The rats were making a good deal of noise as they came home, but as they approached their cellar, and the dreadful smell of spoiled onions crept into their noses, they became quieter. When at last they found that they were unable to get into the cellar at all, and that the holes and runs which they had dug, and where they had stored their provisions, were closed to them, they were good and mad. They milled around on the windward side of the cellar, and occasionally one would make a quick dash at the steps, only to be brought up short when that terrible smell rolled to meet him.
Rats are vicious and bad tempered animals, particularly when they are hungry, and these rats, cut off from their food supply, probably felt a lot hungrier than they were. And pretty soon they began fighting among themselves. Simon, with the help of Ezra, broke up several of these fights; and then he cuffed and slapped his rioting family into silence.
“Listen to me,” he said. “There’s no good standing around and yelling. This cellar is no use any more; it will be a year before any of us can go in there, and in any case all the food is so tainted with rotten onions that we couldn’t eat it. We have got to give up the Grimby house.
“But that isn’t to say that we are going to give up in our fight against Freddy and his gang. We’re going to go back in the woods and dig in. We’re going to keep up our raids, and we’ll fight this fight to a decision this time. Old Bean and his smart pig and his educated cows and the rest of ’em—they’ll be sorry before we’re through with them. We’ll take the farm this time.
“But there are things to do. Eli, you go get Garble. He’s probably at the Underdunk house in Centerboro. It’ll take you till morning, and by that time whoever drove us out of the cellar with these onions will show up here, probably with guns. Garble must get the police here. He must tell them that Ben Bean’s rocket ship is on his property, and that they have got to make him remove it. That will get the police here; then if the Bean animals come, we can have them arrested for trespassing.
“The rest of you come with me. That ship is fully provisioned, and what we have got to have first, now that our food supply is spoiled, is provisions.”
The rocket was indeed almost ready for its next flight, and Uncle Ben had enough food for several months stored in it. He never bothered to close the door. The ladder gave the rats some trouble, but, once up it, they soon broke into the food lockers.
It was at about this time that Old Whibley and Uncle Solomon, having waited in vain for several hours at the cornfield, flew back to the Big Woods to see what had happened. The rats had just broken open a box containing a dozen large fruit cakes, and were laughing and shouting and having a gay old time. The owls looked at each other. They didn’t say anything. Then Whibley flew up and perched on the tip of the rocket and stood poised there, ready to swoop if a rat poked his nose out of the door; and Uncle Solomon flew off to warn Freddy of what had happened.
Inside of an hour the army of the F.A.R. had been mobilized. Ten minutes later it marched. For fighting the rats in the open, the high command felt, was different from fighting them in a dark cellar. With his flanks exposed, and no holes to dodge into, Simon could be fought on at least equal terms.
Mrs. Wiggins, as President and Commander-in-chief, led. Beside her went Hank, his rheumatism forgotten, proudly carrying the flag, and just behind marched her staff: Freddy, Jinx and Charles, with Leo, representing the circus. And then the animals: the two cows, Mrs. Wiggins’s sisters; Peter, the bear; Mac, the Wildcat; Bill, the goat; Freddy’s horse, Cy; the two dogs; the fox; and then all the small animals—woodchucks and skunks and squirrels and chipmunks and rabbits, two by two—a most imposing procession. Even the two ducks, Alice and Emma, waddled along determinedly in the rear.
At the edge of the Big Woods the army spread out and continued the advance on a broad front. As they moved up through the trees, they could hear the singing and shouting as the rats caroused in the storage room of the space ship. The order was passed down the line: “Advance quietly. The signal for the charge will be given by the bugle.” Jinx, of course, was the bugle; he could lift his voice in a wail that carried half a mile, and had indeed once spent some time practicing bugle calls. But he had never become very good at them. Cats are persistent enough when waiting for something to eat to come out of a mouse hole, but they won’t keep up practicing singing, or playing any instrument, unless they get rewarded all the time.
But the charge was never sounded, for as the army closed in on the rocket it became obvious that there was nothing to charge at. The ship was an impregnable fortress. Mrs. Wiggins consulted with her staff, and then Jinx went forward under a flag of truce to demand surrender.
