A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court
“Ye know it well yourselves, having suffered it--for truly none
of our condition in Britain escape it. It is the old, weary tale.
We fought and struggled and succeeded; meaning by success, that
we lived and did not die; more than that is not to be claimed. No
troubles came that we could not outlive, till this year brought
them; then came they all at once, as one might say, and overwhelmed
us. Years ago the lord of the manor planted certain fruit trees on
our farm; in the best part of it, too--a grievous wrong and shame--”
“But it was his right,” interrupted the king.
“None denieth that, indeed; an the law mean anything, what is
the lord's is his, and what is mine is his also. Our farm was
ours by lease, therefore 'twas likewise his, to do with it as he
would. Some little time ago, three of those trees were found hewn
down. Our three grown sons ran frightened to report the crime.
Well, in his lordship's dungeon there they lie, who saith there
shall they lie and rot till they confess. They have naught to
confess, being innocent, wherefore there will they remain until
they die. Ye know that right well, I ween. Think how this left us;
a man, a woman and two children, to gather a crop that was planted
by so much greater force, yes, and protect it night and day from
pigeons and prowling animals that be sacred and must not be hurt
by any of our sort. When my lord's crop was nearly ready for
the harvest, so also was ours; when his bell rang to call us to
his fields to harvest his crop for nothing, he would not allow that
I and my two girls should count for our three captive sons, but
for only two of them; so, for the lacking one were we daily fined.
All this time our own crop was perishing through neglect; and so
both the priest and his lordship fined us because their shares
of it were suffering through damage. In the end the fines ate up
our crop--and they took it all; they took it all and made us harvest
it for them, without pay or food, and we starving. Then the worst
came when I, being out of my mind with hunger and loss of my boys,
and grief to see my husband and my little maids in rags and misery
and despair, uttered a deep blasphemy--oh! a thousand of them!
--against the Church and the Church's ways. It was ten days ago.
I had fallen sick with this disease, and it was to the priest
I said the words, for he was come to chide me for lack of due
humility under the chastening hand of God. He carried my trespass
to his betters; I was stubborn; wherefore, presently upon my head
and upon all heads that were dear to me, fell the curse of Rome.
“Since that day we are avoided, shunned with horror. None has
come near this hut to know whether we live or not. The rest of us
were taken down. Then I roused me and got up, as wife and mother
will. It was little they could have eaten in any case; it was
less than little they had to eat. But there was water, and I gave
them that. How they craved it! and how they blessed it! But the
end came yesterday; my strength broke down. Yesterday was the
last time I ever saw my husband and this youngest child alive.
I have lain here all these hours--these ages, ye may say--listening,
listening for any sound up there that--”
She gave a sharp quick glance at her eldest daughter, then cried
out, “Oh, my darling!” and feebly gathered the stiffening form
to her sheltering arms. She had recognized the death-rattle.
CHAPTER XXX
THE TRAGEDY OF THE MANOR-HOUSE
At midnight all was over, and we sat in the presence of four
corpses. We covered them with such rags as we could find, and
started away, fastening the door behind us. Their home must be
these people's grave, for they could not have Christian burial,
or be admitted to consecrated ground. They were as dogs, wild
beasts, lepers, and no soul that valued its hope of eternal life
would throw it away by meddling in any sort with these rebuked and
smitten outcasts.
We had not moved four steps when I caught a sound as of footsteps
upon gravel. My heart flew to my throat. We must not be seen
coming from that house. I plucked at the king's robe and we drew
back and took shelter behind the corner of the cabin.
“Now we are safe,” I said, “but it was a close call--so to speak.
If the night had been lighter he might have seen us, no doubt,
he seemed to be so near.”
“Mayhap it is but a beast and not a man at all.”
“True. But man or beast, it will be wise to stay here a minute
and let it get by and out of the way.”
“Hark! It cometh hither.”
True again. The step was coming toward us--straight toward the hut.
It must be a beast, then, and we might as well have saved our
trepidation. I was going to step out, but the king laid his hand
upon my arm. There was a moment of silence, then we heard a soft
knock on the cabin door. It made me shiver. Presently the knock
was repeated, and then we heard these words in a guarded voice:
“Mother! Father! Open--we have got free, and we bring news to
pale your cheeks but glad your hearts; and we may not tarry, but
must fly! And--but they answer not. Mother! father!--”
I drew the king toward the other end of the hut and whispered:
“Come--now we can get to the road.”
The king hesitated, was going to demur; but just then we heard
the door give way, and knew that those desolate men were in the
presence of their dead.
“Come, my liege! in a moment they will strike a light, and then
will follow that which it would break your heart to hear.”
He did not hesitate this time. The moment we were in the road
I ran; and after a moment he threw dignity aside and followed.
