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A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur’s Court

by Mark Twain

Chapter 37: “An Awful Predicament”

Additional Information
  • Year Published: 1890
  • Language: English
  • Country of Origin: United States of America
  • Source: Twain, M. (1890). A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur’s Court. New York, NY: Charles L. Webster and Co.
  • Readability:
    • Flesch–Kincaid Level: 9.0
  • Word Count: 2,762

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Sleep? It was impossible. It would naturally have been impossible in that noisome cavern of a jail, with its mangy crowd of drunken, quarrelsome, and song-singing rapscallions. But the thing that made sleep all the more a thing not to be dreamed of, was my racking impatience to get out of this place and find out the whole size of what might have happened yonder in the slave-quarters in consequence of that intolerable miscarriage of mine.

It was a long night, but the morning got around at last. I made a full and frank explanation to the court. I said I was a slave, the property of the great Earl Grip, who had arrived just after dark at the Tabard inn in the village on the other side of the water, and had stopped there over night, by compulsion, he being taken deadly sick with a strange and sudden disorder. I had been ordered to cross to the city in all haste and bring the best physician; I was doing my best; naturally I was running with all my might; the night was dark, I ran against this common person here, who seized me by the throat and began to pummel me, although I told him my errand, and implored him, for the sake of the great earl my master’s mortal peril—

The common person interrupted and said it was a lie; and was going to explain how I rushed upon him and attacked him without a word—

“Silence, sirrah!” from the court. “Take him hence and give him a few stripes whereby to teach him how to treat the servant of a nobleman after a different fashion another time. Go!”

Then the court begged my pardon, and hoped I would not fail to tell his lordship it was in no wise the court’s fault that this high-handed thing had happened. I said I would make it all right, and so took my leave. Took it just in time, too; he was starting to ask me why I didn’t fetch out these facts the moment I was arrested. I said I would if I had thought of it—which was true —but that I was so battered by that man that all my wit was knocked out of me—and so forth and so on, and got myself away, still mumbling. I didn’t wait for breakfast. No grass grew under my feet. I was soon at the slave quarters. Empty—everybody gone! That is, everybody except one body—the slave-master’s. It lay there all battered to pulp; and all about were the evidences of a terrific fight. There was a rude board coffin on a cart at the door, and workmen, assisted by the police, were thinning a road through the gaping crowd in order that they might bring it in.

I picked out a man humble enough in life to condescend to talk with one so shabby as I, and got his account of the matter.

“There were sixteen slaves here. They rose against their master in the night, and thou seest how it ended.”

“Yes. How did it begin?”

“There was no witness but the slaves. They said the slave that was most valuable got free of his bonds and escaped in some strange way—by magic arts ‘twas thought, by reason that he had no key, and the locks were neither broke nor in any wise injured. When the master discovered his loss, he was mad with despair, and threw himself upon his people with his heavy stick, who resisted and brake his back and in other and divers ways did give him hurts that brought him swiftly to his end.”

“This is dreadful. It will go hard with the slaves, no doubt, upon the trial.”

“Marry, the trial is over.”

“Over!”

“Would they be a week, think you—and the matter so simple? They were not the half of a quarter of an hour at it.”

“Why, I don’t see how they could determine which were the guilty ones in so short a time.”

“Which ones? Indeed, they considered not particulars like to that. They condemned them in a body. Wit ye not the law?—which men say the Romans left behind them here when they went—that if one slave killeth his master all the slaves of that man must die for it.”

“True. I had forgotten. And when will these die?”

“Belike within a four and twenty hours; albeit some say they will wait a pair of days more, if peradventure they may find the missing one meantime.”

The missing one! It made me feel uncomfortable.

“Is it likely they will find him?”

“Before the day is spent—yes. They seek him everywhere. They stand at the gates of the town, with certain of the slaves who will discover him to them if he cometh, and none can pass out but he will be first examined.”

“Might one see the place where the rest are confined?”

“The outside of it—yes. The inside of it—but ye will not want to see that.”

I took the address of that prison for future reference and then sauntered off. At the first second-hand clothing shop I came to, up a back street, I got a rough rig suitable for a common seaman who might be going on a cold voyage, and bound up my face with a liberal bandage, saying I had a toothache. This concealed my worst bruises. It was a transformation. I no longer resembled my former self. Then I struck out for that wire, found it and followed it to its den. It was a little room over a butcher’s shop—which meant that business wasn’t very brisk in the telegraphic line. The young chap in charge was drowsing at his table. I locked the door and put the vast key in my bosom. This alarmed the young fellow, and he was going to make a noise; but I said:

“Save your wind; if you open your mouth you are dead, sure. Tackle your instrument. Lively, now! Call Camelot.”

“This doth amaze me! How should such as you know aught of such matters as—”

“Call Camelot! I am a desperate man. Call Camelot, or get away from the instrument and I will do it myself.”

“What—you?”

“Yes—certainly. Stop gabbling. Call the palace.”

He made the call.

“Now, then, call Clarence.”

“Clarence who ?”

“Never mind Clarence who. Say you want Clarence; you’ll get an answer.”

He did so. We waited five nerve-straining minutes—ten minutes —how long it did seem!—and then came a click that was as familiar to me as a human voice; for Clarence had been my own pupil.

“Now, my lad, vacate! They would have known my touch, maybe, and so your call was surest; but I’m all right now.”

He vacated the place and cocked his ear to listen—but it didn’t win. I used a cipher. I didn’t waste any time in sociabilities with Clarence, but squared away for business, straight-off—thus:


“The king is here and in danger. We were captured and brought here as slaves. We should not be able to prove our identity —and the fact is, I am not in a position to try. Send a telegram for the palace here which will carry conviction with it.”

