THE sun was up so high when
I waked that I judged it was
after eight o'clock. I laid there
in the grass and the cool shade
thinking about things, and feeling
rested and ruther comfortable
and satisfied. I could see the
sun out at one or two holes,
but mostly it was big trees all
about, and gloomy in there amongst
them. There was freckled places
on the ground where the light
sifted down through the leaves,
and the freckled places swapped
about a little, showing there
was a little breeze up there.
A couple of squirrels set on
a limb and jabbered at me very
friendly.
I was powerful
lazy and comfortable -- didn't
want to get up and
cook breakfast. Well, I was dozing
off again when I thinks I hears
a deep sound of "boom!" away
up the river. I rouses up, and
rests on my elbow and listens;
pretty soon I hears it again.
I hopped up, and went and looked
out at a hole in the leaves,
and I see a bunch of smoke laying
on the water a long ways up --
about abreast the ferry. And
there was the ferryboat full
of people floating along down.
I knowed what was the matter
now. "Boom!" I see the white
smoke squirt out of the ferryboat's
side. You see, they was firing
cannon over the water, trying
to make my carcass come to the
top.
I was pretty
hungry, but it warn't going
to do for me to
start a fire, because they might
see the smoke. So I set there
and watched the cannon-smoke
and listened to the boom. The
river was a mile wide there,
and it always looks pretty on
a summer morning -- so I was
having a good enough time seeing
them hunt for my remainders if
I only had a bite to eat. Well,
then I happened to think how
they always put quicksilver in
loaves of bread and float them
off, because they always go right
to the drownded carcass and stop
there. So, says I, I'll keep
a lookout, and if any of them's
floating around after me I'll
give them a show. I changed to
the Illinois edge of the island
to see what luck I could have,
and I warn't disappointed. A
big double loaf come along, and
I most got it with a long stick,
but my foot slipped and she floated
out further. Of course I was
where the current set in the
closest to the shore -- I knowed
enough for that. But by and by
along comes another one, and
this time I won. I took out the
plug and shook out the little
dab of quicksilver, and set my
teeth in. It was "baker's bread" --
what the quality eat; none of
your low-down corn-pone.
I got a good place amongst
the leaves, and set there on
a log, munching the bread and
watching the ferryboat, and very
well satisfied. And then something
struck me. I says, now I reckon
the widow or the parson or somebody
prayed that this bread would
find me, and here it has gone
and done it. So there ain't no
doubt but there is something
in that thing -- that is, there's
something in it when a body like
the widow or the parson prays,
but it don't work for me, and
I reckon it don't work for only
just the right kind.
I lit a pipe and had a good
long smoke, and went on watching.
The ferryboat was floating with
the current, and I allowed I'd
have a chance to see who was
aboard when she come along, because
she would come in close, where
the bread did. When she'd got
pretty well along down towards
me, I put out my pipe and went
to where I fished out the bread,
and laid down behind a log on
the bank in a little open place.
Where the log forked I could
peep through.
By and by she come along, and
she drifted in so close that
they could a run out a plank
and walked ashore. Most everybody
was on the boat. Pap, and Judge
Thatcher, and Bessie Thatcher,
and 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 fantods. He had a
blanket around his head, and
his head was nearly in the fire.
I set there behind a clump of
bushes in about six foot of him,
and kept my eyes on him steady.
It was getting gray daylight
now. Pretty soon he gapped and
stretched himself and hove off
the blanket, and it was Miss
Watson's Jim! I bet I was glad
to see him. I says:
"Hello, Jim!" and
skipped out.
He bounced up and stared at
me wild. Then he drops down on
his knees, and puts his hands
together and says:
"Doan' hurt
me -- don't! I hain't ever
done no harm to a
ghos'. I alwuz liked dead people,
en done all I could for 'em.
You go en git in de river 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 lowdown 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 campmeet'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 driftwood,
en kep' my head down low, en
kinder swum agin de current tell
de raff come along. Den I swum
to de stern uv it en tuck a-holt.
It clouded up en 'uz pooty dark
for a little while. So I clumb
up en laid down on de planks.
De men 'uz all 'way yonder in
de middle, whah de lantern wuz.
De river wuz arisin', 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 woodflat, 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'." |