by Mark Twain
He vacated the place and cocked his ear to listen—but it didn’t win. I used a cipher. I didn’t waste any time in sociabilities with Clarence, but squared away for business, straight off—thus:
The king is here and in danger. We were captured and brought here as slaves. We should not be able to prove our identity—and the fact is, I am not in a position to try. Send a telegram for the palace here which will carry conviction with it.”
Streets of London.
His answer came straight back:
“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.”
Might hang us! Little he knew how closely he was crowding the facts. I couldn’t think up anything for the moment. Then an idea struck me, and I started it along:
“Send five hundred picked knights with Launcelot in the lead; and send them on the jump. Let them enter by the southwest gate, and look out for the man with a white cloth around his right arm.”
The answer was prompt:
“They shall start in half an hour.”
“All right, Clarence; now tell this lad here that I’m a friend of yours and a dead-head;fx and that he must be discreet and say nothing about this visit of mine.”
The instrument began to talk to the youth and I hurried away. I fell to ciphering. In half an hour it would be nine o’clock. Knights and horses in heavy armor couldn’t travel very fast. These would make the best time they could, and now that the ground was in good condition, and no snow or mud, they would probably make a seven-mile gait; they would have to change horses a couple of times; they would arrive about six, or a little after; it would still be plenty light enough; they would see the white cloth which I should tie around my right arm, and I would take command. We would surround that prison and have the king out in no time. It would be showy and picturesque enough, all things considered, though I would have preferred noonday, on account of the more theatrical aspect the thing would have.
Now then, in order to increase the strings to my bow, I thought I would look up some of those people whom I had formerly recognized, and make myself known. That would help us out of our scrape, 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.
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 pardfy was yonder at the door with one of the murderers in charge, and would she be good enough to step there and tell him he needn’t wait, but had better go at once to the further end of the back alley and be ready to head him off when I rousted him out.
She was blazing with eagerness to see one of those already celebrated murderers, and she started on the errand at once. I slipped out the back way, locked the door behind me, put the key in my pocket and started off, chuckling to myself and comfortable.
Well, I had gone and spoiled it again, made another mistake. A
“He gave me a sudden look that bit right into my marrow. ”
double one, in fact. There were plenty of ways to get rid of that officer by some simple and plausible device, but no, I must pick out a picturesque one; it is the crying defect of my character. And then, I had ordered my procedure upon what the officer, being human, would naturally do; whereas when you are least expecting it, a man will now and then go and do the very thing which it’s not natural for him to do. The natural thing for the officer to do, in this case, was to follow straight on my heels; he would find a stout oaken door, securely locked, 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—however, there isn’t any excusing a blunder like that, let it go. Charge it up to profit and loss.
Of course I was indignant, and swore I had just come ashore from a long voyage, and all that sort of thing—just to see, you know, if it would deceive that slave. But it didn’t. He knew me. Then I reproached him for betraying me. He was more surprised than hurt. He stretched his eyes wide, and said:
“What, wouldst have me let thee, of all men, escape and not hang with us, when thou’rt the very cause of our hanging? Go to!”
“Go to” was their way of saying “I should smile!” or “I like that!” Queer talkers, those people.
Well, there was a sort of bastard justice in his view of the case, and so the matter. When you can’t cure a disaster by argument, what is the use to argue? It isn’t my way. So I only said:
“You’re not going to be hanged. None of us are.”
Both men laughed, and the slave said:
“Ye have not ranked as a fool—before. You might better keep your reputation, seeing the strain would not be for long.”
“It will stand it, I reckon. Before to-morrow we shall be out of prison, and free to go where we will, besides.”
The witty officer lifted at his left ear with his thumb, made a rasping noise in his throat, and said:
“Out of prison—yes—ye say true. And free likewise to go where ye will, so ye wander not out of his grace the Devil’s sultry realm.”
I kept my temper, and said, indifferently:
“Now I suppose you really think we are going to hang within a day or two.”
“I thought it not many minutes ago, for so the thing was decided and proclaimed.”
“Ah, then you’ve changed your mind, is that it?”
“Even that. I only thought, then; I know, now.”
I felt sarcastical, so I said:
“Oh, sapient servant of the law, condescend to tell us, then, what you know.”
“That ye will all be hanged to-day, at mid-afternoon! Oho! that shot hit home! Lean upon me.”
The fact is I did need to lean upon somebody. My knights couldn’t arrive in time. They would be as much as three hours too late. Nothing in the world could save the King of England; nor me, which was more important. More important, not merely to me, but to the nation—the only nation on earth standing ready to blossom into civilization. I was sick. I said no more, there wasn’t anything to say. I knew what the man meant; that if the missing slave was found, the postponement would be revoked, the execution take place to-day. Well, the missing slave was found.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Sir Launcelot and Knights to the Rescue.
Sir Galahad takes a Header.
HEARING 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 moc
kery of all those enemies. We were being made a holiday spectacle. They had built a sort of grand stand for the nobility and gentry, and these were there in full force, with their ladies. We recognized a good many of them.
The crowd got a brief and unexpected dash of diversion out of the king. The moment we were freed of our bonds he sprang up, in his fantastic rags, with face bruised out of all recognition, and proclaimed himself Arthur, King of Britain, and denounced the awful penalties of treason upon every soul there present if hair of his sacred head were touched. It startled and surprised him to hear them break into a vast roar of laughter. It wounded his dignity, and he locked himself up in silence, then, although the crowd begged him to go on, and tried to provoke him to it by cat-calls, jeers, and shouts of “Let him speak! The king! The king! his humble subjects hunger and thirst for words of wisdom out of the mouth of their master his Serene and Sacred Raggedness!”
