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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 86 ***</div>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="" src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="" src="images/frontispiece.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="" src="images/titlepage.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

<h1>A CONNECTICUT YANKEE<br />
IN KING ARTHUR’S COURT</h1>

<h2 class="no-break">by MARK TWAIN</h2>

<h3>(Samuel L. Clemens)</h3>

<hr />

<h2>CONTENTS:</h2>

<table summary="" style="">

<tr>
<td><a href="#c1">CHAPTER I. CAMELOT</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c2">CHAPTER II. KING ARTHUR’S COURT</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c3">CHAPTER III. KNIGHTS OF THE TABLE ROUND</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c4">CHAPTER IV. SIR DINADAN THE HUMORIST</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c5">CHAPTER V. AN INSPIRATION</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c6">CHAPTER VI. THE ECLIPSE</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c7">CHAPTER VII. MERLIN’S TOWER</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c8">CHAPTER VIII. THE BOSS</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c9">CHAPTER IX. THE TOURNAMENT</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c10">CHAPTER X. BEGINNINGS OF CIVILIZATION</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c11">CHAPTER XI. THE YANKEE IN SEARCH OF ADVENTURES</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c12">CHAPTER XII. SLOW TORTURE</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c13">CHAPTER XIII. FREEMEN!</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c14">CHAPTER XIV. “DEFEND THEE, LORD!</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c15">CHAPTER XV. SANDY’S TALE</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c16">CHAPTER XVI. MORGAN LE FAY</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c17">CHAPTER XVII. A ROYAL BANQUET</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c18">CHAPTER XVIII. IN THE QUEEN’S DUNGEONS</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c19">CHAPTER XIX. KNIGHT ERRANTRY AS A TRADE</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c20">CHAPTER XX. THE OGRE’S CASTLE</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c21">CHAPTER XXI. THE PILGRIMS</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c22">CHAPTER XXII. THE HOLY FOUNTAIN</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c23">CHAPTER XXIII. RESTORATION OF THE FOUNTAIN</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c24">CHAPTER XXIV. A RIVAL MAGICIAN</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c25">CHAPTER XXV. A COMPETITIVE EXAMINATION</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c26">CHAPTER XXVI. THE FIRST NEWSPAPER</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c27">CHAPTER XXVII. THE YANKEE AND THE KING TRAVEL INCOGNITO</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c28">CHAPTER XXVIII. DRILLING THE KING</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c29">CHAPTER XXIX. THE SMALL-POX HUT</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c30">CHAPTER XXX. THE TRAGEDY OF THE MANOR-HOUSE</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c31">CHAPTER XXXI. MARCO</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c32">CHAPTER XXXII. DOWLEY’S HUMILIATION</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c33">CHAPTER XXXIII. SIXTH CENTURY POLITICAL ECONOMY</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c34">CHAPTER XXXIV. THE YANKEE AND THE KING SOLD AS SLAVES</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c35">CHAPTER XXXV. A PITIFUL INCIDENT</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c36">CHAPTER XXXVI. AN ENCOUNTER IN THE DARK</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c37">CHAPTER XXXVII. AN AWFUL PREDICAMENT</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c38">CHAPTER XXXVIII. SIR LAUNCELOT AND KNIGHTS TO THE RESCUE</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c39">CHAPTER XXXIX. THE YANKEE’S FIGHT WITH THE KNIGHTS</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c40">CHAPTER XL. THREE YEARS LATER</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c41">CHAPTER XLI. THE INTERDICT</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c42">CHAPTER XLII. WAR!</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c43">CHAPTER XLIII. THE BATTLE OF THE SAND-BELT</a></td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td><a href="#c44">CHAPTER XLIV. A POSTSCRIPT BY CLARENCE</a></td>
</tr>

</table>

<div class="chapter">

<h2>PREFACE</h2>

<p>
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.
</p>

<p>
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.
</p>

<p>
MARK TWAIN
</p>

<p>
HARTFORD, July 21, 1889
</p>

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<img alt="00-017.jpg (138K)" src="images/00-017.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2>A CONNECTICUT YANKEE IN KING ARTHUR’S COURT</h2>

<h3>A WORD OF EXPLANATION</h3>

<p>
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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;
</p>

<p>
“You know about transmigration of souls; do you know about transposition of
epochs&mdash;and bodies?”
</p>

<p>
I said I had not heard of it. He was so little interested&mdash;just as when
people speak of the weather&mdash;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:
</p>

<p>
“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&mdash;perhaps maliciously by Cromwell’s soldiers.”
</p>

<p>
My acquaintance smiled&mdash;not a modern smile, but one that must have gone
out of general use many, many centuries ago&mdash;and muttered apparently to
himself:
</p>

<p>
“Wit ye well, <i>I saw it done</i>.” Then, after a pause, added: “I did it
myself.”
</p>

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

<p>
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&mdash;this which here
follows, to wit:
</p>

<h3>HOW SIR LAUNCELOT SLEW TWO GIANTS,<br />
AND MADE A CASTLE FREE</h3>

<div class="letter">
<p>
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.
</p>

<p>
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.
</p>
</div>

<p>
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&mdash;hoping
always for his story. After a fourth persuader, he drifted into it himself, in
a quite simple and natural way:
</p>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2>THE STRANGER’S HISTORY</h2>

    <p>
      I am an American. I was born and reared in Hartford, in the State of
      Connecticut&mdash;anyway, just over the river, in the country. So I
      am a Yankee of the Yankees&mdash;and practical; yes, and nearly barren of
      sentiment, I suppose&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;and do it as
      easy as rolling off a log. I became head superintendent; had a
      couple of thousand men under me.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, a man like that is a man that is full of fight&mdash;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&mdash;at least for a while.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="00-021.jpg (163K)" src="images/00-021.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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&mdash;nearly.
      Not entirely; for there was a fellow on a horse, looking down at me&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Fair sir, will ye just?” said this fellow.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Will I which?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Will ye try a passage of arms for land or lady or for&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What are you giving me?” I said. “Get along back to your circus, or
      I’ll report you.”
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      He allowed that I was his property, the captive of his spear. There was
      argument on his side&mdash;and the bulk of the advantage&mdash;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&mdash;which puzzled me and made me wonder&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Bridgeport?” said I, pointing.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Camelot,” said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “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.”
     </p>
    <p>
      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!”
     </p>
    <p>
      He handed me his manuscript, and pointed out the place where I should
      begin:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Begin here&mdash;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.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I sat down by my fire and examined my treasure. The first part of it&mdash;the
      great bulk of it&mdash;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&mdash;Latin words and sentences: fragments
      from old monkish legends, evidently. I turned to the place indicated by my
      stranger and began to read&mdash;as follows.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="00-023.jpg (41K)" src="images/00-023.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="01-025.jpg (108K)" src="images/01-025.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2>THE TALE OF THE LOST LAND</h2>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c1"></a>CHAPTER I.<br />
CAMELOT</h2>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="01-027.jpg (131K)" src="images/01-027.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      “Camelot&mdash;Camelot,” said I to myself. “I don’t seem to remember
      hearing of it before. Name of the asylum, likely.”
     </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;wheels that
      apparently had a tire as broad as one’s hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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,
      <i>then</i> 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="01-029.jpg (162K)" src="images/01-029.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      Followed through one winding alley and then another,&mdash;and climbing,
      always climbing&mdash;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.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="02-031.jpg (96K)" src="images/02-031.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c2"></a>CHAPTER II.<br />
KING ARTHUR’S COURT</h2>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="02-033.jpg (138K)" src="images/02-033.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Friend, do me a kindness. Do you belong to the asylum, or are you
      just on a visit or something like that?”
     </p>
    <p>
      He looked me over stupidly, and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Marry, fair sir, me seemeth&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “That will do,” I said; “I reckon you are a patient.”
     </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “If I could see the head keeper a minute&mdash;only just a minute&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Prithee do not let me.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Let you <i>what?</i>”
     </p>
    <p>
      “<i>Hinder</i> 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Go ’long,” I said; “you ain’t more than a paragraph.”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="02-038.jpg (94K)" src="images/02-038.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      It made the cold chills creep over me! I stopped and said, a little
      faintly:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Maybe I didn’t hear you just right. Say it again&mdash;and say it
      slow. What year was it?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “513.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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?”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="02-035.jpg (150K)" src="images/02-035.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      He said he was.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Are these other people in their right minds?”
     </p>
    <p>
      He said they were.
    </p>
    <p>
      “And this isn’t an asylum? I mean, it isn’t a place where they cure
      crazy people?”
     </p>
    <p>
      He said it wasn’t.
    </p>
    <p>
      “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?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “<i>In King Arthur’s Court</i>.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I waited a minute, to let that idea shudder its way home, and then said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “And according to your notions, what year is it now?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “528&mdash;nineteenth of June.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I felt a mournful sinking at the heart, and muttered: “I shall never
      see my friends again&mdash;never, never again. They will not be born
      for more than thirteen hundred years yet.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I seemed to believe the boy, I didn’t know why. <i>Something</i> in
      me seemed to believe him&mdash;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&mdash;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 <i>me</i>
      was the present year&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Now, Clarence, my boy&mdash;if that might happen to be your name&mdash;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?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “My master and thine? That is the good knight and great lord Sir Kay
      the Seneschal, foster brother to our liege the king.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Very good; go on, tell me everything.”
     </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, it was a curious kind of spectacle, and interesting. It was an
      immense place, and rather naked&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;rigid as
      statues; and that is what they looked like.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mainly they were drinking&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;<i>they</i>
      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.”
     </p>

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<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c3"></a>CHAPTER III.<br />
KNIGHTS OF THE TABLE ROUND</h2>

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    <p>
      Mainly the Round Table talk was monologues&mdash;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&mdash;as
      far as I could make out&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;perhaps rendered its
      existence impossible.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      “Sir <i>Kay</i>, 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!”
     </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “An Sir Kay had had time to get another skin of sour wine into him, ye had
      seen the accompt doubled.”
     </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;the look of dumb
      creatures who know that they must endure and make no moan.
    </p>
    <p>
      “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 <i>will</i>
      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!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Who is it?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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&mdash;maledictions
      light upon him, misfortune be his dole! Good friend, prithee call me
      for evensong.”
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>

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    <p>
      This was the old man’s tale. He said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “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.
    </p>

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    <p>
      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.”
     </p>

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<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c4"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br />
SIR DINADAN THE HUMORIST</h2>

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    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>

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    <p>
      He was so set up that he concluded to make a speech&mdash;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&mdash;but then they always do; I had noticed that,
      centuries later. However, of course the scoffer didn’t laugh&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>

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    <p>
      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&mdash;in which century, broadly speaking,
      the earliest samples of the real lady and real gentleman discoverable in
      English history&mdash;or in European history, for that matter&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;if it was a
      compliment.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>

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<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c5"></a>CHAPTER V.<br />
AN INSPIRATION</h2>

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    <p>
      I was so tired that even my fears were not able to keep me awake long.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.”
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      “What!” I said, “you here yet? Go along with the rest of the dream!
      scatter!”
     </p>
    <p>
      But he only laughed, in his light-hearted way, and fell to making fun of
      my sorry plight.
    </p>
    <p>
      “All right,” I said resignedly, “let the dream go on; I’m in no hurry.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Prithee what dream?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What dream? Why, the dream that I am in Arthur’s court&mdash;a
      person who never existed; and that I am talking to you, who are nothing
      but a work of the imagination.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, la, indeed! and is it a dream that you’re to be burned to-morrow?
      Ho-ho&mdash;answer me that!”
     </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Ah, Clarence, good boy, only friend I’ve got,&mdash;for you <i>are</i> my
      friend, aren’t you?&mdash;don’t fail me; help me to devise some way of
      escaping from this place!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Now do but hear thyself! Escape? Why, man, the corridors are
      in guard and keep of men-at-arms.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “No doubt, no doubt. But how many, Clarence? Not many, I
      hope?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Full a score. One may not hope to escape.” After a pause&mdash;hesitatingly:
      “and there be other reasons&mdash;and weightier.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Other ones? What are they?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, they say&mdash;oh, but I daren’t, indeed daren’t!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Why, poor lad, what is the matter? Why do you blench? Why do
      you tremble so?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, in sooth, there is need! I do want to tell you, but&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Come, come, be brave, be a man&mdash;speak out, there’s a good lad!”
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      “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!”
     </p>
    <p>
      I laughed the only really refreshing laugh I had had for some time; and
      shouted:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Merlin has wrought a spell! <i>Merlin</i>, 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&mdash;oh,
      damn Merlin!”
     </p>
    <p>
      But Clarence had slumped to his knees before I had half finished, and he
      was like to go out of his mind with fright.
    </p>
    <p>
      “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!”
     </p>

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<img alt="05-063.jpg (142K)" src="images/05-063.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Get up. Pull yourself together; look me in the eye. Do you
      know why I laughed?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “No&mdash;but for our blessed Lady’s sake, do it no more.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, I’ll tell you why I laughed. Because I’m a magician myself.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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.
    </p>
    <p>
      “I’ve known Merlin seven hundred years, and he&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Seven hun&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;one-night
      stands and that sort of thing, you know&mdash;but dear me, <i>he</i>
      oughtn’t to set up for an expert&mdash;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&mdash;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?”
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 <i>they</i> 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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...
    </p>
    <p>
      “There’s a footstep!&mdash;they’re coming. If I had only just a
      moment to think.... Good, I’ve got it. I’m all right.”
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Clarence came in, subdued, distressed, and said:
    </p>

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    <p>
      “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 <i>named</i> 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&mdash;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&mdash;name the calamity!”
     </p>
    <p>
      I allowed silence to accumulate while I got my impressiveness together,
      and then said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “How long have I been shut up in this hole?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ye were shut up when yesterday was well spent. It is 9 of the
      morning now.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “The 20th&mdash;yes.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “And I am to be burned alive to-morrow.” The boy shuddered.
    </p>
    <p>
      “At what hour?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “At high noon.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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!”
     </p>
    <p>
      I had to carry the boy out myself, he sunk into such a collapse. I handed
      him over to the soldiers, and went back.
    </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c6"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br />
THE ECLIPSE</h2>

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    <p>
      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 <i>realize</i> 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The door opened, and some men-at-arms appeared. The leader said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “The stake is ready. Come!”
     </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “But this is a mistake&mdash;the execution is to-morrow.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Order changed; been set forward a day. Haste thee!”
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “’Tis through <i>me</i> 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 <i>real</i> hurt&mdash;ah, forget not that, on
      your soul forget it not! Only make a little darkness&mdash;only the
      littlest little darkness, mind, and cease with that. It will be
      sufficient. They will see that I spoke falsely,&mdash;being
      ignorant, as they will fancy&mdash;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&mdash;ah, good friend, I implore thee remember my supplication,
      and do the blessed sun no hurt. For <i>my</i> sake, thy true
      friend.”
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>

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    <p>
      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 <i>see</i> the shudder sweep
      the mass like a wave. Two shouts rang out, one close upon the heels of the
      other:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Apply the torch!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I forbid it!”
     </p>
    <p>
      The one was from Merlin, the other from the king. Merlin started
      from his place&mdash;to apply the torch himself, I judged. I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Stay where you are. If any man moves&mdash;even the king&mdash;before
      I give him leave, I will blast him with thunder, I will consume him with
      lightnings!”
     </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “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&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Your Majesty thinks the report may have been a lie? It <i>was</i> a
      lie.”
     </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Name any terms, reverend sir, even to the halving of my kingdom; but
      banish this calamity, spare the sun!”
     </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “How long&mdash;ah, how long, good sir? Be merciful; look, it
      groweth darker, moment by moment. Prithee how long?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Not long. Half an hour&mdash;maybe an hour.”
     </p>
    <p>
      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 <i>wasn’t</i> the sixth
      century. I reached for the monk’s sleeve, in considerable
      excitement, and asked him what day of the month it was.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hang him, he said it was the <i>twenty-first!</i> 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The darkness was steadily growing, the people becoming more and more
      distressed. I now said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “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?”
     </p>
    <p>
      There was a prodigious roar of applause, and out of the midst of it the
      king’s voice rose, saying:
    </p>
    <p>
      “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.”
     </p>
    <p>
      But I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “That a common man should be shamed before the world, is nothing; but it
      were dishonor to the <i>king</i> 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&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “They are not meet,” the king broke in. “Fetch raiment of another
      sort; clothe him like a prince!”
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>

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    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “The king, by his silence, still stands to the terms.” Then I lifted
      up my hands&mdash;stood just so a moment&mdash;then I said, with the most
      awful solemnity: “Let the enchantment dissolve and pass harmless
      away!”
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c7"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br />
MERLIN’S TOWER</h2>

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</div>

    <p>
      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 <i>little</i> 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&mdash;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.
    </p>

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<img alt="07-084.jpg (161K)" src="images/07-084.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
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    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;glass is&mdash;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&mdash;invent, contrive, create, reorganize
      things; set brain and hand to work, and keep them busy. Well, that
      was in my line.
    </p>
    <p>
      One thing troubled me along at first&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>

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<img alt="07-086.jpg (95K)" src="images/07-086.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;why,
      people would come a distance to see <i>them</i>. 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      By my authority as executive I threw Merlin into prison&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Working by night, we stowed the powder in the tower&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of course, we had a blazing sunny day&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Merlin arrived in a gloomy mood. I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “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.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I can, fair sir, and I will. Doubt it not.”
     </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “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.”
     </p>

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</div>

    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c8"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br />
THE BOSS</h2>

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    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;at least any of consequence.
    </p>

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    <p>
      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, <i>any</i> kind of
      royalty, howsoever modified, <i>any</i> 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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>

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<img alt="08-099.jpg (168K)" src="images/08-099.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
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    <p>
      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 <i>them?</i> 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&mdash;or a nation; she
      invented “divine right of kings,” and propped it all around, brick by
      brick, with the Beatitudes&mdash;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.
    </p>

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    <p>
      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&mdash;I
      know that; but when I left America it had disappeared&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 <i>he</i> 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 <i>the’s</i>, 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.
    </p>

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    <p>
      Well, I liked the king, and as king I respected him&mdash;respected the
      office; at least respected it as much as I was capable of respecting any
      unearned supremacy; but as <i>men </i>I looked down upon him and his nobles&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c9"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br />
THE TOURNAMENT</h2>

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</div>

    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;and
      it was on the very first day of it, too&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Things ran along, a tournament nearly every week; and now and then the
      boys used to want me to take a hand&mdash;I mean Sir Launcelot and the
      rest&mdash;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.
    </p>

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    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;well, I made up my mind
      that the next time I lent an axe to a surgeon I would pick my century.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="09-109.jpg (131K)" src="images/09-109.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>

<p class="letter">
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.
</p>

    <p>
      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 <i>him</i>.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="09-113.jpg (97K)" src="images/09-113.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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 <i>had</i> 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 <i>them</i>. There
      was worlds of reputation in it, but no money. Why, they actually
      wanted <i>me</i> to put in! Well, I should smile.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="10-115.jpg (136K)" src="images/10-115.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c10"></a>CHAPTER X.<br />
BEGINNINGS OF CIVILIZATION</h2>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="10-117.jpg (138K)" src="images/10-117.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;for
      I was afraid of the Church.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      All mines were royal property, and there were a good many of them. They
      had formerly been worked as savages always work mines&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Yes, I had made pretty handsome progress when Sir Sagramor’s challenge
      struck me.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="10-119.jpg (148K)" src="images/10-119.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      Four years rolled by&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="10-121.jpg (35K)" src="images/10-121.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="10-122.jpg (97K)" src="images/10-122.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="11-125.jpg (108K)" src="images/11-125.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c11"></a>CHAPTER XI.<br />
THE YANKEE IN SEARCH OF ADVENTURES</h2>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="11-127.jpg (149K)" src="images/11-127.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;it was a she one, this time&mdash;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&mdash;the eye
      in the center of the forehead, and as big as a fruit. Sort of fruit
      not mentioned; their usual slovenliness in statistics.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="11-128.jpg (110K)" src="images/11-128.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      By an effort, I contained my joy when Clarence brought me the news. But he&mdash;he
      could not contain his. His mouth gushed delight and gratitude in a
      steady discharge&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 <i>said</i> I was
      glad. And in a way it was true; I was as glad as a person is when he
      is scalped.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “My dear, have you been questioned as to particulars?”
     </p>
    <p>
      She said she hadn’t.
    </p>
    <p>
      “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. <i>You</i> 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?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “In the land of Moder, fair sir.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Land of Moder. I don’t remember hearing of it before. Parents
      living?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Your name, please?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I hight the Demoiselle Alisande la Carteloise, an it please you.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Do you know anybody here who can identify you?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “That were not likely, fair lord, I being come hither now for the first
      time.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Have you brought any letters&mdash;any documents&mdash;any proofs that
      you are trustworthy and truthful?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Of a surety, no; and wherefore should I? Have I not a tongue, and
      cannot I say all that myself?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “But <i>your</i> saying it, you know, and somebody else’s saying it, is
      different.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Different? How might that be? I fear me I do not understand.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Don’t <i>understand?</i> Land of&mdash;why, you see&mdash;you see&mdash;why,
      great Scott, can’t you understand a little thing like that? Can’t
      you understand the difference between your&mdash;<i>why</i> do you look so
      innocent and idiotic!”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="11-131.jpg (205K)" src="images/11-131.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      “I? In truth I know not, but an it were the will of God.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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&mdash;where is this harem?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Harem?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “The <i>castle</i>, you understand; where is the castle?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, as to that, it is great, and strong, and well beseen, and lieth in a
      far country. Yes, it is many leagues.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “<i>How</i> many?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Hold on, hold on, never mind about the distance; <i>whereabouts</i> does
      the castle lie? What’s the direction from here?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, that’s all right, that’s all right, give us a rest; never mind about
      the direction, <i>hang</i> the direction&mdash;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&mdash;never mind about that; let’s&mdash;have you got such a thing as
      a map of that region about you? Now a good map&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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.”
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Why, great guns,” I said, “don’t I want to find the castle? And how
      else would I go about it?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “La, sweet your worship, one may lightly answer that, I ween. She will go
      with thee. They always do. She will ride with thee.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ride with me? Nonsense!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “But of a truth she will. She will ride with thee. Thou shalt
      see.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What? She browse around the hills and scour the woods with me&mdash;alone&mdash;and
      I as good as engaged to be married? Why, it’s scandalous. Think how
      it would look.”
     </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;“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.
    </p>
    <p>
      “In East Har&mdash;” I came to myself and stopped, a little confused; then
      I said, “Never mind, now; I’ll tell you some time.”
     </p>
    <p>
      And might he see her? Would I let him see her some day?
    </p>
    <p>
      It was but a little thing to promise&mdash;thirteen hundred years or so&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 <i>were</i> good children&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;tax collectors, and
      reformers, and one-horse kings with a defective title, and those sorts of
      people; then you put on your shoes&mdash;flat-boats roofed over with
      interleaving bands of steel&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>

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    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, what a guy!” And hove clods at us.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c12"></a>CHAPTER XII.<br />
SLOW TORTURE</h2>

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    <p>
      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.
    </p>

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    <p>
      About the third or fourth or fifth time that we swung out into the glare&mdash;it
      was along there somewhere, a couple of hours or so after sun-up&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>

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    <p>
      Well, you know, when you perspire that way, in rivers, there comes a time
      when you&mdash;when you&mdash;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&mdash;well, you know
      how a fly acts when he has got a certainty&mdash;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.
    </p>

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    <p>
      It was good to have a rest&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Gradually, as the time wore along, one annoying fact was borne in upon my
      understanding&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “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.”
     </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c13"></a>CHAPTER XIII.<br />
FREEMEN</h2>

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    <p>
      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&mdash;for, although I had long ago started a
      match factory, I had forgotten to bring matches with me&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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?
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="13-154.jpg (83K)" src="images/13-154.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="13-155.jpg (65K)" src="images/13-155.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="13-156.jpg (35K)" src="images/13-156.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      And here were these freemen assembled in the early morning to work on
      their lord the bishop’s road three days each&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;that
      unspeakably bitter and awful Terror which none of us has been taught to
      see in its vastness or pity as it deserves.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;<i>including his own</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 <i>could</i> have a say in the
      government. I said I had seen one&mdash;and that it would last until
      it had an Established Church. Again they were all unhit&mdash;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 <i>he</i> 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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “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.”
     </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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 <i>at all
      times</i> an undeniable and indefeasible right to <i>alter their form of
      government</i> in such a manner as they may think expedient.”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="13-159.jpg (125K)" src="images/13-159.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;
    </p>

<p class="center">
<i>Put him in the Man-factory</i>&mdash;
</p>

<p class="noindent">
      and gave it to him, and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “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.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “He is a priest, then,” said the man, and some of the enthusiasm went out
      of his face.
    </p>
    <p>
      “How&mdash;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 <i>you</i> couldn’t enter unless your religion, whatever
      it might be, was your own free property?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “But he isn’t a priest, I tell you.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The man looked far from satisfied. He said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “He is not a priest, and yet can read?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “He is not a priest and yet can read&mdash;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&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I? I would give blood out of my heart to know that art. Why,
      I will be your slave, your&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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.”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="14-163.jpg (108K)" src="images/14-163.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c14"></a>CHAPTER XIV.<br />
“DEFEND THEE, LORD”</h2>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="14-165.jpg (151K)" src="images/14-165.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="14-166.jpg (31K)" src="images/14-166.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="14-167.jpg (73K)" src="images/14-167.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Defend thee, lord!&mdash;peril of life is toward!”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="14-168.jpg (29K)" src="images/14-168.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="14-169.jpg (171K)" src="images/14-169.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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&mdash;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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “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?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Leave, is it? Oh, give thyself easement as to that. They
      dream not of it, no, not they. They wait to yield them.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Come&mdash;really, is that ‘sooth’&mdash;as you people say? If they
      want to, why don’t they?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It would like them much; but an ye wot how dragons are esteemed, ye would
      not hold them blamable. They fear to come.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, then, suppose I go to them instead, and&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ah, wit ye well they would not abide your coming. I will go.”
     </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="15-173.jpg (148K)" src="images/15-173.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c15"></a>CHAPTER XV.<br />
SANDY’S TALE</h2>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="15-175.jpg (136K)" src="images/15-175.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      “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?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Seven, please you, sir, and their squires.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It is a good haul. Who are they? Where do they hang out?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Where do they hang out?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes, where do they live?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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&mdash;hang they out&mdash;where hang&mdash;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&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Don’t forget the cowboys, Sandy.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Cowboys?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes; the knights, you know: You were going to tell me about them. A
      while back, you remember. Figuratively speaking, game’s called.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Game&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I will well, and lightly will begin. So they two departed and rode
      into a great forest. And&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Great Scott!”
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Great Scott!” I said in my distress. She went right back and began
      over again:
    </p>
    <p>
      “So they two departed and rode into a great forest. And&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “<i>Which</i> two?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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&mdash;”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="15-177.jpg (136K)" src="images/15-177.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      “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.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Hello-girl?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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&mdash;though I&mdash;well,
      I myself, if I’ve got to confess&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Peradventure she&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Never mind her; never mind her; I tell you I couldn’t ever explain her so
      you would understand.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Man of prowess&mdash;yes, that is the man to please them, Sandy. Man of
      brains&mdash;that is a thing they never think of. Tom Sayers&mdash;John
      Heenan&mdash;John L. Sullivan&mdash;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.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “&mdash;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.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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.”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="15-179.jpg (161K)" src="images/15-179.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      “I know him well, said Sir Uwaine, he is a passing good knight as any is
      on live.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “<i>On live</i>. 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.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “&mdash;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&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, that is just the trouble about this state of things, it ruins so
      many horses.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “<i>Another</i> 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.”
     </p>

<hr />

    <p>
      “So these two knights came together with great random&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      “&mdash;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&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “The truth is, Alisande, these archaics are a little <i>too</i> 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&mdash;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&mdash;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 <i>his</i> spear, and the other
      man brast his shield, and down <i>he</i> goes, horse and man, over his
      horse-tail, and brake <i>his</i> 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 <i>picture</i>, of living, raging,
      roaring battle, sho! why, it’s pale and noiseless&mdash;just ghosts
      scuffling in a fog. Dear me, what would this barren vocabulary get out of
      the mightiest spectacle?&mdash;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, <i>that</i> ain’t a
      picture!”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="15-181.jpg (53K)" src="images/15-181.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “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&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I knew it would.”
     </p>
    <p>
      &mdash;“but Sir Marhaus’s spear held; and therewith Sir Gawaine and his
      horse rushed down to the earth&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Just so&mdash;and brake his back.”
     </p>
    <p>
      &mdash;“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&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      The pelting sing-song of it carried me forward to scenes and sounds of my
      boyhood days:
    </p>
    <p>
      “N-e-e-ew Haven! ten minutes for refreshments&mdash;knductr’ll strike the
      gong-bell two minutes before train leaves&mdash;passengers for the
      Shore-line please take seats in the rear k’yar, this k’yar don’t go no
      furder&mdash;<i>ahh</i> -pls, <i>aw</i> -rnjz, b’<i>nan</i> ners, <i>s-a-n-d</i>’ches,
      p&mdash;op-corn!”
     </p>
    <p>
      &mdash;“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&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Which strained his armor, of course; and yet little would one of these
      people mind a small thing like that.”
     </p>
    <p>
      &mdash;“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&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      But I lost the thread there, and dozed off to slumber, thinking about what
      a pity it was that men with such superb strength&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      “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&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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.”
     </p>
    <p>
      &mdash;“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&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “The <i>damsel</i> was?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Even so, dear lord&mdash;and her hair was white under the garland&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Celluloid teeth, nine dollars a set, as like as not&mdash;the loose-fit
      kind, that go up and down like a portcullis when you eat, and fall out
      when you laugh.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      Billows of thought came rolling over my soul, and the voice faded out of
      my hearing!
    </p>
    <p>
      Fifteen! Break&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      I could not follow Alisande’s further explanation of who our captured
      knights were, now&mdash;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&mdash;and
      without baggage. It was of a piece with the general simplicity of
      the country.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;for her. She would arrive some time or
      other, no doubt, but she was not a person who could be hurried.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="15-185.jpg (103K)" src="images/15-185.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="16-187.jpg (124K)" src="images/16-187.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c16"></a>CHAPTER XVI.<br />
MORGAN LE FAY</h2>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="16-189.jpg (129K)" src="images/16-189.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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 <i>not</i> persons to be believed&mdash;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&mdash;I
      mean hailing the warders&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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:
    </p>

<p class="center">
<i>“Persimmon’s Soap&mdash;All the Prime-Donna Use It.”</i>
</p>

    <p>
      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&mdash;the bravest knights I could get&mdash;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 <i>hadn’t</i>
      any board would himself begin to look ridiculous because he was out of the
      fashion.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;next, freedom&mdash;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&mdash;in
      remote centuries not yet stirring in the womb of time&mdash;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&mdash;timbers
      propped against men’s liberties and dishonored consciences to shore up an
      Established Anachronism with.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="16-190.jpg (59K)" src="images/16-190.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      My missionaries were taught to spell out the gilt signs on their tabards&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="16-192.jpg (158K)" src="images/16-192.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “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, ‘<i>Patronized by the elect</i>.’ How does that
      strike you?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Verily, it is wonderly bethought!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, a body is bound to admit that for just a modest little one-line ad,
      it’s a corker.”
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="16-194.jpg (193K)" src="images/16-194.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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!
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Hale me these varlets to the dungeons.”
     </p>
    <p>
      That struck cold on my ears, for her dungeons had a reputation. Nothing
      occurred to me to say&mdash;or do. But not so with Sandy. As the
      guard laid a hand upon me, she piped up with the tranquilest confidence,
      and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “God’s wounds, dost thou covet destruction, thou maniac? It is The
      Boss!”
     </p>
    <p>
      Now what a happy idea that was!&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “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.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The guards were less curious, and got out as soon as they got permission.
    </p>

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<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c17"></a>CHAPTER XVII.<br />
A ROYAL BANQUET</h2>

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    <p>
      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?”
     </p>

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    <p>
      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,&mdash;the
      resident Court, in effect&mdash;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.
    </p>

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    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The havoc continued an hour and a half, and unimaginable was the
      destruction of substantials. Of the chief feature of the feast&mdash;the
      huge wild boar that lay stretched out so portly and imposing at the start&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      With the pastries and so on, the heavy drinking began&mdash;and the talk.
      Gallon after gallon of wine and mead disappeared, and everybody got
      comfortable, then happy, then sparklingly joyous&mdash;both sexes,&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “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!”
     </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Lay hands on her! To the stake with her!”
     </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Do what you choose.”
     </p>
    <p>
      She was up and facing toward the queen in a moment. She indicated
      me, and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Madame, <i>he</i> 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!”
     </p>
    <p>
      Confound it, what a crazy contract to pledge a person to! What if
      the queen&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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 <i>were</i> a superstitious lot. It is all a body can do
      to conceive of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      “What is it?” I said.
    </p>
    <p>
      “It is truly a stubborn soul, and endureth long. It is many hours
      now.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Endureth what?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “The rack. Come&mdash;ye shall see a blithe sight. An he yield
      not his secret now, ye shall see him torn asunder.”
     </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Anonymous testimony isn’t just the right thing, your Highness. It were
      fairer to confront the accused with the accuser.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Then is this Unknown the only person who saw the stag killed?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Marry, <i>no</i> man <i>saw</i> 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.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “So the Unknown was near the dead stag, too? Isn’t it just possible
      that he did the killing himself? His loyal zeal&mdash;in a mask&mdash;looks
      just a shade suspicious. But what is your highness’s idea for
      racking the prisoner? Where is the profit?”
     </p>

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    <p>
      “He will not confess, else; and then were his soul lost. For his
      crime his life is forfeited by the law&mdash;and of a surety will I see
      that he payeth it!&mdash;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 <i>his</i> accommodation.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “But, your Highness, suppose he has nothing to confess?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “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&mdash;ye will grant that that is sooth? Then shall I not be
      damned for an unconfessed man that had naught to confess&mdash;wherefore,
      I shall be safe.”
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Ye will do in all things as this lord shall command. It is The
      Boss.”
     </p>
    <p>
      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,&mdash;like one who fears a repulse; indeed, she tried
      furtively to touch the man’s forehead, and jumped back, the picture of
      fright, when I turned unconsciously toward her. It was pitiful to
      see.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Lord,” I said, “stroke him, lass, if you want to. Do anything
      you’re a mind to; don’t mind me.”
     </p>
    <p>
      Why, her eyes were as grateful as an animal’s, when you do it a kindness
      that it understands. The baby was out of her way and she had her
      cheek against the man’s in a minute and her hands fondling his hair, and
      her happy tears running down. The man revived and caressed his wife
      with his eyes, which was all he could do. I judged I might clear the
      den, now, and I did; cleared it of all but the family and myself. Then
      I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Now, my friend, tell me your side of this matter; I know the other side.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The man moved his head in sign of refusal. But the woman looked
      pleased&mdash;as it seemed to me&mdash;pleased with my suggestion. I
      went on&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      “You know of me?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes. All do, in Arthur’s realms.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “If my reputation has come to you right and straight, you should not be
      afraid to speak.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The woman broke in, eagerly:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Ah, fair my lord, do thou persuade him! Thou canst an thou wilt.
      Ah, he suffereth so; and it is for me&mdash;for <i>me!</i> And how
      can I bear it? I would I might see him die&mdash;a sweet, swift death; oh,
      my Hugo, I cannot bear this one!”
     </p>
    <p>
      And she fell to sobbing and grovelling about my feet, and still imploring.
      Imploring what? The man’s death? I could not quite get
      the bearings of the thing. But Hugo interrupted her and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Peace! Ye wit not what ye ask. Shall I starve whom I love, to
      win a gentle death? I wend thou knewest me better.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well,” I said, “I can’t quite make this out. It is a puzzle. Now&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ah, dear my lord, an ye will but persuade him! Consider how these
      his tortures wound me! Oh, and he will not speak!&mdash;whereas, the
      healing, the solace that lie in a blessed swift death&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What <i>are</i> you maundering about? He’s going out from here a
      free man and whole&mdash;he’s not going to die.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The man’s white face lit up, and the woman flung herself at me in a most
      surprising explosion of joy, and cried out:
    </p>
    <p>
      “He is saved!&mdash;for it is the king’s word by the mouth of the king’s
      servant&mdash;Arthur, the king whose word is gold!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, then you do believe I can be trusted, after all. Why didn’t
      you before?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Who doubted? Not I, indeed; and not she.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, why wouldn’t you tell me your story, then?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ye had made no promise; else had it been otherwise.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I see, I see.... And yet I believe I don’t quite see, after all.
      You stood the torture and refused to confess; which shows plain enough to
      even the dullest understanding that you had nothing to confess&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I, my lord? How so? It was I that killed the deer!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “You <i>did?</i> Oh, dear, this is the most mixed-up business that
      ever&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Dear lord, I begged him on my knees to confess, but&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “You <i>did!</i> It gets thicker and thicker. What did you
      want him to do that for?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Sith it would bring him a quick death and save him all this cruel pain.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well&mdash;yes, there is reason in that. But <i>he</i> didn’t want
      the quick death.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “He? Why, of a surety he <i>did</i>.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, then, why in the world <i>didn’t</i> he confess?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ah, sweet sir, and leave my wife and chick without bread and shelter?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, heart of gold, now I see it! The bitter law takes the convicted
      man’s estate and beggars his widow and his orphans. They could
      torture you to death, but without conviction or confession they could not
      rob your wife and baby. You stood by them like a man; and <i>you</i>&mdash;true
      wife and the woman that you are&mdash;you would have bought him release
      from torture at cost to yourself of slow starvation and death&mdash;well,
      it humbles a body to think what your sex can do when it comes to
      self-sacrifice. I’ll book you both for my colony; you’ll like it
      there; it’s a Factory where I’m going to turn groping and grubbing
      automata into <i>men</i>.”
     </p>

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<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.<br />
IN THE QUEEN’S DUNGEONS</h2>

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    <p>
      Well, I arranged all that; and I had the man sent to his home. I had a
      great desire to rack the executioner; not because he was a good,
      painstaking and paingiving official,&mdash;for surely it was not to his
      discredit that he performed his functions well&mdash;but to pay him back
      for wantonly cuffing and otherwise distressing that young woman. The
      priests told me about this, and were generously hot to have him punished.
      Something of this disagreeable sort was turning up every now and
      then. I mean, episodes that showed that not all priests were frauds
      and self-seekers, but that many, even the great majority, of these that
      were down on the ground among the common people, were sincere and
      right-hearted, and devoted to the alleviation of human troubles and
      sufferings. Well, it was a thing which could not be helped, so I seldom
      fretted about it, and never many minutes at a time; it has never been my
      way to bother much about things which you can’t cure. But I did not
      like it, for it was just the sort of thing to keep people reconciled to an
      Established Church. We <i>must</i> have a religion&mdash;it goes
      without saying&mdash;but my idea is, to have it cut up into forty free
      sects, so that they will police each other, as had been the case in the
      United States in my time. Concentration of power in a political
      machine is bad; and an Established Church is only a political machine;
      it was invented for that; it is nursed, cradled, preserved for that; it is
      an enemy to human liberty, and does no good which it could not better do
      in a split-up and scattered condition. That wasn’t law; it wasn’t
      gospel: it was only an opinion&mdash;my opinion, and I was only a
      man, one man: so it wasn’t worth any more than the pope’s&mdash;or any
      less, for that matter.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, I couldn’t rack the executioner, neither would I overlook the just
      complaint of the priests. The man must be punished somehow or other,
      so I degraded him from his office and made him leader of the band&mdash;the
      new one that was to be started. He begged hard, and said he couldn’t
      play&mdash;a plausible excuse, but too thin; there wasn’t a musician in
      the country that could.
    </p>
    <p>
      The queen was a good deal outraged, next morning when she found she was
      going to have neither Hugo’s life nor his property. But I told her
      she must bear this cross; that while by law and custom she certainly was
      entitled to both the man’s life and his property, there were extenuating
      circumstances, and so in Arthur the king’s name I had pardoned him. The
      deer was ravaging the man’s fields, and he had killed it in sudden
      passion, and not for gain; and he had carried it into the royal forest in
      the hope that that might make detection of the misdoer impossible. Confound
      her, I couldn’t make her see that sudden passion is an extenuating
      circumstance in the killing of venison&mdash;or of a person&mdash;so I
      gave it up and let her sulk it out. I <i>did</i> think I was going
      to make her see it by remarking that her own sudden passion in the case of
      the page modified that crime.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Crime!” she exclaimed. “How thou talkest! Crime, forsooth!
      Man, I am going to <i>pay</i> for him!”
     </p>
    <p>
      Oh, it was no use to waste sense on her. Training&mdash;training is
      everything; training is all there is <i>to</i> a person. We speak of
      nature; it is folly; there is no such thing as nature; what we call by
      that misleading name is merely heredity and training. We have no thoughts
      of our own, no opinions of our own; they are transmitted to us, trained
      into us. All that is original in us, and therefore fairly creditable
      or discreditable to us, can be covered up and hidden by the point of a
      cambric needle, all the rest being atoms contributed by, and inherited
      from, a procession of ancestors that stretches back a billion years to the
      Adam-clam or grasshopper or monkey from whom our race has been so
      tediously and ostentatiously and unprofitably developed. And as for
      me, all that I think about in this plodding sad pilgrimage, this pathetic
      drift between the eternities, is to look out and humbly live a pure and
      high and blameless life, and save that one microscopic atom in me that is
      truly <i>me:</i> the rest may land in Sheol and welcome for all I
      care.
    </p>
    <p>
      No, confound her, her intellect was good, she had brains enough, but her
      training made her an ass&mdash;that is, from a many-centuries-later point
      of view. To kill the page was no crime&mdash;it was her right; and
      upon her right she stood, serenely and unconscious of offense. She was a
      result of generations of training in the unexamined and unassailed belief
      that the law which permitted her to kill a subject when she chose was a
      perfectly right and righteous one.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, we must give even Satan his due. She deserved a compliment for
      one thing; and I tried to pay it, but the words stuck in my throat. She
      had a right to kill the boy, but she was in no wise obliged to pay for
      him. That was law for some other people, but not for her. She
      knew quite well that she was doing a large and generous thing to pay for
      that lad, and that I ought in common fairness to come out with something
      handsome about it, but I couldn’t&mdash;my mouth refused. I couldn’t
      help seeing, in my fancy, that poor old grandma with the broken heart, and
      that fair young creature lying butchered, his little silken pomps and
      vanities laced with his golden blood. How could she <i>pay</i> for
      him! <i>Whom</i> could she pay? And so, well knowing that this
      woman, trained as she had been, deserved praise, even adulation, I was yet
      not able to utter it, trained as I had been. The best I could do was
      to fish up a compliment from outside, so to speak&mdash;and the pity of it
      was, that it was true:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Madame, your people will adore you for this.”
     </p>
    <p>
      Quite true, but I meant to hang her for it some day if I lived. Some of
      those laws were too bad, altogether too bad. A master might kill his
      slave for nothing&mdash;for mere spite, malice, or to pass the time&mdash;just
      as we have seen that the crowned head could do it with <i>his</i> slave,
      that is to say, anybody. A gentleman could kill a free commoner, and
      pay for him&mdash;cash or garden-truck. A noble could kill a noble without
      expense, as far as the law was concerned, but reprisals in kind were to be
      expected. <i>Any</i> body could kill <i>some</i> body, except the
      commoner and the slave; these had no privileges. If they killed, it
      was murder, and the law wouldn’t stand murder. It made short work of
      the experimenter&mdash;and of his family, too, if he murdered somebody who
      belonged up among the ornamental ranks. If a commoner gave a noble
      even so much as a Damiens-scratch which didn’t kill or even hurt, he got
      Damiens’ dose for it just the same; they pulled him to rags and tatters
      with horses, and all the world came to see the show, and crack jokes, and
      have a good time; and some of the performances of the best people present
      were as tough, and as properly unprintable, as any that have been printed
      by the pleasant Casanova in his chapter about the dismemberment of Louis
      XV’s poor awkward enemy.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="18-218.jpg (54K)" src="images/18-218.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      I had had enough of this grisly place by this time, and wanted to leave,
      but I couldn’t, because I had something on my mind that my conscience kept
      prodding me about, and wouldn’t let me forget. If I had the remaking of
      man, he wouldn’t have any conscience. It is one of the most disagreeable
      things connected with a person; and although it certainly does a great
      deal of good, it cannot be said to pay, in the long run; it would be much
      better to have less good and more comfort. Still, this is only my
      opinion, and I am only one man; others, with less experience, may think
      differently. They have a right to their view. I only stand to
      this: I have noticed my conscience for many years, and I know it is
      more trouble and bother to me than anything else I started with. I
      suppose that in the beginning I prized it, because we prize anything that
      is ours; and yet how foolish it was to think so. If we look at it in
      another way, we see how absurd it is: if I had an anvil in me would
      I prize it? Of course not. And yet when you come to think,
      there is no real difference between a conscience and an anvil&mdash;I mean
      for comfort. I have noticed it a thousand times. And you could
      dissolve an anvil with acids, when you couldn’t stand it any longer; but
      there isn’t any way that you can work off a conscience&mdash;at least so
      it will stay worked off; not that I know of, anyway.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was something I wanted to do before leaving, but it was a
      disagreeable matter, and I hated to go at it. Well, it bothered me
      all the morning. I could have mentioned it to the old king, but what
      would be the use?&mdash;he was but an extinct volcano; he had been active
      in his time, but his fire was out, this good while, he was only a stately
      ash-pile now; gentle enough, and kindly enough for my purpose, without
      doubt, but not usable. He was nothing, this so-called king: the
      queen was the only power there. And she was a Vesuvius. As a favor,
      she might consent to warm a flock of sparrows for you, but then she might
      take that very opportunity to turn herself loose and bury a city. However,
      I reflected that as often as any other way, when you are expecting the
      worst, you get something that is not so bad, after all.
    </p>
    <p>
      So I braced up and placed my matter before her royal Highness. I said I
      had been having a general jail-delivery at Camelot and among neighboring
      castles, and with her permission I would like to examine her collection,
      her bric-a-brac&mdash;that is to say, her prisoners. She resisted;
      but I was expecting that. But she finally consented. I was
      expecting that, too, but not so soon. That about ended my
      discomfort. She called her guards and torches, and we went down into
      the dungeons. These were down under the castle’s foundations, and
      mainly were small cells hollowed out of the living rock. Some of
      these cells had no light at all. In one of them was a woman, in foul
      rags, who sat on the ground, and would not answer a question or speak a
      word, but only looked up at us once or twice, through a cobweb of tangled
      hair, as if to see what casual thing it might be that was disturbing with
      sound and light the meaningless dull dream that was become her life; after
      that, she sat bowed, with her dirt-caked fingers idly interlocked in her
      lap, and gave no further sign. This poor rack of bones was a woman
      of middle age, apparently; but only apparently; she had been there nine
      years, and was eighteen when she entered. She was a commoner, and
      had been sent here on her bridal night by Sir Breuse Sance Pite, a
      neighboring lord whose vassal her father was, and to which said lord she
      had refused what has since been called le droit du seigneur, and,
      moreover, had opposed violence to violence and spilt half a gill of his
      almost sacred blood. The young husband had interfered at that point,
      believing the bride’s life in danger, and had flung the noble out into the
      midst of the humble and trembling wedding guests, in the parlor, and left
      him there astonished at this strange treatment, and implacably embittered
      against both bride and groom. The said lord being cramped for
      dungeon-room had asked the queen to accommodate his two criminals, and
      here in her bastile they had been ever since; hither, indeed, they had
      come before their crime was an hour old, and had never seen each other
      since. Here they were, kenneled like toads in the same rock; they
      had passed nine pitch dark years within fifty feet of each other, yet
      neither knew whether the other was alive or not. All the first years,
      their only question had been&mdash;asked with beseechings and tears that
      might have moved stones, in time, perhaps, but hearts are not stones:
      “Is he alive?” “Is she alive?” But they had never got an
      answer; and at last that question was not asked any more&mdash;or any
      other.
    </p>
    <p>
      I wanted to see the man, after hearing all this. He was thirty-four
      years old, and looked sixty. He sat upon a squared block of stone,
      with his head bent down, his forearms resting on his knees, his long hair
      hanging like a fringe before his face, and he was muttering to himself.
      He raised his chin and looked us slowly over, in a listless dull
      way, blinking with the distress of the torchlight, then dropped his head
      and fell to muttering again and took no further notice of us. There
      were some pathetically suggestive dumb witnesses present. On his
      wrists and ankles were cicatrices, old smooth scars, and fastened to the
      stone on which he sat was a chain with manacles and fetters attached; but
      this apparatus lay idle on the ground, and was thick with rust. Chains
      cease to be needed after the spirit has gone out of a prisoner.
    </p>
    <p>
      I could not rouse the man; so I said we would take him to her, and see&mdash;to
      the bride who was the fairest thing in the earth to him, once&mdash;roses,
      pearls, and dew made flesh, for him; a wonder-work, the master-work of
      nature: with eyes like no other eyes, and voice like no other voice,
      and a freshness, and lithe young grace, and beauty, that belonged properly
      to the creatures of dreams&mdash;as he thought&mdash;and to no other.
      The sight of her would set his stagnant blood leaping; the sight of
      her&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      But it was a disappointment. They sat together on the ground and
      looked dimly wondering into each other’s faces a while, with a sort of
      weak animal curiosity; then forgot each other’s presence, and dropped
      their eyes, and you saw that they were away again and wandering in some
      far land of dreams and shadows that we know nothing about.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had them taken out and sent to their friends. The queen did not
      like it much. Not that she felt any personal interest in the matter,
      but she thought it disrespectful to Sir Breuse Sance Pite. However,
      I assured her that if he found he couldn’t stand it I would fix him so
      that he could.
    </p>
    <p>
      I set forty-seven prisoners loose out of those awful rat-holes, and left
      only one in captivity. He was a lord, and had killed another lord, a
      sort of kinsman of the queen. That other lord had ambushed him to
      assassinate him, but this fellow had got the best of him and cut his
      throat. However, it was not for that that I left him jailed, but for
      maliciously destroying the only public well in one of his wretched
      villages. The queen was bound to hang him for killing her kinsman,
      but I would not allow it: it was no crime to kill an assassin.
      But I said I was willing to let her hang him for destroying the
      well; so she concluded to put up with that, as it was better than nothing.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="18-223.jpg (190K)" src="images/18-223.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      Dear me, for what trifling offenses the most of those forty-seven men and
      women were shut up there! Indeed, some were there for no distinct
      offense at all, but only to gratify somebody’s spite; and not always the
      queen’s by any means, but a friend’s. The newest prisoner’s crime
      was a mere remark which he had made. He said he believed that men
      were about all alike, and one man as good as another, barring clothes.
      He said he believed that if you were to strip the nation naked and
      send a stranger through the crowd, he couldn’t tell the king from a quack
      doctor, nor a duke from a hotel clerk. Apparently here was a man
      whose brains had not been reduced to an ineffectual mush by idiotic
      training. I set him loose and sent him to the Factory.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some of the cells carved in the living rock were just behind the face of
      the precipice, and in each of these an arrow-slit had been pierced
      outward to the daylight, and so the captive had a thin ray from the
      blessed sun for his comfort. The case of one of these poor fellows was
      particularly hard. From his dusky swallow’s hole high up in that vast
      wall of native rock he could peer out through the arrow-slit and see his
      own home off yonder in the valley; and for twenty-two years he had
      watched it, with heartache and longing, through that crack. He could see
      the lights shine there at night, and in the daytime he could see figures
      go in and come out&mdash;his wife and children, some of them, no doubt,
      though he could not make out at that distance. In the course of years he
      noted festivities there, and tried to rejoice, and wondered if they were
      weddings or what they might be. And he noted funerals; and they wrung his
      heart. He could make out the coffin, but he could not determine its size,
      and so could not tell whether it was wife or child. He could see the
      procession form, with priests and mourners, and move solemnly away,
      bearing the secret with them. He had left behind him five children and a
      wife; and in nineteen years he had seen five funerals issue, and none of
      them humble enough in pomp to denote a servant. So he had lost five of
      his treasures; there must still be one remaining&mdash;one now
      infinitely, unspeakably precious,&mdash;but <i>which</i> one? wife, or
      child? That was the question that tortured him, by night and by day,
      asleep and awake. Well, to have an interest, of some sort, and half a ray
      of light, when you are in a dungeon, is a great support to the body and
      preserver of the intellect. This man was in pretty good condition yet. By
      the time he had finished telling me his distressful tale, I was in the
      same state of mind that you would have been in yourself, if you have got
      average human curiosity; that is to say, I was as burning up as he was to
      find out which member of the family it was that was left. So I took him
      over home myself; and an amazing kind of a surprise party it was,
      too&mdash;typhoons and cyclones of frantic joy, and whole Niagaras of
      happy tears; and by George! we found the aforetime young matron graying
      toward the imminent verge of her half century, and the babies all men and
      women, and some of them married and experimenting familywise
      themselves&mdash;for not a soul of the tribe was dead! Conceive of the
      ingenious devilishness of that queen: she had a special hatred for this
      prisoner, and she had <i>invented</i> all those funerals herself, to
      scorch his heart with; and the sublimest stroke of genius of the whole
      thing was leaving the family-invoice a funeral <i>short</i>, so as to let
      him wear his poor old soul out guessing.
    </p>
    <p>
      But for me, he never would have got out. Morgan le Fay hated him
      with her whole heart, and she never would have softened toward him. And
      yet his crime was committed more in thoughtlessness than deliberate
      depravity. He had said she had red hair. Well, she had; but
      that was no way to speak of it. When red-headed people are above a
      certain social grade their hair is auburn.
    </p>
    <p>
      Consider it: among these forty-seven captives there were five whose
      names, offenses, and dates of incarceration were no longer known! One
      woman and four men&mdash;all bent, and wrinkled, and mind-extinguished
      patriarchs. They themselves had long ago forgotten these details; at
      any rate they had mere vague theories about them, nothing definite and
      nothing that they repeated twice in the same way. The succession of
      priests whose office it had been to pray daily with the captives and
      remind them that God had put them there, for some wise purpose or other,
      and teach them that patience, humbleness, and submission to oppression was
      what He loved to see in parties of a subordinate rank, had traditions
      about these poor old human ruins, but nothing more. These traditions
      went but little way, for they concerned the length of the incarceration
      only, and not the names of the offenses. And even by the help of
      tradition the only thing that could be proven was that none of the five
      had seen daylight for thirty-five years: how much longer this
      privation has lasted was not guessable. The king and the queen knew
      nothing about these poor creatures, except that they were heirlooms,
      assets inherited, along with the throne, from the former firm. Nothing
      of their history had been transmitted with their persons, and so the
      inheriting owners had considered them of no value, and had felt no
      interest in them. I said to the queen:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Then why in the world didn’t you set them free?”
     </p>
    <p>
      The question was a puzzler. She didn’t know <i>why</i> she hadn’t,
      the thing had never come up in her mind. So here she was,
      forecasting the veritable history of future prisoners of the Castle d’If,
      without knowing it. It seemed plain to me now, that with her
      training, those inherited prisoners were merely property&mdash;nothing
      more, nothing less. Well, when we inherit property, it does not
      occur to us to throw it away, even when we do not value it.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I brought my procession of human bats up into the open world and the
      glare of the afternoon sun&mdash;previously blindfolding them, in charity
      for eyes so long untortured by light&mdash;they were a spectacle to look
      at. Skeletons, scarecrows, goblins, pathetic frights, every one;
      legitimatest possible children of Monarchy by the Grace of God and the
      Established Church. I muttered absently:
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="18-226.jpg (128K)" src="images/18-226.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      “I <i>wish</i> I could photograph them!”
     </p>
    <p>
      You have seen that kind of people who will never let on that they don’t
      know the meaning of a new big word. The more ignorant they are, the
      more pitifully certain they are to pretend you haven’t shot over their
      heads. The queen was just one of that sort, and was always making
      the stupidest blunders by reason of it. She hesitated a moment; then
      her face brightened up with sudden comprehension, and she said she would
      do it for me.
    </p>
    <p>
      I thought to myself: She? why what can she know about photography?
      But it was a poor time to be thinking. When I looked around, she was
      moving on the procession with an axe!
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, she certainly was a curious one, was Morgan le Fay. I have
      seen a good many kinds of women in my time, but she laid over them all for
      variety. And how sharply characteristic of her this episode was.
      She had no more idea than a horse of how to photograph a procession;
      but being in doubt, it was just like her to try to do it with an axe.
    </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c19"></a>CHAPTER XIX.<br />
KNIGHT-ERRANTRY AS A TRADE</h2>

