The Boy Scouts in Front of Warsaw
by
Colonel George Durston
Part 1 out of 3
This eBook was produced by John Pobuda.
The Boy Scouts in Front of Warsaw
Or In the Wake of War
Boy Scout Series Volume 20
By Colonel George Durston
Chapter I
The Disappearance
It was the fifth of August. Warsaw the brilliant, Warsaw the
Beautiful, the best beloved of her adoring people, had fallen. Torn by
bombs, wrecked by great shells, devastated by hordes of alien invaders,
she lay in ruins.
Her people, despairing, seemed for the greater part to have vanished in
the two days since the fatal third of August when the city was taken.
Many of the wealthiest of her citizens had taken refuge in the lower
part of the city, leaving their magnificent palaces and residences
situated in the newer part to the flood of invading soldiers, who went
with unerring directness to the parts containing the greatest comfort
and luxury.
Warsaw is built in the midst of a beautiful plain mostly on the left
bank of the river Vistula. All the main part of the city lies close to
the river, and the streets are so twisted and crooked that it is almost
impossible to picture them. They wriggle here and there like snakes of
streets. The houses, of course, are very old, and with their heavy
barred doors and solid shutters, look very strange and inhospitable.
People, in a way, become like their surroundings. Here in these
twisted, narrow streets are to be found the narrow, twisted souls of
the worst element in Poland; but the worst of them love their country
as perhaps no other people do. To the last man and to the frailest
woman, they are loyal to Poland. For them, it is Poland first, last
and always.
In these low and twisted streets, the devastation was greatest and the
people had scurried like rats to cover. A week before they had swarmed
the streets and crowded the buildings. Now by some miracle they had
gone, utterly disappeared. The houses were deserted, the streets
empty. The destruction had been greatest in these crowded places, but
many of the beautiful public buildings and state departments in the new
part were also in ruins, as well as a number of matchless palaces.
The people from the upper part of the city who had taken refuge in the
holes along the river front, were for the most part a strange appearing
lot. Some of them carried great bundles which they guarded with
jealous care. Others, empty handed, sat and shivered through the summer
night-chills that blew from the river. Scores of little children clung
to their mother's hands, or wandered trembling and screaming from group
to group, seeking their own people.
There was a general gathering of types. Nobles mixed with the poorest,
meanest and most criminal classes, and mingled with their common
sorrow. For the most part a dumbness, a silence prevailed. The shock
of the national disaster had bereft the people of their powers of
expression.
Since 1770, Poland had been torn and racked by foes on every hand.
Prussia, Austria and Russia envied her wealth, courage, and her fertile
plains. Little by little her enemies had pressed across her shrinking
borders, wet with the blood of her patriot sons. Little by little she
had lost her cherished land until the day of doom August third, 1915.
Sitting, hiding in their desolated city, the people of Poland knew that
theirs was a country no longer on the map. Russia, Austria and Prussia
at least had met. There was no longer any Poland. For generations
there had been no Polish language; it was forbidden by her oppressors.
Now the country itself was swallowed up. No longer on the changing map
of the world had she any place.
But in the hearts of her people Poland lives. With the most perfect
loyalty and love in the world, they say, "We are Poland. We live and
die for her."
A gray haze hung over Warsaw. The streets, after the roar of great
guns, the bursting of shells, and the cries of thousands of people
rushing blindly to safety, seemed silent and deserted. The hated enemy
held the town, and the people of Warsaw, most hapless city of all
history, cowered beneath the iron hand of the enemy.
As is usual in the fearful lull after such a victory, the town was
filled with dangers of the most horrible sort. Murder, crime of every
kind, lawlessness in every guise, stalked through the streets or lurked
down the narrow, dark and twisted alleys. The unfortunate citizens who
had not retreated in time hid, when they could, in all sorts of strange
places. They gathered in trembling, whispering groups, into garrets
and cellars; even the vaults in the catacombs, the old burial place of
the dead, were opened by desperate fugitives, and became hiding places
for the living.
The soldiers were in possession of all the uninjured residences in the
more modern portion of the city, where they reveled in the comforts of
modern baths, lights and heat. But the lower part of the city, lying
along the left bank of the river Vistula, was filled with a strange
mixture of terrified people. In all the throngs, huddled in streets
and alleys, storehouses and ware-rooms, there was perhaps no stranger
group than the one gathered in a dark corner of a great building where
machinery of some sort had been manufactured.
This had, strangely enough, escaped destruction and stood unharmed in a
street where everything bore the scars of shells or bombs.
The engines were stopped; the great wheels motionless; the broad belts
sagged hopelessly. Even the machinery seemed to feel the terrible blow
and mourned the fallen city.
The persons huddled in the shadow of a vast wheel, however, gave little
heed to their strange surroundings. They seemed crushed by a frightful
grief more personal even than the taking of Warsaw would cause in the
most loyal heart.
In the center of the group a boy of fourteen or fifteen years stood
talking excitedly. He was tall, dark as an Italian, and dressed with
the greatest richness. Two rings set with great jewels flashed on his
hand and while he spoke, he tapped his polished boot with a small cane
in the end of which was set a huge, sparkling red stone. He spoke with
great rapidity, in the pure Russian of the Court, and addressed himself
to an elderly man who sat drooping in an attitude of hopeless sorrow.
Near them sat a plainly dressed woman who buried her stained face in
her apron, and wept the hard sobs of those who can scarcely weep more.
A young girl clung to her, silent but with beautiful dark eyes wild
with terror and loss. On the floor lay a wounded soldier, bearing in
perfect silence the frightful pain of a shattered shoulder. His only
bandage was a piece of cloth wound tightly around his coat, but not a
groan escaped his pale lips. At the window, gazing down into the
wrecked street, stood a tall boy of perhaps fifteen years. His face
was bloodless; his strong mouth was set in a straight line; the hand
resting on the window sill was clenched until the knuckles shone white
through the tanned skin. Desperation, horror, and grief struggled
equally in his face. His left arm encircled a boy nearly his own
size. He, like the woman, sobbed brokenly, and the taller boy patted
him as he listened to the rapid words of the boy who was talking.
Suddenly the elderly man spoke.
"You must pardon me, Ivanovich," he said in a trembling voice. "I do
not seen to comprehend. Will you kindly repeat your account?"
A flash of anger passed over the face of the young nobleman; then he
spoke courteously.
"Certainly, Professor! It was thus. You remember, don't you, that I
came to your house as usual, five days ago, for my lessons in English?
And you know the sudden bombardment, so close to the city, was so
terrible that you would not let me go home? Good! Then you understand
all, up to this morning. You know we had watched all night with the
doors barricaded, and we decided it was too unsafe to remain longer in
the direct path of those brutal soldiers. So we prepared to come here,
to one of my father's buildings where there is a chute and an
underground storeroom where we could be safe.
"You send me for this cloak and when I returned, what did I find in the
room where I had left everyone of the household gathered ready for the
flight? The room was empty. I had been upstairs perhaps ten minutes
because I could not find my cloak, and there was the room empty. Sir,
I was furious at you for leaving me. I am in your charge; I am a
Prince; yet you left me --"
The tall boy turned from the window and spoke.
"Never mind that, Ivan," he said. "Just cut that all out and hustle to
the part you haven't told." Although he spoke English, while Ivan told
his story in Russian, the boys understood each other perfectly for with
a frown and quick glance, the boy Ivan nodded and continued.
"I stood for a while and listened but heard nothing. Then I went
through the other rooms on the floor, and all were empty. I decided to
get to the warehouse alone if I could, and crept to the door. I drew
back hastily. A horrible old woman squatted on the step. She was
watching over two great sacks full, no doubt, of valuables stolen from
your house and others. As I looked, two men came up. Criminals, they
looked, and I scarcely breathed. Presently they went away, the men
throwing the sacks over their shoulders, and the woman dragging a
jeweled Icon in her hand.
"I heard footsteps behind me, and there you were coming down the
stairs. You had that package in your hands, and you said, 'Just think,
I nearly forgot my book, Ivan; my great book on the history of Warsaw,
now so nearly finished.'
"You asked where the others were, and you said they had thought it wise
to go in two parties. You said they had told you to be very careful of
something; you couldn't very well remember just what, but it made you
remember your book in your and you hurried to save it. So we hurried
out, and managed to escape the soldiers, and get here and then everyone
cried out, 'Where are the children?'"
"When I went to get my book," said the Professor, with a groan, "they
were sitting quiet as mice by the stove, holding each other's hands.
How could they have gone off?"
The woman looked up. "They could not go," she said. "I myself slid
the great latch on the door; they could not lift it. I have seen
Elinor try to do so. The little stranger was much too small. The
Germans have them, I am sure of it." She bowed her head with fresh
sobs.
"There were no Germans about," said Ivan. "No soldiers of any sort; no
one at all save the three of whom I spoke and they certainly did not
take them away."
"Certainly not!" said Professor Morris, frowning. "They must have gone
out and wandered off while I was after my book, although I distinctly
told Elinor not to stir from her seat. I have always endeavored to
teach my children absolute obedience. I am surprised at Elinor. She
understood. She is six years of age, and she said, "Yes, father."
This is a terrible thing; but they will be found. I will report at
once to the military authorities. I am convinced that they are safe.
Someone will take them in just as we took in the strange child whom we
found at the door. That child, as you know, is a noble, yet she was
lost. These are war times. People are glad to return lost children.
They do not want them. Now if I had forgotten my book, it might have
been burned; three years of effort in this city wasted and lost
forever! I will hide the manuscript in the underground room you told
of, Ivan, then we will go to the proper authorities, and get the
children."
"Bah!" said the soldier with the broken shoulder suddenly. "Go where
thou wilt these days there is no authority save the authority of brute
might. Will that help thee?"
