THEY swarmed up towards Sherburn's
house, awhooping and raging like
Injuns, and everything had to
clear the way or get run over
and tromped to mush, and it was
awful to see. Children was heeling
it ahead of the mob, screaming
and trying to get out of the
way; and every window along the
road was full of women's heads,
and there was nigger boys in
every tree, and bucks and wenches
looking over every fence; and
as soon as the mob would get
nearly to them they would break
and skaddle back out of reach.
Lots of the women and girls was
crying and taking on, scared
most to death.
They swarmed
up in front of Sherburn's palings
as thick as
they could jam together, and
you couldn't hear yourself think
for the noise. It was a little
twenty-foot yard. Some sung out "Tear
down the fence! tear down the
fence!" Then there was a racket
of ripping and tearing and smashing,
and down she goes, and the front
wall of the crowd begins to roll
in like a wave.
Just then Sherburn steps out
on to the roof of his little
front porch, with a double-barrel
gun in his hand, and takes his
stand, perfectly ca'm and deliberate,
not saying a word. The racket
stopped, and the wave sucked
back.
Sherburn never said a word
-- just stood there, looking
down. The stillness was awful
creepy and uncomfortable. Sherburn
run his eye slow along the crowd;
and wherever it struck the people
tried a little to outgaze him,
but they couldn't; they dropped
their eyes and looked sneaky.
Then pretty soon Sherburn sort
of laughed; not the pleasant
kind, but the kind that makes
you feel like when you are eating
bread that's got sand in it.
Then he says, slow and scornful:
"The idea of
YOU lynching anybody! It's
amusing. The idea of you
thinking you had pluck enough
to lynch a MAN! Because you're
brave enough to tar and feather
poor friendless cast-out women
that come along here, did that
make you think you had grit enough
to lay your hands on a MAN? Why,
a MAN'S safe in the hands of
ten thousand of your kind --
as long as it's daytime and you're
not behind him.
"Do I know
you? I know you clear through
was born and raised
in the South, and I've lived
in the North; so I know the average
all around. The average man's
a coward. In the North he lets
anybody walk over him that wants
to, and goes home and prays for
a humble spirit to bear it. In
the South one man all by himself,
has stopped a stage full of men
in the daytime, and robbed the
lot. Your newspapers call you
a brave people so much that you
think you are braver than any
other people -- whereas you're
just AS brave, and no braver.
Why don't your juries hang murderers?
Because they're afraid the man's
friends will shoot them in the
back, in the dark -- and it's
just what they WOULD do.
"So they always
acquit; and then a MAN goes
in the night,
with a hundred masked cowards
at his back and lynches the rascal.
Your mistake is, that you didn't
bring a man with you; that's
one mistake, and the other is
that you didn't come in the dark
and fetch your masks. You brought
PART of a man -- Buck Harkness,
there -- and if you hadn't had
him to start you, you'd a taken
it out in blowing.
"You didn't want to come. The
average man don't like trouble
and danger. YOU don't like trouble
and danger. But if only HALF
a man -- like Buck Harkness,
there -- shouts 'Lynch him! lynch
him!' you're afraid to back down
-- afraid you'll be found out
to be what you are -- COWARDS
-- and so you raise a yell, and
hang yourselves on to that half-a-man's
coat-tail, and come raging up
here, swearing what big things
you're going to do. The pitifulest
thing out is a mob; that's what
an army is -- a mob; they don't
fight with courage that's born
in them, but with courage that's
borrowed from their mass, and
from their officers. But a mob
without any MAN at the head of
it is BENEATH pitifulness. Now
the thing for YOU to do is to
droop your tails and go home
and crawl in a hole. If any real
lynching's going to be done it
will be done in the dark, Southern
fashion; and when they come they'll
bring their masks, and fetch
a MAN along. Now LEAVE -- and
take your half-a-man with you" --
tossing his gun up across his
left arm and cocking it when
he says this.
The crowd washed back sudden,
and then broke all apart, and
went tearing off every which
way, and Buck Harkness he heeled
it after them, looking tolerable
cheap. I could a stayed if I
wanted to, but I didn't want
to.
I went to the circus and loafed
around the back side till the
watchman went by, and then dived
in under the tent. I had my twenty-dollar
gold piece and some other money,
but I reckoned I better save
it, because there ain't no telling
how soon you are going to need
it, away from home and amongst
strangers that way. You can't
be too careful. I ain't opposed
to spending money on circuses
when there ain't no other way,
but there ain't no use in WASTING
it on them.
It was a real bully circus.
It was the splendidest sight
that ever was when they all come
riding in, two and two, a gentleman
and lady, side by side, the men
just in their drawers and undershirts,
and no shoes nor stirrups, and
resting their hands on their
thighs easy and comfortable --
there must a been twenty of them
-- and every lady with a lovely
complexion, and perfectly beautiful,
and looking just like a gang
of real sure-enough queens, and
dressed in clothes that cost
millions of dollars, and just
littered with diamonds. It was
a powerful fine sight; I never
see anything so lovely. And then
one by one they got up and stood,
and went a-weaving around the
ring so gentle and wavy and graceful,
the men looking ever so tall
and airy and straight, with their
heads bobbing and skimming along,
away up there under the tent-roof,
and every lady's rose-leafy dress
flapping soft and silky around
her hips, and she looking like
the most loveliest parasol.
