A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court
I felt sarcastical, so I said:
“Oh, sapient servant of the law, condescend to tell us, then,
what you _know_.”
“That ye will all be hanged _to-day_, at mid-afternoon! Oho! that
shot hit home! Lean upon me.”
The fact is I did need to lean upon somebody. My knights couldn't
arrive in time. They would be as much as three hours too late.
Nothing in the world could save the King of England; nor me, which
was more important. More important, not merely to me, but to
the nation--the only nation on earth standing ready to blossom
into civilization. I was sick. I said no more, there wasn't
anything to say. I knew what the man meant; that if the missing
slave was found, the postponement would be revoked, the execution
take place to-day. Well, the missing slave was found.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
SIR LAUNCELOT AND KNIGHTS TO THE RESCUE
Nearing four in the afternoon. The scene was just outside the
walls of London. A cool, comfortable, superb day, with a brilliant
sun; the kind of day to make one want to live, not die. The
multitude was prodigious and far-reaching; and yet we fifteen
poor devils hadn't a friend in it. There was something painful
in that thought, look at it how you might. There we sat, on our
tall scaffold, the butt of the hate and mockery of all those
enemies. We were being made a holiday spectacle. They had built
a sort of grand stand for the nobility and gentry, and these were
there in full force, with their ladies. We recognized a good
many of them.
The crowd got a brief and unexpected dash of diversion out of
the king. The moment we were freed of our bonds he sprang up,
in his fantastic rags, with face bruised out of all recognition, and
proclaimed himself Arthur, King of Britain, and denounced the
awful penalties of treason upon every soul there present if hair
of his sacred head were touched. It startled and surprised him
to hear them break into a vast roar of laughter. It wounded his
dignity, and he locked himself up in silence. Then, although
the crowd begged him to go on, and tried to provoke him to it
by catcalls, jeers, and shouts of:
“Let him speak! The king! The king! his humble subjects hunger
and thirst for words of wisdom out of the mouth of their master
his Serene and Sacred Raggedness!”
But it went for nothing. He put on all his majesty and sat under
this rain of contempt and insult unmoved. He certainly was great
in his way. Absently, I had taken off my white bandage and wound
it about my right arm. When the crowd noticed this, they began
upon me. They said:
“Doubtless this sailor-man is his minister--observe his costly
badge of office!”
I let them go on until they got tired, and then I said:
“Yes, I am his minister, The Boss; and to-morrow you will hear
that from Camelot which--”
I got no further. They drowned me out with joyous derision. But
presently there was silence; for the sheriffs of London, in their
official robes, with their subordinates, began to make a stir which
indicated that business was about to begin. In the hush which
followed, our crime was recited, the death warrant read, then
everybody uncovered while a priest uttered a prayer.
Then a slave was blindfolded; the hangman unslung his rope. There
lay the smooth road below us, we upon one side of it, the banked
multitude wailing its other side--a good clear road, and kept free
by the police--how good it would be to see my five hundred horsemen
come tearing down it! But no, it was out of the possibilities.
I followed its receding thread out into the distance--not a horseman
on it, or sign of one.
There was a jerk, and the slave hung dangling; dangling and hideously
squirming, for his limbs were not tied.
A second rope was unslung, in a moment another slave was dangling.
In a minute a third slave was struggling in the air. It was
dreadful. I turned away my head a moment, and when I turned back
I missed the king! They were blindfolding him! I was paralyzed;
I couldn't move, I was choking, my tongue was petrified. They
finished blindfolding him, they led him under the rope. I couldn't
shake off that clinging impotence. But when I saw them put the
noose around his neck, then everything let go in me and I made
a spring to the rescue--and as I made it I shot one more glance
abroad--by George! here they came, a-tilting!--five hundred mailed
and belted knights on bicycles!
The grandest sight that ever was seen. Lord, how the plumes
streamed, how the sun flamed and flashed from the endless procession
of webby wheels!
I waved my right arm as Launcelot swept in--he recognized my rag
--I tore away noose and bandage, and shouted:
“On your knees, every rascal of you, and salute the king! Who
fails shall sup in hell to-night!”
I always use that high style when I'm climaxing an effect. Well,
it was noble to see Launcelot and the boys swarm up onto that
scaffold and heave sheriffs and such overboard. And it was fine
to see that astonished multitude go down on their knees and beg
their lives of the king they had just been deriding and insulting.
And as he stood apart there, receiving this homage in rags,
I thought to myself, well, really there is something peculiarly
grand about the gait and bearing of a king, after all.
I was immensely satisfied. Take the whole situation all around,
it was one of the gaudiest effects I ever instigated.
And presently up comes Clarence, his own self! and winks, and
says, very modernly:
“Good deal of a surprise, wasn't it? I knew you'd like it. I've
had the boys practicing this long time, privately; and just hungry
for a chance to show off.”