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    <p>
      Sandy and I were on the road again, next morning, bright and early. It was
      so good to open up one’s lungs and take in whole luscious barrels-ful of
      the blessed God’s untainted, dew-fashioned, woodland-scented air once
      more, after suffocating body and mind for two days and nights in the moral
      and physical stenches of that intolerable old buzzard-roost! I mean,
      for me: of course the place was all right and agreeable enough for
      Sandy, for she had been used to high life all her days.
    </p>
    <p>
      Poor girl, her jaws had had a wearisome rest now for a while, and I was
      expecting to get the consequences. I was right; but she had stood by
      me most helpfully in the castle, and had mightily supported and reinforced
      me with gigantic foolishnesses which were worth more for the occasion than
      wisdoms double their size; so I thought she had earned a right to work her
      mill for a while, if she wanted to, and I felt not a pang when she started
      it up:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Now turn we unto Sir Marhaus that rode with the damsel of thirty winter
      of age southward&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Are you going to see if you can work up another half-stretch on the trail
      of the cowboys, Sandy?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Even so, fair my lord.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Go ahead, then. I won’t interrupt this time, if I can help it.
      Begin over again; start fair, and shake out all your reefs, and I will
      load my pipe and give good attention.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Now turn we unto Sir Marhaus that rode with the damsel of thirty winter
      of age southward. And so they came into a deep forest, and by
      fortune they were nighted, and rode along in a deep way, and at the last
      they came into a courtelage where abode the duke of South Marches, and
      there they asked harbour. And on the morn the duke sent unto Sir
      Marhaus, and bad him make him ready. And so Sir Marhaus arose and
      armed him, and there was a mass sung afore him, and he brake his fast, and
      so mounted on horseback in the court of the castle, there they should do
      the battle. So there was the duke already on horseback, clean armed,
      and his six sons by him, and every each had a spear in his hand, and so
      they encountered, whereas the duke and his two sons brake their spears
      upon him, but Sir Marhaus held up his spear and touched none of them.
      Then came the four sons by couples, and two of them brake their
      spears, and so did the other two. And all this while Sir Marhaus
      touched them not. Then Sir Marhaus ran to the duke, and smote him
      with his spear that horse and man fell to the earth. And so he served his
      sons. And then Sir Marhaus alight down, and bad the duke yield him
      or else he would slay him. And then some of his sons recovered, and
      would have set upon Sir Marhaus. Then Sir Marhaus said to the duke,
      Cease thy sons, or else I will do the uttermost to you all. When the
      duke saw he might not escape the death, he cried to his sons, and charged
      them to yield them to Sir Marhaus. And they kneeled all down and put
      the pommels of their swords to the knight, and so he received them. And
      then they holp up their father, and so by their common assent promised
      unto Sir Marhaus never to be foes unto King Arthur, and thereupon at
      Whitsuntide after, to come he and his sons, and put them in the king’s
      grace.*
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="19-233.jpg (148K)" src="images/19-233.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      [*Footnote: The story is borrowed, language and all, from the Morte
      d’Arthur.&mdash;M.T.]
    </p>
    <p>
      “Even so standeth the history, fair Sir Boss. Now ye shall wit that
      that very duke and his six sons are they whom but few days past you also
      did overcome and send to Arthur’s court!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Why, Sandy, you can’t mean it!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “An I speak not sooth, let it be the worse for me.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, well, well,&mdash;now who would ever have thought it? One
      whole duke and six dukelets; why, Sandy, it was an elegant haul.
      Knight-errantry is a most chuckle-headed trade, and it is tedious hard
      work, too, but I begin to see that there <i>is</i> money in it, after all,
      if you have luck. Not that I would ever engage in it as a business,
      for I wouldn’t. No sound and legitimate business can be established
      on a basis of speculation. A successful whirl in the knight-errantry
      line&mdash;now what is it when you blow away the nonsense and come down to
      the cold facts? It’s just a corner in pork, that’s all, and you
      can’t make anything else out of it. You’re rich&mdash;yes,&mdash;suddenly
      rich&mdash;for about a day, maybe a week; then somebody corners the market
      on <i>you</i>, and down goes your bucket-shop; ain’t that so, Sandy?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Whethersoever it be that my mind miscarrieth, bewraying simple language
      in such sort that the words do seem to come endlong and overthwart&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “There’s no use in beating about the bush and trying to get around it that
      way, Sandy, it’s <i>so</i>, just as I say. I <i>know</i> it’s so.
      And, moreover, when you come right down to the bedrock,
      knight-errantry is <i>worse</i> than pork; for whatever happens, the
      pork’s left, and so somebody’s benefited anyway; but when the market
      breaks, in a knight-errantry whirl, and every knight in the pool passes in
      his checks, what have you got for assets? Just a rubbish-pile of
      battered corpses and a barrel or two of busted hardware. Can you
      call <i>those</i> assets? Give me pork, every time. Am I
      right?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ah, peradventure my head being distraught by the manifold matters
      whereunto the confusions of these but late adventured haps and fortunings
      whereby not I alone nor you alone, but every each of us, meseemeth&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “No, it’s not your head, Sandy. Your head’s all right, as far as it
      goes, but you don’t know business; that’s where the trouble is. It
      unfits you to argue about business, and you’re wrong to be always trying.
      However, that aside, it was a good haul, anyway, and will breed a
      handsome crop of reputation in Arthur’s court. And speaking of the
      cowboys, what a curious country this is for women and men that never get
      old. Now there’s Morgan le Fay, as fresh and young as a Vassar
      pullet, to all appearances, and here is this old duke of the South Marches
      still slashing away with sword and lance at his time of life, after
      raising such a family as he has raised. As I understand it, Sir
      Gawaine killed seven of his sons, and still he had six left for Sir
      Marhaus and me to take into camp. And then there was that damsel of
      sixty winter of age still excursioning around in her frosty bloom&mdash;How
      old are you, Sandy?”
     </p>
    <p>
      It was the first time I ever struck a still place in her. The mill
      had shut down for repairs, or something.
    </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c20"></a>CHAPTER XX.<br />
THE OGRE’S CASTLE</h2>

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    <p>
      Between six and nine we made ten miles, which was plenty for a horse
      carrying triple&mdash;man, woman, and armor; then we stopped for a long
      nooning under some trees by a limpid brook.
    </p>
    <p>
      Right so came by and by a knight riding; and as he drew near he made
      dolorous moan, and by the words of it I perceived that he was cursing and
      swearing; yet nevertheless was I glad of his coming, for that I saw he
      bore a bulletin-board whereon in letters all of shining gold was writ:
    </p>

<p class="center">
“USE PETERSON’S PROPHYLACTIC TOOTH-BRUSH&mdash;ALL THE GO.”
</p>

    <p>
      I was glad of his coming, for even by this token I knew him for knight of
      mine. It was Sir Madok de la Montaine, a burly great fellow whose
      chief distinction was that he had come within an ace of sending Sir
      Launcelot down over his horse-tail once. He was never long in a
      stranger’s presence without finding some pretext or other to let out that
      great fact. But there was another fact of nearly the same size,
      which he never pushed upon anybody unasked, and yet never withheld when
      asked: that was, that the reason he didn’t quite succeed was, that
      he was interrupted and sent down over horse-tail himself. This
      innocent vast lubber did not see any particular difference between the two
      facts. I liked him, for he was earnest in his work, and very
      valuable. And he was so fine to look at, with his broad mailed
      shoulders, and the grand leonine set of his plumed head, and his big
      shield with its quaint device of a gauntleted hand clutching a
      prophylactic tooth-brush, with motto: “Try Noyoudont.” This
      was a tooth-wash that I was introducing.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was aweary, he said, and indeed he looked it; but he would not alight.
      He said he was after the stove-polish man; and with this he broke
      out cursing and swearing anew. The bulletin-boarder referred to was
      Sir Ossaise of Surluse, a brave knight, and of considerable celebrity on
      account of his having tried conclusions in a tournament once, with no less
      a Mogul than Sir Gaheris himself&mdash;although not successfully. He
      was of a light and laughing disposition, and to him nothing in this world
      was serious. It was for this reason that I had chosen him to work up
      a stove-polish sentiment. There were no stoves yet, and so there
      could be nothing serious about stove-polish. All that the agent
      needed to do was to deftly and by degrees prepare the public for the great
      change, and have them established in predilections toward neatness against
      the time when the stove should appear upon the stage.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Madok was very bitter, and brake out anew with cursings. He said
      he had cursed his soul to rags; and yet he would not get down from his
      horse, neither would he take any rest, or listen to any comfort, until he
      should have found Sir Ossaise and settled this account. It appeared,
      by what I could piece together of the unprofane fragments of his
      statement, that he had chanced upon Sir Ossaise at dawn of the morning,
      and been told that if he would make a short cut across the fields and
      swamps and broken hills and glades, he could head off a company of
      travelers who would be rare customers for prophylactics and tooth-wash.
      With characteristic zeal Sir Madok had plunged away at once upon
      this quest, and after three hours of awful crosslot riding had overhauled
      his game. And behold, it was the five patriarchs that had been
      released from the dungeons the evening before! Poor old creatures,
      it was all of twenty years since any one of them had known what it was to
      be equipped with any remaining snag or remnant of a tooth.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Blank-blank-blank him,” said Sir Madok, “an I do not stove-polish him an
      I may find him, leave it to me; for never no knight that hight Ossaise or
      aught else may do me this disservice and bide on live, an I may find him,
      the which I have thereunto sworn a great oath this day.”
     </p>
    <p>
      And with these words and others, he lightly took his spear and gat him
      thence. In the middle of the afternoon we came upon one of those
      very patriarchs ourselves, in the edge of a poor village. He was basking
      in the love of relatives and friends whom he had not seen for fifty years;
      and about him and caressing him were also descendants of his own body whom
      he had never seen at all till now; but to him these were all strangers,
      his memory was gone, his mind was stagnant. It seemed incredible
      that a man could outlast half a century shut up in a dark hole like a rat,
      but here were his old wife and some old comrades to testify to it. They
      could remember him as he was in the freshness and strength of his young
      manhood, when he kissed his child and delivered it to its mother’s hands
      and went away into that long oblivion. The people at the castle
      could not tell within half a generation the length of time the man had
      been shut up there for his unrecorded and forgotten offense; but this old
      wife knew; and so did her old child, who stood there among her married
      sons and daughters trying to realize a father who had been to her a name,
      a thought, a formless image, a tradition, all her life, and now was
      suddenly concreted into actual flesh and blood and set before her face.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a curious situation; yet it is not on that account that I have made
      room for it here, but on account of a thing which seemed to me still more
      curious. To wit, that this dreadful matter brought from these
      downtrodden people no outburst of rage against these oppressors. They
      had been heritors and subjects of cruelty and outrage so long that nothing
      could have startled them but a kindness. Yes, here was a curious
      revelation, indeed, of the depth to which this people had been sunk in
      slavery. Their entire being was reduced to a monotonous dead level
      of patience, resignation, dumb uncomplaining acceptance of whatever might
      befall them in this life. Their very imagination was dead. When
      you can say that of a man, he has struck bottom, I reckon; there is no
      lower deep for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      I rather wished I had gone some other road. This was not the sort of
      experience for a statesman to encounter who was planning out a peaceful
      revolution in his mind. For it could not help bringing up the
      unget-aroundable fact that, all gentle cant and philosophizing to the
      contrary notwithstanding, no people in the world ever did achieve their
      freedom by goody-goody talk and moral suasion: it being immutable law that
      all revolutions that will succeed must <i>begin</i> in blood, whatever may
      answer afterward. If history teaches anything, it teaches that.
      What this folk needed, then, was a Reign of Terror and a guillotine,
      and I was the wrong man for them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Two days later, toward noon, Sandy began to show signs of excitement and
      feverish expectancy. She said we were approaching the ogre’s castle.
      I was surprised into an uncomfortable shock. The object of our
      quest had gradually dropped out of my mind; this sudden resurrection of it
      made it seem quite a real and startling thing for a moment, and roused up
      in me a smart interest. Sandy’s excitement increased every moment;
      and so did mine, for that sort of thing is catching. My heart got to
      thumping. You can’t reason with your heart; it has its own laws, and
      thumps about things which the intellect scorns. Presently, when
      Sandy slid from the horse, motioned me to stop, and went creeping
      stealthily, with her head bent nearly to her knees, toward a row of bushes
      that bordered a declivity, the thumpings grew stronger and quicker. And
      they kept it up while she was gaining her ambush and getting her glimpse
      over the declivity; and also while I was creeping to her side on my knees.
      Her eyes were burning now, as she pointed with her finger, and said
      in a panting whisper:
    </p>
    <p>
      “The castle! The castle! Lo, where it looms!”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="20-243.jpg (138K)" src="images/20-243.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      What a welcome disappointment I experienced! I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Castle? It is nothing but a pigsty; a pigsty with a wattled fence
      around it.”
     </p>
    <p>
      She looked surprised and distressed. The animation faded out of her
      face; and during many moments she was lost in thought and silent. Then:
    </p>
    <p>
      “It was not enchanted aforetime,” she said in a musing fashion, as if to
      herself. “And how strange is this marvel, and how awful&mdash;that
      to the one perception it is enchanted and dight in a base and shameful
      aspect; yet to the perception of the other it is not enchanted, hath
      suffered no change, but stands firm and stately still, girt with its moat
      and waving its banners in the blue air from its towers. And God
      shield us, how it pricks the heart to see again these gracious captives,
      and the sorrow deepened in their sweet faces! We have tarried along,
      and are to blame.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I saw my cue. The castle was enchanted to <i>me</i>, not to her. It
      would be wasted time to try to argue her out of her delusion, it couldn’t
      be done; I must just humor it. So I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “This is a common case&mdash;the enchanting of a thing to one eye and
      leaving it in its proper form to another. You have heard of it
      before, Sandy, though you haven’t happened to experience it. But no harm
      is done. In fact, it is lucky the way it is. If these ladies
      were hogs to everybody and to themselves, it would be necessary to break
      the enchantment, and that might be impossible if one failed to find out
      the particular process of the enchantment. And hazardous, too; for in
      attempting a disenchantment without the true key, you are liable to err,
      and turn your hogs into dogs, and the dogs into cats, the cats into rats,
      and so on, and end by reducing your materials to nothing finally, or to an
      odorless gas which you can’t follow&mdash;which, of course, amounts to the
      same thing. But here, by good luck, no one’s eyes but mine are under
      the enchantment, and so it is of no consequence to dissolve it. These
      ladies remain ladies to you, and to themselves, and to everybody else; and
      at the same time they will suffer in no way from my delusion, for when I
      know that an ostensible hog is a lady, that is enough for me, I know how
      to treat her.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Thanks, oh, sweet my lord, thou talkest like an angel. And I know
      that thou wilt deliver them, for that thou art minded to great deeds and
      art as strong a knight of your hands and as brave to will and to do, as
      any that is on live.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I will not leave a princess in the sty, Sandy. Are those three
      yonder that to my disordered eyes are starveling swine-herds&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “The ogres, Are <i>they</i> changed also? It is most wonderful.
      Now am I fearful; for how canst thou strike with sure aim when five
      of their nine cubits of stature are to thee invisible? Ah, go
      warily, fair sir; this is a mightier emprise than I wend.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “You be easy, Sandy. All I need to know is, how <i>much</i> of an
      ogre is invisible; then I know how to locate his vitals. Don’t you
      be afraid, I will make short work of these bunco-steerers. Stay
      where you are.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I left Sandy kneeling there, corpse-faced but plucky and hopeful, and rode
      down to the pigsty, and struck up a trade with the swine-herds. I
      won their gratitude by buying out all the hogs at the lump sum of sixteen
      pennies, which was rather above latest quotations. I was just in
      time; for the Church, the lord of the manor, and the rest of the
      tax-gatherers would have been along next day and swept off pretty much all
      the stock, leaving the swine-herds very short of hogs and Sandy out of
      princesses. But now the tax people could be paid in cash, and there
      would be a stake left besides. One of the men had ten children; and
      he said that last year when a priest came and of his ten pigs took the
      fattest one for tithes, the wife burst out upon him, and offered him a
      child and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Thou beast without bowels of mercy, why leave me my child, yet rob me of
      the wherewithal to feed it?”
     </p>
    <p>
      How curious. The same thing had happened in the Wales of my day,
      under this same old Established Church, which was supposed by many to have
      changed its nature when it changed its disguise.
    </p>
    <p>
      I sent the three men away, and then opened the sty gate and beckoned Sandy
      to come&mdash;which she did; and not leisurely, but with the rush of a
      prairie fire. And when I saw her fling herself upon those hogs, with
      tears of joy running down her cheeks, and strain them to her heart, and
      kiss them, and caress them, and call them reverently by grand princely
      names, I was ashamed of her, ashamed of the human race.
    </p>

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</div>

    <p>
      We had to drive those hogs home&mdash;ten miles; and no ladies were ever
      more fickle-minded or contrary. They would stay in no road, no path;
      they broke out through the brush on all sides, and flowed away in all
      directions, over rocks, and hills, and the roughest places they could
      find. And they must not be struck, or roughly accosted; Sandy could
      not bear to see them treated in ways unbecoming their rank. The
      troublesomest old sow of the lot had to be called my Lady, and your
      Highness, like the rest. It is annoying and difficult to scour
      around after hogs, in armor. There was one small countess, with an
      iron ring in her snout and hardly any hair on her back, that was the devil
      for perversity. She gave me a race of an hour, over all sorts of
      country, and then we were right where we had started from, having made not
      a rod of real progress. I seized her at last by the tail, and brought her
      along squealing. When I overtook Sandy she was horrified, and said it was
      in the last degree indelicate to drag a countess by her train.
    </p>
    <p>
      We got the hogs home just at dark&mdash;most of them. The princess
      Nerovens de Morganore was missing, and two of her ladies in waiting:
      namely, Miss Angela Bohun, and the Demoiselle Elaine Courtemains, the
      former of these two being a young black sow with a white star in her
      forehead, and the latter a brown one with thin legs and a slight limp in
      the forward shank on the starboard side&mdash;a couple of the tryingest
      blisters to drive that I ever saw. Also among the missing were
      several mere baronesses&mdash;and I wanted them to stay missing; but no,
      all that sausage-meat had to be found; so servants were sent out with
      torches to scour the woods and hills to that end.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of course, the whole drove was housed in the house, and, great guns!&mdash;well,
      I never saw anything like it. Nor ever heard anything like it.
      And never smelt anything like it. It was like an insurrection
      in a gasometer.
    </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c21"></a>CHAPTER XXI.<br />
THE PILGRIMS</h2>

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</div>

    <p>
      When I did get to bed at last I was unspeakably tired; the stretching out,
      and the relaxing of the long-tense muscles, how luxurious, how delicious!
      but that was as far as I could get&mdash;sleep was out of the question for
      the present. The ripping and tearing and squealing of the nobility
      up and down the halls and corridors was pandemonium come again, and kept
      me broad awake. Being awake, my thoughts were busy, of course; and
      mainly they busied themselves with Sandy’s curious delusion. Here
      she was, as sane a person as the kingdom could produce; and yet, from my
      point of view she was acting like a crazy woman. My land, the power
      of training! of influence! of education! It can bring a body up to
      believe anything. I had to put myself in Sandy’s place to realize
      that she was not a lunatic. Yes, and put her in mine, to demonstrate
      how easy it is to seem a lunatic to a person who has not been taught as
      you have been taught. If I had told Sandy I had seen a wagon,
      uninfluenced by enchantment, spin along fifty miles an hour; had seen a
      man, unequipped with magic powers, get into a basket and soar out of sight
      among the clouds; and had listened, without any necromancer’s help, to the
      conversation of a person who was several hundred miles away, Sandy would
      not merely have supposed me to be crazy, she would have thought she knew
      it. Everybody around her believed in enchantments; nobody had any
      doubts; to doubt that a castle could be turned into a sty, and its
      occupants into hogs, would have been the same as my doubting among
      Connecticut people the actuality of the telephone and its wonders,&mdash;and
      in both cases would be absolute proof of a diseased mind, an unsettled
      reason. Yes, Sandy was sane; that must be admitted. If I also
      would be sane&mdash;to Sandy&mdash;I must keep my superstitions about
      unenchanted and unmiraculous locomotives, balloons, and telephones, to
      myself. Also, I believed that the world was not flat, and hadn’t
      pillars under it to support it, nor a canopy over it to turn off a
      universe of water that occupied all space above; but as I was the only
      person in the kingdom afflicted with such impious and criminal opinions, I
      recognized that it would be good wisdom to keep quiet about this matter,
      too, if I did not wish to be suddenly shunned and forsaken by everybody as
      a madman.
    </p>
    <p>
      The next morning Sandy assembled the swine in the dining-room and gave
      them their breakfast, waiting upon them personally and manifesting in
      every way the deep reverence which the natives of her island, ancient and
      modern, have always felt for rank, let its outward casket and the mental
      and moral contents be what they may. I could have eaten with the hogs if I
      had had birth approaching my lofty official rank; but I hadn’t, and so
      accepted the unavoidable slight and made no complaint. Sandy and I
      had our breakfast at the second table. The family were not at home.
      I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “How many are in the family, Sandy, and where do they keep themselves?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Family?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Which family, good my lord?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Why, this family; your own family.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Sooth to say, I understand you not. I have no family.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “No family? Why, Sandy, isn’t this your home?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Now how indeed might that be? I have no home.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, then, whose house is this?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ah, wit you well I would tell you an I knew myself.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Come&mdash;you don’t even know these people? Then who invited us
      here?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “None invited us. We but came; that is all.”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="21-253.jpg (80K)" src="images/21-253.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      “Why, woman, this is a most extraordinary performance. The
      effrontery of it is beyond admiration. We blandly march into a man’s
      house, and cram it full of the only really valuable nobility the sun has
      yet discovered in the earth, and then it turns out that we don’t even know
      the man’s name. How did you ever venture to take this extravagant
      liberty? I supposed, of course, it was your home. What will
      the man say?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What will he say? Forsooth what can he say but give thanks?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Thanks for what?”
     </p>
    <p>
      Her face was filled with a puzzled surprise:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Verily, thou troublest mine understanding with strange words. Do ye dream
      that one of his estate is like to have the honor twice in his life to
      entertain company such as we have brought to grace his house withal?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, no&mdash;when you come to that. No, it’s an even bet that
      this is the first time he has had a treat like this.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Then let him be thankful, and manifest the same by grateful speech and
      due humility; he were a dog, else, and the heir and ancestor of dogs.”
     </p>
    <p>
      To my mind, the situation was uncomfortable. It might become more
      so. It might be a good idea to muster the hogs and move on. So I
      said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “The day is wasting, Sandy. It is time to get the nobility together
      and be moving.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Wherefore, fair sir and Boss?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “We want to take them to their home, don’t we?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “La, but list to him! They be of all the regions of the earth! Each
      must hie to her own home; wend you we might do all these journeys in one
      so brief life as He hath appointed that created life, and thereto death
      likewise with help of Adam, who by sin done through persuasion of his
      helpmeet, she being wrought upon and bewrayed by the beguilements of the
      great enemy of man, that serpent hight Satan, aforetime consecrated and
      set apart unto that evil work by overmastering spite and envy begotten in
      his heart through fell ambitions that did blight and mildew a nature erst
      so white and pure whenso it hove with the shining multitudes its
      brethren-born in glade and shade of that fair heaven wherein all such as
      native be to that rich estate and&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Great Scott!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “My lord?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, you know we haven’t got time for this sort of thing. Don’t
      you see, we could distribute these people around the earth in less time
      than it is going to take you to explain that we can’t. We mustn’t
      talk now, we must act. You want to be careful; you mustn’t let your
      mill get the start of you that way, at a time like this. To business now&mdash;and
      sharp’s the word. Who is to take the aristocracy home?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Even their friends. These will come for them from the far parts of
      the earth.”
     </p>
    <p>
      This was lightning from a clear sky, for unexpectedness; and the relief of
      it was like pardon to a prisoner. She would remain to deliver the
      goods, of course.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Well, then, Sandy, as our enterprise is handsomely and successfully
      ended, I will go home and report; and if ever another one&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I also am ready; I will go with thee.”
     </p>
    <p>
      This was recalling the pardon.
    </p>
    <p>
      “How? You will go with me? Why should you?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Will I be traitor to my knight, dost think? That were dishonor. I
      may not part from thee until in knightly encounter in the field some
      overmatching champion shall fairly win and fairly wear me. I were to blame
      an I thought that that might ever hap.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Elected for the long term,” I sighed to myself. “I may as well make
      the best of it.” So then I spoke up and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “All right; let us make a start.”
     </p>
    <p>
      While she was gone to cry her farewells over the pork, I gave that whole
      peerage away to the servants. And I asked them to take a duster and
      dust around a little where the nobilities had mainly lodged and
      promenaded; but they considered that that would be hardly worth while, and
      would moreover be a rather grave departure from custom, and therefore
      likely to make talk. A departure from custom&mdash;that settled it;
      it was a nation capable of committing any crime but that. The
      servants said they would follow the fashion, a fashion grown sacred
      through immemorial observance; they would scatter fresh rushes in all the
      rooms and halls, and then the evidence of the aristocratic visitation
      would be no longer visible. It was a kind of satire on Nature: it
      was the scientific method, the geologic method; it deposited the history
      of the family in a stratified record; and the antiquary could dig through
      it and tell by the remains of each period what changes of diet the family
      had introduced successively for a hundred years.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first thing we struck that day was a procession of pilgrims. It was
      not going our way, but we joined it, nevertheless; for it was hourly being
      borne in upon me now, that if I would govern this country wisely, I must
      be posted in the details of its life, and not at second hand, but by
      personal observation and scrutiny.
    </p>
    <p>
      This company of pilgrims resembled Chaucer’s in this: that it had in
      it a sample of about all the upper occupations and professions the country
      could show, and a corresponding variety of costume. There were young men
      and old men, young women and old women, lively folk and grave folk. They
      rode upon mules and horses, and there was not a side-saddle in the party;
      for this specialty was to remain unknown in England for nine hundred years
      yet.
    </p>

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    <p>
      It was a pleasant, friendly, sociable herd; pious, happy, merry and full
      of unconscious coarsenesses and innocent indecencies. What they
      regarded as the merry tale went the continual round and caused no more
      embarrassment than it would have caused in the best English society twelve
      centuries later. Practical jokes worthy of the English wits of the
      first quarter of the far-off nineteenth century were sprung here and there
      and yonder along the line, and compelled the delightedest applause; and
      sometimes when a bright remark was made at one end of the procession and
      started on its travels toward the other, you could note its progress all
      the way by the sparkling spray of laughter it threw off from its bows as
      it plowed along; and also by the blushes of the mules in its wake.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sandy knew the goal and purpose of this pilgrimage, and she posted me.
      She said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “They journey to the Valley of Holiness, for to be blessed of the godly
      hermits and drink of the miraculous waters and be cleansed from sin.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Where is this watering place?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It lieth a two-day journey hence, by the borders of the land that hight
      the Cuckoo Kingdom.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Tell me about it. Is it a celebrated place?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, of a truth, yes. There be none more so. Of old time there
      lived there an abbot and his monks. Belike were none in the world
      more holy than these; for they gave themselves to study of pious books,
      and spoke not the one to the other, or indeed to any, and ate decayed
      herbs and naught thereto, and slept hard, and prayed much, and washed
      never; also they wore the same garment until it fell from their bodies
      through age and decay. Right so came they to be known of all the
      world by reason of these holy austerities, and visited by rich and poor,
      and reverenced.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Proceed.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “But always there was lack of water there. Whereas, upon a time, the
      holy abbot prayed, and for answer a great stream of clear water burst
      forth by miracle in a desert place. Now were the fickle monks
      tempted of the Fiend, and they wrought with their abbot unceasingly by
      beggings and beseechings that he would construct a bath; and when he was
      become aweary and might not resist more, he said have ye your will, then,
      and granted that they asked. Now mark thou what ’tis to forsake the ways
      of purity the which He loveth, and wanton with such as be worldly and an
      offense. These monks did enter into the bath and come thence washed as
      white as snow; and lo, in that moment His sign appeared, in miraculous
      rebuke! for His insulted waters ceased to flow, and utterly vanished
      away.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “They fared mildly, Sandy, considering how that kind of crime is regarded
      in this country.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Belike; but it was their first sin; and they had been of perfect life for
      long, and differing in naught from the angels. Prayers, tears,
      torturings of the flesh, all was vain to beguile that water to flow again.
      Even processions; even burnt-offerings; even votive candles to the
      Virgin, did fail every each of them; and all in the land did marvel.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “How odd to find that even this industry has its financial panics, and at
      times sees its assignats and greenbacks languish to zero, and everything
      come to a standstill. Go on, Sandy.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “And so upon a time, after year and day, the good abbot made humble
      surrender and destroyed the bath. And behold, His anger was in that
      moment appeased, and the waters gushed richly forth again, and even unto
      this day they have not ceased to flow in that generous measure.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Then I take it nobody has washed since.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “He that would essay it could have his halter free; yes, and swiftly would
      he need it, too.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “The community has prospered since?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Even from that very day. The fame of the miracle went abroad into
      all lands. From every land came monks to join; they came even as the
      fishes come, in shoals; and the monastery added building to building, and
      yet others to these, and so spread wide its arms and took them in. And
      nuns came, also; and more again, and yet more; and built over against the
      monastery on the yon side of the vale, and added building to building,
      until mighty was that nunnery. And these were friendly unto those, and
      they joined their loving labors together, and together they built a fair
      great foundling asylum midway of the valley between.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “You spoke of some hermits, Sandy.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “These have gathered there from the ends of the earth. A hermit
      thriveth best where there be multitudes of pilgrims. Ye shall not
      find no hermit of no sort wanting. If any shall mention a hermit of
      a kind he thinketh new and not to be found but in some far strange land,
      let him but scratch among the holes and caves and swamps that line that
      Valley of Holiness, and whatsoever be his breed, it skills not, he shall
      find a sample of it there.”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
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    <p>
      I closed up alongside of a burly fellow with a fat good-humored face,
      purposing to make myself agreeable and pick up some further crumbs of
      fact; but I had hardly more than scraped acquaintance with him when he
      began eagerly and awkwardly to lead up, in the immemorial way, to that
      same old anecdote&mdash;the one Sir Dinadan told me, what time I got into
      trouble with Sir Sagramor and was challenged of him on account of it.
      I excused myself and dropped to the rear of the procession, sad at
      heart, willing to go hence from this troubled life, this vale of tears,
      this brief day of broken rest, of cloud and storm, of weary struggle and
      monotonous defeat; and yet shrinking from the change, as remembering how
      long eternity is, and how many have wended thither who know that anecdote.
    </p>
    <p>
      Early in the afternoon we overtook another procession of pilgrims; but in
      this one was no merriment, no jokes, no laughter, no playful ways, nor any
      happy giddiness, whether of youth or age. Yet both were here, both
      age and youth; gray old men and women, strong men and women of middle age,
      young husbands, young wives, little boys and girls, and three babies at
      the breast. Even the children were smileless; there was not a face
      among all these half a hundred people but was cast down, and bore that set
      expression of hopelessness which is bred of long and hard trials and old
      acquaintance with despair. They were slaves. Chains led from
      their fettered feet and their manacled hands to a sole-leather belt about
      their waists; and all except the children were also linked together in a
      file six feet apart, by a single chain which led from collar to collar all
      down the line. They were on foot, and had tramped three hundred
      miles in eighteen days, upon the cheapest odds and ends of food, and
      stingy rations of that. They had slept in these chains every night,
      bundled together like swine. They had upon their bodies some poor
      rags, but they could not be said to be clothed. Their irons had
      chafed the skin from their ankles and made sores which were ulcerated and
      wormy. Their naked feet were torn, and none walked without a limp.
      Originally there had been a hundred of these unfortunates, but about
      half had been sold on the trip. The trader in charge of them rode a
      horse and carried a whip with a short handle and a long heavy lash divided
      into several knotted tails at the end. With this whip he cut the
      shoulders of any that tottered from weariness and pain, and straightened
      them up. He did not speak; the whip conveyed his desire without
      that. None of these poor creatures looked up as we rode along by;
      they showed no consciousness of our presence. And they made no sound but
      one; that was the dull and awful clank of their chains from end to end of
      the long file, as forty-three burdened feet rose and fell in unison.
      The file moved in a cloud of its own making.
    </p>
    <p>
      All these faces were gray with a coating of dust. One has seen the
      like of this coating upon furniture in unoccupied houses, and has written
      his idle thought in it with his finger. I was reminded of this when
      I noticed the faces of some of those women, young mothers carrying babes
      that were near to death and freedom, how a something in their hearts was
      written in the dust upon their faces, plain to see, and lord, how plain to
      read! for it was the track of tears. One of these young mothers was
      but a girl, and it hurt me to the heart to read that writing, and reflect
      that it was come up out of the breast of such a child, a breast that ought
      not to know trouble yet, but only the gladness of the morning of life; and
      no doubt&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      She reeled just then, giddy with fatigue, and down came the lash and
      flicked a flake of skin from her naked shoulder. It stung me as if I
      had been hit instead. The master halted the file and jumped from his
      horse. He stormed and swore at this girl, and said she had made
      annoyance enough with her laziness, and as this was the last chance he
      should have, he would settle the account now. She dropped on her knees and
      put up her hands and began to beg, and cry, and implore, in a passion of
      terror, but the master gave no attention. He snatched the child from
      her, and then made the men-slaves who were chained before and behind her
      throw her on the ground and hold her there and expose her body; and then
      he laid on with his lash like a madman till her back was flayed, she
      shrieking and struggling the while piteously. One of the men who was
      holding her turned away his face, and for this humanity he was reviled and
      flogged.
    </p>
    <p>
      All our pilgrims looked on and commented&mdash;on the expert way in which
      the whip was handled. They were too much hardened by lifelong
      everyday familiarity with slavery to notice that there was anything else
      in the exhibition that invited comment. This was what slavery could
      do, in the way of ossifying what one may call the superior lobe of human
      feeling; for these pilgrims were kind-hearted people, and they would not
      have allowed that man to treat a horse like that.
    </p>
    <p>
      I wanted to stop the whole thing and set the slaves free, but that would
      not do. I must not interfere too much and get myself a name for
      riding over the country’s laws and the citizen’s rights roughshod. If
      I lived and prospered I would be the death of slavery, that I was resolved
      upon; but I would try to fix it so that when I became its executioner it
      should be by command of the nation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Just here was the wayside shop of a smith; and now arrived a landed
      proprietor who had bought this girl a few miles back, deliverable here
      where her irons could be taken off. They were removed; then there
      was a squabble between the gentleman and the dealer as to which should pay
      the blacksmith. The moment the girl was delivered from her irons,
      she flung herself, all tears and frantic sobbings, into the arms of the
      slave who had turned away his face when she was whipped. He strained
      her to his breast, and smothered her face and the child’s with kisses, and
      washed them with the rain of his tears. I suspected. I
      inquired. Yes, I was right; it was husband and wife. They had
      to be torn apart by force; the girl had to be dragged away, and she
      struggled and fought and shrieked like one gone mad till a turn of the
      road hid her from sight; and even after that, we could still make out the
      fading plaint of those receding shrieks. And the husband and father,
      with his wife and child gone, never to be seen by him again in life?&mdash;well,
      the look of him one might not bear at all, and so I turned away; but I
      knew I should never get his picture out of my mind again, and there it is
      to this day, to wring my heartstrings whenever I think of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      We put up at the inn in a village just at nightfall, and when I rose next
      morning and looked abroad, I was ware where a knight came riding in the
      golden glory of the new day, and recognized him for knight of mine&mdash;Sir
      Ozana le Cure Hardy. He was in the gentlemen’s furnishing line, and
      his missionarying specialty was plug hats. He was clothed all in
      steel, in the beautifulest armor of the time&mdash;up to where his helmet
      ought to have been; but he hadn’t any helmet, he wore a shiny stove-pipe
      hat, and was ridiculous a spectacle as one might want to see. It was
      another of my surreptitious schemes for extinguishing knighthood by making
      it grotesque and absurd. Sir Ozana’s saddle was hung about with
      leather hat boxes, and every time he overcame a wandering knight he swore
      him into my service and fitted him with a plug and made him wear it.
      I dressed and ran down to welcome Sir Ozana and get his news.
    </p>
    <p>
      “How is trade?” I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Ye will note that I have but these four left; yet were they sixteen
      whenas I got me from Camelot.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Why, you have certainly done nobly, Sir Ozana. Where have you been
      foraging of late?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I am but now come from the Valley of Holiness, please you sir.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I am pointed for that place myself. Is there anything stirring in
      the monkery, more than common?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “By the mass ye may not question it!.... Give him good feed, boy,
      and stint it not, an thou valuest thy crown; so get ye lightly to the
      stable and do even as I bid.... Sir, it is parlous news I bring, and&mdash;be
      these pilgrims? Then ye may not do better, good folk, than gather
      and hear the tale I have to tell, sith it concerneth you, forasmuch as ye
      go to find that ye will not find, and seek that ye will seek in vain, my
      life being hostage for my word, and my word and message being these,
      namely: That a hap has happened whereof the like has not been seen
      no more but once this two hundred years, which was the first and last time
      that that said misfortune strake the holy valley in that form by
      commandment of the Most High whereto by reasons just and causes thereunto
      contributing, wherein the matter&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “The miraculous fount hath ceased to flow!” This shout burst from
      twenty pilgrim mouths at once.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Ye say well, good people. I was verging to it, even when ye spake.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Has somebody been washing again?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Nay, it is suspected, but none believe it. It is thought to be some
      other sin, but none wit what.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “How are they feeling about the calamity?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “None may describe it in words. The fount is these nine days dry.
      The prayers that did begin then, and the lamentations in sackcloth and
      ashes, and the holy processions, none of these have ceased nor night nor
      day; and so the monks and the nuns and the foundlings be all exhausted,
      and do hang up prayers writ upon parchment, sith that no strength is left
      in man to lift up voice. And at last they sent for thee, Sir Boss,
      to try magic and enchantment; and if you could not come, then was the
      messenger to fetch Merlin, and he is there these three days now, and saith
      he will fetch that water though he burst the globe and wreck its kingdoms
      to accomplish it; and right bravely doth he work his magic and call upon
      his hellions to hie them hither and help, but not a whiff of moisture hath
      he started yet, even so much as might qualify as mist upon a copper mirror
      an ye count not the barrel of sweat he sweateth betwixt sun and sun over
      the dire labors of his task; and if ye&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      Breakfast was ready. As soon as it was over I showed to Sir Ozana
      these words which I had written on the inside of his hat: “Chemical
      Department, Laboratory extension, Section G. Pxxp. Send two of first
      size, two of No. 3, and six of No. 4, together with the proper
      complementary details&mdash;and two of my trained assistants.” And I
      said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Now get you to Camelot as fast as you can fly, brave knight, and show the
      writing to Clarence, and tell him to have these required matters in the
      Valley of Holiness with all possible dispatch.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I will well, Sir Boss,” and he was off.
    </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c22"></a>CHAPTER XXII.<br />
THE HOLY FOUNTAIN</h2>

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    <p>
      The pilgrims were human beings. Otherwise they would have acted
      differently. They had come a long and difficult journey, and now
      when the journey was nearly finished, and they learned that the main thing
      they had come for had ceased to exist, they didn’t do as horses or cats or
      angle-worms would probably have done&mdash;turn back and get at something
      profitable&mdash;no, anxious as they had before been to see the miraculous
      fountain, they were as much as forty times as anxious now to see the place
      where it had used to be. There is no accounting for human beings.
    </p>
    <p>
      We made good time; and a couple of hours before sunset we stood upon the
      high confines of the Valley of Holiness, and our eyes swept it from end to
      end and noted its features. That is, its large features. These
      were the three masses of buildings. They were distant and isolated
      temporalities shrunken to toy constructions in the lonely waste of what
      seemed a desert&mdash;and was. Such a scene is always mournful, it
      is so impressively still, and looks so steeped in death. But there
      was a sound here which interrupted the stillness only to add to its
      mournfulness; this was the faint far sound of tolling bells which floated
      fitfully to us on the passing breeze, and so faintly, so softly, that we
      hardly knew whether we heard it with our ears or with our spirits.
    </p>
    <p>
      We reached the monastery before dark, and there the males were given
      lodging, but the women were sent over to the nunnery. The bells were
      close at hand now, and their solemn booming smote upon the ear like a
      message of doom. A superstitious despair possessed the heart of
      every monk and published itself in his ghastly face. Everywhere,
      these black-robed, soft-sandaled, tallow-visaged specters appeared,
      flitted about and disappeared, noiseless as the creatures of a troubled
      dream, and as uncanny.
    </p>
    <p>
      The old abbot’s joy to see me was pathetic. Even to tears; but he
      did the shedding himself. He said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Delay not, son, but get to thy saving work. An we bring not the
      water back again, and soon, we are ruined, and the good work of two
      hundred years must end. And see thou do it with enchantments that be
      holy, for the Church will not endure that work in her cause be done by
      devil’s magic.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “When I work, Father, be sure there will be no devil’s work connected with
      it. I shall use no arts that come of the devil, and no elements not
      created by the hand of God. But is Merlin working strictly on pious
      lines?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ah, he said he would, my son, he said he would, and took oath to make his
      promise good.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, in that case, let him proceed.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “But surely you will not sit idle by, but help?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It will not answer to mix methods, Father; neither would it be
      professional courtesy. Two of a trade must not underbid each other.
      We might as well cut rates and be done with it; it would arrive at
      that in the end. Merlin has the contract; no other magician can
      touch it till he throws it up.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “But I will take it from him; it is a terrible emergency and the act is
      thereby justified. And if it were not so, who will give law to the
      Church? The Church giveth law to all; and what she wills to do, that
      she may do, hurt whom it may. I will take it from him; you shall
      begin upon the moment.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It may not be, Father. No doubt, as you say, where power is
      supreme, one can do as one likes and suffer no injury; but we poor
      magicians are not so situated. Merlin is a very good magician in a
      small way, and has quite a neat provincial reputation. He is
      struggling along, doing the best he can, and it would not be etiquette for
      me to take his job until he himself abandons it.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The abbot’s face lighted.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Ah, that is simple. There are ways to persuade him to abandon it.”
     </p>

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    <p>
      “No-no, Father, it skills not, as these people say. If he were
      persuaded against his will, he would load that well with a malicious
      enchantment which would balk me until I found out its secret. It might
      take a month. I could set up a little enchantment of mine which I
      call the telephone, and he could not find out its secret in a hundred
      years. Yes, you perceive, he might block me for a month. Would
      you like to risk a month in a dry time like this?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “A month! The mere thought of it maketh me to shudder. Have it
      thy way, my son. But my heart is heavy with this disappointment.
      Leave me, and let me wear my spirit with weariness and waiting, even as I
      have done these ten long days, counterfeiting thus the thing that is
      called rest, the prone body making outward sign of repose where inwardly
      is none.”
     </p>
    <p>
      Of course, it would have been best, all round, for Merlin to waive
      etiquette and quit and call it half a day, since he would never be able to
      start that water, for he was a true magician of the time; which is to say,
      the big miracles, the ones that gave him his reputation, always had the
      luck to be performed when nobody but Merlin was present; he couldn’t start
      this well with all this crowd around to see; a crowd was as bad for a
      magician’s miracle in that day as it was for a spiritualist’s miracle in
      mine; there was sure to be some skeptic on hand to turn up the gas at the
      crucial moment and spoil everything. But I did not want Merlin to
      retire from the job until I was ready to take hold of it effectively
      myself; and I could not do that until I got my things from Camelot, and
      that would take two or three days.
    </p>
    <p>
      My presence gave the monks hope, and cheered them up a good deal; insomuch
      that they ate a square meal that night for the first time in ten days.
      As soon as their stomachs had been properly reinforced with food,
      their spirits began to rise fast; when the mead began to go round they
      rose faster. By the time everybody was half-seas over, the holy
      community was in good shape to make a night of it; so we stayed by the
      board and put it through on that line. Matters got to be very jolly.
      Good old questionable stories were told that made the tears run down
      and cavernous mouths stand wide and the round bellies shake with laughter;
      and questionable songs were bellowed out in a mighty chorus that drowned
      the boom of the tolling bells.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last I ventured a story myself; and vast was the success of it. Not
      right off, of course, for the native of those islands does not, as a rule,
      dissolve upon the early applications of a humorous thing; but the fifth
      time I told it, they began to crack in places; the eight time I told it,
      they began to crumble; at the twelfth repetition they fell apart in
      chunks; and at the fifteenth they disintegrated, and I got a broom and
      swept them up. This language is figurative. Those islanders&mdash;well,
      they are slow pay at first, in the matter of return for your investment of
      effort, but in the end they make the pay of all other nations poor and
      small by contrast.
    </p>

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    <p>
      I was at the well next day betimes. Merlin was there, enchanting
      away like a beaver, but not raising the moisture. He was not in a
      pleasant humor; and every time I hinted that perhaps this contract was a
      shade too hefty for a novice he unlimbered his tongue and cursed like a
      bishop&mdash;French bishop of the Regency days, I mean.
    </p>
    <p>
      Matters were about as I expected to find them. The “fountain” was an
      ordinary well, it had been dug in the ordinary way, and stoned up in the
      ordinary way. There was no miracle about it. Even the lie that
      had created its reputation was not miraculous; I could have told it
      myself, with one hand tied behind me. The well was in a dark chamber
      which stood in the center of a cut-stone chapel, whose walls were hung
      with pious pictures of a workmanship that would have made a chromo feel
      good; pictures historically commemorative of curative miracles which had
      been achieved by the waters when nobody was looking. That is, nobody
      but angels; they are always on deck when there is a miracle to the fore&mdash;so
      as to get put in the picture, perhaps. Angels are as fond of that as
      a fire company; look at the old masters.
    </p>
    <p>
      The well-chamber was dimly lighted by lamps; the water was drawn with a
      windlass and chain by monks, and poured into troughs which delivered it
      into stone reservoirs outside in the chapel&mdash;when there was water to
      draw, I mean&mdash;and none but monks could enter the well-chamber. I
      entered it, for I had temporary authority to do so, by courtesy of my
      professional brother and subordinate. But he hadn’t entered it himself.
      He did everything by incantations; he never worked his intellect.
      If he had stepped in there and used his eyes, instead of his
      disordered mind, he could have cured the well by natural means, and then
      turned it into a miracle in the customary way; but no, he was an old
      numskull, a magician who believed in his own magic; and no magician can
      thrive who is handicapped with a superstition like that.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had an idea that the well had sprung a leak; that some of the wall
      stones near the bottom had fallen and exposed fissures that allowed the
      water to escape. I measured the chain&mdash;98 feet. Then I
      called in a couple of monks, locked the door, took a candle, and made them
      lower me in the bucket. When the chain was all paid out, the candle
      confirmed my suspicion; a considerable section of the wall was gone,
      exposing a good big fissure.
    </p>
    <p>
      I almost regretted that my theory about the well’s trouble was correct,
      because I had another one that had a showy point or two about it for a
      miracle. I remembered that in America, many centuries later, when an
      oil well ceased to flow, they used to blast it out with a dynamite
      torpedo. If I should find this well dry and no explanation of it, I
      could astonish these people most nobly by having a person of no especial
      value drop a dynamite bomb into it. It was my idea to appoint
      Merlin. However, it was plain that there was no occasion for the
      bomb. One cannot have everything the way he would like it. A
      man has no business to be depressed by a disappointment, anyway; he ought
      to make up his mind to get even. That is what I did. I said to
      myself, I am in no hurry, I can wait; that bomb will come good yet. And
      it did, too.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I was above ground again, I turned out the monks, and let down a
      fish-line; the well was a hundred and fifty feet deep, and there was
      forty-one feet of water in it. I called in a monk and asked:
    </p>
    <p>
      “How deep is the well?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “That, sir, I wit not, having never been told.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “How does the water usually stand in it?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Near to the top, these two centuries, as the testimony goeth, brought
      down to us through our predecessors.”
     </p>
    <p>
      It was true&mdash;as to recent times at least&mdash;for there was witness
      to it, and better witness than a monk; only about twenty or thirty feet of
      the chain showed wear and use, the rest of it was unworn and rusty. What
      had happened when the well gave out that other time? Without doubt
      some practical person had come along and mended the leak, and then had
      come up and told the abbot he had discovered by divination that if the
      sinful bath were destroyed the well would flow again. The leak had
      befallen again now, and these children would have prayed, and
      processioned, and tolled their bells for heavenly succor till they all
      dried up and blew away, and no innocent of them all would ever have
      thought to drop a fish-line into the well or go down in it and find out
      what was really the matter. Old habit of mind is one of the toughest
      things to get away from in the world. It transmits itself like
      physical form and feature; and for a man, in those days, to have had an
      idea that his ancestors hadn’t had, would have brought him under suspicion
      of being illegitimate. I said to the monk:
    </p>
    <p>
      “It is a difficult miracle to restore water in a dry well, but we will
      try, if my brother Merlin fails. Brother Merlin is a very passable
      artist, but only in the parlor-magic line, and he may not succeed; in
      fact, is not likely to succeed. But that should be nothing to his
      discredit; the man that can do <i>this</i> kind of miracle knows enough to
      keep hotel.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Hotel? I mind not to have heard&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Of hotel? It’s what you call hostel. The man that can do this
      miracle can keep hostel. I can do this miracle; I shall do this
      miracle; yet I do not try to conceal from you that it is a miracle to tax
      the occult powers to the last strain.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “None knoweth that truth better than the brotherhood, indeed; for it is of
      record that aforetime it was parlous difficult and took a year. Natheless,
      God send you good success, and to that end will we pray.”
     </p>
    <p>
      As a matter of business it was a good idea to get the notion around that
      the thing was difficult. Many a small thing has been made large by
      the right kind of advertising. That monk was filled up with the
      difficulty of this enterprise; he would fill up the others. In two days
      the solicitude would be booming.
    </p>
    <p>
      On my way home at noon, I met Sandy. She had been sampling the
      hermits. I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “I would like to do that myself. This is Wednesday. Is there a
      matinee?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “A which, please you, sir?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Matinee. Do they keep open afternoons?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Who?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “The hermits, of course.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Keep open?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes, keep open. Isn’t that plain enough? Do they knock off at
      noon?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Knock off?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Knock off?&mdash;yes, knock off. What is the matter with knock off?
      I never saw such a dunderhead; can’t you understand anything at all? In
      plain terms, do they shut up shop, draw the game, bank the fires&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Shut up shop, draw&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “There, never mind, let it go; you make me tired. You can’t seem to
      understand the simplest thing.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I would I might please thee, sir, and it is to me dole and sorrow that I
      fail, albeit sith I am but a simple damsel and taught of none, being from
      the cradle unbaptized in those deep waters of learning that do anoint with
      a sovereignty him that partaketh of that most noble sacrament, investing
      him with reverend state to the mental eye of the humble mortal who, by bar
      and lack of that great consecration seeth in his own unlearned estate but
      a symbol of that other sort of lack and loss which men do publish to the
      pitying eye with sackcloth trappings whereon the ashes of grief do lie
      bepowdered and bestrewn, and so, when such shall in the darkness of his
      mind encounter these golden phrases of high mystery, these shut-up-shops,
      and draw-the-game, and bank-the-fires, it is but by the grace of God that
      he burst not for envy of the mind that can beget, and tongue that can
      deliver so great and mellow-sounding miracles of speech, and if there do
      ensue confusion in that humbler mind, and failure to divine the meanings
      of these wonders, then if so be this miscomprehension is not vain but
      sooth and true, wit ye well it is the very substance of worshipful dear
      homage and may not lightly be misprized, nor had been, an ye had noted
      this complexion of mood and mind and understood that that I would I could
      not, and that I could not I might not, nor yet nor might <i>nor</i> could,
      nor might-not nor could-not, might be by advantage turned to the desired
      <i>would</i>, and so I pray you mercy of my fault, and that ye will of
      your kindness and your charity forgive it, good my master and most dear
      lord.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I couldn’t make it all out&mdash;that is, the details&mdash;but I got the
      general idea; and enough of it, too, to be ashamed. It was not fair
      to spring those nineteenth century technicalities upon the untutored
      infant of the sixth and then rail at her because she couldn’t get their
      drift; and when she was making the honest best drive at it she could, too,
      and no fault of hers that she couldn’t fetch the home plate; and so I
      apologized. Then we meandered pleasantly away toward the hermit
      holes in sociable converse together, and better friends than ever.
    </p>