And then faster
and faster they went, all of
them dancing,
first one foot out in the air
and then the other, the horses
leaning more and more, and the
ringmaster going round and round
the center-pole, cracking his
whip and shouting "Hi! -- hi!" and
the clown cracking jokes behind
him; and by and by all hands
dropped the reins, and every
lady put her knuckles on her
hips and every gentleman folded
his arms, and then how the horses
did lean over and hump themselves!
And so one after the other they
all skipped off into the ring,
and made the sweetest bow I ever
see, and then scampered out,
and everybody clapped their hands
and went just about wild.
Well, all through
the circus they done the most
astonishing
things; and all the time that
clown carried on so it most killed
the people. The ringmaster couldn't
ever say a word to him but he
was back at him quick as a wink
with the funniest things a body
ever said; and how he ever COULD
think of so many of them, and
so sudden and so pat, was what
I couldn't noway understand.
Why, I couldn't a thought of
them in a year. And by and by
a drunk man tried to get into
the ring -- said he wanted to
ride; said he could ride as well
as anybody that ever was. They
argued and tried to keep him
out, but he wouldn't listen,
and the whole show come to a
standstill. Then the people begun
to holler at him and make fun
of him, and that made him mad,
and he begun to rip and tear;
so that stirred up the people,
and a lot of men begun to pile
down off of the benches and swarm
towards the ring, saying, "Knock
him down! throw him out!" and
one or two women begun to scream.
So, then, the ringmaster he made
a little speech, and said he
hoped there wouldn't be no disturbance,
and if the man would promise
he wouldn't make no more trouble
he would let him ride if he thought
he could stay on the horse. So
everybody laughed and said all
right, and the man got on. The
minute he was on, the horse begun
to rip and tear and jump and
cavort around, with two circus
men hanging on to his bridle
trying to hold him, and the drunk
man hanging on to his neck, and
his heels flying in the air every
jump, and the whole crowd of
people standing up shouting and
laughing till tears rolled down.
And at last, sure enough, all
the circus men could do, the
horse broke loose, and away he
went like the very nation, round
and round the ring, with that
sot laying down on him and hanging
to his neck, with first one leg
hanging most to the ground on
one side, and then t'other one
on t'other side, and the people
just crazy. It warn't funny to
me, though; I was all of a tremble
to see his danger. But pretty
soon he struggled up astraddle
and grabbed the bridle, a-reeling
this way and that; and the next
minute he sprung up and dropped
the bridle and stood! and the
horse a-going like a house afire
too. He just stood up there,
a-sailing around as easy and
comfortable as if he warn't ever
drunk in his life -- and then
he begun to pull off his clothes
and sling them. He shed them
so thick they kind of clogged
up the air, and altogether he
shed seventeen suits. And, then,
there he was, slim and handsome,
and dressed the gaudiest and
prettiest you ever saw, and he
lit into that horse with his
whip and made him fairly hum
-- and finally skipped off, and
made his bow and danced off to
the dressing-room, and everybody
just a-howling with pleasure
and astonishment.
Then the ringmaster he see
how he had been fooled, and he
WAS the sickest ringmaster you
ever see, I reckon. Why, it was
one of his own men! He had got
up that joke all out of his own
head, and never let on to nobody.
Well, I felt sheepish enough
to be took in so, but I wouldn't
a been in that ringmaster's place,
not for a thousand dollars. I
don't know; there may be bullier
circuses than what that one was,
but I never struck them yet.
Anyways, it was plenty good enough
for ME; and wherever I run across
it, it can have all of MY custom
every time.
Well, that night we had OUR
show; but there warn't only about
twelve people there -- just enough
to pay expenses. And they laughed
all the time, and that made the
duke mad; and everybody left,
anyway, before the show was over,
but one boy which was asleep.
So the duke said these Arkansaw
lunkheads couldn't come up to
Shakespeare; what they wanted
was low comedy -- and maybe something
ruther worse than low comedy,
he reckoned. He said he could
size their style. So next morning
he got some big sheets of wrapping
paper and some black paint, and
drawed off some handbills, and
stuck them up all over the village.
The bills said:
AT THE COURT HOUSE!
FOR 3 NIGHTS ONLY!
The World-Renowned Tragedians
DAVID GARRICK THE YOUNGER!
AND
EDMUND KEAN THE ELDER!
Of the London and Continental
Theatres,
In their Thrilling Tragedy of
THE KING'S CAMELEOPARD,
OR
THE ROYAL NONESUCH ! ! !
Admission 50 cents.
Then at the bottom was the biggest line of all, which
said:
LADIES AND CHILDREN NOT ADMITTED.
"There," says he, "if that line don't fetch them, I don't know Arkansaw!"
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