diff --git a/exam/ex19/caesar.py b/exam/ex19/caesar.py new file mode 100644 index 0000000..55185cd --- /dev/null +++ b/exam/ex19/caesar.py @@ -0,0 +1,32 @@ + + +def internal_ord(c): + c = c.lower() + internal_ord = ord(c) - ord("a") + if(internal_ord < 0 or internal_ord > 25): + raise ValueError("'{}' is an unsupported character".format(c)) + return internal_ord + +def internal_chr(i): + return chr(ord("a") + i) + + +def encode_or_keeps_space(c): + if(c == " "): + return (False, c) + return (True, internal_ord(c)) + +def prepare_string(s): + return (encode_or_keeps_space(c) for c in s) + + +def _caesar(s, K): + for encode, i in prepare_string(s): + if(encode): + yield internal_chr((i + K) % 26) + else: + yield i + +def caesar(s, K): + return "".join(_caesar(s, K)) + diff --git a/exam/ex19/main.py b/exam/ex19/main.py new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6ca4073 --- /dev/null +++ b/exam/ex19/main.py @@ -0,0 +1,21 @@ +from caesar import caesar +from statistical_attack import get_statistical_key + +text1 = "hello world this is a test" +text2 = "this is a message that is obfuscated" + +K2 = 4 +K1 = 13 + +print(caesar(text1, K1)) +print(caesar(caesar(text1, K1), K1)) + +print(caesar(text2, K2)) +print(caesar(caesar(text2, K2), abs(K2 - 26))) + +text4 = "In cryptography, a Caesar cipher, also known as Caesar's cipher, the shift cipher, Caesar's code or Caesar shift, is one of the simplest and most widely known encryption techniques. It is a type of substitution cipher in which each letter in the plaintext is replaced by a letter some fixed number of positions down the alphabet. For example, with a left shift of 3, D would be replaced by A, E would become B, and so on. The method is named after Julius Caesar, who used it in his private correspondence" + +text4 = "".join((s for s in text4 if s in " abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz")) + +print(get_statistical_key(caesar(text4, K2))) +print(get_statistical_key(caesar(text2, K2))) diff --git a/exam/ex19/sample.tx b/exam/ex19/sample.tx new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1e8fb36 --- /dev/null +++ b/exam/ex19/sample.tx @@ -0,0 +1,12326 @@ + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Complete +by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost +no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use +it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this +eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net + +Title: Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Complete + +Author: Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) + +Release Date: August 20, 2006 [EBook #76] +Last Updated: February 23, 2018 +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUCKLEBERRY FINN *** + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +ADVENTURES + +OF + +HUCKLEBERRY FINN + +(Tom Sawyer's Comrade) + +By Mark Twain + +Complete + + + + +CONTENTS. + +CHAPTER I. Civilizing Huck.--Miss Watson.--Tom Sawyer Waits. + +CHAPTER II. The Boys Escape Jim.--Torn Sawyer's Gang.--Deep-laid Plans. + +CHAPTER III. A Good Going-over.--Grace Triumphant.--“One of Tom Sawyers's +Lies”. + +CHAPTER IV. Huck and the Judge.--Superstition. + +CHAPTER V. Huck's Father.--The Fond Parent.--Reform. + +CHAPTER VI. He Went for Judge Thatcher.--Huck Decided to Leave.--Political +Economy.--Thrashing Around. + +CHAPTER VII. Laying for Him.--Locked in the Cabin.--Sinking the +Body.--Resting. + +CHAPTER VIII. Sleeping in the Woods.--Raising the Dead.--Exploring the +Island.--Finding Jim.--Jim's Escape.--Signs.--Balum. + +CHAPTER IX. The Cave.--The Floating House. + +CHAPTER X. The Find.--Old Hank Bunker.--In Disguise. + +CHAPTER XI. Huck and the Woman.--The Search.--Prevarication.--Going to +Goshen. + +CHAPTER XII. Slow Navigation.--Borrowing Things.--Boarding the Wreck.--The +Plotters.--Hunting for the Boat. + +CHAPTER XIII. Escaping from the Wreck.--The Watchman.--Sinking. + +CHAPTER XIV. A General Good Time.--The Harem.--French. + +CHAPTER XV. Huck Loses the Raft.--In the Fog.--Huck Finds the Raft.--Trash. + +CHAPTER XVI. Expectation.--A White Lie.--Floating Currency.--Running by +Cairo.--Swimming Ashore. + +CHAPTER XVII. An Evening Call.--The Farm in Arkansaw.--Interior +Decorations.--Stephen Dowling Bots.--Poetical Effusions. + +CHAPTER XVIII. Col. Grangerford.--Aristocracy.--Feuds.--The +Testament.--Recovering the Raft.--The Wood--pile.--Pork and Cabbage. + +CHAPTER XIX. Tying Up Day--times.--An Astronomical Theory.--Running a +Temperance Revival.--The Duke of Bridgewater.--The Troubles of Royalty. + +CHAPTER XX. Huck Explains.--Laying Out a Campaign.--Working the +Camp--meeting.--A Pirate at the Camp--meeting.--The Duke as a Printer. + +CHAPTER XXI. Sword Exercise.--Hamlet's Soliloquy.--They Loafed Around +Town.--A Lazy Town.--Old Boggs.--Dead. + +CHAPTER XXII. Sherburn.--Attending the Circus.--Intoxication in the +Ring.--The Thrilling Tragedy. + +CHAPTER XXIII. Sold.--Royal Comparisons.--Jim Gets Home-sick. + +CHAPTER XXIV. Jim in Royal Robes.--They Take a Passenger.--Getting +Information.--Family Grief. + +CHAPTER XXV. Is It Them?--Singing the “Doxologer.”--Awful Square--Funeral +Orgies.--A Bad Investment . + +CHAPTER XXVI. A Pious King.--The King's Clergy.--She Asked His +Pardon.--Hiding in the Room.--Huck Takes the Money. + +CHAPTER XXVII. The Funeral.--Satisfying Curiosity.--Suspicious of +Huck,--Quick Sales and Small. + +CHAPTER XXVIII. The Trip to England.--“The Brute!”--Mary Jane Decides to +Leave.--Huck Parting with Mary Jane.--Mumps.--The Opposition Line. + +CHAPTER XXIX. Contested Relationship.--The King Explains the Loss.--A +Question of Handwriting.--Digging up the Corpse.--Huck Escapes. + +CHAPTER XXX. The King Went for Him.--A Royal Row.--Powerful Mellow. + +CHAPTER XXXI. Ominous Plans.--News from Jim.--Old Recollections.--A Sheep +Story.--Valuable Information. + +CHAPTER XXXII. Still and Sunday--like.--Mistaken Identity.--Up a Stump.--In +a Dilemma. + +CHAPTER XXXIII. A Nigger Stealer.--Southern Hospitality.--A Pretty Long +Blessing.--Tar and Feathers. + +CHAPTER XXXIV. The Hut by the Ash Hopper.--Outrageous.--Climbing the +Lightning Rod.--Troubled with Witches. + +CHAPTER XXXV. Escaping Properly.--Dark Schemes.--Discrimination in +Stealing.--A Deep Hole. + +CHAPTER XXXVI. The Lightning Rod.--His Level Best.--A Bequest to +Posterity.--A High Figure. + +CHAPTER XXXVII. The Last Shirt.--Mooning Around.--Sailing Orders.--The +Witch Pie. + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. The Coat of Arms.--A Skilled Superintendent.--Unpleasant +Glory.--A Tearful Subject. + +CHAPTER XXXIX. Rats.--Lively Bed--fellows.--The Straw Dummy. + +CHAPTER XL. Fishing.--The Vigilance Committee.--A Lively Run.--Jim Advises +a Doctor. + +CHAPTER XLI. The Doctor.--Uncle Silas.--Sister Hotchkiss.--Aunt Sally in +Trouble. + +CHAPTER XLII. Tom Sawyer Wounded.--The Doctor's Story.--Tom +Confesses.--Aunt Polly Arrives.--Hand Out Them Letters . + +CHAPTER THE LAST. Out of Bondage.--Paying the Captive.--Yours Truly, Huck +Finn. + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS. + + +The Widows + +Moses and the “Bulrushers” + +Miss Watson + +Huck Stealing Away + +They Tip-toed Along + +Jim + +Tom Sawyer's Band of Robbers + +Huck Creeps into his Window + +Miss Watson's Lecture + +The Robbers Dispersed + +Rubbing the Lamp + +! ! ! ! + +Judge Thatcher surprised + +Jim Listening + +“Pap” + +Huck and his Father + +Reforming the Drunkard + +Falling from Grace + +Getting out of the Way + +Solid Comfort + +Thinking it Over + +Raising a Howl + +“Git Up” + +The Shanty + +Shooting the Pig + +Taking a Rest + +In the Woods + +Watching the Boat + +Discovering the Camp Fire + +Jim and the Ghost + +Misto Bradish's Nigger + +Exploring the Cave + +In the Cave + +Jim sees a Dead Man + +They Found Eight Dollars + +Jim and the Snake + +Old Hank Bunker + +“A Fair Fit” + +“Come In” + +“Him and another Man” + +She puts up a Snack + +“Hump Yourself” + +On the Raft + +He sometimes Lifted a Chicken + +“Please don't, Bill” + +“It ain't Good Morals” + +“Oh! Lordy, Lordy!” + +In a Fix + +“Hello, What's Up?” + +The Wreck + +We turned in and Slept + +Turning over the Truck + +Solomon and his Million Wives + +The story of “Sollermun” + +“We Would Sell the Raft” + +Among the Snags + +Asleep on the Raft + +“Something being Raftsman” + +“Boy, that's a Lie” + +“Here I is, Huck” + +Climbing up the Bank + +“Who's There?” + +“Buck” + +“It made Her look Spidery” + +“They got him out and emptied Him” + +The House + +Col. Grangerford + +Young Harney Shepherdson + +Miss Charlotte + +“And asked me if I Liked Her” + +“Behind the Wood-pile” + +Hiding Day-times + +“And Dogs a-Coming” + +“By rights I am a Duke!” + +“I am the Late Dauphin” + +Tail Piece + +On the Raft + +The King as Juliet + +“Courting on the Sly” + +“A Pirate for Thirty Years” + +Another little Job + +Practizing + +Hamlet's Soliloquy + +“Gimme a Chaw” + +A Little Monthly Drunk + +The Death of Boggs + +Sherburn steps out + +A Dead Head + +He shed Seventeen Suits + +Tragedy + +Their Pockets Bulged + +Henry the Eighth in Boston Harbor + +Harmless + +Adolphus + +He fairly emptied that Young Fellow + +“Alas, our Poor Brother” + +“You Bet it is” + +Leaking + +Making up the “Deffisit” + +Going for him + +The Doctor + +The Bag of Money + +The Cubby + +Supper with the Hare-Lip + +Honest Injun + +The Duke looks under the Bed + +Huck takes the Money + +A Crack in the Dining-room Door + +The Undertaker + +“He had a Rat!” + +“Was you in my Room?” + +Jawing + +In Trouble + +Indignation + +How to Find Them + +He Wrote + +Hannah with the Mumps + +The Auction + +The True Brothers + +The Doctor leads Huck + +The Duke Wrote + +“Gentlemen, Gentlemen!” + +“Jim Lit Out” + +The King shakes Huck + +The Duke went for Him + +Spanish Moss + +“Who Nailed Him?” + +Thinking + +He gave him Ten Cents + +Striking for the Back Country + +Still and Sunday-like + +She hugged him tight + +“Who do you reckon it is?” + +“It was Tom Sawyer” + +“Mr. Archibald Nichols, I presume?” + +A pretty long Blessing + +Traveling By Rail + +Vittles + +A Simple Job + +Witches + +Getting Wood + +One of the Best Authorities + +The Breakfast-Horn + +Smouching the Knives + +Going down the Lightning-Rod + +Stealing spoons + +Tom advises a Witch Pie + +The Rubbage-Pile + +“Missus, dey's a Sheet Gone” + +In a Tearing Way + +One of his Ancestors + +Jim's Coat of Arms + +A Tough Job + +Buttons on their Tails + +Irrigation + +Keeping off Dull Times + +Sawdust Diet + +Trouble is Brewing + +Fishing + +Every one had a Gun + +Tom caught on a Splinter + +Jim advises a Doctor + +The Doctor + +Uncle Silas in Danger + +Old Mrs. Hotchkiss + +Aunt Sally talks to Huck + +Tom Sawyer wounded + +The Doctor speaks for Jim + +Tom rose square up in Bed + +“Hand out them Letters” + +Out of Bondage + +Tom's Liberality + +Yours Truly + + + + +EXPLANATORY + +IN this book a number of dialects are used, to wit: the Missouri negro +dialect; the extremest form of the backwoods Southwestern dialect; the +ordinary “Pike County” dialect; and four modified varieties of this +last. The shadings have not been done in a haphazard fashion, or by +guesswork; but painstakingly, and with the trustworthy guidance and +support of personal familiarity with these several forms of speech. + +I make this explanation for the reason that without it many readers +would suppose that all these characters were trying to talk alike and +not succeeding. + +THE AUTHOR. + + + + +HUCKLEBERRY FINN + +Scene: The Mississippi Valley Time: Forty to fifty years ago + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +YOU don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The +Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter. That book was made +by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly. There was things +which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth. That is nothing. I +never seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was Aunt +Polly, or the widow, or maybe Mary. Aunt 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 down-hearted and scared I did wish I had some +company. Pretty soon a spider went crawling up my shoulder, and I +flipped it off and it lit in the candle; and before I could budge it +was all shriveled up. I didn't need anybody to tell me that that was +an awful bad sign and would fetch me some bad luck, so I was scared +and most shook the clothes off of me. I got up and turned around in my +tracks three times and crossed my breast every time; and then I tied +up a little lock of my hair with a thread to keep witches away. But +I hadn't no confidence. You do that when you've lost a horseshoe that +you've found, instead of nailing it up over the door, but I hadn't ever +heard anybody say it was any way to keep off bad luck when you'd killed +a spider. + +I set down again, a-shaking all over, and got out my pipe for a smoke; +for the house was all as still as death now, and so the widow wouldn't +know. Well, after a long time I heard the clock away off in the town +go 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 towards the end of +the widow's garden, stooping down so as the branches wouldn't scrape our +heads. When we was passing by the kitchen I fell over a root and made +a noise. We scrouched down and laid still. Miss Watson's big nigger, +named Jim, was setting in the kitchen door; we could see him pretty +clear, because there was a light behind him. He got up and stretched +his neck out about a minute, listening. Then he says: + +“Who dah?” + +He listened some more; then he come tiptoeing down and stood right +between us; we could a touched him, nearly. Well, likely it was +minutes and minutes that there warn't a sound, and we all there so close +together. There was a place on my ankle that got to itching, but I +dasn't scratch it; and then my ear begun to itch; and next my back, +right between my shoulders. Seemed like I'd die if I couldn't scratch. + Well, I've noticed that thing plenty times since. If you are with +the quality, or at a funeral, or trying to go to sleep when you ain't +sleepy--if you are anywheres where it won't do for you to scratch, why +you will itch all over in upwards of a thousand places. Pretty soon Jim +says: + +“Say, who is you? Whar is you? Dog my cats ef I didn' hear sumf'n. +Well, I know what I's gwyne to do: I's gwyne to set down here and +listen tell I hears it agin.” + +So he set down on the ground betwixt me and Tom. He leaned his back up +against a tree, and stretched his legs out till one of them most touched +one of mine. My nose begun to itch. It itched till the tears come into +my eyes. But I dasn't scratch. Then it begun to itch on the inside. +Next I got to itching underneath. I didn't know how I was going to set +still. This miserableness went on as much as six or seven minutes; but +it seemed a sight longer than that. I was itching in eleven different +places now. I reckoned I couldn't stand it more'n a minute longer, +but I set my teeth hard and got ready to try. Just then Jim begun +to breathe heavy; next he begun to 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. +Afterwards Jim said the witches be witched him and put him in a trance, +and rode him all over the State, and then set him under the trees again, +and hung his hat on a limb to show who done it. And next time Jim told +it he said they rode him down to New Orleans; and, after that, every +time he told it he spread it more and more, till by and by he said they +rode him all over the world, and tired him most to death, and his back +was all over saddle-boils. Jim was monstrous proud about it, and he +got so he wouldn't hardly notice the other niggers. Niggers would come +miles to hear Jim tell about it, and he was more looked up to than any +nigger in that country. Strange niggers would stand with their mouths +open and look him all over, same as if he was a wonder. Niggers is +always talking about witches in the dark by the kitchen fire; but +whenever one was talking and letting on to know all about such things, +Jim would happen in and say, “Hm! What you know 'bout witches?” and +that nigger was corked up and had to take a back seat. Jim always kept +that five-center piece round his neck with a string, and said it was a +charm the devil give to him with his own hands, and told him he could +cure anybody with it and fetch witches whenever he wanted to just by +saying something to it; but he never told what it was he said to it. + Niggers would come from all around there and give Jim anything they +had, just for a sight of that five-center piece; but they wouldn't touch +it, because the devil had had his hands on it. Jim was most ruined for +a servant, because he got stuck up on account of having seen the devil +and been rode by witches. + +Well, when Tom and me got to the edge of the hilltop we looked away down +into the village and could see three or four lights twinkling, where +there was sick folks, maybe; and the stars over us was sparkling ever +so fine; and down by the village was the river, a whole mile broad, and +awful still and grand. We went down the hill and found Jo Harper and +Ben Rogers, and two or three more of the boys, hid in the old tanyard. + So we unhitched a skiff and pulled down the river two mile and a half, +to the big scar on the hillside, and went ashore. + +We went to a clump of bushes, and Tom made everybody swear to keep the +secret, and then showed them a hole in the hill, right in the thickest +part of the bushes. Then we lit the candles, and crawled in on our +hands and knees. We went about two hundred yards, and then the cave +opened up. Tom poked about amongst the passages, and pretty soon ducked +under a wall where you wouldn't a noticed that there was a hole. We +went along a narrow place and got into a kind of room, all damp and +sweaty and cold, and there we stopped. Tom says: + +“Now, we'll start this band of robbers and call it Tom Sawyer's Gang. +Everybody that wants to join has got to take an oath, and write his name +in blood.” + +Everybody was willing. So Tom got out a sheet of paper that he had +wrote the oath on, and read it. It swore every boy to stick to the +band, and never tell any of the secrets; and if anybody done anything to +any boy in the band, whichever boy was ordered to kill that person and +his family must do it, and he mustn't eat and he mustn't sleep till he +had killed them and hacked a cross in their breasts, which was the sign +of the band. And nobody that didn't belong to the band could use that +mark, and if he did he must be sued; and if he done it again he must be +killed. And if anybody that belonged to the band told the secrets, he +must have his throat cut, and then have his carcass burnt up and the +ashes scattered all around, and his name blotted off of the list with +blood and never mentioned again by the gang, but have a curse put on it +and be forgot forever. + +Everybody said it was a real beautiful oath, and asked Tom if he got +it out of his own head. He said, some of it, but the rest was out of +pirate-books and robber-books, and every gang that was high-toned had +it. + +Some thought it would be good to kill the _families_ of boys that told +the secrets. Tom said it was a good idea, so he took a pencil and wrote +it in. Then Ben Rogers says: + +“Here's Huck Finn, he hain't got no family; what you going to do 'bout +him?” + +“Well, hain't he got a father?” says Tom Sawyer. + +“Yes, he's got a father, but you can't never find him these days. He +used to lay drunk with the hogs in the tanyard, but he hain't been seen +in these parts for a year or more.” + +They talked it over, and they was going to rule me out, because they +said every boy must have a family or somebody to kill, or else it +wouldn't be fair and square for the others. Well, nobody could think of +anything to 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 Jo Harper second captain of the Gang, and so started home. + +I clumb up the shed and crept into my window just before day was +breaking. My new clothes was all greased up and clayey, and I was +dog-tired. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +WELL, I got a good going-over in the morning from old Miss Watson on +account of my clothes; but the widow she didn't scold, but only cleaned +off the grease and clay, and looked so sorry that I thought I would +behave awhile if I could. Then Miss Watson she took me in the closet +and prayed, but nothing come of it. She told me to pray every day, and +whatever I asked for I would get it. But it warn't so. I tried it. +Once I got a fish-line, but no hooks. It warn't any good to me without +hooks. I tried for the hooks three or four times, but somehow I +couldn't make it work. By and by, one day, I asked Miss Watson to +try for me, but she said I was a fool. She never told me why, and I +couldn't make it out no way. + +I set down one time back in the woods, and had a long think about it. + I says to myself, if a body can get anything they pray for, why don't +Deacon Winn get back the money he lost on pork? Why can't the widow get +back her silver snuffbox that was stole? Why can't Miss Watson fat up? +No, says I to my self, there ain't nothing in it. I went and told the +widow about it, and she said the thing a body could get by praying for +it was “spiritual gifts.” This was too many for me, but she told me +what she 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 Jo Harper got a hymn-book and a tract; and then the +teacher charged in, and made us drop everything and cut. + + I didn't see no di'monds, and I told Tom Sawyer so. He said there was +loads of them there, anyway; and he said there was A-rabs there, too, +and elephants and things. I said, why couldn't we see them, then? He +said if I warn't so ignorant, but had read a book called Don Quixote, I +would know without asking. He said it was all done by enchantment. He +said there was hundreds of soldiers there, and elephants and treasure, +and so on, but we had enemies which he called magicians; and they had +turned the whole thing into an infant Sunday-school, just out of spite. + I said, all right; then the thing for us to do was to go for the +magicians. Tom Sawyer said I was a numskull. + +“Why,” said he, “a magician could call up a lot of genies, and they +would hash you up like nothing before you could say Jack Robinson. They +are as tall as a tree and as big around as a church.” + +“Well,” I says, “s'pose we got some genies to help _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 flat-heads 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 a while, and then went on around the garden +fence. It was funny they hadn't come in, after standing around so. I +couldn't make it out. It was very curious, somehow. I was going to +follow around, but I stooped down to look at the tracks first. I didn't +notice anything at first, but next I did. There was a cross in the left +boot-heel made with big nails, to keep off the devil. + +I was up in a second and shinning down the hill. I looked over my +shoulder every now and then, but I didn't see nobody. I was at Judge +Thatcher's as quick as I could get there. He said: + +“Why, my boy, you are all out of breath. Did you come for your +interest?” + +“No, sir,” I says; “is there some for me?” + +“Oh, yes, a half-yearly is in last 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 a while, 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 agin he spec he'll stay. De bes' way is to +res' easy en let de ole man take his own way. Dey's two angels hoverin' +roun' 'bout him. One uv 'em is white en shiny, en t'other one is black. +De white one gits him to go right a little while, den de black one sail +in en bust it all up. A body can't tell yit which one gwyne to fetch +him at de las'. But you is all right. You gwyne to have considable +trouble in yo' life, en considable joy. Sometimes you gwyne to git +hurt, en sometimes you gwyne to git sick; but every time you's gwyne +to git well agin. Dey's two gals flyin' 'bout you in yo' life. One +uv 'em's light en t'other one is dark. One is rich en t'other is po'. + You's gwyne to marry de po' one fust en de rich one by en by. You +wants to keep 'way fum de water as much as you kin, en don't run no +resk, 'kase it's down in de bills dat you's gwyne to git hung.” + +When I lit my candle and went up to my room that night there sat pap his +own self! + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +I had shut the door to. Then I turned around and there he was. I used +to be scared of him all the time, he tanned me so much. I reckoned I +was scared now, too; but in a minute I see I was 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 towards daylight he crawled out again, drunk as a fiddler, and +rolled off the porch and broke his left arm in two places, and was most +froze to death when somebody found him after sun-up. And when they come +to look at that spare room they had to take soundings before they could +navigate it. + +The judge he felt kind of sore. He said he reckoned a body could reform +the old man with a shotgun, maybe, but he didn't know no other way. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +WELL, pretty soon the old man was up and around again, and then he went +for Judge Thatcher in the courts to make him give up that money, and he +went for me, too, for not stopping school. He catched me a couple of +times and thrashed me, but I went to school just the same, and dodged +him or outrun him most of the time. I didn't want to go to school much +before, but I reckoned I'd go now to spite pap. That law trial was a +slow 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 +towards the end of it when I heard pap's gun in the woods. I got rid of +the signs of my work, and dropped the blanket and hid my saw, and pretty +soon pap come in. + +Pap warn't in a good 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 agin. 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 agin. + Them's the very words I said; they all heard me; and the country may +rot for all me--I'll never vote agin 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 agoing on so he never noticed where his old limber legs was +taking him to, so he went head over heels over the tub of salt pork and +barked both shins, and the rest of his speech was all the hottest kind +of 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 a while, moaning. Then he laid stiller, and didn't make a sound. + I could hear the owls and the wolves away off in the woods, and it +seemed terrible still. He was laying over by the corner. By and by he +raised up part way and listened, with his head to one side. He says, +very low: + +“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, 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 +wood-yards and the sawmill. + +I went along up the bank with one eye out for pap and t'other one out +for what the rise might fetch along. Well, all at once here comes a +canoe; just a beauty, too, about thirteen or fourteen foot long, riding +high like a duck. I shot head-first off of the bank like a frog, +clothes and all on, and struck out for the canoe. I just expected +there'd be somebody laying down in it, because people often done that +to fool folks, and when a chap had pulled a skiff out most to it they'd +raise up and laugh at him. But it warn't so this time. It was a +drift-canoe sure enough, and I clumb in and paddled her ashore. Thinks +I, the old man will be glad when he sees 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; but what he had been +saying give me the very idea I wanted. I says to myself, I can fix it +now so nobody won't think of following me. + +About twelve o'clock we turned out and went along up the bank. The +river was coming up pretty fast, and lots of driftwood going by on the +rise. By and by along comes part of a log 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. + +I took the sack of corn meal and took it to where the canoe was hid, and +shoved the vines and branches apart and put it in; then I done the same +with the side of bacon; then the whisky-jug. I took all the coffee and +sugar there was, and all the ammunition; I took the wadding; I took the +bucket and gourd; I took a dipper and a tin cup, and my old saw and two +blankets, and the skillet and the coffee-pot. I took fish-lines and +matches and other things--everything that was worth a cent. I cleaned +out the place. I wanted an axe, but there wasn't any, only the one out +at the woodpile, and I knowed why I was going to leave that. I fetched +out the gun, and now I was done. + +I had wore the ground a good deal crawling out of the hole and dragging +out so many things. So I fixed that as good as I could from the outside +by scattering dust on the place, which covered up the smoothness and the +sawdust. Then I fixed the piece of log back into its place, and put two +rocks under it and one against it to hold it there, for it was bent up +at that place and didn't quite touch ground. If you stood four or five +foot away and didn't know it was sawed, you wouldn't never notice +it; and besides, this was the back of the cabin, and it warn't likely +anybody would go fooling around there. + +It was all grass clear to the canoe, so I hadn't left a track. I +followed around to see. I stood on the bank and looked out over the +river. All safe. So I took the gun and went up a piece into the woods, +and was hunting around for some birds when I see a wild pig; hogs soon +went wild in them bottoms after they had got away from the prairie +farms. I shot this fellow and took him into camp. + +I took the axe and smashed in the door. I beat it and hacked it +considerable a-doing it. I fetched the pig in, and took him back nearly +to the table and hacked into his throat with the axe, and laid him down +on the ground to bleed; I say ground because it was 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 axe good, and +stuck it on the back side, and slung the axe in the corner. Then I +took up the pig and held him to my breast with my jacket (so he couldn't +drip) till I got a good piece below the house and then dumped him into +the river. Now I thought of something else. So I went and got the bag +of meal and my old saw out of the canoe, and fetched them to the house. + I took the bag to where it used to stand, and ripped a hole in the +bottom of it with the saw, for there warn't no knives and forks on the +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. Think's I, maybe +it's pap, though I warn't expecting him. He dropped below me with the +current, and by and by he came a-swinging up shore in the easy water, +and he went by so close I could a reached out the gun and touched him. + Well, it _was_ pap, sure 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 towards the middle of +the river, because pretty soon I would be passing the ferry landing, and +people might see me and hail me. I got out amongst the driftwood, and +then laid down in the bottom of the canoe and let her float. + + I laid there, and had a good rest and a smoke out of my pipe, looking +away into the sky; not a cloud in it. The sky looks ever so deep when +you lay down on your back in the moonshine; I never knowed it before. + And how far a body can hear on the water such nights! I heard people +talking at the ferry landing. I heard what they said, 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 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 Jo Harper, and Tom +Sawyer, and his old Aunt Polly, and Sid and Mary, and plenty more. + Everybody was talking about the murder, but the captain broke in and +says: + +“Look sharp, now; the current sets in the closest here, and maybe he's +washed ashore and got tangled amongst the brush at the water's edge. I +hope so, anyway.” + +I didn't hope so. They all crowded up and leaned over the rails, nearly +in my face, and kept still, watching with all their might. I could see +them first-rate, but they couldn't see me. Then the captain sung out: + +“Stand away!” and the cannon let off such a blast right before me that +it made me deef with the noise and pretty near blind with the smoke, and +I judged I was gone. If they'd a had some bullets in, I reckon they'd +a got the corpse they was after. Well, I see I warn't hurt, thanks to +goodness. The boat floated on and went out of sight around the shoulder +of the island. I could hear the booming now and then, further and +further off, and by and by, after an hour, I didn't hear it no more. + The island was three mile long. I judged they had got to the foot, and +was giving it up. But they didn't yet a while. They turned around +the foot of the island and started up the channel on the Missouri side, +under steam, and booming once in a while as they went. I crossed over +to that side and watched them. When they got abreast the head of the +island they quit shooting and dropped over to the Missouri shore and +went home to the town. + +I knowed I was all right now. Nobody else would come a-hunting after +me. I got my traps out of the canoe and made me a nice camp in the thick +woods. I made a kind of a tent out of my blankets to put my things +under so the rain couldn't get at them. I catched a catfish and haggled +him open with my saw, and towards sundown I started my camp fire and had +supper. Then I set out a line to catch some fish for breakfast. + +When it was dark I set by my camp fire smoking, and feeling pretty well +satisfied; but by and by it got sort of lonesome, and so I went and set +on the bank and listened to the current swashing along, and counted the +stars and drift logs and rafts that come down, and then went to bed; +there ain't no better way to put in time when you are lonesome; you +can't stay so, you soon get over it. + +And so for three days and nights. No 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 fan-tods. He had a blanket around his head, and his +head was nearly in the fire. I set there behind a clump of bushes, in +about six foot of him, and kept my eyes on him steady. It was getting +gray daylight now. Pretty soon he gapped and stretched himself and hove +off the blanket, and it was Miss Watson's Jim! I bet I was glad to see +him. I says: + +“Hello, Jim!” and skipped out. + +He bounced up and stared at me wild. Then he drops down on his knees, +and puts his hands together and says: + +“Doan' hurt 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 agin, whah you b'longs, en doan' do nuffn to Ole Jim, 'at 'uz +awluz yo' fren'.” + +Well, I warn't long making him understand I warn't dead. I was ever so +glad to see Jim. I warn't lonesome now. I told him I warn't afraid of +_him_ telling the people where I was. I talked along, but he only set +there and looked at me; never said nothing. Then I says: + +“It's good daylight. Le's get breakfast. Make up your camp fire good.” + +“What's de use er makin' up de camp fire to cook strawbries en sich +truck? But you got a gun, hain't you? Den we kin git sumfn better den +strawbries.” + +“Strawberries and such truck,” I says. “Is that what you live on?” + +“I couldn' git nuffn else,” he says. + +“Why, how long you been on the island, Jim?” + +“I come heah de night arter you's killed.” + +“What, all that time?” + +“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' do it, but I never waited to hear de res'. I +lit out mighty quick, I tell you. + +“I tuck out en shin down de hill, en 'spec to steal a skift 'long de +sho' som'ers 'bove de town, but dey wuz people a-stirring yit, so I hid +in de ole tumble-down cooper-shop on de bank to wait for everybody to +go 'way. Well, I wuz dah all night. Dey wuz somebody roun' all de time. + 'Long 'bout six in de mawnin' skifts begin to go by, en 'bout eight er +nine every skift dat went 'long wuz talkin' 'bout how yo' pap come over +to de town en say you's killed. Dese las' skifts wuz full o' ladies en +genlmen a-goin' over for to see de place. Sometimes dey'd pull up at +de sho' en take a res' b'fo' dey started acrost, so by de talk I got to +know all 'bout de killin'. I 'uz powerful sorry you's killed, Huck, but +I ain't no mo' now. + +“I laid dah under de shavin's all day. I 'uz hungry, but I warn't +afeard; bekase I knowed ole missus en de widder wuz goin' to start to +de camp-meet'n' right arter breakfas' en be gone all day, en dey knows +I goes off wid de cattle 'bout daylight, so dey wouldn' 'spec to see me +roun' de place, en so dey wouldn' miss me tell arter dark in de evenin'. +De yuther servants wouldn' miss me, kase dey'd shin out en take holiday +soon as de ole folks 'uz out'n de way. + +“Well, when it come dark I tuck out up de river road, en went 'bout two +mile er more to whah dey warn't no houses. I'd made up my mine 'bout +what I's agwyne to do. You see, ef I kep' on tryin' to git away afoot, +de dogs 'ud track me; ef I stole a skift to cross over, dey'd miss dat +skift, you see, en dey'd know 'bout whah I'd lan' on de yuther side, en +whah to pick up my track. So I says, a raff is what I's arter; it doan' +_make_ no track. + +“I see a light a-comin' roun' de p'int bymeby, so I wade' in en shove' +a log ahead o' me en swum more'n half way acrost de river, en got in +'mongst de drift-wood, en kep' my head down low, en kinder swum agin de +current tell de raff come along. Den I swum to de stern uv it en tuck +a-holt. It clouded up en 'uz pooty dark for a little while. So I clumb +up en laid down on de planks. De men 'uz all 'way yonder in de middle, +whah de lantern wuz. De river wuz a-risin', en dey wuz a good current; +so I reck'n'd 'at by fo' in de mawnin' I'd be twenty-five mile down de +river, en den I'd slip in jis b'fo' daylight en swim asho', en take to +de woods on de Illinois side. + +“But I didn' have no luck. When we 'uz mos' down to de head er de +islan' a man begin to come aft wid de lantern, I see it warn't no use +fer to wait, so I slid overboard en struck out fer de islan'. Well, I +had a notion I could lan' mos' anywhers, but I couldn't--bank too bluff. + I 'uz mos' to de foot er de islan' b'fo' I found' a good place. I went +into de woods en jedged I wouldn' fool wid raffs no mo', long as dey +move de lantern roun' so. I had my pipe en a plug er dog-leg, en some +matches in my cap, en dey warn't wet, so I 'uz all right.” + +“And so you ain't had no meat nor bread to eat all this time? Why +didn't you get mud-turkles?” + +“How you gwyne to git 'm? You can't slip up on um en grab um; en how's +a body gwyne to hit um wid a rock? How could a body do it in de night? + En I warn't gwyne to show mysef on de bank in de daytime.” + +“Well, that's so. You've had to keep in the woods all the time, of +course. Did you hear 'em shooting the cannon?” + +“Oh, yes. I knowed dey was arter you. I see um go by 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 +table-cloth after sundown. And he said if a man owned a beehive +and that man died, the bees must be told about it before sun-up next +morning, or else the bees would all weaken down and quit work and die. + Jim said bees wouldn't sting idiots; but I didn't believe that, because +I had tried them lots of times myself, and they wouldn't sting me. + +I had heard about some of these things before, but not all of them. Jim +knowed all kinds of signs. He said he knowed most everything. I said +it looked to me like all the signs was about bad luck, and so I asked +him if there warn't any good-luck signs. He says: + +“Mighty 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 agwyne +to be rich. Well, dey's some use in a sign like dat, 'kase it's so fur +ahead. You see, maybe you's got to be po' a long time fust, en so you +might git discourage' en kill yo'sef 'f you didn' know by de sign dat +you gwyne to be rich bymeby.” + +“Have you got hairy arms and a hairy breast, Jim?” + +“What's de use to ax dat question? Don't you see I has?” + +“Well, are you rich?” + +“No, but I ben rich wunst, and gwyne to be rich agin. Wunst I had +foteen dollars, but I tuck to specalat'n', en got busted out.” + +“What did you speculate in, Jim?” + +“Well, fust I tackled stock.” + +“What kind of stock?” + +“Why, live 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 gittn' mos' drownded, too; +dat you would, honey. Chickens knows when it's gwyne to rain, en so do +de birds, chile.” + +The river went on raising and raising for ten or twelve days, till at +last it was over the banks. The water was three or four foot deep on +the island in the low places and on the Illinois bottom. On that side +it was a good many miles wide, but on the Missouri side it was the same +old distance 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 upstairs window. But it was too dark to see yet, +so we made the canoe fast and set in her to wait for daylight. + +The light begun to come before we got to the foot of the island. Then +we looked in at the window. We could make out a bed, and a table, and +two old chairs, and lots of things around about on the floor, and there +was clothes hanging against the wall. There was something laying on the +floor in the far corner that looked like a man. So Jim says: + +“Hello, you!” + +But it didn't budge. So I hollered again, and then Jim says: + +“De man ain't 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 fishline as thick as my little finger with some +monstrous hooks on it, and a roll of buckskin, and a leather dog-collar, +and a horseshoe, and some vials of medicine that didn't have no label +on them; and just as we was leaving I found a tolerable good curry-comb, +and Jim he found a ratty old fiddle-bow, and a wooden leg. The straps +was broke off of it, but, barring that, it was a good enough leg, though +it was too long for me and not long enough for Jim, and we couldn't find +the other one, though we hunted all around. + +And so, take it all around, we made a good haul. When we was ready to +shove off we was a quarter of a mile below the island, and it was pretty +broad day; so I made Jim lay down in the canoe and cover up with the +quilt, because if he set up people could tell he was a nigger a good +ways off. I paddled over to the Illinois shore, and drifted down most +a half a mile doing it. I crept up the dead water under the bank, and +hadn't no accidents and didn't see nobody. We got home all safe. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +AFTER breakfast I wanted to talk about the dead man and guess out how he +come to be killed, but Jim didn't want to. He said it would fetch bad +luck; and besides, he said, he might come and ha'nt us; he said a man +that warn't buried was more likely to go a-ha'nting around than one +that was planted and comfortable. That sounded pretty reasonable, so +I didn't say no more; but I couldn't keep from studying over it and +wishing I knowed who shot the man, and what they done it for. + +We rummaged the clothes we'd got, and found eight dollars in silver +sewed up in the lining of an old blanket overcoat. Jim said he reckoned +the people in that house stole the coat, because if they'd a knowed the +money was there they wouldn't a left it. I said I reckoned they killed +him, too; but Jim didn't want to talk about that. I says: + +“Now you think it's bad luck; but what did you say when I fetched in the +snake-skin that I found on the top of the ridge day before yesterday? +You said it was the worst bad luck in the world to touch a snake-skin +with my hands. Well, here's your bad luck! We've raked in all this +truck and eight dollars besides. I wish we could have some bad luck +like this every day, Jim.” + +“Never you mind, honey, never you mind. Don't you git too peart. It's +a-comin'. Mind I tell you, it's a-comin'.” + +It did come, too. It was a Tuesday that we had that talk. Well, after +dinner Friday we was laying around in the grass at the upper end of the +ridge, and got out of tobacco. I went to the cavern to get some, and +found a rattlesnake in there. I killed him, and curled him up on the +foot of Jim's blanket, ever so natural, thinking there'd be some fun +when Jim found him there. Well, by night I forgot all about the snake, +and when Jim flung himself down on the blanket while I struck a light +the snake's mate was there, and bit him. + +He jumped up yelling, and the first thing the light showed was the +varmint curled up and ready for another spring. I laid him out in a +second with a stick, and Jim grabbed pap's whisky-jug and begun to pour +it down. + +He was barefooted, and the snake bit him right on the heel. That all +comes of my being such a fool as to not remember that wherever you leave +a dead snake its mate always comes there and curls around it. Jim told +me to chop off the snake's head and throw it away, and then skin the +body and roast a piece of it. I done it, and he eat it and said it +would help cure him. He made me take off the rattles and tie them around +his wrist, too. He said that that would help. Then I slid out quiet +and throwed the snakes clear away amongst the bushes; for I warn't going +to let Jim find out it was all my fault, not if I could help it. + +Jim sucked and sucked at the jug, and now and then he got out of his +head and pitched around and yelled; but every time he come to himself he +went to sucking at the jug again. His foot swelled up pretty big, and +so did his leg; but by and by the drunk begun to come, and so I judged +he was all right; but I'd druther been bit with a snake than pap's +whisky. + +Jim was laid up for four days and nights. Then the swelling was all +gone and he was around again. I made up my mind I wouldn't ever take +a-holt of a snake-skin again with my hands, now that I see what had come +of it. Jim said he reckoned I would believe him next time. And he said +that handling a snake-skin was such awful bad luck that maybe we hadn't +got to the end of it yet. He said he druther see the new moon over his +left shoulder as much as a thousand times than take up a snake-skin +in his hand. Well, I was getting to feel that way myself, though I've +always reckoned that looking at the new moon over your left shoulder is +one of the carelessest and foolishest things a body can do. Old Hank +Bunker done it once, and bragged about it; and in less than two years he +got drunk and fell off of the shot-tower, and spread himself out so +that he was just a kind of a layer, as you may say; and they slid him +edgeways between two barn doors for a coffin, and buried him so, so +they say, but I didn't see it. Pap told me. But anyway it all come of +looking at the moon that way, like a fool. + +Well, the days went along, and the river went down between its banks +again; and about the first thing we done was to bait one of the big +hooks with a skinned rabbit and set it and catch a catfish that was +as big as a man, being six foot two inches long, and weighed over two +hundred pounds. We couldn't handle him, of course; he would a flung us +into Illinois. We just set there and watched him rip and tear around +till he drownded. We found a brass button in his stomach and a round +ball, and lots of rubbage. We split the ball open with the hatchet, +and there was a spool in it. Jim said he'd had it there a long time, to +coat it over so and make a ball of it. It was as big a fish as was ever +catched in the Mississippi, I reckon. Jim said he hadn't ever seen +a bigger one. He would a been worth a good deal over at the village. + They peddle out such a fish as that by the pound in the market-house +there; everybody buys some of him; his meat's as white as snow and makes +a good fry. + +Next morning I said it was getting slow and dull, and I wanted to get a +stirring up some way. I said I reckoned I would slip over the river and +find out what was going on. Jim liked that notion; but he said I +must go in the dark and look sharp. Then he studied it over and said, +couldn't I put on some of them old things and dress up like a girl? + That was a good notion, too. So we shortened up one of the calico +gowns, and I turned up my trouser-legs to my knees and got into it. Jim +hitched it behind with the hooks, and it was a fair fit. I put on the +sun-bonnet and tied it under my chin, and then for a body to look in +and see my face was like looking down a joint of stove-pipe. Jim said +nobody would know me, even in the daytime, hardly. I practiced around +all day to get the hang of the things, and by and by I could do pretty +well in them, only Jim said I didn't walk like a girl; and he said +I must quit pulling up my gown to get at my britches-pocket. I took +notice, and done better. + +I started up the Illinois shore in the canoe just after dark. + +I started across to the town from a little below the ferry-landing, and +the drift of the current fetched me in at the bottom of the town. I +tied up and started along the bank. There was a light burning in a +little shanty that hadn't been lived in for a long time, and I wondered +who had took up quarters there. I slipped up and peeped in at the +window. There was a woman about forty year old in there knitting by +a candle that was on a pine table. I didn't know her face; she was a +stranger, for you couldn't start a face in that town that I didn't know. + Now this was lucky, because I was weakening; I was getting afraid I had +come; people might know my voice and find me out. But if this woman had +been in such a little town two days she could tell me all I wanted to +know; so I knocked at the door, and made up my mind I wouldn't forget I +was a girl. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +“COME in,” says the woman, and I did. She says: “Take a cheer.” + +I done it. She looked me all over with her little shiny eyes, and says: + +“What might your name be?” + +“Sarah Williams.” + +“Where 'bouts do you live? In this neighborhood?' + +“No'm. In Hookerville, seven mile below. I've walked all the way and +I'm all tired out.” + +“Hungry, too, I reckon. I'll find you something.” + +“No'm, I ain't hungry. I was so hungry I had to stop two miles below +here at a farm; so I ain't hungry no more. It's what makes me so late. +My mother's down sick, and out of money and everything, and I come to +tell my uncle Abner Moore. He lives at the upper end of the town, she +says. I hain't ever been here before. Do you know him?” + +“No; but I don't know everybody yet. I haven't lived here quite two +weeks. It's a considerable ways to the upper end of the town. You +better stay here all night. Take off your bonnet.” + +“No,” I says; “I'll rest a while, I reckon, and go on. I ain't afeared +of the dark.” + +She said she wouldn't let me go by myself, but her husband would be in +by and by, maybe in a hour and a half, and she'd send him along with me. +Then she got to talking about her husband, and about her relations up +the river, and her relations down the river, and about how much better +off they used to was, and how they didn't know but they'd made a mistake +coming to our town, instead of letting well 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 six thousand dollars (only +she got it ten) and all about pap and what a hard lot he was, and what +a hard lot I was, and at last she got down to where I was murdered. I +says: + +“Who done it? We've heard considerable about these goings on down in +Hookerville, but we don't know who 'twas that killed Huck Finn.” + +“Well, I reckon there's a right smart chance of people _here_ that'd +like to know who killed him. Some think old Finn done it himself.” + +“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 afeared maybe I was looking it, too. I wished the woman would +say something more; the longer she set still the uneasier I was. But +now she says: + +“Honey, I thought you said it was Sarah when you first come in?” + +“Oh, yes'm, I did. Sarah Mary Williams. Sarah's my first name. Some +calls me Sarah, some calls me Mary.” + +“Oh, that's the way of it?” + +“Yes'm.” + +I was feeling better then, but I wished I was out of there, anyway. I +couldn't look up yet. + +Well, the woman fell to talking about how hard times was, and how poor +they had to live, and how the rats was as free as if they owned the +place, and so forth and so on, and then I got easy again. She was right +about the rats. You'd see one stick his nose out of a hole in the corner +every little while. She said she had to have things handy to throw at +them when she was alone, or they wouldn't give her no peace. She showed +me a bar of lead twisted up into a knot, and said she was a good shot +with it generly, but she'd wrenched her arm a day or two ago, and didn't +know whether she could throw true now. But she watched for a chance, +and directly banged away at a rat; but she missed him wide, and said +“Ouch!” it hurt her arm so. Then she told me to try for the next one. + I wanted to be getting away before the old man got back, but of course +I didn't let on. I got the thing, and the first rat that showed his +nose I let drive, and if he'd a stayed where he was he'd a been a +tolerable sick rat. She said that was first-rate, and she reckoned I +would hive the next one. She went and got the lump of lead and fetched +it back, and brought along a hank of yarn which she wanted me to help +her with. I held up my two hands and she put the hank over them, and +went on talking about her and her husband's matters. But she broke off +to say: + +“Keep your eye on the rats. You better have the lead in your lap, +handy.” + +So she dropped the lump into my lap just at that moment, and I clapped +my legs together on it and she went on talking. But only about a +minute. Then she took off the hank and looked me straight in the face, +and very pleasant, and says: + +“Come, now, what's your real name?” + +“Wh--what, mum?” + +“What's your real name? Is it Bill, or Tom, or Bob?--or what is it?” + +I reckon I shook like a leaf, and I didn't know hardly what to do. But +I says: + +“Please to don't poke fun at a poor girl like me, mum. If I'm in the +way here, I'll--” + +“No, you won't. Set down and stay where you are. I ain't going to hurt +you, and I ain't going to tell on you, nuther. You just tell me your +secret, and trust me. I'll keep it; and, what's more, I'll help +you. So'll my old man if you want him to. You see, you're a runaway +'prentice, that's all. It ain't anything. There ain't no harm in it. +You've been treated bad, and you made up your mind to cut. Bless you, +child, I wouldn't tell on you. Tell me all about it now, that's a good +boy.” + +So I said it wouldn't be no use to try to play it any longer, and I +would just make a clean breast and tell her everything, but she musn't +go back on her promise. Then I told her my father and mother was dead, +and the law had bound me out to a mean old farmer in the country thirty +mile back from the river, and he treated me so bad I couldn't stand it +no longer; he went away to be gone a couple of days, and so I took my +chance and stole some of his daughter's old clothes and cleared out, and +I had been three nights coming the thirty miles. I traveled nights, +and hid daytimes and slept, and the bag of bread and meat I carried from +home lasted me all the way, and I had a-plenty. I said I believed my +uncle Abner Moore would take care of me, and so that was why I struck +out for this town of Goshen. + +“Goshen, child? This ain't Goshen. This is St. Petersburg. Goshen's +ten mile further up the river. Who told you this was Goshen?” + +“Why, a man I met at daybreak this morning, just as I was going to turn +into the woods for my regular sleep. He told me when the roads forked I +must take the right hand, and five mile would fetch me to Goshen.” + +“He was drunk, I reckon. He told you just exactly wrong.” + +“Well, he did act like he was drunk, but it ain't no matter now. I got +to be moving along. I'll fetch Goshen before daylight.” + +“Hold on a minute. I'll put you up a snack to eat. You might want it.” + +So she put me up a snack, and says: + +“Say, when a cow's laying down, which end of her gets up first? Answer +up prompt 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 tow-head is a sandbar that has +cottonwoods on it as thick as harrow-teeth. + +We had mountains on the Missouri shore and heavy timber on the Illinois +side, and the channel was down the Missouri shore at that place, so we +warn't afraid of anybody running across us. We laid there all day, +and watched the rafts and steamboats spin down the Missouri shore, and +up-bound steamboats fight the big river in the middle. I told Jim all +about the time I had jabbering with that woman; and Jim said she was +a smart one, and if she was to start after us herself she wouldn't set +down and watch a camp 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 towards ten o'clock at some little +village, and buy ten or fifteen cents' worth of meal or bacon or other +stuff to eat; and sometimes I lifted a chicken that warn't roosting +comfortable, and took him along. Pap always said, take a chicken when +you get a chance, because if you don't want him yourself you can easy +find somebody that does, and a good deed ain't ever forgot. I never see +pap when he didn't want the chicken himself, but that is what he used to +say, anyway. + +Mornings before daylight I slipped into cornfields and borrowed a +watermelon, or a mushmelon, or a punkin, or some new corn, or things of +that kind. Pap always said it warn't no harm to borrow things if you +was meaning to pay them back some time; but the widow said it warn't +anything but a soft name for stealing, and no decent body would do it. + Jim said he reckoned the widow was partly right and pap was partly +right; so the best way would be for us to pick out two or three things +from the list and say we wouldn't borrow them any 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 towards daylight we got it all settled satisfactory, and +concluded to drop crabapples and p'simmons. We warn't feeling just +right before that, but it was all comfortable now. I was glad the way +it come out, too, because crabapples ain't ever good, and the p'simmons +wouldn't be ripe for two or three months yet. + +We shot a water-fowl now and then that got up too early in the morning +or didn't go to bed early enough in the evening. Take it all round, we +lived pretty high. + +The fifth night below St. Louis we had a big storm after midnight, with +a power of thunder and lightning, and the rain poured down in a solid +sheet. We stayed in the wigwam and let the raft take care of itself. +When the lightning glared out we could see a big straight river ahead, +and high, rocky bluffs on both sides. By and by says I, “Hel-_lo_, Jim, +looky yonder!” It was a steamboat that had killed herself on a rock. + We was drifting straight down for her. The lightning showed her very +distinct. She was leaning over, with part of her upper deck above +water, and you could see every little chimbly-guy clean and clear, and a +chair by the big bell, with an old slouch hat hanging on the back of it, +when the flashes come. + +Well, it being away in the night and stormy, and all so mysterious-like, +I felt just the way any other boy would a felt when I see that wreck +laying there so mournful and lonesome in the middle of the river. I +wanted to get aboard of her and slink around a little, and see what +there was there. So I says: + +“Le's land on her, Jim.” + +But Jim was dead against it at first. He says: + +“I doan' want to go fool'n 'long er no wrack. We's doin' blame' well, +en we better let blame' well alone, as de good book says. Like as not +dey's a watchman on dat wrack.” + +“Watchman your grandmother,” I says; “there ain't nothing to watch but +the texas and the pilot-house; and do you reckon anybody's going to resk +his life for a texas and a pilot-house such a night as this, when +it's likely to break up and wash off down the river any minute?” Jim +couldn't say nothing to that, so he didn't try. “And besides,” I says, +“we might borrow something worth having out of the captain's stateroom. + Seegars, I bet 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 towards where I was there in the dark, and motioned Bill +to come. I crawfished as fast as I could about two yards, but the boat +slanted so that I couldn't make very good time; so to keep from getting +run over and catched I crawled into a stateroom on the upper side. + The man came a-pawing along in the dark, and when Packard got to my +stateroom, he says: + +“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 thing's _got_ to be +done. But what I say is this: it ain't good sense to go court'n around +after a halter if you can git at what you're up to in some way that's +jist as good and at the same time don't bring you into no resks. Ain't +that so?” + +“You bet it is. But how you goin' to manage it this time?” + +“Well, my idea is this: we'll rustle around and gather up whatever +pickins we've overlooked in the staterooms, and shove for shore and hide +the truck. Then we'll wait. Now I say it ain't a-goin' to be more'n two +hours befo' this wrack breaks up and washes off down the river. See? +He'll be drownded, and won't have nobody to blame for it but his own +self. I reckon that's a considerble sight better 'n killin' of him. + I'm unfavorable to killin' a man as long as you can git aroun' it; it +ain't good sense, it ain't good morals. Ain't I right?” + +“Yes, I reck'n you are. But s'pose she _don't_ break up and wash off?” + +“Well, we can wait the two hours anyway and see, can't we?” + +“All right, then; come along.” + +So they started, and I lit out, all in a cold sweat, and scrambled +forward. It was dark as pitch there; but I said, in a kind of a coarse +whisper, “Jim!” and he answered up, right at my elbow, with a sort of a +moan, and I says: + +“Quick, Jim, it ain't no time for fooling around and moaning; there's a +gang of murderers in yonder, and if we don't hunt up their boat and set +her drifting down the river so these fellows can't get away from the +wreck there's one of 'em going to be in a bad fix. But if we find their +boat we can put _all_ of 'em in a bad 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 I--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 further--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 woodboats; for I couldn't rest easy till I could see the ferryboat +start. But take it all around, I was feeling ruther comfortable on +accounts of taking all this trouble for that gang, for not many would +a done it. I wished the widow knowed about it. I judged she would be +proud of me for helping these rapscallions, because rapscallions and +dead beats is the kind the widow and good people takes the most interest +in. + +Well, before long here comes the wreck, dim and dusky, sliding along +down! A kind of cold shiver went through me, and then I struck out for +her. She was very deep, and I see in a minute there warn't much chance +for anybody being alive in her. I pulled all around her and hollered +a little, but there wasn't any answer; all dead still. I felt a little +bit heavy-hearted about the gang, but not much, for I reckoned if they +could stand it I could. + +Then here comes the ferryboat; so I shoved for the middle of the river +on a long down-stream slant; and when I judged I was out of eye-reach +I laid on my oars, and looked back and see her go and smell around the +wreck for Miss Hooker's remainders, because the captain would know her +uncle Hornback would want them; and then pretty soon the ferryboat give +it up and went for the shore, and I laid into my work and went a-booming +down the river. + +It did seem a powerful long time before Jim's light showed up; and when +it did show it looked like it was a thousand mile off. By the time I +got there the sky was beginning to get a little gray in the east; so we +struck for an island, and hid the raft, and sunk the skiff, and turned +in and slept like dead people. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +BY and by, when we got up, we turned over the truck the gang had stole +off of the wreck, and found boots, and blankets, and clothes, and all +sorts of other things, and a lot of books, and a spyglass, and three +boxes of seegars. We hadn't ever been this rich before in neither of +our lives. The seegars was prime. We laid off all the afternoon in the +woods talking, and me reading the books, and having a general good +time. I told Jim all about what happened inside the wreck and at the +ferryboat, and I said these kinds of things was adventures; but he said +he didn't want no more adventures. He said that when I went in the +texas and he crawled back to get on the raft and found her gone he +nearly died, because he judged it was all up with _him_ anyway it could +be fixed; for if he didn't get saved he would get drownded; and if he +did get saved, whoever saved him would send him back home so as to get +the reward, and then Miss Watson would sell him South, sure. Well, he +was right; he was most always right; he had an uncommon level head for a +nigger. + +I read considerable to Jim about kings and dukes and earls and such, and +how gaudy they dressed, and how much style they put on, and called each +other your majesty, and your grace, and your lordship, and so on, 'stead +of mister; and Jim's eyes bugged out, and he was interested. He says: + +“I didn' know dey was so many un um. I hain't hearn 'bout none un um, +skasely, but ole King Sollermun, onless you counts dem kings dat's in a +pack er k'yards. How much do a king git?” + +“Get?” I says; “why, they get a thousand dollars a month if they want +it; they can have just as much as they want; everything belongs to +them.” + +“_Ain'_ dat gay? En what dey got to do, Huck?” + +“_They_ don't do nothing! Why, how you talk! They just set around.” + +“No; is dat so?” + +“Of course it is. They just set 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 is down 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 fatch him!” + +I never see such a nigger. If he got a notion in his head once, there +warn't no getting it out again. He was the most down on Solomon of +any nigger I ever see. So I went to talking about other kings, and let +Solomon slide. I told about Louis Sixteenth that got his head cut off +in France long time ago; and about his little boy the dolphin, that +would a been a king, but they took and shut him up in jail, and some say +he died there. + +“Po' little chap.” + +“But some says he got out and got away, and come to America.” + +“Dat's good! But he'll be pooty 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 nuff'n; 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 currrent was tearing by them so swift. + +In another second or two it was solid white and still again. I set +perfectly still then, listening to my heart thump, and I reckon I didn't +draw a breath while it thumped a hundred. + +I just give up then. I knowed what the matter was. That cut bank +was an island, and Jim had gone down t'other side of it. It warn't no +towhead that you could float by in ten minutes. It had the big timber +of a regular island; it might be five or six miles long and more than +half a mile wide. + +I kept quiet, with my ears cocked, about fifteen minutes, I reckon. I +was floating along, of course, four or five miles an hour; but you don't +ever think of that. No, you _feel_ like you are laying dead still on +the water; and if a little glimpse of a snag slips by you don't think to +yourself how fast _you're_ going, but you catch your breath and think, +my! how that snag's tearing along. If you think it ain't dismal and +lonesome out in a fog that way by yourself in the night, you try it +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 sawlogs made fast together. Then I see another speck, and +chased that; then another, and this time I was right. It was the raft. + +When I got to it Jim was setting there with his head down between his +knees, asleep, with his right arm hanging over the steering-oar. The +other oar was smashed off, and the raft was littered up with leaves and +branches and dirt. So she'd had a rough time. + +I made fast and laid down under Jim's nose on the raft, and began to +gap, and stretch my fists out against Jim, and says: + +“Hello, Jim, have I been asleep? Why didn't you stir me up?” + +“Goodness gracious, is dat you, Huck? En you ain' dead--you ain' +drownded--you's back agin? It's too good for true, honey, it's too good +for true. Lemme look at you chile, lemme feel o' you. No, you ain' +dead! you's back agin, 'live en soun', jis de same ole 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 sumf'n wrong, dey is. Is I _me_, or who +_is_ I? Is I heah, or whah _is_ I? Now dat's what I wants to know.” + +“Well, I think you're here, plain enough, but I think you're a +tangle-headed old fool, Jim.” + +“I is, is I? Well, you answer me dis: Didn't you tote out de line in +de canoe fer to make fas' to de tow-head?” + +“No, I didn't. What tow-head? I hain't see no tow-head.” + +“You hain't seen no towhead? Looky here, didn't de line pull loose en +de raf' go a-hummin' down de river, en leave you en de canoe behine in +de fog?” + +“What fog?” + +“Why, de fog!--de fog dat's been aroun' all night. En didn't you whoop, +en didn't I whoop, tell we got mix' up in de islands en one un us got +los' en t'other one was jis' as good as los', 'kase he didn' know whah +he wuz? En didn't I bust up agin a lot er dem islands en have a turrible +time en mos' git drownded? Now ain' dat so, 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 powerfullest dream I ever see. En I hain't ever had no dream b'fo' +dat's tired me like dis one.” + +“Oh, well, that's all right, because a dream does tire a body like +everything sometimes. But this one was a staving dream; tell me all +about it, Jim.” + +So Jim went to work and told me the whole thing right through, just as +it happened, only he painted it up considerable. Then he said he must +start in and “'terpret” it, because it was sent for a warning. He said +the first towhead stood for a man that would try to do us some good, but +the current was another man that would get us away from him. The whoops +was warnings that would come to us every now and then, and if we didn't +try hard to make out to understand them they'd just take us into bad +luck, 'stead of keeping us out of it. The lot of towheads was troubles +we was going to get into with quarrelsome people and all kinds of mean +folks, but if we minded our business and didn't talk back and aggravate +them, we would pull through and get out of the fog and into the big +clear river, which was the free States, and wouldn't have no more +trouble. + +It had clouded up pretty dark just after I got on to the raft, but it +was clearing up again now. + +“Oh, well, that's all interpreted well enough as far as it goes, Jim,” I +says; “but what does _these_ things stand for?” + +It was the leaves and rubbish on the raft and the smashed oar. You +could see them first-rate now. + +Jim looked at the trash, and then looked at me, and back at the trash +again. He had got the dream fixed so strong in his head that he +couldn't seem to shake it loose and get the facts back into its place +again right away. But when he did get the thing straightened around he +looked at me steady without ever smiling, and says: + +“What do dey stan' for? I'se gwyne to tell you. When I got all wore +out wid work, en wid de callin' for you, en went to sleep, my heart wuz +mos' broke bekase you wuz los', en I didn' k'yer no' mo' what become +er me en de raf'. En when I wake up en fine you back agin, all safe +en soun', de tears come, en I could a got down on my knees en kiss yo' +foot, I's so thankful. En all you wuz thinkin' 'bout wuz how you could +make a fool uv ole Jim wid a lie. Dat truck dah is _trash_; en trash +is what people is dat puts dirt on de head er dey fren's en makes 'em +ashamed.” + +Then he got up slow and walked to the wigwam, and went in there without +saying anything but that. But that was enough. It made me feel so mean +I could almost kissed _his_ foot to get him to take it back. + +It was fifteen minutes before I could work myself up to go and humble +myself to a nigger; but I done it, and I warn't ever sorry for it +afterwards, neither. I didn't do him no more mean tricks, and I +wouldn't done that one if I'd a knowed it would make him feel that way. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +WE slept most all day, and started out at night, a little ways behind a +monstrous long raft that was as long going by as a procession. She had +four long sweeps at each end, so we judged she carried as many as thirty +men, likely. She had five big wigwams aboard, wide apart, and an open +camp fire in the middle, and a tall flag-pole at each end. There was a +power of style about her. It _amounted_ to something being a raftsman +on such a craft as that. + +We went drifting down into a big bend, and the night clouded up and got +hot. The river was very wide, and was walled with solid timber on +both sides; you couldn't see a break in it hardly ever, or a light. We +talked about Cairo, and wondered whether we would know it when we got to +it. I said likely we wouldn't, because I had heard say there warn't but +about a dozen houses there, and if they didn't happen to have them lit +up, how was we going to know we was passing a town? Jim said if the two +big rivers joined together there, that would show. But I said maybe +we might think we was passing the foot of an island and coming into the +same old river again. That disturbed 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 noway. That was where it pinched. Conscience says to me, “What +had poor Miss Watson done to you that you could see her nigger go off +right under your eyes and never say one single word? What did that poor +old woman do to you that you could treat her so mean? Why, she tried to +learn you your book, she tried to learn you your manners, she tried to +be good to you every way she knowed how. _That's_ what she done.” + +I got to feeling so mean and so miserable I most wished I was dead. I +fidgeted up and down the raft, abusing myself to myself, and Jim was +fidgeting up and down past me. We neither of us could keep still. + Every time he danced around and says, “Dah's Cairo!” it went through me +like a shot, and I thought if it _was_ Cairo I reckoned I would die of +miserableness. + +Jim talked out loud all the time while I was talking to myself. He was +saying how the first thing he would do when he got to a free State he +would go to saving up money and never spend a single cent, and when he +got enough he would buy his wife, which was owned on a farm close to +where Miss Watson lived; and then they would both work to buy the +two children, and if their master wouldn't sell them, they'd get an +Ab'litionist to go and steal them. + +It most froze me to hear such talk. He wouldn't ever dared to talk such +talk in his life before. Just see what a difference it made in him the +minute he judged he was about free. It was according to the old saying, +“Give a nigger an inch and he'll take an ell.” Thinks I, this is what +comes of my not thinking. Here was this nigger, which I had as good +as helped to run away, coming right out flat-footed and saying he would +steal his 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 small-pox, and you know it precious +well. Why didn't you come out and say so? Do you want to spread it all +over?” + +“Well,” says I, a-blubbering, “I've told everybody before, and they just +went away and left us.” + +“Poor devil, there's something in that. We are right down sorry for +you, but we--well, hang it, we don't want the small-pox, you see. Look +here, I'll tell you what to do. Don't you try to land by yourself, or +you'll smash everything to pieces. You float along down about twenty +miles, and you'll come to a town on the left-hand side of the river. It +will be long after sun-up then, and when you ask for help you tell them +your folks are all down with chills and fever. Don't be a fool again, +and let people guess what is the matter. Now we're trying to do you a +kindness; so you just put twenty miles between us, that's a good boy. + It wouldn't do any good to land yonder where the light 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 other man, “here's a twenty to put on the +board for me. Good-bye, boy; you do as Mr. Parker told you, and you'll +be all right.” + +“That's so, my boy--good-bye, good-bye. If you see any runaway niggers +you get help and nab them, and you can make some money by it.” + +“Good-bye, sir,” says I; “I won't let no runaway niggers get by me if I +can help it.” + +They went off and I got aboard the raft, feeling bad and low, because I +knowed very well I had done wrong, and I see it warn't no use for me +to try to learn to do right; a body that don't get _started_ right when +he's little ain't got no 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' 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 +towards 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 black and +straight and hung to his shoulders. His hands was long and thin, and +every day of his life he put on a clean shirt and a full suit from head +to foot made out of linen so white it hurt your eyes to look at it; +and on Sundays he wore a blue tail-coat with brass buttons on it. He +carried a mahogany cane with a silver head to it. There warn't no +frivolishness about him, not a bit, and he warn't ever loud. He was +as kind as he could 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 cloudbank it was awful dark for half a minute, and that was +enough; there wouldn't nothing go wrong again for a week. + +When him and the old lady come down in the morning all the family got +up out of their chairs and give them good-day, and didn't set down again +till they had set down. Then Tom and Bob went to the sideboard where +the decanter was, and mixed a glass of bitters and handed it to him, and +he held it in his hand and waited till Tom's and Bob's was mixed, and +then they bowed and said, “Our duty to you, sir, and madam;” and _they_ +bowed the least bit in the world and said thank you, and so they drank, +all three, and Bob and Tom poured a spoonful of water on the sugar and +the mite of whisky or apple brandy in the bottom of their tumblers, and +give it to me and Buck, and we drank to the old people too. + +Bob was the oldest and Tom 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 come galloping down the road, setting his +horse easy and looking like a soldier. He had his gun across his +pommel. I had seen him before. It was young Harney Shepherdson. I +heard Buck's gun go off at my ear, and Harney's hat tumbled off from his +head. He grabbed his gun and rode straight to the place where we was +hid. But we didn't wait. We started through the woods on a run. The +woods warn't thick, so I looked over my shoulder to dodge the bullet, +and twice I seen Harney cover Buck with his gun; and then he rode away +the way he 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 out-run him; so they +had it, nip and tuck, for five mile or more, the old man a-gaining all +the time; so at last Bud seen it warn't any use, so he stopped and faced +around so as to have the bullet holes in front, you know, and the old +man he rode up and shot him down. But he didn't git much chance to +enjoy his luck, for inside of a week our folks laid _him_ out.” + +“I reckon that old man was a coward, Buck.” + +“I reckon he _warn't_ a coward. Not by a blame' sight. There ain't a +coward amongst them 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 considable ways +behine you towards de las'; when you landed I reck'ned I could ketch +up wid you on de lan' 'dout havin' to shout at you, but when I see dat +house I begin to go slow. I 'uz off too fur to hear what dey say to +you--I wuz 'fraid o' de dogs; but when it 'uz all quiet agin I knowed +you's in de house, so I struck out for de woods to wait for day. Early +in de mawnin' some er de niggers come along, gwyne to de fields, en dey +tuk me en showed me dis place, whah de dogs can't track me on accounts +o' de water, en dey brings me truck to eat every night, en tells me how +you's a-gitt'n along.” + +“Why didn't you tell my Jack to fetch me here sooner, Jim?” + +“Well, 'twarn't no use to 'sturb you, Huck, tell we could do 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' ben +so dark, en we warn't so sk'yerd, en ben sich punkin-heads, as de sayin' +is, we'd a seed de raf'. But it's jis' as well we didn't, 'kase now +she's all fixed up agin mos' as good as new, en we's got a new lot o' +stuff, in de place o' what 'uz los'.” + +“Why, how did you get hold of the raft again, 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 agin. Dey's mighty good to me, dese niggers is, en whatever +I wants 'm to do fur me I doan' have to ast 'm twice, honey. Dat Jack's +a good nigger, en pooty smart.” + +“Yes, he is. He ain't ever told me you was here; told me to come, and +he'd show me a lot of water-moccasins. If anything happens _he_ ain't +mixed up in it. He can say he never seen us together, and it 'll be the +truth.” + +I don't want to talk much about the next day. I reckon I'll cut it +pretty short. I waked up about dawn, and was a-going to turn over and +go to sleep again when I noticed how still it 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 wood-pile I comes across my Jack, and +says: + +“What's it all about?” + +Says he: + +“Don't you know, Mars Jawge?” + +“No,” says I, “I don't.” + +“Well, den, Miss Sophia's run off! 'deed she has. She run off in de +night some 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 come in sight of the log store and +the woodpile where the steamboats lands I worked along under the trees +and brush till I got to a good place, and then I clumb up into the +forks of a cottonwood that was out of reach, and watched. There was a +wood-rank four foot high a little ways in front of the tree, and first I +was going to hide behind that; but maybe it was luckier I didn't. + +There was four or five men cavorting around on their horses in the open +place before the log store, cussing and yelling, and trying to get at +a couple of young chaps that was behind the wood-rank alongside of the +steamboat landing; but they couldn't come it. Every time one of them +showed himself on the river side of the woodpile he got shot at. The +two boys was squatting back to back behind the pile, so they could watch +both ways. + +By and by the men stopped cavorting around and yelling. They started +riding towards the store; then up gets one of the boys, draws a steady +bead over the wood-rank, and drops one of them out of his saddle. All +the men jumped off of their horses and grabbed the hurt one and started +to carry him to the store; and that minute the two boys started on the +run. They got half way to the tree I was in before the men noticed. +Then the men see them, and jumped on their horses and took out after +them. They gained on the boys, but it didn't do no good, the boys had +too good a start; they got to the woodpile that was in front of my tree, +and slipped in behind it, and so they had the bulge on the men again. +One of the boys was Buck, and the other was a slim young chap about +nineteen years old. + +The men ripped around awhile, and then rode away. As soon as they was +out of sight I sung out to Buck and told him. He didn't know what +to make of my voice coming out of the tree at first. He was awful +surprised. He told me to watch out sharp and let him know when the +men come in sight again; said they was up to some devilment or +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 agin. Jack's +been heah; he say he reck'n you's ben shot, kase you didn' come home no +mo'; so I's jes' dis minute a startin' de raf' down towards de mouf er +de crick, so's to be all ready for to shove out en leave soon as Jack +comes agin en tells me for certain you _is_ dead. Lawsy, I's mighty +glad to git you back again, honey.” + +I says: + +“All 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 woodyard, likely, and piled by them cheats so you can +throw a dog through it anywheres; then the nice breeze springs up, and +comes fanning you from over there, so cool and fresh and sweet to smell +on account of the woods and the flowers; but sometimes not that way, +because they've left dead fish laying around, gars and such, and they +do get pretty rank; and next you've got the full day, and everything +smiling in the sun, and the song-birds just going it! + +A little smoke couldn't be noticed now, so we would take some fish off +of the lines and cook up a hot breakfast. And afterwards we would watch +the lonesomeness of the river, and kind of lazy along, and by and by +lazy off to sleep. Wake up by and by, and look to see what done it, and +maybe see a steamboat coughing along up-stream, so far off towards the +other side you couldn't tell nothing about her only whether she was +a stern-wheel or side-wheel; then for about an hour there wouldn't be +nothing to hear nor nothing to 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 +axe flash and come down--you don't hear nothing; you see that axe go +up again, and by the time it's above the man's head then you hear the +_k'chunk_!