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    <p>
      I was gradually coming to have a mysterious and shuddery reverence for
      this girl; nowadays whenever she pulled out from the station and got her
      train fairly started on one of those horizonless transcontinental
      sentences of hers, it was borne in upon me that I was standing in the
      awful presence of the Mother of the German Language. I was so
      impressed with this, that sometimes when she began to empty one of these
      sentences on me I unconsciously took the very attitude of reverence, and
      stood uncovered; and if words had been water, I had been drowned, sure.
      She had exactly the German way; whatever was in her mind to be
      delivered, whether a mere remark, or a sermon, or a cyclopedia, or the
      history of a war, she would get it into a single sentence or die. Whenever
      the literary German dives into a sentence, that is the last you are going
      to see of him till he emerges on the other side of his Atlantic with his
      verb in his mouth.
    </p>
    <p>
      We drifted from hermit to hermit all the afternoon. It was a most
      strange menagerie. The chief emulation among them seemed to be, to
      see which could manage to be the uncleanest and most prosperous with
      vermin. Their manner and attitudes were the last expression of
      complacent self-righteousness. It was one anchorite’s pride to lie
      naked in the mud and let the insects bite him and blister him unmolested;
      it was another’s to lean against a rock, all day long, conspicuous to the
      admiration of the throng of pilgrims and pray; it was another’s to go
      naked and crawl around on all fours; it was another’s to drag about with
      him, year in and year out, eighty pounds of iron; it was another’s to
      never lie down when he slept, but to stand among the thorn-bushes and
      snore when there were pilgrims around to look; a woman, who had the white
      hair of age, and no other apparel, was black from crown to heel with
      forty-seven years of holy abstinence from water. Groups of gazing
      pilgrims stood around all and every of these strange objects, lost in
      reverent wonder, and envious of the fleckless sanctity which these pious
      austerities had won for them from an exacting heaven.
    </p>
    <p>
      By and by we went to see one of the supremely great ones. He was a
      mighty celebrity; his fame had penetrated all Christendom; the noble and
      the renowned journeyed from the remotest lands on the globe to pay him
      reverence. His stand was in the center of the widest part of the
      valley; and it took all that space to hold his crowds.
    </p>
    <p>
      His stand was a pillar sixty feet high, with a broad platform on the top
      of it. He was now doing what he had been doing every day for twenty
      years up there&mdash;bowing his body ceaselessly and rapidly almost to his
      feet. It was his way of praying. I timed him with a stop
      watch, and he made 1,244 revolutions in 24 minutes and 46 seconds. It
      seemed a pity to have all this power going to waste. It was one of the
      most useful motions in mechanics, the pedal movement; so I made a note in
      my memorandum book, purposing some day to apply a system of elastic cords
      to him and run a sewing machine with it. I afterward carried out
      that scheme, and got five years’ good service out of him; in which time he
      turned out upward of eighteen thousand first-rate tow-linen shirts, which
      was ten a day. I worked him Sundays and all; he was going, Sundays,
      the same as week days, and it was no use to waste the power. These shirts
      cost me nothing but just the mere trifle for the materials&mdash;I
      furnished those myself, it would not have been right to make him do that&mdash;and
      they sold like smoke to pilgrims at a dollar and a half apiece, which was
      the price of fifty cows or a blooded race horse in Arthurdom. They
      were regarded as a perfect protection against sin, and advertised as such
      by my knights everywhere, with the paint-pot and stencil-plate; insomuch
      that there was not a cliff or a boulder or a dead wall in England but you
      could read on it at a mile distance:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Buy the only genuine St. Stylite; patronized by the Nobility. Patent
      applied for.”
     </p>
    <p>
      There was more money in the business than one knew what to do with. As it
      extended, I brought out a line of goods suitable for kings, and a nobby
      thing for duchesses and that sort, with ruffles down the forehatch and the
      running-gear clewed up with a featherstitch to leeward and then hauled aft
      with a back-stay and triced up with a half-turn in the standing rigging
      forward of the weather-gaskets. Yes, it was a daisy.
    </p>
    <p>
      But about that time I noticed that the motive power had taken to standing
      on one leg, and I found that there was something the matter with the other
      one; so I stocked the business and unloaded, taking Sir Bors de Ganis into
      camp financially along with certain of his friends; for the works stopped
      within a year, and the good saint got him to his rest. But he had
      earned it. I can say that for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I saw him that first time&mdash;however, his personal condition will
      not quite bear description here. You can read it in the Lives of the
      Saints.*
    </p>
    <p>
      [*All the details concerning the hermits, in this chapter, are from Lecky&mdash;but
      greatly modified. This book not being a history but only a tale, the
      majority of the historian’s frank details were too strong for reproduction
      in it.&mdash;<i>Editor</i> ]
    </p>

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<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.<br />
RESTORATION OF THE FOUNTAIN</h2>

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    <p>
      Saturday noon I went to the well and looked on a while. Merlin was
      still burning smoke-powders, and pawing the air, and muttering gibberish
      as hard as ever, but looking pretty down-hearted, for of course he had not
      started even a perspiration in that well yet. Finally I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “How does the thing promise by this time, partner?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Behold, I am even now busied with trial of the powerfulest enchantment
      known to the princes of the occult arts in the lands of the East; an it
      fail me, naught can avail. Peace, until I finish.”
     </p>
    <p>
      He raised a smoke this time that darkened all the region, and must have
      made matters uncomfortable for the hermits, for the wind was their way,
      and it rolled down over their dens in a dense and billowy fog. He
      poured out volumes of speech to match, and contorted his body and sawed
      the air with his hands in a most extraordinary way. At the end of
      twenty minutes he dropped down panting, and about exhausted. Now
      arrived the abbot and several hundred monks and nuns, and behind them a
      multitude of pilgrims and a couple of acres of foundlings, all drawn by
      the prodigious smoke, and all in a grand state of excitement. The
      abbot inquired anxiously for results. Merlin said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “If any labor of mortal might break the spell that binds these waters,
      this which I have but just essayed had done it. It has failed;
      whereby I do now know that that which I had feared is a truth established;
      the sign of this failure is, that the most potent spirit known to the
      magicians of the East, and whose name none may utter and live, has laid
      his spell upon this well. The mortal does not breathe, nor ever
      will, who can penetrate the secret of that spell, and without that secret
      none can break it. The water will flow no more forever, good Father.
      I have done what man could. Suffer me to go.”
     </p>
    <p>
      Of course this threw the abbot into a good deal of a consternation. He
      turned to me with the signs of it in his face, and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Ye have heard him. Is it true?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Part of it is.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Not all, then, not all! What part is true?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “That that spirit with the Russian name has put his spell upon the well.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “God’s wounds, then are we ruined!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Possibly.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “But not certainly? Ye mean, not certainly?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “That is it.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Wherefore, ye also mean that when he saith none can break the spell&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes, when he says that, he says what isn’t necessarily true. There are
      conditions under which an effort to break it may have some chance&mdash;that
      is, some small, some trifling chance&mdash;of success.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “The conditions&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, they are nothing difficult. Only these: I want the well
      and the surroundings for the space of half a mile, entirely to myself from
      sunset to-day until I remove the ban&mdash;and nobody allowed to cross the
      ground but by my authority.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Are these all?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “And you have no fear to try?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, none. One may fail, of course; and one may also succeed. One
      can try, and I am ready to chance it. I have my conditions?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “These and all others ye may name. I will issue commandment to that
      effect.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Wait,” said Merlin, with an evil smile. “Ye wit that he that would
      break this spell must know that spirit’s name?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes, I know his name.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “And wit you also that to know it skills not of itself, but ye must
      likewise pronounce it? Ha-ha! Knew ye that?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes, I knew that, too.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “You had that knowledge! Art a fool? Are ye minded to utter
      that name and die?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Utter it? Why certainly. I would utter it if it was Welsh.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ye are even a dead man, then; and I go to tell Arthur.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “That’s all right. Take your gripsack and get along. The thing
      for <i>you</i> to do is to go home and work the weather, John W. Merlin.”
     </p>
    <p>
      It was a home shot, and it made him wince; for he was the worst
      weather-failure in the kingdom. Whenever he ordered up the
      danger-signals along the coast there was a week’s dead calm, sure, and
      every time he prophesied fair weather it rained brickbats. But I kept him
      in the weather bureau right along, to undermine his reputation. However,
      that shot raised his bile, and instead of starting home to report my
      death, he said he would remain and enjoy it.
    </p>
    <p>
      My two experts arrived in the evening, and pretty well fagged, for they
      had traveled double tides. They had pack-mules along, and had
      brought everything I needed&mdash;tools, pump, lead pipe, Greek fire,
      sheaves of big rockets, roman candles, colored fire sprays, electric
      apparatus, and a lot of sundries&mdash;everything necessary for the
      stateliest kind of a miracle. They got their supper and a nap, and
      about midnight we sallied out through a solitude so wholly vacant and
      complete that it quite overpassed the required conditions. We took
      possession of the well and its surroundings. My boys were experts in
      all sorts of things, from the stoning up of a well to the constructing of
      a mathematical instrument. An hour before sunrise we had that leak
      mended in ship-shape fashion, and the water began to rise. Then we
      stowed our fireworks in the chapel, locked up the place, and went home to
      bed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before the noon mass was over, we were at the well again; for there was a
      deal to do yet, and I was determined to spring the miracle before
      midnight, for business reasons: for whereas a miracle worked for the
      Church on a week-day is worth a good deal, it is worth six times as much
      if you get it in on a Sunday. In nine hours the water had risen to
      its customary level&mdash;that is to say, it was within twenty-three feet
      of the top. We put in a little iron pump, one of the first turned
      out by my works near the capital; we bored into a stone reservoir which
      stood against the outer wall of the well-chamber and inserted a section of
      lead pipe that was long enough to reach to the door of the chapel and
      project beyond the threshold, where the gushing water would be visible to
      the two hundred and fifty acres of people I was intending should be
      present on the flat plain in front of this little holy hillock at the
      proper time.
    </p>
    <p>
      We knocked the head out of an empty hogshead and hoisted this hogshead to
      the flat roof of the chapel, where we clamped it down fast, poured in
      gunpowder till it lay loosely an inch deep on the bottom, then we stood up
      rockets in the hogshead as thick as they could loosely stand, all the
      different breeds of rockets there are; and they made a portly and imposing
      sheaf, I can tell you. We grounded the wire of a pocket electrical
      battery in that powder, we placed a whole magazine of Greek fire on each
      corner of the roof&mdash;blue on one corner, green on another, red on
      another, and purple on the last&mdash;and grounded a wire in each.
    </p>
    <p>
      About two hundred yards off, in the flat, we built a pen of scantlings,
      about four feet high, and laid planks on it, and so made a platform.
      We covered it with swell tapestries borrowed for the occasion, and
      topped it off with the abbot’s own throne. When you are going to do a
      miracle for an ignorant race, you want to get in every detail that will
      count; you want to make all the properties impressive to the public eye;
      you want to make matters comfortable for your head guest; then you can
      turn yourself loose and play your effects for all they are worth. I
      know the value of these things, for I know human nature. You can’t
      throw too much style into a miracle. It costs trouble, and work, and
      sometimes money; but it pays in the end. Well, we brought the wires
      to the ground at the chapel, and then brought them under the ground to the
      platform, and hid the batteries there. We put a rope fence a hundred
      feet square around the platform to keep off the common multitude, and that
      finished the work. My idea was, doors open at 10:30, performance to
      begin at 11:25 sharp. I wished I could charge admission, but of
      course that wouldn’t answer. I instructed my boys to be in the
      chapel as early as 10, before anybody was around, and be ready to man the
      pumps at the proper time, and make the fur fly. Then we went home to
      supper.
    </p>
    <p>
      The news of the disaster to the well had traveled far by this time; and
      now for two or three days a steady avalanche of people had been pouring
      into the valley. The lower end of the valley was become one huge
      camp; we should have a good house, no question about that. Criers
      went the rounds early in the evening and announced the coming attempt,
      which put every pulse up to fever heat. They gave notice that the
      abbot and his official suite would move in state and occupy the platform
      at 10:30, up to which time all the region which was under my ban must be
      clear; the bells would then cease from tolling, and this sign should be
      permission to the multitudes to close in and take their places.
    </p>

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    <p>
      I was at the platform and all ready to do the honors when the abbot’s
      solemn procession hove in sight&mdash;which it did not do till it was
      nearly to the rope fence, because it was a starless black night and no
      torches permitted. With it came Merlin, and took a front seat on the
      platform; he was as good as his word for once. One could not see the
      multitudes banked together beyond the ban, but they were there, just the
      same. The moment the bells stopped, those banked masses broke and
      poured over the line like a vast black wave, and for as much as a half
      hour it continued to flow, and then it solidified itself, and you could
      have walked upon a pavement of human heads to&mdash;well, miles.
    </p>

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    <p>
      We had a solemn stage-wait, now, for about twenty minutes&mdash;a thing I
      had counted on for effect; it is always good to let your audience have a
      chance to work up its expectancy. At length, out of the silence a
      noble Latin chant&mdash;men’s voices&mdash;broke and swelled up and rolled
      away into the night, a majestic tide of melody. I had put that up,
      too, and it was one of the best effects I ever invented. When it was
      finished I stood up on the platform and extended my hands abroad, for two
      minutes, with my face uplifted&mdash;that always produces a dead hush&mdash;and
      then slowly pronounced this ghastly word with a kind of awfulness which
      caused hundreds to tremble, and many women to faint:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Constantinopolitanischerdudelsackspfeifenmachersgesellschafft!”
     </p>
    <p>
      Just as I was moaning out the closing hunks of that word, I touched off
      one of my electric connections and all that murky world of people stood
      revealed in a hideous blue glare! It was immense&mdash;that effect!
      Lots of people shrieked, women curled up and quit in every
      direction, foundlings collapsed by platoons. The abbot and the monks
      crossed themselves nimbly and their lips fluttered with agitated prayers.
      Merlin held his grip, but he was astonished clear down to his corns;
      he had never seen anything to begin with that, before. Now was the
      time to pile in the effects. I lifted my hands and groaned out this
      word&mdash;as it were in agony:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Nihilistendynamittheaterkaestchenssprengungsattentaetsversuchungen!”
     </p>
    <p>
      &mdash;and turned on the red fire! You should have heard that
      Atlantic of people moan and howl when that crimson hell joined the blue!
      After sixty seconds I shouted:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Transvaaltruppentropentransporttrampelthiertreibertrauungsthraenentragoedie!”
     </p>
    <p>
      &mdash;and lit up the green fire! After waiting only forty seconds
      this time, I spread my arms abroad and thundered out the devastating
      syllables of this word of words:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Mekkamuselmannenmassenmenchenmoerdermohrenmuttermarmormonumentenmacher!”
     </p>
    <p>
      &mdash;and whirled on the purple glare! There they were, all going
      at once, red, blue, green, purple!&mdash;four furious volcanoes pouring
      vast clouds of radiant smoke aloft, and spreading a blinding rainbowed
      noonday to the furthest confines of that valley. In the distance one
      could see that fellow on the pillar standing rigid against the background
      of sky, his seesaw stopped for the first time in twenty years. I
      knew the boys were at the pump now and ready. So I said to the
      abbot:
    </p>
    <p>
      “The time is come, Father. I am about to pronounce the dread name
      and command the spell to dissolve. You want to brace up, and take
      hold of something.” Then I shouted to the people: “Behold, in
      another minute the spell will be broken, or no mortal can break it. If it
      break, all will know it, for you will see the sacred water gush from the
      chapel door!”
     </p>
    <p>
      I stood a few moments, to let the hearers have a chance to spread my
      announcement to those who couldn’t hear, and so convey it to the furthest
      ranks, then I made a grand exhibition of extra posturing and gesturing,
      and shouted:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Lo, I command the fell spirit that possesses the holy fountain to now
      disgorge into the skies all the infernal fires that still remain in him,
      and straightway dissolve his spell and flee hence to the pit, there to lie
      bound a thousand years. By his own dread name I command it&mdash;BGWJJILLIGKKK!”
     </p>
    <p>
      Then I touched off the hogshead of rockets, and a vast fountain of
      dazzling lances of fire vomited itself toward the zenith with a hissing
      rush, and burst in mid-sky into a storm of flashing jewels! One mighty
      groan of terror started up from the massed people&mdash;then suddenly
      broke into a wild hosannah of joy&mdash;for there, fair and plain in the
      uncanny glare, they saw the freed water leaping forth! The old abbot
      could not speak a word, for tears and the chokings in his throat; without
      utterance of any sort, he folded me in his arms and mashed me. It
      was more eloquent than speech. And harder to get over, too, in a country
      where there were really no doctors that were worth a damaged nickel.
    </p>
    <p>
      You should have seen those acres of people throw themselves down in that
      water and kiss it; kiss it, and pet it, and fondle it, and talk to it as
      if it were alive, and welcome it back with the dear names they gave their
      darlings, just as if it had been a friend who was long gone away and lost,
      and was come home again. Yes, it was pretty to see, and made me
      think more of them than I had done before.
    </p>
    <p>
      I sent Merlin home on a shutter. He had caved in and gone down like
      a landslide when I pronounced that fearful name, and had never come to
      since. He never had heard that name before,&mdash;neither had I&mdash;but
      to him it was the right one. Any jumble would have been the right
      one. He admitted, afterward, that that spirit’s own mother could not
      have pronounced that name better than I did. He never could understand how
      I survived it, and I didn’t tell him. It is only young magicians
      that give away a secret like that. Merlin spent three months working
      enchantments to try to find out the deep trick of how to pronounce that
      name and outlive it. But he didn’t arrive.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I started to the chapel, the populace uncovered and fell back
      reverently to make a wide way for me, as if I had been some kind of a
      superior being&mdash;and I was. I was aware of that. I took
      along a night shift of monks, and taught them the mystery of the pump, and
      set them to work, for it was plain that a good part of the people out
      there were going to sit up with the water all night, consequently it was
      but right that they should have all they wanted of it. To those
      monks that pump was a good deal of a miracle itself, and they were full of
      wonder over it; and of admiration, too, of the exceeding effectiveness of
      its performance.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a great night, an immense night. There was reputation in it.
      I could hardly get to sleep for glorying over it.
    </p>

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<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.<br />
A RIVAL MAGICIAN</h2>

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    <p>
      My influence in the Valley of Holiness was something prodigious now.
      It seemed worth while to try to turn it to some valuable account.
      The thought came to me the next morning, and was suggested by my
      seeing one of my knights who was in the soap line come riding in. According
      to history, the monks of this place two centuries before had been worldly
      minded enough to want to wash. It might be that there was a leaven of this
      unrighteousness still remaining. So I sounded a Brother:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Wouldn’t you like a bath?”
     </p>
    <p>
      He shuddered at the thought&mdash;the thought of the peril of it to the
      well&mdash;but he said with feeling:
    </p>
    <p>
      “One needs not to ask that of a poor body who has not known that blessed
      refreshment sith that he was a boy. Would God I might wash me! but
      it may not be, fair sir, tempt me not; it is forbidden.”
     </p>
    <p>
      And then he sighed in such a sorrowful way that I was resolved he should
      have at least one layer of his real estate removed, if it sized up my
      whole influence and bankrupted the pile. So I went to the abbot and
      asked for a permit for this Brother. He blenched at the idea&mdash;I
      don’t mean that you could see him blench, for of course you couldn’t see
      it without you scraped him, and I didn’t care enough about it to scrape
      him, but I knew the blench was there, just the same, and within a
      book-cover’s thickness of the surface, too&mdash;blenched, and trembled.
      He said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Ah, son, ask aught else thou wilt, and it is thine, and freely granted
      out of a grateful heart&mdash;but this, oh, this! Would you drive
      away the blessed water again?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “No, Father, I will not drive it away. I have mysterious knowledge
      which teaches me that there was an error that other time when it was
      thought the institution of the bath banished the fountain.” A large
      interest began to show up in the old man’s face. “My knowledge
      informs me that the bath was innocent of that misfortune, which was caused
      by quite another sort of sin.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “These are brave words&mdash;but&mdash;but right welcome, if they be
      true.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “They are true, indeed. Let me build the bath again, Father. Let me
      build it again, and the fountain shall flow forever.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “You promise this?&mdash;you promise it? Say the word&mdash;say you
      promise it!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I do promise it.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Then will I have the first bath myself! Go&mdash;get ye to your
      work. Tarry not, tarry not, but go.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I and my boys were at work, straight off. The ruins of the old bath
      were there yet in the basement of the monastery, not a stone missing.
      They had been left just so, all these lifetimes, and avoided with a
      pious fear, as things accursed. In two days we had it all done and
      the water in&mdash;a spacious pool of clear pure water that a body could
      swim in. It was running water, too. It came in, and went out,
      through the ancient pipes. The old abbot kept his word, and was the
      first to try it. He went down black and shaky, leaving the whole
      black community above troubled and worried and full of bodings; but he
      came back white and joyful, and the game was made! another triumph scored.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a good campaign that we made in that Valley of Holiness, and I was
      very well satisfied, and ready to move on now, but I struck a
      disappointment. I caught a heavy cold, and it started up an old
      lurking rheumatism of mine. Of course the rheumatism hunted up my
      weakest place and located itself there. This was the place where the
      abbot put his arms about me and mashed me, what time he was moved to
      testify his gratitude to me with an embrace.
    </p>
    <p>
      When at last I got out, I was a shadow. But everybody was full of
      attentions and kindnesses, and these brought cheer back into my life, and
      were the right medicine to help a convalescent swiftly up toward health
      and strength again; so I gained fast.
    </p>

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    <p>
      Sandy was worn out with nursing; so I made up my mind to turn out and go a
      cruise alone, leaving her at the nunnery to rest up. My idea was to
      disguise myself as a freeman of peasant degree and wander through the
      country a week or two on foot. This would give me a chance to eat
      and lodge with the lowliest and poorest class of free citizens on equal
      terms. There was no other way to inform myself perfectly of their
      everyday life and the operation of the laws upon it. If I went among
      them as a gentleman, there would be restraints and conventionalities which
      would shut me out from their private joys and troubles, and I should get
      no further than the outside shell.
    </p>
    <p>
      One morning I was out on a long walk to get up muscle for my trip, and had
      climbed the ridge which bordered the northern extremity of the valley,
      when I came upon an artificial opening in the face of a low precipice, and
      recognized it by its location as a hermitage which had often been pointed
      out to me from a distance as the den of a hermit of high renown for dirt
      and austerity. I knew he had lately been offered a situation in the
      Great Sahara, where lions and sandflies made the hermit-life peculiarly
      attractive and difficult, and had gone to Africa to take possession, so I
      thought I would look in and see how the atmosphere of this den agreed with
      its reputation.
    </p>
    <p>
      My surprise was great: the place was newly swept and scoured. Then
      there was another surprise. Back in the gloom of the cavern I heard
      the clink of a little bell, and then this exclamation:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Hello Central! Is this you, Camelot?&mdash;Behold, thou mayst glad
      thy heart an thou hast faith to believe the wonderful when that it cometh
      in unexpected guise and maketh itself manifest in impossible places&mdash;here
      standeth in the flesh his mightiness The Boss, and with thine own ears
      shall ye hear him speak!”
     </p>
    <p>
      Now what a radical reversal of things this was; what a jumbling together
      of extravagant incongruities; what a fantastic conjunction of opposites
      and irreconcilables&mdash;the home of the bogus miracle become the home of
      a real one, the den of a mediaeval hermit turned into a telephone office!
    </p>
    <p>
      The telephone clerk stepped into the light, and I recognized one of my
      young fellows. I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “How long has this office been established here, Ulfius?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “But since midnight, fair Sir Boss, an it please you. We saw many
      lights in the valley, and so judged it well to make a station, for that
      where so many lights be needs must they indicate a town of goodly size.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Quite right. It isn’t a town in the customary sense, but it’s a
      good stand, anyway. Do you know where you are?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Of that I have had no time to make inquiry; for whenas my comradeship
      moved hence upon their labors, leaving me in charge, I got me to needed
      rest, purposing to inquire when I waked, and report the place’s name to
      Camelot for record.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, this is the Valley of Holiness.”
     </p>
    <p>
      It didn’t take; I mean, he didn’t start at the name, as I had supposed he
      would. He merely said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “I will so report it.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Why, the surrounding regions are filled with the noise of late wonders
      that have happened here! You didn’t hear of them?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ah, ye will remember we move by night, and avoid speech with all. We
      learn naught but that we get by the telephone from Camelot.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Why <i>they</i> know all about this thing. Haven’t they told you
      anything about the great miracle of the restoration of a holy fountain?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, <i>that?</i> Indeed yes. But the name of <i>this</i>
      valley doth woundily differ from the name of <i>that</i> one; indeed to
      differ wider were not pos&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What was that name, then?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “The Valley of Hellishness.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “<i>That</i> explains it. Confound a telephone, anyway. It is
      the very demon for conveying similarities of sound that are miracles of
      divergence from similarity of sense. But no matter, you know the
      name of the place now. Call up Camelot.”
     </p>
    <p>
      He did it, and had Clarence sent for. It was good to hear my boy’s
      voice again. It was like being home. After some affectionate
      interchanges, and some account of my late illness, I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “What is new?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “The king and queen and many of the court do start even in this hour, to
      go to your valley to pay pious homage to the waters ye have restored, and
      cleanse themselves of sin, and see the place where the infernal spirit
      spouted true hell-flames to the clouds&mdash;an ye listen sharply ye may
      hear me wink and hear me likewise smile a smile, sith ’twas I that made
      selection of those flames from out our stock and sent them by your order.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Does the king know the way to this place?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “The king?&mdash;no, nor to any other in his realms, mayhap; but the lads
      that holp you with your miracle will be his guide and lead the way, and
      appoint the places for rests at noons and sleeps at night.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “This will bring them here&mdash;when?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Mid-afternoon, or later, the third day.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Anything else in the way of news?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “The king hath begun the raising of the standing army ye suggested to him;
      one regiment is complete and officered.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “The mischief! I wanted a main hand in that myself. There is
      only one body of men in the kingdom that are fitted to officer a regular
      army.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes&mdash;and now ye will marvel to know there’s not so much as one West
      Pointer in that regiment.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What are you talking about? Are you in earnest?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It is truly as I have said.”
     </p>

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    <p>
      “Why, this makes me uneasy. Who were chosen, and what was the
      method? Competitive examination?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Indeed, I know naught of the method. I but know this&mdash;these
      officers be all of noble family, and are born&mdash;what is it you call
      it?&mdash;chuckleheads.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “There’s something wrong, Clarence.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Comfort yourself, then; for two candidates for a lieutenancy do travel
      hence with the king&mdash;young nobles both&mdash;and if you but wait
      where you are you will hear them questioned.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “That is news to the purpose. I will get one West Pointer in,
      anyway. Mount a man and send him to that school with a message; let
      him kill horses, if necessary, but he must be there before sunset to-night
      and say&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “There is no need. I have laid a ground wire to the school. Prithee
      let me connect you with it.”
     </p>
    <p>
      It sounded good! In this atmosphere of telephones and lightning
      communication with distant regions, I was breathing the breath of life
      again after long suffocation. I realized, then, what a creepy, dull,
      inanimate horror this land had been to me all these years, and how I had
      been in such a stifled condition of mind as to have grown used to it
      almost beyond the power to notice it.
    </p>
    <p>
      I gave my order to the superintendent of the Academy personally. I also
      asked him to bring me some paper and a fountain pen and a box or so of
      safety matches. I was getting tired of doing without these
      conveniences. I could have them now, as I wasn’t going to wear armor
      any more at present, and therefore could get at my pockets.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I got back to the monastery, I found a thing of interest going on.
      The abbot and his monks were assembled in the great hall, observing
      with childish wonder and faith the performances of a new magician, a fresh
      arrival. His dress was the extreme of the fantastic; as showy and
      foolish as the sort of thing an Indian medicine-man wears. He was
      mowing, and mumbling, and gesticulating, and drawing mystical figures in
      the air and on the floor,&mdash;the regular thing, you know. He was
      a celebrity from Asia&mdash;so he said, and that was enough. That
      sort of evidence was as good as gold, and passed current everywhere.
    </p>
    <p>
      How easy and cheap it was to be a great magician on this fellow’s terms.
      His specialty was to tell you what any individual on the face of the
      globe was doing at the moment; and what he had done at any time in the
      past, and what he would do at any time in the future. He asked if
      any would like to know what the Emperor of the East was doing now? The
      sparkling eyes and the delighted rubbing of hands made eloquent answer&mdash;this
      reverend crowd <i>would</i> like to know what that monarch was at, just as
      this moment. The fraud went through some more mummery, and then made
      grave announcement:
    </p>
    <p>
      “The high and mighty Emperor of the East doth at this moment put money in
      the palm of a holy begging friar&mdash;one, two, three pieces, and they be
      all of silver.”
     </p>
    <p>
      A buzz of admiring exclamations broke out, all around:
    </p>
    <p>
      “It is marvelous!” “Wonderful!” “What study, what labor, to
      have acquired a so amazing power as this!”
     </p>
    <p>
      Would they like to know what the Supreme Lord of Inde was doing? Yes.
      He told them what the Supreme Lord of Inde was doing. Then he
      told them what the Sultan of Egypt was at; also what the King of the
      Remote Seas was about. And so on and so on; and with each new marvel
      the astonishment at his accuracy rose higher and higher. They thought he
      must surely strike an uncertain place some time; but no, he never had to
      hesitate, he always knew, and always with unerring precision. I saw
      that if this thing went on I should lose my supremacy, this fellow would
      capture my following, I should be left out in the cold. I must put a
      cog in his wheel, and do it right away, too. I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “If I might ask, I should very greatly like to know what a certain person
      is doing.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Speak, and freely. I will tell you.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It will be difficult&mdash;perhaps impossible.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “My art knoweth not that word. The more difficult it is, the more
      certainly will I reveal it to you.”
     </p>
    <p>
      You see, I was working up the interest. It was getting pretty high,
      too; you could see that by the craning necks all around, and the
      half-suspended breathing. So now I climaxed it:
    </p>
    <p>
      “If you make no mistake&mdash;if you tell me truly what I want to know&mdash;I
      will give you two hundred silver pennies.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “The fortune is mine! I will tell you what you would know.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Then tell me what I am doing with my right hand.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ah-h!” There was a general gasp of surprise. It had not
      occurred to anybody in the crowd&mdash;that simple trick of inquiring
      about somebody who wasn’t ten thousand miles away. The magician was
      hit hard; it was an emergency that had never happened in his experience
      before, and it corked him; he didn’t know how to meet it. He looked
      stunned, confused; he couldn’t say a word. “Come,” I said, “what are
      you waiting for? Is it possible you can answer up, right off, and
      tell what anybody on the other side of the earth is doing, and yet can’t
      tell what a person is doing who isn’t three yards from you? Persons
      behind me know what I am doing with my right hand&mdash;they will indorse
      you if you tell correctly.” He was still dumb. “Very well,
      I’ll tell you why you don’t speak up and tell; it is because you don’t
      know. <i>You</i> a magician! Good friends, this tramp is a
      mere fraud and liar.”
     </p>
    <p>
      This distressed the monks and terrified them. They were not used to
      hearing these awful beings called names, and they did not know what might
      be the consequence. There was a dead silence now; superstitious
      bodings were in every mind. The magician began to pull his wits
      together, and when he presently smiled an easy, nonchalant smile, it
      spread a mighty relief around; for it indicated that his mood was not
      destructive. He said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “It hath struck me speechless, the frivolity of this person’s speech.
      Let all know, if perchance there be any who know it not, that
      enchanters of my degree deign not to concern themselves with the doings of
      any but kings, princes, emperors, them that be born in the purple and them
      only. Had ye asked me what Arthur the great king is doing, it were
      another matter, and I had told ye; but the doings of a subject interest me
      not.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, I misunderstood you. I thought you said ‘anybody,’ and so I
      supposed ‘anybody’ included&mdash;well, anybody; that is, everybody.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It doth&mdash;anybody that is of lofty birth; and the better if he be
      royal.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “That, it meseemeth, might well be,” said the abbot, who saw his
      opportunity to smooth things and avert disaster, “for it were not likely
      that so wonderful a gift as this would be conferred for the revelation of
      the concerns of lesser beings than such as be born near to the summits of
      greatness. Our Arthur the king&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Would you know of him?” broke in the enchanter.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Most gladly, yea, and gratefully.”
     </p>
    <p>
      Everybody was full of awe and interest again right away, the incorrigible
      idiots. They watched the incantations absorbingly, and looked at me
      with a “There, now, what can you say to that?” air, when the announcement
      came:
    </p>
    <p>
      “The king is weary with the chase, and lieth in his palace these two hours
      sleeping a dreamless sleep.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “God’s benison upon him!” said the abbot, and crossed himself; “may that
      sleep be to the refreshment of his body and his soul.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “And so it might be, if he were sleeping,” I said, “but the king is not
      sleeping, the king rides.”
     </p>
    <p>
      Here was trouble again&mdash;a conflict of authority. Nobody knew
      which of us to believe; I still had some reputation left. The
      magician’s scorn was stirred, and he said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Lo, I have seen many wonderful soothsayers and prophets and magicians in
      my life days, but none before that could sit idle and see to the heart of
      things with never an incantation to help.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “You have lived in the woods, and lost much by it. I use
      incantations myself, as this good brotherhood are aware&mdash;but only on
      occasions of moment.”
     </p>
    <p>
      When it comes to sarcasming, I reckon I know how to keep my end up. That
      jab made this fellow squirm. The abbot inquired after the queen and
      the court, and got this information:
    </p>
    <p>
      “They be all on sleep, being overcome by fatigue, like as to the king.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “That is merely another lie. Half of them are about their
      amusements, the queen and the other half are not sleeping, they ride.
      Now perhaps you can spread yourself a little, and tell us where the
      king and queen and all that are this moment riding with them are going?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “They sleep now, as I said; but on the morrow they will ride, for they go
      a journey toward the sea.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “And where will they be the day after to-morrow at vespers?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Far to the north of Camelot, and half their journey will be done.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “That is another lie, by the space of a hundred and fifty miles. Their
      journey will not be merely half done, it will be all done, and they will
      be <i>here</i>, in this valley.”
     </p>
    <p>
      <i>That</i> was a noble shot! It set the abbot and the monks in a
      whirl of excitement, and it rocked the enchanter to his base. I
      followed the thing right up:
    </p>
    <p>
      “If the king does not arrive, I will have myself ridden on a rail: if he
      does I will ride you on a rail instead.”
     </p>
    <p>
      Next day I went up to the telephone office and found that the king had
      passed through two towns that were on the line. I spotted his
      progress on the succeeding day in the same way. I kept these matters
      to myself. The third day’s reports showed that if he kept up his
      gait he would arrive by four in the afternoon. There was still no
      sign anywhere of interest in his coming; there seemed to be no
      preparations making to receive him in state; a strange thing, truly.
      Only one thing could explain this: that other magician had
      been cutting under me, sure. This was true. I asked a friend
      of mine, a monk, about it, and he said, yes, the magician had tried some
      further enchantments and found out that the court had concluded to make no
      journey at all, but stay at home. Think of that! Observe how
      much a reputation was worth in such a country. These people had seen me do
      the very showiest bit of magic in history, and the only one within their
      memory that had a positive value, and yet here they were, ready to take up
      with an adventurer who could offer no evidence of his powers but his mere
      unproven word.
    </p>

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    <p>
      However, it was not good politics to let the king come without any fuss
      and feathers at all, so I went down and drummed up a procession of
      pilgrims and smoked out a batch of hermits and started them out at two
      o’clock to meet him. And that was the sort of state he arrived in.
      The abbot was helpless with rage and humiliation when I brought him
      out on a balcony and showed him the head of the state marching in and
      never a monk on hand to offer him welcome, and no stir of life or clang of
      joy-bell to glad his spirit. He took one look and then flew to rouse
      out his forces. The next minute the bells were dinning furiously, and the
      various buildings were vomiting monks and nuns, who went swarming in a
      rush toward the coming procession; and with them went that magician&mdash;and
      he was on a rail, too, by the abbot’s order; and his reputation was in the
      mud, and mine was in the sky again. Yes, a man can keep his
      trademark current in such a country, but he can’t sit around and do it; he
      has got to be on deck and attending to business right along.
    </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c25"></a>CHAPTER XXV.<br />
A COMPETITIVE EXAMINATION</h2>

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    <p>
      When the king traveled for change of air, or made a progress, or visited a
      distant noble whom he wished to bankrupt with the cost of his keep, part
      of the administration moved with him. It was a fashion of the time.
      The Commission charged with the examination of candidates for posts
      in the army came with the king to the Valley, whereas they could have
      transacted their business just as well at home. And although this
      expedition was strictly a holiday excursion for the king, he kept some of
      his business functions going just the same. He touched for the evil,
      as usual; he held court in the gate at sunrise and tried cases, for he was
      himself Chief Justice of the King’s Bench.
    </p>
    <p>
      He shone very well in this latter office. He was a wise and humane
      judge, and he clearly did his honest best and fairest,&mdash;according to
      his lights. That is a large reservation. His lights&mdash;I
      mean his rearing&mdash;often colored his decisions. Whenever there
      was a dispute between a noble or gentleman and a person of lower degree,
      the king’s leanings and sympathies were for the former class always,
      whether he suspected it or not. It was impossible that this should
      be otherwise. The blunting effects of slavery upon the slaveholder’s
      moral perceptions are known and conceded, the world over; and a privileged
      class, an aristocracy, is but a band of slaveholders under another name.
      This has a harsh sound, and yet should not be offensive to any&mdash;even
      to the noble himself&mdash;unless the fact itself be an offense: for
      the statement simply formulates a fact. The repulsive feature of slavery
      is the <i>thing</i>, not its name. One needs but to hear an
      aristocrat speak of the classes that are below him to recognize&mdash;and
      in but indifferently modified measure&mdash;the very air and tone of the
      actual slaveholder; and behind these are the slaveholder’s spirit, the
      slaveholder’s blunted feeling. They are the result of the same cause in
      both cases: the possessor’s old and inbred custom of regarding
      himself as a superior being. The king’s judgments wrought frequent
      injustices, but it was merely the fault of his training, his natural and
      unalterable sympathies. He was as unfitted for a judgeship as would be the
      average mother for the position of milk-distributor to starving children
      in famine-time; her own children would fare a shade better than the rest.
    </p>
    <p>
      One very curious case came before the king. A young girl, an orphan,
      who had a considerable estate, married a fine young fellow who had
      nothing. The girl’s property was within a seigniory held by the
      Church. The bishop of the diocese, an arrogant scion of the great
      nobility, claimed the girl’s estate on the ground that she had married
      privately, and thus had cheated the Church out of one of its rights as
      lord of the seigniory&mdash;the one heretofore referred to as le droit du
      seigneur. The penalty of refusal or avoidance was confiscation.
      The girl’s defense was, that the lordship of the seigniory was
      vested in the bishop, and the particular right here involved was not
      transferable, but must be exercised by the lord himself or stand vacated;
      and that an older law, of the Church itself, strictly barred the bishop
      from exercising it. It was a very odd case, indeed.
    </p>
    <p>
      It reminded me of something I had read in my youth about the ingenious way
      in which the aldermen of London raised the money that built the Mansion
      House. A person who had not taken the Sacrament according to the
      Anglican rite could not stand as a candidate for sheriff of London. Thus
      Dissenters were ineligible; they could not run if asked, they could not
      serve if elected. The aldermen, who without any question were Yankees in
      disguise, hit upon this neat device: they passed a by-law imposing a
      fine of L400 upon any one who should refuse to be a candidate for sheriff,
      and a fine of L600 upon any person who, after being elected sheriff,
      refused to serve. Then they went to work and elected a lot of
      Dissenters, one after another, and kept it up until they had collected
      L15,000 in fines; and there stands the stately Mansion House to this day,
      to keep the blushing citizen in mind of a long past and lamented day when
      a band of Yankees slipped into London and played games of the sort that
      has given their race a unique and shady reputation among all truly good
      and holy peoples that be in the earth.
    </p>
    <p>
      The girl’s case seemed strong to me; the bishop’s case was just as strong.
      I did not see how the king was going to get out of this hole. But
      he got out. I append his decision:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Truly I find small difficulty here, the matter being even a child’s
      affair for simpleness. An the young bride had conveyed notice, as in
      duty bound, to her feudal lord and proper master and protector the bishop,
      she had suffered no loss, for the said bishop could have got a
      dispensation making him, for temporary conveniency, eligible to the
      exercise of his said right, and thus would she have kept all she had.
      Whereas, failing in her first duty, she hath by that failure failed
      in all; for whoso, clinging to a rope, severeth it above his hands, must
      fall; it being no defense to claim that the rest of the rope is sound,
      neither any deliverance from his peril, as he shall find. Pardy, the
      woman’s case is rotten at the source. It is the decree of the court
      that she forfeit to the said lord bishop all her goods, even to the last
      farthing that she doth possess, and be thereto mulcted in the costs.
      Next!”
     </p>

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    <p>
      Here was a tragic end to a beautiful honeymoon not yet three months old.
      Poor young creatures! They had lived these three months lapped
      to the lips in worldly comforts. These clothes and trinkets they
      were wearing were as fine and dainty as the shrewdest stretch of the
      sumptuary laws allowed to people of their degree; and in these pretty
      clothes, she crying on his shoulder, and he trying to comfort her with
      hopeful words set to the music of despair, they went from the judgment
      seat out into the world homeless, bedless, breadless; why, the very
      beggars by the roadsides were not so poor as they.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, the king was out of the hole; and on terms satisfactory to the
      Church and the rest of the aristocracy, no doubt. Men write many
      fine and plausible arguments in support of monarchy, but the fact remains
      that where every man in a State has a vote, brutal laws are impossible.
      Arthur’s people were of course poor material for a republic, because
      they had been debased so long by monarchy; and yet even they would have
      been intelligent enough to make short work of that law which the king had
      just been administering if it had been submitted to their full and free
      vote. There is a phrase which has grown so common in the world’s
      mouth that it has come to seem to have sense and meaning&mdash;the sense
      and meaning implied when it is used; that is the phrase which refers to
      this or that or the other nation as possibly being “capable of
      self-government”; and the implied sense of it is, that there has been a
      nation somewhere, some time or other which <i>wasn’t</i> capable of it&mdash;wasn’t
      as able to govern itself as some self-appointed specialists were or would
      be to govern it. The master minds of all nations, in all ages, have
      sprung in affluent multitude from the mass of the nation, and from the
      mass of the nation only&mdash;not from its privileged classes; and so, no
      matter what the nation’s intellectual grade was; whether high or low, the
      bulk of its ability was in the long ranks of its nameless and its poor,
      and so it never saw the day that it had not the material in abundance
      whereby to govern itself. Which is to assert an always self-proven fact:
      that even the best governed and most free and most enlightened
      monarchy is still behind the best condition attainable by its people; and
      that the same is true of kindred governments of lower grades, all the way
      down to the lowest.
    </p>
    <p>
      King Arthur had hurried up the army business altogether beyond my
      calculations. I had not supposed he would move in the matter while I
      was away; and so I had not mapped out a scheme for determining the merits
      of officers; I had only remarked that it would be wise to submit every
      candidate to a sharp and searching examination; and privately I meant to
      put together a list of military qualifications that nobody could answer to
      but my West Pointers. That ought to have been attended to before I
      left; for the king was so taken with the idea of a standing army that he
      couldn’t wait but must get about it at once, and get up as good a scheme
      of examination as he could invent out of his own head.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was impatient to see what this was; and to show, too, how much more
      admirable was the one which I should display to the Examining Board.
      I intimated this, gently, to the king, and it fired his curiosity.
      When the Board was assembled, I followed him in; and behind us came
      the candidates. One of these candidates was a bright young West
      Pointer of mine, and with him were a couple of my West Point professors.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I saw the Board, I did not know whether to cry or to laugh. The head
      of it was the officer known to later centuries as Norroy King-at-Arms!
      The two other members were chiefs of bureaus in his department; and
      all three were priests, of course; all officials who had to know how to
      read and write were priests.
    </p>
    <p>
      My candidate was called first, out of courtesy to me, and the head of the
      Board opened on him with official solemnity:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Name?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Mal-ease.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Son of?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Webster.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Webster&mdash;Webster. H’m&mdash;I&mdash;my memory faileth to
      recall the name. Condition?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Weaver.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Weaver!&mdash;God keep us!”
     </p>
    <p>
      The king was staggered, from his summit to his foundations; one clerk
      fainted, and the others came near it. The chairman pulled himself
      together, and said indignantly:
    </p>
    <p>
      “It is sufficient. Get you hence.”
     </p>
    <p>
      But I appealed to the king. I begged that my candidate might be
      examined. The king was willing, but the Board, who were all
      well-born folk, implored the king to spare them the indignity of examining
      the weaver’s son. I knew they didn’t know enough to examine him
      anyway, so I joined my prayers to theirs and the king turned the duty over
      to my professors. I had had a blackboard prepared, and it was put up
      now, and the circus began. It was beautiful to hear the lad lay out
      the science of war, and wallow in details of battle and siege, of supply,
      transportation, mining and countermining, grand tactics, big strategy and
      little strategy, signal service, infantry, cavalry, artillery, and all
      about siege guns, field guns, gatling guns, rifled guns, smooth bores,
      musket practice, revolver practice&mdash;and not a solitary word of it all
      could these catfish make head or tail of, you understand&mdash;and it was
      handsome to see him chalk off mathematical nightmares on the blackboard
      that would stump the angels themselves, and do it like nothing, too&mdash;all
      about eclipses, and comets, and solstices, and constellations, and mean
      time, and sidereal time, and dinner time, and bedtime, and every other
      imaginable thing above the clouds or under them that you could harry or
      bullyrag an enemy with and make him wish he hadn’t come&mdash;and when the
      boy made his military salute and stood aside at last, I was proud enough
      to hug him, and all those other people were so dazed they looked partly
      petrified, partly drunk, and wholly caught out and snowed under. I
      judged that the cake was ours, and by a large majority.
    </p>
    <p>
      Education is a great thing. This was the same youth who had come to
      West Point so ignorant that when I asked him, “If a general officer should
      have a horse shot under him on the field of battle, what ought he to do?”
       answered up naively and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Get up and brush himself.”
     </p>
    <p>
      One of the young nobles was called up now. I thought I would
      question him a little myself. I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Can your lordship read?”
     </p>
    <p>
      His face flushed indignantly, and he fired this at me:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Takest me for a clerk? I trow I am not of a blood that&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Answer the question!”
     </p>
    <p>
      He crowded his wrath down and made out to answer “No.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Can you write?”
     </p>
    <p>
      He wanted to resent this, too, but I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “You will confine yourself to the questions, and make no comments. You are
      not here to air your blood or your graces, and nothing of the sort will be
      permitted. Can you write?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “No.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Do you know the multiplication table?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I wit not what ye refer to.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “How much is 9 times 6?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It is a mystery that is hidden from me by reason that the emergency
      requiring the fathoming of it hath not in my life-days occurred, and so,
      not having no need to know this thing, I abide barren of the knowledge.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “If A trade a barrel of onions to B, worth 2 pence the bushel, in exchange
      for a sheep worth 4 pence and a dog worth a penny, and C kill the dog
      before delivery, because bitten by the same, who mistook him for D, what
      sum is still due to A from B, and which party pays for the dog, C or D,
      and who gets the money? If A, is the penny sufficient, or may he claim
      consequential damages in the form of additional money to represent the
      possible profit which might have inured from the dog, and classifiable as
      earned increment, that is to say, usufruct?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Verily, in the all-wise and unknowable providence of God, who moveth in
      mysterious ways his wonders to perform, have I never heard the fellow to
      this question for confusion of the mind and congestion of the ducts of
      thought. Wherefore I beseech you let the dog and the onions and
      these people of the strange and godless names work out their several
      salvations from their piteous and wonderful difficulties without help of
      mine, for indeed their trouble is sufficient as it is, whereas an I tried
      to help I should but damage their cause the more and yet mayhap not live
      myself to see the desolation wrought.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What do you know of the laws of attraction and gravitation?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “If there be such, mayhap his grace the king did promulgate them whilst
      that I lay sick about the beginning of the year and thereby failed to hear
      his proclamation.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What do you know of the science of optics?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I know of governors of places, and seneschals of castles, and sheriffs of
      counties, and many like small offices and titles of honor, but him you
      call the Science of Optics I have not heard of before; peradventure it is
      a new dignity.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes, in this country.”
     </p>

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    <p>
      Try to conceive of this mollusk gravely applying for an official position,
      of any kind under the sun! Why, he had all the earmarks of a
      typewriter copyist, if you leave out the disposition to contribute
      uninvited emendations of your grammar and punctuation. It was
      unaccountable that he didn’t attempt a little help of that sort out of his
      majestic supply of incapacity for the job. But that didn’t prove
      that he hadn’t material in him for the disposition, it only proved that he
      wasn’t a typewriter copyist yet. After nagging him a little more, I
      let the professors loose on him and they turned him inside out, on the
      line of scientific war, and found him empty, of course. He knew
      somewhat about the warfare of the time&mdash;bushwhacking around for
      ogres, and bull-fights in the tournament ring, and such things&mdash;but
      otherwise he was empty and useless. Then we took the other young
      noble in hand, and he was the first one’s twin, for ignorance and
      incapacity. I delivered them into the hands of the chairman of the
      Board with the comfortable consciousness that their cake was dough. They
      were examined in the previous order of precedence.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Name, so please you?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Pertipole, son of Sir Pertipole, Baron of Barley Mash.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Grandfather?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Also Sir Pertipole, Baron of Barley Mash.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Great-grandfather?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “The same name and title.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Great-great-grandfather?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “We had none, worshipful sir, the line failing before it had reached so
      far back.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It mattereth not. It is a good four generations, and fulfilleth the
      requirements of the rule.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Fulfills what rule?” I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      “The rule requiring four generations of nobility or else the candidate is
      not eligible.”
     </p>

