huckfin.txt

After supper she got out her book and read to 
me about Moses and the bulrushes. I was in a sweat 
to find out all about Moses, till by and by she let it 
out that he had been dead a long time. Then I didn't 
care any more about him. I don't take any stock in 
dead people. 

Her sister, Miss Watson, a slim old maid with 
glasses on, had just come to live there. Now she took 
a set at me with a spelling book. She worked me 
hard for about an hour, and then the widow made 
her ease up. I couldn't have stood it much longer. 

Then for an hour it was deadly dull. Miss Watson 
would say, "Don't put your feet up there, Huckle- 
berry," and "Don't hump up like that, Huckleberry — 
straighten up." And pretty soon she would say, "Don't 
gape and stretch like that, Huckleberry — why don't 
you try to behave?" 

Then she told me about the bad place, and I said 
I wished I was there. She got mad then, but I didn't 
mean any harm. All I wanted was to go somewhere — 
all I wanted was a change. She said it was wicked 
to say that. Said she wouldn't say it for the whole 
world. Said she was going to live so as to go to the 
good place. Well, I couldn't see anything to gain by 
going where she was going. I made up my mind not 
to try for it. But I didn't say so. It would only make 
trouble and do no good. 

She went on and told me all about the good place. 
She said all a body had to do there was to go around 
with a harp and sing all day long, forever and for- 
ever. I didn't think much of it. I asked her if she 
thought Tom Sawyer would go there. She said not 
by a long sight. I was glad about that, because I 
wanted to be where he was. 

Miss Watson kept picking at me, and things got 



4 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

tiresome and lonesome. Later they brought the slaves 
in and had prayers. Then everybody was off to bed. 
I went up to my room with a piece of candle. I set 
the candle on the table, and then I leaned out the 
window and tried to think of something cheerful. 
But it was no use. The stars twinkled away off, and 
the leaves rustled ever so mournful. After a long time 
I heard the clock go boom — boom — boom — twelve 
licks. Then all still again — stiller than ever. 

Pretty soon I heard a twig snap down in the dark 
among the trees. Something was astir. I kept still 
and listened. Then I could just barely hear a "me- 
yow! me-yow!" down there. That was good! 

"Me-yow me-yow!" I said as soft as I could. I 
put out the candle and scrambled out of the window 
onto 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. 



Our Gang's Bloody Oath 



We went tiptoeing along a path, back toward the 
garden. Right by the kitchen I fell over a root and 
made a noise. We crouched and kept still. 

Miss Watson's big slave, named Jim, was on the 
kitchen doorstep. We could see him pretty well, be- 
cause there was a light behind him. He got up and 
stretched his neck out, listening. Then he said: 

"Who dah?" 

He listened some more. Then he tiptoed down 
and stood right by us. We could have touched him, 
nearly. For minutes and minutes there wasn't a 
sound, and we all there so close together. A place 
on my ankle got to itching, but I didn't dare scratch 
it. Then my ear got to itching, and next my back, 
right between my shoulders. I thought I'd die if I 
couldn't scratch. Pretty soon Jim said: 

"Say, who is you? Whar is you? Dog my cats if 
I didn't hear sumf n. Well, I's goin' to set down here 
and listen till I hears it again." 

He got down on the ground, leaned his back up 
against a tree, and stretched his legs out. One of them 
almost touched me. Then my nose got to itching. 
Soon I was itching in eleven different places. But I 
didn't dare scratch. I set my teeth hard and tried 
to stand it. After a while Jim went to breathing hard, 
and next he was snoring. 



6 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

Tom made a sign to me and we crawled away 
on our hands and knees. Pretty soon we stood up 
and cut along the path around the garden fence. 
Then we went on, and by and by we fetched up on 
the top of the steep hill on the other side of town. 
Here we looked away down into St. Petersburg. We 
could see three or four lights twinkling, maybe 
where somebody was sick. And down by the village 
was the Mississippi River, a whole mile broad, still 
and grand. 

We went down the hill and to the tanyard. There 
we found Joe Harper and Ben Rogers, and two or 
three more of the boys, waiting for us. We untied a 
boat and pulled down the river, two miles, to the 
big scar on the hillside, and went ashore. 

We went to a clump of bushes. Tom stopped there 
and made everybody swear to keep secret. Then he 
showed them a hole in the hill, right in the thickest 
part of the bushes. We lit some candles that Tom 
had brought, and crawled in on our hands and knees. 
We went about two hundred yards, and then the cave 
opened up into a kind of room, all damp and sweaty 
and cold. There we stopped, and Tom said: 

"Now, we will 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 the oath on, and read the oath. 
It swore every boy to stick to the band, and never 
to tell any of the secrets. And if any person ever did 
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 or sleep till he had killed them 
and hacked a cross on their breasts, which was the 



OUR gang's bloody oath / 7 

sign of the band. And if anybody in the band told 
the secrets, he must have his throat cut and have 
his body burnt up and the ashes scattered all around. 
And his name would be blotted off the list with blood, 
and never mentioned again by the gang. 

Everybody said it was a beautiful oath. Tom said 
he got it out of pirate-books and robber-books. He 
said every gang that was high-toned had that kind 
of oath. 

Some thought we ought to kill the family of any 
boy that told the secrets. Tom said that was a good 
idea. He took a pencil and wrote it into the oath. 
Then Ben Rogers said: 

"Here's Huck Finn — he hasn't got a family. What 
you going to do about him?" 

"Well, hasn't he got a father?" said Tom Sawyer. 

"Yes, but you can't ever find him these days. He 
used to be always around somewhere drunk. But he 
hasn't been seen in these parts for a year or more." 

They talked it over. I thought I was going to be 
ruled out. They said that if everybody didn't have 
a family to kill, it wouldn't be fair and square to 
the boys that did. I was ready to cry. But all at once 
I thought of something. I offered them Miss Watson — 
they could kill her. Everybody said: 

"Oh, she'll do. Huck can come in." 

"Now," said Ben Rogers, "what is the line of busi- 
ness of this Gang?" 

"Nothing, only robbery and murder," Tom said. 

"What are we gonna rob? — houses, or cattle, or — " 

"Stuff! Stealing cattle is not robbery but bur- 
glary," said Tom. "We are not burglars. There's no 
style to that. We are highwaymen. We stop stages 
and carriages on the road, with masks on, and kill 
the people, and take their watches and money." 



8 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

"Must we always kill the people?" 

"Oh, certainly. It will be best to kill them. Except 
some that we bring to the cave here, and keep till 
they are ransomed." 

"Ransomed? What's that?" 

"I don't know, but that's what they do. I've seen 
it in books." 

"But how can we do it, if we don't know what 
it is?" 

"Why, blame it all, we got to do it. They all do 
it. Do you want to go to doing different, 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?" 

"Well, I don't know. Maybe it means that we keep 
them till they are dead." 

"Keep them till they are ransomed to death — eat- 
ing up everything and always trying to get loose!" 

"How you talk, Ben Rogers! How can they get 
loose when we have a guard over them, ready to shoot 
them down if they move a peg?" 

"A guard! So somebody has to stay up all night 
and never get any sleep, just to watch them. I think 
that's foolishness. Why can't we take a club and ran- 
som them as soon as they get here?" 

"Because that's not the way it's done in the books. 
Now, Ben Rogers, do you want to do things in the 
regular way or not?" 

"Oh, all right, I don't mind. Say, do we kill the 
women too?" 

"Kill the women? No; nobody ever saw anything 
in the books like that. You bring them to the cave, 
as polite as pie. And by and by they fall in love with 
you, and never want to go home any more." 



OUR gang's bloody oath / 9 

"Mighty soon the cave will be so cluttered up 
with women, and fellows waiting to be ransomed, 
there won't be any room for the robbers. But go 
ahead, have it your own way." 

Little Tommy Barnes was asleep now. When they 
waked him up he was scared, and cried. He said 









i'tl» .1 



WW o 




10 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

he wanted to go home to his ma, and didn't want 
to be a robber. They all made fun of him, and called 
him a cry-baby. That made him mad, and he said 
he would go straight and tell all the secrets. Tom 
paid him five cents to keep quiet. Then Tom said 
we would all go home and meet next week, and rob 
somebody and kill some people. 

Ben Rogers said he wanted to begin next Sunday. 
He said Sunday was the only day he would be free. 
But all the boys said it would be wicked to rob and 
kill on Sunday, and that settled that. They agreed 
to get together and fix a day as soon as they could. 
They elected Tom Sawyer first captain, and Joe Har- 
per second captain, of the Gang. Then we started 
home. 

I climbed up the shed and crept into my window 
just before daybreak. I had got my new clothes all 
dirty with clay, and I was dog tired. 



We Ambush the Arabs 



I got a good going over in the morning, from 
old Miss Watson, on account of my clothes. But the 
widow didn't scold. She just cleaned off the clay and 
looked so sorry that I thought I would behave a while, 
if I could. 

Then Miss Watson took me into the closet and 
prayed. She told me to pray every day, and whatever 
I asked for I would get. I tried it. Once I got a fish- 
line, but no hooks. The line wasn't any good without 
hooks. I tried for the hooks three or four times, but 
couldn't make it work. One day I asked Miss Watson 
to try for me, but she said I was a fool. 

I went out into the woods and had a long think 
about it. I said to myself: If people can get anything 
they pray for, why can't Deacon Winn get back the 
money he lost on pork? Why can't the widow get back 
her silver snuff-box that somebody took? Why can't 
Miss Watson fat up? I went and asked the widow 
about it. She said all that people could get by praying 
was "spiritual gifts." This was too much for me, so 
she explained what "spiritual gifts" meant. It meant 
that I must help other people and look out for them 
all the time, and never think about myself. 

I went out into the woods and turned that over 
in my mind a long time. I couldn't see any good in 

11 



12 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

it — except for the other people. So I reckoned I 
wouldn't worry about it, just let it go. 

Sometimes the widow would talk to me 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 there must 
be two Providences. A poor chap would stand a good 
chance with the widow's Providence, but if Miss 
Watson's Providence got him, there was no more 
help for him. I reckoned I would belong to the wid- 
ow's Providence, if she wanted me. But I couldn't 
see how her Providence was to be any better off for 
having me, seeing I was so ignorant and so kind of 
lowdown and ornery. 

Well, we played robber now and then about a 
month, and then I quit. All the boys did. We hadn't 
robbed anybody, never killed any people, but only 
just pretended. I couldn't see any profit in it. We used 
to hop out to the woods and go charging down on 
hog drivers and women in carts taking garden stuff 
to market. And one time Tom sent a boy to run about 
town with a blazing stick, which was the sign for 
the Gang to get together. He said he had got secret 
news by his spies that a whole band of Spanish mer- 
chants and rich A-rabs would be camped next day 
in Cave Hollow. They had two hundred elephants 
and six hundred camels and over a thousand pack- 
mules, all loaded with diamonds. They had a guard 
of only four hundred soldiers. He said we must slick 
up our swords and guns and get ready. He would 
never go after even a turnip cart, but he must have 
the swords and guns all scoured up for it. 

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. 



WE AMBUSH THE ARABS / 13 

We all hid near where the camels and elephants 
would pass. When we got the word, we rushed out 
of the woods and down the hill. But I didn't see any 
camels or elephants, nor even any Spaniards or 
Arabs. It was nothing but a Sunday School picnic, 
and only a primer class at that. 

We busted it up, and chased the children up the 
hollow. We got some doughnuts and jam. Ben Rogers 
picked up a rag doll, and Joe Harper got a song book. 
Then the teacher charged in, and made us drop 
everything and run. 




14 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

I didn't see any diamonds, and I told Tom Sawyer 
so. He said there were loads of them there — and 
Arabs and elephants, too. I said why couldn't we see 
them, then? He said magicians had turned the whole 
thing into an infant Sunday School, just to spite us. 
I said: 

"Then the thing for us to do now is to go after 
the magicians." 

"Huck Finn, you are a numskull. Why, a magi- 
cian would call up a lot of genies, and they would 
hash you up before you could say Jack Robinson. 
They are as tall as a tree and as big around as a 
church." 

"Well," I said, "suppose we got some genies to 
help us. Couldn't we lick the other crowd then?" 

"How are you going to get them?" 

"I don't know. How did they get them?" 

"They rub an old tin lamp or an iron ring. Then 
the genies come tearing in, with thunder and light- 
ning ripping around and smoke rolling everywhere. 
Then they do everything you tell them to do. They 
think nothing of pulling up a shot-tower by the roots, 
and belting a Sunday School superintendent over the 
head with it." 

"Who makes them tear around so?" 

"Why, they belong to whoever rubs the lamp or 
the ring. They have got to do whatever he says. 
Maybe build a palace forty miles long out of dia- 
monds, and fill it full of chewing gum. Maybe fetch 
an emperor's daughter from China for you to marry. 
And they have got to do it before sun-up next morn- 
ing, too. And more: they have got to waltz that palace 
around over the country, wherever you want it." 

I said, "I think they are a pack of flatheads for 
not keeping the palace themselves. And what is 



WE AMBUSH THE ARABS / 15 

more — I'd see a man in Jericho before I'd drop my 
business and come to him, for the rubbing of an old 
tin lamp." 

"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'd make 
that man climb the highest tree in the country when 
I got there." 

"Shucks, Huck Finn. You don't seem to know 
anything — a perfect saphead." 

I thought all this over for two or three days. Then 
I decided I would see if there was anything in it. I 
got an old tin lamp and an iron ring. I went out in 
the woods and rubbed till I sweated like an Injun, 
thinking to build a palace and sell it. But it was no 
use. None of the genies would come. 



4 



Pap Comes Back 



Pap hadn't been seen for more than a year, and 
that was all right with me. I didn't ever want to see 
him again. He always whaled me when he was sober 
and could get his hands on me. I used to take to the 
woods when he was around. 

One day a body was found in the river, drowned, 
about twelve miles above St. Petersburg. People said 
the body was just Pap's size, had long hair, and wore 
ragged clothes. They thought it was Pap, though they 
couldn't tell by the face, because it had been in the 
water so long it wasn't much like a face at all. But 
I wasn't so sure. I thought the old man would turn 
up again by and by, but I wished he wouldn't. 

Three or four months went along. It was well 
into the winter now. I had been to school most of 
the time. I had learned to spell and read and write 
a little. I could say the multiplication table up to 
six times seven is thirty-five. At first I hated the 
school, but by and by I got so I could stand it. When- 
ever I got too tired of it I played hookey. The hiding 
I got next day was good for me, and cheered me up. 
So the longer I went to school, the easier it got to 
be for me. 

One morning there was an inch of snow on the 
ground. Down by the garden I saw some tracks. 

16 



PAP COMES BACK / 17 

Somebody had stood around there a while, and then 
gone on around the garden fence. I didn't need any- 
body to tell me who had made the tracks. 

That night when I lit my candle and went up 
to my room, there was Pap, tilted back in a chair, 
quite at home. I used to be scared of him all the 
time, he tanned me so much. But now, after the first 
jolt, I wasn't scared worth bothering about. 

His hair was long and greasy, and hung down 
over his eyes like vines. His face, where it showed 
above his black whiskers, was white — a tree-toad 
white, a fishbelly white. As for his clothes — just rags. 
He had one ankle resting on the other knee. The 
shoe on that foot was busted, and two of his toes 
stuck through. His hat was on the floor — an old black 
slouch with the top caved in. 

I stood looking at him; he kept still, his chair 
tilted back a little. I set the candle down. I noticed 
the window was up; so he had climbed in by the 
shed roof. He kept looking me all over. By and by 
he said: 

"Starchy clothes — very. You think you are a good 
deal of a big-bug, don't you?" 

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not," I said. 

"Don't give me none of your lip. I'll take you 
down a peg before I get done with you. You are edu- 
cated, too, they say — can read and write. Who told 
you you might meddle with such hifalutin' foolish- 
ness, hey? — who told you you could?" 

"The widow. She told me." 

"The widow, hey? Well, I'll show her how to med- 
dle. And looky here — you drop that school. You hear? 
Bringing up a boy to put on airs over his own father. 
None of your family could read and write. J can't. 
And here you go swelling yourself up like this. I ain't 



18 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 




PAP COMES BACK / 19 

the man to stand it — you hear? Say, lemme hear you 
read." 

I took up a book and started to read. When I had 
read about half a minute, he gave the book a whack 
with his hand and knocked it across the room. 

"It was so," he said; "you can do it. Now looky 
here; you stop that putting on frills. I'll lay for you, 
my smarty, and if I catch you about that school, I'll 
tan you good." 

He kept on mumbling and growling a minute, 
and then he said: 

"Ain't you a sweet-scented dandy, though? A bed, 
and bed-clothes, and a lookin'-glass, and a piece of 
carpet on the floor. And your own father got to sleep 
in the tanyard. I'll take some of the frills out of you 
before I'm done with you. They say you are rich. 
Hey?— how about that?" 

"They lie— that's how." 

"Looky here — I am a-standin' about all I can — 
so don't gimme no sass. I have been in town two 
days, and I ain't heard nothing but about you bein' 
rich. I heard about it away down the river, too. That's 
why I'm here. You get me that money tomorrow — I 
want it. Say, how much you got in your pocket?" 

"I got only a dollar, and I want that to — " 

"Makes no difference what you want it for — you 
just shell it out." 

He took it and said he was going down town to 
get some whiskey. When he was out the window on 
the shed roof, he put his head in again and cussed 
me for putting on frills. He said he'd lay for me and 
lick me, if I didn't drop that school. 

Next day he was drunk. He went to Judge 
Thatcher and tried to make him give up the six thou- 
sand dollars, but the judge wouldn't. Then Pap went 



20 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

for Judge Thatcher in court, to make him give up 
that money. Pap went for me, too, for not stopping 
school. He caught me a couple of times and thrashed 
me. But I went to school just the same. I dodged him 
or outran him most of the time. I hadn't wanted to 
go to school before, but I went now to spite him. 

Then Judge Thatcher and the Widow Douglas 
went to court to get the law to make one of them 
my guardian. But the case was brought before a new 
judge that had just come to town, and he didn't know 
Pap. He said courts mustn't interfere and separate 
families if they could help it — said he would rather 
not take a child away from its father. 

That pleased Pap. He caught me and said he 
would cowhide me till I was black and blue if I didn't 
raise some money for him. I borrowed three dollars 
from Judge Thatcher. Pap took it and got drunk 
again, and went blowing around cussing and whoop- 
ing and carrying on all over town, until about mid- 
night. Then they jailed him again for a week. But 
he said he was satisfied, said he was boss of his son, 
and was going to make it warm for him. 

When Pap got out of jail, the new judge said he 
was going to make a man of him. He took Pap into 
his own house, dressed him up clean, and had him 
to breakfast, dinner and supper, with the family. Af- 
ter supper the judge talked to Pap about stopping 
his drinking. Pap cried and said he had been a fool 
and had fooled away his life. Now he was going to 
turn over a new leaf. He would be a man that nobody 
would be ashamed of. He said he had always been 
misunderstood, that what a man wanted when he 
was down and out, was sympathy. 

The judge said he believed him, and the judge's 
wife cried over Pap. Then the old man signed a 



PAP COMES BACK / 21 

pledge — made his mark. They tucked him into a 
beautiful room, the spare room. 

In the night he got powerful thirsty, and climbed 
out on the porch roof, and slid down to the ground. 
He went and traded his new coat for a jug of whiskey, 
and then climbed back up into the bedroom. Toward 
daylight he crawled out again, drunk as a fiddler, 
and rolled off the porch to the ground. He broke his 
left arm in two places and almost froze to death be- 
fore somebody found him after sun-up. 

The judge said maybe a body could reform the 
old man with a shotgun, but he didn't really know 
any other way. 



J Fool Pap and Get Away 



That law trial was a slow business. So every now 
and then I would borrow two or three dollars from 
Judge Thatcher and give it to Pap, to keep from get- 
ting a thrashing. Every time I let him have money 
he got drunk. And every time he got drunk, he raised 
cain around town and got jailed. This just suited him 
fine. 

He kept hanging around the widow's house, 
where I lived, until she told him if he didn't stay 
away she would make trouble for him. Well, wasn't 
he mad! He said he'd show who was Huck Finn's 
boss. So he watched out for me one day in the spring, 
and caught me, and took me up the river, about three 
miles, in a boat. We crossed over to the Illinois shore, 
where there was 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. 

We lived in that old cabin and fished and hunted 
for a living. Every few days he locked me in, and 
went to the store at the ferry, three miles below. At 
the store he traded fish and game for whiskey, and 
then got drunk and licked me. 

The widow 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 a gun. 

22 



I FOOL PAP AND GET AWAY / 23 

Two months or more went along. I got used to 
the place, and liked it — all but the thrashing part. 
It was kind of lazy and jolly to fish and hunt all day, 
no books nor study. I didn't have to wash and comb 
up. Nor go to bed and get up regular. Nor eat on a 
plate and have old Miss Watson pecking at me all 
the time. I got so I didn't want to go back. It was 
pretty good times in the woods. 

But by and by Pap got too handy with his hickory. 
I was all over welts. He got to going away so much, 
too, and leaving me locked in. Once he locked me 
in and was gone three days. I was scared. I made 
up my mind I would fix up some way to leave there. 

There wasn't a window big enough for a dog to 
get through. The door was thick, solid oak slabs. I 
found an old rusty wood-saw stuck in between a 
rafter and the roof. One day when Pap was away, I 
greased it and got it ready for use. An old horse-blan- 
ket was nailed against the logs at the far end of the 
cabin, behind the table. This was to keep the wind 
from blowing through the chinks and putting the 
candle out. I got under the table and raised the blan- 
ket, and went to work to saw a hole through the big 
bottom log. It was a good long job, but I was getting 
toward the end of it when I heard Pap's gun in the 
woods. I dropped the blanket and hid my saw. Pretty 
soon Pap opened the door. 

He wasn't in a good humor — so he was his natu- 
ral self. He said he had been down town and every- 
thing there was going wrong. His lawyer had said 
he could win the lawsuit and get the money, if they 
ever got started on the trial. But Judge Thatcher 
would know how to keep putting it off. And he said 
people thought there'd be another trial to get me 
away from Pap and give me to the widow, and they 



24 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

guessed it would win this time. This news shook me 
up. I didn't want to go back to the widow's and live 
so "sivilized," as they called it. 

Then the old man got to cussing. He cussed ev- 
erybody he could think of, and then cussed them all 
over again to make sure he hadn't skipped any. He 
said he'd like to see the widow get me. He said there 
was a place six or seven miles off that he could stow 
me in, and they might hunt till they dropped and 
they couldn't find me. 

That made me pretty uneasy again. I wouldn't 
stay on hand till he got that chance. 

The old man made me go to the skiff* and bring 
in the things he had brought. There was a fifty-pound 
sack of corn meal, and a side of bacon, ammunition, 
and a four-gallon jug of whiskey. I toted all the things 
up to the cabin. The old man took a swig or two 
and went to ripping again. Whenever his liquor had 
begun to work he always went for the government. 
This time he says: 

"Call this a gov'ment! Here's the law a-standin' 
ready to take a man's son away from him. Yes, just 
as I have got him raised and ready to go to work 
for me, and give me a rest. The law takes a man 
like me — worth six thousand dollars, and jams him 
into an old cabin like this — and lets him go round 
in clothes not fit for a hog. They call that gov'ment! 
Sometimes I've a mighty notion to leave the country 
for good and all. Yes, and I told old Thatcher so to 
his face. Lots of people heard me. I said, Tor two 
cents I would leave the blamed country and never 
come a-near it again.' 

"Oh, yes, this is a wonderful gov'ment, wonder- 
ful. Why, looky here. There was a free Negro there 
* A light boat. 



I FOOL PAP AND GET AWAY / 25 

from Ohio, almost as white as a white man. And 
there ain't a man in that town that has got as fine 
clothes as he had — a gold watch and chain, and a 
silver-headed cane. And what do you think? They 
said he was a professor in a college, and could talk 
all kinds of languages. And that ain't the worst. They 
said he could vote when he was at home. Right then 
I says, 'I'll never vote again!' They all heard me. And 
the country may rot for all me — I'll never vote again 
as long as I live — " 

Pap was going on so, he never noticed where 
his old limber legs took him. So he went head over 
heels over the tub of salt pork, and barked both his 
shins. The rest of his speech was the hottest kind 
of language. He hopped around the cabin, first on 
one leg and then on the other, holding first one shin 
and then the other. Then he let out with his left foot 
all of a sudden and gives the tub a rattling kick. But 
that was the boot that had a couple of his toes leaking 
out the front end of it. He raised a howl, and down 
he went and rolled there and held his toes. And the 
cussing was hotter than any he had ever done before. 

"Well, don't stand there all day," Pap said. "Out 
with you and see if you find any fish on the lines. 
I'll be along in a minute." 

I cleared out up the river bank. I noticed some 
tree limbs floating down and a sprinkling of bark. 
The river was beginning to come up. I could have 
a great time now over at the town. With the June 
rise, cordwood would come floating down, and pieces 
of log rafts — sometimes a dozen logs together. All 
you had to do was to catch them and sell them to 
the wood-yards and the saw mills. 

I went along up the bank, with one eye out for 
Pap and the other out for what the river might bring 



26 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 




along. Well, all at once here comes a canoe, a beauty, 
about fifteen feet long, riding high like a duck. I shot 
head first off the bank like a frog, and struck out 
for the canoe. 

I climbed in and paddled her ashore. Fd just hide 
her, and when I was ready to run away, instead of 



I FOOL PAP AND GET AWAY / 27 

taking to the woods, I would go down the river. I 
rowed her into a little creek all hung over with vines 
and willows, and left her there. 

Pretty soon Pap comes out, and we go along the 
bank, looking at the river. It was coming up pretty 
fast, with lots of driftwood going down. By and by 
along comes part of a log raft — nine logs fast to- 
gether. We went out with the skiff and towed it 
ashore. Right away he must shove right over to St. 
Petersburg and sell. So he locked me in, and took 
the boat, and started off, towing the raft. 

Then I out with my saw and went to work on 
that log again. Before he was on the other side of 
the river, I was out of the hole. I took some corn 
meal and bacon and coffee and sugar, and put it in 
the canoe. Then I took two blankets, the skillet and 
the coffee-pot. I took fish-lines and matches and can- 
dles, and other things — everything that was worth 
a cent. I cleaned out the place. I wore the ground a 
good deal, crawling through and dragging out so 
many things. But I scattered dust over the ground 
and put the piece of log back in its place. If you stood 
a few feet away, you wouldn't even notice a thing. 

It was all grass clear to the canoe, so I hadn't 
left a track. Then I got the gun and went up a piece 
into the woods and shot a wild pig. I took this fellow 
back to the cabin and smashed the door in with the 
ax. Then I took the pig inside, hacked into his throat 
with the ax, and laid him down to bleed; 

Well, next I took an old sack and put a lot of 
big rocks in it — all I could drag — and started it from 
the pig and dragged it down to the river. You could 
see plain enough that something had been dragged 
over the ground. I dumped it in the river, and down 
it went out of sight. 



28 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

Last I pulled out some of my hair, stuck it on 
the bloody ax, and slung the ax into a corner. Then 
I took up the pig and held him so he wouldn't drip 
till I got a good piece below the house, and then 
dumped him in. 

"All right," I thought, "now they will think my 
dead body is in the river. I can stop anywhere. Jack- 
son's Island is good enough for me. I know that island 
pretty well, and nobody ever goes there. Then I can 
paddle over to town nights, and slink around and 
pick up things I want. Jackson's Island is the place." 

I went to the canoe. It was night now, but the 
moon was so bright I could count the drift logs that 
went slipping along, black and still. The river looked 
miles and miles across. 

I went spinning down the stream in the shade 
of the bank, for about two miles. Then I struck out 
toward the middle of the river. Pretty soon I would 
be passing the ferry landing, and people might see 
me and hail me. I could hear people talking at the 
ferry landing; then the talk got further and further 
off, as I went on below the ferry. About two miles 
down stream, there was Jackson's Island, standing 
in the middle of the river, big and dark and solid. 

It didn't take me long to get there. I shot past 
the head at a ripping rate, the current was so swift. 
Then I got into the dead water and landed on the 
side toward the Illinois shore. I parted the willows 
and pushed the canoe into a deep dent in the bank. 
Then I landed and made fast the canoe. 