But it went for nothing. He put on all his majesty and sat under this rain of contempt and insult 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:
“Doubtless this sailor-man is his minister—observe his costly badge of office!”
I let them go on until they got tired, and then I said:
“Yes, I am his minister, The Boss; and to-morrow you will hear that from Camelot which—”
I got no further. They drowned me out with joyous derision. But presently there was silence; for the sheriffs of London, in their official robes, with their subordinates, began to make a stir which indicated that business was about to begin. In the hush which followed, our crime was recited, the death warrant read, then everybody uncovered while a priest uttered a prayer.
Then a slave was blindfolded, the hangman unslung his rope. There lay the smooth road below us, we upon one side of it, the banked multitude walling its other side—a good clear road, and kept free by the police—how good it would be to see my five hundred horsemen come tearing down it! But, no, it was out of the possibilities. I followed its receding thread out into the distance—not a horseman on it, or sign of one.
Knights Practicing on the Quiet.
There was a jerk, and the slave hung dangling; dangling and hideously squirming, for his limbs were not tied.
A second rope was unslung, in a moment another slave was dangling.
In a minute a third slave was struggling in the air. It was dreadful. I turned away my head a moment, and when I turned back I missed the king! They were blindfolding him! I was paralyzed; I couldn’t move, I was choking, my tongue was petrified. They finished blindfolding him, they led him under the rope. I couldn’t shake off that clinging impotence. But when I saw them put the noose around his neck, then everything let go in me and I made a
“Who fails shall sup in hell to-night.”
spring to the rescue—and as I made it I shot one more glance abroad—by George, here they came, a-tilting!—five hundred mailed and belted knights on bicycles!27
The grandest sight that ever was seen. Lord, how the plumes streamed, how the sun flamed and flashed from the endless procession of webby wheels!
I waved my right arm as Launcelot swept in—he recognized my rag—I tore away noose and bandage, and shouted:
“On your knees, every rascal of you, and salute the kingl Who fails shall sup in hell to-night!”
I always use that high style when I’m climaxing an effect. Well, it was noble to see Launcelot and the boys swarm up onto that scaffold and heave sheriffs and such overboard. And it was fine to see that astonished multitude go down on their knees and beg their lives of the king they had just been deriding and insulting. And as he stood apart, there, receiving this homage in his rags, I thought to myself, well really there is something peculiarly grand about the gait and bearing of a king, after all.
I was immensely satisfied. Take the whole situation all around, it was one of the gaudiest effects I ever instigated.
And presently up comes Clarence, his own self! and winks, and says, very modernly:
“Good deal of a surprise, wasn’t it? I knew you’d like it. I’ve had the boys practicing, this long time, privately; and just hungry for a chance to show off.”
CHAPTER XXXIX.
The Yankee’s Fight with the Knights.
HOME again, at Camelot. A morning or two later I found the paper, damp from the press, by my plate at the breakfast table. I turned to the advertising columns, knowing I should find something of personal interest to me there. It was this:
DE FAR LE ROI.
Know that the great lord and illustrious kni8ht. SIR SAGRAMOUR LE DESIROUS having condescended to meet the King’s Minister, Hank Morgan, the which is surnamed The Boss, for satisfgction of offence anciently given, these will engage in the lists by Camelot about me fourtL hour of the morning of the sixteenth dav of this next succeeding month. The battle will be à l’outrance, fz sith the said offence was of a deadly sort, admitting no comPosition.
DE PAR LE ROI
Clarence’s editorial reference to this affair was to this effect:
ga
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 Sagramour 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 Sagramour’s arms and armor with supernal powers of offence and defence, 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 Sagramour, 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, unknown to Merlin, which could render Sir Sagramour’s veil transparent to me, and make his enchanted mail vulnerable to my weapons? This was the one thing to be decided in the lists. Until then the world must remain in suspense.
So the world thought there was a vast matter at stake here, and the world was right, but it was not the one they had in their minds. No, a far vaster one was upon the cast of this die: the life of knight-errantry.gb 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.
Vast as the show-grounds were, there were no vacant spaces in them outside of the lists, at ten o’clock on the morning of the 16th. The mammoth grand stand was clothed in flags, streamers, and rich tapestries, and packed with several acres of small-fry tributary kings, their suites, and the British aristocracy; with our own royal gang in the chief place, and each and every individual a flashing prism of gaudy silks and velvets—well, I never saw anything to begin with it but a fight between an Upper Mississippi sunset and the aurora borealis. The huge camp of beflagged and gay-colored tents at one end of the lists, wi
th 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 Sagramour, others would have the right to call me out as long as I might be willing to respond.
Down at our end there were but two tents; one for me, and another for my servants. At the appointed hour the king made a sign, and the heralds, in their tabards, appeared and made proclamation, naming the combatants and stating the cause of quarrel. There was a pause, then a ringing bugle blast, which was the signal for us to come forth. All the multitude caught their breath, and an eager curiosity flashed into every face.
Out from his tent rode great Sir Sagramour, 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—oh, a most noble picture. A great shout went up, of welcome and admiration.
And then out I came. But I didn’t get any shout. There was a wondering and eloquent silence, for a 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—flesh—colored tights from neck to heel, with
“Go it, Slim Jim!”
blue silk puffings about my loins, and bare-headed. My horse was not above medium size, but he was alert, slender-limbed, muscled with watch-springs, and just a greyhound to go. He was a beauty, glossy as silk, and naked as he was when he was born, except for bridle and ranger-saddle.