A CONNECTICUT YANKEE IN KING ARTHUR'S COURT

by

MARK TWAIN
(Samuel L. Clemens)




PREFACE

The ungentle laws and customs touched upon in this tale are
historical, and the episodes which are used to illustrate them
are also historical.  It is not pretended that these laws and
customs existed in England in the sixth century; no, it is only
pretended that inasmuch as they existed in the English and other
civilizations of far later times, it is safe to consider that it is
no libel upon the sixth century to suppose them to have been in
practice in that day also.  One is quite justified in inferring
that whatever one of these laws or customs was lacking in that
remote time, its place was competently filled by a worse one.

The question as to whether there is such a thing as divine right
of kings is not settled in this book.  It was found too difficult.
That the executive head of a nation should be a person of lofty
character and extraordinary ability, was manifest and indisputable;
that none but the Deity could select that head unerringly, was
also manifest and indisputable; that the Deity ought to make that
selection, then, was likewise manifest and indisputable; consequently,
that He does make it, as claimed, was an unavoidable deduction.
I mean, until the author of this book encountered the Pompadour,
and Lady Castlemaine, and some other executive heads of that kind;
these were found so difficult to work into the scheme, that it
was judged better to take the other tack in this book (which
must be issued this fall), and then go into training and settle
the question in another book.  It is, of course, a thing which
ought to be settled, and I am not going to have anything particular
to do next winter anyway.

MARK TWAIN

HARTFORD, July 21, 1889






A CONNECTICUT YANKEE IN KING ARTHUR'S COURT




A WORD OF EXPLANATION

It was in Warwick Castle that I came across the curious stranger
whom I am going to talk about.  He attracted me by three things:
his candid simplicity, his marvelous familiarity with ancient armor,
and the restfulness of his company--for he did all the talking.
We fell together, as modest people will, in the tail of the herd
that was being shown through, and he at once began to say things
which interested me.  As he talked along, softly, pleasantly,
flowingly, he seemed to drift away imperceptibly out of this world
and time, and into some remote era and old forgotten country;
and so he gradually wove such a spell about me that I seemed
to move among the specters and shadows and dust and mold of a gray
antiquity, holding speech with a relic of it!  Exactly as I would
speak of my nearest personal friends or enemies, or my most familiar
neighbors, he spoke of Sir Bedivere, Sir Bors de Ganis, Sir Launcelot
of the Lake, Sir Galahad, and all the other great names of the
Table Round--and how old, old, unspeakably old and faded and dry
and musty and ancient he came to look as he went on!  Presently
he turned to me and said, just as one might speak of the weather,
or any other common matter--

"You know about transmigration of souls; do you know about
transposition of epochs--and bodies?"

I said I had not heard of it.  He was so little interested--just
as when people speak of the weather--that he did not notice
whether I made him any answer or not. There was half a moment
of silence, immediately interrupted by the droning voice of the
salaried cicerone:

"Ancient hauberk, date of the sixth century, time of King Arthur
and the Round Table; said to have belonged to the knight Sir Sagramor
le Desirous; observe the round hole through the chain-mail in
the left breast; can't be accounted for; supposed to have been
done with a bullet since invention of firearms--perhaps maliciously
by Cromwell's soldiers."

My acquaintance smiled--not a modern smile, but one that must
have gone out of general use many, many centuries ago--and muttered
apparently to himself:

"Wit ye well, _I saw it done_."  Then, after a pause, added:
"I did it myself."

By the time I had recovered from the electric surprise of this
remark, he was gone.

All that evening I sat by my fire at the Warwick Arms, steeped
in a dream of the olden time, while the rain beat upon the windows,
and the wind roared about the eaves and corners.  From time to
time I dipped into old Sir Thomas Malory's enchanting book, and
fed at its rich feast of prodigies and adventures, breathed in
the fragrance of its obsolete names, and dreamed again.  Midnight
being come at length, I read another tale, for a nightcap--this
which here follows, to wit:

HOW SIR LAUNCELOT SLEW TWO GIANTS, AND MADE A CASTLE FREE

   Anon withal came there upon him two great giants,
   well armed, all save the heads, with two horrible
   clubs in their hands.  Sir Launcelot put his shield
   afore him, and put the stroke away of the one
   giant, and with his sword he clave his head asunder.
   When his fellow saw that, he ran away as he were
   wood [*demented], for fear of the horrible strokes,
   and Sir Launcelot after him with all his might,
   and smote him on the shoulder, and clave him to
   the middle.  Then Sir Launcelot went into the hall,
   and there came afore him three score ladies and
   damsels, and all kneeled unto him, and thanked
   God and him of their deliverance.  For, sir, said
   they, the most part of us have been here this
   seven year their prisoners, and we have worked all
   manner of silk works for our meat, and we are all
   great gentle-women born, and blessed be the time,
   knight, that ever thou wert born; for thou hast
   done the most worship that ever did knight in the
   world, that will we bear record, and we all pray
   you to tell us your name, that we may tell our
   friends who delivered us out of prison.  Fair
   damsels, he said, my name is Sir Launcelot du
   Lake.  And so he departed from them and betaught
   them unto God.  And then he mounted upon his
   horse, and rode into many strange and wild
   countries, and through many waters and valleys,
   and evil was he lodged.  And at the last by
   fortune him happened against a night to come to
   a fair courtilage, and therein he found an old
   gentle-woman that lodged him with a good-will,
   and there he had good cheer for him and his horse.
   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
   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
   up, and looked out at the window, and saw by the
   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:



THE STRANGER'S HISTORY

I am an American.  I was born and reared in Hartford, in the State
of Connecticut--anyway, just over the river, in the country.  So
I am a Yankee of the Yankees--and practical; yes, and nearly
barren of sentiment, I suppose--or poetry, in other words.  My
father was a blacksmith, my uncle was a horse doctor, and I was
both, along at first.  Then I went over to the great arms factory
and learned my real trade; learned all there was to it; learned
to make everything: guns, revolvers, cannon, boilers, engines, all
sorts of labor-saving machinery.  Why, I could make anything
a body wanted--anything in the world, it didn't make any difference
what; and if there wasn't any quick new-fangled way to make a thing,
I could invent one--and do it as easy as rolling off a log.  I became
head superintendent; had a couple of thousand men under me.

Well, a man like that is a man that is full of fight--that goes
without saying.  With a couple of thousand rough men under one,
one has plenty of that sort of amusement.  I had, anyway.  At last
I met my match, and I got my dose.  It was during a misunderstanding
conducted with crowbars with a fellow we used to call Hercules.
He laid me out with a crusher alongside the head that made everything
crack, and seemed to spring every joint in my skull and made it
overlap its neighbor.  Then the world went out in darkness, and
I didn't feel anything more, and didn't know anything at all
--at least for a while.

When I came to again, I was sitting under an oak tree, on the
grass, with a whole beautiful and broad country landscape all
to myself--nearly.  Not entirely; for there was a fellow on a horse,
looking down at me--a fellow fresh out of a picture-book.  He was
in old-time iron armor from head to heel, with a helmet on his
head the shape of a nail-keg with slits in it; and he had a shield,
and a sword, and a prodigious spear; and his horse had armor on,
too, and a steel horn projecting from his forehead, and gorgeous
red and green silk trappings that hung down all around him like
a bedquilt, nearly to the ground.

"Fair sir, will ye just?" said this fellow.

"Will I which?"

"Will ye try a passage of arms for land or lady or for--"

"What are you giving me?" I said.  "Get along back to your circus,
or I'll report you."

Now what does this man do but fall back a couple of hundred yards
and then come rushing at me as hard as he could tear, with his
nail-keg bent down nearly to his horse's neck and his long spear
pointed straight ahead.  I saw he meant business, so I was up
the tree when he arrived.

He allowed that I was his property, the captive of his spear.
There was argument on his side--and the bulk of the advantage
--so I judged it best to humor him.  We fixed up an agreement
whereby I was to go with him and he was not to hurt me.  I came
down, and we started away, I walking by the side of his horse.
We marched comfortably along, through glades and over brooks which
I could not remember to have seen before--which puzzled me and
made me wonder--and yet we did not come to any circus or sign of
a circus.  So I gave up the idea of a circus, and concluded he was
from an asylum.  But we never came to an asylum--so I was up
a stump, as you may say.  I asked him how far we were from Hartford.
He said he had never heard of the place; which I took to be a lie,
but allowed it to go at that.  At the end of an hour we saw a
far-away town sleeping in a valley by a winding river; and beyond
it on a hill, a vast gray fortress, with towers and turrets,
the first I had ever seen out of a picture.

"Bridgeport?" said I, pointing.

"Camelot," said he.


My stranger had been showing signs of sleepiness.  He caught
himself nodding, now, and smiled one of those pathetic, obsolete
smiles of his, and said:

"I find I can't go on; but come with me, I've got it all written
out, and you can read it if you like."

In his chamber, he said: "First, I kept a journal; then by and by,
after years, I took the journal and turned it into a book. How
long ago that was!"

He handed me his manuscript, and pointed out the place where
I should begin:

"Begin here--I've already told you what goes before."  He was
steeped in drowsiness by this time.  As I went out at his door
I heard him murmur sleepily: "Give you good den, fair sir."

I sat down by my fire and examined my treasure.  The first part
of it--the great bulk of it--was parchment, and yellow with age.
I scanned a leaf particularly and saw that it was a palimpsest.
Under the old dim writing of the Yankee historian appeared traces
of a penmanship which was older and dimmer still--Latin words
and sentences: fragments from old monkish legends, evidently.
I turned to the place indicated by my stranger and began to read
--as follows:




THE TALE OF THE LOST LAND




CHAPTER I

CAMELOT

"Camelot--Camelot," said I to myself.  "I don't seem to remember
hearing of it before.  Name of the asylum, likely."

It was a soft, reposeful summer landscape, as lovely as a dream,
and as lonesome as Sunday.  The air was full of the smell of
flowers, and the buzzing of insects, and the twittering of birds,
and there were no people, no wagons, there was no stir of life,
nothing going on.  The road was mainly a winding path with hoof-prints
in it, and now and then a faint trace of wheels on either side in
the grass--wheels that apparently had a tire as broad as one's hand.

Presently a fair slip of a girl, about ten years old, with a cataract
of golden hair streaming down over her shoulders, came along.
Around her head she wore a hoop of flame-red poppies. It was as
sweet an outfit as ever I saw, what there was of it.  She walked
indolently along, with a mind at rest, its peace reflected in her
innocent face.  The circus man paid no attention to her; didn't
even seem to see her.  And she--she was no more startled at his
fantastic make-up than if she was used to his like every day of
her life.  She was going by as indifferently as she might have gone
by a couple of cows; but when she happened to notice me, _then_
there was a change!  Up went her hands, and she was turned to stone;
her mouth dropped open, her eyes stared wide and timorously, she
was the picture of astonished curiosity touched with fear.  And
there she stood gazing, in a sort of stupefied fascination, till
we turned a corner of the wood and were lost to her view.  That
she should be startled at me instead of at the other man, was too
many for me; I couldn't make head or tail of it.  And that she
should seem to consider me a spectacle, and totally overlook her
own merits in that respect, was another puzzling thing, and a
display of magnanimity, too, that was surprising in one so young.
There was food for thought here.  I moved along as one in a dream.

As we approached the town, signs of life began to appear.  At
intervals we passed a wretched cabin, with a thatched roof, and
about it small fields and garden patches in an indifferent state of
cultivation.  There were people, too; brawny men, with long, coarse,
uncombed hair that hung down over their faces and made them look
like animals.  They and the women, as a rule, wore a coarse
tow-linen robe that came well below the knee, and a rude sort of
sandal, and many wore an iron collar.  The small boys and girls
were always naked; but nobody seemed to know it.  All of these
people stared at me, talked about me, ran into the huts and fetched
out their families to gape at me; but nobody ever noticed that
other fellow, except to make him humble salutation and get no
response for their pains.

In the town were some substantial windowless houses of stone
scattered among a wilderness of thatched cabins; the streets were
mere crooked alleys, and unpaved; troops of dogs and nude children
played in the sun and made life and noise; hogs roamed and rooted
contentedly about, and one of them lay in a reeking wallow in
the middle of the main thoroughfare and suckled her family.
Presently there was a distant blare of military music; it came
nearer, still nearer, and soon a noble cavalcade wound into view,
glorious with plumed helmets and flashing mail and flaunting banners
and rich doublets and horse-cloths and gilded spearheads; and
through the muck and swine, and naked brats, and joyous dogs, and
shabby huts, it took its gallant way, and in its wake we followed.
Followed through one winding alley and then another,--and climbing,
always climbing--till at last we gained the breezy height where
the huge castle stood.  There was an exchange of bugle blasts;
then a parley from the walls, where men-at-arms, in hauberk and
morion, marched back and forth with halberd at shoulder under
flapping banners with the rude figure of a dragon displayed upon
them; and then the great gates were flung open, the drawbridge
was lowered, and the head of the cavalcade swept forward under
the frowning arches; and we, following, soon found ourselves in
a great paved court, with towers and turrets stretching up into
the blue air on all the four sides; and all about us the dismount
was going on, and much greeting and ceremony, and running to and
fro, and a gay display of moving and intermingling colors, and
an altogether pleasant stir and noise and confusion.



CHAPTER II

KING ARTHUR'S COURT

The moment I got a chance I slipped aside privately and touched
an ancient common looking man on the shoulder and said, in an
insinuating, confidential way:

"Friend, do me a kindness.  Do you belong to the asylum, or are
you just on a visit or something like that?"

He looked me over stupidly, and said:

"Marry, fair sir, me seemeth--"

"That will do," I said; "I reckon you are a patient."

I moved away, cogitating, and at the same time keeping an eye
out for any chance passenger in his right mind that might come
along and give me some light.  I judged I had found one, presently;
so I drew him aside and said in his ear:

"If I could see the head keeper a minute--only just a minute--"

"Prithee do not let me."

"Let you _what_?"

"_Hinder_ me, then, if the word please thee better.  Then he went
on to say he was an under-cook and could not stop to gossip,
though he would like it another time; for it would comfort his
very liver to know where I got my clothes.  As he started away he
pointed and said yonder was one who was idle enough for my purpose,
and was seeking me besides, no doubt.  This was an airy slim boy
in shrimp-colored tights that made him look like a forked carrot,
the rest of his gear was blue silk and dainty laces and ruffles;
and he had long yellow curls, and wore a plumed pink satin cap
tilted complacently over his ear.  By his look, he was good-natured;
by his gait, he was satisfied with himself.  He was pretty enough
to frame.  He arrived, looked me over with a smiling and impudent
curiosity; said he had come for me, and informed me that he was a page.

"Go 'long," I said; "you ain't more than a paragraph."

It was pretty severe, but I was nettled.  However, it never phazed
him; he didn't appear to know he was hurt.  He began to talk and
laugh, in happy, thoughtless, boyish fashion, as we walked along,
and made himself old friends with me at once; asked me all sorts
of questions about myself and about my clothes, but never waited
for an answer--always chattered straight ahead, as if he didn't
know he had asked a question and wasn't expecting any reply, until
at last he happened to mention that he was born in the beginning
of the year 513.

It made the cold chills creep over me!  I stopped and said,
a little faintly:

"Maybe I didn't hear you just right.  Say it again--and say it
slow.  What year was it?"

"513."

"513!  You don't look it!  Come, my boy, I am a stranger and
friendless; be honest and honorable with me.  Are you in your
right mind?"

He said he was.

"Are these other people in their right minds?"

He said they were.

"And this isn't an asylum?  I mean, it isn't a place where they
cure crazy people?"

He said it wasn't.

"Well, then," I said, "either I am a lunatic, or something just
as awful has happened.  Now tell me, honest and true, where am I?"

"IN KING ARTHUR'S COURT."

I waited a minute, to let that idea shudder its way home,
and then said:

"And according to your notions, what year is it now?"

"528--nineteenth of June."

I felt a mournful sinking at the heart, and muttered: "I shall
never see my friends again--never, never again.  They will not
be born for more than thirteen hundred years yet."

I seemed to believe the boy, I didn't know why.  _Something_ in me
seemed to believe him--my consciousness, as you may say; but my
reason didn't.  My reason straightway began to clamor; that was
natural.  I didn't know how to go about satisfying it, because
I knew that the testimony of men wouldn't serve--my reason would
say they were lunatics, and throw out their evidence.  But all
of a sudden I stumbled on the very thing, just by luck.  I knew
that the only total eclipse of the sun in the first half of the
sixth century occurred on the 21st of June, A.D. 528, O.S., and
began at 3 minutes after 12 noon.  I also knew that no total eclipse
of the sun was due in what to _me_ was the present year--i.e., 1879.
So, if I could keep my anxiety and curiosity from eating the heart
out of me for forty-eight hours, I should then find out for certain
whether this boy was telling me the truth or not.

Wherefore, being a practical Connecticut man, I now shoved this
whole problem clear out of my mind till its appointed day and hour
should come, in order that I might turn all my attention to the
circumstances of the present moment, and be alert and ready to
make the most out of them that could be made.  One thing at a time,
is my motto--and just play that thing for all it is worth, even
if it's only two pair and a jack.  I made up my mind to two things:
if it was still the nineteenth century and I was among lunatics
and couldn't get away, I would presently boss that asylum or know
the reason why; and if, on the other hand, it was really the sixth
century, all right, I didn't want any softer thing: I would boss
the whole country inside of three months; for I judged I would
have the start of the best-educated man in the kingdom by a matter
of thirteen hundred years and upward.  I'm not a man to waste
time after my mind's made up and there's work on hand; so I said
to the page:

"Now, Clarence, my boy--if that might happen to be your name
--I'll get you to post me up a little if you don't mind.  What is
the name of that apparition that brought me here?"

"My master and thine?  That is the good knight and great lord
Sir Kay the Seneschal, foster brother to our liege the king."

"Very good; go on, tell me everything."

He made a long story of it; but the part that had immediate interest
for me was this: He said I was Sir Kay's prisoner, and that
in the due course of custom I would be flung into a dungeon and
left there on scant commons until my friends ransomed me--unless
I chanced to rot, first.  I saw that the last chance had the best
show, but I didn't waste any bother about that; time was too
precious.  The page said, further, that dinner was about ended
in the great hall by this time, and that as soon as the sociability
and the heavy drinking should begin, Sir Kay would have me in and
exhibit me before King Arthur and his illustrious knights seated at
the Table Round, and would brag about his exploit in capturing
me, and would probably exaggerate the facts a little, but it
wouldn't be good form for me to correct him, and not over safe,
either; and when I was done being exhibited, then ho for the
dungeon; but he, Clarence, would find a way to come and see me every
now and then, and cheer me up, and help me get word to my friends.

Get word to my friends!  I thanked him; I couldn't do less; and
about this time a lackey came to say I was wanted; so Clarence
led me in and took me off to one side and sat down by me.

Well, it was a curious kind of spectacle, and interesting. It was
an immense place, and rather naked--yes, and full of loud contrasts.
It was very, very lofty; so lofty that the banners depending from
the arched beams and girders away up there floated in a sort of
twilight; there was a stone-railed gallery at each end, high up,
with musicians in the one, and women, clothed in stunning colors,
in the other.  The floor was of big stone flags laid in black and
white squares, rather battered by age and use, and needing repair.
As to ornament, there wasn't any, strictly speaking; though on
the walls hung some huge tapestries which were probably taxed
as works of art; battle-pieces, they were, with horses shaped like
those which children cut out of paper or create in gingerbread;
with men on them in scale armor whose scales are represented by
round holes--so that the man's coat looks as if it had been done
with a biscuit-punch.  There was a fireplace big enough to camp in;
and its projecting sides and hood, of carved and pillared stonework,
had the look of a cathedral door.  Along the walls stood men-at-arms,
in breastplate and morion, with halberds for their only weapon
--rigid as statues; and that is what they looked like.

In the middle of this groined and vaulted public square was an oaken
table which they called the Table Round.  It was as large as
a circus ring; and around it sat a great company of men dressed
in such various and splendid colors that it hurt one's eyes to look
at them.  They wore their plumed hats, right along, except that
whenever one addressed himself directly to the king, he lifted
his hat a trifle just as he was beginning his remark.

Mainly they were drinking--from entire ox horns; but a few were
still munching bread or gnawing beef bones.  There was about
an average of two dogs to one man; and these sat in expectant
attitudes till a spent bone was flung to them, and then they went
for it by brigades and divisions, with a rush, and there ensued
a fight which filled the prospect with a tumultuous chaos of
plunging heads and bodies and flashing 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
on it, and the ladies and the musicians stretched themselves out
over their balusters with the same object; and all broke into
delighted ejaculations from time to time. In the end, the winning
dog stretched himself out comfortably with his bone between his
paws, and proceeded to growl over it, and gnaw it, and grease
the floor with it, just as fifty others were already doing; and the
rest of the court resumed their previous industries and entertainments.

As a rule, the speech and behavior of these people were gracious
and courtly; and I noticed that they were good and serious listeners
when anybody was telling anything--I mean in a dog-fightless
interval.  And 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 suffering
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 complain.  The
thought was forced upon me: "The rascals--_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, intellectual 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 between 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 something 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 indeed would have marred it, hindered it, spoiled
its symmetry--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 countenance 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 Seneschal, 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 disappointed; and the page whispered in
my ear with an accent and manner expressive of extravagant derision--

"Sir _Kay_, forsooth!  Oh, call me pet names, dearest, 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 according to the facts; he would tell the simple
straightforward 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 furtive 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 mocking
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 countenance.  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 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 entrails 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 pretended 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,* [*Footnote from M.T.: No matter.]
said Merlin, hereby is a 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 yourself
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 departed.  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 sufficiently 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
afterwards.  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 believed, 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 history-mill with me
for fuel.  It was time for me to feel serious, and I did.  Sir Kay
told how he had encountered 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-devouring 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 statistics 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 "Roderick 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, instead
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
unconsciously indelicate all things are delicate.  King Arthur'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 common-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 unconcernedly 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 reasons--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 kingdoms 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 known 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
return 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
arranging 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 promised 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 heedless 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 foolishness 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
cannot.'  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 perplexed 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 impressiveness
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 complexion 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 knowledge of a fact is pale; but
when you come to _realize_ your fact, it takes on color. It is
all the difference between 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 solicitudes
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 compromise.  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 concealment 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 salvation 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 falling 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 remember--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 stillness 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 continued 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, I 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 merciful; 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 condition, anyway, and wanted to think.  Something
was wrong about that eclipse, and the fact was very unsettling.
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 becoming 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; therefore 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 authority 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 uncomfortable.  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--except 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 upsetting.  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
servants carried torches.  There were no books, pens, paper or
ink, and no glass in the openings they believed 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 person 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 agreeable 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 distance
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 accommodate the people
with a miracle was because I couldn't.  I saw that I must do
something.  I presently 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 reports 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 superintended 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 liberated 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 uncomfortable.  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 thousand 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 modified 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 interfered.  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
expect 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 perchance
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 circumstances.
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 adventurers like myself in the shelter of its long
array of thrones: De Montforts, Gavestons, Mortimers, Villierses;
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 challenged 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 simplest and trustingest race;
why, they were nothing but rabbits.  It was pitiful for a person
born in a wholesome 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 themselves 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 paying 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 unearned 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
respected.  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
anything being entitled to that except pedigree and lordship.
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) patience, meanness of spirit, non-resistance
under oppression; 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 commoners was still content to see his inferiors
impudently continuing to hold a number of positions, such as
lordships 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 disappeared--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 pigmies, 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 particularly 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.
However, 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 improvement
on it.  That reminds me to remark, in passing, that the very first
official thing I did, in my administration--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 costumery, and very characteristic of the
country and the time, in the way of high animal spirits, innocent
indecencies 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 lanceshaft 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 circumstances, 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 measure
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 Sir 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 proceed:
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
Lactantius," 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 unconsciously 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 explanations.  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 expeditions 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
obscure 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 admirable system of graded
schools in full blast in those places, and also a complete variety
of Protestant congregations 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 Presbyterian
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 spiritual complexion,
angularities, and stature of the individual 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 nineteenth 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,
steadily; 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 perfect.
My men had orders to strike across country, avoiding roads, and
establishing connection with any considerable towns whose lights
betrayed their presence, 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 generally left it without
thinking to inquire what its name was.  At one time and another
we had sent out topographical 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 necessarily 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 kingdom felt a sense of relief, and the praises
of my administration 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 people'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 pattern.  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,
gratitude 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 business 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 particulars?"

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 questions; 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 innocent 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 secrecy 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 hundred 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 vexation and disappointment, and come to be as
anxious for me to hive those ogres and set those ripe old virgins
loose as if it were themselves that had the contract.  Well, they
_were_ good children--but just children, 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
enchantments, 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 necromancer 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 convenient 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 disappointed.  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 married 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 goodbye 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 anything 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 perspective 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 pleasant 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 everything 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 afterwards.  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 lonesome 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
settled 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 territory 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 inconveniences; 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 moreover 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 importing 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 person 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 because 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 combination 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 sandwiches
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 darkness 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 inside
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 limping 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
proposed 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
because 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 population 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 saving, 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, instead of being in the tail
of the procession where it belonged, 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 freemen, 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 twentieth, 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
unprintable; 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 memorable
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 Terror,
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 something 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 transmissible
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 government.  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,
become 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 Connecticut, whose
Constitution declares "that all political power is inherent in
the people, and all free governments are founded on their authority
and instituted for their benefit; and that they have _at all times_
an undeniable and indefeasible right to _alter their form of
government_ 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 excuse 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 dissatisfaction 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 dishonorable, such putrid black
treason.  So to speak, I was become a stockholder in a corporation
where nine hundred 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 enchantment 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 remained 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 considerable 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 afternoon.  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 remark 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
miscarried, 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 blamable. 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 doubtful 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 supposed 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, turning 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 interrupt, and interrupt pretty
frequently, too, in order to save my life; a person would die if
he let her monotony 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 certainly act like all possessed.  Yes, and
I mean your best, too, society's very choicest brands.  The humblest
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 Marhaus 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 defalcation, 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
whipped; 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 Marhaus 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
increased, 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'_nan_ners,
_s-a-n-d_'ches, p--_op_-corn!"

--"and waxed past noon and drew toward evensong.  Sir Gawaine's
strength feebled and waxed passing 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 marvelous 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 fountain, and three damsels sitting
thereby. In this country, 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 expletive; 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 adventures, 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 distance 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 bulletin-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 Established 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 missionary's
next move was to get the family together and try it on himself;
he was to stop at no experiment, however 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 believed 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 disseminate 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 anywhere 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 Washington 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 railings 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 afterward
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 personality 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
misrepresented, 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
confidence, 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 nevertheless 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 Catholic 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
persons; below the salt sat minor officers of the household, 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 unimaginable 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 happened 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
chaplain 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 quarrelsomely, some dead and under the table.
Of the ladies, the worst spectacle was a lovely young duchess, 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 expectation 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 another inspiration.  I said:

"Do what you choose."

She was up and facing toward the queen in a moment.  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 person 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 statesman 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 composed and serene,
when the cords all down my legs were hurting in sympathy with that
man's pain.  Conducted by mailed guards bearing flaring torches,
we tramped along echoing corridors, and down stone stairways 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 suspicious.  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
representative, and was speaking in his name.  She saw she had
to yield.  I asked her to indorse me to these people, 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, lovingly, but timorously,--like one who fears a repulse;
HUCKLEBERRY FINN

By Mark Twain



NOTICE

PERSONS attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted;
persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons
attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.

BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR, Per G.G., Chief of Ordnance.




EXPLANATORY

IN this book a number of dialects are used, to wit:  the Missouri negro
dialect; the extremest form of the backwoods Southwestern dialect; the
ordinary "Pike County" dialect; and four modified varieties of this last.
The shadings have not been done in a haphazard fashion, or by guesswork;
but painstakingly, and with the trustworthy guidance and support of
personal familiarity with these several forms of speech.

I make this explanation for the reason that without it many readers would
suppose that all these characters were trying to talk alike and not
succeeding.

THE AUTHOR.





HUCKLEBERRY FINN

Scene:  The Mississippi Valley Time:  Forty to fifty years ago



CHAPTER I.

YOU don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The
Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter.  That book was made
by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly.  There was things which
he stretched, but mainly he told the truth.  That is nothing.  I never
seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was Aunt Polly, or
the widow, or maybe Mary.  Aunt Polly--Tom's Aunt Polly, she is--and
Mary, and the Widow Douglas is all told about in that book, which is
mostly a true book, with some stretchers, as I said before.

Now the way that the book winds up is this:  Tom and me found the money
that the robbers hid in the cave, and it made us rich.  We got six
thousand dollars apiece--all gold.  It was an awful sight of money when
it was piled up.  Well, Judge Thatcher he took it and put it out at
interest, and it fetched us a dollar a day apiece all the year round
--more than a body could tell what to do with.  The Widow Douglas she took
me for her son, and allowed she would sivilize me; but it was rough
living in the house all the time, considering how dismal regular and
decent the widow was in all her ways; and so when I couldn't stand it no
longer I lit out.  I got into my old rags and my sugar-hogshead again,
and was free and satisfied.  But Tom Sawyer he hunted me up and said he
was going to start a band of robbers, and I might join if I would go back
to the widow and be respectable.  So I went back.

The widow she cried over me, and called me a poor lost lamb, and she
called me a lot of other names, too, but she never meant no harm by it.
She put me in them new clothes again, and I couldn't do nothing but sweat
and sweat, and feel all cramped up.  Well, then, the old thing commenced
again.  The widow rung a bell for supper, and you had to come to time.
When you got to the table you couldn't go right to eating, but you had to
wait for the widow to tuck down her head and grumble a little over the
victuals, though there warn't really anything the matter with them,--that
is, nothing only everything was cooked by itself.  In a barrel of odds
and ends it is different; things get mixed up, and the juice kind of
swaps around, and the things go better.

After supper she got out her book and learned me about Moses and the
Bulrushers, and I was in a sweat to find out all about him; but by and by
she let it out that Moses had been dead a considerable long time; so then
I didn't care no more about him, because I don't take no stock in dead
people.

Pretty soon I wanted to smoke, and asked the widow to let me.  But she
wouldn't.  She said it was a mean practice and wasn't clean, and I must
try to not do it any more.  That is just the way with some people.  They
get down on a thing when they don't know nothing about it.  Here she was
a-bothering about Moses, which was no kin to her, and no use to anybody,
being gone, you see, yet finding a power of fault with me for doing a
thing that had some good in it.  And she took snuff, too; of course that
was all right, because she done it herself.

Her sister, Miss Watson, a tolerable slim old maid, with goggles on,
had just come to live with her, and took a set at me now with a
spelling-book. She worked me middling hard for about an hour, and then
the widow made her ease up.  I couldn't stood it much longer.  Then for
an hour it was deadly dull, and I was fidgety.  Miss Watson would say,
"Don't put your feet up there, Huckleberry;" and "Don't scrunch up like
that, Huckleberry--set up straight;" and pretty soon she would say,
"Don't gap and stretch like that, Huckleberry--why don't you try to
behave?"  Then she told me all about the bad place, and I said I wished I
was there. She got mad then, but I didn't mean no harm.  All I wanted was
to go somewheres; all I wanted was a change, I warn't particular.  She
said it was wicked to say what I said; said she wouldn't say it for the
whole world; she was going to live so as to go to the good place.  Well,
I couldn't see no advantage in going where she was going, so I made up my
mind I wouldn't try for it.  But I never said so, because it would only
make trouble, and wouldn't do no good.

Now she had got a start, and she went on and told me all about the good
place.  She said all a body would have to do there was to go around all
day long with a harp and sing, forever and ever.  So I didn't think much
of it. But I never said so.  I asked her if she reckoned Tom Sawyer would
go there, and she said not by a considerable sight.  I was glad about
that, because I wanted him and me to be together.

Miss Watson she kept pecking at me, and it got tiresome and lonesome.  By
and by they fetched the niggers in and had prayers, and then everybody
was off to bed.  I went up to my room with a piece of candle, and put it
on the table.  Then I set down in a chair by the window and tried to
think of something cheerful, but it warn't no use.  I felt so lonesome I
most wished I was dead.  The stars were shining, and the leaves rustled
in the woods ever so mournful; and I heard an owl, away off, who-whooing
about somebody that was dead, and a whippowill and a dog crying about
somebody that was going to die; and the wind was trying to whisper
something to me, and I couldn't make out what it was, and so it made the
cold shivers run over me. Then away out in the woods I heard that kind of
a sound that a ghost makes when it wants to tell about something that's
on its mind and can't make itself understood, and so can't rest easy in
its grave, and has to go about that way every night grieving.  I got so
down-hearted and scared I did wish I had some company.  Pretty soon a
spider went crawling up my shoulder, and I flipped it off and it lit in
the candle; and before I could budge it was all shriveled up.  I didn't
need anybody to tell me that that was an awful bad sign and would fetch
me some bad luck, so I was scared and most shook the clothes off of me.
I got up and turned around in my tracks three times and crossed my breast
every time; and then I tied up a little lock of my hair with a thread to
keep witches away.  But I hadn't no confidence.  You do that when you've
lost a horseshoe that you've found, instead of nailing it up over the
door, but I hadn't ever heard anybody say it was any way to keep off bad
luck when you'd killed a spider.

I set down again, a-shaking all over, and got out my pipe for a smoke;
for the house was all as still as death now, and so the widow wouldn't
know. Well, after a long time I heard the clock away off in the town go
boom--boom--boom--twelve licks; and all still again--stiller than ever.
Pretty soon I heard a twig snap down in the dark amongst the trees
--something was a stirring.  I set still and listened.  Directly I could
just barely hear a "me-yow! me-yow!" down there.  That was good!  Says I,
"me-yow! me-yow!" as soft as I could, and then I put out the light and
scrambled out of the window on to the shed.  Then I slipped down to the
ground and crawled in among the trees, and, sure enough, there was Tom
Sawyer waiting for me.




CHAPTER II.

WE went tiptoeing along a path amongst the trees back towards the end of
the widow's garden, stooping down so as the branches wouldn't scrape our
heads. When we was passing by the kitchen I fell over a root and made a
noise.  We scrouched down and laid still.  Miss Watson's big nigger,
named Jim, was setting in the kitchen door; we could see him pretty
clear, because there was a light behind him.  He got up and stretched his
neck out about a minute, listening.  Then he says:

"Who dah?"

He listened some more; then he come tiptoeing down and stood right
between us; we could a touched him, nearly.  Well, likely it was minutes
and minutes that there warn't a sound, and we all there so close
together.  There was a place on my ankle that got to itching, but I
dasn't scratch it; and then my ear begun to itch; and next my back, right
between my shoulders.  Seemed like I'd die if I couldn't scratch.  Well,
I've noticed that thing plenty times since.  If you are with the quality,
or at a funeral, or trying to go to sleep when you ain't sleepy--if you
are anywheres where it won't do for you to scratch, why you will itch all
over in upwards of a thousand places. Pretty soon Jim says:

"Say, who is you?  Whar is you?  Dog my cats ef I didn' hear sumf'n.
Well, I know what I's gwyne to do:  I's gwyne to set down here and listen
tell I hears it agin."

So he set down on the ground betwixt me and Tom.  He leaned his back up
against a tree, and stretched his legs out till one of them most touched
one of mine.  My nose begun to itch.  It itched till the tears come into
my eyes.  But I dasn't scratch.  Then it begun to itch on the inside.
Next I got to itching underneath.  I didn't know how I was going to set
still. This miserableness went on as much as six or seven minutes; but it
seemed a sight longer than that.  I was itching in eleven different
places now.  I reckoned I couldn't stand it more'n a minute longer, but I
set my teeth hard and got ready to try.  Just then Jim begun to breathe
heavy; next he begun to snore--and then I was pretty soon comfortable
again.

Tom he made a sign to me--kind of a little noise with his mouth--and we
went creeping away on our hands and knees.  When we was ten foot off Tom
whispered to me, and wanted to tie Jim to the tree for fun.  But I said
no; he might wake and make a disturbance, and then they'd find out I
warn't in. Then Tom said he hadn't got candles enough, and he would slip
in the kitchen and get some more.  I didn't want him to try.  I said Jim
might wake up and come.  But Tom wanted to resk it; so we slid in there
and got three candles, and Tom laid five cents on the table for pay.
Then we got out, and I was in a sweat to get away; but nothing would do
Tom but he must crawl to where Jim was, on his hands and knees, and play
something on him.  I waited, and it seemed a good while, everything was
so still and lonesome.

As soon as Tom was back we cut along the path, around the garden fence,
and by and by fetched up on the steep top of the hill the other side of
the house.  Tom said he slipped Jim's hat off of his head and hung it on
a limb right over him, and Jim stirred a little, but he didn't wake.
Afterwards Jim said the witches be witched him and put him in a trance,
and rode him all over the State, and then set him under the trees again,
and hung his hat on a limb to show who done it.  And next time Jim told
it he said they rode him down to New Orleans; and, after that, every time
he told it he spread it more and more, till by and by he said they rode
him all over the world, and tired him most to death, and his back was all
over saddle-boils.  Jim was monstrous proud about it, and he got so he
wouldn't hardly notice the other niggers.  Niggers would come miles to
hear Jim tell about it, and he was more looked up to than any nigger in
that country.  Strange niggers would stand with their mouths open and
look him all over, same as if he was a wonder.  Niggers is always talking
about witches in the dark by the kitchen fire; but whenever one was
talking and letting on to know all about such things, Jim would happen in
and say, "Hm!  What you know 'bout witches?" and that nigger was corked
up and had to take a back seat.  Jim always kept that five-center piece
round his neck with a string, and said it was a charm the devil give to
him with his own hands, and told him he could cure anybody with it and
fetch witches whenever he wanted to just by saying something to it; but
he never told what it was he said to it.  Niggers would come from all
around there and give Jim anything they had, just for a sight of that
five-center piece; but they wouldn't touch it, because the devil had had
his hands on it.  Jim was most ruined for a servant, because he got stuck
up on account of having seen the devil and been rode by witches.

Well, when Tom and me got to the edge of the hilltop we looked away down
into the village and could see three or four lights twinkling, where
there was sick folks, maybe; and the stars over us was sparkling ever so
fine; and down by the village was the river, a whole mile broad, and
awful still and grand.  We went down the hill and found Jo Harper and Ben
Rogers, and two or three more of the boys, hid in the old tanyard.  So we
unhitched a skiff and pulled down the river two mile and a half, to the
big scar on the hillside, and went ashore.

We went to a clump of bushes, and Tom made everybody swear to keep the
secret, and then showed them a hole in the hill, right in the thickest
part of the bushes.  Then we lit the candles, and crawled in on our hands
and knees.  We went about two hundred yards, and then the cave opened up.
Tom poked about amongst the passages, and pretty soon ducked under a wall
where you wouldn't a noticed that there was a hole.  We went along a
narrow place and got into a kind of room, all damp and sweaty and cold,
and there we stopped.  Tom says:

"Now, we'll start this band of robbers and call it Tom Sawyer's Gang.
Everybody that wants to join has got to take an oath, and write his name
in blood."

Everybody was willing.  So Tom got out a sheet of paper that he had wrote
the oath on, and read it.  It swore every boy to stick to the band, and
never tell any of the secrets; and if anybody done anything to any boy in
the band, whichever boy was ordered to kill that person and his family
must do it, and he mustn't eat and he mustn't sleep till he had killed
them and hacked a cross in their breasts, which was the sign of the band.
And nobody that didn't belong to the band could use that mark, and if he
did he must be sued; and if he done it again he must be killed.  And if
anybody that belonged to the band told the secrets, he must have his
throat cut, and then have his carcass burnt up and the ashes scattered
all around, and his name blotted off of the list with blood and never
mentioned again by the gang, but have a curse put on it and be forgot
forever.

Everybody said it was a real beautiful oath, and asked Tom if he got it
out of his own head.  He said, some of it, but the rest was out of
pirate-books and robber-books, and every gang that was high-toned had it.

Some thought it would be good to kill the FAMILIES of boys that told the
secrets.  Tom said it was a good idea, so he took a pencil and wrote it
in. Then Ben Rogers says:

"Here's Huck Finn, he hain't got no family; what you going to do 'bout
him?"

"Well, hain't he got a father?" says Tom Sawyer.

"Yes, he's got a father, but you can't never find him these days.  He
used to lay drunk with the hogs in the tanyard, but he hain't been seen
in these parts for a year or more."

They talked it over, and they was going to rule me out, because they said
every boy must have a family or somebody to kill, or else it wouldn't be
fair and square for the others.  Well, nobody could think of anything to
do--everybody was stumped, and set still.  I was most ready to cry; but
all at once I thought of a way, and so I offered them Miss Watson--they
could kill her.  Everybody said:

"Oh, she'll do.  That's all right.  Huck can come in."

Then they all stuck a pin in their fingers to get blood to sign with, and
I made my mark on the paper.

"Now," says Ben Rogers, "what's the line of business of this Gang?"

"Nothing only robbery and murder," Tom said.

"But who are we going to rob?--houses, or cattle, or--"

"Stuff! stealing cattle and such things ain't robbery; it's burglary,"
says Tom Sawyer.  "We ain't burglars.  That ain't no sort of style.  We
are highwaymen.  We stop stages and carriages on the road, with masks on,
and kill the people and take their watches and money."

"Must we always kill the people?"

"Oh, certainly.  It's best.  Some authorities think different, but mostly
it's considered best to kill them--except some that you bring to the cave
here, and keep them till they're ransomed."

"Ransomed?  What's that?"

"I don't know.  But that's what they do.  I've seen it in books; and so
of course that's what we've got to do."

"But how can we do it if we don't know what it is?"

"Why, blame it all, we've GOT to do it.  Don't I tell you it's in the
books?  Do you want to go to doing different from what's in the books,
and get things all muddled up?"

"Oh, that's all very fine to SAY, Tom Sawyer, but how in the nation are
these fellows going to be ransomed if we don't know how to do it to them?
--that's the thing I want to get at.  Now, what do you reckon it is?"

"Well, I don't know.  But per'aps if we keep them till they're ransomed,
it means that we keep them till they're dead."

"Now, that's something LIKE.  That'll answer.  Why couldn't you said that
before?  We'll keep them till they're ransomed to death; and a bothersome
lot they'll be, too--eating up everything, and always trying to get
loose."

"How you talk, Ben Rogers.  How can they get loose when there's a guard
over them, ready to shoot them down if they move a peg?"

"A guard!  Well, that IS good.  So somebody's got to set up all night and
never get any sleep, just so as to watch them.  I think that's
foolishness. Why can't a body take a club and ransom them as soon as they
get here?"

"Because it ain't in the books so--that's why.  Now, Ben Rogers, do you
want to do things regular, or don't you?--that's the idea.  Don't you
reckon that the people that made the books knows what's the correct thing
to do?  Do you reckon YOU can learn 'em anything?  Not by a good deal.
No, sir, we'll just go on and ransom them in the regular way."

"All right.  I don't mind; but I say it's a fool way, anyhow.  Say, do we
kill the women, too?"

"Well, Ben Rogers, if I was as ignorant as you I wouldn't let on.  Kill
the women?  No; nobody ever saw anything in the books like that.  You
fetch them to the cave, and you're always as polite as pie to them; and
by and by they fall in love with you, and never want to go home any
more."

"Well, if that's the way I'm agreed, but I don't take no stock in it.
Mighty soon we'll have the cave so cluttered up with women, and fellows
waiting to be ransomed, that there won't be no place for the robbers.
But go ahead, I ain't got nothing to say."

Little Tommy Barnes was asleep now, and when they waked him up he was
scared, and cried, and said he wanted to go home to his ma, and didn't
want to be a robber any more.

So they all made fun of him, and called him cry-baby, and that made him
mad, and he said he would go straight and tell all the secrets.  But Tom
give him five cents to keep quiet, and said we would all go home and meet
next week, and rob somebody and kill some people.

Ben Rogers said he couldn't get out much, only Sundays, and so he wanted
to begin next Sunday; but all the boys said it would be wicked to do it
on Sunday, and that settled the thing.  They agreed to get together and
fix a day as soon as they could, and then we elected Tom Sawyer first
captain and Jo Harper second captain of the Gang, and so started home.

I clumb up the shed and crept into my window just before day was
breaking. My new clothes was all greased up and clayey, and I was
dog-tired.




CHAPTER III.

WELL, I got a good going-over in the morning from old Miss Watson on
account of my clothes; but the widow she didn't scold, but only cleaned
off the grease and clay, and looked so sorry that I thought I would
behave awhile if I could.  Then Miss Watson she took me in the closet and
prayed, but nothing come of it.  She told me to pray every day, and
whatever I asked for I would get it.  But it warn't so.  I tried it.
Once I got a fish-line, but no hooks.  It warn't any good to me without
hooks.  I tried for the hooks three or four times, but somehow I couldn't
make it work.  By and by, one day, I asked Miss Watson to try for me, but
she said I was a fool.  She never told me why, and I couldn't make it out
no way.

I set down one time back in the woods, and had a long think about it.  I
says to myself, if a body can get anything they pray for, why don't
Deacon Winn get back the money he lost on pork?  Why can't the widow get
back her silver snuffbox that was stole?  Why can't Miss Watson fat up?
No, says I to my self, there ain't nothing in it.  I went and told the
widow about it, and she said the thing a body could get by praying for it
was "spiritual gifts."  This was too many for me, but she told me what
she meant--I must help other people, and do everything I could for other
people, and look out for them all the time, and never think about myself.
This was including Miss Watson, as I took it.  I went out in the woods
and turned it over in my mind a long time, but I couldn't see no
advantage about it--except for the other people; so at last I reckoned I
wouldn't worry about it any more, but just let it go.  Sometimes the
widow would take me one side and talk about Providence in a way to make a
body's mouth water; but maybe next day Miss Watson would take hold and
knock it all down again.  I judged I could see that there was two
Providences, and a poor chap would stand considerable show with the
widow's Providence, but if Miss Watson's got him there warn't no help for
him any more.  I thought it all out, and reckoned I would belong to the
widow's if he wanted me, though I couldn't make out how he was a-going to
be any better off then than what he was before, seeing I was so ignorant,
and so kind of low-down and ornery.

Pap he hadn't been seen for more than a year, and that was comfortable
for me; I didn't want to see him no more.  He used to always whale me
when he was sober and could get his hands on me; though I used to take to
the woods most of the time when he was around.  Well, about this time he
was found in the river drownded, about twelve mile above town, so people
said.  They judged it was him, anyway; said this drownded man was just
his size, and was ragged, and had uncommon long hair, which was all like
pap; but they couldn't make nothing out of the face, because it had been
in the water so long it warn't much like a face at all.  They said he was
floating on his back in the water.  They took him and buried him on the
bank.  But I warn't comfortable long, because I happened to think of
something.  I knowed mighty well that a drownded man don't float on his
back, but on his face.  So I knowed, then, that this warn't pap, but a
woman dressed up in a man's clothes.  So I was uncomfortable again.  I
judged the old man would turn up again by and by, though I wished he
wouldn't.

