In about half a minute somebody spoke out of a window, without putting his head out, and says:
“Be done, boys! Who’s there?”
I says:
“It’s me.”
“Who’s me?Ⓐemendation”
“George Jackson, sir.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’tⒶalteration in the MS want nothing, sir. I only want to go along by, but the dogs won’tⒶhistorical collation let me.”
“What are you prowling around here this time of nightⒶhistorical collation for—hey?”
“I warn’t prowling around, sir; I fell overboardⒶhistorical collation off of the steamboatⒶhistorical collation.”
“OⒶhistorical collation, you did, did you? Strike a light there, somebodyⒶemendation. What did you say your name was?”
“George Jackson, sir. I’m only a boy.”
“Look here; if you’re telling the truth, you needn’t be afraid—nobody’llⒶhistorical collation hurt you. But don’t try to budge; stand right where you are. RouseⒶemendation out Bob and Tom, some of you,Ⓐalteration in the MS and fetch the guns. George Jackson, is there anybody with you?”
“No, sir,Ⓐhistorical collation nobody.”
I heard the peopleⒶemendation stirring around in the house,Ⓐhistorical collation now, and seeⒶemendation a light. The man sung out:
“Snatch that light away, Betsy,Ⓐalteration in the MS you old fool—ain’tⒶhistorical collation you got any sense? Put it on the floor behind the front door. Bob, if you and Tom are ready, take your places.”
“All ready.”
[begin page 133] “Now, George Jackson, do you know the Shepherdsons?”Ⓐalteration in the MS
“No, sir—I never heard of them.”
“Well, that may be so, and it mayn’t. Now,Ⓐalteration in the MS all ready. Step forward, George Jackson. And mind, don’t you hurry—come mighty slow. If there’s anybody with you, let him keep back—Ⓐhistorical collationif he shows himself he’ll be shot. Come along, now. Come slow; push the door open,Ⓐhistorical collation yourself—just enough to squeeze in, d’youⒶhistorical collation hear?”
I didn’t hurry. IⒶemendation couldn’t,Ⓐhistorical collation if I’d aⒶemendation wanted to. I took one slow step at a time, and there warn’t a sound, only I thought I could hear my heart. The dogs wereⒶemendation as still as the humans, but they followed a little behind me. When I got to the three log door-stepsⒶhistorical collation I heard them unlocking and unbarring and unbolting. I put my hand on the door and pushed it a little and a little more, till somebody said, “There, that’s enough—put your head in.” I done it, but I judged they would take it off.
The candle was on the floor, and there they all was, looking at me andⒶhistorical collation me at them, for about a quarter of a minute. Three big men,Ⓐhistorical collation with guns pointed at me, which made me winceⒶhistorical collation I tell you;Ⓐalteration in the MS the oldestⒶhistorical collation gray and about sixty, the other two thirty or more—all of them fine and handsome—and the sweetest old gray-headedⒶemendation lady, and back of her two young womenⒶhistorical collation which I couldn’t see right well. The old gentleman says:
“There—I reckon it’s all right. Come in.”
As soon as I was in, the old gentleman heⒶemendation locked the door and barred it and bolted it, and told the young men to come inⒶemendation with their guns, and they all went in a big parlorⒶalteration in the MS that had a new rag carpet on the floorⒶhistorical collation and got together in a corner that was out of range of the front windows—there warn’t noneⒶemendation on the side. They held the candleⒶhistorical collation and took a good look at meⒶhistorical collation and all said, “Why, he Ⓐemendation ain’tⒶhistorical collation a Shepherdson—no, there ain’tⒶhistorical collation any Shepherdson about him.” Then the oldⒶalteration in the MS man said he hoped I wouldn’t mind being searched for armsⒶhistorical collation because he didn’t mean no harm by it—it was only to make sure. So he didn’t pry into my pockets, but only felt outside with his handsⒶhistorical collation and said it was all right. He told me to make myself easy and at home, and tell all about myself,Ⓐhistorical collation but the old lady says:
“WhyⒶhistorical collation bless you, Saul, the poor thing’s as wet as he can be; and don’t you reckon it may beⒶemendation he’s hungry?”
“True for you, Rachel—I forgot.”
[begin page 134] So the old lady says:
“ Betsy,Ⓐhistorical collation”Ⓐalteration in the MS (this was a nigger woman,)Ⓐhistorical collation “youⒶalteration in the MS fly around and get him something to eat, as quick as you can, poor thing,Ⓐhistorical collation and one of you girls go and wake up Buck and tell him—OⒶemendation, here he is himself. BuckⒶemendation, take this little stranger and get the wet clothes off from himⒶemendation and dress him up in some of yours that’s dry.”