The rats laughed and sang louder than ever, and the songs they sang were not complimentary.
“Freddy, Freddy, Snoopy-snoot!
Wears the farmer’s cast-off suit.
See the pig in farmer’s clothing;
Look on him, O rats, with loathing.
Dirty Freddy, dirty suit.
Snoopy, sneaky, piggy-snoot!
Dirty old Freddy!
When he goes to bed, he
Keeps on his breeches and keeps on his shoes.
Keeps on his shirt—he
Likes to be dirty;
Never washes, swims, scrubs, bathes, or shampoos.”
The rats refused to listen to Jinx, and finally he returned to where Mrs. Wiggins and her staff were waiting.
“Well,” she said, “I guess we’ll have to settle down to a siege. If we surround ’em, at least we can keep ’em from getting out and doing any more damage. And they’ll have to come out sometime. They’ve got lots of food, but the water tanks aren’t filled yet. They’ll get pretty thirsty by tomorrow.”
“Hey,” said Freddy suddenly, “they’re monkeying with the fuel control valves!” He ran out and stood under the door of the ship, which was still open. “Hey, Simon!” he called. “You better leave all those levers and valves alone, or first thing you know you’ll be sailing around above the stratosphere.”
Loud jeers were all that answered him, and he came back. “We’ve just got to hope,” he said, “that they don’t pull the wrong levers. The ship’s all ready to go. But I don’t know what we can do.”
“I’ve been wondering,” said Mrs. Wiggins, “if we oughtn’t to send for the Martians. Maybe they’d be some help.”
“I don’t think so,” Freddy said. “Webb tells me that they’re very peaceable people—the kind that like to sit around on the sidelines and cheer, but don’t particularly want to get into the fight.”
“Well, there’s nothing much to cheer about now,” Leo remarked.
But the siege didn’t last long. About eight in the morning four people came out into the clearing around the rocket: Mrs. Underdunk, Mr. Garble, and two state troopers. The rats became suddenly quiet.
“This the ship you want Ben Bean to move?” one of the troopers asked. “Well, I’ll go down to the farm and tell him to get it out of here. Though how he’s going to do it—”
“That’s his problem,” said Mr. Garble. “What are you animals doing here?” he asked Mrs. Wiggins. “This is my property; you’ll have to get out.”
“Bean’s animals, ain’t they?” said the other trooper. “Sure, you’re Freddy, aren’t you? Well, Freddy, you’ll have to leave—you and your friends. Good grief, how many of you are there?”
“Couple of hundred,” said Freddy. “And we’re here to—”
“I don’t care what you’re here for!” Mr. Garble exclaimed angrily. Now get out, or I’ll have you all run in.”
“Guess you’d better do as he says,” said the trooper. “It’s his land—”
“Hey, look,” said Freddy. “You promised that Uncle Ben could keep the rocket here. And he’ll be ready to start out in it in a day or two more.”
“You blackmailed me into promising,” Mr. Garble replied. “You were going to tell Boomschmidt that the Martians weren’t real. But there aren’t any fake Martians any more. So
I guess he’ll have to take his machine out of here. And you get out too, all of you. What’s that?” he asked, as his sister whispered in his ear. “Oh, well, I don’t see why not. It’s just Simon in there.”
Mrs. Underdunk started towards the rocket. The first trooper said: “What’s all this? Who’s in there?”
“Workmen,” said Mr. Garble. “My sister just wants to have a peek inside.”
They watched her as she crossed the open space before the ship. She went up the ladder and stepped inside. And then Freddy heard a noise that he recognized—the squeak of the valve that controlled the fuel, and the little plop that fired the burner that set off the rocket. “Stand back!” he yelled. “They’ve started her! Run!” And he threw himself flat on the ground.
Fortunately, they were all standing back at a considerable distance. For suddenly, with a terrific roar, flame burst from the lower end of the rocket, and then with a tremendous Whoosh! the ship shot up into the sky. Trailing smoke and flame, it gathered speed, the roar died away; in a matter of seconds it was out of sight.
WHOOSH! the ship shot up into the sky.
“Gosh, and they had the door open!” Jinx exclaimed, as he picked himself out of a bush into which the blast had blown him.
