Chapter XVIII. The Prince with the tramps.

by Mark Twain

　　The troop of vagabonds turned out at early dawn, and set forwardon their march. There was a lowering sky overhead, sloppy groundunder foot, and a winter chill in the air. All gaiety was gonefrom the company; some were sullen and silent, some were irritableand petulant, none were gentle-humoured, all were thirsty.The Ruffler put 'Jack' in Hugo's charge, with some briefinstructions, and commanded John Canty to keep away from him andlet him alone; he also warned Hugo not to be too rough with thelad.After a while the weather grew milder, and the clouds liftedsomewhat. The troop ceased to shiver, and their spirits began toimprove. They grew more and more cheerful, and finally began tochaff each other and insult passengers along the highway. Thisshowed that they were awaking to an appreciation of life and itsjoys once more. The dread in which their sort was held wasapparent in the fact that everybody gave them the road, and tooktheir ribald insolences meekly, without venturing to talk back.They snatched linen from the hedges, occasionally in full view ofthe owners, who made no protest, but only seemed grateful thatthey did not take the hedges, too.By-and-by they invaded a small farmhouse and made themselves athome while the trembling farmer and his people swept the larderclean to furnish a breakfast for them. They chucked the housewifeand her daughters under the chin whilst receiving the food fromtheir hands, and made coarse jests about them, accompanied withinsulting epithets and bursts of horse-laughter. They threw bonesand vegetables at the farmer and his sons, kept them dodging allthe time, and applauded uproariously when a good hit was made.They ended by buttering the head of one of the daughters whoresented some of their familiarities. When they took their leavethey threatened to come back and burn the house over the heads ofthe family if any report of their doings got to the ears of theauthorities.About noon, after a long and weary tramp, the gang came to a haltbehind a hedge on the outskirts of a considerable village. Anhour was allowed for rest, then the crew scattered themselvesabroad to enter the village at different points to ply theirvarious trades--'Jack' was sent with Hugo. They wandered hitherand thither for some time, Hugo watching for opportunities to do astroke of business, but finding none--so he finally said--"I see nought to steal; it is a paltry place. Wherefore we willbeg.""We, forsooth! Follow thy trade--it befits thee. But I willnot beg.""Thou'lt not beg!" exclaimed Hugo, eyeing the King with surprise."Prithee, since when hast thou reformed?""What dost thou mean?""Mean? Hast thou not begged the streets of London all thy life?""I? Thou idiot!""Spare thy compliments--thy stock will last the longer. Thyfather says thou hast begged all thy days. Mayhap he lied.Peradventure you will even make so bold as to say he lied,"scoffed Hugo."Him you call my father? Yes, he lied.""Come, play not thy merry game of madman so far, mate; use it forthy amusement, not thy hurt. An' I tell him this, he will scorchthee finely for it.""Save thyself the trouble. I will tell him.""I like thy spirit, I do in truth; but I do not admire thyjudgment. Bone-rackings and bastings be plenty enow in this life,without going out of one's way to invite them. But a truce tothese matters; I believe your father. I doubt not he can lie; Idoubt not he doth lie, upon occasion, for the best of us do that;but there is no occasion here. A wise man does not waste so gooda commodity as lying for nought. But come; sith it is thy humourto give over begging, wherewithal shall we busy ourselves? Withrobbing kitchens?"The King said, impatiently--"Have done with this folly--you weary me!"Hugo replied, with temper--"Now harkee, mate; you will not beg, you will not rob; so be it.But I will tell you what you will do. You will play decoy whilstI beg. Refuse, an' you think you may venture!"The King was about to reply contemptuously, when Hugo said,interrupting--"Peace! Here comes one with a kindly face. Now will I fall downin a fit. When the stranger runs to me, set you up a wail, andfall upon your knees, seeming to weep; then cry out as all thedevils of misery were in your belly, and say, 'Oh, sir, it is mypoor afflicted brother, and we be friendless; o' God's name castthrough your merciful eyes one pitiful look upon a sick, forsaken,and most miserable wretch; bestow one little penny out of thyriches upon one smitten of God and ready to perish!'