menu_book Chapter 21

CHAPTER XXI. It was after sun up now, but we went right on and didn't tie up. The king and the duke turned out by and by looking pretty rusty, but after they'd jumped overboard and took a swim, it chippered them up a good deal. After breakfast the king he took a seat on the corner of the raft and pulled off his

boots and rolled up his britches and let his legs dangle in the water, so as to be comfortable, and lit his pipe and went to getting his Romeo and Juliet by heart. When he had got it pretty good, him and the duke begun to practice it together. The duke had to learn him over and over again how to say every speech, and he made him sigh and put his hand on his heart, and after a while he said he'd done it pretty well.

Only, he says, you mustn't bellow out, Romeo, that way like a bull. We must say it's soft and sick and languishy, so Romeo, that is the idea, for Juliet's a dear sweet mere child of a girl, you know, and she don't bray like a jackass. Well, next they got out a couple of long swords that the duke made out of oak-laths and begun to practice the sword-fight.

The duke called himself Richard III, and the way they laid on and pranced around the raft was grand to see. But by and by the king tripped and fell overboard, and after that they took a rest, and had to talk about all kinds of adventures they'd had in other times along the river. After dinner the duke says,

Well, Capet, we'll want to make this a first-class show, you know, so I guess we'll add a little more to it. We want a little something to answer Encore's with, anyway. What's Encore's, Bilgewater? The duke told him, and then says,

I'll answer by doing a Highland fling, or the sailor's hornpipe. And you, well, let me see. Oh, I've got it. You can do Hamlet soliloquy. Hamlet's which?

Hamlet soliloquy, you know, the most celebrated thing in Shakespeare. Ah, it's sublime. Sublime! Always fetches the house. I haven't got it in the book.

I've only got one volume, but I reckon I can piece it out from memory. I'll just walk up and down a minute, and see if I can call it back from Recollection's vaults. So he went to marching up and down, thinking and frowning horrible ever now and then. Then he would hoist up his eyebrows.

Next he would squeeze his hand on his forehead and stagger back and kind of moan. Next he would sigh. And next he'd let on to drop a tear. It was beautiful to see. By and by he got it.

He told us to give attention. Then he strikes a most noble attitude, with one leg shoved forwards and his arms stretched away up and his head tilted back, looking up at the sky. And then he begins to rip and rave and grit his teeth. And after that, all through his speech he howled and spread around and swelled up his

chest and just knocked the spots out of any acting ever I see before. This is the speech. I learned it easy enough while he was learning it to the king. To be or not to be, that is the bare bodkin that makes calamity of so long life. For who would fartles bare, till Burnham Wood do come to Dunsinane?

But that the fear of something after death murders the innocent sleep, great nature's second course, and makes us rather sling the arrows of outrageous fortune than fly to others that we know not of. Where's the respect must give us pause? Wake Duncan with thy knocking!

I would thou couldst. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time? The oppressors wrong, the proud man's contumely, the law's delay, and the quietus which his pangs might take, in the dead waste and middle of the night, when churchyards yawn in customary suits of solemn black.

But that the undiscovered country from whose born no traveller returns, breathes forth contagion on the world, and thus the native hue of resolution, like the poor caddy of the adage, is sickly to our with care. And all the clouds that lowered o'er our housetops, with this regard their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.

Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. But soft you, the feral philia. Ope not thy ponderous and marble jaws, but get thee to a nunnery. Go! Well, the old man he liked that speech, and he mighty soon got it so he could do it first

rate. It seemed like he was just born for it, and when he had his hand in and was excited, it was perfectly lovely the way he would rip and tear and rear up behind when he was getting it off. The first chance we got, the duke he had some showbills printed.

And after that, for two or three days as we floated along, the raft was a most uncommon lively place. For there warn't nothing but sword fighting and rehearsing, as the duke called it, going on all the time. One morning, when we was pretty well down the state of Arkansas, we come inside of a

little one-horse town in a big bend. So we tied up about three-quarters of a mile above it, in the mouth of a crick which was shut in like a tunnel by the cypress trees. And all of us but Jim took the canoe and went down there to see if there was any chance in that place for our show.