We played robber now and then about a month, and then I resigned.  All
the boys did.  We hadn't robbed nobody, hadn't killed any people, but
only just pretended.  We used to hop out of the woods and go charging
down on hog-drivers and women in carts taking garden stuff to market, but
we never hived any of them.  Tom Sawyer called the hogs "ingots," and he
called the turnips and stuff "julery," and we would go to the cave and
powwow over what we had done, and how many people we had killed and
marked.  But I couldn't see no profit in it.  One time Tom sent a boy to
run about town with a blazing stick, which he called a slogan (which was
the sign for the Gang to get together), and then he said he had got
secret news by his spies that next day a whole parcel of Spanish
merchants and rich A-rabs was going to camp in Cave Hollow with two
hundred elephants, and six hundred camels, and over a thousand "sumter"
mules, all loaded down with di'monds, and they didn't have only a guard
of four hundred soldiers, and so we would lay in ambuscade, as he called
it, and kill the lot and scoop the things.  He said we must slick up our
swords and guns, and get ready.  He never could go after even a
turnip-cart but he must have the swords and guns all scoured up for it,
though they was only lath and broomsticks, and you might scour at them
till you rotted, and then they warn't worth a mouthful of ashes more than
what they was before.  I didn't believe we could lick such a crowd of
Spaniards and A-rabs, but I wanted to see the camels and elephants, so I
was on hand next day, Saturday, in the ambuscade; and when we got the
word we rushed out of the woods and down the hill.  But there warn't no
Spaniards and A-rabs, and there warn't no camels nor no elephants.  It
warn't anything but a Sunday-school picnic, and only a primer-class at
that.  We busted it up, and chased the children up the hollow; but we
never got anything but some doughnuts and jam, though Ben Rogers got a
rag doll, and Jo Harper got a hymn-book and a tract; and then the teacher
charged in, and made us drop everything and cut.  I didn't see no
di'monds, and I told Tom Sawyer so.  He said there was loads of them
there, anyway; and he said there was A-rabs there, too, and elephants and
things.  I said, why couldn't we see them, then?  He said if I warn't so
ignorant, but had read a book called Don Quixote, I would know without
asking.  He said it was all done by enchantment.  He said there was
hundreds of soldiers there, and elephants and treasure, and so on, but we
had enemies which he called magicians; and they had turned the whole
thing into an infant Sunday-school, just out of spite.  I said, all
right; then the thing for us to do was to go for the magicians.  Tom
Sawyer said I was a numskull.

"Why," said he, "a magician could call up a lot of genies, and they would
hash you up like nothing before you could say Jack Robinson.  They are as
tall as a tree and as big around as a church."

"Well," I says, "s'pose we got some genies to help US--can't we lick the
other crowd then?"

"How you going to get them?"

"I don't know.  How do THEY get them?"

"Why, they rub an old tin lamp or an iron ring, and then the genies come
tearing in, with the thunder and lightning a-ripping around and the smoke
a-rolling, and everything they're told to do they up and do it.  They
don't think nothing of pulling a shot-tower up by the roots, and belting
a Sunday-school superintendent over the head with it--or any other man."

"Who makes them tear around so?"

"Why, whoever rubs the lamp or the ring.  They belong to whoever rubs the
lamp or the ring, and they've got to do whatever he says.  If he tells
them to build a palace forty miles long out of di'monds, and fill it full
of chewing-gum, or whatever you want, and fetch an emperor's daughter
from China for you to marry, they've got to do it--and they've got to do
it before sun-up next morning, too.  And more:  they've got to waltz that
palace around over the country wherever you want it, you understand."

"Well," says I, "I think they are a pack of flat-heads for not keeping
the palace themselves 'stead of fooling them away like that.  And what's
more--if I was one of them I would see a man in Jericho before I would
drop my business and come to him for the rubbing of an old tin lamp."

"How you talk, Huck Finn.  Why, you'd HAVE to come when he rubbed it,
whether you wanted to or not."

"What! and I as high as a tree and as big as a church?  All right, then;
I WOULD come; but I lay I'd make that man climb the highest tree there
was in the country."

"Shucks, it ain't no use to talk to you, Huck Finn.  You don't seem to
know anything, somehow--perfect saphead."

I thought all this over for two or three days, and then I reckoned I
would see if there was anything in it.  I got an old tin lamp and an iron
ring, and went out in the woods and rubbed and rubbed till I sweat like
an Injun, calculating to build a palace and sell it; but it warn't no
use, none of the genies come.  So then I judged that all that stuff was
only just one of Tom Sawyer's lies.  I reckoned he believed in the A-rabs
and the elephants, but as for me I think different.  It had all the marks
of a Sunday-school.




CHAPTER IV.

WELL, three or four months run along, and it was well into the winter
now. I had been to school most all the time and could spell and read and
write just a little, and could say the multiplication table up to six
times seven is thirty-five, and I don't reckon I could ever get any
further than that if I was to live forever.  I don't take no stock in
mathematics, anyway.

At first I hated the school, but by and by I got so I could stand it.
Whenever I got uncommon tired I played hookey, and the hiding I got next
day done me good and cheered me up.  So the longer I went to school the
easier it got to be.  I was getting sort of used to the widow's ways,
too, and they warn't so raspy on me.  Living in a house and sleeping in a
bed pulled on me pretty tight mostly, but before the cold weather I used
to slide out and sleep in the woods sometimes, and so that was a rest to
me.  I liked the old ways best, but I was getting so I liked the new
ones, too, a little bit. The widow said I was coming along slow but sure,
and doing very satisfactory.  She said she warn't ashamed of me.

One morning I happened to turn over the salt-cellar at breakfast.  I
reached for some of it as quick as I could to throw over my left shoulder
and keep off the bad luck, but Miss Watson was in ahead of me, and
crossed me off. She says, "Take your hands away, Huckleberry; what a mess
you are always making!"  The widow put in a good word for me, but that
warn't going to keep off the bad luck, I knowed that well enough.  I
started out, after breakfast, feeling worried and shaky, and wondering
where it was going to fall on me, and what it was going to be.  There is
ways to keep off some kinds of bad luck, but this wasn't one of them
kind; so I never tried to do anything, but just poked along low-spirited
and on the watch-out.

I went down to the front garden and clumb over the stile where you go
through the high board fence.  There was an inch of new snow on the
ground, and I seen somebody's tracks.  They had come up from the quarry
and stood around the stile a while, and then went on around the garden
fence.  It was funny they hadn't come in, after standing around so.  I
couldn't make it out.  It was very curious, somehow.  I was going to
follow around, but I stooped down to look at the tracks first.  I didn't
notice anything at first, but next I did.  There was a cross in the left
boot-heel made with big nails, to keep off the devil.

I was up in a second and shinning down the hill.  I looked over my
shoulder every now and then, but I didn't see nobody.  I was at Judge
Thatcher's as quick as I could get there.  He said:

"Why, my boy, you are all out of breath.  Did you come for your
interest?"

"No, sir," I says; "is there some for me?"

"Oh, yes, a half-yearly is in last night--over a hundred and fifty
dollars.  Quite a fortune for you.  You had better let me invest it along
with your six thousand, because if you take it you'll spend it."

"No, sir," I says, "I don't want to spend it.  I don't want it at all
--nor the six thousand, nuther.  I want you to take it; I want to give it
to you--the six thousand and all."

He looked surprised.  He couldn't seem to make it out.  He says:

"Why, what can you mean, my boy?"

I says, "Don't you ask me no questions about it, please.  You'll take it
--won't you?"

He says:

"Well, I'm puzzled.  Is something the matter?"

"Please take it," says I, "and don't ask me nothing--then I won't have to
tell no lies."

He studied a while, and then he says:

"Oho-o!  I think I see.  You want to SELL all your property to me--not
give it.  That's the correct idea."

Then he wrote something on a paper and read it over, and says:

"There; you see it says 'for a consideration.'  That means I have bought
it of you and paid you for it.  Here's a dollar for you.  Now you sign
it."

So I signed it, and left.

Miss Watson's nigger, Jim, had a hair-ball as big as your fist, which had
been took out of the fourth stomach of an ox, and he used to do magic
with it.  He said there was a spirit inside of it, and it knowed
everything.  So I went to him that night and told him pap was here again,
for I found his tracks in the snow.  What I wanted to know was, what he
was going to do, and was he going to stay?  Jim got out his hair-ball and
said something over it, and then he held it up and dropped it on the
floor.  It fell pretty solid, and only rolled about an inch.  Jim tried
it again, and then another time, and it acted just the same.  Jim got
down on his knees, and put his ear against it and listened.  But it
warn't no use; he said it wouldn't talk. He said sometimes it wouldn't
talk without money.  I told him I had an old slick counterfeit quarter
that warn't no good because the brass showed through the silver a little,
and it wouldn't pass nohow, even if the brass didn't show, because it was
so slick it felt greasy, and so that would tell on it every time.  (I
reckoned I wouldn't say nothing about the dollar I got from the judge.) I
said it was pretty bad money, but maybe the hair-ball would take it,
because maybe it wouldn't know the difference.  Jim smelt it and bit it
and rubbed it, and said he would manage so the hair-ball would think it
was good.  He said he would split open a raw Irish potato and stick the
quarter in between and keep it there all night, and next morning you
couldn't see no brass, and it wouldn't feel greasy no more, and so
anybody in town would take it in a minute, let alone a hair-ball.  Well,
I knowed a potato would do that before, but I had forgot it.

Jim put the quarter under the hair-ball, and got down and listened again.
This time he said the hair-ball was all right.  He said it would tell my
whole fortune if I wanted it to.  I says, go on.  So the hair-ball talked
to Jim, and Jim told it to me.  He says:

"Yo' ole father doan' know yit what he's a-gwyne to do.  Sometimes he
spec he'll go 'way, en den agin he spec he'll stay.  De bes' way is to
res' easy en let de ole man take his own way.  Dey's two angels hoverin'
roun' 'bout him.  One uv 'em is white en shiny, en t'other one is black.
De white one gits him to go right a little while, den de black one sail
in en bust it all up.  A body can't tell yit which one gwyne to fetch him
at de las'.  But you is all right.  You gwyne to have considable trouble
in yo' life, en considable joy.  Sometimes you gwyne to git hurt, en
sometimes you gwyne to git sick; but every time you's gwyne to git well
agin.  Dey's two gals flyin' 'bout you in yo' life.  One uv 'em's light
en t'other one is dark. One is rich en t'other is po'.  You's gwyne to
marry de po' one fust en de rich one by en by.  You wants to keep 'way
fum de water as much as you kin, en don't run no resk, 'kase it's down in
de bills dat you's gwyne to git hung."

When I lit my candle and went up to my room that night there sat pap--his
own self!




CHAPTER V.

I HAD shut the door to.  Then I turned around and there he was.  I used
to be scared of him all the time, he tanned me so much.  I reckoned I was
scared now, too; but in a minute I see I was mistaken--that is, after the
first jolt, as you may say, when my breath sort of hitched, he being so
unexpected; but right away after I see I warn't scared of him worth
bothring about.

He was most fifty, and he looked it.  His hair was long and tangled and
greasy, and hung down, and you could see his eyes shining through like he
was behind vines.  It was all black, no gray; so was his long, mixed-up
whiskers.  There warn't no color in his face, where his face showed; it
was white; not like another man's white, but a white to make a body sick,
a white to make a body's flesh crawl--a tree-toad white, a fish-belly
white.  As for his clothes--just rags, that was all.  He had one ankle
resting on t'other knee; the boot on that foot was busted, and two of his
toes stuck through, and he worked them now and then.  His hat was laying
on the floor--an old black slouch with the top caved in, like a lid.

I stood a-looking at him; he set there a-looking at me, with his chair
tilted back a little.  I set the candle down.  I noticed the window was
up; so he had clumb in by the shed.  He kept a-looking me all over.  By
and by he says:

"Starchy clothes--very.  You think you're a good deal of a big-bug, DON'T
you?"

"Maybe I am, maybe I ain't," I says.

"Don't you give me none o' your lip," says he.  "You've put on
considerable many frills since I been away.  I'll take you down a peg
before I get done with you.  You're educated, too, they say--can read and
write.  You think you're better'n your father, now, don't you, because he
can't?  I'LL take it out of you.  Who told you you might meddle with such
hifalut'n foolishness, hey?--who told you you could?"

"The widow.  She told me."

"The widow, hey?--and who told the widow she could put in her shovel
about a thing that ain't none of her business?"

"Nobody never told her."

"Well, I'll learn her how to meddle.  And looky here--you drop that
school, you hear?  I'll learn people to bring up a boy to put on airs
over his own father and let on to be better'n what HE is.  You lemme
catch you fooling around that school again, you hear?  Your mother
couldn't read, and she couldn't write, nuther, before she died.  None of
the family couldn't before THEY died.  I can't; and here you're
a-swelling yourself up like this.  I ain't the man to stand it--you hear?
Say, lemme hear you read."

I took up a book and begun something about General Washington and the
wars. When I'd read about a half a minute, he fetched the book a whack
with his hand and knocked it across the house.  He says:

"It's so.  You can do it.  I had my doubts when you told me.  Now looky
here; you stop that putting on frills.  I won't have it.  I'll lay for
you, my smarty; and if I catch you about that school I'll tan you good.
First you know you'll get religion, too.  I never see such a son."

He took up a little blue and yaller picture of some cows and a boy, and
says:

"What's this?"

"It's something they give me for learning my lessons good."

He tore it up, and says:

"I'll give you something better--I'll give you a cowhide."

He set there a-mumbling and a-growling a minute, and then he says:

"AIN'T you a sweet-scented dandy, though?  A bed; and bedclothes; and a
look'n'-glass; and a piece of carpet on the floor--and your own father
got to sleep with the hogs in the tanyard.  I never see such a son.  I
bet I'll take some o' these frills out o' you before I'm done with you.
Why, there ain't no end to your airs--they say you're rich.  Hey?--how's
that?"

"They lie--that's how."

"Looky here--mind how you talk to me; I'm a-standing about all I can
stand now--so don't gimme no sass.  I've been in town two days, and I
hain't heard nothing but about you bein' rich.  I heard about it away
down the river, too.  That's why I come.  You git me that money
to-morrow--I want it."

"I hain't got no money."

"It's a lie.  Judge Thatcher's got it.  You git it.  I want it."

"I hain't got no money, I tell you.  You ask Judge Thatcher; he'll tell
you the same."

"All right.  I'll ask him; and I'll make him pungle, too, or I'll know
the reason why.  Say, how much you got in your pocket?  I want it."

"I hain't got only a dollar, and I want that to--"

"It don't make no difference what you want it for--you just shell it
out."

He took it and bit it to see if it was good, and then he said he was
going down town to get some whisky; said he hadn't had a drink all day.
When he had got out on the shed he put his head in again, and cussed me
for putting on frills and trying to be better than him; and when I
reckoned he was gone he come back and put his head in again, and told me
to mind about that school, because he was going to lay for me and lick me
if I didn't drop that.

Next day he was drunk, and he went to Judge Thatcher's and bullyragged
him, and tried to make him give up the money; but he couldn't, and then
he swore he'd make the law force him.

The judge and the widow went to law to get the court to take me away from
him and let one of them be my guardian; but it was a new judge that had
just come, and he didn't know the old man; so he said courts mustn't
interfere and separate families if they could help it; said he'd druther
not take a child away from its father.  So Judge Thatcher and the widow
had to quit on the business.

That pleased the old man till he couldn't rest.  He said he'd cowhide me
till I was black and blue if I didn't raise some money for him.  I
borrowed three dollars from Judge Thatcher, and pap took it and got
drunk, and went a-blowing around and cussing and whooping and carrying
on; and he kept it up all over town, with a tin pan, till most midnight;
then they jailed him, and next day they had him before court, and jailed
him again for a week.  But he said HE was satisfied; said he was boss of
his son, and he'd make it warm for HIM.

When he got out the new judge said he was a-going to make a man of him.
So he took him to his own house, and dressed him up clean and nice, and
had him to breakfast and dinner and supper with the family, and was just
old pie to him, so to speak.  And after supper he talked to him about
temperance and such things till the old man cried, and said he'd been a
fool, and fooled away his life; but now he was a-going to turn over a new
leaf and be a man nobody wouldn't be ashamed of, and he hoped the judge
would help him and not look down on him.  The judge said he could hug him
for them words; so he cried, and his wife she cried again; pap said he'd
been a man that had always been misunderstood before, and the judge said
he believed it.  The old man said that what a man wanted that was down
was sympathy, and the judge said it was so; so they cried again.  And
when it was bedtime the old man rose up and held out his hand, and says:

"Look at it, gentlemen and ladies all; take a-hold of it; shake it.
There's a hand that was the hand of a hog; but it ain't so no more; it's
the hand of a man that's started in on a new life, and'll die before
he'll go back.  You mark them words--don't forget I said them.  It's a
clean hand now; shake it--don't be afeard."

So they shook it, one after the other, all around, and cried.  The
judge's wife she kissed it.  Then the old man he signed a pledge--made
his mark. The judge said it was the holiest time on record, or something
like that. Then they tucked the old man into a beautiful room, which was
the spare room, and in the night some time he got powerful thirsty and
clumb out on to the porch-roof and slid down a stanchion and traded his
new coat for a jug of forty-rod, and clumb back again and had a good old
time; and towards daylight he crawled out again, drunk as a fiddler, and
rolled off the porch and broke his left arm in two places, and was most
froze to death when somebody found him after sun-up.  And when they come
to look at that spare room they had to take soundings before they could
navigate it.

The judge he felt kind of sore.  He said he reckoned a body could reform
the old man with a shotgun, maybe, but he didn't know no other way.




CHAPTER VI.

WELL, pretty soon the old man was up and around again, and then he went
for Judge Thatcher in the courts to make him give up that money, and he
went for me, too, for not stopping school.  He catched me a couple of
times and thrashed me, but I went to school just the same, and dodged him
or outrun him most of the time.  I didn't want to go to school much
before, but I reckoned I'd go now to spite pap.  That law trial was a
slow business--appeared like they warn't ever going to get started on
it; so every now and then I'd borrow two or three dollars off of the
judge for him, to keep from getting a cowhiding.  Every time he got money
he got drunk; and every time he got drunk he raised Cain around town; and
every time he raised Cain he got jailed.  He was just suited--this kind
of thing was right in his line.

He got to hanging around the widow's too much and so she told him at last
that if he didn't quit using around there she would make trouble for him.
Well, WASN'T he mad?  He said he would show who was Huck Finn's boss.  So
he watched out for me one day in the spring, and catched me, and took me
up the river about three mile in a skiff, and crossed over to the
Illinois shore where it was woody and there warn't no houses but an old
log hut in a place where the timber was so thick you couldn't find it if
you didn't know where it was.

He kept me with him all the time, and I never got a chance to run off.
We lived in that old cabin, and he always locked the door and put the key
under his head nights.  He had a gun which he had stole, I reckon, and we
fished and hunted, and that was what we lived on.  Every little while he
locked me in and went down to the store, three miles, to the ferry, and
traded fish and game for whisky, and fetched it home and got drunk and
had a good time, and licked me.  The widow she found out where I was by
and by, and she sent a man over to try to get hold of me; but pap drove
him off with the gun, and it warn't long after that till I was used to
being where I was, and liked it--all but the cowhide part.

It was kind of lazy and jolly, laying off comfortable all day, smoking
and fishing, and no books nor study.  Two months or more run along, and
my clothes got to be all rags and dirt, and I didn't see how I'd ever got
to like it so well at the widow's, where you had to wash, and eat on a
plate, and comb up, and go to bed and get up regular, and be forever
bothering over a book, and have old Miss Watson pecking at you all the
time.  I didn't want to go back no more.  I had stopped cussing, because
the widow didn't like it; but now I took to it again because pap hadn't
no objections.  It was pretty good times up in the woods there, take it
all around.

But by and by pap got too handy with his hick'ry, and I couldn't stand
it. I was all over welts.  He got to going away so much, too, and locking
me in.  Once he locked me in and was gone three days.  It was dreadful
lonesome.  I judged he had got drowned, and I wasn't ever going to get
out any more.  I was scared.  I made up my mind I would fix up some way
to leave there.  I had tried to get out of that cabin many a time, but I
couldn't find no way.  There warn't a window to it big enough for a dog
to get through.  I couldn't get up the chimbly; it was too narrow.  The
door was thick, solid oak slabs.  Pap was pretty careful not to leave a
knife or anything in the cabin when he was away; I reckon I had hunted
the place over as much as a hundred times; well, I was most all the time
at it, because it was about the only way to put in the time.  But this
time I found something at last; I found an old rusty wood-saw without any
handle; it was laid in between a rafter and the clapboards of the roof.
I greased it up and went to work.  There was an old horse-blanket nailed
against the logs at the far end of the cabin behind the table, to keep
the wind from blowing through the chinks and putting the candle out.  I
got under the table and raised the blanket, and went to work to saw a
section of the big bottom log out--big enough to let me through.  Well,
it was a good long job, but I was getting towards the end of it when I
heard pap's gun in the woods.  I got rid of the signs of my work, and
dropped the blanket and hid my saw, and pretty soon pap come in.

Pap warn't in a good humor--so he was his natural self.  He said he was
down town, and everything was going wrong.  His lawyer said he reckoned
he would win his lawsuit and get the money if they ever got started on
the trial; but then there was ways to put it off a long time, and Judge
Thatcher knowed how to do it.  And he said people allowed there'd be
another trial to get me away from him and give me to the widow for my
guardian, and they guessed it would win this time.  This shook me up
considerable, because I didn't want to go back to the widow's any more
and be so cramped up and sivilized, as they called it.  Then the old man
got to cussing, and cussed everything and everybody he could think of,
and then cussed them all over again to make sure he hadn't skipped any,
and after that he polished off with a kind of a general cuss all round,
including a considerable parcel of people which he didn't know the names
of, and so called them what's-his-name when he got to them, and went
right along with his cussing.

He said he would like to see the widow get me.  He said he would watch
out, and if they tried to come any such game on him he knowed of a place
six or seven mile off to stow me in, where they might hunt till they
dropped and they couldn't find me.  That made me pretty uneasy again, but
only for a minute; I reckoned I wouldn't stay on hand till he got that
chance.

The old man made me go to the skiff and fetch the things he had got.
There was a fifty-pound sack of corn meal, and a side of bacon,
ammunition, and a four-gallon jug of whisky, and an old book and two
newspapers for wadding, besides some tow.  I toted up a load, and went
back and set down on the bow of the skiff to rest.  I thought it all
over, and I reckoned I would walk off with the gun and some lines, and
take to the woods when I run away.  I guessed I wouldn't stay in one
place, but just tramp right across the country, mostly night times, and
hunt and fish to keep alive, and so get so far away that the old man nor
the widow couldn't ever find me any more.  I judged I would saw out and
leave that night if pap got drunk enough, and I reckoned he would.  I got
so full of it I didn't notice how long I was staying till the old man
hollered and asked me whether I was asleep or drownded.

I got the things all up to the cabin, and then it was about dark.  While
I was cooking supper the old man took a swig or two and got sort of
warmed up, and went to ripping again.  He had been drunk over in town,
and laid in the gutter all night, and he was a sight to look at.  A body
would a thought he was Adam--he was just all mud.  Whenever his liquor
begun to work he most always went for the govment, this time he says:

"Call this a govment! why, just look at it and see what it's like.
Here's the law a-standing ready to take a man's son away from him--a
man's own son, which he has had all the trouble and all the anxiety and
all the expense of raising.  Yes, just as that man has got that son
raised at last, and ready to go to work and begin to do suthin' for HIM
and give him a rest, the law up and goes for him.  And they call THAT
govment!  That ain't all, nuther.  The law backs that old Judge Thatcher
up and helps him to keep me out o' my property.  Here's what the law
does:  The law takes a man worth six thousand dollars and up'ards, and
jams him into an old trap of a cabin like this, and lets him go round in
clothes that ain't fitten for a hog. They call that govment!  A man can't
get his rights in a govment like this. Sometimes I've a mighty notion to
just leave the country for good and all. Yes, and I TOLD 'em so; I told
old Thatcher so to his face.  Lots of 'em heard me, and can tell what I
said.  Says I, for two cents I'd leave the blamed country and never come
a-near it agin.  Them's the very words.  I says look at my hat--if you
call it a hat--but the lid raises up and the rest of it goes down till
it's below my chin, and then it ain't rightly a hat at all, but more like
my head was shoved up through a jint o' stove-pipe.  Look at it, says I
--such a hat for me to wear--one of the wealthiest men in this town if I
could git my rights.

"Oh, yes, this is a wonderful govment, wonderful.  Why, looky here.
There was a free nigger there from Ohio--a mulatter, most as white as a
white man.  He had the whitest shirt on you ever see, too, and the
shiniest hat; and there ain't a man in that town that's got as fine
clothes as what he had; and he had a gold watch and chain, and a
silver-headed cane--the awfulest old gray-headed nabob in the State.  And
what do you think?  They said he was a p'fessor in a college, and could
talk all kinds of languages, and knowed everything.  And that ain't the
wust. They said he could VOTE when he was at home.  Well, that let me
out. Thinks I, what is the country a-coming to?  It was 'lection day, and
I was just about to go and vote myself if I warn't too drunk to get
there; but when they told me there was a State in this country where
they'd let that nigger vote, I drawed out.  I says I'll never vote agin.
Them's the very words I said; they all heard me; and the country may rot
for all me--I'll never vote agin as long as I live.  And to see the cool
way of that nigger--why, he wouldn't a give me the road if I hadn't
shoved him out o' the way.  I says to the people, why ain't this nigger
put up at auction and sold?--that's what I want to know.  And what do you
reckon they said? Why, they said he couldn't be sold till he'd been in
the State six months, and he hadn't been there that long yet.  There,
now--that's a specimen.  They call that a govment that can't sell a free
nigger till he's been in the State six months.  Here's a govment that
calls itself a govment, and lets on to be a govment, and thinks it is a
govment, and yet's got to set stock-still for six whole months before it
can take a hold of a prowling, thieving, infernal, white-shirted free
nigger, and--"

Pap was agoing on so he never noticed where his old limber legs was
taking him to, so he went head over heels over the tub of salt pork and
barked both shins, and the rest of his speech was all the hottest kind of
language--mostly hove at the nigger and the govment, though he give the
tub some, too, all along, here and there.  He hopped around the cabin
considerable, first on one leg and then on the other, holding first one
shin and then the other one, and at last he let out with his left foot
all of a sudden and fetched the tub a rattling kick.  But it warn't good
judgment, because that was the boot that had a couple of his toes leaking
out of the front end of it; so now he raised a howl that fairly made a
body's hair raise, and down he went in the dirt, and rolled there, and
held his toes; and the cussing he done then laid over anything he had
ever done previous.  He said so his own self afterwards.  He had heard
old Sowberry Hagan in his best days, and he said it laid over him, too;
but I reckon that was sort of piling it on, maybe.

After supper pap took the jug, and said he had enough whisky there for
two drunks and one delirium tremens.  That was always his word.  I judged
he would be blind drunk in about an hour, and then I would steal the key,
or saw myself out, one or t'other.  He drank and drank, and tumbled down
on his blankets by and by; but luck didn't run my way.  He didn't go
sound asleep, but was uneasy.  He groaned and moaned and thrashed around
this way and that for a long time.  At last I got so sleepy I couldn't
keep my eyes open all I could do, and so before I knowed what I was about
I was sound asleep, and the candle burning.

I don't know how long I was asleep, but all of a sudden there was an
awful scream and I was up.  There was pap looking wild, and skipping
around every which way and yelling about snakes.  He said they was
crawling up his legs; and then he would give a jump and scream, and say
one had bit him on the cheek--but I couldn't see no snakes.  He started
and run round and round the cabin, hollering "Take him off! take him off!
he's biting me on the neck!"  I never see a man look so wild in the eyes.
Pretty soon he was all fagged out, and fell down panting; then he rolled
over and over wonderful fast, kicking things every which way, and
striking and grabbing at the air with his hands, and screaming and saying
there was devils a-hold of him.  He wore out by and by, and laid still a
while, moaning.  Then he laid stiller, and didn't make a sound.  I could
hear the owls and the wolves away off in the woods, and it seemed
terrible still.  He was laying over by the corner. By and by he raised up
part way and listened, with his head to one side.  He says, very low:

"Tramp--tramp--tramp; that's the dead; tramp--tramp--tramp; they're
coming after me; but I won't go.  Oh, they're here! don't touch me
--don't! hands off--they're cold; let go.  Oh, let a poor devil alone!"

Then he went down on all fours and crawled off, begging them to let him
alone, and he rolled himself up in his blanket and wallowed in under the
old pine table, still a-begging; and then he went to crying.  I could
hear him through the blanket.

By and by he rolled out and jumped up on his feet looking wild, and he
see me and went for me.  He chased me round and round the place with a
clasp-knife, calling me the Angel of Death, and saying he would kill me,
and then I couldn't come for him no more.  I begged, and told him I was
only Huck; but he laughed SUCH a screechy laugh, and roared and cussed,
and kept on chasing me up.  Once when I turned short and dodged under his
arm he made a grab and got me by the jacket between my shoulders, and I
thought I was gone; but I slid out of the jacket quick as lightning, and
saved myself. Pretty soon he was all tired out, and dropped down with his
back against the door, and said he would rest a minute and then kill me.
He put his knife under him, and said he would sleep and get strong, and
then he would see who was who.

So he dozed off pretty soon.  By and by I got the old split-bottom chair
and clumb up as easy as I could, not to make any noise, and got down the
gun.  I slipped the ramrod down it to make sure it was loaded, then I
laid it across the turnip barrel, pointing towards pap, and set down
behind it to wait for him to stir.  And how slow and still the time did
drag along.




CHAPTER VII.

"GIT up!  What you 'bout?"

I opened my eyes and looked around, trying to make out where I was.  It
was after sun-up, and I had been sound asleep.  Pap was standing over me
looking sour and sick, too.  He says:

"What you doin' with this gun?"

I judged he didn't know nothing about what he had been doing, so I says:

"Somebody tried to get in, so I was laying for him."

"Why didn't you roust me out?"

"Well, I tried to, but I couldn't; I couldn't budge you."

"Well, all right.  Don't stand there palavering all day, but out with you
and see if there's a fish on the lines for breakfast.  I'll be along in a
minute."

He unlocked the door, and I cleared out up the river-bank.  I noticed
some pieces of limbs and such things floating down, and a sprinkling of
bark; so I knowed the river had begun to rise.  I reckoned I would have
great times now if I was over at the town.  The June rise used to be
always luck for me; because as soon as that rise begins here comes
cordwood floating down, and pieces of log rafts--sometimes a dozen logs
together; so all you have to do is to catch them and sell them to the
wood-yards and the sawmill.

I went along up the bank with one eye out for pap and t'other one out for
what the rise might fetch along.  Well, all at once here comes a canoe;
just a beauty, too, about thirteen or fourteen foot long, riding high
like a duck.  I shot head-first off of the bank like a frog, clothes and
all on, and struck out for the canoe.  I just expected there'd be
somebody laying down in it, because people often done that to fool folks,
and when a chap had pulled a skiff out most to it they'd raise up and
laugh at him.  But it warn't so this time.  It was a drift-canoe sure
enough, and I clumb in and paddled her ashore.  Thinks I, the old man
will be glad when he sees this--she's worth ten dollars.  But when I
got to shore pap wasn't in sight yet, and as I was running her into a
little creek like a gully, all hung over with vines and willows, I struck
another idea:  I judged I'd hide her good, and then, 'stead of taking to
the woods when I run off, I'd go down the river about fifty mile and camp
in one place for good, and not have such a rough time tramping on foot.

It was pretty close to the shanty, and I thought I heard the old man
coming all the time; but I got her hid; and then I out and looked around
a bunch of willows, and there was the old man down the path a piece just
drawing a bead on a bird with his gun.  So he hadn't seen anything.

When he got along I was hard at it taking up a "trot" line.  He abused me
a little for being so slow; but I told him I fell in the river, and that
was what made me so long.  I knowed he would see I was wet, and then he
would be asking questions.  We got five catfish off the lines and went
home.

While we laid off after breakfast to sleep up, both of us being about
wore out, I got to thinking that if I could fix up some way to keep pap
and the widow from trying to follow me, it would be a certainer thing
than trusting to luck to get far enough off before they missed me; you
see, all kinds of things might happen.  Well, I didn't see no way for a
while, but by and by pap raised up a minute to drink another barrel of
water, and he says:

"Another time a man comes a-prowling round here you roust me out, you
hear? That man warn't here for no good.  I'd a shot him.  Next time you
roust me out, you hear?"

Then he dropped down and went to sleep again; but what he had been saying
give me the very idea I wanted.  I says to myself, I can fix it now so
nobody won't think of following me.

About twelve o'clock we turned out and went along up the bank.  The river
was coming up pretty fast, and lots of driftwood going by on the rise.
By and by along comes part of a log raft--nine logs fast together.  We
went out with the skiff and towed it ashore.  Then we had dinner.
Anybody but pap would a waited and seen the day through, so as to catch
more stuff; but that warn't pap's style.  Nine logs was enough for one
time; he must shove right over to town and sell.  So he locked me in and
took the skiff, and started off towing the raft about half-past three.  I
judged he wouldn't come back that night.  I waited till I reckoned he had
got a good start; then I out with my saw, and went to work on that log
again.  Before he was t'other side of the river I was out of the hole;
him and his raft was just a speck on the water away off yonder.

I took the sack of corn meal and took it to where the canoe was hid, and
shoved the vines and branches apart and put it in; then I done the same
with the side of bacon; then the whisky-jug.  I took all the coffee and
sugar there was, and all the ammunition; I took the wadding; I took the
bucket and gourd; I took a dipper and a tin cup, and my old saw and two
blankets, and the skillet and the coffee-pot.  I took fish-lines and
matches and other things--everything that was worth a cent.  I cleaned
out the place.  I wanted an axe, but there wasn't any, only the one out
at the woodpile, and I knowed why I was going to leave that.  I fetched
out the gun, and now I was done.

I had wore the ground a good deal crawling out of the hole and dragging
out so many things.  So I fixed that as good as I could from the outside
by scattering dust on the place, which covered up the smoothness and the
sawdust.  Then I fixed the piece of log back into its place, and put two
rocks under it and one against it to hold it there, for it was bent up at
that place and didn't quite touch ground.  If you stood four or five foot
away and didn't know it was sawed, you wouldn't never notice it; and
besides, this was the back of the cabin, and it warn't likely anybody
would go fooling around there.

It was all grass clear to the canoe, so I hadn't left a track.  I
followed around to see.  I stood on the bank and looked out over the
river.  All safe.  So I took the gun and went up a piece into the woods,
and was hunting around for some birds when I see a wild pig; hogs soon
went wild in them bottoms after they had got away from the prairie farms.
I shot this fellow and took him into camp.

I took the axe and smashed in the door.  I beat it and hacked it
considerable a-doing it.  I fetched the pig in, and took him back nearly
to the table and hacked into his throat with the axe, and laid him down
on the ground to bleed; I say ground because it was ground--hard packed,
and no boards.  Well, next I took an old sack and put a lot of big rocks
in it--all I could drag--and I started it from the pig, and dragged it
to the door and through the woods down to the river and dumped it in, and
down it sunk, out of sight.  You could easy see that something had been
dragged over the ground.  I did wish Tom Sawyer was there; I knowed he
would take an interest in this kind of business, and throw in the fancy
touches.  Nobody could spread himself like Tom Sawyer in such a thing as
that.

Well, last I pulled out some of my hair, and blooded the axe good, and
stuck it on the back side, and slung the axe in the corner.  Then I took
up the pig and held him to my breast with my jacket (so he couldn't drip)
till I got a good piece below the house and then dumped him into the
river.  Now I thought of something else.  So I went and got the bag of
meal and my old saw out of the canoe, and fetched them to the house.  I
took the bag to where it used to stand, and ripped a hole in the bottom
of it with the saw, for there warn't no knives and forks on the place
--pap done everything with his clasp-knife about the cooking.  Then I
carried the sack about a hundred yards across the grass and through the
willows east of the house, to a shallow lake that was five mile wide and
full of rushes--and ducks too, you might say, in the season.  There was a
slough or a creek leading out of it on the other side that went miles
away, I don't know where, but it didn't go to the river.  The meal sifted
out and made a little track all the way to the lake.  I dropped pap's
whetstone there too, so as to look like it had been done by accident.
Then I tied up the rip in the meal sack with a string, so it wouldn't
leak no more, and took it and my saw to the canoe again.

It was about dark now; so I dropped the canoe down the river under some
willows that hung over the bank, and waited for the moon to rise.  I made
fast to a willow; then I took a bite to eat, and by and by laid down in
the canoe to smoke a pipe and lay out a plan.  I says to myself, they'll
follow the track of that sackful of rocks to the shore and then drag the
river for me.  And they'll follow that meal track to the lake and go
browsing down the creek that leads out of it to find the robbers that
killed me and took the things.  They won't ever hunt the river for
anything but my dead carcass. They'll soon get tired of that, and won't
bother no more about me.  All right; I can stop anywhere I want to.
Jackson's Island is good enough for me; I know that island pretty well,
and nobody ever comes there.  And then I can paddle over to town nights,
and slink around and pick up things I want. Jackson's Island's the place.

I was pretty tired, and the first thing I knowed I was asleep.  When I
woke up I didn't know where I was for a minute.  I set up and looked
around, a little scared.  Then I remembered.  The river looked miles and
miles across.  The moon was so bright I could a counted the drift logs
that went a-slipping along, black and still, hundreds of yards out from
shore. Everything was dead quiet, and it looked late, and SMELT late.
You know what I mean--I don't know the words to put it in.

I took a good gap and a stretch, and was just going to unhitch and start
when I heard a sound away over the water.  I listened.  Pretty soon I
made it out.  It was that dull kind of a regular sound that comes from
oars working in rowlocks when it's a still night.  I peeped out through
the willow branches, and there it was--a skiff, away across the water.  I
couldn't tell how many was in it.  It kept a-coming, and when it was
abreast of me I see there warn't but one man in it.  Think's I, maybe
it's pap, though I warn't expecting him.  He dropped below me with the
current, and by and by he came a-swinging up shore in the easy water, and
he went by so close I could a reached out the gun and touched him.  Well,
it WAS pap, sure enough--and sober, too, by the way he laid his oars.

I didn't lose no time.  The next minute I was a-spinning down stream soft
but quick in the shade of the bank.  I made two mile and a half, and then
struck out a quarter of a mile or more towards the middle of the river,
because pretty soon I would be passing the ferry landing, and people
might see me and hail me.  I got out amongst the driftwood, and then laid
down in the bottom of the canoe and let her float.  I laid there, and had
a good rest and a smoke out of my pipe, looking away into the sky; not a
cloud in it.  The sky looks ever so deep when you lay down on your back
in the moonshine; I never knowed it before.  And how far a body can hear
on the water such nights!  I heard people talking at the ferry landing.
I heard what they said, too--every word of it.  One man said it was
getting towards the long days and the short nights now.  T'other one said
THIS warn't one of the short ones, he reckoned--and then they laughed,
and he said it over again, and they laughed again; then they waked up
another fellow and told him, and laughed, but he didn't laugh; he ripped
out something brisk, and said let him alone.  The first fellow said he
'lowed to tell it to his old woman--she would think it was pretty good;
but he said that warn't nothing to some things he had said in his time.
I heard one man say it was nearly three o'clock, and he hoped daylight
wouldn't wait more than about a week longer.  After that the talk got
further and further away, and I couldn't make out the words any more; but
I could hear the mumble, and now and then a laugh, too, but it seemed a
long ways off.

I was away below the ferry now.  I rose up, and there was Jackson's
Island, about two mile and a half down stream, heavy timbered and
standing up out of the middle of the river, big and dark and solid, like
a steamboat without any lights.  There warn't any signs of the bar at the
head--it was all under water now.

It didn't take me long to get there.  I shot past the head at a ripping
rate, the current was so swift, and then I got into the dead water and
landed on the side towards the Illinois shore.  I run the canoe into a
deep dent in the bank that I knowed about; I had to part the willow
branches to get in; and when I made fast nobody could a seen the canoe
from the outside.

I went up and set down on a log at the head of the island, and looked out
on the big river and the black driftwood and away over to the town, three
mile away, where there was three or four lights twinkling.  A monstrous
big lumber-raft was about a mile up stream, coming along down, with a
lantern in the middle of it.  I watched it come creeping down, and when
it was most abreast of where I stood I heard a man say, "Stern oars,
there! heave her head to stabboard!"  I heard that just as plain as if
the man was by my side.

There was a little gray in the sky now; so I stepped into the woods, and
laid down for a nap before breakfast.




CHAPTER VIII.

THE sun was up so high when I waked that I judged it was after eight
o'clock.  I laid there in the grass and the cool shade thinking about
things, and feeling rested and ruther comfortable and satisfied.  I could
see the sun out at one or two holes, but mostly it was big trees all
about, and gloomy in there amongst them.  There was freckled places on
the ground where the light sifted down through the leaves, and the
freckled places swapped about a little, showing there was a little breeze
up there.  A couple of squirrels set on a limb and jabbered at me very
friendly.

I was powerful lazy and comfortable--didn't want to get up and cook
breakfast.  Well, I was dozing off again when I thinks I hears a deep
sound of "boom!" away up the river.  I rouses up, and rests on my elbow
and listens; pretty soon I hears it again.  I hopped up, and went and
looked out at a hole in the leaves, and I see a bunch of smoke laying on
the water a long ways up--about abreast the ferry.  And there was the
ferryboat full of people floating along down.  I knowed what was the
matter now.  "Boom!" I see the white smoke squirt out of the ferryboat's
side.  You see, they was firing cannon over the water, trying to make my
carcass come to the top.

I was pretty hungry, but it warn't going to do for me to start a fire,
because they might see the smoke.  So I set there and watched the
cannon-smoke and listened to the boom.  The river was a mile wide there,
and it always looks pretty on a summer morning--so I was having a good
enough time seeing them hunt for my remainders if I only had a bite to
eat. Well, then I happened to think how they always put quicksilver in
loaves of bread and float them off, because they always go right to the
drownded carcass and stop there.  So, says I, I'll keep a lookout, and if
any of them's floating around after me I'll give them a show.  I changed
to the Illinois edge of the island to see what luck I could have, and I
warn't disappointed.  A big double loaf come along, and I most got it
with a long stick, but my foot slipped and she floated out further.  Of
course I was where the current set in the closest to the shore--I knowed
enough for that.  But by and by along comes another one, and this time I
won.  I took out the plug and shook out the little dab of quicksilver,
and set my teeth in.  It was "baker's bread"--what the quality eat; none
of your low-down corn-pone.

I got a good place amongst the leaves, and set there on a log, munching
the bread and watching the ferry-boat, and very well satisfied.  And then
something struck me.  I says, now I reckon the widow or the parson or
somebody prayed that this bread would find me, and here it has gone and
done it.  So there ain't no doubt but there is something in that thing
--that is, there's something in it when a body like the widow or the parson
prays, but it don't work for me, and I reckon it don't work for only just
the right kind.

I lit a pipe and had a good long smoke, and went on watching.  The
ferryboat was floating with the current, and I allowed I'd have a chance
to see who was aboard when she come along, because she would come in
close, where the bread did.  When she'd got pretty well along down
towards me, I put out my pipe and went to where I fished out the bread,
and laid down behind a log on the bank in a little open place.  Where the
log forked I could peep through.

By and by she come along, and she drifted in so close that they could a
run out a plank and walked ashore.  Most everybody was on the boat.  Pap,
and Judge Thatcher, and Bessie Thatcher, and Jo Harper, and Tom Sawyer,
and his old Aunt Polly, and Sid and Mary, and plenty more.  Everybody was
talking about the murder, but the captain broke in and says:

"Look sharp, now; the current sets in the closest here, and maybe he's
washed ashore and got tangled amongst the brush at the water's edge.  I
hope so, anyway."

"I didn't hope so.  They all crowded up and leaned over the rails, nearly
in my face, and kept still, watching with all their might.  I could see
them first-rate, but they couldn't see me.  Then the captain sung out:

"Stand away!" and the cannon let off such a blast right before me that it
made me deef with the noise and pretty near blind with the smoke, and I
judged I was gone.  If they'd a had some bullets in, I reckon they'd a
got the corpse they was after.  Well, I see I warn't hurt, thanks to
goodness. The boat floated on and went out of sight around the shoulder
of the island.  I could hear the booming now and then, further and
further off, and by and by, after an hour, I didn't hear it no more.  The
island was three mile long.  I judged they had got to the foot, and was
giving it up.  But they didn't yet a while.  They turned around the foot
of the island and started up the channel on the Missouri side, under
steam, and booming once in a while as they went.  I crossed over to that
side and watched them. When they got abreast the head of the island they
quit shooting and dropped over to the Missouri shore and went home to the
town.

I knowed I was all right now.  Nobody else would come a-hunting after me.
I got my traps out of the canoe and made me a nice camp in the thick
woods.  I made a kind of a tent out of my blankets to put my things under
so the rain couldn't get at them.  I catched a catfish and haggled him
open with my saw, and towards sundown I started my camp fire and had
supper.  Then I set out a line to catch some fish for breakfast.

When it was dark I set by my camp fire smoking, and feeling pretty well
satisfied; but by and by it got sort of lonesome, and so I went and set
on the bank and listened to the current swashing along, and counted the
stars and drift logs and rafts that come down, and then went to bed;
there ain't no better way to put in time when you are lonesome; you can't
stay so, you soon get over it.

And so for three days and nights.  No difference--just the same thing.
But the next day I went exploring around down through the island.  I was
boss of it; it all belonged to me, so to say, and I wanted to know all
about it; but mainly I wanted to put in the time.  I found plenty
strawberries, ripe and prime; and green summer grapes, and green
razberries; and the green blackberries was just beginning to show.  They
would all come handy by and by, I judged.

Well, I went fooling along in the deep woods till I judged I warn't far
from the foot of the island.  I had my gun along, but I hadn't shot
nothing; it was for protection; thought I would kill some game nigh home.
About this time I mighty near stepped on a good-sized snake, and it went
sliding off through the grass and flowers, and I after it, trying to get
a shot at it. I clipped along, and all of a sudden I bounded right on to
the ashes of a camp fire that was still smoking.

My heart jumped up amongst my lungs.  I never waited for to look further,
but uncocked my gun and went sneaking back on my tiptoes as fast as ever
I could.  Every now and then I stopped a second amongst the thick leaves
and listened, but my breath come so hard I couldn't hear nothing else.  I
slunk along another piece further, then listened again; and so on, and so
on.  If I see a stump, I took it for a man; if I trod on a stick and
broke it, it made me feel like a person had cut one of my breaths in two
and I only got half, and the short half, too.

When I got to camp I warn't feeling very brash, there warn't much sand in
my craw; but I says, this ain't no time to be fooling around.  So I got
all my traps into my canoe again so as to have them out of sight, and I
put out the fire and scattered the ashes around to look like an old last
year's camp, and then clumb a tree.

