Everybody
was as good to me as they could be, and a
maid of honor gave me the stirrup-cup her own self.
maid of honor gave me the stirrup-cup her own self.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v06 to v10 - Cal to Fro
9
darted out into a sugar plantation one night, at such a time, and
had to stay there a week. But there was no novelty about it: it
had often been done before.
I thought I had finished this chapter, but I wish to add a
curious thing while it is in my mind. It is only relevant in
that it is connected with piloting. There used to be an excel-
lent pilot on the river, a Mr. X. , who was a somnambulist. It
was said that if his mind was troubled about a bad piece of
river, he was pretty sure to get up and walk in his sleep and
do strange things. He was once fellow pilot for a trip or two
with George Ealer, on a great New Orleans passenger packet.
During a considerable part of the first trip George was uneasy,
but got over it by-and-by, as X. seemed content to stay in his
bed when asleep. Late one night the boat was approaching
Helena, Arkansas; the water was low, and the crossing above
the town in a very blind and tangled condition. X. had seen
the crossing since Ealer had, and as the night was particularly
drizzly, sullen, and dark, Ealer was considering whether he had
not better have X. called to assist in running the place, when
the door opened and X. walked in. Now on very dark nights,
light is a deadly enemy to piloting; you are aware that if you
stand in a lighted room on such a night, you cannot see things
in the street to any purpose; but if you put out the lights and
stand in the gloom you can make out objects in the street pretty
well. So on very dark nights pilots do not smoke; they allow
no fire in the pilot-house stove if there is a crack which can
allow the least ray to escape; they order the furnaces to be
curtained with huge tarpaulins and the skylights to be closely
blinded. Then no light whatever issues from the boat. The
undefinable shape that now entered the pilot-house had Mr. X. 's
voice. This said: :-
"Let me take her, George; I've seen this place since you
have, and it is so crooked that I reckon I can run it myself
easier than I could tell you how to do it. "
"It is kind of you, and I swear I am willing. I haven't got
another drop of perspiration left in me. I have been spinning
around and around the wheel like a squirrel. It is so dark I
can't tell which way she is swinging till she is coming around
like a whirligig. "
So Ealer took a seat on the bench, panting and breathless.
The black phantom assumed the wheel without saying anything,
## p. 3800 (#162) ###########################################
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SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
steadied the waltzing steamer with a turn or two, and then stood
at ease, coaxing her a little to this side and then to that, as
gently and as sweetly as if the time had been noonday. When
Ealer observed this marvel of steering, he wished he had not
confessed! He stared and wondered, and finally said: -
"Well, I thought I knew how to steer a steamboat, but that
was another mistake of mine. "
X. said nothing, but went serenely on with his work. He
rang for the leads; he rang to slow down the steam; he worked
the boat carefully and neatly into invisible marks, then stood at
the centre of the wheel and peered blandly out into the black-
ness, fore and aft, to verify his position; as the leads shoaled
more and more, he stopped the engines entirely, and the dead.
silence and suspense of "drifting" followed; when the shoalest
water was struck, he cracked on the steam, carried her hand-
somely over, and then began to work her warily into the next
system of shoal marks; the same patient, heedful use of leads.
and engines followed, the boat slipped through without touching
bottom, and entered upon the third and last intricacy of the
crossing; imperceptibly she moved through the gloom, crept by
inches into her marks, drifted tediously till the shoalest water
was cried, and then, under a tremendous head of steam, went
swinging over the reef and away into deep water and safety!
Ealer let his long-pent breath pour out in a great relieving
sigh, and said: -
"That's the sweetest piece of piloting that was ever done on
the Mississippi River! I wouldn't believed it could be done, if I
hadn't seen it. "
There was no reply, and he added:-
"Just hold her five minutes longer, partner, and let me run
down and get a cup of coffee. "
A minute later Ealer was biting into a pie, down in the
"texas," and comforting himself with coffee. Just then the
night watchman happened in, and was about to happen out
again, when he noticed Ealer and exclaimed: -
"Who is at the wheel, sir? "
"X. "
"Dart for the pilot-house, quicker than lightning!
The next moment both men were flying up the pilot-house
companion-way, three steps at a jump! Nobody there! The
great steamer was whistling down the middle of the river at
>>
## p. 3801 (#163) ###########################################
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
3801
her own sweet will! The watchman shot out of the place again;
Ealer seized the wheel, set the engine back with power, and held
his breath while the boat reluctantly swung away from a «< tow-
head" which she was about to knock into the middle of the Gulf
of Mexico!
By-and-by the watchman came back and said:
"Didn't that lunatic tell you he was asleep when he first
came up here ? »
“No. ”
"Well, he was. I found him walking along on top of the
railings, just as unconcerned as
as another man would walk a
pavement; and I put him to bed; now just this minute there
he was again, away astern, going through that sort of tight-
rope deviltry the same as before. "
"Well, I think I'll stay by, next time he has one of those
fits. But I hope he'll have them often. You just ought to
have seen him take this boat through Helena crossing. I never
saw anything so gaudy before. And if he can do such gold-
leaf, kid-glove, diamond-breastpin piloting when he is sound
asleep, what couldn't he do if he was dead! "
AN ENCHANTING RIVER SCENE
From 'Life on the Mississippi': copyright 1883, by James R. Osgood and
Company
THE
HE face of the water in time became a wonderful book
a book that was a dead language to the uneducated pas-
senger, but which told its mind to me without reserve,
delivering its most cherished secrets as clearly as if it uttered
them with a voice. And it was not a book to be read once
and thrown aside, for it had a new story to tell every day.
Throughout the long twelve hundred miles there was never a
page that was void of interest, never one that you could
leave unread without loss, never one that you would want to
skip, thinking you could find higher enjoyment in some other
thing. There never was so wonderful a book written by man;
never one whose interest was so absorbing, so unflagging, so
sparklingly renewed with every re-perusal. The passenger who
could not read it was charmed with a peculiar sort of faint dim-
ple on its surface (on the rare occasions when he did not over-
―
## p. 3802 (#164) ###########################################
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SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
look it altogether); but to the pilot that was an italicized passage;
indeed it was more than that, it was a legend of the largest
capitals, with a string of shouting exclamation-points at the end
of it; for it meant that a wreck or a rock was buried there, that
could tear the life out of the strongest vessel that ever floated.
It is the faintest and simplest expression the water ever makes,
and the most hideous to a pilot's eye. In truth, the passenger
who could not read this book saw nothing but all manner of
pretty pictures in it, painted by the sun and shaded by the
clouds; whereas to the trained eye these were not pictures at all,
but the grimmest and most dead-earnest of reading matter.
Now when I had mastered the language of this water and
had come to know every trifling feature that bordered the great
river as familiarly as I knew the letters of the alphabet, I had
made a valuable acquisition. But I had lost something too. I
had lost something which could never be restored to me while I
lived. All the grace, the beauty, the poetry had gone out of the
majestic river! I still kept in mind a certain wonderful sunset
which I witnessed when steamboating was new to me. A broad
expanse of the river was turned to blood; in the middle distance
the red hue brightened into gold, through which a solitary log
came floating, black and conspicuous; in one place a long slant-
ing mark lay sparkling upon the water; in another the surface
was broken by boiling tumbling rings that were as many-tinted
as an opal; where the ruddy flush was faintest, was a smooth
spot that was covered with graceful circles and radiating lines,
ever so delicately traced; the shore on our left was densely
wooded, and the sombre shadow that fell from this forest was
broken in one place by a long ruffled trail that shone like sil-
ver; and high above the forest wall a clean-stemmed dead tree
waved a single leafy bough, that glowed like a flame in the un-
obstructed splendor that was flowing from the sun. There were
graceful curves, reflected images, woody heights, soft distances;
and over the whole scene, far and near, the dissolving lights
drifted steadily, enriching it every passing moment with new
marvels of coloring.
-――
I stood like one bewitched. I drank it in, in a speechless
rapture. The world was new to me, and I had never seen any-
thing like this at home. But as I have said, a day came when
I began to cease from noting the glories and the charms which
the moon and the sun and the twilight wrought upon the river's
## p. 3803 (#165) ###########################################
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
3803
face; another day came when I ceased altogether to note them.
Then, if that sunset scene had been repeated, I should have
looked upon it without rapture and should have commented
upon it inwardly after this fashion: This sun means that we
are going to have wind to-morrow; that floating log means that
the river is rising, small thanks to it; that slanting mark on the
water refers to a bluff reef which is going to kill somebody's
steamboat one of these nights, if it keeps on stretching out like
that; those tumbling "boils" show a dissolving bar and a chan-
ging channel there; the lines and circles in the slick water over
yonder are a warning that that troublesome place is shoaling up
dangerously; that silver streak in the shadow of the forest is the
"break" from a new snag, and he has located himself in the
very best place he could have found to fish for steamboats; that
tall dead tree, with a single living branch, is not going to last
long, and then how is a body ever going to get through this
blind place at night without the friendly old landmark?
No, the romance and the beauty were all gone from the
river. All the value any feature of it had for me now was the
amount of usefulness it could furnish toward compassing the
safe piloting of a steamboat. Since those days I have pitied
doctors from my heart. What does the lovely flush in a beauty's
cheek mean to a doctor but a «< break >>>> that ripples above some
deadly disease? Are not all her visible charms sown thick with
what are to him the signs and symbols of hidden decay? Does
he ever see her beauty at all, or doesn't he simply view her pro-
fessionally and comment upon her unwholesome condition all to
himself? And doesn't he sometimes wonder whether he has
gained most or lost most by learning his trade?