Buck looked about as old as me—thirteen or fourteenⒶemendation or along thereⒺexplanatory note, though he was a littleⒶalteration in the MS bigger than me. He hadn’t on anything but a shirt, and he was very frowsy-headed. He come in gapingⒶhistorical collation andⒶemendation digging one fist into his eyes, and he was dragging a gun along with the other one. HeⒶalteration in the MS says:
“Ain’tⒶhistorical collation they no ShepherdsonsⒶalteration in the MS around?”
They said, no, ’twas a false alarm.
“Well,” he says, “if they’d a benⒶhistorical collation someⒶhistorical collation IⒶalteration in the MS reckon I’d a gotⒶhistorical collation one.”
They all laughed, and Bob says:
“Why, Buck, they might have scalped us all, you’ve been so slow inⒶemendation coming.”
“Well, nobody come after me, and it ain’tⒶhistorical collation right. I’m always kep’ down; I don’t get no show.”
“Never mind, Buck, my boy,” says the old man, “you’ll have show enough, all in good time,Ⓐhistorical collation don’t you fret about that. Go ’long with you,Ⓐhistorical collation nowⒶalteration in the MS, and do as your mother told you.”
WhenⒶemendation we got up stairsⒶhistorical collation to his room,Ⓐhistorical collation he got me a coarse shirt and a roundaboutⒶemendation Ⓐalteration in the MS and pants of his, and I put them on. While I was at it he asked me what my name was, but before I couldⒶalteration in the MS tell himⒶhistorical collation he started [begin page 135] to telling me about a blue jay and a young rabbit he had catchedⒶalteration in the MS in the woods day before yesterday, and he asked me where Moses was when the candle went outⒺexplanatory note. I said I didn’t know; I hadn’t heard about it before, no wayⒶhistorical collation.
“Well, guess,” he says.
“How’mⒶemendation I going to guess,” says I, “when I never heard tell about it before?”
“But you can guess, can’t you? It’s just as easy.”
“Which candle?” I says.
“Why, anyⒶemendation candle,” he says.
“I don’t know where he was,” says I,Ⓐhistorical collation “where was heⒶemendation?”
“WhyⒶhistorical collation he was in the dark! That’s where he was!”
“WellⒶhistorical collation if you knowed where he was, what did you ask meⒶemendation for?”
“Why, blame it, it’s a riddle, don’t you see? Say—Ⓐemendationhow long areⒶemendation you going to stay here? You got to stay always. We can just have booming times—they don’t have no school now. Do you own a dog? I’ve got a dog—and he’ll go in the river and bring out chips that you throw in. Do you like to comb up,Ⓐhistorical collation Sundays, and all that kind of foolishness? You bet I don’t, but ma sheⒶalteration in the MS makes me. ConfoundⒶemendation these oleⒶemendation britches,Ⓐhistorical collation I reckon I’d better put ’em on, but I’d rutherⒶemendation not, it’s so warm. AreⒶalteration in the MS you all ready? All right—come along, old hoss.”
Cold corn-poneⒶemendation, cold corn beefⒶhistorical collation, butter and buttermilkⒶhistorical collation—that is what they had for me down there, and there ain’tⒶhistorical collation nothingⒶemendation better that ever I’ve come across yet. Buck and his ma and all of them smoked cob pipes, except the nigger woman, which was gone, and the two young women. They all smoked and talked, and I eat and talked. The young women had quilts around themⒶhistorical collation and their hair down their backs. They allⒶalteration in the MS asked me questions, and I told them how pap and me and all the family was living on a little farm down at the bottom of Arkansaw, and my sister Mary Ann run off and got married and never was heard of noⒶalteration in the MS more, and Bill went to hunt them and he warn’t heard of no more, and Tom and Mort died, and by and by mam died,Ⓐtextual note Ⓐhistorical collation and then there warn’t nobody but just me and pap left,Ⓐalteration in the MS and he was just trimmed down to nothing,Ⓐhistorical collation on account of his troubles; so when he died I took what there was left, because the farm didn’t belong to us, and started up the riverⒶhistorical collation deck passageⒶhistorical collation and fell overboardⒶhistorical collation and that was how I come to be here. So they said I could have a home there as long as I wanted it. Then it was most daylight, and everybodyⒶalteration in the MS went to bed, and I went to bed with Buck, [begin page 136] and when I waked up,Ⓐhistorical collation in the morning,Ⓐalteration in the MS drat it allⒶhistorical collation I had forgot what my name was. So I laid there about an hour trying to think, and when Buck waked up, I says:
“Can you spell, Buck?”