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    <p>
      “A man not eligible for a lieutenancy in the army unless he can prove four
      generations of noble descent?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Even so; neither lieutenant nor any other officer may be commissioned
      without that qualification.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, come, this is an astonishing thing. What good is such a
      qualification as that?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What good? It is a hardy question, fair sir and Boss, since it doth
      go far to impugn the wisdom of even our holy Mother Church herself.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “As how?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “For that she hath established the self-same rule regarding saints. By
      her law none may be canonized until he hath lain dead four generations.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I see, I see&mdash;it is the same thing. It is wonderful. In
      the one case a man lies dead-alive four generations&mdash;mummified in
      ignorance and sloth&mdash;and that qualifies him to command live people,
      and take their weal and woe into his impotent hands; and in the other
      case, a man lies bedded with death and worms four generations, and that
      qualifies him for office in the celestial camp. Does the king’s
      grace approve of this strange law?”
     </p>
    <p>
      The king said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Why, truly I see naught about it that is strange. All places of
      honor and of profit do belong, by natural right, to them that be of noble
      blood, and so these dignities in the army are their property and would be
      so without this or any rule. The rule is but to mark a limit. Its
      purpose is to keep out too recent blood, which would bring into contempt
      these offices, and men of lofty lineage would turn their backs and scorn
      to take them. I were to blame an I permitted this calamity. <i>You</i>
      can permit it an you are minded so to do, for you have the delegated
      authority, but that the king should do it were a most strange madness and
      not comprehensible to any.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I yield. Proceed, sir Chief of the Herald’s College.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The chairman resumed as follows:
    </p>
    <p>
      “By what illustrious achievement for the honor of the Throne and State did
      the founder of your great line lift himself to the sacred dignity of the
      British nobility?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “He built a brewery.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Sire, the Board finds this candidate perfect in all the requirements and
      qualifications for military command, and doth hold his case open for
      decision after due examination of his competitor.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The competitor came forward and proved exactly four generations of
      nobility himself. So there was a tie in military qualifications that
      far.
    </p>
    <p>
      He stood aside a moment, and Sir Pertipole was questioned further:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Of what condition was the wife of the founder of your line?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “She came of the highest landed gentry, yet she was not noble; she was
      gracious and pure and charitable, of a blameless life and character,
      insomuch that in these regards was she peer of the best lady in the land.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “That will do. Stand down.” He called up the competing
      lordling again, and asked: “What was the rank and condition of the
      great-grandmother who conferred British nobility upon your great house?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “She was a king’s leman and did climb to that splendid eminence by her own
      unholpen merit from the sewer where she was born.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ah, this, indeed, is true nobility, this is the right and perfect
      intermixture. The lieutenancy is yours, fair lord. Hold it not
      in contempt; it is the humble step which will lead to grandeurs more
      worthy of the splendor of an origin like to thine.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I was down in the bottomless pit of humiliation. I had promised
      myself an easy and zenith-scouring triumph, and this was the outcome!
    </p>
    <p>
      I was almost ashamed to look my poor disappointed cadet in the face.
      I told him to go home and be patient, this wasn’t the end.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had a private audience with the king, and made a proposition. I said it
      was quite right to officer that regiment with nobilities, and he couldn’t
      have done a wiser thing. It would also be a good idea to add five
      hundred officers to it; in fact, add as many officers as there were nobles
      and relatives of nobles in the country, even if there should finally be
      five times as many officers as privates in it; and thus make it the crack
      regiment, the envied regiment, the King’s Own regiment, and entitled to
      fight on its own hook and in its own way, and go whither it would and come
      when it pleased, in time of war, and be utterly swell and independent.
      This would make that regiment the heart’s desire of all the nobility, and
      they would all be satisfied and happy. Then we would make up the
      rest of the standing army out of commonplace materials, and officer it
      with nobodies, as was proper&mdash;nobodies selected on a basis of mere
      efficiency&mdash;and we would make this regiment toe the line, allow it no
      aristocratic freedom from restraint, and force it to do all the work and
      persistent hammering, to the end that whenever the King’s Own was tired
      and wanted to go off for a change and rummage around amongst ogres and
      have a good time, it could go without uneasiness, knowing that matters
      were in safe hands behind it, and business going to be continued at the
      old stand, same as usual. The king was charmed with the idea.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I noticed that, it gave me a valuable notion. I thought I saw
      my way out of an old and stubborn difficulty at last. You see, the
      royalties of the Pendragon stock were a long-lived race and very fruitful.
      Whenever a child was born to any of these&mdash;and it was pretty
      often&mdash;there was wild joy in the nation’s mouth, and piteous sorrow
      in the nation’s heart. The joy was questionable, but the grief was
      honest. Because the event meant another call for a Royal Grant.
      Long was the list of these royalties, and they were a heavy and
      steadily increasing burden upon the treasury and a menace to the crown.
      Yet Arthur could not believe this latter fact, and he would not
      listen to any of my various projects for substituting something in the
      place of the royal grants. If I could have persuaded him to now and
      then provide a support for one of these outlying scions from his own
      pocket, I could have made a grand to-do over it, and it would have had a
      good effect with the nation; but no, he wouldn’t hear of such a thing.
      He had something like a religious passion for royal grant; he seemed
      to look upon it as a sort of sacred swag, and one could not irritate him
      in any way so quickly and so surely as by an attack upon that venerable
      institution. If I ventured to cautiously hint that there was not
      another respectable family in England that would humble itself to hold out
      the hat&mdash;however, that is as far as I ever got; he always cut me
      short there, and peremptorily, too.
    </p>
    <p>
      But I believed I saw my chance at last. I would form this crack
      regiment out of officers alone&mdash;not a single private. Half of
      it should consist of nobles, who should fill all the places up to
      Major-General, and serve gratis and pay their own expenses; and they would
      be glad to do this when they should learn that the rest of the regiment
      would consist exclusively of princes of the blood. These princes of the
      blood should range in rank from Lieutenant-General up to Field Marshal,
      and be gorgeously salaried and equipped and fed by the state. Moreover&mdash;and
      this was the master stroke&mdash;it should be decreed that these princely
      grandees should be always addressed by a stunningly gaudy and
      awe-compelling title (which I would presently invent), and they and they
      only in all England should be so addressed. Finally, all princes of
      the blood should have free choice; join that regiment, get that great
      title, and renounce the royal grant, or stay out and receive a grant.
      Neatest touch of all: unborn but imminent princes of the blood
      could be <i>born</i> into the regiment, and start fair, with good wages
      and a permanent situation, upon due notice from the parents.
    </p>
    <p>
      All the boys would join, I was sure of that; so, all existing grants would
      be relinquished; that the newly born would always join was equally
      certain. Within sixty days that quaint and bizarre anomaly, the
      Royal Grant, would cease to be a living fact, and take its place among the
      curiosities of the past.
    </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c26"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.<br />
THE FIRST NEWSPAPER</h2>

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</div>

    <p>
      When I told the king I was going out disguised as a petty freeman to scour
      the country and familiarize myself with the humbler life of the people, he
      was all afire with the novelty of the thing in a minute, and was bound to
      take a chance in the adventure himself&mdash;nothing should stop him&mdash;he
      would drop everything and go along&mdash;it was the prettiest idea he had
      run across for many a day. He wanted to glide out the back way and
      start at once; but I showed him that that wouldn’t answer. You see,
      he was billed for the king’s-evil&mdash;to touch for it, I mean&mdash;and
      it wouldn’t be right to disappoint the house and it wouldn’t make a delay
      worth considering, anyway, it was only a one-night stand. And I
      thought he ought to tell the queen he was going away. He clouded up
      at that and looked sad. I was sorry I had spoken, especially when he
      said mournfully:
    </p>

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<img alt="26-334.jpg (33K)" src="images/26-334.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      “Thou forgettest that Launcelot is here; and where Launcelot is, she
      noteth not the going forth of the king, nor what day he returneth.”
     </p>
    <p>
      Of course, I changed the Subject. Yes, Guenever was beautiful, it is
      true, but take her all around she was pretty slack. I never meddled
      in these matters, they weren’t my affair, but I did hate to see the way
      things were going on, and I don’t mind saying that much. Many’s the
      time she had asked me, “Sir Boss, hast seen Sir Launcelot about?” but if
      ever she went fretting around for the king I didn’t happen to be around at
      the time.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="26-337.jpg (167K)" src="images/26-337.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      There was a very good lay-out for the king’s-evil business&mdash;very tidy
      and creditable. The king sat under a canopy of state; about him were
      clustered a large body of the clergy in full canonicals. Conspicuous, both
      for location and personal outfit, stood Marinel, a hermit of the
      quack-doctor species, to introduce the sick. All abroad over the
      spacious floor, and clear down to the doors, in a thick jumble, lay or sat
      the scrofulous, under a strong light. It was as good as a tableau; in
      fact, it had all the look of being gotten up for that, though it wasn’t.
      There were eight hundred sick people present. The work was
      slow; it lacked the interest of novelty for me, because I had seen the
      ceremonies before; the thing soon became tedious, but the proprieties
      required me to stick it out. The doctor was there for the reason
      that in all such crowds there were many people who only imagined something
      was the matter with them, and many who were consciously sound but wanted
      the immortal honor of fleshly contact with a king, and yet others who
      pretended to illness in order to get the piece of coin that went with the
      touch. Up to this time this coin had been a wee little gold piece
      worth about a third of a dollar. When you consider how much that
      amount of money would buy, in that age and country, and how usual it was
      to be scrofulous, when not dead, you would understand that the annual
      king’s-evil appropriation was just the River and Harbor bill of that
      government for the grip it took on the treasury and the chance it afforded
      for skinning the surplus. So I had privately concluded to touch the
      treasury itself for the king’s-evil. I covered six-sevenths of the
      appropriation into the treasury a week before starting from Camelot on my
      adventures, and ordered that the other seventh be inflated into five-cent
      nickels and delivered into the hands of the head clerk of the King’s Evil
      Department; a nickel to take the place of each gold coin, you see, and do
      its work for it. It might strain the nickel some, but I judged it
      could stand it. As a rule, I do not approve of watering stock, but I
      considered it square enough in this case, for it was just a gift, anyway.
      Of course, you can water a gift as much as you want to; and I
      generally do. The old gold and silver coins of the country were of
      ancient and unknown origin, as a rule, but some of them were Roman; they
      were ill-shapen, and seldom rounder than a moon that is a week past the
      full; they were hammered, not minted, and they were so worn with use that
      the devices upon them were as illegible as blisters, and looked like them.
      I judged that a sharp, bright new nickel, with a first-rate likeness
      of the king on one side of it and Guenever on the other, and a blooming
      pious motto, would take the tuck out of scrofula as handy as a nobler coin
      and please the scrofulous fancy more; and I was right. This batch
      was the first it was tried on, and it worked to a charm. The saving
      in expense was a notable economy. You will see that by these
      figures: We touched a trifle over 700 of the 800 patients; at former
      rates, this would have cost the government about $240; at the new rate we
      pulled through for about $35, thus saving upward of $200 at one swoop. To
      appreciate the full magnitude of this stroke, consider these other
      figures: the annual expenses of a national government amount to the
      equivalent of a contribution of three days’ average wages of every
      individual of the population, counting every individual as if he were a
      man. If you take a nation of 60,000,000, where average wages are $2
      per day, three days’ wages taken from each individual will provide
      $360,000,000 and pay the government’s expenses. In my day, in my own
      country, this money was collected from imposts, and the citizen imagined
      that the foreign importer paid it, and it made him comfortable to think
      so; whereas, in fact, it was paid by the American people, and was so
      equally and exactly distributed among them that the annual cost to the
      100-millionaire and the annual cost to the sucking child of the
      day-laborer was precisely the same&mdash;each paid $6. Nothing could
      be equaler than that, I reckon. Well, Scotland and Ireland were
      tributary to Arthur, and the united populations of the British Islands
      amounted to something less than 1,000,000. A mechanic’s average wage
      was 3 cents a day, when he paid his own keep. By this rule the
      national government’s expenses were $90,000 a year, or about $250 a day.
      Thus, by the substitution of nickels for gold on a king’s-evil day, I not
      only injured no one, dissatisfied no one, but pleased all concerned and
      saved four-fifths of that day’s national expense into the bargain&mdash;a
      saving which would have been the equivalent of $800,000 in my day in
      America. In making this substitution I had drawn upon the wisdom of
      a very remote source&mdash;the wisdom of my boyhood&mdash;for the true
      statesman does not despise any wisdom, howsoever lowly may be its origin:
      in my boyhood I had always saved my pennies and contributed buttons
      to the foreign missionary cause. The buttons would answer the
      ignorant savage as well as the coin, the coin would answer me better than
      the buttons; all hands were happy and nobody hurt.
    </p>
    <p>
      Marinel took the patients as they came. He examined the candidate;
      if he couldn’t qualify he was warned off; if he could he was passed along
      to the king. A priest pronounced the words, “They shall lay their
      hands on the sick, and they shall recover.” Then the king stroked
      the ulcers, while the reading continued; finally, the patient graduated
      and got his nickel&mdash;the king hanging it around his neck himself&mdash;and
      was dismissed. Would you think that that would cure? It
      certainly did. Any mummery will cure if the patient’s faith is
      strong in it. Up by Astolat there was a chapel where the Virgin had
      once appeared to a girl who used to herd geese around there&mdash;the girl
      said so herself&mdash;and they built the chapel upon that spot and hung a
      picture in it representing the occurrence&mdash;a picture which you would
      think it dangerous for a sick person to approach; whereas, on the
      contrary, thousands of the lame and the sick came and prayed before it
      every year and went away whole and sound; and even the well could look
      upon it and live. Of course, when I was told these things I did not
      believe them; but when I went there and saw them I had to succumb. I
      saw the cures effected myself; and they were real cures and not
      questionable. I saw cripples whom I had seen around Camelot for years on
      crutches, arrive and pray before that picture, and put down their crutches
      and walk off without a limp. There were piles of crutches there
      which had been left by such people as a testimony.
    </p>

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<img alt="26-338.jpg (147K)" src="images/26-338.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      In other places people operated on a patient’s mind, without saying a word
      to him, and cured him. In others, experts assembled patients in a
      room and prayed over them, and appealed to their faith, and those patients
      went away cured. Wherever you find a king who can’t cure the
      king’s-evil you can be sure that the most valuable superstition that
      supports his throne&mdash;the subject’s belief in the divine appointment
      of his sovereign&mdash;has passed away. In my youth the monarchs of
      England had ceased to touch for the evil, but there was no occasion for
      this diffidence: they could have cured it forty-nine times in fifty.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, when the priest had been droning for three hours, and the good king
      polishing the evidences, and the sick were still pressing forward as
      plenty as ever, I got to feeling intolerably bored. I was sitting by an
      open window not far from the canopy of state. For the five hundredth time
      a patient stood forward to have his repulsivenesses stroked; again those
      words were being droned out: “they shall lay their hands on the sick”&mdash;when
      outside there rang clear as a clarion a note that enchanted my soul and
      tumbled thirteen worthless centuries about my ears: “Camelot <i>Weekly
      Hosannah and Literary Volcano!</i>&mdash;latest irruption&mdash;only two
      cents&mdash;all about the big miracle in the Valley of Holiness!” One
      greater than kings had arrived&mdash;the newsboy. But I was the only
      person in all that throng who knew the meaning of this mighty birth, and
      what this imperial magician was come into the world to do.
    </p>
    <p>
      I dropped a nickel out of the window and got my paper; the Adam-newsboy of
      the world went around the corner to get my change; is around the corner
      yet. It was delicious to see a newspaper again, yet I was conscious
      of a secret shock when my eye fell upon the first batch of display
      head-lines. I had lived in a clammy atmosphere of reverence,
      respect, deference, so long that they sent a quivery little cold wave
      through me:
    </p>

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<img alt="26-339.jpg (36K)" src="images/26-339.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
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    <p>
      &mdash;and so on, and so on. Yes, it was too loud. Once I
      could have enjoyed it and seen nothing out of the way about it, but now
      its note was discordant. It was good Arkansas journalism, but this
      was not Arkansas. Moreover, the next to the last line was calculated
      to give offense to the hermits, and perhaps lose us their advertising.
      Indeed, there was too lightsome a tone of flippancy all through the paper.
      It was plain I had undergone a considerable change without noticing
      it. I found myself unpleasantly affected by pert little
      irreverencies which would have seemed but proper and airy graces of speech
      at an earlier period of my life. There was an abundance of the
      following breed of items, and they discomforted me:
    </p>

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<img alt="26-340.jpg (71K)" src="images/26-340.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

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<img alt="26-341.jpg (62K)" src="images/26-341.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

<p class="center">
LOCAL SMOKE AND CINDERS.
</p>

<p class="poem">
Sir Launcelot met up with old King<br />
Agrivance of Ireland unexpectedly last<br />
weok over on the moor south of Sir<br />
Balmoral le Merveilleuse’s hog dasture.<br />
The widow has been notified.<br />
<br />
Expedition No. 3 will start adout the<br />
first of mext month on a search f8r Sir<br />
Sagramour le Desirous. It is in com-<br />
and of the renowned Knight of the Red<br />
Lawns, assissted by Sir Persant of Inde,<br />
who is compete9t. intelligent, courte-<br />
ous, and in every way a brick, and fur-<br />
tHer assisted by Sir Palamides the Sara-<br />
cen, who is no huckleberry hinself.<br />
This is no pic-nic, these boys mean<br />
busine&amp;s.<br />
<br />
The readers of the Hosannah will re-<br />
gret to learn that the hadndsome and<br />
popular Sir Charolais of Gaul, who dur-<br />
ing his four weeks’ stay at the Bull and<br />
Halibut, this city, has won every heart<br />
by his polished manners and elegant<br />
cPnversation, will pUll out to-day for<br />
home. Give us another call, Charley!<br />
<br />
The bdsiness end of the funeral of<br />
the late Sir Dalliance the duke’s son of<br />
Cornwall, killed in an encounter with<br />
the Giant of the Knotted Bludgeon last<br />
Tuesday on the borders of the Plain of<br />
Enchantment was in the hands of the<br />
ever affable and efficient Mumble,<br />
prince of un3ertakers, then whom there<br />
exists none by whom it were a more<br />
satisfying pleasure to have the last sad<br />
offices performed. Give him a trial.<br />
<br />
The cordial thanks of the Hosannah<br />
office are due, from editor down to<br />
devil, to the ever courteous and thought-<br />
ful Lord High Stew d of the Palace’s<br />
Third Assistant V t for several sau-<br />
ceTs of ice crEam a quality calculated<br />
to make the ey of the recipients hu-<br />
mid with grt ude; and it done it.<br />
When this administration wants to<br />
chalk up a desirable name for early<br />
promotion, the Hosannah would like a<br />
chance to sudgest.<br />
<br />
The Demoiselle Irene Dewlap, of<br />
South Astolat, is visiting her uncle, the<br />
popular host of the Cattlemen’s Board-<br />
ing Ho&amp;se, Liver Lane, this city.<br />
<br />
Young Barker the bellows-mender is<br />
hoMe again, and looks much improved<br />
by his vacation round-up among the out-<br />
lying smithies. See his ad.
</p>

    <p>
      Of course it was good enough journalism for a beginning; I knew that quite
      well, and yet it was somehow disappointing. The “Court Circular”
       pleased me better; indeed, its simple and dignified respectfulness was a
      distinct refreshment to me after all those disgraceful familiarities.
      But even it could have been improved. Do what one may, there is no
      getting an air of variety into a court circular, I acknowledge that.
      There is a profound monotonousness about its facts that baffles and
      defeats one’s sincerest efforts to make them sparkle and enthuse. The
      best way to manage&mdash;in fact, the only sensible way&mdash;is to
      disguise repetitiousness of fact under variety of form: skin your
      fact each time and lay on a new cuticle of words. It deceives the
      eye; you think it is a new fact; it gives you the idea that the court is
      carrying on like everything; this excites you, and you drain the whole
      column, with a good appetite, and perhaps never notice that it’s a barrel
      of soup made out of a single bean. Clarence’s way was good, it was
      simple, it was dignified, it was direct and business-like; all I say is,
      it was not the best way:
    </p>

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<img alt="26-342.jpg (14K)" src="images/26-342.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      However, take the paper by and large, I was vastly pleased with it. Little
      crudities of a mechanical sort were observable here and there, but there
      were not enough of them to amount to anything, and it was good enough
      Arkansas proof-reading, anyhow, and better than was needed in Arthur’s day
      and realm. As a rule, the grammar was leaky and the construction
      more or less lame; but I did not much mind these things. They are
      common defects of my own, and one mustn’t criticise other people on
      grounds where he can’t stand perpendicular himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was hungry enough for literature to want to take down the whole paper at
      this one meal, but I got only a few bites, and then had to postpone,
      because the monks around me besieged me so with eager questions: What
      is this curious thing? What is it for? Is it a handkerchief?&mdash;saddle
      blanket?&mdash;part of a shirt? What is it made of? How thin it is,
      and how dainty and frail; and how it rattles. Will it wear, do you think,
      and won’t the rain injure it? Is it writing that appears on it, or
      is it only ornamentation? They suspected it was writing, because
      those among them who knew how to read Latin and had a smattering of Greek,
      recognized some of the letters, but they could make nothing out of the
      result as a whole. I put my information in the simplest form I
      could:
    </p>

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<img alt="26-343.jpg (105K)" src="images/26-343.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      “It is a public journal; I will explain what that is, another time. It is
      not cloth, it is made of paper; some time I will explain what paper is.
      The lines on it are reading matter; and not written by hand, but
      printed; by and by I will explain what printing is. A thousand of these
      sheets have been made, all exactly like this, in every minute detail&mdash;they
      can’t be told apart.” Then they all broke out with exclamations of
      surprise and admiration:
    </p>
    <p>
      “A thousand! Verily a mighty work&mdash;a year’s work for many men.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “No&mdash;merely a day’s work for a man and a boy.”
     </p>
    <p>
      They crossed themselves, and whiffed out a protective prayer or two.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Ah-h&mdash;a miracle, a wonder! Dark work of enchantment.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I let it go at that. Then I read in a low voice, to as many as could
      crowd their shaven heads within hearing distance, part of the account of
      the miracle of the restoration of the well, and was accompanied by
      astonished and reverent ejaculations all through: “Ah-h-h!” “How
      true!” “Amazing, amazing!” “These be the very haps as they
      happened, in marvelous exactness!” And might they take this strange
      thing in their hands, and feel of it and examine it?&mdash;they would be
      very careful. Yes. So they took it, handling it as cautiously
      and devoutly as if it had been some holy thing come from some supernatural
      region; and gently felt of its texture, caressed its pleasant smooth
      surface with lingering touch, and scanned the mysterious characters with
      fascinated eyes. These grouped bent heads, these charmed faces,
      these speaking eyes&mdash;how beautiful to me! For was not this my
      darling, and was not all this mute wonder and interest and homage a most
      eloquent tribute and unforced compliment to it? I knew, then, how a
      mother feels when women, whether strangers or friends, take her new baby,
      and close themselves about it with one eager impulse, and bend their heads
      over it in a tranced adoration that makes all the rest of the universe
      vanish out of their consciousness and be as if it were not, for that time.
      I knew how she feels, and that there is no other satisfied ambition,
      whether of king, conqueror, or poet, that ever reaches half-way to that
      serene far summit or yields half so divine a contentment.
    </p>
    <p>
      During all the rest of the seance my paper traveled from group to group
      all up and down and about that huge hall, and my happy eye was upon it
      always, and I sat motionless, steeped in satisfaction, drunk with
      enjoyment. Yes, this was heaven; I was tasting it once, if I might
      never taste it more.
    </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c27"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.<br />
THE YANKEE AND THE KING TRAVEL INCOGNITO</h2>

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</div>

    <p>
      About bedtime I took the king to my private quarters to cut his hair and
      help him get the hang of the lowly raiment he was to wear. The high
      classes wore their hair banged across the forehead but hanging to the
      shoulders the rest of the way around, whereas the lowest ranks of
      commoners were banged fore and aft both; the slaves were bangless, and
      allowed their hair free growth. So I inverted a bowl over his head
      and cut away all the locks that hung below it. I also trimmed his whiskers
      and mustache until they were only about a half-inch long; and tried to do
      it inartistically, and succeeded. It was a villainous disfigurement.
      When he got his lubberly sandals on, and his long robe of coarse
      brown linen cloth, which hung straight from his neck to his ankle-bones,
      he was no longer the comeliest man in his kingdom, but one of the
      unhandsomest and most commonplace and unattractive. We were dressed
      and barbered alike, and could pass for small farmers, or farm bailiffs, or
      shepherds, or carters; yes, or for village artisans, if we chose, our
      costume being in effect universal among the poor, because of its strength
      and cheapness. I don’t mean that it was really cheap to a very poor
      person, but I do mean that it was the cheapest material there was for male
      attire&mdash;manufactured material, you understand.
    </p>
    <p>
      We slipped away an hour before dawn, and by broad sun-up had made eight or
      ten miles, and were in the midst of a sparsely settled country. I
      had a pretty heavy knapsack; it was laden with provisions&mdash;provisions
      for the king to taper down on, till he could take to the coarse fare of
      the country without damage.
    </p>
    <p>
      I found a comfortable seat for the king by the roadside, and then gave him
      a morsel or two to stay his stomach with. Then I said I would find
      some water for him, and strolled away. Part of my project was to get
      out of sight and sit down and rest a little myself. It had always
      been my custom to stand when in his presence; even at the council board,
      except upon those rare occasions when the sitting was a very long one,
      extending over hours; then I had a trifling little backless thing which
      was like a reversed culvert and was as comfortable as the toothache.
      I didn’t want to break him in suddenly, but do it by degrees. We
      should have to sit together now when in company, or people would notice;
      but it would not be good politics for me to be playing equality with him
      when there was no necessity for it.
    </p>
    <p>
      I found the water some three hundred yards away, and had been resting
      about twenty minutes, when I heard voices. That is all right, I
      thought&mdash;peasants going to work; nobody else likely to be stirring
      this early. But the next moment these comers jingled into sight
      around a turn of the road&mdash;smartly clad people of quality, with
      luggage-mules and servants in their train! I was off like a shot,
      through the bushes, by the shortest cut. For a while it did seem
      that these people would pass the king before I could get to him; but
      desperation gives you wings, you know, and I canted my body forward,
      inflated my breast, and held my breath and flew. I arrived. And in
      plenty good enough time, too.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Pardon, my king, but it’s no time for ceremony&mdash;jump! Jump to
      your feet&mdash;some quality are coming!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Is that a marvel? Let them come.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “But my liege! You must not be seen sitting. Rise!&mdash;and
      stand in humble posture while they pass. You are a peasant, you
      know.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “True&mdash;I had forgot it, so lost was I in planning of a huge war with
      Gaul”&mdash;he was up by this time, but a farm could have got up quicker,
      if there was any kind of a boom in real estate&mdash;“and right-so a
      thought came randoming overthwart this majestic dream the which&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “A humbler attitude, my lord the king&mdash;and quick! Duck your
      head!&mdash;more!&mdash;still more!&mdash;droop it!”
     </p>
    <p>
      He did his honest best, but lord, it was no great things. He looked
      as humble as the leaning tower at Pisa. It is the most you could say
      of it. Indeed, it was such a thundering poor success that it raised
      wondering scowls all along the line, and a gorgeous flunkey at the tail
      end of it raised his whip; but I jumped in time and was under it when it
      fell; and under cover of the volley of coarse laughter which followed, I
      spoke up sharply and warned the king to take no notice. He mastered
      himself for the moment, but it was a sore tax; he wanted to eat up the
      procession. I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “It would end our adventures at the very start; and we, being without
      weapons, could do nothing with that armed gang. If we are going to
      succeed in our emprise, we must not only look the peasant but act the
      peasant.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It is wisdom; none can gainsay it. Let us go on, Sir Boss. I will
      take note and learn, and do the best I may.”
     </p>
    <p>
      He kept his word. He did the best he could, but I’ve seen better. If
      you have ever seen an active, heedless, enterprising child going
      diligently out of one mischief and into another all day long, and an
      anxious mother at its heels all the while, and just saving it by a hair
      from drowning itself or breaking its neck with each new experiment, you’ve
      seen the king and me.
    </p>
    <p>
      If I could have foreseen what the thing was going to be like, I should
      have said, No, if anybody wants to make his living exhibiting a king as a
      peasant, let him take the layout; I can do better with a menagerie, and
      last longer. And yet, during the first three days I never allowed
      him to enter a hut or other dwelling. If he could pass muster
      anywhere during his early novitiate it would be in small inns and on the
      road; so to these places we confined ourselves. Yes, he certainly
      did the best he could, but what of that? He didn’t improve a bit
      that I could see.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was always frightening me, always breaking out with fresh astonishers,
      in new and unexpected places. Toward evening on the second day, what
      does he do but blandly fetch out a dirk from inside his robe!
    </p>
    <p>
      “Great guns, my liege, where did you get that?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “From a smuggler at the inn, yester eve.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What in the world possessed you to buy it?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “We have escaped divers dangers by wit&mdash;thy wit&mdash;but I have
      bethought me that it were but prudence if I bore a weapon, too. Thine
      might fail thee in some pinch.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “But people of our condition are not allowed to carry arms. What
      would a lord say&mdash;yes, or any other person of whatever condition&mdash;if
      he caught an upstart peasant with a dagger on his person?”
     </p>
    <p>
      It was a lucky thing for us that nobody came along just then. I persuaded
      him to throw the dirk away; and it was as easy as persuading a child to
      give up some bright fresh new way of killing itself. We walked
      along, silent and thinking. Finally the king said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “When ye know that I meditate a thing inconvenient, or that hath a peril
      in it, why do you not warn me to cease from that project?”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="27-351.jpg (83K)" src="images/27-351.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      It was a startling question, and a puzzler. I didn’t quite know how
      to take hold of it, or what to say, and so, of course, I ended by saying
      the natural thing:
    </p>
    <p>
      “But, sire, how can I know what your thoughts are?”
     </p>
    <p>
      The king stopped dead in his tracks, and stared at me.
    </p>
    <p>
      “I believed thou wert greater than Merlin; and truly in magic thou art.
      But prophecy is greater than magic. Merlin is a prophet.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I saw I had made a blunder. I must get back my lost ground. After a
      deep reflection and careful planning, I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Sire, I have been misunderstood. I will explain. There are
      two kinds of prophecy. One is the gift to foretell things that are
      but a little way off, the other is the gift to foretell things that are
      whole ages and centuries away. Which is the mightier gift, do you
      think?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, the last, most surely!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “True. Does Merlin possess it?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Partly, yes. He foretold mysteries about my birth and future
      kingship that were twenty years away.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Has he ever gone beyond that?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “He would not claim more, I think.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It is probably his limit. All prophets have their limit. The
      limit of some of the great prophets has been a hundred years.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “These are few, I ween.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “There have been two still greater ones, whose limit was four hundred and
      six hundred years, and one whose limit compassed even seven hundred and
      twenty.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Gramercy, it is marvelous!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “But what are these in comparison with me? They are nothing.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What? Canst thou truly look beyond even so vast a stretch of time
      as&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Seven hundred years? My liege, as clear as the vision of an eagle
      does my prophetic eye penetrate and lay bare the future of this world for
      nearly thirteen centuries and a half!”
     </p>
    <p>
      My land, you should have seen the king’s eyes spread slowly open, and lift
      the earth’s entire atmosphere as much as an inch! That settled Brer
      Merlin. One never had any occasion to prove his facts, with these
      people; all he had to do was to state them. It never occurred to
      anybody to doubt the statement.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Now, then,” I continued, “I <i>could</i> work both kinds of prophecy&mdash;the
      long and the short&mdash;if I chose to take the trouble to keep in
      practice; but I seldom exercise any but the long kind, because the other
      is beneath my dignity. It is properer to Merlin’s sort&mdash;stump-tail
      prophets, as we call them in the profession. Of course, I whet up
      now and then and flirt out a minor prophecy, but not often&mdash;hardly
      ever, in fact. You will remember that there was great talk, when you
      reached the Valley of Holiness, about my having prophesied your coming and
      the very hour of your arrival, two or three days beforehand.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Indeed, yes, I mind it now.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, I could have done it as much as forty times easier, and piled on a
      thousand times more detail into the bargain, if it had been five hundred
      years away instead of two or three days.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “How amazing that it should be so!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes, a genuine expert can always foretell a thing that is five hundred
      years away easier than he can a thing that’s only five hundred seconds
      off.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “And yet in reason it should clearly be the other way; it should be five
      hundred times as easy to foretell the last as the first, for, indeed, it
      is so close by that one uninspired might almost see it. In truth,
      the law of prophecy doth contradict the likelihoods, most strangely making
      the difficult easy, and the easy difficult.”
     </p>
    <p>
      It was a wise head. A peasant’s cap was no safe disguise for it; you
      could know it for a king’s under a diving-bell, if you could hear it work
      its intellect.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had a new trade now, and plenty of business in it. The king was as
      hungry to find out everything that was going to happen during the next
      thirteen centuries as if he were expecting to live in them. From
      that time out, I prophesied myself bald-headed trying to supply the
      demand. I have done some indiscreet things in my day, but this thing
      of playing myself for a prophet was the worst. Still, it had its
      ameliorations. A prophet doesn’t have to have any brains. They
      are good to have, of course, for the ordinary exigencies of life, but they
      are no use in professional work. It is the restfulest vocation there
      is. When the spirit of prophecy comes upon you, you merely take your
      intellect and lay it off in a cool place for a rest, and unship your jaw
      and leave it alone; it will work itself: the result is prophecy.
    </p>
    <p>
      Every day a knight-errant or so came along, and the sight of them fired
      the king’s martial spirit every time. He would have forgotten
      himself, sure, and said something to them in a style a suspicious shade or
      so above his ostensible degree, and so I always got him well out of the
      road in time. Then he would stand and look with all his eyes; and a
      proud light would flash from them, and his nostrils would inflate like a
      war-horse’s, and I knew he was longing for a brush with them. But
      about noon of the third day I had stopped in the road to take a precaution
      which had been suggested by the whip-stroke that had fallen to my share
      two days before; a precaution which I had afterward decided to leave
      untaken, I was so loath to institute it; but now I had just had a fresh
      reminder: while striding heedlessly along, with jaw spread and
      intellect at rest, for I was prophesying, I stubbed my toe and fell
      sprawling. I was so pale I couldn’t think for a moment; then I got
      softly and carefully up and unstrapped my knapsack. I had that dynamite
      bomb in it, done up in wool in a box. It was a good thing to have
      along; the time would come when I could do a valuable miracle with it,
      maybe, but it was a nervous thing to have about me, and I didn’t like to
      ask the king to carry it. Yet I must either throw it away or think up some
      safe way to get along with its society. I got it out and slipped it
      into my scrip, and just then here came a couple of knights. The king
      stood, stately as a statue, gazing toward them&mdash;had forgotten himself
      again, of course&mdash;and before I could get a word of warning out, it
      was time for him to skip, and well that he did it, too. He supposed
      they would turn aside. Turn aside to avoid trampling peasant dirt
      under foot? When had he ever turned aside himself&mdash;or ever had
      the chance to do it, if a peasant saw him or any other noble knight in
      time to judiciously save him the trouble? The knights paid no
      attention to the king at all; it was his place to look out himself, and if
      he hadn’t skipped he would have been placidly ridden down, and laughed at
      besides.
    </p>
    <p>
      The king was in a flaming fury, and launched out his challenge and
      epithets with a most royal vigor. The knights were some little
      distance by now. They halted, greatly surprised, and turned in their
      saddles and looked back, as if wondering if it might be worth while to
      bother with such scum as we. Then they wheeled and started for us.
      Not a moment must be lost. I started for <i>them</i>. I
      passed them at a rattling gait, and as I went by I flung out a
      hair-lifting soul-scorching thirteen-jointed insult which made the king’s
      effort poor and cheap by comparison. I got it out of the nineteenth
      century where they know how. They had such headway that they were
      nearly to the king before they could check up; then, frantic with rage,
      they stood up their horses on their hind hoofs and whirled them around,
      and the next moment here they came, breast to breast. I was seventy
      yards off, then, and scrambling up a great bowlder at the roadside. When
      they were within thirty yards of me they let their long lances droop to a
      level, depressed their mailed heads, and so, with their horse-hair plumes
      streaming straight out behind, most gallant to see, this lightning express
      came tearing for me! When they were within fifteen yards, I sent
      that bomb with a sure aim, and it struck the ground just under the horses’ 
      noses.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="27-356.jpg (117K)" src="images/27-356.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      Yes, it was a neat thing, very neat and pretty to see. It resembled
      a steamboat explosion on the Mississippi; and during the next fifteen
      minutes we stood under a steady drizzle of microscopic fragments of
      knights and hardware and horse-flesh. I say we, for the king joined
      the audience, of course, as soon as he had got his breath again. There
      was a hole there which would afford steady work for all the people in that
      region for some years to come&mdash;in trying to explain it, I mean; as
      for filling it up, that service would be comparatively prompt, and would
      fall to the lot of a select few&mdash;peasants of that seignory; and they
      wouldn’t get anything for it, either.
    </p>
    <p>
      But I explained it to the king myself. I said it was done with a dynamite
      bomb. This information did him no damage, because it left him as
      intelligent as he was before. However, it was a noble miracle, in
      his eyes, and was another settler for Merlin. I thought it well
      enough to explain that this was a miracle of so rare a sort that it
      couldn’t be done except when the atmospheric conditions were just right.
      Otherwise he would be encoring it every time we had a good subject,
      and that would be inconvenient, because I hadn’t any more bombs along.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="28-359.jpg (108K)" src="images/28-359.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c28"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.<br />
DRILLING THE KING</h2>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="28-361.jpg (132K)" src="images/28-361.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      On the morning of the fourth day, when it was just sunrise, and we had
      been tramping an hour in the chill dawn, I came to a resolution: the king
      <i>must</i> be drilled; things could not go on so, he must be taken in
      hand and deliberately and conscientiously drilled, or we couldn’t ever
      venture to enter a dwelling; the very cats would know this masquerader for
      a humbug and no peasant. So I called a halt and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Sire, as between clothes and countenance, you are all right, there is no
      discrepancy; but as between your clothes and your bearing, you are all
      wrong, there is a most noticeable discrepancy. Your soldierly
      stride, your lordly port&mdash;these will not do. You stand too
      straight, your looks are too high, too confident. The cares of a
      kingdom do not stoop the shoulders, they do not droop the chin, they do
      not depress the high level of the eye-glance, they do not put doubt and
      fear in the heart and hang out the signs of them in slouching body and
      unsure step. It is the sordid cares of the lowly born that do these
      things. You must learn the trick; you must imitate the trademarks of
      poverty, misery, oppression, insult, and the other several and common
      inhumanities that sap the manliness out of a man and make him a loyal and
      proper and approved subject and a satisfaction to his masters, or the very
      infants will know you for better than your disguise, and we shall go to
      pieces at the first hut we stop at. Pray try to walk like this.”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="28-362.jpg (113K)" src="images/28-362.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      The king took careful note, and then tried an imitation.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Pretty fair&mdash;pretty fair. Chin a little lower, please&mdash;there,
      very good. Eyes too high; pray don’t look at the horizon, look at
      the ground, ten steps in front of you. Ah&mdash;that is better, that
      is very good. Wait, please; you betray too much vigor, too much
      decision; you want more of a shamble. Look at me, please&mdash;this
      is what I mean.... Now you are getting it; that is the idea&mdash;at
      least, it sort of approaches it.... Yes, that is pretty fair. <i>But!</i>
      There is a great big something wanting, I don’t quite know what it is.
      Please walk thirty yards, so that I can get a perspective on the
      thing.... Now, then&mdash;your head’s right, speed’s right,
      shoulders right, eyes right, chin right, gait, carriage, general style
      right&mdash;everything’s right! And yet the fact remains, the
      aggregate’s wrong. The account don’t balance. Do it again,
      please.... <i>Now</i> I think I begin to see what it is. Yes,
      I’ve struck it. You see, the genuine spiritlessness is wanting;
      that’s what’s the trouble. It’s all <i>amateur</i>&mdash;mechanical
      details all right, almost to a hair; everything about the delusion
      perfect, except that it don’t delude.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What, then, must one do, to prevail?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Let me think... I can’t seem to quite get at it. In fact, there
      isn’t anything that can right the matter but practice. This is a
      good place for it: roots and stony ground to break up your stately
      gait, a region not liable to interruption, only one field and one hut in
      sight, and they so far away that nobody could see us from there. It
      will be well to move a little off the road and put in the whole day
      drilling you, sire.”
     </p>
    <p>
      After the drill had gone on a little while, I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Now, sire, imagine that we are at the door of the hut yonder, and the
      family are before us. Proceed, please&mdash;accost the head of the
      house.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The king unconsciously straightened up like a monument, and said, with
      frozen austerity:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Varlet, bring a seat; and serve to me what cheer ye have.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ah, your grace, that is not well done.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “In what lacketh it?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “These people do not call <i>each other</i> varlets.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Nay, is that true?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes; only those above them call them so.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Then must I try again. I will call him villein.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “No-no; for he may be a freeman.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ah&mdash;so. Then peradventure I should call him goodman.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “That would answer, your grace, but it would be still better if you said
      friend, or brother.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Brother!&mdash;to dirt like that?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ah, but <i>we</i> are pretending to be dirt like that, too.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It is even true. I will say it. Brother, bring a seat, and
      thereto what cheer ye have, withal. Now ’tis right.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Not quite, not wholly right. You have asked for one, not <i>us</i>&mdash;for
      one, not both; food for one, a seat for one.”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="28-363.jpg (48K)" src="images/28-363.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      The king looked puzzled&mdash;he wasn’t a very heavy weight,
      intellectually. His head was an hour-glass; it could stow an idea, but it
      had to do it a grain at a time, not the whole idea at once.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Would <i>you</i> have a seat also&mdash;and sit?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “If I did not sit, the man would perceive that we were only pretending to
      be equals&mdash;and playing the deception pretty poorly, too.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It is well and truly said! How wonderful is truth, come it in
      whatsoever unexpected form it may! Yes, he must bring out seats and
      food for both, and in serving us present not ewer and napkin with more
      show of respect to the one than to the other.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “And there is even yet a detail that needs correcting. He must bring
      nothing outside; we will go in&mdash;in among the dirt, and possibly other
      repulsive things,&mdash;and take the food with the household, and after
      the fashion of the house, and all on equal terms, except the man be of the
      serf class; and finally, there will be no ewer and no napkin, whether he
      be serf or free. Please walk again, my liege. There&mdash;it
      is better&mdash;it is the best yet; but not perfect. The shoulders
      have known no ignobler burden than iron mail, and they will not stoop.”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="28-365.jpg (143K)" src="images/28-365.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      “Give me, then, the bag. I will learn the spirit that goeth with
      burdens that have not honor. It is the spirit that stoopeth the
      shoulders, I ween, and not the weight; for armor is heavy, yet it is a
      proud burden, and a man standeth straight in it.... Nay, but me no buts,
      offer me no objections. I will have the thing. Strap it upon my
      back.”
     </p>
    <p>
      He was complete now with that knapsack on, and looked as little like a
      king as any man I had ever seen. But it was an obstinate pair of
      shoulders; they could not seem to learn the trick of stooping with any
      sort of deceptive naturalness. The drill went on, I prompting and
      correcting:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Now, make believe you are in debt, and eaten up by relentless creditors;
      you are out of work&mdash;which is horse-shoeing, let us say&mdash;and can
      get none; and your wife is sick, your children are crying because they are
      hungry&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      And so on, and so on. I drilled him as representing in turn all
      sorts of people out of luck and suffering dire privations and misfortunes.
      But lord, it was only just words, words&mdash;they meant nothing in
      the world to him, I might just as well have whistled. Words realize
      nothing, vivify nothing to you, unless you have suffered in your own
      person the thing which the words try to describe. There are wise
      people who talk ever so knowingly and complacently about “the working
      classes,” and satisfy themselves that a day’s hard intellectual work is
      very much harder than a day’s hard manual toil, and is righteously
      entitled to much bigger pay. Why, they really think that, you know,
      because they know all about the one, but haven’t tried the other. But
      I know all about both; and so far as I am concerned, there isn’t money
      enough in the universe to hire me to swing a pickaxe thirty days, but I
      will do the hardest kind of intellectual work for just as near nothing as
      you can cipher it down&mdash;and I will be satisfied, too.
    </p>
    <p>
      Intellectual “work” is misnamed; it is a pleasure, a dissipation, and is
      its own highest reward. The poorest paid architect, engineer,
      general, author, sculptor, painter, lecturer, advocate, legislator, actor,
      preacher, singer is constructively in heaven when he is at work; and as
      for the musician with the fiddle-bow in his hand who sits in the midst of
      a great orchestra with the ebbing and flowing tides of divine sound
      washing over him&mdash;why, certainly, he is at work, if you wish to call
      it that, but lord, it’s a sarcasm just the same. The law of work
      does seem utterly unfair&mdash;but there it is, and nothing can change it:
      the higher the pay in enjoyment the worker gets out of it, the
      higher shall be his pay in cash, also. And it’s also the very law of
      those transparent swindles, transmissible nobility and kingship.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="29-367.jpg (96K)" src="images/29-367.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c29"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.<br />
THE SMALLPOX HUT</h2>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="29-369.jpg (123K)" src="images/29-369.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      When we arrived at that hut at mid-afternoon, we saw no signs of life
      about it. The field near by had been denuded of its crop some time
      before, and had a skinned look, so exhaustively had it been harvested and
      gleaned. Fences, sheds, everything had a ruined look, and were
      eloquent of poverty. No animal was around anywhere, no living thing
      in sight. The stillness was awful, it was like the stillness of
      death. The cabin was a one-story one, whose thatch was black with
      age, and ragged from lack of repair.
    </p>
    <p>
      The door stood a trifle ajar. We approached it stealthily&mdash;on
      tiptoe and at half-breath&mdash;for that is the way one’s feeling makes
      him do, at such a time. The king knocked. We waited. No
      answer. Knocked again. No answer. I pushed the door
      softly open and looked in. I made out some dim forms, and a woman started
      up from the ground and stared at me, as one does who is wakened from
      sleep. Presently she found her voice:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Have mercy!” she pleaded. “All is taken, nothing is left.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I have not come to take anything, poor woman.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “You are not a priest?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “No.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Nor come not from the lord of the manor?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “No, I am a stranger.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, then, for the fear of God, who visits with misery and death such as
      be harmless, tarry not here, but fly! This place is under his curse&mdash;and
      his Church’s.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Let me come in and help you&mdash;you are sick and in trouble.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I was better used to the dim light now. I could see her hollow eyes
      fixed upon me. I could see how emaciated she was.
    </p>
    <p>
      “I tell you the place is under the Church’s ban. Save yourself&mdash;and
      go, before some straggler see thee here, and report it.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Give yourself no trouble about me; I don’t care anything for the Church’s
      curse. Let me help you.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Now all good spirits&mdash;if there be any such&mdash;bless thee for that
      word. Would God I had a sup of water!&mdash;but hold, hold, forget I
      said it, and fly; for there is that here that even he that feareth not the
      Church must fear: this disease whereof we die. Leave us, thou brave,
      good stranger, and take with thee such whole and sincere blessing as them
      that be accursed can give.”
     </p>
    <p>
      But before this I had picked up a wooden bowl and was rushing past the
      king on my way to the brook. It was ten yards away. When I got back
      and entered, the king was within, and was opening the shutter that closed
      the window-hole, to let in air and light. The place was full of a foul
      stench. I put the bowl to the woman’s lips, and as she gripped it
      with her eager talons the shutter came open and a strong light flooded her
      face. Smallpox!
    </p>
    <p>
      I sprang to the king, and said in his ear:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Out of the door on the instant, sire! the woman is dying of that disease
      that wasted the skirts of Camelot two years ago.”
     </p>
    <p>
      He did not budge.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Of a truth I shall remain&mdash;and likewise help.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I whispered again:
    </p>
    <p>
      “King, it must not be. You must go.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ye mean well, and ye speak not unwisely. But it were shame that a
      king should know fear, and shame that belted knight should withhold his
      hand where be such as need succor. Peace, I will not go. It is
      you who must go. The Church’s ban is not upon me, but it forbiddeth
      you to be here, and she will deal with you with a heavy hand an word come
      to her of your trespass.”
     </p>
    <p>
      It was a desperate place for him to be in, and might cost him his life,
      but it was no use to argue with him. If he considered his knightly
      honor at stake here, that was the end of argument; he would stay, and
      nothing could prevent it; I was aware of that. And so I dropped the
      subject. The woman spoke:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Fair sir, of your kindness will ye climb the ladder there, and bring me
      news of what ye find? Be not afraid to report, for times can come
      when even a mother’s heart is past breaking&mdash;being already broke.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Abide,” said the king, “and give the woman to eat. I will go.” And
      he put down the knapsack.
    </p>
    <p>
      I turned to start, but the king had already started. He halted, and
      looked down upon a man who lay in a dim light, and had not noticed us thus
      far, or spoken.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Is it your husband?” the king asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Yes.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Is he asleep?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “God be thanked for that one charity, yes&mdash;these three hours. Where
      shall I pay to the full, my gratitude! for my heart is bursting with it
      for that sleep he sleepeth now.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “We will be careful. We will not wake him.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ah, no, that ye will not, for he is dead.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Dead?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes, what triumph it is to know it! None can harm him, none insult
      him more. He is in heaven now, and happy; or if not there, he bides
      in hell and is content; for in that place he will find neither abbot nor
      yet bishop. We were boy and girl together; we were man and wife
      these five and twenty years, and never separated till this day. Think
      how long that is to love and suffer together. This morning was he out of
      his mind, and in his fancy we were boy and girl again and wandering in the
      happy fields; and so in that innocent glad converse wandered he far and
      farther, still lightly gossiping, and entered into those other fields we
      know not of, and was shut away from mortal sight. And so there was
      no parting, for in his fancy I went with him; he knew not but I went with
      him, my hand in his&mdash;my young soft hand, not this withered claw.
      Ah, yes, to go, and know it not; to separate and know it not; how
      could one go peacefuler than that? It was his reward for a
      cruel life patiently borne.”
     </p>
    <p>
      There was a slight noise from the direction of the dim corner where the
      ladder was. It was the king descending. I could see that he
      was bearing something in one arm, and assisting himself with the other.
      He came forward into the light; upon his breast lay a slender girl
      of fifteen. She was but half conscious; she was dying of smallpox.
      Here was heroism at its last and loftiest possibility, its utmost
      summit; this was challenging death in the open field unarmed, with all the
      odds against the challenger, no reward set upon the contest, and no
      admiring world in silks and cloth of gold to gaze and applaud; and yet the
      king’s bearing was as serenely brave as it had always been in those
      cheaper contests where knight meets knight in equal fight and clothed in
      protecting steel. He was great now; sublimely great. The rude
      statues of his ancestors in his palace should have an addition&mdash;I
      would see to that; and it would not be a mailed king killing a giant or a
      dragon, like the rest, it would be a king in commoner’s garb bearing death
      in his arms that a peasant mother might look her last upon her child and
      be comforted.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="29-373.jpg (155K)" src="images/29-373.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      He laid the girl down by her mother, who poured out endearments and
      caresses from an overflowing heart, and one could detect a flickering
      faint light of response in the child’s eyes, but that was all. The
      mother hung over her, kissing her, petting her, and imploring her to
      speak, but the lips only moved and no sound came. I snatched my liquor
      flask from my knapsack, but the woman forbade me, and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “No&mdash;she does not suffer; it is better so. It might bring her
      back to life. None that be so good and kind as ye are would do her
      that cruel hurt. For look you&mdash;what is left to live for? Her
      brothers are gone, her father is gone, her mother goeth, the Church’s
      curse is upon her, and none may shelter or befriend her even though she
      lay perishing in the road. She is desolate. I have not asked
      you, good heart, if her sister be still on live, here overhead; I had no
      need; ye had gone back, else, and not left the poor thing forsaken&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “She lieth at peace,” interrupted the king, in a subdued voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      “I would not change it. How rich is this day in happiness! Ah,
      my Annis, thou shalt join thy sister soon&mdash;thou’rt on thy way, and
      these be merciful friends that will not hinder.”
     </p>
    <p>
      And so she fell to murmuring and cooing over the girl again, and softly
      stroking her face and hair, and kissing her and calling her by endearing
      names; but there was scarcely sign of response now in the glazing eyes.
      I saw tears well from the king’s eyes, and trickle down his face.
      The woman noticed them, too, and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Ah, I know that sign: thou’st a wife at home, poor soul, and you
      and she have gone hungry to bed, many’s the time, that the little ones
      might have your crust; you know what poverty is, and the daily insults of
      your betters, and the heavy hand of the Church and the king.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The king winced under this accidental home-shot, but kept still; he was
      learning his part; and he was playing it well, too, for a pretty dull
      beginner. I struck up a diversion. I offered the woman food
      and liquor, but she refused both. She would allow nothing to come
      between her and the release of death. Then I slipped away and
      brought the dead child from aloft, and laid it by her. This broke her down
      again, and there was another scene that was full of heartbreak. By
      and by I made another diversion, and beguiled her to sketch her story.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Ye know it well yourselves, having suffered it&mdash;for truly none of
      our condition in Britain escape it. It is the old, weary tale. We
      fought and struggled and succeeded; meaning by success, that we lived and
      did not die; more than that is not to be claimed. No troubles came
      that we could not outlive, till this year brought them; then came they all
      at once, as one might say, and overwhelmed us. Years ago the lord of
      the manor planted certain fruit trees on our farm; in the best part of it,
      too&mdash;a grievous wrong and shame&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “But it was his right,” interrupted the king.
    </p>
    <p>
      “None denieth that, indeed; an the law mean anything, what is the lord’s
      is his, and what is mine is his also. Our farm was ours by lease,
      therefore ’twas likewise his, to do with it as he would. Some little
      time ago, three of those trees were found hewn down. Our three grown
      sons ran frightened to report the crime. Well, in his lordship’s dungeon
      there they lie, who saith there shall they lie and rot till they confess.
      They have naught to confess, being innocent, wherefore there will
      they remain until they die.
    </p>

