A TRAMP ABROAD By Mark Twain

only twenty-three years old, his right hand was shot away,

but he was so interested in the fight that he did not

observe it for a while. He said that the iron hand

which was made for him afterward, and which he wore for

more than half a century, was nearly as clever a member

as the fleshy one had been. I was glad to get a facsimile

of the letter written by this fine old German Robin Hood,

though I was not able to read it. He was a better artist

with his sword than with his pen.

We went down by the river and saw the Square Tower.

It was a very venerable structure, very strong,

and very ornamental. There was no opening near the ground.

They had to use a ladder to get into it, no doubt.

We visited the principal church, also–a curious

old structure, with a towerlike spire adorned with all

sorts of grotesque images. The inner walls of the church

were placarded with large mural tablets of copper,

bearing engraved inscriptions celebrating the merits

of old Heilbronn worthies of two or three centuries ago,

and also bearing rudely painted effigies of themselves

and their families tricked out in the queer costumes of

those days. The head of the family sat in the foreground,

and beyond him extended a sharply receding and diminishing

row of sons; facing him sat his wife, and beyond

her extended a low row of diminishing daughters.

The family was usually large, but the perspective bad.

Then we hired the hack and the horse which Go”tz von

Berlichingen used to use, and drove several miles into

the country to visit the place called WEIBERTREU–Wife’s

Fidelity I suppose it means. It was a feudal castle

of the Middle Ages. When we reached its neighborhood we

found it was beautifully situated, but on top of a mound,

or hill, round and tolerably steep, and about two hundred

feet high. Therefore, as the sun was blazing hot,

we did not climb up there, but took the place on trust,

and observed it from a distance while the horse leaned up

against a fence and rested. The place has no interest

except that which is lent it by its legend, which is

a very pretty one–to this effect:

THE LEGEND

In the Middle Ages, a couple of young dukes, brothers,

took opposite sides in one of the wars, the one fighting

for the Emperor, the other against him. One of them

owned the castle and village on top of the mound which I

have been speaking of, and in his absence his brother

came with his knights and soldiers and began a siege.

It was a long and tedious business, for the people

made a stubborn and faithful defense. But at last

their supplies ran out and starvation began its work;

more fell by hunger than by the missiles of the enemy.

They by and by surrendered, and begged for charitable terms.

But the beleaguering prince was so incensed against them

for their long resistance that he said he would spare none

but the women and children–all men should be put to the

sword without exception, and all their goods destroyed.

Then the women came and fell on their knees and begged for

the lives of their husbands.

“No,” said the prince, “not a man of them shall escape alive;

you yourselves shall go with your children into houseless

and friendless banishment; but that you may not starve

I grant you this one grace, that each woman may bear

with her from this place as much of her most valuable

property as she is able to carry.”

Very well, presently the gates swung open and out filed

those women carrying their HUSBANDS on their shoulders.

The besiegers, furious at the trick, rushed forward

to slaughter the men, but the Duke stepped between and

said:

“No, put up your swords–a prince’s word is inviolable.”

When we got back to the hotel, King Arthur’s Round Table

was ready for us in its white drapery, and the head waiter

and his first assistant, in swallow-tails and white cravats,

brought in the soup and the hot plates at once.

Mr. X had ordered the dinner, and when the wine came on,