--it had took all that time to come over the water. So we +would put in the day, lazying around, listening to the stillness. Once +there was a thick fog, and the rafts and things that went by was beating +tin pans so the steamboats wouldn't run over them. A scow or a +raft went by so close we could hear them talking and cussing and +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 a while; then, as we got +further and further away all the time, we couldn't hardly hear them at +all; by the time we had left a mile of woods behind us and struck the +river, everything was quiet, and we paddled over to the towhead and hid +in the cottonwoods and was safe. + +One of these fellows was about seventy or upwards, and had a bald head +and very gray whiskers. He had an old battered-up slouch hat on, and +a greasy blue woollen shirt, and ragged old blue jeans britches stuffed +into his boot-tops, and home-knit 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-running' a little temperance revival thar 'bout a week, +and was the pet of the women folks, big and little, for I was makin' it +mighty warm for the rummies, I _tell_ you, and takin' as much as five +or six dollars a 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 bald-head. + +“To think I should have lived to be leading such a life, and be degraded +down into such company.” And he begun to wipe the corner of his eye +with a rag. + +“Dern your skin, ain't the company good enough for you?” says the +baldhead, pretty pert and uppish. + +“Yes, it _is_ good enough for me; it's as good as I deserve; for who +fetched me so low when I was so high? I did myself. I don't blame +_you_, 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, heart-broken, and degraded to the +companionship of felons on a raft!” + +Jim pitied him ever so much, and so did I. We tried to comfort him, but +he said it warn't much use, he couldn't be much comforted; said if we +was a mind to acknowledge him, that would do him more good than most +anything else; so we said we would, if he would tell us how. He said we +ought to bow when we spoke to him, and say “Your Grace,” or “My Lord,” + or “Your Lordship”--and he wouldn't mind it if we called him plain +“Bridgewater,” which, he said, was a title anyway, and not a name; and +one of us ought to wait on him at dinner, and do any little thing for +him he wanted done. + +Well, that was all easy, so we done it. All through dinner Jim stood +around and waited on him, and says, “Will yo' Grace have some o' dis or +some o' dat?” and so on, and a body could see it was mighty pleasing to +him. + +But the old man got pretty silent by and 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; 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 sockdolager. The waves most washed me off the raft sometimes, +but I hadn't any clothes on, and didn't mind. We didn't have no trouble +about snags; the lightning was glaring and flittering around so constant +that we could see them plenty soon enough to throw her head this way or +that and miss them. + +I had the middle watch, you know, but I was pretty sleepy by that time, +so Jim he said he would stand the first half of it for me; he was always +mighty good that way, Jim was. I crawled into the wigwam, but the king +and the duke had their legs sprawled around so there warn't no show for +me; so I laid 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 a while, five cents a game. Then they got +tired of it, and allowed they would “lay out a campaign,” as they called +it. The duke went down into his carpet-bag, and fetched up a lot of +little printed bills and read them out loud. One bill said, “The +celebrated Dr. Armand de Montalban, of Paris,” would “lecture on the +Science of Phrenology” at such and such a place, on the blank day of +blank, at ten cents admission, and “furnish charts of character at +twenty-five cents apiece.” The duke said that was _him_. In another +bill he was the “world-renowned Shakespearian tragedian, Garrick the +Younger, of Drury Lane, London.” In other bills he had a lot of other +names and done other wonderful things, like finding water and gold with +a “divining-rod,” “dissipating witch spells,” and so on. By and by he +says: + +“But the histrionic muse is the darling. Have you ever trod the boards, +Royalty?” + +“No,” says the king. + +“You shall, then, before you're three days older, Fallen Grandeur,” says +the duke. “The first good town we come to we'll hire a hall and do the +sword fight in Richard III. and the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet. +How does that strike you?” + +“I'm in, up to the hub, for anything that will pay, Bilgewater; but, you +see, I don't know nothing about play-actin', and hain't ever seen much +of it. I was too small when pap used to have 'em at the palace. Do you +reckon you can learn me?” + +“Easy!” + +“All right. I'm jist a-freezn' for something fresh, anyway. Le's +commence right away.” + +So the duke he told him all about who Romeo was and who Juliet was, and +said he was used to being Romeo, so the king could be Juliet. + +“But if Juliet's such a young gal, duke, my peeled head and my white +whiskers is goin' to look oncommon odd on her, maybe.” + +“No, don't you worry; these country jakes won't ever think of that. +Besides, you know, you'll be in costume, and that makes all the +difference in the world; Juliet's in a balcony, enjoying the moonlight +before she goes to bed, and she's got on her night-gown and her ruffled +nightcap. Here are the costumes for the parts.” + +He got out two or three curtain-calico suits, which he said was +meedyevil armor for Richard III. and t'other chap, and a long white +cotton nightshirt and a ruffled nightcap to match. The king was +satisfied; so the duke got out his book and read the parts over in the +most splendid spread-eagle way, prancing around and acting at the same +time, to show how it had got to be done; then he give the book to the +king and told him to get his part by heart. + +There was a little one-horse town about three mile down the bend, and +after dinner the duke said he had ciphered out his idea about how to run +in daylight without it being dangersome for Jim; so he allowed he would +go down to the town and fix that thing. The king allowed he would go, +too, and see if he couldn't strike something. We was out of coffee, so +Jim said I better go along with them in the canoe and get some. + +When we got there there warn't nobody stirring; streets empty, and +perfectly dead and still, like Sunday. We found a sick nigger sunning +himself in a back yard, and he said everybody that warn't too young or +too sick or too old was gone to camp-meeting, about two mile back in the +woods. The king got the directions, and allowed he'd go and work that +camp-meeting for all it was worth, and I might go, too. + +The duke said what he was after was a printing-office. We found it; +a little bit of a concern, up over a carpenter 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 on to the platform, and +the preacher he begged him to speak to the people, and he done it. He +told them he was a 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' 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 practice it together. The duke had to +learn him over and over again how to say every speech; and he made him +sigh, and put his hand on his heart, and after a while he said he done +it pretty well; “only,” he says, “you mustn't bellow out _Romeo_! +that way, like a 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 practice 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 the town. The stores and houses was most all +old shackly dried-up frame concerns that hadn't ever been painted; they +was set up three or four foot above ground on stilts, so as to be out of +reach of the water when the river was overflowed. The houses had little +gardens around them, but they didn't seem to raise hardly anything in +them but jimpson weeds, and sunflowers, and ash-piles, and old curled-up +boots and shoes, and pieces of bottles, and rags, and played-out +tin-ware. The fences was made of different kinds of boards, nailed on +at different times; and they leaned every which-way, and had gates that +didn't generly have but one hinge--a leather one. Some of the fences +had been whitewashed, some time or another, but the duke said it was in +Clumbus's time, like enough. There was generly hogs in the garden, and +people driving them out. + +All the stores was along one street. They had white domestic awnings in +front, and the country people hitched their horses to the awning-posts. +There was empty drygoods boxes under the awnings, and loafers roosting +on them all day long, whittling them with their Barlow knives; and +chawing tobacco, and gaping and yawning and 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 everytime; it don't fool nobody but a stranger; but Jack ain't no +stranger, so he says: + +“_You_ give him a chaw, did you? So did your sister's cat's +grandmother. You pay me back the chaws you've awready borry'd off'n me, +Lafe Buckner, then I'll loan you one or two ton of it, and won't charge +you no back intrust, nuther.” + +“Well, I _did_ pay you back some of it wunst.” + +“Yes, you did--'bout six chaws. You borry'd store tobacker and paid back +nigger-head.” + +Store tobacco is flat black plug, but these fellows mostly chaws the +natural leaf twisted. When they borrow a chaw they don't generly cut it +off with a knife, but set the plug in between their teeth, and gnaw with +their teeth and tug at the plug with their hands till they get it in +two; then sometimes the one that owns the tobacco looks mournful at it +when it's handed back, and says, sarcastic: + +“Here, gimme the _chaw_, and you take the _plug_.” + +All the streets and lanes was just mud; they warn't nothing else _but_ +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, bare-headed, with +a friend on both sides of him a-holt of his arms and hurrying him along. +He was quiet, and looked uneasy; and he warn't hanging back any, but was +doing some of the hurrying himself. Somebody sings out: + +“Boggs!” + +I looked over there to see who said it, and it was that Colonel +Sherburn. He was standing perfectly still in the street, and had a +pistol raised in his right 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 +on to the ground, heavy and solid, with his arms spread out. That young +girl screamed out and comes rushing, and down she throws herself on her +father, crying, and saying, “Oh, he's killed him, he's killed him!” The +crowd closed up around them, and shouldered and jammed one another, with +their necks stretched, trying to see, and people on the inside trying to +shove them back and shouting, “Back, back! give him air, give him air!” + +Colonel Sherburn he tossed his pistol on to the ground, and turned +around on his heels and walked off. + +They took Boggs to a little drug store, the crowd pressing around just +the same, and the whole town following, and I rushed and got a good +place at the window, where I was close to him and could see in. They +laid him on the floor and put one large Bible under his head, and opened +another one and spread it on his breast; but they tore open his shirt +first, and I seen where one of the bullets went in. He made about a +dozen long gasps, his breast lifting the Bible up when he drawed in his +breath, and letting it down again when he breathed it 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 on to the roof of his little front porch, +with a double-barrel gun in his hand, and takes his stand, perfectly +ca'm and deliberate, not saying a word. The racket stopped, and the +wave sucked back. + +Sherburn never said a 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 +out-gaze him, but they couldn't; they dropped their eyes and looked +sneaky. Then pretty soon Sherburn sort of laughed; not the pleasant +kind, but the kind that makes you feel like when you are eating bread +that's got sand in it. + +Then he says, slow and scornful: + +“The idea of _you_ lynching anybody! It's amusing. The idea of you +thinking you had pluck enough to lynch a _man_! Because you're brave +enough to tar and feather poor friendless cast-out women that come along +here, did that make you think you had grit enough to lay your hands on a +_man_? Why, a _man's_ safe in the hands of ten thousand of your 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 on to that +half-a-man's coat-tail, and come raging up here, swearing what big +things you're going to do. The pitifulest thing out is a mob; that's +what an army 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, a gentleman and lady, side +by side, the men just in their drawers and undershirts, and no shoes +nor stirrups, and resting their hands on their thighs easy and +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 noway understand. Why, I couldn't a thought of them in a year. +And by and by a drunk man tried to get into the 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 towards the ring, saying, “Knock him down! throw him +out!” and one or two women begun to scream. So, then, the ringmaster +he made a little speech, and said he hoped there wouldn't be no +disturbance, and if the man would promise he wouldn't make no more +trouble he would let him ride if he thought he could stay on the horse. + So everybody laughed and said all right, and the man got on. The minute +he was on, the horse begun to rip and tear and jump and cavort around, +with two circus men hanging on to his bridle trying to hold him, and the +drunk man hanging on to his neck, and his heels flying in the air every +jump, and the whole crowd of people standing up shouting and laughing +till tears rolled down. And at last, sure enough, all the circus men +could do, the horse broke loose, and away he went like the very nation, +round and round the ring, with that sot laying down on him and hanging +to his neck, with first one leg hanging most to the ground on one side, +and then t'other one on t'other side, and the people just crazy. It +warn't funny to me, though; I was all of a tremble to see his danger. + But pretty soon he struggled up astraddle and grabbed the bridle, +a-reeling this way and that; and the next minute he sprung up and +dropped the bridle and stood! and the horse a-going like a house afire +too. He just stood up there, a-sailing around as easy and comfortable +as if he warn't ever drunk in his 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: + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +WELL, all day him and the king was hard at it, rigging up a stage and +a curtain and a row of candles for footlights; and that night the house +was jam full of men in no time. When the place couldn't hold no more, +the duke he quit tending door and went around the back way and come on +to the stage and stood up before the curtain and made a little speech, +and praised up this tragedy, and said it was the most thrillingest one +that ever was; and so he went on a-bragging about the tragedy, and about +Edmund Kean the Elder, which was to play the main principal part in it; +and at last when he'd got everybody's expectations up high enough, he +rolled up the curtain, and the next minute the king come a-prancing +out on all fours, naked; and he was painted all over, +ring-streaked-and-striped, all sorts of colors, as splendid as a +rainbow. 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 agin, mighty loud, I says: + +“'Doan' you hear me? Shet de do'!' + +“She jis stood de same way, kiner smilin' up. I was a-bilin'! I says: + +“'I lay I _make_ you mine!' + +“En wid dat I fetch' her a slap side de head dat sont her a-sprawlin'. +Den I went into de yuther room, en 'uz gone 'bout ten minutes; en when +I come back dah was dat do' a-stannin' open _yit_, en dat chile stannin' +mos' right in it, a-lookin' down and mournin', en de tears runnin' down. + My, but I _wuz_ mad! I was a-gwyne for de chile, but jis' 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 in shore,” says the king. I done it. “Wher' you bound +for, young man?” + +“For the steamboat; going to Orleans.” + +“Git aboard,” says the king. “Hold on a minute, my servant 'll he'p you +with them bags. Jump out and he'p the gentleman, Adolphus”--meaning me, +I see. + +I done so, and then we all three started on again. The young chap was +mighty thankful; said it was tough work toting his baggage such weather. +He asked the king where he was going, and the king told him he'd come +down the river and landed at the other village this morning, and now he +was going up a few mile to see an old friend on a farm up there. The +young fellow says: + +“When I first see you I says to myself, 'It's Mr. Wilks, sure, and he +come mighty near getting here in time.' But then I says again, 'No, I +reckon it ain't him, or else he wouldn't be paddling up the river.' You +_ain't_ him, are you?” + +“No, my name's 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; 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 histronic boards. So then they waited for a +steamboat. + +About the middle of the afternoon a couple of little boats come along, +but they didn't come from high enough up the river; but at last there +was a big one, and they hailed her. She sent out her yawl, and we went +aboard, and she was from Cincinnati; and when they found we only wanted +to go four or five mile they was booming mad, and gave us a cussing, and +said they wouldn't land us. But the king was ca'm. He says: + +“If gentlemen kin afford to pay a dollar a mile apiece to be took on and +put off in a yawl, a steamboat kin afford to carry 'em, can't it?” + +So they softened down and said it was all right; and when we got to the +village they yawled us ashore. About two dozen men flocked down when +they see the yawl a-coming, and when the king says: + +“Kin any of you gentlemen tell me wher' Mr. Peter Wilks lives?” they +give a glance at one another, and nodded their heads, as much as to say, +“What d' I tell you?” Then one of them says, kind of soft and gentle: + +“I'm sorry sir, but the best we can do is to tell you where he _did_ +live yesterday evening.” + +Sudden as winking the ornery old cretur went an to smash, and fell up +against the man, and put his chin on his shoulder, and cried down his +back, and says: + +“Alas, alas, our poor 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, vizz.:--Rev. Mr. Hobson, and Deacon +Lot Hovey, and Mr. Ben Rucker, and Abner Shackleford, and Levi Bell, and +Dr. Robinson, and their wives, and the widow Bartley. + +Rev. Hobson and Dr. Robinson was down to the end of the town a-hunting +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, +_bully_, it beats the Nonesuch, _don't_ it?” + +The duke allowed it did. They pawed the yaller-boys, and sifted them +through their fingers and let them jingle down on the floor; and the +king says: + +“It ain't no use talkin'; bein' brothers to a rich dead man and +representatives of furrin heirs that's got left is the line for you and +me, Bilge. Thish yer comes of trust'n to Providence. It's the best +way, in the long run. I've tried 'em all, and ther' ain't no better +way.” + +Most everybody would a been satisfied with the pile, and took it on +trust; but no, they must count it. So they counts it, and it comes out +four hundred and fifteen dollars short. Says the king: + +“Dern him, I wonder what he done with that four hundred and fifteen +dollars?” + +They worried over that awhile, and ransacked all around for it. Then +the duke says: + +“Well, he was a pretty sick man, and likely he made a 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 agin,” and _he_ begun to haul out yaller-jackets and stack them +up. + +It most busted them, but they made up the six thousand clean and clear. + +“Say,” says the duke, “I got another idea. Le's go up stairs and count +this money, and then take and _give it to the girls_.” + +“Good land, duke, lemme hug you! It's the most dazzling idea 'at ever a +man struck. You have cert'nly got the most astonishin' head I ever see. +Oh, this is the boss dodge, ther' ain't no mistake 'bout it. Let 'em +fetch along their suspicions now if they want 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 a while; then all of a sudden he seems to catch his +meaning, and jumps for the king, goo-gooing with all his might for joy, +and hugs him about fifteen times before he lets up. Then the king says, +“I knowed it; I reckon _that 