First I went up to the head of the island and 
looked out on the big river. Three or four lights 
winked over in St. Petersburg, two or three miles 
away. Then I went into the woods and stretched out 
for a nap before breakfast. 



sQ) J Spare Miss Watson's Jim 



The sun was up high when I waked, but I just 
stayed there in the grass and the cool shade, feeling 
lazy and rested. A couple of squirrels on a limb jab- 
bered at me very friendly. 

I was dozing off again when I heard a deep sound 
of "Boom!" away up the river. I roused up and rested 
on my elbow to listen. Pretty soon I heard it again. 
I hopped up and went and looked out at a hole in 
the leaves. A bunch of smoke was resting on the wa- 
ter a long way up — about abreast of the ferry. And 
there was the ferry boat, full of people. "Boom!" The 
white smoke squirted out of the ferry boat's side. 
Then I understood what was the matter. They fired 
a cannon over the water to make my dead body come 
to the top. 

I was pretty hungry, but it wouldn't do to start 
a fire. They might see the smoke. So I stayed there 
and watched the cannon smoke, and listened to the 
boom. The river was a mile wide, and it always 
looked pretty on a summer morning. I was having 
a good time seeing them hunt for my body, if only 
I had a bite to eat. The ferry boat was floating with 
the current. By and by she drifted in so close to the 
island I could see everybody on the boat, Pap and 
Judge Thatcher and Joe Harper and Tom Sawyer 
and his Aunt Polly and his brother Sid, and plenty 
more. 



29 



30 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

Everybody was talking about the murder. The 
captain spoke up: 

"Look sharp now. The current sets in the closest 
here. Maybe he has washed ashore and got tangled 
among the brush at the water's edge. I hope so." 

I didn't hope so. They all crowded up and leaned 
over the rails, nearly in my face. I could see them, 
but they couldn't see me. The boat floated on, and 
went out of sight around the island. I could hear 
the booming now and then, farther and farther off. 

Now I was all right. Nobody would come hunting 
after me. I got my traps out of the canoe and set 
up camp in the thick woods. I made a kind of tent 
out of my blankets, to put my things under, so the 
rain couldn't get at them. I caught a catfish and hag- 
gled him open with my saw, and toward sunset I 
started my campfire and had supper. Then I set oujt 
a line to catch some fish for breakfast. When it was 







I SPARE MISS WATSON'S JIM / 31 

dark I stayed by my campfire, feeling pretty well 
satisfied. But by and by I got sort of lonesome. So I 
went out to the bank and listened to the water wash- 
ing along, and counted the drift logs coming down. 
Then I went to bed. 

And so for three days and nights. No difference — 
just the same thing. But the next day I went exploring 
through the island. I was boss of it; it all belonged 
to me, so to speak, and I wanted to know all about 
it. I found plenty of strawberries, ripe and good — 
and green grapes and green raspberries and black- 
berries. They would come in handy by and by, I 
judged. 

Well, I went fooling along in the deep woods, 
till I wasn't far from the foot of the island. I had 
my gun but I hadn't shot anything. About this time 
I nearly stepped on a good-sized snake. It went slid- 
ing off through the grass and flowers, and I after 




32 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

it, trying to get a shot at it. All of a sudden, I bounded 
right into the ashes of a campfire, still smoking. 

My heart jumped up amongst my lungs. I went 
sneaking back on my tiptoes as fast as ever I could. 
Every now and then I stopped among the thick leaves 
and listened, but my breath was coming so hard I 
couldn't hear anything else. If I saw a stump, I took 
it for a man. If I trod on a stick and broke it, my 
breath was cut in two, and I only got half, and the 
short half, too. 

When I got to camp, I wasn't feeling very brash. 
There wasn't much sand in my craw. I got all my 
traps into my canoe again, and put out the fire, and 
scattered the ashes around to look like an old last- 
year's camp. Then I climbed a tree. I was up in the 
tree about two hours. But I didn't see anything, didn't 
hear anything. I only thought I heard and saw a 
thousand things. Well, I couldn't stay up there for- 
ever. So at last I got down, but I kept in the thick 
of the woods, and on the lookout all the time. 

I had nothing to eat but what was left over from 
breakfast, and some berries. By the time it was night 
I was pretty hungry. So when it was good and dark 
I slid out from the shore before moonrise and pad- 
dled over to the Illinois bank. There I went out in 
the woods and cooked a supper. I made up my mind 
I would stay there all night. Then I heard a plunhety- 
plunk, plunkety-plunk. I said to myself, horses com- 
ing. Next I heard people's voices. 

I got everything into the canoe as quick as I 
could, shoved out and paddled away. I tied up on 
the island, in the old place, and slept in the canoe. 
I didn't sleep much. Everytime I waked up I thought 
somebody had me by the neck. After a while I saw 
a pale streak over the treetops. Day was coming. I 



I SPARE MISS WATSON'S JIM / 33 

said to myself I can't live this way; I will find out 
who is on this island with me or bust. Well, I felt 
better right off. 

Pretty soon it was light, and I took my gun and 
slipped off toward where I had run across that camp- 
fire, stopping every minute or two to listen. By and 
by, sure enough, I caught a glimpse of a fire, away 
among the trees. I went for it cautious and slow. 
When I was close enough to have a look, I saw a 
man on the ground. He had a blanket around his 
head, and his head was nearly in the fire. I got behind 
a clump of bushes, in about six feet of him, and kept 
my eyes on him. Pretty soon he stretched himself 
and hove off the blanket. It was Miss Watson's Jim! 
I bet I was glad to see him. 

"Hello, Jim!" I said, and skipped out from behind 
the bushes. 

He bounced up and stared at me wild. Then he 
dropped down on his knees and put his hands to- 
gether and says: 

"Don't hurt me — don't! I ain't never done no 
harm to a ghost. I always liked dead people, and done 
all I could for 'em. You go and git in de river again 
whah you belongs." 

I wasn't long making him understand I wasn't 
dead. I was ever so glad to see Jim. I wasn't lonesome 
now. I told him I wasn't afraid of him telling the 
people where I was. I talked along, but he just looked 
at me, never said a thing. Then I said: 

"Let's get breakfast. Make up your campfire." 

"What is de use makin' up de campfire to cook 
strawberries and such truck?" 

"Strawberries and such truck!" I said. "Is that 
what you live on? How long you been on the island, 
Jim?" 



34 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

"I come heah de night after you was killed. I'm 
so hungry I could eat a hoss. But you got a gun. Now 
you kill sumf n, and I'll make up de fire." 

We went over to where the canoe was. While 
he built a fire in a grassy open place amongst the 
trees I fetched the bacon and coffee-pot and frying- 
pan, and sugar and tin cups. When breakfast was 
ready we lolled on the grass to eat it, smoking hot. 
Jim laid it in with all his might, for he was about 
starved. By and by I said: 

"How do you come to be here, Jim; and how'd 
you get here?" 

He looked pretty uneasy and didn't say anything 
for a minute. Then he said: 

"You wouldn't tell on me if I was to tell you, 
would you, Huck?" 

"Blamed if I would, Jim." 

"Well, I — I run off! But mind, you said you 
wouldn't tell." 

"I said I wouldn't, and I'll stick to it. So now, 
tell me all about it." 

"Well, you see, Miss Watson — she always say she 
wouldn't sell me down to Orleans. But I notice a slave 
trader round de place lately, and I begin to get un- 
easy. Den one night I hear Miss Watson tell de Wid- 
der Douglas dat she was about to sell me down to 
Orleans. She said she'd get eight hundred dollars for 
me, and she couldn't give up such a big stack of 
money. I lit out mighty quick. I tuck out up de river 
road. I'd made up my mind about what to do. You 
see, if I tried to get away afoot, de dogs 'ud track 
me. If I stole a skiff, dey'd miss dat skiff and know 
about whah to pick up my tracks on de yuther side. 
So a raft is what I's after. By and by I see a lantern 
light coming down de river. So I wade in and shove 



I SPARE MISS WATSON'S JIM / 35 

a log ahead and swim out in de river. When de raft 
come along I tuck a-hold de back end. De men was 
all in de middle whah de lantern was. So I climb 
up. I reckoned by early daylight. I would be twenty- 
five miles down de river. Den I would swim ashore 
and take to de woods on de Illinois side. But poorty 
soon a man starts to come back wid de lantern. So 
I slid overboard and struck out fer dis island. And 
here I is, nearly starved." 

Some birds flew along, going a yard or two at a 
time, and then lighting. Jim said that was a sign it 
was going to rain. Jim could tell all kinds of signs. 
He said if you count things you are going to cook 
for dinner, you'll have bad luck. And you'll have bad 
luck if you shake the table cloth after sundown. Jim 
said if a man owns a beehive and that man dies, 
the bees must be told about it before sun-up next 
morning. Else the bees will all quit work and die. 

I asked him if he could tell me any good luck 
signs. He said: 

"Mighty few — and dey ain't no use to a body. Why 
you want to know when good luck is comin'? Want 
to keep it off? But I know one good luck sign — if you 
got hairy arms and breast, it's a sign dat you is goin' 
to be rich." 

"Have you got hairy arms and breast, Jim?" 

"What's de use to ax dat question? Don't you see 
I has?" 

"Well, are you rich?" 

"No, but dat won't prove de sign is no good. You 
see, maybe you is got to be po' a long time fust. Yes; 
and I's rich now, come to look at it. I owns myself, 
and I's worth eight hundred dollars. I wisht I had 
de money, I wouldn't want no mo'." 



7 



The House of Death Floats By 



I wanted to go and look at a place near the middle 
of the island that I had found when I was exploring. 
So we started, and soon got to it. The island was only 
three miles long and a quarter of a mile wide. 

The place was a long, steep ridge about forty 
feet high. We tramped and climbed around all over 
it, and by and by we found a good big cave in the 
rock, up near the top. Jim was for putting our traps 
in there right away. So we went back and got the 
canoe and paddled up abreast of the cave. Then we 
lugged all the traps up there. 

The door of the cave was wide, and on one side 
of the door, the floor stuck out a little. We built a 
fire there and cooked dinner. We spread the blankets 
inside for a carpet to eat our dinner on. Pretty soon 
it darkened up and began to thunder and lighten. 
It was one of these regular summer storms. It looked 
all blue black outside and lovely, and the rain 
thrashed along so thick the trees off a little way 
looked dim. And then a perfect ripper of a gust would 
bend the trees down and turn up the pale underside 
of the leaves. Now and then the lightning would flash 
as bright as glory, and the thunder would let go with 
an awful crash and then go rumbling and tumbling 
down the sky. 

36 



THE HOUSE OF DEATH FLOATS BY / 37 

"Jim, this is nice," I said. "I wouldn't want to 
be anywhere else but here. Pass me along another 
hunk of fish and some hot cornbread." 

The river went on rising and rising, for ten or 
twelve days. At last it was over the banks. The water 
was three or four feet deep in the low places on the 
island. Daytimes we paddled all over the island in 
the canoe. We went winding in and out among the 
trees. In some places the vines hung so thick we had 
to back out and go some other way. On every old 
broken-down tree you could see rabbits and snakes 
and such things. And in 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 — but 
not the snakes and turtles — they would slide off into 
the water. The ridge our cave was on was full of 
them. We could have had pets enough, if we had 
wanted them. 

One evening late — we didn't show ourselves in 
broad daylight — we caught a little section of a lum- 
ber-raft, made of nice pine planks. It was twelve foot 
wide and about fifteen foot long, and floated above 
water about six or seven inches — a solid level floor. 
We tied it up to the shore. 

Another time here comes a frame-house floating 
down, tilted away over. We paddled out and got 
aboard — climbed into a room through a window. 
There was a bed in there, and a table, and two old 
chairs, and lots of things scattered about on the 
floor — old greasy cards and whiskey bottles. Every- 
thing was so scattered and tumbled about, we judged 
the people had left in a hurry. There was something 
on the floor over in the far corner, that looked like 
a man. So Jim said: 

"Hello you!" 



38 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

But it didn't move. So I hollered again, and then 
Jim said: 

"De man ain't asleep. You stay here — Lemme go 
see." 

He went, and bent down, and looked. "It is a 
dead man. Been shot in de back. Dead two or three 
days maybe. Keep away — he looks too awful." 

I didn't look. Jim piled some old rags on the body, 
but I wouldn't have looked anyway. Two old dirty 
calico dresses hung against the wall, and a sun-bon- 
net, and some men's clothing, too. We found eight 
dollars in silver, sewed up in the lining of an old 
overcoat. We found an old tin lantern, and a lot of 
tallow candles, and a tin cup, and an old bed quilt, 
and a hatchet, and some nails, and a dog collar, and 
a horseshoe. Just as I was leaving I found a pretty 
good curry comb, and Jim found an old fiddle bow, 
and a wooden leg. The wooden leg was too long for 
me and not long enough for him, and we couldn't 
find the other one, though we hunted all around. We 
put all of it into the canoe — it might come in handy. 

Well, the days went along, and the river went 
down between its banks again. One morning I said 
I would slip over the river and find out what was 
going on. Jim said I must go in the dark and look 
sharp. Then he said couldn't I dress up like a girl? 

So we shortened up one of the calico dresses, 
and I turned my trouser-legs to my knees and got 
into it. I put on the sun-bonnet and tied it under my 
chin. Jim said nobody would know me, even in the 
daytime. 

I started to the shore in the canoe just after dark, 
and the drift of the current fetched me in a little 
below the town. I tied up and started along the bank. 
A light was burning in a little shanty that hadn't 



THE HOUSE OF DEATH FLOATS BY / 39 








been lived in for a long time. I slipped up and peeped 
in at the window. There was a woman about forty 
years old in there, knitting by a candle. She was a 
stranger to me. But if she had been in that little town 
two days, she could tell me all I wanted to know. 

I knocked at the door, and made up my mind I 
wouldn't forget I was a girl. 



Q) They Are After Us! 



"Come in," said the woman, and I did. "Take a 
chair." 

I did. She looked me all over with her little shiny 
eyes, and said, "What might your name be?" 

"Sarah Williams. I live in Hookerville, seven 
miles below. I've walked all the way and I'm all tired 
out." 

"Hungry, too, I reckon. I'll find you something 
to eat." 

"No, I'm not hungry. I stopped two miles below 
here at a farm. My mother is down sick, and out of 
money. She sent me to tell my Uncle Abner Moore. 
He lives at the upper end of the town. Do you know 
him?" 

"No, but I don't know everybody yet. I haven't 
lived here quite two weeks. It's quite a way to the 
upper end of the town. You better stay here all night. 
Take off your bonnet." 

"No," I said, "I'll rest a while, and go on. I'm 
not afraid of the dark." 

She said she wouldn't let me go by myself. Her 
husband would be in by and by, and she would send 
him along with me. Then she got to talking about 
her husband — and about her relations up the river — 
and about her relations down the river — and about 



40 



THEY ARE AFTER US! / 41 

how much better off they used to be — and how they 
had made a mistake coming to this town, instead 
of letting well enough alone — and so on and so on. 

I was afraid I had made a mistake coming to 
her to find out what was going on in the town. But 
by and by she got around to Pap and the murder. 
Then I was pretty willing to let her clatter along. 

She told about me and Tom Sawyer finding the 
twelve thousand dollars (only she got it twenty) — 
and all about Pap, and what a hard lot he was — and 
what a hard lot I was. At last she got down to where 
I was murdered. 

I said, "We heard about it down in Hookerville. 
But we don't know who it was that killed Huck Finn." 

"At first everybody thought old Finn had killed 
him. But before night, they judged it was done by 
a runaway slave named Jim. He run off the very 
night Huck Finn was killed. So there's a reward out 
for him — three hundred dollars. And there's a re- 
ward out for old Finn too — two hundred dollars. You 
see, old Finn went boo-hooing to Judge Thatcher to 
get money to hunt for the murderer. The judge let 
him have some, and old Finn got drunk and went 
off with a couple of mighty hard-looking strangers. 
Well, he hasn't come back, and people think now 
that he killed his boy to get Huck's money. People 
say he wasn't any too good to do it." 

I was so uneasy I couldn't keep still. I had to 
do something with my hands. I took up a needle off 
the table and went to threading it. My hand shook 
and I made a bad job of it. 

"But you can't prove anything on old Finn, you 
know. If he stays away for a year, everything will 
be quieted down then, and he'll walk right into 
Huck's money." 



42 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

"Has everybody quit thinking the runaway slave 
killed him?" 

"Oh, no, a good many think he did. They'll get 
him pretty soon now, and maybe they can scare the 
truth out of him. I don't think he's far from here — 
but I'm not talking it around. I've seen smoke over 
on Jackson's Island. So I think that slave is hiding 
over there. My husband is going over to see. He and 
another man went up town to get a boat and borrow 
another gun. They'll go over tonight. Three hundred 
dollars is a lot of money to pick up." 

The woman kept looking at me, and I didn't feel 
a bit easy. Pretty soon she said: 

"What did you say your name was, honey?" 

"M-Mary Williams." 

"Honey, I thought you said it was Sarah." 

"Oh, yes, I did. Sarah Mary Williams. Sarah is 
my first name. Some call me Sarah, some call me 
Mary." 

"Oh, that is the way of it?" 

"Yes." I was feeling better, but I couldn't look 
up yet. Then the woman fell to talking about the 
rats being as free as if they owned the place. She 
was right. You would see one stick his nose out of 
a hole in the corner every little while. She said she 
had to have things handy to throw at them. She 
handed me a bar of lead twisted up into a knot, and 
told me to try for one. Well, the next time a rat 
showed his nose, I let drive. If he had stayed where 
he was, he'd have been a mighty sick rat. 

She said that was first-rate, and I would get the 
next one. She went and got the bar of lead. "You 
better have this in your lap, handy," she said. She 
dropped the bar into my lap, and I clapped my legs 
together to catch it. 



THEY ARE AFTER US! / 43 



... 




TT 


J 1 


1 


l« « % • 


". .- " 


2 


llll.Ml.UK >xx . . 




,r - P .■■ yV 


-ft 




\"£r 




-II 




Then she looked me straight in the face, very 
pleasant and said: "Come, now, what is your real 
name? Is it Bill, or Tom, or Bob— or what is it?" 

I shook like a leaf. I didn't know what to do, but 



44 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

I said, "Please don't poke fun at a poor girl like me. 
If I'm in the way here, I'll—" 

"Stay where you are. Bless you, child, I wouldn't 
tell on you. You must trust me, and I'll help you. 
So will my old man, if you want him to. You've run 
away from somebody that treated you bad. Tell me 
all about it now, like a good boy." 

So I said I would just make a clean breast and 
tell her everything. I told her I was an orphan, and 
the law had bound me out to a mean old farmer, 
thirty miles back from the river. He treated me so 
bad I stole some of his daughter's clothes and cleared 
out. I was going to my Uncle Abner Moore. 

"Hold on a minute. I'll put you up a snack to 
eat. You might want it." 

So she put me up a snack, and said: "Say, when 
a cow is down on the ground, which end of her gets 
up first? Answer up now — don't stop to study over 
it. Which end gets up first?" 

"The hind end." 

"Well, then, a horse?" 

"The forward end, mum." 

"Which side of a tree does the moss grow on?" 

"North side." 

"When fifteen cows browse on a hillside, how 
many of them eat with their heads pointed in the 
same direction?" 

"The whole fifteen, mum." 

"Well, I reckon you have lived in the country. I 
thought you might be trying to hocus me again. What 
is your real name, now?" 

"George Peters, mum." 

"Well, try to remember it, George. And don't go 
around women in that old calico dress. You might 
fool men, maybe, but not women. And bless you, 



THEY ARE AFTER US! / 45 

child, when you set out to thread a needle, don't hold 
the thread still and bring the needle up to the thread. 
Hold the needle still and poke the thread at it. That 
is the way a woman does it, but a man always does 
it the other way. And when you throw at a rat or 
anything, fetch your hand up over your head and 
throw stiff-armed from the shoulder, like a girl, and 
miss your rat by six or seven feet. Don't throw from 
the wrist and elbow with your arm out to one side, 
like a boy. And, mind you, when a girl tries to catch 
anything in her lap, she throws her knees apart. So 
don't clap your knees together the way you did when 
you caught the lump of lead. Why, I spotted you for 
a boy when you threaded the needle, and I tried the 
other things on you just to make certain. Now trot 
along to your uncle, Sarah Mary Williams George 
Peters. And if you get into trouble send word to Mrs. 
Judith Loftus, which is me, and I will do what I can 
to get you out." 

I slipped back to where my canoe was, a good 
piece below the house. I jumped in and was off in 
a hurry. I landed and slopped through the timber 
and up the ridge and into the cave. There Jim was, 
sound asleep on the ground. 

"Get up and hump yourself, Jim! There's not a 
minute to lose. They are after us!" 

Jim asked no questions, he didn't say a word. 
But the way he worked for the next half hour showed 
how he was scared. By that time everything we had 
in the world was on our raft. I paddled the canoe 
out from the shore a little piece, and took a look 
around. If there was a boat anywhere about, I 
couldn't see it. Then we got out the raft and slipped 
along down the banks, past the foot of the island, 
keeping dead still, never saying a word. 



Honest Loot from the Fields 



It must have been after midnight when we got 
below the island at last. The raft seemed to go mighty 
slow. We planned, if we saw a boat coming after 
us, to take the canoe and break for the Illinois shore. 
It was well a boat didn't come. We hadn't thought 
to put the gun in the canoe, or a fishing line, or any- 
thing to eat. We had been in too much of a sweat 
to think of so many things. It wasn't good judgment 
to put everything on the raft. 

When the first streak of day showed, we tied to 
a towhead on the Illinois side. A towhead is a sand- 
bar with cottonwoods on it as thick as harrow teeth. 
We hacked off some branches with the hatchet, and 
covered up the raft with them. We stayed there all 
day. The channel at that place was down the Mis- 
souri shore. We watched the rafts and steamboats 
spin down the Missouri shore and the up-bound 
steamboats fight the big river in the middle. 

That evening, when it was beginning to come 
on dark, we poked our heads out of the cottonwood 
thicket, and looked up and down and across. Nothing 
in sight. So Jim took up some of the top planks of 
the raft and built a snug wigwam to get under when 
the weather was blazing hot or rainy. Right in the 
middle of the floor of the wigwam we put a layer 

46 



HONEST LOOT FROM THE FIELDS / 47 

of dirt about five or six inches deep, with a frame 
around it to hold the dirt in place. This was to build 
a fire on, in sloppy or chilly weather. 

We made an extra steering oar, too. One of the 
others might get broken or lost. We fixed up a short 
forked stick to hang the old lantern on. We must 
always show a light when a steamboat was coming, 
to keep from being run over. 

That night we floated between seven and eight 
hours, with a current that was making over four 
miles an hour. We caught fish and talked, and took 
a swim now and then to keep off sleepiness. It was 
kind of solemn, drifting down the big still river, look- 
ing up at the stars. We didn't talk loud, and when 
we laughed it was only a low chuckle. 

We traveled during the night and hid in the day- 
time. We had mighty good weather, and nothing hap- 
pened that night, nor the next, nor the next. Every 
night we passed towns, some of them away up on 
black hillsides, nothing but just a shiny bed of lights. 
One night we passed St. Louis, and it was like the 
whole world lit up. 

As soon as daylight showed, we stopped and tied 
up. Then we cut young cottonwoods and willows and 
hid the raft, and set out the fishing lines. Next we 
slid into the river and had a swim, to freshen up 
and cool off. Then we rested on the sandy bottom 
where the water was about knee-deep, and watched 
the daylight come. Not a sound anywhere — the whole 
world asleep — only maybe sometimes the bullfrogs 
a-cluttering. 

Soon as it was night, out we shoved. When we 
got the raft out to about the middle of the river we 
let her float wherever the current wanted her to. 
Then we dangled our legs in the water, and talked 



48 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

about all kinds of things. We stayed naked, day and 
night, whenever the mosquitoes would let us. It was 
lovely, living on a raft. We had the sky up there, 
all speckled with stars. We would look up at them 
and talk about whether they had been made or only 
just happened. Jim said he thought they had been 
made. I said they had happened — it would take too 
long to make so many. Jim said the moon could have 
laid them. That looked reasonable. I have seen a 
frog lay almost as many, so it could be done. We 
liked to see falling stars come streaking down. Jim 
said maybe they had got spoiled and had to be hove 
out of the nest. 

Every now and then I would slip ashore toward 
ten o'clock, at some little village, and buy ten or fif- 
teen cents worth of meal or bacon or other stuff. 
Sometimes I lifted a chicken that wasn't roosting 
comfortable, and took him along. Pap always said, 
"Take a chicken when you get a chance, because 
if you don't want him yourself, you can find some- 
body that does." But I never saw Pap when he didn't 
want the chicken himself. 




HONEST LOOT FROM THE FIELDS / 49 




50 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

Mornings before daylight, I slipped into corn 
fields and borrowed a watermelon, or some new corn, 
or things of that kind. Pap always said it was no 
harm to borrow things if you meant to pay them 
back sometime. But the widow said it was a soft 
name for stealing, and no decent body would do it. 
Jim said he reckoned the widow was partly right 
and Pap was partly right. The best way would be 
for us to pick out two or three things and say we 
wouldn't borrow them anymore. We tried to make 
up our minds whether to stop borrowing water- 
melons or cantaloupes or mushmelons, or what. We 
decided to stop borrowing crabapples and persim- 
mons. I was glad we got it settled this way. Crabap- 
ples never are very good, and persimmons wouldn't 
be ripe for two or three months yet. 

We shot a water-fowl now and then, that got up 
too early in the morning or didn't go to bed early 
enough in the evening. Take it all round, we lived 
pretty high. 

One night we had a big storm after midnight, 
with a power of thunder and lightning. The rain 
poured down in a solid sheet. We stayed in the wig- 
wam and let the raft take care of itself. When the 
lightning glared out, we could see a big straight river 
ahead and high rocky bluffs on both sides. By and 
by I said: 

"Jim, looky yonder!" 

It was a steamboat that had killed herself on a 
rock. The lightning showed her very plain. She was 
leaning over, with part of her upper deck poking 
up above water. 

"Let's land on her, Jim." 

But Jim was dead against it at first. "I don't want 
to go foolin' round no wreck." 



HONEST LOOT FROM THE FIELDS / 51 

"We might borrow something worth having out 
of the captain's stateroom. Cigars, I bet you — and cost 
five cents apiece. Stick a candle in your pocket. I 
can't rest, Jim, till we give her a going over. Tom 
Sawyer would never go by this wreck. He'd go aboard 
it if it was his last act. And wouldn't he throw style 
into it — wouldn't he spread himself. Why, you'd 
think he was Christopher Columbus discovering 
Kingdom Come!" 

Jim grumbled, and then agreed to go. The light- 
ning showed us the wreck again, just in time. We 
went up to it, and made fast. 



Honest Loot from the 
Walter Scott 



We sneaked aboard, feeling the way with our 
feet and spreading our hands out before us. Pretty 
soon, by jiminy, away down through the hall we saw 
a light. In the same second we heard low voices. 

Jim whispered that he was feeling sick, and for 
me to come away. Just then I heard a voice wail 
out: 

"Oh, please don't, boys, I swear I won't ever tell!" 

Another voice spoke, pretty loud: "You always 
want more than your share. And you always got it, 
too; because you promised if you didn't you'd tell. 
But this time you have said it one time too many. 
You are the meanest hound in this country." 

In a minute Jim was gone for the raft. But I said 
to myself, "Tom Sawyer wouldn't back out now, and 
I won't either." So I dropped on my hands and knees, 
and crept along until I saw a man stretched on the 
floor, and two men standing over him. One of them 
had a dim lantern in his hand. The other one had 
a pistol pointed at the man's head on the floor. He 
was saying: 

"I'd like to! And I ought to — a mean skunk!" 

The man on the floor would shrivel up and say, 
"Oh, please don't, Bill. I won't ever tell!" 

" 'Deed you won't! You never said a truer thing 
than that. Hear him beg! And yet if we hadn't got 
the best of him and tied him up, he'd have killed 
us both." 



52 



HONEST LOOT FROM THE WALTER SCOTT / 53 

"Put up that pistol, Bill," said the man with the 
lantern. "I don't want him killed, and I have my 
reasons for it." 

"Bless your heart, Jake Packard!" said the man 
on the floor, sort of blubbering. "I'll never forget you 
long as I live!" 

Packard didn't take any notice of that. He hung 
up his lantern on a nail, and motioned Bill to follow 
him. They started toward where I was, there in the 
dark. I crawfished as fast as I could, and crawled 
into a stateroom. I heard the men coming, pawing 
along through the dark. 

"Here — come in here," said Packard. 