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</div>

    <p>
      Ye know that right well, I ween. Think how this left us; a man, a
      woman and two children, to gather a crop that was planted by so much
      greater force, yes, and protect it night and day from pigeons and prowling
      animals that be sacred and must not be hurt by any of our sort. When
      my lord’s crop was nearly ready for the harvest, so also was ours; when
      his bell rang to call us to his fields to harvest his crop for nothing, he
      would not allow that I and my two girls should count for our three captive
      sons, but for only two of them; so, for the lacking one were we daily
      fined. All this time our own crop was perishing through neglect; and so
      both the priest and his lordship fined us because their shares of it were
      suffering through damage. In the end the fines ate up our crop&mdash;and
      they took it all; they took it all and made us harvest it for them,
      without pay or food, and we starving. Then the worst came when I,
      being out of my mind with hunger and loss of my boys, and grief to see my
      husband and my little maids in rags and misery and despair, uttered a deep
      blasphemy&mdash;oh! a thousand of them!&mdash;against the Church and the
      Church’s ways. It was ten days ago. I had fallen sick with this
      disease, and it was to the priest I said the words, for he was come to
      chide me for lack of due humility under the chastening hand of God. He
      carried my trespass to his betters; I was stubborn; wherefore, presently
      upon my head and upon all heads that were dear to me, fell the curse of
      Rome.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Since that day we are avoided, shunned with horror. None has come
      near this hut to know whether we live or not. The rest of us were
      taken down. Then I roused me and got up, as wife and mother will.
      It was little they could have eaten in any case; it was less than
      little they had to eat. But there was water, and I gave them that.
      How they craved it! and how they blessed it! But the end came
      yesterday; my strength broke down. Yesterday was the last time I
      ever saw my husband and this youngest child alive. I have lain here all
      these hours&mdash;these ages, ye may say&mdash;listening, listening for
      any sound up there that&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      She gave a sharp quick glance at her eldest daughter, then cried out, “Oh,
      my darling!” and feebly gathered the stiffening form to her sheltering
      arms. She had recognized the death-rattle.
    </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c30"></a>CHAPTER XXX.<br />
THE TRAGEDY OF THE MANOR-HOUSE</h2>

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    <p>
      At midnight all was over, and we sat in the presence of four corpses.
      We covered them with such rags as we could find, and started away,
      fastening the door behind us. Their home must be these people’s
      grave, for they could not have Christian burial, or be admitted to
      consecrated ground. They were as dogs, wild beasts, lepers, and no
      soul that valued its hope of eternal life would throw it away by meddling
      in any sort with these rebuked and smitten outcasts.
    </p>
    <p>
      We had not moved four steps when I caught a sound as of footsteps upon
      gravel. My heart flew to my throat. We must not be seen coming
      from that house. I plucked at the king’s robe and we drew back and
      took shelter behind the corner of the cabin.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Now we are safe,” I said, “but it was a close call&mdash;so to speak. If
      the night had been lighter he might have seen us, no doubt, he seemed to
      be so near.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Mayhap it is but a beast and not a man at all.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “True. But man or beast, it will be wise to stay here a minute and
      let it get by and out of the way.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Hark! It cometh hither.”
     </p>
    <p>
      True again. The step was coming toward us&mdash;straight toward the
      hut. It must be a beast, then, and we might as well have saved our
      trepidation. I was going to step out, but the king laid his hand
      upon my arm. There was a moment of silence, then we heard a soft
      knock on the cabin door. It made me shiver. Presently the
      knock was repeated, and then we heard these words in a guarded voice:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Mother! Father! Open&mdash;we have got free, and we bring
      news to pale your cheeks but glad your hearts; and we may not tarry, but
      must fly! And&mdash;but they answer not. Mother! father!&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      I drew the king toward the other end of the hut and whispered:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Come&mdash;now we can get to the road.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The king hesitated, was going to demur; but just then we heard the door
      give way, and knew that those desolate men were in the presence of their
      dead.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Come, my liege! in a moment they will strike a light, and then will
      follow that which it would break your heart to hear.”
     </p>
    <p>
      He did not hesitate this time. The moment we were in the road I ran;
      and after a moment he threw dignity aside and followed. I did not want to
      think of what was happening in the hut&mdash;I couldn’t bear it; I wanted
      to drive it out of my mind; so I struck into the first subject that lay
      under that one in my mind:
    </p>
    <p>
      “I have had the disease those people died of, and so have nothing to fear;
      but if you have not had it also&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      He broke in upon me to say he was in trouble, and it was his conscience
      that was troubling him:
    </p>
    <p>
      “These young men have got free, they say&mdash;but <i>how?</i> It
      is not likely that their lord hath set them free.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, no, I make no doubt they escaped.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “That is my trouble; I have a fear that this is so, and your suspicion
      doth confirm it, you having the same fear.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I should not call it by that name though. I do suspect that they
      escaped, but if they did, I am not sorry, certainly.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I am not sorry, I <i>think</i>&mdash;but&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What is it? What is there for one to be troubled about?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “<i>If</i> they did escape, then are we bound in duty to lay hands upon
      them and deliver them again to their lord; for it is not seemly that one
      of his quality should suffer a so insolent and high-handed outrage from
      persons of their base degree.”
     </p>
    <p>
      There it was again. He could see only one side of it. He was
      born so, educated so, his veins were full of ancestral blood that was
      rotten with this sort of unconscious brutality, brought down by
      inheritance from a long procession of hearts that had each done its share
      toward poisoning the stream. To imprison these men without proof,
      and starve their kindred, was no harm, for they were merely peasants and
      subject to the will and pleasure of their lord, no matter what fearful
      form it might take; but for these men to break out of unjust captivity was
      insult and outrage, and a thing not to be countenanced by any
      conscientious person who knew his duty to his sacred caste.
    </p>
    <p>
      I worked more than half an hour before I got him to change the subject&mdash;and
      even then an outside matter did it for me. This was a something
      which caught our eyes as we struck the summit of a small hill&mdash;a red
      glow, a good way off.
    </p>
    <p>
      “That’s a fire,” said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fires interested me considerably, because I was getting a good deal of an
      insurance business started, and was also training some horses and building
      some steam fire-engines, with an eye to a paid fire department by and by.
      The priests opposed both my fire and life insurance, on the ground
      that it was an insolent attempt to hinder the decrees of God; and if you
      pointed out that they did not hinder the decrees in the least, but only
      modified the hard consequences of them if you took out policies and had
      luck, they retorted that that was gambling against the decrees of God, and
      was just as bad. So they managed to damage those industries more or
      less, but I got even on my accident business. As a rule, a knight is
      a lummux, and some times even a labrick, and hence open to pretty poor
      arguments when they come glibly from a superstition-monger, but even <i>he</i>
      could see the practical side of a thing once in a while; and so of late
      you couldn’t clean up a tournament and pile the result without finding one
      of my accident-tickets in every helmet.
    </p>

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</div>

    <p>
      We stood there awhile, in the thick darkness and stillness, looking toward
      the red blur in the distance, and trying to make out the meaning of a
      far-away murmur that rose and fell fitfully on the night. Sometimes
      it swelled up and for a moment seemed less remote; but when we were
      hopefully expecting it to betray its cause and nature, it dulled and sank
      again, carrying its mystery with it. We started down the hill in its
      direction, and the winding road plunged us at once into almost solid
      darkness&mdash;darkness that was packed and crammed in between two tall
      forest walls. We groped along down for half a mile, perhaps, that
      murmur growing more and more distinct all the time. The coming storm
      threatening more and more, with now and then a little shiver of wind, a
      faint show of lightning, and dull grumblings of distant thunder. I
      was in the lead. I ran against something&mdash;a soft heavy
      something which gave, slightly, to the impulse of my weight; at the same
      moment the lightning glared out, and within a foot of my face was the
      writhing face of a man who was hanging from the limb of a tree! That
      is, it seemed to be writhing, but it was not. It was a grewsome
      sight. Straightway there was an ear-splitting explosion of thunder, and
      the bottom of heaven fell out; the rain poured down in a deluge. No
      matter, we must try to cut this man down, on the chance that there might
      be life in him yet, mustn’t we? The lightning came quick and sharp
      now, and the place was alternately noonday and midnight. One moment
      the man would be hanging before me in an intense light, and the next he
      was blotted out again in the darkness. I told the king we must cut him
      down. The king at once objected.
    </p>
    <p>
      “If he hanged himself, he was willing to lose his property to his lord; so
      let him be. If others hanged him, belike they had the right&mdash;let
      him hang.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “But&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “But me no buts, but even leave him as he is. And for yet another
      reason. When the lightning cometh again&mdash;there, look abroad.”
     </p>
    <p>
      Two others hanging, within fifty yards of us!
    </p>
    <p>
      “It is not weather meet for doing useless courtesies unto dead folk. They
      are past thanking you. Come&mdash;it is unprofitable to tarry here.”
     </p>
    <p>
      There was reason in what he said, so we moved on. Within the next
      mile we counted six more hanging forms by the blaze of the lightning, and
      altogether it was a grisly excursion. That murmur was a murmur no
      longer, it was a roar; a roar of men’s voices. A man came flying by
      now, dimly through the darkness, and other men chasing him. They
      disappeared. Presently another case of the kind occurred, and then
      another and another. Then a sudden turn of the road brought us in
      sight of that fire&mdash;it was a large manor-house, and little or nothing
      was left of it&mdash;and everywhere men were flying and other men raging
      after them in pursuit.
    </p>
    <p>
      I warned the king that this was not a safe place for strangers. We would
      better get away from the light, until matters should improve. We
      stepped back a little, and hid in the edge of the wood. From this
      hiding-place we saw both men and women hunted by the mob. The
      fearful work went on until nearly dawn. Then, the fire being out and
      the storm spent, the voices and flying footsteps presently ceased, and
      darkness and stillness reigned again.
    </p>
    <p>
      We ventured out, and hurried cautiously away; and although we were worn
      out and sleepy, we kept on until we had put this place some miles behind
      us. Then we asked hospitality at the hut of a charcoal burner, and
      got what was to be had. A woman was up and about, but the man was
      still asleep, on a straw shake-down, on the clay floor. The woman seemed
      uneasy until I explained that we were travelers and had lost our way and
      been wandering in the woods all night. She became talkative, then, and
      asked if we had heard of the terrible goings-on at the manor-house of
      Abblasoure. Yes, we had heard of them, but what we wanted now was
      rest and sleep. The king broke in:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Sell us the house and take yourselves away, for we be perilous company,
      being late come from people that died of the Spotted Death.”
     </p>
    <p>
      It was good of him, but unnecessary. One of the commonest
      decorations of the nation was the waffle-iron face. I had early
      noticed that the woman and her husband were both so decorated. She
      made us entirely welcome, and had no fears; and plainly she was immensely
      impressed by the king’s proposition; for, of course, it was a good deal of
      an event in her life to run across a person of the king’s humble
      appearance who was ready to buy a man’s house for the sake of a night’s
      lodging. It gave her a large respect for us, and she strained the
      lean possibilities of her hovel to the utmost to make us comfortable.
    </p>
    <p>
      We slept till far into the afternoon, and then got up hungry enough to
      make cotter fare quite palatable to the king, the more particularly as it
      was scant in quantity. And also in variety; it consisted solely of
      onions, salt, and the national black bread made out of horse-feed. The
      woman told us about the affair of the evening before. At ten or
      eleven at night, when everybody was in bed, the manor-house burst into
      flames. The country-side swarmed to the rescue, and the family were
      saved, with one exception, the master. He did not appear. Everybody
      was frantic over this loss, and two brave yeomen sacrificed their lives in
      ransacking the burning house seeking that valuable personage. But
      after a while he was found&mdash;what was left of him&mdash;which was his
      corpse. It was in a copse three hundred yards away, bound, gagged,
      stabbed in a dozen places.
    </p>
    <p>
      Who had done this? Suspicion fell upon a humble family in the
      neighborhood who had been lately treated with peculiar harshness by the
      baron; and from these people the suspicion easily extended itself to their
      relatives and familiars. A suspicion was enough; my lord’s liveried
      retainers proclaimed an instant crusade against these people, and were
      promptly joined by the community in general. The woman’s husband had been
      active with the mob, and had not returned home until nearly dawn. He
      was gone now to find out what the general result had been. While we
      were still talking he came back from his quest. His report was
      revolting enough. Eighteen persons hanged or butchered, and two
      yeomen and thirteen prisoners lost in the fire.
    </p>
    <p>
      “And how many prisoners were there altogether in the vaults?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Thirteen.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Then every one of them was lost?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes, all.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “But the people arrived in time to save the family; how is it they could
      save none of the prisoners?”
     </p>
    <p>
      The man looked puzzled, and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Would one unlock the vaults at such a time? Marry, some would have
      escaped.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Then you mean that nobody <i>did</i> unlock them?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “None went near them, either to lock or unlock. It standeth to
      reason that the bolts were fast; wherefore it was only needful to
      establish a watch, so that if any broke the bonds he might not escape, but
      be taken. None were taken.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Natheless, three did escape,” said the king, “and ye will do well to
      publish it and set justice upon their track, for these murthered the baron
      and fired the house.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I was just expecting he would come out with that. For a moment the
      man and his wife showed an eager interest in this news and an impatience
      to go out and spread it; then a sudden something else betrayed itself in
      their faces, and they began to ask questions. I answered the questions
      myself, and narrowly watched the effects produced. I was soon
      satisfied that the knowledge of who these three prisoners were had somehow
      changed the atmosphere; that our hosts’ continued eagerness to go and
      spread the news was now only pretended and not real. The king did
      not notice the change, and I was glad of that. I worked the
      conversation around toward other details of the night’s proceedings, and
      noted that these people were relieved to have it take that direction.
    </p>
    <p>
      The painful thing observable about all this business was the alacrity with
      which this oppressed community had turned their cruel hands against their
      own class in the interest of the common oppressor. This man and
      woman seemed to feel that in a quarrel between a person of their own class
      and his lord, it was the natural and proper and rightful thing for that
      poor devil’s whole caste to side with the master and fight his battle for
      him, without ever stopping to inquire into the rights or wrongs of the
      matter. This man had been out helping to hang his neighbors, and had
      done his work with zeal, and yet was aware that there was nothing against
      them but a mere suspicion, with nothing back of it describable as
      evidence, still neither he nor his wife seemed to see anything horrible
      about it.
    </p>
    <p>
      This was depressing&mdash;to a man with the dream of a republic in his
      head. It reminded me of a time thirteen centuries away, when the
      “poor whites” of our South who were always despised and frequently
      insulted by the slave-lords around them, and who owed their base condition
      simply to the presence of slavery in their midst, were yet pusillanimously
      ready to side with the slave-lords in all political moves for the
      upholding and perpetuating of slavery, and did also finally shoulder their
      muskets and pour out their lives in an effort to prevent the destruction
      of that very institution which degraded them. And there was only one
      redeeming feature connected with that pitiful piece of history; and that
      was, that secretly the “poor white” did detest the slave-lord, and did
      feel his own shame. That feeling was not brought to the surface, but
      the fact that it was there and could have been brought out, under favoring
      circumstances, was something&mdash;in fact, it was enough; for it showed
      that a man is at bottom a man, after all, even if it doesn’t show on the
      outside.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, as it turned out, this charcoal burner was just the twin of the
      Southern “poor white” of the far future. The king presently showed
      impatience, and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “An ye prattle here all the day, justice will miscarry. Think ye the
      criminals will abide in their father’s house? They are fleeing, they
      are not waiting. You should look to it that a party of horse be set
      upon their track.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The woman paled slightly, but quite perceptibly, and the man looked
      flustered and irresolute. I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Come, friend, I will walk a little way with you, and explain which
      direction I think they would try to take. If they were merely
      resisters of the gabelle or some kindred absurdity I would try to protect
      them from capture; but when men murder a person of high degree and
      likewise burn his house, that is another matter.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The last remark was for the king&mdash;to quiet him. On the road the
      man pulled his resolution together, and began the march with a steady
      gait, but there was no eagerness in it. By and by I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “What relation were these men to you&mdash;cousins?”
     </p>
    <p>
      He turned as white as his layer of charcoal would let him, and stopped,
      trembling.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Ah, my God, how know ye that?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I didn’t know it; it was a chance guess.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Poor lads, they are lost. And good lads they were, too.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Were you actually going yonder to tell on them?”
     </p>
    <p>
      He didn’t quite know how to take that; but he said, hesitatingly:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Ye-s.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Then I think you are a damned scoundrel!”
     </p>
    <p>
      It made him as glad as if I had called him an angel.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Say the good words again, brother! for surely ye mean that ye would not
      betray me an I failed of my duty.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Duty? There is no duty in the matter, except the duty to keep still
      and let those men get away. They’ve done a righteous deed.”
     </p>
    <p>
      He looked pleased; pleased, and touched with apprehension at the same
      time. He looked up and down the road to see that no one was coming,
      and then said in a cautious voice:
    </p>
    <p>
      “From what land come you, brother, that you speak such perilous words, and
      seem not to be afraid?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “They are not perilous words when spoken to one of my own caste, I take
      it. You would not tell anybody I said them?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I? I would be drawn asunder by wild horses first.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, then, let me say my say. I have no fears of your repeating
      it. I think devil’s work has been done last night upon those
      innocent poor people. That old baron got only what he deserved. If I
      had my way, all his kind should have the same luck.”
     </p>
    <p>
      Fear and depression vanished from the man’s manner, and gratefulness and a
      brave animation took their place:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Even though you be a spy, and your words a trap for my undoing, yet are
      they such refreshment that to hear them again and others like to them, I
      would go to the gallows happy, as having had one good feast at least in a
      starved life. And I will say my say now, and ye may report it if ye
      be so minded. I helped to hang my neighbors for that it were peril
      to my own life to show lack of zeal in the master’s cause; the others
      helped for none other reason. All rejoice to-day that he is dead, but all
      do go about seemingly sorrowing, and shedding the hypocrite’s tear, for in
      that lies safety. I have said the words, I have said the words! the
      only ones that have ever tasted good in my mouth, and the reward of that
      taste is sufficient. Lead on, an ye will, be it even to the
      scaffold, for I am ready.”
     </p>

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    <p>
      There it was, you see. A man is a man, at bottom. Whole ages
      of abuse and oppression cannot crush the manhood clear out of him. Whoever
      thinks it a mistake is himself mistaken. Yes, there is plenty good
      enough material for a republic in the most degraded people that ever
      existed&mdash;even the Russians; plenty of manhood in them&mdash;even in
      the Germans&mdash;if one could but force it out of its timid and
      suspicious privacy, to overthrow and trample in the mud any throne that
      ever was set up and any nobility that ever supported it. We should
      see certain things yet, let us hope and believe. First, a modified
      monarchy, till Arthur’s days were done, then the destruction of the
      throne, nobility abolished, every member of it bound out to some useful
      trade, universal suffrage instituted, and the whole government placed in
      the hands of the men and women of the nation there to remain. Yes,
      there was no occasion to give up my dream yet a while.
    </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c31"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.<br />
MARCO</h2>

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    <p>
      We strolled along in a sufficiently indolent fashion now, and talked.
      We must dispose of about the amount of time it ought to take to go
      to the little hamlet of Abblasoure and put justice on the track of those
      murderers and get back home again. And meantime I had an auxiliary
      interest which had never paled yet, never lost its novelty for me since I
      had been in Arthur’s kingdom: the behavior&mdash;born of nice and exact
      subdivisions of caste&mdash;of chance passers-by toward each other. Toward
      the shaven monk who trudged along with his cowl tilted back and the sweat
      washing down his fat jowls, the coal-burner was deeply reverent; to the
      gentleman he was abject; with the small farmer and the free mechanic he
      was cordial and gossipy; and when a slave passed by with a countenance
      respectfully lowered, this chap’s nose was in the air&mdash;he couldn’t
      even see him. Well, there are times when one would like to hang the
      whole human race and finish the farce.
    </p>

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    <p>
      Presently we struck an incident. A small mob of half-naked boys and
      girls came tearing out of the woods, scared and shrieking. The eldest
      among them were not more than twelve or fourteen years old. They
      implored help, but they were so beside themselves that we couldn’t make
      out what the matter was. However, we plunged into the wood, they
      skurrying in the lead, and the trouble was quickly revealed: they
      had hanged a little fellow with a bark rope, and he was kicking and
      struggling, in the process of choking to death. We rescued him, and
      fetched him around. It was some more human nature; the admiring
      little folk imitating their elders; they were playing mob, and had
      achieved a success which promised to be a good deal more serious than they
      had bargained for.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not a dull excursion for me. I managed to put in the time
      very well. I made various acquaintanceships, and in my quality of
      stranger was able to ask as many questions as I wanted to. A thing which
      naturally interested me, as a statesman, was the matter of wages. I
      picked up what I could under that head during the afternoon. A man
      who hasn’t had much experience, and doesn’t think, is apt to measure a
      nation’s prosperity or lack of prosperity by the mere size of the
      prevailing wages; if the wages be high, the nation is prosperous; if low,
      it isn’t. Which is an error. It isn’t what sum you get, it’s
      how much you can buy with it, that’s the important thing; and it’s that
      that tells whether your wages are high in fact or only high in name.
      I could remember how it was in the time of our great civil war in
      the nineteenth century. In the North a carpenter got three dollars a day,
      gold valuation; in the South he got fifty&mdash;payable in Confederate
      shinplasters worth a dollar a bushel. In the North a suit of
      overalls cost three dollars&mdash;a day’s wages; in the South it cost
      seventy-five&mdash;which was two days’ wages. Other things were in
      proportion. Consequently, wages were twice as high in the North as they
      were in the South, because the one wage had that much more purchasing
      power than the other had.
    </p>
    <p>
      Yes, I made various acquaintances in the hamlet and a thing that gratified
      me a good deal was to find our new coins in circulation&mdash;lots of
      milrays, lots of mills, lots of cents, a good many nickels, and some
      silver; all this among the artisans and commonalty generally; yes, and
      even some gold&mdash;but that was at the bank, that is to say, the
      goldsmith’s. I dropped in there while Marco, the son of Marco, was
      haggling with a shopkeeper over a quarter of a pound of salt, and asked
      for change for a twenty-dollar gold piece. They furnished it&mdash;that
      is, after they had chewed the piece, and rung it on the counter, and tried
      acid on it, and asked me where I got it, and who I was, and where I was
      from, and where I was going to, and when I expected to get there, and
      perhaps a couple of hundred more questions; and when they got aground, I
      went right on and furnished them a lot of information voluntarily; told
      them I owned a dog, and his name was Watch, and my first wife was a Free
      Will Baptist, and her grandfather was a Prohibitionist, and I used to know
      a man who had two thumbs on each hand and a wart on the inside of his
      upper lip, and died in the hope of a glorious resurrection, and so on, and
      so on, and so on, till even that hungry village questioner began to look
      satisfied, and also a shade put out; but he had to respect a man of my
      financial strength, and so he didn’t give me any lip, but I noticed he
      took it out of his underlings, which was a perfectly natural thing to do.
      Yes, they changed my twenty, but I judged it strained the bank a
      little, which was a thing to be expected, for it was the same as walking
      into a paltry village store in the nineteenth century and requiring the
      boss of it to change a two thousand-dollar bill for you all of a sudden.
      He could do it, maybe; but at the same time he would wonder how a
      small farmer happened to be carrying so much money around in his pocket;
      which was probably this goldsmith’s thought, too; for he followed me to
      the door and stood there gazing after me with reverent admiration.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our new money was not only handsomely circulating, but its language was
      already glibly in use; that is to say, people had dropped the names of the
      former moneys, and spoke of things as being worth so many dollars or cents
      or mills or milrays now. It was very gratifying. We were
      progressing, that was sure.
    </p>
    <p>
      I got to know several master mechanics, but about the most interesting
      fellow among them was the blacksmith, Dowley. He was a live man and
      a brisk talker, and had two journeymen and three apprentices, and was
      doing a raging business. In fact, he was getting rich, hand over
      fist, and was vastly respected. Marco was very proud of having such
      a man for a friend. He had taken me there ostensibly to let me see
      the big establishment which bought so much of his charcoal, but really to
      let me see what easy and almost familiar terms he was on with this great
      man. Dowley and I fraternized at once; I had had just such picked
      men, splendid fellows, under me in the Colt Arms Factory. I was
      bound to see more of him, so I invited him to come out to Marco’s Sunday,
      and dine with us. Marco was appalled, and held his breath; and when the
      grandee accepted, he was so grateful that he almost forgot to be
      astonished at the condescension.
    </p>
    <p>
      Marco’s joy was exuberant&mdash;but only for a moment; then he grew
      thoughtful, then sad; and when he heard me tell Dowley I should have
      Dickon, the boss mason, and Smug, the boss wheelwright, out there, too,
      the coal-dust on his face turned to chalk, and he lost his grip. But
      I knew what was the matter with him; it was the expense. He saw ruin
      before him; he judged that his financial days were numbered. However,
      on our way to invite the others, I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “You must allow me to have these friends come; and you must also allow me
      to pay the costs.”
     </p>
    <p>
      His face cleared, and he said with spirit:
    </p>
    <p>
      “But not all of it, not all of it. Ye cannot well bear a burden like
      to this alone.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I stopped him, and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Now let’s understand each other on the spot, old friend. I am only
      a farm bailiff, it is true; but I am not poor, nevertheless. I have been
      very fortunate this year&mdash;you would be astonished to know how I have
      thriven. I tell you the honest truth when I say I could squander
      away as many as a dozen feasts like this and never care <i>that</i> for
      the expense!” and I snapped my fingers. I could see myself rise a
      foot at a time in Marco’s estimation, and when I fetched out those last
      words I was become a very tower for style and altitude. “So you see,
      you must let me have my way. You can’t contribute a cent to this
      orgy, that’s <i>settled</i>.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It’s grand and good of you&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “No, it isn’t. You’ve opened your house to Jones and me in the most
      generous way; Jones was remarking upon it to-day, just before you came
      back from the village; for although he wouldn’t be likely to say such a
      thing to you&mdash;because Jones isn’t a talker, and is diffident in
      society&mdash;he has a good heart and a grateful, and knows how to
      appreciate it when he is well treated; yes, you and your wife have been
      very hospitable toward us&mdash;”
     </p>

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    <p>
      “Ah, brother, ’tis nothing&mdash;<i>such</i> hospitality!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “But it <i>is</i> something; the best a man has, freely given, is always
      something, and is as good as a prince can do, and ranks right along beside
      it&mdash;for even a prince can but do his best. And so we’ll shop
      around and get up this layout now, and don’t you worry about the expense.
      I’m one of the worst spendthrifts that ever was born. Why, do
      you know, sometimes in a single week I spend&mdash;but never mind about
      that&mdash;you’d never believe it anyway.”
     </p>
    <p>
      And so we went gadding along, dropping in here and there, pricing things,
      and gossiping with the shopkeepers about the riot, and now and then
      running across pathetic reminders of it, in the persons of shunned and
      tearful and houseless remnants of families whose homes had been taken from
      them and their parents butchered or hanged. The raiment of Marco and his
      wife was of coarse tow-linen and linsey-woolsey respectively, and
      resembled township maps, it being made up pretty exclusively of patches
      which had been added, township by township, in the course of five or six
      years, until hardly a hand’s-breadth of the original garments was
      surviving and present. Now I wanted to fit these people out with new
      suits, on account of that swell company, and I didn’t know just how to get
      at it&mdash;with delicacy, until at last it struck me that as I had
      already been liberal in inventing wordy gratitude for the king, it would
      be just the thing to back it up with evidence of a substantial sort; so I
      said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “And Marco, there’s another thing which you must permit&mdash;out of
      kindness for Jones&mdash;because you wouldn’t want to offend him. He was
      very anxious to testify his appreciation in some way, but he is so
      diffident he couldn’t venture it himself, and so he begged me to buy some
      little things and give them to you and Dame Phyllis and let him pay for
      them without your ever knowing they came from him&mdash;you know how a
      delicate person feels about that sort of thing&mdash;and so I said I
      would, and we would keep mum. Well, his idea was, a new outfit of
      clothes for you both&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, it is wastefulness! It may not be, brother, it may not be.
      Consider the vastness of the sum&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Hang the vastness of the sum! Try to keep quiet for a moment, and
      see how it would seem; a body can’t get in a word edgeways, you talk so
      much. You ought to cure that, Marco; it isn’t good form, you know,
      and it will grow on you if you don’t check it. Yes, we’ll step in here now
      and price this man’s stuff&mdash;and don’t forget to remember to not let
      on to Jones that you know he had anything to do with it. You can’t
      think how curiously sensitive and proud he is. He’s a farmer&mdash;pretty
      fairly well-to-do farmer&mdash;and I’m his bailiff; <i>but</i>&mdash;the
      imagination of that man! Why, sometimes when he forgets himself and
      gets to blowing off, you’d think he was one of the swells of the earth;
      and you might listen to him a hundred years and never take him for a
      farmer&mdash;especially if he talked agriculture. He <i>thinks</i>
      he’s a Sheol of a farmer; thinks he’s old Grayback from Wayback; but
      between you and me privately he don’t know as much about farming as he
      does about running a kingdom&mdash;still, whatever he talks about, you
      want to drop your underjaw and listen, the same as if you had never heard
      such incredible wisdom in all your life before, and were afraid you might
      die before you got enough of it. That will please Jones.”
     </p>
    <p>
      It tickled Marco to the marrow to hear about such an odd character; but it
      also prepared him for accidents; and in my experience when you travel with
      a king who is letting on to be something else and can’t remember it more
      than about half the time, you can’t take too many precautions.
    </p>
    <p>
      This was the best store we had come across yet; it had everything in it,
      in small quantities, from anvils and drygoods all the way down to fish and
      pinchbeck jewelry. I concluded I would bunch my whole invoice right
      here, and not go pricing around any more. So I got rid of Marco, by
      sending him off to invite the mason and the wheelwright, which left the
      field free to me. For I never care to do a thing in a quiet way;
      it’s got to be theatrical or I don’t take any interest in it. I
      showed up money enough, in a careless way, to corral the shopkeeper’s
      respect, and then I wrote down a list of the things I wanted, and handed
      it to him to see if he could read it. He could, and was proud to
      show that he could. He said he had been educated by a priest, and could
      both read and write. He ran it through, and remarked with
      satisfaction that it was a pretty heavy bill. Well, and so it was,
      for a little concern like that. I was not only providing a swell
      dinner, but some odds and ends of extras. I ordered that the things
      be carted out and delivered at the dwelling of Marco, the son of Marco, by
      Saturday evening, and send me the bill at dinner-time Sunday. He said I
      could depend upon his promptness and exactitude, it was the rule of the
      house. He also observed that he would throw in a couple of
      miller-guns for the Marcos gratis&mdash;that everybody was using them now.
      He had a mighty opinion of that clever device. I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “And please fill them up to the middle mark, too; and add that to the
      bill.”
     </p>
    <p>
      He would, with pleasure. He filled them, and I took them with me.
      I couldn’t venture to tell him that the miller-gun was a little
      invention of my own, and that I had officially ordered that every
      shopkeeper in the kingdom keep them on hand and sell them at government
      price&mdash;which was the merest trifle, and the shopkeeper got that, not
      the government. We furnished them for nothing.
    </p>
    <p>
      The king had hardly missed us when we got back at nightfall. He had
      early dropped again into his dream of a grand invasion of Gaul with the
      whole strength of his kingdom at his back, and the afternoon had slipped
      away without his ever coming to himself again.
    </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c32"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.<br />
DOWLEY’S HUMILIATION</h2>

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    <p>
      Well, when that cargo arrived toward sunset, Saturday afternoon, I had my
      hands full to keep the Marcos from fainting. They were sure Jones
      and I were ruined past help, and they blamed themselves as accessories to
      this bankruptcy. You see, in addition to the dinner-materials, which
      called for a sufficiently round sum, I had bought a lot of extras for the
      future comfort of the family: for instance, a big lot of wheat, a delicacy
      as rare to the tables of their class as was ice-cream to a hermit’s; also
      a sizeable deal dinner-table; also two entire pounds of salt, which was
      another piece of extravagance in those people’s eyes; also crockery,
      stools, the clothes, a small cask of beer, and so on. I instructed
      the Marcos to keep quiet about this sumptuousness, so as to give me a
      chance to surprise the guests and show off a little. Concerning the
      new clothes, the simple couple were like children; they were up and down,
      all night, to see if it wasn’t nearly daylight, so that they could put
      them on, and they were into them at last as much as an hour before dawn
      was due. Then their pleasure&mdash;not to say delirium&mdash;was so
      fresh and novel and inspiring that the sight of it paid me well for the
      interruptions which my sleep had suffered. The king had slept just as
      usual&mdash;like the dead. The Marcos could not thank him for their
      clothes, that being forbidden; but they tried every way they could think
      of to make him see how grateful they were. Which all went for
      nothing: he didn’t notice any change.
    </p>
    <p>
      It turned out to be one of those rich and rare fall days which is just a
      June day toned down to a degree where it is heaven to be out of doors.
      Toward noon the guests arrived, and we assembled under a great tree
      and were soon as sociable as old acquaintances. Even the king’s reserve
      melted a little, though it was some little trouble to him to adjust
      himself to the name of Jones along at first. I had asked him to try
      to not forget that he was a farmer; but I had also considered it prudent
      to ask him to let the thing stand at that, and not elaborate it any.
      Because he was just the kind of person you could depend on to spoil
      a little thing like that if you didn’t warn him, his tongue was so handy,
      and his spirit so willing, and his information so uncertain.
    </p>

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    <p>
      Dowley was in fine feather, and I early got him started, and then adroitly
      worked him around onto his own history for a text and himself for a hero,
      and then it was good to sit there and hear him hum. Self-made man,
      you know. They know how to talk. They do deserve more credit
      than any other breed of men, yes, that is true; and they are among the
      very first to find it out, too. He told how he had begun life an
      orphan lad without money and without friends able to help him; how he had
      lived as the slaves of the meanest master lived; how his day’s work was
      from sixteen to eighteen hours long, and yielded him only enough black
      bread to keep him in a half-fed condition; how his faithful endeavors
      finally attracted the attention of a good blacksmith, who came near
      knocking him dead with kindness by suddenly offering, when he was totally
      unprepared, to take him as his bound apprentice for nine years and give
      him board and clothes and teach him the trade&mdash;or “mystery” as Dowley
      called it. That was his first great rise, his first gorgeous stroke
      of fortune; and you saw that he couldn’t yet speak of it without a sort of
      eloquent wonder and delight that such a gilded promotion should have
      fallen to the lot of a common human being. He got no new clothing
      during his apprenticeship, but on his graduation day his master tricked
      him out in spang-new tow-linens and made him feel unspeakably rich and
      fine.
    </p>
    <p>
      “I remember me of that day!” the wheelwright sang out, with enthusiasm.
    </p>
    <p>
      “And I likewise!” cried the mason. “I would not believe they were
      thine own; in faith I could not.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Nor other!” shouted Dowley, with sparkling eyes. “I was like to
      lose my character, the neighbors wending I had mayhap been stealing.
      It was a great day, a great day; one forgetteth not days like that.”
     </p>
    <p>
      Yes, and his master was a fine man, and prosperous, and always had a great
      feast of meat twice in the year, and with it white bread, true wheaten
      bread; in fact, lived like a lord, so to speak. And in time Dowley
      succeeded to the business and married the daughter.
    </p>
    <p>
      “And now consider what is come to pass,” said he, impressively. “Two times
      in every month there is fresh meat upon my table.” He made a pause here,
      to let that fact sink home, then added&mdash;“and eight times salt meat.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It is even true,” said the wheelwright, with bated breath.
    </p>
    <p>
      “I know it of mine own knowledge,” said the mason, in the same reverent
      fashion.
    </p>
    <p>
      “On my table appeareth white bread every Sunday in the year,” added the
      master smith, with solemnity. “I leave it to your own consciences,
      friends, if this is not also true?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “By my head, yes,” cried the mason.
    </p>
    <p>
      “I can testify it&mdash;and I do,” said the wheelwright.
    </p>
    <p>
      “And as to furniture, ye shall say yourselves what mine equipment is.”
       He waved his hand in fine gesture of granting frank and unhampered
      freedom of speech, and added: “Speak as ye are moved; speak as ye
      would speak; an I were not here.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ye have five stools, and of the sweetest workmanship at that, albeit your
      family is but three,” said the wheelwright, with deep respect.
    </p>
    <p>
      “And six wooden goblets, and six platters of wood and two of pewter to eat
      and drink from withal,” said the mason, impressively. “And I say it
      as knowing God is my judge, and we tarry not here alway, but must answer
      at the last day for the things said in the body, be they false or be they
      sooth.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Now ye know what manner of man I am, brother Jones,” said the smith, with
      a fine and friendly condescension, “and doubtless ye would look to find me
      a man jealous of his due of respect and but sparing of outgo to strangers
      till their rating and quality be assured, but trouble yourself not, as
      concerning that; wit ye well ye shall find me a man that regardeth not
      these matters but is willing to receive any he as his fellow and equal
      that carrieth a right heart in his body, be his worldly estate howsoever
      modest. And in token of it, here is my hand; and I say with my own mouth
      we are equals&mdash;equals”&mdash;and he smiled around on the company with
      the satisfaction of a god who is doing the handsome and gracious thing and
      is quite well aware of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      The king took the hand with a poorly disguised reluctance, and let go of
      it as willingly as a lady lets go of a fish; all of which had a good
      effect, for it was mistaken for an embarrassment natural to one who was
      being called upon by greatness.
    </p>
    <p>
      The dame brought out the table now, and set it under the tree. It caused a
      visible stir of surprise, it being brand new and a sumptuous article of
      deal. But the surprise rose higher still when the dame, with a body
      oozing easy indifference at every pore, but eyes that gave it all away by
      absolutely flaming with vanity, slowly unfolded an actual simon-pure
      tablecloth and spread it. That was a notch above even the blacksmith’s
      domestic grandeurs, and it hit him hard; you could see it. But Marco
      was in Paradise; you could see that, too. Then the dame brought two
      fine new stools&mdash;whew! that was a sensation; it was visible in the
      eyes of every guest. Then she brought two more&mdash;as calmly as
      she could. Sensation again&mdash;with awed murmurs. Again she
      brought two&mdash;walking on air, she was so proud. The guests were
      petrified, and the mason muttered:
    </p>
    <p>
      “There is that about earthly pomps which doth ever move to reverence.”
     </p>
    <p>
      As the dame turned away, Marco couldn’t help slapping on the climax while
      the thing was hot; so he said with what was meant for a languid composure
      but was a poor imitation of it:
    </p>
    <p>
      “These suffice; leave the rest.”
     </p>
    <p>
      So there were more yet! It was a fine effect. I couldn’t have
      played the hand better myself.
    </p>
    <p>
      From this out, the madam piled up the surprises with a rush that fired the
      general astonishment up to a hundred and fifty in the shade, and at the
      same time paralyzed expression of it down to gasped “Oh’s” and “Ah’s,” and
      mute upliftings of hands and eyes. She fetched crockery&mdash;new, and
      plenty of it; new wooden goblets and other table furniture; and beer,
      fish, chicken, a goose, eggs, roast beef, roast mutton, a ham, a small
      roast pig, and a wealth of genuine white wheaten bread. Take it by
      and large, that spread laid everything far and away in the shade that ever
      that crowd had seen before. And while they sat there just simply
      stupefied with wonder and awe, I sort of waved my hand as if by accident,
      and the storekeeper’s son emerged from space and said he had come to
      collect.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="" src="images/32-413.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      “That’s all right,” I said, indifferently. “What is the amount? give
      us the items.”
     </p>
    <p>
      Then he read off this bill, while those three amazed men listened, and
      serene waves of satisfaction rolled over my soul and alternate waves of
      terror and admiration surged over Marco’s:
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="32-414.jpg (49K)" src="images/32-414.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      He ceased. There was a pale and awful silence. Not a limb
      stirred. Not a nostril betrayed the passage of breath.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Is that all?” I asked, in a voice of the most perfect calmness.
    </p>
    <p>
      “All, fair sir, save that certain matters of light moment are placed
      together under a head hight sundries. If it would like you, I will
      sepa&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It is of no consequence,” I said, accompanying the words with a gesture
      of the most utter indifference; “give me the grand total, please.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The clerk leaned against the tree to stay himself, and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Thirty-nine thousand one hundred and fifty milrays!”
     </p>
    <p>
      The wheelwright fell off his stool, the others grabbed the table to save
      themselves, and there was a deep and general ejaculation of:
    </p>
    <p>
      “God be with us in the day of disaster!”
     </p>
    <p>
      The clerk hastened to say:
    </p>
    <p>
      “My father chargeth me to say he cannot honorably require you to pay it
      all at this time, and therefore only prayeth you&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      I paid no more heed than if it were the idle breeze, but, with an air of
      indifference amounting almost to weariness, got out my money and tossed
      four dollars on to the table. Ah, you should have seen them stare!
    </p>
    <p>
      The clerk was astonished and charmed. He asked me to retain one of
      the dollars as security, until he could go to town and&mdash;I
      interrupted:
    </p>
    <p>
      “What, and fetch back nine cents? Nonsense! Take the whole.
      Keep the change.”
     </p>
    <p>
      There was an amazed murmur to this effect:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Verily this being is <i>made</i> of money! He throweth it away even
      as if it were dirt.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The blacksmith was a crushed man.
    </p>
    <p>
      The clerk took his money and reeled away drunk with fortune. I said
      to Marco and his wife:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Good folk, here is a little trifle for you”&mdash;handing the miller-guns
      as if it were a matter of no consequence, though each of them contained
      fifteen cents in solid cash; and while the poor creatures went to pieces
      with astonishment and gratitude, I turned to the others and said as calmly
      as one would ask the time of day:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Well, if we are all ready, I judge the dinner is. Come, fall to.”
     </p>
    <p>
      Ah, well, it was immense; yes, it was a daisy. I don’t know that I
      ever put a situation together better, or got happier spectacular effects
      out of the materials available. The blacksmith&mdash;well, he was
      simply mashed. Land! I wouldn’t have felt what that man was feeling,
      for anything in the world. Here he had been blowing and bragging
      about his grand meat-feast twice a year, and his fresh meat twice a month,
      and his salt meat twice a week, and his white bread every Sunday the year
      round&mdash;all for a family of three; the entire cost for the year not
      above 69.2.6 (sixty-nine cents, two mills and six milrays), and all of a
      sudden here comes along a man who slashes out nearly four dollars on a
      single blow-out; and not only that, but acts as if it made him tired to
      handle such small sums. Yes, Dowley was a good deal wilted, and
      shrunk-up and collapsed; he had the aspect of a bladder-balloon that’s
      been stepped on by a cow.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="33-417.jpg (141K)" src="images/33-417.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c33"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.<br />
SIXTH CENTURY POLITICAL ECONOMY</h2>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="33-419.jpg (160K)" src="images/33-419.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      However, I made a dead set at him, and before the first third of the
      dinner was reached, I had him happy again. It was easy to do&mdash;in
      a country of ranks and castes. You see, in a country where they have
      ranks and castes, a man isn’t ever a man, he is only part of a man, he
      can’t ever get his full growth. You prove your superiority over him
      in station, or rank, or fortune, and that’s the end of it&mdash;he
      knuckles down. You can’t insult him after that. No, I don’t
      mean quite that; of course you <i>can</i> insult him, I only mean it’s
      difficult; and so, unless you’ve got a lot of useless time on your hands
      it doesn’t pay to try. I had the smith’s reverence now, because I
      was apparently immensely prosperous and rich; I could have had his
      adoration if I had had some little gimcrack title of nobility. And
      not only his, but any commoner’s in the land, though he were the mightiest
      production of all the ages, in intellect, worth, and character, and I
      bankrupt in all three. This was to remain so, as long as England should
      exist in the earth. With the spirit of prophecy upon me, I could
      look into the future and see her erect statues and monuments to her
      unspeakable Georges and other royal and noble clothes-horses, and leave
      unhonored the creators of this world&mdash;after God&mdash;Gutenburg,
      Watt, Arkwright, Whitney, Morse, Stephenson, Bell.
    </p>
    <p>
      The king got his cargo aboard, and then, the talk not turning upon battle,
      conquest, or iron-clad duel, he dulled down to drowsiness and went off to
      take a nap. Mrs. Marco cleared the table, placed the beer keg handy,
      and went away to eat her dinner of leavings in humble privacy, and the
      rest of us soon drifted into matters near and dear to the hearts of our
      sort&mdash;business and wages, of course. At a first glance, things
      appeared to be exceeding prosperous in this little tributary kingdom&mdash;whose
      lord was King Bagdemagus&mdash;as compared with the state of things in my
      own region. They had the “protection” system in full force here,
      whereas we were working along down toward free trade, by easy stages, and
      were now about half way. Before long, Dowley and I were doing all
      the talking, the others hungrily listening. Dowley warmed to his
      work, snuffed an advantage in the air, and began to put questions which he
      considered pretty awkward ones for me, and they did have something of that
      look:
    </p>
    <p>
      “In your country, brother, what is the wage of a master bailiff, master
      hind, carter, shepherd, swineherd?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Twenty-five milrays a day; that is to say, a quarter of a cent.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The smith’s face beamed with joy. He said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “With us they are allowed the double of it! And what may a mechanic
      get&mdash;carpenter, dauber, mason, painter, blacksmith, wheelwright, and
      the like?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “On the average, fifty milrays; half a cent a day.”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="33-421.jpg (136K)" src="images/33-421.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      “Ho-ho! With us they are allowed a hundred! With us any good
      mechanic is allowed a cent a day! I count out the tailor, but not
      the others&mdash;they are all allowed a cent a day, and in driving times
      they get more&mdash;yes, up to a hundred and ten and even fifteen milrays
      a day. I’ve paid a hundred and fifteen myself, within the week.
      ’Rah for protection&mdash;to Sheol with free-trade!”
     </p>
    <p>
      And his face shone upon the company like a sunburst. But I didn’t
      scare at all. I rigged up my pile-driver, and allowed myself fifteen
      minutes to drive him into the earth&mdash;drive him <i>all</i> in&mdash;drive
      him in till not even the curve of his skull should show above ground.
      Here is the way I started in on him. I asked:
    </p>
    <p>
      “What do you pay a pound for salt?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “A hundred milrays.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “We pay forty. What do you pay for beef and mutton&mdash;when you
      buy it?” That was a neat hit; it made the color come.
    </p>
    <p>
      “It varieth somewhat, but not much; one may say seventy-five milrays the
      pound.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “<i>We</i> pay thirty-three. What do you pay for eggs?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Fifty milrays the dozen.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “We pay twenty. What do you pay for beer?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It costeth us eight and one-half milrays the pint.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “We get it for four; twenty-five bottles for a cent. What do you pay for
      wheat?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “At the rate of nine hundred milrays the bushel.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “We pay four hundred. What do you pay for a man’s tow-linen suit?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Thirteen cents.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “We pay six. What do you pay for a stuff gown for the wife of the
      laborer or the mechanic?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “We pay eight cents, four mills.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, observe the difference: you pay eight cents and four mills,
      we pay only four cents.” I prepared now to sock it to him. I
      said: “Look here, dear friend, <i>what’s become of your high wages you
      were bragging so about a few minutes ago?</i> “&mdash;and I looked around
      on the company with placid satisfaction, for I had slipped up on him
      gradually and tied him hand and foot, you see, without his ever noticing
      that he was being tied at all. “What’s become of those noble high
      wages of yours?&mdash;I seem to have knocked the stuffing all out of them,
      it appears to me.”
     </p>
    <p>
      But if you will believe me, he merely looked surprised, that is all! he
      didn’t grasp the situation at all, didn’t know he had walked into a trap,
      didn’t discover that he was <i>in</i> a trap. I could have shot him,
      from sheer vexation. With cloudy eye and a struggling intellect he
      fetched this out:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Marry, I seem not to understand. It is <i>proved</i> that our wages
      be double thine; how then may it be that thou’st knocked therefrom the
      stuffing?&mdash;an miscall not the wonderly word, this being the first
      time under grace and providence of God it hath been granted me to hear
      it.”
     </p>
    <p>
      Well, I was stunned; partly with this unlooked-for stupidity on his part,
      and partly because his fellows so manifestly sided with him and were of
      his mind&mdash;if you might call it mind. My position was simple
      enough, plain enough; how could it ever be simplified more? However,
      I must try:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Why, look here, brother Dowley, don’t you see? Your wages are
      merely higher than ours in <i>name</i>, not in <i>fact</i>.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Hear him! They are the <i>double</i>&mdash;ye have confessed it
      yourself.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes-yes, I don’t deny that at all. But that’s got nothing to do
      with it; the <i>amount</i> of the wages in mere coins, with meaningless
      names attached to them to know them by, has got nothing to do with it.
      The thing is, how much can you <i>buy</i> with your wages?&mdash;that’s
      the idea. While it is true that with you a good mechanic is allowed
      about three dollars and a half a year, and with us only about a dollar and
      seventy-five&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “There&mdash;ye’re confessing it again, ye’re confessing it again!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Confound it, I’ve never denied it, I tell you! What I say is this.
      With us <i>half</i> a dollar buys more than a <i>dollar</i> buys
      with you&mdash;and <i>therefore</i> it stands to reason and the commonest kind of
      common-sense, that our wages are <i>higher</i> than yours.”
     </p>
    <p>
      He looked dazed, and said, despairingly:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Verily, I cannot make it out. Ye’ve just said ours are the higher,
      and with the same breath ye take it back.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, great Scott, isn’t it possible to get such a simple thing through
      your head? Now look here&mdash;let me illustrate. We pay four
      cents for a woman’s stuff gown, you pay 8.4.0, which is four mills more
      than <i>double</i>. What do you allow a laboring woman who works on
      a farm?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Two mills a day.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Very good; we allow but half as much; we pay her only a tenth of a cent a
      day; and&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Again ye’re conf&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Wait! Now, you see, the thing is very simple; this time you’ll
      understand it. For instance, it takes your woman 42 days to earn her
      gown, at 2 mills a day&mdash;7 weeks’ work; but ours earns hers in forty
      days&mdash;two days <i>short</i> of 7 weeks. Your woman has a gown,
      and her whole seven weeks wages are gone; ours has a gown, and two days’ 
      wages left, to buy something else with. There&mdash;<i>now</i> you
      understand it!”
     </p>
    <p>
      He looked&mdash;well, he merely looked dubious, it’s the most I can say;
      so did the others. I waited&mdash;to let the thing work. Dowley
      spoke at last&mdash;and betrayed the fact that he actually hadn’t gotten
      away from his rooted and grounded superstitions yet. He said, with a
      trifle of hesitancy:
    </p>
    <p>
      “But&mdash;but&mdash;ye cannot fail to grant that two mills a day is
      better than one.”
     </p>
    <p>
      Shucks! Well, of course, I hated to give it up. So I chanced
      another flyer:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Let us suppose a case. Suppose one of your journeymen goes out and
      buys the following articles:
    </p>

<table summary="" style="margin-left: 4em; margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em;">

<tr>
<td>“1 pound of salt;</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> 1 dozen eggs;</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> 1 dozen pints of beer;</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> 1 bushel of wheat;</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> 1 tow-linen suit;</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> 5 pounds of beef;</td>
</tr>

