The Complete Short Stories of Mark Twain

by Mark Twain

  “Oh, then tell a story about them, papa—a dreadful one, so that we’ll shiver, and feel just as if it was us. Mamma, you snuggle up close, and hold one of Abby’s hands, so that if it’s too dreadful it’ll be easier for us to bear it if we are all snuggled up together, you know. Now you can begin, papa.”

  “Well, once there were three Colonels—”

  “Oh, goody! I know Colonels, just as easy! It’s because you are one, and I know the clothes. Go on, papa.”

  “And in a battle they had committed a breach of discipline.”

  The large words struck the child’s ear pleasantly, and she looked up, full of wonder and interest, and said:

  “Is it something good to eat, papa?”

  The parents almost smiled, and the father answered:

  “No, quite another matter, dear. They exceeded their orders.”

  “Is that someth—”

  “No; it’s as uneatable as the other. They were ordered to feign an attack on a strong position in a losing fight, in order to draw the enemy about and give the Commonwealth’s forces a chance to retreat; but in their enthusiasm they overstepped their orders, for they turned the feint into a fact, and carried the position by storm, and won the day and the battle. The Lord General was very angry at their disobedience, and praised them highly, and ordered them to London to be tried for their lives.”

  “Is it the great General Cromwell, papa?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, I’ve seen him, papa! and when he goes by our house so grand on his big horse, with the soldiers, he looks so—so—well, I don’t know just how, only he looks as if he isn’t satisfied, and you can see the people are afraid of him; but I’m not afraid of him, because he didn’t look like that at me.”

  “Oh, you dear prattler! Well, the Colonels came prisoners to London, and were put upon their honor, and allowed to go and see their families for the last—”

  Hark!

  They listened. Footsteps again; but again they passed by. The mamma leaned her head upon her husband’s shoulder to hide her paleness.

  “They arrived this morning.”

  The child’s eyes opened wide.

  “Why, papa! is it a true story?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Oh, how good! Oh, it’s ever so much better! Go on, papa. Why, mamma!—dear mamma, are you crying?”

  “Never mind me, dear—I was thinking of the—of the—the poor families.”

  “But don’t cry, mamma: it’ll all come out right—you’ll see; stories always do. Go on, papa, to where they lived happy ever after; then she won’t cry any more. You’ll see, mamma. Go on, papa.”

  “First, they took them to the Tower before they let them go home.”

  “Oh, I know the Tower! We can see it from here. Go on, papa.”

  “I am going on as well as I can, in the circumstances. In the Tower the military court tried them for an hour, and found them guilty, and condemned them to be shot.”

  “Killed, papa?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, how naughty! Dear mamma, you are crying again. Don’t mamma; it ’ll soon come to the good place—you’ll see. Hurry, papa, for mama’s sake; you don’t go fast enough.”

  “I know I don’t, but I suppose it is because I stop so much to reflect.”

  “But you mustn’t do it, papa; you must go right on.”

  “Very well, then. The three Colonels—”

  “Do you know them, papa?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Oh, I wish I did! I love Colonels. Would they let me kiss them, do you think?” The Colonel’s voice was a little unsteady when he answered:

  “One of them would, my darling! There—kiss me for him.”

  “There, papa—and these two are for the others. I think they would let me kiss them, papa; for I would say, ‘My papa is a Colonel, too, and brave, and he would do what you did; so it can’t be wrong, no matter what those people say, and you needn’t be the least bit ashamed’; then they would let me—wouldn’t they, papa?”

  “God knows they would, child!”

  “Mamma!—oh, mamma, you mustn’t. He’s soon coming to the happy place; go on, papa.”

  “Then, some were sorry—they all were; that military court, I mean; and they went to the Lord General, and said they had done their duty—for it was their duty, you know—and now they begged that two of the Colonels might be spared, and only the other one shot. One would be sufficient for an example for the army, they thought. But the Lord General was very stern, and rebuked them forasmuch as, having done their duty and cleared their consciences, they would beguile him to do less, and so smirch his soldierly honor. But they answered that they were asking nothing of him that they would not do themselves if they stood in his great place and held in their hands the noble prerogative of mercy. That struck him, and he paused and stood thinking, some of the sternness passing out of his face. Presently he bid them wait, and he retired to his closet to seek counsel of God in prayer; and when he came again, he said: ‘They shall cast lots. That shall decide it, and two of them shall live.’”

  “And did they, papa, did they? And which one is to die—ah, that poor man!”

  “No. They refused.”

  “They wouldn’t do it, papa?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “They said that the one that got the fatal bean would be sentencing himself to death by his own voluntary act, and it would be but suicide, call it by what name one might. They said they were Christians, and the Bible forbade men to take their own lives. They sent back that word, and said they were ready—let the court’s sentence be carried into effect.”

  “What does that mean, papa?”

  “They—they will all be shot.”

  Hark!

  The wind? No. Tramp—tramp—tramp—r-r-r-umble-dumdum, r-r-rumble-dumdum—

  “Open—in the Lord General’s name!”

  “Oh, goody, papa, it’s the soldiers!—I love the soldiers! Let me let them in, papa, let me!”