We struck it mighty lucky. There was going to be a circus there that afternoon. And the country people was already beginning to come in, in all kinds of old shackly wagons and on horses. The circus would leave before night, so our show would have a pretty good chance.

The duke he hired the courthouse, and we went around and stuck up our bills. They read like this, Shakespearean revival, wonderful attraction for one night only. The world-renowned tragedians, David Garrick the Younger of Drury Lane Theatre, London, and Edmund Kean the Elder of the Royal Haymarket Theatre, Whitechapel, Pudding Lane, Piccadilly, London, and the Royal Continental Theaters in their sublime Shakespearean spectacle entitled

The Balcony Scene in Romeo and Juliet. Romeo Mr. Garrick Juliet Mr. Kean Assisted by the whole strength of the company. New costumes, new scenery, new appointments.

Also the thrilling masterly and blood-curling broadsword conflict in Richard III. Richard III Mr. Garrick Richmond Mr. Kean Also by special request, Hamlet's immortal soliloquy by the illustrious Kean, done by him three hundred consecutive nights in Paris for one night only on account of imperative

European engagements. Admission twenty-five cents, children and servants ten cents. Then we went loafing around the town. The stores and houses was most all old shackly dried-up frame concerns that hadn't ever been painted.

They was set up three or four foot above ground on stilts, so as to be out of reach of the water when the river was overflowed. The houses had little gardens around them, but they didn't seem to raise hardly anything in them but gypsum weeds and sunflowers and ash piles and old curled-up boots and shoes and pieces of bottles and rags and played-out tinware.

The fences was made of different kinds of boards, nailed on at different times and leaned every which way, and had gates that didn't generally have but one hinge, a leather one. Some of the fences had been whitewashed, some time or another, but the dukes said it was in Columbus time like enough. There were generally hogs in the garden and people driving them out.

All the stores was along one street. They had white domestic awnings in front and the country people hitched their horses to the awning posts. There was empty dry goods boxes under the awnings and loafers roosting on them all day long, whittling them with their barlow knives and chawing tobacco and gaping and yawning

and stretching. A mighty ornery lot. They generally had on yellow straw hats, most as white as an umbrella, but didn't wear no coats nor waistcoats. They called one another Bill and Buck and Hank and Joe and Andy and talked lazy and

drawly and used considerable many cuss words. There was as many as one loafer leaning up against every awning post, and he most always had his hands in his britches' pockets, except when he fetched them out to lend a chaw of tobacco or scratch. One of the things that a body was hearing amongst them all the time was,

Give me a chaw of tobacco, Hank. Can't. I ain't got but one chaw left. Ask Bill. Maybe Bill gives him a chaw.

Maybe he lies and says he ain't got none. Some of them kinds of loafers never has a cent in the world, nor a chaw of tobacco of their own. They get all their chawing by borrowing. They say to a fellow,

I wished you'd lend me a chaw, Jack. I'd just this minute give Ben Thompson the last chaw I had. Which is a lie pretty much every time. You don't fool nobody but a stranger. But Jack ain't no stranger, so he says,

You give him a chaw, did you? So did your sister's cat's grandmother. You pay me back the chaws you've already borrowed off of me, Lafe Buckner. Then I'll loan you one or two ton of it, and won't charge you no back interest nother. Well I did pay you back some of it once.

Yes you did. About six chaws. You'd borrow store tobacco and pay back niggerhead. Store tobacco is flat black plug, but these fellas mostly chaws the natural leaf twisted. When they borrow a chaw they don't generally cut it off with a knife, but they set the

plug in between their teeth, and gnaw with their teeth and tug at the plug with their hands till they get it in two. Then sometimes the one that owns the tobacco looks mournful at it when it's handed back and says, sarcastic, Here, give me the chaw, and you take the plug.