His answer came straight back:

“They don’t know anything about the telegraph; they haven’t had any experience yet, the line to London is so new. Better not venture that. They might hang you. Think up something else.”

Might hang us! Little he knew how closely he was crowding the facts. I couldn’t think up anything for the moment. Then an idea struck me, and I started it along:

“Send five hundred picked knights with Launcelot in the lead; and send them on the jump. Let them enter by the southwest gate, and look out for the man with a white cloth around his right arm.”

The answer was prompt:

“They shall start in half an hour.”

“All right, Clarence; now tell this lad here that I’m a friend of yours and a dead-head; and that he must be discreet and say nothing about this visit of mine.”

The instrument began to talk to the youth and I hurried away. I fell to ciphering. In half an hour it would be nine o’clock. Knights and horses in heavy armor couldn’t travel very fast. These would make the best time they could, and now that the ground was in good condition, and no snow or mud, they would probably make a seven-mile gait; they would have to change horses a couple of times; they would arrive about six, or a little after; it would still be plenty light enough; they would see the white cloth which I should tie around my right arm, and I would take command. We would surround that prison and have the king out in no time. It would be showy and picturesque enough, all things considered, though I would have preferred noonday, on account of the more theatrical aspect the thing would have.

Now, then, in order to increase the strings to my bow, I thought I would look up some of those people whom I had formerly recognized, and make myself known. That would help us out of our scrape, without the knights. But I must proceed cautiously, for it was a risky business. I must get into sumptuous raiment, and it wouldn’t do to run and jump into it. No, I must work up to it by degrees, buying suit after suit of clothes, in shops wide apart, and getting a little finer article with each change, until I should finally reach silk and velvet, and be ready for my project. So I started.

But the scheme fell through like scat! The first corner I turned, I came plump upon one of our slaves, snooping around with a watchman. I coughed at the moment, and he gave me a sudden look that bit right into my marrow. I judge he thought he had heard that cough before. I turned immediately into a shop and worked along down the counter, pricing things and watching out of the corner of my eye. Those people had stopped, and were talking together and looking in at the door. I made up my mind to get out the back way, if there was a back way, and I asked the shopwoman if I could step out there and look for the escaped slave, who was believed to be in hiding back there somewhere, and said I was an officer in disguise, and my pard was yonder at the door with one of the murderers in charge, and would she be good enough to step there and tell him he needn’t wait, but had better go at once to the further end of the back alley and be ready to head him off when I rousted him out.

She was blazing with eagerness to see one of those already celebrated murderers, and she started on the errand at once. I slipped out the back way, locked the door behind me, put the key in my pocket and started off, chuckling to myself and comfortable.

Well, I had gone and spoiled it again, made another mistake. A double one, in fact. There were plenty of ways to get rid of that officer by some simple and plausible device, but no, I must pick out a picturesque one; it is the crying defect of my character. And then, I had ordered my procedure upon what the officer, being human, would naturally do; whereas when you are least expecting it, a man will now and then go and do the very thing which it’s not natural for him to do. The natural thing for the officer to do, in this case, was to follow straight on my heels; he would find a stout oaken door, securely locked, between him and me; before he could break it down, I should be far away and engaged in slipping into a succession of baffling disguises which would soon get me into a sort of raiment which was a surer protection from meddling law-dogs in Britain than any amount of mere innocence and purity of character. But instead of doing the natural thing, the officer took me at my word, and followed my instructions. And so, as I came trotting out of that cul de sac, full of satisfaction with my own cleverness, he turned the corner and I walked right into his handcuffs. If I had known it was a cul de sac—however, there isn’t any excusing a blunder like that, let it go. Charge it up to profit and loss.

Of course, I was indignant, and swore I had just come ashore from a long voyage, and all that sort of thing—just to see, you know, if it would deceive that slave. But it didn’t. He knew me. Then I reproached him for betraying me. He was more surprised than hurt. He stretched his eyes wide, and said:

“What, wouldst have me let thee, of all men, escape and not hang with us, when thou’rt the very cause of our hanging? Go to!”

“Go to” was their way of saying “I should smile!” or “I like that!” Queer talkers, those people.

Well, there was a sort of bastard justice in his view of the case, and so I dropped the matter. When you can’t cure a disaster by argument, what is the use to argue? It isn’t my way. So I only said:

“You’re not going to be hanged. None of us are.”

Both men laughed, and the slave said:

“Ye have not ranked as a fool—before. You might better keep your reputation, seeing the strain would not be for long.”

“It will stand it, I reckon. Before to-morrow we shall be out of prison, and free to go where we will, besides.”

The witty officer lifted at his left ear with his thumb, made a rasping noise in his throat, and said:

“Out of prison—yes—ye say true. And free likewise to go where ye will, so ye wander not out of his grace the Devil’s sultry realm.”

I kept my temper, and said, indifferently:

“Now I suppose you really think we are going to hang within a day or two.”

“I thought it not many minutes ago, for so the thing was decided and proclaimed.”

“Ah, then you’ve changed your mind, is that it?”

“Even that. I only thought , then; I know , now.”

I felt sarcastical, so I said:

“Oh, sapient servant of the law, condescend to tell us, then, what you know .”

“That ye will all be hanged to-day , at mid-afternoon! Oho! that shot hit home! Lean upon me.”

The fact is I did need to lean upon somebody. My knights couldn’t arrive in time. They would be as much as three hours too late. Nothing in the world could save the King of England; nor me, which was more important. More important, not merely to me, but to the nation—the only nation on earth standing ready to blossom into civilization. I was sick. I said no more, there wasn’t anything to say. I knew what the man meant; that if the missing slave was found, the postponement would be revoked, the execution take place to-day. Well, the missing slave was found.