15432 lines
653 KiB
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15432 lines
653 KiB
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*The Project Gutenberg Etext of A Connecticut Yankee, by Twain*
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The INTERNET WIRETAP First Electronic Edition of
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A CONNECTICUT YANKEE IN KING ARTHUR'S COURT
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by
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MARK TWAIN
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(Samuel L. Clemens)
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This text is in the PUBLIC DOMAIN.
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Electronic Edition by <dell@wiretap.spies.com>
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Released to the public June 1993
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A CONNECTICUT YANKEE IN KING ARTHUR'S COURT
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by
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MARK TWAIN
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(Samuel L. Clemens)
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PREFACE
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THE ungentle laws and customs touched upon in
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this tale are historical, and the episodes which are
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used to illustrate them are also historical. It is
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not pretended that these laws and customs existed in
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|
England in the sixth century; no, it is only pretended
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that inasmuch as they existed in the English and other
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civilizations of far later times, it is safe to consider that
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|
it is no libel upon the sixth century to suppose them to
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|
have been in practice in that day also. One is quite
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justified in inferring that whatever one of these laws or
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customs was lacking in that remote time, its place was
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competently filled by a worse one.
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The question as to whether there is such a thing as
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divine right of kings is not settled in this book. It
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was found too difficult. That the executive head of a
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nation should be a person of lofty character and
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extraordinary ability, was manifest and indisputable;
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that none but the Deity could select that head unerr-
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|
ingly, was also manifest and indisputable; that the
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Deity ought to make that selection, then, was likewise
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|
manifest and indisputable; consequently, that He does
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make it, as claimed, was an unavoidable deduction. I
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mean, until the author of this book encountered the
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Pompadour, and Lady Castlemaine, and some other
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executive heads of that kind; these were found so
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difficult to work into the scheme, that it was judged
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better to take the other tack in this book (which must
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be issued this fall), and then go into training and
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settle the question in another book. It is, of course,
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a thing which ought to be settled, and I am not going
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to have anything particular to do next winter anyway.
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MARK TWAIN.
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A CONNECTICUT YANKEE IN KING
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ARTHUR'S COURT
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A WORD OF EXPLANATION
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IT was in Warwick Castle that I came across the
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curious stranger whom I am going to talk about.
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He attracted me by three things: his candid simplicity,
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his marvelous familiarity with ancient armor, and the
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restfulness of his company -- for he did all the talking.
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We fell together, as modest people will, in the tail of
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the herd that was being shown through, and he at once
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began to say things which interested me. As he
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talked along, softly, pleasantly, flowingly, he seemed
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to drift away imperceptibly out of this world and time,
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and into some remote era and old forgotten country;
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|
and so he gradually wove such a spell about me that I
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seemed to move among the specters and shadows and
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|
dust and mold of a gray antiquity, holding speech with
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a relic of it! Exactly as I would speak of my nearest
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personal friends or enemies, or my most familiar
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neighbors, he spoke of Sir Bedivere, Sir Bors de
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Ganis, Sir Launcelot of the Lake, Sir Galahad, and all
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the other great names of the Table Round -- and how
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old, old, unspeakably old and faded and dry and
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musty and ancient he came to look as he went on!
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Presently he turned to me and said, just as one might
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speak of the weather, or any other common matter --
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"You know about transmigration of souls; do you
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know about transposition of epochs -- and bodies?"
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I said I had not heard of it. He was so little inter-
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ested -- just as when people speak of the weather --
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that he did not notice whether I made him any answer
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or not. There was half a moment of silence, imme-
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diately interrupted by the droning voice of the salaried
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cicerone:
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"Ancient hauberk, date of the sixth century, time
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|
of King Arthur and the Round Table; said to have
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belonged to the knight Sir Sagramor le Desirous; ob-
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|
serve the round hole through the chain-mail in the left
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breast; can't be accounted for; supposed to have been
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done with a bullet since invention of firearms -- per-
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haps maliciously by Cromwell's soldiers."
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My acquaintance smiled -- not a modern smile, but
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one that must have gone out of general use many, many
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centuries ago -- and muttered apparently to himself:
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"Wit ye well, I SAW IT DONE." Then, after a pause,
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added: "I did it myself."
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By the time I had recovered from the electric sur-
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prise of this remark, he was gone.
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All that evening I sat by my fire at the Warwick
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Arms, steeped in a dream of the olden time, while the
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rain beat upon the windows, and the wind roared about
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the eaves and corners. From time to time I dipped
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into old Sir Thomas Malory's enchanting book, and
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fed at its rich feast of prodigies and adventures,
|
|
breathed in the fragrance of its obsolete names, and
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|
dreamed again. Midnight being come at length, I read
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another tale, for a nightcap -- this which here follows,
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to wit:
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HOW SIR LAUNCELOT SLEW TWO GIANTS, AND MADE A
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CASTLE FREE
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Anon withal came there upon him two great giants,
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well armed, all save the heads, with two horrible
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clubs in their hands. Sir Launcelot put his shield
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|
afore him, and put the stroke away of the one
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giant, and with his sword he clave his head asunder.
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|
When his fellow saw that, he ran away as he were
|
|
wood [* demented], for fear of the horrible strokes,
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|
and Sir Launcelot after him with all his might,
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|
and smote him on the shoulder, and clave him to
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|
the middle. Then Sir Launcelot went into the hall,
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|
and there came afore him three score ladies and
|
|
damsels, and all kneeled unto him, and thanked
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|
God and him of their deliverance. For, sir, said
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|
they, the most part of us have been here this
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|
seven year their prisoners, and we have worked all
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|
manner of silk works for our meat, and we are all
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great gentle-women born, and blessed be the time,
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|
knight, that ever thou wert born;for thou hast
|
|
done the most worship that ever did knight in the
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world, that will we bear record, and we all pray
|
|
you to tell us your name, that we may tell our
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friends who delivered us out of prison. Fair
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damsels, he said, my name is Sir Launcelot du
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|
Lake. And so he departed from them and betaught
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|
them unto God. And then he mounted upon his
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|
horse, and rode into many strange and wild
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|
countries, and through many waters and valleys,
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|
and evil was he lodged. And at the last by
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|
fortune him happened against a night to come to
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|
a fair courtilage, and therein he found an old
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|
gentle-woman that lodged him with a good-will,
|
|
and there he had good cheer for him and his horse.
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|
And when time was, his host brought him into a
|
|
fair garret over the gate to his bed. There
|
|
Sir Launcelot unarmed him, and set his harness
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|
by him, and went to bed, and anon he fell on
|
|
sleep. So, soon after there came one on
|
|
horseback, and knocked at the gate in great
|
|
haste. And when Sir Launcelot heard this he rose
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|
up, and looked out at the window, and saw by the
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moonlight three knights come riding after that
|
|
one man, and all three lashed on him at once
|
|
with swords, and that one knight turned on them
|
|
knightly again and defended him. Truly, said
|
|
Sir Launcelot, yonder one knight shall I help,
|
|
for it were shame for me to see three knights
|
|
on one, and if he be slain I am partner of his
|
|
death. And therewith he took his harness and
|
|
went out at a window by a sheet down to the four
|
|
knights, and then Sir Launcelot said on high,
|
|
Turn you knights unto me, and leave your
|
|
fighting with that knight. And then they all
|
|
three left Sir Kay, and turned unto Sir Launcelot,
|
|
and there began great battle, for they alight
|
|
all three, and strake many strokes at Sir
|
|
Launcelot, and assailed him on every side. Then
|
|
Sir Kay dressed him for to have holpen Sir
|
|
Launcelot. Nay, sir, said he, I will none of
|
|
your help, therefore as ye will have my help
|
|
let me alone with them. Sir Kay for the pleasure
|
|
of the knight suffered him for to do his will,
|
|
and so stood aside. And then anon within six
|
|
strokes Sir Launcelot had stricken them to the
|
|
earth.
|
|
|
|
And then they all three cried, Sir Knight, we
|
|
yield us unto you as man of might matchless. As
|
|
to that, said Sir Launcelot, I will not take
|
|
your yielding unto me, but so that ye yield
|
|
you unto Sir Kay the seneschal, on that covenant
|
|
I will save your lives and else not. Fair knight,
|
|
said they, that were we loath to do; for as for
|
|
Sir Kay we chased him hither, and had overcome
|
|
him had ye not been; therefore, to yield us unto
|
|
him it were no reason. Well, as to that, said
|
|
Sir Launcelot, advise you well, for ye may
|
|
choose whether ye will die or live, for an ye be
|
|
yielden, it shall be unto Sir Kay. Fair knight,
|
|
then they said, in saving our lives we will do
|
|
as thou commandest us. Then shall ye, said Sir
|
|
Launcelot, on Whitsunday next coming go unto the
|
|
court of King Arthur, and there shall ye yield
|
|
you unto Queen Guenever, and put you all three
|
|
in her grace and mercy, and say that Sir Kay
|
|
sent you thither to be her prisoners. On the morn
|
|
Sir Launcelot arose early, and left Sir Kay
|
|
sleeping; and Sir Launcelot took Sir Kay's armor
|
|
and his shield and armed him, and so he went to
|
|
the stable and took his horse, and took his leave
|
|
of his host, and so he departed. Then soon after
|
|
arose Sir Kay and missed Sir Launcelot; and
|
|
then he espied that he had his armor and his
|
|
horse. Now by my faith I know well that he will
|
|
grieve some of the court of King Arthur; for on
|
|
him knights will be bold, and deem that it is I,
|
|
and that will beguile them; and because of his
|
|
armor and shield I am sure I shall ride in peace.
|
|
And then soon after departed Sir Kay, and
|
|
thanked his host.
|
|
|
|
As I laid the book down there was a knock at the
|
|
door, and my stranger came in. I gave him a pipe
|
|
and a chair, and made him welcome. I also comforted
|
|
him with a hot Scotch whisky; gave him another one;
|
|
then still another -- hoping always for his story. After
|
|
a fourth persuader, he drifted into it himself, in a quite
|
|
simple and natural way:
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|
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THE STRANGER'S HISTORY
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I am an American. I was born and reared in Hart-
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ford, in the State of Connecticut -- anyway, just over
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the river, in the country. So I am a Yankee of the
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Yankees -- and practical; yes, and nearly barren of
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sentiment, I suppose -- or poetry, in other words. My
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father was a blacksmith, my uncle was a horse doctor,
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and I was both, along at first. Then I went over to
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the great arms factory and learned my real trade;
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learned all there was to it; learned to make every-
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thing: guns, revolvers, cannon, boilers, engines, all
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sorts of labor-saving machinery. Why, I could make
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anything a body wanted -- anything in the world, it
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didn't make any difference what; and if there wasn't
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any quick new-fangled way to make a thing, I could
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invent one -- and do it as easy as rolling off a log. I
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became head superintendent; had a couple of thou-
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sand men under me.
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Well, a man like that is a man that is full of fight --
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that goes without saying. With a couple of thousand
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rough men under one, one has plenty of that sort of
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amusement. I had, anyway. At last I met my match,
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and I got my dose. It was during a misunderstanding
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conducted with crowbars with a fellow we used to call
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Hercules. He laid me out with a crusher alongside
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the head that made everything crack, and seemed to
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spring every joint in my skull and made it overlap its
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neighbor. Then the world went out in darkness, and
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I didn't feel anything more, and didn't know anything
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at all -- at least for a while.
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When I came to again, I was sitting under an oak
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tree, on the grass, with a whole beautiful and broad
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country landscape all to myself -- nearly. Not en-
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tirely; for there was a fellow on a horse, looking down
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at me -- a fellow fresh out of a picture-book. He was
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in old-time iron armor from head to heel, with a
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helmet on his head the shape of a nail-keg with slits
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in it; and he had a shield, and a sword, and a pro-
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digious spear; and his horse had armor on, too, and a
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steel horn projecting from his forehead, and gorgeous
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red and green silk trappings that hung down all around
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him like a bedquilt, nearly to the ground.
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"Fair sir, will ye just?" said this fellow.
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"Will I which?"
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"Will ye try a passage of arms for land or lady or
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for --"
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"What are you giving me?" I said. "Get along
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back to your circus, or I'll report you."
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Now what does this man do but fall back a couple
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of hundred yards and then come rushing at me as hard
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as he could tear, with his nail-keg bent down nearly to
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his horse's neck and his long spear pointed straight
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ahead. I saw he meant business, so I was up the tree
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when he arrived.
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He allowed that I was his property, the captive of
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his spear. There was argument on his side -- and the
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bulk of the advantage -- so I judged it best to humor
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him. We fixed up an agreement whereby I was to go
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with him and he was not to hurt me. I came down,
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and we started away, I walking by the side of his
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horse. We marched comfortably along, through glades
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and over brooks which I could not remember to have
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seen before -- which puzzled me and made me wonder
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-- and yet we did not come to any circus or sign of
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a circus. So I gave up the idea of a circus, and con-
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cluded he was from an asylum. But we never came to
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an asylum -- so I was up a stump, as you may say. I
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asked him how far we were from Hartford. He said
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he had never heard of the place; which I took to be a
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lie, but allowed it to go at that. At the end of an
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hour we saw a far-away town sleeping in a valley by a
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winding river; and beyond it on a hill, a vast gray
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fortress, with towers and turrets, the first I had ever
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seen out of a picture.
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"Bridgeport?" said I, pointing.
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"Camelot," said he.
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My stranger had been showing signs of sleepiness.
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He caught himself nodding, now, and smiled one of
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those pathetic, obsolete smiles of his, and said:
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"I find I can't go on; but come with me, I've got
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it all written out, and you can read it if you like."
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In his chamber, he said: "First, I kept a journal;
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then by and by, after years, I took the journal and
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turned it into a book. How long ago that was!"
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He handed me his manuscript, and pointed out the
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place where I should begin:
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"Begin here -- I've already told you what goes be-
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fore." He was steeped in drowsiness by this time.
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As I went out at his door I heard him murmur sleep-
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ily: "Give you good den, fair sir."
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I sat down by my fire and examined my treasure.
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The first part of it -- the great bulk of it -- was parch-
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ment, and yellow with age. I scanned a leaf particu-
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larly and saw that it was a palimpsest. Under the old
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dim writing of the Yankee historian appeared traces of
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a penmanship which was older and dimmer still --
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Latin words and sentences: fragments from old monk-
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ish legends, evidently. I turned to the place indicated
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by my stranger and began to read -- as follows:
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THE TALE OF THE LOST LAND.
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CHAPTER I.
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CAMELOT
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"CAMELOT -- Camelot," said I to myself. "I
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don't seem to remember hearing of it before.
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Name of the asylum, likely."
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It was a soft, reposeful summer landscape, as lovely
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as a dream, and as lonesome as Sunday. The air was
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full of the smell of flowers, and the buzzing of insects,
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and the twittering of birds, and there were no people,
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no wagons, there was no stir of life, nothing going on.
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The road was mainly a winding path with hoof-prints
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in it, and now and then a faint trace of wheels on
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either side in the grass -- wheels that apparently had a
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tire as broad as one's hand.
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Presently a fair slip of a girl, about ten years old,
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with a cataract of golden hair streaming down over her
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shoulders, came along. Around her head she wore a
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hoop of flame-red poppies. It was as sweet an outfit
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as ever I saw, what there was of it. She walked indo-
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lently along, with a mind at rest, its peace reflected in
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her innocent face. The circus man paid no attention
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to her; didn't even seem to see her. And she -- she
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was no more startled at his fantastic make-up than if
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she was used to his like every day of her life. She
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was going by as indifferently as she might have gone
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by a couple of cows; but when she happened to notice
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me, THEN there was a change! Up went her hands,
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and she was turned to stone; her mouth dropped
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open, her eyes stared wide and timorously, she was
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the picture of astonished curiosity touched with fear.
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And there she stood gazing, in a sort of stupefied
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fascination, till we turned a corner of the wood and
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were lost to her view. That she should be startled at
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me instead of at the other man, was too many for me;
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I couldn't make head or tail of it . And that she
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should seem to consider me a spectacle, and totally
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overlook her own merits in that respect, was another
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puzzling thing, and a display of magnanimity, too,
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that was surprising in one so young. There was food
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for thought here. I moved along as one in a dream.
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As we approached the town, signs of life began to
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appear. At intervals we passed a wretched cabin, with
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a thatched roof, and about it small fields and garden
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patches in an indifferent state of cultivation. There
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were people, too; brawny men, with long, coarse, un-
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combed hair that hung down over their faces and made
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them look like animals. They and the women, as a
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rule, wore a coarse tow-linen robe that came well below
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the knee, and a rude sort of sandal, and many wore
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an iron collar. The small boys and girls were always
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naked; but nobody seemed to know it. All of these
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people stared at me, talked about me, ran into the huts
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and fetched out their families to gape at me; but no-
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body ever noticed that other fellow, except to make
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him humble salutation and get no response for their
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pains.
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In the town were some substantial windowless houses
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of stone scattered among a wilderness of thatched
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cabins; the streets were mere crooked alleys, and un-
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paved; troops of dogs and nude children played in the
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sun and made life and noise; hogs roamed and rooted
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contentedly about, and one of them lay in a reeking
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wallow in the middle of the main thoroughfare and
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suckled her family. Presently there was a distant blare
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of military music; it came nearer, still nearer, and
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soon a noble cavalcade wound into view, glorious with
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plumed helmets and flashing mail and flaunting banners
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and rich doublets and horse-cloths and gilded spear-
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heads; and through the muck and swine, and naked
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brats, and joyous dogs, and shabby huts, it took its
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gallant way, and in its wake we followed. Followed
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through one winding alley and then another, -- and
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climbing, always climbing -- till at last we gained the
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breezy height where the huge castle stood. There was
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an exchange of bugle blasts; then a parley from the
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walls, where men-at-arms, in hauberk and morion,
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marched back and forth with halberd at shoulder
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under flapping banners with the rude figure of a dragon
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displayed upon them; and then the great gates were
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flung open, the drawbridge was lowered, and the head
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of the cavalcade swept forward under the frowning
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arches; and we, following, soon found ourselves in a
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great paved court, with towers and turrets stretching
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up into the blue air on all the four sides; and all about
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us the dismount was going on, and much greeting and
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ceremony, and running to and fro, and a gay display
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of moving and intermingling colors, and an altogether
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pleasant stir and noise and confusion.
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CHAPTER II.
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KING ARTHUR'S COURT
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THE moment I got a chance I slipped aside privately
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and touched an ancient common looking man on
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the shoulder and said, in an insinuating, confidential
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way:
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"Friend, do me a kindness. Do you belong to the
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asylum, or are you just on a visit or something
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like that?"
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He looked me over stupidly, and said:
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"Marry, fair sir, me seemeth --"
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"That will do," I said; "I reckon you are a
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patient."
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I moved away, cogitating, and at the same time
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keeping an eye out for any chance passenger in his
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right mind that might come along and give me some
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light. I judged I had found one, presently; so I
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drew him aside and said in his ear:
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"If I could see the head keeper a minute -- only
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just a minute --"
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"Prithee do not let me."
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"Let you WHAT?"
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"HINDER me, then, if the word please thee better.
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Then he went on to say he was an under-cook and
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could not stop to gossip, though he would like it
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another time; for it would comfort his very liver to
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know where I got my clothes. As he started away he
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pointed and said yonder was one who was idle enough
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for my purpose, and was seeking me besides, no
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doubt. This was an airy slim boy in shrimp-colored
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tights that made him look like a forked carrot, the
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rest of his gear was blue silk and dainty laces and
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ruffles; and he had long yellow curls, and wore a
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plumed pink satin cap tilted complacently over his
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ear. By his look, he was good-natured; by his gait,
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he was satisfied with himself. He was pretty enough
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to frame. He arrived, looked me over with a smiling
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and impudent curiosity; said he had come for me, and
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informed me that he was a page.
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"Go 'long," I said; "you ain't more than a para-
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graph."
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It was pretty severe, but I was nettled. However,
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it never phazed him; he didn't appear to know he was
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hurt. He began to talk and laugh, in happy, thought-
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less, boyish fashion, as we walked along, and made
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himself old friends with me at once; asked me all sorts
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of questions about myself and about my clothes, but
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never waited for an answer -- always chattered straight
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ahead, as if he didn't know he had asked a question
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and wasn't expecting any reply, until at last he hap-
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pened to mention that he was born in the beginning of
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the year 513.
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It made the cold chills creep over me! I stopped
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and said, a little faintly:
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"Maybe I didn't hear you just right. Say it again
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-- and say it slow. What year was it?"
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"513."
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"513! You don't look it! Come, my boy, I am
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a stranger and friendless; be honest and honorable
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with me. Are you in your right mind?"
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He said he was.
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"Are these other people in their right minds?"
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He said they were.
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"And this isn't an asylum? I mean, it isn't a place
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where they cure crazy people?"
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He said it wasn't.
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"Well, then," I said, "either I am a lunatic, or
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something just as awful has happened. Now tell me,
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honest and true, where am I?"
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"IN KING ARTHUR'S COURT."
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I waited a minute, to let that idea shudder its way
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home, and then said:
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"And according to your notions, what year is it now?"
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"528 -- nineteenth of June."
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I felt a mournful sinking at the heart, and muttered:
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"I shall never see my friends again -- never, never
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again. They will not be born for more than thirteen
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hundred years yet."
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I seemed to believe the boy, I didn't know why.
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SOMETHING in me seemed to believe him -- my con-
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sciousness, as you may say; but my reason didn't.
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My reason straightway began to clamor; that was
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natural. I didn't know how to go about satisfying it,
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because I knew that the testimony of men wouldn't
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serve -- my reason would say they were lunatics, and
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throw out their evidence. But all of a sudden I stum-
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bled on the very thing, just by luck. I knew that the
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only total eclipse of the sun in the first half of the
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sixth century occurred on the 21st of June, A. D. 528,
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O.S., and began at 3 minutes after 12 noon. I also
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knew that no total eclipse of the sun was due in what
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to ME was the present year -- i.e., 1879. So, if I
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could keep my anxiety and curiosity from eating the
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heart out of me for forty-eight hours, I should then
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find out for certain whether this boy was telling me the
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truth or not.
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Wherefore, being a practical Connecticut man, I now
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shoved this whole problem clear out of my mind till its
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appointed day and hour should come, in order that I
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might turn all my attention to the circumstances of the
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present moment, and be alert and ready to make the
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most out of them that could be made. One thing at a
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time, is my motto -- and just play that thing for all it
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is worth, even if it's only two pair and a jack. I made
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up my mind to two things: if it was still the nineteenth
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century and I was among lunatics and couldn't get
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away, I would presently boss that asylum or know the
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reason why; and if, on the other hand, it was really
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the sixth century, all right, I didn't want any softer
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thing: I would boss the whole country inside of three
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months; for I judged I would have the start of the
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best-educated man in the kingdom by a matter of
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thirteen hundred years and upward. I'm not a man
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to waste time after my mind's made up and there's
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work on hand; so I said to the page:
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"Now, Clarence, my boy -- if that might happen to
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be your name -- I'll get you to post me up a little if
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you don't mind. What is the name of that apparition
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that brought me here?"
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"My master and thine? That is the good knight
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and great lord Sir Kay the Seneschal, foster brother to
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our liege the king."
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"Very good; go on, tell me everything."
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He made a long story of it; but the part that had
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immediate interest for me was this: He said I was Sir
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Kay's prisoner, and that in the due course of custom
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I would be flung into a dungeon and left there on scant
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commons until my friends ransomed me -- unless I
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chanced to rot, first. I saw that the last chance had
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the best show, but I didn't waste any bother about
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that; time was too precious. The page said, further,
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that dinner was about ended in the great hall by this
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time, and that as soon as the sociability and the heavy
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drinking should begin, Sir Kay would have me in and
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exhibit me before King Arthur and his illustrious
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knights seated at the Table Round, and would brag
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about his exploit in capturing me, and would probably
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exaggerate the facts a little, but it wouldn't be good
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form for me to correct him, and not over safe, either;
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and when I was done being exhibited, then ho for the
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dungeon; but he, Clarence, would find a way to come
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and see me every now and then, and cheer me up, and
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help me get word to my friends.
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Get word to my friends! I thanked him; I couldn't
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do less; and about this time a lackey came to say I
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was wanted; so Clarence led me in and took me off to
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one side and sat down by me.
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Well, it was a curious kind of spectacle, and interest-
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ing. It was an immense place, and rather naked --
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yes, and full of loud contrasts. It was very, very
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lofty; so lofty that the banners depending from the
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arched beams and girders away up there floated in a
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sort of twilight; there was a stone-railed gallery at
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each end, high up, with musicians in the one, and
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women, clothed in stunning colors, in the other. The
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floor was of big stone flags laid in black and white
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squares, rather battered by age and use, and needing
|
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repair. As to ornament, there wasn't any, strictly
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speaking; though on the walls hung some huge tapes-
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tries which were probably taxed as works of art;
|
|
battle-pieces, they were, with horses shaped like those
|
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which children cut out of paper or create in ginger-
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bread; with men on them in scale armor whose scales
|
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are represented by round holes -- so that the man's
|
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coat looks as if it had been done with a biscuit-punch.
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There was a fireplace big enough to camp in; and its
|
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projecting sides and hood, of carved and pillared
|
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stonework, had the look of a cathedral door. Along
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the walls stood men-at-arms, in breastplate and morion,
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with halberds for their only weapon -- rigid as statues;
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and that is what they looked like.
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In the middle of this groined and vaulted public
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square was an oaken table which they called the Table
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Round. It was as large as a circus ring; and around
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it sat a great company of men dressed in such various
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and splendid colors that it hurt one's eyes to look at
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them. They wore their plumed hats, right along, ex-
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cept that whenever one addressed himself directly to
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the king, he lifted his hat a trifle just as he was begin-
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ning his remark.
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Mainly they were drinking -- from entire ox horns;
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but a few were still munching bread or gnawing beef
|
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bones. There was about an average of two dogs to
|
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one man; and these sat in expectant attitudes till a
|
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spent bone was flung to them, and then they went for
|
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it by brigades and divisions, with a rush, and there
|
|
ensued a fight which filled the prospect with a tumultu-
|
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ous chaos of plunging heads and bodies and flashing
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tails, and the storm of howlings and barkings deafened
|
|
all speech for the time; but that was no matter, for
|
|
the dog-fight was always a bigger interest anyway; the
|
|
men rose, sometimes, to observe it the better and bet
|
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on it, and the ladies and the musicians stretched them-
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selves out over their balusters with the same object;
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and all broke into delighted ejaculations from time to
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time. In the end, the winning dog stretched himself
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out comfortably with his bone between his paws, and
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proceeded to growl over it, and gnaw it, and grease
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the floor with it, just as fifty others were already doing;
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and the rest of the court resumed their previous indus-
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tries and entertainments.
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As a rule, the speech and behavior of these people
|
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were gracious and courtly; and I noticed that they
|
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were good and serious listeners when anybody was tell-
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ing anything -- I mean in a dog-fightless interval. And
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|
plainly, too, they were a childlike and innocent lot;
|
|
telling lies of the stateliest pattern with a most gentle
|
|
and winning naivety, and ready and willing to listen to
|
|
anybody else's lie, and believe it, too. It was hard to
|
|
associate them with anything cruel or dreadful; and
|
|
yet they dealt in tales of blood and suffering with a
|
|
guileless relish that made me almost forget to shudder.
|
|
|
|
I was not the only prisoner present. There were
|
|
twenty or more. Poor devils, many of them were
|
|
maimed, hacked, carved, in a frightful way; and their
|
|
hair, their faces, their clothing, were caked with black
|
|
and stiffened drenchings of blood. They were suffer-
|
|
ing sharp physical pain, of course; and weariness, and
|
|
hunger and thirst, no doubt; and at least none had
|
|
given them the comfort of a wash, or even the poor
|
|
charity of a lotion for their wounds; yet you never
|
|
heard them utter a moan or a groan, or saw them show
|
|
any sign of restlessness, or any disposition to com-
|
|
plain. The thought was forced upon me: "The ras-
|
|
cals -- THEY have served other people so in their day;
|
|
it being their own turn, now, they were not expecting
|
|
any better treatment than this; so their philosophical
|
|
bearing is not an outcome of mental training, intellec-
|
|
tual fortitude, reasoning; it is mere animal training;
|
|
they are white Indians."
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER III.
|
|
KNIGHTS OF THE TABLE ROUND
|
|
|
|
MAINLY the Round Table talk was monologues --
|
|
narrative accounts of the adventures in which
|
|
these prisoners were captured and their friends and
|
|
backers killed and stripped of their steeds and armor.
|
|
As a general thing -- as far as I could make out --
|
|
these murderous adventures were not forays undertaken
|
|
to avenge injuries, nor to settle old disputes or sudden
|
|
fallings out; no, as a rule they were simply duels be-
|
|
tween strangers -- duels between people who had never
|
|
even been introduced to each other, and between
|
|
whom existed no cause of offense whatever. Many a
|
|
time I had seen a couple of boys, strangers, meet by
|
|
chance, and say simultaneously, "I can lick you," and
|
|
go at it on the spot; but I had always imagined until
|
|
now that that sort of thing belonged to children only,
|
|
and was a sign and mark of childhood; but here were
|
|
these big boobies sticking to it and taking pride in it
|
|
clear up into full age and beyond. Yet there was some-
|
|
thing very engaging about these great simple-hearted
|
|
creatures, something attractive and lovable. There did
|
|
not seem to be brains enough in the entire nursery, so
|
|
to speak, to bait a fish-hook with; but you didn't seem
|
|
to mind that, after a little, because you soon saw that
|
|
brains were not needed in a society like that, and in-
|
|
deed would have marred it, hindered it, spoiled its sym-
|
|
metry -- perhaps rendered its existence impossible.
|
|
|
|
There was a fine manliness observable in almost every
|
|
face; and in some a certain loftiness and sweetness that
|
|
rebuked your belittling criticisms and stilled them. A
|
|
most noble benignity and purity reposed in the counte-
|
|
nance of him they called Sir Galahad, and likewise in the
|
|
king's also; and there was majesty and greatness in
|
|
the giant frame and high bearing of Sir Launcelot of
|
|
the Lake.
|
|
|
|
There was presently an incident which centered the
|
|
general interest upon this Sir Launcelot. At a sign
|
|
from a sort of master of ceremonies, six or eight of the
|
|
prisoners rose and came forward in a body and knelt
|
|
on the floor and lifted up their hands toward the ladies'
|
|
gallery and begged the grace of a word with the queen.
|
|
The most conspicuously situated lady in that massed
|
|
flower-bed of feminine show and finery inclined her
|
|
head by way of assent, and then the spokesman of the
|
|
prisoners delivered himself and his fellows into her
|
|
hands for free pardon, ransom, captivity, or death, as
|
|
she in her good pleasure might elect; and this, as he
|
|
said, he was doing by command of Sir Kay the Senes-
|
|
chal, whose prisoners they were, he having vanquished
|
|
them by his single might and prowess in sturdy conflict
|
|
in the field.
|
|
|
|
Surprise and astonishment flashed from face to face
|
|
all over the house; the queen's gratified smile faded
|
|
out at the name of Sir Kay, and she looked disap-
|
|
pointed; and the page whispered in my ear with an
|
|
accent and manner expressive of extravagant derision --
|
|
|
|
"Sir KAY, forsooth! Oh, call me pet names, dear-
|
|
est, call me a marine! In twice a thousand years shall
|
|
the unholy invention of man labor at odds to beget the
|
|
fellow to this majestic lie!"
|
|
|
|
Every eye was fastened with severe inquiry upon Sir
|
|
Kay. But he was equal to the occasion. He got up
|
|
and played his hand like a major -- and took every
|
|
trick. He said he would state the case exactly accord-
|
|
ing to the facts; he would tell the simple straightfor-
|
|
ward tale, without comment of his own; "and then,"
|
|
said he, "if ye find glory and honor due, ye will give
|
|
it unto him who is the mightiest man of his hands that
|
|
ever bare shield or strake with sword in the ranks of
|
|
Christian battle -- even him that sitteth there!" and he
|
|
pointed to Sir Launcelot. Ah, he fetched them; it
|
|
was a rattling good stroke. Then he went on and told
|
|
how Sir Launcelot, seeking adventures, some brief time
|
|
gone by, killed seven giants at one sweep of his sword,
|
|
and set a hundred and forty-two captive maidens free;
|
|
and then went further, still seeking adventures, and
|
|
found him (Sir Kay) fighting a desperate fight against
|
|
nine foreign knights, and straightway took the battle
|
|
solely into his own hands, and conquered the nine; and
|
|
that night Sir Launcelot rose quietly, and dressed him
|
|
in Sir Kay's armor and took Sir Kay's horse and gat
|
|
him away into distant lands, and vanquished sixteen
|
|
knights in one pitched battle and thirty-four in another;
|
|
and all these and the former nine he made to swear
|
|
that about Whitsuntide they would ride to Arthur's
|
|
court and yield them to Queen Guenever's hands as
|
|
captives of Sir Kay the Seneschal, spoil of his knightly
|
|
prowess; and now here were these half dozen, and the
|
|
rest would be along as soon as they might be healed of
|
|
their desperate wounds.
|
|
|
|
Well, it was touching to see the queen blush and
|
|
smile, and look embarrassed and happy, and fling fur-
|
|
tive glances at Sir Launcelot that would have got him
|
|
shot in Arkansas, to a dead certainty.
|
|
|
|
Everybody praised the valor and magnanimity of Sir
|
|
Launcelot; and as for me, I was perfectly amazed,
|
|
that one man, all by himself, should have been able to
|
|
beat down and capture such battalions of practiced
|
|
fighters. I said as much to Clarence; but this mock-
|
|
ing featherhead only said:
|
|
|
|
"An Sir Kay had had time to get another skin of
|
|
sour wine into him, ye had seen the accompt doubled."
|
|
|
|
I looked at the boy in sorrow; and as I looked I saw
|
|
the cloud of a deep despondency settle upon his counte-
|
|
nance. I followed the direction of his eye, and saw that
|
|
a very old and white-bearded man, clothed in a flowing
|
|
black gown, had risen and was standing at the table
|
|
upon unsteady legs, and feebly swaying his ancient
|
|
head and surveying the company with his watery and
|
|
wandering eye. The same suffering look that was in
|
|
the page's face was observable in all the faces around
|
|
-- the look of dumb creatures who know that they must
|
|
endure and make no moan.
|
|
|
|
"Marry, we shall have it a again," sighed the boy;
|
|
"that same old weary tale that he hath told a
|
|
thousand times in the same words, and that he WILL tell
|
|
till he dieth, every time he hath gotten his barrel full
|
|
and feeleth his exaggeration-mill a-working. Would
|
|
God I had died or I saw this day!"
|
|
|
|
"Who is it?"
|
|
|
|
"Merlin, the mighty liar and magician, perdition
|
|
singe him for the weariness he worketh with his one
|
|
tale! But that men fear him for that he hath the
|
|
storms and the lightnings and all the devils that be in
|
|
hell at his beck and call, they would have dug his en-
|
|
trails out these many years ago to get at that tale and
|
|
squelch it. He telleth it always in the third person,
|
|
making believe he is too modest to glorify himself --
|
|
maledictions light upon him, misfortune be his dole!
|
|
Good friend, prithee call me for evensong."
|
|
|
|
The boy nestled himself upon my shoulder and pre-
|
|
tended to go to sleep. The old man began his tale;
|
|
and presently the lad was asleep in reality; so also were
|
|
the dogs, and the court, the lackeys, and the files of
|
|
men-at-arms. The droning voice droned on; a soft
|
|
snoring arose on all sides and supported it like a deep
|
|
and subdued accompaniment of wind instruments.
|
|
Some heads were bowed upon folded arms, some lay
|
|
back with open mouths that issued unconscious music;
|
|
the flies buzzed and bit, unmolested, the rats swarmed
|
|
softly out from a hundred holes, and pattered about,
|
|
and made themselves at home everywhere; and one of
|
|
them sat up like a squirrel on the king's head and held
|
|
a bit of cheese in its hands and nibbled it, and dribbled
|
|
the crumbs in the king's face with naive and impudent
|
|
irreverence. It was a tranquil scene, and restful to the
|
|
weary eye and the jaded spirit.
|
|
|
|
This was the old man's tale. He said:
|
|
|
|
"Right so the king and Merlin departed, and went
|
|
until an hermit that was a good man and a great leech.
|
|
So the hermit searched all his wounds and gave him
|
|
good salves; so the king was there three days, and then
|
|
were his wounds well amended that he might ride and
|
|
go, and so departed. And as they rode, Arthur said,
|
|
I have no sword. No force *, said Merlin, hereby is a
|
|
[* Footnote from M.T.: No matter.]
|
|
sword that shall be yours and I may. So they rode till
|
|
they came to a lake, the which was a fair water and
|
|
broad, and in the midst of the lake Arthur was ware of
|
|
an arm clothed in white samite, that held a fair sword
|
|
in that hand. Lo, said Merlin, yonder is that sword
|
|
that I spake of. With that they saw a damsel going
|
|
upon the lake. What damsel is that? said Arthur.
|
|
That is the Lady of the lake, said Merlin; and within
|
|
that lake is a rock, and therein is as fair a place as any
|
|
on earth, and richly beseen, and this damsel will come
|
|
to you anon, and then speak ye fair to her that she will
|
|
give you that sword. Anon withal came the damsel
|
|
unto Arthur and saluted him, and he her again.
|
|
Damsel, said Arthur, what sword is that, that yonder
|
|
the arm holdeth above the water? I would it were
|
|
mine, for I have no sword. Sir Arthur King, said the
|
|
damsel, that sword is mine, and if ye will give me a gift
|
|
when I ask it you, ye shall have it. By my faith, said
|
|
Arthur, I will give you what gift ye will ask. Well,
|
|
said the damsel, go ye into yonder barge and row your-
|
|
self to the sword, and take it and the scabbard with
|
|
you, and I will ask my gift when I see my time. So
|
|
Sir Arthur and Merlin alight, and tied their horses to
|
|
two trees, and so they went into the ship, and when
|
|
they came to the sword that the hand held, Sir Arthur
|
|
took it up by the handles, and took it with him. And
|
|
the arm and the hand went under the water; and so
|
|
they came unto the land and rode forth. And then Sir
|
|
Arthur saw a rich pavilion. What signifieth yonder
|
|
pavilion? It is the knight's pavilion, said Merlin,
|
|
that ye fought with last, Sir Pellinore, but he is
|
|
out, he is not there; he hath ado with a knight of
|
|
yours, that hight Egglame, and they have fought
|
|
together, but at the last Egglame fled, and else he had
|
|
been dead, and he hath chased him even to Carlion,
|
|
and we shall meet with him anon in the highway. That
|
|
is well said, said Arthur, now have I a sword, now will
|
|
I wage battle with him, and be avenged on him. Sir,
|
|
ye shall not so, said Merlin, for the knight is weary of
|
|
fighting and chasing, so that ye shall have no worship
|
|
to have ado with him; also, he will not lightly be
|
|
matched of one knight living; and therefore it is my
|
|
counsel, let him pass, for he shall do you good service
|
|
in short time, and his sons, after his days. Also ye
|
|
shall see that day in short space ye shall be right glad
|
|
to give him your sister to wed. When I see him, I will
|
|
do as ye advise me, said Arthur. Then Sir Arthur
|
|
looked on the sword, and liked it passing well.
|
|
Whether liketh you better, said Merlin, the sword or
|
|
the scabbard? Me liketh better the sword, said Arthur.
|
|
Ye are more unwise, said Merlin, for the scabbard is
|
|
worth ten of the sword, for while ye have the scabbard
|
|
upon you ye shall never lose no blood, be ye never so
|
|
sore wounded; therefore, keep well the scabbard always
|
|
with you. So they rode into Carlion, and by the way
|
|
they met with Sir Pellinore; but Merlin had done such
|
|
a craft that Pellinore saw not Arthur, and he passed by
|
|
without any words. I marvel, said Arthur, that the
|
|
knight would not speak. Sir, said Merlin, he saw you
|
|
not; for and he had seen you ye had not lightly de-
|
|
parted. So they came unto Carlion, whereof his
|
|
knights were passing glad. And when they heard of
|
|
his adventures they marveled that he would jeopard his
|
|
person so alone. But all men of worship said it was
|
|
merry to be under such a chieftain that would put his
|
|
person in adventure as other poor knights did."
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER IV.
|
|
SIR DINADAN THE HUMORIST
|
|
|
|
IT seemed to me that this quaint lie was most simply
|
|
and beautifully told; but then I had heard it only
|
|
once, and that makes a difference; it was pleasant to
|
|
the others when it was fresh, no doubt.
|
|
|
|
Sir Dinadan the Humorist was the first to awake, and
|
|
he soon roused the rest with a practical joke of a suffi-
|
|
ciently poor quality. He tied some metal mugs to a
|
|
dog's tail and turned him loose, and he tore around and
|
|
around the place in a frenzy of fright, with all the other
|
|
dogs bellowing after him and battering and crashing
|
|
against everything that came in their way and making
|
|
altogether a chaos of confusion and a most deafening
|
|
din and turmoil; at which every man and woman of the
|
|
multitude laughed till the tears flowed, and some fell
|
|
out of their chairs and wallowed on the floor in ecstasy.
|
|
It was just like so many children. Sir Dinadan was so
|
|
proud of his exploit that he could not keep from telling
|
|
over and over again, to weariness, how the immortal
|
|
idea happened to occur to him; and as is the way with
|
|
humorists of his breed, he was still laughing at it after
|
|
everybody else had got through. He was so set up
|
|
that he concluded to make a speech -- of course a
|
|
humorous speech. I think I never heard so many old
|
|
played-out jokes strung together in my life. He was
|
|
worse than the minstrels, worse than the clown in the
|
|
circus. It seemed peculiarly sad to sit here, thirteen
|
|
hundred years before I was born, and listen again to
|
|
poor, flat, worm-eaten jokes that had given me the dry
|
|
gripes when I was a boy thirteen hundred years after-
|
|
wards. It about convinced me that there isn't any such
|
|
thing as a new joke possible. Everybody laughed at
|
|
these antiquities -- but then they always do; I had
|
|
noticed that, centuries later. However, of course the
|
|
scoffer didn't laugh -- I mean the boy. No, he scoffed;
|
|
there wasn't anything he wouldn't scoff at. He said
|
|
the most of Sir Dinadan's jokes were rotten and the rest
|
|
were petrified. I said "petrified" was good; as I be-
|
|
lieved, myself, that the only right way to classify the
|
|
majestic ages of some of those jokes was by geologic
|
|
periods. But that neat idea hit the boy in a blank
|
|
place, for geology hadn't been invented yet. However,
|
|
I made a note of the remark, and calculated to educate
|
|
the commonwealth up to it if I pulled through. It is
|
|
no use to throw a good thing away merely because the
|
|
market isn't ripe yet.
|
|
|
|
Now Sir Kay arose and began to fire up on his his-
|
|
tory-mill with me for fuel. It was time for me to feel
|
|
serious, and I did. Sir Kay told how he had en-
|
|
countered me in a far land of barbarians, who all wore
|
|
the same ridiculous garb that I did -- a garb that was a
|
|
work of enchantment, and intended to make the wearer
|
|
secure from hurt by human hands. However he had
|
|
nullified the force of the enchantment by prayer, and
|
|
had killed my thirteen knights in a three hours' battle,
|
|
and taken me prisoner, sparing my life in order that so
|
|
strange a curiosity as I was might be exhibited to the
|
|
wonder and admiration of the king and the court. He
|
|
spoke of me all the time, in the blandest way, as "this
|
|
prodigious giant," and "this horrible sky-towering
|
|
monster," and "this tusked and taloned man-devour-
|
|
ing ogre", and everybody took in all this bosh in the
|
|
naivest way, and never smiled or seemed to notice that
|
|
there was any discrepancy between these watered statis-
|
|
tics and me. He said that in trying to escape from him
|
|
I sprang into the top of a tree two hundred cubits high
|
|
at a single bound, but he dislodged me with a stone the
|
|
size of a cow, which "all-to brast" the most of my
|
|
bones, and then swore me to appear at Arthur's court
|
|
for sentence. He ended by condemning me to die at
|
|
noon on the 21st; and was so little concerned about it
|
|
that he stopped to yawn before he named the date.
|
|
|
|
I was in a dismal state by this time; indeed, I was
|
|
hardly enough in my right mind to keep the run of a
|
|
dispute that sprung up as to how I had better be killed,
|
|
the possibility of the killing being doubted by some,
|
|
because of the enchantment in my clothes. And yet it
|
|
was nothing but an ordinary suit of fifteen-dollar slop-
|
|
shops. Still, I was sane enough to notice this detail,
|
|
to wit: many of the terms used in the most matter-of-
|
|
fact way by this great assemblage of the first ladies and
|
|
gentlemen in the land would have made a Comanche
|
|
blush. Indelicacy is too mild a term to convey the
|
|
idea. However, I had read "Tom Jones," and "Rod-
|
|
erick Random," and other books of that kind, and
|
|
knew that the highest and first ladies and gentlemen in
|
|
England had remained little or no cleaner in their talk,
|
|
and in the morals and conduct which such talk implies,
|
|
clear up to a hundred years ago; in fact clear into our
|
|
own nineteenth century -- in which century, broadly
|
|
speaking, the earliest samples of the real lady and real
|
|
gentleman discoverable in English history -- or in
|
|
European history, for that matter -- may be said to
|
|
have made their appearance. Suppose Sir Walter, in-
|
|
stead of putting the conversations into the mouths of
|
|
his characters, had allowed the characters to speak for
|
|
themselves? We should have had talk from Rebecca
|
|
and Ivanhoe and the soft lady Rowena which would
|
|
embarrass a tramp in our day. However, to the uncon-
|
|
sciously indelicate all things are delicate. King Ar-
|
|
thur's people were not aware that they were indecent
|
|
and I had presence of mind enough not to mention it.
|
|
|
|
They were so troubled about my enchanted clothes
|
|
that they were mightily relieved, at last, when old
|
|
Merlin swept the difficulty away for them with a com-
|
|
mon-sense hint. He asked them why they were so dull
|
|
-- why didn't it occur to them to strip me. In half a
|
|
minute I was as naked as a pair of tongs! And dear,
|
|
dear, to think of it: I was the only embarrassed person
|
|
there. Everybody discussed me; and did it as uncon-
|
|
cernedly as if I had been a cabbage. Queen Guenever
|
|
was as naively interested as the rest, and said she had
|
|
never seen anybody with legs just like mine before. It
|
|
was the only compliment I got -- if it was a compliment.
|
|
|
|
Finally I was carried off in one direction, and my
|
|
perilous clothes in another. I was shoved into a dark
|
|
and narrow cell in a dungeon, with some scant remnants
|
|
for dinner, some moldy straw for a bed, and no end
|
|
of rats for company.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER V.
|
|
AN INSPIRATION
|
|
|
|
I WAS so tired that even my fears were not able to
|
|
keep me awake long.
|
|
|
|
When I next came to myself, I seemed to have been
|
|
asleep a very long time. My first thought was, "Well,
|
|
what an astonishing dream I've had! I reckon I've
|
|
waked only just in time to keep from being hanged or
|
|
drowned or burned or something.... I'll nap
|
|
again till the whistle blows, and then I'll go down to
|
|
the arms factory and have it out with Hercules."
|
|
|
|
But just then I heard the harsh music of rusty chains
|
|
and bolts, a light flashed in my eyes, and that butterfly,
|
|
Clarence, stood before me! I gasped with surprise;
|
|
my breath almost got away from me.
|
|
|
|
"What!" I said, "you here yet? Go along with
|
|
the rest of the dream! scatter!"
|
|
|
|
But he only laughed, in his light-hearted way, and
|
|
fell to making fun of my sorry plight.
|
|
|
|
"All right," I said resignedly, "let the dream go
|
|
on; I'm in no hurry."
|
|
|
|
"Prithee what dream?"
|
|
|
|
"What dream? Why, the dream that I am in
|
|
Arthur's court -- a person who never existed; and that
|
|
I am talking to you, who are nothing but a work of the
|
|
imagination."
|
|
|
|
"Oh, la, indeed! and is it a dream that you're to be
|
|
burned to-morrow? Ho-ho -- answer me that!"
|
|
|
|
The shock that went through me was distressing. I
|
|
now began to reason that my situation was in the last
|
|
degree serious, dream or no dream; for I knew by past
|
|
experience of the lifelike intensity of dreams, that to
|
|
be burned to death, even in a dream, would be very far
|
|
from being a jest, and was a thing to be avoided, by
|
|
any means, fair or foul, that I could contrive. So I
|
|
said beseechingly:
|
|
|
|
"Ah, Clarence, good boy, only friend I've got, --
|
|
for you ARE my friend, aren't you? -- don't fail me; help
|
|
me to devise some way of escaping from this place!"
|
|
|
|
"Now do but hear thyself! Escape? Why, man,
|
|
the corridors are in guard and keep of men-at-arms."
|
|
|
|
"No doubt, no doubt. But how many, Clarence?
|
|
Not many, I hope?"
|
|
|
|
"Full a score. One may not hope to escape."
|
|
After a pause -- hesitatingly: "and there be other rea-
|
|
sons -- and weightier."
|
|
|
|
"Other ones? What are they?"
|
|
|
|
"Well, they say -- oh, but I daren't, indeed
|
|
daren't!"
|
|
|
|
"Why, poor lad, what is the matter? Why do you
|
|
blench? Why do you tremble so?"
|
|
|
|
"Oh, in sooth, there is need! I do want to tell you,
|
|
but --"
|
|
|
|
"Come, come, be brave, be a man -- speak out,
|
|
there's a good lad!"
|
|
|
|
He hesitated, pulled one way by desire, the other
|
|
way by fear; then he stole to the door and peeped out,
|
|
listening; and finally crept close to me and put his
|
|
mouth to my ear and told me his fearful news in a
|
|
whisper, and with all the cowering apprehension of one
|
|
who was venturing upon awful ground and speaking of
|
|
things whose very mention might be freighted with
|
|
death.
|
|
|
|
"Merlin, in his malice, has woven a spell about this
|
|
dungeon, and there bides not the man in these king-
|
|
doms that would be desperate enough to essay to cross
|
|
its lines with you! Now God pity me, I have told it!
|
|
Ah, be kind to me, be merciful to a poor boy who
|
|
means thee well; for an thou betray me I am lost!"
|
|
|
|
I laughed the only really refreshing laugh I had had
|
|
for some time; and shouted:
|
|
|
|
"Merlin has wrought a spell! MERLIN, forsooth!
|
|
That cheap old humbug, that maundering old ass?
|
|
Bosh, pure bosh, the silliest bosh in the world! Why,
|
|
it does seem to me that of all the childish, idiotic,
|
|
chuckle-headed, chicken-livered superstitions that
|
|
ev -- oh, damn Merlin!"
|
|
|
|
But Clarence had slumped to his knees before I had
|
|
half finished, and he was like to go out of his mind
|
|
with fright.
|
|
|
|
"Oh, beware! These are awful words! Any
|
|
moment these walls may crumble upon us if you say
|
|
such things. Oh call them back before it is too late!"
|
|
|
|
Now this strange exhibition gave me a good idea and
|
|
set me to thinking. If everybody about here was so
|
|
honestly and sincerely afraid of Merlin's pretended
|
|
magic as Clarence was, certainly a superior man like
|
|
me ought to be shrewd enough to contrive some way
|
|
to take advantage of such a state of things. I went
|
|
on thinking, and worked out a plan. Then I said:
|
|
|
|
"Get up. Pull yourself together; look me in the
|
|
eye. Do you know why I laughed?"
|
|
|
|
"No -- but for our blessed Lady's sake, do it no
|
|
more."
|
|
|
|
"Well, I'll tell you why I laughed. Because I'm a
|
|
magician myself."
|
|
|
|
"Thou!" The boy recoiled a step, and caught his
|
|
breath, for the thing hit him rather sudden; but the
|
|
aspect which he took on was very, very respectful. I
|
|
took quick note of that; it indicated that a humbug
|
|
didn't need to have a reputation in this asylum; people
|
|
stood ready to take him at his word, without that. I
|
|
resumed.
|
|
|
|
"I've know Merlin seven hundred years, and he --"
|
|
|
|
"Seven hun --"
|
|
|
|
"Don't interrupt me. He has died and come alive
|
|
again thirteen times, and traveled under a new name
|
|
every time: Smith, Jones, Robinson, Jackson, Peters,
|
|
Haskins, Merlin -- a new alias every time he turns up.
|
|
I knew him in Egypt three hundred years ago; I knew
|
|
him in India five hundred years ago -- he is always
|
|
blethering around in my way, everywhere I go; he
|
|
makes me tired. He don't amount to shucks, as a
|
|
magician; knows some of the old common tricks,
|
|
but has never got beyond the rudiments, and never
|
|
will. He is well enough for the provinces-- one-night
|
|
stands and that sort of thing, you know -- but dear me,
|
|
HE oughtn't to set up for an expert -- anyway not
|
|
where there's a real artist. Now look here, Clarence,
|
|
I am going to stand your friend, right along, and in re-
|
|
turn you must be mine. I want you to do me a favor.
|
|
I want you to get word to the king that I am a magician
|
|
myself -- and the Supreme Grand High-yu-Muck-
|
|
amuck and head of the tribe, at that; and I want him
|
|
to be made to understand that I am just quietly arrang-
|
|
ing a little calamity here that will make the fur fly in these
|
|
realms if Sir Kay's project is carried out and any harm
|
|
comes to me. Will you get that to the king for me?"
|
|
|
|
The poor boy was in such a state that he could
|
|
hardly answer me. It was pitiful to see a creature so
|
|
terrified, so unnerved, so demoralized. But he prom-
|
|
ised everything; and on my side he made me promise
|
|
over and over again that I would remain his friend, and
|
|
never turn against him or cast any enchantments upon
|
|
him. Then he worked his way out, staying himself
|
|
with his hand along the wall, like a sick person.
|
|
|
|
Presently this thought occurred to me: how heed-
|
|
less I have been! When the boy gets calm, he will
|
|
wonder why a great magician like me should have
|
|
begged a boy like him to help me get out of this place;
|
|
he will put this and that together, and will see that I
|
|
am a humbug.
|
|
|
|
I worried over that heedless blunder for an hour,
|
|
and called myself a great many hard names, meantime.
|
|
But finally it occurred to me all of a sudden that these
|
|
animals didn't reason; that THEY never put this and
|
|
that together; that all their talk showed that they
|
|
didn't know a discrepancy when they saw it. I was at
|
|
rest, then.
|
|
|
|
But as soon as one is at rest, in this world, off he goes
|
|
on something else to worry about. It occurred to me
|
|
that I had made another blunder: I had sent the boy
|
|
off to alarm his betters with a threat -- I intending to
|
|
invent a calamity at my leisure; now the people who are
|
|
the readiest and eagerest and willingest to swallow
|
|
miracles are the very ones who are hungriest to see you
|
|
perform them; suppose I should be called on for a
|
|
sample? Suppose I should be asked to name my
|
|
calamity? Yes, I had made a blunder; I ought to
|
|
have invented my calamity first. "What shall I do?
|
|
what can I say, to gain a little time?" I was in trouble
|
|
again; in the deepest kind of trouble:...
|
|
"There's a footstep! -- they're coming. If I had only
|
|
just a moment to think.... Good, I've got it.
|
|
I'm all right."
|
|
|
|
You see, it was the eclipse. It came into my mind
|
|
in the nick of time, how Columbus, or Cortez, or one
|
|
of those people, played an eclipse as a saving trump
|
|
once, on some savages, and I saw my chance. I could
|
|
play it myself, now, and it wouldn't be any plagiarism,
|
|
either, because I should get it in nearly a thousand
|
|
years ahead of those parties.
|
|
|
|
Clarence came in, subdued, distressed, and said:
|
|
|
|
"I hasted the message to our liege the king, and
|
|
straightway he had me to his presence. He was
|
|
frighted even to the marrow, and was minded to give
|
|
order for your instant enlargement, and that you be
|
|
clothed in fine raiment and lodged as befitted one so
|
|
great; but then came Merlin and spoiled all; for he
|
|
persuaded the king that you are mad, and know not
|
|
whereof you speak; and said your threat is but foolish-
|
|
ness and idle vaporing. They disputed long, but in the
|
|
end, Merlin, scoffing, said, 'Wherefore hath he not
|
|
NAMED his brave calamity? Verily it is because he can-
|
|
not.' This thrust did in a most sudden sort close the
|
|
king's mouth, and he could offer naught to turn the
|
|
argument; and so, reluctant, and full loth to do you
|
|
the discourtesy, he yet prayeth you to consider his per-
|
|
plexed case, as noting how the matter stands, and name
|
|
the calamity -- if so be you have determined the nature
|
|
of it and the time of its coming. Oh, prithee delay
|
|
not; to delay at such a time were to double and treble
|
|
the perils that already compass thee about. Oh, be
|
|
thou wise -- name the calamity!"
|
|
|
|
I allowed silence to accumulate while I got my im-
|
|
pressiveness together, and then said:
|
|
|
|
"How long have I been shut up in this hole?"
|
|
|
|
"Ye were shut up when yesterday was well spent
|
|
It is 9 of the morning now."
|
|
|
|
"No! Then I have slept well, sure enough. Nine
|
|
in the morning now! And yet it is the very complex-
|
|
ion of midnight, to a shade. This is the 20th, then?"
|
|
|
|
"The 20th -- yes."
|
|
|
|
"And I am to be burned alive to-morrow." The
|
|
boy shuddered.
|
|
|
|
"At what hour?"
|
|
|
|
"At high noon."
|
|
|
|
"Now then, I will tell you what to say." I paused,
|
|
and stood over that cowering lad a whole minute in
|
|
awful silence; then, in a voice deep, measured,
|
|
charged with doom, I began, and rose by dramatically
|
|
graded stages to my colossal climax, which I delivered
|
|
in as sublime and noble a way as ever I did such a
|
|
thing in my life: "Go back and tell the king that at
|
|
that hour I will smother the whole world in the dead
|
|
blackness of midnight; I will blot out the sun, and he
|
|
shall never shine again; the fruits of the earth shall
|
|
rot for lack of light and warmth, and the peoples of the
|
|
earth shall famish and die, to the last man!"
|
|
|
|
I had to carry the boy out myself, he sunk into such
|
|
a collapse. I handed him over to the soldiers, and
|
|
went back.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER VI.
|
|
THE ECLIPSE
|
|
|
|
IN the stillness and the darkness, realization soon
|
|
began to supplement knowledge. The mere knowl-
|
|
edge of a fact is pale; but when you come to REALIZE
|
|
your fact, it takes on color. It is all the difference be-
|
|
tween hearing of a man being stabbed to the heart, and
|
|
seeing it done. In the stillness and the darkness, the
|
|
knowledge that I was in deadly danger took to itself
|
|
deeper and deeper meaning all the time; a something
|
|
which was realization crept inch by inch through my
|
|
veins and turned me cold.
|
|
|
|
But it is a blessed provision of nature that at times
|
|
like these, as soon as a man's mercury has got down to
|
|
a certain point there comes a revulsion, and he rallies.
|
|
Hope springs up, and cheerfulness along with it, and
|
|
then he is in good shape to do something for himself,
|
|
if anything can be done. When my rally came, it
|
|
came with a bound. I said to myself that my eclipse
|
|
would be sure to save me, and make me the greatest
|
|
man in the kingdom besides; and straightway my
|
|
mercury went up to the top of the tube, and my solici-
|
|
tudes all vanished. I was as happy a man as there
|
|
was in the world. I was even impatient for to-
|
|
morrow to come, I so wanted to gather in that great
|
|
triumph and be the center of all the nation's wonder
|
|
and reverence. Besides, in a business way it would be
|
|
the making of me; I knew that.
|
|
|
|
Meantime there was one thing which had got pushed
|
|
into the background of my mind. That was the half-
|
|
conviction that when the nature of my proposed
|
|
calamity should be reported to those superstitious
|
|
people, it would have such an effect that they would
|
|
want to compromise. So, by and by when I heard
|
|
footsteps coming, that thought was recalled to me, and
|
|
I said to myself, "As sure as anything, it's the com-
|
|
promise. Well, if it is good, all right, I will accept;
|
|
but if it isn't, I mean to stand my ground and play my
|
|
hand for all it is worth."
|
|
|
|
The door opened, and some men-at-arms appeared.
|
|
The leader said:
|
|
|
|
"The stake is ready. Come!"
|
|
|
|
The stake! The strength went out of me, and I
|
|
almost fell down. It is hard to get one's breath at
|
|
such a time, such lumps come into one's throat, and
|
|
such gaspings; but as soon as I could speak, I said:
|
|
|
|
"But this is a mistake -- the execution is to-
|
|
morrow."
|
|
|
|
"Order changed; been set forward a day. Haste
|
|
thee!"
|
|
|
|
I was lost. There was no help for me. I was
|
|
dazed, stupefied; I had no command over myself, I
|
|
only wandered purposely about, like one out of his
|
|
mind; so the soldiers took hold of me, and pulled me
|
|
along with them, out of the cell and along the maze of
|
|
underground corridors, and finally into the fierce glare
|
|
of daylight and the upper world. As we stepped into
|
|
the vast enclosed court of the castle I got a shock;
|
|
for the first thing I saw was the stake, standing in the
|
|
center, and near it the piled fagots and a monk. On
|
|
all four sides of the court the seated multitudes rose
|
|
rank above rank, forming sloping terraces that were
|
|
rich with color. The king and the queen sat in their
|
|
thrones, the most conspicuous figures there, of course.
|
|
|
|
To note all this, occupied but a second. The next
|
|
second Clarence had slipped from some place of con-
|
|
cealment and was pouring news into my ear, his eyes
|
|
beaming with triumph and gladness. He said:
|
|
|
|
"'Tis through ME the change was wrought! And
|
|
main hard have I worked to do it, too. But when I
|
|
revealed to them the calamity in store, and saw how
|
|
mighty was the terror it did engender, then saw I also
|
|
that this was the time to strike! Wherefore I diligently
|
|
pretended, unto this and that and the other one, that
|
|
your power against the sun could not reach its full
|
|
until the morrow; and so if any would save the sun
|
|
and the world, you must be slain to-day, while your
|
|
enchantments are but in the weaving and lack potency.
|
|
Odsbodikins, it was but a dull lie, a most indifferent
|
|
invention, but you should have seen them seize it and
|
|
swallow it, in the frenzy of their fright, as it were sal-
|
|
vation sent from heaven; and all the while was I
|
|
laughing in my sleeve the one moment, to see them so
|
|
cheaply deceived, and glorifying God the next, that
|
|
He was content to let the meanest of His creatures be
|
|
His instrument to the saving of thy life. Ah how
|
|
happy has the matter sped! You will not need to do
|
|
the sun a REAL hurt -- ah, forget not that, on your soul
|
|
forget it not! Only make a little darkness -- only the
|
|
littlest little darkness, mind, and cease with that. It
|
|
will be sufficient. They will see that I spoke falsely, --
|
|
being ignorant, as they will fancy -- and with the fall-
|
|
ing of the first shadow of that darkness you shall see
|
|
them go mad with fear; and they will set you free and
|
|
make you great! Go to thy triumph, now! But re-
|
|
member -- ah, good friend, I implore thee remember
|
|
my supplication, and do the blessed sun no hurt. For
|
|
MY sake, thy true friend."
|
|
|
|
I choked out some words through my grief and
|
|
misery; as much as to say I would spare the sun; for
|
|
which the lad's eyes paid me back with such deep and
|
|
loving gratitude that I had not the heart to tell him his
|
|
good-hearted foolishness had ruined me and sent me
|
|
to my death.
|
|
|
|
As the soldiers assisted me across the court the still-
|
|
ness was so profound that if I had been blindfold I
|
|
should have supposed I was in a solitude instead of
|
|
walled in by four thousand people. There was not a
|
|
movement perceptible in those masses of humanity;
|
|
they were as rigid as stone images, and as pale; and
|
|
dread sat upon every countenance. This hush con-
|
|
tinued while I was being chained to the stake; it still
|
|
continued while the fagots were carefully and tediously
|
|
piled about my ankles, my knees, my thighs, my body.
|
|
Then there was a pause, and a deeper hush, if possible,
|
|
and a man knelt down at my feet with a blazing torch;
|
|
the multitude strained forward, gazing, and parting
|
|
slightly from their seats without knowing it; the monk
|
|
raised his hands above my head, and his eyes toward
|
|
the blue sky, and began some words in Latin; in this
|
|
attitude he droned on and on, a little while, and then
|
|
stopped. I waited two or three moments; then looked
|
|
up; he was standing there petrified. With a common
|
|
impulse the multitude rose slowly up and stared into
|
|
the sky. I followed their eyes, as sure as guns, there
|
|
was my eclipse beginning! The life went boiling
|
|
through my veins; I was a new man! The rim of
|
|
black spread slowly into the sun's disk, my heart beat
|
|
higher and higher, and still the assemblage and the
|
|
priest stared into the sky, motionless. I knew that
|
|
this gaze would be turned upon me, next. When it
|
|
was, l was ready. I was in one of the most grand
|
|
attitudes I ever struck, with my arm stretched up
|
|
pointing to the sun. It was a noble effect. You
|
|
could SEE the shudder sweep the mass like a wave.
|
|
Two shouts rang out, one close upon the heels of the
|
|
other:
|
|
|
|
"Apply the torch!"
|
|
|
|
"I forbid it!"
|
|
|
|
The one was from Merlin, the other from the king.
|
|
Merlin started from his place -- to apply the torch
|
|
himself, I judged. I said:
|
|
|
|
"Stay where you are. If any man moves -- even
|
|
the king -- before I give him leave, I will blast him
|
|
with thunder, I will consume him with lightnings!"
|
|
|
|
The multitude sank meekly into their seats, and I was
|
|
just expecting they would. Merlin hesitated a moment
|
|
or two, and I was on pins and needles during that little
|
|
while. Then he sat down, and I took a good breath;
|
|
for I knew I was master of the situation now. The
|
|
king said:
|
|
|
|
"Be merciful, fair sir, and essay no further in this
|
|
perilous matter, lest disaster follow. It was reported
|
|
to us that your powers could not attain unto their full
|
|
strength until the morrow; but --"
|
|
|
|
"Your Majesty thinks the report may have been a
|
|
lie? It WAS a lie."
|
|
|
|
That made an immense effect; up went appealing
|
|
hands everywhere, and the king was assailed with a
|
|
storm of supplications that I might be bought off at
|
|
any price, and the calamity stayed. The king was
|
|
eager to comply. He said:
|
|
|
|
"Name any terms, reverend sir, even to the halving
|
|
of my kingdom; but banish this calamity, spare the
|
|
sun!"
|
|
|
|
My fortune was made. I would have taken him up
|
|
in a minute, but I couldn't stop an eclipse; the thing
|
|
was out of the question. So I asked time to consider.
|
|
The king said:
|
|
|
|
"How long -- ah, how long, good sir? Be merci-
|
|
ful; look, it groweth darker, moment by moment.
|
|
Prithee how long?"
|
|
|
|
"Not long. Half an hour -- maybe an hour."
|
|
|
|
There were a thousand pathetic protests, but I
|
|
couldn't shorten up any, for I couldn't remember
|
|
how long a total eclipse lasts. I was in a puzzled con-
|
|
dition, anyway, and wanted to think. Something was
|
|
wrong about that eclipse, and the fact was very un-
|
|
settling. If this wasn't the one I was after, how was
|
|
I to tell whether this was the sixth century, or nothing
|
|
but a dream? Dear me, if I could only prove it was
|
|
the latter! Here was a glad new hope. If the boy
|
|
was right about the date, and this was surely the 20th,
|
|
it WASN'T the sixth century. I reached for the monk's
|
|
sleeve, in considerable excitement, and asked him what
|
|
day of the month it was.
|
|
|
|
Hang him, he said it was the TWENTY-FIRST! It made
|
|
me turn cold to hear him. I begged him not to make
|
|
any mistake about it; but he was sure; he knew it
|
|
was the 21st. So, that feather-headed boy had botched
|
|
things again! The time of the day was right for the
|
|
eclipse; I had seen that for myself, in the beginning,
|
|
by the dial that was near by. Yes, I was in King
|
|
Arthur's court, and I might as well make the most out
|
|
of it I could.
|
|
|
|
The darkness was steadily growing, the people be-
|
|
coming more and more distressed. I now said:
|
|
|
|
"I have reflected, Sir King. For a lesson, I will
|
|
let this darkness proceed, and spread night in the
|
|
world; but whether I blot out the sun for good, or
|
|
restore it, shall rest with you. These are the terms, to
|
|
wit: You shall remain king over all your dominions,
|
|
and receive all the glories and honors that belong to
|
|
the kingship; but you shall appoint me your perpetual
|
|
minister and executive, and give me for my services
|
|
one per cent. of such actual increase of revenue over
|
|
and above its present amount as I may succeed in
|
|
creating for the state. If I can't live on that, I sha'n't
|
|
ask anybody to give me a lift. Is it satisfactory?"
|
|
|
|
There was a prodigious roar of applause, and out of
|
|
the midst of it the king's voice rose, saying:
|
|
|
|
"Away with his bonds, and set him free! and do
|
|
him homage, high and low, rich and poor, for he is
|
|
become the king's right hand, is clothed with power
|
|
and authority, and his seat is upon the highest step of
|
|
the throne! Now sweep away this creeping night, and
|
|
bring the light and cheer again, that all the world may
|
|
bless thee."
|
|
|
|
But I said:
|
|
|
|
"That a common man should be shamed before
|
|
the world, is nothing; but it were dishonor to the KING
|
|
if any that saw his minister naked should not also see
|
|
him delivered from his shame. If I might ask that my
|
|
clothes be brought again --"
|
|
|
|
"They are not meet," the king broke in. "Fetch
|
|
raiment of another sort; clothe him like a prince!"
|
|
|
|
My idea worked. I wanted to keep things as they
|
|
were till the eclipse was total, otherwise they would be
|
|
trying again to get me to dismiss the darkness, and of
|
|
course I couldn't do it. Sending for the clothes
|
|
gained some delay, but not enough. So I had to
|
|
make another excuse. I said it would be but natural
|
|
if the king should change his mind and repent to some
|
|
extent of what he had done under excitement; there-
|
|
fore I would let the darkness grow a while, and if at
|
|
the end of a reasonable time the king had kept his
|
|
mind the same, the darkness should be dismissed.
|
|
Neither the king nor anybody else was satisfied with
|
|
that arrangement, but I had to stick to my point.
|
|
|
|
It grew darker and darker and blacker and blacker,
|
|
while I struggled with those awkward sixth-century
|
|
clothes. It got to be pitch dark, at last, and the
|
|
multitude groaned with horror to feel the cold uncanny
|
|
night breezes fan through the place and see the stars
|
|
come out and twinkle in the sky. At last the eclipse
|
|
was total, and I was very glad of it, but everybody
|
|
else was in misery; which was quite natural. I said:
|
|
|
|
"The king, by his silence, still stands to the terms."
|
|
Then I lifted up my hands -- stood just so a moment --
|
|
then I said, with the most awful solemnity: "Let the
|
|
enchantment dissolve and pass harmless away!"
|
|
|
|
There was no response, for a moment, in that deep
|
|
darkness and that graveyard hush. But when the
|
|
silver rim of the sun pushed itself out, a moment or
|
|
two later, the assemblage broke loose with a vast shout
|
|
and came pouring down like a deluge to smother me
|
|
with blessings and gratitude; and Clarence was not the
|
|
last of the wash, to be sure.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER VII.
|
|
MERLIN'S TOWER
|
|
|
|
INASMUCH as I was now the second personage in
|
|
the Kingdom, as far as political power and author-
|
|
ty were concerned, much was made of me. My
|
|
raiment was of silks and velvets and cloth of gold,
|
|
and by consequence was very showy, also uncomfort-
|
|
able. But habit would soon reconcile me to my clothes;
|
|
I was aware of that. I was given the choicest suite of
|
|
apartments in the castle, after the king's. They were
|
|
aglow with loud-colored silken hangings, but the stone
|
|
floors had nothing but rushes on them for a carpet,
|
|
and they were misfit rushes at that, being not all of
|
|
one breed. As for conveniences, properly speaking,
|
|
there weren't any. I mean LITTLE conveniences; it is
|
|
the little conveniences that make the real comfort of
|
|
life. The big oaken chairs, graced with rude carvings,
|
|
were well enough, but that was the stopping place.
|
|
There was no soap, no matches, no looking-glass -- ex-
|
|
cept a metal one, about as powerful as a pail of water.
|
|
And not a chromo. I had been used to chromos for
|
|
years, and I saw now that without my suspecting it a
|
|
passion for art had got worked into the fabric of my
|
|
being, and was become a part of me. It made me
|
|
homesick to look around over this proud and gaudy
|
|
but heartless barrenness and remember that in our house
|
|
in East Hartford, all unpretending as it was, you couldn't
|
|
go into a room but you would find an insurance-chromo,
|
|
or at least a three-color God-Bless-Our-Home over the
|
|
door; and in the parlor we had nine. But here, even
|
|
in my grand room of state, there wasn't anything in
|
|
the nature of a picture except a thing the size of a
|
|
bedquilt, which was either woven or knitted (it had
|
|
darned places in it), and nothing in it was the right
|
|
color or the right shape; and as for proportions, even
|
|
Raphael himself couldn't have botched them more
|
|
formidably, after all his practice on those nightmares
|
|
they call his "celebrated Hampton Court cartoons."
|
|
Raphael was a bird. We had several of his chromos;
|
|
one was his "Miraculous Draught of Fishes," where
|
|
he puts in a miracle of his own -- puts three men into
|
|
a canoe which wouldn't have held a dog without up-
|
|
setting. I always admired to study R.'s art, it was so
|
|
fresh and unconventional.
|
|
|
|
There wasn't even a bell or a speaking-tube in the
|
|
castle. I had a great many servants, and those that
|
|
were on duty lolled in the anteroom; and when I
|
|
wanted one of them I had to go and call for him.
|
|
There was no gas, there were no candles; a bronze
|
|
dish half full of boarding-house butter with a blazing
|
|
rag floating in it was the thing that produced what was
|
|
regarded as light. A lot of these hung along the walls
|
|
and modified the dark, just toned it down enough to
|
|
make it dismal. If you went out at night, your ser-
|
|
vants carried torches. There were no books, pens,
|
|
paper or ink, and no glass in the openings they be-
|
|
lieved to be windows. It is a little thing -- glass is --
|
|
until it is absent, then it becomes a big thing. But
|
|
perhaps the worst of all was, that there wasn't any
|
|
sugar, coffee, tea, or tobacco. I saw that I was just
|
|
another Robinson Crusoe cast away on an uninhabited
|
|
island, with no society but some more or less tame
|
|
animals, and if I wanted to make life bearable I must
|
|
do as he did -- invent, contrive, create, reorganize
|
|
things; set brain and hand to work, and keep them
|
|
busy. Well, that was in my line.
|
|
|
|
One thing troubled me along at first -- the immense
|
|
interest which people took in me. Apparently the
|
|
whole nation wanted a look at me. It soon transpired
|
|
that the eclipse had scared the British world almost to
|
|
death; that while it lasted the whole country, from one
|
|
end to the other, was in a pitiable state of panic, and
|
|
the churches, hermitages, and monkeries overflowed
|
|
with praying and weeping poor creatures who thought
|
|
the end of the world was come. Then had followed
|
|
the news that the producer of this awful event was a
|
|
stranger, a mighty magician at Arthur's court; that he
|
|
could have blown out the sun like a candle, and was
|
|
just going to do it when his mercy was purchased, and
|
|
he then dissolved his enchantments, and was now
|
|
recognized and honored as the man who had by his
|
|
unaided might saved the globe from destruction and
|
|
its peoples from extinction. Now if you consider that
|
|
everybody believed that, and not only believed it, but
|
|
never even dreamed of doubting it, you will easily
|
|
understand that there was not a person in all Britain
|
|
that would not have walked fifty miles to get a sight of
|
|
me. Of course I was all the talk -- all other subjects
|
|
were dropped; even the king became suddenly a per-
|
|
son of minor interest and notoriety. Within twenty-
|
|
four hours the delegations began to arrive, and from
|
|
that time onward for a fortnight they kept coming.
|
|
The village was crowded, and all the countryside. I
|
|
had to go out a dozen times a day and show myself to
|
|
these reverent and awe-stricken multitudes. It came
|
|
to be a great burden, as to time and trouble, but of
|
|
course it was at the same time compensatingly agree-
|
|
able to be so celebrated and such a center of homage.
|
|
It turned Brer Merlin green with envy and spite, which
|
|
was a great satisfaction to me. But there was one
|
|
thing I couldn't understand -- nobody had asked for
|
|
an autograph. I spoke to Clarence about it. By
|
|
George! I had to explain to him what it was. Then
|
|
he said nobody in the country could read or write but
|
|
a few dozen priests. Land! think of that.
|
|
|
|
There was another thing that troubled me a little.
|
|
Those multitudes presently began to agitate for another
|
|
miracle. That was natural. To be able to carry back
|
|
to their far homes the boast that they had seen the
|
|
man who could command the sun, riding in the
|
|
heavens, and be obeyed, would make them great in
|
|
the eyes of their neighbors, and envied by them all;
|
|
but to be able to also say they had seen him work a
|
|
miracle themselves -- why, people would come a dis-
|
|
tance to see THEM. The pressure got to be pretty
|
|
strong. There was going to be an eclipse of the
|
|
moon, and I knew the date and hour, but it was too
|
|
far away. Two years. I would have given a good
|
|
deal for license to hurry it up and use it now when
|
|
there was a big market for it. It seemed a great pity
|
|
to have it wasted so, and come lagging along at a time
|
|
when a body wouldn't have any use for it, as like as
|
|
not. If it had been booked for only a month away, I
|
|
could have sold it short; but, as matters stood, I
|
|
couldn't seem to cipher out any way to make it do me
|
|
any good, so I gave up trying. Next, Clarence found
|
|
that old Merlin was making himself busy on the sly
|
|
among those people. He was spreading a report that
|
|
I was a humbug, and that the reason I didn't accom-
|
|
modate the people with a miracle was because I
|
|
couldn't. I saw that I must do something. I pres-
|
|
ently thought out a plan.
|
|
|
|
By my authority as executive I threw Merlin into
|
|
prison -- the same cell I had occupied myself. Then
|
|
I gave public notice by herald and trumpet that I
|
|
should be busy with affairs of state for a fortnight, but
|
|
about the end of that time I would take a moment's
|
|
leisure and blow up Merlin's stone tower by fires from
|
|
heaven; in the meantime, whoso listened to evil re-
|
|
ports about me, let him beware. Furthermore, I
|
|
would perform but this one miracle at this time, and
|
|
no more; if it failed to satisfy and any murmured, I
|
|
would turn the murmurers into horses, and make them
|
|
useful. Quiet ensued.
|
|
|
|
I took Clarence into my confidence, to a certain
|
|
degree, and we went to work privately. I told him
|
|
that this was a sort of miracle that required a trifle of
|
|
preparation, and that it would be sudden death to ever
|
|
talk about these preparations to anybody. That made
|
|
his mouth safe enough. Clandestinely we made a few
|
|
bushels of first-rate blasting powder, and I superin-
|
|
tended my armorers while they constructed a lightning-
|
|
rod and some wires. This old stone tower was very
|
|
massive -- and rather ruinous, too, for it was Roman,
|
|
and four hundred years old. Yes, and handsome,
|
|
after a rude fashion, and clothed with ivy from base to
|
|
summit, as with a shirt of scale mail. It stood on a
|
|
lonely eminence, in good view from the castle, and
|
|
about half a mile away.
|
|
|
|
Working by night, we stowed the powder in the
|
|
tower -- dug stones out, on the inside, and buried the
|
|
powder in the walls themselves, which were fifteen feet
|
|
thick at the base. We put in a peck at a time, in a
|
|
dozen places. We could have blown up the Tower of
|
|
London with these charges. When the thirteenth night
|
|
was come we put up our lightning-rod, bedded it in
|
|
one of the batches of powder, and ran wires from it to
|
|
the other batches. Everybody had shunned that
|
|
locality from the day of my proclamation, but on the
|
|
morning of the fourteenth I thought best to warn the
|
|
people, through the heralds, to keep clear away -- a
|
|
quarter of a mile away. Then added, by command,
|
|
that at some time during the twenty-four hours I
|
|
would consummate the miracle, but would first give a
|
|
brief notice; by flags on the castle towers if in the
|
|
daytime, by torch-baskets in the same places if at
|
|
night.
|
|
|
|
Thunder-showers had been tolerably frequent of late,
|
|
and I was not much afraid of a failure; still, I shouldn't
|
|
have cared for a delay of a day or two; I should have
|
|
explained that I was busy with affairs of state yet, and
|
|
the people must wait.
|
|
|
|
Of course, we had a blazing sunny day -- almost the
|
|
first one without a cloud for three weeks; things always
|
|
happen so. I kept secluded, and watched the weather.
|
|
Clarence dropped in from time to time and said the
|
|
public excitement was growing and growing all the
|
|
time, and the whole country filling up with human
|
|
masses as far as one could see from the battlements.
|
|
At last the wind sprang up and a cloud appeared -- in
|
|
the right quarter, too, and just at nightfall. For a
|
|
little while I watched that distant cloud spread and
|
|
blacken, then I judged it was time for me to appear.
|
|
I ordered the torch-baskets to be lit, and Merlin liber-
|
|
ated and sent to me. A quarter of an hour later I
|
|
ascended the parapet and there found the king and the
|
|
court assembled and gazing off in the darkness toward
|
|
Merlin's Tower. Already the darkness was so heavy
|
|
that one could not see far; these people and the old
|
|
turrets, being partly in deep shadow and partly in the
|
|
red glow from the great torch-baskets overhead, made
|
|
a good deal of a picture.
|
|
|
|
Merlin arrived in a gloomy mood. I said:
|
|
|
|
"You wanted to burn me alive when I had not done
|
|
you any harm, and latterly you have been trying to
|
|
injure my professional reputation. Therefore I am
|
|
going to call down fire and blow up your tower, but
|
|
it is only fair to give you a chance; now if you think
|
|
you can break my enchantments and ward off the fires,
|
|
step to the bat, it's your innings."
|
|
|
|
"I can, fair sir, and I will. Doubt it not."
|
|
|
|
He drew an imaginary circle on the stones of the
|
|
roof, and burnt a pinch of powder in it, which sent up
|
|
a small cloud of aromatic smoke, whereat everybody
|
|
fell back and began to cross themselves and get un-
|
|
comfortable. Then he began to mutter and make
|
|
passes in the air with his hands. He worked himself
|
|
up slowly and gradually into a sort of frenzy, and got
|
|
to thrashing around with his arms like the sails of a
|
|
windmill. By this time the storm had about reached
|
|
us; the gusts of wind were flaring the torches and
|
|
making the shadows swash about, the first heavy drops
|
|
of rain were falling, the world abroad was black as
|
|
pitch, the lightning began to wink fitfully. Of course,
|
|
my rod would be loading itself now. In fact, things
|
|
were imminent. So I said:
|
|
|
|
"You have had time enough. I have given you
|
|
every advantage, and not interfered. It is plain your
|
|
magic is weak. It is only fair that I begin now."
|
|
|
|
I made about three passes in the air, and then there
|
|
was an awful crash and that old tower leaped into the
|
|
sky in chunks, along with a vast volcanic fountain of
|
|
fire that turned night to noonday, and showed a thou-
|
|
sand acres of human beings groveling on the ground in
|
|
a general collapse of consternation. Well, it rained
|
|
mortar and masonry the rest of the week. This was
|
|
the report; but probably the facts would have modi-
|
|
fied it.
|
|
|
|
It was an effective miracle. The great bothersome
|
|
temporary population vanished. There were a good
|
|
many thousand tracks in the mud the next morning,
|
|
but they were all outward bound. If I had advertised
|
|
another miracle I couldn't have raised an audience
|
|
with a sheriff.
|
|
|
|
Merlin's stock was flat. The king wanted to stop
|
|
his wages; he even wanted to banish him, but I inter-
|
|
fered. I said he would be useful to work the weather,
|
|
and attend to small matters like that, and I would give
|
|
him a lift now and then when his poor little parlor-
|
|
magic soured on him. There wasn't a rag of his tower
|
|
left, but I had the government rebuild it for him, and
|
|
advised him to take boarders; but he was too high-
|
|
toned for that. And as for being grateful, he never
|
|
even said thank you. He was a rather hard lot, take
|
|
him how you might; but then you couldn't fairly ex-
|
|
pect a man to be sweet that had been set back so.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER VIII.