"We must find them," said the Professor brokenly. The seriousness of
the affair was beginning to dawn on him. "It will certainly be
simple. We will advertise."
The girl at his side smiled. "Advertise?" she said. "Why, father,
there are no papers left to advertise in."
"Ivan," said the tall boy at the window, "did you hear what the three
people at the door were talking about? What did they say? The people
you said looked like thieves."
"Yes, they talked," said Ivan, "but it did not seem to mean much. I
didn't get much from it anyway."
"Try to think what they said," said the boy. He passed a hand
carefully across the bright fairness of his hair where a dark red
streak stained it. "Can't you remember anything they said?"
Ivan stood thinking, the jeweled cane still tapping his boot. "Yes,"
he said, "when the men came up, they said, 'What have you?' The woman
laughed -- evilly, and said, 'All the wine we can drink, and all the
bread we can eat, and all the fire we burn for years and years.'"
"The man who had spoken said 'Jewels,' and rubbed his hands. 'That is
indeed good! Jewels fit for a king!"
"The woman said, "Jewels now, thou fool! Where can one sell jewels
these days when one cannot cross the border, and when the world
cracks? No one wants jewels!"
"'Then what?' said the man.
"'Oh, stupid!' said the woman. 'Pick up my sacks carefully and be
off."
"Then the other man who had already picked up the larger sack,
laughed. 'Better than rubies," he said. 'You are always wise, my
woman!"
"And then the other man picked up the other sack and he laughed too,
and the woman held hand to them and whined, 'Please give me some money
for these poor little refugees are starving!'
"At that they all roared, and hurried on."
Ivan paused. "That was all they said," he added. "It doesn't help,
does it?"
The girl Evelyn leaned forward. "Say it again, Ivan," she said
excitedly. "Say just what the woman said"
Ivan, repeated the words.
Evelyn whispered them after him. Then a wild cry broke from her lips.
She turned to her father who sat holding the package containing the
fatal manuscript. She seized his arm and shook him. So great was her
emotion that she could not say the words she wanted.
"Father, father, don't you see it now!" she cried. "Oh, oh, father!
Oh, what shall we do? Oh, my darling little sister!" she gasped, and
the tall boy ran forward and seized her hands.
"Control yourself, Evelyn," he cried. "I never saw you act like this.
Tell me what it is."
She looked at him quite speechless. The agony of all that she had
witnessed, the terror of the past week, the fright of losing her
precious little sister scarcely more than a baby, the blindness of her
father, all had combined to send her into state scarcely better than
insanity. With a desperate effort to control, herself, she looked into
her brother's eyes.
"You see, don't you, Warren?" she begged. "You can't seem to be able
say it.
Say you see it too, Warren!"
Then as if she had found some way of giving him her message of doom,
she drooped against brother's strong shoulder and fainted quietly
away. Warren laid her down, and the governess rushed to her.
"Is she dead?" asked Warren.
"Certainly not," said the woman; "she has fainted."
"What did she try to tell you?" cried Ivan. "Was it something I said?"
"Yes, you told her," said Warren, "and she read it right. I know she
is right."
"Well, well, what is it?" demanded the Professor. "This is fearfully
upsetting, fearfully upsetting!"
Warren bent tenderly above his sister. She was regaining
consciousness.
"It is about as bad as it can be," he said hesitatingly. "The remark
about refugees told the whole thing. Our little sister was in one of
those sacks, gagged or unconscious. They have been stolen to be used
and brought up as beggars."
A deep silence followed. The governess covered her eyes. The wounded
soldier slowly shook his head. Professor Morris, Ivan and jack stood
with bulging eyes staring at Warren, trying to make themselves
understand his speech. Ivan, who knew more of the ways of the half
barbaric people of Poland and Russia, nodded his head understandingly.
Jack stood with open mouth. The Professor rumpled his hair, though
deeply, and laughed.
"Now what would they do that for!" he asked sarcastically. "That sort
of thing is not done nowadays."
"Not in the best families," said Warren coldly. "But it is done, I'll
bet."
"Oh, yes, it's done," said Ivan, "all the time. I know my father
talked a lot about it just before the commencement of the war. He was
going to try to stamp out a lot of that sort of thing, especially what
affected the women and children. Yes, it is done, Professor."
"Not now," said the Professor stubbornly. "There was recorded a case
of that sort in 1793, and even later in the early sixties. Later,
there are no records at all bearing on the subject. And if no records,
surely there are no instances requiring the attention of thinking
people.
"It would be most natural to record any instance of the sort, however
small and trifling. In my researches I would have run across the
facts. There is no mention of it whatever."
"I know it happens anyhow," said Ivan, sticking to his point.
"Ivan, you forget that I am in a position to know," said the
Professor. "My researches have led me, thanks to the presentations of
your father and many others, into secret records never before opened to
outsiders of any race. I regret the stand you take with me. I am
unused to contradiction."
"Pardon me," said Ivan wearily. He looked at Warren. In the minds of
both boys there was a feeling that the mystery was solved. There was
no longer any need to discuss it. A little search around the house
would show if the children were there; after that it meant that Evelyn
was right.
"Well, Ivan's right," said Warren doggedly. "It doesn't matter what
you have found in your researches, father; you have had those dry old
records to prove everything to you. I have heard the people tell
stories that would make your hair curl. They not only steal children,
but sometimes they cripple them, just as they did hundreds of years ago
in England. Why do you suppose boys like Ivan here are watched every
second? Sometimes they take them for revenge, but when they are gone,
they are gone. You can't go out with a wad of bills and stick it
under the park fence, and go back and find your child on the front
stoop like you can at home."
Chapter II
The Search Begun
"Impossible!" said the Professor. "Impossible, Warren! It surprises
me that you should harbor such wild and impracticable ideas."
"It makes sound sense, dad," said Warren sadly. "Europe has been full
of beggars from the beginning of time. And soon, after the war is
over, there will be thousands of sightseers flooding the continent.
What could be more practical from the standpoint of such people as the
ones described by Ivan than to secure two beautiful little children
like our Elinor and the strange child that wandered to our doors? They
would indeed mean 'drink and money and fire.'" He stopped and for a
moment looked reproachfully at his father. "Oh, father, father," he
cried, "see what your dreadful forgetfulness has done! How will you
ever forgive yourself when you think of the misery and suffering you
have brought on your darling! I can scarcely forgive you."
Professor Morris sat with bowed head.
"My son," he said brokenly, "I can not forgive myself. I do not know
what to do. I confess I did indeed leave the children. I thought of
my book. I thought they were safe - and my book - Warren, surely you
do not blame me for getting my book?" He spoke tenderly, even
lovingly, and clasped the bulky parcel to his breast.
"No, I do not blame you for anything, father, knowing you as well as I
do. It is a terrible thing, but we will find her, our precious
darling, if we spend our lives hunting." He turned to his sister and
brother. "Won't we?" he said.
They did not reply, but gazed at him with looks that were more than
promises.
"Well," he continued, "I guess my boyhood is over now. My work is cut
out for me. Come on, Ivan, come Jack, let's get going!"
"What do you think you are going to do, Ivanovich?" asked the wounded
soldier. Like all his class, generations of submission made him ignore
as much as possible all save the one noble. All his attention was
given to Ivan, the young Prince.
"Be careful, Ivanovich," he urged. "It is not possible for you to go
forth in the clothes you wear. There is danger lurking abroad for the
high born."
Ivan shrugged his fearless shoulders. "They would not dare to harm
me," he answered.
"He's right. Those clothes won't do," said Warren decidedly. "We
don't know where we are going, nor whom we may meet. Where can we find
something rough for you to wear?"
"Down below are the workmen's extra blouses," said the soldier. "When
I worked here, the room was kept locked, but you might perhaps force
the door. There are blouses and rough shoes there. But I tremble; I
tremble!" He suddenly lapsed into Polish. "Let these Americans go,
Prince," he begged. "Harm never come to them. They go always as
though they wore a charm. Poland shall yet rise, my Prince. From
these ashes she shall arise more beautiful than ever. She will need
you then."
Ivan listened with flashing eyes. "I shall be here," he said simply.
"I shall be here, I shall answer when she calls, but in the meantime
shall it be said that in Poland, even in her darkest hour, children
were stolen for such evil purposes? Never, never!" He turned to
Warren. "For a year now," he said, "we have been organizing these Boy
Scouts that you have so many of in America. Let us pass the word to
them. If little Elinor and the stranger are to be found, surely they
will find them. My rank has always hampered me, but even then I know
that boys will go where no others can penetrate. What do you think?"
"It's the dandiest idea I ever heard!" exclaimed Warren, his face
lighting. "We will have to depend on passing the word to them as we
find them here and there, but it's the only thing to do, so let's go to
it."
"First the workman's clothes," said Ivan.
"Assuredly!" exclaimed the Professor. "Let us disguise ourselves and
go forth. I know that we will find the dear children playing near the
corner."
"Father, you must stay here," said Warren, determination in his voice.
"Of course not; of course not!" said the Professor. "Do you expect me
to sit idly here while my youngest child needs my protection?"
A smile as sad as tears crossed Evelyn's pale face. "You must stay
here, father," she said. "You would certainly get lost, and then we
would have to hunt for you. It has happened so before, you know."
"That was very different," said the Professor. "A man uses all his
powers of concentration at times, and if it has happened that I have
occasionally been so intent on my studies of Warsaw's past history that
I have for the time forgotten my surroundings, it is scarcely to be
wondered at. The present occasion is different. You will need a man,
with a man's wisdom, and a man's ability to act quickly. I must go; I
am ready."
