diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 19:57:24 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 19:57:24 -0700 |
| commit | 7f4010cf13e39b9fd57e97f0beccdcfda20c696e (patch) | |
| tree | d1b5a688a41c4002e8a60056a44ec553c1900206 | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 32325-0.txt | 12239 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 32325-0.zip | bin | 0 -> 226698 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 32325-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 1032880 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 32325-h/32325-h.htm | 15117 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 32325-h/images/chaw.jpg | bin | 0 -> 188318 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 32325-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 0 -> 212509 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 32325-h/images/huck.jpg | bin | 0 -> 241320 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 32325-h/images/pie.jpg | bin | 0 -> 140848 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 32325-h/images/twain.jpg | bin | 0 -> 121574 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/32325 2010-05-10.txt | 12291 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/32325 2010-05-10.zip | bin | 0 -> 224219 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/32325-h 2010-05-10.htm | 15057 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/32325-h 2010-05-10.zip | bin | 0 -> 827490 bytes |
16 files changed, 54720 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/32325-0.txt b/32325-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..da43b5d --- /dev/null +++ b/32325-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12239 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by +Mark Twain + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn + Tom Sawyer’s Comrade + +Author: Mark Twain + +Release Date: May 10, 2010 [eBook #32325] +[Most recently updated: November 11, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: James Adcock. Special thanks to The Internet Archive: +American Libraries. +Revised by Richard Tonsing. + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN *** + + + + +[Illustration: Portrait of the Author + +S. L. Clemens] + + + + +THE ADVENTURES + +OF + +HUCKLEBERRY FINN + +(TOM SAWYER’S COMRADE) + + + SCENE: The Mississippi Valley + TIME: Forty to Fifty Years Ago + + By Mark Twain + + ILLUSTRATED + + _NEW EDITION FROM NEW PLATES_ + + + HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS + + NEW YORK AND LONDON + +————— + + + + +Books by MARK TWAIN + + + ST. JOAN OF ARC + THE INNOCENTS ABROAD + ROUGHING IT + THE GILDED AGE + A TRAMP ABROAD + FOLLOWING THE EQUATOR + PUDD’NHEAD WILSON + SKETCHES NEW AND OLD + THE AMERICAN CLAIMANT + CHRISTIAN SCIENCE + A CONNECTICUT YANKEE AT THE COURT OF + KING ARTHUR + THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN + PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF JOAN OF ARC + LIFE ON THE MISSISSIPPI + THE MAN THAT CORRUPTED HADLEYBURG + THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER + THE $30,000 BEQUEST + THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER + TOM SAWYER ABROAD + WHAT IS MAN? + THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER + ADAM’S DIARY + A DOG’S TALE + A DOUBLE-BARRELED DETECTIVE STORY + EDITORIAL WILD OATS + EVE’S DIARY + IN DEFENSE OF HARRIET SHELLY AND + OTHER ESSAYS + IS SHAKESPEARE DEAD? + CAPT. STORMFIELD’S VISIT TO HEAVEN + A HORSE’S TALE + THE JUMPING FROG + THE £1,000,000 BANK-NOTE + TRAVELS AT HOME + TRAVELS IN HISTORY + MARK TWAIN’S LETTERS + MARK TWAIN’S SPEECHES + + ————— + + HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK + [Established 1817] + The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn + ————— + Copyright, 1884. by Samuel L. Clemens + ————— + Copyright. 1896 and 1899. by Harper & Brothers + ————— + Copyright. 1912, by Clara Gabrilowitsch + ————— + Printed in the United States of America + + + + +CONTENTS + + + Notice + Explanatory + I. I Discover Moses and the Bulrushers + II. Our Gang’s Dark Oath + III. We Ambuscade the A-rabs + IV. The Hair-ball Oracle + V. Pap Starts in on a New Life + VI. Pap Struggles with the Death Angel + VII. I Fool Pap and Get Away + VIII. I Spare Miss Watson’s Jim + IX. The House of Death Floats By + X. What Comes of Handlin’ Snake-skin + XI. They’re After Us! + XII. “Better Let Blame Well Alone” + XIII. Honest Loot from the “Walter Scott” + XIV. Was Solomon Wise? + XV. Fooling Poor Old Jim + XVI. The Rattlesnake-skin Does Its Work + XVII. The Grangerfords Take Me In + XVIII. Why Harney Rode Away for His Hat + XIX. The Duke and the Dauphin Come Aboard + XX. What Royalty Did to Parkville + XXI. An Arkansaw Difficulty + XXII. Why the Lynching Bee Failed + XXIII. The Orneriness of Kings + XXIV. The King Turns Parson + XXV. All Full of Tears and Flapdoodle + XXVI. I Steal the King’s Plunder + XXVII. Dead Peter has His Gold + XXVIII. Overreaching Don’t Pay + XXIX. I Light Out in the Storm + XXX. The Gold Saves the Thieves + XXXI. You Can’t Pray a Lie + XXXII. I Have a New Name + XXXIII. The Pitiful Ending of Royalty + XXXIV. We Cheer Up Jim + XXXV. Dark, Deep-laid Plans + XXXVI. Trying to Help Jim + XXXVII. Jim Gets His Witch pie + XXXVIII. “Here a Captive Heart Busted” + XXXIX. Tom Writes Nonnamous Letters + XL. A Mixed-up and Splendid Rescue + XLI. “Must ’a’ Been Sperits” + XLII. Why They Didn’t Hang Jim + Chapter the Last. Nothing More to Write + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +————— + + Portrait of the Author + Huckleberry Finn + “‘Gimme a Chaw’” + Tom Advises a Witch Pie + + + + +NOTICE + + +Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be +prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; +persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot. + + By Order of the Author, + Per G. G., Chief of Ordnance. + + + + +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 + + + + +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 Polly—Tom’s Aunt Polly, she +is—and 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 apiece—all 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 +round—more 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, Huckleberry—set up straight”; and pretty soon she would say, +“Don’t gap and stretch like that, Huckleberry—why 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 downhearted 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 boom—boom—boom—twelve licks; and all still again—stiller than +ever. Pretty soon I heard a twig snap down in the dark amongst the +trees—something 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 toward 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 came 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 +sleepy—if you are anywheres where it won’t do for you to scratch, why +you will itch all over in upward 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 ag’in.” + +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 snore—and then I was +pretty soon comfortable again. + +Tom he made a sign to me—kind of a little noise with his mouth—and 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. Afterward Jim said the witches bewitched 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 Joe +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 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 do—everybody 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 +Watson—they 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 them—except 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, too—eating 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 so—that’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 Joe 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 snuff-box that was stole? Why can’t Miss Watson fat up? +No, says I to myself, 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 meant—I 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 it—except 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 Joe 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 _us_—can’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 it—or 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 it—and 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 flatheads for not keeping +the palace themselves ’stead of fooling them away like that. And what’s +more—if 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, somehow—perfect 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 awhile, 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 night—over 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 +all—nor the six thousand, nuther. I want you to take it; I want to give +it to you—the 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 +it—won’t you?” + +He says: + +“Well, I’m puzzled. Is something the matter?” + +“Please take it,” says I, “and don’t ask me nothing—then I won’t have +to tell no lies.” + +He studied awhile, and then he says: + +“Oho-o! I think I see. You want to _sell_ all your property to me—not +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 ag’in 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 ag’in. 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 mistaken—that 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 crawl—a tree-toad white, a +fish-belly white. As for his clothes—just 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 floor—an 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 clothes—very. 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 say—can 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 here—you 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 it—you 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 better—I’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 floor—and 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 airs—they say you’re rich. Hey?—how’s +that?” + +“They lie—that’s how.” + +“Looky here—mind how you talk to me; I’m a-standing about all I can +stand now—so 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-morrow—I 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 for—you 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 words—don’t forget I said them. +It’s a clean hand now; shake it—don’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 pledge—made +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 toward 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 business—appeared 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 +suited—this 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 it—all 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 +out—big enough to let me through. Well, it was a good long job, but I +was getting toward 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 humor—so 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 Adam—he 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 him—a +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 ag’in. Them’s the very words. I +says, look at my hat—if you call it a hat—but 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 I—such a hat for me to wear—one 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 Ohio—a 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 cane—the 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 +ag’in. Them’s the very words I said; they all heard me; and the country +may rot for all me—I’ll never vote ag’in as long as I live. And to see +the cool way of that nigger—why, 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, now—that’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 a-going 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 language—mostly 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 cheek—but 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 awhile, 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: + +“Tramp—tramp—tramp; that’s the dead; tramp—tramp—tramp; they’re coming +after me; but I won’t go. Oh, they’re here! don’t touch me—don’t! hands +off—they’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, and +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 rafts—sometimes a dozen logs +together; so all you have to do is to catch them and sell them to the +woodyards 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 this—she’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; 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 raft—nine 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. + +[Illustration: HUCKLEBERRY FINN] + +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; 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 things—everything that was worth a cent. I cleaned +out the place. I wanted an ax, 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 ax 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 ax, and laid him down +on the ground to bleed; I say ground because it _was_ ground—hard +packed, and no boards. Well, next I took an old sack and put a lot of +big rocks in it—all I could drag—and 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 ax good, and +stuck it on the back side, and slung the ax 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 +place—pap 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 rushes—and 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 mean—I 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 was—a 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. Thinks 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 enough—and 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 toward 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, too—every 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 +reckoned—and 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 +woman—she 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 head—it 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 comfortable—didn’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 up—about 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 morning—so 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 +shore—I 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 ferryboat, 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 +thing—that 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 Joe 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 awhile. 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 difference—just 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 nothing—I 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 bank—about 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 +tree-tops, 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 fantods. 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 me—don’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 ag’in, whah you b’longs, en doan’ do nuffn to Ole Jim, ’at ’uz +alwuz 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?” + +“Yes-indeedy.” + +“And ain’t you had nothing but that kind of rubbage to eat?” + +“No, sah—nuffn 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. I—I _run off_.” + +“Jim!” + +“But mind, you said you wouldn’ tell—you 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 mum—but 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 missus—dat’s Miss Watson—she 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’t 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 tumbledown 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 a-gwyne 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 driftwood, 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’t—bank too bluff. +I ’uz mos’ to de foot er de islan’ b’fo’ I foun’ 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 heah—watched 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 +tablecloth 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 few—an’ _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 a-gwyne +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 ag’in. 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 stock—cattle, 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’ Balum—Balum’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 blackest—_fst!_ 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-stairs—where +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 gittin’ 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 across—a half a mile—because 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 turtles—they +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-raft—nice pine +planks. It was twelve foot wide and about fifteen or sixteen foot long, +and the top stood above water six or seven inches—a 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 +aboard—clumb in at an up-stairs 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 asleep—he’s dead. You hold still—I’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 face—it’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 canoe—it 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 fish-line 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 currycomb, 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 practised 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 awhile, I reckon, and go on. I ain’t afeard 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 alone—and 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 twelve thousand +dollars (only she got it twenty) 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.” + +“No—is 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 him—three hundred dollars. And there’s a reward out +for old Finn, too—two 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 them—but 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 see—him 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 interested—and I was, too—and 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?” + +“M—Mary Williams.” + +Somehow it didn’t seem to me that I said it was Mary before, so I +didn’t look up—seemed to me I said it was Sarah; so I felt sort of +cornered, and was afeard 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?” + +“Wh-hat, 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 mustn’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 now—don’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 clear—eleven. 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 still—never 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 towhead is a sand-bar 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-fire—no, 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 village—no, 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 laughed—only a little kind of a low chuckle. We +had mighty good weather as a general thing, and nothing ever happened +to us at all—that 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 toward 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 corn-fields 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 more—then 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 toward 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 seen 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 you—and 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 adventure—that’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, too—a 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 _rights_—that’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’ him—and didn’t he kill +old Hatfield jist the same way—and 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 toward 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: + +“Here—come 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 things _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 +pickin’s 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 considerable 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 fix—for the sheriff ’ll get ’em. +Quick—hurry! 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!—en 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 now—had to have it for ourselves. So we went +a-quaking and shaking down the stabboard side, and slow work it was, +too—seemed a week before we got to the stern. No sign of a boat. Jim +said he didn’t believe he could go any farther—so 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 ready—shove 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 men—I 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 showed—up 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’re—they’re—are 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 Landing—go 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 name—and 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 Whipple—and 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 +wood-boats; 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 spy-glass, 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 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 around—except, maybe, when there’s a +war; then they go to the war. But other times they just lazy around; or +go hawking—just hawking and sp— Sh!—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; I—I’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, dah—dat’s one er de women; +heah’s you—dat’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 point—blame 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 furder—it’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 fetch 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 lonesome—dey 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 said—not 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-franzy—what would you +think?” + +“I wouldn’ think nuffn; I’d take en bust him over de head—dat 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 words—you 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 me—and 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 it—and 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 current 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 once—you’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 me—sometimes 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 hearing—it 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 saw-logs 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’ dead—you ain’ +drownded—you’s back ag’in? 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 ag’in, ’live en soun’, jis de same ole Huck—de 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?” + +“Huck—Huck 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 sumfn 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 towhead?” + +“No, I didn’t. What towhead? I hain’t seen no towhead.” + +“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, boss—ain’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 powerfulest 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’s 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 ag’in, 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 +afterward, 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 Jim—and 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 free—and +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 so—I couldn’t get around +that no way. 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 children—children 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 me—it ain’t too late yet—I’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 it—I 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 +enough—hadn’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 sick—and 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 the—a—the—well, 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, honest—but don’t leave us, please. It’s the—the— +Gentlemen, if you’ll only pull ahead, and let me heave you the +headline, you won’t have to come a-near the raft—please do.” + +“Set her back, John, set her back!” says one. They backed water. “Keep +away, boy—keep to looard. Confound it, I just expect the wind has +blowed it to us. Your pap’s got the smallpox, 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 we—well, hang it, we don’t want the smallpox, 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 is—it’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 smallpox, don’t you see?” + +“Hold on, Parker,” says the man, “here’s a twenty to put on the board +for me. Good-by, boy; you do as Mr. Parker told you, and you’ll be all +right.” + +“That’s so, my boy—good-by, good-bye. If you see any runaway niggers +you get help and nab them, and you can make some money by it.” + +“Good-by, 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 show—when 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 bad—I’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 +Jim—ole Jim ain’t going to forgit you for dat, honey.” + +Then we talked about the money. It was a pretty good raise—twenty +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, Jim—I do wish I’d never laid +eyes on it.” + +“It ain’t yo’ fault, Huck; you didn’t 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 luck—and 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 steam—and as Jim went +overboard on one side and I on the other, she come smashing straight +through the raft. + +I dived—and 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 for—hey?” + +“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 afraid—nobody +’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 fool—ain’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 hurry—come mighty slow. If there’s +anybody with you, let him keep back—if he shows himself he’ll be shot. +Come along now. Come slow; push the door open yourself—just 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 enough—put +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 more—all of them fine and +handsome—and 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 +windows—there 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 Shepherdson—no, +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 it—it 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, Rachel—I 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 him—oh, 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 me—thirteen 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 +times—they don’t have no school now. Do you own a dog? I’ve got a +dog—and 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 buttermilk—that 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-n—there 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 spell—right 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, +too—not bagged down in the middle and busted, like an old basket. + +They had pictures hung on the walls—mainly 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 +before—blacker, 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 fantods. 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 toward the moon—and 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 undertaker—the 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 gray 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 be—you 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 manners—everybody was always good-mannered +where he was. Everybody loved to have him around, too; he was sunshine +most always—I mean he made it seem like good weather. When he turned +into a cloud-bank 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 next—tall, 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 them—Buck 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 +more—three 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 there—five or six +families—mostly 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 came 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 come—to 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 judged—then 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, nothing—only 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 before—tell 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 in—and 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 suit—which he would naturally do, of course. Anybody +would.” + +“What was the trouble about, Buck?—land?” + +“I reckon maybe—I 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 outrun 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 Shepherdsons—not 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_ home—and 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 preaching—all 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 up-stairs 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 asleep—and, 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 considerable +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 you—I wuz ’fraid o’ de dogs; but when it ’uz all quiet ag’in 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-gittin’ 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 sumfn—but +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 deal—one 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’t +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 ag’in 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, Jim—did 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 ag’in. 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 was—didn’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-stairs—nobody +around; everything as still as a mouse. Just the same outside. Thinks +I, what does it mean? Down by the woodpile 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 time—nobody don’t know jis’ when; run off to get married +to dat young Harney Shepherdson, you know—leastways, so dey ’spec. +De fambly foun’ it out ’bout half an hour ago—maybe 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 came 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 +other—wouldn’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 relations—the +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 him—I hain’t ever +heard anything like it. + +All of a sudden, bang! bang! bang! goes three or four guns—the men had +slipped around through the woods and come in from behind without their +horses! The boys jumped for the river—both of them hurt—and 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 happened—it 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 +them—lots 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 a-near 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 voice—nothing 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 ag’in. 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 ag’in en tells me for certain you _is_ dead. Lawsy, I’s mighty +glad to git you back ag’in, honey.” + +I says: + +“All right—that’s mighty good; they won’t find me, and they’ll think +I’ve been killed, and floated down the river—there’s something up there +that ’ll help them think so—so 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 greens—there ain’t nothing in the world so +good when it’s cooked right—and 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 there—sometimes 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 up—nearly 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 +anywheres—perfectly still—just 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 line—that 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 away—trading-scows, +and such things; and long black streaks—rafts; 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 wood-yard, 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 see—just 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 ax flash and come down—you don’t hear nothing; +you see that ax 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 laughing—heard 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 things—we was always naked, day and night, +whenever the mosquitoes would let us—the 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 spark—which was a candle in a cabin window; and sometimes on +the water you could see a spark or two—on 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 black—no more sparks in the cabin windows. +These sparks was our clock—the 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 shore—it was only two hundred yards—and 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 _me_—or 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 lives—said they +hadn’t been doing nothing, and was being chased for it—said 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 in—that ’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 awhile; 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 woolen shirt, and ragged old blue jeans britches stuffed +into his boot-tops, and home-knit galluses—no, 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 +teeth—and it does take it off, too, and generly the enamel along with +it—but 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 yarn—what’s yourn?” + +“Well, I’d ben a-runnin’ 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 night—ten cents a head, children and +niggers free—and 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 breakfast—I 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 line—mainly?” + +“Jour printer by trade; do a little in patent medicines; +theater-actor—tragedy, you know; take a turn to mesmerism and +phrenology when there’s a chance; teach singing-geography school for a +change; sling a lecture sometimes—oh, I do lots of things—most +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 holt—for 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 baldhead. + +“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_, gentlemen—far from it; I don’t blame anybody. I deserve it +all. Let the cold world do its worst; one thing I know—there’s a +grave somewhere for me. The world may go on just as it’s always done, +and take everything from me—loved 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 down—yes, I did it myself. It’s right I should +suffer—perfectly right—I 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 believes—let 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 estates—the infant real duke was ignored. I am +the lineal descendant of that infant—I 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, heartbroken, 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 by—didn’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 true—your 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 sorry—and 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 king—so what’s the use to +worry? Make the best o’ things the way you find ’em, says I—that’s my +motto. This ain’t no bad thing that we’ve struck here—plenty grub and +an easy life—come, 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 running—was 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 over—I’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 daylight—it 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 shiver—it 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 world—let me suffer; I 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 by—that was the town, you know—and 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-bum—and +the thunder would go rumbling and grumbling away, and quit—and then +_rip_ comes another flash and another sock-dolager. 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 outside—I 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 awhile, 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-freezin’ 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 nightgown 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-shop—carpenters 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 sing—and 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 open—oh, 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 onto the platform, and +the preacher he begged him to speak to the people, and he done it. He +told them he was a pirate—been a pirate for thirty years out in the +Indian Ocean—and 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 times—and 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-office—horse bills—and 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 +advance—so 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 head—three verses—kind of +sweet and saddish—the 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’s 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 thing—we +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 practise 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 bull—you must say it soft and sick and +languishy, so—R-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 practise the sword-fight—the 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 +you—well, let me see—oh, I’ve got it—you 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 book—I’ve only got one volume—but 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 speech—I 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 rehearsing—as the duke called it—going 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 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 tinware. 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 hinge—a leather one. Some of the +fences had been whitewashed some time or another, but the duke said +it was in Columbus’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 dry-goods 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 stretching—a 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 every time; 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_.” + +[Illustration: “GIMME A CHAW”] + +All the streets and lanes was just mud; they warn’t nothing else _but_ +mud—mud 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-fight—unless 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 Arkansaw—never 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-five—and he was a +heap the best-dressed man in that town, too—steps out of the store, and +the crowd drops back on each side to let him come. He says to Boggs, +mighty ca’m and slow—he says: + +“I’m tired of this, but I’ll endure it till one o’clock. Till one +o’clock, mind—no 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 home—he 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 use—up 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, bareheaded, 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 hand—not 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 level—both 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 air—bang! goes the second one, and he tumbles +backwards onto 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 onto 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 out—and +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 onto 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 word—just 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 outgaze 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 kind—as 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 +people—whereas 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 dark—and 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 man—Buck Harkness, there—and 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 +man—like Buck Harkness, there—shouts ’Lynch him! lynch him!’ you’re +afraid to back down—afraid you’ll be found out to be what you +are—_cowards_—and so you raise a yell, and hang yourselves onto 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 is—a 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 _leave_—and 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, and 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 +comfortable—there must ’a’ been twenty of them—and 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 no way understand. Why, I couldn’t ’a’ thought +of them in a year. And by and by a drunken man tried to get into the +ring—said 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 toward 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 life—and 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 hum—and 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 there—just 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 comedy—and 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: + + + AT THE COURT HOUSE! + FOR 3 NIGHTS ONLY! + _The World-Renowned Tragedians_ + DAVID GARRICK THE YOUNGER! + AND + EDMUND KEAN THE ELDER! + _Of the London and Continental + Theatres_, + In their Thrilling Tragedy of + THE KING’S CAMELEOPARD, + OR + THE ROYAL NONESUCH ! ! ! + _Admission 50 cents._ + +Then at the bottom was the biggest line of all, which said: + + LADIES AND CHILDREN NOT ADMITTED + +“There,” says he, “if that line don’t fetch them, I don’t know +Arkansaw!” + + + + +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 onto 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. And—but 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 +sold—mighty 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, then—not 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 again—and 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 +coat—and 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 to—they 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 once—you’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 Book—which 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 it—give 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_ style—he 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? No—drownded him in a butt of +mamsey, like a cat. S’pose people left money laying around where he +was—what 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 it—what did he do? He always done the other thing. S’pose he +opened his mouth—what 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 ag’in, 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’ den—it was a do’ dat open innerds—jis’ 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 so—so—I 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 dumb—en 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 outfit—it 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 Arab—but 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 way—meaning 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 town—been 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 inshore,” 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 Blodgett—Elexander Blodgett—_Reverend_ 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 it—which 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 die—which he mayn’t +mind, nobody can tell as to that—but 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 together—and hadn’t ever seen his brother William at all—that’s +the deef and dumb one—William 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 +Harvey—and William, too, for that matter—because 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 right—for 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 England—Sheffield—preaches there—hasn’t ever been +in this country. He hasn’t had any too much time—and 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; I 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 +fourteen—that’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, and—well, 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 business—which was a tanner; and about George’s—which was a +carpenter; and about Harvey’s—which 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 it—every 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 histrionic 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 all 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 brother—gone, 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 private—I see him do it—and 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 loud—the 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, viz.:—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 +together—that 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-goo—goo-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, Biljy, +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 mistake—I +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 +that—it’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 everybody—then 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, duke—you _have_ got a rattlin’ clever +head on you,” says the king. “Blest if the old Nonesuch ain’t a +heppin’ us out ag’in,” 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 to—this ’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 +pile—twenty 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 rob—yes, _rob_—sech poor sweet lambs as +these ’at he loved so at sech a time? If I know William—and I _think_ +I do—he—well, 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 awhile; 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 +money—take 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 saying—in 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 to-morrow we want _all_ to +come—everybody; 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 funeral—wants me to make ’em all +welcome. But he needn’t ’a’ worried—it 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’t—obsequies bein’ the common term—but because orgies is the +right term. Obsequies ain’t used in England no more now—it’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 in_ter_. 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 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’s 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 girls’ +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 impostor—has +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 out—I _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 valley—meaning +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 was—and 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 so—said “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 have—he 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: + +“What—regular?” + +“Yes—regular. His pew’s right over opposite ourn—on 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 talk—Sheffield 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 _baths_—that’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-water—in 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?” + +“Yes—regular.” + +“Where do you set?” + +“Why, in our pew.” + +“_Whose_ pew?” + +“Why, _ourn_—your 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 day—only _one_ of +’em.” + +“Well, then, what does the rest of ’em do?” + +“Oh, nothing much. Loll around, pass the plate—and 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-l—why, 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, Jo?” 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, Maim—always 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, Maim, he said—” + +“It don’t make no difference what he _said_—that 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 +again—which 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 out—for 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? No—that +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? No—I +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 +to-night 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 thing—lay 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 easy—_given_ 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 deeper—didn’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 +it—which won’t be long after we’ve slid—the sale won’t be valid, and +it ’ll all go back to the estate. These yer orphans ’ll git their +house back ag’in, 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 think—there’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 ag’in, 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 catched—catched 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 noses—because 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 melodeum—a 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 +wait—you 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 worry—just 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 +again—I 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, +too—tickled 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 off—sale 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 +flat-footed 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, now—no 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?” + +“No—leastways, not all at once—that 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 that—and here we’ve gone and sold ’em for +a song. Yes, and ain’t privileged to sing the song yet. Say, where +_is_ that song—that 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 +affairs—if you got any. Long as you’re in this town don’t you forgit +_that_—you 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 business—yes.” + +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 way—said 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 onto 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 it—getting 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’t—most always. Tell me about it.” + +So she done it. And it was the niggers—I 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 +more—and 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 _will_—and inside of two weeks—and 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 weeks—here in this house—and _prove_ +how I know it—will 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 word—I 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 door—and 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 +frauds—regular 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 onto the king’s breast at the front door and +he kissed her sixteen or seventeen times—and then up she jumps, with +her face afire like sunset, and says: + +“The brute! Come, don’t waste a minute—not a _second_—we’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 said—please don’t—you _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 not—I +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 miles—right 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 +again—tell 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 witnesses—why, 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 niggers—it warn’t no sale, and the niggers will be +back before long. Why, they can’t collect the money for the _niggers_ +yet—they’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 thought—and 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 breakfast—I’ll be glad to. +And leave my sisters with them?” + +“Yes; never mind about them. They’ve got to stand it yet awhile. 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_ so—no +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 thing—that 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 run—and it warn’t a good place.” + +“Oh, stop blaming yourself—it’s too bad to do it, and I won’t allow +it—you 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_-by. 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 same—she was +just that kind. She had the grit to pray for Judus if she took the +notion—there 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 beauty—and +goodness, too—she 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 hurry—one 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_ catching—in 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 say—and 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 +obleeged 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 right—yes, I judge you _are_ right.” + +“But I reckon we ought to tell Uncle Harvey she’s gone out awhile, +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 Apthorps—which ’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 +neat—I 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 +sold—everything but a little old trifling lot in the graveyard. So +they’d got to work _that_ off—I 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 Wilks—and 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 Englishman—not 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’s brother Harvey, and this is +his brother William, which can’t hear nor speak—and 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 arm—_very_ 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 ingenious—under 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 heads—it 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 gentlemen 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 right—ain’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 it—and 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 duke—and 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 handwriting, and anybody can tell, easy +enough, _he_ didn’t write them—fact 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 +there—so 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, please—they’re by the same hand.” + +The lawyer done it, and says: + +“I believe it’s so—and 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 slution, but it’s gone to +grass, partly. But anyway, _one_ thing is proved—_these_ two ain’t +either of ’em Wilkses”—and he wagged his head towards the king and +the duke. + +Well, what do you think? That mule-headed 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 write—_he_ 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 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 br—helped 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 toward the king, and says: + +“Peraps 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 +sponge—there 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 +arrow—that’s what it is; and if you don’t look clost, you can’t see +it. _Now_ what do you say—hey?” + +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: + +“There—you’ve heard what he said! Was there any such mark on Peter +Wilks’s 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, and dashes between them, so: P—B—W”—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: + +“Gentlemen—gentle_men!_ Hear me just a word—just a _single_ word—if +you PLEASE! There’s one way yet—let’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 +wrist—Hines—and 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 flew—leastways, 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 dark—which 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 times—I 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 onto 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’t—_please_ 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 stay—_I_ 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_ bright—it 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 come—and +then—the 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-night—cravats warranted to _wear_, +too—longer than _we’d_ need ’em.” + +They was still a minute—thinking; 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 know—maybe +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, duke—answer 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 more—now +_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 you—I mean +somebody—got 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 baby—it’s fitten for you, after the way +you’ve acted. I never see such an old ostrich for wanting to gobble +everything—and 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 deffisit—you 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 deffersit; 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 raft—and 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, anyway—and maybe a chance +for _the_ chance 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 shout—and then another—and then another one; and +run this way and that in the woods, whooping and screeching; but it +warn’t no use—old 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’s 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 out—and 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 hundred dollars reward on him. +It’s like picking up money out’n the road.” + +“Yes, it is—and _I_ could ’a’ had it if I’d been big enough; I see him +_first_. Who nailed him?” + +“It was an old fellow—a stranger—and 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_, though—straight as a string. I see the handbill myself. +It tells all about him, to a dot—paints him like a picture, and tells +the plantation he’s frum, below Newr_leans_. 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 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 lie—I +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 +letter—and _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 thinking—thinking +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 smallpox 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 yet—I 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 +Nonesuch”—three-night performance—like 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 Jim—poor Jim!” + +“Blamed if _I_ know—that 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 so—goodness 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 all—so dry up your +blubbering. Looky here—do 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 Foster—Abram G. Foster—and +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 won’t, 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 +nigger—some idiots don’t require documents—leastways 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’s. 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 whispering—spirits that’s been dead ever so +many years—and 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’s 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 onto 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 +folks—hewed 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 smokehouse back of the kitchen; three little nigger cabins +in a row t’other side the smokehouse; 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 dead—for 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 say—spokes made out of +dogs—circle 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 going. She was +smiling all over so she could hardly stand—and 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 away—or 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’m—she—” + +“Don’t say yes’m—say 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 up—from 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 on—or—Now I struck an +idea, and fetched it out: + +“It warn’t the grounding—that 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 mortification—that +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 _everything_—tell 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 stump—and 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 ahead—I’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 lower—there, 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 world _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 so—something +_tells_ me so.” + +“Why, Sally, I _couldn’t_ miss him along the road—_you_ 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 +terrible—just terrible—something’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 ’tis?” + +“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 family—I +mean the Sawyer family—than 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 back—I 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, you ain’t a ghost?” + +“Honest injun, I ain’t,” I says. + +“Well—I—I—well, 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 all—I 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 thing—a 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 _Jim_—old 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 heard—and 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 he 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 +hair—not a hair. It’s wonderful. Why, I wouldn’t take a hundred +dollars for that horse now—I 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 audience—and 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 late—he’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 +walk—I don’t mind the distance.” + +“But we won’t _let_ you walk—it 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 Thompson—and 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’rp—Why, what do you reckon _I_ am? I’ve a good notion to +take and—Say, 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. I—I—thought +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, they—they—told 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 +it—every one of them. But I’m sorry, m’am, and I won’t do it no +more—I 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 again—till 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 +you—or 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; I—I—well, 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.” + +“No—not 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 terms—I’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 +families—and 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 middle of it—it was as much as half after eight then—here 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 rail—that 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 human—just 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 late—couldn’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, somehow—though +_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 was—I 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 table—same 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 right—I’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 right—bring 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 +with—which was the north side—we 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 narrow—only 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 door—you only +have to pull a buckskin latch-string, they don’t fasten the doors—but +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 +Jim—if 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 graduly 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 now—_den_ 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 drugged—now 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 +thing—there’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 a saw? 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 its 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 moat—because a rope ladder is nineteen foot too +short, you know—and 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 do—there 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 thing—he 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 clue, after he’s gone? and don’t you reckon they’ll +want clues? 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 Sawyer—if 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 +still—that’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 clothes-line.” + +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 granny—_Jim_ can’t write.” + +“S’pose he _can’t_ write—he 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 you—if you got any reasonableness in you at +all—what 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 shovels—why, +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_ +way—and 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-knife—and 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 year_—and 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 right—_I_ don’t care where he comes out, so he _comes_ out; and +Jim don’t, either, I reckon. But there’s one thing, anyway—Jim’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 smokehouse.” + +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 knives—three 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 we 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 counterpin 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 well—couldn’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 broke—because 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 do—but then I thought. I scratched around +amongst the old tools, and got a pickax 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-hole—then 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 onto 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_ um—I _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’ wunst—on’y jis’ wunst—it’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!” + +[Illustration: TOM ADVISES A WITCH PIE] + +“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 pan—something 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 war-whoop, 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 again—it 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 yesterday—I 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_ gone—that’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, +Silas—_you’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 onto 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’s-line 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 it—stop 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 ship-shape. 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 +mind—let 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 +count—anybody would. + +“I declare to gracious ther’ _ain’t_ but nine!” she says. “Why, what +in the world—plague _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 way—just 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 cler 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 washpans 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 last—which 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 +washpan—afraid 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 this—because 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 atto_. Got it out of a book—means 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 fess—a fess is—_you_ 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 inscription—said 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 onto 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 onto 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!” + +“Yes—easy 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 try—that’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_, Tom—_doan_’ talk so! I can’t _stan’_ it! He’d _let_ me +shove his head in my mouf—fer 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 try—you 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’ ’twas 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 ’em—they 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 music—in a +prison they dote on it. Specially, painful music; and you can’t get no +other kind out of a jew’s-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 jew’s-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 Pitchiola—that’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 jew’s-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 back—we 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 line 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 themselves—it’s their +lookout.” + +“Yes, I know; but you can’t depend on them. It’s the way they’ve acted +from the very start—left 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 nothing—won’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 no way and be satisfied, because she allowed there +was something behind her every time—so 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 BA 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 +cubboard 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, then—it 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 _ba_ 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 if—Dear, +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 lose—the 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 padlock, and heard a man say: + +“I _told_ you we’d be too soon; they haven’t come—the 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 soft—Jim 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 onto 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 onto 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 as 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 _border_—that’s what we’d ’a’ done +with _him_—and done it just as slick as nothing at all, too. Man the +sweeps—man the sweeps!” + +But me and Jim was consulting—and 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, sah—I 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 +say—so 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 see the canoe he didn’t like the look of her—said 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, and—and—and _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 +nigger—me 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 around—but 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 Damrell—didn’t I, +Sister Damrell?—s’I, he’s crazy, s’I—them’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 +that—natcherl 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 time—the +nigger’s crazy—crazy ’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’I—what +_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! Thar’s_ where ’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 everything 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’I—somebody _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 anybody 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 shirt—every 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 on—and 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_ sperits—because, because, _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 very—why, 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 me—I 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 be—boys 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 awhile 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 up-town 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. Petersburg—it’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 run—for 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-by 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 faithfuler, 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 dollars—and +kind treatment, too. I had everything I needed, and the boy was doing +as well there as he would ’a’ done at home—better, 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 me—explanations, 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 peacefuler +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 free—me and Tom.” + +“Good land! Set the run—What _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 free—me 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 work—weeks of it—hours 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 make 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, +a—_you_ 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_ it—she 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 +to—goodness 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 spectacles—kind of +grinding him into the earth, you know. And then she says: + +“Yes, you _better_ turn y’r head away—I 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’s—Tom’s—why, where is Tom? He was here a minute +ago.” + +“You mean where’s Huck _Finn_—that’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 +see—except 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 Sawyer—she chipped in and says, “Oh, go on and call me +Aunt Sally, I’m used to it now, and ’taint no need to change”—that +when Aunt Sally took me for Tom Sawyer I had to stand it—there 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!” + +“Well—_what?_” he says, kind of pettish. + +“Don’t you what _me_, you impudent thing—hand 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 _ag’in;_ en it’s +come true; en heah she _is! Dah_, now! doan’ talk to _me_—signs is +_signs_, mine I tell you; en I knowed jis’ ’s well ’at I ’uz gwineter +be rich ag’in 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 yet—six 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, Huck—but 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 + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN *** + +***** This file should be named 32325-0.txt or 32325-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/3/2/32325/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following +the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use +of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for +copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very +easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation +of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project +Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may +do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected +by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark +license, especially commercial redistribution. + +START: FULL LICENSE + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full +Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at +www.gutenberg.org/license. + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or +destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your +possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a +Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound +by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the +person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph +1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this +agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the +Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection +of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual +works in the collection are in the public domain in the United +States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the +United States and you are located in the United States, we do not +claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, +displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as +all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope +that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting +free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm +works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the +Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily +comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the +same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when +you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are +in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, +check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this +agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, +distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any +other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no +representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any +country other than the United States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other +immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear +prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work +on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, +performed, viewed, copied or distributed: + + This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and + most other parts of the world 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.org. If you are not located in the + United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where + you are located before using this eBook. + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is +derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not +contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the +copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in +the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are +redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply +either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or +obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any +additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms +will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works +posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the +beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including +any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access +to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format +other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official +version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website +(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense +to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means +of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain +Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the +full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +provided that: + +* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed + to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has + agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid + within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are + legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty + payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in + Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg + Literary Archive Foundation.” + +* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by email) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all + copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue + all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm + works. + +* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of + any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of + receipt of the work. + +* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than +are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing +from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of +the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set +forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project +Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may +contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate +or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or +other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or +cannot be read by your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium +with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you +with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in +lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person +or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second +opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If +the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing +without further opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you—‘AS-IS’, WITH NO +OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of +damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement +violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the +agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or +limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or +unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the +remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in +accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the +production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, +including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of +the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this +or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or +additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any +Defect you cause. + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of +computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It +exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations +from people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm’s +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future +generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see +Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at +www.gutenberg.org + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by +U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. + +The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, +Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up +to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website +and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without +widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND +DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular +state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To +donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project +Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be +freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and +distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of +volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in +the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not +necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper +edition. + +Most people start at our website which has the main PG search +facility: www.gutenberg.org + +This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/32325-0.zip b/32325-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..be08a42 --- /dev/null +++ b/32325-0.zip diff --git a/32325-h.zip b/32325-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..89df072 --- /dev/null +++ b/32325-h.zip diff --git a/32325-h/32325-h.htm b/32325-h/32325-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2bed8c8 --- /dev/null +++ b/32325-h/32325-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,15117 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn</title> + <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> + + +<style type="text/css"> + .center,p.pg1 {text-align: center;} + + +.ph1, .ph2, .ph3, .ph4, .ph5 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } +.ph1 { font-size: xx-large; margin: .67em auto; } +.