|
|
THE BOSS
|
|
|
|
TO be vested with enormous authority is a fine
|
|
thing; but to have the on-looking world consent
|
|
to it is a finer. The tower episode solidified my
|
|
power, and made it impregnable. If any were per-
|
|
chance disposed to be jealous and critical before that,
|
|
they experienced a change of heart, now. There was
|
|
not any one in the kingdom who would have considered
|
|
it good judgment to meddle with my matters.
|
|
|
|
I was fast getting adjusted to my situation and cir-
|
|
cumstances. For a time, I used to wake up, mornings,
|
|
and smile at my "dream," and listen for the Colt's
|
|
factory whistle; but that sort of thing played itself
|
|
out, gradually, and at last I was fully able to realize
|
|
that I was actually living in the sixth century, and in
|
|
Arthur's court, not a lunatic asylum. After that, I
|
|
was just as much at home in that century as I could
|
|
have been in any other; and as for preference, I
|
|
wouldn't have traded it for the twentieth. Look at
|
|
the opportunities here for a man of knowledge, brains,
|
|
pluck, and enterprise to sail in and grow up with the
|
|
country. The grandest field that ever was; and all my
|
|
own; not a competitor; not a man who wasn't a baby
|
|
to me in acquirements and capacities; whereas, what
|
|
would I amount to in the twentieth century? I should
|
|
be foreman of a factory, that is about all; and could
|
|
drag a seine down street any day and catch a hundred
|
|
better men than myself.
|
|
|
|
What a jump I had made! I couldn't keep from
|
|
thinking about it, and contemplating it, just as one
|
|
does who has struck oil. There was nothing back of
|
|
me that could approach it, unless it might be Joseph's
|
|
case; and Joseph's only approached it, it didn't equal
|
|
it, quite. For it stands to reason that as Joseph's
|
|
splendid financial ingenuities advantaged nobody but
|
|
the king, the general public must have regarded him
|
|
with a good deal of disfavor, whereas I had done my
|
|
entire public a kindness in sparing the sun, and was
|
|
popular by reason of it.
|
|
|
|
I was no shadow of a king; I was the substance;
|
|
the king himself was the shadow. My power was
|
|
colossal; and it was not a mere name, as such things
|
|
have generally been, it was the genuine article. I
|
|
stood here, at the very spring and source of the second
|
|
great period of the world's history; and could see the
|
|
trickling stream of that history gather and deepen and
|
|
broaden, and roll its mighty tides down the far
|
|
centuries; and I could note the upspringing of adven-
|
|
turers like myself in the shelter of its long array of
|
|
thrones: De Montforts, Gavestons, Mortimers, Villier-
|
|
ses; the war-making, campaign-directing wantons of
|
|
France, and Charles the Second's scepter-wielding
|
|
drabs; but nowhere in the procession was my full-
|
|
sized fellow visible. I was a Unique; and glad to
|
|
know that that fact could not be dislodged or chal-
|
|
lenged for thirteen centuries and a half, for sure.
|
|
Yes, in power I was equal to the king. At the same
|
|
time there was another power that was a trifle stronger
|
|
than both of us put together. That was the Church.
|
|
I do not wish to disguise that fact. I couldn't, if I
|
|
wanted to. But never mind about that, now; it will
|
|
show up, in its proper place, later on. It didn't cause
|
|
me any trouble in the beginning -- at least any of
|
|
consequence.
|
|
|
|
Well, it was a curious country, and full of interest.
|
|
And the people! They were the quaintest and sim-
|
|
plest and trustingest race; why, they were nothing but
|
|
rabbits. It was pitiful for a person born in a whole-
|
|
some free atmosphere to listen to their humble and
|
|
hearty outpourings of loyalty toward their king and
|
|
Church and nobility; as if they had any more occasion
|
|
to love and honor king and Church and noble than a
|
|
slave has to love and honor the lash, or a dog has to
|
|
love and honor the stranger that kicks him! Why,
|
|
dear me,ANY kind of royalty, howsoever modified,
|
|
ANY kind of aristocracy, howsoever pruned, is rightly
|
|
an insult; but if you are born and brought up under
|
|
that sort of arrangement you probably never find it
|
|
out for yourself, and don't believe it when somebody
|
|
else tells you. It is enough to make a body ashamed
|
|
of his race to think of the sort of froth that has
|
|
always occupied its thrones without shadow of right
|
|
or reason, and the seventh-rate people that have always
|
|
figured as its aristocracies -- a company of monarchs
|
|
and nobles who, as a rule, would have achieved only
|
|
poverty and obscurity if left, like their betters, to their
|
|
own exertions.
|
|
|
|
The most of King Arthur's British nation were
|
|
slaves, pure and simple, and bore that name, and wore
|
|
the iron collar on their necks; and the rest were slaves
|
|
in fact, but without the name; they imagined them-
|
|
selves men and freemen, and called themselves so.
|
|
The truth was, the nation as a body was in the world
|
|
for one object, and one only: to grovel before king
|
|
and Church and noble; to slave for them, sweat blood
|
|
for them, starve that they might be fed, work that they
|
|
might play, drink misery to the dregs that they might
|
|
be happy, go naked that they might wear silks and
|
|
jewels, pay taxes that they might be spared from pay-
|
|
ing them, be familiar all their lives with the degrading
|
|
language and postures of adulation that they might
|
|
walk in pride and think themselves the gods of this
|
|
world. And for all this, the thanks they got were
|
|
cuffs and contempt; and so poor-spirited were they
|
|
that they took even this sort of attention as an honor.
|
|
|
|
Inherited ideas are a curious thing, and interesting
|
|
to observe and examine. I had mine, the king and his
|
|
people had theirs. In both cases they flowed in ruts
|
|
worn deep by time and habit, and the man who should
|
|
have proposed to divert them by reason and argument
|
|
would have had a long contract on his hands. For
|
|
instance, those people had inherited the idea that all
|
|
men without title and a long pedigree, whether they
|
|
had great natural gifts and acquirements or hadn't,
|
|
were creatures of no more consideration than so many
|
|
animals, bugs, insects; whereas I had inherited the
|
|
idea that human daws who can consent to masquerade
|
|
in the peacock-shams of inherited dignities and un-
|
|
earned titles, are of no good but to be laughed at.
|
|
The way I was looked upon was odd, but it was
|
|
natural. You know how the keeper and the public
|
|
regard the elephant in the menagerie: well, that is the
|
|
idea. They are full of admiration of his vast bulk and
|
|
his prodigious strength; they speak with pride of the
|
|
fact that he can do a hundred marvels which are far
|
|
and away beyond their own powers; and they speak
|
|
with the same pride of the fact that in his wrath he is
|
|
able to drive a thousand men before him. But does
|
|
that make him one of THEM? No; the raggedest
|
|
tramp in the pit would smile at the idea. He couldn't
|
|
comprehend it; couldn't take it in; couldn't in any
|
|
remote way conceive of it. Well, to the king, the
|
|
nobles, and all the nation, down to the very slaves
|
|
and tramps, I was just that kind of an elephant, and
|
|
nothing more. I was admired, also feared; but it
|
|
was as an animal is admired and feared. The animal
|
|
is not reverenced, neither was I; I was not even re-
|
|
spected. I had no pedigree, no inherited title; so
|
|
in the king's and nobles' eyes I was mere dirt; the
|
|
people regarded me with wonder and awe, but there
|
|
was no reverence mixed with it; through the force of
|
|
inherited ideas they were not able to conceive of any-
|
|
thing being entitled to that except pedigree and lord-
|
|
ship. There you see the hand of that awful power,
|
|
the Roman Catholic Church. In two or three little
|
|
centuries it had converted a nation of men to a nation
|
|
of worms. Before the day of the Church's supremacy
|
|
in the world, men were men, and held their heads up,
|
|
and had a man's pride and spirit and independence;
|
|
and what of greatness and position a person got, he
|
|
got mainly by achievement, not by birth. But then
|
|
the Church came to the front, with an axe to grind;
|
|
and she was wise, subtle, and knew more than one
|
|
way to skin a cat -- or a nation; she invented "divine
|
|
right of kings," and propped it all around, brick by
|
|
brick, with the Beatitudes -- wrenching them from
|
|
their good purpose to make them fortify an evil one;
|
|
she preached (to the commoner) humility, obedience
|
|
to superiors, the beauty of self-sacrifice; she preached
|
|
(to the commoner) meekness under insult; preached
|
|
(still to the commoner, always to the commoner) pa-
|
|
tience, meanness of spirit, non-resistance under op-
|
|
pression; and she introduced heritable ranks and
|
|
aristocracies, and taught all the Christian populations
|
|
of the earth to bow down to them and worship them.
|
|
Even down to my birth-century that poison was still in
|
|
the blood of Christendom, and the best of English com-
|
|
moners was still content to see his inferiors impudently
|
|
continuing to hold a number of positions, such as lord-
|
|
ships and the throne, to which the grotesque laws of
|
|
his country did not allow him to aspire; in fact, he
|
|
was not merely contented with this strange condition
|
|
of things, he was even able to persuade himself that
|
|
he was proud of it. It seems to show that there isn't
|
|
anything you can't stand, if you are only born and
|
|
bred to it. Of course that taint, that reverence for
|
|
rank and title, had been in our American blood, too --
|
|
I know that; but when I left America it had disap-
|
|
peared -- at least to all intents and purposes. The
|
|
remnant of it was restricted to the dudes and dudesses.
|
|
When a disease has worked its way down to that level,
|
|
it may fairly be said to be out of the system.
|
|
|
|
But to return to my anomalous position in King
|
|
Arthur's kingdom. Here I was, a giant among pig-
|
|
mies, a man among children, a master intelligence
|
|
among intellectual moles: by all rational measurement
|
|
the one and only actually great man in that whole
|
|
British world; and yet there and then, just as in the
|
|
remote England of my birth-time, the sheep-witted
|
|
earl who could claim long descent from a king's leman,
|
|
acquired at second-hand from the slums of London,
|
|
was a better man than I was. Such a personage was
|
|
fawned upon in Arthur's realm and reverently looked
|
|
up to by everybody, even though his dispositions were
|
|
as mean as his intelligence, and his morals as base as
|
|
his lineage. There were times when HE could sit down
|
|
in the king's presence, but I couldn't. I could have
|
|
got a title easily enough, and that would have raised
|
|
me a large step in everybody's eyes; even in the
|
|
king's, the giver of it. But I didn't ask for it; and I
|
|
declined it when it was offered. I couldn't have enjoyed
|
|
such a thing with my notions; and it wouldn't have
|
|
been fair, anyway, because as far back as I could go,
|
|
our tribe had always been short of the bar sinister. I
|
|
couldn't have felt really and satisfactorily fine and
|
|
proud and set-up over any title except one that should
|
|
come from the nation itself, the only legitimate source;
|
|
and such an one I hoped to win; and in the course of
|
|
years of honest and honorable endeavor, I did win it
|
|
and did wear it with a high and clean pride. This
|
|
title fell casually from the lips of a blacksmith, one
|
|
day, in a village, was caught up as a happy thought
|
|
and tossed from mouth to mouth with a laugh and an
|
|
affirmative vote; in ten days it had swept the kingdom,
|
|
and was become as familiar as the king's name. I
|
|
was never known by any other designation afterward,
|
|
whether in the nation's talk or in grave debate upon
|
|
matters of state at the council-board of the sovereign.
|
|
This title, translated into modern speech, would be
|
|
THE BOSS. Elected by the nation. That suited me.
|
|
And it was a pretty high title. There were very few
|
|
THE'S, and I was one of them. If you spoke of the
|
|
duke, or the earl, or the bishop, how could anybody
|
|
tell which one you meant? But if you spoke of The
|
|
King or The Queen or The Boss, it was different.
|
|
|
|
Well, I liked the king, and as king I respected him
|
|
-- respected the office; at least respected it as much as
|
|
I was capable of respecting any unearned supremacy;
|
|
but as MEN I looked down upon him and his nobles --
|
|
privately. And he and they liked me, and respected
|
|
my office; but as an animal, without birth or sham
|
|
title, they looked down upon me -- and were not par-
|
|
ticularly private about it, either. I didn't charge for
|
|
my opinion about them, and they didn't charge for
|
|
their opinion about me: the account was square, the
|
|
books balanced, everybody was satisfied.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER IX.
|
|
THE TOURNAMENT
|
|
|
|
THEY were always having grand tournaments there
|
|
at Camelot; and very stirring and picturesque
|
|
and ridiculous human bull-fights they were, too, but
|
|
just a little wearisome to the practical mind. How-
|
|
ever, I was generally on hand -- for two reasons: a
|
|
man must not hold himself aloof from the things which
|
|
his friends and his community have at heart if he
|
|
would be liked -- especially as a statesman; and both
|
|
as business man and statesman I wanted to study the
|
|
tournament and see if I couldn't invent an improve-
|
|
ment on it. That reminds me to remark, in passing,
|
|
that the very first official thing I did, in my adminis-
|
|
tration -- and it was on the very first day of it, too --
|
|
was to start a patent office; for I knew that a country
|
|
without a patent office and good patent laws was just
|
|
a crab, and couldn't travel any way but sideways or
|
|
backways.
|
|
|
|
Things ran along, a tournament nearly every week;
|
|
and now and then the boys used to want me to take a
|
|
hand -- I mean Sir Launcelot and the rest -- but I
|
|
said I would by and by; no hurry yet, and too much
|
|
government machinery to oil up and set to rights and
|
|
start a-going.
|
|
|
|
We had one tournament which was continued from
|
|
day to day during more than a week, and as many as
|
|
five hundred knights took part in it, from first to last.
|
|
They were weeks gathering. They came on horseback
|
|
from everywhere; from the very ends of the country,
|
|
and even from beyond the sea; and many brought
|
|
ladies, and all brought squires and troops of servants.
|
|
It was a most gaudy and gorgeous crowd, as to cos-
|
|
tumery, and very characteristic of the country and the
|
|
time, in the way of high animal spirits, innocent inde-
|
|
cencies of language, and happy-hearted indifference to
|
|
morals. It was fight or look on, all day and every
|
|
day; and sing, gamble, dance, carouse half the night
|
|
every night. They had a most noble good time. You
|
|
never saw such people. Those banks of beautiful
|
|
ladies, shining in their barbaric splendors, would see
|
|
a knight sprawl from his horse in the lists with a lance-
|
|
shaft the thickness of your ankle clean through him
|
|
and the blood spouting, and instead of fainting they
|
|
would clap their hands and crowd each other for a
|
|
better view; only sometimes one would dive into her
|
|
handkerchief, and look ostentatiously broken-hearted,
|
|
and then you could lay two to one that there was a
|
|
scandal there somewhere and she was afraid the public
|
|
hadn't found it out.
|
|
|
|
The noise at night would have been annoying to me
|
|
ordinarily, but I didn't mind it in the present circum-
|
|
stances, because it kept me from hearing the quacks
|
|
detaching legs and arms from the day's cripples.
|
|
They ruined an uncommon good old cross-cut saw for
|
|
me, and broke the saw-buck, too, but I let it pass.
|
|
And as for my axe -- well, I made up my mind that
|
|
the next time I lent an axe to a surgeon I would pick
|
|
my century.
|
|
|
|
I not only watched this tournament from day to day,
|
|
but detailed an intelligent priest from my Department
|
|
of Public Morals and Agriculture, and ordered him to
|
|
report it; for it was my purpose by and by, when I
|
|
should have gotten the people along far enough, to
|
|
start a newspaper. The first thing you want in a new
|
|
country, is a patent office; then work up your school
|
|
system; and after that, out with your paper. A
|
|
newspaper has its faults, and plenty of them, but no
|
|
matter, it's hark from the tomb for a dead nation, and
|
|
don't you forget it. You can't resurrect a dead nation
|
|
without it; there isn't any way. So I wanted to
|
|
sample things, and be finding out what sort of reporter-
|
|
material I might be able to rake together out of the
|
|
sixth century when I should come to need it.
|
|
|
|
Well, the priest did very well, considering. He got
|
|
in all the details, and that is a good thing in a local
|
|
item: you see, he had kept books for the undertaker-
|
|
department of his church when he was younger,
|
|
and there, you know, the money's in the details; the
|
|
more details, the more swag: bearers, mutes, candles,
|
|
prayers -- everything counts; and if the bereaved don't
|
|
buy prayers enough you mark up your candles with a
|
|
forked pencil, and your bill shows up all right. And
|
|
he had a good knack at getting in the complimentary
|
|
thing here and there about a knight that was likely to
|
|
advertise -- no, I mean a knight that had influence;
|
|
and he also had a neat gift of exaggeration, for in his
|
|
time he had kept door for a pious hermit who lived in
|
|
a sty and worked miracles.
|
|
|
|
Of course this novice's report lacked whoop and
|
|
crash and lurid description, and therefore wanted the
|
|
true ring; but its antique wording was quaint and
|
|
sweet and simple, and full of the fragrances and flavors
|
|
of the time, and these little merits made up in a meas-
|
|
ure for its more important lacks. Here is an extract
|
|
from it:
|
|
|
|
Then Sir Brian de les Isles and Grummore Grummorsum,
|
|
knights of the castle, encountered with Sir Aglovale and
|
|
Sir Tor, and Sir Tor smote down Sir Grummore Grummorsum
|
|
to the earth. Then came Sir Carados of the dolorous
|
|
tower, and Sir Turquine, knights of the castle, and
|
|
there encountered with them Sir Percivale de Galis
|
|
and Sir Lamorak de Galis, that were two brethren, and
|
|
there encountered Sir Percivale with Sir Carados, and
|
|
either brake their spears unto their hands, and then
|
|
Sir Turquine with Sir Lamorak, and either of them smote
|
|
down other, horse and all, to the earth, and either
|
|
parties rescued other and horsed them again. And Sir
|
|
Arnold, and Sir Gauter, knights of the castle,
|
|
encountered with Sir Brandiles and Sir Kay, and these
|
|
four knights encountered mightily, and brake their
|
|
spears to their hands. Then came Sir Pertolope from
|
|
the castle, and there encountered with him Sir Lionel,
|
|
and there Sir Pertolope the green knight smote down Sir
|
|
Lionel, brother to Sir Launcelot. All this was marked
|
|
by noble heralds, who bare him best, and their names.
|
|
Then Sir Bleobaris brake his spear upon Sir Gareth,
|
|
but of that stroke Sir Bleobaris fell to the earth.
|
|
When Sir Galihodin saw that, he bad Sir Gareth keep him,
|
|
and Sir Gareth smote him to the earth. Then Sir Galihud
|
|
gat a spear to avenge his brother, and in the same wise
|
|
Sir Gareth served him, and Sir Dinadan and his brother
|
|
La Cote Male Taile, and Sir Sagramore le Disirous, and
|
|
Sir Dodinas le Savage; all these he bare down with one
|
|
spear. When King Aswisance of Ireland saw Sir Gareth
|
|
fare so he marvelled what he might be, that one time
|
|
seemed green, and another time, at his again coming,
|
|
he seemed blue. And thus at every course that he rode
|
|
to and fro he changed his color, so that there might
|
|
neither king nor knight have ready cognizance of him.
|
|
Then Sir Agwisance the King of Ireland encountered
|
|
with Sir Gareth, and there Sir Gareth smote him from
|
|
his horse, saddle and all. And then came King Carados
|
|
of Scotland, and Sir Gareth smote him down horse and
|
|
man. And in the same wise he served King Uriens of the
|
|
land of Gore. And then there came in Six Bagdemagus,
|
|
and Sir Gareth smote him down horse and man to the
|
|
earth. And Bagdemagus's son Meliganus brake a spear
|
|
upon Sir Gareth mightily and knightly. And then Sir
|
|
Galahault the noble prince cried on high, Knight with
|
|
the many colors, well hast thou justed; now make thee
|
|
ready that I may just with thee. Sir Gareth heard him,
|
|
and he gat a great spear, and so they encountered
|
|
together, and there the prince brake his spear; but Sir
|
|
Gareth smote him upon the left side of the helm, that
|
|
he reeled here and there, and he had fallen down had not
|
|
his men recovered him. Truly, said King Arthur, that
|
|
knight with the many colors is a good knight. Wherefore
|
|
the king called unto him Sir Launcelot, and prayed him
|
|
to encounter with that knight. Sir, said Launcelot, I
|
|
may as well find in my heart for to forbear him at
|
|
this time, for he hath had travail enough this day, and
|
|
when a good knight doth so well upon some day, it is
|
|
no good knight's part to let him of his worship, and,
|
|
namely, when he seeth a knight hath done so great
|
|
labour; for peradventure, said Sir Launcelot, his
|
|
quarrel is here this day, and peradventure he is best
|
|
beloved with this lady of all that be here, for I see
|
|
well he paineth himself and enforceth him to do great
|
|
deeds, and therefore, said Sir Launcelot, as for me,
|
|
this day he shall have the honour; though it lay in my
|
|
power to put him from it, I would not.
|
|
|
|
There was an unpleasant little episode that day,
|
|
which for reasons of state I struck out of my priest's
|
|
report. You will have noticed that Garry was doing
|
|
some great fighting in the engagement. When I say
|
|
Garry I mean Sir Gareth. Garry was my private pet
|
|
name for him; it suggests that I had a deep affection
|
|
for him, and that was the case. But it was a private
|
|
pet name only, and never spoken aloud to any one,
|
|
much less to him; being a noble, he would not have
|
|
endured a familiarity like that from me. Well, to pro-
|
|
ceed: I sat in the private box set apart for me as the
|
|
king's minister. While Sir Dinadan was waiting for
|
|
his turn to enter the lists, he came in there and sat
|
|
down and began to talk; for he was always making up
|
|
to me, because I was a stranger and he liked to have a
|
|
fresh market for his jokes, the most of them having
|
|
reached that stage of wear where the teller has to do
|
|
the laughing himself while the other person looks sick.
|
|
I had always responded to his efforts as well as I
|
|
could, and felt a very deep and real kindness for him,
|
|
too, for the reason that if by malice of fate he knew
|
|
the one particular anecdote which I had heard oftenest
|
|
and had most hated and most loathed all my life, he
|
|
had at least spared it me. It was one which I had
|
|
heard attributed to every humorous person who had
|
|
ever stood on American soil, from Columbus down to
|
|
Artemus Ward. It was about a humorous lecturer
|
|
who flooded an ignorant audience with the killingest
|
|
jokes for an hour and never got a laugh; and then
|
|
when he was leaving, some gray simpletons wrung him
|
|
gratefully by the hand and said it had been the funniest
|
|
thing they had ever heard, and "it was all they could
|
|
do to keep from laughin' right out in meetin'." That
|
|
anecdote never saw the day that it was worth the telling;
|
|
and yet I had sat under the telling of it hundreds and
|
|
thousands and millions and billions of times, and cried
|
|
and cursed all the way through. Then who can hope
|
|
to know what my feelings were, to hear this armor-
|
|
plated ass start in on it again, in the murky twilight of
|
|
tradition, before the dawn of history, while even
|
|
Lactantius might be referred to as "the late Lactan-
|
|
tius," and the Crusades wouldn't be born for five
|
|
hundred years yet? Just as he finished, the call-boy
|
|
came; so, haw-hawing like a demon, he went rattling
|
|
and clanking out like a crate of loose castings, and I
|
|
knew nothing more. It was some minutes before I
|
|
came to, and then I opened my eyes just in time to
|
|
see Sir Gareth fetch him an awful welt, and I uncon-
|
|
sciously out with the prayer, "I hope to gracious he's
|
|
killed!" But by ill-luck, before I had got half through
|
|
with the words, Sir Gareth crashed into Sir Sagramor
|
|
le Desirous and sent him thundering over his horse's
|
|
crupper, and Sir Sagramor caught my remark and
|
|
thought I meant it for HIM.
|
|
|
|
Well, whenever one of those people got a thing into
|
|
his head, there was no getting it out again. I knew
|
|
that, so I saved my breath, and offered no explana-
|
|
tions. As soon as Sir Sagramor got well, he notified
|
|
me that there was a little account to settle between us,
|
|
and he named a day three or four years in the future;
|
|
place of settlement, the lists where the offense had
|
|
been given. I said I would be ready when he got
|
|
back. You see, he was going for the Holy Grail.
|
|
The boys all took a flier at the Holy Grail now and
|
|
then. It was a several years' cruise. They always
|
|
put in the long absence snooping around, in the most
|
|
conscientious way, though none of them had any idea
|
|
where the Holy Grail really was, and I don't think any
|
|
of them actually expected to find it, or would have
|
|
known what to do with it if he HAD run across it.
|
|
You see, it was just the Northwest Passage of that
|
|
day, as you may say; that was all. Every year expe-
|
|
ditions went out holy grailing, and next year relief
|
|
expeditions went out to hunt for THEM. There was
|
|
worlds of reputation in it, but no money. Why, they
|
|
actually wanted ME to put in! Well, I should smile.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER X.
|
|
BEGINNINGS OF CIVILIZATION
|
|
|
|
THE Round Table soon heard of the challenge, and
|
|
of course it was a good deal discussed, for such
|
|
things interested the boys. The king thought I ought
|
|
now to set forth in quest of adventures, so that I
|
|
might gain renown and be the more worthy to meet
|
|
Sir Sagramor when the several years should have rolled
|
|
away. I excused myself for the present; I said it
|
|
would take me three or four years yet to get things
|
|
well fixed up and going smoothly; then I should be
|
|
ready; all the chances were that at the end of that
|
|
time Sir Sagramor would still be out grailing, so no
|
|
valuable time would be lost by the postponement; I
|
|
should then have been in office six or seven years,
|
|
and I believed my system and machinery would be so
|
|
well developed that I could take a holiday without its
|
|
working any harm.
|
|
|
|
I was pretty well satisfied with what I had already
|
|
accomplished. In various quiet nooks and corners I
|
|
had the beginnings of all sorts of industries under way
|
|
-- nuclei of future vast factories, the iron and steel
|
|
missionaries of my future civilization. In these were
|
|
gathered together the brightest young minds I could
|
|
find, and I kept agents out raking the country for
|
|
more, all the time. I was training a crowd of ignorant
|
|
folk into experts -- experts in every sort of handiwork
|
|
and scientific calling. These nurseries of mine went
|
|
smoothly and privately along undisturbed in their ob-
|
|
scure country retreats, for nobody was allowed to
|
|
come into their precincts without a special permit --
|
|
for I was afraid of the Church.
|
|
|
|
I had started a teacher-factory and a lot of Sunday-
|
|
schools the first thing; as a result, I now had an ad-
|
|
mirable system of graded schools in full blast in those
|
|
places, and also a complete variety of Protestant con-
|
|
gregations all in a prosperous and growing condition.
|
|
Everybody could be any kind of a Christian he wanted
|
|
to; there was perfect freedom in that matter. But I
|
|
confined public religious teaching to the churches and
|
|
the Sunday-schools, permitting nothing of it in my
|
|
other educational buildings. I could have given my
|
|
own sect the preference and made everybody a Presby-
|
|
terian without any trouble, but that would have been
|
|
to affront a law of human nature: spiritual wants and
|
|
instincts are as various in the human family as are
|
|
physical appetites, complexions, and features, and a
|
|
man is only at his best, morally, when he is equipped
|
|
with the religious garment whose color and shape and
|
|
size most nicely accommodate themselves to the spirit-
|
|
ual complexion, angularities, and stature of the indi-
|
|
vidual who wears it; and, besides, I was afraid of a
|
|
united Church; it makes a mighty power, the mightiest
|
|
conceivable, and then when it by and by gets into
|
|
selfish hands, as it is always bound to do, it means
|
|
death to human liberty and paralysis to human
|
|
thought.
|
|
|
|
All mines were royal property, and there were a
|
|
good many of them. They had formerly been worked
|
|
as savages always work mines -- holes grubbed in the
|
|
earth and the mineral brought up in sacks of hide by
|
|
hand, at the rate of a ton a day; but I had begun to
|
|
put the mining on a scientific basis as early as I could.
|
|
|
|
Yes, I had made pretty handsome progress when Sir
|
|
Sagramor's challenge struck me.
|
|
|
|
Four years rolled by -- and then! Well, you would
|
|
never imagine it in the world. Unlimited power is the
|
|
ideal thing when it is in safe hands. The despotism of
|
|
heaven is the one absolutely perfect government. An
|
|
earthly despotism would be the absolutely perfect earthly
|
|
government, if the conditions were the same, namely,
|
|
the despot the perfectest individual of the human race,
|
|
and his lease of life perpetual. But as a perishable
|
|
perfect man must die, and leave his despotism in the
|
|
hands of an imperfect successor, an earthly despotism
|
|
is not merely a bad form of government, it is the worst
|
|
form that is possible.
|
|
|
|
My works showed what a despot could do with the
|
|
resources of a kingdom at his command. Unsuspected
|
|
by this dark land, I had the civilization of the nine-
|
|
teenth century booming under its very nose! It was
|
|
fenced away from the public view, but there it was, a
|
|
gigantic and unassailable fact -- and to be heard from,
|
|
yet, if I lived and had luck. There it was, as sure a
|
|
fact and as substantial a fact as any serene volcano,
|
|
standing innocent with its smokeless summit in the
|
|
blue sky and giving no sign of the rising hell in its
|
|
bowels. My schools and churches were children four
|
|
years before; they were grown-up now; my shops of
|
|
that day were vast factories now; where I had a dozen
|
|
trained men then, I had a thousand now; where I had
|
|
one brilliant expert then, I had fifty now. I stood
|
|
with my hand on the cock, so to speak, ready to turn
|
|
it on and flood the midnight world with light at any
|
|
moment. But I was not going to do the thing in that
|
|
sudden way. It was not my policy. The people
|
|
could not have stood it; and, moreover, I should have
|
|
had the Established Roman Catholic Church on my
|
|
back in a minute.
|
|
|
|
No, I had been going cautiously all the while. I
|
|
had had confidential agents trickling through the
|
|
country some time, whose office was to undermine
|
|
knighthood by imperceptible degrees, and to gnaw a
|
|
little at this and that and the other superstition, and so
|
|
prepare the way gradually for a better order of things.
|
|
I was turning on my light one-candle-power at a time,
|
|
and meant to continue to do so.
|
|
|
|
I had scattered some branch schools secretly about
|
|
the kingdom, and they were doing very well. I meant
|
|
to work this racket more and more, as time wore on, if
|
|
nothing occurred to frighten me. One of my deepest
|
|
secrets was my West Point -- my military academy. I
|
|
kept that most jealously out of sight; and I did the
|
|
same with my naval academy which I had established
|
|
at a remote seaport. Both were prospering to my
|
|
satisfaction.
|
|
|
|
Clarence was twenty-two now, and was my head
|
|
executive, my right hand. He was a darling; he was
|
|
equal to anything; there wasn't anything he couldn't
|
|
turn his hand to. Of late I had been training him for
|
|
journalism, for the time seemed about right for a start
|
|
in the newspaper line; nothing big, but just a small
|
|
weekly for experimental circulation in my civilization-
|
|
nurseries. He took to it like a duck; there was an
|
|
editor concealed in him, sure. Already he had doubled
|
|
himself in one way; he talked sixth century and wrote
|
|
nineteenth. His journalistic style was climbing, stead-
|
|
ily; it was already up to the back settlement Alabama
|
|
mark, and couldn't be told from the editorial output of
|
|
that region either by matter or flavor.
|
|
|
|
We had another large departure on hand, too. This
|
|
was a telegraph and a telephone; our first venture in
|
|
this line. These wires were for private service only,
|
|
as yet, and must be kept private until a riper day
|
|
should come. We had a gang of men on the road,
|
|
working mainly by night. They were stringing ground
|
|
wires; we were afraid to put up poles, for they would
|
|
attract too much inquiry. Ground wires were good
|
|
enough, in both instances, for my wires were protected
|
|
by an insulation of my own invention which was per-
|
|
fect. My men had orders to strike across country,
|
|
avoiding roads, and establishing connection with any
|
|
considerable towns whose lights betrayed their pres-
|
|
ence, and leaving experts in charge. Nobody could
|
|
tell you how to find any place in the kingdom, for
|
|
nobody ever went intentionally to any place, but only
|
|
struck it by accident in his wanderings, and then gener-
|
|
ally left it without thinking to inquire what its name
|
|
was. At one time and another we had sent out topo-
|
|
graphical expeditions to survey and map the kingdom,
|
|
but the priests had always interfered and raised trouble.
|
|
So we had given the thing up, for the present; it
|
|
would be poor wisdom to antagonize the Church.
|
|
|
|
As for the general condition of the country, it was
|
|
as it had been when I arrived in it, to all intents and
|
|
purposes. I had made changes, but they were neces-
|
|
sarily slight, and they were not noticeable. Thus far,
|
|
I had not even meddled with taxation, outside of the
|
|
taxes which provided the royal revenues. I had
|
|
systematized those, and put the service on an effective
|
|
and righteous basis. As a result, these revenues were
|
|
already quadrupled, and yet the burden was so much
|
|
more equably distributed than before, that all the king-
|
|
dom felt a sense of relief, and the praises of my ad-
|
|
ministration were hearty and general.
|
|
|
|
Personally, I struck an interruption, now, but I did
|
|
not mind it, it could not have happened at a better
|
|
time. Earlier it could have annoyed me, but now
|
|
everything was in good hands and swimming right
|
|
along. The king had reminded me several times, of
|
|
late, that the postponement I had asked for, four years
|
|
before, had about run out now. It was a hint that I
|
|
ought to be starting out to seek adventures and get up
|
|
a reputation of a size to make me worthy of the honor
|
|
of breaking a lance with Sir Sagramor, who was still
|
|
out grailing, but was being hunted for by various relief
|
|
expeditions, and might be found any year, now. So
|
|
you see I was expecting this interruption; it did not
|
|
take me by surprise.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XI.
|
|
THE YANKEE IN SEARCH OF ADVENTURES.
|
|
|
|
THERE never was such a country for wandering
|
|
liars; and they were of both sexes. Hardly a
|
|
month went by without one of these tramps arriving;
|
|
and generally loaded with a tale about some princess
|
|
or other wanting help to get her out of some far-away
|
|
castle where she was held in captivity by a lawless
|
|
scoundrel, usually a giant. Now you would think that
|
|
the first thing the king would do after listening to such
|
|
a novelette from an entire stranger, would be to ask
|
|
for credentials -- yes, and a pointer or two as to
|
|
locality of castle, best route to it, and so on. But
|
|
nobody ever thought of so simple and common-sense
|
|
a thing at that. No, everybody swallowed these peo-
|
|
ple's lies whole, and never asked a question of any
|
|
sort or about anything. Well, one day when I was
|
|
not around, one of these people came along -- it was a
|
|
she one, this time -- and told a tale of the usual pat-
|
|
tern. Her mistress was a captive in a vast and gloomy
|
|
castle, along with forty-four other young and beautiful
|
|
girls, pretty much all of them princesses; they had
|
|
been languishing in that cruel captivity for twenty-six
|
|
years; the masters of the castle were three stupendous
|
|
brothers, each with four arms and one eye -- the eye in
|
|
the center of the forehead, and as big as a fruit. Sort of
|
|
fruit not mentioned; their usual slovenliness in statistics.
|
|
|
|
Would you believe it? The king and the whole
|
|
Round Table were in raptures over this preposterous
|
|
opportunity for adventure. Every knight of the Table
|
|
jumped for the chance, and begged for it; but to their
|
|
vexation and chagrin the king conferred it upon me,
|
|
who had not asked for it at all.
|
|
|
|
By an effort, I contained my joy when Clarence
|
|
brought me the news. But he -- he could not contain
|
|
his. His mouth gushed delight and gratitude in a
|
|
steady discharge -- delight in my good fortune, grati-
|
|
tude to the king for this splendid mark of his favor for
|
|
me. He could keep neither his legs nor his body still,
|
|
but pirouetted about the place in an airy ecstasy of
|
|
happiness.
|
|
|
|
On my side, I could have cursed the kindness that
|
|
conferred upon me this benefaction, but I kept my
|
|
vexation under the surface for policy's sake, and did
|
|
what I could to let on to be glad. Indeed, I SAID I
|
|
was glad. And in a way it was true; I was as glad as
|
|
a person is when he is scalped.
|
|
|
|
Well, one must make the best of things, and not
|
|
waste time with useless fretting, but get down to busi-
|
|
ness and see what can be done. In all lies there is
|
|
wheat among the chaff; I must get at the wheat in this
|
|
case: so I sent for the girl and she came. She was a
|
|
comely enough creature, and soft and modest, but, if
|
|
signs went for anything, she didn't know as much as a
|
|
lady's watch. I said:
|
|
|
|
"My dear, have you been questioned as to particu-
|
|
lars?"
|
|
|
|
She said she hadn't.
|
|
|
|
"Well, I didn't expect you had, but I thought I
|
|
would ask, to make sure; it's the way I've been raised.
|
|
Now you mustn't take it unkindly if I remind you that
|
|
as we don't know you, we must go a little slow. You
|
|
may be all right, of course, and we'll hope that you
|
|
are; but to take it for granted isn't business. YOU
|
|
understand that. I'm obliged to ask you a few ques-
|
|
tions; just answer up fair and square, and don't be
|
|
afraid. Where do you live, when you are at home?"
|
|
|
|
"In the land of Moder, fair sir."
|
|
|
|
"Land of Moder. I don't remember hearing of it
|
|
before. Parents living?"
|
|
|
|
"As to that, I know not if they be yet on live, sith
|
|
it is many years that I have lain shut up in the castle."
|
|
|
|
"Your name, please?"
|
|
|
|
"I hight the Demoiselle Alisande la Carteloise, an it
|
|
please you."
|
|
|
|
"Do you know anybody here who can identify you?"
|
|
|
|
"That were not likely, fair lord, I being come hither
|
|
now for the first time."
|
|
|
|
"Have you brought any letters -- any documents --
|
|
any proofs that you are trustworthy and truthful?"
|
|
|
|
"Of a surety, no; and wherefore should I? Have
|
|
I not a tongue, and cannot I say all that myself?"
|
|
|
|
"But YOUR saying it, you know, and somebody
|
|
else's saying it, is different."
|
|
|
|
"Different? How might that be? I fear me I do
|
|
not understand."
|
|
|
|
"Don't UNDERSTAND? Land of -- why, you see --
|
|
you see -- why, great Scott, can't you understand a
|
|
little thing like that? Can't you understand the
|
|
difference between your -- WHY do you look so inno-
|
|
cent and idiotic!"
|
|
|
|
"I? In truth I know not, but an it were the will of
|
|
God."
|
|
|
|
"Yes, yes, I reckon that's about the size of it.
|
|
Don't mind my seeming excited; I'm not. Let us
|
|
change the subject. Now as to this castle, with forty-
|
|
five princesses in it, and three ogres at the head of it,
|
|
tell me -- where is this harem?"
|
|
|
|
"Harem?"
|
|
|
|
"The CASTLE, you understand; where is the castle?"
|
|
|
|
"Oh, as to that, it is great, and strong, and well beseen,
|
|
and lieth in a far country. Yes, it is many leagues."
|
|
|
|
"HOW many?"
|
|
|
|
"Ah, fair sir, it were woundily hard to tell, they
|
|
are so many, and do so lap the one upon the other,
|
|
and being made all in the same image and tincted with
|
|
the same color, one may not know the one league from
|
|
its fellow, nor how to count them except they be taken
|
|
apart, and ye wit well it were God's work to do that,
|
|
being not within man's capacity; for ye will note --"
|
|
|
|
"Hold on, hold on, never mind about the distance;
|
|
WHEREABOUTS does the castle lie? What's the direction
|
|
from here?"
|
|
|
|
"Ah, please you sir, it hath no direction from
|
|
here; by reason that the road lieth not straight, but
|
|
turneth evermore; wherefore the direction of its place
|
|
abideth not, but is some time under the one sky and
|
|
anon under another, whereso if ye be minded that it is
|
|
in the east, and wend thitherward, ye shall observe that
|
|
the way of the road doth yet again turn upon itself by
|
|
the space of half a circle, and this marvel happing
|
|
again and yet again and still again, it will grieve you
|
|
that you had thought by vanities of the mind to thwart
|
|
and bring to naught the will of Him that giveth not a
|
|
castle a direction from a place except it pleaseth Him,
|
|
and if it please Him not, will the rather that even all
|
|
castles and all directions thereunto vanish out of the
|
|
earth, leaving the places wherein they tarried desolate
|
|
and vacant, so warning His creatures that where He
|
|
will He will, and where He will not He --"
|
|
|
|
"Oh, that's all right, that's all right, give us a rest;
|
|
never mind about the direction, HANG the direction -- I
|
|
beg pardon, I beg a thousand pardons, I am not well
|
|
to-day; pay no attention when I soliloquize, it is an
|
|
old habit, an old, bad habit, and hard to get rid of
|
|
when one's digestion is all disordered with eating food
|
|
that was raised forever and ever before he was born;
|
|
good land! a man can't keep his functions regular on
|
|
spring chickens thirteen hundred years old. But come
|
|
-- never mind about that; let's -- have you got such
|
|
a thing as a map of that region about you? Now a
|
|
good map --"
|
|
|
|
"Is it peradventure that manner of thing which of
|
|
late the unbelievers have brought from over the great
|
|
seas, which, being boiled in oil, and an onion and salt
|
|
added thereto, doth --"
|
|
|
|
"What, a map? What are you talking about?
|
|
Don't you know what a map is? There, there, never
|
|
mind, don't explain, I hate explanations; they fog a
|
|
thing up so that you can't tell anything about it. Run
|
|
along, dear; good-day; show her the way, Clarence."
|
|
|
|
Oh, well, it was reasonably plain, now, why these
|
|
donkeys didn't prospect these liars for details. It
|
|
may be that this girl had a fact in her somewhere, but
|
|
I don't believe you could have sluiced it out with a
|
|
hydraulic; nor got it with the earlier forms of blasting,
|
|
even; it was a case for dynamite. Why, she was a
|
|
perfect ass; and yet the king and his knights had
|
|
listened to her as if she had been a leaf out of the
|
|
gospel. It kind of sizes up the whole party. And
|
|
think of the simple ways of this court: this wandering
|
|
wench hadn't any more trouble to get access to the
|
|
king in his palace than she would have had to get into
|
|
the poorhouse in my day and country. In fact, he
|
|
was glad to see her, glad to hear her tale; with that
|
|
adventure of hers to offer, she was as welcome as a
|
|
corpse is to a coroner.
|
|
|
|
Just as I was ending-up these reflections, Clarence
|
|
came back. I remarked upon the barren result of my
|
|
efforts with the girl; hadn't got hold of a single point
|
|
that could help me to find the castle. The youth
|
|
looked a little surprised, or puzzled, or something, and
|
|
intimated that he had been wondering to himself what
|
|
I had wanted to ask the girl all those questions for.
|
|
|
|
"Why, great guns," I said, "don't I want to find
|
|
the castle? And how else would I go about it?"
|
|
|
|
"La, sweet your worship, one may lightly answer
|
|
that, I ween. She will go with thee. They always
|
|
do. She will ride with thee."
|
|
|
|
"Ride with me? Nonsense!"
|
|
|
|
"But of a truth she will. She will ride with thee.
|
|
Thou shalt see."
|
|
|
|
"What? She browse around the hills and scour the
|
|
woods with me -- alone -- and I as good as engaged to
|
|
be married? Why, it's scandalous. Think how it
|
|
would look."
|
|
|
|
My, the dear face that rose before me! The boy
|
|
was eager to know all about this tender matter. I
|
|
swore him to secresy and then whispered her name --
|
|
"Puss Flanagan." He looked disappointed, and said
|
|
he didn't remember the countess. How natural it was
|
|
for the little courtier to give her a rank. He asked me
|
|
where she lived.
|
|
|
|
"In East Har--" I came to myself and stopped,
|
|
a little confused; then I said, "Never mind, now; I'll
|
|
tell you some time."
|
|
|
|
And might he see her? Would I let him see her
|
|
some day?
|
|
|
|
It was but a little thing to promise -- thirteen hun-
|
|
dred years or so -- and he so eager; so I said Yes.
|
|
But I sighed; I couldn't help it. And yet there was
|
|
no sense in sighing, for she wasn't born yet. But that
|
|
is the way we are made: we don't reason, where we
|
|
feel; we just feel.
|
|
|
|
My expedition was all the talk that day and that
|
|
night, and the boys were very good to me, and made
|
|
much of me, and seemed to have forgotten their vexa-
|
|
tion and disappointment, and come to be as anxious
|
|
for me to hive those ogres and set those ripe old vir-
|
|
gins loose as if it were themselves that had the con-
|
|
tract. Well, they WERE good children -- but just chil-
|
|
dren, that is all. And they gave me no end of points
|
|
about how to scout for giants, and how to scoop them
|
|
in; and they told me all sorts of charms against en-
|
|
chantments, and gave me salves and other rubbish to
|
|
put on my wounds. But it never occurred to one of
|
|
them to reflect that if I was such a wonderful necro-
|
|
mancer as I was pretending to be, I ought not to need
|
|
salves or instructions, or charms against enchantments,
|
|
and, least of all, arms and armor, on a foray of any
|
|
kind -- even against fire-spouting dragons, and devils
|
|
hot from perdition, let alone such poor adversaries as
|
|
these I was after, these commonplace ogres of the
|
|
back settlements.
|
|
|
|
I was to have an early breakfast, and start at dawn,
|
|
for that was the usual way; but I had the demon's
|
|
own time with my armor, and this delayed me a little.
|
|
It is troublesome to get into, and there is so much
|
|
detail. First you wrap a layer or two of blanket around
|
|
your body, for a sort of cushion and to keep off the
|
|
cold iron; then you put on your sleeves and shirt of
|
|
chain mail -- these are made of small steel links woven
|
|
together, and they form a fabric so flexible that if you
|
|
toss your shirt onto the floor, it slumps into a pile like
|
|
a peck of wet fish-net; it is very heavy and is nearly
|
|
the uncomfortablest material in the world for a night
|
|
shirt, yet plenty used it for that -- tax collectors, and
|
|
reformers, and one-horse kings with a defective title,
|
|
and those sorts of people; then you put on your shoes
|
|
-- flat-boats roofed over with interleaving bands of
|
|
steel -- and screw your clumsy spurs into the heels.
|
|
Next you buckle your greaves on your legs, and your
|
|
cuisses on your thighs; then come your backplate and
|
|
your breastplate, and you begin to feel crowded; then
|
|
you hitch onto the breastplate the half-petticoat of
|
|
broad overlapping bands of steel which hangs down in
|
|
front but is scolloped out behind so you can sit down,
|
|
and isn't any real improvement on an inverted coal
|
|
scuttle, either for looks or for wear, or to wipe your
|
|
hands on; next you belt on your sword; then you
|
|
put your stove-pipe joints onto your arms, your iron
|
|
gauntlets onto your hands, your iron rat-trap onto
|
|
your head, with a rag of steel web hitched onto it to
|
|
hang over the back of your neck -- and there you are,
|
|
snug as a candle in a candle-mould. This is no time
|
|
to dance. Well, a man that is packed away like that
|
|
is a nut that isn't worth the cracking, there is so little
|
|
of the meat, when you get down to it, by comparison
|
|
with the shell.
|
|
|
|
The boys helped me, or I never could have got in.
|
|
Just as we finished, Sir Bedivere happened in, and I
|
|
saw that as like as not I hadn't chosen the most con-
|
|
venient outfit for a long trip. How stately he looked;
|
|
and tall and broad and grand. He had on his head a
|
|
conical steel casque that only came down to his ears,
|
|
and for visor had only a narrow steel bar that extended
|
|
down to his upper lip and protected his nose; and all
|
|
the rest of him, from neck to heel, was flexible chain
|
|
mail, trousers and all. But pretty much all of him was
|
|
hidden under his outside garment, which of course was
|
|
of chain mail, as I said, and hung straight from his
|
|
shoulders to his ankles; and from his middle to the
|
|
bottom, both before and behind, was divided, so that
|
|
he could ride and let the skirts hang down on each
|
|
side. He was going grailing, and it was just the outfit
|
|
for it, too. I would have given a good deal for that
|
|
ulster, but it was too late now to be fooling around.
|
|
The sun was just up, the king and the court were all
|
|
on hand to see me off and wish me luck; so it wouldn't
|
|
be etiquette for me to tarry. You don't get on your
|
|
horse yourself; no, if you tried it you would get dis-
|
|
appointed. They carry you out, just as they carry a
|
|
sun-struck man to the drug store, and put you on, and
|
|
help get you to rights, and fix your feet in the stirrups;
|
|
and all the while you do feel so strange and stuffy and
|
|
like somebody else -- like somebody that has been mar-
|
|
ried on a sudden, or struck by lightning, or something
|
|
like that, and hasn't quite fetched around yet, and is sort
|
|
of numb, and can't just get his bearings. Then they
|
|
stood up the mast they called a spear, in its socket by
|
|
my left foot, and I gripped it with my hand; lastly
|
|
they hung my shield around my neck, and I was all
|
|
complete and ready to up anchor and get to sea.
|
|
Everybody was as good to me as they could be, and
|
|
a maid of honor gave me the stirrup-cup her own self.
|
|
There was nothing more to do now, but for that
|
|
damsel to get up behind me on a pillion, which she
|
|
did, and put an arm or so around me to hold on.
|
|
|
|
And so we started, and everybody gave us a good-
|
|
bye and waved their handkerchiefs or helmets. And
|
|
everybody we met, going down the hill and through
|
|
the village was respectful to us, except some shabby
|
|
little boys on the outskirts. They said:
|
|
|
|
"Oh, what a guy!" And hove clods at us.
|
|
|
|
In my experience boys are the same in all ages.
|
|
They don't respect anything, they don't care for any-
|
|
thing or anybody. They say "Go up, baldhead" to
|
|
the prophet going his unoffending way in the gray of
|
|
antiquity; they sass me in the holy gloom of the
|
|
Middle Ages; and I had seen them act the same way
|
|
in Buchanan's administration; I remember, because I
|
|
was there and helped. The prophet had his bears and
|
|
settled with his boys; and I wanted to get down and
|
|
settle with mine, but it wouldn't answer, because I
|
|
couldn't have got up again. I hate a country without
|
|
a derrick.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XII.
|
|
SLOW TORTURE
|
|
|
|
STRAIGHT off, we were in the country. It was
|
|
most lovely and pleasant in those sylvan solitudes
|
|
in the early cool morning in the first freshness of
|
|
autumn. From hilltops we saw fair green valleys lying
|
|
spread out below, with streams winding through them,
|
|
and island groves of trees here and there, and huge
|
|
lonely oaks scattered about and casting black blots of
|
|
shade; and beyond the valleys we saw the ranges of
|
|
hills, blue with haze, stretching away in billowy per-
|
|
spective to the horizon, with at wide intervals a dim
|
|
fleck of white or gray on a wave-summit, which we
|
|
knew was a castle. We crossed broad natural lawns
|
|
sparkling with dew, and we moved like spirits, the
|
|
cushioned turf giving out no sound of footfall; we
|
|
dreamed along through glades in a mist of green light
|
|
that got its tint from the sun-drenched roof of leaves
|
|
overhead, and by our feet the clearest and coldest of
|
|
runlets went frisking and gossiping over its reefs and
|
|
making a sort of whispering music, comfortable to hear;
|
|
and at times we left the world behind and entered into
|
|
the solemn great deeps and rich gloom of the forest,
|
|
where furtive wild things whisked and scurried by and
|
|
were gone before you could even get your eye on the
|
|
place where the noise was; and where only the earliest
|
|
birds were turning out and getting to business with a
|
|
song here and a quarrel yonder and a mysterious far-
|
|
off hammering and drumming for worms on a tree trunk
|
|
away somewhere in the impenetrable remotenesses of
|
|
the woods. And by and by out we would swing again
|
|
into the glare.
|
|
|
|
About the third or fourth or fifth time that we swung
|
|
out into the glare -- it was along there somewhere, a
|
|
couple of hours or so after sun-up -- it wasn't as pleas-
|
|
ant as it had been. It was beginning to get hot. This
|
|
was quite noticeable. We had a very long pull, after
|
|
that, without any shade. Now it is curious how
|
|
progressively little frets grow and multiply after they
|
|
once get a start. Things which I didn't mind at all,
|
|
at first, I began to mind now -- and more and more,
|
|
too, all the time. The first ten or fifteen times I wanted
|
|
my handkerchief I didn't seem to care; I got along,
|
|
and said never mind, it isn't any matter, and dropped
|
|
it out of my mind. But now it was different; I wanted
|
|
it all the time; it was nag, nag, nag, right along, and
|
|
no rest; I couldn't get it out of my mind; and so at
|
|
last I lost my temper and said hang a man that would
|
|
make a suit of armor without any pockets in it. You
|
|
see I had my handkerchief in my helmet; and some
|
|
other things; but it was that kind of a helmet that you
|
|
can't take off by yourself. That hadn't occurred to
|
|
me when I put it there; and in fact I didn't know it.
|
|
I supposed it would be particularly convenient there.
|
|
And so now, the thought of its being there, so handy
|
|
and close by, and yet not get-at-able, made it all the
|
|
worse and the harder to bear. Yes, the thing that you
|
|
can't get is the thing that you want, mainly; every one
|
|
has noticed that. Well, it took my mind off from every-
|
|
thing else; took it clear off, and centered it in my
|
|
helmet; and mile after mile, there it stayed, imagining
|
|
the handkerchief, picturing the handkerchief; and it
|
|
was bitter and aggravating to have the salt sweat keep
|
|
trickling down into my eyes, and I couldn't get at it.
|
|
It seems like a little thing, on paper, but it was not a
|
|
little thing at all; it was the most real kind of misery.
|
|
I would not say it if it was not so. I made up my
|
|
mind that I would carry along a reticule next time, let
|
|
it look how it might, and people say what they would.
|
|
Of course these iron dudes of the Round Table would
|
|
think it was scandalous, and maybe raise Sheol about
|
|
it, but as for me, give me comfort first, and style after-
|
|
wards. So we jogged along, and now and then we
|
|
struck a stretch of dust, and it would tumble up in
|
|
clouds and get into my nose and make me sneeze
|
|
and cry; and of course I said things I oughtn't to
|
|
have said, I don't deny that. I am not better than
|
|
others.
|
|
|
|
We couldn't seem to meet anybody in this lone-
|
|
some Britain, not even an ogre; and, in the mood I
|
|
was in then, it was well for the ogre; that is, an
|
|
ogre with a handkerchief. Most knights would have
|
|
thought of nothing but getting his armor; but so I
|
|
got his bandanna, he could keep his hardware, for all
|
|
of me.
|
|
|
|
Meantime, it was getting hotter and hotter in there.
|
|
You see, the sun was beating down and warming up the
|
|
iron more and more all the time. Well, when you are
|
|
hot, that way, every little thing irritates you. When I
|
|
trotted, I rattled like a crate of dishes, and that annoyed
|
|
me; and moreover I couldn't seem to stand that
|
|
shield slatting and banging, now about my breast, now
|
|
around my back; and if I dropped into a walk my
|
|
joints creaked and screeched in that wearisome way that
|
|
a wheelbarrow does, and as we didn't create any breeze
|
|
at that gait, I was like to get fried in that stove; and
|
|
besides, the quieter you went the heavier the iron set-
|
|
tled down on you and the more and more tons you
|
|
seemed to weigh every minute. And you had to be
|
|
always changing hands, and passing your spear over to
|
|
the other foot, it got so irksome for one hand to hold
|
|
it long at a time.
|
|
|
|
Well, you know, when you perspire that way, in
|
|
rivers, there comes a time when you -- when you --
|
|
well, when you itch. You are inside, your hands are
|
|
outside; so there you are; nothing but iron between.
|
|
It is not a light thing, let it sound as it may. First
|
|
it is one place; then another; then some more; and
|
|
it goes on spreading and spreading, and at last the ter-
|
|
ritory is all occupied, and nobody can imagine what
|
|
you feel like, nor how unpleasant it is. And when it
|
|
had got to the worst, and it seemed to me that I could
|
|
not stand anything more, a fly got in through the bars
|
|
and settled on my nose, and the bars were stuck and
|
|
wouldn't work, and I couldn't get the visor up; and I
|
|
could only shake my head, which was baking hot by
|
|
this time, and the fly -- well, you know how a fly acts
|
|
when he has got a certainty -- he only minded the
|
|
shaking enough to change from nose to lip, and lip to
|
|
ear, and buzz and buzz all around in there, and keep
|
|
on lighting and biting, in a way that a person, already
|
|
so distressed as I was, simply could not stand. So I
|
|
gave in, and got Alisande to unship the helmet and
|
|
relieve me of it. Then she emptied the conveniences
|
|
out of it and fetched it full of water, and I drank and
|
|
then stood up, and she poured the rest down inside the
|
|
armor. One cannot think how refreshing it was. She
|
|
continued to fetch and pour until I was well soaked
|
|
and thoroughly comfortable.
|
|
|
|
It was good to have a rest -- and peace. But nothing
|
|
is quite perfect in this life, at any time. I had made a
|
|
pipe a while back, and also some pretty fair tobacco;
|
|
not the real thing, but what some of the Indians use:
|
|
the inside bark of the willow, dried. These comforts
|
|
had been in the helmet, and now I had them again, but
|
|
no matches.
|
|
|
|
Gradually, as the time wore along, one annoying fact
|
|
was borne in upon my understanding -- that we were
|
|
weather-bound. An armed novice cannot mount his
|
|
horse without help and plenty of it. Sandy was not
|
|
enough; not enough for me, anyway. We had to wait
|
|
until somebody should come along. Waiting, in
|
|
silence, would have been agreeable enough, for I was
|
|
full of matter for reflection, and wanted to give it a
|
|
chance to work. I wanted to try and think out how it
|
|
was that rational or even half-rational men could ever
|
|
have learned to wear armor, considering its incon-
|
|
veniences; and how they had managed to keep up such
|
|
a fashion for generations when it was plain that what I
|
|
had suffered to-day they had had to suffer all the days
|
|
of their lives. I wanted to think that out; and more-
|
|
over I wanted to think out some way to reform this
|
|
evil and persuade the people to let the foolish fashion
|
|
die out; but thinking was out of the question in the
|
|
circumstances. You couldn't think, where Sandy
|
|
was.
|
|
|
|
She was a quite biddable creature and good-hearted,
|
|
but she had a flow of talk that was as steady as a mill,
|
|
and made your head sore like the drays and wagons in
|
|
a city. If she had had a cork she would have been a
|
|
comfort. But you can't cork that kind; they would
|
|
die. Her clack was going all day, and you would think
|
|
something would surely happen to her works, by and
|
|
by; but no, they never got out of order; and she
|
|
never had to slack up for words. She could grind,
|
|
and pump, and churn, and buzz by the week, and never
|
|
stop to oil up or blow out. And yet the result was
|
|
just nothing but wind. She never had any ideas, any
|
|
more than a fog has. She was a perfect blatherskite;
|
|
I mean for jaw, jaw, jaw, talk, talk, talk, jabber, jabber,
|
|
jabber; but just as good as she could be. I hadn't
|
|
minded her mill that morning, on account of having
|
|
that hornets' nest of other troubles; but more than
|
|
once in the afternoon I had to say:
|
|
|
|
"Take a rest, child; the way you are using up all
|
|
the domestic air, the kingdom will have to go to im-
|
|
porting it by to-morrow, and it's a low enough treasury
|
|
without that."
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XIII.
|
|
FREEMEN
|
|
|
|
YES, it is strange how little a while at a time a per-
|
|
son can be contented. Only a little while back,
|
|
when I was riding and suffering, what a heaven this
|
|
peace, this rest, this sweet serenity in this secluded
|
|
shady nook by this purling stream would have seemed,
|
|
where I could keep perfectly comfortable all the time
|
|
by pouring a dipper of water into my armor now and
|
|
then; yet already I was getting dissatisfied; partly be-
|
|
cause I could not light my pipe -- for, although I had
|
|
long ago started a match factory, I had forgotten to
|
|
bring matches with me -- and partly because we had
|
|
nothing to eat. Here was another illustration of the
|
|
childlike improvidence of this age and people. A man
|
|
in armor always trusted to chance for his food on a
|
|
journey, and would have been scandalized at the idea
|
|
of hanging a basket of sandwiches on his spear. There
|
|
was probably not a knight of all the Round Table com-
|
|
bination who would not rather have died than been
|
|
caught carrying such a thing as that on his flagstaff.
|
|
And yet there could not be anything more sensible.
|
|
It had been my intention to smuggle a couple of sand-
|
|
wiches into my helmet, but I was interrupted in the act,
|
|
and had to make an excuse and lay them aside, and a
|
|
dog got them.
|
|
|
|
Night approached, and with it a storm. The dark-
|
|
ness came on fast. We must camp, of course. I
|
|
found a good shelter for the demoiselle under a rock,
|
|
and went off and found another for myself. But I was
|
|
obliged to remain in my armor, because I could not get
|
|
it off by myself and yet could not allow Alisande to
|
|
help, because it would have seemed so like undressing
|
|
before folk. It would not have amounted to that in
|
|
reality, because I had clothes on underneath; but the
|
|
prejudices of one's breeding are not gotten rid of just
|
|
at a jump, and I knew that when it came to stripping
|
|
off that bob-tailed iron petticoat I should be embarrassed.
|
|
|
|
With the storm came a change of weather; and the
|
|
stronger the wind blew, and the wilder the rain lashed
|
|
around, the colder and colder it got. Pretty soon,
|
|
various kinds of bugs and ants and worms and things
|
|
began to flock in out of the wet and crawl down in-
|
|
side my armor to get warm; and while some of them
|
|
behaved well enough, and snuggled up amongst my
|
|
clothes and got quiet, the majority were of a restless,
|
|
uncomfortable sort, and never stayed still, but went
|
|
on prowling and hunting for they did not know what;
|
|
especially the ants, which went tickling along in
|
|
wearisome procession from one end of me to the other
|
|
by the hour, and are a kind of creatures which I
|
|
never wish to sleep with again. It would be my advice
|
|
to persons situated in this way, to not roll or thrash
|
|
around, because this excites the interest of all the
|
|
different sorts of animals and makes every last one of
|
|
them want to turn out and see what is going on, and
|
|
this makes things worse than they were before, and of
|
|
course makes you objurgate harder, too, if you can.
|
|
Still, if one did not roll and thrash around he would
|
|
die; so perhaps it is as well to do one way as the other;
|
|
there is no real choice. Even after I was frozen solid
|
|
I could still distinguish that tickling, just as a corpse
|
|
does when he is taking electric treatment. I said I
|
|
would never wear armor after this trip.
|
|
|
|
All those trying hours whilst I was frozen and yet
|
|
was in a living fire, as you may say, on account of that
|
|
swarm of crawlers, that same unanswerable question
|
|
kept circling and circling through my tired head: How
|
|
do people stand this miserable armor? How have they
|
|
managed to stand it all these generations? How can
|
|
they sleep at night for dreading the tortures of next
|
|
day?
|
|
|
|
When the morning came at last, I was in a bad
|
|
enough plight: seedy, drowsy, fagged, from want of
|
|
sleep; weary from thrashing around, famished from
|
|
long fasting; pining for a bath, and to get rid of the
|
|
animals; and crippled with rheumatism. And how
|
|
had it fared with the nobly born, the titled aristocrat,
|
|
the Demoiselle Alisande la Carteloise? Why, she was
|
|
as fresh as a squirrel; she had slept like the dead; and
|
|
as for a bath, probably neither she nor any other noble
|
|
in the land had ever had one, and so she was not
|
|
missing it. Measured by modern standards, they were
|
|
merely modified savages, those people. This noble
|
|
lady showed no impatience to get to breakfast -- and
|
|
that smacks of the savage, too. On their journeys
|
|
those Britons were used to long fasts, and knew how to
|
|
bear them; and also how to freight up against probable
|
|
fasts before starting, after the style of the Indian and
|
|
the anaconda. As like as not, Sandy was loaded for a
|
|
three-day stretch.
|
|
|
|
We were off before sunrise, Sandy riding and I limp-
|
|
ing along behind. In half an hour we came upon a
|
|
group of ragged poor creatures who had assembled to
|
|
mend the thing which was regarded as a road. They
|
|
were as humble as animals to me; and when I pro-
|
|
posed to breakfast with them, they were so flattered, so
|
|
overwhelmed by this extraordinary condescension of
|
|
mine that at first they were not able to believe that I
|
|
was in earnest. My lady put up her scornful lip and
|
|
withdrew to one side; she said in their hearing that she
|
|
would as soon think of eating with the other cattle -- a
|
|
remark which embarrassed these poor devils merely be-
|
|
cause it referred to them, and not because it insulted or
|
|
offended them, for it didn't. And yet they were not
|
|
slaves, not chattels. By a sarcasm of law and phrase
|
|
they were freemen. Seven-tenths of the free popula-
|
|
tion of the country were of just their class and degree:
|
|
small "independent" farmers, artisans, etc.; which
|
|
is to say, they were the nation, the actual Nation;
|
|
they were about all of it that was useful, or worth sav-
|
|
ing, or really respect-worthy, and to subtract them would
|
|
have been to subtract the Nation and leave behind some
|
|
dregs, some refuse, in the shape of a king, nobility
|
|
and gentry, idle, unproductive, acquainted mainly with
|
|
the arts of wasting and destroying, and of no sort of
|
|
use or value in any rationally constructed world. And
|
|
yet, by ingenious contrivance, this gilded minority, in-
|
|
stead of being in the tail of the procession where it be-
|
|
longed, was marching head up and banners flying, at the
|
|
other end of it; had elected itself to be the Nation,
|
|
and these innumerable clams had permitted it so long
|
|
that they had come at last to accept it as a truth; and
|
|
not only that, but to believe it right and as it should
|
|
be. The priests had told their fathers and themselves
|
|
that this ironical state of things was ordained of God;
|
|
and so, not reflecting upon how unlike God it would
|
|
be to amuse himself with sarcasms, and especially such
|
|
poor transparent ones as this, they had dropped the
|
|
matter there and become respectfully quiet.
|
|
|
|
The talk of these meek people had a strange enough
|
|
sound in a formerly American ear. They were free-
|
|
men, but they could not leave the estates of their lord
|
|
or their bishop without his permission; they could not
|
|
prepare their own bread, but must have their corn
|
|
ground and their bread baked at his mill and his
|
|
bakery, and pay roundly for the same; they could not
|
|
sell a piece of their own property without paying him a
|
|
handsome percentage of the proceeds, nor buy a piece
|
|
of somebody else's without remembering him in cash
|
|
for the privilege; they had to harvest his grain for him
|
|
gratis, and be ready to come at a moment's notice,
|
|
leaving their own crop to destruction by the threatened
|
|
storm; they had to let him plant fruit trees in their
|
|
fields, and then keep their indignation to themselves
|
|
when his heedless fruit-gatherers trampled the grain
|
|
around the trees; they had to smother their anger when
|
|
his hunting parties galloped through their fields laying
|
|
waste the result of their patient toil; they were not
|
|
allowed to keep doves themselves, and when the swarms
|
|
from my lord's dovecote settled on their crops they
|
|
must not lose their temper and kill a bird, for awful
|
|
would the penalty be; when the harvest was at last
|
|
gathered, then came the procession of robbers to levy
|
|
their blackmail upon it: first the Church carted off its
|
|
fat tenth, then the king's commissioner took his twen-
|
|
tieth, then my lord's people made a mighty inroad
|
|
upon the remainder; after which, the skinned freeman
|
|
had liberty to bestow the remnant in his barn, in case
|
|
it was worth the trouble; there were taxes, and taxes,
|
|
and taxes, and more taxes, and taxes again, and yet
|
|
other taxes -- upon this free and independent pauper,
|
|
but none upon his lord the baron or the bishop, none
|
|
upon the wasteful nobility or the all-devouring Church;
|
|
if the baron would sleep unvexed, the freeman must sit
|
|
up all night after his day's work and whip the ponds to
|
|
keep the frogs quiet; if the freeman's daughter -- but
|
|
no, that last infamy of monarchical government is un-
|
|
printable; and finally, if the freeman, grown desperate
|
|
with his tortures, found his life unendurable under such
|
|
conditions, and sacrificed it and fled to death for mercy
|
|
and refuge, the gentle Church condemned him to
|
|
eternal fire, the gentle law buried him at midnight at the
|
|
cross-roads with a stake through his back, and his master
|
|
the baron or the bishop confiscated all his property and
|
|
turned his widow and his orphans out of doors.
|
|
|
|
And here were these freemen assembled in the early
|
|
morning to work on their lord the bishop's road three
|
|
days each -- gratis; every head of a family, and every
|
|
son of a family, three days each, gratis, and a day or
|
|
so added for their servants. Why, it was like reading
|
|
about France and the French, before the ever memor-
|
|
able and blessed Revolution, which swept a thousand
|
|
years of such villany away in one swift tidal-wave of
|
|
blood -- one: a settlement of that hoary debt in the
|
|
proportion of half a drop of blood for each hogshead
|
|
of it that had been pressed by slow tortures out of that
|
|
people in the weary stretch of ten centuries of wrong
|
|
and shame and misery the like of which was not to be
|
|
mated but in hell. There were two "Reigns of
|
|
Terror," if we would but remember it and consider it;
|
|
the one wrought murder in hot passion, the other in
|
|
heartless cold blood; the one lasted mere months, the
|
|
other had lasted a thousand years; the one inflicted
|
|
death upon ten thousand persons, the other upon a
|
|
hundred millions; but our shudders are all for the
|
|
"horrors" of the minor Terror, the momentary Ter-
|
|
ror, so to speak; whereas, what is the horror of swift
|
|
death by the axe, compared with lifelong death from
|
|
hunger, cold, insult, cruelty, and heart-break? What is
|
|
swift death by lightning compared with death by slow
|
|
fire at the stake? A city cemetery could contain the
|
|
coffins filled by that brief Terror which we have all been
|
|
so diligently taught to shiver at and mourn over; but
|
|
all France could hardly contain the coffins filled by that
|
|
older and real Terror -- that unspeakably bitter and
|
|
awful Terror which none of us has been taught to see
|
|
in its vastness or pity as it deserves.
|
|
|
|
These poor ostensible freemen who were sharing
|
|
their breakfast and their talk with me, were as full of
|
|
humble reverence for their king and Church and nobility
|
|
as their worst enemy could desire. There was some-
|
|
thing pitifully ludicrous about it. I asked them if they
|
|
supposed a nation of people ever existed, who, with a
|
|
free vote in every man's hand, would elect that a single
|
|
family and its descendants should reign over it forever,
|
|
whether gifted or boobies, to the exclusion of all other
|
|
families -- including the voter's; and would also elect
|
|
that a certain hundred families should be raised to dizzy
|
|
summits of rank, and clothed on with offensive trans-
|
|
missible glories and privileges to the exclusion of the
|
|
rest of the nation's families -- INCLUDING HIS OWN.
|
|
|
|
They all looked unhit, and said they didn't know;
|
|
that they had never thought about it before, and it
|
|
hadn't ever occurred to them that a nation could be so
|
|
situated that every man COULD have a say in the govern-
|
|
ment. I said I had seen one -- and that it would last
|
|
until it had an Established Church. Again they were
|
|
all unhit -- at first. But presently one man looked up
|
|
and asked me to state that proposition again; and state
|
|
it slowly, so it could soak into his understanding. I
|
|
did it; and after a little he had the idea, and he
|
|
brought his fist down and said HE didn't believe a
|
|
nation where every man had a vote would voluntarily
|
|
get down in the mud and dirt in any such way; and
|
|
that to steal from a nation its will and preference must
|
|
be a crime and the first of all crimes. I said to myself:
|
|
|
|
"This one's a man. If I were backed by enough of
|
|
his sort, I would make a strike for the welfare of this
|
|
country, and try to prove myself its loyalest citizen
|
|
by making a wholesome change in its system of
|
|
government."
|
|
|
|
You see my kind of loyalty was loyalty to one's
|
|
country, not to its institutions or its office-holders.
|
|
The country is the real thing, the substantial thing, the
|
|
eternal thing; it is the thing to watch over, and care
|
|
for, and be loyal to; institutions are extraneous, they
|
|
are its mere clothing, and clothing can wear out, be-
|
|
come ragged, cease to be comfortable, cease to protect
|
|
the body from winter, disease, and death. To be
|
|
loyal to rags, to shout for rags, to worship rags, to die
|
|
for rags -- that is a loyalty of unreason, it is pure
|
|
animal; it belongs to monarchy, was invented by
|
|
monarchy; let monarchy keep it. I was from Con-
|
|
necticut, whose Constitution declares "that all political
|
|
power is inherent in the people, and all free govern-
|
|
ments are founded on their authority and instituted for
|
|
their benefit; and that they have AT ALL TIMES an undeni-
|
|
able and indefeasible right to ALTER THEIR FORM OF GOVERN-
|
|
MENT in such a manner as they may think expedient."
|
|
|
|
Under that gospel, the citizen who thinks he sees
|
|
that the commonwealth's political clothes are worn out,
|
|
and yet holds his peace and does not agitate for a new
|
|
suit, is disloyal; he is a traitor. That he may be the
|
|
only one who thinks he sees this decay, does not ex-
|
|
cuse him; it is his duty to agitate anyway, and it is the
|
|
duty of the others to vote him down if they do not see
|
|
the matter as he does.
|
|
|
|
And now here I was, in a country where a right to
|
|
say how the country should be governed was restricted
|
|
to six persons in each thousand of its population.
|
|
For the nine hundred and ninety-four to express dis-
|
|
satisfaction with the regnant system and propose to
|
|
change it, would have made the whole six shudder as
|
|
one man, it would have been so disloyal, so dishonor-
|
|
able, such putrid black treason. So to speak, I was
|
|
become a stockholder in a corporation where nine hun-
|
|
dred and ninety-four of the members furnished all the
|
|
money and did all the work, and the other six elected
|
|
themselves a permanent board of direction and took all
|
|
the dividends. It seemed to me that what the nine
|
|
hundred and ninety-four dupes needed was a new deal.
|
|
The thing that would have best suited the circus side
|
|
of my nature would have been to resign the Boss-ship
|
|
and get up an insurrection and turn it into a revolution;
|
|
but I knew that the Jack Cade or the Wat Tyler who
|
|
tries such a thing without first educating his materials
|
|
up to revolution grade is almost absolutely certain to
|
|
get left. I had never been accustomed to getting left,
|
|
even if I do say it myself. Wherefore, the "deal"
|
|
which had been for some time working into shape
|
|
in my mind was of a quite different pattern from the
|
|
Cade-Tyler sort.
|
|
|
|
So I did not talk blood and insurrection to that man
|
|
there who sat munching black bread with that abused
|
|
and mistaught herd of human sheep, but took him
|
|
aside and talked matter of another sort to him. After
|
|
I had finished, I got him to lend me a little ink from
|
|
his veins; and with this and a sliver I wrote on a piece
|
|
of bark --
|
|
|
|
Put him in the Man-factory --
|
|
|
|
and gave it to him, and said:
|
|
|
|
"Take it to the palace at Camelot and give it into
|
|
the hands of Amyas le Poulet, whom I call Clarence,
|
|
and he will understand."
|
|
|
|
"He is a priest, then," said the man, and some of
|
|
the enthusiasm went out of his face.
|
|
|
|
"How -- a priest? Didn't I tell you that no chattel
|
|
of the Church, no bond-slave of pope or bishop can
|
|
enter my Man-Factory? Didn't I tell you that YOU
|
|
couldn't enter unless your religion, whatever it might
|
|
be, was your own free property?"
|
|
|
|
"Marry, it is so, and for that I was glad; wherefore
|
|
it liked me not, and bred in me a cold doubt, to hear
|
|
of this priest being there."
|
|
|
|
"But he isn't a priest, I tell you."
|
|
|
|
The man looked far from satisfied. He said:
|
|
|
|
"He is not a priest, and yet can read?"
|
|
|
|
"He is not a priest and yet can read -- yes, and
|
|
write, too, for that matter. I taught him myself."
|
|
The man's face cleared. "And it is the first thing
|
|
that you yourself will be taught in that Factory --"
|
|
|
|
"I? I would give blood out of my heart to know
|
|
that art. Why, I will be your slave, your --"
|
|
|
|
"No you won't, you won't be anybody's slave.
|
|
Take your family and go along. Your lord the bishop
|
|
will confiscate your small property, but no matter.
|
|
Clarence will fix you all right."
