The Complete Short Stories of Mark Twain (57 page)

“Never!—I make oath—”

“Out of my heart I forgive him.”

Burgess’s impassioned protestations fell upon deaf ears; the dying man passed away without knowing that once more he had done poor Burgess a wrong. The old wife died that night.

The last of the sacred Nineteen had fallen a prey to the fiendish sack; the town was stripped of the last rag of its ancient glory. Its mourning was not showy, but it was deep.

By act of the Legislature—upon prayer and petition—Hadleyburg was allowed to change its name to (never mind what—I will not give it away), and leave one word out of the motto that for many generations had graced the town’s official seal.

It is an honest town once more, and the man will have to rise early that catches it napping again.

1899

THE DEATH DISK
⁷
                                                                                                                                       

1

T
HIS WAS in Oliver Cromwell’s time. Colonel Mayfair was the youngest officer of his rank in the armies of the Commonwealth, he being but thirty years old. But young as he was, he was a veteran soldier, and tanned and war-worn, for he had begun his military life at seventeen; he had fought in many battles, and had won his high place in the service and in the admiration of men, step by step, by valor in the field. But he was in deep trouble now; a shadow had fallen upon his fortunes.

The winter evening was come, and outside were storm and darkness; within, a melancholy silence; for the Colonel and his young wife had talked their sorrow out, had read the evening chapter and prayed the evening prayer, and there was nothing more to do but sit hand in hand and gaze into the fire, and think—and wait. They would not have to wait long; they knew that, and the wife shuddered at the thought.

They had one child—Abby, seven years old, their idol. She would be coming presently for the good-night kiss, and the Colonel spoke now, and said:

“Dry away the tears and let us seem happy, for her sake. We must forget, for the time, that which is to happen.”

“I will. I will shut them up in my heart, which is breaking.”

“And we will accept what is appointed for us, and bear it in patience, as knowing that whatsoever He doeth is done in righteousness and meant in kindness—”

“Saying, His will be done. Yes, I can say it with all my mind and soul—I would I could say it with my heart. Oh, if I could! if this dear hand which I press and kiss for the last time—”

“’Sh! sweetheart, she is coming!”

A curly-headed little figure in nightclothes glided in at the door and ran to the father, and was gathered to his breast and fervently kissed once, twice, three times.

“Why, papa, you mustn’t kiss me like that: you rumple my hair.”

“Oh, I am so sorry—so sorry: do you forgive me, dear?”

“Why, of course, papa. But
are
you sorry?—not pretending, but real, right down sorry?”

“Well, you can judge for yourself, Abby,” and he covered his face with his hands and made believe to sob. The child was filled with remorse to see this tragic thing which she had caused, and she began to cry herself, and to tug at the hands, and say:

“Oh, don’t, papa, please don’t cry; Abby didn’t mean it; Abby wouldn’t ever do it again. Please, papa!” Tugging and straining to separate the fingers, she got a fleeting glimpse of an eye behind them, and cried out: “Why, you naughty papa, you are not crying at all! You are only fooling! And Abby is going to mamma, now: you don’t treat Abby right.”

She was for climbing down, but her father wound his arms about her and said: “No, stay with me, dear: papa
was
naughty, and confesses it, and is sorry—there, let him kiss the tears away—and he begs Abby’s forgiveness, and will do anything Abby says he must do, for a punishment; they’re all kissed away now, and not a curl rumpled—and whatever Abby commands—”

And so it was made up; and all in a moment the sunshine was back again and burning brightly in the child’s face, and she was patting her father’s cheeks and naming the penalty—“A story! a story!”

Hark!

The elders stopped breathing, and listened. Footsteps! faintly caught between the gusts of wind. They came nearer, nearer—louder, louder—then passed by and faded away. The elders drew deep breaths of relief, and the papa said: “A story, is it? A gay one?”

“No, papa: a dreadful one.”

Papa wanted to shift to the gay kind, but the child stood by her rights—as per agreement, she was to have anything she commanded. He was a good Puritan soldier and had passed his word—he saw that he must make it good. She said:

“Papa, we mustn’t always have gay ones. Nurse says people don’t always have gay times. Is that true, papa? She
says
so.”

The mamma sighed, and her thoughts drifted to her troubles again. The papa said, gently: “It is true, dear. Troubles have to come; it is a pity, but it is true.”