I did not want to think of what was happening in the hut--I couldn't
bear it; I wanted to drive it out of my mind; so I struck into the
first subject that lay under that one in my mind:
“I have had the disease those people died of, and so have nothing
to fear; but if you have not had it also--”
He broke in upon me to say he was in trouble, and it was his
conscience that was troubling him:
“These young men have got free, they say--but _how_? It is not
likely that their lord hath set them free.”
“Oh, no, I make no doubt they escaped.”
“That is my trouble; I have a fear that this is so, and your
suspicion doth confirm it, you having the same fear.”
“I should not call it by that name though. I do suspect that they
escaped, but if they did, I am not sorry, certainly.”
“I am not sorry, I _think_--but--”
“What is it? What is there for one to be troubled about?”
“_If_ they did escape, then are we bound in duty to lay hands upon
them and deliver them again to their lord; for it is not seemly
that one of his quality should suffer a so insolent and high-handed
outrage from persons of their base degree.”
There it was again. He could see only one side of it. He was
born so, educated so, his veins were full of ancestral blood that
was rotten with this sort of unconscious brutality, brought down
by inheritance from a long procession of hearts that had each done
its share toward poisoning the stream. To imprison these men
without proof, and starve their kindred, was no harm, for they were
merely peasants and subject to the will and pleasure of their lord,
no matter what fearful form it might take; but for these men to
break out of unjust captivity was insult and outrage, and a thing
not to be countenanced by any conscientious person who knew his
duty to his sacred caste.
I worked more than half an hour before I got him to change the
subject--and even then an outside matter did it for me. This was
a something which caught our eyes as we struck the summit of a
small hill--a red glow, a good way off.
“That's a fire,” said I.
Fires interested me considerably, because I was getting a good
deal of an insurance business started, and was also training some
horses and building some steam fire-engines, with an eye to a paid
fire department by and by. The priests opposed both my fire and
life insurance, on the ground that it was an insolent attempt to
hinder the decrees of God; and if you pointed out that they did not
hinder the decrees in the least, but only modified the hard
consequences of them if you took out policies and had luck, they
retorted that that was gambling against the decrees of God, and was
just as bad. So they managed to damage those industries more
or less, but I got even on my accident business. As a rule, a knight
is a lummux, and some times even a labrick, and hence open to pretty
poor arguments when they come glibly from a superstition-monger,
but even _he_ could see the practical side of a thing once in a while;
and so of late you couldn't clean up a tournament and pile the
result without finding one of my accident-tickets in every helmet.
We stood there awhile, in the thick darkness and stillness, looking
toward the red blur in the distance, and trying to make out the
meaning of a far-away murmur that rose and fell fitfully on the
night. Sometimes it swelled up and for a moment seemed less
remote; but when we were hopefully expecting it to betray its cause
and nature, it dulled and sank again, carrying its mystery with it.
We started down the hill in its direction, and the winding road
plunged us at once into almost solid darkness--darkness that was
packed and crammed in between two tall forest walls. We groped
along down for half a mile, perhaps, that murmur growing more and
more distinct all the time. The coming storm threatening more and
more, with now and then a little shiver of wind, a faint show of
lightning, and dull grumblings of distant thunder. I was in the
lead. I ran against something--a soft heavy something which gave,
slightly, to the impulse of my weight; at the same moment the
lightning glared out, and within a foot of my face was the writhing
face of a man who was hanging from the limb of a tree! That is,
it seemed to be writhing, but it was not. It was a grewsome sight.
Straightway there was an ear-splitting explosion of thunder, and
the bottom of heaven fell out; the rain poured down in a deluge.
No matter, we must try to cut this man down, on the chance that
there might be life in him yet, mustn't we? The lightning came
quick and sharp now, and the place was alternately noonday and
midnight. One moment the man would be hanging before me in an
intense light, and the next he was blotted out again in the darkness.
I told the king we must cut him down. The king at once objected.
“If he hanged himself, he was willing to lose him property to
his lord; so let him be. If others hanged him, belike they had
the right--let him hang.”
“But--”
“But me no buts, but even leave him as he is. And for yet another
reason. When the lightning cometh again--there, look abroad.”
Two others hanging, within fifty yards of us!
“It is not weather meet for doing useless courtesies unto dead folk.
They are past thanking you. Come--it is unprofitable to tarry here.”
There was reason in what he said, so we moved on. Within the next
mile we counted six more hanging forms by the blaze of the lightning,
and altogether it was a grisly excursion. That murmur was a murmur
no longer, it was a roar; a roar of men's voices. A man came flying
by now, dimly through the darkness, and other men chasing him.
They disappeared. Presently another case of the kind occurred,
and then another and another. Then a sudden turn of the road
brought us in sight of that fire--it was a large manor-house, and
little or nothing was left of it--and everywhere men were flying
and other men raging after them in pursuit.
I warned the king that this was not a safe place for strangers.
We would better get away from the light, until matters should
improve. We stepped back a little, and hid in the edge of the