Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer among the Indians

by Twain, Mark

  “How noble! And how beautiful it was to die in such a work. Oh, sainted spirit, I worship your memory!”

  “Whose memory?”

  “Yours; and I—”

  “Do you take me for dead?”

  “Dead? Of course. Aren’t you?”

  “Certainly not.”

  Hotchkiss’s joy was without limit or measure. He poured it eloquently out until he was breathless; then paused, and added pathetically—

  “It is bad for spiritualism—yes, bad, bad—but let it go—go and welcome, God knows I’m glad to have you back, even on those costly terms! And by George, we’ll celebrate! I’m a teetotaler—been a teetotaler for years—months, anyway—a month—but at a time like this—”

  The kettle was still on the fire, the bottle which had revived Meadows was still at hand, and in a couple of minutes he had brewed a pair of good punches—“anyway, good enough for a person out of practice,” he said.

  The boy began to sip, and said it was pleasant, and asked what it was.

  “Why, bless your heart, whisky of course—can’t you tell by the smell of it? And we’ll have a smoke, too. I don’t smoke—haven’t for years—I think it’s years—because I’m president of the Anti-Smoking League—but at a time like this—” He jumped up and threw a log on the fire, punched the pile into a roaring blaze, then filled a couple of cob pipes and brought them. “There, now, ain’t it cosy, ain’t it comfortable?—and just hear the storm! My, but she’s booming! But snug here?—it’s no name for it!”

  The boy was inspecting his pipe with interest.

  “What shall I do with it, sir?”

  “Do with it? Do you mean to say you don’t smoke? I never saw such a boy. Next you’ll say you don’t break the Sabbath.”

  “But what is the material?”

  “That? Tobacco—of course.”

  “Oh, I see. Sir Walter Raleigh discovered it among the Indians; I read about it in the school. Yes, I understand now.”

  He applied the candle and began to smoke, Hotchkiss gazing at him puzzled.

  “You’ve read about it! Upon my word! Now that I come to think about it, you don’t seem to know anything except what you’ve read about in that school. Why how in the world could you be born and raised in the State of Missouri and never—”

  “But I wasn’t. I am a foreigner.”

  “You don’t say!—and speak just like an educated native—not even an accent. Where were you raised?”

  The boy answered naïvely—

  “Partly in heaven, partly in hell.”

  Hotchkiss’s glass fell from one hand, his pipe from the other, and he sat staring stupidly at the boy, and breathing short. Presently he murmured dubiously—

  “I reckon the punch—out of practice, you know—maybe both of us—and—” He paused, and continued to gaze and blink; then shook his thoughts together and said, “Can’t tell anything about it—it is too undeveloped for me; but it’s all right, we’ll make a night of it. It’s my opinion, speaking as a prohibitionist—” He stooped and picked up his glass and his pipe, and went rambling on in a broken and incoherent way while he filled them, glancing furtively at the boy now and then out of the corner of his eye and trying to settle his disturbed and startled mind and get his bearings again. But the boy was not disturbed; he smoked and sipped in peace, and quiet, and manifest contentment. He took a book out of his pocket, and began to turn the pages swiftly; Hotchkiss sat down, stirring his new punch, and keeping a wistful and uneasy eye upon him. After a minute or two the book was laid upon the table.

  “Now I know all about it,” said the boy. “It is all here—tobacco, and liquors, and such things. Champagne is placed at the head of everything; and Cuban tobacco at the head of the tobaccos.”

  “Oh, yes, they are the gems of the planet in those lines. Why—I don’t recognise this book; did you bring it in to-night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where from?”

  “The British Museum.”

  Hotchkiss began to blink again, and look uneasy.

  “It is a new work,” added the boy. “Published yesterday.”

  The blinking continued. Hotchkiss started to take a sip of punch, but reconsidered the motion; shook his head and put the glass down. Upon pretext of examining the print and the binding, he opened the book; then closed it at once and pushed it away. He had seen the Museum stamp—bearing date of the preceding day. He fussed nervously at his pipe a moment; then held it to the candle with a hand that trembled and made some of the tobacco spill out, then asked timidly—

  “How did you get the book?”

  “I went after it myself.”

  “Your—self. Mercy! When?”

  “While you were stooping for your pipe and glass.”

  Hotchkiss moaned.

  “Why do you make that noise?”

  “Be—because I—I am afraid.”

  The boy reached out and touched the trembling hand and said gently—

  “There—it is gone.”

  The troubled look passed from the old prohibitionist’s face, and he said, in a sort of soft ecstasy of relief and contentment—

  “It tingles all through me—all through me. De—licious! Every fibre—the root of every hair—it is enchantment! Oh magician of the magicians, talk to me—talk! tell me everything.”

  “Certainly, if you like.”

  “Now, that is lovely! First I will rout out old Rachel and we’ll have a bite and be comfortable and freshen up; I am pretty sharpset after all these hours, and I reckon you are, too.”

  “Wait. It is not necessary. I will order something.”

  Smoking dishes began to descend upon the table; it was covered in a moment.

  “It’s the Arabian Nights come again! And I am not scared, now. I don’t know why—it was that magic touch, I think. But you didn’t fetch them yourself, this time; I was noticing, and you didn’t go away.”

  “No, I sent my servants.”

  “I didn’t see them.”

  “You can if you wish.”

  “I’d give anything!”

  The servants became visible; all the room was crowded with them. Trim and shapely little fellows they were; velvety little red fellows, with short horns on their heads and spiked tails at the other end; and those that stood, stood in metal plates, and those that sat—on chairs, in a row upon settees, and on top of the bookcase with their legs dangling—had metal plates under them—“to keep from scorching the furniture,” the boy quietly explained, “these have come but this moment, and of course are hot, yet.”

  Hotchkiss asked, a little timidly—

  “Are they little devils?”

  “Yes.”

  “Real ones?”

  “Oh, yes—quite.”

  “They—are they safe?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “I don’t need to be afraid?”

  “Oh, not at all.”

  “Then I won’t be. I think they are charming. Do they understand English?”

  “No, only French. But they could be taught it in a few minutes.”

  “It is wonderful. Are they—you won’t mind my asking—relatives?”

  “Of mine? No; sons of my father’s subordinates. You are dismissed, young gentlemen, for the present.”

  The little fiends vanished.

  “Your father is—er—”

  “Satan!”

  “Good land!”

  Chapter 5

  HOTCHKISS sank into his chair weak and limp, and began to pour out broken words and disjointed sentences whose meanings were not always clear but whose general idea was comprehensible. To this effect: from custom bred of his upbringing and his associations he had often talked about Satan with a freedom which was regrettable, but it was really only talk, mere idle talk, he didn’t mean anything by it; in fact there were many points about Satan’s character which he greatly admired, and although he hadn’t said so, publicly, it was an oversight and not intentional—but from this out h
e meant to open his mouth boldly, let people say what they might and think what they chose—

  The boy interrupted him, gently and quietly—

  “I don’t admire him.”

  Hotchkiss was hard aground, now; his mouth was open, and remained so, but no words came; he couldn’t think of anything judicious to say. Presently he ventured to throw out a feeler—cautiously, tentatively, feelingly, persuasively:

  “You see—well, you know—it would be only natural, if I was a devil—a good, kind, honorable devil, I mean—and my father was a good, kind, honorable devil against whom narrow and perhaps wrongful or at least exaggerated prejudices—”

  “But I am not a devil,” said the boy, tranquilly.

  Hotchkiss was badly confused, but profoundly relieved.

  “I—er—I—well, you know, I suspected as much, I—I—indeed I hadn’t a doubt of it; and—although it—on the whole—oh, good land, I can’t understand it, of course, but I give you my word of honor I like you all the better for it, I do indeed! I feel good, now—good, and comfortable, and in fact happy. Join me—take something! I wish to drink your health; and—and your family’s.”

  “With pleasure. Now eat—refresh yourself. I will smoke, if you don’t mind. I like it.”

  “Certainly; but eat, too; aren’t you hungry?”

  “No, I do not get hungry.”

  “Is that actually so?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ever? Never?”

  “No.”

  “Ah, it is a pity. You miss a great deal. Now tell me about yourself, won’t you?”

  “I shall be glad to do it, for I have a purpose in coming to the earth, and if you should find the matter interesting, you can be useful to me.”

  Then the talking and eating began, simultaneously.

  “I was born before Adam’s fall—”

  “Wh-at!”

  “It seems to surprise you. Why?”

  “Because it caught me unprepared. And because it is six thousand years ago, and you look to be only about fifteen years old.”

  “True—that is my age, within a fraction.”

  “Only fifteen, and yet—”

  “Counting by our system of measurement, I mean—not yours.”

  “How is that?”

  “A day, with us, is as a thousand years with you.”

  Hotchkiss was awed. A seriousness which was near to solemnity settled upon his face. After a meditative pause he said—

  “Surely it cannot be that you really and not figuratively mean—”

  “Yes—really, not figuratively. A minute of our time is 41⅔ years of yours. By our system of measurement I am fifteen years old; but by yours I am five million, lacking twenty thousand years.”

  Hotchkiss was stunned. He shook his head in a hopeless way, and said, resignedly—

  “Go on—I can’t realize it—it is astronomy to me.”

  “Of course you cannot realize these things, but do not be troubled; measurements of time and eternity are merely conveniences, they are not of much importance. It is about a week ago that Adam fell—”

  “A week?— Ah, yes, your week. It is awful—that compression of time! Go on.”

  “I was in heaven; I had always lived in heaven, of course; until a week ago, my father had always lived there. But I saw this little world created. I was interested; we were all interested. There is much more interest attaching to the creation of a planet than attaches to the creation of a sun, on account of the life that is going to inhabit it. I have seen many suns created—many indeed, that you are not yet acquainted with, they being so remotely situated in the deeps of space that their light will not reach here for a long time yet; but the planets—I cared the most for them; we all did; I have seen millions of them made, and the Tree planted in the Garden, and the man and the woman placed in its shade, with the animals about them. I saw your Adam and Eve only once; they were happy, then, and innocent. This could have continued forever, but for my father’s conduct. I read it all in the Bible in Mr. Ferguson’s school. As it turned out, Adam’s happiness lasted less than a day—”

  “Less than one day?”

  “By our reckoning, I mean; by yours he lived nine hundred and twenty years—the bulk of it unhappily.”

  “I see; yes, it is true.”

  “It was my father’s fault. Then hell was created, in order that Adam’s race might have a place to go to, after death—”

  “They could go to heaven, too.”

  “That was later. Two days ago. Through the sacrifice made for them by the son of God, the Savior.”

  “Is hell so new?”

  “It was not needed before. No Adam in any of the millions of other planets had ever disobeyed and eaten of the forbidden fruit.”

  “It is strange.”

  “No—for the others were not tempted.”

  “How was that?”

  “There was no tempter until my father ate of the fruit himself and became one. Then he tempted other angels and they ate of it also; then Adam and the woman.”

  “How did your father come to eat of it this time?”

  “I did not know at the time.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because I was away when it happened; I was away some days, and did not hear of it at all and of the disaster to my father until I got back; then I went to my father’s place to speak with him of it; but his trouble was so new, and so severe, and so amazing to him that he could do nothing but grieve and lament—he could not bear to talk about the details; I merely gathered that when he made the venture it was because his idea of the nature of the fruit was a most erroneous one.”

  “Erroneous?”

  “Quite erroneous.”

  “You do not know in what way it was erroneous?”

  “Yes, I think I know now. He probably—in fact unquestionably—supposed that the nature of the fruit was to reveal to human beings the knowledge of good and evil—that, and nothing more; but not to Satan the great angel; he had that knowledge before. We always had it—always. Now why he was moved to taste it himself is not clear; I shall never know until he tells me. But his error was—”

  “Yes, what was his error?”

  “His error was in supposing that a knowledge of the difference between good and evil was all that the fruit could confer.”

  “Did it confer more than that?”

  “Consider the passage which says man is prone to evil as the sparks to fly upward. Is that true? Is that really the nature of man?—I mean your man—the man of this planet?”

  “Indeed it is—nothing could be truer.”

  “It is not true of the men of any other planet. It explains the mystery. My father’s error stands revealed in all its nakedness. The fruit’s office was not confined to conferring the mere knowledge of good and evil, it conferred also the passionate and eager and hungry disposition to DO evil. Prone as sparks to fly upward; in other words, prone as water to run down hill—a powerful figure, and means that man’s disposition is wholly evil, uncompromisingly evil, inveterately evil, and that he is as undisposed to do good as water is undisposed to run up hill. Ah, my father’s error brought a colossal disaster upon the men of this planet. It poisoned the men of this planet—poisoned them in mind and body. I see it, plainly.”

  “It brought death, too.”

  “Yes—whatever that may be. I do not quite understand it. It seems to be a sleep. You do not seem to mind sleep. By my reading I gather that you are not conscious of either death or sleep; that nevertheless you fear the one and do not fear the other. It is very stupid. Illogical.”

  Hotchkiss put down his knife and fork and explained the difference between sleep and death; and how a person was not sorry when asleep, but sorry when dead, because—because—

  He found it was not so easy to explain why as he had supposed it was going to be; he floundered a while, then broke down. But presently he tried again, and said that death was only a sleep, but that the objection to it was that i
t was so long; then he remembered that time stands still when one sleeps, and so the difference between a night and a thousand years is really no difference at all so far as the sleeper is personally affected.

  However, the boy was thinking, profoundly, and heard none of it; so nothing was lost. By and by the boy said, earnestly—

  “The fundamental change wrought in man’s nature by my father’s conduct must remain—it is permanent; but a part of its burden of evil consequences can be lifted from your race, and I will undertake it. Will you help?”

  He was applying in the right quarter. Lifting burdens from a whole race was a fine and large enterprize, and suited Oliver Hotchkiss’s size and gifts better than any contract he had ever taken hold of yet. He gave in his adhesion with promptness and enthusiasm, and wanted the scheme charted out at once. Privately he was immeasurably proud to be connected in business with an actual angel and son of a devil, but did what he could to keep his exultation from showing. The boy said—

  “I cannot map out a definite plan yet; I must first study this race. Its poisoned condition and prominent disposition to do evil differentiate it radically from any men whom I have known before, therefore it is a new race to me and must be exhaustively studied before I shall know where and how to begin. Indefinitely speaking, our plan will be confined to ameliorating the condition of the race in some ways in this life; we are not called upon to concern ourselves with its future fate; that is in abler hands than ours.”

  “I hope you will begin your studies right away.”

  “I shall. Go to bed, and take your rest. During the rest of the night and to-morrow I will travel about the globe and personally examine some of the nationalities, and learn languages and read the world’s books in the several tongues, and to-morrow night we will talk together here. Meantime the storm has made you a prisoner. Will you have one of my servants to wait on you?”

  A genuine little devil all for his own! It was a lovely idea, and swelled Hotchkiss’s vanity to the bursting point. He was lavish with his thanks.

  “But he won’t understand what I say to him.”

  “He will learn in five minutes. Would you like any particular one?”