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XIV.
|
|
"DEFEND THEE, LORD"
|
|
|
|
I PAID three pennies for my breakfast, and a most
|
|
extravagant price it was, too, seeing that one could
|
|
have breakfasted a dozen persons for that money; but
|
|
I was feeling good by this time, and I had always been
|
|
a kind of spendthrift anyway; and then these people
|
|
had wanted to give me the food for nothing, scant as
|
|
their provision was, and so it was a grateful pleasure to
|
|
emphasize my appreciation and sincere thankfulness
|
|
with a good big financial lift where the money would
|
|
do so much more good than it would in my helmet,
|
|
where, these pennies being made of iron and not stinted
|
|
in weight, my half-dollar's worth was a good deal of a
|
|
burden to me. I spent money rather too freely in
|
|
those days, it is true; but one reason for it was that I
|
|
hadn't got the proportions of things entirely adjusted,
|
|
even yet, after so long a sojourn in Britain -- hadn't
|
|
got along to where I was able to absolutely realize that
|
|
a penny in Arthur's land and a couple of dollars in
|
|
Connecticut were about one and the same thing: just
|
|
twins, as you may say, in purchasing power. If my
|
|
start from Camelot could have been delayed a very few
|
|
days I could have paid these people in beautiful new
|
|
coins from our own mint, and that would have pleased
|
|
me; and them, too, not less. I had adopted the
|
|
American values exclusively. In a week or two now,
|
|
cents, nickels, dimes, quarters, and half-dollars, and
|
|
also a trifle of gold, would be trickling in thin but
|
|
steady streams all through the commercial veins of the
|
|
kingdom, and I looked to see this new blood freshen up
|
|
its life.
|
|
|
|
The farmers were bound to throw in something, to
|
|
sort of offset my liberality, whether I would or no; so
|
|
I let them give me a flint and steel; and as soon as
|
|
they had comfortably bestowed Sandy and me on our
|
|
horse, I lit my pipe. When the first blast of smoke
|
|
shot out through the bars of my helmet, all those
|
|
people broke for the woods, and Sandy went over
|
|
backwards and struck the ground with a dull thud.
|
|
They thought I was one of those fire-belching dragons
|
|
they had heard so much about from knights and other
|
|
professional liars. I had infinite trouble to persuade
|
|
those people to venture back within explaining distance.
|
|
Then I told them that this was only a bit of enchant-
|
|
ment which would work harm to none but my enemies.
|
|
And I promised, with my hand on my heart, that if all
|
|
who felt no enmity toward me would come forward and
|
|
pass before me they should see that only those who re-
|
|
mained behind would be struck dead. The procession
|
|
moved with a good deal of promptness. There were no
|
|
casualties to report, for nobody had curiosity enough
|
|
to remain behind to see what would happen.
|
|
|
|
I lost some time, now, for these big children, their
|
|
fears gone, became so ravished with wonder over my
|
|
awe-compelling fireworks that I had to stay there and
|
|
smoke a couple of pipes out before they would let me
|
|
go. Still the delay was not wholly unproductive, for
|
|
it took all that time to get Sandy thoroughly wonted to
|
|
the new thing, she being so close to it, you know. It
|
|
plugged up her conversation mill, too, for a consider-
|
|
able while, and that was a gain. But above all other
|
|
benefits accruing, I had learned something. I was
|
|
ready for any giant or any ogre that might come along,
|
|
now.
|
|
|
|
We tarried with a holy hermit, that night, and my
|
|
opportunity came about the middle of the next after-
|
|
noon. We were crossing a vast meadow by way of
|
|
short-cut, and I was musing absently, hearing nothing,
|
|
seeing nothing, when Sandy suddenly interrupted a re-
|
|
mark which she had begun that morning, with the cry:
|
|
|
|
"Defend thee, lord! -- peril of life is toward!"
|
|
|
|
And she slipped down from the horse and ran a little
|
|
way and stood. I looked up and saw, far off in the
|
|
shade of a tree, half a dozen armed knights and their
|
|
squires; and straightway there was bustle among them
|
|
and tightening of saddle-girths for the mount. My
|
|
pipe was ready and would have been lit, if I had not
|
|
been lost in thinking about how to banish oppression
|
|
from this land and restore to all its people their stolen
|
|
rights and manhood without disobliging anybody. I lit
|
|
up at once, and by the time I had got a good head of
|
|
reserved steam on, here they came. All together, too;
|
|
none of those chivalrous magnanimities which one
|
|
reads so much about -- one courtly rascal at a time, and
|
|
the rest standing by to see fair play. No, they came
|
|
in a body, they came with a whirr and a rush, they
|
|
came like a volley from a battery; came with heads low
|
|
down, plumes streaming out behind, lances advanced at
|
|
a level. It was a handsome sight, a beautiful sight --
|
|
for a man up a tree. I laid my lance in rest and waited,
|
|
with my heart beating, till the iron wave was just ready
|
|
to break over me, then spouted a column of white
|
|
smoke through the bars of my helmet. You should
|
|
have seen the wave go to pieces and scatter! This was
|
|
a finer sight than the other one.
|
|
|
|
But these people stopped, two or three hundred
|
|
yards away, and this troubled me. My satisfaction
|
|
collapsed, and fear came; I judged I was a lost man.
|
|
But Sandy was radiant; and was going to be eloquent --
|
|
but I stopped her, and told her my magic had mis-
|
|
carried, somehow or other, and she must mount, with
|
|
all despatch, and we must ride for life. No, she
|
|
wouldn't. She said that my enchantment had disabled
|
|
those knights; they were not riding on, because they
|
|
couldn't; wait, they would drop out of their saddles
|
|
presently, and we would get their horses and harness.
|
|
I could not deceive such trusting simplicity, so I said
|
|
it was a mistake; that when my fireworks killed at all,
|
|
they killed instantly; no, the men would not die, there
|
|
was something wrong about my apparatus, I couldn't
|
|
tell what; but we must hurry and get away, for those
|
|
people would attack us again, in a minute. Sandy
|
|
laughed, and said:
|
|
|
|
"Lack-a-day, sir, they be not of that breed! Sir
|
|
Launcelot will give battle to dragons, and will abide by
|
|
them, and will assail them again, and yet again, and
|
|
still again, until he do conquer and destroy them; and
|
|
so likewise will Sir Pellinore and Sir Aglovale and Sir
|
|
Carados, and mayhap others, but there be none else
|
|
that will venture it, let the idle say what the idle will.
|
|
And, la, as to yonder base rufflers, think ye they have
|
|
not their fill, but yet desire more?"
|
|
|
|
"Well, then, what are they waiting for? Why
|
|
don't they leave? Nobody's hindering. Good land,
|
|
I'm willing to let bygones be bygones, I'm sure."
|
|
|
|
"Leave, is it? Oh, give thyself easement as to that.
|
|
They dream not of it, no, not they. They wait to
|
|
yield them."
|
|
|
|
"Come -- really, is that 'sooth' -- as you people
|
|
say? If they want to, why don't they?"
|
|
|
|
"It would like them much; but an ye wot how
|
|
dragons are esteemed, ye would not hold them blam-
|
|
able. They fear to come."
|
|
|
|
"Well, then, suppose I go to them instead, and --"
|
|
|
|
"Ah, wit ye well they would not abide your coming.
|
|
I will go."
|
|
|
|
And she did. She was a handy person to have
|
|
along on a raid. I would have considered this a doubt-
|
|
ful errand, myself. I presently saw the knights riding
|
|
away, and Sandy coming back. That was a relief. I
|
|
judged she had somehow failed to get the first innings
|
|
-- I mean in the conversation; otherwise the interview
|
|
wouldn't have been so short. But it turned out that
|
|
she had managed the business well; in fact, admirably.
|
|
She said that when she told those people I was The
|
|
Boss, it hit them where they lived: "smote them sore
|
|
with fear and dread" was her word; and then they
|
|
were ready to put up with anything she might require.
|
|
So she swore them to appear at Arthur's court within
|
|
two days and yield them, with horse and harness, and
|
|
be my knights henceforth, and subject to my command.
|
|
How much better she managed that thing than I should
|
|
have done it myself! She was a daisy.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XV.
|
|
SANDY'S TALE
|
|
|
|
AND so I'm proprietor of some knights," said I,
|
|
as we rode off. "Who would ever have sup-
|
|
posed that I should live to list up assets of that sort.
|
|
I shan't know what to do with them; unless I raffle
|
|
them off. How many of them are there, Sandy?"
|
|
|
|
"Seven, please you, sir, and their squires."
|
|
|
|
"It is a good haul. Who are they? Where do they
|
|
hang out?"
|
|
|
|
"Where do they hang out?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes, where do they live?"
|
|
|
|
"Ah, I understood thee not. That will I tell
|
|
eftsoons." Then she said musingly, and softly, turn-
|
|
ing the words daintily over her tongue: "Hang they
|
|
out -- hang they out -- where hang -- where do they
|
|
hang out; eh, right so; where do they hang out. Of
|
|
a truth the phrase hath a fair and winsome grace, and
|
|
is prettily worded withal. I will repeat it anon and
|
|
anon in mine idlesse, whereby I may peradventure
|
|
learn it. Where do they hang out. Even so! already
|
|
it falleth trippingly from my tongue, and forasmuch
|
|
as --"
|
|
|
|
"Don't forget the cowboys, Sandy."
|
|
|
|
"Cowboys?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes; the knights, you know: You were going to
|
|
tell me about them. A while back, you remember.
|
|
Figuratively speaking, game's called."
|
|
|
|
"Game --"
|
|
|
|
"Yes, yes, yes! Go to the bat. I mean, get to
|
|
work on your statistics, and don't burn so much
|
|
kindling getting your fire started. Tell me about the
|
|
knights."
|
|
|
|
"I will well, and lightly will begin. So they two
|
|
departed and rode into a great forest. And --"
|
|
|
|
"Great Scott!"
|
|
|
|
You see, I recognized my mistake at once. I had
|
|
set her works a-going; it was my own fault; she would
|
|
be thirty days getting down to those facts. And she
|
|
generally began without a preface and finished without
|
|
a result. If you interrupted her she would either go
|
|
right along without noticing, or answer with a couple of
|
|
words, and go back and say the sentence over again.
|
|
So, interruptions only did harm; and yet I had to in-
|
|
terrupt, and interrupt pretty frequently, too, in order
|
|
to save my life; a person would die if he let her mo-
|
|
notony drip on him right along all day.
|
|
|
|
"Great Scott! " I said in my distress. She went
|
|
right back and began over again:
|
|
|
|
"So they two departed and rode into a great forest.
|
|
And --"
|
|
|
|
"WHICH two?"
|
|
|
|
"Sir Gawaine and Sir Uwaine. And so they came
|
|
to an abbey of monks, and there were well lodged. So
|
|
on the morn they heard their masses in the abbey, and
|
|
so they rode forth till they came to a great forest; then
|
|
was Sir Gawaine ware in a valley by a turret, of
|
|
twelve fair damsels, and two knights armed on great
|
|
horses, and the damsels went to and fro by a tree.
|
|
And then was Sir Gawaine ware how there hung a
|
|
white shield on that tree, and ever as the damsels came
|
|
by it they spit upon it, and some threw mire upon the
|
|
shield --"
|
|
|
|
"Now, if I hadn't seen the like myself in this country,
|
|
Sandy, I wouldn't believe it. But I've seen it, and I
|
|
can just see those creatures now, parading before that
|
|
shield and acting like that. The women here do cer-
|
|
tainly act like all possessed. Yes, and I mean your
|
|
best, too, society's very choicest brands. The hum-
|
|
blest hello-girl along ten thousand miles of wire could
|
|
teach gentleness, patience, modesty, manners, to the
|
|
highest duchess in Arthur's land."
|
|
|
|
"Hello-girl?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes, but don't you ask me to explain; it's a new
|
|
kind of a girl; they don't have them here; one often
|
|
speaks sharply to them when they are not the least in
|
|
fault, and he can't get over feeling sorry for it and
|
|
ashamed of himself in thirteen hundred years, it's such
|
|
shabby mean conduct and so unprovoked; the fact is,
|
|
no gentleman ever does it -- though I -- well, I myself,
|
|
if I've got to confess --"
|
|
|
|
"Peradventure she --"
|
|
|
|
"Never mind her; never mind her; I tell you I
|
|
couldn't ever explain her so you would understand."
|
|
|
|
"Even so be it, sith ye are so minded. Then Sir
|
|
Gawaine and Sir Uwaine went and saluted them, and
|
|
asked them why they did that despite to the shield.
|
|
Sirs, said the damsels, we shall tell you. There is a
|
|
knight in this country that owneth this white shield, and
|
|
he is a passing good man of his hands, but he hateth
|
|
all ladies and gentlewomen, and therefore we do all this
|
|
despite to the shield. I will say you, said Sir Gawaine,
|
|
it beseemeth evil a good knight to despise all ladies and
|
|
gentlewomen, and peradventure though he hate you he
|
|
hath some cause, and peradventure he loveth in some
|
|
other places ladies and gentlewomen, and to be loved
|
|
again, and he such a man of prowess as ye speak of --"
|
|
|
|
"Man of prowess -- yes, that is the man to please
|
|
them, Sandy. Man of brains -- that is a thing they
|
|
never think of. Tom Sayers -- John Heenan -- John
|
|
L. Sullivan -- pity but you could be here. You
|
|
would have your legs under the Round Table and a
|
|
'Sir' in front of your names within the twenty-four
|
|
hours; and you could bring about a new distribution
|
|
of the married princesses and duchesses of the Court in
|
|
another twenty-four. The fact is, it is just a sort of
|
|
polished-up court of Comanches, and there isn't a
|
|
squaw in it who doesn't stand ready at the dropping of
|
|
a hat to desert to the buck with the biggest string of
|
|
scalps at his belt."
|
|
|
|
"-- and he be such a man of prowess as ye speak of,
|
|
said Sir Gawaine. Now, what is his name? Sir, said
|
|
they, his name is Marhaus the king's son of Ireland."
|
|
|
|
"Son of the king of Ireland, you mean; the other
|
|
form doesn't mean anything. And look out and hold
|
|
on tight, now, we must jump this gully....
|
|
There, we are all right now. This horse belongs in the
|
|
circus; he is born before his time."
|
|
|
|
"I know him well, said Sir Uwaine, he is a passing
|
|
good knight as any is on live."
|
|
|
|
"ON LIVE. If you've got a fault in the world,
|
|
Sandy, it is that you are a shade too archaic. But it
|
|
isn't any matter."
|
|
|
|
"-- for I saw him once proved at a justs where many
|
|
knights were gathered, and that time there might no
|
|
man withstand him. Ah, said Sir Gawaine, damsels,
|
|
methinketh ye are to blame, for it is to suppose he that
|
|
hung that shield there will not be long therefrom, and
|
|
then may those knights match him on horseback, and
|
|
that is more your worship than thus; for I will abide
|
|
no longer to see a knight's shield dishonored. And
|
|
therewith Sir Uwaine and Sir Gawaine departed a little
|
|
from them, and then were they ware where Sir Marhaus
|
|
came riding on a great horse straight toward them.
|
|
And when the twelve damsels saw Sir Marhaus they
|
|
fled into the turret as they were wild, so that some of
|
|
them fell by the way. Then the one of the knights of
|
|
the tower dressed his shield, and said on high, Sir Mar-
|
|
haus defend thee. And so they ran together that the
|
|
knight brake his spear on Marhaus, and Sir Marhaus
|
|
smote him so hard that he brake his neck and the
|
|
horse's back --"
|
|
|
|
"Well, that is just the trouble about this state of
|
|
things, it ruins so many horses."
|
|
|
|
"That saw the other knight of the turret, and
|
|
dressed him toward Marhaus, and they went so eagerly
|
|
together, that the knight of the turret was soon smitten
|
|
down, horse and man, stark dead --"
|
|
|
|
"ANOTHER horse gone; I tell you it is a custom that
|
|
ought to be broken up. I don't see how people with
|
|
any feeling can applaud and support it."
|
|
|
|
....
|
|
|
|
"So these two knights came together with great
|
|
random --"
|
|
|
|
I saw that I had been asleep and missed a chapter,
|
|
but I didn't say anything. I judged that the Irish
|
|
knight was in trouble with the visitors by this time, and
|
|
this turned out to be the case.
|
|
|
|
"-- that Sir Uwaine smote Sir Marhaus that his
|
|
spear brast in pieces on the shield, and Sir Marhaus
|
|
smote him so sore that horse and man he bare to the
|
|
earth, and hurt Sir Uwaine on the left side --
|
|
|
|
"The truth is, Alisande, these archaics are a little
|
|
TOO simple; the vocabulary is too limited, and so, by
|
|
consequence, descriptions suffer in the matter of
|
|
variety; they run too much to level Saharas of fact,
|
|
and not enough to picturesque detail; this throws about
|
|
them a certain air of the monotonous; in fact the fights
|
|
are all alike: a couple of people come together with
|
|
great random -- random is a good word, and so is
|
|
exegesis, for that matter, and so is holocaust, and de-
|
|
falcation, and usufruct and a hundred others, but land!
|
|
a body ought to discriminate -- they come together
|
|
with great random, and a spear is brast, and one party
|
|
brake his shield and the other one goes down, horse
|
|
and man, over his horse-tail and brake his neck, and
|
|
then the next candidate comes randoming in, and brast
|
|
HIS spear, and the other man brast his shield, and
|
|
down HE goes, horse and man, over his horse-tail, and
|
|
brake HIS neck, and then there's another elected, and
|
|
another and another and still another, till the material
|
|
is all used up; and when you come to figure up results,
|
|
you can't tell one fight from another, nor who whip-
|
|
ped; and as a PICTURE, of living, raging, roaring battle,
|
|
sho! why, it's pale and noiseless -- just ghosts scuffling
|
|
in a fog. Dear me, what would this barren vocabulary
|
|
get out of the mightiest spectacle? -- the burning of
|
|
Rome in Nero's time, for instance? Why, it would
|
|
merely say, 'Town burned down; no insurance; boy
|
|
brast a window, fireman brake his neck!' Why, THAT
|
|
ain't a picture!"
|
|
|
|
It was a good deal of a lecture, I thought, but it
|
|
didn't disturb Sandy, didn't turn a feather; her steam
|
|
soared steadily up again, the minute I took off the lid:
|
|
|
|
"Then Sir Marhaus turned his horse and rode toward
|
|
Gawaine with his spear. And when Sir Gawaine saw
|
|
that, he dressed his shield, and they aventred their
|
|
spears, and they came together with all the might of
|
|
their horses, that either knight smote other so hard in
|
|
the midst of their shields, but Sir Gawaine's spear
|
|
brake --"
|
|
|
|
"I knew it would."
|
|
|
|
-- "but Sir Marhaus's spear held; and therewith Sir
|
|
Gawaine and his horse rushed down to the earth --"
|
|
|
|
"Just so -- and brake his back."
|
|
|
|
-- "and lightly Sir Gawaine rose upon his feet and
|
|
pulled out his sword, and dressed him toward Sir Mar-
|
|
haus on foot, and therewith either came unto other
|
|
eagerly, and smote together with their swords, that their
|
|
shields flew in cantels, and they bruised their helms and
|
|
their hauberks, and wounded either other. But Sir
|
|
Gawaine, fro it passed nine of the clock, waxed by the
|
|
space of three hours ever stronger and stronger. and
|
|
thrice his might was increased. All this espied Sir
|
|
Marhaus, and had great wonder how his might in-
|
|
creased, and so they wounded other passing sore; and
|
|
then when it was come noon --"
|
|
|
|
The pelting sing-song of it carried me forward to
|
|
scenes and sounds of my boyhood days:
|
|
|
|
"N-e-e-ew Haven! ten minutes for refreshments --
|
|
knductr'll strike the gong-bell two minutes before train
|
|
leaves -- passengers for the Shore line please take seats
|
|
in the rear k'yar, this k'yar don't go no furder -- AHH -
|
|
pls, AW-rnjz, b'NANners, S-A-N-D'ches, p--OP-corn!"
|
|
|
|
-- "and waxed past noon and drew toward even-
|
|
song. Sir Gawaine's strength feebled and waxed pass-
|
|
ing faint, that unnethes he might dure any longer, and
|
|
Sir Marhaus was then bigger and bigger --"
|
|
|
|
"Which strained his armor, of course; and yet little
|
|
would one of these people mind a small thing like that."
|
|
|
|
-- "and so, Sir Knight, said Sir Marhaus, I have
|
|
well felt that ye are a passing good knight, and a mar-
|
|
velous man of might as ever I felt any, while it lasteth,
|
|
and our quarrels are not great, and therefore it were a
|
|
pity to do you hurt, for I feel you are passing feeble.
|
|
Ah, said Sir Gawaine, gentle knight, ye say the word
|
|
that I should say. And therewith they took off their
|
|
helms and either kissed other, and there they swore
|
|
together either to love other as brethren --"
|
|
|
|
But I lost the thread there, and dozed off to slumber,
|
|
thinking about what a pity it was that men with such
|
|
superb strength -- strength enabling them to stand up
|
|
cased in cruelly burdensome iron and drenched with
|
|
perspiration, and hack and batter and bang each other
|
|
for six hours on a stretch -- should not have been
|
|
born at a time when they could put it to some useful
|
|
purpose. Take a jackass, for instance: a jackass has
|
|
that kind of strength, and puts it to a useful purpose,
|
|
and is valuable to this world because he is a jackass;
|
|
but a nobleman is not valuable because he is a jackass.
|
|
It is a mixture that is always ineffectual, and should
|
|
never have been attempted in the first place. And yet,
|
|
once you start a mistake, the trouble is done and you
|
|
never know what is going to come of it.
|
|
|
|
When I came to myself again and began to listen, I
|
|
perceived that I had lost another chapter, and that
|
|
Alisande had wandered a long way off with her people.
|
|
|
|
"And so they rode and came into a deep valley full
|
|
of stones, and thereby they saw a fair stream of water;
|
|
above thereby was the head of the stream, a fair foun-
|
|
tain, and three damsels sitting thereby. In this coun-
|
|
try, said Sir Marhaus, came never knight since it was
|
|
christened, but he found strange adventures --"
|
|
|
|
"This is not good form, Alisande. Sir Marhaus the
|
|
king's son of Ireland talks like all the rest; you ought
|
|
to give him a brogue, or at least a characteristic exple-
|
|
tive; by this means one would recognize him as soon
|
|
as he spoke, without his ever being named. It is a
|
|
common literary device with the great authors. You
|
|
should make him say, 'In this country, be jabers, came
|
|
never knight since it was christened, but he found
|
|
strange adventures, be jabers.' You see how much
|
|
better that sounds."
|
|
|
|
-- "came never knight but he found strange adven-
|
|
tures, be jabers. Of a truth it doth indeed, fair lord,
|
|
albeit 'tis passing hard to say, though peradventure
|
|
that will not tarry but better speed with usage. And
|
|
then they rode to the damsels, and either saluted other,
|
|
and the eldest had a garland of gold about her head,
|
|
and she was threescore winter of age or more --"
|
|
|
|
"The DAMSEL was?"
|
|
|
|
"Even so, dear lord -- and her hair was white under
|
|
the garland --"
|
|
|
|
"Celluloid teeth, nine dollars a set, as like as not --
|
|
the loose-fit kind, that go up and down like a portcullis
|
|
when you eat, and fall out when you laugh."
|
|
|
|
"The second damsel was of thirty winter of age,
|
|
with a circlet of gold about her head. The third damsel
|
|
was but fifteen year of age --"
|
|
|
|
Billows of thought came rolling over my soul, and
|
|
the voice faded out of my hearing!
|
|
|
|
Fifteen! Break -- my heart! oh, my lost darling!
|
|
Just her age who was so gentle, and lovely, and all the
|
|
world to me, and whom I shall never see again! How
|
|
the thought of her carries me back over wide seas of
|
|
memory to a vague dim time, a happy time, so many,
|
|
many centuries hence, when I used to wake in the soft
|
|
summer mornings, out of sweet dreams of her, and say
|
|
"Hello, Central!" just to hear her dear voice come
|
|
melting back to me with a "Hello, Hank!" that was
|
|
music of the spheres to my enchanted ear. She got
|
|
three dollars a week, but she was worth it.
|
|
|
|
I could not follow Alisande's further explanation of
|
|
who our captured knights were, now -- I mean in case
|
|
she should ever get to explaining who they were. My
|
|
interest was gone, my thoughts were far away, and sad.
|
|
By fitful glimpses of the drifting tale, caught here and
|
|
there and now and then, I merely noted in a vague way
|
|
that each of these three knights took one of these three
|
|
damsels up behind him on his horse, and one rode
|
|
north, another east, the other south, to seek adventures,
|
|
and meet again and lie, after year and day. Year and
|
|
day -- and without baggage. It was of a piece with
|
|
the general simplicity of the country.
|
|
|
|
The sun was now setting. It was about three in the
|
|
afternoon when Alisande had begun to tell me who the
|
|
cowboys were; so she had made pretty good progress
|
|
with it -- for her. She would arrive some time or
|
|
other, no doubt, but she was not a person who could
|
|
be hurried.
|
|
|
|
We were approaching a castle which stood on high
|
|
ground; a huge, strong, venerable structure, whose
|
|
gray towers and battlements were charmingly draped
|
|
with ivy, and whose whole majestic mass was drenched
|
|
with splendors flung from the sinking sun. It was the
|
|
largest castle we had seen, and so I thought it might be
|
|
the one we were after, but Sandy said no. She did
|
|
not know who owned it; she said she had passed it
|
|
without calling, when she went down to Camelot.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XVI.
|
|
MORGAN LE FAY
|
|
|
|
IF knights errant were to be believed, not all castles
|
|
were desirable places to seek hospitality in. As a
|
|
matter of fact, knights errant were NOT persons to be
|
|
believed -- that is, measured by modern standards of
|
|
veracity; yet, measured by the standards of their own
|
|
time, and scaled accordingly, you got the truth. It
|
|
was very simple: you discounted a statement ninety-
|
|
seven per cent.; the rest was fact. Now after making
|
|
this allowance, the truth remained that if I could find
|
|
out something about a castle before ringing the door-
|
|
bell -- I mean hailing the warders -- it was the sensible
|
|
thing to do. So I was pleased when I saw in the dis-
|
|
tance a horseman making the bottom turn of the road
|
|
that wound down from this castle.
|
|
|
|
As we approached each other, I saw that he wore a
|
|
plumed helmet, and seemed to be otherwise clothed in
|
|
steel, but bore a curious addition also -- a stiff square
|
|
garment like a herald's tabard. However, I had to
|
|
smile at my own forgetfulness when I got nearer and
|
|
read this sign on his tabard:
|
|
|
|
"Persimmon's Soap -- All the Prime-Donna Use It."
|
|
|
|
That was a little idea of my own, and had several
|
|
wholesome purposes in view toward the civilizing and
|
|
uplifting of this nation. In the first place, it was a
|
|
furtive, underhand blow at this nonsense of knight
|
|
errantry, though nobody suspected that but me. I
|
|
had started a number of these people out -- the bravest
|
|
knights I could get -- each sandwiched between bul-
|
|
letin-boards bearing one device or another, and I
|
|
judged that by and by when they got to be numerous
|
|
enough they would begin to look ridiculous; and then,
|
|
even the steel-clad ass that HADN'T any board would
|
|
himself begin to look ridiculous because he was out of
|
|
the fashion.
|
|
|
|
Secondly, these missionaries would gradually, and
|
|
without creating suspicion or exciting alarm, introduce
|
|
a rudimentary cleanliness among the nobility, and from
|
|
them it would work down to the people, if the priests
|
|
could be kept quiet. This would undermine the
|
|
Church. I mean would be a step toward that. Next,
|
|
education -- next, freedom -- and then she would begin
|
|
to crumble. It being my conviction that any Estab-
|
|
lished Church is an established crime, an established
|
|
slave-pen, I had no scruples, but was willing to assail
|
|
it in any way or with any weapon that promised to
|
|
hurt it. Why, in my own former day -- in remote
|
|
centuries not yet stirring in the womb of time -- there
|
|
were old Englishmen who imagined that they had been
|
|
born in a free country: a "free" country with the
|
|
Corporation Act and the Test still in force in it --
|
|
timbers propped against men's liberties and dishonored
|
|
consciences to shore up an Established Anachronism
|
|
with.
|
|
|
|
My missionaries were taught to spell out the gilt
|
|
signs on their tabards -- the showy gilding was a neat
|
|
idea, I could have got the king to wear a bulletin-board
|
|
for the sake of that barbaric splendor -- they were to
|
|
spell out these signs and then explain to the lords and
|
|
ladies what soap was; and if the lords and ladies were
|
|
afraid of it, get them to try it on a dog. The mission-
|
|
ary's next move was to get the family together and try
|
|
it on himself; he was to stop at no experiment, how-
|
|
ever desperate. that could convince the nobility that
|
|
soap was harmless; if any final doubt remained, he
|
|
must catch a hermit -- the woods were full of them;
|
|
saints they called themselves, and saints they were be-
|
|
lieved to be. They were unspeakably holy, and worked
|
|
miracles, and everybody stood in awe of them. If a
|
|
hermit could survive a wash, and that failed to convince
|
|
a duke, give him up, let him alone.
|
|
|
|
Whenever my missionaries overcame a knight errant
|
|
on the road they washed him, and when he got well
|
|
they swore him to go and get a bulletin-board and dis-
|
|
seminate soap and civilization the rest of his days. As
|
|
a consequence the workers in the field were increasing
|
|
by degrees, and the reform was steadily spreading.
|
|
My soap factory felt the strain early. At first I had
|
|
only two hands; but before I had left home I was
|
|
already employing fifteen, and running night and day;
|
|
and the atmospheric result was getting so pronounced
|
|
that the king went sort of fainting and gasping around
|
|
and said he did not believe he could stand it much
|
|
longer, and Sir Launcelot got so that he did hardly
|
|
anything but walk up and down the roof and swear,
|
|
although I told him it was worse up there than any-
|
|
where else, but he said he wanted plenty of air; and
|
|
he was always complaining that a palace was no place
|
|
for a soap factory anyway, and said if a man was to
|
|
start one in his house he would be damned if he
|
|
wouldn't strangle him. There were ladies present,
|
|
too, but much these people ever cared for that; they
|
|
would swear before children, if the wind was their way
|
|
when the factory was going.
|
|
|
|
This missionary knight's name was La Cote Male
|
|
Taile, and he said that this castle was the abode of
|
|
Morgan le Fay, sister of King Arthur, and wife of
|
|
King Uriens. monarch of a realm about as big as the
|
|
District of Columbia -- you could stand in the middle
|
|
of it and throw bricks into the next kingdom.
|
|
"Kings" and "Kingdoms" were as thick in Britain
|
|
as they had been in little Palestine in Joshua's time,
|
|
when people had to sleep with their knees pulled up
|
|
because they couldn't stretch out without a passport.
|
|
|
|
La Cote was much depressed, for he had scored
|
|
here the worst failure of his campaign. He had not
|
|
worked off a cake; yet he had tried all the tricks of
|
|
the trade, even to the washing of a hermit; but the
|
|
hermit died. This was, indeed, a bad failure, for this
|
|
animal would now be dubbed a martyr, and would take
|
|
his place among the saints of the Roman calendar.
|
|
Thus made he his moan, this poor Sir La Cote Male
|
|
Taile, and sorrowed passing sore. And so my heart
|
|
bled for him, and I was moved to comfort and stay
|
|
him. Wherefore I said:
|
|
|
|
"Forbear to grieve, fair knight, for this is not a
|
|
defeat. We have brains, you and I; and for such as
|
|
have brains there are no defeats, but only victories.
|
|
Observe how we will turn this seeming disaster into an
|
|
advertisement; an advertisement for our soap; and
|
|
the biggest one, to draw, that was ever thought of; an
|
|
advertisement that will transform that Mount Washing-
|
|
ton defeat into a Matterhorn victory. We will put on
|
|
your bulletin-board, 'PATRONIZED BY THE ELECT.' How
|
|
does that strike you?"
|
|
|
|
"Verily, it is wonderly bethought!"
|
|
|
|
"Well, a body is bound to admit that for just a
|
|
modest little one-line ad., it's a corker."
|
|
|
|
So the poor colporteur's griefs vanished away. He
|
|
was a brave fellow, and had done mighty feats of arms
|
|
in his time. His chief celebrity rested upon the events
|
|
of an excursion like this one of mine, which he had
|
|
once made with a damsel named Maledisant, who was
|
|
as handy with her tongue as was Sandy, though in a
|
|
different way, for her tongue churned forth only rail-
|
|
ings and insult, whereas Sandy's music was of a
|
|
kindlier sort. I knew his story well, and so I knew
|
|
how to interpret the compassion that was in his face
|
|
when he bade me farewell. He supposed I was having
|
|
a bitter hard time of it.
|
|
|
|
Sandy and I discussed his story, as we rode along,
|
|
and she said that La Cote's bad luck had begun with
|
|
the very beginning of that trip; for the king's fool had
|
|
overthrown him on the first day, and in such cases it
|
|
was customary for the girl to desert to the conqueror,
|
|
but Maledisant didn't do it; and also persisted after-
|
|
ward in sticking to him, after all his defeats. But,
|
|
said I, suppose the victor should decline to accept his
|
|
spoil? She said that that wouldn't answer -- he must.
|
|
He couldn't decline; it wouldn't be regular. I made
|
|
a note of that. If Sandy's music got to be too
|
|
burdensome, some time, I would let a knight defeat
|
|
me, on the chance that she would desert to him.
|
|
|
|
In due time we were challenged by the warders,
|
|
from the castle walls, and after a parley admitted. I
|
|
have nothing pleasant to tell about that visit. But it
|
|
was not a disappointment, for I knew Mrs. le Fay by
|
|
reputation, and was not expecting anything pleasant.
|
|
She was held in awe by the whole realm, for she had
|
|
made everybody believe she was a great sorceress. All
|
|
her ways were wicked, all her instincts devilish. She
|
|
was loaded to the eyelids with cold malice. All her
|
|
history was black with crime; and among her crimes
|
|
murder was common. I was most curious to see her;
|
|
as curious as I could have been to see Satan. To my
|
|
surprise she was beautiful; black thoughts had failed
|
|
to make her expression repulsive, age had failed to
|
|
wrinkle her satin skin or mar its bloomy freshness.
|
|
She could have passed for old Uriens' granddaughter,
|
|
she could have been mistaken for sister to her own son.
|
|
|
|
As soon as we were fairly within the castle gates we
|
|
were ordered into her presence. King Uriens was
|
|
there, a kind-faced old man with a subdued look; and
|
|
also the son, Sir Uwaine le Blanchemains, in whom I
|
|
was, of course, interested on account of the tradition
|
|
that he had once done battle with thirty knights, and
|
|
also on account of his trip with Sir Gawaine and Sir
|
|
Marhaus, which Sandy had been aging me with. But
|
|
Morgan was the main attraction, the conspicuous per-
|
|
sonality here; she was head chief of this household,
|
|
that was plain. She caused us to be seated, and then
|
|
she began, with all manner of pretty graces and
|
|
graciousnesses, to ask me questions. Dear me, it was
|
|
like a bird or a flute, or something, talking. I felt
|
|
persuaded that this woman must have been misrepre-
|
|
sented, lied about. She trilled along, and trilled along,
|
|
and presently a handsome young page, clothed like the
|
|
rainbow, and as easy and undulatory of movement as a
|
|
wave, came with something on a golden salver, and,
|
|
kneeling to present it to her, overdid his graces and
|
|
lost his balance, and so fell lightly against her knee.
|
|
She slipped a dirk into him in as matter-of-course a
|
|
way as another person would have harpooned a rat!
|
|
|
|
Poor child! he slumped to the floor, twisted his silken
|
|
limbs in one great straining contortion of pain, and was
|
|
dead. Out of the old king was wrung an involuntary
|
|
"O-h!" of compassion. The look he got, made him
|
|
cut it suddenly short and not put any more hyphens in
|
|
it. Sir Uwaine, at a sign from his mother, went to
|
|
the anteroom and called some servants, and meanwhile
|
|
madame went rippling sweetly along with her talk.
|
|
|
|
I saw that she was a good housekeeper, for while
|
|
she talked she kept a corner of her eye on the servants
|
|
to see that they made no balks in handling the body
|
|
and getting it out; when they came with fresh clean
|
|
towels, she sent back for the other kind; and when
|
|
they had finished wiping the floor and were going, she
|
|
indicated a crimson fleck the size of a tear which their
|
|
duller eyes had overlooked. It was plain to me that
|
|
La Cote Male Taile had failed to see the mistress of
|
|
the house. Often, how louder and clearer than any
|
|
tongue, does dumb circumstantial evidence speak.
|
|
|
|
Morgan le Fay rippled along as musically as ever.
|
|
Marvelous woman. And what a glance she had: when
|
|
it fell in reproof upon those servants, they shrunk and
|
|
quailed as timid people do when the lightning flashes
|
|
out of a cloud. I could have got the habit myself. It
|
|
was the same with that poor old Brer Uriens; he was
|
|
always on the ragged edge of apprehension; she could
|
|
not even turn toward him but he winced.
|
|
|
|
In the midst of the talk I let drop a complimentary
|
|
word about King Arthur, forgetting for the moment
|
|
how this woman hated her brother. That one little
|
|
compliment was enough. She clouded up like
|
|
storm; she called for her guards, and said:
|
|
|
|
"Hale me these varlets to the dungeons."
|
|
|
|
That struck cold on my ears, for her dungeons had
|
|
a reputation. Nothing occurred to me to say -- or
|
|
do. But not so with Sandy. As the guard laid a
|
|
hand upon me, she piped up with the tranquilest con-
|
|
fidence, and said:
|
|
|
|
"God's wounds, dost thou covet destruction, thou
|
|
maniac? It is The Boss!"
|
|
|
|
Now what a happy idea that was! -- and so simple;
|
|
yet it would never have occurred to me. I was born
|
|
modest; not all over, but in spots; and this was one
|
|
of the spots.
|
|
|
|
The effect upon madame was electrical. It cleared
|
|
her countenance and brought back her smiles and all
|
|
her persuasive graces and blandishments; but never-
|
|
theless she was not able to entirely cover up with them
|
|
the fact that she was in a ghastly fright. She said:
|
|
|
|
"La, but do list to thine handmaid! as if one
|
|
gifted with powers like to mine might say the thing
|
|
which I have said unto one who has vanquished
|
|
Merlin, and not be jesting. By mine enchantments I
|
|
foresaw your coming, and by them I knew you when
|
|
you entered here. I did but play this little jest with
|
|
hope to surprise you into some display of your art, as
|
|
not doubting you would blast the guards with occult
|
|
fires, consuming them to ashes on the spot, a marvel
|
|
much beyond mine own ability, yet one which I have
|
|
long been childishly curious to see."
|
|
|
|
The guards were less curious, and got out as soon as
|
|
they got permission.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XVII.
|
|
A ROYAL BANQUET
|
|
|
|
MADAME, seeing me pacific and unresentful, no
|
|
doubt judged that I was deceived by her excuse;
|
|
for her fright dissolved away, and she was soon so
|
|
importunate to have me give an exhibition and kill
|
|
somebody, that the thing grew to be embarrassing.
|
|
However, to my relief she was presently interrupted by
|
|
the call to prayers. I will say this much for the
|
|
nobility: that, tyrannical, murderous, rapacious, and
|
|
morally rotten as they were, they were deeply and
|
|
enthusiastically religious. Nothing could divert them
|
|
from the regular and faithful performance of the pieties
|
|
enjoined by the Church. More than once I had seen
|
|
a noble who had gotten his enemy at a disadvantage,
|
|
stop to pray before cutting his throat; more than once
|
|
I had seen a noble, after ambushing and despatching
|
|
his enemy, retire to the nearest wayside shrine and
|
|
humbly give thanks, without even waiting to rob the
|
|
body. There was to be nothing finer or sweeter in the
|
|
life of even Benvenuto Cellini, that rough-hewn saint,
|
|
ten centuries later. All the nobles of Britain, with
|
|
their families, attended divine service morning and
|
|
night daily, in their private chapels, and even the
|
|
worst of them had family worship five or six times a
|
|
day besides. The credit of this belonged entirely to
|
|
the Church. Although I was no friend to that Cath-
|
|
olic Church, I was obliged to admit this. And often,
|
|
in spite of me, I found myself saying, "What would
|
|
this country be without the Church?"
|
|
|
|
After prayers we had dinner in a great banqueting
|
|
hall which was lighted by hundreds of grease-jets, and
|
|
everything was as fine and lavish and rudely splendid
|
|
as might become the royal degree of the hosts. At
|
|
the head of the hall, on a dais, was the table of the
|
|
king, queen, and their son, Prince Uwaine. Stretching
|
|
down the hall from this, was the general table, on the
|
|
floor. At this, above the salt, sat the visiting nobles
|
|
and the grown members of their families, of both
|
|
sexes, -- the resident Court, in effect -- sixty-one per-
|
|
sons; below the salt sat minor officers of the house-
|
|
hold, with their principal subordinates: altogether a
|
|
hundred and eighteen persons sitting, and about as
|
|
many liveried servants standing behind their chairs, or
|
|
serving in one capacity or another. It was a very fine
|
|
show. In a gallery a band with cymbals, horns, harps,
|
|
and other horrors, opened the proceedings with what
|
|
seemed to be the crude first-draft or original agony of
|
|
the wail known to later centuries as "In the Sweet
|
|
Bye and Bye." It was new, and ought to have been
|
|
rehearsed a little more. For some reason or other the
|
|
queen had the composer hanged, after dinner.
|
|
|
|
After this music, the priest who stood behind the
|
|
royal table said a noble long grace in ostensible Latin.
|
|
Then the battalion of waiters broke away from their
|
|
posts, and darted, rushed, flew, fetched and carried,
|
|
and the mighty feeding began; no words anywhere,
|
|
but absorbing attention to business. The rows of
|
|
chops opened and shut in vast unison, and the sound
|
|
of it was like to the muffled burr of subterranean
|
|
machinery.
|
|
|
|
The havoc continued an hour and a half, and unim-
|
|
aginable was the destruction of substantials. Of the
|
|
chief feature of the feast -- the huge wild boar that lay
|
|
stretched out so portly and imposing at the start --
|
|
nothing was left but the semblance of a hoop-skirt;
|
|
and he was but the type and symbol of what had hap-
|
|
pened to all the other dishes.
|
|
|
|
With the pastries and so on, the heavy drinking
|
|
began -- and the talk. Gallon after gallon of wine and
|
|
mead disappeared, and everybody got comfortable,
|
|
then happy, then sparklingly joyous -- both sexes, --
|
|
and by and by pretty noisy. Men told anecdotes that
|
|
were terrific to hear, but nobody blushed; and when
|
|
the nub was sprung, the assemblage let go with a
|
|
horse-laugh that shook the fortress. Ladies answered
|
|
back with historiettes that would almost have made
|
|
Queen Margaret of Navarre or even the great Elizabeth
|
|
of England hide behind a handkerchief, but nobody
|
|
hid here, but only laughed -- howled, you may say.
|
|
In pretty much all of these dreadful stories, ecclesiastics
|
|
were the hardy heroes, but that didn't worry the chap-
|
|
lain any, he had his laugh with the rest; more than
|
|
that, upon invitation he roared out a song which was
|
|
of as daring a sort as any that was sung that night.
|
|
|
|
By midnight everybody was fagged out, and sore
|
|
with laughing; and, as a rule, drunk: some weepingly,
|
|
some affectionately, some hilariously, some quarrel-
|
|
somely, some dead and under the table. Of the
|
|
ladies, the worst spectacle was a lovely young duch-
|
|
ess, whose wedding-eve this was; and indeed she was
|
|
a spectacle, sure enough. Just as she was she could
|
|
have sat in advance for the portrait of the young
|
|
daughter of the Regent d'Orleans, at the famous dinner
|
|
whence she was carried, foul-mouthed, intoxicated, and
|
|
helpless, to her bed, in the lost and lamented days of
|
|
the Ancient Regime.
|
|
|
|
Suddenly, even while the priest was lifting his hands,
|
|
and all conscious heads were bowed in reverent expec-
|
|
tation of the coming blessing, there appeared under
|
|
the arch of the far-off door at the bottom of the hall
|
|
an old and bent and white-haired lady, leaning upon a
|
|
crutch-stick; and she lifted the stick and pointed it
|
|
toward the queen and cried out:
|
|
|
|
"The wrath and curse of God fall upon you, woman
|
|
without pity, who have slain mine innocent grandchild
|
|
and made desolate this old heart that had nor chick, nor
|
|
friend nor stay nor comfort in all this world but him!"
|
|
|
|
Everybody crossed himself in a grisly fright, for a
|
|
curse was an awful thing to those people; but the
|
|
queen rose up majestic, with the death-light in her
|
|
eye, and flung back this ruthless command:
|
|
|
|
"Lay hands on her! To the stake with her!"
|
|
|
|
The guards left their posts to obey. It was a
|
|
shame; it was a cruel thing to see. What could be
|
|
done? Sandy gave me a look; I knew she had an-
|
|
other inspiration. I said:
|
|
|
|
"Do what you choose."
|
|
|
|
She was up and facing toward the queen in a mo-
|
|
ment. She indicated me, and said:
|
|
|
|
"Madame, HE saith this may not be. Recall the
|
|
commandment, or he will dissolve the castle and it
|
|
shall vanish away like the instable fabric of a dream!"
|
|
|
|
Confound it, what a crazy contract to pledge a per-
|
|
son to! What if the queen --
|
|
|
|
But my consternation subsided there, and my panic
|
|
passed off; for the queen, all in a collapse, made no
|
|
show of resistance but gave a countermanding sign and
|
|
sunk into her seat. When she reached it she was
|
|
sober. So were many of the others. The assemblage
|
|
rose, whiffed ceremony to the winds, and rushed for
|
|
the door like a mob; overturning chairs, smashing
|
|
crockery, tugging, struggling, shouldering, crowding
|
|
-- anything to get out before I should change my
|
|
mind and puff the castle into the measureless dim
|
|
vacancies of space. Well, well, well, they WERE a
|
|
superstitious lot. It is all a body can do to conceive
|
|
of it.
|
|
|
|
The poor queen was so scared and humbled that she
|
|
was even afraid to hang the composer without first
|
|
consulting me. I was very sorry for her -- indeed, any
|
|
one would have been, for she was really suffering; so
|
|
I was willing to do anything that was reasonable, and
|
|
had no desire to carry things to wanton extremities. I
|
|
therefore considered the matter thoughtfully, and ended
|
|
by having the musicians ordered into our presence to
|
|
play that Sweet Bye and Bye again, which they did.
|
|
Then I saw that she was right, and gave her permission
|
|
to hang the whole band. This little relaxation of
|
|
sternness had a good effect upon the queen. A states-
|
|
man gains little by the arbitrary exercise of iron-clad
|
|
authority upon all occasions that offer, for this wounds
|
|
the just pride of his subordinates, and thus tends to
|
|
undermine his strength. A little concession, now and
|
|
then, where it can do no harm, is the wiser policy.
|
|
|
|
Now that the queen was at ease in her mind once
|
|
more, and measurably happy, her wine naturally began
|
|
to assert itself again, and it got a little the start of her.
|
|
I mean it set her music going -- her silver bell of a
|
|
tongue. Dear me, she was a master talker. It would
|
|
not become me to suggest that it was pretty late and
|
|
that I was a tired man and very sleepy. I wished I
|
|
had gone off to bed when I had the chance. Now I
|
|
must stick it out; there was no other way. So she
|
|
tinkled along and along, in the otherwise profound and
|
|
ghostly hush of the sleeping castle, until by and by
|
|
there came, as if from deep down under us, a far-away
|
|
sound, as of a muffled shriek -- with an expression of
|
|
agony about it that made my flesh crawl. The queen
|
|
stopped, and her eyes lighted with pleasure; she tilted
|
|
her graceful head as a bird does when it listens. The
|
|
sound bored its way up through the stillness again.
|
|
|
|
"What is it?" I said.
|
|
|
|
"It is truly a stubborn soul, and endureth long. It
|
|
is many hours now."
|
|
|
|
"Endureth what?"
|
|
|
|
"The rack. Come -- ye shall see a blithe sight.
|
|
An he yield not his secret now, ye shall see him torn
|
|
asunder."
|
|
|
|
What a silky smooth hellion she was; and so com-
|
|
posed and serene, when the cords all down my legs
|
|
were hurting in sympathy with that man's pain. Con-
|
|
ducted by mailed guards bearing flaring torches, we
|
|
tramped along echoing corridors, and down stone stair-
|
|
ways dank and dripping, and smelling of mould and
|
|
ages of imprisoned night -- a chill, uncanny journey
|
|
and a long one, and not made the shorter or the
|
|
cheerier by the sorceress's talk, which was about this
|
|
sufferer and his crime. He had been accused by an
|
|
anonymous informer, of having killed a stag in the
|
|
royal preserves. I said:
|
|
|
|
"Anonymous testimony isn't just the right thing,
|
|
your Highness. It were fairer to confront the accused
|
|
with the accuser."
|
|
|
|
"I had not thought of that, it being but of small
|
|
consequence. But an I would, I could not, for that
|
|
the accuser came masked by night, and told the
|
|
forester, and straightway got him hence again, and so
|
|
the forester knoweth him not."
|
|
|
|
"Then is this Unknown the only person who saw
|
|
the stag killed?"
|
|
|
|
"Marry, NO man SAW the killing, but this Unknown
|
|
saw this hardy wretch near to the spot where the stag
|
|
lay, and came with right loyal zeal and betrayed him
|
|
to the forester."
|
|
|
|
"So the Unknown was near the dead stag, too?
|
|
Isn't it just possible that he did the killing himself?
|
|
His loyal zeal -- in a mask -- looks just a shade sus-
|
|
picious. But what is your highness's idea for racking
|
|
the prisoner? Where is the profit?"
|
|
|
|
"He will not confess, else; and then were his soul
|
|
lost. For his crime his life is forfeited by the law --
|
|
and of a surety will I see that he payeth it! -- but it
|
|
were peril to my own soul to let him die unconfessed
|
|
and unabsolved. Nay, I were a fool to fling me into
|
|
hell for HIS accommodation."
|
|
|
|
"But, your Highness, suppose he has nothing to
|
|
confess?"
|
|
|
|
"As to that, we shall see, anon. An I rack him to
|
|
death and he confess not, it will peradventure show
|
|
that he had indeed naught to confess -- ye will grant
|
|
that that is sooth? Then shall I not be damned for
|
|
an unconfessed man that had naught to confess --
|
|
wherefore, I shall be safe."
|
|
|
|
It was the stubborn unreasoning of the time. It was
|
|
useless to argue with her. Arguments have no chance
|
|
against petrified training; they wear it as little as the
|
|
waves wear a cliff. And her training was everybody's.
|
|
The brightest intellect in the land would not have been
|
|
able to see that her position was defective.
|
|
|
|
As we entered the rack-cell I caught a picture that
|
|
will not go from me; I wish it would. A native young
|
|
giant of thirty or thereabouts lay stretched upon the
|
|
frame on his back, with his wrists and ankles tied to
|
|
ropes which led over windlasses at either end. There
|
|
was no color in him; his features were contorted and
|
|
set, and sweat-drops stood upon his forehead. A
|
|
priest bent over him on each side; the executioner
|
|
stood by; guards were on duty; smoking torches
|
|
stood in sockets along the walls; in a corner crouched
|
|
a poor young creature, her face drawn with anguish,
|
|
a half-wild and hunted look in her eyes, and in her lap
|
|
lay a little child asleep. Just as we stepped across the
|
|
threshold the executioner gave his machine a slight
|
|
turn, which wrung a cry from both the prisoner and
|
|
the woman; but I shouted, and the executioner released
|
|
the strain without waiting to see who spoke. I could
|
|
not let this horror go on; it would have killed me to
|
|
see it. I asked the queen to let me clear the place
|
|
and speak to the prisoner privately; and when she was
|
|
going to object I spoke in a low voice and said I did
|
|
not want to make a scene before her servants, but I
|
|
must have my way; for I was King Arthur's repre-
|
|
sentative, and was speaking in his name. She saw she
|
|
had to yield. I asked her to indorse me to these peo-
|
|
ple, and then leave me. It was not pleasant for her,
|
|
but she took the pill; and even went further than I
|
|
was meaning to require. I only wanted the backing of
|
|
her own authority; but she said:
|
|
|
|
"Ye will do in all things as this lord shall command.
|
|
It is The Boss."
|
|
|
|
It was certainly a good word to conjure with: you
|
|
could see it by the squirming of these rats. The
|
|
queen's guards fell into line, and she and they marched
|
|
away, with their torch-bearers, and woke the echoes of
|
|
the cavernous tunnels with the measured beat of their
|
|
retreating footfalls. I had the prisoner taken from
|
|
the rack and placed upon his bed, and medicaments
|
|
applied to his hurts, and wine given him to drink.
|
|
The woman crept near and looked on, eagerly, lov-
|
|
ingly, but timorously, -- like one who fears a repulse;
|
|
indeed, she tried furtively to touch the man's forehead,
|
|
and jumped back, the picture of fright, when I turned
|
|
unconsciously toward her. It was pitiful to see.
|
|
|
|
"Lord," I said, "stroke him, lass, if you want to.
|
|
Do anything you're a mind to; don't mind me."
|
|
|
|
Why, her eyes were as grateful as an animal's, when
|
|
you do it a kindness that it understands. The baby
|
|
was out of her way and she had her cheek against the
|
|
man's in a minute. and her hands fondling his hair,
|
|
and her happy tears running down. The man revived
|
|
and caressed his wife with his eyes, which was all he
|
|
could do. I judged I might clear the den, now, and I
|
|
did; cleared it of all but the family and myself. Then
|
|
I said:
|
|
|
|
"Now, my friend, tell me your side of this matter;
|
|
I know the other side."
|
|
|
|
The man moved his head in sign of refusal. But
|
|
the woman looked pleased -- as it seemed to me --
|
|
pleased with my suggestion. I went on --
|
|
|
|
"You know of me?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes. All do, in Arthur's realms."
|
|
|
|
"If my reputation has come to you right and
|
|
straight, you should not be afraid to speak."
|
|
|
|
The woman broke in, eagerly:
|
|
|
|
"Ah, fair my lord, do thou persuade him! Thou
|
|
canst an thou wilt. Ah, he suffereth so; and it is for
|
|
me -- for ME! And how can I bear it? I would I
|
|
might see him die -- a sweet, swift death; oh, my
|
|
Hugo, I cannot bear this one!"
|
|
|
|
And she fell to sobbing and grovelling about my
|
|
feet, and still imploring. Imploring what? The man's
|
|
death? I could not quite get the bearings of the thing.
|
|
But Hugo interrupted her and said:
|
|
|
|
"Peace! Ye wit not what ye ask. Shall I starve
|
|
whom I love, to win a gentle death? I wend thou
|
|
knewest me better."
|
|
|
|
"Well," I said, "I can't quite make this out. It
|
|
is a puzzle. Now --"
|
|
|
|
"Ah, dear my lord, an ye will but persuade him!
|
|
Consider how these his tortures wound me! Oh, and
|
|
he will not speak! -- whereas, the healing, the solace
|
|
that lie in a blessed swift death --"
|
|
|
|
"What ARE you maundering about? He's going out
|
|
from here a free man and whole -- he's not going to
|
|
die."
|
|
|
|
The man's white face lit up, and the woman flung
|
|
herself at me in a most surprising explosion of joy,
|
|
and cried out:
|
|
|
|
"He is saved! -- for it is the king's word by the
|
|
mouth of the king's servant -- Arthur, the king whose
|
|
word is gold!"
|
|
|
|
"Well, then you do believe I can be trusted, after
|
|
all. Why didn't you before?"
|
|
|
|
"Who doubted? Not I, indeed; and not she."
|
|
|
|
"Well, why wouldn't you tell me your story, then?"
|
|
|
|
"Ye had made no promise; else had it been other-
|
|
wise."
|
|
|
|
"I see, I see.... And yet I believe I don't quite
|
|
see, after all. You stood the torture and refused to
|
|
confess; which shows plain enough to even the dull-
|
|
est understanding that you had nothing to confess --"
|
|
|
|
"I, my lord? How so? It was I that killed the
|
|
deer!"
|
|
|
|
"You DID? Oh, dear, this is the most mixed-up
|
|
business that ever --"
|
|
|
|
"Dear lord, I begged him on my knees to confess,
|
|
but --"
|
|
|
|
"You DID! It gets thicker and thicker. What did
|
|
you want him to do that for?"
|
|
|
|
"Sith it would bring him a quick death and save
|
|
him all this cruel pain."
|
|
|
|
"Well -- yes, there is reason in that. But HE didn't
|
|
want the quick death."
|
|
|
|
"He? Why, of a surety he DID."
|
|
|
|
"Well, then, why in the world DIDN'T he confess?"
|
|
|
|
"Ah, sweet sir, and leave my wife and chick with-
|
|
out bread and shelter?"
|
|
|
|
"Oh, heart of gold, now I see it! The bitter law
|
|
takes the convicted man's estate and beggars his widow
|
|
and his orphans. They could torture you to death,
|
|
but without conviction or confession they could not
|
|
rob your wife and baby. You stood by them like a
|
|
man; and YOU -- true wife and the woman that you
|
|
are -- you would have bought him release from torture
|
|
at cost to yourself of slow starvation and death -- well,
|
|
it humbles a body to think what your sex can do when
|
|
it comes to self-sacrifice. I'll book you both for my
|
|
colony; you'll like it there; it's a Factory where I'm
|
|
going to turn groping and grubbing automata into
|
|
MEN."
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XVIII.
|
|
IN THE QUEEN'S DUNGEONS
|
|
|
|
WELL, I arranged all that; and I had the man sent
|
|
to his home. I had a great desire to rack the
|
|
executioner; not because he was a good, painstaking
|
|
and paingiving official, -- for surely it was not to his
|
|
discredit that he performed his functions well -- but to
|
|
pay him back for wantonly cuffing and otherwise dis-
|
|
tressing that young woman. The priests told me about
|
|
this, and were generously hot to have him punished.
|
|
Something of this disagreeable sort was turning up
|
|
every now and then. I mean, episodes that showed
|
|
that not all priests were frauds and self-seekers, but
|
|
that many, even the great majority, of these that were
|
|
down on the ground among the common people, were
|
|
sincere and right-hearted, and devoted to the alleviation
|
|
of human troubles and sufferings. Well, it was a thing
|
|
which could not be helped, so I seldom fretted about
|
|
it, and never many minutes at a time; it has never
|
|
been my way to bother much about things which you
|
|
can't cure. But I did not like it, for it was just the
|
|
sort of thing to keep people reconciled to an Estab-
|
|
lished Church. We MUST have a religion -- it goes
|
|
without saying -- but my idea is, to have it cut up into
|
|
forty free sects, so that they will police each other, as
|
|
had been the case in the United States in my time.
|
|
Concentration of power in a political machine is bad;
|
|
and and an Established Church is only a political machine;
|
|
it was invented for that; it is nursed, cradled, pre-
|
|
served for that; it is an enemy to human liberty, and
|
|
does no good which it could not better do in a split-up
|
|
and scattered condition. That wasn't law; it wasn't
|
|
gospel: it was only an opinion -- my opinion, and I
|
|
was only a man, one man: so it wasn't worth any
|
|
more than the pope's -- or any less, for that matter.
|
|
|
|
Well, I couldn't rack the executioner, neither would
|
|
I overlook the just complaint of the priests. The man
|
|
must be punished somehow or other, so I degraded
|
|
him from his office and made him leader of the band
|
|
-- the new one that was to be started. He begged
|
|
hard, and said he couldn't play -- a plausible excuse,
|
|
but too thin; there wasn't a musician in the country
|
|
that could.
|
|
|
|
The queen was a good deal outraged, next morning
|
|
when she found she was going to have neither Hugo's
|
|
life nor his property. But I told her she must bear
|
|
this cross; that while by law and custom she certainly
|
|
was entitled to both the man's life and his property,
|
|
there were extenuating circumstances, and so in Arthur
|
|
the king's name I had pardoned him. The deer was
|
|
ravaging the man's fields, and he had killed it in sud-
|
|
den passion, and not for gain; and he had carried it
|
|
into the royal forest in the hope that that might make
|
|
detection of the misdoer impossible. Confound her, I
|
|
couldn't make her see that sudden passion is an ex-
|
|
tenuating circumstance in the killing of venison -- or
|
|
of a person -- so I gave it up and let her sulk it out
|
|
I DID think I was going to make her see it by remark-
|
|
ing that her own sudden passion in the case of the
|
|
page modified that crime.
|
|
|
|
"Crime!" she exclaimed. "How thou talkest!
|
|
Crime, forsooth! Man, I am going to PAY for him!"
|
|
|
|
Oh, it was no use to waste sense on her. Training
|
|
-- training is everything; training is all there is TO a
|
|
person. We speak of nature; it is folly; there is no
|
|
such thing as nature; what we call by that misleading
|
|
name is merely heredity and training. We have no
|
|
thoughts of our own, no opinions of our own; they
|
|
are transmitted to us, trained into us. All that is
|
|
original in us, and therefore fairly creditable or dis-
|
|
creditable to us, can be covered up and hidden by the
|
|
point of a cambric needle, all the rest being atoms
|
|
contributed by, and inherited from, a procession of
|
|
ancestors that stretches back a billion years to the
|
|
Adam-clam or grasshopper or monkey from whom our
|
|
race has been so tediously and ostentatiously and un-
|
|
profitably developed. And as for me, all that I think
|
|
about in this plodding sad pilgrimage, this pathetic
|
|
drift between the eternities, is to look out and humbly
|
|
live a pure and high and blameless life, and save that
|
|
one microscopic atom in me that is truly ME: the rest
|
|
may land in Sheol and welcome for all I care.
|
|
|
|
No, confound her, her intellect was good, she had
|
|
brains enough, but her training made her an ass -- that
|
|
is, from a many-centuries-later point of view. To kill
|
|
the page was no crime -- it was her right; and upon
|
|
her right she stood, serenely and unconscious of
|
|
offense. She was a result of generations of training
|
|
in the unexamined and unassailed belief that the law
|
|
which permitted her to kill a subject when she chose
|
|
was a perfectly right and righteous one.
|
|
|
|
Well, we must give even Satan his due. She de-
|
|
served a compliment for one thing; and I tried to pay
|
|
it, but the words stuck in my throat. She had a right
|
|
to kill the boy, but she was in no wise obliged to pay
|
|
for him. That was law for some other people, but
|
|
not for her. She knew quite well that she was doing a
|
|
large and generous thing to pay for that lad, and that
|
|
I ought in common fairness to come out with some-
|
|
thing handsome about it, but I couldn't -- my mouth
|
|
refused. I couldn't help seeing, in my fancy, that
|
|
poor old grandma with the broken heart, and that fair
|
|
young creature lying butchered, his little silken pomps
|
|
and vanities laced with his golden blood. How could
|
|
she PAY for him! WHOM could she pay? And so,
|
|
well knowing that this woman, trained as she had been,
|
|
deserved praise, even adulation, I was yet not able to
|
|
utter it, trained as I had been. The best I could do
|
|
was to fish up a compliment from outside, so to speak
|
|
-- and the pity of it was, that it was true:
|
|
|
|
"Madame, your people will adore you for this."
|
|
|
|
Quite true, but I meant to hang her for it some day
|
|
if I lived. Some of those laws were too bad, altogether
|
|
too bad. A master might kill his slave for nothing --
|
|
for mere spite, malice, or to pass the time -- just as
|
|
we have seen that the crowned head could do it with
|
|
HIS slave, that is to say, anybody. A gentleman could
|
|
kill a free commoner, and pay for him -- cash or
|
|
garden-truck. A noble could kill a noble without ex-
|
|
pense, as far as the law was concerned, but reprisals in
|
|
kind were to be expected. ANYbody could kill SOME-
|
|
body, except the commoner and the slave; these had
|
|
no privileges. If they killed, it was murder, and the
|
|
law wouldn't stand murder. It made short work of
|
|
the experimenter -- and of his family, too, if he mur-
|
|
dered somebody who belonged up among the orna-
|
|
mental ranks. If a commoner gave a noble even so
|
|
much as a Damiens-scratch which didn't kill or even
|
|
hurt, he got Damiens' dose for it just the same; they
|
|
pulled him to rags and tatters with horses, and all the
|
|
world came to see the show, and crack jokes, and have
|
|
a good time; and some of the performances of the
|
|
best people present were as tough, and as properly
|
|
unprintable, as any that have been printed by the
|
|
pleasant Casanova in his chapter about the dismember-
|
|
ment of Louis XV.'s poor awkward enemy.
|
|
|
|
I had had enough of this grisly place by this time,
|
|
and wanted to leave, but I couldn't, because I had
|
|
something on my mind that my conscience kept prod-
|
|
ding me about, and wouldn't let me forget. If I had
|
|
the remaking of man, he wouldn't have any conscience.
|
|
It is one of the most disagreeable things connected
|
|
with a person; and although it certainly does a great
|
|
deal of good, it cannot be said to pay, in the long run;
|
|
it would be much better to have less good and more
|
|
comfort. Still, this is only my opinion, and I am only
|
|
one man; others, with less experience, may think
|
|
differently. They have a right to their view. I only
|
|
stand to this: I have noticed my conscience for many
|
|
years, and I know it is more trouble and bother to me
|
|
than anything else I started with. I suppose that in
|
|
the beginning I prized it, because we prize anything
|
|
that is ours; and yet how foolish it was to think so.
|
|
If we look at it in another way, we see how absurd it
|
|
is: if I had an anvil in me would I prize it? Of course
|
|
not. And yet when you come to think, there is no
|
|
real difference between a conscience and an anvil -- I
|
|
mean for comfort. I have noticed it a thousand times.
|
|
And you could dissolve an anvil with acids, when you
|
|
couldn't stand it any longer; but there isn't any way
|
|
that you can work off a conscience -- at least so it will
|
|
stay worked off; not that I know of, anyway.
|
|
|
|
There was something I wanted to do before leaving,
|
|
but it was a disagreeable matter, and I hated to go at
|
|
it. Well, it bothered me all the morning. I could
|
|
have mentioned it to the old king, but what would be
|
|
the use? -- he was but an extinct volcano; he had
|
|
been active in his time, but his fire was out, this good
|
|
while, he was only a stately ash-pile now; gentle
|
|
enough, and kindly enough for my purpose, without
|
|
doubt, but not usable. He was nothing, this so-called
|
|
king: the queen was the only power there. And she
|
|
was a Vesuvius. As a favor, she might consent to
|
|
warm a flock of sparrows for you, but then she might
|
|
take that very opportunity to turn herself loose and
|
|
bury a city. However, I reflected that as often as any
|
|
other way, when you are expecting the worst, you get
|
|
something that is not so bad, after all.
|
|
|
|
So I braced up and placed my matter before her
|
|
royal Highness. I said I had been having a general
|
|
jail-delivery at Camelot and among neighboring castles,
|
|
and with her permission I would like to examine her
|
|
collection, her bric-a-brac -- that is to say, her prison-
|
|
ers. She resisted; but I was expecting that. But she
|
|
finally consented. I was expecting that, too, but not
|
|
so soon. That about ended my discomfort. She
|
|
called her guards and torches, and we went down into
|
|
the dungeons. These were down under the castle's
|
|
foundations, and mainly were small cells hollowed out
|
|
of the living rock. Some of these cells had no light at
|
|
all. In one of them was a woman, in foul rags, who
|
|
sat on the ground, and would not answer a question or
|
|
speak a word, but only looked up at us once or twice,
|
|
through a cobweb of tangled hair, as if to see what
|
|
casual thing it might be that was disturbing with sound
|
|
and light the meaningless dull dream that was become
|
|
her life; after that, she sat bowed, with her dirt-caked
|
|
fingers idly interlocked in her lap, and gave no further
|
|
sign. This poor rack of bones was a woman of middle
|
|
age, apparently; but only apparently; she had been
|
|
there nine years, and was eighteen when she entered.
|
|
She was a commoner, and had been sent here on her
|
|
bridal night by Sir Breuse Sance Pite, a neighboring
|
|
lord whose vassal her father was, and to which said
|
|
lord she had refused what has since been called le droit
|
|
du seigneur, and, moreover, had opposed violence to
|
|
violence and spilt half a gill of his almost sacred blood.
|
|
The young husband had interfered at that point. be-
|
|
lieving the bride's life in danger, and had flung the
|
|
noble out into the midst of the humble and trembling
|
|
wedding guests, in the parlor, and left him there aston-
|
|
ished at this strange treatment, and implacably embit-
|
|
tered against both bride and groom. The said lord
|
|
being cramped for dungeon-room had asked the queen
|
|
to accommodate his two criminals, and here in her
|
|
bastile they had been ever since; hither, indeed, they
|
|
had come before their crime was an hour old, and had
|
|
never seen each other since. Here they were, ken-
|
|
neled like toads in the same rock; they had passed
|
|
nine pitch dark years within fifty feet of each other,
|
|
yet neither knew whether the other was alive or not.
|
|
All the first years, their only question had been --
|
|
asked with beseechings and tears that might have
|
|
moved stones, in time, perhaps, but hearts are not
|
|
stones: "Is he alive?" "Is she alive?" But they
|
|
had never got an answer; and at last that question was
|
|
not asked any more -- or any other.
|
|
|
|
I wanted to see the man, after hearing all this. He
|
|
was thirty-four years old, and looked sixty. He sat
|
|
upon a squared block of stone, with his head bent
|
|
down, his forearms resting on his knees, his long hair
|
|
hanging like a fringe before his face, and he was
|
|
muttering to himself. He raised his chin and looked
|
|
us slowly over, in a listless dull way, blinking with the
|
|
distress of the torchlight, then dropped his head and
|
|
fell to muttering again and took no further notice of
|
|
us. There were some pathetically suggestive dumb
|
|
witnesses present. On his wrists and ankles were
|
|
cicatrices, old smooth scars, and fastened to the stone
|
|
on which he sat was a chain with manacles and fetters
|
|
attached; but this apparatus lay idle on the ground,
|
|
and was thick with rust. Chains cease to be needed
|
|
after the spirit has gone out of a prisoner.
|
|
|
|
I could not rouse the man; so I said we would take
|
|
him to her, and see -- to the bride who was the fairest
|
|
thing in the earth to him, once -- roses, pearls, and dew
|
|
made flesh, for him; a wonder-work, the master-work
|
|
of nature: with eyes like no other eyes, and voice like
|
|
no other voice, and a freshness, and lithe young grace,
|
|
and beauty, that belonged properly to the creatures of
|
|
dreams -- as he thought -- and to no other. The sight
|
|
of her would set his stagnant blood leaping; the sight
|
|
of her --
|
|
|
|
But it was a disappointment. They sat together on
|
|
the ground and looked dimly wondering into each
|
|
other's faces a while, with a sort of weak animal curi-
|
|
osity; then forgot each other's presence, and dropped
|
|
their eyes, and you saw that they were away again and
|
|
wandering in some far land of dreams and shadows
|
|
that we know nothing about.
|
|
|
|
I had them taken out and sent to their friends. The
|
|
queen did not like it much. Not that she felt any
|
|
personal interest in the matter, but she thought it dis-
|
|
respectful to Sir Breuse Sance Pite. However, I
|
|
assured her that if he found he couldn't stand it I
|
|
would fix him so that he could.
|
|
|
|
I set forty-seven prisoners loose out of those awful
|
|
rat-holes, and left only one in captivity. He was a
|
|
lord, and had killed another lord, a sort of kinsman of
|
|
the queen. That other lord had ambushed him to
|
|
assassinate him, but this fellow had got the best of him
|
|
and cut his throat. However, it was not for that that
|
|
I left him jailed, but for maliciously destroying the
|
|
only public well in one of his wretched villages. The
|
|
queen was bound to hang him for killing her kinsman,
|
|
but I would not allow it: it was no crime to kill an
|
|
assassin. But I said I was willing to let her hang him
|
|
for destroying the well; so she concluded to put up
|
|
with that, as it was better than nothing.
|
|
|
|
Dear me, for what trifling offenses the most of those
|
|
forty-seven men and women were shut up there! In-
|
|
deed, some were there for no distinct offense at all,
|
|
but only to gratify somebody's spite; and not always
|
|
the queen's by any means, but a friend's. The newest
|
|
prisoner's crime was a mere remark which he had
|
|
made. He said he believed that men were about all
|
|
alike, and one man as good as another, barring clothes.
|
|
He said he believed that if you were to strip the nation
|
|
naked and send a stranger through the crowd, he
|
|
couldn't tell the king from a quack doctor, nor a duke
|
|
from a hotel clerk. Apparently here was a man whose
|
|
brains had not been reduced to an ineffectual mush by
|
|
idiotic training. I set him loose and sent him to the
|
|
Factory.
|
|
|
|
Some of the cells carved in the living rock were just
|
|
behind the face of the precipice, and in each of these
|
|
an arrow-slit had been pierced outward to the daylight,
|
|
and so the captive had a thin ray from the blessed sun
|
|
for his comfort. The case of one of these poor fel-
|
|
lows was particularly hard. From his dusky swallow's
|
|
hole high up in that vast wall of native rock he could
|
|
peer out through the arrow-slit and see his own home
|
|
off yonder in the valley; and for twenty-two years he
|
|
had watched it, with heartache and longing, through
|
|
that crack. He could see the lights shine there at
|
|
night, and in the daytime he could see figures go in
|
|
and come out -- his wife and children, some of them,
|
|
no doubt, though he could not make out at that dis-
|
|
tance. In the course of years he noted festivities
|
|
there, and tried to rejoice, and wondered if they were
|
|
weddings or what they might be. And he noted
|
|
funerals; and they wrung his heart. He could make
|
|
out the coffin, but he could not determine its size, and
|
|
so could not tell whether it was wife or child. He
|
|
could see the procession form, with priests and mourn-
|
|
ers, and move solemnly away, bearing the secret with
|
|
them. He had left behind him five children and a
|
|
wife; and in nineteen years he had seen five funerals
|
|
issue, and none of them humble enough in pomp to
|
|
denote a servant. So he had lost five of his treasures;
|
|
there must still be one remaining -- one now infinitely,
|
|
unspeakably precious, -- but WHICH one? wife, or child?
|
|
That was the question that tortured him, by night and
|
|
by day, asleep and awake. Well, to have an interest,
|
|
of some sort, and half a ray of light, when you are in
|
|
a dungeon, is a great support to the body and preserver
|
|
of the intellect. This man was in pretty good condi-
|
|
tion yet. By the time he had finished telling me his
|
|
distressful tale, I was in the same state of mind that
|
|
you would have been in yourself, if you have got
|
|
average human curiosity; that is to say, I was as
|
|
burning up as he was to find out which member of
|
|
the family it was that was left. So I took him over
|
|
home myself; and an amazing kind of a surprise party
|
|
it was, too -- typhoons and cyclones of frantic joy,
|
|
and whole Niagaras of happy tears; and by George!
|
|
we found the aforetime young matron graying toward
|
|
the imminent verge of her half century, and the babies
|
|
all men and women, and some of them married and
|
|
experimenting familywise themselves -- for not a soul
|
|
of the tribe was dead! Conceive of the ingenious
|
|
devilishness of that queen: she had a special hatred
|
|
for this prisoner, and she had INVENTED all those funer-
|
|
als herself, to scorch his heart with; and the sublimest
|
|
stroke of genius of the whole thing was leaving the
|
|
family-invoice a funeral SHORT, so as to let him wear his
|
|
poor old soul out guessing.
|
|
|
|
But for me, he never would have got out. Morgan
|
|
le Fay hated him with her whole heart, and she never
|
|
would have softened toward him. And yet his crime
|
|
was committed more in thoughtlessness than deliberate
|
|
depravity. He had said she had red hair. Well, she
|
|
had; but that was no way to speak of it. When red-
|
|
headed people are above a certain social grade their
|
|
hair is auburn.
|
|
|
|
Consider it: among these forty-seven captives there
|
|
were five whose names, offenses, and dates of incar-
|
|
ceration were no longer known! One woman and four
|
|
men -- all bent, and wrinkled, and mind-extinguished
|
|
patriarchs. They themselves had long ago forgotten
|
|
these details; at any rate they had mere vague theories
|
|
about them, nothing definite and nothing that they re-
|
|
peated twice in the same way. The succession of
|
|
priests whose office it had been to pray daily with the
|
|
captives and remind them that God had put them
|
|
there, for some wise purpose or other, and teach them
|
|
that patience, humbleness, and submission to oppres-
|
|
sion was what He loved to see in parties of a subordi-
|
|
nate rank, had traditions about these poor old human
|
|
ruins, but nothing more. These traditions went but
|
|
little way, for they concerned the length of the incar-
|
|
ceration only, and not the names of the offenses. And
|
|
even by the help of tradition the only thing that could
|
|
be proven was that none of the five had seen daylight
|
|
for thirty-five years: how much longer this privation
|
|
has lasted was not guessable. The king and the queen
|
|
knew nothing about these poor creatures, except that
|
|
they were heirlooms, assets inherited, along with the
|
|
throne, from the former firm. Nothing of their history
|
|
had been transmitted with their persons, and so the
|
|
inheriting owners had considered them of no value,
|
|
and had felt no interest in them. I said to the queen:
|
|
|
|
"Then why in the world didn't you set them free?"
|
|
|
|
The question was a puzzler. She didn't know WHY
|
|
she hadn't, the thing had never come up in her mind.
|
|
So here she was, forecasting the veritable history of
|
|
future prisoners of the Castle d'If, without knowing it.
|
|
It seemed plain to me now, that with her training,
|
|
those inherited prisoners were merely property -- noth-
|
|
ing more, nothing less. Well, when we inherit prop-
|
|
erty, it does not occur to us to throw it away, even
|
|
when we do not value it.
|
|
|
|
When I brought my procession of human bats up
|
|
into the open world and the glare of the afternoon sun
|
|
-- previously blindfolding them, in charity for eyes
|
|
so long untortured by light -- they were a spectacle
|
|
to look at. Skeletons, scarecrows, goblins, pathetic
|
|
frights, every one; legitimatest possible children of
|
|
Monarchy by the Grace of God and the Established
|
|
Church. I muttered absently:
|
|
|
|
"I WISH I could photograph them!"
|
|
|
|
You have seen that kind of people who will never let
|
|
on that they don't know the meaning of a new big
|
|
word. The more ignorant they are, the more pitifully
|
|
certain they are to pretend you haven't shot over their
|
|
heads. The queen was just one of that sort, and was
|
|
always making the stupidest blunders by reason of it.
|
|
She hesitated a moment; then her face brightened up
|
|
with sudden comprehension, and she said she would
|
|
do it for me.
|
|
|
|
I thought to myself: She? why what can she know
|
|
about photography? But it was a poor time to be
|
|
thinking. When I looked around, she was moving on
|
|
the procession with an axe!
|
|
|
|
Well, she certainly was a curious one, was Morgan
|
|
le Fay. I have seen a good many kinds of women in
|
|
my time, but she laid over them all for variety. And
|
|
how sharply characteristic of her this episode was.
|
|
She had no more idea than a horse of how to photo-
|
|
graph a procession; but being in doubt, it was just
|
|
like her to try to do it with an axe.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XIX.
|
|
KNIGHT-ERRANTRY AS A TRADE
|
|
|
|
SANDY and I were on the road again, next morn-
|
|
ing, bright and early. It was so good to open up
|
|
one's lungs and take in whole luscious barrels-ful of
|
|
the blessed God's untainted, dew-fashioned, woodland-
|
|
scented air once more, after suffocating body and mind
|
|
for two days and nights in the moral and physical
|
|
stenches of that intolerable old buzzard-roost!
|
|
mean, for me: of course the place was all right and
|
|
agreeable enough for Sandy, for she had been used to
|
|
high life all her days.
|
|
|
|
Poor girl, her jaws had had a wearisome rest now
|
|
for a while, and I was expecting to get the conse-
|
|
quences. I was right; but she had stood by me most
|
|
helpfully in the castle, and had mightily supported and
|
|
reinforced me with gigantic foolishnesses which were
|
|
worth more for the occasion than wisdoms double
|
|
their size; so I thought she had earned a right to work
|
|
her mill for a while, if she wanted to, and I felt not a
|
|
pang when she started it up:
|
|
|
|
"Now turn we unto Sir Marhaus that rode with the
|
|
damsel of thirty winter of age southward --"
|
|
|
|
"Are you going to see if you can work up another
|
|
half-stretch on the trail of the cowboys, Sandy?"
|
|
|
|
"Even so, fair my lord."
|
|
|
|
"Go ahead, then. I won't interrupt this time, if I
|
|
can help it. Begin over again; start fair, and shake
|
|
out all your reefs, and I will load my pipe and give
|
|
good attention."
|
|
|
|
"Now turn we unto Sir Marhaus that rode with the
|
|
damsel of thirty winter of age southward. And so
|
|
they came into a deep forest, and by fortune they were
|
|
nighted, and rode along in a deep way, and at the last
|
|
they came into a courtelage where abode the duke of
|
|
South Marches, and there they asked harbour. And
|
|
on the morn the duke sent unto Sir Marhaus, and bad
|
|
him make him ready. And so Sir Marhaus arose and
|
|
armed him, and there was a mass sung afore him, and
|
|
he brake his fast, and so mounted on horseback in the
|
|
court of the castle, there they should do the battle.
|
|
So there was the duke already on horseback, clean
|
|
armed, and his six sons by him, and every each had a
|
|
spear in his hand, and so they encountered, whereas
|
|
the duke and his two sons brake their spears upon
|
|
him, but Sir Marhaus held up his spear and touched
|
|
none of them. Then came the four sons by couples,
|
|
and two of them brake their spears, and so did the
|
|
other two. And all this while Sir Marhaus touched
|
|
them not. Then Sir Marhaus ran to the duke, and
|
|
smote him with his spear that horse and man fell to
|
|
the earth. And so he served his sons. And then Sir
|
|
Marhaus alight down, and bad the duke yield him or
|
|
else he would slay him. And then some of his sons
|
|
recovered, and would have set upon Sir Marhaus.
|
|
Then Sir Marhaus said to the duke, Cease thy sons, or
|
|
else I will do the uttermost to you all. When the
|
|
duke saw he might not escape the death, he cried to
|
|
his sons, and charged them to yield them to Sir Mar-
|
|
haus. And they kneeled all down and put the pom-
|
|
mels of their swords to the knight, and so he received
|
|
them. And then they holp up their father, and so by
|
|
their common assent promised unto Sir Marhaus never
|
|
to be foes unto King Arthur, and thereupon at Whit-
|
|
suntide after, to come he and his sons, and put them
|
|
in the king's grace. *
|
|
|
|
[* Footnote: The story is borrowed, language and
|
|
all, from the Morte d'Arthur. --M.T.]
|
|
|
|
"Even so standeth the history, fair Sir Boss. Now
|
|
ye shall wit that that very duke and his six sons are
|
|
they whom but few days past you also did overcome
|
|
and send to Arthur's court!"
|
|
|
|
"Why, Sandy, you can't mean it!"
|
|
|
|
"An I speak not sooth, let it be the worse for me."
|
|
|
|
"Well, well, well, -- now who would ever have
|
|
thought it? One whole duke and six dukelets; why,
|
|
Sandy, it was an elegant haul. Knight-errantry is a
|
|
most chuckle-headed trade, and it is tedious hard
|
|
work, too, but I begin to see that there IS money in
|
|
it, after all, if you have luck. Not that I would ever
|
|
engage in it as a business, for I wouldn't. No sound
|
|
and legitimate business can be established on a basis of
|
|
speculation. A successful whirl in the knight-errantry
|
|
line -- now what is it when you blow away the non-
|
|
sense and come down to the cold facts? It's just a
|
|
corner in pork, that's all, and you can't make anything
|
|
else out of it. You're rich -- yes, -- suddenly rich --
|
|
for about a day, maybe a week; then somebody cor-
|
|
ners the market on YOU, and down goes your bucket-
|
|
shop; ain't that so, Sandy?"
|
|
|
|
"Whethersoever it be that my mind miscarrieth,
|
|
bewraying simple language in such sort that the words
|
|
do seem to come endlong and overthwart --"
|
|
|
|
"There's no use in beating about the bush and
|
|
trying to get around it that way, Sandy, it's SO, just as
|
|
I say. I KNOW it's so. And, moreover, when you
|
|
come right down to the bedrock, knight-errantry is
|
|
WORSE than pork; for whatever happens, the pork's
|
|
left, and so somebody's benefited anyway; but when
|
|
the market breaks, in a knight-errantry whirl, and
|
|
every knight in the pool passes in his checks, what
|
|
have you got for assets? Just a rubbish-pile of bat-
|
|
tered corpses and a barrel or two of busted hardware.
|
|
Can you call THOSE assets? Give me pork, every time.
|
|
Am I right?"
|
|
|
|
"Ah, peradventure my head being distraught by
|
|
the manifold matters whereunto the confusions of these
|
|
but late adventured haps and fortunings whereby not
|
|
I alone nor you alone, but every each of us, meseem-
|
|
eth --"
|
|
|
|
"No, it's not your head, Sandy. Your head's all
|
|
right, as far as it goes, but you don't know business;
|
|
that's where the trouble is. It unfits you to argue
|
|
about business, and you're wrong to be always trying.
|
|
However, that aside, it was a good haul, anyway, and
|
|
will breed a handsome crop of reputation in Arthur's
|
|
court. And speaking of the cowboys, what a curious
|
|
country this is for women and men that never get old.
|
|
Now there's Morgan le Fay, as fresh and young as a
|
|
Vassar pullet, to all appearances, and here is this old
|
|
duke of the South Marches still slashing away with
|
|
sword and lance at his time of life, after raising such a
|
|
family as he has raised. As I understand it, Sir
|
|
Gawaine killed seven of his sons, and still he had six
|
|
left for Sir Marhaus and me to take into camp. And
|
|
then there was that damsel of sixty winter of age still
|
|
excursioning around in her frosty bloom -- How old
|
|
are you, Sandy?"
|
|
|
|
It was the first time I ever struck a still place in her.
|
|
The mill had shut down for repairs, or something.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XX.
|
|
THE OGRE'S CASTLE
|
|
|
|
BETWEEN six and nine we made ten miles, which
|
|
was plenty for a horse carrying triple -- man,
|
|
woman, and armor; then we stopped for a long noon-
|
|
ing under some trees by a limpid brook.
|
|
|
|
Right so came by and by a knight riding; and as he
|
|
drew near he made dolorous moan, and by the words
|
|
of it I perceived that he was cursing and swearing; yet
|
|
nevertheless was I glad of his coming, for that I saw
|
|
he bore a bulletin-board whereon in letters all of
|
|
shining gold was writ:
|
|
|
|
"USE PETERSON S PROPHYLACTIC TOOTH-BRUSH--
|
|
ALL THE GO."
|
|
|
|
I was glad of his coming, for even by this token I
|
|
knew him for knight of mine. It was Sir Madok de
|
|
la Montaine, a burly great fellow whose chief distinc-
|
|
tion was that he had come within an ace of sending Sir
|
|
Launcelot down over his horse-tail once. He was
|
|
never long in a stranger's presence without finding
|
|
some pretext or other to let out that great fact. But
|
|
there was another fact of nearly the same size, which
|
|
he never pushed upon anybody unasked, and yet never
|
|
withheld when asked: that was, that the reason he
|
|
didn't quite succeed was, that he was interrupted and
|
|
sent down over horse-tail himself. This innocent vast
|
|
lubber did not see any particular difference between
|
|
the two facts. I liked him, for he was earnest in his
|
|
work, and very valuable. And he was so fine to look
|
|
at, with his broad mailed shoulders, and the grand
|
|
leonine set of his plumed head, and his big shield
|
|
with its quaint device of a gauntleted hand clutch-
|
|
ing a prophylactic tooth-brush, with motto: "Try
|
|
Noyoudont." This was a tooth-wash that I was
|
|
introducing.
|
|
|
|
He was aweary, he said, and indeed he looked it;
|
|
but he would not alight. He said he was after the
|
|
stove-polish man; and with this he broke out cursing
|
|
and swearing anew. The bulletin-boarder referred to
|
|
was Sir Ossaise of Surluse, a brave knight, and of
|
|
considerable celebrity on account of his having tried
|
|
conclusions in a tournament once, with no less a Mogul
|
|
that Sir Gaheris himself -- although not successfully.
|
|
He was of a light and laughing disposition, and to him
|
|
nothing in this world was serious. It was for this
|
|
reason that I had chosen him to work up a stove-polish
|
|
sentiment. There were no stoves yet, and so there
|
|
could be nothing serious about stove-polish. All that
|
|
the agent needed to do was to deftly and by degrees
|
|
prepare the public for the great change, and have them
|
|
established in predilections toward neatness against the
|
|
time when the stove should appear upon the stage.
|
|
|
|
Sir Madok was very bitter, and brake out anew with
|
|
cursings. He said he had cursed his soul to rags;
|
|
and yet he would not get down from his horse, neither
|
|
would he take any rest, or listen to any comfort, until
|
|
he should have found Sir Ossaise and settled this ac-
|
|
count. It appeared, by what I could piece together
|
|
of the unprofane fragments of his statement, that he
|
|
had chanced upon Sir Ossaise at dawn of the morning,
|
|
and been told that if he would make a short cut across
|
|
the fields and swamps and broken hills and glades, he
|
|
could head off a company of travelers who would be
|
|
rare customers for prophylactics and tooth-wash. With
|
|
characteristic zeal Sir Madok had plunged away at
|
|
once upon this quest, and after three hours of awful
|
|
crosslot riding had overhauled his game. And behold,
|
|
it was the five patriarchs that had been released from
|
|
the dungeons the evening before! Poor old creatures,
|
|
it was all of twenty years since any one of them had
|
|
known what it was to be equipped with any remaining
|
|
snag or remnant of a tooth.
|
|
|
|
"Blank-blank-blank him," said Sir Madok, "an I
|
|
do not stove-polish him an I may find him, leave it to
|
|
me; for never no knight that hight Ossaise or aught
|
|
else may do me this disservice and bide on live, an I
|
|
may find him, the which I have thereunto sworn a
|
|
great oath this day."
|
|
|
|
And with these words and others, he lightly took his
|
|
spear and gat him thence. In the middle of the after-
|
|
noon we came upon one of those very patriarchs our-
|
|
selves, in the edge of a poor village. He was basking
|
|
in the love of relatives and friends whom he had not
|
|
seen for fifty years; and about him and caressing him
|
|
were also descendants of his own body whom he had
|
|
never seen at all till now; but to him these were all
|
|
strangers, his memory was gone, his mind was stag-
|
|
nant. It seemed incredible that a man could outlast
|
|
half a century shut up in a dark hole like a rat, but
|
|
here were his old wife and some old comrades to
|
|
testify to it. They could remember him as he was in
|
|
the freshness and strength of his young manhood,
|
|
when he kissed his child and delivered it to its mother's
|
|
hands and went away into that long oblivion. The
|
|
people at the castle could not tell within half a genera-
|
|
tion the length of time the man had been shut up there
|
|
for his unrecorded and forgotten offense; but this old
|
|
wife knew; and so did her old child, who stood there
|
|
among her married sons and daughters trying to realize
|
|
a father who had been to her a name, a thought, a
|
|
formless image, a tradition, all her life, and now was
|
|
suddenly concreted into actual flesh and blood and set
|
|
before her face.
|
|
|
|
It was a curious situation; yet it is not on that ac-
|
|
count that I have made room for it here, but on
|
|
account of a thing which seemed to me still more
|
|
curious. To wit, that this dreadful matter brought
|
|
from these downtrodden people no outburst of rage
|
|
against these oppressors. They had been heritors and
|
|
subjects of cruelty and outrage so long that nothing
|
|
could have startled them but a kindness. Yes, here
|
|
was a curious revelation, indeed, of the depth to which
|
|
this people had been sunk in slavery. Their entire
|
|
being was reduced to a monotonous dead level of
|
|
patience, resignation, dumb uncomplaining acceptance
|
|
of whatever might befall them in this life. Their very
|
|
imagination was dead. When you can say that of a
|
|
man, he has struck bottom, I reckon; there is no
|
|
lower deep for him.