Warren, knowing his father's stubbornness, hesitated. Catching his
sister's eye, she shook her head slightly. Professor Morris was
scrambling to his feet, still clasping his book.
Warren led his father around the narrow aisle that ran between the
great machines, until they were alone. Then he spoke.
"Father," he said, "you cannot go. Today has made a man of me. I am
sorry, father, but we children are the ones who are always the victims
of your forgetfulness, and we have suffered many times before today.
This is the worst of all. Perhaps we shall never see our little Elinor
again; and I am the one who promised mother when she died that I would
always look out for her. It is my fault that she is lost. I should
have known better than to have left her with you, but I meant to see
the others safely here, and get back before you started.
"I know you, father; you mean to do the right thing by us always, but I
certainly don't know what would happen if we did not look out for you
as well as ourselves." His voice trembled. "I know this does not
sound like proper talk from a boy to his father; but I've got to say it
for once. I promise that I'll never speak so to you again, but I'm
going to get it out of my system this time. Since I can remember we
have been looking out for you. We have had to take care of you and
help you remember your meal times, and your rubbers, and your hat, and
overcoat and gloves and necktie. We have had to see that you went to
bed, and ate and got up and everything else. And all because of
books. It makes you sore at me because I hate them. I ought to hate
them! Your writing and reading and studying have been the curse of our
lives. I tell you, father, it has been just as bad as any other bad
habit or appetite. Why, when you are reading up for some article or
digging into some musty old work, you are dead to everything else. And
we have had to suffer for it. Do you think any other man you know
would have left those children a minute in a time like this?"
He paused and once more pressed a hand carefully on the red stain
across his fair hair.
"Oh, you must forgive me for talking so, dad, but I'm pretty sore.
Little Elinor --" He turned sharply, and hurried away to Ivan. The
three boys hurried down the steep stairs and disappeared. Professor
Morris for a moment, a long, dazed moment, stood looking blankly at the
dark doorway through which his son had disappeared. Then he sank
weakly down on a bench.
As a boy and as a man, he had been noted for his ability to memorize
remarks.
In college the worst of the lectures, no matter how dry, had been all
imprinted on his mind. Now as he sat thinking, he could fairly see his
son's accusing words like large print before his eyes.
For once in his life Benjamin Morris had heard the plain truth from the
lips of his favorite son. Yet he did not realize the seriousness of
his son's charge. He had heard the words, but their real meaning did
not seem to pierce his brain, so filled with knowledge that there was
no room there for any interest in the living, or any thought that the
present, the passing moment in which we make our little life history,
is more precious to each of us then the great moments of the past, no
matter how filled they may be with heroic figures.
Benjamin Morris had been long years ago an infant Prodigy. Perhaps you
fellows who read this have never known one; and if so, you are lucky.
An infant Prodigy shows an unnatural amount of intelligence at a very
early age. So far it is all right; and if he belongs to a sensible
family, he is urged into athletics, and sleeps out of door and manages
to grow up so he will pass in a crowd. But sometimes there are proud
parents who read too many books on how to train a child, and pay too
little attention to the child himself; and there are aunts, perhaps, as
well; and they all take the poor little genius and proceed to train him
all out of shape. He rattles off all sorts of pieces, Horatio at the
Bridge, and Casabianca, and Anthony's Oration Over Caesar, are easy as
pancakes and syrup to him. Then he skips whole grades in school and
plows through college like a mole under a rose bush, enjoying himself
immensely, no doubt, down there in the dark, but missing all the
benefit of the light and air and sunshine. So the infant Prodigy gets
to be a grown Prodigy, and presently an old Prodigy, never once
suspecting that knowledge, hurtfully taken and wrongfully used, can be
almost as great a sin as ignorance.
Certainly Professor Morris, whose sins of learning were heavy ones and
bore cruelly on those who loved him in spite of his strange ways, would
never have believed any of this. At home, as a boy, when Benny
studied, the house was kept so still that incautious mice sometimes
came out of their holes and nibbled in broad daylight. At college his
queerness, forgetfulness and oddity was excused because of his
wonderful recitations and amazing marks. You just couldn't rag a
fellow who made one hundred right along. When he married, he found a
lovely, gentle girl, who believed him the greatest of all men and held
his position as Professor of Ancient History in Princeton as the
highest of all earthly positions. But when Elinor was a year old, the
little wife died, quite worn out from looking after Professor Benjamin
Mollingfort Morris, who had proved to be her most helpless and
troublesome child.
Mrs. Morris died warning her older children to look out for the father,
and so passed her burden on to them. But some way or other, there was
different stuff in the children. They did look after their father, and
took good care of the old Prodigy, but the task did not wear them out.
Young Jack was indeed so bright that it rather worried Evelyn and
Warren, who were always on the alert to overcome any symptoms of genius
in themselves or the other children; but owing to their caution, he
seemed to be developing well. And Professor Morris, blind to it all,
forever digging in the dust of ages, knew nothing of the fact that he
was the father of four wonderful children who were successfully
carrying on the difficult business of growing up, managing a house,
taking care of a parent, and looking after money matters as well.
Warren was the soul of honor. He hated school, but went without a
skip, because it was right. And that's a hard thing to do. He looked
clean, and was clean, and thought clean. And that's hard, too.
Professor Morris, sitting in his study feverishly seeking facts
concerning the table manners of Noah's second cousin twice removed, was
deaf and dumb and blind. Yet when he occasionally "came up for air" as
Warren put it, the children thought him the finest and funniest and
kindest of fathers. It was at one of these times that he came home
with the news that he had been given a vacation for three years with
full pay. This was to make it possible for him to go to Warsaw, and
write an account of some parts of the city's history of which rather
little was known.
Warren and Evelyn, who had read "Thaddeus of Warsaw" were wild with
delight. It was a glorious journey and, on shipboard at least, it was
easy to keep track of the Professor, who had found a very learned
Englishman who disagreed with him on every known point. The two old
men hurried to find each other each morning, and were dragged apart at
night; and the children had time to enjoy the voyage and make many
friends. In Warsaw, which they reached safely, they took a house near
the magnificent Casimr Palace which now houses the University.
Professor Morris did find time to secure fine teachers for the
children, and reliable servants for the house. Warren, who always
boiled with activity, soon made scores of pals, and immediately
introduced the Boy Scouts to Poland.
The young Polish and Russian boys took up the work with the greatest
enthusiasm, and time slipped happily away, until war swept the
continent. Professor Morris refused to believe in its nearness until
it was too late to escape, and they were forced to remain until the day
when Warsaw fell. Now Warsaw, beautiful and proud, Warsaw the
brilliant lay in ruins. Professor Morris, sitting humped over on the
rude bench, thought of the wonderful chance that had brought him were
history, tragic and important, was being made. He did not worry
greatly over the disappearance of Elinor. He remembered several times
in Princeton when she had disappeared. Once they found her under a
bed. He wondered whether anyone had looked under the beds in the
forsaken house. The terrible idea that his baby girl might be actually
lost in the terrible disaster of Warsaw's defeat never once occurred to
him. He was annoyed a little at the disturbance she had caused, and
resolved to speak very severely to her.
He determined also to reprove Warren for his words; but reflecting on
the terrors and excitement and peril of the past hours, he decided to
treat it as a little boyish impatience, and overlook the whole thing.
As for his going back to find Elinor, he supposed it would really be a
waste of time. Warren would be perfectly able to find her; so he
pushed the bench against the wall, snapped a pad from his pocket, was
soon lost in pages and pages of notes on the events of the week.
But down in the clothes room while Ivan hastily took off his rich
garments and fitted himself with rough work clothes from the shelves,
Warren Morris walked the floor and groaned.
"Don't' take it like that, Warren," said Ivan, pausing to place a
sympathetic hand on his friend's shoulder.
"It is awful!" groaned Warren. "She is so little, and so easily
frightened. I believe it will kill her."
"No, it won't," said Ivan. "There is no coward's blood in Elinor.
Wherever she is, she will know we will find her sooner or later. She
will be looking out for us every minute. And no one will hurt her.
You know people don't take the trouble to drag children off just to
kill them. If the three I saw took those girls, they will be careful
enough of them, you may be sure. I would rather have them there than
with soldiers. The only thing I am hoping is that we can trace them
before they leave the city. But I don't believe anyone, even with the
best credentials, can get away for the next few days."
"If we had anything for a clue," said Warren. "Can't you even remember
what they looked like?"
"Not particularly," said Ivan regretfully. "I would know them if I
should see them again. One of the men had a very peculiar walk, but I
couldn't describe it to you. It wasn't a limp; just a queer way of
using his feet. I don't know whether I would know the woman or not.
She looked like hundreds of the sort I have seen down in the open
markets, some of them looking a little more so and some less."
"How more so?" asked Warren.
"Why, perhaps fatter, or thinner, or dirtier, but all lawless and no
account.
I tell you, Warren," he said earnestly, "when I get to be a man, if
our house is still in power then, I shall spend my time cleaning up the
streets and people of Warsaw. Those old holes and rookeries down by
the river, and the streets leading to the wharves have got to be
cleaned out or wiped out."
"Better not let my father hear you," said Warren. "He would tell you
that all that section is historic, and therefore valuable."
"Perhaps it has been," said Ivan. "But we can always refer to your
father's great book on Warsaw, and what the world needs now is light
and space and air."
"Well," sighed Warren, "perhaps the book will help some college grind,
but if he had let the old thing slide, he would never have lost my
sister."
"I do think that we ought to look at it a little from your father's
standpoint," said Ivan gently. "You know the children were in the
house and the door shut. They were playing contentedly, and he thought
it would only take a minute to go upstairs and get the parcel. No
doubt he was a good deal longer than he thought he would be, but he
thought everything was as safe as it could be. I think we would have
done the same thing. Be fair, Warren. Don't you think so?"