And in they stepped. But before they got in I was 
in the upper berth, cornered, and sorry I had come. 
They stood there with their hands on the edge of 
the berth and talked, low and earnest. Bill wanted 
to kill the man. 

"He has said he'll tell, and he will — he'll turn 
state's evidence. I say put him out of his troubles." 

"So do I," said Packard, very quiet. 

"Well, then, let's go and do it." 

"Hold on a minute. You listen to me. It won't 
be more than two hours before this wreck breaks 
up and washes off down the river. See? He will be 
drowned and nobody to blame for it but himself. That 
way is just as good, and brings no risk of a halter 
for us." 

"All right, then. Come along." 

So they left and I crawled out of there all in a 
cold sweat. It was dark as pitch out on deck. I said 
in a coarse whisper, "Jim." He answered up, right 
at my elbow, with a sort of moan. 

"Quick, Jim, there's a gang of murderers in yon- 
der. We must hunt up their boat and set her drifting 



54 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

down the river. Then the sheriff can get all of them. 
Quick— hurry! I'll hunt this side, you hunt that. Start 
at the raft, and — " 

"Oh, my lordy, lordy! Dey ain't no raft. She done 
broke loose and gone!" 

I caught my breath and almost fainted. Shut up 
on a wreck with such a gang of murderers! We had 
to find their boat now — had to have it for ourselves. 
So we went quaking and shaking along until we got 
to the stern. No sign of a boat. Jim said he couldn't 
go any farther, he was so scared he had no strength 
left. But I said: 

"Come on. If we get left on this wreck, we are 
in a fix, sure." 

So on we prowled again. When we got pretty 
close to the cross-hall door, there was their skiff! In 
another second I'd have been aboard her, but just 
then the door opened. One of the men stuck his head 




HONEST LOOT FROM THE WALTER SCOTT / 55 

out only a couple of feet from me. He flung a bag 
of something into the boat, and then got in himself. 
It was Packard. Then Bill walked out and got in. 
Packard said in a low voice: 

"All ready— shove off!" 

"Hold on," Bill said. "Did you search him?" 

"No. Didn't you?" 

"No. So he has his share of the cash yet. Come 
along — no use to take truck and leave money." 

So they got out and went back inside. In half a 
second I was in the boat, and Jim tumbled in after 
me. I out with my knife and cut the rope, and away 
we went! 

We didn't touch an oar, and we didn't speak nor 
whisper. We went gliding along, dead silent, past 
the wreck. In a minute or two more the boat was a 
hundred yards below the wreck, and darkness soaked 
her up. 




56 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

Then Jim manned the oars, and we took out after 
our raft. Now I was worried about the men. I thought 
how dreadful it was, even for murderers, to be in 
such a fix. No telling, I might come to be a murderer 
myself yet, and then how would I like it? So I said 
to Jim: 

"The first light we see, we'll land a hundred 
yards above or below, and find a good hiding place 
for you and the boat. I'll go find somebody to get 
that gang out of their scrape. Then they can be hung 
when their time comes." 

Pretty soon it began to storm again. The rain 
poured down. We boomed along down the river, 
watching for lights and for our raft. By and by a 
lightning flash showed us a black thing floating 
ahead, and we made for it. 

It was the raft, and we got aboard again, mighty 
glad. Then we saw a light on shore, away down to 
the right. So I said I'd go for it in the skiff. I told 
Jim to float along on the raft, and keep a light burn- 
ing, till I got back. The skiff was half full of plunder 
that the gang had taken from the wreck. We hustled 
it on the raft in a pile. Then I took the skiff and 
shoved for the light. As I got down towards it, three 
or four more lights showed — up on a hillside. It was 
a village. The shore light was a lantern on a ferry 
boat. I skimmed around and found the watchman 
asleep. I shook his shoulder two or three times, and 
then began to cry. He stirred up in a kind of startled 
way, and said: 

"Don't cry, bub — oh, dang it now, don't take on 
so. What's the trouble?" 

"Are you the watchman of this boat?" 

"Yes, and I'm the captain, and the owner, and 
the mate, and the pilot, and head deck-hand. And 



HONEST LOOT FROM THE WALTER SCOTT / 57 

sometimes I'm the freight and passengers. I'm not 
as rich as old Jim Hornback, but I wouldn't trade 
places with him — " 

I broke in. "Miss Hooker is in an awful peck of 
trouble. If you would take your ferry boat and get 
her off the wreck — " 

"You mean the Walter Scott?" 

"Yes." 

"Why, great goodness, she had better get off 
mighty quick. How in the nation did she ever get 
on that wreck?" 

"She was visiting up there at that town — you 
know — " 

"Yes, I know — Booth's Landing — go on." 

"She was visiting at Booth's Landing, and just 
at night we started to cross the river. She was going 
to stay all night at a friend's house, Miss What-you- 
may-call-her — I don't remember her name. Well, we 
lost the steering oar, and went floating down till we 
hit on the wreck. I was the only one that could swim, 
so I made a dash for it. Miss Hooker said if I didn't 
find help sooner, to come here and hunt up her uncle. 
Now if you'll go and — " 

"By Jackson, I'd like to, but who's going to pay 
for it?" 

"Why, that will be all right. Miss Hooker told 
me that her Uncle Hornback — " 

"Great guns! is he her uncle? Looky here. You 
break for that light over yonder, and tell Jim Horn- 
back I've gone to get his niece. Hump yourself, now. 
I'm going around the corner to rouse out my engi- 
neer." 

As soon as he turned the corner I pulled up shore 
and tucked myself in among some wood-boats. I 
waited to see the ferry boat start. But before that 



58 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

happened, here comes the wreck, dim and dusky, 
sliding along! A cold shiver went through me. I 
struck out for her. 

She was floating very deep, not much chance 
of anybody being alive in her. I pulled all around 
her and hollered, but nobody answered. All dead still. 

Then here comes the ferry boat. So I shoved to- 
ward the middle of the river till I was out of eye- 
reach. Then I stopped and looked back to see the 
ferry boat go and smell around the wreck. But pretty 
soon the captain saw no hope of anybody being alive 
on the wreck, and he went for shore. 

I laid into my work and went a-booming down 
the river. I felt a little heavy-hearted about the gang, 
but not much. If they could stand it, I could. 

It seemed a long time before Jim's light showed 
up. When it did show, it looked a thousand miles 
off. By the time I got there the sky was beginning 
to get a little gray in the east. We struck for an island, 
hid the raft, and turned in and slept like dead people. 



11 



Was Solomon Wise? 



When we got up, we turned over the truck that 
the gang had taken off the wreck. We found boots, 
and blankets, and clothes, and a lot of books, and a 
spy glass — all sorts of things. We had never been so 
rich before in our lives. We spent all that afternoon 
in the woods talking and having a good time. I told 
Jim all about what had happened inside the wreck. 
I said that that was "adventure." Jim said he didn't 
want any more adventure. He said when he found 
the raft gone, he judged it was all up with him. He 
might get drowned. He might get saved, but whoever 
saved him would send him back home to get the 
reward, and then Miss Watson would sell him South 
sure. Well, he was right. He generally was right; he 
had an uncommon level head. 

I read to Jim about kings and dukes and earls, 
and how they called each other "your majesty" and 
"your grace" and "your lordship," instead of mister. 
Jim's eyes bugged out, he was so interested. 

"I didn't know dey was so many of 'em," he said. 
"I ain't heard much about none, 'cept dat old King 
Solomon, and dem kings in a pack of cards. How 
much pay do a king get?" 

"Why they can get a thousand dollars a month — 
they can have just as much as they want. Everything 
belongs to them." 

59 



60 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

"Ain't dat gay? And what have dey got to do, 
Huck?" 

"Why, nothing! How you do talk! They just lazy 
around." 

"Is dat so?" 

"Of course it is. They just lazy around — except 
maybe when they go to war. Other times when things 
get dull and don't go to suit them, they whack some 
heads off. But mostly they hang round the harem." 

"Round de which?" 

"Harem." 

"What's de harem?" 

"The place where he keeps his wives. Don't you 
know about the harem? Solomon had one; he had 
about a million wives." 

"A harem is a boardin' house, I reckon. Most 
likely dey has rackety times in de nussery. And de 
wives quarreling all de time and addin' to de noise. 
Dey say Solomon was de wisest man dat ever lived. 
I don't take no stock in dat. Would a wise man want 
to live in such a racket all de time? No — 'deed he 
wouldn't. A wise man would build a boiler factory. 
He could shut dat down when he want to rest." 

"Well, but he was the wisest man. The widow 
told me so herself. Why, once when two women went 
to him to decide which was the mother of a child 
they both claimed, you know what Solomon said?" 

"No, what he say?" 

"He said, 'Chop the child in two and each of you 
take half.' " 

"And did dey do it?" 

"No, one woman said she didn't want half a 
child — said the other woman could have it all." 

"Well, dat is de beatenest notion in de world! You 
just take a look at dat a minute. Suppose Fs Solomon. 



WAS SOLOMON WISE? / 61 

You is one of de women and dat stump dah is de 
yuther woman. Dis here dollar bill is de child. You 
both claims it. What does I do? Does I shin round 
among de neighbors to find out who de bill do belong 
to and hand it over to de right one, like anybody 
with gumption would do? No; I whacks de bill in 
two, and gives half to you and half to her. Now what 
use is half a bill? — can't buy nothin' with it. And 
what use is half a child? I wouldn't give a dern for 
a million of 'em." 

"But hang it, Jim, you miss the point!" 
"Don't talk to me about your points. I reckon I 
knows sense when I sees it, and dey ain't no sense 
in any such doings as dat. De quarrel wasn't about 
a half child; it was about a whole child. De man 
dat tries to settle a quarrel about a whole child by 
offering half a child — he don't know enough to come 
in out of de rain. Don't talk to me about Solomon 
bein' a wise man." 

"But I tell you, you don't get the point." 
"Yes, I gets de point — I gets de real point. De 
real point is down deeper. It lays in de way Solomon 
lived. A man with only one or two children ain't goin' 
to be wasteful of 'em. He can't afford it. But a man 
with about five million children running round de 
house is different. He would as soon chop a child 
in two as a cat. A child or two more or less wasn't 
nothin' to Solomon, dad fetch him!" 

If Jim got a notion in his head once, there was 
no getting it out again. So I went on talking about 
other kings, and let Solomon slide. I told him about 
Louis Sixteen that got his head cut off in France, 
long time ago. And about his little boy, the dolphin,* 

* Huck's misspelling of "dauphin," title of the eldest son of kings 
of France. 



62 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

that they took and shut up in jail. "But some say 
he got out and came to America." 

"But dey ain't no kings here, is dey, Huck?" 

"No." 

"Den he can't get no job. What he goin' to do?" 

"Well, I don't know. Some of them get on the 
police force, and some teach people how to talk 
French." 

"Why, Huck, don't de French talk de same way 
we does?" 

"No, Jim. You couldn't understand a word they 
said — not a single word. Suppose a man comes up 
to you and says Polly -voo-franzay — what would you 
think?" 

"I wouldn't think nuffin'. I'd take and bust him 
over de head, if he wasn't white. I wouldn't let him 
call me dat." 

"Shucks, that's the Frenchman's way of saying, 
'Do you know how to talk French?' " 

"And a blame silly way. Ain't no sense in it." 

"Looky here, Jim. Does a cat talk the same way 
we do?" 

"No." 

"Well, does a cow?" 

"No." 

"And it's natural and right for a cat and a cow 
to talk different from us?" 

"Course." 

"Then why can't it be natural and right for a 
Frenchman to talk different from us? You answer 
me that." 

"Is a cat a man, Huck?" 

"No." 

"Is a cow a man?" 

"No." 



WAS SOLOMON WISE? / 63 

"Well, den, dey ain't no sense in dem talkin' like 
a man. Is a Frenchman a man?" 

"Yes." 

"Well, den! Dad blame it, why don't he talk like 
a man? You answer me datl" 

I see it warn't no use wasting words. ... So I 
quit. 




Fooling Poor Old Jim 



We judged we were getting close to Cairo, where 
the Ohio River comes in. There we would sell the 
raft, and get on a steamboat, and go away up the 
Ohio, amongst the free states. Then Jim would be 
out of trouble. 

Well, the next night a fog began to come on. We 
made for a towhead to tie to, for it wouldn't do to 
run in a fog. I paddled ahead in the canoe, with the 
line of the raft, meaning to make fast. But there 
wasn't anything but little saplings to tie to. I passed 
the line around one, growing on the edge of the bank. 
There was a stiff current, and the raft boomed down 
so lively she tore the sapling out by the roots, and 
away she went. 

It made me so sick and scared I couldn't budge 
for half a minute. By then there was no raft in sight — 
you couldn't see twenty yards in the fog. I jumped 
into the canoe and grabbed the paddle, but she didn't 
move. I hadn't untied her. 

As soon as I got started, I took out after the raft 
hot and heavy. But the minute I was out in the solid 
white fog, I hadn't any more idea where I was going 
than a dead man. 

I had to let the boat drift in the current. It 
wouldn't do to paddle — I would run into a bank or 

64 



FOOLING POOR OLD JIM / 65 

something. I whooped and listened. Away down 
somewhere I heard a whoop, and I went tearing after 
it. The next time I heard it, I was heading away to 
the right of it. And the next time, I was heading away 
to the left of it. I did wish the fool would think to 
beat a tin pan, and beat it all the time, but he never 
did. Well, I fought along, and directly I heard the 
whoop behind me. 

The whooping went on, and in about a minute 
I went booming down on to a bank with smoky ghosts 
of big trees on it. The current swung me off to the 
left, and I shot among a lot of snags, where the water 
fairly roared, it was tearing by them so fast. 

In another second or two I was past these, and 
the fog was solid white again. I couldn't hear a sound. 
I kept still, listening to my heart thump. I didn't draw 
a breath till it thumped a hundred. Now I under- 
stood. That bank was an island, and Jim had gone 
down on the other side of it. It was no sand bar that 
you could float by in ten minutes. It had the big tim- 
ber of a regular island. It might be five or six miles 
long. 

If you think it is not lonesome out in a fog, all 
by yourself in the night, you try it once — you'll see. 
You float along, of course, four or five miles an hour, 
but you feel that you are dead still on the water. If 
a glimpse of a snag slips by, you don't think how 
fast you are going. You think, my! how that snag 
is tearing along. 

For about half an hour I whooped every now 
and then. At last I heard the answer, a long way 
off. I tried to follow it, but I got into a nest of islands. 
I had dim glimpses of them on both sides — some- 
times just a narrow channel between. I had to claw 
away from the bank pretty lively four or five times 



66 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

to keep from knocking an island out of the river. I 
judged Jim's raft must be butting into a bank every 
now and then — it was floating along a little faster 
than I was. 

By and by I seemed to be in the open river again. 
But I didn't hear a sign of a whoop anywhere. The 
raft had run on a snag maybe, and it was all up 
with Jim. I was so tired I stretched out in the canoe. 
I couldn't bother any more. I would take just one 
little cat-nap. 

When I waked up, the sky was full of bright stars. 
The fog was all gone, and I was spinning down a 
big bend. I looked down stream, and saw a black 







FOOLING POOR OLD JIM / 67 

speck on the water, I took after it, but when I got 
near, I saw it was just a couple of saw logs made 
fast together. Then I saw another black speck and 
chased that, then another, and this time I was right. 
It was the raft. 

When I got to it, Jim was asleep, with his head 
down between his knees, and his right arm hanging 
over the steering oar. The other oar was smashed 
off, and the raft was littered with leaves and 
branches. She had had a rough time, too. 

I tied the canoe to the raft, and went and 
stretched out right under Jim's nose, as if I had been 
asleep there. 



v- J S 




68 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

"Hello, Jim. Have I been asleep? Why didn't you 
stir me up?" 

"Goodness gracious, is dat you, Huck! You ain't 
drowned — you is back again! Honey, it is too good 
for true. Lemme look at you, chile. Lemme feel of 
you. You is back again — de same old Huck, thanks 
to goodness!" 

"Why, what makes you talk so wild? Why do you 
talk about my coming back, as if I had been gone 
away?" 

"Huck — Huck Finn, you look me in de eye. Hain't 
you been gone away?" 

"Gone away? Where would I go to?" 

"Well, sumf n is wrong. Is I heah or whah is I? 
Now dat's what I wants to know." 

"You are here plain enough. But I think you are 
a tangle-headed old fool, Jim." 

"I is, is I? Well, you answer me dis: Didn't you 
tote out de line in de canoe fer to make fast to de 
shore?" 

"No I didn't. What shore?" 

"Looky here. Didn't de line pull loose and let de 
raft go a-hummin' down de river and leave you in 
de canoe in de fog?" 

"What fog?" 

"De fog dat is been around all night. Didn't you 
whoop and didn't I whoop till we got mixed up in 
de islands? Didn't I bust up against a lot of dem 
islands and 'most get drowned?" 

"Well, this is too many for me, Jim. I have seen 
no fog, nor islands. I was here talking with you all 
night, till we both went to sleep. You have been 
dreaming." 

"But, Huck, it's all just as plain to me as — " 

"Makes no difference how plain it is. There's 



FOOLING POOR OLD JIM / 69 

nothing in it. I know, because I have been here all 
the time." 

Jim studied over it for five minutes, then said: 

"Well, I reckon I did dream it, Huck. But dog 
my cats if it wasn't the plainest dream I ever had." 

"Tell me all about the dream, Jim." 

Jim went to work and told me the whole thing 
right through, just as it happened, though he painted 
it up some. Then he said he must 'terpret the dream, 
because it was sent for a warning. He said the tow- 
head stood for a man that would try to do us some 
good. But the current was another man that would 
get us away from him. The whooping was warnings 
that would come to us. The nest of islands was trou- 
bles we would get into with all kinds of mean folks. 
Then I said: 

"What do these things stand for?" I pointed to 
the leaves and rubbish on the raft. 

Jim looked at the trash, and looked at me, and 
back at the trash again. Then he looked at me steady 
without smiling, and said: 

"When I went to sleep here, my heart was most 
broke, because you was lost. I didn't care no mo' what 
become of me and de raft. When I woke up and find 
you back, all safe and sound, I could have got down 
and kissed yo' foot, I was so thankful. And all you 
was thinkin' about was how you could make a fool 
of old Jim wid a lie. Trash is what people is dat puts 
dirt on de heads of friends and makes 'em ashamed." 

Then he got up and went into the wigwam. I 
felt mean, but it was fifteen minutes before I could 
go and humble myself to him. But I did, and I wasn't 
ever sorry for it afterward. I didn't do him any more 
mean tricks. I wouldn't have done that one, if I'd 
thought it would make him feel that way. 




We Look for Cairo 



We went drifting down into a big bend. The night 
clouded up and got hot. The river was very wide, 
and walled with timber on both sides. We couldn't 
see a break in it, hardly ever, or a light. We talked 
about Cairo and wondered whether we would know 
it when we got to it. I said likely we wouldn't unless 
the houses happened to be lighted up. Jim said if 
the Ohio River and the Mississippi River joined to- 
gether there, that would show. 

There was nothing to do now but look out sharp 
for the town, and not pass it without seeing it. Jim 
said he'd be mighty sure to see it, because he'd be 
a free man the minute he saw it, but if he missed 
it he'd be in a slave country again. Every little while 
he would jump up and say, "Dah she is!" 

But it was only lightning bugs. Jim said it made 
him all over trembly to be so close to freedom. Well, 
it made me all over trembly too, to hear him. I had 
begun to get it through my head that he was almost 
free. And who was to blame for it? Why, me. I 
couldn't get that out of my conscience. It got to trou- 
bling me so I couldn't stay still in one place. 

I tried to make out to myself that / wasn't to 
blame — I didn't run Jim off from his rightful owner. 

70 



WE LOOK FOR CAIRO / 71 

But it was no use. Conscience would up and say: 

"But you could have paddled ashore and told 
somebody he was running for his freedom. ,, 

That was so — and that was where it pinched. 
Conscience would say: 

"What did poor Miss Watson ever do to you that 
you could see her slave go right off under your eyes, 
and never say a word? What did that poor old woman 
do to you that you could treat her so mean? Why, 
she tried to get you to learn your book and your man- 
ners. She tried to be good to you, that's what." 

Every time Jim danced around and said, "Dan 
is Cairo!" it went through me like a shot. And if I 
thought it was Cairo, I'd nearly die of misery. 

Jim talked out loud all the time I was talking 
to myself. When he got to a free state, he said, he 
was going to save up money to buy his wife. Then 
they would both work to buy their two children. If 
their master wouldn't sell them, he would get some- 
body to go and steal them. 

It almost froze me to hear such talk. Here was 
this slave, who I had helped to run away, coming 
right out flat-footed and saying he would steal his 
children — children that belonged to a man I didn't 
even know — a man that hadn't ever done me any 
harm. My conscience got to stirring me up hotter 
than ever. At last I said to it: 

"Let up on me — it's not too late yet — I'll paddle 
ashore at the first light and tell." 

Then I felt easy, all my troubles gone. By and 
by a light showed up. Jim sings out: 

"Dat is de good old Cairo at last; I just knows 
it! We is safe, Huck! Jump up and crack yo' heels!" 

"I'll take the canoe and go and see, Jim. It might 
not be, you know." 



72 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

He jumped and got the canoe ready. As I shoved 
off he said: 

"Soon I'll be a-shoutin' for joy. I'll be a free man. 
And I couldn't ever been free if it hadn't been for 
Huck. You is de best friend Jim ever had. And you 
is de only friend old Jim has got now." 

I paddled off, all in a sweat to tell on him. When 
I was some yards off he called: 

"Dah you goes, de old true Huck." 

Well, I just felt sick. But I said to myself, "I got 
to do it — I can't get out of it." 

Then along comes a skiff with two men in it with 
guns. They stopped and one of them said: 

"Do you belong on that raft yonder?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Any men on it?" 

"Only one, sir." 

"Well, five slaves have run off tonight, up above 
the bend yonder. Is your man white or black?" 

I tried to answer right up, but the words wouldn't 
come. I wasn't man enough to come out with the 
truth. I hadn't the spunk of a rabbit. I felt myself 
weakening, so I just quit trying, and said: 

"He is white." 

"I reckon we will go and see for ourselves. Come, 
boy, buckle to your paddle, and let's get along." 

I bent to my paddle and they bent to their oars. 
When we had made a stroke or two, I said: 

"Pap will be mighty glad. He's sick. Maybe you'll 
help me tow the raft ashore. I can't do it by myself. 
Everybody goes away when I ask them to help." 

"Well, that is mighty mean. Odd, too. Say, boy, 
what is the matter with your father?" 

"Well, I'll be honest — but don't leave us, please. 
He has the—" 



WE LOOK FOR CAIRO / 73 

They backed water. "Keep away, boy! He has the 
smallpox, and you know it. Do you want to spread 
it all over?" 

"Well," I said, blubbering, "I told everybody be- 
fore, and they went away and left us." 

"We are right down sorry for you, but — well, 
hang it — we don't want the smallpox. Look here, I'll 
tell you what to do. You float along down about 
twenty miles. You'll come to a town on the left-hand 
side of the river. When you ask for help, tell them 
your father is down with chills and fever. Don't be 
a fool again and let people guess what is the matter. 
Now, we are trying to do you a kindness. So you just 
put twenty miles between us. It won't do you any 
good to land yonder where the light is. Nothing there 
but a wood-yard. Here, I'll put a twenty-dollar gold 
piece on this board. You get it when it floats by. I 
feel mighty mean to leave you. But, my kingdom, 
it won't do to fool with smallpox." 

"Hold on, Parker," said the other man. "Here is 
a twenty to put on the board for me. Good-bye, boy." 

They went off and I went back to the raft, feeling 
pretty low. I had done wrong, but I wouldn't be feel- 
ing any better if I had told the truth and caused Jim 
to be caught. What was the right thing to do? I was 
stuck. 

We talked about the money. It was a pretty good 
raise — twenty dollars apiece. Jim said we could take 
deck passage on a steamboat now, and the money 
would last us as far as we wanted to go in the free 
states. 

Toward daybreak we tied up. Jim worked all day 
fixing things in bundles and getting ready to quit 
rafting. 

That night about ten we hove in sight of the 



74 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

lights of a town away down on the left-hand bend. 
I went off in the canoe to ask about it. Pretty soon 
I found a man out in the river with a skiff, setting 
a trot-line. I paddled up and said: 

"Mister, is that town Cairo?" 

"Cairo, no. You must be a blame fool." 

"What town is it, mister?" 

"If you want to know, go and find out. If you 
stay here bothering around me for about half a min- 
ute longer, you will get something you don't want." 

I paddled to the raft. Jim was awful disap- 
pointed. But I said never mind, Cairo would be the 
next place, maybe. 

We passed another town before daylight, and I 
was going out again. But we saw the bank was high 
ground, so I didn't go. No high ground about Cairo, 
Jim said. We tied up for the day to the left-hand 
bank. I said: 

"Maybe we went by Cairo in the fog that night." 

"Don't talk about it, Huck." 

When it was broad daylight, here was the clear 
Ohio water inshore, and outside was the regular old 
Muddy! So we had passed Cairo. 

We couldn't take the raft up the stream, of 
course. The only thing was to wait for dark and go 
back in the canoe. So we slept all day among the 
cotton-wood thickets. When we went back to the raft 
about dark, the canoe w r as gone! 

We didn't say a word for a good while. By and 
by we talked it over. There wasn't a thing to do but 
go along down the river with the raft, till we got a 
chance to buy a canoe to go back up the river in. 
So we shoved out after dark on the raft. The place 
to buy canoes is off rafts tied up at shore. But we 
didn't see any rafts tied up. So we went along three 



WE LOOK FOR CAIRO / 75 

hours or more. The night got gray and thick, which 
is the next meanest thing to fog. You can't see any 
distance. 

Then along comes a steamboat up the river. We 
lit the lantern and judged she would see it. We could 
hear her pounding along, but didn't see her till she 
was close, and she was aimed right for us. She was 
a high one, and coming in a hurry, looking like a 
black cloud with rows of glow-worms around it. All 
of a sudden she bulged out, big and scary, with a 
long row of wide-open furnace doors shining like 
red-hot teeth, and her great bows and guards hang- 
ing right over us. 



life 




76 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

There was a yell at us and a jingling of bells 
to stop the engines, a powwow of cussing, and whis- 
tling steam — and as Jim went overboard on one side 
and I on the other, she smashed right through the 
raft. 

I dived — and I aimed to find the bottom, too. A 
thirty-foot wheel had to go over me, and I wanted 
it to have plenty of room. I could always stay under 
water a minute — this time I reckon I stayed under 
a minute and a half. Then I bounced for the top in 
a hurry, for I was nearly busting. I popped out to 
my armpits and snorted the water out of my nose, 
and puffed a bit. 

I called out for Jim about a dozen times, but 
didn't get any answer. So I grabbed a plank that 
touched me while I was "treading water," and struck 
out for shore, shoving it ahead of me. I saw the drift 
of the current was toward the left-hand shore, so I 
went that way. 



/] The Grangerfords 
Take Me In 




I made a safe landing and climbed up the bank. 
It was so dark I could see only a little way ahead, 
but I went poking along over rough ground. Suddenly 
I saw a big old-fashioned double log house, right be- 
fore me, and a lot of dogs jumped out and raised 
such a howling and barking I didn't dare move an- 
other peg. In about a minute somebody spoke out 
of a window, without putting his head out. 




'-■ v -tw® 



*« 



78 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

"Who is there?" 

"George Jackson, sir. I'm only a boy." 

"What do you want? What are you prowling 
around here this time of night for — hey?" 

"I don't want anything, sir. I only want to go 
along by, but the dogs won't let me. I wasn't prowling 
around. I fell overboard off the steamboat." 

"Oh, you did, did you? Look here, if you are tell- 
ing the truth, you needn't be afraid — nobody will 
hurt you. But stand right where you are." 

I heard the people stirring around in the house 
now, and saw a light. The man cried out: 

"Snatch that light away, Betsy, you old fool. Put 
it on the floor behind the front door. Bob, are you 
and Tom at your places by the door?" 

"All ready." 

"Now, George Jackson, do you know the Shep- 
herdsons?" 

"No, sir; I never heard of them." 

"Well, that may be so, and it may not be. Now 
step forward, and don't hurry — come mighty slow. 
If there's anybody with you, let him keep back, or 
he'll be shot. Come along now — come slow — push the 
door open yourself— just enough to squeeze in — " 

I took one slow step at a time. There wasn't a 
sound, only I could hear my heart. The dogs kept 
still too, but they waited right behind me. I heard 
the people inside unlocking and unbarring the door. 
I put my hand on it and pushed a little. Somebody 
said: 

"There, that's enough — put your head in." 