I reckon I was up in the tree two hours; but I didn't see nothing, I
didn't hear nothing--I only THOUGHT I heard and seen as much as a
thousand things.  Well, I couldn't stay up there forever; so at last I
got down, but I kept in the thick woods and on the lookout all the time.
All I could get to eat was berries and what was left over from breakfast.

By the time it was night I was pretty hungry.  So when it was good and
dark I slid out from shore before moonrise and paddled over to the
Illinois bank--about a quarter of a mile.  I went out in the woods and
cooked a supper, and I had about made up my mind I would stay there all
night when I hear a PLUNKETY-PLUNK, PLUNKETY-PLUNK, and says to myself,
horses coming; and next I hear people's voices.  I got everything into
the canoe as quick as I could, and then went creeping through the woods
to see what I could find out.  I hadn't got far when I hear a man say:

"We better camp here if we can find a good place; the horses is about
beat out.  Let's look around."

I didn't wait, but shoved out and paddled away easy.  I tied up in the
old place, and reckoned I would sleep in the canoe.

I didn't sleep much.  I couldn't, somehow, for thinking.  And every time
I waked up I thought somebody had me by the neck.  So the sleep didn't do
me no good.  By and by I says to myself, I can't live this way; I'm
a-going to find out who it is that's here on the island with me; I'll
find it out or bust.  Well, I felt better right off.

So I took my paddle and slid out from shore just a step or two, and then
let the canoe drop along down amongst the shadows.  The moon was shining,
and outside of the shadows it made it most as light as day.  I poked
along well on to an hour, everything still as rocks and sound asleep.
Well, by this time I was most down to the foot of the island.  A little
ripply, cool breeze begun to blow, and that was as good as saying the
night was about done.  I give her a turn with the paddle and brung her
nose to shore; then I got my gun and slipped out and into the edge of the
woods.  I sat down there on a log, and looked out through the leaves.  I
see the moon go off watch, and the darkness begin to blanket the river.
But in a little while I see a pale streak over the treetops, and knowed
the day was coming.  So I took my gun and slipped off towards where I had
run across that camp fire, stopping every minute or two to listen.  But I
hadn't no luck somehow; I couldn't seem to find the place.  But by and
by, sure enough, I catched a glimpse of fire away through the trees.  I
went for it, cautious and slow.  By and by I was close enough to have a
look, and there laid a man on the ground.  It most give me the fantods.
He had a blanket around his head, and his head was nearly in the fire.  I
set there behind a clump of bushes in about six foot of him, and kept my
eyes on him steady.  It was getting gray daylight now.  Pretty soon he
gapped and stretched himself and hove off the blanket, and it was Miss
Watson's Jim!  I bet I was glad to see him.  I says:

"Hello, Jim!" and skipped out.

He bounced up and stared at me wild.  Then he drops down on his knees,
and puts his hands together and says:

"Doan' hurt me--don't!  I hain't ever done no harm to a ghos'.  I alwuz
liked dead people, en done all I could for 'em.  You go en git in de
river agin, whah you b'longs, en doan' do nuffn to Ole Jim, 'at 'uz awluz
yo' fren'."

Well, I warn't long making him understand I warn't dead.  I was ever so
glad to see Jim.  I warn't lonesome now.  I told him I warn't afraid of
HIM telling the people where I was.  I talked along, but he only set
there and looked at me; never said nothing.  Then I says:

"It's good daylight.  Le's get breakfast.  Make up your camp fire good."

"What's de use er makin' up de camp fire to cook strawbries en sich
truck? But you got a gun, hain't you?  Den we kin git sumfn better den
strawbries."

"Strawberries and such truck," I says.  "Is that what you live on?"

"I couldn' git nuffn else," he says.

"Why, how long you been on the island, Jim?"

"I come heah de night arter you's killed."

"What, all that time?"

"Yes--indeedy."

"And ain't you had nothing but that kind of rubbage to eat?"

"No, sah--nuffn else."

"Well, you must be most starved, ain't you?"

"I reck'n I could eat a hoss.  I think I could. How long you ben on de
islan'?"

"Since the night I got killed."

"No!  W'y, what has you lived on?  But you got a gun.  Oh, yes, you got a
gun.  Dat's good.  Now you kill sumfn en I'll make up de fire."

So we went over to where the canoe was, and while he built a fire in a
grassy open place amongst the trees, I fetched meal and bacon and coffee,
and coffee-pot and frying-pan, and sugar and tin cups, and the nigger was
set back considerable, because he reckoned it was all done with
witchcraft. I catched a good big catfish, too, and Jim cleaned him with
his knife, and fried him.

When breakfast was ready we lolled on the grass and eat it smoking hot.
Jim laid it in with all his might, for he was most about starved.  Then
when we had got pretty well stuffed, we laid off and lazied.  By and by
Jim says:

"But looky here, Huck, who wuz it dat 'uz killed in dat shanty ef it
warn't you?"

Then I told him the whole thing, and he said it was smart.  He said Tom
Sawyer couldn't get up no better plan than what I had.  Then I says:

"How do you come to be here, Jim, and how'd you get here?"

He looked pretty uneasy, and didn't say nothing for a minute.  Then he
says:

"Maybe I better not tell."

"Why, Jim?"

"Well, dey's reasons.  But you wouldn' tell on me ef I uz to tell you,
would you, Huck?"

"Blamed if I would, Jim."

"Well, I b'lieve you, Huck.  I--I RUN OFF."

"Jim!"

"But mind, you said you wouldn' tell--you know you said you wouldn' tell,
Huck."

"Well, I did.  I said I wouldn't, and I'll stick to it.  Honest INJUN, I
will.  People would call me a low-down Abolitionist and despise me for
keeping mum--but that don't make no difference.  I ain't a-going to tell,
and I ain't a-going back there, anyways.  So, now, le's know all about
it."

"Well, you see, it 'uz dis way.  Ole missus--dat's Miss Watson--she pecks
on me all de time, en treats me pooty rough, but she awluz said she
wouldn' sell me down to Orleans.  But I noticed dey wuz a nigger trader
roun' de place considable lately, en I begin to git oneasy.  Well, one
night I creeps to de do' pooty late, en de do' warn't quite shet, en I
hear old missus tell de widder she gwyne to sell me down to Orleans, but
she didn' want to, but she could git eight hund'd dollars for me, en it
'uz sich a big stack o' money she couldn' resis'.  De widder she try to
git her to say she wouldn' do it, but I never waited to hear de res'.  I
lit out mighty quick, I tell you.

"I tuck out en shin down de hill, en 'spec to steal a skift 'long de sho'
som'ers 'bove de town, but dey wuz people a-stirring yit, so I hid in de
ole tumble-down cooper-shop on de bank to wait for everybody to go 'way.
Well, I wuz dah all night.  Dey wuz somebody roun' all de time.  'Long
'bout six in de mawnin' skifts begin to go by, en 'bout eight er nine
every skift dat went 'long wuz talkin' 'bout how yo' pap come over to de
town en say you's killed.  Dese las' skifts wuz full o' ladies en genlmen
a-goin' over for to see de place.  Sometimes dey'd pull up at de sho' en
take a res' b'fo' dey started acrost, so by de talk I got to know all
'bout de killin'.  I 'uz powerful sorry you's killed, Huck, but I ain't
no mo' now.

"I laid dah under de shavin's all day.  I 'uz hungry, but I warn't
afeard; bekase I knowed ole missus en de widder wuz goin' to start to de
camp-meet'n' right arter breakfas' en be gone all day, en dey knows I
goes off wid de cattle 'bout daylight, so dey wouldn' 'spec to see me
roun' de place, en so dey wouldn' miss me tell arter dark in de evenin'.
De yuther servants wouldn' miss me, kase dey'd shin out en take holiday
soon as de ole folks 'uz out'n de way.

"Well, when it come dark I tuck out up de river road, en went 'bout two
mile er more to whah dey warn't no houses.  I'd made up my mine 'bout
what I's agwyne to do.  You see, ef I kep' on tryin' to git away afoot,
de dogs 'ud track me; ef I stole a skift to cross over, dey'd miss dat
skift, you see, en dey'd know 'bout whah I'd lan' on de yuther side, en
whah to pick up my track.  So I says, a raff is what I's arter; it doan'
MAKE no track.

"I see a light a-comin' roun' de p'int bymeby, so I wade' in en shove' a
log ahead o' me en swum more'n half way acrost de river, en got in
'mongst de drift-wood, en kep' my head down low, en kinder swum agin de
current tell de raff come along.  Den I swum to de stern uv it en tuck
a-holt.  It clouded up en 'uz pooty dark for a little while.  So I clumb
up en laid down on de planks.  De men 'uz all 'way yonder in de middle,
whah de lantern wuz.  De river wuz a-risin', en dey wuz a good current;
so I reck'n'd 'at by fo' in de mawnin' I'd be twenty-five mile down de
river, en den I'd slip in jis b'fo' daylight en swim asho', en take to
de woods on de Illinois side.

"But I didn' have no luck.  When we 'uz mos' down to de head er de islan'
a man begin to come aft wid de lantern, I see it warn't no use fer to
wait, so I slid overboard en struck out fer de islan'.  Well, I had a
notion I could lan' mos' anywhers, but I couldn't--bank too bluff.  I 'uz
mos' to de foot er de islan' b'fo' I found' a good place.  I went into de
woods en jedged I wouldn' fool wid raffs no mo', long as dey move de
lantern roun' so.  I had my pipe en a plug er dog-leg, en some matches in
my cap, en dey warn't wet, so I 'uz all right."

"And so you ain't had no meat nor bread to eat all this time?  Why didn't
you get mud-turkles?"

"How you gwyne to git 'm?  You can't slip up on um en grab um; en how's a
body gwyne to hit um wid a rock?  How could a body do it in de night?  En
I warn't gwyne to show mysef on de bank in de daytime."

"Well, that's so.  You've had to keep in the woods all the time, of
course. Did you hear 'em shooting the cannon?"

"Oh, yes.  I knowed dey was arter you.  I see um go by heah--watched um
thoo de bushes."

Some young birds come along, flying a yard or two at a time and lighting.
Jim said it was a sign it was going to rain.  He said it was a sign when
young chickens flew that way, and so he reckoned it was the same way when
young birds done it.  I was going to catch some of them, but Jim wouldn't
let me.  He said it was death.  He said his father laid mighty sick once,
and some of them catched a bird, and his old granny said his father would
die, and he did.

And Jim said you mustn't count the things you are going to cook for
dinner, because that would bring bad luck.  The same if you shook the
table-cloth after sundown.  And he said if a man owned a beehive and that
man died, the bees must be told about it before sun-up next morning, or
else the bees would all weaken down and quit work and die.  Jim said bees
wouldn't sting idiots; but I didn't believe that, because I had tried
them lots of times myself, and they wouldn't sting me.

I had heard about some of these things before, but not all of them.  Jim
knowed all kinds of signs.  He said he knowed most everything.  I said it
looked to me like all the signs was about bad luck, and so I asked him if
there warn't any good-luck signs.  He says:

"Mighty few--an' DEY ain't no use to a body.  What you want to know when
good luck's a-comin' for?  Want to keep it off?"  And he said:  "Ef you's
got hairy arms en a hairy breas', it's a sign dat you's agwyne to be
rich. Well, dey's some use in a sign like dat, 'kase it's so fur ahead.
You see, maybe you's got to be po' a long time fust, en so you might git
discourage' en kill yo'sef 'f you didn' know by de sign dat you gwyne to
be rich bymeby."

"Have you got hairy arms and a hairy breast, Jim?"

"What's de use to ax dat question?  Don't you see I has?"

"Well, are you rich?"

"No, but I ben rich wunst, and gwyne to be rich agin.  Wunst I had foteen
dollars, but I tuck to specalat'n', en got busted out."

"What did you speculate in, Jim?"

"Well, fust I tackled stock."

"What kind of stock?"

"Why, live stock--cattle, you know.  I put ten dollars in a cow.  But I
ain' gwyne to resk no mo' money in stock.  De cow up 'n' died on my
han's."

"So you lost the ten dollars."

"No, I didn't lose it all.  I on'y los' 'bout nine of it.  I sole de hide
en taller for a dollar en ten cents."

"You had five dollars and ten cents left.  Did you speculate any more?"

"Yes.  You know that one-laigged nigger dat b'longs to old Misto Bradish?
Well, he sot up a bank, en say anybody dat put in a dollar would git fo'
dollars mo' at de en' er de year.  Well, all de niggers went in, but dey
didn't have much.  I wuz de on'y one dat had much.  So I stuck out for
mo' dan fo' dollars, en I said 'f I didn' git it I'd start a bank mysef.
Well, o' course dat nigger want' to keep me out er de business, bekase he
says dey warn't business 'nough for two banks, so he say I could put in
my five dollars en he pay me thirty-five at de en' er de year.

"So I done it.  Den I reck'n'd I'd inves' de thirty-five dollars right
off en keep things a-movin'.  Dey wuz a nigger name' Bob, dat had ketched
a wood-flat, en his marster didn' know it; en I bought it off'n him en
told him to take de thirty-five dollars when de en' er de year come; but
somebody stole de wood-flat dat night, en nex day de one-laigged nigger
say de bank's busted.  So dey didn' none uv us git no money."

"What did you do with the ten cents, Jim?"

"Well, I 'uz gwyne to spen' it, but I had a dream, en de dream tole me to
give it to a nigger name' Balum--Balum's Ass dey call him for short; he's
one er dem chuckleheads, you know.  But he's lucky, dey say, en I see I
warn't lucky.  De dream say let Balum inves' de ten cents en he'd make a
raise for me.  Well, Balum he tuck de money, en when he wuz in church he
hear de preacher say dat whoever give to de po' len' to de Lord, en boun'
to git his money back a hund'd times.  So Balum he tuck en give de ten
cents to de po', en laid low to see what wuz gwyne to come of it."

"Well, what did come of it, Jim?"

"Nuffn never come of it.  I couldn' manage to k'leck dat money no way; en
Balum he couldn'.  I ain' gwyne to len' no mo' money 'dout I see de
security.  Boun' to git yo' money back a hund'd times, de preacher says!
Ef I could git de ten CENTS back, I'd call it squah, en be glad er de
chanst."

"Well, it's all right anyway, Jim, long as you're going to be rich again
some time or other."

"Yes; en I's rich now, come to look at it.  I owns mysef, en I's wuth
eight hund'd dollars.  I wisht I had de money, I wouldn' want no mo'."




CHAPTER IX.

I WANTED to go and look at a place right about the middle of the island
that I'd found when I was exploring; so we started and soon got to it,
because the island was only three miles long and a quarter of a mile
wide.

This place was a tolerable long, steep hill or ridge about forty foot
high. We had a rough time getting to the top, the sides was so steep and
the bushes so thick.  We tramped and clumb around all over it, and by and
by found a good big cavern in the rock, most up to the top on the side
towards Illinois.  The cavern was as big as two or three rooms bunched
together, and Jim could stand up straight in it.  It was cool in there.
Jim was for putting our traps in there right away, but I said we didn't
want to be climbing up and down there all the time.

Jim said if we had the canoe hid in a good place, and had all the traps
in the cavern, we could rush there if anybody was to come to the island,
and they would never find us without dogs.  And, besides, he said them
little birds had said it was going to rain, and did I want the things to
get wet?

So we went back and got the canoe, and paddled up abreast the cavern, and
lugged all the traps up there.  Then we hunted up a place close by to
hide the canoe in, amongst the thick willows.  We took some fish off of
the lines and set them again, and begun to get ready for dinner.

The door of the cavern was big enough to roll a hogshead in, and on one
side of the door the floor stuck out a little bit, and was flat and a
good place to build a fire on.  So we built it there and cooked dinner.

We spread the blankets inside for a carpet, and eat our dinner in there.
We put all the other things handy at the back of the cavern.  Pretty soon
it darkened up, and begun to thunder and lighten; so the birds was right
about it.  Directly it begun to rain, and it rained like all fury, too,
and I never see the wind blow so.  It was one of these regular summer
storms.  It would get so dark that it looked all blue-black outside, and
lovely; and the rain would thrash along by so thick that the trees off a
little ways looked dim and spider-webby; and here would come a blast of
wind that would bend the trees down and turn up the pale underside of the
leaves; and then a perfect ripper of a gust would follow along and set
the branches to tossing their arms as if they was just wild; and next,
when it was just about the bluest and blackest--FST! it was as bright as
glory, and you'd have a little glimpse of tree-tops a-plunging about away
off yonder in the storm, hundreds of yards further than you could see
before; dark as sin again in a second, and now you'd hear the thunder let
go with an awful crash, and then go rumbling, grumbling, tumbling, down
the sky towards the under side of the world, like rolling empty barrels
down stairs--where it's long stairs and they bounce a good deal, you
know.

"Jim, this is nice," I says.  "I wouldn't want to be nowhere else but
here. Pass me along another hunk of fish and some hot corn-bread."

"Well, you wouldn't a ben here 'f it hadn't a ben for Jim.  You'd a ben
down dah in de woods widout any dinner, en gittn' mos' drownded, too; dat
you would, honey.  Chickens knows when it's gwyne to rain, en so do de
birds, chile."

The river went on raising and raising for ten or twelve days, till at
last it was over the banks.  The water was three or four foot deep on the
island in the low places and on the Illinois bottom.  On that side it was
a good many miles wide, but on the Missouri side it was the same old
distance across--a half a mile--because the Missouri shore was just a
wall of high bluffs.

Daytimes we paddled all over the island in the canoe, It was mighty cool
and shady in the deep woods, even if the sun was blazing outside.  We
went winding in and out amongst the trees, and sometimes the vines hung
so thick we had to back away and go some other way.  Well, on every old
broken-down tree you could see rabbits and snakes and such things; and
when the island had been overflowed a day or two they got so tame, on
account of being hungry, that you could paddle right up and put your hand
on them if you wanted to; but not the snakes and turtles--they would
slide off in the water.  The ridge our cavern was in was full of them.
We could a had pets enough if we'd wanted them.

One night we catched a little section of a lumber raft--nice pine planks.
It was twelve foot wide and about fifteen or sixteen foot long, and the
top stood above water six or seven inches--a solid, level floor.  We
could see saw-logs go by in the daylight sometimes, but we let them go;
we didn't show ourselves in daylight.

Another night when we was up at the head of the island, just before
daylight, here comes a frame-house down, on the west side.  She was a
two-story, and tilted over considerable.  We paddled out and got aboard
--clumb in at an upstairs window.  But it was too dark to see yet, so we
made the canoe fast and set in her to wait for daylight.

The light begun to come before we got to the foot of the island.  Then we
looked in at the window.  We could make out a bed, and a table, and two
old chairs, and lots of things around about on the floor, and there was
clothes hanging against the wall.  There was something laying on the
floor in the far corner that looked like a man.  So Jim says:

"Hello, you!"

But it didn't budge.  So I hollered again, and then Jim says:

"De man ain't asleep--he's dead.  You hold still--I'll go en see."

He went, and bent down and looked, and says:

"It's a dead man.  Yes, indeedy; naked, too.  He's ben shot in de back.
I reck'n he's ben dead two er three days.  Come in, Huck, but doan' look
at his face--it's too gashly."

I didn't look at him at all.  Jim throwed some old rags over him, but he
needn't done it; I didn't want to see him.  There was heaps of old greasy
cards scattered around over the floor, and old whisky bottles, and a
couple of masks made out of black cloth; and all over the walls was the
ignorantest kind of words and pictures made with charcoal.  There was two
old dirty calico dresses, and a sun-bonnet, and some women's underclothes
hanging against the wall, and some men's clothing, too.  We put the lot
into the canoe--it might come good.  There was a boy's old speckled straw
hat on the floor; I took that, too.  And there was a bottle that had had
milk in it, and it had a rag stopper for a baby to suck.  We would a took
the bottle, but it was broke.  There was a seedy old chest, and an old
hair trunk with the hinges broke.  They stood open, but there warn't
nothing left in them that was any account.  The way things was scattered
about we reckoned the people left in a hurry, and warn't fixed so as to
carry off most of their stuff.

We got an old tin lantern, and a butcher-knife without any handle, and a
bran-new Barlow knife worth two bits in any store, and a lot of tallow
candles, and a tin candlestick, and a gourd, and a tin cup, and a ratty
old bedquilt off the bed, and a reticule with needles and pins and
beeswax and buttons and thread and all such truck in it, and a hatchet
and some nails, and a fishline as thick as my little finger with some
monstrous hooks on it, and a roll of buckskin, and a leather dog-collar,
and a horseshoe, and some vials of medicine that didn't have no label on
them; and just as we was leaving I found a tolerable good curry-comb, and
Jim he found a ratty old fiddle-bow, and a wooden leg.  The straps was
broke off of it, but, barring that, it was a good enough leg, though it
was too long for me and not long enough for Jim, and we couldn't find the
other one, though we hunted all around.

And so, take it all around, we made a good haul.  When we was ready to
shove off we was a quarter of a mile below the island, and it was pretty
broad day; so I made Jim lay down in the canoe and cover up with the
quilt, because if he set up people could tell he was a nigger a good ways
off.  I paddled over to the Illinois shore, and drifted down most a half
a mile doing it.  I crept up the dead water under the bank, and hadn't no
accidents and didn't see nobody.  We got home all safe.




CHAPTER X.

AFTER breakfast I wanted to talk about the dead man and guess out how he
come to be killed, but Jim didn't want to.  He said it would fetch bad
luck; and besides, he said, he might come and ha'nt us; he said a man
that warn't buried was more likely to go a-ha'nting around than one that
was planted and comfortable.  That sounded pretty reasonable, so I didn't
say no more; but I couldn't keep from studying over it and wishing I
knowed who shot the man, and what they done it for.

We rummaged the clothes we'd got, and found eight dollars in silver sewed
up in the lining of an old blanket overcoat.  Jim said he reckoned the
people in that house stole the coat, because if they'd a knowed the money
was there they wouldn't a left it.  I said I reckoned they killed him,
too; but Jim didn't want to talk about that.  I says:

"Now you think it's bad luck; but what did you say when I fetched in the
snake-skin that I found on the top of the ridge day before yesterday?
You said it was the worst bad luck in the world to touch a snake-skin
with my hands.  Well, here's your bad luck!  We've raked in all this
truck and eight dollars besides.  I wish we could have some bad luck like
this every day, Jim."

"Never you mind, honey, never you mind.  Don't you git too peart.  It's
a-comin'.  Mind I tell you, it's a-comin'."

It did come, too.  It was a Tuesday that we had that talk.  Well, after
dinner Friday we was laying around in the grass at the upper end of the
ridge, and got out of tobacco.  I went to the cavern to get some, and
found a rattlesnake in there.  I killed him, and curled him up on the
foot of Jim's blanket, ever so natural, thinking there'd be some fun when
Jim found him there.  Well, by night I forgot all about the snake, and
when Jim flung himself down on the blanket while I struck a light the
snake's mate was there, and bit him.

He jumped up yelling, and the first thing the light showed was the
varmint curled up and ready for another spring.  I laid him out in a
second with a stick, and Jim grabbed pap's whisky-jug and begun to pour
it down.

He was barefooted, and the snake bit him right on the heel.  That all
comes of my being such a fool as to not remember that wherever you leave
a dead snake its mate always comes there and curls around it.  Jim told
me to chop off the snake's head and throw it away, and then skin the body
and roast a piece of it.  I done it, and he eat it and said it would help
cure him. He made me take off the rattles and tie them around his wrist,
too.  He said that that would help.  Then I slid out quiet and throwed
the snakes clear away amongst the bushes; for I warn't going to let Jim
find out it was all my fault, not if I could help it.

Jim sucked and sucked at the jug, and now and then he got out of his head
and pitched around and yelled; but every time he come to himself he went
to sucking at the jug again.  His foot swelled up pretty big, and so did
his leg; but by and by the drunk begun to come, and so I judged he was
all right; but I'd druther been bit with a snake than pap's whisky.

Jim was laid up for four days and nights.  Then the swelling was all gone
and he was around again.  I made up my mind I wouldn't ever take a-holt
of a snake-skin again with my hands, now that I see what had come of it.
Jim said he reckoned I would believe him next time.  And he said that
handling a snake-skin was such awful bad luck that maybe we hadn't got to
the end of it yet.  He said he druther see the new moon over his left
shoulder as much as a thousand times than take up a snake-skin in his
hand.  Well, I was getting to feel that way myself, though I've always
reckoned that looking at the new moon over your left shoulder is one of
the carelessest and foolishest things a body can do.  Old Hank Bunker
done it once, and bragged about it; and in less than two years he got
drunk and fell off of the shot-tower, and spread himself out so that he
was just a kind of a layer, as you may say; and they slid him edgeways
between two barn doors for a coffin, and buried him so, so they say, but
I didn't see it.  Pap told me.  But anyway it all come of looking at the
moon that way, like a fool.

Well, the days went along, and the river went down between its banks
again; and about the first thing we done was to bait one of the big hooks
with a skinned rabbit and set it and catch a catfish that was as big as a
man, being six foot two inches long, and weighed over two hundred pounds.
We couldn't handle him, of course; he would a flung us into Illinois.  We
just set there and watched him rip and tear around till he drownded.  We
found a brass button in his stomach and a round ball, and lots of
rubbage.  We split the ball open with the hatchet, and there was a spool
in it.  Jim said he'd had it there a long time, to coat it over so and
make a ball of it.  It was as big a fish as was ever catched in the
Mississippi, I reckon.  Jim said he hadn't ever seen a bigger one.  He
would a been worth a good deal over at the village.  They peddle out such
a fish as that by the pound in the market-house there; everybody buys
some of him; his meat's as white as snow and makes a good fry.

Next morning I said it was getting slow and dull, and I wanted to get a
stirring up some way.  I said I reckoned I would slip over the river and
find out what was going on.  Jim liked that notion; but he said I must go
in the dark and look sharp.  Then he studied it over and said, couldn't I
put on some of them old things and dress up like a girl?  That was a good
notion, too.  So we shortened up one of the calico gowns, and I turned up
my trouser-legs to my knees and got into it.  Jim hitched it behind with
the hooks, and it was a fair fit.  I put on the sun-bonnet and tied it
under my chin, and then for a body to look in and see my face was like
looking down a joint of stove-pipe.  Jim said nobody would know me, even
in the daytime, hardly.  I practiced around all day to get the hang of
the things, and by and by I could do pretty well in them, only Jim said I
didn't walk like a girl; and he said I must quit pulling up my gown to
get at my britches-pocket.  I took notice, and done better.

I started up the Illinois shore in the canoe just after dark.

I started across to the town from a little below the ferry-landing, and
the drift of the current fetched me in at the bottom of the town.  I tied
up and started along the bank.  There was a light burning in a little
shanty that hadn't been lived in for a long time, and I wondered who had
took up quarters there.  I slipped up and peeped in at the window.  There
was a woman about forty year old in there knitting by a candle that was
on a pine table.  I didn't know her face; she was a stranger, for you
couldn't start a face in that town that I didn't know.  Now this was
lucky, because I was weakening; I was getting afraid I had come; people
might know my voice and find me out.  But if this woman had been in such
a little town two days she could tell me all I wanted to know; so I
knocked at the door, and made up my mind I wouldn't forget I was a girl.




CHAPTER XI.

"COME in," says the woman, and I did.  She says:  "Take a cheer."

I done it.  She looked me all over with her little shiny eyes, and says:

"What might your name be?"

"Sarah Williams."

"Where 'bouts do you live?  In this neighborhood?'

"No'm.  In Hookerville, seven mile below.  I've walked all the way and
I'm all tired out."

"Hungry, too, I reckon.  I'll find you something."

"No'm, I ain't hungry.  I was so hungry I had to stop two miles below
here at a farm; so I ain't hungry no more.  It's what makes me so late.
My mother's down sick, and out of money and everything, and I come to
tell my uncle Abner Moore.  He lives at the upper end of the town, she
says.  I hain't ever been here before.  Do you know him?"

"No; but I don't know everybody yet.  I haven't lived here quite two
weeks. It's a considerable ways to the upper end of the town.  You better
stay here all night.  Take off your bonnet."

"No," I says; "I'll rest a while, I reckon, and go on.  I ain't afeared
of the dark."

She said she wouldn't let me go by myself, but her husband would be in by
and by, maybe in a hour and a half, and she'd send him along with me.
Then she got to talking about her husband, and about her relations up the
river, and her relations down the river, and about how much better off
they used to was, and how they didn't know but they'd made a mistake
coming to our town, instead of letting well alone--and so on and so on,
till I was afeard I had made a mistake coming to her to find out what was
going on in the town; but by and by she dropped on to pap and the murder,
and then I was pretty willing to let her clatter right along.  She told
about me and Tom Sawyer finding the six thousand dollars (only she got it
ten) and all about pap and what a hard lot he was, and what a hard lot I
was, and at last she got down to where I was murdered.  I says:

"Who done it?  We've heard considerable about these goings on down in
Hookerville, but we don't know who 'twas that killed Huck Finn."

"Well, I reckon there's a right smart chance of people HERE that'd like
to know who killed him.  Some think old Finn done it himself."

"No--is that so?"

"Most everybody thought it at first.  He'll never know how nigh he come
to getting lynched.  But before night they changed around and judged it
was done by a runaway nigger named Jim."

"Why HE--"

I stopped.  I reckoned I better keep still.  She run on, and never
noticed I had put in at all:

"The nigger run off the very night Huck Finn was killed.  So there's a
reward out for him--three hundred dollars.  And there's a reward out for
old Finn, too--two hundred dollars.  You see, he come to town the morning
after the murder, and told about it, and was out with 'em on the
ferryboat hunt, and right away after he up and left.  Before night they
wanted to lynch him, but he was gone, you see.  Well, next day they found
out the nigger was gone; they found out he hadn't ben seen sence ten
o'clock the night the murder was done.  So then they put it on him, you
see; and while they was full of it, next day, back comes old Finn, and
went boo-hooing to Judge Thatcher to get money to hunt for the nigger all
over Illinois with. The judge gave him some, and that evening he got
drunk, and was around till after midnight with a couple of mighty
hard-looking strangers, and then went off with them.  Well, he hain't
come back sence, and they ain't looking for him back till this thing
blows over a little, for people thinks now that he killed his boy and
fixed things so folks would think robbers done it, and then he'd get
Huck's money without having to bother a long time with a lawsuit.  People
do say he warn't any too good to do it.  Oh, he's sly, I reckon.  If he
don't come back for a year he'll be all right.  You can't prove anything
on him, you know; everything will be quieted down then, and he'll walk in
Huck's money as easy as nothing."

"Yes, I reckon so, 'm.  I don't see nothing in the way of it.  Has
everybody quit thinking the nigger done it?"

"Oh, no, not everybody.  A good many thinks he done it.  But they'll get
the nigger pretty soon now, and maybe they can scare it out of him."

"Why, are they after him yet?"

"Well, you're innocent, ain't you!  Does three hundred dollars lay around
every day for people to pick up?  Some folks think the nigger ain't far
from here.  I'm one of them--but I hain't talked it around.  A few days
ago I was talking with an old couple that lives next door in the log
shanty, and they happened to say hardly anybody ever goes to that island
over yonder that they call Jackson's Island.  Don't anybody live there?
says I. No, nobody, says they.  I didn't say any more, but I done some
thinking.  I was pretty near certain I'd seen smoke over there, about the
head of the island, a day or two before that, so I says to myself, like
as not that nigger's hiding over there; anyway, says I, it's worth the
trouble to give the place a hunt.  I hain't seen any smoke sence, so I
reckon maybe he's gone, if it was him; but husband's going over to see
--him and another man.  He was gone up the river; but he got back to-day,
and I told him as soon as he got here two hours ago."

I had got so uneasy I couldn't set still.  I had to do something with my
hands; so I took up a needle off of the table and went to threading it.
My hands shook, and I was making a bad job of it.  When the woman stopped
talking I looked up, and she was looking at me pretty curious and smiling
a little.  I put down the needle and thread, and let on to be interested
--and I was, too--and says:

"Three hundred dollars is a power of money.  I wish my mother could get
it. Is your husband going over there to-night?"

"Oh, yes.  He went up-town with the man I was telling you of, to get a
boat and see if they could borrow another gun.  They'll go over after
midnight."

"Couldn't they see better if they was to wait till daytime?"

"Yes.  And couldn't the nigger see better, too?  After midnight he'll
likely be asleep, and they can slip around through the woods and hunt up
his camp fire all the better for the dark, if he's got one."

"I didn't think of that."

The woman kept looking at me pretty curious, and I didn't feel a bit
comfortable.  Pretty soon she says,

"What did you say your name was, honey?"

"M--Mary Williams."

Somehow it didn't seem to me that I said it was Mary before, so I didn't
look up--seemed to me I said it was Sarah; so I felt sort of cornered,
and was afeared maybe I was looking it, too.  I wished the woman would
say something more; the longer she set still the uneasier I was.  But now
she says:

"Honey, I thought you said it was Sarah when you first come in?"

"Oh, yes'm, I did.  Sarah Mary Williams.  Sarah's my first name.  Some
calls me Sarah, some calls me Mary."

"Oh, that's the way of it?"

"Yes'm."

I was feeling better then, but I wished I was out of there, anyway.  I
couldn't look up yet.

Well, the woman fell to talking about how hard times was, and how poor
they had to live, and how the rats was as free as if they owned the
place, and so forth and so on, and then I got easy again.  She was right
about the rats. You'd see one stick his nose out of a hole in the corner
every little while.  She said she had to have things handy to throw at
them when she was alone, or they wouldn't give her no peace.  She showed
me a bar of lead twisted up into a knot, and said she was a good shot
with it generly, but she'd wrenched her arm a day or two ago, and didn't
know whether she could throw true now.  But she watched for a chance, and
directly banged away at a rat; but she missed him wide, and said "Ouch!"
it hurt her arm so.  Then she told me to try for the next one.  I wanted
to be getting away before the old man got back, but of course I didn't
let on.  I got the thing, and the first rat that showed his nose I let
drive, and if he'd a stayed where he was he'd a been a tolerable sick
rat.  She said that was first-rate, and she reckoned I would hive the
next one.  She went and got the lump of lead and fetched it back, and
brought along a hank of yarn which she wanted me to help her with.  I
held up my two hands and she put the hank over them, and went on talking
about her and her husband's matters.  But she broke off to say:

"Keep your eye on the rats.  You better have the lead in your lap,
handy."

So she dropped the lump into my lap just at that moment, and I clapped my
legs together on it and she went on talking.  But only about a minute.
Then she took off the hank and looked me straight in the face, and very
pleasant, and says:

"Come, now, what's your real name?"

"Wh--what, mum?"

"What's your real name?  Is it Bill, or Tom, or Bob?--or what is it?"

I reckon I shook like a leaf, and I didn't know hardly what to do.  But I
says:

"Please to don't poke fun at a poor girl like me, mum.  If I'm in the way
here, I'll--"

"No, you won't.  Set down and stay where you are.  I ain't going to hurt
you, and I ain't going to tell on you, nuther.  You just tell me your
secret, and trust me.  I'll keep it; and, what's more, I'll help you.
So'll my old man if you want him to.  You see, you're a runaway
'prentice, that's all.  It ain't anything.  There ain't no harm in it.
You've been treated bad, and you made up your mind to cut.  Bless you,
child, I wouldn't tell on you.  Tell me all about it now, that's a good
boy."

So I said it wouldn't be no use to try to play it any longer, and I would
just make a clean breast and tell her everything, but she musn't go back
on her promise.  Then I told her my father and mother was dead, and the
law had bound me out to a mean old farmer in the country thirty mile back
from the river, and he treated me so bad I couldn't stand it no longer;
he went away to be gone a couple of days, and so I took my chance and
stole some of his daughter's old clothes and cleared out, and I had been
three nights coming the thirty miles.  I traveled nights, and hid
daytimes and slept, and the bag of bread and meat I carried from home
lasted me all the way, and I had a-plenty.  I said I believed my uncle
Abner Moore would take care of me, and so that was why I struck out for
this town of Goshen.

"Goshen, child?  This ain't Goshen.  This is St. Petersburg.  Goshen's
ten mile further up the river.  Who told you this was Goshen?"

"Why, a man I met at daybreak this morning, just as I was going to turn
into the woods for my regular sleep.  He told me when the roads forked I
must take the right hand, and five mile would fetch me to Goshen."

"He was drunk, I reckon.  He told you just exactly wrong."

"Well, he did act like he was drunk, but it ain't no matter now.  I got
to be moving along.  I'll fetch Goshen before daylight."

"Hold on a minute.  I'll put you up a snack to eat.  You might want it."

So she put me up a snack, and says:

"Say, when a cow's laying down, which end of her gets up first?  Answer
up prompt now--don't stop to study over it.  Which end gets up first?"

"The hind end, mum."

"Well, then, a horse?"

"The for'rard end, mum."

"Which side of a tree does the moss grow on?"

"North side."

"If fifteen cows is browsing on a hillside, how many of them eats with
their heads pointed the same direction?"

"The whole fifteen, mum."

"Well, I reckon you HAVE lived in the country.  I thought maybe you was
trying to hocus me again.  What's your real name, now?"

"George Peters, mum."

"Well, try to remember it, George.  Don't forget and tell me it's
Elexander before you go, and then get out by saying it's George Elexander
when I catch you.  And don't go about women in that old calico.  You do a
girl tolerable poor, but you might fool men, maybe.  Bless you, child,
when you set out to thread a needle don't hold the thread still and fetch
the needle up to it; hold the needle still and poke the thread at it;
that's the way a woman most always does, but a man always does t'other
way.  And when you throw at a rat or anything, hitch yourself up a tiptoe
and fetch your hand up over your head as awkward as you can, and miss
your rat about six or seven foot. Throw stiff-armed from the shoulder,
like there was a pivot there for it to turn on, like a girl; not from the
wrist and elbow, with your arm out to one side, like a boy.  And, mind
you, when a girl tries to catch anything in her lap she throws her knees
apart; she don't clap them together, the way you did when you catched the
lump of lead.  Why, I spotted you for a boy when you was threading the
needle; and I contrived the other things just to make certain.  Now trot
along to your uncle, Sarah Mary Williams George Elexander Peters, and if
you get into trouble you send word to Mrs. Judith Loftus, which is me,
and I'll do what I can to get you out of it.  Keep the river road all the
way, and next time you tramp take shoes and socks with you. The river
road's a rocky one, and your feet'll be in a condition when you get to
Goshen, I reckon."

I went up the bank about fifty yards, and then I doubled on my tracks and
slipped back to where my canoe was, a good piece below the house.  I
jumped in, and was off in a hurry.  I went up-stream far enough to make
the head of the island, and then started across.  I took off the
sun-bonnet, for I didn't want no blinders on then.  When I was about the
middle I heard the clock begin to strike, so I stops and listens; the
sound come faint over the water but clear--eleven.  When I struck the
head of the island I never waited to blow, though I was most winded, but
I shoved right into the timber where my old camp used to be, and started
a good fire there on a high and dry spot.

Then I jumped in the canoe and dug out for our place, a mile and a half
below, as hard as I could go.  I landed, and slopped through the timber
and up the ridge and into the cavern.  There Jim laid, sound asleep on
the ground.  I roused him out and says:

"Git up and hump yourself, Jim!  There ain't a minute to lose.  They're
after us!"

Jim never asked no questions, he never said a word; but the way he worked
for the next half an hour showed about how he was scared.  By that time
everything we had in the world was on our raft, and she was ready to be
shoved out from the willow cove where she was hid.  We put out the camp
fire at the cavern the first thing, and didn't show a candle outside
after that.

I took the canoe out from the shore a little piece, and took a look; but
if there was a boat around I couldn't see it, for stars and shadows ain't
good to see by.  Then we got out the raft and slipped along down in the
shade, past the foot of the island dead still--never saying a word.




CHAPTER XII.

IT must a been close on to one o'clock when we got below the island at
last, and the raft did seem to go mighty slow.  If a boat was to come
along we was going to take to the canoe and break for the Illinois shore;
and it was well a boat didn't come, for we hadn't ever thought to put the
gun in the canoe, or a fishing-line, or anything to eat.  We was in
ruther too much of a sweat to think of so many things.  It warn't good
judgment to put EVERYTHING on the raft.

If the men went to the island I just expect they found the camp fire I
built, and watched it all night for Jim to come.  Anyways, they stayed
away from us, and if my building the fire never fooled them it warn't no
fault of mine.  I played it as low down on them as I could.

When the first streak of day began to show we tied up to a towhead in a
big bend on the Illinois side, and hacked off cottonwood branches with
the hatchet, and covered up the raft with them so she looked like there
had been a cave-in in the bank there.  A tow-head is a sandbar that has
cottonwoods on it as thick as harrow-teeth.

We had mountains on the Missouri shore and heavy timber on the Illinois
side, and the channel was down the Missouri shore at that place, so we
warn't afraid of anybody running across us.  We laid there all day, and
watched the rafts and steamboats spin down the Missouri shore, and
up-bound steamboats fight the big river in the middle.  I told Jim all
about the time I had jabbering with that woman; and Jim said she was a
smart one, and if she was to start after us herself she wouldn't set down
and watch a camp fire--no, sir, she'd fetch a dog.  Well, then, I said,
why couldn't she tell her husband to fetch a dog?  Jim said he bet she
did think of it by the time the men was ready to start, and he believed
they must a gone up-town to get a dog and so they lost all that time, or
else we wouldn't be here on a towhead sixteen or seventeen mile below the
village--no, indeedy, we would be in that same old town again.  So I said
I didn't care what was the reason they didn't get us as long as they
didn't.

When it was beginning to come on dark we poked our heads out of the
cottonwood thicket, and looked up and down and across; nothing in sight;
so Jim took up some of the top planks of the raft and built a snug wigwam
to get under in blazing weather and rainy, and to keep the things dry.
Jim made a floor for the wigwam, and raised it a foot or more above the
level of the raft, so now the blankets and all the traps was out of reach
of steamboat waves.  Right in the middle of the wigwam we made a layer of
dirt about five or six inches deep with a frame around it for to hold it
to its place; this was to build a fire on in sloppy weather or chilly;
the wigwam would keep it from being seen.  We made an extra steering-oar,
too, because one of the others might get broke on a snag or something.
We fixed up a short forked stick to hang the old lantern on, because we
must always light the lantern whenever we see a steamboat coming
down-stream, to keep from getting run over; but we wouldn't have to light
it for up-stream boats unless we see we was in what they call a
"crossing"; for the river was pretty high yet, very low banks being still
a little under water; so up-bound boats didn't always run the channel,
but hunted easy water.

This second night we run between seven and eight hours, with a current
that was making over four mile an hour.  We catched fish and talked, and
we took a swim now and then to keep off sleepiness.  It was kind of
solemn, drifting down the big, still river, laying on our backs looking
up at the stars, and we didn't ever feel like talking loud, and it warn't
often that we laughed--only a little kind of a low chuckle.  We had
mighty good weather as a general thing, and nothing ever happened to us
at all--that night, nor the next, nor the next.

Every night we passed towns, some of them away up on black hillsides,
nothing but just a shiny bed of lights; not a house could you see.  The
fifth night we passed St. Louis, and it was like the whole world lit up.
In St. Petersburg they used to say there was twenty or thirty thousand
people in St. Louis, but I never believed it till I see that wonderful
spread of lights at two o'clock that still night.  There warn't a sound
there; everybody was asleep.

Every night now I used to slip ashore towards ten o'clock at some little
village, and buy ten or fifteen cents' worth of meal or bacon or other
stuff to eat; and sometimes I lifted a chicken that warn't roosting
comfortable, and took him along.  Pap always said, take a chicken when
you get a chance, because if you don't want him yourself you can easy
find somebody that does, and a good deed ain't ever forgot.  I never see
pap when he didn't want the chicken himself, but that is what he used to
say, anyway.

Mornings before daylight I slipped into cornfields and borrowed a
watermelon, or a mushmelon, or a punkin, or some new corn, or things of
that kind.  Pap always said it warn't no harm to borrow things if you was
meaning to pay them back some time; but the widow said it warn't anything
but a soft name for stealing, and no decent body would do it.  Jim said
he reckoned the widow was partly right and pap was partly right; so the
best way would be for us to pick out two or three things from the list
and say we wouldn't borrow them any more--then he reckoned it wouldn't be
no harm to borrow the others.  So we talked it over all one night,
drifting along down the river, trying to make up our minds whether to
drop the watermelons, or the cantelopes, or the mushmelons, or what.  But
towards daylight we got it all settled satisfactory, and concluded to
drop crabapples and p'simmons.  We warn't feeling just right before that,
but it was all comfortable now.  I was glad the way it come out, too,
because crabapples ain't ever good, and the p'simmons wouldn't be ripe
for two or three months yet.

We shot a water-fowl now and then that got up too early in the morning or
didn't go to bed early enough in the evening.  Take it all round, we
lived pretty high.

The fifth night below St. Louis we had a big storm after midnight, with a
power of thunder and lightning, and the rain poured down in a solid
sheet. We stayed in the wigwam and let the raft take care of itself.
When the lightning glared out we could see a big straight river ahead,
and high, rocky bluffs on both sides.  By and by says I, "Hel-LO, Jim,
looky yonder!" It was a steamboat that had killed herself on a rock.  We
was drifting straight down for her.  The lightning showed her very
distinct.  She was leaning over, with part of her upper deck above water,
and you could see every little chimbly-guy clean and clear, and a chair
by the big bell, with an old slouch hat hanging on the back of it, when
the flashes come.

Well, it being away in the night and stormy, and all so mysterious-like,
I felt just the way any other boy would a felt when I see that wreck
laying there so mournful and lonesome in the middle of the river.  I
wanted to get aboard of her and slink around a little, and see what there
was there.  So I says:

"Le's land on her, Jim."

But Jim was dead against it at first.  He says:

"I doan' want to go fool'n 'long er no wrack.  We's doin' blame' well, en
we better let blame' well alone, as de good book says.  Like as not dey's
a watchman on dat wrack."

"Watchman your grandmother," I says; "there ain't nothing to watch but
the texas and the pilot-house; and do you reckon anybody's going to resk
his life for a texas and a pilot-house such a night as this, when it's
likely to break up and wash off down the river any minute?"  Jim couldn't
say nothing to that, so he didn't try.  "And besides," I says, "we might
borrow something worth having out of the captain's stateroom.  Seegars, I
bet you--and cost five cents apiece, solid cash.  Steamboat captains is
always rich, and get sixty dollars a month, and THEY don't care a cent
what a thing costs, you know, long as they want it.  Stick a candle in
your pocket; I can't rest, Jim, till we give her a rummaging.  Do you
reckon Tom Sawyer would ever go by this thing?  Not for pie, he wouldn't.
He'd call it an adventure--that's what he'd call it; and he'd land on
that wreck if it was his last act.  And wouldn't he throw style into it?
--wouldn't he spread himself, nor nothing?  Why, you'd think it was
Christopher C'lumbus discovering Kingdom-Come.  I wish Tom Sawyer WAS
here."