'll_ convince anybody the way _he_ feels +about it. Here, Mary Jane, Susan, Joanner, take the 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 of me!” says the doctor. “_You_ talk like an +Englishman, _don't_ you? It's the worst imitation I ever heard. _You_ +Peter Wilks's brother! You're a fraud, that's what you are!” + +Well, how they all took on! They crowded around the doctor and tried to +quiet him down, and tried to explain to him and tell him how Harvey 'd +showed in forty ways that he _was_ Harvey, and knowed everybody by name, +and the names of the very dogs, and begged and _begged_ him not to hurt +Harvey's feelings and the poor girl's feelings, and all that. But it +warn't no use; he stormed right along, and said any man that pretended +to be an Englishman and couldn't imitate the lingo no better than what +he did was a fraud and a liar. The poor girls was hanging to the king +and crying; and all of a sudden the doctor ups and turns on _them_. He +says: + +“I was your father's friend, and I'm your friend; and I warn you as a +friend, and an honest one that wants to protect you and keep you out of +harm and trouble, to turn your backs on that scoundrel and have nothing +to do with him, the ignorant tramp, with his idiotic Greek and Hebrew, +as he calls it. He is the thinnest kind of an 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, Joe?” says Mary Jane, stepping in with +Susan behind her. “It ain't right nor kind for you to talk so to him, +and him a stranger and so far from his people. How would you like to be +treated so?” + +“That's always your way, 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, Mam, 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 tonight if I can, +because the doctor maybe hasn't let up as much as he lets on he has; he +might scare them out of here yet. + +So, thinks I, I'll go and search them rooms. Upstairs the hall was +dark, but I found the duke's room, and started to paw around it with +my hands; but I recollected it wouldn't be much like the king to let +anybody else take care of that money but his own self; so then I went to +his room and begun to paw around there. But I see I couldn't do nothing +without a candle, and I dasn't light one, of course. So I judged I'd +got to do the other 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 agin, +and that's enough for _them_; they're young and spry, and k'n easy +earn a livin'. _they_ ain't a-goin to suffer. Why, jest 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 agin, duke,” says the king; and he comes a-fumbling +under the curtain two or three foot from where I was. I stuck tight to +the wall and kept mighty still, though quivery; and I wondered what them +fellows would say to me if they catched me; and I tried to think what +I'd better do if they did catch me. But the king he got the bag before +I could think more than about a half a thought, and he never suspicioned +I was around. They took and shoved the bag through a rip in the straw +tick that was under the feather-bed, and crammed it in a foot or two +amongst the straw and said it was all right now, because a nigger only +makes up the feather-bed, and don't turn over the straw tick only about +twice a year, and so it warn't in no danger of getting stole now. + +But I knowed better. I had it out of there before they was half-way +down stairs. I groped along up to my cubby, and hid it there till I +could get a chance to do better. I judged I better hide it outside +of the house somewheres, because if they missed it they would give the +house a good ransacking: I knowed that very well. Then I turned in, +with my clothes all on; but I couldn't a gone to sleep if I'd a wanted +to, I was in such a sweat to get through with the business. By and by I +heard the king and the duke come up; so I rolled off my pallet and laid +with my chin at the top of my ladder, and waited to see if anything was +going to happen. But nothing did. + +So I held on till all the late sounds had quit and the early ones hadn't +begun yet; and then I slipped down the ladder. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +I crept to their doors and listened; they was snoring. So I tiptoed +along, and got down stairs all right. There warn't a sound anywheres. + I peeped through a crack of the dining-room door, and see the men that +was watching the corpse all sound asleep on their chairs. The door +was open into the parlor, where the corpse was laying, and there was a +candle in both rooms. I passed along, and the parlor door was open; but +I see there warn't nobody in there but the remainders of Peter; so I +shoved on by; but the front door was locked, and the key wasn't there. + Just then I heard somebody coming down the stairs, back behind me. I +run in the parlor and took a swift look around, and the only place I +see to hide the bag was in the coffin. The lid was shoved along about +a foot, showing the dead man's face down in there, with a wet cloth over +it, and his shroud on. I tucked the money-bag in under the lid, just +down beyond where his hands was crossed, which made me creep, they was +so cold, and then I run back across the room and in behind the door. + +The person coming was Mary Jane. She went to the coffin, very soft, and +kneeled down and looked in; then she put up her handkerchief, and I see +she begun to cry, though I couldn't hear her, and her back was to me. I +slid out, and as I passed the dining-room I thought I'd make sure them +watchers hadn't seen me; so I looked through the crack, and everything +was all right. They hadn't stirred. + +I slipped up to bed, feeling ruther blue, on accounts of the thing +playing out that way after I had took so much trouble and run so much +resk about it. Says I, if it could stay where it is, all right; because +when we get down the river a hundred mile or two I could write back to +Mary Jane, and she could dig him up again and get it; but that ain't the +thing that's going to happen; the thing that's going to happen is, the +money 'll be found when they come to screw on the lid. Then the king +'ll get it again, and it 'll be a long day before he gives anybody +another chance to smouch it from him. Of course I _wanted_ to slide +down and get it out of there, but I dasn't try it. Every minute it was +getting earlier now, and pretty soon some of them watchers would begin +to stir, and I might get 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 on to the niggers, and yet hadn't +done the niggers no harm by it. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +BY and by it was getting-up time. So I come down the ladder and started +for down-stairs; but as I come to the girls' room the door was open, and +I see Mary Jane setting by her old hair trunk, which was open and she'd +been packing things in 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 on to 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 a while. They +might suspicion something if all of you was to go. I don't want you to +see them, nor your sisters, nor nobody in this town; if a neighbor was +to ask how is your uncles this morning your face would tell something. + No, you go right along, Miss Mary Jane, and I'll fix it with all of +them. I'll tell Miss Susan to give your love to your uncles and say +you've went away for a few hours for to get a little rest and change, or +to see a friend, and you'll be back to-night or early in the morning.” + +“Gone to see a friend is all right, but I won't have my love given to +them.” + +“Well, then, it sha'n't be.” It was well enough to tell _her_ 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_-bye. I'm going to do everything just as you've told me; and if +I don't ever see you again, I sha'n't ever forget you and I'll think of +you a many and a many a time, and I'll _pray_ for you, too!”--and she was +gone. + +Pray for me! I reckoned if she knowed me she'd take a job that was more +nearer her size. But I bet she done it, just the 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 +obleegd to get along home to England as fast as they can? And do you +reckon they'd be mean enough to go off and leave you to go all that +journey by yourselves? _you_ know they'll wait for you. So fur, so +good. Your uncle Harvey's a preacher, ain't he? Very well, then; is a +_preacher_ going to deceive a steamboat clerk? is he going to deceive +a _ship clerk?_--so as to get them to let Miss Mary Jane go aboard? Now +_you_ know he ain't. What _will_ he do, then? Why, he'll say, 'It's a +great pity, but my church matters has got to get along the best way they +can; for my niece has been exposed to the dreadful pluribus-unum mumps, +and so it's my bounden duty to set down here and wait the three months +it takes to show on her if she's got it.' But never mind, if you think +it's best to tell your uncle Harvey--” + +“Shucks, and stay fooling around here when we could all be having good +times in England whilst we was waiting to find out whether Mary Jane's +got it or not? Why, you talk like a muggins.” + +“Well, anyway, maybe you'd better tell some of the neighbors.” + +“Listen at that, now. You do beat all for natural stupidness. Can't +you _see_ that _they'd_ go and tell? Ther' ain't no way but just to not +tell anybody at _all_.” + +“Well, maybe you're right--yes, I judge you _are_ right.” + +“But I reckon we ought to tell Uncle Harvey she's gone out a while, +anyway, so he won't be uneasy about her?” + +“Yes, Miss Mary Jane she wanted you to do that. She says, 'Tell them to +give Uncle Harvey and William my love and a kiss, and say I've run over +the river to see Mr.'--Mr.--what _is_ the name of that rich family your +uncle Peter used to think so much of?--I mean the one that--” + +“Why, you must mean the Apthorps, ain't it?” + +“Of course; bother them kind of names, a body can't ever seem to +remember them, half the time, somehow. Yes, she said, say she has run +over for to ask the Apthorps to be sure and come to the auction and buy +this house, because she allowed her uncle Peter would ruther they had +it than anybody else; and she's going to stick to them till they say +they'll come, and then, if she ain't too tired, she's coming home; and +if she is, she'll be home in the morning anyway. She said, don't say +nothing about the Proctors, but only about the 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' 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 gentleman said, and was listening to the +king now. And when the king got done this husky up and says: + +“Say, looky here; if you are Harvey Wilks, when'd you come to this +town?” + +“The day before the funeral, friend,” says the king. + +“But what time o' day?” + +“In the evenin'--'bout an hour er two before sundown.” + +“_How'd_ you come?” + +“I come down on the Susan Powell from Cincinnati.” + +“Well, then, how'd you come to be up at the Pint in the _mornin_'--in a +canoe?” + +“I warn't up at the Pint in the mornin'.” + +“It's a lie.” + +Several of them jumped for him and begged him not to talk that way to an +old man and a preacher. + +“Preacher be hanged, he's a fraud and a liar. He was up at the Pint +that mornin'. I live up there, don't I? Well, I was up there, and +he was up there. I see him there. He come in a canoe, along with Tim +Collins and a boy.” + +The doctor he up and says: + +“Would you know the boy again if you was to see him, Hines?” + +“I reckon I would, but I don't know. Why, yonder he is, now. I know +him perfectly easy.” + +It was me he pointed at. The doctor says: + +“Neighbors, I don't know whether the new couple is frauds or not; but if +_these_ two ain't frauds, I am an idiot, that's all. I think it's our +duty to see that they don't get away from here till we've looked into +this thing. Come along, Hines; come along, the rest of you. We'll take +these fellows to the tavern and affront them with t'other couple, and I +reckon we'll find out _something_ before we get through.” + +It was nuts for the crowd, though maybe not for the king's friends; so +we all started. It was about sundown. The doctor he led me along by +the hand, and was plenty kind enough, but he never let go my hand. + +We all got in a big room in the hotel, and lit up some candles, and +fetched in the new couple. First, the doctor says: + +“I don't wish to be too hard on these two men, but I think they're +frauds, and they may have complices that we don't know nothing about. + If they have, won't the complices get away with that bag of gold Peter +Wilks left? It ain't unlikely. If these men ain't frauds, they won't +object to sending for that money and letting us keep it till they prove +they're all 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 hand writing, 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 solution, 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 muleheaded old fool wouldn't give in +_then_! Indeed he wouldn't. Said it warn't no fair test. Said his +brother William was the cussedest joker in the world, and hadn't tried +to 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 and +warbling right along till he was actuly beginning to believe what he was +saying _himself_; but pretty soon the new gentleman broke in, and says: + +“I've thought of something. Is there anybody here that helped to lay +out my 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 towards the king, and says: + +“Perhaps this gentleman can tell me what was tattooed on his breast?” + +Blamed if the king didn't have to brace up mighty quick, or he'd a +squshed down like a bluff bank that the river has cut under, it took +him so sudden; and, mind you, it was a thing that was calculated to make +most _anybody_ sqush to get fetched such a solid one as that without any +notice, because how was _he_ going to know what was tattooed on the man? + He whitened a little; he couldn't help it; and it was mighty still in +there, and everybody bending a little forwards and gazing at him. Says +I to myself, _now_ he'll throw up the 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' breast?” + +Both of them spoke up and says: + +“We didn't see no such mark.” + +“Good!” says the old gentleman. “Now, what you _did_ see on his breast +was a small dim P, and a B (which is an initial he dropped when he was +young), and a W, with dashes between them, so: 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 on to the planks then, and give up; and it was +all I could do to keep from crying. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +WHEN they got aboard the king went for me, and shook me by the collar, +and says: + +“Tryin' to give us the slip, was ye, you pup! Tired of our company, +hey?” + +I says: + +“No, your majesty, we warn'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 deffisit; it warn't me.” + +“Dry up! I don't want to hear no more out of you!” says the duke. “And +_now_ you see what you GOT by it. They've got all their own money back, +and all of _ourn_ but a shekel or two _besides_. G'long to bed, and +don't you deffersit _me_ no more deffersits, long 's _you_ live!” + +So the king sneaked into the wigwam and took to his bottle for comfort, +and before long the duke tackled HIS bottle; and so in about a half an +hour they was as thick as thieves again, and the tighter they got the +lovinger they got, and went off a-snoring in each other's arms. They +both got powerful mellow, but I noticed the king didn't get mellow +enough to forget to remember to not deny about hiding the money-bag +again. That made me feel easy and satisfied. Of course when they got +to snoring we had a long gabble, and I told Jim everything. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +WE dasn't stop again at any town for days and days; kept right along +down the river. We was down south in the warm weather now, and a mighty +long ways from home. We begun to come to trees with Spanish moss on +them, hanging down from the limbs like long, gray beards. It was the +first I ever see it growing, and it made the woods look solemn and +dismal. So now the frauds reckoned they was out of danger, and they +begun to work the villages again. + +First they done a lecture on temperance; but they didn't make enough +for them both to get drunk on. Then in another village they started +a dancing-school; but they didn't know no more how to dance than a +kangaroo does; so the first prance they made the general public jumped +in and pranced them out of town. Another time they tried to go at +yellocution; but they didn't yellocute long till the audience got up and +give them a solid good cussing, and made them skip out. They tackled +missionarying, and mesmerizing, and doctoring, and telling fortunes, and +a little of everything; but they couldn't seem to have no luck. So at +last they got just about dead broke, and laid around the raft as she +floated along, thinking and thinking, and never saying nothing, by the +half a day at a time, and dreadful blue and desperate. + +And at last they took a change and begun to lay their heads together in +the wigwam and talk low and confidential two or three hours at a time. +Jim and me got uneasy. We didn't like the look of it. We judged they +was studying up some kind of worse deviltry than ever. We turned it +over and over, and at last we made up our minds they was going to break +into somebody's house or store, or was going into the counterfeit-money +business, or something. So then we was pretty scared, and made up an +agreement that we wouldn't have nothing in the world to do with such +actions, and if we ever got the least show we would give them the cold +shake and clear out and leave them behind. Well, early one morning we +hid the raft in a good, safe place about two mile below a little bit of +a shabby village named Pikesville, and the king he went ashore and told +us all to stay hid whilst he went up to town and smelt around to see +if anybody had got any wind of the Royal Nonesuch there yet. (“House to +rob, you _mean_,” says I to myself; “and when you get through robbing it +you'll come back here and wonder what has become of me and Jim and the +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_ +change on top of it. So me and the duke went up to the village, and +hunted around there for the king, and by and by we found him in the +back room of a little low doggery, very tight, and a lot of loafers +bullyragging him for sport, and he a-cussing and a-threatening with all +his might, and so tight he couldn't walk, and couldn't do nothing to +them. The duke he begun to abuse him for an old fool, and the king +begun to sass back, and the minute they was fairly at it I lit out and +shook the reefs out of my hind legs, and spun down the river road like +a deer, for I see our chance; and I made up my mind that it would be a +long day before they ever see me and Jim again. I got down there all +out of breath but loaded up with joy, and sung out: + +“Set her loose, Jim! we're all right now!” + +But there warn't no answer, and nobody come out of the wigwam. Jim was +gone! I set up a 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' 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 hunderd 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, 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 small-pox aboard, and he was so grateful, and said I was +the best friend old Jim ever had in the world, and the _only_ one he's +got now; and then I happened to look around and see that paper. + +It was a close place. I took it up, and held it in my hand. I was +a-trembling, because I'd got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and +I knowed it. I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then +says to myself: + +“All right, then, I'll _go_ to hell”--and tore it up. + +It was awful thoughts and awful words, but they was said. And I let +them stay said; and never thought no more about reforming. I shoved the +whole thing out of my head, and said I would take up wickedness again, +which was in my line, being brung up to it, and the other warn't. And +for a starter I would go to work and steal Jim out of slavery again; +and if I could think up anything worse, I would do that, too; because as +long as I was in, and in for good, I might as well go the whole hog. + +Then I set to thinking over how to get at it, and turned over some +considerable many ways in my mind; and at last fixed up a plan that +suited me. So then I took the bearings of a woody island that was down +the river a piece, and as soon as it was fairly dark I crept out with my +raft and went for it, and hid it there, and then turned in. I slept the +night through, and got up before it was light, and had my breakfast, +and put on my store clothes, and tied up some others and one thing or +another in a bundle, and took the canoe and cleared for shore. I landed +below where I judged was Phelps's place, and hid my bundle in the woods, +and then filled up the canoe with water, and loaded rocks into her and +sunk her where I could find her again when I wanted her, about a quarter +of a mile below a little steam sawmill that was on the bank. + +Then I struck up the road, and when I passed the mill I see a sign on +it, “Phelps's Sawmill,” and when I come to the farm-houses, two or +three hundred yards further along, I kept my eyes peeled, but didn't +see nobody around, though it was good daylight now. But I didn't mind, +because I didn't want to see nobody just 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 wont, you'll start _now_; and don't you lose any time about it, +neither, nor do any gabbling by the way. Just keep a tight tongue in +your head and move right along, and then you won't get into trouble with +_us_, d'ye hear?” + +That was the order I wanted, and that was the one I played for. I +wanted to be left free to work my plans. + +“So clear out,” he says; “and you can tell Mr. Foster whatever you want +to. Maybe you can get him to believe that Jim _is_ your 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'. 