| |
The Project Gutenberg EBook of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Complete | |
by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) | |
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost | |
no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use | |
it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this | |
eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net | |
Title: Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Complete | |
Author: Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) | |
Release Date: August 20, 2006 [EBook #76] | |
Last Updated: October 20, 2012] | |
Language: English | |
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUCKLEBERRY FINN *** | |
Produced by David Widger | |
ADVENTURES | |
OF | |
HUCKLEBERRY FINN | |
(Tom Sawyer's Comrade) | |
By Mark Twain | |
Complete | |
CONTENTS. | |
CHAPTER I. Civilizing Huck.Miss Watson.Tom Sawyer Waits. | |
CHAPTER II. The Boys Escape Jim.Torn Sawyer's Gang.Deep-laid Plans. | |
CHAPTER III. A Good Going-over.Grace Triumphant."One of Tom Sawyers's | |
Lies". | |
CHAPTER IV. Huck and the Judge.Superstition. | |
CHAPTER V. Huck's Father.The Fond Parent.Reform. | |
CHAPTER VI. He Went for Judge Thatcher.Huck Decided to Leave.Political | |
Economy.Thrashing Around. | |
CHAPTER VII. Laying for Him.Locked in the Cabin.Sinking the | |
Body.Resting. | |
CHAPTER VIII. Sleeping in the Woods.Raising the Dead.Exploring the | |
Island.Finding Jim.Jim's Escape.Signs.Balum. | |
CHAPTER IX. The Cave.The Floating House. | |
CHAPTER X. The Find.Old Hank Bunker.In Disguise. | |
CHAPTER XI. Huck and the Woman.The Search.Prevarication.Going to | |
Goshen. | |
CHAPTER XII. Slow Navigation.Borrowing Things.Boarding the Wreck.The | |
Plotters.Hunting for the Boat. | |
CHAPTER XIII. Escaping from the Wreck.The Watchman.Sinking. | |
CHAPTER XIV. A General Good Time.The Harem.French. | |
CHAPTER XV. Huck Loses the Raft.In the Fog.Huck Finds the Raft.Trash. | |
CHAPTER XVI. Expectation.A White Lie.Floating Currency.Running by | |
Cairo.Swimming Ashore. | |
CHAPTER XVII. An Evening Call.The Farm in Arkansaw.Interior | |
Decorations.Stephen Dowling Bots.Poetical Effusions. | |
CHAPTER XVIII. Col. Grangerford.Aristocracy.Feuds.The | |
Testament.Recovering the Raft.The Woodpile.Pork and Cabbage. | |
CHAPTER XIX. Tying Up Daytimes.An Astronomical Theory.Running a | |
Temperance Revival.The Duke of Bridgewater.The Troubles of Royalty. | |
CHAPTER XX. Huck Explains.Laying Out a Campaign.Working the | |
Campmeeting.A Pirate at the Campmeeting.The Duke as a Printer. | |
CHAPTER XXI. Sword Exercise.Hamlet's Soliloquy.They Loafed Around | |
Town.A Lazy Town.Old Boggs.Dead. | |
CHAPTER XXII. Sherburn.Attending the Circus.Intoxication in the | |
Ring.The Thrilling Tragedy. | |
CHAPTER XXIII. Sold.Royal Comparisons.Jim Gets Home-sick. | |
CHAPTER XXIV. Jim in Royal Robes.They Take a Passenger.Getting | |
Information.Family Grief. | |
CHAPTER XXV. Is It Them?Singing the "Doxologer."Awful SquareFuneral | |
Orgies.A Bad Investment . | |
CHAPTER XXVI. A Pious King.The King's Clergy.She Asked His | |
Pardon.Hiding in the Room.Huck Takes the Money. | |
CHAPTER XXVII. The Funeral.Satisfying Curiosity.Suspicious of | |
Huck,Quick Sales and Small. | |
CHAPTER XXVIII. The Trip to England."The Brute!"Mary Jane Decides to | |
Leave.Huck Parting with Mary Jane.Mumps.The Opposition Line. | |
CHAPTER XXIX. Contested Relationship.The King Explains the Loss.A | |
Question of Handwriting.Digging up the Corpse.Huck Escapes. | |
CHAPTER XXX. The King Went for Him.A Royal Row.Powerful Mellow. | |
CHAPTER XXXI. Ominous Plans.News from Jim.Old Recollections.A Sheep | |
Story.Valuable Information. | |
CHAPTER XXXII. Still and Sundaylike.Mistaken Identity.Up a Stump.In | |
a Dilemma. | |
CHAPTER XXXIII. A Nigger Stealer.Southern Hospitality.A Pretty Long | |
Blessing.Tar and Feathers. | |
CHAPTER XXXIV. The Hut by the Ash Hopper.Outrageous.Climbing the | |
Lightning Rod.Troubled with Witches. | |
CHAPTER XXXV. Escaping Properly.Dark Schemes.Discrimination in | |
Stealing.A Deep Hole. | |
CHAPTER XXXVI. The Lightning Rod.His Level Best.A Bequest to | |
Posterity.A High Figure. | |
CHAPTER XXXVII. The Last Shirt.Mooning Around.Sailing Orders.The | |
Witch Pie. | |
CHAPTER XXXVIII. The Coat of Arms.A Skilled Superintendent.Unpleasant | |
Glory.A Tearful Subject. | |
CHAPTER XXXIX. Rats.Lively Bedfellows.The Straw Dummy. | |
CHAPTER XL. Fishing.The Vigilance Committee.A Lively Run.Jim Advises | |
a Doctor. | |
CHAPTER XLI. The Doctor.Uncle Silas.Sister Hotchkiss.Aunt Sally in | |
Trouble. | |
CHAPTER XLII. Tom Sawyer Wounded.The Doctor's Story.Tom | |
Confesses.Aunt Polly Arrives.Hand Out Them Letters . | |
CHAPTER THE LAST. Out of Bondage.Paying the Captive.Yours Truly, Huck | |
Finn. | |
ILLUSTRATIONS. | |
The Widows | |
Moses and the "Bulrushers" | |
Miss Watson | |
Huck Stealing Away | |
They Tip-toed Along | |
Jim | |
Tom Sawyer's Band of Robbers | |
Huck Creeps into his Window | |
Miss Watson's Lecture | |
The Robbers Dispersed | |
Rubbing the Lamp | |
! ! ! ! | |
Judge Thatcher surprised | |
Jim Listening | |
"Pap" | |
Huck and his Father | |
Reforming the Drunkard | |
Falling from Grace | |
The Widows | |
Moses and the "Bulrushers" | |
Miss Watson | |
Huck Stealing Away | |
They Tip-toed Along | |
Jim | |
Tom Sawyer's Band of Robbers | |
Huck Creeps into his Window | |
Miss Watson's Lecture | |
The Robbers Dispersed | |
Rubbing the Lamp | |
! ! ! ! | |
Judge Thatcher surprised | |
Jim Listening | |
"Pap" | |
Huck and his Father | |
Reforming the Drunkard | |
Falling from Grace | |
Getting out of the Way | |
Solid Comfort | |
Thinking it Over | |
Raising a Howl | |
"Git Up" | |
The Shanty | |
Shooting the Pig | |
Taking a Rest | |
In the Woods | |
Watching the Boat | |
Discovering the Camp Fire | |
Jim and the Ghost | |
Misto Bradish's Nigger | |
Exploring the Cave | |
In the Cave | |
Jim sees a Dead Man | |
They Found Eight Dollars | |
Jim and the Snake | |
Old Hank Bunker | |
"A Fair Fit" | |
"Come In" | |
"Him and another Man" | |
She puts up a Snack | |
"Hump Yourself" | |
On the Raft | |
He sometimes Lifted a Chicken | |
"Please don't, Bill" | |
"It ain't Good Morals" | |
"Oh! Lordy, Lordy!" | |
In a Fix | |
"Hello, What's Up?" | |
The Wreck | |
We turned in and Slept | |
Turning over the Truck | |
Solomon and his Million Wives | |
The story of "Sollermun" | |
"We Would Sell the Raft" | |
Among the Snags | |
Asleep on the Raft | |
"Something being Raftsman" | |
"Boy, that's a Lie" | |
"Here I is, Huck" | |
Climbing up the Bank | |
"Who's There?" | |
"Buck" | |
"It made Her look Spidery" | |
"They got him out and emptied Him" | |
The House | |
Col. Grangerford | |
Young Harney Shepherdson | |
Miss Charlotte | |
"And asked me if I Liked Her" | |
"Behind the Wood-pile" | |
Hiding Day-times | |
"And Dogs a-Coming" | |
"By rights I am a Duke!" | |
"I am the Late Dauphin" | |
Tail Piece | |
On the Raft | |
The King as Juliet | |
"Courting on the Sly" | |
"A Pirate for Thirty Years" | |
Another little Job | |
Practizing | |
Hamlet's Soliloquy | |
"Gimme a Chaw" | |
A Little Monthly Drunk | |
The Death of Boggs | |
Sherburn steps out | |
A Dead Head | |
He shed Seventeen Suits | |
Tragedy | |
Their Pockets Bulged | |
Henry the Eighth in Boston Harbor | |
Harmless | |
Adolphus | |
He fairly emptied that Young Fellow | |
"Alas, our Poor Brother" | |
"You Bet it is" | |
Leaking | |
Making up the "Deffisit" | |
Going for him | |
The Doctor | |
The Bag of Money | |
The Cubby | |
Supper with the Hare-Lip | |
Honest Injun | |
The Duke looks under the Bed | |
Huck takes the Money | |
A Crack in the Dining-room Door | |
The Undertaker | |
"He had a Rat!" | |
"Was you in my Room?" | |
Jawing | |
In Trouble | |
Indignation | |
How to Find Them | |
He Wrote | |
Hannah with the Mumps | |
The Auction | |
The True Brothers | |
The Doctor leads Huck | |
The Duke Wrote | |
"Gentlemen, Gentlemen!" | |
"Jim Lit Out" | |
The King shakes Huck | |
The Duke went for Him | |
Spanish Moss | |
"Who Nailed Him?" | |
Thinking | |
He gave him Ten Cents | |
Striking for the Back Country | |
Still and Sunday-like | |
She hugged him tight | |
"Who do you reckon it is?" | |
"It was Tom Sawyer" | |
"Mr. Archibald Nichols, I presume?" | |
A pretty long Blessing | |
Traveling By Rail | |
Vittles | |
A Simple Job | |
Witches | |
Getting Wood | |
One of the Best Authorities | |
The Breakfast-Horn | |
Smouching the Knives | |
Going down the Lightning-Rod | |
Stealing spoons | |
Tom advises a Witch Pie | |
The Rubbage-Pile | |
"Missus, dey's a Sheet Gone" | |
In a Tearing Way | |
One of his Ancestors | |
Jim's Coat of Arms | |
A Tough Job | |
Buttons on their Tails | |
Irrigation | |
Keeping off Dull Times | |
Sawdust Diet | |
Trouble is Brewing | |
Fishing | |
Every one had a Gun | |
Tom caught on a Splinter | |
Jim advises a Doctor | |
The Doctor | |
Uncle Silas in Danger | |
Old Mrs. Hotchkiss | |
Aunt Sally talks to Huck | |
Tom Sawyer wounded | |
The Doctor speaks for Jim | |
Tom rose square up in Bed | |
"Hand out them Letters" | |
Out of Bondage | |
Tom's Liberality | |
Yours Truly | |
EXPLANATORY | |
IN this book a number of dialects are used, to wit: the Missouri negro | |
dialect; the extremest form of the backwoods Southwestern dialect; the | |
ordinary "Pike County" dialect; and four modified varieties of this | |
last. The shadings have not been done in a haphazard fashion, or by | |
guesswork; but painstakingly, and with the trustworthy guidance and | |
support of personal familiarity with these several forms of speech. | |
I make this explanation for the reason that without it many readers | |
would suppose that all these characters were trying to talk alike and | |
not succeeding. | |
THE AUTHOR. | |
HUCKLEBERRY FINN | |
Scene: The Mississippi Valley Time: Forty to fifty years ago | |
CHAPTER I. | |
YOU don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The | |
Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter. That book was made | |
by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly. There was things | |
which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth. That is nothing. I | |
never seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was Aunt | |
Polly, or the widow, or maybe Mary. Aunt PollyTom's Aunt Polly, she | |
isand Mary, and the Widow Douglas is all told about in that book, which | |
is mostly a true book, with some stretchers, as I said before. | |
Now the way that the book winds up is this: Tom and me found the money | |
that the robbers hid in the cave, and it made us rich. We got six | |
thousand dollars apieceall gold. It was an awful sight of money when | |
it was piled up. Well, Judge Thatcher he took it and put it out | |
at interest, and it fetched us a dollar a day apiece all the year | |
roundmore than a body could tell what to do with. The Widow Douglas | |
she took me for her son, and allowed she would sivilize me; but it was | |
rough living in the house all the time, considering how dismal regular | |
and decent the widow was in all her ways; and so when I couldn't stand | |
it no longer I lit out. I got into my old rags and my sugar-hogshead | |
again, and was free and satisfied. But Tom Sawyer he hunted me up and | |
said he was going to start a band of robbers, and I might join if I | |
would go back to the widow and be respectable. So I went back. | |
The widow she cried over me, and called me a poor lost lamb, and she | |
called me a lot of other names, too, but she never meant no harm by | |
it. She put me in them new clothes again, and I couldn't do nothing but | |
sweat and sweat, and feel all cramped up. Well, then, the old thing | |
commenced again. The widow rung a bell for supper, and you had to come | |
to time. When you got to the table you couldn't go right to eating, but | |
you had to wait for the widow to tuck down her head and grumble a little | |
over the victuals, though there warn't really anything the matter with | |
them,that is, nothing only everything was cooked by itself. In a | |
barrel of odds and ends it is different; things get mixed up, and the | |
juice kind of swaps around, and the things go better. | |
After supper she got out her book and learned me about Moses and the | |
Bulrushers, and I was in a sweat to find out all about him; but by and | |
by she let it out that Moses had been dead a considerable long time; so | |
then I didn't care no more about him, because I don't take no stock in | |
dead people. | |
Pretty soon I wanted to smoke, and asked the widow to let me. But she | |
wouldn't. She said it was a mean practice and wasn't clean, and I must | |
try to not do it any more. That is just the way with some people. They | |
get down on a thing when they don't know nothing about it. Here she was | |
a-bothering about Moses, which was no kin to her, and no use to anybody, | |
being gone, you see, yet finding a power of fault with me for doing a | |
thing that had some good in it. And she took snuff, too; of course that | |
was all right, because she done it herself. | |
Her sister, Miss Watson, a tolerable slim old maid, with goggles on, | |
had just come to live with her, and took a set at me now with a | |
spelling-book. She worked me middling hard for about an hour, and then | |
the widow made her ease up. I couldn't stood it much longer. Then for | |
an hour it was deadly dull, and I was fidgety. Miss Watson would say, | |
"Don't put your feet up there, Huckleberry;" and "Don't scrunch up | |
like that, Huckleberryset up straight;" and pretty soon she would | |
say, "Don't gap and stretch like that, Huckleberrywhy don't you try to | |
behave?" Then she told me all about the bad place, and I said I wished | |
I was there. She got mad then, but I didn't mean no harm. All I wanted | |
was to go somewheres; all I wanted was a change, I warn't particular. | |
She said it was wicked to say what I said; said she wouldn't say it for | |
the whole world; she was going to live so as to go to the good place. | |
Well, I couldn't see no advantage in going where she was going, so I | |
made up my mind I wouldn't try for it. But I never said so, because it | |
would only make trouble, and wouldn't do no good. | |
Now she had got a start, and she went on and told me all about the good | |
place. She said all a body would have to do there was to go around all | |
day long with a harp and sing, forever and ever. So I didn't think | |
much of it. But I never said so. I asked her if she reckoned Tom Sawyer | |
would go there, and she said not by a considerable sight. I was glad | |
about that, because I wanted him and me to be together. | |
Miss Watson she kept pecking at me, and it got tiresome and lonesome. | |
By and by they fetched the niggers in and had prayers, and then | |
everybody was off to bed. I went up to my room with a piece of candle, | |
and put it on the table. Then I set down in a chair by the window and | |
tried to think of something cheerful, but it warn't no use. I felt | |
so lonesome I most wished I was dead. The stars were shining, and the | |
leaves rustled in the woods ever so mournful; and I heard an owl, away | |
off, who-whooing about somebody that was dead, and a whippowill and a | |
dog crying about somebody that was going to die; and the wind was trying | |
to whisper something to me, and I couldn't make out what it was, and so | |
it made the cold shivers run over me. Then away out in the woods I heard | |
that kind of a sound that a ghost makes when it wants to tell about | |
something that's on its mind and can't make itself understood, and so | |
can't rest easy in its grave, and has to go about that way every night | |
grieving. I got so down-hearted and scared I did wish I had some | |
company. Pretty soon a spider went crawling up my shoulder, and I | |
flipped it off and it lit in the candle; and before I could budge it | |
was all shriveled up. I didn't need anybody to tell me that that was | |
an awful bad sign and would fetch me some bad luck, so I was scared | |
and most shook the clothes off of me. I got up and turned around in my | |
tracks three times and crossed my breast every time; and then I tied | |
up a little lock of my hair with a thread to keep witches away. But | |
I hadn't no confidence. You do that when you've lost a horseshoe that | |
you've found, instead of nailing it up over the door, but I hadn't ever | |
heard anybody say it was any way to keep off bad luck when you'd killed | |
a spider. | |
I set down again, a-shaking all over, and got out my pipe for a smoke; | |
for the house was all as still as death now, and so the widow wouldn't | |
know. Well, after a long time I heard the clock away off in the town | |
go boomboomboomtwelve licks; and all still againstiller than | |
ever. Pretty soon I heard a twig snap down in the dark amongst the | |
treessomething was a stirring. I set still and listened. Directly I | |
could just barely hear a "me-yow! me-yow!" down there. That was good! | |
Says I, "me-yow! me-yow!" as soft as I could, and then I put out the | |
light and scrambled out of the window on to the shed. Then I slipped | |
down to the ground and crawled in among the trees, and, sure enough, | |
there was Tom Sawyer waiting for me. | |
CHAPTER II. | |
WE went tiptoeing along a path amongst the trees back towards the end of | |
the widow's garden, stooping down so as the branches wouldn't scrape our | |
heads. When we was passing by the kitchen I fell over a root and made | |
a noise. We scrouched down and laid still. Miss Watson's big nigger, | |
named Jim, was setting in the kitchen door; we could see him pretty | |
clear, because there was a light behind him. He got up and stretched | |
his neck out about a minute, listening. Then he says: | |
"Who dah?" | |
He listened some more; then he come tiptoeing down and stood right | |
between us; we could a touched him, nearly. Well, likely it was | |
minutes and minutes that there warn't a sound, and we all there so close | |
together. There was a place on my ankle that got to itching, but I | |
dasn't scratch it; and then my ear begun to itch; and next my back, | |
right between my shoulders. Seemed like I'd die if I couldn't scratch. | |
Well, I've noticed that thing plenty times since. If you are with | |
the quality, or at a funeral, or trying to go to sleep when you ain't | |
sleepyif you are anywheres where it won't do for you to scratch, why | |
you will itch all over in upwards of a thousand places. Pretty soon Jim | |
says: | |
"Say, who is you? Whar is you? Dog my cats ef I didn' hear sumf'n. | |
Well, I know what I's gwyne to do: I's gwyne to set down here and | |
listen tell I hears it agin." | |
So he set down on the ground betwixt me and Tom. He leaned his back up | |
against a tree, and stretched his legs out till one of them most touched | |
one of mine. My nose begun to itch. It itched till the tears come into | |
my eyes. But I dasn't scratch. Then it begun to itch on the inside. | |
Next I got to itching underneath. I didn't know how I was going to set | |
still. This miserableness went on as much as six or seven minutes; but | |
it seemed a sight longer than that. I was itching in eleven different | |
places now. I reckoned I couldn't stand it more'n a minute longer, | |
but I set my teeth hard and got ready to try. Just then Jim begun | |
to breathe heavy; next he begun to snoreand then I was pretty soon | |
comfortable again. | |
Tom he made a sign to mekind of a little noise with his mouthand we | |
went creeping away on our hands and knees. When we was ten foot off Tom | |
whispered to me, and wanted to tie Jim to the tree for fun. But I said | |
no; he might wake and make a disturbance, and then they'd find out I | |
warn't in. Then Tom said he hadn't got candles enough, and he would slip | |
in the kitchen and get some more. I didn't want him to try. I said Jim | |
might wake up and come. But Tom wanted to resk it; so we slid in there | |
and got three candles, and Tom laid five cents on the table for pay. | |
Then we got out, and I was in a sweat to get away; but nothing would do | |
Tom but he must crawl to where Jim was, on his hands and knees, and play | |
something on him. I waited, and it seemed a good while, everything was | |
so still and lonesome. | |
As soon as Tom was back we cut along the path, around the garden fence, | |
and by and by fetched up on the steep top of the hill the other side of | |
the house. Tom said he slipped Jim's hat off of his head and hung it | |
on a limb right over him, and Jim stirred a little, but he didn't wake. | |
Afterwards Jim said the witches be witched him and put him in a trance, | |
and rode him all over the State, and then set him under the trees again, | |
and hung his hat on a limb to show who done it. And next time Jim told | |
it he said they rode him down to New Orleans; and, after that, every | |
time he told it he spread it more and more, till by and by he said they | |
rode him all over the world, and tired him most to death, and his back | |
was all over saddle-boils. Jim was monstrous proud about it, and he | |
got so he wouldn't hardly notice the other niggers. Niggers would come | |
miles to hear Jim tell about it, and he was more looked up to than any | |
nigger in that country. Strange niggers would stand with their mouths | |
open and look him all over, same as if he was a wonder. Niggers is | |
always talking about witches in the dark by the kitchen fire; but | |
whenever one was talking and letting on to know all about such things, | |
Jim would happen in and say, "Hm! What you know 'bout witches?" and | |
that nigger was corked up and had to take a back seat. Jim always kept | |
that five-center piece round his neck with a string, and said it was a | |
charm the devil give to him with his own hands, and told him he could | |
cure anybody with it and fetch witches whenever he wanted to just by | |
saying something to it; but he never told what it was he said to it. | |
Niggers would come from all around there and give Jim anything they | |
had, just for a sight of that five-center piece; but they wouldn't touch | |
it, because the devil had had his hands on it. Jim was most ruined for | |
a servant, because he got stuck up on account of having seen the devil | |
and been rode by witches. | |
Well, when Tom and me got to the edge of the hilltop we looked away down | |
into the village and could see three or four lights twinkling, where | |
there was sick folks, maybe; and the stars over us was sparkling ever | |
so fine; and down by the village was the river, a whole mile broad, and | |
awful still and grand. We went down the hill and found Jo Harper and | |
Ben Rogers, and two or three more of the boys, hid in the old tanyard. | |
So we unhitched a skiff and pulled down the river two mile and a half, | |
to the big scar on the hillside, and went ashore. | |
We went to a clump of bushes, and Tom made everybody swear to keep the | |
secret, and then showed them a hole in the hill, right in the thickest | |
part of the bushes. Then we lit the candles, and crawled in on our | |
hands and knees. We went about two hundred yards, and then the cave | |
opened up. Tom poked about amongst the passages, and pretty soon ducked | |
under a wall where you wouldn't a noticed that there was a hole. We | |
went along a narrow place and got into a kind of room, all damp and | |
sweaty and cold, and there we stopped. Tom says: | |
"Now, we'll start this band of robbers and call it Tom Sawyer's Gang. | |
Everybody that wants to join has got to take an oath, and write his name | |
in blood." | |
Everybody was willing. So Tom got out a sheet of paper that he had | |
wrote the oath on, and read it. It swore every boy to stick to the | |
band, and never tell any of the secrets; and if anybody done anything to | |
any boy in the band, whichever boy was ordered to kill that person and | |
his family must do it, and he mustn't eat and he mustn't sleep till he | |
had killed them and hacked a cross in their breasts, which was the sign | |
of the band. And nobody that didn't belong to the band could use that | |
mark, and if he did he must be sued; and if he done it again he must be | |
killed. And if anybody that belonged to the band told the secrets, he | |
must have his throat cut, and then have his carcass burnt up and the | |
ashes scattered all around, and his name blotted off of the list with | |
blood and never mentioned again by the gang, but have a curse put on it | |
and be forgot forever. | |
Everybody said it was a real beautiful oath, and asked Tom if he got | |
it out of his own head. He said, some of it, but the rest was out of | |
pirate-books and robber-books, and every gang that was high-toned had | |
it. | |
Some thought it would be good to kill the families of boys that told | |
the secrets. Tom said it was a good idea, so he took a pencil and wrote | |
it in. Then Ben Rogers says: | |
"Here's Huck Finn, he hain't got no family; what you going to do 'bout | |
him?" | |
"Well, hain't he got a father?" says Tom Sawyer. | |
"Yes, he's got a father, but you can't never find him these days. He | |
used to lay drunk with the hogs in the tanyard, but he hain't been seen | |
in these parts for a year or more." | |
They talked it over, and they was going to rule me out, because they | |
said every boy must have a family or somebody to kill, or else it | |
wouldn't be fair and square for the others. Well, nobody could think of | |
anything to doeverybody was stumped, and set still. I was most ready | |
to cry; but all at once I thought of a way, and so I offered them Miss | |
Watsonthey could kill her. Everybody said: | |
"Oh, she'll do. That's all right. Huck can come in." | |
Then they all stuck a pin in their fingers to get blood to sign with, | |
and I made my mark on the paper. | |
"Now," says Ben Rogers, "what's the line of business of this Gang?" | |
"Nothing only robbery and murder," Tom said. | |
"But who are we going to rob?houses, or cattle, or" | |
"Stuff! stealing cattle and such things ain't robbery; it's burglary," | |
says Tom Sawyer. "We ain't burglars. That ain't no sort of style. We | |
are highwaymen. We stop stages and carriages on the road, with masks | |
on, and kill the people and take their watches and money." | |
"Must we always kill the people?" | |
"Oh, certainly. It's best. Some authorities think different, but | |
mostly it's considered best to kill themexcept some that you bring to | |
the cave here, and keep them till they're ransomed." | |
"Ransomed? What's that?" | |
"I don't know. But that's what they do. I've seen it in books; and so | |
of course that's what we've got to do." | |
"But how can we do it if we don't know what it is?" | |
"Why, blame it all, we've got to do it. Don't I tell you it's in the | |
books? Do you want to go to doing different from what's in the books, | |
and get things all muddled up?" | |
"Oh, that's all very fine to say, Tom Sawyer, but how in the nation | |
are these fellows going to be ransomed if we don't know how to do it | |
to them?that's the thing I want to get at. Now, what do you reckon it | |
is?" | |
"Well, I don't know. But per'aps if we keep them till they're ransomed, | |
it means that we keep them till they're dead." | |
"Now, that's something like. That'll answer. Why couldn't you said | |
that before? We'll keep them till they're ransomed to death; and a | |
bothersome lot they'll be, tooeating up everything, and always trying | |
to get loose." | |
"How you talk, Ben Rogers. How can they get loose when there's a guard | |
over them, ready to shoot them down if they move a peg?" | |
"A guard! Well, that is good. So somebody's got to set up all night | |
and never get any sleep, just so as to watch them. I think that's | |
foolishness. Why can't a body take a club and ransom them as soon as | |
they get here?" | |
"Because it ain't in the books sothat's why. Now, Ben Rogers, do you | |
want to do things regular, or don't you?that's the idea. Don't you | |
reckon that the people that made the books knows what's the correct | |
thing to do? Do you reckon you can learn 'em anything? Not by a good | |
deal. No, sir, we'll just go on and ransom them in the regular way." | |
"All right. I don't mind; but I say it's a fool way, anyhow. Say, do | |
we kill the women, too?" | |
"Well, Ben Rogers, if I was as ignorant as you I wouldn't let on. Kill | |
the women? No; nobody ever saw anything in the books like that. You | |
fetch them to the cave, and you're always as polite as pie to them; | |
and by and by they fall in love with you, and never want to go home any | |
more." | |
"Well, if that's the way I'm agreed, but I don't take no stock in it. | |
Mighty soon we'll have the cave so cluttered up with women, and fellows | |
waiting to be ransomed, that there won't be no place for the robbers. | |
But go ahead, I ain't got nothing to say." | |
Little Tommy Barnes was asleep now, and when they waked him up he was | |
scared, and cried, and said he wanted to go home to his ma, and didn't | |
want to be a robber any more. | |
So they all made fun of him, and called him cry-baby, and that made him | |
mad, and he said he would go straight and tell all the secrets. But | |
Tom give him five cents to keep quiet, and said we would all go home and | |
meet next week, and rob somebody and kill some people. | |
Ben Rogers said he couldn't get out much, only Sundays, and so he wanted | |
to begin next Sunday; but all the boys said it would be wicked to do it | |
on Sunday, and that settled the thing. They agreed to get together and | |
fix a day as soon as they could, and then we elected Tom Sawyer first | |
captain and Jo Harper second captain of the Gang, and so started home. | |
I clumb up the shed and crept into my window just before day was | |
breaking. My new clothes was all greased up and clayey, and I was | |
dog-tired. | |
CHAPTER III. | |
WELL, I got a good going-over in the morning from old Miss Watson on | |
account of my clothes; but the widow she didn't scold, but only cleaned | |
off the grease and clay, and looked so sorry that I thought I would | |
behave awhile if I could. Then Miss Watson she took me in the closet | |
and prayed, but nothing come of it. She told me to pray every day, and | |
whatever I asked for I would get it. But it warn't so. I tried it. | |
Once I got a fish-line, but no hooks. It warn't any good to me without | |
hooks. I tried for the hooks three or four times, but somehow I | |
couldn't make it work. By and by, one day, I asked Miss Watson to | |
try for me, but she said I was a fool. She never told me why, and I | |
couldn't make it out no way. | |
I set down one time back in the woods, and had a long think about it. | |
I says to myself, if a body can get anything they pray for, why don't | |
Deacon Winn get back the money he lost on pork? Why can't the widow get | |
back her silver snuffbox that was stole? Why can't Miss Watson fat up? | |
No, says I to my self, there ain't nothing in it. I went and told the | |
widow about it, and she said the thing a body could get by praying for | |
it was "spiritual gifts." This was too many for me, but she told me | |
what she meantI must help other people, and do everything I could for | |
other people, and look out for them all the time, and never think about | |
myself. This was including Miss Watson, as I took it. I went out in the | |
woods and turned it over in my mind a long time, but I couldn't see no | |
advantage about itexcept for the other people; so at last I reckoned | |
I wouldn't worry about it any more, but just let it go. Sometimes the | |
widow would take me one side and talk about Providence in a way to make | |
a body's mouth water; but maybe next day Miss Watson would take hold | |
and knock it all down again. I judged I could see that there was two | |
Providences, and a poor chap would stand considerable show with the | |
widow's Providence, but if Miss Watson's got him there warn't no help | |
for him any more. I thought it all out, and reckoned I would belong | |
to the widow's if he wanted me, though I couldn't make out how he was | |
a-going to be any better off then than what he was before, seeing I was | |
so ignorant, and so kind of low-down and ornery. | |
Pap he hadn't been seen for more than a year, and that was comfortable | |
for me; I didn't want to see him no more. He used to always whale me | |
when he was sober and could get his hands on me; though I used to take | |
to the woods most of the time when he was around. Well, about this time | |
he was found in the river drownded, about twelve mile above town, so | |
people said. They judged it was him, anyway; said this drownded man was | |
just his size, and was ragged, and had uncommon long hair, which was all | |
like pap; but they couldn't make nothing out of the face, because it had | |
been in the water so long it warn't much like a face at all. They said | |
he was floating on his back in the water. They took him and buried him | |
on the bank. But I warn't comfortable long, because I happened to think | |
of something. I knowed mighty well that a drownded man don't float on | |
his back, but on his face. So I knowed, then, that this warn't pap, but | |
a woman dressed up in a man's clothes. So I was uncomfortable again. | |
I judged the old man would turn up again by and by, though I wished he | |
wouldn't. | |
We played robber now and then about a month, and then I resigned. All | |
the boys did. We hadn't robbed nobody, hadn't killed any people, but | |
only just pretended. We used to hop out of the woods and go charging | |
down on hog-drivers and women in carts taking garden stuff to market, | |
but we never hived any of them. Tom Sawyer called the hogs "ingots," | |
and he called the turnips and stuff "julery," and we would go to the | |
cave and powwow over what we had done, and how many people we had killed | |
and marked. But I couldn't see no profit in it. One time Tom sent a | |
boy to run about town with a blazing stick, which he called a slogan | |
(which was the sign for the Gang to get together), and then he said he | |
had got secret news by his spies that next day a whole parcel of Spanish | |
merchants and rich A-rabs was going to camp in Cave Hollow with two | |
hundred elephants, and six hundred camels, and over a thousand "sumter" | |
mules, all loaded down with di'monds, and they didn't have only a guard | |
of four hundred soldiers, and so we would lay in ambuscade, as he called | |
it, and kill the lot and scoop the things. He said we must slick up | |
our swords and guns, and get ready. He never could go after even a | |
turnip-cart but he must have the swords and guns all scoured up for it, | |
though they was only lath and broomsticks, and you might scour at them | |
till you rotted, and then they warn't worth a mouthful of ashes more | |
than what they was before. I didn't believe we could lick such a crowd | |
of Spaniards and A-rabs, but I wanted to see the camels and elephants, | |
so I was on hand next day, Saturday, in the ambuscade; and when we got | |
the word we rushed out of the woods and down the hill. But there warn't | |
no Spaniards and A-rabs, and there warn't no camels nor no elephants. | |
It warn't anything but a Sunday-school picnic, and only a primer-class | |
at that. We busted it up, and chased the children up the hollow; but we | |
never got anything but some doughnuts and jam, though Ben Rogers got | |
a rag doll, and Jo Harper got a hymn-book and a tract; and then the | |
teacher charged in, and made us drop everything and cut. | |
I didn't see no di'monds, and I told Tom Sawyer so. He said there was | |
loads of them there, anyway; and he said there was A-rabs there, too, | |
and elephants and things. I said, why couldn't we see them, then? He | |
said if I warn't so ignorant, but had read a book called Don Quixote, I | |
would know without asking. He said it was all done by enchantment. He | |
said there was hundreds of soldiers there, and elephants and treasure, | |
and so on, but we had enemies which he called magicians; and they had | |
turned the whole thing into an infant Sunday-school, just out of spite. | |
I said, all right; then the thing for us to do was to go for the | |
magicians. Tom Sawyer said I was a numskull. | |
"Why," said he, "a magician could call up a lot of genies, and they | |
would hash you up like nothing before you could say Jack Robinson. They | |
are as tall as a tree and as big around as a church." | |
"Well," I says, "s'pose we got some genies to help uscan't we lick | |
the other crowd then?" | |
"How you going to get them?" | |
"I don't know. How do they get them?" | |
"Why, they rub an old tin lamp or an iron ring, and then the genies | |
come tearing in, with the thunder and lightning a-ripping around and the | |
smoke a-rolling, and everything they're told to do they up and do it. | |
They don't think nothing of pulling a shot-tower up by the roots, and | |
belting a Sunday-school superintendent over the head with itor any | |
other man." | |
"Who makes them tear around so?" | |
"Why, whoever rubs the lamp or the ring. They belong to whoever rubs | |
the lamp or the ring, and they've got to do whatever he says. If he | |
tells them to build a palace forty miles long out of di'monds, and fill | |
it full of chewing-gum, or whatever you want, and fetch an emperor's | |
daughter from China for you to marry, they've got to do itand they've | |
got to do it before sun-up next morning, too. And more: they've got | |
to waltz that palace around over the country wherever you want it, you | |
understand." | |
"Well," says I, "I think they are a pack of flat-heads for not keeping | |
the palace themselves 'stead of fooling them away like that. And what's | |
moreif I was one of them I would see a man in Jericho before I would | |
drop my business and come to him for the rubbing of an old tin lamp." | |
"How you talk, Huck Finn. Why, you'd have to come when he rubbed it, | |
whether you wanted to or not." | |
"What! and I as high as a tree and as big as a church? All right, then; | |
I would come; but I lay I'd make that man climb the highest tree there | |
was in the country." | |
"Shucks, it ain't no use to talk to you, Huck Finn. You don't seem to | |
know anything, somehowperfect saphead." | |
I thought all this over for two or three days, and then I reckoned I | |
would see if there was anything in it. I got an old tin lamp and an | |
iron ring, and went out in the woods and rubbed and rubbed till I sweat | |
like an Injun, calculating to build a palace and sell it; but it warn't | |
no use, none of the genies come. So then I judged that all that stuff | |
was only just one of Tom Sawyer's lies. I reckoned he believed in the | |
A-rabs and the elephants, but as for me I think different. It had all | |
the marks of a Sunday-school. | |
CHAPTER IV. | |
WELL, three or four months run along, and it was well into the winter | |
now. I had been to school most all the time and could spell and read and | |
write just a little, and could say the multiplication table up to six | |
times seven is thirty-five, and I don't reckon I could ever get any | |
further than that if I was to live forever. I don't take no stock in | |
mathematics, anyway. | |
At first I hated the school, but by and by I got so I could stand it. | |
Whenever I got uncommon tired I played hookey, and the hiding I got next | |
day done me good and cheered me up. So the longer I went to school the | |
easier it got to be. I was getting sort of used to the widow's ways, | |
too, and they warn't so raspy on me. Living in a house and sleeping in | |
a bed pulled on me pretty tight mostly, but before the cold weather I | |
used to slide out and sleep in the woods sometimes, and so that was a | |
rest to me. I liked the old ways best, but I was getting so I liked the | |
new ones, too, a little bit. The widow said I was coming along slow but | |
sure, and doing very satisfactory. She said she warn't ashamed of me. | |
One morning I happened to turn over the salt-cellar at breakfast. | |
I reached for some of it as quick as I could to throw over my left | |
shoulder and keep off the bad luck, but Miss Watson was in ahead of me, | |
and crossed me off. She says, "Take your hands away, Huckleberry; what | |
a mess you are always making!" The widow put in a good word for me, but | |
that warn't going to keep off the bad luck, I knowed that well enough. | |
I started out, after breakfast, feeling worried and shaky, and | |
wondering where it was going to fall on me, and what it was going to be. | |
There is ways to keep off some kinds of bad luck, but this wasn't one | |
of them kind; so I never tried to do anything, but just poked along | |
low-spirited and on the watch-out. | |
I went down to the front garden and clumb over the stile where you go | |
through the high board fence. There was an inch of new snow on the | |
ground, and I seen somebody's tracks. They had come up from the quarry | |
and stood around the stile a while, and then went on around the garden | |
fence. It was funny they hadn't come in, after standing around so. I | |
couldn't make it out. It was very curious, somehow. I was going to | |
follow around, but I stooped down to look at the tracks first. I didn't | |
notice anything at first, but next I did. There was a cross in the left | |
boot-heel made with big nails, to keep off the devil. | |
I was up in a second and shinning down the hill. I looked over my | |
shoulder every now and then, but I didn't see nobody. I was at Judge | |
Thatcher's as quick as I could get there. He said: | |
"Why, my boy, you are all out of breath. Did you come for your | |
interest?" | |
"No, sir," I says; "is there some for me?" | |
"Oh, yes, a half-yearly is in last nightover a hundred and fifty | |
dollars. Quite a fortune for you. You had better let me invest it | |
along with your six thousand, because if you take it you'll spend it." | |
"No, sir," I says, "I don't want to spend it. I don't want it at | |
allnor the six thousand, nuther. I want you to take it; I want to give | |
it to youthe six thousand and all." | |
He looked surprised. He couldn't seem to make it out. He says: | |
"Why, what can you mean, my boy?" | |
I says, "Don't you ask me no questions about it, please. You'll take | |
itwon't you?" | |
He says: | |
"Well, I'm puzzled. Is something the matter?" | |
"Please take it," says I, "and don't ask me nothingthen I won't have to | |
tell no lies." | |
He studied a while, and then he says: | |
"Oho-o! I think I see. You want to sell all your property to menot | |
give it. That's the correct idea." | |
Then he wrote something on a paper and read it over, and says: | |
"There; you see it says 'for a consideration.' That means I have bought | |
it of you and paid you for it. Here's a dollar for you. Now you sign | |
it." | |
So I signed it, and left. | |
Miss Watson's nigger, Jim, had a hair-ball as big as your fist, which | |
had been took out of the fourth stomach of an ox, and he used to do | |
magic with it. He said there was a spirit inside of it, and it knowed | |
everything. So I went to him that night and told him pap was here | |
again, for I found his tracks in the snow. What I wanted to know was, | |
what he was going to do, and was he going to stay? Jim got out his | |
hair-ball and said something over it, and then he held it up and dropped | |
it on the floor. It fell pretty solid, and only rolled about an inch. | |
Jim tried it again, and then another time, and it acted just the same. | |
Jim got down on his knees, and put his ear against it and listened. | |
But it warn't no use; he said it wouldn't talk. He said sometimes it | |
wouldn't talk without money. I told him I had an old slick counterfeit | |
quarter that warn't no good because the brass showed through the silver | |
a little, and it wouldn't pass nohow, even if the brass didn't show, | |
because it was so slick it felt greasy, and so that would tell on it | |
every time. (I reckoned I wouldn't say nothing about the dollar I got | |
from the judge.) I said it was pretty bad money, but maybe the hair-ball | |
would take it, because maybe it wouldn't know the difference. Jim smelt | |
it and bit it and rubbed it, and said he would manage so the hair-ball | |
would think it was good. He said he would split open a raw Irish potato | |
and stick the quarter in between and keep it there all night, and next | |
morning you couldn't see no brass, and it wouldn't feel greasy no more, | |
and so anybody in town would take it in a minute, let alone a hair-ball. | |
Well, I knowed a potato would do that before, but I had forgot it. | |
Jim put the quarter under the hair-ball, and got down and listened | |
again. This time he said the hair-ball was all right. He said it | |
would tell my whole fortune if I wanted it to. I says, go on. So the | |
hair-ball talked to Jim, and Jim told it to me. He says: | |
"Yo' ole father doan' know yit what he's a-gwyne to do. Sometimes he | |
spec he'll go 'way, en den agin he spec he'll stay. De bes' way is to | |
res' easy en let de ole man take his own way. Dey's two angels hoverin' | |
roun' 'bout him. One uv 'em is white en shiny, en t'other one is black. | |
De white one gits him to go right a little while, den de black one sail | |
in en bust it all up. A body can't tell yit which one gwyne to fetch | |
him at de las'. But you is all right. You gwyne to have considable | |
trouble in yo' life, en considable joy. Sometimes you gwyne to git | |
hurt, en sometimes you gwyne to git sick; but every time you's gwyne | |
to git well agin. Dey's two gals flyin' 'bout you in yo' life. One | |
uv 'em's light en t'other one is dark. One is rich en t'other is po'. | |
You's gwyne to marry de po' one fust en de rich one by en by. You | |
wants to keep 'way fum de water as much as you kin, en don't run no | |
resk, 'kase it's down in de bills dat you's gwyne to git hung." | |
When I lit my candle and went up to my room that night there sat pap his | |
own self! | |
CHAPTER V. | |
I had shut the door to. Then I turned around and there he was. I used | |
to be scared of him all the time, he tanned me so much. I reckoned I | |
was scared now, too; but in a minute I see I was mistakenthat is, after | |
the first jolt, as you may say, when my breath sort of hitched, he being | |
so unexpected; but right away after I see I warn't scared of him worth | |
bothring about. | |
He was most fifty, and he looked it. His hair was long and tangled and | |
greasy, and hung down, and you could see his eyes shining through | |
like he was behind vines. It was all black, no gray; so was his long, | |
mixed-up whiskers. There warn't no color in his face, where his face | |
showed; it was white; not like another man's white, but a white to make | |
a body sick, a white to make a body's flesh crawla tree-toad white, a | |
fish-belly white. As for his clothesjust rags, that was all. He had | |
one ankle resting on t'other knee; the boot on that foot was busted, and | |
two of his toes stuck through, and he worked them now and then. His hat | |
was laying on the flooran old black slouch with the top caved in, like | |
a lid. | |
I stood a-looking at him; he set there a-looking at me, with his chair | |
tilted back a little. I set the candle down. I noticed the window was | |
up; so he had clumb in by the shed. He kept a-looking me all over. By | |
and by he says: | |
"Starchy clothesvery. You think you're a good deal of a big-bug, | |
don't you?" | |
"Maybe I am, maybe I ain't," I says. | |
"Don't you give me none o' your lip," says he. "You've put on | |
considerable many frills since I been away. I'll take you down a peg | |
before I get done with you. You're educated, too, they saycan read and | |
write. You think you're better'n your father, now, don't you, because | |
he can't? I'll take it out of you. Who told you you might meddle | |
with such hifalut'n foolishness, hey?who told you you could?" | |
"The widow. She told me." | |
"The widow, hey?and who told the widow she could put in her shovel | |
about a thing that ain't none of her business?" | |
"Nobody never told her." | |
"Well, I'll learn her how to meddle. And looky hereyou drop that | |
school, you hear? I'll learn people to bring up a boy to put on airs | |
over his own father and let on to be better'n what he is. You lemme | |
catch you fooling around that school again, you hear? Your mother | |
couldn't read, and she couldn't write, nuther, before she died. None | |
of the family couldn't before they died. I can't; and here you're | |
a-swelling yourself up like this. I ain't the man to stand ityou hear? | |
Say, lemme hear you read." | |
I took up a book and begun something about General Washington and the | |
wars. When I'd read about a half a minute, he fetched the book a whack | |
with his hand and knocked it across the house. He says: | |
"It's so. You can do it. I had my doubts when you told me. Now looky | |
here; you stop that putting on frills. I won't have it. I'll lay for | |
you, my smarty; and if I catch you about that school I'll tan you good. | |
First you know you'll get religion, too. I never see such a son." | |
He took up a little blue and yaller picture of some cows and a boy, and | |
says: | |
"What's this?" | |
"It's something they give me for learning my lessons good." | |
He tore it up, and says: | |
"I'll give you something betterI'll give you a cowhide." | |
He set there a-mumbling and a-growling a minute, and then he says: | |
"Ain't you a sweet-scented dandy, though? A bed; and bedclothes; and | |
a look'n'-glass; and a piece of carpet on the floorand your own father | |
got to sleep with the hogs in the tanyard. I never see such a son. I | |
bet I'll take some o' these frills out o' you before I'm done with you. | |
Why, there ain't no end to your airsthey say you're rich. Hey?how's | |
that?" | |
"They liethat's how." | |
"Looky heremind how you talk to me; I'm a-standing about all I can | |
stand nowso don't gimme no sass. I've been in town two days, and I | |
hain't heard nothing but about you bein' rich. I heard about it | |
away down the river, too. That's why I come. You git me that money | |
to-morrowI want it." | |
"I hain't got no money." | |
"It's a lie. Judge Thatcher's got it. You git it. I want it." | |
"I hain't got no money, I tell you. You ask Judge Thatcher; he'll tell | |
you the same." | |
"All right. I'll ask him; and I'll make him pungle, too, or I'll know | |
the reason why. Say, how much you got in your pocket? I want it." | |
"I hain't got only a dollar, and I want that to" | |
"It don't make no difference what you want it foryou just shell it | |
out." | |
He took it and bit it to see if it was good, and then he said he was | |
going down town to get some whisky; said he hadn't had a drink all day. | |
When he had got out on the shed he put his head in again, and cussed | |
me for putting on frills and trying to be better than him; and when I | |
reckoned he was gone he come back and put his head in again, and told me | |
to mind about that school, because he was going to lay for me and lick | |
me if I didn't drop that. | |
Next day he was drunk, and he went to Judge Thatcher's and bullyragged | |
him, and tried to make him give up the money; but he couldn't, and then | |
he swore he'd make the law force him. | |
The judge and the widow went to law to get the court to take me away | |
from him and let one of them be my guardian; but it was a new judge that | |
had just come, and he didn't know the old man; so he said courts mustn't | |
interfere and separate families if they could help it; said he'd druther | |
not take a child away from its father. So Judge Thatcher and the widow | |
had to quit on the business. | |
That pleased the old man till he couldn't rest. He said he'd cowhide | |
me till I was black and blue if I didn't raise some money for him. I | |
borrowed three dollars from Judge Thatcher, and pap took it and got | |
drunk, and went a-blowing around and cussing and whooping and carrying | |
on; and he kept it up all over town, with a tin pan, till most midnight; | |
then they jailed him, and next day they had him before court, and jailed | |
him again for a week. But he said he was satisfied; said he was boss | |
of his son, and he'd make it warm for him. | |
When he got out the new judge said he was a-going to make a man of him. | |
So he took him to his own house, and dressed him up clean and nice, and | |
had him to breakfast and dinner and supper with the family, and was just | |
old pie to him, so to speak. And after supper he talked to him about | |
temperance and such things till the old man cried, and said he'd been | |
a fool, and fooled away his life; but now he was a-going to turn over | |
a new leaf and be a man nobody wouldn't be ashamed of, and he hoped the | |
judge would help him and not look down on him. The judge said he could | |
hug him for them words; so he cried, and his wife she cried again; pap | |
said he'd been a man that had always been misunderstood before, and the | |
judge said he believed it. The old man said that what a man wanted | |
that was down was sympathy, and the judge said it was so; so they cried | |
again. And when it was bedtime the old man rose up and held out his | |
hand, and says: | |
"Look at it, gentlemen and ladies all; take a-hold of it; shake it. | |
There's a hand that was the hand of a hog; but it ain't so no more; it's | |
the hand of a man that's started in on a new life, and'll die before | |
he'll go back. You mark them wordsdon't forget I said them. It's a | |
clean hand now; shake itdon't be afeard." | |
So they shook it, one after the other, all around, and cried. The | |
judge's wife she kissed it. Then the old man he signed a pledgemade | |
his mark. The judge said it was the holiest time on record, or something | |
like that. Then they tucked the old man into a beautiful room, which was | |
the spare room, and in the night some time he got powerful thirsty and | |
clumb out on to the porch-roof and slid down a stanchion and traded his | |
new coat for a jug of forty-rod, and clumb back again and had a good old | |
time; and towards daylight he crawled out again, drunk as a fiddler, and | |
rolled off the porch and broke his left arm in two places, and was most | |
froze to death when somebody found him after sun-up. And when they come | |
to look at that spare room they had to take soundings before they could | |
navigate it. | |
The judge he felt kind of sore. He said he reckoned a body could reform | |
the old man with a shotgun, maybe, but he didn't know no other way. | |
CHAPTER VI. | |
WELL, pretty soon the old man was up and around again, and then he went | |
for Judge Thatcher in the courts to make him give up that money, and he | |
went for me, too, for not stopping school. He catched me a couple of | |
times and thrashed me, but I went to school just the same, and dodged | |
him or outrun him most of the time. I didn't want to go to school much | |
before, but I reckoned I'd go now to spite pap. That law trial was a | |
slow businessappeared like they warn't ever going to get started on it; | |
so every now and then I'd borrow two or three dollars off of the judge | |
for him, to keep from getting a cowhiding. Every time he got money he | |
got drunk; and every time he got drunk he raised Cain around town; and | |
every time he raised Cain he got jailed. He was just suitedthis kind | |
of thing was right in his line. | |
He got to hanging around the widow's too much and so she told him at | |
last that if he didn't quit using around there she would make trouble | |
for him. Well, wasn't he mad? He said he would show who was Huck | |
Finn's boss. So he watched out for me one day in the spring, and | |
catched me, and took me up the river about three mile in a skiff, and | |
crossed over to the Illinois shore where it was woody and there warn't | |
no houses but an old log hut in a place where the timber was so thick | |
you couldn't find it if you didn't know where it was. | |
He kept me with him all the time, and I never got a chance to run off. | |
We lived in that old cabin, and he always locked the door and put the | |
key under his head nights. He had a gun which he had stole, I reckon, | |
and we fished and hunted, and that was what we lived on. Every little | |
while he locked me in and went down to the store, three miles, to the | |
ferry, and traded fish and game for whisky, and fetched it home and got | |
drunk and had a good time, and licked me. The widow she found out where | |
I was by and by, and she sent a man over to try to get hold of me; but | |
pap drove him off with the gun, and it warn't long after that till I was | |
used to being where I was, and liked itall but the cowhide part. | |
It was kind of lazy and jolly, laying off comfortable all day, smoking | |
and fishing, and no books nor study. Two months or more run along, and | |
my clothes got to be all rags and dirt, and I didn't see how I'd ever | |
got to like it so well at the widow's, where you had to wash, and eat on | |
a plate, and comb up, and go to bed and get up regular, and be forever | |
bothering over a book, and have old Miss Watson pecking at you all the | |
time. I didn't want to go back no more. I had stopped cussing, because | |
the widow didn't like it; but now I took to it again because pap hadn't | |
no objections. It was pretty good times up in the woods there, take it | |
all around. | |
But by and by pap got too handy with his hick'ry, and I couldn't stand | |
it. I was all over welts. He got to going away so much, too, and | |
locking me in. Once he locked me in and was gone three days. It was | |
dreadful lonesome. I judged he had got drownded, and I wasn't ever | |
going to get out any more. I was scared. I made up my mind I would fix | |
up some way to leave there. I had tried to get out of that cabin many | |
a time, but I couldn't find no way. There warn't a window to it big | |
enough for a dog to get through. I couldn't get up the chimbly; it | |
was too narrow. The door was thick, solid oak slabs. Pap was pretty | |
careful not to leave a knife or anything in the cabin when he was away; | |
I reckon I had hunted the place over as much as a hundred times; well, I | |
was most all the time at it, because it was about the only way to put in | |
the time. But this time I found something at last; I found an old rusty | |
wood-saw without any handle; it was laid in between a rafter and the | |
clapboards of the roof. I greased it up and went to work. There was an | |
old horse-blanket nailed against the logs at the far end of the cabin | |
behind the table, to keep the wind from blowing through the chinks and | |
putting the candle out. I got under the table and raised the blanket, | |
and went to work to saw a section of the big bottom log outbig enough | |
to let me through. Well, it was a good long job, but I was getting | |
towards the end of it when I heard pap's gun in the woods. I got rid of | |
the signs of my work, and dropped the blanket and hid my saw, and pretty | |
soon pap come in. | |
Pap warn't in a good humorso he was his natural self. He said he was | |
down town, and everything was going wrong. His lawyer said he reckoned | |
he would win his lawsuit and get the money if they ever got started on | |
the trial; but then there was ways to put it off a long time, and Judge | |
Thatcher knowed how to do it. And he said people allowed there'd be | |
another trial to get me away from him and give me to the widow for my | |
guardian, and they guessed it would win this time. This shook me up | |
considerable, because I didn't want to go back to the widow's any more | |
and be so cramped up and sivilized, as they called it. Then the old man | |
got to cussing, and cussed everything and everybody he could think of, | |
and then cussed them all over again to make sure he hadn't skipped any, | |
and after that he polished off with a kind of a general cuss all round, | |
including a considerable parcel of people which he didn't know the names | |
of, and so called them what's-his-name when he got to them, and went | |
right along with his cussing. | |
He said he would like to see the widow get me. He said he would watch | |
out, and if they tried to come any such game on him he knowed of a place | |
six or seven mile off to stow me in, where they might hunt till they | |
dropped and they couldn't find me. That made me pretty uneasy again, | |
but only for a minute; I reckoned I wouldn't stay on hand till he got | |
that chance. | |
The old man made me go to the skiff and fetch the things he had | |
got. There was a fifty-pound sack of corn meal, and a side of bacon, | |
ammunition, and a four-gallon jug of whisky, and an old book and two | |
newspapers for wadding, besides some tow. I toted up a load, and went | |
back and set down on the bow of the skiff to rest. I thought it all | |
over, and I reckoned I would walk off with the gun and some lines, and | |
take to the woods when I run away. I guessed I wouldn't stay in one | |
place, but just tramp right across the country, mostly night times, and | |
hunt and fish to keep alive, and so get so far away that the old man nor | |
the widow couldn't ever find me any more. I judged I would saw out and | |
leave that night if pap got drunk enough, and I reckoned he would. I | |
got so full of it I didn't notice how long I was staying till the old | |
man hollered and asked me whether I was asleep or drownded. | |
I got the things all up to the cabin, and then it was about dark. While | |
I was cooking supper the old man took a swig or two and got sort of | |
warmed up, and went to ripping again. He had been drunk over in town, | |
and laid in the gutter all night, and he was a sight to look at. A body | |
would a thought he was Adamhe was just all mud. Whenever his liquor | |
begun to work he most always went for the govment, this time he says: | |
"Call this a govment! why, just look at it and see what it's like. | |
Here's the law a-standing ready to take a man's son away from hima | |
man's own son, which he has had all the trouble and all the anxiety | |
and all the expense of raising. Yes, just as that man has got that | |
son raised at last, and ready to go to work and begin to do suthin' for | |
him and give him a rest, the law up and goes for him. And they call | |
that govment! That ain't all, nuther. The law backs that old Judge | |
Thatcher up and helps him to keep me out o' my property. Here's what | |
the law does: The law takes a man worth six thousand dollars and | |
up'ards, and jams him into an old trap of a cabin like this, and lets | |
him go round in clothes that ain't fitten for a hog. They call that | |
govment! A man can't get his rights in a govment like this. Sometimes | |
I've a mighty notion to just leave the country for good and all. Yes, | |
and I told 'em so; I told old Thatcher so to his face. Lots of 'em | |
heard me, and can tell what I said. Says I, for two cents I'd leave the | |
blamed country and never come a-near it agin. Them's the very words. I | |
says look at my hatif you call it a hatbut the lid raises up and the | |
rest of it goes down till it's below my chin, and then it ain't rightly | |
a hat at all, but more like my head was shoved up through a jint o' | |
stove-pipe. Look at it, says Isuch a hat for me to wearone of the | |
wealthiest men in this town if I could git my rights. | |
"Oh, yes, this is a wonderful govment, wonderful. Why, looky here. | |
There was a free nigger there from Ohioa mulatter, most as white as | |
a white man. He had the whitest shirt on you ever see, too, and the | |
shiniest hat; and there ain't a man in that town that's got as fine | |
clothes as what he had; and he had a gold watch and chain, and a | |
silver-headed canethe awfulest old gray-headed nabob in the State. And | |
what do you think? They said he was a p'fessor in a college, and could | |
talk all kinds of languages, and knowed everything. And that ain't the | |
wust. They said he could vote when he was at home. Well, that let me | |
out. Thinks I, what is the country a-coming to? It was 'lection day, | |
and I was just about to go and vote myself if I warn't too drunk to get | |
there; but when they told me there was a State in this country where | |
they'd let that nigger vote, I drawed out. I says I'll never vote agin. | |
Them's the very words I said; they all heard me; and the country may | |
rot for all meI'll never vote agin as long as I live. And to see the | |
cool way of that niggerwhy, he wouldn't a give me the road if I hadn't | |
shoved him out o' the way. I says to the people, why ain't this nigger | |
put up at auction and sold?that's what I want to know. And what do you | |
reckon they said? Why, they said he couldn't be sold till he'd been in | |
the State six months, and he hadn't been there that long yet. There, | |
nowthat's a specimen. They call that a govment that can't sell a free | |
nigger till he's been in the State six months. Here's a govment that | |
calls itself a govment, and lets on to be a govment, and thinks it is a | |
govment, and yet's got to set stock-still for six whole months before | |
it can take a hold of a prowling, thieving, infernal, white-shirted free | |
nigger, and" | |
Pap was agoing on so he never noticed where his old limber legs was | |
taking him to, so he went head over heels over the tub of salt pork and | |
barked both shins, and the rest of his speech was all the hottest kind | |
of languagemostly hove at the nigger and the govment, though he give | |
the tub some, too, all along, here and there. He hopped around the | |
cabin considerable, first on one leg and then on the other, holding | |
first one shin and then the other one, and at last he let out with his | |
left foot all of a sudden and fetched the tub a rattling kick. But it | |
warn't good judgment, because that was the boot that had a couple of his | |
toes leaking out of the front end of it; so now he raised a howl that | |
fairly made a body's hair raise, and down he went in the dirt, and | |
rolled there, and held his toes; and the cussing he done then laid over | |
anything he had ever done previous. He said so his own self afterwards. | |
He had heard old Sowberry Hagan in his best days, and he said it laid | |
over him, too; but I reckon that was sort of piling it on, maybe. | |
After supper pap took the jug, and said he had enough whisky there | |
for two drunks and one delirium tremens. That was always his word. I | |
judged he would be blind drunk in about an hour, and then I would steal | |
the key, or saw myself out, one or t'other. He drank and drank, and | |
tumbled down on his blankets by and by; but luck didn't run my way. | |
He didn't go sound asleep, but was uneasy. He groaned and moaned and | |
thrashed around this way and that for a long time. At last I got so | |
sleepy I couldn't keep my eyes open all I could do, and so before I | |
knowed what I was about I was sound asleep, and the candle burning. | |
I don't know how long I was asleep, but all of a sudden there was an | |
awful scream and I was up. There was pap looking wild, and skipping | |
around every which way and yelling about snakes. He said they was | |
crawling up his legs; and then he would give a jump and scream, and say | |
one had bit him on the cheekbut I couldn't see no snakes. He started | |
and run round and round the cabin, hollering "Take him off! take him | |
off! he's biting me on the neck!" I never see a man look so wild in the | |
eyes. Pretty soon he was all fagged out, and fell down panting; then he | |
rolled over and over wonderful fast, kicking things every which way, | |
and striking and grabbing at the air with his hands, and screaming and | |
saying there was devils a-hold of him. He wore out by and by, and laid | |
still a while, moaning. Then he laid stiller, and didn't make a sound. | |
I could hear the owls and the wolves away off in the woods, and it | |
seemed terrible still. He was laying over by the corner. By and by he | |
raised up part way and listened, with his head to one side. He says, | |
very low: | |
"Tramptramptramp; that's the dead; tramptramptramp; they're coming | |
after me; but I won't go. Oh, they're here! don't touch medon't! hands | |
offthey're cold; let go. Oh, let a poor devil alone!" | |
Then he went down on all fours and crawled off, begging them to let him | |
alone, and he rolled himself up in his blanket and wallowed in under the | |
old pine table, still a-begging; and then he went to crying. I could | |
hear him through the blanket. | |
By and by he rolled out and jumped up on his feet looking wild, and he | |
see me and went for me. He chased me round and round the place with a | |
clasp-knife, calling me the Angel of Death, and saying he would kill me, | |
and then I couldn't come for him no more. I begged, and told him I | |
was only Huck; but he laughed such a screechy laugh, and roared and | |
cussed, and kept on chasing me up. Once when I turned short and | |
dodged under his arm he made a grab and got me by the jacket between my | |
shoulders, and I thought I was gone; but I slid out of the jacket quick | |
as lightning, and saved myself. Pretty soon he was all tired out, and | |
dropped down with his back against the door, and said he would rest a | |
minute and then kill me. He put his knife under him, and said he would | |
sleep and get strong, and then he would see who was who. | |
So he dozed off pretty soon. By and by I got the old split-bottom chair | |
and clumb up as easy as I could, not to make any noise, and got down the | |
gun. I slipped the ramrod down it to make sure it was loaded, then I | |
laid it across the turnip barrel, pointing towards pap, and set down | |
behind it to wait for him to stir. And how slow and still the time did | |
drag along. | |
CHAPTER VII. | |
"GIT up! What you 'bout?" | |
I opened my eyes and looked around, trying to make out where I was. It | |
was after sun-up, and I had been sound asleep. Pap was standing over me | |
looking sour and sick, too. He says: | |
"What you doin' with this gun?" | |
I judged he didn't know nothing about what he had been doing, so I says: | |
"Somebody tried to get in, so I was laying for him." | |
"Why didn't you roust me out?" | |
"Well, I tried to, but I couldn't; I couldn't budge you." | |
"Well, all right. Don't stand there palavering all day, but out with | |
you and see if there's a fish on the lines for breakfast. I'll be along | |
in a minute." | |
He unlocked the door, and I cleared out up the river-bank. I noticed | |
some pieces of limbs and such things floating down, and a sprinkling of | |
bark; so I knowed the river had begun to rise. I reckoned I would have | |
great times now if I was over at the town. The June rise used to be | |
always luck for me; because as soon as that rise begins here comes | |
cordwood floating down, and pieces of log raftssometimes a dozen logs | |
together; so all you have to do is to catch them and sell them to the | |
wood-yards and the sawmill. | |
I went along up the bank with one eye out for pap and t'other one out | |
for what the rise might fetch along. Well, all at once here comes a | |
canoe; just a beauty, too, about thirteen or fourteen foot long, riding | |
high like a duck. I shot head-first off of the bank like a frog, | |
clothes and all on, and struck out for the canoe. I just expected | |
there'd be somebody laying down in it, because people often done that | |
to fool folks, and when a chap had pulled a skiff out most to it they'd | |
raise up and laugh at him. But it warn't so this time. It was a | |
drift-canoe sure enough, and I clumb in and paddled her ashore. Thinks | |
I, the old man will be glad when he sees thisshe's worth ten dollars. | |
But when I got to shore pap wasn't in sight yet, and as I was running | |
her into a little creek like a gully, all hung over with vines and | |
willows, I struck another idea: I judged I'd hide her good, and then, | |
'stead of taking to the woods when I run off, I'd go down the river | |
about fifty mile and camp in one place for good, and not have such a | |
rough time tramping on foot. | |
It was pretty close to the shanty, and I thought I heard the old man | |
coming all the time; but I got her hid; and then I out and looked around | |
a bunch of willows, and there was the old man down the path a piece just | |
drawing a bead on a bird with his gun. So he hadn't seen anything. | |
When he got along I was hard at it taking up a "trot" line. He abused | |
me a little for being so slow; but I told him I fell in the river, and | |
that was what made me so long. I knowed he would see I was wet, and | |
then he would be asking questions. We got five catfish off the lines | |
and went home. | |
While we laid off after breakfast to sleep up, both of us being about | |
wore out, I got to thinking that if I could fix up some way to keep pap | |
and the widow from trying to follow me, it would be a certainer thing | |
than trusting to luck to get far enough off before they missed me; you | |
see, all kinds of things might happen. Well, I didn't see no way for a | |
while, but by and by pap raised up a minute to drink another barrel of | |
water, and he says: | |
"Another time a man comes a-prowling round here you roust me out, you | |
hear? That man warn't here for no good. I'd a shot him. Next time you | |
roust me out, you hear?" | |
Then he dropped down and went to sleep again; but what he had been | |
saying give me the very idea I wanted. I says to myself, I can fix it | |
now so nobody won't think of following me. | |
About twelve o'clock we turned out and went along up the bank. The | |
river was coming up pretty fast, and lots of driftwood going by on the | |
rise. By and by along comes part of a log raftnine logs fast together. | |
We went out with the skiff and towed it ashore. Then we had dinner. | |
Anybody but pap would a waited and seen the day through, so as to catch | |
more stuff; but that warn't pap's style. Nine logs was enough for one | |
time; he must shove right over to town and sell. So he locked me in and | |
took the skiff, and started off towing the raft about half-past three. | |
I judged he wouldn't come back that night. I waited till I reckoned he | |
had got a good start; then I out with my saw, and went to work on that | |
log again. Before he was t'other side of the river I was out of the | |
hole; him and his raft was just a speck on the water away off yonder. | |
I took the sack of corn meal and took it to where the canoe was hid, and | |
shoved the vines and branches apart and put it in; then I done the same | |
with the side of bacon; then the whisky-jug. I took all the coffee and | |
sugar there was, and all the ammunition; I took the wadding; I took the | |
bucket and gourd; I took a dipper and a tin cup, and my old saw and two | |