I did, but I judged they would take it off. The 
candle was on the floor, and there stood three big 
men with guns pointed at me. The oldest was gray, 
and about sixty. The other two thirty or more — all 



THE GRANGERFORDS TAKE ME IN / 79 

fine, handsome men. The old gentleman said: 

"There, I reckon it's all right. Come in." 

They locked and barred the door as soon as I 
was in. Then they picked up the candle and took a 
good look at me. 

"Why, he ain't no Shepherdson — no Shepherd- 
son about him." 

Then the old man said he hoped I wouldn't mind 
being searched for arms — only to make sure. He 
didn't pry into my pockets, only felt outside, and said 
it was all right. Then the sweetest old gray-headed 
lady comes up. 

"Why, bless you, Saul, the poor thing is wet as 
he can be. And maybe he's hungry." 

"True for you, Rachel — I forgot." 

"Betsy," the old lady says, "you fly around and 
get him something to eat as quick as you can, poor 
thing. And one of you go up and wake Buck and tell 
him — oh, here he is now. Buck, take this little 
stranger and get the wet clothes off him and give 
him some of yours." 

Buck looked about as old as I was — thirteen or 
fourteen, though he was a little bigger. He was gap- 
ing, digging one fist into his eyes, frowzy-headed, 
and he was dragging a gun. 

"Ain't they no Shepherdsons around?" 

They said, no, it was a false alarm. 

"If they had been, I'd have got one." 

They all laughed, and Bob said: 

"Why, Buck, they might have scalped us all, 
you've been so slow coming." 

"Well, nobody called me. I'm always kept down. 
I don't get any show." 

"Never mind, Buck, my boy," said the old man. 
"You'll have show enough all in good time. Don't 



80 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

you fret about that. Go along with you now, and do 
as your mother told you." 

When we got upstairs to Buck's room, he found 
me a shirt and pants, and I put them on. He asked 
me what my name was, but before I could tell him 
he started to tell me about a bluejay and a young 
rabbit he had caught. Then he asked me where 
Moses was when the candle went out. I said I didn't 
know. 

"Well, guess," he said. 

"But I don't know where he was. Where was he?" 

"Why, he was in the dark!" 

"Well, if you already know, why ask me?" 

"Why, blame it, it's a riddle, don't you see? Say, 
how long are you going to stay here? You got to stay 
always. We can have booming times. Do you own a 
dog? My dog will go in the river and bring out chips 
that you throw in. Are you all ready to go down? 
Come along, old hoss." 

While I was eating they asked me questions. I 
told them how all my family had lived on a little 
farm down in Arkansas — how my sister Mary Ann 
had run off and got married and never was heard 
of again — how Bill went to hunt them and he never 
was heard of again — how Tom and Mort died — how 
nobody was left but me and Pap, and he trimmed 
down to nothing on account of his trouble — how Pap 
died and I took what was left and started up the river 
on a steamboat, and fell overboard. 

They said I could have a home there as long as 
I wanted it. After a while everybody went upstairs 
to bed. I went to bed with Buck. When I waked up 
next morning, I couldn't remember what I had told 
them my name was. So when Buck waked up, I said: 

"Bet you can't spell my name." 



THE GRANGERFORDS TAKE ME IN / 81 

"I bet you I can. G-e-o-r-g-e J-a-x-o-n — there 
now," he said. 

"Well, you did. I didn't think you could." 

It was a mighty nice family, and a mighty nice 
house too. In the parlor there was a big fireplace 
with brass dog-irons that could hold up a saw-log. 
On the mantel was a clock with a picture of a town 
on the lower half of the glass front. It was beautiful 
to hear that clock tick. As for striking, sometimes 
she would start in and strike a hundred and fifty 
before she got tuckered out. 

Colonel Grangerford was a gentleman all over. 
He was well born, as the saying is, and that's worth 
as much in a man as it is in a horse. So the Widow 
Douglas said. Pap always said so too, though he was 
no more quality than a mudcat himself. 

Every day Col. Grangerford was clean shaved, 
and every day of his life he put on a clean shirt and 
a fresh suit of white linen. He was as kind as he 
could be, but when he straightened himself up and 
the lightning begun to flicker from under his eye- 
brows, you wanted to climb a tree first, and find out 
what was the matter afterwards. Everybody was al- 
ways good mannered where he was. When he and 
the old lady came down in the morning, all the fam- 
ily got out of their chairs to give them good day, and 
waited standing while they were being seated. Then 
Tom and Bob went to the sideboard and mixed 
glasses of bitters, and handed him a glass, bowed 
and said: "Our duty to you, sir, and madam." Col. 
Grangerford and the old lady bowed the least bit and 
said, "Thank you," and so they drank, all three. 

Bob was the oldest and Tom was next — tall, beau- 
tiful men with very broad shoulders and brown faces 



82 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

and black hair and eyes. There used to be three more 
sons, but they got killed. 

Miss Charlotte was twenty-five, proud and grand, 
but good as she could be when she wasn't stirred 
up. Her sister, Miss Sophia, was only twenty, and 
gentle and sweet like a dove. 

The old gentleman owned a lot of farms and over 
a hundred slaves. Every white person had a servant. 
Mine had a very easy time, because I wasn't used 
to having anybody do anything for me. But Buck's 
was on the jump most of the time. 

Sometimes a stack of people would come there, 
from ten or fifteen miles around, and stay five or 
six days. They would have parties on the river, and 
picnics in the woods daytimes, and balls at the house 
nights. The men brought their guns with them. 




Why Harney Rode A way for 
His Hat 



There was another clan around there — five or 
six families — mostly of the name of Shepherdson — 
all as well born and rich and grand as the tribe of 
Grangerfords. 

One day when I was out hunting with Buck, close 
to a road, we heard a horse coming. We peeked 
through the leaves, and pretty soon a young man 
came galloping down the road. He was riding easy, 
and looking like a soldier, for he carried a gun. I 
had seen him before; he was young Harney Shep- 
herdson. I heard Buck's gun go off beside me, and 
saw Harney's hat tumble off his head. He rode 
straight toward us and we started through the woods 
on a run. I kept looking over my shoulder to dodge 
any bullets that might be coming. I saw Harney cover 
Buck with his gun, but he didn't shoot. He turned 
and rode away — to get his hat, I reckon. 

Soon as we stopped running I asked Buck why 
he wanted to kill him. 

"On account of the feud," he said. 

"What is a feud?" 

"Don't you know what a feud is? Well, a feud 
is this way. A man has a quarrel with another man, 
and kills him. Then that other man's brother kills 
him. Then the brothers on both sides go after one 

83 



84 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

another. Then the cousins chip in. By and by every- 
body is killed off, and the feud is over. But it takes 
a long time." 

"Has this one been going on long, Buck?" 
"Well, I should say! It started thirty years ago. 
There was some trouble, about some land, I think, 
then a lawsuit to settle it. Then the man that lost 
the suit up and shot the man that won it." 

"Who started the shooting — a Grangerford or a 
Shepherdson?" 

"Laws, how do / know. It was so long ago. Pa 
knows, I reckon, and some of the other old people. 
Pa has a few buckshot in him. Bob has been carved 
up some with a knife, and Tom has been hurt once 
or twice." 

"Has anybody been killed this year, Buck?" 
"Yes; we got one and they got one. About three 
months ago, my cousin Bud, fourteen years old, was 
riding through the woods without a gun — which was 
blame foolishness. He hears a horse coming behind 
him and sees old Baldy Shepherdson coming after 
him with a gun in his hand and his white hair 
a-flyin' in the wind. Bud thought he could outrun 
him. So they had it nip and tuck for five miles or 
more, the old man gaining all the time. At last Bud 
saw it was no use. He stopped and faced around so 
as to have the bullet holes in front. And the old man 
rode up and shot him down. But he didn't get to enjoy 
his luck for long. Inside of a week our folks laid him 
out." 

"I reckon that old man was a coward, Buck." 

"Not by a blame sight. There ain't a coward 

among the Shepherdsons — not a one. Why, that old 

man kept up a fight one day for half an hour against 

three Grangerfords, and won out, too. He lit off his 



WHY HARNEY RODE AWAY FOR HIS HAT / 85 

horse and got behind a woodpile, but the Granger- 
fords stayed on their horses and capered around the 
old man and peppered away at him. And he peppered 
away at them. He and his horse went home pretty 
leaky, but the Grangerfords had to be carried home. 
One of them was dead and another died the next 
day. No sir; the Shepherdsons don't breed cowards." 

When we got home and told the old gentleman 
about it, his eyes blazed a minute. Then his face 
smoothed down, and he said, kind of gentle: 

"I don't like shooting from behind a bush. Why 
didn't you step into the road, my boy?" 

"The Shepherdsons don't, father. They always 
take advantage." 

Miss Charlotte held her head up like a queen 
while Buck was telling his tale, and her eyes 
snapped. The two young men looked dark, but didn't 
say anything. Miss Sophia turned pale. 

The next Sunday we all went to church. The men 
took their guns along, and kept them between their 
knees or stood them handy against the wall. The 
preaching was all about brotherly love. Everybody 
said it was a good sermon. 

About an hour after dinner everybody was doz- 
ing around, some in their chairs and some in their 
rooms, and it got to be pretty dull. I judged maybe 
I would take a nap myself, and went upstairs. Miss 
Sophia was standing in her door waiting for me. She 
asked me if I would do something for her and not 
tell anybody. I said I would. She said she had left 
her Testament on the seat at church, and would I 
go there and get it for her. I said I would. 

I found the Testament, and a little piece of paper 
in it, with "Half past two" written on it. When I got 
home and went upstairs, Miss Sophia was at her door 



86 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

waiting. She looked in the Testament and found the 
paper, and looked glad when she read it. Then she 
grabbed me and squeezed me and said I was the best 
boy in the world, and not to tell anybody. 

I went off down toward the river. Pretty soon 
my servant comes running up behind me, and says: 

"Mars George, if you'll come down into de swamp 
I'll show you a whole stack of water-moccasins." 

I thought, that is mighty curious; he said that 
yesterday. He ought to know nobody loves water- 
moccasins enough to go around hunting for them. 
What is he up to, anyway? So I said: 

"All right! trot ahead." 

I followed, and soon he struck out over the 
swamp, and waded ankle deep till we reached a flat 
dry land, thick with trees, bushes, and vines. He 
stopped and said: 

"You shove right in dah, just a few steps, Mars 
George. Dah is where dey is. I don't keer to see 'em 
no mo'." 

I poked into the place a few steps, and — by jings, 
there was my old Jim! He nearly cried, he was so 
glad, but he wasn't surprised to see me. He said he 
had come out of the river not far behind me, that 
night. He had heard me yell every time, but didn't 
dare answer, because he didn't want anybody to pick 
him up and take him into slavery again. "I got hurt 
a little, and couldn't catch up with you. When I see 
dat house, I went slow. When de dogs quieted down 
I knowed you was in de house. So I struck out for 
de woods to wait for day. Next day some of de field 
slaves found me and showed me dis place, whah de 
dogs can't track me on account of the water. Dey 
brings me truck to eat every night, and tells me how 
you is gettin' along." 



WHY HARNEY RODE AWAY FOR HIS HAT / 87 




88 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

"Why didn't you tell my Jack to bring me here 
sooner?" 

"I have been busy nights, patchin' up de raft. 
She was tore up a good deal. But now she is all fixed 
up again good as new, and I been a-buyin' pots and 
pans, and a canoe, and a lot of stuff we lost." 

"How did you get hold of the raft again, Jim?" 

"Some of de folks found her caught on a snag, 
and dey hid her amongst de willows. Dey is mighty 
good to me, dese people is. Dat Jack is good and 
smart." 

"Yes, he is. He told me to come here and he would 
show me a lot of water-moccasins. If anything hap- 
pens, he can say he never saw us together." 

I don't want to say much about the next day. I 
wish I had never gone ashore that night to see such 
things. I never can get them out of my mind — lots 
of times I dream about them. 

Well, I waked up early, and was going to turn 
over and go to sleep again, when I noticed how still 
it was — nobody stirring. Next I saw that Buck was 
up and gone. I got up and went down stairs — nobody 
around. Everything as still as a mouse. Just the same 
outside. What could it mean? Down by the woodpile 
I found my Jack and asked him what it was all about. 

"Don't you know, Mars George? Miss Sophia has 
run off to get married to dat young Harney Shepherd- 
son. She went in de night — nobody knows just when. 
But when de family found out about it, such another 
hurryin' up guns and horses you never see! De 
women folks is gone to stir up de relations, and old 
Mars Saul and de boys rode up de river road to try 
to find dat young man and kill him befo' he can get 
across de river with Miss Sophia." 



WHY HARNEY RODE AWAY FOR HIS HAT / 89 

I took up the river road as hard as I could put. 
By and by I begin to hear guns a good way off. When 
I got in sight of the store and the woodpile where 
the steamboats land, I climbed up into a cottonwood 
and watched. Four or five men went cavorting 
around on horses before the log store, cussing and 
yelling, and trying to get a shot at two boys squatting 
behind the woodpile alongside the steamboat land- 
ing. By and by up gets one of the boys, draws a steady 
bead over the woodpile, and drops one of the men 
out of his saddle. All the other men jumped off their 
horses and went to pick up the hurt one and carried 
him into the store. That minute the two boys started 
on the run, and got behind a woodpile in front of 
my tree. 

One of the boys was Buck, and the other was a 
slim young chap about nineteen years old. After a 
while the men came out of the store and rode away. 
I called out to Buck. He told me to watch out sharp 
for the men — said they were up to some devilment — 
wouldn't be gone long. Then he began to cry and 
rip, and said he and his cousin Joe would make up 
for this day yet. He said his father and his two broth- 
ers had been killed, and two or three of the enemy. 
Said they should have waited for their relations — 
the Shepherdsons had been too strong for them — said 
the Shepherdsons had laid for them in ambush. 

I asked him what had become of young Harney 
and Miss Sophia. He said they had got across the 
river. I was glad of that, but the way Buck did take 
on because he hadn't killed Harney that day he shot 
at him! 

All of a sudden three or four guns went bang! 
bang! bang! The men had slipped around through 
the woods and come in from behind. The boys 



90 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

jumped for the river — both of them hurt — and went 
swimming down the current. The men went running 
along the bank shooting at them. It made me so sick 
I almost fell out of the tree. 

I stayed in the tree for hours, afraid to come 
down. Sometimes I heard guns away off in the woods. 
Twice I saw little gangs of men gallop past the log 
store with guns, so I reckoned the trouble was still 
going on. 

I was mighty downhearted. I made up my mind 
I would never go near the house again. Maybe I was 
to blame, somehow. That piece of paper I took to 
Miss Sophia meant she was to meet Harney some- 
where at half-past two and run off. Maybe I should 
have told her father about that piece of paper, and 
then maybe he would have locked her up, and this 
awful mess wouldn't ever have happened. 

I climbed down the tree and crept along down 
the river bank. I found two bodies at the edge of 
the water and I tugged till I got them ashore. Then 
I covered up their faces. I cried when I was covering 
up Buck's face, for he had been mighty good to me. 
Then I went away from there as fast as I could. 



Q) Royalty Comes Aboard 



By this time it was dark. I struck through the 
woods and made for the swamp. Jim wasn't on his 
island in the swamp, so I tramped off in a hurry, 
looking for the creek where the raft was. I crowded 
through the willows, red-hot to jump aboard and get 
out of that awful country. The raft was gone! My 
soul, but I was scared. I raised a yell, and Jim's voice 
answered not far off: 

"Good land, is dat you, honey? Don't make no 
noise." 

I hurried along the bank and got aboard. Jim 
grabbed me and hugged me. 

"Lawd bless you, child, I was right down sho' 
you was dead again. Jack's been here, and he reck- 
oned you had been shot, 'cause you didn't come home. 
I was jist dis minute a-startin' de raft down to de 
river. I was a-gettin' all ready to shove out as soon 
as Jack come to tell me for certain you is dead." 

I said, "All right — good. They won't find me, and 
they'll think I've been killed, and floated down the 
river — something is up there to help them think so. 
Don't lose any time, Jim, but shove off for the big 
water as fast as you can." 

I didn't feel easy till the raft was two miles below 
there, and out in the middle of the Mississippi. Then 

91 



92 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

we hung up our signal lantern and judged that we 
would be safe and free once more. I hadn't had a 
bite to eat since yesterday, so Jim got out some food, 
and while we had supper we talked. 

I was glad to get away from the feuds, and Jim 
was glad to get away from the island in the swamp. 
We said there was no home like a raft — you feel so 
free and easy on a raft. 

Two or three days and nights slid by, quiet and 
lovely. It was a monstrous big river down there, 
sometimes a mile and a half wide. We floated along 
at night, and tied up in the daytime. Mornings, the 
first thing we would see, looking away over the water, 
was a dull line. That was the woods on the other 
side. Then a pale place in the sky. Then the river 
wasn't black anymore, but gray. You can see little 
dark spots drifting along ever so far away, trading 
boats. And long black streaks, rafts. By and by you 
can see a streak on the water where a snag breaks 
the swift current. You see the mist curl up off the 
water. The east reddens up, and the river with it. 
Then the breeze springs up and comes fanning so 
cool and fresh and sweet to smell from the woods 
and flowers. 

A little smoke wouldn't be noticed now. So we 
would take some fish off the line and cook up a hot 
breakfast. Afterwards we would watch the lonesome 
river lazy along, and by and by lazy off to sleep. 

Soon as it was night, out we shoved. When we 
got her to about the middle, we let her float wherever 
the current wanted her. 

One morning about daybreak I took the canoe 
and crossed over to the main shore, about two hun- 
dred yards. I paddled up a creek among the cypress 
woods to look for some berries. Suddenly here come 



ROYALTY COMES ABOARD / 93 

a couple of men as fast as they can foot it. I thought 
I was a goner — they must be after me, or maybe Jim. 
But they begged me to save their lives. Said they 
hadn't been doing anything, and were being chased 
for it. Said men and dogs were coming. They jumped 
right into the canoe, and I lit out for our towhead. 
In a few minutes we heard the dogs baying and the 
men shouting. But by the time we had left the woods 
and struck the river, everything was quiet. We pad- 
dled over to the towhead and hid in the cottonwoods. 

One of these fellows was about seventy. He had 
a bald head and gray whiskers. He wore an old bat- 
tered hat, and a greasy woolen shirt, and ragged old 
jeans stuffed into his boot-tops. The other fellow was 
about thirty, and dressed about as bad. Both of them 
had big, fat, dirty carpet-bags.* 

After breakfast we talked. The first thing that 
came out was that these two chaps didn't know one 
another. 

"Young man," said the old one, "what is your 
line of work — mainly?" 

"Printer by trade. Do a little in patent medi- 
cines — theater actor — sling a lecture sometimes. Oh, 
I do lots of things — anything that comes handy, so 
long as it's not work. What's your line?" 

"I've done a lot in the doctoring way. Laying on 
of hands is the best thing I do — cure cancer and such 
things. And I can tell a fortune pretty well, when I 
have somebody along to find out the facts for me. 
Preaching is my line, too, and working in camp 
meetings." 

Nobody said anything for a while. Then the 
young man heaved a sigh and said, very sadly: 

* A kind of handbag, especially one made of carpet material. 



94 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

"Gentlemen, I will tell you the truth — for I feel 
I can trust you. By rights I am a duke!" 

Jim's eyes bugged out when he heard that, and 
I reckon mine did too. 

"Yes, my great-grandfather was the eldest son 
of the Duke of Bridgewater. He fled to this country 
to breathe the pure air of freedom. The second son 
took the titles and the estates. But I am the rightful 
Duke of Bridgewater. And here am I, thrown out on 
the cold world, living on a raft, with thieves and 
law-breakers!" 

Jim pitied him and so did I. But the old man 
said: 

"Looky here, Bilgewater, you're not the only per- 
son that has been wronged and put out of a high 
place. I've had a secret birth too. I'm the Dauphin 
of France!"/ 

The duke said, "You are what?" 

"I am the lost Dauphin/ Looy the Seventeen." 

"You! At your age! No! You mean you are the 
late Charlemagne.* You must be six or seven hun- 
dred years old, at the very least." 

"Trouble has done it, Bilgewater. Trouble has 
brought these gray hairs and this early baldness. Yes, 
gentlemen, you see before you, in rags and misery, 
the rightful King of France." 

It didn't take me long to make up my mind that 
they were not kings and dukes, but just low-down 
humbugs. But I kept it to myself. If they wanted us 
to call them kings and dukes, I didn't object, so long 
as it kept peace in the family. I learned from living 
with Pap that the best way to get along with his kind 
is to let them have their own way. 

* Charles the Great, or Charles I (742-814), king of the Franks. 



ROYALTY COMES ABOARD / 95 

They asked us a lot of questions — Why did we 
try to keep the raft hid? — Why did we travel only 
at night? — Was Jim a runaway slave? 

"Goodness sakes," I said, "would a runaway slave 
run south'?" 

No, they said, he wouldn't. But I had to account 
for things some way. So I said: 

"My folks lived in Pike County in Missouri. They 
all died off but me and Pa and my brother Ike. Pa 
decided to go down and live with Uncle Ben, forty 
miles below Orleans. But when Pa squared up his 
debts all we had left was sixteen dollars and our 
Jim. So we started south on a raft. A steamboat went 
over the raft one night. Pa was drunk and Ike was 
only four years old, so they didn't come up again. 
That left only Jim and me. Then people got to coming 
out in skiffs and trying to take Jim away from me. 
They said they believed he was a runaway. So we 
don't travel in the daytime now. Nights they don't 
bother us." 

Well, the king got out an old deck of cards, and 
he and the duke played seven-up awhile, five cents 
a game. Then they got tired of that, and said they 
would work out some plans. 

The duke opened up his carpet-bag and brought 
out a lot of little printed bills, and read them out 
loud. One bill said the great Doctor Armand of Paris 
would "lecture and furnish charts of character at 
twenty-five cents apiece." The duke said he was Doc- 
tor Armand. Another bill said he was the "world- 
famous actor Garrick the Younger of London." In 
other bills he had a lot of other names and could 
do wonderful things. 

"But acting is the best thing I do. Have you ever 
been an actor, Royalty?" 



96 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

"No," said the king. 

"You shall, then, before you're a day older," said 
the duke. "The first good town we come to, we'll hire 
a hall and do the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet 
How does that strike you?" 

"I'm in for anything that will pay, Bilgewater. 
But I don't know anything about play-acting. Do you 
reckon you can teach me?" 

"Easy!" 

So the duke told him all about who Romeo was 
and who Juliet was. He said he would be Romeo and 
the king could be Juliet. 

"But if Juliet is such a young gal, my bald head 
and my white whiskers will look odd on her, maybe." 

"Don't you worry. These country jakes won't ever 
think of that. Besides, you will be in costume. Juliet 
is in the balcony, enjoying the moonlight before she 
goes to bed. Here is the costume for the part." 




ROYALTY COMES ABOARD / 97 

He took out a long white cotton night shirt and 
a ruffled night cap. Then the duke got out his book 
and read the parts over. All the time he was reading 
he pranced around and acted to show the king how 
it had to be done. Then he handed the book to the 
king and told him to learn his part by heart. 

The duke said he had thought up a way we could 
travel by daylight, without danger to Jim. He said 
he would fix the thing up at the town we would be 
coming to next. It was a little one-horse town three 
miles down the river. When we got there, Jim said 
I had better go ashore with the two, to buy some 
coffee. 




98 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

When we landed not a soul was stirring. Streets 
empty, and dead still, like Sunday. We found an old 
slave sunning himself in a back yard, and he said 
everybody that wasn't too sick or too old had gone 
to camp meeting, about two miles back in the woods. 

The duke said what he was after was a printing 
office. We found it, a little place up over a carpenter 
shop — carpenters and printers all gone to the meet- 
ing, and no doors locked. It was a dirty, littered-up 
place, and had ink marks, and handbills with pic- 
tures of horses and runaway slaves on them, all over 
the walls. The duke shed his coat and said he was 
all right now. He set up and printed off a handbill 
with a picture of a runaway slave with a bundle on 
a stick over his shoulder, and "$200 reward" under 
it. The reading was all about Jim, and just described 
him to a dot. It said he had run away from St. Jacques' 
plantation, forty miles below New Orleans, last win- 
ter, and likely went north, and whoever would catch 
him and bring him back could have the reward and 
expenses. 

"Now," said the duke, "after tonight we can run 
in the daytime, if we want to. Whenever we see any- 
body coming we can tie Jim hand and foot with a 
rope, and lay him in the wigwam and show this 
handbill and say we caught him up the river and 
are going down to get the reward." 

The king got directions of the camp-meeting, 
about two miles back in the woods. He said he reck- 
oned he would go and work that camp-meeting for 
all it was worth, and I might go too. 

We got there in about half an hour, fairly drip- 
ping, for it was a most awful hot day. People had 
come from twenty miles around — the woods full of 
wagons, and teams hitched everywhere, feeding and 



ROYALTY COMES ABOARD / 99 

stomping to keep off the flies. They had sheds made 
out of poles and roofed over with branches, where 
they sold lemonade and gingerbread, and piles of 
watermelons, green corn, and such truck. 

The preaching was going on under the same 
kinds of sheds, only bigger, to hold the crowds of 
people. The benches, made out of slabs of logs with 
holes bored in the round side to drive sticks into for 
legs, didn't have any backs. The preachers had high 
platforms to stand on at one end of the sheds. 

The women had on sun-bonnets, and some had 
linsey-woolsey dresses, some gingham, and a few of 
the young ones had on calico. Some of the young 
men were barefooted, and some of the children didn't 
have on any clothes but a tow-linen shirt. The old 
women kept busy knitting, and the young folks 
courted on the sly. 

At the first shed we stopped at, the preacher was 
lining out a hymn. He lined out two lines, everybody 
sung it, then he lined out two more lines for them 
to sing. It was kind of grand to hear so many singing 
in such a rousing way. 

The people woke up more and more, and sung 
louder and louder. Toward the end, some began to 
groan, and some to shout. Then the preacher went 
to preaching, and in earnest too. He went weaving 
first to one side of the platform and then to the other. 
Then he would lean down over the front of it, with 
his arms and his body going all the time, shouting 
his words out with all his might, the people all the 
time shouting out, "Glory — amen!" and groaning and 
crying. The preacher went right on: 

"Oh, come to the mourner's bench! Come, black 
with sin! Come, sick and sore! Come, lame and halt 
and blind! Come, pore and needy, sunk in shame! 



100 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

Come, all that is worn and soiled and suffering! Come 
with a broken spirit! Come in your rags and sin and 
dirt! The waters that cleanse is free, the door of 
heaven stands open — oh, enter in and be at rest!" 

After a while you couldn't make out what the 
preacher said any more, on account of the shouting 




ROYALTY COMES ABOARD / 101 

and crying. Folks got up everywhere in the crowd, 
and worked their way by main strength to the mour- 
ner's bench, with tears running down their faces. 
When all the mourners had got up there to the front 
benches, they sung and shouted and flung them- 
selves down on the ground, just crazy and wild. 

Well, the first thing I knew the king got going, 
and you could hear him above everybody. Next he 
went charging up onto the platform, and the 
preacher begged him to speak to the people, and he 
did. He said he was a pirate — and had been a pirate 
for thirty years out in the Indian Ocean. His crew 
was thinned out last spring in a fight, and he was 
home now to take out some fresh men. But thanks 
to goodness he was robbed last night and put ashore 
off a steamboat without a cent. He was glad of it, 
because now he was a changed man, and happy for 
the first time in his life. Poor as he was, he was going 
to start right off and work his way back to the Indian 
Ocean. There he would put in the rest of his life 
trying to turn the pirates away from evil. It would 
take him a long time to get there without money, 
but he would get there somehow. 

Then he busted into tears, and so did everybody 
else. Then somebody called out, "Take up a collection 
for him — take up a collection!" Half a dozen made 
a jump to do it, but somebody said, "Let him pass 
the hat around!" 

So the king went all through the crowd holding 
out his hat, swabbing his eyes, and blessing and 
praising and thanking the people for being so good 
to him and the poor pirates out in the Indian Ocean. 

When we got back to the raft and he counted 
up, he found he had collected eighty-seven dollars 
and seventy-five cents. 