THE LIGHTNING PILOT
From 'Life on the Mississippi': copyright 1883, by James R. Osgood and
Company
EXT morning I felt pretty rusty and low-spirited. We went
booming along, taking a good many chances, for we were
anxious to "get out of the river" (as getting out to Cairo
was called) before night should overtake us. But Mr. Bixby's
partner, the other pilot, presently grounded the boat, and we
lost so much time getting her off that it was plain the darkness
## p. 3804 (#166) ###########################################
3804
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
would overtake us a good long way above the mouth. This was
a great misfortune; especially to certain of our visiting pilots,
whose boats would have to wait for their return, no matter how
long that might be. It sobered the pilot-house talk a good deal.
Coming up-stream, pilots did not mind low water or any kind of
darkness; nothing stopped them but fog. But down-stream work
was different; a boat was too nearly helpless, with a stiff current
pushing behind her; so it was not customary to run down-stream
at night in low water.
There seemed to be one small hope, however: if we could get
through the intricate and dangerous Hat Island crossing before
night, we could venture the rest, for we would have plainer sail-
ing and better water. But it would be insanity to attempt Hat
Island at night. So there was a deal of looking at watches all
the rest of the day, and a constant ciphering upon the speed we
were making: Hat Island was the eternal subject; sometimes
hope was high, and sometimes we were delayed in a bad cross-
ing, and down it went again. For hours all hands lay under
the burden of this suppressed excitement; it was even communi-
cated to me, and I got to feeling so solicitous about Hat Island,
and under such an awful pressure of responsibility, that I wished
I might have five minutes on shore to draw a good full reliev-
ing breath, and start over again. We were standing no regular
watches. Each of our pilots ran such portions of the river as
he had run when coming up-stream, because of his greater famil-
iarity with it; but both remained in the pilot-house constantly.
An hour before sunset, Mr. Bixby took the wheel and Mr.
W stepped aside. For the next thirty minutes every man
held his watch in his hand and was restless, silent, and uneasy.
At last somebody said with a doomful sigh:-
"Well, yonder's Hat Island--and we can't make it. "
All the watches closed with a snap, everybody sighed and
muttered something about its being "too bad, too bad - ah, if
we could only have got here half an hour sooner! " and the place
was thick with the atmosphere of disappointment. Some started
to go out, but loitered, hearing no bell-tap to land.
The sun
dipped behind the horizon, the boat went on. Inquiring looks
passed from one guest to another; and one who had his hand on
the door-knob and had turned it, waited, then presently took
away his hand and let the knob turn back again. We bore
steadily down the bend. More looks were exchanged, and nods
## p. 3805 (#167) ###########################################
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
3805
of surprised admiration - but no words. Insensibly the men.
drew together behind Mr. Bixby, as the sky darkened and one or
two dim stars came out. The dead silence and sense of waiting
became oppressive. Mr. Bixby pulled the cord, and two deep
mellow notes from the big bell floated off on the night. Then a
pause, and one more note was struck. The watchman's voice
followed, from the hurricane deck:
"Labboard lead, there! Stabboard lead!
The cries of the leadsmen began to rise out of the distance,
and were gruffly repeated by the word-passers on the hurricane
deck.
Quarter-less-
"M-a-r-k three!
•
>>
M-a-r-k three!
three!
Quarter twain!
Half twain!
Quarter-less — "
M-a-r-k twain!
Mr. Bixby pulled two bell-ropes, and was answered by faint
jinglings far below in the engine-room, and our speed slackened.
The steam began to whistle through the gauge-cocks. The cries
of the leadsmen went on-and it a weird sound always in
the night. Every pilot in the lot was watching now, with fixed
eyes, and talking under his breath. Nobody was calm and easy
but Mr. Bixby. He would put his wheel down and stand on a
spoke, and as the steamer swung into her (to me) utterly invisi-
ble marks—for we seemed to be in the midst of a wide and
gloomy sea-he would meet and fasten her there. Out of the
murmur of half-audible talk one caught a coherent sentence now
and then, such as:
"There; she's over the first reef all right! "
After a pause, another subdued voice:-
•
"Her stern's coming down just exactly right, by George! »
"Now she's in the marks; over she goes! "
Somebody else muttered: -
"Oh, it was done beautiful— beautiful! »
Now the engines were stopped altogether, and we drifted
with the current. Not that I could see the boat drift, for I
could not, the stars being all gone by this time. This drifting
was the dismalest work; it held one's heart still. Presently I
discovered a blacker gloom than that which surrounded us. It
was the head of the island. We were closing right down upon
it. We entered its deeper shadow, and so imminent seemed the
peril that I was likely to suffocate; and I had the strongest im-
pulse to do something, anything, to save the vessel. But still
## p. 3806 (#168) ###########################################
3806
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
Mr. Bixby stood by his wheel, silent, intent as a cat, and all the
pilots stood shoulder to shoulder at his back.
"She'll not make it! " somebody whispered.
The water grew shoaler and shoaler, by the leadsman's cries,
till it was down to-
"Eight-and-a-half!
E-i-g-h-t feet!
E-i-g-h-t
feet!
Seven-and-»
Mr. Bixby said warningly through his speaking-tube to the
engineer: -
"Stand by, now! "
"Ay-ay, sir! "
"Seven-and-a-half!
Seven feet! Six-and- >>>
We touched bottom! Instantly Mr. Bixby set a lot of bells
ringing, shouted through the tube, "Now let her have it - every
ounce you've got! " then to his partner, "Put her hard down!
snatch her! snatch her! " The boat rasped and ground her way
through the sand, hung upon the apex of disaster a single tre-
mendous instant, and then over she went! And such a shout as
went up at Mr. Bixby's back never loosened the roof of a pilot-
house before!
There was no more trouble after that. Mr. Bixby was a hero
that night; and it was some little time, too, before his exploit
ceased to be talked about by river men.
AN EXPEDITION AGAINST OGRES
From A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court: copyright 1889, by
Charles L. Webster and Company
Μ
Y 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 disap-
pointment, and come to be as anxious for me to hive those
ogres and set those ripe old virgins loose as if it were them-
selves that had the contract. Well, they were good children-
but just children, that is all. And they gave me no end of
points about how to scout for giants, and how to scoop them in;
and they told me all sorts of charms against enchantments, and
gave me salves and other rubbish to put on my wounds. But it
never occurred to one of them to reflect that if I was such a
wonderful necromancer as I was pretending to be, I ought not to
## p. 3807 (#169) ###########################################
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
3807
need salves, or instructions, or charms against enchantments, and
least of all arms and armor, on a foray of any kind-even
against fire-spouting dragons and devils hot from perdition, let
alone such poor adversaries as these I was after, these common-
place ogres of the back settlements.
I was to have an early breakfast, and start at dawn, for that
was the usual way; but I had the demon's own time with
my armor, and this delayed me a little. It is troublesome
to get into, and there is so much detail. First you wrap a layer
or two of blanket around your body for a sort of cushion, and
to keep off the cold iron; then you put on your sleeves and
shirt of chain-mail - these are made of small steel links woven
together, and they form a fabric so flexible that if you toss
your shirt on to the floor it slumps into a pile like a peck of wet
fish-net; it is very heavy and is nearly the uncomfortablest
material in the world for a night-shirt, yet plenty used it for
that tax collectors and reformers, and one-horse kings with a
defective title, and those sorts of people; then you put on your
shoes flatboats roofed over with interleaving bands of steel-
and screw your clumsy spurs into the heels. Next you buckle
your greaves on your legs and your cuisses on your thighs; then
come your backplate and your breastplate, and you begin to
feel crowded; then you hitch on to 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 on to your arms,
your iron gauntlets on to your hands, your iron rat-trap on to
your head, with a rag of steel web hitched on to it to hang over
the back of your neck—and there you are, snug as a candle in
a candle-mold. 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 com-
parison with the shell.
-
―
The boys helped me, or I never could have got in. Just as
we finished, Sir Bedivere happened in, and I saw that as like as
not I hadn't chosen the most convenient outfit for a long trip.
How stately he looked; and tall and broad and grand. He had
on his head a conical steel casque that only came down to his
ears, and for visor had only a narrow steel bar that extended
## p. 3808 (#170) ###########################################
3808
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
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 gar-
ment, which of course was of chain-mail, as I said, and hung
straight from his shoulders to his ankles; and from his middle to
the bottom, both before and behind, was divided, so that he
could ride and let the skirts hang down on each side. He was
going grailing, and it was just the outfit for it, too. I would
have given a good deal for that ulster, but it was too late now
to be fooling around. The sun was just up; the king and the
court were all on hand to see me off and wish me luck; so it
wouldn't be etiquette for me to tarry. You don't get on your
horse yourself; no, if you tried it you would get disappointed.