"I suppose so," said Warren. "Only now it seems as though it was not
safe to leave them a second."
"That's how it has come out," said Ivan, buttoning his blouse, "but
that's just the sort of thing no one could foresee. One thing seems
certain, if we find them near, or in the house, well and good. If they
are not around there somewhere, I believe Evelyn has solved the thing.
It doesn't seem possible, though, that anyone could have opened the
door, and walked in, and dragged the children right in the house,
without the least sound of disturbance reaching your father upstairs.
Myself, I don't believe the door was close latched, and it may be the
children went out themselves. If they did we will find them soon."
"Elinor has been told a million times never to leave the house," said
Warren hopefully.
"And you know she minds," said Ivan. "I think we will find them all
right, and Evelyn just imagines things. The woman probably meant just
what she said. She doubtless had candles from some church, and clothes
and food in the bags. She had enough to last some time, judging from
the size and weight."
"I hope so, anyway," said Warren. "Are you nearly ready? If we could
only run for it!"
"We can't," said Ivan. "The moment they see you run, you are in danger
of being shot down. It won't take long, even if we do have to go
slowly."
"Well, let's make a start, if you are ready," said Warren restlessly.
They opened the door and found Evelyn waiting for them. She looked
pale and weak, but greeted them quietly.
"Don't be any longer than you can, will you, boys?" she begged. "If
she is hurt one of you stay with her, and the other come for me. Don't
try to bring her here."
"They won't be hurt," said Warren courageously. "But we won't bring
them here at all. We will stay with them, one of us, and come back to
tell you. You know they will be together."
"How wicked I am!" said Evelyn. "I forgot little Rika. She has been
with us so short a time. I am so thankful she is with Elinor. They
will not be so badly frightened."
"Of course not," said Warren. "You go to father, Evvy. We will come
soon."
Chapter III
In Warsaw's By-ways
On the day of Warsaw's downfall, a little girl, perhaps three years of
age, wandered to the door of the comfortable old house where the
Morrises lived. She was dressed with the greatest richness. She was
unable to tell her name, or indeed give the slightest clue to her home
or family. Ivan and the servants declared her a child of the nobility,
but were unable to gain any information from her broken baby talk. She
played contentedly with Elinor all day, and at night when she was
prepared for bed, they found secreted under her dress jewels fit for a
king. Chains of diamonds and rubies encircled her baby neck, and rings
of the greatest value were sewed to her garments, while great brooches
were pinned in rows on her little skirts. Professor Morris, after
pronouncing the collection worth a couple of hundred thousand dollars,
stuffed the lot in a couple of his coat pockets with the remark that he
had better put them away!
Evelyn, however, took the jewels, and sewing them securely in a belt,
fastened it around her own waist for safekeeping. No one doubted that
the pretty child would soon be claimed. They soon discovered that her
name was Rika, but more than that she could not tell them. She did not
seem to feel very lonely or frightened, although she fretted at bed
time, calling over and over some name they could not catch.
Elinor was as delighted with her as though she had been given a
beautiful new doll; and now Evelyn felt sure that they would remain
together unless parted by force - or death. The last thought struck to
her heart like a chill, but she would not admit even the possibility of
such a thing. The certainty that the children had been drugged and
carried off in the two sacks battled constantly with the hope that the
boys would find them playing around the corner, or hidden in some
unfrequented spot. So it was with a cheerful trust that she said good-
bye to the two young workingmen who presently issued from the door of
the great store building, and went rapidly up the desert and torn up
street.
They did not dare run. Rather, they slunk along from building to
building as though fearful of being seen. When they passed a wrecked
chimney, fallen across the street, Warren rubbed some of the soot and
grime on his face and clothes, and told Ivan to do the same. He
thought very wisely that they looked too clean and neat for the parts
they were endeavoring to enact. In addition to the soot, they were
soon soiled and torn from scrambling over wreckage and even Evelyn
would not have recognized them.
Soon reaching the residence portion of the city, they began an
immediate search for Boy Scouts. Out of the hundred or so in their
section, they were fortunate enough to find ten. Several of these were
searching frantically for relatives and friends. Not one but had lost
someone dear to him. They scattered with a will when Warren and Ivan
told them about the two children, but the boys who had been nearest the
Professor's house, all said that they had not seen the little girls at
all. There were no troops moving about that part while the boys were
talking and planning, and they were not molested in any way when they
scattered and began to search every foot of the neighborhood. Noon
found Warren, Ivan, Jack and a couple of others near a wrecked and
deserted bakeshop. There was no one to ask and none to object when
they scrambled over the heaps of stone and plaster and wood, and tried
the doors of the great ovens. Sure enough, there they found, well
cooked and safe, a supply of bread and meant and sweets. Warren and
Jack were broken-hearted at the absence of the slightest clue to
Elinor, but they made a manly effort and managed to eat a good and
nourishing meal, because they knew that they must keep up every bit of
strength they had.
At three o'clock by agreement they all met at the Professor's house.
Not one had secured a single clue. They had searched every empty and
ruined building and had asked every person that they had seen. No one
had been able to tell them anything that sounded at all helpful.
Warren had thought that the fact that the strange child wore a scarlet
dress would be the means of tracing them immediately; but according to
the people they questioned, half the children in Warsaw had worn
scarlet dresses or coats. Warren was sick with despair. After a short
talk, the boys scattered again, working out from the Professor's house
like the spokes of a wheel for about half a mile. As Warren decided
that he had about reached the limit agreed upon, he stood thinking,
when the shrill Scout whistle sounded at his right. It was the signal
to gather, and Warren's heart leaped with delight as he thought,
"Elinor is found."
He crossed the space like a whirlwind, leaping over fallen walls and
dashing around buildings in his mad race.
He found the Scout who had whistled standing at the sagging door of
what had once been a comfortable home.
"Where is she?" cried Warren as he reached the doorway.
The boy shook his head. He was deathly pale, and trembled.
"It is not your sister; you may be glad of that; but we must do
something. Go in!"
Four other Scouts came panting up, all flushed with the hope that
Elinor had been found. They followed the boy who had pushed Warren
through the hall and through another door. Warren stopped appalled.
Half the wall was gone. A bomb had evidently struck the house. On the
bed a young woman lay. She was quite dead. Her ashy face told it
without the evidence of the blood in which she was bathed. By her side
lay a tiny girl. She, too, was still and cold in the last sleep of
death, but by a strange mischance of war, a baby lay unharmed in the
young mother's arms.
Unattended, uncomforted and cold, it had lain there for hours; yet it
lived, and as the boys entered sent up a feeble wail. Shaken to the
heart, Warren walked to the bed and picked up the infant. Its cries
had dwindled to a feeble whining, and it shivered. Warren hastily
unfastened his blouse, and pressed the little being to the warmth of
his body. He could feel it press against him, or so it seemed to him,
as he stood there in that chamber of death. His course, however,
seemed clear. The living child in his arms must be cared for, and at
once. He could only think of Evelyn. The hospitals were either
shattered or filled with too many wounded soldiers. There was no room
in any place of that sort now for a little baby . Life was cheap in
Warsaw that day. He would take it to Evelyn and she would take care of
it somehow. His own little Elinor he dared not think of.
It was with an almost breaking heart that he and the other boys rapidly
retraced their steps and finally gained the warehouse. As he went up
the long stairs, Professor Morris left his corner, and stood ready to
greet them. He was smiling.
"Well, well, where is Elinor?" be asked testily.
"We did not find her," answered Warren curtly. He was so tired that he
staggered as be walked. He gained the top of the steps and, crossing
unsteadily to Evelyn, laid the baby in her arms. Its little pinched
face, and bloodstained dress prepared her for Warren's story.
"It is nearly starved," she said. "What shall we give it?"
"I know," said Ivan. "Babies all drink milk, don't they? There is a
court down below, and when we went out I saw a couple of goats in it."
It was true, and the poor creatures were glad enough to be milked. The
baby, finally fed and warmed, slept exhausted in Evelyn's arms.
In all the cruel war whose dark shadow obscured Europe a great deal of
suffering fell to the share of the poor little babies and the small
children. To older children war could be explained. It was a vast and
terrible something that swept away homes and food and comfort. It was
a monster that devoured fathers and brothers, and left families without
support, and homeless. But there was a reason that could be told, and
which they could understand more or less.
But the tiny ones, alas! What could be told them when their little
world tumbled, when they were carried out from warmth and safety, when
food was denied; when the bosoms that had warmed them grew cold and
unresponsive, what could they do but suffer and die the slow, torturing
death of hunger and cold?
Their little cries arose to heaven, there were no ears to hear them
when the thunder of guns drowned all else. Poor, poor babies! Born,
many of them, to enlighten the world with new discoveries, to cure the
afflicted, to bring joy, they have perished as surely or a cause which
they could not understand as have the soldiers in the trenches.
When great nations are falling, and men are being mowed down like
grass, in numbers beyond the counting, the lives of little babies can
only be held precious by mothers who guard them with their every
breath.
The poor little bit of humanity found by the boys would soon have
closed its little eyes in the death which bad so suddenly overtaken the
mother and sister. But it proved a sturdy little scrap, and after
drinking all the milk they dared give it, cried for more.
It was a pretty child, well dressed and well cared for, and Evelyn
studied it with tender interest as it lay contentedly in her arms. As
she hushed and soothed it into sleep, she talked with her brothers.
Professor Morris had gone to the other end of the long room, and they
could hear him groan as he walked the floor.
"Don't you think that it would be safe now for us to go back home?"
said Evelyn. "We can always prove that we are Americans, and I think
there will be no more lawlessness. What do you think?"
