It was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and spluttering; on every hand and far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts, and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country, and invoked the God of Battles, beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpouring of fervid eloquence which moved every listener. It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the half dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast a doubt upon its righteousness straightway got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety’s sake they quickly shrank out of sight and offended no more in that way. Sunday morning came — next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their young faces alight with martial dreams — visions of the stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender — them home from the war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for the flag, or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation

Then a hand was laid on my shoulder and I 
shrank together with a crash. It was the policeman. 
He scanned me austerely and said : 

"Where did you get that overcoat?" 

Although I had not been doing any harm, I had 
all the sense of being caught — caught in something 
disreputable. The officer's accusing eye and unbe- 
lie\ang aspect heightened this effect. I told what 
had befallen me at the house in as straightforward a 
way as I could, but I was ashamed of the tale, and 
looked it, without doubt, for I knew and felt how 
improbable it must necessarily sound to anybody, 
particularly a policeman. Manifestly he did not 
believe me. He made me tell it all over again, then 
he questioned me: 

"You don't know the woman?" 

"No, I don't know her." 

"Haven't the least idea who she is: 

"Not the least." 

"You didn't tell her your name?" 

"No." 

"She didn't ask for it?" 

"No." 

"You just asked her to lend you the overcoat, 
and she let you take it?" 

"She put it on me herself." 

"And didn't look frightened?" 

"Frightened? Of course not." 

' * Not even surprised ? ' ' 

156 



DOWN THE RHONE 

"Not in the slightest degree." 

He paused. Presently he said: 

*'My friend, I don't believe a word of it. Don't 
you see, yourself, it's a tale that won't wash? Do 
you believe it?" 

*'Yes. I know it's true." 

"Weren't you surprised?" 

"Clear through to the marrow!" 

He had been edging me along back tu the house. 
He had a deep design; he sprung it on me now. 
Said he: 

"Stop where you are. I'll mighty soon find out!" 

He walked to the door and up the steps, keeping 
a furtive eye out toward me and ready to jump for 
me if I ran. Then he pretended to pull the bell, and 
instantly faced about to observe the effect on me. 
But there wasn't any; I walked toward him instead 
of running away. That unsettled him. He came 
down the steps, evidently perplexed, and said : 

"Well, I can't make it out. It may be all right, 
but it's too many for me. I don't like your looks 
and I won't have such characters around. Go along, 
now, and look sharp. If I catch you prowling around 
here again I'll run you m." 

I found Smith at the Water Color dinner that 
night, and asked him if it were merely my face that 
had enabled me to borrow the overcoat from a 
stranger, but he was surprised and said : 

"No! WTiat an idea — and what intolerable con- 
ceit ! She is my housekeeper, and remembered your 
drawling voice from overhearing it a moment that 
night four or five years ago in my house ; so she knew 

157 



MARK TWAIN 

where to send the police if you didn't bring the coat 
back!" 

After all those years I was sitting here, now, at 
midnight in the peasant hotel, in my night clothes, 
and honoring womankind in my thoughts; for here 
was another woman, with the noble and delicate 
intuitions of her sex, trusting me, a total stranger, 
with all her modest wealth. She entered the room. 
just then, and stood beaming upon me a moment with 
her s\N'eet matronly eyes — then took away the jewelry. 

Tuesday, September 22d. — Breakfast in open air. 
Extra canvas was now to be added to the boat's 
hood to keep the passengers and valises better pro- 
tected during rainstorms. I passed through the vil- 
lagette and started to walk over the wooded hill, the 
boat to find us on the river bank somewhere below, 
by and by. I soon got lost among the high bushes 
and turnip gardens. Plenty of paths, but none went 
to river. Reflection. Decision — that the path most 
traveled ^s-as the one leading in the right direction. 
It was a poor conclusion. I got lost again ; this time 
worse than before. But a peasant of above eighty 
(as she said, and certainly she was very old and 
wrinkled and gray and bent) found me presently and 
undertook to guide me safely. She was vigorous, 
physically, prompt and decided of movement, and 
altogether soldierlike; and she had a hawk's eye 
and beak, and a g>'psy's complexion. She said that 
from her girlhood up to not so very many years ago 
she had done a man's work on a woman's pay on 
the big keel boats that carry stone do^Ti the river, 
and was as good a man as the best, in the matter 