They carry you out, just as they carry a sun-struck man to the
drug-store, and put you on, and help get you to rights, and fix
your feet in the stirrups; and all the while you do feel so
strange and stuffy and like somebody else-like somebody that
has been married on a sudden, or struck by lightning, or some-
thing like that, and hasn't quite fetched around yet, and is sort
of numb, and can't just get his bearings. Then they stood up
the mast they called a spear in its socket by my left foot, and I
gripped it with my hand; lastly they hung my shield around my
neck, and I was all complete and ready to up anchor and get to
sea.
Everybody was as good to me as they could be, and a
maid of honor gave me the stirrup-cup her own self. There was
nothing more to do now but for that damsel to get up behind
me on a pillion, which she did, and put an arm or so around
me to hold on.
And so we started; and everybody gave us a good-by and
waved their handkerchiefs or helmets. And everybody we met,
going down the hill and through the village, was respectful to us
except some shabby little boys on the outskirts. They said:-
"Oh, what a guy! " and hove clods at us.
In my experience boys are the same in all ages. They
don't respect anything, they don't care for anything or anybody.
They say "Go up, bald-head! " to the prophet going his unoffend-
ing 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
## p. 3809 (#171) ###########################################
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
3809
wouldn't answer, because I couldn't have got up again. I hate
a country without a derrick.
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 cush-
ioned 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 fur-
tive 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 mys-
terious far-off hammering and drumming for worms on a tree-
trunk away somewhere in the impenetrable remoteness of the
woods. And by-and-by out we would swing again into the
glare.
About the third or fourth or fifth time that we swung out
into the glare-it was along there somewhere, a couple of hours.
or so after sun-up-it wasn't as pleasant as it had been.
It was
beginning to get hot. This was quite noticeable. We had a
very long pull, after that, without any shade. Now it is curious
how progressively little frets grow and multiply after they once
get a start. Things which I didn't mind at all at first, I began
to mind now- and more and more, too, all the time. The first
ten or fifteen times I wanted my handkerchief I didn't seem to
care; I got along, and said never mind, it isn't any matter, and
dropped it out of my mind. But now it was different: I wanted
it all the time; it was nag, nag, nag, right along, and no rest;
I couldn't get it out of my mind; and so at last I lost my
VII-239
## p. 3810 (#172) ###########################################
3810
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
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 centred it in my
helmet; and mile after mile there it stayed, imagining the hand-
kerchief, picturing the handkerchief; and it was bitter and aggra-
vating to have the salt sweat keep trickling down into my eyes,
and I couldn't get at it. It seems like a little thing on paper,
but it was not a little thing at all; it was the most real kind of
misery. I would not say it if it was not so.
I made up my
mind that I would carry along a reticule next time, let it look
how it might and people say what they would. Of course these
iron dudes of the Round Table would think it was scandalous,
and maybe raise sheol about it, but as for me, give me comfort
first and style afterwards. So we jogged along, and now and
then we struck a stretch of dust, and it would tumble up in
clouds and get into my nose and make me sneeze and cry; and
of course I said things I oughtn't to have said,—I don't deny
that. I am not better than others. We couldn't seem to meet
anybody in this lonesome Britain, not even an ogre; and in the
mood I was in then, it was well for the ogre; that is, an ogre
with a handkerchief. Most knights would have thought of noth-
ing but getting his armor; but so I got his bandana, he could
keep his hardware for all me.
Meantime it was getting hotter and hotter in there. You
see the sun was beating down and warming up the iron more
and more all the time. Well, when you are hot, that way, every
little thing irritates you. When I trotted I rattled like a crate
of dishes, and that annoyed me; and moreover I couldn't seem
to stand that shield slatting and banging, now about my breast,
now around my back; and if I dropped into a walk my joints
creaked and screeched in that wearisome way that a wheelbar-
row 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
## p. 3811 (#173) ###########################################
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
3811
the heavier the iron settled down on you, and the more and more
tons you seemed to weigh every minute. And you had to be
always changing hands and passing your spear over to the
other foot, it got so irksome for one hand to hold it long at a
time.
Well, you know when you perspire that way, in rivers,
there comes a time when you-when you—well, when you itch.
You are inside, your hands are outside: so there you are; noth-
ing but iron between. It is not a light thing, let it sound as it
may. First it is one place; then another; then some more; and
it goes on spreading and spreading, and at last the territory is
all occupied, and nobody can imagine what you feel like, nor
how unpleasant it is. And when it had got to the worst, and it
seemed to me that I could not stand anything more, a fly got in
through the bars and settled on my nose, and the bars were
stuck and wouldn't work, and I couldn't get the visor up; and I
could only shake my head, which was baking hot by this time,
and the fly—well, you know how a fly acts when he has got a
certainty: he only minded the shaking enough to change from
nose to lip, and lip to ear, and buzz and buzz all around in
there, and keep on lighting and biting in a way that a person
already so distressed as I was simply could not stand. So I
gave in, and got Alisande to unship the helmet and relieve me
of it. Then she emptied the conveniences out of it and fetched
it full of water, and I drank and then stood up and she poured
the rest down inside the armor. One cannot think how refresh-
ing it was. She continued to fetch and pour until I was well
soaked and thoroughly comfortable.
It was good to have a rest-and peace. But nothing is
quite perfect in this life at any time. I had made a pipe a while
back, and also some pretty fair tobacco; not the real thing, but
what some of the Indians use: the inside bark of the willow,
dried. These comforts had been in the helmet, and now I had
them again, but no matches.
Gradually, as the time wore along, one annoying fact was
borne in upon my understanding- that we were weather-bound.
An armed novice cannot mount his horse without help and
plenty of it. Sandy was not enough; not enough for me, any-
way. 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
## p. 3812 (#174) ###########################################
3812
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
work. I wanted to try and think out how it was that rational or
even half-rational men could ever have learned to wear armor,
considering its inconveniences; and how they had managed to
keep up such a fashion for generations when it was plain that
what I had suffered to-day they had had to suffer all the days
of their lives. I wanted to think that out; and moreover I
wanted to think out some way to reform this evil and persuade
the people to let the foolish fashion die out: but thinking was
out of the question in the circumstances. You couldn't think
where Sandy was. She was a quite biddable creature and good-
hearted, but she had a flow of talk that was as steady as a
mill and made your head sore like the drays and wagons in a
city. If she had had a cork she would have been a comfort.
But you can't cork that kind; they would die. Her clack was
going all day, and you would think something would surely
happen to her works by-and-by; but no, they never got out of
order; and she never had to slack up for words. She could
grind and pump and churn and buzz by the week, and never
stop to oil up or blow out. And yet the result was just nothing
but wind. She never had any ideas, any more than a fog has.
She was a perfect blatherskite; I mean for jaw, jaw, jaw, talk,
talk, talk, jabber, jabber, jabber; - but just as good as she could
be. I hadn't minded her mill that morning, on account of hav-
ing that hornet's nest of other troubles; but more than once in
the afternoon I had to say:-
-
"Take a rest, child; the way you are using up all the
domestic air, the kingdom will have to go to importing it by
to-morrow, and it's a low enough treasury without that.
>>>
By permission of S. L. Clemens and his publishers.
## p. 3813 (#175) ###########################################
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
3813
THE TRUE PRINCE AND THE FEIGNED ONE
From The Prince and the Pauper': copyright 1889, by Charles L. Webster
and Company
-
Α
T LAST the final act was at hand. The Archbishop of Canter-
bury lifted up the crown of England from its cushion and
held it out over the trembling mock king's head. In the
same instant a rainbow radiance flashed along the spacious tran-
sept; for with one impulse every individual in the great con-
course of nobles lifted a coronet and poised it over his or her
head and paused in that attitude.
A deep hush pervaded the Abbey. At this impressive
moment a startling apparition intruded upon the scene—an ap-
parition observed by none in the absorbed multitude, until it
suddenly appeared, moving up the great central isle. It was a
boy, bare-headed, ill shod, and clothed in coarse plebeian gar-
ments that were falling to rags. He raised his hand with a
solemnity which ill comported with his soiled and sorry aspect,
and delivered this note of warning:
"I forbid you to set the crown of England upon that for-
feited head. I am the king! "
In an instant several indignant hands were laid upon the boy,
but in the same instant Tom Canty, in his regal vestments, made
a swift step forward and cried out in a ringing voice:-
"Loose him and forbear! He is the king! "
A sort of panic of astonishment swept the assemblage, and
they partly rose in their places and stared in a bewildered way
at one another and at the chief figures in this scene, like persons
who wondered whether they were awake and in their senses or
asleep and dreaming. The Lord Protector was as amazed as the
rest, but quickly recovered himself and exclaimed in a voice of
authority: -
"Mind not his Majesty, his malady is upon him again-seize
the vagabond! "
He would have been obeyed, but the mock king stamped his
foot and cried out:-
"On your peril! Touch him not, he is the king! "
The hands were withheld; a paralysis fell upon the house; no
one moved, no one spoke; indeed no one knew how to act or
what to say, in so strange and surprising an emergency. While
all minds were struggling to right themselves, the boy still
―
## p. 3814 (#176) ###########################################
3814
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
moved steadily forward, with high port and confident mien; he
had never halted from the beginning; and while the tangled
minds still floundered helplessly, he stepped upon the platform,
and the mock king ran with a glad face to meet him, and fell on
his knees before him and said:
"O my lord the king, let poor Tom Canty be first to swear
fealty to thee, and say, 'Put on thy crown and enter into thine
own again! ''
The Lord Protector's eye fell sternly upon the new-comer's
face; but straightway the sternness vanished away, and gave
place to an expression of wondering surprise. This thing hap-
pened also to the other great officers. They glanced at each
other, and retreated a step by a common and unconscious im-
pulse. The thought in each mind was the same: "What a
strange resemblance! "
The Lord Protector reflected a moment or two in perplexity;
then he said, with grave respectfulness:-
"By your favor, sir, I desire to ask certain questions.
which
"I will answer them, my lord. "
The duke asked him many questions about the court, the late
king, the prince, the princesses, - the boy answered them cor-
rectly and without hesitating. He described the rooms of state
in the palace, the late king's apartments, and those of the
Prince of Wales.
