Chapter 13

The three friends trudged disconsolately homeward—at least, Freddy and Charles trudged; Theodore hopped, as usual. They were pretty mad at having been taken in by such an old trick. Freddy had even tried to kick himself for not keeping a sharper eye on Ezra, but it isn’t easy to kick yourself, and if you are a pig it is practically impossible. He only succeeded in kicking Charles, which didn’t add to the happiness of the occasion.

At the pool in the woods, Theodore said good-bye, and with a leap and a plop he was gone. Charles gazed at the widening ripples on the pool’s surface. “Thus friends depart,” he said mournfully; “here one moment, gone the next. And here I stand, alone, bereft—”

“Oh, shut up, Charles,” said Freddy. “You’ve just licked a rat in fair fight. What are you kicking about? It’s something I bet no rooster has ever done before. If anybody’s bereft, it’s me. Mr. Bean mad at me, everybody saying I’m a no good detective, it seems sometimes as if every animal’s paw was against me. By the way, what does ‘bereft’ mean?”

“Goodness, you ought to know,” said the rooster. “It’s a regular poet’s word; that’s why I used it. I thought you’d understand it.”

“Yeah,” said Freddy. “But what does it mean?”

“Well it—it—Oh, what does it matter what it means? You always want everything explained. I use a nice word, a fine word, a word that would be a bright jewel in any poem, and instead of just looking at it and saying: ‘That’s a darn fine word,’ you want to define it. You—” He broke off suddenly. They had walked along as they talked, and had come out of the woods into the meadow beside the brook. “What’s going on here?”

The meadow, which had recently been mowed, was dotted with little groups of small animals, all moving steadily in one direction. There were rabbits and squirrels and chipmunks, woodchucks and mice, and nearly all of them carried something in their mouths: bulging paper bags, or bundles done up in bits of old rag. At the far end of the field, Freddy saw his young cousin, Weedly, who seemed to be having a heated argument with a family of skunks.

The skunk who was doing most of the talking Freddy recognized as his friend, Sniffy Wilson, and he ran across to him.

“What’s it all about?” he asked. “Where you off to, Sniffy?”

“They’re running away,” said Weedly indignantly. “Deserting the farm. Look, Freddy; all the animals are leaving and taking their household belongings with them. Isn’t it awful?”

“It may be awful,” said Sniffy, “but it’s awfuller to stay here. With Mr. Bean mad at all the animals, and threatening to shoot us on sight—though how he’s to shoot, when his gun’s been stolen, I don’t know. And with this terrible Ignormus roaming all over the farm all night, stealing things and pouncing on everything that moves. Why, this used to be as safe as Centerboro Main Street on Sunday afternoon, this farm. But now our wives and children hardly dare stick their noses outdoors even in broad daylight. And with these new robberies last night—”

“What robberies?” Freddy asked. “I was up in the woods all night. Has something else happened?”

So between them, Weedly and Sniffy told him what had happened. It was plenty. The oat bin in the barn had been raided again, and another attempt had been made to rob the bank, but this latter had been foiled by the mouse on guard, who had rung the alarm bell. All the animals had turned out and had hunted several hours for the robbers, but hadn’t found any sign of them. When some of them got home, however, they found that in their absence their pantries had been broken into, and food taken. Moreover, when the two dogs and the two cats had gone off to answer the alarm bell, someone or something had got into the house and taken a bag of butternuts from the pantry. This was pretty serious, for these butternuts were a Christmas present for Mr. Bean from some of the woods animals, and he had been saving them so that Mrs. Bean could put them in a cake for his birthday. He’d be pretty mad when he knew they’d been stolen.

“Oh, dear,” said Freddy gloomily, “I suppose he’ll suspect me of that, too. I’ll be as popular around this farm as a—” He had been going to say “skunk,” but then he remembered that he was talking to Sniffy, so he stopped.

Sniffy didn’t seem to notice it. He was a nice fellow, but not very sensitive. “Better come along with us,” he said. “I thought we’d pick out a nice farm down on the Flats, and settle there. Of course I know you’re fond of the Beans, but with things as they are now—”

“Don’t talk nonsense!” said Freddy sharply. “With things as they are now, it’s just the time when we shouldn’t leave. Maybe Mr. Bean is mad at me, but I’m not mad at him. And it seems to me that to desert him now, when things are going wrong, is a pretty mean trick. Indeed, I feel,” he went on in a louder voice, as some of the other refugees came crowding up to hear what was going on, “that as citizens of the First Animal Republic, the only free animal republic in the world, we will, if we leave now, be deserting under fire.”