Warren remembered the soldier with the wounded shoulder.
"We can't leave Peter here," he said.
"Why no, but he managed to get up here with help, and I think we can
get him home with us. I don't know what else to do, unless Anna is
willing to stay with him until morning."
"That's the thing to do," said Warren, "but Anna is such a scare cat."
"She ought to be willing to stay with her own brother!" declared
Evelyn. "That shoulder will kill him unless cold water is kept on it
all the time, until we can get hold of a doctor or get him to a
hospital."
"The hospitals are so full that you can't get inside the doors," said
Warren.
"I found that out today."
"Well, we will ask Anna, anyway," she said. She called to the
governess, who approached at once. Telling her the plan, Evelyn waited
for the woman to speak.
"Surely that is a wise plan indeed," she said, to their great relief.
"Peter could not be moved tonight. He is full of fever. And someone
will find our little Elinor, and take her home. Then what could they
do if the house was deserted?"
"I never thought of that," said Evelyn in a grief-stricken tone. "Let
us hurry and get back before it is dark."
"Yes," said Warren, "we could not make it at all in the dark. The
lights are all gone, and the streets are nearly impassable in lots of
places. Get dad, and come on. Don't forget the book," he added,
smiling bitterly.
They hastily brought blouses and overalls from the clothes room below
and made as comfortable a bed for Peter as they could. There was
plenty of goat's milk to drink, and bread from the bake shop, with
which Warren had thoughtfully had the boys fill their pockets.
Then, as the dusk gathered, they hurried out, Professor Morris clasping
the bulky manuscript, Evelyn carrying the sleeping baby, while Warren
and Ivan supported her on either side, and Jack went ahead to pick out
the safest path.
They reached the house after a hard walk, and were soon feeling some
sense of bodily comfort after all the hardships of the day. They
decided to act as nearly as possible as though they were but little
disturbed by the past events, and to assume the position of foreigners
who felt themselves under the protection of their own government.
Naturally, all their thoughts were of Elinor, but night had fallen
black and stormy, and in all the confusion and lawlessness there was
nothing to be done but wait as best they could for morning.
In spite of his anxiety, Warren slept heavily and did not awaken until
his sister shook him, and he opened his eyes to find that it was seven,
7 o'clock.
"No news, Warren dear," said Evelyn. "Only that that poor little baby
is certainly better. Oh, Warren, it is so cunning! I do hope it will
be all right. I want to keep it if we do not find its father. All the
rest of its family must be dead." She sat down on the edge of Warren's
bed. "Do you know," she said, "I feel as though everyone besides
ourselves is hurt or lost or dead or kidnapped? I have been thinking
what I would do if anyone kidnapped me. I would try so hard to leave
some sort of a message. I think if I had my diamond ring on, I would
try to scratch something on a window pane."
Warren smiled. "Try some other plan, Evvy," he said. "They wouldn't be
apt to wait while you found a window and scratched a letter on it."
"You never can tell," said the girl. "Anyhow, that is what I would try
to do. Get up now, Warren, I have a nice hot breakfast for you. Ivan
is dressed and has been out getting things to eat."
Warren hurried down and enjoyed the nice breakfast his sister had
prepared. Jack, who had had his meal earlier, was awkwardly holding
the baby, and seemed quite overcome by the task.
Breakfast over, Warren went with Ivan to the door, and stood for a
moment looking down the street. A couple of men, very evil looking and
dark browed, approached slowly, and passed on in the direction of the
open market. Ivan glanced carelessly at the pair, then stifled an
exclamation of surprise. As they reached a safe distance, lie clutched
Warren by the arm.
"Look, look!" he cried. "Those are the two men who were with the woman
with the sacks."
"What!" cried Warren tensely. "Come!" He started out, and together
they followed the two men.
"What are you going to do?" asked Ivan.
"Shadow them until I find where they stay. That woman is no doubt
there, wherever that is."
"I follow," said Ivan briefly.
Warren paused. "You can't come," he said regretfully. "Someone has
got to look after dad, and as this is a dangerous job, it is my right,
as the older, to do it. I wish you could come, but you see how it is,
don't you?"
"I suppose so," said Ivan mournfully, "but get back so soon as you
can. And if you find Elinor, and need help about getting her away,
come back or send, and I will bring all the Scouts down."
The boys shook hands and parted, Ivan hurrying back to the house with
the news, while the soiled work boy slouched along after the two
skulking villains ahead.
At the open market a few hucksters, braver than most, were selling meat
and vegetables to as many as dared come and buy. The men ahead bought
freely as though money was plenty. Laden down with supplies, they
finally turned and, walking rapidly, plunged down toward the river
where the narrow, twisted streets invited criminals of every kind.
Warren, following them as far off as possible, had to act and think
quickly at times in order to keep track of them. Finally they turned
into a street or alley leading directly to the river, and as Warren
hurried after them they disappeared as suddenly as though they had sunk
into the earth. Warren darted forward.
It was a row of dismal, crowded houses, and Warren was too far away to
know just where the men had turned in. They had disappeared within one
of the doors, and Warren walked openly and boldly along, studying each
house. It was a rash and reckless thing to do.
Warren forgot the teachings of his order, for there is nothing more
persistently urged on a Boy Scout than caution. If Warren had not been
so intensely excited, he would have remembered this. But of course his
excitement was an excuse for forgetting. It is when we are in
dangerous and exciting situations that we must train ourselves to have
every faculty at our command.
It is the commonest thing in the world to hear people tell what they
might have done, and unfold plans conceived after the necessity for
them was past. Such plans make good reading, but poor history.
Warren, of course, tramping hastily down a deserted street, lay open to
disaster, and the defeat of his purpose. If he had reconnoitered as
carefully as he had followed his game, he would have been able to
locate them without the least suspicion on their part that they had
been shadowed. It then would have been simple to have watched for some
unguarded moment, when the boys could easily have gained entrance to
their quarters and secured the children.
There is no great deed accomplished in this world where caution does
not play a great part. In war, in business, in sports, the man who
looms the biggest after the game is done and people have the time to
study things, is the man who had never once failed to exercise a proper
amount of caution. In a fairy story this warning is given: "Be bold;
be bold -- but not too bold."
You see caution does not question or hesitate or delay too long.
Caution keeps right on, but slowly and with a careful regard to safe
footing. Caution keeps you from rocking the boat, and pointing the
loaded gun, and skating near the thin ice. It keeps you from the heels
of the kicking horse. It makes the good general save his men.
Warren forgot. After blocks and blocks of trailing, he bolted down the
street, examining each house with anxious excitement.
Finally he discovered footmarks leading toward a dark, heavy door, and
he stood looking the place over. It was a tall, narrow place which
had, centuries past, been used as a dwelling. What it was at present
Warren could not guess, unless it had fallen to the level of the damp,
rat infested hovel where crime and disease are bred daily in old towns
like Warsaw. Strange carvings of dragons and monsters upheld the eaves
and formed the heavy water spouts. The tiny, windows were bare and
curtainless. They swung open in the wind that blew from the Vistula.
Warren stood looking. He was all alone in the street
CHAPTER IV
HOT ON THE TRAIL
The men had disappeared, and there seemed no further need for caution.
As Warren approached nearer, he noted the dark, tumbledown building,
which looked as though it had been a ruin for centuries, dismal and
uninhabited. Only one thing was noteworthy. The door, a stout one
heavily barred with ornamental straps of ancient and rusty iron, was
fitted with strong, modern hinges, and had been closely fitted in anew
frame. Warren's keen eye quickly grasped these details as he sauntered
past, and stopped before 'the building, but what he did not see, and
could not guess, was the tiny auger hole bored close to one of the iron
frets. Behind that hole stood a man in whose cunning brain suspicion
lurked; and Warren did not know that after that close scrutiny the
trained eye of one of the basest murderers and criminals in Poland
would now recognize him, no matter where they met.
Warren knew that he must gain access to the den, but how?
Thinking rapidly, he resolved to wait until the men again left the
place, when he would rap at the door, and try to get in on whatever
excuse he might need to invent when the moment arrived. He crossed the
street, and entered an abandoned building. For two hours he waited in.
biding, never suspecting the anxious scrutiny he himself was
undergoing.
His wrist watch told him that noon was past. There was no sign of life
in the street. Remembering the loads of provisions that the men had
carried, he decided that they did not intend to come out of their
hiding place until nightfall. That would give him time to return,
report to the anxious watchers at home, and consult with Ivan and the
other Boy Scouts.
With Warren, to decide was to act. He hurried through the shattered
streets, wondering what the careful Evelyn had kept for him to eat.
As he turned the corner he saw before the house a group of people who
seemed to be regarding it curiously. Warren hastened his steps.
Pushing through the group, he entered. The door, torn from its hinges,
swung against the wall. In the hall a heavy chest of drawers was
overturned and the drawers piled together on the floor. The contents
were scattered everywhere. Calling the names of the family, Warren
dashed through the rooms, vainly hoping to find some trace of his
people, or some explanation of the new disaster. Returning to the
door, he appealed to the bystanders. What had happened? They told him
that they had come down the street just in time to see the soldiers
leading off a group of people. More than that they did not know. They
supposed that they were now dead. It was what happened in war.
Warren returned to the house, his head whirling. This seemed the last
and most crushing blow. To have such a thing happen just as he was
about to rescue his little sister and reunite the family! He could not
imagine why this thing should have been done. Why should any soldiers
molest American citizens?
Utterly overcome, he sank down in a chair by the window and leaned his
head on the sill. All gone! He did not know what to do. His quick
and clever brain for the moment refused to act. He raised his head and
looked dully out into the street where the group of curious people was
slowly moving away. For a long time he stared, then his eyes suddenly
set themselves on something nearer. Dumfounded, unbelieving, he
glared. It seemed that he could hear Evelyn's voice, Evelyn's own
words.