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } +.ph3 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } +.ph4,.ph5 { font-size: medium; margin: 1.12em auto; } +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2,h3 {page-break-before: avoid;} +.x-ebookmaker-drop {} + </style> + </head> + <body> +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold;'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn<br /> + Tom Sawyer’s Comrade</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Mark Twain</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: May 10, 2010 [eBook #32325]<br /> +[Most recently updated: November 11, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Produced by James Adcock. Special thanks to The Internet +Archive: American Libraries. +<br />Revised by Richard Tonsing.</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN ***</div> + + + + +<p><br /> +<br /> +<a name="twain"></a></p> +<p class="pg1">Portrait of the Author</p> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/twain.jpg" alt="" /></p> +<p class="pg1">S. L. Clemens</p> +<p><br /> +<br /><br /></p> +<h1 class="center">THE ADVENTURES <small>OF</small> HUCKLEBERRY FINN<br /> +<br /> +<span class="ph2">(TOM SAWYER’S COMRADE)</span></h1> +<p><br /><br /></p> +<p class="pg1">SCENE: The Mississippi Valley<br /> +TIME: Forty to Fifty Years Ago</p> +<p><br /><br /></p> +<div class="ph2"><small>BY</small> Mark Twain</div> +<p><br /><br /></p> +<p class="pg1">ILLUSTRATED</p> +<p><br /><br /></p> +<p class="pg1"><i>NEW EDITION FROM NEW PLATES</i></p> +<p><br /><br /> +<br /><br /></p> +<p class="pg1">HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS</p> +<p class="pg1"><small>NEW YORK AND LONDON</small></p> +<p><br /><br /></p> +<p class="pg1">—————</p> +<p><br /><br /></p> +<p class="pg1"><small>Books by</small><br /><br /> +MARK TWAIN</p> +<p><br /></p> +<p class="pg1"><small> +ST. JOAN OF ARC<br /> +THE INNOCENTS ABROAD<br /> +ROUGHING IT<br /> +THE GILDED AGE<br /> +A TRAMP ABROAD<br /> +FOLLOWING THE EQUATOR<br /> +PUDD’NHEAD WILSON<br /> +SKETCHES NEW AND OLD<br /> +THE AMERICAN CLAIMANT<br /> +CHRISTIAN SCIENCE<br /> +A CONNECTICUT YANKEE AT THE COURT OF<br /> + KING ARTHUR<br /> +THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN<br /> +PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF JOAN OF ARC<br /> +LIFE ON THE MISSISSIPPI<br /> +THE MAN THAT CORRUPTED HADLEYBURG<br /> +THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER<br /> +THE $30,000 BEQUEST<br /> +THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER<br /> +TOM SAWYER ABROAD<br /> +WHAT IS MAN?<br /> +THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER<br /> +ADAM’S DIARY<br /> +A DOG’S TALE<br /> +A DOUBLE-BARRELED DETECTIVE STORY<br /> +EDITORIAL WILD OATS<br /> +EVE’S DIARY<br /> +IN DEFENSE OF HARRIET SHELLY AND<br /> + OTHER ESSAYS<br /> +IS SHAKESPEARE DEAD?<br /> +CAPT. STORMFIELD’S VISIT TO HEAVEN<br /> +A HORSE’S TALE<br /> +THE JUMPING FROG<br /> +THE £1,000,000 BANK-NOTE<br /> +TRAVELS AT HOME<br /> +TRAVELS IN HISTORY<br /> +MARK TWAIN’S LETTERS<br /> +MARK TWAIN’S SPEECHES<br /></small> +</p> +<p class="pg1">—————</p> +<p class="pg1">HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK</p> +<p class="pg1">[Established 1817]</p> +<p class="pg1"><small>The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn +<br /> +————— +<br /> +Copyright, 1884. by Samuel L. Clemens +<br /> +————— +<br /> +Copyright. 1896 and 1899. by Harper & Brothers +<br /> +————— +<br /> +Copyright. 1912, by Clara Gabrilowitsch +<br /> +————— +<br /> +Printed in the United States of America</small> +</p> +<p><br /><br /> +<br /><br /> +<br /><br /></p> +<h2 class="center">CONTENTS</h2> +<p><br /><br /> +<br /><br /></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_Notice" href="#a_Notice">Notice</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_Explanatory" href="#a_Explanatory">Explanatory</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_I" href="#a_I">I. I Discover Moses and the Bulrushers</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_II" href="#a_II">II. Our Gang’s Dark Oath</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_III" href="#a_III">III. We Ambuscade the A-rabs</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_IV" href="#a_IV">IV. The Hair-ball Oracle</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_V" href="#a_V">V. Pap Starts in on a New Life</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_VI" href="#a_VI">VI. Pap Struggles with the Death Angel</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_VII" href="#a_VII">VII. I Fool Pap and Get Away</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_VIII" href="#a_VIII">VIII. I Spare Miss Watson’s Jim</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_IX" href="#a_IX">IX. The House of Death Floats By</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_X" href="#a_X">X. What Comes of Handlin’ Snake-skin</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XI" href="#a_XI">XI. They’re After Us!</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XII" href="#a_XII">XII. “Better Let Blame Well Alone”</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XIII" href="#a_XIII">XIII. Honest Loot from the “Walter Scott”</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XIV" href="#a_XIV">XIV. Was Solomon Wise?</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XV" href="#a_XV">XV. Fooling Poor Old Jim</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XVI" href="#a_XVI">XVI. The Rattlesnake-skin Does Its Work</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XVII" href="#a_XVII">XVII. The Grangerfords Take Me In</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XVIII" href="#a_XVIII">XVIII. Why Harney Rode Away for His Hat</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XIX" href="#a_XIX">XIX. The Duke and the Dauphin Come Aboard</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XX" href="#a_XX">XX. What Royalty Did to Parkville</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXI" href="#a_XXI">XXI. An Arkansaw Difficulty</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXII" href="#a_XXII">XXII. Why the Lynching Bee Failed</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXIII" href="#a_XXIII">XXIII. The Orneriness of Kings</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXIV" href="#a_XXIV">XXIV. The King Turns Parson</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXV" href="#a_XXV">XXV. All Full of Tears and Flapdoodle</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXVI" href="#a_XXVI">XXVI. I Steal the King’s Plunder</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXVII" href="#a_XXVII">XXVII. Dead Peter has His Gold</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXVIII" href="#a_XXVIII">XXVIII. Overreaching Don’t Pay</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXIX" href="#a_XXIX">XXIX. I Light Out in the Storm</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXX" href="#a_XXX">XXX. The Gold Saves the Thieves</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXXI" href="#a_XXXI">XXXI. You Can’t Pray a Lie</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXXII" href="#a_XXXII">XXXII. I Have a New Name</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXXIII" href="#a_XXXIII">XXXIII. The Pitiful Ending of Royalty</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXXIV" href="#a_XXXIV">XXXIV. We Cheer Up Jim</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXXV" href="#a_XXXV">XXXV. Dark, Deep-laid Plans</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXXVI" href="#a_XXXVI">XXXVI. Trying to Help Jim</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXXVII" href="#a_XXXVII">XXXVII. Jim Gets His Witch pie</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXXVIII" href="#a_XXXVIII">XXXVIII. “Here a Captive Heart Busted”</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXXIX" href="#a_XXXIX">XXXIX. Tom Writes Nonnamous Letters</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XL" href="#a_XL">XL. A Mixed-up and Splendid Rescue</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XLI" href="#a_XLI">XLI. “Must ’a’ Been Sperits”</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XLII" href="#a_XLII">XLII. Why They Didn’t Hang Jim</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_CHL" href="#a_CHL">Chapter the Last. Nothing More to Write</a></p> +<p><br /><br /> +<br /><br /> +<br /><br /></p> +<h2 class="center">ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p class="pg1">—————</p> +<p><br /></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_twain" href="#twain">Portrait of the Author</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_huck" href="#huck">Huckleberry Finn</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_chaw" href="#chaw">“‘Gimme a Chaw’”</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_pie" href="#pie">Tom Advises a Witch Pie</a></p> +<p><br /><br /> +<br /><br /> +<a name="a_Notice"></a></p> +<p class="pg1"> +<big> +NOTICE +</big> +</p><p><br /></p><p> +Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative +will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a +moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to +find a plot in it will be shot.<br /><br /> + By Order of the Author,<br /> + Per G. G., Chief of Ordnance. +</p> +<p><br /><br /> +<br /><br /> +<a name="a_Explanatory"></a></p> +<p class="pg1"> +<big> +EXPLANATORY +</big> +</p><p><br /></p> +<p> +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.</p> +<p> +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.<br /><br /> + The Author. +</p> +<p><br /><br /> +<br /><br /></p> +<h2 class="center"><big>HUCKLEBERRY FINN</big></h2> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_I"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER I</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +You don’t know about me without you have read +a book by the name of <i>The Adventures of Tom +Sawyer;</i> 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 Polly—Tom’s Aunt Polly, she is—and 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. +</p><p> +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 apiece—all 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 round—more 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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, Huckleberry—set up straight”; +and pretty soon she would say, “Don’t gap and +stretch like that, Huckleberry—why 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; <i>she</i> 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 downhearted +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. +</p><p> +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 boom—boom—boom—twelve licks; and +all still again—stiller than ever. Pretty soon I heard +a twig snap down in the dark amongst the trees—something +was a-stirring. I set still and listened. +Directly I could just barely hear a “<i>me-yow! me-yow!</i>” +down there. That was good! Says I, “<i>me-yow! me-yow!</i>” +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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_II"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER II</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +We went tiptoeing along a path amongst the +trees back toward 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: +</p><p> +“Who dah?” +</p><p> +He listened some more; then he came 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 sleepy—if you are anywheres +where it won’t do for you to scratch, why you will itch +all over in upward of a thousand places. Pretty soon +Jim says: +</p><p> +“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 ag’in.” +</p><p> +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 snore—and then I was pretty soon comfortable +again. +</p><p> +Tom he made a sign to me—kind of a little noise +with his mouth—and 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. +</p><p> +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. Afterward Jim said the witches +bewitched 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. +</p><p> +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 Joe 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Now, we’ll start this band of robbers and call it +Tom Sawyer’s Gang. </p><p>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 the list with blood +and never mentioned again by the gang, but have a +curse put on it and be forgot forever. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +Some thought it would be good to kill the <i>families</i> +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: +</p><p> +“Here’s Huck Finn, he hain’t got no family; what +you going to do ’bout him?” +</p><p> +“Well, hain’t he got a father?” says Tom Sawyer. +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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 do—everybody 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 Watson—they +could kill her. Everybody said: +</p><p> +“Oh, she’ll do. That’s all right. Huck can come +in.” +</p><p> +Then they all stuck a pin in their fingers to get +blood to sign with, and I made my mark on the paper. +</p><p> +“Now,” says Ben Rogers, “what’s the line of +business of this Gang?” +</p><p> +“Nothing only robbery and murder,” Tom said. +</p><p> +“But who are we going to rob?—houses, or cattle, +or—” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Must we always kill the people?” +</p><p> +“Oh, certainly. It’s best. Some authorities think +different, but mostly it’s considered best to kill them—except +some that you bring to the cave here, and +keep them till they’re ransomed.” +</p><p> +“Ransomed? What’s that?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“But how can we do it if we don’t know what it is?” +</p><p> +“Why, blame it all, we’ve <i>got</i> 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?” +</p><p> +“Oh, that’s all very fine to <i>say</i>, 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>I</i> want to get at. Now, what do you <i>reckon</i> +it is?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Now, that’s something <i>like.</i> 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, too—eating up everything, and always +trying to get loose.” +</p><p> +“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?” +</p><p> +“A guard! Well, that <i>is</i> 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?” +</p><p> +“Because it ain’t in the books so—that’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 <i>you</i> can learn +’em anything? Not by a good deal. No, sir, we’ll +just go on and ransom them in the regular way.” +</p><p> +“All right. I don’t mind; but I say it’s a fool +way, anyhow. Say, do we kill the women, too?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 Joe +Harper second captain of the Gang, and so started +home. +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_III"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER III</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +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 snuff-box that was stole? +Why can’t Miss Watson fat up? No, says I to myself, +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 meant—I +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 it—except 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 Joe +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 <i>Don Quixote</i>, 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. +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Well,” I says, “s’pose we got some genies to +help <i>us</i>—can’t we lick the other crowd then?” +</p><p> +“How you going to get them?” +</p><p> +“I don’t know. How do <i>they</i> get them?” +</p><p> +“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 it—or any +other man.” +</p><p> +“Who makes them tear around so?” +</p><p> +“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 it—and +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.” +</p><p> +“Well,” says I, “I think they are a pack of flatheads +for not keeping the palace themselves ’stead +of fooling them away like that. And what’s more—if +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.” +</p><p> +“How you talk, Huck Finn. Why, you’d <i>have</i> to +come when he rubbed it, whether you wanted to +or not.” +</p><p> +“What! and I as high as a tree and as big as a +church? All right, then; I <i>would</i> come; but I lay +I’d make that man climb the highest tree there +was in the country.” +</p><p> +“Shucks, it ain’t no use to talk to you, Huck Finn. +You don’t seem to know anything, somehow—perfect +saphead.” +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_IV"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER IV</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 awhile, 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Why, my boy, you are all out of breath. Did +you come for your interest?” +</p><p> +“No, sir,” I says; “is there some for me?” +</p><p> +“Oh, yes, a half-yearly is in last night—over 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.” +</p><p> +“No, sir,” I says, “I don’t want to spend it. I +don’t want it at all—nor the six thousand, nuther. +I want you to take it; I want to give it to you—the +six thousand and all.” +</p><p> +He looked surprised. He couldn’t seem to make +it out. He says: +</p><p> +“Why, what can you mean, my boy?” +</p><p> +I says, “Don’t you ask me no questions about +it, please. You’ll take it—won’t you?” +</p><p> +He says: +</p><p> +“Well, I’m puzzled. Is something the matter?” +</p><p> +“Please take it,” says I, “and don’t ask me nothing—then +I won’t have to tell no lies.” +</p><p> +He studied awhile, and then he says: +</p><p> +“Oho-o! I think I see. You want to <i>sell</i> all +your property to me—not give it. That’s the +correct idea.” +</p><p> +Then he wrote something on a paper and read +it over, and says: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +So I signed it, and left. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Yo’ ole father doan’ know yit what he’s a-gwyne +to do. Sometimes he spec he’ll go ’way, en den +ag’in 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 ag’in. 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.” +</p><p> +When I lit my candle and went up to my room +that night there sat pap—his own self!</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_V"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER V</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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 +mistaken—that 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. +</p><p> +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 crawl—a +tree-toad white, a fish-belly white. As for his clothes—just +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 floor—an +old black slouch with the top caved in, like a lid. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Starchy clothes—very. You think you’re a good +deal of a big-bug, <i>don’t</i> you?” +</p><p> +“Maybe I am, maybe I ain’t,” I says. +</p><p> +“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 say—can read +and write. You think you’re better’n your father, +now, don’t you, because he can’t? <i>I’ll</i> take it out of +you. Who told you you might meddle with such +hifalut’n foolishness, hey?—who told you you could?” +</p><p> +“The widow. She told me.” +</p><p> +“The widow, hey?—and who told the widow she +could put in her shovel about a thing that ain’t none +of her business?” +</p><p> +“Nobody never told her.” +</p><p> +“Well, I’ll learn her how to meddle. And looky +here—you 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 <i>he</i> 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 <i>they</i> died. <i>I</i> can’t; and here +you’re a-swelling yourself up like this. I ain’t the man +to stand it—you hear? Say, lemme hear you read.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +He took up a little blue and yaller picture of some +cows and a boy, and says: +</p><p> +“What’s this?” +</p><p> +“It’s something they give me for learning my +lessons good.” +</p><p> +He tore it up, and says: +</p><p> +“I’ll give you something better—I’ll give you a +cowhide.” +</p><p> +He set there a-mumbling and a-growling a minute, +and then he says: +</p><p> +“<i>Ain’t</i> you a sweet-scented dandy, though? A +bed; and bedclothes; and a look’n’-glass; and a piece +of carpet on the floor—and 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 airs—they say you’re rich. Hey?—how’s +that?” +</p><p> +“They lie—that’s how.” +</p><p> +“Looky here—mind how you talk to me; I’m +a-standing about all I can stand now—so 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-morrow—I want +it.” +</p><p> +“I hain’t got no money.” +</p><p> +“It’s a lie. Judge Thatcher’s got it. You git it. +I want it.” +</p><p> +“I hain’t got no money, I tell you. You ask Judge +Thatcher; he’ll tell you the same.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“I hain’t got only a dollar, and I want that to—” +</p><p> +“It don’t make no difference what you want it for—you +just shell it out.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 <i>he</i> was +satisfied; said he was boss of his son, and he’d make +it warm for <i>him.</i> +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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 words—don’t forget I said +them. It’s a clean hand now; shake it—don’t be +afeard.” +</p><p> +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 pledge—made 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 toward 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_VI"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER VI</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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 business—appeared 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 suited—this +kind of thing was right in his line. +</p><p> +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, +<i>wasn’t</i> 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. +</p><p> +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 +it—all but the cowhide part. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 out—big enough to let me through. +Well, it was a good long job, but I was getting +toward 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. +</p><p> +Pap warn’t in a good humor—so 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 Adam—he was just all mud. Whenever his +liquor begun to work he most always went for the +govment. This time he says: +</p><p> +“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 him—a 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 <i>him</i> and +give him a rest, the law up and goes for him. And +they call <i>that</i> 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 <i>told</i> +’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 ag’in. Them’s the very words. I +says, look at my hat—if you call it a hat—but 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 I—such a hat +for me to wear—one of the wealthiest men in this +town if I could git my rights. +</p><p> +“Oh, yes, this is a wonderful govment, wonderful. +Why, looky here. There was a free nigger there from +Ohio—a 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 cane—the +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 <i>vote</i> 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 ag’in. +Them’s the very words I said; they all heard me; +and the country may rot for all me—I’ll never vote +ag’in as long as I live. And to see the cool way of +that nigger—why, 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, now—that’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—” +</p><p> +Pap was a-going 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 language—mostly 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 cheek—but 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 awhile, 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: +</p><p> +“Tramp—tramp—tramp; that’s the dead; tramp—tramp—tramp; +they’re coming after me; but I +won’t go. Oh, they’re here! don’t touch me—don’t! +hands off—they’re cold; let go. Oh, let a poor devil +alone!” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 <i>such</i> 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. +</p><p> +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, and 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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_VII"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER VII</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +“Git up! What you ’bout?” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“What you doin’ with this gun?” +</p><p> +I judged he didn’t know nothing about what he +had been doing, so I says: +</p><p> +“Somebody tried to get in, so I was laying for +him.” +</p><p> +“Why didn’t you roust me out?” +</p><p> +“Well, I tried to, but I couldn’t; I couldn’t budge +you.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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 rafts—sometimes +a dozen logs together; so all you have to +do is to catch them and sell them to the woodyards +and the sawmill. +</p><p> +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 this—she’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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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?” +</p><p> +Then he dropped down and went to sleep again; +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. +</p><p> +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 raft—nine 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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /> +<a name="huck"></a></p> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/huck.jpg" alt="HUCKLEBERRY FINN" /></p> +<p class="pg1">HUCKLEBERRY FINN</p> +<p><br /><br /></p> +<p> +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; +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 things—everything +that was worth a cent. I cleaned out the place. I +wanted an ax, 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +I took the ax 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 ax, and laid him down +on the ground to bleed; I say ground because it <i>was</i> +ground—hard packed, and no boards. Well, next I +took an old sack and put a lot of big rocks in it—all +I could drag—and 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. +</p><p> +Well, last I pulled out some of my hair, and blooded +the ax good, and stuck it on the back side, and slung +the ax 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 place—pap +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 rushes—and 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 <i>smelt</i> late. You know what I mean—I +don’t know the words to put it in. +</p><p> +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 +was—a 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. +Thinks 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 <i>was</i> pap, sure +enough—and sober, too, by the way he laid his oars. +</p><p> +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 toward 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, too—every word +of it. One man said it was getting towards the long +days and the short nights now. T’other one said <i>this</i> +warn’t one of the short ones, he reckoned—and 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 +woman—she 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. +</p><p> +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 head—it was all under water +now. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +There was a little gray in the sky now; so I stepped +into the woods, and laid down for a nap before breakfast.</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_VIII"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +I was powerful lazy and comfortable—didn’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 up—about 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. +</p><p> +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 morning—so +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 shore—I 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. +</p><p> +I got a good place amongst the leaves, and set there +on a log, munching the bread and watching the ferryboat, +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 thing—that +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 Joe 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: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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 awhile. 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +And so for three days and nights. No difference—just +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +I reckon I was up in the tree two hours; but I +didn’t see nothing, I didn’t hear nothing—I only +<i>thought</i> 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. +</p><p> +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 bank—about +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 +<i>plunkety-plunk</i>, <i>plunkety-plunk</i>, 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: +</p><p> +“We better camp here if we can find a good +place; the horses is about beat out. Let’s look +around.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 tree-tops, +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 fantods. 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: +</p><p> +“Hello, Jim!” and skipped out. +</p><p> +He bounced up and stared at me wild. Then he +drops down on his knees, and puts his hands together +and says: +</p><p> +“Doan’ hurt me—don’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 ag’in, +whah you b’longs, en doan’ do nuffn to Ole Jim, ’at +’uz alwuz yo’ fren’.” +</p><p> +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 +<i>him</i> telling the people where I was. I talked along, +but he only set there and looked at me; never said +nothing. Then I says: +</p><p> +“It’s good daylight. Le’s get breakfast. Make +up your camp-fire good.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Strawberries and such truck,” I says. “Is that +what you live on?” +</p><p> +“I couldn’ git nuffn else,” he says. +</p><p> +“Why, how long you been on the island, Jim?” +</p><p> +“I come heah de night arter you’s killed.” +</p><p> +“What, all that time?” +</p><p> +“Yes-indeedy.” +</p><p> +“And ain’t you had nothing but that kind of rubbage to eat?” +</p><p> +“No, sah—nuffn else.” +</p><p> +“Well, you must be most starved, ain’t you?” +</p><p> +“I reck’n I could eat a hoss. I think I could. +How long you ben on de islan’?” +</p><p> +“Since the night I got killed.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +By and by Jim says: +</p><p> +“But looky here, Huck, who wuz it dat ’uz killed +in dat shanty ef it warn’t you?” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“How do you come to be here, Jim, and how’d you +get here?” +</p><p> +He looked pretty uneasy, and didn’t say nothing for +a minute. Then he says: +</p><p> +“Maybe I better not tell.” +</p><p> +“Why, Jim?” +</p><p> +“Well, dey’s reasons. But you wouldn’ tell on me +ef I ’uz to tell you, would you, Huck?” +</p><p> +“Blamed if I would, Jim.” +</p><p> +“Well, I b’lieve you, Huck. I—I <i>run off</i>.” +</p><p> +“Jim!” +</p><p> +“But mind, you said you wouldn’ tell—you know +you said you wouldn’ tell, Huck.” +</p><p> +“Well, I did. I said I wouldn’t, and I’ll stick to it. +Honest <i>injun</i>, I will. People would call me a low-down +Abolitionist and despise me for keeping mum—but +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.” +</p><p> +“Well, you see, it ’uz dis way. Ole missus—dat’s +Miss Watson—she 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’t do it, but I never waited to hear de res’. +I lit out mighty quick, I tell you. +</p><p> +“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 tumbledown +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. +</p><p> +“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. +</p><p> +“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 a-gwyne 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’ <i>make</i> no track. +</p><p> +“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 driftwood, +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. +</p><p> +“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’t—bank too bluff. +I ’uz mos’ to de foot er de islan’ +b’fo’ I foun’ 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.” +</p><p> +“And so you ain’t had no meat nor bread to eat +all this time? Why didn’t you get mud-turkles?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Well, that’s so. You’ve had to keep in the +woods all the time, of course. Did you hear ’em +shooting the cannon?” +</p><p> +“Oh, yes. I knowed dey was arter you. I see +um go by heah—watched um thoo de bushes.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 tablecloth +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Mighty few—an’ <i>dey</i> 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 +a-gwyne 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.” +</p><p> +“Have you got hairy arms and a hairy breast, Jim?” +</p><p> +“What’s de use to ax dat question? Don’t you +see I has?” +</p><p> +“Well, are you rich?” +</p><p> +“No, but I ben rich wunst, and gwyne to be +rich ag’in. Wunst I had foteen dollars, but I tuck +to specalat’n’, en got busted out.” +</p><p> +“What did you speculate in, Jim?” +</p><p> +“Well, fust I tackled stock.” +</p><p> +“What kind of stock?” +</p><p> +“Why, live stock—cattle, 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.” +</p><p> +“So you lost the ten dollars.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“You had five dollars and ten cents left. Did you +speculate any more?” +</p><p> +“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. +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“What did you do with the ten cents, Jim?” +</p><p> +“Well, I ’uz gwyne to spen’ it, but I had a dream, +en de dream tole me to give it to a nigger name’ +Balum—Balum’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.” +</p><p> +“Well, what did come of it, Jim?” +</p><p> +“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 <i>cents</i> +back, I’d call it squah, en be glad er de chanst.” +</p><p> +“Well, it’s all right anyway, Jim, long as you’re +going to be rich again some time or other.” +</p><p> +“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’.” +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_IX"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER IX</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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? +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 blackest—<i>fst!</i> 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-stairs—where it’s long stairs and they +bounce a good deal, you know. +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“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 gittin’ mos’ drownded, too; dat you +would, honey. Chickens knows when it’s gwyne to +rain, en so do de birds, chile.” +</p><p> +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 across—a half +a mile—because the Missouri shore was just a wall +of high bluffs. +</p><p> +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 turtles—they 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. +</p><p> +One night we catched a little section of a lumber-raft—nice +pine planks. It was twelve foot wide and +about fifteen or sixteen foot long, and the top stood +above water six or seven inches—a 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. +</p><p> +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 aboard—clumb in at an up-stairs window. But +it was too dark to see yet, so we made the canoe +fast and set in her to wait for daylight. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Hello, you!” +</p><p> +But it didn’t budge. So I hollered again, and then +Jim says: +</p><p> +“De man ain’t asleep—he’s dead. You hold still—I’ll +go en see.” +</p><p> +He went, and bent down and looked, and says: +</p><p> +“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 face—it’s too gashly.” +</p><p> +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 canoe—it 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. +</p><p> +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 fish-line 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 currycomb, 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_X"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER X</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“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’.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 practised +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. +</p><p> +I started up the Illinois shore in the canoe just +after dark. +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XI"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XI</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +“Come in,” says the woman, and I did. She +says: “Take a cheer.” +</p><p> +I done it. She looked me all over with her little +shiny eyes, and says: +</p><p> +“What might your name be?” +</p><p> +“Sarah Williams.” +</p><p> +“Where’bouts do you live? In this neighborhood?” +</p><p> +“No’m. In Hookerville, seven mile below. I’ve +walked all the way and I’m all tired out.” +</p><p> +“Hungry, too, I reckon. I’ll find you something.” +</p><p> +“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?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“No,” I says; “I’ll rest awhile, I reckon, and go +on. I ain’t afeard of the dark.” +</p><p> +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 +alone—and so on and so on, till I was afeard <i>I</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 twelve thousand dollars (only +she got it twenty) 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: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Well, I reckon there’s a right smart chance of +people <i>here</i> that ’d like to know who killed him. +Some think old Finn done it himself.” +</p><p> +“No—is that so?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Why <i>he</i>—” +</p><p> +I stopped. I reckoned I better keep still. She +run on, and never noticed I had put in at all: +</p><p> +“The nigger run off the very night Huck Finn was +killed. So there’s a reward out for him—three hundred +dollars. And there’s a reward out for old Finn, +too—two 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.” +</p><p> +“Yes, I reckon so, ’m. I don’t see nothing in the +way of it. Has everybody quit thinking the nigger +done it?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Why, are they after him yet?” +</p><p> +“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 them—but 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 see—him 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.” +</p><p> +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 +interested—and I was, too—and says: +</p><p> +“Three hundred dollars is a power of money. I +wish my mother could get it. Is your husband going +over there to-night?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Couldn’t they see better if they was to wait till +daytime?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“I didn’t think of that.” +</p><p> +The woman kept looking at me pretty curious, and +I didn’t feel a bit comfortable. Pretty soon she says: +</p><p> +“What did you say your name was, honey?” +</p><p> +“M—Mary Williams.” +</p><p> +Somehow it didn’t seem to me that I said it was +Mary before, so I didn’t look up—seemed to me I +said it was Sarah; so I felt sort of cornered, and was +afeard 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: +</p><p> +“Honey, I thought you said it was Sarah when +you first come in?” +</p><p> +“Oh, yes’m, I did. Sarah Mary Williams. Sarah’s +my first name. Some calls me Sarah, some calls me +Mary.” +</p><p> +“Oh, that’s the way of it?” +</p><p> +“Yes’m.” +</p><p> +I was feeling better then, but I wished I was out of +there, anyway. I couldn’t look up yet. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Keep your eye on the rats. You better have the +lead in your lap, handy.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Come, now, what’s your real name?” +</p><p> +“Wh-hat, mum?” +</p><p> +“What’s your real name? Is it Bill, or Tom, or +Bob?—or what is it?” +</p><p> +I reckon I shook like a leaf, and I didn’t know +hardly what to do. But I says: +</p><p> +“Please to don’t poke fun at a poor girl like me, +mum. If I’m in the way here, I’ll—” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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 mustn’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. +</p><p> +“Goshen, child? This ain’t Goshen. This is St. +Petersburg. Goshen’s ten mile further up the river. +Who told you this was Goshen?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“He was drunk, I reckon. He told you just exactly +wrong.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Hold on a minute. I’ll put you up a snack to eat. +You might want it.” +</p><p> +So she put me up a snack, and says: +</p><p> +“Say, when a cow’s laying down, which end +of her gets up first? Answer up prompt now—don’t +stop to study over it. Which end gets up +first?” +</p><p> +“The hind end, mum.” +</p><p> +“Well, then, a horse?” +</p><p> +“The for’rard end, mum.” +</p><p> +“Which side of a tree does the moss grow on?” +</p><p> +“North side.” +</p><p> +“If fifteen cows is browsing on a hillside, how +many of them eats with their heads pointed the same +direction?” +</p><p> +“The whole fifteen, mum.” +</p><p> +“Well, I reckon you <i>have</i> lived in the country. I +thought maybe you was trying to hocus me again. +What’s your real name, now?” +</p><p> +“George Peters, mum.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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 +clear—eleven. 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Git up and hump yourself, Jim! There ain’t a +minute to lose. They’re after us!” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 +still—never saying a word. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XII"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XII</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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 <i>everything</i> +on the raft. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 towhead +is a sand-bar that has cottonwoods on it as thick +as harrow-teeth. +</p><p> +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 <i>she</i> wouldn’t set +down and watch a camp-fire—no, 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 village—no, 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 laughed—only a little kind of a low chuckle. +We had mighty good weather as a general thing, and +nothing ever happened to us at all—that night, nor +the next, nor the next. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +Every night now I used to slip ashore toward 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. +</p><p> +Mornings before daylight I slipped into corn-fields +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 more—then 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 toward 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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-<i>lo</i>, 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. +</p><p> +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 seen 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: +</p><p> +“Le’s land on her, Jim.” +</p><p> +But Jim was dead against it at first. He says: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“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>I</i> bet you—and cost +five cents apiece, solid cash. Steamboat captains is +always rich, and get sixty dollars a month, and <i>they</i> +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 +adventure—that’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 <i>was</i> here.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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! +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Oh, please don’t, boys; I swear I won’t ever tell!” +</p><p> +Another voice said, pretty loud: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“I’d <i>like</i> to! And I orter, too—a mean skunk!” +</p><p> +The man on the floor would shrivel up and say, +“Oh, please don’t, Bill; I hain’t ever goin’ to tell.” +</p><p> +And every time he said that the man with the +lantern would laugh and say: +</p><p> +“’Deed you <i>ain’t!</i> 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 <i>for</i>? +Jist for noth’n’. Jist because we stood on our <i>rights</i>—that’s +what for. But I lay you ain’t a-goin’ to +threaten nobody any more, Jim Turner. Put <i>up</i> +that pistol, Bill.” +</p><p> +Bill says: +</p><p> +“I don’t want to, Jake Packard. I’m for killin’ +him—and didn’t he kill old Hatfield jist the same +way—and don’t he deserve it?” +</p><p> +“But I don’t <i>want</i> him killed, and I’ve got my +reasons for it.” +</p><p> +“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. +</p><p> +Packard didn’t take no notice of that, but hung +up his lantern on a nail and started toward 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: +</p><p> +“Here—come in here.” +</p><p> +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 <i>couldn’t</i> +breathe and hear such talk. They talked low and +earnest. Bill wanted to kill Turner. He says: +</p><p> +“He’s said he’ll tell, and he will. If we was to +give both our shares to him <i>now</i> 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 <i>me.</i> I’m for putting him out +of his troubles.” +</p><p> +“So’m I,” says Packard, very quiet. +</p><p> +“Blame it, I’d sorter begun to think you wasn’t. +Well, then, that’s all right. Le’s go and do it.” +</p><p> +“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 things <i>got</i> to be done. But what <i>I</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?” +</p><p> +“You bet it is. But how you goin’ to manage it +this time?” +</p><p> +“Well, my idea is this: we’ll rustle around and +gather up whatever pickin’s 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 considerable 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?” +</p><p> +“Yes, I reck’n you are. But s’pose she <i>don’t</i> +break up and wash off?” +</p><p> +“Well, we can wait the two hours anyway and +see, can’t we?” +</p><p> +“All right, then; come along.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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 +<i>all</i> of ’em in a bad fix—for the sheriff ’ll get ’em. +Quick—hurry! I’ll hunt the labboard side, you hunt +the stabboard. You start at the raft, and—” +</p><p> +“Oh, my lordy, lordy! <i>Raf’?</i> Dey ain’ no raf’ +no mo’; she done broke loose en gone!—en here +we is!” +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XIII"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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 +<i>got</i> to find that boat now—had to have it for ourselves. +So we went a-quaking and shaking down the +stabboard side, and slow work it was, too—seemed +a week before we got to the stern. No sign of a boat. +Jim said he didn’t believe he could go any farther—so +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: +</p><p> +“Heave that blame lantern out o’ sight, Bill!” +</p><p>He flung a bag of something into the boat, and then +got in himself and set down. It was Packard. Then +Bill <i>he</i> come out and got in. Packard says, in a low +voice: +</p><p> +“All ready—shove off!” +</p><p> +I couldn’t hardly hang on to the shutters, I was so +weak. But Bill says: +</p><p> +“Hold on—’d you go through him?” +</p><p> +“No. Didn’t you?” +</p><p> +“No. So he’s got his share o’ the cash yet.” +</p><p> +“Well, then, come along; no use to take truck and +leave money.” +</p><p> +“Say, won’t he suspicion what we’re up to?” +</p><p> +“Maybe he won’t. But we got to have it anyway. +Come along.” +</p><p> +So they got out and went in. +</p><p> +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! +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +Then Jim manned the oars, and we took out after +our raft. Now was the first time that I begun to +worry about the men—I 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: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 showed—up 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Hello, what’s up? Don’t cry, bub. What’s the +trouble?” +</p><p> +I says: +</p><p> +“Pap, and mam, and sis, and—” +</p><p> +Then I broke down. He says: +</p><p> +“Oh, dang it now, <i>don’t</i> take on so; we all has to +have our troubles, and this ’n ’ll come out all right. +What’s the matter with ’em?” +</p><p> +“They’re—they’re—are you the watchman of the +boat?” +</p><p> +“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>I’d</i> 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—” +</p><p> +I broke in and says: +</p><p> +“They’re in an awful peck of trouble, and—” +</p><p> +“<i>Who</i> is?” +</p><p> +“Why, pap and mam and sis and Miss Hooker; +and if you’d take your ferryboat and go up there—” +</p><p> +“Up where? Where are they?” +</p><p> +“On the wreck.” +</p><p> +“What wreck?” +</p><p> +“Why, there ain’t but one.” +</p><p> +“What, you don’t mean the <i>Walter Scott?</i>” +</p><p> +“Yes.” +</p><p> +“Good land! what are they doin’ <i>there</i>, for gracious +sakes?” +</p><p> +“Well, they didn’t go there a-purpose.” +</p><p> +“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?” +</p><p> +“Easy enough. Miss Hooker was a-visiting up +there to the town—” +</p><p> +“Yes, Booth’s Landing—go on.” +</p><p> +“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 name—and 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 <i>we</i> saddle-baggsed; +but all of us was saved but Bill Whipple—and +oh, he <i>was</i> the best cretur!—I most wish ’t it +had been me, I do.” +</p><p> +“My George! It’s the beatenest thing I ever +struck. And <i>then</i> what did you all do?” +</p><p> +“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—” +</p><p> +“By Jackson, I’d <i>like</i> to, and, blame it, I don’t +know but I will; but who in the dingnation’s a-going +to <i>pay</i> for it? Do you reckon your pap—” +</p><p> +“Why <i>that’s</i> all right. Miss Hooker she tole me, +<i>particular</i>, that her uncle Hornback—” +</p><p> +“Great guns! is <i>he</i> 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.” +</p><p> +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 wood-boats; 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XIV"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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 spy-glass, +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 <i>him</i> 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. +</p><p>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 +and so on, ’stead of mister; and Jim’s eyes bugged +out, and he was interested. He says: +</p><p> +“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?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“<i>Ain’</i> dat gay? En what dey got to do, Huck?” +</p><p> +“<i>They</i> don’t do nothing! Why, how you talk! +They just set around.” +</p><p> +“No; is dat so?” +</p><p> +“Of course it is. They just set around—except, +maybe, when there’s a war; then they go to the war. +But other times they just lazy around; or go hawking—just hawking +and sp— Sh!—d’you hear a noise?” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Roun’ de which?” +</p><p> +“Harem.” +</p><p> +“What’s de harem?” +</p><p> +“The place where he keeps his wives. Don’t you +know about the harem? Solomon had one; he had +about a million wives.” +</p><p> +“Why, yes, dat’s so; I—I’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 <i>down</i> de biler-factry when he want to res’.” +</p><p> +“Well, but he <i>was</i> the wisest man, anyway; because +the widow she told me so, her own self.” +</p><p> +“I doan’ k’yer what de widder say, he <i>warn’t</i> 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?” +</p><p> +“Yes, the widow told me all about it.” +</p><p> +“<i>Well</i>, den! Warn’ dat de beatenes’ notion in de +worl’? You jes’ take en look at it a minute. Dah’s +de stump, dah—dat’s one er de women; heah’s you—dat’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 <i>do</i> 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 <i>two</i>, 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.” +</p><p> +“But hang it, Jim, you’ve clean missed the point—blame +it, you’ve missed it a thousand mile.” +</p><p> +“Who? Me? Go ’long. Doan’ talk to <i>me</i> ’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.” +</p><p> +“But I tell you you don’t get the point.” +</p><p> +“Blame de point! I reck’n I knows what I knows. +En mine you, de <i>real</i> pint furder—it’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. <i>He</i> 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. <i>He</i> +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 fetch him!” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +“Po’ little chap.” +</p><p> +“But some says he got out and got away, and +come to America.” +</p><p> +“Dat’s good! But he’ll be pooty lonesome—dey +ain’ no kings here, is dey, Huck?” +</p><p> +“No.” +</p><p> +“Den he cain’t git no situation. What he gwyne +to do?” +</p><p> +“Well, I don’t know. Some of them gets on the +police, and some of them learns people how to talk +French.” +</p><p> +“Why, Huck, doan’ de French people talk de +same way we does?” +</p><p> +“<i>No</i>, Jim; you couldn’t understand a word they +said—not a single word.” +</p><p> +“Well, now, I be ding-busted! How do dat +come?” +</p><p> +“<i>I</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-franzy—what would you +think?” +</p><p> +“I wouldn’ think nuffn; I’d take en bust him +over de head—dat is, if he warn’t white. I wouldn’t +’low no nigger to call me dat.” +</p><p> +“Shucks, it ain’t calling you anything. It’s only +saying, do you know how to talk French?” +</p><p> +“Well, den, why couldn’t he <i>say</i> it?” +</p><p> +“Why, he <i>is</i> a-saying it. That’s a Frenchman’s +<i>way</i> of saying it.” +</p><p> +“Well, it’s a blame ridicklous way, en I doan’ want +to hear no mo’ ’bout it. Dey ain’ no sense in it.” +</p><p> +“Looky here, Jim; does a cat talk like we do?” +</p><p> +“No, a cat don’t.” +</p><p> +“Well, does a cow?” +</p><p> +“No, a cow don’t, nuther.” +</p><p> +“Does a cat talk like a cow, or a cow talk like +a cat?” +</p><p> +“No, dey don’t.” +</p><p> +“It’s natural and right for ’em to talk different +from each other, ain’t it?” +</p><p> +“Course.” +</p><p> +“And ain’t it natural and right for a cat and a +cow to talk different from <i>us</i>?” +</p><p> +“Why, mos’ sholy it is.” +</p><p> +“Well, then, why ain’t it natural and right for a +<i>Frenchman</i> to talk different from us? You answer +me that.” +</p><p> +“Is a cat a man, Huck?” +</p><p> +“No.” +</p><p> +“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?” +</p><p> +“No, she ain’t either of them.” +</p><p> +“Well, den, she ain’t got no business to talk like +either one er the yuther of ’em. Is a Frenchman +a man?” +</p><p> +“Yes.” +</p><p> +“<i>Well</i>, den! Dad blame it, why doan’ he <i>talk</i> like +a man? You answer me <i>dat!</i>” +</p><p> +I see it warn’t no use wasting words—you can’t +learn a nigger to argue. So I quit. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XV"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XV</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +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 me—and +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 it—and 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. +</p><p> +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 <i>behind</i> me. I was +tangled good now. That was somebody else’s +whoop, or else I was turned around. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 current was tearing by them +so swift. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 <i>feel</i> 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 <i>you’re</i> 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 once—you’ll see. +</p><p> +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 me—sometimes +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. +</p><p> +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 hearing—it was +floating a little faster than what I was. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 saw-logs made fast +together. Then I see another speck, and chased +that; then another, and this time I was right. It +was the raft. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Hello, Jim, have I been asleep? Why didn’t you +stir me up?” +</p><p> +“Goodness gracious, is dat you, Huck? En you +ain’ dead—you ain’ drownded—you’s back ag’in? +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 ag’in, ’live en soun’, jis de +same ole Huck—de same ole Huck, thanks to goodness!” +</p><p> +“What’s the matter with you, Jim? You been +a-drinking?” +</p><p> +“Drinkin’? Has I ben a-drinkin’? Has I had a +chance to be a-drinkin’?” +</p><p> +“Well, then, what makes you talk so wild?” +</p><p> +“How does I talk wild?” +</p><p> +“<i>How?</i> Why, hain’t you been talking about my +coming back, and all that stuff, as if I’d been gone +away?” +</p><p> +“Huck—Huck Finn, you look me in de eye; look +me in de eye. <i>Hain’t</i> you ben gone away?” +</p><p> +“Gone away? Why, what in the nation do you +mean? <i>I</i> hain’t been gone anywheres. Where would +I go to?” +</p><p> +“Well, looky here, boss, dey’s sumfn wrong, dey +is. Is I <i>me</i>, or who <i>is</i> I? Is I heah, or whah <i>is</i> I? +Now dat’s what I wants to know.” +</p><p> +“Well, I think you’re here, plain enough, but I +think you’re a tangle-headed old fool, Jim.” +</p><p> +“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 towhead?” +</p><p> +“No, I didn’t. What towhead? I hain’t seen no +towhead.” +</p><p> +“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?” +</p><p> +“What fog?” +</p><p> +“Why, <i>de</i> 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, boss—ain’t it so? You answer me dat.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Dad fetch it, how is I gwyne to dream all dat in +ten minutes?” +</p><p> +“Well, hang it all, you did dream it, because there +didn’t any of it happen.” +</p><p> +“But, Huck, it’s all jis’ as plain to me as—” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +Jim didn’t say nothing for about five minutes, but +set there studying over it. Then he says: +</p><p> +“Well, den, I reck’n I did dream it, Huck; but +dog my cats ef it ain’t de powerfulest dream I ever +see. En I hain’t ever had no dream b’fo’ dat’s tired +me like dis one.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +It had clouded up pretty dark just after I got on to +the raft, but it was clearing up again now. +</p><p> +“Oh, well, that’s all interpreted well enough as far +as it goes, Jim,” I says; “but what does <i>these</i> things +stand for?” +</p><p> +It was the leaves and rubbish on the raft and the +smashed oar. You could see them first-rate now. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“What do dey stan’ for? I’s 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 ag’in, 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 <i>trash</i>; en trash is what people is dat puts dirt +on de head er dey fren’s en makes ’em ashamed.” +</p><p> +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 <i>his</i> foot to get him to take it +back. +</p><p> +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 afterward, 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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XVI"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XVI</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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 <i>amounted</i> to something +being a raftsman on such a craft as that. +</p><p> +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 Jim—and 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Dah she is?” +</p><p> +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 <i>was</i> most free—and who +was to blame for it? Why, <i>me</i>. 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>I</i> warn’t to blame, because <i>I</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 so—I +couldn’t get around that no way. 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. <i>That’s</i> what she done.” +</p><p> +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 <i>was</i> Cairo I reckoned I would die of +miserableness. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 children—children that belonged to +a man I didn’t even know; a man that hadn’t ever +done me no harm. +</p><p> +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 me—it ain’t too late yet—I’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: +</p><p> +“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!” +</p><p> +I says: +</p><p> +“I’ll take the canoe and go and see, Jim. It +mightn’t be, you know.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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 <i>only</i> +fren’ ole Jim’s got now.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Dah you goes, de ole true Huck; de on’y white +genlman dat ever kep’ his promise to ole Jim.” +</p><p> +Well, I just felt sick. But I says, I <i>got</i> to do it—I +can’t get <i>out</i> 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: +</p><p> +“What’s that yonder?” +</p><p> +“A piece of a raft,” I says. +</p><p> +“Do you belong on it?” +</p><p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p><p> +“Any men on it?” +</p><p> +“Only one, sir.” +</p><p> +“Well, there’s five niggers run off to-night up +yonder, above the head of the bend. Is your man +white or black?” +</p><p> +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 +enough—hadn’t the spunk of a rabbit. I see I was +weakening; so I just give up trying, and up and +says: +</p><p> +“He’s white.” +</p><p> +“I reckon we’ll go and see for ourselves.” +</p><p> +“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 sick—and so is mam +and Mary Ann.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +I buckled to my paddle and they laid to their oars. +When we had made a stroke or two, I says: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Well, that’s infernal mean. Odd, too. Say, boy, +what’s the matter with your father?” +</p><p> +“It’s the—a—the—well, it ain’t anything much.” +</p><p> +They stopped pulling. It warn’t but a mighty +little ways to the raft now. One says: +</p><p> +“Boy, that’s a lie. What <i>is</i> the matter with your +pap? Answer up square now, and it ’ll be the better +for you.” +</p><p> +“I will, sir, I will, honest—but don’t leave us, +please. It’s the—the— Gentlemen, if you’ll only +pull ahead, and let me heave you the headline, you +won’t have to come a-near the raft—please do.” +</p><p> +“Set her back, John, set her back!” says one. +They backed water. “Keep away, boy—keep to +looard. Confound it, I just expect the wind has +blowed it to us. Your pap’s got the smallpox, and +you know it precious well. Why didn’t you come out +and say so? Do you want to spread it all over?” +</p><p> +“Well,” says I, a-blubbering, “I’ve told everybody +before, and they just went away and left us.” +</p><p> +“Poor devil, there’s something in that. We are +right down sorry for you, but we—well, hang it, we +don’t want the smallpox, 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 is—it’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 smallpox, +don’t you see?” +</p><p> +“Hold on, Parker,” says the man, “here’s a +twenty to put on the board for me. Good-by, boy; +you do as Mr. Parker told you, and you’ll be all +right.” +</p><p> +“That’s so, my boy—good-by, good-bye. If you +see any runaway niggers you get help and nab them, +and you can make some money by it.” +</p><p> +“Good-by, sir,” says I; “I won’t let no runaway +niggers get by me if I can help it.” +</p><p> +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 <i>started</i> right +when he’s little ain’t got no show—when 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 bad—I’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. +</p><p> +I went into the wigwam; Jim warn’t there. I +looked all around; he warn’t anywhere. I says: +</p><p> +“Jim!” +</p><p> +“Here I is, Huck. Is dey out o’ sight yit? Don’t +talk loud.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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 <i>wuz</i> de smartes’ dodge! I tell you, +chile, I ’spec it save’ ole Jim—ole Jim ain’t going +to forgit you for dat, honey.” +</p><p> +Then we talked about the money. It was a pretty +good raise—twenty 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +That night about ten we hove in sight of the +lights of a town away down in a left-hand bend. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Mister, is that town Cairo?” +</p><p> +“Cairo? no. You must be a blame’ fool.” +</p><p> +“What town is it, mister?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +I paddled to the raft. Jim was awful disappointed, +but I said never mind, Cairo would be the +next place, I reckoned. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Maybe we went by Cairo in the fog that night.” +</p><p> +He says: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“I wish I’d never seen that snake-skin, Jim—I do +wish I’d never laid eyes on it.” +</p><p> +“It ain’t yo’ fault, Huck; you didn’t know. +Don’t you blame yo’self ’bout it.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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! +</p><p> +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 luck—and keep on +fetching it, too, till we knowed enough to keep still. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +So we shoved out after dark on the raft. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 steam—and as Jim went overboard on +one side and I on the other, she come smashing +straight through the raft. +</p><p> +I dived—and 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XVII"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XVII</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +In about a minute somebody spoke out of a window +without putting his head out, and says: +</p><p> +“Be done, boys! Who’s there?” +</p><p> +I says: +</p><p> +“It’s me.” +</p><p> +“Who’s me?” +</p><p> +“George Jackson, sir.” +</p><p> +“What do you want?” +</p><p> +“I don’t want nothing, sir. I only want to go +along by, but the dogs won’t let me.” +</p><p> +“What are you prowling around here this time of +night for—hey?” +</p><p> +“I warn’t prowling around, sir; I fell overboard +off of the steamboat.” +</p><p> +“Oh, you did, did you? Strike a light there, +somebody. What did you say your name was?” +</p><p> +“George Jackson, sir. I’m only a boy.” +</p><p> +“Look here, if you’re telling the truth you needn’t +be afraid—nobody ’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?” +</p><p> +“No, sir, nobody.” +</p><p> +I heard the people stirring around in the house +now, and see a light. The man sung out: +</p><p>“Snatch that light away, Betsy, you old fool—ain’t +you got any sense? Put it on the floor behind +the front door. Bob, if you and Tom are ready, +take your places.” +</p><p> +“All ready.” +</p><p> +“Now, George Jackson, do you know the Shepherdsons?” +</p><p> +“No, sir; I never heard of them.” +</p><p> +“Well, that may be so, and it mayn’t. Now, all +ready. Step forward, George Jackson. And mind, +don’t you hurry—come mighty slow. If there’s +anybody with you, let him keep back—if he shows +himself he’ll be shot. Come along now. Come +slow; push the door open yourself—just enough to +squeeze in, d’you hear?” +</p><p> +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 enough—put your head in.” I done +it, but I judged they would take it off. +</p><p> +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 more—all of them fine and handsome—and +the sweetest old gray-headed lady, and back of her +two young women which I couldn’t see right well. +The old gentleman says: +</p><p> +“There; I reckon it’s all right. Come in.” +</p><p> +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 windows—there warn’t none +on the side. They held the candle, and took a good +look at me, and all said, “Why, <i>he</i> ain’t a Shepherdson—no, +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 it—it 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: +</p><p> +“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?” +</p><p> +“True for you, Rachel—I forgot.” +</p><p> +So the old lady says: +</p><p> +“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 him—oh, 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.” +</p><p> +Buck looked about as old as me—thirteen 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: +</p><p> +“Ain’t they no Shepherdsons around?” +</p><p> +They said, no, ’twas a false alarm. +</p><p> +“Well,” he says, “if they’d ’a’ ben some, I reckon +I’d ’a’ got one.” +</p><p> +They all laughed, and Bob says: +</p><p> +“Why, Buck, they might have scalped us all, +you’ve been so slow in coming.” +</p><p> +“Well, nobody come after me, and it ain’t right. +I’m always kept down; I don’t get no show.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +“Well, guess,” he says. +</p><p> +“How’m I going to guess,” says I, “when I never +heard tell of it before?” +</p><p> +“But you can guess, can’t you? It’s just as easy.” +</p><p> +“<i>Which</i> candle?” I says. +</p><p> +“Why, any candle,” he says. +</p><p> +“I don’t know where he was,” says I; “where +was he?” +</p><p> +“Why, he was in the <i>dark!</i> That’s where he was!” +</p><p> +“Well, if you knowed where he was, what did you +ask me for?” +</p><p> +“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 times—they +don’t have no school now. Do you own a dog? +I’ve got a dog—and 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.” +</p><p> +Cold corn-pone, cold corn-beef, butter and buttermilk—that +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: +</p><p> +“Can you spell, Buck?” +</p><p> +“Yes,” he says. +</p><p> +“I bet you can’t spell my name,” says I. +</p><p> +“I bet you what you dare I can,” says he. +</p><p> +“All right,” says I, “go ahead.” +</p><p> +“G-e-o-r-g-e J-a-x-o-n—there now,” he says. +</p><p> +“Well,” says I, “you done it, but I didn’t think +you could. It ain’t no slouch of a name to spell—right +off without studying.” +</p><p> +I set it down, private, because somebody might +want <i>me</i> to spell it next, and so I wanted to be handy +with it and rattle it off like I was used to it. +</p><p>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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 <i>Pilgrim’s Progress</i>, 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 <i>Friendship’s Offering</i>, 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, too—not bagged down in the middle +and busted, like an old basket. +</p><p> +They had pictures hung on the walls—mainly +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 before—blacker, +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 fantods. 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 toward the moon—and 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. +</p><p> +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 <i>Presbyterian +Observer</i>, 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: +</p> +<blockquote><div> +ODE TO STEPHEN DOWLING BOTS, DEC’D<br /> +<br /> + And did young Stephen sicken,<br /> + And did young Stephen die?<br /> + And did the sad hearts thicken,<br /> + And did the mourners cry?<br /> +<br /> + No; such was not the fate of<br /> + Young Stephen Dowling Bots;<br /> + Though sad hearts round him thickened,<br /> + ’Twas not from sickness’ shots.<br /> +<br /> + No whooping-cough did rack his frame,<br /> + Nor measles drear with spots;<br /> + Not these impaired the sacred name<br /> + Of Stephen Dowling Bots.<br /> +<br /> + Despised love struck not with woe<br /> + That head of curly knots,<br /> + Nor stomach troubles laid him low,<br /> + Young Stephen Dowling Bots.<br /> +<br /> + O no. Then list with tearful eye,<br /> + Whilst I his fate do tell.<br /> + His soul did from this cold world fly<br /> + By falling down a well.<br /> +<br /> + They got him out and emptied him;<br /> + Alas it was too late;<br /> + His spirit was gone for to sport aloft<br /> + In the realms of the good and great.<br /> +</div></blockquote> +<p> +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 +undertaker—the 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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!