There was a murmur of applause, and Sniffy said: “Gosh, I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

Freddy was going on to say more, but Charles, who had now come up, saw a chance of making a speech, and as that was a chance he never missed if he could help it, he fluttered up to the top rail of the fence and held up one claw for silence.

“Friends and fellow citizens,” he shouted, “you have heard what Freddy has said. I wish to endorse his statements with the full power of my well known eloquence. As citizens of the great free commonwealth of the F.A.R., under whose shining banner we have for so long enjoyed the fruits of peace, I call upon you now to band together to rid our country of the oppressor, to free it from the bonds of the tyrant. By what right do I thus call upon you, you ask. By the right of one, I reply, who though but a lowly rooster, has this day defeated in fair fight one of that tyrant’s ferocious henchmen. Yes I, your old friend Charles, have fought and beaten, for the glory of Mr. Bean and the honor of the F.A.R., the Ignormus’s servant, Ezra.”

A buzz of excitement ran among the listeners, and they all looked inquiringly at Freddy, who nodded assurance of the truth of the rooster’s boast.

For a while, as other animals came running over from the barnyard, Charles went on praising himself, and describing the fight in detail. But Freddy interrupted him. “Never mind the fight, Charles,” he said. “Give ’em the patriotic stuff. They must stick to Mr. Bean.”

So Charles continued. “But my friends, enough of my modest exploit. What of you, my compatriots? What of Mr. Bean? What of our glorious republic? Are they to go down to ruin under the onslaughts of our cruel enemies, the Ignormus and his accomplices, Simon and his gang? I say to you: No, a thousand times, no! Let us band together, let us close up our ranks, resolved to do or die, and advance upon the enemy. What do you say, animals? Are we afraid of the Ignormus?”

He paused for a reply, but for a moment there was none. Then a small rabbit in the front row said: “Yes.”

“That’s the wrong answer,” said Charles, looking down at him severely.

Many of the others, however, seemed to agree with the rabbit. But Freddy went up to the fence and turned to face the crowd, which by this time included most of the animals on the farm.

“What our young friend has said is right,” he declared. “We are afraid of the Ignormus. I am; you are; even my gallant friend Charles is, though he quite rightly hates to admit it.”

“I am not!” said Charles crossly.

“But,” continued Freddy, “the greatest bravery is found in those who go ahead, even though they are afraid. That, animals, is what we must do. We must show this superior bravery; we must defend the honor of Bean; we must drive the Ignormus and his confederates from their lair; we must make the Big Woods safe for the smallest and weakest animal who wishes to walk there.”

A wave of enthusiasm swept over the audience, and they cheered and cheered. Freddy’s eloquence had rather carried him away; he had had no intention of starting a crusade against the Ignormus—at least, not yet. But he saw at once that the martial spirit must not be allowed to die down without action. If he did not lead the animals now against the enemy, he would never have another chance. For if he put it off, even for a day, they would become frightened again, and then they would leave the farm, by ones and twos and families. They would migrate from the Bean farm, just as at some time in the past they had migrated from the Big Woods. And they would never come back.

Freddy had started something, and he wasn’t at all sure that he could finish it. He thought of the enormous white shape that had floated down towards them in the darkness, and he shivered. He thought of that shotgun pointing at him from the window of the Grimby house, and he shuddered. He thought of the big family of Simon’s kin, lurking under the Ignormus’s protection in the gloom of the Big Woods, and he shook.

But then he pulled himself together. These animals, no one of whom would have stepped a foot inside the Big Woods an hour ago; many of whom were even leaving their homes for fear of the Ignormus,—they would follow him right up to the door of the Grimby house. Their fighting spirit was aroused; they were in a mood to tackle twenty Ignormuses. Some in the crowd had already raised the Marching Song of the F.A.R.

Freddy pushed through the crowd to where Mrs. Wiggins was standing. “Look here,” he said quickly; “I can’t hold this crowd much longer. You take charge, as President of the F.A.R., will you? I’ve got an idea, and I’ve got to carry it out before this mob starts for the Big Woods. Can’t explain now. I need a couple of hours. You can use it in getting them organized into companies, with captains and so on, and getting out the flag, and generally whooping up their spirits. Will you?”

“My land, Freddy,” said the cow, “I’ll try. I wish I’d had some experience in the army. I’m no general.”

“You are now,” said the pig. “General Wiggins, and don’t you forget it. This is our chance to lick the Ignormus, and we’ve got to take it. Give me two hours, and then lead your army into the Big Woods and surround the Grimby house. I’ll be there, and we’ll decide on a plan of attack then.”

