries she belongedto, as she drew near to him, but quite suddenly the curved mouthceased smiling as her foot seemed to catch in a break in thepavement, and she so lost her balance that she would have fallenif he had not leaped forward and caught her.She was light and slender, and he was a strong lad and managed tosteady her. An expression of sharp momentary anguish crossed herface."I hope you are not hurt," Marco said.She bit her lip and clutched his shoulder very hard with her slimhand."I have twisted my ankle," she answered. "I am afraid I havetwisted it badly. Thank you for saving me. I should have had abad fall."Her long, dark eyes were very sweet and grateful. She tried tosmile, but there was such distress under the effort that Marcowas afraid she must have hurt herself very much."Can you stand on your foot at all?" he asked."I can stand a little now," she said, "but I might not be ableto stand in a few minutes. I must get back to the house while Ican bear to touch the ground with it. I am so sorry. I amafraid I shall have to ask you to go with me. Fortunately it isonly a few yards away.""Yes," Marco answered. "I saw you come out of the house. Ifyou will lean on my shoulder, I can soon help you back. I amglad to do it. Shall we try now?"She had a gentle and soft manner which would have appealed to anyboy. Her voice was musical and her enunciation exquisite.Whether she was Spanish or Italian, it was easy to imagine her aperson who did not always live in London lodgings, even of thebetter class."If you please," she answered him. "It is very kind of you.You are very strong, I see. But I am glad to have only a fewsteps to go."She rested on his shoulder as well as on her umbrella, but it wasplain that every movement gave her intense pain. She caught herlip with her teeth, and Marco thought she turned white. He couldnot help liking her. She was so lovely and gracious and brave.He could not bear to see the suffering in her face."I am so sorry!" he said, as he helped her, and his boy's voicehad something of the wonderful sympathetic tone of Loristan's.The beautiful lady herself remarked it, and thought how unlike itwas to the ordinary boy-voice."I have a latch-key," she said, when they stood on the lowstep.She found the latch-key in her purse and opened the door. Marcohelped her into the entrance-hall. She sat down at once in achair near the hat-stand. The place was quite plain andold-fashioned inside."Shall I ring the front-door bell to call some one?" Marcoinquired."I am afraid that the servants are out," she answered. "Theyhad a holiday. Will you kindly close the door? I shall beobliged to ask you to help me into the sitting-room at the end ofthe hall. I shall find all I want there--if you will kindly handme a few things. Some one may come in presently--perhaps one ofthe other lodgers --and, even if I am alone for an hour or so, itwill not really matter.""Perhaps I can find the landlady," Marco suggested. Thebeautiful person smiled."She has gone to her sister's wedding. That is why I was goingout to spend the day myself. I arranged the plan to accommodateher. How good you are! I shall be quite comfortable directly,really. I can get to my easy-chair in the sitting-room now Ihave rested a little."Marco helped her to her feet, and her sharp, involuntaryexclamation of pain made him wince internally. Perhaps it was aworse sprain than she knew.The house was of the early-Victorian London order. A "frontlobby" with a dining-room on the right hand, and a "backlobby," after the foot of the stairs was passed, out of whichopened the basement kitchen staircase and a sitting-room lookingout on a gloomy flagged back yard inclosed by high walls. Thesitting-room was rather gloomy itself, but there were a fewluxurious things among the ordinary furnishings. There was aneasy-chair with a small table near it, and on the table were asilver lamp and some rather elegant trifles. Marco helped hischarge to the easy-chair and put a cushion from the sofa underher foot. He did it very gently, and, as he rose after doing it,he saw that the long, soft dark eyes were looking at him in acurious way."I must go away now," he said, "but I do not like to leaveyou. May I go for a doctor?""How dear you are!" she exclaimed. "But I do not want one,thank you. I know exactly what to do for a sprained ankle. Andperhaps mine is not really a sprain. I am going to take off myshoe and see.""May I help you?" Marco asked, and he kneeled down again andcarefully unfastened her shoe and withdrew it from her foot. Itwas a slender and delicate foot in a silk stocking, and she bentand gently touched and rubbed it."No," she said, when she raised herself, "I do not think it isa sprain. Now that the shoe is off and the foot rests on thecushion, it is much more comfortable, much more. Thank you,thank you. If you had not been passing I might have had adangerous fall.""I am very glad to have been able to help you," Marco answered,with an air of relief. "Now I must go, if you think you will beall right.""Don't go yet," she said, holding out her hand. "I shouldlike to know you a little better, if I may. I am so grateful. Ishould like to talk to you. You have such beautiful manners fora boy," sheended, with a pretty, kind laugh, "and I believe I know whereyou got them from.""You are very kind to me," Marco answered, wondering if he didnot redden a little. "But I must go because my father will--""Your father would let you stay and talk to me," she said, witheven a prettier kindliness than before. "It is from him youhave inherited your beautiful manner. He was once a friend ofmine. I hope he is my