|
|
|
|
I rather wished I had gone some other road. This
|
|
was not the sort of experience for a statesman to en-
|
|
counter who was planning out a peaceful revolution in
|
|
his mind. For it could not help bringing up the un-
|
|
get-aroundable fact that, all gentle cant and philoso-
|
|
phizing to the contrary notwithstanding, no people in
|
|
the world ever did achieve their freedom by goody-
|
|
goody talk and moral suasion: it being immutable law
|
|
that all revolutions that will succeed must BEGIN in
|
|
blood, whatever may answer afterward. If history
|
|
teaches anything, it teaches that. What this folk
|
|
needed, then, was a Reign of Terror and a guillotine,
|
|
and I was the wrong man for them.
|
|
|
|
Two days later, toward noon, Sandy began to show
|
|
signs of excitement and feverish expectancy. She
|
|
said we were approaching the ogre's castle. I was
|
|
surprised into an uncomfortable shock. The object of
|
|
our quest had gradually dropped out of my mind; this
|
|
sudden resurrection of it made it seem quite a real and
|
|
startling thing for a moment, and roused up in me a
|
|
smart interest. Sandy's excitement increased every
|
|
moment; and so did mine, for that sort of thing is
|
|
catching. My heart got to thumping. You can't
|
|
reason with your heart; it has its own laws, and
|
|
thumps about things which the intellect scorns. Pres-
|
|
ently, when Sandy slid from the horse, motioned me
|
|
to stop, and went creeping stealthily, with her head
|
|
bent nearly to her knees, toward a row of bushes that
|
|
bordered a declivity, the thumpings grew stronger and
|
|
quicker. And they kept it up while she was gaining
|
|
her ambush and getting her glimpse over the declivity;
|
|
and also while I was creeping to her side on my knees.
|
|
Her eyes were burning now, as she pointed with her
|
|
finger, and said in a panting whisper:
|
|
|
|
"The castle! The castle! Lo, where it looms!"
|
|
|
|
What a welcome disappointment I experienced! I
|
|
said:
|
|
|
|
"Castle? It is nothing but a pigsty; a pigsty with
|
|
a wattled fence around it."
|
|
|
|
She looked surprised and distressed. The animation
|
|
faded out of her face; and during many moments she
|
|
was lost in thought and silent. Then:
|
|
|
|
"It was not enchanted aforetime," she said in a
|
|
musing fashion, as if to herself. "And how strange
|
|
is this marvel, and how awful -- that to the one per-
|
|
ception it is enchanted and dight in a base and shame-
|
|
ful aspect; yet to the perception of the other it is not
|
|
enchanted, hath suffered no change, but stands firm
|
|
and stately still, girt with its moat and waving its ban-
|
|
ners in the blue air from its towers. And God shield
|
|
us, how it pricks the heart to see again these gracious
|
|
captives, and the sorrow deepened in their sweet faces!
|
|
We have tarried along, and are to blame."
|
|
|
|
I saw my cue. The castle was enchanted to ME, not
|
|
to her. It would be wasted time to try to argue her
|
|
out of her delusion, it couldn't be done; I must just
|
|
humor it. So I said:
|
|
|
|
"This is a common case -- the enchanting of a thing
|
|
to one eye and leaving it in its proper form to another.
|
|
You have heard of it before, Sandy, though you
|
|
haven't happened to experience it. But no harm is
|
|
done. In fact, it is lucky the way it is. If these
|
|
ladies were hogs to everybody and to themselves, it
|
|
would be necessary to break the enchantment, and that
|
|
might be impossible if one failed to find out the par-
|
|
ticular process of the enchantment. And hazardous,
|
|
too; for in attempting a disenchantment without the
|
|
true key, you are liable to err, and turn your hogs into
|
|
dogs, and the dogs into cats, the cats into rats, and so
|
|
on, and end by reducing your materials to nothing
|
|
finally, or to an odorless gas which you can't follow --
|
|
which, of course, amounts to the same thing. But
|
|
here, by good luck, no one's eyes but mine are under
|
|
the enchantment, and so it is of no consequence to
|
|
dissolve it. These ladies remain ladies to you, and to
|
|
themselves, and to everybody else; and at the same
|
|
time they will suffer in no way from my delusion, for
|
|
when I know that an ostensible hog is a lady, that is
|
|
enough for me, I know how to treat her."
|
|
|
|
"Thanks, oh, sweet my lord, thou talkest like an
|
|
angel. And I know that thou wilt deliver them, for
|
|
that thou art minded to great deeds and art as strong a
|
|
knight of your hands and as brave to will and to do,
|
|
as any that is on live."
|
|
|
|
"I will not leave a princess in the sty, Sandy. Are
|
|
those three yonder that to my disordered eyes are
|
|
starveling swine-herds --"
|
|
|
|
"The ogres, Are THEY changed also? It is most
|
|
wonderful. Now am I fearful; for how canst thou
|
|
strike with sure aim when five of their nine cubits of
|
|
stature are to thee invisible? Ah, go warily, fair sir;
|
|
this is a mightier emprise than I wend."
|
|
|
|
"You be easy, Sandy. All I need to know is, how
|
|
MUCH of an ogre is invisible; then I know how to
|
|
locate his vitals. Don't you be afraid, I will make
|
|
short work of these bunco-steerers. Stay where you
|
|
are."
|
|
|
|
I left Sandy kneeling there, corpse-faced but plucky
|
|
and hopeful, and rode down to the pigsty, and struck
|
|
up a trade with the swine-herds. I won their gratitude
|
|
by buying out all the hogs at the lump sum of sixteen
|
|
pennies, which was rather above latest quotations. I
|
|
was just in time; for the Church, the lord of the
|
|
manor, and the rest of the tax-gatherers would have
|
|
been along next day and swept off pretty much all the
|
|
stock, leaving the swine-herds very short of hogs and
|
|
Sandy out of princesses. But now the tax people
|
|
could be paid in cash, and there would be a stake left
|
|
besides. One of the men had ten children; and he
|
|
said that last year when a priest came and of his ten
|
|
pigs took the fattest one for tithes, the wife burst out
|
|
upon him, and offered him a child and said:
|
|
|
|
"Thou beast without bowels of mercy, why leave
|
|
me my child, yet rob me of the wherewithal to feed it?"
|
|
|
|
How curious. The same thing had happened in the
|
|
Wales of my day, under this same old Established
|
|
Church, which was supposed by many to have changed
|
|
its nature when it changed its disguise.
|
|
|
|
I sent the three men away, and then opened the sty
|
|
gate and beckoned Sandy to come -- which she did;
|
|
and not leisurely, but with the rush of a prairie fire.
|
|
And when I saw her fling herself upon those hogs,
|
|
with tears of joy running down her cheeks, and strain
|
|
them to her heart, and kiss them, and caress them,
|
|
and call them reverently by grand princely names, I
|
|
was ashamed of her, ashamed of the human race.
|
|
|
|
We had to drive those hogs home -- ten miles; and
|
|
no ladies were ever more fickle-minded or contrary.
|
|
They would stay in no road, no path; they broke out
|
|
through the brush on all sides, and flowed away in all
|
|
directions, over rocks, and hills, and the roughest
|
|
places they could find. And they must not be struck,
|
|
or roughly accosted; Sandy could not bear to see
|
|
them treated in ways unbecoming their rank. The
|
|
troublesomest old sow of the lot had to be called my
|
|
Lady, and your Highness, like the rest. It is annoy-
|
|
ing and difficult to scour around after hogs, in armor.
|
|
There was one small countess, with an iron ring in her
|
|
snout and hardly any hair on her back, that was the
|
|
devil for perversity. She gave me a race of an hour,
|
|
over all sorts of country, and then we were right where
|
|
we had started from, having made not a rod of real
|
|
progress. I seized her at last by the tail, and brought
|
|
her along squealing. When I overtook Sandy she was
|
|
horrified, and said it was in the last degree indelicate
|
|
to drag a countess by her train.
|
|
|
|
We got the hogs home just at dark -- most of them.
|
|
The princess Nerovens de Morganore was missing, and
|
|
two of her ladies in waiting: namely, Miss Angela
|
|
Bohun, and the Demoiselle Elaine Courtemains, the
|
|
former of these two being a young black sow with a
|
|
white star in her forehead, and the latter a brown one
|
|
with thin legs and a slight limp in the forward shank
|
|
on the starboard side -- a couple of the tryingest blis-
|
|
ters to drive that I ever saw. Also among the missing
|
|
were several mere baronesses -- and I wanted them to
|
|
stay missing; but no, all that sausage-meat had to be
|
|
found; so servants were sent out with torches to scour
|
|
the woods and hills to that end.
|
|
|
|
Of course, the whole drove was housed in the house,
|
|
and, great guns! -- well, I never saw anything like it.
|
|
Nor ever heard anything like it. And never smelt
|
|
anything like it. It was like an insurrection in a gaso-
|
|
meter.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XXI.
|
|
THE PILGRIMS
|
|
|
|
WHEN I did get to bed at last I was unspeakably
|
|
tired; the stretching out, and the relaxing of
|
|
the long-tense muscles, how luxurious, how delicious!
|
|
but that was as far as I could get -- sleep was out of
|
|
the question for the present. The ripping and tearing
|
|
and squealing of the nobility up and down the halls
|
|
and corridors was pandemonium come again, and kept
|
|
me broad awake. Being awake, my thoughts were
|
|
busy, of course; and mainly they busied themselves
|
|
with Sandy's curious delusion. Here she was, as sane
|
|
a person as the kingdom could produce; and yet,
|
|
from my point of view she was acting like a crazy
|
|
woman. My land, the power of training! of influence!
|
|
of education! It can bring a body up to believe any-
|
|
thing. I had to put myself in Sandy's place to realize
|
|
that she was not a lunatic. Yes, and put her in mine,
|
|
to demonstrate how easy it is to seem a lunatic to a
|
|
person who has not been taught as you have been
|
|
taught. If I had told Sandy I had seen a wagon,
|
|
uninfluenced by enchantment, spin along fifty miles an
|
|
hour; had seen a man, unequipped with magic powers,
|
|
get into a basket and soar out of sight among the
|
|
clouds; and had listened, without any necromancer's
|
|
help, to the conversation of a person who was several
|
|
hundred miles away, Sandy would not merely have
|
|
supposed me to be crazy, she would have thought she
|
|
knew it. Everybody around her believed in enchant-
|
|
ments; nobody had any doubts; to doubt that a castle
|
|
could be turned into a sty, and its occupants into hogs,
|
|
would have been the same as my doubting among Con-
|
|
necticut people the actuality of the telephone and its
|
|
wonders, -- and in both cases would be absolute proof
|
|
of a diseased mind, an unsettled reason. Yes, Sandy
|
|
was sane; that must be admitted. If I also would be
|
|
sane -- to Sandy -- I must keep my superstitions about
|
|
unenchanted and unmiraculous locomotives, balloons,
|
|
and telephones, to myself. Also, I believed that the
|
|
world was not flat, and hadn't pillars under it to sup-
|
|
port it, nor a canopy over it to turn off a universe of
|
|
water that occupied all space above; but as I was the
|
|
only person in the kingdom afflicted with such impious
|
|
and criminal opinions, I recognized that it would be
|
|
good wisdom to keep quiet about this matter, too, if I
|
|
did not wish to be suddenly shunned and forsaken by
|
|
everybody as a madman.
|
|
|
|
The next morning Sandy assembled the swine in the
|
|
dining-room and gave them their breakfast, waiting
|
|
upon them personally and manifesting in every way
|
|
the deep reverence which the natives of her island,
|
|
ancient and modern, have always felt for rank, let its
|
|
outward casket and the mental and moral contents be
|
|
what they may. I could have eaten with the hogs if I
|
|
had had birth approaching my lofty official rank; but
|
|
I hadn't, and so accepted the unavoidable slight and
|
|
made no complaint. Sandy and I had our breakfast at
|
|
the second table. The family were not at home. I
|
|
said:
|
|
|
|
"How many are in the family, Sandy, and where
|
|
do they keep themselves?"
|
|
|
|
"Family?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes."
|
|
|
|
"Which family, good my lord?"
|
|
|
|
"Why, this family; your own family."
|
|
|
|
"Sooth to say, I understand you not. I have no
|
|
family."
|
|
|
|
"No family? Why, Sandy, isn't this your home?"
|
|
|
|
"Now how indeed might that be? I have no home."
|
|
|
|
"Well, then, whose house is this?"
|
|
|
|
"Ah, wit you well I would tell you an I knew
|
|
myself."
|
|
|
|
"Come -- you don't even know these people?
|
|
Then who invited us here?"
|
|
|
|
"None invited us. We but came; that is all."
|
|
|
|
"Why, woman, this is a most extraordinary per-
|
|
formance. The effrontery of it is beyond admiration.
|
|
We blandly march into a man's house, and cram it
|
|
full of the only really valuable nobility the sun has yet
|
|
discovered in the earth, and then it turns out that we
|
|
don't even know the man's name. How did you ever
|
|
venture to take this extravagant liberty? I supposed,
|
|
of course, it was your home. What will the man say?"
|
|
|
|
"What will he say? Forsooth what can he say but
|
|
give thanks?"
|
|
|
|
"Thanks for what?"
|
|
|
|
Her face was filled with a puzzled surprise:
|
|
|
|
"Verily, thou troublest mine understanding with
|
|
strange words. Do ye dream that one of his estate is
|
|
like to have the honor twice in his life to entertain
|
|
company such as we have brought to grace his house
|
|
withal?"
|
|
|
|
"Well, no -- when you come to that. No, it's an
|
|
even bet that this is the first time he has had a treat
|
|
like this."
|
|
|
|
"Then let him be thankful, and manifest the same
|
|
by grateful speech and due humility; he were a dog,
|
|
else, and the heir and ancestor of dogs."
|
|
|
|
To my mind, the situation was uncomfortable. It
|
|
might become more so. It might be a good idea to
|
|
muster the hogs and move on. So I said:
|
|
|
|
"The day is wasting, Sandy. It is time to get the
|
|
nobility together and be moving."
|
|
|
|
"Wherefore, fair sir and Boss?"
|
|
|
|
"We want to take them to their home, don't we?"
|
|
|
|
"La, but list to him! They be of all the regions of
|
|
the earth! Each must hie to her own home; wend
|
|
you we might do all these journeys in one so brief life
|
|
as He hath appointed that created life, and thereto
|
|
death likewise with help of Adam, who by sin done
|
|
through persuasion of his helpmeet, she being wrought
|
|
upon and bewrayed by the beguilements of the great
|
|
enemy of man, that serpent hight Satan, aforetime
|
|
consecrated and set apart unto that evil work by over-
|
|
mastering spite and envy begotten in his heart through
|
|
fell ambitions that did blight and mildew a nature erst
|
|
so white and pure whenso it hove with the shining
|
|
multitudes its brethren-born in glade and shade of that
|
|
fair heaven wherein all such as native be to that rich
|
|
estate and --"
|
|
|
|
"Great Scott!"
|
|
|
|
"My lord?"
|
|
|
|
"Well, you know we haven't got time for this sort
|
|
of thing. Don't you see, we could distribute these
|
|
people around the earth in less time than it is going to
|
|
take you to explain that we can't. We mustn't talk
|
|
now, we must act. You want to be careful; you
|
|
mustn't let your mill get the start of you that way, at
|
|
a time like this. To business now -- and sharp's the
|
|
word. Who is to take the aristocracy home?"
|
|
|
|
"Even their friends. These will come for them
|
|
from the far parts of the earth."
|
|
|
|
This was lightning from a clear sky, for unexpected-
|
|
ness; and the relief of it was like pardon to a prisoner.
|
|
She would remain to deliver the goods, of course.
|
|
|
|
"Well, then, Sandy, as our enterprise is handsomely
|
|
and successfully ended, I will go home and report;
|
|
and if ever another one --"
|
|
|
|
"I also am ready; I will go with thee."
|
|
|
|
This was recalling the pardon.
|
|
|
|
"How? You will go with me? Why should you?"
|
|
|
|
"Will I be traitor to my knight, dost think? That
|
|
were dishonor. I may not part from thee until in
|
|
knightly encounter in the field some overmatching
|
|
champion shall fairly win and fairly wear me. I were
|
|
to blame an I thought that that might ever hap."
|
|
|
|
"Elected for the long term," I sighed to myself.
|
|
"I may as well make the best of it." So then I spoke
|
|
up and said:
|
|
|
|
"All right; let us make a start."
|
|
|
|
While she was gone to cry her farewells over the
|
|
pork, I gave that whole peerage away to the servants.
|
|
And I asked them to take a duster and dust around a
|
|
little where the nobilities had mainly lodged and prom-
|
|
enaded; but they considered that that would be hardly
|
|
worth while, and would moreover be a rather grave
|
|
departure from custom, and therefore likely to make
|
|
talk. A departure from custom -- that settled it; it
|
|
was a nation capable of committing any crime but
|
|
that. The servants said they would follow the fashion,
|
|
a fashion grown sacred through immemorial observ-
|
|
ance; they would scatter fresh rushes in all the rooms
|
|
and halls, and then the evidence of the aristocratic
|
|
visitation would be no longer visible. It was a kind of
|
|
satire on Nature: it was the scientific method, the
|
|
geologic method; it deposited the history of the family
|
|
in a stratified record; and the antiquary could dig
|
|
through it and tell by the remains of each period what
|
|
changes of diet the family had introduced successively
|
|
for a hundred years.
|
|
|
|
The first thing we struck that day was a procession
|
|
of pilgrims. It was not going our way, but we joined
|
|
it, nevertheless; for it was hourly being borne in
|
|
upon me now, that if I would govern this country
|
|
wisely, I must be posted in the details of its life,
|
|
and not at second hand, but by personal observation
|
|
and scrutiny.
|
|
|
|
This company of pilgrims resembled Chaucer's in
|
|
this: that it had in it a sample of about all the upper
|
|
occupations and professions the country could show,
|
|
and a corresponding variety of costume. There were
|
|
young men and old men, young women and old
|
|
women, lively folk and grave folk. They rode upon
|
|
mules and horses, and there was not a side-saddle in
|
|
the party; for this specialty was to remain unknown in
|
|
England for nine hundred years yet.
|
|
|
|
It was a pleasant, friendly, sociable herd; pious,
|
|
happy, merry and full of unconscious coarsenesses and
|
|
innocent indecencies. What they regarded as the
|
|
merry tale went the continual round and caused no
|
|
more embarrassment than it would have caused in the
|
|
best English society twelve centuries later. Practical
|
|
jokes worthy of the English wits of the first quarter of
|
|
the far-off nineteenth century were sprung here and
|
|
there and yonder along the line, and compelled the
|
|
delightedest applause; and sometimes when a bright
|
|
remark was made at one end of the procession and
|
|
started on its travels toward the other, you could note
|
|
its progress all the way by the sparkling spray of
|
|
laughter it threw off from its bows as it plowed along;
|
|
and also by the blushes of the mules in its wake.
|
|
|
|
Sandy knew the goal and purpose of this pilgrimage,
|
|
and she posted me. She said:
|
|
|
|
"They journey to the Valley of Holiness, for to be
|
|
blessed of the godly hermits and drink of the miracu-
|
|
lous waters and be cleased from sin."
|
|
|
|
"Where is this watering place?"
|
|
|
|
"It lieth a two-day journey hence, by the borders
|
|
of the land that hight the Cuckoo Kingdom."
|
|
|
|
"Tell me about it. Is it a celebrated place?"
|
|
|
|
"Oh, of a truth, yes. There be none more so. Of
|
|
old time there lived there an abbot and his monks.
|
|
Belike were none in the world more holy than these;
|
|
for they gave themselves to study of pious books, and
|
|
spoke not the one to the other, or indeed to any, and
|
|
ate decayed herbs and naught thereto, and slept hard,
|
|
and prayed much, and washed never; also they wore
|
|
the same garment until it fell from their bodies through
|
|
age and decay. Right so came they to be known of
|
|
all the world by reason of these holy austerities, and
|
|
visited by rich and poor, and reverenced."
|
|
|
|
"Proceed."
|
|
|
|
"But always there was lack of water there. Whereas,
|
|
upon a time, the holy abbot prayed, and for answer
|
|
a great stream of clear water burst forth by miracle
|
|
in a desert place. Now were the fickle monks tempted
|
|
of the Fiend, and they wrought with their abbot un-
|
|
ceasingly by beggings and beseechings that he would
|
|
construct a bath; and when he was become aweary and
|
|
might not resist more, he said have ye your will, then,
|
|
and granted that they asked. Now mark thou what
|
|
'tis to forsake the ways of purity the which He loveth,
|
|
and wanton with such as be worldly and an offense.
|
|
These monks did enter into the bath and come thence
|
|
washed as white as snow; and lo, in that moment His
|
|
sign appeared, in miraculous rebuke! for His insulted
|
|
waters ceased to flow, and utterly vanished away."
|
|
|
|
"They fared mildly, Sandy, considering how that
|
|
kind of crime is regarded in this country."
|
|
|
|
"Belike; but it was their first sin; and they had
|
|
been of perfect life for long, and differing in naught
|
|
from the angels. Prayers, tears, torturings of the
|
|
flesh, all was vain to beguile that water to flow again.
|
|
Even processions; even burnt-offerings; even votive
|
|
candles to the Virgin, did fail every each of them;
|
|
and all in the land did marvel."
|
|
|
|
"How odd to find that even this industry has its
|
|
financial panics, and at times sees its assignats and
|
|
greenbacks languish to zero, and everything come to a
|
|
standstill. Go on, Sandy."
|
|
|
|
"And so upon a time, after year and day, the good
|
|
abbot made humble surrender and destroyed the bath.
|
|
And behold, His anger was in that moment appeased,
|
|
and the waters gushed richly forth again, and even
|
|
unto this day they have not ceased to flow in that
|
|
generous measure."
|
|
|
|
"Then I take it nobody has washed since."
|
|
|
|
"He that would essay it could have his halter free;
|
|
yes, and swiftly would he need it, too."
|
|
|
|
"The community has prospered since?"
|
|
|
|
"Even from that very day. The fame of the miracle
|
|
went abroad into all lands. From every land came
|
|
monks to join; they came even as the fishes come, in
|
|
shoals; and the monastery added building to building,
|
|
and yet others to these, and so spread wide its arms
|
|
and took them in. And nuns came, also; and more
|
|
again, and yet more; and built over against the mon-
|
|
astery on the yon side of the vale, and added building
|
|
to building, until mighty was that nunnery. And
|
|
these were friendly unto those, and they joined their
|
|
loving labors together, and together they built a fair
|
|
great foundling asylum midway of the valley between."
|
|
|
|
"You spoke of some hermits, Sandy."
|
|
|
|
"These have gathered there from the ends of the
|
|
earth. A hermit thriveth best where there be multi-
|
|
tudes of pilgrims. Ye shall not find no hermit of no
|
|
sort wanting. If any shall mention a hermit of a kind
|
|
he thinketh new and not to be found but in some far
|
|
strange land, let him but scratch among the holes and
|
|
caves and swamps that line that Valley of Holiness,
|
|
and whatsoever be his breed, it skills not, he shall find
|
|
a sample of it there."
|
|
|
|
I closed up alongside of a burly fellow with a fat
|
|
good-humored face, purposing to make myself agree-
|
|
able and pick up some further crumbs of fact; but I
|
|
had hardly more than scraped acquaintance with him
|
|
when he began eagerly and awkwardly to lead up, in
|
|
the immemorial way, to that same old anecdote -- the
|
|
one Sir Dinadan told me, what time I got into trouble
|
|
with Sir Sagramor and was challenged of him on ac-
|
|
count of it. I excused myself and dropped to the rear
|
|
of the procession, sad at heart, willing to go hence
|
|
from this troubled life, this vale of tears, this brief day
|
|
of broken rest, of cloud and storm, of weary struggle
|
|
and monotonous defeat; and yet shrinking from the
|
|
change, as remembering how long eternity is, and how
|
|
many have wended thither who know that anecdote.
|
|
|
|
Early in the afternoon we overtook another proces-
|
|
sion of pilgrims; but in this one was no merriment, no
|
|
jokes, no laughter, no playful ways, nor any happy
|
|
giddiness, whether of youth or age. Yet both were
|
|
here, both age and youth; gray old men and women,
|
|
strong men and women of middle age, young hus-
|
|
bands, young wives, little boys and girls, and three
|
|
babies at the breast. Even the children were smileless;
|
|
there was not a face among all these half a hundred
|
|
people but was cast down, and bore that set expression
|
|
of hopelessness which is bred of long and hard trials
|
|
and old acquaintance with despair. They were slaves.
|
|
Chains led from their fettered feet and their manacled
|
|
hands to a sole-leather belt about their waists; and all
|
|
except the children were also linked together in a file
|
|
six feet apart, by a single chain which led from collar
|
|
to collar all down the line. They were on foot, and
|
|
had tramped three hundred miles in eighteen days,
|
|
upon the cheapest odds and ends of food, and stingy
|
|
rations of that. They had slept in these chains every
|
|
night, bundled together like swine. They had upon
|
|
their bodies some poor rags, but they could not be
|
|
said to be clothed. Their irons had chafed the skin
|
|
from their ankles and made sores which were ulcerated
|
|
and wormy. Their naked feet were torn, and none
|
|
walked without a limp. Originally there had been a
|
|
hundred of these unfortunates, but about half had been
|
|
sold on the trip. The trader in charge of them rode
|
|
a horse and carried a whip with a short handle and a
|
|
long heavy lash divided into several knotted tails at the
|
|
end. With this whip he cut the shoulders of any that
|
|
tottered from weariness and pain, and straightened
|
|
them up. He did not speak; the whip conveyed his
|
|
desire without that. None of these poor creatures
|
|
looked up as we rode along by; they showed no con-
|
|
sciousness of our presence. And they made no sound
|
|
but one; that was the dull and awful clank of their
|
|
chains from end to end of the long file, as forty-three
|
|
burdened feet rose and fell in unison. The file moved
|
|
in a cloud of its own making.
|
|
|
|
All these faces were gray with a coating of dust.
|
|
One has seen the like of this coating upon furniture in
|
|
unoccupied houses, and has written his idle thought in
|
|
it with his finger. I was reminded of this when I
|
|
noticed the faces of some of those women, young
|
|
mothers carrying babes that were near to death and
|
|
freedom, how a something in their hearts was written
|
|
in the dust upon their faces, plain to see, and lord, how
|
|
plain to read! for it was the track of tears. One of
|
|
these young mothers was but a girl, and it hurt me to
|
|
the heart to read that writing, and reflect that it was
|
|
come up out of the breast of such a child, a breast
|
|
that ought not to know trouble yet, but only the glad-
|
|
ness of the morning of life; and no doubt --
|
|
|
|
She reeled just then, giddy with fatigue, and down
|
|
came the lash and flicked a flake of skin from her
|
|
naked shoulder. It stung me as if I had been hit in-
|
|
stead. The master halted the file and jumped from his
|
|
horse. He stormed and swore at this girl, and said
|
|
she had made annoyance enough with her laziness, and
|
|
as this was the last chance he should have, he would
|
|
settle the account now. She dropped on her knees
|
|
and put up her hands and began to beg, and cry, and
|
|
implore, in a passion of terror, but the master gave no
|
|
attention. He snatched the child from her, and then
|
|
made the men-slaves who were chained before and
|
|
behind her throw her on the ground and hold her there
|
|
and expose her body; and then he laid on with his
|
|
lash like a madman till her back was flayed, she shriek-
|
|
ing and struggling the while piteously. One of the
|
|
men who was holding her turned away his face, and
|
|
for this humanity he was reviled and flogged.
|
|
|
|
All our pilgrims looked on and commented -- on the
|
|
expert way in which the whip was handled. They
|
|
were too much hardened by lifelong everyday familiar-
|
|
ity with slavery to notice that there was anything else
|
|
in the exhibition that invited comment. This was what
|
|
slavery could do, in the way of ossifying what one may
|
|
call the superior lobe of human feeling; for these pil-
|
|
grims were kind-hearted people, and they would not
|
|
have allowed that man to treat a horse like that.
|
|
|
|
I wanted to stop the whole thing and set the slaves
|
|
free, but that would not do. I must not interfere too
|
|
much and get myself a name for riding over the
|
|
country's laws and the citizen's rights roughshod. If
|
|
I lived and prospered I would be the death of slavery,
|
|
that I was resolved upon; but I would try to fix it so
|
|
that when I became its executioner it should be by
|
|
command of the nation.
|
|
|
|
Just here was the wayside shop of a smith; and now
|
|
arrived a landed proprietor who had bought this girl a
|
|
few miles back, deliverable here where her irons could
|
|
be taken off. They were removed; then there was a
|
|
squabble between the gentleman and the dealer as to
|
|
which should pay the blacksmith. The moment the
|
|
girl was delivered from her irons, she flung herself, all
|
|
tears and frantic sobbings, into the arms of the slave
|
|
who had turned away his face when she was whipped.
|
|
He strained her to his breast, and smothered her
|
|
face and the child's with kisses, and washed them
|
|
with the rain of his tears. I suspected. I inquired.
|
|
Yes, I was right; it was husband and wife. They had
|
|
to be torn apart by force; the girl had to be dragged
|
|
away, and she struggled and fought and shrieked like
|
|
one gone mad till a turn of the road hid her from
|
|
sight; and even after that, we could still make out the
|
|
fading plaint of those receding shrieks. And the hus-
|
|
band and father, with his wife and child gone, never to
|
|
be seen by him again in life? -- well, the look of him
|
|
one might not bear at all, and so I turned away; but I
|
|
knew I should never get his picture out of my mind
|
|
again, and there it is to this day, to wring my heart-
|
|
strings whenever I think of it.
|
|
|
|
We put up at the inn in a village just at nightfall,
|
|
and when I rose next morning and looked abroad, I
|
|
was ware where a knight came riding in the golden
|
|
glory of the new day, and recognized him for knight
|
|
of mine -- Sir Ozana le Cure Hardy. He was in the
|
|
gentlemen's furnishing line, and his missionarying
|
|
specialty was plug hats. He was clothed all in steel,
|
|
in the beautifulest armor of the time -- up to where his
|
|
helmet ought to have been; but he hadn't any helmet,
|
|
he wore a shiny stove-pipe hat, and was ridiculous a
|
|
spectacle as one might want to see. It was another of
|
|
my surreptitious schemes for extinguishing knighthood
|
|
by making it grotesque and absurd. Sir Ozana's sad-
|
|
dle was hung about with leather hat boxes, and every
|
|
time he overcame a wandering knight he swore him
|
|
into my service and fitted him with a plug and made
|
|
him wear it. I dressed and ran down to welcome Sir
|
|
Ozana and get his news.
|
|
|
|
"How is trade?" I asked.
|
|
|
|
"Ye will note that I have but these four left; yet
|
|
were they sixteen whenas I got me from Camelot."
|
|
|
|
"Why, you have certainly done nobly, Sir Ozana.
|
|
Where have you been foraging of late?"
|
|
|
|
"I am but now come from the Valley of Holiness,
|
|
please you sir."
|
|
|
|
"I am pointed for that place myself. Is there
|
|
anything stirring in the monkery, more than com-
|
|
mon?"
|
|
|
|
"By the mass ye may not question it!.... Give him
|
|
good feed, boy, and stint it not, an thou valuest thy
|
|
crown; so get ye lightly to the stable and do even as I
|
|
bid...... Sir, it is parlous news I bring, and -- be
|
|
these pilgrims? Then ye may not do better, good
|
|
folk, than gather and hear the tale I have to tell, sith it
|
|
concerneth you, forasmuch as ye go to find that ye
|
|
will not find, and seek that ye will seek in vain, my life
|
|
being hostage for my word, and my word and message
|
|
being these, namely: That a hap has happened where-
|
|
of the like has not been seen no more but once this
|
|
two hundred years, which was the first and last time
|
|
that that said misfortune strake the holy valley in that
|
|
form by commandment of the Most High whereto by
|
|
reasons just and causes thereunto contributing, wherein
|
|
the matter --"
|
|
|
|
"The miraculous fount hath ceased to flow!" This
|
|
shout burst from twenty pilgrim mouths at once.
|
|
|
|
"Ye say well, good people. I was verging to it,
|
|
even when ye spake. "
|
|
|
|
"Has somebody been washing again?"
|
|
|
|
"Nay, it is suspected, but none believe it. It is
|
|
thought to be some other sin, but none wit what."
|
|
|
|
"How are they feeling about the calamity?"
|
|
|
|
"None may describe it in words. The fount is
|
|
these nine days dry. The prayers that did begin then,
|
|
and the lamentations in sackcloth and ashes, and the
|
|
holy processions, none of these have ceased nor night
|
|
nor day; and so the monks and the nuns and the
|
|
foundlings be all exhausted, and do hang up prayers
|
|
writ upon parchment, sith that no strength is left in
|
|
man to lift up voice. And at last they sent for thee,
|
|
Sir Boss, to try magic and enchantment; and if you
|
|
could not come, then was the messenger to fetch
|
|
Merlin, and he is there these three days now, and
|
|
saith he will fetch that water though he burst the globe
|
|
and wreck its kingdoms to accomplish it; and right
|
|
bravely doth he work his magic and call upon his
|
|
hellions to hie them hither and help, but not a whiff
|
|
of moisture hath he started yet, even so much as might
|
|
qualify as mist upon a copper mirror an ye count not
|
|
the barrel of sweat he sweateth betwixt sun and sun
|
|
over the dire labors of his task; and if ye --"
|
|
|
|
Breakfast was ready. As soon as it was over I
|
|
showed to Sir Ozana these words which I had written
|
|
on the inside of his hat: Chemical Department, Labor-
|
|
atory extension, Section G. Pxxp. Send two of first
|
|
size, two of No. 3, and six of No. 4, together with the
|
|
proper complementary details -- and two of my trained
|
|
assistants." And I said:
|
|
|
|
"Now get you to Camelot as fast as you can fly,
|
|
brave knight, and show the writing to Clarence, and
|
|
tell him to have these required matters in the Valley of
|
|
Holiness with all possible dispatch."
|
|
|
|
"I will well, Sir Boss," and he was off.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XXII.
|
|
THE HOLY FOUNTAIN
|
|
|
|
THE pilgrims were human beings. Otherwise they
|
|
would have acted differently. They had come a
|
|
long and difficult journey, and now when the journey
|
|
was nearly finished, and they learned that the main
|
|
thing they had come for had ceased to exist, they
|
|
didn't do as horses or cats or angle-worms would
|
|
probably have done -- turn back and get at something
|
|
profitable -- no, anxious as they had before been to
|
|
see the miraculous fountain, they were as much as
|
|
forty times as anxious now to see the place where it
|
|
had used to be. There is no accounting for human
|
|
beings.
|
|
|
|
We made good time; and a couple of hours before
|
|
sunset we stood upon the high confines of the Valley
|
|
of Holiness, and our eyes swept it from end to end
|
|
and noted its features. That is, its large features.
|
|
These were the three masses of buildings. They were
|
|
distant and isolated temporalities shrunken to toy con-
|
|
structions in the lonely waste of what seemed a desert
|
|
-- and was. Such a scene is always mournful, it is so
|
|
impressively still, and looks so steeped in death. But
|
|
there was a sound here which interrupted the stillness
|
|
only to add to its mournfulness; this was the faint far
|
|
sound of tolling bells which floated fitfully to us on the
|
|
passing breeze, and so faintly, so softly, that we hardly
|
|
knew whether we heard it with our ears or with our
|
|
spirits.
|
|
|
|
We reached the monastery before dark, and there
|
|
the males were given lodging, but the women were sent
|
|
over to the nunnery. The bells were close at hand
|
|
now, and their solemn booming smote upon the ear
|
|
like a message of doom. A superstitious despair pos-
|
|
sessed the heart of every monk and published itself
|
|
in his ghastly face. Everywhere, these black-robed,
|
|
soft-sandaled, tallow-visaged specters appeared, flitted
|
|
about and disappeared, noiseless as the creatures of a
|
|
troubled dream, and as uncanny.
|
|
|
|
The old abbot's joy to see me was pathetic. Even
|
|
to tears; but he did the shedding himself. He said:
|
|
|
|
"Delay not, son, but get to thy saving work. An
|
|
we bring not the water back again, and soon, we are
|
|
ruined, and the good work of two hundred years must
|
|
end. And see thou do it with enchantments that be
|
|
holy, for the Church will not endure that work in her
|
|
cause be done by devil's magic."
|
|
|
|
"When I work, Father, be sure there will be no
|
|
devil's work connected with it. I shall use no arts
|
|
that come of the devil, and no elements not created
|
|
by the hand of God. But is Merlin working strictly
|
|
on pious lines?"
|
|
|
|
"Ah, he said he would, my son, he said he would,
|
|
and took oath to make his promise good."
|
|
|
|
"Well, in that case, let him proceed."
|
|
|
|
"But surely you will not sit idle by, but help?"
|
|
|
|
"It will not answer to mix methods, Father; neither
|
|
would it be professional courtesy. Two of a trade
|
|
must not underbid each other. We might as well cut
|
|
rates and be done with it; it would arrive at that in
|
|
the end. Merlin has the contract; no other magician
|
|
can touch it till he throws it up."
|
|
|
|
"But I will take it from him; it is a terrible emer-
|
|
gency and the act is thereby justified. And if it were
|
|
not so, who will give law to the Church? The Church
|
|
giveth law to all; and what she wills to do, that she
|
|
may do, hurt whom it may. I will take it from him;
|
|
you shall begin upon the moment."
|
|
|
|
"It may not be, Father. No doubt, as you say,
|
|
where power is supreme, one can do as one likes and
|
|
suffer no injury; but we poor magicians are not so
|
|
situated. Merlin is a very good magician in a small
|
|
way, and has quite a neat provincial reputation. He
|
|
is struggling along, doing the best he can, and it would
|
|
not be etiquette for me to take his job until he himself
|
|
abandons it."
|
|
|
|
The abbot's face lighted.
|
|
|
|
"Ah, that is simple. There are ways to persuade
|
|
him to abandon it."
|
|
|
|
"No-no, Father, it skills not, as these people say.
|
|
If he were persuaded against his will, he would load
|
|
that well with a malicious enchantment which would
|
|
balk me until I found out its secret. It might take a
|
|
month. I could set up a little enchantment of mine
|
|
which I call the telephone, and he could not find out
|
|
its secret in a hundred years. Yes, you perceive, he
|
|
might block me for a month. Would you like to risk a
|
|
month in a dry time like this?"
|
|
|
|
"A month! The mere thought of it maketh me to
|
|
shudder. Have it thy way, my son. But my heart is
|
|
heavy with this disappointment. Leave me, and let
|
|
me wear my spirit with weariness and waiting, even as
|
|
I have done these ten long days, counterfeiting thus
|
|
the thing that is called rest, the prone body making
|
|
outward sign of repose where inwardly is none."
|
|
|
|
Of course, it would have been best, all round, for
|
|
Merlin to waive etiquette and quit and call it half a
|
|
day, since he would never be able to start that water,
|
|
for he was a true magician of the time; which is to
|
|
say, the big miracles, the ones that gave him his repu-
|
|
tation, always had the luck to be performed when
|
|
nobody but Merlin was present; he couldn't start this
|
|
well with all this crowd around to see; a crowd was as
|
|
bad for a magician's miracle in that day as it was for a
|
|
spiritualist's miracle in mine; there was sure to be
|
|
some skeptic on hand to turn up the gas at the crucial
|
|
moment and spoil everything. But I did not want
|
|
Merlin to retire from the job until I was ready to take
|
|
hold of it effectively myself; and I could not do that
|
|
until I got my things from Camelot, and that would
|
|
take two or three days.
|
|
|
|
My presence gave the monks hope, and cheered
|
|
them up a good deal; insomuch that they ate a square
|
|
meal that night for the first time in ten days. As
|
|
soon as their stomachs had been properly reinforced
|
|
with food, their spirits began to rise fast; when the
|
|
mead began to go round they rose faster. By the
|
|
time everybody was half-seas over, the holy com-
|
|
munity was in good shape to make a night of it; so
|
|
we stayed by the board and put it through on that
|
|
line. Matters got to be very jolly. Good old ques-
|
|
tionable stories were told that made the tears run down
|
|
and cavernous mouths stand wide and the round bellies
|
|
shake with laughter; and questionable songs were
|
|
bellowed out in a mighty chorus that drowned the
|
|
boom of the tolling bells.
|
|
|
|
At last I ventured a story myself; and vast was the
|
|
success of it. Not right off, of course, for the native
|
|
of those islands does not, as a rule, dissolve upon the
|
|
early applications of a humorous thing; but the fifth
|
|
time I told it, they began to crack in places; the eight
|
|
time I told it, they began to crumble; at the twelfth
|
|
repetition they fell apart in chunks; and at the fifteenth
|
|
they disintegrated, and I got a broom and swept them
|
|
up. This language is figurative. Those islanders --
|
|
well, they are slow pay at first, in the matter of return
|
|
for your investment of effort, but in the end they make
|
|
the pay of all other nations poor and small by contrast.
|
|
|
|
I was at the well next day betimes. Merlin was
|
|
there, enchanting away like a beaver, but not raising
|
|
the moisture. He was not in a pleasant humor; and
|
|
every time I hinted that perhaps this contract was a
|
|
shade too hefty for a novice he unlimbered his tongue
|
|
and cursed like a bishop -- French bishop of the
|
|
Regency days, I mean.
|
|
|
|
Matters were about as I expected to find them.
|
|
The "fountain" was an ordinary well, it had been dug
|
|
in the ordinary way, and stoned up in the ordinary
|
|
way. There was no miracle about it. Even the lie
|
|
that had created its reputation was not miraculous; I
|
|
could have told it myself, with one hand tied behind
|
|
me. The well was in a dark chamber which stood in
|
|
the center of a cut-stone chapel, whose walls were
|
|
hung with pious pictures of a workmanship that would
|
|
have made a chromo feel good; pictures historically
|
|
commemorative of curative miracles which had been
|
|
achieved by the waters when nobody was looking.
|
|
That is, nobody but angels; they are always on deck
|
|
when there is a miracle to the fore -- so as to get put
|
|
in the picture, perhaps. Angels are as fond of that as
|
|
a fire company; look at the old masters.
|
|
|
|
The well-chamber was dimly lighted by lamps; the
|
|
water was drawn with a windlass and chain by monks,
|
|
and poured into troughs which delivered it into stone
|
|
reservoirs outside in the chapel -- when there was
|
|
water to draw, I mean -- and none but monks could
|
|
enter the well-chamber. I entered it, for I had tempo-
|
|
rary authority to do so, by courtesy of my professional
|
|
brother and subordinate. But he hadn't entered it
|
|
himself. He did everything by incantations; he never
|
|
worked his intellect. If he had stepped in there and
|
|
used his eyes, instead of his disordered mind, he could
|
|
have cured the well by natural means, and then turned
|
|
it into a miracle in the customary way; but no, he was
|
|
an old numskull, a magician who believed in his own
|
|
magic; and no magician can thrive who is handicapped
|
|
with a superstition like that.
|
|
|
|
I had an idea that the well had sprung a leak; that
|
|
some of the wall stones near the bottom had fallen and
|
|
exposed fissures that allowed the water to escape. I
|
|
measured the chain -- 98 feet. Then I called in
|
|
couple of monks, locked the door, took a candle, and
|
|
made them lower me in the bucket. When the chain
|
|
was all paid out, the candle confirmed my suspicion;
|
|
a considerable section of the wall was gone, exposing a
|
|
good big fissure.
|
|
|
|
I almost regretted that my theory about the well's
|
|
trouble was correct, because I had another one that
|
|
had a showy point or two about it for a miracle. I
|
|
remembered that in America, many centuries later,
|
|
when an oil well ceased to flow, they used to blast it
|
|
out with a dynamite torpedo. If I should find this
|
|
well dry and no explanation of it, I could astonish
|
|
these people most nobly by having a person of no
|
|
especial value drop a dynamite bomb into it. It was
|
|
my idea to appoint Merlin. However, it was plain
|
|
that there was no occasion for the bomb. One cannot
|
|
have everything the way he would like it. A man has
|
|
no business to be depressed by a disappointment, any-
|
|
way; he ought to make up his mind to get even.
|
|
That is what I did. I said to myself, I am in no
|
|
hurry, I can wait; that bomb will come good yet.
|
|
And it did, too.
|
|
|
|
When I was above ground again, I turned out the
|
|
monks, and let down a fish-line; the well was a hun-
|
|
dred and fifty feet deep, and there was forty-one feet
|
|
of water in it I I called in a monk and asked:
|
|
|
|
"How deep is the well?"
|
|
|
|
"That, sir, I wit not, having never been told."
|
|
|
|
"How does the water usually stand in it?"
|
|
|
|
"Near to the top, these two centuries, as the testi-
|
|
mony goeth, brought down to us through our prede-
|
|
cessors."
|
|
|
|
It was true -- as to recent times at least -- for there
|
|
was witness to it, and better witness than a monk;
|
|
only about twenty or thirty feet of the chain showed
|
|
wear and use, the rest of it was unworn and rusty.
|
|
What had happened when the well gave out that other
|
|
time? Without doubt some practical person had come
|
|
along and mended the leak, and then had come up and
|
|
told the abbot he had discovered by divination that if
|
|
the sinful bath were destroyed the well would flow
|
|
again. The leak had befallen again now, and these
|
|
children would have prayed, and processioned, and
|
|
tolled their bells for heavenly succor till they all dried
|
|
up and blew away, and no innocent of them all would
|
|
ever have thought to drop a fish-line into the well or
|
|
go down in it and find out what was really the matter.
|
|
Old habit of mind is one of the toughest things to
|
|
get away from in the world. It transmits itself like
|
|
physical form and feature; and for a man, in those
|
|
days, to have had an idea that his ancestors hadn't
|
|
had, would have brought him under suspicion of being
|
|
illegitimate. I said to the monk:
|
|
|
|
"It is a difficult miracle to restore water in a dry
|
|
well, but we will try, if my brother Merlin fails.
|
|
Brother Merlin is a very passable artist, but only in the
|
|
parlor-magic line, and he may not succeed; in fact, is
|
|
not likely to succeed. But that should be nothing to
|
|
his discredit; the man that can do THIS kind of miracle
|
|
knows enough to keep hotel."
|
|
|
|
"Hotel? I mind not to have heard --"
|
|
|
|
"Of hotel? It's what you call hostel. The man
|
|
that can do this miracle can keep hostel. I can do this
|
|
miracle; I shall do this miracle; yet I do not try to
|
|
conceal from you that it is a miracle to tax the occult
|
|
powers to the last strain."
|
|
|
|
"None knoweth that truth better than the brother-
|
|
hood, indeed; for it is of record that aforetime it was
|
|
parlous difficult and took a year. Natheless, God send
|
|
you good success, and to that end will we pray."
|
|
|
|
As a matter of business it was a good idea to get the
|
|
notion around that the thing was difficult. Many a
|
|
small thing has been made large by the right kind of
|
|
advertising. That monk was filled up with the diffi-
|
|
culty of this enterprise; he would fill up the others.
|
|
In two days the solicitude would be booming.
|
|
|
|
On my way home at noon, I met Sandy. She had
|
|
been sampling the hermits. I said:
|
|
|
|
"I would like to do that myself. This is Wednes-
|
|
day. Is there a matinee?"
|
|
|
|
"A which, please you, sir?"
|
|
|
|
"Matinee. Do they keep open afternoons?"
|
|
|
|
"Who?"
|
|
|
|
"The hermits, of course."
|
|
|
|
"Keep open?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes, keep open. Isn't that plain enough? Do
|
|
they knock off at noon?"
|
|
|
|
"Knock off?"
|
|
|
|
"Knock off? -- yes, knock off. What is the matter
|
|
with knock off? I never saw such a dunderhead;
|
|
can't you understand anything at all? In plain terms,
|
|
do they shut up shop, draw the game, bank the
|
|
fires --"
|
|
|
|
"Shut up shop, draw --"
|
|
|
|
"There, never mind, let it go; you make me tired.
|
|
You can't seem to understand the simplest thing."
|
|
|
|
I would I might please thee, sir, and it is to me
|
|
dole and sorrow that I fail, albeit sith I am but a
|
|
simple damsel and taught of none, being from the
|
|
cradle unbaptized in those deep waters of learning that
|
|
do anoint with a sovereignty him that partaketh of that
|
|
most noble sacrament, investing him with reverend
|
|
state to the mental eye of the humble mortal who, by
|
|
bar and lack of that great consecration seeth in his
|
|
own unlearned estate but a symbol of that other sort
|
|
of lack and loss which men do publish to the pitying
|
|
eye with sackcloth trappings whereon the ashes of
|
|
grief do lie bepowdered and bestrewn, and so, when
|
|
such shall in the darkness of his mind encounter these
|
|
golden phrases of high mystery, these shut-up-shops,
|
|
and draw-the-game, and bank-the-fires, it is but by the
|
|
grace of God that he burst not for envy of the mind
|
|
that can beget, and tongue that can deliver so great
|
|
and mellow-sounding miracles of speech, and if there
|
|
do ensue confusion in that humbler mind, and failure
|
|
to divine the meanings of these wonders, then if so be
|
|
this miscomprehension is not vain but sooth and true,
|
|
wit ye well it is the very substance of worshipful dear
|
|
homage and may not lightly be misprized, nor had
|
|
been, an ye had noted this complexion of mood
|
|
and mind and understood that that I would I could
|
|
not, and that I could not I might not, nor yet nor
|
|
might NOR could, nor might-not nor could-not, might
|
|
be by advantage turned to the desired WOULD, and so I
|
|
pray you mercy of my fault, and that ye will of your
|
|
kindness and your charity forgive it, good my master
|
|
and most dear lord."
|
|
|
|
I couldn't make it all out -- that is, the details -- but
|
|
I got the general idea; and enough of it, too, to be
|
|
ashamed. It was not fair to spring those nineteenth
|
|
century technicalities upon the untutored infant of the
|
|
sixth and then rail at her because she couldn't get
|
|
their drift; and when she was making the honest best
|
|
drive at it she could, too, and no fault of hers that she
|
|
couldn't fetch the home plate; and so I apologized.
|
|
Then we meandered pleasantly away toward the hermit
|
|
holes in sociable converse together, and better friends
|
|
than ever.
|
|
|
|
I was gradually coming to have a mysterious and
|
|
shuddery reverence for this girl; nowadays whenever
|
|
she pulled out from the station and got her train fairly
|
|
started on one of those horizonless transcontinental
|
|
sentences of hers, it was borne in upon me that I was
|
|
standing in the awful presence of the Mother of the
|
|
German Language. I was so impressed with this, that
|
|
sometimes when she began to empty one of these sen-
|
|
tences on me I unconsciously took the very attitude of
|
|
reverence, and stood uncovered; and if words had
|
|
been water, I had been drowned, sure. She had ex-
|
|
actly the German way; whatever was in her mind to
|
|
be delivered, whether a mere remark, or a sermon, or
|
|
a cyclopedia, or the history of a war, she would get it
|
|
into a single sentence or die. Whenever the literary
|
|
German dives into a sentence, that is the last you are
|
|
going to see of him till he emerges on the other side of
|
|
his Atlantic with his verb in his mouth.
|
|
|
|
We drifted from hermit to hermit all the afternoon.
|
|
It was a most strange menagerie. The chief emulation
|
|
among them seemed to be, to see which could manage
|
|
to be the uncleanest and most prosperous with vermin.
|
|
Their manner and attitudes were the last expression of
|
|
complacent self-righteousness. It was one anchorite's
|
|
pride to lie naked in the mud and let the insects bite
|
|
him and blister him unmolested; it was another's to
|
|
lean against a rock, all day long, conspicuous to the
|
|
admiration of the throng of pilgrims and pray; it was
|
|
another's to go naked and crawl around on all fours;
|
|
it was another's to drag about with him, year in and
|
|
year out, eighty pounds of iron; it was another's to
|
|
never lie down when he slept, but to stand among the
|
|
thorn-bushes and snore when there were pilgrims
|
|
around to look; a woman, who had the white hair of
|
|
age, and no other apparel, was black from crown to
|
|
heel with forty-seven years of holy abstinence from
|
|
water. Groups of gazing pilgrims stood around all
|
|
and every of these strange objects, lost in reverent
|
|
wonder, and envious of the fleckless sanctity which
|
|
these pious austerities had won for them from an
|
|
exacting heaven.
|
|
|
|
By and by we went to see one of the supremely
|
|
great ones. He was a mighty celebrity; his fame had
|
|
penetrated all Christendom; the noble and the re-
|
|
nowned journeyed from the remotest lands on the
|
|
globe to pay him reverence. His stand was in the
|
|
center of the widest part of the valley; and it took all
|
|
that space to hold his crowds.
|
|
|
|
His stand was a pillar sixty feet high, with a broad
|
|
platform on the top of it. He was now doing what he
|
|
had been doing every day for twenty years up there --
|
|
bowing his body ceaselessly and rapidly almost to his
|
|
feet. It was his way of praying. I timed him with a
|
|
stop watch, and he made 1,244 revolutions in 24 min-
|
|
utes and 46 seconds. It seemed a pity to have all this
|
|
power going to waste. It was one of the most useful
|
|
motions in mechanics, the pedal movement; so I made
|
|
a note in my memorandum book, purposing some day
|
|
to apply a system of elastic cords to him and run a
|
|
sewing machine with it. I afterward carried out that
|
|
scheme, and got five years' good service out of him;
|
|
in which time he turned out upward of eighteen thou-
|
|
sand first-rate tow-linen shirts, which was ten a day. I
|
|
worked him Sundays and all; he was going, Sundays,
|
|
the same as week days, and it was no use to waste the
|
|
power. These shirts cost me nothing but just the mere
|
|
trifle for the materials -- I furnished those myself, it
|
|
would not have been right to make him do that -- and
|
|
they sold like smoke to pilgrims at a dollar and a half
|
|
apiece, which was the price of fifty cows or a blooded
|
|
race horse in Arthurdom. They were regarded as a
|
|
perfect protection against sin, and advertised as such
|
|
by my knights everywhere, with the paint-pot and
|
|
stencil-plate; insomuch that there was not a cliff or a
|
|
bowlder or a dead wall in England but you could read
|
|
on it at a mile distance:
|
|
|
|
"Buy the only genuine St. Stylite; patronized by the
|
|
Nobility. Patent applied for."
|
|
|
|
There was more money in the business than one
|
|
knew what to do with. As it extended, I brought out
|
|
a line of goods suitable for kings, and a nobby thing
|
|
for duchesses and that sort, with ruffles down the fore-
|
|
hatch and the running-gear clewed up with a feather-
|
|
stitch to leeward and then hauled aft with a back-stay
|
|
and triced up with a half-turn in the standing rigging
|
|
forward of the weather-gaskets. Yes, it was a daisy.
|
|
|
|
But about that time I noticed that the motive power
|
|
had taken to standing on one leg, and I found that
|
|
there was something the matter with the other one; so
|
|
I stocked the business and unloaded, taking Sir Bors
|
|
de Ganis into camp financially along with certain of his
|
|
friends; for the works stopped within a year, and the
|
|
good saint got him to his rest. But he had earned it.
|
|
I can say that for him.
|
|
|
|
When I saw him that first time -- however, his per-
|
|
sonal condition will not quite bear description here.
|
|
You can read it in the Lives of the Saints. *
|
|
|
|
[* All the details concerning the hermits, in this
|
|
chapter, are from Lecky -- but greatly modified. This
|
|
book not being a history but only a tale, the majority
|
|
of the historian's frank details were too strong for
|
|
reproduction in it. - EDITOR]
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XXIII.
|
|
RESTORATION OF THE FOUNTAIN
|
|
|
|
SATURDAY noon I went to the well and looked on
|
|
a while. Merlin was still burning smoke-powders,
|
|
and pawing the air, and muttering gibberish as hard as
|
|
ever, but looking pretty down-hearted, for of course
|
|
he had not started even a perspiration in that well yet.
|
|
Finally I said:
|
|
|
|
"How does the thing promise by this time, partner?"
|
|
|
|
"Behold, I am even now busied with trial of the
|
|
powerfulest enchantment known to the princes of the oc-
|
|
cult arts in the lands of the East; an it fail me, naught
|
|
can avail. Peace, until I finish."
|
|
|
|
He raised a smoke this time that darkened all the
|
|
region, and must have made matters uncomfortable for
|
|
the hermits, for the wind was their way, and it rolled
|
|
down over their dens in a dense and billowy fog. He
|
|
poured out volumes of speech to match, and contorted
|
|
his body and sawed the air with his hands in a most
|
|
extraordinary way. At the end of twenty minutes he
|
|
dropped down panting, and about exhausted. Now
|
|
arrived the abbot and several hundred monks and nuns,
|
|
and behind them a multitude of pilgrims and a couple
|
|
of acres of foundlings, all drawn by the prodigious smoke,
|
|
and all in a grand state of excitement. The abbot
|
|
inquired anxiously for results. Merlin said:
|
|
|
|
"If any labor of mortal might break the spell that
|
|
binds these waters, this which I have but just essayed
|
|
had done it. It has failed; whereby I do now know
|
|
that that which I had feared is a truth established; the
|
|
sign of this failure is, that the most potent spirit known
|
|
to the magicians of the East, and whose name none
|
|
may utter and live, has laid his spell upon this well.
|
|
The mortal does not breathe, nor ever will, who can
|
|
penetrate the secret of that spell, and without that
|
|
secret none can break it. The water will flow no more
|
|
forever, good Father. I have done what man could.
|
|
Suffer me to go."
|
|
|
|
Of course this threw the abbot into a good deal of a
|
|
consternation. He turned to me with the signs of it in
|
|
his face, and said:
|
|
|
|
"Ye have heard him. Is it true?"
|
|
|
|
"Part of it is."
|
|
|
|
"Not all, then, not all! What part is true?"
|
|
|
|
"That that spirit with the Russian name has put his
|
|
spell upon the well."
|
|
|
|
"God's wownds, then are we ruined!"
|
|
|
|
"Possibly."
|
|
|
|
"But not certainly? Ye mean, not certainly?"
|
|
|
|
"That is it."
|
|
|
|
"Wherefore, ye also mean that when he saith none
|
|
can break the spell --"
|
|
|
|
"Yes, when he says that, he says what isn't neces-
|
|
sarily true. There are conditions under which an effort
|
|
to break it may have some chance -- that is, some
|
|
small, some trifling chance -- of success."
|
|
|
|
"The conditions --"
|
|
|
|
"Oh, they are nothing difficult. Only these: I
|
|
want the well and the surroundings for the space of
|
|
half a mile, entirely to myself from sunset to-day until
|
|
I remove the ban -- and nobody allowed to cross the
|
|
ground but by my authority."
|
|
|
|
"Are these all?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes."
|
|
|
|
"And you have no fear to try?"
|
|
|
|
"Oh, none. One may fail, of course; and one
|
|
may also succeed. One can try, and I am ready to
|
|
chance it. I have my conditions?"
|
|
|
|
"These and all others ye may name. I will issue
|
|
commandment to that effect."
|
|
|
|
"Wait," said Merlin, with an evil smile. "Ye
|
|
wit that he that would break this spell must know that
|
|
spirit's name?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes, I know his name."
|
|
|
|
"And wit you also that to know it skills not of
|
|
itself, but ye must likewise pronounce it? Ha-ha!
|
|
Knew ye that?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes, I knew that, too."
|
|
|
|
"You had that knowledge! Art a fool? Are ye
|
|
minded to utter that name and die?"
|
|
|
|
"Utter it? Why certainly. I would utter it if it
|
|
was Welsh."
|
|
|
|
"Ye are even a dead man, then; and I go to
|
|
tell Arthur."
|
|
|
|
"That's all right. Take your gripsack and get
|
|
along. The thing for YOU to do is to go home and
|
|
work the weather, John W. Merlin."
|
|
|
|
It was a home shot, and it made him wince; for he
|
|
was the worst weather-failure in the kingdom. When-
|
|
ever he ordered up the danger-signals along the coast
|
|
there was a week's dead calm, sure, and every time he
|
|
prophesied fair weather it rained brickbats. But I kept
|
|
him in the weather bureau right along, to undermine
|
|
his reputation. However, that shot raised his bile, and
|
|
instead of starting home to report my death, he said
|
|
he would remain and enjoy it.
|
|
|
|
My two experts arrived in the evening, and pretty
|
|
well fagged, for they had traveled double tides. They
|
|
had pack-mules along, and had brought everything I
|
|
needed -- tools, pump, lead pipe, Greek fire, sheaves
|
|
of big rockets, roman candles, colored fire sprays,
|
|
electric apparatus, and a lot of sundries -- everything
|
|
necessary for the stateliest kind of a miracle. They
|
|
got their supper and a nap, and about midnight we
|
|
sallied out through a solitude so wholly vacant and
|
|
complete that it quite overpassed the required condi-
|
|
tions. We took possession of the well and its sur-
|
|
roundings. My boys were experts in all sorts of
|
|
things, from the stoning up of a well to the construct-
|
|
ing of a mathematical instrument. An hour before
|
|
sunrise we had that leak mended in ship-shape fashion,
|
|
and the water began to rise. Then we stowed our fire-
|
|
works in the chapel, locked up the place, and went
|
|
home to bed.
|
|
|
|
Before the noon mass was over, we were at the well
|
|
again; for there was a deal to do yet, and I was deter-
|
|
mined to spring the miracle before midnight, for busi-
|
|
ness reasons: for whereas a miracle worked for the
|
|
Church on a week-day is worth a good deal, it is worth
|
|
six times as much if you get it in on a Sunday. In
|
|
nine hours the water had risen to its customary level --
|
|
that is to say, it was within twenty-three feet of the
|
|
top. We put in a little iron pump, one of the first
|
|
turned out by my works near the capital; we bored
|
|
into a stone reservoir which stood against the outer
|
|
wall of the well-chamber and inserted a section of lead
|
|
pipe that was long enough to reach to the door of the
|
|
chapel and project beyond the threshold, where the
|
|
gushing water would be visible to the two hundred and
|
|
fifty acres of people I was intending should be present
|
|
on the flat plain in front of this little holy hillock at
|
|
the proper time.
|
|
|
|
We knocked the head out of an empty hogshead and
|
|
hoisted this hogshead to the flat roof of the chapel,
|
|
where we clamped it down fast, poured in gunpowder
|
|
till it lay loosely an inch deep on the bottom, then we
|
|
stood up rockets in the hogshead as thick as they
|
|
could loosely stand, all the different breeds of rockets
|
|
there are; and they made a portly and imposing sheaf,
|
|
I can tell you. We grounded the wire of a pocket
|
|
electrical battery in that powder, we placed a whole
|
|
magazine of Greek fire on each corner of the roof --
|
|
blue on one corner, green on another, red on another,
|
|
and purple on the last -- and grounded a wire in each.
|
|
|
|
About two hundred yards off, in the flat, we built a
|
|
pen of scantlings, about four feet high, and laid planks
|
|
on it, and so made a platform. We covered it with
|
|
swell tapestries borrowed for the occasion, and topped
|
|
it off with the abbot's own throne. When you are
|
|
going to do a miracle for an ignorant race, you want
|
|
to get in every detail that will count; you want to
|
|
make all the properties impressive to the public eye;
|
|
you want to make matters comfortable for your head
|
|
guest; then you can turn yourself loose and play your
|
|
effects for all they are worth. I know the value of
|
|
these things, for I know human nature. You can't
|
|
throw too much style into a miracle. It costs trouble,
|
|
and work, and sometimes money; but it pays in the
|
|
end. Well, we brought the wires to the ground at the
|
|
chapel, and then brought them under the ground to
|
|
the platform, and hid the batteries there. We put a
|
|
rope fence a hundred feet square around the platform
|
|
to keep off the common multitude, and that finished
|
|
the work. My idea was, doors open at 10:30, per-
|
|
formance to begin at 11:25 sharp. I wished I could
|
|
charge admission, but of course that wouldn't answer.
|
|
I instructed my boys to be in the chapel as early as
|
|
10, before anybody was around, and be ready to man
|
|
the pumps at the proper time, and make the fur fly.
|
|
Then we went home to supper.
|
|
|
|
The news of the disaster to the well had traveled far
|
|
by this time; and now for two or three days a steady
|
|
avalanche of people had been pouring into the valley.
|
|
The lower end of the valley was become one huge
|
|
camp; we should have a good house, no question
|
|
about that. Criers went the rounds early in the eve-
|
|
ning and announced the coming attempt, which put
|
|
every pulse up to fever heat. They gave notice that
|
|
the abbot and his official suite would move in state and
|
|
occupy the platform at 10:30, up to which time all the
|
|
region which was under my ban must be clear; the
|
|
bells would then cease from tolling, and this sign
|
|
should be permission to the multitudes to close in and
|
|
take their places.
|
|
|
|
I was at the platform and all ready to do the honors
|
|
when the abbot's solemn procession hove in sight --
|
|
which it did not do till it was nearly to the rope fence,
|
|
because it was a starless black night and no torches
|
|
permitted. With it came Merlin, and took a front seat
|
|
on the platform; he was as good as his word for once.
|
|
One could not see the multitudes banked together be-
|
|
yond the ban, but they were there, just the same.
|
|
The moment the bells stopped, those banked masses
|
|
broke and poured over the line like a vast black wave,
|
|
and for as much as a half hour it continued to flow,
|
|
and then it solidified itself, and you could have walked
|
|
upon a pavement of human heads to -- well, miles.
|
|
|
|
We had a solemn stage-wait, now, for about twenty
|
|
minutes -- a thing I had counted on for effect; it is
|
|
always good to let your audience have a chance to
|
|
work up its expectancy. At length, out of the silence
|
|
a noble Latin chant -- men's voices -- broke and
|
|
swelled up and rolled away into the night, a majestic
|
|
tide of melody. I had put that up, too, and it was one
|
|
of the best effects I ever invented. When it was finished
|
|
I stood up on the platform and extended my hands
|
|
abroad, for two minutes, with my face uplifted -- that
|
|
always produces a dead hush -- and then slowly pro-
|
|
nounced this ghastly word with a kind of awfulness which
|
|
caused hundreds to tremble, and many women to faint:
|
|
|
|
"Constantinopolitanischerdudelsackspfeifen-
|
|
machersgesellschafft!"
|
|
|
|
Just as I was moaning out the closing hunks of that
|
|
word, I touched off one of my electric connections
|
|
and all that murky world of people stood revealed in a
|
|
hideous blue glare! It was immense -- that effect!
|
|
Lots of people shrieked, women curled up and quit in
|
|
every direction, foundlings collapsed by platoons. The
|
|
abbot and the monks crossed themselves nimbly and
|
|
their lips fluttered with agitated prayers. Merlin held
|
|
his grip, but he was astonished clear down to his
|
|
corns; he had never seen anything to begin with that,
|
|
before. Now was the time to pile in the effects. I
|
|
lifted my hands and groaned out this word -- as it were
|
|
in agony:
|
|
|
|
"Nihilistendynamittheaterkaestchensspreng-
|
|
ungsattentaetsversuchungen!"
|
|
|
|
-- and turned on the red fire! You should have heard
|
|
that Atlantic of people moan and howl when that
|
|
crimson hell joined the blue! After sixty seconds I
|
|
shouted:
|
|
|
|
"Transvaaltruppentropentransporttrampelthier-
|
|
treibertrauungsthraenentragoedie!"
|
|
|
|
-- and lit up the green fire! After waiting only forty
|
|
seconds this time, I spread my arms abroad and
|
|
thundered out the devastating syllables of this word of
|
|
words:
|
|
|
|
"Mekkamuselmannenmassenmenchenmoerdermohrenmutter-
|
|
marmormonumentenmacher!"
|
|
|
|
-- and whirled on the purple glare! There they were,
|
|
all going at once, red, blue, green, purple! -- four
|
|
furious volcanoes pouring vast clouds of radiant smoke
|
|
aloft, and spreading a blinding rainbowed noonday to
|
|
the furthest confines of that valley. In the distance
|
|
one could see that fellow on the pillar standing rigid
|
|
against the background of sky, his seesaw stopped for
|
|
the first time in twenty years. I knew the boys were
|
|
at the pump now and ready. So I said to the abbot:
|
|
|
|
"The time is come, Father. I am about to pro-
|
|
nounce the dread name and command the spell to dis-
|
|
solve. You want to brace up, and take hold of some-
|
|
thing." Then I shouted to the people: "Behold, in
|
|
another minute the spell will be broken, or no mortal
|
|
can break it. If it break, all will know it, for you will
|
|
see the sacred water gush from the chapel door!"
|
|
|
|
I stood a few moments, to let the hearers have a
|
|
chance to spread my announcement to those who
|
|
couldn't hear, and so convey it to the furthest ranks,
|
|
then I made a grand exhibition of extra posturing and
|
|
gesturing, and shouted:
|
|
|
|
"Lo, I command the fell spirit that possesses the
|
|
holy fountain to now disgorge into the skies all the
|
|
infernal fires that still remain in him, and straightway
|
|
dissolve his spell and flee hence to the pit, there to lie
|
|
bound a thousand years. By his own dread name I
|
|
command it -- BGWJJILLIGKKK!"
|
|
|
|
Then I touched off the hogshead of rockets, and a
|
|
vast fountain of dazzling lances of fire vomited itself
|
|
toward the zenith with a hissing rush, and burst in
|
|
mid-sky into a storm of flashing jewels! One mighty
|
|
groan of terror started up from the massed people --
|
|
then suddenly broke into a wild hosannah of joy -- for
|
|
there, fair and plain in the uncanny glare, they saw
|
|
the freed water leaping forth! The old abbot could not
|
|
speak a word, for tears and the chokings in his throat;
|
|
without utterance of any sort, he folded me in his arms
|
|
and mashed me. It was more eloquent than speech.
|
|
And harder to get over, too, in a country where there
|
|
were really no doctors that were worth a damaged
|
|
nickel.
|
|
|
|
You should have seen those acres of people throw
|
|
themselves down in that water and kiss it; kiss it, and
|
|
pet it, and fondle it, and talk to it as if it were alive,
|
|
and welcome it back with the dear names they gave
|
|
their darlings, just as if it had been a friend who was
|
|
long gone away and lost, and was come home again.
|
|
Yes, it was pretty to see, and made me think more of
|
|
them than I had done before.
|
|
|
|
I sent Merlin home on a shutter. He had caved in
|
|
and gone down like a landslide when I pronounced that
|
|
fearful name, and had never come to since. He never
|
|
had heard that name before, -- neither had I -- but to
|
|
him it was the right one. Any jumble would have
|
|
been the right one. He admitted, afterward, that
|
|
that spirit's own mother could not have pronounced
|
|
that name better than I did. He never could under-
|
|
stand how I survived it, and I didn't tell him. It is
|
|
only young magicians that give away a secret like that.
|
|
Merlin spent three months working enchantments to
|
|
try to find out the deep trick of how to pronounce that
|
|
name and outlive it. But he didn't arrive.
|
|
|
|
When I started to the chapel, the populace un-
|
|
covered and fell back reverently to make a wide way
|
|
for me, as if I had been some kind of a superior being
|
|
-- and I was. I was aware of that. I took along a
|
|
night shift of monks, and taught them the mystery of
|
|
the pump, and set them to work, for it was plain that
|
|
a good part of the people out there were going to sit
|
|
up with the water all night, consequently it was but
|
|
right that they should have all they wanted of it. To
|
|
those monks that pump was a good deal of a miracle
|
|
itself, and they were full of wonder over it; and of
|
|
admiration, too, of the exceeding effectiveness of its
|
|
performance.
|
|
|
|
It was a great night, an immense night. There was
|
|
reputation in it. I could hardly get to sleep for glory-
|
|
ing over it.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XXIV.
|
|
A RIVAL MAGICIAN
|
|
|
|
MY influence in the Valley of Holiness was some-
|
|
thing prodigious now. It seemed worth while
|
|
to try to turn it to some valuable account. The
|
|
thought came to me the next morning, and was sug-
|
|
gested by my seeing one of my knights who was in
|
|
the soap line come riding in. According to history,
|
|
the monks of this place two centuries before had been
|
|
worldly minded enough to want to wash. It might be
|
|
that there was a leaven of this unrighteousness still re-
|
|
maining. So I sounded a Brother:
|
|
|
|
"Wouldn't you like a bath?"
|
|
|
|
He shuddered at the thought -- the thought of the
|
|
peril of it to the well -- but he said with feeling:
|
|
|
|
"One needs not to ask that of a poor body who has
|
|
not known that blessed refreshment sith that he was a
|
|
boy. Would God I might wash me! but it may not
|
|
be, fair sir, tempt me not; it is forbidden."
|
|
|
|
And then he sighed in such a sorrowful way that I
|
|
was resolved he should have at least one layer of his
|
|
real estate removed, if it sized up my whole influence
|
|
and bankrupted the pile. So I went to the abbot and
|
|
asked for a permit for this Brother. He blenched at
|
|
the idea -- I don't mean that you could see him blench,
|
|
for of course you couldn't see it without you scraped
|
|
him, and I didn't care enough about it to scrape him,
|
|
but I knew the blench was there, just the same, and
|
|
within a book-cover's thickness of the surface, too --
|
|
blenched, and trembled. He said:
|
|
|
|
"Ah, son, ask aught else thou wilt, and it is thine,
|
|
and freely granted out of a grateful heart -- but this,
|
|
oh, this! Would you drive away the blessed water
|
|
again?"
|
|
|
|
"No, Father, I will not drive it away. I have
|
|
mysterious knowledge which teaches me that there
|
|
was an error that other time when it was thought the
|
|
institution of the bath banished the fountain." A
|
|
large interest began to show up in the old man's face.
|
|
"My knowledge informs me that the bath was inno-
|
|
cent of that misfortune, which was caused by quite
|
|
another sort of sin."
|
|
|
|
"These are brave words -- but -- but right welcome,
|
|
if they be true."
|
|
|
|
"They are true, indeed. Let me build the bath
|
|
again, Father. Let me build it again, and the fountain
|
|
shall flow forever."
|
|
|
|
"You promise this? -- you promise it? Say the
|
|
word -- say you promise it!"
|
|
|
|
"I do promise it."
|
|
|
|
"Then will I have the first bath myself! Go --
|
|
get ye to your work. Tarry not, tarry not, but go."
|
|
|
|
I and my boys were at work, straight off. The
|
|
ruins of the old bath were there yet in the basement of
|
|
the monastery, not a stone missing. They had been
|
|
left just so, all these lifetimes, and avoided with a
|
|
pious fear, as things accursed. In two days we had it
|
|
all done and the water in -- a spacious pool of clear
|
|
pure water that a body could swim in. It was running
|
|
water, too. It came in, and went out, through the
|
|
ancient pipes. The old abbot kept his word, and was
|
|
the first to try it. He went down black and shaky,
|
|
leaving the whole black community above troubled and
|
|
worried and full of bodings; but he came back white
|
|
and joyful, and the game was made! another triumph
|
|
scored.
|
|
|
|
It was a good campaign that we made in that Valley
|
|
of Holiness, and I was very well satisfied, and ready to
|
|
move on now, but I struck a disappointment. I caught
|
|
a heavy cold, and it started up an old lurking rheuma-
|
|
tism of mine. Of course the rheumatism hunted up
|
|
my weakest place and located itself there. This was
|
|
the place where the abbot put his arms about me and
|
|
mashed me, what time he was moved to testify his
|
|
gratitude to me with an embrace.
|
|
|
|
When at last I got out, I was a shadow. But every-
|
|
body was full of attentions and kindnesses, and these
|
|
brought cheer back into my life, and were the right
|
|
medicine to help a convalescent swiftly up toward
|
|
health and strength again; so I gained fast.
|
|
|
|
Sandy was worn out with nursing; so I made up my
|
|
mind to turn out and go a cruise alone, leaving her at
|
|
the nunnery to rest up. My idea was to disguise myself
|
|
as a freeman of peasant degree and wander through
|
|
the country a week or two on foot. This would give
|
|
me a chance to eat and lodge with the lowliest and
|
|
poorest class of free citizens on equal terms. There
|
|
was no other way to inform myself perfectly of their
|
|
everyday life and the operation of the laws upon it. If
|
|
I went among them as a gentleman, there would be
|
|
restraints and conventionalities which would shut me
|
|
out from their private joys and troubles, and I should
|
|
get no further than the outside shell.
|
|
|
|
One morning I was out on a long walk to get up
|
|
muscle for my trip, and had climbed the ridge which
|
|
bordered the northern extremity of the valley, when I
|
|
came upon an artificial opening in the face of a low
|
|
precipice, and recognized it by its location as a hermit-
|
|
age which had often been pointed out to me from a
|
|
distance as the den of a hermit of high renown for dirt
|
|
and austerity. I knew he had lately been offered a
|
|
situation in the Great Sahara, where lions and sandflies
|
|
made the hermit-life peculiarly attractive and difficult,
|
|
and had gone to Africa to take possession, so I thought
|
|
I would look in and see how the atmosphere of this
|
|
den agreed with its reputation.
|
|
|
|
My surprise was great: the place was newly swept
|
|
and scoured. Then there was another surprise. Back
|
|
in the gloom of the cavern I heard the clink of a little
|
|
bell, and then this exclamation:
|
|
|
|
"Hello Central! Is this you, Camelot? -- Be-
|
|
hold, thou mayst glad thy heart an thou hast faith to
|
|
believe the wonderful when that it cometh in unex-
|
|
pected guise and maketh itself manifest in impossible
|
|
places -- here standeth in the flesh his mightiness The
|
|
Boss, and with thine own ears shall ye hear him
|
|
speak!"
|
|
|
|
Now what a radical reversal of things this was; what
|
|
a jumbling together of extravagant incongruities; what
|
|
a fantastic conjunction of opposites and irreconcilables
|
|
-- the home of the bogus miracle become the home of
|
|
a real one, the den of a mediaeval hermit turned into a
|
|
telephone office!
|
|
|
|
The telephone clerk stepped into the light, and I
|
|
recognized one of my young fellows. I said:
|
|
|
|
"How long has this office been established here,
|
|
Ulfius?"
|
|
|
|
"But since midnight, fair Sir Boss, an it please you.
|
|
We saw many lights in the valley, and so judged it
|
|
well to make a station, for that where so many lights
|
|
be needs must they indicate a town of goodly size."
|
|
|
|
"Quite right. It isn't a town in the customary
|
|
sense, but it's a good stand, anyway. Do you know
|
|
where you are?"
|
|
|
|
"Of that I have had no time to make inquiry; for
|
|
whenas my comradeship moved hence upon their
|
|
labors, leaving me in charge, I got me to needed rest,
|
|
purposing to inquire when I waked, and report the
|
|
place's name to Camelot for record."
|
|
|
|
"Well, this is the Valley of Holiness."
|
|
|
|
It didn't take; I mean, he didn't start at the name,
|
|
as I had supposed he would. He merely said:
|
|
|
|
"I will so report it."
|
|
|
|
"Why, the surrounding regions are filled with the
|
|
noise of late wonders that have happened here! You
|
|
didn't hear of them?"
|
|
|
|
"Ah, ye will remember we move by night, and
|
|
avoid speech with all. We learn naught but that we
|
|
get by the telephone from Camelot."
|
|
|
|
"Why THEY know all about this thing. Haven't
|
|
they told you anything about the great miracle of the
|
|
restoration of a holy fountain?"
|
|
|
|
"Oh, THAT? Indeed yes. But the name of THIS
|
|
valley doth woundily differ from the name of THAT one;
|
|
indeed to differ wider were not pos --"
|
|
|
|
"What was that name, then?"
|
|
|
|
"The Valley of Hellishness."
|
|
|
|
"THAT explains it. Confound a telephone, anyway.
|
|
It is the very demon for conveying similarities of sound
|
|
that are miracles of divergence from similarity of sense.
|
|
But no matter, you know the name of the place now.
|
|
Call up Camelot."
|
|
|
|
He did it, and had Clarence sent for. It was good
|
|
to hear my boy's voice again. It was like being home.
|
|
After some affectionate interchanges, and some account
|
|
of my late illness, I said:
|
|
|
|
"What is new?"
|
|
|
|
"The king and queen and many of the court do
|
|
start even in this hour, to go to your valley to pay
|
|
pious homage to the waters ye have restored, and
|
|
cleanse themselves of sin, and see the place where the
|
|
infernal spirit spouted true hell-flames to the clouds --
|
|
an ye listen sharply ye may hear me wink and hear me
|
|
likewise smile a smile, sith 'twas I that made selection
|
|
of those flames from out our stock and sent them by
|
|
your order."
|
|
|
|
"Does the king know the way to this place?"
|
|
|
|
"The king? -- no, nor to any other in his realms,
|
|
mayhap; but the lads that holp you with your miracle
|
|
will be his guide and lead the way, and appoint the
|
|
places for rests at noons and sleeps at night."
|
|
|
|
"This will bring them here -- when?"
|
|
|
|
"Mid-afternoon, or later, the third day."
|
|
|
|
"Anything else in the way of news?"
|
|
|
|
"The king hath begun the raising of the standing
|
|
army ye suggested to him; one regiment is complete
|
|
and officered."
|
|
|
|
"The mischief! I wanted a main hand in that my-
|
|
self. There is only one body of men in the kingdom
|
|
that are fitted to officer a regular army."
|
|
|
|
"Yes -- and now ye will marvel to know there's not
|
|
so much as one West Pointer in that regiment."
|
|
|
|
"What are you talking about? Are you in earnest?"
|
|
|
|
"It is truly as I have said."
|
|
|
|
"Why, this makes me uneasy. Who were chosen,
|
|
and what was the method? Competitive examination?"
|
|
|
|
"Indeed, I know naught of the method. I but
|
|
know this -- these officers be all of noble family, and
|
|
are born -- what is it you call it? -- chuckleheads."
|
|
|
|
"There's something wrong, Clarence. "
|
|
|
|
"Comfort yourself, then; for two candidates for a
|
|
lieutenancy do travel hence with the king -- young
|
|
nobles both -- and if you but wait where you are you
|
|
will hear them questioned."
|
|
|
|
"That is news to the purpose. I will get one West
|
|
Pointer in, anyway. Mount a man and send him to
|
|
that school with a message; let him kill horses, if
|
|
necessary, but he must be there before sunset to-night
|
|
and say -- "
|
|
|
|
"There is no need. I have laid a ground wire to
|
|
the school. Prithee let me connect you with it."
|
|
|
|
It sounded good! In this atmosphere of telephones
|
|
and lightning communication with distant regions, I
|
|
was breathing the breath of life again after long suffo-
|
|
cation. I realized, then, what a creepy, dull, inanimate
|
|
horror this land had been to me all these years, and
|
|
how I had been in such a stifled condition of mind as
|
|
to have grown used to it almost beyond the power to
|
|
notice it.
|
|
|
|
I gave my order to the superintendent of the Acad-
|
|
emy personally. I also asked him to bring me some
|
|
paper and a fountain pen and a box or so of safety
|
|
matches. I was getting tired of doing without these
|
|
conveniences. I could have them now, as I wasn't
|
|
going to wear armor any more at present, and there-
|
|
fore could get at my pockets.
|
|
|
|
When I got back to the monastery, I found a thing
|
|
of interest going on. The abbot and his monks were
|
|
assembled in the great hall, observing with childish
|
|
wonder and faith the performances of a new magician,
|
|
a fresh arrival. His dress was the extreme of the
|
|
fantastic; as showy and foolish as the sort of thing an
|
|
Indian medicine-man wears. He was mowing, and
|
|
mumbling, and gesticulating, and drawing mystical
|
|
figures in the air and on the floor, -- the regular thing,
|
|
you know. He was a celebrity from Asia -- so he
|
|
said, and that was enough. That sort of evidence was
|
|
as good as gold, and passed current everywhere.