158 



DOWN THE RHONE 

of handling stone. Said she had seen the great 
Napoleon when she was a little child. Her face was 
so \\Tinklcd and dark and so eaglclike that she re- 
minded mc of old Indians one sees out on the Great 
Plains — the outside signs of age, but in the eye an 
indestructible spirit. She had a couple of laden 
baskets with her which I had found heavy after 
three minutes* carrying, when she was finding the 
way for me, but they seemed nothing to her. She 
impressed one rather as a man than as a woman; 
and so, when she spoke of her child that was drowned, 
and her voice broke a little and her lip quivered, it 
surprised me; I was not expecting it. "Grandchild?" 
No — it was her own child. "Indeed? When?" So 
then it came out that it was sixty years ago. It 
seemed strange that she should mind it so long. But 
that was the woman of it, no doubt. She had a frag- 
ment of newspaper — religious — with rude holy wood- 
cuts in it and doubtful episodes in the lives of medi- 
aeval saints and anchorites — and she could read these 
instructive matters in fine print without glasses ; also, 
her eyes were as good at long distances. She led 
hither and thither among the paths and finally 
brought me out overlooking the river. There was a 
steep sandy frontage there, where there had recently 
been a small landslide, and the faint new path ran 
straight across it for forty feet, like a slight snow 
track along the slant of a very steep roof. I halted 
and declined. I had no mind to try the crumbly 
path and creep and quake along it with the boiling 
river — and maybe some rocks — under my eluow 
thirty feet below. Such places turn my stomach. 

The man walking ahead of her was white, too-coat, pants, surgical mask at present dangling below his chin, tight ugly cap around his hair.

20 MINUTES "Thank God you finally made it!" Lola cried, "Ian's been pissing
himself!"
"Shut up! Drop dead!" Petronella rasped, and slapped the papers
out of Lola's hand as she offered them. "I don't give a fart who we have
on the show, not if it's the stinking King of England! I sure as hell am
not going out looking like this!"
"You won't have to, baby," Terry soothed, Inspecting the
discolored tresses. Lola, on the point of weeping, went down on hands
and knees to reclaim the scattered papers. "Lord, though, why didn't
you have it done at Guido's same as usual?"
"This happened at Guido's."
"What?" Terry was horrified. He insisted on everyone he handled
having their hair washed, styled, cut at Guido's, because it was the only
place in New York where they guaranteed their shampoos were done
with imported rainwater. They shipped it specially from Chile.
"Silver nitrate," Petronella sighed. "I contacted Guido at home and
blew my stack, and he checked up and called back almost weeping.
Seems they've been rain-making down there-remember I had a
rainmaker on the show last year? Guido thinks it reacted with the
setting lotion."
Marlon brought a choice of wigs. Terry seized one, and a brush and
comb and aerosol of lacquer. He brutally sabotaged Guido's efforts
into a tight layer close to the scalp and set about re-creating the same
style on the wig.
"Going to take long?" Petronella demanded.
"Couple of minutes," Terry said. He forbore to add that anything
Guide's best stylist could do, he could copy, only in a tenth of the time.
Everyone knew how good he was.
"Thank God. Lola, you bitch, where are my briefings?"
"Here!" the girl snuffled. Petronella flicked through the pages.
"Oh, yes, I remember. Jacob Bamberley-"
"He likes to be called Jack!" Lola cut in."Stuff what he likes. I run this show. Terry baby, we got the man
who sent all that poisoned shit to Africa. Know what I'm going to make
him do? I'm going to make him eat a bowlful of it right at the start of the
show, then come back to him at the end so people can see what it's
done to him."
Turning to the next briefing, she added thoughtfully, "And I shall
definitely call him Jacob."
This was a Globe Relief operation on behalf of Globe Relief. When
it became clear that Kaika's accusations weren't just propaganda, it
had been a matter of panic stations all around. It was no use stressing
the true fact that Globe was the largest aid organization on the planet
and invariably the soonest on the scene of a disaster. Simply because it
was American-based and American-funded, it was tarred with the
Vietnam brush. There was almost certain to be a UN inquiry shortly.
Accordingly State had made it very clear that unless Globe came up
promptly with a full defense the organization would have to be thrown
to the wolves. Inestimable trouble had already been caused by black
militants instantly prepared to believe in chemical genocide.
The obvious steps had naturally been taken. Samples of the
Nutripon still in store had been analyzed and given a clean bill. Now
suspicion had turned on the yeasts and fungi in the hydroponics plant:
could a rogue, akin say to the ergot mold of rye, have infected one
batch of the stuff with a natural psychedelic poison? It would have
helped if they'd had a sample from Noshri to study, but apparently it
had all been consumed or burned during the riots. So it was going to be
a slow job