TO THE RESCUE
After this there was silence. The men slept with snores and grunts an
they moved uneasily on their hard beds, and Ivan slept only at
intervals. He was anxious to know whether the conversation had been
heard by Warren, but did not dare to communicate with him in any way,
although he could hear an occasional sigh as though his friend was
suffering pain. Warren was indeed feeling badly from the blow that had
nearly broken his skull. Fortunately the weapon, a piece of iron shod
wood, had glanced and so saved his life. But his head ached worse than
he had thought a head could ache; and when he finally came out of the
daze of the blow, he slept only in a sort of stupor. He had not heard
the conversation that had been listened to so eagerly by Ivan, and so
was at least saved that anxiety.
Day came, and to Ivan, who was prepared, there were signs of departure.
Warren, who still lay silent on his pallet of rags, did not seem to see
anything. He did not eat, but accepted a cup of' water from the woman's
hand.
Elinor clung to him, and the woman did not object.
Ivan was afraid to speak to any of them. The day dragged away, and
finally (it seemed years) the room grew so dark that Ivan knew that
night must be approaching. Soon he would know their fate. It was
uncertain, because he knew that at any time in the day they might have
decided not to leave their death to the poisoned food, but to shoot them
to death before leaving the place.
However, Martha commenced the preparation of the meal that was meant for
supper, and Ivan noticed that she had made more than usual.
A crust of dry bread and a cup of water was given to Warren, and the
same fare thrown on the floor beside Ivan, who did not eat it and
watched anxiously to see if Warren would taste his. But the boy shook
his head.
"Never mind," said the woman, slyly looking over to the door where the
men were bundling some ragged garments in a big square of cloth.
"Never mind. I am sorry for you, my poor boy. Soon those brutes will
take us away, but I will leave one good meal for you. I promise you that
if they beat me for it you shall be decently fed for once. And I am a
good cook; you shall see!"
Ivan shivered. Then as the woman turned to the fire and rattled the
pans, he said sharply in English:
"Warren, do not eat!"
The three turned threateningly as he spoke, but as he made no effort to
continue the speech in what was to them an unknown tongue, they once
more went about their tasks. As they became interested in the tasks they
were doing, Ivan spoke again.
"Warren?" he said.
Warren heard. "Yes!"
"Don't try to keep the girls if they start to take them," he said as
rapidly as he could talk.
"There they go again!" said the woman "What are they up to, do you
think?"
Michael went over to Warren.
"Do you want your head broken again?" he scowled. "You will get it. And
you, too!" He turned to Ivan, and shouted threateningly across the room.
"It will be your turn if I hear you speak again."
Ivan, who had said all he wanted to, nodded and was silent.
Soon Michael and Patro picked Ivan up and carried him to the massive
bench that stood at one side of the table, and seating him there, tied
his legs in a clever fashion so that he was unable to reach the bonds,
he was so wedged between the bench and table. The place must once have
been a public wine room, and what furniture there was of the heaviest
sort.
Warren they lifted and tied in the same manner on the opposite side of
the great table.
"There!" said the woman Martha. "Now you can see each other, and talk as
long as you like." She looked at the men and laughed.
"Where are you going?" said Ivan in Polish.
"Well," said the woman, "I don't mind telling you in the least."
"Don't do it!" warned Patro.
"Why not? They are safe," said the woman.
"Won't your bonds hold as long as necessary? You see," she said, turning
to Warren, "it will be a day or two perhaps before your friends find
you. And even then I don't believe you will tell my plans. It will be
too late. We are going to tame these nice little girls, and make beggars
of them. Something useful, you see, instead of letting them grow up in
idleness as they would if they stayed with you. We will go to Prague
from here and I will give the little one to my sister. Then we will get
out of this accursed country soon as we can, and get away where money
comes easy to the poor war refugees. What do you think of that?" She
leered close to the boy's face.
Everything was ready. The food, poisoned as Ivan knew it to be, stood
temptingly between them, on the table. It was not an unpleasing meal. To
Warren, who had not tasted solid food for two days, everything looked
inviting. Ivan felt himself shaking with excitement. All was ready. The
men unbarred the door, and the woman with a last sneering jest at the
boys, picked up little Rika, while Michael lifted Elinor. The child
screamed.
"Warren, don't let them take me away! Don't let them take me!" she cried
over and over.
"Be a good girl! We will come for you very soon," said Ivan swiftly, as
she paused for breath.
The child screamed again, and Michael wound a thick muffler across her
face.
The heavy door closed with a clash. The boys heard a faint cry, and then
the great key turned in the lock. They looked at each other.
"What does it all mean?" said Warren. He struggled furiously to release
his feet, but gave up to sit staring at Ivan. "What does it all mean?"
"Well, for one thing," said Ivan, "that food is poisoned." He proceeded
to recount to Warren, the strange circumstance of the whispered
conversation which he had so clearly overheard.