All the streets and lanes was just mud, and they warn't nothing else but mud. But as black as tar and nigh about a foot deep in some places, and two or three inches deep in all the places, the hogs loafed and grunted around everywhere. You'd see a muddy sile and a litter of pigs come lazing along the street and wallop herself right down in the way where folks had to walk around her.

And she'd stretch out and shut her eyes and wave her ears whilst the pigs was milking and look as happy as if she was on salary. And pretty soon you'd hear a loafer sing out, Hi, soul boy, sick him, tyg! And away the sile would go, squealing most horrible with the dog or two swinging to each

ear and three or four dozen more coming. And then you would see all the loafers get up and watch the thing out of sight and laugh at the fun and look grateful for the noise. Then they'd settle back again till there was a dog fight. There couldn't anything wake them up all over and make them happy all over like a dog

fight, unless it might be putting turpentine on a stray dog and setting fire to him, or tying a tin pan to his tail and see him run himself to death. On the river front some of the houses was sticking out over the bank, and they was bowed and bent and about ready to tumble in. The people had moved out of them.

The bank was caved away under one corner of some others, and that corner was hanging over. People lived in them yet, but it was dangerous, because sometimes a strip of land as wide as a house caves in at a time. Sometimes a belt of land a quarter of a mile deep will start in and cave along and cave along till it all caves into the river one summer.

Such a town as that has to be always moving back and back and back because the river's always gnawing at it. The nearer it got to noon that day, the thicker and thicker was the wagons and horses in the streets, and more coming all the time. Families fetched their dinners with them from the country and eat them in the wagons.

There was considerable whiskey drinking going on, and I seen three fights. By and by somebody sings out, "'Here comes old Boggs! In from the country for his little old monthly drunk! Here it comes, boys!"

All the loafers looked glad. I reckoned they was used to having fun out of Boggs. One of them says, "'Wonder who he's going to chaw up this time. If he'd a chawed up all the men he's been a-going to chaw up in the last twenty year,

he'd have considerable reputation now.' Another one says, "'I wish old Boggs had threatened me, cause then I'd know I weren't going to die for a thousand year.' Boggs comes a-tearing along on his horse, whooping and yelling like an engine and singing

out, "'Clear the track, there. I'm on the war-path, and the price of coffins is guantares.' He was drunk and weaving about in his saddle. He was over fifty year old and had a very red face.

Everybody yelled at him and laughed at him and sassed him and he sassed back. He said he'd attend to them and lay them out in their regular turns. But he couldn't wait now, because he'd come to town to kill old Colonel Sherburn, and his motto was, "'Meat first and spooned vittles to top off on.'

He see me and rode up and says, "'Where'd you come from, boy? You prepared to die?' Then he rode on. I was scared, but a man says,

"'He don't mean nothing. He's always a-carrying on like that when he's drunk. He's the best natured-est old fool in Arkansas. Never hurt nobody, drunk nor sober.' Boggs rode up before the biggest store in town and bent his head down so he could see

into the curtain of the awning and yells, "'Come out here, Sherburn! Come out and meet the man you swindled. You're the hound I'm after, and I'm a guan to have you too.' And so he went on, calling Sherburn everything he could lay his tongue to,

and the whole street packed with people listening and laughing and going on. By and by a proud-looking man about fifty-five, and he was a heap the best dressed man in that town, too, steps out of the store and the crowd drops back on each side to let him come. He says to Boggs, mighty calm and slow,

he says, "'I'm tired of this, but I'll endure it till one o'clock. Till one o'clock, mind, no longer. If you open your mouth against me only once after that time, you can't travel so far, but I will find you.'

Then he turns and goes in. The crowd looked mighty sober. Nobody stirred, and there warn't no more laughing. Boggs rode off Blackguard and Sherburn as loud as he could yell, all down the street, and pretty soon back he comes and stops before the store,

still keeping it up. Some men crowded around him and tried to get him to shut up, but he wouldn't. They told him it would be one o'clock in about fifteen minutes, and so he must go home. He must go right away.