Jim he grumbled a little, but give in.  He said we mustn't talk any more
than we could help, and then talk mighty low.  The lightning showed us
the wreck again just in time, and we fetched the stabboard derrick, and
made fast there.

The deck was high out here.  We went sneaking down the slope of it to
labboard, in the dark, towards the texas, feeling our way slow with our
feet, and spreading our hands out to fend off the guys, for it was so
dark we couldn't see no sign of them.  Pretty soon we struck the forward
end of the skylight, and clumb on to it; and the next step fetched us in
front of the captain's door, which was open, and by Jimminy, away down
through the texas-hall we see a light! and all in the same second we seem
to hear low voices in yonder!

Jim whispered and said he was feeling powerful sick, and told me to come
along.  I says, all right, and was going to start for the raft; but just
then I heard a voice wail out and say:

"Oh, please don't, boys; I swear I won't ever tell!"

Another voice said, pretty loud:

"It's a lie, Jim Turner.  You've acted this way before.  You always want
more'n your share of the truck, and you've always got it, too, because
you've swore 't if you didn't you'd tell.  But this time you've said it
jest one time too many.  You're the meanest, treacherousest hound in this
country."

By this time Jim was gone for the raft.  I was just a-biling with
curiosity; and I says to myself, Tom Sawyer wouldn't back out now, and so
I won't either; I'm a-going to see what's going on here.  So I dropped on
my hands and knees in the little passage, and crept aft in the dark till
there warn't but one stateroom betwixt me and the cross-hall of the
texas.  Then in there I see a man stretched on the floor and tied hand
and foot, and two men standing over him, and one of them had a dim
lantern in his hand, and the other one had a pistol.  This one kept
pointing the pistol at the man's head on the floor, and saying:

"I'd LIKE to!  And I orter, too--a mean skunk!"

The man on the floor would shrivel up and say, "Oh, please don't, Bill; I
hain't ever goin' to tell."

And every time he said that the man with the lantern would laugh and say:

"'Deed you AIN'T!  You never said no truer thing 'n that, you bet you."
And once he said:  "Hear him beg! and yit if we hadn't got the best of
him and tied him he'd a killed us both.  And what FOR?  Jist for noth'n.
Jist because we stood on our RIGHTS--that's what for.  But I lay you
ain't a-goin' to threaten nobody any more, Jim Turner.  Put UP that
pistol, Bill."

Bill says:

"I don't want to, Jake Packard.  I'm for killin' him--and didn't he kill
old Hatfield jist the same way--and don't he deserve it?"

"But I don't WANT him killed, and I've got my reasons for it."

"Bless yo' heart for them words, Jake Packard!  I'll never forgit you
long's I live!" says the man on the floor, sort of blubbering.

Packard didn't take no notice of that, but hung up his lantern on a nail
and started towards where I was there in the dark, and motioned Bill to
come.  I crawfished as fast as I could about two yards, but the boat
slanted so that I couldn't make very good time; so to keep from getting
run over and catched I crawled into a stateroom on the upper side.  The
man came a-pawing along in the dark, and when Packard got to my
stateroom, he says:

"Here--come in here."

And in he come, and Bill after him.  But before they got in I was up in
the upper berth, cornered, and sorry I come.  Then they stood there, with
their hands on the ledge of the berth, and talked.  I couldn't see them,
but I could tell where they was by the whisky they'd been having.  I was
glad I didn't drink whisky; but it wouldn't made much difference anyway,
because most of the time they couldn't a treed me because I didn't
breathe.  I was too scared.  And, besides, a body COULDN'T breathe and
hear such talk.  They talked low and earnest.  Bill wanted to kill
Turner.  He says:

"He's said he'll tell, and he will.  If we was to give both our shares to
him NOW it wouldn't make no difference after the row and the way we've
served him.  Shore's you're born, he'll turn State's evidence; now you
hear ME.  I'm for putting him out of his troubles."

"So'm I," says Packard, very quiet.

"Blame it, I'd sorter begun to think you wasn't.  Well, then, that's all
right.  Le's go and do it."

"Hold on a minute; I hain't had my say yit.  You listen to me.
Shooting's good, but there's quieter ways if the thing's GOT to be done.
But what I say is this:  it ain't good sense to go court'n around after a
halter if you can git at what you're up to in some way that's jist as
good and at the same time don't bring you into no resks.  Ain't that so?"

"You bet it is.  But how you goin' to manage it this time?"

"Well, my idea is this:  we'll rustle around and gather up whatever
pickins we've overlooked in the staterooms, and shove for shore and hide
the truck. Then we'll wait.  Now I say it ain't a-goin' to be more'n two
hours befo' this wrack breaks up and washes off down the river.  See?
He'll be drownded, and won't have nobody to blame for it but his own
self.  I reckon that's a considerble sight better 'n killin' of him.  I'm
unfavorable to killin' a man as long as you can git aroun' it; it ain't
good sense, it ain't good morals.  Ain't I right?"

"Yes, I reck'n you are.  But s'pose she DON'T break up and wash off?"

"Well, we can wait the two hours anyway and see, can't we?"

"All right, then; come along."

So they started, and I lit out, all in a cold sweat, and scrambled
forward. It was dark as pitch there; but I said, in a kind of a coarse
whisper, "Jim!" and he answered up, right at my elbow, with a sort of a
moan, and I says:

"Quick, Jim, it ain't no time for fooling around and moaning; there's a
gang of murderers in yonder, and if we don't hunt up their boat and set
her drifting down the river so these fellows can't get away from the
wreck there's one of 'em going to be in a bad fix.  But if we find their
boat we can put ALL of 'em in a bad fix--for the sheriff 'll get 'em.
Quick--hurry!  I'll hunt the labboard side, you hunt the stabboard.
You start at the raft, and--"

"Oh, my lordy, lordy!  RAF'?  Dey ain' no raf' no mo'; she done broke
loose en gone I--en here we is!"




CHAPTER XIII.

WELL, I catched my breath and most fainted.  Shut up on a wreck with such
a gang as that!  But it warn't no time to be sentimentering.  We'd GOT to
find that boat now--had to have it for ourselves.  So we went a-quaking
and shaking down the stabboard side, and slow work it was, too--seemed a
week before we got to the stern.  No sign of a boat.  Jim said he didn't
believe he could go any further--so scared he hadn't hardly any strength
left, he said.  But I said, come on, if we get left on this wreck we are
in a fix, sure.  So on we prowled again.  We struck for the stern of the
texas, and found it, and then scrabbled along forwards on the skylight,
hanging on from shutter to shutter, for the edge of the skylight was in
the water.  When we got pretty close to the cross-hall door there was the
skiff, sure enough!  I could just barely see her.  I felt ever so
thankful.  In another second I would a been aboard of her, but just then
the door opened.  One of the men stuck his head out only about a couple
of foot from me, and I thought I was gone; but he jerked it in again, and
says:

"Heave that blame lantern out o' sight, Bill!"

He flung a bag of something into the boat, and then got in himself and
set down.  It was Packard.  Then Bill HE come out and got in.  Packard
says, in a low voice:

"All ready--shove off!"

I couldn't hardly hang on to the shutters, I was so weak.  But Bill says:

"Hold on--'d you go through him?"

"No.  Didn't you?"

"No.  So he's got his share o' the cash yet."

"Well, then, come along; no use to take truck and leave money."

"Say, won't he suspicion what we're up to?"

"Maybe he won't.  But we got to have it anyway. Come along."

So they got out and went in.

The door slammed to because it was on the careened side; and in a half
second I was in the boat, and Jim come tumbling after me.  I out with my
knife and cut the rope, and away we went!

We didn't touch an oar, and we didn't speak nor whisper, nor hardly even
breathe.  We went gliding swift along, dead silent, past the tip of the
paddle-box, and past the stern; then in a second or two more we was a
hundred yards below the wreck, and the darkness soaked her up, every last
sign of her, and we was safe, and knowed it.

When we was three or four hundred yards down-stream we see the lantern
show like a little spark at the texas door for a second, and we knowed by
that that the rascals had missed their boat, and was beginning to
understand that they was in just as much trouble now as Jim Turner was.

Then Jim manned the oars, and we took out after our raft.  Now was the
first time that I begun to worry about the men--I reckon I hadn't had
time to before.  I begun to think how dreadful it was, even for
murderers, to be in such a fix.  I says to myself, there ain't no telling
but I might come to be a murderer myself yet, and then how would I like
it?  So says I to Jim:

"The first light we see we'll land a hundred yards below it or above it,
in a place where it's a good hiding-place for you and the skiff, and then
I'll go and fix up some kind of a yarn, and get somebody to go for that
gang and get them out of their scrape, so they can be hung when their
time comes."

But that idea was a failure; for pretty soon it begun to storm again, and
this time worse than ever.  The rain poured down, and never a light
showed; everybody in bed, I reckon.  We boomed along down the river,
watching for lights and watching for our raft.  After a long time the
rain let up, but the clouds stayed, and the lightning kept whimpering,
and by and by a flash showed us a black thing ahead, floating, and we
made for it.

It was the raft, and mighty glad was we to get aboard of it again.  We
seen a light now away down to the right, on shore.  So I said I would go
for it. The skiff was half full of plunder which that gang had stole
there on the wreck.  We hustled it on to the raft in a pile, and I told
Jim to float along down, and show a light when he judged he had gone
about two mile, and keep it burning till I come; then I manned my oars
and shoved for the light.  As I got down towards it three or four more
showed--up on a hillside.  It was a village.  I closed in above the shore
light, and laid on my oars and floated.  As I went by I see it was a
lantern hanging on the jackstaff of a double-hull ferryboat.  I skimmed
around for the watchman, a-wondering whereabouts he slept; and by and by
I found him roosting on the bitts forward, with his head down between his
knees.  I gave his shoulder two or three little shoves, and begun to cry.

He stirred up in a kind of a startlish way; but when he see it was only
me he took a good gap and stretch, and then he says:

"Hello, what's up?  Don't cry, bub.  What's the trouble?"

I says:

"Pap, and mam, and sis, and--"

Then I broke down.  He says:

"Oh, dang it now, DON'T take on so; we all has to have our troubles, and
this 'n 'll come out all right.  What's the matter with 'em?"

"They're--they're--are you the watchman of the boat?"

"Yes," he says, kind of pretty-well-satisfied like.  "I'm the captain and
the owner and the mate and the pilot and watchman and head deck-hand; and
sometimes I'm the freight and passengers.  I ain't as rich as old Jim
Hornback, and I can't be so blame' generous and good to Tom, Dick, and
Harry as what he is, and slam around money the way he does; but I've told
him a many a time 't I wouldn't trade places with him; for, says I, a
sailor's life's the life for me, and I'm derned if I'D live two mile out
o' town, where there ain't nothing ever goin' on, not for all his
spondulicks and as much more on top of it.  Says I--"

I broke in and says:

"They're in an awful peck of trouble, and--"

"WHO is?"

"Why, pap and mam and sis and Miss Hooker; and if you'd take your
ferryboat and go up there--"

"Up where?  Where are they?"

"On the wreck."

"What wreck?"

"Why, there ain't but one."

"What, you don't mean the Walter Scott?"

"Yes."

"Good land! what are they doin' THERE, for gracious sakes?"

"Well, they didn't go there a-purpose."

"I bet they didn't!  Why, great goodness, there ain't no chance for 'em
if they don't git off mighty quick!  Why, how in the nation did they ever
git into such a scrape?"

"Easy enough.  Miss Hooker was a-visiting up there to the town--"

"Yes, Booth's Landing--go on."

"She was a-visiting there at Booth's Landing, and just in the edge of the
evening she started over with her nigger woman in the horse-ferry to stay
all night at her friend's house, Miss What-you-may-call-her I disremember
her name--and they lost their steering-oar, and swung around and went
a-floating down, stern first, about two mile, and saddle-baggsed on the
wreck, and the ferryman and the nigger woman and the horses was all lost,
but Miss Hooker she made a grab and got aboard the wreck.  Well, about an
hour after dark we come along down in our trading-scow, and it was so
dark we didn't notice the wreck till we was right on it; and so WE
saddle-baggsed; but all of us was saved but Bill Whipple--and oh, he WAS
the best cretur!--I most wish 't it had been me, I do."

"My George!  It's the beatenest thing I ever struck.  And THEN what did
you all do?"

"Well, we hollered and took on, but it's so wide there we couldn't make
nobody hear.  So pap said somebody got to get ashore and get help
somehow. I was the only one that could swim, so I made a dash for it, and
Miss Hooker she said if I didn't strike help sooner, come here and hunt
up her uncle, and he'd fix the thing.  I made the land about a mile
below, and been fooling along ever since, trying to get people to do
something, but they said, 'What, in such a night and such a current?
There ain't no sense in it; go for the steam ferry.'  Now if you'll go
and--"

"By Jackson, I'd LIKE to, and, blame it, I don't know but I will; but who
in the dingnation's a-going' to PAY for it?  Do you reckon your pap--"

"Why THAT'S all right.  Miss Hooker she tole me, PARTICULAR, that her
uncle Hornback--"

"Great guns! is HE her uncle?  Looky here, you break for that light over
yonder-way, and turn out west when you git there, and about a quarter of
a mile out you'll come to the tavern; tell 'em to dart you out to Jim
Hornback's, and he'll foot the bill.  And don't you fool around any,
because he'll want to know the news.  Tell him I'll have his niece all
safe before he can get to town.  Hump yourself, now; I'm a-going up
around the corner here to roust out my engineer."

I struck for the light, but as soon as he turned the corner I went back
and got into my skiff and bailed her out, and then pulled up shore in the
easy water about six hundred yards, and tucked myself in among some
woodboats; for I couldn't rest easy till I could see the ferryboat start.
But take it all around, I was feeling ruther comfortable on accounts of
taking all this trouble for that gang, for not many would a done it.  I
wished the widow knowed about it.  I judged she would be proud of me for
helping these rapscallions, because rapscallions and dead beats is the
kind the widow and good people takes the most interest in.

Well, before long here comes the wreck, dim and dusky, sliding along
down! A kind of cold shiver went through me, and then I struck out for
her.  She was very deep, and I see in a minute there warn't much chance
for anybody being alive in her.  I pulled all around her and hollered a
little, but there wasn't any answer; all dead still.  I felt a little bit
heavy-hearted about the gang, but not much, for I reckoned if they could
stand it I could.

Then here comes the ferryboat; so I shoved for the middle of the river on
a long down-stream slant; and when I judged I was out of eye-reach I laid
on my oars, and looked back and see her go and smell around the wreck for
Miss Hooker's remainders, because the captain would know her uncle
Hornback would want them; and then pretty soon the ferryboat give it up
and went for the shore, and I laid into my work and went a-booming down
the river.

It did seem a powerful long time before Jim's light showed up; and when
it did show it looked like it was a thousand mile off.  By the time I got
there the sky was beginning to get a little gray in the east; so we
struck for an island, and hid the raft, and sunk the skiff, and turned in
and slept like dead people.




CHAPTER XIV.

BY and by, when we got up, we turned over the truck the gang had stole
off of the wreck, and found boots, and blankets, and clothes, and all
sorts of other things, and a lot of books, and a spyglass, and three
boxes of seegars.  We hadn't ever been this rich before in neither of our
lives.  The seegars was prime.  We laid off all the afternoon in the
woods talking, and me reading the books, and having a general good time.
I told Jim all about what happened inside the wreck and at the ferryboat,
and I said these kinds of things was adventures; but he said he didn't
want no more adventures.  He said that when I went in the texas and he
crawled back to get on the raft and found her gone he nearly died,
because he judged it was all up with HIM anyway it could be fixed; for if
he didn't get saved he would get drownded; and if he did get saved,
whoever saved him would send him back home so as to get the reward, and
then Miss Watson would sell him South, sure.  Well, he was right; he was
most always right; he had an uncommon level head for a nigger.

I read considerable to Jim about kings and dukes and earls and such, and
how gaudy they dressed, and how much style they put on, and called each
other your majesty, and your grace, and your lordship, and so on, 'stead
of mister; and Jim's eyes bugged out, and he was interested.  He says:

"I didn' know dey was so many un um.  I hain't hearn 'bout none un um,
skasely, but ole King Sollermun, onless you counts dem kings dat's in a
pack er k'yards.  How much do a king git?"

"Get?"  I says; "why, they get a thousand dollars a month if they want
it; they can have just as much as they want; everything belongs to them."

"AIN' dat gay?  En what dey got to do, Huck?"

"THEY don't do nothing!  Why, how you talk! They just set around."

"No; is dat so?"

"Of course it is.  They just set around--except, maybe, when there's a
war; then they go to the war.  But other times they just lazy around; or
go hawking--just hawking and sp--Sh!--d' you hear a noise?"

We skipped out and looked; but it warn't nothing but the flutter of a
steamboat's wheel away down, coming around the point; so we come back.

"Yes," says I, "and other times, when things is dull, they fuss with the
parlyment; and if everybody don't go just so he whacks their heads off.
But mostly they hang round the harem."

"Roun' de which?"

"Harem."

"What's de harem?"

"The place where he keeps his wives.  Don't you know about the harem?
Solomon had one; he had about a million wives."

"Why, yes, dat's so; I--I'd done forgot it.  A harem's a bo'd'n-house, I
reck'n.  Mos' likely dey has rackety times in de nussery.  En I reck'n de
wives quarrels considable; en dat 'crease de racket.  Yit dey say
Sollermun de wises' man dat ever live'.  I doan' take no stock in dat.
Bekase why: would a wise man want to live in de mids' er sich a
blim-blammin' all de time?  No--'deed he wouldn't.  A wise man 'ud take
en buil' a biler-factry; en den he could shet DOWN de biler-factry when
he want to res'."

"Well, but he WAS the wisest man, anyway; because the widow she told me
so, her own self."

"I doan k'yer what de widder say, he WARN'T no wise man nuther.  He had
some er de dad-fetchedes' ways I ever see.  Does you know 'bout dat chile
dat he 'uz gwyne to chop in two?"

"Yes, the widow told me all about it."

"WELL, den!  Warn' dat de beatenes' notion in de worl'?  You jes' take en
look at it a minute.  Dah's de stump, dah--dat's one er de women; heah's
you--dat's de yuther one; I's Sollermun; en dish yer dollar bill's de
chile.  Bofe un you claims it.  What does I do?  Does I shin aroun'
mongs' de neighbors en fine out which un you de bill DO b'long to, en
han' it over to de right one, all safe en soun', de way dat anybody dat
had any gumption would?  No; I take en whack de bill in TWO, en give half
un it to you, en de yuther half to de yuther woman.  Dat's de way
Sollermun was gwyne to do wid de chile.  Now I want to ast you:  what's
de use er dat half a bill?--can't buy noth'n wid it.  En what use is a
half a chile?  I wouldn' give a dern for a million un um."

"But hang it, Jim, you've clean missed the point--blame it, you've missed
it a thousand mile."

"Who?  Me?  Go 'long.  Doan' talk to me 'bout yo' pints.  I reck'n I
knows sense when I sees it; en dey ain' no sense in sich doin's as dat.
De 'spute warn't 'bout a half a chile, de 'spute was 'bout a whole chile;
en de man dat think he kin settle a 'spute 'bout a whole chile wid a half
a chile doan' know enough to come in out'n de rain.  Doan' talk to me
'bout Sollermun, Huck, I knows him by de back."

"But I tell you you don't get the point."

"Blame de point!  I reck'n I knows what I knows.  En mine you, de REAL
pint is down furder--it's down deeper.  It lays in de way Sollermun was
raised.  You take a man dat's got on'y one or two chillen; is dat man
gwyne to be waseful o' chillen?  No, he ain't; he can't 'ford it.  HE
know how to value 'em.  But you take a man dat's got 'bout five million
chillen runnin' roun' de house, en it's diffunt.  HE as soon chop a chile
in two as a cat. Dey's plenty mo'.  A chile er two, mo' er less, warn't
no consekens to Sollermun, dad fatch him!"

I never see such a nigger.  If he got a notion in his head once, there
warn't no getting it out again.  He was the most down on Solomon of any
nigger I ever see.  So I went to talking about other kings, and let
Solomon slide.  I told about Louis Sixteenth that got his head cut off in
France long time ago; and about his little boy the dolphin, that would a
been a king, but they took and shut him up in jail, and some say he died
there.

"Po' little chap."

"But some says he got out and got away, and come to America."

"Dat's good!  But he'll be pooty lonesome--dey ain' no kings here, is
dey, Huck?"

"No."

"Den he cain't git no situation.  What he gwyne to do?"

"Well, I don't know.  Some of them gets on the police, and some of them
learns people how to talk French."

"Why, Huck, doan' de French people talk de same way we does?"

"NO, Jim; you couldn't understand a word they said--not a single word."

"Well, now, I be ding-busted!  How do dat come?"

"I don't know; but it's so.  I got some of their jabber out of a book.
S'pose a man was to come to you and say Polly-voo-franzy--what would you
think?"

"I wouldn' think nuff'n; I'd take en bust him over de head--dat is, if he
warn't white.  I wouldn't 'low no nigger to call me dat."

"Shucks, it ain't calling you anything.  It's only saying, do you know
how to talk French?"

"Well, den, why couldn't he SAY it?"

"Why, he IS a-saying it.  That's a Frenchman's WAY of saying it."

"Well, it's a blame ridicklous way, en I doan' want to hear no mo' 'bout
it.  Dey ain' no sense in it."

"Looky here, Jim; does a cat talk like we do?"

"No, a cat don't."

"Well, does a cow?"

"No, a cow don't, nuther."

"Does a cat talk like a cow, or a cow talk like a cat?"

"No, dey don't."

"It's natural and right for 'em to talk different from each other, ain't
it?"

"Course."

"And ain't it natural and right for a cat and a cow to talk different
from US?"

"Why, mos' sholy it is."

"Well, then, why ain't it natural and right for a FRENCHMAN to talk
different from us?  You answer me that."

"Is a cat a man, Huck?"

"No."

"Well, den, dey ain't no sense in a cat talkin' like a man.  Is a cow a
man?--er is a cow a cat?"

"No, she ain't either of them."

"Well, den, she ain't got no business to talk like either one er the
yuther of 'em.  Is a Frenchman a man?"

"Yes."

"WELL, den!  Dad blame it, why doan' he TALK like a man?  You answer me
DAT!"

I see it warn't no use wasting words--you can't learn a nigger to argue.
So I quit.




CHAPTER XV.

WE judged that three nights more would fetch us to Cairo, at the bottom
of Illinois, where the Ohio River comes in, and that was what we was
after.  We would sell the raft and get on a steamboat and go way up the
Ohio amongst the free States, and then be out of trouble.

Well, the second night a fog begun to come on, and we made for a towhead
to tie to, for it wouldn't do to try to run in a fog; but when I paddled
ahead in the canoe, with the line to make fast, there warn't anything but
little saplings to tie to.  I passed the line around one of them right on
the edge of the cut bank, but there was a stiff current, and the raft
come booming down so lively she tore it out by the roots and away she
went.  I see the fog closing down, and it made me so sick and scared I
couldn't budge for most a half a minute it seemed to me--and then there
warn't no raft in sight; you couldn't see twenty yards.  I jumped into
the canoe and run back to the stern, and grabbed the paddle and set her
back a stroke.  But she didn't come.  I was in such a hurry I hadn't
untied her.  I got up and tried to untie her, but I was so excited my
hands shook so I couldn't hardly do anything with them.

As soon as I got started I took out after the raft, hot and heavy, right
down the towhead.  That was all right as far as it went, but the towhead
warn't sixty yards long, and the minute I flew by the foot of it I shot
out into the solid white fog, and hadn't no more idea which way I was
going than a dead man.

Thinks I, it won't do to paddle; first I know I'll run into the bank or a
towhead or something; I got to set still and float, and yet it's mighty
fidgety business to have to hold your hands still at such a time.  I
whooped and listened.  Away down there somewheres I hears a small whoop,
and up comes my spirits.  I went tearing after it, listening sharp to
hear it again.  The next time it come I see I warn't heading for it, but
heading away to the right of it.  And the next time I was heading away to
the left of it--and not gaining on it much either, for I was flying
around, this way and that and t'other, but it was going straight ahead
all the time.

I did wish the fool would think to beat a tin pan, and beat it all the
time, but he never did, and it was the still places between the whoops
that was making the trouble for me.  Well, I fought along, and directly I
hears the whoop BEHIND me.  I was tangled good now.  That was somebody
else's whoop, or else I was turned around.

I throwed the paddle down.  I heard the whoop again; it was behind me
yet, but in a different place; it kept coming, and kept changing its
place, and I kept answering, till by and by it was in front of me again,
and I knowed the current had swung the canoe's head down-stream, and I
was all right if that was Jim and not some other raftsman hollering.  I
couldn't tell nothing about voices in a fog, for nothing don't look
natural nor sound natural in a fog.

The whooping went on, and in about a minute I come a-booming down on a
cut bank with smoky ghosts of big trees on it, and the current throwed me
off to the left and shot by, amongst a lot of snags that fairly roared,
the currrent was tearing by them so swift.

In another second or two it was solid white and still again.  I set
perfectly still then, listening to my heart thump, and I reckon I didn't
draw a breath while it thumped a hundred.

I just give up then.  I knowed what the matter was.  That cut bank was an
island, and Jim had gone down t'other side of it.  It warn't no towhead
that you could float by in ten minutes.  It had the big timber of a
regular island; it might be five or six miles long and more than half a
mile wide.

I kept quiet, with my ears cocked, about fifteen minutes, I reckon.  I
was floating along, of course, four or five miles an hour; but you don't
ever think of that.  No, you FEEL like you are laying dead still on the
water; and if a little glimpse of a snag slips by you don't think to
yourself how fast YOU'RE going, but you catch your breath and think, my!
how that snag's tearing along.  If you think it ain't dismal and lonesome
out in a fog that way by yourself in the night, you try it once--you'll
see.

Next, for about a half an hour, I whoops now and then; at last I hears
the answer a long ways off, and tries to follow it, but I couldn't do it,
and directly I judged I'd got into a nest of towheads, for I had little
dim glimpses of them on both sides of me--sometimes just a narrow channel
between, and some that I couldn't see I knowed was there because I'd hear
the wash of the current against the old dead brush and trash that hung
over the banks.  Well, I warn't long loosing the whoops down amongst the
towheads; and I only tried to chase them a little while, anyway, because
it was worse than chasing a Jack-o'-lantern.  You never knowed a sound
dodge around so, and swap places so quick and so much.

I had to claw away from the bank pretty lively four or five times, to
keep from knocking the islands out of the river; and so I judged the raft
must be butting into the bank every now and then, or else it would get
further ahead and clear out of hearing--it was floating a little faster
than what I was.

Well, I seemed to be in the open river again by and by, but I couldn't
hear no sign of a whoop nowheres.  I reckoned Jim had fetched up on a
snag, maybe, and it was all up with him.  I was good and tired, so I laid
down in the canoe and said I wouldn't bother no more.  I didn't want to
go to sleep, of course; but I was so sleepy I couldn't help it; so I
thought I would take jest one little cat-nap.

But I reckon it was more than a cat-nap, for when I waked up the stars
was shining bright, the fog was all gone, and I was spinning down a big
bend stern first.  First I didn't know where I was; I thought I was
dreaming; and when things began to come back to me they seemed to come up
dim out of last week.

It was a monstrous big river here, with the tallest and the thickest kind
of timber on both banks; just a solid wall, as well as I could see by the
stars.  I looked away down-stream, and seen a black speck on the water.
I took after it; but when I got to it it warn't nothing but a couple of
sawlogs made fast together.  Then I see another speck, and chased that;
then another, and this time I was right.  It was the raft.

When I got to it Jim was setting there with his head down between his
knees, asleep, with his right arm hanging over the steering-oar.  The
other oar was smashed off, and the raft was littered up with leaves and
branches and dirt.  So she'd had a rough time.

I made fast and laid down under Jim's nose on the raft, and began to gap,
and stretch my fists out against Jim, and says:

"Hello, Jim, have I been asleep?  Why didn't you stir me up?"

"Goodness gracious, is dat you, Huck?  En you ain' dead--you ain'
drownded--you's back agin?  It's too good for true, honey, it's too
good for true. Lemme look at you chile, lemme feel o' you.  No, you ain'
dead! you's back agin, 'live en soun', jis de same ole Huck--de same ole
Huck, thanks to goodness!"

"What's the matter with you, Jim?  You been a-drinking?"

"Drinkin'?  Has I ben a-drinkin'?  Has I had a chance to be a-drinkin'?"

"Well, then, what makes you talk so wild?"

"How does I talk wild?"

"HOW?  Why, hain't you been talking about my coming back, and all that
stuff, as if I'd been gone away?"

"Huck--Huck Finn, you look me in de eye; look me in de eye.  HAIN'T you
ben gone away?"

"Gone away?  Why, what in the nation do you mean?  I hain't been gone
anywheres.  Where would I go to?"

"Well, looky here, boss, dey's sumf'n wrong, dey is.  Is I ME, or who IS
I? Is I heah, or whah IS I?  Now dat's what I wants to know."

"Well, I think you're here, plain enough, but I think you're a
tangle-headed old fool, Jim."

"I is, is I?  Well, you answer me dis:  Didn't you tote out de line in de
canoe fer to make fas' to de tow-head?"

"No, I didn't.  What tow-head?  I hain't see no tow-head."

"You hain't seen no towhead?  Looky here, didn't de line pull loose en de
raf' go a-hummin' down de river, en leave you en de canoe behine in de
fog?"

"What fog?"

"Why, de fog!--de fog dat's been aroun' all night.  En didn't you whoop,
en didn't I whoop, tell we got mix' up in de islands en one un us got
los' en t'other one was jis' as good as los', 'kase he didn' know whah he
wuz? En didn't I bust up agin a lot er dem islands en have a turrible
time en mos' git drownded?  Now ain' dat so, boss--ain't it so?  You
answer me dat."

"Well, this is too many for me, Jim.  I hain't seen no fog, nor no
islands, nor no troubles, nor nothing.  I been setting here talking with
you all night till you went to sleep about ten minutes ago, and I reckon
I done the same.  You couldn't a got drunk in that time, so of course
you've been dreaming."

"Dad fetch it, how is I gwyne to dream all dat in ten minutes?"

"Well, hang it all, you did dream it, because there didn't any of it
happen."

"But, Huck, it's all jis' as plain to me as--"

"It don't make no difference how plain it is; there ain't nothing in it.
I know, because I've been here all the time."

Jim didn't say nothing for about five minutes, but set there studying
over it.  Then he says:

"Well, den, I reck'n I did dream it, Huck; but dog my cats ef it ain't de
powerfullest dream I ever see.  En I hain't ever had no dream b'fo' dat's
tired me like dis one."

"Oh, well, that's all right, because a dream does tire a body like
everything sometimes.  But this one was a staving dream; tell me all
about it, Jim."

So Jim went to work and told me the whole thing right through, just as it
happened, only he painted it up considerable.  Then he said he must start
in and "'terpret" it, because it was sent for a warning.  He said the
first towhead stood for a man that would try to do us some good, but the
current was another man that would get us away from him.  The whoops was
warnings that would come to us every now and then, and if we didn't try
hard to make out to understand them they'd just take us into bad luck,
'stead of keeping us out of it.  The lot of towheads was troubles we was
going to get into with quarrelsome people and all kinds of mean folks,
but if we minded our business and didn't talk back and aggravate them, we
would pull through and get out of the fog and into the big clear river,
which was the free States, and wouldn't have no more trouble.

It had clouded up pretty dark just after I got on to the raft, but it was
clearing up again now.

"Oh, well, that's all interpreted well enough as far as it goes, Jim," I
says; "but what does THESE things stand for?"

It was the leaves and rubbish on the raft and the smashed oar.  You could
see them first-rate now.

Jim looked at the trash, and then looked at me, and back at the trash
again.  He had got the dream fixed so strong in his head that he couldn't
seem to shake it loose and get the facts back into its place again right
away.  But when he did get the thing straightened around he looked at me
steady without ever smiling, and says:

"What do dey stan' for?  I'se gwyne to tell you.  When I got all wore out
wid work, en wid de callin' for you, en went to sleep, my heart wuz mos'
broke bekase you wuz los', en I didn' k'yer no' mo' what become er me en
de raf'.  En when I wake up en fine you back agin, all safe en soun', de
tears come, en I could a got down on my knees en kiss yo' foot, I's so
thankful. En all you wuz thinkin' 'bout wuz how you could make a fool uv
ole Jim wid a lie.  Dat truck dah is TRASH; en trash is what people is
dat puts dirt on de head er dey fren's en makes 'em ashamed."

Then he got up slow and walked to the wigwam, and went in there without
saying anything but that.  But that was enough.  It made me feel so mean
I could almost kissed HIS foot to get him to take it back.

It was fifteen minutes before I could work myself up to go and humble
myself to a nigger; but I done it, and I warn't ever sorry for it
afterwards, neither.  I didn't do him no more mean tricks, and I wouldn't
done that one if I'd a knowed it would make him feel that way.




CHAPTER XVI.

WE slept most all day, and started out at night, a little ways behind a
monstrous long raft that was as long going by as a procession.  She had
four long sweeps at each end, so we judged she carried as many as thirty
men, likely.  She had five big wigwams aboard, wide apart, and an open
camp fire in the middle, and a tall flag-pole at each end.  There was a
power of style about her.  It AMOUNTED to something being a raftsman on
such a craft as that.

We went drifting down into a big bend, and the night clouded up and got
hot.  The river was very wide, and was walled with solid timber on both
sides; you couldn't see a break in it hardly ever, or a light.  We talked
about Cairo, and wondered whether we would know it when we got to it.  I
said likely we wouldn't, because I had heard say there warn't but about a
dozen houses there, and if they didn't happen to have them lit up, how
was we going to know we was passing a town?  Jim said if the two big
rivers joined together there, that would show.  But I said maybe we might
think we was passing the foot of an island and coming into the same old
river again. That disturbed Jim--and me too.  So the question was, what
to do?  I said, paddle ashore the first time a light showed, and tell
them pap was behind, coming along with a trading-scow, and was a green
hand at the business, and wanted to know how far it was to Cairo.  Jim
thought it was a good idea, so we took a smoke on it and waited.

There warn't nothing to do now but to look out sharp for the town, and
not pass it without seeing it.  He said he'd be mighty sure to see it,
because he'd be a free man the minute he seen it, but if he missed it
he'd be in a slave country again and no more show for freedom.  Every
little while he jumps up and says:

"Dah she is?"

But it warn't.  It was Jack-o'-lanterns, or lightning bugs; so he set
down again, and went to watching, same as before.  Jim said it made him
all over trembly and feverish to be so close to freedom.  Well, I can
tell you it made me all over trembly and feverish, too, to hear him,
because I begun to get it through my head that he WAS most free--and who
was to blame for it?  Why, ME.  I couldn't get that out of my conscience,
no how nor no way. It got to troubling me so I couldn't rest; I couldn't
stay still in one place.  It hadn't ever come home to me before, what
this thing was that I was doing.  But now it did; and it stayed with me,
and scorched me more and more.  I tried to make out to myself that I
warn't to blame, because I didn't run Jim off from his rightful owner;
but it warn't no use, conscience up and says, every time, "But you knowed
he was running for his freedom, and you could a paddled ashore and told
somebody."  That was so--I couldn't get around that noway.  That was
where it pinched.  Conscience says to me, "What had poor Miss Watson done
to you that you could see her nigger go off right under your eyes and
never say one single word?  What did that poor old woman do to you that
you could treat her so mean?  Why, she tried to learn you your book, she
tried to learn you your manners, she tried to be good to you every way
she knowed how.  THAT'S what she done."

I got to feeling so mean and so miserable I most wished I was dead.  I
fidgeted up and down the raft, abusing myself to myself, and Jim was
fidgeting up and down past me.  We neither of us could keep still.  Every
time he danced around and says, "Dah's Cairo!" it went through me like a
shot, and I thought if it WAS Cairo I reckoned I would die of
miserableness.

Jim talked out loud all the time while I was talking to myself.  He was
saying how the first thing he would do when he got to a free State he
would go to saving up money and never spend a single cent, and when he
got enough he would buy his wife, which was owned on a farm close to
where Miss Watson lived; and then they would both work to buy the two
children, and if their master wouldn't sell them, they'd get an
Ab'litionist to go and steal them.

It most froze me to hear such talk.  He wouldn't ever dared to talk such
talk in his life before.  Just see what a difference it made in him the
minute he judged he was about free.  It was according to the old saying,
"Give a nigger an inch and he'll take an ell."  Thinks I, this is what
comes of my not thinking.  Here was this nigger, which I had as good as
helped to run away, coming right out flat-footed and saying he would
steal his children--children that belonged to a man I didn't even know; a
man that hadn't ever done me no harm.

I was sorry to hear Jim say that, it was such a lowering of him.  My
conscience got to stirring me up hotter than ever, until at last I says
to it, "Let up on me--it ain't too late yet--I'll paddle ashore at the
first light and tell."  I felt easy and happy and light as a feather
right off.  All my troubles was gone.  I went to looking out sharp for a
light, and sort of singing to myself.  By and by one showed.  Jim sings
out:

"We's safe, Huck, we's safe!  Jump up and crack yo' heels!  Dat's de good
ole Cairo at las', I jis knows it!"

I says:

"I'll take the canoe and go and see, Jim.  It mightn't be, you know."

He jumped and got the canoe ready, and put his old coat in the bottom for
me to set on, and give me the paddle; and as I shoved off, he says:

"Pooty soon I'll be a-shout'n' for joy, en I'll say, it's all on accounts
o' Huck; I's a free man, en I couldn't ever ben free ef it hadn' ben for
Huck; Huck done it.  Jim won't ever forgit you, Huck; you's de bes' fren'
Jim's ever had; en you's de ONLY fren' ole Jim's got now."

I was paddling off, all in a sweat to tell on him; but when he says this,
it seemed to kind of take the tuck all out of me.  I went along slow
then, and I warn't right down certain whether I was glad I started or
whether I warn't.  When I was fifty yards off, Jim says:

"Dah you goes, de ole true Huck; de on'y white genlman dat ever kep' his
promise to ole Jim."

Well, I just felt sick.  But I says, I GOT to do it--I can't get OUT of
it.  Right then along comes a skiff with two men in it with guns, and
they stopped and I stopped.  One of them says:

"What's that yonder?"

"A piece of a raft," I says.

"Do you belong on it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any men on it?"

"Only one, sir."

"Well, there's five niggers run off to-night up yonder, above the head of
the bend.  Is your man white or black?"

I didn't answer up prompt.  I tried to, but the words wouldn't come. I
tried for a second or two to brace up and out with it, but I warn't man
enough--hadn't the spunk of a rabbit.  I see I was weakening; so I just
give up trying, and up and says:

"He's white."

"I reckon we'll go and see for ourselves."

"I wish you would," says I, "because it's pap that's there, and maybe
you'd help me tow the raft ashore where the light is.  He's sick--and so
is mam and Mary Ann."

"Oh, the devil! we're in a hurry, boy.  But I s'pose we've got to.  Come,
buckle to your paddle, and let's get along."

I buckled to my paddle and they laid to their oars.  When we had made a
stroke or two, I says:

"Pap'll be mighty much obleeged to you, I can tell you.  Everybody goes
away when I want them to help me tow the raft ashore, and I can't do it
by myself."

"Well, that's infernal mean.  Odd, too.  Say, boy, what's the matter with
your father?"

"It's the--a--the--well, it ain't anything much."

They stopped pulling.  It warn't but a mighty little ways to the raft
now. One says:

"Boy, that's a lie.  What IS the matter with your pap?  Answer up square
now, and it'll be the better for you."

"I will, sir, I will, honest--but don't leave us, please.  It's the--the
--Gentlemen, if you'll only pull ahead, and let me heave you the
headline, you won't have to come a-near the raft--please do."

"Set her back, John, set her back!" says one.  They backed water.  "Keep
away, boy--keep to looard.  Confound it, I just expect the wind has
blowed it to us.  Your pap's got the small-pox, and you know it precious
well.  Why didn't you come out and say so?  Do you want to spread it all
over?"

"Well," says I, a-blubbering, "I've told everybody before, and they just
went away and left us."

"Poor devil, there's something in that.  We are right down sorry for you,
but we--well, hang it, we don't want the small-pox, you see.  Look here,
I'll tell you what to do.  Don't you try to land by yourself, or you'll
smash everything to pieces.  You float along down about twenty miles, and
you'll come to a town on the left-hand side of the river.  It will be
long after sun-up then, and when you ask for help you tell them your
folks are all down with chills and fever.  Don't be a fool again, and let
people guess what is the matter.  Now we're trying to do you a kindness;
so you just put twenty miles between us, that's a good boy.  It wouldn't
do any good to land yonder where the light is--it's only a wood-yard.
Say, I reckon your father's poor, and I'm bound to say he's in pretty
hard luck.  Here, I'll put a twenty-dollar gold piece on this board, and
you get it when it floats by.  I feel mighty mean to leave you; but my
kingdom! it won't do to fool with small-pox, don't you see?"

"Hold on, Parker," says the other man, "here's a twenty to put on the
board for me.  Good-bye, boy; you do as Mr. Parker told you, and you'll
be all right."

"That's so, my boy--good-bye, good-bye.  If you see any runaway niggers
you get help and nab them, and you can make some money by it."

"Good-bye, sir," says I; "I won't let no runaway niggers get by me if I
can help it."

They went off and I got aboard the raft, feeling bad and low, because I
knowed very well I had done wrong, and I see it warn't no use for me to
try to learn to do right; a body that don't get STARTED right when he's
little ain't got no show--when the pinch comes there ain't nothing to
back him up and keep him to his work, and so he gets beat.  Then I
thought a minute, and says to myself, hold on; s'pose you'd a done right
and give Jim up, would you felt better than what you do now?  No, says I,
I'd feel bad--I'd feel just the same way I do now.  Well, then, says I,
what's the use you learning to do right when it's troublesome to do right
and ain't no trouble to do wrong, and the wages is just the same?  I was
stuck.  I couldn't answer that.  So I reckoned I wouldn't bother no more
about it, but after this always do whichever come handiest at the time.

I went into the wigwam; Jim warn't there.  I looked all around; he warn't
anywhere.  I says:

"Jim!"

"Here I is, Huck.  Is dey out o' sight yit?  Don't talk loud."

He was in the river under the stern oar, with just his nose out.  I told
him they were out of sight, so he come aboard.  He says:

"I was a-listenin' to all de talk, en I slips into de river en was gwyne
to shove for sho' if dey come aboard.  Den I was gwyne to swim to de raf'
agin when dey was gone.  But lawsy, how you did fool 'em, Huck!  Dat WUZ
de smartes' dodge!  I tell you, chile, I'spec it save' ole Jim--ole Jim
ain't going to forgit you for dat, honey."

Then we talked about the money.  It was a pretty good raise--twenty
dollars apiece.  Jim said we could take deck passage on a steamboat now,
and the money would last us as far as we wanted to go in the free States.
He said twenty mile more warn't far for the raft to go, but he wished we
was already there.

Towards daybreak we tied up, and Jim was mighty particular about hiding
the raft good.  Then he worked all day fixing things in bundles, and
getting all ready to quit rafting.

That night about ten we hove in sight of the lights of a town away down
in a left-hand bend.

I went off in the canoe to ask about it.  Pretty soon I found a man out
in the river with a skiff, setting a trot-line.  I ranged up and says:

"Mister, is that town Cairo?"

"Cairo? no.  You must be a blame' fool."

"What town is it, mister?"

"If you want to know, go and find out.  If you stay here botherin' around
me for about a half a minute longer you'll get something you won't want."

I paddled to the raft.  Jim was awful disappointed, but I said never
mind, Cairo would be the next place, I reckoned.

We passed another town before daylight, and I was going out again; but it
was high ground, so I didn't go.  No high ground about Cairo, Jim said.
I had forgot it.  We laid up for the day on a towhead tolerable close to
the left-hand bank.  I begun to suspicion something.  So did Jim.  I
says:

"Maybe we went by Cairo in the fog that night."

He says:

"Doan' le's talk about it, Huck.  Po' niggers can't have no luck.  I
awluz 'spected dat rattlesnake-skin warn't done wid its work."

"I wish I'd never seen that snake-skin, Jim--I do wish I'd never laid
eyes on it."

"It ain't yo' fault, Huck; you didn' know.  Don't you blame yo'self 'bout
it."

When it was daylight, here was the clear Ohio water inshore, sure enough,
and outside was the old regular Muddy!  So it was all up with Cairo.

We talked it all over.  It wouldn't do to take to the shore; we couldn't
take the raft up the stream, of course.  There warn't no way but to wait
for dark, and start back in the canoe and take the chances.  So we slept
all day amongst the cottonwood thicket, so as to be fresh for the work,
and when we went back to the raft about dark the canoe was gone!

We didn't say a word for a good while.  There warn't anything to say.  We
both knowed well enough it was some more work of the rattlesnake-skin; so
what was the use to talk about it?  It would only look like we was
finding fault, and that would be bound to fetch more bad luck--and keep
on fetching it, too, till we knowed enough to keep still.

By and by we talked about what we better do, and found there warn't no
way but just to go along down with the raft till we got a chance to buy a
canoe to go back in.  We warn't going to borrow it when there warn't
anybody around, the way pap would do, for that might set people after us.

So we shoved out after dark on the raft.

Anybody that don't believe yet that it's foolishness to handle a
snake-skin, after all that that snake-skin done for us, will believe
it now if they read on and see what more it done for us.

The place to buy canoes is off of rafts laying up at shore.  But we
didn't see no rafts laying up; so we went along during three hours and
more.  Well, the night got gray and ruther thick, which is the next
meanest thing to fog.  You can't tell the shape of the river, and you
can't see no distance. It got to be very late and still, and then along
comes a steamboat up the river.  We lit the lantern, and judged she would
see it.  Up-stream boats didn't generly come close to us; they go out and
follow the bars and hunt for easy water under the reefs; but nights like
this they bull right up the channel against the whole river.

We could hear her pounding along, but we didn't see her good till she was
close.  She aimed right for us.  Often they do that and try to see how
close they can come without touching; sometimes the wheel bites off a
sweep, and then the pilot sticks his head out and laughs, and thinks he's
mighty smart.  Well, here she comes, and we said she was going to try and
shave us; but she didn't seem to be sheering off a bit.  She was a big
one, and she was coming in a hurry, too, looking like a black cloud with
rows of glow-worms around it; but all of a sudden she bulged out, big and
scary, with a long row of wide-open furnace doors shining like red-hot
teeth, and her monstrous bows and guards hanging right over us.  There
was a yell at us, and a jingling of bells to stop the engines, a powwow
of cussing, and whistling of steam--and as Jim went overboard on one side
and I on the other, she come smashing straight through the raft.