<tr>
<td> 5 pounds of mutton.</td>
</tr>

</table>

    <p>
      “The lot will cost him 32 cents. It takes him 32 working days to
      earn the money&mdash;5 weeks and 2 days. Let him come to us and work
      32 days at <i>half</i> the wages; he can buy all those things for a shade
      under 14 1/2 cents; they will cost him a shade under 29 days’ work, and he
      will have about half a week’s wages over. Carry it through the year;
      he would save nearly a week’s wages every two months, <i>your</i> man
      nothing; thus saving five or six weeks’ wages in a year, your man not a
      cent. <i>Now</i> I reckon you understand that ‘high wages’ and ‘low
      wages’ are phrases that don’t mean anything in the world until you find
      out which of them will <i>buy</i> the most!”
     </p>
    <p>
      It was a crusher.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="33-425.jpg (25K)" src="images/33-425.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      But, alas! it didn’t crush. No, I had to give it up. What
      those people valued was <i>high wages;</i> it didn’t seem to be a matter
      of any consequence to them whether the high wages would buy anything or
      not. They stood for “protection,” and swore by it, which was
      reasonable enough, because interested parties had gulled them into the
      notion that it was protection which had created their high wages. I
      proved to them that in a quarter of a century their wages had advanced but
      30 per cent., while the cost of living had gone up 100; and that with us,
      in a shorter time, wages had advanced 40 per cent. while the cost of
      living had gone steadily down. But it didn’t do any good. Nothing
      could unseat their strange beliefs.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, I was smarting under a sense of defeat. Undeserved defeat, but
      what of that? That didn’t soften the smart any. And to think
      of the circumstances! the first statesman of the age, the capablest man,
      the best-informed man in the entire world, the loftiest uncrowned head
      that had moved through the clouds of any political firmament for
      centuries, sitting here apparently defeated in argument by an ignorant
      country blacksmith! And I could see that those others were sorry for
      me&mdash;which made me blush till I could smell my whiskers scorching.
      Put yourself in my place; feel as mean as I did, as ashamed as I
      felt&mdash;wouldn’t <i>you</i> have struck below the belt to get even?
      Yes, you would; it is simply human nature. Well, that is what I did.
      I am not trying to justify it; I’m only saying that I was mad, and
      <i>anybody</i> would have done it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, when I make up my mind to hit a man, I don’t plan out a love-tap;
      no, that isn’t my way; as long as I’m going to hit him at all, I’m going
      to hit him a lifter. And I don’t jump at him all of a sudden, and
      risk making a blundering half-way business of it; no, I get away off
      yonder to one side, and work up on him gradually, so that he never
      suspects that I’m going to hit him at all; and by and by, all in a flash,
      he’s flat on his back, and he can’t tell for the life of him how it all
      happened. That is the way I went for brother Dowley. I started
      to talking lazy and comfortable, as if I was just talking to pass the
      time; and the oldest man in the world couldn’t have taken the bearings of
      my starting place and guessed where I was going to fetch up:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Boys, there’s a good many curious things about law, and custom, and
      usage, and all that sort of thing, when you come to look at it; yes, and
      about the drift and progress of human opinion and movement, too. There
      are written laws&mdash;they perish; but there are also unwritten laws&mdash;<i>they</i>
      are eternal. Take the unwritten law of wages: it says they’ve got to
      advance, little by little, straight through the centuries. And
      notice how it works. We know what wages are now, here and there and
      yonder; we strike an average, and say that’s the wages of to-day. We
      know what the wages were a hundred years ago, and what they were two
      hundred years ago; that’s as far back as we can get, but it suffices to
      give us the law of progress, the measure and rate of the periodical
      augmentation; and so, without a document to help us, we can come pretty
      close to determining what the wages were three and four and five hundred
      years ago. Good, so far. Do we stop there? No. We stop
      looking backward; we face around and apply the law to the future. My
      friends, I can tell you what people’s wages are going to be at any date in
      the future you want to know, for hundreds and hundreds of years.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What, goodman, what!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes. In seven hundred years wages will have risen to six times what
      they are now, here in your region, and farm hands will be allowed 3 cents
      a day, and mechanics 6.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I would’t I might die now and live then!” interrupted Smug, the
      wheelwright, with a fine avaricious glow in his eye.
    </p>
    <p>
      “And that isn’t all; they’ll get their board besides&mdash;such as it is:
      it won’t bloat them. Two hundred and fifty years later&mdash;pay
      attention now&mdash;a mechanic’s wages will be&mdash;mind you, this is
      law, not guesswork; a mechanic’s wages will then be <i>twenty</i> cents a
      day!”
     </p>
    <p>
      There was a general gasp of awed astonishment, Dickon the mason murmured,
      with raised eyes and hands:
    </p>
    <p>
      “More than three weeks’ pay for one day’s work!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Riches!&mdash;of a truth, yes, riches!” muttered Marco, his breath coming
      quick and short, with excitement.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Wages will keep on rising, little by little, little by little, as
      steadily as a tree grows, and at the end of three hundred and forty years
      more there’ll be at least <i>one</i> country where the mechanic’s average
      wage will be <i>two hundred</i> cents a day!”
     </p>
    <p>
      It knocked them absolutely dumb! Not a man of them could get his
      breath for upwards of two minutes. Then the coal-burner said
      prayerfully:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Might I but live to see it!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It is the income of an earl!” said Smug.
    </p>
    <p>
      “An earl, say ye?” said Dowley; “ye could say more than that and speak no
      lie; there’s no earl in the realm of Bagdemagus that hath an income like
      to that. Income of an earl&mdash;mf! it’s the income of an angel!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Now, then, that is what is going to happen as regards wages. In that
      remote day, that man will earn, with <i>one</i> week’s work, that bill of
      goods which it takes you upwards of <i>fifty</i> weeks to earn now. Some
      other pretty surprising things are going to happen, too. Brother
      Dowley, who is it that determines, every spring, what the particular wage
      of each kind of mechanic, laborer, and servant shall be for that year?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Sometimes the courts, sometimes the town council; but most of all, the
      magistrate. Ye may say, in general terms, it is the magistrate that
      fixes the wages.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Doesn’t ask any of those poor devils to <i>help</i> him fix their wages
      for them, does he?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Hm! That <i>were</i> an idea! The master that’s to pay him
      the money is the one that’s rightly concerned in that matter, ye will
      notice.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes&mdash;but I thought the other man might have some little trifle at
      stake in it, too; and even his wife and children, poor creatures. The
      masters are these: nobles, rich men, the prosperous generally. These
      few, who do no work, determine what pay the vast hive shall have who <i>do</i>
      work. You see? They’re a ‘combine’&mdash;a trade union, to
      coin a new phrase&mdash;who band themselves together to force their lowly
      brother to take what they choose to give. Thirteen hundred years
      hence&mdash;so says the unwritten law&mdash;the ‘combine’ will be the
      other way, and then how these fine people’s posterity will fume and fret
      and grit their teeth over the insolent tyranny of trade unions! Yes,
      indeed! the magistrate will tranquilly arrange the wages from now clear
      away down into the nineteenth century; and then all of a sudden the
      wage-earner will consider that a couple of thousand years or so is enough
      of this one-sided sort of thing; and he will rise up and take a hand in
      fixing his wages himself. Ah, he will have a long and bitter account of
      wrong and humiliation to settle.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Do ye believe&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “That he actually will help to fix his own wages? Yes, indeed. And
      he will be strong and able, then.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Brave times, brave times, of a truth!” sneered the prosperous smith.
    </p>

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    <p>
      “Oh,&mdash;and there’s another detail. In that day, a master may
      hire a man for only just one day, or one week, or one month at a time, if
      he wants to.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It’s true. Moreover, a magistrate won’t be able to force a man to
      work for a master a whole year on a stretch whether the man wants to or
      not.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Will there be <i>no</i> law or sense in that day?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Both of them, Dowley. In that day a man will be his own property,
      not the property of magistrate and master. And he can leave town
      whenever he wants to, if the wages don’t suit him!&mdash;and they can’t
      put him in the pillory for it.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Perdition catch such an age!” shouted Dowley, in strong indignation. “An
      age of dogs, an age barren of reverence for superiors and respect for
      authority! The pillory&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, wait, brother; say no good word for that institution. I think
      the pillory ought to be abolished.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “A most strange idea. Why?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, I’ll tell you why. Is a man ever put in the pillory for a
      capital crime?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “No.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Is it right to condemn a man to a slight punishment for a small offense
      and then kill him?”
     </p>
    <p>
      There was no answer. I had scored my first point! For the
      first time, the smith wasn’t up and ready. The company noticed it.
      Good effect.
    </p>
    <p>
      “You don’t answer, brother. You were about to glorify the pillory a
      while ago, and shed some pity on a future age that isn’t going to use it.
      I think the pillory ought to be abolished. What usually
      happens when a poor fellow is put in the pillory for some little offense
      that didn’t amount to anything in the world? The mob try to have
      some fun with him, don’t they?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “They begin by clodding him; and they laugh themselves to pieces to see
      him try to dodge one clod and get hit with another?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Then they throw dead cats at him, don’t they?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, then, suppose he has a few personal enemies in that mob and here
      and there a man or a woman with a secret grudge against him&mdash;and
      suppose especially that he is unpopular in the community, for his pride,
      or his prosperity, or one thing or another&mdash;stones and bricks take
      the place of clods and cats presently, don’t they?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “There is no doubt of it.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “As a rule he is crippled for life, isn’t he?&mdash;jaws broken, teeth
      smashed out?&mdash;or legs mutilated, gangrened, presently cut off?&mdash;or
      an eye knocked out, maybe both eyes?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It is true, God knoweth it.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “And if he is unpopular he can depend on <i>dying</i>, right there in the
      stocks, can’t he?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “He surely can! One may not deny it.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I take it none of <i>you</i> are unpopular&mdash;by reason of pride or
      insolence, or conspicuous prosperity, or any of those things that excite
      envy and malice among the base scum of a village? <i>You</i>
      wouldn’t think it much of a risk to take a chance in the stocks?”
     </p>
    <p>
      Dowley winced, visibly. I judged he was hit. But he didn’t
      betray it by any spoken word. As for the others, they spoke out
      plainly, and with strong feeling. They said they had seen enough of
      the stocks to know what a man’s chance in them was, and they would never
      consent to enter them if they could compromise on a quick death by
      hanging.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Well, to change the subject&mdash;for I think I’ve established my point
      that the stocks ought to be abolished. I think some of our laws are
      pretty unfair. For instance, if I do a thing which ought to deliver
      me to the stocks, and you know I did it and yet keep still and don’t
      report me, <i>you</i> will get the stocks if anybody informs on you.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ah, but that would serve you but right,” said Dowley, “for you <i>must</i>
      inform. So saith the law.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The others coincided.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Well, all right, let it go, since you vote me down. But there’s one
      thing which certainly isn’t fair. The magistrate fixes a mechanic’s
      wage at one cent a day, for instance. The law says that if any
      master shall venture, even under utmost press of business, to pay anything
      <i>over</i> that cent a day, even for a single day, he shall be both fined
      and pilloried for it; and whoever knows he did it and doesn’t inform, they
      also shall be fined and pilloried. Now it seems to me unfair,
      Dowley, and a deadly peril to all of us, that because you thoughtlessly
      confessed, a while ago, that within a week you have paid a cent and
      fifteen mil&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      Oh, I tell <i>you</i> it was a smasher! You ought to have seen them
      to go to pieces, the whole gang. I had just slipped up on poor
      smiling and complacent Dowley so nice and easy and softly, that he never
      suspected anything was going to happen till the blow came crashing down
      and knocked him all to rags.
    </p>

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    <p>
      A fine effect. In fact, as fine as any I ever produced, with so
      little time to work it up in.
    </p>
    <p>
      But I saw in a moment that I had overdone the thing a little. I was
      expecting to scare them, but I wasn’t expecting to scare them to death.
      They were mighty near it, though. You see they had been a
      whole lifetime learning to appreciate the pillory; and to have that thing
      staring them in the face, and every one of them distinctly at the mercy of
      me, a stranger, if I chose to go and report&mdash;well, it was awful, and
      they couldn’t seem to recover from the shock, they couldn’t seem to pull
      themselves together. Pale, shaky, dumb, pitiful? Why, they weren’t
      any better than so many dead men. It was very uncomfortable. Of
      course, I thought they would appeal to me to keep mum, and then we would
      shake hands, and take a drink all round, and laugh it off, and there an
      end. But no; you see I was an unknown person, among a cruelly oppressed
      and suspicious people, a people always accustomed to having advantage
      taken of their helplessness, and never expecting just or kind treatment
      from any but their own families and very closest intimates. Appeal to <i>me</i>
      to be gentle, to be fair, to be generous? Of course, they wanted to,
      but they couldn’t dare.
    </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c34"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.<br />
THE YANKEE AND THE KING SOLD AS SLAVES</h2>

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    <p>
      Well, what had I better do? Nothing in a hurry, sure. I must
      get up a diversion; anything to employ me while I could think, and while
      these poor fellows could have a chance to come to life again. There
      sat Marco, petrified in the act of trying to get the hang of his
      miller-gun&mdash;turned to stone, just in the attitude he was in when my
      pile-driver fell, the toy still gripped in his unconscious fingers. So
      I took it from him and proposed to explain its mystery. Mystery! a
      simple little thing like that; and yet it was mysterious enough, for that
      race and that age.
    </p>
    <p>
      I never saw such an awkward people, with machinery; you see, they were
      totally unused to it. The miller-gun was a little double-barreled
      tube of toughened glass, with a neat little trick of a spring to it, which
      upon pressure would let a shot escape. But the shot wouldn’t hurt
      anybody, it would only drop into your hand. In the gun were two
      sizes&mdash;wee mustard-seed shot, and another sort that were several
      times larger. They were money. The mustard-seed shot
      represented milrays, the larger ones mills. So the gun was a purse;
      and very handy, too; you could pay out money in the dark with it, with
      accuracy; and you could carry it in your mouth; or in your vest pocket, if
      you had one. I made them of several sizes&mdash;one size so large
      that it would carry the equivalent of a dollar. Using shot for money was a
      good thing for the government; the metal cost nothing, and the money
      couldn’t be counterfeited, for I was the only person in the kingdom who
      knew how to manage a shot tower. “Paying the shot” soon came to be a
      common phrase. Yes, and I knew it would still be passing men’s lips,
      away down in the nineteenth century, yet none would suspect how and when
      it originated.
    </p>
    <p>
      The king joined us, about this time, mightily refreshed by his nap, and
      feeling good. Anything could make me nervous now, I was so uneasy&mdash;for
      our lives were in danger; and so it worried me to detect a complacent
      something in the king’s eye which seemed to indicate that he had been
      loading himself up for a performance of some kind or other; confound it,
      why must he go and choose such a time as this?
    </p>
    <p>
      I was right. He began, straight off, in the most innocently artful,
      and transparent, and lubberly way, to lead up to the subject of
      agriculture. The cold sweat broke out all over me. I wanted to
      whisper in his ear, “Man, we are in awful danger! every moment is worth a
      principality till we get back these men’s confidence; <i>don’t</i> waste
      any of this golden time.” But of course I couldn’t do it. Whisper
      to him? It would look as if we were conspiring. So I had to
      sit there and look calm and pleasant while the king stood over that
      dynamite mine and mooned along about his damned onions and things. At
      first the tumult of my own thoughts, summoned by the danger-signal and
      swarming to the rescue from every quarter of my skull, kept up such a
      hurrah and confusion and fifing and drumming that I couldn’t take in a
      word; but presently when my mob of gathering plans began to crystallize
      and fall into position and form line of battle, a sort of order and quiet
      ensued and I caught the boom of the king’s batteries, as if out of remote
      distance:
    </p>
    <p>
      “&mdash;were not the best way, methinks, albeit it is not to be denied
      that authorities differ as concerning this point, some contending that the
      onion is but an unwholesome berry when stricken early from the tree&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      The audience showed signs of life, and sought each other’s eyes in a
      surprised and troubled way.
    </p>
    <p>
      “&mdash;whileas others do yet maintain, with much show of reason, that
      this is not of necessity the case, instancing that plums and other like
      cereals do be always dug in the unripe state&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      The audience exhibited distinct distress; yes, and also fear.
    </p>
    <p>
      “&mdash;yet are they clearly wholesome, the more especially when one doth
      assuage the asperities of their nature by admixture of the tranquilizing
      juice of the wayward cabbage&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      The wild light of terror began to glow in these men’s eyes, and one of
      them muttered, “These be errors, every one&mdash;God hath surely smitten
      the mind of this farmer.” I was in miserable apprehension; I sat
      upon thorns.
    </p>
    <p>
      “&mdash;and further instancing the known truth that in the case of
      animals, the young, which may be called the green fruit of the creature,
      is the better, all confessing that when a goat is ripe, his fur doth heat
      and sore engame his flesh, the which defect, taken in connection with his
      several rancid habits, and fulsome appetites, and godless attitudes of
      mind, and bilious quality of morals&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      They rose and went for him! With a fierce shout, “The one would
      betray us, the other is mad! Kill them! Kill them!” they flung
      themselves upon us. What joy flamed up in the king’s eye! He
      might be lame in agriculture, but this kind of thing was just in his line.
      He had been fasting long, he was hungry for a fight. He hit the
      blacksmith a crack under the jaw that lifted him clear off his feet and
      stretched him flat on his back. “St. George for Britain!” and he
      downed the wheelwright. The mason was big, but I laid him out like
      nothing. The three gathered themselves up and came again; went down
      again; came again; and kept on repeating this, with native British pluck,
      until they were battered to jelly, reeling with exhaustion, and so blind
      that they couldn’t tell us from each other; and yet they kept right on,
      hammering away with what might was left in them. Hammering each
      other&mdash;for we stepped aside and looked on while they rolled, and
      struggled, and gouged, and pounded, and bit, with the strict and wordless
      attention to business of so many bulldogs. We looked on without
      apprehension, for they were fast getting past ability to go for help
      against us, and the arena was far enough from the public road to be safe
      from intrusion.
    </p>

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    <p>
      Well, while they were gradually playing out, it suddenly occurred to me to
      wonder what had become of Marco. I looked around; he was nowhere to
      be seen. Oh, but this was ominous! I pulled the king’s sleeve,
      and we glided away and rushed for the hut. No Marco there, no
      Phyllis there! They had gone to the road for help, sure. I told the
      king to give his heels wings, and I would explain later. We made good time
      across the open ground, and as we darted into the shelter of the wood I
      glanced back and saw a mob of excited peasants swarm into view, with Marco
      and his wife at their head. They were making a world of noise, but that
      couldn’t hurt anybody; the wood was dense, and as soon as we were well
      into its depths we would take to a tree and let them whistle. Ah,
      but then came another sound&mdash;dogs! Yes, that was quite another
      matter. It magnified our contract&mdash;we must find running water.
    </p>
    <p>
      We tore along at a good gait, and soon left the sounds far behind and
      modified to a murmur. We struck a stream and darted into it. We
      waded swiftly down it, in the dim forest light, for as much as three
      hundred yards, and then came across an oak with a great bough sticking out
      over the water. We climbed up on this bough, and began to work our
      way along it to the body of the tree; now we began to hear those sounds
      more plainly; so the mob had struck our trail. For a while the
      sounds approached pretty fast. And then for another while they
      didn’t. No doubt the dogs had found the place where we had entered
      the stream, and were now waltzing up and down the shores trying to pick up
      the trail again.
    </p>
    <p>
      When we were snugly lodged in the tree and curtained with foliage, the
      king was satisfied, but I was doubtful. I believed we could crawl
      along a branch and get into the next tree, and I judged it worth while to
      try. We tried it, and made a success of it, though the king slipped,
      at the junction, and came near failing to connect. We got comfortable
      lodgment and satisfactory concealment among the foliage, and then we had
      nothing to do but listen to the hunt.
    </p>
    <p>
      Presently we heard it coming&mdash;and coming on the jump, too; yes, and
      down both sides of the stream. Louder&mdash;louder&mdash;next minute
      it swelled swiftly up into a roar of shoutings, barkings, tramplings, and
      swept by like a cyclone.
    </p>
    <p>
      “I was afraid that the overhanging branch would suggest something to
      them,” said I, “but I don’t mind the disappointment. Come, my liege,
      it were well that we make good use of our time. We’ve flanked them.
      Dark is coming on, presently. If we can cross the stream and
      get a good start, and borrow a couple of horses from somebody’s pasture to
      use for a few hours, we shall be safe enough.”
     </p>
    <p>
      We started down, and got nearly to the lowest limb, when we seemed to hear
      the hunt returning. We stopped to listen.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Yes,” said I, “they’re baffled, they’ve given it up, they’re on their way
      home. We will climb back to our roost again, and let them go by.”
     </p>
    <p>
      So we climbed back. The king listened a moment and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “They still search&mdash;I wit the sign. We did best to abide.”
     </p>
    <p>
      He was right. He knew more about hunting than I did. The noise
      approached steadily, but not with a rush. The king said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “They reason that we were advantaged by no parlous start of them, and
      being on foot are as yet no mighty way from where we took the water.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes, sire, that is about it, I am afraid, though I was hoping better
      things.”
     </p>

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    <p>
      The noise drew nearer and nearer, and soon the van was drifting under us,
      on both sides of the water. A voice called a halt from the other
      bank, and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “An they were so minded, they could get to yon tree by this branch that
      overhangs, and yet not touch ground. Ye will do well to send a man
      up it.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Marry, that we will do!”
     </p>
    <p>
      I was obliged to admire my cuteness in foreseeing this very thing and
      swapping trees to beat it. But, don’t you know, there are some
      things that can beat smartness and foresight? Awkwardness and
      stupidity can. The best swordsman in the world doesn’t need to fear
      the second best swordsman in the world; no, the person for him to be
      afraid of is some ignorant antagonist who has never had a sword in his
      hand before; he doesn’t do the thing he ought to do, and so the expert
      isn’t prepared for him; he does the thing he ought not to do; and often it
      catches the expert out and ends him on the spot. Well, how could I,
      with all my gifts, make any valuable preparation against a near-sighted,
      cross-eyed, pudding-headed clown who would aim himself at the wrong tree
      and hit the right one? And that is what he did. He went for
      the wrong tree, which was, of course, the right one by mistake, and up he
      started.
    </p>
    <p>
      Matters were serious now. We remained still, and awaited
      developments. The peasant toiled his difficult way up. The king
      raised himself up and stood; he made a leg ready, and when the comer’s
      head arrived in reach of it there was a dull thud, and down went the man
      floundering to the ground. There was a wild outbreak of anger below,
      and the mob swarmed in from all around, and there we were treed, and
      prisoners. Another man started up; the bridging bough was detected,
      and a volunteer started up the tree that furnished the bridge. The
      king ordered me to play Horatius and keep the bridge. For a while
      the enemy came thick and fast; but no matter, the head man of each
      procession always got a buffet that dislodged him as soon as he came in
      reach. The king’s spirits rose, his joy was limitless. He said
      that if nothing occurred to mar the prospect we should have a beautiful
      night, for on this line of tactics we could hold the tree against the
      whole country-side.
    </p>
    <p>
      However, the mob soon came to that conclusion themselves; wherefore they
      called off the assault and began to debate other plans. They had no
      weapons, but there were plenty of stones, and stones might answer. We
      had no objections. A stone might possibly penetrate to us once in a
      while, but it wasn’t very likely; we were well protected by boughs and
      foliage, and were not visible from any good aiming point. If they
      would but waste half an hour in stone-throwing, the dark would come to our
      help. We were feeling very well satisfied. We could smile;
      almost laugh.
    </p>
    <p>
      But we didn’t; which was just as well, for we should have been
      interrupted. Before the stones had been raging through the leaves
      and bouncing from the boughs fifteen minutes, we began to notice a smell.
      A couple of sniffs of it was enough of an explanation&mdash;it was
      smoke! Our game was up at last. We recognized that. When
      smoke invites you, you have to come. They raised their pile of dry
      brush and damp weeds higher and higher, and when they saw the thick cloud
      begin to roll up and smother the tree, they broke out in a storm of
      joy-clamors. I got enough breath to say:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Proceed, my liege; after you is manners.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The king gasped:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Follow me down, and then back thyself against one side of the trunk, and
      leave me the other. Then will we fight. Let each pile his dead
      according to his own fashion and taste.”
     </p>
    <p>
      Then he descended, barking and coughing, and I followed. I struck
      the ground an instant after him; we sprang to our appointed places, and
      began to give and take with all our might. The powwow and racket
      were prodigious; it was a tempest of riot and confusion and thick-falling
      blows. Suddenly some horsemen tore into the midst of the crowd, and
      a voice shouted:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Hold&mdash;or ye are dead men!”
     </p>
    <p>
      How good it sounded! The owner of the voice bore all the marks of a
      gentleman: picturesque and costly raiment, the aspect of command, a
      hard countenance, with complexion and features marred by dissipation. The
      mob fell humbly back, like so many spaniels. The gentleman inspected
      us critically, then said sharply to the peasants:
    </p>
    <p>
      “What are ye doing to these people?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “They be madmen, worshipful sir, that have come wandering we know not
      whence, and&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ye know not whence? Do ye pretend ye know them not?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Most honored sir, we speak but the truth. They are strangers and
      unknown to any in this region; and they be the most violent and
      bloodthirsty madmen that ever&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Peace! Ye know not what ye say. They are not mad. Who
      are ye? And whence are ye? Explain.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “We are but peaceful strangers, sir,” I said, “and traveling upon our own
      concerns. We are from a far country, and unacquainted here. We
      have purposed no harm; and yet but for your brave interference and
      protection these people would have killed us. As you have divined, sir, we
      are not mad; neither are we violent or bloodthirsty.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The gentleman turned to his retinue and said calmly: “Lash me these
      animals to their kennels!”
     </p>
    <p>
      The mob vanished in an instant; and after them plunged the horsemen,
      laying about them with their whips and pitilessly riding down such as were
      witless enough to keep the road instead of taking to the bush. The
      shrieks and supplications presently died away in the distance, and soon
      the horsemen began to straggle back. Meantime the gentleman had been
      questioning us more closely, but had dug no particulars out of us. We
      were lavish of recognition of the service he was doing us, but we revealed
      nothing more than that we were friendless strangers from a far country.
      When the escort were all returned, the gentleman said to one of his
      servants:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Bring the led-horses and mount these people.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes, my lord.”
     </p>
    <p>
      We were placed toward the rear, among the servants. We traveled
      pretty fast, and finally drew rein some time after dark at a roadside inn
      some ten or twelve miles from the scene of our troubles. My lord
      went immediately to his room, after ordering his supper, and we saw no
      more of him. At dawn in the morning we breakfasted and made ready to
      start.
    </p>
    <p>
      My lord’s chief attendant sauntered forward at that moment with indolent
      grace, and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Ye have said ye should continue upon this road, which is our direction
      likewise; wherefore my lord, the earl Grip, hath given commandment that ye
      retain the horses and ride, and that certain of us ride with ye a twenty
      mile to a fair town that hight Cambenet, whenso ye shall be out of peril.”
     </p>

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</div>

    <p>
      We could do nothing less than express our thanks and accept the offer.
      We jogged along, six in the party, at a moderate and comfortable
      gait, and in conversation learned that my lord Grip was a very great
      personage in his own region, which lay a day’s journey beyond Cambenet.
      We loitered to such a degree that it was near the middle of the
      forenoon when we entered the market square of the town. We
      dismounted, and left our thanks once more for my lord, and then approached
      a crowd assembled in the center of the square, to see what might be the
      object of interest. It was the remnant of that old peregrinating
      band of slaves! So they had been dragging their chains about, all
      this weary time. That poor husband was gone, and also many others;
      and some few purchases had been added to the gang. The king was not
      interested, and wanted to move along, but I was absorbed, and full of
      pity. I could not take my eyes away from these worn and wasted
      wrecks of humanity. There they sat, grounded upon the ground, silent,
      uncomplaining, with bowed heads, a pathetic sight. And by hideous
      contrast, a redundant orator was making a speech to another gathering not
      thirty steps away, in fulsome laudation of “our glorious British
      liberties!”
     </p>
    <p>
      I was boiling. I had forgotten I was a plebeian, I was remembering I
      was a man. Cost what it might, I would mount that rostrum and&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      Click! the king and I were handcuffed together! Our companions,
      those servants, had done it; my lord Grip stood looking on. The king
      burst out in a fury, and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “What meaneth this ill-mannered jest?”
     </p>
    <p>
      My lord merely said to his head miscreant, coolly:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Put up the slaves and sell them!”
     </p>
    <p>
      <i>Slaves!</i> The word had a new sound&mdash;and how unspeakably
      awful! The king lifted his manacles and brought them down with a
      deadly force; but my lord was out of the way when they arrived. A
      dozen of the rascal’s servants sprang forward, and in a moment we were
      helpless, with our hands bound behind us. We so loudly and so
      earnestly proclaimed ourselves freemen, that we got the interested
      attention of that liberty-mouthing orator and his patriotic crowd, and
      they gathered about us and assumed a very determined attitude. The orator
      said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “If, indeed, ye are freemen, ye have nought to fear&mdash;the God-given
      liberties of Britain are about ye for your shield and shelter! (Applause.)
      Ye shall soon see. Bring forth your proofs.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What proofs?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Proof that ye are freemen.”
     </p>
    <p>
      Ah&mdash;I remembered! I came to myself; I said nothing. But
      the king stormed out:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Thou’rt insane, man. It were better, and more in reason, that this
      thief and scoundrel here prove that we are <i>not</i> freemen.”
     </p>
    <p>
      You see, he knew his own laws just as other people so often know the laws;
      by words, not by effects. They take a <i>meaning</i>, and get to be
      very vivid, when you come to apply them to yourself.
    </p>
    <p>
      All hands shook their heads and looked disappointed; some turned away, no
      longer interested. The orator said&mdash;and this time in the tones
      of business, not of sentiment:
    </p>
    <p>
      “An ye do not know your country’s laws, it were time ye learned them.
      Ye are strangers to us; ye will not deny that. Ye may be freemen, we
      do not deny that; but also ye may be slaves. The law is clear:
      it doth not require the claimant to prove ye are slaves, it
      requireth you to prove ye are not.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Dear sir, give us only time to send to Astolat; or give us only time to
      send to the Valley of Holiness&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Peace, good man, these are extraordinary requests, and you may not hope
      to have them granted. It would cost much time, and would
      unwarrantably inconvenience your master&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “<i>Master</i>, idiot!” stormed the king. “I have no master, I
      myself am the m&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Silence, for God’s sake!”
     </p>
    <p>
      I got the words out in time to stop the king. We were in trouble
      enough already; it could not help us any to give these people the notion
      that we were lunatics.
    </p>
    <p>
      There is no use in stringing out the details. The earl put us up and
      sold us at auction. This same infernal law had existed in our own
      South in my own time, more than thirteen hundred years later, and under it
      hundreds of freemen who could not prove that they were freemen had been
      sold into lifelong slavery without the circumstance making any particular
      impression upon me; but the minute law and the auction block came into my
      personal experience, a thing which had been merely improper before became
      suddenly hellish. Well, that’s the way we are made.
    </p>
    <p>
      Yes, we were sold at auction, like swine. In a big town and an
      active market we should have brought a good price; but this place was
      utterly stagnant and so we sold at a figure which makes me ashamed, every
      time I think of it. The King of England brought seven dollars, and
      his prime minister nine; whereas the king was easily worth twelve dollars
      and I as easily worth fifteen. But that is the way things always go;
      if you force a sale on a dull market, I don’t care what the property is,
      you are going to make a poor business of it, and you can make up your mind
      to it. If the earl had had wit enough to&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      However, there is no occasion for my working my sympathies up on his
      account. Let him go, for the present; I took his number, so to
      speak.
    </p>

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    <p>
      The slave-dealer bought us both, and hitched us onto that long chain of
      his, and we constituted the rear of his procession. We took up our
      line of march and passed out of Cambenet at noon; and it seemed to me
      unaccountably strange and odd that the King of England and his chief
      minister, marching manacled and fettered and yoked, in a slave convoy,
      could move by all manner of idle men and women, and under windows where
      sat the sweet and the lovely, and yet never attract a curious eye, never
      provoke a single remark. Dear, dear, it only shows that there is nothing
      diviner about a king than there is about a tramp, after all. He is
      just a cheap and hollow artificiality when you don’t know he is a king.
      But reveal his quality, and dear me it takes your very breath away
      to look at him. I reckon we are all fools. Born so, no doubt.
    </p>

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<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c35"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.<br />
A PITIFUL INCIDENT</h2>

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    <p>
      It’s a world of surprises. The king brooded; this was natural. What
      would he brood about, should you say? Why, about the prodigious
      nature of his fall, of course&mdash;from the loftiest place in the world
      to the lowest; from the most illustrious station in the world to the
      obscurest; from the grandest vocation among men to the basest. No, I take
      my oath that the thing that graveled him most, to start with, was not
      this, but the price he had fetched! He couldn’t seem to get over
      that seven dollars. Well, it stunned me so, when I first found it
      out, that I couldn’t believe it; it didn’t seem natural. But as soon
      as my mental sight cleared and I got a right focus on it, I saw I was
      mistaken; it <i>was</i> natural. For this reason: a king is a
      mere artificiality, and so a king’s feelings, like the impulses of an
      automatic doll, are mere artificialities; but as a man, he is a reality,
      and his feelings, as a man, are real, not phantoms. It shames the
      average man to be valued below his own estimate of his worth, and the king
      certainly wasn’t anything more than an average man, if he was up that
      high.
    </p>
    <p>
      Confound him, he wearied me with arguments to show that in anything like a
      fair market he would have fetched twenty-five dollars, sure&mdash;a thing
      which was plainly nonsense, and full of the baldest conceit; I wasn’t
      worth it myself. But it was tender ground for me to argue on. In
      fact, I had to simply shirk argument and do the diplomatic instead. I
      had to throw conscience aside, and brazenly concede that he ought to have
      brought twenty-five dollars; whereas I was quite well aware that in all
      the ages, the world had never seen a king that was worth half the money,
      and during the next thirteen centuries wouldn’t see one that was worth the
      fourth of it. Yes, he tired me. If he began to talk about the
      crops; or about the recent weather; or about the condition of politics; or
      about dogs, or cats, or morals, or theology&mdash;no matter what&mdash;I
      sighed, for I knew what was coming; he was going to get out of it a
      palliation of that tiresome seven-dollar sale. Wherever we halted
      where there was a crowd, he would give me a look which said plainly:
      “if that thing could be tried over again now, with this kind of
      folk, you would see a different result.” Well, when he was first
      sold, it secretly tickled me to see him go for seven dollars; but before
      he was done with his sweating and worrying I wished he had fetched a
      hundred. The thing never got a chance to die, for every day, at one
      place or another, possible purchasers looked us over, and, as often as any
      other way, their comment on the king was something like this:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Here’s a two-dollar-and-a-half chump with a thirty-dollar style. Pity but
      style was marketable.”
     </p>
    <p>
      At last this sort of remark produced an evil result. Our owner was a
      practical person and he perceived that this defect must be mended if he
      hoped to find a purchaser for the king. So he went to work to take
      the style out of his sacred majesty. I could have given the man some
      valuable advice, but I didn’t; you mustn’t volunteer advice to a
      slave-driver unless you want to damage the cause you are arguing for.
      I had found it a sufficiently difficult job to reduce the king’s
      style to a peasant’s style, even when he was a willing and anxious pupil;
      now then, to undertake to reduce the king’s style to a slave’s style&mdash;and
      by force&mdash;go to! it was a stately contract. Never mind the
      details&mdash;it will save me trouble to let you imagine them. I
      will only remark that at the end of a week there was plenty of evidence
      that lash and club and fist had done their work well; the king’s body was
      a sight to see&mdash;and to weep over; but his spirit?&mdash;why, it
      wasn’t even phased. Even that dull clod of a slave-driver was able
      to see that there can be such a thing as a slave who will remain a man
      till he dies; whose bones you can break, but whose manhood you can’t.
      This man found that from his first effort down to his latest, he
      couldn’t ever come within reach of the king, but the king was ready to
      plunge for him, and did it. So he gave up at last, and left the king
      in possession of his style unimpaired. The fact is, the king was a good
      deal more than a king, he was a man; and when a man is a man, you can’t
      knock it out of him.
    </p>

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    <p>
      We had a rough time for a month, tramping to and fro in the earth, and
      suffering. And what Englishman was the most interested in the
      slavery question by that time? His grace the king! Yes; from
      being the most indifferent, he was become the most interested. He was
      become the bitterest hater of the institution I had ever heard talk.
      And so I ventured to ask once more a question which I had asked
      years before and had gotten such a sharp answer that I had not thought it
      prudent to meddle in the matter further. Would he abolish slavery?
    </p>
    <p>
      His answer was as sharp as before, but it was music this time; I shouldn’t
      ever wish to hear pleasanter, though the profanity was not good, being
      awkwardly put together, and with the crash-word almost in the middle
      instead of at the end, where, of course, it ought to have been.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was ready and willing to get free now; I hadn’t wanted to get free any
      sooner. No, I cannot quite say that. I had wanted to, but I
      had not been willing to take desperate chances, and had always dissuaded
      the king from them. But now&mdash;ah, it was a new atmosphere!
      Liberty would be worth any cost that might be put upon it now.
      I set about a plan, and was straightway charmed with it. It
      would require time, yes, and patience, too, a great deal of both. One
      could invent quicker ways, and fully as sure ones; but none that would be
      as picturesque as this; none that could be made so dramatic. And so
      I was not going to give this one up. It might delay us months, but
      no matter, I would carry it out or break something.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now and then we had an adventure. One night we were overtaken by a
      snow-storm while still a mile from the village we were making for. Almost
      instantly we were shut up as in a fog, the driving snow was so thick.
      You couldn’t see a thing, and we were soon lost. The
      slave-driver lashed us desperately, for he saw ruin before him, but his
      lashings only made matters worse, for they drove us further from the road
      and from likelihood of succor. So we had to stop at last and slump down in
      the snow where we were. The storm continued until toward midnight,
      then ceased. By this time two of our feebler men and three of our women
      were dead, and others past moving and threatened with death. Our
      master was nearly beside himself. He stirred up the living, and made
      us stand, jump, slap ourselves, to restore our circulation, and he helped
      as well as he could with his whip.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now came a diversion. We heard shrieks and yells, and soon a woman
      came running and crying; and seeing our group, she flung herself into our
      midst and begged for protection. A mob of people came tearing after
      her, some with torches, and they said she was a witch who had caused
      several cows to die by a strange disease, and practiced her arts by help
      of a devil in the form of a black cat. This poor woman had been
      stoned until she hardly looked human, she was so battered and bloody.
      The mob wanted to burn her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, now, what do you suppose our master did? When we closed around
      this poor creature to shelter her, he saw his chance. He said, burn
      her here, or they shouldn’t have her at all. Imagine that! They
      were willing. They fastened her to a post; they brought wood and
      piled it about her; they applied the torch while she shrieked and pleaded
      and strained her two young daughters to her breast; and our brute, with a
      heart solely for business, lashed us into position about the stake and
      warmed us into life and commercial value by the same fire which took away
      the innocent life of that poor harmless mother. That was the sort of
      master we had. I took <i>his</i> number. That snow-storm cost
      him nine of his flock; and he was more brutal to us than ever, after that,
      for many days together, he was so enraged over his loss.
    </p>
    <p>
      We had adventures all along. One day we ran into a procession. And
      such a procession! All the riffraff of the kingdom seemed to be
      comprehended in it; and all drunk at that. In the van was a cart
      with a coffin in it, and on the coffin sat a comely young girl of about
      eighteen suckling a baby, which she squeezed to her breast in a passion of
      love every little while, and every little while wiped from its face the
      tears which her eyes rained down upon it; and always the foolish little
      thing smiled up at her, happy and content, kneading her breast with its
      dimpled fat hand, which she patted and fondled right over her breaking
      heart.
    </p>

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    <p>
      Men and women, boys and girls, trotted along beside or after the cart,
      hooting, shouting profane and ribald remarks, singing snatches of foul
      song, skipping, dancing&mdash;a very holiday of hellions, a sickening
      sight. We had struck a suburb of London, outside the walls, and this
      was a sample of one sort of London society. Our master secured a
      good place for us near the gallows. A priest was in attendance, and he
      helped the girl climb up, and said comforting words to her, and made the
      under-sheriff provide a stool for her. Then he stood there by her on
      the gallows, and for a moment looked down upon the mass of upturned faces
      at his feet, then out over the solid pavement of heads that stretched away
      on every side occupying the vacancies far and near, and then began to tell
      the story of the case. And there was pity in his voice&mdash;how
      seldom a sound that was in that ignorant and savage land! I remember every
      detail of what he said, except the words he said it in; and so I change it
      into my own words:
    </p>

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    <p>
      “Law is intended to mete out justice. Sometimes it fails. This
      cannot be helped. We can only grieve, and be resigned, and pray for
      the soul of him who falls unfairly by the arm of the law, and that his
      fellows may be few. A law sends this poor young thing to death&mdash;and
      it is right. But another law had placed her where she must commit
      her crime or starve with her child&mdash;and before God that law is
      responsible for both her crime and her ignominious death!
    </p>
    <p>
      “A little while ago this young thing, this child of eighteen years, was as
      happy a wife and mother as any in England; and her lips were blithe with
      song, which is the native speech of glad and innocent hearts. Her
      young husband was as happy as she; for he was doing his whole duty, he
      worked early and late at his handicraft, his bread was honest bread well
      and fairly earned, he was prospering, he was furnishing shelter and
      sustenance to his family, he was adding his mite to the wealth of the
      nation. By consent of a treacherous law, instant destruction fell
      upon this holy home and swept it away! That young husband was
      waylaid and impressed, and sent to sea. The wife knew nothing of it.
      She sought him everywhere, she moved the hardest hearts with the
      supplications of her tears, the broken eloquence of her despair. Weeks
      dragged by, she watching, waiting, hoping, her mind going slowly to wreck
      under the burden of her misery. Little by little all her small
      possessions went for food. When she could no longer pay her rent,
      they turned her out of doors. She begged, while she had strength;
      when she was starving at last, and her milk failing, she stole a piece of
      linen cloth of the value of a fourth part of a cent, thinking to sell it
      and save her child. But she was seen by the owner of the cloth.
      She was put in jail and brought to trial. The man testified to the
      facts. A plea was made for her, and her sorrowful story was told in
      her behalf. She spoke, too, by permission, and said she did steal
      the cloth, but that her mind was so disordered of late by trouble that
      when she was overborne with hunger all acts, criminal or other, swam
      meaningless through her brain and she knew nothing rightly, except that
      she was so hungry! For a moment all were touched, and there was
      disposition to deal mercifully with her, seeing that she was so young and
      friendless, and her case so piteous, and the law that robbed her of her
      support to blame as being the first and only cause of her transgression;
      but the prosecuting officer replied that whereas these things were all
      true, and most pitiful as well, still there was much small theft in these
      days, and mistimed mercy here would be a danger to property&mdash;oh, my
      God, is there no property in ruined homes, and orphaned babes, and broken
      hearts that British law holds precious!&mdash;and so he must require
      sentence.
    </p>
    <p>
      “When the judge put on his black cap, the owner of the stolen linen rose
      trembling up, his lip quivering, his face as gray as ashes; and when the
      awful words came, he cried out, ‘Oh, poor child, poor child, I did not
      know it was death!’ and fell as a tree falls. When they lifted him
      up his reason was gone; before the sun was set, he had taken his own life.
      A kindly man; a man whose heart was right, at bottom; add his murder
      to this that is to be now done here; and charge them both where they
      belong&mdash;to the rulers and the bitter laws of Britain. The time
      is come, my child; let me pray over thee&mdash;not <i>for</i> thee, dear
      abused poor heart and innocent, but for them that be guilty of thy ruin
      and death, who need it more.”
     </p>
    <p>
      After his prayer they put the noose around the young girl’s neck, and they
      had great trouble to adjust the knot under her ear, because she was
      devouring the baby all the time, wildly kissing it, and snatching it to
      her face and her breast, and drenching it with tears, and half moaning,
      half shrieking all the while, and the baby crowing, and laughing, and
      kicking its feet with delight over what it took for romp and play. Even
      the hangman couldn’t stand it, but turned away. When all was ready
      the priest gently pulled and tugged and forced the child out of the
      mother’s arms, and stepped quickly out of her reach; but she clasped her
      hands, and made a wild spring toward him, with a shriek; but the rope&mdash;and
      the under-sheriff&mdash;held her short. Then she went on her knees
      and stretched out her hands and cried:
    </p>
    <p>
      “One more kiss&mdash;oh, my God, one more, one more,&mdash;it is the dying
      that begs it!”
     </p>
    <p>
      She got it; she almost smothered the little thing. And when they got
      it away again, she cried out:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, my child, my darling, it will die! It has no home, it has no
      father, no friend, no mother&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It has them all!” said that good priest. “All these will I be to it
      till I die.”
     </p>
    <p>
      You should have seen her face then! Gratitude? Lord, what do
      you want with words to express that? Words are only painted fire; a
      look is the fire itself. She gave that look, and carried it away to
      the treasury of heaven, where all things that are divine belong.
    </p>

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<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c36"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.<br />
AN ENCOUNTER IN THE DARK</h2>

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</div>

    <p>
      London&mdash;to a slave&mdash;was a sufficiently interesting place. It
      was merely a great big village; and mainly mud and thatch. The
      streets were muddy, crooked, unpaved. The populace was an ever
      flocking and drifting swarm of rags, and splendors, of nodding plumes and
      shining armor. The king had a palace there; he saw the outside of
      it. It made him sigh; yes, and swear a little, in a poor juvenile
      sixth century way. We saw knights and grandees whom we knew, but
      they didn’t know us in our rags and dirt and raw welts and bruises, and
      wouldn’t have recognized us if we had hailed them, nor stopped to answer,
      either, it being unlawful to speak with slaves on a chain. Sandy
      passed within ten yards of me on a mule&mdash;hunting for me, I imagined.
      But the thing which clean broke my heart was something which
      happened in front of our old barrack in a square, while we were enduring
      the spectacle of a man being boiled to death in oil for counterfeiting
      pennies. It was the sight of a newsboy&mdash;and I couldn’t get at
      him! Still, I had one comfort&mdash;here was proof that Clarence was
      still alive and banging away. I meant to be with him before long;
      the thought was full of cheer.
    </p>

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</div>

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<img alt="36-469.jpg (31K)" src="images/36-469.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      I had one little glimpse of another thing, one day, which gave me a great
      uplift. It was a wire stretching from housetop to housetop.
      Telegraph or telephone, sure. I did very much wish I had a little
      piece of it. It was just what I needed, in order to carry out my
      project of escape. My idea was to get loose some night, along with
      the king, then gag and bind our master, change clothes with him, batter
      him into the aspect of a stranger, hitch him to the slave-chain, assume
      possession of the property, march to Camelot, and&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      But you get my idea; you see what a stunning dramatic surprise I would
      wind up with at the palace. It was all feasible, if I could only get
      hold of a slender piece of iron which I could shape into a lock-pick.
      I could then undo the lumbering padlocks with which our chains were
      fastened, whenever I might choose. But I never had any luck; no such thing
      ever happened to fall in my way. However, my chance came at last.
      A gentleman who had come twice before to dicker for me, without
      result, or indeed any approach to a result, came again. I was far
      from expecting ever to belong to him, for the price asked for me from the
      time I was first enslaved was exorbitant, and always provoked either anger
      or derision, yet my master stuck stubbornly to it&mdash;twenty-two
      dollars. He wouldn’t bate a cent. The king was greatly
      admired, because of his grand physique, but his kingly style was against
      him, and he wasn’t salable; nobody wanted that kind of a slave. I
      considered myself safe from parting from him because of my extravagant
      price. No, I was not expecting to ever belong to this gentleman whom
      I have spoken of, but he had something which I expected would belong to me
      eventually, if he would but visit us often enough. It was a steel
      thing with a long pin to it, with which his long cloth outside garment was
      fastened together in front. There were three of them. He had
      disappointed me twice, because he did not come quite close enough to me to
      make my project entirely safe; but this time I succeeded; I captured the
      lower clasp of the three, and when he missed it he thought he had lost it
      on the way.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had a chance to be glad about a minute, then straightway a chance to be
      sad again. For when the purchase was about to fail, as usual, the
      master suddenly spoke up and said what would be worded thus&mdash;in
      modern English:
    </p>
    <p>
      “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’m tired supporting these two for no
      good. Give me twenty-two dollars for this one, and I’ll throw the
      other one in.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The king couldn’t get his breath, he was in such a fury. He began to
      choke and gag, and meantime the master and the gentleman moved away
      discussing.
    </p>
    <p>
      “An ye will keep the offer open&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “’Tis open till the morrow at this hour.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Then I will answer you at that time,” said the gentleman, and
      disappeared, the master following him.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had a time of it to cool the king down, but I managed it. I whispered in
      his ear, to this effect:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Your grace <i>will</i> go for nothing, but after another fashion. And
      so shall I. To-night we shall both be free.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ah! How is that?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “With this thing which I have stolen, I will unlock these locks and cast
      off these chains to-night. When he comes about nine-thirty to
      inspect us for the night, we will seize him, gag him, batter him, and
      early in the morning we will march out of this town, proprietors of this
      caravan of slaves.”
     </p>
    <p>
      That was as far as I went, but the king was charmed and satisfied. That
      evening we waited patiently for our fellow-slaves to get to sleep and
      signify it by the usual sign, for you must not take many chances on those
      poor fellows if you can avoid it. It is best to keep your own
      secrets. No doubt they fidgeted only about as usual, but it didn’t
      seem so to me. It seemed to me that they were going to be forever
      getting down to their regular snoring. As the time dragged on I got
      nervously afraid we shouldn’t have enough of it left for our needs; so I
      made several premature attempts, and merely delayed things by it; for I
      couldn’t seem to touch a padlock, there in the dark, without starting a
      rattle out of it which interrupted somebody’s sleep and made him turn over
      and wake some more of the gang.
    </p>
    <p>
      But finally I did get my last iron off, and was a free man once more.
      I took a good breath of relief, and reached for the king’s irons.
      Too late! in comes the master, with a light in one hand and his
      heavy walking-staff in the other. I snuggled close among the wallow
      of snorers, to conceal as nearly as possible that I was naked of irons;
      and I kept a sharp lookout and prepared to spring for my man the moment he
      should bend over me.
    </p>

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    <p>
      But he didn’t approach. He stopped, gazed absently toward our dusky
      mass a minute, evidently thinking about something else; then set down his
      light, moved musingly toward the door, and before a body could imagine
      what he was going to do, he was out of the door and had closed it behind
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Quick!” said the king. “Fetch him back!”
     </p>
    <p>
      Of course, it was the thing to do, and I was up and out in a moment.
      But, dear me, there were no lamps in those days, and it was a dark
      night. But I glimpsed a dim figure a few steps away. I darted
      for it, threw myself upon it, and then there was a state of things and
      lively! We fought and scuffled and struggled, and drew a crowd in no
      time. They took an immense interest in the fight and encouraged us
      all they could, and, in fact, couldn’t have been pleasanter or more
      cordial if it had been their own fight. Then a tremendous row broke
      out behind us, and as much as half of our audience left us, with a rush,
      to invest some sympathy in that. Lanterns began to swing in all
      directions; it was the watch gathering from far and near. Presently
      a halberd fell across my back, as a reminder, and I knew what it meant. I
      was in custody. So was my adversary. We were marched off
      toward prison, one on each side of the watchman. Here was disaster,
      here was a fine scheme gone to sudden destruction! I tried to
      imagine what would happen when the master should discover that it was I
      who had been fighting him; and what would happen if they jailed us
      together in the general apartment for brawlers and petty law-breakers, as
      was the custom; and what might&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      Just then my antagonist turned his face around in my direction, the
      freckled light from the watchman’s tin lantern fell on it, and, by George,
      he was the wrong man!
    </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c37"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII.<br />
AN AWFUL PREDICAMENT</h2>

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    <p>
      Sleep? It was impossible. It would naturally have been
      impossible in that noisome cavern of a jail, with its mangy crowd of
      drunken, quarrelsome, and song-singing rapscallions. But the thing
      that made sleep all the more a thing not to be dreamed of, was my racking
      impatience to get out of this place and find out the whole size of what
      might have happened yonder in the slave-quarters in consequence of that
      intolerable miscarriage of mine.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a long night, but the morning got around at last. I made a
      full and frank explanation to the court. I said I was a slave, the
      property of the great Earl Grip, who had arrived just after dark at the
      Tabard inn in the village on the other side of the water, and had stopped
      there over night, by compulsion, he being taken deadly sick with a strange
      and sudden disorder. I had been ordered to cross to the city in all
      haste and bring the best physician; I was doing my best; naturally I was
      running with all my might; the night was dark, I ran against this common
      person here, who seized me by the throat and began to pummel me, although
      I told him my errand, and implored him, for the sake of the great earl my
      master’s mortal peril&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      The common person interrupted and said it was a lie; and was going to
      explain how I rushed upon him and attacked him without a word&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      “Silence, sirrah!” from the court. “Take him hence and give him a
      few stripes whereby to teach him how to treat the servant of a nobleman
      after a different fashion another time. Go!”
     </p>
    <p>
      Then the court begged my pardon, and hoped I would not fail to tell his
      lordship it was in no wise the court’s fault that this high-handed thing
      had happened. I said I would make it all right, and so took my
      leave. Took it just in time, too; he was starting to ask me why I
      didn’t fetch out these facts the moment I was arrested. I said I
      would if I had thought of it&mdash;which was true&mdash;but that I was so
      battered by that man that all my wit was knocked out of me&mdash;and so
      forth and so on, and got myself away, still mumbling.
    </p>