</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XVIII"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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 gray 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 be—you 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 manners—everybody was always good-mannered +where he was. Everybody loved to have +him around, too; he was sunshine most always—I +mean he made it seem like good weather. When he +turned into a cloud-bank it was awful dark for half a +minute, and that was enough; there wouldn’t nothing +go wrong again for a week. +</p><p> +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 <i>they</i> 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. +</p><p> +Bob was the oldest and Tom next—tall, 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +Each person had their own nigger to wait on them—Buck +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. +</p><p> +This was all there was of the family now, but +there used to be more—three sons; they got killed; +and Emmeline that died. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +There was another clan of aristocracy around there—five +or six families—mostly 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. +</p><p> +One day Buck and me was away out in the woods +hunting, and heard a horse coming. We was crossing the road. Buck says: +</p><p> +“Quick! Jump for the woods!” +</p><p> +We done it, and then peeped down the woods +through the leaves. Pretty soon a splendid young +man came 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 come—to +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 judged—then his face sort of smoothed +down, and he says, kind of gentle: +</p><p> +“I don’t like that shooting from behind a bush. +Why didn’t you step into the road, my boy?” +</p><p> +“The Shepherdsons don’t, father. They always +take advantage.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +Soon as I could get Buck down by the corn-cribs +under the trees by ourselves, I says: +</p><p> +“Did you want to kill him, Buck?” +</p><p> +“Well, I bet I did.” +</p><p> +“What did he do to you?” +</p><p> +“Him? He never done nothing to me.” +</p><p> +“Well, then, what did you want to kill him for?” +</p><p> +“Why, nothing—only it’s on account of the feud.” +</p><p> +“What’s a feud?” +</p><p> +“Why, where was you raised? Don’t you know +what a feud is?” +</p><p> +“Never heard of it before—tell me about it.” +</p><p> +“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 <i>him</i>; then the other +brothers, on both sides, goes for one another; then +the <i>cousins</i> chip in—and 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.” +</p><p> +“Has this one been going on long, Buck?” +</p><p> +“Well, I should <i>reckon!</i> 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 suit—which he would +naturally do, of course. Anybody would.” +</p><p> +“What was the trouble about, Buck?—land?” +</p><p> +“I reckon maybe—I don’t know.” +</p><p> +“Well, who done the shooting? Was it a Grangerford or a +Shepherdson?” +</p><p> +“Laws, how do <i>I</i> know? It was so long ago.” +</p><p> +“Don’t anybody know?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Has there been many killed, Buck?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Has anybody been killed this year, Buck?” +</p><p> +“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 outrun 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 <i>him</i> out.” +</p><p> +“I reckon that old man was a coward, Buck.” +</p><p> +“I reckon he <i>warn’t</i> a coward. Not by a blame’ +sight. There ain’t a coward amongst them Shepherdsons—not + 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 <i>fetched</i> home—and 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 <i>kind</i>.” +</p><p> +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 +preaching—all 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 “<i>Half past two</i>” 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 up-stairs +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Mars Jawge, if you’ll come down into de swamp +I’ll show you a whole stack o’ water-moccasins.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“All right; trot ahead.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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’.” +</p><p> +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 asleep—and, by jings, it was my +old Jim! +</p><p> +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 <i>him</i> up and take +him into slavery again. Says he: +</p><p> +“I got hurt a little, en couldn’t swim fas’, so I wuz +a considerable 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 you—I wuz ’fraid o’ de dogs; but +when it ’uz all quiet ag’in 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-gittin’ along.” +</p><p> +“Why didn’t you tell my Jack to fetch me here +sooner, Jim?” +</p><p> +“Well, ’twarn’t no use to ’sturb you, Huck, tell we +could do sumfn—but 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—” +</p><p> +“<i>What</i> raft, Jim?” +</p><p> +“Our ole raf’.” +</p><p> +“You mean to say our old raft warn’t smashed all to flinders?” +</p><p> +“No, she warn’t. She was tore up a good deal—one +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’t 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 ag’in mos’ as good as new, en we’s got a new lot +o’ stuff, in de place o’ what ’uz los’.” +</p><p> +“Why, how did you get hold of the raft again, +Jim—did you catch her?” +</p><p> +“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 ag’in. 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.” +</p><p> +“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 <i>he</i> ain’t mixed up +in it. He can say he never seen us together, and +it ’ll be the truth.” +</p><p> +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 was—didn’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-stairs—nobody +around; everything as still as a mouse. Just +the same outside. Thinks I, what does it mean? +Down by the woodpile I comes across my Jack, +and says: +</p><p> +“What’s it all about?” +</p><p> +Says he: +</p><p> +“Don’t you know, Mars Jawge?” +</p><p> +“No,” says I, “I don’t.” +</p><p> +“Well, den, Miss Sophia’s run off! ’deed she has. +She run off in de night some time—nobody don’t +know jis’ when; run off to get married to dat young +Harney Shepherdson, you know—leastways, so dey +’spec. De fambly foun’ it out ’bout half an hour +ago—maybe a little mo’—en’ I <i>tell</i> you dey warn’t +no time los’. Sich another hurryin’ up guns en +hosses <i>you</i> 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.” +</p><p> +“Buck went off ’thout waking me up.” +</p><p> +“Well, I reck’n he <i>did!</i> 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.” +</p><p> +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 came 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 other—wouldn’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 +relations—the 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 him—I hain’t ever +heard anything like it. +</p><p> +All of a sudden, bang! bang! bang! goes three +or four guns—the men had slipped around through +the woods and come in from behind without their +horses! The boys jumped for the river—both of +them hurt—and 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 <i>all</i> +that happened—it 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 them—lots of times I dream about them. +</p><p> +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 +a-near 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Good lan’! is dat you, honey? Doan’ make no +noise.” +</p><p> +It was Jim’s voice—nothing 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: +</p><p> +“Laws bless you, chile, I ’uz right down sho’ +you’s dead ag’in. 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 ag’in en tells me +for certain you <i>is</i> dead. Lawsy, I’s mighty glad +to git you back ag’in, honey.” +</p><p> +I says: +</p><p> +“All right—that’s mighty good; they won’t find +me, and they’ll think I’ve been killed, and floated +down the river—there’s something up there that ’ll +help them think so—so don’t you lose no time, Jim, +but just shove off for the big water as fast as ever +you can.” +</p><p> +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 +greens—there ain’t nothing in the world so good +when it’s cooked right—and 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.</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XIX"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XIX</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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 +there—sometimes 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 up—nearly +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 anywheres—perfectly +still—just 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 line—that 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 +away—trading-scows, and such things; and long +black streaks—rafts; 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 wood-yard, 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! +</p><p> +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 see—just 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 ax flash and come down—you +don’t hear nothing; you see that ax go up again, +and by the time it’s above the man’s head then you +hear the <i>k’chunk!</i>—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 laughing—heard +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: +</p><p> +“No; spirits wouldn’t say, ’Dern the dern fog.’” +</p><p> +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 things—we was always +naked, day and night, whenever the mosquitoes +would let us—the new clothes Buck’s folks made for +me was too good to be comfortable, and besides I +didn’t go much on clothes, nohow. +</p><p> +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 +spark—which was a candle in a cabin window; and +sometimes on the water you could see a spark or +two—on 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 +<i>make</i> so many. Jim said the moon could ’a’ <i>laid</i> 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +After midnight the people on shore went to bed, +and then for two or three hours the shores was black—no +more sparks in the cabin windows. These +sparks was our clock—the first one that showed +again meant morning was coming, so we hunted a +place to hide and tie up right away. +</p><p> +One morning about daybreak I found a canoe and +crossed over a chute to the main shore—it was only +two hundred yards—and 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 <i>me</i>—or +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 lives—said they +hadn’t been doing nothing, and was being chased for +it—said there was men and dogs a-coming. They +wanted to jump right in, but I says: +</p><p> +“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 in—that ’ll throw +the dogs off the scent.” +</p><p> +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 awhile; 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. +</p><p> +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 woolen shirt, and ragged old blue jeans +britches stuffed into his boot-tops, and home-knit +galluses—no, 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +“What got you into trouble?” says the baldhead +to t’other chap. +</p><p> +“Well, I’d been selling an article to take the +tartar off the teeth—and it does take it off, too, and +generly the enamel along with it—but 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 <i>with</i> you. That’s the whole yarn—what’s +yourn?” +</p><p> +“Well, I’d ben a-runnin’ 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 <i>tell</i> you, and takin’ +as much as five or six dollars a night—ten cents +a head, children and niggers free—and 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 breakfast—I warn’t hungry.” +</p><p> +“Old man,” said the young one, “I reckon we +might double-team it together; what do you think?” +</p><p> +“I ain’t undisposed. What’s your line—mainly?” +</p><p> +“Jour printer by trade; do a little in patent +medicines; theater-actor—tragedy, you know; take +a turn to mesmerism and phrenology when there’s +a chance; teach singing-geography school for a +change; sling a lecture sometimes—oh, I do lots of +things—most anything that comes handy, so it ain’t +work. What’s your lay?” +</p><p> +“I’ve done considerble in the doctoring way in +my time. Layin’ on o’ hands is my best holt—for +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.” +</p><p> +Nobody never said anything for a while; then the +young man hove a sigh and says: +</p><p> +“Alas!” +</p><p> +“What ’re you alassin’ about?” says the baldhead. +</p><p> +“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. +</p><p> +“Dern your skin, ain’t the company good enough +for you?” says the baldhead, pretty pert and uppish. +</p><p> +“Yes, it <i>is</i> good enough for me; it’s as good as I +deserve; for who fetched me so low when I was so +high? <i>I</i> did myself. I don’t blame <i>you</i>, gentlemen—far +from it; I don’t blame anybody. I deserve it +all. Let the cold world do its worst; one thing I +know—there’s a grave somewhere for me. The +world may go on just as it’s always done, and take +everything from me—loved 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. +</p><p> +“Drot your pore broken heart,” says the baldhead; +“what are you heaving your pore broken heart +at <i>us</i> f’r? <i>We</i> hain’t done nothing.” +</p><p> +“No, I know you haven’t. I ain’t blaming you, +gentlemen. I brought myself down—yes, I did it +myself. It’s right I should suffer—perfectly right—I don’t +make any moan.” +</p><p> +“Brought you down from whar? Whar was you +brought down from?” +</p><p> +“Ah, you would not believe me; the world never +believes—let it pass—’tis no matter. The secret of +my birth—” +</p><p> +“The secret of your birth! Do you mean to say—” +</p><p> +“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!” +</p><p> +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?” +</p><p> +“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 estates—the +infant real duke was ignored. I am the lineal +descendant of that infant—I 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, heartbroken, and degraded to +the companionship of felons on a raft!” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +But the old man got pretty silent by and by—didn’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: +</p><p> +“Looky here, Bilgewater,” he says, “I’m nation +sorry for you, but you ain’t the only person that’s +had troubles like that.” +</p><p> +“No?” +</p><p> +“No, you ain’t. You ain’t the only person that’s +ben snaked down wrongfully out’n a high place.” +</p><p> +“Alas!” +</p><p> +“No, you ain’t the only person that’s had a +secret of his birth.” And, by jings, <i>he</i> begins to +cry. +</p><p> +“Hold! What do you mean?” +</p><p> +“Bilgewater, kin I trust you?” says the old man, +still sort of sobbing. +</p><p> +“To the bitter death!” He took the old man by +the hand and squeezed it, and says, “That secret +of your being: speak!” +</p><p> +“Bilgewater, I am the late Dauphin!” +</p><p> +You bet you, Jim and me stared this time. Then +the duke says: +</p><p> +“You are what?” +</p><p> +“Yes, my friend, it is too true—your eyes is +lookin’ at this very moment on the pore disappeared +Dauphin, Looy the Seventeen, son of Looy the +Sixteen and Marry Antonette.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +Well, he cried and took on so that me and Jim +didn’t know hardly what to do, we was so sorry—and +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 <i>him.</i> 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 <i>his</i> +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: +</p><p> +“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 king—so +what’s the use to worry? Make the best o’ things +the way you find ’em, says I—that’s my motto. +This ain’t no bad thing that we’ve struck here—plenty +grub and an easy life—come, give us your +hand, duke, and le’s all be friends.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XX"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XX</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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 +running—was Jim a runaway nigger? Says I: +</p><p> +“Goodness sakes! would a runaway nigger run +<i>south</i>?” +</p><p> +No, they allowed he wouldn’t. I had to account +for things some way, so I says: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +The duke says: +</p><p> +“Leave me alone to cipher out a way so we can +run in the daytime if we want to. I’ll think the thing +over—I’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 daylight—it mightn’t be +healthy.” +</p><p> +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 +shiver—it 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: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“’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 world—let me suffer; +I can bear it.” +</p><p> +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 by—that was the town, you know—and +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 <i>h-whack!</i>—bum! bum! bumble-umble-um-bum-bum-bum-bum—and +the thunder +would go rumbling and grumbling away, and quit—and +then <i>rip</i> comes another flash and another sock-dolager. +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. +</p><p> +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 outside—I +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +The king got out an old ratty deck of cards after +breakfast, and him and the duke played seven-up +awhile, 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 <i>him.</i> 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: +</p><p> +“But the histrionic muse is the darling. Have you +ever trod the boards, Royalty?” +</p><p> +“No,” says the king. +</p><p> +“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?” +</p><p> +“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?” +</p><p> +“Easy!” +</p><p> +“All right. I’m jist a-freezin’ for something fresh, +anyway. Le’s commence right away.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“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 nightgown +and her ruffled nightcap. Here are the costumes +for the parts.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +The duke said what he was after was a printing-office. +We found it; a little bit of a concern, up over +a carpenter-shop—carpenters 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 sing—and 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-<i>men</i>!” And so he +went on, and the people groaning and crying and +saying amen: +</p><p> +“Oh, come to the mourners’ bench! come, black +with sin! (<i>amen!</i>) come, sick and sore! (<i>amen!</i>) +come, lame and halt and blind! (<i>amen!</i>) come, pore +and needy, sunk in shame! (<i>a-a-men!</i>) 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 open—oh, enter in +and be at rest!” (<i>a-a-men! glory, glory hallelujah!</i>) +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +Well, the first I knowed the king got a-going, and +you could hear him over everybody; and next he +went a-charging up onto the platform, and the +preacher he begged him to speak to the people, and +he done it. He told them he was a pirate—been a +pirate for thirty years out in the Indian Ocean—and +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!” +</p><p> +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 <i>him</i> pass the hat around!” Then everybody +said it, the preacher too. +</p><p> +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 times—and 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +The duke was thinking <i>he’d</i> 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-office—horse bills—and 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 +advance—so 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 head—three +verses—kind of sweet and saddish—the 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. +</p><p> +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’s +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. +</p><p> +“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 thing—we must +preserve the unities, as we say on the boards.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +When Jim called me to take the watch at four in +the morning, he says: +</p><p> +“Huck, does you reck’n we gwyne to run acrost +any mo’ kings on dis trip?” +</p><p> +“No,” I says, “I reckon not.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XXI"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XXI</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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 practise 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 <i>Romeo!</i> that way, like a bull—you must +say it soft and sick and languishy, so—R-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.” +</p><p> +Well, next they got out a couple of long swords +that the duke made out of oak laths, and begun to +practise the sword-fight—the 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. +</p><p> +After dinner the duke says: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“What’s onkores, Bilgewater?” +</p><p> +The duke told him, and then says: +</p><p> +“I’ll answer by doing the Highland fling or the +sailor’s hornpipe; and you—well, let me see—oh, +I’ve got it—you can do Hamlet’s soliloquy.” +</p><p> +“Hamlet’s which?” +</p><p> +“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 book—I’ve only got one volume—but 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.” +</p><p> +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>I</i> see before. This +is the speech—I learned it, easy enough, while he +was learning it to the king:</p><p><br /></p> +<blockquote><div> + To be, or not to be; that is the bare bodkin<br /> + That makes calamity of so long life;<br /> + For who would fardels bear, till Birnam Wood do come to Dunsinane,<br /> + But that the fear of something after death<br /> + Murders the innocent sleep,<br /> + Great nature’s second course,<br /> + And makes us rather sling the arrows of outrageous fortune<br /> + Than fly to others that we know not of.<br /> + There’s the respect must give us pause:<br /> + Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst;<br /> + For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,<br /> + The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,<br /> + The law’s delay, and the quietus which his pangs might take,<br /> + In the dead waste and middle of the night, when churchyards yawn<br /> + In customary suits of solemn black,<br /> + But that the undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveler returns,<br /> + Breathes forth contagion on the world,<br /> + And thus the native hue of resolution, like the poor cat i’ the adage,<br /> + Is sicklied o’er with care,<br /> + And all the clouds that lowered o’er our housetops,<br /> + With this regard their currents turn awry,<br /> + And lose the name of action.<br /> + ’Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. But soft you, the fair Ophelia:<br /> + Ope not thy ponderous and marble jaws,<br /> + But get thee to a nunnery—go!<br /> +</div></blockquote> +<p><br /></p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 rehearsing—as the duke called it—going +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p> +<p class="pg1"> + Shaksperean Revival ! ! !<br /> + Wonderful Attraction!<br /> + For One Night Only!<br /> + The world-renowned tragedians,<br /> + David Garrick the younger, of Drury Lane Theatre, London,<br /> + and<br /> + Edmund Kean the elder, of the Royal Haymarket Theatre,<br /> + Whitechapel, Pudding Lane, Piccadilly, London, and the<br /> + Royal Continental Theatres, in their sublime<br /> + Shaksperean Spectacle entitled<br /> + The Balcony Scene<br /> + in<br /> + Romeo and Juliet ! ! !<br /> + Romeo...................Mr. Garrick<br /> + Juliet..................Mr. Kean<br /> + Assisted by the whole strength of the company!<br /> + New costumes, new scenery, new appointments!<br /> + Also:<br /> + The thrilling, masterly, and blood-curdling<br /> + Broad-sword conflict<br /> + In Richard III. ! ! !<br /> + Richard III.............Mr. Garrick<br /> + Richmond................Mr. Kean<br /> + Also:<br /> + (by special request)<br /> + Hamlet’s Immortal Soliloquy ! !<br /> + By the Illustrious Kean!<br /> + Done by him 300 consecutive nights in Paris!<br /> + For One Night Only,<br /> + On account of imperative European engagements!<br /> + Admission 25 cents; children and servants, 10 cents.<br /> +</p> +<p> +Then we went loafing around 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 tinware. 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 hinge—a leather one. Some of the fences had +been whitewashed some time or another, but the +duke said it was in Columbus’s time, like enough. +There was generly hogs in the garden, and people +driving them out. +</p><p> +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 dry-goods 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 stretching—a 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: +</p><p> +“Gimme a chaw ’v tobacker, Hank.” +</p><p> +“Cain’t; I hain’t got but one chaw left. Ask Bill.” +</p><p> +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 +every time; it don’t fool nobody but a stranger; but +Jack ain’t no stranger, so he says: +</p><p> +“<i>You</i> 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.” +</p><p> +“Well, I <i>did</i> pay you back some of it wunst.” +</p><p> +“Yes, you did—’bout six chaws. You borry’d +store tobacker and paid back nigger-head.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Here, gimme the <i>chaw</i>, and you take the <i>plug</i>.” +</p> +<p><br /><br /> +<a name="chaw"></a></p> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/chaw.jpg" alt="" /></p> +<p class="pg1">“GIMME A CHAW”</p> +<p><br /><br /></p> +<p> +All the streets and lanes was just mud; they warn’t +nothing else <i>but</i> mud—mud as black as tar and nigh +about a foot deep in some places, and two or three +inches deep in <i>all</i> 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! <i>so</i> 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-fight—unless +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Here comes old Boggs!—in from the country for +his little old monthly drunk; here he comes, boys!” +</p><p> +All the loafers looked glad; I reckoned they was +used to having fun out of Boggs. One of them says: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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.” +</p><p> +Boggs comes a-tearing along on his horse, whooping +and yelling like an Injun, and singing out: +</p><p> +“Cler the track, thar. I’m on the waw-path, and +the price uv coffins is a-gwyne to raise.” +</p><p> +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.” +</p><p> +He see me, and rode up and says: +</p><p> +“Whar’d you come f’m, boy? You prepared to die?” +</p><p> +Then he rode on. I was scared, but a man says: +</p><p> +“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 Arkansaw—never hurt nobody, drunk +nor sober.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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!” +</p><p> +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-five—and +he was a heap the best-dressed man in that +town, too—steps out of the store, and the crowd +drops back on each side to let him come. He says +to Boggs, mighty ca’m and slow—he says: +</p><p> +“I’m tired of this, but I’ll endure it till one o’clock. +Till one o’clock, mind—no longer. If you open your +mouth against me only once after that time you +can’t travel so far but I will find you.” +</p><p> +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 <i>must</i> go home—he 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 use—up the street he would tear again, +and give Sherburn another cussing. By and by +somebody says: +</p><p> +“Go for his daughter!—quick, go for his daughter; +sometimes he’ll listen to her. If anybody can +persuade him, she can.” +</p><p> +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, bareheaded, 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: +</p><p> +“Boggs!” +</p><p> +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 hand—not 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 level—both 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 air—bang! +goes the second one, and he tumbles backwards onto +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!” +</p><p> +Colonel Sherburn he tossed his pistol onto the +ground, and turned around on his heels and walked +off. +</p><p> +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 out—and +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. +</p><p> +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.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XXII"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XXII</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +Just then Sherburn steps out onto 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. +</p><p> +Sherburn never said a word—just 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 outgaze 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. +</p><p> +Then he says, slow and scornful: +</p><p> +“The idea of <i>you</i> lynching anybody! It’s amusing. +The idea of you thinking you had pluck enough to +lynch a <i>man!</i> 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 <i>man?</i> Why, a <i>man’s</i> +safe in the hands of ten thousand of your kind—as +long as it’s daytime and you’re not behind him. +</p><p> +“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 people—whereas +you’re just <i>as</i> 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 +dark—and it’s just what they <i>would</i> do. +</p><p> +“So they always acquit; and then a <i>man</i> 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 <i>part</i> of a man—Buck +Harkness, there—and if you hadn’t had him +to start you, you’d ’a’ taken it out in blowing. +</p><p> +“You didn’t want to come. The average man +don’t like trouble and danger. <i>You</i> don’t like trouble +and danger. But if only <i>half</i> a man—like Buck +Harkness, there—shouts ’Lynch him! lynch him!’ +you’re afraid to back down—afraid you’ll be found +out to be what you are—<i>cowards</i>—and so you raise +a yell, and hang yourselves onto 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 is—a 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 <i>man</i> at the head of +it is <i>beneath</i> pitifulness. Now the thing for <i>you</i> 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 <i>man</i> along. +Now <i>leave</i>—and take your half-a-man with you”—tossing +his gun up across his left arm and cocking it +when he says this. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 +<i>wasting</i> it on them. +</p><p> +It was a real bully circus. It was the splendidest +sight that ever was when they all come riding in, +two and two, and 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 comfortable—there must ’a’ been +twenty of them—and 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p>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 <i>could</i> think of so many of +them, and so sudden and so pat, was what I couldn’t +no way understand. Why, I couldn’t ’a’ thought of +them in a year. And by and by a drunken man tried +to get into the ring—said 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 +toward 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 life—and 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 hum—and finally skipped off, +and made his bow and danced off to the dressing-room, +and everybody just a-howling with pleasure +and astonishment. +</p><p> +Then the ringmaster he see how he had been fooled, +and he <i>was</i> 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 <i>me</i>; and wherever I run +across it, it can have all of <i>my</i> custom every time. +</p><p> +Well, that night we had <i>our</i> show; but there warn’t +only about twelve people there—just 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 comedy—and 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:</p><p><br /></p> +<p class="pg1"> + AT THE COURT HOUSE!<br /> + <small>FOR 3 NIGHTS ONLY!</small><br /> + <i>The World-Renowned Tragedians</i><br /> + DAVID GARRICK THE YOUNGER!<br /> + AND<br /> + EDMUND KEAN THE ELDER!<br /> + <i>Of the London and Continental<br /> + Theatres</i>,<br /> + In their Thrilling Tragedy of<br /> + THE KING’S CAMELEOPARD,<br /> + <small>OR</small><br /> + THE ROYAL NONESUCH! ! !<br /> + <i>Admission 50 cents.</i><br /> +</p> +<p> +Then at the bottom was the biggest line of all, which +said: +</p> +<p class="pg1"> + <big>LADIES AND CHILDREN NOT ADMITTED</big> +</p> +<p> +“There,” says he, “if that line don’t fetch them, I +don’t know Arkansaw!”</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XXIII"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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 onto 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. And—but 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +Twenty people sings out: +</p><p> +“What, is it over? Is that <i>all</i>?” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Hold on! Just a word, gentlemen.” They +stopped to listen. “We are sold—mighty 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. <i>No</i>. What we want is to +go out of here quiet, and talk this show up, and sell +the <i>rest</i> 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, +then—not a word about any sell. Go along home, +and advise everybody to come and see the tragedy.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +The third night the house was crammed again—and +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 coat—and 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: +</p><p> +“Walk fast now till you get away from the houses, +and then shin for the raft like the dickens was after +you!” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Well, how’d the old thing pan out this time, +duke?” He hadn’t been up-town at all. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Greenhorns, flatheads! <i>I</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 <i>their</i> turn now. Well, it +<i>is</i> their turn, and I’d give something to know how +much they’d take for it. I <i>would</i> just like to know +how they’re putting in their opportunity. They can +turn it into a picnic if they want to—they brought +plenty provisions.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +By and by, when they was asleep and snoring, Jim +says: +</p><p> +“Don’t it s’prise you de way dem kings carries +on, Huck?” +</p><p> +“No,” I says, “it don’t.” +</p><p> +“Why don’t it, Huck?” +</p><p> +“Well, it don’t, because it’s in the breed. I reckon +they’re all alike.” +</p><p> +“But, Huck, dese kings o’ ourn is reglar rapscallions; +dat’s jist what dey is; dey’s reglar rapscallions.” +</p><p> +“Well, that’s what I’m a-saying; all kings is +mostly rapscallions, as fur as I can make out.” +</p><p> +“Is dat so?” +</p><p> +“You read about them once—you’ll see. Look +at Henry the Eight; this ’n’ ’s a Sunday-school +Superintendent to <i>him</i>. 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 <i>was</i> 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 +Book—which 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 it—give 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 <i>his</i> style—he 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? No—drownded +him in a butt of mamsey, like a cat. +S’pose people left money laying around where he was—what +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 it—what did +he do? He always done the other thing. S’pose he +opened his mouth—what 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 <i>that</i> 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.” +</p><p> +“But dis one do <i>smell</i> so like de nation, Huck.” +</p><p> +“Well, they all do, Jim. <i>We</i> can’t help the way +a king smells; history don’t tell no way.” +</p><p> +“Now de duke, he’s a tolerble likely man in some +ways.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Well, anyways, I doan’ hanker for no mo’ un +um, Huck. Dese is all I kin stan’.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +But this time I somehow got to talking to him +about his wife and young ones; and by and by he +says: +</p><p> +“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: +</p><p> +“‘Shet de do’.’ +</p><p> +“She never done it; jis’ stood dah, kiner smilin’ +up at me. It make me mad; en I says ag’in, mighty +loud, I says: +</p><p> +“‘Doan’ you hear me? Shet de do’!” +</p><p> +“She jis stood de same way, kiner smilin’ up. I +was a-bilin’! I says: +</p><p> +“‘I lay I <i>make</i> you mine!’ +</p><p> +“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 <i>yit</i>, en +dat chile stannin’ mos’ right in it, a-lookin’ down +and mournin’, en de tears runnin’ down. My, but +I <i>wuz</i> mad! I was a-gwyne for de chile, but jis’ den—it +was a do’ dat open innerds—jis’ den, ’long come +de wind en slam it to, behine de chile, ker-<i>blam!</i>—en +my lan’, de chile never move’! My breff mos’ hop +outer me; en I feel so—so—I doan’ know <i>how</i> 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 <i>pow!</i> +jis’ as loud as I could yell. <i>She never budge!</i> 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 dumb—en I’d +ben a-treat’n her so!”</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XXIV"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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 <i>was</i> +kind of hard to have to lay roped all day, and he’d +cipher out some way to get around it. +</p><p> +He was uncommon bright, the duke was, and he +soon struck it. He dressed Jim up in King Lear’s +outfit—it 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: +</p><p> +<i>Sick Arab—but harmless when not out of his head.</i> +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 way—meaning 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 town—been there a couple +of hours, taking on freight. Says the king: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +“Run her nose inshore,” says the king. I done +it. “Wher’ you bound for, young man?” +</p><p> +“For the steamboat; going to Orleans.” +</p><p> +“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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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 <i>ain’t</i> him, are you?” +</p><p> +“No, my name’s Blodgett—Elexander Blodgett—<i>Reverend</i> +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 it—which +I hope he hasn’t.” +</p><p> +“Well, he don’t miss any property by it, because +he’ll get that all right; but he’s missed seeing his +brother Peter die—which he mayn’t mind, nobody +can tell as to that—but his brother would ’a’ give +anything in this world to see <i>him</i> before he died; +never talked about nothing else all these three weeks; +hadn’t seen him since they was boys together—and +hadn’t ever seen his brother William at all—that’s +the deef and dumb one—William 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.” +</p><p> +“Did anybody send ’em word?” +</p><p> +“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 +Harvey—and William, too, for that matter—because +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 right—for George didn’t +leave nothing. And that letter was all they could get +him to put a pen to.” +</p><p> +“Why do you reckon Harvey don’t come? Wher’ +does he live?” +</p><p> +“Oh, he lives in England—Sheffield—preaches +there—hasn’t ever been in this country. He hasn’t +had any too much time—and besides he mightn’t ’a’ +got the letter at all, you know.” +</p><p> +“Too bad, too bad he couldn’t ’a’ lived to see his +brothers, poor soul. You going to Orleans, you say?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“It’s a pretty long journey. But it’ll be lovely; I +wisht I was a-going. Is Mary Jane the oldest? How +old is the others?” +</p><p> +“Mary Jane’s nineteen, Susan’s fifteen, and Joanna’s +about fourteen—that’s the one that gives herself +to good works and has a hare-lip.” +</p><p> +“Poor things! to be left alone in the cold world so.” +</p><p> +“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, and—well, +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.” +</p><p> +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 business—which was a tanner; and +about George’s—which was a carpenter; and about +Harvey’s—which was a dissentering minister; and +so on, and so on. Then he says: +</p><p> +“What did you want to walk all the way up to the +steamboat for?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Was Peter Wilks well off?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“When did you say he died?” +</p><p> +“I didn’t say, but it was last night.” +</p><p> +“Funeral to-morrow, likely?” +</p><p> +“Yes, ’bout the middle of the day.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Yes, sir, it’s the best way. Ma used to always +say that.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +I see what <i>he</i> 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 it—every 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: +</p><p> +“How are you on the deef and dumb, Bilgewater?” +</p><p> +The duke said, leave him alone for that; said he +had played a deef and dumb person on the histrionic +boards. So then they waited for a steamboat. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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?” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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: +</p><p> +“I’m sorry, sir, but the best we can do is to tell +you where he <i>did</i> live yesterday evening.” +</p><p> +Sudden as winking the ornery old cretur went all +to smash, and fell up against the man, and put his +chin on his shoulder, and cried down his back, and +says: +</p><p> +“Alas, alas, our poor brother—gone, and we never +got to see him; oh, it’s too, <i>too</i> hard!” +</p><p> +Then he turns around, blubbering, and makes a lot +of idiotic signs to the duke on his hands, and blamed +if <i>he</i> 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XXV"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XXV</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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: +</p><p> +“Is it <i>them?</i>” +</p><p> +And somebody trotting along with the gang would +answer back and say: +</p><p> +“You bet it is.” +</p><p> +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 <i>was</i> 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 <i>had</i> it! Everybody most, leastways women, +cried for joy to see them meet again at last and have +such good times. +</p><p> +Then the king he hunched the duke private—I see +him do it—and 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 loud—the 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. +</p><p>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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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, +viz.:—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. +</p><p> +Rev. Hobson and Dr. Robinson was down to the +end of the town a-hunting together—that 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-goo—goo-goo-goo” all the time, like a baby +that can’t talk. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Oh, <i>this</i> ain’t bully nor noth’n! Oh, no, I reckon +not! Why, Biljy, it beats the Nonesuch, <i>don’t</i> it?” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Dern him, I wonder what he done with that four +hundred and fifteen dollars?” +</p><p> +They worried over that awhile, and ransacked all +around for it. Then the duke says: +</p><p> +“Well, he was a pretty sick man, and likely he +made a mistake—I reckon that’s the way of it. +The best way’s to let it go, and keep still about it. +We can spare it.” +</p><p> +“Oh, shucks, yes, we can <i>spare</i> it. I don’t k’yer +noth’n ’bout that—it’s the <i>count</i> 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 everybody—then +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—” +</p><p> +“Hold on,” says the duke. “Le’s make up the +deffisit,” and he begun to haul out yaller-boys out +of his pocket. +</p><p> +“It’s a most amaz’n’ good idea, duke—you <i>have</i> +got a rattlin’ clever head on you,” says the king. +“Blest if the old Nonesuch ain’t a heppin’ us out +ag’in,” and <i>he</i> begun to haul out yaller-jackets and +stack them up. +</p><p> +It most busted them, but they made up the six +thousand clean and clear. +</p><p> +“Say,” says the duke, “I got another idea. Le’s +go up-stairs and count this money, and then take +and <i>give it to the girls</i>.” +</p><p> +“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 to—this ’ll lay ’em out.” +</p><p> +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 pile—twenty 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: +</p><p> +“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 <i>more</i> +generous by ’em if he hadn’t ben afeard o’ woundin’ +his dear William and me. Now, <i>wouldn’t</i> he? Ther’ +ain’t no question ’bout it in <i>my</i> 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 rob—yes, <i>rob</i>—sech poor sweet +lambs as these ’at he loved so at sech a time? If I +know William—and I <i>think</i> I do—he—well, 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 +awhile; 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 <i>that</i> ’ll convince anybody the +way <i>he</i> feels about it. Here, Mary Jane, Susan, +Joanner, take the money—take it <i>all.</i> It’s the gift +of him that lays yonder, cold but joyful.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“You <i>dear</i> good souls!—how <i>lovely!</i>—how <i>could</i> +you!” +</p><p> +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 saying—in the middle of +something he’d started in on— +</p><p> +“—they bein’ partickler friends o’ the diseased. +That’s why they’re invited here this evenin’; but to-morrow +we want <i>all</i> to come—everybody; for he +respected everybody, he liked everybody, and so it’s +fitten that his funeral orgies sh’d be public.” +</p><p> +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, +“<i>Obsequies</i>, 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: +</p><p> +“Poor William, afflicted as he is, his <i>heart’s</i> aluz +right. Asks me to invite everybody to come to the +funeral—wants me to make ’em all welcome. But he +needn’t ’a’ worried—it was jest what I was at.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“I say orgies, not because it’s the common term, +because it ain’t—obsequies bein’ the common term—but +because orgies is the right term. Obsequies ain’t +used in England no more now—it’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 <i>orgo</i>, outside, +open, abroad; and the Hebrew <i>jeesum</i>, to plant, cover +up; hence in<i>ter</i>. So, you see, funeral orgies is an +open er public funeral.” +</p><p> +He was the <i>worst</i> I ever struck. Well, the iron-jawed +man he laughed right in his face. Everybody +was shocked. Everybody says, “Why, <i>doctor!</i>” and +Abner Shackleford says: +</p><p> +“Why, Robinson, hain’t you heard the news? This +is Harvey Wilks.” +</p><p> +The king he smiled eager, and shoved out his +flapper, and says: +</p><p> +“<i>Is</i> it my poor brother’s dear good friend and physician? +I—” +</p><p> +“Keep your hands off me!” says the doctor. +“<i>You</i> talk like an Englishman, <i>don’t</i> you? It’s the +worst imitation I ever heard. <i>You</i> Peter Wilks’s +brother! You’re a fraud, that’s what you are!” +</p><p> +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’s showed in +forty ways that he <i>was</i> Harvey, and knowed everybody +by name, and the names of the very dogs, and +begged and <i>begged</i> him not to hurt Harvey’s feelings +and the poor girls’ 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 <i>them.</i> He says: +</p><p> +“I was your father’s friend, and I’m your friend; +and I warn you <i>as</i> 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 impostor—has come +here with a lot of empty names and facts which he +picked up somewheres; and you take them for +<i>proofs</i>, 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 out—I <i>beg</i> you to do it. +Will you?” +</p><p> +Mary Jane straightened herself up, and my, but +she was handsome! She says: +</p><p> +“<i>Here</i> 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.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“All right; I wash <i>my</i> 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. +</p><p> +“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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XXVI"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XXVI</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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 valley—meaning me. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 was—and +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 so—said +“How <i>do</i> you get biscuits to brown so nice?” and +“Where, for the land’s sake, <i>did</i> 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Did you ever see the king?” +</p><p> +“Who? William Fourth? Well, I bet I have—he +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: +</p><p> +“What—regular?” +</p><p> +“Yes—regular. His pew’s right over opposite +ourn—on t’other side the pulpit.” +</p><p> +“I thought he lived in London?” +</p><p> +“Well, he does. Where <i>would</i> he live?” +</p><p> +“But I thought <i>you</i> lived in Sheffield?” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Why, how you talk—Sheffield ain’t on the sea.” +</p><p> +“Well, who said it was?” +</p><p> +“Why, you did.” +</p><p> +“I <i>didn’t</i>, nuther.” +</p><p> +“You did!” +</p><p> +“I didn’t.” +</p><p> +“You did.” +</p><p> +“I never said nothing of the kind.” +</p><p> +“Well, what <i>did</i> you say, then?” +</p><p> +“Said he come to take the sea <i>baths</i>—that’s what I +said.” +</p><p> +“Well, then, how’s he going to take the sea baths +if it ain’t on the sea?” +</p><p> +“Looky here,” I says; “did you ever see any Congress-water?” +</p><p> +“Yes.” +</p><p> +“Well, did you have to go to Congress to get it?” +</p><p> +“Why, no.” +</p><p> +“Well, neither does William Fourth have to go to +the sea to get a sea bath.” +</p><p> +“How does he get it, then?” +</p><p> +“Gets it the way people down here gets Congress-water—in +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.” +</p><p> +“Oh, I see, now. You might ’a’ said that in the +first place and saved time.” +</p><p> +When she said that I see I was out of the woods +again, and so I was comfortable and glad. Next, she +says: +</p><p> +“Do you go to church, too?” +</p><p> +“Yes—regular.” +</p><p> +“Where do you set?” +</p><p> +“Why, in our pew.” +</p><p> +“<i>Whose</i> pew?” +</p><p> +“Why, <i>ourn</i>—your Uncle Harvey’s.” +</p><p> +“His’n? What does <i>he</i> want with a pew?” +</p><p> +“Wants it to set in. What did you <i>reckon</i> he +wanted with it?” +</p><p> +“Why, I thought he’d be in the pulpit.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Blame it, do you suppose there ain’t but one +preacher to a church?” +</p><p> +“Why, what do they want with more?” +</p><p> +“What!—to preach before a king? I never did +see such a girl as you. They don’t have no less than +seventeen.” +</p><p> +“Seventeen! My land! Why, I wouldn’t set out +such a string as that, not if I <i>never</i> got to glory. It +must take ’em a week.” +</p><p> +“Shucks, they don’t <i>all</i> of ’em preach the same +day—only <i>one</i> of ’em.” +</p><p> +“Well, then, what does the rest of ’em do?” +</p><p> +“Oh, nothing much. Loll around, pass the plate—and +one thing or another. But mainly they don’t +do nothing.” +</p><p> +“Well, then, what are they <i>for</i>?” +</p><p> +“Why, they’re for <i>style</i>. Don’t you know nothing?” +</p><p> +“Well, I don’t <i>want</i> to know no such foolishness as +that. How is servants treated in England? Do they +treat ’em better ’n we treat our niggers?” +</p><p> +“<i>No!</i> A servant ain’t nobody there. They treat +them worse than dogs.” +</p><p> +“Don’t they give ’em holidays, the way we do, +Christmas and New Year’s week, and Fourth of +July?” +</p><p> +“Oh, just listen! A body could tell <i>you</i> hain’t ever +been to England by that. Why, Hare-l—why, 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.” +</p><p> +“Nor church?” +</p><p> +“Nor church.” +</p><p> +“But <i>you</i> always went to church.” +</p><p> +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 <i>had</i> 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: +</p><p> +“Honest injun, now, hain’t you been telling me a +lot of lies?” +</p><p> +“Honest injun,” says I. +</p><p> +“None of it at all?” +</p><p> +“None of it at all. Not a lie in it,” says I. +</p><p> +“Lay your hand on this book and say it.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Well, then, I’ll believe some of it; but I hope to +gracious if I’ll believe the rest.” +</p><p> +“What is it you won’t believe, Jo?” 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?” +</p><p> +“That’s always your way, Maim—always 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 <i>did</i> say. I reckon he can +stand a little thing like that, can’t he?” +</p><p> +“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 <i>them</i> +feel ashamed.” +</p><p> +“Why, Maim, he said—” +</p><p> +“It don’t make no difference what he <i>said</i>—that +ain’t the thing. The thing is for you to treat him +<i>kind</i>, and not be saying things to make him remember +he ain’t in his own country and amongst his own +folks.” +</p><p> +I says to myself, <i>this</i> is a girl that I’m letting that +old reptile rob her of her money! +</p><p> +Then Susan <i>she</i> waltzed in; and if you’ll believe +me, she did give Hare-lip hark from the tomb! +</p><p> +Says I to myself, and this is <i>another</i> one that I’m +letting him rob her of her money! +</p><p> +Then Mary Jane she took another inning, and went +in sweet and lovely again—which was her way; but +when she got done there warn’t hardly anything left +o’ poor Hare-lip. So she hollered. +</p><p> +“All right, then,” says the other girls; “you just +ask his pardon.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +I says to myself, this is <i>another</i> 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. +</p><p> +So then I lit out—for 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? +No—that 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? No—I +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 to-night 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. +</p><p> +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 thing—lay 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. +</p><p>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: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“What is it, duke?” +</p><p> +“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 easy—<i>given</i> +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.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +The duke he grumbled; said the bag of gold was +enough, and he didn’t want to go no deeper—didn’t +want to rob a lot of orphans of <i>everything</i> they had. +</p><p> +“Why, how you talk!” says the king. “We +sha’n’t rob ’em of nothing at all but jest this money. +The people that <i>buys</i> the property is the suff’rers; +because as soon ’s it’s found out ’at we didn’t own +it—which won’t be long after we’ve slid—the sale +won’t be valid, and it ’ll all go back to the estate. +These yer orphans ’ll git their house back ag’in, and +that’s enough for <i>them;</i> they’re young and spry, and +k’n easy earn a livin’. <i>They</i> ain’t a-goin’ to suffer. +Why, jest think—there’s thous’n’s and thous’n’s that +ain’t nigh so well off. Bless you, <i>they</i> ain’t got noth’n’ +to complain of.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Cuss the doctor! What do we k’yer for <i>him?</i> +Hain’t we got all the fools in town on our side? +And ain’t that a big enough majority in any town?” +</p><p> +So they got ready to go down-stairs again. The +duke says: +</p><p> +“I don’t think we put that money in a good place.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Why?” +</p><p> +“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?” +</p><p> +“Your head’s level ag’in, 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XXVII"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XXVII</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 <i>wanted</i> 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 catched—catched +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 noses—because +people always blows them more at a funeral than +they do at other places except church. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +They had borrowed a melodeum—a 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 +wait—you 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 worry—just 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, +“<i>He had a rat!</i>” 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. +</p><p> +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>I</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! +</p><p> +They buried him, and we come back home, and I +went to watching faces again—I couldn’t help it, and +I couldn’t rest easy. But nothing come of it; the +faces didn’t tell me nothing. +</p><p> +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, too—tickled 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. +</p><p> +Well, blamed if the king didn’t bill the house and +the niggers and all the property for auction straight +off—sale two days after the funeral; but anybody +could buy private beforehand if they wanted to. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +The thing made a big stir in the town, too, and a +good many come out flat-footed 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Was you in my room night before last?” +</p><p> +“No, your majesty”—which was the way I always +called him when nobody but our gang warn’t +around. +</p><p> +“Was you in there yisterday er last night?” +</p><p> +“No, your majesty.” +</p><p> +“Honor bright, now—no lies.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +The duke says: +</p><p> +“Have you seen anybody else go in there?” +</p><p> +“No, your grace, not as I remember, I believe.” +</p><p> +“Stop and think.” +</p><p> +I studied awhile and see my chance; then I says: +</p><p>“Well, I see the niggers go in there several times.” +</p><p> +Both of them gave a little jump, and looked like +they hadn’t ever expected it, and then like they <i>had</i>. +Then the duke says: +</p><p> +“What, <i>all</i> of them?” +</p><p> +“No—leastways, not all at once—that is, I don’t +think I ever see them all come <i>out</i> at once but just one +time.” +</p><p> +“Hello! When was that?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Well, go on, <i>go</i> on! What did they do? How’d +they act?” +</p><p> +“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 <i>warn’t</i> 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.” +</p><p> +“Great guns, <i>this</i> 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: +</p><p> +“It does beat all how neat the niggers played their +hand. They let on to be <i>sorry</i> they was going out of +this region! And I believed they <i>was</i> sorry, and so +did you, and so did everybody. Don’t ever tell <i>me</i> +any more that a nigger ain’t got any histrionic talent. +Why, the way they played that thing it would fool +<i>anybody.</i> 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 that—and here we’ve gone and +sold ’em for a song. Yes, and ain’t privileged to sing +the song yet. Say, where <i>is</i> that song—that draft?” +</p><p> +“In the bank for to be collected. Where <i>would</i> it +be?” +</p><p> +“Well, <i>that’s</i> all right then, thank goodness.” +</p><p> +Says I, kind of timid-like: +</p><p> +“Is something gone wrong?” +</p><p> +The king whirls on me and rips out: +</p><p> +“None o’ your business! You keep your head +shet, and mind y’r own affairs—if you got any. +Long as you’re in this town don’t you forgit <i>that</i>—you hear?” +Then he says to the duke, “We got to +jest swaller it and say noth’n’: mum’s the word for +<i>us</i>.” +</p><p> +As they was starting down the ladder the duke he +chuckles again, and says: +</p><p> +“Quick sales <i>and</i> small profits! It’s a good business—yes.” +</p><p> +The king snarls around on him and says: +</p><p> +“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?” +</p><p> +“Well, <i>they’d</i> be in this house yet and we <i>wouldn’t</i> +if I could ’a’ got my advice listened to.” +</p><p> +The king sassed back as much as was safe for him, +and then swapped around and lit into <i>me</i> again. He +give me down the banks for not coming and <i>telling</i> +him I see the niggers come out of his room acting that +way—said any fool would ’a’ <i>knowed</i> something was +up. And then waltzed in and cussed <i>himself</i> 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 onto +the niggers, and yet hadn’t done the niggers no +harm by it. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XXVIII"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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 it—getting +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: +</p><p> +“Miss Mary Jane, you can’t a-bear to see people +in trouble, and <i>I</i> can’t—most always. Tell me +about it.” +</p><p> +So she done it. And it was the niggers—I just +expected it. She said the beautiful trip to England +was most about spoiled for her; she didn’t know <i>how</i> +she was ever going to be happy there, knowing the +mother and the children warn’t ever going to see +each other no more—and then busted out bitterer +than ever, and flung up her hands, and says: +</p><p> +“Oh, dear, dear, to think they ain’t <i>ever</i> going to +see each other any more!” +</p><p> +“But they <i>will</i>—and inside of two weeks—and I +<i>know</i> it!” says I. +</p><p> +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 <i>again</i>, say it <i>again</i>, say it <i>again!</i> +</p><p> +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 <i>safer</i> 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 <i>like</i> setting +down on a kag of powder and touching it off just to +see where you’ll go to. Then I says: +</p><p> +“Miss Mary Jane, is there any place out of town a +little ways where you could go and stay three or four +days?” +</p><p> +“Yes; Mr. Lothrop’s. Why?” +</p><p> +“Never mind why yet. If I’ll tell you how I know +the niggers will see each other again—inside of two +weeks—here in this house—and <i>prove</i> how I know +it—will you go to Mr. Lothrop’s and stay four days?” +</p><p> +“Four days!” she says; “I’ll stay a year!” +</p><p> +“All right,” I says, “I don’t want nothing more +out of <i>you</i> than just your word—I 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 door—and bolt it.” +</p><p> +Then I come back and set down again, and says: +</p><p> +“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 frauds—regular dead-beats. There, now we’re over +the worst of it, you can stand the rest middling easy.” +</p><p> +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 onto the king’s +breast at the front door and he kissed her sixteen or +seventeen times—and then up she jumps, with her +face afire like sunset, and says: +</p><p> +“The brute! Come, don’t waste a minute—not a +<i>second</i>—we’ll have them tarred and feathered, and +flung in the river!” +</p><p> +Says I: +</p><p> +“Cert’nly. But do you mean <i>before</i> you go to Mr. +Lothrop’s, or—” +</p><p> +“Oh,” she says, “what am I <i>thinking</i> about!” +she says, and set right down again. “Don’t mind +what I said—please don’t—you <i>won’t</i>, now, <i>will</i> +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.” +</p><p> +“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 not—I druther not +tell you why; and if you was to blow on them this +town would get me out of their claws, and <i>I</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 <i>him</i>, hain’t we? Of course. Well, then, we +won’t blow on them.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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?” +</p><p> +“A little short of four miles—right out in the +country, back here.” +</p><p> +“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 again—tell 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 <i>till</i> eleven, and <i>then</i> 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.” +</p><p> +“Good,” she says, “I’ll do it.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“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. +</p><p> +“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 <i>was</i> 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—’<i>Royal Nonesuch, Bricksville.</i>’ 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 witnesses—why, +you’ll have that entire town down here before +you can hardly wink, Miss Mary. And they’ll come +a-biling, too.” +</p><p> +I judged we had got everything fixed about right +now. So I says: +</p><p> +“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 <i>get</i> no money. It’s just like the way it was +with the niggers—it warn’t no sale, and the niggers +will be back before long. Why, they can’t collect +the money for the <i>niggers</i> yet—they’re in the worst +kind of a fix, Miss Mary.” +</p><p> +“Well,” she says, “I’ll run down to breakfast now, +and then I’ll start straight for Mr. Lothrop’s.” +</p><p> +“’Deed, <i>that</i> ain’t the ticket, Miss Mary Jane,” I +says, “by no manner of means; go <i>before</i> breakfast.” +</p><p> +“Why?” +</p><p> +“What did you reckon I wanted you to go at all +for, Miss Mary?” +</p><p> +“Well, I never thought—and come to think, I +don’t know. What was it?” +</p><p> +“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—” +</p><p> +“There, there, don’t! Yes, I’ll go before breakfast—I’ll +be glad to. And leave my sisters with +them?” +</p><p> +“Yes; never mind about them. They’ve got to +stand it yet awhile. 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.” +</p><p> +“Gone to see a friend is all right, but I won’t +have my love given to them.” +</p><p> +“Well, then, it sha’n’t be.” It was well enough +to tell <i>her</i> so—no 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 thing—that bag of money.” +</p><p> +“Well, they’ve got that; and it makes me feel +pretty silly to think <i>how</i> they got it.” +</p><p> +“No, you’re out, there. They hain’t got it.” +</p><p> +“Why, who’s got it?” +</p><p> +“I wish I knowed, but I don’t. I <i>had</i> 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 run—and +it warn’t a good place.” +</p><p> +“Oh, stop blaming yourself—it’s too bad to do it, +and I won’t allow it—you couldn’t help it; it wasn’t +your fault. Where did you hide it?” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“I’d ruther not <i>tell</i> 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?” +</p><p> +“Oh, yes.” +</p><p> +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.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“<i>Good</i>-by. 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 <i>pray</i> for you, +too!”—and she was gone. +</p><p> +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 same—she was just that kind. +She had the grit to pray for Judus if she took the +notion—there 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 beauty—and goodness, too—she 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 <i>her</i>, blamed +if I wouldn’t ’a’ done it or bust. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“What’s the name of them people over on t’other +side of the river that you all goes to see sometimes?” +</p><p> +They says: +</p><p> +“There’s several; but it’s the Proctors, mainly.” +</p><p> +“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 hurry—one of them’s +sick.” +</p><p> +“Which one?” +</p><p> +“I don’t know; leastways, I kinder forget; but I +thinks it’s—” +</p><p> +“Sakes alive, I hope it ain’t <i>Hanner</i>?” +</p><p> +“I’m sorry to say it,” I says, “but Hanner’s the +very one.” +</p><p> +“My goodness, and she so well only last week! +Is she took bad?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Only think of that, now! What’s the matter +with her?” +</p><p> +I couldn’t think of anything reasonable, right off +that way, so I says: +</p><p> +“Mumps.” +</p><p> +“Mumps your granny! They don’t set up with +people that’s got the mumps.” +</p><p> +“They don’t, don’t they? You better bet they +do with <i>these</i> mumps. These mumps is different. +It’s a new kind, Miss Mary Jane said.” +</p><p> +“How’s it a new kind?” +</p><p> +“Because it’s mixed up with other things.” +</p><p> +“What other things?” +</p><p> +“Well, measles, and whooping-cough, and erysiplas, +and consumption, and yaller janders, and brain-fever, +and I don’t know what all.” +</p><p> +“My land! And they call it the <i>mumps</i>?” +</p><p> +“That’s what Miss Mary Jane said.” +</p><p> +“Well, what in the nation do they call it the +<i>mumps</i> for?” +</p><p> +“Why, because it <i>is</i> the mumps. That’s what it +starts with.” +</p><p> +“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 +<i>toe</i>.’ Would ther’ be any sense in that? <i>No</i>. And +ther’ ain’t no sense in <i>this</i>, nuther. Is it ketching?” +</p><p> +“Is it <i>ketching?</i> Why, how you talk. Is a <i>harrow</i> +catching—in 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 say—and it ain’t no slouch of a harrow, nuther, +you come to get it hitched on good.” +</p><p> +“Well, it’s awful, <i>I</i> think,” says the hare-lip. +“I’ll go to Uncle Harvey and—” +</p><p> +“Oh, yes,” I says, “I <i>would.</i> Of <i>course</i> I would. +I wouldn’t lose no time.” +</p><p> +“Well, why wouldn’t you?” +</p><p> +“Just look at it a minute, and maybe you can see. +Hain’t your uncles obleeged 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? <i>You</i> know they’ll +wait for you. So fur, so good. Your uncle Harvey’s +a preacher, ain’t he? Very well, then; is a <i>preacher</i> +going to deceive a steamboat clerk? is he going to +deceive a <i>ship clerk?</i>—so as to get them to let Miss +Mary Jane go aboard? Now <i>you</i> know he ain’t. +What <i>will</i> 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—” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Well, anyway, maybe you’d better tell some of +the neighbors.” +</p><p> +“Listen at that, now. You do beat all for natural +stupidness. Can’t you <i>see</i> that <i>they’d</i> go and tell? +Ther’ ain’t no way but just to not tell anybody +at <i>all</i>.” +</p><p> +“Well, maybe you’re right—yes, I judge you <i>are</i> +right.” +</p><p> +“But I reckon we ought to tell Uncle Harvey +she’s gone out awhile, anyway, so he won’t be uneasy +about her?” +</p><p> +“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 <i>is</i> the name of that +rich family your uncle Peter used to think so much +of?—I mean the one that—” +</p><p> +“Why, you must mean the Apthorps, ain’t it?” +</p><p> +“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 Apthorps—which ’ll +be perfectly true, because she <i>is</i> going there to speak +about their buying the house; I know it, because she +told me so herself.” +</p><p> +“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. +</p><p> +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 neat—I 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +But by and by the thing dragged through, and +everything was sold—everything but a little old +trifling lot in the graveyard. So they’d got to work +<i>that</i> off—I never see such a girafft as the king was +for wanting to swallow <i>everything</i>. 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: +</p><p> +“<i>Here’s</i> your opposition line! here’s your two sets +o’ heirs to old Peter Wilks—and you pays your +money and you takes your choice!” +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XXIX"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XXIX</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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 +<i>they</i> 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 <i>like</i> an +Englishman—not the king’s way, though the king’s +<i>was</i> 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: +</p><p> +“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’s brother Harvey, and this is his brother William, +which can’t hear nor speak—and 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.” +</p><p> +So him and the new dummy started off; and the +king he laughs, and blethers out: +</p><p> +“Broke his arm—<i>very</i> likely, <i>ain’t</i> it?—and very +convenient, too, for a fraud that’s got to make signs, +and ain’t learnt how. Lost their baggage! That’s +<i>mighty</i> good!—and mighty ingenious—under the <i>circumstances!</i>” +</p><p> +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 heads—it 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 gentlemen said, and was listening +to the king now. And when the king got done +this husky up and says: +</p><p> +“Say, looky here; if you are Harvey Wilks, when’d +you come to this town?” +</p><p> +“The day before the funeral, friend,” says the king. +</p><p> +“But what time o’ day?” +</p><p> +“In the evenin’—’bout an hour er two before sundown.” +</p><p> +“How’d you come?” +</p><p> +“I come down on the <i>Susan Powell</i> from Cincinnati.” +</p><p> +“Well, then, how’d you come to be up at the Pint +in the <i>mornin</i>’—in a canoe?” +</p><p> +“I warn’t up at the Pint in the mornin’.” +</p><p> +“It’s a lie.” +</p><p> +Several of them jumped for him and begged him +not to talk that way to an old man and a preacher. +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +The doctor he up and says: +</p><p> +“Would you know the boy again if you was to see +him, Hines?” +</p><p> +“I reckon I would, but I don’t know. Why, +yonder he is, now. I know him perfectly easy.” +</p><p> +It was me he pointed at. The doctor says: +</p><p> +“Neighbors, I don’t know whether the new couple +is frauds or not; but if <i>these</i> 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 <i>something</i> before we get through.” +</p><p> +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 <i>go</i> my +hand. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“I don’t wish to be too hard on these two men, but +<i>I</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 right—ain’t that so?” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Where is it, then?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Are <i>you</i> English, too?” +</p><p> +I says yes; and him and some others laughed, and +said, “Stuff!” +</p><p> +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 it—and so they kept it +up, and kept it up; and it <i>was</i> 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’ +<i>seen</i> 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: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +I didn’t care nothing for the compliment, but I was +glad to be let off, anyway. +</p><p> +The doctor he started to say something, and turns +and says: +</p><p> +“If you’d been in town at first, Levi Bell—” +</p><p> +The king broke in and reached out his hand, and +says: +</p><p> +“Why, is this my poor dead brother’s old friend +that he’s wrote so often about?” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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 duke—and 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: +</p><p> +“You and your brother please write a line or two +and sign your names.” +</p><p> +The old gentleman wrote, but nobody couldn’t +read it. The lawyer looked powerful astonished, and +says: +</p><p> +“Well, it beats <i>me</i>—and snaked a lot of old letters +out of his pocket, and examined them, and then examined +the old man’s writing, and then <i>them</i> again; +and then says: “These old letters is from Harvey +Wilks; and here’s <i>these</i> two handwritings, and anybody +can see <i>they</i> 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 <i>this</i> +old gentleman’s handwriting, and anybody can tell, +easy enough, <i>he</i> didn’t write them—fact is, the +scratches he makes ain’t properly <i>writing</i> at all. Now, +here’s some letters from—” +</p><p> +The new old gentleman says: +</p><p> +“If you please, let me explain. Nobody can read +my hand but my brother there—so he copies for me. +It’s <i>his</i> hand you’ve got there, not mine.” +</p><p> +“<i>Well!</i>” says the lawyer, “this <i>is</i> 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—” +</p><p> +“He <i>can’t</i> 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, please—they’re by the same +hand.” +</p><p> +The lawyer done it, and says: +</p><p> +“I believe it’s so—and 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 slution, but it’s gone to grass, partly. +But anyway, <i>one</i> thing is proved—<i>these</i> two ain’t +either of ’em Wilkses”—and he wagged his head +towards the king and the duke. +</p><p> +Well, what do you think? That mule-headed old +fool wouldn’t give in <i>then!