“Yes,” he says.
“I bet you can’t spell my name,Ⓐalteration in the MS” says I.
“I bet you what you dare I can,” says he.
“All right,” says I,Ⓐhistorical collation “goⒶalteration in the MS ahead.”Ⓐalteration in the MS
“G-o-r-g-eⒶemendation Ⓐalteration in the MS J-a-x-o-nⒶalteration in the MS—there,Ⓐhistorical collation now,” he says.
“Well,” says I, “youⒶalteration in the MS done it, but I didn’t think you could. It ain’tⒶhistorical collation no slouch of a name to spell—right off without studying.”
I set it down, private, because somebody might want me to spell it,Ⓐhistorical collation next, and so I wanted to be handy with it and rattle it off like I was used to it.
It was a mighty nice family, and a mighty nice house, too. I hadn’t seen no house out in the country before that was so nice and had so much styleⒺexplanatory note. It didn’t have an iron latch onⒶalteration in the MS the front door, nor a wooden one with a buckskinⒶemendation string, but a brass knob to turn, the same as houses in a town. There warn’t no bed in the parlor, not a sign of a bed; but heaps of parlorsⒶalteration in the MS in towns has beds in them. There was a big fire placeⒶhistorical collation that was bricked on the bottom, and the bricks was kept clean and red by pouringⒶalteration in the MS water on them and scrubbing them with another brick; sometimes they washed them over with red water-paint that they callⒶalteration in the MS Spanish brownⒶhistorical collation, same as they do in town. They had big brass dog-irons that could hold up a saw-log. There was a clock on the middle of the mantel pieceⒶhistorical collation with a picture of a town painted on the bottom half of the glass front, and a round place in the middle of it for the sun, and you could see the pendulum swing behind it. It was beautiful to hear that clock tick; and sometimes when one of these pedlersⒶhistorical collation had been along and scoured her up and got her in good shapeⒶhistorical collation she would start inⒶalteration in the MS and strike a hundred and fifty before she got tuckered outⒶemendation Ⓔexplanatory note. They wouldn’t took any money for her.
Well, there was a big outlandish parrot on each side of the clock, made out of something like chalk,Ⓐalteration in the MS and painted up gaudy. By one of the parrots was a cat made of crockeryⒶhistorical collation and a crockery dog by the other;Ⓐalteration in the MS and when you pressed down on them they squeakedⒶhistorical collation but didn’t open their mouths nor look different nor interestedⒶemendation. They [begin page 137] squeaked through underneathⒶemendation. There was a couple of big wild-turkey-wingⒶalteration in the MS fans spread out behind thoseⒶemendation things. On a table in the middle of the room was a kindⒶalteration in the MS of a lovely crockery basket that had apples and oranges and peaches and grapes piled up in it which was much redderⒶalteration in the MS and yellower and prettier than real ones isⒶemendation, but they warn’t real,Ⓐhistorical collation because you could see where pieces had got chipped off and showed the white chalk or whatever it was,Ⓐhistorical collation underneathⒺexplanatory note.
This table had a cover made outⒶemendation of beautiful oil clothⒶhistorical collation, with a red and blue spread-eagleⒶalteration in the MS painted on it, and a painted border all around. It come all the way from Philadelphia, they said. There was some books,Ⓐhistorical collation too, piled up perfectly exact, on each corner of the table. One was a big family Bible, full of pictures. One was “Pilgrim’s Progress,”Ⓐemendation about a man that left his family,Ⓐhistorical collation it didn’t say whyⒺexplanatory note. I read considerable in it,Ⓐhistorical collation now and then. The statements was interesting, but tough.Ⓐemendation AnotherⒶemendation was “Friendship’s Offering,”Ⓐemendation full of beautiful stuff and poetry; but I didn’t read the poetryⒺexplanatory note. Another was Henry Clay’s SpeechesⒺexplanatory note, and another was Dr. Gunn’s Family Medicine, which told you all about what to do if a body was sick or deadⒶemendation Ⓔexplanatory note. There was a hymn bookⒶhistorical collation, and a lot of other books. And thereⒶemendation was nice split-bottom chairs, and perfectly sound, too—not bagged down in the middle and bustedⒶemendation, like an old basket.