>>
It was strange; it was wonderful; yes, it was unaccountable —
so all said that heard it. The tide was beginning to turn, and
Tom Canty's hopes to run high, when the Lord Protector shook
his head and said:
-
"It is true it is most wonderful-but it is no more than our
lord the king likewise can do. " This remark, and this reference
to himself as still the king, saddened Tom Canty, and he felt his
hopes crumbling under him.
“These are not proofs," added the
Protector.
The tide was turning very fast now, very fast indeed but
in the wrong direction; it was leaving poor Tom Canty stranded
on the throne, and sweeping the other out to sea. The Lord
Protector communed with himself - shook his head; the thought
forced itself upon him, "It is perilous to the State and to us all,
to entertain so fateful a riddle as this; it could divide the nation
and undermine the throne. " He turned and said:
-:
-
## p. 3815 (#177) ###########################################
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
3815
"Sir Thomas, arrest this- No, hold! ” His face lighted,
and he confronted the ragged candidate with this question:—
"Where lieth the Great Seal? Answer me this truly, and
the riddle is unriddled; for only he that was Prince of Wales
can so answer! On so trivial a thing hang a throne and a
dynasty! "
It was a lucky thought, a happy thought. That it was so
considered by the great officials was manifested by the silent
applause that shot from eye to eye around their circle in the
form of bright approving glances. Yes, none but the true prince
could dissolve the stubborn mystery of the vanished Great Seal
- this forlorn little impostor had been taught his lesson well,
but here his teachings must fail, for his teacher himself could.
not answer that question-ah, very good, very good indeed;
now we shall be rid of this troublesome and perilous business in
short order! And so they nodded invisibly and smiled inwardly
with satisfaction, and looked to see this foolish lad stricken with.
a palsy of guilty confusion. How surprised they were, then, to
see nothing of the sort happen - how they marveled to hear
him answer up promptly in a confident and untroubled voice
and say:
"There is naught in this riddle that is difficult. " Then,
without so much as a by-your-leave to anybody, he turned and
gave this command with the easy manner of one accustomed to
doing such things: "My lord St. John, go you to my private
cabinet in the palace,- for none knoweth the place better than
you,- and close down to the floor, in the left corner, remotest
from the door that opens from the ante-chamber, you shall find
in the wall a brazen nail-head; press upon it and a little jewel-
closet will fly open, which not even you do know of- no, nor
any soul else in all the world but me and the trusty artisan
that did contrive it for me. The first thing that falleth under
your eye will be the Great Seal-fetch it hither. "
All the company wondered at this speech, and wondered still
more to see the little mendicant pick out this peer without hesi-
tancy or apparent fear of mistake, and call him by name with
such a placidly convincing air of having known him all his life.
The peer was almost surprised into obeying. He even made a
movement as if to go, but quickly recovered his tranquil attitude
and confessed his blunder with a blush. Tom Canty turned upon
him and said sharply:-
-
## p. 3816 (#178) ###########################################
3816
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
"Why dost thou hesitate? Hast not heard the king's com
mand? Go! "
The lord St. John made a deep obeisance- and it was ob-
served that it was a significantly cautious and non-committal one,
it not being delivered at either of the kings, but at the neutral
ground about half-way between the two- and took his leave.
Now began a movement of the gorgeous particles of that offi-
cial group which was slow, scarcely perceptible, and yet steady
and persistent,- a movement such as is observed in a kaleido-
scope that is turned slowly, whereby the components of one
splendid cluster fall away and join themselves to another-a
movement which little by little, in the present case, dissolved the
glittering crowd that stood about Tom Canty and clustered it to-
gether again in the neighborhood of the new-comer. Tom Canty
stood almost alone. Now ensued a brief season of deep suspense
and waiting-during which even the few faint-hearts still re-
maining near Tom Canty gradually scraped together courage
enough to glide, one by one, over to the majority. So at last
Tom Canty, in his royal robes and jewels, stood wholly alone
and isolated from the world, a conspicuous figure, occupying an
elegant vacancy.
Now the lord St. John was seen returning.
seen returning. As he advanced
up the mid-aisle, the interest was so intense that the low murmur
of conversation in the great assemblage died out and was suc-
ceeded by a profound hush, a breathless stillness, through which
his footfalls pulsed with a dull and distant sound. Every eye
was fastened upon him as he moved along. He reached the
platform, paused a moment, then moved toward Tom Canty with
a deep obeisance, and said:-
"Sire, the Seal is not there! "
A mob does not melt away from the presence of a plague-
patient with more haste than the band of pallid and terrified
courtiers melted away from the presence of the shabby little
claimant of the crown. In a moment he stood all alone, without
friend or supporter, a target upon which was concentrated a
bitter fire of scornful and angry looks. The Lord Protector
called out fiercely:-
"Cast the beggar into the street, and scourge him through
the town - the paltry knave is worth no more consideration! "
Officers of the guard sprang forward to obey, but Tom Canty
waved them off and said:
## p. 3817 (#179) ###########################################
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
3817
"Back! Whoso touches him perils his life! "
The Lord Protector was perplexed in the last degree. He
said to the lord St. John:-
――――
-
«< Searched you well? - but it boots not to ask that. It doth
seem passing strange. Little things, trifles, slip out of one's
ken, and one does not think it matter for surprise; but how so
bulky a thing as the Seal of England can vanish away and no
man be able to get track of it again a massy golden disk — »
Tom Canty, with beaming eyes, sprang forward and shouted:
«< Hold, that is enough! Was it round? - and thick ? — and
had it letters and devices graved upon it? Yes? Oh, now I
know what this Great Seal is, that there's been such worry and
pother about! An ye had described it to me, ye could have had
it three weeks ago. Right well I know where it lies; but it was
not I that put it there- first. ”
"Who then, my liege? " asked the Lord Protector.
"He that stands there the rightful king of England. And
he shall tell you himself where it lies- then you will believe he
knew it of his own knowledge. Bethink thee, my king-spur
thy memory-it was the last, the very last thing thou didst that
day before thou didst rush forth from the palace, clothed in my
rags, to punish the soldier that insulted me. "
A silence ensued, undisturbed by a movement or a whisper,
and all eyes were fixed upon the new-comer, who stood with
bent head and corrugated brow, groping in his memory among a
thronging multitude of valueless recollections for one single little
elusive fact, which, found, would seat him upon a throne — un-
found, would leave him as he was for good and all-a pauper
and an outcast. Moment after moment passed-the moments
built themselves into minutes-still the boy struggled silently
on, and gave no sign. But at last he heaved a sigh, shook his
head slowly, and said, with a trembling lip and in a despondent
voice:
—
―――――
"I call the scene back-all of it- but the Seal hath no place
in it. He paused, then looked up, and said with gentle dig-
nity, "My lords and gentlemen, if ye will rob your rightful sov-
ereign of his own for lack of this evidence which he is not able
to furnish, I may not stay ye, being powerless. But-»
"Oh folly, oh madness, my king! ” cried Tom Canty in a
panic; "wait! - think! Do not give up! - the cause is not lost!
nor shall be, neither! List to what I say-follow every word
## p. 3818 (#180) ###########################################
3818
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
I am going to bring that morning back again, every hap just as
it happened. We talked-I told you of my sisters, Nan and
Bet - ah yes, you remember that; and about my old grandam
and the rough games of the lads of Offal Court - yes, you re-
member these things also; very well, follow me still, you shall
recall everything. You gave me food and drink, and did with
princely courtesy send away the servants, so that my low breed-
ing might not shame me before them-ah yes, this also you
remember. "
-
As Tom checked off his details, and the other boy nodded his
head in recognition of them, the great audience and the officials
stared in puzzled wonderment; the tale sounded like true history,
yet how could this impossible conjunction between a prince and
a beggar boy have come about? Never was a company of peo-
ple so perplexed, so interested, and so stupefied before.
"For a jest, my prince, we did exchange garments. Then
we stood before a mirror; and so alike were we that both said it
seemed as if there had been no change made - yes, you remem-
ber that. Then you noticed that the soldier had hurt my hand
look! here it is, I cannot yet even write with it, the fingers
are so stiff. At this your Highness sprang up, vowing ven-
geance upon that soldier, and ran toward the door-you passed
a table-
that thing you call the Seal lay on that table-you
snatched it up and looked eagerly about, as if for a place to
hide it—your eye caught sight of —”
"There, 'tis sufficient! — and the dear God be thanked! " ex-
claimed the ragged claimant, in a mighty excitement. "Go, my
good St. John, — in an arm-piece of the Milanese armor that
hangs on the wall, thou'lt find the Seal! "
-
"Right, my king! right! " cried Tom Canty; "now the sceptre
of England is thine own; and it were better for him that would
dispute it that he had been born dumb!
darted out into a sugar plantation one night, at such a time, and
had to stay there a week. But there was no novelty about it: it
had often been done before.