</i> 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 <i>tried</i> +to write—<i>he</i> 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 right along till he was +actuly beginning to believe what he was saying <i>himself</i>; +but pretty soon the new gentleman broke in, and +says: +</p><p> +“I’ve thought of something. Is there anybody +here that helped to lay out my br—helped to lay out +the late Peter Wilks for burying?” +</p><p> +“Yes,” says somebody, “me and Ab Turner done +it. We’re both here.” +</p><p> +Then the old man turns toward the king, and +says: +</p><p> +“Peraps this gentleman can tell me what was +tattooed on his breast?” +</p><p> +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 <i>anybody</i> sqush to get fetched such a solid one as +that without any notice, because how was <i>he</i> 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, <i>Now</i> he’ll throw up +the sponge—there 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: +</p><p> +“Mf! It’s a <i>very</i> tough question, <i>ain’t</i> it! <i>Yes</i>, +sir, I k’n tell you what’s tattooed on his breast. It’s +jest a small, thin, blue arrow—that’s what it is; and +if you don’t look clost, you can’t see it. <i>Now</i> what +do you say—hey?” +</p><p> +Well, <i>I</i> never see anything like that old blister for +clean out-and-out cheek. +</p><p> +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 <i>this</i> time, and says: +</p><p> +“There—you’ve heard what he said! Was there +any such mark on Peter Wilks’s breast?” +</p><p> +Both of them spoke up and says: +</p><p> +“We didn’t see no such mark.” +</p><p> +“Good!” says the old gentleman. “Now, what +you <i>did</i> 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, and dashes between them, so: P—B—W”—and +he marked them that way on a piece of +paper. “Come, ain’t that what you saw?” +</p><p> +Both of them spoke up again, and says: +</p><p> +“No, we <i>didn’t</i>. We never seen any marks at all.” +</p><p> +Well, everybody <i>was</i> in a state of mind now, and +they sings out: +</p><p> +“The whole <i>bilin’</i> 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: +</p><p> +“Gentlemen—gentle<i>men!</i> Hear me just a word—just +a <i>single</i> word—if you PLEASE! There’s one way +yet—let’s go and dig up the corpse and look.” +</p><p> +That took them. +</p><p> +“Hooray!” they all shouted, and was starting right +off; but the lawyer and the doctor sung out: +</p><p> +“Hold on, hold on! Collar all these four men and +the boy, and fetch <i>them</i> along, too!” +</p><p> +“We’ll do it!” they all shouted; “and if we don’t +find them marks we’ll lynch the whole gang!” +</p><p> +I <i>was</i> 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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— +</p><p> +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 +wrist—Hines—and 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +All of a sudden the lightning let go a perfect sluice +of white glare, and somebody sings out: +</p><p> +“By the living jingo, here’s the bag of gold on his +breast!” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +I had the road all to myself, and I fairly flew—leastways, +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! +</p><p> +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 dark—which +made me feel sorry and disappointed, I didn’t +know why. But at last, just as I was sailing by, <i>flash</i> +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 <i>was</i> the best girl I ever see, and had the +most sand. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Out with you, Jim, and set her loose! Glory be +to goodness, we’re shut of them!” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Not now; have it for breakfast, have it for breakfast! +Cut loose and let her slide!” +</p><p> +So in two seconds away we went a-sliding down the +river, and it <i>did</i> 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 times—I 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. +</p><p> +So I wilted right down onto the planks then, and +give up; and it was all I could do to keep from crying. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XXX"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XXX</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +When they got aboard the king went for me, +and shook me by the collar, and says: +</p><p> +“Tryin’ to give us the slip, was ye, you pup! +Tired of our company, hey?” +</p><p> +I says: +</p><p> +“No, your majesty, we warn’t—<i>please</i> don’t, your +majesty!” +</p><p> +“Quick, then, and tell us what <i>was</i> your idea, or +I’ll shake the insides out o’ you!” +</p><p> +“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 <i>me</i> to stay—<i>I</i> +couldn’t do nothing, and I didn’t want to be <i>hung</i> 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.” +</p><p>Jim said it was so; and the king told him to shut +up, and said, “Oh, yes, it’s <i>mighty</i> likely!” and +shook me up again, and said he reckoned he’d drownd +me. But the duke says: +</p><p> +“Leggo the boy, you old idiot! Would <i>you</i> ’a’ done +any different? Did you inquire around for <i>him</i> when +you got loose? <i>I</i> don’t remember it.” +</p><p> +So the king let go of me, and begun to cuss that +town and everybody in it. But the duke says: +</p><p> +“You better a blame’ sight give <i>yourself</i> 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 <i>was</i> bright—it +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 come—and then—the +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-night—cravats warranted to <i>wear</i>, +too—longer than <i>we’d</i> need ’em.” +</p><p> +They was still a minute—thinking; then the king +says, kind of absent-minded like: +</p><p> +“Mf! And we reckoned the <i>niggers</i> stole it!” +</p><p> +That made me squirm! +</p><p> +“Yes,” says the duke, kinder slow and deliberate +and sarcastic, “<i>we</i> did.” +</p><p> +After about a half a minute the king drawls out: +</p><p> +“Leastways, <i>I</i> did.” +</p><p> +The duke says, the same way: +</p><p> +“On the contrary, <i>I</i> did.” +</p><p> +The king kind of ruffles up, and says: +</p><p> +“Looky here, Bilgewater, what’r you referrin’ to?” +The duke says, pretty brisk: +</p><p> +“When it comes to that, maybe you’ll let me ask +what was <i>you</i> referring to?” +</p><p> +“Shucks!” says the king, very sarcastic; “but <i>I</i> +don’t know—maybe you was asleep, and didn’t know +what you was about.” +</p><p> +The duke bristles up now, and says: +</p><p> +“Oh, let <i>up</i> on this cussed nonsense; do you take +me for a blame’ fool? Don’t you reckon <i>I</i> know who +hid that money in that coffin?” +</p><p> +“<i>Yes</i>, sir! I know you <i>do</i> know, because you done +it yourself!” +</p><p> +“It’s a lie!”—and the duke went for him. The +king sings out: +</p><p> +“Take y’r hands off!—leggo my throat!—I take it +all back!” +</p><p> +The duke says: +</p><p> +“Well, you just own up, first, that you <i>did</i> 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.” +</p><p> +“Wait jest a minute, duke—answer 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.” +</p><p> +“You old scoundrel, I didn’t, and you know I +didn’t. There, now!” +</p><p> +“Well, then, I b’lieve you. But answer me only +jest this one more—now <i>don’t</i> git mad; didn’t +you have it in your <i>mind</i> to hook the money and +hide it?” +</p><p> +The duke never said nothing for a little bit; then he +says: +</p><p> +“Well, I don’t care if I <i>did</i>, I didn’t <i>do</i> it, anyway. +But you not only had it in mind to do it, but you +<i>done</i> it.” +</p><p> +“I wisht I never die if I done it, duke, and that’s +honest. I won’t say I warn’t <i>goin’</i> to do it, because I +<i>was</i>; but you—I mean somebody—got in ahead o’ +me.” +</p><p> +“It’s a lie! You done it, and you got to <i>say</i> you +done it, or—” +</p><p> +The king began to gurgle, and then he gasps out: +</p><p> +“’Nough!—<i>I own up!</i>” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“If you ever deny it again I’ll drown you. It’s +<i>well</i> for you to set there and blubber like a baby—it’s +fitten for you, after the way you’ve acted. I never +see such an old ostrich for wanting to gobble everything—and +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 <i>believe</i> that rubbage. Cuss you, I can see now +why you was so anxious to make up the deffisit—you +wanted to get what money I’d got out of the ‘Nonesuch’ +and one thing or another, and scoop it <i>all!</i>” +</p><p> +The king says, timid, and still a-snuffling: +</p><p> +“Why, duke, it was you that said make up the +deffersit; it warn’t me.” +</p><p> +“Dry up! I don’t want to hear no more <i>out</i> of +you!” says the duke. “And <i>now</i> you see what you +<i>got</i> by it. They’ve got all their own money back, +and all of <i>ourn</i> but a shekel or two <i>besides</i>. G’long +to bed, and don’t you deffersit <i>me</i> no more deffersits, +long ’s <i>you</i> live!” +</p><p> +So the king sneaked into the wigwam and took to +his bottle for comfort, and before long the duke +tackled <i>his</i> 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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XXXI"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XXXI</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 +<i>mean</i>,” 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 raft—and 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. +</p><p> +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, anyway—and maybe a chance for +<i>the</i> chance 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: +</p><p> +“Set her loose, Jim; we’re all right now!” +</p><p> +But there warn’t no answer, and nobody come out +of the wigwam. Jim was gone! I set up a shout—and +then another—and then another one; and run +this way and that in the woods, whooping and +screeching; but it warn’t no use—old 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: +</p><p> +“Yes.” +</p><p> +“Whereabouts?” says I. +</p><p> +“Down to Silas Phelps’s place, two mile below +here. He’s a runaway nigger, and they’ve got him. +Was you looking for him?” +</p><p> +“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 out—and told me to lay down and +stay where I was; and I done it. Been there ever +since; afeard to come out.” +</p><p> +“Well,” he says, “you needn’t be afeard no more, +becuz they’ve got him. He run off f’m down South +som’ers.” +</p><p> +“It’s a good job they got him.” +</p><p> +“Well, I <i>reckon!</i> There’s two hundred dollars +reward on him. It’s like picking up money out’n the +road.” +</p><p> +“Yes, it is—and <i>I</i> could ’a’ had it if I’d been big +enough; I see him <i>first</i>. Who nailed him?” +</p><p> +“It was an old fellow—a stranger—and 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>I’d</i> wait, if it was seven year.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“But it <i>is</i>, though—straight as a string. I see the +handbill myself. It tells all about him, to a dot—paints +him like a picture, and tells the plantation he’s +frum, below Newr<i>leans</i>. No-sirree-<i>bob</i>, they ain’t no +trouble ’bout <i>that</i> speculation, you bet you. Say, +gimme a chaw tobacker, won’t ye?” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 <i>got</i> 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 <i>me!</i> 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 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.” +</p><p> +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 <i>me</i>, 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 <i>on</i> 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 +<i>say</i> 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 lie—I found +that out. +</p><p> +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 letter—and <i>then</i> 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: +</p><p><small> +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.</small> +</p><p> +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 thinking—thinking +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 smallpox aboard, and he was so grateful, and +said I was the best friend old Jim ever had in the +world, and the <i>only</i> one he’s got now; and then I +happened to look around and see that paper. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“All right, then, I’ll <i>go</i> to hell”—and tore it up. +</p><p>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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 yet—I 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 Nonesuch”—three-night performance—like +that other time. <i>They</i> had the cheek, them +frauds! I was right on him before I could shirk. +He looked astonished, and says: +</p><p> +“Hel-<i>lo!</i> Where’d <i>you</i> come from?” Then he +says, kind of glad and eager, “Where’s the raft?—got +her in a good place?” +</p><p> +I says: +</p><p> +“Why, that’s just what I was going to ask your +grace.” +</p><p> +Then he didn’t look so joyful, and says: +</p><p> +“What was your idea for asking <i>me?</i>” he says. +</p><p> +“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 <i>did</i> become of the +raft, then?—and Jim—poor Jim!” +</p><p> +“Blamed if <i>I</i> know—that 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.’” +</p><p> +“I wouldn’t shake my <i>nigger</i>, would I?—the only +nigger I had in the world, and the only property.” +</p><p> +“We never thought of that. Fact is, I reckon +we’d come to consider him <i>our</i> nigger; yes, we did +consider him so—goodness 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.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Do you reckon that nigger would blow on us? +We’d skin him if he done that!” +</p><p> +“How can he blow? Hain’t he run off?” +</p><p> +“No! That old fool sold him, and never divided +with me, and the money’s gone.” +</p><p> +“<i>Sold</i> him?” I says, and begun to cry; “why, he +was <i>my</i> nigger, and that was my money. Where is +he?—I want my nigger.” +</p><p> +“Well, you can’t <i>get</i> your nigger, that’s all—so +dry up your blubbering. Looky here—do you think +<i>you’d</i> venture to blow on us? Blamed if I think I’d +trust you. Why, if you <i>was</i> to blow on us—” +</p><p> +He stopped, but I never see the duke look so ugly +out of his eyes before. I went on a-whimpering, and +says: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +He looked kinder bothered, and stood there with +his bills fluttering on his arm, thinking, and wrinkling +up his forehead. At last he says: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +So I promised, and he says: +</p><p> +“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: +</p><p> +“The man that bought him is named Abram +Foster—Abram G. Foster—and he lives forty mile +back here in the country, on the road to Lafayette.” +</p><p> +“All right,” I says, “I can walk it in three days. +And I’ll start this very afternoon.” +</p><p> +“No you won’t, you’ll start <i>now</i>; 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 <i>us</i>, d’ye hear?” +</p><p> +That was the order I wanted, and that was the one +I played for. I wanted to be left free to work my plans. +</p><p> +“So clear out,” he says; “and you can tell Mr. +Foster whatever you want to. Maybe you can get +him to believe that Jim <i>is</i> your nigger—some idiots +don’t require documents—leastways 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 <i>between</i> here and there.” +</p><p> +</p><p> +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’s. 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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XXXII"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XXXII</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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 whispering—spirits that’s been dead +ever so many years—and you always think they’re +talking about <i>you.</i> As a general thing it makes a +body wish <i>he</i> was dead, too, and done with it all. +</p><p> +Phelps’s 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 +onto 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 folks—hewed 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 smokehouse back +of the kitchen; three little nigger cabins in a row +t’other side the smokehouse; 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. +</p><p> +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 dead—for +that <i>is</i> the lonesomest sound in the whole world. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 +say—spokes made out of dogs—circle 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. +</p><p> +A nigger woman come tearing out of the kitchen +with a rolling-pin in her hand, singing out, “Begone! +<i>you</i> 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. +</p><p> +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 +going. She was smiling all over so she could hardly +stand—and says: +</p><p> +“It’s <i>you</i>, at last!—<i>ain’t</i> it?” +</p><p> +I out with a “Yes’m” before I thought. +</p><p> +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 <i>so</i> glad to see you! Dear, dear, it +does seem like I could eat you up! Children, it’s +your cousin Tom!—tell him howdy.” +</p><p> +But they ducked their heads, and put their fingers +in their mouths, and hid behind her. So she run on: +</p><p> +“Lize, hurry up and get him a hot breakfast right +away—or did you get your breakfast on the boat?” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Now I can have a <i>good</i> 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?” +</p><p> +“Yes’m—she—” +</p><p> +“Don’t say yes’m—say Aunt Sally. Where’d she +get aground?” +</p><p> +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 up—from 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 on—or—Now I struck an idea, +and fetched it out: +</p><p> +“It warn’t the grounding—that didn’t keep us +back but a little. We blowed out a cylinder-head.” +</p><p> +“Good gracious! anybody hurt?” +</p><p> +“No’m. Killed a nigger.” +</p><p> +“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 <i>did</i> die. Mortification set in, +and they had to amputate him. But it didn’t save +him. Yes, it was mortification—that 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—” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Who’d you give the baggage to?” +</p><p> +“Nobody.” +</p><p> +“Why, child, it ’ll be stole!” +</p><p> +“Not where <i>I</i> hid it I reckon it won’t,” I says. +</p><p> +“How’d you get your breakfast so early on the +boat?” +</p><p> +It was kinder thin ice, but I says: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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 <i>everything</i>—tell 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.” +</p><p> +Well, I see I was up a stump—and 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 ahead—I’d <i>got</i> 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: +</p><p> +“Here he comes! Stick your head down lower—there, +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.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p>“Has he come?” +</p><p> +“No,” says her husband. +</p><p> +“Good-<i>ness</i> gracious!” she says, “what in the +world <i>can</i> have become of him?” +</p><p> +“I can’t imagine,” says the old gentleman; “and +I must say it makes me dreadful uneasy.” +</p><p> +“Uneasy!” she says; “I’m ready to go distracted! +He <i>must</i> ’a’ come; and you’ve missed him along the +road. I <i>know</i> it’s so—something <i>tells</i> me so.” +</p><p> +“Why, Sally, I <i>couldn’t</i> miss him along the road—<i>you</i> +know that.” +</p><p> +“But oh, dear, dear, what <i>will</i> Sis say! He must +’a’ come! You must ’a’ missed him. He—” +</p><p> +“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 <i>couldn’t</i> come and me miss +him. Sally, it’s terrible—just terrible—something’s +happened to the boat, sure!” +</p><p> +“Why, Silas! Look yonder!—up the road!—ain’t +that somebody coming?” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Why, who’s that?” +</p><p> +“Who do you reckon ’tis?” +</p><p> +“I hain’t no idea. Who <i>is</i> it?” +</p><p> +“It’s <i>Tom Sawyer!</i>” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 family—I mean the Sawyer family—than +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 <i>they</i> 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. +</p><p> +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? +</p><p> +Well, I couldn’t <i>have</i> 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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XXXIII"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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: +</p><p> +“I hain’t ever done you no harm. You know that. +So, then, what you want to come back and ha’nt <i>me</i> +for?” +</p><p> +I says: +</p><p> +“I hain’t come back—I hain’t been <i>gone</i>.” +</p><p> +When he heard my voice it righted him up some, +but he warn’t quite satisfied yet. He says: +</p><p> +“Don’t you play nothing on me, because I wouldn’t +on you. Honest injun, you ain’t a ghost?” +</p><p> +“Honest injun, I ain’t,” I says. +</p><p> +“Well—I—I—well, 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 <i>at all?</i>” +</p><p> +“No. I warn’t ever murdered at all—I played it +on them. You come in here and feel of me if you +don’t believe me.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +I says: +</p><p> +“All right; but wait a minute. There’s one more +thing—a thing that <i>nobody</i> 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 <i>Jim</i>—old Miss +Watson’s Jim.” +</p><p> +He says: +</p><p> +“What! Why, Jim is—” +</p><p> +He stopped and went to studying. I says: +</p><p> +“<i>I</i> know what you’ll say. You’ll say it’s dirty, +low-down business; but what if it is? <i>I</i>’m low down; +and I’m a-going to steal him, and I want you keep +mum and not let on. Will you?” +</p><p> +His eye lit up, and he says: +</p><p> +“I’ll <i>help</i> you steal him!” +</p><p> +Well, I let go all holts then, like I was shot. It +was the most astonishing speech I ever heard—and +I’m bound to say Tom Sawyer fell considerable in my +estimation. Only I couldn’t believe it. Tom Sawyer +a <i>nigger-stealer!</i> +</p><p> +“Oh, shucks!” I says; “you’re joking.” +</p><p> +“I ain’t joking, either.” +</p><p> +“Well, then,” I says, “joking or no joking, if +you hear anything said about a runaway nigger, +don’t forget to remember that <i>you</i> don’t know +nothing about him, and <i>I</i> don’t know nothing about +him.” +</p><p> +Then he 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: +</p><p> +“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 hair—not a +hair. It’s wonderful. Why, I wouldn’t take a hundred +dollars for that horse now—I wouldn’t, honest; +and yet I’d ’a’ sold her for fifteen before, and thought +’twas all she was worth.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +Everybody made a rush for the front door, because, +of course, a stranger don’t come <i>every</i> 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 audience—and +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: +</p><p> +“Mr. Archibald Nichols, I presume?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +Tom he took a look back over his shoulder, and +says, “Too late—he’s out of sight.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Oh, I <i>can’t</i> make you so much trouble; I couldn’t +think of it. I’ll walk—I don’t mind the distance.” +</p><p> +“But we won’t <i>let</i> you walk—it wouldn’t be +Southern hospitality to do it. Come right in.” +</p><p> +“Oh, <i>do</i>,” 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 <i>can’t</i> 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.” +</p><p> +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 Thompson—and +he made another bow. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“You owdacious puppy!” +</p><p> +He looked kind of hurt, and says: +</p><p> +“I’m surprised at you, m’am.” +</p><p> +“You’re s’rp—Why, what do you reckon <i>I</i> am? +I’ve a good notion to take and—Say, what do you +mean by kissing me?” +</p><p> +He looked kind of humble, and says: +</p><p> +“I didn’t mean nothing, m’am. I didn’t mean +no harm. I—I—thought you’d like it.” +</p><p> +“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?” +</p><p> +“Well, I don’t know. Only, they—they—told me you would.” +</p><p> +“<i>They</i> told you I would. Whoever told you’s +<i>another</i> lunatic. I never heard the beat of it. Who’s +<i>they?</i>” +</p><p> +“Why, everybody. They all said so, m’am.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Who’s ’everybody’? Out with their names, or +ther’ll be an idiot short.” +</p><p> +He got up and looked distressed, and fumbled his +hat, and says: +</p><p> +“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 it—every +one of them. But I’m sorry, m’am, and I won’t do +it no more—I won’t, honest.” +</p><p> +“You won’t, won’t you? Well, I sh’d <i>reckon</i> you +won’t!” +</p><p> +“No’m, I’m honest about it; I won’t ever do it +again—till you ask me.” +</p><p> +“Till I <i>ask</i> 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>I</i> ask you—or the +likes of you.” +</p><p> +“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 <i>you</i> think +she’d like me to kiss her, sir?” +</p><p> +“Why, no; I—I—well, no, I b’lieve I didn’t.” +</p><p> +Then he looks on around the same way to me, and +says: +</p><p> +“Tom, didn’t <i>you</i> think Aunt Sally ’d open out +her arms and say, ’Sid Sawyer—’” +</p><p> +“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: +</p><p> +“No, not till you’ve asked me first.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Why, dear me, I never see such a surprise. We +warn’t looking for <i>you</i> at all, but only Tom. Sis +never wrote to me about anybody coming but him.” +</p><p> +“It’s because it warn’t <i>intended</i> 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.” +</p><p> +“No—not 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 terms—I’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.” +</p><p> +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 families—and +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Pa, mayn’t Tom and Sid and me go to the show?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +So there it was!—but <i>I</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. +</p><p> +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 middle +of it—it was as much as half after eight then—here +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 rail—that is, +I knowed it <i>was</i> the king and the duke, though they +was all over tar and feathers, and didn’t look like +nothing in the world that was human—just 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 <i>can</i> be awful cruel to one another. +</p><p> +We see we was too late—couldn’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. +</p><p> +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, somehow—though <i>I</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 <i>anyway.</i> 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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XXXIV"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +We stopped talking, and got to thinking. By +and by Tom says: +</p><p> +“Looky here, Huck, what fools we are to not +think of it before! I bet I know where Jim is.” +</p><p> +“No! Where?” +</p><p> +“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?” +</p><p> +“Yes.” +</p><p> +“What did you think the vittles was for?” +</p><p> +“For a dog.” +</p><p> +“So ’d I. Well, it wasn’t for a dog.” +</p><p> +“Why?” +</p><p> +“Because part of it was watermelon.” +</p><p> +“So it was—I 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.” +</p><p> +“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 table—same 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 right—I’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.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Ready?” +</p><p> +“Yes,” I says. +</p><p> +“All right—bring it out.” +</p><p> +“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?” +</p><p> +“<i>Work?</i> Why, cert’nly it would work, like rats +a-fighting. But it’s too blame’ simple; there ain’t +nothing <i>to</i> 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.” +</p><p> +I never said nothing, because I warn’t expecting +nothing different; but I knowed mighty well that +whenever he got <i>his</i> plan ready it wouldn’t have none +of them objections to it. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 <i>couldn’t</i> 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 <i>did</i> start to tell him; but he shut me +up, and says: +</p><p> +“Don’t you reckon I know what I’m about? Don’t +I generly know what I’m about?” +</p><p> +“Yes.” +</p><p> +“Didn’t I <i>say</i> I was going to help steal the nigger?” +</p><p> +“Yes.” +</p><p> +“<i>Well</i>, then.” +</p><p> +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>I</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>I</i> couldn’t help it. +</p><p> +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 +with—which was the north side—we found +a square window-hole, up tolerable high, with just +one stout board nailed across it. I says: +</p><p> +“Here’s the ticket. This hole’s big enough for Jim +to get through if we wrench off the board.” +</p><p> +Tom says: +</p><p> +“It’s as simple as tit-tat-toe, three-in-a-row, and +as easy as playing hooky. I should <i>hope</i> we can find +a way that’s a little more complicated than <i>that</i>, +Huck Finn.” +</p><p> +“Well, then,” I says, “how’ll it do to saw him +out, the way I done before I was murdered that +time?” +</p><p> +“That’s more <i>like</i>,” 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.” +</p><p> +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 narrow—only 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: +</p><p> +“Now we’re all right. We’ll <i>dig</i> him out. It ’ll +take about a week!” +</p><p> +Then we started for the house, and I went in the +back door—you only have to pull a buckskin latch-string, +they don’t fasten the doors—but 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. +</p><p> +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 Jim—if it <i>was</i> 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“What’s the vittles for? Going to feed the dogs?” +</p><p> +The nigger kind of smiled around graduly over his +face, like when you heave a brickbat in a mud-puddle, +and he says: +</p><p> +“Yes, Mars Sid, <i>a</i> dog. Cur’us dog, too. Does +you want to go en look at ’im?” +</p><p> +“Yes.” +</p><p> +I hunched Tom, and whispers: +</p><p> +“You going, right here in the daybreak? <i>That</i> +warn’t the plan.” +</p><p> +“No, it warn’t; but it’s the plan <i>now.</i>” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Why, <i>Huck!</i> En good <i>lan’!</i> ain’ dat Misto Tom?” +</p><p> +I just knowed how it would be; I just expected it. +<i>I</i> didn’t know nothing to do; and if I had I couldn’t +’a’ done it, because that nigger busted in and says: +</p><p> +“Why, de gracious sakes! do he know you genlmen?” +</p><p> +We could see pretty well now. Tom he looked at +the nigger, steady and kind of wondering, and says: +</p><p> +“Does <i>who</i> know us?” +</p><p> +“Why, dis-yer runaway nigger.” +</p><p> +“I don’t reckon he does; but what put that into +your head?” +</p><p> +“What <i>put</i> it dar? Didn’ he jis’ dis minute sing +out like he knowed you?” +</p><p> +Tom says, in a puzzled-up kind of way: +</p><p> +“Well, that’s mighty curious. <i>Who</i> sung out? +<i>When</i> did he sing out? <i>What</i> did he sing out?” And +turns to me, perfectly ca’m, and says, “Did <i>you</i> +hear anybody sing out?” +</p><p> +Of course there warn’t nothing to be said but the +one thing; so I says: +</p><p> +“No; <i>I</i> ain’t heard nobody say nothing.” +</p><p> +Then he turns to Jim, and looks him over like he +never see him before, and says: +</p><p> +“Did you sing out?” +</p><p> +“No, sah,” says Jim; “<i>I</i> hain’t said nothing, sah.” +</p><p> +“Not a word?” +</p><p> +“No, sah, I hain’t said a word.” +</p><p> +“Did you ever see us before?” +</p><p> +“No, sah; not as <i>I</i> knows on.” +</p><p> +So Tom turns to the nigger, which was looking +wild and distressed, and says, kind of severe: +</p><p> +“What do you reckon’s the matter with you, anyway? +What made you think somebody sung out?” +</p><p> +“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 <i>ain’t</i> no witches. I jis’ wish to goodness +he was heah now—<i>den</i> what would he say! I +jis’ bet he couldn’ fine no way to git aroun’ it <i>dis</i> +time. But it’s awluz jis’ so; people dat’s <i>sot</i>, stays +sot; dey won’t look into noth’n’ en fine it out f’r deyselves, +en when <i>you</i> fine it out en tell um ’bout it, +dey doan’ b’lieve you.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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>I</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: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XXXV"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XXXV</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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 <i>some</i> 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: +</p><p> +“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 drugged—now there <i>ought</i> 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 <i>all</i> +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 thing—there’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 <i>let on</i> that a lantern’s resky. Why, we +could work with a torchlight procession if we wanted +to, <i>I</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.” +</p><p> +“What do we want of a saw?” +</p><p> +“What do we <i>want</i> of a saw? Hain’t we got to +saw the leg of Jim’s bed off, so as to get the chain +loose?” +</p><p> +“Why, you just said a body could lift up the bedstead +and slip the chain off.” +</p><p> +“Well, if that ain’t just like you, Huck Finn. You +<i>can</i> 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 its +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 moat—because a rope ladder is nineteen foot too +short, you know—and 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.” +</p><p> +I says: +</p><p> +“What do we want of a moat when we’re going to +snake him out from under the cabin?” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“No, it wouldn’t do—there ain’t necessity enough +for it.” +</p><p> +“For what?” I says. +</p><p> +“Why, to saw Jim’s leg off,” he says. +</p><p> +“Good land!” I says; “why, there ain’t <i>no</i> necessity +for it. And what would you want to saw his leg +off for, anyway?” +</p><p> +“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 thing—he 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.” +</p><p> +“Why, Tom Sawyer, how you talk,” I says; “Jim +ain’t got no use for a rope ladder.” +</p><p> +“He <i>has</i> got use for it. How <i>you</i> talk, you better +say; you don’t know nothing about it. He’s <i>got</i> to +have a rope ladder; they all do.” +</p><p> +“What in the nation can he <i>do</i> with it?” +</p><p> +“<i>Do</i> with it? He can hide it in his bed, can’t he? +That’s what they all do; and <i>he’s</i> 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 <i>don’t</i> do nothing with +it? ain’t it there in his bed, for a clue, after he’s +gone? and don’t you reckon they’ll want clues? Of +course they will. And you wouldn’t leave them +any? That would be a <i>pretty</i> howdy-do, <i>wouldn’t</i> it! +I never heard of such a thing.” +</p><p> +“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 Sawyer—if 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 <i>he</i> don’t care +what kind of a—” +</p><p> +“Oh, shucks, Huck Finn, if I was as ignorant as +you I’d keep still—that’s what <i>I’d</i> do. Who ever +heard of a state prisoner escaping by a hickry-bark +ladder? Why, it’s perfectly ridiculous.” +</p><p> +“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 clothes-line.” +</p><p> +He said that would do. And that gave him another +idea, and he says: +</p><p> +“Borrow a shirt, too.” +</p><p>“What do we want of a shirt, Tom?” +</p><p>“Want it for Jim to keep a journal on.” +</p><p>“Journal your granny—<i>Jim</i> can’t write.” +</p><p>“S’pose he <i>can’t</i> write—he 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?” +</p><p> +“Why, Tom, we can pull a feather out of a goose +and make him a better one; and quicker, too.” +</p><p> +“<i>Prisoners</i> don’t have geese running around the +donjon-keep to pull pens out of, you muggins. They +<i>always</i> 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. <i>They</i> wouldn’t use a goose-quill +if they had it. It ain’t regular.” +</p><p> +“Well, then, what ’ll we make him the ink out of?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Jim ain’t got no tin plates. They feed him in a +pan.” +</p><p> +“That ain’t nothing; we can get him some.” +</p><p> +“Can’t nobody <i>read</i> his plates.” +</p><p> +“That ain’t got anything to <i>do</i> with it, Huck Finn. +All <i>he’s</i> got to do is to write on the plate and throw +it out. You don’t <i>have</i> 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.” +</p><p> +“Well, then, what’s the sense in wasting the +plates?” +</p><p> +“Why, blame it all, it ain’t the <i>prisoner’s</i> plates.” +</p><p> +“But it’s <i>somebody’s</i> plates, ain’t it?” +</p><p> +“Well, spos’n it is? What does the <i>prisoner</i> care +whose—” +</p><p> +He broke off there, because we heard the breakfast-horn +blowing. So we cleared out for the house. +</p><p> +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 <i>needed.</i> 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Everything’s all right now except tools; and +that’s easy fixed.” +</p><p> +“Tools?” I says. +</p><p> +“Yes.” +</p><p> +“Tools for what?” +</p><p> +“Why, to dig with. We ain’t a-going to <i>gnaw</i> him +out, are we?” +</p><p> +“Ain’t them old crippled picks and things in there +good enough to dig a nigger out with?” I says. +</p><p> +He turns on me, looking pitying enough to make a +body cry, and says: +</p><p> +“Huck Finn, did you <i>ever</i> 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 you—if you got any reasonableness in you at all—what +kind of a show would <i>that</i> give him to be a +hero? Why, they might as well lend him the key and +done with it. Picks and shovels—why, they wouldn’t +furnish ’em to a king.” +</p><p> +“Well, then,” I says, “if we don’t want the picks +and shovels, what do we want?” +</p><p> +“A couple of case-knives.” +</p><p> +“To dig the foundations out from under that cabin +with?” +</p><p> +“Yes.” +</p><p> +“Confound it, it’s foolish, Tom.” +</p><p> +“It don’t make no difference how foolish it is, it’s +the <i>right</i> way—and it’s the regular way. And there +ain’t no <i>other</i> way, that ever <i>I</i> heard of, and I’ve read +all the books that gives any information about these +things. They always dig out with a case-knife—and +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 <i>he</i> at it, you reckon?” +</p><p> +“I don’t know.” +</p><p> +“Well, guess.” +</p><p> +“I don’t know. A month and a half.” +</p><p> +“<i>Thirty-seven year</i>—and he come out in China. +<i>That’s</i> the kind. I wish the bottom of <i>this</i> fortress +was solid rock.” +</p><p> +“<i>Jim</i> don’t know nobody in China.” +</p><p> +“What’s <i>that</i> 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?” +</p><p> +“All right—<i>I</i> don’t care where he comes out, so he +<i>comes</i> out; and Jim don’t, either, I reckon. But +there’s one thing, anyway—Jim’s too old to be dug +out with a case-knife. He won’t last.” +</p><p> +“Yes he will <i>last</i>, too. You don’t reckon it’s going +to take thirty-seven years to dig out through a <i>dirt</i> +foundation, do you?” +</p><p> +“How long will it take, Tom?” +</p><p> +“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 <i>let on</i>, 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.” +</p><p> +“Now, there’s <i>sense</i> 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.” +</p><p> +“Smouch three,” he says; “we want one to make +a saw out of.” +</p><p> +“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 smokehouse.” +</p><p> +He looked kind of weary and discouraged-like, and +says: +</p><p> +“It ain’t no use to try to learn you nothing, Huck. +Run along and smouch the knives—three of them.” +So I done it. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XXXVI"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XXXVI</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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 we +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 counterpin 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: +</p><p> +“This ain’t no thirty-seven-year job; this is a +thirty-eight-year job, Tom Sawyer.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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 <i>we</i> 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 well—couldn’t +touch a case-knife with them sooner.” +</p><p> +“Well, then, what we going to do, Tom?” +</p><p> +“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 <i>let on</i> it’s case-knives.” +</p><p> +“<i>Now</i> you’re <i>talking!</i>” 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.” +</p><p> +“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 broke—because 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 <i>you</i> to dig Jim out with a pick, <i>without</i> +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.” +</p><p> +He had his own by him, but I handed him mine. +He flung it down, and says: +</p><p> +“Gimme a <i>case-knife.</i>” +</p><p> +I didn’t know just what to do—but then I thought. +I scratched around amongst the old tools, and got +a pickax and give it to him, and he took it and +went to work, and never said a word. +</p><p> +He was always just that particular. Full of principle. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“It ain’t no use, it can’t be done. What you +reckon I better do? Can’t you think of no way?” +</p><p> +“Yes,” I says, “but I reckon it ain’t regular. +Come up the stairs, and let on it’s a lightning-rod.” +</p><p> +So he done it. +</p><p> +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-hole—then we +could tote them back and he could use them over +again. So Tom was satisfied. Then he says: +</p><p> +“Now, the thing to study out is, how to get the +things to Jim.” +</p><p> +“Take them in through the hole,” I says, “when +we get it done.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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, <i>sure</i>. 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: +</p><p> +“<i>Now</i> I know how to fix it. We’ll send you some +things by them.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 onto 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: +</p><p> +“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 <i>felt</i> um—I <i>felt</i> 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’ wunst—on’y +jis’ wunst—it’s all <i>I</i>’d ast. But mos’ly I +wisht dey’d lemme ’lone, I does.” +</p><p> +Tom says: +</p><p> +“Well, I tell you what <i>I</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 <i>you</i> to do.” +</p><p> +“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’.” +</p><p> +“Well, then, I’ll have to make it myself.” +</p><p> +“Will you do it, honey?—will you? I’ll wusshup +de groun’ und’ yo’ foot, I will!” +</p> +<p><br /><br /> +<a name="pie"></a></p> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/pie.jpg" alt="TOM ADVISES A WITCH PIE" /></p> +<p class="pg1">TOM ADVISES A WITCH PIE</p> +<p><br /><br /></p> +<p> +“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 pan—something +might happen, I don’t know what. +And above all, don’t you <i>handle</i> the witch-things.” +</p><p> +“<i>Hannel</i> ’m, Mars Sid? What <i>is</i> 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.” +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XXXVII"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XXXVII</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +<i>That</i> 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“I’ve hunted high and I’ve hunted low, and it +does beat all what <i>has</i> become of your other shirt.” +</p><p> +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 war-whoop, 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 again—it was the sudden surprise of it that +knocked us so kind of cold. Uncle Silas he says: +</p><p> +“It’s most uncommon curious, I can’t understand +it. I know perfectly well I took it <i>off</i>, because—” +</p><p> +“Because you hain’t got but one <i>on</i>. Just <i>listen</i> +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 yesterday—I 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 <i>do</i> with ’m all is +more’n I can make out. A body’d think you <i>would</i> +learn to take some sort of care of ’em at your time +of life.” +</p><p> +“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 <i>off</i> of me.” +</p><p> +“Well, it ain’t <i>your</i> 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 <i>that</i> 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, <i>that’s</i> certain.” +</p><p> +“Why, what else is gone, Sally?” +</p><p> +“Ther’s six <i>candles</i> gone—that’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, Silas—<i>you’d</i> never find it out; but you +can’t lay the <i>spoon</i> on the rats, and that I <i>know</i>.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Oh, I wouldn’t hurry; next year ’ll do. Matilda +Angelina Araminta <i>Phelps!</i>” +</p><p> +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 onto +the passage, and says: +</p><p> +“Missus, dey’s a sheet gone.” +</p><p> +“A <i>sheet</i> gone! Well, for the land’s sake!” +</p><p> +“I’ll stop up them holes to-day,” says Uncle Silas, +looking sorrowful. +</p><p> +“Oh, <i>do</i> shet up!—s’pose the rats took the <i>sheet?</i> +<i>Where’s</i> it gone, Lize?” +</p><p> +“Clah to goodness I hain’t no notion, Miss’ Sally. +She wuz on de clo’s-line yistiddy, but she done gone: +she ain’ dah no mo’ now.” +</p><p> +“I reckon the world <i>is</i> coming to an end. I <i>never</i> +see the beat of it in all my born days. A shirt, and +a sheet, and a spoon, and six can—” +</p><p> +“Missus,” comes a young yaller wench, “dey’s a +brass cannelstick miss’n.” +</p><p> +“Cler out from here, you hussy, er I’ll take a +skillet to ye!” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“It’s <i>just</i> 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?” +</p><p> +“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—” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +<i>I’d</i> ’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: +</p><p> +“Well, it ain’t no use to send things by <i>him</i> 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 <i>him</i> knowing it—stop up his rat-holes.” +</p><p> +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 ship-shape. 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: +</p><p> +“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 mind—let +it go. I reckon it wouldn’t do no good.” +</p><p> +And so he went on a-mumbling up-stairs, and then +we left. He was a mighty nice old man. And +always is. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Why, Aunt Sally, there ain’t but nine spoons +<i>yet</i>.” +</p><p> +She says: +</p><p> +“Go ’long to your play, and don’t bother me. I +know better, I counted ’m myself.” +</p><p> +“Well, I’ve counted them twice, Aunty, and <i>I</i> +can’t make but nine.” +</p><p> +She looked out of all patience, but of course she +come to count—anybody would. +</p><p> +“I declare to gracious ther’ <i>ain’t</i> but nine!” she +says. “Why, what in the world—plague <i>take</i> the +things, I’ll count ’m again.” +</p><p> +So I slipped back the one I had, and when she got +done counting, she says: +</p><p> +“Hang the troublesome rubbage, ther’s <i>ten</i> now!” +and she looked huffy and bothered both. But Tom +says: +</p><p> +“Why, Aunty, <i>I</i> don’t think there’s ten.” +</p><p> +“You numskull, didn’t you see me <i>count</i> ’m?” +</p><p> +“I know, but—” +</p><p> +“Well, I’ll count ’m again.” +</p><p> +So I smouched one, and they come out nine, same +as the other time. Well, she <i>was</i> in a tearing way—just +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 <i>basket</i> 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 cler 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 <i>now</i> +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 <i>did</i>; 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. +</p><p> +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 <i>care</i>, 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 washpans 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 last—which 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 washpan—afraid +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 +<i>Mayflower</i> 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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XXXVIII"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XXXVIII</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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 <i>got</i> to; +there warn’t no case of a state prisoner not scrabbling +his inscription to leave behind, and his coat of arms. +</p><p> +“Look at Lady Jane Grey,” he says; “look at +Gilford Dudley; look at old Northumberland! Why, +Huck, s’pose it <i>is</i> considerble trouble?—what you +going to do?—how you going to get around it? +Jim’s <i>got</i> to do his inscription and coat of arms. +They all do.” +</p><p> +Jim says: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Oh, you don’t understand, Jim; a coat of arms +is very different.” +</p><p> +“Well,” I says, “Jim’s right, anyway, when he says +he ain’t got no coat of arms, because he hain’t.” +</p><p> +“I reckon <i>I</i> knowed that,” Tom says, “but you +bet he’ll have one before he goes out of this—because +he’s going out <i>right</i>, and there ain’t going +to be no flaws in his record.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“On the scutcheon we’ll have a bend <i>or</i> in the +dexter base, a saltire <i>murrey</i> in the fess, with a dog, +couchant, for common charge, and under his foot a +chain embattled, for slavery, with a chevron <i>vert</i> in +a chief engrailed, and three invected lines on a field +<i>azure</i>, with the nombril points rampant on a dancette +indented; crest, a runaway nigger, <i>sable</i>, with his +bundle over his shoulder on a bar sinister; and a +couple of gules for supporters, which is you and +me; motto, <i>Maggiore fretta, minore atto</i>. Got it out +of a book—means the more haste the less speed.” +</p><p> +“Geewhillikins,” I says, “but what does the rest +of it mean?” +</p><p> +“We ain’t got no time to bother over that,” he +says; “we got to dig in like all git-out.” +</p><p> +“Well, anyway,” I says, “what’s <i>some</i> of it? +What’s a fess?” +</p><p> +“A fess—a fess is—<i>you</i> don’t need to know what +a fess is. I’ll show him how to make it when he gets +to it.” +</p><p> +“Shucks, Tom,” I says, “I think you might tell +a person. What’s a bar sinister?” +</p><p> +“Oh, <i>I</i> don’t know. But he’s got to have it. +All the nobility does.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p>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 +inscription—said 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: +</p> +<blockquote><div> + <i>1. Here a captive heart busted.<br /> +<br /> + 2. Here a poor prisoner, forsook by the world and + friends, fretted his sorrowful life.<br /> +<br /> + 3. Here a lonely heart broke, and a worn spirit went + to its rest, after thirty-seven years of solitary captivity.<br /> +<br /> + 4. Here, homeless and friendless, after thirty-seven + years of bitter captivity, perished a noble stranger, + natural son of Louis XIV.</i><br /> +</div></blockquote> +<p> +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 onto 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 onto 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: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p>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: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“You got any spiders in here, Jim?” +</p><p> +“No, sah, thanks to goodness I hain’t, Mars Tom.” +</p><p> +“All right, we’ll get you some.” +</p><p> +“But bless you, honey, I doan’ <i>want</i> none. I’s +afeard un um. I jis’ ’s soon have rattlesnakes aroun’.” +</p><p> +Tom thought a minute or two, and says: +</p><p> +“It’s a good idea. And I reckon it’s been done. +It <i>must</i> ’a’ been done; it stands to reason. Yes, it’s +a prime good idea. Where could you keep it?” +</p><p> +“Keep what, Mars Tom?” +</p><p> +“Why, a rattlesnake.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Why, Jim, you wouldn’t be afraid of it after a +little. You could tame it.” +</p><p> +“<i>Tame</i> it!” +</p><p> +“Yes—easy enough. Every animal is grateful for +kindness and petting, and they wouldn’t <i>think</i> of +hurting a person that pets them. Any book will tell +you that. You try—that’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.” +</p><p> +“<i>Please</i>, Tom—<i>doan</i>’ talk so! I can’t <i>stan’</i> +it! He’d <i>let</i> me shove his head in my mouf—fer a +favor, hain’t it? I lay he’d wait a pow’ful long time +’fo’ I <i>ast</i> him. En mo’ en dat, I doan’ <i>want</i> him to +sleep wid me.” +</p><p> +“Jim, don’t act so foolish. A prisoner’s <i>got</i> 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.” +</p><p> +“Why, Mars Tom, I doan’ <i>want</i> no sich glory. +Snake take ’n bite Jim’s chin off, den <i>whah</i> is de +glory? No, sah, I doan’ want no sich doin’s.” +</p><p> +“Blame it, can’t you <i>try?</i> I only <i>want</i> you to try—you +needn’t keep it up if it don’t work.” +</p><p> +“But de trouble all <i>done</i> 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 <i>leave</i>, dat’s <i>shore</i>.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“I k’n stan’ <i>dem</i>, Mars Tom, but blame’ ’f I +couldn’ get along widout um, I tell you dat. I +never knowed b’fo’ ’twas so much bother and trouble +to be a prisoner.” +</p><p> +“Well, it <i>always</i> is when it’s done right. You got +any rats around here?” +</p><p> +“No, sah, I hain’t seed none.” +</p><p> +“Well, we’ll get you some rats.” +</p><p> +“Why, Mars Tom, I doan’ <i>want</i> 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.” +</p><p> +“But, Jim, you <i>got</i> to have ’em—they 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?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Yes they would. <i>They</i> don’t care what kind of +music ’tis. A jews-harp’s plenty good enough for a +rat. All animals like music—in a prison they dote +on it. Specially, painful music; and you can’t get +no other kind out of a jew’s-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 jew’s-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.” +</p><p> +“Yes, <i>dey</i> will, I reck’n, Mars Tom, but what kine +er time is <i>Jim</i> 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.” +</p><p> +Tom waited to think it over, and see if there +wasn’t nothing else; and pretty soon he says: +</p><p> +“Oh, there’s one thing I forgot. Could you raise +a flower here, do you reckon?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“Well, you try it, anyway. Some other prisoners +has done it.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“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 Pitchiola—that’s +its right name when it’s in a prison. And you +want to water it with your tears.” +</p><p> +“Why, I got plenty spring water, Mars Tom.” +</p><p> +“You don’t <i>want</i> spring water; you want to water +it with your tears. It’s the way they always do.” +</p><p> +“Why, Mars Tom, I lay I kin raise one er dem +mullen-stalks twyste wid spring water whiles another +man’s a <i>start’n</i> one wid tears.” +</p><p> +“That ain’t the idea. You <i>got</i> to do it with tears.” +</p><p> +“She’ll die on my han’s, Mars Tom, she sholy +will; kase I doan’ skasely ever cry.” +</p><p> +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 jew’s-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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XXXIX"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XXXIX</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +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 back—we 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. +</p><p> +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 <i>they</i> 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. +</p><p> +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 line 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. +</p><p> +“What’s them?” I says. +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +“But looky here, Tom, what do we want to <i>warn</i> +anybody for that something’s up? Let them find it +out for themselves—it’s their lookout.” +</p><p> +“Yes, I know; but you can’t depend on them. +It’s the way they’ve acted from the very start—left +us to do <i>everything</i>. They’re so confiding and mullet-headed +they don’t take notice of nothing at all. So +if we don’t <i>give</i> 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 nothing—won’t be nothing +<i>to</i> it.” +</p><p> +“Well, as for me, Tom, that’s the way I’d like.” +</p><p> +“Shucks!” he says, and looked disgusted. So I says: +</p><p> +“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?” +</p><p> +“You’ll be her. You slide in, in the middle of +the night, and hook that yaller girl’s frock.” +</p><p> +“Why, Tom, that ’ll make trouble next morning; +because, of course, she prob’bly hain’t got any but +that one.” +</p><p> +“I know; but you don’t want it but fifteen minutes, +to carry the nonnamous letter and shove it +under the front door.” +</p><p> +“All right, then, I’ll do it; but I could carry it just +as handy in my own togs.” +</p><p> +“You wouldn’t look like a servant-girl <i>then</i>, would +you?” +</p><p> +“No, but there won’t be nobody to see what I +look like, <i>anyway</i>.” +</p><p> +“That ain’t got nothing to do with it. The thing +for us to do is just to do our <i>duty</i>, and not worry + about whether anybody <i>sees</i> us do it or not. Hain’t +you got no principle at all?” +</p><p> +“All right, I ain’t saying nothing; I’m the servant-girl. +Who’s Jim’s mother?” +</p><p> +“I’m his mother. I’ll hook a gown from Aunt +Sally.” +</p><p> +“Well, then, you’ll have to stay in the cabin when +me and Jim leaves.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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:</p> +<blockquote><div> + <i>Beware. Trouble is brewing. Keep a sharp lookout.<br /> + U<small>NKNOWN</small> F<small>RIEND.</small></i> +</div></blockquote> +<p> +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 +no way and be satisfied, because she allowed there was +something behind her every time—so 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +<i>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 BA 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.</i> +</p><p> +<i>U<small>NKNOWN</small> F<small>RIEND.</small></i> +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XL"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XL</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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 cubboard 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: +</p><p> +“Where’s the butter?” +</p><p> +“I laid out a hunk of it,” I says, “on a piece of a +corn-pone.” +</p><p> +“Well, you <i>left</i> it laid out, then—it ain’t here.” +</p><p> +“We can get along without it,” I says. +</p><p> +“We can get along <i>with</i> 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 <i>ba</i> like a +sheep and shove soon as you get there.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“You been down cellar?” +</p><p> +“Yes’m.” +</p><p> +“What you been doing down there?” +</p><p> +“Noth’n.” +</p><p> +“<i>Noth’n!</i>” +</p><p> +“No’m.” +</p><p> +“Well, then, what possessed you to go down there +this time of night?” +</p><p> +“I don’t know ’m.” +</p><p> +“You don’t <i>know?</i> Don’t answer me that way. +Tom, I want to know what you been <i>doing</i> down +there.” +</p><p> +“I hain’t been doing a single thing, Aunt Sally, +I hope to gracious if I have.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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>I’m</i> done with you.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +At last she come and begun to ask me questions, +but I <i>couldn’t</i> 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 <i>now</i> 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>I’m</i> for going and getting in the cabin <i>first</i> and +right <i>now</i>, 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: +</p><p> +“For the land’s sake, what <i>is</i> the matter with the +child? He’s got the brain-fever as shore as you’re +born, and they’re oozing out!” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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 if—Dear, dear, whyd’nt you <i>tell</i> me that was +what you’d been down there for, <i>I</i> wouldn’t ’a’ cared. +Now cler out to bed, and don’t lemme see no more +of you till morning!” +</p><p> +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 lose—the +house full of men, yonder, with guns! +</p><p> +His eyes just blazed; and he says: +</p><p> +“No!—is that so? <i>Ain’t</i> 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—” +</p><p> +“Hurry! <i>hurry!</i>” I says. “Where’s Jim?” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +But then we heard the tramp of men coming to +the door, and heard them begin to fumble with the +padlock, and heard a man say: +</p><p> +“I <i>told</i> you we’d be too soon; they haven’t come—the +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.” +</p><p> +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 soft—Jim 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: +</p><p> +“Who’s that? Answer, or I’ll shoot!” +</p><p> +But we didn’t answer; we just unfurled our heels +and shoved. Then there was a rush, and a <i>bang</i>, +<i>bang</i>, <i>bang!</i> and the bullets fairly whizzed around us! +We heard them sing out: +</p><p> +“Here they are! They’ve broke for the river! +After ’em, boys, and turn loose the dogs!” +</p><p> +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 onto 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 onto the raft I says: +</p><p> +“<i>Now</i>, old Jim, you’re a free man <i>again</i>, and I +bet you won’t ever be a slave no more.” +</p><p> +“En a mighty good job it wuz, too, Huck. It ’uz +planned beautiful, en it ’uz <i>done</i> beautiful; en dey +ain’t <i>nobody</i> kin git up a plan dat’s mo’ mixed up +en splendid den what dat one wuz.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +When me and Jim heard that we didn’t feel as +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: +</p><p> +“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 <i>we’d</i> ’a’ had the handling of Louis XVI., there +wouldn’t ’a’ been no ‘Son of Saint Louis, ascend to +heaven!’ wrote down in <i>his</i> biography; no, sir, we’d +’a’ whooped him over the <i>border</i>—that’s what we’d +’a’ done with <i>him</i>—and done it just as slick as +nothing at all, too. Man the sweeps—man the +sweeps!” +</p><p> +</p><p> +But me and Jim was consulting—and thinking. +And after we’d thought a minute, I says: +</p><p> +“Say it, Jim.” +</p><p> +So he says: +</p><p> +“Well, den, dis is de way it look to me, Huck. +Ef it wuz <i>him</i> 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 <i>bet</i> he wouldn’t! <i>Well</i>, den, is <i>Jim</i> gywne to +say it? No, sah—I doan’ budge a step out’n dis +place ’dout a <i>doctor</i>; not if it’s forty year!” +</p><p> +I knowed he was white inside, and I reckoned he’d +say what he did say—so 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. +</p><p> +So when he sees me getting the canoe ready, he +says: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XLI"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XLI</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +“Who is your folks?” he says. +</p><p> +“The Phelpses, down yonder.” +</p><p> +“Oh,” he says. And after a minute, he says: +</p><p> +“How’d you say he got shot?” +</p><p> +“He had a dream,” I says, “and it shot him.” +</p><p> +“Singular dream,” he says. +</p><p> +So he lit up his lantern, and got his saddle-bags, +and we started. But when he see the canoe he +didn’t like the look of her—said she was big enough +for one, but didn’t look pretty safe for two. I says: +</p><p> +“Oh, you needn’t be afeard, sir, she carried the +three of us easy enough.” +</p><p> +“What three?” +</p><p> +“Why, me and Sid, and—and—and <i>the guns</i>; +that’s what I mean.” +</p><p> +“Oh,” he says. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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>I’ll</i> 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Why, <i>Tom!</i> Where you been all this time, you +rascal?” +</p><p> +“<i>I</i> hain’t been nowheres,” I says, “only just +hunting for the runaway nigger—me and Sid.” +</p><p> +“Why, where ever did you go?” he says. “Your +aunt’s been mighty uneasy.” +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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 around—but 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Well, Sister Phelps, I’ve ransacked that-air +cabin over, an’ I b’lieve the nigger was crazy. I +says to Sister Damrell—didn’t I, Sister Damrell?—s’I, +he’s crazy, s’I—them’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 +<i>me’t</i> 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 +that—natcherl 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 time—the nigger’s +crazy—crazy ’s Nebokoodneezer, s’I.” +</p><p> +“An’ look at that-air ladder made out’n rags, +Sister Hotchkiss,” says old Mrs. Damrell; “what in +the name o’ goodness <i>could</i> he ever want of—” +</p><p> +“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, <i>look</i> at it, s’I—what <i>could</i> he +’a’ wanted of it, s’I. Sh-she, Sister Hotchkiss, +sh-she—” +</p><p> +“But how in the nation’d they ever <i>git</i> that +grindstone <i>in</i> there, <i>anyway?</i> ’n’ who dug that-air +<i>hole?</i> ’n’ who—” +</p><p> +“My very <i>words</i>, 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 <i>did</i> +they git that grindstone in there? s’I. Without <i>help</i>, + mind you—’thout <i>help! Thar’s</i> where ’tis. Don’t +tell <i>me</i>, s’I; there <i>wuz</i> help, s’I; ’n’ ther’ wuz a <i>plenty</i> +help, too, s’I; ther’s ben a <i>dozen</i> a-helpin’ that nigger, +’n’ I lay I’d skin every last nigger on this place but +<i>I’d</i> find out who done it, s’I; ’n’ moreover, s’I—” +</p><p> +“A <i>dozen</i> says you!—<i>forty</i> couldn’t ’a’ done everything +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—” +</p><p> +“You may <i>well</i> say it, Brer Hightower! It’s jist +as I was a-sayin’ to Brer Phelps, his own self. S’e, +what do <i>you</i> 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? <i>Think</i> of it? s’I. I lay +it never sawed <i>itself</i> off, s’I—somebody <i>sawed</i> 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 anybody k’n start a better one, s’I, let him <i>do</i> +it, s’I, that’s all. I says to Sister Dunlap, s’I—” +</p><p> +“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 +shirt—every 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—” +</p><p> +“People to <i>help</i> him, Brother Marples! Well, I +reckon you’d <i>think</i> so if you’d ’a’ been in this house +for a while back. Why, they’ve stole everything +they could lay their hands on—and 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 <i>didn’t</i> 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 <i>and</i> +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 <i>us</i> but the Injun Territory +robbers too, and actuly gets <i>away</i> 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 <i>heard</i> of. +Why, <i>sperits</i> couldn’t ’a’ done better and been no +smarter. And I reckon they must ’a’ <i>been</i> sperits—because, +because, <i>you</i> know our dogs, and ther’ ain’t no better; +well, them dogs never even got on the <i>track</i> of ’m once! +You explain <i>that</i> to me if you can!—<i>any</i> of you!” +</p><p> +“Well, it does beat—” +</p><p> +“Laws alive, I never—” +</p><p> +“So help me, I wouldn’t ’a’ be—” +</p><p> +“<i>House</i>-thieves as well as—” +</p><p> +“Goodnessgracioussakes, I’d ’a’ ben afeard to <i>live</i> +in sich a—” +</p><p> +“’Fraid to <i>live!</i>—why, I was that scared I dasn’t +hardly go to bed, or get up, or lay down, or <i>set</i> +down, Sister Ridgeway. Why, they’d steal the very—why, + goodness sakes, you can guess what kind of +a fluster <i>I</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 <i>now</i>, 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 <i>did</i>. 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>I</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 me—I got up and took a walk. +</p><p> +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 <i>that</i> 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: +</p><p> +“Why, lawsamercy, it’s most night, and Sid not +come yet! What <i>has</i> become of that boy?” +</p><p> +I see my chance; so I skips up and says: +</p><p> +“I’ll run right up to town and get him,” I says. +</p><p> +“No you won’t,” she says. “You’ll stay right +wher’ you are; <i>one’s</i> enough to be lost at a time. If +he ain’t here to supper, your uncle ’ll go.” +</p><p> +Well, he warn’t there to supper; so right after +supper uncle went. +</p><p> +He come back about ten a little bit uneasy; hadn’t +run across Tom’s track. Aunt Sally was a good <i>deal</i> +uneasy; but Uncle Silas he said there warn’t no +occasion to be—boys 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 awhile anyway, and keep a light +burning so he could see it. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“The door ain’t going to be locked, Tom, and +there’s the window and the rod; but you’ll be good, +<i>won’t</i> you? And you won’t go? For <i>my</i> sake.” +</p><p> +Laws knows I <i>wanted</i> 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_XLII"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER XLII</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +The old man was up-town 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: +</p><p> +“Did I give you the letter?” +</p><p> +“What letter?” +</p><p> +“The one I got yesterday out of the post-office.” +</p><p> +“No, you didn’t give me no letter.” +</p><p> +“Well, I must ’a’ forgot it.” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Why, it’s from St. Petersburg—it’s from Sis.” +</p><p> +I allowed another walk would do me good; but I +couldn’t stir. But before she could break it open +she dropped it and run—for she see something. And +so did I. It was Tom Sawyer on a mattress; and +that old doctor; and Jim, in <i>her</i> 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: +</p><p> +“Oh, he’s dead, he’s dead, I know he’s dead!” +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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-by cussing, and then +the old doctor comes and takes a look, and says: +</p><p> +“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 <i>help</i> 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 <i>was!</i> 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 faithfuler, 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 dollars—and +kind treatment, too. I had everything I needed, +and the boy was doing as well there as he would ’a’ +done at home—better, maybe, because it was so +quiet; but there I <i>was</i>, 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.” +</p><p> +Somebody says: +</p><p> +“Well, it sounds very good, doctor, I’m obleeged +to say.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 me—explanations, 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 peacefuler all the time, and ten to one he’d +wake up in his right mind. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“Hello!—why, I’m at <i>home!</i> How’s that? +Where’s the raft?” +</p><p> +“It’s all right,” I says. +</p><p> +“And <i>Jim?</i>” +</p><p> +“The same,” I says, but couldn’t say it pretty +brash. But he never noticed, but says: +</p><p> +“Good! Splendid! <i>Now</i> we’re all right and safe! +Did you tell Aunty?” +</p><p> +I was going to say yes; but she chipped in and says: +</p><p> +“About what, Sid?” +</p><p> +“Why, about the way the whole thing was done.” +</p><p> +“What whole thing?” +</p><p> +“Why, <i>the</i> whole thing. There ain’t but one; how +we set the runaway nigger free—me and Tom.” +</p><p> +“Good land! Set the run—What <i>is</i> the child +talking about! Dear, dear, out of his head again!” +</p><p> +“<i>No</i>, I ain’t out of my HEAD; I know all what I’m +talking about. We <i>did</i> set him free—me and Tom. +We laid out to do it, and we <i>done</i> 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 <i>me</i> to +put in. “Why, Aunty, it cost us a power of work—weeks +of it—hours 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 <i>half</i> 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 make 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—” +</p><p> +“Mercy sakes!” +</p><p> +“—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 +<i>wasn’t</i> it bully, Aunty!” +</p><p> +“Well, I never heard the likes of it in all my born +days! So it was <i>you</i>, 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, a—<i>you</i> just get well once, you +young scamp, and I lay I’ll tan the Old Harry out o’ +both o’ ye!” +</p><p> +But Tom, he <i>was</i> so proud and joyful, he just +<i>couldn’t</i> hold in, and his tongue just <i>went</i> it—she +a-chipping in, and spitting fire all along, and both of +them going it at once, like a cat convention; and she +says: +</p><p> +“<i>Well</i>, you get all the enjoyment you can out of it +<i>now</i>, for mind I tell you if I catch you meddling with +him again—” +</p><p> +“Meddling with <i>who?</i>” Tom says, dropping his +smile and looking surprised. +</p><p> +“With <i>who?</i> Why, the runaway nigger, of course. +Who’d you reckon?” +</p><p> +Tom looks at me very grave, and says: +</p><p> +“Tom, didn’t you just tell me he was all right? +Hasn’t he got away?” +</p><p> +“<i>Him?</i>” 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!” +</p><p> +Tom rose square up in bed, with his eye hot, and +his nostrils opening and shutting like gills, and sings +out to me: +</p><p> +“They hain’t no <i>right</i> to shut him up! <i>Shove!</i>—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!” +</p><p> +“What <i>does</i> the child mean?” +</p><p> +“I mean every word I <i>say</i>, Aunt Sally, and if somebody +don’t go, <i>I’ll</i> 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 <i>said</i> so; and she set +him free in her will.” +</p><p> +“Then what on earth did <i>you</i> want to set him free +for, seeing he was already free?” +</p><p> +“Well, that <i>is</i> a question, I must say; and <i>just</i> like +women! Why, I wanted the <i>adventure</i> of it; and +I’d ’a’ waded neck-deep in blood to—goodness alive, +<i>Aunt Polly!</i>” +</p><p> +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! +</p><p> +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 <i>us</i>, 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 spectacles—kind of grinding him into +the earth, you know. And then she says: +</p><p> +“Yes, you <i>better</i> turn y’r head away—I would if I +was you, Tom.” +</p><p> +“Oh, deary me!” says Aunt Sally; “<i>is</i> he changed +so? Why, that ain’t <i>Tom</i>, it’s Sid; Tom’s—Tom’s—why, +where is Tom? He was here a minute ago.” +</p><p> +“You mean where’s Huck <i>Finn</i>—that’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 <i>see</i> him. +That <i>would</i> be a pretty howdy-do. Come out from +under that bed, Huck Finn.” +</p><p> +So I done it. But not feeling brash. +</p><p> +Aunt Sally she was one of the mixed-upest-looking +persons I ever see—except 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 Sawyer—she +chipped in and says, “Oh, go on and call me +Aunt Sally, I’m used to it now, and ’taint no need +to change”—that when Aunt Sally took me for Tom +Sawyer I had to stand it—there 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. +</p><p> +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 <i>could</i> help a body set a nigger +free with his bringing-up. +</p><p> +Well, Aunt Polly she said that when Aunt Sally +wrote to her that Tom and <i>Sid</i> had come all right +and safe, she says to herself: +</p><p> +“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 <i>this</i> time, as long as I +couldn’t seem to get any answer out of you about it.” +</p><p> +“Why, I never heard nothing from you,” says +Aunt Sally. +</p><p> +“Well, I wonder! Why, I wrote you twice to ask +you what you could mean by Sid being here.” +</p><p> +“Well, I never got ’em. Sis.” +</p><p> +Aunt Polly she turns around slow and severe, and +says: +</p><p> +“You, Tom!” +</p><p> +“Well—<i>what?</i>” he says, kind of pettish. +</p><p> +“Don’t you what <i>me</i>, you impudent thing—hand +out them letters.” +</p><p> +“What letters?” +</p><p> +“<i>Them</i> letters. I be bound, if I have to take +a-holt of you I’ll—” +</p><p> +“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—” +</p><p> +“Well, you <i>do</i> 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—” +</p><p> +“No, it come yesterday; I hain’t read it yet, but +<i>it’s</i> all right, I’ve got that one.” +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<p><br /><br /><br /> +<a name="a_CHL"></a></p> +<h2 class="center">CHAPTER THE LAST</h2> +<p><br /></p> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +“<i>Dah</i>, now, Huck, what I tell you?