|
|
|
|
How easy and cheap it was to be a great magician
|
|
on this fellow's terms. His specialty was to tell you
|
|
what any individual on the face of the globe was doing
|
|
at the moment; and what he had done at any time in
|
|
the past, and what he would do at any time in the
|
|
future. He asked if any would like to know what the
|
|
Emperor of the East was doing now? The sparkling
|
|
eyes and the delighted rubbing of hands made eloquent
|
|
answer -- this reverend crowd WOULD like to know what
|
|
that monarch was at, just as this moment. The fraud
|
|
went through some more mummery, and then made
|
|
grave announcement:
|
|
|
|
"The high and mighty Emperor of the East doth at
|
|
this moment put money in the palm of a holy begging
|
|
friar -- one, two, three pieces, and they be all of
|
|
silver."
|
|
|
|
A buzz of admiring exclamations broke out, all
|
|
around:
|
|
|
|
"It is marvelous!" "Wonderful!" "What study,
|
|
what labor, to have acquired a so amazing power as this!"
|
|
|
|
Would they like to know what the Supreme Lord of
|
|
Inde was doing? Yes. He told them what the
|
|
Supreme Lord of Inde was doing. Then he told
|
|
them what the Sultan of Egypt was at; also what the
|
|
King of the Remote Seas was about. And so on and
|
|
so on; and with each new marvel the astonishment at
|
|
his accuracy rose higher and higher. They thought
|
|
he must surely strike an uncertain place some time;
|
|
but no, he never had to hesitate, he always knew, and
|
|
always with unerring precision. I saw that if this thing
|
|
went on I should lose my supremacy, this fellow would
|
|
capture my following, I should be left out in the cold.
|
|
I must put a cog in his wheel, and do it right away,
|
|
too. I said:
|
|
|
|
"If I might ask, I should very greatly like to know
|
|
what a certain person is doing."
|
|
|
|
"Speak, and freely. I will tell you."
|
|
|
|
"It will be difficult -- perhaps impossible."
|
|
|
|
"My art knoweth not that word. The more difficult
|
|
it is, the more certainly will I reveal it to you."
|
|
|
|
You see, I was working up the interest. It was
|
|
getting pretty high, too; you could see that by the
|
|
craning necks all around, and the half-suspended
|
|
breathing. So now I climaxed it:
|
|
|
|
"If you make no mistake -- if you tell me truly
|
|
what I want to know -- I will give you two hundred
|
|
silver pennies."
|
|
|
|
"The fortune is mine! I will tell you what you
|
|
would know."
|
|
|
|
"Then tell me what I am doing with my right hand."
|
|
|
|
"Ah-h!" There was a general gasp of surprise.
|
|
It had not occurred to anybody in the crowd -- that
|
|
simple trick of inquiring about somebody who wasn't
|
|
ten thousand miles away. The magician was hit hard;
|
|
it was an emergency that had never happened in his
|
|
experience before, and it corked him; he didn't know
|
|
how to meet it. He looked stunned, confused; he
|
|
couldn't say a word. "Come," I said, "what are
|
|
you waiting for? Is it possible you can answer up,
|
|
right off, and tell what anybody on the other side of
|
|
the earth is doing, and yet can't tell what a person is
|
|
doing who isn't three yards from you? Persons behind
|
|
me know what I am doing with my right hand -- they
|
|
will indorse you if you tell correctly." He was still
|
|
dumb. "Very well, I'll tell you why you don't speak
|
|
up and tell; it is because you don't know. YOU a
|
|
magician! Good friends, this tramp is a mere fraud
|
|
and liar."
|
|
|
|
This distressed the monks and terrified them. They
|
|
were not used to hearing these awful beings called
|
|
names, and they did not know what might be the con-
|
|
sequence. There was a dead silence now; superstitious
|
|
bodings were in every mind. The magician began to
|
|
pull his wits together, and when he presently smiled an
|
|
easy, nonchalant smile, it spread a mighty relief
|
|
around; for it indicated that his mood was not destruc-
|
|
tive. He said:
|
|
|
|
"It hath struck me speechless, the frivolity of this
|
|
person's speech. Let all know, if perchance there be
|
|
any who know it not, that enchanters of my degree
|
|
deign not to concern themselves with the doings of any
|
|
but kings, princes, emperors, them that be born in the
|
|
purple and them only. Had ye asked me what Arthur
|
|
the great king is doing, it were another matter, and I
|
|
had told ye; but the doings of a subject interest me
|
|
not."
|
|
|
|
"Oh, I misunderstood you. I thought you said
|
|
'anybody,' and so I supposed 'anybody' included --
|
|
well, anybody; that is, everybody."
|
|
|
|
"It doth -- anybody that is of lofty birth; and the
|
|
better if he be royal."
|
|
|
|
"That, it meseemeth, might well be," said the abbot,
|
|
who saw his opportunity to smooth things and avert
|
|
disaster, "for it were not likely that so wonderful a
|
|
gift as this would be conferred for the revelation of the
|
|
concerns of lesser beings than such as be born near to
|
|
the summits of greatness. Our Arthur the king --"
|
|
|
|
"Would you know of him?" broke in the en-
|
|
chanter.
|
|
|
|
"Most gladly, yea, and gratefully."
|
|
|
|
Everybody was full of awe and interest again right
|
|
away, the incorrigible idiots. They watched the incan-
|
|
tations absorbingly, and looked at me with a "There,
|
|
now, what can you say to that?" air, when the
|
|
announcement came:
|
|
|
|
"The king is weary with the chase, and lieth in his
|
|
palace these two hours sleeping a dreamless sleep."
|
|
|
|
"God's benison upon him!" said the abbot, and
|
|
crossed himself; "may that sleep be to the refresh-
|
|
ment of his body and his soul."
|
|
|
|
"And so it might be, if he were sleeping," I said,
|
|
"but the king is not sleeping, the king rides."
|
|
|
|
Here was trouble again -- a conflict of authority.
|
|
Nobody knew which of us to believe; I still had some
|
|
reputation left. The magician's scorn was stirred, and
|
|
he said:
|
|
|
|
"Lo, I have seen many wonderful soothsayers and
|
|
prophets and magicians in my life days, but none be-
|
|
fore that could sit idle and see to the heart of things
|
|
with never an incantation to help."
|
|
|
|
"You have lived in the woods, and lost much by it.
|
|
I use incantations myself, as this good brotherhood are
|
|
aware -- but only on occasions of moment."
|
|
|
|
When it comes to sarcasming, I reckon I know how
|
|
to keep my end up. That jab made this fellow squirm.
|
|
The abbot inquired after the queen and the court, and
|
|
got this information:
|
|
|
|
"They be all on sleep, being overcome by fatigue,
|
|
like as to the king."
|
|
|
|
I said:
|
|
|
|
"That is merely another lie. Half of them are
|
|
about their amusements, the queen and the other half
|
|
are not sleeping, they ride. Now perhaps you can
|
|
spread yourself a little, and tell us where the king and
|
|
queen and all that are this moment riding with them
|
|
are going?"
|
|
|
|
"They sleep now, as I said; but on the morrow
|
|
they will ride, for they go a journey toward the sea."
|
|
|
|
"And where will they be the day after to-morrow at
|
|
vespers?"
|
|
|
|
"Far to the north of Camelot, and half their journey
|
|
will be done."
|
|
|
|
"That is another lie, by the space of a hundred and
|
|
fifty miles. Their journey will not be merely half
|
|
done, it will be all done, and they will be HERE, in this
|
|
valley."
|
|
|
|
THAT was a noble shot! It set the abbot and the
|
|
monks in a whirl of excitement, and it rocked the en-
|
|
chanter to his base. I followed the thing right up:
|
|
|
|
"If the king does not arrive, I will have myself
|
|
ridden on a rail: if he does I will ride you on a rail
|
|
instead."
|
|
|
|
Next day I went up to the telephone office and found
|
|
that the king had passed through two towns that were
|
|
on the line. I spotted his progress on the succeeding
|
|
day in the same way. I kept these matters to myself.
|
|
The third day's reports showed that if he kept up his
|
|
gait he would arrive by four in the afternoon. There
|
|
was still no sign anywhere of interest in his coming;
|
|
there seemed to be no preparations making to receive
|
|
him in state; a strange thing, truly. Only one thing
|
|
could explain this: that other magician had been cut-
|
|
ting under me, sure. This was true. I asked a friend
|
|
of mine, a monk, about it, and he said, yes, the
|
|
magician had tried some further enchantments and
|
|
found out that the court had concluded to make no
|
|
journey at all, but stay at home. Think of that!
|
|
Observe how much a reputation was worth in such a
|
|
country. These people had seen me do the very
|
|
showiest bit of magic in history, and the only one
|
|
within their memory that had a positive value, and yet
|
|
here they were, ready to take up with an adventurer
|
|
who could offer no evidence of his powers but his mere
|
|
unproven word.
|
|
|
|
However, it was not good politics to let the king
|
|
come without any fuss and feathers at all, so I went
|
|
down and drummed up a procession of pilgrims and
|
|
smoked out a batch of hermits and started them out at
|
|
two o'clock to meet him. And that was the sort of
|
|
state he arrived in. The abbot was helpless with rage
|
|
and humiliation when I brought him out on a balcony
|
|
and showed him the head of the state marching in and
|
|
never a monk on hand to offer him welcome, and no
|
|
stir of life or clang of joy-bell to glad his spirit. He
|
|
took one look and then flew to rouse out his forces.
|
|
The next minute the bells were dinning furiously, and
|
|
the various buildings were vomiting monks and nuns,
|
|
who went swarming in a rush toward the coming pro-
|
|
cession; and with them went that magician -- and he
|
|
was on a rail, too, by the abbot's order; and his
|
|
reputation was in the mud, and mine was in the sky
|
|
again. Yes, a man can keep his trademark current in
|
|
such a country, but he can't sit around and do it; he
|
|
has got to be on deck and attending to business right
|
|
along.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XXV.
|
|
A COMPETITIVE EXAMINATION
|
|
|
|
WHEN the king traveled for change of air, or made
|
|
a progress, or visited a distant noble whom he
|
|
wished to bankrupt with the cost of his keep, part of
|
|
the administration moved with him. It was a fashion
|
|
of the time. The Commission charged with the ex-
|
|
amination of candidates for posts in the army came
|
|
with the king to the Valley, whereas they could have
|
|
transacted their business just as well at home. And
|
|
although this expedition was strictly a holiday excur-
|
|
sion for the king, he kept some of his business func-
|
|
tions going just the same. He touched for the evil, as
|
|
usual; he held court in the gate at sunrise and tried
|
|
cases, for he was himself Chief Justice of the King's
|
|
Bench.
|
|
|
|
He shone very well in this latter office. He was a
|
|
wise and humane judge, and he clearly did his honest
|
|
best and fairest, -- according to his lights. That is a
|
|
large reservation. His lights -- I mean his rearing --
|
|
often colored his decisions. Whenever there was a
|
|
dispute between a noble or gentleman and a person of
|
|
lower degree, the king's leanings and sympathies were
|
|
for the former class always, whether he suspected it or
|
|
not. It was impossible that this should be otherwise.
|
|
The blunting effects of slavery upon the slaveholder's
|
|
moral perceptions are known and conceded, the world
|
|
over; and a privileged class, an aristocracy, is but a
|
|
band of slaveholders under another name. This has a
|
|
harsh sound, and yet should not be offensive to any --
|
|
even to the noble himself -- unless the fact itself be an
|
|
offense: for the statement simply formulates a fact.
|
|
The repulsive feature of slavery is the THING, not its
|
|
name. One needs but to hear an aristocrat speak of
|
|
the classes that are below him to recognize -- and in
|
|
but indifferently modified measure -- the very air and
|
|
tone of the actual slaveholder; and behind these are
|
|
the slaveholder's spirit, the slaveholder's blunted feel-
|
|
ing. They are the result of the same cause in both
|
|
cases: the possessor's old and inbred custom of re-
|
|
garding himself as a superior being. The king's judg-
|
|
ments wrought frequent injustices, but it was merely
|
|
the fault of his training, his natural and unalterable
|
|
sympathies. He was as unfitted for a judgeship as
|
|
would be the average mother for the position of milk-
|
|
distributor to starving children in famine-time; her
|
|
own children would fare a shade better than the rest.
|
|
|
|
One very curious case came before the king. A
|
|
young girl, an orphan, who had a considerable estate,
|
|
married a fine young fellow who had nothing. The
|
|
girl's property was within a seigniory held by the
|
|
Church. The bishop of the diocese, an arrogant scion
|
|
of the great nobility, claimed the girl's estate on the
|
|
ground that she had married privately, and thus had
|
|
cheated the Church out of one of its rights as lord of
|
|
the seigniory -- the one heretofore referred to as le droit
|
|
du seigneur. The penalty of refusal or avoidance was
|
|
confiscation. The girl's defense was, that the lordship
|
|
of the seigniory was vested in the bishop, and the par-
|
|
ticular right here involved was not transferable, but
|
|
must be exercised by the lord himself or stand vacated;
|
|
and that an older law, of the Church itself, strictly
|
|
barred the bishop from exercising it. It was a very
|
|
odd case, indeed.
|
|
|
|
It reminded me of something I had read in my
|
|
youth about the ingenious way in which the aldermen
|
|
of London raised the money that built the Mansion
|
|
House. A person who had not taken the Sacrament
|
|
according to the Anglican rite could not stand as a
|
|
candidate for sheriff of London. Thus Dissenters were
|
|
ineligible; they could not run if asked, they could not
|
|
serve if elected. The aldermen, who without any
|
|
question were Yankees in disguise, hit upon this neat
|
|
device: they passed a by-law imposing a fine of L400
|
|
upon any one who should refuse to be a candidate for
|
|
sheriff, and a fine of L600 upon any person who, after
|
|
being elected sheriff, refused to serve. Then they went
|
|
to work and elected a lot of Dissenters, one after
|
|
another, and kept it up until they had collected
|
|
L15,000 in fines; and there stands the stately Man-
|
|
sion House to this day, to keep the blushing citizen in
|
|
mind of a long past and lamented day when a band of
|
|
Yankees slipped into London and played games of the
|
|
sort that has given their race a unique and shady
|
|
reputation among all truly good and holy peoples that
|
|
be in the earth.
|
|
|
|
The girl's case seemed strong to me; the bishop's
|
|
case was just as strong. I did not see how the king
|
|
was going to get out of this hole. But he got out. I
|
|
append his decision:
|
|
|
|
"Truly I find small difficulty here, the matter being
|
|
even a child's affair for simpleness. An the young
|
|
bride had conveyed notice, as in duty bound, to her
|
|
feudal lord and proper master and protector the bishop,
|
|
she had suffered no loss, for the said bishop could have
|
|
got a dispensation making him, for temporary con-
|
|
veniency, eligible to the exercise of his said right, and
|
|
thus would she have kept all she had. Whereas, fail-
|
|
ing in her first duty, she hath by that failure failed in
|
|
all; for whoso, clinging to a rope, severeth it above
|
|
his hands, must fall; it being no defense to claim that
|
|
the rest of the rope is sound, neither any deliverance
|
|
from his peril, as he shall find. Pardy, the woman's
|
|
case is rotten at the source. It is the decree of the
|
|
court that she forfeit to the said lord bishop all her
|
|
goods, even to the last farthing that she doth possess,
|
|
and be thereto mulcted in the costs. Next!"
|
|
|
|
Here was a tragic end to a beautiful honeymoon not
|
|
yet three months old. Poor young creatures! They
|
|
had lived these three months lapped to the lips in
|
|
worldly comforts. These clothes and trinkets they
|
|
were wearing were as fine and dainty as the shrewdest
|
|
stretch of the sumptuary laws allowed to people of
|
|
their degree; and in these pretty clothes, she crying
|
|
on his shoulder, and he trying to comfort her with
|
|
hopeful words set to the music of despair, they went
|
|
from the judgment seat out into the world homeless,
|
|
bedless, breadless; why, the very beggars by the road-
|
|
sides were not so poor as they.
|
|
|
|
Well, the king was out of the hole; and on terms
|
|
satisfactory to the Church and the rest of the aristoc-
|
|
racy, no doubt. Men write many fine and plausible
|
|
arguments in support of monarchy, but the fact re-
|
|
mains that where every man in a State has a vote,
|
|
brutal laws are impossible. Arthur's people were of
|
|
course poor material for a republic, because they had
|
|
been debased so long by monarchy; and yet even they
|
|
would have been intelligent enough to make short work
|
|
of that law which the king had just been administering
|
|
if it had been submitted to their full and free vote.
|
|
There is a phrase which has grown so common in the
|
|
world's mouth that it has come to seem to have sense
|
|
and meaning -- the sense and meaning implied when it
|
|
is used; that is the phrase which refers to this or that
|
|
or the other nation as possibly being "capable of self-
|
|
government"; and the implied sense of it is, that there
|
|
has been a nation somewhere, some time or other
|
|
which WASN'T capable of it -- wasn't as able to govern
|
|
itself as some self-appointed specialists were or would
|
|
be to govern it. The master minds of all nations, in
|
|
all ages, have sprung in affluent multitude from the
|
|
mass of the nation, and from the mass of the nation
|
|
only -- not from its privileged classes; and so, no
|
|
matter what the nation's intellectual grade was; whether
|
|
high or low, the bulk of its ability was in the long
|
|
ranks of its nameless and its poor, and so it never saw
|
|
the day that it had not the material in abundance
|
|
whereby to govern itself. Which is to assert an always
|
|
self-proven fact: that even the best governed and most
|
|
free and most enlightened monarchy is still behind the
|
|
best condition attainable by its people; and that the
|
|
same is true of kindred governments of lower grades,
|
|
all the way down to the lowest.
|
|
|
|
King Arthur had hurried up the army business
|
|
altogether beyond my calculations. I had not sup-
|
|
posed he would move in the matter while I was away;
|
|
and so I had not mapped out a scheme for determining
|
|
the merits of officers; I had only remarked that it
|
|
would be wise to submit every candidate to a sharp
|
|
and searching examination; and privately I meant to
|
|
put together a list of military qualifications that no-
|
|
body could answer to but my West Pointers. That
|
|
ought to have been attended to before I left; for the
|
|
king was so taken with the idea of a standing army
|
|
that he couldn't wait but must get about it at once,
|
|
and get up as good a scheme of examination as he
|
|
could invent out of his own head.
|
|
|
|
I was impatient to see what this was; and to show,
|
|
too, how much more admirable was the one which I
|
|
should display to the Examining Board. I intimated
|
|
this, gently, to the king, and it fired his curiosity
|
|
When the Board was assembled, I followed him in;
|
|
and behind us came the candidates. One of these
|
|
candidates was a bright young West Pointer of mine,
|
|
and with him were a couple of my West Point pro-
|
|
fessors.
|
|
|
|
When I saw the Board, I did not know whether to
|
|
cry or to laugh. The head of it was the officer known
|
|
to later centuries as Norroy King-at-Arms! The two
|
|
other members were chiefs of bureaus in his depart-
|
|
ment; and all three were priests, of course; all officials
|
|
who had to know how to read and write were priests.
|
|
|
|
My candidate was called first, out of courtesy to
|
|
me, and the head of the Board opened on him with
|
|
official solemnity:
|
|
|
|
"Name?"
|
|
|
|
"Mal-ease."
|
|
|
|
"Son of?"
|
|
|
|
"Webster."
|
|
|
|
"Webster -- Webster. H'm -- I -- my memory
|
|
faileth to recall the name. Condition?"
|
|
|
|
"Weaver."
|
|
|
|
"Weaver! -- God keep us!"
|
|
|
|
The king was staggered, from his summit to his
|
|
foundations; one clerk fainted, and the others came
|
|
near it. The chairman pulled himself together, and
|
|
said indignantly:
|
|
|
|
"It is sufficient. Get you hence."
|
|
|
|
But I appealed to the king. I begged that my can-
|
|
didate might be examined. The king was willing, but
|
|
the Board, who were all well-born folk, implored the
|
|
king to spare them the indignity of examining the
|
|
weaver's son. I knew they didn't know enough to
|
|
examine him anyway, so I joined my prayers to theirs
|
|
and the king turned the duty over to my professors.
|
|
I had had a blackboard prepared, and it was put up
|
|
now, and the circus began. It was beautiful to hear
|
|
the lad lay out the science of war, and wallow in de-
|
|
tails of battle and siege, of supply, transportation,
|
|
mining and countermining, grand tactics, big strategy
|
|
and little strategy, signal service, infantry, cavalry,
|
|
artillery, and all about siege guns, field guns, gatling
|
|
guns, rifled guns, smooth bores, musket practice,
|
|
revolver practice -- and not a solitary word of it all
|
|
could these catfish make head or tail of, you under-
|
|
stand -- and it was handsome to see him chalk off
|
|
mathematical nightmares on the blackboard that would
|
|
stump the angels themselves, and do it like nothing,
|
|
too -- all about eclipses, and comets, and solstices, and
|
|
constellations, and mean time, and sidereal time, and
|
|
dinner time, and bedtime, and every other imaginable
|
|
thing above the clouds or under them that you could
|
|
harry or bullyrag an enemy with and make him wish
|
|
he hadn't come -- and when the boy made his military
|
|
salute and stood aside at last, I was proud enough to
|
|
hug him, and all those other people were so dazed they
|
|
looked partly petrified, partly drunk, and wholly caught
|
|
out and snowed under. I judged that the cake was ours,
|
|
and by a large majority.
|
|
|
|
Education is a great thing. This was the same
|
|
youth who had come to West Point so ignorant that
|
|
when I asked him, "If a general officer should have a
|
|
horse shot under him on the field of battle, what ought
|
|
he to do?" answered up naively and said:
|
|
|
|
"Get up and brush himself."
|
|
|
|
One of the young nobles was called up now. I
|
|
thought I would question him a little myself. I said:
|
|
|
|
"Can your lordship read?"
|
|
|
|
His face flushed indignantly, and he fired this at me:
|
|
|
|
"Takest me for a clerk? I trow I am not of a blood
|
|
that --"
|
|
|
|
"Answer the question!"
|
|
|
|
He crowded his wrath down and made out to answer
|
|
"No."
|
|
|
|
"Can you write?"
|
|
|
|
He wanted to resent this, too, but I said:
|
|
|
|
"You will confine yourself to the questions, and
|
|
make no comments. You are not here to air your
|
|
blood or your graces, and nothing of the sort will be
|
|
permitted. Can you write?"
|
|
|
|
"No."
|
|
|
|
"Do you know the multiplication table?"
|
|
|
|
"I wit not what ye refer to."
|
|
|
|
"How much is 9 times 6?"
|
|
|
|
"It is a mystery that is hidden from me by reason
|
|
that the emergency requiring the fathoming of it hath
|
|
not in my life-days occurred, and so, not having no
|
|
need to know this thing, I abide barren of the knowl-
|
|
edge."
|
|
|
|
"If A trade a barrel of onions to B, worth 2 pence
|
|
the bushel, in exchange for a sheep worth 4 pence and
|
|
a dog worth a penny, and C kill the dog before de-
|
|
livery, because bitten by the same, who mistook him
|
|
for D, what sum is still due to A from B, and which
|
|
party pays for the dog, C or D, and who gets the
|
|
money? If A, is the penny sufficient, or may he claim
|
|
consequential damages in the form of additional money
|
|
to represent the possible profit which might have
|
|
inured from the dog, and classifiable as earned incre-
|
|
ment, that is to say, usufruct?"
|
|
|
|
"Verily, in the all-wise and unknowable providence of
|
|
God, who moveth in mysterious ways his wonders to
|
|
perform, have I never heard the fellow to this question
|
|
for confusion of the mind and congestion of the ducts
|
|
of thought. Wherefore I beseech you let the dog and
|
|
the onions and these people of the strange and godless
|
|
names work out their several salvations from their
|
|
piteous and wonderful difficulties without help of mine,
|
|
for indeed their trouble is sufficient as it is, whereas an
|
|
I tried to help I should but damage their cause the
|
|
more and yet mayhap not live myself to see the deso-
|
|
lation wrought."
|
|
|
|
"What do you know of the laws of attraction and
|
|
gravitation?"
|
|
|
|
"If there be such, mayhap his grace the king did pro-
|
|
mulgate them whilst that I lay sick about the beginning
|
|
of the year and thereby failed to hear his proclamation."
|
|
|
|
"What do you know of the science of optics?"
|
|
|
|
"I know of governors of places, and seneschals of
|
|
castles, and sheriffs of counties, and many like small
|
|
offices and titles of honor, but him you call the Science
|
|
of Optics I have not heard of before; peradventure it
|
|
is a new dignity."
|
|
|
|
"Yes, in this country."
|
|
|
|
Try to conceive of this mollusk gravely applying for
|
|
an official position, of any kind under the sun! Why,
|
|
he had all the earmarks of a typewriter copyist, if you
|
|
leave out the disposition to contribute uninvited emen-
|
|
dations of your grammar and punctuation. It was
|
|
unaccountable that he didn't attempt a little help of
|
|
that sort out of his majestic supply of incapacity for
|
|
the job. But that didn't prove that he hadn't material
|
|
in him for the disposition, it only proved that he
|
|
wasn't a typewriter copyist yet. After nagging him a
|
|
little more, I let the professors loose on him and they
|
|
turned him inside out, on the line of scientific war, and
|
|
found him empty, of course. He knew somewhat
|
|
about the warfare of the time -- bushwhacking around
|
|
for ogres, and bull-fights in the tournament ring, and
|
|
such things -- but otherwise he was empty and useless.
|
|
Then we took the other young noble in hand, and he
|
|
was the first one's twin, for ignorance and incapacity.
|
|
I delivered them into the hands of the chairman of the
|
|
Board with the comfortable consciousness that their
|
|
cake was dough. They were examined in the previous
|
|
order of precedence.
|
|
|
|
"Name, so please you?"
|
|
|
|
"Pertipole, son of Sir Pertipole, Baron of Barley
|
|
Mash."
|
|
|
|
"Grandfather?"
|
|
|
|
"Also Sir Pertipole, Baron of Barley Mash."
|
|
|
|
"Great-grandfather?"
|
|
|
|
"The same name and title."
|
|
|
|
"Great-great-grandfather?"
|
|
|
|
"We had none, worshipful sir, the line failing be-
|
|
fore it had reached so far back."
|
|
|
|
"It mattereth not. It is a good four generations,
|
|
and fulfilleth the requirements of the rule."
|
|
|
|
"Fulfills what rule?" I asked.
|
|
|
|
"The rule requiring four generations of nobility or
|
|
else the candidate is not eligible."
|
|
|
|
"A man not eligible for a lieutenancy in the
|
|
army unless he can prove four generations of noble
|
|
descent?"
|
|
|
|
"Even so; neither lieutenant nor any other officer
|
|
may be commissioned without that qualification."
|
|
|
|
"Oh, come, this is an astonishing thing. What
|
|
good is such a qualification as that?"
|
|
|
|
"What good? It is a hardy question, fair sir and
|
|
Boss, since it doth go far to impugn the wisdom of
|
|
even our holy Mother Church herself."
|
|
|
|
"As how?"
|
|
|
|
"For that she hath established the self-same rule
|
|
regarding saints. By her law none may be canonized
|
|
until he hath lain dead four generations."
|
|
|
|
"I see, I see -- it is the same thing. It is wonder-
|
|
ful. In the one case a man lies dead-alive four genera-
|
|
tions -- mummified in ignorance and sloth -- and that
|
|
qualifies him to command live people, and take their
|
|
weal and woe into his impotent hands; and in the
|
|
other case, a man lies bedded with death and worms
|
|
four generations, and that qualifies him for office in the
|
|
celestial camp. Does the king's grace approve of this
|
|
strange law?"
|
|
|
|
The king said:
|
|
|
|
"Why, truly I see naught about it that is strange.
|
|
All places of honor and of profit do belong, by natural
|
|
right, to them that be of noble blood, and so these
|
|
dignities in the army are their property and would be
|
|
so without this or any rule. The rule is but to mark a
|
|
limit. Its purpose is to keep out too recent blood,
|
|
which would bring into contempt these offices, and
|
|
men of lofty lineage would turn their backs and scorn
|
|
to take them. I were to blame an I permitted this
|
|
calamity. YOU can permit it an you are minded so to
|
|
do, for you have the delegated authority, but that the
|
|
king should do it were a most strange madness and not
|
|
comprehensible to any."
|
|
|
|
"I yield. Proceed, sir Chief of the Herald's Col-
|
|
lege. "
|
|
|
|
The chairman resumed as follows:
|
|
|
|
"By what illustrious achievement for the honor of
|
|
the Throne and State did the founder of your great
|
|
line lift himself to the sacred dignity of the British
|
|
nobility?"
|
|
|
|
"He built a brewery."
|
|
|
|
"Sire, the Board finds this candidate perfect in all
|
|
the requirements and qualifications for military com-
|
|
mand, and doth hold his case open for decision after
|
|
due examination of his competitor."
|
|
|
|
The competitor came forward and proved exactly
|
|
four generations of nobility himself. So there was a
|
|
tie in military qualifications that far.
|
|
|
|
He stood aside a moment, and Sir Pertipole was
|
|
questioned further:
|
|
|
|
"Of what condition was the wife of the founder of
|
|
your line?"
|
|
|
|
"She came of the highest landed gentry, yet she
|
|
was not noble; she was gracious and pure and chari-
|
|
table, of a blameless life and character, insomuch that
|
|
in these regards was she peer of the best lady in the
|
|
land."
|
|
|
|
"That will do. Stand down." He called up the
|
|
competing lordling again, and asked: "What was the
|
|
rank and condition of the great-grandmother who con-
|
|
ferred British nobility upon your great house?"
|
|
|
|
"She was a king's leman and did climb to that
|
|
splendid eminence by her own unholpen merit from
|
|
the sewer where she was born."
|
|
|
|
"Ah, this, indeed, is true nobility, this is the right
|
|
and perfect intermixture. The lieutenancy is yours,
|
|
fair lord. Hold it not in contempt; it is the humble
|
|
step which will lead to grandeurs more worthy of the
|
|
splendor of an origin like to thine."
|
|
|
|
I was down in the bottomless pit of humiliation. I
|
|
had promised myself an easy and zenith-scouring
|
|
triumph, and this was the outcome!
|
|
|
|
I was almost ashamed to look my poor disappointed
|
|
cadet in the face. I told him to go home and be
|
|
patient, this wasn't the end.
|
|
|
|
I had a private audience with the king, and made a
|
|
proposition. I said it was quite right to officer that
|
|
regiment with nobilities, and he couldn't have done a
|
|
wiser thing. It would also be a good idea to add five
|
|
hundred officers to it; in fact, add as many officers
|
|
as there were nobles and relatives of nobles in the
|
|
country, even if there should finally be five times as
|
|
many officers as privates in it; and thus make it the
|
|
crack regiment, the envied regiment, the King's Own
|
|
regiment, and entitled to fight on its own hook and in
|
|
its own way, and go whither it would and come when
|
|
it pleased, in time of war, and be utterly swell and
|
|
independent. This would make that regiment the
|
|
heart's desire of all the nobility, and they would all
|
|
be satisfied and happy. Then we would make up the
|
|
rest of the standing army out of commonplace materi-
|
|
als, and officer it with nobodies, as was proper --
|
|
nobodies selected on a basis of mere efficiency -- and
|
|
we would make this regiment toe the line, allow it no
|
|
aristocratic freedom from restraint, and force it to do
|
|
all the work and persistent hammering, to the end that
|
|
whenever the King's Own was tired and wanted to go
|
|
off for a change and rummage around amongst ogres
|
|
and have a good time, it could go without uneasiness,
|
|
knowing that matters were in safe hands behind it, and
|
|
business going to be continued at the old stand, same
|
|
as usual. The king was charmed with the idea.
|
|
|
|
When I noticed that, it gave me a valuable notion.
|
|
I thought I saw my way out of an old and stubborn
|
|
difficulty at last. You see, the royalties of the Pen-
|
|
dragon stock were a long-lived race and very fruitful.
|
|
Whenever a child was born to any of these -- and it
|
|
was pretty often -- there was wild joy in the nation's
|
|
mouth, and piteous sorrow in the nation's heart. The
|
|
joy was questionable, but the grief was honest. Be-
|
|
cause the event meant another call for a Royal Grant.
|
|
Long was the list of these royalties, and they were a
|
|
heavy and steadily increasing burden upon the treasury
|
|
and a menace to the crown. Yet Arthur could not
|
|
believe this latter fact, and he would not listen to any
|
|
of my various projects for substituting something in
|
|
the place of the royal grants. If I could have per-
|
|
suaded him to now and then provide a support for one
|
|
of these outlying scions from his own pocket, I could
|
|
have made a grand to-do over it, and it would have
|
|
had a good effect with the nation; but no, he wouldn't
|
|
hear of such a thing. He had something like a
|
|
religious passion for royal grant; he seemed to look
|
|
upon it as a sort of sacred swag, and one could not
|
|
irritate him in any way so quickly and so surely as by
|
|
an attack upon that venerable institution. If I ven-
|
|
tured to cautiously hint that there was not another
|
|
respectable family in England that would humble itself
|
|
to hold out the hat -- however, that is as far as I ever
|
|
got; he always cut me short there, and peremptorily,
|
|
too.
|
|
|
|
But I believed I saw my chance at last. I would
|
|
form this crack regiment out of officers alone -- not a
|
|
single private. Half of it should consist of nobles,
|
|
who should fill all the places up to Major-General, and
|
|
serve gratis and pay their own expenses; and they
|
|
would be glad to do this when they should learn that
|
|
the rest of the regiment would consist exclusively of
|
|
princes of the blood. These princes of the blood should
|
|
range in rank from Lieutenant-General up to Field
|
|
Marshal, and be gorgeously salaried and equipped and
|
|
fed by the state. Moreover -- and this was the master
|
|
stroke -- it should be decreed that these princely gran-
|
|
dees should be always addressed by a stunningly gaudy
|
|
and awe-compelling title (which I would presently in-
|
|
vent), and they and they only in all England should
|
|
be so addressed. Finally, all princes of the blood
|
|
should have free choice; join that regiment, get that
|
|
great title, and renounce the royal grant, or stay out
|
|
and receive a grant. Neatest touch of all: unborn but
|
|
imminent princes of the blood could be BORN into the
|
|
regiment, and start fair, with good wages and a per-
|
|
manent situation, upon due notice from the parents.
|
|
|
|
All the boys would join, I was sure of that; so, all
|
|
existing grants would be relinquished; that the newly
|
|
born would always join was equally certain. Within
|
|
sixty days that quaint and bizarre anomaly, the Royal
|
|
Grant, would cease to be a living fact, and take its
|
|
place among the curiosities of the past.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XXVI.
|
|
THE FIRST NEWSPAPER
|
|
|
|
WHEN I told the king I was going out disguised as
|
|
a petty freeman to scour the country and
|
|
familiarize myself with the humbler life of the people,
|
|
he was all afire with the novelty of the thing in a
|
|
minute, and was bound to take a chance in the adven-
|
|
ture himself -- nothing should stop him -- he would
|
|
drop everything and go along -- it was the prettiest
|
|
idea he had run across for many a day. He wanted
|
|
to glide out the back way and start at once; but I
|
|
showed him that that wouldn't answer. You see, he
|
|
was billed for the king's-evil -- to touch for it, I mean
|
|
-- and it wouldn't be right to disappoint the house
|
|
and it wouldn't make a delay worth considering, any-
|
|
way, it was only a one-night stand. And I thought
|
|
he ought to tell the queen he was going away. He
|
|
clouded up at that and looked sad. I was sorry I had
|
|
spoken, especially when he said mournfully:
|
|
|
|
"Thou forgettest that Launcelot is here; and where
|
|
Launcelot is, she noteth not the going forth of the
|
|
king, nor what day he returneth."
|
|
|
|
Of course, I changed the Subject. Yes, Guenever
|
|
was beautiful, it is true, but take her all around she
|
|
was pretty slack. I never meddled in these matters,
|
|
they weren't my affair, but I did hate to see the way
|
|
things were going on, and I don't mind saying that
|
|
much. Many's the time she had asked me, "Sir
|
|
Boss, hast seen Sir Launcelot about?" but if ever she
|
|
went fretting around for the king I didn't happen to be
|
|
around at the time.
|
|
|
|
There was a very good lay-out for the king's-evil
|
|
business -- very tidy and creditable. The king sat
|
|
under a canopy of state; about him were clustered a
|
|
large body of the clergy in full canonicals. Conspicu-
|
|
ous, both for location and personal outfit, stood
|
|
Marinel, a hermit of the quack-doctor species, to
|
|
introduce the sick. All abroad over the spacious
|
|
floor, and clear down to the doors, in a thick jumble,
|
|
lay or sat the scrofulous, under a strong light. It
|
|
was as good as a tableau; in fact, it had all the look
|
|
of being gotten up for that, though it wasn't. There
|
|
were eight hundred sick people present. The work
|
|
was slow; it lacked the interest of novelty for me,
|
|
because I had seen the ceremonies before; the thing
|
|
soon became tedious, but the proprieties required me
|
|
to stick it out. The doctor was there for the reason
|
|
that in all such crowds there were many people who
|
|
only imagined something was the matter with them,
|
|
and many who were consciously sound but wanted the
|
|
immortal honor of fleshly contact with a king, and yet
|
|
others who pretended to illness in order to get the
|
|
piece of coin that went with the touch. Up to this
|
|
time this coin had been a wee little gold piece worth
|
|
about a third of a dollar. When you consider how
|
|
much that amount of money would buy, in that age
|
|
and country, and how usual it was to be scrofulous,
|
|
when not dead, you would understand that the annual
|
|
king's-evil appropriation was just the River and Harbor
|
|
bill of that government for the grip it took on the
|
|
treasury and the chance it afforded for skinning the
|
|
surplus. So I had privately concluded to touch the
|
|
treasury itself for the king's-evil. I covered six-
|
|
sevenths of the appropriation into the treasury a week
|
|
before starting from Camelot on my adventures, and
|
|
ordered that the other seventh be inflated into five-
|
|
cent nickels and delivered into the hands of the head
|
|
clerk of the King's Evil Department; a nickel to take
|
|
the place of each gold coin, you see, and do its work
|
|
for it. It might strain the nickel some, but I judged it
|
|
could stand it. As a rule, I do not approve of water-
|
|
ing stock, but I considered it square enough in this
|
|
case, for it was just a gift, anyway. Of course, you
|
|
can water a gift as much as you want to; and I gener-
|
|
ally do. The old gold and silver coins of the country
|
|
were of ancient and unknown origin, as a rule, but
|
|
some of them were Roman; they were ill-shapen, and
|
|
seldom rounder than a moon that is a week past the
|
|
full; they were hammered, not minted, and they were
|
|
so worn with use that the devices upon them were as
|
|
illegible as blisters, and looked like them. I judged
|
|
that a sharp, bright new nickel, with a first-rate like-
|
|
ness of the king on one side of it and Guenever on the
|
|
other, and a blooming pious motto, would take the
|
|
tuck out of scrofula as handy as a nobler coin and
|
|
please the scrofulous fancy more; and I was right.
|
|
This batch was the first it was tried on, and it worked
|
|
to a charm. The saving in expense was a notable
|
|
economy. You will see that by these figures: We
|
|
touched a trifle over 700 of the 800 patients; at former
|
|
rates, this would have cost the government about
|
|
$240; at the new rate we pulled through for about
|
|
$35, thus saving upward of $200 at one swoop. To
|
|
appreciate the full magnitude of this stroke, consider
|
|
these other figures: the annual expenses of a national
|
|
government amount to the equivalent of a contribution
|
|
of three days' average wages of every individual of the
|
|
population, counting every individual as if he were a
|
|
man. If you take a nation of 60,000,000, where
|
|
average wages are $2 per day, three days' wages taken
|
|
from each individual will provide $360,000,000 and
|
|
pay the government's expenses. In my day, in my
|
|
own country, this money was collected from imposts,
|
|
and the citizen imagined that the foreign importer paid
|
|
it, and it made him comfortable to think so; whereas,
|
|
in fact, it was paid by the American people, and was
|
|
so equally and exactly distributed among them that
|
|
the annual cost to the 100-millionaire and the annual
|
|
cost to the sucking child of the day-laborer was pre-
|
|
cisely the same -- each paid $6. Nothing could be
|
|
equaler than that, I reckon. Well, Scotland and
|
|
Ireland were tributary to Arthur, and the united popu-
|
|
lations of the British Islands amounted to something
|
|
less than 1,OOO,OOO. A mechanic's average wage was
|
|
3 cents a day, when he paid his own keep. By this
|
|
rule the national government's expenses were $90,000
|
|
a year, or about $250 a day. Thus, by the substitu-
|
|
tion of nickels for gold on a king's-evil day, I not
|
|
only injured no one, dissatisfied no one, but pleased
|
|
all concerned and saved four-fifths of that day's
|
|
national expense into the bargain -- a saving which
|
|
would have been the equivalent of $800,000 in my
|
|
day in America. In making this substitution I had
|
|
drawn upon the wisdom of a very remote source -- the
|
|
wisdom of my boyhood -- for the true statesman does
|
|
not despise any wisdom, howsoever lowly may be its
|
|
origin: in my boyhood I had always saved my pennies
|
|
and contributed buttons to the foreign missionary
|
|
cause. The buttons would answer the ignorant savage
|
|
as well as the coin, the coin would answer me better
|
|
than the buttons; all hands were happy and nobody
|
|
hurt.
|
|
|
|
Marinel took the patients as they came. He ex-
|
|
amined the candidate; if he couldn't qualify he was
|
|
warned off; if he could he was passed along to the
|
|
king. A priest pronounced the words, "They shall
|
|
lay their hands on the sick, and they shall recover."
|
|
Then the king stroked the ulcers, while the reading
|
|
continued; finally, the patient graduated and got his
|
|
nickel -- the king hanging it around his neck himself --
|
|
and was dismissed. Would you think that that would
|
|
cure? It certainly did. Any mummery will cure if
|
|
the patient's faith is strong in it. Up by Astolat there
|
|
was a chapel where the Virgin had once appeared to a
|
|
girl who used to herd geese around there -- the girl
|
|
said so herself -- and they built the chapel upon that
|
|
spot and hung a picture in it representing the occur-
|
|
rence -- a picture which you would think it dangerous
|
|
for a sick person to approach; whereas, on the con-
|
|
trary, thousands of the lame and the sick came and
|
|
prayed before it every year and went away whole and
|
|
sound; and even the well could look upon it and live.
|
|
Of course, when I was told these things I did not be-
|
|
lieve them; but when I went there and saw them I had
|
|
to succumb. I saw the cures effected myself; and
|
|
they were real cures and not questionable. I saw
|
|
cripples whom I had seen around Camelot for years
|
|
on crutches, arrive and pray before that picture, and
|
|
put down their crutches and walk off without a limp.
|
|
There were piles of crutches there which had been left
|
|
by such people as a testimony.
|
|
|
|
In other places people operated on a patient's mind,
|
|
without saying a word to him, and cured him. In
|
|
others, experts assembled patients in a room and
|
|
prayed over them, and appealed to their faith, and
|
|
those patients went away cured. Wherever you find a
|
|
king who can't cure the king's-evil you can be sure
|
|
that the most valuable superstition that supports his
|
|
throne -- the subject's belief in the divine appointment
|
|
of his sovereign -- has passed away. In my youth the
|
|
monarchs of England had ceased to touch for the evil,
|
|
but there was no occasion for this diffidence: they
|
|
could have cured it forty-nine times in fifty.
|
|
|
|
Well, when the priest had been droning for three
|
|
hours, and the good king polishing the evidences, and
|
|
the sick were still pressing forward as plenty as ever, I
|
|
got to feeling intolerably bored. I was sitting by an
|
|
open window not far from the canopy of state. For
|
|
the five hundredth time a patient stood forward to have
|
|
his repulsivenesses stroked; again those words were
|
|
being droned out: "they shall lay their hands on the
|
|
sick" -- when outside there rang clear as a clarion a
|
|
note that enchanted my soul and tumbled thirteen
|
|
worthless centuries about my ears: "Camelot WEEKLY
|
|
HOSANNAH AND LITERARY VOLCANO! -- latest irruption --
|
|
only two cents -- all about the big miracle in the
|
|
Valley of Holiness!" One greater than kings had
|
|
arrived -- the newsboy. But I was the only person in
|
|
all that throng who knew the meaning of this mighty
|
|
birth, and what this imperial magician was come into
|
|
the world to do.
|
|
|
|
I dropped a nickel out of the window and got my
|
|
paper; the Adam-newsboy of the world went around
|
|
the corner to get my change; is around the corner
|
|
yet. It was delicious to see a newspaper again, yet I
|
|
was conscious of a secret shock when my eye fell upon
|
|
the first batch of display head-lines. I had lived in a
|
|
clammy atmosphere of reverence, respect, deference,
|
|
so long that they sent a quivery little cold wave
|
|
through me:
|
|
|
|
HIGH TIMES IN THE VALLEY
|
|
|
|
OF HOLINESS!
|
|
|
|
----
|
|
|
|
THE WATER-WORKS CORKED!
|
|
|
|
----
|
|
|
|
BRER MERLIN WORKS HIS ARTS, BUT GETS
|
|
LEFT?
|
|
|
|
----
|
|
|
|
But the Boss scores on his first Innings!
|
|
|
|
----
|
|
|
|
The Miraculous Well Uncorked amid
|
|
awful outbursts of
|
|
|
|
INFERNAL FIRE AND SMOKE
|
|
ATHUNDER!
|
|
|
|
----
|
|
|
|
THE BUZZARD-ROOST ASTONISHED!
|
|
|
|
----
|
|
|
|
UNPARALLELED REJOIBINGS!
|
|
|
|
-- and so on, and so on. Yes, it was too loud. Once
|
|
I could have enjoyed it and seen nothing out of the
|
|
way about it, but now its note was discordant. It was
|
|
good Arkansas journalism, but this was not Arkansas.
|
|
Moreover, the next to the last line was calculated to
|
|
give offense to the hermits, and perhaps lose us their
|
|
advertising. Indeed, there was too lightsome a tone
|
|
of flippancy all through the paper. It was plain I had
|
|
undergone a considerable change without noticing it.
|
|
I found myself unpleasantly affected by pert little
|
|
irreverencies which would have seemed but proper and
|
|
airy graces of speech at an earlier period of my life.
|
|
There was an abundance of the following breed of
|
|
items, and they discomforted me:
|
|
|
|
LOCAL SMOKE AND CINDERS.
|
|
|
|
Sir Launcelot met up with old King
|
|
Agrivance of Ireland unexpectedly last
|
|
weok over on the moor south of Sir
|
|
Balmoral le Merveilleuse's hog dasture.
|
|
The widow has been notified.
|
|
|
|
Expedition No. 3 will start adout the
|
|
first of mext month on a search f8r Sir
|
|
Sagramour le Desirous. It is in com-
|
|
and of the renowned Knight of the Red
|
|
Lawns, assissted by Sir Persant of Inde,
|
|
who is compete9t. intelligent, courte-
|
|
ous, and in every way a brick, and fur-
|
|
tHer assisted by Sir Palamides the Sara-
|
|
cen, who is no huckleberry hinself.
|
|
This is no pic-nic, these boys mean
|
|
busine&s.
|
|
|
|
The readers of the Hosannah will re-
|
|
gret to learn that the hadndsome and
|
|
popular Sir Charolais of Gaul, who dur-
|
|
ing his four weeks' stay at the Bull and
|
|
Halibut, this city, has won every heart
|
|
by his polished manners and elegant
|
|
cPnversation, will pUll out to-day for
|
|
home. Give us another call, Charley!
|
|
|
|
The bdsiness end of the funeral of
|
|
the late Sir Dalliance the duke's son of
|
|
Cornwall, killed in an encounter with
|
|
the Giant of the Knotted Bludgeon last
|
|
Tuesday on the borders of the Plain of
|
|
Enchantment was in the hands of the
|
|
ever affable and efficient Mumble,
|
|
prince of un3ertakers, then whom there
|
|
exists none by whom it were a more
|
|
satisfying pleasure to have the last sad
|
|
offices performed. Give him a trial.
|
|
|
|
The cordial thanks of the Hosannah
|
|
office are due, from editor down to
|
|
devil, to the ever courteous and thought-
|
|
ful Lord High Stew d of the Palace's
|
|
Third Assistant V t for several sau-
|
|
ceTs of ice crEam a quality calculated
|
|
to make the ey of the recipients hu-
|
|
mid with grt ude; and it done it.
|
|
When this administration wants to
|
|
chalk up a desirable name for early
|
|
promotion, the Hosannah would like a
|
|
chance to sudgest.
|
|
|
|
The Demoiselle Irene Dewlap, of
|
|
South Astolat, is visiting her uncle, the
|
|
popular host of the Cattlemen's Board-
|
|
ing Ho&se, Liver Lane, this city.
|
|
|
|
Young Barker the bellows-mender is
|
|
hoMe again, and looks much improved
|
|
by his vacation round-up among the out-
|
|
lying smithies. See his ad.
|
|
|
|
Of course it was good enough journalism for a be-
|
|
ginning; I knew that quite well, and yet it was some-
|
|
how disappointing. The "Court Circular" pleased
|
|
me better; indeed, its simple and dignified respect-
|
|
fulness was a distinct refreshment to me after all those
|
|
disgraceful familiarities. But even it could have been
|
|
improved. Do what one may, there is no getting an
|
|
air of variety into a court circular, I acknowledge that.
|
|
There is a profound monotonousness about its facts
|
|
that baffles and defeats one's sincerest efforts to make
|
|
them sparkle and enthuse. The best way to manage --
|
|
in fact, the only sensible way -- is to disguise repeti-
|
|
tiousness of fact under variety of form: skin your fact
|
|
each time and lay on a new cuticle of words. It de-
|
|
ceives the eye; you think it is a new fact; it gives you
|
|
the idea that the court is carrying on like everything;
|
|
this excites you, and you drain the whole column, with
|
|
a good appetite, and perhaps never notice that it's a
|
|
barrel of soup made out of a single bean. Clarence's
|
|
way was good, it was simple, it was dignified, it was
|
|
direct and business-like; all I say is, it was not the
|
|
best way:
|
|
|
|
COURT CIRCULAR.
|
|
|
|
On Monday, the king rode in the park.
|
|
" Tuesday, " " "
|
|
" Wendesday " " "
|
|
" Thursday " " "
|
|
" Friday, " " "
|
|
" Saturday " " "
|
|
" Sunday, " " "
|
|
|
|
However, take the paper by and large, I was vastly
|
|
pleased with it. Little crudities of a mechanical sort
|
|
were observable here and there, but there were not
|
|
enough of them to amount to anything, and it was
|
|
good enough Arkansas proof-reading, anyhow, and
|
|
better than was needed in Arthur's day and realm.
|
|
As a rule, the grammar was leaky and the construc-
|
|
tion more or less lame; but I did not much mind these
|
|
things. They are common defects of my own, and
|
|
one mustn't criticise other people on grounds where he
|
|
can't stand perpendicular himself.
|
|
|
|
I was hungry enough for literature to want to take
|
|
down the whole paper at this one meal, but I got only
|
|
a few bites, and then had to postpone, because the
|
|
monks around me besieged me so with eager ques-
|
|
tions: What is this curious thing? What is it for? Is
|
|
it a handkerchief? -- saddle blanket? -- part of a shirt?
|
|
What is it made of? How thin it is, and how dainty
|
|
and frail; and how it rattles. Will it wear, do you
|
|
think, and won't the rain injure it? Is it writing that
|
|
appears on it, or is it only ornamentation? They sus-
|
|
pected it was writing, because those among them who
|
|
knew how to read Latin and had a smattering of
|
|
Greek, recognized some of the letters, but they could
|
|
make nothing out of the result as a whole. I put my
|
|
information in the simplest form I could:
|
|
|
|
"It is a public journal; I will explain what that is,
|
|
another time. It is not cloth, it is made of paper;
|
|
some time I will explain what paper is. The lines on
|
|
it are reading matter; and not written by hand, but
|
|
printed; by and by I will explain what printing is. A
|
|
thousand of these sheets have been made, all exactly
|
|
like this, in every minute detail -- they can't be told
|
|
apart." Then they all broke out with exclamations of
|
|
surprise and admiration:
|
|
|
|
"A thousand! Verily a mighty work -- a year's
|
|
work for many men."
|
|
|
|
"No -- merely a day's work for a man and a boy."
|
|
|
|
They crossed themselves, and whiffed out a protec-
|
|
tive prayer or two.
|
|
|
|
"Ah-h -- a miracle, a wonder! Dark work of en-
|
|
chantment."
|
|
|
|
I let it go at that. Then I read in a low voice, to as
|
|
many as could crowd their shaven heads within hearing
|
|
distance, part of the account of the miracle of the
|
|
restoration of the well, and was accompanied by aston-
|
|
ished and reverent ejaculations all through: "Ah-h-h!"
|
|
"How true!" "Amazing, amazing!" "These be
|
|
the very haps as they happened, in marvelous exact-
|
|
ness!" And might they take this strange thing in
|
|
their hands, and feel of it and examine it? -- they
|
|
would be very careful. Yes. So they took it, hand-
|
|
ling it as cautiously and devoutly as if it had been
|
|
some holy thing come from some supernatural region;
|
|
and gently felt of its texture, caressed its pleasant
|
|
smooth surface with lingering touch, and scanned the
|
|
mysterious characters with fascinated eyes. These
|
|
grouped bent heads, these charmed faces, these speak-
|
|
ing eyes -- how beautiful to me! For was not this my
|
|
darling, and was not all this mute wonder and interest
|
|
and homage a most eloquent tribute and unforced
|
|
compliment to it? I knew, then, how a mother feels
|
|
when women, whether strangers or friends, take her
|
|
new baby, and close themselves about it with one
|
|
eager impulse, and bend their heads over it in a
|
|
tranced adoration that makes all the rest of the uni-
|
|
verse vanish out of their consciousness and be as if it
|
|
were not, for that time. I knew how she feels, and
|
|
that there is no other satisfied ambition, whether of
|
|
king, conqueror, or poet, that ever reaches half-way to
|
|
that serene far summit or yields half so divine a con-
|
|
tentment.
|
|
|
|
During all the rest of the seance my paper traveled
|
|
from group to group all up and down and about that
|
|
huge hall, and my happy eye was upon it always, and
|
|
I sat motionless, steeped in satisfaction, drunk with
|
|
enjoyment. Yes, this was heaven; I was tasting it
|
|
once, if I might never taste it more.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XXVII.
|
|
THE YANKEE AND THE KING TRAVEL INCOGNITO
|
|
|
|
ABOUT bedtime I took the king to my private
|
|
quarters to cut his hair and help him get the
|
|
hang of the lowly raiment he was to wear. The high
|
|
classes wore their hair banged across the forehead but
|
|
hanging to the shoulders the rest of the way around,
|
|
whereas the lowest ranks of commoners were banged
|
|
fore and aft both; the slaves were bangless, and
|
|
allowed their hair free growth. So I inverted a bowl
|
|
over his head and cut away all the locks that hung
|
|
below it. I also trimmed his whiskers and mustache
|
|
until they were only about a half-inch long; and tried
|
|
to do it inartistically, and succeeded. It was a villainous
|
|
disfigurement. When he got his lubberly sandals on,
|
|
and his long robe of coarse brown linen cloth, which
|
|
hung straight from his neck to his ankle-bones, he was
|
|
no longer the comeliest man in his kingdom, but one
|
|
of the unhandsomest and most commonplace and un-
|
|
attractive. We were dressed and barbered alike, and
|
|
could pass for small farmers, or farm bailiffs, or
|
|
shepherds, or carters; yes, or for village artisans, if
|
|
we chose, our costume being in effect universal among
|
|
the poor, because of its strength and cheapness. I
|
|
don't mean that it was really cheap to a very poor
|
|
person, but I do mean that it was the cheapest material
|
|
there was for male attire -- manufactured material, you
|
|
understand.
|
|
|
|
We slipped away an hour before dawn, and by broad
|
|
sun-up had made eight or ten miles, and were in the
|
|
midst of a sparsely settled country. I had a pretty
|
|
heavy knapsack; it was laden with provisions -- pro-
|
|
visions for the king to taper down on, till he could
|
|
take to the coarse fare of the country without damage.
|
|
|
|
I found a comfortable seat for the king by the road-
|
|
side, and then gave him a morsel or two to stay his
|
|
stomach with. Then I said I would find some water
|
|
for him, and strolled away. Part of my project was to
|
|
get out of sight and sit down and rest a little myself.
|
|
It had always been my custom to stand when in his
|
|
presence; even at the council board, except upon
|
|
those rare occasions when the sitting was a very long
|
|
one, extending over hours; then I had a trifling little
|
|
backless thing which was like a reversed culvert and
|
|
was as comfortable as the toothache. I didn't want to
|
|
break him in suddenly, but do it by degrees. We
|
|
should have to sit together now when in company, or
|
|
people would notice; but it would not be good politics
|
|
for me to be playing equality with him when there was
|
|
no necessity for it.
|
|
|
|
I found the water some three hundred yards away,
|
|
and had been resting about twenty minutes, when I
|
|
heard voices. That is all right, I thought -- peasants
|
|
going to work; nobody else likely to be stirring this
|
|
early. But the next moment these comers jingled into
|
|
sight around a turn of the road -- smartly clad people
|
|
of quality, with luggage-mules and servants in their
|
|
train! I was off like a shot, through the bushes, by
|
|
the shortest cut. For a while it did seem that these
|
|
people would pass the king before I could get to him;
|
|
but desperation gives you wings, you know, and I
|
|
canted my body forward, inflated my breast, and held
|
|
my breath and flew. I arrived. And in plenty good
|
|
enough time, too.
|
|
|
|
"Pardon, my king, but it's no time for ceremony --
|
|
jump! Jump to your feet -- some quality are coming!"
|
|
|
|
"Is that a marvel? Let them come."
|
|
|
|
"But my liege! You must not be seen sitting.
|
|
Rise! -- and stand in humble posture while they pass.
|
|
You are a peasant, you know."
|
|
|
|
"True -- I had forgot it, so lost was I in planning
|
|
of a huge war with Gaul" -- he was up by this time,
|
|
but a farm could have got up quicker, if there was
|
|
any kind of a boom in real estate -- "and right-so a
|
|
thought came randoming overthwart this majestic
|
|
dream the which --"
|
|
|
|
"A humbler attitude, my lord the king -- and
|
|
quick! Duck your head! -- more! -- still more! --
|
|
droop it!"
|
|
|
|
He did his honest best, but lord, it was no great
|
|
things. He looked as humble as the leaning tower at
|
|
Pisa. It is the most you could say of it. Indeed, it
|
|
was such a thundering poor success that it raised
|
|
wondering scowls all along the line, and a gorgeous
|
|
flunkey at the tail end of it raised his whip; but I
|
|
jumped in time and was under it when it fell; and
|
|
under cover of the volley of coarse laughter which fol-
|
|
lowed, I spoke up sharply and warned the king to take
|
|
no notice. He mastered himself for the moment, but
|
|
it was a sore tax; he wanted to eat up the procession.
|
|
I said:
|
|
|
|
"It would end our adventures at the very start;
|
|
and we, being without weapons, could do nothing with
|
|
that armed gang. If we are going to succeed in our
|
|
emprise, we must not only look the peasant but act
|
|
the peasant."
|
|
|
|
"It is wisdom; none can gainsay it. Let us go on,
|
|
Sir Boss. I will take note and learn, and do the best
|
|
I may."
|
|
|
|
He kept his word. He did the best he could, but
|
|
I've seen better. If you have ever seen an active,
|
|
heedless, enterprising child going diligently out of
|
|
one mischief and into another all day long, and an
|
|
anxious mother at its heels all the while, and just
|
|
saving it by a hair from drowning itself or breaking
|
|
its neck with each new experiment, you've seen the
|
|
king and me.
|
|
|
|
If I could have foreseen what the thing was going to
|
|
be like, I should have said, No, if anybody wants to
|
|
make his living exhibiting a king as a peasant, let him
|
|
take the layout; I can do better with a menagerie, and
|
|
last longer. And yet, during the first three days I
|
|
never allowed him to enter a hut or other dwelling. If
|
|
he could pass muster anywhere during his early
|
|
novitiate it would be in small inns and on the road;
|
|
so to these places we confined ourselves. Yes, he
|
|
certainly did the best he could, but what of that? He
|
|
didn't improve a bit that I could see.
|
|
|
|
He was always frightening me, always breaking out
|
|
with fresh astonishers, in new and unexpected places.
|
|
Toward evening on the second day, what does he do
|
|
but blandly fetch out a dirk from inside his robe!
|
|
|
|
"Great guns, my liege, where did you get that?"
|
|
|
|
"From a smuggler at the inn, yester eve."
|
|
|
|
"What in the world possessed you to buy it?"
|
|
|
|
"We have escaped divers dangers by wit -- thy wit
|
|
-- but I have bethought me that it were but prudence
|
|
if I bore a weapon, too. Thine might fail thee in
|
|
some pinch."
|
|
|
|
"But people of our condition are not allowed to
|
|
carry arms. What would a lord say -- yes, or any
|
|
other person of whatever condition -- if he caught an
|
|
upstart peasant with a dagger on his person?"
|
|
|
|
It was a lucky thing for us that nobody came along
|
|
just then. I persuaded him to throw the dirk away;
|
|
and it was as easy as persuading a child to give up
|
|
some bright fresh new way of killing itself. We walked
|
|
along, silent and thinking. Finally the king said:
|
|
|
|
"When ye know that I meditate a thing incon-
|
|
venient, or that hath a peril in it, why do you not
|
|
warn me to cease from that project?"
|
|
|
|
It was a startling question, and a puzzler. I didn't
|
|
quite know how to take hold of it, or what to say, and
|
|
so, of course, I ended by saying the natural thing:
|
|
|
|
"But, sire, how can I know what your thoughts
|
|
are?"
|
|
|
|
The king stopped dead in his tracks, and stared at
|
|
me.
|
|
|
|
"I believed thou wert greater than Merlin; and
|
|
truly in magic thou art. But prophecy is greater than
|
|
magic. Merlin is a prophet."
|
|
|
|
I saw I had made a blunder. I must get back my
|
|
lost ground. After a deep reflection and careful plan-
|
|
ning, I said:
|
|
|
|
"Sire, I have been misunderstood. I will explain.
|
|
There are two kinds of prophecy. One is the gift to
|
|
foretell things that are but a little way off, the other is
|
|
the gift to foretell things that are whole ages and
|
|
centuries away. Which is the mightier gift, do you
|
|
think?"
|
|
|
|
"Oh, the last, most surely!"
|
|
|
|
"True. Does Merlin possess it?"
|
|
|
|
"Partly, yes. He foretold mysteries about my birth
|
|
and future kingship that were twenty years away."
|
|
|
|
"Has he ever gone beyond that?"
|
|
|
|
"He would not claim more, I think."
|
|
|
|
"It is probably his limit. All prophets have their
|
|
limit. The limit of some of the great prophets has
|
|
been a hundred years."
|
|
|
|
"These are few, I ween."
|
|
|
|
"There have been two still greater ones, whose limit
|
|
was four hundred and six hundred years, and one
|
|
whose limit compassed even seven hundred and
|
|
twenty."
|
|
|
|
"Gramercy, it is marvelous!"
|
|
|
|
"But what are these in comparison with me? They
|
|
are nothing."
|
|
|
|
"What? Canst thou truly look beyond even so
|
|
vast a stretch of time as --"
|
|
|
|
"Seven hundred years? My liege, as clear as the
|
|
vision of an eagle does my prophetic eye penetrate and
|
|
lay bare the future of this world for nearly thirteen
|
|
centuries and a half!"
|
|
|
|
My land, you should have seen the king's eyes
|
|
spread slowly open, and lift the earth's entire atmos-
|
|
phere as much as an inch! That settled Brer Merlin.
|
|
One never had any occasion to prove his facts, with
|
|
these people; all he had to do was to state them. It
|
|
never occurred to anybody to doubt the statement.
|
|
|
|
"Now, then," I continued, "I COULD work both
|
|
kinds of prophecy -- the long and the short -- if I
|
|
chose to take the trouble to keep in practice; but I
|
|
seldom exercise any but the long kind, because the
|
|
other is beneath my dignity. It is properer to Merlin's
|
|
sort -- stump-tail prophets, as we call them in the pro-
|
|
fession. Of course, I whet up now and then and flirt
|
|
out a minor prophecy, but not often -- hardly ever, in
|
|
fact. You will remember that there was great talk,
|
|
when you reached the Valley of Holiness, about my
|
|
having prophesied your coming and the very hour of
|
|
your arrival, two or three days beforehand."
|
|
|
|
"Indeed, yes, I mind it now."
|
|
|
|
"Well, I could have done it as much as forty times
|
|
easier, and piled on a thousand times more detail into
|
|
the bargain, if it had been five hundred years away
|
|
instead of two or three days."
|
|
|
|
"How amazing that it should be so!"
|
|
|
|
"Yes, a genuine expert can always foretell a thing
|
|
that is five hundred years away easier than he can a
|
|
thing that's only five hundred seconds off."
|
|
|
|
"And yet in reason it should clearly be the other
|
|
way; it should be five hundred times as easy to fore-
|
|
tell the last as the first, for, indeed, it is so close by
|
|
that one uninspired might almost see it. In truth, the
|
|
law of prophecy doth contradict the likelihoods, most
|
|
strangely making the difficult easy, and the easy
|
|
difficult."
|
|
|
|
It was a wise head. A peasant's cap was no safe
|
|
disguise for it; you could know it for a king's under a
|
|
diving-bell, if you could hear it work its intellect.
|
|
|
|
I had a new trade now, and plenty of business in it.
|
|
The king was as hungry to find out everything that was
|
|
going to happen during the next thirteen centuries as
|
|
if he were expecting to live in them. From that time
|
|
out, I prophesied myself bald-headed trying to supply
|
|
the demand. I have done some indiscreet things in
|
|
my day, but this thing of playing myself for a prophet
|
|
was the worst. Still, it had its ameliorations. A
|
|
prophet doesn't have to have any brains. They are
|
|
good to have, of course, for the ordinary exigencies of
|
|
life, but they are no use in professional work. It is
|
|
the restfulest vocation there is. When the spirit of
|
|
prophecy comes upon you, you merely cake your
|
|
intellect and lay it off in a cool place for a rest, and
|
|
unship your jaw and leave it alone; it will work itself:
|
|
the result is prophecy.
|
|
|
|
Every day a knight-errant or so came along, and
|
|
the sight of them fired the king's martial spirit every
|
|
time. He would have forgotten himself, sure, and
|
|
said something to them in a style a suspicious shade
|
|
or so above his ostensible degree, and so I always got
|
|
him well out of the road in time. Then he would stand
|
|
and look with all his eyes; and a proud light would
|
|
flash from them, and his nostrils would inflate like a
|
|
war-horse's, and I knew he was longing for a brush
|
|
with them. But about noon of the third day I had
|
|
stopped in the road to take a precaution which had
|
|
been suggested by the whip-stroke that had fallen to
|
|
my share two days before; a precaution which I had
|
|
afterward decided to leave untaken, I was so loath to
|
|
institute it; but now I had just had a fresh reminder:
|
|
while striding heedlessly along, with jaw spread and
|
|
intellect at rest, for I was prophesying, I stubbed my
|
|
toe and fell sprawling. I was so pale I couldn't think
|
|
for a moment; then I got softly and carefully up and
|
|
unstrapped my knapsack. I had that dynamite bomb
|
|
in it, done up in wool in a box. It was a good thing
|
|
to have along; the time would come when I could do
|
|
a valuable miracle with it, maybe, but it was a nervous
|
|
thing to have about me, and I didn't like to ask the
|
|
king to carry it. Yet I must either throw it away or
|
|
think up some safe way to get along with its society.
|
|
I got it out and slipped it into my scrip, and just then
|
|
here came a couple of knights. The king stood,
|
|
stately as a statue, gazing toward them -- had for-
|
|
gotten himself again, of course -- and before I could
|
|
get a word of warning out, it was time for him to skip,
|
|
and well that he did it, too. He supposed they would
|
|
turn aside. Turn aside to avoid trampling peasant dirt
|
|
under foot? When had he ever turned aside himself --
|
|
or ever had the chance to do it, if a peasant saw him
|
|
or any other noble knight in time to judiciously save
|
|
him the trouble? The knights paid no attention to
|
|
the king at all; it was his place to look out himself,
|
|
and if he hadn't skipped he would have been placidly
|
|
ridden down, and laughed at besides.
|
|
|
|
The king was in a flaming fury, and launched out
|
|
his challenge and epithets with a most royal vigor.
|
|
The knights were some little distance by now. They
|
|
halted, greatly surprised, and turned in their saddles
|
|
and looked back, as if wondering if it might be worth
|
|
while to bother with such scum as we. Then they
|
|
wheeled and started for us. Not a moment must be
|
|
lost. I started for THEM. I passed them at a rattling
|
|
gait, and as I went by I flung out a hair-lifting soul-
|
|
scorching thirteen-jointed insult which made the king's
|
|
effort poor and cheap by comparison. I got it out of
|
|
the nineteenth century where they know how. They
|
|
had such headway that they were nearly to the king
|
|
before they could check up; then, frantic with rage,
|
|
they stood up their horses on their hind hoofs and
|
|
whirled them around, and the next moment here they
|
|
came, breast to breast. I was seventy yards off, then,
|
|
and scrambling up a great bowlder at the roadside.
|
|
When they were within thirty yards of me they let their
|
|
long lances droop to a level, depressed their mailed
|
|
heads, and so, with their horse-hair plumes streaming
|
|
straight out behind, most gallant to see, this lightning
|
|
express came tearing for me! When they were within
|
|
fifteen yards, I sent that bomb with a sure aim, and it
|
|
struck the ground just under the horses' noses.
|
|
|
|
Yes, it was a neat thing, very neat and pretty to
|
|
see. It resembled a steamboat explosion on the Mis-
|
|
sissippi; and during the next fifteen minutes we stood
|
|
under a steady drizzle of microscopic fragments of
|
|
knights and hardware and horse-flesh. I say we, for
|
|
the king joined the audience, of course, as soon as he
|
|
had got his breath again. There was a hole there
|
|
which would afford steady work for all the people in
|
|
that region for some years to come -- in trying to ex-
|
|
plain it, I mean; as for filling it up, that service would
|
|
be comparatively prompt, and would fall to the lot of
|
|
a select few -- peasants of that seignory; and they
|
|
wouldn't get anything for it, either.
|
|
|
|
But I explained it to the king myself. I said it was
|
|
done with a dynamite bomb, This information did
|
|
him no damage, because it left him as intelligent as he
|
|
was before. However, it was a noble miracle, in his
|
|
eyes, and was another settler for Merlin. I thought it
|
|
well enough to explain that this was a miracle of so
|
|
rare a sort that it couldn't be done except when the
|
|
atmospheric conditions were just right. Otherwise he
|
|
would be encoring it every time we had a good sub-
|
|
ject, and that would be inconvenient, because I hadn't
|
|
any more bombs along.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XXVIII.
|
|
DRILLING THE KING
|
|
|
|
ON the morning of the fourth day, when it was just
|
|
sunrise, and we had been tramping an hour in
|
|
the chill dawn, I came to a resolution: the king MUST
|
|
be drilled; things could not go on so, he must be
|
|
taken in hand and deliberately and conscientiously
|
|
drilled, or we couldn't ever venture to enter a dwelling;
|
|
the very cats would know this masquerader for a hum-
|
|
bug and no peasant. So I called a halt and said:
|
|
|
|
"Sire, as between clothes and countenance, you are
|
|
all right, there is no discrepancy; but as between your
|
|
clothes and your bearing, you are all wrong, there is a
|
|
most noticeable discrepancy. Your soldierly stride,
|
|
your lordly port -- these will not do. You stand too
|
|
straight, your looks are too high, too confident. The
|
|
cares of a kingdom do not stoop the shoulders, they do
|
|
not droop the chin, they do not depress the high level
|
|
of the eye-glance, they do not put doubt and fear in
|
|
the heart and hang out the signs of them in slouching
|
|
body and unsure step. It is the sordid cares of the
|
|
lowly born that do these things. You must learn the
|
|
trick; you must imitate the trademarks of poverty,
|
|
misery, oppression, insult, and the other several and
|
|
common inhumanities that sap the manliness out of a
|
|
man and make him a loyal and proper and approved
|
|
subject and a satisfaction to his masters, or the very
|
|
infants will know you for better than your disguise,
|
|
and we shall go to pieces at the first hut we stop at.
|
|
Pray try to walk like this."
|
|
|
|
The king took careful note, and then tried an
|
|
imitation.
|
|
|
|
"Pretty fair -- pretty fair. Chin a little lower,
|
|
please -- there, very good. Eyes too high; pray don't
|
|
look at the horizon, look at the ground, ten steps in
|
|
front of you. Ah -- that is better, that is very good.
|
|
Wait, please; you betray too much vigor, too much
|
|
decision; you want more of a shamble. Look at me,
|
|
please -- this is what I mean......Now you are get-
|
|
ting it; that is the idea -- at least, it sort of approaches
|
|
it......Yes, that is pretty fair. BUT! There is a
|
|
great big something wanting, I don't quite know what
|
|
it is. Please walk thirty yards, so that I can get
|
|
a perspective on the thing......Now, then -- your
|
|
head's right, speed's right, shoulders right, eyes right,
|
|
chin right, gait, carriage, general style right -- every-
|
|
thing's right! And yet the fact remains, the aggre-
|
|
gate's wrong. The account don't balance. Do it
|
|
again, please......NOW I think I begin to see what it
|
|
is. Yes, I've struck it. You see, the genuine spirit-
|
|
lessness is wanting; that's what's the trouble. It's all
|
|
AMATUEUR -- mechanical details all right, almost to a
|
|
hair; everything about the delusion perfect, except
|
|
that it don't delude."
|
|
|
|
"What, then, must one do, to prevail?"
|
|
|
|
"Let me think......I can't seem to quite get at it.
|
|
In fact, there isn't anything that can right the matter
|
|
but practice. This is a good place for it: roots and
|
|
stony ground to break up your stately gait, a region
|
|
not liable to interruption, only one field and one hut in
|
|
sight, and they so far away that nobody could see us
|
|
from there. It will be well to move a little off the
|
|
road and put in the whole day drilling you, sire."
|
|
|
|
After the drill had gone on a little while, I said:
|
|
|
|
"Now, sire, imagine that we are at the door of the
|
|
hut yonder, and the family are before us. Proceed,
|
|
please -- accost the head of the house."
|
|
|
|
The king unconsciously straightened up like a monu-
|
|
ment, and said, with frozen austerity:
|
|
|
|
"Varlet, bring a seat; and serve to me what cheer
|
|
ye have."
|
|
|
|
"Ah, your grace, that is not well done."
|
|
|
|
"In what lacketh it?"
|
|
|
|
"These people do not call EACH OTHER varlets."
|
|
|
|
"Nay, is that true?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes; only those above them call them so."
|
|
|
|
"Then must I try again. I will call him villein."
|
|
|
|
"No-no; for he may be a freeman."
|
|
|
|
"Ah -- so. Then peradventure I should call him
|
|
goodman."
|
|
|
|
"That would answer, your grace, but it would be
|
|
still better if you said friend, or brother."
|
|
|
|
"Brother! -- to dirt like that?"
|
|
|
|
"Ah, but WE are pretending to be dirt like that,
|
|
too."
|
|
|
|
"It is even true. I will say it. Brother, bring a
|
|
seat, and thereto what cheer ye have, withal. Now
|
|
'tis right."
|
|
|
|
"Not quite, not wholly right. You have asked for
|
|
one, not US -- for one, not both; food for one, a seat
|
|
for one."
|
|
|
|
The king looked puzzled -- he wasn't a very heavy
|
|
weight, intellectually. His head was an hour-glass; it
|
|
could stow an idea, but it had to do it a grain at a
|
|
time, not the whole idea at once.
|
|
|
|
"Would YOU have a seat also -- and sit?"
|
|
|
|
"If I did not sit, the man would perceive that we
|
|
were only pretending to be equals -- and playing the
|
|
deception pretty poorly, too."
|
|
|
|
"It is well and truly said! How wonderful is truth,
|
|
come it in whatsoever unexpected form it may! Yes,
|
|
he must bring out seats and food for both, and in
|
|
serving us present not ewer and napkin with more
|
|
show of respect to the one than to the other."
|
|
|
|
"And there is even yet a detail that needs correct-
|
|
ing. He must bring nothing outside; we will go in --
|
|
in among the dirt, and possibly other repulsive things,
|
|
-- and take the food with the household, and after the
|
|
fashion of the house, and all on equal terms, except the
|
|
man be of the serf class; and finally, there will be no
|
|
ewer and no napkin, whether he be serf or free. Please
|
|
walk again, my liege. There -- it is better -- it is the
|
|
best yet; but not perfect. The shoulders have known
|
|
no ignobler burden than iron mail, and they will not
|
|
stoop."
|
|
|
|
"Give me, then, the bag. I will learn the spirit
|
|
that goeth with burdens that have not honor. It is
|
|
the spirit that stoopeth the shoulders, I ween, and not
|
|
the weight; for armor is heavy, yet it is a proud
|
|
burden, and a man standeth straight in it......Nay,
|
|
but me no buts, offer me no objections. I will have
|
|
the thing. Strap it upon my back."
|
|
|
|
He was complete now with that knapsack on, and
|
|
looked as little like a king as any man I had ever seen.
|
|
But it was an obstinate pair of shoulders; they could
|
|
not seem to learn the trick of stooping with any sort of
|
|
deceptive naturalness. The drill went on, I prompting
|
|
and correcting:
|
|
|
|
"Now, make believe you are in debt, and eaten up
|
|
by relentless creditors; you are out of work -- which
|
|
is horse-shoeing, let us say -- and can get none; and
|
|
your wife is sick, your children are crying because
|
|
they are hungry --"
|
|
|
|
And so on, and so on. I drilled him as represent-
|
|
ing in turn all sorts of people out of luck and suffering
|
|
dire privations and misfortunes. But lord, it was only
|
|
just words, words -- they meant nothing in the world
|
|
to him, I might just as well have whistled. Words
|
|
realize nothing, vivify nothing to you, unless you have
|
|
suffered in your own person the thing which the words
|
|
try to describe. There are wise people who talk ever
|
|
so knowingly and complacently about "the working
|
|
classes," and satisfy themselves that a day's hard in-
|
|
tellectual work is very much harder than a day's hard
|
|
manual toil, and is righteously entitled to much bigger
|
|
pay. Why, they really think that, you know, because
|
|
they know all about the one, but haven't tried the
|
|
other. But I know all about both; and so far as I am
|
|
concerned, there isn't money enough in the universe
|
|
to hire me to swing a pickaxe thirty days, but I will do
|
|
the hardest kind of intellectual work for just as near
|
|
nothing as you can cipher it down -- and I will be
|
|
satisfied, too.
|
|
|
|
Intellectual "work" is misnamed; it is a pleasure,
|
|
a dissipation, and is its own highest reward. The
|
|
poorest paid architect, engineer, general, author,
|
|
sculptor, painter, lecturer, advocate, legislator, actor,
|
|
preacher, singer is constructively in heaven when he is
|
|
at work; and as for the musician with the fiddle-bow
|
|
in his hand who sits in the midst of a great orchestra
|
|
with the ebbing and flowing tides of divine sound
|
|
washing over him -- why, certainly, he is at work, if
|
|
you wish to call it that, but lord, it's a sarcasm just
|
|
the same. The law of work does seem utterly unfair
|
|
-- but there it is, and nothing can change it: the
|
|
higher the pay in enjoyment the worker gets out of it,
|
|
the higher shall be his pay in cash, also. And it's
|
|
also the very law of those transparent swindles, trans-
|
|
missible nobility and kingship.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XXIX.
|
|
THE SMALLPOX HUT
|
|
|
|
WHEN we arrived at that hut at mid-afternoon, we
|
|
saw no signs of life about it. The field near by
|
|
had been denuded of its crop some time before, and
|
|
had a skinned look, so exhaustively had it been har-
|
|
vested and gleaned. Fences, sheds, everything had a
|
|
ruined look, and were eloquent of poverty. No animal
|
|
was around anywhere, no living thing in sight. The
|
|
stillness was awful, it was like the stillness of death.
|
|
The cabin was a one-story one, whose thatch was
|
|
black with age, and ragged from lack of repair.
|
|
|
|
The door stood a trifle ajar. We approached it
|
|
stealthily -- on tiptoe and at half-breath -- for that is
|
|
the way one's feeling makes him do, at such a time.
|
|
The king knocked. We waited. No answer. Knocked
|
|
again. No answer. I pushed the door softly open
|
|
and looked in. I made out some dim forms, and a
|
|
woman started up from the ground and stared at me,
|
|
as one does who is wakened from sleep. Presently
|
|
she found her voice:
|
|
|
|
"Have mercy!" she pleaded. "All is taken,
|
|
nothing is left."
|
|
|
|
"I have not come to take anything, poor woman."
|
|
|
|
"You are not a priest?"
|
|
|
|
"No."
|
|
|
|
"Nor come not from the lord of the manor?"
|
|
|
|
"No, I am a stranger."
|
|
|
|
"Oh, then, for the fear of God, who visits with
|
|
misery and death such as be harmless, tarry not here,
|
|
but fly! This place is under his curse -- and his
|
|
Church's."
|
|
|
|
"Let me come in and help you -- you are sick and
|
|
in trouble."
|
|
|
|
I was better used to the dim light now. I could see
|
|
her hollow eyes fixed upon me. I could see how
|
|
emaciated she was.
|
|
|
|
"I tell you the place is under the Church's ban.
|
|
Save yourself -- and go, before some straggler see thee
|
|
here, and report it."
|
|
|
|
"Give yourself no trouble about me; I don't care
|
|
anything for the Church's curse. Let me help you."
|
|
|
|
"Now all good spirits -- if there be any such --
|
|
bless thee for that word. Would God I had a sup of
|
|
water! -- but hold, hold, forget I said it, and fly; for
|
|
there is that here that even he that feareth not the
|
|
Church must fear: this disease whereof we die. Leave
|
|
us, thou brave, good stranger, and take with thee such
|
|
whole and sincere blessing as them that be accursed
|
|
can give."
|
|
|
|
But before this I had picked up a wooden bowl and
|
|
was rushing past the king on my way to the brook.
|
|
It was ten yards away. When I got back and entered,
|
|
the king was within, and was opening the shutter that
|
|
closed the window-hole, to let in air and light. The
|
|
place was full of a foul stench. I put the bowl to the
|
|
woman's lips, and as she gripped it with her eager
|
|
talons the shutter came open and a strong light flooded
|
|
her face. Smallpox!
|
|
|
|
I sprang to the king, and said in his ear:
|
|
|
|
"Out of the door on the instant, sire! the woman
|
|
is dying of that disease that wasted the skirts of
|
|
Camelot two years ago."
|
|
|
|
He did not budge.
|
|
|
|
"Of a truth I shall remain -- and likewise help."
|
|
|
|
I whispered again:
|
|
|
|
"King, it must not be. You must go."
|
|
|
|
"Ye mean well, and ye speak not unwisely. But it
|
|
were shame that a king should know fear, and shame
|
|
that belted knight should withhold his hand where be
|
|
such as need succor. Peace, I will not go. It is you
|
|
who must go. The Church's ban is not upon me, but
|
|
it forbiddeth you to be here, and she will deal with
|
|
you with a heavy hand an word come to her of your
|
|
trespass."
|
|
|
|
It was a desperate place for him to be in, and might
|
|
cost him his life, but it was no use to argue with him.
|
|
If he considered his knightly honor at stake here, that
|
|
was the end of argument; he would stay, and nothing
|
|
could prevent it; I was aware of that. And so I
|
|
dropped the subject. The woman spoke:
|
|
|
|
"Fair sir, of your kindness will ye climb the ladder
|
|
there, and bring me news of what ye find? Be not
|
|
afraid to report, for times can come when even a
|
|
mother's heart is past breaking -- being already broke."
|
|
|
|
"Abide," said the king, "and give the woman to
|
|
eat. I will go." And he put down the knapsack.
|
|
|
|
I turned to start, but the king had already started.
|
|
He halted, and looked down upon a man who lay in a
|
|
dim light, and had not noticed us thus far, or spoken.
|
|
|
|
"Is it your husband?" the king asked.
|
|
|
|
"Yes."
|
|
|
|
"Is he asleep?"
|
|
|
|
"God be thanked for that one charity, yes -- these
|
|
three hours. Where shall I pay to the full, my grati-
|
|
tude! for my heart is bursting with it for that sleep he
|
|
sleepeth now."