"If anyone kidnapped me," she had said, "I think if I had my diamond on
I would try to scratch a message on the window pane."
Indeed, her mother's ring had served her well. Before Warren's eyes,
on the glass, Evelyn had left her message:
"Arrested as spies. Ac't dad's book. Taken to camp. Find Ivan. Tell
Consul. Help."
Clutching the arms of his chair, Warren sat staring at the message on
the window pane. He read it over and over. A curious feeling that his
eyes were tricking him possessed him. He reached out and rubbed the
message slowly, fully expecting it to disappear. The letters felt
rough under his fingers. It was really written there with Evelyn's
diamond. Still unbelief possessed him. How had it happened that she
had foreseen this dreadful mischance clearly enough, in some mysterious
way, to plan the delivery of the saving message?
As Warren looked, the events of the last few crowded days seemed to
rise up and bear him down under their horror and immensity. He sat
clutching the arms of his chair, and with unseeing eyes stared and
stared at the letters. All at once he felt very young, very helpless,
very lonely.
America, his own dear country, with its safety and its careless,
unthinking haphazard hospitality for every living person who seeks her
shores; America seemed suddenly to be set farther than the farthest
star.
Like most American boys, Warren was clever, shrewd and ingenious. Life
with Professor Morris had trained him in ingenuity and efficiency.
Since his earliest remembrance it had fallen to his lot to act as the
head of his family, making decisions that usually are the sole right of
fathers and guardians. But now, under conditions of horror and
tragedy, he realized that he was after all only a boy; and the thought
came to him that he and his, dear and infinitely precious as they were
to each other, counted not at all in the great tragedy of war.
Who was there to help? The American Consul was powerless for the time,
if he could be found. Warren knew that the portion of the city where
he had lived was a shapeless ruin.
The boy continued to sit motionless in his chair, desperately,
desperately puzzling the dark mystery.
Gradually in Warren's dazed mind the whole affair took definite shape.
They were gone; arrested on suspicion. For the moment at least he felt
sure they were safe, even in the hands of an enemy who had shown
themselves utterly cruel and heartless. He felt sure that if they were
suspected of being spies every effort would be made to make them
confess before they were executed, if it did indeed come near that
question.
But "Find Ivan." What did that mean? Evidently Ivan was not with
them. As though in answer to his thought, Warren heard or thought he
heard a faint shout. He listened. It was repeated, with a sound of
pounding and banging. Once more Warren searched the house, beginning
with the old dusty, rambling attic set close under the great beams of
the old house. Down he hurried, from room to room, looking in presses,
under beds, and listening in each room.
As he reached the kitchen, the sound seemed clearer. It was Ivan's
voice. He opened the cellar stairs and went down. Once, years, even
generations past, the house had been the residence of a noble. The
cellar was not the one or two rooms of the modern house. It was vast
and vaulted and contained a dozen dark, unlighted apartments, all with
heavy, iron-barred, oaken doors.
Professor Morris said that two of the rooms had been used as dungeons
and it was in one of these that Warren found Ivan. He stumbled over
him as be opened the door. The boy was bound, but lying on his back,
so had been able to hammer on the door with his feet. The sound of
pounding had carried even better than his shouts.
Warren hastily untied the cords that secured him and helped him up the
stairs. He was stiff and sore from the cramped position, but once in
the upper rooms, he took a deep breath, and proceeded to tell Warren
the events of the morning.
Once more Professor Morris was the cause of the disaster. The
Professor was, fortunately, of uncommon type. He was a modest man --
so modest that it even ceased to be a virtue, and became an annoying
and irritating trait. He never stood up for himself, nor for his
family in any way.
The saying, "Generous to a fault" likewise applied to him. He was a
spendthrift in kindness, giving not only money needed for himself and
the children, but bestowing his time when he needed it himself. His
learning he gave recklessly, too, writing long, learned articles for
little or no pay, and without a thought that the material given away
was just so much capital.
But of one thing he was jealous, careful and touchy. His book, his
almost completed work on Warsaw. It was to be a book of books, so
clear, so accurate, so full of new f acts that it would be a treasure
among the literary treasures of his time. Professor Morris believed in
the book with the conviction that comes to writers when they have done
something really good. He knew it was fine. It was more than a
history of the beautiful and fated city. It was written in such
golden, flowing English that the hardest and driest facts in its pages
were polished and placed like jewels of great price in their
descriptive setting. And they were jewels. He had mined them out of
strange places in that ancient town. He had taken his time and in
digging for his beloved facts, he had found many an unexpected wonder.
Knowing his father as he did, Warren could see the story told by Ivan
as plainly as though he had been present. One thing made him smile as
he recalled it. His father would not use a typewriter, and anything
written in his strange, cramped hand would look suspicions at once.
And he knew, too, that his father would resent even the touch of
strangers on the beloved pages. He smiled a little bitterly.
"Go on, Ivan," he said. "Let's hear it all."
"A detachment of soldiers came down the street," said Ivan, rubbing his
lame muscles, "and as they came they looked through every house. I
suppose they were on the lookout for troops of our soldiers. When
they reached this place, your father met them at door and talked a
moment with the officer in charge. Of course Evelyn and I did not know
what they said, but the officer grew angry and your father just stood
there and smiled and shook his head. Then Evelyn went to your father
and as soon as the officer saw her he bowed very low, and in English
said, 'Prettee, prettee.' Evelyn came back to us and took the baby
from Jack.
"Then the door slammed, and we heard the big bolt fall, and your father
dragged that big chest across it and came in as pleased as could be.
He said, 'There, I have settled that! Such impertinence! They wanted
to search my house!'
"But at that, blows fell on the door and presently it fell and the
soldiers rushed in. Your father had his book and was trying to hide it
in the lining of a chair. Of course they at once thought it must be
plans or something of the sort, and Professor would not tell them a
thing and we couldn't because we could not make them understand that it
was just a book about the history of Warsaw.
When they took it from your father, of course he resisted, and that
settled the matter. We had to go to the headquarters. Of course, your
father would have followed his book wherever that went. As we started,
the officer took Evelyn by the arm, and I think I hit him pretty hard
for it. Anyway he gave a command, and a dozen big fellows took me and
tied me up and carried me down here. It is a good thing you came,
Warren." He shuddered as he thought of the possible ending that his
adventure might have had.
Warren was deep in thought. One event pressed so closely on another
that things lost their significance and importance.
"We have got to get a hustle on now," he said.
"Your American hustle-on; that means act quickly, does it not?" said
Ivan. "We must indeed hustle on. Let us find where they are, and then
apply to your Consul."
"That's all right," said Warren, "but I don't think they are in any
immediate danger and I think the first thing to do is to got hold of
Elinor."
"Get hold of her," said Ivan. "Do you know where she is?"
"Yes, I think I have found her," said Warren and commencing at the
moment when the boys parted on the street, be gave Ivan an account of
his morning's discoveries.
"Good! Good!" said Ivan. "We will go together this time, and together
we will rescue our pretty little Elinor. Have you made any plans?"
"No, I haven't," confessed Warren. "I don't know what ails me; I seem
to be perfectly brainless today. It looks like I am losing everybody
that belongs to me."
Ivan shrugged his shoulders. "Look at me," he said. "My mother long
dead, my father somewhere on the field of battle, or lying dead in the
trenches. I do not know; but I must not think. What I want to do is
to save Professor Morris, my second father, and Evelyn and Jack and
Elinor, who are as sisters and brother to me. Let us start and plan as
we go."
"Have you any money?" asked Warren. "I have not a single copper."
"Nor I, " said Ivan.
"We ought to have some," said Warren. "We might have to bribe those
people."
Ivan laughed, and felt down his blouse. "This might help," he said.
"I hate to give the small one up. It has been in the family, always
worn by the eldest son, for more generations than I know; but if we
have to give it, it will come back. It always has." He offered Warren
two rings, magnificent jewels.
Warren shook his head. "I hope we won't have to use them," he said.
"What of that?" said Ivan. "Jewels, even family jewels, do not count
for much beside the dear ones. Ah, Warren," said Ivan, "it is hard for
boys to talk, even here in Poland, where it is easier to say what is in
one's heart than it seems to be with you Americans. But let me tell
you now all that I think. We do not know what we may get into today,
what peril -- maybe death. I feel danger approaching; I cannot say
how. All the people of my house have been able to foresee disaster.
What it is I know not. So I will say that so long as I do live, I will
never cease to love you and yours. I want you to take this ring that
we have held so long and if we are parted, wear it for the sake of
Prince Ivan of Poland."
Warren swallowed hastily. "Same here!" he said. "You know darned well
I'm strong for you, Old Ivy Scout." He felt hastily in all his
pockets. "Haven't a thing to swap," be continued, "not a --" He drew
out his hand with something in it. "Guess this will have to do," he
said. "It's a buffalo nickel, but I brought it from home. You can
have it."
"Thank you so much. I will always keep it," said Ivan. It was so.
Years after, if Warren could have looked into the future, he would have
seen a magnificent figure at court, one decoration on his jeweled
breast being a coin around which sparkled a double row of priceless
diamonds. The coin was only, a nickel but that mattered not to Prince
Ivan.
As the boys approached the street where Warren had located the house of
the thieves, they decided to hide for a little in the ruins across the
street, and watch for awhile in the hope that the door might open, or
the two men come out.
They made the approach one at a time, and settled down for a long
wait. An hour or more went by, and all at once Warren stuck out a long
leg and noiselessly kicked Ivan. The oaken door across the street was
ajar. Just a crack, and for a long time it remained so, while the boys
scarcely breathed.