I dived--and I aimed to find the bottom, too, for a thirty-foot wheel had
got to go over me, and I wanted it to have plenty of room.  I could
always stay under water a minute; this time I reckon I stayed under a
minute and a half.  Then I bounced for the top in a hurry, for I was
nearly busting.  I popped out to my armpits and blowed the water out of
my nose, and puffed a bit.  Of course there was a booming current; and of
course that boat started her engines again ten seconds after she stopped
them, for they never cared much for raftsmen; so now she was churning
along up the river, out of sight in the thick weather, though I could
hear her.

I sung out for Jim about a dozen times, but I didn't get any answer; so I
grabbed a plank that touched me while I was "treading water," and struck
out for shore, shoving it ahead of me.  But I made out to see that the
drift of the current was towards the left-hand shore, which meant that I
was in a crossing; so I changed off and went that way.

It was one of these long, slanting, two-mile crossings; so I was a good
long time in getting over.  I made a safe landing, and clumb up the bank.
I couldn't see but a little ways, but I went poking along over rough
ground for a quarter of a mile or more, and then I run across a big
old-fashioned double log-house before I noticed it.  I was going to rush
by and get away, but a lot of dogs jumped out and went to howling and
barking at me, and I knowed better than to move another peg.




CHAPTER XVII.

IN about a minute somebody spoke out of a window without putting his head
out, and says:

"Be done, boys!  Who's there?"

I says:

"It's me."

"Who's me?"

"George Jackson, sir."

"What do you want?"

"I don't want nothing, sir.  I only want to go along by, but the dogs
won't let me."

"What are you prowling around here this time of night for--hey?"

"I warn't prowling around, sir, I fell overboard off of the steamboat."

"Oh, you did, did you?  Strike a light there, somebody.  What did you say
your name was?"

"George Jackson, sir.  I'm only a boy."

"Look here, if you're telling the truth you needn't be afraid--nobody'll
hurt you.  But don't try to budge; stand right where you are.  Rouse out
Bob and Tom, some of you, and fetch the guns.  George Jackson, is there
anybody with you?"

"No, sir, nobody."

I heard the people stirring around in the house now, and see a light.
The man sung out:

"Snatch that light away, Betsy, you old fool--ain't you got any sense?
Put it on the floor behind the front door.  Bob, if you and Tom are
ready, take your places."

"All ready."

"Now, George Jackson, do you know the Shepherdsons?"

"No, sir; I never heard of them."

"Well, that may be so, and it mayn't.  Now, all ready.  Step forward,
George Jackson.  And mind, don't you hurry--come mighty slow.  If there's
anybody with you, let him keep back--if he shows himself he'll be shot.
Come along now.  Come slow; push the door open yourself--just enough to
squeeze in, d' you hear?"

I didn't hurry; I couldn't if I'd a wanted to.  I took one slow step at a
time and there warn't a sound, only I thought I could hear my heart.  The
dogs were as still as the humans, but they followed a little behind me.
When I got to the three log doorsteps I heard them unlocking and
unbarring and unbolting.  I put my hand on the door and pushed it a
little and a little more till somebody said, "There, that's enough--put
your head in." I done it, but I judged they would take it off.

The candle was on the floor, and there they all was, looking at me, and
me at them, for about a quarter of a minute:  Three big men with guns
pointed at me, which made me wince, I tell you; the oldest, gray and
about sixty, the other two thirty or more--all of them fine and handsome
--and the sweetest old gray-headed lady, and back of her two young women
which I couldn't see right well.  The old gentleman says:

"There; I reckon it's all right.  Come in."

As soon as I was in the old gentleman he locked the door and barred it
and bolted it, and told the young men to come in with their guns, and
they all went in a big parlor that had a new rag carpet on the floor, and
got together in a corner that was out of the range of the front windows
--there warn't none on the side.  They held the candle, and took a good
look at me, and all said, "Why, HE ain't a Shepherdson--no, there ain't
any Shepherdson about him."  Then the old man said he hoped I wouldn't
mind being searched for arms, because he didn't mean no harm by it--it
was only to make sure.  So he didn't pry into my pockets, but only felt
outside with his hands, and said it was all right.  He told me to make
myself easy and at home, and tell all about myself; but the old lady
says:

"Why, bless you, Saul, the poor thing's as wet as he can be; and don't
you reckon it may be he's hungry?"

"True for you, Rachel--I forgot."

So the old lady says:

"Betsy" (this was a nigger woman), "you fly around and get him something
to eat as quick as you can, poor thing; and one of you girls go and wake
up Buck and tell him--oh, here he is himself.  Buck, take this little
stranger and get the wet clothes off from him and dress him up in some of
yours that's dry."

Buck looked about as old as me--thirteen or fourteen or along there,
though he was a little bigger than me.  He hadn't on anything but a
shirt, and he was very frowzy-headed.  He came in gaping and digging one
fist into his eyes, and he was dragging a gun along with the other one.
He says:

"Ain't they no Shepherdsons around?"

They said, no, 'twas a false alarm.

"Well," he says, "if they'd a ben some, I reckon I'd a got one."

They all laughed, and Bob says:

"Why, Buck, they might have scalped us all, you've been so slow in
coming."

"Well, nobody come after me, and it ain't right I'm always kept down; I
don't get no show."

"Never mind, Buck, my boy," says the old man, "you'll have show enough,
all in good time, don't you fret about that.  Go 'long with you now, and
do as your mother told you."

When we got up-stairs to his room he got me a coarse shirt and a
roundabout and pants of his, and I put them on.  While I was at it he
asked me what my name was, but before I could tell him he started to tell
me about a bluejay and a young rabbit he had catched in the woods day
before yesterday, and he asked me where Moses was when the candle went
out.  I said I didn't know; I hadn't heard about it before, no way.

"Well, guess," he says.

"How'm I going to guess," says I, "when I never heard tell of it before?"

"But you can guess, can't you?  It's just as easy."

"WHICH candle?"  I says.

"Why, any candle," he says.

"I don't know where he was," says I; "where was he?"

"Why, he was in the DARK!  That's where he was!"

"Well, if you knowed where he was, what did you ask me for?"

"Why, blame it, it's a riddle, don't you see?  Say, how long are you
going to stay here?  You got to stay always.  We can just have booming
times--they don't have no school now.  Do you own a dog?  I've got a
dog--and he'll go in the river and bring out chips that you throw in.  Do
you like to comb up Sundays, and all that kind of foolishness?  You bet I
don't, but ma she makes me.  Confound these ole britches!  I reckon I'd
better put 'em on, but I'd ruther not, it's so warm.  Are you all ready?
All right.  Come along, old hoss."

Cold corn-pone, cold corn-beef, butter and buttermilk--that is what they
had for me down there, and there ain't nothing better that ever I've come
across yet.  Buck and his ma and all of them smoked cob pipes, except the
nigger woman, which was gone, and the two young women.  They all smoked
and talked, and I eat and talked.  The young women had quilts around
them, and their hair down their backs.  They all asked me questions, and
I told them how pap and me and all the family was living on a little farm
down at the bottom of Arkansaw, and my sister Mary Ann run off and got
married and never was heard of no more, and Bill went to hunt them and he
warn't heard of no more, and Tom and Mort died, and then there warn't
nobody but just me and pap left, and he was just trimmed down to nothing,
on account of his troubles; so when he died I took what there was left,
because the farm didn't belong to us, and started up the river, deck
passage, and fell overboard; and that was how I come to be here.  So they
said I could have a home there as long as I wanted it.  Then it was most
daylight and everybody went to bed, and I went to bed with Buck, and when
I waked up in the morning, drat it all, I had forgot what my name was.
So I laid there about an hour trying to think, and when Buck waked up I
says:

"Can you spell, Buck?"

"Yes," he says.

"I bet you can't spell my name," says I.

"I bet you what you dare I can," says he.

"All right," says I, "go ahead."

"G-e-o-r-g-e J-a-x-o-n--there now," he says.

"Well," says I, "you done it, but I didn't think you could.  It ain't no
slouch of a name to spell--right off without studying."

I set it down, private, because somebody might want ME to spell it next,
and so I wanted to be handy with it and rattle it off like I was used to
it.

It was a mighty nice family, and a mighty nice house, too.  I hadn't seen
no house out in the country before that was so nice and had so much
style.  It didn't have an iron latch on the front door, nor a wooden one
with a buckskin string, but a brass knob to turn, the same as houses in
town. There warn't no bed in the parlor, nor a sign of a bed; but heaps
of parlors in towns has beds in them.  There was a big fireplace that was
bricked on the bottom, and the bricks was kept clean and red by pouring
water on them and scrubbing them with another brick; sometimes they wash
them over with red water-paint that they call Spanish-brown, same as they
do in town.  They had big brass dog-irons that could hold up a saw-log.
There was a clock on the middle of the mantelpiece, with a picture of a
town painted on the bottom half of the glass front, and a round place in
the middle of it for the sun, and you could see the pendulum swinging
behind it.  It was beautiful to hear that clock tick; and sometimes when
one of these peddlers had been along and scoured her up and got her in
good shape, she would start in and strike a hundred and fifty before she
got tuckered out.  They wouldn't took any money for her.

Well, there was a big outlandish parrot on each side of the clock, made
out of something like chalk, and painted up gaudy.  By one of the parrots
was a cat made of crockery, and a crockery dog by the other; and when you
pressed down on them they squeaked, but didn't open their mouths nor look
different nor interested.  They squeaked through underneath.  There was a
couple of big wild-turkey-wing fans spread out behind those things.  On
the table in the middle of the room was a kind of a lovely crockery
basket that had apples and oranges and peaches and grapes piled up in it,
which was much redder and yellower and prettier than real ones is, but
they warn't real because you could see where pieces had got chipped off
and showed the white chalk, or whatever it was, underneath.

This table had a cover made out of beautiful oilcloth, with a red and
blue spread-eagle painted on it, and a painted border all around.  It
come all the way from Philadelphia, they said.  There was some books,
too, piled up perfectly exact, on each corner of the table.  One was a
big family Bible full of pictures.  One was Pilgrim's Progress, about a
man that left his family, it didn't say why.  I read considerable in it
now and then.  The statements was interesting, but tough.  Another was
Friendship's Offering, full of beautiful stuff and poetry; but I didn't
read the poetry.  Another was Henry Clay's Speeches, and another was Dr.
Gunn's Family Medicine, which told you all about what to do if a body was
sick or dead.  There was a hymn book, and a lot of other books.  And
there was nice split-bottom chairs, and perfectly sound, too--not bagged
down in the middle and busted, like an old basket.

They had pictures hung on the walls--mainly Washingtons and Lafayettes,
and battles, and Highland Marys, and one called "Signing the
Declaration." There was some that they called crayons, which one of the
daughters which was dead made her own self when she was only fifteen
years old.  They was different from any pictures I ever see before
--blacker, mostly, than is common.  One was a woman in a slim black dress,
belted small under the armpits, with bulges like a cabbage in the middle
of the sleeves, and a large black scoop-shovel bonnet with a black veil,
and white slim ankles crossed about with black tape, and very wee black
slippers, like a chisel, and she was leaning pensive on a tombstone on
her right elbow, under a weeping willow, and her other hand hanging down
her side holding a white handkerchief and a reticule, and underneath the
picture it said "Shall I Never See Thee More Alas."  Another one was a
young lady with her hair all combed up straight to the top of her head,
and knotted there in front of a comb like a chair-back, and she was
crying into a handkerchief and had a dead bird laying on its back in her
other hand with its heels up, and underneath the picture it said "I Shall
Never Hear Thy Sweet Chirrup More Alas."  There was one where a young
lady was at a window looking up at the moon, and tears running down her
cheeks; and she had an open letter in one hand with black sealing wax
showing on one edge of it, and she was mashing a locket with a chain to
it against her mouth, and underneath the picture it said "And Art Thou
Gone Yes Thou Art Gone Alas."  These was all nice pictures, I reckon, but
I didn't somehow seem to take to them, because if ever I was down a
little they always give me the fan-tods.  Everybody was sorry she died,
because she had laid out a lot more of these pictures to do, and a body
could see by what she had done what they had lost.  But I reckoned that
with her disposition she was having a better time in the graveyard.  She
was at work on what they said was her greatest picture when she took
sick, and every day and every night it was her prayer to be allowed to
live till she got it done, but she never got the chance.  It was a
picture of a young woman in a long white gown, standing on the rail of a
bridge all ready to jump off, with her hair all down her back, and
looking up to the moon, with the tears running down her face, and she had
two arms folded across her breast, and two arms stretched out in front,
and two more reaching up towards the moon--and the idea was to see which
pair would look best, and then scratch out all the other arms; but, as I
was saying, she died before she got her mind made up, and now they kept
this picture over the head of the bed in her room, and every time her
birthday come they hung flowers on it.  Other times it was hid with a
little curtain.  The young woman in the picture had a kind of a nice
sweet face, but there was so many arms it made her look too spidery,
seemed to me.

This young girl kept a scrap-book when she was alive, and used to paste
obituaries and accidents and cases of patient suffering in it out of the
Presbyterian Observer, and write poetry after them out of her own head.
It was very good poetry.  This is what she wrote about a boy by the name
of Stephen Dowling Bots that fell down a well and was drownded:

ODE TO STEPHEN DOWLING BOTS, DEC'D

And did young Stephen sicken, And did young Stephen die? And did the sad
hearts thicken, And did the mourners cry?

No; such was not the fate of Young Stephen Dowling Bots; Though sad
hearts round him thickened, 'Twas not from sickness' shots.

No whooping-cough did rack his frame, Nor measles drear with spots; Not
these impaired the sacred name Of Stephen Dowling Bots.

Despised love struck not with woe That head of curly knots, Nor stomach
troubles laid him low, Young Stephen Dowling Bots.

O no.  Then list with tearful eye, Whilst I his fate do tell. His soul
did from this cold world fly By falling down a well.

They got him out and emptied him; Alas it was too late; His spirit was
gone for to sport aloft In the realms of the good and great.

If Emmeline Grangerford could make poetry like that before she was
fourteen, there ain't no telling what she could a done by and by.  Buck
said she could rattle off poetry like nothing.  She didn't ever have to
stop to think.  He said she would slap down a line, and if she couldn't
find anything to rhyme with it would just scratch it out and slap down
another one, and go ahead. She warn't particular; she could write about
anything you choose to give her to write about just so it was sadful.
Every time a man died, or a woman died, or a child died, she would be on
hand with her "tribute" before he was cold.  She called them tributes.
The neighbors said it was the doctor first, then Emmeline, then the
undertaker--the undertaker never got in ahead of Emmeline but once, and
then she hung fire on a rhyme for the dead person's name, which was
Whistler.  She warn't ever the same after that; she never complained, but
she kinder pined away and did not live long.  Poor thing, many's the time
I made myself go up to the little room that used to be hers and get out
her poor old scrap-book and read in it when her pictures had been
aggravating me and I had soured on her a little.  I liked all that
family, dead ones and all, and warn't going to let anything come between
us.  Poor Emmeline made poetry about all the dead people when she was
alive, and it didn't seem right that there warn't nobody to make some
about her now she was gone; so I tried to sweat out a verse or two
myself, but I couldn't seem to make it go somehow.  They kept Emmeline's
room trim and nice, and all the things fixed in it just the way she liked
to have them when she was alive, and nobody ever slept there.  The old
lady took care of the room herself, though there was plenty of niggers,
and she sewed there a good deal and read her Bible there mostly.

Well, as I was saying about the parlor, there was beautiful curtains on
the windows:  white, with pictures painted on them of castles with vines
all down the walls, and cattle coming down to drink.  There was a little
old piano, too, that had tin pans in it, I reckon, and nothing was ever
so lovely as to hear the young ladies sing "The Last Link is Broken" and
play "The Battle of Prague" on it.  The walls of all the rooms was
plastered, and most had carpets on the floors, and the whole house was
whitewashed on the outside.

It was a double house, and the big open place betwixt them was roofed and
floored, and sometimes the table was set there in the middle of the day,
and it was a cool, comfortable place.  Nothing couldn't be better.  And
warn't the cooking good, and just bushels of it too!


THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER

by Mark Twain




Hugh Latimer, Bishop of Worcester, to Lord Cromwell, on the birth of the
Prince of Wales (afterward Edward VI.).

From the National Manuscripts preserved by the British Government.

Ryght honorable, Salutem in Christo Jesu, and Syr here ys no lesse joynge
and rejossynge in thes partees for the byrth of our prynce, hoom we
hungurde for so longe, then ther was (I trow), inter vicinos att the
byrth of S. J. Baptyste, as thys berer, Master Erance, can telle you.
Gode gyffe us alle grace, to yelde dew thankes to our Lorde Gode, Gode of
Inglonde, for verely He hathe shoyd Hym selff Gode of Inglonde, or rather
an Inglyssh Gode, yf we consydyr and pondyr welle alle Hys procedynges
with us from tyme to tyme.  He hath over cumme alle our yllnesse with Hys
excedynge goodnesse, so that we are now moor then compellyd to serve Hym,
seke Hys glory, promott Hys wurde, yf the Devylle of alle Devylles be
natt in us.  We have now the stooppe of vayne trustes ande the stey of
vayne expectations; lett us alle pray for hys preservatione.  Ande I for
my partt wylle wyssh that hys Grace allways have, and evyn now from the
begynynge, Governares, Instructores and offyceres of ryght jugmente, ne
optimum ingenium non optima educatione deprevetur.

Butt whatt a grett fowlle am I!  So, whatt devotione shoyth many tymys
butt lytelle dyscretione!  Ande thus the Gode of Inglonde be ever with
you in alle your procedynges.

The 19 of October.

Youres, H. L. B. of Wurcestere, now att Hartlebury.

Yf you wolde excytt thys berere to be moore hartye ayen the abuse of
ymagry or mor forwarde to promotte the veryte, ytt myght doo goode.  Natt
that ytt came of me, butt of your selffe, etc.

(Addressed) To the Ryght Honorable Loorde P. Sealle hys synguler gode
Lorde.



To those good-mannered and agreeable children Susie and Clara Clemens
this book is affectionately inscribed by their father.



I will set down a tale as it was told to me by one who had it of his
father, which latter had it of HIS father, this last having in like
manner had it of HIS father--and so on, back and still back, three
hundred years and more, the fathers transmitting it to the sons and so
preserving it.  It may be history, it may be only a legend, a tradition.
It may have happened, it may not have happened:  but it COULD have
happened.  It may be that the wise and the learned believed it in the old
days; it may be that only the unlearned and the simple loved it and
credited it.




Contents.

I.      The birth of the Prince and the Pauper.
II.     Tom's early life.
III.    Tom's meeting with the Prince.
IV.     The Prince's troubles begin.
V.      Tom as a patrician.
VI.     Tom receives instructions.
VII.    Tom's first royal dinner.
VIII.   The question of the Seal.
IX.     The river pageant.
X.      The Prince in the toils.
XI.     At Guildhall.
XII.    The Prince and his deliverer.
XIII.   The disappearance of the Prince.
XIV.    'Le Roi est mort--vive le Roi.'
XV.     Tom as King.
XVI.    The state dinner.
XVII.   Foo-foo the First.
XVIII.  The Prince with the tramps.
XIX.    The Prince with the peasants.
XX.     The Prince and the hermit.
XXI.    Hendon to the rescue.
XXII.   A victim of treachery.
XXIII.  The Prince a prisoner.
XXIV.   The escape.
XXV.    Hendon Hall.
XXVI.   Disowned.
XXVII.  In prison.
XXVIII. The sacrifice.
XXIX.   To London.
XXX.    Tom's progress.
XXXI.   The Recognition procession.
XXXII.  Coronation Day.
XXXIII. Edward as King.
Conclusion. Justice and Retribution.
Notes.



     'The quality of mercy . . . is twice bless'd;
      It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes;
      'Tis mightiest in the mightiest:  it becomes
      The thron-ed monarch better than his crown'.
                                   Merchant of Venice.




Chapter I. The birth of the Prince and the Pauper.

In the ancient city of London, on a certain autumn day in the second
quarter of the sixteenth century, a boy was born to a poor family of the
name of Canty, who did not want him.  On the same day another English
child was born to a rich family of the name of Tudor, who did want him.
All England wanted him too.  England had so longed for him, and hoped for
him, and prayed God for him, that, now that he was really come, the
people went nearly mad for joy.  Mere acquaintances hugged and kissed
each other and cried. Everybody took a holiday, and high and low, rich
and poor, feasted and danced and sang, and got very mellow; and they kept
this up for days and nights together.  By day, London was a sight to see,
with gay banners waving from every balcony and housetop, and splendid
pageants marching along.  By night, it was again a sight to see, with its
great bonfires at every corner, and its troops of revellers making merry
around them.  There was no talk in all England but of the new baby,
Edward Tudor, Prince of Wales, who lay lapped in silks and satins,
unconscious of all this fuss, and not knowing that great lords and ladies
were tending him and watching over him--and not caring, either.  But
there was no talk about the other baby, Tom Canty, lapped in his poor
rags, except among the family of paupers whom he had just come to trouble
with his presence.



Chapter II. Tom's early life.

Let us skip a number of years.

London was fifteen hundred years old, and was a great town--for that day.
It had a hundred thousand inhabitants--some think double as many.  The
streets were very narrow, and crooked, and dirty, especially in the part
where Tom Canty lived, which was not far from London Bridge.  The houses
were of wood, with the second story projecting over the first, and the
third sticking its elbows out beyond the second.  The higher the houses
grew, the broader they grew.  They were skeletons of strong criss-cross
beams, with solid material between, coated with plaster.  The beams were
painted red or blue or black, according to the owner's taste, and this
gave the houses a very picturesque look.  The windows were small, glazed
with little diamond-shaped panes, and they opened outward, on hinges,
like doors.

The house which Tom's father lived in was up a foul little pocket called
Offal Court, out of Pudding Lane.  It was small, decayed, and rickety,
but it was packed full of wretchedly poor families. Canty's tribe
occupied a room on the third floor.  The mother and father had a sort of
bedstead in the corner; but Tom, his grandmother, and his two sisters,
Bet and Nan, were not restricted--they had all the floor to themselves,
and might sleep where they chose.  There were the remains of a blanket or
two, and some bundles of ancient and dirty straw, but these could not
rightly be called beds, for they were not organised; they were kicked
into a general pile, mornings, and selections made from the mass at
night, for service.

Bet and Nan were fifteen years old--twins.  They were good-hearted girls,
unclean, clothed in rags, and profoundly ignorant.  Their mother was like
them.  But the father and the grandmother were a couple of fiends.  They
got drunk whenever they could; then they fought each other or anybody
else who came in the way; they cursed and swore always, drunk or sober;
John Canty was a thief, and his mother a beggar.  They made beggars of
the children, but failed to make thieves of them.  Among, but not of, the
dreadful rabble that inhabited the house, was a good old priest whom the
King had turned out of house and home with a pension of a few farthings,
and he used to get the children aside and teach them right ways secretly.
Father Andrew also taught Tom a little Latin, and how to read and write;
and would have done the same with the girls, but they were afraid of the
jeers of their friends, who could not have endured such a queer
accomplishment in them.

All Offal Court was just such another hive as Canty's house. Drunkenness,
riot and brawling were the order, there, every night and nearly all night
long.  Broken heads were as common as hunger in that place.  Yet little
Tom was not unhappy.  He had a hard time of it, but did not know it.  It
was the sort of time that all the Offal Court boys had, therefore he
supposed it was the correct and comfortable thing.  When he came home
empty-handed at night, he knew his father would curse him and thrash him
first, and that when he was done the awful grandmother would do it all
over again and improve on it; and that away in the night his starving
mother would slip to him stealthily with any miserable scrap or crust she
had been able to save for him by going hungry herself, notwithstanding
she was often caught in that sort of treason and soundly beaten for it by
her husband.

No, Tom's life went along well enough, especially in summer.  He only
begged just enough to save himself, for the laws against mendicancy were
stringent, and the penalties heavy; so he put in a good deal of his time
listening to good Father Andrew's charming old tales and legends about
giants and fairies, dwarfs and genii, and enchanted castles, and gorgeous
kings and princes.  His head grew to be full of these wonderful things,
and many a night as he lay in the dark on his scant and offensive straw,
tired, hungry, and smarting from a thrashing, he unleashed his
imagination and soon forgot his aches and pains in delicious picturings
to himself of the charmed life of a petted prince in a regal palace.  One
desire came in time to haunt him day and night:  it was to see a real
prince, with his own eyes.  He spoke of it once to some of his Offal
Court comrades; but they jeered him and scoffed him so unmercifully that
he was glad to keep his dream to himself after that.

He often read the priest's old books and got him to explain and enlarge
upon them.  His dreamings and readings worked certain changes in him,
by-and-by.  His dream-people were so fine that he grew to lament his shabby
clothing and his dirt, and to wish to be clean and better clad.  He went
on playing in the mud just the same, and enjoying it, too; but, instead
of splashing around in the Thames solely for the fun of it, he began to
find an added value in it because of the washings and cleansings it
afforded.

Tom could always find something going on around the Maypole in Cheapside,
and at the fairs; and now and then he and the rest of London had a chance
to see a military parade when some famous unfortunate was carried
prisoner to the Tower, by land or boat. One summer's day he saw poor Anne
Askew and three men burned at the stake in Smithfield, and heard an
ex-Bishop preach a sermon to them which did not interest him.  Yes, Tom's
life was varied and pleasant enough, on the whole.

By-and-by Tom's reading and dreaming about princely life wrought such a
strong effect upon him that he began to ACT the prince, unconsciously.
His speech and manners became curiously ceremonious and courtly, to the
vast admiration and amusement of his intimates.  But Tom's influence
among these young people began to grow now, day by day; and in time he
came to be looked up to, by them, with a sort of wondering awe, as a
superior being.  He seemed to know so much! and he could do and say such
marvellous things! and withal, he was so deep and wise!  Tom's remarks,
and Tom's performances, were reported by the boys to their elders; and
these, also, presently began to discuss Tom Canty, and to regard him as a
most gifted and extraordinary creature.  Full-grown people brought their
perplexities to Tom for solution, and were often astonished at the wit
and wisdom of his decisions.  In fact he was become a hero to all who
knew him except his own family--these, only, saw nothing in him.

Privately, after a while, Tom organised a royal court!  He was the
prince; his special comrades were guards, chamberlains, equerries, lords
and ladies in waiting, and the royal family.  Daily the mock prince was
received with elaborate ceremonials borrowed by Tom from his romantic
readings; daily the great affairs of the mimic kingdom were discussed in
the royal council, and daily his mimic highness issued decrees to his
imaginary armies, navies, and viceroyalties.

After which, he would go forth in his rags and beg a few farthings, eat
his poor crust, take his customary cuffs and abuse, and then stretch
himself upon his handful of foul straw, and resume his empty grandeurs in
his dreams.

And still his desire to look just once upon a real prince, in the flesh,
grew upon him, day by day, and week by week, until at last it absorbed
all other desires, and became the one passion of his life.

One January day, on his usual begging tour, he tramped despondently up
and down the region round about Mincing Lane and Little East Cheap, hour
after hour, bare-footed and cold, looking in at cook-shop windows and
longing for the dreadful pork-pies and other deadly inventions displayed
there--for to him these were dainties fit for the angels; that is,
judging by the smell, they were--for it had never been his good luck to
own and eat one. There was a cold drizzle of rain; the atmosphere was
murky; it was a melancholy day.  At night Tom reached home so wet and
tired and hungry that it was not possible for his father and grandmother
to observe his forlorn condition and not be moved--after their fashion;
wherefore they gave him a brisk cuffing at once and sent him to bed.  For
a long time his pain and hunger, and the swearing and fighting going on
in the building, kept him awake; but at last his thoughts drifted away to
far, romantic lands, and he fell asleep in the company of jewelled and
gilded princelings who live in vast palaces, and had servants salaaming
before them or flying to execute their orders.  And then, as usual, he
dreamed that HE was a princeling himself.

All night long the glories of his royal estate shone upon him; he moved
among great lords and ladies, in a blaze of light, breathing perfumes,
drinking in delicious music, and answering the reverent obeisances of the
glittering throng as it parted to make way for him, with here a smile,
and there a nod of his princely head.

And when he awoke in the morning and looked upon the wretchedness about
him, his dream had had its usual effect--it had intensified the
sordidness of his surroundings a thousandfold.  Then came bitterness, and
heart-break, and tears.



Chapter III. Tom's meeting with the Prince.

Tom got up hungry, and sauntered hungry away, but with his thoughts busy
with the shadowy splendours of his night's dreams. He wandered here and
there in the city, hardly noticing where he was going, or what was
happening around him.  People jostled him, and some gave him rough
speech; but it was all lost on the musing boy.  By-and-by he found
himself at Temple Bar, the farthest from home he had ever travelled in
that direction.  He stopped and considered a moment, then fell into his
imaginings again, and passed on outside the walls of London.  The Strand
had ceased to be a country-road then, and regarded itself as a street,
but by a strained construction; for, though there was a tolerably compact
row of houses on one side of it, there were only some scattered great
buildings on the other, these being palaces of rich nobles, with ample
and beautiful grounds stretching to the river--grounds that are now
closely packed with grim acres of brick and stone.

Tom discovered Charing Village presently, and rested himself at the
beautiful cross built there by a bereaved king of earlier days; then
idled down a quiet, lovely road, past the great cardinal's stately
palace, toward a far more mighty and majestic palace beyond--Westminster.
Tom stared in glad wonder at the vast pile of masonry, the wide-spreading
wings, the frowning bastions and turrets, the huge stone gateway, with
its gilded bars and its magnificent array of colossal granite lions, and
other the signs and symbols of English royalty.  Was the desire of his
soul to be satisfied at last?  Here, indeed, was a king's palace.  Might
he not hope to see a prince now--a prince of flesh and blood, if Heaven
were willing?

At each side of the gilded gate stood a living statue--that is to say, an
erect and stately and motionless man-at-arms, clad from head to heel in
shining steel armour.  At a respectful distance were many country folk,
and people from the city, waiting for any chance glimpse of royalty that
might offer.  Splendid carriages, with splendid people in them and
splendid servants outside, were arriving and departing by several other
noble gateways that pierced the royal enclosure.

Poor little Tom, in his rags, approached, and was moving slowly and
timidly past the sentinels, with a beating heart and a rising hope, when
all at once he caught sight through the golden bars of a spectacle that
almost made him shout for joy.  Within was a comely boy, tanned and brown
with sturdy outdoor sports and exercises, whose clothing was all of
lovely silks and satins, shining with jewels; at his hip a little
jewelled sword and dagger; dainty buskins on his feet, with red heels;
and on his head a jaunty crimson cap, with drooping plumes fastened with
a great sparkling gem.  Several gorgeous gentlemen stood near--his
servants, without a doubt.  Oh! he was a prince--a prince, a living
prince, a real prince--without the shadow of a question; and the prayer
of the pauper-boy's heart was answered at last.

Tom's breath came quick and short with excitement, and his eyes grew big
with wonder and delight.  Everything gave way in his mind instantly to
one desire:  that was to get close to the prince, and have a good,
devouring look at him.  Before he knew what he was about, he had his face
against the gate-bars.  The next instant one of the soldiers snatched him
rudely away, and sent him spinning among the gaping crowd of country
gawks and London idlers.  The soldier said,--

"Mind thy manners, thou young beggar!"

The crowd jeered and laughed; but the young prince sprang to the gate
with his face flushed, and his eyes flashing with indignation, and cried
out,--

"How dar'st thou use a poor lad like that?  How dar'st thou use the King
my father's meanest subject so?  Open the gates, and let him in!"

You should have seen that fickle crowd snatch off their hats then. You
should have heard them cheer, and shout, "Long live the Prince of Wales!"

The soldiers presented arms with their halberds, opened the gates, and
presented again as the little Prince of Poverty passed in, in his
fluttering rags, to join hands with the Prince of Limitless Plenty.

Edward Tudor said--

"Thou lookest tired and hungry:  thou'st been treated ill.  Come with
me."

Half a dozen attendants sprang forward to--I don't know what; interfere,
no doubt.  But they were waved aside with a right royal gesture, and they
stopped stock still where they were, like so many statues.  Edward took
Tom to a rich apartment in the palace, which he called his cabinet.  By
his command a repast was brought such as Tom had never encountered before
except in books.  The prince, with princely delicacy and breeding, sent
away the servants, so that his humble guest might not be embarrassed by
their critical presence; then he sat near by, and asked questions while
Tom ate.

"What is thy name, lad?"

"Tom Canty, an' it please thee, sir."

"'Tis an odd one.  Where dost live?"

"In the city, please thee, sir.  Offal Court, out of Pudding Lane."

"Offal Court!  Truly 'tis another odd one.  Hast parents?"

"Parents have I, sir, and a grand-dam likewise that is but indifferently
precious to me, God forgive me if it be offence to say it--also twin
sisters, Nan and Bet."

"Then is thy grand-dam not over kind to thee, I take it?"

"Neither to any other is she, so please your worship.  She hath a wicked
heart, and worketh evil all her days."

"Doth she mistreat thee?"

"There be times that she stayeth her hand, being asleep or overcome with
drink; but when she hath her judgment clear again, she maketh it up to me
with goodly beatings."

A fierce look came into the little prince's eyes, and he cried out--

"What!  Beatings?"

"Oh, indeed, yes, please you, sir."

"BEATINGS!--and thou so frail and little.  Hark ye:  before the night
come, she shall hie her to the Tower.  The King my father"--

"In sooth, you forget, sir, her low degree.  The Tower is for the great
alone."

"True, indeed.  I had not thought of that.  I will consider of her
punishment.  Is thy father kind to thee?"

"Not more than Gammer Canty, sir."

"Fathers be alike, mayhap.  Mine hath not a doll's temper.  He smiteth
with a heavy hand, yet spareth me:  he spareth me not always with his
tongue, though, sooth to say.  How doth thy mother use thee?"

"She is good, sir, and giveth me neither sorrow nor pain of any sort.
And Nan and Bet are like to her in this."

"How old be these?"

"Fifteen, an' it please you, sir."

"The Lady Elizabeth, my sister, is fourteen, and the Lady Jane Grey, my
cousin, is of mine own age, and comely and gracious withal; but my sister
the Lady Mary, with her gloomy mien and--Look you:  do thy sisters forbid
their servants to smile, lest the sin destroy their souls?"

"They?  Oh, dost think, sir, that THEY have servants?"

The little prince contemplated the little pauper gravely a moment, then
said--

"And prithee, why not?  Who helpeth them undress at night?  Who attireth
them when they rise?"

"None, sir.  Would'st have them take off their garment, and sleep
without--like the beasts?"

"Their garment!  Have they but one?"

"Ah, good your worship, what would they do with more?  Truly they have
not two bodies each."

"It is a quaint and marvellous thought!  Thy pardon, I had not meant to
laugh.  But thy good Nan and thy Bet shall have raiment and lackeys enow,
and that soon, too:  my cofferer shall look to it.  No, thank me not;
'tis nothing.  Thou speakest well; thou hast an easy grace in it.  Art
learned?"

"I know not if I am or not, sir.  The good priest that is called Father
Andrew taught me, of his kindness, from his books."

"Know'st thou the Latin?"

"But scantly, sir, I doubt."

"Learn it, lad:  'tis hard only at first.  The Greek is harder; but
neither these nor any tongues else, I think, are hard to the Lady
Elizabeth and my cousin.  Thou should'st hear those damsels at it!  But
tell me of thy Offal Court.  Hast thou a pleasant life there?"

"In truth, yes, so please you, sir, save when one is hungry. There be
Punch-and-Judy shows, and monkeys--oh such antic creatures! and so
bravely dressed!--and there be plays wherein they that play do shout and
fight till all are slain, and 'tis so fine to see, and costeth but a
farthing--albeit 'tis main hard to get the farthing, please your
worship."

"Tell me more."

"We lads of Offal Court do strive against each other with the cudgel,
like to the fashion of the 'prentices, sometimes."

The prince's eyes flashed.  Said he--

"Marry, that would not I mislike.  Tell me more."

"We strive in races, sir, to see who of us shall be fleetest."

"That would I like also.  Speak on."

"In summer, sir, we wade and swim in the canals and in the river, and
each doth duck his neighbour, and splatter him with water, and dive and
shout and tumble and--"

"'Twould be worth my father's kingdom but to enjoy it once! Prithee go
on."

"We dance and sing about the Maypole in Cheapside; we play in the sand,
each covering his neighbour up; and times we make mud pastry--oh the
lovely mud, it hath not its like for delightfulness in all the world!--we
do fairly wallow in the mud, sir, saving your worship's presence."

"Oh, prithee, say no more, 'tis glorious!  If that I could but clothe me
in raiment like to thine, and strip my feet, and revel in the mud once,
just once, with none to rebuke me or forbid, meseemeth I could forego the
crown!"

"And if that I could clothe me once, sweet sir, as thou art clad--just
once--"

"Oho, would'st like it?  Then so shall it be.  Doff thy rags, and don
these splendours, lad!  It is a brief happiness, but will be not less
keen for that.  We will have it while we may, and change again before any
come to molest."

A few minutes later the little Prince of Wales was garlanded with Tom's
fluttering odds and ends, and the little Prince of Pauperdom was tricked
out in the gaudy plumage of royalty.  The two went and stood side by side
before a great mirror, and lo, a miracle: there did not seem to have been
any change made!  They stared at each other, then at the glass, then at
each other again.  At last the puzzled princeling said--

"What dost thou make of this?"

"Ah, good your worship, require me not to answer.  It is not meet that
one of my degree should utter the thing."

"Then will _I_ utter it.  Thou hast the same hair, the same eyes, the
same voice and manner, the same form and stature, the same face and
countenance that I bear.  Fared we forth naked, there is none could say
which was you, and which the Prince of Wales.  And, now that I am clothed
as thou wert clothed, it seemeth I should be able the more nearly to feel
as thou didst when the brute soldier--Hark ye, is not this a bruise upon
your hand?"

"Yes; but it is a slight thing, and your worship knoweth that the poor
man-at-arms--"

"Peace!  It was a shameful thing and a cruel!" cried the little prince,
stamping his bare foot.  "If the King--Stir not a step till I come again!
It is a command!"

In a moment he had snatched up and put away an article of national
importance that lay upon a table, and was out at the door and flying
through the palace grounds in his bannered rags, with a hot face and
glowing eyes.  As soon as he reached the great gate, he seized the bars,
and tried to shake them, shouting--

"Open!  Unbar the gates!"

The soldier that had maltreated Tom obeyed promptly; and as the prince
burst through the portal, half-smothered with royal wrath, the soldier
fetched him a sounding box on the ear that sent him whirling to the
roadway, and said--

"Take that, thou beggar's spawn, for what thou got'st me from his
Highness!"

The crowd roared with laughter.  The prince picked himself out of the
mud, and made fiercely at the sentry, shouting--

"I am the Prince of Wales, my person is sacred; and thou shalt hang for
laying thy hand upon me!"

The soldier brought his halberd to a present-arms and said mockingly--

"I salute your gracious Highness."  Then angrily--"Be off, thou crazy
rubbish!"

Here the jeering crowd closed round the poor little prince, and hustled
him far down the road, hooting him, and shouting--

"Way for his Royal Highness!  Way for the Prince of Wales!"



Chapter IV. The Prince's troubles begin.

After hours of persistent pursuit and persecution, the little prince was
at last deserted by the rabble and left to himself.  As long as he had
been able to rage against the mob, and threaten it royally, and royally
utter commands that were good stuff to laugh at, he was very
entertaining; but when weariness finally forced him to be silent, he was
no longer of use to his tormentors, and they sought amusement elsewhere.
He looked about him, now, but could not recognise the locality.  He was
within the city of London--that was all he knew.  He moved on, aimlessly,
and in a little while the houses thinned, and the passers-by were
infrequent.  He bathed his bleeding feet in the brook which flowed then
where Farringdon Street now is; rested a few moments, then passed on, and
presently came upon a great space with only a few scattered houses in it,
and a prodigious church.  He recognised this church.  Scaffoldings were
about, everywhere, and swarms of workmen; for it was undergoing elaborate
repairs.  The prince took heart at once--he felt that his troubles were
at an end, now.  He said to himself, "It is the ancient Grey Friars'
Church, which the king my father hath taken from the monks and given for
a home for ever for poor and forsaken children, and new-named it Christ's
Church.  Right gladly will they serve the son of him who hath done so
generously by them--and the more that that son is himself as poor and as
forlorn as any that be sheltered here this day, or ever shall be."

He was soon in the midst of a crowd of boys who were running, jumping,
playing at ball and leap-frog, and otherwise disporting themselves, and
right noisily, too.  They were all dressed alike, and in the fashion
which in that day prevailed among serving-men and 'prentices{1}--that is
to say, each had on the crown of his head a flat black cap about the size
of a saucer, which was not useful as a covering, it being of such scanty
dimensions, neither was it ornamental; from beneath it the hair fell,
unparted, to the middle of the forehead, and was cropped straight around;
a clerical band at the neck; a blue gown that fitted closely and hung as
low as the knees or lower; full sleeves; a broad red belt; bright yellow
stockings, gartered above the knees; low shoes with large metal buckles.
It was a sufficiently ugly costume.

The boys stopped their play and flocked about the prince, who said with
native dignity--

"Good lads, say to your master that Edward Prince of Wales desireth
speech with him."

A great shout went up at this, and one rude fellow said--

"Marry, art thou his grace's messenger, beggar?"

The prince's face flushed with anger, and his ready hand flew to his hip,
but there was nothing there.  There was a storm of laughter, and one boy
said--

"Didst mark that?  He fancied he had a sword--belike he is the prince
himself."

This sally brought more laughter.  Poor Edward drew himself up proudly
and said--

"I am the prince; and it ill beseemeth you that feed upon the king my
father's bounty to use me so."

This was vastly enjoyed, as the laughter testified.  The youth who had
first spoken, shouted to his comrades--

"Ho, swine, slaves, pensioners of his grace's princely father, where be
your manners?  Down on your marrow bones, all of ye, and do reverence to
his kingly port and royal rags!"

With boisterous mirth they dropped upon their knees in a body and did
mock homage to their prey.  The prince spurned the nearest boy with his
foot, and said fiercely--

"Take thou that, till the morrow come and I build thee a gibbet!"

Ah, but this was not a joke--this was going beyond fun.  The laughter
ceased on the instant, and fury took its place.  A dozen shouted--

"Hale him forth!  To the horse-pond, to the horse-pond!  Where be the
dogs?  Ho, there, Lion! ho, Fangs!"

Then followed such a thing as England had never seen before--the sacred
person of the heir to the throne rudely buffeted by plebeian hands, and
set upon and torn by dogs.

As night drew to a close that day, the prince found himself far down in
the close-built portion of the city.  His body was bruised, his hands
were bleeding, and his rags were all besmirched with mud.  He wandered on
and on, and grew more and more bewildered, and so tired and faint he
could hardly drag one foot after the other.  He had ceased to ask
questions of anyone, since they brought him only insult instead of
information.  He kept muttering to himself, "Offal Court--that is the
name; if I can but find it before my strength is wholly spent and I drop,
then am I saved--for his people will take me to the palace and prove that
I am none of theirs, but the true prince, and I shall have mine own
again."  And now and then his mind reverted to his treatment by those
rude Christ's Hospital boys, and he said, "When I am king, they shall not
have bread and shelter only, but also teachings out of books; for a full
belly is little worth where the mind is starved, and the heart.  I will
keep this diligently in my remembrance, that this day's lesson be not
lost upon me, and my people suffer thereby; for learning softeneth the
heart and breedeth gentleness and charity." {1}

The lights began to twinkle, it came on to rain, the wind rose, and a raw
and gusty night set in.  The houseless prince, the homeless heir to the
throne of England, still moved on, drifting deeper into the maze of
squalid alleys where the swarming hives of poverty and misery were massed
together.

Suddenly a great drunken ruffian collared him and said--

"Out to this time of night again, and hast not brought a farthing home, I
warrant me!  If it be so, an' I do not break all the bones in thy lean
body, then am I not John Canty, but some other."

The prince twisted himself loose, unconsciously brushed his profaned
shoulder, and eagerly said--

"Oh, art HIS father, truly?  Sweet heaven grant it be so--then wilt thou
fetch him away and restore me!"

"HIS father?  I know not what thou mean'st; I but know I am THY father,
as thou shalt soon have cause to--"

"Oh, jest not, palter not, delay not!--I am worn, I am wounded, I can
bear no more.  Take me to the king my father, and he will make thee rich
beyond thy wildest dreams.  Believe me, man, believe me!--I speak no lie,
but only the truth!--put forth thy hand and save me!  I am indeed the
Prince of Wales!"

The man stared down, stupefied, upon the lad, then shook his head and
muttered--

"Gone stark mad as any Tom o' Bedlam!"--then collared him once more, and
said with a coarse laugh and an oath, "But mad or no mad, I and thy
Gammer Canty will soon find where the soft places in thy bones lie, or
I'm no true man!"

With this he dragged the frantic and struggling prince away, and
disappeared up a front court followed by a delighted and noisy swarm of
human vermin.



Chapter V. Tom as a patrician.

Tom Canty, left alone in the prince's cabinet, made good use of his
opportunity.  He turned himself this way and that before the great
mirror, admiring his finery; then walked away, imitating the prince's
high-bred carriage, and still observing results in the glass.  Next he
drew the beautiful sword, and bowed, kissing the blade, and laying it
across his breast, as he had seen a noble knight do, by way of salute to
the lieutenant of the Tower, five or six weeks before, when delivering
the great lords of Norfolk and Surrey into his hands for captivity.  Tom
played with the jewelled dagger that hung upon his thigh; he examined the
costly and exquisite ornaments of the room; he tried each of the
sumptuous chairs, and thought how proud he would be if the Offal Court
herd could only peep in and see him in his grandeur.  He wondered if they
would believe the marvellous tale he should tell when he got home, or if
they would shake their heads, and say his overtaxed imagination had at
last upset his reason.

At the end of half an hour it suddenly occurred to him that the prince
was gone a long time; then right away he began to feel lonely; very soon
he fell to listening and longing, and ceased to toy with the pretty
things about him; he grew uneasy, then restless, then distressed.
Suppose some one should come, and catch him in the prince's clothes, and
the prince not there to explain.  Might they not hang him at once, and
inquire into his case afterward?  He had heard that the great were prompt
about small matters.  His fear rose higher and higher; and trembling he
softly opened the door to the antechamber, resolved to fly and seek the
prince, and, through him, protection and release.  Six gorgeous
gentlemen-servants and two young pages of high degree, clothed like
butterflies, sprang to their feet and bowed low before him.  He stepped
quickly back and shut the door.  He said--

"Oh, they mock at me!  They will go and tell.  Oh! why came I here to
cast away my life?"

He walked up and down the floor, filled with nameless fears, listening,
starting at every trifling sound.  Presently the door swung open, and a
silken page said--

"The Lady Jane Grey."

The door closed and a sweet young girl, richly clad, bounded toward him.
But she stopped suddenly, and said in a distressed voice--

"Oh, what aileth thee, my lord?"

Tom's breath was nearly failing him; but he made shift to stammer out--

"Ah, be merciful, thou!  In sooth I am no lord, but only poor Tom Canty
of Offal Court in the city.  Prithee let me see the prince, and he will
of his grace restore to me my rags, and let me hence unhurt.  Oh, be thou
merciful, and save me!"