--and mindyou, keep you on wailing, and abate not till we bilk him of hispenny, else shall you rue it."Then immediately Hugo began to moan, and groan, and roll his eyes,and reel and totter about; and when the stranger was close athand, down he sprawled before him, with a shriek, and began towrithe and wallow in the dirt, in seeming agony."O, dear, O dear!" cried the benevolent stranger, "O poor soul,poor soul, how he doth suffer! There--let me help thee up.""O noble sir, forbear, and God love you for a princely gentleman--but it giveth me cruel pain to touch me when I am taken so. Mybrother there will tell your worship how I am racked with anguishwhen these fits be upon me. A penny, dear sir, a penny, to buy alittle food; then leave me to my sorrows.""A penny! thou shalt have three, thou hapless creature"--and hefumbled in his pocket with nervous haste and got them out."There, poor lad, take them and most welcome. Now come hither, myboy, and help me carry thy stricken brother to yon house, where--""I am not his brother," said the King, interrupting."What! not his brother?""Oh, hear him!" groaned Hugo, then privately ground his teeth."He denies his own brother--and he with one foot in the grave!""Boy, thou art indeed hard of heart, if this is thy brother. Forshame!--and he scarce able to move hand or foot. If he is not thybrother, who is he, then?""A beggar and a thief! He has got your money and has picked yourpocket likewise. An' thou would'st do a healing miracle, lay thystaff over his shoulders and trust Providence for the rest."But Hugo did not tarry for the miracle. In a moment he was up andoff like the wind, the gentleman following after and raising thehue and cry lustily as he went. The King, breathing deepgratitude to Heaven for his own release, fled in the oppositedirection, and did not slacken his pace until he was out of harm'sreach. He took the first road that offered, and soon put thevillage behind him. He hurried along, as briskly as he could,during several hours, keeping a nervous watch over his shoulderfor pursuit; but his fears left him at last, and a grateful senseof security took their place. He recognised, now, that he washungry, and also very tired. So he halted at a farmhouse; butwhen he was about to speak, he was cut short and driven rudelyaway. His clothes were against him.He wandered on, wounded and indignant, and was resolved to puthimself in the way of like treatment no more. But hunger ispride's master; so, as the evening drew near, he made an attemptat another farmhouse; but here he fared worse than before; for hewas called hard names and was promised arrest as a vagrant excepthe moved on promptly.The night came on, chilly and overcast; and still the footsoremonarch laboured slowly on. He was obliged to keep moving, forevery time he sat down to rest he was soon penetrated to the bonewith the cold. All his sensations and experiences, as he movedthrough the solemn gloom and the empty vastness of the night, werenew and strange to him. At intervals he heard voices approach,pass by, and fade into silence; and as he saw nothing more of thebodies they belonged to than a sort of formless drifting blur,there was something spectral and uncanny about it all that madehim shudder. Occasionally he caught the twinkle of a light--always far away, apparently--almost in another world; if he heardthe tinkle of a sheep's bell, it was vague, distant, indistinct;the muffled lowing of the herds floated to him on the night windin vanishing cadences, a mournful sound; now and then came thecomplaining howl of a dog over viewless expanses of field andforest; all sounds were remote; they made the little King feelthat all life and activity were far removed from him, and that hestood solitary, companionless, in the centre of a measurelesssolitude.He stumbled along, through the gruesome fascinations of this newexperience, startled occasionally by the soft rustling of the dryleaves overhead, so like human whispers they seemed to sound; andby-and-by he came suddenly upon the freckled light of a tinlantern near at hand. He stepped back into the shadows andwaited. The lantern stood by the open door of a barn. The Kingwaited some time--there was no sound, and nobody stirring. He gotso cold, standing still, and the hospitable barn looked soenticing, that at last he resolved to risk everything and enter.He started swiftly and stealthily, and just as he was crossing thethreshold he heard voices behind him. He darted behind a cask,within the barn, and stooped down. Two farm-labourers came in,bringing the lantern with them, and fell to work, talkingmeanwhile. Whilst they moved about with the light, the King madegood use of his eyes and took the bearings of what seemed to be agood-sized stall at the further end of the place, purposing togrope his way to it when he should be left to himself. He alsonoted the position of a pile of horse blankets, midway of theroute, with the intent to levy upon them for the service of thecrown of England for one night.By-and-by the men finished and went away, fastening the doorbehind them and taking the lantern with them. The shivering Kingmade for the blankets, with as good speed as the darkness wouldallow; gathered them up, and then groped his way safely to thestall. Of two of the blankets he made a bed, then covered himselfwith the remaining two. He was a glad monarch, now, though theblankets were old and thin, and not quite warm enough; and besidesgave out a pungent horsey odour that was almost suffocatinglypowerful.Although the King was hungry and