"It has saved our lives," said Warren solemnly. "I am starved and would
have eaten this stuff sure as nails. Gee, what an escape! Let us work
out of these ropes and get out of here. Perhaps, we can get those
cutthroats before they got away from the city."
For some moments the boys both wiggled and twisted to free themselves.
It was in vain. So closely were they wedged between the benches and
table, and so cleverly were their feet tied with rope and pieces of
board to wedge them, that it was absolutely an impossibility to release
themselves. All through the night they sat there, at intervals renewing
their efforts to get free, and with despair growing in their hearts.
They began to realize the seriousness of the situation. When Warren's
watch told them that morning had come, they found themselves looking
wistfully at the food. Its scent was in their famished nostrils. Warren
drew a piece of fish toward him.
"I wonder if it is all poisoned," he said.
With a cry Ivan reached out and swept the food from the table. "There!"
he exclaimed, "I found myself wondering the same thing. If we die, we
die--but not that way, my Warren. We will be free yet. Ivanovich does
not die today."
But Warren, weakened from, his hurts, laid his head down on his arms
with a groan.
Ivan looked at him pityingly. The loss of his little sister had almost
crushed Warren. He who was always the leading spirit, quick and
resourceful, was for the moment crushed.
Ivan did not speak. He respected the grief of his friend. He knew that
soon he would be himself again, planning for success.
Late that same afternoon three Boy Scouts sauntered down the dark and
twisted alley leading to the river. The section of the city was strange
to them, and it was now so wrecked by the recent bombardment that the
enemy themselves shunned it. The poor creatures that had once found
lodging in those dark holes of want and famine had all fled at the first
gunshot; and the boys idled here and there, looking at the marks of the
shots, and picking up many a queer memento of the battle.
Warsaw had fallen; but the spirit of boys is the same all the world
over. In their imaginations, even while the smoke of battle still hung
over the city, they had planned other and victorious battles. They had
already saved Warsaw for a wonderful golden future.
As they climbed around, one of them pointed to the broken plaster on the
ground.
"See!" he said. "A Scout! Two of them have been here. There are the
marks of the nails in their Scout shoes."
The other boys looked. Sure enough they saw distinctly the marks of the
well known Scout shoes, sold even in distant Warsaw.
"Let's follow them up," said another boy, leading the way.
It was something to do and they bent to the chase like young hounds on a
fresh fox trail. Rather to their disappointment, the tracks did not
double or disappear here and there. They led directly down the street.
As they followed, a faint cry sounded. The boys stopped, startled.
"What's that?" whispered one.
The cry was repeated. "Someone in trouble," cried the first boy,
hurrying forward.
The boy behind took a quick step, and caught him by the arm.
"Stop!" he whispered. "Don't go on! That's not a human voice."
Frozen in attitudes of astonishment, the boys stood listening with all
their might.
"Pshaw!" said the tall boy, Thaddeus, in his rapid Polish. "What think
you would cry like that--spirits?" He laughed.
"It might be," said the second lad doggedly. "There are spirits, of
course; and when souls are set free in the violence of war they say they
ever return to haunt the scene of their passing."
"Well, nobody has passed here," said Thaddeus, "alive or dead. Let's go
on!"
"Wait just a minute," said the second boy. "I tell you there is evil
somewhere about here!"
"The street is dark and crooked enough to hold almost anything," said
Thaddeus. "I am not surprised now that my father always ordered me to
keep away from these streets leading to the river. They say many and
many a poor wretch has been bundled down there and pushed off into the
Vistula. She tells no tales, that river."
The cry was repeated. It was faint, and there was a note of pain or
terror in it that chilled the listeners. Very faint and far away it was
too.
"I'm going back," said the second boy.
"Go!" said Thaddeus scornfully, "Go and give up your Scout badge, and
tell the chapter that while the sons of Warsaw were not afraid to meet a
bloody death, you are not one of them because you think the spirits are
abroad in the town."
The boy blushed.
"Come!" said Thaddeus. "I know you don't mean it. There is someone in
trouble. Let us find them quickly."
Following the tracks and listening every few steps for the voices, the
boys reached the place where Warren and Ivan were imprisoned. They were
nearly exhausted from the cramped positions and the long fast. They had
called until their throats were parched, and their voices croaked and
wheezed. But as they heard the boys familiar and welcome voices sound
faintly through the heavy door, new energy thrilled then and they lifted
their voices together in a shout that echoed in the vaulted room. It was
answered.
So thick and close fitting was the door that they could not make the
listeners outside understand anything but the word "Help!" which, spoken
in any language, is certain to bring response. The boys outside shouted
assurances which were, also not understood, but the sound of friendly
voices put now life into Warren and Ivan every moment. The great locked
door was baffling; but there was plenty of heavy timbers around, and
finding a sort of battering ram was a moment's work. The three went to
work with a will. Blow after blow fell on the heavy door. It did not
yield an inch. The lock also held firm, but the new casing was built in
old and rotted wood. It gave, and with a dusty splintering the door
toppled in, and the boys, springing over without a moment's hesitation,
entered.