“It closes automatically when the ship starts,” Freddy said. “But oh, golly, what will Uncle Ben say?”
CHAPTER
21
Zeke and the four other rats were getting pretty sick of their prison. It was a large rat-trap, but it had never been intended to accommodate so many guests. It was rather like a sardine can with open sides. Another bad feature was that the rat named Banjo snored. As there was nothing for them to do but sleep, since they were packed so tightly they couldn’t even do setting-up exercises, this was very trying, and so they did their best to keep Banjo awake. They bit him till he squealed.
They squabbled so much that Willy got pretty tired of having them in his cage, and it was on the morning that Mrs. Underdunk and Simon and his family had sailed off into the solar system that the boa decided to do something about it. He couldn’t appeal to Mr. Boomschmidt, who had never known that Mr. Garble’s Martians were fakes, so he started off for the Bean farm, to see Freddy.
He was just gliding down Main Street in Centerboro when he heard a sound of singing, and then the shuffle and tramp of many feet, and around the corner came the entire army of the F.A.R., with banners flying, singing at the top of their lungs. It was a new marching song Freddy had composed. The verse was to the tune of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” and the chorus to “Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the Boys Are Marching.”
“On, the starry flag is flying, and the summons has been sent,
And the animals are rallying around their President;
When the Bean farm is in danger, none can be indifferent,
So we march to victory!
CHORUS
Tramp, tramp, the animals are marching!
Look out, Simon, here we come!
For beneath the starry flag
(Though we do not like to brag)
We will bang you on the nose until it’s numb!
You can hear our bugles blowing, you can hear the steady beat
Of our drums, and now the shuffle of a thousand marching feet;
And you’d better pack your suitcases and gallop up the street,
For we march to victory!”
There was another verse, but Freddy hadn’t finished it, so it had to be sung like this:
“You can rum ti tum ti tumty, As we dum di dum di doe.
We’ve prepared for you a tumty that will fill you full of woe.
We will dum di dum di dum you till you dum di dum di doe,
As we march to victory!”
Of course a lot of people sing “The Star Spangled Banner” that way.
Their purpose, however, was far from warlike. When their enemy had vanished into the sky, there suddenly wasn’t anything for them to do. An army which has marched to the attack, and then finds that there isn’t anything to attack, looks pretty foolish. So they had decided to go to the circus. They had marched all the way from the farm.
And Mr. Garble was with them. He was not, however, a prisoner—at least he was a willing prisoner—he had come along at Freddy’s suggestion in the hope that he might be able to persuade the Martians to do something to rescue his sister.
Mr. Garble was not fond of his sister. He was not fond of anybody but Mr. Garble. But he didn’t want to lose her, because he lived on an allowance that she gave him, and if she was careering around somewhere in the Milky Way, who was going to sign his checks?
Inside the circus grounds the army broke ranks and went to look at the side shows. Mr. Garble, with Freddy and Leo—and, of course, Mr. Webb—went to the Martian tent, where Mrs. Peppercorn was taking in the half-dollars. He started to dip a hand into the barrel, but Mrs. Peppercorn rapped him sharply across the wrist. “You keep your sticky fingers out of there, young Herbert,” she said. “I don’t know who this money belongs to now, but certainly none of it belongs to you.”
He started to protest, but a deep voice interrupted. “Muster Garble. I been lookin’ for yuh. That there joke yuh tol’ me—wull now, wull you just tell it to me again?”
“There’s no time now, Herc,” Mr. Garble said impatiently. “I’m busy.” He started to go into the tent.
But Mr. Hercules took him by the arm. “Only take a minute,” he said. “Look now, Muster Garble. Mike says to Pat: ‘Begorry’—no, that ain’t it—‘Begorra’—that’s how ’twas—‘Begorra, Pat, ’tis a foine day.’ That right, Muster Garble?”
“Sure, sure,” said the other. “And now, let’s—”
“Then Pat says: ‘Sure, if it don’t rain.’ That the way ’twas, Muster Garble?”
“You’ve got it exactly right, Herc,” Mr. Garble replied. “Ouch, don’t squeeze my arm so hard.”