blankets, and the skillet and the coffee-pot. I took fish-lines and | |
matches and other thingseverything that was worth a cent. I cleaned | |
out the place. I wanted an axe, but there wasn't any, only the one out | |
at the woodpile, and I knowed why I was going to leave that. I fetched | |
out the gun, and now I was done. | |
I had wore the ground a good deal crawling out of the hole and dragging | |
out so many things. So I fixed that as good as I could from the outside | |
by scattering dust on the place, which covered up the smoothness and the | |
sawdust. Then I fixed the piece of log back into its place, and put two | |
rocks under it and one against it to hold it there, for it was bent up | |
at that place and didn't quite touch ground. If you stood four or five | |
foot away and didn't know it was sawed, you wouldn't never notice | |
it; and besides, this was the back of the cabin, and it warn't likely | |
anybody would go fooling around there. | |
It was all grass clear to the canoe, so I hadn't left a track. I | |
followed around to see. I stood on the bank and looked out over the | |
river. All safe. So I took the gun and went up a piece into the woods, | |
and was hunting around for some birds when I see a wild pig; hogs soon | |
went wild in them bottoms after they had got away from the prairie | |
farms. I shot this fellow and took him into camp. | |
I took the axe and smashed in the door. I beat it and hacked it | |
considerable a-doing it. I fetched the pig in, and took him back nearly | |
to the table and hacked into his throat with the axe, and laid him down | |
on the ground to bleed; I say ground because it was groundhard packed, | |
and no boards. Well, next I took an old sack and put a lot of big rocks | |
in itall I could dragand I started it from the pig, and dragged it to | |
the door and through the woods down to the river and dumped it in, and | |
down it sunk, out of sight. You could easy see that something had been | |
dragged over the ground. I did wish Tom Sawyer was there; I knowed he | |
would take an interest in this kind of business, and throw in the fancy | |
touches. Nobody could spread himself like Tom Sawyer in such a thing as | |
that. | |
Well, last I pulled out some of my hair, and blooded the axe good, and | |
stuck it on the back side, and slung the axe in the corner. Then I | |
took up the pig and held him to my breast with my jacket (so he couldn't | |
drip) till I got a good piece below the house and then dumped him into | |
the river. Now I thought of something else. So I went and got the bag | |
of meal and my old saw out of the canoe, and fetched them to the house. | |
I took the bag to where it used to stand, and ripped a hole in the | |
bottom of it with the saw, for there warn't no knives and forks on the | |
placepap done everything with his clasp-knife about the cooking. Then | |
I carried the sack about a hundred yards across the grass and through | |
the willows east of the house, to a shallow lake that was five mile wide | |
and full of rushesand ducks too, you might say, in the season. There | |
was a slough or a creek leading out of it on the other side that went | |
miles away, I don't know where, but it didn't go to the river. The meal | |
sifted out and made a little track all the way to the lake. I dropped | |
pap's whetstone there too, so as to look like it had been done by | |
accident. Then I tied up the rip in the meal sack with a string, so it | |
wouldn't leak no more, and took it and my saw to the canoe again. | |
It was about dark now; so I dropped the canoe down the river under some | |
willows that hung over the bank, and waited for the moon to rise. I | |
made fast to a willow; then I took a bite to eat, and by and by laid | |
down in the canoe to smoke a pipe and lay out a plan. I says to myself, | |
they'll follow the track of that sackful of rocks to the shore and then | |
drag the river for me. And they'll follow that meal track to the lake | |
and go browsing down the creek that leads out of it to find the robbers | |
that killed me and took the things. They won't ever hunt the river for | |
anything but my dead carcass. They'll soon get tired of that, and won't | |
bother no more about me. All right; I can stop anywhere I want to. | |
Jackson's Island is good enough for me; I know that island pretty well, | |
and nobody ever comes there. And then I can paddle over to town nights, | |
and slink around and pick up things I want. Jackson's Island's the | |
place. | |
I was pretty tired, and the first thing I knowed I was asleep. When | |
I woke up I didn't know where I was for a minute. I set up and looked | |
around, a little scared. Then I remembered. The river looked miles and | |
miles across. The moon was so bright I could a counted the drift logs | |
that went a-slipping along, black and still, hundreds of yards out from | |
shore. Everything was dead quiet, and it looked late, and smelt late. | |
You know what I meanI don't know the words to put it in. | |
I took a good gap and a stretch, and was just going to unhitch and start | |
when I heard a sound away over the water. I listened. Pretty soon I | |
made it out. It was that dull kind of a regular sound that comes from | |
oars working in rowlocks when it's a still night. I peeped out through | |
the willow branches, and there it wasa skiff, away across the water. | |
I couldn't tell how many was in it. It kept a-coming, and when it was | |
abreast of me I see there warn't but one man in it. Think's I, maybe | |
it's pap, though I warn't expecting him. He dropped below me with the | |
current, and by and by he came a-swinging up shore in the easy water, | |
and he went by so close I could a reached out the gun and touched him. | |
Well, it was pap, sure enoughand sober, too, by the way he laid his | |
oars. | |
I didn't lose no time. The next minute I was a-spinning down stream | |
soft but quick in the shade of the bank. I made two mile and a half, | |
and then struck out a quarter of a mile or more towards the middle of | |
the river, because pretty soon I would be passing the ferry landing, and | |
people might see me and hail me. I got out amongst the driftwood, and | |
then laid down in the bottom of the canoe and let her float. | |
I laid there, and had a good rest and a smoke out of my pipe, looking | |
away into the sky; not a cloud in it. The sky looks ever so deep when | |
you lay down on your back in the moonshine; I never knowed it before. | |
And how far a body can hear on the water such nights! I heard people | |
talking at the ferry landing. I heard what they said, tooevery word | |
of it. One man said it was getting towards the long days and the short | |
nights now. T'other one said this warn't one of the short ones, he | |
reckonedand then they laughed, and he said it over again, and they | |
laughed again; then they waked up another fellow and told him, and | |
laughed, but he didn't laugh; he ripped out something brisk, and said | |
let him alone. The first fellow said he 'lowed to tell it to his | |
old womanshe would think it was pretty good; but he said that warn't | |
nothing to some things he had said in his time. I heard one man say it | |
was nearly three o'clock, and he hoped daylight wouldn't wait more than | |
about a week longer. After that the talk got further and further away, | |
and I couldn't make out the words any more; but I could hear the mumble, | |
and now and then a laugh, too, but it seemed a long ways off. | |
I was away below the ferry now. I rose up, and there was Jackson's | |
Island, about two mile and a half down stream, heavy timbered and | |
standing up out of the middle of the river, big and dark and solid, like | |
a steamboat without any lights. There warn't any signs of the bar at | |
the headit was all under water now. | |
It didn't take me long to get there. I shot past the head at a ripping | |
rate, the current was so swift, and then I got into the dead water and | |
landed on the side towards the Illinois shore. I run the canoe into | |
a deep dent in the bank that I knowed about; I had to part the willow | |
branches to get in; and when I made fast nobody could a seen the canoe | |
from the outside. | |
I went up and set down on a log at the head of the island, and looked | |
out on the big river and the black driftwood and away over to the town, | |
three mile away, where there was three or four lights twinkling. A | |
monstrous big lumber-raft was about a mile up stream, coming along down, | |
with a lantern in the middle of it. I watched it come creeping down, | |
and when it was most abreast of where I stood I heard a man say, "Stern | |
oars, there! heave her head to stabboard!" I heard that just as plain | |
as if the man was by my side. | |
There was a little gray in the sky now; so I stepped into the woods, and | |
laid down for a nap before breakfast. | |
CHAPTER VIII. | |
THE sun was up so high when I waked that I judged it was after eight | |
o'clock. I laid there in the grass and the cool shade thinking about | |
things, and feeling rested and ruther comfortable and satisfied. I | |
could see the sun out at one or two holes, but mostly it was big trees | |
all about, and gloomy in there amongst them. There was freckled places | |
on the ground where the light sifted down through the leaves, and the | |
freckled places swapped about a little, showing there was a little | |
breeze up there. A couple of squirrels set on a limb and jabbered at me | |
very friendly. | |
I was powerful lazy and comfortabledidn't want to get up and cook | |
breakfast. Well, I was dozing off again when I thinks I hears a deep | |
sound of "boom!" away up the river. I rouses up, and rests on my elbow | |
and listens; pretty soon I hears it again. I hopped up, and went and | |
looked out at a hole in the leaves, and I see a bunch of smoke laying | |
on the water a long ways upabout abreast the ferry. And there was the | |
ferryboat full of people floating along down. I knowed what was the | |
matter now. "Boom!" I see the white smoke squirt out of the ferryboat's | |
side. You see, they was firing cannon over the water, trying to make my | |
carcass come to the top. | |
I was pretty hungry, but it warn't going to do for me to start a fire, | |
because they might see the smoke. So I set there and watched the | |
cannon-smoke and listened to the boom. The river was a mile wide there, | |
and it always looks pretty on a summer morningso I was having a good | |
enough time seeing them hunt for my remainders if I only had a bite to | |
eat. Well, then I happened to think how they always put quicksilver in | |
loaves of bread and float them off, because they always go right to the | |
drownded carcass and stop there. So, says I, I'll keep a lookout, and | |
if any of them's floating around after me I'll give them a show. I | |
changed to the Illinois edge of the island to see what luck I could | |
have, and I warn't disappointed. A big double loaf come along, and I | |
most got it with a long stick, but my foot slipped and she floated out | |
further. Of course I was where the current set in the closest to the | |
shoreI knowed enough for that. But by and by along comes another one, | |
and this time I won. I took out the plug and shook out the little dab | |
of quicksilver, and set my teeth in. It was "baker's bread"what the | |
quality eat; none of your low-down corn-pone. | |
I got a good place amongst the leaves, and set there on a log, munching | |
the bread and watching the ferry-boat, and very well satisfied. And | |
then something struck me. I says, now I reckon the widow or the parson | |
or somebody prayed that this bread would find me, and here it has gone | |
and done it. So there ain't no doubt but there is something in that | |
thingthat is, there's something in it when a body like the widow or the | |
parson prays, but it don't work for me, and I reckon it don't work for | |
only just the right kind. | |
I lit a pipe and had a good long smoke, and went on watching. The | |
ferryboat was floating with the current, and I allowed I'd have a chance | |
to see who was aboard when she come along, because she would come in | |
close, where the bread did. When she'd got pretty well along down | |
towards me, I put out my pipe and went to where I fished out the bread, | |
and laid down behind a log on the bank in a little open place. Where | |
the log forked I could peep through. | |
By and by she come along, and she drifted in so close that they could | |
a run out a plank and walked ashore. Most everybody was on the boat. | |
Pap, and Judge Thatcher, and Bessie Thatcher, and Jo Harper, and Tom | |
Sawyer, and his old Aunt Polly, and Sid and Mary, and plenty more. | |
Everybody was talking about the murder, but the captain broke in and | |
says: | |
"Look sharp, now; the current sets in the closest here, and maybe he's | |
washed ashore and got tangled amongst the brush at the water's edge. I | |
hope so, anyway." | |
I didn't hope so. They all crowded up and leaned over the rails, nearly | |
in my face, and kept still, watching with all their might. I could see | |
them first-rate, but they couldn't see me. Then the captain sung out: | |
"Stand away!" and the cannon let off such a blast right before me that | |
it made me deef with the noise and pretty near blind with the smoke, and | |
I judged I was gone. If they'd a had some bullets in, I reckon they'd | |
a got the corpse they was after. Well, I see I warn't hurt, thanks to | |
goodness. The boat floated on and went out of sight around the shoulder | |
of the island. I could hear the booming now and then, further and | |
further off, and by and by, after an hour, I didn't hear it no more. | |
The island was three mile long. I judged they had got to the foot, and | |
was giving it up. But they didn't yet a while. They turned around | |
the foot of the island and started up the channel on the Missouri side, | |
under steam, and booming once in a while as they went. I crossed over | |
to that side and watched them. When they got abreast the head of the | |
island they quit shooting and dropped over to the Missouri shore and | |
went home to the town. | |
I knowed I was all right now. Nobody else would come a-hunting after | |
me. I got my traps out of the canoe and made me a nice camp in the thick | |
woods. I made a kind of a tent out of my blankets to put my things | |
under so the rain couldn't get at them. I catched a catfish and haggled | |
him open with my saw, and towards sundown I started my camp fire and had | |
supper. Then I set out a line to catch some fish for breakfast. | |
When it was dark I set by my camp fire smoking, and feeling pretty well | |
satisfied; but by and by it got sort of lonesome, and so I went and set | |
on the bank and listened to the current swashing along, and counted the | |
stars and drift logs and rafts that come down, and then went to bed; | |
there ain't no better way to put in time when you are lonesome; you | |
can't stay so, you soon get over it. | |
And so for three days and nights. No differencejust the same thing. | |
But the next day I went exploring around down through the island. I was | |
boss of it; it all belonged to me, so to say, and I wanted to know | |
all about it; but mainly I wanted to put in the time. I found plenty | |
strawberries, ripe and prime; and green summer grapes, and green | |
razberries; and the green blackberries was just beginning to show. They | |
would all come handy by and by, I judged. | |
Well, I went fooling along in the deep woods till I judged I warn't | |
far from the foot of the island. I had my gun along, but I hadn't shot | |
nothing; it was for protection; thought I would kill some game nigh | |
home. About this time I mighty near stepped on a good-sized snake, | |
and it went sliding off through the grass and flowers, and I after | |
it, trying to get a shot at it. I clipped along, and all of a sudden I | |
bounded right on to the ashes of a camp fire that was still smoking. | |
My heart jumped up amongst my lungs. I never waited for to look | |
further, but uncocked my gun and went sneaking back on my tiptoes as | |
fast as ever I could. Every now and then I stopped a second amongst the | |
thick leaves and listened, but my breath come so hard I couldn't hear | |
nothing else. I slunk along another piece further, then listened again; | |
and so on, and so on. If I see a stump, I took it for a man; if I trod | |
on a stick and broke it, it made me feel like a person had cut one of my | |
breaths in two and I only got half, and the short half, too. | |
When I got to camp I warn't feeling very brash, there warn't much sand | |
in my craw; but I says, this ain't no time to be fooling around. So I | |
got all my traps into my canoe again so as to have them out of sight, | |
and I put out the fire and scattered the ashes around to look like an | |
old last year's camp, and then clumb a tree. | |
I reckon I was up in the tree two hours; but I didn't see nothing, | |
I didn't hear nothingI only thought I heard and seen as much as a | |
thousand things. Well, I couldn't stay up there forever; so at last I | |
got down, but I kept in the thick woods and on the lookout all the | |
time. All I could get to eat was berries and what was left over from | |
breakfast. | |
By the time it was night I was pretty hungry. So when it was good | |
and dark I slid out from shore before moonrise and paddled over to the | |
Illinois bankabout a quarter of a mile. I went out in the woods and | |
cooked a supper, and I had about made up my mind I would stay there | |
all night when I hear a plunkety-plunk, plunkety-plunk, and says | |
to myself, horses coming; and next I hear people's voices. I got | |
everything into the canoe as quick as I could, and then went creeping | |
through the woods to see what I could find out. I hadn't got far when I | |
hear a man say: | |
"We better camp here if we can find a good place; the horses is about | |
beat out. Let's look around." | |
I didn't wait, but shoved out and paddled away easy. I tied up in the | |
old place, and reckoned I would sleep in the canoe. | |
I didn't sleep much. I couldn't, somehow, for thinking. And every time | |
I waked up I thought somebody had me by the neck. So the sleep didn't | |
do me no good. By and by I says to myself, I can't live this way; I'm | |
a-going to find out who it is that's here on the island with me; I'll | |
find it out or bust. Well, I felt better right off. | |
So I took my paddle and slid out from shore just a step or two, and | |
then let the canoe drop along down amongst the shadows. The moon was | |
shining, and outside of the shadows it made it most as light as day. | |
I poked along well on to an hour, everything still as rocks and sound | |
asleep. Well, by this time I was most down to the foot of the island. A | |
little ripply, cool breeze begun to blow, and that was as good as saying | |
the night was about done. I give her a turn with the paddle and brung | |
her nose to shore; then I got my gun and slipped out and into the edge | |
of the woods. I sat down there on a log, and looked out through the | |
leaves. I see the moon go off watch, and the darkness begin to blanket | |
the river. But in a little while I see a pale streak over the treetops, | |
and knowed the day was coming. So I took my gun and slipped off towards | |
where I had run across that camp fire, stopping every minute or two | |
to listen. But I hadn't no luck somehow; I couldn't seem to find the | |
place. But by and by, sure enough, I catched a glimpse of fire away | |
through the trees. I went for it, cautious and slow. By and by I was | |
close enough to have a look, and there laid a man on the ground. It | |
most give me the fan-tods. He had a blanket around his head, and his | |
head was nearly in the fire. I set there behind a clump of bushes, in | |
about six foot of him, and kept my eyes on him steady. It was getting | |
gray daylight now. Pretty soon he gapped and stretched himself and hove | |
off the blanket, and it was Miss Watson's Jim! I bet I was glad to see | |
him. I says: | |
"Hello, Jim!" and skipped out. | |
He bounced up and stared at me wild. Then he drops down on his knees, | |
and puts his hands together and says: | |
"Doan' hurt medon't! I hain't ever done no harm to a ghos'. I alwuz | |
liked dead people, en done all I could for 'em. You go en git in de | |
river agin, whah you b'longs, en doan' do nuffn to Ole Jim, 'at 'uz | |
awluz yo' fren'." | |
Well, I warn't long making him understand I warn't dead. I was ever so | |
glad to see Jim. I warn't lonesome now. I told him I warn't afraid of | |
him telling the people where I was. I talked along, but he only set | |
there and looked at me; never said nothing. Then I says: | |
"It's good daylight. Le's get breakfast. Make up your camp fire good." | |
"What's de use er makin' up de camp fire to cook strawbries en sich | |
truck? But you got a gun, hain't you? Den we kin git sumfn better den | |
strawbries." | |
"Strawberries and such truck," I says. "Is that what you live on?" | |
"I couldn' git nuffn else," he says. | |
"Why, how long you been on the island, Jim?" | |
"I come heah de night arter you's killed." | |
"What, all that time?" | |
"Yesindeedy." | |
"And ain't you had nothing but that kind of rubbage to eat?" | |
"No, sahnuffn else." | |
"Well, you must be most starved, ain't you?" | |
"I reck'n I could eat a hoss. I think I could. How long you ben on de | |
islan'?" | |
"Since the night I got killed." | |
"No! W'y, what has you lived on? But you got a gun. Oh, yes, you got | |
a gun. Dat's good. Now you kill sumfn en I'll make up de fire." | |
So we went over to where the canoe was, and while he built a fire in | |
a grassy open place amongst the trees, I fetched meal and bacon and | |
coffee, and coffee-pot and frying-pan, and sugar and tin cups, and the | |
nigger was set back considerable, because he reckoned it was all done | |
with witchcraft. I catched a good big catfish, too, and Jim cleaned him | |
with his knife, and fried him. | |
When breakfast was ready we lolled on the grass and eat it smoking hot. | |
Jim laid it in with all his might, for he was most about starved. Then | |
when we had got pretty well stuffed, we laid off and lazied. By and by | |
Jim says: | |
"But looky here, Huck, who wuz it dat 'uz killed in dat shanty ef it | |
warn't you?" | |
Then I told him the whole thing, and he said it was smart. He said Tom | |
Sawyer couldn't get up no better plan than what I had. Then I says: | |
"How do you come to be here, Jim, and how'd you get here?" | |
He looked pretty uneasy, and didn't say nothing for a minute. Then he | |
says: | |
"Maybe I better not tell." | |
"Why, Jim?" | |
"Well, dey's reasons. But you wouldn' tell on me ef I uz to tell you, | |
would you, Huck?" | |
"Blamed if I would, Jim." | |
"Well, I b'lieve you, Huck. II run off." | |
"Jim!" | |
"But mind, you said you wouldn' tellyou know you said you wouldn' tell, | |
Huck." | |
"Well, I did. I said I wouldn't, and I'll stick to it. Honest injun, | |
I will. People would call me a low-down Abolitionist and despise me for | |
keeping mumbut that don't make no difference. I ain't a-going to tell, | |
and I ain't a-going back there, anyways. So, now, le's know all about | |
it." | |
"Well, you see, it 'uz dis way. Ole missusdat's Miss Watsonshe pecks | |
on me all de time, en treats me pooty rough, but she awluz said she | |
wouldn' sell me down to Orleans. But I noticed dey wuz a nigger trader | |
roun' de place considable lately, en I begin to git oneasy. Well, one | |
night I creeps to de do' pooty late, en de do' warn't quite shet, en I | |
hear old missus tell de widder she gwyne to sell me down to Orleans, but | |
she didn' want to, but she could git eight hund'd dollars for me, en it | |
'uz sich a big stack o' money she couldn' resis'. De widder she try to | |
git her to say she wouldn' do it, but I never waited to hear de res'. I | |
lit out mighty quick, I tell you. | |
"I tuck out en shin down de hill, en 'spec to steal a skift 'long de | |
sho' som'ers 'bove de town, but dey wuz people a-stirring yit, so I hid | |
in de ole tumble-down cooper-shop on de bank to wait for everybody to | |
go 'way. Well, I wuz dah all night. Dey wuz somebody roun' all de time. | |
'Long 'bout six in de mawnin' skifts begin to go by, en 'bout eight er | |
nine every skift dat went 'long wuz talkin' 'bout how yo' pap come over | |
to de town en say you's killed. Dese las' skifts wuz full o' ladies en | |
genlmen a-goin' over for to see de place. Sometimes dey'd pull up at | |
de sho' en take a res' b'fo' dey started acrost, so by de talk I got to | |
know all 'bout de killin'. I 'uz powerful sorry you's killed, Huck, but | |
I ain't no mo' now. | |
"I laid dah under de shavin's all day. I 'uz hungry, but I warn't | |
afeard; bekase I knowed ole missus en de widder wuz goin' to start to | |
de camp-meet'n' right arter breakfas' en be gone all day, en dey knows | |
I goes off wid de cattle 'bout daylight, so dey wouldn' 'spec to see me | |
roun' de place, en so dey wouldn' miss me tell arter dark in de evenin'. | |
De yuther servants wouldn' miss me, kase dey'd shin out en take holiday | |
soon as de ole folks 'uz out'n de way. | |
"Well, when it come dark I tuck out up de river road, en went 'bout two | |
mile er more to whah dey warn't no houses. I'd made up my mine 'bout | |
what I's agwyne to do. You see, ef I kep' on tryin' to git away afoot, | |
de dogs 'ud track me; ef I stole a skift to cross over, dey'd miss dat | |
skift, you see, en dey'd know 'bout whah I'd lan' on de yuther side, en | |
whah to pick up my track. So I says, a raff is what I's arter; it doan' | |
make no track. | |
"I see a light a-comin' roun' de p'int bymeby, so I wade' in en shove' | |
a log ahead o' me en swum more'n half way acrost de river, en got in | |
'mongst de drift-wood, en kep' my head down low, en kinder swum agin de | |
current tell de raff come along. Den I swum to de stern uv it en tuck | |
a-holt. It clouded up en 'uz pooty dark for a little while. So I clumb | |
up en laid down on de planks. De men 'uz all 'way yonder in de middle, | |
whah de lantern wuz. De river wuz a-risin', en dey wuz a good current; | |
so I reck'n'd 'at by fo' in de mawnin' I'd be twenty-five mile down de | |
river, en den I'd slip in jis b'fo' daylight en swim asho', en take to | |
de woods on de Illinois side. | |
"But I didn' have no luck. When we 'uz mos' down to de head er de | |
islan' a man begin to come aft wid de lantern, I see it warn't no use | |
fer to wait, so I slid overboard en struck out fer de islan'. Well, I | |
had a notion I could lan' mos' anywhers, but I couldn'tbank too bluff. | |
I 'uz mos' to de foot er de islan' b'fo' I found' a good place. I went | |
into de woods en jedged I wouldn' fool wid raffs no mo', long as dey | |
move de lantern roun' so. I had my pipe en a plug er dog-leg, en some | |
matches in my cap, en dey warn't wet, so I 'uz all right." | |
"And so you ain't had no meat nor bread to eat all this time? Why | |
didn't you get mud-turkles?" | |
"How you gwyne to git 'm? You can't slip up on um en grab um; en how's | |
a body gwyne to hit um wid a rock? How could a body do it in de night? | |
En I warn't gwyne to show mysef on de bank in de daytime." | |
"Well, that's so. You've had to keep in the woods all the time, of | |
course. Did you hear 'em shooting the cannon?" | |
"Oh, yes. I knowed dey was arter you. I see um go by heahwatched um | |
thoo de bushes." | |
Some young birds come along, flying a yard or two at a time and | |
lighting. Jim said it was a sign it was going to rain. He said it was | |
a sign when young chickens flew that way, and so he reckoned it was the | |
same way when young birds done it. I was going to catch some of them, | |
but Jim wouldn't let me. He said it was death. He said his father laid | |
mighty sick once, and some of them catched a bird, and his old granny | |
said his father would die, and he did. | |
And Jim said you mustn't count the things you are going to cook for | |
dinner, because that would bring bad luck. The same if you shook the | |
table-cloth after sundown. And he said if a man owned a beehive | |
and that man died, the bees must be told about it before sun-up next | |
morning, or else the bees would all weaken down and quit work and die. | |
Jim said bees wouldn't sting idiots; but I didn't believe that, because | |
I had tried them lots of times myself, and they wouldn't sting me. | |
I had heard about some of these things before, but not all of them. Jim | |
knowed all kinds of signs. He said he knowed most everything. I said | |
it looked to me like all the signs was about bad luck, and so I asked | |
him if there warn't any good-luck signs. He says: | |
"Mighty fewan' dey ain't no use to a body. What you want to know | |
when good luck's a-comin' for? Want to keep it off?" And he said: "Ef | |
you's got hairy arms en a hairy breas', it's a sign dat you's agwyne | |
to be rich. Well, dey's some use in a sign like dat, 'kase it's so fur | |
ahead. You see, maybe you's got to be po' a long time fust, en so you | |
might git discourage' en kill yo'sef 'f you didn' know by de sign dat | |
you gwyne to be rich bymeby." | |
"Have you got hairy arms and a hairy breast, Jim?" | |
"What's de use to ax dat question? Don't you see I has?" | |
"Well, are you rich?" | |
"No, but I ben rich wunst, and gwyne to be rich agin. Wunst I had | |
foteen dollars, but I tuck to specalat'n', en got busted out." | |
"What did you speculate in, Jim?" | |
"Well, fust I tackled stock." | |
"What kind of stock?" | |
"Why, live stockcattle, you know. I put ten dollars in a cow. But | |
I ain' gwyne to resk no mo' money in stock. De cow up 'n' died on my | |
han's." | |
"So you lost the ten dollars." | |
"No, I didn't lose it all. I on'y los' 'bout nine of it. I sole de | |
hide en taller for a dollar en ten cents." | |
"You had five dollars and ten cents left. Did you speculate any more?" | |
"Yes. You know that one-laigged nigger dat b'longs to old Misto | |
Bradish? Well, he sot up a bank, en say anybody dat put in a dollar | |
would git fo' dollars mo' at de en' er de year. Well, all de niggers | |
went in, but dey didn't have much. I wuz de on'y one dat had much. So | |
I stuck out for mo' dan fo' dollars, en I said 'f I didn' git it I'd | |
start a bank mysef. Well, o' course dat nigger want' to keep me out er | |
de business, bekase he says dey warn't business 'nough for two banks, so | |
he say I could put in my five dollars en he pay me thirty-five at de en' | |
er de year. | |
"So I done it. Den I reck'n'd I'd inves' de thirty-five dollars right | |
off en keep things a-movin'. Dey wuz a nigger name' Bob, dat had | |
ketched a wood-flat, en his marster didn' know it; en I bought it off'n | |
him en told him to take de thirty-five dollars when de en' er de | |
year come; but somebody stole de wood-flat dat night, en nex day de | |
one-laigged nigger say de bank's busted. So dey didn' none uv us git no | |
money." | |
"What did you do with the ten cents, Jim?" | |
"Well, I 'uz gwyne to spen' it, but I had a dream, en de dream tole me | |
to give it to a nigger name' BalumBalum's Ass dey call him for short; | |
he's one er dem chuckleheads, you know. But he's lucky, dey say, en I | |
see I warn't lucky. De dream say let Balum inves' de ten cents en he'd | |
make a raise for me. Well, Balum he tuck de money, en when he wuz in | |
church he hear de preacher say dat whoever give to de po' len' to de | |
Lord, en boun' to git his money back a hund'd times. So Balum he tuck | |
en give de ten cents to de po', en laid low to see what wuz gwyne to | |
come of it." | |
"Well, what did come of it, Jim?" | |
"Nuffn never come of it. I couldn' manage to k'leck dat money no way; | |
en Balum he couldn'. I ain' gwyne to len' no mo' money 'dout I see de | |
security. Boun' to git yo' money back a hund'd times, de preacher says! | |
Ef I could git de ten cents back, I'd call it squah, en be glad er de | |
chanst." | |
"Well, it's all right anyway, Jim, long as you're going to be rich again | |
some time or other." | |
"Yes; en I's rich now, come to look at it. I owns mysef, en I's wuth | |
eight hund'd dollars. I wisht I had de money, I wouldn' want no mo'." | |
CHAPTER IX. | |
I wanted to go and look at a place right about the middle of the island | |
that I'd found when I was exploring; so we started and soon got to it, | |
because the island was only three miles long and a quarter of a mile | |
wide. | |
This place was a tolerable long, steep hill or ridge about forty foot | |
high. We had a rough time getting to the top, the sides was so steep and | |
the bushes so thick. We tramped and clumb around all over it, and by | |
and by found a good big cavern in the rock, most up to the top on the | |
side towards Illinois. The cavern was as big as two or three rooms | |
bunched together, and Jim could stand up straight in it. It was cool in | |
there. Jim was for putting our traps in there right away, but I said we | |
didn't want to be climbing up and down there all the time. | |
Jim said if we had the canoe hid in a good place, and had all the traps | |
in the cavern, we could rush there if anybody was to come to the island, | |
and they would never find us without dogs. And, besides, he said them | |
little birds had said it was going to rain, and did I want the things to | |
get wet? | |
So we went back and got the canoe, and paddled up abreast the cavern, | |
and lugged all the traps up there. Then we hunted up a place close by | |
to hide the canoe in, amongst the thick willows. We took some fish off | |
of the lines and set them again, and begun to get ready for dinner. | |
The door of the cavern was big enough to roll a hogshead in, and on one | |
side of the door the floor stuck out a little bit, and was flat and a | |
good place to build a fire on. So we built it there and cooked dinner. | |
We spread the blankets inside for a carpet, and eat our dinner in there. | |
We put all the other things handy at the back of the cavern. Pretty | |
soon it darkened up, and begun to thunder and lighten; so the birds was | |
right about it. Directly it begun to rain, and it rained like all fury, | |
too, and I never see the wind blow so. It was one of these regular | |
summer storms. It would get so dark that it looked all blue-black | |
outside, and lovely; and the rain would thrash along by so thick that | |
the trees off a little ways looked dim and spider-webby; and here would | |
come a blast of wind that would bend the trees down and turn up the | |
pale underside of the leaves; and then a perfect ripper of a gust would | |
follow along and set the branches to tossing their arms as if they | |
was just wild; and next, when it was just about the bluest and | |
blackestFST! it was as bright as glory, and you'd have a little | |
glimpse of tree-tops a-plunging about away off yonder in the storm, | |
hundreds of yards further than you could see before; dark as sin again | |
in a second, and now you'd hear the thunder let go with an awful crash, | |
and then go rumbling, grumbling, tumbling, down the sky towards the | |
under side of the world, like rolling empty barrels down stairswhere | |
it's long stairs and they bounce a good deal, you know. | |
"Jim, this is nice," I says. "I wouldn't want to be nowhere else but | |
here. Pass me along another hunk of fish and some hot corn-bread." | |
"Well, you wouldn't a ben here 'f it hadn't a ben for Jim. You'd a ben | |
down dah in de woods widout any dinner, en gittn' mos' drownded, too; | |
dat you would, honey. Chickens knows when it's gwyne to rain, en so do | |
de birds, chile." | |
The river went on raising and raising for ten or twelve days, till at | |
last it was over the banks. The water was three or four foot deep on | |
the island in the low places and on the Illinois bottom. On that side | |
it was a good many miles wide, but on the Missouri side it was the same | |
old distance acrossa half a milebecause the Missouri shore was just a | |
wall of high bluffs. | |
Daytimes we paddled all over the island in the canoe, It was mighty cool | |
and shady in the deep woods, even if the sun was blazing outside. We | |
went winding in and out amongst the trees, and sometimes the vines hung | |
so thick we had to back away and go some other way. Well, on every old | |
broken-down tree you could see rabbits and snakes and such things; and | |
when the island had been overflowed a day or two they got so tame, on | |
account of being hungry, that you could paddle right up and put your | |
hand on them if you wanted to; but not the snakes and turtlesthey would | |
slide off in the water. The ridge our cavern was in was full of them. | |
We could a had pets enough if we'd wanted them. | |
One night we catched a little section of a lumber raftnice pine planks. | |
It was twelve foot wide and about fifteen or sixteen foot long, and | |
the top stood above water six or seven inchesa solid, level floor. We | |
could see saw-logs go by in the daylight sometimes, but we let them go; | |
we didn't show ourselves in daylight. | |
Another night when we was up at the head of the island, just before | |
daylight, here comes a frame-house down, on the west side. She was | |
a two-story, and tilted over considerable. We paddled out and got | |
aboardclumb in at an upstairs window. But it was too dark to see yet, | |
so we made the canoe fast and set in her to wait for daylight. | |
The light begun to come before we got to the foot of the island. Then | |
we looked in at the window. We could make out a bed, and a table, and | |
two old chairs, and lots of things around about on the floor, and there | |
was clothes hanging against the wall. There was something laying on the | |
floor in the far corner that looked like a man. So Jim says: | |
"Hello, you!" | |
But it didn't budge. So I hollered again, and then Jim says: | |
"De man ain't asleephe's dead. You hold stillI'll go en see." | |
He went, and bent down and looked, and says: | |
"It's a dead man. Yes, indeedy; naked, too. He's ben shot in de back. | |
I reck'n he's ben dead two er three days. Come in, Huck, but doan' look | |
at his faceit's too gashly." | |
I didn't look at him at all. Jim throwed some old rags over him, but | |
he needn't done it; I didn't want to see him. There was heaps of old | |
greasy cards scattered around over the floor, and old whisky bottles, | |
and a couple of masks made out of black cloth; and all over the walls | |
was the ignorantest kind of words and pictures made with charcoal. | |
There was two old dirty calico dresses, and a sun-bonnet, and some | |
women's underclothes hanging against the wall, and some men's clothing, | |
too. We put the lot into the canoeit might come good. There was a | |
boy's old speckled straw hat on the floor; I took that, too. And there | |
was a bottle that had had milk in it, and it had a rag stopper for a | |
baby to suck. We would a took the bottle, but it was broke. There was | |
a seedy old chest, and an old hair trunk with the hinges broke. They | |
stood open, but there warn't nothing left in them that was any account. | |
The way things was scattered about we reckoned the people left in a | |
hurry, and warn't fixed so as to carry off most of their stuff. | |
We got an old tin lantern, and a butcher-knife without any handle, and | |
a bran-new Barlow knife worth two bits in any store, and a lot of tallow | |
candles, and a tin candlestick, and a gourd, and a tin cup, and a ratty | |
old bedquilt off the bed, and a reticule with needles and pins and | |
beeswax and buttons and thread and all such truck in it, and a hatchet | |
and some nails, and a fishline as thick as my little finger with some | |
monstrous hooks on it, and a roll of buckskin, and a leather dog-collar, | |
and a horseshoe, and some vials of medicine that didn't have no label | |
on them; and just as we was leaving I found a tolerable good curry-comb, | |
and Jim he found a ratty old fiddle-bow, and a wooden leg. The straps | |
was broke off of it, but, barring that, it was a good enough leg, though | |
it was too long for me and not long enough for Jim, and we couldn't find | |
the other one, though we hunted all around. | |
And so, take it all around, we made a good haul. When we was ready to | |
shove off we was a quarter of a mile below the island, and it was pretty | |
broad day; so I made Jim lay down in the canoe and cover up with the | |
quilt, because if he set up people could tell he was a nigger a good | |
ways off. I paddled over to the Illinois shore, and drifted down most | |
a half a mile doing it. I crept up the dead water under the bank, and | |
hadn't no accidents and didn't see nobody. We got home all safe. | |
CHAPTER X. | |
AFTER breakfast I wanted to talk about the dead man and guess out how he | |
come to be killed, but Jim didn't want to. He said it would fetch bad | |
luck; and besides, he said, he might come and ha'nt us; he said a man | |
that warn't buried was more likely to go a-ha'nting around than one | |
that was planted and comfortable. That sounded pretty reasonable, so | |
I didn't say no more; but I couldn't keep from studying over it and | |
wishing I knowed who shot the man, and what they done it for. | |
We rummaged the clothes we'd got, and found eight dollars in silver | |
sewed up in the lining of an old blanket overcoat. Jim said he reckoned | |
the people in that house stole the coat, because if they'd a knowed the | |
money was there they wouldn't a left it. I said I reckoned they killed | |
him, too; but Jim didn't want to talk about that. I says: | |
"Now you think it's bad luck; but what did you say when I fetched in the | |
snake-skin that I found on the top of the ridge day before yesterday? | |
You said it was the worst bad luck in the world to touch a snake-skin | |
with my hands. Well, here's your bad luck! We've raked in all this | |
truck and eight dollars besides. I wish we could have some bad luck | |
like this every day, Jim." | |
"Never you mind, honey, never you mind. Don't you git too peart. It's | |
a-comin'. Mind I tell you, it's a-comin'." | |
It did come, too. It was a Tuesday that we had that talk. Well, after | |
dinner Friday we was laying around in the grass at the upper end of the | |
ridge, and got out of tobacco. I went to the cavern to get some, and | |
found a rattlesnake in there. I killed him, and curled him up on the | |
foot of Jim's blanket, ever so natural, thinking there'd be some fun | |
when Jim found him there. Well, by night I forgot all about the snake, | |
and when Jim flung himself down on the blanket while I struck a light | |
the snake's mate was there, and bit him. | |
He jumped up yelling, and the first thing the light showed was the | |
varmint curled up and ready for another spring. I laid him out in a | |
second with a stick, and Jim grabbed pap's whisky-jug and begun to pour | |
it down. | |
He was barefooted, and the snake bit him right on the heel. That all | |
comes of my being such a fool as to not remember that wherever you leave | |
a dead snake its mate always comes there and curls around it. Jim told | |
me to chop off the snake's head and throw it away, and then skin the | |
body and roast a piece of it. I done it, and he eat it and said it | |
would help cure him. He made me take off the rattles and tie them around | |
his wrist, too. He said that that would help. Then I slid out quiet | |
and throwed the snakes clear away amongst the bushes; for I warn't going | |
to let Jim find out it was all my fault, not if I could help it. | |
Jim sucked and sucked at the jug, and now and then he got out of his | |
head and pitched around and yelled; but every time he come to himself he | |
went to sucking at the jug again. His foot swelled up pretty big, and | |
so did his leg; but by and by the drunk begun to come, and so I judged | |
he was all right; but I'd druther been bit with a snake than pap's | |
whisky. | |
Jim was laid up for four days and nights. Then the swelling was all | |
gone and he was around again. I made up my mind I wouldn't ever take | |
a-holt of a snake-skin again with my hands, now that I see what had come | |
of it. Jim said he reckoned I would believe him next time. And he said | |
that handling a snake-skin was such awful bad luck that maybe we hadn't | |
got to the end of it yet. He said he druther see the new moon over his | |
left shoulder as much as a thousand times than take up a snake-skin | |
in his hand. Well, I was getting to feel that way myself, though I've | |
always reckoned that looking at the new moon over your left shoulder is | |
one of the carelessest and foolishest things a body can do. Old Hank | |
Bunker done it once, and bragged about it; and in less than two years he | |
got drunk and fell off of the shot-tower, and spread himself out so | |
that he was just a kind of a layer, as you may say; and they slid him | |
edgeways between two barn doors for a coffin, and buried him so, so | |
they say, but I didn't see it. Pap told me. But anyway it all come of | |
looking at the moon that way, like a fool. | |
Well, the days went along, and the river went down between its banks | |
again; and about the first thing we done was to bait one of the big | |
hooks with a skinned rabbit and set it and catch a catfish that was | |
as big as a man, being six foot two inches long, and weighed over two | |
hundred pounds. We couldn't handle him, of course; he would a flung us | |
into Illinois. We just set there and watched him rip and tear around | |
till he drownded. We found a brass button in his stomach and a round | |
ball, and lots of rubbage. We split the ball open with the hatchet, | |
and there was a spool in it. Jim said he'd had it there a long time, to | |
coat it over so and make a ball of it. It was as big a fish as was ever | |
catched in the Mississippi, I reckon. Jim said he hadn't ever seen | |
a bigger one. He would a been worth a good deal over at the village. | |
They peddle out such a fish as that by the pound in the market-house | |
there; everybody buys some of him; his meat's as white as snow and makes | |
a good fry. | |
Next morning I said it was getting slow and dull, and I wanted to get a | |
stirring up some way. I said I reckoned I would slip over the river and | |
find out what was going on. Jim liked that notion; but he said I | |
must go in the dark and look sharp. Then he studied it over and said, | |
couldn't I put on some of them old things and dress up like a girl? | |
That was a good notion, too. So we shortened up one of the calico | |
gowns, and I turned up my trouser-legs to my knees and got into it. Jim | |
hitched it behind with the hooks, and it was a fair fit. I put on the | |
sun-bonnet and tied it under my chin, and then for a body to look in | |
and see my face was like looking down a joint of stove-pipe. Jim said | |
nobody would know me, even in the daytime, hardly. I practiced around | |
all day to get the hang of the things, and by and by I could do pretty | |
well in them, only Jim said I didn't walk like a girl; and he said | |
I must quit pulling up my gown to get at my britches-pocket. I took | |
notice, and done better. | |
I started up the Illinois shore in the canoe just after dark. | |
I started across to the town from a little below the ferry-landing, and | |
the drift of the current fetched me in at the bottom of the town. I | |
tied up and started along the bank. There was a light burning in a | |
little shanty that hadn't been lived in for a long time, and I wondered | |
who had took up quarters there. I slipped up and peeped in at the | |
window. There was a woman about forty year old in there knitting by | |
a candle that was on a pine table. I didn't know her face; she was a | |
stranger, for you couldn't start a face in that town that I didn't know. | |
Now this was lucky, because I was weakening; I was getting afraid I had | |
come; people might know my voice and find me out. But if this woman had | |
been in such a little town two days she could tell me all I wanted to | |
know; so I knocked at the door, and made up my mind I wouldn't forget I | |
was a girl. | |
CHAPTER XI. | |
"COME in," says the woman, and I did. She says: "Take a cheer." | |
I done it. She looked me all over with her little shiny eyes, and says: | |
"What might your name be?" | |
"Sarah Williams." | |
"Where 'bouts do you live? In this neighborhood?' | |
"No'm. In Hookerville, seven mile below. I've walked all the way and | |
I'm all tired out." | |
"Hungry, too, I reckon. I'll find you something." | |
"No'm, I ain't hungry. I was so hungry I had to stop two miles below | |
here at a farm; so I ain't hungry no more. It's what makes me so late. | |
My mother's down sick, and out of money and everything, and I come to | |
tell my uncle Abner Moore. He lives at the upper end of the town, she | |
says. I hain't ever been here before. Do you know him?" | |
"No; but I don't know everybody yet. I haven't lived here quite two | |
weeks. It's a considerable ways to the upper end of the town. You | |
better stay here all night. Take off your bonnet." | |
"No," I says; "I'll rest a while, I reckon, and go on. I ain't afeared | |
of the dark." | |
She said she wouldn't let me go by myself, but her husband would be in | |
by and by, maybe in a hour and a half, and she'd send him along with me. | |
Then she got to talking about her husband, and about her relations up | |
the river, and her relations down the river, and about how much better | |
off they used to was, and how they didn't know but they'd made a mistake | |
coming to our town, instead of letting well aloneand so on and so on, | |
till I was afeard I had made a mistake coming to her to find out what | |
was going on in the town; but by and by she dropped on to pap and the | |
murder, and then I was pretty willing to let her clatter right along. | |
She told about me and Tom Sawyer finding the six thousand dollars (only | |
she got it ten) and all about pap and what a hard lot he was, and what | |
a hard lot I was, and at last she got down to where I was murdered. I | |
says: | |
"Who done it? We've heard considerable about these goings on down in | |
Hookerville, but we don't know who 'twas that killed Huck Finn." | |
"Well, I reckon there's a right smart chance of people here that'd | |
like to know who killed him. Some think old Finn done it himself." | |
"Nois that so?" | |
"Most everybody thought it at first. He'll never know how nigh he come | |
to getting lynched. But before night they changed around and judged it | |
was done by a runaway nigger named Jim." | |
"Why he" | |
I stopped. I reckoned I better keep still. She run on, and never | |
noticed I had put in at all: | |
"The nigger run off the very night Huck Finn was killed. So there's a | |
reward out for himthree hundred dollars. And there's a reward out for | |
old Finn, tootwo hundred dollars. You see, he come to town the | |
morning after the murder, and told about it, and was out with 'em on the | |
ferryboat hunt, and right away after he up and left. Before night they | |
wanted to lynch him, but he was gone, you see. Well, next day they | |
found out the nigger was gone; they found out he hadn't ben seen sence | |
ten o'clock the night the murder was done. So then they put it on him, | |
you see; and while they was full of it, next day, back comes old Finn, | |
and went boo-hooing to Judge Thatcher to get money to hunt for the | |
nigger all over Illinois with. The judge gave him some, and that evening | |
he got drunk, and was around till after midnight with a couple of mighty | |
hard-looking strangers, and then went off with them. Well, he hain't | |
come back sence, and they ain't looking for him back till this thing | |
blows over a little, for people thinks now that he killed his boy and | |
fixed things so folks would think robbers done it, and then he'd get | |
Huck's money without having to bother a long time with a lawsuit. | |
People do say he warn't any too good to do it. Oh, he's sly, I reckon. | |
If he don't come back for a year he'll be all right. You can't prove | |
anything on him, you know; everything will be quieted down then, and | |
he'll walk in Huck's money as easy as nothing." | |
"Yes, I reckon so, 'm. I don't see nothing in the way of it. Has | |
everybody quit thinking the nigger done it?" | |
"Oh, no, not everybody. A good many thinks he done it. But they'll get | |
the nigger pretty soon now, and maybe they can scare it out of him." | |
"Why, are they after him yet?" | |
"Well, you're innocent, ain't you! Does three hundred dollars lay | |
around every day for people to pick up? Some folks think the nigger | |
ain't far from here. I'm one of thembut I hain't talked it around. A | |
few days ago I was talking with an old couple that lives next door in | |
the log shanty, and they happened to say hardly anybody ever goes to | |
that island over yonder that they call Jackson's Island. Don't anybody | |
live there? says I. No, nobody, says they. I didn't say any more, but | |
I done some thinking. I was pretty near certain I'd seen smoke over | |
there, about the head of the island, a day or two before that, so I says | |
to myself, like as not that nigger's hiding over there; anyway, says | |
I, it's worth the trouble to give the place a hunt. I hain't seen any | |
smoke sence, so I reckon maybe he's gone, if it was him; but husband's | |
going over to seehim and another man. He was gone up the river; but he | |
got back to-day, and I told him as soon as he got here two hours ago." | |
I had got so uneasy I couldn't set still. I had to do something with my | |
hands; so I took up a needle off of the table and went to threading | |
it. My hands shook, and I was making a bad job of it. When the woman | |
stopped talking I looked up, and she was looking at me pretty curious | |
and smiling a little. I put down the needle and thread, and let on to | |
be interestedand I was, tooand says: | |
"Three hundred dollars is a power of money. I wish my mother could get | |
it. Is your husband going over there to-night?" | |
"Oh, yes. He went up-town with the man I was telling you of, to get a | |
boat and see if they could borrow another gun. They'll go over after | |
midnight." | |
"Couldn't they see better if they was to wait till daytime?" | |
"Yes. And couldn't the nigger see better, too? After midnight he'll | |
likely be asleep, and they can slip around through the woods and hunt up | |
his camp fire all the better for the dark, if he's got one." | |
"I didn't think of that." | |
The woman kept looking at me pretty curious, and I didn't feel a bit | |
comfortable. Pretty soon she says, | |
"What did you say your name was, honey?" | |
"MMary Williams." | |
Somehow it didn't seem to me that I said it was Mary before, so I didn't | |
look upseemed to me I said it was Sarah; so I felt sort of cornered, | |
and was afeared maybe I was looking it, too. I wished the woman would | |
say something more; the longer she set still the uneasier I was. But | |
now she says: | |
"Honey, I thought you said it was Sarah when you first come in?" | |
"Oh, yes'm, I did. Sarah Mary Williams. Sarah's my first name. Some | |
calls me Sarah, some calls me Mary." | |
"Oh, that's the way of it?" | |
"Yes'm." | |
I was feeling better then, but I wished I was out of there, anyway. I | |
couldn't look up yet. | |
Well, the woman fell to talking about how hard times was, and how poor | |
they had to live, and how the rats was as free as if they owned the | |
place, and so forth and so on, and then I got easy again. She was right | |
about the rats. You'd see one stick his nose out of a hole in the corner | |
every little while. She said she had to have things handy to throw at | |
them when she was alone, or they wouldn't give her no peace. She showed | |
me a bar of lead twisted up into a knot, and said she was a good shot | |
with it generly, but she'd wrenched her arm a day or two ago, and didn't | |
know whether she could throw true now. But she watched for a chance, | |
and directly banged away at a rat; but she missed him wide, and said | |
"Ouch!" it hurt her arm so. Then she told me to try for the next one. | |
I wanted to be getting away before the old man got back, but of course | |
I didn't let on. I got the thing, and the first rat that showed his | |
nose I let drive, and if he'd a stayed where he was he'd a been a | |
tolerable sick rat. She said that was first-rate, and she reckoned I | |
would hive the next one. She went and got the lump of lead and fetched | |
it back, and brought along a hank of yarn which she wanted me to help | |
her with. I held up my two hands and she put the hank over them, and | |
went on talking about her and her husband's matters. But she broke off | |
to say: | |
"Keep your eye on the rats. You better have the lead in your lap, | |
handy." | |
So she dropped the lump into my lap just at that moment, and I clapped | |
my legs together on it and she went on talking. But only about a | |
minute. Then she took off the hank and looked me straight in the face, | |
and very pleasant, and says: | |
"Come, now, what's your real name?" | |
"Whwhat, mum?" | |
"What's your real name? Is it Bill, or Tom, or Bob?or what is it?" | |
I reckon I shook like a leaf, and I didn't know hardly what to do. But | |
I says: | |
"Please to don't poke fun at a poor girl like me, mum. If I'm in the | |
way here, I'll" | |
"No, you won't. Set down and stay where you are. I ain't going to hurt | |
you, and I ain't going to tell on you, nuther. You just tell me your | |
secret, and trust me. I'll keep it; and, what's more, I'll help | |
you. So'll my old man if you want him to. You see, you're a runaway | |
'prentice, that's all. It ain't anything. There ain't no harm in it. | |
You've been treated bad, and you made up your mind to cut. Bless you, | |
child, I wouldn't tell on you. Tell me all about it now, that's a good | |
boy." | |
So I said it wouldn't be no use to try to play it any longer, and I | |
would just make a clean breast and tell her everything, but she musn't | |
go back on her promise. Then I told her my father and mother was dead, | |
and the law had bound me out to a mean old farmer in the country thirty | |
mile back from the river, and he treated me so bad I couldn't stand it | |
no longer; he went away to be gone a couple of days, and so I took my | |
chance and stole some of his daughter's old clothes and cleared out, and | |
I had been three nights coming the thirty miles. I traveled nights, | |
and hid daytimes and slept, and the bag of bread and meat I carried from | |
home lasted me all the way, and I had a-plenty. I said I believed my | |
uncle Abner Moore would take care of me, and so that was why I struck | |
out for this town of Goshen. | |
"Goshen, child? This ain't Goshen. This is St. Petersburg. Goshen's | |
ten mile further up the river. Who told you this was Goshen?" | |
"Why, a man I met at daybreak this morning, just as I was going to turn | |
into the woods for my regular sleep. He told me when the roads forked I | |
must take the right hand, and five mile would fetch me to Goshen." | |
"He was drunk, I reckon. He told you just exactly wrong." | |
"Well, he did act like he was drunk, but it ain't no matter now. I got | |
to be moving along. I'll fetch Goshen before daylight." | |
"Hold on a minute. I'll put you up a snack to eat. You might want it." | |
So she put me up a snack, and says: | |
"Say, when a cow's laying down, which end of her gets up first? Answer | |
up prompt nowdon't stop to study over it. Which end gets up first?" | |
"The hind end, mum." | |
"Well, then, a horse?" | |
"The for'rard end, mum." | |
"Which side of a tree does the moss grow on?" | |
"North side." | |
"If fifteen cows is browsing on a hillside, how many of them eats with | |
their heads pointed the same direction?" | |
"The whole fifteen, mum." | |
"Well, I reckon you have lived in the country. I thought maybe you | |
was trying to hocus me again. What's your real name, now?" | |
"George Peters, mum." | |
"Well, try to remember it, George. Don't forget and tell me it's | |
Elexander before you go, and then get out by saying it's George | |
Elexander when I catch you. And don't go about women in that old | |
calico. You do a girl tolerable poor, but you might fool men, maybe. | |
Bless you, child, when you set out to thread a needle don't hold the | |
thread still and fetch the needle up to it; hold the needle still and | |
poke the thread at it; that's the way a woman most always does, but a | |
man always does t'other way. And when you throw at a rat or anything, | |
hitch yourself up a tiptoe and fetch your hand up over your head as | |
awkward as you can, and miss your rat about six or seven foot. Throw | |
stiff-armed from the shoulder, like there was a pivot there for it to | |
turn on, like a girl; not from the wrist and elbow, with your arm out | |
to one side, like a boy. And, mind you, when a girl tries to catch | |
anything in her lap she throws her knees apart; she don't clap them | |
together, the way you did when you catched the lump of lead. Why, I | |
spotted you for a boy when you was threading the needle; and I contrived | |
the other things just to make certain. Now trot along to your uncle, | |
Sarah Mary Williams George Elexander Peters, and if you get into trouble | |
you send word to Mrs. Judith Loftus, which is me, and I'll do what I can | |
to get you out of it. Keep the river road all the way, and next time | |
you tramp take shoes and socks with you. The river road's a rocky one, | |
and your feet'll be in a condition when you get to Goshen, I reckon." | |
I went up the bank about fifty yards, and then I doubled on my tracks | |
and slipped back to where my canoe was, a good piece below the house. I | |
jumped in, and was off in a hurry. I went up-stream far enough to | |
make the head of the island, and then started across. I took off the | |
sun-bonnet, for I didn't want no blinders on then. When I was about the | |
middle I heard the clock begin to strike, so I stops and listens; the | |
sound come faint over the water but cleareleven. When I struck the | |
head of the island I never waited to blow, though I was most winded, but | |
I shoved right into the timber where my old camp used to be, and started | |
a good fire there on a high and dry spot. | |
Then I jumped in the canoe and dug out for our place, a mile and a half | |
below, as hard as I could go. I landed, and slopped through the timber | |
and up the ridge and into the cavern. There Jim laid, sound asleep on | |
the ground. I roused him out and says: | |
"Git up and hump yourself, Jim! There ain't a minute to lose. They're | |
after us!" | |
Jim never asked no questions, he never said a word; but the way he | |
worked for the next half an hour showed about how he was scared. By | |
that time everything we had in the world was on our raft, and she was | |
ready to be shoved out from the willow cove where she was hid. We | |
put out the camp fire at the cavern the first thing, and didn't show a | |
candle outside after that. | |
I took the canoe out from the shore a little piece, and took a look; | |
but if there was a boat around I couldn't see it, for stars and shadows | |
ain't good to see by. Then we got out the raft and slipped along down | |
in the shade, past the foot of the island dead stillnever saying a | |
word. | |
CHAPTER XII. | |
IT must a been close on to one o'clock when we got below the island at | |
last, and the raft did seem to go mighty slow. If a boat was to come | |
along we was going to take to the canoe and break for the Illinois | |
shore; and it was well a boat didn't come, for we hadn't ever thought to | |
put the gun in the canoe, or a fishing-line, or anything to eat. We | |
was in ruther too much of a sweat to think of so many things. It warn't | |
good judgment to put everything on the raft. | |
If the men went to the island I just expect they found the camp fire I | |
built, and watched it all night for Jim to come. Anyways, they stayed | |
away from us, and if my building the fire never fooled them it warn't no | |
fault of mine. I played it as low down on them as I could. | |
When the first streak of day began to show we tied up to a towhead in a | |
big bend on the Illinois side, and hacked off cottonwood branches with | |
the hatchet, and covered up the raft with them so she looked like there | |
had been a cave-in in the bank there. A tow-head is a sandbar that has | |
cottonwoods on it as thick as harrow-teeth. | |
We had mountains on the Missouri shore and heavy timber on the Illinois | |
side, and the channel was down the Missouri shore at that place, so we | |
warn't afraid of anybody running across us. We laid there all day, | |
and watched the rafts and steamboats spin down the Missouri shore, and | |
up-bound steamboats fight the big river in the middle. I told Jim all | |
about the time I had jabbering with that woman; and Jim said she was | |
a smart one, and if she was to start after us herself she wouldn't set | |
down and watch a camp fireno, sir, she'd fetch a dog. Well, then, I | |
said, why couldn't she tell her husband to fetch a dog? Jim said he | |
bet she did think of it by the time the men was ready to start, and he | |
believed they must a gone up-town to get a dog and so they lost all that | |
time, or else we wouldn't be here on a towhead sixteen or seventeen mile | |
below the villageno, indeedy, we would be in that same old town again. | |
So I said I didn't care what was the reason they didn't get us as long | |
as they didn't. | |
When it was beginning to come on dark we poked our heads out of the | |
cottonwood thicket, and looked up and down and across; nothing in sight; | |
so Jim took up some of the top planks of the raft and built a snug | |
wigwam to get under in blazing weather and rainy, and to keep the things | |
dry. Jim made a floor for the wigwam, and raised it a foot or more above | |
the level of the raft, so now the blankets and all the traps was out of | |
reach of steamboat waves. Right in the middle of the wigwam we made a | |
layer of dirt about five or six inches deep with a frame around it for | |
to hold it to its place; this was to build a fire on in sloppy weather | |
or chilly; the wigwam would keep it from being seen. We made an extra | |
steering-oar, too, because one of the others might get broke on a snag | |
or something. We fixed up a short forked stick to hang the old lantern | |
on, because we must always light the lantern whenever we see a steamboat | |
coming down-stream, to keep from getting run over; but we wouldn't have | |
to light it for up-stream boats unless we see we was in what they call | |
a "crossing"; for the river was pretty high yet, very low banks being | |
still a little under water; so up-bound boats didn't always run the | |
channel, but hunted easy water. | |
This second night we run between seven and eight hours, with a current | |
that was making over four mile an hour. We catched fish and talked, | |
and we took a swim now and then to keep off sleepiness. It was kind of | |
solemn, drifting down the big, still river, laying on our backs looking | |
up at the stars, and we didn't ever feel like talking loud, and it | |
warn't often that we laughedonly a little kind of a low chuckle. We | |
had mighty good weather as a general thing, and nothing ever happened to | |
us at allthat night, nor the next, nor the next. | |
Every night we passed towns, some of them away up on black hillsides, | |
nothing but just a shiny bed of lights; not a house could you see. The | |
fifth night we passed St. Louis, and it was like the whole world lit up. | |
In St. Petersburg they used to say there was twenty or thirty thousand | |
people in St. Louis, but I never believed it till I see that wonderful | |
spread of lights at two o'clock that still night. There warn't a sound | |
there; everybody was asleep. | |
Every night now I used to slip ashore towards ten o'clock at some little | |
village, and buy ten or fifteen cents' worth of meal or bacon or other | |
stuff to eat; and sometimes I lifted a chicken that warn't roosting | |
comfortable, and took him along. Pap always said, take a chicken when | |
you get a chance, because if you don't want him yourself you can easy | |
find somebody that does, and a good deed ain't ever forgot. I never see | |
pap when he didn't want the chicken himself, but that is what he used to | |
say, anyway. | |
Mornings before daylight I slipped into cornfields and borrowed a | |
watermelon, or a mushmelon, or a punkin, or some new corn, or things of | |
that kind. Pap always said it warn't no harm to borrow things if you | |
was meaning to pay them back some time; but the widow said it warn't | |
anything but a soft name for stealing, and no decent body would do it. | |
Jim said he reckoned the widow was partly right and pap was partly | |
right; so the best way would be for us to pick out two or three things | |
from the list and say we wouldn't borrow them any morethen he reckoned | |
it wouldn't be no harm to borrow the others. So we talked it over all | |
one night, drifting along down the river, trying to make up our minds | |
whether to drop the watermelons, or the cantelopes, or the mushmelons, | |
or what. But towards daylight we got it all settled satisfactory, and | |
concluded to drop crabapples and p'simmons. We warn't feeling just | |
right before that, but it was all comfortable now. I was glad the way | |
it come out, too, because crabapples ain't ever good, and the p'simmons | |
wouldn't be ripe for two or three months yet. | |
We shot a water-fowl now and then that got up too early in the morning | |
or didn't go to bed early enough in the evening. Take it all round, we | |
lived pretty high. | |
The fifth night below St. Louis we had a big storm after midnight, with | |
a power of thunder and lightning, and the rain poured down in a solid | |
sheet. We stayed in the wigwam and let the raft take care of itself. | |
When the lightning glared out we could see a big straight river ahead, | |
and high, rocky bluffs on both sides. By and by says I, "Hel-lo, Jim, | |
looky yonder!" It was a steamboat that had killed herself on a rock. | |
We was drifting straight down for her. The lightning showed her very | |
distinct. She was leaning over, with part of her upper deck above | |
water, and you could see every little chimbly-guy clean and clear, and a | |
chair by the big bell, with an old slouch hat hanging on the back of it, | |
when the flashes come. | |
Well, it being away in the night and stormy, and all so mysterious-like, | |
I felt just the way any other boy would a felt when I see that wreck | |
laying there so mournful and lonesome in the middle of the river. I | |
wanted to get aboard of her and slink around a little, and see what | |
there was there. So I says: | |
"Le's land on her, Jim." | |
But Jim was dead against it at first. He says: | |
"I doan' want to go fool'n 'long er no wrack. We's doin' blame' well, | |
en we better let blame' well alone, as de good book says. Like as not | |
dey's a watchman on dat wrack." | |
"Watchman your grandmother," I says; "there ain't nothing to watch but | |
the texas and the pilot-house; and do you reckon anybody's going to resk | |
his life for a texas and a pilot-house such a night as this, when | |
it's likely to break up and wash off down the river any minute?" Jim | |
couldn't say nothing to that, so he didn't try. "And besides," I says, | |
"we might borrow something worth having out of the captain's stateroom. | |
Seegars, I bet youand cost five cents apiece, solid cash. Steamboat | |
captains is always rich, and get sixty dollars a month, and they don't | |
care a cent what a thing costs, you know, long as they want it. Stick a | |
candle in your pocket; I can't rest, Jim, till we give her a rummaging. | |
Do you reckon Tom Sawyer would ever go by this thing? Not for pie, he | |
wouldn't. He'd call it an adventurethat's what he'd call it; and he'd | |
land on that wreck if it was his last act. And wouldn't he throw style | |
into it?wouldn't he spread himself, nor nothing? Why, you'd think it | |
was Christopher C'lumbus discovering Kingdom-Come. I wish Tom Sawyer | |
was here." | |
Jim he grumbled a little, but give in. He said we mustn't talk any more | |
than we could help, and then talk mighty low. The lightning showed us | |
the wreck again just in time, and we fetched the stabboard derrick, and | |
made fast there. | |
The deck was high out here. We went sneaking down the slope of it to | |
labboard, in the dark, towards the texas, feeling our way slow with our | |
feet, and spreading our hands out to fend off the guys, for it was so | |
dark we couldn't see no sign of them. Pretty soon we struck the forward | |
end of the skylight, and clumb on to it; and the next step fetched us in | |
front of the captain's door, which was open, and by Jimminy, away down | |
through the texas-hall we see a light! and all in the same second we | |
seem to hear low voices in yonder! | |
Jim whispered and said he was feeling powerful sick, and told me to come | |
along. I says, all right, and was going to start for the raft; but just | |
then I heard a voice wail out and say: | |
"Oh, please don't, boys; I swear I won't ever tell!" | |
Another voice said, pretty loud: | |
"It's a lie, Jim Turner. You've acted this way before. You always want | |
more'n your share of the truck, and you've always got it, too, because | |
you've swore 't if you didn't you'd tell. But this time you've said | |
it jest one time too many. You're the meanest, treacherousest hound in | |
this country." | |
By this time Jim was gone for the raft. I was just a-biling with | |
curiosity; and I says to myself, Tom Sawyer wouldn't back out now, | |
and so I won't either; I'm a-going to see what's going on here. So I | |
dropped on my hands and knees in the little passage, and crept aft | |
in the dark till there warn't but one stateroom betwixt me and the | |
cross-hall of the texas. Then in there I see a man stretched on the | |
floor and tied hand and foot, and two men standing over him, and one | |
of them had a dim lantern in his hand, and the other one had a pistol. | |
This one kept pointing the pistol at the man's head on the floor, and | |
saying: | |
"I'd like to! And I orter, tooa mean skunk!" | |
The man on the floor would shrivel up and say, "Oh, please don't, Bill; | |
I hain't ever goin' to tell." | |
And every time he said that the man with the lantern would laugh and | |
say: | |
"'Deed you ain't! You never said no truer thing 'n that, you bet | |
you." And once he said: "Hear him beg! and yit if we hadn't got the | |
best of him and tied him he'd a killed us both. And what for? Jist | |
for noth'n. Jist because we stood on our rightsthat's what for. But | |