They had pictures hung on the walls—mainly Washingtons,Ⓐhistorical collation and Lafayettes, and battles, and Highland MarysⒺexplanatory note, and one called “Signing the Declaration.”Ⓔexplanatory note There was some that they called crayons, which one of the daughters which was dead made her own self when she was only fifteen years old. They was different from any pictures I ever see before;Ⓐhistorical collation blacker, mostlyⒶemendation, than is commonⒺexplanatory note. One was a woman in a slim black dress, belted small under the arm-pitsⒶemendation, with bulges like a cabbage in the middle of the sleeves, and a large black scoop-shovel bonnet with a black veil, and white slim anclesⒶhistorical collation crossed about with black tape, and very wee black slippers, like a chisel,Ⓐemendation and she was leaning pensive on a tombstone on her right elbow, under a weeping willow, and her other hand hanging down her side holding a white handkerchiefⒶemendation and a reticule,Ⓐhistorical collation andⒶalteration in the MS underneath the picture it said “Shall I Never See Thee More AlasⒶemendation.”Ⓔexplanatory note Another one was a young lady with her hair all combed up straight to the top of her headⒶhistorical collation and knotted there in front of a comb like a chair-back, and she was crying into a handkerchiefⒶhistorical collation and had a dead [begin page 138] bird layingⒶalteration in the MS on its back in her other hand with its heels up, and underneath the picture it said “I Shall Never Hear Thy Sweet Chirrup More AlasⒶemendation.” There was one where a young lady was at a window,Ⓐhistorical collation looking up at the moon, and tears running down her cheeksⒺexplanatory note; and she had an open letter in one handⒶhistorical collation with blackⒶalteration in the MS sealing-wax showing on one edge of it, and she was mashingⒶemendation a locket with a chain to it against her mouth,Ⓐhistorical collation and underneath the picture it said “And Art Thou Gone Yes Thou Art Gone AlasⒶemendation.” These was all nice pictures, I reckon, but I didn’t somehow seem to take to them, because if ever I was down a little, they always give me the fan-tods. EverybodyⒶalteration in the MS was sorry she died, becauseⒶalteration in the MS she had laid out a lot more of these pictures to do, and a body could see by what she had done what they had lost. But I reckoned, thatⒶemendation with her disposition, she was having a better time in the graveyardⒶemendation. She was at work on what they said was her greatest picture when she took sick, and every day and every night it was her prayer to be allowed to live till she got it done, but she never got the chance. It was a picture of a young woman in a long white gown, standing on the rail of a bridge allⒶalteration in the MS ready to jump offⒺexplanatory note, with her hair all down her back, and looking up toⒶemendation the moon, with the tears running down her face, and she had two arms folded across her breast, and two arms stretched out in front, and two more reaching up towards the moon—and the idea was,Ⓐhistorical collation to see which pair would look best and then scratch out all the other arms; butⒶhistorical collation as I was saying, she died before she got her mind made [begin page 139] up, and now they kept this picture over the head of the bed in her room, and every time her birthday come they hung flowers on it. Other times it was hid with a little curtain. The young woman in the picture had a kind of aⒶalteration in the MS nice sweet face, but there was so many arms it made her look too spidery, seemed to meⒶemendation.
This young girl kept a scrap-book when she was alive, and used to paste obituaries and accidents,Ⓐhistorical collation and cases of patient sufferingⒶalteration in the MS in it out of the Presbyterian Observer Ⓐhistorical collation Ⓔexplanatory note and write poetry after them out of her own head. It was very good poetry. This is what she wrote about a boy by the name of Stephen Dowling Bots that fell down a well and was drownded:
And did young Stephen sicken,
And did young Stephen die?
And did the sad hearts thicken,
And did the mourners cry?
No; such was not the fate of
Young Stephen Dowling Bots;
Though sad hearts round him thickened,Ⓐalteration in the MS
’Twas not from sickness’Ⓐalteration in the MS Ⓐemendation shots.
No whooping-cough did rack his frame,
Nor measles drear,Ⓐemendation with spots;
Not these impaired the sacred name
Of Stephen Dowling Bots.
DespisèdⒶhistorical collation love struck not with woe
That headⒶalteration in the MS of curly knots,
Nor stomach troubles laid him low,Ⓐemendation
Young Stephen Dowling Bots.
O no.Ⓐemendation Then list with tearful eye,
Whilst I his fate do tell.