“Oh, then tell a story about them, papa—a dreadful one, so that we’ll shiver, and feel just as if it was
us
. Mamma, you snuggle up close, and hold one of Abby’s hands, so that if it’s too dreadful it’ll be easier for us to bear it if we are all snuggled up together, you know. Now you can begin, papa.”

“Well, once there were three Colonels—”

“Oh, goody!
I
know Colonels, just as easy! It’s because you are one, and I know the clothes. Go on, papa.”

“And in a battle they had committed a breach of discipline.”

The large words struck the child’s ear pleasantly, and she looked up, full of wonder and interest, and said:

“Is it something good to eat, papa?”

The parents almost smiled, and the father answered:

“No, quite another matter, dear. They exceeded their orders.”

“Is
that
someth—”

“No; it’s as uneatable as the other. They were ordered to feign an attack on a strong position in a losing fight, in order to draw the enemy about and give the Commonwealth’s forces a chance to retreat; but in their enthusiasm they overstepped their orders, for they turned the feint into a fact, and carried the position by storm, and won the day and the battle. The Lord General was very angry at their disobedience, and praised them highly, and ordered them to London to be tried for their lives.”

“Is it the great General Cromwell, papa?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I’ve seen
him
, papa! and when he goes by our house so grand on his big horse, with the soldiers, he looks so—so—well, I don’t know just how, only he looks as if he isn’t satisfied, and you can see the people are afraid of him; but
I’m
not afraid of him, because he didn’t look like that at me.”

“Oh, you dear prattler! Well, the Colonels came prisoners to London, and were put upon their honor, and allowed to go and see their families for the last—”

Hark!

They listened. Footsteps again; but again they passed by. The mamma leaned her head upon her husband’s shoulder to hide her paleness.

“They arrived this morning.”

The child’s eyes opened wide.

“Why, papa! is it a
true
story?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Oh, how good! Oh, it’s ever so much better! Go on, papa. Why, mamma!—
dear
mamma, are you crying?”

“Never mind me, dear—I was thinking of the—of the—the poor families.”

“But
don’t
cry, mamma: it’ll all come out right—you’ll see; stories always do. Go on, papa, to where they lived happy ever after; then she won’t cry any more. You’ll see, mamma. Go on, papa.”

“First, they took them to the Tower before they let them go home.”

“Oh,
I
know the Tower! We can see it from here. Go on, papa.”

“I am going on as well as I can, in the circumstances. In the Tower the military court tried them for an hour, and found them guilty, and condemned them to be shot.”

“
Killed
, papa?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, how naughty!
Dear
mamma, you are crying again. Don’t mamma; it ’ll soon come to the good place—you’ll see. Hurry, papa, for mama’s sake; you don’t go fast enough.”

“I know I don’t, but I suppose it is because I stop so much to reflect.”

“But you mustn’t
do
it, papa; you must go right on.”

“Very well, then. The three Colonels—”

“Do you know them, papa?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Oh, I wish I did! I love Colonels. Would they let me kiss them, do you think?” The Colonel’s voice was a little unsteady when he answered:

“
One
of them would, my darling! There—kiss me for him.”

“There, papa—and these two are for the others. I think they would let me kiss them, papa; for I would say, ‘My papa is a Colonel, too, and brave, and he would do what you did; so it
can’t
be wrong, no matter what those people say, and you needn’t be the least bit ashamed’; then they would let me—wouldn’t they, papa?”

“God knows they would, child!”

“Mamma!—oh, mamma, you mustn’t. He’s soon coming to the happy place; go on, papa.”

“Then, some were sorry—they all were; that military court, I mean; and they went to the Lord General, and said they had done their duty—for it
was
their duty, you know—and now they begged that two of the Colonels might be spared, and only the other one shot. One would be sufficient for an example for the army, they thought. But the Lord General was very stern, and rebuked them forasmuch as, having done
their
duty and cleared their consciences, they would beguile him to do less, and so smirch his soldierly honor. But they answered that they were asking nothing of him that they would not do themselves if they stood in his great place and held in their hands the noble prerogative of mercy. That struck him, and he paused and stood thinking, some of the sternness passing out of his face. Presently he bid them wait, and he retired to his closet to seek counsel of God in prayer; and when he came again, he said: ‘They shall cast lots. That shall decide it, and two of them shall live.’”

“And did they, papa, did they? And which one is to die—ah, that poor man!”

“No. They refused.”