It opened slowly, and the two men came cautiously out. They did not
glance across the street, but looking carefully up and down the crooked
alley, closed the door carelessly, and went off at a brisk gait without
a glance behind.
The boys looked at each other.
"Now!" said Ivan.
"Wait!" answered Warren. "Give them time. No doubt they will be gone
most of the night."
There was a long silence, then glancing at his watch, Warren said,
"Come! Do you see that door? They did not latch it. I don't believe
there is a soul over there but the woman. There is just one thing to
do. Go over and look in; and if she is alone we will rush her, tie her
up and get off with the children. We can do it."
"That's the only thing to do," said Ivan. "Let's go."
The street was deserted as they crossed it and stepped close to the
oaken door. It was ajar, and they could see the interior of the dark,
prison-like room. The woman was there bending over a pot that swung on
a crane in the fireplace. A heap of filthy rags was in a corner near
by, and lying there was little Elinor and the strange child Rika. A
sob rose in Warren's throat as he saw his sister, so pale and thin and
terrified she looked. He heard Ivan's breath come sharply.
"Let's rush!" he said.
"You can't!" answered Ivan. "Don't you see the chain on the inside of
the door?"
"It's light, we can break that," answered Warren. "Get yourself
together. When I say three, throw your whole weight. Grab the woman
as quickly as you can."
"All right," said Ivan.
Warren stepped back a space and held himself for a spring.
"One, two," he counted slowly. "Three" was never uttered. He heard a
strange cry from Ivan; and as he did so, a frightful blow from some
heavy, blunt instrument struck him squarely. He crumpled down
unconscious.
Ivan, behind him, evaded the blow aimed at his head by the second
ruffian, and quick as a panther stood back to the wall, gazing at his
assailant.
"Hands down," said the man, grinning evilly. "Hands down before I
brain you!"
"What do you want with us?" demanded Ivan.
The man laughed.
"What would we want of eavesdroppers and spies? This is our house,
poor as it is. We will guard it when young thieves like you come
peering in the cracks.
What did you think to steal of honest men as poor as yourselves? Your
friend here deserves his broken head. Must I give you one, or will you
come with me peaceably?"
"I'll come if you will tell me what you are going to do with us," said
Ivan.
Again the man laughed, and with his foot shoved the body of Warren
lying motionless on the ground.
"Come on," said the other man. "Why waste words? Get hold of him and
bring him along!"
"Let me have my way," said the man standing over Ivan. "This amuses
me. Come, come, young one, what will you - obedience or a broken
head?"
Ivan was silent, then he spoke. "I won't fight," he said. "You are
too big, but I won't go in that door with you."
"So!" said the man. "Then we do it in this fashion." He made a rush
at Ivan and seizing him in his arms, held him until the other man
lifted Warren and so, half carrying and half dragging Ivan, he followed
through the dungeon-like doorway into the gloom and chill of the great
room beyond.
CHAPTER V
IN THE ENEMY'S HANDS
Ivan's first impression was of a dead, heavy chill which the fire
burning in the great fireplace at the other end of the vast room was
powerless to lighten. The place was half underground, and what light
entered was filtered through dusty and cobwebbed panes of leaded glass
set high under the vaulted roof. The windows partially lighted the
heavy oak beams which supported the ceiling, but the lower parts of the
room lay in deep shadow. Emblems and rude pictures were scratched and
chalked on the walls, but Ivan could not make them out in the dim
light.
Running the width of the room before the fireplace was a massive table,
and on either side of it were benches built where they stood. From the
size and strength of them, they might have been intended for the use of
a race of giants or exceedingly fat men! Their carved bases spread
heavily apart, and huge dragon claw feet braced them on the floor
which, beneath and around the table, was carefully paved with stone.
At one side of the fireplace a great pile of wood was placed, broken
and splintered pieces picked up from the buildings which had been
shelled by the great guns of the enemy. Bits of oaken beams, pieces of
rare, highly polished furniture, and scraps of priceless carvings made
the pile which soon would go in flames to cook the wretched supper even
then in course of preparation.
A woman stood by the table, scraping scales from a fish. A heavy knife
was in her hand, and as she raised her dark and scowling face Ivan
recognized her and shuddered.
As she stood watching the entrance of the group at the door, scowling
and peering through the gloom, she looked to Ivan's eyes like one of
the furies of the French Revolution. All the history he had read of
that dreadful period was made clear and real to him. Ivan, closely
watched, and closely guarded from harm, had up to the time of the
bombardment of Warsaw, never come in contact with anyone out of his own
noble class with the exception of the Morris family. His father,
knowing the educational standing of Professor Morris in America, and
judging the whole family by his mild, inoffensive manner, had decided
to allow Ivan, his son, to learn English from The Professor. It had
not occurred to him, a man of many affairs, to suspect the presence of
an ingenious lively, mischievous whirlwind in the person of the
Professor's elder son.
When Ivan told his father with enthusiasm of the Professor's family,
the Prince imagined them of course to be exactly like the Professor,
and rejoiced that Ivan could be among such studious and book loving,
quiet people. So he told Ivan that he might spend what time he liked
with the Morris family, and then forgot the whole thing in the fearful
question of War which soon arose. When he left for the Russian front
he left orders that in case of any peril or disaster Ivan was to go to
the Morris house and there remain for greater safety.
Before the happenings of the last chapter, however, Ivan had been
almost constantly with Warren for a year, and had so imbibed his
democratic ideas and had studied so hard to make good as a Scout that
Prince Ivan the Magnificent, had he returned, would have had difficulty
in recognizing his only and dearly loved son.
But as a matter of fact, Ivan the Magnificent did not return. Instead,
blood stained, mud stained and distorted, he slept in a far away trench
past which had swept the invaders' line, grim and terrible.
He had fought well and desperately for the honor of Poland until at
last, under a leaden rain, Ivan the Prince had gone to meet the fate of
Ivan the Man. And not one word of this did Ivan the boy suspect.
It had never seemed that harm could touch his wonderful father. He
must be safe; and Ivan moved through his many adventurous days with
only the thought that he would have so much more to tell his father on
one of the rare and precious evenings when Prince Ivan's duties at
court and with his regiment would allow him to spend a few happy hours
with his son.
So it was with a keen and appraising eye that Ivan viewed that dark and
dungeon- like interior, thinking to tell his father all about it.
The woman beside the table scowled darkly as she saw the group.
"What now?" she demanded. "Are those the spies? They are nothing but
boys! Why do you bother with them, Michael Paovla, why did you bring
them here? Crack them on the head! The river runs swift enough down
the street there."
She brandished her knife as she spoke.
"I will not give them one single meal, do, you hear that?"
"Peace, Martha! Do not jest," said the large man with a wry smile.
He looked at Ivan as he spoke.
"Who are you?" he asked. Clothed as the boy was in mean and soiled
garments, there was still something distinguished about him.
He stood proudly erect. Perhaps his name would help out.
"Ivan Ivanovich, of the House of Sabriski," he said, looking the man in
the face.
The three shouted with laughter. "Isn't he clever?" cried the woman.
"Ask him something else!"
"No," said the man. "I want to think that over. Come, it is cold
here!"
He picked Warren up from the floor where he had thrown him, and,
carrying him down the long room, made his way around the great table
and dropped him roughly on the pile of rags where, Elinor and Rika
were crouched.
Poor little Elinor, huddled on her pile of rags, did not recognize the
limp burden carried in by the larger of the two men, whom she had
learned to dread with unspeakable terror. When he threw it down in the
middle of the room, the pale face was turned toward the child, and she
recognized, Warren. She commenced to scream. Shriek after shriek left
her pale lips, and the man started over to her side, when a short,
sharp word silenced her. She looked to see who had spoken, calling her
so familiarly by name.
"Stop, Elly, stop," said the voice in English, and her cries were
stilled as by magic, although she still gazed with longing and terror
at the pale face down which a tiny line of blood trickled.
The second man clasped a second boy, dirty and torn, and meanly dressed
in a workman's blouse. She stared at him, never recognizing Ivan, whom
she bad always seen so gorgeously clothed in furs and fine broadcloth
and exquisite linen. It was not until he spoke again that she
recognized him.
"Be quiet, Elinor," he said. "We will save you. Warren is not hurt,
he is just dizzy. He will be all right soon."
Ivan spoke hopefully, but as he looked down at the boy lying before
him, he wondered in his heart if there was really a spark of life left
in that still, pale, bleeding body. As for Elinor, after the first
outburst, she sat dumbly trembling.
The past day and night bad been so crowded with horrors that the tender
children were fast passing into a state where they neither realized nor
felt the hardships and abuse they were subjected to.
The time when they sat playing in Professor Morris's quiet house seemed
too far away to remember.
They bad been playing happily, the two children, when the family
decided to go away for a few hours, but so happily were they with their
dolls and each other, that they paid no attention to the stir and
unrest about them. Even Elinor, who was almost six years old, had not
concerned herself with the sound of the big guns.
She did not notice when her father left the room. If he told her, as
he thought be had, to "sit quietly" and await his return, she failed to
hear him. So she took Rika by the hand and. "went, visiting." They
sat down on the top step, and looked into the empty street, and watched
occasional groups of fleeing Poles hurry past to the safety of the
plains. A rough looking woman came past, noticed them, and returned,
looking as she did so at the house, and peering into the hall through
the open door.
Then she approached the children and in a, voice she tried in vain to
make soft, she asked what they were doing, and who they were.
Little Rika, who could say but few words, sat and stared at her with a
frown.