I lay you ain't a-goin' to threaten nobody any more, Jim Turner. Put | |
up that pistol, Bill." | |
Bill says: | |
"I don't want to, Jake Packard. I'm for killin' himand didn't he kill | |
old Hatfield jist the same wayand don't he deserve it?" | |
"But I don't want him killed, and I've got my reasons for it." | |
"Bless yo' heart for them words, Jake Packard! I'll never forgit you | |
long's I live!" says the man on the floor, sort of blubbering. | |
Packard didn't take no notice of that, but hung up his lantern on a nail | |
and started towards where I was there in the dark, and motioned Bill | |
to come. I crawfished as fast as I could about two yards, but the boat | |
slanted so that I couldn't make very good time; so to keep from getting | |
run over and catched I crawled into a stateroom on the upper side. | |
The man came a-pawing along in the dark, and when Packard got to my | |
stateroom, he says: | |
"Herecome in here." | |
And in he come, and Bill after him. But before they got in I was up | |
in the upper berth, cornered, and sorry I come. Then they stood there, | |
with their hands on the ledge of the berth, and talked. I couldn't see | |
them, but I could tell where they was by the whisky they'd been having. | |
I was glad I didn't drink whisky; but it wouldn't made much difference | |
anyway, because most of the time they couldn't a treed me because I | |
didn't breathe. I was too scared. And, besides, a body couldn't | |
breathe and hear such talk. They talked low and earnest. Bill wanted | |
to kill Turner. He says: | |
"He's said he'll tell, and he will. If we was to give both our shares | |
to him now it wouldn't make no difference after the row and the way | |
we've served him. Shore's you're born, he'll turn State's evidence; now | |
you hear me. I'm for putting him out of his troubles." | |
"So'm I," says Packard, very quiet. | |
"Blame it, I'd sorter begun to think you wasn't. Well, then, that's all | |
right. Le's go and do it." | |
"Hold on a minute; I hain't had my say yit. You listen to me. | |
Shooting's good, but there's quieter ways if the thing's got to be | |
done. But what I say is this: it ain't good sense to go court'n around | |
after a halter if you can git at what you're up to in some way that's | |
jist as good and at the same time don't bring you into no resks. Ain't | |
that so?" | |
"You bet it is. But how you goin' to manage it this time?" | |
"Well, my idea is this: we'll rustle around and gather up whatever | |
pickins we've overlooked in the staterooms, and shove for shore and hide | |
the truck. Then we'll wait. Now I say it ain't a-goin' to be more'n two | |
hours befo' this wrack breaks up and washes off down the river. See? | |
He'll be drownded, and won't have nobody to blame for it but his own | |
self. I reckon that's a considerble sight better 'n killin' of him. | |
I'm unfavorable to killin' a man as long as you can git aroun' it; it | |
ain't good sense, it ain't good morals. Ain't I right?" | |
"Yes, I reck'n you are. But s'pose she don't break up and wash off?" | |
"Well, we can wait the two hours anyway and see, can't we?" | |
"All right, then; come along." | |
So they started, and I lit out, all in a cold sweat, and scrambled | |
forward. It was dark as pitch there; but I said, in a kind of a coarse | |
whisper, "Jim!" and he answered up, right at my elbow, with a sort of a | |
moan, and I says: | |
"Quick, Jim, it ain't no time for fooling around and moaning; there's a | |
gang of murderers in yonder, and if we don't hunt up their boat and set | |
her drifting down the river so these fellows can't get away from the | |
wreck there's one of 'em going to be in a bad fix. But if we find their | |
boat we can put all of 'em in a bad fixfor the sheriff 'll get 'em. | |
Quickhurry! I'll hunt the labboard side, you hunt the stabboard. You | |
start at the raft, and" | |
"Oh, my lordy, lordy! raf'? Dey ain' no raf' no mo'; she done broke | |
loose en gone Ien here we is!" | |
CHAPTER XIII. | |
WELL, I catched my breath and most fainted. Shut up on a wreck with | |
such a gang as that! But it warn't no time to be sentimentering. We'd | |
got to find that boat nowhad to have it for ourselves. So we went | |
a-quaking and shaking down the stabboard side, and slow work it was, | |
tooseemed a week before we got to the stern. No sign of a boat. Jim | |
said he didn't believe he could go any furtherso scared he hadn't | |
hardly any strength left, he said. But I said, come on, if we get left | |
on this wreck we are in a fix, sure. So on we prowled again. We struck | |
for the stern of the texas, and found it, and then scrabbled along | |
forwards on the skylight, hanging on from shutter to shutter, for the | |
edge of the skylight was in the water. When we got pretty close to the | |
cross-hall door there was the skiff, sure enough! I could just barely | |
see her. I felt ever so thankful. In another second I would a been | |
aboard of her, but just then the door opened. One of the men stuck his | |
head out only about a couple of foot from me, and I thought I was gone; | |
but he jerked it in again, and says: | |
"Heave that blame lantern out o' sight, Bill!" | |
He flung a bag of something into the boat, and then got in himself and | |
set down. It was Packard. Then Bill he come out and got in. Packard | |
says, in a low voice: | |
"All readyshove off!" | |
I couldn't hardly hang on to the shutters, I was so weak. But Bill | |
says: | |
"Hold on'd you go through him?" | |
"No. Didn't you?" | |
"No. So he's got his share o' the cash yet." | |
"Well, then, come along; no use to take truck and leave money." | |
"Say, won't he suspicion what we're up to?" | |
"Maybe he won't. But we got to have it anyway. Come along." | |
So they got out and went in. | |
The door slammed to because it was on the careened side; and in a half | |
second I was in the boat, and Jim come tumbling after me. I out with my | |
knife and cut the rope, and away we went! | |
We didn't touch an oar, and we didn't speak nor whisper, nor hardly even | |
breathe. We went gliding swift along, dead silent, past the tip of the | |
paddle-box, and past the stern; then in a second or two more we was a | |
hundred yards below the wreck, and the darkness soaked her up, every | |
last sign of her, and we was safe, and knowed it. | |
When we was three or four hundred yards down-stream we see the lantern | |
show like a little spark at the texas door for a second, and we knowed | |
by that that the rascals had missed their boat, and was beginning to | |
understand that they was in just as much trouble now as Jim Turner was. | |
Then Jim manned the oars, and we took out after our raft. Now was the | |
first time that I begun to worry about the menI reckon I hadn't | |
had time to before. I begun to think how dreadful it was, even for | |
murderers, to be in such a fix. I says to myself, there ain't no | |
telling but I might come to be a murderer myself yet, and then how would | |
I like it? So says I to Jim: | |
"The first light we see we'll land a hundred yards below it or above | |
it, in a place where it's a good hiding-place for you and the skiff, and | |
then I'll go and fix up some kind of a yarn, and get somebody to go for | |
that gang and get them out of their scrape, so they can be hung when | |
their time comes." | |
But that idea was a failure; for pretty soon it begun to storm again, | |
and this time worse than ever. The rain poured down, and never a light | |
showed; everybody in bed, I reckon. We boomed along down the river, | |
watching for lights and watching for our raft. After a long time the | |
rain let up, but the clouds stayed, and the lightning kept whimpering, | |
and by and by a flash showed us a black thing ahead, floating, and we | |
made for it. | |
It was the raft, and mighty glad was we to get aboard of it again. We | |
seen a light now away down to the right, on shore. So I said I would | |
go for it. The skiff was half full of plunder which that gang had stole | |
there on the wreck. We hustled it on to the raft in a pile, and I told | |
Jim to float along down, and show a light when he judged he had gone | |
about two mile, and keep it burning till I come; then I manned my oars | |
and shoved for the light. As I got down towards it three or four more | |
showedup on a hillside. It was a village. I closed in above the shore | |
light, and laid on my oars and floated. As I went by I see it was a | |
lantern hanging on the jackstaff of a double-hull ferryboat. I skimmed | |
around for the watchman, a-wondering whereabouts he slept; and by and | |
by I found him roosting on the bitts forward, with his head down between | |
his knees. I gave his shoulder two or three little shoves, and begun to | |
cry. | |
He stirred up in a kind of a startlish way; but when he see it was only | |
me he took a good gap and stretch, and then he says: | |
"Hello, what's up? Don't cry, bub. What's the trouble?" | |
I says: | |
"Pap, and mam, and sis, and" | |
Then I broke down. He says: | |
"Oh, dang it now, don't take on so; we all has to have our troubles, | |
and this 'n 'll come out all right. What's the matter with 'em?" | |
"They'rethey'reare you the watchman of the boat?" | |
"Yes," he says, kind of pretty-well-satisfied like. "I'm the captain | |
and the owner and the mate and the pilot and watchman and head | |
deck-hand; and sometimes I'm the freight and passengers. I ain't as | |
rich as old Jim Hornback, and I can't be so blame' generous and good | |
to Tom, Dick, and Harry as what he is, and slam around money the way he | |
does; but I've told him a many a time 't I wouldn't trade places with | |
him; for, says I, a sailor's life's the life for me, and I'm derned if | |
I'd live two mile out o' town, where there ain't nothing ever goin' | |
on, not for all his spondulicks and as much more on top of it. Says I" | |
I broke in and says: | |
"They're in an awful peck of trouble, and" | |
"Who is?" | |
"Why, pap and mam and sis and Miss Hooker; and if you'd take your | |
ferryboat and go up there" | |
"Up where? Where are they?" | |
"On the wreck." | |
"What wreck?" | |
"Why, there ain't but one." | |
"What, you don't mean the Walter Scott?" | |
"Yes." | |
"Good land! what are they doin' there, for gracious sakes?" | |
"Well, they didn't go there a-purpose." | |
"I bet they didn't! Why, great goodness, there ain't no chance for 'em | |
if they don't git off mighty quick! Why, how in the nation did they | |
ever git into such a scrape?" | |
"Easy enough. Miss Hooker was a-visiting up there to the town" | |
"Yes, Booth's Landinggo on." | |
"She was a-visiting there at Booth's Landing, and just in the edge of | |
the evening she started over with her nigger woman in the horse-ferry | |
to stay all night at her friend's house, Miss What-you-may-call-her I | |
disremember her nameand they lost their steering-oar, and swung | |
around and went a-floating down, stern first, about two mile, and | |
saddle-baggsed on the wreck, and the ferryman and the nigger woman and | |
the horses was all lost, but Miss Hooker she made a grab and got aboard | |
the wreck. Well, about an hour after dark we come along down in our | |
trading-scow, and it was so dark we didn't notice the wreck till we was | |
right on it; and so we saddle-baggsed; but all of us was saved but | |
Bill Whippleand oh, he was the best cretur!I most wish 't it had | |
been me, I do." | |
"My George! It's the beatenest thing I ever struck. And then what | |
did you all do?" | |
"Well, we hollered and took on, but it's so wide there we couldn't | |
make nobody hear. So pap said somebody got to get ashore and get help | |
somehow. I was the only one that could swim, so I made a dash for it, | |
and Miss Hooker she said if I didn't strike help sooner, come here and | |
hunt up her uncle, and he'd fix the thing. I made the land about a mile | |
below, and been fooling along ever since, trying to get people to do | |
something, but they said, 'What, in such a night and such a current? | |
There ain't no sense in it; go for the steam ferry.' Now if you'll go | |
and" | |
"By Jackson, I'd like to, and, blame it, I don't know but I will; but | |
who in the dingnation's a-going' to pay for it? Do you reckon your | |
pap" | |
"Why that's all right. Miss Hooker she tole me, particular, that | |
her uncle Hornback" | |
"Great guns! is he her uncle? Looky here, you break for that light | |
over yonder-way, and turn out west when you git there, and about a | |
quarter of a mile out you'll come to the tavern; tell 'em to dart you | |
out to Jim Hornback's, and he'll foot the bill. And don't you fool | |
around any, because he'll want to know the news. Tell him I'll have | |
his niece all safe before he can get to town. Hump yourself, now; I'm | |
a-going up around the corner here to roust out my engineer." | |
I struck for the light, but as soon as he turned the corner I went back | |
and got into my skiff and bailed her out, and then pulled up shore in | |
the easy water about six hundred yards, and tucked myself in among | |
some woodboats; for I couldn't rest easy till I could see the ferryboat | |
start. But take it all around, I was feeling ruther comfortable on | |
accounts of taking all this trouble for that gang, for not many would | |
a done it. I wished the widow knowed about it. I judged she would be | |
proud of me for helping these rapscallions, because rapscallions and | |
dead beats is the kind the widow and good people takes the most interest | |
in. | |
Well, before long here comes the wreck, dim and dusky, sliding along | |
down! A kind of cold shiver went through me, and then I struck out for | |
her. She was very deep, and I see in a minute there warn't much chance | |
for anybody being alive in her. I pulled all around her and hollered | |
a little, but there wasn't any answer; all dead still. I felt a little | |
bit heavy-hearted about the gang, but not much, for I reckoned if they | |
could stand it I could. | |
Then here comes the ferryboat; so I shoved for the middle of the river | |
on a long down-stream slant; and when I judged I was out of eye-reach | |
I laid on my oars, and looked back and see her go and smell around the | |
wreck for Miss Hooker's remainders, because the captain would know her | |
uncle Hornback would want them; and then pretty soon the ferryboat give | |
it up and went for the shore, and I laid into my work and went a-booming | |
down the river. | |
It did seem a powerful long time before Jim's light showed up; and when | |
it did show it looked like it was a thousand mile off. By the time I | |
got there the sky was beginning to get a little gray in the east; so we | |
struck for an island, and hid the raft, and sunk the skiff, and turned | |
in and slept like dead people. | |
CHAPTER XIV. | |
BY and by, when we got up, we turned over the truck the gang had stole | |
off of the wreck, and found boots, and blankets, and clothes, and all | |
sorts of other things, and a lot of books, and a spyglass, and three | |
boxes of seegars. We hadn't ever been this rich before in neither of | |
our lives. The seegars was prime. We laid off all the afternoon in the | |
woods talking, and me reading the books, and having a general good | |
time. I told Jim all about what happened inside the wreck and at the | |
ferryboat, and I said these kinds of things was adventures; but he said | |
he didn't want no more adventures. He said that when I went in the | |
texas and he crawled back to get on the raft and found her gone he | |
nearly died, because he judged it was all up with him anyway it could | |
be fixed; for if he didn't get saved he would get drownded; and if he | |
did get saved, whoever saved him would send him back home so as to get | |
the reward, and then Miss Watson would sell him South, sure. Well, he | |
was right; he was most always right; he had an uncommon level head for a | |
nigger. | |
I read considerable to Jim about kings and dukes and earls and such, and | |
how gaudy they dressed, and how much style they put on, and called each | |
other your majesty, and your grace, and your lordship, and so on, 'stead | |
of mister; and Jim's eyes bugged out, and he was interested. He says: | |
"I didn' know dey was so many un um. I hain't hearn 'bout none un um, | |
skasely, but ole King Sollermun, onless you counts dem kings dat's in a | |
pack er k'yards. How much do a king git?" | |
"Get?" I says; "why, they get a thousand dollars a month if they want | |
it; they can have just as much as they want; everything belongs to | |
them." | |
"Ain' dat gay? En what dey got to do, Huck?" | |
"They don't do nothing! Why, how you talk! They just set around." | |
"No; is dat so?" | |
"Of course it is. They just set aroundexcept, maybe, when there's a | |
war; then they go to the war. But other times they just lazy around; or | |
go hawkingjust hawking and spSh!d' you hear a noise?" | |
We skipped out and looked; but it warn't nothing but the flutter of a | |
steamboat's wheel away down, coming around the point; so we come back. | |
"Yes," says I, "and other times, when things is dull, they fuss with the | |
parlyment; and if everybody don't go just so he whacks their heads off. | |
But mostly they hang round the harem." | |
"Roun' de which?" | |
"Harem." | |
"What's de harem?" | |
"The place where he keeps his wives. Don't you know about the harem? | |
Solomon had one; he had about a million wives." | |
"Why, yes, dat's so; II'd done forgot it. A harem's a bo'd'n-house, I | |
reck'n. Mos' likely dey has rackety times in de nussery. En I reck'n | |
de wives quarrels considable; en dat 'crease de racket. Yit dey say | |
Sollermun de wises' man dat ever live'. I doan' take no stock in | |
dat. Bekase why: would a wise man want to live in de mids' er sich a | |
blim-blammin' all de time? No'deed he wouldn't. A wise man 'ud take | |
en buil' a biler-factry; en den he could shet down de biler-factry | |
when he want to res'." | |
"Well, but he was the wisest man, anyway; because the widow she told | |
me so, her own self." | |
"I doan k'yer what de widder say, he warn't no wise man nuther. He | |
had some er de dad-fetchedes' ways I ever see. Does you know 'bout dat | |
chile dat he 'uz gwyne to chop in two?" | |
"Yes, the widow told me all about it." | |
"Well, den! Warn' dat de beatenes' notion in de worl'? You jes' | |
take en look at it a minute. Dah's de stump, dahdat's one er de women; | |
heah's youdat's de yuther one; I's Sollermun; en dish yer dollar bill's | |
de chile. Bofe un you claims it. What does I do? Does I shin aroun' | |
mongs' de neighbors en fine out which un you de bill do b'long to, en | |
han' it over to de right one, all safe en soun', de way dat anybody dat | |
had any gumption would? No; I take en whack de bill in two, en give | |
half un it to you, en de yuther half to de yuther woman. Dat's de way | |
Sollermun was gwyne to do wid de chile. Now I want to ast you: what's | |
de use er dat half a bill?can't buy noth'n wid it. En what use is a | |
half a chile? I wouldn' give a dern for a million un um." | |
"But hang it, Jim, you've clean missed the pointblame it, you've missed | |
it a thousand mile." | |
"Who? Me? Go 'long. Doan' talk to me 'bout yo' pints. I reck'n I | |
knows sense when I sees it; en dey ain' no sense in sich doin's as | |
dat. De 'spute warn't 'bout a half a chile, de 'spute was 'bout a whole | |
chile; en de man dat think he kin settle a 'spute 'bout a whole chile | |
wid a half a chile doan' know enough to come in out'n de rain. Doan' | |
talk to me 'bout Sollermun, Huck, I knows him by de back." | |
"But I tell you you don't get the point." | |
"Blame de point! I reck'n I knows what I knows. En mine you, de real | |
pint is down furderit's down deeper. It lays in de way Sollermun was | |
raised. You take a man dat's got on'y one or two chillen; is dat man | |
gwyne to be waseful o' chillen? No, he ain't; he can't 'ford it. He | |
know how to value 'em. But you take a man dat's got 'bout five million | |
chillen runnin' roun' de house, en it's diffunt. He as soon chop a | |
chile in two as a cat. Dey's plenty mo'. A chile er two, mo' er less, | |
warn't no consekens to Sollermun, dad fatch him!" | |
I never see such a nigger. If he got a notion in his head once, there | |
warn't no getting it out again. He was the most down on Solomon of | |
any nigger I ever see. So I went to talking about other kings, and let | |
Solomon slide. I told about Louis Sixteenth that got his head cut off | |
in France long time ago; and about his little boy the dolphin, that | |
would a been a king, but they took and shut him up in jail, and some say | |
he died there. | |
"Po' little chap." | |
"But some says he got out and got away, and come to America." | |
"Dat's good! But he'll be pooty lonesomedey ain' no kings here, is | |
dey, Huck?" | |
"No." | |
"Den he cain't git no situation. What he gwyne to do?" | |
"Well, I don't know. Some of them gets on the police, and some of them | |
learns people how to talk French." | |
"Why, Huck, doan' de French people talk de same way we does?" | |
"No, Jim; you couldn't understand a word they saidnot a single word." | |
"Well, now, I be ding-busted! How do dat come?" | |
"I don't know; but it's so. I got some of their jabber out of a book. | |
S'pose a man was to come to you and say Polly-voo-franzywhat would you | |
think?" | |
"I wouldn' think nuff'n; I'd take en bust him over de headdat is, if he | |
warn't white. I wouldn't 'low no nigger to call me dat." | |
"Shucks, it ain't calling you anything. It's only saying, do you know | |
how to talk French?" | |
"Well, den, why couldn't he say it?" | |
"Why, he is a-saying it. That's a Frenchman's way of saying it." | |
"Well, it's a blame ridicklous way, en I doan' want to hear no mo' 'bout | |
it. Dey ain' no sense in it." | |
"Looky here, Jim; does a cat talk like we do?" | |
"No, a cat don't." | |
"Well, does a cow?" | |
"No, a cow don't, nuther." | |
"Does a cat talk like a cow, or a cow talk like a cat?" | |
"No, dey don't." | |
"It's natural and right for 'em to talk different from each other, ain't | |
it?" | |
"Course." | |
"And ain't it natural and right for a cat and a cow to talk different | |
from us?" | |
"Why, mos' sholy it is." | |
"Well, then, why ain't it natural and right for a Frenchman to talk | |
different from us? You answer me that." | |
"Is a cat a man, Huck?" | |
"No." | |
"Well, den, dey ain't no sense in a cat talkin' like a man. Is a cow a | |
man?er is a cow a cat?" | |
"No, she ain't either of them." | |
"Well, den, she ain't got no business to talk like either one er the | |
yuther of 'em. Is a Frenchman a man?" | |
"Yes." | |
"Well, den! Dad blame it, why doan' he talk like a man? You answer | |
me dat!" | |
I see it warn't no use wasting wordsyou can't learn a nigger to argue. | |
So I quit. | |
CHAPTER XV. | |
WE judged that three nights more would fetch us to Cairo, at the bottom | |
of Illinois, where the Ohio River comes in, and that was what we was | |
after. We would sell the raft and get on a steamboat and go way up the | |
Ohio amongst the free States, and then be out of trouble. | |
Well, the second night a fog begun to come on, and we made for a towhead | |
to tie to, for it wouldn't do to try to run in a fog; but when I paddled | |
ahead in the canoe, with the line to make fast, there warn't anything | |
but little saplings to tie to. I passed the line around one of them | |
right on the edge of the cut bank, but there was a stiff current, and | |
the raft come booming down so lively she tore it out by the roots and | |
away she went. I see the fog closing down, and it made me so sick and | |
scared I couldn't budge for most a half a minute it seemed to meand | |
then there warn't no raft in sight; you couldn't see twenty yards. I | |
jumped into the canoe and run back to the stern, and grabbed the paddle | |
and set her back a stroke. But she didn't come. I was in such a hurry | |
I hadn't untied her. I got up and tried to untie her, but I was so | |
excited my hands shook so I couldn't hardly do anything with them. | |
As soon as I got started I took out after the raft, hot and heavy, right | |
down the towhead. That was all right as far as it went, but the towhead | |
warn't sixty yards long, and the minute I flew by the foot of it I shot | |
out into the solid white fog, and hadn't no more idea which way I was | |
going than a dead man. | |
Thinks I, it won't do to paddle; first I know I'll run into the bank | |
or a towhead or something; I got to set still and float, and yet it's | |
mighty fidgety business to have to hold your hands still at such a time. | |
I whooped and listened. Away down there somewheres I hears a small | |
whoop, and up comes my spirits. I went tearing after it, listening | |
sharp to hear it again. The next time it come I see I warn't heading | |
for it, but heading away to the right of it. And the next time I was | |
heading away to the left of itand not gaining on it much either, for | |
I was flying around, this way and that and t'other, but it was going | |
straight ahead all the time. | |
I did wish the fool would think to beat a tin pan, and beat it all the | |
time, but he never did, and it was the still places between the whoops | |
that was making the trouble for me. Well, I fought along, and directly | |
I hears the whoop behind me. I was tangled good now. That was | |
somebody else's whoop, or else I was turned around. | |
I throwed the paddle down. I heard the whoop again; it was behind me | |
yet, but in a different place; it kept coming, and kept changing its | |
place, and I kept answering, till by and by it was in front of me again, | |
and I knowed the current had swung the canoe's head down-stream, and I | |
was all right if that was Jim and not some other raftsman hollering. | |
I couldn't tell nothing about voices in a fog, for nothing don't look | |
natural nor sound natural in a fog. | |
The whooping went on, and in about a minute I come a-booming down on a | |
cut bank with smoky ghosts of big trees on it, and the current throwed | |
me off to the left and shot by, amongst a lot of snags that fairly | |
roared, the currrent was tearing by them so swift. | |
In another second or two it was solid white and still again. I set | |
perfectly still then, listening to my heart thump, and I reckon I didn't | |
draw a breath while it thumped a hundred. | |
I just give up then. I knowed what the matter was. That cut bank | |
was an island, and Jim had gone down t'other side of it. It warn't no | |
towhead that you could float by in ten minutes. It had the big timber | |
of a regular island; it might be five or six miles long and more than | |
half a mile wide. | |
I kept quiet, with my ears cocked, about fifteen minutes, I reckon. I | |
was floating along, of course, four or five miles an hour; but you don't | |
ever think of that. No, you feel like you are laying dead still on | |
the water; and if a little glimpse of a snag slips by you don't think to | |
yourself how fast you're going, but you catch your breath and think, | |
my! how that snag's tearing along. If you think it ain't dismal and | |
lonesome out in a fog that way by yourself in the night, you try it | |
onceyou'll see. | |
Next, for about a half an hour, I whoops now and then; at last I hears | |
the answer a long ways off, and tries to follow it, but I couldn't do | |
it, and directly I judged I'd got into a nest of towheads, for I had | |
little dim glimpses of them on both sides of mesometimes just a narrow | |
channel between, and some that I couldn't see I knowed was there because | |
I'd hear the wash of the current against the old dead brush and trash | |
that hung over the banks. Well, I warn't long loosing the whoops down | |
amongst the towheads; and I only tried to chase them a little while, | |
anyway, because it was worse than chasing a Jack-o'-lantern. You never | |
knowed a sound dodge around so, and swap places so quick and so much. | |
I had to claw away from the bank pretty lively four or five times, to | |
keep from knocking the islands out of the river; and so I judged the | |
raft must be butting into the bank every now and then, or else it would | |
get further ahead and clear out of hearingit was floating a little | |
faster than what I was. | |
Well, I seemed to be in the open river again by and by, but I couldn't | |
hear no sign of a whoop nowheres. I reckoned Jim had fetched up on a | |
snag, maybe, and it was all up with him. I was good and tired, so I | |
laid down in the canoe and said I wouldn't bother no more. I didn't | |
want to go to sleep, of course; but I was so sleepy I couldn't help it; | |
so I thought I would take jest one little cat-nap. | |
But I reckon it was more than a cat-nap, for when I waked up the stars | |
was shining bright, the fog was all gone, and I was spinning down a | |
big bend stern first. First I didn't know where I was; I thought I was | |
dreaming; and when things began to come back to me they seemed to come | |
up dim out of last week. | |
It was a monstrous big river here, with the tallest and the thickest | |
kind of timber on both banks; just a solid wall, as well as I could see | |
by the stars. I looked away down-stream, and seen a black speck on the | |
water. I took after it; but when I got to it it warn't nothing but a | |
couple of sawlogs made fast together. Then I see another speck, and | |
chased that; then another, and this time I was right. It was the raft. | |
When I got to it Jim was setting there with his head down between his | |
knees, asleep, with his right arm hanging over the steering-oar. The | |
other oar was smashed off, and the raft was littered up with leaves and | |
branches and dirt. So she'd had a rough time. | |
I made fast and laid down under Jim's nose on the raft, and began to | |
gap, and stretch my fists out against Jim, and says: | |
"Hello, Jim, have I been asleep? Why didn't you stir me up?" | |
"Goodness gracious, is dat you, Huck? En you ain' deadyou ain' | |
drowndedyou's back agin? It's too good for true, honey, it's too good | |
for true. Lemme look at you chile, lemme feel o' you. No, you ain' | |
dead! you's back agin, 'live en soun', jis de same ole Huckde same ole | |
Huck, thanks to goodness!" | |
"What's the matter with you, Jim? You been a-drinking?" | |
"Drinkin'? Has I ben a-drinkin'? Has I had a chance to be a-drinkin'?" | |
"Well, then, what makes you talk so wild?" | |
"How does I talk wild?" | |
"How? Why, hain't you been talking about my coming back, and all that | |
stuff, as if I'd been gone away?" | |
"HuckHuck Finn, you look me in de eye; look me in de eye. Hain't you | |
ben gone away?" | |
"Gone away? Why, what in the nation do you mean? I hain't been gone | |
anywheres. Where would I go to?" | |
"Well, looky here, boss, dey's sumf'n wrong, dey is. Is I me, or who | |
is I? Is I heah, or whah is I? Now dat's what I wants to know." | |
"Well, I think you're here, plain enough, but I think you're a | |
tangle-headed old fool, Jim." | |
"I is, is I? Well, you answer me dis: Didn't you tote out de line in | |
de canoe fer to make fas' to de tow-head?" | |
"No, I didn't. What tow-head? I hain't see no tow-head." | |
"You hain't seen no towhead? Looky here, didn't de line pull loose en | |
de raf' go a-hummin' down de river, en leave you en de canoe behine in | |
de fog?" | |
"What fog?" | |
"Why, de fog!de fog dat's been aroun' all night. En didn't you whoop, | |
en didn't I whoop, tell we got mix' up in de islands en one un us got | |
los' en t'other one was jis' as good as los', 'kase he didn' know whah | |
he wuz? En didn't I bust up agin a lot er dem islands en have a turrible | |
time en mos' git drownded? Now ain' dat so, bossain't it so? You | |
answer me dat." | |
"Well, this is too many for me, Jim. I hain't seen no fog, nor no | |
islands, nor no troubles, nor nothing. I been setting here talking with | |
you all night till you went to sleep about ten minutes ago, and I reckon | |
I done the same. You couldn't a got drunk in that time, so of course | |
you've been dreaming." | |
"Dad fetch it, how is I gwyne to dream all dat in ten minutes?" | |
"Well, hang it all, you did dream it, because there didn't any of it | |
happen." | |
"But, Huck, it's all jis' as plain to me as" | |
"It don't make no difference how plain it is; there ain't nothing in it. | |
I know, because I've been here all the time." | |
Jim didn't say nothing for about five minutes, but set there studying | |
over it. Then he says: | |
"Well, den, I reck'n I did dream it, Huck; but dog my cats ef it ain't | |
de powerfullest dream I ever see. En I hain't ever had no dream b'fo' | |
dat's tired me like dis one." | |
"Oh, well, that's all right, because a dream does tire a body like | |
everything sometimes. But this one was a staving dream; tell me all | |
about it, Jim." | |
So Jim went to work and told me the whole thing right through, just as | |
it happened, only he painted it up considerable. Then he said he must | |
start in and "'terpret" it, because it was sent for a warning. He said | |
the first towhead stood for a man that would try to do us some good, but | |
the current was another man that would get us away from him. The whoops | |
was warnings that would come to us every now and then, and if we didn't | |
try hard to make out to understand them they'd just take us into bad | |
luck, 'stead of keeping us out of it. The lot of towheads was troubles | |
we was going to get into with quarrelsome people and all kinds of mean | |
folks, but if we minded our business and didn't talk back and aggravate | |
them, we would pull through and get out of the fog and into the big | |
clear river, which was the free States, and wouldn't have no more | |
trouble. | |
It had clouded up pretty dark just after I got on to the raft, but it | |
was clearing up again now. | |
"Oh, well, that's all interpreted well enough as far as it goes, Jim," I | |
says; "but what does these things stand for?" | |
It was the leaves and rubbish on the raft and the smashed oar. You | |
could see them first-rate now. | |
Jim looked at the trash, and then looked at me, and back at the trash | |
again. He had got the dream fixed so strong in his head that he | |
couldn't seem to shake it loose and get the facts back into its place | |
again right away. But when he did get the thing straightened around he | |
looked at me steady without ever smiling, and says: | |
"What do dey stan' for? I'se gwyne to tell you. When I got all wore | |
out wid work, en wid de callin' for you, en went to sleep, my heart wuz | |
mos' broke bekase you wuz los', en I didn' k'yer no' mo' what become | |
er me en de raf'. En when I wake up en fine you back agin, all safe | |
en soun', de tears come, en I could a got down on my knees en kiss yo' | |
foot, I's so thankful. En all you wuz thinkin' 'bout wuz how you could | |
make a fool uv ole Jim wid a lie. Dat truck dah is trash; en trash | |
is what people is dat puts dirt on de head er dey fren's en makes 'em | |
ashamed." | |
Then he got up slow and walked to the wigwam, and went in there without | |
saying anything but that. But that was enough. It made me feel so mean | |
I could almost kissed his foot to get him to take it back. | |
It was fifteen minutes before I could work myself up to go and humble | |
myself to a nigger; but I done it, and I warn't ever sorry for it | |
afterwards, neither. I didn't do him no more mean tricks, and I | |
wouldn't done that one if I'd a knowed it would make him feel that way. | |
CHAPTER XVI. | |
WE slept most all day, and started out at night, a little ways behind a | |
monstrous long raft that was as long going by as a procession. She had | |
four long sweeps at each end, so we judged she carried as many as thirty | |
men, likely. She had five big wigwams aboard, wide apart, and an open | |
camp fire in the middle, and a tall flag-pole at each end. There was a | |
power of style about her. It amounted to something being a raftsman | |
on such a craft as that. | |
We went drifting down into a big bend, and the night clouded up and got | |
hot. The river was very wide, and was walled with solid timber on | |
both sides; you couldn't see a break in it hardly ever, or a light. We | |
talked about Cairo, and wondered whether we would know it when we got to | |
it. I said likely we wouldn't, because I had heard say there warn't but | |
about a dozen houses there, and if they didn't happen to have them lit | |
up, how was we going to know we was passing a town? Jim said if the two | |
big rivers joined together there, that would show. But I said maybe | |
we might think we was passing the foot of an island and coming into the | |
same old river again. That disturbed Jimand me too. So the question | |
was, what to do? I said, paddle ashore the first time a light showed, | |
and tell them pap was behind, coming along with a trading-scow, and | |
was a green hand at the business, and wanted to know how far it was to | |
Cairo. Jim thought it was a good idea, so we took a smoke on it and | |
waited. | |
There warn't nothing to do now but to look out sharp for the town, and | |
not pass it without seeing it. He said he'd be mighty sure to see it, | |
because he'd be a free man the minute he seen it, but if he missed it | |
he'd be in a slave country again and no more show for freedom. Every | |
little while he jumps up and says: | |
"Dah she is?" | |
But it warn't. It was Jack-o'-lanterns, or lightning bugs; so he set | |
down again, and went to watching, same as before. Jim said it made him | |
all over trembly and feverish to be so close to freedom. Well, I can | |
tell you it made me all over trembly and feverish, too, to hear him, | |
because I begun to get it through my head that he was most freeand | |
who was to blame for it? Why, me. I couldn't get that out of my | |
conscience, no how nor no way. It got to troubling me so I couldn't | |
rest; I couldn't stay still in one place. It hadn't ever come home to | |
me before, what this thing was that I was doing. But now it did; and it | |
stayed with me, and scorched me more and more. I tried to make out to | |
myself that I warn't to blame, because I didn't run Jim off from his | |
rightful owner; but it warn't no use, conscience up and says, every | |
time, "But you knowed he was running for his freedom, and you could a | |
paddled ashore and told somebody." That was soI couldn't get around | |
that noway. That was where it pinched. Conscience says to me, "What | |
had poor Miss Watson done to you that you could see her nigger go off | |
right under your eyes and never say one single word? What did that poor | |
old woman do to you that you could treat her so mean? Why, she tried to | |
learn you your book, she tried to learn you your manners, she tried to | |
be good to you every way she knowed how. That's what she done." | |
I got to feeling so mean and so miserable I most wished I was dead. I | |
fidgeted up and down the raft, abusing myself to myself, and Jim was | |
fidgeting up and down past me. We neither of us could keep still. | |
Every time he danced around and says, "Dah's Cairo!" it went through me | |
like a shot, and I thought if it was Cairo I reckoned I would die of | |
miserableness. | |
Jim talked out loud all the time while I was talking to myself. He was | |
saying how the first thing he would do when he got to a free State he | |
would go to saving up money and never spend a single cent, and when he | |
got enough he would buy his wife, which was owned on a farm close to | |
where Miss Watson lived; and then they would both work to buy the | |
two children, and if their master wouldn't sell them, they'd get an | |
Ab'litionist to go and steal them. | |
It most froze me to hear such talk. He wouldn't ever dared to talk such | |
talk in his life before. Just see what a difference it made in him the | |
minute he judged he was about free. It was according to the old saying, | |
"Give a nigger an inch and he'll take an ell." Thinks I, this is what | |
comes of my not thinking. Here was this nigger, which I had as good | |
as helped to run away, coming right out flat-footed and saying he would | |
steal his childrenchildren that belonged to a man I didn't even know; a | |
man that hadn't ever done me no harm. | |
I was sorry to hear Jim say that, it was such a lowering of him. My | |
conscience got to stirring me up hotter than ever, until at last I says | |
to it, "Let up on meit ain't too late yetI'll paddle ashore at the | |
first light and tell." I felt easy and happy and light as a feather | |
right off. All my troubles was gone. I went to looking out sharp for a | |
light, and sort of singing to myself. By and by one showed. Jim sings | |
out: | |
"We's safe, Huck, we's safe! Jump up and crack yo' heels! Dat's de | |
good ole Cairo at las', I jis knows it!" | |
I says: | |
"I'll take the canoe and go and see, Jim. It mightn't be, you know." | |
He jumped and got the canoe ready, and put his old coat in the bottom | |
for me to set on, and give me the paddle; and as I shoved off, he says: | |
"Pooty soon I'll be a-shout'n' for joy, en I'll say, it's all on | |
accounts o' Huck; I's a free man, en I couldn't ever ben free ef it | |
hadn' ben for Huck; Huck done it. Jim won't ever forgit you, Huck; | |
you's de bes' fren' Jim's ever had; en you's de only fren' ole Jim's | |
got now." | |
I was paddling off, all in a sweat to tell on him; but when he says | |
this, it seemed to kind of take the tuck all out of me. I went along | |
slow then, and I warn't right down certain whether I was glad I started | |
or whether I warn't. When I was fifty yards off, Jim says: | |
"Dah you goes, de ole true Huck; de on'y white genlman dat ever kep' his | |
promise to ole Jim." | |
Well, I just felt sick. But I says, I got to do itI can't get out | |
of it. Right then along comes a skiff with two men in it with guns, and | |
they stopped and I stopped. One of them says: | |
"What's that yonder?" | |
"A piece of a raft," I says. | |
"Do you belong on it?" | |
"Yes, sir." | |
"Any men on it?" | |
"Only one, sir." | |
"Well, there's five niggers run off to-night up yonder, above the head | |
of the bend. Is your man white or black?" | |
I didn't answer up prompt. I tried to, but the words wouldn't come. I | |
tried for a second or two to brace up and out with it, but I warn't man | |
enoughhadn't the spunk of a rabbit. I see I was weakening; so I just | |
give up trying, and up and says: | |
"He's white." | |
"I reckon we'll go and see for ourselves." | |
"I wish you would," says I, "because it's pap that's there, and maybe | |
you'd help me tow the raft ashore where the light is. He's sickand so | |
is mam and Mary Ann." | |
"Oh, the devil! we're in a hurry, boy. But I s'pose we've got to. | |
Come, buckle to your paddle, and let's get along." | |
I buckled to my paddle and they laid to their oars. When we had made a | |
stroke or two, I says: | |
"Pap'll be mighty much obleeged to you, I can tell you. Everybody goes | |
away when I want them to help me tow the raft ashore, and I can't do it | |
by myself." | |
"Well, that's infernal mean. Odd, too. Say, boy, what's the matter | |
with your father?" | |
"It's theathewell, it ain't anything much." | |
They stopped pulling. It warn't but a mighty little ways to the raft | |
now. One says: | |
"Boy, that's a lie. What is the matter with your pap? Answer up | |
square now, and it'll be the better for you." | |
"I will, sir, I will, honestbut don't leave us, please. It's | |
thetheGentlemen, if you'll only pull ahead, and let me heave you the | |
headline, you won't have to come a-near the raftplease do." | |
"Set her back, John, set her back!" says one. They backed water. "Keep | |
away, boykeep to looard. Confound it, I just expect the wind has | |
blowed it to us. Your pap's got the small-pox, and you know it precious | |
well. Why didn't you come out and say so? Do you want to spread it all | |
over?" | |
"Well," says I, a-blubbering, "I've told everybody before, and they just | |
went away and left us." | |
"Poor devil, there's something in that. We are right down sorry for | |
you, but wewell, hang it, we don't want the small-pox, you see. Look | |
here, I'll tell you what to do. Don't you try to land by yourself, or | |
you'll smash everything to pieces. You float along down about twenty | |
miles, and you'll come to a town on the left-hand side of the river. It | |
will be long after sun-up then, and when you ask for help you tell them | |
your folks are all down with chills and fever. Don't be a fool again, | |
and let people guess what is the matter. Now we're trying to do you a | |
kindness; so you just put twenty miles between us, that's a good boy. | |
It wouldn't do any good to land yonder where the light isit's only a | |
wood-yard. Say, I reckon your father's poor, and I'm bound to say he's | |
in pretty hard luck. Here, I'll put a twenty-dollar gold piece on this | |
board, and you get it when it floats by. I feel mighty mean to leave | |
you; but my kingdom! it won't do to fool with small-pox, don't you see?" | |
"Hold on, Parker," says the other man, "here's a twenty to put on the | |
board for me. Good-bye, boy; you do as Mr. Parker told you, and you'll | |
be all right." | |
"That's so, my boygood-bye, good-bye. If you see any runaway niggers | |
you get help and nab them, and you can make some money by it." | |
"Good-bye, sir," says I; "I won't let no runaway niggers get by me if I | |
can help it." | |
They went off and I got aboard the raft, feeling bad and low, because I | |
knowed very well I had done wrong, and I see it warn't no use for me | |
to try to learn to do right; a body that don't get started right when | |
he's little ain't got no showwhen the pinch comes there ain't nothing | |
to back him up and keep him to his work, and so he gets beat. Then I | |
thought a minute, and says to myself, hold on; s'pose you'd a done right | |
and give Jim up, would you felt better than what you do now? No, says | |
I, I'd feel badI'd feel just the same way I do now. Well, then, says | |
I, what's the use you learning to do right when it's troublesome to do | |
right and ain't no trouble to do wrong, and the wages is just the same? | |
I was stuck. I couldn't answer that. So I reckoned I wouldn't bother | |
no more about it, but after this always do whichever come handiest at | |
the time. | |
I went into the wigwam; Jim warn't there. I looked all around; he | |
warn't anywhere. I says: | |
"Jim!" | |
"Here I is, Huck. Is dey out o' sight yit? Don't talk loud." | |
He was in the river under the stern oar, with just his nose out. I told | |
him they were out of sight, so he come aboard. He says: | |
"I was a-listenin' to all de talk, en I slips into de river en was gwyne | |
to shove for sho' if dey come aboard. Den I was gwyne to swim to de | |
raf' agin when dey was gone. But lawsy, how you did fool 'em, Huck! | |
Dat wuz de smartes' dodge! I tell you, chile, I'spec it save' ole | |
Jimole Jim ain't going to forgit you for dat, honey." | |
Then we talked about the money. It was a pretty good raisetwenty | |
dollars apiece. Jim said we could take deck passage on a steamboat | |
now, and the money would last us as far as we wanted to go in the free | |
States. He said twenty mile more warn't far for the raft to go, but he | |
wished we was already there. | |
Towards daybreak we tied up, and Jim was mighty particular about hiding | |
the raft good. Then he worked all day fixing things in bundles, and | |
getting all ready to quit rafting. | |
That night about ten we hove in sight of the lights of a town away down | |
in a left-hand bend. | |
I went off in the canoe to ask about it. Pretty soon I found a man out | |
in the river with a skiff, setting a trot-line. I ranged up and says: | |
"Mister, is that town Cairo?" | |
"Cairo? no. You must be a blame' fool." | |
"What town is it, mister?" | |
"If you want to know, go and find out. If you stay here botherin' | |
around me for about a half a minute longer you'll get something you | |
won't want." | |
I paddled to the raft. Jim was awful disappointed, but I said never | |
mind, Cairo would be the next place, I reckoned. | |
We passed another town before daylight, and I was going out again; but | |
it was high ground, so I didn't go. No high ground about Cairo, Jim | |
said. I had forgot it. We laid up for the day on a towhead tolerable | |
close to the left-hand bank. I begun to suspicion something. So did | |
Jim. I says: | |
"Maybe we went by Cairo in the fog that night." | |
He says: | |
"Doan' le's talk about it, Huck. Po' niggers can't have no luck. I | |
awluz 'spected dat rattlesnake-skin warn't done wid its work." | |
"I wish I'd never seen that snake-skin, JimI do wish I'd never laid | |
eyes on it." | |
"It ain't yo' fault, Huck; you didn' know. Don't you blame yo'self | |
'bout it." | |
When it was daylight, here was the clear Ohio water inshore, sure | |
enough, and outside was the old regular Muddy! So it was all up with | |
Cairo. | |
We talked it all over. It wouldn't do to take to the shore; we couldn't | |
take the raft up the stream, of course. There warn't no way but to wait | |
for dark, and start back in the canoe and take the chances. So we slept | |
all day amongst the cottonwood thicket, so as to be fresh for the work, | |
and when we went back to the raft about dark the canoe was gone! | |
We didn't say a word for a good while. There warn't anything to | |
say. We both knowed well enough it was some more work of the | |
rattlesnake-skin; so what was the use to talk about it? It would only | |
look like we was finding fault, and that would be bound to fetch more | |
bad luckand keep on fetching it, too, till we knowed enough to keep | |
still. | |
By and by we talked about what we better do, and found there warn't no | |
way but just to go along down with the raft till we got a chance to buy | |
a canoe to go back in. We warn't going to borrow it when there warn't | |
anybody around, the way pap would do, for that might set people after | |
us. | |
So we shoved out after dark on the raft. | |
Anybody that don't believe yet that it's foolishness to handle a | |
snake-skin, after all that that snake-skin done for us, will believe it | |
now if they read on and see what more it done for us. | |
The place to buy canoes is off of rafts laying up at shore. But we | |
didn't see no rafts laying up; so we went along during three hours and | |
more. Well, the night got gray and ruther thick, which is the next | |
meanest thing to fog. You can't tell the shape of the river, and you | |
can't see no distance. It got to be very late and still, and then along | |
comes a steamboat up the river. We lit the lantern, and judged she | |
would see it. Up-stream boats didn't generly come close to us; they | |
go out and follow the bars and hunt for easy water under the reefs; but | |
nights like this they bull right up the channel against the whole river. | |
We could hear her pounding along, but we didn't see her good till she | |
was close. She aimed right for us. Often they do that and try to see | |
how close they can come without touching; sometimes the wheel bites off | |
a sweep, and then the pilot sticks his head out and laughs, and thinks | |
he's mighty smart. Well, here she comes, and we said she was going to | |
try and shave us; but she didn't seem to be sheering off a bit. She | |
was a big one, and she was coming in a hurry, too, looking like a black | |
cloud with rows of glow-worms around it; but all of a sudden she bulged | |
out, big and scary, with a long row of wide-open furnace doors shining | |
like red-hot teeth, and her monstrous bows and guards hanging right | |
over us. There was a yell at us, and a jingling of bells to stop the | |
engines, a powwow of cussing, and whistling of steamand as Jim went | |
overboard on one side and I on the other, she come smashing straight | |
through the raft. | |
I divedand I aimed to find the bottom, too, for a thirty-foot wheel | |
had got to go over me, and I wanted it to have plenty of room. I could | |
always stay under water a minute; this time I reckon I stayed under a | |
minute and a half. Then I bounced for the top in a hurry, for I was | |
nearly busting. I popped out to my armpits and blowed the water out of | |
my nose, and puffed a bit. Of course there was a booming current; and | |
of course that boat started her engines again ten seconds after she | |
stopped them, for they never cared much for raftsmen; so now she was | |
churning along up the river, out of sight in the thick weather, though I | |
could hear her. | |
I sung out for Jim about a dozen times, but I didn't get any answer; | |
so I grabbed a plank that touched me while I was "treading water," and | |
struck out for shore, shoving it ahead of me. But I made out to see | |
that the drift of the current was towards the left-hand shore, which | |
meant that I was in a crossing; so I changed off and went that way. | |
It was one of these long, slanting, two-mile crossings; so I was a good | |
long time in getting over. I made a safe landing, and clumb up the | |
bank. I couldn't see but a little ways, but I went poking along over | |
rough ground for a quarter of a mile or more, and then I run across a | |
big old-fashioned double log-house before I noticed it. I was going to | |
rush by and get away, but a lot of dogs jumped out and went to howling | |
and barking at me, and I knowed better than to move another peg. | |
CHAPTER XVII. | |
IN about a minute somebody spoke out of a window without putting his | |
head out, and says: | |
"Be done, boys! Who's there?" | |
I says: | |
"It's me." | |
"Who's me?" | |
"George Jackson, sir." | |
"What do you want?" | |
"I don't want nothing, sir. I only want to go along by, but the dogs | |
won't let me." | |
"What are you prowling around here this time of night forhey?" | |
"I warn't prowling around, sir, I fell overboard off of the steamboat." | |
"Oh, you did, did you? Strike a light there, somebody. What did you | |
say your name was?" | |
"George Jackson, sir. I'm only a boy." | |
"Look here, if you're telling the truth you needn't be afraidnobody'll | |
hurt you. But don't try to budge; stand right where you are. Rouse out | |
Bob and Tom, some of you, and fetch the guns. George Jackson, is there | |
anybody with you?" | |
"No, sir, nobody." | |
I heard the people stirring around in the house now, and see a light. | |
The man sung out: | |
"Snatch that light away, Betsy, you old foolain't you got any sense? | |
Put it on the floor behind the front door. Bob, if you and Tom are | |
ready, take your places." | |
"All ready." | |
"Now, George Jackson, do you know the Shepherdsons?" | |
"No, sir; I never heard of them." | |
"Well, that may be so, and it mayn't. Now, all ready. Step forward, | |
George Jackson. And mind, don't you hurrycome mighty slow. If there's | |
anybody with you, let him keep backif he shows himself he'll be shot. | |
Come along now. Come slow; push the door open yourselfjust enough to | |
squeeze in, d' you hear?" | |
I didn't hurry; I couldn't if I'd a wanted to. I took one slow step at | |
a time and there warn't a sound, only I thought I could hear my heart. | |
The dogs were as still as the humans, but they followed a little behind | |
me. When I got to the three log doorsteps I heard them unlocking and | |
unbarring and unbolting. I put my hand on the door and pushed it a | |
little and a little more till somebody said, "There, that's enoughput | |
your head in." I done it, but I judged they would take it off. | |
The candle was on the floor, and there they all was, looking at me, and | |
me at them, for about a quarter of a minute: Three big men with guns | |
pointed at me, which made me wince, I tell you; the oldest, gray | |
and about sixty, the other two thirty or moreall of them fine and | |
handsomeand the sweetest old gray-headed lady, and back of her two | |
young women which I couldn't see right well. The old gentleman says: | |
"There; I reckon it's all right. Come in." | |
As soon as I was in the old gentleman he locked the door and barred it | |
and bolted it, and told the young men to come in with their guns, and | |
they all went in a big parlor that had a new rag carpet on the floor, | |
and got together in a corner that was out of the range of the front | |
windowsthere warn't none on the side. They held the candle, and took a | |
good look at me, and all said, "Why, he ain't a Shepherdsonno, there | |
ain't any Shepherdson about him." Then the old man said he hoped I | |
wouldn't mind being searched for arms, because he didn't mean no harm by | |
itit was only to make sure. So he didn't pry into my pockets, but only | |
felt outside with his hands, and said it was all right. He told me to | |
make myself easy and at home, and tell all about myself; but the old | |
lady says: | |
"Why, bless you, Saul, the poor thing's as wet as he can be; and don't | |
you reckon it may be he's hungry?" | |
"True for you, RachelI forgot." | |
So the old lady says: | |
"Betsy" (this was a nigger woman), "you fly around and get him something | |
to eat as quick as you can, poor thing; and one of you girls go and wake | |
up Buck and tell himoh, here he is himself. Buck, take this little | |
stranger and get the wet clothes off from him and dress him up in some | |
of yours that's dry." | |
Buck looked about as old as methirteen or fourteen or along there, | |
though he was a little bigger than me. He hadn't on anything but a | |
shirt, and he was very frowzy-headed. He came in gaping and digging one | |
fist into his eyes, and he was dragging a gun along with the other one. | |
He says: | |
"Ain't they no Shepherdsons around?" | |
They said, no, 'twas a false alarm. | |
"Well," he says, "if they'd a ben some, I reckon I'd a got one." | |
They all laughed, and Bob says: | |
"Why, Buck, they might have scalped us all, you've been so slow in | |
coming." | |
"Well, nobody come after me, and it ain't right I'm always kept down; I | |
don't get no show." | |
"Never mind, Buck, my boy," says the old man, "you'll have show enough, | |
all in good time, don't you fret about that. Go 'long with you now, and | |
do as your mother told you." | |
When we got up-stairs to his room he got me a coarse shirt and a | |
roundabout and pants of his, and I put them on. While I was at it he | |
asked me what my name was, but before I could tell him he started to | |
tell me about a bluejay and a young rabbit he had catched in the woods | |
day before yesterday, and he asked me where Moses was when the candle | |
went out. I said I didn't know; I hadn't heard about it before, no way. | |
"Well, guess," he says. | |
"How'm I going to guess," says I, "when I never heard tell of it | |
before?" | |
"But you can guess, can't you? It's just as easy." | |
"Which candle?" I says. | |
"Why, any candle," he says. | |
"I don't know where he was," says I; "where was he?" | |
"Why, he was in the dark! That's where he was!" | |
"Well, if you knowed where he was, what did you ask me for?" | |
"Why, blame it, it's a riddle, don't you see? Say, how long are you | |
going to stay here? You got to stay always. We can just have booming | |
timesthey don't have no school now. Do you own a dog? I've got a | |
dogand he'll go in the river and bring out chips that you throw in. Do | |
you like to comb up Sundays, and all that kind of foolishness? You bet | |
I don't, but ma she makes me. Confound these ole britches! I reckon | |
I'd better put 'em on, but I'd ruther not, it's so warm. Are you all | |
ready? All right. Come along, old hoss." | |
Cold corn-pone, cold corn-beef, butter and buttermilkthat is what they | |
had for me down there, and there ain't nothing better that ever I've | |
come across yet. Buck and his ma and all of them smoked cob pipes, | |
except the nigger woman, which was gone, and the two young women. They | |
all smoked and talked, and I eat and talked. The young women had | |
quilts around them, and their hair down their backs. They all asked me | |
questions, and I told them how pap and me and all the family was living | |
on a little farm down at the bottom of Arkansaw, and my sister Mary Ann | |
run off and got married and never was heard of no more, and Bill went | |
to hunt them and he warn't heard of no more, and Tom and Mort died, | |
and then there warn't nobody but just me and pap left, and he was just | |
trimmed down to nothing, on account of his troubles; so when he died | |
I took what there was left, because the farm didn't belong to us, and | |
started up the river, deck passage, and fell overboard; and that was how | |
I come to be here. So they said I could have a home there as long as I | |
wanted it. Then it was most daylight and everybody went to bed, and I | |
went to bed with Buck, and when I waked up in the morning, drat it all, | |
I had forgot what my name was. So I laid there about an hour trying to | |
think, and when Buck waked up I says: | |
"Can you spell, Buck?" | |
"Yes," he says. | |
"I bet you can't spell my name," says I. | |
"I bet you what you dare I can," says he. | |
"All right," says I, "go ahead." | |
"G-e-o-r-g-e J-a-x-o-nthere now," he says. | |
"Well," says I, "you done it, but I didn't think you could. It ain't no | |
slouch of a name to spellright off without studying." | |
I set it down, private, because somebody might want me to spell it | |
next, and so I wanted to be handy with it and rattle it off like I was | |
used to it. | |
It was a mighty nice family, and a mighty nice house, too. I hadn't | |
seen no house out in the country before that was so nice and had so much | |
style. It didn't have an iron latch on the front door, nor a wooden one | |
with a buckskin string, but a brass knob to turn, the same as houses in | |
town. There warn't no bed in the parlor, nor a sign of a bed; but heaps | |
of parlors in towns has beds in them. There was a big fireplace that | |
was bricked on the bottom, and the bricks was kept clean and red by | |
pouring water on them and scrubbing them with another brick; sometimes | |
they wash them over with red water-paint that they call Spanish-brown, | |
same as they do in town. They had big brass dog-irons that could hold | |
up a saw-log. There was a clock on the middle of the mantelpiece, with | |
a picture of a town painted on the bottom half of the glass front, and | |
a round place in the middle of it for the sun, and you could see the | |
pendulum swinging behind it. It was beautiful to hear that clock tick; | |
and sometimes when one of these peddlers had been along and scoured her | |
up and got her in good shape, she would start in and strike a hundred | |
and fifty before she got tuckered out. They wouldn't took any money for | |
her. | |
Well, there was a big outlandish parrot on each side of the clock, | |
made out of something like chalk, and painted up gaudy. By one of the | |
parrots was a cat made of crockery, and a crockery dog by the other; | |
and when you pressed down on them they squeaked, but didn't open | |
their mouths nor look different nor interested. They squeaked through | |
underneath. There was a couple of big wild-turkey-wing fans spread out | |
behind those things. On the table in the middle of the room was a kind | |
of a lovely crockery basket that had apples and oranges and peaches and | |
grapes piled up in it, which was much redder and yellower and prettier | |
than real ones is, but they warn't real because you could see where | |
pieces had got chipped off and showed the white chalk, or whatever it | |
was, underneath. | |
This table had a cover made out of beautiful oilcloth, with a red and | |
blue spread-eagle painted on it, and a painted border all around. It | |
come all the way from Philadelphia, they said. There was some books, | |
too, piled up perfectly exact, on each corner of the table. One was a | |
big family Bible full of pictures. One was Pilgrim's Progress, about a | |
man that left his family, it didn't say why. I read considerable in it | |
now and then. The statements was interesting, but tough. Another was | |
Friendship's Offering, full of beautiful stuff and poetry; but I didn't | |
read the poetry. Another was Henry Clay's Speeches, and another was Dr. | |
Gunn's Family Medicine, which told you all about what to do if a body | |
was sick or dead. There was a hymn book, and a lot of other books. And | |
there was nice split-bottom chairs, and perfectly sound, toonot bagged | |
down in the middle and busted, like an old basket. | |
They had pictures hung on the wallsmainly Washingtons and Lafayettes, | |
and battles, and Highland Marys, and one called "Signing the | |
Declaration." There was some that they called crayons, which one of the | |
daughters which was dead made her own self when she was only | |
fifteen years old. They was different from any pictures I ever see | |
beforeblacker, mostly, than is common. One was a woman in a slim black | |
dress, belted small under the armpits, with bulges like a cabbage in | |
the middle of the sleeves, and a large black scoop-shovel bonnet with | |
a black veil, and white slim ankles crossed about with black tape, and | |
very wee black slippers, like a chisel, and she was leaning pensive on a | |
tombstone on her right elbow, under a weeping willow, and her other hand | |
hanging down her side holding a white handkerchief and a reticule, | |
and underneath the picture it said "Shall I Never See Thee More Alas." | |
Another one was a young lady with her hair all combed up straight | |
to the top of her head, and knotted there in front of a comb like a | |
chair-back, and she was crying into a handkerchief and had a dead bird | |
laying on its back in her other hand with its heels up, and underneath | |
the picture it said "I Shall Never Hear Thy Sweet Chirrup More Alas." | |
There was one where a young lady was at a window looking up at the | |
moon, and tears running down her cheeks; and she had an open letter in | |
one hand with black sealing wax showing on one edge of it, and she was | |
mashing a locket with a chain to it against her mouth, and underneath | |
the picture it said "And Art Thou Gone Yes Thou Art Gone Alas." These | |
was all nice pictures, I reckon, but I didn't somehow seem to take | |
to them, because if ever I was down a little they always give me the | |
fan-tods. Everybody was sorry she died, because she had laid out a lot | |
more of these pictures to do, and a body could see by what she had done | |
what they had lost. But I reckoned that with her disposition she was | |
having a better time in the graveyard. She was at work on what they | |
said was her greatest picture when she took sick, and every day and | |
every night it was her prayer to be allowed to live till she got it | |
done, but she never got the chance. It was a picture of a young woman | |
in a long white gown, standing on the rail of a bridge all ready to jump | |
off, with her hair all down her back, and looking up to the moon, with | |
the tears running down her face, and she had two arms folded across her | |
breast, and two arms stretched out in front, and two more reaching up | |
towards the moonand the idea was to see which pair would look best, | |
and then scratch out all the other arms; but, as I was saying, she died | |
before she got her mind made up, and now they kept this picture over the | |
head of the bed in her room, and every time her birthday come they hung | |
flowers on it. Other times it was hid with a little curtain. The young | |
woman in the picture had a kind of a nice sweet face, but there was so | |
many arms it made her look too spidery, seemed to me. | |
This young girl kept a scrap-book when she was alive, and used to paste | |
obituaries and accidents and cases of patient suffering in it out of the | |
Presbyterian Observer, and write poetry after them out of her own head. | |
It was very good poetry. This is what she wrote about a boy by the name | |
of Stephen Dowling Bots that fell down a well and was drownded: | |
ODE TO STEPHEN DOWLING BOTS, DEC'D | |
And did young Stephen sicken, And did young Stephen die? And did the | |
sad hearts thicken, And did the mourners cry? | |
No; such was not the fate of Young Stephen Dowling Bots; Though sad | |
hearts round him thickened, 'Twas not from sickness' shots. | |
No whooping-cough did rack his frame, Nor measles drear with spots; | |
Not these impaired the sacred name Of Stephen Dowling Bots. | |
Despised love struck not with woe That head of curly knots, Nor | |
stomach troubles laid him low, Young Stephen Dowling Bots. | |
O no. Then list with tearful eye, Whilst I his fate do tell. His soul | |
did from this cold world fly By falling down a well. | |
They got him out and emptied him; Alas it was too late; His spirit | |
was gone for to sport aloft In the realms of the good and great. | |
If Emmeline Grangerford could make poetry like that before she was | |
fourteen, there ain't no telling what she could a done by and by. Buck | |
said she could rattle off poetry like nothing. She didn't ever have to | |
stop to think. He said she would slap down a line, and if she couldn't | |
find anything to rhyme with it would just scratch it out and slap down | |
another one, and go ahead. She warn't particular; she could write about | |
anything you choose to give her to write about just so it was sadful. | |
Every time a man died, or a woman died, or a child died, she would be on | |
hand with her "tribute" before he was cold. She called them tributes. | |
The neighbors said it was the doctor first, then Emmeline, then the | |
undertakerthe undertaker never got in ahead of Emmeline but once, and | |
then she hung fire on a rhyme for the dead person's name, which was | |
Whistler. She warn't ever the same after that; she never complained, | |
but she kinder pined away and did not live long. Poor thing, many's the | |
time I made myself go up to the little room that used to be hers and get | |
out her poor old scrap-book and read in it when her pictures had been | |
aggravating me and I had soured on her a little. I liked all that | |
family, dead ones and all, and warn't going to let anything come between | |
us. Poor Emmeline made poetry about all the dead people when she was | |
alive, and it didn't seem right that there warn't nobody to make some | |
about her now she was gone; so I tried to sweat out a verse or two | |
myself, but I couldn't seem to make it go somehow. They kept Emmeline's | |
room trim and nice, and all the things fixed in it just the way she | |
liked to have them when she was alive, and nobody ever slept there. | |
The old lady took care of the room herself, though there was plenty | |
of niggers, and she sewed there a good deal and read her Bible there | |
mostly. | |
Well, as I was saying about the parlor, there was beautiful curtains on | |
the windows: white, with pictures painted on them of castles with vines | |
all down the walls, and cattle coming down to drink. There was a little | |
old piano, too, that had tin pans in it, I reckon, and nothing was ever | |
so lovely as to hear the young ladies sing "The Last Link is Broken" | |
and play "The Battle of Prague" on it. The walls of all the rooms was | |
plastered, and most had carpets on the floors, and the whole house was | |
whitewashed on the outside. | |
It was a double house, and the big open place betwixt them was roofed | |
and floored, and sometimes the table was set there in the middle of the | |
day, and it was a cool, comfortable place. Nothing couldn't be better. | |
And warn't the cooking good, and just bushels of it too! | |
CHAPTER XVIII. | |
COL. Grangerford was a gentleman, you see. He was a gentleman all | |
over; and so was his family. He was well born, as the saying is, and | |
that's worth as much in a man as it is in a horse, so the Widow Douglas | |
said, and nobody ever denied that she was of the first aristocracy | |
in our town; and pap he always said it, too, though he warn't no more | |
quality than a mudcat himself. Col. Grangerford was very tall and | |
very slim, and had a darkish-paly complexion, not a sign of red in it | |
anywheres; he was clean shaved every morning all over his thin face, and | |
he had the thinnest kind of lips, and the thinnest kind of nostrils, and | |
a high nose, and heavy eyebrows, and the blackest kind of eyes, sunk so | |
deep back that they seemed like they was looking out of caverns at | |
you, as you may say. His forehead was high, and his hair was black and | |
straight and hung to his shoulders. His hands was long and thin, and | |
every day of his life he put on a clean shirt and a full suit from head | |
to foot made out of linen so white it hurt your eyes to look at it; | |
and on Sundays he wore a blue tail-coat with brass buttons on it. He | |
carried a mahogany cane with a silver head to it. There warn't no | |
frivolishness about him, not a bit, and he warn't ever loud. He was | |
as kind as he could beyou could feel that, you know, and so you had | |
confidence. Sometimes he smiled, and it was good to see; but when he | |
straightened himself up like a liberty-pole, and the lightning begun to | |
flicker out from under his eyebrows, you wanted to climb a tree first, | |
and find out what the matter was afterwards. He didn't ever have to | |
tell anybody to mind their mannerseverybody was always good-mannered | |
where he was. Everybody loved to have him around, too; he was sunshine | |
most alwaysI mean he made it seem like good weather. When he turned | |
into a cloudbank it was awful dark for half a minute, and that was | |
enough; there wouldn't nothing go wrong again for a week. | |
When him and the old lady come down in the morning all the family got | |
up out of their chairs and give them good-day, and didn't set down again | |
till they had set down. Then Tom and Bob went to the sideboard where | |
the decanter was, and mixed a glass of bitters and handed it to him, and | |
he held it in his hand and waited till Tom's and Bob's was mixed, and | |
then they bowed and said, "Our duty to you, sir, and madam;" and they | |
bowed the least bit in the world and said thank you, and so they drank, | |
all three, and Bob and Tom poured a spoonful of water on the sugar and | |
the mite of whisky or apple brandy in the bottom of their tumblers, and | |
give it to me and Buck, and we drank to the old people too. | |
Bob was the oldest and Tom nexttall, beautiful men with very broad | |
shoulders and brown faces, and long black hair and black eyes. They | |
dressed in white linen from head to foot, like the old gentleman, and | |
wore broad Panama hats. | |
Then there was Miss Charlotte; she was twenty-five, and tall and proud | |
and grand, but as good as she could be when she warn't stirred up; but | |
when she was she had a look that would make you wilt in your tracks, | |
