Chapter XVI. The Rat to the Rescue

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

　　Marco walked through the passage and into the kitchen part of thebasement. The doors were all locked, and they were solid doors.He ran up the flagged steps and found the door at the top shutand bolted also, and that too was a solid door. His jailers hadplainly made sure that it should take time enough for him to makehis way into the world, even after he got out of the wine-cellar.The cat had run away to some part of the place where mice wereplentiful. Marco was by this time rather gnawingly hungryhimself. If he could get into the kitchen, he might find somefragments of food left in a cupboard; but there was no moving thelocked door. He tried the outlet into the area, but that wasimmov- able. Then he saw near it a smaller door. It wasevidently the entrance to the coal-cellar under the pavement.This was proved by the fact that trodden coal-dust marked theflagstones, and near it stood a scuttle with coal in it.This coal-scuttle was the thing which might help him! Above thearea door was a small window which was supposed to light theentry. He could not reach it, and, if he reached it, he couldnot open it. He could throw pieces of coal at the glass andbreak it, and then he could shout for help when people passed by.They might not notice or understand where the shouts came from atfirst, but, if he kept them up, some one's attention would beattracted in the end.He picked a large-sized solid piece of coal out of the heap inthe scuttle, and threw it with all his force against the grimyglass. It smashed through and left a big hole. He threwanother, and the entire pane was splintered and fell outside intothe area. Then he saw it was broad daylight, and guessed that hehad been shut up a good many hours. There was plenty of coal inthe scuttle, and he had a strong arm and a good aim. He smashedpane after pane, until only the framework remained. When heshouted, there would be nothing between his voice and the street.No one could see him, but if he could do something which wouldmake people slacken their pace to listen, then he could call outthat he was in the basement of the house with the broken window."Hallo!" he shouted. "Hallo! Hallo! Hallo! Hallo!" But vehicles were passing in the street, and the passers-by wereabsorbed in their own business. If they heard a sound, they didnot stop to inquire into it."Hallo! Hallo! I am locked in!" yelled Marco, at the topmostpower of his lungs. "Hallo! Hallo!"After half an hour's shouting, he began to think that he waswasting his strength."They only think it is a boy shouting," he said. "Some onewill notice in time. At night, when the streets are quiet, Imight make a policeman hear. But my father does not know whereI am. He will be trying to find me--so will Lazarus--so will TheRat. One of them might pass through this very street, as I did.What can I do!"A new idea flashed light upon him."I will begin to sing a Samavian song, and I will sing it veryloud. People nearly always stop a moment to listen to music andfind out where it comes from. And if any of my own people camenear, they would stop at once--and now and then I will shout forhelp."Once when they had stopped to rest on Hampstead Heath, he hadsung a valiant Samavian song for The Rat. The Rat had wanted tohear how he would sing when they went on their secret journey.He wanted him to sing for the Squad some day, to make the thingseem real. The Rat had been greatly excited, and had begged forthe song often. It was a stirring martial thing with a sort oftrumpet call of a chorus. Thousands of Samavians had sung ittogether on their way to the battle-field, hundreds of years ago.He drew back a step or so, and, putting his hands on his hips,began to sing, throwing his voice upward that it might passthrough the broken window. He had a splendid and vibrant youngvoice, though he knew nothing of its fine quality. Just now hewanted only to make it loud.In the street outside very few people were passing. An irritableold gentleman who was taking an invalid walk quite jumped withannoyance when the song suddenly trumpeted forth. Boys had noright to yell in that manner. He hurried his step to get awayfrom the sound. Two or three other people glanced over theirshoulders, but had not time to loiter. A few others listenedwith pleasure as they drew near and passed on."There's a boy with a fine voice," said one."What's he singing?" said his companion. "It soundsforeign.""Don't know," was the reply as they went by. But at last ayoung man who was a music-teacher, going to give a lesson,hesitated and looked about him. The song was very loud andspirited just at this moment. The music-teacher could notunderstand where it came from, and paused to find out. The factthat he stopped attracted the attention of the next comer, whoalso paused."Who's singing?" he asked. "Where is he singing?""I can't make out," the music-teacher laughed. "Sounds as ifit came out of the ground."And, because it was queer that a song should seem to be comingout of the ground, a costermonger stopped, and then a little boy,and then a workingwoman, and then a lady.There was quite a little group when another person turned thecorner of the street. He was a shabby boy on crutches, and hehad a frantic look on his face.And Marco actually heard, as he drew near to the group, thetap-tap-tap of crutches."It might be," he thought. "It might be!"And he sang the trumpet-call of the chorus as if it were meant toreach the skies, and he sang it again and again. And at the endof it shouted, "Hallo! Hallo! Hallo! Hallo! Hallo!"The Rat swung himself into the group and looked as if he had gonecrazy. He hurled himself against the people."Where is he! Where is he!" he cried, and he poured out somebreathless words; it was almost as if he sobbed them out."We've been looking for him all night!" he shouted. "Where ishe! Marco! Marco! No one else sings it but him. Marco!Marco!" And out of the area, as it seemed, came a shout ofanswer."Rat! Rat! I'm here in the cellar--locked in. I'm here!" anda big piece of coal came hurtling through the broken window andfell crashing on the area flags. The Rat got down the steps intothe area as if he had not been on crutches but on legs, andbanged on the door, shouting back:"Marco! Marco! Here I am! Who locked you in? How can I getthe door open?"Marco was close against the door inside. It was The Rat! It wasThe Rat! And he would be in the street again in a few minutes."Call a policeman!" he shouted through the keyhole. "Thepeople locked me in on purpose and took away the keys."Then the group of lookers-on began to get excited and pressagainst the area railings and ask questions. They could notunderstand what had happened to cause the boy with the crutchesto look as if he were crazy with terror and relief at the sametime.And the little boy ran delightedly to fetch a policeman, andfound one in the next street, and, with some difficulty,persuaded him that it was his business to come and get a dooropen in an empty house where a boy who was a street singer hadgot locked up in a cellar.