11 



Trouble in Arkansas 



Next morning we started out in broad daylight. 
After breakfast the king took a seat on the corner 
of the raft, pulled off his boots, and let his legs dangle 
in the water. Then he lit his pipe and went to getting 
his Romeo and Juliet by heart. 

Then the duke went to practicing it with him. 
The duke had to teach him how to say every speech. 

"You mustn't bellow out Romeo! that way, like 
a bull. You must say it soft and loving — R-o-o-meo! 
Juliet is a dear sweet mere child of a girl. She 
wouldn't bray like a jackass." 

So he went to marching up and down, thinking, 
and frowning. Then he would hoist up his eyebrows. 
Next he would squeeze his hand on his forehead and 
stagger back and kind of moan. 

Well, all that day we floated along, and the raft 
was a lively place, acting going on all the time. That 
night we tied the raft to the shore and slept. The 
duke said the play was ready to give. 

Next morning we came in sight of a little one- 
horse town and tied the raft about a mile above, in 
the mouth of a creek, behind some trees. All of us 
but Jim went to town to see if there was any chance 
for our show. We struck it lucky. It was circus day, 
and there would be a crowd. Country people were 

102 



TROUBLE IN ARKANSAS / 103 

already coming in. The circus would leave before 

night, so our show would have a pretty good chance. 

The duke hired the court-house, and we went 

around and stuck up our bills. They read like this: 

Shakspere Revival! 

For One Night Only! 

The World-Famous Actor, 

David Garrick the Younger, 

of London, 

and 

Edmund Kean the Elder, of London! 

The Balcony Scene 

in 
Romeo and Juliet! 

Romeo Mr. Garrick 

Juliet Mr. Kean 

Assisted by the whole strength of the company! 

New Costumes, new scenery, new appointments! 

Admission 25 cents Children and servants 10 cents 

Then we went loafing around town. The houses 
were old shacks that had never been painted, set up 
on stilts to be out of reach of water when the river 
overflowed. Each house was fenced in with a garden 
spot, but the gardens had nothing in them but weeds 
and sunflowers, and ash piles, and old curled-up 
boots, and pieces of bottles. Some of the fences had 
been white-washed a long time ago — the duke said 
maybe in Columbus's time. 

All the stores had white domestic awnings in 
front. Loafers roosted under them all day long, whit- 
tling and chewing tobacco, and yawning and stretch- 
ing. They called one another Bill, Buck, Hank, Joe, 
and Andy, and talked lazy and drawly with a lot of 
cusswords. What you would hear them say most was: 



104 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

"Gimme a chaw of tobacker, Hank." 

"Can't, I ain't got but one chaw left. Ask Bill." 

The street was just mud — mud as black as tar, 
a foot deep in some places, and two or three inches 
deep in all places. You would see a muddy sow come 
lazing along and whallop herself right down in the 
street. Pretty soon a loafer would sing out: "Hi! sick 
him, Tige!" Away the sow would go squealing, with 
a dog or two swinging to each ear. The loafers would 
stand up to watch the thing out of sight and laugh 
at the fun. Then they would settle back till there 
was a dog fight. 

By noon the crowd was thick, and more people 
coming all the time. By and by somebody said: 

"Here comes old Boggs! — in for his little old 
monthly drunk. Here he comes boys!" 

All the loafers looked glad. One of them said: 
"Wonder who he's going to chew up this time." An- 
other one said: "I wish old Boggs would threaten me. 
Then I'd know I wasn't going to die soon." 

Boggs comes tearing along on his horse, weaving 
about in his saddle, and yelling like an Injun: 

"Clear the track thar. I am on the war-path, and 
the price of coffins is goin' up." 

He was over fifty years old, and had a very red 
face. Everybody yelled and laughed at him. He 
sassed back and said he would attend to them, and 
lay them out in their turn. Then he saw me and rode 
up and said: 

"Whar you come from, boy? You prepared to 
die?" 

I was scared, but a man said: 

"He always carries on like that when he's drunk. 
The best natured old fool in Arkansas. Never hurt 
nobody — drunk or sober." 



TROUBLE IN ARKANSAS / 105 

Boggs rode up before the biggest store in town, 
bent his head down to look under the awning and 
yelled: 

"Come out here, Sherburn! Come out and meet 
the man you swindled. You are the hound I'm after!" 

He went on calling Sherburn everything he 
could lay his tongue to. The whole street was packed 
with people listening and laughing. By and by a 
proud looking man stepped out of the store. They 
said it was Colonel Sherburn. He was the best dressed 
man in that town. He said to Boggs, calm and slow: 

"I'm tired of this. I'll endure it till one o'clock — 
no longer. If you open your mouth against me only 
once after that time you can't travel so far but I'll 
find you." 

He turned and went back in. The crowd looked 
sober, nobody was laughing. Boggs rode off abusing 
Sherburn as loud as he could yell. Pretty soon back 
he comes, and stopped before the store, still keeping 
it up. Some men tried to get him to shut up, but he 
wouldn't. They told him it would be one o'clock in 
fifteen minutes, and he must go home right away. 
They tried to coax him off his horse so they could 
lock him up and get him sober. But it was no use — 
up the street he would tear again, and give Sherburn 
another cussing. 

I walked down the street a way and stopped. In 
five or ten minutes here comes Boggs again, but not 
on his horse. He was reeling along bareheaded, with 
a friend on each side holding his arms and hurrying 
him along. He was quiet and looked uneasy. He 
wasn't hanging back, but was doing some of the hur- 
rying himself. Somebody called out: 

"Boggs!" 

It was Colonel Sherburn. He was standing still 



106 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 



^a «»■ 



l-^H 







_ _ - V^-x 







.,*'',. 

,/''.<'' 



TROUBLE IN ARKANSAS / 107 

in the street, and had a pistol raised in his right hand, 
tilted up toward the sky. 

Boggs and the men turned round to see who 
called. When they saw the pistol, the two men let 
go of Boggs and jumped to one side. The pistol-barrel 
comes down slow and steady to a level. Boggs throws 
up both hands and says, "Oh Lord, don't shoot." Bang! 
goes the first shot, and he staggers back, clawing at 
the air. Bang! goes the second shot, and he tumbles 
backward to the ground, heavy and solid, his arms 
spread out. 

Colonel Sherburn tossed his pistol onto the 
ground and turned and walked off. Some men took 
Boggs to a little drug store, the whole crowd follow- 
ing. I rushed and got a good place at the window. 
They laid him on the floor and put a large Bible 
under his head, and another spread open on his 
breast. He made about a dozen long gasps, his breast 
lifting the Bible up and down. After that he was still, 
he was dead. 

The crowd was pushing and shoving to get at 
the window to have a look, the people behind saying: 

"Say, now, you've looked long enough, fellows. 
It ain't fair for you to stay thar all the time and never 
give nobody else a chance to see." 

Well, by and by somebody said Sherburn ought 
to be lynched. In about a minute everybody was say- 
ing it. So away they went, mad and yelling and 
snatching down every clothes-line they passed. They 
swarmed up to Sherburn's fence, and somebody 
yelled: 

"Tear down the fence!" 

There was a ripping and smashing, and down 
she goes. The crowd rolled in like a wave. Just then 
Sherburn stepped out on the roof of his front porch, 



108 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

with a double-barrel gun in his hand. The racket 
stopped, and the crowd sucked back. Sherburn let 
his eye run along the crowd. They dropped their gaze 
and looked sneaky. Then Sherburn laughed a scorn- 
ful way and said: 

"The idea of you thinking you had pluck enough 
to lynch a man. Because you are brave enough to 
tar and feather poor out-cast women that come along 
here, you think you have grit enough to lay your 
hands on a man. Why a man is safe in the hands 
of ten thousand of your kind — as long as it is daytime 
and you are not behind him. I know you clear 
through. The pitifulest thing out is a mob. That is 
what an army is — a mob. They don't fight with cour- 
age born in them, but with courage borrowed from 
their mass and from their officers. But a mob without 
any man at the head of it is beneath pity. Now you 
drop your tails and go home and crawl in a hole. 
If any real lynching is to be done, it'll be done in 
the dark, southern fashion. And when they come, 
they'll bring their masks and have a man along. Now 
leave. " 

He tossed his gun up across his left arm, and 
the crowd washed back, and broke apart, and went 
tearing off every which way. I left too, because I 
didn't want to stay either. 



^ The Circus and the 
£y Royal Nonesuch 



I went to the circus and loafed around the back- 
side till the watchman went by. Then I dived in un- 
der the tent. I had some money, but I reckoned I 
better save it. No telling how soon you are going to 
need it, away from home and among strangers. I'm 
not against spending money on a circus when there's 
no other way to get in, but there's no use wasting 
on them. 

It was a real bully circus. It was a splendid sight 
to see them all come riding in, two and two, gentle- 
man and lady side by side, the men resting their 
hands on their thighs so easy. There must have been 
twenty of them. And every lady with a lovely com- 
plexion and perfectly beautiful. They looked just like 
a gang of sure enough queens. Then one by one they 
got up and stood on their horses and went weaving 
around the ring, so gentle and wavy and graceful. 
The men looked ever so tall and airy and straight 
with their heads bobbing and skimming along away 
up there under the tent roof, and every lady looking 
like the most lovely parasol with her rose-leafy dress 
flapping soft and silky around her hips. 



109 



110 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

Then faster and faster they went, all of them 
dancing, first one foot in the air and then the other. 
The horses went leaning more and more, the ring- 
master cracking his whip and shouting "Hi! — hi!" 
And so, one after the other, they skipped off, into 
the ring and made the sweetest bow and went run- 
ning out. Everybody clapped and went wild. 

And all the time the clown was carrying on so 
it almost killed the people. The ringmaster couldn't 
say a word but the clown was back at him quick 
as a wink. How he ever could think of so many funny 
things to say and so sudden and so pat, was what I 
couldn't understand. I couldn't have thought of them 
in a year. 

By and by a drunk man tried to get into the ring — 
said he wanted to ride — said he could ride as well 
as anybody. The ringmaster argued and tried to keep 
him out, but he wouldn't listen. The whole show had 
to come to a standstill. Then the people hollered at 
him and made fun of him. That made him mad, 
and he commenced to rip and tear. That stirred up 
the people, and a lot of men commenced to pile down 
off of the benches and went swarming out towards 
the ring, saying, "Knock him down! Throw him out!" 
Some women screamed. Then the ringmaster made 
a little speech. He said he hoped there wouldn't be 
any disturbance. If the man would promise not to 
make any more trouble, he would let him ride — if 
he could stay on the horse. So everybody laughed 
and said all right, and the man got on. The minute 
he was on, the horse began to rip and tear and jump 
around. It was all two circus men could do to hang 
on to the bridle. The drunk man grabbed the horse 
around the neck to hold on, and his heels went flying 
in the air at every jump. The whole crowd stood up 



THE CIRCUS AND THE ROYAL NONESUCH / 111 

and shouted and laughed till the tears rolled down. 
Then, in spite of all the circus men could do, the 
horse broke loose. Away he went, round and round 
the ring, with that sot hanging to his neck, with first 
one leg nearly to the ground on one side and then 
the other on the other side. The people just went 
crazy. 

It wasn't funny to me, for I was all a-tremble 
at his danger. But pretty soon he struggled up and 
grabbed the bridle, reeling this way and that. The 
next minute he dropped the bridle and stood up on 
the horse! And the horse going like a house afire 
all the time. He stood up there and went sailing 
around as easy as if he never had been drunk in 
his life. Then he began to pull off his clothes and 
sling them. He shed them so fast they seemed to clog 
the air. Altogether he shed seventeen suits. And there 
he was, slim and handsome, and dressed the gaudiest 
and prettiest you ever saw. Then he lit into that horse 
with his whip and made him fairly hum. Finally 
he skipped off the horse, made a bow and danced 
off to the dressing room. Everybody was just howling 
with pleasure and surprise. 

When the ringmaster saw he had been fooled 
he was the sickest man you ever saw. I felt sheepish 
enough to be so taken in, but I wouldn't have been 
in that ringmaster's place for a thousand dollars. 
Why, it was one of his own men! He had got up that 
joke and never let on to anybody. 

Well, that night we had our show. Only about 
twelve people there — just enough to pay expenses. 
And they laughed all the time, and that made the 
duke mad. Everybody left before the show was over, 
but one boy who was asleep. So the duke said these 



112 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

Arkansas lunkheads couldn't come up to Shake- 
speare. What they wanted was something worse than 
low comedy. He said he could judge their style. 

Next morning he got some big sheets of wrap- 
ping paper and some black paint, and made big 

handbills that said: 

t 

At The Court House! 

Three Nights Only!! 

The World-Famous Actors 

David Garrick the Younger 

and 

Edmund Kean the Elder 

of London, 

In Their Thrilling Tragedy 

The Royal Nonesuch 

Admission 50 cents 

LADIES AND CHILDREN NOT ADMITTED 

"There," he said, "if that last line won't bring 
them in, I don't know Arkansas!" 

We stuck the showbills up all over the village, 
and that night the house was jammed full of men 
in no time. When the place couldn't hold any more, 
the duke quit tending the door and went around the 
back way, and walked out on the stage. He stood up 
before the curtain and made a little speech. He 
praised up the show, said it was the most thrillingest 
one that ever was. He bragged about Edmund Kean 
the Elder, who was to play the main part in it. At 
last, when he had got everybody's interest high 
enough, he rolled up the curtain. 

The next minute the king pranced out on all 
fours, naked, painted all over, ring-streaked and 
striped, in all sorts of colors. It was just wild, but it 



THE CIRCUS AND THE ROYAL NONESUCH / 113 

was awful funny. The people 'most killed themselves 
laughing at the king capering around on the stage. 
And when he capered off behind the scenes, they 
roared and clapped and stormed and haw-hawed, 
till he had to come back and do it all again. Then 
they made him do it another time. It would make 
a cow laugh to see the shines that old idiot cut. 

Then the duke let the curtain down and bowed 
to the people. He said he was glad the show had 
pleased them, and would they tell their friends to 
come and see it tomorrow night. Twenty people 
yelled out: 

"What! Is it over? Is that all?" 

The duke said yes. Then everybody cried out, 
"Sold!" and they rose up mad, and started for the 
stage. But a big fine-looking man jumped on a bench 
and shouted: 

"Hold on! Just a word, gentlemen." They stopped 
to listen. "We are sold — badly sold. But we don't want 
to be the laughing-stock of the whole town. Let's all 
go out of here quiet, and talk this show up, and sell 
the rest of the town. Then we'll all be in the same 
boat. Isn't that sensible!" 

"You bet it is — the judge is right." 

"All right then — not a word about being sold. Go 
along home, and advise everybody to come and see 
the show tomorrow night." 

The next night the house was jammed again, 
and we sold this crowd the same way. The third night 
the house was crammed again. I stood by the duke 
at the door, and saw the people go in. Every man 
had his pockets bulging, or something muffled up 
under his coat. I smelt sickly eggs by the barrel, and 
rotten cabbages, and if I know the smell of a dead 
cat, sixty-four of them went in. 



114 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

Well, when the place was full, the duke handed 
a quarter to a fellow to tend door for him a minute. 
Then he started around for the stage door, I after 
him. The minute we turned the corner he said: 

"Walk fast now till you get away from the town, 
and then strike out for the raft like the dickens was 
after you." 

We both did, and got to the raft at the same time. 
In less than two seconds the raft was gliding down 
stream, dark and still. I reckoned the poor king was 
in for a bad time, left to face all the people alone. 
But nothing of the sort — pretty soon he crawled out 
from under the wigwam, and said: 




THE CIRCUS AND THE ROYAL NONESUCH / 115 

"Well, how did the show pan out this time, 
duke?" He hadn't been in town at all. 

We didn't show a light until ten miles below the 
town. Then we lit up and had supper. The king and 
the duke fairly laughed their bones loose over the 
way they had served the people in the town. The 
duke said: 

"Greenhorns, flatheads! J knowed they would lay 
for us the third night. They'd think, 'Now it is our 
turn.' I would give anything to know how they're 
taking it." 

The king and the duke took in $465 in the three 
nights. I never saw money hauled in by the wagon- 
load like that before. 

By and by when Jim heard them snoring, he said: 

"Don't it surprise you de way dem kings carries 
on, Huck?" 

"No," I said. "I reckon they're all alike." 

"But, Huck, dese kings of ourn is regular rapscal- 
lions. Dat is just what dey is, Huck — dey is regular 
rapscallions.' 



fete'-l 



wiy/fii f ji»M>tt'" 




I Lit **£**■ 

?■:* ?"* - — ■ — • 






^^m^M 



116 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

"That's what I said. All kings are mostly rapscal- 
lions, as far as I can make out." 

"Is dat so?" 

"You read about them once — you'll see. Look at 
Henry the Eighth. This one is a Sunday-school super- 
intendent to him. My, you ought to have seen old 
Henry the Eighth when he was in bloom. He was 
a blossom. He used to marry a new wife every day, 
and chop her head off next morning. And he made 
every one of them tell him a tale every night, and 
kept that up till he had a thousand and one tales. 
Then he put them all in a book and called it Domes- 
day Book. You don't know kings, Jim; but I know 
them, and this old rip of ours is one of the cleanest 
I ever heard of in history. Well, King Henry, he took 
a notion to get up some trouble in this country. He 
heaves all the tea in Boston harbor overboard, and 
whacks out a declaration of independence, and dares 
them to come on. That was the kind of bug Henry 
was. He would have fooled that town a heap worse 
than our kings did. You have to make allowances 
for kings. Take them all around, they are a mighty 
ornery lot." 

"But dis one do smell so like de nation, Huck!" 

"Well, they all do, Jim. We can't help the way 
a king smells." 

"Now de duke, he is a likely man in some ways." 

"This one is a hard lot for a duke. When he's 
drunk a near-sighted man couldn't tell him from a 
king." 

"Well, anyways, I don't hanker for no mo' of 'em. 
Dese is all I can stand." 

"I feel the same way, Jim. But we have them 
on our hands. Sometimes I wish we could hear of 
a country that is out of kings." 




The King Turns Parson 



One day we tied up under a little willow towhead 
out in the middle of the river. There was a village 
on each side of us, and the duke and the king got 
busy making plans to work these towns. Jim spoke 
to the duke and said he hoped it wouldn't take long. 
He said it was mighty tiresome to be kept all day 
in the wigwam tied with a rope. You see, when we 
left him all alone, we tied him with a rope so he 
would look like a captured runaway slave if anybody 
happened to come on him. 

The duke said he'd fix that. He dressed Jim up 
in a long calico gown and put a wig and whiskers 
on him. Then he took his theater paint and painted 
Jim's face and hands a dull solid blue. He looked 
like a man that had been drowned nine days. Then 
the duke put a sign on the wigwam: 

Sick Arab — but harmless when not out of 
his head. 

Jim was satisfied. He said it was better than being 
left tied up for hours, and trembling at every sound. 
The king and the duke couldn't hit on any plan 
to work the towns. It wouldn't be safe to try the None- 
such again; news of it might have worked down by 
this time. At last the duke said he'd work his brains 



117 



118 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

an hour or two and see if he could turn up some 
plan. The king said he would drop over to the village 
on the other side and trust his luck to Providence — 
meaning the devil, I reckon. 

He dressed up in store clothes, all black, and he 
looked real swell and starchy. When he took off his 
white beaver hat and made a bow and smiled, he 
looked so grand and good and pious, you would think 
he had walked right out of the ark. 

There was a big steamboat at the shore about 
three miles above, taking on freight. The king said 
he would get on that steamboat and arrive in the 
village from St. Louis or Cincinnati. He told Jim to 
clean up the canoe and me to get my paddles ready. 

I rowed up the river, close to the bank in easy 
water. Pretty soon we passed a nice, innocent-looking 
country fellow, carrying a couple of carpet-bags. 

"Where are you bound for, young man?" called 
out the king. 

"For the steamboat — going to Orleans." 

"Get aboard," said the king. "Hold on a minute, 
my servant will help you with the bags. Jump out 
and help the gentleman, Adolphus" — meaning me. 

I helped him in, and we all three started on 
again. The young chap said he was thankful for the 
ride; it was tough work toting his baggage on such 
a hot day. Then he said: 

"When I first saw you I thought you might be 
Harvey Wilks. I said to myself, 'He almost got here 
on time.' Then I remembered he wouldn't be pad- 
dling up the river. You ain't him, are you?" 

"No; my name is Alexander Blodgett — Reverend 
Blodgett, one of the Lord's poor servants. I'm sorry 
Mr. Wilks didn't arrive in time — I hope he didn't miss 
anything serious." 



THE KING TURNS PARSON / 119 

"He won't miss any property — he'll get that all 
right. But he missed seeing his brother Peter alive. 
Peter wanted so much to see Harvey before he died. 
He hadn't seen him since they were boys in England. 
He never had seen his brother William — the deaf 
and dumb one." 

"Where was Harvey coming from?" 
"Oh, he lives in England — preaches there — never 
been in this country. Only two of the brothers came 
to America — Peter and George — about forty years 
ago. George and his wife died and left three girls. 
Peter took care of them. Now he's gone, and the girls 
are left alone. Peter wouldn't make a will, but he 
left a letter for Harvey, telling where the money is 
and how he wanted the property divided up." 
"How old are the girls?" 

"Mary Jane is nineteen, Susan is fifteen, and 
Joanna about fourteen." 

"Poor things! to be left alone in the cold world." 
"Well, old Peter had friends, and they won't let 
them come to harm. There's Hobson, the Baptist 
preacher, and Deacon Lot Hovey, Ben Rucker, Abner 
Shackleford, Levi Bell, the lawyer, and Doctor Robin- 
son, and the Widow Bartley." 

Well, the king went on asking questions till he 
fairly emptied that young fellow. He inquired about 
everybody and everything in that blessed town. 
"Was Peter Wilks well off?" 
"Pretty well off. He had houses and land, and 
three or four thousand in cash hid somewhere." 
"When did you say he died?" 
"I didn't say, but it was last night." 
"Funeral tomorrow, likely?" 
"Yes, about the middle of the day." 
When we struck the steamboat the king didn't 



120 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

go aboard, but waited till the boat left. Then he said 
to me: 

"Hustle back and fetch the duke up here, and 
the new carpet-bags. If he's gone over to the other 
side of the river, go after him. Shove along now." 

I saw what he was up to. But I said nothing, of 
course. 

When I got back with the duke, the king told 
him everything the young fellow had said. And all 
the time he tried to talk like an Englishman. 

"Tell me, how are you on the deaf and dumb, 
Bilgewater?" 

The duke said leave him alone for that, said he 
had played the part on the stage many a time. 

We hid the canoe and waited until a steamboat 
came along. They hailed her and we got aboard and 
landed at the village. About two dozen men flocked 
to meet the boat. The king looked around and said: 

"Can any of you tell me where Mr. Peter Wilks 
lives?" 

They glanced at one another as much as to say, 
"Poor old Peter's brothers." Then one of them said 
kind of soft and gentle: 

"The best we can do is to tell you where he did 
live. He died last night." 

Sudden as winking that ornery old king went 
all to smash. He fell up against the man, put his 
chin on his shoulder, and cried down his back. 

"Alas, our poor brother — gone and we never got 
to see him!" 

Then he turned to the duke, blubbering, and 
made a lot of idiotic signs on his hands. Blamed if 
the duke didn't drop a carpet-bag and bust out 
a-crying. The men gathered around and said all sorts 
of kind things. They carried their carpet-bags up 



THE KING TURNS PARSON / 121 

the hill for them. They told the king all about Peter's 
last hours, and the king told it all over again, on 
his hands, to the duke. It was enough to make a body 
ashamed of the human race. 

When he got to the house the three girls came 
running to meet us. Mary Jane, the red-headed one, 
was most awful beautiful. Her face and eyes lit up 
like glory, she was so glad her uncles had come. 
Everybody cried for joy. 

Then the king and the duke looked around and 
saw the coffin over in the corner on two chairs. They 
went and bent over and looked in, and bust out 
a-crying. They put their arms around each other's 
neck, and I never saw two men leak the way they 
did. Mind you, everybody there was doing the same. 
I never saw anything like it. 

Then the king said how glad he would be if a 
few friends of his brother Peter would take supper 
there and keep watch that night with the ashes of 
the dead. He said he would name the ones his brother 
often wrote about: Reverend Mr. Hobson, Deacon Lot 
Hovey, Ben Rucker, Abner Shackleford, Levi Bell, 
Doctor Robinson, their wives and the Widow Bartley. 

Three of them — Reverend Hobson, Doctor Rob- 
inson, and Lawyer Bell — had left town on business. 
But the others would stay. They shook hands with 
the king and thanked him. Then they shook hands 
with the duke but didn't say anything, just smiled 
and bobbed their heads like a lot of sapheads. The 
duke made signs with his hands. 

Then Mary Jane fetched the letter that Peter had 
left for Harvey and handed it to the king. He read 
it out loud and cried over it. The letter willed the 
home and three thousand in gold to the girls. Other 
houses and land — worth about seven thousand — and 



122 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

three thousand in gold went to Harvey and William. 
The letter told where the six thousand cash was hid 
down cellar. 

So the king said he and his brother William 
would go and fetch it up. He told me to come along 
with a candle. They found the bag and emptied the 
gold out on the floor. It was a lovely sight. My, how 
the king's eyes did shine! They pawed through the 
coins, sifted them through their fingers, and let them 
jingle down on the floor. Next, they must count it. 
It added up four hundred and fifteen dollars short. 

"Dern him, I wonder what he done with that 
four hundred and fifteen dollars." 

They looked all around for it. Then the duke said: 

"Maybe he made a mistake. Let it go and keep 
still about it. We can spare it." 

"Oh, shucks, yes; we can spare it. But the count 
is what I'm thinking about. We want to be square 
and above board here, you know. We want to lug 
this money upstairs and count it before everybody. 
The dead man said there was six thousand, and we 
don't want to come up short." 

"Hold on," said the duke. "Let's make up the dif- 
ference." And he began to haul money out of his 
pocket. 

"A good idea, duke. You have got a rattlin' clever 
head on you." And he began to haul out money. 

It 'most busted them, but they made up the six 
thousand. We went upstairs, and everybody gathered 
around the table while the king counted the money 
and stacked it up. Everybody looked hungry at it. 
Then the king raked it all into the bag again, and 
swelled himself up for a speech. A big iron-jawed 
man had worked himself in from outside. He stood 
looking and listening but not saying anything. 



THE KING TURNS PARSON / 123 

The king was saying: "You here are the close 
friends of brother Peter. That is why you are invited 
this evening. But tomorrow we want all to come — 
everybody. Peter liked everybody, and it is fittin' that 
his funeral orgies be public." He went mooning on 
and on, liking to hear himself talk. He kept talking 
about the funeral "orgies" till the duke couldn't stand 
it any longer. He wrote on a scrap of paper, "Obse- 
quies, you old fool," and handed it to the king. The 
king read the note, put it in his pocket and said: 

"Poor William! Deaf and dumb as he is, his heart 
is always right. He has asked me in this note to invite 
everybody to the funeral — just what I was doing." 
Then he went weaving along in his speech, and 
spoke again of the funeral "orgies." This time he 
added: 

"I say orgies because that is the right word in 
England. Obsequies is the common word here, but 
it ain't used in England now. Funeral orgies is more 
exact; it means an open or public funeral." 

Well, the iron-jawed man laughed right in his 
face. Everybody was shocked. 

"Why, Doctor Robinson," said Abner Shackle- 
ford, "didn't you hear the news? This is Harvey 
Wilks." 

The king smiled and shoved out his hand to Doc- 
tor Robinson. 

"Keep your hands off me!" said the doctor. "You 
talk like an Englishman, don't you! The worst imita- 
tion I ever heard. You Peter Wilks's brother! You 
are a fraud!" 

They crowded around the doctor, and tried to 
quiet him down, and told him how Harvey had called 
them all by name, and how he showed in forty ways 
that he was Harvey. But it was no use. The doctor 



124 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

stormed right along. Then he turned to the girls and 
said: 

"I warn you to turn your backs on this ignorant 
tramp. He comes here with a lot of facts he picked 
up somewhere, and you take that for proof he is Har- 
vey Wilks. You have all helped to fool yourselves. 
Now listen to me: Turn this pitiful rascal out — I beg 
you to do it. Will you?" 

Mary Jane straightened up and said: "This is 
my answer." She picked up the bag of money and 
put it in the king's hands. "Take our part of this 
six thousand dollars and invest it for us. Don't give 
us a receipt for it." 