|
|
|
|
I said:
|
|
|
|
"We will be careful. We will not wake him."
|
|
|
|
"Ah, no, that ye will not, for he is dead."
|
|
|
|
"Dead?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes, what triumph it is to know it! None can
|
|
harm him, none insult him more. He is in heaven
|
|
now, and happy; or if not there, he bides in hell and
|
|
is content; for in that place he will find neither abbot
|
|
nor yet bishop. We were boy and girl together; we
|
|
were man and wife these five and twenty years, and
|
|
never separated till this day. Think how long that is
|
|
to love and suffer together. This morning was he out
|
|
of his mind, and in his fancy we were boy and girl
|
|
again and wandering in the happy fields; and so in
|
|
that innocent glad converse wandered he far and
|
|
farther, still lightly gossiping, and entered into those
|
|
other fields we know not of, and was shut away from
|
|
mortal sight. And so there was no parting, for in his
|
|
fancy I went with him; he knew not but I went with
|
|
him, my hand in his -- my young soft hand, not this
|
|
withered claw. Ah, yes, to go, and know it not; to
|
|
separate and know it not; how could one go peace --
|
|
fuller than that? It was his reward for a cruel life
|
|
patiently borne."
|
|
|
|
There was a slight noise from the direction of the
|
|
dim corner where the ladder was. It was the king
|
|
descending. I could see that he was bearing some-
|
|
thing in one arm, and assisting himself with the other.
|
|
He came forward into the light; upon his breast lay a
|
|
slender girl of fifteen. She was but half conscious;
|
|
she was dying of smallpox. Here was heroism at its
|
|
last and loftiest possibility, its utmost summit; this
|
|
was challenging death in the open field unarmed, with
|
|
all the odds against the challenger, no reward set upon
|
|
the contest, and no admiring world in silks and cloth
|
|
of gold to gaze and applaud; and yet the king's bear-
|
|
ing was as serenely brave as it had always been in those
|
|
cheaper contests where knight meets knight in equal
|
|
fight and clothed in protecting steel. He was great
|
|
now; sublimely great. The rude statues of his ances-
|
|
tors in his palace should have an addition -- I would
|
|
see to that; and it would not be a mailed king killing
|
|
a giant or a dragon, like the rest, it would be a king
|
|
in commoner's garb bearing death in his arms that a
|
|
peasant mother might look her last upon her child and
|
|
be comforted.
|
|
|
|
He laid the girl down by her mother, who poured
|
|
out endearments and caresses from an overflowing
|
|
heart, and one could detect a flickering faint light of
|
|
response in the child's eyes, but that was all. The
|
|
mother hung over her, kissing her, petting her, and
|
|
imploring her to speak, but the lips only moved and
|
|
no sound came. I snatched my liquor flask from my
|
|
knapsack, but the woman forbade me, and said:
|
|
|
|
"No -- she does not suffer; it is better so. It
|
|
might bring her back to life. None that be so good
|
|
and kind as ye are would do her that cruel hurt. For
|
|
look you -- what is left to live for? Her brothers are
|
|
gone, her father is gone, her mother goeth, the
|
|
Church's curse is upon her, and none may shelter or
|
|
befriend her even though she lay perishing in the road.
|
|
She is desolate. I have not asked you, good heart, if
|
|
her sister be still on live, here overhead; I had no
|
|
need; ye had gone back, else, and not left the poor
|
|
thing forsaken --"
|
|
|
|
"She lieth at peace," interrupted the king, in a
|
|
subdued voice.
|
|
|
|
"I would not change it. How rich is this day in
|
|
happiness! Ah, my Annis, thou shalt join thy sister
|
|
soon -- thou'rt on thy way, and these be merciful
|
|
friends that will not hinder."
|
|
|
|
And so she fell to murmuring and cooing over the
|
|
girl again, and softly stroking her face and hair, and
|
|
kissing her and calling her by endearing names; but
|
|
there was scarcely sign of response now in the glazing
|
|
eyes. I saw tears well from the king's eyes, and
|
|
trickle down his face. The woman noticed them, too,
|
|
and said:
|
|
|
|
"Ah, I know that sign: thou'st a wife at home,
|
|
poor soul, and you and she have gone hungry to bed,
|
|
many's the time, that the little ones might have your
|
|
crust; you know what poverty is, and the daily insults
|
|
of your betters, and the heavy hand of the Church and
|
|
the king."
|
|
|
|
The king winced under this accidental home-shot,
|
|
but kept still; he was learning his part; and he was
|
|
playing it well, too, for a pretty dull beginner. I
|
|
struck up a diversion. I offered the woman food and
|
|
liquor, but she refused both. She would allow noth-
|
|
ing to come between her and the release of death.
|
|
Then I slipped away and brought the dead child from
|
|
aloft, and laid it by her. This broke her down again,
|
|
and there was another scene that was full of heart-
|
|
break. By and by I made another diversion, and
|
|
beguiled her to sketch her story.
|
|
|
|
"Ye know it well yourselves, having suffered it --
|
|
for truly none of our condition in Britain escape it.
|
|
It is the old, weary tale. We fought and struggled
|
|
and succeeded; meaning by success, that we lived and
|
|
did not die; more than that is not to be claimed. No
|
|
troubles came that we could not outlive, till this year
|
|
brought them; then came they all at once, as one
|
|
might say, and overwhelmed us. Years ago the lord
|
|
of the manor planted certain fruit trees on our farm;
|
|
in the best part of it, too -- a grievous wrong and
|
|
shame --"
|
|
|
|
"But it was his right," interrupted the king.
|
|
|
|
"None denieth that, indeed; an the law mean any-
|
|
thing, what is the lord's is his, and what is mine is his
|
|
also. Our farm was ours by lease, therefore 'twas
|
|
likewise his, to do with it as he would. Some little
|
|
time ago, three of those trees were found hewn down.
|
|
Our three grown sons ran frightened to report the
|
|
crime. Well, in his lordship's dungeon there they lie,
|
|
who saith there shall they lie and rot till they confess.
|
|
They have naught to confess, being innocent, where-
|
|
fore there will they remain until they die. Ye know
|
|
that right well, I ween. Think how this left us; a
|
|
man, a woman and two children, to gather a crop that
|
|
was planted by so much greater force, yes, and pro-
|
|
tect it night and day from pigeons and prowling
|
|
animals that be sacred and must not be hurt by any
|
|
of our sort. When my lord's crop was nearly ready
|
|
for the harvest, so also was ours; when his bell rang
|
|
to call us to his fields to harvest his crop for nothing,
|
|
he would not allow that I and my two girls should
|
|
count for our three captive sons, but for only two of
|
|
them; so, for the lacking one were we daily fined.
|
|
All this time our own crop was perishing through neg-
|
|
lect; and so both the priest and his lordship fined us
|
|
because their shares of it were suffering through
|
|
damage. In the end the fines ate up our crop -- and
|
|
they took it all; they took it all and made us harvest
|
|
it for them, without pay or food, and we starving.
|
|
Then the worst came when I, being out of my mind
|
|
with hunger and loss of my boys, and grief to see my
|
|
husband and my little maids in rags and misery and
|
|
despair, uttered a deep blasphemy -- oh! a thousand
|
|
of them! -- against the Church and the Church's ways.
|
|
It was ten days ago. I had fallen sick with this dis-
|
|
ease, and it was to the priest I said the words, for he
|
|
was come to chide me for lack of due humility under
|
|
the chastening hand of God. He carried my trespass
|
|
to his betters; I was stubborn; wherefore, presently
|
|
upon my head and upon all heads that were dear to
|
|
me, fell the curse of Rome.
|
|
|
|
"Since that day we are avoided, shunned with horror.
|
|
None has come near this hut to know whether we live
|
|
or not. The rest of us were taken down. Then I
|
|
roused me and got up, as wife and mother will. It
|
|
was little they could have eaten in any case; it was
|
|
less than little they had to eat. But there was water,
|
|
and I gave them that. How they craved it! and how
|
|
they blessed it! But the end came yesterday; my
|
|
strength broke down. Yesterday was the last time I
|
|
ever saw my husband and this youngest child alive. I
|
|
have lain here all these hours -- these ages, ye may
|
|
say -- listening, listening for any sound up there
|
|
that --"
|
|
|
|
She gave a sharp quick glance at her eldest daughter,
|
|
then cried out, "Oh, my darling!" and feebly gath-
|
|
ered the stiffening form to her sheltering arms. She
|
|
had recognized the death-rattle.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XXX.
|
|
THE TRAGEDY OF THE MANOR-HOUSE
|
|
|
|
AT midnight all was over, and we sat in the presence
|
|
of four corpses. We covered them with such
|
|
rags as we could find, and started away, fastening the
|
|
door behind us. Their home must be these people's
|
|
grave, for they could not have Christian burial, or be
|
|
admitted to consecrated ground. They were as dogs,
|
|
wild beasts, lepers, and no soul that valued its hope of
|
|
eternal life would throw it away by meddling in any
|
|
sort with these rebuked and smitten outcasts.
|
|
|
|
We had not moved four steps when I caught a sound
|
|
as of footsteps upon gravel. My heart flew to my
|
|
throat. We must not be seen coming from that house.
|
|
I plucked at the king's robe and we drew back and
|
|
took shelter behind the corner of the cabin.
|
|
|
|
"Now we are safe," I said, "but it was a close
|
|
call -- so to speak. If the night had been lighter he
|
|
might have seen us, no doubt, he seemed to be so
|
|
near."
|
|
|
|
"Mayhap it is but a beast and not a man at all."
|
|
|
|
"True. But man or beast, it will be wise to stay
|
|
here a minute and let it get by and out of the way."
|
|
|
|
"Hark! It cometh hither."
|
|
|
|
True again. The step was coming toward us --
|
|
straight toward the hut. It must be a beast, then, and
|
|
we might as well have saved our trepidation. I was
|
|
going to step out, but the king laid his hand upon my
|
|
arm. There was a moment of silence, then we heard
|
|
a soft knock on the cabin door. It made me shiver.
|
|
Presently the knock was repeated, and then we heard
|
|
these words in a guarded voice:
|
|
|
|
"Mother! Father! Open -- we have got free, and
|
|
we bring news to pale your cheeks but glad your
|
|
hearts; and we may not tarry, but must fly! And --
|
|
but they answer not. Mother! father! --"
|
|
|
|
I drew the king toward the other end of the hut and
|
|
whispered:
|
|
|
|
"Come -- now we can get to the road."
|
|
|
|
The king hesitated, was going to demur; but just
|
|
then we heard the door give way, and knew that those
|
|
desolate men were in the presence of their dead.
|
|
|
|
"Come, my liege! in a moment they will strike a
|
|
light, and then will follow that which it would break
|
|
your heart to hear."
|
|
|
|
He did not hesitate this time. The moment we were
|
|
in the road I ran; and after a moment he threw dig-
|
|
nity aside and followed. I did not want to think of
|
|
what was happening in the hut -- I couldn't bear it; I
|
|
wanted to drive it out of my mind; so I struck into
|
|
the first subject that lay under that one in my mind:
|
|
|
|
"I have had the disease those people died of, and
|
|
so have nothing to fear; but if you have not had it
|
|
also --"
|
|
|
|
He broke in upon me to say he was in trouble, and
|
|
it was his conscience that was troubling him:
|
|
|
|
"These young men have got free, they say -- but
|
|
HOW? It is not likely that their lord hath set them
|
|
free."
|
|
|
|
"Oh, no, I make no doubt they escaped."
|
|
|
|
"That is my trouble; I have a fear that this is so,
|
|
and your suspicion doth confirm it, you having the
|
|
same fear.
|
|
|
|
"I should not call it by that name though. I do
|
|
suspect that they escaped, but if they did, I am not
|
|
sorry, certainly."
|
|
|
|
"I am not sorry, I THINK -- but --"
|
|
|
|
"What is it? What is there for one to be troubled
|
|
about?"
|
|
|
|
"IF they did escape, then are we bound in duty to
|
|
lay hands upon them and deliver them again to their
|
|
lord; for it is not seemly that one of his quality should
|
|
suffer a so insolent and high-handed outrage from
|
|
persons of their base degree."
|
|
|
|
There it was again. He could see only one side of
|
|
it. He was born so, educated so, his veins were full
|
|
of ancestral blood that was rotten with this sort of
|
|
unconscious brutality, brought down by inheritance
|
|
from a long procession of hearts that had each done
|
|
its share toward poisoning the stream. To imprison
|
|
these men without proof, and starve their kindred, was
|
|
no harm, for they were merely peasants and subject to
|
|
the will and pleasure of their lord, no matter what
|
|
fearful form it might take; but for these men to break
|
|
out of unjust captivity was insult and outrage, and a
|
|
thing not to be countenanced by any conscientious
|
|
person who knew his duty to his sacred caste.
|
|
|
|
I worked more than half an hour before I got him to
|
|
change the subject -- and even then an outside matter
|
|
did it for me. This was a something which caught our
|
|
eyes as we struck the summit of a small hill -- a red
|
|
glow, a good way off.
|
|
|
|
"That's a fire," said I.
|
|
|
|
Fires interested me considerably, because I was get-
|
|
ting a good deal of an insurance business started, and
|
|
was also training some horses and building some steam
|
|
fire-engines, with an eye to a paid fire department by
|
|
and by. The priests opposed both my fire and life in-
|
|
surance, on the ground that it was an insolent attempt
|
|
to hinder the decrees of God; and if you pointed out
|
|
that they did not hinder the decrees in the least, but
|
|
only modified the hard consequences of them if you
|
|
took out policies and had luck, they retorted that that
|
|
was gambling against the decrees of God, and was
|
|
just as bad. So they managed to damage those in-
|
|
dustries more or less, but I got even on my Accident
|
|
business. As a rule, a knight is a lummox, and some
|
|
times even a labrick, and hence open to pretty poor
|
|
arguments when they come glibly from a supersti-
|
|
tion-monger, but even HE could see the practical side
|
|
of a thing once in a while; and so of late you couldn't
|
|
clean up a tournament and pile the result without finding
|
|
one of my accident-tickets in every helmet.
|
|
|
|
We stood there awhile, in the thick darkness and
|
|
stillness, looking toward the red blur in the distance,
|
|
and trying to make out the meaning of a far-away
|
|
murmur that rose and fell fitfully on the night. Some-
|
|
times it swelled up and for a moment seemed less
|
|
remote; but when we were hopefully expecting it to
|
|
betray its cause and nature, it dulled and sank again,
|
|
carrying its mystery with it. We started down the hill
|
|
in its direction, and the winding road plunged us at
|
|
once into almost solid darkness -- darkness that was
|
|
packed and crammed in between two tall forest walls.
|
|
We groped along down for half a mile, perhaps, that
|
|
murmur growing more and more distinct all the time.
|
|
the coming storm threatening more and more, with
|
|
now and then a little shiver of wind, a faint show of
|
|
lightning, and dull grumblings of distant thunder. I
|
|
was in the lead. I ran against something -- a soft
|
|
heavy something which gave, slightly, to the impulse
|
|
of my weight; at the same moment the lightning glared
|
|
out, and within a foot of my face was the writhing face
|
|
of a man who was hanging from the limb of a tree!
|
|
That is, it seemed to be writhing, but it was not. It
|
|
was a grewsome sight. Straightway there was an ear-
|
|
splitting explosion of thunder, and the bottom of
|
|
heaven fell out; the rain poured down in a deluge.
|
|
No matter, we must try to cut this man down, on the
|
|
chance that there might be life in him yet, mustn't
|
|
we? The lightning came quick and sharp now, and
|
|
the place was alternately noonday and midnight. One
|
|
moment the man would be hanging before me in an
|
|
intense light, and the next he was blotted out again in
|
|
the darkness. I told the king we must cut him down.
|
|
The king at once objected.
|
|
|
|
"If he hanged himself, he was willing to lose him
|
|
property to his lord; so let him be. If others hanged
|
|
him, belike they had the right -- let him hang."
|
|
|
|
"But --"
|
|
|
|
"But me no buts, but even leave him as he is. And
|
|
for yet another reason. When the lightning cometh
|
|
again -- there, look abroad."
|
|
|
|
Two others hanging, within fifty yards of us!
|
|
|
|
"It is not weather meet for doing useless courtesies
|
|
unto dead folk. They are past thanking you. Come
|
|
-- it is unprofitable to tarry here."
|
|
|
|
There was reason in what he said, so we moved on.
|
|
Within the next mile we counted six more hanging
|
|
forms by the blaze of the lightning, and altogether it
|
|
was a grisly excursion. That murmur was a murmur
|
|
no longer, it was a roar; a roar of men's voices. A
|
|
man came flying by now, dimly through the darkness,
|
|
and other men chasing him. They disappeared. Pres-
|
|
ently another case of the kind occurred, and then an-
|
|
other and another. Then a sudden turn of the road
|
|
brought us in sight of that fire -- it was a large manor-
|
|
house, and little or nothing was left of it -- and every-
|
|
where men were flying and other men raging after
|
|
them in pursuit.
|
|
|
|
I warned the king that this was not a safe place for
|
|
strangers. We would better get away from the light,
|
|
until matters should improve. We stepped back a
|
|
little, and hid in the edge of the wood. From this
|
|
hiding-place we saw both men and women hunted by
|
|
the mob. The fearful work went on until nearly dawn.
|
|
Then, the fire being out and the storm spent, the voices
|
|
and flying footsteps presently ceased, and darkness and
|
|
stillness reigned again.
|
|
|
|
We ventured out, and hurried cautiously away; and
|
|
although we were worn out and sleepy, we kept on
|
|
until we had put this place some miles behind us.
|
|
Then we asked hospitality at the hut of a charcoal
|
|
burner, and got what was to be had. A woman was
|
|
up and about, but the man was still asleep, on a straw
|
|
shake-down, on the clay floor. The woman seemed
|
|
uneasy until I explained that we were travelers and had
|
|
lost our way and been wandering in the woods all
|
|
night. She became talkative, then, and asked if we
|
|
had heard of the terrible goings-on at the manor-house
|
|
of Abblasoure. Yes, we had heard of them, but what
|
|
we wanted now was rest and sleep. The king broke in:
|
|
|
|
"Sell us the house and take yourselves away, for
|
|
we be perilous company, being late come from people
|
|
that died of the Spotted Death."
|
|
|
|
It was good of him, but unnecessary. One of the
|
|
commonest decorations of the nation was the waffle-
|
|
iron face. I had early noticed that the woman and her
|
|
husband were both so decorated. She made us entirely
|
|
welcome, and had no fears; and plainly she was im-
|
|
mensely impressed by the king's proposition; for, of
|
|
course, it was a good deal of an event in her life to
|
|
run across a person of the king's humble appearance
|
|
who was ready to buy a man's house for the sake of a
|
|
night's lodging. It gave her a large respect for us,
|
|
and she strained the lean possibilities of her hovel to
|
|
the utmost to make us comfortable.
|
|
|
|
We slept till far into the afternoon, and then got up
|
|
hungry enough to make cotter fare quite palatable to
|
|
the king, the more particularly as it was scant in quan-
|
|
tity. And also in variety; it consisted solely of onions,
|
|
salt, and the national black bread made out of horse-
|
|
feed. The woman told us about the affair of the even-
|
|
ing before. At ten or eleven at night, when everybody
|
|
was in bed, the manor-house burst into flames. The
|
|
country-side swarmed to the rescue, and the family
|
|
were saved, with one exception, the master. He did
|
|
not appear. Everybody was frantic over this loss, and
|
|
two brave yeomen sacrificed their lives in ransacking
|
|
the burning house seeking that valuable personage.
|
|
But after a while he was found -- what was left of
|
|
him -- which was his corpse. It was in a copse three
|
|
hundred yards away, bound, gagged, stabbed in a
|
|
dozen places.
|
|
|
|
Who had done this? Suspicion fell upon a humble
|
|
family in the neighborhood who had been lately treated
|
|
with peculiar harshness by the baron; and from these
|
|
people the suspicion easily extended itself to their
|
|
relatives and familiars. A suspicion was enough; my
|
|
lord's liveried retainers proclaimed an instant crusade
|
|
against these people, and were promptly joined by the
|
|
community in general. The woman's husband had
|
|
been active with the mob, and had not returned home
|
|
until nearly dawn. He was gone now to find out
|
|
what the general result had been. While we were still
|
|
talking he came back from his quest. His report was
|
|
revolting enough. Eighteen persons hanged or butch-
|
|
ered, and two yeomen and thirteen prisoners lost in
|
|
the fire.
|
|
|
|
"And how many prisoners were there altogether in
|
|
the vaults?"
|
|
|
|
"Thirteen."
|
|
|
|
"Then every one of them was lost?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes, all."
|
|
|
|
"But the people arrived in time to save the family;
|
|
how is it they could save none of the prisoners?"
|
|
|
|
The man looked puzzled, and said:
|
|
|
|
"Would one unlock the vaults at such a time?
|
|
Marry, some would have escaped."
|
|
|
|
"Then you mean that nobody DID unlock them?"
|
|
|
|
"None went near them, either to lock or unlock.
|
|
It standeth to reason that the bolts were fast; where-
|
|
fore it was only needful to establish a watch, so that if
|
|
any broke the bonds he might not escape, but be
|
|
taken. None were taken."
|
|
|
|
"Natheless, three did escape," said the king, "and
|
|
ye will do well to publish it and set justice upon their
|
|
track, for these murthered the baron and fired the
|
|
house."
|
|
|
|
I was just expecting he would come out with that.
|
|
For a moment the man and his wife showed an eager
|
|
interest in this news and an impatience to go out and
|
|
spread it; then a sudden something else betrayed itself
|
|
in their faces, and they began to ask questions. I
|
|
answered the questions myself, and narrowly watched
|
|
the effects produced. I was soon satisfied that the
|
|
knowledge of who these three prisoners were had some-
|
|
how changed the atmosphere; that our hosts' con-
|
|
tinued eagerness to go and spread the news was now
|
|
only pretended and not real. The king did not notice
|
|
the change, and I was glad of that. I worked the
|
|
conversation around toward other details of the night's
|
|
proceedings, and noted that these people were relieved
|
|
to have it take that direction.
|
|
|
|
The painful thing observable about all this business
|
|
was the alacrity with which this oppressed community
|
|
had turned their cruel hands against their own class in
|
|
the interest of the common oppressor. This man and
|
|
woman seemed to feel that in a quarrel between a
|
|
person of their own class and his lord, it was the
|
|
natural and proper and rightful thing for that poor
|
|
devil's whole caste to side with the master and fight
|
|
his battle for him, without ever stopping to inquire
|
|
into the rights or wrongs of the matter. This man
|
|
had been out helping to hang his neighbors, and had
|
|
done his work with zeal, and yet was aware that there
|
|
was nothing against them but a mere suspicion, with
|
|
nothing back of it describable as evidence, still neither
|
|
he nor his wife seemed to see anything horrible about it.
|
|
|
|
This was depressing -- to a man with the dream of a
|
|
republic in his head. It reminded me of a time thirteen
|
|
centuries away, when the "poor whites" of our South
|
|
who were always despised and frequently insulted by
|
|
the slave-lords around them, and who owed their base
|
|
condition simply to the presence of slavery in their
|
|
midst, were yet pusillanimously ready to side with the
|
|
slave-lords in all political moves for the upholding and
|
|
perpetuating of slavery, and did also finally shoulder
|
|
their muskets and pour out their lives in an effort to
|
|
prevent the destruction of that very institution which
|
|
degraded them. And there was only one redeeming
|
|
feature connected with that pitiful piece of history;
|
|
and that was, that secretly the "poor white" did de-
|
|
test the slave-lord, and did feel his own shame. That
|
|
feeling was not brought to the surface, but the fact
|
|
that it was there and could have been brought out, under
|
|
favoring circumstances, was something -- in fact, it
|
|
was enough; for it showed that a man is at bottom a
|
|
man, after all, even if it doesn't show on the outside.
|
|
|
|
Well, as it turned out, this charcoal burner was just
|
|
the twin of the Southern "poor white" of the far
|
|
future. The king presently showed impatience, and
|
|
said:
|
|
|
|
"An ye prattle here all the day, justice will mis-
|
|
carry. Think ye the criminals will abide in their
|
|
father's house? They are fleeing, they are not wait-
|
|
ing. You should look to it that a party of horse be
|
|
set upon their track."
|
|
|
|
The woman paled slightly, but quite perceptibly,
|
|
and the man looked flustered and irresolute. I said:
|
|
|
|
"Come, friend, I will walk a little way with you,
|
|
and explain which direction I think they would try to
|
|
take. If they were merely resisters of the gabelle or
|
|
some kindred absurdity I would try to protect them
|
|
from capture; but when men murder a person of high
|
|
degree and likewise burn his house, that is another
|
|
matter."
|
|
|
|
The last remark was for the king -- to quiet him.
|
|
On the road the man pulled his resolution together,
|
|
and began the march with a steady gait, but there was
|
|
no eagerness in it. By and by I said:
|
|
|
|
"What relation were these men to you -- cousins?"
|
|
|
|
He turned as white as his layer of charcoal would let
|
|
him, and stopped, trembling.
|
|
|
|
"Ah, my God, how know ye that?"
|
|
|
|
"I didn't know it; it was a chance guess."
|
|
|
|
"Poor lads, they are lost. And good lads they
|
|
were, too."
|
|
|
|
"Were you actually going yonder to tell on them?"
|
|
|
|
He didn't quite know how to take that; but he said,
|
|
hesitatingly:
|
|
|
|
"Ye-s."
|
|
|
|
"Then I think you are a damned scoundrel!"
|
|
|
|
It made him as glad as if I had called him an angel.
|
|
|
|
"Say the good words again, brother! for surely ye
|
|
mean that ye would not betray me an I failed of my
|
|
duty."
|
|
|
|
"Duty? There is no duty in the matter, except the
|
|
duty to keep still and let those men get away. They've
|
|
done a righteous deed."
|
|
|
|
He looked pleased; pleased, and touched with ap-
|
|
prehension at the same time. He looked up and down
|
|
the road to see that no one was coming, and then said
|
|
in a cautious voice:
|
|
|
|
"From what land come you, brother, that you speak
|
|
such perilous words, and seem not to be afraid?"
|
|
|
|
"They are not perilous words when spoken to one
|
|
of my own caste, I take it. You would not tell any-
|
|
body I said them?"
|
|
|
|
"I? I would be drawn asunder by wild horses
|
|
first."
|
|
|
|
"Well, then, let me say my say. I have no fears
|
|
of your repeating it. I think devil's work has been
|
|
done last night upon those innocent poor people.
|
|
That old baron got only what he deserved. If I had
|
|
my way. all his kind should have the same luck."
|
|
|
|
Fear and depression vanished from the man's manner,
|
|
and gratefulness and a brave animation took their
|
|
place:
|
|
|
|
"Even though you be a spy, and your words a trap
|
|
for my undoing, yet are they such refreshment that to
|
|
hear them again and others like to them, I would go to
|
|
the gallows happy, as having had one good feast at
|
|
least in a starved life. And I will say my say now,
|
|
and ye may report it if ye be so minded. I helped to
|
|
hang my neighbors for that it were peril to my own
|
|
life to show lack of zeal in the master's cause; the
|
|
others helped for none other reason. All rejoice to-
|
|
day that he is dead, but all do go about seemingly
|
|
sorrowing, and shedding the hypocrite's tear, for in
|
|
that lies safety. I have said the words, I have said the
|
|
words! the only ones that have ever tasted good in
|
|
my mouth, and the reward of that taste is sufficient.
|
|
Lead on, an ye will, be it even to the scaffold, for I
|
|
am ready."
|
|
|
|
There it was, you see. A man is a man, at bottom.
|
|
Whole ages of abuse and oppression cannot crush the
|
|
manhood clear out of him. Whoever thinks it a mis-
|
|
take is himself mistaken. Yes, there is plenty good
|
|
enough material for a republic in the most degraded
|
|
people that ever existed -- even the Russians; plenty
|
|
of manhood in them -- even in the Germans -- if one
|
|
could but force it out of its timid and suspicious
|
|
privacy, to overthrow and trample in the mud any
|
|
throne that ever was set up and any nobility that ever
|
|
supported it. We should see certain things yet, let us
|
|
hope and believe. First, a modified monarchy, till
|
|
Arthur's days were done, then the destruction of the
|
|
throne, nobility abolished, every member of it bound
|
|
out to some useful trade, universal suffrage instituted,
|
|
and the whole government placed in the hands of the
|
|
men and women of the nation there to remain. Yes,
|
|
there was no occasion to give up my dream yet a while.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XXXI.
|
|
MARCO
|
|
|
|
WE strolled along in a sufficiently indolent fashion
|
|
now, and talked. We must dispose of about
|
|
the amount of time it ought to take to go to the little
|
|
hamlet of Abblasoure and put justice on the track of
|
|
those murderers and get back home again. And mean-
|
|
time I had an auxiliary interest which had never paled
|
|
yet, never lost its novelty for me since I had been in
|
|
Arthur's kingdom: the behavior -- born of nice and
|
|
exact subdivisions of caste -- of chance passers-by
|
|
toward each other. Toward the shaven monk who
|
|
trudged along with his cowl tilted back and the sweat
|
|
washing down his fat jowls, the coal-burner was deeply
|
|
reverent; to the gentleman he was abject; with the
|
|
small farmer and the free mechanic he was cordial and
|
|
gossipy; and when a slave passed by with a counte-
|
|
nance respectfully lowered, this chap's nose was in the
|
|
air -- he couldn't even see him. Well, there are times
|
|
when one would like to hang the whole human race
|
|
and finish the farce.
|
|
|
|
Presently we struck an incident. A small mob of
|
|
half-naked boys and girls came tearing out of the
|
|
woods, scared and shrieking. The eldest among them
|
|
were not more than twelve or fourteen years old.
|
|
They implored help, but they were so beside them-
|
|
selves that we couldn't make out what the matter was.
|
|
However, we plunged into the wood, they skurrying in
|
|
the lead, and the trouble was quickly revealed: they
|
|
had hanged a little fellow with a bark rope, and he was
|
|
kicking and struggling, in the process of choking to
|
|
death. We rescued him, and fetched him around. It
|
|
was some more human nature; the admiring little folk
|
|
imitating their elders; they were playing mob, and
|
|
had achieved a success which promised to be a good
|
|
deal more serious than they had bargained for.
|
|
|
|
It was not a dull excursion for me. I managed to
|
|
put in the time very well. I made various acquaintance-
|
|
ships, and in my quality of stranger was able to ask as
|
|
many questions as I wanted to. A thing which natur-
|
|
ally interested me, as a statesman, was the matter of
|
|
wages. I picked up what I could under that head
|
|
during the afternoon. A man who hasn't had much
|
|
experience, and doesn't think, is apt to measure a
|
|
nation's prosperity or lack of prosperity by the mere
|
|
size of the prevailing wages; if the wages be high, the
|
|
nation is prosperous; if low, it isn't. Which is an
|
|
error. It isn't what sum you get, it's how much you
|
|
can buy with it, that's the important thing; and it's
|
|
that that tells whether your wages are high in fact or
|
|
only high in name. I could remember how it was in
|
|
the time of our great civil war in the nineteenth cen-
|
|
tury. In the North a carpenter got three dollars a
|
|
day, gold valuation; in the South he got fifty -- pay-
|
|
able in Confederate shinplasters worth a dollar a
|
|
bushel. In the North a suit of overalls cost three
|
|
dollars -- a day's wages; in the South it cost seventy-
|
|
five -- which was two days' wages. Other things were
|
|
in proportion. Consequently, wages were twice as
|
|
high in the North as they were in the South, because
|
|
the one wage had that much more purchasing power
|
|
than the other had.
|
|
|
|
Yes, I made various acquaintances in the hamlet
|
|
and a thing that gratified me a good deal was to find
|
|
our new coins in circulation -- lots of milrays, lots of
|
|
mills, lots of cents, a good many nickels, and some
|
|
silver; all this among the artisans and commonalty
|
|
generally; yes, and even some gold -- but that was at
|
|
the bank, that is to say, the goldsmith's. I dropped
|
|
in there while Marco, the son of Marco, was haggling
|
|
with a shopkeeper over a quarter of a pound of salt,
|
|
and asked for change for a twenty-dollar gold piece.
|
|
They furnished it -- that is, after they had chewed the
|
|
piece, and rung it on the counter, and tried acid on it,
|
|
and asked me where I got it, and who I was, and
|
|
where I was from, and where I was going to, and
|
|
when I expected to get there, and perhaps a couple of
|
|
hundred more questions; and when they got aground,
|
|
I went right on and furnished them a lot of informa-
|
|
tion voluntarily; told them I owned a dog, and his
|
|
name was Watch, and my first wife was a Free Will
|
|
Baptist, and her grandfather was a Prohibitionist, and
|
|
I used to know a man who had two thumbs on each
|
|
hand and a wart on the inside of his upper lip, and
|
|
died in the hope of a glorious resurrection, and so on,
|
|
and so on, and so on, till even that hungry village
|
|
questioner began to look satisfied, and also a shade
|
|
put out; but he had to respect a man of my financial
|
|
strength, and so he didn't give me any lip, but I
|
|
noticed he took it out of his underlings, which was a
|
|
perfectly natural thing to do. Yes, they changed my
|
|
twenty, but I judged it strained the bank a little, which
|
|
was a thing to be expected, for it was the same as
|
|
walking into a paltry village store in the nineteenth
|
|
century and requiring the boss of it to change a two
|
|
thousand-dollar bill for you all of a sudden. He could
|
|
do it, maybe; but at the same time he would wonder
|
|
how a small farmer happened to be carrying so much
|
|
money around in his pocket; which was probably this
|
|
goldsmith's thought, too; for he followed me to
|
|
the door and stood there gazing after me with reverent
|
|
admiration.
|
|
|
|
Our new money was not only handsomely circulating,
|
|
but its language was already glibly in use; that is to
|
|
say, people had dropped the names of the former
|
|
moneys, and spoke of things as being worth so many
|
|
dollars or cents or mills or milrays now. It was very
|
|
gratifying. We were progressing, that was sure.
|
|
|
|
I got to know several master mechanics, but about
|
|
the most interesting fellow among them was the black-
|
|
smith, Dowley. He was a live man and a brisk talker,
|
|
and had two journeymen and three apprentices, and was
|
|
doing a raging business. In fact, he was getting rich,
|
|
hand over fist, and was vastly respected. Marco was
|
|
very proud of having such a man for a friend. He
|
|
had taken me there ostensibly to let me see the big
|
|
establishment which bought so much of his charcoal,
|
|
but really to let me see what easy and almost familiar
|
|
terms he was on with this great man. Dowley and I
|
|
fraternized at once; I had had just such picked men,
|
|
splendid fellows, under me in the Colt Arms Factory.
|
|
I was bound to see more of him, so I invited him to
|
|
come out to Marco's Sunday, and dine with us.
|
|
Marco was appalled, and held his breath; and when
|
|
the grandee accepted, he was so grateful that he almost
|
|
forgot to be astonished at the condescension.
|
|
|
|
Marco's joy was exuberant -- but only for a mo-
|
|
ment; then he grew thoughtful, then sad; and when
|
|
he heard me tell Dowley I should have Dickon, the
|
|
boss mason, and Smug, the boss wheelwright, out
|
|
there, too, the coal-dust on his face turned to chalk,
|
|
and he lost his grip. But I knew what was the matter
|
|
with him; it was the expense. He saw ruin before
|
|
him; he judged that his financial days were numbered.
|
|
However, on our way to invite the others, I said:
|
|
|
|
"You must allow me to have these friends come;
|
|
and you must also allow me to pay the costs."
|
|
|
|
His face cleared, and he said with spirit:
|
|
|
|
"But not all of it, not all of it. Ye cannot well
|
|
bear a burden like to this alone."
|
|
|
|
I stopped him, and said:
|
|
|
|
"Now let's understand each other on the spot, old
|
|
friend. I am only a farm bailiff, it is true; but I am
|
|
not poor, nevertheless. I have been very fortunate
|
|
this year -- you would be astonished to know how I
|
|
have thriven. I tell you the honest truth when I say
|
|
I could squander away as many as a dozen feasts like
|
|
this and never care THAT for the expense!" and I
|
|
snapped my fingers. I could see myself rise a foot at
|
|
a time in Marco's estimation, and when I fetched out
|
|
those last words I was become a very tower for style
|
|
and altitude. "So you see, you must let me have my
|
|
way. You can't contribute a cent to this orgy, that's
|
|
SETTLED."
|
|
|
|
"It's grand and good of you --"
|
|
|
|
"No, it isn't. You've opened your house to Jones
|
|
and me in the most generous way; Jones was remark-
|
|
ing upon it to-day, just before you came back from
|
|
the village; for although he wouldn't be likely to say
|
|
such a thing to you -- because Jones isn't a talker, and
|
|
is diffident in society -- he has a good heart and a
|
|
grateful, and knows how to appreciate it when he is
|
|
well treated; yes, you and your wife have been very
|
|
hospitable toward us --"
|
|
|
|
"Ah, brother, 'tis nothing -- SUCH hospitality!"
|
|
|
|
"But it IS something; the best a man has, freely
|
|
given, is always something, and is as good as a prince
|
|
can do, and ranks right along beside it -- for even a
|
|
prince can but do his best. And so we'll shop around
|
|
and get up this layout now, and don't you worry about
|
|
the expense. I'm one of the worst spendthrifts that ever
|
|
was born. Why, do you know, sometimes in a single
|
|
week I spend -- but never mind about that -- you'd
|
|
never believe it anyway."
|
|
|
|
And so we went gadding along, dropping in here
|
|
and there, pricing things, and gossiping with the shop-
|
|
keepers about the riot, and now and then running
|
|
across pathetic reminders of it, in the persons of
|
|
shunned and tearful and houseless remnants of families
|
|
whose homes had been taken from them and their
|
|
parents butchered or hanged. The raiment of Marco
|
|
and his wife was of coarse tow-linen and linsey-woolsey
|
|
respectively, and resembled township maps, it being
|
|
made up pretty exclusively of patches which had been
|
|
added, township by township, in the course of five or
|
|
six years, until hardly a hand's-breadth of the original
|
|
garments was surviving and present. Now I wanted
|
|
to fit these people out with new suits, on account of
|
|
that swell company, and I didn't know just how to get
|
|
at it -- with delicacy, until at last it struck me that as I
|
|
had already been liberal in inventing wordy gratitude
|
|
for the king, it would be just the thing to back it up
|
|
with evidence of a substantial sort; so I said:
|
|
|
|
"And Marco, there's another thing which you must
|
|
permit -- out of kindness for Jones -- because you
|
|
wouldn't want to offend him. He was very anxious
|
|
to testify his appreciation in some way, but he is so
|
|
diffident he couldn't venture it himself, and so he
|
|
begged me to buy some little things and give them to
|
|
you and Dame Phyllis and let him pay for them with-
|
|
out your ever knowing they came from him -- you
|
|
know how a delicate person feels about that sort of
|
|
thing -- and so I said I would, and we would keep
|
|
mum. Well, his idea was, a new outfit of clothes for
|
|
you both --"
|
|
|
|
"Oh, it is wastefulness! It may not be, brother, it
|
|
may not be. Consider the vastness of the sum --"
|
|
|
|
"Hang the vastness of the sum! Try to keep quiet
|
|
for a moment, and see how it would seem; a body
|
|
can't get in a word edgeways, you talk so much. You
|
|
ought to cure that, Marco; it isn't good form, you
|
|
know, and it will grow on you if you don't check it.
|
|
Yes, we'll step in here now and price this man's stuff
|
|
-- and don't forget to remember to not let on to Jones
|
|
that you know he had anything to do with it. You
|
|
can't think how curiously sensitive and proud he is.
|
|
He's a farmer -- pretty fairly well-to-do farmer -- an
|
|
I'm his bailiff; BUT -- the imagination of that man!
|
|
Why, sometimes when he forgets himself and gets to
|
|
blowing off, you'd think he was one of the swells of
|
|
the earth; and you might listen to him a hundred
|
|
years and never take him for a farmer -- especially if
|
|
he talked agriculture. He THINKS he's a Sheol of a
|
|
farmer; thinks he's old Grayback from Wayback; but
|
|
between you and me privately he don't know as much
|
|
about farming as he does about running a kingdom --
|
|
still, whatever he talks about, you want to drop your
|
|
underjaw and listen, the same as if you had never
|
|
heard such incredible wisdom in all your life before,
|
|
and were afraid you might die before you got enough
|
|
of it. That will please Jones."
|
|
|
|
It tickled Marco to the marrow to hear about such
|
|
an odd character; but it also prepared him for acci-
|
|
dents; and in my experience when you travel with a
|
|
king who is letting on to be something else and can't
|
|
remember it more than about half the time, you can't
|
|
take too many precautions.
|
|
|
|
This was the best store we had come across yet; it
|
|
had everything in it, in small quantities, from anvils
|
|
and drygoods all the way down to fish and pinchbeck
|
|
jewelry. I concluded I would bunch my whole invoice
|
|
right here, and not go pricing around any more. So
|
|
I got rid of Marco, by sending him off to invite the
|
|
mason and the wheelwright, which left the field free to
|
|
me. For I never care to do a thing in a quiet way;
|
|
it's got to be theatrical or I don't take any interest in
|
|
it. I showed up money enough, in a careless way, to
|
|
corral the shopkeeper's respect, and then I wrote down
|
|
a list of the things I wanted, and handed it to him to
|
|
see if he could read it. He could, and was proud to
|
|
show that he could. He said he had been educated by
|
|
a priest, and could both read and write. He ran it
|
|
through, and remarked with satisfaction that it was a
|
|
pretty heavy bill. Well, and so it was, for a little
|
|
concern like that. I was not only providing a swell
|
|
dinner, but some odds and ends of extras. I ordered
|
|
that the things be carted out and delivered at the
|
|
dwelling of Marco, the son of Marco, by Saturday
|
|
evening, and send me the bill at dinner-time Sunday.
|
|
He said I could depend upon his promptness and exacti-
|
|
tude, it was the rule of the house. He also observed
|
|
that he would throw in a couple of miller-guns for the
|
|
Marcos gratis -- that everybody was using them now.
|
|
He had a mighty opinion of that clever device. I said:
|
|
|
|
"And please fill them up to the middle mark, too;
|
|
and add that to the bill."
|
|
|
|
He would, with pleasure. He filled them, and I
|
|
took them with me. I couldn't venture to tell him
|
|
that the miller-gun was a little invention of my own,
|
|
and that I had officially ordered that every shopkeeper
|
|
in the kingdom keep them on hand and sell them at
|
|
government price -- which was the merest trifle, and
|
|
the shopkeeper got that, not the government. We
|
|
furnished them for nothing.
|
|
|
|
The king had hardly missed us when we got back at
|
|
nightfall. He had early dropped again into his dream
|
|
of a grand invasion of Gaul with the whole strength of
|
|
his kingdom at his back, and the afternoon had slipped
|
|
away without his ever coming to himself again.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XXXII.
|
|
DOWLEY'S HUMILIATION
|
|
|
|
WELL, when that cargo arrived toward sunset, Sat-
|
|
urday afternoon, I had my hands full to keep
|
|
the Marcos from fainting. They were sure Jones and
|
|
I were ruined past help, and they blamed themselves
|
|
as accessories to this bankruptcy. You see, in addi-
|
|
tion to the dinner-materials, which called for a suffi-
|
|
ciently round sum, I had bought a lot of extras for the
|
|
future comfort of the family: for instance, a big lot of
|
|
wheat, a delicacy as rare to the tables of their class as
|
|
was ice-cream to a hermit's; also a sizeable deal
|
|
dinner-table; also two entire pounds of salt, which
|
|
was another piece of extravagance in those people's
|
|
eyes; also crockery, stools, the clothes, a small cask
|
|
of beer, and so on. I instructed the Marcos to keep
|
|
quiet about this sumptuousness, so as to give me a
|
|
chance to surprise the guests and show off a little.
|
|
Concerning the new clothes, the simple couple were
|
|
like children; they were up and down, all night, to
|
|
see if it wasn't nearly daylight, so that they could put
|
|
them on, and they were into them at last as much as
|
|
an hour before dawn was due. Then their pleasure --
|
|
not to say delirium -- was so fresh and novel and in-
|
|
spiring that the sight of it paid me well for the inter-
|
|
ruptions which my sleep had suffered. The king had
|
|
slept just as usual -- like the dead. The Marcos could
|
|
not thank him for their clothes, that being forbidden;
|
|
but they tried every way they could think of to make
|
|
him see how grateful they were. Which all went for
|
|
nothing: he didn't notice any change.
|
|
|
|
It turned out to be one of those rich and rare fall
|
|
days which is just a June day toned down to a degree
|
|
where it is heaven to be out of doors. Toward noon
|
|
the guests arrived, and we assembled under a great tree
|
|
and were soon as sociable as old acquaintances. Even
|
|
the king's reserve melted a little, though it was some
|
|
little trouble to him to adjust himself to the name of
|
|
Jones along at first. I had asked him to try to not
|
|
forget that he was a farmer; but I had also considered
|
|
it prudent to ask him to let the thing stand at that,
|
|
and not elaborate it any. Because he was just the
|
|
kind of person you could depend on to spoil a little
|
|
thing like that if you didn't warn him, his tongue was
|
|
so handy, and his spirit so willing, and his information
|
|
so uncertain.
|
|
|
|
Dowley was in fine feather, and I early got him
|
|
started, and then adroitly worked him around onto his
|
|
own history for a text and himself for a hero, and then
|
|
it was good to sit there and hear him hum. Self-made
|
|
man, you know. They know how to talk. They do
|
|
deserve more credit than any other breed of men, yes,
|
|
that is true; and they are among the very first to find
|
|
it out, too. He told how he had begun life an orphan
|
|
lad without money and without friends able to help
|
|
him; how he had lived as the slaves of the meanest
|
|
master lived; how his day's work was from sixteen to
|
|
eighteen hours long, and yielded him only enough
|
|
black bread to keep him in a half-fed condition; how
|
|
his faithful endeavors finally attracted the attention of
|
|
a good blacksmith, who came near knocking him dead
|
|
with kindness by suddenly offering, when he was totally
|
|
unprepared, to take him as his bound apprentice for
|
|
nine years and give him board and clothes and teach
|
|
him the trade -- or "mystery" as Dowley called it.
|
|
That was his first great rise, his first gorgeous stroke
|
|
of fortune; and you saw that he couldn't yet speak of
|
|
it without a sort of eloquent wonder and delight that
|
|
such a gilded promotion should have fallen to the lot
|
|
of a common human being. He got no new clothing
|
|
during his apprenticeship, but on his graduation day
|
|
his master tricked him out in spang-new tow-linens
|
|
and made him feel unspeakably rich and fine.
|
|
|
|
"I remember me of that day!" the wheelwright
|
|
sang out, with enthusiasm.
|
|
|
|
"And I likewise!" cried the mason. "I would not
|
|
believe they were thine own; in faith I could not."
|
|
|
|
"Nor other!" shouted Dowley, with sparkling eyes.
|
|
"I was like to lose my character, the neighbors wend-
|
|
ing I had mayhap been stealing. It was a great day,
|
|
a great day; one forgetteth not days like that."
|
|
|
|
Yes, and his master was a fine man, and prosperous,
|
|
and always had a great feast of meat twice in the year,
|
|
and with it white bread, true wheaten bread; in fact,
|
|
lived like a lord, so to speak. And in time Dowley
|
|
succeeded to the business and married the daughter.
|
|
|
|
"And now consider what is come to pass," said
|
|
he, impressively. "Two times in every month there
|
|
is fresh meat upon my table." He made a pause
|
|
here, to let that fact sink home, then added -- "and
|
|
eight times salt meat."
|
|
|
|
"It is even true," said the wheelwright, with bated
|
|
breath.
|
|
|
|
"I know it of mine own knowledge," said the mason,
|
|
in the same reverent fashion.
|
|
|
|
"On my table appeareth white bread every Sunday
|
|
in the year," added the master smith, with solemnity.
|
|
"I leave it to your own consciences, friends, if this is
|
|
not also true?"
|
|
|
|
"By my head, yes," cried the mason.
|
|
|
|
"I can testify it -- and I do," said the wheelwright.
|
|
|
|
"And as to furniture, ye shall say yourselves what
|
|
mine equipment is. " He waved his hand in fine
|
|
gesture of granting frank and unhampered freedom
|
|
of speech, and added: "Speak as ye are moved;
|
|
speak as ye would speak; an I were not here."
|
|
|
|
"Ye have five stools, and of the sweetest workman-
|
|
ship at that, albeit your family is but three," said the
|
|
wheelwright, with deep respect.
|
|
|
|
"And six wooden goblets, and six platters of wood
|
|
and two of pewter to cat and drink from withal," said
|
|
the mason, impressively. "And I say it as knowing
|
|
God is my judge, and we tarry not here alway, but
|
|
must answer at the last day for the things said in the
|
|
body, be they false or be they sooth."
|
|
|
|
"Now ye know what manner of man I am, brother
|
|
Jones," said the smith, with a fine and friendly conde-
|
|
scension, "and doubtless ye would look to find me a
|
|
man jealous of his due of respect and but sparing of
|
|
outgo to strangers till their rating and quality be
|
|
assured, but trouble yourself not, as concerning that;
|
|
wit ye well ye shall find me a man that regardeth not
|
|
these matters but is willing to receive any he as his
|
|
fellow and equal that carrieth a right heart in his body,
|
|
be his worldly estate howsoever modest. And in token
|
|
of it, here is my hand; and I say with my own mouth
|
|
we are equals -- equals "-- and he smiled around on
|
|
the company with the satisfaction of a god who is
|
|
doing the handsome and gracious thing and is quite
|
|
well aware of it.
|
|
|
|
The king took the hand with a poorly disguised
|
|
reluctance, and let go of it as willingly as a lady lets
|
|
go of a fish; all of which had a good effect, for it was
|
|
mistaken for an embarrassment natural to one who was
|
|
being called upon by greatness.
|
|
|
|
The dame brought out the table now, and set it
|
|
under the tree. It caused a visible stir of surprise, it
|
|
being brand new and a sumptuous article of deal. But
|
|
the surprise rose higher still when the dame, with a
|
|
body oozing easy indifference at every pore, but eyes
|
|
that gave it all away by absolutely flaming with vanity,
|
|
slowly unfolded an actual simon-pure tablecloth and
|
|
spread it. That was a notch above even the black-
|
|
smith's domestic grandeurs, and it hit him hard; you
|
|
could see it. But Marco was in Paradise; you could
|
|
see that, too. Then the dame brought two fine new
|
|
stools -- whew! that was a sensation; it was visible in
|
|
the eyes of every guest. Then she brought two more
|
|
-- as calmly as she could. Sensation again -- with
|
|
awed murmurs. Again she brought two -- walking on
|
|
air, she was so proud. The guests were petrified, and
|
|
the mason muttered:
|
|
|
|
"There is that about earthly pomps which doth
|
|
ever move to reverence."
|
|
|
|
As the dame turned away, Marco couldn't help
|
|
slapping on the climax while the thing was hot; so he
|
|
said with what was meant for a languid composure but
|
|
was a poor imitation of it:
|
|
|
|
"These suffice; leave the rest."
|
|
|
|
So there were more yet! It was a fine effect. I
|
|
couldn't have played the hand better myself.
|
|
|
|
From this out, the madam piled up the surprises
|
|
with a rush that fired the general astonishment up to a
|
|
hundred and fifty in the shade, and at the same time
|
|
paralyzed expression of it down to gasped "Oh's"
|
|
and "Ah's," and mute upliftings of hands and eyes.
|
|
She fetched crockery -- new, and plenty of it; new
|
|
wooden goblets and other table furniture; and beer,
|
|
fish, chicken, a goose, eggs, roast beef, roast mutton,
|
|
a ham, a small roast pig, and a wealth of genuine white
|
|
wheaten bread. Take it by and large, that spread laid
|
|
everything far and away in the shade that ever that
|
|
crowd had seen before. And while they sat there just
|
|
simply stupefied with wonder and awe, I sort of waved
|
|
my hand as if by accident, and the storekeeper's son
|
|
emerged from space and said he had come to collect.
|
|
|
|
"That's all right," I said, indifferently. "What is
|
|
the amount? give us the items."
|
|
|
|
Then he read off this bill, while those three amazed
|
|
men listened, and serene waves of satisfaction rolled
|
|
over my soul and alternate waves of terror and admira-
|
|
tion surged over Marco's:
|
|
|
|
2 pounds salt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 200
|
|
8 dozen pints beer, in the wood . . . . . 800
|
|
3 bushels wheat . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2,700
|
|
2 pounds fish . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100
|
|
3 hens . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 400
|
|
1 goose . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 400
|
|
3 dozen eggs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 150
|
|
1 roast of beef . . . . . . . . . . . . . 450
|
|
1 roast of mutton . . . . . . . . . . . . 400
|
|
1 ham . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 800
|
|
1 sucking pig . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 500
|
|
2 crockery dinner sets . . . . . . . . . 6,000
|
|
2 men's suits and underwear . . . . . . . 2,800
|
|
1 stuff and 1 linsey-woolsey gown
|
|
and underwear . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1,600
|
|
8 wooden goblets . . . . . . . . . . . . 800
|
|
Various table furniture . . . . . . . . .10,000
|
|
1 deal table . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3,000
|
|
8 stools . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4,000
|
|
2 miller guns, loaded . . . . . . . . . . 3,000
|
|
|
|
He ceased. There was a pale and awful silence.
|
|
Not a limb stirred. Not a nostril betrayed the passage
|
|
of breath.
|
|
|
|
"Is that all?" I asked, in a voice of the most per-
|
|
fect calmness.
|
|
|
|
"All, fair sir, save that certain matters of light mo-
|
|
ment are placed together under a head hight sundries.
|
|
If it would like you, I will sepa --"
|
|
|
|
"It is of no consequence," I said, accompanying
|
|
the words with a gesture of the most utter indifference;
|
|
"give me the grand total, please."
|
|
|
|
The clerk leaned against the tree to stay himself, and
|
|
said:
|
|
|
|
"Thirty-nine thousand one hundred and fifty mil-
|
|
rays!"
|
|
|
|
The wheelwright fell off his stool, the others grabbed
|
|
the table to save themselves, and there was a deep and
|
|
general ejaculation of:
|
|
|
|
"God be with us in the day of disaster!"
|
|
|
|
The clerk hastened to say:
|
|
|
|
"My father chargeth me to say he cannot honorably
|
|
require you to pay it all at this time, and therefore
|
|
only prayeth you --"
|
|
|
|
I paid no more heed than if it were the idle breeze,
|
|
but, with an air of indifference amounting almost to
|
|
weariness, got out my money and tossed four dollars
|
|
on to the table. Ah, you should have seen them stare!
|
|
|
|
The clerk was astonished and charmed. He asked
|
|
me to retain one of the dollars as security, until he
|
|
could go to town and -- I interrupted:
|
|
|
|
"What, and fetch back nine cents? Nonsense!
|
|
Take the whole. Keep the change."
|
|
|
|
There was an amazed murmur to this effect:
|
|
|
|
"Verily this being is MADE of money! He throweth
|
|
it away even as if it were dirt."
|
|
|
|
The blacksmith was a crushed man.
|
|
|
|
The clerk took his money and reeled away drunk
|
|
with fortune. I said to Marco and his wife:
|
|
|
|
"Good folk, here is a little trifle for you" -- hand-
|
|
ing the miller-guns as if it were a matter of no conse-
|
|
quence, though each of them contained fifteen cents in
|
|
solid cash; and while the poor creatures went to pieces
|
|
with astonishment and gratitude, I turned to the others
|
|
and said as calmly as one would ask the time of day:
|
|
|
|
"Well, if we are all ready, I judge the dinner is.
|
|
Come, fall to."
|
|
|
|
Ah, well, it was immense; yes, it was a daisy. I
|
|
don't know that I ever put a situation together better,
|
|
or got happier spectacular effects out of the materials
|
|
available. The blacksmith -- well, he was simply
|
|
mashed. Land! I wouldn't have felt what that man
|
|
was feeling, for anything in the world. Here he had
|
|
been blowing and bragging about his grand meat-feast
|
|
twice a year, and his fresh meat twice a month, and
|
|
his salt meat twice a week, and his white bread every
|
|
Sunday the year round -- all for a family of three; the
|
|
entire cost for the year not above 69.2.6 (sixty-nine
|
|
cents, two mills and six milrays), and all of a sudden
|
|
here comes along a man who slashes out nearly four
|
|
dollars on a single blow-out; and not only that, but
|
|
acts as if it made him tired to handle such small sums.
|
|
Yes, Dowley was a good deal wilted, and shrunk-up
|
|
and collapsed; he had the aspect of a bladder-balloon
|
|
that's been stepped on by a cow.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XXXIII.
|
|
SIXTH CENTURY POLITICAL ECONOMY
|
|
|
|
HOWEVER, I made a dead set at him, and before
|
|
the first third of the dinner was reached, I had
|
|
him happy again. It was easy to do -- in a country
|
|
of ranks and castes. You see, in a country where
|
|
they have ranks and castes, a man isn't ever a man,
|
|
he is only part of a man, he can't ever get his full
|
|
growth. You prove your superiority over him in
|
|
station, or rank, or fortune, and that's the end of it --
|
|
he knuckles down. You can't insult him after that.
|
|
No, I don't mean quite that; of course you CAN insult
|
|
him, I only mean it's difficult; and so, unless you've
|
|
got a lot of useless time on your hands it doesn't pay
|
|
to try. I had the smith's reverence now, because I
|
|
was apparently immensely prosperous and rich; I
|
|
could have had his adoration if I had had some
|
|
little gimcrack title of nobility. And not only his, but
|
|
any commoner's in the land, though he were the
|
|
mightiest production of all the ages, in intellect, worth,
|
|
and character, and I bankrupt in all three. This was
|
|
to remain so, as long as England should exist in the
|
|
earth. With the spirit of prophecy upon me, I could
|
|
look into the future and see her erect statues and
|
|
monuments to her unspeakable Georges and other
|
|
royal and noble clothes-horses, and leave unhonored
|
|
the creators of this world -- after God -- Gutenburg,
|
|
Watt, Arkwright, Whitney, Morse, Stephenson, Bell.
|
|
|
|
The king got his cargo aboard, and then, the talk
|
|
not turning upon battle, conquest, or iron-clad duel,
|
|
he dulled down to drowsiness and went off to take a
|
|
nap. Mrs. Marco cleared the table, placed the beer
|
|
keg handy, and went away to eat her dinner of leavings
|
|
in humble privacy, and the rest of us soon drifted into
|
|
matters near and dear to the hearts of our sort -- busi-
|
|
ness and wages, of course. At a first glance, things
|
|
appeared to be exceeding prosperous in this little
|
|
tributary kingdom -- whose lord was King Bagdemagus
|
|
-- as compared with the state of things in my own
|
|
region. They had the "protection" system in full
|
|
force here, whereas we were working along down
|
|
toward free-trade, by easy stages, and were now about
|
|
half way. Before long, Dowley and I were doing all
|
|
the talking, the others hungrily listening. Dowley
|
|
warmed to his work, snuffed an advantage in the air,
|
|
and began to put questions which he considered pretty
|
|
awkward ones for me, and they did have something of
|
|
that look:
|
|
|
|
"In your country, brother, what is the wage of a
|
|
master bailiff, master hind, carter, shepherd, swine-
|
|
herd?"
|
|
|
|
"Twenty-five milrays a day; that is to say, a quarter
|
|
of a cent.
|
|
|
|
The smith's face beamed with joy. He said:
|
|
|
|
"With us they are allowed the double of it! And
|
|
what may a mechanic get -- carpenter, dauber, mason,
|
|
painter, blacksmith, wheelwright, and the like?"
|
|
|
|
"On the average, fifty milrays; half a cent a day."
|
|
|
|
"Ho-ho! With us they are allowed a hundred!
|
|
With us any good mechanic is allowed a cent a day!
|
|
I count out the tailor, but not the others -- they are
|
|
all allowed a cent a day, and in driving times they get
|
|
more -- yes, up to a hundred and ten and even fifteen
|
|
milrays a day. I've paid a hundred and fifteen my-
|
|
self, within the week. 'Rah for protection -- to Sheol
|
|
with free-trade!"
|
|
|
|
And his face shone upon the company like a sun-
|
|
burst. But I didn't scare at all. I rigged up my
|
|
pile-driver, and allowed myself fifteen minutes to drive
|
|
him into the earth -- drive him ALL in -- drive him in
|
|
till not even the curve of his skull should show above
|
|
ground. Here is the way I started in on him. I asked:
|
|
|
|
"What do you pay a pound for salt?"
|
|
|
|
"A hundred milrays."
|
|
|
|
"We pay forty. What do you pay for beef and
|
|
mutton -- when you buy it?" That was a neat hit; it
|
|
made the color come.
|
|
|
|
"It varieth somewhat, but not much; one may say
|
|
75 milrays the pound."
|
|
|
|
"WE pay 33. What do you pay for eggs?"
|
|
|
|
"Fifty milrays the dozen."
|
|
|
|
"We pay 20. What do you pay for beer?"
|
|
|
|
"It costeth us 8 1/2 milrays the pint."
|
|
|
|
"We get it for 4; 25 bottles for a cent. What do
|
|
you pay for wheat?"
|
|
|
|
"At the rate of 900 milrays the bushel."
|
|
|
|
"We pay 400. What do you pay for a man's tow-
|
|
linen suit?"
|
|
|
|
"Thirteen cents."
|
|
|
|
"We pay 6. What do you pay for a stuff gown
|
|
for the wife of the laborer or the mechanic?"
|
|
|
|
"We pay 8.4.0."
|
|
|
|
"Well, observe the difference: you pay eight cents
|
|
and four mills, we pay only four cents." I prepared
|
|
now to sock it to him. l said: "Look here, dear
|
|
friend, WHAT'S BECOME OF YOUR HIGH WAGES YOU WERE
|
|
BRAGGING SO ABOUT A FEW MINUTES AGO?" -- and I looked
|
|
around on the company with placid satisfaction, for I
|
|
had slipped up on him gradually and tied him hand
|
|
and foot, you see, without his ever noticing that he
|
|
was being tied at all. "What's become of those noble
|
|
high wages of yours? -- I seem to have knocked the
|
|
stuffing all out of them, it appears to me."
|
|
|
|
But if you will believe me, he merely looked sur-
|
|
prised, that is all! he didn't grasp the situation at all,
|
|
didn't know he had walked into a trap, didn't discover
|
|
that he was IN a trap. I could have shot him, from
|
|
sheer vexation. With cloudy eye and a struggling in-
|
|
tellect he fetched this out:
|
|
|
|
"Marry, I seem not to understand. It is PROVED
|
|
that our wages be double thine; how then may it be
|
|
that thou'st knocked therefrom the stuffing? -- an
|
|
miscall not the wonderly word, this being the first time
|
|
under grace and providence of God it hath been
|
|
granted me to hear it."
|
|
|
|
Well, I was stunned; partly with this unlooked-for
|
|
stupidity on his part, and partly because his fellows so
|
|
manifestly sided with him and were of his mind -- if
|
|
you might call it mind. My position was simple
|
|
enough, plain enough; how could it ever be simplified
|
|
more? However, I must try:
|
|
|
|
"Why, look here, brother Dowley, don't you see?
|
|
Your wages are merely higher than ours in NAME, not
|
|
in FACT."
|
|
|
|
"Hear him! They are the DOUBLE -- ye have con-
|
|
fessed it yourself."
|
|
|
|
"Yes-yes, I don't deny that at all. But that's got
|
|
nothing to do with it; the AMOUNT of the wages in
|
|
mere coins, with meaningless names attached to them
|
|
to know them by, has got nothing to do with it. The
|
|
thing is, how much can you BUY with your wages? --
|
|
that's the idea. While it is true that with you a good
|
|
mechanic is allowed about three dollars and a half a year,
|
|
and with us only about a dollar and seventy-five --"
|
|
|
|
"There -- ye're confessing it again, ye're confess-
|
|
ing it again!"
|
|
|
|
"Confound it, I've never denied it, I tell you!
|
|
What I say is this. With us HALF a dollar buys more
|
|
than a DOLLAR buys with you -- and THEREFORE it stands
|
|
to reason and the commonest kind of common-sense,
|
|
that our wages are HIGHER than yours."
|
|
|
|
He looked dazed, and said, despairingly:
|
|
|
|
"Verily, I cannot make it out. Ye've just said ours
|
|
are the higher, and with the same breath ye take it
|
|
back."
|
|
|
|
"Oh, great Scott, isn't it possible to get such a
|
|
simple thing through your head? Now look here --
|
|
let me illustrate. We pay four cents for a woman's
|
|
stuff gown, you pay 8.4.0, which is four mills more
|
|
than DOUBLE. What do you allow a laboring woman
|
|
who works on a farm?"
|
|
|
|
"Two mills a day."
|
|
|
|
"Very good; we allow but half as much; we pay
|
|
her only a tenth of a cent a day; and --"
|
|
|
|
"Again ye're conf --"
|
|
|
|
"Wait! Now, you see, the thing is very simple;
|
|
this time you'll understand it. For instance, it takes
|
|
your woman 42 days to earn her gown, at 2 mills a
|
|
day -- 7 weeks' work; but ours earns hers in forty
|
|
days -- two days SHORT of 7 weeks. Your woman has
|
|
a gown, and her whole seven weeks wages are gone;
|
|
ours has a gown, and two days' wages left, to buy
|
|
something else with. There -- NOW you understand
|
|
it!"
|
|
|
|
He looked -- well, he merely looked dubious, it's
|
|
the most I can say; so did the others. I waited -- to
|
|
let the thing work. Dowley spoke at last -- and be-
|
|
trayed the fact that he actually hadn't gotten away
|
|
from his rooted and grounded superstitions yet. He
|
|
said, with a trifle of hesitancy:
|
|
|
|
"But -- but -- ye cannot fail to grant that two mills
|
|
a day is better than one."
|
|
|
|
Shucks! Well, of course, I hated to give it up. So
|
|
I chanced another flyer:
|
|
|
|
"Let us suppose a case. Suppose one of your jour-
|
|
neymen goes out and buys the following articles:
|
|
|
|
"1 pound of salt;
|
|
1 dozen eggs;
|
|
1 dozen pints of beer;
|
|
1 bushel of wheat;
|
|
1 tow-linen suit;
|
|
5 pounds of beef;
|
|
5 pounds of mutton.
|
|
|
|
"The lot will cost him 32 cents. It takes him 32
|
|
working days to earn the money -- 5 weeks and 2
|
|
days. Let him come to us and work 32 days at HALF
|
|
the wages; he can buy all those things for a shade
|
|
under 14 1/2 cents; they will cost him a shade under 29
|
|
days' work, and he will have about half a week's
|
|
wages over. Carry it through the year; he would
|
|
save nearly a week's wages every two months, YOUR
|
|
man nothing; thus saving five or six weeks' wages in
|
|
a year, your man not a cent. NOW I reckon you
|
|
understand that 'high wages' and 'low wages' are
|
|
phrases that don't mean anything in the world until
|
|
you find out which of them will BUY the most!"
|
|
|
|
It was a crusher.
|
|
|
|
But, alas! it didn't crush. No, I had to give it up.
|
|
What those people valued was HIGH WAGES; it didn't
|
|
seem to be a matter of any consequence to them
|
|
whether the high wages would buy anything or not.
|
|
They stood for "protection," and swore by it, which
|
|
was reasonable enough, because interested parties had
|
|
gulled them into the notion that it was protection which
|
|
had created their high wages. I proved to them that
|
|
in a quarter of a century their wages had advanced but
|
|
30 per cent., while the cost of living had gone up 100;
|
|
and that with us, in a shorter time, wages had ad-
|
|
vanced 40 per cent. while the cost of living had gone
|
|
steadily down. But it didn't do any good. Nothing
|
|
could unseat their strange beliefs.
|
|
|
|
Well, I was smarting under a sense of defeat. Un-
|
|
deserved defeat, but what of that? That didn't soften
|
|
the smart any. And to think of the circumstances!
|
|
the first statesman of the age, the capablest man, the
|
|
best-informed man in the entire world, the loftiest un-
|
|
crowned head that had moved through the clouds of
|
|
any political firmament for centuries, sitting here ap-
|
|
parently defeated in argument by an ignorant country
|
|
blacksmith! And I could see that those others were
|
|
sorry for me -- which made me blush till I could smell
|
|
my whiskers scorching. Put yourself in my place;
|
|
feel as mean as I did, as ashamed as I felt -- wouldn't
|
|
YOU have struck below the belt to get even? Yes, you
|
|
would; it is simply human nature. Well, that is what
|
|
I did. I am not trying to justify it; I'm only saying
|
|
that I was mad, and ANYBODY would have done it.
|
|
|
|
Well, when I make up my mind to hit a man, I
|
|
don't plan out a love-tap; no, that isn't my way; as
|
|
long as I'm going to hit him at all, I'm going to hit
|
|
him a lifter. And I don't jump at him all of a sudden,
|
|
and risk making a blundering half-way business of it;
|
|
no, I get away off yonder to one side, and work up on
|
|
him gradually, so that he never suspects that I'm going
|
|
to hit him at all; and by and by, all in a flash, he's
|
|
flat on his back, and he can't tell for the life of him
|
|
how it all happened. That is the way I went for
|
|
brother Dowley. I started to talking lazy and com-
|
|
fortable, as if I was just talking to pass the time; and
|
|
the oldest man in the world couldn't have taken the
|
|
bearings of my starting place and guessed where I was
|
|
going to fetch up:
|
|
|
|
"Boys, there's a good many curious things about
|
|
law, and custom, and usage, and all that sort of thing,
|
|
when you come to look at it; yes, and about the drift
|
|
and progress of human opinion and movement, too.
|
|
There are written laws -- they perish; but there are
|
|
also unwritten laws -- THEY are eternal. Take the un-
|
|
written law of wages: it says they've got to advance,
|
|
little by little, straight through the centuries. And
|
|
notice how it works. We know what wages are now,
|
|
here and there and yonder; we strike an average, and say
|
|
that's the wages of to-day. We know what the wages
|
|
were a hundred years ago, and what they were two
|
|
hundred years ago; that's as far back as we can get,
|
|
but it suffices to give us the law of progress, the
|
|
measure and rate of the periodical augmentation; and
|
|
so, without a document to help us, we can come pretty
|
|
close to determining what the wages were three and
|
|
four and five hundred years ago. Good, so far. Do
|
|
we stop there? No. We stop looking backward; we
|
|
face around and apply the law to the future. My
|
|
friends, I can tell you what people's wages are going
|
|
to be at any date in the future you want to know, for
|
|
hundreds and hundreds of years."
|
|
|
|
"What, goodman, what!"
|
|
|
|
"Yes. In seven hundred years wages will have
|
|
risen to six times what they are now, here in your
|
|
region, and farm hands will be allowed 3 cents a day,
|
|
and mechanics 6."
|
|
|
|
"I would't I might die now and live then!" inter-
|
|
rupted Smug, the wheelwright, with a fine avaricious
|
|
glow in his eye.
|
|
|
|
"And that isn't all; they'll get their board besides --
|
|
such as it is: it won't bloat them. Two hundred and
|
|
fifty years later -- pay attention now -- a mechanic's
|
|
wages will be -- mind you, this is law, not guesswork;
|
|
a mechanic's wages will then be TWENTY cents a day!"
|
|
|
|
There was a general gasp of awed astonishment,
|
|
Dickon the mason murmured, with raised eyes and
|
|
hands:
|
|
|
|
"More than three weeks' pay for one day's work!"
|
|
|
|
"Riches! -- of a truth, yes, riches!" muttered
|
|
Marco, his breath coming quick and short, with ex-
|
|
citement.
|
|
|
|
"Wages will keep on rising, little by little, little by
|
|
little, as steadily as a tree grows, and at the end of
|
|
three hundred and forty years more there'll be at least
|
|
ONE country where the mechanic's average wage will be
|
|
TWO HUNDRED cents a day!"
|
|
|
|
It knocked them absolutely dumb! Not a man of
|
|
them could get his breath for upwards of two minutes.
|
|
Then the coal-burner said prayerfully:
|
|
|
|
"Might I but live to see it!"
|
|
|
|
"It is the income of an earl!" said Smug.
|
|
|
|
"An earl, say ye?" said Dowley; "ye could say
|
|
more than that and speak no lie; there's no earl in the
|
|
realm of Bagdemagus that hath an income like to
|
|
that. Income of an earl -- mf! it's the income of an
|
|
angel!"
|
|
|
|
"Now, then, that is what is going to happen as re-
|
|
gards wages. In that remote day, that man will earn,
|
|
with ONE week's work, that bill of goods which it takes
|
|
you upwards of FIFTY weeks to earn now. Some other
|
|
pretty surprising things are going to happen, too.
|
|
Brother Dowley, who is it that determines, every
|
|
spring, what the particular wage of each kind of
|
|
mechanic, laborer, and servant shall be for that year?"
|
|
|
|
"Sometimes the courts, sometimes the town coun-
|
|
cil; but most of all, the magistrate. Ye may say, in
|
|
general terms, it is the magistrate that fixes the wages."
|
|
|
|
"Doesn't ask any of those poor devils to HELP him
|
|
fix their wages for them, does he?"
|
|
|
|
"Hm! That WERE an idea! The master that's to
|
|
pay him the money is the one that's rightly concerned
|
|
in that matter, ye will notice "
|
|
|
|
"Yes -- but I thought the other man might have
|
|
some little trifle at stake in it, too; and even his wife
|
|
and children, poor creatures. The masters are these:
|
|
nobles, rich men, the prosperous generally. These
|
|
few, who do no work, determine what pay the vast
|
|
hive shall have who DO work. You see? They're a
|
|
'combine' -- a trade union, to coin a new phrase --
|
|
who band themselves together to force their lowly
|
|
brother to take what they choose to give. Thirteen
|
|
hundred years hence -- so says the unwritten law -- the
|
|
'combine' will be the other way, and then how these
|
|
fine people's posterity will fume and fret and grit their
|
|
teeth over the insolent tyranny of trade unions! Yes,
|
|
indeed! the magistrate will tranquilly arrange the
|
|
wages from now clear away down into the nineteenth
|
|
century; and then all of a sudden the wage-earner will
|
|
consider that a couple of thousand years or so is
|
|
enough of this one-sided sort of thing; and he will
|
|
rise up and take a hand in fixing his wages himself.
|
|
Ah, he will have a long and bitter account of wrong
|
|
and humiliation to settle."
|
|
|
|
"Do ye believe -- "
|
|
|
|
"That he actually will help to fix his own wages?
|
|
Yes, indeed. And he will be strong and able, then."
|
|
|
|
"Brave times, brave times, of a truth!" sneered
|
|
the prosperous smith.
|
|
|
|
"Oh, -- and there's another detail. In that day, a
|
|
master may hire a man for only just one day, or one
|
|
week, or one month at a time, if he wants to."
|
|
|
|
"What?"
|
|
|
|
"It's true. Moreover, a magistrate won't be able
|
|
to force a man to work for a master a whole year on a
|
|
stretch whether the man wants to or not."
|
|
|
|
"Will there be NO law or sense in that day?"
|
|
|
|
"Both of them, Dowley. In that day a man will
|
|
be his own property, not the property of magistrate
|
|
and master. And he can leave town whenever he
|
|
wants to, if the wages don't suit him! -- and they
|
|
can't put him in the pillory for it."
|
|
|
|
"Perdition catch such an age!" shouted Dowley,
|
|
in strong indignation. "An age of dogs, an age barren
|
|
of reverence for superiors and respect for authority!
|
|
The pillory --"
|
|
|
|
"Oh, wait, brother; say no good word for that in-
|
|
stitution. I think the pillory ought to be abolished."
|
|
|
|
"A most strange idea. Why?"
|
|
|
|
"Well, I'll tell you why. Is a man ever put in the
|
|
pillory for a capital crime?"
|
|
|
|
"No."
|
|
|
|
"Is it right to condemn a man to a slight punish-
|
|
ment for a small offense and then kill him?"
|
|
|
|
There was no answer. I had scored my first point!
|
|
For the first time, the smith wasn't up and ready.
|
|
The company noticed it. Good effect.
|
|
|
|
"You don't answer, brother. You were about to
|
|
glorify the pillory a while ago, and shed some pity on
|
|
a future age that isn't going to use it. I think the
|
|
pillory ought to be abolished. What usually happens
|
|
when a poor fellow is put in the pillory for some little
|
|
offense that didn't amount to anything in the world?
|
|
The mob try to have some fun with him, don't they?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes."
|
|
|
|
"They begin by clodding him; and they laugh
|
|
themselves to pieces to see him try to dodge one clod
|
|
and get hit with another?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes."
|
|
|
|
"Then they throw dead cats at him, don't they?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes."
|
|
|
|
"Well, then, suppose he has a few personal enemies
|
|
in that mob and here and there a man or a woman
|
|
with a secret grudge against him -- and suppose
|
|
especially that he is unpopular in the community, for
|
|
his pride, or his prosperity, or one thing or another --
|
|
stones and bricks take the place of clods and cats
|
|
presently, don't they?"
|
|
|
|
"There is no doubt of it."
|
|
|
|
"As a rule he is crippled for life, isn't he? -- jaws
|
|
broken, teeth smashed out? -- or legs mutilated, gan-
|
|
grened, presently cut off? -- or an eye knocked out,
|
|
maybe both eyes?"
|
|
|
|
"It is true, God knoweth it."
|
|
|
|
"And if he is unpopular he can depend on DYING,
|
|
right there in the stocks, can't he?"
|
|
|
|
"He surely can! One may not deny it."
|
|
|
|
"I take it none of YOU are unpopular -- by reason
|
|
of pride or insolence, or conspicuous prosperity, or
|
|
any of those things that excite envy and malice among
|
|
the base scum of a village? YOU wouldn't think it
|
|
much of a risk to take a chance in the stocks?"
|
|
|
|
Dowley winced, visibly. I judged he was hit. But
|
|
he didn't betray it by any spoken word. As for the
|
|
others, they spoke out plainly, and with strong feeling.
|
|
They said they had seen enough of the stocks to know
|
|
what a man's chance in them was, and they would
|
|
never consent to enter them if they could compromise
|
|
on a quick death by hanging.
|
|
|
|
"Well, to change the subject -- for I think I've
|
|
established my point that the stocks ought to be abol-
|
|
ished. I think some of our laws are pretty unfair.
|
|
For instance, if I do a thing which ought to deliver
|
|
me to the stocks, and you know I did it and yet keep
|
|
still and don't report me, YOU will get the stocks if
|
|
anybody informs on you."
|
|
|
|
"Ah, but that would serve you but right," said
|
|
Dowley, "for you MUST inform. So saith the law."
|
|
|
|
The others coincided.
|
|
|
|
"Well, all right, let it go, since you vote me down.
|
|
But there's one thing which certainly isn't fair. The
|
|
magistrate fixes a mechanic's wage at 1 cent a day,
|
|
for instance. The law says that if any master shall
|
|
venture, even under utmost press of business, to pay
|
|
anything OVER that cent a day, even for a single day,
|
|
he shall be both fined and pilloried for it; and who-
|
|
ever knows he did it and doesn't inform, they also shall
|
|
be fined and pilloried. Now it seems to me unfair,
|
|
Dowley, and a deadly peril to all of us, that because
|
|
you thoughtlessly confessed, a while ago, that within a
|
|
week you have paid a cent and fifteen mil --"
|
|
|
|
Oh, I tell YOU it was a smasher! You ought to have
|
|
seen them to go to pieces, the whole gang. I had just
|
|
slipped up on poor smiling and complacent Dowley so
|
|
nice and easy and softly, that he never suspected any-
|
|
thing was going to happen till the blow came crashing
|
|
down and knocked him all to rags.
|
|
|
|
A fine effect. In fact, as fine as any I ever pro-
|
|
duced, with so little time to work it up in.
|
|
|
|
But I saw in a moment that I had overdone the
|
|
thing a little. I was expecting to scare them, but I
|
|
wasn't expecting to scare them to death. They were
|
|
mighty near it, though. You see they had been a
|
|
whole lifetime learning to appreciate the pillory; and
|
|
to have that thing staring them in the face, and every
|
|
one of them distinctly at the mercy of me, a stranger,
|
|
if I chose to go and report -- well, it was awful, and
|
|
they couldn't seem to recover from the shock, they
|
|
couldn't seem to pull themselves together. Pale,
|
|
shaky, dumb, pitiful? Why, they weren't any better
|
|
than so many dead men. It was very uncomfortable.
|
|
Of course, I thought they would appeal to me to keep
|
|
mum, and then we would shake hands, and take a
|
|
drink all round, and laugh it off, and there an end.
|
|
But no; you see I was an unknown person, among a
|
|
cruelly oppressed and suspicious people, a people
|
|
always accustomed to having advantage taken of their
|
|
helplessness, and never expecting just or kind treat-
|
|
ment from any but their own families and very closest
|
|
intimates. Appeal to ME to be gentle, to be fair, to
|
|
be generous? Of course, they wanted to, but they
|
|
couldn't dare.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XXXIV.
|
|
THE YANKEE AND THE KING SOLD AS SLAVES
|
|
|
|
WELL, what had I better do? Nothing in a hurry,
|
|
sure. I must get up a diversion; anything to
|
|
employ me while I could think, and while these poor
|
|
fellows could have a chance to come to life again.
|
|
There sat Marco, petrified in the act of trying to get
|
|
the hang of his miller-gun -- turned to stone, just in
|
|
the attitude he was in when my pile-driver fell, the toy
|
|
still gripped in his unconscious fingers. So I took it
|
|
from him and proposed to explain its mystery.
|
|
Mystery! a simple little thing like that; and yet it
|
|
was mysterious enough, for that race and that age.
|
|
|
|
I never saw such an awkward people, with machin-
|
|
ery; you see, they were totally unused to it. The
|
|
miller-gun was a little double-barreled tube of tough-
|
|
ened glass, with a neat little trick of a spring to it,
|
|
which upon pressure would let a shot escape. But the
|
|
shot wouldn't hurt anybody, it would only drop into
|
|
your hand. In the gun were two sizes -- wee mustard-
|
|
seed shot, and another sort that were several times
|
|
larger. They were money. The mustard-seed shot
|
|
represented milrays, the larger ones mills. So the
|
|
gun was a purse; and very handy, too; you could
|
|
pay out money in the dark with it, with accuracy; and
|
|
you could carry it in your mouth; or in your vest
|
|
pocket, if you had one. I made them of several sizes
|
|
-- one size so large that it would carry the equivalent
|
|
of a dollar. Using shot for money was a good thing
|
|
for the government; the metal cost nothing, and the
|
|
money couldn't be counterfeited, for I was the only
|
|
person in the kingdom who knew how to manage a
|
|
shot tower. "Paying the shot" soon came to be a
|
|
common phrase. Yes, and I knew it would still be
|
|
passing men's lips, away down in the nineteenth cen-
|
|
tury, yet none would suspect how and when it origi-
|
|
nated.
|
|
|
|
The king joined us, about this time, mightily re-
|
|
freshed by his nap, and feeling good. Anything could
|
|
make me nervous now, I was so uneasy -- for our lives
|
|
were in danger; and so it worried me to detect a com-
|
|
placent something in the king's eye which seemed to
|
|
indicate that he had been loading himself up for a
|
|
performance of some kind or other; confound it, why
|
|
must he go and choose such a time as this?
|
|
|
|
I was right. He began, straight off, in the most
|
|
innocently artful, and transparent, and lubberly way,
|
|
to lead up to the subject of agriculture. The cold
|
|
sweat broke out all over me. I wanted to whisper in
|
|
his ear, "Man, we are in awful danger! every moment
|
|
is worth a principality till we get back these men's
|
|
confidence; DON'T waste any of this golden time."
