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chapter22.html
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chapter22.html
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<?xml version='1.0' encoding='utf-8'?>
<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
<head>
<title>Huck Finn (test)</title>
<link href="styles.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"/>
</head>
<body><img class="one" src="c22-189_01.jpg" alt="Chapter 22" id="toc_1"/>
<img class="two" src="c22-189_02.jpg" alt="They"/>
<p class="pf">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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
Then he says, slow and scornful:
</p>
<p>
“The idea of <span class="it">you</span> lynching anybody! It’s amusing.
The idea of you thinking you had pluck enough to lynch a <span class="it">man</span>!
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 <span class="it">man</span>? Why, a <span class="it">man’s</span>
safe in the hands of ten thousand of your kind—as long as it’s
daytime and you’re not behind him.
</p>
<p>
“Do I know you? I know you clear through. I 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 <span class="it">as</span> 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 <span class="it">would</span> do.
</p>
<p>
“So they always acquit; and then a <span class="it">man</span> 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 <span class="it">part</span> of a man—Buck Harkness,
there—and if you hadn’t had him to start you, you’d a
taken it out in blowing.
</p>
<p>
“You didn’t want to come. The average man don’t
like trouble and danger. <span class="it">You</span> don’t like trouble and danger.
But if only <span class="it">half</span> 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—<span class="it">cowards</span>—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 <span class="it">man</span> at the head of it
is <span class="it">beneath</span> pitifulness. Now the thing for <span class="it">you</span> 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
<span class="it">man</span> along. Now <span class="it">leave</span>—and take your half-a-man
with you”—tossing his gun up across his left arm and cocking
it when he says this.
</p>
<p>
<img class="one" alt="A dead head." src="c22-191.jpg"/>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.
</p>
<p>
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 <span class="it">wasting</span> it on them.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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
<span class="it">could</span> 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.
<img class="three" alt="He shed seventeen suits." src="c22-193.jpg"/>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.
</p>
<p>
Then the ringmaster he see how he had been fooled, and he <span class="it">was</span> 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 <span class="it">me</span>; and wherever I run across it, it can have all of <span class="it">my</span>
custom every time.
</p>
<p>
Well, that night we had <span class="it">our</span> 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:
</p>
<div class="quote">
<p class="center">AT THE COURT HOUSE!</p>
<p class="center">FOR 3 NIGHTS ONLY!</p>
<p class="center"><span class="it">The World-Renowned Tragedians</span></p>
<p class="center">DAVID GARRICK THE YOUNGER</p>
<p class="center">AND</p>
<p class="center">EDMUND KEAN THE EDLER!</p>
<p class="center"><span class="it">Of the London and Continental Theatres,</span></p>
<p class="center">In their Thrilling Tragedy of</p>
<p class="center">THE KING'S CAMELOPARD</p>
<p class="center">OR</p>
<p class="center">THE ROYAL NONESUCH!!!</p>
<p class="center"><span class="it">Admission 50 cents.</span></p>
</div>
<p class="pf">Then at the bottom was the biggest line of all—which said:</p>
<div class="quote">
<p class="center">LADIES AND CHILDREN NOT ADMITTED.</p>
</div>
<p class="pf">“There,” says he, “if that line don’t fetch them, I don’t know Arkansaw!”</p>
</body>
</html>