The Complete Novels of Mark Twain and the Complete Biography of Mark Twain (217 page)

We had a week of waiting.  It was not dull for me, because I was writing all the time.  During the first three days, I finished turning my old diary into this narrative form; it only required a chapter or so to bring it down to date.  The rest of the week I took up in writing letters to my wife.  It was always my habit to write to Sandy every day, whenever we were separate, and now I kept up the habit for love of it, and of her, though I couldn't do anything with the letters, of course, after I had written them. But it put in the time, you see, and was almost like talking; it was almost as if I was saying, "Sandy, if you and Hello-Central were here in the cave, instead of only your photographs, what good times we could have!"  And then, you know, I could imagine the baby goo-gooing something out in reply, with its fists in its mouth and itself stretched across its mother's lap on its back, and she a-laughing and admiring and worshipping, and now and then tickling under the baby's chin to set it cackling, and then maybe throwing in a word of answer to me herself—and so on and so on—well, don't you know, I could sit there in the cave with my pen, and keep it up, that way, by the hour with them.  Why, it was almost like having us all together again.

I had spies out every night, of course, to get news.  Every report made things look more and more impressive.  The hosts were gathering, gathering; down all the roads and paths of England the knights were riding, and priests rode with them, to hearten these original Crusaders, this being the Church's war.  All the nobilities, big and little, were on their way, and all the gentry.  This was all as was expected.  We should thin out this sort of folk to such a degree that the people would have nothing to do but just step to the front with their republic and—

Ah, what a donkey I was!  Toward the end of the week I began to get this large and disenchanting fact through my head:  that the mass of the nation had swung their caps and shouted for the republic for about one day, and there an end!  The Church, the nobles, and the gentry then turned one grand, all-disapproving frown upon them and shriveled them into sheep!  From that moment the sheep had begun to gather to the fold—that is to say, the camps—and offer their valueless lives and their valuable wool to the "righteous cause."  Why, even the very men who had lately been slaves were in the "righteous cause," and glorifying it, praying for it, sentimentally slabbering over it, just like all the other commoners. Imagine such human muck as this; conceive of this folly!

Yes, it was now "Death to the Republic!" everywhere—not a dissenting voice.  All England was marching against us!  Truly, this was more than I had bargained for.

I watched my fifty-two boys narrowly; watched their faces, their walk, their unconscious attitudes:  for all these are a language—a language given us purposely that it may betray us in times of emergency, when we have secrets which we want to keep.  I knew that that thought would keep saying itself over and over again in their minds and hearts,
All England is marching against us!
and ever more strenuously imploring attention with each repetition, ever more sharply realizing itself to their imaginations, until even in their sleep they would find no rest from it, but hear the vague and flitting creatures of the dreams say,
All England
—ALL ENGLAND!—
is marching against you
!  I knew all this would happen; I knew that ultimately the pressure would become so great that it would compel utterance; therefore, I must be ready with an answer at that time—an answer well chosen and tranquilizing.

I was right.  The time came.  They HAD to speak.  Poor lads, it was pitiful to see, they were so pale, so worn, so troubled.  At first their spokesman could hardly find voice or words; but he presently got both.  This is what he said—and he put it in the neat modern English taught him in my schools:

"We have tried to forget what we are—English boys!  We have tried to put reason before sentiment, duty before love; our minds approve, but our hearts reproach us.  While apparently it was only the nobility, only the gentry, only the twenty-five or thirty thousand knights left alive out of the late wars, we were of one mind, and undisturbed by any troubling doubt; each and every one of these fifty-two lads who stand here before you, said, 'They have chosen—it is their affair.'  But think!—the matter is altered—
All England is marching against us
!  Oh, sir, consider!—reflect!—these people are our people, they are bone of our bone, flesh of our flesh, we love them—do not ask us to destroy our nation!"

Well, it shows the value of looking ahead, and being ready for a thing when it happens.  If I hadn't foreseen this thing and been fixed, that boy would have had me!—I couldn't have said a word. But I was fixed.  I said:

"My boys, your hearts are in the right place, you have thought the worthy thought, you have done the worthy thing.  You are English boys, you will remain English boys, and you will keep that name unsmirched.  Give yourselves no further concern, let your minds be at peace.  Consider this:  while all England is marching against us, who is in the van?  Who, by the commonest rules of war, will march in the front?  Answer me."

"The mounted host of mailed knights."

"True.  They are thirty thousand strong.  Acres deep they will march. Now, observe:  none but
they
will ever strike the sand-belt!  Then there will be an episode!  Immediately after, the civilian multitude in the rear will retire, to meet business engagements elsewhere. None but nobles and gentry are knights, and
none but these
will remain to dance to our music after that episode.  It is absolutely true that we shall have to fight nobody but these thirty thousand knights.  Now speak, and it shall be as you decide.  Shall we avoid the battle, retire from the field?"

"NO!!!"

The shout was unanimous and hearty.

"Are you—are you—well, afraid of these thirty thousand knights?"