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    <p>
      I didn’t wait for breakfast. No grass grew under my feet. I
      was soon at the slave quarters. Empty&mdash;everybody gone! That is,
      everybody except one body&mdash;the slave-master’s. It lay there all
      battered to pulp; and all about were the evidences of a terrific fight.
      There was a rude board coffin on a cart at the door, and workmen,
      assisted by the police, were thinning a road through the gaping crowd in
      order that they might bring it in.
    </p>
    <p>
      I picked out a man humble enough in life to condescend to talk with one so
      shabby as I, and got his account of the matter.
    </p>
    <p>
      “There were sixteen slaves here. They rose against their master in
      the night, and thou seest how it ended.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes. How did it begin?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “There was no witness but the slaves. They said the slave that was
      most valuable got free of his bonds and escaped in some strange way&mdash;by
      magic arts ’twas thought, by reason that he had no key, and the locks were
      neither broke nor in any wise injured. When the master discovered
      his loss, he was mad with despair, and threw himself upon his people with
      his heavy stick, who resisted and brake his back and in other and divers
      ways did give him hurts that brought him swiftly to his end.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “This is dreadful. It will go hard with the slaves, no doubt, upon
      the trial.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Marry, the trial is over.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Over!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Would they be a week, think you&mdash;and the matter so simple? They
      were not the half of a quarter of an hour at it.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Why, I don’t see how they could determine which were the guilty ones in
      so short a time.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “<i>Which</i> ones? Indeed, they considered not particulars like to
      that. They condemned them in a body. Wit ye not the law?&mdash;which
      men say the Romans left behind them here when they went&mdash;that if one
      slave killeth his master all the slaves of that man must die for it.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “True. I had forgotten. And when will these die?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Belike within a four and twenty hours; albeit some say they will wait a
      pair of days more, if peradventure they may find the missing one
      meantime.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The missing one! It made me feel uncomfortable.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Is it likely they will find him?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Before the day is spent&mdash;yes. They seek him everywhere. They
      stand at the gates of the town, with certain of the slaves who will
      discover him to them if he cometh, and none can pass out but he will be
      first examined.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Might one see the place where the rest are confined?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “The outside of it&mdash;yes. The inside of it&mdash;but ye will not
      want to see that.”
     </p>

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    <p>
      I took the address of that prison for future reference and then sauntered
      off. At the first second-hand clothing shop I came to, up a back
      street, I got a rough rig suitable for a common seaman who might be going
      on a cold voyage, and bound up my face with a liberal bandage, saying I
      had a toothache. This concealed my worst bruises. It was a
      transformation. I no longer resembled my former self. Then I
      struck out for that wire, found it and followed it to its den. It
      was a little room over a butcher’s shop&mdash;which meant that business
      wasn’t very brisk in the telegraphic line. The young chap in charge
      was drowsing at his table. I locked the door and put the vast key in
      my bosom. This alarmed the young fellow, and he was going to make a
      noise; but I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Save your wind; if you open your mouth you are dead, sure. Tackle
      your instrument. Lively, now! Call Camelot.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “This doth amaze me! How should such as you know aught of such
      matters as&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Call Camelot! I am a desperate man. Call Camelot, or get away
      from the instrument and I will do it myself.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What&mdash;you?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes&mdash;certainly. Stop gabbling. Call the palace.”
     </p>
    <p>
      He made the call.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Now, then, call Clarence.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Clarence <i>who?</i>”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Never mind Clarence who. Say you want Clarence; you’ll get an
      answer.”
     </p>
    <p>
      He did so. We waited five nerve-straining minutes&mdash;ten minutes&mdash;how
      long it did seem!&mdash;and then came a click that was as familiar to me
      as a human voice; for Clarence had been my own pupil.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Now, my lad, vacate! They would have known <i>my</i> touch, maybe,
      and so your call was surest; but I’m all right now.”
     </p>
    <p>
      He vacated the place and cocked his ear to listen&mdash;but it didn’t win.
      I used a cipher. I didn’t waste any time in sociabilities with
      Clarence, but squared away for business, straight-off&mdash;thus:
    </p>
    <p>
      “The king is here and in danger. We were captured and brought here
      as slaves. We should not be able to prove our identity&mdash;and the
      fact is, I am not in a position to try. Send a telegram for the
      palace here which will carry conviction with it.”
     </p>
    <p>
      His answer came straight back:
    </p>
    <p>
      “They don’t know anything about the telegraph; they haven’t had any
      experience yet, the line to London is so new. Better not venture
      that. They might hang you. Think up something else.”
     </p>
    <p>
      Might hang us! Little he knew how closely he was crowding the facts.
      I couldn’t think up anything for the moment. Then an idea
      struck me, and I started it along:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Send five hundred picked knights with Launcelot in the lead; and send
      them on the jump. Let them enter by the southwest gate, and look out
      for the man with a white cloth around his right arm.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The answer was prompt:
    </p>
    <p>
      “They shall start in half an hour.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “All right, Clarence; now tell this lad here that I’m a friend of yours
      and a dead-head; and that he must be discreet and say nothing about this
      visit of mine.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The instrument began to talk to the youth and I hurried away. I fell to
      ciphering. In half an hour it would be nine o’clock. Knights and
      horses in heavy armor couldn’t travel very fast. These would make the best
      time they could, and now that the ground was in good condition, and no
      snow or mud, they would probably make a seven-mile gait; they would have
      to change horses a couple of times; they would arrive about six, or a
      little after; it would still be plenty light enough; they would see the
      white cloth which I should tie around my right arm, and I would take
      command. We would surround that prison and have the king out in no
      time. It would be showy and picturesque enough, all things considered,
      though I would have preferred noonday, on account of the more theatrical
      aspect the thing would have.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now, then, in order to increase the strings to my bow, I thought I would
      look up some of those people whom I had formerly recognized, and make
      myself known. That would help us out of our scrape, without the
      knights. But I must proceed cautiously, for it was a risky business.
      I must get into sumptuous raiment, and it wouldn’t do to run and
      jump into it. No, I must work up to it by degrees, buying suit after
      suit of clothes, in shops wide apart, and getting a little finer article
      with each change, until I should finally reach silk and velvet, and be
      ready for my project. So I started.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the scheme fell through like scat! The first corner I turned, I
      came plump upon one of our slaves, snooping around with a watchman. I
      coughed at the moment, and he gave me a sudden look that bit right into my
      marrow. I judge he thought he had heard that cough before. I turned
      immediately into a shop and worked along down the counter, pricing things
      and watching out of the corner of my eye. Those people had stopped,
      and were talking together and looking in at the door. I made up my
      mind to get out the back way, if there was a back way, and I asked the
      shopwoman if I could step out there and look for the escaped slave, who
      was believed to be in hiding back there somewhere, and said I was an
      officer in disguise, and my pard was yonder at the door with one of the
      murderers in charge, and would she be good enough to step there and tell
      him he needn’t wait, but had better go at once to the further end of the
      back alley and be ready to head him off when I rousted him out.
    </p>

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    <p>
      She was blazing with eagerness to see one of those already celebrated
      murderers, and she started on the errand at once. I slipped out the
      back way, locked the door behind me, put the key in my pocket and started
      off, chuckling to myself and comfortable.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, I had gone and spoiled it again, made another mistake. A double one,
      in fact. There were plenty of ways to get rid of that officer by
      some simple and plausible device, but no, I must pick out a picturesque
      one; it is the crying defect of my character. And then, I had ordered my
      procedure upon what the officer, being human, would <i>naturally</i> do;
      whereas when you are least expecting it, a man will now and then go and do
      the very thing which it’s <i>not</i> natural for him to do. The
      natural thing for the officer to do, in this case, was to follow straight
      on my heels; he would find a stout oaken door, securely locked, between
      him and me; before he could break it down, I should be far away and
      engaged in slipping into a succession of baffling disguises which would
      soon get me into a sort of raiment which was a surer protection from
      meddling law-dogs in Britain than any amount of mere innocence and purity
      of character. But instead of doing the natural thing, the officer
      took me at my word, and followed my instructions. And so, as I came
      trotting out of that cul de sac, full of satisfaction with my own
      cleverness, he turned the corner and I walked right into his handcuffs.
      If I had known it was a cul de sac&mdash;however, there isn’t any
      excusing a blunder like that, let it go. Charge it up to profit and
      loss.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of course, I was indignant, and swore I had just come ashore from a long
      voyage, and all that sort of thing&mdash;just to see, you know, if it
      would deceive that slave. But it didn’t. He knew me. Then
      I reproached him for betraying me. He was more surprised than hurt.
      He stretched his eyes wide, and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “What, wouldst have me let thee, of all men, escape and not hang with us,
      when thou’rt the very <i>cause</i> of our hanging? Go to!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Go to” was their way of saying “I should smile!” or “I like that!” Queer
      talkers, those people.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, there was a sort of bastard justice in his view of the case, and so
      I dropped the matter. When you can’t cure a disaster by argument,
      what is the use to argue? It isn’t my way. So I only said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “You’re not going to be hanged. None of us are.”
     </p>
    <p>
      Both men laughed, and the slave said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Ye have not ranked as a fool&mdash;before. You might better keep
      your reputation, seeing the strain would not be for long.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It will stand it, I reckon. Before to-morrow we shall be out of
      prison, and free to go where we will, besides.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The witty officer lifted at his left ear with his thumb, made a rasping
      noise in his throat, and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Out of prison&mdash;yes&mdash;ye say true. And free likewise to go
      where ye will, so ye wander not out of his grace the Devil’s sultry
      realm.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I kept my temper, and said, indifferently:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Now I suppose you really think we are going to hang within a day or two.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I thought it not many minutes ago, for so the thing was decided and
      proclaimed.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ah, then you’ve changed your mind, is that it?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Even that. I only <i>thought</i>, then; I <i>know</i>, now.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I felt sarcastical, so I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, sapient servant of the law, condescend to tell us, then, what you <i>know</i>.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “That ye will all be hanged <i>to-day</i>, at mid-afternoon! Oho!
      that shot hit home! Lean upon me.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The fact is I did need to lean upon somebody. My knights couldn’t
      arrive in time. They would be as much as three hours too late.
      Nothing in the world could save the King of England; nor me, which was
      more important. More important, not merely to me, but to the nation&mdash;the
      only nation on earth standing ready to blossom into civilization. I
      was sick. I said no more, there wasn’t anything to say. I knew
      what the man meant; that if the missing slave was found, the postponement
      would be revoked, the execution take place to-day. Well, the missing
      slave was found.
    </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c38"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII.<br />
SIR LAUNCELOT AND KNIGHTS TO THE RESCUE</h2>

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    <p>
      Nearing four in the afternoon. The scene was just outside the walls
      of London. A cool, comfortable, superb day, with a brilliant sun;
      the kind of day to make one want to live, not die. The multitude was
      prodigious and far-reaching; and yet we fifteen poor devils hadn’t a
      friend in it. There was something painful in that thought, look at
      it how you might. There we sat, on our tall scaffold, the butt of
      the hate and mockery of all those enemies. We were being made a
      holiday spectacle. They had built a sort of grand stand for the
      nobility and gentry, and these were there in full force, with their
      ladies. We recognized a good many of them.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="38-489.jpg (189K)" src="images/38-489.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      The crowd got a brief and unexpected dash of diversion out of the king.
      The moment we were freed of our bonds he sprang up, in his fantastic
      rags, with face bruised out of all recognition, and proclaimed himself
      Arthur, King of Britain, and denounced the awful penalties of treason upon
      every soul there present if hair of his sacred head were touched. It
      startled and surprised him to hear them break into a vast roar of
      laughter. It wounded his dignity, and he locked himself up in
      silence. Then, although the crowd begged him to go on, and tried to
      provoke him to it by catcalls, jeers, and shouts of:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Let him speak! The king! The king! his humble subjects hunger
      and thirst for words of wisdom out of the mouth of their master his Serene
      and Sacred Raggedness!”
     </p>
    <p>
      But it went for nothing. He put on all his majesty and sat under
      this rain of contempt and insult unmoved. He certainly was great in
      his way. Absently, I had taken off my white bandage and wound it
      about my right arm. When the crowd noticed this, they began upon me.
      They said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Doubtless this sailor-man is his minister&mdash;observe his costly badge
      of office!”
     </p>
    <p>
      I let them go on until they got tired, and then I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Yes, I am his minister, The Boss; and to-morrow you will hear that from
      Camelot which&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      I got no further. They drowned me out with joyous derision. But
      presently there was silence; for the sheriffs of London, in their official
      robes, with their subordinates, began to make a stir which indicated that
      business was about to begin. In the hush which followed, our crime
      was recited, the death warrant read, then everybody uncovered while a
      priest uttered a prayer.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then a slave was blindfolded; the hangman unslung his rope. There
      lay the smooth road below us, we upon one side of it, the banked multitude
      wailing its other side&mdash;a good clear road, and kept free by the
      police&mdash;how good it would be to see my five hundred horsemen come
      tearing down it! But no, it was out of the possibilities. I followed
      its receding thread out into the distance&mdash;not a horseman on it, or
      sign of one.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="38-490.jpg (135K)" src="images/38-490.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      There was a jerk, and the slave hung dangling; dangling and hideously
      squirming, for his limbs were not tied.
    </p>
    <p>
      A second rope was unslung, in a moment another slave was dangling.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a minute a third slave was struggling in the air. It was
      dreadful. I turned away my head a moment, and when I turned back I
      missed the king! They were blindfolding him! I was paralyzed;
      I couldn’t move, I was choking, my tongue was petrified. They
      finished blindfolding him, they led him under the rope. I couldn’t
      shake off that clinging impotence. But when I saw them put the noose
      around his neck, then everything let go in me and I made a spring to the
      rescue&mdash;and as I made it I shot one more glance abroad&mdash;by
      George! here they came, a-tilting!&mdash;five hundred mailed and belted
      knights on bicycles!
    </p>
    <p>
      The grandest sight that ever was seen. Lord, how the plumes
      streamed, how the sun flamed and flashed from the endless procession of
      webby wheels!
    </p>
    <p>
      I waved my right arm as Launcelot swept in&mdash;he recognized my rag&mdash;I
      tore away noose and bandage, and shouted:
    </p>
    <p>
      “On your knees, every rascal of you, and salute the king! Who fails
      shall sup in hell to-night!”
     </p>
    <p>
      I always use that high style when I’m climaxing an effect. Well, it
      was noble to see Launcelot and the boys swarm up onto that scaffold and
      heave sheriffs and such overboard. And it was fine to see that
      astonished multitude go down on their knees and beg their lives of the
      king they had just been deriding and insulting. And as he stood apart
      there, receiving this homage in rags, I thought to myself, well, really
      there is something peculiarly grand about the gait and bearing of a king,
      after all.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was immensely satisfied. Take the whole situation all around, it
      was one of the gaudiest effects I ever instigated.
    </p>
    <p>
      And presently up comes Clarence, his own self! and winks, and says, very
      modernly:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Good deal of a surprise, wasn’t it? I knew you’d like it. I’ve
      had the boys practicing this long time, privately; and just hungry for a
      chance to show off.”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="39-493.jpg (92K)" src="images/39-493.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c39"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX.<br />
THE YANKEE’S FIGHT WITH THE KNIGHTS</h2>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="39-495.jpg (111K)" src="images/39-495.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="39-496.jpg (173K)" src="images/39-496.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      Home again, at Camelot. A morning or two later I found the paper,
      damp from the press, by my plate at the breakfast table. I turned to
      the advertising columns, knowing I should find something of personal
      interest to me there. It was this:
    </p>

<p class="center">
DE PAR LE ROI.
</p>

<p class="poem">
Know that the great lord and illus-<br />
trious Knight, SIR SAGRAMOR LE<br />
DESIROUS having condescended to<br />
meet the King’s Minister, Hank Mor-<br />
gan, the which is surnamed The Boss,<br />
for satisfgction of offence anciently given,<br />
these wilL engage in the lists<br />
by Camelot about the fourth hour of the<br />
morning of the sixteenth day of this<br />
next succeeding month. The battle<br />
wiil be a l outrance, sith the said offence<br />
was of a deadly sort, admitting of no<br />
commmon Position.
</p>

<p>
Clarence’s editorial reference to this affair was to this effect:
</p>

<p class="poem">
It will be observed, by a gl7nce at our<br />
advertising columns, that the commu-<br />
nity is to be favored with a treat of un-<br />
usual interest in the tournament line.<br />
The n ames of the artists are warrant of<br />
good enterTemment. The box-office<br />
will be open at noon of the 13th; ad-<br />
mission 3 cents, reserved seatsh 5; pro-<br />
ceeds to go to the hospital fund The<br />
royal pair and all the Court will be pres-<br />
ent. With these exceptions, and the<br />
press and the clergy, the free list is strict-<br />
ly susPended. Parties are hereby warn-<br />
ed against buying tickets of speculators;<br />
they will not be good at the door.<br />
Everybody knows and likes The Boss,<br />
everybody knows and likes Sir Sag.;<br />
come, let us give the lads a good send-<br />
off. ReMember, the proceeds go to a<br />
great and free charity, and one whose<br />
broad begevolence stretches out its help-<br />
ing hand, warm with the blood of a lov-<br />
ing heart, to all that suffer, regardless of<br />
race, creed, condition or color&mdash;the<br />
only charity yet established in the earth<br />
which has no politico-religious stop-<br />
cock on its compassion, but says Here<br />
flows the stream, let ALL come and<br />
drink! Turn out, all hands! fetch along<br />
your dou3hnuts and your gum-drops<br />
and have a good time. Pie for sale on<br />
the grounds, and rocks to crack it with;<br />
and ciRcus-lemonade&mdash;three drops of<br />
lime juice to a barrel of water.<br />
<br />
N.B. This is the first tournament<br />
under the new law, whidh allow each<br />
combatant to use any weapon he may pre-<br />
fer. You may want to make a note of that.
</p>

    <p>
      Up to the day set, there was no talk in all Britain of anything but this
      combat. All other topics sank into insignificance and passed out of
      men’s thoughts and interest. It was not because a tournament was a
      great matter, it was not because Sir Sagramor had found the Holy Grail,
      for he had not, but had failed; it was not because the second (official)
      personage in the kingdom was one of the duellists; no, all these features
      were commonplace. Yet there was abundant reason for the extraordinary
      interest which this coming fight was creating. It was born of the
      fact that all the nation knew that this was not to be a duel between mere
      men, so to speak, but a duel between two mighty magicians; a duel not of
      muscle but of mind, not of human skill but of superhuman art and craft; a
      final struggle for supremacy between the two master enchanters of the age.
      It was realized that the most prodigious achievements of the most
      renowned knights could not be worthy of comparison with a spectacle like
      this; they could be but child’s play, contrasted with this mysterious and
      awful battle of the gods. Yes, all the world knew it was going to be in
      reality a duel between Merlin and me, a measuring of his magic powers
      against mine. It was known that Merlin had been busy whole days and
      nights together, imbuing Sir Sagramor’s arms and armor with supernal
      powers of offense and defense, and that he had procured for him from the
      spirits of the air a fleecy veil which would render the wearer invisible
      to his antagonist while still visible to other men. Against Sir
      Sagramor, so weaponed and protected, a thousand knights could accomplish
      nothing; against him no known enchantments could prevail. These
      facts were sure; regarding them there was no doubt, no reason for doubt.
      There was but one question: might there be still other
      enchantments, <i>unknown</i> to Merlin, which could render Sir Sagramor’s
      veil transparent to me, and make his enchanted mail vulnerable to my
      weapons? This was the one thing to be decided in the lists. Until
      then the world must remain in suspense.
    </p>
    <p>
      So the world thought there was a vast matter at stake here, and the world
      was right, but it was not the one they had in their minds. No, a far
      vaster one was upon the cast of this die: <i>the life of knight-errantry</i>.
      I was a champion, it was true, but not the champion of the frivolous
      black arts, I was the champion of hard unsentimental common-sense and
      reason. I was entering the lists to either destroy knight-errantry
      or be its victim.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vast as the show-grounds were, there were no vacant spaces in them outside
      of the lists, at ten o’clock on the morning of the 16th. The mammoth
      grand-stand was clothed in flags, streamers, and rich tapestries, and
      packed with several acres of small-fry tributary kings, their suites, and
      the British aristocracy; with our own royal gang in the chief place, and
      each and every individual a flashing prism of gaudy silks and velvets&mdash;well,
      I never saw anything to begin with it but a fight between an Upper
      Mississippi sunset and the aurora borealis. The huge camp of
      beflagged and gay-colored tents at one end of the lists, with a
      stiff-standing sentinel at every door and a shining shield hanging by him
      for challenge, was another fine sight. You see, every knight was
      there who had any ambition or any caste feeling; for my feeling toward
      their order was not much of a secret, and so here was their chance. If
      I won my fight with Sir Sagramor, others would have the right to call me
      out as long as I might be willing to respond.
    </p>
    <p>
      Down at our end there were but two tents; one for me, and another for my
      servants. At the appointed hour the king made a sign, and the
      heralds, in their tabards, appeared and made proclamation, naming the
      combatants and stating the cause of quarrel. There was a pause, then
      a ringing bugle-blast, which was the signal for us to come forth. All
      the multitude caught their breath, and an eager curiosity flashed into
      every face.
    </p>
    <p>
      Out from his tent rode great Sir Sagramor, an imposing tower of iron,
      stately and rigid, his huge spear standing upright in its socket and
      grasped in his strong hand, his grand horse’s face and breast cased in
      steel, his body clothed in rich trappings that almost dragged the ground&mdash;oh,
      a most noble picture. A great shout went up, of welcome and
      admiration.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="39-499.jpg (109K)" src="images/39-499.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      And then out I came. But I didn’t get any shout. There was a
      wondering and eloquent silence for a moment, then a great wave of laughter
      began to sweep along that human sea, but a warning bugle-blast cut its
      career short. I was in the simplest and comfortablest of gymnast
      costumes&mdash;flesh-colored tights from neck to heel, with blue silk
      puffings about my loins, and bareheaded. My horse was not above medium
      size, but he was alert, slender-limbed, muscled with watchsprings, and
      just a greyhound to go. He was a beauty, glossy as silk, and naked
      as he was when he was born, except for bridle and ranger-saddle.
    </p>
    <p>
      The iron tower and the gorgeous bedquilt came cumbrously but gracefully
      pirouetting down the lists, and we tripped lightly up to meet them. We
      halted; the tower saluted, I responded; then we wheeled and rode side by
      side to the grand-stand and faced our king and queen, to whom we made
      obeisance. The queen exclaimed:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Alack, Sir Boss, wilt fight naked, and without lance or sword or&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      But the king checked her and made her understand, with a polite phrase or
      two, that this was none of her business. The bugles rang again; and
      we separated and rode to the ends of the lists, and took position. Now
      old Merlin stepped into view and cast a dainty web of gossamer threads
      over Sir Sagramor which turned him into Hamlet’s ghost; the king made a
      sign, the bugles blew, Sir Sagramor laid his great lance in rest, and the
      next moment here he came thundering down the course with his veil flying
      out behind, and I went whistling through the air like an arrow to meet him&mdash;cocking
      my ear the while, as if noting the invisible knight’s position and
      progress by hearing, not sight. A chorus of encouraging shouts burst
      out for him, and one brave voice flung out a heartening word for me&mdash;said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Go it, slim Jim!”
     </p>
    <p>
      It was an even bet that Clarence had procured that favor for me&mdash;and
      furnished the language, too. When that formidable lance-point was
      within a yard and a half of my breast I twitched my horse aside without an
      effort, and the big knight swept by, scoring a blank. I got plenty of
      applause that time. We turned, braced up, and down we came again.
      Another blank for the knight, a roar of applause for me. This
      same thing was repeated once more; and it fetched such a whirlwind of
      applause that Sir Sagramor lost his temper, and at once changed his
      tactics and set himself the task of chasing me down. Why, he hadn’t
      any show in the world at that; it was a game of tag, with all the
      advantage on my side; I whirled out of his path with ease whenever I
      chose, and once I slapped him on the back as I went to the rear. Finally
      I took the chase into my own hands; and after that, turn, or twist, or do
      what he would, he was never able to get behind me again; he found himself
      always in front at the end of his maneuver. So he gave up that
      business and retired to his end of the lists. His temper was clear
      gone now, and he forgot himself and flung an insult at me which disposed
      of mine. I slipped my lasso from the horn of my saddle, and grasped
      the coil in my right hand. This time you should have seen him come!&mdash;it
      was a business trip, sure; by his gait there was blood in his eye. I
      was sitting my horse at ease, and swinging the great loop of my lasso in
      wide circles about my head; the moment he was under way, I started for
      him; when the space between us had narrowed to forty feet, I sent the
      snaky spirals of the rope a-cleaving through the air, then darted aside
      and faced about and brought my trained animal to a halt with all his feet
      braced under him for a surge. The next moment the rope sprang taut
      and yanked Sir Sagramor out of the saddle! Great Scott, but there
      was a sensation!
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="39-501.jpg (213K)" src="images/39-501.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      Unquestionably, the popular thing in this world is novelty. These
      people had never seen anything of that cowboy business before, and it
      carried them clear off their feet with delight. From all around and
      everywhere, the shout went up:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Encore! encore!”
     </p>
    <p>
      I wondered where they got the word, but there was no time to cipher on
      philological matters, because the whole knight-errantry hive was just
      humming now, and my prospect for trade couldn’t have been better. The
      moment my lasso was released and Sir Sagramor had been assisted to his
      tent, I hauled in the slack, took my station and began to swing my loop
      around my head again. I was sure to have use for it as soon as they
      could elect a successor for Sir Sagramor, and that couldn’t take long
      where there were so many hungry candidates. Indeed, they elected one
      straight off&mdash;Sir Hervis de Revel.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Bzz!</i> Here he came, like a house afire; I dodged: he
      passed like a flash, with my horse-hair coils settling around his neck; a
      second or so later, <i>fst!</i> his saddle was empty.
    </p>
    <p>
      I got another encore; and another, and another, and still another. When I
      had snaked five men out, things began to look serious to the ironclads,
      and they stopped and consulted together. As a result, they decided
      that it was time to waive etiquette and send their greatest and best
      against me. To the astonishment of that little world, I lassoed Sir
      Lamorak de Galis, and after him Sir Galahad. So you see there was
      simply nothing to be done now, but play their right bower&mdash;bring out
      the superbest of the superb, the mightiest of the mighty, the great Sir
      Launcelot himself!
    </p>
    <p>
      A proud moment for me? I should think so. Yonder was Arthur,
      King of Britain; yonder was Guenever; yes, and whole tribes of little
      provincial kings and kinglets; and in the tented camp yonder, renowned
      knights from many lands; and likewise the selectest body known to
      chivalry, the Knights of the Table Round, the most illustrious in
      Christendom; and biggest fact of all, the very sun of their shining system
      was yonder couching his lance, the focal point of forty thousand adoring
      eyes; and all by myself, here was I laying for him. Across my mind
      flitted the dear image of a certain hello-girl of West Hartford, and I
      wished she could see me now. In that moment, down came the
      Invincible, with the rush of a whirlwind&mdash;the courtly world rose to
      its feet and bent forward&mdash;the fateful coils went circling through
      the air, and before you could wink I was towing Sir Launcelot across the
      field on his back, and kissing my hand to the storm of waving kerchiefs
      and the thunder-crash of applause that greeted me!
    </p>
    <p>
      Said I to myself, as I coiled my lariat and hung it on my saddle-horn, and
      sat there drunk with glory, “The victory is perfect&mdash;no other will
      venture against me&mdash;knight-errantry is dead.” Now imagine my
      astonishment&mdash;and everybody else’s, too&mdash;to hear the peculiar
      bugle-call which announces that another competitor is about to enter the
      lists! There was a mystery here; I couldn’t account for this thing.
      Next, I noticed Merlin gliding away from me; and then I noticed that
      my lasso was gone! The old sleight-of-hand expert had stolen it,
      sure, and slipped it under his robe.
    </p>
    <p>
      The bugle blew again. I looked, and down came Sagramor riding again,
      with his dust brushed off and his veil nicely re-arranged. I trotted up to
      meet him, and pretended to find him by the sound of his horse’s hoofs.
      He said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Thou’rt quick of ear, but it will not save thee from this!” and he
      touched the hilt of his great sword. “An ye are not able to see it,
      because of the influence of the veil, know that it is no cumbrous lance,
      but a sword&mdash;and I ween ye will not be able to avoid it.”
     </p>
    <p>
      His visor was up; there was death in his smile. I should never be
      able to dodge his sword, that was plain. Somebody was going to die
      this time. If he got the drop on me, I could name the corpse. We
      rode forward together, and saluted the royalties. This time the king was
      disturbed. He said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Where is thy strange weapon?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It is stolen, sire.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Hast another at hand?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “No, sire, I brought only the one.”
     </p>
    <p>
      Then Merlin mixed in:
    </p>
    <p>
      “He brought but the one because there was but the one to bring. There
      exists none other but that one. It belongeth to the king of the
      Demons of the Sea. This man is a pretender, and ignorant, else he
      had known that that weapon can be used in but eight bouts only, and then
      it vanisheth away to its home under the sea.”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="39-504.jpg (27K)" src="images/39-504.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      “Then is he weaponless,” said the king. “Sir Sagramore, ye will
      grant him leave to borrow.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “And I will lend!” said Sir Launcelot, limping up. “He is as brave a
      knight of his hands as any that be on live, and he shall have mine.”
     </p>
    <p>
      He put his hand on his sword to draw it, but Sir Sagramor said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Stay, it may not be. He shall fight with his own weapons; it was
      his privilege to choose them and bring them. If he has erred, on his
      head be it.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Knight!” said the king. “Thou’rt overwrought with passion; it
      disorders thy mind. Wouldst kill a naked man?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “An he do it, he shall answer it to me,” said Sir Launcelot.
    </p>
    <p>
      “I will answer it to any he that desireth!” retorted Sir Sagramor hotly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Merlin broke in, rubbing his hands and smiling his lowdownest smile of
      malicious gratification:
    </p>
    <p>
      “’Tis well said, right well said! And ’tis enough of parleying, let
      my lord the king deliver the battle signal.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The king had to yield. The bugle made proclamation, and we turned
      apart and rode to our stations. There we stood, a hundred yards
      apart, facing each other, rigid and motionless, like horsed statues. And
      so we remained, in a soundless hush, as much as a full minute, everybody
      gazing, nobody stirring. It seemed as if the king could not take
      heart to give the signal. But at last he lifted his hand, the clear
      note of the bugle followed, Sir Sagramor’s long blade described a flashing
      curve in the air, and it was superb to see him come. I sat still.
      On he came. I did not move. People got so excited that
      they shouted to me:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Fly, fly! Save thyself! This is murther!”
     </p>
    <p>
      I never budged so much as an inch till that thundering apparition had got
      within fifteen paces of me; then I snatched a dragoon revolver out of my
      holster, there was a flash and a roar, and the revolver was back in the
      holster before anybody could tell what had happened.
    </p>
    <p>
      Here was a riderless horse plunging by, and yonder lay Sir Sagramor, stone
      dead.
    </p>
    <p>
      The people that ran to him were stricken dumb to find that the life was
      actually gone out of the man and no reason for it visible, no hurt upon
      his body, nothing like a wound. There was a hole through the breast
      of his chain-mail, but they attached no importance to a little thing like
      that; and as a bullet wound there produces but little blood, none came in
      sight because of the clothing and swaddlings under the armor. The
      body was dragged over to let the king and the swells look down upon it.
      They were stupefied with astonishment naturally. I was
      requested to come and explain the miracle. But I remained in my
      tracks, like a statue, and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “If it is a command, I will come, but my lord the king knows that I am
      where the laws of combat require me to remain while any desire to come
      against me.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I waited. Nobody challenged. Then I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “If there are any who doubt that this field is well and fairly won, I do
      not wait for them to challenge me, I challenge them.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It is a gallant offer,” said the king, “and well beseems you. Whom will
      you name first?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I name none, I challenge all! Here I stand, and dare the chivalry
      of England to come against me&mdash;not by individuals, but in mass!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What!” shouted a score of knights.
    </p>
    <p>
      “You have heard the challenge. Take it, or I proclaim you recreant
      knights and vanquished, every one!”
     </p>
    <p>
      It was a “bluff” you know. At such a time it is sound judgment to
      put on a bold face and play your hand for a hundred times what it is
      worth; forty-nine times out of fifty nobody dares to “call,” and you rake
      in the chips. But just this once&mdash;well, things looked squally!
      In just no time, five hundred knights were scrambling into their
      saddles, and before you could wink a widely scattering drove were under
      way and clattering down upon me. I snatched both revolvers from the
      holsters and began to measure distances and calculate chances.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="39-507.jpg (89K)" src="images/39-507.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      Bang! One saddle empty. Bang! another one. Bang&mdash;bang,
      and I bagged two. Well, it was nip and tuck with us, and I knew it.
      If I spent the eleventh shot without convincing these people, the twelfth
      man would kill me, sure. And so I never did feel so happy as I did
      when my ninth downed its man and I detected the wavering in the crowd
      which is premonitory of panic. An instant lost now could knock out
      my last chance. But I didn’t lose it. I raised both revolvers and
      pointed them&mdash;the halted host stood their ground just about one good
      square moment, then broke and fled.
    </p>
    <p>
      The day was mine. Knight-errantry was a doomed institution. The
      march of civilization was begun. How did I feel? Ah, you never
      could imagine it.
    </p>
    <p>
      And Brer Merlin? His stock was flat again. Somehow, every time
      the magic of fol-de-rol tried conclusions with the magic of science, the
      magic of fol-de-rol got left.
    </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c40"></a>CHAPTER XL.<br />
THREE YEARS LATER</h2>

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<img alt="40-511.jpg (128K)" src="images/40-511.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      When I broke the back of knight-errantry that time, I no longer felt
      obliged to work in secret. So, the very next day I exposed my hidden
      schools, my mines, and my vast system of clandestine factories and
      workshops to an astonished world. That is to say, I exposed the
      nineteenth century to the inspection of the sixth.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, it is always a good plan to follow up an advantage promptly. The
      knights were temporarily down, but if I would keep them so I must just
      simply paralyze them&mdash;nothing short of that would answer. You
      see, I was “bluffing” that last time in the field; it would be natural for
      them to work around to that conclusion, if I gave them a chance. So
      I must not give them time; and I didn’t.
    </p>
    <p>
      I renewed my challenge, engraved it on brass, posted it up where any
      priest could read it to them, and also kept it standing in the advertising
      columns of the paper.
    </p>
    <p>
      I not only renewed it, but added to its proportions. I said, name
      the day, and I would take fifty assistants and stand up <i>against the
      massed chivalry of the whole earth and destroy it</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was not bluffing this time. I meant what I said; I could do what I
      promised. There wasn’t any way to misunderstand the language of that
      challenge. Even the dullest of the chivalry perceived that this was
      a plain case of “put up, or shut up.” They were wise and did the
      latter. In all the next three years they gave me no trouble worth
      mentioning.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="40-512.jpg (40K)" src="images/40-512.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      Consider the three years sped. Now look around on England. A
      happy and prosperous country, and strangely altered. Schools
      everywhere, and several colleges; a number of pretty good newspapers.
      Even authorship was taking a start; Sir Dinadan the Humorist was
      first in the field, with a volume of gray-headed jokes which I had been
      familiar with during thirteen centuries. If he had left out that old
      rancid one about the lecturer I wouldn’t have said anything; but I
      couldn’t stand that one. I suppressed the book and hanged the
      author.
    </p>
    <p>
      Slavery was dead and gone; all men were equal before the law; taxation had
      been equalized. The telegraph, the telephone, the phonograph, the
      typewriter, the sewing-machine, and all the thousand willing and handy
      servants of steam and electricity were working their way into favor.
      We had a steamboat or two on the Thames, we had steam warships, and
      the beginnings of a steam commercial marine; I was getting ready to send
      out an expedition to discover America.
    </p>
    <p>
      We were building several lines of railway, and our line from Camelot to
      London was already finished and in operation. I was shrewd enough to
      make all offices connected with the passenger service places of high and
      distinguished honor. My idea was to attract the chivalry and
      nobility, and make them useful and keep them out of mischief. The
      plan worked very well, the competition for the places was hot. The
      conductor of the 4.33 express was a duke; there wasn’t a passenger
      conductor on the line below the degree of earl. They were good men,
      every one, but they had two defects which I couldn’t cure, and so had to
      wink at: they wouldn’t lay aside their armor, and they would “knock
      down” fare&mdash;I mean rob the company.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was hardly a knight in all the land who wasn’t in some useful
      employment. They were going from end to end of the country in all
      manner of useful missionary capacities; their penchant for wandering, and
      their experience in it, made them altogether the most effective spreaders
      of civilization we had. They went clothed in steel and equipped with
      sword and lance and battle-axe, and if they couldn’t persuade a person to
      try a sewing-machine on the installment plan, or a melodeon, or a
      barbed-wire fence, or a prohibition journal, or any of the other thousand
      and one things they canvassed for, they removed him and passed on.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was very happy. Things were working steadily toward a secretly
      longed-for point. You see, I had two schemes in my head which were
      the vastest of all my projects. The one was to overthrow the
      Catholic Church and set up the Protestant faith on its ruins&mdash;not as
      an Established Church, but a go-as-you-please one; and the other project
      was to get a decree issued by and by, commanding that upon Arthur’s death
      unlimited suffrage should be introduced, and given to men and women alike&mdash;at
      any rate to all men, wise or unwise, and to all mothers who at middle age
      should be found to know nearly as much as their sons at twenty-one. Arthur
      was good for thirty years yet, he being about my own age&mdash;that is to
      say, forty&mdash;and I believed that in that time I could easily have the
      active part of the population of that day ready and eager for an event
      which should be the first of its kind in the history of the world&mdash;a
      rounded and complete governmental revolution without bloodshed. The
      result to be a republic. Well, I may as well confess, though I do
      feel ashamed when I think of it: I was beginning to have a base hankering
      to be its first president myself. Yes, there was more or less human
      nature in me; I found that out.
    </p>
    <p>
      Clarence was with me as concerned the revolution, but in a modified way.
      His idea was a republic, without privileged orders, but with a
      hereditary royal family at the head of it instead of an elective chief
      magistrate. He believed that no nation that had ever known the joy
      of worshiping a royal family could ever be robbed of it and not fade away
      and die of melancholy. I urged that kings were dangerous. He
      said, then have cats. He was sure that a royal family of cats would
      answer every purpose. They would be as useful as any other royal
      family, they would know as much, they would have the same virtues and the
      same treacheries, the same disposition to get up shindies with other royal
      cats, they would be laughably vain and absurd and never know it, they
      would be wholly inexpensive; finally, they would have as sound a divine
      right as any other royal house, and “Tom VII, or Tom XI, or Tom XIV by the
      grace of God King,” would sound as well as it would when applied to the
      ordinary royal tomcat with tights on. “And as a rule,” said he, in
      his neat modern English, “the character of these cats would be
      considerably above the character of the average king, and this would be an
      immense moral advantage to the nation, for the reason that a nation always
      models its morals after its monarch’s. The worship of royalty being
      founded in unreason, these graceful and harmless cats would easily become
      as sacred as any other royalties, and indeed more so, because it would
      presently be noticed that they hanged nobody, beheaded nobody, imprisoned
      nobody, inflicted no cruelties or injustices of any sort, and so must be
      worthy of a deeper love and reverence than the customary human king, and
      would certainly get it. The eyes of the whole harried world would
      soon be fixed upon this humane and gentle system, and royal butchers would
      presently begin to disappear; their subjects would fill the vacancies with
      catlings from our own royal house; we should become a factory; we should
      supply the thrones of the world; within forty years all Europe would be
      governed by cats, and we should furnish the cats. The reign of
      universal peace would begin then, to end no more forever.... Me-e-e-yow-ow-ow-ow&mdash;fzt!&mdash;wow!”
     </p>
    <p>
      Hang him, I supposed he was in earnest, and was beginning to be persuaded
      by him, until he exploded that cat-howl and startled me almost out of my
      clothes. But he never could be in earnest. He didn’t know what
      it was. He had pictured a distinct and perfectly rational and
      feasible improvement upon constitutional monarchy, but he was too
      feather-headed to know it, or care anything about it, either. I was
      going to give him a scolding, but Sandy came flying in at that moment,
      wild with terror, and so choked with sobs that for a minute she could not
      get her voice. I ran and took her in my arms, and lavished caresses
      upon her and said, beseechingly:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Speak, darling, speak! What is it?”
     </p>
    <p>
      Her head fell limp upon my bosom, and she gasped, almost inaudibly:
    </p>
    <p>
      “<i>Hello-Central</i>!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Quick!” I shouted to Clarence; “telephone the king’s homeopath to come!”
     </p>
    <p>
      In two minutes I was kneeling by the child’s crib, and Sandy was
      dispatching servants here, there, and everywhere, all over the palace.
      I took in the situation almost at a glance&mdash;membranous croup!
      I bent down and whispered:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Wake up, sweetheart! Hello-Central.”
     </p>
    <p>
      She opened her soft eyes languidly, and made out to say:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Papa.”
     </p>
    <p>
      That was a comfort. She was far from dead yet. I sent for
      preparations of sulphur, I rousted out the croup-kettle myself; for I
      don’t sit down and wait for doctors when Sandy or the child is sick.
      I knew how to nurse both of them, and had had experience. This
      little chap had lived in my arms a good part of its small life, and often
      I could soothe away its troubles and get it to laugh through the tear-dews
      on its eye-lashes when even its mother couldn’t.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Launcelot, in his richest armor, came striding along the great hall
      now on his way to the stock-board; he was president of the stock-board,
      and occupied the Siege Perilous, which he had bought of Sir Galahad; for
      the stock-board consisted of the Knights of the Round Table, and they used
      the Round Table for business purposes now. Seats at it were worth&mdash;well,
      you would never believe the figure, so it is no use to state it. Sir
      Launcelot was a bear, and he had put up a corner in one of the new lines,
      and was just getting ready to squeeze the shorts to-day; but what of that?
      He was the same old Launcelot, and when he glanced in as he was
      passing the door and found out that his pet was sick, that was enough for
      him; bulls and bears might fight it out their own way for all him, he
      would come right in here and stand by little Hello-Central for all he was
      worth. And that was what he did. He shied his helmet into the
      corner, and in half a minute he had a new wick in the alcohol lamp and was
      firing up on the croup-kettle. By this time Sandy had built a
      blanket canopy over the crib, and everything was ready.
    </p>

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<img alt="40-517.jpg (53K)" src="images/40-517.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      Sir Launcelot got up steam, he and I loaded up the kettle with unslaked
      lime and carbolic acid, with a touch of lactic acid added thereto, then
      filled the thing up with water and inserted the steam-spout under the
      canopy. Everything was ship-shape now, and we sat down on either
      side of the crib to stand our watch. Sandy was so grateful and so
      comforted that she charged a couple of church-wardens with willow-bark and
      sumach-tobacco for us, and told us to smoke as much as we pleased, it
      couldn’t get under the canopy, and she was used to smoke, being the first
      lady in the land who had ever seen a cloud blown. Well, there
      couldn’t be a more contented or comfortable sight than Sir Launcelot in
      his noble armor sitting in gracious serenity at the end of a yard of snowy
      church-warden. He was a beautiful man, a lovely man, and was just
      intended to make a wife and children happy. But, of course Guenever&mdash;however,
      it’s no use to cry over what’s done and can’t be helped.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, he stood watch-and-watch with me, right straight through, for three
      days and nights, till the child was out of danger; then he took her up in
      his great arms and kissed her, with his plumes falling about her golden
      head, then laid her softly in Sandy’s lap again and took his stately way
      down the vast hall, between the ranks of admiring men-at-arms and menials,
      and so disappeared. And no instinct warned me that I should never look
      upon him again in this world! Lord, what a world of heart-break it
      is.
    </p>
    <p>
      The doctors said we must take the child away, if we would coax her back to
      health and strength again. And she must have sea-air. So we took a
      man-of-war, and a suite of two hundred and sixty persons, and went
      cruising about, and after a fortnight of this we stepped ashore on the
      French coast, and the doctors thought it would be a good idea to make
      something of a stay there. The little king of that region offered us
      his hospitalities, and we were glad to accept. If he had had as many
      conveniences as he lacked, we should have been plenty comfortable enough;
      even as it was, we made out very well, in his queer old castle, by the
      help of comforts and luxuries from the ship.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the end of a month I sent the vessel home for fresh supplies, and for
      news. We expected her back in three or four days. She would
      bring me, along with other news, the result of a certain experiment which
      I had been starting. It was a project of mine to replace the
      tournament with something which might furnish an escape for the extra
      steam of the chivalry, keep those bucks entertained and out of mischief,
      and at the same time preserve the best thing in them, which was their
      hardy spirit of emulation. I had had a choice band of them in private
      training for some time, and the date was now arriving for their first
      public effort.
    </p>

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</div>

    <p>
      This experiment was baseball. In order to give the thing vogue from
      the start, and place it out of the reach of criticism, I chose my nines by
      rank, not capacity. There wasn’t a knight in either team who wasn’t
      a sceptered sovereign. As for material of this sort, there was a
      glut of it always around Arthur. You couldn’t throw a brick in any
      direction and not cripple a king. Of course, I couldn’t get these
      people to leave off their armor; they wouldn’t do that when they bathed.
      They consented to differentiate the armor so that a body could tell
      one team from the other, but that was the most they would do. So,
      one of the teams wore chain-mail ulsters, and the other wore plate-armor
      made of my new Bessemer steel. Their practice in the field was the
      most fantastic thing I ever saw. Being ball-proof, they never
      skipped out of the way, but stood still and took the result; when a
      Bessemer was at the bat and a ball hit him, it would bound a hundred and
      fifty yards sometimes. And when a man was running, and threw himself
      on his stomach to slide to his base, it was like an iron-clad coming into
      port. At first I appointed men of no rank to act as umpires, but I
      had to discontinue that. These people were no easier to please than
      other nines. The umpire’s first decision was usually his last; they
      broke him in two with a bat, and his friends toted him home on a shutter.
      When it was noticed that no umpire ever survived a game, umpiring
      got to be unpopular. So I was obliged to appoint somebody whose rank
      and lofty position under the government would protect him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Here are the names of the nines:
    </p>
    <table summary="">
      <tr>
        <td>
          BESSEMERS
        </td>
        <td>
          ULSTERS
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>&nbsp;</td>
        <td>&nbsp;</td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          KING ARTHUR.
        </td>
        <td>
          EMPEROR LUCIUS.<br />
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          KING LOT OF LOTHIAN.
        </td>
        <td>
          KING LOGRIS.<br />
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          KING OF NORTHGALIS.
        </td>
        <td>
          KING MARHALT OF IRELAND.<br />
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          KING MARSIL.
        </td>
        <td>
          KING MORGANORE.<br />
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          KING OF LITTLE BRITAIN.
        </td>
        <td>
          KING MARK OF CORNWALL.<br />
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          KING LABOR.
        </td>
        <td>
          KING NENTRES OF GARLOT.<br />
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          KING PELLAM OF LISTENGESE.
        </td>
        <td>
          KING MELIODAS OF LIONES.<br />
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          KING BAGDEMAGUS.
        </td>
        <td>
          KING OF THE LAKE.<br />
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          KING TOLLEME LA FEINTES.
        </td>
        <td>
          THE SOWDAN OF SYRIA.
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>&nbsp;</td>
        <td>&nbsp;</td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          Umpire&mdash;CLARENCE.
        </td>
        <td>&nbsp;</td>
      </tr>
    </table>
    <p>
      The first public game would certainly draw fifty thousand people; and for
      solid fun would be worth going around the world to see. Everything would
      be favorable; it was balmy and beautiful spring weather now, and Nature
      was all tailored out in her new clothes.
    </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c41"></a>CHAPTER XLI.<br />
THE INTERDICT</h2>