“They wouldn’t do it, papa?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“They said that the one that got the fatal bean would be sentencing himself to death by his own voluntary act, and it would be but suicide, call it by what name one might. They said they were Christians, and the Bible forbade men to take their own lives. They sent back that word, and said they were ready—let the court’s sentence be carried into effect.”

“What does that mean, papa?”

“They—they will all be shot.”

Hark!

The wind? No. Tramp—tramp—tramp—r-r-r-umble-dumdum, r-r-rumble-dumdum—

“Open—in the Lord General’s name!”

“Oh, goody, papa, it’s the soldiers!—I love the soldiers! Let
me
let them in, papa, let
me!
”

She jumped down, and scampered to the door and pulled it open, crying joyously: “Come in! come in! Here they are, papa! Grenadiers!
I
know the Grenadiers!”

The file marched in and straightened up in line at shoulder arms; its officer saluted, the doomed Colonel standing erect and returning the courtesy, the soldier wife standing at his side, white, and with features drawn with inward pain, but giving no other sign of her misery, the child gazing on the show with dancing eyes. . . .

One long embrace, of father, mother, and child; then the order, “To the Tower—forward!” Then the Colonel marched forth from the house with military step and bearing, the file following; then the door closed.

“Oh, mamma, didn’t it come out beautiful! I
told
you it would; and they’re going to the Tower, and he’ll
see
them! He—”

“Oh, come to my arms, you poor innocent thing!” . . .

2

The next morning the stricken mother was not able to leave her bed; doctors and nurses were watching by her, and whispering together now and then; Abby could not be allowed in the room; she was told to run and play—mamma was very ill. The child, muffled in winter wraps, went out and played in the street awhile; then it struck her as strange, and also wrong, that her papa should be allowed to stay at the Tower in ignorance at such a time as this. This must be remedied; she would attend to it in person.

An hour later the military court were ushered into the presence of the Lord General. He stood grim and erect, with his knuckles resting upon the table, and indicated that he was ready to listen. The spokesman said: “We have urged them to reconsider; we have implored them: but they persist. They will not cast lots. They are willing to die, but not to defile their religion.”

The Protector’s face darkened, but he said nothing. He remained a time in thought, then he said: “They shall not all die; the lots shall be cast
for
them.” Gratitude shone in the faces of the court. “Send for them. Place them in that room there. Stand them side by side with their faces to the wall and their wrists crossed behind them. Let me have notice when they are there.”

When he was alone he sat down, and presently gave this order to an attendant: “Go, bring me the first little child that passes by.”

The man was hardly out at the door before he was back again—leading Abby by the hand, her garments lightly powdered with snow. She went straight to the Head of the State, that formidable personage at the mention of whose name the principalities and powers of the earth trembled, and climbed up in his lap, and said:

“I know
you
, sir: you are the Lord General; I have seen you; I have seen you when you went by my house. Everybody was afraid; but
I
wasn’t afraid, because you didn’t look cross at
me;
you remember, don’t you? I had on my red frock—the one with the blue things on it down the front. Don’t you remember that?”

A smile softened the austere lines of the Protector’s face, and he began to struggle diplomatically with his answer:

“Why, let me see—I—”

“I was standing right by the house—
my
house, you know.”

“Well, you dear little thing, I ought to be ashamed, but you know—”

The child interrupted, reproachfully.

“Now you
don’t
remember it. Why, I didn’t forget
you
.”

“Now, I
am
ashamed: but I will never forget you again, dear; you have my word for it. You will forgive me now, won’t you, and be good friends with me, always and forever?”

“Yes, indeed I will, though I don’t know how you came to forget it; you must be very forgetful: but I am too, sometimes. I can forgive you without any trouble, for I think you
mean
to be good and do right, and I think you are just as kind—but you must snuggle me better, the way papa does—it’s cold.”

“You shall be snuggled to your heart’s content, little new friend of mine, always to be
old
friend of mine hereafter, isn’t it? You mind me of my little girl—not little any more, now—but she was dear, and sweet, and daintily made, like you. And she had your charm, little witch—your all-conquering sweet confidence in friend and stranger alike, that wins to willing slavery any upon whom its precious compliment falls. She used to lie in my arms, just as you are doing now; and charm the weariness and care out of my heart and give it peace, just as you are doing now; and we were comrades, and equals, and playfellows together. Ages ago it was, since that pleasant heaven faded away and vanished, and you have brought it back again;—take a burdened man’s blessing for it, you tiny creature, who are carrying the weight of England while I rest!”