—what I tell +you up dah on Jackson Islan’? I <i>tole</i> you I got a +hairy breas’, en what’s de sign un it; en I <i>tole</i> you +I ben rich wunst, en gwineter to be rich <i>ag’in;</i> en +it’s come true; en heah she <i>is! Dah</i>, now! doan’ +talk to <i>me</i>—signs is <i>signs</i>, mine I tell you; en I +knowed jis’ ’s well ’at I ’uz gwineter be rich ag’in as +I’s a-stannin’ heah dis minute!” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +“No, he hain’t,” Tom says; “it’s all there yet—six +thousand dollars and more; and your pap hain’t +ever been back since. Hadn’t when I come away, +anyhow.” +</p><p> +Jim says, kind of solemn: +</p><p> +“He ain’t a-comin’ back no mo’, Huck.” +</p><p> +I says: +</p><p> +“Why, Jim?” +</p><p> +“Nemmine why, Huck—but he ain’t comin’ back +no mo’.” +</p><p> +But I kept at him; so at last he says: +</p><p> +“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.” +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +<br /><br /> +<br /><br /></p> +<p class="pg1"><small>THE END</small></p> +<p><br /><br /></p> + + + + +<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN ***</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 32325-h.htm or 32325-h.zip</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/3/2/32325/</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following +the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use +of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for +copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very +easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation +of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project +Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may +do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected +by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark +license, especially commercial redistribution. +</div> + +<div style='margin:0.83em 0; font-size:1.1em; text-align:center'>START: FULL LICENSE<br /> +<span style='font-size:smaller'>THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE<br /> +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK</span> +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full +Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at +www.gutenberg.org/license. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or +destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your +possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a +Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound +by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person +or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this +agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ +electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the +Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection +of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual +works in the collection are in the public domain in the United +States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the +United States and you are located in the United States, we do not +claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, +displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as +all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope +that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting +free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ +works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the +Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily +comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the +same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when +you share it without charge with others. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are +in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, +check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this +agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, +distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any +other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no +representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any +country other than the United States. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other +immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear +prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work +on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, +performed, viewed, copied or distributed: +</div> + +<blockquote> + <div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> + This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most + other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you + are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws + of the country where you are located before using this eBook. + </div> +</blockquote> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is +derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not +contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the +copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in +the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are +redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply +either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or +obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ +trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any +additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms +will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works +posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the +beginning of this work. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg™ License. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including +any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access +to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format +other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official +version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website +(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense +to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means +of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain +Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the +full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works +provided that: +</div> + +<div style='margin-left:0.7em;'> + <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> + • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed + to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has + agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid + within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are + legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty + payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in + Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg + Literary Archive Foundation.” + </div> + + <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> + • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by email) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ + License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all + copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue + all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ + works. + </div> + + <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> + • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of + any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of + receipt of the work. + </div> + + <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> + • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works. + </div> +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project +Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than +are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing +from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of +the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set +forth in Section 3 below. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project +Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ +electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may +contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate +or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or +other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or +cannot be read by your equipment. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium +with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you +with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in +lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person +or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second +opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If +the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing +without further opportunities to fix the problem. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO +OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of +damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement +violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the +agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or +limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or +unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the +remaining provisions. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in +accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the +production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ +electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, +including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of +the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this +or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or +additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any +Defect you cause. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™ +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of +computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It +exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations +from people in all walks of life. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future +generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see +Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by +U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, +Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up +to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website +and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact +</div> + +<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread +public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND +DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state +visit <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/donate/">www.gutenberg.org/donate</a>. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To +donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate +</div> + +<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project +Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be +freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and +distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of +volunteer support. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in +the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not +necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper +edition. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Most people start at our website which has the main PG search +facility: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. +</div> + </body> +</html> diff --git a/32325-h/images/chaw.jpg b/32325-h/images/chaw.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3c847f0 --- /dev/null +++ b/32325-h/images/chaw.jpg diff --git a/32325-h/images/cover.jpg b/32325-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5247457 --- /dev/null +++ b/32325-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/32325-h/images/huck.jpg b/32325-h/images/huck.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..42a0273 --- /dev/null +++ b/32325-h/images/huck.jpg diff --git a/32325-h/images/pie.jpg b/32325-h/images/pie.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..64ce330 --- /dev/null +++ b/32325-h/images/pie.jpg diff --git a/32325-h/images/twain.jpg b/32325-h/images/twain.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bbc2383 --- /dev/null +++ b/32325-h/images/twain.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6f377fb --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #32325 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32325) diff --git a/old/32325 2010-05-10.txt b/old/32325 2010-05-10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4b378fa --- /dev/null +++ b/old/32325 2010-05-10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12291 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain + +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.org + + +Title: The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn + Tom Sawyer's Comrade + +Author: Mark Twain + +Release Date: May 10, 2010 [EBook #32325] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN *** + + + + +Produced by James Adcock. Special thanks to The Internet +Archive: American Libraries. + + + + + + +[Illustration: Photo of the Author with Signature "S. L. Clemens"] + +THE ADVENTURES + +OF + +HUCKLEBERRY FINN + +(TOM SAWYER'S COMRADE) + + + + SCENE: The Mississippi Valley + TIME: Forty to Fifty Years Ago + + + + By Mark Twain + + + + ILLUSTRATED + + + + _NEW EDITION FROM NEW PLATES_ + + + + + HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS + + NEW YORK AND LONDON + + ====== + + +Books by MARK TWAIN + + ST. JOAN OF ARC + THE INNOCENTS ABROAD + ROUGHING IT + THE GILDED AGE + A TRAMP ABROAD + FOLLOWING THE EQUATOR + PUDD'NHEAD WILSON + SKETCHES NEW AND OLD + THE AMERICAN CLAIMANT + CHRISTIAN SCIENCE + A CONNECTICUT YANKEE AT THE COURT OF + KING ARTHUR + THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN + PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF JOAN OF ARC + LIFE ON THE MISSISSIPPI + THE MAN THAT CORRUPTED HADLEYBURG + THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER + THE $30,000 BEQUEST + THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER + TOM SAWYER ABROAD + WHAT IS MAN? + THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER + ADAM'S DIARY + A DOG'S TALE + A DOUBLE-BARRELED DETECTIVE STORY + EDITORIAL WILD OATS + EVE'S DIARY + IN DEFENSE OF HARRIET SHELLY AND + OTHER ESSAYS + IS SHAKESPEARE DEAD? + CAPT. STORMFIELD'S VISIT TO HEAVEN + A HORSE'S TALE + THE JUMPING FROG + THE 1,000,000 POUND BANK-NOTE + TRAVELS AT HOME + TRAVELS IN HISTORY + MARK TWAIN'S LETTERS + MARK TWAIN'S SPEECHES + + ====== + + HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK + [Established 1817] + + The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn + ----- + Copyright, 1884. by Samuel L. Clemens + ----- + Copyright. 1896 and 1899. by Harper & Brothers + ----- + Copyright. 1912, by Clara Gabrilowitsch + ----- + Printed in the United States of America + + + + +CONTENTS + + + Chap. + Notice + Explanatory + I. I Discover Moses and the Bulrushers. + II. Our Gang's Dark Oath + III. We Ambuscade the A-rabs + IV. The Hair-ball Oracle + V. Pap Starts in on a New Life + VI. Pap Struggles with the Death Angel + VII. I Fool Pap and Get Away + VIII. I Spare Miss Watson's Jim + IX. The House of Death Floats By + X. What Comes of Handlin' Snake-skin + XI. They're After Us! + XII. "Better Let Blame Well Alone" + XIII. Honest Loot from the "Walter Scott" + XIV. Was Solomon Wise? + XV. Fooling Poor Old Jim + XVI. The Rattlesnake-skin Does Its Work + XVII. The Grangerfords Take Me In + XVIII. Why Harney Rode Away for His Hat + XIX. The Duke and the Dauphin Come Aboard + XX. What Royalty Did to Parkville + XXI. An Arkansaw Difficulty + XXII. Why the Lynching Bee Failed + XXIII. The Orneriness of Kings + XXIV. The King Turns Parson + XXV. All Full of Tears and Flapdoodle + XXVI. I Steal the King's Plunder + XXVII. Dead Peter has His Gold + XXVIII. Overreaching Don't Pay + XXIX. I Light Out in the Storm + XXX. The Gold Saves the Thieves + XXXI. You Can't Pray a Lie + XXXII. I Have a New Name + XXXIII. The Pitiful Ending of Royalty + XXXIV. We Cheer Up Jim + XXXV. Dark, Deep-laid Plans + XXXVI. Trying to Help Jim + XXXVII. Jim Gets His Witch-pie + XXXVIII. "Here a Captive Heart Busted" + XXXIX. Tom Writes Nonnamous Letters + XL. A Mixed-up and Splendid Rescue + XLI. "Must 'a' Been Sperits" + XLII. Why They Didn't Hang Jim + Chapter the Last. Nothing More to Write + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + + Portrait of the Author + Huckleberry Finn + "'Gimme a Chaw'" + Tom Advises a Witch Pie + + + + +NOTICE + + +Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be +prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; +persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot. + + By Order of the Author, + Per G. G., Chief of Ordnance. + + + + +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 + + +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 Polly--Tom's Aunt +Polly, she is--and 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 apiece--all 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 +round--more 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, Huckleberry--set up straight"; and pretty soon she would +say, "Don't gap and stretch like that, Huckleberry--why 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 downhearted 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 boom--boom--boom--twelve licks; and all still again--stiller than +ever. Pretty soon I heard a twig snap down in the dark amongst the +trees--something 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 toward 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 came 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 +sleepy--if you are anywheres where it won't do for you to scratch, why +you will itch all over in upward 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 ag'in." + +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 snore--and then I was +pretty soon comfortable again. + +Tom he made a sign to me--kind of a little noise with his mouth--and +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. Afterward Jim said the witches bewitched 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 Joe +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 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 do--everybody 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 Watson--they 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 them--except 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, too--eating 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 so--that'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 Joe 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 snuff-box that was stole? Why can't Miss Watson +fat up? No, says I to myself, 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 meant--I 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 it--except 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 Joe +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 _us_--can'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 it--or +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 +it--and 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 flatheads for not keeping +the palace themselves 'stead of fooling them away like that. And +what's more--if 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, somehow--perfect 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 awhile, 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 night--over 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 +all--nor the six thousand, nuther. I want you to take it; I want to +give it to you--the 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 +it--won't you?" + +He says: + +"Well, I'm puzzled. Is something the matter?" + +"Please take it," says I, "and don't ask me nothing--then I won't have +to tell no lies." + +He studied awhile, and then he says: + +"Oho-o! I think I see. You want to _sell_ all your property to me--not +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 ag'in 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 ag'in. 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 mistaken--that 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 crawl--a tree-toad +white, a fish-belly white. As for his clothes--just 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 floor--an 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 clothes--very. 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 say--can 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 here--you 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 it--you +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 better--I'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 floor--and 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 airs--they say you're rich. +Hey?--how's that?" + +"They lie--that's how." + +"Looky here--mind how you talk to me; I'm a-standing about all I can +stand now--so 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-morrow--I 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 for--you 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 words--don't forget I said them. +It's a clean hand now; shake it--don'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 pledge--made +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 toward 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 business--appeared 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 +suited--this 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 it--all 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 out--big enough to let me through. Well, it was a good long +job, but I was getting toward 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 humor--so 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 Adam--he 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 him--a +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 ag'in. Them's the very +words. I says, look at my hat--if you call it a hat--but 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 I--such a hat for me +to wear--one 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 Ohio--a 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 cane--the 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 ag'in. Them's the very words I said; they all heard +me; and the country may rot for all me--I'll never vote ag'in as long +as I live. And to see the cool way of that nigger--why, 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, now--that'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 a-going 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 language--mostly 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 cheek--but 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 awhile, 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: + +"Tramp--tramp--tramp; that's the dead; tramp--tramp--tramp; they're +coming after me; but I won't go. Oh, they're here! don't touch +me--don't! hands off--they'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, +and 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 rafts--sometimes a dozen +logs together; so all you have to do is to catch them and sell them to +the woodyards 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 this--she'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; 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 raft--nine 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. + +[Illustration: HUCKLEBERRY FINN] + +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; 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 things--everything that was +worth a cent. I cleaned out the place. I wanted an ax, 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 ax 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 ax, and laid +him down on the ground to bleed; I say ground because it was +ground--hard packed, and no boards. Well, next I took an old sack and +put a lot of big rocks in it--all I could drag--and 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 ax good, and +stuck it on the back side, and slung the ax 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 place--pap 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 rushes--and 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 mean--I 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 was--a 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. Thinks 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 enough--and +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 toward 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, too--every 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 +reckoned--and 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 +woman--she 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 head--it 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 upstream, 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 comfortable--didn'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 up--about 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 morning--so 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 shore--I 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 thing--that 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 Joe 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 awhile. 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 difference--just 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 nothing--I 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 bank--about 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 fantods. 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 me--don'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 ag'in, whah you b'longs, en doan' do nuffn to Ole Jim, 'at 'uz +alwuz 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?" + +"Yes-indeedy." + +"And ain't you had nothing but that kind of rubbage to eat?" + +"No, sah--nuffn 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. I--I _run off_." + +"Jim!" + +"But mind, you said you wouldn' tell--you 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 mum--but 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 missus--dat's Miss Watson--she +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't 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 tumbledown 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 a-gwyne 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't--bank too +bluff. I uz mos' to de foot er de islan' b'fo' I foun' 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 heah--watched 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 +tablecloth 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 few--an' _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 a-gwyne +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 ag'in. 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 stock--cattle, 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' Balum--Balum'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 blackest--_fst!_ 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-stairs--where 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 gittin' 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 across--a half a mile--because 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 +turtles--they 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-raft--nice pine +planks. It was twelve foot wide and about fifteen or sixteen foot +long, and the top stood above water six or seven inches--a 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 +aboard--clumb in at an up-stairs 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 asleep--he's dead. You hold still--I'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 face--it'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 canoe--it 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 fish-line 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 currycomb, 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 practised +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 awhile, I reckon, and go on. I ain't afeard +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 alone--and 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 +twelve thousand dollars (only she got it twenty) 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." + +"No--is 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 him--three hundred dollars. And there's a reward out +for old Finn, too--two 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 them--but 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 see--him 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 interested--and I was, too--and 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 campfire 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?" + +"M--Mary Williams." + +Somehow it didn't seem to me that I said it was Mary before, so I +didn't look up--seemed to me I said it was Sarah; so I felt sort of +cornered, and was afeard 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?" + +"Wh-hat, 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 +mustn'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 now--don'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 clear--eleven. 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 still--never +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 towhead is a sand-bar +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-fire--no, 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 village--no, 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 laughed--only a little kind of a low +chuckle. We had mighty good weather as a general thing, and nothing +ever happened to us at all--that 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 toward 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 corn-fields 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 more--then 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 toward 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 seen 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 you--and 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 adventure--that'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, too--a 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 _rights_--that'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' him--and didn't he +kill old Hatfield jist the same way--and 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 toward 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: + +"Here--come 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 things _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 +pickin's 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 considerable 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 fix--for the sheriff 'll +get 'em. Quick--hurry! 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!--en 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 now--had to have it for ourselves. So we went +a-quaking and shaking down the stabboard side, and slow work it was, +too--seemed a week before we got to the stern. No sign of a boat. Jim +said he didn't believe he could go any farther--so 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 ready--shove 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 men--I 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 showed--up 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're--they're--are 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 Landing--go 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 name--and 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 Whipple--and 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 wood-boats; 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 spy-glass, 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 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 around--except, maybe, when there's a +war; then they go to the war. But other times they just lazy around; +or go hawking--just hawking and sp--Sh!--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; I--I'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, dah--dat's one er de +women; heah's you--dat'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 point--blame 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 furder--it'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 fetch 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 lonesome--dey 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 said--not 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-franzy--what +would you think?" + +"I wouldn' think nuffn; I'd take en bust him over de head--dat 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 words--you 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 me--and 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 it--and 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 current 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 once--you'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 me--sometimes 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 hearing--it 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 saw-logs 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' dead--you ain' +drownded--you's back ag'in? 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 ag'in, 'live en soun', jis de same ole Huck--de +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?" + +"Huck--Huck 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 sumfn 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 towhead?" + +"No, I didn't. What towhead? I hain't seen no towhead." + +"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, +boss--ain'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 powerfulest 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's 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 ag'in, 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 +afterward, 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 Jim--and 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 free--and +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 so--I couldn't +get around that no way. 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 children--children 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 me--it ain't too late yet--I'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 it--I 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 enough--hadn'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 sick--and +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 the--a--the--well, 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, honest--but don't leave us, please. It's +the--the--Gentlemen, if you'll only pull ahead, and let me heave you +the headline, you won't have to come a-near the raft--please do." + +"Set her back, John, set her back!" says one. They backed water. "Keep +away, boy--keep to looard. Confound it, I just expect the wind has +blowed it to us. Your pap's got the smallpox, 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 we--well, hang it, we don't want the smallpox, 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 is--it'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 man, "here's a twenty to put on the board +for me. Good-by, boy; you do as Mr. Parker told you, and you'll be all +right." + +"That's so, my boy--good-by, good-bye. If you see any runaway niggers +you get help and nab them, and you can make some money by it." + +"Good-by, 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 show--when 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 bad--I'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 +Jim--ole Jim ain't going to forgit you for dat, honey." + +Then we talked about the money. It was a pretty good raise--twenty +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, Jim--I do wish I'd never laid +eyes on it." + +"It ain't yo' fault, Huck; you didn't 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 luck--and 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 +steam--and as Jim went overboard on one side and I on the other, she +come smashing straight through the raft. + +I dived--and 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 for--hey?" + +"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 afraid--nobody +'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 fool--ain'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 hurry--come mighty slow. If +there's anybody with you, let him keep back--if he shows himself he'll +be shot. Come along now. Come slow; push the door open yourself--just +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 enough--put 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 more--all of them fine and +handsome--and 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 +windows--there 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 Shepherdson--no, +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 it--it 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, Rachel--I 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 him--oh, 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 me--thirteen 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 +times--they don't have no school now. Do you own a dog? I've got a +dog--and 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 buttermilk--that 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-n--there 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 spell--right 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, +too--not bagged down in the middle and busted, like an old basket. + +They had pictures hung on the walls--mainly 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 +before--blacker, 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 toward the +moon--and 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 undertaker--the 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 gray 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 be--you 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 manners--everybody was +always good-mannered where he was. Everybody loved to have him around, +too; he was sunshine most always--I mean he made it seem like good +weather. When he turned into a cloud-bank 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 next--tall, 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 them--Buck 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 +more--three 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 there--five or six +families--mostly 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 came 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 come--to 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 judged--then 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, nothing--only 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 before--tell 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 in--and 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 suit--which he would naturally do, of course. Anybody +would." + +"What was the trouble about. Buck?--land?" + +"I reckon maybe--I don't know." + +"Well, who done the shooting? Was it a Grangerford 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 outrun 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 Shepherdsons--not 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_ home--and 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 preaching--all 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 asleep--and, 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 considerable +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 you--I wuz 'fraid o' de dogs; but when it 'uz all quiet ag'in 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-gittin' 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 +sumfn--but 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 deal--one 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't 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 ag'in 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, Jim--did 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 ag'in. 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 was--didn'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-stairs--nobody +around; everything as still as a mouse. Just the same outside. Thinks +I, what does it mean? Down by the woodpile 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 time--nobody don't know jis' when; run off to get married +to dat young Harney Shepherdson, you know--leastways, so dey 'spec. De +fambly foun' it out 'bout half an hour ago--maybe 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 came 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 +other--wouldn'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 +relations--the 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 him--I +hain't ever heard anything like it. + +All of a sudden, bang! bang! bang! goes three or four guns--the men +had slipped around through the woods and come in from behind without +their horses! The boys jumped for the river--both of them hurt--and 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 happened--it +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 them--lots 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 voice--nothing 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 ag'in. 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' 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 ag'in en tells me for certain you _is_ dead. +Lawsy, I's mighty glad to git you back ag'in, honey." + +I says: + +"All right--that's mighty good; they won't find me, and they'll think +I've been killed, and floated down the river--there's something up +there that 'll help them think so--so 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 greens--there ain't nothing in the world so +good when it's cooked right--and 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 there--sometimes 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 up--nearly +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 anywheres--perfectly still--just 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 +line--that 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 away--trading-scows, and such things; and long black +streaks--rafts; 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 wood-yard, 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 see--just 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 ax flash and come down--you don't hear nothing; +you see that ax 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 laughing--heard 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 things--we was always naked, day and night, +whenever the mosquitoes would let us--the 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 spark--which was a candle in a cabin window; and sometimes on +the water you could see a spark or two--on 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 black--no more sparks in the cabin windows. +These sparks was our clock--the 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 shore--it was only two hundred yards--and 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 _me_--or 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 lives--said they +hadn't been doing nothing, and was being chased for it--said 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 in--that '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 awhile; 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 woolen shirt, and ragged old blue jeans britches stuffed +into his boot-tops, and home-knit galluses--no, 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 +teeth--and it does take it off, too, and generly the enamel along with +it--but 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 yarn--what's yourn?" + +"Well, I'd ben a-runnin' 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 night--ten cents a head, children and +niggers free--and 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 breakfast--I 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 line--mainly?" + +"Jour printer by trade; do a little in patent medicines; +theater-actor--tragedy, you know; take a turn to mesmerism and +phrenology when there's a chance; teach singing-geography school for a +change; sling a lecture sometimes--oh, I do lots of things--most +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 holt--for 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 baldhead. + +"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_, gentlemen--far from it; I don't blame anybody. I deserve it +all. Let the cold world do its worst; one thing I know--there's a +grave somewhere for me. The world may go on just as it's always done, +and take everything from me--loved 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 down--yes, I did it myself. It's right I should +suffer--perfectly right--I 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 believes--let 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 estates--the infant real duke was ignored. I am +the lineal descendant of that infant--I 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, heartbroken, 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 by--didn'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 true--your 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 sorry--and 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 king--so what's the use to +worry? Make the best o' things the way you find 'em, says I--that's my +motto. This ain't no bad thing that we've struck here--plenty grub and +an easy life--come, 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 running--was 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 over--I'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 daylight--it 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 shiver--it 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 world--let me suffer; I 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 by--that was the town, you know--and 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-bum--and +the thunder would go rumbling and grumbling away, and quit--and then +_rip_ comes another flash and another sock-dolager. 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 outside--I 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 awhile, 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 swordfight 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-freezin' 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 nightgown 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-shop--carpenters 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 sing--and 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 open--oh, 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 onto the platform, and +the preacher he begged him to speak to the people, and he done it. He +told them he was a pirate--been a pirate for thirty years out in the +Indian Ocean--and 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 times--and 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-office--horse bills--and 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 +advance--so 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 head--three verses--kind of +sweet and saddish--the 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's 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 thing--we +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 practise 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 bull--you must say it soft and sick and +languishy, so--R-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 practise the sword-fight--the 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 +you--well, let me see--oh, I've got it--you 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 book--I've only got one volume--but 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 speech--I 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 rehearsing--as the duke called it--going 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 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 tinware. 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 hinge--a leather one. Some of +the fences had been whitewashed some time or another, but the duke +said it was in Columbus'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 dry-goods 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 +stretching--a 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 every time; 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_." + +[Illustration:"'GIMME A CHAW'"] + +All the streets and lanes was just mud; they warn't nothing else _but_ +mud--mud 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-fight--unless 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 Arkansaw--never 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-five--and he was a +heap the best-dressed man in that town, too--steps out of the store, +and the crowd drops back on each side to let him come. He says to +Boggs, mighty ca'm and slow--he says: + +"I'm tired of this, but I'll endure it till one o'clock. Till one +o'clock, mind--no 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 home--he 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 use--up 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, bareheaded, 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 hand--not 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 level--both 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 air--bang! goes the second one, and +he tumbles backwards onto 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 onto 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 +out--and 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 onto 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 word--just 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 outgaze 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 kind--as 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 +people--whereas 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 dark--and 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 man--Buck Harkness, there--and 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 +man--like Buck Harkness, there--shouts 'Lynch him! lynch him!' you're +afraid to back down--afraid you'll be found out to be what you +are--_cowards_--and so you raise a yell, and hang yourselves onto 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 is--a 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 _leave_--and +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, and 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 +comfortable--there must 'a' been twenty of them--and 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 no way +understand. Why, I couldn't 'a' thought of them in a year. And by and +by a drunken man tried to get into the ring--said 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 toward 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 +life--and 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 hum--and 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 there--just 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 comedy--and 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: + + + AT THE COURT HOUSE! + FOR 3 NIGHTS ONLY! + _The World-Renowned Tragedians_ + DAVID GARRICK THE YOUNGER! + AND + EDMUND KEAN THE ELDER! + Of the London and Continental + Theatres, + In their Thrilling Tragedy of + THE KING'S CAMELEOPARD, + OR + THE ROYAL NONESUCH ! ! ! + _Admission 50 cents._ + +Then at the bottom was the biggest line of all, which said: + + LADIES AND CHILDREN NOT ADMITTED + +"There," says he, "if that line don't fetch them, I don't know +Arkansaw!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII +I + + +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 onto 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. And--but 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 +sold--mighty 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, then--not 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 again--and 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 +coat--and 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 to--they 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 once--you'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 Book--which 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 it--give 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_ style--he 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? No--drownded him in a butt of +mamsey, like a cat. S'pose people left money laying around where he +was--what 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 it--what did he do? He always done the other thing. S'pose he +opened his mouth--what 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 ag'in, 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' den--it was a do' dat open innerds--jis' 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 so--so--I 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 dumb--en 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 outfit--it 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 Arab--but 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 way--meaning 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 town--been 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 inshore," 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 Blodgett--Elexander Blodgett--_Reverend_ 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 it--which 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 die--which he mayn't +mind, nobody can tell as to that--but 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 together--and hadn't ever seen his brother William at all--that's +the deef and dumb one--William 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 +Harvey--and William, too, for that matter--because 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 right--for 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 England--Sheffield--preaches there--hasn't ever been +in this country. He hasn't had any too much time--and 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; I 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 +fourteen--that'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, and--well, 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 business--which was a tanner; and about George's--which was a +carpenter; and about Harvey's--which 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 it--every 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 histrionic 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 all 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 brother--gone, 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 private--I see him do it--and 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 loud--the 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, viz.:--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 +together--that 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-goo--goo-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, Biljy, +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 mistake--I +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 +that--it'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 everybody--then 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, duke--you _have_ got a rattlin' clever +head on you," says the king. "Blest if the old Nonesuch ain't a +heppin' us out ag'in," 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 to--this '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 +pile--twenty 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 rob--yes, _Rob_--sech poor sweet lambs as +these 'at he loved so at sech a time? If I know William--and I _think_ +I do--he--well, 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 awhile; 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 +money--take 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 saying--in 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 +come--everybody; 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 funeral--wants me to make 'em all +welcome. But he needn't 'a' worried--it 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't--obsequies bein' the common term--but because orgies is the +right term. Obsequies ain't used in England no more now--it'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 in_ter_. 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 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's 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 girls' +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 impostor--has +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 out--I _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 valley--meaning +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 was--and 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 so--said "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 have--he 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: + +"What--regular?" + +"Yes--regular. His pew's right over opposite ourn--on 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 talk--Sheffield 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 _baths_--that'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-water--in 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?" + +"Yes--regular." + +"Where do you set?" + +"Why, in our pew." + +"_Whose_ pew?" + +"Why, _ourn_--your 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 day--only _one_ of +'em." + +"Well, then, what does the rest of 'em do?" + +"Oh, nothing much. Loll around, pass the plate--and 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-l--why, 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, Jo?" 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, Maim--always 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, Maim, he said--" + +"It don't make no difference what he _said_--that 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 +again--which 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 out--for 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? No--that +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? No--I +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 +to-night 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 thing--lay 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 easy--_given_ 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 deeper--didn'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 +it--which won't be long after we've slid--the sale won't be valid, and +it 'll all go back to the estate. These yer orphans 'll git their +house back ag'in, 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 think--there'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 ag'in, 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 downstairs 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 catched--catched 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 noses--because 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 melodeum--a 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 +wait--you 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 worry--just 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 +again--I 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, +too--tickled 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 off--sale 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, now--no 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?" + +"No--leastways, not all at once--that 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 that--and here we've gone and sold 'em for +a song. Yes, and ain't privileged to sing the song yet. Say, where +_is_ that song--that 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 +affairs--if you got any. Long as you're in this town don't you forgit +_that_--you 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 business--yes." + +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 way--said 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 onto 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 it--getting 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't--most always. Tell me about it." + +So she done it. And it was the niggers--I 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 +more--and 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 _will_--and inside of two weeks--and 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 weeks--here in this house--and _prove_ +how I know it--will 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 word--I 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 door--and 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 +frauds--regular 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 onto the king's breast at the front door and +he kissed her sixteen or seventeen times--and then up she jumps, with +her face afire like sunset, and says: + +"The brute! Come, don't waste a minute--not a _second_--we'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 said--please don't--you _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 not--I +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 miles--right 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 +again--tell 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 witnesses--why, 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 niggers--it warn't no sale, and the niggers will be +back before long. Why, they can't collect the money for the _niggers_ +yet--they'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 thought--and 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 breakfast--I'll be glad to. +And leave my sisters with them?" + +"Yes; never mind about them. They've got to stand it yet awhile. 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_ so--no +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 thing--that 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 run--and it warn't a good place." + +"Oh, stop blaming yourself--it's too bad to do it, and I won't allow +it--you 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_-by. 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 same--she was +just that kind. She had the grit to pray for Judus if she took the +notion--there 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 beauty--and +goodness, too--she 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 hurry--one 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_ catching--in 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 say--and 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 +obleeged 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 right--yes, I judge you _are_ right." + +"But I reckon we ought to tell Uncle Harvey she's gone out awhile, +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 Apthorps--which '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 +neat--I 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 +sold--everything but a little old trifling lot in the graveyard. So +they'd got to work _that_ off--I 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 Wilks--and 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 Englishman--not 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's brother Harvey, and this is +his brother William, which can't hear nor speak--and 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 arm--_very_ 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 ingenious--under 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 heads--it 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 gentlemen 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 right--ain'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 it--and 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 duke--and 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 handwriting, and anybody can tell, easy +enough, _he_ didn't write them--fact 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 +there--so 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, please--they're by the same hand." + +The lawyer done it, and says: + +"I believe it's so--and 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 slution, but it's gone to +grass, partly. But anyway, _one_ thing is proved--_these_ two ain't +either of 'em Wilkses"--and he wagged his head towards the king and +the duke. + +Well, what do you think? That mule-headed 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 write--_he_ 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 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 br--helped 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 toward the king, and says: + +"Peraps 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 +sponge--there 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 +arrow--that's what it is; and if you don't look clost, you can't see +it. _Now_ what do you say--hey?" + +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: + +"There--you've heard what he said! Was there any such mark on Peter +Wilks's 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, and dashes between them, so: P--B--W"--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: + +"Gentlemen--gentle_men!_ Hear me just a word--just a _single_ word--if +you PLEASE! There's one way yet--let'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 +wrist--Hines--and 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 flew--leastways, 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 dark--which 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 times--I 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 onto 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't--_please_ 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 stay--I 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_ bright--it 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 come--and +then--the 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-night--cravats warranted to _wear_, +too--longer than _we'd_ need 'em." + +They was still a minute--thinking; 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 know--maybe +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, duke--answer 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 more--now +_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 you--I mean +somebody--got 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 baby--it's fitten for you, after the way +you've acted. I never see such an old ostrich for wanting to gobble +everything--and 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 deffisit--you wanted to get what money I'd got out of the +'None-such' 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 deffersit; 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 raft--and 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, anyway--and maybe a chance +for _the_ chance 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 shout--and then another--and then another one; and +run this way and that in the woods, whooping and screeching; but it +warn't no use--old 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's 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 out--and 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 hundred dollars dollars' reward on him. +It's like picking up money out'n the road." + +"Yes, it is--and I could 'a' had it if I'd been big enough; I see him +_first_. Who nailed him?" + +"It was an old fellow--a stranger--and 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_, though--straight as a string. I see the handbill myself. +It tells all about him, to a dot--paints him like a picture, and tells +the plantation he's frum, below Newr_leans_. 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 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 lie--I +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 +letter--and 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 thinking--thinking +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 smallpox 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 yet--I 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 +Nonesuch--three-night performance--like 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 Jim--poor Jim!" + +"Blamed if I know--that 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 so--goodness 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 all--so dry up your +blubbering. Looky here--do 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 Foster--Abram G. Foster--and +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 won't, 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 +nigger--some idiots don't require documents--leastways 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's. 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 whispering--spirits that's been dead ever so +many years--and 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's 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 onto 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 +folks--hewed 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 smokehouse back of the kitchen; three little nigger cabins +in a row t'other side the smokehouse; 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 dead--for 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 say--spokes made out of +dogs--circle 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 every-wheres. + +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 going. She was +smiling all over so she could hardly stand--and 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 away--or 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'm--she--" + +"Don't say yes'm--say 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 up--from 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 on--or--Now I struck an +idea, and fetched it out: + +"It warn't the grounding--that 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 mortification--that +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 _everything_--tell 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 stump--and 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 ahead--I'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 lower--there, 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 world _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 so--something +tells me so." + +"Why, Sally, I _couldn't_ miss him along the road--_you_ 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 +terrible--just terrible--something'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 'tis?" + +"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 family--I +mean the Sawyer family--than 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 back--I 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, you ain't a ghost?" + +"Honest injun, I ain't," I says. + +"Well--I--I--well, 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 all--I 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 thing--a 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 _Jim_--old 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 heard--and 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 he 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 +hair--not a hair. It's wonderful. Why, I wouldn't take a hundred +dollars for that horse now--I 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 audience--and 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 late--he'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 +walk--I don't mind the distance." + +"But we won't _let_ you walk--it 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 Thompson--and 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'rp--Why, what do you reckon _I_ am? I've a good notion to +take and--Say, 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. I--I--thought +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, they--they--told 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 +it--every one of them. But I'm sorry, m'am, and I won't do it no +more--I 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 again--till 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 +you--or 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; I--I--well, 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." + +"No--not 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 terms--I'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 +families--and 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 middle of it--it was as much as half after eight then--here 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 rail--that 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 human--just 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 late--couldn'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, somehow--though +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 was--I 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 table--same 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 right--I'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 right--bring 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 +with--which was the north side--we 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 narrow--only 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 door--you only +have to pull a buckskin latch-string, they don't fasten the doors--but +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 +Jim--if 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 graduly 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 now--_den_ 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 drugged--now 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 +thing--there'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 a saw? 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 its 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 moat--because a rope ladder is nineteen foot too +short, you know--and 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 do--there 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 thing--he 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 clue, after he's gone? and don't you reckon they'll +want clues? 