“Uh thought that’s way ’twas,” said Mr. Hercules. “But Uh been trying to laugh about it, because you said ’twas funny. Been tryin’ hard, Muster Garble. But Uh couldn’t. So Uh told ut to ’Restes. He says ’tain’t funny. Thut wasn’t nice, Muster Garble, tellin’ me ’twas funny when ’twasn’t. ’Twasn’t nice at all.”
Mr. Garble laughed. “Just a joke, Herc. Just a joke.”
“Yuh. But Muster Garble, when Uh get fixed to laugh, Uh got to laugh. U’m all fixed now, and nothin’ to laugh at. So I got to make somethin’, ain’t I?”
“Sure, Herc; sure.”
“O.K.,” said Mr. Hercules. “U’m goin’ to warm your breeches, Muster Garble.” So he grabbed Mr. Garble and turned him over his knee and gave him a good sound spanking.
Mr. Garble howled and roared with pain and anger, and Mr. Hercules howled and roared with laughter, and I don’t know which made the most noise. A lot of animals and people gathered. Most of them laughed, too, for Mr. Garble was as unpopular a character as you could find in the entire county. But Andrew, the hippo, said:
“Aw, let him up, Herc, you’re hurting him.”
“Think so?” said Mr. Hercules. He turned Mr. Garble the other way up as easily as though he were a doll, and looked in his face. “Huh!” he said. “Face is red. But it ain’t his face I’m spankin’.” Then he began laughing again and set Mr. Garble on his feet. And Mr. Garble hurried away, rubbing his back with both hands.
Freddy went on into the tent, and with the help of Mr. Webb had a talk with Two-clicks. The Martian said he’d be glad to go after Uncle Ben’s ship with the flying saucer. “We can overtake her all right,” he said, “and we can transship the passengers without harming them. But we can’t bring the rocket back again.”
So Freddy arranged with him to catch the rocket, and then to take Mrs. Underdunk and the rats out to Mr. Orville P. Garble, in Montana. “He’ll probably pay her fare home,” Freddy said, “just as he did Mr. Garble’s. But he won’t send the rats home. And I guess we’ll be rid of them for good.”
“How about having the saucer take
those rats in the trap in my cage along?” Willy asked. “I’m kind of sick of ’em, to tell you the truth. Snarl and snap and squabble twenty-five hours a day.”
So the Martians agreed to that, too. Because, they said, the animals had been very nice to them, and anyway, they liked earth. They’d like to stay on it for a while. Only not in a cage. Maybe Freddy could arrange that. They’d just as soon be in the circus—march in the parade, and even have Mr. Hercules do a juggling act with them. Possibly they could give people rides in the flying saucer at so much a head. They’d split what they took in with Mr. Boomschmidt, but they would like to earn a little money while they were on earth. What did Freddy think of that?
Freddy thought it was wonderful, and when Mr. Boomschmidt was told of it he was so excited that he threw his hat on the ground and jumped on it. “Oh, goodness!” he said. “Oh, goodness gracious me! What an act that will be! Eh, Leo? Ride in a flying saucer, five dollars. Ten dollars to New York and back. Trip to the moon—golly, we could ask fifteen dollars for that, couldn’t we? But just think, Leo—a circus with real Martians! I think I ought to take ’em into partnership, eh?”
And indeed that was what later happened. For the Martians stayed on for nearly a year, and in that year Boomschmidt’s Stupendous & Unexcelled Circus (Stars from Mars) made more money than it had made in all the years it had been on the road.
This all looked very nice at the time, but Freddy was worried about Uncle Ben. What was he going to do? He had spent all his money getting his rocket ship ready for its second trip, and now it was gone.
But Uncle Ben, not being much of a talker, did a lot of thinking. He had been shown through the flying saucer and had ridden in it, and instead of talking about what he saw, he thought about it.
Later he had a number of conversations in sign language with the Martians. And the result was that in order to study the saucer more closely he traveled that summer with the circus, paying his expenses by giving people rides at a dollar a head in his atomic-powered station wagon. People who couldn’t afford the five dollars for the saucer ride, or who were afraid of the Martian chauffeur, were eager to ride in the first car ever to use an atomic engine.
Freddy and the Men from Mars Page 13