I thought I had finished this chapter, but I wish to add a
curious thing while it is in my mind. It is only relevant in
that it is connected with piloting. There used to be an excel-
lent pilot on the river, a Mr. X. , who was a somnambulist. It
was said that if his mind was troubled about a bad piece of
river, he was pretty sure to get up and walk in his sleep and
do strange things. He was once fellow pilot for a trip or two
with George Ealer, on a great New Orleans passenger packet.
During a considerable part of the first trip George was uneasy,
but got over it by-and-by, as X. seemed content to stay in his
bed when asleep. Late one night the boat was approaching
Helena, Arkansas; the water was low, and the crossing above
the town in a very blind and tangled condition. X. had seen
the crossing since Ealer had, and as the night was particularly
drizzly, sullen, and dark, Ealer was considering whether he had
not better have X. called to assist in running the place, when
the door opened and X. walked in. Now on very dark nights,
light is a deadly enemy to piloting; you are aware that if you
stand in a lighted room on such a night, you cannot see things
in the street to any purpose; but if you put out the lights and
stand in the gloom you can make out objects in the street pretty
well. So on very dark nights pilots do not smoke; they allow
no fire in the pilot-house stove if there is a crack which can
allow the least ray to escape; they order the furnaces to be
curtained with huge tarpaulins and the skylights to be closely
blinded. Then no light whatever issues from the boat. The
undefinable shape that now entered the pilot-house had Mr. X. 's
voice. This said: :-
"Let me take her, George; I've seen this place since you
have, and it is so crooked that I reckon I can run it myself
easier than I could tell you how to do it. "
"It is kind of you, and I swear I am willing. I haven't got
another drop of perspiration left in me. I have been spinning
around and around the wheel like a squirrel. It is so dark I
can't tell which way she is swinging till she is coming around
like a whirligig. "
So Ealer took a seat on the bench, panting and breathless.
The black phantom assumed the wheel without saying anything,
## p. 3800 (#162) ###########################################
3800
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
steadied the waltzing steamer with a turn or two, and then stood
at ease, coaxing her a little to this side and then to that, as
gently and as sweetly as if the time had been noonday. When
Ealer observed this marvel of steering, he wished he had not
confessed! He stared and wondered, and finally said: -
"Well, I thought I knew how to steer a steamboat, but that
was another mistake of mine. "
X. said nothing, but went serenely on with his work. He
rang for the leads; he rang to slow down the steam; he worked
the boat carefully and neatly into invisible marks, then stood at
the centre of the wheel and peered blandly out into the black-
ness, fore and aft, to verify his position; as the leads shoaled
more and more, he stopped the engines entirely, and the dead.
silence and suspense of "drifting" followed; when the shoalest
water was struck, he cracked on the steam, carried her hand-
somely over, and then began to work her warily into the next
system of shoal marks; the same patient, heedful use of leads.
and engines followed, the boat slipped through without touching
bottom, and entered upon the third and last intricacy of the
crossing; imperceptibly she moved through the gloom, crept by
inches into her marks, drifted tediously till the shoalest water
was cried, and then, under a tremendous head of steam, went
swinging over the reef and away into deep water and safety!
Ealer let his long-pent breath pour out in a great relieving
sigh, and said: -
"That's the sweetest piece of piloting that was ever done on
the Mississippi River! I wouldn't believed it could be done, if I
hadn't seen it. "
There was no reply, and he added:-
"Just hold her five minutes longer, partner, and let me run
down and get a cup of coffee. "
A minute later Ealer was biting into a pie, down in the
"texas," and comforting himself with coffee. Just then the
night watchman happened in, and was about to happen out
again, when he noticed Ealer and exclaimed: -
"Who is at the wheel, sir? "
"X. "
"Dart for the pilot-house, quicker than lightning!
The next moment both men were flying up the pilot-house
companion-way, three steps at a jump! Nobody there! The
great steamer was whistling down the middle of the river at
>>
## p. 3801 (#163) ###########################################
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
3801
her own sweet will! The watchman shot out of the place again;
Ealer seized the wheel, set the engine back with power, and held
his breath while the boat reluctantly swung away from a «< tow-
head" which she was about to knock into the middle of the Gulf
of Mexico!
By-and-by the watchman came back and said:
"Didn't that lunatic tell you he was asleep when he first
came up here ? »
“No. ”
"Well, he was. I found him walking along on top of the
railings, just as unconcerned as
as another man would walk a
pavement; and I put him to bed; now just this minute there
he was again, away astern, going through that sort of tight-
rope deviltry the same as before. "
"Well, I think I'll stay by, next time he has one of those
fits. But I hope he'll have them often. You just ought to
have seen him take this boat through Helena crossing. I never
saw anything so gaudy before. And if he can do such gold-
leaf, kid-glove, diamond-breastpin piloting when he is sound
asleep, what couldn't he do if he was dead! "
AN ENCHANTING RIVER SCENE
From 'Life on the Mississippi': copyright 1883, by James R. Osgood and
Company
THE
HE face of the water in time became a wonderful book
a book that was a dead language to the uneducated pas-
senger, but which told its mind to me without reserve,
delivering its most cherished secrets as clearly as if it uttered
them with a voice. And it was not a book to be read once
and thrown aside, for it had a new story to tell every day.
Throughout the long twelve hundred miles there was never a
page that was void of interest, never one that you could
leave unread without loss, never one that you would want to
skip, thinking you could find higher enjoyment in some other
thing. There never was so wonderful a book written by man;
never one whose interest was so absorbing, so unflagging, so
sparklingly renewed with every re-perusal. The passenger who
could not read it was charmed with a peculiar sort of faint dim-
ple on its surface (on the rare occasions when he did not over-
―
## p. 3802 (#164) ###########################################
3802
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
look it altogether); but to the pilot that was an italicized passage;
indeed it was more than that, it was a legend of the largest
capitals, with a string of shouting exclamation-points at the end
of it; for it meant that a wreck or a rock was buried there, that
could tear the life out of the strongest vessel that ever floated.
It is the faintest and simplest expression the water ever makes,
and the most hideous to a pilot's eye. In truth, the passenger
who could not read this book saw nothing but all manner of
pretty pictures in it, painted by the sun and shaded by the
clouds; whereas to the trained eye these were not pictures at all,
but the grimmest and most dead-earnest of reading matter.
Now when I had mastered the language of this water and
had come to know every trifling feature that bordered the great
river as familiarly as I knew the letters of the alphabet, I had
made a valuable acquisition. But I had lost something too. I
had lost something which could never be restored to me while I
lived. All the grace, the beauty, the poetry had gone out of the
majestic river! I still kept in mind a certain wonderful sunset
which I witnessed when steamboating was new to me. A broad
expanse of the river was turned to blood; in the middle distance
the red hue brightened into gold, through which a solitary log
came floating, black and conspicuous; in one place a long slant-
ing mark lay sparkling upon the water; in another the surface
was broken by boiling tumbling rings that were as many-tinted
as an opal; where the ruddy flush was faintest, was a smooth
spot that was covered with graceful circles and radiating lines,
ever so delicately traced; the shore on our left was densely
wooded, and the sombre shadow that fell from this forest was
broken in one place by a long ruffled trail that shone like sil-
ver; and high above the forest wall a clean-stemmed dead tree
waved a single leafy bough, that glowed like a flame in the un-
obstructed splendor that was flowing from the sun. There were
graceful curves, reflected images, woody heights, soft distances;
and over the whole scene, far and near, the dissolving lights
drifted steadily, enriching it every passing moment with new
marvels of coloring.
-――
I stood like one bewitched. I drank it in, in a speechless
rapture. The world was new to me, and I had never seen any-
thing like this at home. But as I have said, a day came when
I began to cease from noting the glories and the charms which
the moon and the sun and the twilight wrought upon the river's
## p. 3803 (#165) ###########################################
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
3803
face; another day came when I ceased altogether to note them.
Then, if that sunset scene had been repeated, I should have
looked upon it without rapture and should have commented
upon it inwardly after this fashion: This sun means that we
are going to have wind to-morrow; that floating log means that
the river is rising, small thanks to it; that slanting mark on the
water refers to a bluff reef which is going to kill somebody's
steamboat one of these nights, if it keeps on stretching out like
that; those tumbling "boils" show a dissolving bar and a chan-
ging channel there; the lines and circles in the slick water over
yonder are a warning that that troublesome place is shoaling up
dangerously; that silver streak in the shadow of the forest is the
"break" from a new snag, and he has located himself in the
very best place he could have found to fish for steamboats; that
tall dead tree, with a single living branch, is not going to last
long, and then how is a body ever going to get through this
blind place at night without the friendly old landmark?
No, the romance and the beauty were all gone from the
river. All the value any feature of it had for me now was the
amount of usefulness it could furnish toward compassing the
safe piloting of a steamboat. Since those days I have pitied
doctors from my heart. What does the lovely flush in a beauty's
cheek mean to a doctor but a «< break >>>> that ripples above some
deadly disease? Are not all her visible charms sown thick with
what are to him the signs and symbols of hidden decay? Does
he ever see her beauty at all, or doesn't he simply view her pro-
fessionally and comment upon her unwholesome condition all to
himself? And doesn't he sometimes wonder whether he has
gained most or lost most by learning his trade?
