Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by Mark J. Twain

  So then we went to the post-office to get “Sid”; but just as I suspicioned, he warn’t there; so the old man he got a letter out of the office, and we waited a while longer but Sid didn’t come; so the old man said come along, let Sid foot it home, or canoe-it, when he got done fooling around—but we would ride. I couldn’t get him to let me stay and wait for Sid; and he said there warn’t no use in it, and I must come along, and let Aunt Sally see we was all right.

  When we got home, Aunt Sally was that glad to see me she laughed and cried both, and hugged me, and give me one of them lickings of hern that don’t amount to shucks, and said she’d serve Sid the same when he come.

  And the place was plumb full of farmers and farmers’ wives, to dinner; and such another clack a body never heard. Old Mrs. Hotchkiss was the worst; her tongue was agoing all the time. She says:

  “Well, Sister Phelps, I’ve ransacked that-air cabin over an’ I b‘lieve the nigger was crazy. I says so to Sister Damrell—didn’t I, Sister Damrell? —s’I, he’s crazy, s‘I—them’s the very words I said. You all hearn me: he’s crazy, s’I; everything shows it, s‘I. Look at that-air grindstone, s’I; want to tell me‘t any cretur ’ts in his right mind ’s agoin’ to scrabble all them crazy things onto a grindstone, s‘I? Here sich ’n’ sich a person busted his heart; ‘n’ here so ’n’ so pegged along for thirty-seven year, ‘n’ all that—natcheri son o’ Louis somebody, ’n’ sich everlast’n rubbage. He’s plumb crazy, s‘I; it’s what I says in the fust place, it’s what I says in the middle, ’n’ it’s what I says last ‘n’ all the time—the nigger’s crazy—crazy ’s Nebokoodneezer, s’I.”

  “An’ look at that-air ladder made out’n rags, Sister Hotchkiss,” says old Mrs. Damrell, “what in the name o’ goodness could he ever want of——”

  “The very words I was a-sayin’ no longer ago th’n this minute to Sister Utterback, ‘n’ she’ll tell you so herself. Sh-she, look at that-air rag ladder, sh-she; ’n’ s‘I, yes, look at it, s’I—what could he a wanted of it, s‘I. Sh-she, Sister Hotchkiss, sh-she——”

  “But how in the nation’d they ever git that grindstone in there, anyway? ‘n’ who dug that-air hole? ’n’ who——”

  “My very words, Brer Penrod! I was a-sayin‘—pass that-air sasser o’ m’lasses, won’t ye?—I was a-sayin’ to Sister Dunlap, jist this minute, how did they git that grindstone in there, s‘I. Without help, mind you—’thout help! Thar’s wher’ ‘tis. Don’t tell me, s’I; there wuz help, s‘I; ’n’ ther’ wuz a plenty help, too, s‘I; ther’s ben a dozen a-helpin’ that nigger, ’n’ I lay I’d skin every last nigger on this place, but I’d find out who done it, s‘I; ’n’ moreover, s‘I——”

  “A dozen says you!—forty couldn’t a done everything that’s been done. Look at them case-knife saws and things, how tedious they’ve been made; look at that bed-leg sawed off with ‘m, a week’s work for six men; look at that nigger made out’n straw on the bed; and look at——”

  “You may well say it, Brer Hightower! It’s jist as I was a-sayin’ to Brer Phelps, his own self. S‘e, what do you think of it, Sister Hotchkiss, s’e? think o’ what, Brer Phelps, s‘I? think o’ that bed-leg sawed off that a way, s’e? think of it, s‘l? I lay it never sawed itself off, s’I—somebody sawed it, s‘I; that’s my opinion, take it or leave it, it mayn’t be no ’count, s‘I, but sich as ’t is, it’s my opinion, s’I, ‘n’ if anybody k’n start a better one, s’I, let him do it, s‘I, that’s all. I says to Sister Dunlap, s’I———”

  “Why, dog my cats, they must a ben a house-full o’ niggers in there every night for four weeks, to a done all that work, Sister Phelps. Look at that shirt—every last inch of it kivered over with secret African writ’n done with blood! Must a ben a raft uv ’m at it right along, all the time, amost. Why, I’d give two dollars to have it read to me; ‘n’ as for the niggers that wrote it, I ’low I’d take ‘n’ lash ’m t’ll———”