His soul did from this cold world fly,
By fallingⒶalteration in the MS down a well.
They got him out and emptied him;
Alas it was too late;
His spirit was gone for to sport aloft
In the realms of the good and great.
Ⓐemendation Ⓐhistorical collation
[begin page 140] If Emmeline GrangerfordⒺexplanatory note could make poetry like that before she was fourteen, there ain’tⒶhistorical collation noⒶemendation telling what she could aⒶemendation done by and byⒶhistorical collation. Buck said she could rattle off poetry like nothing. She didn’t ever have to stopⒶemendation to think. He said she would slap down a line, and if she couldn’t find anything to rhyme with it she would just scratch it out and slap down another one, and go ahead. She warn’t particular,Ⓐhistorical collation she could write about anything you choose to give her to write about, just so it was sadfulⒶemendation. Every time a man died, or a woman died, or a child died, she would be on hand with her “TributeⒶhistorical collation” before he was cold. She called them TributesⒶhistorical collation. The neighbors said it was the doctor first, then Emmeline, then the undertaker—the undertakerⒶhistorical collation never got in ahead of Emmeline but once, and then she hung fire on a rhyme for the dead person’s name, which was Whistler. She warn’t ever the same,Ⓐhistorical collation after that; she never complained, but she kind of pined away and did not live long. Poor thing,Ⓐhistorical collation many’s the time I made [begin page 141] myself go up to the little room that used to be hersⒶhistorical collation and get out her poor old scrap bookⒶhistorical collation and read in it when her pictures had been aggravating me and I had soured on herⒶemendation a little. I liked allⒶalteration in the MS that family, dead ones and all, and warn’tⒶemendation going to let anything come between us. Poor Emmeline made poetry about all the dead people when she was alive, and it didn’t seem right that there warn’t nobodyⒶemendation to make some about her, now she was gone; so I tried to sweat out a verse or two myselfⒶhistorical collation but I couldn’t seem to make it go, somehow. They kept Emmeline’s room trim and nice,Ⓐhistorical collation and all the things fixed in it just the way she likedⒺexplanatory note to have them when she was alive, and nobody ever slept there. The old lady took care of the room herself, though there was plenty of niggers, and she sewed there a good deal and read her Bible there, mostly.
Well, as I was saying about the parlor, there was beautiful curtains on the windows,Ⓐhistorical collation white, with pictures painted on them, of castles with vines all down the walls, and cattle coming down to drink. There was a little old piano, too, that had tin pans in itⒺexplanatory note, I reckon, and nothing was ever so lovelyⒶemendation as to hear the young ladies singⒶhistorical collation “The Last Link is Broken”Ⓐemendation Ⓔexplanatory note and play “The Battle of Prague”Ⓐemendation Ⓔexplanatory note on it. The walls of all the rooms was plasteredⒺexplanatory note, and most had carpets on the floors, and the whole houseⒶhistorical collation was whitewashed on the outside.
It was a double house and the big open place betwixt them was roofed and floored, and sometimes the table was set there in the middle of the dayⒶhistorical collation and it was a cool, comfortable place. Nothing couldn’t be better. And warn’t the cooking goodⒶhistorical collation and just bushels of it,Ⓐhistorical collation too!Ⓐemendation
a woman in a slim black dress . . . Never See Thee More Alas.”] Although new to Huck, this picture would have been familiar to any middle-class reader. It includes the “stock elements” of standard nineteenth-century mourning pictures: “the weeping willow, tombstone, and pensive mourner leaning on the monument. Even the style of dress common in mourning pictures is accurately reproduced” by Huck’s description (Strickland, 228). Huck’s allusion to this woman’s “very wee black slippers, like a chisel” is echoed in Mark Twain’s characterization, in chapter 38 of Life on the Mississippi, of illustrations in Godey’s Lady’s Book: “each five-foot woman with a two-inch wedge sticking from under her dress and letting-on to be half of her foot” (SLC 1883a, 400). See the illustrations.
dead bird laying on its back . . . tears running down her cheeks] Magazines such as Godey’s Lady’s Book frequently illustrated children mourning their dead pets, particularly pet birds: for example, “The Dead Dove” in the February 1852 issue, or “The Dead Robin” in The Ladies’ Repository (Cincinnati) for May 1855. Engravings depicting bereaved women—often using narrative details like the black sealing-wax—were likewise commonplace. See, for example, “The Widow” in the 1847 Friendship’s Offering; “The Empty Cradle” in Godey’s Lady’s Book for 1847; or “Woman’s Grief” in the 1842 Friendship’s [begin page 419] Offering, reproduced below. In this case the accompanying verse solemnly indicates that the bereaved woman broods “Over one only thought,—the stunning thought | That he was dead, who loved so long and well!” (Esling, 33).
young woman . . . on the rail of a bridge all ready to jump off] Portrayals of women in despair, appealing to heaven for relief or threatening suicide, were less than commonplace in the ladies’ magazines and annuals; nonetheless the genre of even this outlandish drawing can be identified with the following, called “Supplication,” in the November 1848 issue of Graham’s Magazine (Fayette Robinson, frontispiece, 267).