CHAPTER XXXIX
THE YANKEE'S FIGHT WITH THE KNIGHTS
Home again, at Camelot. A morning or two later I found the paper,
damp from the press, by my plate at the breakfast table. I turned
to the advertising columns, knowing I should find something of
personal interest to me there. It was this:
DE PAR LE ROI.
Know that the great lord and illus-
trious Knight, SIR SAGRAMOR LE
DESIROUS having condescended to
meet the King’s Minister, Hank Mor-
gan, the which is surnamed The Boss,
for satisfgction of offence anciently given,
these wilL engage in the lists
by Camelot about the fourth hour of the
morning of the sixteenth day of this
next succeeding month. The battle
wiil be a l outrance, sith the said offence
was of a deadly sort, admitting of no
commmon Position.
DE PAR LE ROI
Clarence's editorial reference to this affair was to this effect:
It will be observed, by a gl7nce at our
advertising columns, that the commu-
nity is to be favored with a treat of un-
usual interest in the tournament line.
The n ames of the artists are warrant of
good enterTemment. The box-office
will be open at noon of the 13th; ad-
mission 3 cents, reserved seatsh 5; pro-
ceeds to go to the hospital fund The
royal pair and all the Court will be pres-
ent. With these exceptions, and the
press and the clergy, the free list is strict-
ly susPended. Parties are hereby warn-
ed against buying tickets of speculators;
they will not be good at the door.
Everybody knows and likes The Boss,
everybody knows and likes Sir Sag.;
come, let us give the lads a good send-
off. ReMember, the proceeds go to a
great and free charity, and one whose
broad begevolence stretches out its help-
ing hand, warm with the blood of a lov-
ing heart, to all that suffer, regardless of
race, creed, condition or color—the
only charity yet established in the earth
which has no politico-religious stop-
cock on its compassion, but says Here
flows the stream, let ALL come and
drink! Turn out, all hands! fetch along
your dou3hnuts and your gum-drops
and have a good time. Pie for sale on
the grounds, and rocks to crack it with;
and ciRcus-lemonade—three drops of
lime juice to a barrel of water.
N.B. This is the first tournament
under the new law, whidh allow each
combatant to use any weapon he may pre-
fer. You may want to make a note of that.
Up to the day set, there was no talk in all Britain of anything
but this combat. All other topics sank into insignificance and
passed out of men's thoughts and interest. It was not because
a tournament was a great matter, it was not because Sir Sagramor
had found the Holy Grail, for he had not, but had failed; it was
not because the second (official) personage in the kingdom was
one of the duellists; no, all these features were commonplace.
Yet there was abundant reason for the extraordinary interest which
this coming fight was creating. It was born of the fact that all
the nation knew that this was not to be a duel between mere men,
so to speak, but a duel between two mighty magicians; a duel not
of muscle but of mind, not of human skill but of superhuman art
and craft; a final struggle for supremacy between the two master
enchanters of the age. It was realized that the most prodigious
achievements of the most renowned knights could not be worthy
of comparison with a spectacle like this; they could be but child's
play, contrasted with this mysterious and awful battle of the gods.
Yes, all the world knew it was going to be in reality a duel
between Merlin and me, a measuring of his magic powers against
mine. It was known that Merlin had been busy whole days and nights
together, imbuing Sir Sagramor's arms and armor with supernal
powers of offense and defense, and that he had procured for him
from the spirits of the air a fleecy veil which would render the
wearer invisible to his antagonist while still visible to other
men. Against Sir Sagramor, so weaponed and protected, a thousand
knights could accomplish nothing; against him no known enchantments
could prevail. These facts were sure; regarding them there was
no doubt, no reason for doubt. There was but one question: might
there be still other enchantments, _unknown_ to Merlin, which could
render Sir Sagramor's veil transparent to me, and make his enchanted
mail vulnerable to my weapons? This was the one thing to be
decided in the lists. Until then the world must remain in suspense.
So the world thought there was a vast matter at stake here, and
the world was right, but it was not the one they had in their
minds. No, a far vaster one was upon the cast of this die:
_the life of knight-errantry_. I was a champion, it was true, but
not the champion of the frivolous black arts, I was the champion
of hard unsentimental common-sense and reason. I was entering
the lists to either destroy knight-errantry or be its victim.
Vast as the show-grounds were, there were no vacant spaces in them
outside of the lists, at ten o'clock on the morning of the 16th.
The mammoth grand-stand was clothed in flags, streamers, and rich
tapestries, and packed with several acres of small-fry tributary
kings, their suites, and the British aristocracy; with our own
royal gang in the chief place, and each and every individual
a flashing prism of gaudy silks and velvets--well, I never saw
anything to begin with it but a fight between an Upper Mississippi
sunset and the aurora borealis. The huge camp of beflagged and
gay-colored tents at one end of the lists, with a stiff-standing
sentinel at every door and a shining shield hanging by him for
challenge, was another fine sight. You see, every knight was
there who had any ambition or any caste feeling; for my feeling
toward their order was not much of a secret, and so here was their
chance. If I won my fight with Sir Sagramor, others would have
the right to call me out as long as I might be willing to respond.