  She jumped down, and scampered to the door and pulled it open, crying joyously: “Come in! come in! Here they are, papa! Grenadiers! I know the Grenadiers!”

  The file marched in and straightened up in line at shoulder arms; its officer saluted, the doomed Colonel standing erect and returning the courtesy, the soldier wife standing at his side, white, and with features drawn with inward pain, but giving no other sign of her misery, the child gazing on the show with dancing eyes. . . .

  One long embrace, of father, mother, and child; then the order, “To the Tower—forward!” Then the Colonel marched forth from the house with military step and bearing, the file following; then the door closed.

  “Oh, mamma, didn’t it come out beautiful! I told you it would; and they’re going to the Tower, and he’ll see them! He—”

  “Oh, come to my arms, you poor innocent thing!” . . .

  2

  The next morning the stricken mother was not able to leave her bed; doctors and nurses were watching by her, and whispering together now and then; Abby could not be allowed in the room; she was told to run and play—mamma was very ill. The child, muffled in winter wraps, went out and played in the street awhile; then it struck her as strange, and also wrong, that her papa should be allowed to stay at the Tower in ignorance at such a time as this. This must be remedied; she would attend to it in person.

  An hour later the military court were ushered into the presence of the Lord General. He stood grim and erect, with his knuckles resting upon the table, and indicated that he was ready to listen. The spokesman said: “We have urged them to reconsider; we have implored them: but they persist. They will not cast lots. They are willing to die, but not to defile their religion.”

  The Protector’s face darkened, but he said nothing. He remained a time in thought, then he said: “They shall not all die; the lots shall be cast for them.” Gratitude shone in the faces of the court. “Send for them. Place them in that room there. Stand t
hem side by side with their faces to the wall and their wrists crossed behind them. Let me have notice when they are there.”

  When he was alone he sat down, and presently gave this order to an attendant: “Go, bring me the first little child that passes by.”

  The man was hardly out at the door before he was back again—leading Abby by the hand, her garments lightly powdered with snow. She went straight to the Head of the State, that formidable personage at the mention of whose name the principalities and powers of the earth trembled, and climbed up in his lap, and said:

  “I know you, sir: you are the Lord General; I have seen you; I have seen you when you went by my house. Everybody was afraid; but I wasn’t afraid, because you didn’t look cross at me; you remember, don’t you? I had on my red frock—the one with the blue things on it down the front. Don’t you remember that?”

  A smile softened the austere lines of the Protector’s face, and he began to struggle diplomatically with his answer:

  “Why, let me see—I—”

  “I was standing right by the house—my house, you know.”

  “Well, you dear little thing, I ought to be ashamed, but you know—”

  The child interrupted, reproachfully.

  “Now you don’t remember it. Why, I didn’t forget you.”

  “Now, I am ashamed: but I will never forget you again, dear; you have my word for it. You will forgive me now, won’t you, and be good friends with me, always and forever?”

  “Yes, indeed I will, though I don’t know how you came to forget it; you must be very forgetful: but I am too, sometimes. I can forgive you without any trouble, for I think you mean to be good and do right, and I think you are just as kind—but you must snuggle me better, the way papa does—it’s cold.”

  “You shall be snuggled to your heart’s content, little new friend of mine, always to be old friend of mine hereafter, isn’t it? You mind me of my little girl—not little any more, now—but she was dear, and sweet, and daintily made, like you. And she had your charm, little witch—your all-conquering sweet confidence in friend and stranger alike, that wins to willing slavery any upon whom its precious compliment falls. She used to lie in my arms, just as you are doing now; and charm the weariness and care out of my heart and give it peace, just as you are doing now; and we were comrades, and equals, and playfellows together. Ages ago it was, since that pleasant heaven faded away and vanished, and you have brought it back again;—take a burdened man’s blessing for it, you tiny creature, who are carrying the weight of England while I rest!”

  “Did you love her very, very, very much?”

  “Ah, you shall judge by this: she commanded and I obeyed!”

  “I think you are lovely! Will you kiss me?”

  “Thankfully—and hold it a privilege, too. There—this one is for you; and there—this one is for her. You made it a request; and you could have made it a command, for you are representing her, and what you command I must obey.”

  The child clapped her hands with delight at the idea of this grand promotion—then her ear caught an approaching sound: she measured tramp of marching men.

  “Soldiers!—soldiers, Lord General! Abby wants to see them!”

  “You shall, dear; but wait a moment, I have a commission for you.”

  An officer entered and bowed low, saying, “They are come, your Highness,” bowed again, and retired.

  The Head of the Nation gave Abby three little disks of sealing-wax, two white, and one a ruddy red—for this one’s mission was to deliver death to the Colonel who should get it.

  “Oh, what a lovely red one! Are they for me?”

  “No, dear; they are for others. Lift the corner of that curtain, there, which hides an open door; pass through, and you will see three men standing in a row, with their backs toward you and their hands behind their backs—so—each with one hand open, like a cup. Into each of the open hands drop one of those things, then come back to me.”