like her father. She was beautiful. | |
So was her sister, Miss Sophia, but it was a different kind. She was | |
gentle and sweet like a dove, and she was only twenty. | |
Each person had their own nigger to wait on themBuck too. My nigger | |
had a monstrous easy time, because I warn't used to having anybody do | |
anything for me, but Buck's was on the jump most of the time. | |
This was all there was of the family now, but there used to be | |
morethree sons; they got killed; and Emmeline that died. | |
The old gentleman owned a lot of farms and over a hundred niggers. | |
Sometimes a stack of people would come there, horseback, from ten or | |
fifteen mile around, and stay five or six days, and have such junketings | |
round about and on the river, and dances and picnics in the woods | |
daytimes, and balls at the house nights. These people was mostly | |
kinfolks of the family. The men brought their guns with them. It was a | |
handsome lot of quality, I tell you. | |
There was another clan of aristocracy around therefive or six | |
familiesmostly of the name of Shepherdson. They was as high-toned | |
and well born and rich and grand as the tribe of Grangerfords. The | |
Shepherdsons and Grangerfords used the same steamboat landing, which was | |
about two mile above our house; so sometimes when I went up there with a | |
lot of our folks I used to see a lot of the Shepherdsons there on their | |
fine horses. | |
One day Buck and me was away out in the woods hunting, and heard a horse | |
coming. We was crossing the road. Buck says: | |
"Quick! Jump for the woods!" | |
We done it, and then peeped down the woods through the leaves. Pretty | |
soon a splendid young man come galloping down the road, setting his | |
horse easy and looking like a soldier. He had his gun across his | |
pommel. I had seen him before. It was young Harney Shepherdson. I | |
heard Buck's gun go off at my ear, and Harney's hat tumbled off from his | |
head. He grabbed his gun and rode straight to the place where we was | |
hid. But we didn't wait. We started through the woods on a run. The | |
woods warn't thick, so I looked over my shoulder to dodge the bullet, | |
and twice I seen Harney cover Buck with his gun; and then he rode away | |
the way he cometo get his hat, I reckon, but I couldn't see. We never | |
stopped running till we got home. The old gentleman's eyes blazed a | |
minute'twas pleasure, mainly, I judgedthen his face sort of smoothed | |
down, and he says, kind of gentle: | |
"I don't like that shooting from behind a bush. Why didn't you step | |
into the road, my boy?" | |
"The Shepherdsons don't, father. They always take advantage." | |
Miss Charlotte she held her head up like a queen while Buck was telling | |
his tale, and her nostrils spread and her eyes snapped. The two young | |
men looked dark, but never said nothing. Miss Sophia she turned pale, | |
but the color come back when she found the man warn't hurt. | |
Soon as I could get Buck down by the corn-cribs under the trees by | |
ourselves, I says: | |
"Did you want to kill him, Buck?" | |
"Well, I bet I did." | |
"What did he do to you?" | |
"Him? He never done nothing to me." | |
"Well, then, what did you want to kill him for?" | |
"Why, nothingonly it's on account of the feud." | |
"What's a feud?" | |
"Why, where was you raised? Don't you know what a feud is?" | |
"Never heard of it beforetell me about it." | |
"Well," says Buck, "a feud is this way: A man has a quarrel with | |
another man, and kills him; then that other man's brother kills him; | |
then the other brothers, on both sides, goes for one another; then the | |
cousins chip inand by and by everybody's killed off, and there ain't | |
no more feud. But it's kind of slow, and takes a long time." | |
"Has this one been going on long, Buck?" | |
"Well, I should reckon! It started thirty year ago, or som'ers along | |
there. There was trouble 'bout something, and then a lawsuit to settle | |
it; and the suit went agin one of the men, and so he up and shot the | |
man that won the suitwhich he would naturally do, of course. Anybody | |
would." | |
"What was the trouble about, Buck?land?" | |
"I reckon maybeI don't know." | |
"Well, who done the shooting? Was it a Grangerford or a Shepherdson?" | |
"Laws, how do I know? It was so long ago." | |
"Don't anybody know?" | |
"Oh, yes, pa knows, I reckon, and some of the other old people; but they | |
don't know now what the row was about in the first place." | |
"Has there been many killed, Buck?" | |
"Yes; right smart chance of funerals. But they don't always kill. Pa's | |
got a few buckshot in him; but he don't mind it 'cuz he don't weigh | |
much, anyway. Bob's been carved up some with a bowie, and Tom's been | |
hurt once or twice." | |
"Has anybody been killed this year, Buck?" | |
"Yes; we got one and they got one. 'Bout three months ago my cousin | |
Bud, fourteen year old, was riding through the woods on t'other side | |
of the river, and didn't have no weapon with him, which was blame' | |
foolishness, and in a lonesome place he hears a horse a-coming behind | |
him, and sees old Baldy Shepherdson a-linkin' after him with his gun in | |
his hand and his white hair a-flying in the wind; and 'stead of jumping | |
off and taking to the brush, Bud 'lowed he could out-run him; so they | |
had it, nip and tuck, for five mile or more, the old man a-gaining all | |
the time; so at last Bud seen it warn't any use, so he stopped and faced | |
around so as to have the bullet holes in front, you know, and the old | |
man he rode up and shot him down. But he didn't git much chance to | |
enjoy his luck, for inside of a week our folks laid him out." | |
"I reckon that old man was a coward, Buck." | |
"I reckon he warn't a coward. Not by a blame' sight. There ain't a | |
coward amongst them Shepherdsonsnot a one. And there ain't no cowards | |
amongst the Grangerfords either. Why, that old man kep' up his end in a | |
fight one day for half an hour against three Grangerfords, and come | |
out winner. They was all a-horseback; he lit off of his horse and got | |
behind a little woodpile, and kep' his horse before him to stop the | |
bullets; but the Grangerfords stayed on their horses and capered around | |
the old man, and peppered away at him, and he peppered away at them. | |
Him and his horse both went home pretty leaky and crippled, but the | |
Grangerfords had to be fetched homeand one of 'em was dead, and | |
another died the next day. No, sir; if a body's out hunting for cowards | |
he don't want to fool away any time amongst them Shepherdsons, becuz | |
they don't breed any of that kind." | |
Next Sunday we all went to church, about three mile, everybody | |
a-horseback. The men took their guns along, so did Buck, and kept | |
them between their knees or stood them handy against the wall. The | |
Shepherdsons done the same. It was pretty ornery preachingall about | |
brotherly love, and such-like tiresomeness; but everybody said it was | |
a good sermon, and they all talked it over going home, and had such | |
a powerful lot to say about faith and good works and free grace and | |
preforeordestination, and I don't know what all, that it did seem to me | |
to be one of the roughest Sundays I had run across yet. | |
About an hour after dinner everybody was dozing around, some in their | |
chairs and some in their rooms, and it got to be pretty dull. Buck and | |
a dog was stretched out on the grass in the sun sound asleep. I went up | |
to our room, and judged I would take a nap myself. I found that sweet | |
Miss Sophia standing in her door, which was next to ours, and she took | |
me in her room and shut the door very soft, and asked me if I liked her, | |
and I said I did; and she asked me if I would do something for her and | |
not tell anybody, and I said I would. Then she said she'd forgot her | |
Testament, and left it in the seat at church between two other books, | |
and would I slip out quiet and go there and fetch it to her, and not say | |
nothing to nobody. I said I would. So I slid out and slipped off up the | |
road, and there warn't anybody at the church, except maybe a hog or two, | |
for there warn't any lock on the door, and hogs likes a puncheon floor | |
in summer-time because it's cool. If you notice, most folks don't go to | |
church only when they've got to; but a hog is different. | |
Says I to myself, something's up; it ain't natural for a girl to be in | |
such a sweat about a Testament. So I give it a shake, and out drops a | |
little piece of paper with "HALF-PAST TWO" wrote on it with a pencil. I | |
ransacked it, but couldn't find anything else. I couldn't make anything | |
out of that, so I put the paper in the book again, and when I got home | |
and upstairs there was Miss Sophia in her door waiting for me. She | |
pulled me in and shut the door; then she looked in the Testament till | |
she found the paper, and as soon as she read it she looked glad; and | |
before a body could think she grabbed me and give me a squeeze, and | |
said I was the best boy in the world, and not to tell anybody. She was | |
mighty red in the face for a minute, and her eyes lighted up, and it | |
made her powerful pretty. I was a good deal astonished, but when I got | |
my breath I asked her what the paper was about, and she asked me if I | |
had read it, and I said no, and she asked me if I could read writing, | |
and I told her "no, only coarse-hand," and then she said the paper | |
warn't anything but a book-mark to keep her place, and I might go and | |
play now. | |
I went off down to the river, studying over this thing, and pretty soon | |
I noticed that my nigger was following along behind. When we was out | |
of sight of the house he looked back and around a second, and then comes | |
a-running, and says: | |
"Mars Jawge, if you'll come down into de swamp I'll show you a whole | |
stack o' water-moccasins." | |
Thinks I, that's mighty curious; he said that yesterday. He oughter | |
know a body don't love water-moccasins enough to go around hunting for | |
them. What is he up to, anyway? So I says: | |
"All right; trot ahead." | |
I followed a half a mile; then he struck out over the swamp, and waded | |
ankle deep as much as another half-mile. We come to a little flat piece | |
of land which was dry and very thick with trees and bushes and vines, | |
and he says: | |
"You shove right in dah jist a few steps, Mars Jawge; dah's whah dey is. | |
I's seed 'm befo'; I don't k'yer to see 'em no mo'." | |
Then he slopped right along and went away, and pretty soon the trees hid | |
him. I poked into the place a-ways and come to a little open patch | |
as big as a bedroom all hung around with vines, and found a man laying | |
there asleepand, by jings, it was my old Jim! | |
I waked him up, and I reckoned it was going to be a grand surprise to | |
him to see me again, but it warn't. He nearly cried he was so glad, but | |
he warn't surprised. Said he swum along behind me that night, and heard | |
me yell every time, but dasn't answer, because he didn't want nobody to | |
pick him up and take him into slavery again. Says he: | |
"I got hurt a little, en couldn't swim fas', so I wuz a considable ways | |
behine you towards de las'; when you landed I reck'ned I could ketch | |
up wid you on de lan' 'dout havin' to shout at you, but when I see dat | |
house I begin to go slow. I 'uz off too fur to hear what dey say to | |
youI wuz 'fraid o' de dogs; but when it 'uz all quiet agin I knowed | |
you's in de house, so I struck out for de woods to wait for day. Early | |
in de mawnin' some er de niggers come along, gwyne to de fields, en dey | |
tuk me en showed me dis place, whah de dogs can't track me on accounts | |
o' de water, en dey brings me truck to eat every night, en tells me how | |
you's a-gitt'n along." | |
"Why didn't you tell my Jack to fetch me here sooner, Jim?" | |
"Well, 'twarn't no use to 'sturb you, Huck, tell we could do sumfnbut | |
we's all right now. I ben a-buyin' pots en pans en vittles, as I got a | |
chanst, en a-patchin' up de raf' nights when" | |
"What raft, Jim?" | |
"Our ole raf'." | |
"You mean to say our old raft warn't smashed all to flinders?" | |
"No, she warn't. She was tore up a good dealone en' of her was; but | |
dey warn't no great harm done, on'y our traps was mos' all los'. Ef we | |
hadn' dive' so deep en swum so fur under water, en de night hadn' ben | |
so dark, en we warn't so sk'yerd, en ben sich punkin-heads, as de sayin' | |
is, we'd a seed de raf'. But it's jis' as well we didn't, 'kase now | |
she's all fixed up agin mos' as good as new, en we's got a new lot o' | |
stuff, in de place o' what 'uz los'." | |
"Why, how did you get hold of the raft again, Jimdid you catch her?" | |
"How I gwyne to ketch her en I out in de woods? No; some er de niggers | |
foun' her ketched on a snag along heah in de ben', en dey hid her in a | |
crick 'mongst de willows, en dey wuz so much jawin' 'bout which un 'um | |
she b'long to de mos' dat I come to heah 'bout it pooty soon, so I ups | |
en settles de trouble by tellin' 'um she don't b'long to none uv um, but | |
to you en me; en I ast 'm if dey gwyne to grab a young white genlman's | |
propaty, en git a hid'n for it? Den I gin 'm ten cents apiece, en dey | |
'uz mighty well satisfied, en wisht some mo' raf's 'ud come along en | |
make 'm rich agin. Dey's mighty good to me, dese niggers is, en whatever | |
I wants 'm to do fur me I doan' have to ast 'm twice, honey. Dat Jack's | |
a good nigger, en pooty smart." | |
"Yes, he is. He ain't ever told me you was here; told me to come, and | |
he'd show me a lot of water-moccasins. If anything happens he ain't | |
mixed up in it. He can say he never seen us together, and it 'll be the | |
truth." | |
I don't want to talk much about the next day. I reckon I'll cut it | |
pretty short. I waked up about dawn, and was a-going to turn over and | |
go to sleep again when I noticed how still it wasdidn't seem to be | |
anybody stirring. That warn't usual. Next I noticed that Buck was | |
up and gone. Well, I gets up, a-wondering, and goes down stairsnobody | |
around; everything as still as a mouse. Just the same outside. Thinks | |
I, what does it mean? Down by the wood-pile I comes across my Jack, and | |
says: | |
"What's it all about?" | |
Says he: | |
"Don't you know, Mars Jawge?" | |
"No," says I, "I don't." | |
"Well, den, Miss Sophia's run off! 'deed she has. She run off in de | |
night some timenobody don't know jis' when; run off to get married | |
to dat young Harney Shepherdson, you knowleastways, so dey 'spec. De | |
fambly foun' it out 'bout half an hour agomaybe a little mo'en' I | |
tell you dey warn't no time los'. Sich another hurryin' up guns | |
en hosses you never see! De women folks has gone for to stir up de | |
relations, en ole Mars Saul en de boys tuck dey guns en rode up de | |
river road for to try to ketch dat young man en kill him 'fo' he kin | |
git acrost de river wid Miss Sophia. I reck'n dey's gwyne to be mighty | |
rough times." | |
"Buck went off 'thout waking me up." | |
"Well, I reck'n he did! Dey warn't gwyne to mix you up in it. | |
Mars Buck he loaded up his gun en 'lowed he's gwyne to fetch home a | |
Shepherdson or bust. Well, dey'll be plenty un 'm dah, I reck'n, en you | |
bet you he'll fetch one ef he gits a chanst." | |
I took up the river road as hard as I could put. By and by I begin to | |
hear guns a good ways off. When I come in sight of the log store and | |
the woodpile where the steamboats lands I worked along under the trees | |
and brush till I got to a good place, and then I clumb up into the | |
forks of a cottonwood that was out of reach, and watched. There was a | |
wood-rank four foot high a little ways in front of the tree, and first I | |
was going to hide behind that; but maybe it was luckier I didn't. | |
There was four or five men cavorting around on their horses in the open | |
place before the log store, cussing and yelling, and trying to get at | |
a couple of young chaps that was behind the wood-rank alongside of the | |
steamboat landing; but they couldn't come it. Every time one of them | |
showed himself on the river side of the woodpile he got shot at. The | |
two boys was squatting back to back behind the pile, so they could watch | |
both ways. | |
By and by the men stopped cavorting around and yelling. They started | |
riding towards the store; then up gets one of the boys, draws a steady | |
bead over the wood-rank, and drops one of them out of his saddle. All | |
the men jumped off of their horses and grabbed the hurt one and started | |
to carry him to the store; and that minute the two boys started on the | |
run. They got half way to the tree I was in before the men noticed. | |
Then the men see them, and jumped on their horses and took out after | |
them. They gained on the boys, but it didn't do no good, the boys had | |
too good a start; they got to the woodpile that was in front of my tree, | |
and slipped in behind it, and so they had the bulge on the men again. | |
One of the boys was Buck, and the other was a slim young chap about | |
nineteen years old. | |
The men ripped around awhile, and then rode away. As soon as they was | |
out of sight I sung out to Buck and told him. He didn't know what | |
to make of my voice coming out of the tree at first. He was awful | |
surprised. He told me to watch out sharp and let him know when the | |
men come in sight again; said they was up to some devilment or | |
otherwouldn't be gone long. I wished I was out of that tree, but I | |
dasn't come down. Buck begun to cry and rip, and 'lowed that him and | |
his cousin Joe (that was the other young chap) would make up for this | |
day yet. He said his father and his two brothers was killed, and two | |
or three of the enemy. Said the Shepherdsons laid for them in | |
ambush. Buck said his father and brothers ought to waited for their | |
relationsthe Shepherdsons was too strong for them. I asked him what | |
was become of young Harney and Miss Sophia. He said they'd got across | |
the river and was safe. I was glad of that; but the way Buck did take | |
on because he didn't manage to kill Harney that day he shot at himI | |
hain't ever heard anything like it. | |
All of a sudden, bang! bang! bang! goes three or four gunsthe men had | |
slipped around through the woods and come in from behind without their | |
horses! The boys jumped for the riverboth of them hurtand as they | |
swum down the current the men run along the bank shooting at them and | |
singing out, "Kill them, kill them!" It made me so sick I most fell out | |
of the tree. I ain't a-going to tell all that happenedit would make | |
me sick again if I was to do that. I wished I hadn't ever come ashore | |
that night to see such things. I ain't ever going to get shut of | |
themlots of times I dream about them. | |
I stayed in the tree till it begun to get dark, afraid to come down. | |
Sometimes I heard guns away off in the woods; and twice I seen little | |
gangs of men gallop past the log store with guns; so I reckoned the | |
trouble was still a-going on. I was mighty downhearted; so I made up my | |
mind I wouldn't ever go anear that house again, because I reckoned I | |
was to blame, somehow. I judged that that piece of paper meant that Miss | |
Sophia was to meet Harney somewheres at half-past two and run off; and | |
I judged I ought to told her father about that paper and the curious way | |
she acted, and then maybe he would a locked her up, and this awful mess | |
wouldn't ever happened. | |
When I got down out of the tree I crept along down the river bank a | |
piece, and found the two bodies laying in the edge of the water, and | |
tugged at them till I got them ashore; then I covered up their faces, | |
and got away as quick as I could. I cried a little when I was covering | |
up Buck's face, for he was mighty good to me. | |
It was just dark now. I never went near the house, but struck through | |
the woods and made for the swamp. Jim warn't on his island, so I | |
tramped off in a hurry for the crick, and crowded through the willows, | |
red-hot to jump aboard and get out of that awful country. The raft was | |
gone! My souls, but I was scared! I couldn't get my breath for most | |
a minute. Then I raised a yell. A voice not twenty-five foot from me | |
says: | |
"Good lan'! is dat you, honey? Doan' make no noise." | |
It was Jim's voicenothing ever sounded so good before. I run along the | |
bank a piece and got aboard, and Jim he grabbed me and hugged me, he was | |
so glad to see me. He says: | |
"Laws bless you, chile, I 'uz right down sho' you's dead agin. Jack's | |
been heah; he say he reck'n you's ben shot, kase you didn' come home no | |
mo'; so I's jes' dis minute a startin' de raf' down towards de mouf er | |
de crick, so's to be all ready for to shove out en leave soon as Jack | |
comes agin en tells me for certain you is dead. Lawsy, I's mighty | |
glad to git you back again, honey." | |
I says: | |
"All rightthat's mighty good; they won't find me, and they'll think | |
I've been killed, and floated down the riverthere's something up there | |
that 'll help them think soso don't you lose no time, Jim, but just | |
shove off for the big water as fast as ever you can." | |
I never felt easy till the raft was two mile below there and out in | |
the middle of the Mississippi. Then we hung up our signal lantern, and | |
judged that we was free and safe once more. I hadn't had a bite to eat | |
since yesterday, so Jim he got out some corn-dodgers and buttermilk, | |
and pork and cabbage and greensthere ain't nothing in the world so good | |
when it's cooked rightand whilst I eat my supper we talked and had a | |
good time. I was powerful glad to get away from the feuds, and so was | |
Jim to get away from the swamp. We said there warn't no home like a | |
raft, after all. Other places do seem so cramped up and smothery, but a | |
raft don't. You feel mighty free and easy and comfortable on a raft. | |
CHAPTER XIX. | |
TWO or three days and nights went by; I reckon I might say they swum by, | |
they slid along so quiet and smooth and lovely. Here is the way we put | |
in the time. It was a monstrous big river down theresometimes a mile | |
and a half wide; we run nights, and laid up and hid daytimes; soon as | |
night was most gone we stopped navigating and tied upnearly always | |
in the dead water under a towhead; and then cut young cottonwoods and | |
willows, and hid the raft with them. Then we set out the lines. Next | |
we slid into the river and had a swim, so as to freshen up and cool | |
off; then we set down on the sandy bottom where the water was about knee | |
deep, and watched the daylight come. Not a sound anywheresperfectly | |
stilljust like the whole world was asleep, only sometimes the bullfrogs | |
a-cluttering, maybe. The first thing to see, looking away over the | |
water, was a kind of dull linethat was the woods on t'other side; you | |
couldn't make nothing else out; then a pale place in the sky; then more | |
paleness spreading around; then the river softened up away off, and | |
warn't black any more, but gray; you could see little dark spots | |
drifting along ever so far awaytrading scows, and such things; and | |
long black streaksrafts; sometimes you could hear a sweep screaking; or | |
jumbled up voices, it was so still, and sounds come so far; and by and | |
by you could see a streak on the water which you know by the look of the | |
streak that there's a snag there in a swift current which breaks on it | |
and makes that streak look that way; and you see the mist curl up off | |
of the water, and the east reddens up, and the river, and you make out a | |
log-cabin in the edge of the woods, away on the bank on t'other side of | |
the river, being a woodyard, likely, and piled by them cheats so you can | |
throw a dog through it anywheres; then the nice breeze springs up, and | |
comes fanning you from over there, so cool and fresh and sweet to smell | |
on account of the woods and the flowers; but sometimes not that way, | |
because they've left dead fish laying around, gars and such, and they | |
do get pretty rank; and next you've got the full day, and everything | |
smiling in the sun, and the song-birds just going it! | |
A little smoke couldn't be noticed now, so we would take some fish off | |
of the lines and cook up a hot breakfast. And afterwards we would watch | |
the lonesomeness of the river, and kind of lazy along, and by and by | |
lazy off to sleep. Wake up by and by, and look to see what done it, and | |
maybe see a steamboat coughing along up-stream, so far off towards the | |
other side you couldn't tell nothing about her only whether she was | |
a stern-wheel or side-wheel; then for about an hour there wouldn't be | |
nothing to hear nor nothing to seejust solid lonesomeness. Next | |
you'd see a raft sliding by, away off yonder, and maybe a galoot on it | |
chopping, because they're most always doing it on a raft; you'd see the | |
axe flash and come downyou don't hear nothing; you see that axe go | |
up again, and by the time it's above the man's head then you hear the | |
k'chunk!it had took all that time to come over the water. So we | |
would put in the day, lazying around, listening to the stillness. Once | |
there was a thick fog, and the rafts and things that went by was beating | |
tin pans so the steamboats wouldn't run over them. A scow or a | |
raft went by so close we could hear them talking and cussing and | |
laughingheard them plain; but we couldn't see no sign of them; it made | |
you feel crawly; it was like spirits carrying on that way in the air. | |
Jim said he believed it was spirits; but I says: | |
"No; spirits wouldn't say, 'Dern the dern fog.'" | |
Soon as it was night out we shoved; when we got her out to about the | |
middle we let her alone, and let her float wherever the current wanted | |
her to; then we lit the pipes, and dangled our legs in the water, and | |
talked about all kinds of thingswe was always naked, day and night, | |
whenever the mosquitoes would let usthe new clothes Buck's folks made | |
for me was too good to be comfortable, and besides I didn't go much on | |
clothes, nohow. | |
Sometimes we'd have that whole river all to ourselves for the longest | |
time. Yonder was the banks and the islands, across the water; and maybe | |
a sparkwhich was a candle in a cabin window; and sometimes on the water | |
you could see a spark or twoon a raft or a scow, you know; and maybe | |
you could hear a fiddle or a song coming over from one of them crafts. | |
It's lovely to live on a raft. We had the sky up there, all speckled | |
with stars, and we used to lay on our backs and look up at them, and | |
discuss about whether they was made or only just happened. Jim he | |
allowed they was made, but I allowed they happened; I judged it would | |
have took too long to make so many. Jim said the moon could a laid | |
them; well, that looked kind of reasonable, so I didn't say nothing | |
against it, because I've seen a frog lay most as many, so of course it | |
could be done. We used to watch the stars that fell, too, and see them | |
streak down. Jim allowed they'd got spoiled and was hove out of the | |
nest. | |
Once or twice of a night we would see a steamboat slipping along in the | |
dark, and now and then she would belch a whole world of sparks up out | |
of her chimbleys, and they would rain down in the river and look awful | |
pretty; then she would turn a corner and her lights would wink out and | |
her powwow shut off and leave the river still again; and by and by her | |
waves would get to us, a long time after she was gone, and joggle the | |
raft a bit, and after that you wouldn't hear nothing for you couldn't | |
tell how long, except maybe frogs or something. | |
After midnight the people on shore went to bed, and then for two or | |
three hours the shores was blackno more sparks in the cabin windows. | |
These sparks was our clockthe first one that showed again meant | |
morning was coming, so we hunted a place to hide and tie up right away. | |
One morning about daybreak I found a canoe and crossed over a chute to | |
the main shoreit was only two hundred yardsand paddled about a mile | |
up a crick amongst the cypress woods, to see if I couldn't get some | |
berries. Just as I was passing a place where a kind of a cowpath crossed | |
the crick, here comes a couple of men tearing up the path as tight as | |
they could foot it. I thought I was a goner, for whenever anybody was | |
after anybody I judged it was meor maybe Jim. I was about to dig out | |
from there in a hurry, but they was pretty close to me then, and sung | |
out and begged me to save their livessaid they hadn't been doing | |
nothing, and was being chased for itsaid there was men and dogs | |
a-coming. They wanted to jump right in, but I says: | |
"Don't you do it. I don't hear the dogs and horses yet; you've got time | |
to crowd through the brush and get up the crick a little ways; then you | |
take to the water and wade down to me and get inthat'll throw the dogs | |
off the scent." | |
They done it, and soon as they was aboard I lit out for our towhead, | |
and in about five or ten minutes we heard the dogs and the men away off, | |
shouting. We heard them come along towards the crick, but couldn't | |
see them; they seemed to stop and fool around a while; then, as we got | |
further and further away all the time, we couldn't hardly hear them at | |
all; by the time we had left a mile of woods behind us and struck the | |
river, everything was quiet, and we paddled over to the towhead and hid | |
in the cottonwoods and was safe. | |
One of these fellows was about seventy or upwards, and had a bald head | |
and very gray whiskers. He had an old battered-up slouch hat on, and | |
a greasy blue woollen shirt, and ragged old blue jeans britches stuffed | |
into his boot-tops, and home-knit gallusesno, he only had one. He had | |
an old long-tailed blue jeans coat with slick brass buttons flung over | |
his arm, and both of them had big, fat, ratty-looking carpet-bags. | |
The other fellow was about thirty, and dressed about as ornery. After | |
breakfast we all laid off and talked, and the first thing that come out | |
was that these chaps didn't know one another. | |
"What got you into trouble?" says the baldhead to t'other chap. | |
"Well, I'd been selling an article to take the tartar off the teethand | |
it does take it off, too, and generly the enamel along with itbut I | |
stayed about one night longer than I ought to, and was just in the act | |
of sliding out when I ran across you on the trail this side of town, and | |
you told me they were coming, and begged me to help you to get off. So | |
I told you I was expecting trouble myself, and would scatter out with | |
you. That's the whole yarnwhat's yourn? | |
"Well, I'd ben a-running' a little temperance revival thar 'bout a week, | |
and was the pet of the women folks, big and little, for I was makin' it | |
mighty warm for the rummies, I tell you, and takin' as much as five | |
or six dollars a nightten cents a head, children and niggers freeand | |
business a-growin' all the time, when somehow or another a little report | |
got around last night that I had a way of puttin' in my time with a | |
private jug on the sly. A nigger rousted me out this mornin', and told | |
me the people was getherin' on the quiet with their dogs and horses, and | |
they'd be along pretty soon and give me 'bout half an hour's start, | |
and then run me down if they could; and if they got me they'd tar | |
and feather me and ride me on a rail, sure. I didn't wait for no | |
breakfastI warn't hungry." | |
"Old man," said the young one, "I reckon we might double-team it | |
together; what do you think?" | |
"I ain't undisposed. What's your linemainly?" | |
"Jour printer by trade; do a little in patent medicines; | |
theater-actortragedy, you know; take a turn to mesmerism and phrenology | |
when there's a chance; teach singing-geography school for a change; | |
sling a lecture sometimesoh, I do lots of thingsmost anything that | |
comes handy, so it ain't work. What's your lay?" | |
"I've done considerble in the doctoring way in my time. Layin' on o' | |
hands is my best holtfor cancer and paralysis, and sich things; and I | |
k'n tell a fortune pretty good when I've got somebody along to find out | |
the facts for me. Preachin's my line, too, and workin' camp-meetin's, | |
and missionaryin' around." | |
Nobody never said anything for a while; then the young man hove a sigh | |
and says: | |
"Alas!" | |
"What 're you alassin' about?" says the bald-head. | |
"To think I should have lived to be leading such a life, and be degraded | |
down into such company." And he begun to wipe the corner of his eye | |
with a rag. | |
"Dern your skin, ain't the company good enough for you?" says the | |
baldhead, pretty pert and uppish. | |
"Yes, it is good enough for me; it's as good as I deserve; for who | |
fetched me so low when I was so high? I did myself. I don't blame | |
you, gentlemenfar from it; I don't blame anybody. I deserve it | |
all. Let the cold world do its worst; one thing I knowthere's a grave | |
somewhere for me. The world may go on just as it's always done, and take | |
everything from meloved ones, property, everything; but it can't take | |
that. Some day I'll lie down in it and forget it all, and my poor broken | |
heart will be at rest." He went on a-wiping. | |
"Drot your pore broken heart," says the baldhead; "what are you heaving | |
your pore broken heart at us f'r? we hain't done nothing." | |
"No, I know you haven't. I ain't blaming you, gentlemen. I brought | |
myself downyes, I did it myself. It's right I should sufferperfectly | |
rightI don't make any moan." | |
"Brought you down from whar? Whar was you brought down from?" | |
"Ah, you would not believe me; the world never believeslet it pass'tis | |
no matter. The secret of my birth" | |
"The secret of your birth! Do you mean to say" | |
"Gentlemen," says the young man, very solemn, "I will reveal it to you, | |
for I feel I may have confidence in you. By rights I am a duke!" | |
Jim's eyes bugged out when he heard that; and I reckon mine did, too. | |
Then the baldhead says: "No! you can't mean it?" | |
"Yes. My great-grandfather, eldest son of the Duke of Bridgewater, fled | |
to this country about the end of the last century, to breathe the pure | |
air of freedom; married here, and died, leaving a son, his own father | |
dying about the same time. The second son of the late duke seized the | |
titles and estatesthe infant real duke was ignored. I am the lineal | |
descendant of that infantI am the rightful Duke of Bridgewater; and | |
here am I, forlorn, torn from my high estate, hunted of men, despised | |
by the cold world, ragged, worn, heart-broken, and degraded to the | |
companionship of felons on a raft!" | |
Jim pitied him ever so much, and so did I. We tried to comfort him, but | |
he said it warn't much use, he couldn't be much comforted; said if we | |
was a mind to acknowledge him, that would do him more good than most | |
anything else; so we said we would, if he would tell us how. He said we | |
ought to bow when we spoke to him, and say "Your Grace," or "My Lord," | |
or "Your Lordship"and he wouldn't mind it if we called him plain | |
"Bridgewater," which, he said, was a title anyway, and not a name; and | |
one of us ought to wait on him at dinner, and do any little thing for | |
him he wanted done. | |
Well, that was all easy, so we done it. All through dinner Jim stood | |
around and waited on him, and says, "Will yo' Grace have some o' dis or | |
some o' dat?" and so on, and a body could see it was mighty pleasing to | |
him. | |
But the old man got pretty silent by and bydidn't have much to say, and | |
didn't look pretty comfortable over all that petting that was going on | |
around that duke. He seemed to have something on his mind. So, along | |
in the afternoon, he says: | |
"Looky here, Bilgewater," he says, "I'm nation sorry for you, but you | |
ain't the only person that's had troubles like that." | |
"No?" | |
"No you ain't. You ain't the only person that's ben snaked down | |
wrongfully out'n a high place." | |
"Alas!" | |
"No, you ain't the only person that's had a secret of his birth." And, | |
by jings, he begins to cry. | |
"Hold! What do you mean?" | |
"Bilgewater, kin I trust you?" says the old man, still sort of sobbing. | |
"To the bitter death!" He took the old man by the hand and squeezed it, | |
and says, "That secret of your being: speak!" | |
"Bilgewater, I am the late Dauphin!" | |
You bet you, Jim and me stared this time. Then the duke says: | |
"You are what?" | |
"Yes, my friend, it is too trueyour eyes is lookin' at this very moment | |
on the pore disappeared Dauphin, Looy the Seventeen, son of Looy the | |
Sixteen and Marry Antonette." | |
"You! At your age! No! You mean you're the late Charlemagne; you must | |
be six or seven hundred years old, at the very least." | |
"Trouble has done it, Bilgewater, trouble has done it; trouble has brung | |
these gray hairs and this premature balditude. Yes, gentlemen, you | |
see before you, in blue jeans and misery, the wanderin', exiled, | |
trampled-on, and sufferin' rightful King of France." | |
Well, he cried and took on so that me and Jim didn't know hardly what to | |
do, we was so sorryand so glad and proud we'd got him with us, too. | |
So we set in, like we done before with the duke, and tried to comfort | |
him. But he said it warn't no use, nothing but to be dead and done | |
with it all could do him any good; though he said it often made him feel | |
easier and better for a while if people treated him according to his | |
rights, and got down on one knee to speak to him, and always called him | |
"Your Majesty," and waited on him first at meals, and didn't set down | |
in his presence till he asked them. So Jim and me set to majestying him, | |
and doing this and that and t'other for him, and standing up till he | |
told us we might set down. This done him heaps of good, and so he | |
got cheerful and comfortable. But the duke kind of soured on him, and | |
didn't look a bit satisfied with the way things was going; still, | |
the king acted real friendly towards him, and said the duke's | |
great-grandfather and all the other Dukes of Bilgewater was a good | |
deal thought of by his father, and was allowed to come to the palace | |
considerable; but the duke stayed huffy a good while, till by and by the | |
king says: | |
"Like as not we got to be together a blamed long time on this h-yer | |
raft, Bilgewater, and so what's the use o' your bein' sour? It 'll only | |
make things oncomfortable. It ain't my fault I warn't born a duke, | |
it ain't your fault you warn't born a kingso what's the use to worry? | |
Make the best o' things the way you find 'em, says Ithat's my motto. | |
This ain't no bad thing that we've struck hereplenty grub and an easy | |
lifecome, give us your hand, duke, and le's all be friends." | |
The duke done it, and Jim and me was pretty glad to see it. It took | |
away all the uncomfortableness and we felt mighty good over it, because | |
it would a been a miserable business to have any unfriendliness on the | |
raft; for what you want, above all things, on a raft, is for everybody | |
to be satisfied, and feel right and kind towards the others. | |
It didn't take me long to make up my mind that these liars warn't no | |
kings nor dukes at all, but just low-down humbugs and frauds. But I | |
never said nothing, never let on; kept it to myself; it's the best way; | |
then you don't have no quarrels, and don't get into no trouble. If they | |
wanted us to call them kings and dukes, I hadn't no objections, 'long as | |
it would keep peace in the family; and it warn't no use to tell Jim, so | |
I didn't tell him. If I never learnt nothing else out of pap, I learnt | |
that the best way to get along with his kind of people is to let them | |
have their own way. | |
CHAPTER XX. | |
THEY asked us considerable many questions; wanted to know what we | |
covered up the raft that way for, and laid by in the daytime instead of | |
runningwas Jim a runaway nigger? Says I: | |
"Goodness sakes! would a runaway nigger run south?" | |
No, they allowed he wouldn't. I had to account for things some way, so | |
I says: | |
"My folks was living in Pike County, in Missouri, where I was born, and | |
they all died off but me and pa and my brother Ike. Pa, he 'lowed | |
he'd break up and go down and live with Uncle Ben, who's got a little | |
one-horse place on the river, forty-four mile below Orleans. Pa was | |
pretty poor, and had some debts; so when he'd squared up there warn't | |
nothing left but sixteen dollars and our nigger, Jim. That warn't | |
enough to take us fourteen hundred mile, deck passage nor no other way. | |
Well, when the river rose pa had a streak of luck one day; he ketched | |
this piece of a raft; so we reckoned we'd go down to Orleans on it. | |
Pa's luck didn't hold out; a steamboat run over the forrard corner of | |
the raft one night, and we all went overboard and dove under the wheel; | |
Jim and me come up all right, but pa was drunk, and Ike was only four | |
years old, so they never come up no more. Well, for the next day or | |
two we had considerable trouble, because people was always coming out in | |
skiffs and trying to take Jim away from me, saying they believed he was | |
a runaway nigger. We don't run daytimes no more now; nights they don't | |
bother us." | |
The duke says: | |
"Leave me alone to cipher out a way so we can run in the daytime if we | |
want to. I'll think the thing overI'll invent a plan that'll fix it. | |
We'll let it alone for to-day, because of course we don't want to go by | |
that town yonder in daylightit mightn't be healthy." | |
Towards night it begun to darken up and look like rain; the heat | |
lightning was squirting around low down in the sky, and the leaves was | |
beginning to shiverit was going to be pretty ugly, it was easy to see | |
that. So the duke and the king went to overhauling our wigwam, to see | |
what the beds was like. My bed was a straw tick better than Jim's, | |
which was a corn-shuck tick; there's always cobs around about in a shuck | |
tick, and they poke into you and hurt; and when you roll over the dry | |
shucks sound like you was rolling over in a pile of dead leaves; it | |
makes such a rustling that you wake up. Well, the duke allowed he would | |
take my bed; but the king allowed he wouldn't. He says: | |
"I should a reckoned the difference in rank would a sejested to you that | |
a corn-shuck bed warn't just fitten for me to sleep on. Your Grace 'll | |
take the shuck bed yourself." | |
Jim and me was in a sweat again for a minute, being afraid there was | |
going to be some more trouble amongst them; so we was pretty glad when | |
the duke says: | |
"'Tis my fate to be always ground into the mire under the iron heel of | |
oppression. Misfortune has broken my once haughty spirit; I yield, I | |
submit; 'tis my fate. I am alone in the worldlet me suffer; can bear | |
it." | |
We got away as soon as it was good and dark. The king told us to stand | |
well out towards the middle of the river, and not show a light till we | |
got a long ways below the town. We come in sight of the little bunch of | |
lights by and bythat was the town, you knowand slid by, about a half | |
a mile out, all right. When we was three-quarters of a mile below we | |
hoisted up our signal lantern; and about ten o'clock it come on to rain | |
and blow and thunder and lighten like everything; so the king told us | |
to both stay on watch till the weather got better; then him and the duke | |
crawled into the wigwam and turned in for the night. It was my watch | |
below till twelve, but I wouldn't a turned in anyway if I'd had a bed, | |
because a body don't see such a storm as that every day in the week, not | |
by a long sight. My souls, how the wind did scream along! And every | |
second or two there'd come a glare that lit up the white-caps for a half | |
a mile around, and you'd see the islands looking dusty through the rain, | |
and the trees thrashing around in the wind; then comes a H-WHACK!bum! | |
bum! bumble-umble-um-bum-bum-bum-bumand the thunder would go rumbling | |
and grumbling away, and quitand then RIP comes another flash and | |
another sockdolager. The waves most washed me off the raft sometimes, | |
but I hadn't any clothes on, and didn't mind. We didn't have no trouble | |
about snags; the lightning was glaring and flittering around so constant | |
that we could see them plenty soon enough to throw her head this way or | |
that and miss them. | |
I had the middle watch, you know, but I was pretty sleepy by that time, | |
so Jim he said he would stand the first half of it for me; he was always | |
mighty good that way, Jim was. I crawled into the wigwam, but the king | |
and the duke had their legs sprawled around so there warn't no show for | |
me; so I laid outsideI didn't mind the rain, because it was warm, and | |
the waves warn't running so high now. About two they come up again, | |
though, and Jim was going to call me; but he changed his mind, because | |
he reckoned they warn't high enough yet to do any harm; but he was | |
mistaken about that, for pretty soon all of a sudden along comes a | |
regular ripper and washed me overboard. It most killed Jim a-laughing. | |
He was the easiest nigger to laugh that ever was, anyway. | |
I took the watch, and Jim he laid down and snored away; and by and by | |
the storm let up for good and all; and the first cabin-light that showed | |
I rousted him out, and we slid the raft into hiding quarters for the | |
day. | |
The king got out an old ratty deck of cards after breakfast, and him | |
and the duke played seven-up a while, five cents a game. Then they got | |
tired of it, and allowed they would "lay out a campaign," as they called | |
it. The duke went down into his carpet-bag, and fetched up a lot of | |
little printed bills and read them out loud. One bill said, "The | |
celebrated Dr. Armand de Montalban, of Paris," would "lecture on the | |
Science of Phrenology" at such and such a place, on the blank day of | |
blank, at ten cents admission, and "furnish charts of character at | |
twenty-five cents apiece." The duke said that was him. In another | |
bill he was the "world-renowned Shakespearian tragedian, Garrick the | |
Younger, of Drury Lane, London." In other bills he had a lot of other | |
names and done other wonderful things, like finding water and gold with | |
a "divining-rod," "dissipating witch spells," and so on. By and by he | |
says: | |
"But the histrionic muse is the darling. Have you ever trod the boards, | |
Royalty?" | |
"No," says the king. | |
"You shall, then, before you're three days older, Fallen Grandeur," says | |
the duke. "The first good town we come to we'll hire a hall and do the | |
sword fight in Richard III. and the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet. | |
How does that strike you?" | |
"I'm in, up to the hub, for anything that will pay, Bilgewater; but, you | |
see, I don't know nothing about play-actin', and hain't ever seen much | |
of it. I was too small when pap used to have 'em at the palace. Do you | |
reckon you can learn me?" | |
"Easy!" | |
"All right. I'm jist a-freezn' for something fresh, anyway. Le's | |
commence right away." | |
So the duke he told him all about who Romeo was and who Juliet was, and | |
said he was used to being Romeo, so the king could be Juliet. | |
"But if Juliet's such a young gal, duke, my peeled head and my white | |
whiskers is goin' to look oncommon odd on her, maybe." | |
"No, don't you worry; these country jakes won't ever think of that. | |
Besides, you know, you'll be in costume, and that makes all the | |
difference in the world; Juliet's in a balcony, enjoying the moonlight | |
before she goes to bed, and she's got on her night-gown and her ruffled | |
nightcap. Here are the costumes for the parts." | |
He got out two or three curtain-calico suits, which he said was | |
meedyevil armor for Richard III. and t'other chap, and a long white | |
cotton nightshirt and a ruffled nightcap to match. The king was | |
satisfied; so the duke got out his book and read the parts over in the | |
most splendid spread-eagle way, prancing around and acting at the same | |
time, to show how it had got to be done; then he give the book to the | |
king and told him to get his part by heart. | |
There was a little one-horse town about three mile down the bend, and | |
after dinner the duke said he had ciphered out his idea about how to run | |
in daylight without it being dangersome for Jim; so he allowed he would | |
go down to the town and fix that thing. The king allowed he would go, | |
too, and see if he couldn't strike something. We was out of coffee, so | |
Jim said I better go along with them in the canoe and get some. | |
When we got there there warn't nobody stirring; streets empty, and | |
perfectly dead and still, like Sunday. We found a sick nigger sunning | |
himself in a back yard, and he said everybody that warn't too young or | |
too sick or too old was gone to camp-meeting, about two mile back in the | |
woods. The king got the directions, and allowed he'd go and work that | |
camp-meeting for all it was worth, and I might go, too. | |
The duke said what he was after was a printing-office. We found it; | |
a little bit of a concern, up over a carpenter shopcarpenters and | |
printers all gone to the meeting, and no doors locked. It was a dirty, | |
littered-up place, and had ink marks, and handbills with pictures of | |
horses and runaway niggers on them, all over the walls. The duke shed | |
his coat and said he was all right now. So me and the king lit out for | |
the camp-meeting. | |
We got there in about a half an hour fairly dripping, for it was a most | |
awful hot day. There was as much as a thousand people there from | |
twenty mile around. The woods was full of teams and wagons, hitched | |
everywheres, feeding out of the wagon-troughs and stomping to keep | |
off the flies. There was sheds made out of poles and roofed over with | |
branches, where they had lemonade and gingerbread to sell, and piles of | |
watermelons and green corn and such-like truck. | |
The preaching was going on under the same kinds of sheds, only they was | |
bigger and held crowds of people. The benches was made out of outside | |
slabs of logs, with holes bored in the round side to drive sticks into | |
for legs. They didn't have no backs. The preachers had high platforms | |
to stand on at one end of the sheds. The women had on sun-bonnets; | |
and some had linsey-woolsey frocks, some gingham ones, and a few of the | |
young ones had on calico. Some of the young men was barefooted, and | |
some of the children didn't have on any clothes but just a tow-linen | |
shirt. Some of the old women was knitting, and some of the young folks | |
was courting on the sly. | |
The first shed we come to the preacher was lining out a hymn. He lined | |
out two lines, everybody sung it, and it was kind of grand to hear it, | |
there was so many of them and they done it in such a rousing way; then | |
he lined out two more for them to singand so on. The people woke up | |
more and more, and sung louder and louder; and towards the end some | |
begun to groan, and some begun to shout. Then the preacher begun to | |
preach, and begun in earnest, too; and went weaving first to one side of | |
the platform and then the other, and then a-leaning down over the front | |
of it, with his arms and his body going all the time, and shouting his | |
words out with all his might; and every now and then he would hold up | |
his Bible and spread it open, and kind of pass it around this way and | |
that, shouting, "It's the brazen serpent in the wilderness! Look upon | |
it and live!" And people would shout out, "Glory!A-a-men!" And so | |
he went on, and the people groaning and crying and saying amen: | |
"Oh, come to the mourners' bench! come, black with sin! (Amen!) come, | |
sick and sore! (Amen!) come, lame and halt and blind! (Amen!) come, | |
pore and needy, sunk in shame! (A-A-Men!) come, all that's worn and | |
soiled and suffering!come with a broken spirit! come with a contrite | |
heart! come in your rags and sin and dirt! the waters that cleanse | |
is free, the door of heaven stands openoh, enter in and be at rest!" | |
(A-A-Men! Glory, Glory Hallelujah!) | |
And so on. You couldn't make out what the preacher said any more, on | |
account of the shouting and crying. Folks got up everywheres in the | |
crowd, and worked their way just by main strength to the mourners' | |
bench, with the tears running down their faces; and when all the | |
mourners had got up there to the front benches in a crowd, they sung and | |
shouted and flung themselves down on the straw, just crazy and wild. | |
Well, the first I knowed the king got a-going, and you could hear him | |
over everybody; and next he went a-charging up on to the platform, and | |
the preacher he begged him to speak to the people, and he done it. He | |
told them he was a piratebeen a pirate for thirty years out in the | |
Indian Oceanand his crew was thinned out considerable last spring in | |
a fight, and he was home now to take out some fresh men, and thanks to | |
goodness he'd been robbed last night and put ashore off of a steamboat | |
without a cent, and he was glad of it; it was the blessedest thing that | |
ever happened to him, because he was a changed man now, and happy for | |
the first time in his life; and, poor as he was, he was going to start | |
right off and work his way back to the Indian Ocean, and put in the rest | |
of his life trying to turn the pirates into the true path; for he could | |
do it better than anybody else, being acquainted with all pirate crews | |
in that ocean; and though it would take him a long time to get there | |
without money, he would get there anyway, and every time he convinced | |
a pirate he would say to him, "Don't you thank me, don't you give me no | |
credit; it all belongs to them dear people in Pokeville camp-meeting, | |
natural brothers and benefactors of the race, and that dear preacher | |
there, the truest friend a pirate ever had!" | |
And then he busted into tears, and so did everybody. Then somebody | |
sings out, "Take up a collection for him, take up a collection!" Well, | |
a half a dozen made a jump to do it, but somebody sings out, "Let him | |
pass the hat around!" Then everybody said it, the preacher too. | |
So the king went all through the crowd with his hat swabbing his eyes, | |
and blessing the people and praising them and thanking them for being | |
so good to the poor pirates away off there; and every little while the | |
prettiest kind of girls, with the tears running down their cheeks, would | |
up and ask him would he let them kiss him for to remember him by; and he | |
always done it; and some of them he hugged and kissed as many as five or | |
six timesand he was invited to stay a week; and everybody wanted him to | |
live in their houses, and said they'd think it was an honor; but he said | |
as this was the last day of the camp-meeting he couldn't do no good, and | |
besides he was in a sweat to get to the Indian Ocean right off and go to | |
work on the pirates. | |
When we got back to the raft and he come to count up he found he had | |
collected eighty-seven dollars and seventy-five cents. And then he had | |
fetched away a three-gallon jug of whisky, too, that he found under a | |
wagon when he was starting home through the woods. The king said, | |
take it all around, it laid over any day he'd ever put in in the | |
missionarying line. He said it warn't no use talking, heathens don't | |
amount to shucks alongside of pirates to work a camp-meeting with. | |
The duke was thinking he'd been doing pretty well till the king come | |
to show up, but after that he didn't think so so much. He had set | |
up and printed off two little jobs for farmers in that | |
printing-officehorse billsand took the money, four dollars. And he | |
had got in ten dollars' worth of advertisements for the paper, which he | |
said he would put in for four dollars if they would pay in advanceso | |
they done it. The price of the paper was two dollars a year, but he took | |
in three subscriptions for half a dollar apiece on condition of them | |
paying him in advance; they were going to pay in cordwood and onions as | |
usual, but he said he had just bought the concern and knocked down the | |
price as low as he could afford it, and was going to run it for cash. | |
He set up a little piece of poetry, which he made, himself, out of | |
his own headthree verseskind of sweet and saddishthe name of it was, | |
"Yes, crush, cold world, this breaking heart"and he left that all set | |
up and ready to print in the paper, and didn't charge nothing for it. | |
Well, he took in nine dollars and a half, and said he'd done a pretty | |
square day's work for it. | |
Then he showed us another little job he'd printed and hadn't charged | |
for, because it was for us. It had a picture of a runaway nigger with | |
a bundle on a stick over his shoulder, and "$200 reward" under it. The | |
reading was all about Jim, and just described him to a dot. It said | |
he run away from St. Jacques' plantation, forty mile below New Orleans, | |
last winter, and likely went north, and whoever would catch him and send | |
him back he could have the reward and expenses. | |
"Now," says the duke, "after to-night we can run in the daytime if we | |
want to. Whenever we see anybody coming we can tie Jim hand and foot | |
with a rope, and lay him in the wigwam and show this handbill and say we | |
captured him up the river, and were too poor to travel on a steamboat, | |
so we got this little raft on credit from our friends and are going down | |
to get the reward. Handcuffs and chains would look still better on Jim, | |
but it wouldn't go well with the story of us being so poor. Too much | |
like jewelry. Ropes are the correct thingwe must preserve the unities, | |
as we say on the boards." | |
We all said the duke was pretty smart, and there couldn't be no trouble | |
about running daytimes. We judged we could make miles enough that night | |
to get out of the reach of the powwow we reckoned the duke's work in | |
the printing office was going to make in that little town; then we could | |
boom right along if we wanted to. | |
We laid low and kept still, and never shoved out till nearly ten | |
o'clock; then we slid by, pretty wide away from the town, and didn't | |
hoist our lantern till we was clear out of sight of it. | |
When Jim called me to take the watch at four in the morning, he says: | |
"Huck, does you reck'n we gwyne to run acrost any mo' kings on dis | |
trip?" | |
"No," I says, "I reckon not." | |
"Well," says he, "dat's all right, den. I doan' mine one er two kings, | |
but dat's enough. Dis one's powerful drunk, en de duke ain' much | |
better." | |
I found Jim had been trying to get him to talk French, so he could hear | |
what it was like; but he said he had been in this country so long, and | |
had so much trouble, he'd forgot it. | |
CHAPTER XXI. | |
IT was after sun-up now, but we went right on and didn't tie up. The | |
king and the duke turned out by and by looking pretty rusty; but after | |
they'd jumped overboard and took a swim it chippered them up a good | |
deal. After breakfast the king he took a seat on the corner of the raft, | |
and pulled off his boots and rolled up his britches, and let his legs | |
dangle in the water, so as to be comfortable, and lit his pipe, and went | |
to getting his Romeo and Juliet by heart. When he had got it pretty | |
good him and the duke begun to practice it together. The duke had to | |
learn him over and over again how to say every speech; and he made him | |
sigh, and put his hand on his heart, and after a while he said he done | |
it pretty well; "only," he says, "you mustn't bellow out Romeo! | |
that way, like a bullyou must say it soft and sick and languishy, | |
soR-o-o-meo! that is the idea; for Juliet's a dear sweet mere child of | |
a girl, you know, and she doesn't bray like a jackass." | |
Well, next they got out a couple of long swords that the duke made out | |
of oak laths, and begun to practice the sword fightthe duke called | |
himself Richard III.; and the way they laid on and pranced around | |
the raft was grand to see. But by and by the king tripped and fell | |
overboard, and after that they took a rest, and had a talk about all | |
kinds of adventures they'd had in other times along the river. | |
After dinner the duke says: | |
"Well, Capet, we'll want to make this a first-class show, you know, so | |
I guess we'll add a little more to it. We want a little something to | |
answer encores with, anyway." | |
"What's onkores, Bilgewater?" | |
The duke told him, and then says: | |
"I'll answer by doing the Highland fling or the sailor's hornpipe; and | |
youwell, let me seeoh, I've got ityou can do Hamlet's soliloquy." | |
"Hamlet's which?" | |
"Hamlet's soliloquy, you know; the most celebrated thing in Shakespeare. | |
Ah, it's sublime, sublime! Always fetches the house. I haven't got | |
it in the bookI've only got one volumebut I reckon I can piece it out | |
from memory. I'll just walk up and down a minute, and see if I can call | |
it back from recollection's vaults." | |
So he went to marching up and down, thinking, and frowning horrible | |
every now and then; then he would hoist up his eyebrows; next he would | |
squeeze his hand on his forehead and stagger back and kind of moan; next | |
he would sigh, and next he'd let on to drop a tear. It was beautiful | |
to see him. By and by he got it. He told us to give attention. Then | |
he strikes a most noble attitude, with one leg shoved forwards, and his | |
arms stretched away up, and his head tilted back, looking up at the sky; | |
and then he begins to rip and rave and grit his teeth; and after that, | |
all through his speech, he howled, and spread around, and swelled up his | |
chest, and just knocked the spots out of any acting ever I see before. | |
This is the speechI learned it, easy enough, while he was learning it | |
to the king: | |
To be, or not to be; that is the bare bodkin That makes calamity of | |
so long life; For who would fardels bear, till Birnam Wood do come | |
to Dunsinane, But that the fear of something after death Murders the | |
innocent sleep, Great nature's second course, And makes us rather sling | |
the arrows of outrageous fortune Than fly to others that we know not of. | |
There's the respect must give us pause: Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I | |
would thou couldst; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The | |
oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The law's delay, and the | |
quietus which his pangs might take. In the dead waste and middle of the | |
night, when churchyards yawn In customary suits of solemn black, But | |
that the undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveler returns, | |
Breathes forth contagion on the world, And thus the native hue of | |
resolution, like the poor cat i' the adage, Is sicklied o'er with care. | |
And all the clouds that lowered o'er our housetops, With this | |
regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action. 'Tis a | |
consummation devoutly to be wished. But soft you, the fair Ophelia: Ope | |
not thy ponderous and marble jaws. But get thee to a nunnery—go! | |
Well, the old man he liked that speech, and he mighty soon got it so he | |
could do it first rate. It seemed like he was just born for it; and when | |
he had his hand in and was excited, it was perfectly lovely the way he | |
would rip and tear and rair up behind when he was getting it off. | |
The first chance we got, the duke he had some show bills printed; and | |
after that, for two or three days as we floated along, the raft was a | |
most uncommon lively place, for there warn't nothing but sword-fighting | |
and rehearsingas the duke called itgoing on all the time. One morning, | |
when we was pretty well down the State of Arkansaw, we come in sight | |
of a little one-horse town in a big bend; so we tied up about | |
three-quarters of a mile above it, in the mouth of a crick which was | |
shut in like a tunnel by the cypress trees, and all of us but Jim took | |
the canoe and went down there to see if there was any chance in that | |
place for our show. | |
We struck it mighty lucky; there was going to be a circus there that | |
afternoon, and the country people was already beginning to come in, in | |
all kinds of old shackly wagons, and on horses. The circus would leave | |
before night, so our show would have a pretty good chance. The duke he | |
hired the court house, and we went around and stuck up our bills. They | |
read like this: | |
Shaksperean Revival!!! | |
Wonderful Attraction! | |
For One Night Only! The world renowned tragedians, | |
David Garrick the younger, of Drury Lane Theatre, London, | |
and | |
Edmund Kean the elder, of the Royal Haymarket Theatre, Whitechapel, | |
Pudding Lane, Piccadilly, London, and the Royal Continental Theatres, in | |
their sublime Shaksperean Spectacle entitled The Balcony Scene in | |
Romeo and Juliet!!! | |
Romeo...................................... Mr. Garrick. | |
Juliet..................................... Mr. Kean. | |
Assisted by the whole strength of the company! | |
New costumes, new scenery, new appointments! | |
Also: | |
The thrilling, masterly, and blood-curdling Broad-sword conflict In | |
Richard III.!!! | |
Richard III................................ Mr. Garrick. | |
Richmond................................... Mr. Kean. | |
also: | |
(by special request,) | |
Hamlet's Immortal Soliloquy!! | |
By the Illustrious Kean! | |
Done by him 300 consecutive nights in Paris! | |
For One Night Only, | |
On account of imperative European engagements! | |
Admission 25 cents; children and servants, 10 cents. | |
Then we went loafing around the town. The stores and houses was most all | |
old shackly dried-up frame concerns that hadn't ever been painted; they | |
was set up three or four foot above ground on stilts, so as to be out of | |
reach of the water when the river was overflowed. The houses had little | |
gardens around them, but they didn't seem to raise hardly anything in | |
them but jimpson weeds, and sunflowers, and ash-piles, and old curled-up | |
boots and shoes, and pieces of bottles, and rags, and played-out | |
tin-ware. The fences was made of different kinds of boards, nailed on | |
at different times; and they leaned every which-way, and had gates that | |
didn't generly have but one hingea leather one. Some of the fences | |
had been whitewashed, some time or another, but the duke said it was in | |
Clumbus's time, like enough. There was generly hogs in the garden, and | |
people driving them out. | |
All the stores was along one street. They had white domestic awnings in | |
front, and the country people hitched their horses to the awning-posts. | |
There was empty drygoods boxes under the awnings, and loafers roosting | |
on them all day long, whittling them with their Barlow knives; and | |
chawing tobacco, and gaping and yawning and stretchinga mighty ornery | |
lot. They generly had on yellow straw hats most as wide as an umbrella, | |
but didn't wear no coats nor waistcoats, they called one another Bill, | |
and Buck, and Hank, and Joe, and Andy, and talked lazy and drawly, and | |
used considerable many cuss words. There was as many as one loafer | |
leaning up against every awning-post, and he most always had his hands | |
in his britches-pockets, except when he fetched them out to lend a chaw | |
of tobacco or scratch. What a body was hearing amongst them all the | |
time was: | |
"Gimme a chaw 'v tobacker, Hank." | |
"Cain't; I hain't got but one chaw left. Ask Bill." | |
Maybe Bill he gives him a chaw; maybe he lies and says he ain't got | |
none. Some of them kinds of loafers never has a cent in the world, nor a | |
chaw of tobacco of their own. They get all their chawing by borrowing; | |
they say to a fellow, "I wisht you'd len' me a chaw, Jack, I jist this | |
minute give Ben Thompson the last chaw I had"which is a lie pretty | |
much everytime; it don't fool nobody but a stranger; but Jack ain't no | |
stranger, so he says: | |
"You give him a chaw, did you? So did your sister's cat's | |
grandmother. You pay me back the chaws you've awready borry'd off'n me, | |
Lafe Buckner, then I'll loan you one or two ton of it, and won't charge | |
you no back intrust, nuther." | |
"Well, I did pay you back some of it wunst." | |
"Yes, you did'bout six chaws. You borry'd store tobacker and paid back | |
nigger-head." | |
Store tobacco is flat black plug, but these fellows mostly chaws the | |
natural leaf twisted. When they borrow a chaw they don't generly cut it | |
off with a knife, but set the plug in between their teeth, and gnaw with | |
their teeth and tug at the plug with their hands till they get it in | |
two; then sometimes the one that owns the tobacco looks mournful at it | |
when it's handed back, and says, sarcastic: | |
"Here, gimme the chaw, and you take the plug." | |
All the streets and lanes was just mud; they warn't nothing else but | |
mudmud as black as tar and nigh about a foot deep in some places, | |
and two or three inches deep in all the places. The hogs loafed and | |
grunted around everywheres. You'd see a muddy sow and a litter of pigs | |
come lazying along the street and whollop herself right down in the way, | |
where folks had to walk around her, and she'd stretch out and shut her | |
eyes and wave her ears whilst the pigs was milking her, and look as | |
happy as if she was on salary. And pretty soon you'd hear a loafer | |
sing out, "Hi! so boy! sick him, Tige!" and away the sow would go, | |
squealing most horrible, with a dog or two swinging to each ear, and | |
three or four dozen more a-coming; and then you would see all the | |
loafers get up and watch the thing out of sight, and laugh at the fun | |
and look grateful for the noise. Then they'd settle back again till | |
there was a dog fight. There couldn't anything wake them up all over, | |
and make them happy all over, like a dog fightunless it might be | |
putting turpentine on a stray dog and setting fire to him, or tying a | |
tin pan to his tail and see him run himself to death. | |
On the river front some of the houses was sticking out over the bank, | |
and they was bowed and bent, and about ready to tumble in. The people | |
had moved out of them. The bank was caved away under one corner of some | |
others, and that corner was hanging over. People lived in them yet, but | |
it was dangersome, because sometimes a strip of land as wide as a house | |
caves in at a time. Sometimes a belt of land a quarter of a mile deep | |
will start in and cave along and cave along till it all caves into the | |
river in one summer. Such a town as that has to be always moving back, | |
and back, and back, because the river's always gnawing at it. | |
The nearer it got to noon that day the thicker and thicker was the | |
wagons and horses in the streets, and more coming all the time. | |
Families fetched their dinners with them from the country, and eat them | |
in the wagons. There was considerable whisky drinking going on, and I | |
seen three fights. By and by somebody sings out: | |
"Here comes old Boggs!in from the country for his little old monthly | |
drunk; here he comes, boys!" | |
All the loafers looked glad; I reckoned they was used to having fun out | |
of Boggs. One of them says: | |
"Wonder who he's a-gwyne to chaw up this time. If he'd a-chawed up all | |
the men he's ben a-gwyne to chaw up in the last twenty year he'd have | |
considerable ruputation now." | |
Another one says, "I wisht old Boggs 'd threaten me, 'cuz then I'd know | |
I warn't gwyne to die for a thousan' year." | |
Boggs comes a-tearing along on his horse, whooping and yelling like an | |
Injun, and singing out: | |
"Cler the track, thar. I'm on the waw-path, and the price uv coffins is | |
a-gwyne to raise." | |
He was drunk, and weaving about in his saddle; he was over fifty year | |
old, and had a very red face. Everybody yelled at him and laughed at | |
him and sassed him, and he sassed back, and said he'd attend to them and | |
lay them out in their regular turns, but he couldn't wait now because | |
he'd come to town to kill old Colonel Sherburn, and his motto was, "Meat | |
first, and spoon vittles to top off on." | |
He see me, and rode up and says: | |
"Whar'd you come f'm, boy? You prepared to die?" | |
Then he rode on. I was scared, but a man says: | |
"He don't mean nothing; he's always a-carryin' on like that when he's | |
drunk. He's the best naturedest old fool in Arkansawnever hurt nobody, | |
drunk nor sober." | |
Boggs rode up before the biggest store in town, and bent his head down | |
so he could see under the curtain of the awning and yells: | |
"Come out here, Sherburn! Come out and meet the man you've swindled. | |
You're the houn' I'm after, and I'm a-gwyne to have you, too!" | |
And so he went on, calling Sherburn everything he could lay his tongue | |
to, and the whole street packed with people listening and laughing and | |
going on. By and by a proud-looking man about fifty-fiveand he was a | |
heap the best dressed man in that town, toosteps out of the store, and | |
the crowd drops back on each side to let him come. He says to Boggs, | |
mighty ca'm and slowhe says: | |
"I'm tired of this, but I'll endure it till one o'clock. Till one | |
o'clock, mindno longer. If you open your mouth against me only once | |
after that time you can't travel so far but I will find you." | |
Then he turns and goes in. The crowd looked mighty sober; nobody | |
stirred, and there warn't no more laughing. Boggs rode off | |
blackguarding Sherburn as loud as he could yell, all down the street; | |
and pretty soon back he comes and stops before the store, still keeping | |
it up. Some men crowded around him and tried to get him to shut up, | |
but he wouldn't; they told him it would be one o'clock in about fifteen | |
minutes, and so he must go homehe must go right away. But it didn't | |
do no good. He cussed away with all his might, and throwed his hat down | |
in the mud and rode over it, and pretty soon away he went a-raging down | |
the street again, with his gray hair a-flying. Everybody that could get | |
a chance at him tried their best to coax him off of his horse so they | |
could lock him up and get him sober; but it warn't no useup the street | |