THE LIGHTNING PILOT
From 'Life on the Mississippi': copyright 1883, by James R. Osgood and
Company
EXT morning I felt pretty rusty and low-spirited. We went
booming along, taking a good many chances, for we were
anxious to "get out of the river" (as getting out to Cairo
was called) before night should overtake us. But Mr. Bixby's
partner, the other pilot, presently grounded the boat, and we
lost so much time getting her off that it was plain the darkness
## p. 3804 (#166) ###########################################
3804
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
would overtake us a good long way above the mouth. This was
a great misfortune; especially to certain of our visiting pilots,
whose boats would have to wait for their return, no matter how
long that might be. It sobered the pilot-house talk a good deal.
Coming up-stream, pilots did not mind low water or any kind of
darkness; nothing stopped them but fog. But down-stream work
was different; a boat was too nearly helpless, with a stiff current
pushing behind her; so it was not customary to run down-stream
at night in low water.
There seemed to be one small hope, however: if we could get
through the intricate and dangerous Hat Island crossing before
night, we could venture the rest, for we would have plainer sail-
ing and better water. But it would be insanity to attempt Hat
Island at night. So there was a deal of looking at watches all
the rest of the day, and a constant ciphering upon the speed we
were making: Hat Island was the eternal subject; sometimes
hope was high, and sometimes we were delayed in a bad cross-
ing, and down it went again. For hours all hands lay under
the burden of this suppressed excitement; it was even communi-
cated to me, and I got to feeling so solicitous about Hat Island,
and under such an awful pressure of responsibility, that I wished
I might have five minutes on shore to draw a good full reliev-
ing breath, and start over again. We were standing no regular
watches. Each of our pilots ran such portions of the river as
he had run when coming up-stream, because of his greater famil-
iarity with it; but both remained in the pilot-house constantly.
An hour before sunset, Mr. Bixby took the wheel and Mr.
W stepped aside. For the next thirty minutes every man
held his watch in his hand and was restless, silent, and uneasy.
At last somebody said with a doomful sigh:-
"Well, yonder's Hat Island--and we can't make it. "
All the watches closed with a snap, everybody sighed and
muttered something about its being "too bad, too bad - ah, if
we could only have got here half an hour sooner! " and the place
was thick with the atmosphere of disappointment. Some started
to go out, but loitered, hearing no bell-tap to land.
The sun
dipped behind the horizon, the boat went on. Inquiring looks
passed from one guest to another; and one who had his hand on
the door-knob and had turned it, waited, then presently took
away his hand and let the knob turn back again. We bore
steadily down the bend. More looks were exchanged, and nods
## p. 3805 (#167) ###########################################
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
3805
of surprised admiration - but no words. Insensibly the men.
drew together behind Mr. Bixby, as the sky darkened and one or
two dim stars came out. The dead silence and sense of waiting
became oppressive. Mr. Bixby pulled the cord, and two deep
mellow notes from the big bell floated off on the night. Then a
pause, and one more note was struck. The watchman's voice
followed, from the hurricane deck:
"Labboard lead, there! Stabboard lead!
The cries of the leadsmen began to rise out of the distance,
and were gruffly repeated by the word-passers on the hurricane
deck.
Quarter-less-
"M-a-r-k three!
•
>>
M-a-r-k three!
three!
Quarter twain!
Half twain!
Quarter-less — "
M-a-r-k twain!
Mr. Bixby pulled two bell-ropes, and was answered by faint
jinglings far below in the engine-room, and our speed slackened.
The steam began to whistle through the gauge-cocks. The cries
of the leadsmen went on-and it a weird sound always in
the night. Every pilot in the lot was watching now, with fixed
eyes, and talking under his breath. Nobody was calm and easy
but Mr. Bixby. He would put his wheel down and stand on a
spoke, and as the steamer swung into her (to me) utterly invisi-
ble marks—for we seemed to be in the midst of a wide and
gloomy sea-he would meet and fasten her there. Out of the
murmur of half-audible talk one caught a coherent sentence now
and then, such as:
"There; she's over the first reef all right! "
After a pause, another subdued voice:-
•
"Her stern's coming down just exactly right, by George! »
"Now she's in the marks; over she goes! "
Somebody else muttered: -
"Oh, it was done beautiful— beautiful! »
Now the engines were stopped altogether, and we drifted
with the current. Not that I could see the boat drift, for I
could not, the stars being all gone by this time. This drifting
was the dismalest work; it held one's heart still. Presently I
discovered a blacker gloom than that which surrounded us. It
was the head of the island. We were closing right down upon
it. We entered its deeper shadow, and so imminent seemed the
peril that I was likely to suffocate; and I had the strongest im-
pulse to do something, anything, to save the vessel. But still
## p. 3806 (#168) ###########################################
3806
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
Mr. Bixby stood by his wheel, silent, intent as a cat, and all the
pilots stood shoulder to shoulder at his back.
"She'll not make it! " somebody whispered.
The water grew shoaler and shoaler, by the leadsman's cries,
till it was down to-
"Eight-and-a-half!
E-i-g-h-t feet!
E-i-g-h-t
feet!
Seven-and-»
Mr. Bixby said warningly through his speaking-tube to the
engineer: -
"Stand by, now! "
"Ay-ay, sir! "
"Seven-and-a-half!
Seven feet! Six-and- >>>
We touched bottom! Instantly Mr. Bixby set a lot of bells
ringing, shouted through the tube, "Now let her have it - every
ounce you've got! " then to his partner, "Put her hard down!
snatch her! snatch her! " The boat rasped and ground her way
through the sand, hung upon the apex of disaster a single tre-
mendous instant, and then over she went! And such a shout as
went up at Mr. Bixby's back never loosened the roof of a pilot-
house before!
There was no more trouble after that. Mr. Bixby was a hero
that night; and it was some little time, too, before his exploit
ceased to be talked about by river men.
AN EXPEDITION AGAINST OGRES
From A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court: copyright 1889, by
Charles L. Webster and Company
Μ
Y 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 disap-
pointment, and come to be as anxious for me to hive those
ogres and set those ripe old virgins loose as if it were them-
selves that had the contract. Well, they were good children-
but just children, that is all. And they gave me no end of
points about how to scout for giants, and how to scoop them in;
and they told me all sorts of charms against enchantments, and
gave me salves and other rubbish to put on my wounds. But it
never occurred to one of them to reflect that if I was such a
wonderful necromancer as I was pretending to be, I ought not to
## p. 3807 (#169) ###########################################
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
3807
need salves, or instructions, or charms against enchantments, and
least of all arms and armor, on a foray of any kind-even
against fire-spouting dragons and devils hot from perdition, let
alone such poor adversaries as these I was after, these common-
place ogres of the back settlements.
I was to have an early breakfast, and start at dawn, for that
was the usual way; but I had the demon's own time with
my armor, and this delayed me a little. It is troublesome
to get into, and there is so much detail. First you wrap a layer
or two of blanket around your body for a sort of cushion, and
to keep off the cold iron; then you put on your sleeves and
shirt of chain-mail - these are made of small steel links woven
together, and they form a fabric so flexible that if you toss
your shirt on to the floor it slumps into a pile like a peck of wet
fish-net; it is very heavy and is nearly the uncomfortablest
material in the world for a night-shirt, yet plenty used it for
that tax collectors and reformers, and one-horse kings with a
defective title, and those sorts of people; then you put on your
shoes flatboats roofed over with interleaving bands of steel-
and screw your clumsy spurs into the heels. Next you buckle
your greaves on your legs and your cuisses on your thighs; then
come your backplate and your breastplate, and you begin to
feel crowded; then you hitch on to 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 on to your arms,
your iron gauntlets on to your hands, your iron rat-trap on to
your head, with a rag of steel web hitched on to it to hang over
the back of your neck—and there you are, snug as a candle in
a candle-mold. 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 com-
parison with the shell.
-
―
The boys helped me, or I never could have got in. Just as
we finished, Sir Bedivere happened in, and I saw that as like as
not I hadn't chosen the most convenient outfit for a long trip.
How stately he looked; and tall and broad and grand. He had
on his head a conical steel casque that only came down to his
ears, and for visor had only a narrow steel bar that extended
## p. 3808 (#170) ###########################################
3808
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
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 gar-
ment, which of course was of chain-mail, as I said, and hung
straight from his shoulders to his ankles; and from his middle to
the bottom, both before and behind, was divided, so that he
could ride and let the skirts hang down on each side. He was
going grailing, and it was just the outfit for it, too. I would
have given a good deal for that ulster, but it was too late now
to be fooling around. The sun was just up; the king and the
court were all on hand to see me off and wish me luck; so it
wouldn't be etiquette for me to tarry. You don't get on your
horse yourself; no, if you tried it you would get disappointed.
They carry you out, just as they carry a sun-struck man to the
drug-store, and put you on, and help get you to rights, and fix
your feet in the stirrups; and all the while you do feel so
strange and stuffy and like somebody else-like somebody that
has been married on a sudden, or struck by lightning, or some-
thing like that, and hasn't quite fetched around yet, and is sort
of numb, and can't just get his bearings. Then they stood up
the mast they called a spear in its socket by my left foot, and I
gripped it with my hand; lastly they hung my shield around my
neck, and I was all complete and ready to up anchor and get to
sea.