Elinor answered politely. The woman studied them carefully. Elinor
was a child whose beauty was always remarked wherever she went, and the
little Rika was equally lovely. They had been used to kindness and
attention from everyone, so when the woman took out a queer little box,
and offered them each a funny little black candy, they accepted them
quite as a matter of course. Then she drew back, and the children
turned to their dolls again. But only for a moment. Then the head of
golden curls and the long, black ringlets drooped and the drugged
children were asleep. The woman shook two big sacks out from beneath
her dress, and as coolly and as cruelly as though she was filling them
with straw, she shoved a child in either bag, crossed to the curb with
her heavy burden, and sat down to wait.
When her two accomplices joined her, they went rapidly to the hovel
where Warren had tracked them hater, and releasing the half smothered
and unconscious children, they laid them down on a pile of rags, and
sat looking at them, while they ate their evening portion of black
bread and cold fish.
There was a great discussion. The larger man, Michael, was in favor of
offering the children for a ransom. The others would not consider it
at all.
"Remember," said Martha, the woman, "there is much danger in collecting
such fees. Rather will I prepare these little ladies for the trade of
beggars. So beautiful are they that I can go through every capital in
Europe, if so Europe still stands."
"Have it your own way," said the smaller man, Patro by name.
"I always do," she said simply. Then she studied the sleeping forms
again.
"I think it will be well, some time soon, to twist the legs of the
small one," she said. "She would make a sweet cripple."
" No!" said Michael. "You may not do so. I will not have it."
The woman laughed. "Said I not that I have my own way?" she asked.
"All right, Martha, you do," said Patro, "but believe me, it is better
to take the greatest care of those little ones. Think what dancers
they may make some day. There is a fortune in those little feet, I'll
be bound. Be careful of them, watch them, and perhaps some day they
may be prancing on the opera stage at St. Petersburg, or even here in
Warsaw."
The woman sat thinking for a little. "Perhaps you are right," she
said. "People are dance-mad these times. They are pretty enough to
climb to any heights."
Patro laughed.
"Why laugh?" said Martha angrily.
"Nothing, nothing, dear Martha, only that it is funny to think you are
taking these children down from the heights where they belong so that
they may climb back for your pleasure."
The woman's brow grew black. She reached out a heavy foot, and pushed
Elinor away from her.
"Not for thy pleasure," she said sneeringly.
"No, Patro, no! They are to pay me over and over for my life. Drop
for drop, pain for pain, I will take from them all I have myself
suffered. They shall sleep cold, because so I slept all my childhood.
They shall hunger because I did so. They shall beg in the streets
while I listen. Ah!" she shook her fists above her head, "I have hated
all the world, and now these shall pay me!"
Patro shrugged his shoulders. "As you will," he said. "They are
coming to life again, however. I would advise you to feed them enough
to keep beauty in their faces and grace in their limbs, if you indeed
wish to use them for food and light and fire."
"That is sound sense, Patro," she answered, and when the children came
dizzily to consciousness again, she treated them with almost a rough
kindness. But when they cried, she beat them, taking pains to let the
blows fall where they would not leave visible scars or bruises.
So passed the dragging hours, until Warren, unconscious and bleeding,
was flung down at Elinor's side.
"There!" said Michael. "You will spy, will you? Well, we have you
now. And when next you walk the streets, if so you do, you will have
cause to remember Michael Paovla and his friends."
Patro frowned. "You are too handy with names," he said. "Trust only a
dead dog."
"Leave that to me," said Michael with a dark frown. "You," he said to
Ivan, "you see this gun? We'll not bind you, but if you stir toward
the door, or make a move to free yourself, you are lost. I will shoot
you down."
"We only want the children," said Ivan boldly. "Give them to us, and
we will go away, and you will not be harmed."
The three set up a shout of laughter. "Thanks, thanks!" said Michael
when he could speak, but Martha said angrily, "What! Give up my fire
and light and food? Not much!"
"Suppose I pay you," said Ivan, "I will reward you well."
Again a shout went up.
"A million thanks," said the woman. "What will you give -- a dozen
dried fishes?"
"You don't know me," scowled Ivan proudly. "I am the son of your
Prince, Ivan the Brilliant. Beware how you treat me and these friends
of mine."
"The boy will kill me!" cried the woman, leaning back and wiping the
tears of mirth from her leathery cheeks. "Go on, go on, my prince.
And will you not ask us to the palace some day soon? We would like to
see you at your own home."
'Give us the children and set us free, and you may come," said Ivan
after a pause.
"No; you are too amusing," said the woman. "Rather we will take you
with us, or else leave you safely locked here where no one shall
disturb you."
Ivan looked at the worn and haggard children and the form of Warren now
stirring slightly, then he handed the great ruby to Michael.
"Take, this and let us go," he pleaded.
The man looked wonderingly at the flashing stone. "So you too help
yourself in these war times?" he said sneeringly. "What else do you
carry, little rat?"
He ran a practiced, light fingered hand over Ivan, searching for more
jewels, but of course found none.
Night seemed to come all at once in the dark and partly underground
room. Warren, untended, came slowly back to consciousness, and lay
where he had fallen in a sort of doze. Little Elinor crept to him and,
laying her head on his shoulder, went to sleep. Presently Martha began
to yawn, and the men nodded where they sprawled on the benches. The
woman drew out an armful of rags, and prepared for the night by
wrapping another shawl around her shoulders.
The men rose after a whispered consultation, and taking Ivan to the
furthest and darkest corner, tied him securely to a ring in the wall.
His bonds were loose enough to permit him to lie down on the hard earth
and stone floor, but he sat with his back against the wall, wide awake,
every nerve tense and quivering.
Twice Michael came and looked at him in the light of a torch from the
fire, and retreated muttering. Ivan decided to pretend sleep. The
third time Michael gave a grunt of satisfaction.
He went back to the fire and beckoned the others from their pallets.
"He is dead asleep," he said in a low whisper. "We must make our
plans."
"Good!" said the woman. "What do you want to do about it?"
She too whispered in a low tone and it struck Ivan that for some
strange reason he was listening to a conversation spoken in tones that
ordinarily could not be heard three feet away from the speakers. He
listened intently. Every syllable was clear and distinct. Owing to
some peculiar formation of the vaulted ceiling, the sounds were brought
to him, forty feet from the speakers, as accurately as though spoken
into a telephone. Ivan's courage rose once more.
He heard the man Michael light his pipe.
"I don't know," he said.
"Of course not!" sneered the woman. "You never do! I suppose you
don't want to kill them?"
"What's the use?" asked the man. "Why blacken our souls further than
we must?"
"I'll tell you why," said Martha suddenly. Her whisper cut like a
knife. "I'll tell you. Because I fear them. Boys as they are, I fear
them! There is a spirit in the eyes of the one who calls himself Ivan
that will never die until death blinds them. The little rat! The
smart little rat! Calling himself a prince! My, I wish I had had the
training of him. Well, whoever he is, he is a Pole, and he will hurt
us yet. I feel it. I can feel it, anyway, that harm will come to us
through those boys. I warn you, Michael. Patro, I warn you.
Once, twice, thrice! You know I never fail."
There was a silence, and Ivan heard Patro catch his breath sharply.
"Well, what would you?" he said finally.
There was a note of triumph in the woman's voice when she spoke.
"Tomorrow night," she said, "we will leave them here, tied to the
table. I will leave food on the table for them, just enough for one
meal. I have still my little friends in the pill box on the chimney
ledge. They are as strong as ever. We will not stay to see whether
they eat or not. But I think they will, because I will see to it that
they do not taste much food tomorrow. We will lock the door. I will
go down to Prague. They say it is but little harmed, and I have a
sister there. I will give the smaller child to her. I have a fancy
for the light one myself, and they are too unlike to pass off for
sisters."
There was a long pause. Then, "Have it as you like," said Michael.
"Of course, the boys will bother a good deal, if they go free."
"Certainly they would," said Martha. "We would never know where they
would crop up, especially that Ivan one."
"Suppose they do not eat?" asked Patro.
"Eat, eat!" cried Martha. "Well, know you nothing of boys! And they
will suspect nothing. You are brutes, brutes, remember, and I so kind
and so sorry," she laughed. "They will believe all I say," she added.
Michael nodded. "Then it is settled," he said.
In the United States, every possible precaution is taken to protect
children from harm. Laws are made especially for their safety;
societies exist in every town and city to look after them. They go
unharmed through the streets. Noble men and women give their lives to
visiting the poorest districts and making easier the lot of the
unfortunate ones they find there. Special cases are frequently written
up in the papers, and help found for them in that way. In factories,
shops, stores, asylums, in the streets, in the slums, every possible,
effort is made to make the lot of children an easier and happier one.
In a great number of the European countries, the case is different.
There are no laws, for instance, governing the age at which a child
shall be put to work. In fact, in order to keep body and soul
together, children labor from the time they are babies. They do the
work of farm animals when their little hands can scarcely grasp the
implements of toil. There are many, oh, so many of them; and they are
held cheaply. Poorly clothed, poorly fed, they take kindly to theft,
as a means of getting the necessities of their bare, miserable little
lives.
Once upon a time, there was a dark and dreadful age when making
cripples and dwarfs was a regular trade. Children were taken (nearly
always stolen ones) and their limbs twisted, or their faces distorted,
in order to gain sympathy from the passersby, of whom they were taught
to beg. That frightful time is long past; but the trades of begging
and thieving are still taught.
And to criminals like those in whose hands the children had fallen,
life, and child life especially, was too cheap and of too little
account to matter much. They did not in the least mind the
contemplation of a crime as horrible as the one they had just decided
on. They were afraid of the bright, alert Scouts who had fallen into
their clutches, and to them there was but one way to treat the matter
-- the shackles and the poisoned food.
CHAPTER VI
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
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