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' was one of these little one-horse cotton plantations, and they +all look alike. A rail fence round a two-acre yard; a stile made out +of logs sawed off and up-ended in steps, like barrels of a different +length, to climb over the fence with, and for the women to stand on when +they are going to jump on to a horse; some sickly grass-patches in the +big yard, but mostly it was bare and smooth, like an old hat with the +nap rubbed off; big double log-house for the white 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 smoke-house +back of the kitchen; three little log nigger-cabins in a row t'other +side the smoke-house; one little hut all by itself away down against +the back fence, and some outbuildings down a piece the other side; +ash-hopper and big kettle to bile soap in by the little hut; bench by +the kitchen door, with bucket of water and a gourd; hound asleep there +in the sun; more hounds asleep round about; about three shade trees away +off in a corner; some currant bushes and gooseberry bushes in one place +by the fence; outside of the fence a garden and a watermelon patch; then +the cotton fields begins, and after the fields the woods. + +I went around and clumb over the back stile by the ash-hopper, and +started for the kitchen. When I got a little ways I heard the dim hum +of a spinning-wheel wailing along up and sinking along down again; +and then I knowed for certain I wished I was 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 doing. 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 warld can have become of +him?” + +“I can't imagine,” says the old gentleman; “and I must say it makes me +dreadful uneasy.” + +“Uneasy!” she says; “I'm ready to go distracted! He _must_ a come; and +you've missed him along the road. I _know_ it's 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 't is?” + +“I hain't no idea. Who _is_ it?” + +“It's _Tom Sawyer!_” + +By jings, I most slumped through the floor! But there warn't no time to +swap knives; the old man grabbed me by the hand and shook, and kept on +shaking; and all the time how the woman did dance around and laugh and +cry; and then how they both did fire off questions about Sid, and Mary, +and the rest of the tribe. + +But if they was joyful, it warn't nothing to what I was; for it was like +being born again, I was so glad to find out who I was. Well, they froze +to me for two hours; and at last, when my chin was so tired it couldn't +hardly go any more, I had told them more about my 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 +now, 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 we took the trunk and put it in my wagon, and he drove off his +way and I drove mine. But of course I forgot all about driving slow on +accounts of being glad and full of thinking; so I got home a heap too +quick for that length of a trip. The old gentleman was at the door, and +he says: + +“Why, this is wonderful! Whoever would a thought it was in that mare +to do it? I wish we'd a timed her. And she hain't sweated a 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 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 gradually over his face, like when you +heave a brickbat in a mud-puddle, and he says: + +“Yes, Mars Sid, A dog. Cur'us dog, too. Does you want to go en look at +'im?” + +“Yes.” + +I hunched Tom, and whispers: + +“You going, right here in the daybreak? _that_ warn't the plan.” + +“No, it warn't; but it's the plan _now_.” + +So, drat him, we went along, but I didn't like it much. When we got in +we couldn't hardly see anything, it was so dark; but Jim was there, sure +enough, and could see us; and he sings out: + +“Why, _Huck_! En good _lan_'! ain' dat Misto Tom?” + +I just knowed how it would be; I just expected it. I didn't know +nothing to do; and if I had I couldn't a done it, because that nigger +busted in and says: + +“Why, de gracious sakes! do he know you genlmen?” + +We could see pretty well now. Tom he looked at the nigger, steady and +kind of wondering, and says: + +“Does _who_ know us?” + +“Why, dis-yer runaway nigger.” + +“I don't reckon he does; but what put that into your head?” + +“What _put_ it dar? Didn' he jis' dis minute sing out like he knowed +you?” + +Tom says, in a puzzled-up kind of way: + +“Well, that's mighty curious. _Who_ sung out? _when_ did he sing out? + _what_ did he sing out?” And turns to me, perfectly ca'm, and says, +“Did _you_ hear anybody sing out?” + +Of course there warn't nothing to be said but the one thing; so I says: + +“No; I ain't heard nobody say nothing.” + +Then he turns to Jim, and looks him over like he never see him before, +and says: + +“Did you sing out?” + +“No, sah,” says Jim; “I hain't said nothing, sah.” + +“Not a word?” + +“No, sah, I hain't said a word.” + +“Did you ever see us before?” + +“No, sah; not as I knows on.” + +So Tom turns to the nigger, which was looking wild and distressed, and +says, kind of severe: + +“What do you reckon's the matter with you, anyway? What made you think +somebody sung out?” + +“Oh, it's de dad-blame' witches, sah, en I wisht I was dead, I do. + Dey's awluz at it, sah, en dey do mos' kill me, dey sk'yers me so. + Please to don't tell nobody 'bout it sah, er ole Mars Silas he'll scole +me; 'kase he say dey _ain't_ no witches. I jis' wish to goodness he was +heah 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 it? Hain't we got to saw the leg of Jim's bed +off, so as to get the chain loose?” + +“Why, you just said a body could lift up the bedstead and slip the chain +off.” + +“Well, if that ain't just like you, Huck Finn. You _can_ get up the +infant-schooliest ways of going at a thing. Why, hain't you ever read +any books at all?--Baron Trenck, nor Casanova, nor Benvenuto Chelleeny, +nor Henri IV., nor none of them heroes? Who ever heard of getting a +prisoner loose in such an old-maidy way as that? No; the way all the +best authorities does is to saw the bed-leg in two, and leave it just +so, and swallow the sawdust, so it can't be found, and put some dirt and +grease around the sawed place so the very keenest seneskal can't see +no sign of it's being sawed, and thinks the bed-leg is perfectly sound. +Then, the night you're ready, fetch the leg a kick, down she goes; slip +off your chain, and there you are. Nothing to do but hitch your +rope ladder to the battlements, shin down it, break your leg in the +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 clew, after he's gone? and don't you reckon they'll want clews? + Of course they will. And you wouldn't leave them any? That would be a +_pretty_ howdy-do, _wouldn't_ it! I never heard of such a thing.” + +“Well,” I says, “if it's in the regulations, and he's got to have +it, all right, let him have it; because I don't wish to go back on no +regulations; but there's one thing, Tom 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 clothesline.” + +He said that would do. And that gave him another idea, and he says: + +“Borrow a shirt, too.” + +“What do we want of a shirt, Tom?” + +“Want it for Jim to keep a journal on.” + +“Journal your 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 smoke-house.” + +He looked kind of weary and discouraged-like, and says: + +“It ain't no use to try to learn you nothing, Huck. Run along and +smouch the 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 he was right behind Jim's bed now, and we'd dig in under it, and +when we got through there couldn't nobody in the cabin ever know there +was any hole there, because Jim's counter-pin hung down most to the +ground, and you'd have to raise it up and look under to see the hole. + So we dug and dug with the case-knives till most midnight; and then +we was dog-tired, and our hands was blistered, and yet you couldn't see +we'd done anything hardly. At last I says: + +“This ain't no thirty-seven year job; this is a thirty-eight year job, +Tom Sawyer.” + +He never said nothing. But he sighed, and pretty soon he stopped +digging, and then for a good little while I knowed that he was thinking. +Then he says: + +“It ain't no use, Huck, it ain't a-going to work. If we was prisoners +it would, because then we'd have as many years as we wanted, and no +hurry; and we wouldn't get but a few minutes to dig, every day, while +they was changing watches, and so our hands wouldn't get blistered, and +we could keep it up right along, year in and year out, and do it right, +and the way it ought to be done. But _we_ can't fool along; we got to +rush; we ain't got no time to spare. If we was to put in another +night this way we'd have to knock off for a week to let our hands get +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 pickaxe and give it to him, and he took +it and went to work, and never said a word. + +He was always just that particular. Full of principle. + +So then I got a shovel, and then we picked and shoveled, turn about, +and made the fur fly. We stuck to it about a half an hour, which was as +long as we could stand up; but we had a good deal of a hole to show for +it. When I got up stairs I looked out at the window and see Tom doing +his level best with the lightning-rod, but he couldn't come it, his +hands was so sore. At last he says: + +“It ain't no use, it can't be done. What you reckon I better do? Can't +you think of no way?” + +“Yes,” I says, “but I reckon it ain't regular. Come up the stairs, and +let on it's a lightning-rod.” + +So he done it. + +Next day Tom stole a pewter spoon and a brass candlestick in the house, +for to make some pens for Jim out of, and six tallow candles; and I +hung around the nigger cabins and laid for a chance, and stole three tin +plates. Tom says it wasn't enough; but I said nobody wouldn't ever see +the plates that Jim throwed out, because they'd fall in the dog-fennel +and jimpson weeds under the window-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 on to the floor amongst the dogs, and begun to groan like he was +dying. Tom jerked the door open and flung out a slab of Jim's meat, +and the dogs went for it, and in two seconds he was out himself and back +again and shut the door, and I knowed he'd fixed the other door too. +Then he went to work on the nigger, coaxing him and petting him, and +asking him if he'd been imagining he saw something again. He raised up, +and blinked his eyes around, and says: + +“Mars Sid, you'll say I's a fool, but if I didn't b'lieve I see most a +million dogs, er devils, er some'n, I wisht I may die right heah in dese +tracks. I did, mos' sholy. Mars Sid, I _felt_ 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!” + +“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 warwhoop, and Tom he turned kinder blue around +the gills, and it all amounted to a considerable state of things for +about a quarter of a minute or as much as that, and I would a sold out +for half price if there was a bidder. But after that we was all right +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 +on to the passage, and says: + +“Missus, dey's a sheet gone.” + +“A _sheet_ gone! Well, for the land's sake!” + +“I'll stop up them holes to-day,” says Uncle Silas, looking sorrowful. + +“Oh, _do_ shet up!--s'pose the rats took the _sheet_? _where's_ it gone, +Lize?” + +“Clah to goodness I hain't no notion, Miss' Sally. She wuz on de +clo'sline yistiddy, but she done gone: she ain' dah no mo' now.” + +“I reckon the world _is_ coming to an end. I _never_ see the beat of it +in all my born days. A shirt, and a sheet, and a spoon, and six can--” + +“Missus,” comes a young yaller wench, “dey's a brass cannelstick +miss'n.” + +“Cler out from here, you hussy, er I'll take a skillet to ye!” + +Well, she was just a-biling. I begun to lay for a chance; I reckoned +I would sneak out and go for the woods till the weather moderated. She +kept a-raging right along, running her insurrection all by herself, and +everybody else mighty meek and quiet; and at last Uncle Silas, looking +kind of foolish, fishes up that spoon out of his pocket. She stopped, +with her mouth open and her hands up; and as for me, I wished I was in +Jeruslem or somewheres. But not long, because she says: + +“It's _just_ as I expected. So you had it in your pocket all the time; +and like as not you've got the other things there, too. How'd it get +there?” + +“I reely don't know, Sally,” he says, kind of apologizing, “or you know +I would tell. I was a-studying over my text in Acts Seventeen before +breakfast, and I reckon I put it in there, not noticing, meaning to put +my Testament in, and it must be so, because my Testament ain't in; but +I'll go and see; and if the Testament is where I had it, I'll know I +didn't put it in, and that will show that I laid the Testament down and +took up the spoon, and--” + +“Oh, for the land's sake! Give a body a rest! Go 'long now, the whole +kit and biling of ye; and don't come nigh me again till I've got back my +peace of mind.” + +I'D a heard her if she'd a said it to herself, let alone speaking it +out; and I'd a got up and obeyed her if I'd a been dead. As we was +passing through the setting-room the old man he took up his hat, and the +shingle-nail fell out on the floor, and he just merely picked it up and +laid it on the mantel-shelf, and never said nothing, and went out. Tom +see him do it, and remembered about the spoon, and says: + +“Well, it ain't no use to send things by _him_ no more, he ain't +reliable.” Then he says: “But he done us a good turn with the spoon, +anyway, without knowing it, and so we'll go and do him one without _him_ +knowing 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 cle'r out and let her have some peace, and if +we come bothering around her again betwixt that and dinner she'd skin +us. So we had the odd spoon, and dropped it in her apron-pocket whilst +she was a-giving us our sailing orders, and Jim got it all right, along +with her shingle nail, before noon. We was very well satisfied with +this business, and Tom allowed it was worth twice the trouble it took, +because he said _now_ she couldn't ever count them spoons twice alike +again to save her life; and wouldn't believe she'd counted them right if +she _did_; and said that after she'd about counted her head off for the +next three days he judged she'd give it up and offer to kill anybody +that wanted her to ever count them any more. + +So we put the sheet back on the line that night, and stole one out of +her closet; and kept on putting it back and stealing it again for a +couple of days till she didn't know how many sheets she had any more, +and she didn't _care_, and warn't a-going to bullyrag the rest of her +soul out about it, and wouldn't count them again not to save her life; +she druther die first. + +So we was all right now, as to the shirt and the sheet and the spoon +and the candles, by the help of the calf and the rats and the mixed-up +counting; and as to the candlestick, it warn't no consequence, it would +blow over by and by. + +But that pie was a job; we had no end of trouble with that pie. We +fixed it up away down in the woods, and cooked it there; and we got it +done at last, and very satisfactory, too; but not all in one day; and we +had to use up three wash-pans full of flour before we got through, and +we got burnt pretty much all over, in places, and eyes put out with +the smoke; because, you see, we didn't want nothing but a crust, and we +couldn't prop it up right, and she would always cave in. But of course +we thought of the right way at 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 +wash-pan--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 Otto._ 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 on to the wall, they was all so good; but at last he allowed +he would let him scrabble them all on. Jim said it would take him a +year to scrabble such a lot of truck on to the logs with a nail, and he +didn't know how to make letters, besides; but Tom said he would block +them out for him, and then he wouldn't have nothing to do but just +follow the lines. Then pretty soon he says: + +“Come to think, the logs ain't a-going to do; they don't have log walls +in a dungeon: we got to dig the inscriptions into a rock. We'll fetch +a rock.” + +Jim said the rock was worse than the logs; he said it would take him +such a pison long time to dig them into a rock he wouldn't ever get out. + But Tom said he would let me help him do it. Then he took a look to +see how me and Jim was getting along with the pens. It was most pesky +tedious hard work and slow, and didn't give my hands no show to get +well of the sores, and we didn't seem to make no headway, hardly; so Tom +says: + +“I know how to fix it. We got to have a rock for the coat of arms and +mournful inscriptions, and we can kill two birds with that same rock. +There's a gaudy big grindstone down at the mill, and we'll smouch it, +and carve the things on it, and file out the pens and the saw on it, +too.” + +It warn't no slouch of an idea; and it warn't no slouch of a grindstone +nuther; but we allowed we'd tackle it. It warn't quite midnight yet, +so we cleared out for the mill, leaving Jim at work. We smouched the +grindstone, and set out to roll her home, but it was a most nation tough +job. Sometimes, do what we could, we couldn't keep her from falling +over, and she come mighty near mashing us every time. Tom said she was +going to get one of us, sure, before we got through. We got her half +way; and then we was plumb played out, and most drownded with sweat. We +see it warn't no use; we got to go and fetch Jim. So he raised up his +bed and slid the chain off of the bed-leg, and wrapt it round and round +his neck, and we crawled out through our hole and down there, and Jim +and me laid into that grindstone and walked her along like nothing; and +Tom superintended. He could out-superintend any boy I ever see. He +knowed how to do everything. + +Our hole was pretty big, but it warn't big enough to get the grindstone +through; but Jim he took the pick and soon made it big enough. Then Tom +marked out them things on it with the nail, and set Jim to work on them, +with the nail for a chisel and an iron bolt from the rubbage in the +lean-to for a hammer, and told him to work till the rest of his candle +quit on him, and then he could go to bed, and hide the grindstone under +his straw tick and sleep on it. Then we helped him fix his chain back +on the bed-leg, and was ready for bed ourselves. But Tom thought of +something, and says: + +“You got any spiders in here, Jim?” + +“No, sah, thanks to goodness I hain't, Mars Tom.” + +“All right, we'll get you some.” + +“But bless you, honey, I doan' _want_ none. I's afeard un um. I jis' +'s soon have rattlesnakes aroun'.” + +Tom thought a minute or two, and says: + +“It's a good idea. And I reckon it's been done. It _must_ a been done; +it stands to reason. Yes, it's a prime good idea. Where could you keep +it?” + +“Keep what, Mars Tom?” + +“Why, a rattlesnake.” + +“De goodness gracious alive, Mars Tom! Why, if dey was a rattlesnake to +come in heah I'd take en bust right out thoo dat log wall, I would, wid +my head.” + +“Why, Jim, you wouldn't be afraid of it after a little. You could tame +it.” + +“_Tame_ it!” + +“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_, Mars 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' 't was so much bother and +trouble to be a prisoner.” + +“Well, it _always_ is when it's done right. You got any rats around +here?” + +“No, sah, I hain't seed none.” + +“Well, we'll get you some rats.” + +“Why, Mars Tom, I doan' _want_ no rats. Dey's de dadblamedest creturs +to 'sturb a body, en rustle roun' over 'im, en bite his feet, when he's +tryin' to sleep, I ever see. No, sah, gimme g'yarter-snakes, 'f I's +got to have 'm, but doan' gimme no rats; I hain' got no use f'r um, +skasely.” + +“But, Jim, you _got_ to have '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 jews-harp. It always interests them; they come out +to see what's the matter with you. Yes, you're all right; you're fixed +very well. You want to set on your bed nights before you go to sleep, +and early in the mornings, and play your jews-harp; play 'The Last Link +is Broken'--that's the thing that 'll scoop a rat quicker 'n anything +else; and when you've played about two minutes you'll