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 Sawyer--if 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 +still--that'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 clothes-line." + +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 granny--_Jim_ can't write." + +"S'pose he _can't_ write--he 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 you--if you got any +reasonableness in you at all--what 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 shovels--why, 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_ +way--and 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-knife--and 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 year_--and 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 right--I don't care where he comes out, so he _comes_ out; and +Jim don't, either, I reckon. But there's one thing, anyway--Jim'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 smokehouse." + +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 knives--three 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 we 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 counterpin 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 well--couldn'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 broke--because 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 do--but then I thought. I scratched around +amongst the old tools, and got a pickax 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-hole--then 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 onto 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_ um--I _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' wunst--on'y jis' wunst--it'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!" + +[Illustration: TOM ADVISES A WITCH PIE] + +"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 pan--something 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 war-whoop, 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 again--it 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 yesterday--I 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' 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_ gone--that'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, +Silas--_you'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 onto 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's-line 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 it--stop 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 +mind--let 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 +count--anybody would. + +"I declare to gracious ther' _ain't_ but nine!" she says. "Why, what +in the world--plague _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 way--just 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 cler 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 last--which 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 +washpan--afraid 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 this--because 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 atto_. Got it out of a book--means 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 fess--a fess is--_you_ 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 inscription--said 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 onto 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 onto 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 halfway; 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!" + +"Yes--easy 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 try--that'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_, Tom--_doan_' talk so! I can't _stan'_ it! He'd _let_ me +shove his head in my mouf--fer 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 try--you 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' 'twas 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 'em--they 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 music--in a +prison they dote on it. Specially, painful music; and you can't get no +other kind out of a jew's-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 jew's-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 Pitchiola--that'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 jew's-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 back--we 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 line 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 themselves--it's their +lookout." + +"Yes, I know; but you can't depend on them. It's the way they've acted +from the very start--left 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 nothing--won'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 no way and be satisfied, because she allowed there +was something behind her every time--so 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 BA 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 +cubboard 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, then--it 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 _ba_ 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 if--Dear, +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 lose--the 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 padlock, and heard a man say: + +"I _told_ you we'd be too soon; they haven't come--the 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 soft--Jim 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 onto 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 onto 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 as 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 _border_--that's what we'd 'a' done +with _him_--and done it just as slick as nothing at all, too. Man the +sweeps--man the sweeps!" + + +But me and Jim was consulting--and 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, sah--I 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 +say--so 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 see the canoe he didn't like the look of her--said 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, and--and--and _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 +nigger--me 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 around--but 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 Damrell--didn't I, +Sister Damrell?--s'I, he's crazy, s'I--them'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 +that--natcherl 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 time--the +nigger's crazy--crazy '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'I--what +_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! Thar's_ where '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; +moreover, s'I--" + +"A _dozen_ says you!--_forty_ couldn't 'a' done everything 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'I--somebody _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 anybody 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 shirt--every 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 on--and 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_ sperits--because, because, _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 very--why, 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 upstairs 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 me--I 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 be--boys 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 awhile 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. Petersburg--it'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 run--for 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-by 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 faithfuler, 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 dollars--and +kind treatment, too. I had everything I needed, and the boy was doing +as well there as he would 'a' done at home--better, 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 me--explanations, 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 peacefuler +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 free--me and Tom." + +"Good land! Set the run--What _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 free--me 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 work--weeks of it--hours 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 make 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 snake's 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, +a--_you_ 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_ it--she 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 +to--goodness 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 spectacles--kind of +grinding him into the earth, you know. And then she says: + +"Yes, you _better_ turn y'r head away--I 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's--Tom's--why, where is Tom? He was here a minute +ago." + +"You mean where's Huck _Finn_--that'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 +see--except 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 Sawyer--she chipped in and says, "Oh, go on and call me +Aunt Sally, I'm used to it now, and 'taint no need to change"--that +when Aunt Sally took me for Tom Sawyer I had to stand it--there 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!" + +"Well--_what?_" he says, kind of pettish. + +"Don't you what _me_, you impudent thing--hand 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 _ag'in;_ en it's +come true; en heah she _is! Dah_, now! doan' talk to _me_--signs is +_signs_, mine I tell you; en I knowed jis' 's well 'at I 'uz gwineter +be rich ag'in 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 yet--six 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, Huck--but 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 + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN *** + +***** This file should be named 32325.txt or 32325.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/3/2/32325/ + +Produced by James Adcock. Special thanks to The Internet +Archive: American Libraries. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/32325 2010-05-10.zip b/old/32325 2010-05-10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..772123a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/32325 2010-05-10.zip diff --git a/old/32325-h 2010-05-10.htm b/old/32325-h 2010-05-10.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d892e01 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/32325-h 2010-05-10.htm @@ -0,0 +1,15057 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html lang="en"> +<head> +<meta name="generator" content="HTML Tidy, see www.w3.org"> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Strangers and Wayfarers, by Sarah Orne Jewett</title> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= +"text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1"> +<style type="text/css"> + p.pg1 {text-align: center;} +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain + +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.org + + +Title: The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn + Tom Sawyer's Comrade + +Author: Mark Twain + +Release Date: May 10, 2010 [EBook #32325] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN *** + + + + +Produced by James Adcock. Special thanks to The Internet +Archive: American Libraries. + + + + + + +</pre> + +<br> +<br> +<a name="twain"></a> +<p class="pg1">Portrait of the Author</p> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/twain.jpg" alt="S. L. Clemens"></p> +<p class="pg1">S. L. Clemens</p> +<br> +<br><br> +<h1 align="center">THE ADVENTURES <small>OF</small> HUCKLEBERRY FINN</h1> +<br> +<h2 align="center">(TOM SAWYER'S COMRADE)</h2> +<br><br> +<p class="pg1">SCENE: The Mississippi Valley<br> +TIME: Forty to Fifty Years Ago</p> +<br><br> +<h2 align="center"><small>BY</small> Mark Twain</h2> +<br><br> +<p class="pg1">ILLUSTRATED</p> +<br><br> +<p class="pg1"><i>NEW EDITION FROM NEW PLATES</i></p> +<br><br> +<br><br> +<p class="pg1">HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS</p> +<p class="pg1"><small>NEW YORK AND LONDON</small></p> +<br><br> +<p class="pg1">———</p> +<br><br> +<p class="pg1"><small>Books by</small><br><br> +MARK TWAIN</p> +<br> +<p class="pg1"><small> +ST. JOAN OF ARC<br> +THE INNOCENTS ABROAD<br> +ROUGHING IT<br> +THE GILDED AGE<br> +A TRAMP ABROAD<br> +FOLLOWING THE EQUATOR<br> +PUDD'NHEAD WILSON<br> +SKETCHES NEW AND OLD<br> +THE AMERICAN CLAIMANT<br> +CHRISTIAN SCIENCE<br> +A CONNECTICUT YANKEE AT THE COURT OF<br> + KING ARTHUR<br> +THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN<br> +PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF JOAN OF ARC<br> +LIFE ON THE MISSISSIPPI<br> +THE MAN THAT CORRUPTED HADLEYBURG<br> +THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER<br> +THE $30,000 BEQUEST<br> +THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER<br> +TOM SAWYER ABROAD<br> +WHAT IS MAN?<br> +THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER<br> +ADAM'S DIARY<br> +A DOG'S TALE<br> +A DOUBLE-BARRELED DETECTIVE STORY<br> +EDITORIAL WILD OATS<br> +EVE'S DIARY<br> +IN DEFENSE OF HARRIET SHELLY AND<br> + OTHER ESSAYS<br> +IS SHAKESPEARE DEAD?<br> +CAPT. STORMFIELD'S VISIT TO HEAVEN<br> +A HORSE'S TALE<br> +THE JUMPING FROG<br> +THE £1,000,000 BANK-NOTE<br> +TRAVELS AT HOME<br> +TRAVELS IN HISTORY<br> +MARK TWAIN'S LETTERS<br> +MARK TWAIN'S SPEECHES<br></small> +</p> +<p class="pg1">———</p> +<p class="pg1">HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK</p> +<p class="pg1">[Established 1817]</p> +<p class="pg1"><small>The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn +<br> +——— +<br> +Copyright, 1884. by Samuel L. Clemens +<br> +——— +<br> +Copyright. 1896 and 1899. by Harper & Brothers +<br> +——— +<br> +Copyright. 1912, by Clara Gabrilowitsch +<br> +——— +<br> +Printed in the United States of America</small> +</p> +<br><br> +<br><br> +<br><br> +<h2 align="center">CONTENTS</h2> +<br><br> +<br><br> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_Notice" href="#a_Notice">Notice</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_Explanatory" href="#a_Explanatory">Explanatory</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_I" href="#a_I">I. I Discover Moses and the Bulrushers</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_II" href="#a_II">II. Our Gang's Dark Oath</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_III" href="#a_III">III. We Ambuscade the A-rabs</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_IV" href="#a_IV">IV. The Hair-ball Oracle</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_V" href="#a_V">V. Pap Starts in on a New Life</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_VI" href="#a_VI">VI. Pap Struggles with the Death Angel</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_VII" href="#a_VII">VII. I Fool Pap and Get Away</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_VIII" href="#a_VIII">VIII. I Spare Miss Watson's Jim</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_IX" href="#a_IX">IX. The House of Death Floats By</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_X" href="#a_X">X. What Comes of Handlin' Snake-skin</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XI" href="#a_XI">XI. They're After Us!</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XII" href="#a_XII">XII. "Better Let Blame Well Alone"</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XIII" href="#a_XIII">XIII. Honest Loot from the "Walter Scott"</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XIV" href="#a_XIV">XIV. Was Solomon Wise?</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XV" href="#a_XV">XV. Fooling Poor Old Jim</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XVI" href="#a_XVI">XVI. The Rattlesnake-skin Does Its Work</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XVII" href="#a_XVII">XVII. The Grangerfords Take Me In</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XVIII" href="#a_XVIII">XVIII. Why Harney Rode Away for His Hat</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XIX" href="#a_XIX">XIX. The Duke and the Dauphin Come Aboard</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XX" href="#a_XX">XX. What Royalty Did to Parkville</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXI" href="#a_XXI">XXI. An Arkansaw Difficulty</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXII" href="#a_XXII">XXII. Why the Lynching Bee Failed</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXIII" href="#a_XXIII">XXIII. The Orneriness of Kings</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXIV" href="#a_XXIV">XXIV. The King Turns Parson</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXV" href="#a_XXV">XXV. All Full of Tears and Flapdoodle</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXVI" href="#a_XXVI">XXVI. I Steal the King's Plunder</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXVII" href="#a_XXVII">XXVII. Dead Peter has His Gold</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXVIII" href="#a_XXVIII">XXVIII. Overreaching Don't Pay</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXIX" href="#a_XXIX">XXIX. I Light Out in the Storm</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXX" href="#a_XXX">XXX. The Gold Saves the Thieves</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXXI" href="#a_XXXI">XXXI. You Can't Pray a Lie</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXXII" href="#a_XXXII">XXXII. I Have a New Name</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXXIII" href="#a_XXXIII">XXXIII. The Pitiful Ending of Royalty</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXXIV" href="#a_XXXIV">XXXIV. We Cheer Up Jim</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXXV" href="#a_XXXV">XXXV. Dark, Deep-laid Plans</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXXVI" href="#a_XXXVI">XXXVI. Trying to Help Jim</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXXVII" href="#a_XXXVII">XXXVII. Jim Gets His Witch-pie</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXXVIII" href="#a_XXXVIII">XXXVIII. "Here a Captive Heart Busted"</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XXXIX" href="#a_XXXIX">XXXIX. Tom Writes Nonnamous Letters</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XL" href="#a_XL">XL. A Mixed-up and Splendid Rescue</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XLI" href="#a_XLI">XLI. "Must 'a' Been Sperits"</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_XLII" href="#a_XLII">XLII. Why They Didn't Hang Jim</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_sub_CHL" href="#a_CHL">Chapter the Last. Nothing More to Write</a></p> +<br><br> +<br><br> +<br><br> +<h2 align="center">ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> +<br> +<p class="pg1">———</p> +<br> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_twain" href="#twain">Portrait of the Author—Frontispiece</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_huck" href="#huck">Huckleberry Finn</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_chaw" href="#chaw">"'Gimme a Chaw'"</a></p> +<p class="pg1"><a name="a_pie" href="#pie">Tom Advises a Witch Pie</a></p> +<br><br> +<br><br> +<a name="a_Notice"></a> +<p class="pg1"> +<big> +NOTICE +</big> +</p><br><p> +Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative +will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a +moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to +find a plot in it will be shot.<br><br> +   By Order of the Author,<br> +    Per G. G., Chief of Ordnance. +</p> +<br><br> +<br><br> +<a name="a_Explanatory"></a> +<p class="pg1"> +<big> +EXPLANATORY +</big> +</p><br> +<p> +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.</p> +<p> +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.<br><br> +    The Author. +</p> +<br><br> +<br><br> +<h2 align="center"><big>HUCKLEBERRY FINN</big></h2> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_I"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER I</h2> +<br> +<p> +You don't know about me without you have read +a book by the name of <i>The Adventures of Tom +Sawyer;</i> 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 Polly—Tom's Aunt Polly, she is—and 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. +</p><p> +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 apiece—all 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 round—more 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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, Huckleberry—set up straight"; +and pretty soon she would say, "Don't gap and +stretch like that, Huckleberry—why 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 downhearted +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. +</p><p> +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 boom—boom—boom—twelve licks; and +all still again—stiller than ever. Pretty soon I heard +a twig snap down in the dark amongst the trees—something +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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_II"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER II</h2> +<br> +<p> +We went tiptoeing along a path amongst the +trees back toward 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: +</p><p> +"Who dah?" +</p><p> +He listened some more; then he came 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 sleepy—if you are anywheres +where it won't do for you to scratch, why you will itch +all over in upward of a thousand places. Pretty soon +Jim says: +</p><p> +"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 ag'in." +</p><p> +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 snore—and then I was pretty soon comfortable +again. +</p><p> +Tom he made a sign to me—kind of a little noise +with his mouth—and 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. +</p><p> +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. Afterward Jim said the witches +bewitched 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. +</p><p> +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 Joe 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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 the list with blood +and never mentioned again by the gang, but have a +curse put on it and be forgot forever. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +Some thought it would be good to kill the <i>families</i> +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: +</p><p> +"Here's Huck Finn, he hain't got no family; what +you going to do 'bout him?" +</p><p> +"Well, hain't he got a father?" says Tom Sawyer. +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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 do—everybody 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 Watson—they +could kill her. Everybody said: +</p><p> +"Oh, she'll do. That's all right. Huck can come +in." +</p><p> +Then they all stuck a pin in their fingers to get +blood to sign with, and I made my mark on the paper. +</p><p> +"Now," says Ben Rogers, "what's the line of +business of this Gang?" +</p><p> +"Nothing only robbery and murder," Tom said. +</p><p> +"But who are we going to rob?—houses, or cattle, +or—" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Must we always kill the people?" +</p><p> +"Oh, certainly. It's best. Some authorities think +different, but mostly it's considered best to kill them—except +some that you bring to the cave here, and +keep them till they're ransomed." +</p><p> +"Ransomed? What's that?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"But how can we do it if we don't know what it is?" +</p><p> +"Why, blame it all, we've <i>got</i> 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?" +</p><p> +"Oh, that's all very fine to <i>say,</i> 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?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Now, that's something <i>like.</i> 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, too—eating up everything, and always +trying to get loose." +</p><p> +"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?" +</p><p> +"A guard! Well, that <i>is</i> 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?" +</p><p> +"Because it ain't in the books so—that'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 <i>you</i> can learn +'em anything? Not by a good deal. No, sir, we'll +just go on and ransom them in the regular way." +</p><p> +"All right. I don't mind; but I say it's a fool +way, anyhow. Say, do we kill the women, too?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 Joe +Harper second captain of the Gang, and so started +home. +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_III"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER III</h2> +<br> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +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 snuff-box that was stole? +Why can't Miss Watson fat up? No, says I to myself, +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 meant—I +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 it—except 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 Joe +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. +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Well," I says, "s'pose we got some genies to +help <i>us</i>—can't we lick the other crowd then?" +</p><p> +"How you going to get them?" +</p><p> +"I don't know. How do <i>they</i> get them?" +</p><p> +"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 it—or any +other man." +</p><p> +"Who makes them tear around so?" +</p><p> +"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 it—and +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." +</p><p> +"Well," says I, "I think they are a pack of flatheads +for not keeping the palace themselves 'stead +of fooling them away like that. And what's more—if +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." +</p><p> +"How you talk, Huck Finn. Why, you'd <i>have</i> to +come when he rubbed it, whether you wanted to +or not." +</p><p> +"What! and I as high as a tree and as big as a +church? All right, then; I <i>would</i> come; but I lay +I'd make that man climb the highest tree there +was in the country." +</p><p> +"Shucks, it ain't no use to talk to you, Huck Finn. +You don't seem to know anything, somehow—perfect +saphead." +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_IV"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER IV</h2> +<br> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 awhile, 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Why, my boy, you are all out of breath. Did +you come for your interest?" +</p><p> +"No, sir," I says; "is there some for me?" +</p><p> +"Oh, yes, a half-yearly is in last night—over 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." +</p><p> +"No, sir," I says, "I don't want to spend it. I +don't want it at all—nor the six thousand, nuther. +I want you to take it; I want to give it to you—the +six thousand and all." +</p><p> +He looked surprised. He couldn't seem to make +it out. He says: +</p><p> +"Why, what can you mean, my boy?" +</p><p> +I says, "Don't you ask me no questions about +it, please. You'll take it—won't you?" +</p><p> +He says: +</p><p> +"Well, I'm puzzled. Is something the matter?" +</p><p> +"Please take it," says I, "and don't ask me nothing—then +I won't have to tell no lies." +</p><p> +He studied awhile, and then he says: +</p><p> +"Oho-o! I think I see. You want to <i>sell</i> all +your property to me—not give it. That's the +correct idea." +</p><p> +Then he wrote something on a paper and read +it over, and says: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +So I signed it, and left. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Yo' ole father doan' know yit what he's a-gwyne +to do. Sometimes he spec he'll go 'way, en den +ag'in 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 ag'in. 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." +</p><p> +When I lit my candle and went up to my room +that night there sat pap—his own self!</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_V"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER V</h2> +<br> +<p> +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 +mistaken—that 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. +</p><p> +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 crawl—a +tree-toad white, a fish-belly white. As for his clothes—just +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 floor—an +old black slouch with the top caved in, like a lid. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Starchy clothes—very. You think you're a good +deal of a big-bug, <i>don't</i> you?" +</p><p> +"Maybe I am, maybe I ain't," I says. +</p><p> +"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 say—can read +and write. You think you're better'n your father, +now, don't you, because he can't? <i>I'll</i> take it out of +you. Who told you you might meddle with such +hifalut'n foolishness, hey?—who told you you could?" +</p><p> +"The widow. She told me." +</p><p> +"The widow, hey?—and who told the widow she +could put in her shovel about a thing that ain't none +of her business?" +</p><p> +"Nobody never told her." +</p><p> +"Well, I'll learn her how to meddle. And looky +here—you 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 <i>he</i> 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 <i>they</i> died. I can't; and here +you're a-swelling yourself up like this. I ain't the man +to stand it—you hear? Say, lemme hear you read." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +He took up a little blue and yaller picture of some +cows and a boy, and says: +</p><p> +"What's this?" +</p><p> +"It's something they give me for learning my +lessons good." +</p><p> +He tore it up, and says: +</p><p> +"I'll give you something better—I'll give you a +cowhide." +</p><p> +He set there a-mumbling and a-growling a minute, +and then he says: +</p><p> +"<i>Ain't</i> you a sweet-scented dandy, though? A +bed; and bedclothes; and a look'n'-glass; and a piece +of carpet on the floor—and 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 airs—they say you're rich. Hey?—how's +that?" +</p><p> +"They lie—that's how." +</p><p> +"Looky here—mind how you talk to me; I'm +a-standing about all I can stand now—so 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-morrow—I want +it." +</p><p> +"I hain't got no money." +</p><p> +"It's a lie. Judge Thatcher's got it. You git it. +I want it." +</p><p> +"I hain't got no money, I tell you. You ask Judge +Thatcher; he'll tell you the same." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"I hain't got only a dollar, and I want that to—" +</p><p> +"It don't make no difference what you want it for—you +just shell it out." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 <i>he</i> was +satisfied; said he was boss of his son, and he'd make +it warm for <i>him.</i> +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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 words—don't forget I said +them. It's a clean hand now; shake it—don't be +afeard." +</p><p> +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 pledge—made 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 toward 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_VI"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER VI</h2> +<br> +<p> +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 business—appeared 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 suited—this +kind of thing was right in his line. +</p><p> +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, +<i>wasn't</i> 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. +</p><p> +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 +it—all but the cowhide part. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 out—big enough to let me through. +Well, it was a good long job, but I was getting +toward 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. +</p><p> +Pap warn't in a good humor—so 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 Adam—he was just all mud. Whenever his +liquor begun to work he most always went for the +govment. This time he says: +</p><p> +"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 him—a 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 <i>him</i> and +give him a rest, the law up and goes for him. And +they call <i>that</i> 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 <i>told</i> +'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 ag'in. Them's the very words. I +says, look at my hat—if you call it a hat—but 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 I—such a hat +for me to wear—one of the wealthiest men in this +town if I could git my rights. +</p><p> +"Oh, yes, this is a wonderful govment, wonderful. +Why, looky here. There was a free nigger there from +Ohio—a 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 cane—the +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 <i>vote</i> 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 ag'in. +Them's the very words I said; they all heard me; +and the country may rot for all me—I'll never vote +ag'in as long as I live. And to see the cool way of +that nigger—why, 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, now—that'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—" +</p><p> +Pap was a-going 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 language—mostly 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 cheek—but 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 awhile, 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: +</p><p> +"Tramp—tramp—tramp; that's the dead; tramp—tramp—tramp; +they're coming after me; but I +won't go. Oh, they're here! don't touch me—don't! +hands off—they're cold; let go. Oh, let a poor devil +alone!" +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 <i>such</i> 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. +</p><p> +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, and 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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_VII"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER VII</h2> +<br> +<p> +"Git up! What you 'bout?" +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"What you doin' with this gun?" +</p><p> +I judged he didn't know nothing about what he +had been doing, so I says: +</p><p> +"Somebody tried to get in, so I was laying for +him." +</p><p> +"Why didn't you roust me out?" +</p><p> +"Well, I tried to, but I couldn't; I couldn't budge +you." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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 rafts—sometimes +a dozen logs together; so all you have to +do is to catch them and sell them to the woodyards +and the sawmill. +</p><p> +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 this—she'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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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?" +</p><p> +Then he dropped down and went to sleep again; +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. +</p><p> +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 raft—nine 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. +</p> +<br><br> +<a name="huck"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/huck.jpg" alt="HUCKLEBERRY FINN"></p> +<p class="pg1">HUCKLEBERRY FINN</p> +<br><br> +<p> +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; +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 things—everything +that was worth a cent. I cleaned out the place. I +wanted an ax, 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +I took the ax 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 ax, and laid him down +on the ground to bleed; I say ground because it was +ground—hard packed, and no boards. Well, next I +took an old sack and put a lot of big rocks in it—all +I could drag—and 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. +</p><p> +Well, last I pulled out some of my hair, and blooded +the ax good, and stuck it on the back side, and slung +the ax 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 place—pap +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 rushes—and 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 <i>smelt</i> late. You know what I mean—I +don't know the words to put it in. +</p><p> +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 +was—a 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. +Thinks 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 <i>was</i> pap, sure +enough—and sober, too, by the way he laid his oars. +</p><p> +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 toward 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, too—every word +of it. One man said it was getting towards the long +days and the short nights now. T'other one said <i>this</i> +warn't one of the short ones, he reckoned—and 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 +woman—she 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. +</p><p> +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 head—it was all under water +now. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 upstream, +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. +</p><p> +There was a little gray in the sky now; so I stepped +into the woods, and laid down for a nap before breakfast.</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_VIII"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<br> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +I was powerful lazy and comfortable—didn'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 up—about 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. +</p><p> +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 morning—so +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 shore—I 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. +</p><p> +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 thing—that +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 Joe 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: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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 awhile. 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +And so for three days and nights. No difference—just +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +I reckon I was up in the tree two hours; but I +didn't see nothing, I didn't hear nothing—I only +<i>thought</i> 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. +</p><p> +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 bank—about +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 +<i>plunkety-plunk</i>, <i>plunkety-plunk</i>, 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: +</p><p> +"We better camp here if we can find a good +place; the horses is about beat out. Let's look +around." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 fantods. 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: +</p><p> +"Hello, Jim!" and skipped out. +</p><p> +He bounced up and stared at me wild. Then he +drops down on his knees, and puts his hands together +and says: +</p><p> +"Doan' hurt me—don'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 ag'in, +whah you b'longs, en doan' do nuffn to Ole Jim, 'at +'uz alwuz yo' fren'." +</p><p> +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 +<i>him</i> telling the people where I was. I talked along, +but he only set there and looked at me; never said +nothing. Then I says: +</p><p> +"It's good daylight. Le's get breakfast. Make +up your camp-fire good." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Strawberries and such truck," I says. "Is that +what you live on?" +</p><p> +"I couldn' git nuffn else," he says. +</p><p> +"Why, how long you been on the island, Jim?" +</p><p> +"I come heah de night arter you's killed." +</p><p> +"What, all that time?" +</p><p> +"Yes-indeedy." +</p><p> +"And ain't you had nothing but that kind of rubbage to eat?" +</p><p> +"No, sah—nuffn else." +</p><p> +"Well, you must be most starved, ain't you?" +</p><p> +"I reck'n I could eat a hoss. I think I could. +How long you ben on de islan'?" +</p><p> +"Since the night I got killed." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +By and by Jim says: +</p><p> +"But looky here, Huck, who wuz it dat 'uz killed +in dat shanty ef it warn't you?" +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"How do you come to be here, Jim, and how'd you +get here?" +</p><p> +He looked pretty uneasy, and didn't say nothing for +a minute. Then he says: +</p><p> +"Maybe I better not tell." +</p><p> +"Why, Jim?" +</p><p> +"Well, dey's reasons. But you wouldn' tell on me +ef I 'uz to tell you, would you, Huck?" +</p><p> +"Blamed if I would, Jim." +</p><p> +"Well, I b'lieve you, Huck. I—I <i>run off</i>." +</p><p> +"Jim!" +</p><p> +"But mind, you said you wouldn' tell—you know +you said you wouldn' tell, Huck." +</p><p> +"Well, I did. I said I wouldn't, and I'll stick to it. +Honest <i>injun</i>, I will. People would call me a low-down +Abolitionist and despise me for keeping mum—but +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." +</p><p> +"Well, you see, it 'uz dis way. Ole missus—dat's +Miss Watson—she 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't do it, but I never waited to hear de res'. +I lit out mighty quick, I tell you. +</p><p> +"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 tumbledown +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. +</p><p> +"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. +</p><p> +"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 a-gwyne 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' <i>make</i> no track. +</p><p> +"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. +</p><p> +"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't—bank too bluff. +I uz mos' to de foot er de islan' +b'fo' I foun' 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." +</p><p> +"And so you ain't had no meat nor bread to eat +all this time? Why didn't you get mud-turkles?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Well, that's so. You've had to keep in the +woods all the time, of course. Did you hear 'em +shooting the cannon?" +</p><p> +"Oh, yes. I knowed dey was arter you. I see +um go by heah—watched um thoo de bushes." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 tablecloth +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Mighty few—an' <i>dey</i> 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 +a-gwyne 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." +</p><p> +"Have you got hairy arms and a hairy breast, Jim?" +</p><p> +"What's de use to ax dat question? Don't you +see I has?" +</p><p> +"Well, are you rich?" +</p><p> +"No, but I ben rich wunst, and gwyne to be +rich ag'in. Wunst I had foteen dollars, but I tuck +to specalat'n', en got busted out." +</p><p> +"What did you speculate in, Jim?" +</p><p> +"Well, fust I tackled stock." +</p><p> +"What kind of stock?" +</p><p> +"Why, live stock—cattle, 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." +</p><p> +"So you lost the ten dollars." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"You had five dollars and ten cents left. Did you +speculate any more?" +</p><p> +"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. +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"What did you do with the ten cents, Jim?" +</p><p> +"Well, I 'uz gwyne to spen' it, but I had a dream, +en de dream tole me to give it to a nigger name' +Balum—Balum'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." +</p><p> +"Well, what did come of it, Jim?" +</p><p> +"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 <i>cents</i> +back, I'd call it squah, en be glad er de chanst." +</p><p> +"Well, it's all right anyway, Jim, long as you're +going to be rich again some time or other." +</p><p> +"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'." +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_IX"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER IX</h2> +<br> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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? +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 blackest—<i>fst!</i> 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-stairs—where it's long stairs and they +bounce a good deal, you know. +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"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 gittin' mos' drownded, too; dat you +would, honey. Chickens knows when it's gwyne to +rain, en so do de birds, chile." +</p><p> +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 across—a half +a mile—because the Missouri shore was just a wall +of high bluffs. +</p><p> +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 turtles—they 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. +</p><p> +One night we catched a little section of a lumber-raft—nice +pine planks. It was twelve foot wide and +about fifteen or sixteen foot long, and the top stood +above water six or seven inches—a 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. +</p><p> +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 aboard—clumb in at an up-stairs window. But +it was too dark to see yet, so we made the canoe +fast and set in her to wait for daylight. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Hello, you!" +</p><p> +But it didn't budge. So I hollered again, and then +Jim says: +</p><p> +"De man ain't asleep—he's dead. You hold still—I'll +go en see." +</p><p> +He went, and bent down and looked, and says: +</p><p> +"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 face—it's too gashly." +</p><p> +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 canoe—it 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. +</p><p> +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 fish-line 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 currycomb, 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_X"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER X</h2> +<br> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"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'." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 practised +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. +</p><p> +I started up the Illinois shore in the canoe just +after dark. +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XI"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XI</h2> +<br> +<p> +"Come in," says the woman, and I did. She +says: "Take a cheer." +</p><p> +I done it. She looked me all over with her little +shiny eyes, and says: +</p><p> +"What might your name be?" +</p><p> +"Sarah Williams." +</p><p> +"Where'bouts do you live? In this neighborhood?" +</p><p> +"No'm. In Hookerville, seven mile below. I've +walked all the way and I'm all tired out." +</p><p> +"Hungry, too, I reckon. I'll find you something." +</p><p> +"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?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"No," I says; "I'll rest awhile, I reckon, and go +on. I ain't afeard of the dark." +</p><p> +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 +alone—and 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 twelve thousand dollars (only +she got it twenty) 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: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Well, I reckon there's a right smart chance of +people <i>here</i> that 'd like to know who killed him. +Some think old Finn done it himself." +</p><p> +"No—is that so?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Why <i>he</i>—" +</p><p> +I stopped. I reckoned I better keep still. She +run on, and never noticed I had put in at all: +</p><p> +"The nigger run off the very night Huck Finn was +killed. So there's a reward out for him—three hundred +dollars. And there's a reward out for old Finn, +too—two 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." +</p><p> +"Yes, I reckon so, 'm. I don't see nothing in the +way of it. Has everybody quit thinking the nigger +done it?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Why, are they after him yet?" +</p><p> +"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 them—but 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 see—him 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." +</p><p> +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 +interested—and I was, too—and says: +</p><p> +"Three hundred dollars is a power of money. I +wish my mother could get it. Is your husband going +over there to-night?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Couldn't they see better if they was to wait till +daytime?" +</p><p> +"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 campfire +all the better for the dark, if he's got one." +</p><p> +"I didn't think of that." +</p><p> +The woman kept looking at me pretty curious, and +I didn't feel a bit comfortable. Pretty soon she says: +</p><p> +"What did you say your name was, honey?" +</p><p> +"M—Mary Williams." +</p><p> +Somehow it didn't seem to me that I said it was +Mary before, so I didn't look up—seemed to me I +said it was Sarah; so I felt sort of cornered, and was +afeard 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: +</p><p> +"Honey, I thought you said it was Sarah when +you first come in?" +</p><p> +"Oh, yes'm, I did. Sarah Mary Williams. Sarah's +my first name. Some calls me Sarah, some calls me +Mary." +</p><p> +"Oh, that's the way of it?" +</p><p> +"Yes'm." +</p><p> +I was feeling better then, but I wished I was out of +there, anyway. I couldn't look up yet. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Keep your eye on the rats. You better have the +lead in your lap, handy." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Come, now, what's your real name?" +</p><p> +"Wh-hat, mum?" +</p><p> +"What's your real name? Is it Bill, or Tom, or +Bob?—or what is it?" +</p><p> +I reckon I shook like a leaf, and I didn't know +hardly what to do. But I says: +</p><p> +"Please to don't poke fun at a poor girl like me, +mum. If I'm in the way here, I'll—" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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 mustn'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. +</p><p> +"Goshen, child? This ain't Goshen. This is St. +Petersburg. Goshen's ten mile further up the river. +Who told you this was Goshen?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"He was drunk, I reckon. He told you just exactly +wrong." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Hold on a minute. I'll put you up a snack to eat. +You might want it." +</p><p> +So she put me up a snack, and says: +</p><p> +"Say, when a cow's laying down, which end +of her gets up first? Answer up prompt now—don't +stop to study over it. Which end gets up +first?" +</p><p> +"The hind end, mum." +</p><p> +"Well, then, a horse?" +</p><p> +"The for'rard end, mum." +</p><p> +"Which side of a tree does the moss grow on?" +</p><p> +"North side." +</p><p> +"If fifteen cows is browsing on a hillside, how +many of them eats with their heads pointed the same +direction?" +</p><p> +"The whole fifteen, mum." +</p><p> +"Well, I reckon you <i>have</i> lived in the country. I +thought maybe you was trying to hocus me again. +What's your real name, now?" +</p><p> +"George Peters, mum." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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 +clear—eleven. 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Git up and hump yourself, Jim! There ain't a +minute to lose. They're after us!" +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 +still—never saying a word. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XII"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XII</h2> +<br> +<p> +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 <i>everything</i> +on the raft. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 towhead +is a sand-bar that has cottonwoods on it as thick +as harrow-teeth. +</p><p> +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-fire—no, 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 village—no, 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 laughed—only a little kind of a low chuckle. +We had mighty good weather as a general thing, and +nothing ever happened to us at all—that night, nor +the next, nor the next. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +Every night now I used to slip ashore toward 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. +</p><p> +Mornings before daylight I slipped into corn-fields +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 more—then 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 toward 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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-<i>lo</i>, 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. +</p><p> +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 seen 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: +</p><p> +"Le's land on her, Jim." +</p><p> +But Jim was dead against it at first. He says: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"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 you—and cost +five cents apiece, solid cash. Steamboat captains is +always rich, and get sixty dollars a month, and <i>they</i> +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 +adventure—that'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 <i>was</i> here." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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! +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Oh, please don't, boys; I swear I won't ever tell!" +</p><p> +Another voice said, pretty loud: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"I'd <i>like</i> to! And I orter, too—a mean skunk!" +</p><p> +The man on the floor would shrivel up and say, +"Oh, please don't, Bill; I hain't ever goin' to tell." +</p><p> +And every time he said that the man with the +lantern would laugh and say: +</p><p> +"'Deed you <i>ain't!</i> 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 <i>for</i>? +Jist for noth'n'. Jist because we stood on our <i>rights</i>—that's +what for. But I lay you ain't a-goin' to +threaten nobody any more, Jim Turner. Put <i>up</i> +that pistol, Bill." +</p><p> +Bill says: +</p><p> +"I don't want to, Jake Packard. I'm for killin' +him—and didn't he kill old Hatfield jist the same +way—and don't he deserve it?" +</p><p> +"But I don't <i>want</i> him killed, and I've got my +reasons for it." +</p><p> +"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. +</p><p> +Packard didn't take no notice of that, but hung +up his lantern on a nail and started toward 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: +</p><p> +"Here—come in here." +</p><p> +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 <i>couldn't</i> +breathe and hear such talk. They talked low and +earnest. Bill wanted to kill Turner. He says: +</p><p> +"He's said he'll tell, and he will. If we was to +give both our shares to him <i>now</i> 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 <i>me.</i> I'm for putting him out +of his troubles." +</p><p> +"So'm I," says Packard, very quiet. +</p><p> +"Blame it, I'd sorter begun to think you wasn't. +Well, then, that's all right. Le's go and do it." +</p><p> +"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 things <i>got</i> to be done. But what <i>I</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?" +</p><p> +"You bet it is. But how you goin' to manage it +this time?" +</p><p> +"Well, my idea is this: we'll rustle around and +gather up whatever pickin's 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 considerable 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?" +</p><p> +"Yes, I reck'n you are. But s'pose she <i>don't</i> +break up and wash off?" +</p><p> +"Well, we can wait the two hours anyway and +see, can't we?" +</p><p> +"All right, then; come along." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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 +<i>all</i> of 'em in a bad fix—for the sheriff 'll get 'em. +Quick—hurry! I'll hunt the labboard side, you hunt +the stabboard. You start at the raft, and—" +</p><p> +"Oh, my lordy, lordy! <i>Raf'?</i> Dey ain' no raf' +no mo'; she done broke loose en gone!—en here +we is!" +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XIII"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<br> +<p> +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 +<i>got</i> to find that boat now—had to have it for ourselves. +So we went a-quaking and shaking down the +stabboard side, and slow work it was, too—seemed +a week before we got to the stern. No sign of a boat. +Jim said he didn't believe he could go any farther—so +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: +</p><p> +"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 <i>he</i> come out and got in. Packard says, in a low +voice: +</p><p> +"All ready—shove off!" +</p><p> +I couldn't hardly hang on to the shutters, I was so +weak. But Bill says: +</p><p> +"Hold on—'d you go through him?" +</p><p> +"No. Didn't you?" +</p><p> +"No. So he's got his share o' the cash yet." +</p><p> +"Well, then, come along; no use to take truck and +leave money." +</p><p> +"Say, won't he suspicion what we're up to?" +</p><p> +"Maybe he won't. But we got to have it anyway. +Come along." +</p><p> +So they got out and went in. +</p><p> +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! +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +Then Jim manned the oars, and we took out after +our raft. Now was the first time that I begun to +worry about the men—I 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: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 showed—up 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Hello, what's up? Don't cry, bub. What's the +trouble?" +</p><p> +I says: +</p><p> +"Pap, and mam, and sis, and—" +</p><p> +Then I broke down. He says: +</p><p> +"Oh, dang it now, <i>don't</i> take on so; we all has to +have our troubles, and this 'n 'll come out all right. +What's the matter with 'em?" +</p><p> +"They're—they're—are you the watchman of the +boat?" +</p><p> +"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>I'd</i> 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—" +</p><p> +I broke in and says: +</p><p> +"They're in an awful peck of trouble, and—" +</p><p> +"<i>Who</i> is?" +</p><p> +"Why, pap and mam and sis and Miss Hooker; +and if you'd take your ferryboat and go up there—" +</p><p> +"Up where? Where are they?" +</p><p> +"On the wreck." +</p><p> +"What wreck?" +</p><p> +"Why, there ain't but one." +</p><p> +"What, you don't mean the <i>Walter Scott?"</i> +</p><p> +"Yes." +</p><p> +"Good land! what are they doin' <i>there</i>, for gracious +sakes?" +</p><p> +"Well, they didn't go there a-purpose." +</p><p> +"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?" +</p><p> +"Easy enough. Miss Hooker was a-visiting up +there to the town—" +</p><p> +"Yes, Booth's Landing—go on." +</p><p> +"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 name—and 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 <i>we</i> saddle-baggsed; +but all of us was saved but Bill Whipple—and +oh, he <i>was</i> the best cretur!—I most wish 't it +had been me, I do." +</p><p> +"My George! It's the beatenest thing I ever +struck. And <i>then</i> what did you all do?" +</p><p> +"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—" +</p><p> +"By Jackson, I'd <i>like</i> to, and, blame it, I don't +know but I will; but who in the dingnation's a-going +to <i>pay</i> for it? Do you reckon your pap—" +</p><p> +"Why <i>that's</i> all right. Miss Hooker she tole me, +<i>particular</i>, that her uncle Hornback—" +</p><p> +"Great guns! is <i>he</i> 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." +</p><p> +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 wood-boats; 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XIV"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<br> +<p> +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 spy-glass, +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 <i>him</i> 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 +and so on, 'stead of mister; and Jim's eyes bugged +out, and he was interested. He says: +</p><p> +"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?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"<i>Ain'</i> dat gay? En what dey got to do, Huck?" +</p><p> +"<i>They</i> don't do nothing! Why, how you talk! +They just set around." +</p><p> +"No; is dat so?" +</p><p> +"Of course it is. They just set around—except, +maybe, when there's a war; then they go to the war. +But other times they just lazy around; or go hawking—just hawking +and sp—Sh!—d'you hear a noise?" +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Roun' de which?" +</p><p> +"Harem." +</p><p> +"What's de harem?" +</p><p> +"The place where he keeps his wives. Don't you +know about the harem? Solomon had one; he had +about a million wives." +</p><p> +"Why, yes, dat's so; I—I'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 <i>down</i> de biler-factry when he want to res'." +</p><p> +"Well, but he <i>was</i> the wisest man, anyway; because +the widow she told me so, her own self." +</p><p> +"I doan' k'yer what de widder say, he <i>warn't</i> 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?" +</p><p> +"Yes, the widow told me all about it." +</p><p> +"<i>Well</i>, den! Warn' dat de beatenes' notion in de +worl'? You jes' take en look at it a minute. Dah's +de stump, dah—dat's one er de women; heah's you—dat'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 <i>do</i> 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 <i>two</i>, 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." +</p><p> +"But hang it, Jim, you've clean missed the point—blame +it, you've missed it a thousand mile." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"But I tell you you don't get the point." +</p><p> +"Blame de point! I reck'n I knows what I knows. +En mine you, de <i>real</i> pint furder—it'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. <i>He</i> 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. <i>He</i> +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 fetch him!" +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +"Po' little chap." +</p><p> +"But some says he got out and got away, and +come to America." +</p><p> +"Dat's good! But he'll be pooty lonesome—dey +ain' no kings here, is dey, Huck?" +</p><p> +"No." +</p><p> +"Den he cain't git no situation. What he gwyne +to do?" +</p><p> +"Well, I don't know. Some of them gets on the +police, and some of them learns people how to talk +French." +</p><p> +"Why, Huck, doan' de French people talk de +same way we does?" +</p><p> +"<i>No</i>, Jim; you couldn't understand a word they +said—not a single word." +</p><p> +"Well, now, I be ding-busted! How do dat +come?" +</p><p> +"<i>I</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-franzy—what would you +think?" +</p><p> +"I wouldn' think nuffn; I'd take en bust him +over de head—dat is, if he warn't white. I wouldn't +'low no nigger to call me dat." +</p><p> +"Shucks, it ain't calling you anything. It's only +saying, do you know how to talk French?" +</p><p> +"Well, den, why couldn't he <i>say</i> it?" +</p><p> +"Why, he <i>is</i> a-saying it. That's a Frenchman's +<i>way</i> of saying it." +</p><p> +"Well, it's a blame ridicklous way, en I doan' want +to hear no mo' 'bout it. Dey ain' no sense in it." +</p><p> +"Looky here, Jim; does a cat talk like we do?" +</p><p> +"No, a cat don't." +</p><p> +"Well, does a cow?" +</p><p> +"No, a cow don't, nuther." +</p><p> +"Does a cat talk like a cow, or a cow talk like +a cat?" +</p><p> +"No, dey don't." +</p><p> +"It's natural and right for 'em to talk different +from each other, ain't it?" +</p><p> +"Course." +</p><p> +"And ain't it natural and right for a cat and a +cow to talk different from <i>us</i>?" +</p><p> +"Why, mos' sholy it is." +</p><p> +"Well, then, why ain't it natural and right for a +<i>Frenchman</i> to talk different from us? You answer +me that." +</p><p> +"Is a cat a man, Huck?" +</p><p> +"No." +</p><p> +"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?" +</p><p> +"No, she ain't either of them." +</p><p> +"Well, den, she ain't got no business to talk like +either one er the yuther of 'em. Is a Frenchman +a man?" +</p><p> +"Yes." +</p><p> +"<i>Well</i>, den! Dad blame it, why doan' he <i>talk</i> like +a man? You answer me <i>dat!"</i> +</p><p> +I see it warn't no use wasting words—you can't +learn a nigger to argue. So I quit. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XV"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XV</h2> +<br> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +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 me—and +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 it—and 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. +</p><p> +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 <i>behind</i> me. I was +tangled good now. That was somebody else's +whoop, or else I was turned around. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 current was tearing by them +so swift. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 <i>feel</i> 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 <i>you're</i> 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 once—you'll see. +</p><p> +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 me—sometimes +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. +</p><p> +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 hearing—it was +floating a little faster than what I was. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 saw-logs made fast +together. Then I see another speck, and chased +that; then another, and this time I was right. It +was the raft. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Hello, Jim, have I been asleep? Why didn't you +stir me up?" +</p><p> +"Goodness gracious, is dat you, Huck? En you +ain' dead—you ain' drownded—you's back ag'in? +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 ag'in, 'live en soun', jis de +same ole Huck—de same ole Huck, thanks to goodness!" +</p><p> +"What's the matter with you, Jim? You been +a-drinking?" +</p><p> +"Drinkin'? Has I ben a-drinkin'? Has I had a +chance to be a-drinkin'?" +</p><p> +"Well, then, what makes you talk so wild?" +</p><p> +"How does I talk wild?" +</p><p> +"<i>How?</i> Why, hain't you been talking about my +coming back, and all that stuff, as if I'd been gone +away?" +</p><p> +"Huck—Huck Finn, you look me in de eye; look +me in de eye. <i>Hain't</i> you ben gone away?" +</p><p> +"Gone away? Why, what in the nation do you +mean? <i>I</i> hain't been gone anywheres. Where would +I go to?" +</p><p> +"Well, looky here, boss, dey's sumfn wrong, dey +is. Is I <i>me</i>, or who <i>is</i> I? Is I heah, or whah <i>is</i> I? +Now dat's what I wants to know." +</p><p> +"Well, I think you're here, plain enough, but I +think you're a tangle-headed old fool, Jim." +</p><p> +"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 towhead?" +</p><p> +"No, I didn't. What towhead? I hain't seen no +towhead." +</p><p> +"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?" +</p><p> +"What fog?" +</p><p> +"Why, <i>de</i> 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, boss—ain't it so? You answer me dat." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Dad fetch it, how is I gwyne to dream all dat in +ten minutes?" +</p><p> +"Well, hang it all, you did dream it, because there +didn't any of it happen." +</p><p> +"But, Huck, it's all jis' as plain to me as—" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +Jim didn't say nothing for about five minutes, but +set there studying over it. Then he says: +</p><p> +"Well, den, I reck'n I did dream it, Huck; but +dog my cats ef it ain't de powerfulest dream I ever +see. En I hain't ever had no dream b'fo' dat's tired +me like dis one." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +It had clouded up pretty dark just after I got on to +the raft, but it was clearing up again now. +</p><p> +"Oh, well, that's all interpreted well enough as far +as it goes, Jim," I says; "but what does <i>these</i> things +stand for?" +</p><p> +It was the leaves and rubbish on the raft and the +smashed oar. You could see them first-rate now. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"What do dey stan' for? I's 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 ag'in, 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 <i>trash</i>; en trash is what people is dat puts dirt +on de head er dey fren's en makes 'em ashamed." +</p><p> +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 <i>his</i> foot to get him to take it +back. +</p><p> +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 afterward, 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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XVI"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XVI</h2> +<br> +<p> +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 <i>amounted</i> to something +being a raftsman on such a craft as that. +</p><p> +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 Jim—and 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Dah she is?" +</p><p> +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 <i>was</i> most free—and who +was to blame for it? Why, <i>me</i>. 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>I</i> warn't to blame, because <i>I</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 so—I +couldn't get around that no way. 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. <i>That's</i> what she done." +</p><p> +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 <i>was</i> Cairo I reckoned I would die of +miserableness. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 children—children that belonged to +a man I didn't even know; a man that hadn't ever +done me no harm. +</p><p> +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 me—it ain't too late yet—I'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: +</p><p> +"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!" +</p><p> +I says: +</p><p> +"I'll take the canoe and go and see, Jim. It +mightn't be, you know." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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 <i>only</i> +fren' ole Jim's got now." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Dah you goes, de ole true Huck; de on'y white +genlman dat ever kep' his promise to ole Jim." +</p><p> +Well, I just felt sick. But I says, I <i>got</i> to do it—I +can't get <i>out</i> 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: +</p><p> +"What's that yonder?" +</p><p> +"A piece of a raft," I says. +</p><p> +"Do you belong on it?" +</p><p> +"Yes, sir." +</p><p> +"Any men on it?" +</p><p> +"Only one, sir." +</p><p> +"Well, there's five niggers run off to-night up +yonder, above the head of the bend. Is your man +white or black?" +</p><p> +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 +enough—hadn't the spunk of a rabbit. I see I was +weakening; so I just give up trying, and up and +says: +</p><p> +"He's white." +</p><p> +"I reckon we'll go and see for ourselves." +</p><p> +"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 sick—and so is mam +and Mary Ann." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +I buckled to my paddle and they laid to their oars. +When we had made a stroke or two, I says: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Well, that's infernal mean. Odd, too. Say, boy, +what's the matter with your father?" +</p><p> +"It's the—a—the—well, it ain't anything much." +</p><p> +They stopped pulling. It warn't but a mighty +little ways to the raft now. One says: +</p><p> +"Boy, that's a lie. What <i>is</i> the matter with your +pap? Answer up square now, and it 'll be the better +for you." +</p><p> +"I will, sir, I will, honest—but don't leave us, +please. It's the—the—Gentlemen, if you'll only +pull ahead, and let me heave you the headline, you +won't have to come a-near the raft—please do." +</p><p> +"Set her back, John, set her back!" says one. +They backed water. "Keep away, boy—keep to +looard. Confound it, I just expect the wind has +blowed it to us. Your pap's got the smallpox, and +you know it precious well. Why didn't you come out +and say so? Do you want to spread it all over?" +</p><p> +"Well," says I, a-blubbering, "I've told everybody +before, and they just went away and left us." +</p><p> +"Poor devil, there's something in that. We are +right down sorry for you, but we—well, hang it, we +don't want the smallpox, 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 is—it'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?" +</p><p> +"Hold on, Parker," says the man, "here's a +twenty to put on the board for me. Good-by, boy; +you do as Mr. Parker told you, and you'll be all +right." +</p><p> +"That's so, my boy—good-by, good-bye. If you +see any runaway niggers you get help and nab them, +and you can make some money by it." +</p><p> +"Good-by, sir," says I; "I won't let no runaway +niggers get by me if I can help it." +</p><p> +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 <i>started</i> right +when he's little ain't got no show—when 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 bad—I'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. +</p><p> +I went into the wigwam; Jim warn't there. I +looked all around; he warn't anywhere. I says: +</p><p> +"Jim!" +</p><p> +"Here I is, Huck. Is dey out o' sight yit? Don't +talk loud." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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 <i>wuz</i> de smartes' dodge! I tell you, +chile, I 'spec it save' ole Jim—ole Jim ain't going +to forgit you for dat, honey." +</p><p> +Then we talked about the money. It was a pretty +good raise—twenty 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +That night about ten we hove in sight of the +lights of a town away down in a left-hand bend. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Mister, is that town Cairo?" +</p><p> +"Cairo? no. You must be a blame' fool." +</p><p> +"What town is it, mister?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +I paddled to the raft. Jim was awful disappointed, +but I said never mind, Cairo would be the +next place, I reckoned. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Maybe we went by Cairo in the fog that night." +</p><p> +He says: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"I wish I'd never seen that snake-skin, Jim—I do +wish I'd never laid eyes on it." +</p><p> +"It ain't yo' fault, Huck; you didn't know. +Don't you blame yo'self 'bout it." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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! +</p><p> +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 luck—and keep on +fetching it, too, till we knowed enough to keep still. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +So we shoved out after dark on the raft. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 steam—and as Jim went overboard on +one side and I on the other, she come smashing +straight through the raft. +</p><p> +I dived—and 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XVII"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XVII</h2> +<br> +<p> +In about a minute somebody spoke out of a window +without putting his head out, and says: +</p><p> +"Be done, boys! Who's there?" +</p><p> +I says: +</p><p> +"It's me." +</p><p> +"Who's me?" +</p><p> +"George Jackson, sir." +</p><p> +"What do you want?" +</p><p> +"I don't want nothing, sir. I only want to go +along by, but the dogs won't let me." +</p><p> +"What are you prowling around here this time of +night for—hey?" +</p><p> +"I warn't prowling around, sir; I fell overboard +off of the steamboat." +</p><p> +"Oh, you did, did you? Strike a light there, +somebody. What did you say your name was?" +</p><p> +"George Jackson, sir. I'm only a boy." +</p><p> +"Look here, if you're telling the truth you needn't +be afraid—nobody '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?" +</p><p> +"No, sir, nobody." +</p><p> +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 fool—ain't +you got any sense? Put it on the floor behind +the front door. Bob, if you and Tom are ready, +take your places." +</p><p> +"All ready." +</p><p> +"Now, George Jackson, do you know the Shepherdsons?" +</p><p> +"No, sir; I never heard of them." +</p><p> +"Well, that may be so, and it mayn't. Now, all +ready. Step forward, George Jackson. And mind, +don't you hurry—come mighty slow. If there's +anybody with you, let him keep back—if he shows +himself he'll be shot. Come along now. Come +slow; push the door open yourself—just enough to +squeeze in, d'you hear?" +</p><p> +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 enough—put your head in." I done +it, but I judged they would take it off. +</p><p> +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 more—all of them fine and handsome—and +the sweetest old gray-headed lady, and back of her +two young women which I couldn't see right well. +The old gentleman says: +</p><p> +"There; I reckon it's all right. Come in." +</p><p> +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 windows—there warn't none +on the side. They held the candle, and took a good +look at me, and all said, "Why, <i>he</i> ain't a Shepherdson—no, +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 it—it 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: +</p><p> +"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?" +</p><p> +"True for you, Rachel—I forgot." +</p><p> +So the old lady says: +</p><p> +"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 him—oh, 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." +</p><p> +Buck looked about as old as me—thirteen 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: +</p><p> +"Ain't they no Shepherdsons around?" +</p><p> +They said, no, 'twas a false alarm. +</p><p> +"Well," he says, "if they'd 'a' ben some, I reckon +I'd 'a' got one." +</p><p> +They all laughed, and Bob says: +</p><p> +"Why, Buck, they might have scalped us all, +you've been so slow in coming." +</p><p> +"Well, nobody come after me, and it ain't right. +I'm always kept down; I don't get no show." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +"Well, guess," he says. +</p><p> +"How'm I going to guess," says I, "when I never +heard tell of it before?" +</p><p> +"But you can guess, can't you? It's just as easy." +</p><p> +"<i>Which</i> candle?" I says. +</p><p> +"Why, any candle," he says. +</p><p> +"I don't know where he was," says I; "where +was he?" +</p><p> +"Why, he was in the <i>dark</i>! That's where he was!" +</p><p> +"Well, if you knowed where he was, what did you +ask me for?" +</p><p> +"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 times—they +don't have no school now. Do you own a dog? +I've got a dog—and 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." +</p><p> +Cold corn-pone, cold corn-beef, butter and buttermilk—that +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: +</p><p> +"Can you spell, Buck?" +</p><p> +"Yes," he says. +</p><p> +"I bet you can't spell my name," says I. +</p><p> +"I bet you what you dare I can," says he. +</p><p> +"All right," says I, "go ahead." +</p><p> +"G-e-o-r-g-e J-a-x-o-n—there now," he says. +</p><p> +"Well," says I, "you done it, but I didn't think +you could. It ain't no slouch of a name to spell—right +off without studying." +</p><p> +I set it down, private, because somebody might +want <i>me</i> 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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, too—not bagged down in the middle +and busted, like an old basket. +</p><p> +They had pictures hung on the walls—mainly +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 before—blacker, +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 toward the moon—and 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p> +<blockquote> +ODE TO STEPHEN DOWLING BOTS, DEC'D<br> +<br> + And did young Stephen sicken,<br> + And did young Stephen die?<br> + And did the sad hearts thicken,<br> + And did the mourners cry?<br> +<br> + No; such was not the fate of<br> + Young Stephen Dowling Bots;<br> + Though sad hearts round him thickened,<br> + 'Twas not from sickness' shots.<br> +<br> + No whooping-cough did rack his frame,<br> + Nor measles drear with spots;<br> + Not these impaired the sacred name<br> + Of Stephen Dowling Bots.