They hurried to the exhausted prisoners and cut the ropes and freed
them. Both boys were so numb that it was some time before the Scouts
could rub feeling into the cramped legs and feet.
Warren pointed to the floor where the pieces of food were scattered.
Three dead rats lay near.
"You were right, Ivan," he said with a great shudder.
"What is it?" said the Scout who was rubbing him.
"Poison," said Warren. "Meant for us." A little at a time he told the
newcomers the adventures of the past long hours.
After the blow on the head Warren had lain unconscious for so long, and
when he finally roused the darkness and dungeon-like appearance of the
room so perplexed him, that he thought himself delirious. He was very
dizzy, and tried to sleep, feeling that if he could lose himself, he
would wake and find the whole thing a bad dream. Even when his sister
came and caressed him, he did not change his mind.
But finally full consciousness came, with all the suffering of his
hurts, as well as the dreadful anxiety about Elinor and Rika and the
seeming hopelessness of escape.
The boys all shook their heads when Ivan broke in to tell how he had
given up the great ruby, only to be thought a thief. They listened
breathlessly when he told of the strange whisper that came so clearly to
his ears, and when they reached the account of the poison they scarcely
breathed.
"You couldn't see the rats, could you?" Warren asked Ivan.
"No!" said Ivan.
"Well," said Warren, "it queered me so I thought I wouldn't say anything
about it. After you threw the food off the table, I looked down and
presently something slipped out of the shadow. It was the biggest rat
you ever saw. Much bigger than any of those. He walked around bold as
anything, and I began to think what a big fellow like that could do if a
fellow got down and out. Well, it made me cold. Then he went off, and I
think he told a lot of the others that there was a lot of good eats on
the floor, and half a dozen of them came along, and went after that meat
and stuff. And when they ate it, one by one they just went staggering
around for a little as though they didn't know what ailed them, and then
they fell down, and I never hope to see such agony. It was back of you,
Ivan, and I thought there was no use telling you. But it is all over
now, for the rats and for us too; and we can be glad you fellows found
us. As soon as we can walk," he ended, "we must take this thing to
headquarters. We know where to look for the girls, and they must help."
The largest Scout laughed.
"You don't know what you are talking about," he said. "You can't get
help from anyone. Our people, the people of Warsaw, are so scattered,
that it is the same as though they did not exist. As for the others, the
enemy, they laugh. I know of one lady who lost a child--But there is no
use to talk. Whatever is done--we will have to do ourselves."
"We will go down ourselves, now we know where to look, and we will take
the children. We are strong, if it comes to a fight; we can still get
them away. We ourselves will rescue the children." He laughed and helped
Warren to his feet. "We are Scouts," he said.
"It is a good thing we are," said another boy, busy rubbing Ivan who lay
with set teeth, stifling the pain of returning circulation in his
tortured ankles.
"You did a wonderful thing, Warren," he continued, addressing the boy he
named, "when you started the Boy Scout movement over here. Well I
remember the day I told my people about it. They were amused. They
called it one of the crazy plans of the Americans. They were afraid to
have me join. They were afraid that I would get into trouble with the
government. Everything is so strictly watched. But they were so glad to
have me have a good chance to learn the American language, that they
would not quite forbid me. I thought I never would learn. Sometimes I
thought I knew it well; and there would appear in your speech some
strange words that you could not seem to translate to us, and you called
it all with one word, 'Slang!' You said you could not get along without
it. And it was and is the most difficult part of all the noble language.
Yet now that I can read your native language, I never seem able to find
this slang you talk in the books or magazines. I have kept a careful
list of all I have heard you say, and I am teaching it to my mother and
to my sister who was to have been presented at Court, had not this war
come up. It would be fine for them to be able to talk this slang to your
ambassador." He stopped speaking Polish, and broke into lame and halting
English. "Do you get me, Lissee!" he asked.
Warren groaned.
"For the love of Mike!" he said. "No, I don't mean that! For Pete's
sake--" He groaned again. "I don't know what I mean," he said, "but I do
get you. Mikelovo and you don't want to teach your precious family any
more gems." He hastily sought an excuse. "You see only men and boys talk
it as a general thing. Better teach the women stuff out of the books."
"All right," said the earnest student of the American language, "but in
all other things the Boy Scouts are all right for my family."
"When the books and other things came from your country, I showed them
to my father with trembling; but he approved. And now we will do all the
great things, we ourselves, that our poor country cannot do. We will
help your good father, and rescue the little children."
"One thing I have noticed," said the first boy. "There are no boys
around the streets giving any help to the hurt or lost or troubled
except the Boy Scouts. When Warsaw rises again, there will be a great
order here, and all the boys in the city shall have a chance to prepare
for it."
"Gee whiz, yes," said the student of slang, solemnly, "we will get 'em
all in line."