Huckleberry finn by Mark Twain

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 a talk about all kinds of adventures

they'd had in other times along the river.

guess we'll add a little more to it. We want a little something to

answer encores with, anyway."
"What's onkores, Bilgewater?"
The duke told him, and then says:
"I'll answer by doing the Highland fling or the sailor's hornpipe; and

you--well, let me see--oh, I've got it--you can do Hamlet's soliloquy."

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 every

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 him.

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 fardels bear, till Birnam 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.

There'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

oppressor's 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 bourne no traveler returns, Breathes

forth contagion on the world, And thus the native hue of resolution, like

the poor cat i' the adage, Is sicklied o'er 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 fair Ophelia: 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 rair up behind when he was getting it off.

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 Arkansaw, we come in sight 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:
Shaksperean 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 Theatres, in their sublime Shaksperean Spectacle entitled

Juliet..................Mr. Kean

New costumes, new scenes, new appointments!

Also: The thrilling, masterly, and blood-curdling

Broad-sword conflict In Richard III. ! ! !

Richmond................Mr. Kean

By The Illustrious Kean! Done by him 300 consecutive nights in Paris!

For One Night Only, On account of imperative European engagements!

Admission 25 cents; children and servants, 10 cents.

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 over-flowed. The houses had little

gardens around them, but they didn't seem to raise hardly anything in

them but jimpson-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 they leaned every which way, and had gates that didn't generly

have but one hinge--a leather one. Some of the fences had been

white-washed some time or another, but the duke said it was in Clumbus'

time, like enough. There was generly 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 drygoods 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 generly had on yellow straw hats most as wide 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. What a body was hearing amongst them all the time

was:
"Gimme a chaw 'v tobacker, Hank."
"Cain't; I hain't got but one chaw left. Ask Bill."
Maybe Bill he 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 wisht you'd len' me a chaw, Jack, I jist this minute

give Ben Thompson the last chaw I had"--which is a lie pretty much

everytime; it 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 awready borry'd off'n me, Lafe Buckner,

then I'll loan you one or two ton of it, and won't charge you no back

intrust, nuther."

nigger-head."

natural leaf twisted. When they borrow a chaw they don't generly cut it

off with a knife, but 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:

--mud 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 everywheres. You'd see a muddy sow and a litter of pigs come

lazying along the street and whollop 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 her, and look as happy as if

she was on salary. And pretty soon you'd hear a loafer sing out, "Hi! SO

boy! sick him, Tige!" and away the sow would go, squealing most horrible,

with a dog or two swinging to each ear, and three or four dozen more

a-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 dangersome, 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 in 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 whisky 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 he comes, boys!"

of Boggs. One of them says:

the men he's ben a-gwyne to chaw up in the last twenty year he'd have

considerable ruputation now."
Another one says, "I wisht old Boggs 'd threaten me, 'cuz then I'd know I

warn't gwyne to die for a thousan' year."

Injun, and singing out:

a-gwyne to raise."

old, and had a very red face. Everybody yelled at him and laughed at him

and sassed him, and he sassed back, and 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 spoon vittles to top off on."

drunk. He's the best naturedest old fool in Arkansaw--never hurt nobody,

drunk nor sober."
Boggs rode up before the biggest store in town, and bent his head down so

he could see under the curtain of the awning and yells:

You're the houn' I'm after, and I'm a-gwyne to have you, too!"

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 ca'm and slow--he says:

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 blackguarding

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 away 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 persuade him, she can."

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-holt 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:

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 the 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 jumped 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, "O 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 on to 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 necks stretched, trying to see, and people on the inside trying to

shove them back and shouting, "Back, back! give him air, give him air!"

on his heels and walked off.

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 scrouging 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, "Say, now, you've looked enough, you fellows; 'tain't right

and 'tain't fair for you to stay thar all the time, and never give nobody

a chance; other folks has their rights as well as you."

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 Boggs

stood and where Sherburn stood, and the people following him around from

one place to t'other and watching everything he 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-brim down over his eyes, and sung out,

"Boggs!" 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 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.

minute everybody was saying it; so away they went, mad and yelling, and

snatching down every clothes-line they come to to do the hanging with.
CHAPTER XXII.
THEY swarmed up towards Sherburn's house, a-whooping 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

out-gaze 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.

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.

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 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