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    <p>
      However, my attention was suddenly snatched from such matters; our child
      began to lose ground again, and we had to go to sitting up with her, her
      case became so serious. We couldn’t bear to allow anybody to help in
      this service, so we two stood watch-and-watch, day in and day out. Ah,
      Sandy, what a right heart she had, how simple, and genuine, and good she
      was! She was a flawless wife and mother; and yet I had married her
      for no other particular reasons, except that by the customs of chivalry
      she was my property until some knight should win her from me in the field.
      She had hunted Britain over for me; had found me at the hanging-bout
      outside of London, and had straightway resumed her old place at my side in
      the placidest way and as of right. I was a New Englander, and in my
      opinion this sort of partnership would compromise her, sooner or later.
      She couldn’t see how, but I cut argument short and we had a wedding.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now I didn’t know I was drawing a prize, yet that was what I did draw.
      Within the twelvemonth I became her worshiper; and ours was the
      dearest and perfectest comradeship that ever was. People talk about
      beautiful friendships between two persons of the same sex. What is
      the best of that sort, as compared with the friendship of man and wife,
      where the best impulses and highest ideals of both are the same? There
      is no place for comparison between the two friendships; the one is
      earthly, the other divine.
    </p>
    <p>
      In my dreams, along at first, I still wandered thirteen centuries away,
      and my unsatisfied spirit went calling and harking all up and down the
      unreplying vacancies of a vanished world. Many a time Sandy heard
      that imploring cry come from my lips in my sleep. With a grand magnanimity
      she saddled that cry of mine upon our child, conceiving it to be the name
      of some lost darling of mine. It touched me to tears, and it also nearly
      knocked me off my feet, too, when she smiled up in my face for an earned
      reward, and played her quaint and pretty surprise upon me:
    </p>
    <p>
      “The name of one who was dear to thee is here preserved, here made holy,
      and the music of it will abide alway in our ears. Now thou’lt kiss
      me, as knowing the name I have given the child.”
     </p>
    <p>
      But I didn’t know it, all the same. I hadn’t an idea in the world;
      but it would have been cruel to confess it and spoil her pretty game; so I
      never let on, but said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Yes, I know, sweetheart&mdash;how dear and good it is of you, too! But I
      want to hear these lips of yours, which are also mine, utter it first&mdash;then
      its music will be perfect.”
     </p>
    <p>
      Pleased to the marrow, she murmured:
    </p>
    <p>
      “<i>Hello-Central</i>!”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="41-525.jpg (132K)" src="images/41-525.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      I didn’t laugh&mdash;I am always thankful for that&mdash;but the strain
      ruptured every cartilage in me, and for weeks afterward I could hear my
      bones clack when I walked. She never found out her mistake. The
      first time she heard that form of salute used at the telephone she was
      surprised, and not pleased; but I told her I had given order for it:
      that henceforth and forever the telephone must always be invoked
      with that reverent formality, in perpetual honor and remembrance of my
      lost friend and her small namesake. This was not true. But it
      answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, during two weeks and a half we watched by the crib, and in our deep
      solicitude we were unconscious of any world outside of that sick-room.
      Then our reward came: the center of the universe turned the
      corner and began to mend. Grateful? It isn’t the term. There
      <i>isn’t</i> any term for it. You know that yourself, if you’ve
      watched your child through the Valley of the Shadow and seen it come back
      to life and sweep night out of the earth with one all-illuminating smile
      that you could cover with your hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      Why, we were back in this world in one instant! Then we looked the
      same startled thought into each other’s eyes at the same moment; more than
      two weeks gone, and that ship not back yet!
    </p>
    <p>
      In another minute I appeared in the presence of my train. They had
      been steeped in troubled bodings all this time&mdash;their faces showed
      it. I called an escort and we galloped five miles to a hilltop
      overlooking the sea. Where was my great commerce that so lately had
      made these glistening expanses populous and beautiful with its
      white-winged flocks? Vanished, every one! Not a sail, from
      verge to verge, not a smoke-bank&mdash;just a dead and empty solitude, in
      place of all that brisk and breezy life.
    </p>
    <p>
      I went swiftly back, saying not a word to anybody. I told Sandy this
      ghastly news. We could imagine no explanation that would begin to
      explain. Had there been an invasion? an earthquake? a pestilence?
      Had the nation been swept out of existence? But guessing was
      profitless. I must go&mdash;at once. I borrowed the king’s
      navy&mdash;a “ship” no bigger than a steam launch&mdash;and was soon
      ready.
    </p>
    <p>
      The parting&mdash;ah, yes, that was hard. As I was devouring the
      child with last kisses, it brisked up and jabbered out its vocabulary!&mdash;the
      first time in more than two weeks, and it made fools of us for joy. The
      darling mispronunciations of childhood!&mdash;dear me, there’s no music
      that can touch it; and how one grieves when it wastes away and dissolves
      into correctness, knowing it will never visit his bereaved ear again.
      Well, how good it was to be able to carry that gracious memory away
      with me!
    </p>
    <p>
      I approached England the next morning, with the wide highway of salt water
      all to myself. There were ships in the harbor, at Dover, but they
      were naked as to sails, and there was no sign of life about them. It
      was Sunday; yet at Canterbury the streets were empty; strangest of all,
      there was not even a priest in sight, and no stroke of a bell fell upon my
      ear. The mournfulness of death was everywhere. I couldn’t
      understand it. At last, in the further edge of that town I saw a
      small funeral procession&mdash;just a family and a few friends following a
      coffin&mdash;no priest; a funeral without bell, book, or candle; there was
      a church there close at hand, but they passed it by weeping, and did not
      enter it; I glanced up at the belfry, and there hung the bell, shrouded in
      black, and its tongue tied back. Now I knew! Now I understood
      the stupendous calamity that had overtaken England. Invasion?
      Invasion is a triviality to it. It was the <i>Interdict</i>!
    </p>
    <p>
      I asked no questions; I didn’t need to ask any. The Church had
      struck; the thing for me to do was to get into a disguise, and go warily.
      One of my servants gave me a suit of clothes, and when we were safe
      beyond the town I put them on, and from that time I traveled alone; I
      could not risk the embarrassment of company.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="41-527.jpg (39K)" src="images/41-527.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      A miserable journey. A desolate silence everywhere. Even in
      London itself. Traffic had ceased; men did not talk or laugh, or go
      in groups, or even in couples; they moved aimlessly about, each man by
      himself, with his head down, and woe and terror at his heart. The Tower
      showed recent war-scars. Verily, much had been happening.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of course, I meant to take the train for Camelot. Train! Why,
      the station was as vacant as a cavern. I moved on. The journey
      to Camelot was a repetition of what I had already seen. The Monday
      and the Tuesday differed in no way from the Sunday. I arrived far in
      the night. From being the best electric-lighted town in the kingdom
      and the most like a recumbent sun of anything you ever saw, it was become
      simply a blot&mdash;a blot upon darkness&mdash;that is to say, it was
      darker and solider than the rest of the darkness, and so you could see it
      a little better; it made me feel as if maybe it was symbolical&mdash;a
      sort of sign that the Church was going to <i>keep</i> the upper hand now,
      and snuff out all my beautiful civilization just like that. I found
      no life stirring in the somber streets. I groped my way with a heavy
      heart. The vast castle loomed black upon the hilltop, not a spark
      visible about it. The drawbridge was down, the great gate stood
      wide, I entered without challenge, my own heels making the only sound I
      heard&mdash;and it was sepulchral enough, in those huge vacant courts.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="42-529.jpg (78K)" src="images/42-529.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c42"></a>CHAPTER XLII.<br />
WAR!</h2>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="42-531.jpg (114K)" src="images/42-531.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      I found Clarence alone in his quarters, drowned in melancholy; and in
      place of the electric light, he had reinstituted the ancient rag-lamp, and
      sat there in a grisly twilight with all curtains drawn tight. He
      sprang up and rushed for me eagerly, saying:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, it’s worth a billion milrays to look upon a live person again!”
     </p>
    <p>
      He knew me as easily as if I hadn’t been disguised at all. Which
      frightened me; one may easily believe that.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Quick, now, tell me the meaning of this fearful disaster,” I said. “How
      did it come about?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, if there hadn’t been any Queen Guenever, it wouldn’t have come so
      early; but it would have come, anyway. It would have come on your
      own account by and by; by luck, it happened to come on the queen’s.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “<i>And</i> Sir Launcelot’s?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Just so.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Give me the details.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I reckon you will grant that during some years there has been only one
      pair of eyes in these kingdoms that has not been looking steadily askance
      at the queen and Sir Launcelot&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes, King Arthur’s.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “&mdash;and only one heart that was without suspicion&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes&mdash;the king’s; a heart that isn’t capable of thinking evil of a
      friend.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, the king might have gone on, still happy and unsuspecting, to the
      end of his days, but for one of your modern improvements&mdash;the
      stock-board. When you left, three miles of the London, Canterbury
      and Dover were ready for the rails, and also ready and ripe for
      manipulation in the stock-market. It was wildcat, and everybody knew
      it. The stock was for sale at a give-away. What does Sir
      Launcelot do, but&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes, I know; he quietly picked up nearly all of it for a song; then he
      bought about twice as much more, deliverable upon call; and he was about
      to call when I left.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Very well, he did call. The boys couldn’t deliver. Oh, he had
      them&mdash;and he just settled his grip and squeezed them. They were
      laughing in their sleeves over their smartness in selling stock to him at
      15 and 16 and along there that wasn’t worth 10. Well, when they had
      laughed long enough on that side of their mouths, they rested-up that side
      by shifting the laugh to the other side. That was when they compromised
      with the Invincible at 283!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Good land!”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="42-533.jpg (47K)" src="images/42-533.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      “He skinned them alive, and they deserved it&mdash;anyway, the whole
      kingdom rejoiced. Well, among the flayed were Sir Agravaine and Sir
      Mordred, nephews to the king. End of the first act. Act
      second, scene first, an apartment in Carlisle castle, where the court had
      gone for a few days’ hunting. Persons present, the whole tribe of
      the king’s nephews. Mordred and Agravaine propose to call the
      guileless Arthur’s attention to Guenever and Sir Launcelot. Sir
      Gawaine, Sir Gareth, and Sir Gaheris will have nothing to do with it.
      A dispute ensues, with loud talk; in the midst of it enter the king.
      Mordred and Agravaine spring their devastating tale upon him. <i>Tableau</i>.
      A trap is laid for Launcelot, by the king’s command, and Sir
      Launcelot walks into it. He made it sufficiently uncomfortable for
      the ambushed witnesses&mdash;to wit, Mordred, Agravaine, and twelve
      knights of lesser rank, for he killed every one of them but Mordred; but
      of course that couldn’t straighten matters between Launcelot and the king,
      and didn’t.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, dear, only one thing could result&mdash;I see that. War, and
      the knights of the realm divided into a king’s party and a Sir Launcelot’s
      party.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes&mdash;that was the way of it. The king sent the queen to the
      stake, proposing to purify her with fire. Launcelot and his knights
      rescued her, and in doing it slew certain good old friends of yours and
      mine&mdash;in fact, some of the best we ever had; to wit, Sir Belias le
      Orgulous, Sir Segwarides, Sir Griflet le Fils de Dieu, Sir Brandiles, Sir
      Aglovale&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, you tear out my heartstrings.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “&mdash;wait, I’m not done yet&mdash;Sir Tor, Sir Gauter, Sir Gillimer&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “The very best man in my subordinate nine. What a handy
      right-fielder he was!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “&mdash;Sir Reynold’s three brothers, Sir Damus, Sir Priamus, Sir Kay the
      Stranger&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “My peerless short-stop! I’ve seen him catch a daisy-cutter in his
      teeth. Come, I can’t stand this!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “&mdash;Sir Driant, Sir Lambegus, Sir Herminde, Sir Pertilope, Sir
      Perimones, and&mdash;whom do you think?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Rush! Go on.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Sir Gaheris, and Sir Gareth&mdash;both!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, incredible! Their love for Launcelot was indestructible.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, it was an accident. They were simply onlookers; they were
      unarmed, and were merely there to witness the queen’s punishment. Sir
      Launcelot smote down whoever came in the way of his blind fury, and he
      killed these without noticing who they were. Here is an
      instantaneous photograph one of our boys got of the battle; it’s for sale
      on every news-stand. There&mdash;the figures nearest the queen are
      Sir Launcelot with his sword up, and Sir Gareth gasping his latest breath.
      You can catch the agony in the queen’s face through the curling
      smoke. It’s a rattling battle-picture.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Indeed, it is. We must take good care of it; its historical value
      is incalculable. Go on.”
     </p>

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<img alt="42-535.jpg (61K)" src="images/42-535.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      “Well, the rest of the tale is just war, pure and simple. Launcelot
      retreated to his town and castle of Joyous Gard, and gathered there a
      great following of knights. The king, with a great host, went there,
      and there was desperate fighting during several days, and, as a result,
      all the plain around was paved with corpses and cast-iron. Then the
      Church patched up a peace between Arthur and Launcelot and the queen and
      everybody&mdash;everybody but Sir Gawaine. He was bitter about the slaying
      of his brothers, Gareth and Gaheris, and would not be appeased. He
      notified Launcelot to get him thence, and make swift preparation, and look
      to be soon attacked. So Launcelot sailed to his Duchy of Guienne with his
      following, and Gawaine soon followed with an army, and he beguiled Arthur
      to go with him. Arthur left the kingdom in Sir Mordred’s hands until
      you should return&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Ah&mdash;a king’s customary wisdom!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes. Sir Mordred set himself at once to work to make his kingship
      permanent. He was going to marry Guenever, as a first move; but she
      fled and shut herself up in the Tower of London. Mordred attacked;
      the Bishop of Canterbury dropped down on him with the Interdict. The
      king returned; Mordred fought him at Dover, at Canterbury, and again at
      Barham Down. Then there was talk of peace and a composition. Terms,
      Mordred to have Cornwall and Kent during Arthur’s life, and the whole
      kingdom afterward.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, upon my word! My dream of a republic to <i>be</i> a dream,
      and so remain.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes. The two armies lay near Salisbury. Gawaine&mdash;Gawaine’s
      head is at Dover Castle, he fell in the fight there&mdash;Gawaine appeared
      to Arthur in a dream, at least his ghost did, and warned him to refrain
      from conflict for a month, let the delay cost what it might. But battle
      was precipitated by an accident. Arthur had given order that if a
      sword was raised during the consultation over the proposed treaty with
      Mordred, sound the trumpet and fall on! for he had no confidence in
      Mordred. Mordred had given a similar order to <i>his</i> people.
      Well, by and by an adder bit a knight’s heel; the knight forgot all
      about the order, and made a slash at the adder with his sword. Inside
      of half a minute those two prodigious hosts came together with a crash!
      They butchered away all day. Then the king&mdash;however, we have
      started something fresh since you left&mdash;our paper has.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “No? What is that?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “War correspondence!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Why, that’s good.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes, the paper was booming right along, for the Interdict made no
      impression, got no grip, while the war lasted. I had war
      correspondents with both armies. I will finish that battle by
      reading you what one of the boys says:
    </p>

<p class="letter">
Then the king looked about him, and then was he ware of all his host and of all
his good knights were left no more on live but two knights, that was Sir Lucan
de Butlere, and his brother Sir Bedivere: and they were full sore wounded. Jesu
mercy, said the king, where are all my noble knights becomen? Alas that ever I
should see this doleful day. For now, said Arthur, I am come to mine end. But
would to God that I wist where were that traitor Sir Mordred, that hath caused
all this mischief. Then was King Arthur ware where Sir Mordred leaned upon his
sword among a great heap of dead men. Now give me my spear, said Arthur unto
Sir Lucan, for yonder I have espied the traitor that all this woe hath wrought.
Sir, let him be, said Sir Lucan, for he is unhappy; and if ye pass this unhappy
day, ye shall be right well revenged upon him. Good lord, remember ye of your
night’s dream, and what the spirit of Sir Gawaine told you this night,
yet God of his great goodness hath preserved you hitherto. Therefore, for
God’s sake, my lord, leave off by this. For blessed be God ye have won
the field: for here we be three on live, and with Sir Mordred is none on live.
And if ye leave off now, this wicked day of destiny is past. Tide me death,
betide me life, saith the king, now I see him yonder alone, he shall never
escape mine hands, for at a better avail shall I never have him. God speed you
well, said Sir Bedivere. Then the king gat his spear in both his hands, and ran
toward Sir Mordred crying, Traitor, now is thy death day come. And when Sir
Mordred heard Sir Arthur, he ran until him with his sword drawn in his hand.
And then King Arthur smote Sir Mordred under the shield, with a foin of his
spear throughout the body more than a fathom. And when Sir Mordred felt that he
had his death’s wound, he thrust himself, with the might that he had, up
to the butt of King Arthur’s spear. And right so he smote his father
Arthur with his sword holden in both his hands, on the side of the head, that
the sword pierced the helmet and the brain-pan, and therewithal Sir Mordred
fell stark dead to the earth. And the noble Arthur fell in a swoon to the
earth, and there he swooned oft-times&mdash;”
</p>

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</div>

    <p>
      “That is a good piece of war correspondence, Clarence; you are a
      first-rate newspaper man. Well&mdash;is the king all right? Did
      he get well?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Poor soul, no. He is dead.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I was utterly stunned; it had not seemed to me that any wound could be
      mortal to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      “And the queen, Clarence?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “She is a nun, in Almesbury.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What changes! and in such a short while. It is inconceivable. What
      next, I wonder?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I can tell you what next.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Stake our lives and stand by them!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What do you mean by that?”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="42-539.jpg (57K)" src="images/42-539.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      “The Church is master now. The Interdict included you with Mordred;
      it is not to be removed while you remain alive. The clans are
      gathering. The Church has gathered all the knights that are left
      alive, and as soon as you are discovered we shall have business on our
      hands.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Stuff! With our deadly scientific war-material; with our hosts of
      trained&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Save your breath&mdash;we haven’t sixty faithful left!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What are you saying? Our schools, our colleges, our vast workshops,
      our&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “When those knights come, those establishments will empty themselves and
      go over to the enemy. Did you think you had educated the
      superstition out of those people?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I certainly did think it.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, then, you may unthink it. They stood every strain easily&mdash;until
      the Interdict. Since then, they merely put on a bold outside&mdash;at
      heart they are quaking. Make up your mind to it&mdash;when the
      armies come, the mask will fall.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It’s hard news. We are lost. They will turn our own science
      against us.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “No they won’t.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Why?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Because I and a handful of the faithful have blocked that game. I’ll tell
      you what I’ve done, and what moved me to it. Smart as you are, the
      Church was smarter. It was the Church that sent you cruising&mdash;through
      her servants, the doctors.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Clarence!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It is the truth. I know it. Every officer of your ship was
      the Church’s picked servant, and so was every man of the crew.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, come!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It is just as I tell you. I did not find out these things at once,
      but I found them out finally. Did you send me verbal information, by
      the commander of the ship, to the effect that upon his return to you, with
      supplies, you were going to leave Cadiz&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Cadiz! I haven’t been at Cadiz at all!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “&mdash;going to leave Cadiz and cruise in distant seas indefinitely, for
      the health of your family? Did you send me that word?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Of course not. I would have written, wouldn’t I?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Naturally. I was troubled and suspicious. When the commander
      sailed again I managed to ship a spy with him. I have never heard of
      vessel or spy since. I gave myself two weeks to hear from you in.
      Then I resolved to send a ship to Cadiz. There was a reason
      why I didn’t.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What was that?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Our navy had suddenly and mysteriously disappeared! Also, as
      suddenly and as mysteriously, the railway and telegraph and telephone
      service ceased, the men all deserted, poles were cut down, the Church laid
      a ban upon the electric light! I had to be up and doing&mdash;and
      straight off. Your life was safe&mdash;nobody in these kingdoms but
      Merlin would venture to touch such a magician as you without ten thousand
      men at his back&mdash;I had nothing to think of but how to put
      preparations in the best trim against your coming. I felt safe
      myself&mdash;nobody would be anxious to touch a pet of yours. So
      this is what I did. From our various works I selected all the men&mdash;boys
      I mean&mdash;whose faithfulness under whatsoever pressure I could swear
      to, and I called them together secretly and gave them their instructions.
      There are fifty-two of them; none younger than fourteen, and none
      above seventeen years old.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Why did you select boys?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Because all the others were born in an atmosphere of superstition and
      reared in it. It is in their blood and bones. We imagined we
      had educated it out of them; they thought so, too; the Interdict woke them
      up like a thunderclap! It revealed them to themselves, and it
      revealed them to me, too. With boys it was different. Such as
      have been under our training from seven to ten years have had no
      acquaintance with the Church’s terrors, and it was among these that I
      found my fifty-two. As a next move, I paid a private visit to that
      old cave of Merlin’s&mdash;not the small one&mdash;the big one&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes, the one where we secretly established our first great electric plant
      when I was projecting a miracle.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Just so. And as that miracle hadn’t become necessary then, I
      thought it might be a good idea to utilize the plant now. I’ve
      provisioned the cave for a siege&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “A good idea, a first-rate idea.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I think so. I placed four of my boys there as a guard&mdash;inside,
      and out of sight. Nobody was to be hurt&mdash;while outside; but any
      attempt to enter&mdash;well, we said just let anybody try it! Then I
      went out into the hills and uncovered and cut the secret wires which
      connected your bedroom with the wires that go to the dynamite deposits
      under all our vast factories, mills, workshops, magazines, etc., and about
      midnight I and my boys turned out and connected that wire with the cave,
      and nobody but you and I suspects where the other end of it goes to.
      We laid it under ground, of course, and it was all finished in a
      couple of hours or so. We sha’n’t have to leave our fortress now
      when we want to blow up our civilization.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It was the right move&mdash;and the natural one; military necessity, in
      the changed condition of things. Well, what changes <i>have</i>
      come! We expected to be besieged in the palace some time or other, but&mdash;however,
      go on.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Next, we built a wire fence.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Wire fence?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes. You dropped the hint of it yourself, two or three years ago.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, I remember&mdash;the time the Church tried her strength against us
      the first time, and presently thought it wise to wait for a hopefuler
      season. Well, how have you arranged the fence?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I start twelve immensely strong wires&mdash;naked, not insulated&mdash;from
      a big dynamo in the cave&mdash;dynamo with no brushes except a positive
      and a negative one&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes, that’s right.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “The wires go out from the cave and fence in a circle of level ground a
      hundred yards in diameter; they make twelve independent fences, ten feet
      apart&mdash;that is to say, twelve circles within circles&mdash;and their
      ends come into the cave again.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Right; go on.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “The fences are fastened to heavy oaken posts only three feet apart, and
      these posts are sunk five feet in the ground.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “That is good and strong.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes. The wires have no ground-connection outside of the cave. They
      go out from the positive brush of the dynamo; there is a ground-connection
      through the negative brush; the other ends of the wire return to the cave,
      and each is grounded independently.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “No, no, that won’t do!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Why?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It’s too expensive&mdash;uses up force for nothing. You don’t want
      any ground-connection except the one through the negative brush. The other
      end of every wire must be brought back into the cave and fastened
      independently, and <i>without</i> any ground-connection. Now, then,
      observe the economy of it. A cavalry charge hurls itself against the
      fence; you are using no power, you are spending no money, for there is
      only one ground-connection till those horses come against the wire; the
      moment they touch it they form a connection with the negative brush <i>through
      the ground</i>, and drop dead. Don’t you see?&mdash;you are using
      no energy until it is needed; your lightning is there, and ready, like the
      load in a gun; but it isn’t costing you a cent till you touch it off.
      Oh, yes, the single ground-connection&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Of course! I don’t know how I overlooked that. It’s not only
      cheaper, but it’s more effectual than the other way, for if wires break or
      get tangled, no harm is done.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “No, especially if we have a tell-tale in the cave and disconnect the
      broken wire. Well, go on. The gatlings?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes&mdash;that’s arranged. In the center of the inner circle, on a
      spacious platform six feet high, I’ve grouped a battery of thirteen
      gatling guns, and provided plenty of ammunition.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “That’s it. They command every approach, and when the Church’s
      knights arrive, there’s going to be music. The brow of the precipice
      over the cave&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I’ve got a wire fence there, and a gatling. They won’t drop any
      rocks down on us.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, and the glass-cylinder dynamite torpedoes?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “That’s attended to. It’s the prettiest garden that was ever
      planted. It’s a belt forty feet wide, and goes around the outer
      fence&mdash;distance between it and the fence one hundred yards&mdash;kind
      of neutral ground that space is. There isn’t a single square yard of
      that whole belt but is equipped with a torpedo. We laid them on the
      surface of the ground, and sprinkled a layer of sand over them. It’s
      an innocent looking garden, but you let a man start in to hoe it once, and
      you’ll see.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “You tested the torpedoes?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, I was going to, but&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “But what? Why, it’s an immense oversight not to apply a&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Test? Yes, I know; but they’re all right; I laid a few in the
      public road beyond our lines and they’ve been tested.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Oh, that alters the case. Who did it?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “A Church committee.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “How kind!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes. They came to command us to make submission. You see they
      didn’t really come to test the torpedoes; that was merely an incident.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Did the committee make a report?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes, they made one. You could have heard it a mile.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Unanimous?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “That was the nature of it. After that I put up some signs, for the
      protection of future committees, and we have had no intruders since.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Clarence, you’ve done a world of work, and done it perfectly.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “We had plenty of time for it; there wasn’t any occasion for hurry.”
     </p>
    <p>
      We sat silent awhile, thinking. Then my mind was made up, and I
      said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Yes, everything is ready; everything is shipshape, no detail is wanting.
      I know what to do now.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “So do I; sit down and wait.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “No, <i>sir!</i> rise up and <i>strike!</i>”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Do you mean it?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Yes, indeed! The <i>de</i> fensive isn’t in my line, and the <i>of</i>
      fensive is. That is, when I hold a fair hand&mdash;two-thirds as
      good a hand as the enemy. Oh, yes, we’ll rise up and strike; that’s
      our game.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “A hundred to one you are right. When does the performance begin?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “<i>Now!</i> We’ll proclaim the Republic.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, that <i>will</i> precipitate things, sure enough!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It will make them buzz, I tell you! England will be a hornets’ nest
      before noon to-morrow, if the Church’s hand hasn’t lost its cunning&mdash;and
      we know it hasn’t. Now you write and I’ll dictate thus:
    </p>

<p class="center">
“PROCLAMATION
</p>

<p class="letter">
“BE IT KNOWN UNTO ALL. Whereas the king having died and left no heir, it
becomes my duty to continue the executive authority vested in me, until a
government shall have been created and set in motion. The monarchy has lapsed,
it no longer exists. By consequence, all political power has reverted to its
original source, the people of the nation. With the monarchy, its several
adjuncts died also; wherefore there is no longer a nobility, no longer a
privileged class, no longer an Established Church; all men are become exactly
equal; they are upon one common level, and religion is free. <i>A Republic is
hereby proclaimed</i>, as being the natural estate of a nation when other
authority has ceased. It is the duty of the British people to meet together
immediately, and by their votes elect representatives and deliver into their
hands the government.”
</p>

    <p>
      I signed it “The Boss,” and dated it from Merlin’s Cave. Clarence said&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      “Why, that tells where we are, and invites them to call right away.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “That is the idea. We <i>strike</i>&mdash;by the Proclamation&mdash;then
      it’s their innings. Now have the thing set up and printed and
      posted, right off; that is, give the order; then, if you’ve got a couple
      of bicycles handy at the foot of the hill, ho for Merlin’s Cave!”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I shall be ready in ten minutes. What a cyclone there is going to
      be to-morrow when this piece of paper gets to work!... It’s a
      pleasant old palace, this is; I wonder if we shall ever again&mdash;but
      never mind about that.”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="43-547.jpg (71K)" src="images/43-547.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c43"></a>CHAPTER XLIII.<br />
THE BATTLE OF THE SAND BELT</h2>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="43-549.jpg (129K)" src="images/43-549.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      In Merlin’s Cave&mdash;Clarence and I and fifty-two fresh, bright,
      well-educated, clean-minded young British boys. At dawn I sent an
      order to the factories and to all our great works to stop operations and
      remove all life to a safe distance, as everything was going to be blown up
      by secret mines, “<i>and no telling at what moment&mdash;therefore, vacate
      at once</i>.” These people knew me, and had confidence in my word.
      They would clear out without waiting to part their hair, and I could
      take my own time about dating the explosion. You couldn’t hire one
      of them to go back during the century, if the explosion was still
      impending.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="43-550.jpg (137K)" src="images/43-550.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      We had a week of waiting. It was not dull for me, because I was
      writing all the time. During the first three days, I finished
      turning my old diary into this narrative form; it only required a chapter
      or so to bring it down to date. The rest of the week I took up in
      writing letters to my wife. It was always my habit to write to Sandy
      every day, whenever we were separate, and now I kept up the habit for love
      of it, and of her, though I couldn’t do anything with the letters, of
      course, after I had written them. But it put in the time, you see, and was
      almost like talking; it was almost as if I was saying, “Sandy, if you and
      Hello-Central were here in the cave, instead of only your photographs,
      what good times we could have!” And then, you know, I could imagine
      the baby goo-gooing something out in reply, with its fists in its mouth
      and itself stretched across its mother’s lap on its back, and she
      a-laughing and admiring and worshipping, and now and then tickling under
      the baby’s chin to set it cackling, and then maybe throwing in a word of
      answer to me herself&mdash;and so on and so on&mdash;well, don’t you know,
      I could sit there in the cave with my pen, and keep it up, that way, by
      the hour with them. Why, it was almost like having us all together
      again.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had spies out every night, of course, to get news. Every report
      made things look more and more impressive. The hosts were gathering,
      gathering; down all the roads and paths of England the knights were
      riding, and priests rode with them, to hearten these original Crusaders,
      this being the Church’s war. All the nobilities, big and little,
      were on their way, and all the gentry. This was all as was expected.
      We should thin out this sort of folk to such a degree that the
      people would have nothing to do but just step to the front with their
      republic and&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      Ah, what a donkey I was! Toward the end of the week I began to get
      this large and disenchanting fact through my head: that the mass of
      the nation had swung their caps and shouted for the republic for about one
      day, and there an end! The Church, the nobles, and the gentry then
      turned one grand, all-disapproving frown upon them and shriveled them into
      sheep! From that moment the sheep had begun to gather to the fold&mdash;that
      is to say, the camps&mdash;and offer their valueless lives and their
      valuable wool to the “righteous cause.” Why, even the very men who
      had lately been slaves were in the “righteous cause,” and glorifying it,
      praying for it, sentimentally slabbering over it, just like all the other
      commoners. Imagine such human muck as this; conceive of this folly!
    </p>
    <p>
      Yes, it was now “Death to the Republic!” everywhere&mdash;not a dissenting
      voice. All England was marching against us! Truly, this was
      more than I had bargained for.
    </p>
    <p>
      I watched my fifty-two boys narrowly; watched their faces, their walk,
      their unconscious attitudes: for all these are a language&mdash;a
      language given us purposely that it may betray us in times of emergency,
      when we have secrets which we want to keep. I knew that that thought
      would keep saying itself over and over again in their minds and hearts, <i>All
      England is marching against us!</i> and ever more strenuously imploring
      attention with each repetition, ever more sharply realizing itself to
      their imaginations, until even in their sleep they would find no rest from
      it, but hear the vague and flitting creatures of the dreams say, <i>All
      England</i>&mdash;<i>All England</i>!&mdash;<i>is marching against you</i>!
      I knew all this would happen; I knew that ultimately the pressure
      would become so great that it would compel utterance; therefore, I must be
      ready with an answer at that time&mdash;an answer well chosen and
      tranquilizing.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was right. The time came. They <i>had </i>to speak. Poor
      lads, it was pitiful to see, they were so pale, so worn, so troubled.
      At first their spokesman could hardly find voice or words; but he
      presently got both. This is what he said&mdash;and he put it in the
      neat modern English taught him in my schools:
    </p>
    <p>
      “We have tried to forget what we are&mdash;English boys! We have
      tried to put reason before sentiment, duty before love; our minds approve,
      but our hearts reproach us. While apparently it was only the
      nobility, only the gentry, only the twenty-five or thirty thousand knights
      left alive out of the late wars, we were of one mind, and undisturbed by
      any troubling doubt; each and every one of these fifty-two lads who stand
      here before you, said, ‘They have chosen&mdash;it is their affair.’ But
      think!&mdash;the matter is altered&mdash;<i>All England is marching
      against us!</i> Oh, sir, consider!&mdash;reflect!&mdash;these
      people are our people, they are bone of our bone, flesh of our flesh, we
      love them&mdash;do not ask us to destroy our nation!”
     </p>
    <p>
      Well, it shows the value of looking ahead, and being ready for a thing
      when it happens. If I hadn’t foreseen this thing and been fixed,
      that boy would have had me!&mdash;I couldn’t have said a word. But I was
      fixed. I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “My boys, your hearts are in the right place, you have thought the worthy
      thought, you have done the worthy thing. You are English boys, you
      will remain English boys, and you will keep that name unsmirched. Give
      yourselves no further concern, let your minds be at peace. Consider
      this: while all England is marching against us, who is in the van?
      Who, by the commonest rules of war, will march in the front? Answer
      me.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “The mounted host of mailed knights.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “True. They are thirty thousand strong. Acres deep they will
      march. Now, observe: none but <i>they</i> will ever strike the
      sand-belt! Then there will be an episode! Immediately after,
      the civilian multitude in the rear will retire, to meet business
      engagements elsewhere. None but nobles and gentry are knights, and <i>none
      but these</i> will remain to dance to our music after that episode. It
      is absolutely true that we shall have to fight nobody but these thirty
      thousand knights. Now speak, and it shall be as you decide. Shall
      we avoid the battle, retire from the field?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “NO!!!”
     </p>
    <p>
      The shout was unanimous and hearty.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Are you&mdash;are you&mdash;well, afraid of these thirty thousand
      knights?”
     </p>
    <p>
      That joke brought out a good laugh, the boys’ troubles vanished away, and
      they went gaily to their posts. Ah, they were a darling fifty-two!
      As pretty as girls, too.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was ready for the enemy now. Let the approaching big day come
      along&mdash;it would find us on deck.
    </p>
    <p>
      The big day arrived on time. At dawn the sentry on watch in the
      corral came into the cave and reported a moving black mass under the
      horizon, and a faint sound which he thought to be military music. Breakfast
      was just ready; we sat down and ate it.
    </p>
    <p>
      This over, I made the boys a little speech, and then sent out a detail to
      man the battery, with Clarence in command of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sun rose presently and sent its unobstructed splendors over the land,
      and we saw a prodigious host moving slowly toward us, with the steady
      drift and aligned front of a wave of the sea. Nearer and nearer it came,
      and more and more sublimely imposing became its aspect; yes, all England
      was there, apparently. Soon we could see the innumerable banners
      fluttering, and then the sun struck the sea of armor and set it all
      aflash. Yes, it was a fine sight; I hadn’t ever seen anything to
      beat it.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="43-555.jpg (159K)" src="images/43-555.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      At last we could make out details. All the front ranks, no telling
      how many acres deep, were horsemen&mdash;plumed knights in armor. Suddenly
      we heard the blare of trumpets; the slow walk burst into a gallop, and
      then&mdash;well, it was wonderful to see! Down swept that vast
      horse-shoe wave&mdash;it approached the sand-belt&mdash;my breath stood
      still; nearer, nearer&mdash;the strip of green turf beyond the yellow belt
      grew narrow&mdash;narrower still&mdash;became a mere ribbon in front of
      the horses&mdash;then disappeared under their hoofs. Great Scott!
      Why, the whole front of that host shot into the sky with a
      thunder-crash, and became a whirling tempest of rags and fragments; and
      along the ground lay a thick wall of smoke that hid what was left of the
      multitude from our sight.
    </p>
    <p>
      Time for the second step in the plan of campaign! I touched a
      button, and shook the bones of England loose from her spine!
    </p>
    <p>
      In that explosion all our noble civilization-factories went up in the air
      and disappeared from the earth. It was a pity, but it was necessary.
      We could not afford to let the enemy turn our own weapons against
      us.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now ensued one of the dullest quarter-hours I had ever endured. We waited
      in a silent solitude enclosed by our circles of wire, and by a circle of
      heavy smoke outside of these. We couldn’t see over the wall of
      smoke, and we couldn’t see through it. But at last it began to shred
      away lazily, and by the end of another quarter-hour the land was clear and
      our curiosity was enabled to satisfy itself. No living creature was
      in sight! We now perceived that additions had been made to our
      defenses. The dynamite had dug a ditch more than a hundred feet
      wide, all around us, and cast up an embankment some twenty-five feet high
      on both borders of it. As to destruction of life, it was amazing.
      Moreover, it was beyond estimate. Of course, we could not <i>count</i>
      the dead, because they did not exist as individuals, but merely as
      homogeneous protoplasm, with alloys of iron and buttons.
    </p>
    <p>
      No life was in sight, but necessarily there must have been some wounded in
      the rear ranks, who were carried off the field under cover of the wall of
      smoke; there would be sickness among the others&mdash;there always is,
      after an episode like that. But there would be no reinforcements;
      this was the last stand of the chivalry of England; it was all that was
      left of the order, after the recent annihilating wars. So I felt
      quite safe in believing that the utmost force that could for the future be
      brought against us would be but small; that is, of knights. I
      therefore issued a congratulatory proclamation to my army in these words:
    </p>

<p class="letter">
SOLDIERS, CHAMPIONS OF HUMAN LIBERTY AND EQUALITY: Your General congratulates
you! In the pride of his strength and the vanity of his renown, an arrogant
enemy came against you. You were ready. The conflict was brief; on your side,
glorious. This mighty victory, having been achieved utterly without loss,
stands without example in history. So long as the planets shall continue to
move in their orbits, the <i>Battle Of The Sand-Belt</i> will not perish out of
the memories of men.
</p>

<p class="right">
THE BOSS.
</p>

    <p>
      I read it well, and the applause I got was very gratifying to me. I then
      wound up with these remarks:
    </p>
    <p>
      “The war with the English nation, as a nation, is at an end. The nation
      has retired from the field and the war. Before it can be persuaded
      to return, war will have ceased. This campaign is the only one that
      is going to be fought. It will be brief&mdash;the briefest in
      history. Also the most destructive to life, considered from the
      standpoint of proportion of casualties to numbers engaged. We are
      done with the nation; henceforth we deal only with the knights. English
      knights can be killed, but they cannot be conquered. We know what is
      before us. While one of these men remains alive, our task is not
      finished, the war is not ended. We will kill them all.” [Loud
      and long continued applause.]
    </p>
    <p>
      I picketed the great embankments thrown up around our lines by the
      dynamite explosion&mdash;merely a lookout of a couple of boys to announce
      the enemy when he should appear again.
    </p>
    <p>
      Next, I sent an engineer and forty men to a point just beyond our lines on
      the south, to turn a mountain brook that was there, and bring it within
      our lines and under our command, arranging it in such a way that I could
      make instant use of it in an emergency. The forty men were divided into
      two shifts of twenty each, and were to relieve each other every two hours.
      In ten hours the work was accomplished.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was nightfall now, and I withdrew my pickets. The one who had had
      the northern outlook reported a camp in sight, but visible with the glass
      only. He also reported that a few knights had been feeling their way
      toward us, and had driven some cattle across our lines, but that the
      knights themselves had not come very near. That was what I had been
      expecting. They were feeling us, you see; they wanted to know if we
      were going to play that red terror on them again. They would grow
      bolder in the night, perhaps. I believed I knew what project they would
      attempt, because it was plainly the thing I would attempt myself if I were
      in their places and as ignorant as they were. I mentioned it to
      Clarence.
    </p>
    <p>
      “I think you are right,” said he; “it is the obvious thing for them to
      try.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Well, then,” I said, “if they do it they are doomed.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Certainly.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “They won’t have the slightest show in the world.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Of course they won’t.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “It’s dreadful, Clarence. It seems an awful pity.”
     </p>
    <p>
      The thing disturbed me so that I couldn’t get any peace of mind for
      thinking of it and worrying over it. So, at last, to quiet my
      conscience, I framed this message to the knights:
    </p>

<p class="letter">
TO THE HONORABLE THE COMMANDER OF THE INSURGENT CHIVALRY OF ENGLAND: You fight
in vain. We know your strength&mdash;if one may call it by that name. We know
that at the utmost you cannot bring against us above five and twenty thousand
knights. Therefore, you have no chance&mdash;none whatever. Reflect: we are
well equipped, well fortified, we number 54. Fifty-four what? Men? No,
<i>minds</i>&mdash;the capablest in the world; a force against which mere
animal might may no more hope to prevail than may the idle waves of the sea
hope to prevail against the granite barriers of England. Be advised. We offer
you your lives; for the sake of your families, do not reject the gift. We offer
you this chance, and it is the last: throw down your arms; surrender
unconditionally to the Republic, and all will be forgiven.
</p>

<p class="right">
(Signed) THE BOSS.
</p>

    <p>
      I read it to Clarence, and said I proposed to send it by a flag of truce.
      He laughed the sarcastic laugh he was born with, and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Somehow it seems impossible for you to ever fully realize what these
      nobilities are. Now let us save a little time and trouble. Consider
      me the commander of the knights yonder. Now, then, you are the flag
      of truce; approach and deliver me your message, and I will give you your
      answer.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I humored the idea. I came forward under an imaginary guard of the
      enemy’s soldiers, produced my paper, and read it through. For answer,
      Clarence struck the paper out of my hand, pursed up a scornful lip and
      said with lofty disdain:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Dismember me this animal, and return him in a basket to the base-born
      knave who sent him; other answer have I none!”
     </p>
    <p>
      How empty is theory in presence of fact! And this was just fact, and
      nothing else. It was the thing that would have happened, there was
      no getting around that. I tore up the paper and granted my mistimed
      sentimentalities a permanent rest.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then, to business. I tested the electric signals from the gatling
      platform to the cave, and made sure that they were all right; I tested and
      retested those which commanded the fences&mdash;these were signals whereby
      I could break and renew the electric current in each fence independently
      of the others at will. I placed the brook-connection under the guard
      and authority of three of my best boys, who would alternate in two-hour
      watches all night and promptly obey my signal, if I should have occasion
      to give it&mdash;three revolver-shots in quick succession. Sentry-duty
      was discarded for the night, and the corral left empty of life; I ordered
      that quiet be maintained in the cave, and the electric lights turned down
      to a glimmer.
    </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="43-559.jpg (91K)" src="images/43-559.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      As soon as it was good and dark, I shut off the current from all the
      fences, and then groped my way out to the embankment bordering our side of
      the great dynamite ditch. I crept to the top of it and lay there on
      the slant of the muck to watch. But it was too dark to see anything.
      As for sounds, there were none. The stillness was deathlike.
      True, there were the usual night-sounds of the country&mdash;the
      whir of night-birds, the buzzing of insects, the barking of distant dogs,
      the mellow lowing of far-off kine&mdash;but these didn’t seem to break the
      stillness, they only intensified it, and added a grewsome melancholy to it
      into the bargain.
    </p>
    <p>
      I presently gave up looking, the night shut down so black, but I kept my
      ears strained to catch the least suspicious sound, for I judged I had only
      to wait, and I shouldn’t be disappointed. However, I had to wait a long
      time. At last I caught what you may call indistinct glimpses of
      sound&mdash;dulled metallic sound. I pricked up my ears, then, and held my
      breath, for this was the sort of thing I had been waiting for. This
      sound thickened, and approached&mdash;from toward the north. Presently,
      I heard it at my own level&mdash;the ridge-top of the opposite embankment,
      a hundred feet or more away. Then I seemed to see a row of black
      dots appear along that ridge&mdash;human heads? I couldn’t tell; it
      mightn’t be anything at all; you can’t depend on your eyes when your
      imagination is out of focus. However, the question was soon settled.
      I heard that metallic noise descending into the great ditch. It
      augmented fast, it spread all along, and it unmistakably furnished me this
      fact: an armed host was taking up its quarters in the ditch. Yes,
      these people were arranging a little surprise party for us. We could
      expect entertainment about dawn, possibly earlier.
    </p>
    <p>
      I groped my way back to the corral now; I had seen enough. I went to
      the platform and signaled to turn the current on to the two inner fences.
      Then I went into the cave, and found everything satisfactory there&mdash;nobody
      awake but the working-watch. I woke Clarence and told him the great
      ditch was filling up with men, and that I believed all the knights were
      coming for us in a body. It was my notion that as soon as dawn approached
      we could expect the ditch’s ambuscaded thousands to swarm up over the
      embankment and make an assault, and be followed immediately by the rest of
      their army.
    </p>
    <p>
      Clarence said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “They will be wanting to send a scout or two in the dark to make
      preliminary observations. Why not take the lightning off the outer
      fences, and give them a chance?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I’ve already done it, Clarence. Did you ever know me to be
      inhospitable?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “No, you are a good heart. I want to go and&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      “Be a reception committee? I will go, too.”
     </p>
    <p>
      We crossed the corral and lay down together between the two inside fences.
      Even the dim light of the cave had disordered our eyesight somewhat,
      but the focus straightway began to regulate itself and soon it was
      adjusted for present circumstances. We had had to feel our way
      before, but we could make out to see the fence posts now. We started a
      whispered conversation, but suddenly Clarence broke off and said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “What is that?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What is what?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “That thing yonder.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “What thing&mdash;where?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “There beyond you a little piece&mdash;dark something&mdash;a dull shape
      of some kind&mdash;against the second fence.”
     </p>
    <p>
      I gazed and he gazed. I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Could it be a man, Clarence?”
     </p>
    <p>
      “No, I think not. If you notice, it looks a lit&mdash;why, it <i>is</i>
      a man!&mdash;leaning on the fence.”
     </p>
    <p>
      “I certainly believe it is; let us go and see.”
     </p>

<div class="fig" style="width:50%">
<img alt="43-562.jpg (161K)" src="images/43-562.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      We crept along on our hands and knees until we were pretty close, and then
      looked up. Yes, it was a man&mdash;a dim great figure in armor,
      standing erect, with both hands on the upper wire&mdash;and, of course,
      there was a smell of burning flesh. Poor fellow, dead as a
      door-nail, and never knew what hurt him. He stood there like a
      statue&mdash;no motion about him, except that his plumes swished about a
      little in the night wind. We rose up and looked in through the bars
      of his visor, but couldn’t make out whether we knew him or not&mdash;features
      too dim and shadowed.
    </p>
    <p>
      We heard muffled sounds approaching, and we sank down to the ground where
      we were. We made out another knight vaguely; he was coming very
      stealthily, and feeling his way. He was near enough now for us to
      see him put out a hand, find an upper wire, then bend and step under it
      and over the lower one. Now he arrived at the first knight&mdash;and
      started slightly when he discovered him. He stood a moment&mdash;no
      doubt wondering why the other one didn’t move on; then he said, in a low
      voice, “Why dreamest thou here, good Sir Mar&mdash;” then he laid his hand
      on the corpse’s shoulder&mdash;and just uttered a little soft moan and
      sunk down dead. Killed by a dead man, you see&mdash;killed by a dead
      friend, in fact. There was something awful about it.
    </p>
    <p>
      These early birds came scattering along after each other, about one every
      five minutes in our vicinity, during half an hour. They brought no armor
      of offense but their swords; as a rule, they carried the sword ready in
      the hand, and put it forward and found the wires with it. We would
      now and then see a blue spark when the knight that caused it was so far
      away as to be invisible to us; but we knew what had happened, all the
      same; poor fellow, he had touched a charged wire with his sword and been
      electrocuted. We had brief intervals of grim stillness, interrupted with
      piteous regularity by the clash made by the falling of an iron-clad; and
      this sort of thing was going on, right along, and was very creepy there in
      the dark and lonesomeness.
    </p>
    <p>
      We concluded to make a tour between the inner fences. We elected to
      walk upright, for convenience’s sake; we argued that if discerned, we
      should be taken for friends rather than enemies, and in any case we should
      be out of reach of swords, and these gentry did not seem to have any
      spears along. Well, it was a curious trip. Everywhere dead men
      were lying outside the second fence&mdash;not plainly visible, but still
      visible; and we counted fifteen of those pathetic statues&mdash;dead
      knights standing with their hands on the upper wire.
    </p>
    <p>
      One thing seemed to be sufficiently demonstrated: our current was so
      tremendous that it killed before the victim could cry out. Pretty soon we
      detected a muffled and heavy sound, and next moment we guessed what it
      was. It was a surprise in force coming! I whispered Clarence to go and
      wake the army, and notify it to wait in silence in the cave for further
      orders. He was soon back, and we stood by the inner fence and
      watched the silent lightning do its awful work upon that swarming host.
      One could make out but little of detail; but he could note that a
      black mass was piling itself up beyond the second fence. That
      swelling bulk was dead men! Our camp was enclosed with a solid wall
      of the dead&mdash;a bulwark, a breastwork, of corpses, you may say. One
      terrible thing about this thing was the absence of human voices; there
      were no cheers, no war cries; being intent upon a surprise, these men
      moved as noiselessly as they could; and always when the front rank was
      near enough to their goal to make it proper for them to begin to get a
      shout ready, of course they struck the fatal line and went down without
      testifying.
    </p>
    <p>
      I sent a current through the third fence now; and almost immediately
      through the fourth and fifth, so quickly were the gaps filled up. I
      believed the time was come now for my climax; I believed that that whole
      army was in our trap. Anyway, it was high time to find out. So
      I touched a button and set fifty electric suns aflame on the top of our
      precipice.
    </p>
    <p>
      Land, what a sight! We were enclosed in three walls of dead men! All
      the other fences were pretty nearly filled with the living, who were
      stealthily working their way forward through the wires. The sudden glare
      paralyzed this host, petrified them, you may say, with astonishment; there
      was just one instant for me to utilize their immobility in, and I didn’t
      lose the chance. You see, in another instant they would have
      recovered their faculties, then they’d have burst into a cheer and made a
      rush, and my wires would have gone down before it; but that lost instant
      lost them their opportunity forever; while even that slight fragment of
      time was still unspent, I shot the current through all the fences and
      struck the whole host dead in their tracks! <i>There</i> was a groan
      you could <i>hear!</i> It voiced the death-pang of eleven thousand
      men. It swelled out on the night with awful pathos.
    </p>
    <p>
      A glance showed that the rest of the enemy&mdash;perhaps ten thousand
      strong&mdash;were between us and the encircling ditch, and pressing
      forward to the assault. Consequently we had them <i>all!</i> and had
      them past help. Time for the last act of the tragedy. I fired
      the three appointed revolver shots&mdash;which meant:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Turn on the water!”
     </p>
    <p>
      There was a sudden rush and roar, and in a minute the mountain brook was
      raging through the big ditch and creating a river a hundred feet wide and
      twenty-five deep.
    </p>
    <p>
      “Stand to your guns, men! Open fire!”
     </p>
    <p>
      The thirteen gatlings began to vomit death into the fated ten thousand.
      They halted, they stood their ground a moment against that withering
      deluge of fire, then they broke, faced about and swept toward the ditch
      like chaff before a gale. A full fourth part of their force never
      reached the top of the lofty embankment; the three-fourths reached it and
      plunged over&mdash;to death by drowning.
    </p>
    <p>
      Within ten short minutes after we had opened fire, armed resistance was
      totally annihilated, the campaign was ended, we fifty-four were masters of
      England. Twenty-five thousand men lay dead around us.
    </p>

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    <p>
      But how treacherous is fortune! In a little while&mdash;say an hour&mdash;happened
      a thing, by my own fault, which&mdash;but I have no heart to write that.
      Let the record end here.
    </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div class="chapter">

<h2><a name="c44"></a>CHAPTER XLIV.<br />
A POSTSCRIPT BY CLARENCE</h2>

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<img alt="44-569.jpg (132K)" src="images/44-569.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
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    <p>
      I, Clarence, must write it for him. He proposed that we two go out
      and see if any help could be accorded the wounded. I was strenuous
      against the project. I said that if there were many, we could do but
      little for them; and it would not be wise for us to trust ourselves among
      them, anyway. But he could seldom be turned from a purpose once
      formed; so we shut off the electric current from the fences, took an
      escort along, climbed over the enclosing ramparts of dead knights, and
      moved out upon the field. The first wounded man who appealed for
      help was sitting with his back against a dead comrade. When The Boss
      bent over him and spoke to him, the man recognized him and stabbed him.
      That knight was Sir Meliagraunce, as I found out by tearing off his
      helmet. He will not ask for help any more.
    </p>
    <p>
      We carried The Boss to the cave and gave his wound, which was not very
      serious, the best care we could. In this service we had the help of
      Merlin, though we did not know it. He was disguised as a woman, and
      appeared to be a simple old peasant goodwife. In this disguise, with
      brown-stained face and smooth shaven, he had appeared a few days after The
      Boss was hurt and offered to cook for us, saying her people had gone off
      to join certain new camps which the enemy were forming, and that she was
      starving. The Boss had been getting along very well, and had amused
      himself with finishing up his record.
    </p>
    <p>
      We were glad to have this woman, for we were short handed. We were
      in a trap, you see&mdash;a trap of our own making. If we stayed
      where we were, our dead would kill us; if we moved out of our defenses, we
      should no longer be invincible. We had conquered; in turn we were
      conquered. The Boss recognized this; we all recognized it. If
      we could go to one of those new camps and patch up some kind of terms with
      the enemy&mdash;yes, but The Boss could not go, and neither could I, for I
      was among the first that were made sick by the poisonous air bred by those
      dead thousands. Others were taken down, and still others. To-morrow&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>To-morrow.</i> It is here. And with it the end. About
      midnight I awoke, and saw that hag making curious passes in the air about
      The Boss’s head and face, and wondered what it meant. Everybody but
      the dynamo-watch lay steeped in sleep; there was no sound. The woman
      ceased from her mysterious foolery, and started tip-toeing toward the
      door. I called out:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Stop! What have you been doing?”
     </p>
    <p>
      She halted, and said with an accent of malicious satisfaction:
    </p>
    <p>
      “Ye were conquerors; ye are conquered! These others are perishing&mdash;you
      also. Ye shall all die in this place&mdash;every one&mdash;except <i>him</i>.
      He sleepeth now&mdash;and shall sleep thirteen centuries. I am Merlin!”
     </p>
    <p>
      Then such a delirium of silly laughter overtook him that he reeled about
      like a drunken man, and presently fetched up against one of our wires.
      His mouth is spread open yet; apparently he is still laughing.
      I suppose the face will retain that petrified laugh until the corpse
      turns to dust.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Boss has never stirred&mdash;sleeps like a stone. If he does not
      wake to-day we shall understand what kind of a sleep it is, and his body
      will then be borne to a place in one of the remote recesses of the cave
      where none will ever find it to desecrate it. As for the rest of us&mdash;well,
      it is agreed that if any one of us ever escapes alive from this place, he
      will write the fact here, and loyally hide this Manuscript with The Boss,
      our dear good chief, whose property it is, be he alive or dead.
    </p>

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<img alt="44-571.jpg (20K)" src="images/44-571.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      THE END OF THE MANUSCRIPT
    </p>

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<img alt="44-572.jpg (80K)" src="images/44-572.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      FINAL P.S. BY M.T.
    </p>
    <p>
      The dawn was come when I laid the Manuscript aside. The rain had
      almost ceased, the world was gray and sad, the exhausted storm was sighing
      and sobbing itself to rest. I went to the stranger’s room, and
      listened at his door, which was slightly ajar. I could hear his
      voice, and so I knocked. There was no answer, but I still heard the
      voice. I peeped in. The man lay on his back in bed, talking
      brokenly but with spirit, and punctuating with his arms, which he thrashed
      about, restlessly, as sick people do in delirium. I slipped in softly and
      bent over him. His mutterings and ejaculations went on. I
      spoke&mdash;merely a word, to call his attention. His glassy eyes and his
      ashy face were alight in an instant with pleasure, gratitude, gladness,
      welcome:
    </p>

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<img alt="44-573.jpg (55K)" src="images/44-573.jpg" style="width:100%;" />
</div>

    <p>
      “Oh, Sandy, you are come at last&mdash;how I have longed for you! Sit
      by me&mdash;do not leave me&mdash;never leave me again, Sandy, never
      again. Where is your hand?&mdash;give it me, dear, let me hold it&mdash;there&mdash;now
      all is well, all is peace, and I am happy again&mdash;<i>we</i> are happy
      again, isn’t it so, Sandy? You are so dim, so vague, you are but a
      mist, a cloud, but you are <i>here</i>, and that is blessedness
      sufficient; and I have your hand; don’t take it away&mdash;it is for only
      a little while, I shall not require it long.... Was that the
      child?... Hello-Central!... she doesn’t answer. Asleep, perhaps?
      Bring her when she wakes, and let me touch her hands, her face, her
      hair, and tell her good-bye.... Sandy! Yes, you are there.
      I lost myself a moment, and I thought you were gone.... Have I
      been sick long? It must be so; it seems months to me. And such
      dreams! such strange and awful dreams, Sandy! Dreams that were as
      real as reality&mdash;delirium, of course, but <i>so</i> real! Why,
      I thought the king was dead, I thought you were in Gaul and couldn’t get
      home, I thought there was a revolution; in the fantastic frenzy of these
      dreams, I thought that Clarence and I and a handful of my cadets fought
      and exterminated the whole chivalry of England! But even that was not the
      strangest. I seemed to be a creature out of a remote unborn age,
      centuries hence, and even <i>that</i> was as real as the rest! Yes,
      I seemed to have flown back out of that age into this of ours, and then
      forward to it again, and was set down, a stranger and forlorn in that
      strange England, with an abyss of thirteen centuries yawning between me
      and you! between me and my home and my friends! between me and all that is
      dear to me, all that could make life worth the living! It was awful&mdash;awfuler
      than you can ever imagine, Sandy. Ah, watch by me, Sandy&mdash;stay
      by me every moment&mdash;<i>don’t</i> let me go out of my mind again;
      death is nothing, let it come, but not with those dreams, not with the
      torture of those hideous dreams&mdash;I cannot endure <i>that</i>
      again.... Sandy?...”
     </p>
    <p>
      He lay muttering incoherently some little time; then for a time he lay
      silent, and apparently sinking away toward death. Presently his
      fingers began to pick busily at the coverlet, and by that sign I knew that
      his end was at hand. With the first suggestion of the death-rattle in his
      throat he started up slightly, and seemed to listen: then he said:
    </p>
    <p>
      “A bugle?... It is the king! The drawbridge, there! Man
      the battlements!&mdash;turn out the&mdash;”
     </p>
    <p>
      He was getting up his last “effect”; but he never finished it.
    </p>

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</div><!--end chapter-->

<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 86 ***</div>
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