|
|
But of course I couldn't do it. Whisper to him? It
|
|
would look as if we were conspiring. So I had to sit
|
|
there and look calm and pleasant while the king stood
|
|
over that dynamite mine and mooned along about his
|
|
damned onions and things. At first the tumult of my
|
|
own thoughts, summoned by the danger-signal and
|
|
swarming to the rescue from every quarter of my
|
|
skull, kept up such a hurrah and confusion and fifing
|
|
and drumming that I couldn't take in a word; but
|
|
presently when my mob of gathering plans began to
|
|
crystallize and fall into position and form line of battle,
|
|
a sort of order and quiet ensued and I caught the boom
|
|
of the king's batteries, as if out of remote distance:
|
|
|
|
"-- were not the best way, methinks, albeit it is not
|
|
to be denied that authorities differ as concerning this
|
|
point, some contending that the onion is but an un-
|
|
wholesome berry when stricken early from the tree --"
|
|
|
|
The audience showed signs of life, and sought each
|
|
other's eyes in a surprised and troubled way.
|
|
|
|
"-- whileas others do yet maintain, with much show
|
|
of reason, that this is not of necessity the case, instanc-
|
|
ing that plums and other like cereals do be always dug
|
|
in the unripe state --"
|
|
|
|
The audience exhibited distinct distress; yes, and
|
|
also fear.
|
|
|
|
"-- yet are they clearly wholesome, the more espe-
|
|
cially when one doth assuage the asperities of their
|
|
nature by admixture of the tranquilizing juice of the
|
|
wayward cabbage --"
|
|
|
|
The wild light of terror began to glow in these men's
|
|
eyes, and one of them muttered, "These be errors,
|
|
every one -- God hath surely smitten the mind of this
|
|
farmer." I was in miserable apprehension; I sat upon
|
|
thorns.
|
|
|
|
"-- and further instancing the known truth that in
|
|
the case of animals, the young, which may be called
|
|
the green fruit of the creature, is the better, all con-
|
|
fessing that when a goat is ripe, his fur doth heat and
|
|
sore engame his flesh, the which defect, taken in con-
|
|
nection with his several rancid habits, and fulsome
|
|
appetites, and godless attitudes of mind, and bilious
|
|
quality of morals --"
|
|
|
|
They rose and went for him! With a fierce shout,
|
|
"The one would betray us, the other is mad! Kill
|
|
them! Kill them!" they flung themselves upon us.
|
|
What joy flamed up in the king's eye! He might be
|
|
lame in agriculture, but this kind of thing was just in
|
|
his line. He had been fasting long, he was hungry
|
|
for a fight. He hit the blacksmith a crack under the
|
|
jaw that lifted him clear off his feet and stretched him
|
|
flat on his back. "St. George for Britain!" and he
|
|
downed the wheelwright. The mason was big, but I
|
|
laid him out like nothing. The three gathered them-
|
|
selves up and came again; went down again; came
|
|
again; and kept on repeating this, with native British
|
|
pluck, until they were battered to jelly, reeling with
|
|
exhaustion, and so blind that they couldn't tell us
|
|
from each other; and yet they kept right on, hammer-
|
|
ing away with what might was left in them. Ham-
|
|
mering each other -- for we stepped aside and looked
|
|
on while they rolled, and struggled, and gouged, and
|
|
pounded, and bit, with the strict and wordless attention
|
|
to business of so many bulldogs. We looked on with-
|
|
out apprehension, for they were fast getting past
|
|
ability to go for help against us, and the arena was
|
|
far enough from the public road to be safe from
|
|
intrusion.
|
|
|
|
Well, while they were gradually playing out, it sud-
|
|
denly occurred to me to wonder what had become of
|
|
Marco. I looked around; he was nowhere to be seen.
|
|
Oh, but this was ominous! I pulled the king's sleeve,
|
|
and we glided away and rushed for the hut. No Marco
|
|
there, no Phyllis there! They had gone to the road
|
|
for help, sure. I told the king to give his heels wings,
|
|
and I would explain later. We made good time across
|
|
the open ground, and as we darted into the shelter of
|
|
the wood I glanced back and saw a mob of excited
|
|
peasants swarm into view, with Marco and his wife at
|
|
their head. They were making a world of noise, but
|
|
that couldn't hurt anybody; the wood was dense, and
|
|
as soon as we were well into its depths we would take
|
|
to a tree and let them whistle. Ah, but then came
|
|
another sound -- dogs! Yes, that was quite another
|
|
matter. It magnified our contract -- we must find
|
|
running water.
|
|
|
|
We tore along at a good gait, and soon left the
|
|
sounds far behind and modified to a murmur. We
|
|
struck a stream and darted into it. We waded swiftly
|
|
down it, in the dim forest light, for as much as three
|
|
hundred yards, and then came across an oak with a
|
|
great bough sticking out over the water. We climbed
|
|
up on this bough, and began to work our way along it
|
|
to the body of the tree; now we began to hear those
|
|
sounds more plainly; so the mob had struck our trail.
|
|
For a while the sounds approached pretty fast. And
|
|
then for another while they didn't. No doubt the
|
|
dogs had found the place where we had entered the
|
|
stream, and were now waltzing up and down the shores
|
|
trying to pick up the trail again.
|
|
|
|
When we were snugly lodged in the tree and cur-
|
|
tained with foliage, the king was satisfied, but I was
|
|
doubtful. I believed we could crawl along a branch
|
|
and get into the next tree, and I judged it worth while
|
|
to try. We tried it, and made a success of it, though
|
|
the king slipped, at the junction, and came near failing
|
|
to connect. We got comfortable lodgment and satis-
|
|
factory concealment among the foliage, and then we
|
|
had nothing to do but listen to the hunt.
|
|
|
|
Presently we heard it coming -- and coming on the
|
|
jump, too; yes, and down both sides of the stream.
|
|
Louder -- louder -- next minute it swelled swiftly up
|
|
into a roar of shoutings, barkings, tramplings, and
|
|
swept by like a cyclone.
|
|
|
|
"I was afraid that the overhanging branch would
|
|
suggest something to them," said I, "but I don't
|
|
mind the disappointment. Come, my liege, it were
|
|
well that we make good use of our time. We've
|
|
flanked them. Dark is coming on, presently. If we
|
|
can cross the stream and get a good start, and borrow
|
|
a couple of horses from somebody's pasture to use for
|
|
a few hours, we shall be safe enough."
|
|
|
|
We started down, and got nearly to the lowest limb,
|
|
when we seemed to hear the hunt returning. We
|
|
stopped to listen.
|
|
|
|
"Yes," said I, "they're baffled, they've given it
|
|
up, they're on their way home. We will climb back
|
|
to our roost again, and let them go by."
|
|
|
|
So we climbed back. The king listened a moment
|
|
and said:
|
|
|
|
"They still search -- I wit the sign. We did best to
|
|
abide."
|
|
|
|
He was right. He knew more about hunting than I
|
|
did. The noise approached steadily, but not with a
|
|
rush. The king said:
|
|
|
|
"They reason that we were advantaged by no par-
|
|
lous start of them, and being on foot are as yet no
|
|
mighty way from where we took the water."
|
|
|
|
"Yes, sire, that is about it, I am afraid, though I
|
|
was hoping better things."
|
|
|
|
The noise drew nearer and nearer, and soon the van
|
|
was drifting under us, on both sides of the water. A
|
|
voice called a halt from the other bank, and said:
|
|
|
|
"An they were so minded, they could get to yon
|
|
tree by this branch that overhangs, and yet not touch
|
|
ground. Ye will do well to send a man up it."
|
|
|
|
"Marry, that we will do!"
|
|
|
|
I was obliged to admire my cuteness in foreseeing
|
|
this very thing and swapping trees to beat it. But,
|
|
don't you know, there are some things that can beat
|
|
smartness and foresight? Awkwardness and stupidity
|
|
can. The best swordsman in the world doesn't need
|
|
to fear the second best swordsman in the world; no,
|
|
the person for him to be afraid of is some ignorant
|
|
antagonist who has never had a sword in his hand be-
|
|
fore; he doesn't do the thing he ought to do, and so
|
|
the expert isn't prepared for him; he does the thing
|
|
he ought not to do; and often it catches the expert
|
|
out and ends him on the spot. Well, how could I,
|
|
with all my gifts, make any valuable preparation against
|
|
a near-sighted, cross-eyed, pudding-headed clown who
|
|
would aim himself at the wrong tree and hit the right
|
|
one? And that is what he did. He went for the
|
|
wrong tree, which was, of course, the right one by
|
|
mistake, and up he started.
|
|
|
|
Matters were serious now. We remained still, and
|
|
awaited developments. The peasant toiled his difficult
|
|
way up. The king raised himself up and stood; he
|
|
made a leg ready, and when the comer's head arrived
|
|
in reach of it there was a dull thud, and down went
|
|
the man floundering to the ground. There was a wild
|
|
outbreak of anger below, and the mob swarmed in
|
|
from all around, and there we were treed, and prison-
|
|
ers. Another man started up; the bridging bough
|
|
was detected, and a volunteer started up the tree that
|
|
furnished the bridge. The king ordered me to play
|
|
Horatius and keep the bridge. For a while the enemy
|
|
came thick and fast; but no matter, the head man of
|
|
each procession always got a buffet that dislodged him
|
|
as soon as he came in reach. The king's spirits rose,
|
|
his joy was limitless. He said that if nothing occurred
|
|
to mar the prospect we should have a beautiful night,
|
|
for on this line of tactics we could hold the tree against
|
|
the whole country-side.
|
|
|
|
However, the mob soon came to that conclusion
|
|
themselves; wherefore they called off the assault and
|
|
began to debate other plans. They had no weapons,
|
|
but there were plenty of stones, and stones might
|
|
answer. We had no objections. A stone might pos-
|
|
sibly penetrate to us once in a while, but it wasn't
|
|
very likely; we were well protected by boughs and
|
|
foliage, and were not visible from any good aiming
|
|
point. If they would but waste half an hour in stone-
|
|
throwing, the dark would come to our help. We were
|
|
feeling very well satisfied. We could smile; almost
|
|
laugh.
|
|
|
|
But we didn't; which was just as well, for we should
|
|
have been interrupted. Before the stones had been
|
|
raging through the leaves and bouncing from the
|
|
boughs fifteen minutes, we began to notice a smell.
|
|
A couple of sniffs of it was enough of an explanation --
|
|
it was smoke! Our game was up at last. We recog-
|
|
nized that. When smoke invites you, you have to
|
|
come. They raised their pile of dry brush and damp
|
|
weeds higher and higher, and when they saw the thick
|
|
cloud begin to roll up and smother the tree, they broke
|
|
out in a storm of joy-clamors. I got enough breath to
|
|
say:
|
|
|
|
"Proceed, my liege; after you is manners."
|
|
|
|
The king gasped:
|
|
|
|
"Follow me down, and then back thyself against
|
|
one side of the trunk, and leave me the other. Then
|
|
will we fight. Let each pile his dead according to his
|
|
own fashion and taste."
|
|
|
|
Then he descended, barking and coughing, and I
|
|
followed. I struck the ground an instant after him;
|
|
we sprang to our appointed places, and began to give
|
|
and take with all our might. The powwow and racket
|
|
were prodigious; it was a tempest of riot and con-
|
|
fusion and thick-falling blows. Suddenly some horse-
|
|
men tore into the midst of the crowd, and a voice
|
|
shouted:
|
|
|
|
"Hold -- or ye are dead men!"
|
|
|
|
How good it sounded! The owner of the voice
|
|
bore all the marks of a gentleman: picturesque and
|
|
costly raiment, the aspect of command, a hard coun-
|
|
tenance, with complexion and features marred by dis-
|
|
sipation. The mob fell humbly back, like so many
|
|
spaniels. The gentleman inspected us critically, then
|
|
said sharply to the peasants:
|
|
|
|
"What are ye doing to these people?"
|
|
|
|
"They be madmen, worshipful sir, that have come
|
|
wandering we know not whence, and --"
|
|
|
|
"Ye know not whence? Do ye pretend ye know
|
|
them not?"
|
|
|
|
"Most honored sir, we speak but the truth. They
|
|
are strangers and unknown to any in this region; and
|
|
they be the most violent and bloodthirsty madmen that
|
|
ever --"
|
|
|
|
"Peace! Ye know not what ye say. They are not
|
|
mad. Who are ye? And whence are ye? Explain."
|
|
|
|
"We are but peaceful strangers, sir," I said, "and
|
|
traveling upon our own concerns. We are from a far
|
|
country, and unacquainted here. We have purposed
|
|
no harm; and yet but for your brave interference and
|
|
protection these people would have killed us. As you
|
|
have divined, sir, we are not mad; neither are we
|
|
violent or bloodthirsty."
|
|
|
|
The gentleman turned to his retinue and said calmly:
|
|
"Lash me these animals to their kennels!"
|
|
|
|
The mob vanished in an instant; and after them
|
|
plunged the horsemen, laying about them with their
|
|
whips and pitilessly riding down such as were witless
|
|
enough to keep the road instead of taking to the bush.
|
|
The shrieks and supplications presently died away in
|
|
the distance, and soon the horsemen began to straggle
|
|
back. Meantime the gentleman had been questioning
|
|
us more closely, but had dug no particulars out of us.
|
|
We were lavish of recognition of the service he was
|
|
doing us, but we revealed nothing more than that we
|
|
were friendless strangers from a far country. When
|
|
the escort were all returned, the gentleman said to one
|
|
of his servants:
|
|
|
|
"Bring the led-horses and mount these people."
|
|
|
|
"Yes, my lord."
|
|
|
|
We were placed toward the rear, among the servants.
|
|
We traveled pretty fast, and finally drew rein some
|
|
time after dark at a roadside inn some ten or twelve
|
|
miles from the scene of our troubles. My lord went
|
|
immediately to his room, after ordering his supper,
|
|
and we saw no more of him. At dawn in the morning
|
|
we breakfasted and made ready to start.
|
|
|
|
My lord's chief attendant sauntered forward at that
|
|
moment with indolent grace, and said:
|
|
|
|
"Ye have said ye should continue upon this road,
|
|
which is our direction likewise; wherefore my lord,
|
|
the earl Grip, hath given commandment that ye retain
|
|
the horses and ride, and that certain of us ride with
|
|
ye a twenty mile to a fair town that hight Cambenet,
|
|
whenso ye shall be out of peril."
|
|
|
|
We could do nothing less than express our thanks
|
|
and accept the offer. We jogged along, six in the
|
|
party, at a moderate and comfortable gait, and in con-
|
|
versation learned that my lord Grip was a very great
|
|
personage in his own region, which lay a day's journey
|
|
beyond Cambenet. We loitered to such a degree that
|
|
it was near the middle of the forenoon when we entered
|
|
the market square of the town. We dismounted, and
|
|
left our thanks once more for my lord, and then ap-
|
|
proached a crowd assembled in the center of the
|
|
square, to see what might be the object of interest.
|
|
It was the remnant of that old peregrinating band of
|
|
slaves! So they had been dragging their chains about,
|
|
all this weary time. That poor husband was gone, and
|
|
also many others; and some few purchases had been
|
|
added to the gang. The king was not interested, and
|
|
wanted to move along, but I was absorbed, and full of
|
|
pity. I could not take my eyes away from these worn
|
|
and wasted wrecks of humanity. There they sat,
|
|
grounded upon the ground, silent, uncomplaining, with
|
|
bowed heads, a pathetic sight. And by hideous con-
|
|
trast, a redundant orator was making a speech to
|
|
another gathering not thirty steps away, in fulsome
|
|
laudation of "our glorious British liberties!"
|
|
|
|
I was boiling. I had forgotten I was a plebeian, I
|
|
was remembering I was a man. Cost what it might, I
|
|
would mount that rostrum and --
|
|
|
|
Click! the king and I were handcuffed together!
|
|
Our companions, those servants, had done it; my lord
|
|
Grip stood looking on. The king burst out in a fury,
|
|
and said:
|
|
|
|
"What meaneth this ill-mannered jest?"
|
|
|
|
My lord merely said to his head miscreant, coolly:
|
|
|
|
"Put up the slaves and sell them!"
|
|
|
|
SLAVES! The word had a new sound -- and how
|
|
unspeakably awful! The king lifted his manacles and
|
|
brought them down with a deadly force; but my lord
|
|
was out of the way when they arrived. A dozen of
|
|
the rascal's servants sprang forward, and in a moment
|
|
we were helpless, with our hands bound behind us.
|
|
We so loudly and so earnestly proclaimed ourselves
|
|
freemen, that we got the interested attention of that
|
|
liberty-mouthing orator and his patriotic crowd, and
|
|
they gathered about us and assumed a very determined
|
|
attitude. The orator said:
|
|
|
|
"If, indeed, ye are freemen, ye have nought to
|
|
fear -- the God-given liberties of Britain are about ye
|
|
for your shield and shelter! (Applause.) Ye shall
|
|
soon see. Bring forth your proofs."
|
|
|
|
"What proofs?"
|
|
|
|
"Proof that ye are freemen."
|
|
|
|
Ah -- I remembered! I came to myself; I said
|
|
nothing. But the king stormed out:
|
|
|
|
"Thou'rt insane, man. It were better, and more
|
|
in reason, that this thief and scoundrel here prove that
|
|
we are NOT freemen."
|
|
|
|
You see, he knew his own laws just as other people
|
|
so often know the laws; by words, not by effects.
|
|
They take a MEANING, and get to be very vivid, when
|
|
you come to apply them to yourself.
|
|
|
|
All hands shook their heads and looked disap-
|
|
pointed; some turned away, no longer interested. The
|
|
orator said -- and this time in the tones of business,
|
|
not of sentiment:
|
|
|
|
"An ye do not know your country's laws, it were
|
|
time ye learned them. Ye are strangers to us; ye will
|
|
not deny that. Ye may be freemen, we do not deny
|
|
that; but also ye may be slaves. The law is clear: it
|
|
doth not require the claimant to prove ye are slaves, it
|
|
requireth you to prove ye are not."
|
|
|
|
I said:
|
|
|
|
"Dear sir, give us only time to send to Astolat; or
|
|
give us only time to send to the Valley of Holiness --"
|
|
|
|
"Peace, good man, these are extraordinary requests,
|
|
and you may not hope to have them granted. It would
|
|
cost much time, and would unwarrantably inconveni-
|
|
ence your master --"
|
|
|
|
"MASTER, idiot!" stormed the king. "I have no
|
|
master, I myself am the m--"
|
|
|
|
"Silence, for God's sake!"
|
|
|
|
I got the words out in time to stop the king. We
|
|
were in trouble enough already; it could not help us
|
|
any to give these people the notion that we were
|
|
lunatics.
|
|
|
|
There is no use in stringing out the details. The
|
|
earl put us up and sold us at auction. This same in-
|
|
fernal law had existed in our own South in my own
|
|
time, more than thirteen hundred years later, and
|
|
under it hundreds of freemen who could not prove that
|
|
they were freemen had been sold into lifelong slavery
|
|
without the circumstance making any particular im-
|
|
pression upon me; but the minute law and the auction
|
|
block came into my personal experience, a thing
|
|
which had been merely improper before became sud-
|
|
denly hellish. Well, that's the way we are made.
|
|
|
|
Yes, we were sold at auction, like swine. In a big
|
|
town and an active market we should have brought a
|
|
good price; but this place was utterly stagnant and so
|
|
we sold at a figure which makes me ashamed, every
|
|
time I think of it. The King of England brought
|
|
seven dollars, and his prime minister nine; whereas
|
|
the king was easily worth twelve dollars and I as easily
|
|
worth fifteen. But that is the way things always go;
|
|
if you force a sale on a dull market, I don't care what
|
|
the property is, you are going to make a poor business
|
|
of it, and you can make up your mind to it. If the
|
|
earl had had wit enough to --
|
|
|
|
However, there is no occasion for my working my
|
|
sympathies up on his account. Let him go, for the
|
|
present; I took his number, so to speak.
|
|
|
|
The slave-dealer bought us both, and hitched us
|
|
onto that long chain of his, and we constituted the rear
|
|
of his procession. We took up our line of march and
|
|
passed out of Cambenet at noon; and it seemed to me
|
|
unaccountably strange and odd that the King of Eng-
|
|
land and his chief minister, marching manacled and
|
|
fettered and yoked, in a slave convoy, could move by
|
|
all manner of idle men and women, and under windows
|
|
where sat the sweet and the lovely, and yet never
|
|
attract a curious eye, never provoke a single remark.
|
|
Dear, dear, it only shows that there is nothing diviner
|
|
about a king than there is about a tramp, after all.
|
|
He is just a cheap and hollow artificiality when you
|
|
don't know he is a king. But reveal his quality, and
|
|
dear me it takes your very breath away to look at him.
|
|
I reckon we are all fools. Born so, no doubt.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XXXV.
|
|
A PITIFUL INCIDENT
|
|
|
|
IT'S a world of surprises. The king brooded; this
|
|
was natural. What would he brood about, should
|
|
you say? Why, about the prodigious nature of his
|
|
fall, of course -- from the loftiest place in the world to
|
|
the lowest; from the most illustrious station in the
|
|
world to the obscurest; from the grandest vocation
|
|
among men to the basest. No, I take my oath that
|
|
the thing that graveled him most, to start with, was
|
|
not this, but the price he had fetched! He couldn't
|
|
seem to get over that seven dollars. Well, it stunned
|
|
me so, when I first found it out, that I couldn't believe
|
|
it; it didn't seem natural. But as soon as my mental
|
|
sight cleared and I got a right focus on it, I saw I was
|
|
mistaken; it WAS natural. For this reason: a king is
|
|
a mere artificiality, and so a king's feelings, like the
|
|
impulses of an automatic doll, are mere artificialities;
|
|
but as a man, he is a reality, and his feelings, as a
|
|
man, are real, not phantoms. It shames the average
|
|
man to be valued below his own estimate of his worth,
|
|
and the king certainly wasn't anything more than an
|
|
average man, if he was up that high.
|
|
|
|
Confound him, he wearied me with arguments to
|
|
show that in anything like a fair market he would have
|
|
fetched twenty-five dollars, sure -- a thing which was
|
|
plainly nonsense, and full or the baldest conceit; I
|
|
wasn't worth it myself. But it was tender ground for
|
|
me to argue on. In fact, I had to simply shirk argu-
|
|
ment and do the diplomatic instead. I had to throw
|
|
conscience aside, and brazenly concede that he ought
|
|
to have brought twenty-five dollars; whereas I was
|
|
quite well aware that in all the ages, the world had
|
|
never seen a king that was worth half the money, and
|
|
during the next thirteen centuries wouldn't see one
|
|
that was worth the fourth of it. Yes, he tired me. If
|
|
he began to talk about the crops; or about the recent
|
|
weather; or about the condition of politics; or about
|
|
dogs, or cats, or morals, or theology -- no matter
|
|
what -- I sighed, for I knew what was coming; he
|
|
was going to get out of it a palliation of that tiresome
|
|
seven-dollar sale. Wherever we halted where there
|
|
was a crowd, he would give me a look which said
|
|
plainly: "if that thing could be tried over again now,
|
|
with this kind of folk, you would see a different re-
|
|
sult." Well, when he was first sold, it secretly tickled
|
|
me to see him go for seven dollars; but before he was
|
|
done with his sweating and worrying I wished he had
|
|
fetched a hundred. The thing never got a chance to
|
|
die, for every day, at one place or another, possible
|
|
purchasers looked us over, and, as often as any other
|
|
way, their comment on the king was something like
|
|
this:
|
|
|
|
"Here's a two-dollar-and-a-half chump with a thirty-
|
|
dollar style. Pity but style was marketable."
|
|
|
|
At last this sort of remark produced an evil result.
|
|
Our owner was a practical person and he perceived
|
|
that this defect must be mended if he hoped to find a
|
|
purchaser for the king. So he went to work to take
|
|
the style out of his sacred majesty. I could have
|
|
given the man some valuable advice, but I didn't; you
|
|
mustn't volunteer advice to a slave-driver unless you
|
|
want to damage the cause you are arguing for. I had
|
|
found it a sufficiently difficult job to reduce the king's
|
|
style to a peasant's style, even when he was a willing
|
|
and anxious pupil; now then, to undertake to reduce
|
|
the king's style to a slave's style -- and by force -- go
|
|
to! it was a stately contract. Never mind the details
|
|
-- it will save me trouble to let you imagine them. I
|
|
will only remark that at the end of a week there was
|
|
plenty of evidence that lash and club and fist had done
|
|
their work well; the king's body was a sight to see --
|
|
and to weep over; but his spirit? -- why, it wasn't
|
|
even phased. Even that dull clod of a slave-driver
|
|
was able to see that there can be such a thing as a
|
|
slave who will remain a man till he dies; whose bones
|
|
you can break, but whose manhood you can't. This
|
|
man found that from his first effort down to his latest,
|
|
he couldn't ever come within reach of the king, but the
|
|
king was ready to plunge for him, and did it. So he
|
|
gave up at last, and left the king in possession of his
|
|
style unimpaired. The fact is, the king was a good
|
|
deal more than a king, he was a man; and when a
|
|
man is a man, you can't knock it out of him.
|
|
|
|
We had a rough time for a month, tramping to and
|
|
fro in the earth, and suffering. And what Englishman
|
|
was the most interested in the slavery question by that
|
|
time? His grace the king! Yes; from being the
|
|
most indifferent, he was become the most interested.
|
|
He was become the bitterest hater of the institution I
|
|
had ever heard talk. And so I ventured to ask once
|
|
more a question which I had asked years before and
|
|
had gotten such a sharp answer that I had not thought
|
|
it prudent to meddle in the matter further. Would he
|
|
abolish slavery?
|
|
|
|
His answer was as sharp as before, but it was music
|
|
this time; I shouldn't ever wish to hear pleasanter,
|
|
though the profanity was not good, being awkwardly
|
|
put together, and with the crash-word almost in the
|
|
middle instead of at the end, where, of course, it ought
|
|
to have been.
|
|
|
|
I was ready and willing to get free now; I hadn't
|
|
wanted to get free any sooner. No, I cannot quite
|
|
say that. I had wanted to, but I had not been willing
|
|
to take desperate chances, and had always dissuaded
|
|
the king from them. But now -- ah, it was a new
|
|
atmosphere! Liberty would be worth any cost that
|
|
might be put upon it now. I set about a plan, and
|
|
was straightway charmed with it. It would require
|
|
time, yes, and patience, too, a great deal of both.
|
|
One could invent quicker ways, and fully as sure ones;
|
|
but none that would be as picturesque as this; none
|
|
that could be made so dramatic. And so I was not
|
|
going to give this one up. It might delay us months,
|
|
but no matter, I would carry it out or break some-
|
|
thing.
|
|
|
|
Now and then we had an adventure. One night we
|
|
were overtaken by a snow-storm while still a mile from
|
|
the village we were making for. Almost instantly we
|
|
were shut up as in a fog, the driving snow was so
|
|
thick. You couldn't see a thing, and we were soon
|
|
lost. The slave-driver lashed us desperately, for he
|
|
saw ruin before him, but his lashings only made mat-
|
|
ters worse, for they drove us further from the road and
|
|
from likelihood of succor. So we had to stop at last
|
|
and slump down in the snow where we were. The
|
|
storm continued until toward midnight, then ceased.
|
|
By this time two of our feebler men and three of our
|
|
women were dead, and others past moving and threat-
|
|
ened with death. Our master was nearly beside him-
|
|
self. He stirred up the living, and made us stand,
|
|
jump, slap ourselves, to restore our circulation, and he
|
|
helped as well as he could with his whip.
|
|
|
|
Now came a diversion. We heard shrieks and yells,
|
|
and soon a woman came running and crying; and see-
|
|
ing our group, she flung herself into our midst and
|
|
begged for protection. A mob of people came tearing
|
|
after her, some with torches, and they said she was a
|
|
witch who had caused several cows to die by a strange
|
|
disease, and practiced her arts by help of a devil in
|
|
the form of a black cat. This poor woman had been
|
|
stoned until she hardly looked human, she was so
|
|
battered and bloody. The mob wanted to burn her.
|
|
|
|
Well, now, what do you suppose our master did?
|
|
When we closed around this poor creature to shelter
|
|
her, he saw his chance. He said, burn her here, or
|
|
they shouldn't have her at all. Imagine that! They
|
|
were willing. They fastened her to a post; they
|
|
brought wood and piled it about her; they applied
|
|
the torch while she shrieked and pleaded and strained
|
|
her two young daughters to her breast; and our brute,
|
|
with a heart solely for business, lashed us into position
|
|
about the stake and warmed us into life and commer-
|
|
cial value by the same fire which took away the inno-
|
|
cent life of that poor harmless mother. That was the
|
|
sort of master we had. I took HIS number. That
|
|
snow-storm cost him nine of his flock; and he was
|
|
more brutal to us than ever, after that, for many days
|
|
together, he was so enraged over his loss.
|
|
|
|
We had adventures all along. One day we ran into
|
|
a procession. And such a procession! All the riffraff
|
|
of the kingdom seemed to be comprehended in it; and
|
|
all drunk at that. In the van was a cart with a coffin
|
|
in it, and on the coffin sat a comely young girl of
|
|
about eighteen suckling a baby, which she squeezed to
|
|
her breast in a passion of love every little while, and
|
|
every little while wiped from its face the tears which
|
|
her eyes rained down upon it; and always the foolish
|
|
little thing smiled up at her, happy and content, knead-
|
|
ing her breast with its dimpled fat hand, which she
|
|
patted and fondled right over her breaking heart.
|
|
|
|
Men and women, boys and girls, trotted along beside
|
|
or after the cart, hooting, shouting profane and ribald
|
|
remarks, singing snatches of foul song, skipping,
|
|
dancing -- a very holiday of hellions, a sickening sight.
|
|
We had struck a suburb of London, outside the walls,
|
|
and this was a sample of one sort of London society.
|
|
Our master secured a good place for us near the
|
|
gallows. A priest was in attendance, and he helped
|
|
the girl climb up, and said comforting words to her,
|
|
and made the under-sheriff provide a stool for her.
|
|
Then he stood there by her on the gallows, and for a
|
|
moment looked down upon the mass of upturned faces
|
|
at his feet, then out over the solid pavement of heads
|
|
that stretched away on every side occupying the
|
|
vacancies far and near, and then began to tell the
|
|
story of the case. And there was pity in his voice --
|
|
how seldom a sound that was in that ignorant and
|
|
savage land! I remember every detail of what he said,
|
|
except the words he said it in; and so I change it into
|
|
my own words:
|
|
|
|
"Law is intended to mete out justice. Sometimes
|
|
it fails. This cannot be helped. We can only grieve,
|
|
and be resigned, and pray for the soul of him who
|
|
falls unfairly by the arm of the law, and that his fel-
|
|
lows may be few. A law sends this poor young thing
|
|
to death -- and it is right. But another law had placed
|
|
her where she must commit her crime or starve with
|
|
her child -- and before God that law is responsible for
|
|
both her crime and her ignominious death!
|
|
|
|
"A little while ago this young thing, this child of
|
|
eighteen years, was as happy a wife and mother as
|
|
any in England; and her lips were blithe with song,
|
|
which is the native speech of glad and innocent hearts.
|
|
Her young husband was as happy as she; for he was
|
|
doing his whole duty, he worked early and late at his
|
|
handicraft, his bread was honest bread well and fairly
|
|
earned, he was prospering, he was furnishing shelter
|
|
and sustenance to his family, he was adding his mite
|
|
to the wealth of the nation. By consent of a treacher-
|
|
ous law, instant destruction fell upon this holy home
|
|
and swept it away! That young husband was waylaid
|
|
and impressed, and sent to sea. The wife knew
|
|
nothing of it. She sought him everywhere, she moved
|
|
the hardest hearts with the supplications of her tears,
|
|
the broken eloquence of her despair. Weeks dragged
|
|
by, she watching, waiting, hoping, her mind going
|
|
slowly to wreck under the burden of her misery.
|
|
Little by little all her small possessions went for food.
|
|
When she could no longer pay her rent, they turned
|
|
her out of doors. She begged, while she had strength;
|
|
when she was starving at last, and her milk failing, she
|
|
stole a piece of linen cloth of the value of a fourth part
|
|
of a cent, thinking to sell it and save her child. But
|
|
she was seen by the owner of the cloth. She was put
|
|
in jail and brought to trial. The man testified to the
|
|
facts. A plea was made for her, and her sorrowful
|
|
story was told in her behalf. She spoke, too, by per-
|
|
mission, and said she did steal the cloth, but that her
|
|
mind was so disordered of late by trouble that when
|
|
she was overborne with hunger all acts, criminal or
|
|
other, swam meaningless through her brain and she
|
|
knew nothing rightly, except that she was so hungry!
|
|
For a moment all were touched, and there was disposi-
|
|
tion to deal mercifully with her, seeing that she was so
|
|
young and friendless, and her case so piteous, and the
|
|
law that robbed her of her support to blame as being
|
|
the first and only cause of her transgression; but the
|
|
prosecuting officer replied that whereas these things
|
|
were all true, and most pitiful as well, still there was
|
|
much small theft in these days, and mistimed mercy
|
|
here would be a danger to property -- oh, my God, is
|
|
there no property in ruined homes, and orphaned
|
|
babes, and broken hearts that British law holds
|
|
precious! -- and so he must require sentence.
|
|
|
|
"When the judge put on his black cap, the owner
|
|
of the stolen linen rose trembling up, his lip quivering,
|
|
his face as gray as ashes; and when the awful words
|
|
came, he cried out, 'Oh, poor child, poor child, I did
|
|
not know it was death!' and fell as a tree falls. When
|
|
they lifted him up his reason was gone; before the
|
|
sun was set, he had taken his own life. A kindly
|
|
man; a man whose heart was right, at bottom; add
|
|
his murder to this that is to be now done here; and
|
|
charge them both where they belong -- to the rulers
|
|
and the bitter laws of Britain. The time is come, my
|
|
child; let me pray over thee -- not FOR thee, dear
|
|
abused poor heart and innocent, but for them that be
|
|
guilty of thy ruin and death, who need it more."
|
|
|
|
After his prayer they put the noose around the
|
|
young girl's neck, and they had great trouble to adjust
|
|
the knot under her ear, because she was devouring the
|
|
baby all the time, wildly kissing it, and snatching it to
|
|
her face and her breast, and drenching it with tears,
|
|
and half moaning, half shrieking all the while, and the
|
|
baby crowing, and laughing, and kicking its feet with
|
|
delight over what it took for romp and play. Even
|
|
the hangman couldn't stand it, but turned away.
|
|
When all was ready the priest gently pulled and tugged
|
|
and forced the child out of the mother's arms, and
|
|
stepped quickly out of her reach; but she clasped her
|
|
hands, and made a wild spring toward him, with a
|
|
shriek; but the rope -- and the under-sheriff -- held
|
|
her short. Then she went on her knees and stretched
|
|
out her hands and cried:
|
|
|
|
"One more kiss -- oh, my God, one more, one
|
|
more, -- it is the dying that begs it!"
|
|
|
|
She got it; she almost smothered the little thing.
|
|
And when they got it away again, she cried out:
|
|
|
|
"Oh, my child, my darling, it will die! It has no
|
|
home, it has no father, no friend, no mother --"
|
|
|
|
"It has them all!" said that good priest. "All
|
|
these will I be to it till I die."
|
|
|
|
You should have seen her face then! Gratitude?
|
|
Lord, what do you want with words to express that?
|
|
Words are only painted fire; a look is the fire itself.
|
|
She gave that look, and carried it away to the treasury
|
|
of heaven, where all things that are divine belong.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XXXVI.
|
|
AN ENCOUNTER IN THE DARK
|
|
|
|
LONDON -- to a slave -- was a sufficiently interest-
|
|
ing place. It was merely a great big village;
|
|
and mainly mud and thatch. The streets were muddy,
|
|
crooked, unpaved. The populace was an ever flocking
|
|
and drifting swarm of rags, and splendors, of nodding
|
|
plumes and shining armor. The king had a palace
|
|
there; he saw the outside of it. It made him sigh;
|
|
yes, and swear a little, in a poor juvenile sixth century
|
|
way. We saw knights and grandees whom we knew,
|
|
but they didn't know us in our rags and dirt and raw
|
|
welts and bruises, and wouldn't have recognized us if
|
|
we had hailed them, nor stopped to answer, either, it
|
|
being unlawful to speak with slaves on a chain. Sandy
|
|
passed within ten yards of me on a mule -- hunting
|
|
for me, I imagined. But the thing which clean broke
|
|
my heart was something which happened in front of
|
|
our old barrack in a square, while we were enduring
|
|
the spectacle of a man being boiled to death in oil for
|
|
counterfeiting pennies. It was the sight of a newsboy
|
|
-- and I couldn't get at him! Still, I had one com-
|
|
fort -- here was proof that Clarence was still alive and
|
|
banging away. I meant to be with him before long;
|
|
the thought was full of cheer.
|
|
|
|
I had one little glimpse of another thing, one day,
|
|
which gave me a great uplift. It was a wire stretching
|
|
from housetop to housetop. Telegraph or telephone,
|
|
sure. I did very much wish I had a little piece of it.
|
|
It was just what I needed, in order to carry out my
|
|
project of escape. My idea was to get loose some
|
|
night, along with the king, then gag and bind our
|
|
master, change clothes with him, batter him into the
|
|
aspect of a stranger, hitch him to the slave-chain,
|
|
assume possession of the property, march to Camelot,
|
|
and --
|
|
|
|
But you get my idea; you see what a stunning
|
|
dramatic surprise I would wind up with at the palace.
|
|
It was all feasible, if I could only get hold of a slender
|
|
piece of iron which I could shape into a lock-pick. I
|
|
could then undo the lumbering padlocks with which
|
|
our chains were fastened, whenever I might choose.
|
|
But I never had any luck; no such thing ever hap-
|
|
pened to fall in my way. However, my chance came
|
|
at last. A gentleman who had come twice before to
|
|
dicker for me, without result, or indeed any approach
|
|
to a result, came again. I was far from expecting
|
|
ever to belong to him, for the price asked for me from
|
|
the time I was first enslaved was exorbitant, and always
|
|
provoked either anger or derision, yet my master stuck
|
|
stubbornly to it -- twenty-two dollars. He wouldn't
|
|
bate a cent. The king was greatly admired, because
|
|
of his grand physique, but his kingly style was against
|
|
him, and he wasn't salable; nobody wanted that kind
|
|
of a slave. I considered myself safe from parting
|
|
from him because of my extravagant price. No, I
|
|
was not expecting to ever belong to this gentleman
|
|
whom I have spoken of, but he had something which
|
|
I expected would belong to me eventually, if he would
|
|
but visit us often enough. It was a steel thing with a
|
|
long pin to it, with which his long cloth outside gar-
|
|
ment was fastened together in front. There were
|
|
three of them. He had disappointed me twice, be-
|
|
cause he did not come quite close enough to me to
|
|
make my project entirely safe; but this time I suc-
|
|
ceeded; I captured the lower clasp of the three, and
|
|
when he missed it he thought he had lost it on the
|
|
way.
|
|
|
|
I had a chance to be glad about a minute, then
|
|
straightway a chance to be sad again. For when the
|
|
purchase was about to fail, as usual, the master sud-
|
|
denly spoke up and said what would be worded thus --
|
|
in modern English:
|
|
|
|
"I'll tell you what I'll do. I'm tired supporting
|
|
these two for no good. Give me twenty-two dollars
|
|
for this one, and I'll throw the other one in."
|
|
|
|
The king couldn't get his breath, he was in such a
|
|
fury. He began to choke and gag, and meantime the
|
|
master and the gentleman moved away discussing.
|
|
|
|
"An ye will keep the offer open --"
|
|
|
|
"'Tis open till the morrow at this hour."
|
|
|
|
"Then I will answer you at that time," said the
|
|
gentleman, and disappeared, the master following him.
|
|
|
|
I had a time of it to cool the king down, but I
|
|
managed it. I whispered in his ear, to this effect:
|
|
|
|
"Your grace WILL go for nothing, but after another
|
|
fashion. And so shall I. To-night we shall both be
|
|
free."
|
|
|
|
"Ah! How is that?"
|
|
|
|
"With this thing which I have stolen, I will unlock
|
|
these locks and cast off these chains to-night. When
|
|
he comes about nine-thirty to inspect us for the night,
|
|
we will seize him, gag him, batter him, and early in
|
|
the morning we will march out of this town, proprietors
|
|
of this caravan of slaves."
|
|
|
|
That was as far as I went, but the king was charmed
|
|
and satisfied. That evening we waited patiently for
|
|
our fellow-slaves to get to sleep and signify it by the
|
|
usual sign, for you must not take many chances on
|
|
those poor fellows if you can avoid it. It is best to
|
|
keep your own secrets. No doubt they fidgeted only
|
|
about as usual, but it didn't seem so to me. It seemed
|
|
to me that they were going to be forever getting down
|
|
to their regular snoring. As the time dragged on I
|
|
got nervously afraid we shouldn't have enough of it
|
|
left for our needs; so I made several premature
|
|
attempts, and merely delayed things by it; for I
|
|
couldn't seem to touch a padlock, there in the dark,
|
|
without starting a rattle out of it which interrupted
|
|
somebody's sleep and made him turn over and wake
|
|
some more of the gang.
|
|
|
|
But finally I did get my last iron off, and was a free
|
|
man once more. I took a good breath of relief, and
|
|
reached for the king's irons. Too late! in comes the
|
|
master, with a light in one hand and his heavy walking-
|
|
staff in the other. I snuggled close among the wallow
|
|
of snorers, to conceal as nearly as possible that I was
|
|
naked of irons; and I kept a sharp lookout and pre-
|
|
pared to spring for my man the moment he should
|
|
bend over me.
|
|
|
|
But he didn't approach. He stopped, gazed ab-
|
|
sently toward our dusky mass a minute, evidently
|
|
thinking about something else; then set down his
|
|
light, moved musingly toward the door, and before a
|
|
body could imagine what he was going to do, he was
|
|
out of the door and had closed it behind him.
|
|
|
|
"Quick!" said the king. "Fetch him back!"
|
|
|
|
Of course, it was the thing to do, and I was up and
|
|
out in a moment. But, dear me, there were no lamps
|
|
in those days, and it was a dark night. But I glimpsed
|
|
a dim figure a few steps away. I darted for it, threw
|
|
myself upon it, and then there was a state of things
|
|
and lively! We fought and scuffled and struggled,
|
|
and drew a crowd in no time. They took an immense
|
|
interest in the fight and encouraged us all they could,
|
|
and, in fact, couldn't have been pleasanter or more
|
|
cordial if it had been their own fight. Then a tremen-
|
|
dous row broke out behind us, and as much as half of
|
|
our audience left us, with a rush, to invest some sym-
|
|
pathy in that. Lanterns began to swing in all direc-
|
|
tions; it was the watch gathering from far and near.
|
|
Presently a halberd fell across my back, as a reminder,
|
|
and I knew what it meant. I was in custody. So
|
|
was my adversary. We were marched off toward
|
|
prison, one on each side of the watchman. Here was
|
|
disaster, here was a fine scheme gone to sudden de-
|
|
struction! I tried to imagine what would happen
|
|
when the master should discover that it was I who
|
|
had been fighting him; and what would happen if they
|
|
jailed us together in the general apartment for brawlers
|
|
and petty law-breakers, as was the custom; and what
|
|
might --
|
|
|
|
Just then my antagonist turned his face around in
|
|
my direction, the freckled light from the watchman's
|
|
tin lantern fell on it, and, by George, he was the wrong
|
|
man!
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XXXVII.
|
|
AN AWFUL PREDICAMENT
|
|
|
|
SLEEP? It was impossible. It would naturally
|
|
have been impossible in that noisome cavern of
|
|
a jail, with its mangy crowd of drunken, quarrelsome,
|
|
and song-singing rapscallions. But the thing that
|
|
made sleep all the more a thing not to be dreamed of,
|
|
was my racking impatience to get out of this place and
|
|
find out the whole size of what might have happened
|
|
yonder in the slave-quarters in consequence of that
|
|
intolerable miscarriage of mine.
|
|
|
|
It was a long night, but the morning got around at
|
|
last. I made a full and frank explanation to the court.
|
|
I said I was a slave, the property of the great Earl
|
|
Grip, who had arrived just after dark at the Tabard
|
|
inn in the village on the other side of the water, and
|
|
had stopped there over night, by compulsion, he being
|
|
taken deadly sick with a strange and sudden disorder.
|
|
I had been ordered to cross to the city in all haste and
|
|
bring the best physician; I was doing my best;
|
|
naturally I was running with all my might; the night
|
|
was dark, I ran against this common person here, who
|
|
seized me by the throat and began to pummel me,
|
|
although I told him my errand, and implored him, for
|
|
the sake of the great earl my master's mortal peril --
|
|
|
|
The common person interrupted and said it was a
|
|
lie; and was going to explain how I rushed upon him
|
|
and attacked him without a word --
|
|
|
|
"Silence, sirrah!" from the court. "Take him
|
|
hence and give him a few stripes whereby to teach
|
|
him how to treat the servant of a nobleman after a
|
|
different fashion another time. Go!"
|
|
|
|
Then the court begged my pardon, and hoped I
|
|
would not fail to tell his lordship it was in no wise the
|
|
court's fault that this high-handed thing had happened.
|
|
I said I would make it all right, and so took my leave.
|
|
Took it just in time, too; he was starting to ask me
|
|
why I didn't fetch out these facts the moment I was
|
|
arrested. I said I would if I had thought of it --
|
|
which was true -- but that I was so battered by that
|
|
man that all my wit was knocked out of me -- and
|
|
so forth and so on, and got myself away, still mumbling.
|
|
I didn't wait for breakfast. No grass grew under
|
|
my feet. I was soon at the slave quarters. Empty --
|
|
everybody gone! That is, everybody except one body
|
|
-- the slave-master's. It lay there all battered to pulp;
|
|
and all about were the evidences of a terrific fight.
|
|
There was a rude board coffin on a cart at the door,
|
|
and workmen, assisted by the police, were thinning a
|
|
road through the gaping crowd in order that they
|
|
might bring it in.
|
|
|
|
I picked out a man humble enough in life to conde-
|
|
scend to talk with one so shabby as I, and got his ac-
|
|
count of the matter.
|
|
|
|
"There were sixteen slaves here. They rose against
|
|
their master in the night, and thou seest how it ended."
|
|
|
|
"Yes. How did it begin?"
|
|
|
|
"There was no witness but the slaves. They said
|
|
the slave that was most valuable got free of his bonds
|
|
and escaped in some strange way -- by magic arts
|
|
'twas thought, by reason that he had no key, and the
|
|
locks were neither broke nor in any wise injured.
|
|
When the master discovered his loss, he was mad with
|
|
despair, and threw himself upon his people with his
|
|
heavy stick, who resisted and brake his back and in
|
|
other and divers ways did give him hurts that brought
|
|
him swiftly to his end."
|
|
|
|
"This is dreadful. It will go hard with the slaves,
|
|
no doubt, upon the trial."
|
|
|
|
"Marry, the trial is over."
|
|
|
|
"Over!"
|
|
|
|
"Would they be a week, think you -- and the
|
|
matter so simple? They were not the half of a quarter
|
|
of an hour at it."
|
|
|
|
"Why, I don't see how they could determine which
|
|
were the guilty ones in so short a time."
|
|
|
|
"WHICH ones? Indeed, they considered not par-
|
|
ticulars like to that. They condemned them in a body.
|
|
Wit ye not the law? -- which men say the Romans left
|
|
behind them here when they went -- that if one slave
|
|
killeth his master all the slaves of that man must die
|
|
for it."
|
|
|
|
"True. I had forgotten. And when will these
|
|
die?"
|
|
|
|
"Belike within a four and twenty hours; albeit some
|
|
say they will wait a pair of days more, if peradventure
|
|
they may find the missing one meantime."
|
|
|
|
The missing one! It made me feel uncomfortable.
|
|
|
|
"Is it likely they will find him?"
|
|
|
|
"Before the day is spent -- yes. They seek him
|
|
everywhere. They stand at the gates of the town,
|
|
with certain of the slaves who will discover him to
|
|
them if he cometh, and none can pass out but he will
|
|
be first examined."
|
|
|
|
"Might one see the place where the rest are con-
|
|
fined?"
|
|
|
|
"The outside of it -- yes. The inside of it -- but
|
|
ye will not want to see that."
|
|
|
|
I took the address of that prison for future reference
|
|
and then sauntered off. At the first second-hand
|
|
clothing shop I came to, up a back street, I got a
|
|
rough rig suitable for a common seaman who might be
|
|
going on a cold voyage, and bound up my face with a
|
|
liberal bandage, saying I had a toothache. This con-
|
|
cealed my worst bruises. It was a transformation. I
|
|
no longer resembled my former self. Then I struck
|
|
out for that wire, found it and followed it to its den.
|
|
It was a little room over a butcher's shop -- which
|
|
meant that business wasn't very brisk in the telegraphic
|
|
line. The young chap in charge was drowsing at his
|
|
table. I locked the door and put the vast key in my
|
|
bosom. This alarmed the young fellow, and he was
|
|
going to make a noise; but I said:
|
|
|
|
"Save your wind; if you open your mouth you are
|
|
dead, sure. Tackle your instrument. Lively, now!
|
|
Call Camelot."
|
|
|
|
"This doth amaze me! How should such as you
|
|
know aught of such matters as --"
|
|
|
|
"Call Camelot! I am a desperate man. Call
|
|
Camelot, or get away from the instrument and I will
|
|
do it myself."
|
|
|
|
"What -- you?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes -- certainly. Stop gabbling. Call the palace."
|
|
|
|
He made the call.
|
|
|
|
"Now, then, call Clarence."
|
|
|
|
"Clarence WHO?"
|
|
|
|
"Never mind Clarence who. Say you want Clar-
|
|
ence; you'll get an answer."
|
|
|
|
He did so. We waited five nerve-straining minutes
|
|
-- ten minutes -- how long it did seem! -- and then
|
|
came a click that was as familiar to me as a human
|
|
voice; for Clarence had been my own pupil.
|
|
|
|
"Now, my lad, vacate! They would have known
|
|
MY touch, maybe, and so your call was surest; but I'm
|
|
all right now."
|
|
|
|
He vacated the place and cocked his ear to listen --
|
|
but it didn't win. I used a cipher. I didn't waste
|
|
any time in sociabilities with Clarence, but squared
|
|
away for business, straight-off -- thus:
|
|
|
|
"The king is here and in danger. We were cap-
|
|
tured and brought here as slaves. We should not be
|
|
able to prove our identity -- and the fact is, I am not
|
|
in a position to try. Send a telegram for the palace
|
|
here which will carry conviction with it."
|
|
|
|
His answer came straight back:
|
|
|
|
"They don't know anything about the telegraph;
|
|
they haven't had any experience yet, the line to Lon-
|
|
don is so new. Better not venture that. They might
|
|
hang you. Think up something else."
|
|
|
|
Might hang us! Little he knew how closely he was
|
|
crowding the facts. I couldn't think up anything for
|
|
the moment. Then an idea struck me, and I started
|
|
it along:
|
|
|
|
"Send five hundred picked knights with Launcelot
|
|
in the lead; and send them on the jump. Let them
|
|
enter by the southwest gate, and look out for the man
|
|
with a white cloth around his right arm."
|
|
|
|
The answer was prompt:
|
|
|
|
"They shall start in half an hour."
|
|
|
|
"All right, Clarence; now tell this lad here that I'm
|
|
a friend of yours and a dead-head; and that he must
|
|
be discreet and say nothing about this visit of mine."
|
|
|
|
The instrument began to talk to the youth and I
|
|
hurried away. I fell to ciphering. In half an hour it
|
|
would be nine o'clock. Knights and horses in heavy
|
|
armor couldn't travel very fast. These would make
|
|
the best time they could, and now that the ground was
|
|
in good condition, and no snow or mud, they would
|
|
probably make a seven-mile gait; they would have to
|
|
change horses a couple of times; they would arrive
|
|
about six, or a little after; it would still be plenty light
|
|
enough; they would see the white cloth which I should
|
|
tie around my right arm, and I would take command.
|
|
We would surround that prison and have the king out
|
|
in no time. It would be showy and picturesque
|
|
enough, all things considered, though I would have
|
|
preferred noonday, on account of the more theatrical
|
|
aspect the thing would have.
|
|
|
|
Now, then, in order to increase the strings to my
|
|
bow, I thought I would look up some of those people
|
|
whom I had formerly recognized, and make myself
|
|
known. That would help us out of our scrape, with-
|
|
out the knights. But I must proceed cautiously, for it
|
|
was a risky business. I must get into sumptuous
|
|
raiment, and it wouldn't do to run and jump into it.
|
|
No, I must work up to it by degrees, buying suit after
|
|
suit of clothes, in shops wide apart, and getting a little
|
|
finer article with each change, until I should finally
|
|
reach silk and velvet, and be ready for my project.
|
|
So I started.
|
|
|
|
But the scheme fell through like scat! The first
|
|
corner I turned, I came plump upon one of our slaves,
|
|
snooping around with a watchman. I coughed at the
|
|
moment, and he gave me a sudden look that bit right
|
|
into my marrow. I judge he thought he had heard
|
|
that cough before. I turned immediately into a shop
|
|
and worked along down the counter, pricing things
|
|
and watching out of the corner of my eye. Those
|
|
people had stopped, and were talking together and
|
|
looking in at the door. I made up my mind to get
|
|
out the back way, if there was a back way, and I asked
|
|
the shopwoman if I could step out there and look for
|
|
the escaped slave, who was believed to be in hiding
|
|
back there somewhere, and said I was an officer in
|
|
disguise, and my pard was yonder at the door with
|
|
one of the murderers in charge, and would she be good
|
|
enough to step there and tell him he needn't wait, but
|
|
had better go at once to the further end of the back
|
|
alley and be ready to head him off when I rousted him
|
|
out.
|
|
|
|
She was blazing with eagerness to see one of those
|
|
already celebrated murderers, and she started on the
|
|
errand at once. I slipped out the back way, locked
|
|
the door behind me, put the key in my pocket and
|
|
started off, chuckling to myself and comfortable.
|
|
|
|
Well, I had gone and spoiled it again, made another
|
|
mistake. A double one, in fact. There were plenty
|
|
of ways to get rid of that officer by some simple and
|
|
plausible device, but no, I must pick out a picturesque
|
|
one; it is the crying defect of my character. And
|
|
then, I had ordered my procedure upon what the
|
|
officer, being human, would NATURALLY do; whereas
|
|
when you are least expecting it, a man will now and
|
|
then go and do the very thing which it's NOT natural
|
|
for him to do. The natural thing for the officer to do,
|
|
in this case, was to follow straight on my heels; he
|
|
would find a stout oaken door, securely locked, be-
|
|
tween him and me; before he could break it down, I
|
|
should be far away and engaged in slipping into a suc-
|
|
cession of baffling disguises which would soon get me
|
|
into a sort of raiment which was a surer protection
|
|
from meddling law-dogs in Britain than any amount of
|
|
mere innocence and purity of character. But instead
|
|
of doing the natural thing, the officer took me at my
|
|
word, and followed my instructions. And so, as I
|
|
came trotting out of that cul de sac, full of satisfaction
|
|
with my own cleverness, he turned the corner and I
|
|
walked right into his handcuffs. If I had known it was
|
|
a cul de sac -- however, there isn't any excusing a
|
|
blunder like that, let it go. Charge it up to profit and
|
|
loss.
|
|
|
|
Of course, I was indignant, and swore I had just
|
|
come ashore from a long voyage, and all that sort of
|
|
thing -- just to see, you know, if it would deceive that
|
|
slave. But it didn't. He knew me. Then I re-
|
|
proached him for betraying me. He was more sur-
|
|
prised than hurt. He stretched his eyes wide, and
|
|
said:
|
|
|
|
"What, wouldst have me let thee, of all men, escape
|
|
and not hang with us, when thou'rt the very CAUSE of
|
|
our hanging? Go to!"
|
|
|
|
"Go to" was their way of saying "I should smile!"
|
|
or "I like that!" Queer talkers, those people.
|
|
|
|
Well, there was a sort of bastard justice in his view
|
|
of the case, and so I dropped the matter. When you
|
|
can't cure a disaster by argument, what is the use to
|
|
argue? It isn't my way. So I only said:
|
|
|
|
"You're not going to be hanged. None of us are."
|
|
|
|
Both men laughed, and the slave said:
|
|
|
|
"Ye have not ranked as a fool -- before. You
|
|
might better keep your reputation, seeing the strain
|
|
would not be for long."
|
|
|
|
"It will stand it, I reckon. Before to-morrow we
|
|
shall be out of prison, and free to go where we will,
|
|
besides."
|
|
|
|
The witty officer lifted at his left ear with his thumb,
|
|
made a rasping noise in his throat, and said:
|
|
|
|
"Out of prison -- yes -- ye say true. And free
|
|
likewise to go where ye will, so ye wander not out of
|
|
his grace the Devil's sultry realm."
|
|
|
|
I kept my temper, and said, indifferently:
|
|
|
|
"Now I suppose you really think we are going to
|
|
hang within a day or two."
|
|
|
|
"I thought it not many minutes ago, for so the
|
|
thing was decided and proclaimed."
|
|
|
|
"Ah, then you've changed your mind, is that it?"
|
|
|
|
"Even that. I only THOUGHT, then; I KNOW, now."
|
|
|
|
I felt sarcastical, so I said:
|
|
|
|
"Oh, sapient servant of the law, condescend to tell
|
|
us, then, what you KNOW."
|
|
|
|
"That ye will all be hanged TO-DAY, at mid-after-
|
|
noon! Oho! that shot hit home! Lean upon me."
|
|
|
|
The fact is I did need to lean upon somebody. My
|
|
knights couldn't arrive in time. They would be as
|
|
much as three hours too late. Nothing in the world
|
|
could save the King of England; nor me, which was
|
|
more important. More important, not merely to me,
|
|
but to the nation -- the only nation on earth standing
|
|
ready to blossom into civilization. I was sick. I said
|
|
no more, there wasn't anything to say. I knew what
|
|
the man meant; that if the missing slave was found,
|
|
the postponement would be revoked, the execution
|
|
take place to-day. Well, the missing slave was found.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
|
|
SIR LAUNCELOT AND KNIGHTS TO THE RESCUE
|
|
|
|
NEARING four in the afternoon. The scene was
|
|
just outside the walls of London. A cool, com-
|
|
fortable, superb day, with a brilliant sun; the kind of
|
|
day to make one want to live, not die. The multitude
|
|
was prodigious and far-reaching; and yet we fifteen
|
|
poor devils hadn't a friend in it. There was something
|
|
painful in that thought, look at it how you might.
|
|
There we sat, on our tall scaffold, the butt of the hate
|
|
and mockery of all those enemies. We were being
|
|
made a holiday spectacle. They had built a sort of
|
|
grand stand for the nobility and gentry, and these were
|
|
there in full force, with their ladies. We recognized a
|
|
good many of them.
|
|
|
|
The crowd got a brief and unexpected dash of
|
|
diversion out of the king. The moment we were
|
|
freed of our bonds he sprang up, in his fantastic rags,
|
|
with face bruised out of all recognition, and proclaimed
|
|
himself Arthur, King of Britain, and denounced the
|
|
awful penalties of treason upon every soul there present
|
|
if hair of his sacred head were touched. It startled
|
|
and surprised him to hear them break into a vast roar
|
|
of laughter. It wounded his dignity, and he locked
|
|
himself up in silence. then, although the crowd begged
|
|
him to go on, and tried to provoke him to it by cat-
|
|
calls, jeers, and shouts of
|
|
|
|
"Let him speak! The king! The king! his hum-
|
|
ble subjects hunger and thirst for words of wisdom out
|
|
of the mouth of their master his Serene and Sacred
|
|
Raggedness!"
|
|
|
|
But it went for nothing. He put on all his majesty
|
|
and sat under this rain of contempt and insult un-
|
|
moved. He certainly was great in his way. Absently,
|
|
I had taken off my white bandage and wound it about
|
|
my right arm. When the crowd noticed this, they
|
|
began upon me. They said:
|
|
|
|
"Doubtless this sailor-man is his minister -- observe
|
|
his costly badge of office!"
|
|
|
|
I let them go on until they got tired, and then I
|
|
said:
|
|
|
|
"Yes, I am his minister, The Boss; and to-morrow
|
|
you will hear that from Camelot which --"
|
|
|
|
I got no further. They drowned me out with joyous
|
|
derision. But presently there was silence; for the
|
|
sheriffs of London, in their official robes, with their
|
|
subordinates, began to make a stir which indicated
|
|
that business was about to begin. In the hush which
|
|
followed, our crime was recited, the death warrant
|
|
read, then everybody uncovered while a priest uttered
|
|
a prayer.
|
|
|
|
Then a slave was blindfolded; the hangman unslung
|
|
his rope. There lay the smooth road below us, we
|
|
upon one side of it, the banked multitude wailing its
|
|
other side -- a good clear road, and kept free by the
|
|
police -- how good it would be to see my five hundred
|
|
horsemen come tearing down it! But no, it was out
|
|
of the possibilities. I followed its receding thread out
|
|
into the distance -- not a horseman on it, or sign of
|
|
one.
|
|
|
|
There was a jerk, and the slave hung dangling;
|
|
dangling and hideously squirming, for his limbs were
|
|
not tied.
|
|
|
|
A second rope was unslung, in a moment another
|
|
slave was dangling.
|
|
|
|
In a minute a third slave was struggling in the air.
|
|
It was dreadful. I turned away my head a moment,
|
|
and when I turned back I missed the king! They
|
|
were blindfolding him! I was paralyzed; I couldn't
|
|
move, I was choking, my tongue was petrified. They
|
|
finished blindfolding him, they led him under the
|
|
rope. I couldn't shake off that clinging impotence.
|
|
But when I saw them put the noose around his neck,
|
|
then everything let go in me and I made a spring
|
|
to the rescue -- and as I made it I shot one
|
|
more glance abroad -- by George! here they came,
|
|
a-tilting! -- five hundred mailed and belted knights on
|
|
bicycles!
|
|
|
|
The grandest sight that ever was seen. Lord, how
|
|
the plumes streamed, how the sun flamed and flashed
|
|
from the endless procession of webby wheels!
|
|
|
|
I waved my right arm as Launcelot swept in -- he
|
|
recognized my rag -- I tore away noose and bandage,
|
|
and shouted:
|
|
|
|
"On your knees, every rascal of you, and salute the
|
|
king! Who fails shall sup in hell to-night!"
|
|
|
|
I always use that high style when I'm climaxing an
|
|
effect. Well, it was noble to see Launcelot and the
|
|
boys swarm up onto that scaffold and heave sheriffs
|
|
and such overboard. And it was fine to see that
|
|
astonished multitude go down on their knees and beg
|
|
their lives of the king they had just been deriding and
|
|
insulting. And as he stood apart there, receiving this
|
|
homage in rags, I thought to myself, well, really there
|
|
is something peculiarly grand about the gait and bear-
|
|
ing of a king, after all.
|
|
|
|
I was immensely satisfied. Take the whole situation
|
|
all around, it was one of the gaudiest effects I ever
|
|
instigated.
|
|
|
|
And presently up comes Clarence, his own self! and
|
|
winks, and says, very modernly:
|
|
|
|
"Good deal of a surprise, wasn't it? I knew you'd
|
|
like it. I've had the boys practicing this long time,
|
|
privately; and just hungry for a chance to show off."
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XXXIX.
|
|
THE YANKEE'S FIGHT WITH THE KNIGHTS
|
|
|
|
HOME again, at Camelot. A morning or two later
|
|
I found the paper, damp from the press, by my
|
|
plate at the breakfast table. I turned to the adver-
|
|
tising columns, knowing I should find something of
|
|
personal interest to me there. It was this:
|
|
|
|
DE PAR LE ROI.
|
|
|
|
Know that the great lord and illus-
|
|
trious Kni8ht, SIR SAGRAMOR LE
|
|
DESIROUS naving condescended to
|
|
meet the King's Minister, Hank Mor-
|
|
gan, the which is surnamed The Boss,
|
|
for satisfgction of offence anciently given,
|
|
these wilL engage in the lists by
|
|
Camelot about the fourth hour of the
|
|
morning of the sixteenth day of this
|
|
next succeeding month. The battle
|
|
will be a l outrance, sith the said offence
|
|
was of a deadly sort, admitting of no
|
|
comPosition.
|
|
|
|
DE PAR LE ROI
|
|
|
|
|
|
Clarence's editorial reference to this affair was to this
|
|
effect:
|
|
|
|
It will be observed, by a gl7nce at our
|
|
advertising columns, that the commu-
|
|
nity is to be favored with a treat of un-
|
|
usual interest in the tournament line.
|
|
The n ames of the artists are warrant of
|
|
good enterTemment. The box-office
|
|
will be open at noon of the 13th; ad-
|
|
mission 3 cents, reserved seatsh 5; pro-
|
|
ceeds to go to the hospital fund The
|
|
royal pair and all the Court will be pres-
|
|
ent. With these exceptions, and the
|
|
press and the clergy, the free list is strict-
|
|
ly susPended. Parties are hereby warn-
|
|
ed against buying tickets of speculators;
|
|
they will not be good at the door.
|
|
Everybody knows and likes The Boss,
|
|
everybody knows and likes Sir Sag.;
|
|
come, let us give the lads a good send-
|
|
off. ReMember, the proceeds go to a
|
|
great and free charity, and one whose
|
|
broad begevolence stretches out its help-
|
|
ing hand, warm with the blood of a lov-
|
|
ing heart, to all that suffer, regardless of
|
|
race, creed, condition or color--the
|
|
only charity yet established in the earth
|
|
which has no politico-religious stop-
|
|
cock on its compassion, but says Here
|
|
flows the stream, let ALL come and
|
|
drink! Turn out, all hands! fetch along
|
|
your dou3hnuts and your gum-drops
|
|
and have a good time. Pie for sale on
|
|
the grounds, and rocks to crack it with;
|
|
and ciRcus-lemonade--three drops of
|
|
lime juice to a barrel of water.
|
|
N.B. This is the first tournament
|
|
under the new law, whidh allow each
|
|
combatant to use any weapon he may pre-
|
|
fer. You may want to make a note of that.
|
|
|
|
Up to the day set, there was no talk in all Britain of
|
|
anything but this combat. All other topics sank into
|
|
insignificance and passed out of men's thoughts and
|
|
interest. It was not because a tournament was a great
|
|
matter, it was not because Sir Sagramor had found
|
|
the Holy Grail, for he had not, but had failed; it was
|
|
not because the second (official) personage in the king-
|
|
dom was one of the duellists; no, all these features
|
|
were commonplace. Yet there was abundant reason
|
|
for the extraordinary interest which this coming fight
|
|
was creating. It was born of the fact that all the
|
|
nation knew that this was not to be a duel between
|
|
mere men, so to speak, but a duel between two mighty
|
|
magicians; a duel not of muscle but of mind, not of
|
|
human skill but of superhuman art and craft; a final
|
|
struggle for supremacy between the two master en-
|
|
chanters of the age. It was realized that the most
|
|
prodigious achievements of the most renowned knights
|
|
could not be worthy of comparison with a spectacle
|
|
like this; they could be but child's play, contrasted
|
|
with this mysterious and awful battle of the gods.
|
|
Yes, all the world knew it was going to be in reality a
|
|
duel between Merlin and me, a measuring of his magic
|
|
powers against mine. It was known that Merlin had
|
|
been busy whole days and nights together, imbuing Sir
|
|
Sagramor's arms and armor with supernal powers of
|
|
offense and defense, and that he had procured for him
|
|
from the spirits of the air a fleecy veil which would
|
|
render the wearer invisible to his antagonist while
|
|
still visible to other men. Against Sir Sagramor, so
|
|
weaponed and protected, a thousand knights could
|
|
accomplish nothing; against him no known enchant-
|
|
ments could prevail. These facts were sure; regard-
|
|
ing them there was no doubt, no reason for doubt.
|
|
There was but one question: might there be still other
|
|
enchantments, UNKNOWN to Merlin, which could render
|
|
Sir Sagramor's veil transparent to me, and make his
|
|
enchanted mail vulnerable to my weapons? This was
|
|
the one thing to be decided in the lists. Until then
|
|
the world must remain in suspense.
|
|
|
|
So the world thought there was a vast matter at stake
|
|
here, and the world was right, but it was not the one
|
|
they had in their minds. No, a far vaster one was
|
|
upon the cast of this die: THE LIFE OF KNIGHT-ERRANTRY.
|
|
I was a champion, it was true, but not the champion
|
|
of the frivolous black arts, I was the champion of hard
|
|
unsentimental common-sense and reason. I was enter-
|
|
ing the lists to either destroy knight-errantry or be its
|
|
victim.
|
|
|
|
Vast as the show-grounds were, there were no vacant
|
|
spaces in them outside of the lists, at ten o'clock on
|
|
the morning of the 16th. The mammoth grand-stand
|
|
was clothed in flags, streamers, and rich tapestries, and
|
|
packed with several acres of small-fry tributary kings,
|
|
their suites, and the British aristocracy; with our own
|
|
royal gang in the chief place, and each and every
|
|
individual a flashing prism of gaudy silks and velvets --
|
|
well, I never saw anything to begin with it but a fight
|
|
between an Upper Mississippi sunset and the aurora
|
|
borealis. The huge camp of beflagged and gay-
|
|
colored tents at one end of the lists, with a stiff-
|
|
standing sentinel at every door and a shining shield
|
|
hanging by him for challenge, was another fine sight.
|
|
You see, every knight was there who had any ambition
|
|
or any caste feeling; for my feeling toward their order
|
|
was not much of a secret, and so here was their
|
|
chance. If I won my fight with Sir Sagramor, others
|
|
would have the right to call me out as long as I might
|
|
be willing to respond.
|
|
|
|
Down at our end there were but two tents; one for
|
|
me, and another for my servants. At the appointed
|
|
hour the king made a sign, and the heralds, in their
|
|
tabards, appeared and made proclamation, naming the
|
|
combatants and stating the cause of quarrel. There
|
|
was a pause, then a ringing bugle-blast, which was the
|
|
signal for us to come forth. All the multitude caught
|
|
their breath, and an eager curiosity flashed into every
|
|
face.
|
|
|
|
Out from his tent rode great Sir Sagramor, an im-
|
|
posing tower of iron, stately and rigid, his huge spear
|
|
standing upright in its socket and grasped in his strong
|
|
hand, his grand horse's face and breast cased in steel,
|
|
his body clothed in rich trappings that almost dragged
|
|
the ground -- oh, a most noble picture. A great shout
|
|
went up, of welcome and admiration.
|
|
|
|
And then out I came. But I didn't get any shout.
|
|
There was a wondering and eloquent silence for a mo-
|
|
ment, then a great wave of laughter began to sweep
|
|
along that human sea, but a warning bugle-blast cut its
|
|
career short. I was in the simplest and comfortablest
|
|
of gymnast costumes -- flesh-colored tights from neck
|
|
to heel, with blue silk puffings about my loins, and
|
|
bareheaded. My horse was not above medium size,
|
|
but he was alert, slender-limbed, muscled with watch-
|
|
springs, and just a greyhound to go. He was a beauty,
|
|
glossy as silk, and naked as he was when he was born,
|
|
except for bridle and ranger-saddle.
|
|
|
|
The iron tower and the gorgeous bedquilt came
|
|
cumbrously but gracefully pirouetting down the lists,
|
|
and we tripped lightly up to meet them. We halted;
|
|
the tower saluted, I responded; then we wheeled and
|
|
rode side by side to the grand-stand and faced our king
|
|
and queen, to whom we made obeisance. The queen
|
|
exclaimed:
|
|
|
|
"Alack, Sir Boss, wilt fight naked, and without
|
|
lance or sword or --"
|
|
|
|
But the king checked her and made her understand,
|
|
with a polite phrase or two, that this was none of her
|
|
business. The bugles rang again; and we separated
|
|
and rode to the ends of the lists, and took position.
|
|
Now old Merlin stepped into view and cast a dainty
|
|
web of gossamer threads over Sir Sagramor which
|
|
turned him into Hamlet's ghost; the king made a
|
|
sign, the bugles blew, Sir Sagramor laid his great
|
|
lance in rest, and the next moment here he came
|
|
thundering down the course with his veil flying out
|
|
behind, and I went whistling through the air like an
|
|
arrow to meet him -- cocking my ear the while, as if
|
|
noting the invisible knight's position and progress by
|
|
hearing, not sight. A chorus of encouraging shouts
|
|
burst out for him, and one brave voice flung out a
|
|
heartening word for me -- said:
|
|
|
|
"Go it, slim Jim!"
|
|
|
|
It was an even bet that Clarence had procured that
|
|
favor for me -- and furnished the language, too. When
|
|
that formidable lance-point was within a yard and a
|
|
half of my breast I twitched my horse aside without an
|
|
effort, and the big knight swept by, scoring a blank.
|
|
I got plenty of applause that time. We turned,
|
|
braced up, and down we came again. Another blank
|
|
for the knight, a roar of applause for me. This same
|
|
thing was repeated once more; and it fetched such a
|
|
whirlwind of applause that Sir Sagramor lost his
|
|
temper, and at once changed his tactics and set him-
|
|
self the task of chasing me down. Why, he hadn't
|
|
any show in the world at that; it was a game of tag,
|
|
with all the advantage on my side; I whirled out of
|
|
his path with ease whenever I chose, and once I
|
|
slapped him on the back as I went to the rear. Finally
|
|
I took the chase into my own hands; and after that,
|
|
turn, or twist, or do what he would, he was never able
|
|
to get behind me again; he found himself always in
|
|
front at the end of his maneuver. So he gave up that
|
|
business and retired to his end of the lists. His temper
|
|
was clear gone now, and he forgot himself and flung
|
|
an insult at me which disposed of mine. I slipped my
|
|
lasso from the horn of my saddle, and grasped the coil
|
|
in my right hand. This time you should have seen
|
|
him come! -- it was a business trip, sure; by his gait
|
|
there was blood in his eye. I was sitting my horse at
|
|
ease, and swinging the great loop of my lasso in wide
|
|
circles about my head; the moment he was under way,
|
|
I started for him; when the space between us had
|
|
narrowed to forty feet, I sent the snaky spirals of the
|
|
rope a-cleaving through the air, then darted aside and
|
|
faced about and brought my trained animal to a halt
|
|
with all his feet braced under him for a surge. The
|
|
next moment the rope sprang taut and yanked Sir
|
|
Sagramor out of the saddle! Great Scott, but there
|
|
was a sensation!
|
|
|
|
Unquestionably, the popular thing in this world is
|
|
novelty. These people had never seen anything of
|
|
that cowboy business before, and it carried them clear
|
|
off their feet with delight. From all around and every-
|
|
where, the shout went up:
|
|
|
|
"Encore! encore!"
|
|
|
|
I wondered where they got the word, but there was
|
|
no time to cipher on philological matters, because the
|
|
whole knight-errantry hive was just humming now, and
|
|
my prospect for trade couldn't have been better. The
|
|
moment my lasso was released and Sir Sagramor had
|
|
been assisted to his tent, I hauled in the slack, took
|
|
my station and began to swing my loop around my
|
|
head again. I was sure to have use for it as soon as
|
|
they could elect a successor for Sir Sagramor, and
|
|
that couldn't take long where there were so many
|
|
hungry candidates. Indeed, they elected one straight
|
|
off -- Sir Hervis de Revel.
|
|
|
|
BZZ! Here he came, like a house afire; I dodged:
|
|
he passed like a flash, with my horse-hair coils settling
|
|
around his neck; a second or so later, FST! his saddle
|
|
was empty.
|
|
|
|
I got another encore; and another, and another, and
|
|
still another. When I had snaked five men out, things
|
|
began to look serious to the ironclads, and they
|
|
stopped and consulted together. As a result, they de-
|
|
cided that it was time to waive etiquette and send their
|
|
greatest and best against me. To the astonishment of
|
|
that little world, I lassoed Sir Lamorak de Galis, and
|
|
after him Sir Galahad. So you see there was simply
|
|
nothing to be done now, but play their right bower --
|
|
bring out the superbest of the superb, the mightiest of
|
|
the mighty, the great Sir Launcelot himself!
|
|
|
|
A proud moment for me? I should think so.
|
|
Yonder was Arthur, King of Britain; yonder was
|
|
Guenever; yes, and whole tribes of little provincial
|
|
kings and kinglets; and in the tented camp yonder,
|
|
renowned knights from many lands; and likewise the
|
|
selectest body known to chivalry, the Knights of the
|
|
Table Round, the most illustrious in Christendom; and
|
|
biggest fact of all, the very sun of their shining system
|
|
was yonder couching his lance, the focal point of forty
|
|
thousand adoring eyes; and all by myself, here was I
|
|
laying for him. Across my mind flitted the dear
|
|
image of a certain hello-girl of West Hartford, and I
|
|
wished she could see me now. In that moment, down
|
|
came the Invincible, with the rush of a whirlwind --
|
|
the courtly world rose to its feet and bent forward --
|
|
the fateful coils went circling through the air, and
|
|
before you could wink I was towing Sir Launcelot
|
|
across the field on his back, and kissing my hand to
|
|
the storm of waving kerchiefs and the thunder-crash of
|
|
applause that greeted me!
|
|
|
|
Said I to myself, as I coiled my lariat and hung it on
|
|
my saddle-horn, and sat there drunk with glory, "The
|
|
victory is perfect -- no other will venture against me --
|
|
knight-errantry is dead." Now imagine my astonish-
|
|
ment -- and everybody else's, too -- to hear the peculiar
|
|
bugle-call which announces that another competitor is
|
|
about to enter the lists! There was a mystery here; I
|
|
couldn't account for this thing. Next, I noticed Mer-
|
|
lin gliding away from me; and then I noticed that my
|
|
lasso was gone! The old sleight-of-hand expert had
|
|
stolen it, sure, and slipped it under his robe.
|
|
|
|
The bugle blew again. I looked, and down came
|
|
Sagramor riding again, with his dust brushed off and
|
|
is veil nicely re-arranged. I trotted up to meet him,
|
|
and pretended to find him by the sound of his horse's
|
|
hoofs. He said:
|
|
|
|
"Thou'rt quick of ear, but it will not save thee from
|
|
this!" and he touched the hilt of his great sword .
|
|
"An ye are not able to see it, because of the influence
|
|
of the veil, know that it is no cumbrous lance, but a
|
|
sword -- and I ween ye will not be able to avoid it."
|
|
|
|
His visor was up; there was death in his smile. I
|
|
should never be able to dodge his sword, that was
|
|
plain. Somebody was going to die this time. If he
|
|
got the drop on me, I could name the corpse. We
|
|
rode forward together, and saluted the royalties. This
|
|
time the king was disturbed. He said:
|
|
|
|
"Where is thy strange weapon?"
|
|
|
|
"It is stolen, sire."
|
|
|
|
"Hast another at hand?"
|
|
|
|
"No, sire, I brought only the one."
|
|
|
|
Then Merlin mixed in:
|
|
|
|
"He brought but the one because there was but the
|
|
one to bring. There exists none other but that one.
|
|
It belongeth to the king of the Demons of the Sea.
|
|
This man is a pretender, and ignorant, else he had
|
|
known that that weapon can be used in but eight
|
|
bouts only, and then it vanisheth away to its home
|
|
under the sea."
|
|
|
|
"Then is he weaponless," said the king. "Sir
|
|
Sagramore, ye will grant him leave to borrow."
|
|
|
|
"And I will lend!" said Sir Launcelot, limping
|
|
up. "He is as brave a knight of his hands as any
|
|
that be on live, and he shall have mine."
|
|
|
|
He put his hand on his sword to draw it, but Sir
|
|
Sagramor said:
|
|
|
|
"Stay, it may not be. He shall fight with his own
|
|
weapons; it was his privilege to choose them and bring
|
|
them. If he has erred, on his head be it."
|
|
|
|
"Knight!" said the king. "Thou'rt overwrought
|
|
with passion; it disorders thy mind. Wouldst kill a
|
|
naked man?"
|
|
|
|
"An he do it, he shall answer it to me," said Sir
|
|
Launcelot.
|
|
|
|
"I will answer it to any he that desireth!" retorted
|
|
Sir Sagramor hotly.
|
|
|
|
Merlin broke in, rubbing his hands and smiling his
|
|
lowdownest smile of malicious gratification:
|
|
|
|
"'Tis well said, right well said! And 'tis enough
|
|
of parleying, let my lord the king deliver the battle
|
|
signal."
|
|
|
|
The king had to yield. The bugle made proclama-
|
|
tion, and we turned apart and rode to our stations.
|
|
There we stood, a hundred yards apart, facing each
|
|
other, rigid and motionless, like horsed statues. And
|
|
so we remained, in a soundless hush, as much as a full
|
|
minute, everybody gazing, nobody stirring. It seemed
|
|
as if the king could not take heart to give the signal.
|
|
But at last he lifted his hand, the clear note of the
|
|
bugle followed, Sir Sagramor's long blade described a
|
|
flashing curve in the air, and it was superb to see him
|
|
come. I sat still. On he came. I did not move.
|
|
People got so excited that they shouted to me:
|
|
|
|
"Fly, fly! Save thyself! This is murther!"
|
|
|
|
I never budged so much as an inch till that thunder-
|
|
ng apparition had got within fifteen paces of me; then
|
|
I snatched a dragoon revolver out of my holster, there
|
|
was a flash and a roar, and the revolver was back in
|
|
the holster before anybody could tell what had hap-
|
|
pened.
|
|
|
|
Here was a riderless horse plunging by, and yonder
|
|
lay Sir Sagramor, stone dead.
|
|
|
|
The people that ran to him were stricken dumb to
|
|
find that the life was actually gone out of the man and
|
|
no reason for it visible, no hurt upon his body, nothing
|
|
like a wound. There was a hole through the breast of
|
|
his chain-mail, but they attached no importance to a
|
|
little thing like that; and as a bullet wound there pro-
|
|
duces but little blood, none came in sight because of
|
|
the clothing and swaddlings under the armor. The
|
|
body was dragged over to let the king and the swells
|
|
look down upon it. They were stupefied with aston-
|
|
ishment naturally. I was requested to come and ex-
|
|
plain the miracle. But I remained in my tracks, like
|
|
a statue, and said:
|
|
|
|
"If it is a command, I will come, but my lord the
|
|
king knows that I am where the laws of combat require
|
|
me to remain while any desire to come against me."
|
|
|
|
I waited. Nobody challenged. Then I said:
|
|
|
|
"If there are any who doubt that this field is well
|
|
and fairly won, I do not wait for them to challenge
|
|
me, I challenge them."
|
|
|
|
"It is a gallant offer," said the king, "and well be-
|
|
seems you. Whom will you name first?"
|
|
|
|
"I name none, I challenge all! Here I stand, and
|
|
dare the chivalry of England to come against me -- not
|
|
by individuals, but in mass!"
|
|
|
|
"What!" shouted a score of knights.
|
|
|
|
"You have heard the challenge. Take it, or I pro-
|
|
claim you recreant knights and vanquished, every
|
|
one!"
|
|
|
|
It was a "bluff" you know. At such a time it is
|
|
sound judgment to put on a bold face and play your
|
|
hand for a hundred times what it is worth; forty-nine
|
|
times out of fifty nobody dares to "call," and you
|
|
rake in the chips. But just this once -- well, things
|
|
looked squally! In just no time, five hundred knights
|
|
were scrambling into their saddles, and before you
|
|
could wink a widely scattering drove were under way
|
|
and clattering down upon me. I snatched both revol-
|
|
vers from the holsters and began to measure distances
|
|
and calculate chances.
|
|
|
|
Bang! One saddle empty. Bang! another one.
|
|
Bang -- bang, and I bagged two. Well, it was nip and
|
|
tuck with us, and I knew it. If I spent the eleventh
|
|
shot without convincing these people, the twelfth man
|
|
would kill me, sure. And so I never did feel so happy
|
|
as I did when my ninth downed its man and I detected
|
|
the wavering in the crowd which is premonitory of
|
|
panic. An instant lost now could knock out my last
|
|
chance. But I didn't lose it. I raised both revolvers
|
|
and pointed them -- the halted host stood their ground
|
|
just about one good square moment, then broke and
|
|
fled.
|
|
|
|
The day was mine. Knight-errantry was a doomed
|
|
institution. The march of civilization was begun.
|
|
How did I feel? Ah, you never could imagine it.
|
|
|
|
And Brer Merlin? His stock was flat again. Some-
|
|
how, every time the magic of fol-de-rol tried conclu-
|
|
sions with the magic of science, the magic of fol-de-rol
|
|
got left.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XL.