Ode to Stephen Dowling Bots, Dec’d] Sentimental obituary verse was ubiquitous in American magazines, annuals, and gift books at the time of the story. Like many fellow humorists, Mark Twain could not resist the temptation to burlesque this form. He published his first parody of an elegiac poem, “The Burial of Sir Abner Gilstrap,” in 1853 at the age of seventeen ( ET&S1 , 106–9). In 1854 he became familiar with mortuary doggerel published routinely in the death notices of the Philadelphia Public Ledger, and almost certainly “set up some of that poetry” altered for comic purposes while working as a compositor on the Ledger (SLC 1885e). He eventually published two brief articles in 1870 and another in the 1880s on the subject (SLC 1870c; SLC 1870d; SLC [1880?]; Budd 1977, 2). A number of “sources” for this “Ode” have been proposed, ranging from the poetry of Julia A. Moore to the hymns of Isaac Watts to the columns of the Philadelphia Ledger itself (Blair 1960a, 209–13; Byers 1971; Branch 1984, 2–3). But Mark Twain’s “Ode” is a burlesque of the form, not a parody of any particular obituary verse or writer of such verse, and given his long acquaintance with such poems, it is unlikely that any single “model” can be identified. In his manuscript, Mark Twain originally ended the poem with an additional stanza, which he deleted before publication. It burlesques the diction and exhorting tone of such verse, and echoes the first or last stanzas of typical English ballads (see, for instance, Evelyn Kendrick Wells, 217–19, 272; Bronson 1962, 2:327–29; Bronson 1976, 23, 414):
“The Last Link is Broken”] A sentimental song written by William Clifton in about 1840:
And the words thou hast spoken have render’d me free;
That bright glance misleading, on others may shine,
Those eyes smil’d unheeding when tears burst from mine.
(Clifton)
In the margin of the manuscript page on which Sophia Grangerford is introduced, Clemens wrote “Sophia. Last Link.” In 1897 he recalled that he associated this song with a Hannibal contemporary of his, Eliza Hyde, and he used it to illustrate his remark that “songs tended to regrets for bygone days and vanished joys” in the days of his youth ( Inds , 96, 99). In chapter 38, Tom will call it “painful music.”
“The Battle of Prague”] A ten-minute piano piece of program music written in 1788 by Franz Kotzwara (1730–91) of Bohemia. It featured staccato notes to simulate flying bullets and a wailing treble figure to suggest the cries of the wounded. By the 1840s it had become an overworked standard (Slater, 108–9). In 1913, Clemens’s childhood friend Anna Laura Hawkins (Laura Frazer) remembered how she and the twelve-year-old Clemens used to climb a hill to visit Mrs. Richard T. Holliday: “Her house, I remember, had a special attraction for us. She owned a piano, and it was not merely a piano; it was a piano with a drum attachment. Oh, ‘The Battle of Prague,’ executed with that marvelous drum attachment! It was our favorite selection, because it had so much drum in it” (Abbott, 17; Hawkins and Holliday are identified in notes to 47.17 and 1.15–16). In A Tramp Abroad—and in an 1878 notebook entry ( N&J2 , 142)—Mark Twain described a performance of this piece by an Arkansas bride which he had heard in a Swiss hotel drawing room:
Without any more preliminaries, she turned on all the horrors of the “Battle of Prague,” that venerable shivaree, and waded chin deep in the blood of the slain. . . . The audience stood it with pretty fair grit for a while, but when the cannonade [begin page 422] waxed hotter and fiercer, and the discord-average rose to four in five, the procession began to move. A few stragglers held their ground ten minutes longer, but when the girl began to wring the true inwardness out of the “cries of the wounded,” they struck their colors and retired in a kind of panic. . . . She got an amount of anguish into the cries of the wounded that shed a new light on human suffering. (Chapter 32, SLC 1880a, 341–45)