he would tear again, and give Sherburn another cussing. By and by | |
somebody says: | |
"Go for his daughter!quick, go for his daughter; sometimes he'll listen | |
to her. If anybody can persuade him, she can." | |
So somebody started on a run. I walked down street a ways and stopped. | |
In about five or ten minutes here comes Boggs again, but not on his | |
horse. He was a-reeling across the street towards me, bare-headed, with | |
a friend on both sides of him a-holt of his arms and hurrying him along. | |
He was quiet, and looked uneasy; and he warn't hanging back any, but was | |
doing some of the hurrying himself. Somebody sings out: | |
"Boggs!" | |
I looked over there to see who said it, and it was that Colonel | |
Sherburn. He was standing perfectly still in the street, and had a | |
pistol raised in his right handnot aiming it, but holding it out with | |
the barrel tilted up towards the sky. The same second I see a young | |
girl coming on the run, and two men with her. Boggs and the men turned | |
round to see who called him, and when they see the pistol the men | |
jumped to one side, and the pistol-barrel come down slow and steady to | |
a levelboth barrels cocked. Boggs throws up both of his hands and says, | |
"O Lord, don't shoot!" Bang! goes the first shot, and he staggers back, | |
clawing at the airbang! goes the second one, and he tumbles backwards | |
on to the ground, heavy and solid, with his arms spread out. That young | |
girl screamed out and comes rushing, and down she throws herself on her | |
father, crying, and saying, "Oh, he's killed him, he's killed him!" The | |
crowd closed up around them, and shouldered and jammed one another, with | |
their necks stretched, trying to see, and people on the inside trying to | |
shove them back and shouting, "Back, back! give him air, give him air!" | |
Colonel Sherburn he tossed his pistol on to the ground, and turned | |
around on his heels and walked off. | |
They took Boggs to a little drug store, the crowd pressing around just | |
the same, and the whole town following, and I rushed and got a good | |
place at the window, where I was close to him and could see in. They | |
laid him on the floor and put one large Bible under his head, and opened | |
another one and spread it on his breast; but they tore open his shirt | |
first, and I seen where one of the bullets went in. He made about a | |
dozen long gasps, his breast lifting the Bible up when he drawed in his | |
breath, and letting it down again when he breathed it outand after that | |
he laid still; he was dead. Then they pulled his daughter away from | |
him, screaming and crying, and took her off. She was about sixteen, and | |
very sweet and gentle looking, but awful pale and scared. | |
Well, pretty soon the whole town was there, squirming and scrouging and | |
pushing and shoving to get at the window and have a look, but people | |
that had the places wouldn't give them up, and folks behind them was | |
saying all the time, "Say, now, you've looked enough, you fellows; | |
'tain't right and 'tain't fair for you to stay thar all the time, and | |
never give nobody a chance; other folks has their rights as well as | |
you." | |
There was considerable jawing back, so I slid out, thinking maybe | |
there was going to be trouble. The streets was full, and everybody was | |
excited. Everybody that seen the shooting was telling how it happened, | |
and there was a big crowd packed around each one of these fellows, | |
stretching their necks and listening. One long, lanky man, with long | |
hair and a big white fur stovepipe hat on the back of his head, and a | |
crooked-handled cane, marked out the places on the ground where Boggs | |
stood and where Sherburn stood, and the people following him around from | |
one place to t'other and watching everything he done, and bobbing their | |
heads to show they understood, and stooping a little and resting their | |
hands on their thighs to watch him mark the places on the ground with | |
his cane; and then he stood up straight and stiff where Sherburn had | |
stood, frowning and having his hat-brim down over his eyes, and sung | |
out, "Boggs!" and then fetched his cane down slow to a level, and says | |
"Bang!" staggered backwards, says "Bang!" again, and fell down flat on | |
his back. The people that had seen the thing said he done it perfect; | |
said it was just exactly the way it all happened. Then as much as a | |
dozen people got out their bottles and treated him. | |
Well, by and by somebody said Sherburn ought to be lynched. In about a | |
minute everybody was saying it; so away they went, mad and yelling, and | |
snatching down every clothes-line they come to to do the hanging with. | |
CHAPTER XXII. | |
THEY swarmed up towards Sherburn's house, a-whooping and raging like | |
Injuns, and everything had to clear the way or get run over and tromped | |
to mush, and it was awful to see. Children was heeling it ahead of the | |
mob, screaming and trying to get out of the way; and every window along | |
the road was full of women's heads, and there was nigger boys in every | |
tree, and bucks and wenches looking over every fence; and as soon as the | |
mob would get nearly to them they would break and skaddle back out of | |
reach. Lots of the women and girls was crying and taking on, scared | |
most to death. | |
They swarmed up in front of Sherburn's palings as thick as they could | |
jam together, and you couldn't hear yourself think for the noise. It | |
was a little twenty-foot yard. Some sung out "Tear down the fence! tear | |
down the fence!" Then there was a racket of ripping and tearing and | |
smashing, and down she goes, and the front wall of the crowd begins to | |
roll in like a wave. | |
Just then Sherburn steps out on to the roof of his little front porch, | |
with a double-barrel gun in his hand, and takes his stand, perfectly | |
ca'm and deliberate, not saying a word. The racket stopped, and the | |
wave sucked back. | |
Sherburn never said a wordjust stood there, looking down. The | |
stillness was awful creepy and uncomfortable. Sherburn run his eye slow | |
along the crowd; and wherever it struck the people tried a little to | |
out-gaze him, but they couldn't; they dropped their eyes and looked | |
sneaky. Then pretty soon Sherburn sort of laughed; not the pleasant | |
kind, but the kind that makes you feel like when you are eating bread | |
that's got sand in it. | |
Then he says, slow and scornful: | |
"The idea of you lynching anybody! It's amusing. The idea of you | |
thinking you had pluck enough to lynch a man! Because you're brave | |
enough to tar and feather poor friendless cast-out women that come along | |
here, did that make you think you had grit enough to lay your hands on a | |
man? Why, a man's safe in the hands of ten thousand of your kindas | |
long as it's daytime and you're not behind him. | |
"Do I know you? I know you clear through. I was born and raised in the | |
South, and I've lived in the North; so I know the average all around. | |
The average man's a coward. In the North he lets anybody walk over him | |
that wants to, and goes home and prays for a humble spirit to bear it. | |
In the South one man all by himself, has stopped a stage full of men | |
in the daytime, and robbed the lot. Your newspapers call you a | |
brave people so much that you think you are braver than any other | |
peoplewhereas you're just as brave, and no braver. Why don't your | |
juries hang murderers? Because they're afraid the man's friends will | |
shoot them in the back, in the darkand it's just what they would do. | |
"So they always acquit; and then a man goes in the night, with a | |
hundred masked cowards at his back and lynches the rascal. Your mistake | |
is, that you didn't bring a man with you; that's one mistake, and the | |
other is that you didn't come in the dark and fetch your masks. You | |
brought part of a manBuck Harkness, thereand if you hadn't had him | |
to start you, you'd a taken it out in blowing. | |
"You didn't want to come. The average man don't like trouble and | |
danger. You don't like trouble and danger. But if only half a | |
manlike Buck Harkness, thereshouts 'Lynch him! lynch him!' you're | |
afraid to back downafraid you'll be found out to be what you | |
arecowardsand so you raise a yell, and hang yourselves on to that | |
half-a-man's coat-tail, and come raging up here, swearing what big | |
things you're going to do. The pitifulest thing out is a mob; that's | |
what an army isa mob; they don't fight with courage that's born in | |
them, but with courage that's borrowed from their mass, and from their | |
officers. But a mob without any man at the head of it is beneath | |
pitifulness. Now the thing for you to do is to droop your tails and | |
go home and crawl in a hole. If any real lynching's going to be done it | |
will be done in the dark, Southern fashion; and when they come they'll | |
bring their masks, and fetch a man along. Now leaveand take your | |
half-a-man with you"tossing his gun up across his left arm and cocking | |
it when he says this. | |
The crowd washed back sudden, and then broke all apart, and went tearing | |
off every which way, and Buck Harkness he heeled it after them, looking | |
tolerable cheap. I could a stayed if I wanted to, but I didn't want to. | |
I went to the circus and loafed around the back side till the watchman | |
went by, and then dived in under the tent. I had my twenty-dollar gold | |
piece and some other money, but I reckoned I better save it, because | |
there ain't no telling how soon you are going to need it, away from | |
home and amongst strangers that way. You can't be too careful. I ain't | |
opposed to spending money on circuses when there ain't no other way, but | |
there ain't no use in wasting it on them. | |
It was a real bully circus. It was the splendidest sight that ever was | |
when they all come riding in, two and two, a gentleman and lady, side | |
by side, the men just in their drawers and undershirts, and no shoes | |
nor stirrups, and resting their hands on their thighs easy and | |
comfortablethere must a been twenty of themand every lady with a | |
lovely complexion, and perfectly beautiful, and looking just like a gang | |
of real sure-enough queens, and dressed in clothes that cost millions of | |
dollars, and just littered with diamonds. It was a powerful fine sight; | |
I never see anything so lovely. And then one by one they got up | |
and stood, and went a-weaving around the ring so gentle and wavy and | |
graceful, the men looking ever so tall and airy and straight, with their | |
heads bobbing and skimming along, away up there under the tent-roof, and | |
every lady's rose-leafy dress flapping soft and silky around her hips, | |
and she looking like the most loveliest parasol. | |
And then faster and faster they went, all of them dancing, first one | |
foot out in the air and then the other, the horses leaning more and | |
more, and the ringmaster going round and round the center-pole, cracking | |
his whip and shouting "Hi!hi!" and the clown cracking jokes behind | |
him; and by and by all hands dropped the reins, and every lady put her | |
knuckles on her hips and every gentleman folded his arms, and then how | |
the horses did lean over and hump themselves! And so one after the | |
other they all skipped off into the ring, and made the sweetest bow I | |
ever see, and then scampered out, and everybody clapped their hands and | |
went just about wild. | |
Well, all through the circus they done the most astonishing things; and | |
all the time that clown carried on so it most killed the people. The | |
ringmaster couldn't ever say a word to him but he was back at him quick | |
as a wink with the funniest things a body ever said; and how he ever | |
could think of so many of them, and so sudden and so pat, was what I | |
couldn't noway understand. Why, I couldn't a thought of them in a year. | |
And by and by a drunk man tried to get into the ringsaid he wanted to | |
ride; said he could ride as well as anybody that ever was. They argued | |
and tried to keep him out, but he wouldn't listen, and the whole show | |
come to a standstill. Then the people begun to holler at him and make | |
fun of him, and that made him mad, and he begun to rip and tear; so that | |
stirred up the people, and a lot of men begun to pile down off of the | |
benches and swarm towards the ring, saying, "Knock him down! throw him | |
out!" and one or two women begun to scream. So, then, the ringmaster | |
he made a little speech, and said he hoped there wouldn't be no | |
disturbance, and if the man would promise he wouldn't make no more | |
trouble he would let him ride if he thought he could stay on the horse. | |
So everybody laughed and said all right, and the man got on. The minute | |
he was on, the horse begun to rip and tear and jump and cavort around, | |
with two circus men hanging on to his bridle trying to hold him, and the | |
drunk man hanging on to his neck, and his heels flying in the air every | |
jump, and the whole crowd of people standing up shouting and laughing | |
till tears rolled down. And at last, sure enough, all the circus men | |
could do, the horse broke loose, and away he went like the very nation, | |
round and round the ring, with that sot laying down on him and hanging | |
to his neck, with first one leg hanging most to the ground on one side, | |
and then t'other one on t'other side, and the people just crazy. It | |
warn't funny to me, though; I was all of a tremble to see his danger. | |
But pretty soon he struggled up astraddle and grabbed the bridle, | |
a-reeling this way and that; and the next minute he sprung up and | |
dropped the bridle and stood! and the horse a-going like a house afire | |
too. He just stood up there, a-sailing around as easy and comfortable | |
as if he warn't ever drunk in his lifeand then he begun to pull off his | |
clothes and sling them. He shed them so thick they kind of clogged up | |
the air, and altogether he shed seventeen suits. And, then, there he | |
was, slim and handsome, and dressed the gaudiest and prettiest you | |
ever saw, and he lit into that horse with his whip and made him fairly | |
humand finally skipped off, and made his bow and danced off to | |
the dressing-room, and everybody just a-howling with pleasure and | |
astonishment. | |
Then the ringmaster he see how he had been fooled, and he was the | |
sickest ringmaster you ever see, I reckon. Why, it was one of his own | |
men! He had got up that joke all out of his own head, and never let on | |
to nobody. Well, I felt sheepish enough to be took in so, but I wouldn't | |
a been in that ringmaster's place, not for a thousand dollars. I don't | |
know; there may be bullier circuses than what that one was, but I | |
never struck them yet. Anyways, it was plenty good enough for me; and | |
wherever I run across it, it can have all of my custom every time. | |
Well, that night we had our show; but there warn't only about twelve | |
people therejust enough to pay expenses. And they laughed all the | |
time, and that made the duke mad; and everybody left, anyway, before | |
the show was over, but one boy which was asleep. So the duke said these | |
Arkansaw lunkheads couldn't come up to Shakespeare; what they wanted | |
was low comedyand maybe something ruther worse than low comedy, he | |
reckoned. He said he could size their style. So next morning he got | |
some big sheets of wrapping paper and some black paint, and drawed off | |
some handbills, and stuck them up all over the village. The bills said: | |
CHAPTER XXIII. | |
WELL, all day him and the king was hard at it, rigging up a stage and | |
a curtain and a row of candles for footlights; and that night the house | |
was jam full of men in no time. When the place couldn't hold no more, | |
the duke he quit tending door and went around the back way and come on | |
to the stage and stood up before the curtain and made a little speech, | |
and praised up this tragedy, and said it was the most thrillingest one | |
that ever was; and so he went on a-bragging about the tragedy, and about | |
Edmund Kean the Elder, which was to play the main principal part in it; | |
and at last when he'd got everybody's expectations up high enough, he | |
rolled up the curtain, and the next minute the king come a-prancing | |
out on all fours, naked; and he was painted all over, | |
ring-streaked-and-striped, all sorts of colors, as splendid as a | |
rainbow. Andbut never mind the rest of his outfit; it was just wild, | |
but it was awful funny. The people most killed themselves laughing; and | |
when the king got done capering and capered off behind the scenes, they | |
roared and clapped and stormed and haw-hawed till he come back and done | |
it over again, and after that they made him do it another time. Well, it | |
would make a cow laugh to see the shines that old idiot cut. | |
Then the duke he lets the curtain down, and bows to the people, and says | |
the great tragedy will be performed only two nights more, on accounts of | |
pressing London engagements, where the seats is all sold already for it | |
in Drury Lane; and then he makes them another bow, and says if he has | |
succeeded in pleasing them and instructing them, he will be deeply | |
obleeged if they will mention it to their friends and get them to come | |
and see it. | |
Twenty people sings out: | |
"What, is it over? Is that all?" | |
The duke says yes. Then there was a fine time. Everybody sings | |
out, "Sold!" and rose up mad, and was a-going for that stage and them | |
tragedians. But a big, fine looking man jumps up on a bench and shouts: | |
"Hold on! Just a word, gentlemen." They stopped to listen. "We are | |
soldmighty badly sold. But we don't want to be the laughing stock of | |
this whole town, I reckon, and never hear the last of this thing as long | |
as we live. No. What we want is to go out of here quiet, and talk | |
this show up, and sell the rest of the town! Then we'll all be in the | |
same boat. Ain't that sensible?" ("You bet it is!the jedge is right!" | |
everybody sings out.) "All right, thennot a word about any sell. Go | |
along home, and advise everybody to come and see the tragedy." | |
Next day you couldn't hear nothing around that town but how splendid | |
that show was. House was jammed again that night, and we sold this | |
crowd the same way. When me and the king and the duke got home to the | |
raft we all had a supper; and by and by, about midnight, they made Jim | |
and me back her out and float her down the middle of the river, and | |
fetch her in and hide her about two mile below town. | |
The third night the house was crammed againand they warn't new-comers | |
this time, but people that was at the show the other two nights. I | |
stood by the duke at the door, and I see that every man that went in had | |
his pockets bulging, or something muffled up under his coatand I see it | |
warn't no perfumery, neither, not by a long sight. I smelt sickly eggs | |
by the barrel, and rotten cabbages, and such things; and if I know the | |
signs of a dead cat being around, and I bet I do, there was sixty-four | |
of them went in. I shoved in there for a minute, but it was too various | |
for me; I couldn't stand it. Well, when the place couldn't hold no more | |
people the duke he give a fellow a quarter and told him to tend door | |
for him a minute, and then he started around for the stage door, I after | |
him; but the minute we turned the corner and was in the dark he says: | |
"Walk fast now till you get away from the houses, and then shin for the | |
raft like the dickens was after you!" | |
I done it, and he done the same. We struck the raft at the same time, | |
and in less than two seconds we was gliding down stream, all dark and | |
still, and edging towards the middle of the river, nobody saying a | |
word. I reckoned the poor king was in for a gaudy time of it with the | |
audience, but nothing of the sort; pretty soon he crawls out from under | |
the wigwam, and says: | |
"Well, how'd the old thing pan out this time, duke?" He hadn't been | |
up-town at all. | |
We never showed a light till we was about ten mile below the village. | |
Then we lit up and had a supper, and the king and the duke fairly | |
laughed their bones loose over the way they'd served them people. The | |
duke says: | |
"Greenhorns, flatheads! I knew the first house would keep mum and let | |
the rest of the town get roped in; and I knew they'd lay for us the | |
third night, and consider it was their turn now. Well, it is their | |
turn, and I'd give something to know how much they'd take for it. I | |
would just like to know how they're putting in their opportunity. | |
They can turn it into a picnic if they want tothey brought plenty | |
provisions." | |
Them rapscallions took in four hundred and sixty-five dollars in that | |
three nights. I never see money hauled in by the wagon-load like that | |
before. By and by, when they was asleep and snoring, Jim says: | |
"Don't it s'prise you de way dem kings carries on, Huck?" | |
"No," I says, "it don't." | |
"Why don't it, Huck?" | |
"Well, it don't, because it's in the breed. I reckon they're all | |
alike." | |
"But, Huck, dese kings o' ourn is reglar rapscallions; dat's jist what | |
dey is; dey's reglar rapscallions." | |
"Well, that's what I'm a-saying; all kings is mostly rapscallions, as | |
fur as I can make out." | |
"Is dat so?" | |
"You read about them onceyou'll see. Look at Henry the Eight; this 'n | |
's a Sunday-school Superintendent to him. And look at Charles Second, | |
and Louis Fourteen, and Louis Fifteen, and James Second, and Edward | |
Second, and Richard Third, and forty more; besides all them Saxon | |
heptarchies that used to rip around so in old times and raise Cain. My, | |
you ought to seen old Henry the Eight when he was in bloom. He was a | |
blossom. He used to marry a new wife every day, and chop off her head | |
next morning. And he would do it just as indifferent as if he was | |
ordering up eggs. 'Fetch up Nell Gwynn,' he says. They fetch her up. | |
Next morning, 'Chop off her head!' And they chop it off. 'Fetch up | |
Jane Shore,' he says; and up she comes, Next morning, 'Chop off her | |
head'and they chop it off. 'Ring up Fair Rosamun.' Fair Rosamun | |
answers the bell. Next morning, 'Chop off her head.' And he made every | |
one of them tell him a tale every night; and he kept that up till he had | |
hogged a thousand and one tales that way, and then he put them all in a | |
book, and called it Domesday Bookwhich was a good name and stated the | |
case. You don't know kings, Jim, but I know them; and this old rip | |
of ourn is one of the cleanest I've struck in history. Well, Henry he | |
takes a notion he wants to get up some trouble with this country. How | |
does he go at itgive notice?give the country a show? No. All of a | |
sudden he heaves all the tea in Boston Harbor overboard, and whacks | |
out a declaration of independence, and dares them to come on. That was | |
his stylehe never give anybody a chance. He had suspicions of his | |
father, the Duke of Wellington. Well, what did he do? Ask him to show | |
up? Nodrownded him in a butt of mamsey, like a cat. S'pose people | |
left money laying around where he waswhat did he do? He collared it. | |
S'pose he contracted to do a thing, and you paid him, and didn't set | |
down there and see that he done itwhat did he do? He always done the | |
other thing. S'pose he opened his mouthwhat then? If he didn't shut it | |
up powerful quick he'd lose a lie every time. That's the kind of a bug | |
Henry was; and if we'd a had him along 'stead of our kings he'd a fooled | |
that town a heap worse than ourn done. I don't say that ourn is lambs, | |
because they ain't, when you come right down to the cold facts; but they | |
ain't nothing to that old ram, anyway. All I say is, kings is kings, | |
and you got to make allowances. Take them all around, they're a mighty | |
ornery lot. It's the way they're raised." | |
"But dis one do smell so like de nation, Huck." | |
"Well, they all do, Jim. We can't help the way a king smells; history | |
don't tell no way." | |
"Now de duke, he's a tolerble likely man in some ways." | |
"Yes, a duke's different. But not very different. This one's | |
a middling hard lot for a duke. When he's drunk there ain't no | |
near-sighted man could tell him from a king." | |
"Well, anyways, I doan' hanker for no mo' un um, Huck. Dese is all I | |
kin stan'." | |
"It's the way I feel, too, Jim. But we've got them on our hands, and we | |
got to remember what they are, and make allowances. Sometimes I wish we | |
could hear of a country that's out of kings." | |
What was the use to tell Jim these warn't real kings and dukes? It | |
wouldn't a done no good; and, besides, it was just as I said: you | |
couldn't tell them from the real kind. | |
I went to sleep, and Jim didn't call me when it was my turn. He often | |
done that. When I waked up just at daybreak he was sitting there with | |
his head down betwixt his knees, moaning and mourning to himself. I | |
didn't take notice nor let on. I knowed what it was about. He was | |
thinking about his wife and his children, away up yonder, and he was low | |
and homesick; because he hadn't ever been away from home before in his | |
life; and I do believe he cared just as much for his people as white | |
folks does for their'n. It don't seem natural, but I reckon it's so. | |
He was often moaning and mourning that way nights, when he judged I | |
was asleep, and saying, "Po' little 'Lizabeth! po' little Johnny! it's | |
mighty hard; I spec' I ain't ever gwyne to see you no mo', no mo'!" He | |
was a mighty good nigger, Jim was. | |
But this time I somehow got to talking to him about his wife and young | |
ones; and by and by he says: | |
"What makes me feel so bad dis time 'uz bekase I hear sumpn over yonder | |
on de bank like a whack, er a slam, while ago, en it mine me er de time | |
I treat my little 'Lizabeth so ornery. She warn't on'y 'bout fo' year | |
ole, en she tuck de sk'yarlet fever, en had a powful rough spell; but | |
she got well, en one day she was a-stannin' aroun', en I says to her, I | |
says: | |
"'Shet de do'.' | |
"She never done it; jis' stood dah, kiner smilin' up at me. It make me | |
mad; en I says agin, mighty loud, I says: | |
"'Doan' you hear me? Shet de do'!' | |
"She jis stood de same way, kiner smilin' up. I was a-bilin'! I says: | |
"'I lay I make you mine!' | |
"En wid dat I fetch' her a slap side de head dat sont her a-sprawlin'. | |
Den I went into de yuther room, en 'uz gone 'bout ten minutes; en when | |
I come back dah was dat do' a-stannin' open yit, en dat chile stannin' | |
mos' right in it, a-lookin' down and mournin', en de tears runnin' down. | |
My, but I wuz mad! I was a-gwyne for de chile, but jis' denit was a | |
do' dat open innerdsjis' den, 'long come de wind en slam it to, behine | |
de chile, ker-BLAM!en my lan', de chile never move'! My breff mos' | |
hop outer me; en I feel sosoI doan' know HOW I feel. I crope out, | |
all a-tremblin', en crope aroun' en open de do' easy en slow, en poke my | |
head in behine de chile, sof' en still, en all uv a sudden I says POW! | |
jis' as loud as I could yell. She never budge! Oh, Huck, I bust out | |
a-cryin' en grab her up in my arms, en say, 'Oh, de po' little thing! | |
De Lord God Amighty fogive po' ole Jim, kaze he never gwyne to fogive | |
hisself as long's he live!' Oh, she was plumb deef en dumb, Huck, plumb | |
deef en dumben I'd ben a-treat'n her so!" | |
CHAPTER XXIV. | |
NEXT day, towards night, we laid up under a little willow towhead out in | |
the middle, where there was a village on each side of the river, and the | |
duke and the king begun to lay out a plan for working them towns. Jim | |
he spoke to the duke, and said he hoped it wouldn't take but a few | |
hours, because it got mighty heavy and tiresome to him when he had to | |
lay all day in the wigwam tied with the rope. You see, when we left him | |
all alone we had to tie him, because if anybody happened on to him all | |
by himself and not tied it wouldn't look much like he was a runaway | |
nigger, you know. So the duke said it was kind of hard to have to lay | |
roped all day, and he'd cipher out some way to get around it. | |
He was uncommon bright, the duke was, and he soon struck it. He dressed | |
Jim up in King Lear's outfitit was a long curtain-calico gown, and a | |
white horse-hair wig and whiskers; and then he took his theater paint | |
and painted Jim's face and hands and ears and neck all over a dead, | |
dull, solid blue, like a man that's been drownded nine days. Blamed if | |
he warn't the horriblest looking outrage I ever see. Then the duke took | |
and wrote out a sign on a shingle so: | |
Sick Arabbut harmless when not out of his head. | |
And he nailed that shingle to a lath, and stood the lath up four or five | |
foot in front of the wigwam. Jim was satisfied. He said it was a sight | |
better than lying tied a couple of years every day, and trembling all | |
over every time there was a sound. The duke told him to make himself | |
free and easy, and if anybody ever come meddling around, he must hop | |
out of the wigwam, and carry on a little, and fetch a howl or two like | |
a wild beast, and he reckoned they would light out and leave him alone. | |
Which was sound enough judgment; but you take the average man, and he | |
wouldn't wait for him to howl. Why, he didn't only look like he was | |
dead, he looked considerable more than that. | |
These rapscallions wanted to try the Nonesuch again, because there was | |
so much money in it, but they judged it wouldn't be safe, because maybe | |
the news might a worked along down by this time. They couldn't hit no | |
project that suited exactly; so at last the duke said he reckoned he'd | |
lay off and work his brains an hour or two and see if he couldn't put up | |
something on the Arkansaw village; and the king he allowed he would drop | |
over to t'other village without any plan, but just trust in Providence | |
to lead him the profitable waymeaning the devil, I reckon. We had all | |
bought store clothes where we stopped last; and now the king put his'n | |
on, and he told me to put mine on. I done it, of course. The king's | |
duds was all black, and he did look real swell and starchy. I never | |
knowed how clothes could change a body before. Why, before, he looked | |
like the orneriest old rip that ever was; but now, when he'd take off | |
his new white beaver and make a bow and do a smile, he looked that grand | |
and good and pious that you'd say he had walked right out of the ark, | |
and maybe was old Leviticus himself. Jim cleaned up the canoe, and I | |
got my paddle ready. There was a big steamboat laying at the shore away | |
up under the point, about three mile above the townbeen there a couple | |
of hours, taking on freight. Says the king: | |
"Seein' how I'm dressed, I reckon maybe I better arrive down from St. | |
Louis or Cincinnati, or some other big place. Go for the steamboat, | |
Huckleberry; we'll come down to the village on her." | |
I didn't have to be ordered twice to go and take a steamboat ride. | |
I fetched the shore a half a mile above the village, and then went | |
scooting along the bluff bank in the easy water. Pretty soon we come to | |
a nice innocent-looking young country jake setting on a log swabbing the | |
sweat off of his face, for it was powerful warm weather; and he had a | |
couple of big carpet-bags by him. | |
"Run her nose in shore," says the king. I done it. "Wher' you bound | |
for, young man?" | |
"For the steamboat; going to Orleans." | |
"Git aboard," says the king. "Hold on a minute, my servant 'll he'p you | |
with them bags. Jump out and he'p the gentleman, Adolphus"meaning me, | |
I see. | |
I done so, and then we all three started on again. The young chap was | |
mighty thankful; said it was tough work toting his baggage such weather. | |
He asked the king where he was going, and the king told him he'd come | |
down the river and landed at the other village this morning, and now he | |
was going up a few mile to see an old friend on a farm up there. The | |
young fellow says: | |
"When I first see you I says to myself, 'It's Mr. Wilks, sure, and he | |
come mighty near getting here in time.' But then I says again, 'No, I | |
reckon it ain't him, or else he wouldn't be paddling up the river.' You | |
ain't him, are you?" | |
"No, my name's BlodgettElexander BlodgettReverend Elexander | |
Blodgett, I s'pose I must say, as I'm one o' the Lord's poor servants. | |
But still I'm jist as able to be sorry for Mr. Wilks for not arriving | |
in time, all the same, if he's missed anything by itwhich I hope he | |
hasn't." | |
"Well, he don't miss any property by it, because he'll get that all | |
right; but he's missed seeing his brother Peter diewhich he mayn't | |
mind, nobody can tell as to thatbut his brother would a give anything | |
in this world to see him before he died; never talked about nothing | |
else all these three weeks; hadn't seen him since they was boys | |
togetherand hadn't ever seen his brother William at allthat's the deef | |
and dumb oneWilliam ain't more than thirty or thirty-five. Peter and | |
George were the only ones that come out here; George was the married | |
brother; him and his wife both died last year. Harvey and William's the | |
only ones that's left now; and, as I was saying, they haven't got here | |
in time." | |
"Did anybody send 'em word?" | |
"Oh, yes; a month or two ago, when Peter was first took; because Peter | |
said then that he sorter felt like he warn't going to get well this | |
time. You see, he was pretty old, and George's g'yirls was too young to | |
be much company for him, except Mary Jane, the red-headed one; and so he | |
was kinder lonesome after George and his wife died, and didn't seem | |
to care much to live. He most desperately wanted to see Harveyand | |
William, too, for that matterbecause he was one of them kind that can't | |
bear to make a will. He left a letter behind for Harvey, and said he'd | |
told in it where his money was hid, and how he wanted the rest of the | |
property divided up so George's g'yirls would be all rightfor George | |
didn't leave nothing. And that letter was all they could get him to put | |
a pen to." | |
"Why do you reckon Harvey don't come? Wher' does he live?" | |
"Oh, he lives in EnglandSheffieldpreaches therehasn't ever been in | |
this country. He hasn't had any too much timeand besides he mightn't a | |
got the letter at all, you know." | |
"Too bad, too bad he couldn't a lived to see his brothers, poor soul. | |
You going to Orleans, you say?" | |
"Yes, but that ain't only a part of it. I'm going in a ship, next | |
Wednesday, for Ryo Janeero, where my uncle lives." | |
"It's a pretty long journey. But it'll be lovely; wisht I was a-going. | |
Is Mary Jane the oldest? How old is the others?" | |
"Mary Jane's nineteen, Susan's fifteen, and Joanna's about | |
fourteenthat's the one that gives herself to good works and has a | |
hare-lip." | |
"Poor things! to be left alone in the cold world so." | |
"Well, they could be worse off. Old Peter had friends, and they | |
ain't going to let them come to no harm. There's Hobson, the Babtis' | |
preacher; and Deacon Lot Hovey, and Ben Rucker, and Abner Shackleford, | |
and Levi Bell, the lawyer; and Dr. Robinson, and their wives, and the | |
widow Bartley, andwell, there's a lot of them; but these are the ones | |
that Peter was thickest with, and used to write about sometimes, when | |
he wrote home; so Harvey 'll know where to look for friends when he gets | |
here." | |
Well, the old man went on asking questions till he just fairly emptied | |
that young fellow. Blamed if he didn't inquire about everybody and | |
everything in that blessed town, and all about the Wilkses; and about | |
Peter's businesswhich was a tanner; and about George'swhich was a | |
carpenter; and about Harvey'swhich was a dissentering minister; and so | |
on, and so on. Then he says: | |
"What did you want to walk all the way up to the steamboat for?" | |
"Because she's a big Orleans boat, and I was afeard she mightn't stop | |
there. When they're deep they won't stop for a hail. A Cincinnati boat | |
will, but this is a St. Louis one." | |
"Was Peter Wilks well off?" | |
"Oh, yes, pretty well off. He had houses and land, and it's reckoned he | |
left three or four thousand in cash hid up som'ers." | |
"When did you say he died?" | |
"I didn't say, but it was last night." | |
"Funeral to-morrow, likely?" | |
"Yes, 'bout the middle of the day." | |
"Well, it's all terrible sad; but we've all got to go, one time or | |
another. So what we want to do is to be prepared; then we're all right." | |
"Yes, sir, it's the best way. Ma used to always say that." | |
When we struck the boat she was about done loading, and pretty soon she | |
got off. The king never said nothing about going aboard, so I lost | |
my ride, after all. When the boat was gone the king made me paddle up | |
another mile to a lonesome place, and then he got ashore and says: | |
"Now hustle back, right off, and fetch the duke up here, and the new | |
carpet-bags. And if he's gone over to t'other side, go over there and | |
git him. And tell him to git himself up regardless. Shove along, now." | |
I see what he was up to; but I never said nothing, of course. When | |
I got back with the duke we hid the canoe, and then they set down on a | |
log, and the king told him everything, just like the young fellow had | |
said itevery last word of it. And all the time he was a-doing it he | |
tried to talk like an Englishman; and he done it pretty well, too, for | |
a slouch. I can't imitate him, and so I ain't a-going to try to; but he | |
really done it pretty good. Then he says: | |
"How are you on the deef and dumb, Bilgewater?" | |
The duke said, leave him alone for that; said he had played a deef | |
and dumb person on the histronic boards. So then they waited for a | |
steamboat. | |
About the middle of the afternoon a couple of little boats come along, | |
but they didn't come from high enough up the river; but at last there | |
was a big one, and they hailed her. She sent out her yawl, and we went | |
aboard, and she was from Cincinnati; and when they found we only wanted | |
to go four or five mile they was booming mad, and gave us a cussing, and | |
said they wouldn't land us. But the king was ca'm. He says: | |
"If gentlemen kin afford to pay a dollar a mile apiece to be took on and | |
put off in a yawl, a steamboat kin afford to carry 'em, can't it?" | |
So they softened down and said it was all right; and when we got to the | |
village they yawled us ashore. About two dozen men flocked down when | |
they see the yawl a-coming, and when the king says: | |
"Kin any of you gentlemen tell me wher' Mr. Peter Wilks lives?" they | |
give a glance at one another, and nodded their heads, as much as to say, | |
"What d' I tell you?" Then one of them says, kind of soft and gentle: | |
"I'm sorry sir, but the best we can do is to tell you where he did | |
live yesterday evening." | |
Sudden as winking the ornery old cretur went an to smash, and fell up | |
against the man, and put his chin on his shoulder, and cried down his | |
back, and says: | |
"Alas, alas, our poor brothergone, and we never got to see him; oh, | |
it's too, too hard!" | |
Then he turns around, blubbering, and makes a lot of idiotic signs to | |
the duke on his hands, and blamed if he didn't drop a carpet-bag and | |
bust out a-crying. If they warn't the beatenest lot, them two frauds, | |
that ever I struck. | |
Well, the men gathered around and sympathized with them, and said all | |
sorts of kind things to them, and carried their carpet-bags up the hill | |
for them, and let them lean on them and cry, and told the king all about | |
his brother's last moments, and the king he told it all over again on | |
his hands to the duke, and both of them took on about that dead tanner | |
like they'd lost the twelve disciples. Well, if ever I struck anything | |
like it, I'm a nigger. It was enough to make a body ashamed of the human | |
race. | |
CHAPTER XXV. | |
THE news was all over town in two minutes, and you could see the people | |
tearing down on the run from every which way, some of them putting on | |
their coats as they come. Pretty soon we was in the middle of a crowd, | |
and the noise of the tramping was like a soldier march. The windows and | |
dooryards was full; and every minute somebody would say, over a fence: | |
"Is it them?" | |
And somebody trotting along with the gang would answer back and say: | |
"You bet it is." | |
When we got to the house the street in front of it was packed, and the | |
three girls was standing in the door. Mary Jane was red-headed, but | |
that don't make no difference, she was most awful beautiful, and her | |
face and her eyes was all lit up like glory, she was so glad her uncles | |
was come. The king he spread his arms, and Mary Jane she jumped for | |
them, and the hare-lip jumped for the duke, and there they had it! | |
Everybody most, leastways women, cried for joy to see them meet again | |
at last and have such good times. | |
Then the king he hunched the duke privateI see him do itand then he | |
looked around and see the coffin, over in the corner on two chairs; so | |
then him and the duke, with a hand across each other's shoulder, and | |
t'other hand to their eyes, walked slow and solemn over there, everybody | |
dropping back to give them room, and all the talk and noise stopping, | |
people saying "Sh!" and all the men taking their hats off and drooping | |
their heads, so you could a heard a pin fall. And when they got there | |
they bent over and looked in the coffin, and took one sight, and then | |
they bust out a-crying so you could a heard them to Orleans, most; and | |
then they put their arms around each other's necks, and hung their chins | |
over each other's shoulders; and then for three minutes, or maybe four, | |
I never see two men leak the way they done. And, mind you, everybody | |
was doing the same; and the place was that damp I never see anything | |
like it. Then one of them got on one side of the coffin, and t'other on | |
t'other side, and they kneeled down and rested their foreheads on the | |
coffin, and let on to pray all to themselves. Well, when it come | |
to that it worked the crowd like you never see anything like it, and | |
everybody broke down and went to sobbing right out loudthe poor girls, | |
too; and every woman, nearly, went up to the girls, without saying a | |
word, and kissed them, solemn, on the forehead, and then put their hand | |
on their head, and looked up towards the sky, with the tears running | |
down, and then busted out and went off sobbing and swabbing, and give | |
the next woman a show. I never see anything so disgusting. | |
Well, by and by the king he gets up and comes forward a little, and | |
works himself up and slobbers out a speech, all full of tears and | |
flapdoodle about its being a sore trial for him and his poor brother | |
to lose the diseased, and to miss seeing diseased alive after the long | |
journey of four thousand mile, but it's a trial that's sweetened and | |
sanctified to us by this dear sympathy and these holy tears, and so he | |
thanks them out of his heart and out of his brother's heart, because out | |
of their mouths they can't, words being too weak and cold, and all that | |
kind of rot and slush, till it was just sickening; and then he blubbers | |
out a pious goody-goody Amen, and turns himself loose and goes to crying | |
fit to bust. | |
And the minute the words were out of his mouth somebody over in the | |
crowd struck up the doxolojer, and everybody joined in with all their | |
might, and it just warmed you up and made you feel as good as church | |
letting out. Music is a good thing; and after all that soul-butter and | |
hogwash I never see it freshen up things so, and sound so honest and | |
bully. | |
Then the king begins to work his jaw again, and says how him and his | |
nieces would be glad if a few of the main principal friends of the | |
family would take supper here with them this evening, and help set up | |
with the ashes of the diseased; and says if his poor brother laying | |
yonder could speak he knows who he would name, for they was names that | |
was very dear to him, and mentioned often in his letters; and so he will | |
name the same, to wit, as follows, vizz.:Rev. Mr. Hobson, and Deacon | |
Lot Hovey, and Mr. Ben Rucker, and Abner Shackleford, and Levi Bell, and | |
Dr. Robinson, and their wives, and the widow Bartley. | |
Rev. Hobson and Dr. Robinson was down to the end of the town a-hunting | |
togetherthat is, I mean the doctor was shipping a sick man to t'other | |
world, and the preacher was pinting him right. Lawyer Bell was away up | |
to Louisville on business. But the rest was on hand, and so they all | |
come and shook hands with the king and thanked him and talked to him; | |
and then they shook hands with the duke and didn't say nothing, but just | |
kept a-smiling and bobbing their heads like a passel of sapheads whilst | |
he made all sorts of signs with his hands and said "Goo-googoo-goo-goo" | |
all the time, like a baby that can't talk. | |
So the king he blattered along, and managed to inquire about pretty | |
much everybody and dog in town, by his name, and mentioned all sorts | |
of little things that happened one time or another in the town, or to | |
George's family, or to Peter. And he always let on that Peter wrote him | |
the things; but that was a lie: he got every blessed one of them out of | |
that young flathead that we canoed up to the steamboat. | |
Then Mary Jane she fetched the letter her father left behind, and the | |
king he read it out loud and cried over it. It give the dwelling-house | |
and three thousand dollars, gold, to the girls; and it give the tanyard | |
(which was doing a good business), along with some other houses and | |
land (worth about seven thousand), and three thousand dollars in gold | |
to Harvey and William, and told where the six thousand cash was hid down | |
cellar. So these two frauds said they'd go and fetch it up, and have | |
everything square and above-board; and told me to come with a candle. | |
We shut the cellar door behind us, and when they found the bag | |
they spilt it out on the floor, and it was a lovely sight, all them | |
yaller-boys. My, the way the king's eyes did shine! He slaps the duke | |
on the shoulder and says: | |
"Oh, this ain't bully nor noth'n! Oh, no, I reckon not! Why, | |
bully, it beats the Nonesuch, don't it?" | |
The duke allowed it did. They pawed the yaller-boys, and sifted them | |
through their fingers and let them jingle down on the floor; and the | |
king says: | |
"It ain't no use talkin'; bein' brothers to a rich dead man and | |
representatives of furrin heirs that's got left is the line for you and | |
me, Bilge. Thish yer comes of trust'n to Providence. It's the best | |
way, in the long run. I've tried 'em all, and ther' ain't no better | |
way." | |
Most everybody would a been satisfied with the pile, and took it on | |
trust; but no, they must count it. So they counts it, and it comes out | |
four hundred and fifteen dollars short. Says the king: | |
"Dern him, I wonder what he done with that four hundred and fifteen | |
dollars?" | |
They worried over that awhile, and ransacked all around for it. Then | |
the duke says: | |
"Well, he was a pretty sick man, and likely he made a mistakeI reckon | |
that's the way of it. The best way's to let it go, and keep still about | |
it. We can spare it." | |
"Oh, shucks, yes, we can spare it. I don't k'yer noth'n 'bout | |
thatit's the count I'm thinkin' about. We want to be awful square | |
and open and above-board here, you know. We want to lug this h-yer | |
money up stairs and count it before everybodythen ther' ain't noth'n | |
suspicious. But when the dead man says ther's six thous'n dollars, you | |
know, we don't want to" | |
"Hold on," says the duke. "Le's make up the deffisit," and he begun to | |
haul out yaller-boys out of his pocket. | |
"It's a most amaz'n' good idea, dukeyou have got a rattlin' clever | |
head on you," says the king. "Blest if the old Nonesuch ain't a heppin' | |
us out agin," and he begun to haul out yaller-jackets and stack them | |
up. | |
It most busted them, but they made up the six thousand clean and clear. | |
"Say," says the duke, "I got another idea. Le's go up stairs and count | |
this money, and then take and give it to the girls." | |
"Good land, duke, lemme hug you! It's the most dazzling idea 'at ever a | |
man struck. You have cert'nly got the most astonishin' head I ever see. | |
Oh, this is the boss dodge, ther' ain't no mistake 'bout it. Let 'em | |
fetch along their suspicions now if they want tothis 'll lay 'em out." | |
When we got up-stairs everybody gethered around the table, and the king | |
he counted it and stacked it up, three hundred dollars in a piletwenty | |
elegant little piles. Everybody looked hungry at it, and licked their | |
chops. Then they raked it into the bag again, and I see the king begin | |
to swell himself up for another speech. He says: | |
"Friends all, my poor brother that lays yonder has done generous by | |
them that's left behind in the vale of sorrers. He has done generous by | |
these yer poor little lambs that he loved and sheltered, and that's left | |
fatherless and motherless. Yes, and we that knowed him knows that he | |
would a done more generous by 'em if he hadn't ben afeard o' woundin' | |
his dear William and me. Now, wouldn't he? Ther' ain't no question | |
'bout it in my mind. Well, then, what kind o' brothers would it be | |
that 'd stand in his way at sech a time? And what kind o' uncles would | |
it be that 'd robyes, robsech poor sweet lambs as these 'at he loved | |
so at sech a time? If I know Williamand I think I dohewell, I'll | |
jest ask him." He turns around and begins to make a lot of signs to | |
the duke with his hands, and the duke he looks at him stupid and | |
leather-headed a while; then all of a sudden he seems to catch his | |
meaning, and jumps for the king, goo-gooing with all his might for joy, | |
and hugs him about fifteen times before he lets up. Then the king says, | |
"I knowed it; I reckon that 'll convince anybody the way he feels | |
about it. Here, Mary Jane, Susan, Joanner, take the moneytake it | |
all. It's the gift of him that lays yonder, cold but joyful." | |
Mary Jane she went for him, Susan and the hare-lip went for the | |
duke, and then such another hugging and kissing I never see yet. And | |
everybody crowded up with the tears in their eyes, and most shook the | |
hands off of them frauds, saying all the time: | |
"You dear good souls!how lovely!how could you!" | |
Well, then, pretty soon all hands got to talking about the diseased | |
again, and how good he was, and what a loss he was, and all that; and | |
before long a big iron-jawed man worked himself in there from outside, | |
and stood a-listening and looking, and not saying anything; and nobody | |
saying anything to him either, because the king was talking and they was | |
all busy listening. The king was sayingin the middle of something he'd | |
started in on | |
"they bein' partickler friends o' the diseased. That's why they're | |
invited here this evenin'; but tomorrow we want all to comeeverybody; | |
for he respected everybody, he liked everybody, and so it's fitten that | |
his funeral orgies sh'd be public." | |
And so he went a-mooning on and on, liking to hear himself talk, and | |
every little while he fetched in his funeral orgies again, till the duke | |
he couldn't stand it no more; so he writes on a little scrap of paper, | |
"Obsequies, you old fool," and folds it up, and goes to goo-gooing and | |
reaching it over people's heads to him. The king he reads it and puts | |
it in his pocket, and says: | |
"Poor William, afflicted as he is, his heart's aluz right. Asks me | |
to invite everybody to come to the funeralwants me to make 'em all | |
welcome. But he needn't a worriedit was jest what I was at." | |
Then he weaves along again, perfectly ca'm, and goes to dropping in his | |
funeral orgies again every now and then, just like he done before. And | |
when he done it the third time he says: | |
"I say orgies, not because it's the common term, because it | |
ain'tobsequies bein' the common termbut because orgies is the right | |
term. Obsequies ain't used in England no more nowit's gone out. We | |
say orgies now in England. Orgies is better, because it means the thing | |
you're after more exact. It's a word that's made up out'n the Greek | |
orgo, outside, open, abroad; and the Hebrew jeesum, to plant, cover | |
up; hence inter. So, you see, funeral orgies is an open er public | |
funeral." | |
He was the worst I ever struck. Well, the iron-jawed man he laughed | |
right in his face. Everybody was shocked. Everybody says, "Why, | |
doctor!" and Abner Shackleford says: | |
"Why, Robinson, hain't you heard the news? This is Harvey Wilks." | |
The king he smiled eager, and shoved out his flapper, and says: | |
"Is it my poor brother's dear good friend and physician? I" | |
"Keep your hands off of me!" says the doctor. "You talk like an | |
Englishman, don't you? It's the worst imitation I ever heard. You | |
Peter Wilks's brother! You're a fraud, that's what you are!" | |
Well, how they all took on! They crowded around the doctor and tried to | |
quiet him down, and tried to explain to him and tell him how Harvey 'd | |
showed in forty ways that he was Harvey, and knowed everybody by name, | |
and the names of the very dogs, and begged and begged him not to hurt | |
Harvey's feelings and the poor girl's feelings, and all that. But it | |
warn't no use; he stormed right along, and said any man that pretended | |
to be an Englishman and couldn't imitate the lingo no better than what | |
he did was a fraud and a liar. The poor girls was hanging to the king | |
and crying; and all of a sudden the doctor ups and turns on them. He | |
says: | |
"I was your father's friend, and I'm your friend; and I warn you as a | |
friend, and an honest one that wants to protect you and keep you out of | |
harm and trouble, to turn your backs on that scoundrel and have nothing | |
to do with him, the ignorant tramp, with his idiotic Greek and Hebrew, | |
as he calls it. He is the thinnest kind of an impostorhas come here | |
with a lot of empty names and facts which he picked up somewheres, and | |
you take them for proofs, and are helped to fool yourselves by these | |
foolish friends here, who ought to know better. Mary Jane Wilks, you | |
know me for your friend, and for your unselfish friend, too. Now listen | |
to me; turn this pitiful rascal outI beg you to do it. Will you?" | |
Mary Jane straightened herself up, and my, but she was handsome! She | |
says: | |
"Here is my answer." She hove up the bag of money and put it in the | |
king's hands, and says, "Take this six thousand dollars, and invest for | |
me and my sisters any way you want to, and don't give us no receipt for | |
it." | |
Then she put her arm around the king on one side, and Susan and the | |
hare-lip done the same on the other. Everybody clapped their hands and | |
stomped on the floor like a perfect storm, whilst the king held up his | |
head and smiled proud. The doctor says: | |
"All right; I wash my hands of the matter. But I warn you all that a | |
time 's coming when you're going to feel sick whenever you think of this | |
day." And away he went. | |
"All right, doctor," says the king, kinder mocking him; "we'll try and | |
get 'em to send for you;" which made them all laugh, and they said it | |
was a prime good hit. | |
CHAPTER XXVI. | |
WELL, when they was all gone the king he asks Mary Jane how they was off | |
for spare rooms, and she said she had one spare room, which would do for | |
Uncle William, and she'd give her own room to Uncle Harvey, which was | |
a little bigger, and she would turn into the room with her sisters and | |
sleep on a cot; and up garret was a little cubby, with a pallet in it. | |
The king said the cubby would do for his valleymeaning me. | |
So Mary Jane took us up, and she showed them their rooms, which was | |
plain but nice. She said she'd have her frocks and a lot of other traps | |
took out of her room if they was in Uncle Harvey's way, but he said | |
they warn't. The frocks was hung along the wall, and before them was | |
a curtain made out of calico that hung down to the floor. There was an | |
old hair trunk in one corner, and a guitar-box in another, and all sorts | |
of little knickknacks and jimcracks around, like girls brisken up a room | |
with. The king said it was all the more homely and more pleasanter for | |
these fixings, and so don't disturb them. The duke's room was pretty | |
small, but plenty good enough, and so was my cubby. | |
That night they had a big supper, and all them men and women was there, | |
and I stood behind the king and the duke's chairs and waited on them, | |
and the niggers waited on the rest. Mary Jane she set at the head of | |
the table, with Susan alongside of her, and said how bad the biscuits | |
was, and how mean the preserves was, and how ornery and tough the fried | |
chickens wasand all that kind of rot, the way women always do for to | |
force out compliments; and the people all knowed everything was tiptop, | |
and said sosaid "How do you get biscuits to brown so nice?" and | |
"Where, for the land's sake, did you get these amaz'n pickles?" and | |
all that kind of humbug talky-talk, just the way people always does at a | |
supper, you know. | |
And when it was all done me and the hare-lip had supper in the kitchen | |
off of the leavings, whilst the others was helping the niggers clean up | |
the things. The hare-lip she got to pumping me about England, and blest | |
if I didn't think the ice was getting mighty thin sometimes. She says: | |
"Did you ever see the king?" | |
"Who? William Fourth? Well, I bet I havehe goes to our church." I | |
knowed he was dead years ago, but I never let on. So when I says he | |
goes to our church, she says: | |
"Whatregular?" | |
"Yesregular. His pew's right over opposite ournon t'other side the | |
pulpit." | |
"I thought he lived in London?" | |
"Well, he does. Where would he live?" | |
"But I thought you lived in Sheffield?" | |
I see I was up a stump. I had to let on to get choked with a chicken | |
bone, so as to get time to think how to get down again. Then I says: | |
"I mean he goes to our church regular when he's in Sheffield. That's | |
only in the summer time, when he comes there to take the sea baths." | |
"Why, how you talkSheffield ain't on the sea." | |
"Well, who said it was?" | |
"Why, you did." | |
"I didn't nuther." | |
"You did!" | |
"I didn't." | |
"You did." | |
"I never said nothing of the kind." | |
"Well, what did you say, then?" | |
"Said he come to take the sea bathsthat's what I said." | |
"Well, then, how's he going to take the sea baths if it ain't on the | |
sea?" | |
"Looky here," I says; "did you ever see any Congress-water?" | |
"Yes." | |
"Well, did you have to go to Congress to get it?" | |
"Why, no." | |
"Well, neither does William Fourth have to go to the sea to get a sea | |
bath." | |
"How does he get it, then?" | |
"Gets it the way people down here gets Congress-waterin barrels. There | |
in the palace at Sheffield they've got furnaces, and he wants his water | |
hot. They can't bile that amount of water away off there at the sea. | |
They haven't got no conveniences for it." | |
"Oh, I see, now. You might a said that in the first place and saved | |
time." | |
When she said that I see I was out of the woods again, and so I was | |
comfortable and glad. Next, she says: | |
"Do you go to church, too?" | |
"Yesregular." | |
"Where do you set?" | |
"Why, in our pew." | |
"Whose pew?" | |
"Why, ournyour Uncle Harvey's." | |
"His'n? What does he want with a pew?" | |
"Wants it to set in. What did you reckon he wanted with it?" | |
"Why, I thought he'd be in the pulpit." | |
Rot him, I forgot he was a preacher. I see I was up a stump again, so I | |
played another chicken bone and got another think. Then I says: | |
"Blame it, do you suppose there ain't but one preacher to a church?" | |
"Why, what do they want with more?" | |
"What!to preach before a king? I never did see such a girl as you. | |
They don't have no less than seventeen." | |
"Seventeen! My land! Why, I wouldn't set out such a string as that, | |
not if I never got to glory. It must take 'em a week." | |
"Shucks, they don't all of 'em preach the same dayonly one of 'em." | |
"Well, then, what does the rest of 'em do?" | |
"Oh, nothing much. Loll around, pass the plateand one thing or | |
another. But mainly they don't do nothing." | |
"Well, then, what are they for?" | |
"Why, they're for style. Don't you know nothing?" | |
"Well, I don't want to know no such foolishness as that. How is | |
servants treated in England? Do they treat 'em better 'n we treat our | |
niggers?" | |
"No! A servant ain't nobody there. They treat them worse than dogs." | |
"Don't they give 'em holidays, the way we do, Christmas and New Year's | |
week, and Fourth of July?" | |
"Oh, just listen! A body could tell you hain't ever been to England | |
by that. Why, Hare-lwhy, Joanna, they never see a holiday from year's | |
end to year's end; never go to the circus, nor theater, nor nigger | |
shows, nor nowheres." | |
"Nor church?" | |
"Nor church." | |
"But you always went to church." | |
Well, I was gone up again. I forgot I was the old man's servant. But | |
next minute I whirled in on a kind of an explanation how a valley was | |
different from a common servant and had to go to church whether he | |
wanted to or not, and set with the family, on account of its being the | |
law. But I didn't do it pretty good, and when I got done I see she | |
warn't satisfied. She says: | |
"Honest injun, now, hain't you been telling me a lot of lies?" | |
"Honest injun," says I. | |
"None of it at all?" | |
"None of it at all. Not a lie in it," says I. | |
"Lay your hand on this book and say it." | |
I see it warn't nothing but a dictionary, so I laid my hand on it and | |
said it. So then she looked a little better satisfied, and says: | |
"Well, then, I'll believe some of it; but I hope to gracious if I'll | |
believe the rest." | |
"What is it you won't believe, Joe?" says Mary Jane, stepping in with | |
Susan behind her. "It ain't right nor kind for you to talk so to him, | |
and him a stranger and so far from his people. How would you like to be | |
treated so?" | |
"That's always your way, Maimalways sailing in to help somebody before | |
they're hurt. I hain't done nothing to him. He's told some stretchers, | |
I reckon, and I said I wouldn't swallow it all; and that's every bit | |
and grain I did say. I reckon he can stand a little thing like that, | |
can't he?" | |
"I don't care whether 'twas little or whether 'twas big; he's here in | |
our house and a stranger, and it wasn't good of you to say it. If you | |
was in his place it would make you feel ashamed; and so you oughtn't to | |
say a thing to another person that will make them feel ashamed." | |
"Why, Mam, he said" | |
"It don't make no difference what he saidthat ain't the thing. The | |
thing is for you to treat him kind, and not be saying things to make | |
him remember he ain't in his own country and amongst his own folks." | |
I says to myself, this is a girl that I'm letting that old reptile rob | |
her of her money! | |
Then Susan she waltzed in; and if you'll believe me, she did give | |
Hare-lip hark from the tomb! | |
Says I to myself, and this is another one that I'm letting him rob her | |
of her money! | |
Then Mary Jane she took another inning, and went in sweet and lovely | |
againwhich was her way; but when she got done there warn't hardly | |
anything left o' poor Hare-lip. So she hollered. | |
"All right, then," says the other girls; "you just ask his pardon." | |
She done it, too; and she done it beautiful. She done it so beautiful | |
it was good to hear; and I wished I could tell her a thousand lies, so | |
she could do it again. | |
I says to myself, this is another one that I'm letting him rob her of | |
her money. And when she got through they all jest laid theirselves | |
out to make me feel at home and know I was amongst friends. I felt so | |
ornery and low down and mean that I says to myself, my mind's made up; | |
I'll hive that money for them or bust. | |
So then I lit outfor bed, I said, meaning some time or another. When | |
I got by myself I went to thinking the thing over. I says to myself, | |
shall I go to that doctor, private, and blow on these frauds? Nothat | |
won't do. He might tell who told him; then the king and the duke would | |
make it warm for me. Shall I go, private, and tell Mary Jane? NoI | |
dasn't do it. Her face would give them a hint, sure; they've got the | |
money, and they'd slide right out and get away with it. If she was to | |
fetch in help I'd get mixed up in the business before it was done with, | |
I judge. No; there ain't no good way but one. I got to steal that | |
money, somehow; and I got to steal it some way that they won't suspicion | |
that I done it. They've got a good thing here, and they ain't a-going | |
to leave till they've played this family and this town for all they're | |
worth, so I'll find a chance time enough. I'll steal it and hide it; and | |
by and by, when I'm away down the river, I'll write a letter and tell | |
Mary Jane where it's hid. But I better hive it tonight if I can, | |
because the doctor maybe hasn't let up as much as he lets on he has; he | |
might scare them out of here yet. | |
So, thinks I, I'll go and search them rooms. Upstairs the hall was | |
dark, but I found the duke's room, and started to paw around it with | |
my hands; but I recollected it wouldn't be much like the king to let | |
anybody else take care of that money but his own self; so then I went to | |
his room and begun to paw around there. But I see I couldn't do nothing | |
without a candle, and I dasn't light one, of course. So I judged I'd | |
got to do the other thinglay for them and eavesdrop. About that time | |
I hears their footsteps coming, and was going to skip under the bed; I | |
reached for it, but it wasn't where I thought it would be; but I touched | |
the curtain that hid Mary Jane's frocks, so I jumped in behind that and | |
snuggled in amongst the gowns, and stood there perfectly still. | |
They come in and shut the door; and the first thing the duke done was to | |
get down and look under the bed. Then I was glad I hadn't found the bed | |
when I wanted it. And yet, you know, it's kind of natural to hide under | |
the bed when you are up to anything private. They sets down then, and | |
the king says: | |
"Well, what is it? And cut it middlin' short, because it's better for | |
us to be down there a-whoopin' up the mournin' than up here givin' 'em a | |
chance to talk us over." | |
"Well, this is it, Capet. I ain't easy; I ain't comfortable. That | |
doctor lays on my mind. I wanted to know your plans. I've got a | |
notion, and I think it's a sound one." | |
"What is it, duke?" | |
"That we better glide out of this before three in the morning, and clip | |
it down the river with what we've got. Specially, seeing we got it so | |
easygiven back to us, flung at our heads, as you may say, when of | |
course we allowed to have to steal it back. I'm for knocking off and | |
lighting out." | |
That made me feel pretty bad. About an hour or two ago it would a been | |
a little different, but now it made me feel bad and disappointed, The | |
king rips out and says: | |
"What! And not sell out the rest o' the property? March off like | |
a passel of fools and leave eight or nine thous'n' dollars' worth o' | |
property layin' around jest sufferin' to be scooped in?and all good, | |
salable stuff, too." | |
The duke he grumbled; said the bag of gold was enough, and he didn't | |
want to go no deeperdidn't want to rob a lot of orphans of everything | |
they had. | |
"Why, how you talk!" says the king. "We sha'n't rob 'em of nothing at | |
all but jest this money. The people that buys the property is the | |
suff'rers; because as soon 's it's found out 'at we didn't own itwhich | |
won't be long after we've slidthe sale won't be valid, and it 'll all | |
go back to the estate. These yer orphans 'll git their house back agin, | |
and that's enough for them; they're young and spry, and k'n easy | |
earn a livin'. they ain't a-goin to suffer. Why, jest thinkthere's | |
thous'n's and thous'n's that ain't nigh so well off. Bless you, they | |
ain't got noth'n' to complain of." | |
Well, the king he talked him blind; so at last he give in, and said all | |
right, but said he believed it was blamed foolishness to stay, and that | |
doctor hanging over them. But the king says: | |
"Cuss the doctor! What do we k'yer for him? Hain't we got all the | |
fools in town on our side? And ain't that a big enough majority in any | |
town?" | |
So they got ready to go down stairs again. The duke says: | |
"I don't think we put that money in a good place." | |
That cheered me up. I'd begun to think I warn't going to get a hint of | |
no kind to help me. The king says: | |
"Why?" | |
"Because Mary Jane 'll be in mourning from this out; and first you know | |
the nigger that does up the rooms will get an order to box these duds | |
up and put 'em away; and do you reckon a nigger can run across money and | |
not borrow some of it?" | |
"Your head's level agin, duke," says the king; and he comes a-fumbling | |
under the curtain two or three foot from where I was. I stuck tight to | |
the wall and kept mighty still, though quivery; and I wondered what them | |
fellows would say to me if they catched me; and I tried to think what | |
I'd better do if they did catch me. But the king he got the bag before | |
I could think more than about a half a thought, and he never suspicioned | |
I was around. They took and shoved the bag through a rip in the straw | |
tick that was under the feather-bed, and crammed it in a foot or two | |
amongst the straw and said it was all right now, because a nigger only | |
makes up the feather-bed, and don't turn over the straw tick only about | |
twice a year, and so it warn't in no danger of getting stole now. | |
But I knowed better. I had it out of there before they was half-way | |
down stairs. I groped along up to my cubby, and hid it there till I | |
could get a chance to do better. I judged I better hide it outside | |
of the house somewheres, because if they missed it they would give the | |
house a good ransacking: I knowed that very well. Then I turned in, | |
with my clothes all on; but I couldn't a gone to sleep if I'd a wanted | |
to, I was in such a sweat to get through with the business. By and by I | |
heard the king and the duke come up; so I rolled off my pallet and laid | |
with my chin at the top of my ladder, and waited to see if anything was | |
going to happen. But nothing did. | |
So I held on till all the late sounds had quit and the early ones hadn't | |
begun yet; and then I slipped down the ladder. | |
CHAPTER XXVII. | |
I crept to their doors and listened; they was snoring. So I tiptoed | |
along, and got down stairs all right. There warn't a sound anywheres. | |
I peeped through a crack of the dining-room door, and see the men that | |
was watching the corpse all sound asleep on their chairs. The door | |
was open into the parlor, where the corpse was laying, and there was a | |
candle in both rooms. I passed along, and the parlor door was open; but | |
I see there warn't nobody in there but the remainders of Peter; so I | |
shoved on by; but the front door was locked, and the key wasn't there. | |
Just then I heard somebody coming down the stairs, back behind me. I | |
run in the parlor and took a swift look around, and the only place I | |
see to hide the bag was in the coffin. The lid was shoved along about | |
a foot, showing the dead man's face down in there, with a wet cloth over | |
it, and his shroud on. I tucked the money-bag in under the lid, just | |
down beyond where his hands was crossed, which made me creep, they was | |
so cold, and then I run back across the room and in behind the door. | |
The person coming was Mary Jane. She went to the coffin, very soft, and | |
kneeled down and looked in; then she put up her handkerchief, and I see | |
she begun to cry, though I couldn't hear her, and her back was to me. I | |
slid out, and as I passed the dining-room I thought I'd make sure them | |
watchers hadn't seen me; so I looked through the crack, and everything | |
was all right. They hadn't stirred. | |
I slipped up to bed, feeling ruther blue, on accounts of the thing | |
playing out that way after I had took so much trouble and run so much | |
resk about it. Says I, if it could stay where it is, all right; because | |
when we get down the river a hundred mile or two I could write back to | |
Mary Jane, and she could dig him up again and get it; but that ain't the | |
thing that's going to happen; the thing that's going to happen is, the | |
money 'll be found when they come to screw on the lid. Then the king | |
'll get it again, and it 'll be a long day before he gives anybody | |
another chance to smouch it from him. Of course I wanted to slide | |
down and get it out of there, but I dasn't try it. Every minute it was | |
getting earlier now, and pretty soon some of them watchers would begin | |
to stir, and I might get catchedcatched with six thousand dollars in my | |
hands that nobody hadn't hired me to take care of. I don't wish to be | |
mixed up in no such business as that, I says to myself. | |
When I got down stairs in the morning the parlor was shut up, and the | |
watchers was gone. There warn't nobody around but the family and the | |
widow Bartley and our tribe. I watched their faces to see if anything | |
had been happening, but I couldn't tell. | |
Towards the middle of the day the undertaker come with his man, and they | |
set the coffin in the middle of the room on a couple of chairs, and then | |
set all our chairs in rows, and borrowed more from the neighbors till | |
the hall and the parlor and the dining-room was full. I see the coffin | |
lid was the way it was before, but I dasn't go to look in under it, with | |
folks around. | |
Then the people begun to flock in, and the beats and the girls took | |
seats in the front row at the head of the coffin, and for a half an hour | |