Everybody clapped and stomped on the floor, 
while the king held his head high and smiled proud. 
The doctor said: 

"All right. But the time is coming when you will 
be sick whenever you think of this day." 

"When they get sick they can send for you, doc- 
tor," the king called after the doctor as he went out 
the door. 

Everybody laughed; they said that was a prime 
good hit. 




Dead Peter Has His Gold 



That night we had a big supper. I stood behind 
the king's chair and waited on him, and the servants 
waited on the rest. 

After supper the king asked Mary Jane about 
sleeping rooms. She said Uncle William could have 
the spare room, and she would give her own room 
to Uncle Harvey, for it was a bigger room. She would 
sleep on a cot in the room with her sisters. Up garret 
was a little cubby with a pallet in it. The king said 
this would do for his valley* — meaning me. 

I lit ouLfor_bed as soon as I had supper. When 
I got by myself I went to thinking. I had to save that 
money for the girls. There was only one way to do 
it. I had to steal the money somehow. Steal it and 
hide it. Then by and by when I was away down the 
river, write a letter to tell Mary Jane where it was. 
But I must steal it tonight. It wasn't likely that the 
doctor had let up on them, and if he scared them 
bad enough they might run away with the money 
before day. 

Upstairs the hall was dark, but I found the duke's 
room and started to paw around it. Then I thought 
the king wouldn't be likely to let that money out of 

* Valet, a man servant. 

125 



126 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

his hands. So I went to his room and began to paw 
around. About that time I heard them coming up 
the stairs, and I skipped behind a curtain. They 
walked in and shut the door. The king said: 

"Well, what is it? Cut it short. We ought to be 
down there whoopin' up the mourning instead of 
up here giving them a chance to talk it over." 

"I tell you I ain't easy. That doctor worries me. 
We better glide out of here before morning and be 
satisfied with what we got." 

The king rips out and says, "What! March off 
like a couple of fools and leave eight or nine thou- 
sand dollars in property — all good salable stuff!" 

The duke grumbled, said six thousand cash was 
enough, said it was blamed foolishness to stay, with 
that doctor hanging over them. But the king said: 

"Curse the doctor! What do we care for him? 
Haven't we got all the fools in town on our side? 
And ain't that big enough majority in any town?" 

Then the duke said, "I don't think we put that 
money in a good place." 



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DEAD PETER HAS HIS GOLD / 127 

But the king said it was all right, because a ser- 
vant only makes up the feather bed, and won't turn 
over the straw tick more than twice a year. 

I had the bag of money out of there before they 
could get downstairs, and groped up to my cubby. I 
judged I had better hide the money outside the house. 
When they missed it, they would give the house a 
good ransacking. I waited until I heard the king and 
the duke come up, and everything was still down- 
stairs. Then I crept up to their doors and listened. 
I could hear them snoring. 

I went back for the bag of money and crept down- 
stairs. The men watching the corpse had gone to 
sleep in their chairs. I tiptoed on through to the front 
door. It was locked, and the key wasn't there. Just 
then I thought I heard somebody coming down the 
stairs. I took a swift look around, and the only place 
I saw to hide the bag of money was in the coffin. I 
shoved the lid back and tucked the bag away down 
beyond where the hands crossed. The hands felt so 
cold it made me creep, and I got out of there as fast 




128 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

as I could. When I got back to my bed I thought, 
"When we get down the river a hundred miles or 
so I'll write back to Mary Jane, and she can dig him 
up and get the money." 

Next morning when I went downstairs, the par- 
lor was shut up, and the watchers had gone. Nobody 
was around but the family and the Widow Bartley 
and our own tribe. I watched their faces to see if 
they had missed the money. But I couldn't tell. 

Toward the middle of the day the undertaker 
came with his man. They set the coffin in the middle 
of the room and put rows of chairs all around the 
walls. Then the people flocked in. For half an hour 
they filed around slow, in single rank, and looked 
down on the dead man's face. It was all very still 
and solemn. The girls and the king and the duke 
bent their heads, and sobbed in their handkerchiefs. 

Then the undertaker slid around with his soft 
soothing ways, getting people seated. He made no 
more noise than a cat, as he moved people around, 
squeezed in late comers, and opened up passage 
ways, doing it with nods and signs made with his 
black gloved hands. He was the softest, glidingest 
man I ever saw. And there was no more smile to 
him than there is to a ham. 

When everything was ready, the Reverend Hob- 
son got up to talk, slow and solemn. Right after he 
opened up, the most outrageous row busted out in 
the cellar. It was only one dog, but he made a power- 
ful racket, and kept it up. The parson had to stop. 
He just stood over the coffin and waited. The under- 
taker made a sign to him as much as to say, "Don't 
you worry — just depend on me." Then he went glid- 
ing along the wall behind the rows of chairs, and 
when he had gone around two sides of the room, 



DEAD PETER HAS HIS GOLD / 129 

he went through the door. In about two minutes we 
heard a whack, and the dog finished up with a howl. 
Then everything was dead still, and the parson took 
up his solemn talk where he left off. 

In a minute or two here comes the undertaker 
back, gliding along the walls again. He shaded his 
mouth with his hands and stretched his neck out 
toward the preacher and said in a coarse whisper, 
"He had a rat!" Naturally the people had wanted 
to know. Little services like that don't cost anything 
and make a man liked. 

The funeral was very good, but p'ison* long and 
tiresome. At last the job was through, and the under- 
taker sneaked up on the coffin with his screw-driver. 
I was in a sweat, and watched him pretty keen. But 
he didn't meddle, just slid the lid along and screwed 
it down. 

So there I was! I didn't know whether the money 
was in there or not. How was I to know whether to 
write Mary Jane? Suppose she dug him up and didn't 
find anything. What would she think of me? Blame 
it, I said to myself, I wish to goodness I had let it 
alone. Dad fetch the whole business! 

They buried him, and we went back home, and 
I went to watching faces. I couldn't rest easy. But 
the faces didn't tell me anything. 

That evening the king visited around and sweet- 
ened everybody up and made himself ever so 
friendly. He let it be known that his church in 
England was in a sweat for him to come back, so 
he must settle the estate right away and leave for 
England. He was very sorry he was so pushed, he 
wished he could stay longer, but it couldn't be done. 
He said of course he and William would take the 

* poison. 



130 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

girls back to England with them. That pleased the 
girls so they clean forgot they ever had a sorrow and 
told him to sell out as quick as he wanted to. 

Well, blamed if the king didn't bill the house 
and the slaves and all the property for auction right 
off — sale two days after the funeral, but anybody 
could buy beforehand if he wanted to. Next day along 
about noon a couple of slave-traders come along. The 
king sold them the slaves cheap, for three-day draft.* 
Two sons were sold up the river to Memphis, and 
their mother down the river to Orleans. 

The poor girls cried and said they hadn't 
dreamed of seeing the family separated or sold away 
from that town. I can't get it out of my memory, the 
sight of the poor miserable girls and the slaves hang- 
ing around each other's neck and crying. I would 
have busted out and told on our gang if I hadn't 
thought the sale was no account and the slaves would 
be back in a week or two. 

The thing made a big stir in the town, too. A 
good many people came out flat-footed and said it 
was wrong to separate the mother and children that 
way. It injured the frauds some, but that old fool 
king bulled right along, in spite of all the duke could 
do. I tell you the duke was powerful uneasy. 

About daylight the morning of the auction the 
king and the duke climbed up to my garret and 
waked me up. I saw by their look that there was 
trouble. The king said: 

"Have you been in my room?" 

"No," I said. 

"Have you seen anybody go in there?" 

I studied a while, and saw my chance. "Well, I 

* To be paid for in three days. 



DEAD PETER HAS HIS GOLD / 131 

saw the slaves that you sold go in there several 
times." 

"What, all of them?" 

"I don't think I ever saw them all come out at 
once, except one time. It was the day of the funeral. 
They tiptoed out. I saw they had shoved in there to 
do up your room, thinking you out, but found you 
in there asleep. At least, they seemed to be trying 
to get away without waking you." 

"Great guns!" said the king. 

They both stood there thinking, and looking 
pretty sick and silly. The duke said: 

"They let on to be sorry they had to leave. Oh, 
yes, mighty sorry! And to think you sold them for a 
song." 

"Is something gone wrong?" I said, kind of timid- 
like. 

The king whirled on me and ripped out, "None 
of your business. You keep your head shut, and mind 
your own affairs. Long as you are in this town, don't 
forget that — you hear?" Then he said to the duke, 
"We got to swallow it and say nothing." 

As they started downstairs the duke said with 
a little raspy chuckle, "Quick sale and small profit! 
It was good business — yes. If you had listened to me, 
they would be here yet, and we wouldn't/' 

The king snarled around on him and sassed 
back, and then lit into me again. Why hadn't I come 
and told him I had seen them come sneaking out 
of his room — any fool would know they were up to 
something. 

They went off a-jawin', and I felt glad I had 
worked it off onto the slaves, and yet hadn't done 
them any harm by it. 




The King Overreaches 
Himself 



I got up and started downstairs. The girls' room 
was open as I passed, and I saw Mary Jane in there. 
She'd been packing a trunk, getting ready to go to 
England. But she had stopped with a folded gown 
in her lap and had her face in her hands crying. I 
went in and asked her what was the matter. 

It was about the slaves — just as I expected. She 
said the beautiful trip to England was spoiled for 
her. She could never be happy again, knowing the 
mother and two sons would never see each other 
again. 

"But they will — inside of two weeks — and I know 
it!" It was out before I could think! 

She hugged me for joy and asked how I could 
know that. I saw I had said too much and was in a 
tight place. It looked like here was a case where truth 
would be better and safer than a lie. Anyway I 
thought, I'd chance it. Then I said: 

"Don't you holler, just keep still and take it like 
a man. These men are not your uncles, but a couple 
of frauds — regular dead-beats." 

It jolted her hard. But I went right on and told 
her every blame thing, from when we first met that 
young fool going up to the steamboat, clear through 
to where she flung herself into her "uncle's" arms 

132 



THE KING OVERREACHES HIMSELF / 133 

at the front door and kissed him. Her eyes blazed 
brighter and brighter. 

"Come, don't waste a minute. We'll have them 
tarred and feathered and flung into the river!" 

"But they are a rough gang, these two frauds. 
And I have to travel with them a while longer, 
whether I want to or not. I'd rather not tell you why. 
If you give them away, the town would get me out 
of their claws, and / would be all right. But there's 
another person, who would be in big trouble." 

"Tell me what to do. Whatever you say I'll do!" 

Then I saw how maybe I could get rid of the 
frauds — get them jailed here, and then leave. But I 
didn't want to run the raft in the daytime — the plan 
couldn't be worked till late tonight. I said: 

"Is there any place out of town a little ways, 
where you could go and stay a while?" 

"Yes; Mr. Lothrop's. Why?" 

"You go there and keep out of sight till about 
eleven o'clock tonight. You're not one of these 
leather-face people — you can't face your uncles when 
they come to kiss you good morning without — " 

"Don't — don't. I'll go before breakfast. And leave 
my sisters with them?" 

"The frauds might suspect something if all of 
you left. You go right along. I'll tell your sisters you 
went away for a little rest and change, and you'll 
be back tonight. Just let the auction go right along 
and don't worry. They won't be able to collect the 
money for everything today and they won't leave till 
they get it all. If I haven't turned up by eleven o'clock 
tonight, it means I'm gone out of the way, and safe. 
Then you go out and spread the news in town about 
these frauds and get them jailed." 

"Good," she said. "I'll do it." 



134 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

'Til tell you how to prove these uncles are frauds. 
Give me a pencil and a piece of paper." I wrote on 
the paper, Royal Nonesuch, Bricksville. "There, keep 
that, and when the court wants to find out about these 
two frauds, send up to Bricksville and tell the people 
there that you have the men that played the Royal 
Nonesuch, and need some witnesses. The whole 
town will be down here before you can wink. Now 
there's one more thing — the bag of money." 

"Well, they've got that. It makes me feel pretty 
silly to think how they got it." 

"No, they haven't got it. I stole it from them to 
give back to you. I know where I hid it, but I'm not 
sure it's there anymore." 

"Where did you hide it?" 

I hated to set her to thinking about her sorrow 
again. And I couldn't get my mouth to tell her that 
the corpse was in his coffin with that bag of money 
on his stomach. So I said, "I'd rather not tell you 
where I put it. But I'll write it on a piece of paper. 
You can read it later. Will that do?" 

"Oh, yes." 

"So I wrote: J put it in the coffin. Then I folded 
the paper and handed it to her. 

She shook my hand hard and said, "Good-bye. 
I am going to do just as you told me. If I don't see 
you again, I won't ever forget you. And I will pray 
for you, too." And she was gone. 

Pray for me! She might have taken a job nearer 
her size, but I bet she tried, just the same. She was 
just that kind. I haven't ever seen her since, but I've 
thought of her a million times, and of her saying 
she would pray for me. If I thought it would ever 
do any good for me to pray for her, blamed if I 
wouldn't do it or bust. 



THE KING OVERREACHES HIMSELF / 135 

Well, Mary Jane lit out the back way. Nobody 
saw her go. Then I went to find Susan and Joanna, 
and said: 

"What is the name of the family over on the other 
side of the river that you all go to see sometimes?" 

"There are several, but we go to the Proctors 
mainly." 

"That was the name," I said. "I almost forgot 
it. Well, Miss Mary Jane said to tell you she's gone 
over there in a dreadful hurry — one of them is sick." 

"Which one? Hannah?" 

"Yes, Hannah is the very one." 

"What's the matter with her?" 

"Mumps. They had to watch her all night." 

"Mumps, your granny. They don't watch people 
with mumps." 

"But this is mixed up with some other things — 
measles, whooping-cough, janders, brain-fever." 

"My land! What in the nation do they call it 
mumps for?" 

"Because that was what it started with." 

"Suppose a body stumped his toe and took poison 
and fell down a well and broke his neck and busted 
his brains out. If something asked you what killed 
him, would you say, 'Why, he stumped his toe'?" 

"Is it catching?" asked the other sister. 

"Is a harrow catching? If one tooth won't catch 
you, another one will." 

"Well, I'll go to Uncle Harvey and—" 

"Now just look at it a minute. Your Uncle Harvey 
is a preacher, and would a preacher deceive a steam- 
boat clerk so as to get Miss Mary Jane aboard? You 
know he wouldn't. He'd say, 'My niece has been ex- 
posed to mumps, and we must wait three months 
before we can start to England.' " 



136 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 



"But we ought to tell Uncle Harvey she has gone 
out for a while, so he won't be uneasy about her." 

"Yes, she wanted you to do that. She said, Tell 
Uncle Harvey I have gone over the river to see — What 
is the name of that rich family over there?" 

"You must mean the Apthorps." 

"Yes. She said to say she had run over to ask 
the Apthorps to come to the auction and buy this 
house. She'll be home by morning, anyway." 

"All right," they said, and went off to give their 
Uncle Harvey the message. 

Everything was all right now. I judged Tom Saw- 
yer couldn't have done it any neater himself, though 
of course he would have put more style into it. 

They held the auction in the public square that 
afternoon late. By and by the thing dragged through, 
and everything was sold. Everything but a little old 
lot in the graveyard. I never saw such a giraffe as 
the king for wanting to swallow everything. While 
the auctioneer was working off the graveyard lot, 
up comes a crowd, whooping and laughing and yell- 
ing out: 




L 



THE KING OVERREACHES HIMSELF / 137 

"Here is another set of heirs to old Peter Wilks! 
Pay your money and take your choice!" 

They had with them a very nice-looking old gen- 
tleman and a nice-looking younger one, with his 
right arm in a sling. My soul, how the people yelled 
and laughed, and kept it up. But I didn't see any 
joke about it, and I reckoned the duke and the king 
would turn pale. But nothing of the kind. The duke 
never let on that he could hear a word. As for the 
king, he just gazed down sorrowful on the new com- 
ers, as if it caused him stomach-ache in his very 
heart to know such frauds could be. 

The old gentleman that had just come looked 
puzzled to death. Pretty soon he began to speak, and 
he did pronounce like an Englishman. 

"Gentlemen, I am Peter Wilks's brother Harvey, 
and this is his brother William, who can't hear or 
speak. We have had misfortunes. He broke his arm, 











138 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

and our baggage was put off the boat by mistake, 
at a town above here, last night. But we are who 
we say we are, and in a day or two, when I get the 
baggage, I can prove it. Until then, I'll go to the hotel 
and wait." 

The king laughed and bawled out: "Very likely 
story! Lost their baggage! Ha, ha, ha!" 

Everybody laughed except three or four. One of 
these was that doctor. Another was a sharp-looking 
gentleman with a carpet bag. He had just come off 
the steamboat. He was Levi Bell, the lawyer. Another 
was a big rough husky that had come along and was 
listening to the king now. 

"Say," he said to the king, "if you are Harvey 
Wilks, when did you come to this town?" 

"The day before the funeral, friend," said the 
king. 

"How did you come?" 

"On the Susan Powell from Cincinnati." 

"I live up at the point, and I saw you there that 
day. You come in a canoe with a boy." 

The doctor spoke up: "Would you know that boy 
again if you saw him, Hines?" 

"I reckon I would, but I don't know. Why, yonder 
he is now." He pointed to me. 

The doctor said, "Neighbors, I don't know any- 
thing about the new couple. But if these two are not 
frauds" (he pointed to the king and the duke) "I'm 
an idiot. I think our duty is to look into this thing. 
Come along, Hines. Come along, the rest of you. We'll 
take these fellows to the tavern, and I reckon we'll 
find out something before we get through." 

We all started. It was about sundown. The doctor 
led me along by the hand. He was kind enough, but 
he never let go my hand. 




J Light Out in the Storm 



We all got in a big room in the tavern, and they 
lit up some candles. First the doctor said: 

"I don't wish to be too hard on these two men, 
but J think they are frauds. These other two may 
be in their gang. If they are frauds we don't want 
them to get away with the property that Peter Wilks 
left. If they are all right, they won't object to sending 
for that bag of gold and letting us hold it till they 
prove they are all right." 

Everybody agreed, so I judged our gang was in 
a tight place. But the king only looked sorrowful and 
said: 

"Gentlemen, I wish the money was here, but alas 
it ain't." 

"Where is it then?" 

"The slaves stole it, and I sold them before I had 
missed the money. My servant here" (meaning me) 
"can tell you about it." 

The doctor and several others said "Shucks!" One 
man asked me if I saw them steal it. I said no, but 
I saw them sneaking out of the room where it was 
kept. The doctor whirled on me and said: 

"Are you English, too?" 

I said yes. They all laughed and said "Stuff." 
Then they had me up to tell what I knew about it. 
The king sent me a left-handed look out of the corner 
of his eye. I saw I had better talk on the right side. 

139 



140 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

I began to tell about England and all the English 
Wilkses. I didn't get far before Levi Bell said: 

"You can stop, my boy. I wouldn't strain myself. 
I reckon you are not used to lying, you do it so poor." 

The king reached out his hand to the lawyer and 
said: "Is this my poor dead brother's old friend, Levi 
Bell? He wrote so often about you." 

The lawyer shook his hand and looked pleased. 
They talked right along a while. Then the lawyer 
took the king to one side and talked low. At last the 
lawyer spoke up and said: 

"That will fix it. I'll take the order and send it 
along with your brother's order." 

They got paper and pen, and the king twisted 
his head to one side and scrawled off something. 
Then the lawyer handed the pen to the duke — and 
for the first time the duke looked sick. But he took 
the pen and wrote. Then the lawyer turned to the 
new old gentleman and said: 

"You and your brother please write a line or two 
and sign your names." 

The old gentleman wrote, but nobody could read 
it. Then the lawyer snaked some old letters out of 
his pocket and looked at them, and looked at the 
writing done by the king and the duke. He said: 

"These old letters are from Harvey Wilks. Any- 
body can see that the handwriting of these two men 
is not that of Harvey Wilks." 

The king and the duke looked sold and foolish 
to see how the lawyer had tricked them. Lawyer Bell 
went on speaking: 

"But what beats me is that this old gentleman's 
handwriting is not Harvey Wilks's, either. Fact is, 
the scratching he does is hardly writing. I can't read 
a word of it." 



I LIGHT OUT IN THE STORM / 141 

The new old gentleman said: "Let me explain. 
My handwriting is so poor nobody can read it but 
my brother there. So he copies for me. It is his hand- 
writing you have there in the old letters, not mine." 

"Well!" said the lawyer, "this is a state of things. 
If you will get him to write a line or two we can 
compare — " 

"He can't write with his left hand," said the old 
gentleman. 

"Well, well, well!" said the lawyer. "I thought I 
had the problem solved, but my plan has gone to 
grass. Anyway, one thing is proved — this is not Har- 
vey Wilks," and he nodded toward the king. 

Well, that mule-headed old fool wouldn't give 
in then. He said it was no fair test. He warmed up 
and went warbling along till he was beginning to 
believe himself. Pretty soon the new gentleman 
broke in: 

"I have thought of something. Is there anybody 
here that helped to lay out my brother Peter Wilks 
for burying?" 

"Yes," said somebody. "Me and Ab Turner did. 
We are both here." 

The old gentleman turned to the king and said, 
"Maybe you can tell me what was tattooed on his 
breast?" 

He whitened a little. I said to myself, "Now he 
will throw up the sponge." Well, he didn't. I never 
saw anything like that old blister for clean out-and- 
out cheek. I reckon he thought he would keep the 
thing up till he tired the people and he could break 
loose and get away. 

"Yes, sir," he said, "I can tell you what was tat- 
tooed on his breast. A blue arrow — small. If you didn't 
look close, you couldn't see it." 



142 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

Both of the men spoke up. "We didn't see such 
a mark." 

"Good," said the old gentleman. "Now I will tell 
you what you did see on his breast. Three small let- 
ters, P B W. Come, now, isn't that what you saw?" 

"No, we didn't. We didn't see any marks at all." 

Everybody began whooping at once and singing 
out: "The whole gang is a fraud! Duck 'em! Drown 
'em! Ride 'em on a rail!" 

But the lawyer said, "There is one way yet. Let's 
go dig up the corpse and look." 

"Hooray!" they all shouted. "And if we don't find 
the marks, lynch the whole gang!" 

I was scared now. But there was no getting away. 
They gripped us all and marched us along to the 
graveyard. Hines hung on to my wrist so tight it hurt. 
We swarmed along the road like wild cats. It was 
night now, about nine o'clock. To make it more scary, 
the sky was clouding up, the lightning beginning to 
wink and flitter, and the wind to shiver in the leaves. 

The crowd swarmed into the graveyard and 
washed over it like an overflow. When they got to 
the grave, they found they had about a hundred times 
as many shovels as they needed, but nobody had 
thought to bring a lantern. They sent a man to the 
nearest house, half a mile off, to borrow one, and 
sailed in to digging by the lightning flickers. The 
rain started, and the wind swished along, and the 
lightning got brisker, and the thunder boomed. 

At last they got out the coffin and began to un- 
screw the lid. Then such crowding and shouldering 
and shoving to get a sight, you never did see. In the 
dark that way, it was awful. All of a sudden the light- 
ning let go a perfect sluice of white glare, and some- 
body sung out: 



I LIGHT OUT IN THE STORM / 143 

"By the living jingo, here's the bag of gold on 
his breast!" 

Hines let out a whoop like everybody else, 
dropped my wrist and surged up to bust his way in 
for a look. The way I lit out and shinned for the 
road in the dark nobody can tell. I had the road all 
to myself, and I fairly flew through the solid dark 
and the now-and-then glares of lightning. The rain 
was buzzing, and the wind was thrashing, and the 
thunder was splitting. Sure as you are born I did 
clip it along! When I struck the town nobody was 
out in the storm, so I humped it along straight 
through the main street. When I got near our house, 
I aimed my eye and set it. No light there; the house 
all dark — which made me feel sorry and kind of hurt, 
I didn't know why. But at last, just as I was sailing 
by, flash comes the light in Mary Jane's window, 
and my heart swelled up sudden, like to bust. The 
same second the house and all was behind me in 
the dark, and wasn't ever going to be before me again 
in this world. She was the best girl I ever did see, 
and had the most sand. 

I got down to the river and looked sharp for a 
boat to borrow. The first one the lightning showed 
me I snatched and shoved off. The towhead was out 
there in the middle of the river, but I didn't lose 
any time. When I got to the raft I was so fagged I 
would have stretched out to blow and gasp if I could 
afforded it. But just the minute I sprung aboard I 
yelled out: 

"Come on, Jim, set her loose! Glory be to good- 
ness, we're shut of them! Cut loose and let her slide!" 

In two seconds we went sliding down the river. 
It did seem good to be free again, all by ourselves, 
on the big river. I had to skip around and jump up 



144 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

and crack my heels a few times. But about the third 
crack I heard a sound. I held my breath and listened. 
Sure enough, when the next flash of lightning busted 
out over the water, here they come — and just laying 
to their oars and making their skiff hum! It was the 
king and the duke. I wilted right down. It was all I 
could do to keep from crying. 

When they got aboard, the king went for me and 
shook me by the collar. 

"Trying to give us the slip, you pup! Tired of 
our company, hey? Tell me what was your idea of 
running away, or I will shake the insides out of you!" 

"It didn't seem any good for me to stay — I 
couldn't do anything, and I didn't want to be hung, 
if I could get away." 




I LIGHT OUT IN THE STORM / 145 

"Oh yes, a likely story," and he shook me up 
again, and said he reckoned he would drown me. 
But the duke said: 

"Let go that boy, you old idiot! Did you do any 
different? Did you inquire around for him when you 
got loose? I don't remember it." 

So the king let go of me, and commenced to cuss 
that town and everybody in it. But the duke said: 

"You better give yourself a good cussing. You 
haven't done a thing from the start, that had any 
sense in it — except to come out so cheeky for that 
blue-arrow mark. That trick took 'em to the grave- 
yard. If the fools hadn't found the gold and got so 
excited they let go all holds, we would have been 
strung up. How did that bag of gold get in there?" 







146 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

They kept still a minute — thinking. Then the 
king said, kind of absent-minded: 

"And J thought the servants stole it!" 

"Yes," said the duke, kind of slow and sarcastic. 
"You did think that." 

The king ruffled up and said, "Look here, Bilge- 
water, what are you referring to?" 

"When it comes to that, maybe you'll let me ask 
what are you referring to?" 

"Shucks!" said the king, very sarcastic. "Maybe 
you walked in your sleep and didn't know when you 
put it there." 

The duke bristled up and said, "Oh, let up on 
this cussed nonsense. Do you think you can fool me? 
I know who hid that money in the coffin." 

"Yes, sir! You do know, because you put it there 
yourself!" 

"It's a lie!" Then the duke went for him, till the 
king sung out: 

"Take your hands off — let go my throat — I take 
it all back! Let go!" 

"Not till you own up that you hid that money 
in the coffin intending to give me the slip and go 
back and dig it up for yourself!" 

The king began to gurgle, and then he gasped 
out, " 'Nough! I own up!" 

The duke took his hands off and said, "If you 
ever deny it again I'll drown you, I never saw such 
an old ostrich for wanting to gobble everything. And 
now what have you got for it? They have all their 
money back, and all ours too! Get out of my sight!" 

The king sneaked into the wigwam and took to 
his bottle. Before long the duke tackled his bottle. 
In half an hour they got thick as thieves again, and 
went off snoring in each other's arms. 




You Can't Pray a Lie 



We didn't dare stop again at any town for days 
and days. We kept right along down the river. We 
had got down south now, in the warm weather, and 
a long way from home. We began to come to trees 
with Spanish moss on them, hanging down from the 
limbs like long, gray beards. It made the woods look 
solemn and dismal. 

Then the duke and the king thought they would 
be safe to begin to work the villages again. First they 
had a lecture on temperance, but didn't make enough 
to get drunk on. In another village they started a 
dancing school, but they didn't know any more about 
how to dance than a kangaroo does. Other times they 
tackled telling fortunes, and doctoring, and preach- 
ing. But they didn't have any luck. At last they got 
just about dead broke, and loafed around the raft 
as she floated along, never saying anything for half 
a day at a time, and dreadful blue and desperate. 

Then they took a change and began to lay their 
heads together in the wigwam, talking low for hours 
at a time. Jim got uneasy, and so did I. We didn't 
like the look of it. We judged they would think up 
some deviltry worse than ever. They might be plan- 
ning to break into a house or store, or make counter- 
feit money, or something. We were pretty scared. We 

147 



148 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

agreed that if we ever got the least chance we would 
clear out and leave them behind. 

