[Sam P. Davis, The Typographical Howitzer, from Short Stories (1886)]

 

The Typographical Howitzer.

----------<>----------

            It was nearly twenty years ago when Dan de Quille and Mark Twain attempted to start a paper in Mendocino County. They took the type and material of their recently defunct newspaper establishment in San Francisco, and, loading the stuff on a big wagon, struck out into the country to retrieve their fortune. They packed their type just as it stood in the forms, tied up the articles with stout cords by a process well known to printers, and packing them closely in boxes, vowed to establish a newspaper somewhere which would be the leading exponent of politics and history for the Pacific Coast. Had not an unfortunate circumstance taken place it is evident that the newspaper which they contemplated founding would have been alive to-day. Their journey over the mountains was utterly uneventful until they reached Simpson's Station -- a spot well known to old travelers on that route. Here they met a party of emigrants making for Lower California, and the latter had with them a small mountain howitzer which they had brought with them across the plains.

            Twain took a great fancy to this gun, and offered fifty dollars for it, with two kegs of powder. The emigrants were glad enough to part with it, as they con-

128      SHORT STORIES.

cluded the time for its use had passed. Dan thought the purchase of the artillery and military supplies was a reckless piece of extravagance, and said as much, but Mark replied : " When we start our paper we must fire a salute. A newspaper office with artillery has a big bulge on the business. No well-regulated office in California should be without a howitzer. If a man comes in for a retraction we can blow him into the next county. The howitzer goes."

            This silenced the argument, and the next day the two journalists took the road with their printing outfit and artillery.

            The next night they camped in a mountain ravine, fifteen miles from Simpson's, and after building the usual camp-fire, fell asleep. About eleven o'clock the horses wakened them by prancing about, and the two journalists were led to the conclusion that a party of Indians was making arrangements for a night attack. In the clear moonlight human forms could be distinguished about half a mile away at the foot of the ravine. The idea of encountering Indians had never entered the heads of the two fortune-seekers, and they had no arms. Suddenly Twain brightened up, remarking:

            " The howitzer?"

            " We've got nothing but powder," said Dan.

            " Well, powder'll scare 'em; and we'll load her up."

            The piece was immediately loaded with a good big charge, and the two men felt quite certain that the Indians, hearing the roar of the gun, would beat an unconditional retreat. The piece was hardly loaded and placed in position when about forty of the red-skins came charging up the ravine.

THE TYPOGRAPHICAL HOWITZER.       129

            Twain seized a brand from the camp-fire and was about to lay it on the touch-hole, when Dan yelled "Hold on!" as he rammed something into the mouth of the piece and remarked :

            " Turn 'er loose."

            The roar of the howitzer echoed through the lonely forest, and the savages, with frantic cries of pain, reeled down the ravine in wild confusion.

            " What in h— did you put in?" asked Mark.

            " A column of solid nonpareil and a couple of sticks of young spring poetry."

            " The poetry did the business, Dan. Get one of your geological articles ready for the next charge, and I guess it'll let the red devils out for the present campaign." The savages again advanced. Mark attended to the powder, and Dan assorted the shot, so to speak. "Jeems Pipe's song, 'My Mountain Home.' "

            " Good for three Indians—sock 'er in."

            " An acrostic by John R. Ridge, in long primer."

            " It'll paralyze 'em."

            " Frank Pixley on the Constitution,—half a column of leaded brevier."

            " If it hits 'em, the day is won."

            " Your leader on 'Law and Order."

            " Save it as a last resort."

            Dan pulled the type out of the boxes, and stuffed column after column in the howitzer's mouth as the savages came charging on. Another round from the gun, and the redskins rolled over and over each other like boulders swept away by a mountain cloud-burst. Mark, in an ecstacy of delight, pulled an American flag out of his effects, nailed it to the tail-board of the wagon, and was about to make a speech, when the dusky figures

130      SHORT STORIES.

of the foes were once more seen moving to the attack.

            The piece was again loaded, and this time with a double charge. Mark's leader on "Law and Order;" the puff of an auction house, by Fred. McCrellish, " as a sickener," Dan said ; Frank Gross' verses on " The Rebel Yell ;" an agricultural article by Sam Seabaugh, showing the chemical properties of corn-juice as an educational lever ; a maiden poetical effort by Olive Harper, and some verses by Col. Cremony and Frank Soulé, completed the load.

            " That poetry reaching 'em first will throw 'em into confusion, and my editorial coming up on the heels of the rest will result in a lasting demoralization. It will be like the last cavalry charge of the French troopers at the battle of Austerlitz."

            For the third and last time the faithful howitzer belched its typographical compliments to the advancing foe. The havoc was terrible. There was a wild yell from a score of savage throats, and then the low groans of the dying floated up the ravine on the gentle wind. The two men walked over the field of slaughter and counted fifty-six aboriginals lying in heaps. The bodies were horribly mutilated with nonpareil, bourgeois, "caps," misery dashes, and unassorted pi.

            " My leader cooked that man's goose," said Mark, pointing to a savage hanging over the limb of a cedar.

            " My geological article did the business for him," rejoined Dan, nodding carelessly at an Indian whose head was lying twenty yards away.

            " The pen is mightier than the sword."

            " You bet. Hurrah for Faust and Guttenberg !"

            " Is there any type left ?"

            " Not a pound."

THE TYPOGRAPHICAL HOWITZER.       131

            Ten days later the two journalistic tramps reached Virginia City, weary, discouraged, and footsore, and secured places on the Enterprise.

            A few days ago Dan received the following from his former partner :

HARTFORD, Connecticut, January 1, 1880.

            DEAR DAN:—I send you the congratulations of the New Year. Do you recollect the time we exterminated the tribe of unlettered (?) savages in Mendocino County? If you can spare the time I wish you would make a pilgrimage to that historic spot, gather the ghostly relics together, and plant a tablet (not too expensive, and at your own expense) to the memory of the departed. Have a shooting-stick lying across a long bow, with our monogram and coat-of-arms entwined, and some appropriate epitaph carved on the stone; an extract from Carl Schurz s views on the " Peace Policy " might do. Enclosed is a dollar and a half for your incidental expenses; you can deadhead traveling expenses.

            Yours,                                                  MARK TWAIN.

            P. S.—Send a thigh-bone of the fallen chief by next express.

                                                                        M. T.

            Dan will attend to the matter in the spring. The old howitzer used on the occasion is still in his possession.