By this time the boy was on his knees, and supplicating with his eyes and
uplifted hands as well as with his tongue.  The young girl seemed
horror-stricken.  She cried out--

"O my lord, on thy knees?--and to ME!"

Then she fled away in fright; and Tom, smitten with despair, sank down,
murmuring--

"There is no help, there is no hope.  Now will they come and take me."

Whilst he lay there benumbed with terror, dreadful tidings were speeding
through the palace.  The whisper--for it was whispered always--flew from
menial to menial, from lord to lady, down all the long corridors, from
story to story, from saloon to saloon, "The prince hath gone mad, the
prince hath gone mad!"  Soon every saloon, every marble hall, had its
groups of glittering lords and ladies, and other groups of dazzling
lesser folk, talking earnestly together in whispers, and every face had
in it dismay. Presently a splendid official came marching by these
groups, making solemn proclamation--

"IN THE NAME OF THE KING!

Let none list to this false and foolish matter, upon pain of death, nor
discuss the same, nor carry it abroad.  In the name of the King!"

The whisperings ceased as suddenly as if the whisperers had been stricken
dumb.

Soon there was a general buzz along the corridors, of "The prince! See,
the prince comes!"

Poor Tom came slowly walking past the low-bowing groups, trying to bow in
return, and meekly gazing upon his strange surroundings with bewildered
and pathetic eyes.  Great nobles walked upon each side of him, making him
lean upon them, and so steady his steps. Behind him followed the
court-physicians and some servants.

Presently Tom found himself in a noble apartment of the palace and heard
the door close behind him.  Around him stood those who had come with him.
Before him, at a little distance, reclined a very large and very fat man,
with a wide, pulpy face, and a stern expression.  His large head was very
grey; and his whiskers, which he wore only around his face, like a frame,
were grey also.  His clothing was of rich stuff, but old, and slightly
frayed in places.  One of his swollen legs had a pillow under it, and was
wrapped in bandages.  There was silence now; and there was no head there
but was bent in reverence, except this man's.  This stern-countenanced
invalid was the dread Henry VIII.  He said--and his face grew gentle as
he began to speak--

"How now, my lord Edward, my prince?  Hast been minded to cozen me, the
good King thy father, who loveth thee, and kindly useth thee, with a
sorry jest?"

Poor Tom was listening, as well as his dazed faculties would let him, to
the beginning of this speech; but when the words 'me, the good King' fell
upon his ear, his face blanched, and he dropped as instantly upon his
knees as if a shot had brought him there. Lifting up his hands, he
exclaimed--

"Thou the KING?  Then am I undone indeed!"

This speech seemed to stun the King.  His eyes wandered from face to face
aimlessly, then rested, bewildered, upon the boy before him.  Then he
said in a tone of deep disappointment--

"Alack, I had believed the rumour disproportioned to the truth; but I
fear me 'tis not so."  He breathed a heavy sigh, and said in a gentle
voice, "Come to thy father, child:  thou art not well."

Tom was assisted to his feet, and approached the Majesty of England,
humble and trembling.  The King took the frightened face between his
hands, and gazed earnestly and lovingly into it awhile, as if seeking
some grateful sign of returning reason there, then pressed the curly head
against his breast, and patted it tenderly.  Presently he said--

"Dost not know thy father, child?  Break not mine old heart; say thou
know'st me.  Thou DOST know me, dost thou not?"

"Yea:  thou art my dread lord the King, whom God preserve!"

"True, true--that is well--be comforted, tremble not so; there is none
here would hurt thee; there is none here but loves thee. Thou art better
now; thy ill dream passeth--is't not so?  Thou wilt not miscall thyself
again, as they say thou didst a little while agone?"

"I pray thee of thy grace believe me, I did but speak the truth, most
dread lord; for I am the meanest among thy subjects, being a pauper born,
and 'tis by a sore mischance and accident I am here, albeit I was therein
nothing blameful.  I am but young to die, and thou canst save me with one
little word.  Oh speak it, sir!"

"Die?  Talk not so, sweet prince--peace, peace, to thy troubled heart
--thou shalt not die!"

Tom dropped upon his knees with a glad cry--

"God requite thy mercy, O my King, and save thee long to bless thy land!"
Then springing up, he turned a joyful face toward the two lords in
waiting, and exclaimed, "Thou heard'st it!  I am not to die:  the King
hath said it!"  There was no movement, save that all bowed with grave
respect; but no one spoke.  He hesitated, a little confused, then turned
timidly toward the King, saying, "I may go now?"

"Go?  Surely, if thou desirest.  But why not tarry yet a little? Whither
would'st go?"

Tom dropped his eyes, and answered humbly--

"Peradventure I mistook; but I did think me free, and so was I moved to
seek again the kennel where I was born and bred to misery, yet which
harboureth my mother and my sisters, and so is home to me; whereas these
pomps and splendours whereunto I am not used--oh, please you, sir, to let
me go!"

The King was silent and thoughtful a while, and his face betrayed a
growing distress and uneasiness.  Presently he said, with something of
hope in his voice--

"Perchance he is but mad upon this one strain, and hath his wits unmarred
as toucheth other matter.  God send it may be so!  We will make trial."

Then he asked Tom a question in Latin, and Tom answered him lamely in the
same tongue.  The lords and doctors manifested their gratification also.
The King said--

"'Twas not according to his schooling and ability, but showeth that his
mind is but diseased, not stricken fatally.  How say you, sir?"

The physician addressed bowed low, and replied--

"It jumpeth with my own conviction, sire, that thou hast divined aright."

The King looked pleased with this encouragement, coming as it did from so
excellent authority, and continued with good heart--

"Now mark ye all:  we will try him further."

He put a question to Tom in French.  Tom stood silent a moment,
embarrassed by having so many eyes centred upon him, then said
diffidently--

"I have no knowledge of this tongue, so please your majesty."

The King fell back upon his couch.  The attendants flew to his
assistance; but he put them aside, and said--

"Trouble me not--it is nothing but a scurvy faintness.  Raise me! There,
'tis sufficient.  Come hither, child; there, rest thy poor troubled head
upon thy father's heart, and be at peace.  Thou'lt soon be well:  'tis
but a passing fantasy.  Fear thou not; thou'lt soon be well."  Then he
turned toward the company:  his gentle manner changed, and baleful
lightnings began to play from his eyes.  He said--

"List ye all!  This my son is mad; but it is not permanent.  Over-study
hath done this, and somewhat too much of confinement.  Away with his
books and teachers! see ye to it.  Pleasure him with sports, beguile him
in wholesome ways, so that his health come again."  He raised himself
higher still, and went on with energy, "He is mad; but he is my son, and
England's heir; and, mad or sane, still shall he reign!  And hear ye
further, and proclaim it: whoso speaketh of this his distemper worketh
against the peace and order of these realms, and shall to the gallows!
. . . Give me to drink--I burn:  this sorrow sappeth my strength. . . .
There, take away the cup. . . . Support me.  There, that is well.  Mad,
is he?  Were he a thousand times mad, yet is he Prince of Wales, and I the
King will confirm it.  This very morrow shall he be installed in his
princely dignity in due and ancient form.  Take instant order for it, my
lord Hertford."

One of the nobles knelt at the royal couch, and said--

"The King's majesty knoweth that the Hereditary Great Marshal of England
lieth attainted in the Tower.  It were not meet that one attainted--"

"Peace!  Insult not mine ears with his hated name.  Is this man to live
for ever?  Am I to be baulked of my will?  Is the prince to tarry
uninstalled, because, forsooth, the realm lacketh an Earl Marshal free of
treasonable taint to invest him with his honours? No, by the splendour of
God!  Warn my Parliament to bring me Norfolk's doom before the sun rise
again, else shall they answer for it grievously!" {1}

Lord Hertford said--

"The King's will is law;" and, rising, returned to his former place.

Gradually the wrath faded out of the old King's face, and he said--

"Kiss me, my prince.  There . . . what fearest thou?  Am I not thy loving
father?"

"Thou art good to me that am unworthy, O mighty and gracious lord: that
in truth I know.  But--but--it grieveth me to think of him that is to
die, and--"

"Ah, 'tis like thee, 'tis like thee!  I know thy heart is still the same,
even though thy mind hath suffered hurt, for thou wert ever of a gentle
spirit.  But this duke standeth between thee and thine honours:  I will
have another in his stead that shall bring no taint to his great office.
Comfort thee, my prince:  trouble not thy poor head with this matter."

"But is it not I that speed him hence, my liege?  How long might he not
live, but for me?"

"Take no thought of him, my prince:  he is not worthy.  Kiss me once
again, and go to thy trifles and amusements; for my malady distresseth
me.  I am aweary, and would rest.  Go with thine uncle Hertford and thy
people, and come again when my body is refreshed."

Tom, heavy-hearted, was conducted from the presence, for this last
sentence was a death-blow to the hope he had cherished that now he would
be set free.  Once more he heard the buzz of low voices exclaiming, "The
prince, the prince comes!"

His spirits sank lower and lower as he moved between the glittering files
of bowing courtiers; for he recognised that he was indeed a captive now,
and might remain for ever shut up in this gilded cage, a forlorn and
friendless prince, except God in his mercy take pity on him and set him
free.

And, turn where he would, he seemed to see floating in the air the
severed head and the remembered face of the great Duke of Norfolk, the
eyes fixed on him reproachfully.

His old dreams had been so pleasant; but this reality was so dreary!



Chapter VI. Tom receives instructions.

Tom was conducted to the principal apartment of a noble suite, and made
to sit down--a thing which he was loth to do, since there were elderly
men and men of high degree about him.  He begged them to be seated also,
but they only bowed their thanks or murmured them, and remained standing.
He would have insisted, but his 'uncle' the Earl of Hertford whispered in
his ear--

"Prithee, insist not, my lord; it is not meet that they sit in thy
presence."

The Lord St. John was announced, and after making obeisance to Tom, he
said--

"I come upon the King's errand, concerning a matter which requireth
privacy.  Will it please your royal highness to dismiss all that attend
you here, save my lord the Earl of Hertford?"

Observing that Tom did not seem to know how to proceed, Hertford
whispered him to make a sign with his hand, and not trouble himself to
speak unless he chose.  When the waiting gentlemen had retired, Lord St.
John said--

"His majesty commandeth, that for due and weighty reasons of state, the
prince's grace shall hide his infirmity in all ways that be within his
power, till it be passed and he be as he was before.  To wit, that he
shall deny to none that he is the true prince, and heir to England's
greatness; that he shall uphold his princely dignity, and shall receive,
without word or sign of protest, that reverence and observance which unto
it do appertain of right and ancient usage; that he shall cease to speak
to any of that lowly birth and life his malady hath conjured out of the
unwholesome imaginings of o'er-wrought fancy; that he shall strive with
diligence to bring unto his memory again those faces which he was wont to
know--and where he faileth he shall hold his peace, neither betraying by
semblance of surprise or other sign that he hath forgot; that upon
occasions of state, whensoever any matter shall perplex him as to the
thing he should do or the utterance he should make, he shall show nought
of unrest to the curious that look on, but take advice in that matter of
the Lord Hertford, or my humble self, which are commanded of the King to
be upon this service and close at call, till this commandment be
dissolved. Thus saith the King's majesty, who sendeth greeting to your
royal highness, and prayeth that God will of His mercy quickly heal you
and have you now and ever in His holy keeping."

The Lord St. John made reverence and stood aside.  Tom replied
resignedly--

"The King hath said it.  None may palter with the King's command, or fit
it to his ease, where it doth chafe, with deft evasions. The King shall
be obeyed."

Lord Hertford said--

"Touching the King's majesty's ordainment concerning books and such like
serious matters, it may peradventure please your highness to ease your
time with lightsome entertainment, lest you go wearied to the banquet and
suffer harm thereby."

Tom's face showed inquiring surprise; and a blush followed when he saw
Lord St. John's eyes bent sorrowfully upon him.  His lordship said--

"Thy memory still wrongeth thee, and thou hast shown surprise--but suffer
it not to trouble thee, for 'tis a matter that will not bide, but depart
with thy mending malady.  My Lord of Hertford speaketh of the city's
banquet which the King's majesty did promise, some two months flown, your
highness should attend.  Thou recallest it now?"

"It grieves me to confess it had indeed escaped me," said Tom, in a
hesitating voice; and blushed again.

At this moment the Lady Elizabeth and the Lady Jane Grey were announced.
The two lords exchanged significant glances, and Hertford stepped quickly
toward the door.  As the young girls passed him, he said in a low voice--

"I pray ye, ladies, seem not to observe his humours, nor show surprise
when his memory doth lapse--it will grieve you to note how it doth stick
at every trifle."

Meantime Lord St. John was saying in Tom's ear--

"Please you, sir, keep diligently in mind his majesty's desire. Remember
all thou canst--SEEM to remember all else.  Let them not perceive that
thou art much changed from thy wont, for thou knowest how tenderly thy
old play-fellows bear thee in their hearts and how 'twould grieve them.
Art willing, sir, that I remain?--and thine uncle?"

Tom signified assent with a gesture and a murmured word, for he was
already learning, and in his simple heart was resolved to acquit himself
as best he might, according to the King's command.

In spite of every precaution, the conversation among the young people
became a little embarrassing at times.  More than once, in truth, Tom was
near to breaking down and confessing himself unequal to his tremendous
part; but the tact of the Princess Elizabeth saved him, or a word from
one or the other of the vigilant lords, thrown in apparently by chance,
had the same happy effect.  Once the little Lady Jane turned to Tom and
dismayed him with this question,--

"Hast paid thy duty to the Queen's majesty to-day, my lord?"

Tom hesitated, looked distressed, and was about to stammer out something
at hazard, when Lord St. John took the word and answered for him with the
easy grace of a courtier accustomed to encounter delicate difficulties
and to be ready for them--

"He hath indeed, madam, and she did greatly hearten him, as touching his
majesty's condition; is it not so, your highness?"

Tom mumbled something that stood for assent, but felt that he was getting
upon dangerous ground.  Somewhat later it was mentioned that Tom was to
study no more at present, whereupon her little ladyship exclaimed--

"'Tis a pity, 'tis a pity!  Thou wert proceeding bravely.  But bide thy
time in patience:  it will not be for long.  Thou'lt yet be graced with
learning like thy father, and make thy tongue master of as many languages
as his, good my prince."

"My father!" cried Tom, off his guard for the moment.  "I trow he cannot
speak his own so that any but the swine that kennel in the styes may tell
his meaning; and as for learning of any sort soever--"

He looked up and encountered a solemn warning in my Lord St. John's eyes.

He stopped, blushed, then continued low and sadly: "Ah, my malady
persecuteth me again, and my mind wandereth.  I meant the King's grace no
irreverence."

"We know it, sir," said the Princess Elizabeth, taking her 'brother's'
hand between her two palms, respectfully but caressingly; "trouble not
thyself as to that.  The fault is none of thine, but thy distemper's."

"Thou'rt a gentle comforter, sweet lady," said Tom, gratefully, "and my
heart moveth me to thank thee for't, an' I may be so bold."

Once the giddy little Lady Jane fired a simple Greek phrase at Tom.  The
Princess Elizabeth's quick eye saw by the serene blankness of the
target's front that the shaft was overshot; so she tranquilly delivered a
return volley of sounding Greek on Tom's behalf, and then straightway
changed the talk to other matters.

Time wore on pleasantly, and likewise smoothly, on the whole. Snags and
sandbars grew less and less frequent, and Tom grew more and more at his
ease, seeing that all were so lovingly bent upon helping him and
overlooking his mistakes.  When it came out that the little ladies were
to accompany him to the Lord Mayor's banquet in the evening, his heart
gave a bound of relief and delight, for he felt that he should not be
friendless, now, among that multitude of strangers; whereas, an hour
earlier, the idea of their going with him would have been an
insupportable terror to him.

Tom's guardian angels, the two lords, had had less comfort in the
interview than the other parties to it.  They felt much as if they were
piloting a great ship through a dangerous channel; they were on the alert
constantly, and found their office no child's play. Wherefore, at last,
when the ladies' visit was drawing to a close and the Lord Guilford
Dudley was announced, they not only felt that their charge had been
sufficiently taxed for the present, but also that they themselves were
not in the best condition to take their ship back and make their anxious
voyage all over again.  So they respectfully advised Tom to excuse
himself, which he was very glad to do, although a slight shade of
disappointment might have been observed upon my Lady Jane's face when she
heard the splendid stripling denied admittance.

There was a pause now, a sort of waiting silence which Tom could not
understand.  He glanced at Lord Hertford, who gave him a sign--but he
failed to understand that also.  The ready Elizabeth came to the rescue
with her usual easy grace.  She made reverence and said--

"Have we leave of the prince's grace my brother to go?"

Tom said--

"Indeed your ladyships can have whatsoever of me they will, for the
asking; yet would I rather give them any other thing that in my poor
power lieth, than leave to take the light and blessing of their presence
hence.  Give ye good den, and God be with ye!" Then he smiled inwardly at
the thought, "'Tis not for nought I have dwelt but among princes in my
reading, and taught my tongue some slight trick of their broidered and
gracious speech withal!"

When the illustrious maidens were gone, Tom turned wearily to his keepers
and said--

"May it please your lordships to grant me leave to go into some corner
and rest me?"

Lord Hertford said--

"So please your highness, it is for you to command, it is for us to obey.
That thou should'st rest is indeed a needful thing, since thou must
journey to the city presently."

He touched a bell, and a page appeared, who was ordered to desire the
presence of Sir William Herbert.  This gentleman came straightway, and
conducted Tom to an inner apartment.  Tom's first movement there was to
reach for a cup of water; but a silk-and-velvet servitor seized it,
dropped upon one knee, and offered it to him on a golden salver.

Next the tired captive sat down and was going to take off his buskins,
timidly asking leave with his eye, but another silk-and-velvet
discomforter went down upon his knees and took the office from him.  He
made two or three further efforts to help himself, but being promptly
forestalled each time, he finally gave up, with a sigh of resignation and
a murmured "Beshrew me, but I marvel they do not require to breathe for
me also!"  Slippered, and wrapped in a sumptuous robe, he laid himself
down at last to rest, but not to sleep, for his head was too full of
thoughts and the room too full of people.  He could not dismiss the
former, so they stayed; he did not know enough to dismiss the latter, so
they stayed also, to his vast regret--and theirs.


Tom's departure had left his two noble guardians alone.  They mused a
while, with much head-shaking and walking the floor, then Lord St. John
said--

"Plainly, what dost thou think?"

"Plainly, then, this.  The King is near his end; my nephew is mad--mad
will mount the throne, and mad remain.  God protect England, since she
will need it!"

"Verily it promiseth so, indeed.  But . . . have you no misgivings as to
. . . as to . . ."

The speaker hesitated, and finally stopped.  He evidently felt that he
was upon delicate ground.  Lord Hertford stopped before him, looked into
his face with a clear, frank eye, and said--

"Speak on--there is none to hear but me.  Misgivings as to what?"

"I am full loth to word the thing that is in my mind, and thou so near to
him in blood, my lord.  But craving pardon if I do offend, seemeth it not
strange that madness could so change his port and manner?--not but that
his port and speech are princely still, but that they DIFFER, in one
unweighty trifle or another, from what his custom was aforetime.  Seemeth
it not strange that madness should filch from his memory his father's
very lineaments; the customs and observances that are his due from such
as be about him; and, leaving him his Latin, strip him of his Greek and
French?  My lord, be not offended, but ease my mind of its disquiet and
receive my grateful thanks.  It haunteth me, his saying he was not the
prince, and so--"

"Peace, my lord, thou utterest treason!  Hast forgot the King's command?
Remember I am party to thy crime if I but listen."

St. John paled, and hastened to say--

"I was in fault, I do confess it.  Betray me not, grant me this grace out
of thy courtesy, and I will neither think nor speak of this thing more.
Deal not hardly with me, sir, else am I ruined."

"I am content, my lord.  So thou offend not again, here or in the ears of
others, it shall be as though thou hadst not spoken.  But thou need'st
not have misgivings.  He is my sister's son; are not his voice, his face,
his form, familiar to me from his cradle? Madness can do all the odd
conflicting things thou seest in him, and more.  Dost not recall how that
the old Baron Marley, being mad, forgot the favour of his own countenance
that he had known for sixty years, and held it was another's; nay, even
claimed he was the son of Mary Magdalene, and that his head was made of
Spanish glass; and, sooth to say, he suffered none to touch it, lest by
mischance some heedless hand might shiver it?  Give thy misgivings
easement, good my lord.  This is the very prince--I know him well--and
soon will be thy king; it may advantage thee to bear this in mind, and
more dwell upon it than the other."

After some further talk, in which the Lord St. John covered up his
mistake as well as he could by repeated protests that his faith was
thoroughly grounded now, and could not be assailed by doubts again, the
Lord Hertford relieved his fellow-keeper, and sat down to keep watch and
ward alone.  He was soon deep in meditation, and evidently the longer he
thought, the more he was bothered.  By-and-by he began to pace the floor
and mutter.

"Tush, he MUST be the prince!  Will any be in all the land maintain there
can be two, not of one blood and birth, so marvellously twinned?  And
even were it so, 'twere yet a stranger miracle that chance should cast
the one into the other's place. Nay, 'tis folly, folly, folly!"

Presently he said--

"Now were he impostor and called himself prince, look you THAT would be
natural; that would be reasonable.  But lived ever an impostor yet, who,
being called prince by the king, prince by the court, prince by all,
DENIED his dignity and pleaded against his exaltation?  NO!  By the soul
of St. Swithin, no!  This is the true prince, gone mad!"



Chapter VII. Tom's first royal dinner.

Somewhat after one in the afternoon, Tom resignedly underwent the ordeal
of being dressed for dinner.  He found himself as finely clothed as
before, but everything different, everything changed, from his ruff to
his stockings.  He was presently conducted with much state to a spacious
and ornate apartment, where a table was already set for one.  Its
furniture was all of massy gold, and beautified with designs which
well-nigh made it priceless, since they were the work of Benvenuto.  The
room was half-filled with noble servitors.  A chaplain said grace, and
Tom was about to fall to, for hunger had long been constitutional with
him, but was interrupted by my lord the Earl of Berkeley, who fastened a
napkin about his neck; for the great post of Diaperers to the Prince of
Wales was hereditary in this nobleman's family.  Tom's cupbearer was
present, and forestalled all his attempts to help himself to wine.  The
Taster to his highness the Prince of Wales was there also, prepared to
taste any suspicious dish upon requirement, and run the risk of being
poisoned.  He was only an ornamental appendage at this time, and was
seldom called upon to exercise his function; but there had been times,
not many generations past, when the office of taster had its perils, and
was not a grandeur to be desired.  Why they did not use a dog or a
plumber seems strange; but all the ways of royalty are strange.  My Lord
d'Arcy, First Groom of the Chamber, was there, to do goodness knows what;
but there he was--let that suffice.  The Lord Chief Butler was there, and
stood behind Tom's chair, overseeing the solemnities, under command of
the Lord Great Steward and the Lord Head Cook, who stood near.  Tom had
three hundred and eighty-four servants beside these; but they were not
all in that room, of course, nor the quarter of them; neither was Tom
aware yet that they existed.

All those that were present had been well drilled within the hour to
remember that the prince was temporarily out of his head, and to be
careful to show no surprise at his vagaries.  These 'vagaries' were soon
on exhibition before them; but they only moved their compassion and their
sorrow, not their mirth.  It was a heavy affliction to them to see the
beloved prince so stricken.

Poor Tom ate with his fingers mainly; but no one smiled at it, or even
seemed to observe it.  He inspected his napkin curiously, and with deep
interest, for it was of a very dainty and beautiful fabric, then said
with simplicity--

"Prithee, take it away, lest in mine unheedfulness it be soiled."

The Hereditary Diaperer took it away with reverent manner, and without
word or protest of any sort.

Tom examined the turnips and the lettuce with interest, and asked what
they were, and if they were to be eaten; for it was only recently that
men had begun to raise these things in England in place of importing them
as luxuries from Holland. {1}  His question was answered with grave
respect, and no surprise manifested.  When he had finished his dessert,
he filled his pockets with nuts; but nobody appeared to be aware of it,
or disturbed by it.  But the next moment he was himself disturbed by it,
and showed discomposure; for this was the only service he had been
permitted to do with his own hands during the meal, and he did not doubt
that he had done a most improper and unprincely thing.  At that moment
the muscles of his nose began to twitch, and the end of that organ to
lift and wrinkle.  This continued, and Tom began to evince a growing
distress.  He looked appealingly, first at one and then another of the
lords about him, and tears came into his eyes.  They sprang forward with
dismay in their faces, and begged to know his trouble.  Tom said with
genuine anguish--

"I crave your indulgence:  my nose itcheth cruelly.  What is the custom
and usage in this emergence?  Prithee, speed, for 'tis but a little time
that I can bear it."

None smiled; but all were sore perplexed, and looked one to the other in
deep tribulation for counsel.  But behold, here was a dead wall, and
nothing in English history to tell how to get over it.  The Master of
Ceremonies was not present:  there was no one who felt safe to venture
upon this uncharted sea, or risk the attempt to solve this solemn
problem.  Alas! there was no Hereditary Scratcher.  Meantime the tears
had overflowed their banks, and begun to trickle down Tom's cheeks.  His
twitching nose was pleading more urgently than ever for relief.  At last
nature broke down the barriers of etiquette:  Tom lifted up an inward
prayer for pardon if he was doing wrong, and brought relief to the
burdened hearts of his court by scratching his nose himself.

His meal being ended, a lord came and held before him a broad, shallow,
golden dish with fragrant rosewater in it, to cleanse his mouth and
fingers with; and my lord the Hereditary Diaperer stood by with a napkin
for his use.  Tom gazed at the dish a puzzled moment or two, then raised
it to his lips, and gravely took a draught.  Then he returned it to the
waiting lord, and said--

"Nay, it likes me not, my lord:  it hath a pretty flavour, but it wanteth
strength."

This new eccentricity of the prince's ruined mind made all the hearts
about him ache; but the sad sight moved none to merriment.

Tom's next unconscious blunder was to get up and leave the table just
when the chaplain had taken his stand behind his chair, and with uplifted
hands, and closed, uplifted eyes, was in the act of beginning the
blessing.  Still nobody seemed to perceive that the prince had done a
thing unusual.

By his own request our small friend was now conducted to his private
cabinet, and left there alone to his own devices.  Hanging upon hooks in
the oaken wainscoting were the several pieces of a suit of shining steel
armour, covered all over with beautiful designs exquisitely inlaid in
gold.  This martial panoply belonged to the true prince--a recent present
from Madam Parr the Queen. Tom put on the greaves, the gauntlets, the
plumed helmet, and such other pieces as he could don without assistance,
and for a while was minded to call for help and complete the matter, but
bethought him of the nuts he had brought away from dinner, and the joy it
would be to eat them with no crowd to eye him, and no Grand Hereditaries
to pester him with undesired services; so he restored the pretty things
to their several places, and soon was cracking nuts, and feeling almost
naturally happy for the first time since God for his sins had made him a
prince.  When the nuts were all gone, he stumbled upon some inviting
books in a closet, among them one about the etiquette of the English
court.  This was a prize. He lay down upon a sumptuous divan, and
proceeded to instruct himself with honest zeal.  Let us leave him there
for the present.



Chapter VIII. The question of the Seal.

About five o'clock Henry VIII. awoke out of an unrefreshing nap, and
muttered to himself, "Troublous dreams, troublous dreams! Mine end is now
at hand:  so say these warnings, and my failing pulses do confirm it."
Presently a wicked light flamed up in his eye, and he muttered, "Yet will
not I die till HE go before."

His attendants perceiving that he was awake, one of them asked his
pleasure concerning the Lord Chancellor, who was waiting without.

"Admit him, admit him!" exclaimed the King eagerly.

The Lord Chancellor entered, and knelt by the King's couch, saying--

"I have given order, and, according to the King's command, the peers of
the realm, in their robes, do now stand at the bar of the House, where,
having confirmed the Duke of Norfolk's doom, they humbly wait his
majesty's further pleasure in the matter."

The King's face lit up with a fierce joy.  Said he--

"Lift me up!  In mine own person will I go before my Parliament, and with
mine own hand will I seal the warrant that rids me of--"

His voice failed; an ashen pallor swept the flush from his cheeks; and
the attendants eased him back upon his pillows, and hurriedly assisted
him with restoratives.  Presently he said sorrowfully--

"Alack, how have I longed for this sweet hour! and lo, too late it
cometh, and I am robbed of this so coveted chance.  But speed ye, speed
ye! let others do this happy office sith 'tis denied to me. I put my
Great Seal in commission:  choose thou the lords that shall compose it,
and get ye to your work.  Speed ye, man!  Before the sun shall rise and
set again, bring me his head that I may see it."

"According to the King's command, so shall it be.  Will't please your
majesty to order that the Seal be now restored to me, so that I may forth
upon the business?"

"The Seal?  Who keepeth the Seal but thou?"

"Please your majesty, you did take it from me two days since, saying it
should no more do its office till your own royal hand should use it upon
the Duke of Norfolk's warrant."

"Why, so in sooth I did:  I do remember. . . . What did I with it? . . . I
am very feeble. . . . So oft these days doth my memory play the traitor
with me. . . . 'Tis strange, strange--"

The King dropped into inarticulate mumblings, shaking his grey head
weakly from time to time, and gropingly trying to recollect what he had
done with the Seal.  At last my Lord Hertford ventured to kneel and offer
information--

"Sire, if that I may be so bold, here be several that do remember with me
how that you gave the Great Seal into the hands of his highness the
Prince of Wales to keep against the day that--"

"True, most true!" interrupted the King.  "Fetch it!  Go:  time flieth!"

Lord Hertford flew to Tom, but returned to the King before very long,
troubled and empty-handed.  He delivered himself to this effect--

"It grieveth me, my lord the King, to bear so heavy and unwelcome
tidings; but it is the will of God that the prince's affliction abideth
still, and he cannot recall to mind that he received the Seal.  So came I
quickly to report, thinking it were waste of precious time, and little
worth withal, that any should attempt to search the long array of
chambers and saloons that belong unto his royal high--"

A groan from the King interrupted the lord at this point.  After a little
while his majesty said, with a deep sadness in his tone--

"Trouble him no more, poor child.  The hand of God lieth heavy upon him,
and my heart goeth out in loving compassion for him, and sorrow that I
may not bear his burden on mine old trouble-weighted shoulders, and so
bring him peace."

He closed his eyes, fell to mumbling, and presently was silent. After a
time he opened his eyes again, and gazed vacantly around until his glance
rested upon the kneeling Lord Chancellor. Instantly his face flushed with
wrath--

"What, thou here yet!  By the glory of God, an' thou gettest not about
that traitor's business, thy mitre shall have holiday the morrow for lack
of a head to grace withal!"

The trembling Chancellor answered--

"Good your Majesty, I cry you mercy!  I but waited for the Seal."

"Man, hast lost thy wits?  The small Seal which aforetime I was wont to
take with me abroad lieth in my treasury.  And, since the Great Seal hath
flown away, shall not it suffice?  Hast lost thy wits?  Begone!  And hark
ye--come no more till thou do bring his head."

The poor Chancellor was not long in removing himself from this dangerous
vicinity; nor did the commission waste time in giving the royal assent to
the work of the slavish Parliament, and appointing the morrow for the
beheading of the premier peer of England, the luckless Duke of Norfolk.
{1}



Chapter IX. The river pageant.

At nine in the evening the whole vast river-front of the palace was
blazing with light.  The river itself, as far as the eye could reach
citywards, was so thickly covered with watermen's boats and with
pleasure-barges, all fringed with coloured lanterns, and gently agitated
by the waves, that it resembled a glowing and limitless garden of flowers
stirred to soft motion by summer winds.  The grand terrace of stone steps
leading down to the water, spacious enough to mass the army of a German
principality upon, was a picture to see, with its ranks of royal
halberdiers in polished armour, and its troops of brilliantly costumed
servitors flitting up and down, and to and fro, in the hurry of
preparation.

Presently a command was given, and immediately all living creatures
vanished from the steps.  Now the air was heavy with the hush of suspense
and expectancy.  As far as one's vision could carry, he might see the
myriads of people in the boats rise up, and shade their eyes from the
glare of lanterns and torches, and gaze toward the palace.

A file of forty or fifty state barges drew up to the steps.  They were
richly gilt, and their lofty prows and sterns were elaborately carved.
Some of them were decorated with banners and streamers; some with
cloth-of-gold and arras embroidered with coats-of-arms; others with
silken flags that had numberless little silver bells fastened to them,
which shook out tiny showers of joyous music whenever the breezes
fluttered them; others of yet higher pretensions, since they belonged to
nobles in the prince's immediate service, had their sides picturesquely
fenced with shields gorgeously emblazoned with armorial bearings.  Each
state barge was towed by a tender.  Besides the rowers, these tenders
carried each a number of men-at-arms in glossy helmet and breastplate,
and a company of musicians.

The advance-guard of the expected procession now appeared in the great
gateway, a troop of halberdiers.  'They were dressed in striped hose of
black and tawny, velvet caps graced at the sides with silver roses, and
doublets of murrey and blue cloth, embroidered on the front and back with
the three feathers, the prince's blazon, woven in gold.  Their halberd
staves were covered with crimson velvet, fastened with gilt nails, and
ornamented with gold tassels.  Filing off on the right and left, they
formed two long lines, extending from the gateway of the palace to the
water's edge.  A thick rayed cloth or carpet was then unfolded, and laid
down between them by attendants in the gold-and-crimson liveries of the
prince.  This done, a flourish of trumpets resounded from within.  A
lively prelude arose from the musicians on the water; and two ushers with
white wands marched with a slow and stately pace from the portal.  They
were followed by an officer bearing the civic mace, after whom came
another carrying the city's sword; then several sergeants of the city
guard, in their full accoutrements, and with badges on their sleeves;
then the Garter King-at-arms, in his tabard; then several Knights of the
Bath, each with a white lace on his sleeve; then their esquires; then the
judges, in their robes of scarlet and coifs; then the Lord High
Chancellor of England, in a robe of scarlet, open before, and purfled
with minever; then a deputation of aldermen, in their scarlet cloaks; and
then the heads of the different civic companies, in their robes of state.
Now came twelve French gentlemen, in splendid habiliments, consisting
of pourpoints of white damask barred with gold, short mantles of
crimson velvet lined with violet taffeta, and carnation coloured
hauts-de-chausses, and took their way down the steps.  They were of the
suite of the French ambassador, and were followed by twelve cavaliers of
the suite of the Spanish ambassador, clothed in black velvet, unrelieved
by any ornament.  Following these came several great English nobles with
their attendants.'

There was a flourish of trumpets within; and the Prince's uncle, the
future great Duke of Somerset, emerged from the gateway, arrayed in a
'doublet of black cloth-of-gold, and a cloak of crimson satin flowered
with gold, and ribanded with nets of silver.'  He turned, doffed his
plumed cap, bent his body in a low reverence, and began to step backward,
bowing at each step.  A prolonged trumpet-blast followed, and a
proclamation, "Way for the high and mighty the Lord Edward, Prince of
Wales!"  High aloft on the palace walls a long line of red tongues of
flame leapt forth with a thunder-crash; the massed world on the river
burst into a mighty roar of welcome; and Tom Canty, the cause and hero of
it all, stepped into view and slightly bowed his princely head.

He was 'magnificently habited in a doublet of white satin, with a
front-piece of purple cloth-of-tissue, powdered with diamonds, and edged
with ermine.  Over this he wore a mantle of white cloth-of-gold, pounced
with the triple-feathered crest, lined with blue satin, set with pearls
and precious stones, and fastened with a clasp of brilliants.  About his
neck hung the order of the Garter, and several princely foreign orders;'
and wherever light fell upon him jewels responded with a blinding flash.
O Tom Canty, born in a hovel, bred in the gutters of London, familiar
with rags and dirt and misery, what a spectacle is this!



Chapter X. The Prince in the toils.

We left John Canty dragging the rightful prince into Offal Court, with a
noisy and delighted mob at his heels.  There was but one person in it who
offered a pleading word for the captive, and he was not heeded; he was
hardly even heard, so great was the turmoil.  The Prince continued to
struggle for freedom, and to rage against the treatment he was suffering,
until John Canty lost what little patience was left in him, and raised
his oaken cudgel in a sudden fury over the Prince's head.  The single
pleader for the lad sprang to stop the man's arm, and the blow descended
upon his own wrist.  Canty roared out--

"Thou'lt meddle, wilt thou?  Then have thy reward."

His cudgel crashed down upon the meddler's head:  there was a groan, a
dim form sank to the ground among the feet of the crowd, and the next
moment it lay there in the dark alone.  The mob pressed on, their
enjoyment nothing disturbed by this episode.

Presently the Prince found himself in John Canty's abode, with the door
closed against the outsiders.  By the vague light of a tallow candle
which was thrust into a bottle, he made out the main features of the
loathsome den, and also the occupants of it.  Two frowsy girls and a
middle-aged woman cowered against the wall in one corner, with the aspect
of animals habituated to harsh usage, and expecting and dreading it now.
From another corner stole a withered hag with streaming grey hair and
malignant eyes.  John Canty said to this one--

"Tarry!  There's fine mummeries here.  Mar them not till thou'st enjoyed
them:  then let thy hand be heavy as thou wilt.  Stand forth, lad.  Now
say thy foolery again, an thou'st not forgot it. Name thy name.  Who art
thou?"

The insulted blood mounted to the little prince's cheek once more, and he
lifted a steady and indignant gaze to the man's face and said--

"'Tis but ill-breeding in such as thou to command me to speak.  I tell
thee now, as I told thee before, I am Edward, Prince of Wales, and none
other."

The stunning surprise of this reply nailed the hag's feet to the floor
where she stood, and almost took her breath.  She stared at the Prince in
stupid amazement, which so amused her ruffianly son, that he burst into a
roar of laughter.  But the effect upon Tom Canty's mother and sisters was
different.  Their dread of bodily injury gave way at once to distress of
a different sort.  They ran forward with woe and dismay in their faces,
exclaiming--

"Oh, poor Tom, poor lad!"

The mother fell on her knees before the Prince, put her hands upon his
shoulders, and gazed yearningly into his face through her rising tears.
Then she said--

"Oh, my poor boy!  Thy foolish reading hath wrought its woeful work at
last, and ta'en thy wit away.  Ah! why did'st thou cleave to it when I so
warned thee 'gainst it?  Thou'st broke thy mother's heart."

The Prince looked into her face, and said gently--

"Thy son is well, and hath not lost his wits, good dame.  Comfort thee:
let me to the palace where he is, and straightway will the King my father
restore him to thee."

"The King thy father!  Oh, my child! unsay these words that be freighted
with death for thee, and ruin for all that be near to thee.  Shake of
this gruesome dream.  Call back thy poor wandering memory.  Look upon me.
Am not I thy mother that bore thee, and loveth thee?"

The Prince shook his head and reluctantly said--

"God knoweth I am loth to grieve thy heart; but truly have I never looked
upon thy face before."

The woman sank back to a sitting posture on the floor, and, covering her
eyes with her hands, gave way to heart-broken sobs and wailings.

"Let the show go on!" shouted Canty.  "What, Nan!--what, Bet! mannerless
wenches! will ye stand in the Prince's presence?  Upon your knees, ye
pauper scum, and do him reverence!"

He followed this with another horse-laugh.  The girls began to plead
timidly for their brother; and Nan said--

"An thou wilt but let him to bed, father, rest and sleep will heal his
madness:  prithee, do."

"Do, father," said Bet; "he is more worn than is his wont.  To-morrow
will he be himself again, and will beg with diligence, and come not empty
home again."

This remark sobered the father's joviality, and brought his mind to
business.  He turned angrily upon the Prince, and said--

"The morrow must we pay two pennies to him that owns this hole; two
pennies, mark ye--all this money for a half-year's rent, else out of this
we go.  Show what thou'st gathered with thy lazy begging."

The Prince said--

"Offend me not with thy sordid matters.  I tell thee again I am the
King's son."

A sounding blow upon the Prince's shoulder from Canty's broad palm sent
him staggering into goodwife Canty's arms, who clasped him to her breast,
and sheltered him from a pelting rain of cuffs and slaps by interposing
her own person.  The frightened girls retreated to their corner; but the
grandmother stepped eagerly forward to assist her son.  The Prince sprang
away from Mrs. Canty, exclaiming--

"Thou shalt not suffer for me, madam.  Let these swine do their will upon
me alone."

This speech infuriated the swine to such a degree that they set about
their work without waste of time.  Between them they belaboured the boy
right soundly, and then gave the girls and their mother a beating for
showing sympathy for the victim.

"Now," said Canty, "to bed, all of ye.  The entertainment has tired me."

The light was put out, and the family retired.  As soon as the snorings
of the head of the house and his mother showed that they were asleep, the
young girls crept to where the Prince lay, and covered him tenderly from
the cold with straw and rags; and their mother crept to him also, and
stroked his hair, and cried over him, whispering broken words of comfort
and compassion in his ear the while.  She had saved a morsel for him to
eat, also; but the boy's pains had swept away all appetite--at least for
black and tasteless crusts.  He was touched by her brave and costly
defence of him, and by her commiseration; and he thanked her in very
noble and princely words, and begged her to go to her sleep and try to
forget her sorrows.  And he added that the King his father would not let
her loyal kindness and devotion go unrewarded.  This return to his
'madness' broke her heart anew, and she strained him to her breast again
and again, and then went back, drowned in tears, to her bed.

As she lay thinking and mourning, the suggestion began to creep into her
mind that there was an undefinable something about this boy that was
lacking in Tom Canty, mad or sane.  She could not describe it, she could
not tell just what it was, and yet her sharp mother-instinct seemed to
detect it and perceive it.  What if the boy were really not her son,
after all?  Oh, absurd!  She almost smiled at the idea, spite of her
griefs and troubles.  No matter, she found that it was an idea that would
not 'down,' but persisted in haunting her.  It pursued her, it harassed
her, it clung to her, and refused to be put away or ignored.  At last she
perceived that there was not going to be any peace for her until she
should devise a test that should prove, clearly and without question,
whether this lad was her son or not, and so banish these wearing and
worrying doubts.  Ah, yes, this was plainly the right way out of the
difficulty; therefore she set her wits to work at once to contrive that
test.  But it was an easier thing to propose than to accomplish.  She
turned over in her mind one promising test after another, but was obliged
to relinquish them all--none of them were absolutely sure, absolutely
perfect; and an imperfect one could not satisfy her.  Evidently she was
racking her head in vain--it seemed manifest that she must give the
matter up.  While this depressing thought was passing through her mind,
her ear caught the regular breathing of the boy, and she knew he had
fallen asleep.  And while she listened, the measured breathing was broken
by a soft, startled cry, such as one utters in a troubled dream.  This
chance occurrence furnished her instantly with a plan worth all her
laboured tests combined.  She at once set herself feverishly, but
noiselessly, to work to relight her candle, muttering to herself, "Had I
but seen him THEN, I should have known!  Since that day, when he was
little, that the powder burst in his face, he hath never been startled of
a sudden out of his dreams or out of his thinkings, but he hath cast his
hand before his eyes, even as he did that day; and not as others would do
it, with the palm inward, but always with the palm turned outward--I have
seen it a hundred times, and it hath never varied nor ever failed.  Yes,
I shall soon know, now!"

By this time she had crept to the slumbering boy's side, with the candle,
shaded, in her hand.  She bent heedfully and warily over him, scarcely
breathing in her suppressed excitement, and suddenly flashed the light in
his face and struck the floor by his ear with her knuckles.  The
sleeper's eyes sprang wide open, and he cast a startled stare about him
--but he made no special movement with his hands.

The poor woman was smitten almost helpless with surprise and grief; but
she contrived to hide her emotions, and to soothe the boy to sleep again;
then she crept apart and communed miserably with herself upon the
disastrous result of her experiment.  She tried to believe that her Tom's
madness had banished this habitual gesture of his; but she could not do
it.  "No," she said, "his HANDS are not mad; they could not unlearn so
old a habit in so brief a time.  Oh, this is a heavy day for me!"

Still, hope was as stubborn now as doubt had been before; she could not
bring herself to accept the verdict of the test; she must try the thing
again--the failure must have been only an accident; so she startled the
boy out of his sleep a second and a third time, at intervals--with the
same result which had marked the first test; then she dragged herself to
bed, and fell sorrowfully asleep, saying, "But I cannot give him up--oh
no, I cannot, I cannot--he MUST be my boy!"

The poor mother's interruptions having ceased, and the Prince's pains
having gradually lost their power to disturb him, utter weariness at last
sealed his eyes in a profound and restful sleep. Hour after hour slipped
away, and still he slept like the dead. Thus four or five hours passed.
Then his stupor began to lighten. Presently, while half asleep and half
awake, he murmured--

"Sir William!"

After a moment--

"Ho, Sir William Herbert!  Hie thee hither, and list to the strangest
dream that ever . . . Sir William! dost hear?  Man, I did think me
changed to a pauper, and . . . Ho there!  Guards! Sir William!  What! is
there no groom of the chamber in waiting? Alack! it shall go hard with--"

"What aileth thee?" asked a whisper near him.  "Who art thou calling?"

"Sir William Herbert.  Who art thou?"

"I?  Who should I be, but thy sister Nan?  Oh, Tom, I had forgot! Thou'rt
mad yet--poor lad, thou'rt mad yet:  would I had never woke to know it
again!  But prithee master thy tongue, lest we be all beaten till we
die!"

The startled Prince sprang partly up, but a sharp reminder from his
stiffened bruises brought him to himself, and he sank back among his foul
straw with a moan and the ejaculation--

"Alas! it was no dream, then!"

In a moment all the heavy sorrow and misery which sleep had banished were
upon him again, and he realised that he was no longer a petted prince in
a palace, with the adoring eyes of a nation upon him, but a pauper, an
outcast, clothed in rags, prisoner in a den fit only for beasts, and
consorting with beggars and thieves.

In the midst of his grief he began to be conscious of hilarious noises
and shoutings, apparently but a block or two away.  The next moment there
were several sharp raps at the door; John Canty ceased from snoring and
said--

"Who knocketh?  What wilt thou?"

A voice answered--

"Know'st thou who it was thou laid thy cudgel on?"

"No.  Neither know I, nor care."

"Belike thou'lt change thy note eftsoons.  An thou would save thy neck,
nothing but flight may stead thee.  The man is this moment delivering up
the ghost.  'Tis the priest, Father Andrew!"

"God-a-mercy!" exclaimed Canty.  He roused his family, and hoarsely
commanded, "Up with ye all and fly--or bide where ye are and perish!"

Scarcely five minutes later the Canty household were in the street and
flying for their lives.  John Canty held the Prince by the wrist, and
hurried him along the dark way, giving him this caution in a low voice--

"Mind thy tongue, thou mad fool, and speak not our name.  I will choose
me a new name, speedily, to throw the law's dogs off the scent.  Mind thy
tongue, I tell thee!"