Early one morning we hid the raft in a good safe 
place, about two miles below a shabby little village 
named Pikeville. The king went ashore and told us 
all to stay hid while he went up to town and smelt 
around to see if anybody there had got wind of the 
Royal Nonesuch. 

"Yes, you are going to hunt a house to rob," I 
said to myself. "And when you get through robbing 
it, you will wonder what has become of me and Jim 
and the raft." 

He said if he didn't get back by midday the duke 
would know it was all right, and we could come 
along. 

So we stayed behind. The duke fretted around 
and was in a mighty sour way. He scolded us for 
everything; we couldn't seem to do anything right. 
Something was brewing sure. 

I was good and glad when midday passed and 
no king. We could have a change anyway. The duke 
went up to the village and took me with him. We 
hunted around for the king, and by and by we found 
him, so tight he couldn't walk. The duke abused him 
for an old fool, and the king sassed right back. The 
minute they were fairly at it, I lit out. I shook the 
reefs out of my hind legs and spun down the river 
road like a deer. 

I got back to the raft all out of breath but loaded 
up with joy. I sung out: 

"Set her loose, Jim. We are all right now!" 

But there was no answer. Jim was gone! I set 
up a shout and went this way and that in the woods, 
whooping and screeching. It was no use — old Jim 
was gone. Then I cried for a while. But pretty soon 



YOU can't pray a lie / 149 

I started up the road, trying to think what I had better 
do. I met a boy and asked him if he had seen a run- 
away slave and he said: 

"Yes, down at Silas Phelps's place, two miles be- 
low here. Are you looking for him?" 

I said, "You bet I am not! I met him an hour or 
two ago and he said if I hollered he would cut my 
livers out — and told me to stay where I was, and I 
did. Been there ever since, afraid to come out." 

"Well," he said, "you needn't be afraid now. 
They've caught him. There was a two hundred dollar 
reward." 

"That was a lot of money. Who nailed him?" 

"An old fellow — a stranger. He sold out his 
chance in the reward for forty dollars. He said he 
had to go on up the river, and couldn't wait to collect 
the whole two hundred dollars." 

"But maybe his chance is not worth more than 
that, if he can sell it so cheap. Maybe there's some- 
thing not straight about it." 

"But it is straight — straight as a string. I saw the 
handbill myself. It described him to a dot, and told 
the plantation he run away from, down below New 
Orleans." 

I went back to the raft and wore my head sore 
trying to think my way out of trouble. To think the 
two old frauds would have the heart to serve Jim 
such a mean trick, after all we had done for them! 
To think they would sell him into slavery again, and 
among strangers, for forty dirty dollars! 

Once I thought I'd write a letter to Tom Sawyer 
and tell him to let Miss Watson know where Jim 
was. It would be better for Jim to be a slave at home, 
where his family was, as long as he had to be a slave. 
But, then, Miss Watson would be sure to sell him 



150 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

down the river, because he had run away. And if 
she didn't, everybody just naturally despises an un- 
grateful slave. And they would make Jim feel it all 
the time, ornery and disgraced. And then think of 
me! It would get around that Huck Finn helped a 
slave run away. 

At last it hit me all of a sudden. This was the 
hand of Providence slapping me in the face for my 
wickedness. I was being watched up there in heaven 
all the time I was stealing a poor old woman's slave. 
The more I thought, the more my conscience went 
to grinding me, and the more wicked and low-down 
I got to feeling. I made up my mind to pray and see 
if I couldn't be better. So I kneeled down, but the 
words wouldn't come. Why? It was because my heart 
wasn't right; I wasn't being square; I was playing 
double. I was pretending to give up sin, but I was 
holding on to the biggest sin of all. I was trying to 
make my mouth say I would do the right thing, and 
write to Jim's owner and tell where he was, but it 
was a lie. You can't pray a lie — I found that out. 

So I was full of trouble, and didn't know what 
to do. At last I had an idea. I said, I'll go and write 
the letter — and then see if I can pray. So I got a piece 
of paper and a pencil, all glad and excited, and set 
down and wrote: 

Miss Watson your runaway slave Jim is 
down here two mile below Pikesville and 
Mr. Phelps has got him and he will give 
him up for reward if you send. 

HUCK FINN 

I felt good and all washed clean of sin for the 
first time in my life, and I knew I could pray now. 



YOU can't pray a lie / 151 

But then I kept thinking over our trip down the river, 
floating along, talking and singing and laughing. I 
thought how good Jim was to me, sometimes stand- 
ing my watch so I could go on sleeping, and how 
glad he was when I turned up, out of the fog, how 
he would always call me honey and pet me, and do 
everything he could for me. 

I took up the letter, and held it in my hand. I 
was trembling, because Fd got to decide, forever, be- 
twixt two things, and I knew it. I studied a minute, 
sort of holding my breath, and then said to myself: 

"All right, then, I'll go to hell"— and tore it up. 

It was awful thoughts, and awful words, but they 
were said. And I let them stay said. I would take 
up wickedness again, which was in my line, being 
brought up to it, and the other wasn't. And for a 
starter, I would go and steal Jim out of slavery again. 
And if I could think up anything worse, I would do 
that too. As long as I was in sin, and in for good, I 
might as well go the whole hog. 

Then I set to thinking and at last fixed up a plan 
that suited me. So I took the bearings of a woody 
island that was down the river a piece, and as soon 
as it was fairly dark I crept out with my raft and 
went for it. I hid the raft, and turned in and slept 
the night through. Next morning I got up before it 
was light, had my breakfast, tied up some things in 
a bundle, and took the canoe and went for the shore. 
I landed below where I judged Phelps's place was, 
and hid my bundle in the woods. Then I filled up 
the canoe with water and loaded rocks into her, and 
sunk her where I could find her again later when I 
wanted her. 

Then I struck up the road that went by a little 
steam-sawmill on the bank. When I passed the mill 



152 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

I saw a sign on it, "Phelps's Sawmill." A farmhouse 
was two or three hundred yards farther along. I kept 
my eyes peeled, but didn't see anybody around, 
though it was good daylight now. But I didn't want 
to see anybody just yet. I only wanted to get the lay 
of the land. I planned to turn up to that farmhouse 
as coming from the village, not from below it. So I 
just took a look, then shoved along, straight for the 
town. 

Well, the very first man I saw when I got there 
was the duke. He was sticking up a bill for the Royal 
Nonesuch — three-night performance. I was right on 
him before I could duck. He looked surprised and 
said: 

"Hel-lo! Where did you come from?" Then he 
said, kind of glad and eager, "Where is the raft? Got 
her in a good place?" 

I said, "Why, I was going to ask you that." 

Then he didn't look so joyful, and said, "What 
was your idea for asking me?" 

"Well, when I saw the king yesterday, I thought 
it would be hours before he would be sober enough 
for you to get him back to the raft. So I went loafing 
around town to put in the time. A man offered me 
ten cents to help him row a skiff over the river to 
bring back a sheep. So I went along. But the sheep 
broke away when we tried to get him on the boat, 
and we had to chase him all over the country. It 
was dark before we caught him and got back on this 
side of the river. I started down for the raft, and 
when I got there it was gone. I slept in the woods 
all night. But what did become of the raft and Jim — 
poor Jim!" 

"Blamed if I know what happened to the raft. 
That old fool had made a trade and got forty dollars. 



YOU can't pray a lie / 153 




154 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

When we found him he had gambled away every 
cent of it but what he had spent for whiskey. When 
I got him back to the river the raft was gone. We 
said, That little rascal stole the raft and left us/ " 

"I wouldn't go leave my only slave, would I?" 

"Well, the raft was gone, and we flat broke. There 
was nothing to do but try the Royal Nonesuch again. 
I'm dry as a powder-horn. Where is that ten cents? 
Give it here." 

I had some money but didn't want him to know. 
So when I let him have the ten cents, I begged him 
to spend it for something to eat and to give me some 
of it, because I hadn't had anything to eat since yes- 
terday. He didn't answer. The next minute he 
whirled on me and said: 

"Do you reckon that slave would blow on us? 
We would skin him if he did!" 

"How can he blow? Hasn't he run off?" 

"No! That old fool sold him for forty dollars, and 
never divided with me, and the money is gone." 

"Sold him?" I said and began to cry. "Why, he 
was my slave." 

"Well, your slave is gone — so dry up your blub- 
bering. Look here — do you think you would venture 
to blow on us? Why, if you dared to blow on us — " 

He stopped, but I never saw the duke look so 
ugly out of his eyes. I went on crying and said: 

"I don't want to blow on anybody. I don't have 
time, anyhow. I got to go find him." 

He looked bothered, and stood there with his bills 
fluttering on his arm, thinking and wrinkling up his 
forehead. At last he said: 

"I'll tell you something. We got to be here three 
days. If you promise you won't blow and won't let 
him blow, I'll tell you where to find him." 






YOU can't pray a lie / 155 

I promised, and he said: 

"A farmer by the name of Silas Ph — " and then 
he stopped. 

I saw he had started to tell me the truth. When 
he stopped and began to study, I reckoned he was 
changing his mind. And so he was. He wouldn't trust 
me. And he wanted to get me out of the way for three 
days. 

"The man that bought him is named Abram Fos- 
ter — Abram G. Foster. He lives forty miles back in 
the country, on the road to Lafayette." 

"All right," I said, "I can walk it in three days. 
I'll start this very afternoon." 

"No you won't, you'll start now. And don't you 
do any gabbling by the way. Just keep a tight tongue 
in your head and move right along, and then you 
won't get into trouble with us. Do you hear? You 
can tell Mr. Foster whatever you want to. Maybe you 
can get him to believe that Jim is your slave — some 
idiots don't ask for papers — at least I've heard there's 
such down South here. And when you tell him the 
handbill offering the reward is bogus, maybe he'll 
believe you when you explain to him why we got 
out the handbill offering the reward. Go along now, 
and tell him anything you want to, but don't work 
your jaw any between here and there." 

I left and struck for the back country. I didn't 
look around, but I felt that he was watching me. I 
went straight out in the country as much as a mile 
before I stopped. Then I doubled back through the 
woods toward Phelps's. I reckoned I had better start 
in on my plan right off, because I wanted to stop 
Jim's mouth till these fellows could get away. I didn't 
want any trouble with them. All I wanted was to 
be entirely rid of them. 




/ Have a New Name 



When I got to the Phelps's place, everything was 
still and Sunday-like. The hands had gone to the 
fields. It was hot and sunshiny, and there was that 
faint droning of flies that sounds so lonesome you 
feel like everybody is dead and gone. 

The place was a little one-horse cotton planta- 
tion, looking like every other one of its kind. A rail 
fence around a two-acre yard, bare and smooth ex- 
cept for some sickly grass patches. A big double log 
house for the white folks. A log kitchen joined to it 
by a broad, roofed passage. A smoke house back of 
the kitchen. A row of slave cabins. One little hut 
all by itself away down against the back fence. Some 
outbuilding down a piece on the other side. A bench 
by the kitchen door with a bucket of water and a 
gourd. Hound asleep there in the sun, more hounds 
asleep round about. About three shade trees off in 
a corner. Some currant bushes and gooseberry 
bushes by the fence. Outside the fence a garden and 
a watermelon patch. Then the cotton fields, and after 
the fields the^wpods. 



q^^v^ 




^^^'^CT^fc 



I HAVE A NEW NAME / 157 

When I got near the house, first one hound and 
then another got up and went for me. I stopped and 
stood still. In a quarter of a minute I was the hub 
of a wheel — spokes made of fifteen dogs barking and 
howling, and more coming. You could see them all 
sailing over fences and around corners from 
everywhere. 

A cook tore out of the kitchen with a rolling pin 
in her hand, singing out: "Begone! You Tige! You 
Spot! begone sah!" She fetched first one and then 
another of them a clip and sent them howling away, 
and the rest followed. The next second half of them 
trotted back, wagging their tails around me and mak- 
ing friends. There's no harm in a hound. 




158 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

Behind the woman came a little girl and two 
little boys with nothing on but tow-linen shirts. They 
hung on to their mother's gown and peeped out from 
behind her, very bashful. 

And then a white woman comes running bare- 
headed, with her little children acting the same as 
the other little children. She was smiling all over. 

"It's you, at last— ain't it?" 

I out with a "Yes'm" before I thought. 

She grabbed me and hugged me tight while tears 
rolled down her face. 

"You don't look much like your mother," she 
said. "But I'm so glad to see you. Children, it's your 
cousin Tom! Tell him howdy!" 

But they ducked their heads and put their fingers 
in their mouths, and hid behind her. She started for 
the house, leading me by the hand, the children tag- 
ging after. When we got there, she set me down on 
a chair and put herself on a little low stool in front 
of me, holding both my hands. 

"Now I can have a good look at you. We been 
expecting you a couple of days. What kept you? — 
boat get aground?" 

"Yes'm— she— " 

"Don't say yes'm — say Aunt Sally. Where did she 
get aground?" 

I didn't know what to say, because I didn't know 
whether the boat would be coming up the river or 
down. Then I struck an idea. 

"It wasn't the grounding — that didn't keep us 
back long. We blowed out a cylinder-head." 

"Good gracious! Anybody hurt?" 

"No'm. Killed a slave." 

"Well, that's lucky. Sometimes people do get 
hurt. Your uncle has been up to town every day to 



I HAVE A NEW NAME / 159 

meet you. And he went again, not more than an hour 
ago. He'll be back any minute now. You must have 
met him down along the road, didn't you? — oldish 
man with a — " 

"No, I didn't see anybody, Aunt Sally." 

"Who did you give your baggage to?" 

"Nobody." 

"Why, child, it will be stolen!" 

"Not where I hid it, it won't." 

I was getting so uneasy I could hardly listen. I 
had my mind on the children, too. I wanted to get 
them out to one side and pump them a little, to find 
out who I was. But Mrs. Phelps kept running on. 
Pretty soon she made the cold chills streak all down 
my back, when she said: 

"But you haven't told me a word about Sis. Now, 
just tell me everything — tell me all about them all." 

I was up a stump. I said to myself, "Here's an- 
other place where I got to risk the truth." I opened 
my mouth to begin, but she grabbed me and hustled 
me behind the bed, and said: 

"Here he comes! Stick your head down out of 
sight. I'll play a joke on him. Children, don't say a 
word." 

The old gentleman walked in and Mrs. Phelps 
jumped for him and said: 

"Has he come?" 

"No," said her husband. 

"Goodness gracious!" she said, "what in the 
world can have become of him?" 

"I can't imagine," said the old gentleman. "And 
I must say it makes me dreadful uneasy." 

"Uneasy!" she said. "I'm ready to go crazy! He 
must have come and you missed him along the road. 
Something tells me it is so." 



160 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

"Why, Sally, I couldn't miss him along the 
road — you know that." 

"Oh dear, what will Sis say! He must have come! 
You must have missed him." 

"Oh, don't distress me any more than I am al- 
ready. Something must have happened to the boat. 
I'm right down scared." 

"Why Silas! Look yonder! — up the road! — ain't 
that somebody coming?" 

He rushed to look, and when he turned his back, 
she stooped down quick and pulled me out. When 
he turned back from the window, she was smiling 
like a house afire, holding me by the hand. The old 
gentleman stared and said: 

"Why, who is that?" 

"Who do you think it is?" 

"I have no idea. Who is it?" 

"This is Tom Sawyerl" 

By jings, I almost slumped through the floor! The 
old man grabbed me by the hand and shook, and 
kept on shaking. And then how they both did fire 
off questions about Tom's brother Sid and his Aunt 
Polly and the rest of the tribe. 

It was like being born again, I was so glad to 
find out who I was. They froze to me for two hours, 
and I told them more about my family — I mean the 
Sawyer family — than ever happened to any six Saw- 
yer families. 

By and by I heard a steajiLriaa^^ou^hing-along 
down the river. I said to myself, "Suppose Tom Saw- 
yer comes down on that boat? Suppose he steps in 
here any minute and calls out my name before I 
can throw him a wink to keep quiet? I must go up 
the road and waylay him! So I said I would go up 
to town and get my baggage. The old gentleman was 



I HAVE A NEW NAME / 161 

for going along with me, but I said no, I could bring 
it myself and I'd rather he wouldn't take trouble 
about me. 

Before I was halfway to town I saw somebody 
coming. Sure enough it was Tom Sawyer. I stopped 
and waited until he had come up. When he saw me 
his mouth opened up like a trunk, and stayed so. 
He swallowed two or three times, and then he said: 

"I never harmed you. You know that. What do 
you want to come back and haunt me for?" 

I said, "I haven't come back — I haven't been 
gone. " 

When he heard my voice it righted him up some, 
but he wasn't quite sure yet. He said: 

"Don't you play tricks on me, because I wouldn't 
on you. Honest Injun, you are not a ghost?" 

"Honest Injun, I'm not." 

"Looky here, you haven't been murdered at all?" 

"No, I never was murdered at all. You feel of 
me, if you think I'm a ghost." 

Well, wasn't he glad to see me again! I told him 
the fix I was in, and asked what we had better do. 
He thought a minute and then said: 

"I've got it. You take my baggage and let on it's 
yours. I'll come a little later. When I come don't you 
let on to know me." 

I said, "All right; but wait a minute. There's one 
more thing — a thing that nobody knows about but 
me. And that is, there's a slave here that I'm trying 
to steal out of slavery. His name is Jim — old Miss 
Watson's Jim." 

He said "What! Why, Jim is—" He stopped and 
went to studying. 

I said: "I know what you'll say. You'll say it's 
dirty, low-down business. But what if it is? I am low 



162 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

down. I'm going to steal him, and I want you to keep 
mum and not let on. Will you?" 

His eyes lit up and he said, "I'll help you steal 
him!" 

I couldn't believe it! Tom Sawyer a slave stealer! 

"Oh, shucks!" I said, "you're joking!" 

"I'm not joking, either." 

I am bound to say Tom Sawyer fell quite a bit, 
in my opinion of him. 

Well, I went back to the Phelps's place. I got there 
a heap too quick for that length of the trip, and had 
to do some explaining. It wasn't hard. The old man 
was the best, most innocent old soul I ever saw. He 
wasn't only a farmer; he was a preacher too. He had 
a little log church on the plantation, that he built 
himself for a church and a schoolhouse. He never 
charged anything for his preaching, and it was worth 
it, too. 




The Pitiful Ending of 
Royalty 



About half an hour after I got back, Aunt Sally 
looked out and saw Tom coming up. 

"Why, somebody is coming. I wonder who it is? 
I do believe it's a stranger. Jimmy" (that was one 
of the children) "run and tell Lize to put on another 
plate for dinner." 

Everybody made a rush for the front door. 
Strangers didn't come there every day. 

Tom could always put on the right style. When 
he saw us all bunched in the front door, he lifted 
his hat so dainty, like taking the lid off a box that 
had butterflies asleep in it. He bowed and said: 

"Mr. Archibald Nichols, I believe?" 

"No, my boy," said the old gentleman. "I'm sorry. 
Nichols's place is down a matter of three miles more. 
Come in, come in. Eat your dinner with us, and then 
we'll hitch up and take you down to Nichols's." 

"Oh, I can't make so much trouble — I couldn't 
think of it. I'll go on — I don't mind the distance." 

"Oh, do come in," said Aunt Sally. "You won't 
be a bit of trouble to us, not a bit in the world. You 
must stay. It's a long dusty three miles to Nichols's. 
And besides, I have already put on another plate. 
Come right in and make yourself at home." 

163 



164 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

Tom thanked them, and let himself be persuaded 
to come in. When he was in, he said he was a stranger 
from Hicksville, Ohio. His name was William 
Thompson — and he made another bow. 

He went on and on, making up more stuff about 
Hicksville and everybody in it. I was getting a little 
nervous, wondering how this was going to help me 
out of my scrape. At last, still talking along, he 
reached over and kissed Aunt Sally right on the 
mouth. Then he settled back again in his chair, and 
was going on talking. But she jumped up and wiped 
her mouth with the back of her hand, and said: 

"You owdacious puppy!" 

He looked kind of hurt, and said, "I'm surprised 
at you, ma'am." 

"You are surprised — why, what do you reckon / 
am? Fve a good notion to take and — Say, what do 
you mean by kissing me?" 

He looked kind of humble, and said, "I didn't 
mean any harm. I — I — thought you'd like it." 

"Why, you born fool!" She took up the spinning- 
stick and it seemed all she could do to keep from 
giving him a crack with it. "What made you think 
I'd like it?" 

"Well, I don't know. Only, they — they — told me 
you would." 

"They told you I would. Whoever told you is an- 
other lunatic. Who is they?" 

"Why, everybody. They all said so, ma'am." 

It was all she could do to hold in. Her eyes 
snapped, and her fingers worked like she wanted to 
scratch him. "Who is everybody? Out with their 
names, or there'll be one idiot less." 

He got up and looked distressed, and fumbled 
his hat, and said: 






THE PITIFUL ENDING OF ROYALTY / 165 

"I'm sorry, and I wasn't expecting it. They told 
me to. They all told me to. But I'm sorry, ma'am, 
and I won't do it again — I won't, honest." 

"You won't, won't you? Well, I should reckon you 
won't!" 

"No'm, I'm honest about it. I won't ever do it 
again — till you ask me." 

"Till I ask you! Well, I never saw the beat of 
you in my born days! You'll be as old as Methuselah 
before / ask you — or the likes of you." 

"Well," he said, "I'm surprised. I can't make it 
out. They said you would, and I thought you would. 
But — " He stopped and looked around for a friendly 
eye somewhere. He looked at the old gentleman and 
said, "Didn't you think she would like me to kiss 
her, sir?" 

"Why, no; I— I— well, no, I believe I didn't." 

Then he looked at me, and said: "Tom, didn't 
you think Aunt Sally would open out her arms and 
say, 'Sid Sawyer—' " 

"My land!" she said, jumping for him, "you im- 
pudent young rascal, to fool a body so — " 

She was going to hug him, but he fended her 
off, and said: 

"No, not till you have asked me first." 

She didn't lose any time, but asked him. She 
hugged and kissed him again and again, and then 
turned him over to the old man. After a while Aunt 
Sally said: 

"Why, dear me, I never saw such a surprise. We 
didn't look for you at all, but only Tom. Sis didn't 
write to me about anybody coming but Tom." 

"I begged to come, and at the last minute she 
let me. Coming down the river, we thought it would 
be fun for Tom to come in first, and for me to drop 



166 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

in later and let on to be a stranger. But it was a mis- 
take, Aunt Sally. This is no healthy place for a 
stranger to come to." 

"No — not for impudent whelps, Sid. You ought 
to have your jaws boxed. But I don't care. I would 
be willing to stand a thousand such jokes to have 
you here. Well, to think of that performance! I was 
most petrified with astonishment when you gave me 
that smack." 

We had dinner out in the broad open passage 
between the house and the kitchen. There was food 
enough on the table for seven families, and all good 
and hot. Uncle Silas said a long blessing over it, but 
it was worth it. 

There was a good deal of talk all the afternoon, 
but not a word about a run-away slave. But at supper 
that night one of the little boys said: 

"Pa, can we go to the show?" 

"No. There won't be any show, and you couldn't 
go anyway. That run-away slave told all about that 
show, and the people in town know it. I reckon the 
loafers will be run out of town." 

So there it was! Right after supper I said I was 
tired, and Tom said he was too. We said good-night, 
went upstairs, climbed out the window and down 
the lightning rod, and shoved for the town. On the 
road Tom told me all about how I was murdered, 
and how Pap dropped out of sight soon after, and 
what a stir there was when Jim run away. I told 
Tom about our Royal Nonesuch rapscallions, and 
as much of the raft voyage as I had time to tell. 

As we struck into town and up through the mid- 
dle of it, here comes a rush of people with torches, 
and awful whooping and yelling, and banging tin 



THE PITIFUL ENDING OF ROYALTY / 167 

pans, and blowing horns. We jumped to one side, 
and as the crowd went by I saw the king and the 
duke astraddle a rail, and so all over tar and feathers 
they didn't look like humans. I was so sorry for the 
poor rascals I couldn't ever again feel any hard- 
ness against them. It was a dreadful thing to see. 
Human beings can be awful cruel to one another. 




168 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

We poked along back home. I was feeling kind 
of humble and to blame somehow, though I hadn't 
done anything. But that is always the way. A person's 
conscience hasn't got any sense at all. It takes up 
more room than all the rest of a person's insides, 
and what is the good of it? 

By and by, Tom said, "Looky here, Huck. What 
fools we have been not to think of it before! I bet I 
know where Jim is." 

"No! Where?" 

"In that cabin down by the ash-hopper. Why, 
looky here, during dinner I saw a slave go in there 
with a plate of food. What do you think it was for?" 

"For a dog." 

"Well, it wasn't for a dog. Because part of it was 
watermelon." 

What a head! If I had Tom Sawyer's head I 
wouldn't trade it off to be a duke, or even a clown 
in a circus. 

"He unlocked the door to go in. Watermelon 
shows man, lock shows prisoner. All right — I'm glad 
we found it out detective fashion. I wouldn't give 
shucks for any other way. Now you work your mind 
and study out a plan to steal Jim. I'll study out one, 
too. We'll take the one we like the best. Now start 
thinking." Pretty soon he said, "Ready?" 

"Yes," I said. 

"All right — bring out your plan." 

"My plan is this," I said. "First, find out if it's 
Jim in there. If it is, then get up my canoe tomorrow 
night and go bring my raft over from the island. 
Then the first dark night that comes, steal the key 
and get Jim out. Then shove off down the river on 
the raft, hiding daytimes and running nights, the 
way we used to do. Wouldn't that plan work?" 



THE PITIFUL ENDING OF ROYALTY / 169 

"Certainly it would work, like rats a-fighting. But 
it's too blame simple — there's nothing to it. It's mild 
as goose milk. Easy as breaking into a soap factory." 

I didn't say anything. I was expecting the right 
plan to come from him. And it wouldn't be too sim- 
ple, either. 

When he told me his plan I saw in a minute it 
was worth fifteen of mine for style. It would make 
Jim just as free as mine would, and maybe get us 
all killed besides. I needn't tell what it was yet, for 
he would be changing it all along, putting new style 
into it whenever he got a chance. 

When we got home the house was all dark. We 
went on down to the cabin by the ash-hopper to look 
it over. The hounds didn't make much noise; they 
had seen us enough to know us. On one side of the 
cabin we found a window hole, with just one board 
nailed across it. I said: 

"This hole is big enough for Jim to get through 
if we tear off the board." 

Tom said, "I should hope we can find a better 
way than that, Huck. That would be easy as playing 
hooky." 

"Well, then," I said, "how will it do to saw him 
out, the way I got out before I was murdered that 
time?" 

"That would be good, but I bet we can find a 
better way. No hurry; let's keep on looking around." 

On the back side was a lean-to that joined the 
hut at the eaves. We went in the lean-to and struck 
a match. There was no door from the lean-to into 
the cabin, The floor was the ground, and there was 
nothing in there but some old rusty hoes and spades 
and picks. Tom was joyful. 



170 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

"Now we are all right! We can dig him out. It'll 
take about a week!" 

Then we started for the house. I went in the back 
door; you only had to pull a latch-string; they didn't 
fasten the doors. But that was too easy for Tom Saw- 
yer. No way would do him but he must climb up 
the lightning-rod. He got up halfway three times, 
and fell every time. The last time he nearly busted 
his brains out, and he thought he might have to give 
it up. But after he was rested he said he'd give her 
one more try for luck, and this time he made the 
trip. 




Q) Deep-laid Plans 



In the morning we got up at daybreak, and went 
down to the cabins to pet the dogs and make friends 
with the man that fed Jim — if it was Jim that was 
being fed. The slaves had just got through breakfast 
and begun starting for the fields. One named Nat 
was piling up a tin pan with food. He had a good- 
natured, chuckle-headed face, and his hair was all 
tied up in little bunches with thread. That was to 
keep witches off. He said witches had been pestering 
him nights, making him see strange things and hear 
strange noises, and he didn't believe he was ever 
witched so long before in his life. 

"Taking that to feed the dogs?" Tom asked. 

A smile spread gradually over Nat's face. "Yes, 
Mars Sid, a curious dog. Does you want to go and 
look at him?" 

"Yes." 

I nudged Tom and whispered, "You going, right 
here in daylight?" 

But he just went along. When we got in the cabin, 
we could hardly see anything, it was so dark. But 
Jim was there, sure enough, and he sung out: 

"Why, Huck! And good land! ain't that Mars 
Tom?" 

Nat busted in and said, "Why, gracious sakes! 
do dis here runaway know you gentlemen?" 

171 



172 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

I had expected it. I didn't know what to do. But 
Tom looked at him kind of wondering and said: 

"I don't reckon he does. What put that into your 
head?" 

"Didn't he dis minute say he knowed you?" 

Tom said in a puzzled-up kind of way, "When 
did he say anything?" He turned to me. "Did you 
hear anybody say anything?" 

"No, I didn't hear anybody say anything." 

Tom turned to Jim and said, "Did you say any- 
thing?" 

"No, sah," said Jim. "I ain't said a word." 

"Did you ever see us before?" 

"No, sah; not as I knows on." 

Nat looked wild and distressed. "Oh, de dad- 
blame witches is after me again. I wisht I was dead!" 

Tom handed him a dime and told him to buy 
some more thread to tie up his hair with. While Nat 
stepped to the door to look at the dime and bite it 
to see if it was good, Tom whispered to Jim: 

"Don't let on to know us. And if you hear digging 
going on, it will be us. We are going to set you free." 

It would be an hour yet till breakfast, so we left 
and struck down into the woods. Tom said: 

"Blame it, this whole thing is too easy. No dog 
to give sleeping-mixture to. No watchman to be 
drugged. And Uncle Silas trusts the key to that pun- 
kin head. Jim could have got out of that window 
by this time. Why, drat it, Huck, we got to invent 
all the trouble. Well, first we got to have tools." 

"Tools for what?" 

"Why, to dig with. We are not going to gnaw him 
out, are we?" 

"The old crippled picks and shovels in the lean- 
to ought to be good enough to dig a slave out with." 



DEEP-LAID PLANS / 173 

He turned on me, looking pitying enough to make 
a body cry. "Huck Finn, did you ever hear of a pris- 
oner having picks and shovels to dig himself out 
with? Why, you might as well get him the key and 
be done with it. What we want is a couple of case- 
knives." 

"To dig under that cabin with? Confound it, Tom, 
that would be foolish!" 

"That's the regular way. There's no other way 
that I ever heard of, and I've read all the books that 
tell about these things. They always dig out with a 
case-knife. And not through dirt, mind you, but gen- 
erally through solid rock. And it takes them weeks 
and weeks. Why, look at that prisoner in the Castle 
of Deef, that dug himself out that way. How long 
was he at it?" 

"I don't know." 

"Well, guess." 

"A month and a half?" 

"Thirty-seven years. And he came out in China." 

"Jim wouldn't know anybody in China." 

"What has that got to do with it?" 

"All right. I don't care where he comes out, so 
as he comes out. Jim won't either, I reckon. But Jim 
is too old to be dug out with a case-knife. He won't 
last." 

"Yes he will last, too. It won't take thirty-seven 
years to dig through a dirt foundation." 

"How long will it take, Tom?" 

"Well, we can't be as long as we ought to. Uncle 
Silas will hear from down there by New Orleans that 
Jim isn't from there. Then his next move will be 
to advertise Jim." 

"Well, I'll mosey in and snatch a couple of case- 
knives." 



174 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

"Snatch three of 'em. We need one to make a 
saw out of." 

"Tom," I said, "there is an old rusty saw blade 
sticking under the weather-boarding behind the 
smokehouse." 

He looked kind of weary, and said: "Run along 
now and snatch the knives, three of them." 

That night we went down the lightning-rod and 
shut ourselves up in the lean-to and went to work. 
We cleared everything out of the way along the mid- 
dle of the bottom log of the cabin. Tom said that 
place was right behind Jim's bed, and we'd dig in 
under it. When we got through, the hole wouldn't 
be seen in the cabin, because Jim's bed cover hung 
down to the ground. 

We dug and dug with the case-knives till almost 
midnight. Our hands got blisters. And yet you 
couldn't see we had done anything hardly. At last I 
said: 

"This is no thirty-seven year job. This is a thirty- 
eight year job, Tom Sawyer." 

Tom sighed, and pretty soon he stopped digging. 
"We got to dig him out with picks, and let on we 
do it with case-knives. Give me a case-knife." 

He had his own by him, but I handed him mine. 
He flung it down and said: 

"Give me a case-knife. " 

At first I didn't know just what to do. Then I 
thought. I handed him a pickax. He took it and went 
to work without saying a word. Then I got a shovel, 
and we picked and shoveled, turn about, for about 
half an hour, which was as long as we could stand 
up. But we had a good deal of a hole to show for it. 

I went in through the back door. When I got up- 
stairs, I looked out the window and saw Tom doing 



DEEP-LAID PLANS / 175 

his level best to climb up the lightning-rod. But he 
couldn't make it, his hands were so sore. I said: 

"Come in at the back door and let on that the 
stairway is a lightning-rod. ,, 

So he did. 

The next night we went down the lightning-rod 
a little after ten, and took one of the candles along. 
We listened under the window of the cabin and heard 
Jim snoring. Then we whirled in with the pick and 
shovel, and in about two hours the job was done. 
We crept in and pawed around and found a candle 
and lit it. Then we woke Jim up. He was so glad to 
see us he almost cried. He called us honey, and all 
the pet names he could think of. 

Tom told Jim not to be the least afraid, because 
we would see he got away, sure. Then Tom thought 
of something. 

"You got any spiders in here, Jim?" 

"No, sah, thanks to goodness, Mars Tom." 

"All right, we'll get you some." 

"But bless you, honey, I don't want none. I's. 
afeard of 'em." 

"You got any rats around here?" 

"No, sah, I ain't seen none." 

"Well, we'll get you some rats." 

"Why, Mars Tom, I don't want no rats. No, sah, 
gimme garter snakes if I's got to have somethin', but 
don't gimme no rats." 

"But, Jim, you got to have rats — all prisoners do. 
And they train and pet them, and play music to them. 
You got anything to play music on?" 

"Nothin' but a juice-harp." 

"Plenty good enough for rats. You can play to 
them before you go to sleep and early in the morning. 
And when you do, you'll see — all the rats and the 



176 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

snakes and the spiders will just fairly swarm out." 

Jim found so much fault with jew's-harping the 
rats, and petting up the snakes and spiders, that Tom 
almost lost patience with him. Jim said it was more 
worry to be prisoner than to be free. 

In the morning we got a wire rat-trap and un- 
stopped the best rat-hole. In about an hour we had 
fifteen bully ones. Then we took the trap full of rats 
and put it in a safe place under Aunt Sally's bed, 
while we went for spiders. Before we got back one 
of the children found it there and opened the door 
of it to see if the rats would come out, and they did. 
When we got back Aunt Sally was standing on top 
of the bed raising Cain. She dusted us both with the 
hickory. 

We got a splendid stock of spiders and bugs and 
frogs and caterpillars. We almost got a hornets' nest, 
but we didn't. The family was at home. 

We got some garter snakes and put them in a 
bag and took it to our room. When we went back 
upstairs after supper, there wasn't a blessed snake 
there. They had worked out of the bag somehow, 
and left. There was no real scarcity of snakes about 
the house for quite a spell. You would see them drip- 
ping from the rafters, and every now and then one 
landed in your plate, or down the back of your neck. 
Everyone of them was handsome and striped, and 
there wasn't any harm in a million of them. But that 
made no difference to Aunt Sally. Every time one 
of them flopped down on her, no difference what 
she was doing, she would just lay her work down 
and light out. And you could hear her whoop to Jeri- 
cho. If she turned over and found one in bed, she 
let out such a howl you would think the house was 
afire. I never saw such a woman. Why, it was a week 



DEEP-LAID PLANS / 177 

before she was over it. You could touch her on the 
back of her neck with a feather, and she would jump 
right out of her stockings. 

We got a licking every time one of our snakes 
got in her way. I didn't mind the lickings, because 
they didn't amount to anything, but I minded the 
trouble we had to lay in another supply of snakes. 
But we laid them in, and you never saw a cabin as 
lively as Jim's was. He said that between the spiders 
and the rats and the snakes, there wasn't room for 
him. He said if he ever got out this time he wouldn't 
be a prisoner again for a salary. 




A Mixed-up and Splendid 
Rescue 



Uncle Silas wrote a couple of times to the planta- 
tion below Orleans, telling the owner to come and 
get the runaway slave. He never had an answer, be- 
cause there was no such plantation. 

Then he said he would advertise Jim in the 
St. Louis and New Orleans papers. When he said 
the St. Louis papers, I got the cold shivers. I saw 
we didn't have any time to lose. Tom said it was 
time for the 'nonymous letters.* 

"What's that?" I said. 

"Warnings to the people that something is up." 

"But looky here, Tom, what do we want to warn 
anybody for? Let them find it out themselves — it'll 
be their lookout." 

"Why, they're so mullet-headed, they don't take 
notice of anything. If we don't give them warning 
there won't be anybody or anything to interfere with 
us. The escape will go off flat — nothing to it." 

"Well, as for me, Tom, I think that's the way 
I'd like it." 

"Shucks!" he said, and looked weary with me. 

So Tom wrote the 'nonymous letter, and shoved 
it under the front door. It said: 

* "Anonymous" letters do not have the writer's name signed. 
178 



A MIXED-UP AND SPLENDID RESCUE / 179 






7. 






Then we took some blood and made a picture 
of a skull and crossbones, and tacked it on the front 
door. 

The next night we put a picture of a coffin on 
the back door. 

I never saw a family in such a sweat. They 
couldn't have been worse scared if the place had 
been full of ghosts. If a door banged, Aunt Sally 
jumped and said "Ouch!" If anything fell, she 
jumped. If you happened to touch her when she 
wasn't looking, she jumped. 

Next night we got another letter ready. We didn't 
know where to put it, because we had heard them 
say at supper that a servant would be on watch at 
both doors all night. Tom went down the lightning- 
rod to spy around. The servant at the back door was 
asleep. So he stuck the letter down the back of his 
neck. The letter said: 



180 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 




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A MIXED-UP AND SPLENDID RESCUE / 181 

Next morning after breakfast, we took my canoe 
and went over the river fishing. We carried along 
a lunch, and had a good time. We took a look at the 
raft and found her all right. We got home late to 
supper. Everybody was in such a sweat and worry 
they didn't know which end they stood on. They 
made us go right off to bed the minute we had done 
supper and wouldn't tell us what the trouble was. 
They didn't say a word about the last letter, but didn't 
need to. 

Halfway upstairs we turned and slid to the cellar 
cupboard, and loaded up a good lunch. We took it 
up to our room and went to bed. About half-past 
eleven we got up and got ready to start. Tom said: 

"Where is the butter? You must have left it down- 
stairs!" 

"We can get along without it," I said. 

"We can get along with it, too. Just you slide 
down cellar and get it. I'll go on down the lightning- 
rod and wait for you outside." 

So out he went, and down cellar I went. The hunk 
of butter, big as a person's fist, was where I had left 
it. I took it up, put out my light, and started upstairs 
very quiet. I got to the main floor all right. Then 
here comes Aunt Sally with a candle. I clapped the 
butter in my hat and clapped my hat on my head. 
The next second she saw me. 

"What you been doing down cellar?" 

"Nothing." 

"Well, then, what made you go down there this 
time of night?" 

"I don't know, ma'am." 

"Don't answer me that way, Tom. I want to know 
what you been doing down there. You just march 
into that front room and stay there till I come. You 



182 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

been up to something you had no business to. I intend 
to find out what it is before I'm done with you." 

She went away, and I opened the door and 
walked into the front room. My, but there was a 
crowd there! Fifteen farmers, and every one of them 
had a gun. I was so sick I slunk to a chair. 

The men talked a little in low voices, and all 
seemed uneasy but trying to hide it. They kept taking 
off their hats, and putting them on, and scratching 
their heads, and changing their seats, and fumbling 
with their buttons. I wasn't easy myself, but I didn't 
take my hat off, all the same. I did wish Aunt Sally 
would come and lick me if she wanted to, so I could 
get away and tell Tom how we had overdone this 
thing. We had got ourselves into a thundering hor- 
nets' nest. We had better stop fooling around now, 
and clear out with Jim before these men got out of 
patience and went for us. 

At last Aunt Sally walked into the room and be- 
gan to ask me questions. I was shaking all over and 
ready to sink in my tracks, I was so scared. The men 
had gone into such a fidget by now that some of them 
wanted to start, saying it was only a few minutes 
to midnight. And here was Aunt Sally pegging away 
at the questions. The place got hotter and hotter, and 
the butter commenced to melt and run down my neck 
and behind my ears. One of the men said: 

"I'm for going to the cabin right now . " 

I almost dropped. A streak of butter trickled 
down my forehead. Aunt Sally saw it, snatched off 
my hat, and out comes the butter. She grabbed and 
hugged me, and said: 

"Dear, dear, why didn't you tell me what you 
had been down there for! I wouldn't have cared. Now 
clear out to bed. Don't let me see you till morning!" 



A MIXED-UP AND SPLENDID RESCUE / 183 



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UlMfe 



■^•"' mtMn, 




184 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

In a second I was upstairs, down the lightning- 
rod, and shinning through the dark for the lean-to. 
I could hardly get the words out, I was so breathless, 
but I told Tom as quick as I could that we hadn't a 
minute to lose — the house was full of men with guns! 
His eyes just blazed. "Bully! Why, Huck, if it was 
to do over again, I bet I could bring in two hundred 
men!" 

"Hurry! hurry!" I said. "Where is Jim?" 
"Right at your elbow. Now we'll slide out." 
Just then we heard the tromp of men coming. 
They walked right up to the cabin and fumbled with 
the padlock. One man said: 

"They haven't come yet — the door is still locked." 
Tom put his eye to a crack of the lean-to door, 
but couldn't make out anything, it was so dark. He 
set his ear to the crack and listened and listened. 
At last he nudged us and we slid out, stooping down, 
not breathing or making the least noise, going toward 
the fence in single file. I got over all right and so 
did Jim, but Tom's britches caught fast on a splinter 
of the top rail. He heard steps coming and had to 
pull loose in such a hurry, the splinter snapped and 
made a noise. Somebody sung out: 

"Who's that? Answer, or I'll shoot!" 
We didn't answer. We just unfurled our heels 
and shoved. Then there was a rush and a bang, bang, 
bang! The bullets fairly whizzed around us. We 
heard them sing out: 

"There they go!" "They've started for the river!" 
"After them, boys, and turn loose the dogs!" 

So here they come, full tilt. We could hear them, 
because they wore boots and yelled. But we didn't 
wear boots and didn't yell. We dodged into the bush 
and let them go by, then dropped in behind them. 



A MIXED-UP AND SPLENDID RESCUE / 185 




They'd had all the dogs shut up, so they wouldn't 
scare off the robbers. But by this time somebody had 
let them loose, and they went running around mak- 
ing powwow enough for a million. We stopped in 
our tracks till the dogs caught up. When they saw 
it was nobody but us — with no excitement to offer 
them — they just said howdy and tore right ahead, 
toward the shouting and clattering. 

We whizzed along after them till nearly to the 
mill. Then we struck up through the bush to where 



186 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

my canoe was tied, hopped in and pulled for dear 
life toward the island where the raft was. 

At first we could hear yelling and barking all 
up and down the river bank, but as we moved on, 
the sounds got dim and died out. Then I said: 
"Now, old Jim, you are a free man again!" 
Everybody was glad as could be, but Tom was 
the gladdest of all, because he had a bullet in the 
calf of his leg. His leg was hurting some and bleed- 
ing. We put him in the wigwam and tore up one of 
the duke's shirts to bandage him. Then we told him 
I was going for a doctor. He raised a row against 
it, but we stuck to it. 



® JW?y rhey Dic?21 '* Han 8 J im 



The doctor was an old man, a very nice, kind- 
looking old man, when I got him up. I told him we 
had been hunting over on Spanish Island yesterday 
afternoon, and had camped on a piece of a raft we 
found. About midnight my brother must have kicked 
his gun in his dreams, for it went off and shot him 
in the leg. Would he fix it and not let anybody know 
about it, for we wanted to come home and surprise 
the folks? 

"Who are your folks?" he said. 

"The Phelpses, down yonder." 

"Oh," he said. And after a minute, "How did you 
say he got shot?" 

"He had a dream," I said, "and it shot him." 

"Strange dream," he said. 

So he lit up his lantern and got his bag, and we 
started. But when he saw the canoe, he said she didn't 
look safe for two. I said: 

"Oh, you needn't be afraid, sir. She carried the 
three of us easy enough." 

"What three?" 

"Why me, and Sid, and — and — and the guns." 

"Oh," he said. 

But he put his foot on the boat and rocked her, 
and shook his head. So he took my canoe, and said 

187 



188 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

for me to wait till he got back. Or maybe I had better 
go home and get them ready for the surprise. I told 
him how to find the raft, and then he started. 

I crept into a lumber pile to get some sleep. Next 
time I waked up, the sun was away up over my head! 
I shot out and went for the doctor's house. They told 
me he had gone away in the night some time or other, 
and hadn't come back yet. Well, I thought, that looks 
bad for Tom, and I'll get out to the island right off. 

I turned the corner and nearly rammed my head 
into Uncle Silas's stomach! He said: 

"Why, Tom! Where you been all this time, you 
rascal?" 

"I haven't been anywhere. Only hunting for the 
runaway slave — with Sid." 

"Where ever did you go?" he said. "Your Aunt 
has been mighty uneasy." 

"She needn't," I said. "We followed the men and 
the dogs, but they outran us, and we lost them. We 
thought we heard them on the water, so we got a 
canoe and took out after them and crossed over. Then 
we cruised along up shore till we got kind of tired 
and beat out. So we tied up the canoe and went to 
sleep and didn't wake up till about an hour ago. We 
paddled over to hear the news. Sid is at the post- 
office." 

Uncle Silas said we'd go to the post-office and 
get him. But just as I expected, he wasn't there. The 
old man got a letter out of the office, and said: 

"Come along, let Sid foot it home, or canoe it, 
when he gets done fooling around." 

I couldn't get him to let me stay and wait for 
Sid. When we got home Aunt Sally was so glad to 
see me she laughed and cried both, and let me have 
one of her lickings that didn't amount to shucks. She 



WHY THEY DIDN'T HANG JIM / 189 

said she'd serve Sid the same when he got home. 

The place was plumb full of farmers and farm- 
ers' wives, and such another clack was never heard, 
tongues going all the time. When it was late in the 
day, the people all left. Pretty soon Aunt Sally jumped 
up, and said: 

"Why, laws a-mercy, it's 'most night, and Sid not 
come yet! What has become of that boy?" 

"I'll run right up to town and get him," I said. 

"No you won't. You stay right where you are. 
One is enough to be lost at a time. If he's not here 
by supper, your Uncle will go." 

Well, he wasn't there to supper, so right after 
supper Uncle went. It was ten o'clock before he was 
back, a little bit uneasy, for he hadn't run across 
track of Tom. Aunt Sally was a good deal uneasy. 
Uncle Silas said no need to worry — boys will be boys, 
and he'll turn up in the morning all sound and right. 

She said she'd stay up for him a while anyway, 
and keep a light burning so he could see it. When 
I went to bed, she went along with me, and tucked 
me in so good I felt mean and couldn't look her in 
the face. When she was leaving, she looked down 
in my eyes so gentle, and said: 

"The door won't be locked, Tom, and there is 
the window and the lightning-rod. But you'll be good, 
won't you? You won't go? For my sake?" 

Laws knows I wanted to go bad enough, to see 
about Tom, and had intended to go. But after that 
I wouldn't have gone, not for kingdoms. 

But she was on my mind, and Tom was on my 
mind, so I slept very restless. Twice I went down 
the lightning-rod and slipped around front, to see 
her there by the candle in the window. I wished I 
could do something for her, but all I could do was 



190 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

to swear I'd never again do anything to grieve her. 
The third time I waked up it was dawn. I slipped 
down, and she was there yet, her old gray head rest- 
ing on her hand. She was asleep. 

The old man was up town again before breakfast, 
but couldn't get track of Tom. After breakfast both 
of them stayed at the table thinking, not eating any- 
thing, but looking mournful, their coffee getting cold. 
By and by the old man said: 

"Did I give you that letter?" 

"What letter?" 

"The one I got yesterday out of the post-office." 

"No, you didn't give me any letter." 

"I must have forgot it." 

He felt his pockets, brought out the letter and 
handed it to her. 

"Why, it's from St. Petersburg— it's from Sis." 

'iiiW 




WHY THEY DIDN'T HANG JIM / 191 

I thought a walk would do me good, but I couldn't 
stir. But before she could break the letter open, she 
dropped it and went tearing out, for she'd seen some- 
thing. 

It was Tom Sawyer on a mattress, and that old 
doctor, and Jim with his hands tied behind him, and 
a lot of other people. I hid the letter behind the first 
thing that was handy, and rushed out. Aunt Sally 
flung herself at Tom, crying, and said: 

"Oh, he's dead, he's dead, I know he is!" 

Tom turned his head a little, and muttered some- 
thing that showed he wasn't in his right mind. Then 
she flung up her hands, and said: 

"He's alive, thank God!" And away she went to 
get the bed ready, throwing orders right and left, 
as fast as her tongue could go. The old doctor and 
Uncle Silas followed after Tom into the house. 




192 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

I followed the men who had Jim, to see what 
they meant to do with him. Some of them wanted 
to hang him, as an example not to run away. But 
the others said, "No, he ain't ours — his owner will 
turn up and make us pay for him, sure." That idea 
cooled them down a little. But they fetched him a 
cuff or two on the head, and cussed him. 

Jim never said a word. He didn't let on to know 
me. They took him to the same cabin, and said he 
wasn't to have anything to eat but bread and water 
till his owner claimed him, or he was sold at auction 
if he never was claimed. About this time the old doc- 
tor comes to take a look, and said: 

"Don't be rougher on him than you have to be. 
He's not bad. When I found the wounded boy, I saw 
I couldn't cut the bullet out without some help, and 
he was in no state to be left alone while I went for 
help. He was out of his head, wouldn't let me come 
near him. Then out crawls this runaway slave from 
somewhere and says he'll help. And he did too. I 
had to stick there till daylight this morning, and I 
never saw a better nurse. And he was risking his 
freedom to do it. I liked him for that! I tell you, gentle- 
men, a slave like that is worth kind treatment." 

The men softened up a little. I judged I would 
get the doctor's story to Aunt Sally, so Jim wouldn't 
have to live on bread and water. But first I would 
have to get through the breakers just ahead of me. 
How was I to explain why I forgot to mention about 
Sid being shot, when I was telling how we put in 
that dratted night paddling around hunting for a 
runaway? 

But I had plenty of time. Aunt Sally stuck to the 
sickroom all day and all night. And every time I saw 
Uncle Silas mooning around, I dodged him. 




Nothing More to Write 



Next morning I heard that Tom was a good deal 
better. They said Aunt Sally had gone to get a nap, 
so I slipped to the sickroom. If I found Tom awake, 
we might put up a story for the family that would 
wash. But he was sleeping, and sleeping quiet; and 
he was pale, not fire-faced the way he was when 
they brought him home. I thought I'd wait for him 
to wake. 

After a while Aunt Sally glided in, and there I 
was, up a stump! She motioned me to be still, and 
we both stayed there, watching Tom. By and by he 
stirred, and opened his eyes very natural, and said: 

"Hello! Why, I'm at home! How is that? Where 
is the raft?" 

"It's all right," I said. 

"And Jim?" 

"The same," I said, but couldn't say it very brash. 

"Good! Did you tell Aunt Sally?" 

I was going to say yes, but she chipped in. 

"About what?" 

"About how we set the slave free." 

"Good land! What is the child talking about! 
Dear, dear, out of his head again!" 

"No, I'm not out of my head — I know all I'm talk- 
ing about. We did set him free. We planned it all 

193 



194 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

by ourselves. We dug the hole into the cabin, and 
wrote the 'nonymous letters from the robbers." He'd 
got a good start, and she didn't check him, just stood 
there and stared and let him clip along. I saw it 
wasn't any use for me to put in. 

"Well, I never heard the like of it in all my born 
days! So it was you, you little rapscallions, that made 
all this trouble and scared us all to death. I've a good 
notion to take it out of you this very minute. You 
just get well once, you young scamp, and I'll tan the 
Old Harry out of both of you!" 

Tom was so proud he couldn't hold in, and his 
tongue just went it — she chipping in, and spitting 
fire all along. 

"Well, you get all the fun you can out of it now. 
But mind, if I catch you meddling with that runaway 
again — " 

Tom looked at me and said, "Didn't you just say 
that Jim was all right? Didn't he get away?" 

" 'Deed he didn't," said Aunt Sally. "He's in that 
cabin again, on bread and water. And he'll be there 
until he's claimed or sold!" 

Tom rose square up in bed, his eyes hot. "They 
have no right to shut him up. Turn him loose! He's 
as free as any creature that walks the earth!" 

"What does the child mean?" 

"I mean every word I say. Old Miss Watson died 
before I left St. Petersburg. She said she was 
ashamed she had ever thought of selling him down 
the river and she set him free in her will." 

"Then what on earth did you want to set him 
free for, if he was already free!" 

"Why — I wanted the adventure of it. I'd have 
waded neck deep in blood to — goodness alive, Aunt 
Polly!" 



NOTHING MORE TO WRITE / 195 

There was Aunt Polly standing in the door, look- 
ing as sweet as an angel half full of pie! 

Aunt Sally jumped for her and hugged her and 
cried over her. I found a good enough place for me 
under the bed. In a little while I peeped out and saw 
Aunt Polly looking at Tom — kind of grinding him 
into the earth. 

"Yes, you better turn your head away, you Tom." 

"Oh, deary me!" said Aunt Sally. "Is he changed 
so much? That isn't Tom, that's Sid. Tom was here 
a minute ago. Where did he go?" 

"You mean where did Huck Finn go. I haven't 
raised such a scamp as my Tom all these years not 
to know him when I see him. Come out from under 
that bed, Huck Finn." 

I crawled out, but not feeling brash. 

Tom's Aunt Polly told all about who I was. She 
said Tom was right about old Miss Watson setting 
Jim free in her will. Now I could understand how 
a boy with Tom's bringing up would sink to stealing 
a slave to set him free. 

Aunt Polly said that when Aunt Sally wrote her 
that Tom and Sid too had come all right and safe, 
she said to herself: "Look at that, now! I might have 
expected it, letting him go off without anybody to 
watch him. Now I got to go all the way down the 
river to find out what that creature is up to this time. 
(Tom, you do need skinning, and no mistake about 
it.) I wrote a letter just before I started to tell you I 
was coming — " 

"Oh, I got that yesterday. I haven't read it yet." 

I wanted to offer to bet two dollars she couldn't 
find it. But I thought it was safer to say nothing. 

Aunt Sally was the most mixed-up person I ever 
saw. Except Uncle Silas. When they told it all to him, 



196 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 




NOTHING MORE TO WRITE / 197 

it kind of made him drunk. He didn't know anything 
at all the rest of the day. 

The first time I caught Tom alone I asked him 
what was the idea of stealing a slave to set him free 
when he was already free. He said his idea was to 
run down the river on the raft, and have adventure 
plumb to the mouth of the river. Then he would tell 
Jim he was free and take him back on a steamboat 
in great style. 

Well, we had Jim up in Tom's sickroom, and Tom 
gave him forty dollars for being a prisoner for us. 
Jim was pleased to death, and said: 

"Dah, now, Huck. I told you I was bound to be 
rich one day, and it's come true. Signs is signs, I 
tell you!" 

Then Tom said, "Let's all three slide out of here 
one of these nights, and get an outfit, and go for howl- 
ing adventures in the Indian Territory, for a couple 
of weeks." 

I said I didn't have any money to buy an outfit, 
that most likely Pap had come back by now and got 
all the money away from Judge Thatcher and drunk 
it up. 

Jim said, kind of solemn, "He ain't comin' back 
no mo', Huck." 

"Why, Jim?" I said. 

"Never mind why, Huck — but he ain't comin' 
back no mo'." 

I kept at him to tell me why, and at last he said: 

"You 'member de house floatin' down de river, 
and de dead man dat I didn't let you see? Well, dat 
was him." 

Tom is about well now, and wears his bullet on 
a watch-guard for a watch, and is always seeing what 



198 / HUCKLEBERRY FINN 

time it is. So there's not anything more to write about, 
and I'm rotten glad of it. If I had thought what a 
trouble it is to write a book, I never would have tack- 
led it. And I won't tackle it again. 

But I reckon I got to light out for Indian Territory 
ahead of the others, because Aunt Sally says she's 
going to adopt me and civilize me. I can't stand that. 
I been there before.