A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court by Mark Twain (sneezy the snowman read aloud .TXT) 📖

unlock.  It standeth to reason that the bolts were fast; wherefore it was only needful to establish a watch, so that if any broke the bonds he might not escape, but be taken. None were taken.”

“Natheless, three did escape,” said the king, “and ye will do well to publish it and set justice upon their track, for these murthered the baron and fired the house.”

I was just expecting he would come out with that.  For a moment the man and his wife showed an eager interest in this news and an impatience to go out and spread it; then a sudden something else betrayed itself in their faces, and they began to ask questions. I answered the questions myself, and narrowly watched the effects produced.  I was soon satisfied that the knowledge of who these three prisoners were had somehow changed the atmosphere; that our hosts’ continued eagerness to go and spread the news was now only pretended and not real.  The king did not notice the change, and I was glad of that.  I worked the conversation around toward other details of the night’s proceedings, and noted that these people were relieved to have it take that direction.

The painful thing observable about all this business was the alacrity with which this oppressed community had turned their cruel hands against their own class in the interest of the common oppressor.  This man and woman seemed to feel that in a quarrel between a person of their own class and his lord, it was the natural and proper and rightful thing for that poor devil’s whole caste to side with the master and fight his battle for him, without ever stopping to inquire into the rights or wrongs of the matter.  This man had been out helping to hang his neighbors, and had done his work with zeal, and yet was aware that there was nothing against them but a mere suspicion, with nothing back of it describable as evidence, still neither he nor his wife seemed to see anything horrible about it.

This was depressing—to a man with the dream of a republic in his head.  It reminded me of a time thirteen centuries away, when the “poor whites” of our South who were always despised and frequently insulted by the slave-lords around them, and who owed their base condition simply to the presence of slavery in their midst, were yet pusillanimously ready to side with the slave-lords in all political moves for the upholding and perpetuating of slavery, and did also finally shoulder their muskets and pour out their lives in an effort to prevent the destruction of that very institution which degraded them.  And there was only one redeeming feature connected with that pitiful piece of history; and that was, that secretly the “poor white” did detest the slave-lord, and did feel his own shame.  That feeling was not brought to the surface, but the fact that it was there and could have been brought out, under favoring circumstances, was something—in fact, it was enough; for it showed that a man is at bottom a man, after all, even if it doesn’t show on the outside.

Well, as it turned out, this charcoal burner was just the twin of the Southern “poor white” of the far future.  The king presently showed impatience, and said:

“An ye prattle here all the day, justice will miscarry.  Think ye the criminals will abide in their father’s house?  They are fleeing, they are not waiting.  You should look to it that a party of horse be set upon their track.”

The woman paled slightly, but quite perceptibly, and the man looked flustered and irresolute.  I said:

“Come, friend, I will walk a little way with you, and explain which direction I think they would try to take.  If they were merely resisters of the gabelle or some kindred absurdity I would try to protect them from capture; but when men murder a person of high degree and likewise burn his house, that is another matter.”

The last remark was for the king—to quiet him.  On the road the man pulled his resolution together, and began the march with a steady gait, but there was no eagerness in it.  By and by I said:

“What relation were these men to you—cousins?”

He turned as white as his layer of charcoal would let him, and stopped, trembling.

“Ah, my God, how know ye that?”

“I didn’t know it; it was a chance guess.”

“Poor lads, they are lost.  And good lads they were, too.”

“Were you actually going yonder to tell on them?”

He didn’t quite know how to take that; but he said, hesitatingly:

“Ye-s.”

“Then I think you are a damned scoundrel!”

It made him as glad as if I had called him an angel.

“Say the good words again, brother! for surely ye mean that ye would not betray me an I failed of my duty.”

“Duty?  There is no duty in the matter, except the duty to keep still and let those men get away.  They’ve done a righteous deed.”

He looked pleased; pleased, and touched with apprehension at the same time.  He looked up and down the road to see that no one was coming, and then said in a cautious voice:

“From what land come you, brother, that you speak such perilous words, and seem not to be afraid?”

“They are not perilous words when spoken to one of my own caste, I take it.  You would not tell anybody I said them?”

“I?  I would be drawn asunder by wild horses first.”

“Well, then, let me say my say.  I have no fears of your repeating it.  I think devil’s work has been done last night upon those innocent poor people.  That old baron got only what he deserved. If I had my way, all his kind should have the same luck.”

Fear and depression vanished from the man’s manner, and gratefulness and a brave animation took their place:

“Even though you be a spy, and your words a trap for my undoing, yet are they such refreshment that to hear them again and others like to them, I would go to the gallows happy, as having had one good feast at least in a starved life.  And I will say my say now, and ye may report it if ye be so minded.  I helped to hang my neighbors for that it were peril to my own life to show lack of zeal in the master’s cause; the others helped for none other reason. All rejoice to-day that he is dead, but all do go about seemingly sorrowing, and shedding the hypocrite’s tear, for in that lies safety.  I have said the words, I have said the words! the only ones that have ever tasted good in my mouth, and the reward of that taste is sufficient.  Lead on, an ye will, be it even to the scaffold, for I am ready.”