Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Zombie Jim

by Mark Twain

  "Hello, Jim!” and skipped out.

  He bounced up and stared at me wild with his dead doll eyes. Then he drops down on his knees, and puts his hands together and says:

  "Is you like me, Huck? Is you a bagger or is you a ghos'? I hain't ever done no harm to a ghos'. I alwuz liked dead people, an’ you know I be dead myself. I don’ rememba that you catch the pox, so it mus’ be that you come out a th’ river as a ghos'."

  Well, I warn't long making him understand I warn't no damn ghost or bunderlug. Never had no fissythis and surely never got drown or kilt. But I was ever so glad to see Jim. I warn't lonesome now. I told him I warn't afraid of him telling the people where I was. I talked along, but he only set there and looked at me; never said nothing. Then I says:

  "It's good daylight. Le's get breakfast. Make up your camp fire good."

  "What's de use er makin’ up de camp fire to cook strawbries en sich truck? But you got a gun, hain't you? Den we kin git sumfn better den strawbries."

  "Strawberries and such truck,” I says. “Is that what eatin'?"

  "I couldn’ git nuffn else,” he says.

  "Why, how long you been on the island, Jim?"

  "I come heah de night arter you's killed."

  "What, all that time?"

  "Yes-indeedy."

  "And ain't you had nothing but that kind of rubbage to eat?"

  "No, sah-nuffn else."

  "Well, is you starved?"

  "I reck'n I could eat a hoss. I think I could. How long you ben on de islan'?"

  "Since the night I got killed."

  "No! W'y, what has you lived on? But you got a gun. Oh, yes, you got a gun. Dat's good. Now you kill sumfn en I'll make up de fire."

  I don’ figger to un'erstand how it all warks. Baggers don’ need to eat, but they thinks they do. It's what Tom's Aunt Polly called a pattern; how they remembers eatin’ so that's what they thinks they s'posed to be doing. Instink is another word for it. These baggers, these half baggers, th’ good ones, they still likes to pretend they alive like ever'one else. An’ so they eat and do the other thing too, except what comes out the bottom end idn't the same as what comes out of livin’ folk. It's just like reg'lar food, but all half-chewed and kinda dry; like their body never got a dang thing out of it.

  An’ Jim was just like that, too. He warn't hungry, only thinks he was hungry. Bein’ dead he don’ need to eat, but no matter how much I tells it to him he don't understand a lick.

  He says, “A hoss, Huck. I tells you I'd eat one."

  So we went over to where the canoe was, and while he built a fire in a grassy open place amongst the trees, I fetched meal and bacon and coffee, and coffee-pot and frying-pan, and sugar and tin cups, and the bagger was set back considerable, because he reckoned it was all done with witchcraft. I catched a good big catfish, too, and Jim cleaned him with his knife, and fried him.

  When breakfast was ready we lolled on the grass and eat it smoking hot. Jim laid it in with all his might, for he was most about starved. Then when we had got pretty well stuffed, we laid off and lazied. By and by Jim says:

  "But looky here, Huck, who wuz it dat ‘uz killed in dat shanty ef it warn't you?"

  Then I told him the whole thing, how it was a li'l bunderlug fella who was already mostly roont, and he said it was smart. He said Tom Sawyer couldn't get up no better plan than what I had. He said:

  "If he ‘uz already mostly roont, you did him a fava."

  "I reckon I did."

  "No good kickin’ ‘round like that wif parts missin'. You got no dignity left. If I ever got to be like dat, missin’ parts an’ wif a broken head, I'd a ask some'un to finish me off fo’ certain."

  Then I says:

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

  He looked pretty uneasy, and didn't say nothing for a minute. Then he says:

  "Maybe I better not tell."

  "Why, Jim?"

  "Well, dey's reasons. But you wouldn’ tell on me ef I uz to tell you, would you, Huck?"

  "Blamed if I would, Jim."

  "Well, I b'lieve you, Huck. I-I run off."

  "Jim!"

  "But mind, you said you wouldn’ tell-you know you said you wouldn’ tell, Huck."

  "Well, I did. I said I wouldn't, and I'll stick to it. Honest injun, I will. People would call me a low-down ungrateful zomby-lover and despise me for it-but that don't make no difference. I ain't a-going to tell, and I ain't a-going back there, anyways. So, now, le's know all about it."

  "Well, you see, it ‘uz dis way. Ole missus-dat's Miss Watson-she pecks on me all de time, en treats me pooty rough, but she awluz said she wouldn’ sell me down to Orleans. But I noticed dey wuz a bagger trader roun’ de place considable lately, en I begin to git oneasy. Well, one night I creeps to de do’ pooty late, en de do’ warn't quite shet, en I hear old missus tell de widder she gwyne to sell me down to Orleans, but she didn’ want to, but she could git eight hund'd dollars for me, en it ‘uz sich a big stack o’ money she couldn’ resis'. De widder she try to git her to say she wouldn’ do it, but I never waited to hear de res'. I lit out mighty quick, I tell you.