He dashed off up the brook. At the third stone above the apple tree on the left side of the brook, he stopped and rapped sharply with a fore trotter. At once an elderly, rather motherly looking beetle came out from under the stone. When she saw him, she said, “Good morning,” and dropped a curtsey. At least she tried to, but her legs got tangled up and she sat down heavily.

“Drat it!” she said. “I never can manage that properly.”

“Where’s Randolph?” Freddy asked.

“Eh?” said the beetle, putting one foot up behind her ear.

“Eh?” said the beetle.

Freddy repeated the question in a louder tone.

“Well, no,” said the beetle. “I don’t think it will rain before tomorrow.”

Freddy put his snout down close to her and yelled: “Where’s Randolph?” at the top of his lungs.

“You don’t need to bellow like that,” she said mildly. “I’m only a mite deef. You want Randy, eh? He’s round here somewhere, by the brook, hunting mosquito eggs. Never saw such a boy for mosquito eggs. I tell him so many of them aren’t good for him, but will he listen to me? I guess not!” She droned on her mild complaints about her son.

“Oh, dear!” said Freddy, and he was turning disconsolately away when something black came swiftly through the grass stems and stopped before him.

“Randolph!” exclaimed Freddy. “Thank goodness! Look, Randolph, you said if I needed your help to come for you, and I do need it very badly. I think I’m not saying too much if I say that the fate of the Bean farm, at least as far as the animals are concerned, rests with you.”

“H’m,” said the beetle shortly; “pretty big responsibility for a bug. However. Do what I can. You taught me to handle my legs. Guess I can do something for you. Command me.”

“Well,” said Freddy, “I want you to come up to the Big Woods and do some scouting for me. And maybe some gnawing. You’ve got good strong jaws, haven’t you?”

“Cut anything but tin,” said Randolph.

“Good,” said the pig. “Climb up on my back. We haven’t much time.” And when Randolph had climbed up Freddy’s leg—which took some time, for it tickled a good deal and Freddy couldn’t help squirming—away they went.

This time Freddy didn’t try to go quietly when he got into the Big Woods. He plunged along through the underbrush, taking care not to let the beetle get swept off, and didn’t stop until he reached the place from which he and Theodore had seen the gun pointing from the window of the Grimby house. Sure enough, there it was, and as it swung around to cover him, he squatted down behind a tree and gave Randolph his instructions.

The beetle slipped down from Freddy’s back and started towards the house. He advanced in short rushes from one clump of grass to the next, like a skirmisher creeping up on the enemy. He reached the porch, climbed it, made a dash across without being noticed, and walked up the wall under the window. In another second or two he was walking down the under side of the gun barrel towards the muzzle.

Freddy had instructed him to walk down the under side, because if someone was aiming the gun—and someone certainly was—that someone would be squinting down the upper side of the barrel and would notice the beetle and probably shake him off. And then Freddy gave a groan. For Randolph slipped and fell to the porch floor. The steel gun barrel was too smooth.

Randolph didn’t try to climb again. He went down off the porch, and Freddy, who had pretty keen eyes, saw that he was chewing up a dandelion stalk and rubbing his six feet in the juice.

“By gum, that’s clever, “said the pig to himself. “Making his feet stick.”

This time Randolph walked right down to the muzzle of the gun and disappeared inside one barrel. After a minute he came out and disappeared inside the other one. Then he came out again, dropped to the porch, and in a few minutes was back beside the pig.

“Guess only one cartridge has been fired,” he said. “Right hand barrel smells of powder smoke, and the cartridge shell is empty. Left hand barrel is clean, and the cartridge shell has a little cardboard cap or stopper on it, as you told me.”

“Do you think you could gnaw through the cardboard?” Freddy asked.

“Give me five minutes alone with it,” said the beetle, “and you can drive a team of caterpillars through it.”

“Well, you see,” said the pig, “that cap holds the shot in. If you can gnaw through it, and then we can get him to tip the gun barrel down, all the shot will run right out. Then if he shoots at me it won’t make any difference, because he’ll be shooting a blank cartridge.”

“Leave it to me,” said the beetle, and started off again.

In spite of his boast, it took Randolph a good quarter of an hour to gnaw through the cartridge cap. Freddy watched impatiently, but at last he saw one or two small round shot drop out of the barrel, then the beetle, who had evidently been pushing them along ahead of him, appeared, and a few minutes later he and Freddy were trying to think of some way to get whoever was aiming the gun to point the barrel down, so the shot would roll out. For the ground in front of the house where Freddy was hiding, was higher than the house itself, so that the gun was pointing a little upward.