That joke brought out a good laugh, the boys' troubles vanished away, and they went gaily to their posts.  Ah, they were a darling fifty-two!  As pretty as girls, too.

I was ready for the enemy now.  Let the approaching big day come along—it would find us on deck.

The big day arrived on time.  At dawn the sentry on watch in the corral came into the cave and reported a moving black mass under the horizon, and a faint sound which he thought to be military music.  Breakfast was just ready; we sat down and ate it.

This over, I made the boys a little speech, and then sent out a detail to man the battery, with Clarence in command of it.

The sun rose presently and sent its unobstructed splendors over the land, and we saw a prodigious host moving slowly toward us, with the steady drift and aligned front of a wave of the sea. Nearer and nearer it came, and more and more sublimely imposing became its aspect; yes, all England was there, apparently.  Soon we could see the innumerable banners fluttering, and then the sun struck the sea of armor and set it all aflash.  Yes, it was a fine sight; I hadn't ever seen anything to beat it.

At last we could make out details.  All the front ranks, no telling how many acres deep, were horsemen—plumed knights in armor. Suddenly we heard the blare of trumpets; the slow walk burst into a gallop, and then—well, it was wonderful to see!  Down swept that vast horse-shoe wave—it approached the sand-belt—my breath stood still; nearer, nearer—the strip of green turf beyond the yellow belt grew narrow—narrower still—became a mere ribbon in front of the horses—then disappeared under their hoofs.  Great Scott!  Why, the whole front of that host shot into the sky with a thunder-crash, and became a whirling tempest of rags and fragments; and along the ground lay a thick wall of smoke that hid what was left of the multitude from our sight.

Time for the second step in the plan of campaign!  I touched a button, and shook the bones of England loose from her spine!

In that explosion all our noble civilization-factories went up in the air and disappeared from the earth.  It was a pity, but it was necessary.  We could not afford to let the enemy turn our own weapons against us.

Now ensued one of the dullest quarter-hours I had ever endured. We waited in a silent solitude enclosed by our circles of wire, and by a circle of heavy smoke outside of these.  We couldn't see over the wall of smoke, and we couldn't see through it.  But at last it began to shred away lazily, and by the end of another quarter-hour the land was clear and our curiosity was enabled to satisfy itself.  No living creature was in sight!  We now perceived that additions had been made to our defenses.  The dynamite had dug a ditch more than a hundred feet wide, all around us, and cast up an embankment some twenty-five feet high on both borders of it.  As to destruction of life, it was amazing.  Moreover, it was beyond estimate.  Of course, we could not
count
the dead, because they did not exist as individuals, but merely as homogeneous protoplasm, with alloys of iron and buttons.

No life was in sight, but necessarily there must have been some wounded in the rear ranks, who were carried off the field under cover of the wall of smoke; there would be sickness among the others—there always is, after an episode like that.  But there would be no reinforcements; this was the last stand of the chivalry of England; it was all that was left of the order, after the recent annihilating wars.  So I felt quite safe in believing that the utmost force that could for the future be brought against us would be but small; that is, of knights.  I therefore issued a congratulatory proclamation to my army in these words:

I read it well, and the applause I got was very gratifying to me. I then wound up with these remarks:

"The war with the English nation, as a nation, is at an end. The nation has retired from the field and the war.  Before it can be persuaded to return, war will have ceased.  This campaign is the only one that is going to be fought.  It will be brief—the briefest in history.  Also the most destructive to life, considered from the standpoint of proportion of casualties to numbers engaged.  We are done with the nation; henceforth we deal only with the knights.  English knights can be killed, but they cannot be conquered.  We know what is before us.  While one of these men remains alive, our task is not finished, the war is not ended.  We will kill them all."  [Loud and long continued applause.]

I picketed the great embankments thrown up around our lines by the dynamite explosion—merely a lookout of a couple of boys to announce the enemy when he should appear again.

Next, I sent an engineer and forty men to a point just beyond our lines on the south, to turn a mountain brook that was there, and bring it within our lines and under our command, arranging it in such a way that I could make instant use of it in an emergency. The forty men were divided into two shifts of twenty each, and were to relieve each other every two hours.  In ten hours the work was accomplished.

It was nightfall now, and I withdrew my pickets.  The one who had had the northern outlook reported a camp in sight, but visible with the glass only.  He also reported that a few knights had been feeling their way toward us, and had driven some cattle across our lines, but that the knights themselves had not come very near. That was what I had been expecting.  They were feeling us, you see; they wanted to know if we were going to play that red terror on them again.  They would grow bolder in the night, perhaps. I believed I knew what project they would attempt, because it was plainly the thing I would attempt myself if I were in their places and as ignorant as they were.  I mentioned it to Clarence.

"I think you are right," said he; "it is the obvious thing for them to try."

"Well, then," I said, "if they do it they are doomed."

"Certainly."

"They won't have the slightest show in the world."

"Of course they won't."

"It's dreadful, Clarence.  It seems an awful pity."

The thing disturbed me so that I couldn't get any peace of mind for thinking of it and worrying over it.  So, at last, to quiet my conscience, I framed this message to the knights: