Huckleberry Finn

by Mark Twain



 


 


NOTICE



PERSONS attempting to find a motive in this narra-


tive will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a


moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to


find a plot in it will be shot.



                  BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR,


                     Per G.G., Chief of Ordnance.



 


EXPLANATORY



IN this book a number of dialects are used, to wit:


the Missouri negro dialect; the extremest form of the


backwoods Southwestern dialect; the ordinary "Pike


County" dialect; and four modified varieties of this


last. The shadings have not been done in a hap-


hazard 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 any-


body, 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 be-


have?" 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 some-


body that was dead, and a whippowill and a dog cry-


ing 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 shoul-


ders. 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 under-


neath. 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 dis-


turbance, 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 some-


thing 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 hill-


top 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 men-


tioned 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 busi-


ness 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 rob-


bery; it's burglary," says Tom Sawyer. "We ain't


burglars. That ain't no sort of style. We are high-


waymen. 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 ran-


somed 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 rob-


bers. 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 to-


gether 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 peo-


ple; 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 Wat-


son'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, be-


cause 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 pre-


tended. 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 superinten-


dent 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 rub-


bing 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, any-


way.



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 noth-


ing -- 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 con-


sidable 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 Gen-


eral 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 beauti-


ful 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 objec-


tions. 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 drowned,


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 every-


thing 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.


his 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 awful-


est 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 gov-


ment, though he give the tub some, too, all along,


here and there. He hopped around the cabin con-


siderable, first on one leg and then on the other, hold-


ing 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 after-


wards. 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 terri-


ble 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.



RGIT 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 sourQand 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 float-


ing 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 lay-


ing 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 trust-


ing 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 fel-


low 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 some-


thing 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 sack-


ful 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. Every-


thing 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 land-


ing. 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 stab-


board!" 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 break-


fast.



 


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 quick-


silver, 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, watch-


ing 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 Mis-


souri 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 explor-


ing 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 an-


other 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 out-


side 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 lone-


some 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 rub-


bage 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, be-


cause 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 my-


sef. 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 under-


side 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 rum-


bling, 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 some-


times, 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 with-


out 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 mon-


strous 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 com-


fortable. 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 him-


self 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 neighbor-


hood?'



"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 rela-


tions 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