“I could go in and roll ’em out, one by one,” said Randolph. “But there’s an awful lot of them.”

Freddy shook his head. “The other animals would get here before you’d finished, and some of them might get shot.”

“Maybe they’ll get scared again, and won’t come at all,” said the beetle. “Fine speeches you and Charles made. Heard ’em over by the brook. Don’t know when I’ve heard more stirring ones. But when they get all through cheering and begin to calm down—begin to think about that Ignormus with his terrible claws—”

“I guess you, being a bug, maybe don’t understand us animals very well,” said Freddy. “We’ve always known about the Ignormus, but he didn’t bother us and we didn’t bother him. Folks say rabbits who got too near the Big Woods disappeared, and maybe it’s so. I never knew any of them personally.”

“Too many of ’em anyway,” said Randolph. “What’s a rabbit or two?”

“Anyhow,” continued the pig, “we kept away from the Big Woods and didn’t worry. Sure, we kept away because we were afraid. You couldn’t have dragged any animal on our farm up here with ropes. But while one animal might be afraid, by himself, a crowd of animals will tackle anything, once they get good and mad. They love their homes, and they love the farm, and the Beans. They don’t want to leave here, and they don’t want to see Mr. Bean robbed right and left. They’re mad clear through. But I guess it didn’t occur to them that they could do anything about it until Charles and I talked to them. Oh, they’ll come all right.”

Freddy was squatting down behind the tree, with the tip of his snout almost touching the beetle, for they were talking in whispers so as not to be heard in the house. There was a faint rustle in the grass, and turning his head Freddy saw a large centipede hurrying towards them.

“Why, Jeffrey!” exclaimed the beetle. “What you doing so far from home?”

“Hi, Randy,” said the newcomer, and he reared up and looked suspiciously at the pig. “This guy bothering you?” he asked. “Want me to give him a nip?”

“No, no,” said Randolph hastily. “He’s my good friend, Freddy. Freddy, meet Jeffrey.”

“Pleased, I’m sure,” said the centipede. “Just came up to call on my cousins. They live in a stump up here a piece. But what are you doing here? Mosquito eggs?” He turned to the pig. “No accounting for tastes, eh, mister? I wouldn’t touch mosquito eggs if I starved first. But Randy, here—I’ve seen him eat twenty-five at a sitting. And boy, how the mosquitoes hate him! Lucky you’ve got a hard shell, Randy, my boy. But what’s going on?”

Randolph explained. When he had finished, Jeffrey said: “Let’s have a look,” and went rippling over towards the house. When he had looked at the gun, he came back. “Leave it to me,” he said. “I can fix you up.” And he went back the way he had come.

“Gosh, what can he do?” said Freddy disconsolately.

“Dunno,” said the beetle. “But when he knows what he’s doing, he don’t waste words, Jeffrey don’t. He’s got something up his sleeve, all right.”

“He hasn’t got any sleeves,” said Freddy peevishly.

“Well then,” said Randolph, “you think of something.”

Of course Freddy couldn’t, so he didn’t say any more. And after a few minutes, back came Jeffrey, and behind him were his cousins, twelve of them. They didn’t stop. “Leave it to us,” said Jeffrey as they headed for the house, their dozens of legs carrying them over the ground faster than a mouse can walk. They climbed the porch, rippled up the wall and down the under side of the gun barrel, and one by one disappeared into the muzzle. Presently, one by one, the round gleaming shot began dripping out of the muzzle on to the porch floor.

“Now, how in the world—?” said Freddy.

“Lying on their backs,” said Randolph. “End to end. Passing the shot out with their feet. They sort of walk ’em out, upside down, if you see what I mean.”

It didn’t take more than a minute. Then the centipedes filed out, down the gun barrel, the wall, the porch, and came over to report.

“Not a shot left in the cartridge,” said Jeffrey. “There was some black stuff back of the shot. Want us to get that out too?”

“That’s gunpowder,” said Freddy. “If you got careless it might go off.”

“Here today and gone tomorrow,” said Jeffrey. “If you say so we’ll get it.”

But Freddy said no, it wasn’t necessary.

“OK,” said Jeffrey. “Be seeing you.” And the centipedes filed off without another word.

“I’d like to have thanked your friend,” said Freddy. “He doesn’t realize how great a service he has performed.”

“He doesn’t care,” said Randolph. “If you’d thanked him, you’d just have embarrassed him. That’s a centipede for you. Generous as all get out, but pretty hard-boiled.”

“Yes, he didn’t seem very sensitive,” said Freddy. “Well, now I suppose we wait for the animals.”

“If they come,” said Randolph cynically.