Everybody was as good to me as they could be, and a
maid of honor gave me the stirrup-cup her own self. There was
nothing more to do now but for that damsel to get up behind
me on a pillion, which she did, and put an arm or so around
me to hold on.
And so we started; and everybody gave us a good-by and
waved their handkerchiefs or helmets. And everybody we met,
going down the hill and through the village, was respectful to us
except some shabby little boys on the outskirts. They said:-
"Oh, what a guy! " and hove clods at us.
In my experience boys are the same in all ages. They
don't respect anything, they don't care for anything or anybody.
They say "Go up, bald-head! " to the prophet going his unoffend-
ing 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
## p. 3809 (#171) ###########################################
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
3809
wouldn't answer, because I couldn't have got up again. I hate
a country without a derrick.
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 cush-
ioned 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 fur-
tive 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 mys-
terious far-off hammering and drumming for worms on a tree-
trunk away somewhere in the impenetrable remoteness of the
woods. And by-and-by out we would swing again into the
glare.
About the third or fourth or fifth time that we swung out
into the glare-it was along there somewhere, a couple of hours.
or so after sun-up-it wasn't as pleasant as it had been.
It was
beginning to get hot. This was quite noticeable. We had a
very long pull, after that, without any shade. Now it is curious
how progressively little frets grow and multiply after they once
get a start. Things which I didn't mind at all at first, I began
to mind now- and more and more, too, all the time. The first
ten or fifteen times I wanted my handkerchief I didn't seem to
care; I got along, and said never mind, it isn't any matter, and
dropped it out of my mind. But now it was different: I wanted
it all the time; it was nag, nag, nag, right along, and no rest;
I couldn't get it out of my mind; and so at last I lost my
VII-239
## p. 3810 (#172) ###########################################
3810
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
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 centred it in my
helmet; and mile after mile there it stayed, imagining the hand-
kerchief, picturing the handkerchief; and it was bitter and aggra-
vating to have the salt sweat keep trickling down into my eyes,
and I couldn't get at it. It seems like a little thing on paper,
but it was not a little thing at all; it was the most real kind of
misery. I would not say it if it was not so.
I made up my
mind that I would carry along a reticule next time, let it look
how it might and people say what they would. Of course these
iron dudes of the Round Table would think it was scandalous,
and maybe raise sheol about it, but as for me, give me comfort
first and style afterwards. So we jogged along, and now and
then we struck a stretch of dust, and it would tumble up in
clouds and get into my nose and make me sneeze and cry; and
of course I said things I oughtn't to have said,—I don't deny
that. I am not better than others. We couldn't seem to meet
anybody in this lonesome Britain, not even an ogre; and in the
mood I was in then, it was well for the ogre; that is, an ogre
with a handkerchief. Most knights would have thought of noth-
ing but getting his armor; but so I got his bandana, he could
keep his hardware for all me.
Meantime it was getting hotter and hotter in there. You
see the sun was beating down and warming up the iron more
and more all the time. Well, when you are hot, that way, every
little thing irritates you. When I trotted I rattled like a crate
of dishes, and that annoyed me; and moreover I couldn't seem
to stand that shield slatting and banging, now about my breast,
now around my back; and if I dropped into a walk my joints
creaked and screeched in that wearisome way that a wheelbar-
row 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
## p. 3811 (#173) ###########################################
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
3811
the heavier the iron settled down on you, and the more and more
tons you seemed to weigh every minute. And you had to be
always changing hands and passing your spear over to the
other foot, it got so irksome for one hand to hold it long at a
time.
Well, you know when you perspire that way, in rivers,
there comes a time when you-when you—well, when you itch.
You are inside, your hands are outside: so there you are; noth-
ing but iron between. It is not a light thing, let it sound as it
may. First it is one place; then another; then some more; and
it goes on spreading and spreading, and at last the territory is
all occupied, and nobody can imagine what you feel like, nor
how unpleasant it is. And when it had got to the worst, and it
seemed to me that I could not stand anything more, a fly got in
through the bars and settled on my nose, and the bars were
stuck and wouldn't work, and I couldn't get the visor up; and I
could only shake my head, which was baking hot by this time,
and the fly—well, you know how a fly acts when he has got a
certainty: he only minded the shaking enough to change from
nose to lip, and lip to ear, and buzz and buzz all around in
there, and keep on lighting and biting in a way that a person
already so distressed as I was simply could not stand. So I
gave in, and got Alisande to unship the helmet and relieve me
of it. Then she emptied the conveniences out of it and fetched
it full of water, and I drank and then stood up and she poured
the rest down inside the armor. One cannot think how refresh-
ing it was. She continued to fetch and pour until I was well
soaked and thoroughly comfortable.
It was good to have a rest-and peace. But nothing is
quite perfect in this life at any time. I had made a pipe a while
back, and also some pretty fair tobacco; not the real thing, but
what some of the Indians use: the inside bark of the willow,
dried. These comforts had been in the helmet, and now I had
them again, but no matches.
Gradually, as the time wore along, one annoying fact was
borne in upon my understanding- that we were weather-bound.
An armed novice cannot mount his horse without help and
plenty of it. Sandy was not enough; not enough for me, any-
way. 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
## p. 3812 (#174) ###########################################
3812
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
work. I wanted to try and think out how it was that rational or
even half-rational men could ever have learned to wear armor,
considering its inconveniences; and how they had managed to
keep up such a fashion for generations when it was plain that
what I had suffered to-day they had had to suffer all the days
of their lives. I wanted to think that out; and moreover I
wanted to think out some way to reform this evil and persuade
the people to let the foolish fashion die out: but thinking was
out of the question in the circumstances. You couldn't think
where Sandy was. She was a quite biddable creature and good-
hearted, but she had a flow of talk that was as steady as a
mill and made your head sore like the drays and wagons in a
city. If she had had a cork she would have been a comfort.
But you can't cork that kind; they would die. Her clack was
going all day, and you would think something would surely
happen to her works by-and-by; but no, they never got out of
order; and she never had to slack up for words. She could
grind and pump and churn and buzz by the week, and never
stop to oil up or blow out. And yet the result was just nothing
but wind. She never had any ideas, any more than a fog has.
She was a perfect blatherskite; I mean for jaw, jaw, jaw, talk,
talk, talk, jabber, jabber, jabber; - but just as good as she could
be. I hadn't minded her mill that morning, on account of hav-
ing that hornet's nest of other troubles; but more than once in
the afternoon I had to say:-
-
"Take a rest, child; the way you are using up all the
domestic air, the kingdom will have to go to importing it by
to-morrow, and it's a low enough treasury without that.
>>>
By permission of S. L. Clemens and his publishers.
## p. 3813 (#175) ###########################################
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
3813
THE TRUE PRINCE AND THE FEIGNED ONE
From The Prince and the Pauper': copyright 1889, by Charles L. Webster
and Company
-
Α
T LAST the final act was at hand. The Archbishop of Canter-
bury lifted up the crown of England from its cushion and
held it out over the trembling mock king's head. In the
same instant a rainbow radiance flashed along the spacious tran-
sept; for with one impulse every individual in the great con-
course of nobles lifted a coronet and poised it over his or her
head and paused in that attitude.
A deep hush pervaded the Abbey. At this impressive
moment a startling apparition intruded upon the scene—an ap-
parition observed by none in the absorbed multitude, until it
suddenly appeared, moving up the great central isle. It was a
boy, bare-headed, ill shod, and clothed in coarse plebeian gar-
ments that were falling to rags. He raised his hand with a
solemnity which ill comported with his soiled and sorry aspect,
and delivered this note of warning:
"I forbid you to set the crown of England upon that for-
feited head. I am the king! "
In an instant several indignant hands were laid upon the boy,
but in the same instant Tom Canty, in his regal vestments, made
a swift step forward and cried out in a ringing voice:-
"Loose him and forbear! He is the king! "
A sort of panic of astonishment swept the assemblage, and
they partly rose in their places and stared in a bewildered way
at one another and at the chief figures in this scene, like persons
who wondered whether they were awake and in their senses or
asleep and dreaming. The Lord Protector was as amazed as the
rest, but quickly recovered himself and exclaimed in a voice of
authority: -
"Mind not his Majesty, his malady is upon him again-seize
the vagabond! "
He would have been obeyed, but the mock king stamped his
foot and cried out:-
"On your peril! Touch him not, he is the king! "
The hands were withheld; a paralysis fell upon the house; no
one moved, no one spoke; indeed no one knew how to act or
what to say, in so strange and surprising an emergency. While
all minds were struggling to right themselves, the boy still
―
## p. 3814 (#176) ###########################################
3814
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
moved steadily forward, with high port and confident mien; he
had never halted from the beginning; and while the tangled
minds still floundered helplessly, he stepped upon the platform,
and the mock king ran with a glad face to meet him, and fell on
his knees before him and said:
"O my lord the king, let poor Tom Canty be first to swear
fealty to thee, and say, 'Put on thy crown and enter into thine
own again! ''
The Lord Protector's eye fell sternly upon the new-comer's
face; but straightway the sternness vanished away, and gave
place to an expression of wondering surprise. This thing hap-
pened also to the other great officers. They glanced at each
other, and retreated a step by a common and unconscious im-
pulse. The thought in each mind was the same: "What a
strange resemblance! "
The Lord Protector reflected a moment or two in perplexity;
then he said, with grave respectfulness:-
"By your favor, sir, I desire to ask certain questions.
which
"I will answer them, my lord. "
The duke asked him many questions about the court, the late
king, the prince, the princesses, - the boy answered them cor-
rectly and without hesitating. He described the rooms of state
in the palace, the late king's apartments, and those of the
Prince of Wales.