But it didn't do no good. He cussed away with all his might, and throwed his hat down in the mud and rode over it, and pretty soon he went a-raging down the street again with his gray hair a-flying. Everybody that could get a chance at him tried their best to coax him off of his horse,

so they could lock him up and get him sober, but it warn't no use. Up the street he would tear again and give Sherburn another cussing. By and by somebody says, Go for his daughter! Quick, go for his daughter! Sometimes he'll listen to her. If anybody can't persuade him, she can.

So somebody started on a run. I walked down street-aways and stopped. In about five or ten minutes here comes Boggs again, but not on his horse. He was a-reeling across the street towards me, bare-headed, with a friend on both sides of him a-holped of his arms and hurrying him along.

He was quiet and looked uneasy, and he warn't hanging back any, but was doing some of the hurrying himself. Somebody sings out, Boggs! I looked over there to see who it was, and it was that Colonel Sherburn.

He was standing perfectly still in the street, and had a pistol raised in his right hand, not aiming it, but holding it out with a barrel tilted up towards the sky. The same second I see a young girl coming on the run, and two men with her. Boggs and the men turned round to see who called him, and when they see the pistol the men jump to one side,

and the pistol barrel come down slow and steady to a level, both barrels cocked. Boggs throws up both of his hands and says, Oh, Lord, don't shoot! Bang goes the first shot, and he staggers back clawing at the air. Bang goes the second one, and he tumbles backwards onto the ground,

heavy and solid with his arms spread out. That young girl screamed out and comes rushing, and down she throws herself on her father crying and saying, Oh, he's killed him, he's killed him! The crowd closed up around them, and shouldered and jammed one another with their neck stretched

trying to see, and people on the inside trying to shove them back and shouting, Back! Back! Give him air! Give him air! Colonel Sherburn, he tossed his pistol onto the ground and turned around on his heels and walked off. They took Boggs to a little drug store, the crowd pressing around just the same, and the whole town following, and I rushed and got a good place at the window where I was close

to him and could see in. They laid him on the floor and put one large Bible under his head and opened another one and spread it on his breast, but they tore open his shirt first, and I seen where one of the bullets went in. He made about a dozen long gasps, his breast lifting the Bible up when he drawed in his breath, and letting it down again when he breathed it out, and after that he laid still. He was dead. Then they pulled his daughter away from him,

screaming and crying, and took her off. She was about sixteen and very sweet and gentle looking, but awful pale and scared. Well, pretty soon the whole town was there, squirming and scrooging and pushing and shoving to get at the window and have a look, but people that had the places wouldn't give them up, and folks behind them was saying all the time, said now, you looked enough, you fellows. Taint right and taint fair for you to stay there all

the time and never give nobody a chance. Other folks had their rights as well as you. There was considerable jaw and back, so I slid out, thinking maybe there was going to be trouble. The streets was full, and everybody was excited. Everybody that seen the shooting was telling how it happened, and there was a big crowd packed around each one of these fellows, stretching their necks and listening. One long lanky man with long hair and a big white fur stovepipe hat on the

back of his head, and a crooked-handled cane marked out the places on the ground where Bog stood and where Sherburn stood, and the people following him around from one place to another and watching everything he'd done, and bobbing their heads to show they understood, and stooping a little and resting their hands on their thighs to watch him mark the places on the ground with his cane. And then he stood up straight and stiff where Sherburn had stood, frowning and having his hat

brimmed down over his eyes and sung out, Bogs! And then fetched his cane down slow to a level and says, Bang! Staggered backwards, says, Bang again! And fell down flat on his back. The people that had seen the thing said he'd done it perfect, said it was just exactly the way it all happened. Then as much as a dozen people got out their bottles and treated him, well, by and by somebody said Sherburn ought to be lynched.

In about a minute everybody was saying it. So away they went, mad and yelling, and snatching down every clothesline they come to to do the hanging with.