He growled these words to the rest of the family--

"If it so chance that we be separated, let each make for London Bridge;
whoso findeth himself as far as the last linen-draper's shop on the
bridge, let him tarry there till the others be come, then will we flee
into Southwark together."

At this moment the party burst suddenly out of darkness into light; and
not only into light, but into the midst of a multitude of singing,
dancing, and shouting people, massed together on the river frontage.
There was a line of bonfires stretching as far as one could see, up and
down the Thames; London Bridge was illuminated; Southwark Bridge
likewise; the entire river was aglow with the flash and sheen of coloured
lights; and constant explosions of fireworks filled the skies with an
intricate commingling of shooting splendours and a thick rain of dazzling
sparks that almost turned night into day; everywhere were crowds of
revellers; all London seemed to be at large.

John Canty delivered himself of a furious curse and commanded a retreat;
but it was too late.  He and his tribe were swallowed up in that swarming
hive of humanity, and hopelessly separated from each other in an instant.
We are not considering that the Prince was one of his tribe; Canty still
kept his grip upon him.  The Prince's heart was beating high with hopes
of escape, now.  A burly waterman, considerably exalted with liquor,
found himself rudely shoved by Canty in his efforts to plough through the
crowd; he laid his great hand on Canty's shoulder and said--

"Nay, whither so fast, friend?  Dost canker thy soul with sordid business
when all that be leal men and true make holiday?"

"Mine affairs are mine own, they concern thee not," answered Canty,
roughly; "take away thy hand and let me pass."

"Sith that is thy humour, thou'lt NOT pass, till thou'st drunk to the
Prince of Wales, I tell thee that," said the waterman, barring the way
resolutely.

"Give me the cup, then, and make speed, make speed!"

Other revellers were interested by this time.  They cried out--

"The loving-cup, the loving-cup! make the sour knave drink the
loving-cup, else will we feed him to the fishes."

So a huge loving-cup was brought; the waterman, grasping it by one of its
handles, and with the other hand bearing up the end of an imaginary
napkin, presented it in due and ancient form to Canty, who had to grasp
the opposite handle with one of his hands and take off the lid with the
other, according to ancient custom. {1} This left the Prince hand-free
for a second, of course.  He wasted no time, but dived among the forest
of legs about him and disappeared.  In another moment he could not have
been harder to find, under that tossing sea of life, if its billows had
been the Atlantic's and he a lost sixpence.

He very soon realised this fact, and straightway busied himself about his
own affairs without further thought of John Canty.  He quickly realised
another thing, too.  To wit, that a spurious Prince of Wales was being
feasted by the city in his stead.  He easily concluded that the pauper
lad, Tom Canty, had deliberately taken advantage of his stupendous
opportunity and become a usurper.

Therefore there was but one course to pursue--find his way to the
Guildhall, make himself known, and denounce the impostor.  He also made
up his mind that Tom should be allowed a reasonable time for spiritual
preparation, and then be hanged, drawn and quartered, according to the
law and usage of the day in cases of high treason.



Chapter XI. At Guildhall.

The royal barge, attended by its gorgeous fleet, took its stately way
down the Thames through the wilderness of illuminated boats. The air was
laden with music; the river banks were beruffled with joy-flames; the
distant city lay in a soft luminous glow from its countless invisible
bonfires; above it rose many a slender spire into the sky, incrusted with
sparkling lights, wherefore in their remoteness they seemed like jewelled
lances thrust aloft; as the fleet swept along, it was greeted from the
banks with a continuous hoarse roar of cheers and the ceaseless flash and
boom of artillery.

To Tom Canty, half buried in his silken cushions, these sounds and this
spectacle were a wonder unspeakably sublime and astonishing. To his
little friends at his side, the Princess Elizabeth and the Lady Jane
Grey, they were nothing.

Arrived at the Dowgate, the fleet was towed up the limpid Walbrook (whose
channel has now been for two centuries buried out of sight under acres of
buildings) to Bucklersbury, past houses and under bridges populous with
merry-makers and brilliantly lighted, and at last came to a halt in a
basin where now is Barge Yard, in the centre of the ancient city of
London.  Tom disembarked, and he and his gallant procession crossed
Cheapside and made a short march through the Old Jewry and Basinghall
Street to the Guildhall.

Tom and his little ladies were received with due ceremony by the Lord
Mayor and the Fathers of the City, in their gold chains and scarlet robes
of state, and conducted to a rich canopy of state at the head of the
great hall, preceded by heralds making proclamation, and by the Mace and
the City Sword.  The lords and ladies who were to attend upon Tom and his
two small friends took their places behind their chairs.

At a lower table the Court grandees and other guests of noble degree were
seated, with the magnates of the city; the commoners took places at a
multitude of tables on the main floor of the hall.  From their lofty
vantage-ground the giants Gog and Magog, the ancient guardians of the
city, contemplated the spectacle below them with eyes grown familiar to
it in forgotten generations.  There was a bugle-blast and a proclamation,
and a fat butler appeared in a high perch in the leftward wall, followed
by his servitors bearing with impressive solemnity a royal baron of beef,
smoking hot and ready for the knife.

After grace, Tom (being instructed) rose--and the whole house with him
--and drank from a portly golden loving-cup with the Princess Elizabeth;
from her it passed to the Lady Jane, and then traversed the general
assemblage.  So the banquet began.

By midnight the revelry was at its height.  Now came one of those
picturesque spectacles so admired in that old day.  A description of it
is still extant in the quaint wording of a chronicler who witnessed it:

'Space being made, presently entered a baron and an earl appareled after
the Turkish fashion in long robes of bawdkin powdered with gold; hats on
their heads of crimson velvet, with great rolls of gold, girded with two
swords, called scimitars, hanging by great bawdricks of gold.  Next came
yet another baron and another earl, in two long gowns of yellow satin,
traversed with white satin, and in every bend of white was a bend of
crimson satin, after the fashion of Russia, with furred hats of gray on
their heads; either of them having an hatchet in their hands, and boots
with pykes' (points a foot long), 'turned up.  And after them came a
knight, then the Lord High Admiral, and with him five nobles, in doublets
of crimson velvet, voyded low on the back and before to the cannell-bone,
laced on the breasts with chains of silver; and over that, short cloaks
of crimson satin, and on their heads hats after the dancers' fashion,
with pheasants' feathers in them.  These were appareled after the fashion
of Prussia.  The torchbearers, which were about an hundred, were
appareled in crimson satin and green, like Moors, their faces black.
Next came in a mommarye. Then the minstrels, which were disguised,
danced; and the lords and ladies did wildly dance also, that it was a
pleasure to behold.'

And while Tom, in his high seat, was gazing upon this 'wild' dancing,
lost in admiration of the dazzling commingling of kaleidoscopic colours
which the whirling turmoil of gaudy figures below him presented, the
ragged but real little Prince of Wales was proclaiming his rights and his
wrongs, denouncing the impostor, and clamouring for admission at the
gates of Guildhall! The crowd enjoyed this episode prodigiously, and
pressed forward and craned their necks to see the small rioter.
Presently they began to taunt him and mock at him, purposely to goad him
into a higher and still more entertaining fury.  Tears of mortification
sprang to his eyes, but he stood his ground and defied the mob right
royally.  Other taunts followed, added mockings stung him, and he
exclaimed--

"I tell ye again, you pack of unmannerly curs, I am the Prince of Wales!
And all forlorn and friendless as I be, with none to give me word of
grace or help me in my need, yet will not I be driven from my ground, but
will maintain it!"

"Though thou be prince or no prince, 'tis all one, thou be'st a gallant
lad, and not friendless neither!  Here stand I by thy side to prove it;
and mind I tell thee thou might'st have a worser friend than Miles Hendon
and yet not tire thy legs with seeking. Rest thy small jaw, my child; I
talk the language of these base kennel-rats like to a very native."

The speaker was a sort of Don Caesar de Bazan in dress, aspect, and
bearing.  He was tall, trim-built, muscular.  His doublet and trunks were
of rich material, but faded and threadbare, and their gold-lace
adornments were sadly tarnished; his ruff was rumpled and damaged; the
plume in his slouched hat was broken and had a bedraggled and
disreputable look; at his side he wore a long rapier in a rusty iron
sheath; his swaggering carriage marked him at once as a ruffler of the
camp.  The speech of this fantastic figure was received with an explosion
of jeers and laughter.  Some cried, "'Tis another prince in disguise!"
"'Ware thy tongue, friend:  belike he is dangerous!"  "Marry, he looketh
it--mark his eye!"  "Pluck the lad from him--to the horse-pond wi' the
cub!"

Instantly a hand was laid upon the Prince, under the impulse of this
happy thought; as instantly the stranger's long sword was out and the
meddler went to the earth under a sounding thump with the flat of it.
The next moment a score of voices shouted, "Kill the dog!  Kill him!
Kill him!" and the mob closed in on the warrior, who backed himself
against a wall and began to lay about him with his long weapon like a
madman.  His victims sprawled this way and that, but the mob-tide poured
over their prostrate forms and dashed itself against the champion with
undiminished fury.  His moments seemed numbered, his destruction certain,
when suddenly a trumpet-blast sounded, a voice shouted, "Way for the
King's messenger!" and a troop of horsemen came charging down upon the
mob, who fled out of harm's reach as fast as their legs could carry them.
The bold stranger caught up the Prince in his arms, and was soon far away
from danger and the multitude.

Return we within the Guildhall.  Suddenly, high above the jubilant roar
and thunder of the revel, broke the clear peal of a bugle-note.  There
was instant silence--a deep hush; then a single voice rose--that of the
messenger from the palace--and began to pipe forth a proclamation, the
whole multitude standing listening.

The closing words, solemnly pronounced, were--

"The King is dead!"

The great assemblage bent their heads upon their breasts with one accord;
remained so, in profound silence, a few moments; then all sank upon their
knees in a body, stretched out their hands toward Tom, and a mighty shout
burst forth that seemed to shake the building--

"Long live the King!"

Poor Tom's dazed eyes wandered abroad over this stupefying spectacle, and
finally rested dreamily upon the kneeling princesses beside him, a
moment, then upon the Earl of Hertford. A sudden purpose dawned in his
face.  He said, in a low tone, at Lord Hertford's ear--

"Answer me truly, on thy faith and honour!  Uttered I here a command, the
which none but a king might hold privilege and prerogative to utter,
would such commandment be obeyed, and none rise up to say me nay?"

"None, my liege, in all these realms.  In thy person bides the majesty of
England.  Thou art the king--thy word is law."

Tom responded, in a strong, earnest voice, and with great animation--

"Then shall the king's law be law of mercy, from this day, and never more
be law of blood!  Up from thy knees and away!  To the Tower, and say the
King decrees the Duke of Norfolk shall not die!" {1}

The words were caught up and carried eagerly from lip to lip far and wide
over the hall, and as Hertford hurried from the presence, another
prodigious shout burst forth--

"The reign of blood is ended!  Long live Edward, King of England!"



Chapter XII. The Prince and his deliverer.

As soon as Miles Hendon and the little prince were clear of the mob, they
struck down through back lanes and alleys toward the river.  Their way
was unobstructed until they approached London Bridge; then they ploughed
into the multitude again, Hendon keeping a fast grip upon the Prince's
--no, the King's--wrist.  The tremendous news was already abroad, and the
boy learned it from a thousand voices at once--"The King is dead!"  The
tidings struck a chill to the heart of the poor little waif, and sent a
shudder through his frame.  He realised the greatness of his loss, and
was filled with a bitter grief; for the grim tyrant who had been such a
terror to others had always been gentle with him.  The tears sprang to
his eyes and blurred all objects.  For an instant he felt himself the
most forlorn, outcast, and forsaken of God's creatures--then another cry
shook the night with its far-reaching thunders:  "Long live King Edward
the Sixth!" and this made his eyes kindle, and thrilled him with pride to
his fingers' ends. "Ah," he thought, "how grand and strange it seems--I
AM KING!"

Our friends threaded their way slowly through the throngs upon the
bridge.  This structure, which had stood for six hundred years, and had
been a noisy and populous thoroughfare all that time, was a curious
affair, for a closely packed rank of stores and shops, with family
quarters overhead, stretched along both sides of it, from one bank of the
river to the other.  The Bridge was a sort of town to itself; it had its
inn, its beer-houses, its bakeries, its haberdasheries, its food markets,
its manufacturing industries, and even its church.  It looked upon the
two neighbours which it linked together--London and Southwark--as being
well enough as suburbs, but not otherwise particularly important.  It was
a close corporation, so to speak; it was a narrow town, of a single
street a fifth of a mile long, its population was but a village
population and everybody in it knew all his fellow-townsmen intimately,
and had known their fathers and mothers before them--and all their little
family affairs into the bargain.  It had its aristocracy, of course--its
fine old families of butchers, and bakers, and what-not, who had occupied
the same old premises for five or six hundred years, and knew the great
history of the Bridge from beginning to end, and all its strange legends;
and who always talked bridgy talk, and thought bridgy thoughts, and lied
in a long, level, direct, substantial bridgy way.  It was just the sort
of population to be narrow and ignorant and self-conceited. Children were
born on the Bridge, were reared there, grew to old age, and finally died
without ever having set a foot upon any part of the world but London
Bridge alone.  Such people would naturally imagine that the mighty and
interminable procession which moved through its street night and day,
with its confused roar of shouts and cries, its neighings and bellowing
and bleatings and its muffled thunder-tramp, was the one great thing in
this world, and themselves somehow the proprietors of it.  And so they
were, in effect--at least they could exhibit it from their windows, and
did--for a consideration--whenever a returning king or hero gave it a
fleeting splendour, for there was no place like it for affording a long,
straight, uninterrupted view of marching columns.

Men born and reared upon the Bridge found life unendurably dull and inane
elsewhere.  History tells of one of these who left the Bridge at the age
of seventy-one and retired to the country.  But he could only fret and
toss in his bed; he could not go to sleep, the deep stillness was so
painful, so awful, so oppressive.  When he was worn out with it, at last,
he fled back to his old home, a lean and haggard spectre, and fell
peacefully to rest and pleasant dreams under the lulling music of the
lashing waters and the boom and crash and thunder of London Bridge.

In the times of which we are writing, the Bridge furnished 'object
lessons' in English history for its children--namely, the livid and
decaying heads of renowned men impaled upon iron spikes atop of its
gateways.  But we digress.

Hendon's lodgings were in the little inn on the Bridge.  As he neared the
door with his small friend, a rough voice said--

"So, thou'rt come at last!  Thou'lt not escape again, I warrant thee; and
if pounding thy bones to a pudding can teach thee somewhat, thou'lt not
keep us waiting another time, mayhap."--and John Canty put out his hand to
seize the boy.

Miles Hendon stepped in the way and said--

"Not too fast, friend.  Thou art needlessly rough, methinks.  What is the
lad to thee?"

"If it be any business of thine to make and meddle in others' affairs, he
is my son."

"'Tis a lie!" cried the little King, hotly.

"Boldly said, and I believe thee, whether thy small headpiece be sound or
cracked, my boy.  But whether this scurvy ruffian be thy father or no,
'tis all one, he shall not have thee to beat thee and abuse, according to
his threat, so thou prefer to bide with me."

"I do, I do--I know him not, I loathe him, and will die before I will go
with him."

"Then 'tis settled, and there is nought more to say."

"We will see, as to that!" exclaimed John Canty, striding past Hendon to
get at the boy; "by force shall he--"

"If thou do but touch him, thou animated offal, I will spit thee like a
goose!" said Hendon, barring the way and laying his hand upon his sword
hilt.  Canty drew back.  "Now mark ye," continued Hendon, "I took this
lad under my protection when a mob of such as thou would have mishandled
him, mayhap killed him; dost imagine I will desert him now to a worser
fate?--for whether thou art his father or no--and sooth to say, I think
it is a lie--a decent swift death were better for such a lad than life in
such brute hands as thine.  So go thy ways, and set quick about it, for I
like not much bandying of words, being not over-patient in my nature."

John Canty moved off, muttering threats and curses, and was swallowed
from sight in the crowd.  Hendon ascended three flights of stairs to his
room, with his charge, after ordering a meal to be sent thither.  It was
a poor apartment, with a shabby bed and some odds and ends of old
furniture in it, and was vaguely lighted by a couple of sickly candles.
The little King dragged himself to the bed and lay down upon it, almost
exhausted with hunger and fatigue.  He had been on his feet a good part
of a day and a night (for it was now two or three o'clock in the
morning), and had eaten nothing meantime.  He murmured drowsily--

"Prithee call me when the table is spread," and sank into a deep sleep
immediately.

A smile twinkled in Hendon's eye, and he said to himself--

"By the mass, the little beggar takes to one's quarters and usurps one's
bed with as natural and easy a grace as if he owned them--with never a
by-your-leave or so-please-it-you, or anything of the sort.  In his
diseased ravings he called himself the Prince of Wales, and bravely doth
he keep up the character.  Poor little friendless rat, doubtless his mind
has been disordered with ill-usage.  Well, I will be his friend; I have
saved him, and it draweth me strongly to him; already I love the
bold-tongued little rascal.  How soldier-like he faced the smutty rabble
and flung back his high defiance!  And what a comely, sweet and gentle
face he hath, now that sleep hath conjured away its troubles and its
griefs. I will teach him; I will cure his malady; yea, I will be his
elder brother, and care for him and watch over him; and whoso would shame
him or do him hurt may order his shroud, for though I be burnt for it he
shall need it!"

He bent over the boy and contemplated him with kind and pitying interest,
tapping the young cheek tenderly and smoothing back the tangled curls
with his great brown hand.  A slight shiver passed over the boy's form.
Hendon muttered--

"See, now, how like a man it was to let him lie here uncovered and fill
his body with deadly rheums.  Now what shall I do? 'twill wake him to
take him up and put him within the bed, and he sorely needeth sleep."

He looked about for extra covering, but finding none, doffed his doublet
and wrapped the lad in it, saying, "I am used to nipping air and scant
apparel, 'tis little I shall mind the cold!"--then walked up and down the
room, to keep his blood in motion, soliloquising as before.

"His injured mind persuades him he is Prince of Wales; 'twill be odd to
have a Prince of Wales still with us, now that he that WAS the prince is
prince no more, but king--for this poor mind is set upon the one fantasy,
and will not reason out that now it should cast by the prince and call
itself the king. . . If my father liveth still, after these seven years
that I have heard nought from home in my foreign dungeon, he will welcome
the poor lad and give him generous shelter for my sake; so will my good
elder brother, Arthur; my other brother, Hugh--but I will crack his crown
an HE interfere, the fox-hearted, ill-conditioned animal! Yes, thither
will we fare--and straightway, too."

A servant entered with a smoking meal, disposed it upon a small deal
table, placed the chairs, and took his departure, leaving such cheap
lodgers as these to wait upon themselves.  The door slammed after him,
and the noise woke the boy, who sprang to a sitting posture, and shot a
glad glance about him; then a grieved look came into his face and he
murmured to himself, with a deep sigh, "Alack, it was but a dream, woe is
me!"  Next he noticed Miles Hendon's doublet--glanced from that to
Hendon, comprehended the sacrifice that had been made for him, and said,
gently--

"Thou art good to me, yes, thou art very good to me.  Take it and put it
on--I shall not need it more."

Then he got up and walked to the washstand in the corner and stood there,
waiting.  Hendon said in a cheery voice--

"We'll have a right hearty sup and bite, now, for everything is savoury
and smoking hot, and that and thy nap together will make thee a little
man again, never fear!"

The boy made no answer, but bent a steady look, that was filled with
grave surprise, and also somewhat touched with impatience, upon the tall
knight of the sword.  Hendon was puzzled, and said--

"What's amiss?"

"Good sir, I would wash me."

"Oh, is that all?  Ask no permission of Miles Hendon for aught thou
cravest.  Make thyself perfectly free here, and welcome, with all that
are his belongings."

Still the boy stood, and moved not; more, he tapped the floor once or
twice with his small impatient foot.  Hendon was wholly perplexed.  Said
he--

"Bless us, what is it?"

"Prithee pour the water, and make not so many words!"

Hendon, suppressing a horse-laugh, and saying to himself, "By all the
saints, but this is admirable!" stepped briskly forward and did the small
insolent's bidding; then stood by, in a sort of stupefaction, until the
command, "Come--the towel!" woke him sharply up.  He took up a towel,
from under the boy's nose, and handed it to him without comment.  He now
proceeded to comfort his own face with a wash, and while he was at it his
adopted child seated himself at the table and prepared to fall to.
Hendon despatched his ablutions with alacrity, then drew back the other
chair and was about to place himself at table, when the boy said,
indignantly--

"Forbear!  Wouldst sit in the presence of the King?"

This blow staggered Hendon to his foundations.  He muttered to himself,
"Lo, the poor thing's madness is up with the time!  It hath changed with
the great change that is come to the realm, and now in fancy is he KING!
Good lack, I must humour the conceit, too--there is no other way--faith,
he would order me to the Tower, else!"

And pleased with this jest, he removed the chair from the table, took his
stand behind the King, and proceeded to wait upon him in the courtliest
way he was capable of.

While the King ate, the rigour of his royal dignity relaxed a little, and
with his growing contentment came a desire to talk. He said--"I think
thou callest thyself Miles Hendon, if I heard thee aright?"

"Yes, Sire," Miles replied; then observed to himself, "If I MUST humour
the poor lad's madness, I must 'Sire' him, I must 'Majesty' him, I must
not go by halves, I must stick at nothing that belongeth to the part I
play, else shall I play it ill and work evil to this charitable and
kindly cause."

The King warmed his heart with a second glass of wine, and said--"I would
know thee--tell me thy story.  Thou hast a gallant way with thee, and a
noble--art nobly born?"

"We are of the tail of the nobility, good your Majesty.  My father is a
baronet--one of the smaller lords by knight service {2}--Sir Richard
Hendon of Hendon Hall, by Monk's Holm in Kent."

"The name has escaped my memory.  Go on--tell me thy story."

"'Tis not much, your Majesty, yet perchance it may beguile a short
half-hour for want of a better.  My father, Sir Richard, is very rich,
and of a most generous nature.  My mother died whilst I was yet a boy.  I
have two brothers:  Arthur, my elder, with a soul like to his father's;
and Hugh, younger than I, a mean spirit, covetous, treacherous, vicious,
underhanded--a reptile.  Such was he from the cradle; such was he ten
years past, when I last saw him--a ripe rascal at nineteen, I being
twenty then, and Arthur twenty-two.  There is none other of us but the
Lady Edith, my cousin--she was sixteen then--beautiful, gentle, good, the
daughter of an earl, the last of her race, heiress of a great fortune and
a lapsed title.  My father was her guardian.  I loved her and she loved
me; but she was betrothed to Arthur from the cradle, and Sir Richard
would not suffer the contract to be broken.  Arthur loved another maid,
and bade us be of good cheer and hold fast to the hope that delay and
luck together would some day give success to our several causes.  Hugh
loved the Lady Edith's fortune, though in truth he said it was herself he
loved--but then 'twas his way, alway, to say the one thing and mean the
other.  But he lost his arts upon the girl; he could deceive my father,
but none else.  My father loved him best of us all, and trusted and
believed him; for he was the youngest child, and others hated him--these
qualities being in all ages sufficient to win a parent's dearest love;
and he had a smooth persuasive tongue, with an admirable gift of lying
--and these be qualities which do mightily assist a blind affection to
cozen itself.  I was wild--in troth I might go yet farther and say VERY
wild, though 'twas a wildness of an innocent sort, since it hurt none but
me, brought shame to none, nor loss, nor had in it any taint of crime or
baseness, or what might not beseem mine honourable degree.

"Yet did my brother Hugh turn these faults to good account--he seeing
that our brother Arthur's health was but indifferent, and hoping the
worst might work him profit were I swept out of the path--so--but 'twere
a long tale, good my liege, and little worth the telling.  Briefly, then,
this brother did deftly magnify my faults and make them crimes; ending
his base work with finding a silken ladder in mine apartments--conveyed
thither by his own means--and did convince my father by this, and
suborned evidence of servants and other lying knaves, that I was minded
to carry off my Edith and marry with her in rank defiance of his will.

"Three years of banishment from home and England might make a soldier and
a man of me, my father said, and teach me some degree of wisdom.  I
fought out my long probation in the continental wars, tasting sumptuously
of hard knocks, privation, and adventure; but in my last battle I was
taken captive, and during the seven years that have waxed and waned since
then, a foreign dungeon hath harboured me.  Through wit and courage I won
to the free air at last, and fled hither straight; and am but just
arrived, right poor in purse and raiment, and poorer still in knowledge
of what these dull seven years have wrought at Hendon Hall, its people
and belongings.  So please you, sir, my meagre tale is told."

"Thou hast been shamefully abused!" said the little King, with a flashing
eye.  "But I will right thee--by the cross will I!  The King hath said
it."

Then, fired by the story of Miles's wrongs, he loosed his tongue and
poured the history of his own recent misfortunes into the ears of his
astonished listener.  When he had finished, Miles said to himself--

"Lo, what an imagination he hath!  Verily, this is no common mind; else,
crazed or sane, it could not weave so straight and gaudy a tale as this
out of the airy nothings wherewith it hath wrought this curious romaunt.
Poor ruined little head, it shall not lack friend or shelter whilst I
bide with the living.  He shall never leave my side; he shall be my pet,
my little comrade.  And he shall be cured!--ay, made whole and sound
--then will he make himself a name--and proud shall I be to say, 'Yes, he
is mine--I took him, a homeless little ragamuffin, but I saw what was in
him, and I said his name would be heard some day--behold him, observe
him--was I right?'"

The King spoke--in a thoughtful, measured voice--

"Thou didst save me injury and shame, perchance my life, and so my crown.
Such service demandeth rich reward.  Name thy desire, and so it be within
the compass of my royal power, it is thine."

This fantastic suggestion startled Hendon out of his reverie.  He was
about to thank the King and put the matter aside with saying he had only
done his duty and desired no reward, but a wiser thought came into his
head, and he asked leave to be silent a few moments and consider the
gracious offer--an idea which the King gravely approved, remarking that
it was best to be not too hasty with a thing of such great import.

Miles reflected during some moments, then said to himself, "Yes, that is
the thing to do--by any other means it were impossible to get at it--and
certes, this hour's experience has taught me 'twould be most wearing and
inconvenient to continue it as it is. Yes, I will propose it; 'twas a
happy accident that I did not throw the chance away."  Then he dropped
upon one knee and said--

"My poor service went not beyond the limit of a subject's simple duty,
and therefore hath no merit; but since your Majesty is pleased to hold it
worthy some reward, I take heart of grace to make petition to this
effect.  Near four hundred years ago, as your grace knoweth, there being
ill blood betwixt John, King of England, and the King of France, it was
decreed that two champions should fight together in the lists, and so
settle the dispute by what is called the arbitrament of God.  These two
kings, and the Spanish king, being assembled to witness and judge the
conflict, the French champion appeared; but so redoubtable was he, that
our English knights refused to measure weapons with him.  So the matter,
which was a weighty one, was like to go against the English monarch by
default.  Now in the Tower lay the Lord de Courcy, the mightiest arm in
England, stripped of his honours and possessions, and wasting with long
captivity.  Appeal was made to him; he gave assent, and came forth
arrayed for battle; but no sooner did the Frenchman glimpse his huge
frame and hear his famous name but he fled away, and the French king's
cause was lost.  King John restored De Courcy's titles and possessions,
and said, 'Name thy wish and thou shalt have it, though it cost me half
my kingdom;' whereat De Courcy, kneeling, as I do now, made answer,
'This, then, I ask, my liege; that I and my successors may have and hold
the privilege of remaining covered in the presence of the kings of
England, henceforth while the throne shall last.' The boon was granted,
as your Majesty knoweth; and there hath been no time, these four hundred
years, that that line has failed of an heir; and so, even unto this day,
the head of that ancient house still weareth his hat or helm before the
King's Majesty, without let or hindrance, and this none other may do. {3}
Invoking this precedent in aid of my prayer, I beseech the King to grant
to me but this one grace and privilege--to my more than sufficient
reward--and none other, to wit:  that I and my heirs, for ever, may SIT
in the presence of the Majesty of England!"

"Rise, Sir Miles Hendon, Knight," said the King, gravely--giving the
accolade with Hendon's sword--"rise, and seat thyself.  Thy petition is
granted.  Whilst England remains, and the crown continues, the privilege
shall not lapse."

His Majesty walked apart, musing, and Hendon dropped into a chair at
table, observing to himself, "'Twas a brave thought, and hath wrought me
a mighty deliverance; my legs are grievously wearied. An I had not
thought of that, I must have had to stand for weeks, till my poor lad's
wits are cured."  After a little, he went on, "And so I am become a
knight of the Kingdom of Dreams and Shadows! A most odd and strange
position, truly, for one so matter-of-fact as I.  I will not laugh--no,
God forbid, for this thing which is so substanceless to me is REAL to
him.  And to me, also, in one way, it is not a falsity, for it reflects
with truth the sweet and generous spirit that is in him."  After a pause:
"Ah, what if he should call me by my fine title before folk!--there'd be
a merry contrast betwixt my glory and my raiment!  But no matter, let him
call me what he will, so it please him; I shall be content."



Chapter XIII. The disappearance of the Prince.

A heavy drowsiness presently fell upon the two comrades.  The King said--

"Remove these rags."--meaning his clothing.

Hendon disapparelled the boy without dissent or remark, tucked him up in
bed, then glanced about the room, saying to himself, ruefully, "He hath
taken my bed again, as before--marry, what shall _I_ do?"  The little
King observed his perplexity, and dissipated it with a word.  He said,
sleepily--

"Thou wilt sleep athwart the door, and guard it."  In a moment more he
was out of his troubles, in a deep slumber.

"Dear heart, he should have been born a king!" muttered Hendon,
admiringly; "he playeth the part to a marvel."

Then he stretched himself across the door, on the floor, saying
contentedly--

"I have lodged worse for seven years; 'twould be but ill gratitude to Him
above to find fault with this."

He dropped asleep as the dawn appeared.  Toward noon he rose, uncovered
his unconscious ward--a section at a time--and took his measure with a
string.  The King awoke, just as he had completed his work, complained of
the cold, and asked what he was doing.

"'Tis done, now, my liege," said Hendon; "I have a bit of business
outside, but will presently return; sleep thou again--thou needest it.
There--let me cover thy head also--thou'lt be warm the sooner."

The King was back in dreamland before this speech was ended. Miles
slipped softly out, and slipped as softly in again, in the course of
thirty or forty minutes, with a complete second-hand suit of boy's
clothing, of cheap material, and showing signs of wear; but tidy, and
suited to the season of the year.  He seated himself, and began to
overhaul his purchase, mumbling to himself--

"A longer purse would have got a better sort, but when one has not the
long purse one must be content with what a short one may do--

"'There was a woman in our town, In our town did dwell--'

"He stirred, methinks--I must sing in a less thunderous key; 'tis not
good to mar his sleep, with this journey before him, and he so wearied
out, poor chap . . . This garment--'tis well enough--a stitch here and
another one there will set it aright.  This other is better, albeit a
stitch or two will not come amiss in it, likewise . . . THESE be very
good and sound, and will keep his small feet warm and dry--an odd new
thing to him, belike, since he has doubtless been used to foot it bare,
winters and summers the same . . . Would thread were bread, seeing one
getteth a year's sufficiency for a farthing, and such a brave big needle
without cost, for mere love.  Now shall I have the demon's own time to
thread it!"

And so he had.  He did as men have always done, and probably always will
do, to the end of time--held the needle still, and tried to thrust the
thread through the eye, which is the opposite of a woman's way.  Time and
time again the thread missed the mark, going sometimes on one side of the
needle, sometimes on the other, sometimes doubling up against the shaft;
but he was patient, having been through these experiences before, when he
was soldiering.  He succeeded at last, and took up the garment that had
lain waiting, meantime, across his lap, and began his work.

"The inn is paid--the breakfast that is to come, included--and there is
wherewithal left to buy a couple of donkeys and meet our little costs for
the two or three days betwixt this and the plenty that awaits us at
Hendon Hall--

"'She loved her hus--'

"Body o' me!  I have driven the needle under my nail! . . . It matters
little--'tis not a novelty--yet 'tis not a convenience, neither. . . .
We shall be merry there, little one, never doubt it! Thy troubles will
vanish there, and likewise thy sad distemper--

"'She loved her husband dearilee, But another man--'

"These be noble large stitches!"--holding the garment up and viewing it
admiringly--"they have a grandeur and a majesty that do cause these small
stingy ones of the tailor-man to look mightily paltry and plebeian--

"'She loved her husband dearilee, But another man he loved she,--'

"Marry, 'tis done--a goodly piece of work, too, and wrought with
expedition.  Now will I wake him, apparel him, pour for him, feed him,
and then will we hie us to the mart by the Tabard Inn in Southwark and
--be pleased to rise, my liege!--he answereth not--what ho, my liege!--of a
truth must I profane his sacred person with a touch, sith his slumber is
deaf to speech.  What!"

He threw back the covers--the boy was gone!

He stared about him in speechless astonishment for a moment; noticed for
the first time that his ward's ragged raiment was also missing; then he
began to rage and storm and shout for the innkeeper.  At that moment a
servant entered with the breakfast.

"Explain, thou limb of Satan, or thy time is come!" roared the man of
war, and made so savage a spring toward the waiter that this latter could
not find his tongue, for the instant, for fright and surprise.  "Where is
the boy?"

In disjointed and trembling syllables the man gave the information
desired.

"You were hardly gone from the place, your worship, when a youth came
running and said it was your worship's will that the boy come to you
straight, at the bridge-end on the Southwark side.  I brought him hither;
and when he woke the lad and gave his message, the lad did grumble some
little for being disturbed 'so early,' as he called it, but straightway
trussed on his rags and went with the youth, only saying it had been
better manners that your worship came yourself, not sent a stranger--and
so--"

"And so thou'rt a fool!--a fool and easily cozened--hang all thy breed!
Yet mayhap no hurt is done.  Possibly no harm is meant the boy.  I will
go fetch him.  Make the table ready.  Stay! the coverings of the bed were
disposed as if one lay beneath them--happened that by accident?"

"I know not, good your worship.  I saw the youth meddle with them--he
that came for the boy."

"Thousand deaths!  'Twas done to deceive me--'tis plain 'twas done to
gain time.  Hark ye!  Was that youth alone?"

"All alone, your worship."

"Art sure?"

"Sure, your worship."

"Collect thy scattered wits--bethink thee--take time, man."

After a moment's thought, the servant said--

"When he came, none came with him; but now I remember me that as the two
stepped into the throng of the Bridge, a ruffian-looking man plunged out
from some near place; and just as he was joining them--"

"What THEN?--out with it!" thundered the impatient Hendon, interrupting.

"Just then the crowd lapped them up and closed them in, and I saw no
more, being called by my master, who was in a rage because a joint that
the scrivener had ordered was forgot, though I take all the saints to
witness that to blame ME for that miscarriage were like holding the
unborn babe to judgment for sins com--"

"Out of my sight, idiot!  Thy prating drives me mad!  Hold! Whither art
flying?  Canst not bide still an instant?  Went they toward Southwark?"

"Even so, your worship--for, as I said before, as to that detestable
joint, the babe unborn is no whit more blameless than--"

"Art here YET!  And prating still!  Vanish, lest I throttle thee!" The
servitor vanished.  Hendon followed after him, passed him, and plunged
down the stairs two steps at a stride, muttering, "'Tis that scurvy
villain that claimed he was his son.  I have lost thee, my poor little
mad master--it is a bitter thought--and I had come to love thee so!  No!
by book and bell, NOT lost!  Not lost, for I will ransack the land till I
find thee again.  Poor child, yonder is his breakfast--and mine, but I
have no hunger now; so, let the rats have it--speed, speed! that is the
word!"  As he wormed his swift way through the noisy multitudes upon the
Bridge he several times said to himself--clinging to the thought as if it
were a particularly pleasing one--"He grumbled, but he WENT--he went,
yes, because he thought Miles Hendon asked it, sweet lad--he would ne'er
have done it for another, I know it well."



Chapter XIV. 'Le Roi est mort--vive le Roi.'

Toward daylight of the same morning, Tom Canty stirred out of a heavy
sleep and opened his eyes in the dark.  He lay silent a few moments,
trying to analyse his confused thoughts and impressions, and get some
sort of meaning out of them; then suddenly he burst out in a rapturous
but guarded voice--

"I see it all, I see it all!  Now God be thanked, I am indeed awake at
last!  Come, joy! vanish, sorrow!  Ho, Nan! Bet! kick off your straw and
hie ye hither to my side, till I do pour into your unbelieving ears the
wildest madcap dream that ever the spirits of night did conjure up to
astonish the soul of man withal! . . . Ho, Nan, I say!  Bet!"

A dim form appeared at his side, and a voice said--

"Wilt deign to deliver thy commands?"

"Commands? . . . O, woe is me, I know thy voice!  Speak thou--who am I?"

"Thou?  In sooth, yesternight wert thou the Prince of Wales; to-day art
thou my most gracious liege, Edward, King of England."

Tom buried his head among his pillows, murmuring plaintively--

"Alack, it was no dream!  Go to thy rest, sweet sir--leave me to my
sorrows."

Tom slept again, and after a time he had this pleasant dream.  He thought
it was summer, and he was playing, all alone, in the fair meadow called
Goodman's Fields, when a dwarf only a foot high, with long red whiskers
and a humped back, appeared to him suddenly and said, "Dig by that
stump."  He did so, and found twelve bright new pennies--wonderful
riches!  Yet this was not the best of it; for the dwarf said--

"I know thee.  Thou art a good lad, and a deserving; thy distresses shall
end, for the day of thy reward is come.  Dig here every seventh day, and
thou shalt find always the same treasure, twelve bright new pennies.
Tell none--keep the secret."

Then the dwarf vanished, and Tom flew to Offal Court with his prize,
saying to himself, "Every night will I give my father a penny; he will
think I begged it, it will glad his heart, and I shall no more be beaten.
One penny every week the good priest that teacheth me shall have; mother,
Nan, and Bet the other four. We be done with hunger and rags, now, done
with fears and frets and savage usage."

In his dream he reached his sordid home all out of breath, but with eyes
dancing with grateful enthusiasm; cast four of his pennies into his
mother's lap and cried out--

"They are for thee!--all of them, every one!--for thee and Nan and Bet
--and honestly come by, not begged nor stolen!"

The happy and astonished mother strained him to her breast and exclaimed--

"It waxeth late--may it please your Majesty to rise?"

Ah! that was not the answer he was expecting.  The dream had snapped
asunder--he was awake.

He opened his eyes--the richly clad First Lord of the Bedchamber was
kneeling by his couch.  The gladness of the lying dream faded away--the
poor boy recognised that he was still a captive and a king.  The room was
filled with courtiers clothed in purple mantles--the mourning colour--and
with noble servants of the monarch.  Tom sat up in bed and gazed out from
the heavy silken curtains upon this fine company.

The weighty business of dressing began, and one courtier after another
knelt and paid his court and offered to the little King his condolences
upon his heavy loss, whilst the dressing proceeded.  In the beginning, a
shirt was taken up by the Chief Equerry in Waiting, who passed it to the
First Lord of the Buckhounds, who passed it to the Second Gentleman of
the Bedchamber, who passed it to the Head Ranger of Windsor Forest, who
passed it to the Third Groom of the Stole, who passed it to the
Chancellor Royal of the Duchy of Lancaster, who passed it to the Master
of the Wardrobe, who passed it to Norroy King-at-Arms, who passed it to
the Constable of the Tower, who passed it to the Chief Steward of the
Household, who passed it to the Hereditary Grand Diaperer, who passed it
to the Lord High Admiral of England, who passed it to the Archbishop of
Canterbury, who passed it to the First Lord of the Bedchamber, who took
what was left of it and put it on Tom.  Poor little wondering chap, it
reminded him of passing buckets at a fire.

Each garment in its turn had to go through this slow and solemn process;
consequently Tom grew very weary of the ceremony; so weary that he felt
an almost gushing gratefulness when he at last saw his long silken hose
begin the journey down the line and knew that the end of the matter was
drawing near.  But he exulted too soon.  The First Lord of the Bedchamber
received the hose and was about to encase Tom's legs in them, when a
sudden flush invaded his face and he hurriedly hustled the things back
into the hands of the Archbishop of Canterbury with an astounded look and
a whispered, "See, my lord!" pointing to a something connected with the
hose.  The Archbishop paled, then flushed, and passed the hose to the
Lord High Admiral, whispering, "See, my lord!"  The Admiral passed the
hose to the Hereditary Grand Diaperer, and had hardly breath enough in
his body to ejaculate, "See, my lord!"  The hose drifted backward along
the line, to the Chief Steward of the Household, the Constable of the
Tower, Norroy King-at-Arms, the Master of the Wardrobe, the Chancellor
Royal of the Duchy of Lancaster, the Third Groom of the Stole, the Head
Ranger of Windsor Forest, the Second Gentleman of the Bedchamber, the
First Lord of the Buckhounds,--accompanied always with that amazed and
frightened "See! see!"--till they finally reached the hands of the Chief
Equerry in Waiting, who gazed a moment, with a pallid face, upon what had
caused all this dismay, then hoarsely whispered, "Body of my life, a tag
gone from a truss-point!--to the Tower with the Head Keeper of the King's
Hose!"--after which he leaned upon the shoulder of the First Lord of the
Buckhounds to regather his vanished strength whilst fresh hose, without
any damaged strings to them, were brought.

But all things must have an end, and so in time Tom Canty was in a
condition to get out of bed.  The proper official poured water, the
proper official engineered the washing, the proper official stood by with
a towel, and by-and-by Tom got safely through the purifying stage and was
ready for the services of the Hairdresser-royal.  When he at length
emerged from this master's hands, he was a gracious figure and as pretty
as a girl, in his mantle and trunks of purple satin, and purple-plumed
cap.  He now moved in state toward his breakfast-room, through the midst
of the courtly assemblage; and as he passed, these fell back, leaving his
way free, and dropped upon their knees.

After breakfast he was conducted, with regal ceremony, attended by his
great officers and his guard of fifty Gentlemen Pensioners bearing gilt
battle-axes, to the throne-room, where he proceeded to transact business
of state.  His 'uncle,' Lord Hertford, took his stand by the throne, to
assist the royal mind with wise counsel.

The body of illustrious men named by the late King as his executors
appeared, to ask Tom's approval of certain acts of theirs--rather a form,
and yet not wholly a form, since there was no Protector as yet.  The
Archbishop of Canterbury made report of the decree of the Council of
Executors concerning the obsequies of his late most illustrious Majesty,
and finished by reading the signatures of the Executors, to wit:  the
Archbishop of Canterbury; the Lord Chancellor of England; William Lord
St. John; John Lord Russell; Edward Earl of Hertford; John Viscount
Lisle; Cuthbert Bishop of Durham--

Tom was not listening--an earlier clause of the document was puzzling
him.  At this point he turned and whispered to Lord Hertford--

"What day did he say the burial hath been appointed for?"

"The sixteenth of the coming month, my liege."

"'Tis a strange folly.  Will he keep?"

Poor chap, he was still new to the customs of royalty; he was used to
seeing the forlorn dead of Offal Court hustled out of the way with a very
different sort of expedition.  However, the Lord Hertford set his mind at
rest with a word or two.

A secretary of state presented an order of the Council appointing the
morrow at eleven for the reception of the foreign ambassadors, and
desired the King's assent.

Tom turned an inquiring look toward Hertford, who whispered--

"Your Majesty will signify consent.  They come to testify their royal
masters' sense of the heavy calamity which hath visited your Grace and
the realm of England."

Tom did as he was bidden.  Another secretary began to read a preamble
concerning the expenses of the late King's household, which had amounted
to 28,000 pounds during the preceding six months--a sum so vast that it
made Tom Canty gasp; he gasped again when the fact appeared that 20,000
pounds of this money was still owing and unpaid; {4} and once more when
it appeared that the King's coffers were about empty, and his twelve
hundred servants much embarrassed for lack of the wages due them.  Tom
spoke out, with lively apprehension--

"We be going to the dogs, 'tis plain.  'Tis meet and necessary that we
take a smaller house and set the servants at large, sith they be of no
value but to make delay, and trouble one with offices that harass the
spirit and shame the soul, they misbecoming any but a doll, that hath nor
brains nor hands to help itself withal.  I remember me of a small house
that standeth over against the fish-market, by Billingsgate--"

A sharp pressure upon Tom's arm stopped his foolish tongue and sent a
blush to his face; but no countenance there betrayed any sign that this
strange speech had been remarked or given concern.

A secretary made report that forasmuch as the late King had provided in
his will for conferring the ducal degree upon the Earl of Hertford and
raising his brother, Sir Thomas Seymour, to the peerage, and likewise
Hertford's son to an earldom, together with similar aggrandisements to
other great servants of the Crown, the Council had resolved to hold a
sitting on the 16th of February for the delivering and confirming of
these honours, and that meantime, the late King not having granted, in
writing, estates suitable to the support of these dignities, the Council,
knowing his private wishes in that regard, had thought proper to grant to
Seymour '500 pound lands,' and to Hertford's son '800 pound lands, and
300 pound of the next bishop's lands which should fall vacant,'--his
present Majesty being willing. {5}

Tom was about to blurt out something about the propriety of paying the
late King's debts first, before squandering all this money, but a timely
touch upon his arm, from the thoughtful Hertford, saved him this
indiscretion; wherefore he gave the royal assent, without spoken comment,
but with much inward discomfort.  While he sat reflecting a moment over
the ease with which he was doing strange and glittering miracles, a happy
thought shot into his mind:  why not make his mother Duchess of Offal
Court, and give her an estate?  But a sorrowful thought swept it
instantly away: he was only a king in name, these grave veterans and
great nobles were his masters; to them his mother was only the creature
of a diseased mind; they would simply listen to his project with
unbelieving ears, then send for the doctor.

The dull work went tediously on.  Petitions were read, and proclamations,
patents, and all manner of wordy, repetitious, and wearisome papers
relating to the public business; and at last Tom sighed pathetically and
murmured to himself, "In what have I offended, that the good God should
take me away from the fields and the free air and the sunshine, to shut
me up here and make me a king and afflict me so?"  Then his poor muddled
head nodded a while and presently drooped to his shoulder; and the
business of the empire came to a standstill for want of that august
factor, the ratifying power.  Silence ensued around the slumbering child,
and the sages of the realm ceased from their deliberations.

During the forenoon, Tom had an enjoyable hour, by permission of his
keepers, Hertford and St. John, with the Lady Elizabeth and the little
Lady Jane Grey; though the spirits of the princesses were rather subdued
by the mighty stroke that had fallen upon the royal house; and at the end
of the visit his 'elder sister'--afterwards the 'Bloody Mary' of history
--chilled him with a solemn interview which had but one merit in his eyes,
its brevity.  He had a few moments to himself, and then a slim lad of
about twelve years of age was admitted to his presence, whose clothing,
except his snowy ruff and the laces about his wrists, was of black,
--doublet, hose, and all.  He bore no badge of mourning but a knot of
purple ribbon on his shoulder.  He advanced hesitatingly, with head bowed
and bare, and dropped upon one knee in front of Tom. Tom sat still and
contemplated him soberly a moment.  Then he said--

"Rise, lad.  Who art thou.  What wouldst have?"

The boy rose, and stood at graceful ease, but with an aspect of concern
in his face.  He said--

"Of a surety thou must remember me, my lord.  I am thy whipping-boy."

"My WHIPPING-boy?"

"The same, your Grace.  I am Humphrey--Humphrey Marlow."

Tom perceived that here was someone whom his keepers ought to have posted
him about.  The situation was delicate.  What should he do?--pretend he
knew this lad, and then betray by his every utterance that he had never
heard of him before?  No, that would not do.  An idea came to his relief:
accidents like this might be likely to happen with some frequency, now
that business urgencies would often call Hertford and St. John from his
side, they being members of the Council of Executors; therefore perhaps
it would be well to strike out a plan himself to meet the requirements of
such emergencies.  Yes, that would be a wise course--he would practise on
this boy, and see what sort of success he might achieve.  So he stroked
his brow perplexedly a moment or two, and presently said--

"Now I seem to remember thee somewhat--but my wit is clogged and dim with
suffering--"

"Alack, my poor master!" ejaculated the whipping-boy, with feeling;
adding, to himself, "In truth 'tis as they said--his mind is gone--alas,
poor soul!  But misfortune catch me, how am I forgetting!  They said one
must not seem to observe that aught is wrong with him."

"'Tis strange how my memory doth wanton with me these days," said Tom.
"But mind it not--I mend apace--a little clue doth often serve to bring
me back again the things and names which had escaped me.  (And not they,
only, forsooth, but e'en such as I ne'er heard before--as this lad shall
see.)  Give thy business speech."

"'Tis matter of small weight, my liege, yet will I touch upon it, an' it
please your Grace.  Two days gone by, when your Majesty faulted thrice in
your Greek--in the morning lessons,--dost remember it?"

"Y-e-s--methinks I do.  (It is not much of a lie--an' I had meddled with
the Greek at all, I had not faulted simply thrice, but forty times.)
Yes, I do recall it, now--go on."

"The master, being wroth with what he termed such slovenly and doltish
work, did promise that he would soundly whip me for it--and--"

"Whip THEE!" said Tom, astonished out of his presence of mind. "Why
should he whip THEE for faults of mine?"

"Ah, your Grace forgetteth again.  He always scourgeth me when thou dost
fail in thy lessons."

"True, true--I had forgot.  Thou teachest me in private--then if I fail,
he argueth that thy office was lamely done, and--"

"Oh, my liege, what words are these?  I, the humblest of thy servants,
presume to teach THEE?"

"Then where is thy blame?  What riddle is this?  Am I in truth gone mad,
or is it thou?  Explain--speak out."

"But, good your Majesty, there's nought that needeth simplifying.--None
may visit the sacred person of the Prince of Wales with blows; wherefore,
when he faulteth, 'tis I that take them; and meet it is and right, for
that it is mine office and my livelihood." {1}

Tom stared at the tranquil boy, observing to himself, "Lo, it is a
wonderful thing,--a most strange and curious trade; I marvel they have
not hired a boy to take my combings and my dressings for me--would heaven
they would!--an' they will do this thing, I will take my lashings in mine
own person, giving God thanks for the change." Then he said aloud--

"And hast thou been beaten, poor friend, according to the promise?"

"No, good your Majesty, my punishment was appointed for this day, and
peradventure it may be annulled, as unbefitting the season of mourning
that is come upon us; I know not, and so have made bold to come hither
and remind your Grace about your gracious promise to intercede in my
behalf--"

"With the master?  To save thee thy whipping?"

"Ah, thou dost remember!"

"My memory mendeth, thou seest.  Set thy mind at ease--thy back shall go
unscathed--I will see to it."

"Oh, thanks, my good lord!" cried the boy, dropping upon his knee again.
"Mayhap I have ventured far enow; and yet--"

Seeing Master Humphrey hesitate, Tom encouraged him to go on, saying he
was "in the granting mood."

"Then will I speak it out, for it lieth near my heart.  Sith thou art no
more Prince of Wales but King, thou canst order matters as thou wilt,
with none to say thee nay; wherefore it is not in reason that thou wilt
longer vex thyself with dreary studies, but wilt burn thy books and turn
thy mind to things less irksome. Then am I ruined, and mine orphan
sisters with me!"

"Ruined?  Prithee how?"

"My back is my bread, O my gracious liege! if it go idle, I starve.  An'
thou cease from study mine office is gone thou'lt need no whipping-boy.
Do not turn me away!"

Tom was touched with this pathetic distress.  He said, with a right royal
burst of generosity--

"Discomfort thyself no further, lad.  Thine office shall be permanent in
thee and thy line for ever."  Then he struck the boy a light blow on the
shoulder with the flat of his sword, exclaiming, "Rise, Humphrey Marlow,
Hereditary Grand Whipping-Boy to the Royal House of England!  Banish
sorrow--I will betake me to my books again, and study so ill that they
must in justice treble thy wage, so mightily shall the business of thine
office be augmented."

The grateful Humphrey responded fervidly--

"Thanks, O most noble master, this princely lavishness doth far surpass
my most distempered dreams of fortune.  Now shall I be happy all my days,
and all the house of Marlow after me."

Tom had wit enough to perceive that here was a lad who could be useful to
him.  He encouraged Humphrey to talk, and he was nothing loath.  He was
delighted to believe that he was helping in Tom's 'cure'; for always, as
soon as he had finished calling back to Tom's diseased mind the various
particulars of his experiences and adventures in the royal school-room
and elsewhere about the palace, he noticed that Tom was then able to
'recall' the circumstances quite clearly.  At the end of an hour Tom
found himself well freighted with very valuable information concerning
personages and matters pertaining to the Court; so he resolved to draw
instruction from this source daily; and to this end he would give order
to admit Humphrey to the royal closet whenever he might come, provided
the Majesty of England was not engaged with other people.  Humphrey had
hardly been dismissed when my Lord Hertford arrived with more trouble for
Tom.

He said that the Lords of the Council, fearing that some overwrought
report of the King's damaged health might have leaked out and got abroad,
they deemed it wise and best that his Majesty should begin to dine in
public after a day or two--his wholesome complexion and vigorous step,
assisted by a carefully guarded repose of manner and ease and grace of
demeanour, would more surely quiet the general pulse--in case any evil
rumours HAD gone about--than any other scheme that could be devised.

Then the Earl proceeded, very delicately, to instruct Tom as to the
observances proper to the stately occasion, under the rather thin
disguise of 'reminding' him concerning things already known to him; but
to his vast gratification it turned out that Tom needed very little help
in this line--he had been making use of Humphrey in that direction, for
Humphrey had mentioned that within a few days he was to begin to dine in
public; having gathered it from the swift-winged gossip of the Court.
Tom kept these facts to himself, however.

Seeing the royal memory so improved, the Earl ventured to apply a few
tests to it, in an apparently casual way, to find out how far its
amendment had progressed.  The results were happy, here and there, in
spots--spots where Humphrey's tracks remained--and on the whole my lord
was greatly pleased and encouraged.  So encouraged was he, indeed, that
he spoke up and said in a quite hopeful voice--

"Now am I persuaded that if your Majesty will but tax your memory yet a
little further, it will resolve the puzzle of the Great Seal--a loss
which was of moment yesterday, although of none to-day, since its term of
service ended with our late lord's life. May it please your Grace to make
the trial?"

Tom was at sea--a Great Seal was something which he was totally
unacquainted with.  After a moment's hesitation he looked up innocently
and asked--

"What was it like, my lord?"

The Earl started, almost imperceptibly, muttering to himself, "Alack, his
wits are flown again!--it was ill wisdom to lead him on to strain them"
--then he deftly turned the talk to other matters, with the purpose of
sweeping the unlucky seal out of Tom's thoughts--a purpose which easily
succeeded.



Chapter XV. Tom as King.

The next day the foreign ambassadors came, with their gorgeous trains;
and Tom, throned in awful state, received them.  The splendours of the
scene delighted his eye and fired his imagination at first, but the
audience was long and dreary, and so were most of the addresses
--wherefore, what began as a pleasure grew into weariness and home-sickness
by-and-by.  Tom said the words which Hertford put into his mouth from
time to time, and tried hard to acquit himself satisfactorily, but he was
too new to such things, and too ill at ease to accomplish more than a
tolerable success.  He looked sufficiently like a king, but he was ill
able to feel like one.  He was cordially glad when the ceremony was
ended.

The larger part of his day was 'wasted'--as he termed it, in his own
mind--in labours pertaining to his royal office.  Even the two hours
devoted to certain princely pastimes and recreations were rather a burden
to him than otherwise, they were so fettered by restrictions and
ceremonious observances.  However, he had a private hour with his
whipping-boy which he counted clear gain, since he got both entertainment
and needful information out of it.

The third day of Tom Canty's kingship came and went much as the others
had done, but there was a lifting of his cloud in one way--he felt less
uncomfortable than at first; he was getting a little used to his
circumstances and surroundings; his chains still galled, but not all the
time; he found that the presence and homage of the great afflicted and
embarrassed him less and less sharply with every hour that drifted over
his head.

But for one single dread, he could have seen the fourth day approach
without serious distress--the dining in public; it was to begin that day.
There were greater matters in the programme--for on that day he would
have to preside at a council which would take his views and commands
concerning the policy to be pursued toward various foreign nations
scattered far and near over the great globe; on that day, too, Hertford
would be formally chosen to the grand office of Lord Protector; other
things of note were appointed for that fourth day, also; but to Tom they
were all insignificant compared with the ordeal of dining all by himself
with a multitude of curious eyes fastened upon him and a multitude of
mouths whispering comments upon his performance,--and upon his mistakes,
if he should be so unlucky as to make any.

Still, nothing could stop that fourth day, and so it came.  It found poor
Tom low-spirited and absent-minded, and this mood continued; he could not
shake it off.  The ordinary duties of the morning dragged upon his hands,
and wearied him.  Once more he felt the sense of captivity heavy upon
him.

Late in the forenoon he was in a large audience-chamber, conversing with
the Earl of Hertford and dully awaiting the striking of the hour
appointed for a visit of ceremony from a considerable number of great
officials and courtiers.

After a little while, Tom, who had wandered to a window and become
interested in the life and movement of the great highway beyond the
palace gates--and not idly interested, but longing with all his heart to
take part in person in its stir and freedom--saw the van of a hooting and
shouting mob of disorderly men, women, and children of the lowest and
poorest degree approaching from up the road.

"I would I knew what 'tis about!" he exclaimed, with all a boy's
curiosity in such happenings.

"Thou art the King!" solemnly responded the Earl, with a reverence.
"Have I your Grace's leave to act?"

"O blithely, yes!  O gladly, yes!" exclaimed Tom excitedly, adding to
himself with a lively sense of satisfaction, "In truth, being a king is
not all dreariness--it hath its compensations and conveniences."

The Earl called a page, and sent him to the captain of the guard with the
order--

"Let the mob be halted, and inquiry made concerning the occasion of its
movement.  By the King's command!"

A few seconds later a long rank of the royal guards, cased in flashing
steel, filed out at the gates and formed across the highway in front of
the multitude.  A messenger returned, to report that the crowd were
following a man, a woman, and a young girl to execution for crimes
committed against the peace and dignity of the realm.

Death--and a violent death--for these poor unfortunates!  The thought
wrung Tom's heart-strings.  The spirit of compassion took control of him,
to the exclusion of all other considerations; he never thought of the
offended laws, or of the grief or loss which these three criminals had
inflicted upon their victims; he could think of nothing but the scaffold
and the grisly fate hanging over the heads of the condemned.  His concern
made him even forget, for the moment, that he was but the false shadow of
a king, not the substance; and before he knew it he had blurted out the
command--

"Bring them here!"

Then he blushed scarlet, and a sort of apology sprung to his lips; but
observing that his order had wrought no sort of surprise in the Earl or
the waiting page, he suppressed the words he was about to utter.  The
page, in the most matter-of-course way, made a profound obeisance and
retired backwards out of the room to deliver the command.  Tom
experienced a glow of pride and a renewed sense of the compensating
advantages of the kingly office. He said to himself, "Truly it is like
what I was used to feel when I read the old priest's tales, and did
imagine mine own self a prince, giving law and command to all, saying 'Do
this, do that,' whilst none durst offer let or hindrance to my will."

Now the doors swung open; one high-sounding title after another was
announced, the personages owning them followed, and the place was quickly
half-filled with noble folk and finery.  But Tom was hardly conscious of
the presence of these people, so wrought up was he and so intensely
absorbed in that other and more interesting matter.  He seated himself
absently in his chair of state, and turned his eyes upon the door with
manifestations of impatient expectancy; seeing which, the company forbore
to trouble him, and fell to chatting a mixture of public business and
court gossip one with another.

In a little while the measured tread of military men was heard
approaching, and the culprits entered the presence in charge of an
under-sheriff and escorted by a detail of the king's guard.  The civil
officer knelt before Tom, then stood aside; the three doomed persons
knelt, also, and remained so; the guard took position behind Tom's chair.
Tom scanned the prisoners curiously. Something about the dress or
appearance of the man had stirred a vague memory in him.  "Methinks I
have seen this man ere now . . . but the when or the where fail me."--
Such was Tom's thought. Just then the man glanced quickly up and quickly
dropped his face again, not being able to endure the awful port of
sovereignty; but the one full glimpse of the face which Tom got was
sufficient.  He said to himself: "Now is the matter clear; this is the
stranger that plucked Giles Witt out of the Thames, and saved his life,
that windy, bitter, first day of the New Year--a brave good deed--pity he
hath been doing baser ones and got himself in this sad case . . . I have
not forgot the day, neither the hour; by reason that an hour after, upon
the stroke of eleven, I did get a hiding by the hand of Gammer Canty
which was of so goodly and admired severity that all that went before or
followed after it were but fondlings and caresses by comparison."

Tom now ordered that the woman and the girl be removed from the presence
for a little time; then addressed himself to the under-sheriff, saying--

"Good sir, what is this man's offence?"

The officer knelt, and answered--

"So please your Majesty, he hath taken the life of a subject by poison."

Tom's compassion for the prisoner, and admiration of him as the daring
rescuer of a drowning boy, experienced a most damaging shock.

"The thing was proven upon him?" he asked.

"Most clearly, sire."

Tom sighed, and said--

"Take him away--he hath earned his death.  'Tis a pity, for he was a
brave heart--na--na, I mean he hath the LOOK of it!"

The prisoner clasped his hands together with sudden energy, and wrung
them despairingly, at the same time appealing imploringly to the 'King'
in broken and terrified phrases--

"O my lord the King, an' thou canst pity the lost, have pity upon me!  I
am innocent--neither hath that wherewith I am charged been more than but
lamely proved--yet I speak not of that; the judgment is gone forth
against me and may not suffer alteration; yet in mine extremity I beg a
boon, for my doom is more than I can bear. A grace, a grace, my lord the
King! in thy royal compassion grant my prayer--give commandment that I be
hanged!"

Tom was amazed.  This was not the outcome he had looked for.

"Odds my life, a strange BOON!  Was it not the fate intended thee?"

"O good my liege, not so!  It is ordered that I be BOILED ALIVE!"

The hideous surprise of these words almost made Tom spring from his
chair.  As soon as he could recover his wits he cried out--

"Have thy wish, poor soul! an' thou had poisoned a hundred men thou
shouldst not suffer so miserable a death."

The prisoner bowed his face to the ground and burst into passionate
expressions of gratitude--ending with--

"If ever thou shouldst know misfortune--which God forefend!--may thy
goodness to me this day be remembered and requited!"

Tom turned to the Earl of Hertford, and said--

"My lord, is it believable that there was warrant for this man's
ferocious doom?"

"It is the law, your Grace--for poisoners.  In Germany coiners be boiled
to death in OIL--not cast in of a sudden, but by a rope let down into the
oil by degrees, and slowly; first the feet, then the legs, then--"

"O prithee no more, my lord, I cannot bear it!" cried Tom, covering his
eyes with his hands to shut out the picture.  "I beseech your good
lordship that order be taken to change this law--oh, let no more poor
creatures be visited with its tortures."

The Earl's face showed profound gratification, for he was a man of
merciful and generous impulses--a thing not very common with his class in
that fierce age.  He said--

"These your Grace's noble words have sealed its doom.  History will
remember it to the honour of your royal house."

The under-sheriff was about to remove his prisoner; Tom gave him a sign
to wait; then he said--

"Good sir, I would look into this matter further.  The man has said his
deed was but lamely proved.  Tell me what thou knowest."

"If the King's grace please, it did appear upon the trial that this man
entered into a house in the hamlet of Islington where one lay sick--three
witnesses say it was at ten of the clock in the morning, and two say it
was some minutes later--the sick man being alone at the time, and
sleeping--and presently the man came forth again and went his way.  The
sick man died within the hour, being torn with spasms and retchings."

"Did any see the poison given?  Was poison found?"

"Marry, no, my liege."

"Then how doth one know there was poison given at all?"

"Please your Majesty, the doctors testified that none die with such
symptoms but by poison."

Weighty evidence, this, in that simple age.  Tom recognised its
formidable nature, and said--

"The doctor knoweth his trade--belike they were right.  The matter hath
an ill-look for this poor man."

"Yet was not this all, your Majesty; there is more and worse. Many
testified that a witch, since gone from the village, none know whither,
did foretell, and speak it privately in their ears, that the sick man
WOULD DIE BY POISON--and more, that a stranger would give it--a stranger
with brown hair and clothed in a worn and common garb; and surely this
prisoner doth answer woundily to the bill.  Please your Majesty to give
the circumstance that solemn weight which is its due, seeing it was
FORETOLD."

This was an argument of tremendous force in that superstitious day.  Tom
felt that the thing was settled; if evidence was worth anything, this
poor fellow's guilt was proved.  Still he offered the prisoner a chance,
saying--

"If thou canst say aught in thy behalf, speak."

"Nought that will avail, my King.  I am innocent, yet cannot I make it
appear.  I have no friends, else might I show that I was not in Islington
that day; so also might I show that at that hour they name I was above a
league away, seeing I was at Wapping Old Stairs; yea more, my King, for I
could show, that whilst they say I was TAKING life, I was SAVING it.  A
drowning boy--"

"Peace!  Sheriff, name the day the deed was done!"

"At ten in the morning, or some minutes later, the first day of the New
Year, most illustrious--"

"Let the prisoner go free--it is the King's will!"

Another blush followed this unregal outburst, and he covered his
indecorum as well as he could by adding--

"It enrageth me that a man should be hanged upon such idle, hare-brained
evidence!"

A low buzz of admiration swept through the assemblage.  It was not
admiration of the decree that had been delivered by Tom, for the
propriety or expediency of pardoning a convicted poisoner was a thing
which few there would have felt justified in either admitting or
admiring--no, the admiration was for the intelligence and spirit which
Tom had displayed.  Some of the low-voiced remarks were to this effect--

"This is no mad king--he hath his wits sound."

"How sanely he put his questions--how like his former natural self was
this abrupt imperious disposal of the matter!"

"God be thanked, his infirmity is spent!  This is no weakling, but a
king.  He hath borne himself like to his own father."

The air being filled with applause, Tom's ear necessarily caught a little
of it.  The effect which this had upon him was to put him greatly at his
ease, and also to charge his system with very gratifying sensations.

However, his juvenile curiosity soon rose superior to these pleasant
thoughts and feelings; he was eager to know what sort of deadly mischief
the woman and the little girl could have been about; so, by his command,
the two terrified and sobbing creatures were brought before him.

"What is it that these have done?" he inquired of the sheriff.

"Please your Majesty, a black crime is charged upon them, and clearly
proven; wherefore the judges have decreed, according to the law, that
they be hanged.  They sold themselves to the devil--such is their crime."

Tom shuddered.  He had been taught to abhor people who did this wicked
thing.  Still, he was not going to deny himself the pleasure of feeding
his curiosity for all that; so he asked--

"Where was this done?--and when?"

"On a midnight in December, in a ruined church, your Majesty."

Tom shuddered again.

"Who was there present?"

"Only these two, your grace--and THAT OTHER."

"Have these confessed?"

"Nay, not so, sire--they do deny it."

"Then prithee, how was it known?"

"Certain witness did see them wending thither, good your Majesty; this
bred the suspicion, and dire effects have since confirmed and justified
it.  In particular, it is in evidence that through the wicked power so
obtained, they did invoke and bring about a storm that wasted all the
region round about.  Above forty witnesses have proved the storm; and
sooth one might have had a thousand, for all had reason to remember it,
sith all had suffered by it."

"Certes this is a serious matter."  Tom turned this dark piece of
scoundrelism over in his mind a while, then asked--

"Suffered the woman also by the storm?"

Several old heads among the assemblage nodded their recognition of the
wisdom of this question.  The sheriff, however, saw nothing consequential
in the inquiry; he answered, with simple directness--

"Indeed did she, your Majesty, and most righteously, as all aver. Her
habitation was swept away, and herself and child left shelterless."

"Methinks the power to do herself so ill a turn was dearly bought. She
had been cheated, had she paid but a farthing for it; that she paid her
soul, and her child's, argueth that she is mad; if she is mad she knoweth
not what she doth, therefore sinneth not."

The elderly heads nodded recognition of Tom's wisdom once more, and one
individual murmured, "An' the King be mad himself, according to report,
then is it a madness of a sort that would improve the sanity of some I
wot of, if by the gentle providence of God they could but catch it."

"What age hath the child?" asked Tom.

"Nine years, please your Majesty."

"By the law of England may a child enter into covenant and sell itself,
my lord?" asked Tom, turning to a learned judge.

"The law doth not permit a child to make or meddle in any weighty matter,
good my liege, holding that its callow wit unfitteth it to cope with the
riper wit and evil schemings of them that are its elders.  The DEVIL may
buy a child, if he so choose, and the child agree thereto, but not an
Englishman--in this latter case the contract would be null and void."

"It seemeth a rude unchristian thing, and ill contrived, that English law
denieth privileges to Englishmen to waste them on the devil!" cried Tom,
with honest heat.

This novel view of the matter excited many smiles, and was stored away in
many heads to be repeated about the Court as evidence of Tom's
originality as well as progress toward mental health.

The elder culprit had ceased from sobbing, and was hanging upon Tom's
words with an excited interest and a growing hope.  Tom noticed this, and
it strongly inclined his sympathies toward her in her perilous and
unfriended situation.  Presently he asked--

"How wrought they to bring the storm?"

"BY PULLING OFF THEIR STOCKINGS, sire."

This astonished Tom, and also fired his curiosity to fever heat. He said,
eagerly--

"It is wonderful!  Hath it always this dread effect?"

"Always, my liege--at least if the woman desire it, and utter the needful
words, either in her mind or with her tongue."

Tom turned to the woman, and said with impetuous zeal--

"Exert thy power--I would see a storm!"

There was a sudden paling of cheeks in the superstitious assemblage, and
a general, though unexpressed, desire to get out of the place--all of
which was lost upon Tom, who was dead to everything but the proposed
cataclysm.  Seeing a puzzled and astonished look in the woman's face, he
added, excitedly--

"Never fear--thou shalt be blameless.  More--thou shalt go free--none
shall touch thee.  Exert thy power."

"Oh, my lord the King, I have it not--I have been falsely accused."

"Thy fears stay thee.  Be of good heart, thou shalt suffer no harm.  Make
a storm--it mattereth not how small a one--I require nought great or
harmful, but indeed prefer the opposite--do this and thy life is spared
--thou shalt go out free, with thy child, bearing the King's pardon, and
safe from hurt or malice from any in the realm."

The woman prostrated herself, and protested, with tears, that she had no
power to do the miracle, else she would gladly win her child's life
alone, and be content to lose her own, if by obedience to the King's
command so precious a grace might be acquired.

Tom urged--the woman still adhered to her declarations.  Finally he said--

"I think the woman hath said true.  An' MY mother were in her place and
gifted with the devil's functions, she had not stayed a moment to call
her storms and lay the whole land in ruins, if the saving of my forfeit
life were the price she got!  It is argument that other mothers are made
in like mould.  Thou art free, goodwife--thou and thy child--for I do
think thee innocent.  NOW thou'st nought to fear, being pardoned--pull
off thy stockings!--an' thou canst make me a storm, thou shalt be rich!"

The redeemed creature was loud in her gratitude, and proceeded to obey,
whilst Tom looked on with eager expectancy, a little marred by
apprehension; the courtiers at the same time manifesting decided
discomfort and uneasiness.  The woman stripped her own feet and her
little girl's also, and plainly did her best to reward the King's
generosity with an earthquake, but it was all a failure and a
disappointment.  Tom sighed, and said--

"There, good soul, trouble thyself no further, thy power is departed out
of thee.  Go thy way in peace; and if it return to thee at any time,
forget me not, but fetch me a storm." {13}



Chapter XVI. The State Dinner.

The dinner hour drew near--yet strangely enough, the thought brought but
slight discomfort to Tom, and hardly any terror.  The morning's
experiences had wonderfully built up his confidence; the poor little
ash-cat was already more wonted to his strange garret, after four days'
habit, than a mature person could have become in a full month.  A child's
facility in accommodating itself to circumstances was never more
strikingly illustrated.

Let us privileged ones hurry to the great banqueting-room and have a
glance at matters there whilst Tom is being made ready for the imposing
occasion.  It is a spacious apartment, with gilded pillars and pilasters,
and pictured walls and ceilings.  At the door stand tall guards, as rigid
as statues, dressed in rich and picturesque costumes, and bearing
halberds.  In a high gallery which runs all around the place is a band of
musicians and a packed company of citizens of both sexes, in brilliant
attire.  In the centre of the room, upon a raised platform, is Tom's
table. Now let the ancient chronicler speak:

"A gentleman enters the room bearing a rod, and along with him another
bearing a tablecloth, which, after they have both kneeled three times
with the utmost veneration, he spreads upon the table, and after kneeling
again they both retire; then come two others, one with the rod again, the
other with a salt-cellar, a plate, and bread; when they have kneeled as
the others had done, and placed what was brought upon the table, they too
retire with the same ceremonies performed by the first; at last come two
nobles, richly clothed, one bearing a tasting-knife, who, after
prostrating themselves three times in the most graceful manner, approach
and rub the table with bread and salt, with as much awe as if the King
had been present." {6}

So end the solemn preliminaries.  Now, far down the echoing corridors we
hear a bugle-blast, and the indistinct cry, "Place for the King!  Way for
the King's most excellent majesty!"  These sounds are momently repeated
--they grow nearer and nearer--and presently, almost in our faces, the
martial note peals and the cry rings out, "Way for the King!"  At this
instant the shining pageant appears, and files in at the door, with a
measured march. Let the chronicler speak again:--

"First come Gentlemen, Barons, Earls, Knights of the Garter, all richly
dressed and bareheaded; next comes the Chancellor, between two, one of
which carries the royal sceptre, the other the Sword of State in a red
scabbard, studded with golden fleurs-de-lis, the point upwards; next
comes the King himself--whom, upon his appearing, twelve trumpets and
many drums salute with a great burst of welcome, whilst all in the
galleries rise in their places, crying 'God save the King!'  After him
come nobles attached to his person, and on his right and left march his
guard of honour, his fifty Gentlemen Pensioners, with gilt battle-axes."

This was all fine and pleasant.  Tom's pulse beat high, and a glad light
was in his eye.  He bore himself right gracefully, and all the more so
because he was not thinking of how he was doing it, his mind being
charmed and occupied with the blithe sights and sounds about him--and
besides, nobody can be very ungraceful in nicely-fitting beautiful
clothes after he has grown a little used to them--especially if he is for
the moment unconscious of them. Tom remembered his instructions, and
acknowledged his greeting with a slight inclination of his plumed head,
and a courteous "I thank ye, my good people."

He seated himself at table, without removing his cap; and did it without
the least embarrassment; for to eat with one's cap on was the one
solitary royal custom upon which the kings and the Cantys met upon common
ground, neither party having any advantage over the other in the matter
of old familiarity with it.  The pageant broke up and grouped itself
picturesquely, and remained bareheaded.

Now to the sound of gay music the Yeomen of the Guard entered,--"the
tallest and mightiest men in England, they being carefully selected in
this regard,"--but we will let the chronicler tell about it:--

"The Yeomen of the Guard entered, bareheaded, clothed in scarlet, with
golden roses upon their backs; and these went and came, bringing in each
turn a course of dishes, served in plate.  These dishes were received by
a gentleman in the same order they were brought, and placed upon the
table, while the taster gave to each guard a mouthful to eat of the
particular dish he had brought, for fear of any poison."

Tom made a good dinner, notwithstanding he was conscious that hundreds of
eyes followed each morsel to his mouth and watched him eat it with an
interest which could not have been more intense if it had been a deadly
explosive and was expected to blow him up and scatter him all about the
place.  He was careful not to hurry, and equally careful not to do
anything whatever for himself, but wait till the proper official knelt
down and did it for him.  He got through without a mistake--flawless and
precious triumph.

When the meal was over at last and he marched away in the midst of his
bright pageant, with the happy noises in his ears of blaring bugles,
rolling drums, and thundering acclamations, he felt that if he had seen
the worst of dining in public it was an ordeal which he would be glad to
endure several times a day if by that means he could but buy himself free
from some of the more formidable requirements of his royal office.



Chapter XVII. Foo-foo the First.

Miles Hendon hurried along toward the Southwark end of the bridge,
keeping a sharp look-out for the persons he sought, and hoping and
expecting to overtake them presently.  He was disappointed in this,
however.  By asking questions, he was enabled to track them part of the
way through Southwark; then all traces ceased, and he was perplexed as to
how to proceed.  Still, he continued his efforts as best he could during
the rest of the day.  Nightfall found him leg-weary, half-famished, and
his desire as far from accomplishment as ever; so he supped at the Tabard
Inn and went to bed, resolved to make an early start in the morning, and
give the town an exhaustive search.  As he lay thinking and planning, he
presently began to reason thus:  The boy would escape from the ruffian,
his reputed father, if possible; would he go back to London and seek his
former haunts?  No, he would not do that, he would avoid recapture.
What, then, would he do?  Never having had a friend in the world, or a
protector, until he met Miles Hendon, he would naturally try to find that
friend again, provided the effort did not require him to go toward London
and danger.  He would strike for Hendon Hall, that is what he would do,
for he knew Hendon was homeward bound and there he might expect to find
him.  Yes, the case was plain to Hendon--he must lose no more time in
Southwark, but move at once through Kent, toward Monk's Holm, searching
the wood and inquiring as he went.  Let us return to the vanished little
King now.

The ruffian whom the waiter at the inn on the bridge saw 'about to join'
the youth and the King did not exactly join them, but fell in close
behind them and followed their steps.  He said nothing. His left arm was
in a sling, and he wore a large green patch over his left eye; he limped
slightly, and used an oaken staff as a support.  The youth led the King a
crooked course through Southwark, and by-and-by struck into the high road
beyond.  The King was irritated, now, and said he would stop here--it was
Hendon's place to come to him, not his to go to Hendon.  He would not
endure such insolence; he would stop where he was.  The youth said--

"Thou'lt tarry here, and thy friend lying wounded in the wood yonder?  So
be it, then."

The King's manner changed at once.  He cried out--

"Wounded?  And who hath dared to do it?  But that is apart; lead on, lead
on!  Faster, sirrah!  Art shod with lead?  Wounded, is he?  Now though
the doer of it be a duke's son he shall rue it!"

It was some distance to the wood, but the space was speedily traversed.
The youth looked about him, discovered a bough sticking in the ground,
with a small bit of rag tied to it, then led the way into the forest,
watching for similar boughs and finding them at intervals; they were
evidently guides to the point he was aiming at.  By-and-by an open place
was reached, where were the charred remains of a farm-house, and near
them a barn which was falling to ruin and decay.  There was no sign of
life anywhere, and utter silence prevailed.  The youth entered the barn,
the King following eagerly upon his heels.  No one there! The King shot a
surprised and suspicious glance at the youth, and asked--

"Where is he?"

A mocking laugh was his answer.  The King was in a rage in a moment; he
seized a billet of wood and was in the act of charging upon the youth
when another mocking laugh fell upon his ear.  It was from the lame
ruffian who had been following at a distance. The King turned and said
angrily--

"Who art thou?  What is thy business here?"

"Leave thy foolery," said the man, "and quiet thyself.  My disguise is
none so good that thou canst pretend thou knowest not thy father through
it."

"Thou art not my father.  I know thee not.  I am the King.  If thou hast
hid my servant, find him for me, or thou shalt sup sorrow for what thou
hast done."

John Canty replied, in a stern and measured voice--

"It is plain thou art mad, and I am loath to punish thee;  but if thou
provoke me, I must.  Thy prating doth no harm here, where there are no
ears that need to mind thy follies; yet it is well to practise thy tongue
to wary speech, that it may do no hurt when our quarters change.  I have
done a murder, and may not tarry at home--neither shalt thou, seeing I
need thy service.  My name is changed, for wise reasons; it is Hobbs
--John Hobbs; thine is Jack--charge thy memory accordingly.  Now, then,
speak.  Where is thy mother?  Where are thy sisters?  They came not to
the place appointed--knowest thou whither they went?"

The King answered sullenly--

"Trouble me not with these riddles.  My mother is dead; my sisters are in
the palace."

The youth near by burst into a derisive laugh, and the King would have
assaulted him, but Canty--or Hobbs, as he now called himself--prevented
him, and said--

"Peace, Hugo, vex him not; his mind is astray, and thy ways fret him.
Sit thee down, Jack, and quiet thyself; thou shalt have a morsel to eat,
anon."

Hobbs and Hugo fell to talking together, in low voices, and the King
removed himself as far as he could from their disagreeable company.  He
withdrew into the twilight of the farther end of the barn, where he found
the earthen floor bedded a foot deep with straw.  He lay down here, drew
straw over himself in lieu of blankets, and was soon absorbed in
thinking.  He had many griefs, but the minor ones were swept almost into
forgetfulness by the supreme one, the loss of his father.  To the rest of
the world the name of Henry VIII. brought a shiver, and suggested an ogre
whose nostrils breathed destruction and whose hand dealt scourgings and
death; but to this boy the name brought only sensations of pleasure; the
figure it invoked wore a countenance that was all gentleness and
affection.  He called to mind a long succession of loving passages
between his father and himself, and dwelt fondly upon them, his unstinted
tears attesting how deep and real was the grief that possessed his heart.
As the afternoon wasted away, the lad, wearied with his troubles, sank
gradually into a tranquil and healing slumber.

After a considerable time--he could not tell how long--his senses
struggled to a half-consciousness, and as he lay with closed eyes vaguely
wondering where he was and what had been happening, he noted a murmurous
sound, the sullen beating of rain upon the roof. A snug sense of comfort
stole over him, which was rudely broken, the next moment, by a chorus of
piping cackles and coarse laughter.  It startled him disagreeably, and he
unmuffled his head to see whence this interruption proceeded.  A grim and
unsightly picture met his eye.  A bright fire was burning in the middle
of the floor, at the other end of the barn; and around it, and lit
weirdly up by the red glare, lolled and sprawled the motliest company of
tattered gutter-scum and ruffians, of both sexes, he had ever read or
dreamed of.  There were huge stalwart men, brown with exposure,
long-haired, and clothed in fantastic rags; there were middle-sized
youths, of truculent countenance, and similarly clad; there were blind
mendicants, with patched or bandaged eyes; crippled ones, with wooden
legs and crutches; diseased ones, with running sores peeping from
ineffectual wrappings; there was a villain-looking pedlar with his pack;
a knife-grinder, a tinker, and a barber-surgeon, with the implements of
their trades; some of the females were hardly-grown girls, some were at
prime, some were old and wrinkled hags, and all were loud, brazen,
foul-mouthed; and all soiled and slatternly; there were three sore-faced
babies; there were a couple of starveling curs, with strings about their
necks, whose office was to lead the blind.

The night was come, the gang had just finished feasting, an orgy was
beginning; the can of liquor was passing from mouth to mouth. A general
cry broke forth--

"A song! a song from the Bat and Dick and Dot-and-go-One!"

One of the blind men got up, and made ready by casting aside the patches
that sheltered his excellent eyes, and the pathetic placard which recited
the cause of his calamity.  Dot-and-go-One disencumbered himself of his
timber leg and took his place, upon sound and healthy limbs, beside his
fellow-rascal; then they roared out a rollicking ditty, and were
reinforced by the whole crew, at the end of each stanza, in a rousing
chorus.  By the time the last stanza was reached, the half-drunken
enthusiasm had risen to such a pitch, that everybody joined in and sang
it clear through from the beginning, producing a volume of villainous
sound that made the rafters quake.  These were the inspiring words:--

'Bien Darkman's then, Bouse Mort and Ken, The bien Coves bings awast, On
Chates to trine by Rome Coves dine For his long lib at last. Bing'd out
bien Morts and toure, and toure, Bing out of the Rome vile bine, And
toure the Cove that cloy'd your duds, Upon the Chates to trine.' (From
'The English Rogue.' London, 1665.)

Conversation followed; not in the thieves' dialect of the song, for that
was only used in talk when unfriendly ears might be listening.  In the
course of it, it appeared that 'John Hobbs' was not altogether a new
recruit, but had trained in the gang at some former time.  His later
history was called for, and when he said he had 'accidentally' killed a
man, considerable satisfaction was expressed; when he added that the man
was a priest, he was roundly applauded, and had to take a drink with
everybody.  Old acquaintances welcomed him joyously, and new ones were
proud to shake him by the hand.  He was asked why he had 'tarried away so
many months.'  He answered--

"London is better than the country, and safer, these late years, the laws
be so bitter and so diligently enforced.  An' I had not had that
accident, I had stayed there.  I had resolved to stay, and never more
venture country-wards--but the accident has ended that."

He inquired how many persons the gang numbered now.  The 'ruffler,' or
chief, answered--

"Five and twenty sturdy budges, bulks, files, clapperdogeons and
maunders, counting the dells and doxies and other morts. {7}  Most are
here, the rest are wandering eastward, along the winter lay. We follow at
dawn."

"I do not see the Wen among the honest folk about me.  Where may he be?"

"Poor lad, his diet is brimstone, now, and over hot for a delicate taste.
He was killed in a brawl, somewhere about midsummer."

"I sorrow to hear that; the Wen was a capable man, and brave."

"That was he, truly.  Black Bess, his dell, is of us yet, but absent on
the eastward tramp; a fine lass, of nice ways and orderly conduct, none
ever seeing her drunk above four days in the seven."

"She was ever strict--I remember it well--a goodly wench and worthy all
commendation.  Her mother was more free and less particular; a
troublesome and ugly-tempered beldame, but furnished with a wit above the
common."

"We lost her through it.  Her gift of palmistry and other sorts of
fortune-telling begot for her at last a witch's name and fame. The law
roasted her to death at a slow fire.  It did touch me to a sort of
tenderness to see the gallant way she met her lot--cursing and reviling
all the crowd that gaped and gazed around her, whilst the flames licked
upward toward her face and catched her thin locks and crackled about her
old gray head--cursing them! why an' thou should'st live a thousand years
thoud'st never hear so masterful a cursing.  Alack, her art died with
her.  There be base and weakling imitations left, but no true blasphemy."

The Ruffler sighed; the listeners sighed in sympathy; a general
depression fell upon the company for a moment, for even hardened outcasts
like these are not wholly dead to sentiment, but are able to feel a
fleeting sense of loss and affliction at wide intervals and under
peculiarly favouring circumstances--as in cases like to this, for
instance, when genius and culture depart and leave no heir.  However, a
deep drink all round soon restored the spirits of the mourners.

"Have any others of our friends fared hardly?" asked Hobbs.

"Some--yes.  Particularly new comers--such as small husbandmen turned
shiftless and hungry upon the world because their farms were taken from
them to be changed to sheep ranges.  They begged, and were whipped at the
cart's tail, naked from the girdle up, till the blood ran; then set in
the stocks to be pelted; they begged again, were whipped again, and
deprived of an ear; they begged a third time--poor devils, what else
could they do?--and were branded on the cheek with a red-hot iron, then
sold for slaves; they ran away, were hunted down, and hanged.  'Tis a
brief tale, and quickly told.  Others of us have fared less hardly. Stand
forth, Yokel, Burns, and Hodge--show your adornments!"

These stood up and stripped away some of their rags, exposing their
backs, criss-crossed with ropy old welts left by the lash; one turned up
his hair and showed the place where a left ear had once been; another
showed a brand upon his shoulder--the letter V--and a mutilated ear; the
third said--

"I am Yokel, once a farmer and prosperous, with loving wife and kids--now
am I somewhat different in estate and calling; and the wife and kids are
gone; mayhap they are in heaven, mayhap in--in the other place--but the
kindly God be thanked, they bide no more in ENGLAND!  My good old
blameless mother strove to earn bread by nursing the sick; one of these
died, the doctors knew not how, so my mother was burnt for a witch,
whilst my babes looked on and wailed.  English law!--up, all, with your
cups!--now all together and with a cheer!--drink to the merciful English
law that delivered HER from the English hell!  Thank you, mates, one and
all.  I begged, from house to house--I and the wife--bearing with us the
hungry kids--but it was crime to be hungry in England--so they stripped
us and lashed us through three towns.  Drink ye all again to the merciful
English law!--for its lash drank deep of my Mary's blood and its blessed
deliverance came quick.  She lies there, in the potter's field, safe from
all harms.  And the kids--well, whilst the law lashed me from town to
town, they starved. Drink, lads--only a drop--a drop to the poor kids,
that never did any creature harm.  I begged again--begged, for a crust,
and got the stocks and lost an ear--see, here bides the stump; I begged
again, and here is the stump of the other to keep me minded of it. And
still I begged again, and was sold for a slave--here on my cheek under
this stain, if I washed it off, ye might see the red S the branding-iron
left there!  A SLAVE!  Do you understand that word?  An English SLAVE!
--that is he that stands before ye.  I have run from my master, and when I
am found--the heavy curse of heaven fall on the law of the land that hath
commanded it!--I shall hang!" {1}

A ringing voice came through the murky air--

"Thou shalt NOT!--and this day the end of that law is come!"

All turned, and saw the fantastic figure of the little King approaching
hurriedly; as it emerged into the light and was clearly revealed, a
general explosion of inquiries broke out--

"Who is it?  WHAT is it?  Who art thou, manikin?"

The boy stood unconfused in the midst of all those surprised and
questioning eyes, and answered with princely dignity--

"I am Edward, King of England."

A wild burst of laughter followed, partly of derision and partly of
delight in the excellence of the joke.  The King was stung.  He said
sharply--

"Ye mannerless vagrants, is this your recognition of the royal boon I
have promised?"

He said more, with angry voice and excited gesture, but it was lost in a
whirlwind of laughter and mocking exclamations.  'John Hobbs' made
several attempts to make himself heard above the din, and at last
succeeded--saying--

"Mates, he is my son, a dreamer, a fool, and stark mad--mind him not--he
thinketh he IS the King."

"I AM the King," said Edward, turning toward him, "as thou shalt know to
thy cost, in good time.  Thou hast confessed a murder--thou shalt swing
for it."

"THOU'LT betray me?--THOU?  An' I get my hands upon thee--"

"Tut-tut!" said the burley Ruffler, interposing in time to save the King,
and emphasising this service by knocking Hobbs down with his fist, "hast
respect for neither Kings NOR Rufflers?  An' thou insult my presence so
again, I'll hang thee up myself."  Then he said to his Majesty, "Thou
must make no threats against thy mates, lad; and thou must guard thy
tongue from saying evil of them elsewhere.  BE King, if it please thy mad
humour, but be not harmful in it.  Sink the title thou hast uttered--'tis
treason; we be bad men in some few trifling ways, but none among us is so
base as to be traitor to his King; we be loving and loyal hearts, in that
regard.  Note if I speak truth.  Now--all together:  'Long live Edward,
King of England!'"

"LONG LIVE EDWARD, KING OF ENGLAND!"

The response came with such a thundergust from the motley crew that the
crazy building vibrated to the sound.  The little King's face lighted
with pleasure for an instant, and he slightly inclined his head, and said
with grave simplicity--

"I thank you, my good people."

This unexpected result threw the company into convulsions of merriment.
When something like quiet was presently come again, the Ruffler said,
firmly, but with an accent of good nature--

"Drop it, boy, 'tis not wise, nor well.  Humour thy fancy, if thou must,
but choose some other title."

A tinker shrieked out a suggestion--

"Foo-foo the First, King of the Mooncalves!"

The title 'took,' at once, every throat responded, and a roaring shout
went up, of--

"Long live Foo-foo the First, King of the Mooncalves!" followed by
hootings, cat-calls, and peals of laughter.

"Hale him forth, and crown him!"

"Robe him!"

"Sceptre him!"

"Throne him!"

These and twenty other cries broke out at once! and almost before the
poor little victim could draw a breath he was crowned with a tin basin,
robed in a tattered blanket, throned upon a barrel, and sceptred with the
tinker's soldering-iron.  Then all flung themselves upon their knees
about him and sent up a chorus of ironical wailings, and mocking
supplications, whilst they swabbed their eyes with their soiled and
ragged sleeves and aprons--

"Be gracious to us, O sweet King!"

"Trample not upon thy beseeching worms, O noble Majesty!"

"Pity thy slaves, and comfort them with a royal kick!"

"Cheer us and warm us with thy gracious rays, O flaming sun of
sovereignty!"

"Sanctify the ground with the touch of thy foot, that we may eat the dirt
and be ennobled!"

"Deign to spit upon us, O Sire, that our children's children may tell of
thy princely condescension, and be proud and happy for ever!"

But the humorous tinker made the 'hit' of the evening and carried off the
honours.  Kneeling, he pretended to kiss the King's foot, and was
indignantly spurned; whereupon he went about begging for a rag to paste
over the place upon his face which had been touched by the foot, saying
it must be preserved from contact with the vulgar air, and that he should
make his fortune by going on the highway and exposing it to view at the
rate of a hundred shillings a sight.  He made himself so killingly funny
that he was the envy and admiration of the whole mangy rabble.

Tears of shame and indignation stood in the little monarch's eyes; and
the thought in his heart was, "Had I offered them a deep wrong they could
not be more cruel--yet have I proffered nought but to do them a kindness
--and it is thus they use me for it!"



Chapter XVIII. The Prince with the tramps.

The troop of vagabonds turned out at early dawn, and set forward on their
march.  There was a lowering sky overhead, sloppy ground under foot, and
a winter chill in the air.  All gaiety was gone from the company; some
were sullen and silent, some were irritable and petulant, none were
gentle-humoured, all were thirsty.

The Ruffler put 'Jack' in Hugo's charge, with some brief instructions,
and commanded John Canty to keep away from him and let him alone; he also
warned Hugo not to be too rough with the lad.