  “People to help him, Brother Marples! Well, I reckon you’d think so, if you’d a been in this house for a while back. Why, they’ve stole everything they could lay their hands on—and we a watching, all the time, mind you. They stole that shirt right off o’ the line! and as for that sheet they made the rag ladder out of ther’ ain’t no telling how many times they didn’t steal that; and flour, and candles, and candlesticks, and spoons, and the old warming-pan, and most a thousand things that I disremember, now, and my new calico dress; and me, and Silas, and my Sid and Tom on the constant watch day and night, as I was a telling you, and not a one of us could catch hide nor hair, nor sight nor sound of them; and here at the last minute, lo and behold you, they slides right in under our noses, and fools us, and not only fools us but the Injun Territory robbers too, and actuly gets away with that nigger, safe and sound, and that with sixteen men and twenty-two dogs right on their very heels at that very time! I tell you, it just bangs anything I ever heard of. Why, sperits couldn’t a done better, and been no smarter. And I reckon they must a been sperits—because, you know our dogs, and ther’ ain’t no better; well, them dogs never even got on the track of ‘m, once! You explain that to me, if you can!—any of you!”

  “Well, it does beat——”

  “Laws alive, I never——”

  “So help me, I wouldn’t a be——”

  “House-thieves as well as——”

  “Goodnessgracioussakes, I’d a ben afeard to live in sich a——”

  “ ‘Fraid to live!—why, I was that scared I dasn’t hardly go to bed, or get up, or lay down, or set down, Sister Ridgeway. Why, they’d steal the very—why, goodness sakes, you can guess what kind of a fluster I was in by the time midnight come, last night. I hope to gracious if I warn’t afraid they’d steal some o’ the family! I was just to that pass, I didn’t have no reasoning faculties no more. It looks foolish enough, now, in the daytime; but I says to myself, there’s my two poor boys asleep, ’way up stairs in that lonesome room, and I declare to goodness I was that uneasy ’t I crep’ up there and locked‘em in! I did. And anybody would. Because, you know, when you get scared, that way, and it keeps running on, and getting worse and worse, all the time, and your wits gets to addling, and you get to doing all sorts o’ wild things, and by-and-by you think to yourself, spos’n I was a boy, and was away up there, and the door ain’t locked, and you———” She stopped, looking kind of wondering, and then she turned her head around slow, and when her eye lit on me—I got up and took a walk.

  Says I to myself, I can explain better how we come to not be in that room this morning, if I go out to one side and study over it a little. So I done it. But I dasn’t go fur, or she’d a sent for me. And when it was late in the day, the people all went, and then I come in and told her the noise and shooting waked up me and “Sid,” and the door was locked, and we wanted to see the fun, so we went down the lightning-rod, and both of us got hurt a little, and we didn’t never want to try that no more. And then I went on and told her all what I told Uncle Silas before; and then she said she’d forgive us, and maybe it was all right enough anyway, and about what a body might expect of boys, for all boys was a pretty harum scarum lot, as fur as she could see; and so, as long as no harm hadn’t come of it, she judged she better put in her time being grateful we was alive and well and she had us still, stead of fretting over what was past and done. So then she kissed me, and patted me on the head, and dropped into a kind of a brown study;fo and pretty soon jumps up, and says:

  “Why, lawsamercy, it’s most night, and Sid not come yet! What has become of that boy?”

  I see my chance; so I skips up and says:

  “I’ll run right up to town and get him,” I says.

  “No you won‘t,” she says. “You’ll stay right wher’ you are; one’s enough to be lost at a time. If he ain’t here to supper, your uncle ’ll go.”

  Well, he warn’t there to supper; so right after supper uncle went.

  He come back about ten, a little bit uneasy; hadn’t run across Tom
’s track. Aunt Sally was a good deal uneasy; but Uncle Silas he said there warn’t no occasion to be—boys will be boys, he said, and you’ll see this one turn up in the morning, all sound and right. So she had to be satisfied. But she said she’d set up for him a while, anyway, and keep a light burning, so he could see it.

