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Chapter XXII
 THEY  swarmed  up  towards  Sherburn's house, awhooping 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
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
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
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
outgaze 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
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.
"Do I know you? I know you clear through was born and raised in the
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.
"So they always acquit; and then a MAN goes in the night, with a
hundred 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 didn't want to come. The average man don't like trouble and
danger. 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 along. Now LEAVE-and take
your half-a-man with you"-tossing his gun up across his left arm and
cocking it when he says this.
The crowd washed back sudden, and then broke all apart, and went
tearing off every which way, and Buck Harkness he heeled it after them,
looking tolerable cheap. I could a stayed if I wanted to, but I didn't
want to.
I went to the circus and loafed around the back side till the watchman
went by, and then dived in under the tent. I had my twenty-dollar gold
piece and some other money, but I reckoned I better save it, because there
ain't no telling how soon you are going to need it, away from home and
amongst strangers that way. You can't be too careful. I ain't opposed to
spending money on circuses when there ain't no other way, but there ain't
no use in WASTING it on them.
It was a real bully circus. It was the splendidest sight that ever was
when they all come riding in, two and two, a gentleman and lady, side by
side, the men just in their drawers and undershirts, and no shoes nor
stirrups, and resting their hands on their thighs easy and
comfortable-there must a been twenty of them-and every lady with a lovely
complexion, and perfectly beautiful, and looking just like a gang of real
sure-enough queens, and dressed in clothes that cost millions of dollars,
and just littered with diamonds. It was a powerful fine sight; I never see
anything so lovely. And then one by one they got up and stood, and went
a-weaving around the ring so gentle and wavy and graceful, the men looking
ever so tall and airy and straight, with their heads bobbing and skimming
along, away up there under the tent-roof, and every lady's rose-leafy
dress flapping soft and silky around her hips, and she looking like the
most loveliest parasol.
And then faster and faster they went, all of them dancing, first one
foot out in the air and then the other, the horses leaning more and more,
and the ringmaster going round and round the center-pole, cracking his
whip and shouting "Hi!-hi!" and the clown cracking jokes behind him; and
by and by all hands dropped the reins, and every lady put her knuckles on
her hips and every gentleman folded his arms, and then how the horses did
lean over and hump themselves! And so one after the other they all skipped
off into the ring, and made the sweetest bow I ever see, and then
scampered out, and everybody clapped their hands and went just about wild.
Well, all through the circus they done the most astonishing things; and
all the time that clown carried on so it most killed the people. The
ringmaster couldn't ever say a word to him but he was back at him quick as
a wink with the funniest things a body ever said; and how he ever COULD
think of so many of them, and so sudden and so pat, was what I couldn't
noway understand. Why, I couldn't a thought of them in a year. And by and
by a drunk man tried to get into the ring-said he wanted to ride; said he
could ride as well as anybody that ever was. They argued and tried to keep
him out, but he wouldn't listen, and the whole show come to a standstill.
Then the people begun to holler at him and make fun of him, and that made
him mad, and he begun to rip and tear; so that stirred up the people, and
a lot of men begun to pile down off of the benches and swarm towards the
ring, saying, "Knock him down! throw him out!" and one or two women begun
to scream. So, then, the ringmaster he made a little speech, and said he
hoped there wouldn't be no disturbance, and if the man would promise he
wouldn't make no more trouble he would let him ride if he thought he could
stay on the horse. So everybody laughed and said all right, and the man
got on. The minute he was on, the horse begun to rip and tear and jump and
cavort around, with two circus men hanging on to his bridle trying to hold
him, and the drunk man hanging on to his neck, and his heels flying in the
air every jump, and the whole crowd of people standing up shouting and
laughing till tears rolled down. And at last, sure enough, all the circus
men could do, the horse broke loose, and away he went like the very
nation, round and round the ring, with that sot laying down on him and
hanging to his neck, with first one leg hanging most to the ground on one
side, and then t'other one on t'other side, and the people just crazy. It
warn't funny to me, though; I was all of a tremble to see his danger. But
pretty soon he struggled up astraddle and grabbed the bridle, a-reeling
this way and that; and the next minute he sprung up and dropped the bridle
and stood! and the horse a-going like a house afire too. He just stood up
there, a-sailing around as easy and comfortable as if he warn't ever drunk
in his life-and then he begun to pull off his clothes and sling them. He
shed them so thick they kind of clogged up the air, and altogether he shed
seventeen suits. And, then, there he was, slim and handsome, and dressed
the gaudiest and prettiest you ever saw, and he lit into that horse with
his whip and made him fairly hum-and finally skipped off, and made his bow
and danced off to the dressing-room, and everybody just a-howling with
pleasure and astonishment.
Then the ringmaster he see how he had been fooled, and he WAS the
sickest ringmaster you ever see, I reckon. Why, it was one of his own men!
He had got up that joke all out of his own head, and never let on to
nobody. Well, I felt sheepish enough to be took in so, but I wouldn't a
been in that ringmaster's place, not for a thousand dollars. I don't know;
there may be bullier circuses than what that one was, but I never struck
them yet. Anyways, it was plenty good enough for ME; and wherever I run
across it, it can have all of MY custom every time.
Well, that night we had OUR show; but there warn't only about twelve
people there-just enough to pay expenses. And they laughed all the time,
and that made the duke mad; and everybody left, anyway, before the show
was over, but one boy which was asleep. So the duke said these Arkansaw
lunkheads couldn't come up to Shakespeare; what they wanted was low
comedy-and maybe something ruther worse than low comedy, he reckoned. He
said he could size their style. So next morning he got some big sheets of
wrapping paper and some black paint, and drawed off some handbills, and
stuck them up all over the village. The bills said:


The World-Renowned Tragedians



Of the London and Continental
In their Thrilling Tragedy of

Admission 50 cents.
Then at the bottom was the biggest line of all, which said:

"There," says he, "if that line don't fetch them, I don't know Arkansaw!"