  Abby disappeared behind the curtain, and the Protector was alone. He said, reverently: “Of a surety that good thought came to me in my perplexity from Him who is an ever-present help to them that are in doubt and seek His aid. He knoweth where the choice should fall, and has sent His sinless messenger to do His will. Another would err, but He cannot err. Wonderful are His ways, and wise—blessed be His holy Name!”

  The small fairy dropped the curtain behind her and stood for a moment conning with alert curiosity the appointments of the chamber of doom, and the rigid figures of the soldiery and the prisoners; then her face lighted merrily, and she said to herself: “Why, one of them is papa! I know his back. He shall have the prettiest one!” She tripped gaily forward and dropped the disks into the open hands, then peeped around under her father’s arm and lifted her laughing face and cried out:

  “Papa! papa! look what you’ve got. I gave it to you!”

  He glanced at the fatal gift, then sunk to his knees and gathered his innocent little executioner to his breast in an agony of love and pity. Soldiers, officers, released prisoners, all stood paralyzed, for a moment, at the vastness of this tragedy, then the pitiful scene smote their hearts, their eyes filled, and they wept unashamed. There was deep and reverent silence during some minutes, then the officer of the guard moved reluctantly forward and touched his prisoner on the shoulder, saying, gently:

  “It grieves me, sir, but my duty commands.”

  “Commands what?” said the child.

  “I must take him away. I am so sorry.”

  “Take him away? Where?”

  “To—to—God help me!—to another part of the fortress.”

  “Indeed you can’t. My mamma is sick, and I am going to take him home.” She released herself and climbed upon her father’s back and put her arms around his neck. “Now Abby’s ready, papa—come along.”

  “My poor child, I can’t. I must go with them.”

  The child jumped to the ground and looked about her, wondering. Then she ran and stood before the officer and stamped her small foot indignantly and cried out:

  “I told you my mamma is sick, and you might have listened. Let him go—you must!”

  “Oh, poor child, would God I could, but indeed I must take him away. Attention, guard! . . . fall in! . . . shoulder arms!” . . .

  Abby was gone—like a flash of light. In a moment she was back, dragging the Lord Protector by the hand. At this formidable apparition all present straightened up, the officers saluting and the soldiers presenting arms.

  “Stop them, sir! My mamma is sick and wants my papa, and I told them so, but they never even listened to me, and are taking him away.”

  The Lord General stood as one dazed.

  “Your papa, child? Is he your papa?”

  “Why, of course—he was always it. Would I give the pretty red one to any other, when I love him so? No!”

  A shocked expression rose in the Protector’s face, and he said:

  “Ah, God help me! through Satan’s wiles I have done the cruelest thing that ever man did—and there is no help, no help! What can I do?”

  Abby cried out, distressed and impatient: “Why you can make them let him go,” and she began to sob. “Tell them to do it! You told me to command, and now the very first time I tell you to do a thing you don’t do it!”

  A tender light dawned in the rugged old face, and the Lord General laid his hand upon the small tyrant’s head and said: “God be thanked for the saving accident of that unthinking promise; and you, inspired by Him, for reminding me of my forgotten pledge, O incomparable child! Officer, obey her command—she speaks by my mouth. The prisoner is pardoned; set him free!”

  1901

  TWO LITTLE TALES

  FIRST STORY: THE MAN WITH A MESSAGE FOR THE DIRECTOR-GENERAL

  SOME DAYS ago, in this second month of 1900, a friend made an afternoon call upon me here in London. We are of that age when men who are smoking away their times in chat do not talk quite so much about the pleasantnesses of life as about its ex
asperations. By and by this friend began to abuse the War Office. It appeared that he had a friend who had been inventing something which could be made very useful to the soldiers in South Africa. It was a light and very cheap and durable boot, which would remain dry in wet weather, and keep its shape and firmness. The inventor wanted to get the government’s attention called to it, but he was an unknown man and knew the great officials would pay no heed to a message from him.

  “This shows that he was an ass—like the rest of us,” I said, interrupting. “Go on.”

  “But why have you said that? The man spoke the truth.”

  “The man spoke a lie. Go on.”

  “I will prove that he—”

  “You can’t prove anything of the kind. I am very old and very wise. You must not argue with me: it is irreverent and offensive. Go on.”

  “Very well. But you will presently see. I am not unknown, yet even I was not able to get the man’s message to the Director-General of the Shoe-Leather Department.”

  “This is another lie. Pray go on.”

  “But I assure you on my honor that I failed.”

  “Oh, certainly. I knew that. You didn’t need to tell me.”

  “Then where is the lie?”

  “It is in your intimation that you were not able to get the Director-General’s immediate attention to the man’s message. It is a lie, because you could have gotten his immediate attention to it.”

  “I tell you I couldn’t. In three months I haven’t accomplished it.”

  “Certainly. Of course. I could know that without your telling me. You could have gotten his immediate attention if you had gone at it in a sane way; and so could the other man.”

  “I did go at it in a sane way.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “How do you know? What do you know about the circumstances?”

  “Nothing at all. But you didn’t go at it in a sane way. That much I know to a certainty.”

  “How can you know it, when you don’t know what method I used?”

  “I know by the result. The result is perfect proof. You went at it in an insane way. I am very old and very w—”