friend still, though perhaps he hasforgotten me."All that Marco had ever learned and all that he had ever trainedhimself to remember, quickly rushed back upon him now, because hehad a clear and rapidly working brain, and had not lived theordinary boy's life. Here was a beautiful lady of whom he knewnothing at all but that she had twisted her foot in the streetand he had helped her back into her house. If silence was stillthe order, it was not for him to know things or ask questions oranswer them. She might be the loveliest lady in the world andhis father her dearest friend, but, even if this were so, hecould best serve them both by obeying her friend's commands withall courtesy, and forgetting no instruction he had given."I do not think my father ever forgets any one," he answered."No, I am sure he does not," she said softly. "Has he been toSamavia during the last three years?"Marco paused a moment."Perhaps I am not the boy you think I am," he said. "Myfather has never been to Samavia.""He has not? But--you are Marco Loristan?""Yes. That is my name."Suddenly she leaned forward and her long lovely eyes filled withfire."Then you are a Samavian, and you know of the disastersoverwhelming us. You know all the hideousness and barbarity ofwhat is being done. Your father's son must know it all!""Every one knows it," said Marco."But it is your country--your own! Your blood must burn in yourveins!" Marco stood quite still and looked at her. His eyes told whetherhis blood burned or not, but he did not speak. His look wasanswer enough, since he did not wish to say anything."What does your father think? I am a Samavian myself, and Ithink night and day. What does he think of the rumor about thedescendant of the Lost Prince? Does he believe it?"Marco was thinking very rapidly. Her beautiful face was glowingwith emotion, her beautiful voice trembled. That she should be aSamavian, and love Samavia, and pour her feeling forth even to aboy, was deeply moving to him. But howsoever one was moved, onemust remember that silence was still the order. When one wasvery young, one must remember orders first of all."It might be only a newspaper story," he said. "He says onecannot trust such things. If you know him, you know he is verycalm.""Has he taught you to be calm too?" she said pathetically."You are only a boy. Boys are not calm. Neither are women whentheir hearts are wrung. Oh, my Samavia! Oh, my poor littlecountry! My brave, tortured country!" and with a sudden sob shecovered her face with her hands.A great lump mounted to Marco's throat. Boys could not cry, buthe knew what she meant when he said her heart was wrung.When she lifted her head, the tears in her eyes made them softerthan ever."If I were a million Samavians instead of one woman, I shouldknow what to do!" she cried. "If your father were a millionSamavians, he would know, too. He would find Ivor's descendant,if he is on the earth, and he would end all this horror!""Who would not end it if they could?" cried Marco, quitefiercely."But men like your father, men who are Samavians, must thinknight and day about it as I do," she impetuously insisted."You see, I cannot help pouring my thoughts out even to aboy--because he is a Samavian. Only Samavians care. Samaviaseems so little and unimportant to other people. They don't evenseem to know that the blood she is pouring forth pours from humanveins and beating human hearts. Men like your father must think,and plan, and feel that they must--must find a way. Even awoman feels it. Even a boy must. Stefan Loristan cannot besitting quietly at home, knowing that Samavian hearts are beingshot through and Samavian blood poured forth. He cannot thinkand say nothing!"Marco started in spite of himself. He felt as if his father hadbeen struck in the face. How dare she say such words! Big as hewas, suddenly he looked bigger, and the beautiful lady saw thathe did."He is my father," he said slowly.She was a clever, beautiful person, and saw that she had made agreat mistake."You must forgive me," she exclaimed. "I used the wrong wordsbecause I was excited. That is the way with women. You must seethat I meant that I knew he was giving his heart and strength,his whole being, to Samavia, even though he must stay inLondon."She started and turned her head to listen to the sound of someone using the latch-key and opening the front door. The some onecame in with the heavy step of a man."It is one of the lodgers," she said. "I think it is the onewho lives in the third floor sitting-room.""Then you won't be alone when I go," said Marco. "I am gladsome one has come. I will say good-morning. May I tell myfather your name?""Tell me that you are not angry with me for expressing myself soawkwardly," she said."You couldn't have meant it. I know that," Marco answeredboyishly. "You couldn't.""No, I couldn't," she repeated, with the same emphasis on thewords.She took a card from a silver case on the table and gave it tohim."Your father will remember my name," she said. "I hope hewill let me see him and tell him how you took care of me."She shook his hand warmly and let him go. But just as he reachedthe door she spoke again."Oh, may I ask you to do one thing more before you leave me?"she said suddenly. "I hope you won't mind. Will you runup-stairs into the drawing-room and bring me the purple book fromthe small table? I shall not mind being alone if I havesomething to read.""A purple book? On a small table?" said Marco."Between the two long windows," she smiled back at him.The drawing-room of such houses as these is always to be reachedby one short flight of stairs.Marco ran up lightly.