<br> +<br> + Despised love struck not with woe<br> + That head of curly knots,<br> + Nor stomach troubles laid him low,<br> + Young Stephen Dowling Bots.<br> +<br> + O no. Then list with tearful eye,<br> + Whilst I his fate do tell.<br> + His soul did from this cold world fly<br> + By falling down a well.<br> +<br> + They got him out and emptied him;<br> + Alas it was too late;<br> + His spirit was gone for to sport aloft<br> + In the realms of the good and great.<br> +</blockquote> +<p> +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 +undertaker—the 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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!</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XVIII"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +<br> +<p> +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 gray 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 be—you 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 manners—everybody was always good-mannered +where he was. Everybody loved to have +him around, too; he was sunshine most always—I +mean he made it seem like good weather. When he +turned into a cloud-bank it was awful dark for half a +minute, and that was enough; there wouldn't nothing +go wrong again for a week. +</p><p> +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 <i>they</i> 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. +</p><p> +Bob was the oldest and Tom next—tall, 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +Each person had their own nigger to wait on them—Buck +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. +</p><p> +This was all there was of the family now, but +there used to be more—three sons; they got killed; +and Emmeline that died. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +There was another clan of aristocracy around there—five +or six families—mostly 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. +</p><p> +One day Buck and me was away out in the woods +hunting, and heard a horse coming. We was crossing the road. Buck says: +</p><p> +"Quick! Jump for the woods!" +</p><p> +We done it, and then peeped down the woods +through the leaves. Pretty soon a splendid young +man came 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 come—to +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 judged—then his face sort of smoothed +down, and he says, kind of gentle: +</p><p> +"I don't like that shooting from behind a bush. +Why didn't you step into the road, my boy?" +</p><p> +"The Shepherdsons don't, father. They always +take advantage." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +Soon as I could get Buck down by the corn-cribs +under the trees by ourselves, I says: +</p><p> +"Did you want to kill him, Buck?" +</p><p> +"Well, I bet I did." +</p><p> +"What did he do to you?" +</p><p> +"Him? He never done nothing to me." +</p><p> +"Well, then, what did you want to kill him for?" +</p><p> +"Why, nothing—only it's on account of the feud." +</p><p> +"What's a feud?" +</p><p> +"Why, where was you raised? Don't you know +what a feud is?" +</p><p> +"Never heard of it before—tell me about it." +</p><p> +"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 <i>him</i>; then the other +brothers, on both sides, goes for one another; then +the <i>cousins</i> chip in—and 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." +</p><p> +"Has this one been going on long, Buck?" +</p><p> +"Well, I should <i>reckon!</i> 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 suit—which he would +naturally do, of course. Anybody would." +</p><p> +"What was the trouble about. Buck?—land?" +</p><p> +"I reckon maybe—I don't know." +</p><p> +"Well, who done the shooting? Was it a Grangerford +Shepherdson?" +</p><p> +"Laws, how do I know? It was so long ago." +</p><p> +"Don't anybody know?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Has there been many killed, Buck?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Has anybody been killed this year, Buck?" +</p><p> +"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 outrun 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 <i>him</i> out." +</p><p> +"I reckon that old man was a coward, Buck." +</p><p> +"I reckon he <i>warn't</i> a coward. Not by a blame' +sight. There ain't a coward amongst them Shepherdsons—not + 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 <i>fetched</i> home—and 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 <i>kind</i>." +</p><p> +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 +preaching—all 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 "<i>Half past two</i>" 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Mars Jawge, if you'll come down into de swamp +I'll show you a whole stack o' water-moccasins." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"All right; trot ahead." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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'." +</p><p> +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 asleep—and, by jings, it was my +old Jim! +</p><p> +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 <i>him</i> up and take +him into slavery again. Says he: +</p><p> +"I got hurt a little, en couldn't swim fas', so I wuz +a considerable 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 you—I wuz 'fraid o' de dogs; but +when it 'uz all quiet ag'in 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-gittin' along." +</p><p> +"Why didn't you tell my Jack to fetch me here +sooner, Jim?" +</p><p> +"Well, 'twarn't no use to 'sturb you, Huck, tell we +could do sumfn—but 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—" +</p><p> +"<i>What</i> raft, Jim?" +</p><p> +"Our ole raf'." +</p><p> +"You mean to say our old raft warn't smashed all to flinders?" +</p><p> +"No, she warn't. She was tore up a good deal—one +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't 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 ag'in mos' as good as new, en we's got a new lot +o' stuff, in de place o' what 'uz los'." +</p><p> +"Why, how did you get hold of the raft again, +Jim—did you catch her?" +</p><p> +"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 ag'in. 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." +</p><p> +"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 <i>he</i> ain't mixed up +in it. He can say he never seen us together, and +it 'll be the truth." +</p><p> +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 was—didn'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-stairs—nobody +around; everything as still as a mouse. Just +the same outside. Thinks I, what does it mean? +Down by the woodpile I comes across my Jack, +and says: +</p><p> +"What's it all about?" +</p><p> +Says he: +</p><p> +"Don't you know, Mars Jawge?" +</p><p> +"No," says I, "I don't." +</p><p> +"Well, den, Miss Sophia's run off! 'deed she has. +She run off in de night some time—nobody don't +know jis' when; run off to get married to dat young +Harney Shepherdson, you know—leastways, so dey +'spec. De fambly foun' it out 'bout half an hour +ago—maybe a little mo'—en' I <i>tell</i> you dey warn't +no time los'. Sich another hurryin' up guns en +hosses <i>you</i> 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." +</p><p> +"Buck went off 'thout waking me up." +</p><p> +"Well, I reck'n he <i>did!</i> 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." +</p><p> +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 came 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 other—wouldn'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 +relations—the 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 him—I hain't ever +heard anything like it. +</p><p> +All of a sudden, bang! bang! bang! goes three +or four guns—the men had slipped around through +the woods and come in from behind without their +horses! The boys jumped for the river—both of +them hurt—and 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 <i>all</i> +that happened—it 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 them—lots of times I dream about them. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Good lan'! is dat you, honey? Doan' make no +noise." +</p><p> +It was Jim's voice—nothing 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: +</p><p> +"Laws bless you, chile, I 'uz right down sho' +you's dead ag'in. 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' 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 ag'in en tells me +for certain you <i>is</i> dead. Lawsy, I's mighty glad +to git you back ag'in, honey." +</p><p> +I says: +</p><p> +"All right—that's mighty good; they won't find +me, and they'll think I've been killed, and floated +down the river—there's something up there that 'll +help them think so—so don't you lose no time, Jim, +but just shove off for the big water as fast as ever +you can." +</p><p> +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 +greens—there ain't nothing in the world so good +when it's cooked right—and 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.</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XIX"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XIX</h2> +<br> +<p> +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 +there—sometimes 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 up—nearly +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 anywheres—perfectly +still—just 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 line—that 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 +away—trading-scows, and such things; and long +black streaks—rafts; 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 wood-yard, 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! +</p><p> +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 see—just 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 ax flash and come down—you +don't hear nothing; you see that ax go up again, +and by the time it's above the man's head then you +hear the <i>k'chunk!</i>—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 laughing—heard +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: +</p><p> +"No; spirits wouldn't say, 'Dern the dern fog.'" +</p><p> +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 things—we was always +naked, day and night, whenever the mosquitoes +would let us—the new clothes Buck's folks made for +me was too good to be comfortable, and besides I +didn't go much on clothes, nohow. +</p><p> +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 +spark—which was a candle in a cabin window; and +sometimes on the water you could see a spark or +two—on 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 +<i>make</i> so many. Jim said the moon could 'a' <i>laid</i> 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +After midnight the people on shore went to bed, +and then for two or three hours the shores was black—no +more sparks in the cabin windows. These +sparks was our clock—the first one that showed +again meant morning was coming, so we hunted a +place to hide and tie up right away. +</p><p> +One morning about daybreak I found a canoe and +crossed over a chute to the main shore—it was only +two hundred yards—and 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 <i>me</i>—or +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 lives—said they +hadn't been doing nothing, and was being chased for +it—said there was men and dogs a-coming. They +wanted to jump right in, but I says: +</p><p> +"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 in—that 'll throw +the dogs off the scent." +</p><p> +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 awhile; 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. +</p><p> +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 woolen shirt, and ragged old blue jeans +britches stuffed into his boot-tops, and home-knit +galluses—no, 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +"What got you into trouble?" says the baldhead +to t'other chap. +</p><p> +"Well, I'd been selling an article to take the +tartar off the teeth—and it does take it off, too, and +generly the enamel along with it—but 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 <i>with</i> you. That's the whole yarn—what's +yourn?" +</p><p> +"Well, I'd ben a-runnin' 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 <i>tell</i> you, and takin' +as much as five or six dollars a night—ten cents +a head, children and niggers free—and 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 breakfast—I warn't hungry." +</p><p> +"Old man," said the young one, "I reckon we +might double-team it together; what do you think?" +</p><p> +"I ain't undisposed. What's your line—mainly?" +</p><p> +"Jour printer by trade; do a little in patent +medicines; theater-actor—tragedy, you know; take +a turn to mesmerism and phrenology when there's +a chance; teach singing-geography school for a +change; sling a lecture sometimes—oh, I do lots of +things—most anything that comes handy, so it ain't +work. What's your lay?" +</p><p> +"I've done considerble in the doctoring way in +my time. Layin' on o' hands is my best holt—for +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." +</p><p> +Nobody never said anything for a while; then the +young man hove a sigh and says: +</p><p> +"Alas!" +</p><p> +"What 're you alassin' about?" says the baldhead. +</p><p> +"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. +</p><p> +"Dern your skin, ain't the company good enough +for you?" says the baldhead, pretty pert and uppish. +</p><p> +"Yes, it <i>is</i> 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 <i>you</i>, gentlemen—far +from it; I don't blame anybody. I deserve it +all. Let the cold world do its worst; one thing I +know—there's a grave somewhere for me. The +world may go on just as it's always done, and take +everything from me—loved 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. +</p><p> +"Drot your pore broken heart," says the baldhead; +"what are you heaving your pore broken heart +at <i>us</i> f'r? <i>We</i> hain't done nothing." +</p><p> +"No, I know you haven't. I ain't blaming you, +gentlemen. I brought myself down—yes, I did it +myself. It's right I should suffer—perfectly right—I don't +make any moan." +</p><p> +"Brought you down from whar? Whar was you +brought down from?" +</p><p> +"Ah, you would not believe me; the world never +believes—let it pass—'tis no matter. The secret of +my birth—" +</p><p> +"The secret of your birth! Do you mean to say—" +</p><p> +"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!" +</p><p> +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?" +</p><p> +"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 estates—the +infant real duke was ignored. I am the lineal +descendant of that infant—I 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, heartbroken, and degraded to +the companionship of felons on a raft!" +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +But the old man got pretty silent by and by—didn'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: +</p><p> +"Looky here, Bilgewater," he says, "I'm nation +sorry for you, but you ain't the only person that's +had troubles like that." +</p><p> +"No?" +</p><p> +"No, you ain't. You ain't the only person that's +ben snaked down wrongfully out'n a high place." +</p><p> +"Alas!" +</p><p> +"No, you ain't the only person that's had a +secret of his birth." And, by jings, <i>he</i> begins to +cry. +</p><p> +"Hold! What do you mean?" +</p><p> +"Bilgewater, kin I trust you?" says the old man, +still sort of sobbing. +</p><p> +"To the bitter death!" He took the old man by +the hand and squeezed it, and says, "That secret +of your being: speak!" +</p><p> +"Bilgewater, I am the late Dauphin!" +</p><p> +You bet you, Jim and me stared this time. Then +the duke says: +</p><p> +"You are what?" +</p><p> +"Yes, my friend, it is too true—your eyes is +lookin' at this very moment on the pore disappeared +Dauphin, Looy the Seventeen, son of Looy the +Sixteen and Marry Antonette." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +Well, he cried and took on so that me and Jim +didn't know hardly what to do, we was so sorry—and +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 <i>him.</i> 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 <i>his</i> +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: +</p><p> +"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 king—so +what's the use to worry? Make the best o' things +the way you find 'em, says I—that's my motto. +This ain't no bad thing that we've struck here—plenty +grub and an easy life—come, give us your +hand, duke, and le's all be friends." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XX"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XX</h2> +<br> +<p> +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 +running—was Jim a runaway nigger? Says I: +</p><p> +"Goodness sakes! would a runaway nigger run +<i>south?</i>" +</p><p> +No, they allowed he wouldn't. I had to account +for things some way, so I says: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +The duke says: +</p><p> +"Leave me alone to cipher out a way so we can +run in the daytime if we want to. I'll think the thing +over—I'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 daylight—it mightn't be +healthy." +</p><p> +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 +shiver—it 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: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"'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 world—let me suffer; +I can bear it." +</p><p> +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 by—that was the town, you know—and +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 <i>h-whack!</i>—bum! bum! bumble-umble-um-bum-bum-bum-bum—and +the thunder +would go rumbling and grumbling away, and quit—and +then <i>rip</i> comes another flash and another sock-dolager. +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. +</p><p> +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 outside—I +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +The king got out an old ratty deck of cards after +breakfast, and him and the duke played seven-up +awhile, 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 <i>him.</i> 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: +</p><p> +"But the histrionic muse is the darling. Have you +ever trod the boards, Royalty?" +</p><p> +"No," says the king. +</p><p> +"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 swordfight +in 'Richard III.' and the balcony scene in 'Romeo +and Juliet.' How does that strike you?" +</p><p> +"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?" +</p><p> +"Easy!" +</p><p> +"All right. I'm jist a-freezin' for something fresh, +anyway. Le's commence right away." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"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 nightgown +and her ruffled nightcap. Here are the costumes +for the parts." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +The duke said what he was after was a printing-office. +We found it; a little bit of a concern, up over +a carpenter-shop—carpenters 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 sing—and 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-<i>men</i>!" And so he +went on, and the people groaning and crying and +saying amen: +</p><p> +"Oh, come to the mourners' bench! come, black +with sin! (<i>amen!</i>) come, sick and sore! (<i>amen!</i>) +come, lame and halt and blind! (<i>amen!</i>) come, pore +and needy, sunk in shame! (<i>a-a-men!</i>) 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 open—oh, enter in +and be at rest!" (<i>a-a-men! glory, glory hallelujah!</i>) +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +Well, the first I knowed the king got a-going, and +you could hear him over everybody; and next he +went a-charging up onto the platform, and the +preacher he begged him to speak to the people, and +he done it. He told them he was a pirate—been a +pirate for thirty years out in the Indian Ocean—and +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!" +</p><p> +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 <i>him</i> pass the hat around!" Then everybody +said it, the preacher too. +</p><p> +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 times—and 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +The duke was thinking <i>he'd</i> 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-office—horse bills—and 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 +advance—so 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 head—three +verses—kind of sweet and saddish—the 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. +</p><p> +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's +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. +</p><p> +"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 thing—we must +preserve the unities, as we say on the boards." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +When Jim called me to take the watch at four in +the morning, he says: +</p><p> +"Huck, does you reck'n we gwyne to run acrost +any mo' kings on dis trip?" +</p><p> +"No," I says, "I reckon not." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XXI"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XXI</h2> +<br> +<p> +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 practise 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 <i>Romeo!</i> that way, like a bull—you must +say it soft and sick and languishy, so—R-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." +</p><p> +Well, next they got out a couple of long swords +that the duke made out of oak laths, and begun to +practise the sword-fight—the 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. +</p><p> +After dinner the duke says: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"What's onkores, Bilgewater?" +</p><p> +The duke told him, and then says: +</p><p> +"I'll answer by doing the Highland fling or the +sailor's hornpipe; and you—well, let me see—oh, +I've got it—you can do Hamlet's soliloquy." +</p><p> +"Hamlet's which?" +</p><p> +"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 book—I've only got one volume—but 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." +</p><p> +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>I</i> see before. This +is the speech—I learned it, easy enough, while he +was learning it to the king:</p><br> +<blockquote> + To be, or not to be; that is the bare bodkin<br> + That makes calamity of so long life;<br> + For who would fardels bear, till Birnam Wood do come to Dunsinane,<br> + But that the fear of something after death<br> + Murders the innocent sleep,<br> + Great nature's second course,<br> + And makes us rather sling the arrows of outrageous fortune<br> + Than fly to others that we know not of.<br> + There's the respect must give us pause:<br> + Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst;<br> + For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,<br> + The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,<br> + The law's delay, and the quietus which his pangs might take,<br> + In the dead waste and middle of the night, when churchyards yawn<br> + In customary suits of solemn black,<br> + But that the undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveler returns,<br> + Breathes forth contagion on the world,<br> + And thus the native hue of resolution, like the poor cat i' the adage,<br> + Is sicklied o'er with care,<br> + And all the clouds that lowered o'er our housetops,<br> + With this regard their currents turn awry,<br> + And lose the name of action.<br> + 'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. But soft you, the fair Ophelia:<br> + Ope not thy ponderous and marble jaws,<br> + But get thee to a nunnery—go!<br> +</blockquote> +<br><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 rehearsing—as the duke called it—going +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p> +<p class="pg1"> + Shaksperean Revival ! ! !<br> + Wonderful Attraction!<br> + For One Night Only!<br> + The world renowned tragedians,<br> + David Garrick the younger, of Drury Lane Theatre, London,<br> + and<br> + Edmund Kean the elder, of the Royal Haymarket Theatre,<br> + Whitechapel, Pudding Lane, Piccadilly, London, and the<br> + Royal Continental Theatres, in their sublime<br> + Shaksperean Spectacle entitled<br> + The Balcony Scene<br> + in<br> + Romeo and Juliet ! ! !<br> + Romeo...................Mr. Garrick<br> + Juliet...................Mr. Kean<br> + Assisted by the whole strength of the company!<br> + New costumes, new scenery, new appointments!<br> + Also:<br> + The thrilling, masterly, and blood-curdling<br> + Broad-sword conflict<br> + In Richard III. ! ! !<br> + Richard III................Mr. Garrick<br> + Richmond....................Mr. Kean<br> + Also:<br> + (by special request)<br> + Hamlet's Immortal Soliloquy ! !<br> + By the Illustrious Kean!<br> + Done by him 300 consecutive nights in Paris!<br> + For One Night Only,<br> + On account of imperative European engagements!<br> + Admission 25 cents; children and servants, 10 cents.<br> +</p> +<p> +Then we went loafing around 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 tinware. 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 hinge—a leather one. Some of the fences had +been whitewashed some time or another, but the +duke said it was in Columbus's time, like enough. +There was generly hogs in the garden, and people +driving them out. +</p><p> +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 dry-goods 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 stretching—a 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: +</p><p> +"Gimme a chaw 'v tobacker, Hank." +</p><p> +"Cain't; I hain't got but one chaw left. Ask Bill." +</p><p> +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 +every time; it don't fool nobody but a stranger; but +Jack ain't no stranger, so he says: +</p><p> +"<i>You</i> 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." +</p><p> +"Well, I <i>did</i> pay you back some of it wunst." +</p><p> +"Yes, you did—'bout six chaws. You borry'd +store tobacker and paid back nigger-head." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Here, gimme the <i>chaw</i>, and you take the <i>plug</i>." +</p> +<br><br> +<a name="chaw"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/chaw.jpg" alt="'GIMME A CHAW'"></p> +<p class="pg1">"'GIMME A CHAW'"</p> +<br><br> +<p> +All the streets and lanes was just mud; they warn't +nothing else <i>but</i> mud—mud as black as tar and nigh +about a foot deep in some places, and two or three +inches deep in <i>all</i> 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! <i>so</i> 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-fight—unless +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Here comes old Boggs!—in from the country for +his little old monthly drunk; here he comes, boys!" +</p><p> +All the loafers looked glad; I reckoned they was +used to having fun out of Boggs. One of them says: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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." +</p><p> +Boggs comes a-tearing along on his horse, whooping +and yelling like an Injun, and singing out: +</p><p> +"Cler the track, thar. I'm on the waw-path, and +the price uv coffins is a-gwyne to raise." +</p><p> +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." +</p><p> +He see me, and rode up and says: +</p><p> +"Whar'd you come f'm, boy? You prepared to die?" +</p><p> +Then he rode on. I was scared, but a man says: +</p><p> +"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 Arkansaw—never hurt nobody, drunk +nor sober." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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!" +</p><p> +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-five—and +he was a heap the best-dressed man in that +town, too—steps out of the store, and the crowd +drops back on each side to let him come. He says +to Boggs, mighty ca'm and slow—he says: +</p><p> +"I'm tired of this, but I'll endure it till one o'clock. +Till one o'clock, mind—no longer. If you open your +mouth against me only once after that time you +can't travel so far but I will find you." +</p><p> +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 <i>must</i> go home—he 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 use—up the street he would tear again, +and give Sherburn another cussing. By and by +somebody says: +</p><p> +"Go for his daughter!—quick, go for his daughter; +sometimes he'll listen to her. If anybody can +persuade him, she can." +</p><p> +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, bareheaded, 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: +</p><p> +"Boggs!" +</p><p> +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 hand—not 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 level—both 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 air—bang! +goes the second one, and he tumbles backwards onto +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!" +</p><p> +Colonel Sherburn he tossed his pistol onto the +ground, and turned around on his heels and walked +off. +</p><p> +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 out—and +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. +</p><p> +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." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XXII"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XXII</h2> +<br> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +Just then Sherburn steps out onto 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. +</p><p> +Sherburn never said a word—just 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 outgaze 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. +</p><p> +Then he says, slow and scornful: +</p><p> +"The idea of <i>you</i> lynching anybody! It's amusing. +The idea of you thinking you had pluck enough to +lynch a <i>man!</i> 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 <i>man?</i> Why, a <i>man's</i> +safe in the hands of ten thousand of your kind—as +long as it's daytime and you're not behind him. +</p><p> +"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 people—whereas +you're just <i>as</i> 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 +dark—and it's just what they <i>would</i> do. +</p><p> +"So they always acquit; and then a <i>man</i> 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 <i>part</i> of a man—Buck +Harkness, there—and if you hadn't had him +to start you, you'd 'a' taken it out in blowing. +</p><p> +"You didn't want to come. The average man +don't like trouble and danger. <i>You</i> don't like trouble +and danger. But if only <i>half</i> a man—like Buck +Harkness, there—shouts 'Lynch him! lynch him!' +you're afraid to back down—afraid you'll be found +out to be what you are—<i>cowards</i>—and so you raise +a yell, and hang yourselves onto 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 is—a 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 <i>man</i> at the head of +it is <i>beneath</i> pitifulness. Now the thing for <i>you</i> 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 <i>man</i> along. +Now <i>leave</i>—and take your half-a-man with you"—tossing +his gun up across his left arm and cocking it +when he says this. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 +<i>wasting</i> it on them. +</p><p> +It was a real bully circus. It was the splendidest +sight that ever was when they all come riding in, +two and two, and 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 comfortable—there must 'a' been +twenty of them—and 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. +</p><p> +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 <i>could</i> think of so many of +them, and so sudden and so pat, was what I couldn't +no way understand. Why, I couldn't 'a' thought of +them in a year. And by and by a drunken man tried +to get into the ring—said 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 +toward 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 life—and 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 hum—and finally skipped off, +and made his bow and danced off to the dressing-room, +and everybody just a-howling with pleasure +and astonishment. +</p><p> +Then the ringmaster he see how he had been fooled, +and he <i>was</i> 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 <i>me</i>; and wherever I run +across it, it can have all of <i>my</i> custom every time. +</p><p> +Well, that night we had <i>our</i> show; but there warn't +only about twelve people there—just 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 comedy—and 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:</p><br> +<p class="pg1"> + AT THE COURT HOUSE!<br> + <small>FOR 3 NIGHTS ONLY!</small><br> + <i>The World-Renowned Tragedians</i><br> + DAVID GARRICK THE YOUNGER!<br> + AND<br> + EDMUND KEAN THE ELDER!<br> + <i>Of the London and Continental<br> + Theatres,</i><br> + In their Thrilling Tragedy of<br> + THE KING'S CAMELEOPARD,<br> + <small>OR</small><br> + THE ROYAL NONESUCH! ! !<br> + <i>Admission 50 cents.</i><br> +</p> +<p> +Then at the bottom was the biggest line of all, which +said: +</p> +<p class="pg1"> + <big>LADIES AND CHILDREN NOT ADMITTED</big> +</p> +<p> +"There," says he, "if that line don't fetch them, I +don't know Arkansaw!"</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XXIII"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +<br> +<p> +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 onto 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. And—but 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +Twenty people sings out: +</p><p> +"What, is it over? Is that <i>all</i>?" +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Hold on! Just a word, gentlemen." They +stopped to listen. "We are sold—mighty 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. <i>No</i>. What we want is to +go out of here quiet, and talk this show up, and sell +the <i>rest</i> 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, +then—not a word about any sell. Go along home, +and advise everybody to come and see the tragedy." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +The third night the house was crammed again—and +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 coat—and 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: +</p><p> +"Walk fast now till you get away from the houses, +and then shin for the raft like the dickens was after +you!" +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Well, how'd the old thing pan out this time, +duke?" He hadn't been up-town at all. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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 <i>their</i> turn now. Well, it +<i>is</i> their turn, and I'd give something to know how +much they'd take for it. I <i>would</i> just like to know +how they're putting in their opportunity. They can +turn it into a picnic if they want to—they brought +plenty provisions." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +By and by, when they was asleep and snoring, Jim +says: +</p><p> +"Don't it s'prise you de way dem kings carries +on, Huck?" +</p><p> +"No," I says, "it don't." +</p><p> +"Why don't it, Huck?" +</p><p> +"Well, it don't, because it's in the breed. I reckon +they're all alike." +</p><p> +"But, Huck, dese kings o' ourn is reglar rapscallions; +dat's jist what dey is; dey's reglar rapscallions." +</p><p> +"Well, that's what I'm a-saying; all kings is +mostly rapscallions, as fur as I can make out." +</p><p> +"Is dat so?" +</p><p> +"You read about them once—you'll see. Look +at Henry the Eight; this 'n' 's a Sunday-school +Superintendent to <i>him</i>. 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 <i>was</i> 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 +Book—which 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 it—give 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 <i>his</i> style—he 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? No—drownded +him in a butt of mamsey, like a cat. +S'pose people left money laying around where he was—what +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 it—what did +he do? He always done the other thing. S'pose he +opened his mouth—what 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 <i>that</i> 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." +</p><p> +"But dis one do <i>smell</i> so like de nation, Huck." +</p><p> +"Well, they all do, Jim. We can't help the way +a king smells; history don't tell no way." +</p><p> +"Now de duke, he's a tolerble likely man in some +ways." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Well, anyways, I doan' hanker for no mo' un +um, Huck. Dese is all I kin stan'." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +But this time I somehow got to talking to him +about his wife and young ones; and by and by he +says: +</p><p> +"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: +</p><p> +"'Shet de do'.' +</p><p> +"She never done it; jis' stood dah, kiner smilin' +up at me. It make me mad; en I says ag'in, mighty +loud, I says: +</p><p> +"'Doan' you hear me? Shet de do'!" +</p><p> +"She jis stood de same way, kiner smilin' up. I +was a-bilin'! I says: +</p><p> +"'I lay I <i>make</i> you mine!' +</p><p> +"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 <i>yit</i>, en +dat chile stannin' mos' right in it, a-lookin' down +and mournin', en de tears runnin' down. My, but +I <i>wuz</i> mad! I was a-gwyne for de chile, but jis' den—it +was a do' dat open innerds—jis' den, 'long come +de wind en slam it to, behine de chile, ker-<i>blam!</i>—en +my lan', de chile never move'! My breff mos' hop +outer me; en I feel so—so—I doan' know <i>how</i> 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 <i>pow!</i> +jis' as loud as I could yell. She <i>never budge!</i> 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 dumb—en I'd +ben a-treat'n her so!"</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XXIV"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +<br> +<p> +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 <i>was</i> +kind of hard to have to lay roped all day, and he'd +cipher out some way to get around it. +</p><p> +He was uncommon bright, the duke was, and he +soon struck it. He dressed Jim up in King Lear's +outfit—it 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: +</p><p> +<i>Sick Arab—but harmless when not out of his head.</i> +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 way—meaning 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 town—been there a couple +of hours, taking on freight. Says the king: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +"Run her nose inshore," says the king. I done +it. "Wher' you bound for, young man?" +</p><p> +"For the steamboat; going to Orleans." +</p><p> +"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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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 <i>ain't</i> him, are you?" +</p><p> +"No, my name's Blodgett—Elexander Blodgett—<i>Reverend</i> +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 it—which +I hope he hasn't." +</p><p> +"Well, he don't miss any property by it, because +he'll get that all right; but he's missed seeing his +brother Peter die—which he mayn't mind, nobody +can tell as to that—but his brother would 'a' give +anything in this world to see <i>him</i> before he died; +never talked about nothing else all these three weeks; +hadn't seen him since they was boys together—and +hadn't ever seen his brother William at all—that's +the deef and dumb one—William 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." +</p><p> +"Did anybody send 'em word?" +</p><p> +"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 +Harvey—and William, too, for that matter—because +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 right—for George didn't +leave nothing. And that letter was all they could get +him to put a pen to." +</p><p> +"Why do you reckon Harvey don't come? Wher' +does he live?" +</p><p> +"Oh, he lives in England—Sheffield—preaches +there—hasn't ever been in this country. He hasn't +had any too much time—and besides he mightn't 'a' +got the letter at all, you know." +</p><p> +"Too bad, too bad he couldn't 'a' lived to see his +brothers, poor soul. You going to Orleans, you say?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"It's a pretty long journey. But it'll be lovely; I +wisht I was a-going. Is Mary Jane the oldest? How +old is the others?" +</p><p> +"Mary Jane's nineteen, Susan's fifteen, and Joanna's +about fourteen—that's the one that gives herself +to good works and has a hare-lip." +</p><p> +"Poor things! to be left alone in the cold world so." +</p><p> +"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, and—well, +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." +</p><p> +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 business—which was a tanner; and +about George's—which was a carpenter; and about +Harvey's—which was a dissentering minister; and +so on, and so on. Then he says: +</p><p> +"What did you want to walk all the way up to the +steamboat for?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Was Peter Wilks well off?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"When did you say he died?" +</p><p> +"I didn't say, but it was last night." +</p><p> +"Funeral to-morrow, likely?" +</p><p> +"Yes, 'bout the middle of the day." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Yes, sir, it's the best way. Ma used to always +say that." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +I see what <i>he</i> 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 it—every 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: +</p><p> +"How are you on the deef and dumb, Bilgewater?" +</p><p> +The duke said, leave him alone for that; said he +had played a deef and dumb person on the histrionic +boards. So then they waited for a steamboat. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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?" +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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: +</p><p> +"I'm sorry, sir, but the best we can do is to tell +you where he <i>did</i> live yesterday evening." +</p><p> +Sudden as winking the ornery old cretur went all +to smash, and fell up against the man, and put his +chin on his shoulder, and cried down his back, and +says: +</p><p> +"Alas, alas, our poor brother—gone, and we never +got to see him; oh, it's too, too hard!" +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XXV"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XXV</h2> +<br> +<p> +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: +</p><p> +"Is it <i>them?</i>" +</p><p> +And somebody trotting along with the gang would +answer back and say: +</p><p> +"You bet it is." +</p><p> +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 <i>was</i> 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 <i>had</i> it! Everybody most, leastways women, +cried for joy to see them meet again at last and have +such good times. +</p><p> +Then the king he hunched the duke private—I see +him do it—and 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 loud—the 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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, +viz.:—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. +</p><p> +Rev. Hobson and Dr. Robinson was down to the +end of the town a-hunting together—that 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-goo—goo-goo-goo" all the time, like a baby +that can't talk. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Oh, <i>this</i> ain't bully nor noth'n! Oh, no, I reckon +not! Why, Biljy, it beats the Nonesuch, <i>don't</i> it?" +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Dern him, I wonder what he done with that four +hundred and fifteen dollars?" +</p><p> +They worried over that awhile, and ransacked all +around for it. Then the duke says: +</p><p> +"Well, he was a pretty sick man, and likely he +made a mistake—I reckon that's the way of it. +The best way's to let it go, and keep still about it. +We can spare it." +</p><p> +"Oh, shucks, yes, we can <i>spare</i> it. I don't k'yer +noth'n 'bout that—it's the <i>count</i> 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 everybody—then +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—" +</p><p> +"Hold on," says the duke. "Le's make up the +deffisit," and he begun to haul out yaller-boys out +of his pocket. +</p><p> +"It's a most amaz'n' good idea, duke—you <i>have</i> +got a rattlin' clever head on you," says the king. +"Blest if the old Nonesuch ain't a heppin' us out +ag'in," and <i>he</i> begun to haul out yaller-jackets and +stack them up. +</p><p> +It most busted them, but they made up the six +thousand clean and clear. +</p><p> +"Say," says the duke, "I got another idea. Le's +go up-stairs and count this money, and then take +and <i>give it to the girls."</i> +</p><p> +"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 to—this 'll lay 'em out." +</p><p> +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 pile—twenty 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: +</p><p> +"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 <i>more</i> +generous by 'em if he hadn't ben afeard o' woundin' +his dear William and me. Now, <i>wouldn't</i> he? Ther' +ain't no question 'bout it in <i>my</i> 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 rob—yes, <i>Rob</i>—sech poor sweet +lambs as these 'at he loved so at sech a time? If I +know William—and I <i>think</i> I do—he—well, 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 +awhile; 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 <i>that</i> 'll convince anybody the +way <i>he</i> feels about it. Here, Mary Jane, Susan, +Joanner, take the money—take it <i>all.</i> It's the gift +of him that lays yonder, cold but joyful." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"You <i>dear</i> good souls!—how <i>lovely!</i>—how <i>could</i> +you!" +</p><p> +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 saying—in the middle of +something he'd started in on— +</p><p> +"—they bein' partickler friends o' the diseased. +That's why they're invited here this evenin'; but tomorrow +we want <i>all</i> to come—everybody; for he +respected everybody, he liked everybody, and so it's +fitten that his funeral orgies sh'd be public." +</p><p> +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, +"<i>Obsequies</i>, 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: +</p><p> +"Poor William, afflicted as he is, his <i>heart's</i> aluz +right. Asks me to invite everybody to come to the +funeral—wants me to make 'em all welcome. But he +needn't 'a' worried—it was jest what I was at." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"I say orgies, not because it's the common term, +because it ain't—obsequies bein' the common term—but +because orgies is the right term. Obsequies ain't +used in England no more now—it'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 <i>orgo</i>, outside, +open, abroad; and the Hebrew <i>jeesum</i>, to plant, cover +up; hence in<i>ter</i>. So, you see, funeral orgies is an +open er public funeral." +</p><p> +He was the <i>worst</i> I ever struck. Well, the iron-jawed +man he laughed right in his face. Everybody +was shocked. Everybody says, "Why, <i>doctor!</i>" and +Abner Shackleford says: +</p><p> +"Why, Robinson, hain't you heard the news? This +is Harvey Wilks." +</p><p> +The king he smiled eager, and shoved out his +flapper, and says: +</p><p> +"<i>Is</i> it my poor brother's dear good friend and physician? +I—" +</p><p> +"Keep your hands off me!" says the doctor. +"<i>You</i> talk like an Englishman, <i>don't</i> you? It's the +worst imitation I ever heard. <i>You</i> Peter Wilks's +brother! You're a fraud, that's what you are!" +</p><p> +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's showed in +forty ways that he <i>was</i> Harvey, and knowed everybody +by name, and the names of the very dogs, and +begged and <i>begged</i> him not to hurt Harvey's feelings +and the poor girls' 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 <i>them.</i> He says: +</p><p> +"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 impostor—has come +here with a lot of empty names and facts which he +picked up somewheres; and you take them for +<i>proofs</i>, 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 out—I <i>beg</i> you to do it. +Will you?" +</p><p> +Mary Jane straightened herself up, and my, but +she was handsome! She says: +</p><p> +"<i>Here</i> 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." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"All right; I wash <i>my</i> 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. +</p><p> +"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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XXVI"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XXVI</h2> +<br> +<p> +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 valley—meaning me. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 was—and +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 so—said +"How <i>do</i> you get biscuits to brown so nice?" and +"Where, for the land's sake, <i>did</i> 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Did you ever see the king?" +</p><p> +"Who? William Fourth? Well, I bet I have—he +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: +</p><p> +"What—regular?" +</p><p> +"Yes—regular. His pew's right over opposite +ourn—on t'other side the pulpit." +</p><p> +"I thought he lived in London?" +</p><p> +"Well, he does. Where <i>would</i> he live?" +</p><p> +"But I thought <i>you</i> lived in Sheffield?" +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Why, how you talk—Sheffield ain't on the sea." +</p><p> +"Well, who said it was?" +</p><p> +"Why, you did." +</p><p> +"I <i>didn't</i>, nuther." +</p><p> +"You did!" +</p><p> +"I didn't." +</p><p> +"You did." +</p><p> +"I never said nothing of the kind." +</p><p> +"Well, what <i>did</i> you say, then?" +</p><p> +"Said he come to take the sea <i>baths</i>—that's what I +said." +</p><p> +"Well, then, how's he going to take the sea baths +if it ain't on the sea?" +</p><p> +"Looky here," I says; "did you ever see any Congress-water?" +</p><p> +"Yes." +</p><p> +"Well, did you have to go to Congress to get it?" +</p><p> +"Why, no." +</p><p> +"Well, neither does William Fourth have to go to +the sea to get a sea bath." +</p><p> +"How does he get it, then?" +</p><p> +"Gets it the way people down here gets Congress-water—in +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." +</p><p> +"Oh, I see, now. You might 'a' said that in the +first place and saved time." +</p><p> +When she said that I see I was out of the woods +again, and so I was comfortable and glad. Next, she +says: +</p><p> +"Do you go to church, too?" +</p><p> +"Yes—regular." +</p><p> +"Where do you set?" +</p><p> +"Why, in our pew." +</p><p> +"<i>Whose</i> pew?" +</p><p> +"Why, <i>ourn</i>—your Uncle Harvey's." +</p><p> +"His'n? What does <i>he</i> want with a pew?" +</p><p> +"Wants it to set in. What did you <i>reckon</i> he +wanted with it?" +</p><p> +"Why, I thought he'd be in the pulpit." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Blame it, do you suppose there ain't but one +preacher to a church?" +</p><p> +"Why, what do they want with more?" +</p><p> +"What!—to preach before a king? I never did +see such a girl as you. They don't have no less than +seventeen." +</p><p> +"Seventeen! My land! Why, I wouldn't set out +such a string as that, not if I <i>never</i> got to glory. It +must take 'em a week." +</p><p> +"Shucks, they don't <i>all</i> of 'em preach the same +day—only <i>one</i> of 'em." +</p><p> +"Well, then, what does the rest of 'em do?" +</p><p> +"Oh, nothing much. Loll around, pass the plate—and +one thing or another. But mainly they don't +do nothing." +</p><p> +"Well, then, what are they <i>for</i>?" +</p><p> +"Why, they're for <i>style</i>. Don't you know nothing?" +</p><p> +"Well, I don't <i>want</i> to know no such foolishness as +that. How is servants treated in England? Do they +treat 'em better 'n we treat our niggers?" +</p><p> +"<i>No!</i> A servant ain't nobody there. They treat +them worse than dogs." +</p><p> +"Don't they give 'em holidays, the way we do, +Christmas and New Year's week, and Fourth of +July?" +</p><p> +"Oh, just listen! A body could tell <i>you</i> hain't ever +been to England by that. Why, Hare-l—why, 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." +</p><p> +"Nor church?" +</p><p> +"Nor church." +</p><p> +"But <i>you</i> always went to church." +</p><p> +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 <i>had</i> 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: +</p><p> +"Honest injun, now, hain't you been telling me a +lot of lies?" +</p><p> +"Honest injun," says I. +</p><p> +"None of it at all?" +</p><p> +"None of it at all. Not a lie in it," says I. +</p><p> +"Lay your hand on this book and say it." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Well, then, I'll believe some of it; but I hope to +gracious if I'll believe the rest." +</p><p> +"What is it you won't believe, Jo?" 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?" +</p><p> +"That's always your way, Maim—always 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 <i>did</i> say. I reckon he can +stand a little thing like that, can't he?" +</p><p> +"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 <i>them</i> +feel ashamed." +</p><p> +"Why, Maim, he said—" +</p><p> +"It don't make no difference what he <i>said</i>—that +ain't the thing. The thing is for you to treat him +<i>kind,</i> and not be saying things to make him remember +he ain't in his own country and amongst his own +folks." +</p><p> +I says to myself, <i>this</i> is a girl that I'm letting that +old reptile rob her of her money! +</p><p> +Then Susan <i>she</i> waltzed in; and if you'll believe +me, she did give Hare-lip hark from the tomb! +</p><p> +Says I to myself, and this is <i>another</i> one that I'm +letting him rob her of her money! +</p><p> +Then Mary Jane she took another inning, and went +in sweet and lovely again—which was her way; but +when she got done there warn't hardly anything left +o' poor Hare-lip. So she hollered. +</p><p> +"All right, then," says the other girls; "you just +ask his pardon." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +I says to myself, this is <i>another</i> 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. +</p><p> +So then I lit out—for 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? +No—that 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? No—I +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 to-night 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. +</p><p> +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 thing—lay 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: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"What is it, duke?" +</p><p> +"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 easy—<i>given</i> +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." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +The duke he grumbled; said the bag of gold was +enough, and he didn't want to go no deeper—didn't +want to rob a lot of orphans of <i>everything</i> they had. +</p><p> +"Why, how you talk!" says the king. "We +sha'n't rob 'em of nothing at all but jest this money. +The people that <i>buys</i> the property is the suff'rers; +because as soon 's it's found out 'at we didn't own +it—which won't be long after we've slid—the sale +won't be valid, and it 'll all go back to the estate. +These yer orphans 'll git their house back ag'in, and +that's enough for <i>them;</i> they're young and spry, and +k'n easy earn a livin'. <i>They</i> ain't a-goin' to suffer. +Why, jest think—there's thous'n's and thous'n's that +ain't nigh so well off. Bless you, <i>they</i> ain't got noth'n' +to complain of." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Cuss the doctor! What do we k'yer for <i>him?</i> +Hain't we got all the fools in town on our side? +And ain't that a big enough majority in any town?" +</p><p> +So they got ready to go down-stairs again. The +duke says: +</p><p> +"I don't think we put that money in a good place." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Why?" +</p><p> +"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?" +</p><p> +"Your head's level ag'in, 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XXVII"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XXVII</h2> +<br> +<p> +I crept to their doors and listened; they was +snoring. So I tiptoed along, and got downstairs +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 <i>wanted</i> 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 catched—catched +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 noses—because +people always blows them more at a funeral than +they do at other places except church. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +They had borrowed a melodeum—a 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 +wait—you 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 worry—just 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, +"<i>He had a rat!</i>" 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. +</p><p> +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>I</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! +</p><p> +They buried him, and we come back home, and I +went to watching faces again—I couldn't help it, and +I couldn't rest easy. But nothing come of it; the +faces didn't tell me nothing. +</p><p> +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, too—tickled 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. +</p><p> +Well, blamed if the king didn't bill the house and +the niggers and all the property for auction straight +off—sale two days after the funeral; but anybody +could buy private beforehand if they wanted to. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Was you in my room night before last?" +</p><p> +"No, your majesty"—which was the way I always +called him when nobody but our gang warn't +around. +</p><p> +"Was you in there yisterday er last night?" +</p><p> +"No, your majesty." +</p><p> +"Honor bright, now—no lies." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +The duke says: +</p><p> +"Have you seen anybody else go in there?" +</p><p> +"No, your grace, not as I remember, I believe." +</p><p> +"Stop and think." +</p><p> +I studied awhile and see my chance; then I says: +"Well, I see the niggers go in there several times." +</p><p> +Both of them gave a little jump, and looked like +they hadn't ever expected it, and then like they <i>had</i>. +Then the duke says: +</p><p> +"What, <i>all</i> of them?" +</p><p> +"No—leastways, not all at once—that is, I don't +think I ever see them all come <i>out</i> at once but just one +time." +</p><p> +"Hello! When was that?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Well, go on, <i>go</i> on! What did they do? How'd +they act?" +</p><p> +"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 <i>warn't</i> 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." +</p><p> +"Great guns, <i>this</i> 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: +</p><p> +"It does beat all how neat the niggers played their +hand. They let on to be <i>sorry</i> they was going out of +this region! And I believed they <i>was</i> sorry, and so +did you, and so did everybody. Don't ever tell <i>me</i> +any more that a nigger ain't got any histrionic talent. +Why, the way they played that thing it would fool +<i>anybody.</i> 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 that—and here we've gone and +sold 'em for a song. Yes, and ain't privileged to sing +the song yet. Say, where <i>is</i> that song—that draft?" +</p><p> +"In the bank for to be collected. Where <i>would</i> it +be?" +</p><p> +"Well, that's all right then, thank goodness." +</p><p> +Says I, kind of timid-like: +</p><p> +"Is something gone wrong?" +</p><p> +The king whirls on me and rips out: +</p><p> +"None o' your business! You keep your head +shet, and mind y'r own affairs—if you got any. +Long as you're in this town don't you forgit <i>that</i>—you hear?" +Then he says to the duke, "We got to +jest swaller it and say noth'n': mum's the word for +<i>us</i>." +</p><p> +As they was starting down the ladder the duke he +chuckles again, and says: +</p><p> +"Quick sales <i>and</i> small profits! It's a good business—yes." +</p><p> +The king snarls around on him and says: +</p><p> +"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?" +</p><p> +"Well, <i>they'd</i> be in this house yet and we <i>wouldn't</i> +if I could 'a' got my advice listened to." +</p><p> +The king sassed back as much as was safe for him, +and then swapped around and lit into <i>me</i> again. He +give me down the banks for not coming and <i>telling</i> +him I see the niggers come out of his room acting that +way—said any fool would 'a' <i>knowed</i> something was +up. And then waltzed in and cussed <i>himself</i> 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 onto +the niggers, and yet hadn't done the niggers no +harm by it. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XXVIII"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> +<br> +<p> +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 it—getting +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: +</p><p> +"Miss Mary Jane, you can't a-bear to see people +in trouble, and <i>I</i> can't—most always. Tell me +about it." +</p><p> +So she done it. And it was the niggers—I just +expected it. She said the beautiful trip to England +was most about spoiled for her; she didn't know <i>how</i> +she was ever going to be happy there, knowing the +mother and the children warn't ever going to see +each other no more—and then busted out bitterer +than ever, and flung up her hands, and says: +</p><p> +"Oh, dear, dear, to think they ain't <i>ever</i> going to +see each other any more!" +</p><p> +"But they <i>will</i>—and inside of two weeks—and I +<i>know</i> it!" says I. +</p><p> +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 <i>again</i>, say it <i>again</i>, say it <i>again!</i> +</p><p> +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 <i>safer</i> 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 <i>like</i> setting +down on a kag of powder and touching it off just to +see where you'll go to. Then I says: +</p><p> +"Miss Mary Jane, is there any place out of town a +little ways where you could go and stay three or four +days?" +</p><p> +"Yes; Mr. Lothrop's. Why?" +</p><p> +"Never mind why yet. If I'll tell you how I know +the niggers will see each other again—inside of two +weeks—here in this house—and <i>prove</i> how I know +it—will you go to Mr. Lothrop's and stay four days?" +</p><p> +"Four days!" she says; "I'll stay a year!" +</p><p> +"All right," I says, "I don't want nothing more +out of <i>you</i> than just your word—I 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 door—and bolt it." +</p><p> +Then I come back and set down again, and says: +</p><p> +"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 frauds—regular dead-beats. There, now we're over +the worst of it, you can stand the rest middling easy." +</p><p> +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 onto the king's +breast at the front door and he kissed her sixteen or +seventeen times—and then up she jumps, with her +face afire like sunset, and says: +</p><p> +"The brute! Come, don't waste a minute—not a +<i>second</i>—we'll have them tarred and feathered, and +flung in the river!" +</p><p> +Says I: +</p><p> +"Cert'nly. But do you mean <i>before</i> you go to Mr. +Lothrop's, or—" +</p><p> +"Oh," she says, "what am I <i>thinking</i> about!" +she says, and set right down again. "Don't mind +what I said—please don't—you <i>won't</i>, now, <i>will</i> +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." +</p><p> +"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 not—I 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 <i>him</i>, hain't we? Of course. Well, then, we +won't blow on them." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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?" +</p><p> +"A little short of four miles—right out in the +country, back here." +</p><p> +"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 again—tell 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 <i>till</i> eleven, and <i>then</i> 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." +</p><p> +"Good," she says, "I'll do it." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"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. +</p><p> +"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 <i>was</i> 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—'<i>Royal Nonesuch, Bricksville.</i>' 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 witnesses—why, +you'll have that entire town down here before +you can hardly wink, Miss Mary. And they'll come +a-biling, too." +</p><p> +I judged we had got everything fixed about right +now. So I says: +</p><p> +"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 niggers—it warn't no sale, and the niggers +will be back before long. Why, they can't collect +the money for the <i>niggers</i> yet—they're in the worst +kind of a fix, Miss Mary." +</p><p> +"Well," she says, "I'll run down to breakfast now, +and then I'll start straight for Mr. Lothrop's." +</p><p> +"'Deed, <i>that</i> ain't the ticket, Miss Mary Jane," I +says, "by no manner of means; go <i>before</i> breakfast." +</p><p> +"Why?" +</p><p> +"What did you reckon I wanted you to go at all +for, Miss Mary?" +</p><p> +"Well, I never thought—and come to think, I +don't know. What was it?" +</p><p> +"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—" +</p><p> +"There, there, don't! Yes, I'll go before breakfast—I'll +be glad to. And leave my sisters with +them?" +</p><p> +"Yes; never mind about them. They've got to +stand it yet awhile. 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." +</p><p> +"Gone to see a friend is all right, but I won't +have my love given to them." +</p><p> +"Well, then, it sha'n't be." It was well enough +to tell <i>her</i> so—no 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 thing—that bag of money." +</p><p> +"Well, they've got that; and it makes me feel +pretty silly to think <i>how</i> they got it." +</p><p> +"No, you're out, there. They hain't got it." +</p><p> +"Why, who's got it?" +</p><p> +"I wish I knowed, but I don't. I <i>had</i> 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 run—and +it warn't a good place." +</p><p> +"Oh, stop blaming yourself—it's too bad to do it, +and I won't allow it—you couldn't help it; it wasn't +your fault. Where did you hide it?" +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"I'd ruther not <i>tell</i> 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?" +</p><p> +"Oh, yes." +</p><p> +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." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"<i>Good</i>-by. 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 <i>pray</i> for you, +too!"—and she was gone. +</p><p> +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 same—she was just that kind. +She had the grit to pray for Judus if she took the +notion—there 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 beauty—and goodness, too—she 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 <i>her</i>, blamed +if I wouldn't 'a' done it or bust. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"What's the name of them people over on t'other +side of the river that you all goes to see sometimes?" +</p><p> +They says: +</p><p> +"There's several; but it's the Proctors, mainly." +</p><p> +"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 hurry—one of them's +sick." +</p><p> +"Which one?" +</p><p> +"I don't know; leastways, I kinder forget; but I +thinks it's—" +</p><p> +"Sakes alive, I hope it ain't <i>Hanner?</i>" +</p><p> +"I'm sorry to say it," I says, "but Hanner's the +very one." +</p><p> +"My goodness, and she so well only last week! +Is she took bad?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Only think of that, now! What's the matter +with her?" +</p><p> +I couldn't think of anything reasonable, right off +that way, so I says: +</p><p> +"Mumps." +</p><p> +"Mumps your granny! They don't set up with +people that's got the mumps." +</p><p> +"They don't, don't they? You better bet they +do with <i>these</i> mumps. These mumps is different. +It's a new kind, Miss Mary Jane said." +</p><p> +"How's it a new kind?" +</p><p> +"Because it's mixed up with other things." +</p><p> +"What other things?" +</p><p> +"Well, measles, and whooping-cough, and erysiplas, +and consumption, and yaller janders, and brain-fever, +and I don't know what all." +</p><p> +"My land! And they call it the <i>mumps?</i>" +</p><p> +"That's what Miss Mary Jane said." +</p><p> +"Well, what in the nation do they call it the +<i>mumps</i> for?" +</p><p> +"Why, because it <i>is</i> the mumps. That's what it +starts with." +</p><p> +"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 +<i>toe</i>.' Would ther' be any sense in that? <i>No</i>. And +ther' ain't no sense in <i>this</i>, nuther. Is it ketching?" +</p><p> +"Is it <i>ketching?</i> Why, how you talk. Is a <i>harrow</i> +catching—in 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 say—and it ain't no slouch of a harrow, nuther, +you come to get it hitched on good." +</p><p> +"Well, it's awful, I think," says the hare-lip. +"I'll go to Uncle Harvey and—" +</p><p> +"Oh, yes," I says, "I <i>would.</i> Of <i>course</i> I would. +I wouldn't lose no time." +</p><p> +"Well, why wouldn't you?" +</p><p> +"Just look at it a minute, and maybe you can see. +Hain't your uncles obleeged 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? <i>You</i> know they'll +wait for you. So fur, so good. Your uncle Harvey's +a preacher, ain't he? Very well, then; is a <i>preacher</i> +going to deceive a steamboat clerk? is he going to +deceive a <i>ship clerk?</i>—so as to get them to let Miss +Mary Jane go aboard? Now <i>you</i> know he ain't. +What <i>will</i> 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—" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Well, anyway, maybe you'd better tell some of +the neighbors." +</p><p> +"Listen at that, now. You do beat all for natural +stupidness. Can't you <i>see</i> that <i>they'd</i> go and tell? +Ther' ain't no way but just to not tell anybody +at <i>all</i>." +</p><p> +"Well, maybe you're right—yes, I judge you <i>are</i> +right." +</p><p> +"But I reckon we ought to tell Uncle Harvey +she's gone out awhile, anyway, so he won't be uneasy +about her?" +</p><p> +"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 <i>is</i> the name of that +rich family your uncle Peter used to think so much +of?—I mean the one that—" +</p><p> +"Why, you must mean the Apthorps, ain't it?" +</p><p> +"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 Apthorps—which '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." +</p><p> +"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. +</p><p> +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 neat—I 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +But by and by the thing dragged through, and +everything was sold—everything but a little old +trifling lot in the graveyard. So they'd got to work +<i>that</i> off—I never see such a girafft as the king was +for wanting to swallow <i>everything</i>. 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: +</p><p> +"<i>Here's</i> your opposition line! here's your two sets +o' heirs to old Peter Wilks—and you pays your +money and you takes your choice!" +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XXIX"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XXIX</h2> +<br> +<p> +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 +<i>they</i> 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 <i>like</i> an +Englishman—not the king's way, though the king's +<i>was</i> 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: +</p><p> +"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's brother Harvey, and this is his brother William, +which can't hear nor speak—and 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." +</p><p> +So him and the new dummy started off; and the +king he laughs, and blethers out: +</p><p> +"Broke his arm—<i>very</i> likely, <i>ain't</i> it?—and very +convenient, too, for a fraud that's got to make signs, +and ain't learnt how. Lost their baggage! That's +<i>mighty</i> good!—and mighty ingenious—under the <i>circumstances!</i>" +</p><p> +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 heads—it 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 gentlemen said, and was listening +to the king now. And when the king got done +this husky up and says: +</p><p> +"Say, looky here; if you are Harvey Wilks, when'd +you come to this town?" +</p><p> +"The day before the funeral, friend," says the king. +</p><p> +"But what time o' day?" +</p><p> +"In the evenin'—'bout an hour er two before sundown." +</p><p> +"How'd you come?" +</p><p> +"I come down on the <i>Susan Powell</i> from Cincinnati." +</p><p> +"Well, then, how'd you come to be up at the Pint +in the <i>mornin</i>'—in a canoe?" +</p><p> +"I warn't up at the Pint in the mornin'." +</p><p> +"It's a lie." +</p><p> +Several of them jumped for him and begged him +not to talk that way to an old man and a preacher. +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +The doctor he up and says: +</p><p> +"Would you know the boy again if you was to see +him, Hines?" +</p><p> +"I reckon I would, but I don't know. Why, +yonder he is, now. I know him perfectly easy." +</p><p> +It was me he pointed at. The doctor says: +</p><p> +"Neighbors, I don't know whether the new couple +is frauds or not; but if <i>these</i> 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 <i>something</i> before we get through." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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 right—ain't that so?" +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Where is it, then?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Are <i>you</i> English, too?" +</p><p> +I says yes; and him and some others laughed, and +said, "Stuff!" +</p><p> +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 it—and so they kept it +up, and kept it up; and it <i>was</i> 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' +<i>seen</i> 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: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +I didn't care nothing for the compliment, but I was +glad to be let off, anyway. +</p><p> +The doctor he started to say something, and turns +and says: +</p><p> +"If you'd been in town at first, Levi Bell—" +</p><p> +The king broke in and reached out his hand, and +says: +</p><p> +"Why, is this my poor dead brother's old friend +that he's wrote so often about?" +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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 duke—and 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: +</p><p> +"You and your brother please write a line or two +and sign your names." +</p><p> +The old gentleman wrote, but nobody couldn't +read it. The lawyer looked powerful astonished, and +says: +</p><p> +"Well, it beats <i>me</i>—and snaked a lot of old letters +out of his pocket, and examined them, and then examined +the old man's writing, and then <i>them</i> again; +and then says: "These old letters is from Harvey +Wilks; and here's <i>these</i> two handwritings, and anybody +can see <i>they</i> 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 <i>this</i> +old gentleman's handwriting, and anybody can tell, +easy enough, <i>he</i> didn't write them—fact is, the +scratches he makes ain't properly <i>writing</i> at all. Now, +here's some letters from—" +</p><p> +The new old gentleman says: +</p><p> +"If you please, let me explain. Nobody can read +my hand but my brother there—so he copies for me. +It's <i>his</i> hand you've got there, not mine." +</p><p> +"<i>Well!</i>" says the lawyer, "this <i>is</i> 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—" +</p><p> +"He <i>can't</i> 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, please—they're by the same +hand." +</p><p> +The lawyer done it, and says: +</p><p> +"I believe it's so—and 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 slution, but it's gone to grass, partly. +But anyway, <i>one</i> thing is proved—<i>these</i> two ain't +either of 'em Wilkses"—and he wagged his head +towards the king and the duke. +</p><p> +Well, what do you think? That mule-headed old +fool wouldn't give in <i>then!