>>
It was strange; it was wonderful; yes, it was unaccountable —
so all said that heard it. The tide was beginning to turn, and
Tom Canty's hopes to run high, when the Lord Protector shook
his head and said:
-
"It is true it is most wonderful-but it is no more than our
lord the king likewise can do. " This remark, and this reference
to himself as still the king, saddened Tom Canty, and he felt his
hopes crumbling under him.
“These are not proofs," added the
Protector.
The tide was turning very fast now, very fast indeed but
in the wrong direction; it was leaving poor Tom Canty stranded
on the throne, and sweeping the other out to sea. The Lord
Protector communed with himself - shook his head; the thought
forced itself upon him, "It is perilous to the State and to us all,
to entertain so fateful a riddle as this; it could divide the nation
and undermine the throne. " He turned and said:
-:
-
## p. 3815 (#177) ###########################################
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
3815
"Sir Thomas, arrest this- No, hold! ” His face lighted,
and he confronted the ragged candidate with this question:—
"Where lieth the Great Seal? Answer me this truly, and
the riddle is unriddled; for only he that was Prince of Wales
can so answer! On so trivial a thing hang a throne and a
dynasty! "
It was a lucky thought, a happy thought. That it was so
considered by the great officials was manifested by the silent
applause that shot from eye to eye around their circle in the
form of bright approving glances. Yes, none but the true prince
could dissolve the stubborn mystery of the vanished Great Seal
- this forlorn little impostor had been taught his lesson well,
but here his teachings must fail, for his teacher himself could.
not answer that question-ah, very good, very good indeed;
now we shall be rid of this troublesome and perilous business in
short order! And so they nodded invisibly and smiled inwardly
with satisfaction, and looked to see this foolish lad stricken with.
a palsy of guilty confusion. How surprised they were, then, to
see nothing of the sort happen - how they marveled to hear
him answer up promptly in a confident and untroubled voice
and say:
"There is naught in this riddle that is difficult. " Then,
without so much as a by-your-leave to anybody, he turned and
gave this command with the easy manner of one accustomed to
doing such things: "My lord St. John, go you to my private
cabinet in the palace,- for none knoweth the place better than
you,- and close down to the floor, in the left corner, remotest
from the door that opens from the ante-chamber, you shall find
in the wall a brazen nail-head; press upon it and a little jewel-
closet will fly open, which not even you do know of- no, nor
any soul else in all the world but me and the trusty artisan
that did contrive it for me. The first thing that falleth under
your eye will be the Great Seal-fetch it hither. "
All the company wondered at this speech, and wondered still
more to see the little mendicant pick out this peer without hesi-
tancy or apparent fear of mistake, and call him by name with
such a placidly convincing air of having known him all his life.
The peer was almost surprised into obeying. He even made a
movement as if to go, but quickly recovered his tranquil attitude
and confessed his blunder with a blush. Tom Canty turned upon
him and said sharply:-
-
## p. 3816 (#178) ###########################################
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SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
"Why dost thou hesitate? Hast not heard the king's com
mand? Go! "
The lord St. John made a deep obeisance- and it was ob-
served that it was a significantly cautious and non-committal one,
it not being delivered at either of the kings, but at the neutral
ground about half-way between the two- and took his leave.
Now began a movement of the gorgeous particles of that offi-
cial group which was slow, scarcely perceptible, and yet steady
and persistent,- a movement such as is observed in a kaleido-
scope that is turned slowly, whereby the components of one
splendid cluster fall away and join themselves to another-a
movement which little by little, in the present case, dissolved the
glittering crowd that stood about Tom Canty and clustered it to-
gether again in the neighborhood of the new-comer. Tom Canty
stood almost alone. Now ensued a brief season of deep suspense
and waiting-during which even the few faint-hearts still re-
maining near Tom Canty gradually scraped together courage
enough to glide, one by one, over to the majority. So at last
Tom Canty, in his royal robes and jewels, stood wholly alone
and isolated from the world, a conspicuous figure, occupying an
elegant vacancy.
Now the lord St. John was seen returning.
seen returning. As he advanced
up the mid-aisle, the interest was so intense that the low murmur
of conversation in the great assemblage died out and was suc-
ceeded by a profound hush, a breathless stillness, through which
his footfalls pulsed with a dull and distant sound. Every eye
was fastened upon him as he moved along. He reached the
platform, paused a moment, then moved toward Tom Canty with
a deep obeisance, and said:-
"Sire, the Seal is not there! "
A mob does not melt away from the presence of a plague-
patient with more haste than the band of pallid and terrified
courtiers melted away from the presence of the shabby little
claimant of the crown. In a moment he stood all alone, without
friend or supporter, a target upon which was concentrated a
bitter fire of scornful and angry looks. The Lord Protector
called out fiercely:-
"Cast the beggar into the street, and scourge him through
the town - the paltry knave is worth no more consideration! "
Officers of the guard sprang forward to obey, but Tom Canty
waved them off and said:
## p. 3817 (#179) ###########################################
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
3817
"Back! Whoso touches him perils his life! "
The Lord Protector was perplexed in the last degree. He
said to the lord St. John:-
――――
-
«< Searched you well? - but it boots not to ask that. It doth
seem passing strange. Little things, trifles, slip out of one's
ken, and one does not think it matter for surprise; but how so
bulky a thing as the Seal of England can vanish away and no
man be able to get track of it again a massy golden disk — »
Tom Canty, with beaming eyes, sprang forward and shouted:
«< Hold, that is enough! Was it round? - and thick ? — and
had it letters and devices graved upon it? Yes? Oh, now I
know what this Great Seal is, that there's been such worry and
pother about! An ye had described it to me, ye could have had
it three weeks ago. Right well I know where it lies; but it was
not I that put it there- first. ”
"Who then, my liege? " asked the Lord Protector.
"He that stands there the rightful king of England. And
he shall tell you himself where it lies- then you will believe he
knew it of his own knowledge. Bethink thee, my king-spur
thy memory-it was the last, the very last thing thou didst that
day before thou didst rush forth from the palace, clothed in my
rags, to punish the soldier that insulted me. "
A silence ensued, undisturbed by a movement or a whisper,
and all eyes were fixed upon the new-comer, who stood with
bent head and corrugated brow, groping in his memory among a
thronging multitude of valueless recollections for one single little
elusive fact, which, found, would seat him upon a throne — un-
found, would leave him as he was for good and all-a pauper
and an outcast. Moment after moment passed-the moments
built themselves into minutes-still the boy struggled silently
on, and gave no sign. But at last he heaved a sigh, shook his
head slowly, and said, with a trembling lip and in a despondent
voice:
—
―――――
"I call the scene back-all of it- but the Seal hath no place
in it. He paused, then looked up, and said with gentle dig-
nity, "My lords and gentlemen, if ye will rob your rightful sov-
ereign of his own for lack of this evidence which he is not able
to furnish, I may not stay ye, being powerless. But-»
"Oh folly, oh madness, my king! ” cried Tom Canty in a
panic; "wait! - think! Do not give up! - the cause is not lost!
nor shall be, neither! List to what I say-follow every word
## p. 3818 (#180) ###########################################
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SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS
I am going to bring that morning back again, every hap just as
it happened. We talked-I told you of my sisters, Nan and
Bet - ah yes, you remember that; and about my old grandam
and the rough games of the lads of Offal Court - yes, you re-
member these things also; very well, follow me still, you shall
recall everything. You gave me food and drink, and did with
princely courtesy send away the servants, so that my low breed-
ing might not shame me before them-ah yes, this also you
remember. "
-
As Tom checked off his details, and the other boy nodded his
head in recognition of them, the great audience and the officials
stared in puzzled wonderment; the tale sounded like true history,
yet how could this impossible conjunction between a prince and
a beggar boy have come about? Never was a company of peo-
ple so perplexed, so interested, and so stupefied before.
"For a jest, my prince, we did exchange garments. Then
we stood before a mirror; and so alike were we that both said it
seemed as if there had been no change made - yes, you remem-
ber that. Then you noticed that the soldier had hurt my hand
look! here it is, I cannot yet even write with it, the fingers
are so stiff. At this your Highness sprang up, vowing ven-
geance upon that soldier, and ran toward the door-you passed
a table-
that thing you call the Seal lay on that table-you
snatched it up and looked eagerly about, as if for a place to
hide it—your eye caught sight of —”
"There, 'tis sufficient! — and the dear God be thanked! " ex-
claimed the ragged claimant, in a mighty excitement. "Go, my
good St. John, — in an arm-piece of the Milanese armor that
hangs on the wall, thou'lt find the Seal! "
-
"Right, my king! right! " cried Tom Canty; "now the sceptre
of England is thine own; and it were better for him that would
dispute it that he had been born dumb!