chilly, he was also so tired andso drowsy that these latter influences soon began to get theadvantage of the former, and he presently dozed off into a stateof semi-consciousness. Then, just as he was on the point oflosing himself wholly, he distinctly felt something touch him! Hewas broad awake in a moment, and gasping for breath. The coldhorror of that mysterious touch in the dark almost made his heartstand still. He lay motionless, and listened, scarcely breathing.But nothing stirred, and there was no sound. He continued tolisten, and wait, during what seemed a long time, but stillnothing stirred, and there was no sound. So he began to drop intoa drowse once more, at last; and all at once he felt thatmysterious touch again! It was a grisly thing, this light touchfrom this noiseless and invisible presence; it made the boy sickwith ghostly fears. What should he do? That was the question;but he did not know how to answer it. Should he leave thesereasonably comfortable quarters and fly from this inscrutablehorror? But fly whither? He could not get out of the barn; andthe idea of scurrying blindly hither and thither in the dark,within the captivity of the four walls, with this phantom glidingafter him, and visiting him with that soft hideous touch uponcheek or shoulder at every turn, was intolerable. But to staywhere he was, and endure this living death all night--was thatbetter? No. What, then, was there left to do? Ah, there was butone course; he knew it well--he must put out his hand and findthat thing!It was easy to think this; but it was hard to brace himself up totry it. Three times he stretched his hand a little way out intothe dark, gingerly; and snatched it suddenly back, with a gasp--not because it had encountered anything, but because he had feltso sure it was just going to. But the fourth time, he groped alittle further, and his hand lightly swept against something softand warm. This petrified him, nearly, with fright; his mind wasin such a state that he could imagine the thing to be nothing elsethan a corpse, newly dead and still warm. He thought he wouldrather die than touch it again. But he thought this false thoughtbecause he did not know the immortal strength of human curiosity.In no long time his hand was tremblingly groping again--againsthis judgment, and without his consent--but groping persistentlyon, just the same. It encountered a bunch of long hair; heshuddered, but followed up the hair and found what seemed to be awarm rope; followed up the rope and found an innocent calf!--forthe rope was not a rope at all, but the calf's tail.The King was cordially ashamed of himself for having gotten allthat fright and misery out of so paltry a matter as a slumberingcalf; but he need not have felt so about it, for it was not thecalf that frightened him, but a dreadful non-existent somethingwhich the calf stood for; and any other boy, in those oldsuperstitious times, would have acted and suffered just as he haddone.The King was not only delighted to find that the creature was onlya calf, but delighted to have the calf's company; for he had beenfeeling so lonesome and friendless that the company andcomradeship of even this humble animal were welcome. And he hadbeen so buffeted, so rudely entreated by his own kind, that it wasa real comfort to him to feel that he was at last in the societyof a fellow-creature that had at least a soft heart and a gentlespirit, whatever loftier attributes might be lacking. So heresolved to waive rank and make friends with the calf.While stroking its sleek warm back--for it lay near him and withineasy reach--it occurred to him that this calf might be utilised inmore ways than one. Whereupon he re-arranged his bed, spreadingit down close to the calf; then he cuddled himself up to thecalf's back, drew the covers up over himself and his friend, andin a minute or two was as warm and comfortable as he had ever beenin the downy couches of the regal palace of Westminster.Pleasant thoughts came at once; life took on a cheerfullerseeming. He was free of the bonds of servitude and crime, free ofthe companionship of base and brutal outlaws; he was warm; he wassheltered; in a word, he was happy. The night wind was rising; itswept by in fitful gusts that made the old barn quake and rattle,then its forces died down at intervals, and went moaning andwailing around corners and projections--but it was all music tothe King, now that he was snug and comfortable: let it blow andrage, let it batter and bang, let it moan and wail, he minded itnot, he only enjoyed it. He merely snuggled the closer to hisfriend, in a luxury of warm contentment, and drifted blissfullyout of consciousness into a deep and dreamless sleep that was fullof serenity and peace. The distant dogs howled, the melancholykine complained, and the winds went on raging, whilst furioussheets of rain drove along the roof; but the Majesty of Englandslept on, undisturbed, and the calf did the same, it being asimple creature, and not easily troubled by storms or embarrassedby sleeping with a king.