  And then when I went up to bed she come up with me and fetched her candle, and tucked me in, and mothered me so good I felt mean, and like I couldn’t look her in the face; and she set down on the bed and talked with me a long time, and said what a splendid boy Sid was, and didn’t seem to want to ever stop talking about him; and kept asking me every now and then, if I reckoned he could a got lost, or hurt, or maybe drownded, and might be laying at this minute, somewheres, suffering or dead, and she not by him to help him, and so the tears would drip down, silent, and I would tell her that Sid was all right, and would be home in the morning, sure; and she would squeeze my hand, or maybe kiss me, and tell me to say it again, and keep on saying it, because it done her good, and she was in so much trouble. And when she was going away, she looked down in my eyes, so steady and gentle, and says:

  “The door ain’t going to be locked, Tom; and there’s the window and the rod; but you’ll be good, won’t you? And you won’t go? For my sake?”

  Laws knows I wanted to go, bad enough, to see about Tom, and was all intending to go; but after that, I wouldn’t a went, not for kingdoms.

  But she was on my mind, and Tom was on my mind; so I slept very restless. And twice I went down the rod, away in the night, and slipped around front, and see her setting there by her candle in the window with her eyes towards the road and the tears in them; and I wished I could do something for her, but I couldn‘t, only to swear that I wouldn’t never do nothing to grieve her any more. And the third time, I waked up at dawn, and slid down, and she was there yet, and her candle was most out, and her old gray head was resting on her hand, and she was asleep.

  CHAPTER 42

  The old man was up town again, before breakfast, but couldn’t get no track of Tom; and both of them set at the table, thinking, and not saying nothing, and looking mournful, and their coffee getting cold, and not eating anything. And by-and-by the old man says:

  “Did I give you the letter?”

  “What letter?”

  “The one I got yesterday out of the post-office.”

  “No, you didn’t give me no letter.”

  “Well, I must a forgot it.”

  So he rummaged his pockets, and then went off somewheres where he had laid it down, and fetched it, and give it to her. She says:

  “Why, it’s from St. Petersburg—it’s from Sis.”

  I allowed another walk would do me good; but I couldn’t stir. But before she could break it open, she dropped it and run—for she see something. And so did I. It was Tom Sawyer on a mattress; and that old doctor; and Jim, in her calico dress, with his hands tied behind him; and a lot of people. I hid the letter behind the first thing that come handy, and rushed. She flung herself at Tom, crying, and says:

  “Oh, he’s dead, he’s dead, I know he’s dead!”

  And Tom he turned his head a little, and muttered something or other, which showed he warn’t in his right mind; then she flung up her hands, and says:

  “He’s alive, thank God! And that’s enough!” and she snatched a kiss of him, and flew for the house to get the bed ready, and scattering orders right and left at the niggers and everybody else, as fast as her tongue could go, every jump of the way.

  I followed the men to see what they was going to do with Jim; and the old doctor and Uncle Silas followed after Tom into the house. The men was very huffy, and some of them wanted to hang Jim, for an example to all the other niggers around there, so they wouldn’t be trying to run away, like Jim done, and making such a raft of trouble, and keeping a whole family scared most to death for days and nights. But the others said, don’t do it, it wouldn’t answer at all, he ain’t our nigger, and his owner would turn up and make us pay for him, sure. So that cooled them down a little, because the people that’s always the most anxious for to hang a nigger that hain’t done just right, is always the very ones that ain’t the most anxious to pay for him when they’ve got their satisfaction out of him.

  They cussed Jim considerble, though, and give him a cuff or two, side the head, once in a while, but Jim never said nothing, and he never let on to know me, and they took him to the same cabin, and put his own clothes on him, and chained him again, and not to no bed-leg, this time, but to a big staple drove into the bottom log, and chained his hands, too, and both legs, and said he warn’t to have nothing but bread and water to eat, after this, till his owner come or he was sold at auction, because he didn’t come in a certain length of time, and filled up our hole, and said a couple of farmers with guns must stand watch around about the cabin every night, and a bull-dog tied to the door in the day time; and about this time they was through with the job and was tapering off with a kind of generl good-bye cussing, and then the old doctor comes and takes a look, and says:

  “Don’t be no rougher on him than you’re obleeged to, because he ain’t a bad nigger. When I got to where I found the boy, I see I couldn’t cut the bullet out without some help, and he warn’t in no condition for me to leave, to go and get help; and he got a little worse and a little worse, and after a long time he went out of his head, and wouldn’t let me come enigh him, any more, and said if I chalked his raft he’d kill me, and no end of wild foolishness like that, and I see I couldn’t do anything at all with him; so I says, I got to have help, somehow; and the minute I says it, out crawls this nigger from somewheres, and says he’ll help, and he done it, too, and done it very well. Of course I judged he must be a runaway nigger, and there I was! and there I had to stick, right straight along all the rest of the day, and all night. It was a fix, I tell you! I had a couple of patients with the chills, and of course I’d of liked to run up to town and see them, but I dasn‘t, because the nigger might get away, and then I’d be to blame; and yet never a skiff come close enough for me to hail. So there I had to stick, plumb till daylight this morning; and I never see a nigger that was a better nuss or faith-fuller, and yet he was resking his freedom to do it, and was all tired out, too, and I see plain enough he’d been worked main hard, lately. I liked the nigger for that; I tell you, gentlemen, a nigger like that is worth a thousand dollars—and kind treatment, too. I had everything I needed, and the boy was doing as well there as he would a done at home—better, maybe, because it was so quiet; but there I was, with both of’m on my hands; and there I had to stick, till about dawn this morning; then some men in a skiff come by, and as good luck would have it, the nigger was setting by the pallet with his head propped on his knees, sound asleep; so I motioned them in, quiet, and they slipped up on him and grabbed him and tied him before he knowed what he was about, and we never had no trouble. And the boy being in a kind of a flighty sleep, too, we muffled the oars and hitched the raft on, and towed her over very nice and quiet, and the nigger never made the least row nor said a word, from the start. He ain’t no bad nigger, gentlemen; that’s what I think about him.”

  Somebody says:

  “Well, it sounds very good, doctor, I’m obleeged to say.”

  Then the others softened up a little, too, and I was mighty thankful to that old doctor for doing Jim that good turn; and I was glad it was according to my judgment of him, too; because I thought he had a good heart in him and was a good man, the first time I see him. Then they all agreed that Jim had acted very well, and was deserving to have some notice took of it, and reward. So every one of them promised, right out and hearty, that they wouldn’t cuss him no more.

  Then they come out and locked him up. I hoped they was going to say he could have one or two of the chains took off, because they was rotten heavy, or could have meat and greens with his bread and water, but they didn’t think of it, and I reckoned it warn’t best for me to mix in, but I judged I’d get the doctor’s yarn to Aunt Sall
y, somehow or other, as soon as I’d got through the breakers that was laying just ahead of me. Explanations, I mean, of how I forgot to mention about Sid being shot, when I was telling how him and me put in that dratted night paddling around hunting the runaway nigger.

  But I had plenty time. Aunt Sally she stuck to the sick-room all day and all night; and every time I see Uncle Silas mooning around, I dodged him.

  Next morning I heard Tom was a good deal better, and they said Aunt Sally was gone to get a nap. So I slips to the sick-room, and if I found him awake I reckoned we could put up a yarn for the family that would wash. But he was sleeping, and sleeping very peaceful, too; and pale, not fire-faced the way he was when he come. So I set down and laid for him to wake. In about a half an hour, Aunt Sally comes gliding in, and there I was, up a stump again! She motioned me to be still, and set down by me, and begun to whisper, and said we could all be joyful now, because all the symptoms was first rate, and he’d been sleeping like that for ever so long, and looking better and peacefuller all the time, and ten to one he’d wake up in his right mind.

  So we set there watching, and by-and-by he stirs a bit, and opened his eyes very natural, and takes a look, and says:

  “Hello, why I’m at home! How’s that? Where’s the raft?”

  “It’s all right,” I says.

  “And Jim ?”

  “The same,” I says, but couldn’t say it pretty brash. But he never noticed, but says:

  “Good! Splendid! Now we’re all right and safe! Did you tell Aunty?”

  I was going to say yes; but she chipped in and says:

  “About what, Sid?”

  “Why, about the way the whole thing was done.”

  “What whole thing?”