the people filed around slow, in single rank, and looked down at the | |
dead man's face a minute, and some dropped in a tear, and it was | |
all very still and solemn, only the girls and the beats holding | |
handkerchiefs to their eyes and keeping their heads bent, and sobbing a | |
little. There warn't no other sound but the scraping of the feet on | |
the floor and blowing nosesbecause people always blows them more at a | |
funeral than they do at other places except church. | |
When the place was packed full the undertaker he slid around in his | |
black gloves with his softy soothering ways, putting on the last | |
touches, and getting people and things all ship-shape and comfortable, | |
and making no more sound than a cat. He never spoke; he moved people | |
around, he squeezed in late ones, he opened up passageways, and done | |
it with nods, and signs with his hands. Then he took his place over | |
against the wall. He was the softest, glidingest, stealthiest man I ever | |
see; and there warn't no more smile to him than there is to a ham. | |
They had borrowed a melodeuma sick one; and when everything was ready | |
a young woman set down and worked it, and it was pretty skreeky and | |
colicky, and everybody joined in and sung, and Peter was the only one | |
that had a good thing, according to my notion. Then the Reverend Hobson | |
opened up, slow and solemn, and begun to talk; and straight off the most | |
outrageous row busted out in the cellar a body ever heard; it was only | |
one dog, but he made a most powerful racket, and he kept it up right | |
along; the parson he had to stand there, over the coffin, and waityou | |
couldn't hear yourself think. It was right down awkward, and nobody | |
didn't seem to know what to do. But pretty soon they see that | |
long-legged undertaker make a sign to the preacher as much as to say, | |
"Don't you worryjust depend on me." Then he stooped down and begun | |
to glide along the wall, just his shoulders showing over the people's | |
heads. So he glided along, and the powwow and racket getting more and | |
more outrageous all the time; and at last, when he had gone around two | |
sides of the room, he disappears down cellar. Then in about two seconds | |
we heard a whack, and the dog he finished up with a most amazing howl or | |
two, and then everything was dead still, and the parson begun his solemn | |
talk where he left off. In a minute or two here comes this undertaker's | |
back and shoulders gliding along the wall again; and so he glided and | |
glided around three sides of the room, and then rose up, and shaded his | |
mouth with his hands, and stretched his neck out towards the preacher, | |
over the people's heads, and says, in a kind of a coarse whisper, "He | |
had a rat!" Then he drooped down and glided along the wall again to | |
his place. You could see it was a great satisfaction to the people, | |
because naturally they wanted to know. A little thing like that don't | |
cost nothing, and it's just the little things that makes a man to be | |
looked up to and liked. There warn't no more popular man in town than | |
what that undertaker was. | |
Well, the funeral sermon was very good, but pison long and tiresome; and | |
then the king he shoved in and got off some of his usual rubbage, and | |
at last the job was through, and the undertaker begun to sneak up on the | |
coffin with his screw-driver. I was in a sweat then, and watched him | |
pretty keen. But he never meddled at all; just slid the lid along as | |
soft as mush, and screwed it down tight and fast. So there I was! I | |
didn't know whether the money was in there or not. So, says I, s'pose | |
somebody has hogged that bag on the sly?now how do I know whether | |
to write to Mary Jane or not? S'pose she dug him up and didn't find | |
nothing, what would she think of me? Blame it, I says, I might get | |
hunted up and jailed; I'd better lay low and keep dark, and not write at | |
all; the thing's awful mixed now; trying to better it, I've worsened it | |
a hundred times, and I wish to goodness I'd just let it alone, dad fetch | |
the whole business! | |
They buried him, and we come back home, and I went to watching faces | |
againI couldn't help it, and I couldn't rest easy. But nothing come of | |
it; the faces didn't tell me nothing. | |
The king he visited around in the evening, and sweetened everybody up, | |
and made himself ever so friendly; and he give out the idea that his | |
congregation over in England would be in a sweat about him, so he must | |
hurry and settle up the estate right away and leave for home. He was | |
very sorry he was so pushed, and so was everybody; they wished he could | |
stay longer, but they said they could see it couldn't be done. And he | |
said of course him and William would take the girls home with them; and | |
that pleased everybody too, because then the girls would be well fixed | |
and amongst their own relations; and it pleased the girls, tootickled | |
them so they clean forgot they ever had a trouble in the world; and told | |
him to sell out as quick as he wanted to, they would be ready. Them | |
poor things was that glad and happy it made my heart ache to see them | |
getting fooled and lied to so, but I didn't see no safe way for me to | |
chip in and change the general tune. | |
Well, blamed if the king didn't bill the house and the niggers and all | |
the property for auction straight offsale two days after the funeral; | |
but anybody could buy private beforehand if they wanted to. | |
So the next day after the funeral, along about noon-time, the girls' joy | |
got the first jolt. A couple of nigger traders come along, and the king | |
sold them the niggers reasonable, for three-day drafts as they called | |
it, and away they went, the two sons up the river to Memphis, and their | |
mother down the river to Orleans. I thought them poor girls and them | |
niggers would break their hearts for grief; they cried around each | |
other, and took on so it most made me down sick to see it. The girls | |
said they hadn't ever dreamed of seeing the family separated or sold | |
away from the town. I can't ever get it out of my memory, the sight of | |
them poor miserable girls and niggers hanging around each other's necks | |
and crying; and I reckon I couldn't a stood it all, but would a had | |
to bust out and tell on our gang if I hadn't knowed the sale warn't no | |
account and the niggers would be back home in a week or two. | |
The thing made a big stir in the town, too, and a good many come out | |
flatfooted and said it was scandalous to separate the mother and the | |
children that way. It injured the frauds some; but the old fool he | |
bulled right along, spite of all the duke could say or do, and I tell | |
you the duke was powerful uneasy. | |
Next day was auction day. About broad day in the morning the king and | |
the duke come up in the garret and woke me up, and I see by their look | |
that there was trouble. The king says: | |
"Was you in my room night before last?" | |
"No, your majesty"which was the way I always called him when nobody but | |
our gang warn't around. | |
"Was you in there yisterday er last night?" | |
"No, your majesty." | |
"Honor bright, nowno lies." | |
"Honor bright, your majesty, I'm telling you the truth. I hain't been | |
a-near your room since Miss Mary Jane took you and the duke and showed | |
it to you." | |
The duke says: | |
"Have you seen anybody else go in there?" | |
"No, your grace, not as I remember, I believe." | |
"Stop and think." | |
I studied awhile and see my chance; then I says: | |
"Well, I see the niggers go in there several times." | |
Both of them gave a little jump, and looked like they hadn't ever | |
expected it, and then like they had. Then the duke says: | |
"What, all of them?" | |
"Noleastways, not all at oncethat is, I don't think I ever see them | |
all come out at once but just one time." | |
"Hello! When was that?" | |
"It was the day we had the funeral. In the morning. It warn't early, | |
because I overslept. I was just starting down the ladder, and I see | |
them." | |
"Well, go on, go on! What did they do? How'd they act?" | |
"They didn't do nothing. And they didn't act anyway much, as fur as I | |
see. They tiptoed away; so I seen, easy enough, that they'd shoved in | |
there to do up your majesty's room, or something, s'posing you was up; | |
and found you warn't up, and so they was hoping to slide out of the | |
way of trouble without waking you up, if they hadn't already waked you | |
up." | |
"Great guns, this is a go!" says the king; and both of them looked | |
pretty sick and tolerable silly. They stood there a-thinking and | |
scratching their heads a minute, and the duke he bust into a kind of a | |
little raspy chuckle, and says: | |
"It does beat all how neat the niggers played their hand. They let on | |
to be sorry they was going out of this region! And I believed they | |
was sorry, and so did you, and so did everybody. Don't ever tell me | |
any more that a nigger ain't got any histrionic talent. Why, the way | |
they played that thing it would fool anybody. In my opinion, there's | |
a fortune in 'em. If I had capital and a theater, I wouldn't want a | |
better lay-out than thatand here we've gone and sold 'em for a song. | |
Yes, and ain't privileged to sing the song yet. Say, where is that | |
songthat draft?" | |
"In the bank for to be collected. Where would it be?" | |
"Well, that's all right then, thank goodness." | |
Says I, kind of timid-like: | |
"Is something gone wrong?" | |
The king whirls on me and rips out: | |
"None o' your business! You keep your head shet, and mind y'r own | |
affairsif you got any. Long as you're in this town don't you forgit | |
thatyou hear?" Then he says to the duke, "We got to jest swaller it | |
and say noth'n': mum's the word for us." | |
As they was starting down the ladder the duke he chuckles again, and | |
says: | |
"Quick sales and small profits! It's a good businessyes." | |
The king snarls around on him and says: | |
"I was trying to do for the best in sellin' 'em out so quick. If the | |
profits has turned out to be none, lackin' considable, and none to | |
carry, is it my fault any more'n it's yourn?" | |
"Well, they'd be in this house yet and we wouldn't if I could a got | |
my advice listened to." | |
The king sassed back as much as was safe for him, and then swapped | |
around and lit into me again. He give me down the banks for not | |
coming and telling him I see the niggers come out of his room acting | |
that waysaid any fool would a knowed something was up. And then | |
waltzed in and cussed himself awhile, and said it all come of him not | |
laying late and taking his natural rest that morning, and he'd be | |
blamed if he'd ever do it again. So they went off a-jawing; and I felt | |
dreadful glad I'd worked it all off on to the niggers, and yet hadn't | |
done the niggers no harm by it. | |
CHAPTER XXVIII. | |
BY and by it was getting-up time. So I come down the ladder and started | |
for down-stairs; but as I come to the girls' room the door was open, and | |
I see Mary Jane setting by her old hair trunk, which was open and she'd | |
been packing things in itgetting ready to go to England. But she | |
had stopped now with a folded gown in her lap, and had her face in her | |
hands, crying. I felt awful bad to see it; of course anybody would. I | |
went in there and says: | |
"Miss Mary Jane, you can't a-bear to see people in trouble, and I | |
can'tmost always. Tell me about it." | |
So she done it. And it was the niggersI just expected it. She said | |
the beautiful trip to England was most about spoiled for her; she didn't | |
know how she was ever going to be happy there, knowing the mother and | |
the children warn't ever going to see each other no moreand then busted | |
out bitterer than ever, and flung up her hands, and says: | |
"Oh, dear, dear, to think they ain't ever going to see each other any | |
more!" | |
"But they willand inside of two weeksand I know it!" says I. | |
Laws, it was out before I could think! And before I could budge she | |
throws her arms around my neck and told me to say it again, say it | |
again, say it again! | |
I see I had spoke too sudden and said too much, and was in a close | |
place. I asked her to let me think a minute; and she set there, very | |
impatient and excited and handsome, but looking kind of happy and | |
eased-up, like a person that's had a tooth pulled out. So I went to | |
studying it out. I says to myself, I reckon a body that ups and tells | |
the truth when he is in a tight place is taking considerable many resks, | |
though I ain't had no experience, and can't say for certain; but it | |
looks so to me, anyway; and yet here's a case where I'm blest if it | |
don't look to me like the truth is better and actuly safer than a lie. | |
I must lay it by in my mind, and think it over some time or other, it's | |
so kind of strange and unregular. I never see nothing like it. Well, I | |
says to myself at last, I'm a-going to chance it; I'll up and tell the | |
truth this time, though it does seem most like setting down on a kag of | |
powder and touching it off just to see where you'll go to. Then I says: | |
"Miss Mary Jane, is there any place out of town a little ways where you | |
could go and stay three or four days?" | |
"Yes; Mr. Lothrop's. Why?" | |
"Never mind why yet. If I'll tell you how I know the niggers will see | |
each other again inside of two weekshere in this houseand prove how | |
I know itwill you go to Mr. Lothrop's and stay four days?" | |
"Four days!" she says; "I'll stay a year!" | |
"All right," I says, "I don't want nothing more out of you than just | |
your wordI druther have it than another man's kiss-the-Bible." She | |
smiled and reddened up very sweet, and I says, "If you don't mind it, | |
I'll shut the doorand bolt it." | |
Then I come back and set down again, and says: | |
"Don't you holler. Just set still and take it like a man. I got to | |
tell the truth, and you want to brace up, Miss Mary, because it's a | |
bad kind, and going to be hard to take, but there ain't no help for | |
it. These uncles of yourn ain't no uncles at all; they're a couple of | |
fraudsregular dead-beats. There, now we're over the worst of it, you | |
can stand the rest middling easy." | |
It jolted her up like everything, of course; but I was over the shoal | |
water now, so I went right along, her eyes a-blazing higher and higher | |
all the time, and told her every blame thing, from where we first struck | |
that young fool going up to the steamboat, clear through to where she | |
flung herself on to the king's breast at the front door and he kissed | |
her sixteen or seventeen timesand then up she jumps, with her face | |
afire like sunset, and says: | |
"The brute! Come, don't waste a minutenot a secondwe'll have them | |
tarred and feathered, and flung in the river!" | |
Says I: | |
"Cert'nly. But do you mean before you go to Mr. Lothrop's, or" | |
"Oh," she says, "what am I thinking about!" she says, and set right | |
down again. "Don't mind what I saidplease don'tyou won't, now, | |
will you?" Laying her silky hand on mine in that kind of a way that | |
I said I would die first. "I never thought, I was so stirred up," she | |
says; "now go on, and I won't do so any more. You tell me what to do, | |
and whatever you say I'll do it." | |
"Well," I says, "it's a rough gang, them two frauds, and I'm fixed so | |
I got to travel with them a while longer, whether I want to or notI | |
druther not tell you why; and if you was to blow on them this town would | |
get me out of their claws, and I'd be all right; but there'd be another | |
person that you don't know about who'd be in big trouble. Well, we | |
got to save him, hain't we? Of course. Well, then, we won't blow on | |
them." | |
Saying them words put a good idea in my head. I see how maybe I could | |
get me and Jim rid of the frauds; get them jailed here, and then leave. | |
But I didn't want to run the raft in the daytime without anybody aboard | |
to answer questions but me; so I didn't want the plan to begin working | |
till pretty late to-night. I says: | |
"Miss Mary Jane, I'll tell you what we'll do, and you won't have to stay | |
at Mr. Lothrop's so long, nuther. How fur is it?" | |
"A little short of four milesright out in the country, back here." | |
"Well, that 'll answer. Now you go along out there, and lay low | |
till nine or half-past to-night, and then get them to fetch you home | |
againtell them you've thought of something. If you get here before | |
eleven put a candle in this window, and if I don't turn up wait till | |
eleven, and then if I don't turn up it means I'm gone, and out of the | |
way, and safe. Then you come out and spread the news around, and get | |
these beats jailed." | |
"Good," she says, "I'll do it." | |
"And if it just happens so that I don't get away, but get took up along | |
with them, you must up and say I told you the whole thing beforehand, | |
and you must stand by me all you can." | |
"Stand by you! indeed I will. They sha'n't touch a hair of your head!" | |
she says, and I see her nostrils spread and her eyes snap when she said | |
it, too. | |
"If I get away I sha'n't be here," I says, "to prove these rapscallions | |
ain't your uncles, and I couldn't do it if I was here. I could swear | |
they was beats and bummers, that's all, though that's worth something. | |
Well, there's others can do that better than what I can, and they're | |
people that ain't going to be doubted as quick as I'd be. I'll tell you | |
how to find them. Gimme a pencil and a piece of paper. There'Royal | |
Nonesuch, Bricksville.' Put it away, and don't lose it. When the | |
court wants to find out something about these two, let them send up to | |
Bricksville and say they've got the men that played the Royal Nonesuch, | |
and ask for some witnesseswhy, you'll have that entire town down here | |
before you can hardly wink, Miss Mary. And they'll come a-biling, too." | |
I judged we had got everything fixed about right now. So I says: | |
"Just let the auction go right along, and don't worry. Nobody don't | |
have to pay for the things they buy till a whole day after the auction | |
on accounts of the short notice, and they ain't going out of this till | |
they get that money; and the way we've fixed it the sale ain't going to | |
count, and they ain't going to get no money. It's just like the way | |
it was with the niggersit warn't no sale, and the niggers will be | |
back before long. Why, they can't collect the money for the niggers | |
yetthey're in the worst kind of a fix, Miss Mary." | |
"Well," she says, "I'll run down to breakfast now, and then I'll start | |
straight for Mr. Lothrop's." | |
"'Deed, that ain't the ticket, Miss Mary Jane," I says, "by no manner | |
of means; go before breakfast." | |
"Why?" | |
"What did you reckon I wanted you to go at all for, Miss Mary?" | |
"Well, I never thoughtand come to think, I don't know. What was it?" | |
"Why, it's because you ain't one of these leather-face people. I don't | |
want no better book than what your face is. A body can set down and | |
read it off like coarse print. Do you reckon you can go and face your | |
uncles when they come to kiss you good-morning, and never" | |
"There, there, don't! Yes, I'll go before breakfastI'll be glad to. | |
And leave my sisters with them?" | |
"Yes; never mind about them. They've got to stand it yet a while. They | |
might suspicion something if all of you was to go. I don't want you to | |
see them, nor your sisters, nor nobody in this town; if a neighbor was | |
to ask how is your uncles this morning your face would tell something. | |
No, you go right along, Miss Mary Jane, and I'll fix it with all of | |
them. I'll tell Miss Susan to give your love to your uncles and say | |
you've went away for a few hours for to get a little rest and change, or | |
to see a friend, and you'll be back to-night or early in the morning." | |
"Gone to see a friend is all right, but I won't have my love given to | |
them." | |
"Well, then, it sha'n't be." It was well enough to tell her sono | |
harm in it. It was only a little thing to do, and no trouble; and it's | |
the little things that smooths people's roads the most, down here below; | |
it would make Mary Jane comfortable, and it wouldn't cost nothing. Then | |
I says: "There's one more thingthat bag of money." | |
"Well, they've got that; and it makes me feel pretty silly to think | |
how they got it." | |
"No, you're out, there. They hain't got it." | |
"Why, who's got it?" | |
"I wish I knowed, but I don't. I had it, because I stole it from | |
them; and I stole it to give to you; and I know where I hid it, but I'm | |
afraid it ain't there no more. I'm awful sorry, Miss Mary Jane, I'm | |
just as sorry as I can be; but I done the best I could; I did honest. I | |
come nigh getting caught, and I had to shove it into the first place I | |
come to, and runand it warn't a good place." | |
"Oh, stop blaming yourselfit's too bad to do it, and I won't allow | |
ityou couldn't help it; it wasn't your fault. Where did you hide it?" | |
I didn't want to set her to thinking about her troubles again; and I | |
couldn't seem to get my mouth to tell her what would make her see that | |
corpse laying in the coffin with that bag of money on his stomach. So | |
for a minute I didn't say nothing; then I says: | |
"I'd ruther not tell you where I put it, Miss Mary Jane, if you don't | |
mind letting me off; but I'll write it for you on a piece of paper, and | |
you can read it along the road to Mr. Lothrop's, if you want to. Do you | |
reckon that 'll do?" | |
"Oh, yes." | |
So I wrote: "I put it in the coffin. It was in there when you was | |
crying there, away in the night. I was behind the door, and I was | |
mighty sorry for you, Miss Mary Jane." | |
It made my eyes water a little to remember her crying there all by | |
herself in the night, and them devils laying there right under her own | |
roof, shaming her and robbing her; and when I folded it up and give it | |
to her I see the water come into her eyes, too; and she shook me by the | |
hand, hard, and says: | |
"Good-bye. I'm going to do everything just as you've told me; and if | |
I don't ever see you again, I sha'n't ever forget you and I'll think of | |
you a many and a many a time, and I'll pray for you, too!"and she was | |
gone. | |
Pray for me! I reckoned if she knowed me she'd take a job that was more | |
nearer her size. But I bet she done it, just the sameshe was just that | |
kind. She had the grit to pray for Judus if she took the notionthere | |
warn't no back-down to her, I judge. You may say what you want to, but | |
in my opinion she had more sand in her than any girl I ever see; in | |
my opinion she was just full of sand. It sounds like flattery, but it | |
ain't no flattery. And when it comes to beautyand goodness, tooshe | |
lays over them all. I hain't ever seen her since that time that I see | |
her go out of that door; no, I hain't ever seen her since, but I reckon | |
I've thought of her a many and a many a million times, and of her saying | |
she would pray for me; and if ever I'd a thought it would do any good | |
for me to pray for her, blamed if I wouldn't a done it or bust. | |
Well, Mary Jane she lit out the back way, I reckon; because nobody see | |
her go. When I struck Susan and the hare-lip, I says: | |
"What's the name of them people over on t'other side of the river that | |
you all goes to see sometimes?" | |
They says: | |
"There's several; but it's the Proctors, mainly." | |
"That's the name," I says; "I most forgot it. Well, Miss Mary Jane she | |
told me to tell you she's gone over there in a dreadful hurryone of | |
them's sick." | |
"Which one?" | |
"I don't know; leastways, I kinder forget; but I thinks it's" | |
"Sakes alive, I hope it ain't Hanner?" | |
"I'm sorry to say it," I says, "but Hanner's the very one." | |
"My goodness, and she so well only last week! Is she took bad?" | |
"It ain't no name for it. They set up with her all night, Miss Mary | |
Jane said, and they don't think she'll last many hours." | |
"Only think of that, now! What's the matter with her?" | |
I couldn't think of anything reasonable, right off that way, so I says: | |
"Mumps." | |
"Mumps your granny! They don't set up with people that's got the | |
mumps." | |
"They don't, don't they? You better bet they do with these mumps. | |
These mumps is different. It's a new kind, Miss Mary Jane said." | |
"How's it a new kind?" | |
"Because it's mixed up with other things." | |
"What other things?" | |
"Well, measles, and whooping-cough, and erysiplas, and consumption, and | |
yaller janders, and brain-fever, and I don't know what all." | |
"My land! And they call it the mumps?" | |
"That's what Miss Mary Jane said." | |
"Well, what in the nation do they call it the mumps for?" | |
"Why, because it is the mumps. That's what it starts with." | |
"Well, ther' ain't no sense in it. A body might stump his toe, and take | |
pison, and fall down the well, and break his neck, and bust his brains | |
out, and somebody come along and ask what killed him, and some numskull | |
up and say, 'Why, he stumped his toe.' Would ther' be any sense | |
in that? No. And ther' ain't no sense in this, nuther. Is it | |
ketching?" | |
"Is it ketching? Why, how you talk. Is a harrow catchingin the | |
dark? If you don't hitch on to one tooth, you're bound to on another, | |
ain't you? And you can't get away with that tooth without fetching the | |
whole harrow along, can you? Well, these kind of mumps is a kind of a | |
harrow, as you may sayand it ain't no slouch of a harrow, nuther, you | |
come to get it hitched on good." | |
"Well, it's awful, I think," says the hare-lip. "I'll go to Uncle | |
Harvey and" | |
"Oh, yes," I says, "I would. Of course I would. I wouldn't lose no | |
time." | |
"Well, why wouldn't you?" | |
"Just look at it a minute, and maybe you can see. Hain't your uncles | |
obleegd to get along home to England as fast as they can? And do you | |
reckon they'd be mean enough to go off and leave you to go all that | |
journey by yourselves? you know they'll wait for you. So fur, so | |
good. Your uncle Harvey's a preacher, ain't he? Very well, then; is a | |
preacher going to deceive a steamboat clerk? is he going to deceive | |
a ship clerk?so as to get them to let Miss Mary Jane go aboard? Now | |
you know he ain't. What will he do, then? Why, he'll say, 'It's a | |
great pity, but my church matters has got to get along the best way they | |
can; for my niece has been exposed to the dreadful pluribus-unum mumps, | |
and so it's my bounden duty to set down here and wait the three months | |
it takes to show on her if she's got it.' But never mind, if you think | |
it's best to tell your uncle Harvey" | |
"Shucks, and stay fooling around here when we could all be having good | |
times in England whilst we was waiting to find out whether Mary Jane's | |
got it or not? Why, you talk like a muggins." | |
"Well, anyway, maybe you'd better tell some of the neighbors." | |
"Listen at that, now. You do beat all for natural stupidness. Can't | |
you see that they'd go and tell? Ther' ain't no way but just to not | |
tell anybody at all." | |
"Well, maybe you're rightyes, I judge you are right." | |
"But I reckon we ought to tell Uncle Harvey she's gone out a while, | |
anyway, so he won't be uneasy about her?" | |
"Yes, Miss Mary Jane she wanted you to do that. She says, 'Tell them to | |
give Uncle Harvey and William my love and a kiss, and say I've run over | |
the river to see Mr.'Mr.what is the name of that rich family your | |
uncle Peter used to think so much of?I mean the one that" | |
"Why, you must mean the Apthorps, ain't it?" | |
"Of course; bother them kind of names, a body can't ever seem to | |
remember them, half the time, somehow. Yes, she said, say she has run | |
over for to ask the Apthorps to be sure and come to the auction and buy | |
this house, because she allowed her uncle Peter would ruther they had | |
it than anybody else; and she's going to stick to them till they say | |
they'll come, and then, if she ain't too tired, she's coming home; and | |
if she is, she'll be home in the morning anyway. She said, don't say | |
nothing about the Proctors, but only about the Apthorpswhich 'll be | |
perfectly true, because she is going there to speak about their buying | |
the house; I know it, because she told me so herself." | |
"All right," they said, and cleared out to lay for their uncles, and | |
give them the love and the kisses, and tell them the message. | |
Everything was all right now. The girls wouldn't say nothing because | |
they wanted to go to England; and the king and the duke would ruther | |
Mary Jane was off working for the auction than around in reach of | |
Doctor Robinson. I felt very good; I judged I had done it pretty neatI | |
reckoned Tom Sawyer couldn't a done it no neater himself. Of course he | |
would a throwed more style into it, but I can't do that very handy, not | |
being brung up to it. | |
Well, they held the auction in the public square, along towards the end | |
of the afternoon, and it strung along, and strung along, and the old man | |
he was on hand and looking his level pisonest, up there longside of the | |
auctioneer, and chipping in a little Scripture now and then, or a little | |
goody-goody saying of some kind, and the duke he was around goo-gooing | |
for sympathy all he knowed how, and just spreading himself generly. | |
But by and by the thing dragged through, and everything was | |
soldeverything but a little old trifling lot in the graveyard. So | |
they'd got to work that offI never see such a girafft as the king was | |
for wanting to swallow everything. Well, whilst they was at it a | |
steamboat landed, and in about two minutes up comes a crowd a-whooping | |
and yelling and laughing and carrying on, and singing out: | |
"Here's your opposition line! here's your two sets o' heirs to old | |
Peter Wilksand you pays your money and you takes your choice!" | |
CHAPTER XXIX. | |
THEY was fetching a very nice-looking old gentleman along, and a | |
nice-looking younger one, with his right arm in a sling. And, my souls, | |
how the people yelled and laughed, and kept it up. But I didn't see no | |
joke about it, and I judged it would strain the duke and the king some | |
to see any. I reckoned they'd turn pale. But no, nary a pale did | |
they turn. The duke he never let on he suspicioned what was up, but | |
just went a goo-gooing around, happy and satisfied, like a jug that's | |
googling out buttermilk; and as for the king, he just gazed and gazed | |
down sorrowful on them new-comers like it give him the stomach-ache in | |
his very heart to think there could be such frauds and rascals in the | |
world. Oh, he done it admirable. Lots of the principal people | |
gethered around the king, to let him see they was on his side. That old | |
gentleman that had just come looked all puzzled to death. Pretty | |
soon he begun to speak, and I see straight off he pronounced like an | |
Englishmannot the king's way, though the king's was pretty good for | |
an imitation. I can't give the old gent's words, nor I can't imitate | |
him; but he turned around to the crowd, and says, about like this: | |
"This is a surprise to me which I wasn't looking for; and I'll | |
acknowledge, candid and frank, I ain't very well fixed to meet it and | |
answer it; for my brother and me has had misfortunes; he's broke his | |
arm, and our baggage got put off at a town above here last night in the | |
night by a mistake. I am Peter Wilks' brother Harvey, and this is his | |
brother William, which can't hear nor speakand can't even make signs to | |
amount to much, now't he's only got one hand to work them with. We are | |
who we say we are; and in a day or two, when I get the baggage, I can | |
prove it. But up till then I won't say nothing more, but go to the hotel | |
and wait." | |
So him and the new dummy started off; and the king he laughs, and | |
blethers out: | |
"Broke his armvery likely, ain't it?and very convenient, too, | |
for a fraud that's got to make signs, and ain't learnt how. Lost | |
their baggage! That's mighty good!and mighty ingeniousunder the | |
circumstances!" | |
So he laughed again; and so did everybody else, except three or four, | |
or maybe half a dozen. One of these was that doctor; another one was | |
a sharp-looking gentleman, with a carpet-bag of the old-fashioned kind | |
made out of carpet-stuff, that had just come off of the steamboat and | |
was talking to him in a low voice, and glancing towards the king now and | |
then and nodding their headsit was Levi Bell, the lawyer that was gone | |
up to Louisville; and another one was a big rough husky that come along | |
and listened to all the old gentleman said, and was listening to the | |
king now. And when the king got done this husky up and says: | |
"Say, looky here; if you are Harvey Wilks, when'd you come to this | |
town?" | |
"The day before the funeral, friend," says the king. | |
"But what time o' day?" | |
"In the evenin''bout an hour er two before sundown." | |
"How'd you come?" | |
"I come down on the Susan Powell from Cincinnati." | |
"Well, then, how'd you come to be up at the Pint in the mornin'in a | |
canoe?" | |
"I warn't up at the Pint in the mornin'." | |
"It's a lie." | |
Several of them jumped for him and begged him not to talk that way to an | |
old man and a preacher. | |
"Preacher be hanged, he's a fraud and a liar. He was up at the Pint | |
that mornin'. I live up there, don't I? Well, I was up there, and | |
he was up there. I see him there. He come in a canoe, along with Tim | |
Collins and a boy." | |
The doctor he up and says: | |
"Would you know the boy again if you was to see him, Hines?" | |
"I reckon I would, but I don't know. Why, yonder he is, now. I know | |
him perfectly easy." | |
It was me he pointed at. The doctor says: | |
"Neighbors, I don't know whether the new couple is frauds or not; but if | |
these two ain't frauds, I am an idiot, that's all. I think it's our | |
duty to see that they don't get away from here till we've looked into | |
this thing. Come along, Hines; come along, the rest of you. We'll take | |
these fellows to the tavern and affront them with t'other couple, and I | |
reckon we'll find out something before we get through." | |
It was nuts for the crowd, though maybe not for the king's friends; so | |
we all started. It was about sundown. The doctor he led me along by | |
the hand, and was plenty kind enough, but he never let go my hand. | |
We all got in a big room in the hotel, and lit up some candles, and | |
fetched in the new couple. First, the doctor says: | |
"I don't wish to be too hard on these two men, but I think they're | |
frauds, and they may have complices that we don't know nothing about. | |
If they have, won't the complices get away with that bag of gold Peter | |
Wilks left? It ain't unlikely. If these men ain't frauds, they won't | |
object to sending for that money and letting us keep it till they prove | |
they're all rightain't that so?" | |
Everybody agreed to that. So I judged they had our gang in a pretty | |
tight place right at the outstart. But the king he only looked | |
sorrowful, and says: | |
"Gentlemen, I wish the money was there, for I ain't got no disposition | |
to throw anything in the way of a fair, open, out-and-out investigation | |
o' this misable business; but, alas, the money ain't there; you k'n send | |
and see, if you want to." | |
"Where is it, then?" | |
"Well, when my niece give it to me to keep for her I took and hid it | |
inside o' the straw tick o' my bed, not wishin' to bank it for the few | |
days we'd be here, and considerin' the bed a safe place, we not bein' | |
used to niggers, and suppos'n' 'em honest, like servants in England. | |
The niggers stole it the very next mornin' after I had went down | |
stairs; and when I sold 'em I hadn't missed the money yit, so they got | |
clean away with it. My servant here k'n tell you 'bout it, gentlemen." | |
The doctor and several said "Shucks!" and I see nobody didn't altogether | |
believe him. One man asked me if I see the niggers steal it. I said | |
no, but I see them sneaking out of the room and hustling away, and I | |
never thought nothing, only I reckoned they was afraid they had waked up | |
my master and was trying to get away before he made trouble with them. | |
That was all they asked me. Then the doctor whirls on me and says: | |
"Are you English, too?" | |
I says yes; and him and some others laughed, and said, "Stuff!" | |
Well, then they sailed in on the general investigation, and there we had | |
it, up and down, hour in, hour out, and nobody never said a word about | |
supper, nor ever seemed to think about itand so they kept it up, and | |
kept it up; and it was the worst mixed-up thing you ever see. They | |
made the king tell his yarn, and they made the old gentleman tell his'n; | |
and anybody but a lot of prejudiced chuckleheads would a seen that the | |
old gentleman was spinning truth and t'other one lies. And by and by | |
they had me up to tell what I knowed. The king he give me a left-handed | |
look out of the corner of his eye, and so I knowed enough to talk on the | |
right side. I begun to tell about Sheffield, and how we lived there, | |
and all about the English Wilkses, and so on; but I didn't get pretty | |
fur till the doctor begun to laugh; and Levi Bell, the lawyer, says: | |
"Set down, my boy; I wouldn't strain myself if I was you. I reckon | |
you ain't used to lying, it don't seem to come handy; what you want is | |
practice. You do it pretty awkward." | |
I didn't care nothing for the compliment, but I was glad to be let off, | |
anyway. | |
The doctor he started to say something, and turns and says: | |
"If you'd been in town at first, Levi Bell" The king broke in and | |
reached out his hand, and says: | |
"Why, is this my poor dead brother's old friend that he's wrote so often | |
about?" | |
The lawyer and him shook hands, and the lawyer smiled and looked | |
pleased, and they talked right along awhile, and then got to one side | |
and talked low; and at last the lawyer speaks up and says: | |
"That 'll fix it. I'll take the order and send it, along with your | |
brother's, and then they'll know it's all right." | |
So they got some paper and a pen, and the king he set down and twisted | |
his head to one side, and chawed his tongue, and scrawled off something; | |
and then they give the pen to the dukeand then for the first time the | |
duke looked sick. But he took the pen and wrote. So then the lawyer | |
turns to the new old gentleman and says: | |
"You and your brother please write a line or two and sign your names." | |
The old gentleman wrote, but nobody couldn't read it. The lawyer looked | |
powerful astonished, and says: | |
"Well, it beats me"and snaked a lot of old letters out of his pocket, | |
and examined them, and then examined the old man's writing, and then | |
them again; and then says: "These old letters is from Harvey Wilks; | |
and here's these two handwritings, and anybody can see they didn't | |
write them" (the king and the duke looked sold and foolish, I tell | |
you, to see how the lawyer had took them in), "and here's this old | |
gentleman's hand writing, and anybody can tell, easy enough, he didn't | |
write themfact is, the scratches he makes ain't properly writing at | |
all. Now, here's some letters from" | |
The new old gentleman says: | |
"If you please, let me explain. Nobody can read my hand but my brother | |
thereso he copies for me. It's his hand you've got there, not mine." | |
"Well!" says the lawyer, "this is a state of things. I've got some | |
of William's letters, too; so if you'll get him to write a line or so we | |
can com" | |
"He can't write with his left hand," says the old gentleman. "If he | |
could use his right hand, you would see that he wrote his own letters | |
and mine too. Look at both, pleasethey're by the same hand." | |
The lawyer done it, and says: | |
"I believe it's soand if it ain't so, there's a heap stronger | |
resemblance than I'd noticed before, anyway. Well, well, well! I | |
thought we was right on the track of a solution, but it's gone to grass, | |
partly. But anyway, one thing is provedthese two ain't either of 'em | |
Wilkses"and he wagged his head towards the king and the duke. | |
Well, what do you think? That muleheaded old fool wouldn't give in | |
then! Indeed he wouldn't. Said it warn't no fair test. Said his | |
brother William was the cussedest joker in the world, and hadn't tried | |
to writehe see William was going to play one of his jokes the minute | |
he put the pen to paper. And so he warmed up and went warbling and | |
warbling right along till he was actuly beginning to believe what he was | |
saying himself; but pretty soon the new gentleman broke in, and says: | |
"I've thought of something. Is there anybody here that helped to lay | |
out my brhelped to lay out the late Peter Wilks for burying?" | |
"Yes," says somebody, "me and Ab Turner done it. We're both here." | |
Then the old man turns towards the king, and says: | |
"Perhaps this gentleman can tell me what was tattooed on his breast?" | |
Blamed if the king didn't have to brace up mighty quick, or he'd a | |
squshed down like a bluff bank that the river has cut under, it took | |
him so sudden; and, mind you, it was a thing that was calculated to make | |
most anybody sqush to get fetched such a solid one as that without any | |
notice, because how was he going to know what was tattooed on the man? | |
He whitened a little; he couldn't help it; and it was mighty still in | |
there, and everybody bending a little forwards and gazing at him. Says | |
I to myself, now he'll throw up the spongethere ain't no more use. | |
Well, did he? A body can't hardly believe it, but he didn't. I reckon | |
he thought he'd keep the thing up till he tired them people out, so | |
they'd thin out, and him and the duke could break loose and get away. | |
Anyway, he set there, and pretty soon he begun to smile, and says: | |
"Mf! It's a very tough question, ain't it! yes, sir, I k'n | |
tell you what's tattooed on his breast. It's jest a small, thin, blue | |
arrowthat's what it is; and if you don't look clost, you can't see it. | |
now what do you sayhey?" | |
Well, I never see anything like that old blister for clean out-and-out | |
cheek. | |
The new old gentleman turns brisk towards Ab Turner and his pard, and | |
his eye lights up like he judged he'd got the king this time, and | |
says: | |
"Thereyou've heard what he said! Was there any such mark on Peter | |
Wilks' breast?" | |
Both of them spoke up and says: | |
"We didn't see no such mark." | |
"Good!" says the old gentleman. "Now, what you did see on his breast | |
was a small dim P, and a B (which is an initial he dropped when he was | |
young), and a W, with dashes between them, so: PBW"and he marked | |
them that way on a piece of paper. "Come, ain't that what you saw?" | |
Both of them spoke up again, and says: | |
"No, we didn't. We never seen any marks at all." | |
Well, everybody was in a state of mind now, and they sings out: | |
"The whole bilin' of 'm 's frauds! Le's duck 'em! le's drown 'em! | |
le's ride 'em on a rail!" and everybody was whooping at once, and there | |
was a rattling powwow. But the lawyer he jumps on the table and yells, | |
and says: | |
"Gentlemengentlemen! Hear me just a wordjust a single wordif you | |
please! There's one way yetlet's go and dig up the corpse and look." | |
That took them. | |
"Hooray!" they all shouted, and was starting right off; but the lawyer | |
and the doctor sung out: | |
"Hold on, hold on! Collar all these four men and the boy, and fetch | |
them along, too!" | |
"We'll do it!" they all shouted; "and if we don't find them marks we'll | |
lynch the whole gang!" | |
I was scared, now, I tell you. But there warn't no getting away, you | |
know. They gripped us all, and marched us right along, straight for the | |
graveyard, which was a mile and a half down the river, and the whole | |
town at our heels, for we made noise enough, and it was only nine in the | |
evening. | |
As we went by our house I wished I hadn't sent Mary Jane out of town; | |
because now if I could tip her the wink she'd light out and save me, and | |
blow on our dead-beats. | |
Well, we swarmed along down the river road, just carrying on like | |
wildcats; and to make it more scary the sky was darking up, and the | |
lightning beginning to wink and flitter, and the wind to shiver amongst | |
the leaves. This was the most awful trouble and most dangersome I ever | |
was in; and I was kinder stunned; everything was going so different from | |
what I had allowed for; stead of being fixed so I could take my own time | |
if I wanted to, and see all the fun, and have Mary Jane at my back to | |
save me and set me free when the close-fit come, here was nothing in the | |
world betwixt me and sudden death but just them tattoo-marks. If they | |
didn't find them | |
I couldn't bear to think about it; and yet, somehow, I couldn't think | |
about nothing else. It got darker and darker, and it was a beautiful | |
time to give the crowd the slip; but that big husky had me by the | |
wristHinesand a body might as well try to give Goliar the slip. He | |
dragged me right along, he was so excited, and I had to run to keep up. | |
When they got there they swarmed into the graveyard and washed over it | |
like an overflow. And when they got to the grave they found they had | |
about a hundred times as many shovels as they wanted, but nobody hadn't | |
thought to fetch a lantern. But they sailed into digging anyway by the | |
flicker of the lightning, and sent a man to the nearest house, a half a | |
mile off, to borrow one. | |
So they dug and dug like everything; and it got awful dark, and the rain | |
started, and the wind swished and swushed along, and the lightning come | |
brisker and brisker, and the thunder boomed; but them people never took | |
no notice of it, they was so full of this business; and one minute | |
you could see everything and every face in that big crowd, and the | |
shovelfuls of dirt sailing up out of the grave, and the next second the | |
dark wiped it all out, and you couldn't see nothing at all. | |
At last they got out the coffin and begun to unscrew the lid, and then | |
such another crowding and shouldering and shoving as there was, to | |
scrouge in and get a sight, you never see; and in the dark, that way, it | |
was awful. Hines he hurt my wrist dreadful pulling and tugging so, | |
and I reckon he clean forgot I was in the world, he was so excited and | |
panting. | |
All of a sudden the lightning let go a perfect sluice of white glare, | |
and somebody sings out: | |
"By the living jingo, here's the bag of gold on his breast!" | |
Hines let out a whoop, like everybody else, and dropped my wrist and | |
give a big surge to bust his way in and get a look, and the way I lit | |
out and shinned for the road in the dark there ain't nobody can tell. | |
I had the road all to myself, and I fairly flewleastways, I had it all | |
to myself except the solid dark, and the now-and-then glares, and the | |
buzzing of the rain, and the thrashing of the wind, and the splitting of | |
the thunder; and sure as you are born I did clip it along! | |
When I struck the town I see there warn't nobody out in the storm, so | |
I never hunted for no back streets, but humped it straight through the | |
main one; and when I begun to get towards our house I aimed my eye and | |
set it. No light there; the house all darkwhich made me feel sorry and | |
disappointed, I didn't know why. But at last, just as I was sailing by, | |
flash comes the light in Mary Jane's window! and my heart swelled up | |
sudden, like to bust; and the same second the house and all was behind | |
me in the dark, and wasn't ever going to be before me no more in this | |
world. She was the best girl I ever see, and had the most sand. | |
The minute I was far enough above the town to see I could make the | |
towhead, I begun to look sharp for a boat to borrow, and the first | |
time the lightning showed me one that wasn't chained I snatched it and | |
shoved. It was a canoe, and warn't fastened with nothing but a rope. | |
The towhead was a rattling big distance off, away out there in the | |
middle of the river, but I didn't lose no time; and when I struck the | |
raft at last I was so fagged I would a just laid down to blow and gasp | |
if I could afforded it. But I didn't. As I sprung aboard I sung out: | |
"Out with you, Jim, and set her loose! Glory be to goodness, we're shut | |
of them!" | |
Jim lit out, and was a-coming for me with both arms spread, he was so | |
full of joy; but when I glimpsed him in the lightning my heart shot up | |
in my mouth and I went overboard backwards; for I forgot he was old King | |
Lear and a drownded A-rab all in one, and it most scared the livers and | |
lights out of me. But Jim fished me out, and was going to hug me and | |
bless me, and so on, he was so glad I was back and we was shut of the | |
king and the duke, but I says: | |
"Not now; have it for breakfast, have it for breakfast! Cut loose and | |
let her slide!" | |
So in two seconds away we went a-sliding down the river, and it did | |
seem so good to be free again and all by ourselves on the big river, and | |
nobody to bother us. I had to skip around a bit, and jump up and crack | |
my heels a few timesI couldn't help it; but about the third crack | |
I noticed a sound that I knowed mighty well, and held my breath and | |
listened and waited; and sure enough, when the next flash busted out | |
over the water, here they come!and just a-laying to their oars and | |
making their skiff hum! It was the king and the duke. | |
So I wilted right down on to the planks then, and give up; and it was | |
all I could do to keep from crying. | |
CHAPTER XXX. | |
WHEN they got aboard the king went for me, and shook me by the collar, | |
and says: | |
"Tryin' to give us the slip, was ye, you pup! Tired of our company, | |
hey?" | |
I says: | |
"No, your majesty, we warn'tplease don't, your majesty!" | |
"Quick, then, and tell us what was your idea, or I'll shake the | |
insides out o' you!" | |
"Honest, I'll tell you everything just as it happened, your majesty. | |
The man that had a-holt of me was very good to me, and kept saying he | |
had a boy about as big as me that died last year, and he was sorry | |
to see a boy in such a dangerous fix; and when they was all took by | |
surprise by finding the gold, and made a rush for the coffin, he lets go | |
of me and whispers, 'Heel it now, or they'll hang ye, sure!' and I lit | |
out. It didn't seem no good for me to stayI couldn't do nothing, | |
and I didn't want to be hung if I could get away. So I never stopped | |
running till I found the canoe; and when I got here I told Jim to hurry, | |
or they'd catch me and hang me yet, and said I was afeard you and the | |
duke wasn't alive now, and I was awful sorry, and so was Jim, and was | |
awful glad when we see you coming; you may ask Jim if I didn't." | |
Jim said it was so; and the king told him to shut up, and said, "Oh, | |
yes, it's mighty likely!" and shook me up again, and said he reckoned | |
he'd drownd me. But the duke says: | |
"Leggo the boy, you old idiot! Would you a done any different? Did | |
you inquire around for him when you got loose? I don't remember it." | |
So the king let go of me, and begun to cuss that town and everybody in | |
it. But the duke says: | |
"You better a blame' sight give yourself a good cussing, for you're | |
the one that's entitled to it most. You hain't done a thing from the | |
start that had any sense in it, except coming out so cool and cheeky | |
with that imaginary blue-arrow mark. That was brightit was right | |
down bully; and it was the thing that saved us. For if it hadn't been | |
for that they'd a jailed us till them Englishmen's baggage comeand | |
thenthe penitentiary, you bet! But that trick took 'em to the | |
graveyard, and the gold done us a still bigger kindness; for if the | |
excited fools hadn't let go all holts and made that rush to get a | |
look we'd a slept in our cravats to-nightcravats warranted to wear, | |
toolonger than we'd need 'em." | |
They was still a minutethinking; then the king says, kind of | |
absent-minded like: | |
"Mf! And we reckoned the niggers stole it!" | |
That made me squirm! | |
"Yes," says the duke, kinder slow and deliberate and sarcastic, "we | |
did." | |
After about a half a minute the king drawls out: | |
"Leastways, I did." | |
The duke says, the same way: | |
"On the contrary, I did." | |
The king kind of ruffles up, and says: | |
"Looky here, Bilgewater, what'r you referrin' to?" | |
The duke says, pretty brisk: | |
"When it comes to that, maybe you'll let me ask, what was you | |
referring to?" | |
"Shucks!" says the king, very sarcastic; "but I don't knowmaybe you was | |
asleep, and didn't know what you was about." | |
The duke bristles up now, and says: | |
"Oh, let up on this cussed nonsense; do you take me for a blame' fool? | |
Don't you reckon I know who hid that money in that coffin?" | |
"Yes, sir! I know you do know, because you done it yourself!" | |
"It's a lie!"and the duke went for him. The king sings out: | |
"Take y'r hands off!leggo my throat!I take it all back!" | |
The duke says: | |
"Well, you just own up, first, that you did hide that money there, | |
intending to give me the slip one of these days, and come back and dig | |
it up, and have it all to yourself." | |
"Wait jest a minute, dukeanswer me this one question, honest and fair; | |
if you didn't put the money there, say it, and I'll b'lieve you, and | |
take back everything I said." | |
"You old scoundrel, I didn't, and you know I didn't. There, now!" | |
"Well, then, I b'lieve you. But answer me only jest this one morenow | |
don't git mad; didn't you have it in your mind to hook the money and | |
hide it?" | |
The duke never said nothing for a little bit; then he says: | |
"Well, I don't care if I did, I didn't do it, anyway. But you not | |
only had it in mind to do it, but you done it." | |
"I wisht I never die if I done it, duke, and that's honest. I won't say | |
I warn't goin' to do it, because I was; but youI mean somebodygot in | |
ahead o' me." | |
"It's a lie! You done it, and you got to say you done it, or" | |
The king began to gurgle, and then he gasps out: | |
"'Nough!I own up!" | |
I was very glad to hear him say that; it made me feel much more easier | |
than what I was feeling before. So the duke took his hands off and | |
says: | |
"If you ever deny it again I'll drown you. It's well for you to set | |
there and blubber like a babyit's fitten for you, after the way | |
you've acted. I never see such an old ostrich for wanting to gobble | |
everythingand I a-trusting you all the time, like you was my own | |
father. You ought to been ashamed of yourself to stand by and hear it | |
saddled on to a lot of poor niggers, and you never say a word for 'em. | |
It makes me feel ridiculous to think I was soft enough to believe | |
that rubbage. Cuss you, I can see now why you was so anxious to make | |
up the deffisityou wanted to get what money I'd got out of the Nonesuch | |
and one thing or another, and scoop it all!" | |
The king says, timid, and still a-snuffling: | |
"Why, duke, it was you that said make up the deffisit; it warn't me." | |
"Dry up! I don't want to hear no more out of you!" says the duke. "And | |
now you see what you GOT by it. They've got all their own money back, | |
and all of ourn but a shekel or two besides. G'long to bed, and | |
don't you deffersit me no more deffersits, long 's you live!" | |
So the king sneaked into the wigwam and took to his bottle for comfort, | |
and before long the duke tackled HIS bottle; and so in about a half an | |
hour they was as thick as thieves again, and the tighter they got the | |
lovinger they got, and went off a-snoring in each other's arms. They | |
both got powerful mellow, but I noticed the king didn't get mellow | |
enough to forget to remember to not deny about hiding the money-bag | |
again. That made me feel easy and satisfied. Of course when they got | |
to snoring we had a long gabble, and I told Jim everything. | |
CHAPTER XXXI. | |
WE dasn't stop again at any town for days and days; kept right along | |
down the river. We was down south in the warm weather now, and a mighty | |
long ways from home. We begun to come to trees with Spanish moss on | |
them, hanging down from the limbs like long, gray beards. It was the | |
first I ever see it growing, and it made the woods look solemn and | |
dismal. So now the frauds reckoned they was out of danger, and they | |
begun to work the villages again. | |
First they done a lecture on temperance; but they didn't make enough | |
for them both to get drunk on. Then in another village they started | |
a dancing-school; but they didn't know no more how to dance than a | |
kangaroo does; so the first prance they made the general public jumped | |
in and pranced them out of town. Another time they tried to go at | |
yellocution; but they didn't yellocute long till the audience got up and | |
give them a solid good cussing, and made them skip out. They tackled | |
missionarying, and mesmerizing, and doctoring, and telling fortunes, and | |
a little of everything; but they couldn't seem to have no luck. So at | |
last they got just about dead broke, and laid around the raft as she | |
floated along, thinking and thinking, and never saying nothing, by the | |
half a day at a time, and dreadful blue and desperate. | |
And at last they took a change and begun to lay their heads together in | |
the wigwam and talk low and confidential two or three hours at a time. | |
Jim and me got uneasy. We didn't like the look of it. We judged they | |
was studying up some kind of worse deviltry than ever. We turned it | |
over and over, and at last we made up our minds they was going to break | |
into somebody's house or store, or was going into the counterfeit-money | |
business, or something. So then we was pretty scared, and made up an | |
agreement that we wouldn't have nothing in the world to do with such | |
actions, and if we ever got the least show we would give them the cold | |
shake and clear out and leave them behind. Well, early one morning we | |
hid the raft in a good, safe place about two mile below a little bit of | |
a shabby village named Pikesville, and the king he went ashore and told | |
us all to stay hid whilst he went up to town and smelt around to see | |
if anybody had got any wind of the Royal Nonesuch there yet. ("House to | |
rob, you mean," says I to myself; "and when you get through robbing it | |
you'll come back here and wonder what has become of me and Jim and the | |
raftand you'll have to take it out in wondering.") And he said if he | |
warn't back by midday the duke and me would know it was all right, and | |
we was to come along. | |
So we stayed where we was. The duke he fretted and sweated around, and | |
was in a mighty sour way. He scolded us for everything, and we couldn't | |
seem to do nothing right; he found fault with every little thing. | |
Something was a-brewing, sure. I was good and glad when midday come | |
and no king; we could have a change, anywayand maybe a chance for the | |
change on top of it. So me and the duke went up to the village, and | |
hunted around there for the king, and by and by we found him in the | |
back room of a little low doggery, very tight, and a lot of loafers | |
bullyragging him for sport, and he a-cussing and a-threatening with all | |
his might, and so tight he couldn't walk, and couldn't do nothing to | |
them. The duke he begun to abuse him for an old fool, and the king | |
begun to sass back, and the minute they was fairly at it I lit out and | |
shook the reefs out of my hind legs, and spun down the river road like | |
a deer, for I see our chance; and I made up my mind that it would be a | |
long day before they ever see me and Jim again. I got down there all | |
out of breath but loaded up with joy, and sung out: | |
"Set her loose, Jim! we're all right now!" | |
But there warn't no answer, and nobody come out of the wigwam. Jim was | |
gone! I set up a shoutand then anotherand then another one; and run | |
this way and that in the woods, whooping and screeching; but it warn't | |
no useold Jim was gone. Then I set down and cried; I couldn't help | |
it. But I couldn't set still long. Pretty soon I went out on the road, | |
trying to think what I better do, and I run across a boy walking, and | |
asked him if he'd seen a strange nigger dressed so and so, and he says: | |
"Yes." | |
"Whereabouts?" says I. | |
"Down to Silas Phelps' place, two mile below here. He's a runaway | |
nigger, and they've got him. Was you looking for him?" | |
"You bet I ain't! I run across him in the woods about an hour or two | |
ago, and he said if I hollered he'd cut my livers outand told me to lay | |
down and stay where I was; and I done it. Been there ever since; afeard | |
to come out." | |
"Well," he says, "you needn't be afeard no more, becuz they've got him. | |
He run off f'm down South, som'ers." | |
"It's a good job they got him." | |
"Well, I reckon! There's two hunderd dollars reward on him. It's | |
like picking up money out'n the road." | |
"Yes, it isand I could a had it if I'd been big enough; I see him | |
first. Who nailed him?" | |
"It was an old fellowa strangerand he sold out his chance in him for | |
forty dollars, becuz he's got to go up the river and can't wait. Think | |
o' that, now! You bet I'd wait, if it was seven year." | |
"That's me, every time," says I. "But maybe his chance ain't worth | |
no more than that, if he'll sell it so cheap. Maybe there's something | |
ain't straight about it." | |
"But it is, thoughstraight as a string. I see the handbill myself. | |
It tells all about him, to a dotpaints him like a picture, and tells | |
the plantation he's frum, below Newrleans. No-sirree-bob, they | |
ain't no trouble 'bout that speculation, you bet you. Say, gimme a | |
chaw tobacker, won't ye?" | |
I didn't have none, so he left. I went to the raft, and set down in the | |
wigwam to think. But I couldn't come to nothing. I thought till I wore | |
my head sore, but I couldn't see no way out of the trouble. After all | |
this long journey, and after all we'd done for them scoundrels, here it | |
was all come to nothing, everything all busted up and ruined, because | |
they could have the heart to serve Jim such a trick as that, and make | |
him a slave again all his life, and amongst strangers, too, for forty | |
dirty dollars. | |
Once I said to myself it would be a thousand times better for Jim to | |
be a slave at home where his family was, as long as he'd got to be a | |
slave, and so I'd better write a letter to Tom Sawyer and tell him to | |
tell Miss Watson where he was. But I soon give up that notion for two | |
things: she'd be mad and disgusted at his rascality and ungratefulness | |
for leaving her, and so she'd sell him straight down the river again; | |
and if she didn't, everybody naturally despises an ungrateful nigger, | |
and they'd make Jim feel it all the time, and so he'd feel ornery and | |
disgraced. And then think of me! It would get all around that Huck | |
Finn helped a nigger to get his freedom; and if I was ever to see | |
anybody from that town again I'd be ready to get down and lick his boots | |
for shame. That's just the way: a person does a low-down thing, and | |
then he don't want to take no consequences of it. Thinks as long as he | |
can hide it, it ain't no disgrace. That was my fix exactly. The more I | |
studied about this the more my conscience went to grinding me, and the | |
more wicked and low-down and ornery I got to feeling. And at last, when | |
it hit me all of a sudden that here was the plain hand of Providence | |
slapping me in the face and letting me know my wickedness was being | |
watched all the time from up there in heaven, whilst I was stealing a | |
poor old woman's nigger that hadn't ever done me no harm, and now was | |
showing me there's One that's always on the lookout, and ain't a-going | |
to allow no such miserable doings to go only just so fur and no further, | |
I most dropped in my tracks I was so scared. Well, I tried the best I | |
could to kinder soften it up somehow for myself by saying I was brung | |
up wicked, and so I warn't so much to blame; but something inside of me | |
kept saying, "There was the Sunday-school, you could a gone to it; and | |
if you'd a done it they'd a learnt you there that people that acts as | |
I'd been acting about that nigger goes to everlasting fire." | |
It made me shiver. And I about made up my mind to pray, and see if I | |
couldn't try to quit being the kind of a boy I was and be better. So | |
I kneeled down. But the words wouldn't come. Why wouldn't they? It | |
warn't no use to try and hide it from Him. Nor from me, neither. I | |
knowed very well why they wouldn't come. It was because my heart warn't | |
right; it was because I warn't square; it was because I was playing | |
double. I was letting on to give up sin, but away inside of me I was | |
holding on to the biggest one of all. I was trying to make my mouth | |
say I would do the right thing and the clean thing, and go and write | |
to that nigger's owner and tell where he was; but deep down in me I | |
knowed it was a lie, and He knowed it. You can't pray a lieI found | |
that out. | |
So I was full of trouble, full as I could be; and didn't know what to | |
do. At last I had an idea; and I says, I'll go and write the letterand | |
then see if I can pray. Why, it was astonishing, the way I felt as | |
light as a feather right straight off, and my troubles all gone. So I | |
got a piece of paper and a pencil, all glad and excited, and set down | |
and wrote: | |
Miss Watson, your runaway nigger Jim is down here two mile below | |
Pikesville, and Mr. Phelps has got him and he will give him up for the | |
reward if you send. | |
Huck Finn. | |
I felt good and all washed clean of sin for the first time I had ever | |
felt so in my life, and I knowed I could pray now. But I didn't do it | |
straight off, but laid the paper down and set there thinkingthinking | |
how good it was all this happened so, and how near I come to being lost | |
and going to hell. And went on thinking. And got to thinking over our | |
trip down the river; and I see Jim before me all the time: in the day | |
and in the night-time, sometimes moonlight, sometimes storms, and we | |
a-floating along, talking and singing and laughing. But somehow I | |
couldn't seem to strike no places to harden me against him, but only the | |
other kind. I'd see him standing my watch on top of his'n, 'stead of | |
calling me, so I could go on sleeping; and see him how glad he was when | |
I come back out of the fog; and when I come to him again in the swamp, | |
up there where the feud was; and such-like times; and would always call | |
me honey, and pet me and do everything he could think of for me, and how | |
good he always was; and at last I struck the time I saved him by telling | |
the men we had small-pox aboard, and he was so grateful, and said I was | |
the best friend old Jim ever had in the world, and the only one he's | |
got now; and then I happened to look around and see that paper. | |
It was a close place. I took it up, and held it in my hand. I was | |
a-trembling, because I'd got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and | |
I knowed it. I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then | |
says to myself: | |
"All right, then, I'll go to hell"and tore it up. | |
It was awful thoughts and awful words, but they was said. And I let | |
them stay said; and never thought no more about reforming. I shoved the | |
whole thing out of my head, and said I would take up wickedness again, | |
which was in my line, being brung up to it, and the other warn't. And | |
for a starter I would go to work and steal Jim out of slavery again; | |
and if I could think up anything worse, I would do that, too; because as | |
long as I was in, and in for good, I might as well go the whole hog. | |
Then I set to thinking over how to get at it, and turned over some | |
considerable many ways in my mind; and at last fixed up a plan that | |
suited me. So then I took the bearings of a woody island that was down | |
the river a piece, and as soon as it was fairly dark I crept out with my | |
raft and went for it, and hid it there, and then turned in. I slept the | |
night through, and got up before it was light, and had my breakfast, | |
and put on my store clothes, and tied up some others and one thing or | |
another in a bundle, and took the canoe and cleared for shore. I landed | |
below where I judged was Phelps's place, and hid my bundle in the woods, | |
and then filled up the canoe with water, and loaded rocks into her and | |
sunk her where I could find her again when I wanted her, about a quarter | |
of a mile below a little steam sawmill that was on the bank. | |
Then I struck up the road, and when I passed the mill I see a sign on | |
it, "Phelps's Sawmill," and when I come to the farm-houses, two or | |
three hundred yards further along, I kept my eyes peeled, but didn't | |
see nobody around, though it was good daylight now. But I didn't mind, | |
because I didn't want to see nobody just yetI only wanted to get the | |
lay of the land. According to my plan, I was going to turn up there from | |
the village, not from below. So I just took a look, and shoved along, | |
straight for town. Well, the very first man I see when I got there was | |
the duke. He was sticking up a bill for the Royal Nonesuchthree-night | |
performancelike that other time. They had the cheek, them frauds! I | |
was right on him before I could shirk. He looked astonished, and says: | |
"Hel-lo! Where'd you come from?" Then he says, kind of glad and | |
eager, "Where's the raft?got her in a good place?" | |
I says: | |
"Why, that's just what I was going to ask your grace." | |
Then he didn't look so joyful, and says: | |
"What was your idea for asking me?" he says. | |
"Well," I says, "when I see the king in that doggery yesterday I says | |
to myself, we can't get him home for hours, till he's soberer; so I went | |
a-loafing around town to put in the time and wait. A man up and offered | |
me ten cents to help him pull a skiff over the river and back to fetch | |
a sheep, and so I went along; but when we was dragging him to the boat, | |
and the man left me a-holt of the rope and went behind him to shove him | |
along, he was too strong for me and jerked loose and run, and we after | |
him. We didn't have no dog, and so we had to chase him all over the | |
country till we tired him out. We never got him till dark; then we | |
fetched him over, and I started down for the raft. When I got there and | |
see it was gone, I says to myself, 'They've got into trouble and had to | |
leave; and they've took my nigger, which is the only nigger I've got in | |
the world, and now I'm in a strange country, and ain't got no property | |
no more, nor nothing, and no way to make my living;' so I set down and | |
cried. I slept in the woods all night. But what did become of the | |
raft, then?and Jimpoor Jim!" | |
"Blamed if I knowthat is, what's become of the raft. That old fool had | |
made a trade and got forty dollars, and when we found him in the doggery | |
the loafers had matched half-dollars with him and got every cent but | |
what he'd spent for whisky; and when I got him home late last night and | |
found the raft gone, we said, 'That little rascal has stole our raft and | |
shook us, and run off down the river.'" | |
"I wouldn't shake my nigger, would I?the only nigger I had in the | |
world, and the only property." | |
"We never thought of that. Fact is, I reckon we'd come to consider him | |
our nigger; yes, we did consider him sogoodness knows we had trouble | |
enough for him. So when we see the raft was gone and we flat broke, | |
there warn't anything for it but to try the Royal Nonesuch another | |
shake. And I've pegged along ever since, dry as a powder-horn. Where's | |
that ten cents? Give it here." | |
I had considerable money, so I give him ten cents, but begged him to | |
spend it for something to eat, and give me some, because it was all the | |
money I had, and I hadn't had nothing to eat since yesterday. He never | |
said nothing. The next minute he whirls on me and says: | |
"Do you reckon that nigger would blow on us? We'd skin him if he done | |
that!" | |
"How can he blow? Hain't he run off?" | |
"No! That old fool sold him, and never divided with me, and the money's | |
gone." | |
"Sold him?" I says, and begun to cry; "why, he was my nigger, and | |
that was my money. Where is he?I want my nigger." | |
"Well, you can't get your nigger, that's allso dry up your | |
blubbering. Looky heredo you think you'd venture to blow on us? | |
Blamed if I think I'd trust you. Why, if you was to blow on us" | |
He stopped, but I never see the duke look so ugly out of his eyes | |
before. I went on a-whimpering, and says: | |
"I don't want to blow on nobody; and I ain't got no time to blow, nohow. | |
I got to turn out and find my nigger." | |
He looked kinder bothered, and stood there with his bills fluttering on | |
his arm, thinking, and wrinkling up his forehead. At last he says: | |
"I'll tell you something. We got to be here three days. If you'll | |
promise you won't blow, and won't let the nigger blow, I'll tell you | |
where to find him." | |
So I promised, and he says: | |
"A farmer by the name of Silas Ph" and then he stopped. You see, he | |
started to tell me the truth; but when he stopped that way, and begun to | |
study and think again, I reckoned he was changing his mind. And so he | |
was. He wouldn't trust me; he wanted to make sure of having me out of | |
the way the whole three days. So pretty soon he says: | |
"The man that bought him is named Abram FosterAbram G. Fosterand he | |
lives forty mile back here in the country, on the road to Lafayette." | |
"All right," I says, "I can walk it in three days. And I'll start this | |
very afternoon." | |
"No you wont, you'll start now; and don't you lose any time about it, | |
neither, nor do any gabbling by the way. Just keep a tight tongue in | |
your head and move right along, and then you won't get into trouble with | |
us, d'ye hear?" | |
That was the order I wanted, and that was the one I played for. I | |
wanted to be left free to work my plans. | |
"So clear out," he says; "and you can tell Mr. Foster whatever you want | |
to. Maybe you can get him to believe that Jim is your niggersome | |
idiots don't require documentsleastways I've heard there's such down | |
South here. And when you tell him the handbill and the reward's bogus, | |
maybe he'll believe you when you explain to him what the idea was for | |
getting 'em out. Go 'long now, and tell him anything you want to; but | |
mind you don't work your jaw any between here and there." | |
So I left, and struck for the back country. I didn't look around, but I | |
kinder felt like he was watching me. But I knowed I could tire him out | |
at that. I went straight out in the country as much as a mile before | |
I stopped; then I doubled back through the woods towards Phelps'. I | |
reckoned I better start in on my plan straight off without fooling | |
around, because I wanted to stop Jim's mouth till these fellows could | |
get away. I didn't want no trouble with their kind. I'd seen all I | |
wanted to of them, and wanted to get entirely shut of them. | |
CHAPTER XXXII. | |
WHEN I got there it was all still and Sunday-like, and hot and sunshiny; | |
the hands was gone to the fields; and there was them kind of faint | |
dronings of bugs and flies in the air that makes it seem so lonesome and | |
like everybody's dead and gone; and if a breeze fans along and quivers | |
the leaves it makes you feel mournful, because you feel like it's | |
spirits whisperingspirits that's been dead ever so many yearsand you | |
always think they're talking about you. As a general thing it makes a | |
body wish he was dead, too, and done with it all. | |
Phelps' was one of these little one-horse cotton plantations, and they | |
all look alike. A rail fence round a two-acre yard; a stile made out | |
of logs sawed off and up-ended in steps, like barrels of a different | |
length, to climb over the fence with, and for the women to stand on when | |
they are going to jump on to a horse; some sickly grass-patches in the | |
big yard, but mostly it was bare and smooth, like an old hat with the | |
nap rubbed off; big double log-house for the white folkshewed logs, | |
with the chinks stopped up with mud or mortar, and these mud-stripes | |
been whitewashed some time or another; round-log kitchen, with a big | |
broad, open but roofed passage joining it to the house; log smoke-house | |
back of the kitchen; three little log nigger-cabins in a row t'other | |
side the smoke-house; one little hut all by itself away down against | |
the back fence, and some outbuildings down a piece the other side; | |
ash-hopper and big kettle to bile soap in by the little hut; bench by | |
the kitchen door, with bucket of water and a gourd; hound asleep there | |
in the sun; more hounds asleep round about; about three shade trees away | |
off in a corner; some currant bushes and gooseberry bushes in one place | |
by the fence; outside of the fence a garden and a watermelon patch; then | |
the cotton fields begins, and after the fields the woods. | |
I went around and clumb over the back stile by the ash-hopper, and | |
started for the kitchen. When I got a little ways I heard the dim hum | |
of a spinning-wheel wailing along up and sinking along down again; | |
and then I knowed for certain I wished I was deadfor that is the | |
lonesomest sound in the whole world. | |
I went right along, not fixing up any particular plan, but just trusting | |
to Providence to put the right words in my mouth when the time come; for | |
I'd noticed that Providence always did put the right words in my mouth | |
if I left it alone. | |
When I got half-way, first one hound and then another got up and went | |
for me, and of course I stopped and faced them, and kept still. And | |
such another powwow as they made! In a quarter of a minute I was a kind | |
of a hub of a wheel, as you may sayspokes made out of dogscircle of | |
fifteen of them packed together around me, with their necks and noses | |
stretched up towards me, a-barking and howling; and more a-coming; you | |
could see them sailing over fences and around corners from everywheres. | |
A nigger woman come tearing out of the kitchen with a rolling-pin in her | |
hand, singing out, "Begone you Tige! you Spot! begone sah!" and she | |
fetched first one and then another of them a clip and sent them howling, | |
and then the rest followed; and the next second half of them come back, | |
wagging their tails around me, and making friends with me. There ain't | |
no harm in a hound, nohow. | |
And behind the woman comes a little nigger girl and two little nigger | |
boys without anything on but tow-linen shirts, and they hung on to their | |
mother's gown, and peeped out from behind her at me, bashful, the way | |
they always do. And here comes the white woman running from the house, | |
about forty-five or fifty year old, bareheaded, and her spinning-stick | |
in her hand; and behind her comes her little white children, acting the | |
same way the little niggers was doing. She was smiling all over so she | |
could hardly standand says: | |
"It's you, at last!ain't it?" | |
I out with a "Yes'm" before I thought. | |
She grabbed me and hugged me tight; and then gripped me by both hands | |
and shook and shook; and the tears come in her eyes, and run down over; | |
and she couldn't seem to hug and shake enough, and kept saying, "You | |
don't look as much like your mother as I reckoned you would; but law | |
sakes, I don't care for that, I'm so glad to see you! Dear, dear, it | |
does seem like I could eat you up! Children, it's your cousin Tom!tell | |
him howdy." | |
But they ducked their heads, and put their fingers in their mouths, and | |
hid behind her. So she run on: | |
"Lize, hurry up and get him a hot breakfast right awayor did you get | |
your breakfast on the boat?" | |
I said I had got it on the boat. So then she started for the house, | |
leading me by the hand, and the children tagging after. When we got | |
there she set me down in a split-bottomed chair, and set herself down on | |
a little low stool in front of me, holding both of my hands, and says: | |
"Now I can have a good look at you; and, laws-a-me, I've been hungry | |
for it a many and a many a time, all these long years, and it's come | |
at last! We been expecting you a couple of days and more. What kep' | |
you?boat get aground?" | |
"Yes'mshe" | |
"Don't say yes'msay Aunt Sally. Where'd she get aground?" | |
I didn't rightly know what to say, because I didn't know whether the | |
boat would be coming up the river or down. But I go a good deal on | |
instinct; and my instinct said she would be coming upfrom down towards | |
Orleans. That didn't help me much, though; for I didn't know the names | |
of bars down that way. I see I'd got to invent a bar, or forget the | |
name of the one we got aground onorNow I struck an idea, and fetched | |
it out: | |
"It warn't the groundingthat didn't keep us back but a little. We | |
blowed out a cylinder-head." | |
"Good gracious! anybody hurt?" | |
"No'm. Killed a nigger." | |
"Well, it's lucky; because sometimes people do get hurt. Two years ago | |
last Christmas your uncle Silas was coming up from Newrleans on the old | |
Lally Rook, and she blowed out a cylinder-head and crippled a man. And | |
I think he died afterwards. He was a Baptist. Your uncle Silas knowed | |
a family in Baton Rouge that knowed his people very well. Yes, I | |
remember now, he did die. Mortification set in, and they had to | |
amputate him. But it didn't save him. Yes, it was mortificationthat | |
was it. He turned blue all over, and died in the hope of a glorious | |
resurrection. They say he was a sight to look at. Your uncle's been up | |
to the town every day to fetch you. And he's gone again, not more'n an | |
hour ago; he'll be back any minute now. You must a met him on the road, | |
didn't you?oldish man, with a" | |
"No, I didn't see nobody, Aunt Sally. The boat landed just at daylight, | |
and I left my baggage on the wharf-boat and went looking around the town | |
and out a piece in the country, to put in the time and not get here too | |
soon; and so I come down the back way." | |
"Who'd you give the baggage to?" | |
"Nobody." | |
"Why, child, it 'll be stole!" | |
"Not where I hid it I reckon it won't," I says. | |
"How'd you get your breakfast so early on the boat?" | |
It was kinder thin ice, but I says: | |
"The captain see me standing around, and told me I better have something | |
to eat before I went ashore; so he took me in the texas to the officers' | |
lunch, and give me all I wanted." | |
I was getting so uneasy I couldn't listen good. I had my mind on the | |
children all the time; I wanted to get them out to one side and pump | |
them a little, and find out who I was. But I couldn't get no show, Mrs. | |
Phelps kept it up and run on so. Pretty soon she made the cold chills | |
streak all down my back, because she says: | |
"But here we're a-running on this way, and you hain't told me a word | |
about Sis, nor any of them. Now I'll rest my works a little, and you | |
start up yourn; just tell me everythingtell me all about 'm all every | |
one of 'm; and how they are, and what they're doing, and what they told | |
you to tell me; and every last thing you can think of." | |
Well, I see I was up a stumpand up it good. Providence had stood by | |
me this fur all right, but I was hard and tight aground now. I see it | |
warn't a bit of use to try to go aheadI'd got to throw up my hand. So | |
I says to myself, here's another place where I got to resk the truth. | |
I opened my mouth to begin; but she grabbed me and hustled me in behind | |
the bed, and says: | |
"Here he comes! Stick your head down lowerthere, that'll do; you can't | |
be seen now. Don't you let on you're here. I'll play a joke on him. | |
Children, don't you say a word." | |
I see I was in a fix now. But it warn't no use to worry; there warn't | |
nothing to do but just hold still, and try and be ready to stand from | |
under when the lightning struck. | |
I had just one little glimpse of the old gentleman when he come in; then | |
the bed hid him. Mrs. Phelps she jumps for him, and says: | |
"Has he come?" | |
"No," says her husband. | |
"Good-ness gracious!" she says, "what in the warld can have become of | |
him?" | |
"I can't imagine," says the old gentleman; "and I must say it makes me | |
dreadful uneasy." | |
"Uneasy!" she says; "I'm ready to go distracted! He must a come; and | |
you've missed him along the road. I know it's sosomething tells me | |
so." | |
"Why, Sally, I couldn't miss him along the roadyou know that." | |
"But oh, dear, dear, what will Sis say! He must a come! You must a | |
missed him. He" | |
"Oh, don't distress me any more'n I'm already distressed. I don't know | |
what in the world to make of it. I'm at my wit's end, and I don't mind | |
acknowledging 't I'm right down scared. But there's no hope that he's | |
come; for he couldn't come and me miss him. Sally, it's terriblejust | |
terriblesomething's happened to the boat, sure!" | |
"Why, Silas! Look yonder!up the road!ain't that somebody coming?" | |
He sprung to the window at the head of the bed, and that give Mrs. | |
Phelps the chance she wanted. She stooped down quick at the foot of the | |
bed and give me a pull, and out I come; and when he turned back from the | |
window there she stood, a-beaming and a-smiling like a house afire, and | |
I standing pretty meek and sweaty alongside. The old gentleman stared, | |
and says: | |
"Why, who's that?" | |
"Who do you reckon 't is?" | |
"I hain't no idea. Who is it?" | |
"It's Tom Sawyer!" | |
By jings, I most slumped through the floor! But there warn't no time to | |
swap knives; the old man grabbed me by the hand and shook, and kept on | |
shaking; and all the time how the woman did dance around and laugh and | |
cry; and then how they both did fire off questions about Sid, and Mary, | |
and the rest of the tribe. | |
But if they was joyful, it warn't nothing to what I was; for it was like | |
being born again, I was so glad to find out who I was. Well, they froze | |
to me for two hours; and at last, when my chin was so tired it couldn't | |
hardly go any more, I had told them more about my familyI mean the | |
Sawyer familythan ever happened to any six Sawyer families. And I | |
explained all about how we blowed out a cylinder-head at the mouth of | |
White River, and it took us three days to fix it. Which was all right, | |
and worked first-rate; because they didn't know but what it would take | |
three days to fix it. If I'd a called it a bolthead it would a done | |
just as well. | |
Now I was feeling pretty comfortable all down one side, and pretty | |
uncomfortable all up the other. Being Tom Sawyer was easy and | |
comfortable, and it stayed easy and comfortable till by and by I hear a | |
steamboat coughing along down the river. Then I says to myself, s'pose | |
Tom Sawyer comes down on that boat? And s'pose he steps in here any | |
minute, and sings out my name before I can throw him a wink to keep | |
quiet? | |
Well, I couldn't have it that way; it wouldn't do at all. I must go | |
up the road and waylay him. So I told the folks I reckoned I would go | |
up to the town and fetch down my baggage. The old gentleman was for | |
going along with me, but I said no, I could drive the horse myself, and | |
I druther he wouldn't take no trouble about me. | |
CHAPTER XXXIII. | |
SO I started for town in the wagon, and when I was half-way I see a | |
wagon coming, and sure enough it was Tom Sawyer, and I stopped and | |
waited till he come along. I says "Hold on!" and it stopped alongside, | |
and his mouth opened up like a trunk, and stayed so; and he swallowed | |
two or three times like a person that's got a dry throat, and then says: | |
"I hain't ever done you no harm. You know that. So, then, what you | |
want to come back and ha'nt me for?" | |
I says: | |
"I hain't come backI hain't been gone." | |
When he heard my voice it righted him up some, but he warn't quite | |
satisfied yet. He says: | |
"Don't you play nothing on me, because I wouldn't on you. Honest injun | |
now, you ain't a ghost?" | |
"Honest injun, I ain't," I says. | |
"WellIIwell, that ought to settle it, of course; but I can't somehow | |
seem to understand it no way. Looky here, warn't you ever murdered at | |
all?" | |
"No. I warn't ever murdered at allI played it on them. You come in | |
here and feel of me if you don't believe me." | |
So he done it; and it satisfied him; and he was that glad to see me | |
again he didn't know what to do. And he wanted to know all about it | |
right off, because it was a grand adventure, and mysterious, and so it | |
hit him where he lived. But I said, leave it alone till by and by; and | |
told his driver to wait, and we drove off a little piece, and I told | |
him the kind of a fix I was in, and what did he reckon we better do? He | |
said, let him alone a minute, and don't disturb him. So he thought and | |
thought, and pretty soon he says: | |
"It's all right; I've got it. Take my trunk in your wagon, and let on | |
it's your'n; and you turn back and fool along slow, so as to get to the | |
house about the time you ought to; and I'll go towards town a piece, and | |
take a fresh start, and get there a quarter or a half an hour after you; | |
and you needn't let on to know me at first." | |
I says: | |
"All right; but wait a minute. There's one more thinga thing that | |
nobody don't know but me. And that is, there's a nigger here that | |
I'm a-trying to steal out of slavery, and his name is Jimold Miss | |
Watson's Jim." | |
He says: | |
"What! Why, Jim is" | |
He stopped and went to studying. I says: | |
"I know what you'll say. You'll say it's dirty, low-down business; but | |
what if it is? I'm low down; and I'm a-going to steal him, and I want | |
you keep mum and not let on. Will you?" | |
His eye lit up, and he says: | |
"I'll help you steal him!" | |
Well, I let go all holts then, like I was shot. It was the most | |
astonishing speech I ever heardand I'm bound to say Tom Sawyer fell | |
considerable in my estimation. Only I couldn't believe it. Tom Sawyer | |
a nigger-stealer! | |
"Oh, shucks!" I says; "you're joking." | |
"I ain't joking, either." | |
"Well, then," I says, "joking or no joking, if you hear anything said | |
about a runaway nigger, don't forget to remember that you don't know | |
nothing about him, and I don't know nothing about him." | |
Then we took the trunk and put it in my wagon, and he drove off his | |
way and I drove mine. But of course I forgot all about driving slow on | |
accounts of being glad and full of thinking; so I got home a heap too | |
quick for that length of a trip. The old gentleman was at the door, and | |
he says: | |
"Why, this is wonderful! Whoever would a thought it was in that mare | |
to do it? I wish we'd a timed her. And she hain't sweated a hairnot | |
a hair. It's wonderful. Why, I wouldn't take a hundred dollars for that | |
horse nowI wouldn't, honest; and yet I'd a sold her for fifteen before, | |
and thought 'twas all she was worth." | |
That's all he said. He was the innocentest, best old soul I ever see. | |
But it warn't surprising; because he warn't only just a farmer, he was | |
a preacher, too, and had a little one-horse log church down back of the | |
plantation, which he built it himself at his own expense, for a church | |
and schoolhouse, and never charged nothing for his preaching, and it was | |
worth it, too. There was plenty other farmer-preachers like that, and | |
done the same way, down South. | |
In about half an hour Tom's wagon drove up to the front stile, and Aunt | |
Sally she see it through the window, because it was only about fifty | |
yards, and says: | |
"Why, there's somebody come! I wonder who 'tis? Why, I do believe it's | |
a stranger. Jimmy" (that's one of the children) "run and tell Lize to | |
put on another plate for dinner." | |
Everybody made a rush for the front door, because, of course, a stranger | |
don't come every year, and so he lays over the yaller-fever, for | |
interest, when he does come. Tom was over the stile and starting for | |
the house; the wagon was spinning up the road for the village, and we | |
was all bunched in the front door. Tom had his store clothes on, and an | |
audienceand that was always nuts for Tom Sawyer. In them circumstances | |
it warn't no trouble to him to throw in an amount of style that was | |
suitable. He warn't a boy to meeky along up that yard like a sheep; no, | |
he come ca'm and important, like the ram. When he got a-front of us he | |
lifts his hat ever so gracious and dainty, like it was the lid of a box | |
that had butterflies asleep in it and he didn't want to disturb them, | |
and says: | |
"Mr. Archibald Nichols, I presume?" | |
"No, my boy," says the old gentleman, "I'm sorry to say 't your driver | |
has deceived you; Nichols's place is down a matter of three mile more. | |
Come in, come in." | |
Tom he took a look back over his shoulder, and says, "Too latehe's out | |
of sight." | |
"Yes, he's gone, my son, and you must come in and eat your dinner with | |
us; and then we'll hitch up and take you down to Nichols's." | |
"Oh, I can't make you so much trouble; I couldn't think of it. I'll | |
walkI don't mind the distance." | |
"But we won't let you walkit wouldn't be Southern hospitality to do | |
it. Come right in." | |
"Oh, do," says Aunt Sally; "it ain't a bit of trouble to us, not a | |
bit in the world. You must stay. It's a long, dusty three mile, and | |
we can't let you walk. And, besides, I've already told 'em to put on | |
another plate when I see you coming; so you mustn't disappoint us. Come | |
right in and make yourself at home." | |
So Tom he thanked them very hearty and handsome, and let himself be | |
persuaded, and come in; and when he was in he said he was a stranger | |
from Hicksville, Ohio, and his name was William Thompsonand he made | |
another bow. | |
Well, he run on, and on, and on, making up stuff about Hicksville and | |
everybody in it he could invent, and I getting a little nervious, and | |
wondering how this was going to help me out of my scrape; and at last, | |
still talking along, he reached over and kissed Aunt Sally right on the | |
mouth, and then settled back again in his chair comfortable, and was | |
going on talking; but she jumped up and wiped it off with the back of | |
her hand, and says: | |
"You owdacious puppy!" | |
He looked kind of hurt, and says: | |
"I'm surprised at you, m'am." | |
"You're s'rpWhy, what do you reckon I am? I've a good notion to take | |
andSay, what do you mean by kissing me?" | |
He looked kind of humble, and says: | |
"I didn't mean nothing, m'am. I didn't mean no harm. IIthought you'd | |
like it." | |
"Why, you born fool!" She took up the spinning stick, and it looked | |
like it was all she could do to keep from giving him a crack with it. | |
"What made you think I'd like it?" | |
"Well, I don't know. Only, theytheytold me you would." | |
"They told you I would. Whoever told you's another lunatic. I | |
never heard the beat of it. Who's they?" | |
"Why, everybody. They all said so, m'am." | |
It was all she could do to hold in; and her eyes snapped, and her | |
fingers worked like she wanted to scratch him; and she says: | |
"Who's 'everybody'? Out with their names, or ther'll be an idiot | |
short." | |
He got up and looked distressed, and fumbled his hat, and says: | |
"I'm sorry, and I warn't expecting it. They told me to. They all told | |
me to. They all said, kiss her; and said she'd like it. They all said | |
itevery one of them. But I'm sorry, m'am, and I won't do it no moreI | |
won't, honest." | |
"You won't, won't you? Well, I sh'd reckon you won't!" | |
"No'm, I'm honest about it; I won't ever do it againtill you ask me." | |
"Till I ask you! Well, I never see the beat of it in my born days! | |
I lay you'll be the Methusalem-numskull of creation before ever I ask | |
youor the likes of you." | |
"Well," he says, "it does surprise me so. I can't make it out, somehow. | |
They said you would, and I thought you would. But" He stopped and | |
looked around slow, like he wished he could run across a friendly eye | |
somewheres, and fetched up on the old gentleman's, and says, "Didn't | |
you think she'd like me to kiss her, sir?" | |
"Why, no; IIwell, no, I b'lieve I didn't." | |
Then he looks on around the same way to me, and says: | |
"Tom, didn't you think Aunt Sally 'd open out her arms and say, 'Sid | |
Sawyer'" | |
"My land!" she says, breaking in and jumping for him, "you impudent | |
young rascal, to fool a body so" and was going to hug him, but he | |
fended her off, and says: | |
"No, not till you've asked me first." | |
So she didn't lose no time, but asked him; and hugged him and kissed | |
him over and over again, and then turned him over to the old man, and he | |
took what was left. And after they got a little quiet again she says: | |
"Why, dear me, I never see such a surprise. We warn't looking for you | |
at all, but only Tom. Sis never wrote to me about anybody coming but | |
him." | |
"It's because it warn't intended for any of us to come but Tom," he | |
says; "but I begged and begged, and at the last minute she let me | |
come, too; so, coming down the river, me and Tom thought it would be a | |
first-rate surprise for him to come here to the house first, and for me | |
to by and by tag along and drop in, and let on to be a stranger. But it | |
was a mistake, Aunt Sally. This ain't no healthy place for a stranger | |
to come." | |
"Nonot impudent whelps, Sid. You ought to had your jaws boxed; I | |
hain't been so put out since I don't know when. But I don't care, I | |
don't mind the termsI'd be willing to stand a thousand such jokes to | |
have you here. Well, to think of that performance! I don't deny it, I | |
was most putrified with astonishment when you give me that smack." | |
We had dinner out in that broad open passage betwixt the house and | |
the kitchen; and there was things enough on that table for seven | |
familiesand all hot, too; none of your flabby, tough meat that's laid | |
in a cupboard in a damp cellar all night and tastes like a hunk of | |
old cold cannibal in the morning. Uncle Silas he asked a pretty long | |
blessing over it, but it was worth it; and it didn't cool it a bit, | |
neither, the way I've seen them kind of interruptions do lots of times. | |
There was a considerable good deal of talk all the afternoon, and me | |
and Tom was on the lookout all the time; but it warn't no use, they | |
didn't happen to say nothing about any runaway nigger, and we was afraid | |
to try to work up to it. But at supper, at night, one of the little | |
boys says: | |
"Pa, mayn't Tom and Sid and me go to the show?" | |
"No," says the old man, "I reckon there ain't going to be any; and you | |
couldn't go if there was; because the runaway nigger told Burton and | |
me all about that scandalous show, and Burton said he would tell the | |
people; so I reckon they've drove the owdacious loafers out of town | |
before this time." | |
So there it was!but I couldn't help it. Tom and me was to sleep in the | |
same room and bed; so, being tired, we bid good-night and went up to | |
bed right after supper, and clumb out of the window and down the | |
lightning-rod, and shoved for the town; for I didn't believe anybody was | |
going to give the king and the duke a hint, and so if I didn't hurry up | |
and give them one they'd get into trouble sure. | |
On the road Tom he told me all about how it was reckoned I was murdered, | |
and how pap disappeared pretty soon, and didn't come back no more, and | |
what a stir there was when Jim run away; and I told Tom all about our | |
Royal Nonesuch rapscallions, and as much of the raft voyage as I had | |
time to; and as we struck into the town and up through the the middle of | |
it--it was as much as half-after eight, thenhere comes a raging rush of | |
people with torches, and an awful whooping and yelling, and banging tin | |
pans and blowing horns; and we jumped to one side to let them go by; | |
and as they went by I see they had the king and the duke astraddle of a | |
railthat is, I knowed it was the king and the duke, though they was | |
all over tar and feathers, and didn't look like nothing in the | |
world that was humanjust looked like a couple of monstrous big | |
soldier-plumes. Well, it made me sick to see it; and I was sorry for | |
them poor pitiful rascals, it seemed like I couldn't ever feel any | |
hardness against them any more in the world. It was a dreadful thing to | |
see. Human beings can be awful cruel to one another. | |
We see we was too latecouldn't do no good. We asked some stragglers | |
about it, and they said everybody went to the show looking very | |
innocent; and laid low and kept dark till the poor old king was in the | |
middle of his cavortings on the stage; then somebody give a signal, and | |
the house rose up and went for them. | |
So we poked along back home, and I warn't feeling so brash as I was | |
before, but kind of ornery, and humble, and to blame, somehowthough | |
I hadn't done nothing. But that's always the way; it don't make no | |
difference whether you do right or wrong, a person's conscience ain't | |
got no sense, and just goes for him anyway. If I had a yaller dog that | |
didn't know no more than a person's conscience does I would pison him. | |
It takes up more room than all the rest of a person's insides, and yet | |
ain't no good, nohow. Tom Sawyer he says the same. | |
CHAPTER XXXIV. | |
WE stopped talking, and got to thinking. By and by Tom says: | |
"Looky here, Huck, what fools we are to not think of it before! I bet I | |
know where Jim is." | |
"No! Where?" | |
"In that hut down by the ash-hopper. Why, looky here. When we was at | |
dinner, didn't you see a nigger man go in there with some vittles?" | |
"Yes." | |
"What did you think the vittles was for?" | |
"For a dog." | |
"So 'd I. Well, it wasn't for a dog." | |
"Why?" | |
"Because part of it was watermelon." | |
"So it wasI noticed it. Well, it does beat all that I never thought | |
about a dog not eating watermelon. It shows how a body can see and | |
don't see at the same time." | |
"Well, the nigger unlocked the padlock when he went in, and he locked it | |
again when he came out. He fetched uncle a key about the time we got up | |
from tablesame key, I bet. Watermelon shows man, lock shows prisoner; | |
and it ain't likely there's two prisoners on such a little plantation, | |
and where the people's all so kind and good. Jim's the prisoner. All | |
rightI'm glad we found it out detective fashion; I wouldn't give shucks | |
for any other way. Now you work your mind, and study out a plan to | |
steal Jim, and I will study out one, too; and we'll take the one we like | |
the best." | |
What a head for just a boy to have! If I had Tom Sawyer's head I | |
wouldn't trade it off to be a duke, nor mate of a steamboat, nor clown | |
in a circus, nor nothing I can think of. I went to thinking out a plan, | |
but only just to be doing something; I knowed very well where the right | |
plan was going to come from. Pretty soon Tom says: | |
"Ready?" | |
"Yes," I says. | |
"All rightbring it out." | |
"My plan is this," I says. "We can easy find out if it's Jim in there. | |
Then get up my canoe to-morrow night, and fetch my raft over from the | |
island. Then the first dark night that comes steal the key out of the | |
old man's britches after he goes to bed, and shove off down the river | |
on the raft with Jim, hiding daytimes and running nights, the way me and | |
Jim used to do before. Wouldn't that plan work?" | |
"Work? Why, cert'nly it would work, like rats a-fighting. But it's | |
too blame' simple; there ain't nothing to it. What's the good of a | |
plan that ain't no more trouble than that? It's as mild as goose-milk. | |
Why, Huck, it wouldn't make no more talk than breaking into a soap | |
factory." | |
I never said nothing, because I warn't expecting nothing different; but | |
I knowed mighty well that whenever he got his plan ready it wouldn't | |
have none of them objections to it. | |
And it didn't. He told me what it was, and I see in a minute it was | |
worth fifteen of mine for style, and would make Jim just as free a man | |
as mine would, and maybe get us all killed besides. So I was satisfied, | |
and said we would waltz in on it. I needn't tell what it was here, | |
because I knowed it wouldn't stay the way, it was. I knowed he would be | |
changing it around every which way as we went along, and heaving in new | |
bullinesses wherever he got a chance. And that is what he done. | |
Well, one thing was dead sure, and that was that Tom Sawyer was in | |
earnest, and was actuly going to help steal that nigger out of slavery. | |
That was the thing that was too many for me. Here was a boy that was | |
respectable and well brung up; and had a character to lose; and folks at | |
home that had characters; and he was bright and not leather-headed; and | |
knowing and not ignorant; and not mean, but kind; and yet here he was, | |
without any more pride, or rightness, or feeling, than to stoop to | |
this business, and make himself a shame, and his family a shame, | |
before everybody. I couldn't understand it no way at all. It was | |
outrageous, and I knowed I ought to just up and tell him so; and so be | |
his true friend, and let him quit the thing right where he was and save | |
himself. And I did start to tell him; but he shut me up, and says: | |
"Don't you reckon I know what I'm about? Don't I generly know what I'm | |
about?" | |
"Yes." | |
"Didn't I say I was going to help steal the nigger?" | |
"Yes." | |
"Well, then." | |
That's all he said, and that's all I said. It warn't no use to say any | |
more; because when he said he'd do a thing, he always done it. But I | |
couldn't make out how he was willing to go into this thing; so I just | |
let it go, and never bothered no more about it. If he was bound to have | |
it so, I couldn't help it. | |
When we got home the house was all dark and still; so we went on down to | |
the hut by the ash-hopper for to examine it. We went through the yard | |
so as to see what the hounds would do. They knowed us, and didn't make | |
no more noise than country dogs is always doing when anything comes by | |
in the night. When we got to the cabin we took a look at the front and | |
the two sides; and on the side I warn't acquainted withwhich was the | |
north sidewe found a square window-hole, up tolerable high, with just | |
one stout board nailed across it. I says: | |
"Here's the ticket. This hole's big enough for Jim to get through if we | |
wrench off the board." | |
Tom says: | |
"It's as simple as tit-tat-toe, three-in-a-row, and as easy as | |
playing hooky. I should hope we can find a way that's a little more | |
complicated than that, Huck Finn." | |
"Well, then," I says, "how 'll it do to saw him out, the way I done | |
before I was murdered that time?" | |
"That's more like," he says. "It's real mysterious, and troublesome, | |
and good," he says; "but I bet we can find a way that's twice as long. | |
There ain't no hurry; le's keep on looking around." | |
Betwixt the hut and the fence, on the back side, was a lean-to that | |
joined the hut at the eaves, and was made out of plank. It was as long | |
as the hut, but narrowonly about six foot wide. The door to it was at | |
the south end, and was padlocked. Tom he went to the soap-kettle and | |
searched around, and fetched back the iron thing they lift the lid with; | |
so he took it and prized out one of the staples. The chain fell down, | |
and we opened the door and went in, and shut it, and struck a match, | |
and see the shed was only built against a cabin and hadn't no connection | |
with it; and there warn't no floor to the shed, nor nothing in it but | |
some old rusty played-out hoes and spades and picks and a crippled plow. | |
The match went out, and so did we, and shoved in the staple again, and | |
the door was locked as good as ever. Tom was joyful. He says; | |
"Now we're all right. We'll dig him out. It 'll take about a week!" | |
Then we started for the house, and I went in the back dooryou only have | |
to pull a buckskin latch-string, they don't fasten the doorsbut that | |
warn't romantical enough for Tom Sawyer; no way would do him but he must | |
climb up the lightning-rod. But after he got up half way about three | |
times, and missed fire and fell every time, and the last time most | |
busted his brains out, he thought he'd got to give it up; but after he | |
was rested he allowed he would give her one more turn for luck, and this | |
time he made the trip. | |
In the morning we was up at break of day, and down to the nigger cabins | |
to pet the dogs and make friends with the nigger that fed Jimif it | |
was Jim that was being fed. The niggers was just getting through | |
breakfast and starting for the fields; and Jim's nigger was piling up | |
a tin pan with bread and meat and things; and whilst the others was | |
leaving, the key come from the house. | |
This nigger had a good-natured, chuckle-headed face, and his wool was | |
all tied up in little bunches with thread. That was to keep witches | |
off. He said the witches was pestering him awful these nights, and | |
making him see all kinds of strange things, and hear all kinds of | |
strange words and noises, and he didn't believe he was ever witched so | |
long before in his life. He got so worked up, and got to running on so | |
about his troubles, he forgot all about what he'd been a-going to do. | |
So Tom says: | |
"What's the vittles for? Going to feed the dogs?" | |
The nigger kind of smiled around gradually over his face, like when you | |
heave a brickbat in a mud-puddle, and he says: | |
"Yes, Mars Sid, A dog. Cur'us dog, too. Does you want to go en look at | |
'im?" | |
"Yes." | |
I hunched Tom, and whispers: | |
"You going, right here in the daybreak? that warn't the plan." | |
"No, it warn't; but it's the plan now." | |
So, drat him, we went along, but I didn't like it much. When we got in | |
we couldn't hardly see anything, it was so dark; but Jim was there, sure | |
enough, and could see us; and he sings out: | |
"Why, Huck! En good lan'! ain' dat Misto Tom?" | |
I just knowed how it would be; I just expected it. I didn't know | |
nothing to do; and if I had I couldn't a done it, because that nigger | |
busted in and says: | |
"Why, de gracious sakes! do he know you genlmen?" | |
We could see pretty well now. Tom he looked at the nigger, steady and | |
kind of wondering, and says: | |
"Does who know us?" | |
"Why, dis-yer runaway nigger." | |
"I don't reckon he does; but what put that into your head?" | |
"What put it dar? Didn' he jis' dis minute sing out like he knowed | |
you?" | |
Tom says, in a puzzled-up kind of way: | |
"Well, that's mighty curious. Who sung out? when did he sing out? | |
what did he sing out?" And turns to me, perfectly ca'm, and says, | |
"Did you hear anybody sing out?" | |
Of course there warn't nothing to be said but the one thing; so I says: | |
"No; I ain't heard nobody say nothing." | |
Then he turns to Jim, and looks him over like he never see him before, | |
and says: | |
"Did you sing out?" | |
"No, sah," says Jim; "I hain't said nothing, sah." | |
"Not a word?" | |
"No, sah, I hain't said a word." | |
"Did you ever see us before?" | |
"No, sah; not as I knows on." | |
So Tom turns to the nigger, which was looking wild and distressed, and | |
says, kind of severe: | |
"What do you reckon's the matter with you, anyway? What made you think | |
somebody sung out?" | |
"Oh, it's de dad-blame' witches, sah, en I wisht I was dead, I do. | |
Dey's awluz at it, sah, en dey do mos' kill me, dey sk'yers me so. | |
Please to don't tell nobody 'bout it sah, er ole Mars Silas he'll scole | |
me; 'kase he say dey ain't no witches. I jis' wish to goodness he was | |
heah nowden what would he say! I jis' bet he couldn' fine no way to | |
git aroun' it dis time. But it's awluz jis' so; people dat's sot, | |
stays sot; dey won't look into noth'n'en fine it out f'r deyselves, en | |
when you fine it out en tell um 'bout it, dey doan' b'lieve you." | |
Tom give him a dime, and said we wouldn't tell nobody; and told him to | |
buy some more thread to tie up his wool with; and then looks at Jim, and | |
says: | |
"I wonder if Uncle Silas is going to hang this nigger. If I was to | |
catch a nigger that was ungrateful enough to run away, I wouldn't give | |
him up, I'd hang him." And whilst the nigger stepped to the door to | |
look at the dime and bite it to see if it was good, he whispers to Jim | |
and says: | |
"Don't ever let on to know us. And if you hear any digging going on | |
nights, it's us; we're going to set you free." | |
Jim only had time to grab us by the hand and squeeze it; then the nigger | |
come back, and we said we'd come again some time if the nigger wanted | |
us to; and he said he would, more particular if it was dark, because the | |
witches went for him mostly in the dark, and it was good to have folks | |
around then. | |
CHAPTER XXXV. | |
IT would be most an hour yet till breakfast, so we left and struck down | |
into the woods; because Tom said we got to have some light to see how | |
to dig by, and a lantern makes too much, and might get us into trouble; | |
what we must have was a lot of them rotten chunks that's called | |
fox-fire, and just makes a soft kind of a glow when you lay them in a | |
dark place. We fetched an armful and hid it in the weeds, and set down | |
to rest, and Tom says, kind of dissatisfied: | |
"Blame it, this whole thing is just as easy and awkward as it can be. | |
And so it makes it so rotten difficult to get up a difficult plan. | |
There ain't no watchman to be druggednow there ought to be a | |
watchman. There ain't even a dog to give a sleeping-mixture to. And | |
there's Jim chained by one leg, with a ten-foot chain, to the leg of his | |
bed: why, all you got to do is to lift up the bedstead and slip off | |
the chain. And Uncle Silas he trusts everybody; sends the key to the | |
punkin-headed nigger, and don't send nobody to watch the nigger. Jim | |
could a got out of that window-hole before this, only there wouldn't be | |
no use trying to travel with a ten-foot chain on his leg. Why, drat it, | |
Huck, it's the stupidest arrangement I ever see. You got to invent all | |
the difficulties. Well, we can't help it; we got to do the best we can | |
with the materials we've got. Anyhow, there's one thingthere's more | |
honor in getting him out through a lot of difficulties and dangers, | |
where there warn't one of them furnished to you by the people who it was | |
their duty to furnish them, and you had to contrive them all out of your | |
own head. Now look at just that one thing of the lantern. When you | |
come down to the cold facts, we simply got to let on that a lantern's | |
resky. Why, we could work with a torchlight procession if we wanted to, | |
I believe. Now, whilst I think of it, we got to hunt up something to | |
make a saw out of the first chance we get." | |
"What do we want of a saw?" | |
"What do we want of it? Hain't we got to saw the leg of Jim's bed | |
off, so as to get the chain loose?" | |
"Why, you just said a body could lift up the bedstead and slip the chain | |
off." | |
"Well, if that ain't just like you, Huck Finn. You can get up the | |
infant-schooliest ways of going at a thing. Why, hain't you ever read | |
any books at all?Baron Trenck, nor Casanova, nor Benvenuto Chelleeny, | |
nor Henri IV., nor none of them heroes? Who ever heard of getting a | |
prisoner loose in such an old-maidy way as that? No; the way all the | |
best authorities does is to saw the bed-leg in two, and leave it just | |
so, and swallow the sawdust, so it can't be found, and put some dirt and | |
grease around the sawed place so the very keenest seneskal can't see | |
no sign of it's being sawed, and thinks the bed-leg is perfectly sound. | |
Then, the night you're ready, fetch the leg a kick, down she goes; slip | |
off your chain, and there you are. Nothing to do but hitch your | |
rope ladder to the battlements, shin down it, break your leg in the | |
moatbecause a rope ladder is nineteen foot too short, you knowand | |
there's your horses and your trusty vassles, and they scoop you up and | |
fling you across a saddle, and away you go to your native Langudoc, or | |
Navarre, or wherever it is. It's gaudy, Huck. I wish there was a moat | |
to this cabin. If we get time, the night of the escape, we'll dig one." | |
I says: | |
"What do we want of a moat when we're going to snake him out from under | |
the cabin?" | |
But he never heard me. He had forgot me and everything else. He had | |
his chin in his hand, thinking. Pretty soon he sighs and shakes his | |
head; then sighs again, and says: | |
"No, it wouldn't dothere ain't necessity enough for it." | |
"For what?" I says. | |
"Why, to saw Jim's leg off," he says. | |
"Good land!" I says; "why, there ain't no necessity for it. And what | |
would you want to saw his leg off for, anyway?" | |
"Well, some of the best authorities has done it. They couldn't get the | |
chain off, so they just cut their hand off and shoved. And a leg would | |
be better still. But we got to let that go. There ain't necessity | |
enough in this case; and, besides, Jim's a nigger, and wouldn't | |
understand the reasons for it, and how it's the custom in Europe; so | |
we'll let it go. But there's one thinghe can have a rope ladder; we | |
can tear up our sheets and make him a rope ladder easy enough. And we | |
can send it to him in a pie; it's mostly done that way. And I've et | |
worse pies." | |
"Why, Tom Sawyer, how you talk," I says; "Jim ain't got no use for a | |
rope ladder." | |
"He has got use for it. How you talk, you better say; you don't | |
know nothing about it. He's got to have a rope ladder; they all do." | |
"What in the nation can he do with it?" | |
"Do with it? He can hide it in his bed, can't he?" That's what they | |
all do; and he's got to, too. Huck, you don't ever seem to want to do | |
anything that's regular; you want to be starting something fresh all the | |
time. S'pose he don't do nothing with it? ain't it there in his bed, | |
for a clew, after he's gone? and don't you reckon they'll want clews? | |
Of course they will. And you wouldn't leave them any? That would be a | |
pretty howdy-do, wouldn't it! I never heard of such a thing." | |
"Well," I says, "if it's in the regulations, and he's got to have | |
it, all right, let him have it; because I don't wish to go back on no | |
regulations; but there's one thing, Tom Sawyerif we go to tearing up | |
our sheets to make Jim a rope ladder, we're going to get into trouble | |
with Aunt Sally, just as sure as you're born. Now, the way I look at | |
it, a hickry-bark ladder don't cost nothing, and don't waste nothing, | |
and is just as good to load up a pie with, and hide in a straw tick, | |
as any rag ladder you can start; and as for Jim, he ain't had no | |
experience, and so he don't care what kind of a" | |
"Oh, shucks, Huck Finn, if I was as ignorant as you I'd keep | |
stillthat's what I'D do. Who ever heard of a state prisoner escaping | |
by a hickry-bark ladder? Why, it's perfectly ridiculous." | |
"Well, all right, Tom, fix it your own way; but if you'll take my | |
advice, you'll let me borrow a sheet off of the clothesline." | |
He said that would do. And that gave him another idea, and he says: | |
"Borrow a shirt, too." | |
"What do we want of a shirt, Tom?" | |
"Want it for Jim to keep a journal on." | |
"Journal your grannyJim can't write." | |
"S'pose he can't writehe can make marks on the shirt, can't he, if | |
we make him a pen out of an old pewter spoon or a piece of an old iron | |
barrel-hoop?" | |
"Why, Tom, we can pull a feather out of a goose and make him a better | |
one; and quicker, too." | |
"Prisoners don't have geese running around the donjon-keep to pull | |
pens out of, you muggins. They always make their pens out of the | |
hardest, toughest, troublesomest piece of old brass candlestick or | |
something like that they can get their hands on; and it takes them weeks | |
and weeks and months and months to file it out, too, because they've got | |
to do it by rubbing it on the wall. They wouldn't use a goose-quill | |
if they had it. It ain't regular." | |
"Well, then, what'll we make him the ink out of?" | |
"Many makes it out of iron-rust and tears; but that's the common sort | |
and women; the best authorities uses their own blood. Jim can do that; | |
and when he wants to send any little common ordinary mysterious message | |
to let the world know where he's captivated, he can write it on the | |
bottom of a tin plate with a fork and throw it out of the window. The | |
Iron Mask always done that, and it's a blame' good way, too." | |
"Jim ain't got no tin plates. They feed him in a pan." | |
"That ain't nothing; we can get him some." | |
"Can't nobody read his plates." | |
"That ain't got anything to do with it, Huck Finn. All he's got to | |
do is to write on the plate and throw it out. You don't have to be | |
able to read it. Why, half the time you can't read anything a prisoner | |
writes on a tin plate, or anywhere else." | |
"Well, then, what's the sense in wasting the plates?" | |
"Why, blame it all, it ain't the prisoner's plates." | |
"But it's somebody's plates, ain't it?" | |
"Well, spos'n it is? What does the prisoner care whose" | |
He broke off there, because we heard the breakfast-horn blowing. So we | |
cleared out for the house. | |
Along during the morning I borrowed a sheet and a white shirt off of the | |
clothes-line; and I found an old sack and put them in it, and we went | |
down and got the fox-fire, and put that in too. I called it borrowing, | |
because that was what pap always called it; but Tom said it warn't | |
borrowing, it was stealing. He said we was representing prisoners; and | |
prisoners don't care how they get a thing so they get it, and nobody | |
don't blame them for it, either. It ain't no crime in a prisoner to | |
steal the thing he needs to get away with, Tom said; it's his right; and | |
so, as long as we was representing a prisoner, we had a perfect right to | |
steal anything on this place we had the least use for to get ourselves | |
out of prison with. He said if we warn't prisoners it would be a very | |
different thing, and nobody but a mean, ornery person would steal when | |
he warn't a prisoner. So we allowed we would steal everything there was | |
that come handy. And yet he made a mighty fuss, one day, after that, | |
when I stole a watermelon out of the nigger-patch and eat it; and he | |
made me go and give the niggers a dime without telling them what it | |
was for. Tom said that what he meant was, we could steal anything we | |
needed. Well, I says, I needed the watermelon. But he said I didn't | |
need it to get out of prison with; there's where the difference was. | |
He said if I'd a wanted it to hide a knife in, and smuggle it to Jim | |
to kill the seneskal with, it would a been all right. So I let it go at | |
that, though I couldn't see no advantage in my representing a prisoner | |
if I got to set down and chaw over a lot of gold-leaf distinctions like | |
that every time I see a chance to hog a watermelon. | |
Well, as I was saying, we waited that morning till everybody was settled | |
down to business, and nobody in sight around the yard; then Tom he | |
carried the sack into the lean-to whilst I stood off a piece to keep | |
watch. By and by he come out, and we went and set down on the woodpile | |
to talk. He says: | |
"Everything's all right now except tools; and that's easy fixed." | |
"Tools?" I says. | |
"Yes." | |
"Tools for what?" | |
"Why, to dig with. We ain't a-going to gnaw him out, are we?" | |
"Ain't them old crippled picks and things in there good enough to dig a | |
nigger out with?" I says. | |
He turns on me, looking pitying enough to make a body cry, and says: | |
"Huck Finn, did you ever hear of a prisoner having picks and shovels, | |
and all the modern conveniences in his wardrobe to dig himself out with? | |
Now I want to ask youif you got any reasonableness in you at allwhat | |
kind of a show would that give him to be a hero? Why, they might as | |
well lend him the key and done with it. Picks and shovelswhy, they | |
wouldn't furnish 'em to a king." | |
"Well, then," I says, "if we don't want the picks and shovels, what do | |
we want?" | |
"A couple of case-knives." | |
"To dig the foundations out from under that cabin with?" | |
"Yes." | |
"Confound it, it's foolish, Tom." | |
"It don't make no difference how foolish it is, it's the right wayand | |
it's the regular way. And there ain't no other way, that ever I heard | |
of, and I've read all the books that gives any information about these | |
things. They always dig out with a case-knifeand not through dirt, mind | |
you; generly it's through solid rock. And it takes them weeks and weeks | |
and weeks, and for ever and ever. Why, look at one of them prisoners in | |
the bottom dungeon of the Castle Deef, in the harbor of Marseilles, that | |
dug himself out that way; how long was he at it, you reckon?" | |
"I don't know." | |
"Well, guess." | |
"I don't know. A month and a half." | |
"Thirty-seven yearand he come out in China. That's the kind. I | |
wish the bottom of this fortress was solid rock." | |
"Jim don't know nobody in China." | |
"What's that got to do with it? Neither did that other fellow. But | |
you're always a-wandering off on a side issue. Why can't you stick to | |
the main point?" | |
"All rightI don't care where he comes out, so he comes out; and Jim | |
don't, either, I reckon. But there's one thing, anywayJim's too old to | |
be dug out with a case-knife. He won't last." | |
"Yes he will last, too. You don't reckon it's going to take | |
thirty-seven years to dig out through a dirt foundation, do you?" | |
"How long will it take, Tom?" | |
"Well, we can't resk being as long as we ought to, because it mayn't | |
take very long for Uncle Silas to hear from down there by New Orleans. | |
He'll hear Jim ain't from there. Then his next move will be to | |
advertise Jim, or something like that. So we can't resk being as long | |
digging him out as we ought to. By rights I reckon we ought to be | |
a couple of years; but we can't. Things being so uncertain, what I | |
recommend is this: that we really dig right in, as quick as we can; | |
and after that, we can let on, to ourselves, that we was at it | |
thirty-seven years. Then we can snatch him out and rush him away the | |
first time there's an alarm. Yes, I reckon that 'll be the best way." | |
"Now, there's sense in that," I says. "Letting on don't cost nothing; | |
letting on ain't no trouble; and if it's any object, I don't mind | |
letting on we was at it a hundred and fifty year. It wouldn't strain | |
me none, after I got my hand in. So I'll mosey along now, and smouch a | |
couple of case-knives." | |
"Smouch three," he says; "we want one to make a saw out of." | |
"Tom, if it ain't unregular and irreligious to sejest it," I says, | |
"there's an old rusty saw-blade around yonder sticking under the | |
weather-boarding behind the smoke-house." | |
He looked kind of weary and discouraged-like, and says: | |
"It ain't no use to try to learn you nothing, Huck. Run along and | |
smouch the knivesthree of them." So I done it. | |
CHAPTER XXXVI. | |
AS soon as we reckoned everybody was asleep that night we went down the | |
lightning-rod, and shut ourselves up in the lean-to, and got out our | |
pile of fox-fire, and went to work. We cleared everything out of the | |
way, about four or five foot along the middle of the bottom log. Tom | |
said he was right behind Jim's bed now, and we'd dig in under it, and | |
when we got through there couldn't nobody in the cabin ever know there | |
was any hole there, because Jim's counter-pin hung down most to the | |
ground, and you'd have to raise it up and look under to see the hole. | |
So we dug and dug with the case-knives till most midnight; and then | |
we was dog-tired, and our hands was blistered, and yet you couldn't see | |
we'd done anything hardly. At last I says: | |
"This ain't no thirty-seven year job; this is a thirty-eight year job, | |
Tom Sawyer." | |
He never said nothing. But he sighed, and pretty soon he stopped | |
digging, and then for a good little while I knowed that he was thinking. | |
Then he says: | |
"It ain't no use, Huck, it ain't a-going to work. If we was prisoners | |
it would, because then we'd have as many years as we wanted, and no | |
hurry; and we wouldn't get but a few minutes to dig, every day, while | |
they was changing watches, and so our hands wouldn't get blistered, and | |
we could keep it up right along, year in and year out, and do it right, | |
and the way it ought to be done. But we can't fool along; we got to | |
rush; we ain't got no time to spare. If we was to put in another | |
night this way we'd have to knock off for a week to let our hands get | |
wellcouldn't touch a case-knife with them sooner." | |
"Well, then, what we going to do, Tom?" | |
"I'll tell you. It ain't right, and it ain't moral, and I wouldn't like | |
it to get out; but there ain't only just the one way: we got to dig him | |
out with the picks, and let on it's case-knives." | |
"Now you're talking!" I says; "your head gets leveler and leveler | |
all the time, Tom Sawyer," I says. "Picks is the thing, moral or no | |
moral; and as for me, I don't care shucks for the morality of it, nohow. | |
When I start in to steal a nigger, or a watermelon, or a Sunday-school | |
book, I ain't no ways particular how it's done so it's done. What I | |
want is my nigger; or what I want is my watermelon; or what I want is my | |
Sunday-school book; and if a pick's the handiest thing, that's the thing | |
I'm a-going to dig that nigger or that watermelon or that Sunday-school | |
book out with; and I don't give a dead rat what the authorities thinks | |
about it nuther." | |
"Well," he says, "there's excuse for picks and letting-on in a case like | |
this; if it warn't so, I wouldn't approve of it, nor I wouldn't stand by | |
and see the rules brokebecause right is right, and wrong is wrong, | |
and a body ain't got no business doing wrong when he ain't ignorant and | |
knows better. It might answer for you to dig Jim out with a pick, | |
without any letting on, because you don't know no better; but it | |
wouldn't for me, because I do know better. Gimme a case-knife." | |
He had his own by him, but I handed him mine. He flung it down, and | |
says: | |
"Gimme a case-knife." | |
I didn't know just what to dobut then I thought. I scratched around | |
amongst the old tools, and got a pickaxe and give it to him, and he took | |
it and went to work, and never said a word. | |
He was always just that particular. Full of principle. | |
So then I got a shovel, and then we picked and shoveled, turn about, | |
and made the fur fly. We stuck to it about a half an hour, which was as | |
long as we could stand up; but we had a good deal of a hole to show for | |
it. When I got up stairs I looked out at the window and see Tom doing | |
his level best with the lightning-rod, but he couldn't come it, his | |
hands was so sore. At last he says: | |
"It ain't no use, it can't be done. What you reckon I better do? Can't | |
you think of no way?" | |
"Yes," I says, "but I reckon it ain't regular. Come up the stairs, and | |
let on it's a lightning-rod." | |
So he done it. | |
Next day Tom stole a pewter spoon and a brass candlestick in the house, | |
for to make some pens for Jim out of, and six tallow candles; and I | |
hung around the nigger cabins and laid for a chance, and stole three tin | |
plates. Tom says it wasn't enough; but I said nobody wouldn't ever see | |
the plates that Jim throwed out, because they'd fall in the dog-fennel | |
and jimpson weeds under the window-holethen we could tote them back and | |
he could use them over again. So Tom was satisfied. Then he says: | |
"Now, the thing to study out is, how to get the things to Jim." | |
"Take them in through the hole," I says, "when we get it done." | |
He only just looked scornful, and said something about nobody ever heard | |
of such an idiotic idea, and then he went to studying. By and by he | |
said he had ciphered out two or three ways, but there warn't no need to | |
decide on any of them yet. Said we'd got to post Jim first. | |
That night we went down the lightning-rod a little after ten, and took | |
one of the candles along, and listened under the window-hole, and heard | |
Jim snoring; so we pitched it in, and it didn't wake him. Then we | |
whirled in with the pick and shovel, and in about two hours and a half | |
the job was done. We crept in under Jim's bed and into the cabin, and | |
pawed around and found the candle and lit it, and stood over Jim awhile, | |
and found him looking hearty and healthy, and then we woke him up gentle | |
and gradual. He was so glad to see us he most cried; and called us | |
honey, and all the pet names he could think of; and was for having us | |
hunt up a cold-chisel to cut the chain off of his leg with right away, | |
and clearing out without losing any time. But Tom he showed him how | |
unregular it would be, and set down and told him all about our plans, | |
and how we could alter them in a minute any time there was an alarm; and | |
not to be the least afraid, because we would see he got away, sure. | |
So Jim he said it was all right, and we set there and talked over old | |
times awhile, and then Tom asked a lot of questions, and when Jim told | |
him Uncle Silas come in every day or two to pray with him, and Aunt | |
Sally come in to see if he was comfortable and had plenty to eat, and | |
both of them was kind as they could be, Tom says: | |
"Now I know how to fix it. We'll send you some things by them." | |
I said, "Don't do nothing of the kind; it's one of the most jackass | |
ideas I ever struck;" but he never paid no attention to me; went right | |
on. It was his way when he'd got his plans set. | |
So he told Jim how we'd have to smuggle in the rope-ladder pie and other | |
large things by Nat, the nigger that fed him, and he must be on the | |
lookout, and not be surprised, and not let Nat see him open them; and | |
we would put small things in uncle's coat-pockets and he must steal them | |
out; and we would tie things to aunt's apron-strings or put them in her | |
apron-pocket, if we got a chance; and told him what they would be and | |
what they was for. And told him how to keep a journal on the shirt with | |
his blood, and all that. He told him everything. Jim he couldn't see | |
no sense in the most of it, but he allowed we was white folks and knowed | |
better than him; so he was satisfied, and said he would do it all just | |
as Tom said. | |
Jim had plenty corn-cob pipes and tobacco; so we had a right down good | |
sociable time; then we crawled out through the hole, and so home to | |
bed, with hands that looked like they'd been chawed. Tom was in high | |
spirits. He said it was the best fun he ever had in his life, and the | |
most intellectural; and said if he only could see his way to it we would | |
keep it up all the rest of our lives and leave Jim to our children to | |
get out; for he believed Jim would come to like it better and better the | |
more he got used to it. He said that in that way it could be strung out | |
to as much as eighty year, and would be the best time on record. And he | |
said it would make us all celebrated that had a hand in it. | |
In the morning we went out to the woodpile and chopped up the brass | |
candlestick into handy sizes, and Tom put them and the pewter spoon in | |
his pocket. Then we went to the nigger cabins, and while I got Nat's | |
notice off, Tom shoved a piece of candlestick into the middle of a | |
corn-pone that was in Jim's pan, and we went along with Nat to see how | |
it would work, and it just worked noble; when Jim bit into it it most | |
mashed all his teeth out; and there warn't ever anything could a worked | |
better. Tom said so himself. Jim he never let on but what it was only | |
just a piece of rock or something like that that's always getting into | |
bread, you know; but after that he never bit into nothing but what he | |
jabbed his fork into it in three or four places first. | |
And whilst we was a-standing there in the dimmish light, here comes a | |
couple of the hounds bulging in from under Jim's bed; and they kept on | |
piling in till there was eleven of them, and there warn't hardly room | |
in there to get your breath. By jings, we forgot to fasten that lean-to | |
door! The nigger Nat he only just hollered "Witches" once, and keeled | |
over on to the floor amongst the dogs, and begun to groan like he was | |
dying. Tom jerked the door open and flung out a slab of Jim's meat, | |
and the dogs went for it, and in two seconds he was out himself and back | |
again and shut the door, and I knowed he'd fixed the other door too. | |
Then he went to work on the nigger, coaxing him and petting him, and | |
asking him if he'd been imagining he saw something again. He raised up, | |
and blinked his eyes around, and says: | |
"Mars Sid, you'll say I's a fool, but if I didn't b'lieve I see most a | |
million dogs, er devils, er some'n, I wisht I may die right heah in dese | |
tracks. I did, mos' sholy. Mars Sid, I felt umI felt um, sah; dey | |
was all over me. Dad fetch it, I jis' wisht I could git my han's on one | |
er dem witches jis' wunston'y jis' wunstit's all I'd ast. But mos'ly | |
I wisht dey'd lemme 'lone, I does." | |
Tom says: | |
"Well, I tell you what I think. What makes them come here just at this | |
runaway nigger's breakfast-time? It's because they're hungry; that's | |
the reason. You make them a witch pie; that's the thing for you to | |
do." | |
"But my lan', Mars Sid, how's I gwyne to make 'm a witch pie? I doan' | |
know how to make it. I hain't ever hearn er sich a thing b'fo'." | |
"Well, then, I'll have to make it myself." | |
"Will you do it, honey?will you? I'll wusshup de groun' und' yo' foot, | |
I will!" | |
"All right, I'll do it, seeing it's you, and you've been good to us and | |
showed us the runaway nigger. But you got to be mighty careful. When | |
we come around, you turn your back; and then whatever we've put in the | |
pan, don't you let on you see it at all. And don't you look when Jim | |
unloads the pansomething might happen, I don't know what. And above | |
all, don't you handle the witch-things." | |
"Hannel 'M, Mars Sid? What is you a-talkin' 'bout? I wouldn' | |
lay de weight er my finger on um, not f'r ten hund'd thous'n billion | |
dollars, I wouldn't." | |
CHAPTER XXXVII. | |
THAT was all fixed. So then we went away and went to the rubbage-pile | |
in the back yard, where they keep the old boots, and rags, and pieces | |
of bottles, and wore-out tin things, and all such truck, and scratched | |
around and found an old tin washpan, and stopped up the holes as well as | |
we could, to bake the pie in, and took it down cellar and stole it full | |
of flour and started for breakfast, and found a couple of shingle-nails | |
that Tom said would be handy for a prisoner to scrabble his name and | |
sorrows on the dungeon walls with, and dropped one of them in Aunt | |
Sally's apron-pocket which was hanging on a chair, and t'other we stuck | |
in the band of Uncle Silas's hat, which was on the bureau, because we | |
heard the children say their pa and ma was going to the runaway nigger's | |
house this morning, and then went to breakfast, and Tom dropped the | |
pewter spoon in Uncle Silas's coat-pocket, and Aunt Sally wasn't come | |
yet, so we had to wait a little while. | |
And when she come she was hot and red and cross, and couldn't hardly | |
wait for the blessing; and then she went to sluicing out coffee with one | |
hand and cracking the handiest child's head with her thimble with the | |
other, and says: | |
"I've hunted high and I've hunted low, and it does beat all what has | |
become of your other shirt." | |
My heart fell down amongst my lungs and livers and things, and a hard | |
piece of corn-crust started down my throat after it and got met on the | |
road with a cough, and was shot across the table, and took one of the | |
children in the eye and curled him up like a fishing-worm, and let a cry | |
out of him the size of a warwhoop, and Tom he turned kinder blue around | |
the gills, and it all amounted to a considerable state of things for | |
about a quarter of a minute or as much as that, and I would a sold out | |
for half price if there was a bidder. But after that we was all right | |
againit was the sudden surprise of it that knocked us so kind of cold. | |
Uncle Silas he says: | |
"It's most uncommon curious, I can't understand it. I know perfectly | |
well I took it off, because" | |
"Because you hain't got but one on. Just listen at the man! I know | |
you took it off, and know it by a better way than your wool-gethering | |
memory, too, because it was on the clo's-line yesterdayI see it there | |
myself. But it's gone, that's the long and the short of it, and you'll | |
just have to change to a red flann'l one till I can get time to make a | |
new one. And it 'll be the third I've made in two years. It just keeps | |
a body on the jump to keep you in shirts; and whatever you do manage to | |
do with 'm all is more'n I can make out. A body 'd think you would | |
learn to take some sort of care of 'em at your time of life." | |
"I know it, Sally, and I do try all I can. But it oughtn't to be | |
altogether my fault, because, you know, I don't see them nor have | |
nothing to do with them except when they're on me; and I don't believe | |
I've ever lost one of them off of me." | |
"Well, it ain't your fault if you haven't, Silas; you'd a done it | |
if you could, I reckon. And the shirt ain't all that's gone, nuther. | |
Ther's a spoon gone; and that ain't all. There was ten, and now | |
ther's only nine. The calf got the shirt, I reckon, but the calf never | |
took the spoon, that's certain." | |
"Why, what else is gone, Sally?" | |
"Ther's six candles gonethat's what. The rats could a got the | |
candles, and I reckon they did; I wonder they don't walk off with the | |
whole place, the way you're always going to stop their holes and don't | |
do it; and if they warn't fools they'd sleep in your hair, Silasyou'd | |
never find it out; but you can't lay the spoon on the rats, and that I | |
know." | |
"Well, Sally, I'm in fault, and I acknowledge it; I've been remiss; but | |
I won't let to-morrow go by without stopping up them holes." | |
"Oh, I wouldn't hurry; next year 'll do. Matilda Angelina Araminta | |
Phelps!" | |
Whack comes the thimble, and the child snatches her claws out of the | |
sugar-bowl without fooling around any. Just then the nigger woman steps | |
on to the passage, and says: | |
"Missus, dey's a sheet gone." | |
"A sheet gone! Well, for the land's sake!" | |
"I'll stop up them holes to-day," says Uncle Silas, looking sorrowful. | |
"Oh, do shet up!s'pose the rats took the sheet? where's it gone, | |
Lize?" | |
"Clah to goodness I hain't no notion, Miss' Sally. She wuz on de | |
clo'sline yistiddy, but she done gone: she ain' dah no mo' now." | |
"I reckon the world is coming to an end. I never see the beat of it | |
in all my born days. A shirt, and a sheet, and a spoon, and six can" | |
"Missus," comes a young yaller wench, "dey's a brass cannelstick | |
miss'n." | |
"Cler out from here, you hussy, er I'll take a skillet to ye!" | |
Well, she was just a-biling. I begun to lay for a chance; I reckoned | |
I would sneak out and go for the woods till the weather moderated. She | |
kept a-raging right along, running her insurrection all by herself, and | |
everybody else mighty meek and quiet; and at last Uncle Silas, looking | |
kind of foolish, fishes up that spoon out of his pocket. She stopped, | |
with her mouth open and her hands up; and as for me, I wished I was in | |
Jeruslem or somewheres. But not long, because she says: | |
"It's just as I expected. So you had it in your pocket all the time; | |
and like as not you've got the other things there, too. How'd it get | |
there?" | |
"I reely don't know, Sally," he says, kind of apologizing, "or you know | |
I would tell. I was a-studying over my text in Acts Seventeen before | |
breakfast, and I reckon I put it in there, not noticing, meaning to put | |
my Testament in, and it must be so, because my Testament ain't in; but | |
I'll go and see; and if the Testament is where I had it, I'll know I | |
didn't put it in, and that will show that I laid the Testament down and | |
took up the spoon, and" | |
"Oh, for the land's sake! Give a body a rest! Go 'long now, the whole | |
kit and biling of ye; and don't come nigh me again till I've got back my | |
peace of mind." | |
I'D a heard her if she'd a said it to herself, let alone speaking it | |
out; and I'd a got up and obeyed her if I'd a been dead. As we was | |
passing through the setting-room the old man he took up his hat, and the | |
shingle-nail fell out on the floor, and he just merely picked it up and | |
laid it on the mantel-shelf, and never said nothing, and went out. Tom | |
see him do it, and remembered about the spoon, and says: | |
"Well, it ain't no use to send things by him no more, he ain't | |
reliable." Then he says: "But he done us a good turn with the spoon, | |
anyway, without knowing it, and so we'll go and do him one without him | |
knowing itstop up his rat-holes." | |
There was a noble good lot of them down cellar, and it took us a whole | |
hour, but we done the job tight and good and shipshape. Then we heard | |
steps on the stairs, and blowed out our light and hid; and here comes | |
the old man, with a candle in one hand and a bundle of stuff in t'other, | |
looking as absent-minded as year before last. He went a mooning around, | |
first to one rat-hole and then another, till he'd been to them all. | |
Then he stood about five minutes, picking tallow-drip off of his candle | |
and thinking. Then he turns off slow and dreamy towards the stairs, | |
saying: | |
"Well, for the life of me I can't remember when I done it. I could | |
show her now that I warn't to blame on account of the rats. But never | |
mindlet it go. I reckon it wouldn't do no good." | |
And so he went on a-mumbling up stairs, and then we left. He was a | |
mighty nice old man. And always is. | |
Tom was a good deal bothered about what to do for a spoon, but he said | |
we'd got to have it; so he took a think. When he had ciphered it out | |
he told me how we was to do; then we went and waited around the | |
spoon-basket till we see Aunt Sally coming, and then Tom went to | |
counting the spoons and laying them out to one side, and I slid one of | |
them up my sleeve, and Tom says: | |
"Why, Aunt Sally, there ain't but nine spoons yet." | |
She says: | |
"Go 'long to your play, and don't bother me. I know better, I counted | |
'm myself." | |
"Well, I've counted them twice, Aunty, and I can't make but nine." | |
She looked out of all patience, but of course she come to countanybody | |
would. | |
"I declare to gracious ther' ain't but nine!" she says. "Why, what in | |
the worldplague take the things, I'll count 'm again." | |
So I slipped back the one I had, and when she got done counting, she | |
says: | |
"Hang the troublesome rubbage, ther's ten now!" and she looked huffy | |
and bothered both. But Tom says: | |
"Why, Aunty, I don't think there's ten." | |
"You numskull, didn't you see me count 'm?" | |
"I know, but" | |
"Well, I'll count 'm again." | |
So I smouched one, and they come out nine, same as the other time. | |
Well, she was in a tearing wayjust a-trembling all over, she was so | |
mad. But she counted and counted till she got that addled she'd start | |
to count in the basket for a spoon sometimes; and so, three times they | |
come out right, and three times they come out wrong. Then she grabbed | |
up the basket and slammed it across the house and knocked the cat | |
galley-west; and she said cle'r out and let her have some peace, and if | |
we come bothering around her again betwixt that and dinner she'd skin | |
us. So we had the odd spoon, and dropped it in her apron-pocket whilst | |
she was a-giving us our sailing orders, and Jim got it all right, along | |
with her shingle nail, before noon. We was very well satisfied with | |
this business, and Tom allowed it was worth twice the trouble it took, | |
because he said now she couldn't ever count them spoons twice alike | |
again to save her life; and wouldn't believe she'd counted them right if | |
she did; and said that after she'd about counted her head off for the | |
next three days he judged she'd give it up and offer to kill anybody | |
that wanted her to ever count them any more. | |
So we put the sheet back on the line that night, and stole one out of | |
her closet; and kept on putting it back and stealing it again for a | |
couple of days till she didn't know how many sheets she had any more, | |
and she didn't care, and warn't a-going to bullyrag the rest of her | |
soul out about it, and wouldn't count them again not to save her life; | |
she druther die first. | |
So we was all right now, as to the shirt and the sheet and the spoon | |
and the candles, by the help of the calf and the rats and the mixed-up | |
counting; and as to the candlestick, it warn't no consequence, it would | |
blow over by and by. | |
But that pie was a job; we had no end of trouble with that pie. We | |
fixed it up away down in the woods, and cooked it there; and we got it | |
done at last, and very satisfactory, too; but not all in one day; and we | |
had to use up three wash-pans full of flour before we got through, and | |
we got burnt pretty much all over, in places, and eyes put out with | |
the smoke; because, you see, we didn't want nothing but a crust, and we | |
couldn't prop it up right, and she would always cave in. But of course | |
we thought of the right way at lastwhich was to cook the ladder, too, | |
in the pie. So then we laid in with Jim the second night, and tore | |
up the sheet all in little strings and twisted them together, and long | |
before daylight we had a lovely rope that you could a hung a person | |
with. We let on it took nine months to make it. | |
And in the forenoon we took it down to the woods, but it wouldn't go | |
into the pie. Being made of a whole sheet, that way, there was rope | |
enough for forty pies if we'd a wanted them, and plenty left over | |
for soup, or sausage, or anything you choose. We could a had a whole | |
dinner. | |
But we didn't need it. All we needed was just enough for the pie, and | |
so we throwed the rest away. We didn't cook none of the pies in the | |
wash-panafraid the solder would melt; but Uncle Silas he had a noble | |
brass warming-pan which he thought considerable of, because it belonged | |
to one of his ancesters with a long wooden handle that come over from | |
England with William the Conqueror in the Mayflower or one of them early | |
ships and was hid away up garret with a lot of other old pots and things | |
that was valuable, not on account of being any account, because they | |
warn't, but on account of them being relicts, you know, and we snaked | |
her out, private, and took her down there, but she failed on the first | |
pies, because we didn't know how, but she come up smiling on the last | |
one. We took and lined her with dough, and set her in the coals, and | |
loaded her up with rag rope, and put on a dough roof, and shut down the | |
lid, and put hot embers on top, and stood off five foot, with the long | |
handle, cool and comfortable, and in fifteen minutes she turned out a | |
pie that was a satisfaction to look at. But the person that et it would | |
want to fetch a couple of kags of toothpicks along, for if that rope | |
ladder wouldn't cramp him down to business I don't know nothing what I'm | |
talking about, and lay him in enough stomach-ache to last him till next | |
time, too. | |
Nat didn't look when we put the witch pie in Jim's pan; and we put the | |
three tin plates in the bottom of the pan under the vittles; and so Jim | |
got everything all right, and as soon as he was by himself he busted | |
into the pie and hid the rope ladder inside of his straw tick, | |
and scratched some marks on a tin plate and throwed it out of the | |
window-hole. | |
CHAPTER XXXVIII. | |
MAKING them pens was a distressid tough job, and so was the saw; and Jim | |
allowed the inscription was going to be the toughest of all. That's the | |
one which the prisoner has to scrabble on the wall. But he had to have | |
it; Tom said he'd got to; there warn't no case of a state prisoner not | |
scrabbling his inscription to leave behind, and his coat of arms. | |
"Look at Lady Jane Grey," he says; "look at Gilford Dudley; look at old | |
Northumberland! Why, Huck, s'pose it is considerble trouble?what | |
you going to do?how you going to get around it? Jim's got to do his | |
inscription and coat of arms. They all do." | |
Jim says: | |
"Why, Mars Tom, I hain't got no coat o' arm; I hain't got nuffn but dish | |
yer ole shirt, en you knows I got to keep de journal on dat." | |
"Oh, you don't understand, Jim; a coat of arms is very different." | |
"Well," I says, "Jim's right, anyway, when he says he ain't got no coat | |
of arms, because he hain't." | |
"I reckon I knowed that," Tom says, "but you bet he'll have one before | |
he goes out of thisbecause he's going out right, and there ain't | |
going to be no flaws in his record." | |
So whilst me and Jim filed away at the pens on a brickbat apiece, Jim | |
a-making his'n out of the brass and I making mine out of the spoon, | |
Tom set to work to think out the coat of arms. By and by he said he'd | |
struck so many good ones he didn't hardly know which to take, but there | |
was one which he reckoned he'd decide on. He says: | |
"On the scutcheon we'll have a bend or in the dexter base, a saltire | |
murrey in the fess, with a dog, couchant, for common charge, and under | |
his foot a chain embattled, for slavery, with a chevron vert in a | |
chief engrailed, and three invected lines on a field azure, with the | |
nombril points rampant on a dancette indented; crest, a runaway nigger, | |
sable, with his bundle over his shoulder on a bar sinister; and a | |
couple of gules for supporters, which is you and me; motto, Maggiore | |
Fretta, Minore Otto. Got it out of a bookmeans the more haste the | |
less speed." | |
"Geewhillikins," I says, "but what does the rest of it mean?" | |
"We ain't got no time to bother over that," he says; "we got to dig in | |
like all git-out." | |
"Well, anyway," I says, "what's some of it? What's a fess?" | |
"A fessa fess isyou don't need to know what a fess is. I'll show | |
him how to make it when he gets to it." | |
"Shucks, Tom," I says, "I think you might tell a person. What's a bar | |
sinister?" | |
"Oh, I don't know. But he's got to have it. All the nobility does." | |
That was just his way. If it didn't suit him to explain a thing to you, | |
he wouldn't do it. You might pump at him a week, it wouldn't make no | |
difference. | |
He'd got all that coat of arms business fixed, so now he started in to | |
finish up the rest of that part of the work, which was to plan out a | |
mournful inscriptionsaid Jim got to have one, like they all done. He | |
made up a lot, and wrote them out on a paper, and read them off, so: | |
1. Here a captive heart busted. 2. Here a poor prisoner, forsook by | |
the world and friends, fretted his sorrowful life. 3. Here a lonely | |
heart broke, and a worn spirit went to its rest, after thirty-seven | |
years of solitary captivity. 4. Here, homeless and friendless, after | |
thirty-seven years of bitter captivity, perished a noble stranger, | |
natural son of Louis XIV. | |
Tom's voice trembled whilst he was reading them, and he most broke down. | |
When he got done he couldn't no way make up his mind which one for Jim | |
to scrabble on to the wall, they was all so good; but at last he allowed | |
he would let him scrabble them all on. Jim said it would take him a | |
year to scrabble such a lot of truck on to the logs with a nail, and he | |
didn't know how to make letters, besides; but Tom said he would block | |
them out for him, and then he wouldn't have nothing to do but just | |
follow the lines. Then pretty soon he says: | |
"Come to think, the logs ain't a-going to do; they don't have log walls | |
in a dungeon: we got to dig the inscriptions into a rock. We'll fetch | |
a rock." | |
Jim said the rock was worse than the logs; he said it would take him | |
such a pison long time to dig them into a rock he wouldn't ever get out. | |
But Tom said he would let me help him do it. Then he took a look to | |
see how me and Jim was getting along with the pens. It was most pesky | |
tedious hard work and slow, and didn't give my hands no show to get | |
well of the sores, and we didn't seem to make no headway, hardly; so Tom | |
says: | |
"I know how to fix it. We got to have a rock for the coat of arms and | |
mournful inscriptions, and we can kill two birds with that same rock. | |
There's a gaudy big grindstone down at the mill, and we'll smouch it, | |
and carve the things on it, and file out the pens and the saw on it, | |
too." | |
It warn't no slouch of an idea; and it warn't no slouch of a grindstone | |
nuther; but we allowed we'd tackle it. It warn't quite midnight yet, | |
so we cleared out for the mill, leaving Jim at work. We smouched the | |
grindstone, and set out to roll her home, but it was a most nation tough | |
job. Sometimes, do what we could, we couldn't keep her from falling | |
over, and she come mighty near mashing us every time. Tom said she was | |
going to get one of us, sure, before we got through. We got her half | |
way; and then we was plumb played out, and most drownded with sweat. We | |
see it warn't no use; we got to go and fetch Jim. So he raised up his | |
bed and slid the chain off of the bed-leg, and wrapt it round and round | |
his neck, and we crawled out through our hole and down there, and Jim | |
and me laid into that grindstone and walked her along like nothing; and | |
Tom superintended. He could out-superintend any boy I ever see. He | |
knowed how to do everything. | |
Our hole was pretty big, but it warn't big enough to get the grindstone | |
through; but Jim he took the pick and soon made it big enough. Then Tom | |
marked out them things on it with the nail, and set Jim to work on them, | |
with the nail for a chisel and an iron bolt from the rubbage in the | |
lean-to for a hammer, and told him to work till the rest of his candle | |
quit on him, and then he could go to bed, and hide the grindstone under | |
his straw tick and sleep on it. Then we helped him fix his chain back | |
on the bed-leg, and was ready for bed ourselves. But Tom thought of | |
something, and says: | |
"You got any spiders in here, Jim?" | |
"No, sah, thanks to goodness I hain't, Mars Tom." | |
"All right, we'll get you some." | |
"But bless you, honey, I doan' want none. I's afeard un um. I jis' | |
's soon have rattlesnakes aroun'." | |
Tom thought a minute or two, and says: | |
"It's a good idea. And I reckon it's been done. It must a been done; | |
it stands to reason. Yes, it's a prime good idea. Where could you keep | |
it?" | |
"Keep what, Mars Tom?" | |
"Why, a rattlesnake." | |
"De goodness gracious alive, Mars Tom! Why, if dey was a rattlesnake to | |
come in heah I'd take en bust right out thoo dat log wall, I would, wid | |
my head." | |
"Why, Jim, you wouldn't be afraid of it after a little. You could tame | |
it." | |
"Tame it!" | |
"Yeseasy enough. Every animal is grateful for kindness and petting, | |
and they wouldn't think of hurting a person that pets them. Any book | |
will tell you that. You trythat's all I ask; just try for two or three | |
days. Why, you can get him so, in a little while, that he'll love you; | |
and sleep with you; and won't stay away from you a minute; and will let | |
you wrap him round your neck and put his head in your mouth." | |
"Please, Mars Tomdoan' talk so! I can't stan' it! He'd let | |
me shove his head in my mouffer a favor, hain't it? I lay he'd wait a | |
pow'ful long time 'fo' I ast him. En mo' en dat, I doan' want him | |
to sleep wid me." | |
"Jim, don't act so foolish. A prisoner's got to have some kind of a | |
dumb pet, and if a rattlesnake hain't ever been tried, why, there's more | |
glory to be gained in your being the first to ever try it than any other | |
way you could ever think of to save your life." | |
"Why, Mars Tom, I doan' want no sich glory. Snake take 'n bite | |
Jim's chin off, den whah is de glory? No, sah, I doan' want no sich | |
doin's." | |
"Blame it, can't you try? I only want you to tryyou needn't keep | |
it up if it don't work." | |
"But de trouble all done ef de snake bite me while I's a tryin' him. | |
Mars Tom, I's willin' to tackle mos' anything 'at ain't onreasonable, | |
but ef you en Huck fetches a rattlesnake in heah for me to tame, I's | |
gwyne to leave, dat's shore." | |
"Well, then, let it go, let it go, if you're so bull-headed about it. | |
We can get you some garter-snakes, and you can tie some buttons on | |
their tails, and let on they're rattlesnakes, and I reckon that 'll have | |
to do." | |
"I k'n stan' dem, Mars Tom, but blame' 'f I couldn' get along widout | |
um, I tell you dat. I never knowed b'fo' 't was so much bother and | |
trouble to be a prisoner." | |
"Well, it always is when it's done right. You got any rats around | |
here?" | |
"No, sah, I hain't seed none." | |
"Well, we'll get you some rats." | |
"Why, Mars Tom, I doan' want no rats. Dey's de dadblamedest creturs | |
to 'sturb a body, en rustle roun' over 'im, en bite his feet, when he's | |
tryin' to sleep, I ever see. No, sah, gimme g'yarter-snakes, 'f I's | |
got to have 'm, but doan' gimme no rats; I hain' got no use f'r um, | |
skasely." | |
"But, Jim, you got to have 'emthey all do. So don't make no more | |
fuss about it. Prisoners ain't ever without rats. There ain't no | |
instance of it. And they train them, and pet them, and learn them | |
tricks, and they get to be as sociable as flies. But you got to play | |
music to them. You got anything to play music on?" | |
"I ain' got nuffn but a coase comb en a piece o' paper, en a juice-harp; | |
but I reck'n dey wouldn' take no stock in a juice-harp." | |
"Yes they would they don't care what kind of music 'tis. A | |
jews-harp's plenty good enough for a rat. All animals like musicin a | |
prison they dote on it. Specially, painful music; and you can't get no | |
other kind out of a jews-harp. It always interests them; they come out | |
to see what's the matter with you. Yes, you're all right; you're fixed | |
very well. You want to set on your bed nights before you go to sleep, | |
and early in the mornings, and play your jews-harp; play 'The Last Link | |
is Broken'that's the thing that 'll scoop a rat quicker 'n anything | |
else; and when you've played about two minutes you'll see all the rats, | |
and the snakes, and spiders, and things begin to feel worried about you, | |
and come. And they'll just fairly swarm over you, and have a noble good | |
time." | |
"Yes, dey will, I reck'n, Mars Tom, but what kine er time is Jim | |
havin'? Blest if I kin see de pint. But I'll do it ef I got to. I | |
reck'n I better keep de animals satisfied, en not have no trouble in de | |
house." | |
Tom waited to think it over, and see if there wasn't nothing else; and | |
pretty soon he says: | |
"Oh, there's one thing I forgot. Could you raise a flower here, do you | |
reckon?" | |
"I doan know but maybe I could, Mars Tom; but it's tolable dark in heah, | |
en I ain' got no use f'r no flower, nohow, en she'd be a pow'ful sight | |
o' trouble." | |
"Well, you try it, anyway. Some other prisoners has done it." | |
"One er dem big cat-tail-lookin' mullen-stalks would grow in heah, Mars | |
Tom, I reck'n, but she wouldn't be wuth half de trouble she'd coss." | |
"Don't you believe it. We'll fetch you a little one and you plant it in | |
the corner over there, and raise it. And don't call it mullen, call it | |
Pitchiolathat's its right name when it's in a prison. And you want to | |
water it with your tears." | |
"Why, I got plenty spring water, Mars Tom." | |
"You don't want spring water; you want to water it with your tears. | |
It's the way they always do." | |
"Why, Mars Tom, I lay I kin raise one er dem mullen-stalks twyste wid | |
spring water whiles another man's a start'n one wid tears." | |
"That ain't the idea. You got to do it with tears." | |
"She'll die on my han's, Mars Tom, she sholy will; kase I doan' skasely | |
ever cry." | |
So Tom was stumped. But he studied it over, and then said Jim would | |
have to worry along the best he could with an onion. He promised | |
he would go to the nigger cabins and drop one, private, in Jim's | |
coffee-pot, in the morning. Jim said he would "jis' 's soon have | |
tobacker in his coffee;" and found so much fault with it, and with the | |
work and bother of raising the mullen, and jews-harping the rats, and | |
petting and flattering up the snakes and spiders and things, on top of | |
all the other work he had to do on pens, and inscriptions, and journals, | |
and things, which made it more trouble and worry and responsibility to | |
be a prisoner than anything he ever undertook, that Tom most lost all | |
patience with him; and said he was just loadened down with more gaudier | |
chances than a prisoner ever had in the world to make a name for | |
himself, and yet he didn't know enough to appreciate them, and they was | |
just about wasted on him. So Jim he was sorry, and said he wouldn't | |
behave so no more, and then me and Tom shoved for bed. | |
CHAPTER XXXIX. | |
IN the morning we went up to the village and bought a wire rat-trap and | |
fetched it down, and unstopped the best rat-hole, and in about an hour | |
we had fifteen of the bulliest kind of ones; and then we took it and put | |
it in a safe place under Aunt Sally's bed. But while we was gone for | |
spiders little Thomas Franklin Benjamin Jefferson Elexander Phelps found | |
it there, and opened the door of it to see if the rats would come out, | |
and they did; and Aunt Sally she come in, and when we got back she was | |
a-standing on top of the bed raising Cain, and the rats was doing what | |
they could to keep off the dull times for her. So she took and dusted | |
us both with the hickry, and we was as much as two hours catching | |
another fifteen or sixteen, drat that meddlesome cub, and they warn't | |
the likeliest, nuther, because the first haul was the pick of the flock. | |
I never see a likelier lot of rats than what that first haul was. | |
We got a splendid stock of sorted spiders, and bugs, and frogs, and | |
caterpillars, and one thing or another; and we like to got a hornet's | |
nest, but we didn't. The family was at home. We didn't give it right | |
up, but stayed with them as long as we could; because we allowed we'd | |
tire them out or they'd got to tire us out, and they done it. Then we | |
got allycumpain and rubbed on the places, and was pretty near all right | |
again, but couldn't set down convenient. And so we went for the snakes, | |
and grabbed a couple of dozen garters and house-snakes, and put them in | |
a bag, and put it in our room, and by that time it was supper-time, and | |
a rattling good honest day's work: and hungry?oh, no, I reckon not! | |
And there warn't a blessed snake up there when we went backwe didn't | |
half tie the sack, and they worked out somehow, and left. But it didn't | |
matter much, because they was still on the premises somewheres. So | |
we judged we could get some of them again. No, there warn't no real | |
scarcity of snakes about the house for a considerable spell. You'd see | |
them dripping from the rafters and places every now and then; and they | |
generly landed in your plate, or down the back of your neck, and most | |
of the time where you didn't want them. Well, they was handsome and | |
striped, and there warn't no harm in a million of them; but that never | |
made no difference to Aunt Sally; she despised snakes, be the breed what | |
they might, and she couldn't stand them no way you could fix it; and | |
every time one of them flopped down on her, it didn't make no difference | |
what she was doing, she would just lay that work down and light out. I | |
never see such a woman. And you could hear her whoop to Jericho. You | |
couldn't get her to take a-holt of one of them with the tongs. And if | |
she turned over and found one in bed she would scramble out and lift a | |
howl that you would think the house was afire. She disturbed the old | |
man so that he said he could most wish there hadn't ever been no snakes | |
created. Why, after every last snake had been gone clear out of the | |
house for as much as a week Aunt Sally warn't over it yet; she warn't | |
near over it; when she was setting thinking about something you could | |
touch her on the back of her neck with a feather and she would jump | |
right out of her stockings. It was very curious. But Tom said all | |
women was just so. He said they was made that way for some reason or | |
other. | |
We got a licking every time one of our snakes come in her way, and she | |
allowed these lickings warn't nothing to what she would do if we ever | |
loaded up the place again with them. I didn't mind the lickings, | |
because they didn't amount to nothing; but I minded the trouble we | |
had to lay in another lot. But we got them laid in, and all the other | |
things; and you never see a cabin as blithesome as Jim's was when they'd | |
all swarm out for music and go for him. Jim didn't like the spiders, | |
and the spiders didn't like Jim; and so they'd lay for him, and make it | |
mighty warm for him. And he said that between the rats and the snakes | |
and the grindstone there warn't no room in bed for him, skasely; and | |
when there was, a body couldn't sleep, it was so lively, and it was | |
always lively, he said, because they never all slept at one time, but | |
took turn about, so when the snakes was asleep the rats was on deck, and | |
when the rats turned in the snakes come on watch, so he always had one | |
gang under him, in his way, and t'other gang having a circus over him, | |
and if he got up to hunt a new place the spiders would take a chance at | |
him as he crossed over. He said if he ever got out this time he wouldn't | |
ever be a prisoner again, not for a salary. | |
Well, by the end of three weeks everything was in pretty good shape. | |
The shirt was sent in early, in a pie, and every time a rat bit Jim he | |
would get up and write a little in his journal whilst the ink was fresh; | |
the pens was made, the inscriptions and so on was all carved on the | |
grindstone; the bed-leg was sawed in two, and we had et up the sawdust, | |
and it give us a most amazing stomach-ache. We reckoned we was all | |
going to die, but didn't. It was the most undigestible sawdust I ever | |
see; and Tom said the same. | |
But as I was saying, we'd got all the work done now, at last; and we was | |
all pretty much fagged out, too, but mainly Jim. The old man had wrote | |
a couple of times to the plantation below Orleans to come and get their | |
runaway nigger, but hadn't got no answer, because there warn't no such | |
plantation; so he allowed he would advertise Jim in the St. Louis and | |
New Orleans papers; and when he mentioned the St. Louis ones it give me | |
the cold shivers, and I see we hadn't no time to lose. So Tom said, now | |
for the nonnamous letters. | |
"What's them?" I says. | |
"Warnings to the people that something is up. Sometimes it's done one | |
way, sometimes another. But there's always somebody spying around that | |
gives notice to the governor of the castle. When Louis XVI. was going | |
to light out of the Tooleries, a servant-girl done it. It's a very good | |
way, and so is the nonnamous letters. We'll use them both. And it's | |
usual for the prisoner's mother to change clothes with him, and she | |
stays in, and he slides out in her clothes. We'll do that, too." | |
"But looky here, Tom, what do we want to warn anybody for that | |
something's up? Let them find it out for themselvesit's their | |
lookout." | |
"Yes, I know; but you can't depend on them. It's the way they've acted | |
from the very startleft us to do everything. They're so confiding | |
and mullet-headed they don't take notice of nothing at all. So if we | |
don't give them notice there won't be nobody nor nothing to interfere | |
with us, and so after all our hard work and trouble this escape 'll go | |
off perfectly flat; won't amount to nothingwon't be nothing to it." | |
"Well, as for me, Tom, that's the way I'd like." | |
"Shucks!" he says, and looked disgusted. So I says: | |
"But I ain't going to make no complaint. Any way that suits you suits | |
me. What you going to do about the servant-girl?" | |
"You'll be her. You slide in, in the middle of the night, and hook that | |
yaller girl's frock." | |
"Why, Tom, that 'll make trouble next morning; because, of course, she | |
prob'bly hain't got any but that one." | |
"I know; but you don't want it but fifteen minutes, to carry the | |
nonnamous letter and shove it under the front door." | |
"All right, then, I'll do it; but I could carry it just as handy in my | |
own togs." | |
"You wouldn't look like a servant-girl then, would you?" | |
"No, but there won't be nobody to see what I look like, anyway." | |
"That ain't got nothing to do with it. The thing for us to do is just | |
to do our duty, and not worry about whether anybody sees us do it or | |
not. Hain't you got no principle at all?" | |
"All right, I ain't saying nothing; I'm the servant-girl. Who's Jim's | |
mother?" | |
"I'm his mother. I'll hook a gown from Aunt Sally." | |
"Well, then, you'll have to stay in the cabin when me and Jim leaves." | |
"Not much. I'll stuff Jim's clothes full of straw and lay it on his bed | |
to represent his mother in disguise, and Jim 'll take the nigger woman's | |
gown off of me and wear it, and we'll all evade together. When a | |
prisoner of style escapes it's called an evasion. It's always called | |
so when a king escapes, f'rinstance. And the same with a king's son; | |
it don't make no difference whether he's a natural one or an unnatural | |
one." | |
So Tom he wrote the nonnamous letter, and I smouched the yaller wench's | |
frock that night, and put it on, and shoved it under the front door, the | |
way Tom told me to. It said: | |
Beware. Trouble is brewing. Keep a sharp lookout. Unknown Friend. | |
Next night we stuck a picture, which Tom drawed in blood, of a skull and | |
crossbones on the front door; and next night another one of a coffin on | |
the back door. I never see a family in such a sweat. They couldn't a | |
been worse scared if the place had a been full of ghosts laying for them | |
behind everything and under the beds and shivering through the air. If | |
a door banged, Aunt Sally she jumped and said "ouch!" if anything fell, | |
she jumped and said "ouch!" if you happened to touch her, when she | |
warn't noticing, she done the same; she couldn't face noway and be | |
satisfied, because she allowed there was something behind her every | |
timeso she was always a-whirling around sudden, and saying "ouch," and | |
before she'd got two-thirds around she'd whirl back again, and say it | |
again; and she was afraid to go to bed, but she dasn't set up. So the | |
thing was working very well, Tom said; he said he never see a thing work | |
more satisfactory. He said it showed it was done right. | |
So he said, now for the grand bulge! So the very next morning at the | |
streak of dawn we got another letter ready, and was wondering what we | |
better do with it, because we heard them say at supper they was going | |
to have a nigger on watch at both doors all night. Tom he went down the | |
lightning-rod to spy around; and the nigger at the back door was asleep, | |
and he stuck it in the back of his neck and come back. This letter | |
said: | |
Don't betray me, I wish to be your friend. There is a desprate gang of | |
cutthroats from over in the Indian Territory going to steal your runaway | |
nigger to-night, and they have been trying to scare you so as you will | |
stay in the house and not bother them. I am one of the gang, but have | |
got religgion and wish to quit it and lead an honest life again, and | |
will betray the helish design. They will sneak down from northards, | |
along the fence, at midnight exact, with a false key, and go in the | |
nigger's cabin to get him. I am to be off a piece and blow a tin horn | |
if I see any danger; but stead of that I will baa like a sheep soon as | |
they get in and not blow at all; then whilst they are getting his | |
chains loose, you slip there and lock them in, and can kill them at your | |
leasure. Don't do anything but just the way I am telling you, if you do | |
they will suspicion something and raise whoop-jamboreehoo. I do not wish | |
any reward but to know I have done the right thing. Unknown Friend. | |
CHAPTER XL. | |
WE was feeling pretty good after breakfast, and took my canoe and went | |
over the river a-fishing, with a lunch, and had a good time, and took a | |
look at the raft and found her all right, and got home late to supper, | |
and found them in such a sweat and worry they didn't know which end they | |
was standing on, and made us go right off to bed the minute we was done | |
supper, and wouldn't tell us what the trouble was, and never let on a | |
word about the new letter, but didn't need to, because we knowed as much | |
about it as anybody did, and as soon as we was half up stairs and her | |
back was turned we slid for the cellar cupboard and loaded up a good | |
lunch and took it up to our room and went to bed, and got up about | |
half-past eleven, and Tom put on Aunt Sally's dress that he stole and | |
was going to start with the lunch, but says: | |
"Where's the butter?" | |
"I laid out a hunk of it," I says, "on a piece of a corn-pone." | |
"Well, you left it laid out, thenit ain't here." | |
"We can get along without it," I says. | |
"We can get along with it, too," he says; "just you slide down cellar | |
and fetch it. And then mosey right down the lightning-rod and come | |
along. I'll go and stuff the straw into Jim's clothes to represent his | |
mother in disguise, and be ready to baa like a sheep and shove soon as | |
you get there." | |
So out he went, and down cellar went I. The hunk of butter, big as | |
a person's fist, was where I had left it, so I took up the slab of | |
corn-pone with it on, and blowed out my light, and started up stairs | |
very stealthy, and got up to the main floor all right, but here comes | |
Aunt Sally with a candle, and I clapped the truck in my hat, and clapped | |
my hat on my head, and the next second she see me; and she says: | |
"You been down cellar?" | |
"Yes'm." | |
"What you been doing down there?" | |
"Noth'n." | |
"Noth'n!" | |
"No'm." | |
"Well, then, what possessed you to go down there this time of night?" | |
"I don't know 'm." | |
"You don't know? Don't answer me that way. Tom, I want to know what | |
you been doing down there." | |
"I hain't been doing a single thing, Aunt Sally, I hope to gracious if I | |
have." | |
I reckoned she'd let me go now, and as a generl thing she would; but I | |
s'pose there was so many strange things going on she was just in a sweat | |
about every little thing that warn't yard-stick straight; so she says, | |
very decided: | |
"You just march into that setting-room and stay there till I come. You | |
been up to something you no business to, and I lay I'll find out what it | |
is before I'M done with you." | |
So she went away as I opened the door and walked into the setting-room. | |
My, but there was a crowd there! Fifteen farmers, and every one of them | |
had a gun. I was most powerful sick, and slunk to a chair and set down. | |
They was setting around, some of them talking a little, in a low voice, | |
and all of them fidgety and uneasy, but trying to look like they warn't; | |
but I knowed they was, because they was always taking off their hats, | |
and putting them on, and scratching their heads, and changing their | |
seats, and fumbling with their buttons. I warn't easy myself, but I | |
didn't take my hat off, all the same. | |
I did wish Aunt Sally would come, and get done with me, and lick me, if | |
she wanted to, and let me get away and tell Tom how we'd overdone this | |
thing, and what a thundering hornet's-nest we'd got ourselves into, so | |
we could stop fooling around straight off, and clear out with Jim before | |
these rips got out of patience and come for us. | |
At last she come and begun to ask me questions, but I couldn't answer | |
them straight, I didn't know which end of me was up; because these men | |
was in such a fidget now that some was wanting to start right NOW and | |
lay for them desperadoes, and saying it warn't but a few minutes to | |
midnight; and others was trying to get them to hold on and wait for the | |
sheep-signal; and here was Aunty pegging away at the questions, and | |
me a-shaking all over and ready to sink down in my tracks I was | |
that scared; and the place getting hotter and hotter, and the butter | |
beginning to melt and run down my neck and behind my ears; and pretty | |
soon, when one of them says, "I'M for going and getting in the cabin | |
first and right now, and catching them when they come," I most | |
dropped; and a streak of butter come a-trickling down my forehead, and | |
Aunt Sally she see it, and turns white as a sheet, and says: | |
"For the land's sake, what is the matter with the child? He's got the | |
brain-fever as shore as you're born, and they're oozing out!" | |
And everybody runs to see, and she snatches off my hat, and out comes | |
the bread and what was left of the butter, and she grabbed me, and | |
hugged me, and says: | |
"Oh, what a turn you did give me! and how glad and grateful I am it | |
ain't no worse; for luck's against us, and it never rains but it pours, | |
and when I see that truck I thought we'd lost you, for I knowed by | |
the color and all it was just like your brains would be ifDear, | |
dear, whyd'nt you tell me that was what you'd been down there for, I | |
wouldn't a cared. Now cler out to bed, and don't lemme see no more of | |
you till morning!" | |
I was up stairs in a second, and down the lightning-rod in another one, | |
and shinning through the dark for the lean-to. I couldn't hardly get my | |
words out, I was so anxious; but I told Tom as quick as I could we must | |
jump for it now, and not a minute to losethe house full of men, yonder, | |
with guns! | |
His eyes just blazed; and he says: | |
"No!is that so? ain't it bully! Why, Huck, if it was to do over | |
again, I bet I could fetch two hundred! If we could put it off till" | |
"Hurry! Hurry!" I says. "Where's Jim?" | |
"Right at your elbow; if you reach out your arm you can touch him. | |
He's dressed, and everything's ready. Now we'll slide out and give the | |
sheep-signal." | |
But then we heard the tramp of men coming to the door, and heard them | |
begin to fumble with the pad-lock, and heard a man say: | |
"I told you we'd be too soon; they haven't comethe door is locked. | |
Here, I'll lock some of you into the cabin, and you lay for 'em in the | |
dark and kill 'em when they come; and the rest scatter around a piece, | |
and listen if you can hear 'em coming." | |
So in they come, but couldn't see us in the dark, and most trod on | |
us whilst we was hustling to get under the bed. But we got under all | |
right, and out through the hole, swift but softJim first, me next, | |
and Tom last, which was according to Tom's orders. Now we was in the | |
lean-to, and heard trampings close by outside. So we crept to the door, | |
and Tom stopped us there and put his eye to the crack, but couldn't make | |
out nothing, it was so dark; and whispered and said he would listen | |
for the steps to get further, and when he nudged us Jim must glide out | |
first, and him last. So he set his ear to the crack and listened, and | |
listened, and listened, and the steps a-scraping around out there all | |
the time; and at last he nudged us, and we slid out, and stooped down, | |
not breathing, and not making the least noise, and slipped stealthy | |
towards the fence in Injun file, and got to it all right, and me and Jim | |
over it; but Tom's britches catched fast on a splinter on the top | |
rail, and then he hear the steps coming, so he had to pull loose, which | |
snapped the splinter and made a noise; and as he dropped in our tracks | |
and started somebody sings out: | |
"Who's that? Answer, or I'll shoot!" | |
But we didn't answer; we just unfurled our heels and shoved. Then there | |
was a rush, and a Bang, Bang, Bang! and the bullets fairly whizzed | |
around us! We heard them sing out: | |
"Here they are! They've broke for the river! After 'em, boys, and turn | |
loose the dogs!" | |
So here they come, full tilt. We could hear them because they wore | |
boots and yelled, but we didn't wear no boots and didn't yell. We was | |
in the path to the mill; and when they got pretty close on to us we | |
dodged into the bush and let them go by, and then dropped in behind | |
them. They'd had all the dogs shut up, so they wouldn't scare off the | |
robbers; but by this time somebody had let them loose, and here they | |
come, making powwow enough for a million; but they was our dogs; so we | |
stopped in our tracks till they catched up; and when they see it warn't | |
nobody but us, and no excitement to offer them, they only just said | |
howdy, and tore right ahead towards the shouting and clattering; and | |
then we up-steam again, and whizzed along after them till we was nearly | |
to the mill, and then struck up through the bush to where my canoe was | |
tied, and hopped in and pulled for dear life towards the middle of the | |
river, but didn't make no more noise than we was obleeged to. Then we | |
struck out, easy and comfortable, for the island where my raft was; and | |
we could hear them yelling and barking at each other all up and down the | |
bank, till we was so far away the sounds got dim and died out. And when | |
we stepped on to the raft I says: | |
"Now, old Jim, you're a free man again, and I bet you won't ever be a | |
slave no more." | |
"En a mighty good job it wuz, too, Huck. It 'uz planned beautiful, en | |
it 'uz done beautiful; en dey ain't nobody kin git up a plan dat's mo' | |
mixed-up en splendid den what dat one wuz." | |
We was all glad as we could be, but Tom was the gladdest of all because | |
he had a bullet in the calf of his leg. | |
When me and Jim heard that we didn't feel so brash as what we did | |
before. It was hurting him considerable, and bleeding; so we laid him in | |
the wigwam and tore up one of the duke's shirts for to bandage him, but | |
he says: | |
"Gimme the rags; I can do it myself. Don't stop now; don't fool around | |
here, and the evasion booming along so handsome; man the sweeps, and set | |
her loose! Boys, we done it elegant!'deed we did. I wish we'd a | |
had the handling of Louis XVI., there wouldn't a been no 'Son of Saint | |
Louis, ascend to heaven!' wrote down in his biography; no, sir, we'd | |
a whooped him over the borderthat's what we'd a done with himand | |
done it just as slick as nothing at all, too. Man the sweepsman the | |
sweeps!" | |
But me and Jim was consultingand thinking. And after we'd thought a | |
minute, I says: | |
"Say it, Jim." | |
So he says: | |
"Well, den, dis is de way it look to me, Huck. Ef it wuz him dat 'uz | |
bein' sot free, en one er de boys wuz to git shot, would he say, 'Go on | |
en save me, nemmine 'bout a doctor f'r to save dis one?' Is dat like | |
Mars Tom Sawyer? Would he say dat? You bet he wouldn't! well, | |
den, is Jim gywne to say it? No, sahI doan' budge a step out'n dis | |
place 'dout a doctor, not if it's forty year!" | |
I knowed he was white inside, and I reckoned he'd say what he did sayso | |
it was all right now, and I told Tom I was a-going for a doctor. | |
He raised considerable row about it, but me and Jim stuck to it and | |
wouldn't budge; so he was for crawling out and setting the raft loose | |
himself; but we wouldn't let him. Then he give us a piece of his mind, | |
but it didn't do no good. | |
So when he sees me getting the canoe ready, he says: | |
"Well, then, if you're bound to go, I'll tell you the way to do when you | |
get to the village. Shut the door and blindfold the doctor tight and | |
fast, and make him swear to be silent as the grave, and put a purse | |
full of gold in his hand, and then take and lead him all around the | |
back alleys and everywheres in the dark, and then fetch him here in the | |
canoe, in a roundabout way amongst the islands, and search him and take | |
his chalk away from him, and don't give it back to him till you get him | |
back to the village, or else he will chalk this raft so he can find it | |
again. It's the way they all do." | |
So I said I would, and left, and Jim was to hide in the woods when he | |
see the doctor coming till he was gone again. | |
CHAPTER XLI. | |
THE doctor was an old man; a very nice, kind-looking old man when I got | |
him up. I told him me and my brother was over on Spanish Island hunting | |
yesterday afternoon, and camped on a piece of a raft we found, and about | |
midnight he must a kicked his gun in his dreams, for it went off and | |
shot him in the leg, and we wanted him to go over there and fix it and | |
not say nothing about it, nor let anybody know, because we wanted to | |
come home this evening and surprise the folks. | |
"Who is your folks?" he says. | |
"The Phelpses, down yonder." | |
"Oh," he says. And after a minute, he says: | |
"How'd you say he got shot?" | |
"He had a dream," I says, "and it shot him." | |
"Singular dream," he says. | |
So he lit up his lantern, and got his saddle-bags, and we started. But | |
when he sees the canoe he didn't like the look of hersaid she was big | |
enough for one, but didn't look pretty safe for two. I says: | |
"Oh, you needn't be afeard, sir, she carried the three of us easy | |
enough." | |
"What three?" | |
"Why, me and Sid, andandand the guns; that's what I mean." | |
"Oh," he says. | |
But he put his foot on the gunnel and rocked her, and shook his head, | |
and said he reckoned he'd look around for a bigger one. But they was | |
all locked and chained; so he took my canoe, and said for me to wait | |
till he come back, or I could hunt around further, or maybe I better | |
go down home and get them ready for the surprise if I wanted to. But | |
I said I didn't; so I told him just how to find the raft, and then he | |
started. | |
I struck an idea pretty soon. I says to myself, spos'n he can't fix | |
that leg just in three shakes of a sheep's tail, as the saying is? | |
spos'n it takes him three or four days? What are we going to do?lay | |
around there till he lets the cat out of the bag? No, sir; I know what | |
I'll do. I'll wait, and when he comes back if he says he's got to | |
go any more I'll get down there, too, if I swim; and we'll take and tie | |
him, and keep him, and shove out down the river; and when Tom's done | |
with him we'll give him what it's worth, or all we got, and then let him | |
get ashore. | |
So then I crept into a lumber-pile to get some sleep; and next time I | |
waked up the sun was away up over my head! I shot out and went for the | |
doctor's house, but they told me he'd gone away in the night some time | |
or other, and warn't back yet. Well, thinks I, that looks powerful bad | |
for Tom, and I'll dig out for the island right off. So away I shoved, | |
and turned the corner, and nearly rammed my head into Uncle Silas's | |
stomach! He says: | |
"Why, Tom! Where you been all this time, you rascal?" | |
"I hain't been nowheres," I says, "only just hunting for the runaway | |
niggerme and Sid." | |
"Why, where ever did you go?" he says. "Your aunt's been mighty | |
uneasy." | |
"She needn't," I says, "because we was all right. We followed the men | |
and the dogs, but they outrun us, and we lost them; but we thought we | |
heard them on the water, so we got a canoe and took out after them and | |
crossed over, but couldn't find nothing of them; so we cruised along | |
up-shore till we got kind of tired and beat out; and tied up the canoe | |
and went to sleep, and never waked up till about an hour ago; then we | |
paddled over here to hear the news, and Sid's at the post-office to see | |
what he can hear, and I'm a-branching out to get something to eat for | |
us, and then we're going home." | |
So then we went to the post-office to get "Sid"; but just as I | |
suspicioned, he warn't there; so the old man he got a letter out of the | |
office, and we waited awhile longer, but Sid didn't come; so the old man | |
said, come along, let Sid foot it home, or canoe it, when he got done | |
fooling aroundbut we would ride. I couldn't get him to let me stay | |
and wait for Sid; and he said there warn't no use in it, and I must come | |
along, and let Aunt Sally see we was all right. | |
When we got home Aunt Sally was that glad to see me she laughed and | |
cried both, and hugged me, and give me one of them lickings of hern that | |
don't amount to shucks, and said she'd serve Sid the same when he come. | |
And the place was plum full of farmers and farmers' wives, to dinner; | |
and such another clack a body never heard. Old Mrs. Hotchkiss was the | |
worst; her tongue was a-going all the time. She says: | |
"Well, Sister Phelps, I've ransacked that-air cabin over, an' I b'lieve | |
the nigger was crazy. I says to Sister Damrelldidn't I, Sister | |
Damrell?s'I, he's crazy, s'Ithem's the very words I said. You all | |
hearn me: he's crazy, s'I; everything shows it, s'I. Look at that-air | |
grindstone, s'I; want to tell me't any cretur 't's in his right mind | |
's a goin' to scrabble all them crazy things onto a grindstone, s'I? | |
Here sich 'n' sich a person busted his heart; 'n' here so 'n' so | |
pegged along for thirty-seven year, 'n' all thatnatcherl son o' Louis | |
somebody, 'n' sich everlast'n rubbage. He's plumb crazy, s'I; it's what | |
I says in the fust place, it's what I says in the middle, 'n' it's what | |
I says last 'n' all the timethe nigger's crazycrazy 's Nebokoodneezer, | |
s'I." | |
"An' look at that-air ladder made out'n rags, Sister Hotchkiss," says | |
old Mrs. Damrell; "what in the name o' goodness could he ever want | |
of" | |
"The very words I was a-sayin' no longer ago th'n this minute to Sister | |
Utterback, 'n' she'll tell you so herself. Sh-she, look at that-air rag | |
ladder, sh-she; 'n' s'I, yes, look at it, s'Iwhat could he a-wanted | |
of it, s'I. Sh-she, Sister Hotchkiss, sh-she" | |
"But how in the nation'd they ever git that grindstone in there, | |
anyway? 'n' who dug that-air hole? 'n' who" | |
"My very words, Brer Penrod! I was a-sayin'pass that-air sasser o' | |
m'lasses, won't ye?I was a-sayin' to Sister Dunlap, jist this minute, | |
how did they git that grindstone in there, s'I. Without help, mind | |
you'thout help! that's wher 'tis. Don't tell me, s'I; there | |
wuz help, s'I; 'n' ther' wuz a plenty help, too, s'I; ther's ben a | |
dozen a-helpin' that nigger, 'n' I lay I'd skin every last nigger on | |
this place but I'd find out who done it, s'I; 'n' moreover, s'I" | |
"A dozen says you!forty couldn't a done every thing that's been | |
done. Look at them case-knife saws and things, how tedious they've been | |
made; look at that bed-leg sawed off with 'm, a week's work for six men; | |
look at that nigger made out'n straw on the bed; and look at" | |
"You may well say it, Brer Hightower! It's jist as I was a-sayin' | |
to Brer Phelps, his own self. S'e, what do you think of it, Sister | |
Hotchkiss, s'e? Think o' what, Brer Phelps, s'I? Think o' that bed-leg | |
sawed off that a way, s'e? think of it, s'I? I lay it never sawed | |
itself off, s'Isomebody sawed it, s'I; that's my opinion, take it | |
or leave it, it mayn't be no 'count, s'I, but sich as 't is, it's my | |
opinion, s'I, 'n' if any body k'n start a better one, s'I, let him do | |
it, s'I, that's all. I says to Sister Dunlap, s'I" | |
"Why, dog my cats, they must a ben a house-full o' niggers in there | |
every night for four weeks to a done all that work, Sister Phelps. Look | |
at that shirtevery last inch of it kivered over with secret African | |
writ'n done with blood! Must a ben a raft uv 'm at it right along, all | |
the time, amost. Why, I'd give two dollars to have it read to me; 'n' | |
as for the niggers that wrote it, I 'low I'd take 'n' lash 'm t'll" | |
"People to help him, Brother Marples! Well, I reckon you'd think | |
so if you'd a been in this house for a while back. Why, they've stole | |
everything they could lay their hands onand we a-watching all the time, | |
mind you. They stole that shirt right off o' the line! and as for that | |
sheet they made the rag ladder out of, ther' ain't no telling how | |
many times they didn't steal that; and flour, and candles, and | |
candlesticks, and spoons, and the old warming-pan, and most a thousand | |
things that I disremember now, and my new calico dress; and me and | |
Silas and my Sid and Tom on the constant watch day and night, as I was | |
a-telling you, and not a one of us could catch hide nor hair nor sight | |
nor sound of them; and here at the last minute, lo and behold you, they | |
slides right in under our noses and fools us, and not only fools us | |
but the Injun Territory robbers too, and actuly gets away with that | |
nigger safe and sound, and that with sixteen men and twenty-two dogs | |
right on their very heels at that very time! I tell you, it just bangs | |
anything I ever heard of. Why, sperits couldn't a done better and | |
been no smarter. And I reckon they must a been speritsbecause, you | |
know our dogs, and ther' ain't no better; well, them dogs never even got | |
on the track of 'm once! You explain that to me if you can!any | |
of you!" | |
"Well, it does beat" | |
"Laws alive, I never" | |
"So help me, I wouldn't a be" | |
"House-thieves as well as" | |
"Goodnessgracioussakes, I'd a ben afeard to live in sich a" | |
"'Fraid to live!why, I was that scared I dasn't hardly go to bed, or | |
get up, or lay down, or set down, Sister Ridgeway. Why, they'd steal | |
the verywhy, goodness sakes, you can guess what kind of a fluster I was | |
in by the time midnight come last night. I hope to gracious if I warn't | |
afraid they'd steal some o' the family! I was just to that pass I | |
didn't have no reasoning faculties no more. It looks foolish enough | |
now, in the daytime; but I says to myself, there's my two poor boys | |
asleep, 'way up stairs in that lonesome room, and I declare to goodness | |
I was that uneasy 't I crep' up there and locked 'em in! I did. And | |
anybody would. Because, you know, when you get scared that way, and it | |
keeps running on, and getting worse and worse all the time, and your | |
wits gets to addling, and you get to doing all sorts o' wild things, | |
and by and by you think to yourself, spos'n I was a boy, and was away up | |
there, and the door ain't locked, and you" She stopped, looking kind | |
of wondering, and then she turned her head around slow, and when her eye | |
lit on meI got up and took a walk. | |
Says I to myself, I can explain better how we come to not be in that | |
room this morning if I go out to one side and study over it a little. | |
So I done it. But I dasn't go fur, or she'd a sent for me. And when | |
it was late in the day the people all went, and then I come in and | |
told her the noise and shooting waked up me and "Sid," and the door was | |
locked, and we wanted to see the fun, so we went down the lightning-rod, | |
and both of us got hurt a little, and we didn't never want to try that | |
no more. And then I went on and told her all what I told Uncle Silas | |
before; and then she said she'd forgive us, and maybe it was all right | |
enough anyway, and about what a body might expect of boys, for all boys | |
was a pretty harum-scarum lot as fur as she could see; and so, as long | |
as no harm hadn't come of it, she judged she better put in her time | |
being grateful we was alive and well and she had us still, stead of | |
fretting over what was past and done. So then she kissed me, and patted | |
me on the head, and dropped into a kind of a brown study; and pretty | |
soon jumps up, and says: | |
"Why, lawsamercy, it's most night, and Sid not come yet! What has | |
become of that boy?" | |
I see my chance; so I skips up and says: | |
"I'll run right up to town and get him," I says. | |
"No you won't," she says. "You'll stay right wher' you are; one's | |
enough to be lost at a time. If he ain't here to supper, your uncle 'll | |
go." | |
Well, he warn't there to supper; so right after supper uncle went. | |
He come back about ten a little bit uneasy; hadn't run across Tom's | |
track. Aunt Sally was a good deal uneasy; but Uncle Silas he said | |
there warn't no occasion to beboys will be boys, he said, and you'll | |
see this one turn up in the morning all sound and right. So she had | |
to be satisfied. But she said she'd set up for him a while anyway, and | |
keep a light burning so he could see it. | |
And then when I went up to bed she come up with me and fetched her | |
candle, and tucked me in, and mothered me so good I felt mean, and like | |
I couldn't look her in the face; and she set down on the bed and talked | |
with me a long time, and said what a splendid boy Sid was, and didn't | |
seem to want to ever stop talking about him; and kept asking me every | |
now and then if I reckoned he could a got lost, or hurt, or maybe | |
drownded, and might be laying at this minute somewheres suffering or | |
dead, and she not by him to help him, and so the tears would drip down | |
silent, and I would tell her that Sid was all right, and would be home | |
in the morning, sure; and she would squeeze my hand, or maybe kiss me, | |
and tell me to say it again, and keep on saying it, because it done her | |
good, and she was in so much trouble. And when she was going away she | |
looked down in my eyes so steady and gentle, and says: | |
"The door ain't going to be locked, Tom, and there's the window and | |
the rod; but you'll be good, won't you? And you won't go? For my | |
sake." | |
Laws knows I wanted to go bad enough to see about Tom, and was all | |
intending to go; but after that I wouldn't a went, not for kingdoms. | |
But she was on my mind and Tom was on my mind, so I slept very restless. | |
And twice I went down the rod away in the night, and slipped around | |
front, and see her setting there by her candle in the window with her | |
eyes towards the road and the tears in them; and I wished I could do | |
something for her, but I couldn't, only to swear that I wouldn't never | |
do nothing to grieve her any more. And the third time I waked up at | |
dawn, and slid down, and she was there yet, and her candle was most out, | |
and her old gray head was resting on her hand, and she was asleep. | |
CHAPTER XLII. | |
THE old man was uptown again before breakfast, but couldn't get no | |
track of Tom; and both of them set at the table thinking, and not saying | |
nothing, and looking mournful, and their coffee getting cold, and not | |
eating anything. And by and by the old man says: | |
"Did I give you the letter?" | |
"What letter?" | |
"The one I got yesterday out of the post-office." | |
"No, you didn't give me no letter." | |
"Well, I must a forgot it." | |
So he rummaged his pockets, and then went off somewheres where he had | |
laid it down, and fetched it, and give it to her. She says: | |
"Why, it's from St. Petersburgit's from Sis." | |
I allowed another walk would do me good; but I couldn't stir. But | |
before she could break it open she dropped it and runfor she see | |
something. And so did I. It was Tom Sawyer on a mattress; and that old | |
doctor; and Jim, in her calico dress, with his hands tied behind him; | |
and a lot of people. I hid the letter behind the first thing that come | |
handy, and rushed. She flung herself at Tom, crying, and says: | |
"Oh, he's dead, he's dead, I know he's dead!" | |
And Tom he turned his head a little, and muttered something or other, | |
which showed he warn't in his right mind; then she flung up her hands, | |
and says: | |
"He's alive, thank God! And that's enough!" and she snatched a kiss of | |
him, and flew for the house to get the bed ready, and scattering orders | |
right and left at the niggers and everybody else, as fast as her tongue | |
could go, every jump of the way. | |
I followed the men to see what they was going to do with Jim; and the | |
old doctor and Uncle Silas followed after Tom into the house. The men | |
was very huffy, and some of them wanted to hang Jim for an example to | |
all the other niggers around there, so they wouldn't be trying to run | |
away like Jim done, and making such a raft of trouble, and keeping a | |
whole family scared most to death for days and nights. But the others | |
said, don't do it, it wouldn't answer at all; he ain't our nigger, and | |
his owner would turn up and make us pay for him, sure. So that cooled | |
them down a little, because the people that's always the most anxious | |
for to hang a nigger that hain't done just right is always the very | |
ones that ain't the most anxious to pay for him when they've got their | |
satisfaction out of him. | |
They cussed Jim considerble, though, and give him a cuff or two side the | |
head once in a while, but Jim never said nothing, and he never let on to | |
know me, and they took him to the same cabin, and put his own clothes | |
on him, and chained him again, and not to no bed-leg this time, but to | |
a big staple drove into the bottom log, and chained his hands, too, and | |
both legs, and said he warn't to have nothing but bread and water to | |
eat after this till his owner come, or he was sold at auction because | |
he didn't come in a certain length of time, and filled up our hole, and | |
said a couple of farmers with guns must stand watch around about the | |
cabin every night, and a bulldog tied to the door in the daytime; and | |
about this time they was through with the job and was tapering off with | |
a kind of generl good-bye cussing, and then the old doctor comes and | |
takes a look, and says: | |
"Don't be no rougher on him than you're obleeged to, because he ain't | |
a bad nigger. When I got to where I found the boy I see I couldn't cut | |
the bullet out without some help, and he warn't in no condition for | |
me to leave to go and get help; and he got a little worse and a little | |
worse, and after a long time he went out of his head, and wouldn't let | |
me come a-nigh him any more, and said if I chalked his raft he'd kill | |
me, and no end of wild foolishness like that, and I see I couldn't do | |
anything at all with him; so I says, I got to have help somehow; and | |
the minute I says it out crawls this nigger from somewheres and says | |
he'll help, and he done it, too, and done it very well. Of course I | |
judged he must be a runaway nigger, and there I was! and there I had | |
to stick right straight along all the rest of the day and all night. It | |
was a fix, I tell you! I had a couple of patients with the chills, and | |
of course I'd of liked to run up to town and see them, but I dasn't, | |
because the nigger might get away, and then I'd be to blame; and yet | |
never a skiff come close enough for me to hail. So there I had to stick | |
plumb until daylight this morning; and I never see a nigger that was a | |
better nuss or faithfuller, and yet he was risking his freedom to do it, | |
and was all tired out, too, and I see plain enough he'd been worked | |
main hard lately. I liked the nigger for that; I tell you, gentlemen, a | |
nigger like that is worth a thousand dollarsand kind treatment, too. I | |
had everything I needed, and the boy was doing as well there as he | |
would a done at homebetter, maybe, because it was so quiet; but there I | |
was, with both of 'm on my hands, and there I had to stick till about | |
dawn this morning; then some men in a skiff come by, and as good luck | |
would have it the nigger was setting by the pallet with his head propped | |
on his knees sound asleep; so I motioned them in quiet, and they slipped | |
up on him and grabbed him and tied him before he knowed what he was | |
about, and we never had no trouble. And the boy being in a kind of a | |
flighty sleep, too, we muffled the oars and hitched the raft on, and | |
towed her over very nice and quiet, and the nigger never made the least | |
row nor said a word from the start. He ain't no bad nigger, gentlemen; | |
that's what I think about him." | |
Somebody says: | |
"Well, it sounds very good, doctor, I'm obleeged to say." | |
Then the others softened up a little, too, and I was mighty thankful | |
to that old doctor for doing Jim that good turn; and I was glad it was | |
according to my judgment of him, too; because I thought he had a good | |
heart in him and was a good man the first time I see him. Then they | |
all agreed that Jim had acted very well, and was deserving to have some | |
notice took of it, and reward. So every one of them promised, right out | |
and hearty, that they wouldn't cuss him no more. | |
Then they come out and locked him up. I hoped they was going to say he | |
could have one or two of the chains took off, because they was rotten | |
heavy, or could have meat and greens with his bread and water; but they | |
didn't think of it, and I reckoned it warn't best for me to mix in, but | |
I judged I'd get the doctor's yarn to Aunt Sally somehow or other as | |
soon as I'd got through the breakers that was laying just ahead of | |
meexplanations, I mean, of how I forgot to mention about Sid being shot | |
when I was telling how him and me put in that dratted night paddling | |
around hunting the runaway nigger. | |
But I had plenty time. Aunt Sally she stuck to the sick-room all day | |
and all night, and every time I see Uncle Silas mooning around I dodged | |
him. | |
Next morning I heard Tom was a good deal better, and they said Aunt | |
Sally was gone to get a nap. So I slips to the sick-room, and if I | |
found him awake I reckoned we could put up a yarn for the family that | |
would wash. But he was sleeping, and sleeping very peaceful, too; and | |
pale, not fire-faced the way he was when he come. So I set down and | |
laid for him to wake. In about half an hour Aunt Sally comes gliding | |
in, and there I was, up a stump again! She motioned me to be still, and | |
set down by me, and begun to whisper, and said we could all be joyful | |
now, because all the symptoms was first-rate, and he'd been sleeping | |
like that for ever so long, and looking better and peacefuller all the | |
time, and ten to one he'd wake up in his right mind. | |
So we set there watching, and by and by he stirs a bit, and opened his | |
eyes very natural, and takes a look, and says: | |
"Hello!why, I'm at home! How's that? Where's the raft?" | |
"It's all right," I says. | |
"And Jim?" | |
"The same," I says, but couldn't say it pretty brash. But he never | |
noticed, but says: | |
"Good! Splendid! Now we're all right and safe! Did you tell Aunty?" | |
I was going to say yes; but she chipped in and says: "About what, Sid?" | |
"Why, about the way the whole thing was done." | |
"What whole thing?" | |
"Why, the whole thing. There ain't but one; how we set the runaway | |
nigger freeme and Tom." | |
"Good land! Set the runWhat is the child talking about! Dear, dear, | |
out of his head again!" | |
"No, I ain't out of my head; I know all what I'm talking about. We | |
did set him freeme and Tom. We laid out to do it, and we done it. | |
And we done it elegant, too." He'd got a start, and she never checked | |
him up, just set and stared and stared, and let him clip along, and | |
I see it warn't no use for me to put in. "Why, Aunty, it cost us a | |
power of workweeks of ithours and hours, every night, whilst you was | |
all asleep. And we had to steal candles, and the sheet, and the shirt, | |
and your dress, and spoons, and tin plates, and case-knives, and the | |
warming-pan, and the grindstone, and flour, and just no end of things, | |
and you can't think what work it was to make the saws, and pens, and | |
inscriptions, and one thing or another, and you can't think half the | |
fun it was. And we had to make up the pictures of coffins and things, | |
and nonnamous letters from the robbers, and get up and down the | |
lightning-rod, and dig the hole into the cabin, and made the rope ladder | |
and send it in cooked up in a pie, and send in spoons and things to work | |
with in your apron pocket" | |
"Mercy sakes!" | |
"and load up the cabin with rats and snakes and so on, for company for | |
Jim; and then you kept Tom here so long with the butter in his hat that | |
you come near spiling the whole business, because the men come before | |
we was out of the cabin, and we had to rush, and they heard us and let | |
drive at us, and I got my share, and we dodged out of the path and let | |
them go by, and when the dogs come they warn't interested in us, but | |
went for the most noise, and we got our canoe, and made for the | |
raft, and was all safe, and Jim was a free man, and we done it all by | |
ourselves, and wasn't it bully, Aunty!" | |
"Well, I never heard the likes of it in all my born days! So it was | |
you, you little rapscallions, that's been making all this trouble, | |
and turned everybody's wits clean inside out and scared us all most to | |
death. I've as good a notion as ever I had in my life to take it out | |
o' you this very minute. To think, here I've been, night after night, | |
ayou just get well once, you young scamp, and I lay I'll tan the Old | |
Harry out o' both o' ye!" | |
But Tom, he was so proud and joyful, he just couldn't hold in, | |
and his tongue just went itshe a-chipping in, and spitting fire all | |
along, and both of them going it at once, like a cat convention; and she | |
says: | |
"Well, you get all the enjoyment you can out of it now, for mind I | |
tell you if I catch you meddling with him again" | |
"Meddling with who?" Tom says, dropping his smile and looking | |
surprised. | |
"With who? Why, the runaway nigger, of course. Who'd you reckon?" | |
Tom looks at me very grave, and says: | |
"Tom, didn't you just tell me he was all right? Hasn't he got away?" | |
"Him?" says Aunt Sally; "the runaway nigger? 'Deed he hasn't. | |
They've got him back, safe and sound, and he's in that cabin again, | |
on bread and water, and loaded down with chains, till he's claimed or | |
sold!" | |
Tom rose square up in bed, with his eye hot, and his nostrils opening | |
and shutting like gills, and sings out to me: | |
"They hain't no right to shut him up! SHOVE!and don't you lose a | |
minute. Turn him loose! he ain't no slave; he's as free as any cretur | |
that walks this earth!" | |
"What does the child mean?" | |
"I mean every word I say, Aunt Sally, and if somebody don't go, I'll | |
go. I've knowed him all his life, and so has Tom, there. Old Miss | |
Watson died two months ago, and she was ashamed she ever was going to | |
sell him down the river, and said so; and she set him free in her | |
will." | |
"Then what on earth did you want to set him free for, seeing he was | |
already free?" | |
"Well, that is a question, I must say; and just like women! Why, | |
I wanted the adventure of it; and I'd a waded neck-deep in blood | |
togoodness alive, Aunt Polly!" | |
If she warn't standing right there, just inside the door, looking as | |
sweet and contented as an angel half full of pie, I wish I may never! | |
Aunt Sally jumped for her, and most hugged the head off of her, and | |
cried over her, and I found a good enough place for me under the bed, | |
for it was getting pretty sultry for us, seemed to me. And I peeped | |
out, and in a little while Tom's Aunt Polly shook herself loose and | |
stood there looking across at Tom over her spectacleskind of grinding | |
him into the earth, you know. And then she says: | |
"Yes, you better turn y'r head awayI would if I was you, Tom." | |
"Oh, deary me!" says Aunt Sally; "Is he changed so? Why, that ain't | |
Tom, it's Sid; Tom'sTom'swhy, where is Tom? He was here a minute | |
ago." | |
"You mean where's Huck Finnthat's what you mean! I reckon I hain't | |
raised such a scamp as my Tom all these years not to know him when I | |
see him. That would be a pretty howdy-do. Come out from under that | |
bed, Huck Finn." | |
So I done it. But not feeling brash. | |
Aunt Sally she was one of the mixed-upest-looking persons I ever | |
seeexcept one, and that was Uncle Silas, when he come in and they told | |
it all to him. It kind of made him drunk, as you may say, and he didn't | |
know nothing at all the rest of the day, and preached a prayer-meeting | |
sermon that night that gave him a rattling ruputation, because the | |
oldest man in the world couldn't a understood it. So Tom's Aunt Polly, | |
she told all about who I was, and what; and I had to up and tell how | |
I was in such a tight place that when Mrs. Phelps took me for Tom | |
Sawyershe chipped in and says, "Oh, go on and call me Aunt Sally, I'm | |
used to it now, and 'tain't no need to change"that when Aunt Sally took | |
me for Tom Sawyer I had to stand itthere warn't no other way, and | |
I knowed he wouldn't mind, because it would be nuts for him, being | |
a mystery, and he'd make an adventure out of it, and be perfectly | |
satisfied. And so it turned out, and he let on to be Sid, and made | |
things as soft as he could for me. | |
And his Aunt Polly she said Tom was right about old Miss Watson setting | |
Jim free in her will; and so, sure enough, Tom Sawyer had gone and took | |
all that trouble and bother to set a free nigger free! and I couldn't | |
ever understand before, until that minute and that talk, how he could | |
help a body set a nigger free with his bringing-up. | |
Well, Aunt Polly she said that when Aunt Sally wrote to her that Tom and | |
Sid had come all right and safe, she says to herself: | |
"Look at that, now! I might have expected it, letting him go off that | |
way without anybody to watch him. So now I got to go and trapse all | |
the way down the river, eleven hundred mile, and find out what that | |
creetur's up to this time, as long as I couldn't seem to get any | |
answer out of you about it." | |
"Why, I never heard nothing from you," says Aunt Sally. | |
"Well, I wonder! Why, I wrote you twice to ask you what you could mean | |
by Sid being here." | |
"Well, I never got 'em, Sis." | |
Aunt Polly she turns around slow and severe, and says: | |
"You, Tom!" | |
"Wellwhat?" he says, kind of pettish. | |
"Don't you what me, you impudent thinghand out them letters." | |
"What letters?" | |
"Them letters. I be bound, if I have to take a-holt of you I'll" | |
"They're in the trunk. There, now. And they're just the same as they | |
was when I got them out of the office. I hain't looked into them, I | |
hain't touched them. But I knowed they'd make trouble, and I thought if | |
you warn't in no hurry, I'd" | |
"Well, you do need skinning, there ain't no mistake about it. And I | |
wrote another one to tell you I was coming; and I s'pose he" | |
"No, it come yesterday; I hain't read it yet, but it's all right, I've | |
got that one." | |
I wanted to offer to bet two dollars she hadn't, but I reckoned maybe it | |
was just as safe to not to. So I never said nothing. | |
CHAPTER THE LAST | |
THE first time I catched Tom private I asked him what was his idea, time | |
of the evasion?what it was he'd planned to do if the evasion worked all | |
right and he managed to set a nigger free that was already free before? | |
And he said, what he had planned in his head from the start, if we got | |
Jim out all safe, was for us to run him down the river on the raft, and | |
have adventures plumb to the mouth of the river, and then tell him about | |
his being free, and take him back up home on a steamboat, in style, | |
and pay him for his lost time, and write word ahead and get out all | |
the niggers around, and have them waltz him into town with a torchlight | |
procession and a brass-band, and then he would be a hero, and so would | |
we. But I reckoned it was about as well the way it was. | |
We had Jim out of the chains in no time, and when Aunt Polly and Uncle | |
Silas and Aunt Sally found out how good he helped the doctor nurse Tom, | |
they made a heap of fuss over him, and fixed him up prime, and give him | |
all he wanted to eat, and a good time, and nothing to do. And we had | |
him up to the sick-room, and had a high talk; and Tom give Jim forty | |
dollars for being prisoner for us so patient, and doing it up so good, | |
and Jim was pleased most to death, and busted out, and says: | |
"Dah, now, Huck, what I tell you?what I tell you up dah on Jackson | |
islan'? I tole you I got a hairy breas', en what's de sign un it; en | |
I tole you I ben rich wunst, en gwineter to be rich agin; en it's | |
come true; en heah she is! dah, now! doan' talk to mesigns is | |
signs, mine I tell you; en I knowed jis' 's well 'at I 'uz gwineter be | |
rich agin as I's a-stannin' heah dis minute!" | |
And then Tom he talked along and talked along, and says, le's all three | |
slide out of here one of these nights and get an outfit, and go for | |
howling adventures amongst the Injuns, over in the Territory, for a | |
couple of weeks or two; and I says, all right, that suits me, but I | |
ain't got no money for to buy the outfit, and I reckon I couldn't get | |
none from home, because it's likely pap's been back before now, and got | |
it all away from Judge Thatcher and drunk it up. | |
"No, he hain't," Tom says; "it's all there yetsix thousand dollars | |
and more; and your pap hain't ever been back since. Hadn't when I come | |
away, anyhow." | |
Jim says, kind of solemn: | |
"He ain't a-comin' back no mo', Huck." | |
I says: | |
"Why, Jim?" | |
"Nemmine why, Huckbut he ain't comin' back no mo." | |
But I kept at him; so at last he says: | |
"Doan' you 'member de house dat was float'n down de river, en dey wuz a | |
man in dah, kivered up, en I went in en unkivered him and didn' let you | |
come in? Well, den, you kin git yo' money when you wants it, kase dat | |
wuz him." | |
Tom's most well now, and got his bullet around his neck on a watch-guard | |
for a watch, and is always seeing what time it is, and so there ain't | |
nothing more to write about, and I am rotten glad of it, because if I'd | |
a knowed what a trouble it was to make a book I wouldn't a tackled it, | |
and ain't a-going to no more. But I reckon I got to light out for the | |
Territory ahead of the rest, because Aunt Sally she's going to adopt me | |
and sivilize me, and I can't stand it. I been there before. | |
THE END. YOURS TRULY, HUCK FINN. | |
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Complete, by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) | |
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