|
|
THREE YEARS LATER
|
|
|
|
WHEN I broke the back of knight-errantry that
|
|
time, I no longer felt obliged to work in secret.
|
|
So, the very next day I exposed my hidden schools,
|
|
my mines, and my vast system of clandestine factories
|
|
and workshops to an astonished world. That is to
|
|
say, I exposed the nineteenth century to the inspec-
|
|
tion of the sixth.
|
|
|
|
Well, it is always a good plan to follow up an
|
|
advantage promptly. The knights were temporarily
|
|
down, but if I would keep them so I must just simply
|
|
paralyze them -- nothing short of that would answer.
|
|
You see, I was "bluffing" that last time in the field;
|
|
it would be natural for them to work around to that
|
|
conclusion, if I gave them a chance. So I must not
|
|
give them time; and I didn't.
|
|
|
|
I renewed my challenge, engraved it on brass, posted
|
|
it up where any priest could read it to them, and also
|
|
kept it standing in the advertising columns of the
|
|
paper.
|
|
|
|
I not only renewed it, but added to its proportions.
|
|
I said, name the day, and I would take fifty assistants
|
|
and stand up AGAINST THE MASSED CHIVALRY OF THE WHOLE
|
|
EARTH AND DESTROY IT.
|
|
|
|
I was not bluffing this time. I meant what I said;
|
|
I could do what I promised. There wasn't any way
|
|
to misunderstand the language of that challenge.
|
|
Even the dullest of the chivalry perceived that this
|
|
was a plain case of "put up, or shut up." They
|
|
were wise and did the latter. In all the next three
|
|
years they gave me no trouble worth mentioning.
|
|
|
|
Consider the three years sped. Now look around
|
|
on England. A happy and prosperous country, and
|
|
strangely altered. Schools everywhere, and several
|
|
colleges; a number of pretty good newspapers. Even
|
|
authorship was taking a start; Sir Dinadan the Humor-
|
|
ist was first in the field, with a volume of gray-headed
|
|
jokes which I had been familiar with during thirteen
|
|
centuries. If he had left out that old rancid one about
|
|
the lecturer I wouldn't have said anything; but I
|
|
couldn't stand that one. I suppressed the book and
|
|
hanged the author.
|
|
|
|
Slavery was dead and gone; all men were equal
|
|
before the law; taxation had been equalized. The
|
|
telegraph, the telephone, the phonograph, the type-
|
|
writer, the sewing-machine, and all the thousand will-
|
|
ing and handy servants of steam and electricity were
|
|
working their way into favor. We had a steamboat or
|
|
two on the Thames, we had steam warships, and the
|
|
beginnings of a steam commercial marine; I was getting
|
|
ready to send out an expedition to discover America.
|
|
|
|
We were building several lines of railway, and our
|
|
line from Camelot to London was already finished and
|
|
in operation. I was shrewd enough to make all offices
|
|
connected with the passenger service places of high
|
|
and distinguished honor. My idea was to attract the
|
|
chivalry and nobility, and make them useful and keep
|
|
them out of mischief. The plan worked very well, the
|
|
competition for the places was hot. The conductor of
|
|
the 4.33 express was a duke; there wasn't a passenger
|
|
conductor on the line below the degree of earl. They
|
|
were good men, every one, but they had two defects
|
|
which I couldn't cure, and so had to wink at: they
|
|
wouldn't lay aside their armor, and they would "knock
|
|
down" fare -- I mean rob the company.
|
|
|
|
There was hardly a knight in all the land who wasn't
|
|
in some useful employment. They were going from
|
|
end to end of the country in all manner of useful
|
|
missionary capacities; their penchant for wandering,
|
|
and their experience in it, made them altogether the
|
|
most effective spreaders of civilization we had. They
|
|
went clothed in steel and equipped with sword and
|
|
lance and battle-axe, and if they couldn't persuade a
|
|
person to try a sewing-machine on the installment
|
|
plan, or a melodeon, or a barbed-wire fence, or a
|
|
prohibition journal, or any of the other thousand and
|
|
one things they canvassed for, they removed him and
|
|
passed on.
|
|
|
|
I was very happy. Things were working steadily
|
|
toward a secretly longed-for point. You see, I had
|
|
two schemes in my head which were the vastest of all
|
|
my projects. The one was to overthrow the Catholic
|
|
Church and set up the Protestant faith on its ruins --
|
|
not as an Established Church, but a go-as-you-please
|
|
one; and the other project was to get a decree issued
|
|
by and by, commanding that upon Arthur's death
|
|
unlimited suffrage should be introduced, and given to
|
|
men and women alike -- at any rate to all men, wise
|
|
or unwise, and to all mothers who at middle age should
|
|
be found to know nearly as much as their sons at
|
|
twenty-one. Arthur was good for thirty years yet, he
|
|
being about my own age -- that is to say, forty -- and
|
|
I believed that in that time I could easily have the
|
|
active part of the population of that day ready and
|
|
eager for an event which should be the first of its kind
|
|
in the history of the world -- a rounded and complete
|
|
governmental revolution without bloodshed. The re-
|
|
sult to be a republic. Well, I may as well confess,
|
|
though I do feel ashamed when I think of it: I was
|
|
beginning to have a base hankering to be its first presi-
|
|
dent myself. Yes, there was more or less human
|
|
nature in me; I found that out.
|
|
|
|
Clarence was with me as concerned the revolution,
|
|
but in a modified way. His idea was a republic, with-
|
|
out privileged orders, but with a hereditary royal
|
|
family at the head of it instead of an elective chief
|
|
magistrate. He believed that no nation that had ever
|
|
known the joy of worshiping a royal family could
|
|
ever be robbed of it and not fade away and die of
|
|
melancholy. I urged that kings were dangerous. He
|
|
said, then have cats. He was sure that a royal family
|
|
of cats would answer every purpose. They would be
|
|
as useful as any other royal family, they would know
|
|
as much, they would have the same virtues and the
|
|
same treacheries, the same disposition to get up shin-
|
|
dies with other royal cats, they would be laughably
|
|
vain and absurd and never know it, they would be
|
|
wholly inexpensive; finally, they would have as sound
|
|
a divine right as any other royal house, and "Tom
|
|
VII., or Tom XI., or Tom XIV. by the grace of God
|
|
King," would sound as well as it would when applied
|
|
to the ordinary royal tomcat with tights on. "And as
|
|
a rule," said he, in his neat modern English, "the
|
|
character of these cats would be considerably above
|
|
the character of the average king, and this would be
|
|
an immense moral advantage to the nation, for the
|
|
reason that a nation always models its morals after its
|
|
monarch's. The worship of royalty being founded in
|
|
unreason, these graceful and harmless cats would easily
|
|
become as sacred as any other royalties, and indeed
|
|
more so, because it would presently be noticed that
|
|
they hanged nobody, beheaded nobody, imprisoned
|
|
nobody, inflicted no cruelties or injustices of any sort,
|
|
and so must be worthy of a deeper love and reverence
|
|
than the customary human king, and would certainly
|
|
get it. The eyes of the whole harried world would
|
|
soon be fixed upon this humane and gentle system,
|
|
and royal butchers would presently begin to disappear;
|
|
their subjects would fill the vacancies with catlings
|
|
from our own royal house; we should become a fac-
|
|
tory; we should supply the thrones of the world;
|
|
within forty years all Europe would be governed by
|
|
cats, and we should furnish the cats. The reign of
|
|
universal peace would begin then, to end no more
|
|
forever...... Me-e-e-yow-ow-ow-ow -- fzt! -- wow!"
|
|
|
|
Hang him, I supposed he was in earnest, and was
|
|
beginning to be persuaded by him, until he exploded
|
|
that cat-howl and startled me almost out of my clothes.
|
|
But he never could be in earnest. He didn't know
|
|
what it was. He had pictured a distinct and perfectly
|
|
rational and feasible improvement upon constitutional
|
|
monarchy, but he was too feather-headed to know it,
|
|
or care anything about it, either. I was going to give
|
|
him a scolding, but Sandy came flying in at that
|
|
moment, wild with terror, and so choked with sobs that
|
|
for a minute she could not get her voice. I ran and
|
|
took her in my arms, and lavished caresses upon her
|
|
and said, beseechingly:
|
|
|
|
"Speak, darling, speak! What is it?"
|
|
|
|
Her head fell limp upon my bosom, and she gasped,
|
|
almost inaudibly:
|
|
|
|
"HELLO-CENTRAL!"
|
|
|
|
"Quick!" I shouted to Clarence; "telephone the
|
|
king's homeopath to come!"
|
|
|
|
In two minutes I was kneeling by the child's crib,
|
|
and Sandy was dispatching servants here, there, and
|
|
everywhere, all over the palace. I took in the situa-
|
|
tion almost at a glance -- membranous croup! I bent
|
|
down and whispered:
|
|
|
|
"Wake up, sweetheart! Hello-Central"
|
|
|
|
She opened her soft eyes languidly, and made out
|
|
to say:
|
|
|
|
"Papa."
|
|
|
|
That was a comfort. She was far from dead yet. I
|
|
sent for preparations of sulphur, I rousted out the
|
|
croup-kettle myself; for I don't sit down and wait for
|
|
doctors when Sandy or the child is sick. I knew how
|
|
to nurse both of them, and had had experience. This
|
|
little chap had lived in my arms a good part of its
|
|
small life, and often I could soothe away its troubles
|
|
and get it to laugh through the tear-dews on its eye-
|
|
lashes when even its mother couldn't.
|
|
|
|
Sir Launcelot, in his richest armor, came striding
|
|
along the great hall now on his way to the stock-
|
|
board; he was president of the stock-board, and occu-
|
|
pied the Siege Perilous, which he had bought of Sir
|
|
Galahad; for the stock-board consisted of the Knights
|
|
of the Round Table, and they used the Round Table
|
|
for business purposes now. Seats at it were worth --
|
|
well, you would never believe the figure, so it is no
|
|
use to state it. Sir Launcelot was a bear, and he had
|
|
put up a corner in one of the new lines, and was just
|
|
getting ready to squeeze the shorts to-day; but what
|
|
of that? He was the same old Launcelot, and when
|
|
he glanced in as he was passing the door and found out
|
|
that his pet was sick, that was enough for him; bulls
|
|
and bears might fight it out their own way for all him,
|
|
he would come right in here and stand by little Hello-
|
|
Central for all he was worth. And that was what he
|
|
did. He shied his helmet into the corner, and in half
|
|
a minute he had a new wick in the alcohol lamp and
|
|
was firing up on the croup-kettle. By this time Sandy
|
|
had built a blanket canopy over the crib, and every-
|
|
thing was ready.
|
|
|
|
Sir Launcelot got up steam, he and I loaded up the
|
|
kettle with unslaked lime and carbolic acid, with a
|
|
touch of lactic acid added thereto, then filled the thing
|
|
up with water and inserted the steam-spout under the
|
|
canopy. Everything was ship-shape now, and we sat
|
|
down on either side of the crib to stand our watch.
|
|
Sandy was so grateful and so comforted that she
|
|
charged a couple of church-wardens with willow-bark
|
|
and sumach-tobacco for us, and told us to smoke as
|
|
much as we pleased, it couldn't get under the canopy,
|
|
and she was used to smoke, being the first lady in the
|
|
land who had ever seen a cloud blown. Well, there
|
|
couldn't be a more contented or comfortable sight
|
|
than Sir Launcelot in his noble armor sitting in gracious
|
|
serenity at the end of a yard of snowy church-warden.
|
|
He was a beautiful man, a lovely man, and was just
|
|
intended to make a wife and children happy. But, of
|
|
course Guenever -- however, it's no use to cry over
|
|
what's done and can't be helped.
|
|
|
|
Well, he stood watch-and-watch with me, right
|
|
straight through, for three days and nights, till the
|
|
child was out of danger; then he took her up in his
|
|
great arms and kissed her, with his plumes falling
|
|
about her golden head, then laid her softly in Sandy's
|
|
lap again and took his stately way down the vast hall,
|
|
between the ranks of admiring men-at-arms and menials,
|
|
and so disappeared. And no instinct warned me that
|
|
I should never look upon him again in this world!
|
|
Lord, what a world of heart-break it is.
|
|
|
|
The doctors said we must take the child away, if we
|
|
would coax her back to health and strength again.
|
|
And she must have sea-air. So we took a man-of-
|
|
war, and a suite of two hundred and sixty persons, and
|
|
went cruising about, and after a fortnight of this we
|
|
stepped ashore on the French coast, and the doctors
|
|
thought it would be a good idea to make something of
|
|
a stay there. The little king of that region offered us
|
|
his hospitalities, and we were glad to accept. If he
|
|
had had as many conveniences as he lacked, we should
|
|
have been plenty comfortable enough; even as it was,
|
|
we made out very well, in his queer old castle, by the
|
|
help of comforts and luxuries from the ship.
|
|
|
|
At the end of a month I sent the vessel home for
|
|
fresh supplies, and for news. We expected her back
|
|
in three or four days. She would bring me, along
|
|
with other news, the result of a certain experiment
|
|
which I had been starting. It was a project of mine
|
|
to replace the tournament with something which might
|
|
furnish an escape for the extra steam of the chivalry,
|
|
keep those bucks entertained and out of mischief, and
|
|
at the same time preserve the best thing in them,
|
|
which was their hardy spirit of emulation. I had had
|
|
a choice band of them in private training for some time,
|
|
and the date was now arriving for their first public
|
|
effort.
|
|
|
|
This experiment was baseball. In order to give the
|
|
thing vogue from the start, and place it out of the
|
|
reach of criticism, I chose my nines by rank, not
|
|
capacity. There wasn't a knight in either team who
|
|
wasn't a sceptered sovereign. As for material of this
|
|
sort, there was a glut of it always around Arthur.
|
|
You couldn't throw a brick in any direction and not
|
|
cripple a king. Of course, I couldn't get these people
|
|
to leave off their armor; they wouldn't do that when
|
|
they bathed. They consented to differentiate the armor
|
|
so that a body could tell one team from the other, but
|
|
that was the most they would do. So, one of the
|
|
teams wore chain-mail ulsters, and the other wore plate-
|
|
armor made of my new Bessemer steel. Their prac-
|
|
tice in the field was the most fantastic thing I ever saw.
|
|
Being ball-proof, they never skipped out of the way,
|
|
but stood still and took the result; when a Bessemer
|
|
was at the bat and a ball hit him, it would bound a
|
|
hundred and fifty yards sometimes. And when a man
|
|
was running, and threw himself on his stomach to slide
|
|
to his base, it was like an iron-clad coming into port.
|
|
At first I appointed men of no rank to act as umpires,
|
|
but I had to discontinue that. These people were no
|
|
easier to please than other nines. The umpire's first
|
|
decision was usually his last; they broke him in two
|
|
with a bat, and his friends toted him home on a
|
|
shutter. When it was noticed that no umpire ever
|
|
survived a game, umpiring got to be unpopular. So
|
|
I was obliged to appoint somebody whose rank and
|
|
lofty position under the government would protect
|
|
him.
|
|
|
|
Here are the names of the nines:
|
|
|
|
BESSEMERS ULSTERS
|
|
|
|
KING ARTHUR. EMPEROR LUCIUS.
|
|
KING LOT OF LOTHIAN. KING LOGRIS.
|
|
KING OF NORTHGALIS. KING MARHALT OF IRELAND.
|
|
KING MARSIL. KING MORGANORE.
|
|
KING OF LITTLE BRITAIN. KING MARK OF CORNWALL.
|
|
KING LABOR. KING NENTRES OF GARLOT.
|
|
KING PELLAM OF LISTENGESE. KING MELIODAS OF LIONES.
|
|
KING BAGDEMAGUS. KING OF THE LAKE.
|
|
KING TOLLEME LA FEINTES. THE SOWDAN OF SYRIA.
|
|
|
|
Umpire -- CLARENCE.
|
|
|
|
The first public game would certainly draw fifty
|
|
thousand people; and for solid fun would be worth
|
|
going around the world to see. Everything would be
|
|
favorable; it was balmy and beautiful spring weather
|
|
now, and Nature was all tailored out in her new clothes.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XLI.
|
|
THE INTERDICT
|
|
|
|
HOWEVER, my attention was suddenly snatched
|
|
from such matters; our child began to lose
|
|
ground again, and we had to go to sitting up with her,
|
|
her case became so serious. We couldn't bear to
|
|
allow anybody to help in this service, so we two stood
|
|
watch-and-watch, day in and day out. Ah, Sandy,
|
|
what a right heart she had, how simple, and genuine,
|
|
and good she was! She was a flawless wife and
|
|
mother; and yet I had married her for no other par-
|
|
ticular reasons, except that by the customs of chivalry
|
|
she was my property until some knight should win her
|
|
from me in the field. She had hunted Britain over for
|
|
me; had found me at the hanging-bout outside of
|
|
London, and had straightway resumed her old place at
|
|
my side in the placidest way and as of right. I was a
|
|
New Englander, and in my opinion this sort of partner-
|
|
ship would compromise her, sooner or later. She
|
|
couldn't see how, but I cut argument short and we
|
|
had a wedding.
|
|
|
|
Now I didn't know I was drawing a prize, yet that
|
|
was what I did draw. Within the twelvemonth I be-
|
|
came her worshiper; and ours was the dearest and
|
|
perfectest comradeship that ever was. People talk
|
|
about beautiful friendships between two persons of the
|
|
same sex. What is the best of that sort, as compared
|
|
with the friendship of man and wife, where the best
|
|
impulses and highest ideals of both are the same?
|
|
There is no place for comparison between the two
|
|
friendships; the one is earthly, the other divine.
|
|
|
|
In my dreams, along at first, I still wandered thirteen
|
|
centuries away, and my unsatisfied spirit went calling
|
|
and harking all up and down the unreplying vacancies
|
|
of a vanished world. Many a time Sandy heard that
|
|
imploring cry come from my lips in my sleep. With
|
|
a grand magnanimity she saddled that cry of mine
|
|
upon our child, conceiving it to be the name of some
|
|
lost darling of mine. It touched me to tears, and it
|
|
also nearly knocked me off my feet, too, when she
|
|
smiled up in my face for an earned reward, and played
|
|
her quaint and pretty surprise upon me:
|
|
|
|
"The name of one who was dear to thee is here
|
|
preserved, here made holy, and the music of it will
|
|
abide alway in our ears. Now thou'lt kiss me, as
|
|
knowing the name I have given the child."
|
|
|
|
But I didn't know it, all the same. I hadn't an
|
|
idea in the world; but it would have been cruel to
|
|
confess it and spoil her pretty game; so I never let on,
|
|
but said:
|
|
|
|
"Yes, I know, sweetheart -- how dear and good it
|
|
is of you, too! But I want to hear these lips of yours,
|
|
which are also mine, utter it first -- then its music will
|
|
be perfect."
|
|
|
|
Pleased to the marrow, she murmured:
|
|
|
|
"HELLO-CENTRAL!"
|
|
|
|
I didn't laugh -- I am always thankful for that -- but
|
|
the strain ruptured every cartilage in me, and for weeks
|
|
afterward I could hear my bones clack when I walked.
|
|
She never found out her mistake. The first time she
|
|
heard that form of salute used at the telephone she was
|
|
surprised, and not pleased; but I told her I had given
|
|
order for it: that henceforth and forever the tele-
|
|
phone must always be invoked with that reverent for-
|
|
mality, in perpetual honor and remembrance of my
|
|
lost friend and her small namesake. This was not
|
|
true. But it answered.
|
|
|
|
Well, during two weeks and a half we watched by
|
|
the crib, and in our deep solicitude we were uncon-
|
|
scious of any world outside of that sick-room. Then
|
|
our reward came: the center of the universe turned the
|
|
corner and began to mend. Grateful? It isn't the
|
|
term. There ISN'T any term for it. You know that
|
|
yourself, if you've watched your child through the
|
|
Valley of the Shadow and seen it come back to life
|
|
and sweep night out of the earth with one all-illumi-
|
|
nating smile that you could cover with your hand.
|
|
|
|
Why, we were back in this world in one instant!
|
|
Then we looked the same startled thought into each
|
|
other's eyes at the same moment; more than two
|
|
weeks gone, and that ship not back yet!
|
|
|
|
In another minute I appeared in the presence of my
|
|
train. They had been steeped in troubled bodings all
|
|
this time -- their faces showed it. I called an escort
|
|
and we galloped five miles to a hilltop overlooking the
|
|
sea. Where was my great commerce that so lately
|
|
had made these glistening expanses populous and
|
|
beautiful with its white-winged flocks? Vanished,
|
|
every one! Not a sail, from verge to verge, not a
|
|
smoke-bank -- just a dead and empty solitude, in place
|
|
of all that brisk and breezy life.
|
|
|
|
I went swiftly back, saying not a word to anybody.
|
|
I told Sandy this ghastly news. We could imagine no
|
|
explanation that would begin to explain. Had there
|
|
been an invasion? an earthquake? a pestilence? Had
|
|
the nation been swept out of existence? But guessing
|
|
was profitless. I must go -- at once. I borrowed the
|
|
king's navy -- a "ship" no bigger than a steam
|
|
launch -- and was soon ready.
|
|
|
|
The parting -- ah, yes, that was hard. As I was
|
|
devouring the child with last kisses, it brisked up and
|
|
jabbered out its vocabulary! -- the first time in more
|
|
than two weeks, and it made fools of us for joy. The
|
|
darling mispronunciations of childhood! -- dear me,
|
|
there's no music that can touch it; and how one
|
|
grieves when it wastes away and dissolves into correct-
|
|
ness, knowing it will never visit his bereaved ear again.
|
|
Well, how good it was to be able to carry that gracious
|
|
memory away with me!
|
|
|
|
I approached England the next morning, with the
|
|
wide highway of salt water all to myself. There were
|
|
ships in the harbor, at Dover, but they were naked as
|
|
to sails, and there was no sign of life about them. It
|
|
was Sunday; yet at Canterbury the streets were
|
|
empty; strangest of all, there was not even a priest
|
|
in sight, and no stroke of a bell fell upon my ear.
|
|
The mournfulness of death was everywhere. I couldn't
|
|
understand it. At last, in the further edge of that
|
|
town I saw a small funeral procession -- just a family
|
|
and a few friends following a coffin -- no priest; a
|
|
funeral without bell, book, or candle; there was a
|
|
church there close at hand, but they passed it by
|
|
weeping, and did not enter it; I glanced up at the
|
|
belfry, and there hung the bell, shrouded in black,
|
|
and its tongue tied back. Now I knew! Now I
|
|
understood the stupendous calamity that had overtaken
|
|
England. Invasion? Invasion is a triviality to it. It
|
|
was the INTERDICT!
|
|
|
|
I asked no questions; I didn't need to ask any.
|
|
The Church had struck; the thing for me to do was
|
|
to get into a disguise, and go warily. One of my
|
|
servants gave me a suit of clothes, and when we were
|
|
safe beyond the town I put them on, and from that
|
|
time I traveled alone; I could not risk the embarrass-
|
|
ment of company.
|
|
|
|
A miserable journey. A desolate silence everywhere.
|
|
Even in London itself. Traffic had ceased; men did
|
|
not talk or laugh, or go in groups, or even in couples;
|
|
they moved aimlessly about, each man by himself,
|
|
with his head down, and woe and terror at his heart.
|
|
The Tower showed recent war-scars. Verily, much
|
|
had been happening.
|
|
|
|
Of course, I meant to take the train for Camelot.
|
|
Train! Why, the station was as vacant as a cavern.
|
|
I moved on. The journey to Camelot was a repetition
|
|
of what I had already seen. The Monday and the
|
|
Tuesday differed in no way from the Sunday. I
|
|
arrived far in the night. From being the best electric-
|
|
lighted town in the kingdom and the most like a
|
|
recumbent sun of anything you ever saw, it was be-
|
|
come simply a blot -- a blot upon darkness -- that is
|
|
to say, it was darker and solider than the rest of the
|
|
darkness, and so you could see it a little better; it
|
|
made me feel as if maybe it was symbolical -- a sort of
|
|
sign that the Church was going to KEEP the upper hand
|
|
now, and snuff out all my beautiful civilization just like
|
|
that. I found no life stirring in the somber streets. I
|
|
groped my way with a heavy heart. The vast castle
|
|
loomed black upon the hilltop, not a spark visible
|
|
about it. The drawbridge was down, the great gate
|
|
stood wide, I entered without challenge, my own heels
|
|
making the only sound I heard -- and it was sepulchral
|
|
enough, in those huge vacant courts.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XLII.
|
|
WAR!
|
|
|
|
I FOUND Clarence alone in his quarters, drowned in
|
|
melancholy; and in place of the electric light, he
|
|
had reinstituted the ancient rag-lamp, and sat there in
|
|
a grisly twilight with all curtains drawn tight. He
|
|
sprang up and rushed for me eagerly, saying:
|
|
|
|
"Oh, it's worth a billion milrays to look upon a
|
|
live person again!"
|
|
|
|
He knew me as easily as if I hadn't been disguised
|
|
at all. Which frightened me; one may easily believe
|
|
that.
|
|
|
|
"Quick, now, tell me the meaning of this fearful
|
|
disaster," I said. "How did it come about?"
|
|
|
|
"Well, if there hadn't been any Queen Guenever, it
|
|
wouldn't have come so early; but it would have come,
|
|
anyway. It would have come on your own account
|
|
by and by; by luck, it happened to come on the
|
|
queen's."
|
|
|
|
"AND Sir Launcelot's?"
|
|
|
|
"Just so."
|
|
|
|
"Give me the details."
|
|
|
|
"I reckon you will grant that during some years
|
|
there has been only one pair of eyes in these kingdoms
|
|
that has not been looking steadily askance at the queen
|
|
and Sir Launcelot --"
|
|
|
|
"Yes, King Arthur's."
|
|
|
|
"-- and only one heart that was without suspicion --"
|
|
|
|
"Yes -- the king's; a heart that isn't capable of
|
|
thinking evil of a friend."
|
|
|
|
"Well, the king might have gone on, still happy
|
|
and unsuspecting, to the end of his days, but for one
|
|
of your modern improvements -- the stock-board.
|
|
When you left, three miles of the London, Canterbury
|
|
and Dover were ready for the rails, and also ready and
|
|
ripe for manipulation in the stock-market. It was
|
|
wildcat, and everybody knew it. The stock was for
|
|
sale at a give-away. What does Sir Launcelot do,
|
|
but --"
|
|
|
|
"Yes, I know; he quietly picked up nearly all of it
|
|
for a song; then he bought about twice as much more,
|
|
deliverable upon call; and he was about to call when I
|
|
left."
|
|
|
|
"Very well, he did call. The boys couldn't de-
|
|
liver. Oh, he had them -- and he just settled his grip
|
|
and squeezed them. They were laughing in their
|
|
sleeves over their smartness in selling stock to him at
|
|
15 and 16 and along there that wasn't worth 10.
|
|
Well, when they had laughed long enough on that
|
|
side of their mouths, they rested-up that side by shift-
|
|
ing the laugh to the other side. That was when they
|
|
compromised with the Invincible at 283!"
|
|
|
|
"Good land!"
|
|
|
|
"He skinned them alive, and they deserved it --
|
|
anyway, the whole kingdom rejoiced. Well, among
|
|
the flayed were Sir Agravaine and Sir Mordred,
|
|
nephews to the king. End of the first act. Act
|
|
second, scene first, an apartment in Carlisle castle,
|
|
where the court had gone for a few days' hunting.
|
|
Persons present, the whole tribe of the king's nephews.
|
|
Mordred and Agravaine propose to call the guileless
|
|
Arthur's attention to Guenever and Sir Launcelot. Sir
|
|
Gawaine, Sir Gareth, and Sir Gaheris will have nothing
|
|
to do with it. A dispute ensues, with loud talk; in
|
|
the midst of it enter the king. Mordred and Agravaine
|
|
spring their devastating tale upon him. TABLEAU. A
|
|
trap is laid for Launcelot, by the king's command, and
|
|
Sir Launcelot walks into it. He made it sufficiently
|
|
uncomfortable for the ambushed witnesses -- to wit,
|
|
Mordred, Agravaine, and twelve knights of lesser rank,
|
|
for he killed every one of them but Mordred; but of
|
|
course that couldn't straighten matters between Launce-
|
|
lot and the king, and didn't."
|
|
|
|
"Oh, dear, only one thing could result -- I see that.
|
|
War, and the knights of the realm divided into a king's
|
|
party and a Sir Launcelot's party."
|
|
|
|
"Yes -- that was the way of it. The king sent the
|
|
queen to the stake, proposing to purify her with fire.
|
|
Launcelot and his knights rescued her, and in doing it
|
|
slew certain good old friends of yours and mine -- in
|
|
fact, some of the best we ever had; to wit, Sir Belias le
|
|
Orgulous, Sir Segwarides, Sir Griflet le Fils de Dieu,
|
|
Sir Brandiles, Sir Aglovale --"
|
|
|
|
"Oh, you tear out my heartstrings."
|
|
|
|
"-- wait, I'm not done yet -- Sir Tor, Sir Gauter,
|
|
Sir Gillimer --"
|
|
|
|
"The very best man in my subordinate nine.
|
|
What a handy right-fielder he was!"
|
|
|
|
"-- Sir Reynold's three brothers, Sir Damus, Sir
|
|
Priamus, Sir Kay the Stranger --"
|
|
|
|
"My peerless short-stop! I've seen him catch a
|
|
daisy-cutter in his teeth. Come, I can't stand this!"
|
|
|
|
"-- Sir Driant, Sir Lambegus, Sir Herminde, Sir
|
|
Pertilope, Sir Perimones, and -- whom do you think?"
|
|
|
|
"Rush! Go on."
|
|
|
|
"Sir Gaheris, and Sir Gareth -- both!"
|
|
|
|
"Oh, incredible! Their love for Launcelot was in-
|
|
destructible."
|
|
|
|
"Well, it was an accident. They were simply on-
|
|
lookers; they were unarmed, and were merely there to
|
|
witness the queen's punishment. Sir Launcelot smote
|
|
down whoever came in the way of his blind fury, and
|
|
he killed these without noticing who they were. Here
|
|
is an instantaneous photograph one of our boys got of
|
|
the battle; it's for sale on every news-stand. There
|
|
-- the figures nearest the queen are Sir Launcelot with
|
|
his sword up, and Sir Gareth gasping his latest breath.
|
|
You can catch the agony in the queen's face through
|
|
the curling smoke. It's a rattling battle-picture."
|
|
|
|
"Indeed, it is. We must take good care of it; its
|
|
historical value is incalculable. Go on."
|
|
|
|
"Well, the rest of the tale is just war, pure and
|
|
simple. Launcelot retreated to his town and castle of
|
|
Joyous Gard, and gathered there a great following of
|
|
knights. The king, with a great host, went there, and
|
|
there was desperate fighting during several days, and,
|
|
as a result, all the plain around was paved with corpses
|
|
and cast-iron. Then the Church patched up a peace
|
|
between Arthur and Launcelot and the queen and
|
|
everybody -- everybody but Sir Gawaine. He was
|
|
bitter about the slaying of his brothers, Gareth and
|
|
Gaheris, and would not be appeased. He notified
|
|
Launcelot to get him thence, and make swift prepara-
|
|
tion, and look to be soon attacked. So Launcelot
|
|
sailed to his Duchy of Guienne with his following, and
|
|
Gawaine soon followed with an army, and he beguiled
|
|
Arthur to go with him. Arthur left the kingdom in
|
|
Sir Mordred's hands until you should return --"
|
|
|
|
"Ah -- a king's customary wisdom!"
|
|
|
|
"Yes. Sir Mordred set himself at once to work to
|
|
make his kingship permanent. He was going to marry
|
|
Guenever, as a first move; but she fled and shut her-
|
|
self up in the Tower of London. Mordred attacked;
|
|
the Bishop of Canterbury dropped down on him with
|
|
the Interdict. The king returned; Mordred fought
|
|
him at Dover, at Canterbury, and again at Barham
|
|
Down. Then there was talk of peace and a composi-
|
|
tion. Terms, Mordred to have Cornwall and Kent
|
|
during Arthur's life, and the whole kingdom after-
|
|
ward."
|
|
|
|
"Well, upon my word! My dream of a republic to
|
|
BE a dream, and so remain."
|
|
|
|
"Yes. The two armies lay near Salisbury. Ga-
|
|
waine -- Gawaine's head is at Dover Castle, he fell in
|
|
the fight there -- Gawaine appeared to Arthur in a
|
|
dream, at least his ghost did, and warned him to re-
|
|
frain from conflict for a month, let the delay cost what
|
|
it might. But battle was precipitated by an accident.
|
|
Arthur had given order that if a sword was raised
|
|
during the consultation over the proposed treaty with
|
|
Mordred, sound the trumpet and fall on! for he had
|
|
no confidence in Mordred. Mordred had given a
|
|
similar order to HIS people. Well, by and by an
|
|
adder bit a knight's heel; the knight forgot all about
|
|
the order, and made a slash at the adder with his
|
|
sword. Inside of half a minute those two prodigious
|
|
hosts came together with a crash! They butchered
|
|
away all day. Then the king -- however, we have
|
|
started something fresh since you left -- our paper
|
|
has."
|
|
|
|
"No? What is that?"
|
|
|
|
"War correspondence!"
|
|
|
|
"Why, that's good."
|
|
|
|
"Yes, the paper was booming right along, for the
|
|
Interdict made no impression, got no grip, while the
|
|
war lasted. I had war correspondents with both
|
|
armies. I will finish that battle by reading you what
|
|
one of the boys says:
|
|
|
|
Then the king looked about him, and then was he
|
|
ware of all his host and of all his good knights
|
|
were left no more on live but two knights, that
|
|
was Sir Lucan de Butlere, and his brother Sir
|
|
Bedivere: and they were full sore wounded. Jesu
|
|
mercy, said the king, where are all my noble
|
|
knights becomen? Alas that ever I should see this
|
|
doleful day. For now, said Arthur, I am come to
|
|
mine end. But would to God that I wist where were
|
|
that traitor Sir Mordred, that hath caused all
|
|
this mischief. Then was King Arthur ware where Sir
|
|
Mordred leaned upon his sword among a great heap
|
|
of dead men. Now give me my spear, said Arthur
|
|
unto Sir Lucan, for yonder I have espied the
|
|
traitor that all this woe hath wrought. Sir, let
|
|
him be, said Sir Lucan, for he is unhappy; and if
|
|
ye pass this unhappy day, ye shall be right well
|
|
revenged upon him. Good lord, remember ye of your
|
|
night's dream, and what the spirit of Sir Gawaine
|
|
told you this night, yet God of his great goodness
|
|
hath preserved you hitherto. Therefore, for God's
|
|
sake, my lord, leave off by this. For blessed be
|
|
God ye have won the field: for here we be three
|
|
on live, and with Sir Mordred is none on live.
|
|
And if ye leave off now, this wicked day of
|
|
destiny is past. Tide me death, betide me life,
|
|
saith the king, now I see him yonder alone, he
|
|
shall never escape mine hands, for at a better
|
|
avail shall I never have him. God speed you well,
|
|
said Sir Bedivere. Then the king gat his spear
|
|
in both his hands, and ran toward Sir Mordred
|
|
crying, Traitor, now is thy death day come. And
|
|
when Sir Mordred heard Sir Arthur, he ran until
|
|
him with his sword drawn in his hand. And then
|
|
King Arthur smote Sir Mordred under the shield,
|
|
with a foin of his spear throughout the body more
|
|
than a fathom. And when Sir Mordred felt that he
|
|
had his death's wound, he thrust himself, with
|
|
the might that he had, up to the butt of King
|
|
Arthur's spear. And right so he smote his father
|
|
Arthur with his sword holden in both his hands,
|
|
on the side of the head, that the sword pierced
|
|
the helmet and the brain-pan, and therewithal
|
|
Sir Mordred fell stark dead to the earth. And
|
|
the noble Arthur fell in a swoon to the earth,
|
|
and there he swooned oft-times
|
|
|
|
"That is a good piece of war correspondence,
|
|
Clarence; you are a first-rate newspaper man. Well
|
|
-- is the king all right?" Did he get well?"
|
|
|
|
"Poor soul, no. He is dead."
|
|
|
|
I was utterly stunned; it had not seemed to me that
|
|
any wound could be mortal to him.
|
|
|
|
"And the queen, Clarence?"
|
|
|
|
"She is a nun, in Almesbury."
|
|
|
|
"What changes! and in such a short while. It is
|
|
inconceivable. What next, I wonder?"
|
|
|
|
"I can tell you what next."
|
|
|
|
"Well?"
|
|
|
|
"Stake our lives and stand by them!"
|
|
|
|
"What do you mean by that?"
|
|
|
|
"The Church is master now. The Interdict in-
|
|
cluded you with Mordred; it is not to be removed
|
|
while you remain alive. The clans are gathering. The
|
|
Church has gathered all the knights that are left alive,
|
|
and as soon as you are discovered we shall have busi-
|
|
ness on our hands."
|
|
|
|
"Stuff! With our deadly scientific war-material;
|
|
with our hosts of trained --"
|
|
|
|
"Save your breath -- we haven't sixty faithful left!"
|
|
|
|
"What are you saying? Our schools, our colleges,
|
|
our vast workshops, our --"
|
|
|
|
"When those knights come, those establishments
|
|
will empty themselves and go over to the enemy. Did
|
|
you think you had educated the superstition out of
|
|
those people?"
|
|
|
|
"I certainly did think it."
|
|
|
|
"Well, then, you may unthink it. They stood
|
|
every strain easily -- until the Interdict. Since then,
|
|
they merely put on a bold outside -- at heart they are
|
|
quaking. Make up your mind to it -- when the armies
|
|
come, the mask will fall."
|
|
|
|
"It's hard news. We are lost. They will turn our
|
|
own science against us."
|
|
|
|
"No they won't."
|
|
|
|
"Why?"
|
|
|
|
"Because I and a handful of the faithful have
|
|
blocked that game. I'll tell you what I've done, and
|
|
what moved me to it. Smart as you are, the Church
|
|
was smarter. It was the Church that sent you cruising
|
|
-- through her servants, the doctors."
|
|
|
|
"Clarence!"
|
|
|
|
"It is the truth. I know it. Every officer of your
|
|
ship was the Church's picked servant, and so was every
|
|
man of the crew."
|
|
|
|
"Oh, come!"
|
|
|
|
"It is just as I tell you. I did not find out these
|
|
things at once, but I found them out finally. Did you
|
|
send me verbal information, by the commander of the
|
|
ship, to the effect that upon his return to you, with
|
|
supplies, you were going to leave Cadiz --"
|
|
|
|
"Cadiz! I haven't been at Cadiz at all!"
|
|
|
|
"-- going to leave Cadiz and cruise in distant seas
|
|
indefinitely, for the health of your family? Did you
|
|
send me that word?"
|
|
|
|
"Of course not. I would have written, wouldn't
|
|
I?"
|
|
|
|
"Naturally. I was troubled and suspicious. When
|
|
the commander sailed again I managed to ship a spy
|
|
with him. I have never heard of vessel or spy since.
|
|
I gave myself two weeks to hear from you in. Then I
|
|
resolved to send a ship to Cadiz. There was a reason
|
|
why I didn't."
|
|
|
|
"What was that?"
|
|
|
|
"Our navy had suddenly and mysteriously disap-
|
|
peared! Also, as suddenly and as mysteriously, the
|
|
railway and telegraph and telephone service ceased,
|
|
the men all deserted, poles were cut down, the Church
|
|
laid a ban upon the electric light! I had to be up
|
|
and doing -- and straight off. Your life was safe --
|
|
nobody in these kingdoms but Merlin would venture to
|
|
touch such a magician as you without ten thousand
|
|
men at his back -- I had nothing to think of but how
|
|
to put preparations in the best trim against your
|
|
coming. I felt safe myself -- nobody would be anxious
|
|
to touch a pet of yours. So this is what I did. From
|
|
our various works I selected all the men -- boys I
|
|
mean -- whose faithfulness under whatsoever pressure
|
|
I could swear to, and I called them together secretly
|
|
and gave them their instructions. There are fifty-two
|
|
of them; none younger than fourteen, and none above
|
|
seventeen years old."
|
|
|
|
"Why did you select boys?"
|
|
|
|
"Because all the others were born in an atmosphere
|
|
of superstition and reared in it. It is in their blood
|
|
and bones. We imagined we had educated it out of
|
|
them; they thought so, too; the Interdict woke them
|
|
up like a thunderclap! It revealed them to themselves,
|
|
and it revealed them to me, too. With boys it was
|
|
different. Such as have been under our training from
|
|
seven to ten years have had no acquaintance with the
|
|
Church's terrors, and it was among these that I found
|
|
my fifty-two. As a next move, I paid a private visit
|
|
to that old cave of Merlin's -- not the small one -- the
|
|
big one --"
|
|
|
|
"Yes, the one where we secretly established our first
|
|
great electric plant when I was projecting a miracle."
|
|
|
|
"Just so. And as that miracle hadn't become
|
|
necessary then, I thought it might be a good idea to
|
|
utilize the plant now. I've provisioned the cave for a
|
|
siege --"
|
|
|
|
"A good idea, a first-rate idea."
|
|
|
|
"I think so. I placed four of my boys there as a
|
|
guard -- inside, and out of sight. Nobody was to be
|
|
hurt -- while outside; but any attempt to enter -- well,
|
|
we said just let anybody try it! Then I went out into
|
|
the hills and uncovered and cut the secret wires which
|
|
connected your bedroom with the wires that go to the
|
|
dynamite deposits under all our vast factories, mills,
|
|
workshops, magazines, etc., and about midnight I and
|
|
my boys turned out and connected that wire with the
|
|
cave, and nobody but you and I suspects where the
|
|
other end of it goes to. We laid it under ground, of
|
|
course, and it was all finished in a couple of hours or
|
|
so. We sha'n't have to leave our fortress now when
|
|
we want to blow up our civilization."
|
|
|
|
"It was the right move -- and the natural one;
|
|
military necessity, in the changed condition of things.
|
|
Well, what changes HAVE come! We expected to be
|
|
besieged in the palace some time or other, but -- how-
|
|
ever, go on."
|
|
|
|
"Next, we built a wire fence."
|
|
|
|
"Wire fence?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes. You dropped the hint of it yourself, two or
|
|
three years ago."
|
|
|
|
"Oh, I remember -- the time the Church tried her
|
|
strength against us the first time, and presently thought
|
|
it wise to wait for a hopefuler season. Well, how have
|
|
you arranged the fence?"
|
|
|
|
"I start twelve immensely strong wires -- naked, not
|
|
insulated -- from a big dynamo in the cave -- dynamo
|
|
with no brushes except a positive and a negative one --"
|
|
|
|
"Yes, that's right."
|
|
|
|
"The wires go out from the cave and fence in a
|
|
circle of level ground a hundred yards in diameter;
|
|
they make twelve independent fences, ten feet apart --
|
|
that is to say, twelve circles within circles -- and their
|
|
ends come into the cave again."
|
|
|
|
"Right; go on."
|
|
|
|
"The fences are fastened to heavy oaken posts only
|
|
three feet apart, and these posts are sunk five feet in
|
|
the ground."
|
|
|
|
"That is good and strong."
|
|
|
|
"Yes. The wires have no ground-connection out-
|
|
side of the cave. They go out from the positive brush
|
|
of the dynamo; there is a ground-connection through
|
|
the negative brush; the other ends of the wire return
|
|
to the cave, and each is grounded independently."
|
|
|
|
"Nono, that won't do!"
|
|
|
|
"Why?"
|
|
|
|
"It's too expensive -- uses up force for nothing.
|
|
You don't want any ground-connection except the one
|
|
through the negative brush. The other end of every
|
|
wire must be brought back into the cave and fastened
|
|
independently, and WITHOUT any ground-connection.
|
|
Now, then, observe the economy of it. A cavalry
|
|
charge hurls itself against the fence; you are using no
|
|
power, you are spending no money, for there is only
|
|
one ground-connection till those horses come against
|
|
the wire; the moment they touch it they form a con-
|
|
nection with the negative brush THROUGH THE GROUND,
|
|
and drop dead. Don't you see? -- you are using no
|
|
energy until it is needed; your lightning is there, and
|
|
ready, like the load in a gun; but it isn't costing you
|
|
a cent till you touch it off. Oh, yes, the single
|
|
ground-connection --"
|
|
|
|
"Of course! I don't know how I overlooked that.
|
|
It's not only cheaper, but it's more effectual than the
|
|
other way, for if wires break or get tangled, no harm
|
|
is done.
|
|
|
|
"No, especially if we have a tell-tale in the cave
|
|
and disconnect the broken wire. Well, go on. The
|
|
gatlings?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes -- that's arranged. In the center of the inner
|
|
circle, on a spacious platform six feet high, I've
|
|
grouped a battery of thirteen gatling guns, and pro-
|
|
vided plenty of ammunition."
|
|
|
|
"That's it. They command every approach, and
|
|
when the Church's knights arrive, there's going to be
|
|
music. The brow of the precipice over the cave --"
|
|
|
|
"I've got a wire fence there, and a gatling. They
|
|
won't drop any rocks down on us."
|
|
|
|
"Well, and the glass-cylinder dynamite torpedoes?"
|
|
|
|
"That's attended to. It's the prettiest garden that
|
|
was ever planted. It's a belt forty feet wide, and goes
|
|
around the outer fence -- distance between it and the
|
|
fence one hundred yards -- kind of neutral ground that
|
|
space is. There isn't a single square yard of that
|
|
whole belt but is equipped with a torpedo. We laid
|
|
them on the surface of the ground, and sprinkled a
|
|
layer of sand over them. It's an innocent looking
|
|
garden, but you let a man start in to hoe it once, and
|
|
you'll see."
|
|
|
|
"You tested the torpedoes?"
|
|
|
|
"Well, I was going to, but --"
|
|
|
|
"But what? Why, it's an immense oversight not
|
|
to apply a --"
|
|
|
|
"Test? Yes, I know; but they're all right; I laid
|
|
a few in the public road beyond our lines and they've
|
|
been tested."
|
|
|
|
"Oh, that alters the case. Who did it?"
|
|
|
|
"A Church committee."
|
|
|
|
"How kind!"
|
|
|
|
"Yes. They came to command us to make submis-
|
|
sion . You see they didn't really come to test the
|
|
torpedoes; that was merely an incident."
|
|
|
|
"Did the committee make a report?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes, they made one. You could have heard it a
|
|
mile."
|
|
|
|
"Unanimous?"
|
|
|
|
"That was the nature of it. After that I put up
|
|
some signs, for the protection of future committees,
|
|
and we have had no intruders since."
|
|
|
|
"Clarence, you've done a world of work, and done
|
|
it perfectly."
|
|
|
|
"We had plenty of time for it; there wasn't any
|
|
occasion for hurry."
|
|
|
|
We sat silent awhile, thinking. Then my mind was
|
|
made up, and I said:
|
|
|
|
"Yes, everything is ready; everything is shipshape,
|
|
no detail is wanting. I know what to do now."
|
|
|
|
"So do I; sit down and wait."
|
|
|
|
"No, SIR! rise up and STRIKE!"
|
|
|
|
"Do you mean it?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes, indeed! The DEfensive isn't in my line, and
|
|
the OFfensive is. That is, when I hold a fair hand --
|
|
two-thirds as good a hand as the enemy. Oh, yes,
|
|
we'll rise up and strike; that's our game."
|
|
|
|
" A hundred to one you are right. When does the
|
|
performance begin?"
|
|
|
|
"NOW! We'll proclaim the Republic."
|
|
|
|
"Well, that WILL precipitate things, sure enough!"
|
|
|
|
"It will make them buzz, I tell you! England will
|
|
be a hornets' nest before noon to-morrow, if the
|
|
Church's hand hasn't lost its cunning -- and we know
|
|
it hasn't. Now you write and I'll dictate thus:
|
|
|
|
"PROCLAMATION
|
|
|
|
---
|
|
|
|
"BE IT KNOWN UNTO ALL. Whereas the king having died
|
|
and left no heir, it becomes my duty to continue the
|
|
executive authority vested in me, until a government
|
|
shall have been created and set in motion. The
|
|
monarchy has lapsed, it no longer exists. By
|
|
consequence, all political power has reverted to its
|
|
original source, the people of the nation. With the
|
|
monarchy, its several adjuncts died also; wherefore
|
|
there is no longer a nobility, no longer a privileged
|
|
class, no longer an Established Church; all men are
|
|
become exactly equal; they are upon one common
|
|
level, and religion is free. A REPUBLIC IS HEREBY
|
|
PROCLAIMED, as being the natural estate of a nation
|
|
when other authority has ceased. It is the duty of
|
|
the British people to meet together immediately,
|
|
and by their votes elect representatives and deliver
|
|
into their hands the government."
|
|
|
|
I signed it "The Boss," and dated it from Merlin's
|
|
Cave. Clarence said --
|
|
|
|
"Why, that tells where we are, and invites them to
|
|
call right away."
|
|
|
|
"That is the idea. We STRIKE -- by the Proclama-
|
|
tion -- then it's their innings. Now have the thing set
|
|
up and printed and posted, right off; that is, give the
|
|
order; then, if you've got a couple of bicycles handy
|
|
at the foot of the hill, ho for Merlin's Cave!"
|
|
|
|
"I shall be ready in ten minutes. What a cyclone
|
|
there is going to be to-morrow when this piece of
|
|
paper gets to work!...... It's a pleasant old palace,
|
|
this is; I wonder if we shall ever again -- but never
|
|
mind about that."
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XLIII.
|
|
THE BATTLE OF THE SAND BELT
|
|
|
|
IN Merlin's Cave -- Clarence and I and fifty-two
|
|
fresh, bright, well-educated, clean-minded young
|
|
British boys. At dawn I sent an order to the factories
|
|
and to all our great works to stop operations and re-
|
|
move all life to a safe distance, as everything was
|
|
going to be blown up by secret mines, "AND NO TELLING
|
|
AT WHAT MOMENT -- THEREFORE, VACATE AT ONCE." These
|
|
people knew me, and had confidence in my word.
|
|
They would clear out without waiting to part their
|
|
hair, and I could take my own time about dating the
|
|
explosion. You couldn't hire one of them to go back
|
|
during the century, if the explosion was still impending.
|
|
|
|
We had a week of waiting. It was not dull for me,
|
|
because I was writing all the time. During the first
|
|
three days, I finished turning my old diary into this
|
|
narrative form; it only required a chapter or so to
|
|
bring it down to date. The rest of the week I took up
|
|
in writing letters to my wife. It was always my habit
|
|
to write to Sandy every day, whenever we were
|
|
separate, and now I kept up the habit for love of it,
|
|
and of her, though I couldn't do anything with the
|
|
letters, of course, after I had written them. But it
|
|
put in the time, you see, and was almost like talking;
|
|
it was almost as if I was saying, "Sandy, if you and
|
|
Hello-Central were here in the cave, instead of only
|
|
your photographs, what good times we could have!"
|
|
And then, you know, I could imagine the baby goo-
|
|
gooing something out in reply, with its fists in its
|
|
mouth and itself stretched across its mother's lap on
|
|
its back, and she a-laughing and admiring and worship-
|
|
ing, and now and then tickling under the baby's chin
|
|
to set it cackling, and then maybe throwing in a word
|
|
of answer to me herself -- and so on and so on -- well,
|
|
don't you know, I could sit there in the cave with my
|
|
pen, and keep it up, that way, by the hour with them.
|
|
Why, it was almost like having us all together again.
|
|
|
|
I had spies out every night, of course, to get news.
|
|
Every report made things look more and more im-
|
|
pressive. The hosts were gathering, gathering; down
|
|
all the roads and paths of England the knights were
|
|
riding, and priests rode with them, to hearten these
|
|
original Crusaders, this being the Church's war. All
|
|
the nobilities, big and little, were on their way, and all
|
|
the gentry. This was all as was expected. We should
|
|
thin out this sort of folk to such a degree that the
|
|
people would have nothing to do but just step to the
|
|
front with their republic and --
|
|
|
|
Ah, what a donkey I was! Toward the end of the
|
|
week I began to get this large and disenchanting fact
|
|
through my head: that the mass of the nation had
|
|
swung their caps and shouted for the republic for
|
|
about one day, and there an end! The Church, the
|
|
nobles, and the gentry then turned one grand, all-
|
|
disapproving frown upon them and shriveled them
|
|
into sheep! From that moment the sheep had begun
|
|
to gather to the fold -- that is to say, the camps -- and
|
|
offer their valueless lives and their valuable wool to the
|
|
"righteous cause." Why, even the very men who
|
|
had lately been slaves were in the "righteous cause,"
|
|
and glorifying it, praying for it, sentimentally slabber-
|
|
ing over it, just like all the other commoners. Im-
|
|
agine such human muck as this; conceive of this
|
|
folly!
|
|
|
|
Yes, it was now "Death to the Republic!" every-
|
|
where -- not a dissenting voice. All England was
|
|
marching against us! Truly, this was more than I had
|
|
bargained for.
|
|
|
|
I watched my fifty-two boys narrowly; watched their
|
|
faces, their walk, their unconscious attitudes: for all
|
|
these are a language -- a language given us purposely
|
|
that it may betray us in times of emergency, when we
|
|
have secrets which we want to keep. I knew that that
|
|
thought would keep saying itself over and over again
|
|
in their minds and hearts, ALL ENGLAND IS MARCHING
|
|
AGAINST US! and ever more strenuously imploring atten-
|
|
tion with each repetition, ever more sharply realizing
|
|
itself to their imaginations, until even in their sleep
|
|
they would find no rest from it, but hear the vague
|
|
and flitting creatures of the dreams say, ALL ENG-
|
|
LAND -- ALL ENGLAND! -- IS MARCHING AGAINST YOU! I
|
|
knew all this would happen; I knew that ultimately
|
|
the pressure would become so great that it would
|
|
compel utterance; therefore, I must be ready with an
|
|
answer at that time -- an answer well chosen and tran-
|
|
quilizing.
|
|
|
|
I was right. The time came. They HAD to speak.
|
|
Poor lads, it was pitiful to see, they were so pale, so
|
|
worn, so troubled. At first their spokesman could
|
|
hardly find voice or words; but he presently got both.
|
|
This is what he said -- and he put it in the neat modern
|
|
English taught him in my schools:
|
|
|
|
"We have tried to forget what we are -- English
|
|
boys! We have tried to put reason before sentiment,
|
|
duty before love; our minds approve, but our hearts
|
|
reproach us. While apparently it was only the nobility,
|
|
only the gentry, only the twenty-five or thirty thousand
|
|
knights left alive out of the late wars, we were of one
|
|
mind, and undisturbed by any troubling doubt; each
|
|
and every one of these fifty-two lads who stand here
|
|
before you, said, 'They have chosen -- it is their
|
|
affair.' But think! -- the matter is altered -- ALL ENG-
|
|
LAND IS MARCHING AGAINST US! Oh, sir, consider! --
|
|
reflect! -- these people are our people, they are bone
|
|
of our bone, flesh of our flesh, we love them -- do not
|
|
ask us to destroy our nation!"
|
|
|
|
Well, it shows the value of looking ahead, and being
|
|
ready for a thing when it happens. If I hadn't fore-
|
|
seen this thing and been fixed, that boy would have
|
|
had me! -- I couldn't have said a word. But I was
|
|
fixed. I said:
|
|
|
|
"My boys, your hearts are in the right place, you
|
|
have thought the worthy thought, you have done the
|
|
worthy thing. You are English boys, you will remain
|
|
English boys, and you will keep that name unsmirched.
|
|
Give yourselves no further concern, let your minds be
|
|
at peace. Consider this: while all England is march-
|
|
ing against us, who is in the van? Who, by the com-
|
|
monest rules of war, will march in the front? Answer
|
|
me."
|
|
|
|
"The mounted host of mailed knights."
|
|
|
|
"True. They are 30,000 strong. Acres deep they
|
|
will march. Now, observe: none but THEY will ever
|
|
strike the sand-belt! Then there will be an episode!
|
|
Immediately after, the civilian multitude in the rear
|
|
will retire, to meet business engagements elsewhere.
|
|
None but nobles and gentry are knights, and NONE BUT
|
|
THESE will remain to dance to our music after that epi-
|
|
sode. It is absolutely true that we shall have to fight
|
|
nobody but these thirty thousand knights. Now speak,
|
|
and it shall be as you decide. Shall we avoid the
|
|
battle, retire from the field?"
|
|
|
|
"NO!!!"
|
|
|
|
The shout was unanimous and hearty.
|
|
|
|
"Are you -- are you -- well, afraid of these thirty
|
|
thousand knights?"
|
|
|
|
That joke brought out a good laugh, the boys'
|
|
troubles vanished away, and they went gaily to their
|
|
posts. Ah, they were a darling fifty-two! As pretty
|
|
as girls, too.
|
|
|
|
I was ready for the enemy now. Let the approach-
|
|
ing big day come along -- it would find us on deck.
|
|
|
|
The big day arrived on time. At dawn the sentry
|
|
on watch in the corral came into the cave and reported
|
|
a moving black mass under the horizon, and a faint
|
|
sound which he thought to be military music. Break-
|
|
fast was just ready; we sat down and ate it.
|
|
|
|
This over, I made the boys a little speech, and then
|
|
sent out a detail to man the battery, with Clarence in
|
|
command of it.
|
|
|
|
The sun rose presently and sent its unobstructed
|
|
splendors over the land, and we saw a prodigious host
|
|
moving slowly toward us, with the steady drift and
|
|
aligned front of a wave of the sea. Nearer and nearer
|
|
it came, and more and more sublimely imposing be-
|
|
came its aspect; yes, all England was there, appar-
|
|
ently. Soon we could see the innumerable banners
|
|
fluttering, and then the sun struck the sea of armor
|
|
and set it all aflash. Yes, it was a fine sight; I hadn't
|
|
ever seen anything to beat it.
|
|
|
|
At last we could make out details. All the front
|
|
ranks, no telling how many acres deep, were horse-
|
|
men -- plumed knights in armor. Suddenly we heard
|
|
the blare of trumpets; the slow walk burst into a
|
|
gallop, and then -- well, it was wonderful to see!
|
|
Down swept that vast horse-shoe wave -- it approached
|
|
the sand-belt -- my breath stood still; nearer, nearer --
|
|
the strip of green turf beyond the yellow belt grew
|
|
narrow -- narrower still -- became a mere ribbon in
|
|
front of the horses -- then disappeared under their
|
|
hoofs. Great Scott! Why, the whole front of that
|
|
host shot into the sky with a thunder-crash, and be-
|
|
came a whirling tempest of rags and fragments; and
|
|
along the ground lay a thick wall of smoke that hid
|
|
what was left of the multitude from our sight.
|
|
|
|
Time for the second step in the plan of campaign!
|
|
I touched a button, and shook the bones of England
|
|
loose from her spine!
|
|
|
|
In that explosion all our noble civilization-factories
|
|
went up in the air and disappeared from the earth. It
|
|
was a pity, but it was necessary. We could not afford
|
|
to let the enemy turn our own weapons against us.
|
|
|
|
Now ensued one of the dullest quarter-hours I had
|
|
ever endured. We waited in a silent solitude enclosed
|
|
by our circles of wire, and by a circle of heavy smoke
|
|
outside of these. We couldn't see over the wall of
|
|
smoke, and we couldn't see through it. But at last it
|
|
began to shred away lazily, and by the end of another
|
|
quarter-hour the land was clear and our curiosity was
|
|
enabled to satisfy itself. No living creature was in
|
|
sight! We now perceived that additions had been
|
|
made to our defenses. The dynamite had dug a ditch
|
|
more than a hundred feet wide, all around us, and cast
|
|
up an embankment some twenty-five feet high on both
|
|
borders of it. As to destruction of life, it was amazing.
|
|
Moreover, it was beyond estimate. Of course, we
|
|
could not COUNT the dead, because they did not exist
|
|
as individuals, but merely as homogeneous protoplasm,
|
|
with alloys of iron and buttons.
|
|
|
|
No life was in sight, but necessarily there must have
|
|
been some wounded in the rear ranks, who were carried
|
|
off the field under cover of the wall of smoke; there
|
|
would be sickness among the others -- there always is,
|
|
after an episode like that. But there would be no
|
|
reinforcements; this was the last stand of the chivalry
|
|
of England; it was all that was left of the order, after
|
|
the recent annihilating wars. So I felt quite safe in
|
|
believing that the utmost force that could for the future
|
|
be brought against us would be but small; that is, of
|
|
knights. I therefore issued a congratulatory proclama-
|
|
tion to my army in these words:
|
|
|
|
SOLDIERS, CHAMPIONS OF HUMAN LIBERTY AND EQUALITY:
|
|
Your General congratulates you! In the pride of his
|
|
strength and the vanity of his renown, an arrogant
|
|
enemy came against you. You were ready. The conflict
|
|
was brief; on your side, glorious. This mighty
|
|
victory, having been achieved utterly without loss,
|
|
stands without example in history. So long as the
|
|
planets shall continue to move in their orbits, the
|
|
BATTLE OF THE SAND-BELT will not perish out of the
|
|
memories of men.
|
|
|
|
THE BOSS.
|
|
|
|
I read it well, and the applause I got was very grati-
|
|
fying to me. I then wound up with these remarks:
|
|
|
|
"The war with the English nation, as a nation, is at
|
|
an end. The nation has retired from the field and the
|
|
war. Before it can be persuaded to return, war will
|
|
have ceased. This campaign is the only one that is
|
|
going to be fought. It will be brief -- the briefest in
|
|
history. Also the most destructive to life, considered
|
|
from the standpoint of proportion of casualties to
|
|
numbers engaged. We are done with the nation;
|
|
henceforth we deal only with the knights. English
|
|
knights can be killed, but they cannot be conquered.
|
|
We know what is before us. While one of these men
|
|
remains alive, our task is not finished, the war is not
|
|
ended. We will kill them all." [Loud and long con-
|
|
tinued applause.]
|
|
|
|
I picketed the great embankments thrown up around
|
|
our lines by the dynamite explosion -- merely a look-
|
|
out of a couple of boys to announce the enemy when
|
|
he should appear again.
|
|
|
|
Next, I sent an engineer and forty men to a point
|
|
just beyond our lines on the south, to turn a mountain
|
|
brook that was there, and bring it within our lines and
|
|
under our command, arranging it in such a way that I
|
|
could make instant use of it in an emergency. The
|
|
forty men were divided into two shifts of twenty each,
|
|
and were to relieve each other every two hours. In
|
|
ten hours the work was accomplished.
|
|
|
|
It was nightfall now, and I withdrew my pickets.
|
|
The one who had had the northern outlook reported a
|
|
camp in sight, but visible with the glass only. He also
|
|
reported that a few knights had been feeling their way
|
|
toward us, and had driven some cattle across our lines,
|
|
but that the knights themselves had not come very
|
|
near. That was what I had been expecting. They
|
|
were feeling us, you see; they wanted to know if we
|
|
were going to play that red terror on them again.
|
|
They would grow bolder in the night, perhaps. I be-
|
|
lieved I knew what project they would attempt, because
|
|
it was plainly the thing I would attempt myself if I
|
|
were in their places and as ignorant as they were. I
|
|
mentioned it to Clarence.
|
|
|
|
"I think you are right," said he; "it is the obvious
|
|
thing for them to try."
|
|
|
|
"Well, then," I said, "if they do it they are
|
|
doomed.
|
|
|
|
"Certainly."
|
|
|
|
They won't have the slightest show in the world."
|
|
|
|
"Of course they won't."
|
|
|
|
"It's dreadful, Clarence. It seems an awful pity."
|
|
|
|
The thing disturbed me so that I couldn't get any
|
|
peace of mind.for thinking of it and worrying over it.
|
|
So, at last, to quiet my conscience, I framed this
|
|
message to the knights:
|
|
|
|
TO THE HONORABLE THE COMMANDER OF THE INSURGENT
|
|
CHIVALRY OF ENGLAND: YOU fight in vain. We know
|
|
your strength -- if one may call it by that name.
|
|
We know that at the utmost you cannot bring
|
|
against us above five and twenty thousand knights.
|
|
Therefore, you have no chance -- none whatever.
|
|
Reflect: we are well equipped, well fortified, we
|
|
number 54. Fifty-four what? Men? No, MINDS -- the
|
|
capablest in the world; a force against which
|
|
mere animal might may no more hope to prevail than
|
|
may the idle waves of the sea hope to prevail
|
|
against the granite barriers of England. Be advised.
|
|
We offer you your lives; for the sake of your
|
|
families, do not reject the gift. We offer you
|
|
this chance, and it is the last: throw down your
|
|
arms; surrender unconditionally to the Republic,
|
|
and all will be forgiven.
|
|
|
|
(Signed) THE BOSS.
|
|
|
|
I read it to Clarence, and said I proposed to send it
|
|
by a flag of truce. He laughed the sarcastic laugh he
|
|
was born with, and said:
|
|
|
|
"Somehow it seems impossible for you to ever fully
|
|
realize what these nobilities are. Now let us save a
|
|
little time and trouble. Consider me the commander
|
|
of the knights yonder. Now, then, you are the flag
|
|
of truce; approach and deliver me your message, and
|
|
I will give you your answer."
|
|
|
|
I humored the idea. I came forward under an
|
|
imaginary guard of the enemy's soldiers, produced my
|
|
paper, and read it through. For answer, Clarence
|
|
struck the paper out of my hand, pursed up a scorn-
|
|
ful lip and said with lofty disdain:
|
|
|
|
"Dismember me this animal, and return him in a
|
|
basket to the base-born knave who sent him; other
|
|
answer have I none!"
|
|
|
|
How empty is theory in presence of fact! And this
|
|
was just fact, and nothing else. It was the thing that
|
|
would have happened, there was no getting around
|
|
that. I tore up the paper and granted my mistimed
|
|
sentimentalities a permanent rest.
|
|
|
|
Then, to business. I tested the electric signals from
|
|
the gatling platform to the cave, and made sure that
|
|
they were all right; I tested and retested those which
|
|
commanded the fences -- these were signals whereby I
|
|
could break and renew the electric current in each
|
|
fence independently of the others at will. I placed
|
|
the brook-connection under the guard and authority of
|
|
three of my best boys, who would alternate in two-
|
|
hour watches all night and promptly obey my signal,
|
|
if I should have occasion to give it -- three revolver-
|
|
shots in quick succession. Sentry-duty was discarded
|
|
for the night, and the corral left empty of life; I
|
|
ordered that quiet be maintained in the cave, and the
|
|
electric lights turned down to a glimmer.
|
|
|
|
As soon as it was good and dark, I shut off the
|
|
current from all the fences, and then groped my way
|
|
out to the embankment bordering our side of the great
|
|
dynamite ditch. I crept to the top of it and lay there
|
|
on the slant of the muck to watch. But it was too
|
|
dark to see anything. As for sounds, there were none.
|
|
The stillness was deathlike. True, there were the
|
|
usual night-sounds of the country -- the whir of night-
|
|
birds, the buzzing of insects, the barking of distant
|
|
dogs, the mellow lowing of far-off kine -- but these
|
|
didn't seem to break the stillness, they only intensified
|
|
it, and added a grewsome melancholy to it into the
|
|
bargain.
|
|
|
|
I presently gave up looking, the night shut down so
|
|
black, but I kept my ears strained to catch the least
|
|
suspicious sound, for I judged I had only to wait, and
|
|
I shouldn't be disappointed. However, I had to wait
|
|
a long time. At last I caught what you may call in
|
|
distinct glimpses of sound dulled metallic sound. I
|
|
pricked up my ears, then, and held my breath, for this
|
|
was the sort of thing I had been waiting for. This
|
|
sound thickened, and approached -- from toward the
|
|
north. Presently, I heard it at my own level -- the
|
|
ridge-top of the opposite embankment, a hundred feet
|
|
or more away. Then I seemed to see a row of black
|
|
dots appear along that ridge -- human heads? I
|
|
couldn't tell; it mightn't be anything at all; you
|
|
can't depend on your eyes when your imagination is
|
|
out of focus. However, the question was soon settled.
|
|
I heard that metallic noise descending into the great
|
|
ditch. It augmented fast, it spread all along, and it
|
|
unmistakably furnished me this fact: an armed host
|
|
was taking up its quarters in the ditch. Yes, these
|
|
people were arranging a little surprise party for us.
|
|
We could expect entertainment about dawn, possibly
|
|
earlier.
|
|
|
|
I groped my way back to the corral now; I had
|
|
seen enough. I went to the platform and signaled to
|
|
turn the current on to the two inner fences. Then I
|
|
went into the cave, and found everything satisfactory
|
|
there -- nobody awake but the working-watch. I woke
|
|
Clarence and told him the great ditch was filling up
|
|
with men, and that I believed all the knights were
|
|
coming for us in a body. It was my notion that as
|
|
soon as dawn approached we could expect the ditch's
|
|
ambuscaded thousands to swarm up over the embank-
|
|
ment and make an assault, and be followed immediately
|
|
by the rest of their army.
|
|
|
|
Clarence said:
|
|
|
|
"They will be wanting to send a scout or two in the
|
|
dark to make preliminary observations. Why not take
|
|
the lightning off the outer fences, and give them a
|
|
chance?"
|
|
|
|
"I've already done it, Clarence. Did you ever
|
|
know me to be inhospitable?"
|
|
|
|
"No, you are a good heart. I want to go and --"
|
|
|
|
"Be a reception committee? I will go, too."
|
|
|
|
We crossed the corral and lay down together between
|
|
the two inside fences. Even the dim light of the cave
|
|
had disordered our eyesight somewhat, but the focus
|
|
straightway began to regulate itself and soon it was ad-
|
|
justed for present circumstances. We had had to feel
|
|
our way before, but we could make out to see the
|
|
fence posts now. We started a whispered conversa-
|
|
tion, but suddenly Clarence broke off and said:
|
|
|
|
"What is that?"
|
|
|
|
"What is what?"
|
|
|
|
"That thing yonder."
|
|
|
|
"What thing -- where?"
|
|
|
|
"There beyond you a little piece -- dark some-
|
|
thing -- a dull shape of some kind -- against the second
|
|
fence."
|
|
|
|
I gazed and he gazed. I said:
|
|
|
|
"Could it be a man, Clarence?"
|
|
|
|
"No, I think not. If you notice, it looks a lit --
|
|
why, it IS a man! -- leaning on the fence."
|
|
|
|
"I certainly believe it is; let us go and see."
|
|
|
|
We crept along on our hands and knees until we
|
|
were pretty close, and then looked up. Yes, it was a
|
|
man -- a dim great figure in armor, standing erect,
|
|
with both hands on the upper wire -- and, of course,
|
|
there was a smell of burning flesh. Poor fellow, dead
|
|
as a door-nail, and never knew what hurt him. He
|
|
stood there like a statue -- no motion about him, ex-
|
|
cept that his plumes swished about a little in the night
|
|
wind. We rose up and looked in through the bars of
|
|
his visor, but couldn't make out whether we knew him
|
|
or not -- features too dim and shadowed.
|
|
|
|
We heard muffled sounds approaching, and we sank
|
|
down to the ground where we were. We made out
|
|
another knight vaguely; he was coming very stealthily,
|
|
and feeling his way. He was near enough now for us
|
|
to see him put out a hand, find an upper wire, then
|
|
bend and step under it and over the lower one. Now
|
|
he arrived at the first knight -- and started slightly
|
|
when he discovered him. He stood a moment -- no
|
|
doubt wondering why the other one didn't move on;
|
|
then he said, in a low voice, "Why dreamest thou
|
|
here, good Sir Mar --" then he laid his hand on the
|
|
corpse's shoulder -- and just uttered a little soft moan
|
|
and sunk down dead. Killed by a dead man, you
|
|
see -- killed by a dead friend, in fact. There was
|
|
something awful about it.
|
|
|
|
These early birds came scattering along after each
|
|
other, about one every five minutes in our vicinity,
|
|
during half an hour. They brought no armor of
|
|
offense but their swords; as a rule, they carried the
|
|
sword ready in the hand, and put it forward and found
|
|
the wires with it. We would now and then see a blue
|
|
spark when the knight that caused it was so far away
|
|
as to be invisible to us; but we knew what had hap-
|
|
pened, all the same; poor fellow, he had touched a
|
|
charged wire with his sword and been elected. We
|
|
had brief intervals of grim stillness, interrupted with
|
|
piteous regularity by the clash made by the falling of
|
|
an iron-clad; and this sort of thing was going on, right
|
|
along, and was very creepy there in the dark and
|
|
lonesomeness.
|
|
|
|
We concluded to make a tour between the inner
|
|
fences. We elected to walk upright, for convenience's
|
|
sake; we argued that if discerned, we should be taken
|
|
for friends rather than enemies, and in any case we
|
|
should be out of reach of swords, and these gentry did
|
|
not seem to have any spears along. Well, it was a
|
|
curious trip. Everywhere dead men were lying out-
|
|
side the second fence -- not plainly visible, but still
|
|
visible; and we counted fifteen of those pathetic
|
|
statues -- dead knights standing with their hands on
|
|
the upper wire.
|
|
|
|
One thing seemed to be sufficiently demonstrated:
|
|
our current was so tremendous that it killed before the
|
|
victim could cry out. Pretty soon we detected a
|
|
muffled and heavy sound, and next moment we guessed
|
|
what it was. It was a surprise in force coming!
|
|
whispered Clarence to go and wake the army, and
|
|
notify it to wait in silence in the cave for further orders.
|
|
He was soon back, and we stood by the inner fence
|
|
and watched the silent lightning do its awful work
|
|
upon that swarming host. One could make out but
|
|
little of detail; but he could note that a black mass
|
|
was piling itself up beyond the second fence. That
|
|
swelling bulk was dead men! Our camp was enclosed
|
|
with a solid wall of the dead -- a bulwark, a breast-
|
|
work, of corpses, you may say. One terrible thing
|
|
about this thing was the absence of human voices;
|
|
there were no cheers, no war cries; being intent upon
|
|
a surprise, these men moved as noiselessly as they
|
|
could; and always when the front rank was near
|
|
enough to their goal to make it proper for them to
|
|
begin to get a shout ready, of course they struck the
|
|
fatal line and went down without testifying.
|
|
|
|
I sent a current through the third fence now; and
|
|
almost immediately through the fourth and fifth, so
|
|
quickly were the gaps filled up. I believed the time
|
|
was come now for my climax; I believed that that
|
|
whole army was in our trap. Anyway, it was high
|
|
time to find out. So I touched a button and set fifty
|
|
electric suns aflame on the top of our precipice.
|
|
|
|
Land, what a sight! We were enclosed in three
|
|
walls of dead men! All the other fences were pretty
|
|
nearly filled with the living, who were stealthily work-
|
|
ing their way forward through the wires. The sudden
|
|
glare paralyzed this host, petrified them, you may say,
|
|
with astonishment; there was just one instant for me
|
|
to utilize their immobility in, and I didn't lose the
|
|
chance. You see, in another instant they would have
|
|
recovered their faculties, then they'd have burst into a
|
|
cheer and made a rush, and my wires would have gone
|
|
down before it; but that lost instant lost them their
|
|
opportunity forever; while even that slight fragment of
|
|
time was still unspent, I shot the current through all
|
|
the fences and struck the whole host dead in their
|
|
tracks! THERE was a groan you could HEAR! It voiced
|
|
the death-pang of eleven thousand men. It swelled
|
|
out on the night with awful pathos.
|
|
|
|
A glance showed that the rest of the enemy -- per-
|
|
haps ten thousand strong -- were between us and the
|
|
encircling ditch, and pressing forward to the assault.
|
|
Consequently we had them ALL! and had them past
|
|
help. Time for the last act of the tragedy. I fired the
|
|
three appointed revolver shots -- which meant:
|
|
|
|
"Turn on the water!"
|
|
|
|
There was a sudden rush and roar, and in a minute
|
|
the mountain brook was raging through the big ditch
|
|
and creating a river a hundred feet wide and twenty-
|
|
five deep.
|
|
|
|
"Stand to your guns, men! Open fire!"
|
|
|
|
The thirteen gatlings began to vomit death into the
|
|
fated ten thousand. They halted, they stood their
|
|
ground a moment against that withering deluge of fire,
|
|
then they broke, faced about and swept toward the
|
|
ditch like chaff before a gale. A full fourth part of
|
|
their force never reached the top of the lofty embank-
|
|
ment; the three-fourths reached it and plunged over --
|
|
to death by drowning.
|
|
|
|
Within ten short minutes after we had opened fire,
|
|
armed resistance was totally annihilated, the campaign
|
|
was ended, we fifty-four were masters of England.
|
|
Twenty-five thousand men lay dead around us.
|
|
|
|
But how treacherous is fortune! In a little while --
|
|
say an hour -- happened a thing, by my own fault, which
|
|
-- but I have no heart to write that. Let the record
|
|
end here.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER XLIV.
|
|
A POSTSCRIPT BY CLARENCE
|
|
|
|
I, CLARENCE, must write it for him. He proposed
|
|
that we two go out and see if any help could be
|
|
accorded the wounded. I was strenuous against the
|
|
project. I said that if there were many, we could do
|
|
but little for them; and it would not be wise for us to
|
|
trust ourselves among them, anyway. But he could
|
|
seldom be turned from a purpose once formed; so we
|
|
shut off the electric current from the fences, took an
|
|
escort along, climbed over the enclosing ramparts of
|
|
dead knights, and moved out upon the field. The first
|
|
wounded mall who appealed for help was sitting with
|
|
his back against a dead comrade. When The Boss
|
|
bent over him and spoke to him, the man recognized
|
|
him and stabbed him. That knight was Sir Meliag-
|
|
raunce, as I found out by tearing off his helmet. He
|
|
will not ask for help any more.
|
|
|
|
We carried The Boss to the cave and gave his
|
|
wound, which was not very serious, the best care we
|
|
could. In this service we had the help of Merlin,
|
|
though we did not know it. He was disguised as a
|
|
woman, and appeared to be a simple old peasant good-
|
|
wife. In this disguise, with brown-stained face and
|
|
smooth shaven, he had appeared a few days after The
|
|
Boss was hurt and offered to cook for us, saying her
|
|
people had gone off to join certain new camps which
|
|
the enemy were forming, and that she was starving.
|
|
The Boss had been getting along very well, and had
|
|
amused himself with finishing up his record.
|
|
|
|
We were glad to have this woman, for we were short
|
|
handed. We were in a trap, you see -- a trap of our
|
|
own making. If we stayed where we were, our dead
|
|
would kill us; if we moved out of our defenses, we
|
|
should no longer be invincible. We had conquered;
|
|
in turn we were conquered. The Boss recognized
|
|
this; we all recognized it. If we could go to one of
|
|
those new camps and patch up some kind of terms
|
|
with the enemy -- yes, but The Boss could not go, and
|
|
neither could I, for I was among the first that were
|
|
made sick by the poisonous air bred by those dead
|
|
thousands. Others were taken down, and still others.
|
|
To-morrow --
|
|
|
|
TO-MORROW. It is here. And with it the end.
|
|
About midnight I awoke, and saw that hag making
|
|
curious passes in the air about The Boss's head and
|
|
face, and wondered what it meant. Everybody but
|
|
the dynamo-watch lay steeped in sleep; there was no
|
|
sound. The woman ceased from her mysterious fool-
|
|
ery, and started tip-toeing toward the door. I called
|
|
out:
|
|
|
|
"Stop! What have you been doing?"
|
|
|
|
She halted, and said with an accent of malicious
|
|
satisfaction:
|
|
|
|
"Ye were conquerors; ye are conquered! These
|
|
others are perishing -- you also. Ye shall all die in
|
|
this place -- every one -- except HIM. He sleepeth
|
|
now -- and shall sleep thirteen centuries. I am
|
|
Merlin!"
|
|
|
|
Then such a delirium of silly laughter overtook him
|
|
that he reeled about like a drunken man, and presently
|
|
fetched up against one of our wires. His mouth is
|
|
spread open yet; apparently he is still laughing. I
|
|
suppose the face will retain that petrified laugh until
|
|
the corpse turns to dust.
|
|
|
|
The Boss has never stirred -- sleeps like a stone. If
|
|
he does not wake to-day we shall understand what
|
|
kind of a sleep it is, and his body will then be borne
|
|
to a place in one of the remote recesses of the cave
|
|
where none will ever find it to desecrate it. As for
|
|
the rest of us -- well, it is agreed that if any one of us
|
|
ever escapes alive from this place, he will write the
|
|
fact here, and loyally hide this Manuscript with The
|
|
Boss, our dear good chief, whose property it is, be he
|
|
alive or dead.
|
|
|
|
THE END OF THE MANUSCRIPT
|
|
|
|
|
|
FINAL P.S. BY M.T.
|
|
|
|
THE dawn was come when I laid the Manuscript
|
|
aside. The rain had almost ceased, the world
|
|
was gray and sad, the exhausted storm was sighing
|
|
and sobbing itself to rest. I went to the stranger's
|
|
room, and listened at his door, which was slightly ajar.
|
|
I could hear his voice, and so I knocked. There was
|
|
no answer, but I still heard the voice. I peeped in.
|
|
The man lay on his back in bed, talking brokenly but
|
|
with spirit, and punctuating with his arms, which he
|
|
thrashed about, restlessly, as sick people do in de-
|
|
lirium. I slipped in softly and bent over him. His
|
|
mutterings and ejaculations went on. I spoke -- merely
|
|
a word, to call his attention. His glassy eyes and his
|
|
ashy face were alight in an instant with pleasure, grati-
|
|
tude, gladness, welcome:
|
|
|
|
"Oh, Sandy, you are come at last -- how I have
|
|
longed for you! Sit by me -- do not leave me --
|
|
never leave me again, Sandy, never again. Where is
|
|
your hand? -- give it me, dear, let me hold it -- there
|
|
-- now all is well, all is peace, and I am happy again --
|
|
WE are happy again, isn't it so, Sandy? You are so
|
|
dim, so vague, you are but a mist, a cloud, but you
|
|
are HERE, and that is blessedness sufficient; and I have
|
|
your hand; don't take it away -- it is for only a little
|
|
while, I shall not require it long...... Was that the
|
|
child?...... Hello-Central!...... she doesn't answer.
|
|
Asleep, perhaps? Bring her when she wakes, and let
|
|
me touch her hands, her face, her hair, and tell her
|
|
good-bye...... Sandy! Yes, you are there. I
|
|
lost myself a moment, and I thought you were
|
|
gone...... Have I been sick long? It must be so;
|
|
it seems months to me. And such dreams! such
|
|
strange and awful dreams, Sandy! Dreams that were
|
|
as real as reality -- delirium, of course, but SO real!
|
|
Why, I thought the king was dead, I thought you
|
|
were in Gaul and couldn't get home, I thought there
|
|
was a revolution; in the fantastic frenzy of these
|
|
dreams, I thought that Clarence and I and a hand-
|
|
ful of my cadets fought and exterminated the whole
|
|
chivalry of England! But even that was not the
|
|
strangest. I seemed to be a creature out of a remote
|
|
unborn age, centuries hence, and even THAT was as real
|
|
as the rest! Yes, I seemed to have flown back out of
|
|
that age into this of ours, and then forward to it again,
|
|
and was set down, a stranger and forlorn in that strange
|
|
England, with an abyss of thirteen centuries yawning
|
|
between me and you! between me and my home and
|
|
my friends! between me and all that is dear to me, all
|
|
that could make life worth the living! It was awful --
|
|
awfuler than you can ever imagine, Sandy. Ah,
|
|
watch by me, Sandy -- stay by me every moment --
|
|
DON'T let me go out of my mind again; death is noth-
|
|
ing, let it come, but not with those dreams, not with
|
|
the torture of those hideous dreams -- I cannot endure
|
|
THAT again...... Sandy?......"
|
|
|
|
He lay muttering incoherently some little time; then
|
|
for a time he lay silent, and apparently sinking away
|
|
toward death. Presently his fingers began to pick
|
|
busily at the coverlet, and by that sign I knew that his
|
|
end was at hand with the first suggestion of the
|
|
death-rattle in his throat he started up slightly, and
|
|
seemed to listen: then he said:
|
|
|
|
"A bugle?...... It is the king! The drawbridge,
|
|
there! Man the battlements! -- turn out the --"
|
|
|
|
He was getting up his last "effect"; but he never
|
|
finished it.
|
|
|
|
|
|
End of the Project Gutenberg [Wiretap] Edition
|
|
of A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur's Court
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
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|