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Mark Twain > A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur's Court > Chapter XLIV

A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur's Court

Chapter XLIV


A POSTSCRIPT BY CLARENCE

I, Clarence, must write it for him. He proposed that we two
go out and see if any help could be accorded the wounded. I was
strenuous against the project. I said that if there were many,
we could do but little for them; and it would not be wise for us to
trust ourselves among them, anyway. But he could seldom be turned
from a purpose once formed; so we shut off the electric current
from the fences, took an escort along, climbed over the enclosing
ramparts of dead knights, and moved out upon the field. The first
wounded mall who appealed for help was sitting with his back
against a dead comrade. When The Boss bent over him and spoke
to him, the man recognized him and stabbed him. That knight was
Sir Meliagraunce, as I found out by tearing off his helmet. He
will not ask for help any more.

We carried The Boss to the cave and gave his wound, which was
not very serious, the best care we could. In this service we had
the help of Merlin, though we did not know it. He was disguised
as a woman, and appeared to be a simple old peasant goodwife.
In this disguise, with brown-stained face and smooth shaven, he
had appeared a few days after The Boss was hurt and offered to cook
for us, saying her people had gone off to join certain new camps
which the enemy were forming, and that she was starving. The Boss
had been getting along very well, and had amused himself with
finishing up his record.

We were glad to have this woman, for we were short handed. We
were in a trap, you see--a trap of our own making. If we stayed
where we were, our dead would kill us; if we moved out of our
defenses, we should no longer be invincible. We had conquered;
in turn we were conquered. The Boss recognized this; we all
recognized it. If we could go to one of those new camps and
patch up some kind of terms with the enemy--yes, but The Boss
could not go, and neither could I, for I was among the first that
were made sick by the poisonous air bred by those dead thousands.
Others were taken down, and still others. To-morrow--

_To-morrow._ It is here. And with it the end. About midnight
I awoke, and saw that hag making curious passes in the air about
The Boss's head and face, and wondered what it meant. Everybody
but the dynamo-watch lay steeped in sleep; there was no sound.
The woman ceased from her mysterious foolery, and started tip-toeing
toward the door. I called out:

"Stop! What have you been doing?"

She halted, and said with an accent of malicious satisfaction:

"Ye were conquerors; ye are conquered! These others are perishing--
you also. Ye shall all die in this place--every one--except _him_.
He sleepeth now--and shall sleep thirteen centuries. I am Merlin!"

Then such a delirium of silly laughter overtook him that he reeled
about like a drunken man, and presently fetched up against one
of our wires. His mouth is spread open yet; apparently he is still
laughing. I suppose the face will retain that petrified laugh until
the corpse turns to dust.

The Boss has never stirred--sleeps like a stone. If he does not
wake to-day we shall understand what kind of a sleep it is, and
his body will then be borne to a place in one of the remote recesses
of the cave where none will ever find it to desecrate it. As for
the rest of us--well, it is agreed that if any one of us ever
escapes alive from this place, he will write the fact here, and
loyally hide this Manuscript with The Boss, our dear good chief,
whose property it is, be he alive or dead.

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