</i> 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 <i>tried</i> +to write—<i>he</i> 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 right along till he was +actuly beginning to believe what he was saying <i>himself</i>; +but pretty soon the new gentleman broke in, and +says: +</p><p> +"I've thought of something. Is there anybody +here that helped to lay out my br—helped to lay out +the late Peter Wilks for burying?" +</p><p> +"Yes," says somebody, "me and Ab Turner done +it. We're both here." +</p><p> +Then the old man turns toward the king, and +says: +</p><p> +"Peraps this gentleman can tell me what was +tattooed on his breast?" +</p><p> +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 <i>anybody</i> sqush to get fetched such a solid one as +that without any notice, because how was <i>he</i> 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, <i>Now</i> he'll throw up +the sponge—there 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: +</p><p> +"Mf! It's a <i>very</i> tough question, <i>ain't</i> it! <i>Yes</i>, +sir, I k'n tell you what's tattooed on his breast. It's +jest a small, thin, blue arrow—that's what it is; and +if you don't look clost, you can't see it. <i>Now</i> what +do you say—hey?" +</p><p> +Well, <i>I</i> never see anything like that old blister for +clean out-and-out cheek. +</p><p> +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 <i>this</i> time, and says: +</p><p> +"There—you've heard what he said! Was there +any such mark on Peter Wilks's breast?" +</p><p> +Both of them spoke up and says: +</p><p> +"We didn't see no such mark." +</p><p> +"Good!" says the old gentleman. "Now, what +you <i>did</i> 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, and dashes between them, so: P—B—W"—and +he marked them that way on a piece of +paper. "Come, ain't that what you saw?" +</p><p> +Both of them spoke up again, and says: +</p><p> +"No, we <i>didn't</i>. We never seen any marks at all." +</p><p> +Well, everybody <i>was</i> in a state of mind now, and +they sings out: +</p><p> +"The whole <i>bilin'</i> 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: +</p><p> +"Gentlemen—gentle<i>men!</i> Hear me just a word—just +a <i>single</i> word—if you PLEASE! There's one way +yet—let's go and dig up the corpse and look." +</p><p> +That took them. +</p><p> +"Hooray!" they all shouted, and was starting right +off; but the lawyer and the doctor sung out: +</p><p> +"Hold on, hold on! Collar all these four men and +the boy, and fetch <i>them</i> along, too!" +</p><p> +"We'll do it!" they all shouted; "and if we don't +find them marks we'll lynch the whole gang!" +</p><p> +I <i>was</i> 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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— +</p><p> +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 +wrist—Hines—and 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +All of a sudden the lightning let go a perfect sluice +of white glare, and somebody sings out: +</p><p> +"By the living jingo, here's the bag of gold on his +breast!" +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +I had the road all to myself, and I fairly flew—leastways, +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! +</p><p> +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 dark—which +made me feel sorry and disappointed, I didn't +know why. But at last, just as I was sailing by, <i>flash</i> +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 <i>was</i> the best girl I ever see, and had the +most sand. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Out with you, Jim, and set her loose! Glory be +to goodness, we're shut of them!" +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Not now; have it for breakfast, have it for breakfast! +Cut loose and let her slide!" +</p><p> +So in two seconds away we went a-sliding down the +river, and it <i>did</i> 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 times—I 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. +</p><p> +So I wilted right down onto the planks then, and +give up; and it was all I could do to keep from crying. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XXX"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XXX</h2> +<br> +<p> +When they got aboard the king went for me, +and shook me by the collar, and says: +</p><p> +"Tryin' to give us the slip, was ye, you pup! +Tired of our company, hey?" +</p><p> +I says: +</p><p> +"No, your majesty, we warn't—<i>please</i> don't, your +majesty!" +</p><p> +"Quick, then, and tell us what <i>was</i> your idea, or +I'll shake the insides out o' you!" +</p><p> +"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 <i>me</i> to stay—I +couldn't do nothing, and I didn't want to be <i>hung</i> 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 <i>mighty</i> likely!" and +shook me up again, and said he reckoned he'd drownd +me. But the duke says: +</p><p> +"Leggo the boy, you old idiot! Would <i>you</i> 'a' done +any different? Did you inquire around for <i>him</i> when +you got loose? I don't remember it." +</p><p> +So the king let go of me, and begun to cuss that +town and everybody in it. But the duke says: +</p><p> +"You better a blame' sight give <i>yourself</i> 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 <i>was</i> bright—it +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 come—and then—the +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-night—cravats warranted to <i>wear</i>, +too—longer than <i>we'd</i> need 'em." +</p><p> +They was still a minute—thinking; then the king +says, kind of absent-minded like: +</p><p> +"Mf! And we reckoned the <i>niggers</i> stole it!" +</p><p> +That made me squirm! +</p><p> +"Yes," says the duke, kinder slow and deliberate +and sarcastic, "<i>we</i> did." +</p><p> +After about a half a minute the king drawls out: +</p><p> +"Leastways, I did." +</p><p> +The duke says, the same way: +</p><p> +"On the contrary, <i>I</i> did." +</p><p> +The king kind of ruffles up, and says: +</p><p> +"Looky here, Bilgewater, what'r you referrin' to?" +The duke says, pretty brisk: +</p><p> +"When it comes to that, maybe you'll let me ask +what was <i>you</i> referring to?" +</p><p> +"Shucks!" says the king, very sarcastic; "but <i>I</i> +don't know—maybe you was asleep, and didn't know +what you was about." +</p><p> +The duke bristles up now, and says: +</p><p> +"Oh, let <i>up</i> 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?" +</p><p> +"<i>Yes</i>, sir! I know you <i>do</i> know, because you done +it yourself!" +</p><p> +"It's a lie!"—and the duke went for him. The +king sings out: +</p><p> +"Take y'r hands off!—leggo my throat!—I take it +all back!" +</p><p> +The duke says: +</p><p> +"Well, you just own up, first, that you <i>did</i> 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." +</p><p> +"Wait jest a minute, duke—answer 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." +</p><p> +"You old scoundrel, I didn't, and you know I +didn't. There, now!" +</p><p> +"Well, then, I b'lieve you. But answer me only +jest this one more—now <i>don't</i> git mad; didn't +you have it in your mind to hook the money and +hide it?" +</p><p> +The duke never said nothing for a little bit; then he +says: +</p><p> +"Well, I don't care if I <i>did</i>, I didn't <i>do</i> it, anyway. +But you not only had it in mind to do it, but you +<i>done</i> it." +</p><p> +"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 +<i>was</i>; but you—I mean somebody—got in ahead o' +me." +</p><p> +"It's a lie! You done it, and you got to <i>say</i> you +done it, or—" +</p><p> +The king began to gurgle, and then he gasps out: +</p><p> +"'Nough!—I <i>own up!</i>" +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"If you ever deny it again I'll drown you. It's +<i>well</i> for you to set there and blubber like a baby—it's +fitten for you, after the way you've acted. I never +see such an old ostrich for wanting to gobble everything—and +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 <i>believe</i> that rubbage. Cuss you, I can see now +why you was so anxious to make up the deffisit—you +wanted to get what money I'd got out of the 'None-such' +and one thing or another, and scoop it <i>all!</i>" +</p><p> +The king says, timid, and still a-snuffling: +</p><p> +"Why, duke, it was you that said make up the +deffersit; it warn't me." +</p><p> +"Dry up! I don't want to hear no more out of +you!" says the duke. "And <i>now</i> you see what you +<i>got</i> by it. They've got all their own money back, +and all of <i>ourn</i> but a shekel or two <i>besides</i>. G'long +to bed, and don't you deffersit <i>me</i> no more deffersits, +long 's <i>you</i> live!" +</p><p> +So the king sneaked into the wigwam and took to +his bottle for comfort, and before long the duke +tackled <i>his</i> 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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XXXI"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XXXI</h2> +<br> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 +<i>mean</i>," 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 raft—and 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. +</p><p> +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, anyway—and maybe a chance for +<i>the</i> chance 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: +</p><p> +"Set her loose, Jim; we're all right now!" +</p><p> +But there warn't no answer, and nobody come out +of the wigwam. Jim was gone! I set up a shout—and +then another—and then another one; and run +this way and that in the woods, whooping and +screeching; but it warn't no use—old 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: +</p><p> +"Yes." +</p><p> +"Whereabouts?" says I. +</p><p> +"Down to Silas Phelps's place, two mile below +here. He's a runaway nigger, and they've got him. +Was you looking for him?" +</p><p> +"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 out—and told me to lay down and +stay where I was; and I done it. Been there ever +since; afeard to come out." +</p><p> +"Well," he says, "you needn't be afeard no more, +becuz they've got him. He run off f'm down South +som'ers." +</p><p> +"It's a good job they got him." +</p><p> +"Well, I <i>reckon!</i> There's two hundred dollars dollars' +reward on him. It's like picking up money out'n the +road." +</p><p> +"Yes, it is—and I could 'a' had it if I'd been big +enough; I see him <i>first</i>. Who nailed him?" +</p><p> +"It was an old fellow—a stranger—and 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>I'd</i> wait, if it was seven year." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"But it <i>is</i>, though—straight as a string. I see the +handbill myself. It tells all about him, to a dot—paints +him like a picture, and tells the plantation he's +frum, below Newr<i>leans</i>. No-sirree-<i>bob</i>, they ain't no +trouble 'bout <i>that</i> speculation, you bet you. Say, +gimme a chaw tobacker, won't ye?" +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 <i>got</i> 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 <i>me!</i> 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 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." +</p><p> +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 <i>me</i>, 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 <i>on</i> 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 +<i>say</i> 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 lie—I found +that out. +</p><p> +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 letter—and 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: +</p><p><small> +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.</small> +</p><p> +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 thinking—thinking +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 smallpox aboard, and he was so grateful, and +said I was the best friend old Jim ever had in the +world, and the <i>only</i> one he's got now; and then I +happened to look around and see that paper. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"All right, then, I'll <i>go</i> 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 yet—I 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 Nonesuch—three-night performance—like +that other time. They had the cheek, them +frauds! I was right on him before I could shirk. +He looked astonished, and says: +</p><p> +"Hel-<i>lo!</i> Where'd <i>you</i> come from?" Then he +says, kind of glad and eager, "Where's the raft?—got +her in a good place?" +</p><p> +I says: +</p><p> +"Why, that's just what I was going to ask your +grace." +</p><p> +Then he didn't look so joyful, and says: +</p><p> +"What was your idea for asking <i>me?</i>" he says. +</p><p> +"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 <i>did</i> become of the +raft, then?—and Jim—poor Jim!" +</p><p> +"Blamed if I know—that 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.'" +</p><p> +"I wouldn't shake my <i>nigger</i>, would I?—the only +nigger I had in the world, and the only property." +</p><p> +"We never thought of that. Fact is, I reckon +we'd come to consider him <i>our</i> nigger; yes, we did +consider him so—goodness 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." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Do you reckon that nigger would blow on us? +We'd skin him if he done that!" +</p><p> +"How can he blow? Hain't he run off?" +</p><p> +"No! That old fool sold him, and never divided +with me, and the money's gone." +</p><p> +"<i>Sold</i> him?" I says, and begun to cry; "why, he +was <i>my</i> nigger, and that was my money. Where is +he?—I want my nigger." +</p><p> +"Well, you can't <i>get</i> your nigger, that's all—so +dry up your blubbering. Looky here—do you think +<i>you'd</i> venture to blow on us? Blamed if I think I'd +trust you. Why, if you <i>was</i> to blow on us—" +</p><p> +He stopped, but I never see the duke look so ugly +out of his eyes before. I went on a-whimpering, and +says: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +He looked kinder bothered, and stood there with +his bills fluttering on his arm, thinking, and wrinkling +up his forehead. At last he says: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +So I promised, and he says: +</p><p> +"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: +</p><p> +"The man that bought him is named Abram +Foster—Abram G. Foster—and he lives forty mile +back here in the country, on the road to Lafayette." +</p><p> +"All right," I says, "I can walk it in three days. +And I'll start this very afternoon." +</p><p> +"No you won't, you'll start <i>now</i>; 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 <i>us</i>, d'ye hear?" +</p><p> +That was the order I wanted, and that was the one +I played for. I wanted to be left free to work my plans. +</p><p> +"So clear out," he says; "and you can tell Mr. +Foster whatever you want to. Maybe you can get +him to believe that Jim <i>is</i> your nigger—some idiots +don't require documents—leastways 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 <i>between</i> here and there." +</p><p> +</p><p> +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's. 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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XXXII"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XXXII</h2> +<br> +<p> +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 whispering—spirits that's been dead +ever so many years—and you always think they're +talking about <i>you.</i> As a general thing it makes a +body wish <i>he</i> was dead, too, and done with it all. +</p><p> +Phelps's 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 +onto 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 folks—hewed 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 smokehouse back +of the kitchen; three little nigger cabins in a row +t'other side the smokehouse; 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. +</p><p> +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 dead—for +that <i>is</i> the lonesomest sound in the whole world. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 +say—spokes made out of dogs—circle 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 every-wheres. +</p><p> +A nigger woman come tearing out of the kitchen +with a rolling-pin in her hand, singing out, "Begone! +<i>you</i> 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. +</p><p> +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 +going. She was smiling all over so she could hardly +stand—and says: +</p><p> +"It's <i>you</i>, at last!—<i>ain't</i> it?" +</p><p> +I out with a "Yes'm" before I thought. +</p><p> +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." +</p><p> +But they ducked their heads, and put their fingers +in their mouths, and hid behind her. So she run on: +</p><p> +"Lize, hurry up and get him a hot breakfast right +away—or did you get your breakfast on the boat?" +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Now I can have a <i>good</i> 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?" +</p><p> +"Yes'm—she—" +</p><p> +"Don't say yes'm—say Aunt Sally. Where'd she +get aground?" +</p><p> +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 up—from 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 on—or—Now I struck an idea, +and fetched it out: +</p><p> +"It warn't the grounding—that didn't keep us +back but a little. We blowed out a cylinder-head." +</p><p> +"Good gracious! anybody hurt?" +</p><p> +"No'm. Killed a nigger." +</p><p> +"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 <i>did</i> die. Mortification set in, +and they had to amputate him. But it didn't save +him. Yes, it was mortification—that 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—" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Who'd you give the baggage to?" +</p><p> +"Nobody." +</p><p> +"Why, child, it 'll be stole!" +</p><p> +"Not where I hid it I reckon it won't," I says. +</p><p> +"How'd you get your breakfast so early on the +boat?" +</p><p> +It was kinder thin ice, but I says: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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 <i>everything</i>—tell 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." +</p><p> +Well, I see I was up a stump—and 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 ahead—I'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: +</p><p> +"Here he comes! Stick your head down lower—there, +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." +</p><p> +I see I was in a <i>fix</i> 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. +</p><p> +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?" +</p><p> +"No," says her husband. +</p><p> +"Good-<i>ness</i> gracious!" she says, "what in the +world <i>can</i> have become of him?" +</p><p> +"I can't imagine," says the old gentleman; "and +I must say it makes me dreadful uneasy." +</p><p> +"Uneasy!" she says; "I'm ready to go distracted! +He <i>must</i> 'a' come; and you've missed him along the +road. I <i>know</i> it's so—something tells me so." +</p><p> +"Why, Sally, I <i>couldn't</i> miss him along the road—<i>you</i> +know that." +</p><p> +"But oh, dear, dear, what <i>will</i> Sis say! He must +'a' come! You must 'a' missed him. He—" +</p><p> +"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 <i>couldn't</i> come and me miss +him. Sally, it's terrible—just terrible—something's +happened to the boat, sure!" +</p><p> +"Why, Silas! Look yonder!—up the road!—ain't +that somebody coming?" +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Why, who's that?" +</p><p> +"Who do you reckon 'tis?" +</p><p> +"I hain't no idea. Who <i>is</i> it?" +</p><p> +"It's <i>Tom Sawyer!</i>" +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 family—I mean the Sawyer family—than +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 <i>they</i> 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. +</p><p> +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? +</p><p> +Well, I couldn't <i>have</i> 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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XXXIII"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> +<br> +<p> +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: +</p><p> +"I hain't ever done you no harm. You know that. +So, then, what you want to come back and ha'nt <i>me</i> +for?" +</p><p> +I says: +</p><p> +"I hain't come back—I hain't been <i>gone</i>." +</p><p> +When he heard my voice it righted him up some, +but he warn't quite satisfied yet. He says: +</p><p> +"Don't you play nothing on me, because I wouldn't +on you. Honest injun, you ain't a ghost?" +</p><p> +"Honest injun, I ain't," I says. +</p><p> +"Well—I—I—well, 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 <i>at all?</i>" +</p><p> +"No. I warn't ever murdered at all—I played it +on them. You come in here and feel of me if you +don't believe me." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +I says: +</p><p> +"All right; but wait a minute. There's one more +thing—a thing that <i>nobody</i> 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 <i>Jim</i>—old Miss +Watson's Jim." +</p><p> +He says: +</p><p> +"What! Why, Jim is—" +</p><p> +He stopped and went to studying. I says: +</p><p> +"<i>I</i> know what you'll say. You'll say it's dirty, +low-down business; but what if it is? <i>I</i>'m low down; +and I'm a-going to steal him, and I want you keep +mum and not let on. Will you?" +</p><p> +His eye lit up, and he says: +</p><p> +"I'll <i>help</i> you steal him!" +</p><p> +Well, I let go all holts then, like I was shot. It +was the most astonishing speech I ever heard—and +I'm bound to say Tom Sawyer fell considerable in my +estimation. Only I couldn't believe it. Tom Sawyer +a <i>nigger-stealer!</i> +</p><p> +"Oh, shucks!" I says; "you're joking." +</p><p> +"I ain't joking, either." +</p><p> +"Well, then," I says, "joking or no joking, if +you hear anything said about a runaway nigger, +don't forget to remember that <i>you</i> don't know +nothing about him, and I don't know nothing about +him." +</p><p> +Then he 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: +</p><p> +"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 hair—not a +hair. It's wonderful. Why, I wouldn't take a hundred +dollars for that horse now—I wouldn't, honest; +and yet I'd 'a' sold her for fifteen before, and thought +'twas all she was worth." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +Everybody made a rush for the front door, because, +of course, a stranger don't come <i>every</i> 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 audience—and +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: +</p><p> +"Mr. Archibald Nichols, I presume?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +Tom he took a look back over his shoulder, and +says, "Too late—he's out of sight." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Oh, I <i>can't</i> make you so much trouble; I couldn't +think of it. I'll walk—I don't mind the distance." +</p><p> +"But we won't <i>let</i> you walk—it wouldn't be +Southern hospitality to do it. Come right in." +</p><p> +"Oh, <i>do</i>,"' 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." +</p><p> +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 Thompson—and +he made another bow. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"You owdacious puppy!" +</p><p> +He looked kind of hurt, and says: +</p><p> +"I'm surprised at you, m'am." +</p><p> +"You're s'rp—Why, what do you reckon <i>I</i> am? +I've a good notion to take and—Say, what do you +mean by kissing me?" +</p><p> +He looked kind of humble, and says: +</p><p> +"I didn't mean nothing, m'am. I didn't mean +no harm. I—I—thought you'd like it." +</p><p> +"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?" +</p><p> +"Well, I don't know. Only, they—they—told me you would." +</p><p> +"<i>They</i> told you I would. Whoever told you's +<i>another</i> lunatic. I never heard the beat of it. Who's +<i>they?</i>" +</p><p> +"Why, everybody. They all said so, m'am." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Who's 'everybody'? Out with their names, or +ther'll be an idiot short." +</p><p> +He got up and looked distressed, and fumbled his +hat, and says: +</p><p> +"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 it—every +one of them. But I'm sorry, m'am, and I won't do +it no more—I won't, honest." +</p><p> +"You won't, won't you? Well, I sh'd <i>reckon</i> you +won't!" +</p><p> +"No'm, I'm honest about it; I won't ever do it +again—till you ask me." +</p><p> +"Till I <i>ask</i> 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>I</i> ask you—or the +likes of you." +</p><p> +"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 <i>you</i> think +she'd like me to kiss her, sir?" +</p><p> +"Why, no; I—I—well, no, I b'lieve I didn't." +</p><p> +Then he looks on around the same way to me, and +says: +</p><p> +"Tom, didn't <i>you</i> think Aunt Sally 'd open out +her arms and say, 'Sid Sawyer—'" +</p><p> +"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: +</p><p> +"No, not till you've asked me first." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Why, dear me, I never see such a surprise. We +warn't looking for <i>you</i> at all, but only Tom. Sis +never wrote to me about anybody coming but him." +</p><p> +"It's because it warn't <i>intended</i> 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." +</p><p> +"No—not 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 terms—I'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." +</p><p> +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 families—and +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Pa, mayn't Tom and Sid and me go to the show?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +So there it was!—but <i>I</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. +</p><p> +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 middle +of it—it was as much as half after eight then—here +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 rail—that is, +I knowed it <i>was</i> the king and the duke, though they +was all over tar and feathers, and didn't look like +nothing in the world that was human—just 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 <i>can</i> be awful cruel to one another. +</p><p> +We see we was too late—couldn'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. +</p><p> +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, somehow—though 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 <i>anyway.</i> 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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XXXIV"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> +<br> +<p> +We stopped talking, and got to thinking. By +and by Tom says: +</p><p> +"Looky here, Huck, what fools we are to not +think of it before! I bet I know where Jim is." +</p><p> +"No! Where?" +</p><p> +"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?" +</p><p> +"Yes." +</p><p> +"What did you think the vittles was for?" +</p><p> +"For a dog." +</p><p> +"So 'd I. Well, it wasn't for a dog." +</p><p> +"Why?" +</p><p> +"Because part of it was watermelon." +</p><p> +"So it was—I 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." +</p><p> +"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 table—same 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 right—I'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." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Ready?" +</p><p> +"Yes," I says. +</p><p> +"All right—bring it out." +</p><p> +"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?" +</p><p> +"<i>Work?</i> Why, cert'nly it would work, like rats +a-fighting. But it's too blame' simple; there ain't +nothing <i>to</i> 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." +</p><p> +I never said nothing, because I warn't expecting +nothing different; but I knowed mighty well that +whenever he got <i>his</i> plan ready it wouldn't have none +of them objections to it. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 <i>couldn't</i> 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 <i>did</i> start to tell him; but he shut me +up, and says: +</p><p> +"Don't you reckon I know what I'm about? Don't +I generly know what I'm about?" +</p><p> +"Yes." +</p><p> +"Didn't I <i>say</i> I was going to help steal the nigger?" +</p><p> +"Yes." +</p><p> +"Well, then." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 +with—which was the north side—we found +a square window-hole, up tolerable high, with just +one stout board nailed across it. I says: +</p><p> +"Here's the ticket. This hole's big enough for Jim +to get through if we wrench off the board." +</p><p> +Tom says: +</p><p> +"It's as simple as tit-tat-toe, three-in-a-row, and +as easy as playing hooky. I should <i>hope</i> we can find +a way that's a little more complicated than <i>that</i>, +Huck Finn." +</p><p> +"Well, then," I says, "how'll it do to saw him +out, the way I done before I was murdered that +time?" +</p><p> +"That's more <i>like</i>," 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." +</p><p> +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 narrow—only 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: +</p><p> +"Now we're all right. We'll <i>dig</i> him out. It 'll +take about a week!" +</p><p> +Then we started for the house, and I went in the +back door—you only have to pull a buckskin latch-string, +they don't fasten the doors—but 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. +</p><p> +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 Jim—if it <i>was</i> 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"What's the vittles for? Going to feed the dogs?" +</p><p> +The nigger kind of smiled around graduly over his +face, like when you heave a brickbat in a mud-puddle, +and he says: +</p><p> +"Yes, Mars Sid, <i>a</i> dog. Cur'us dog, too. Does +you want to go en look at 'im?" +</p><p> +"Yes." +</p><p> +I hunched Tom, and whispers: +</p><p> +"You going, right here in the daybreak? <i>That</i> +warn't the plan." +</p><p> +"No, it warn't; but it's the plan <i>now.</i>" +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Why, <i>Huck!</i> En good <i>lan'!</i> ain' dat Misto Tom?" +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Why, de gracious sakes! do he know you genlmen?" +</p><p> +We could see pretty well now. Tom he looked at +the nigger, steady and kind of wondering, and says: +</p><p> +"Does <i>who</i> know us?" +</p><p> +"Why, dis-yer runaway nigger." +</p><p> +"I don't reckon he does; but what put that into +your head?" +</p><p> +"What <i>put</i> it dar? Didn' he jis' dis minute sing +out like he knowed you?" +</p><p> +Tom says, in a puzzled-up kind of way: +</p><p> +"Well, that's mighty curious. <i>Who</i> sung out? +<i>When</i> did he sing out? <i>What</i> did he sing out?" And +turns to me, perfectly ca'm, and says, "Did <i>you</i> +hear anybody sing out?" +</p><p> +Of course there warn't nothing to be said but the +one thing; so I says: +</p><p> +"No; <i>I</i> ain't heard nobody say nothing." +</p><p> +Then he turns to Jim, and looks him over like he +never see him before, and says: +</p><p> +"Did you sing out?" +</p><p> +"No, sah," says Jim; "I hain't said nothing, sah." +</p><p> +"Not a word?" +</p><p> +"No, sah, I hain't said a word." +</p><p> +"Did you ever see us before?" +</p><p> +"No, sah; not as I knows on." +</p><p> +So Tom turns to the nigger, which was looking +wild and distressed, and says, kind of severe: +</p><p> +"What do you reckon's the matter with you, anyway? +What made you think somebody sung out?" +</p><p> +"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 <i>ain't</i> no witches. I jis' wish to goodness +he was heah now—<i>den</i> what would he say! I +jis' bet he couldn' fine no way to git aroun' it <i>dis</i> +time. But it's awluz jis' so; people dat's <i>sot</i>, stays +sot; dey won't look into noth'n' en fine it out f'r deyselves, +en when <i>you</i> fine it out en tell um 'bout it, +dey doan' b'lieve you." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XXXV"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XXXV</h2> +<br> +<p> +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 <i>some</i> 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: +</p><p> +"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 drugged—now there <i>ought</i> 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 <i>all</i> +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 thing—there'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 <i>let on</i> that a lantern's resky. Why, we +could work with a torchlight procession if we wanted +to, <i>I</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." +</p><p> +"What do we want of a saw?" +</p><p> +"What do we <i>want</i> of a saw? Hain't we got to +saw the leg of Jim's bed off, so as to get the chain +loose?" +</p><p> +"Why, you just said a body could lift up the bedstead +and slip the chain off." +</p><p> +"Well, if that ain't just like you, Huck Finn. You +<i>can</i> 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 its +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 moat—because a rope ladder is nineteen foot too +short, you know—and 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." +</p><p> +I says: +</p><p> +"What do we want of a moat when we're going to +snake him out from under the cabin?" +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"No, it wouldn't do—there ain't necessity enough +for it." +</p><p> +"For what?" I says. +</p><p> +"Why, to saw Jim's leg off," he says. +</p><p> +"Good land!" I says; "why, there ain't <i>no</i> necessity +for it. And what would you want to saw his leg +off for, anyway?" +</p><p> +"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 thing—he 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." +</p><p> +"Why, Tom Sawyer, how you talk," I says; "Jim +ain't got no use for a rope ladder." +</p><p> +"He <i>has</i> got use for it. How <i>you</i> talk, you better +say; you don't know nothing about it. He's <i>got</i> to +have a rope ladder; they all do." +</p><p> +"What in the nation can he <i>do</i> with it?" +</p><p> +"<i>Do</i> with it? He can hide it in his bed, can't he? +That's what they all do; and <i>he's</i> 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 <i>don't</i> do nothing with +it? ain't it there in his bed, for a clue, after he's +gone? and don't you reckon they'll want clues? Of +course they will. And you wouldn't leave them +any? That would be a <i>pretty</i> howdy-do, <i>wouldn't</i> it! +I never heard of such a thing." +</p><p> +"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 Sawyer—if 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—" +</p><p> +"Oh, shucks, Huck Finn, if I was as ignorant as +you I'd keep still—that's what I'd do. Who ever +heard of a state prisoner escaping by a hickry-bark +ladder? Why, it's perfectly ridiculous." +</p><p> +"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 clothes-line." +</p><p> +He said that would do. And that gave him another +idea, and he says: +</p><p> +"Borrow a shirt, too." +"What do we want of a shirt, Tom?" +"Want it for Jim to keep a journal on." +"Journal your granny—<i>Jim</i> can't write." +"S'pose he <i>can't</i> write—he 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?" +</p><p> +"Why, Tom, we can pull a feather out of a goose +and make him a better one; and quicker, too." +</p><p> +"<i>Prisoners</i> don't have geese running around the +donjon-keep to pull pens out of, you muggins. They +<i>always</i> 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. <i>They</i> wouldn't use a goose-quill +if they had it. It ain't regular." +</p><p> +"Well, then, what 'll we make him the ink out of?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Jim ain't got no tin plates. They feed him in a +pan." +</p><p> +"That ain't nothing; we can get him some." +</p><p> +"Can't nobody <i>read</i> his plates." +</p><p> +"That ain't got anything to <i>do</i> with it, Huck Finn. +All <i>he's</i> got to do is to write on the plate and throw +it out. You don't <i>have</i> 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." +</p><p> +"Well, then, what's the sense in wasting the +plates?" +</p><p> +"Why, blame it all, it ain't the <i>prisoner's</i> plates." +</p><p> +"But it's <i>somebody's</i> plates, ain't it?" +</p><p> +"Well, spos'n it is? What does the <i>prisoner</i> care +whose—" +</p><p> +He broke off there, because we heard the breakfast-horn +blowing. So we cleared out for the house. +</p><p> +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 <i>needed.</i> 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Everything's all right now except tools; and +that's easy fixed." +</p><p> +"Tools?" I says. +</p><p> +"Yes." +</p><p> +"Tools for what?" +</p><p> +"Why, to dig with. We ain't a-going to <i>gnaw</i> him +out, are we?" +</p><p> +"Ain't them old crippled picks and things in there +good enough to dig a nigger out with?" I says. +</p><p> +He turns on me, looking pitying enough to make a +body cry, and says: +</p><p> +"Huck Finn, did you <i>ever</i> 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 you—if you got any reasonableness in you at all—what +kind of a show would <i>that</i> give him to be a +hero? Why, they might as well lend him the key and +done with it. Picks and shovels—why, they wouldn't +furnish 'em to a king." +</p><p> +"Well, then," I says, "if we don't want the picks +and shovels, what do we want?" +</p><p> +"A couple of case-knives." +</p><p> +"To dig the foundations out from under that cabin +with?" +</p><p> +"Yes." +</p><p> +"Confound it, it's foolish, Tom." +</p><p> +"It don't make no difference how foolish it is, it's +the <i>right</i> way—and it's the regular way. And there +ain't no <i>other</i> 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-knife—and +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 <i>he</i> at it, you reckon?" +</p><p> +"I don't know." +</p><p> +"Well, guess." +</p><p> +"I don't know. A month and a half." +</p><p> +"<i>Thirty-seven year</i>—and he come out in China. +<i>That's</i> the kind. I wish the bottom of <i>this</i> fortress +was solid rock." +</p><p> +"<i>Jim</i> don't know nobody in China." +</p><p> +"What's <i>that</i> 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?" +</p><p> +"All right—I don't care where he comes out, so he +<i>comes</i> out; and Jim don't, either, I reckon. But +there's one thing, anyway—Jim's too old to be dug +out with a case-knife. He won't last." +</p><p> +"Yes he will <i>last,</i> too. You don't reckon it's going +to take thirty-seven years to dig out through a <i>dirt</i> +foundation, do you?" +</p><p> +"How long will it take, Tom?" +</p><p> +"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 <i>let on</i>, 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." +</p><p> +"Now, there's <i>sense</i> 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." +</p><p> +"Smouch three," he says; "we want one to make +a saw out of." +</p><p> +"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 smokehouse." +</p><p> +He looked kind of weary and discouraged-like, and +says: +</p><p> +"It ain't no use to try to learn you nothing, Huck. +Run along and smouch the knives—three of them." +So I done it. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XXXVI"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XXXVI</h2> +<br> +<p> +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 we +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 counterpin 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: +</p><p> +"This ain't no thirty-seven-year job; this is a +thirty-eight-year job, Tom Sawyer." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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 <i>we</i> 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 well—couldn't +touch a case-knife with them sooner." +</p><p> +"Well, then, what we going to do, Tom?" +</p><p> +"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 <i>let on</i> it's case-knives." +</p><p> +"<i>Now</i> you're <i>talking!</i>" 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." +</p><p> +"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 broke—because 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 <i>you</i> to dig Jim out with a pick, <i>without</i> +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." +</p><p> +He had his own by him, but I handed him mine. +He flung it down, and says: +</p><p> +"Gimme a <i>case-knife.</i>" +</p><p> +I didn't know just what to do—but then I thought. +I scratched around amongst the old tools, and got +a pickax and give it to him, and he took it and +went to work, and never said a word. +</p><p> +He was always just that particular. Full of principle. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"It ain't no use, it can't be done. What you +reckon I better do? Can't you think of no way?" +</p><p> +"Yes," I says, "but I reckon it ain't regular. +Come up the stairs, and let on it's a lightning-rod." +</p><p> +So he done it. +</p><p> +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-hole—then we +could tote them back and he could use them over +again. So Tom was satisfied. Then he says: +</p><p> +"Now, the thing to study out is, how to get the +things to Jim." +</p><p> +"Take them in through the hole," I says, "when +we get it done." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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, <i>sure</i>. 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: +</p><p> +"<i>Now</i> I know how to fix it. We'll send you some +things by them." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 onto 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: +</p><p> +"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 <i>felt</i> um—I <i>felt</i> 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' wunst—on'y +jis' wunst—it's all I'd ast. But mos'ly I +wisht dey'd lemme 'lone, I does." +</p><p> +Tom says: +</p><p> +"Well, I tell you what <i>I</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 <i>you</i> to do." +</p><p> +"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'." +</p><p> +"Well, then, I'll have to make it myself." +</p><p> +"Will you do it, honey?—will you? I'll wusshup +de groun' und' yo' foot, I will!" +</p> +<br><br> +<a name="pie"></a> +<p class="pg1"><img src="images/pie.jpg" alt="TOM ADVISES A WITCH PIE"></p> +<p class="pg1">TOM ADVISES A WITCH PIE</p> +<br><br> +<p> +"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 pan—something +might happen, I don't know what. +And above all, don't you <i>handle</i> the witch-things." +</p><p> +"<i>Hannel</i> 'm, Mars Sid? What <i>is</i> 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." +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XXXVII"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XXXVII</h2> +<br> +<p> +<i>That</i> 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"I've hunted high and I've hunted low, and it +does beat all what <i>has</i> become of your other shirt." +</p><p> +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 war-whoop, 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 again—it was the sudden surprise of it that +knocked us so kind of cold. Uncle Silas he says: +</p><p> +"It's most uncommon curious, I can't understand +it. I know perfectly well I took it <i>off</i>, because—" +</p><p> +"Because you hain't got but one <i>on</i>. Just <i>listen</i> +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 yesterday—I 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 <i>do</i> with 'm all is +more'n I can make out. A body'd think you <i>would</i> +learn to take some sort of care of 'em at your time +of life." +</p><p> +"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 <i>off</i> of me." +</p><p> +"Well, it ain't <i>your</i> 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 <i>that</i> ain't all. There was ten, and now ther' +only nine. The calf got the shirt, I reckon, but the +calf never took the spoon, <i>that's</i> certain." +</p><p> +"Why, what else is gone, Sally?" +</p><p> +"Ther's six <i>candles</i> gone—that'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, Silas—<i>you'd</i> never find it out; but you +can't lay the <i>spoon</i> on the rats, and that I <i>know</i>." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Oh, I wouldn't hurry; next year 'll do. Matilda +Angelina Araminta <i>Phelps!</i>" +</p><p> +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 onto +the passage, and says: +</p><p> +"Missus, dey's a sheet gone." +</p><p> +"A <i>sheet</i> gone! Well, for the land's sake!" +</p><p> +"I'll stop up them holes to-day," says Uncle Silas, +looking sorrowful. +</p><p> +"Oh, <i>do</i> shet up!—s'pose the rats took the <i>sheet?</i> +<i>Where's</i> it gone, Lize?" +</p><p> +"Clah to goodness I hain't no notion, Miss' Sally. +She wuz on de clo's-line yistiddy, but she done gone: +she ain' dah no mo' now." +</p><p> +"I reckon the world <i>is</i> coming to an end. I <i>never</i> +see the beat of it in all my born days. A shirt, and +a sheet, and a spoon, and six can—" +</p><p> +"Missus," comes a young yaller wench, "dey's a +brass cannelstick miss'n." +</p><p> +"Cler out from here, you hussy, er I'll take a +skillet to ye!" +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"It's <i>just</i> 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?" +</p><p> +"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—" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Well, it ain't no use to send things by <i>him</i> 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 <i>him</i> knowing it—stop up his rat-holes." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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 mind—let +it go. I reckon it wouldn't do no good." +</p><p> +And so he went on a-mumbling up-stairs, and then +we left. He was a mighty nice old man. And +always is. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Why, Aunt Sally, there ain't but nine spoons +<i>yet</i>." +</p><p> +She says: +</p><p> +"Go 'long to your play, and don't bother me. I +know better, I counted 'm myself." +</p><p> +"Well, I've counted them twice, Aunty, and <i>I</i> +can't make but nine." +</p><p> +She looked out of all patience, but of course she +come to count—anybody would. +</p><p> +"I declare to gracious ther' <i>ain't</i> but nine!" she +says. "Why, what in the world—plague <i>take</i> the +things, I'll count 'm again." +</p><p> +So I slipped back the one I had, and when she got +done counting, she says: +</p><p> +"Hang the troublesome rubbage, ther's <i>ten</i> now!" +and she looked huffy and bothered both. But Tom +says: +</p><p> +"Why, Aunty, I don't think there's ten." +</p><p> +"You numskull, didn't you see me <i>count</i> 'm?" +</p><p> +"I know, but—" +</p><p> +"Well, I'll count 'm again." +</p><p> +So I smouched one, and they come out nine, same +as the other time. Well, she <i>was</i> in a tearing way—just +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 cler 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 <i>now</i> +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 <i>did</i>; 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. +</p><p> +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 <i>care</i>, 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 last—which 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 washpan—afraid +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 +<i>Mayflower</i> 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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XXXVIII"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XXXVIII</h2> +<br> +<p> +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 <i>got</i> to; +there warn't no case of a state prisoner not scrabbling +his inscription to leave behind, and his coat of arms. +</p><p> +"Look at Lady Jane Grey," he says; "look at +Gilford Dudley; look at old Northumberland! Why, +Huck, s'pose it <i>is</i> considerble trouble?—what you +going to do?—how you going to get around it? +Jim's <i>got</i> to do his inscription and coat of arms. +They all do." +</p><p> +Jim says: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Oh, you don't understand, Jim; a coat of arms +is very different." +</p><p> +"Well," I says, "Jim's right, anyway, when he says +he ain't got no coat of arms, because he hain't." +</p><p> +"I reckon I knowed that," Tom says, "but you +bet he'll have one before he goes out of this—because +he's going out <i>right</i>, and there ain't going +to be no flaws in his record." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"On the scutcheon we'll have a bend <i>or</i> in the +dexter base, a saltire <i>murrey</i> in the fess, with a dog, +couchant, for common charge, and under his foot a +chain embattled, for slavery, with a chevron <i>vert</i> in +a chief engrailed, and three invected lines on a field +<i>azure</i>, with the nombril points rampant on a dancette +indented; crest, a runaway nigger, <i>sable</i>, with his +bundle over his shoulder on a bar sinister; and a +couple of gules for supporters, which is you and +me; motto, <i>Maggiore fretta, minore atto</i>. Got it out +of a book—means the more haste the less speed." +</p><p> +"Geewhillikins," I says, "but what does the rest +of it mean?" +</p><p> +"We ain't got no time to bother over that," he +says; "we got to dig in like all git-out." +</p><p> +"Well, anyway," I says, "what's <i>some</i> of it? +What's a fess?" +</p><p> +"A fess—a fess is—<i>you</i> don't need to know what +a fess is. I'll show him how to make it when he gets +to it." +</p><p> +"Shucks, Tom," I says, "I think you might tell +a person. What's a bar sinister?" +</p><p> +"Oh, I don't know. But he's got to have it. +All the nobility does." +</p><p> +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 +inscription—said 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: +</p> +<blockquote> + <i>1. Here a captive heart busted.<br> +<br> + 2. Here a poor prisoner, forsook by the world and + friends, fretted his sorrowful life.<br> +<br> + 3. Here a lonely heart broke, and a worn spirit went + to its rest, after thirty-seven years of solitary captivity.<br> +<br> + 4. Here, homeless and friendless, after thirty-seven + years of bitter captivity, perished a noble stranger, + natural son of Louis XIV.</i><br> +</blockquote> +<p> +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 onto 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 onto 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: +</p><p> +"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: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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 halfway; +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"You got any spiders in here, Jim?" +</p><p> +"No, sah, thanks to goodness I hain't, Mars Tom." +</p><p> +"All right, we'll get you some." +</p><p> +"But bless you, honey, I doan' <i>want</i> none. I's +afeard un um. I jis' 's soon have rattlesnakes aroun'." +</p><p> +Tom thought a minute or two, and says: +</p><p> +"It's a good idea. And I reckon it's been done. +It <i>must</i> 'a' been done; it stands to reason. Yes, it's +a prime good idea. Where could you keep it?" +</p><p> +"Keep what, Mars Tom?" +</p><p> +"Why, a rattlesnake." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Why, Jim, you wouldn't be afraid of it after a +little. You could tame it." +</p><p> +"<i>Tame</i> it!" +</p><p> +"Yes—easy enough. Every animal is grateful for +kindness and petting, and they wouldn't <i>think</i> of +hurting a person that pets them. Any book will tell +you that. You try—that'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." +</p><p> +"<i>Please</i>, Tom—<i>doan</i>' talk so! I can't <i>stan'</i> +it! He'd <i>let</i> me shove his head in my mouf—fer a +favor, hain't it? I lay he'd wait a pow'ful long time +'fo' I <i>ast</i> him. En mo' en dat, I doan' <i>want</i> him to +sleep wid me." +</p><p> +"Jim, don't act so foolish. A prisoner's <i>got</i> 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." +</p><p> +"Why, Mars Tom, I doan' <i>want</i> no sich glory. +Snake take 'n bite Jim's chin off, den <i>whah</i> is de +glory? No, sah, I doan' want no sich doin's." +</p><p> +"Blame it, can't you <i>try?</i> I only <i>want</i> you to try—you +needn't keep it up if it don't work." +</p><p> +"But de trouble all <i>done</i> 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 <i>leave</i>, dat's <i>shore</i>." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"I k'n stan' <i>dem</i>, Mars Tom, but blame' 'f I +couldn' get along widout um, I tell you dat. I +never knowed b'fo' 'twas so much bother and trouble +to be a prisoner." +</p><p> +"Well, it <i>always</i> is when it's done right. You got +any rats around here?" +</p><p> +"No, sah, I hain't seed none." +</p><p> +"Well, we'll get you some rats." +</p><p> +"Why, Mars Tom, I doan' <i>want</i> 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." +</p><p> +"But, Jim, you <i>got</i> to have 'em—they 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?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Yes they would. <i>They</i> don't care what kind of +music 'tis. A jews-harp's plenty good enough for a +rat. All animals like music—in a prison they dote +on it. Specially, painful music; and you can't get +no other kind out of a jew's-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 jew's-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." +</p><p> +"Yes, <i>dey</i> will, I reck'n, Mars Tom, but what kine +er time is <i>Jim</i> 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." +</p><p> +Tom waited to think it over, and see if there +wasn't nothing else; and pretty soon he says: +</p><p> +"Oh, there's one thing I forgot. Could you raise +a flower here, do you reckon?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"Well, you try it, anyway. Some other prisoners +has done it." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"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 Pitchiola—that's +its right name when it's in a prison. And you +want to water it with your tears." +</p><p> +"Why, I got plenty spring water, Mars Tom." +</p><p> +"You don't <i>want</i> spring water; you want to water +it with your tears. It's the way they always do." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"That ain't the idea. You <i>got</i> to do it with tears." +</p><p> +"She'll die on my han's, Mars Tom, she sholy +will; kase I doan' skasely ever cry." +</p><p> +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 jew's-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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XXXIX"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XXXIX</h2> +<br> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +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 back—we 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. +</p><p> +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 <i>they</i> 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. +</p><p> +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 line 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. +</p><p> +"What's them?" I says. +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +"But looky here, Tom, what do we want to <i>warn</i> +anybody for that something's up? Let them find it +out for themselves—it's their lookout." +</p><p> +"Yes, I know; but you can't depend on them. +It's the way they've acted from the very start—left +us to do <i>everything</i>. They're so confiding and mullet-headed +they don't take notice of nothing at all. So +if we don't <i>give</i> 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 nothing—won't be nothing +<i>to</i> it." +</p><p> +"Well, as for me, Tom, that's the way I'd like." +</p><p> +"Shucks!" he says, and looked disgusted. So I says: +</p><p> +"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?" +</p><p> +"You'll be her. You slide in, in the middle of +the night, and hook that yaller girl's frock." +</p><p> +"Why, Tom, that 'll make trouble next morning; +because, of course, she prob'bly hain't got any but +that one." +</p><p> +"I know; but you don't want it but fifteen minutes, +to carry the nonnamous letter and shove it +under the front door." +</p><p> +"All right, then, I'll do it; but I could carry it just +as handy in my own togs." +</p><p> +"You wouldn't look like a servant-girl <i>then</i>, would +you?" +</p><p> +"No, but there won't be nobody to see what I +look like, <i>anyway</i>." +</p><p> +"That ain't got nothing to do with it. The thing +for us to do is just to do our <i>duty</i>, and not worry + about whether anybody <i>sees</i> us do it or not. Hain't +you got no principle at all?" +</p><p> +"All right, I ain't saying nothing; I'm the servant-girl. +Who's Jim's mother?" +</p><p> +"I'm his mother. I'll hook a gown from Aunt +Sally." +</p><p> +"Well, then, you'll have to stay in the cabin when +me and Jim leaves." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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:</p> +<blockquote> + <i>Beware. Trouble is brewing. Keep a sharp lookout.<br> +   U<small>NKNOWN</small> F<small>RIEND.</small></i> +</blockquote> +<p> +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 +no way and be satisfied, because she allowed there was +something behind her every time—so 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +<i>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 BA 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.</i> +</p><p> +<i>U<small>NKNOWN</small> F<small>RIEND.</small></i> +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XL"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XL</h2> +<br> +<p> +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 cubboard 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: +</p><p> +"Where's the butter?" +</p><p> +"I laid out a hunk of it," I says, "on a piece of a +corn-pone." +</p><p> +"Well, you <i>left</i> it laid out, then—it ain't here." +</p><p> +"We can get along without it," I says. +</p><p> +"We can get along <i>with</i> 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 <i>ba</i> like a +sheep and shove soon as you get there." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"You been down cellar?" +</p><p> +"Yes'm." +</p><p> +"What you been doing down there?" +</p><p> +"Noth'n." +</p><p> +"<i>Noth'n!</i>" +</p><p> +"No'm." +</p><p> +"Well, then, what possessed you to go down there +this time of night?" +</p><p> +"I don't know 'm." +</p><p> +"You don't <i>know?</i> Don't answer me that way. +Tom, I want to know what you been <i>doing</i> down +there." +</p><p> +"I hain't been doing a single thing, Aunt Sally, +I hope to gracious if I have." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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>I'm</i> done with you." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +At last she come and begun to ask me questions, +but I <i>couldn't</i> 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 <i>now</i> 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>I'm</i> for going and getting in the cabin <i>first</i> and +right <i>now</i>, 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: +</p><p> +"For the land's sake, what <i>is</i> the matter with the +child? He's got the brain-fever as shore as you're +born, and they're oozing out!" +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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 if—Dear, dear, whyd'nt you <i>tell</i> me that was +what you'd been down there for, <i>I</i> wouldn't 'a' cared. +Now cler out to bed, and don't lemme see no more +of you till morning!" +</p><p> +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 lose—the +house full of men, yonder, with guns! +</p><p> +His eyes just blazed; and he says: +</p><p> +"No!—is that so? <i>Ain't</i> 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—" +</p><p> +"Hurry! <i>hurry!</i>" I says. "Where's Jim?" +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +But then we heard the tramp of men coming to +the door, and heard them begin to fumble with the +padlock, and heard a man say: +</p><p> +"I <i>told</i> you we'd be too soon; they haven't come—the +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." +</p><p> +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 soft—Jim 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: +</p><p> +"Who's that? Answer, or I'll shoot!" +</p><p> +But we didn't answer; we just unfurled our heels +and shoved. Then there was a rush, and a <i>bang,</i> +<i>bang,</i> <i>bang!</i> and the bullets fairly whizzed around us! +We heard them sing out: +</p><p> +"Here they are! They've broke for the river! +After 'em, boys, and turn loose the dogs!" +</p><p> +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 onto 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 onto the raft I says: +</p><p> +"Now, old Jim, you're a free man <i>again</i>, and I +bet you won't ever be a slave no more." +</p><p> +"En a mighty good job it wuz, too, Huck. It 'uz +planned beautiful, en it 'uz <i>done</i> beautiful; en dey +ain't <i>nobody</i> kin git up a plan dat's mo' mixed up +en splendid den what dat one wuz." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +When me and Jim heard that we didn't feel as +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: +</p><p> +"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 <i>we'd</i> 'a' had the handling of Louis XVI., there +wouldn't 'a' been no 'Son of Saint Louis, ascend to +heaven!' wrote down in <i>his</i> biography; no, sir, we'd +'a' whooped him over the <i>border</i>—that's what we'd +'a' done with <i>him</i>—and done it just as slick as +nothing at all, too. Man the sweeps—man the +sweeps!" +</p><p> +</p><p> +But me and Jim was consulting—and thinking. +And after we'd thought a minute, I says: +</p><p> +"Say it, Jim." +</p><p> +So he says: +</p><p> +"Well, den, dis is de way it look to me, Huck. +Ef it wuz <i>him</i> 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 <i>bet</i> he wouldn't! <i>Well</i>, den, is <i>Jim</i> gywne to +say it? No, sah—I doan' budge a step out'n dis +place 'dout a <i>doctor</i>; not if it's forty year!" +</p><p> +I knowed he was white inside, and I reckoned he'd +say what he did say—so 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. +</p><p> +So when he sees me getting the canoe ready, he +says: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XLI"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XLI</h2> +<br> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +"Who is your folks?" he says. +</p><p> +"The Phelpses, down yonder." +</p><p> +"Oh," he says. And after a minute, he says: +</p><p> +"How'd you say he got shot?" +</p><p> +"He had a dream," I says, "and it shot him." +</p><p> +"Singular dream," he says. +</p><p> +So he lit up his lantern, and got his saddle-bags, +and we started. But when he see the canoe he +didn't like the look of her—said she was big enough +for one, but didn't look pretty safe for two. I says: +</p><p> +"Oh, you needn't be afeard, sir, she carried the +three of us easy enough." +</p><p> +"What three?" +</p><p> +"Why, me and Sid, and—and—and <i>the guns</i>; +that's what I mean." +</p><p> +"Oh," he says. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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>I'll</i> 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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Why, <i>Tom!</i> Where you been all this time, you +rascal?" +</p><p> +"<i>I</i> hain't been nowheres," I says, "only just +hunting for the runaway nigger—me and Sid." +</p><p> +"Why, where ever did you go?" he says. "Your +aunt's been mighty uneasy." +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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 around—but 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Well, Sister Phelps, I've ransacked that-air +cabin over, an' I b'lieve the nigger was crazy. I +says to Sister Damrell—didn't I, Sister Damrell?—s'I, +he's crazy, s'I—them'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 +<i>me't</i> 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 +that—natcherl 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 time—the nigger's +crazy—crazy 's Nebokoodneezer, s'I." +</p><p> +"An' look at that-air ladder made out'n rags, +Sister Hotchkiss," says old Mrs. Damrell; "what in +the name o' goodness <i>could</i> he ever want of—" +</p><p> +"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'I—what <i>could</i> he +'a' wanted of it, s'I. Sh-she, Sister Hotchkiss, +sh-she—" +</p><p> +"But how in the nation'd they ever <i>git</i> that +grindstone <i>in</i> there, <i>anyway?</i> 'n' who dug that-air +<i>hole?</i> 'n' who—" +</p><p> +"My very <i>words</i>, 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 <i>did</i> +they git that grindstone in there? s'I. Without <i>help,</i> + mind you—'thout <i>help! Thar's</i> where 'tis. Don't +tell <i>me,</i> s'I; there <i>wuz</i> help, s'I; 'n' ther' wuz a <i>plenty</i> +help, too, s'I; ther's ben a <i>dozen</i> a-helpin' that nigger, +'n' I lay I'd skin every last nigger on this place but +<i>I'd</i> find out who done it, s'I; moreover, s'I—" +</p><p> +"A <i>dozen</i> says you!—<i>forty</i> couldn't 'a' done everything +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—" +</p><p> +"You may <i>well</i> say it, Brer Hightower! It's jist +as I was a-sayin' to Brer Phelps, his own self. S'e, +what do <i>you</i> 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? <i>Think</i> of it? s'I. I lay +it never sawed <i>itself</i> off, s'I—somebody <i>sawed</i> 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 anybody k'n start a better one, s'I, let him <i>do</i> +it, s'I, that's all. I says to Sister Dunlap, s'I—" +</p><p> +"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 +shirt—every 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—" +</p><p> +"People to <i>help</i> him, Brother Marples! Well, I +reckon you'd <i>think</i> so if you'd 'a' been in this house +for a while back. Why, they've stole everything +they could lay their hands on—and 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 <i>didn't</i> 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 <i>and</i> +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 <i>us</i> but the Injun Territory +robbers too, and actuly gets <i>away</i> 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 <i>heard</i> of. +Why, <i>sperits</i> couldn't 'a' done better and been no +smarter. And I reckon they must 'a' <i>been</i> sperits—because, +because, <i>you</i> know our dogs, and ther' ain't no better; +well, them dogs never even got on the <i>track</i> of 'm once! +You explain <i>that</i> to me if you can!—<i>any</i> of you!" +</p><p> +"Well, it does beat—" +</p><p> +"Laws alive, I never—" +</p><p> +"So help me, I wouldn't 'a' be—" +</p><p> +"<i>House</i>-thieves as well as—" +</p><p> +"Goodnessgracioussakes, I'd 'a' ben afeard to <i>live</i> +in sich a—" +</p><p> +"Fraid to <i>live!</i>—why, I was that scared I dasn't +hardly go to bed, or get up, or lay down, or <i>set</i> +down, Sister Ridgeway. Why, they'd steal the very—why, + 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 <i>now</i>, in the daytime; but I says to +myself, there's my two poor boys asleep, 'way upstairs +in that lonesome room, and I declare to goodness +I was that uneasy 't I crep' up there and locked +'em in! I <i>did</i>. 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 me—I got up and took a walk. +</p><p> +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 <i>that</i> 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: +</p><p> +"Why, lawsamercy, it's most night, and Sid not +come yet! What <i>has</i> become of that boy?" +</p><p> +I see my chance; so I skips up and says: +</p><p> +"I'll run right up to town and get him," I says. +</p><p> +"No you won't," she says. "You'll stay right +wher' you are; <i>one's</i> enough to be lost at a time. If +he ain't here to supper, your uncle 'll go." +</p><p> +Well, he warn't there to supper; so right after +supper uncle went. +</p><p> +He come back about ten a little bit uneasy; hadn't +run across Tom's track. Aunt Sally was a good <i>deal</i> +uneasy; but Uncle Silas he said there warn't no +occasion to be—boys 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 awhile anyway, and keep a light +burning so he could see it. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"The door ain't going to be locked, Tom, and +there's the window and the rod; but you'll be good, +<i>won't</i> you? And you won't go? For <i>my</i> sake." +</p><p> +Laws knows I <i>wanted</i> 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_XLII"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER XLII</h2> +<br> +<p> +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: +</p><p> +"Did I give you the letter?" +</p><p> +"What letter?" +</p><p> +"The one I got yesterday out of the post-office." +</p><p> +"No, you didn't give me no letter." +</p><p> +"Well, I must 'a' forgot it." +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Why, it's from St. Petersburg—it's from Sis." +</p><p> +I allowed another walk would do me good; but I +couldn't stir. But before she could break it open +she dropped it and run—for she see something. And +so did I. It was Tom Sawyer on a mattress; and +that old doctor; and Jim, in <i>her</i> 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: +</p><p> +"Oh, he's dead, he's dead, I know he's dead!" +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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-by cussing, and then +the old doctor comes and takes a look, and says: +</p><p> +"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 <i>help</i> 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 <i>was!</i> 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 faithfuler, 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 dollars—and +kind treatment, too. I had everything I needed, +and the boy was doing as well there as he would 'a' +done at home—better, maybe, because it was so +quiet; but there I <i>was</i>, 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." +</p><p> +Somebody says: +</p><p> +"Well, it sounds very good, doctor, I'm obleeged +to say." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 me—explanations, 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. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +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 peacefuler all the time, and ten to one he'd +wake up in his right mind. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"Hello!—why, I'm at <i>home!</i> How's that? +Where's the raft?" +</p><p> +"It's all right," I says. +</p><p> +"And <i>Jim?</i>" +</p><p> +"The same," I says, but couldn't say it pretty +brash. But he never noticed, but says: +</p><p> +"Good! Splendid! <i>Now</i> we're all right and safe! +Did you tell Aunty?" +</p><p> +I was going to say yes; but she chipped in and says: +</p><p> +"About what, Sid?" +</p><p> +"Why, about the way the whole thing was done." +</p><p> +"What whole thing?" +</p><p> +"Why, <i>the</i> whole thing. There ain't but one; how +we set the runaway nigger free—me and Tom." +</p><p> +"Good land! Set the run—What <i>is</i> the child +talking about! Dear, dear, out of his head again!" +</p><p> +"<i>No</i>, I ain't out of my HEAD; I know all what I'm +talking about. We <i>did</i> set him free—me and Tom. +We laid out to do it, and we <i>done</i> 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 <i>me</i> to +put in. "Why, Aunty, it cost us a power of work—weeks +of it—hours 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 make 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—" +</p><p> +"Mercy sakes!" +</p><p> +"—and load up the cabin with rats and snake's 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 +<i>wasn't</i> it bully. Aunty!" +</p><p> +"Well, I never heard the likes of it in all my born +days! So it was <i>you</i>, 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, a—<i>you</i> just get well once, you +young scamp, and I lay I'll tan the Old Harry out o' +both o' ye!" +</p><p> +But Tom, he <i>was</i> so proud and joyful, he just +<i>couldn't</i> hold in, and his tongue just <i>went</i> it—she +a-chipping in, and spitting fire all along, and both of +them going it at once, like a cat convention; and she +says: +</p><p> +"<i>Well</i>, you get all the enjoyment you can out of it +<i>now</i>, for mind I tell you if I catch you meddling with +him again—" +</p><p> +"Meddling with <i>who</i> Tom says, dropping his +smile and looking surprised. +</p><p> +"With <i>who?</i> Why, the runaway nigger, of course. +Who'd you reckon?" +</p><p> +Tom looks at me very grave, and says: +</p><p> +"Tom, didn't you just tell me he was all right? +Hasn't he got away?" +</p><p> +"<i>Him?</i>" 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!" +</p><p> +Tom rose square up in bed, with his eye hot, and +his nostrils opening and shutting like gills, and sings +out to me: +</p><p> +"They hain't no <i>right</i> to shut him up! <i>Shove!</i>—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!" +</p><p> +"What <i>does</i> the child mean?" +</p><p> +"I mean every word I <i>say</i>, Aunt Sally, and if somebody +don't go, <i>I'll</i> 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 <i>said</i> so; and she set +him free in her will." +</p><p> +"Then what on earth did <i>you</i> want to set him free +for, seeing he was already free?" +</p><p> +"Well, that <i>is</i> a question, I must say; and <i>just</i> like +women! Why, I wanted the <i>adventure</i> of it; and +I'd 'a' waded neck-deep in blood to—goodness alive, +<i>Aunt Polly!"</i> +</p><p> +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! +</p><p> +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 <i>us</i>, 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 spectacles—kind of grinding him into +the earth, you know. And then she says: +</p><p> +"Yes, you <i>better</i> turn y'r head away—I would if I +was you, Tom." +</p><p> +"Oh, deary me!" says Aunt Sally; "<i>is</i> he changed +so? Why, that ain't <i>Tom</i>, it's Sid; Tom's—Tom's—why, +where is Tom? He was here a minute ago." +</p><p> +"You mean where's Huck <i>Finn</i>—that'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 <i>see</i> him. +That <i>would</i> be a pretty howdy-do. Come out from +under that bed, Huck Finn." +</p><p> +So I done it. But not feeling brash. +</p><p> +Aunt Sally she was one of the mixed-upest-looking +persons I ever see—except 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 Sawyer—she +chipped in and says, "Oh, go on and call me +Aunt Sally, I'm used to it now, and 'taint no need +to change"—that when Aunt Sally took me for Tom +Sawyer I had to stand it—there 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. +</p><p> +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 <i>could</i> help a body set a nigger +free with his bringing-up. +</p><p> +Well, Aunt Polly she said that when Aunt Sally +wrote to her that Tom and <i>Sid</i> had come all right +and safe, she says to herself: +</p><p> +"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 <i>this</i> time, as long as I +couldn't seem to get any answer out of you about it." +</p><p> +"Why, I never heard nothing from you," says +Aunt Sally. +</p><p> +"Well, I wonder! Why, I wrote you twice to ask +you what you could mean by Sid being here." +</p><p> +"Well, I never got 'em. Sis." +</p><p> +Aunt Polly she turns around slow and severe, and +says: +</p><p> +"You, Tom!" +</p><p> +"Well—<i>what?</i>" he says, kind of pettish. +</p><p> +"Don't you what <i>me</i>, you impudent thing—hand +out them letters." +</p><p> +"What letters?" +</p><p> +"<i>Them</i> letters. I be bound, if I have to take +a-holt of you I'll—" +</p><p> +"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—" +</p><p> +"Well, you <i>do</i> 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—" +</p><p> +"No, it come yesterday; I hain't read it yet, but +<i>it's</i> all right, I've got that one." +</p><p> +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. +</p> +<br><br><br> +<a name="a_CHL"></a> +<h2 align="center">CHAPTER THE LAST</h2> +<br> +<p> +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. +</p><p> +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: +</p><p> +"<i>Dah</i>, 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 <i>tole</i> you +I ben rich wunst, en gwineter to be rich <i>ag'in;</i> en +it's come true; en heah she <i>is! Dah</i>, now! doan' +talk to <i>me</i>—signs is <i>signs</i>, mine I tell you; en I +knowed jis' 's well 'at I 'uz gwineter be rich ag'in as +I's a-stannin' heah dis minute!" +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +"No, he hain't," Tom says; "it's all there yet—six +thousand dollars and more; and your pap hain't +ever been back since. Hadn't when I come away, +anyhow." +</p><p> +Jim says, kind of solemn: +</p><p> +"He ain't a-comin' back no mo', Huck." +</p><p> +I says: +</p><p> +"Why, Jim?" +</p><p> +"Nemmine why, Huck—but he ain't comin' back +no mo'." +</p><p> +But I kept at him; so at last he says: +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +<br><br> +<br><br> +<p class="pg1"><small>THE END</small></p> +<br><br> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN *** + +***** This file should be named 32325-h.htm or 32325-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/3/2/32325/ + +Produced by James Adcock. Special thanks to The Internet +Archive: American Libraries. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> + + diff --git a/old/32325-h 2010-05-10.zip b/old/32325-h 2010-05-10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a1b2d4e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/32325-h 2010-05-10.zip |
