Part 20

But in the hall Disorder reigned and when the marshal came And found it so, he marched the hoodlums out And locked them up.

Meanwhile within a room Back in the basement of the church, with Blood Counseled the wisest heads. Judge Somers first, Deep learned in life, and next him, Elliott Hawkins And Lambert Hutchins; next him Thomas Rhodes And Editor Whedon; next him Garrison Standard, A traitor to the liberals, who with lip Upcurled in scorn and with a bitter sneer: “Such strife about an insult to a woman— A girl of eighteen” —Christian Dallman too, And others unrecorded. Some there were Who frowned not on the cup but loathed the rule Democracy achieved thereby, the freedom And lust of life it symbolized.

Now morn with snowy fingers up the sky Flung like an orange at a festival The ruddy sun, when from their hasty beds Poured forth the hostile forces, and the streets Resounded to the rattle of the wheels That drove this way and that to gather in The tardy voters, and the cries of chieftains Who manned the battle. But at ten o’clock The liberals bellowed fraud, and at the polls The rival candidates growled and came to blows. Then proved the idiot’s tale of yester-eve A word of warning. Suddenly on the streets Walked hog-eyed Allen, terror of the hills That looked on Bernadotte ten miles removed. No man of this degenerate day could lift The boulders which he threw, and when he spoke The windows rattled, and beneath his brows Thatched like a shed with bristling hair of black, His small eyes glistened like a maddened boar. And as he walked the boards creaked, as he walked A song of menace rumbled. Thus he came, The champion of A. D. Blood, commissioned To terrify the liberals. Many fled As when a hawk soars o’er the chicken yard. He passed the polls and with a playful hand Touched Brown, the giant, and he fell against, As though he were a child, the wall; so strong Was hog-eyed Allen. But the liberals smiled. For soon as hog-eyed Allen reached the walk, Close on his steps paced Bengal Mike, brought in By Kinsey Keene, the subtle-witted one, To match the hog-eyed Allen. He was scarce Three-fourths the other’s bulk, but steel his arms, And with a tiger’s heart. Two men he killed And many wounded in the days before, And no one feared.

But when the hog-eyed one Saw Bengal Mike his countenance grew dark, The bristles o’er his red eyes twitched with rage, The song he rumbled lowered. Round and round The court-house paced he, followed stealthily By Bengal Mike, who jeered him every step: “Come, elephant, and fight! Come, hog-eyed coward! Come, face about and fight me, lumbering sneak! Come, beefy bully, hit me, if you can! Take out your gun, you duffer, give me reason To draw and kill you. Take your billy out. I’ll crack your boar’s head with a piece of brick!” But never a word the hog-eyed one returned But trod about the court-house, followed both By troops of boys and watched by all the men. All day, they walked the square. But when Apollo Stood with reluctant look above the hills As fain to see the end, and all the votes Were cast, and closed the polls, before the door Of Trainor’s drug store Bengal Mike, in tones That echoed through the village, bawled the taunt: “Who was your mother, hog—eyed?” In a trice As when a wild boar turns upon the hound That through the brakes upon an August day Has gashed him with its teeth, the hog-eyed one Rushed with his giant arms on Bengal Mike And grabbed him by the throat. Then rose to heaven The frightened cries of boys, and yells of men Forth rushing to the street. And Bengal Mike Moved this way and now that, drew in his head As if his neck to shorten, and bent down To break the death grip of the hog-eyed one; ’Twixt guttural wrath and fast-expiring strength Striking his fists against the invulnerable chest Of hog-eyed Allen. Then, when some came in To part them, others stayed them, and the fight Spread among dozens; many valiant souls Went down from clubs and bricks.

But tell me, Muse, What god or goddess rescued Bengal Mike? With one last, mighty struggle did he grasp The murderous hands and turning kick his foe. Then, as if struck by lightning, vanished all The strength from hog-eyed Allen, at his side Sank limp those giant arms and o’er his face Dread pallor and the sweat of anguish spread. And those great knees, invincible but late, Shook to his weight. And quickly as the lion Leaps on its wounded prey, did Bengal Mike Smite with a rock the temple of his foe, And down he sank and darkness o’er his eyes Passed like a cloud.

As when the woodman fells Some giant oak upon a summer’s day And all the songsters of the forest shrill, And one great hawk that has his nestling young Amid the topmost branches croaks, as crash The leafy branches through the tangled boughs Of brother oaks, so fell the hog-eyed one Amid the lamentations of the friends Of A. D. Blood.

Just then, four lusty men Bore the town marshal, on whose iron face The purple pall of death already lay, To Trainor’s drug store, shot by Jack McGuire. And cries went up of “Lynch him!” and the sound Of running feet from every side was heard Bent on the

Epilogue

(THE GRAVEYARD OF SPOON RIVER. TWO VOICES ARE HEARD BEHIND A SCREEN DECORATED WITH DIABOLICAL AND ANGELIC FIGURES IN VARIOUS ALLEGORICAL RELATIONS. A FAINT LIGHT SHOWS DIMLY THROUGH THE SCREEN AS IF IT WERE WOVEN OF LEAVES, BRANCHES AND SHADOWS.)

FIRST VOICE. A game of checkers?

SECOND VOICE Well, I don’t mind.

FIRST VOICE I move the Will.

SECOND VOICE You’re playing it blind.

FIRST VOICE Then here’s the Soul.

SECOND VOICE Checked by the Will.

FIRST VOICE Eternal Good!

SECOND VOICE And Eternal Ill.

FIRST VOICE I haste for the King row.

SECOND VOICE Save your breath.

FIRST VOICE I was moving Life.

SECOND VOICE You’re checked by Death.

FIRST VOICE Very good, here’s Moses.

SECOND VOICE And here’s the Jew.

FIRST VOICE My next move is Jesus.

SECOND VOICE St. Paul for you!

FIRST VOICE Yes, but St. Peter—

SECOND VOICE You might have foreseen—

FIRST VOICE You’re in the King row—