see all the rats, +and the snakes, and spiders, and things begin to feel worried about you, +and come. And they'll just fairly swarm over you, and have a noble good +time.” + +“Yes, _dey_ will, I reck'n, Mars Tom, but what kine er time is _Jim_ +havin'? Blest if I kin see de pint. But I'll do it ef I got to. I +reck'n I better keep de animals satisfied, en not have no trouble in de +house.” + +Tom waited to think it over, and see if there wasn't nothing else; and +pretty soon he says: + +“Oh, there's one thing I forgot. Could you raise a flower here, do you +reckon?” + +“I doan know but maybe I could, Mars Tom; but it's tolable dark in heah, +en I ain' got no use f'r no flower, nohow, en she'd be a pow'ful sight +o' trouble.” + +“Well, you try it, anyway. Some other prisoners has done it.” + +“One er dem big cat-tail-lookin' mullen-stalks would grow in heah, Mars +Tom, I reck'n, but she wouldn't be wuth half de trouble she'd coss.” + +“Don't you believe it. We'll fetch you a little one and you plant it in +the corner over there, and raise it. And don't call it mullen, call it +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 jews-harping the rats, and +petting and flattering up the snakes and spiders and things, on top of +all the other work he had to do on pens, and inscriptions, and journals, +and things, which made it more trouble and worry and responsibility to +be a prisoner than anything he ever undertook, that Tom most lost all +patience with him; and said he was just loadened down with more gaudier +chances than a prisoner ever had in the world to make a name for +himself, and yet he didn't know enough to appreciate them, and they was +just about wasted on him. So Jim he was sorry, and said he wouldn't +behave so no more, and then me and Tom shoved for bed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + +IN the morning we went up to the village and bought a wire rat-trap and +fetched it down, and unstopped the best rat-hole, and in about an hour +we had fifteen of the bulliest kind of ones; and then we took it and put +it in a safe place under Aunt Sally's bed. But while we was gone for +spiders little Thomas Franklin Benjamin Jefferson Elexander Phelps found +it there, and opened the door of it to see if the rats would come out, +and they did; and Aunt Sally she come in, and when we got back she was +a-standing on top of the bed raising Cain, and the rats was doing what +they could to keep off the dull times for her. So she took and dusted +us both with the hickry, and we was as much as two hours catching +another fifteen or sixteen, drat that meddlesome cub, and they warn't +the likeliest, nuther, because the first haul was the pick of the flock. + I never see a likelier lot of rats than what that first haul was. + +We got a splendid stock of sorted spiders, and bugs, and frogs, and +caterpillars, and one thing or another; and we like to got a hornet's +nest, but we didn't. The family was at home. We didn't give it right +up, but stayed with them as long as we could; because we allowed we'd +tire them out or they'd got to tire us out, and they done it. Then we +got allycumpain and rubbed on the places, and was pretty near all right +again, but couldn't set down convenient. And so we went for the snakes, +and grabbed a couple of dozen garters and house-snakes, and put them in +a bag, and put it in our room, and by that time it was supper-time, and +a rattling good honest day's work: and hungry?--oh, no, I reckon not! + And there warn't a blessed snake up there when we went 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 little in his journal whilst the ink was fresh; +the pens was made, the inscriptions and so on was all carved on the +grindstone; the bed-leg was sawed in two, and we had et up the sawdust, +and it give us a most amazing stomach-ache. We reckoned we was all +going to die, but didn't. It was the most undigestible sawdust I ever +see; and Tom said the same. + +But as I was saying, we'd got all the work done now, at last; and we was +all pretty much fagged out, too, but mainly Jim. The old man had wrote +a couple of times to the plantation below Orleans to come and get their +runaway nigger, but hadn't got no answer, because there warn't no such +plantation; so he allowed he would advertise Jim in the St. Louis and +New Orleans papers; and when he mentioned the St. Louis ones it give me +the cold shivers, and I see we hadn't no time to lose. So Tom said, now +for the nonnamous letters. + +“What's them?” I says. + +“Warnings to the people that something is up. Sometimes it's done one +way, sometimes another. But there's always somebody spying around that +gives notice to the governor of the castle. When Louis XVI. was going +to light out of the Tooleries, a servant-girl done it. It's a very good +way, and so is the nonnamous letters. We'll use them both. And it's +usual for the prisoner's mother to change clothes with him, and she +stays in, and he slides out in her clothes. We'll do that, too.” + +“But looky here, Tom, what do we want to _warn_ anybody for that +something's up? Let them find it out for 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 noway 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 _baa_ like a sheep soon as +they get in and not blow at all; then whilst they are getting his +chains loose, you slip there and lock them in, and can kill them at your +leasure. Don't do anything but just the way I am telling you, if you do +they will suspicion something and raise whoop-jamboreehoo. I do not wish +any reward but to know I have done the right thing. _Unknown Friend._ + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + +WE was feeling pretty good after breakfast, and took my canoe and went +over the river a-fishing, with a lunch, and had a good time, and took a +look at the raft and found her all right, and got home late to supper, +and found them in such a sweat and worry they didn't know which end they +was standing on, and made us go right off to bed the minute we was done +supper, and wouldn't tell us what the trouble was, and never let on a +word about the new letter, but didn't need to, because we knowed as much +about it as anybody did, and as soon as we was half up stairs and her +back was turned we slid for the cellar cupboard and loaded up a good +lunch and took it up to our room and went to bed, and got up about +half-past eleven, and Tom put on Aunt Sally's dress that he stole and +was going to start with the lunch, but says: + +“Where's the butter?” + +“I laid out a hunk of it,” I says, “on a piece of a corn-pone.” + +“Well, you _left_ it laid out, 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 _baa_ like a sheep and shove soon as +you get there.” + +So out he went, and down cellar went I. The hunk of butter, big as +a person's fist, was where I had left it, so I took up the slab of +corn-pone with it on, and blowed out my light, and started up stairs +very stealthy, and got up to the main floor all right, but here comes +Aunt Sally with a candle, and I clapped the truck in my hat, and clapped +my hat on my head, and the next second she see me; and she says: + +“You been down cellar?” + +“Yes'm.” + +“What you been doing down there?” + +“Noth'n.” + +“_Noth'n!_” + +“No'm.” + +“Well, then, what possessed you to go down there this time of night?” + +“I don't know 'm.” + +“You don't _know_? Don't answer me that way. Tom, I want to know what +you been _doing_ down there.” + +“I hain't been doing a single thing, Aunt Sally, I hope to gracious if I +have.” + +I reckoned she'd let me go now, and as a generl thing she would; but I +s'pose there was so many strange things going on she was just in a sweat +about every little thing that warn't yard-stick straight; so she says, +very decided: + +“You just march into that setting-room and stay there till I come. You +been up to something you no business to, and I lay I'll find out what it +is before I'M done with you.” + +So she went away as I opened the door and walked into the setting-room. +My, but there was a crowd there! Fifteen farmers, and every one of them +had a gun. I was most powerful sick, and slunk to a chair and set down. +They was setting around, some of them talking a little, in a low voice, +and all of them fidgety and uneasy, but trying to look like they warn't; +but I knowed they was, because they was always taking off their hats, +and putting them on, and scratching their heads, and changing their +seats, and fumbling with their buttons. I warn't easy myself, but I +didn't take my hat off, all the same. + +I did wish Aunt Sally would come, and get done with me, and lick me, if +she wanted to, and let me get away and tell Tom how we'd overdone this +thing, and what a thundering hornet's-nest we'd got ourselves into, so +we could stop fooling around straight off, and clear out with Jim before +these rips got out of patience and come for us. + +At last she come and begun to ask me questions, but I _couldn't_ answer +them straight, I didn't know which end of me was up; because these men +was in such a fidget now that some was wanting to start right NOW and +lay for them desperadoes, and saying it warn't but a few minutes to +midnight; and others was trying to get them to hold on and wait for the +sheep-signal; and here was Aunty pegging away at the questions, and +me a-shaking all over and ready to sink down in my tracks I was +that scared; and the place getting hotter and hotter, and the butter +beginning to melt and run down my neck and behind my ears; and pretty +soon, when one of them says, “I'M for going and getting in the cabin +_first_ and right _now_, and catching them when they come,” I most +dropped; and a streak of butter come a-trickling down my forehead, and +Aunt Sally she see it, and turns white as a sheet, and says: + +“For the land's sake, what _is_ the matter with the child? He's got the +brain-fever as shore as you're born, and they're oozing out!” + +And everybody runs to see, and she snatches off my hat, and out comes +the bread and what was left of the butter, and she grabbed me, and +hugged me, and says: + +“Oh, what a turn you did give me! and how glad and grateful I am it +ain't no worse; for luck's against us, and it never rains but it pours, +and when I see that truck I thought we'd lost you, for I knowed by +the color and all it was just like your brains would be 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 pad-lock, 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 on to us we +dodged into the bush and let them go by, and then dropped in behind +them. They'd had all the dogs shut up, so they wouldn't scare off the +robbers; but by this time somebody had let them loose, and here they +come, making powwow enough for a million; but they was our dogs; so we +stopped in our tracks till they catched up; and when they see it warn't +nobody but us, and no excitement to offer them, they only just said +howdy, and tore right ahead towards the shouting and clattering; and +then we up-steam again, and whizzed along after them till we was nearly +to the mill, and then struck up through the bush to where my canoe was +tied, and hopped in and pulled for dear life towards the middle of the +river, but didn't make no more noise than we was obleeged to. Then we +struck out, easy and comfortable, for the island where my raft was; and +we could hear them yelling and barking at each other all up and down the +bank, till we was so far away the sounds got dim and died out. And when +we stepped on to the raft I says: + +“_Now_, old Jim, you're a free man again, and I bet you won't ever be a +slave no more.” + +“En a mighty good job it wuz, too, Huck. It 'uz planned beautiful, en +it 'uz done beautiful; en dey ain't _nobody_ kin git up a plan dat's mo' +mixed-up en splendid den what dat one wuz.” + +We was all glad as we could be, but Tom was the gladdest of all because +he had a bullet in the calf of his leg. + +When me and Jim heard that we didn't feel so brash as what we did +before. It was hurting him considerable, and bleeding; so we laid him in +the wigwam and tore up one of the duke's shirts for to bandage him, but +he says: + +“Gimme the rags; I can do it myself. Don't stop now; don't fool around +here, and the evasion booming along so handsome; man the sweeps, and set +her loose! Boys, we done it elegant!--'deed we did. I wish _we'd_ a +had the handling of Louis XVI., there wouldn't a been no 'Son of Saint +Louis, ascend to heaven!' wrote down in _his_ biography; no, sir, we'd +a whooped him over the _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 sees 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_! _that's_ wher 'tis. Don't tell _me_, s'I; there +_wuz_ help, s'I; 'n' ther' wuz a _plenty_ help, too, s'I; ther's ben a +_dozen_ a-helpin' that nigger, 'n' I lay I'd skin every last nigger on +this place but _I'd_ find out who done it, s'I; 'n' moreover, s'I--” + +“A _dozen_ says you!--_forty_ couldn't a done every thing that's been +done. Look at them case-knife saws and things, how tedious they've been +made; look at that bed-leg sawed off with 'm, a week's work for six men; +look at that nigger made out'n straw on the bed; and look at--” + +“You may _well_ say it, Brer Hightower! It's jist as I was a-sayin' +to Brer Phelps, his own self. S'e, what do _you_ think of it, Sister +Hotchkiss, s'e? Think o' what, Brer Phelps, s'I? Think o' that bed-leg +sawed off that a way, s'e? _think_ of it, s'I? I lay it never sawed +_itself_ off, s'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 any body k'n start a better one, s'I, let him _do_ +it, s'I, that's all. I says to Sister Dunlap, s'I--” + +“Why, dog my cats, they must a ben a house-full o' niggers in there +every night for four weeks to a done all that work, Sister Phelps. Look +at that 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, _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 a while anyway, and +keep a light burning so he could see it. + +And then when I went up to bed she come up with me and fetched her +candle, and tucked me in, and mothered me so good I felt mean, and like +I couldn't look her in the face; and she set down on the bed and talked +with me a long time, and said what a splendid boy Sid was, and didn't +seem to want to ever stop talking about him; and kept asking me every +now and then if I reckoned he could a got lost, or hurt, or maybe +drownded, and might be laying at this minute somewheres suffering or +dead, and she not by him to help him, and so the tears would drip down +silent, and I would tell her that Sid was all right, and would be home +in the morning, sure; and she would squeeze my hand, or maybe kiss me, +and tell me to say it again, and keep on saying it, because it done her +good, and she was in so much trouble. And when she was going away she +looked down in my eyes so steady and gentle, and says: + +“The door ain't going to be locked, Tom, and there's the window and +the rod; but you'll be good, _won't_ you? And you won't go? For _my_ +sake.” + +Laws knows I _wanted_ to go bad enough to see about Tom, and was all +intending to go; but after that I wouldn't a went, not for kingdoms. + +But she was on my mind and Tom was on my mind, so I slept very restless. +And twice I went down the rod away in the night, and slipped around +front, and see her setting there by her candle in the window with her +eyes towards the road and the tears in them; and I wished I could do +something for her, but I couldn't, only to swear that I wouldn't never +do nothing to grieve her any more. And the third time I waked up at +dawn, and slid down, and she was there yet, and her candle was most out, +and her old gray head was resting on her hand, and she was asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + +THE old man was uptown again before breakfast, but couldn't get no +track of Tom; and both of them set at the table thinking, and not saying +nothing, and looking mournful, and their coffee getting cold, and not +eating anything. And by and by the old man says: + +“Did I give you the letter?” + +“What letter?” + +“The one I got yesterday out of the post-office.” + +“No, you didn't give me no letter.” + +“Well, I must a forgot it.” + +So he rummaged his pockets, and then went off somewheres where he had +laid it down, and fetched it, and give it to her. She says: + +“Why, it's from St. 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-bye cussing, and then the old doctor comes and +takes a look, and says: + +“Don't be no rougher on him than you're obleeged to, because he ain't +a bad nigger. When I got to where I found the boy I see I couldn't cut +the bullet out without some help, and he warn't in no condition for +me to leave to go and get help; and he got a little worse and a little +worse, and after a long time he went out of his head, and wouldn't let +me come a-nigh him any more, and said if I chalked his raft he'd kill +me, and no end of wild foolishness like that, and I see I couldn't do +anything at all with him; so I says, I got to have _help_ somehow; and +the minute I says it out crawls this nigger from somewheres and says +he'll help, and he done it, too, and done it very well. Of course I +judged he must be a runaway nigger, and there I _was_! and there I had +to stick right straight along all the rest of the day and all night. It +was a fix, I tell you! I had a couple of patients with the chills, and +of course I'd of liked to run up to town and see them, but I dasn't, +because the nigger might get away, and then I'd be to blame; and yet +never a skiff come close enough for me to hail. So there I had to stick +plumb until daylight this morning; and I never see a nigger that was a +better nuss or faithfuller, and yet he was risking his freedom to do it, +and was all tired out, too, and I see plain enough he'd been worked +main hard lately. I liked the nigger for that; I tell you, gentlemen, a +nigger like that is worth a thousand 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 peacefuller all the +time, and ten to one he'd wake up in his right mind. + +So we set there watching, and by and by he stirs a bit, and opened his +eyes very natural, and takes a look, and says: + +“Hello!--why, I'm at _home_! How's that? Where's the raft?” + +“It's all right,” I says. + +“And _Jim_?” + +“The same,” I says, but couldn't say it pretty brash. But he never +noticed, but says: + +“Good! Splendid! _Now_ we're all right and safe! Did you tell Aunty?” + +I was going to say yes; but she chipped in and says: “About what, Sid?” + +“Why, about the way the whole thing was done.” + +“What whole thing?” + +“Why, _the_ whole thing. There ain't but one; how we set the runaway +nigger 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 made the rope ladder +and send it in cooked up in a pie, and send in spoons and things to work +with in your apron pocket--” + +“Mercy sakes!” + +“--and load up the cabin with rats and snakes and so on, for company for +Jim; and then you kept Tom here so long with the butter in his hat that +you come near spiling the whole business, because the men come before +we was out of the cabin, and we had to rush, and they heard us and let +drive at us, and I got my share, and we dodged out of the path and let +them go by, and when the dogs come they warn't interested in us, but +went for the most noise, and we got our canoe, and made for the +raft, and was all safe, and Jim was a free man, and we done it all by +ourselves, and _wasn't_ it bully, Aunty!” + +“Well, I never heard the likes of it in all my born days! So it was +_you_, you little rapscallions, that's been making all this trouble, +and turned everybody's wits clean inside out and scared us all most to +death. I've as good a notion as ever I had in my life to take it out +o' you this very minute. To think, here I've been, night after night, +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 'tain't 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 _agin_; 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 agin as I's a-stannin' heah dis minute!” + +And then Tom he talked along and talked along, and says, le's all three +slide out of here one of these nights and get an outfit, and go for +howling adventures amongst the Injuns, over in the Territory, for a +couple of weeks or two; and I says, all right, that suits me, but I +ain't got no money for to buy the outfit, and I reckon I couldn't get +none from home, because it's likely pap's been back before now, and got +it all away from Judge Thatcher and drunk it up. + +“No, he hain't,” Tom says; “it's all there 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. YOURS TRULY, _HUCK FINN_. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, +Complete, by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUCKLEBERRY FINN *** + +***** This file should be named 76-0.htm or 76-0.zip ***** This and +all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.net/7/76/ + +Produced by David Widger. Previous editions produced by Ron Burkey and +Internet Wiretap + +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. 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