  "I tuck out en shin down de hill, en ‘spec to steal a skift ‘long de sho’ som'ers ‘bove de town, but dey wuz people a-stirring yit, so I hid in de ole tumble-down cooper-shop on de bank to wait for everybody to go ‘way. Well, I wuz dah all night. Dey wuz somebody roun’ all de time. ‘Long ‘bout six in de mawnin’ skifts begin to go by, en ‘bout eight er nine every skift dat went ‘long wuz talkin’ ‘bout how yo’ pap come over to de town en say you's killed. Dese las’ skifts wuz full o’ ladies en genlmen a-goin’ over for to see de place. Sometimes dey'd pull up at de sho’ en take a res’ b'fo’ dey started acrost, so by de talk I got to know all ‘bout de killin'. I ‘uz powerful sorry you's killed, Huck, but I ain't no mo’ now.

  "I laid dah under de shavin's all day. I ‘uz hungry, but I warn't afeard; bekase I knowed ole missus en de widder wuz goin’ to start to de camp-meet'n’ right arter breakfas’ en be gone all day, en dey knows I goes off wid de cattle ‘bout daylight, so dey wouldn’ ‘spec to see me roun’ de place, en so dey wouldn’ miss me tell arter dark in de evenin'. De yuther servants wouldn’ miss me, kase dey'd shin out en take holiday soon as de ole folks ‘uz out'n de way.

  "Well, when it come dark I tuck out up de river road, en went ‘bout two mile er more to whah dey warn't no houses. I'd made up my mine ‘bout what I's agwyne to do. You see, ef I kep’ on tryin’ to git away afoot, de dogs ‘ud track me; ef I stole a skift to cross over, dey'd miss dat skift, you see, en dey'd know ‘bout whah I'd lan’ on de yuther side, en whah to pick up my track. So I says, a raff is what I's arter; it doan’ make no track.

  "I see a light a-comin’ roun’ de p'int bymeby, so I wade’ in en shove’ a log ahead o’ me en swum more'n half way acrost de river, en got in ‘mongst de drift-wood, en kep’ my head down low, en kinder swum agin de current tell de raff come along. Den I swum to de stern uv it en tuck a-holt. It clouded up en ‘uz pooty dark for a little while. So I clumb up en laid down on de planks. De men ‘uz all ‘way yonder in de middle, whah de lantern wuz. De river wuz a-risin', en dey wuz a good current; so I reck'n'd ‘at by fo’ in de mawnin’ I'd be twenty-five mile down de river, en den I'd slip in jis b'fo’ daylight en swim asho', en take to de woods on de Illinois side.

  "But I didn’ have no luck. When we ‘uz mos’ down to de head er de islan’ a man begin to come aft wid de lantern, I see it warn't no use fer to wait, so I slid overboard en struck out fer de islan'. Well, I had a notion I could lan’ mos’ anywhers, but I couldn't-bank too bluff. I ‘uz mos’ to de foot er de islan’ b'fo’ I found’ a good place. I went into de woods en jedged I wouldn’ fool wid raffs no mo', long as dey move de lantern roun’ so. I had my pipe en a plug er dog-leg, en some matches in my cap, en dey warn't wet, so I ‘uz all right."

  "And so you ain't had no meat nor bread to eat all this time?"

  "I gots powerful appytite, Huck.
"

  "You dasn't even need to eat, Jim. I keep tellin’ you."

  "But you don't tell it to muh body, which makes me want to crave after mos’ unnatural urges. I wants to eat things whuch th’ Lord says you betta neva be eatin', if you know what I'm sayin'."

  "Like Philistines an’ such?"

  "That'll do fine."

  "Yer a strange bird, Jim."

  "I wunderd it."

  "Well, that's so. You've had to keep in the woods all the time, of course. Did you hear ‘em shooting the cannon?"

  "Oh, yes. I knowed dey was arter you. I see um go by heah-watched um thoo de bushes."

  Some young birds come along, flying a yard or two at a time and lighting. Jim said it was a sign it was going to rain. He said it was a sign when young chickens flew that way, and so he reckoned it was the same way when young birds done it. I was going to catch some of them, but Jim wouldn't let me. He said it was death. He said his father laid mighty sick once, and some of them catched a bird, and his old granny said his father would die, and he did.

  And Jim said you mustn't count the things you are going to cook for dinner, because that would bring bad luck. The same if you shook the table-cloth after sundown. And he said if a man owned a beehive and that man died, the bees must be told about it before sun-up next morning, or else the bees would all weaken down and quit work and die. Jim said bees wouldn't sting idiots; but I didn't believe that, because I had tried them lots of times myself, and they wouldn't sting me.

  I had heard about some of these things before, but not all of them. Jim knowed all kinds of signs. He said he knowed most everything. Some things he knew when he was alive, and some things he din’ know until after he met the devil. I said it looked to me like all the signs was about bad luck, and so I asked him if there warn't any good-luck signs. He says:

  "Mighty few-an’ dey ain't no use to a body. What you want to know when good luck's a-comin’ for? Want to keep it off?” And he said: “Ef you's got hairy arms en a hairy breas', it's a sign dat you's agwyne to be rich. Well, dey's some use in a sign like dat, ‘kase it's so fur ahead. You see, maybe you's got to be po’ a long time fust, en so you might git discourage’ en kill yo'sef ‘f you didn’ know by de sign dat you gwyne to be rich bymeby."

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

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

  "Well, are you rich?"

  "No, but I ben rich wunst, and gwyne to be rich agin. Wunst I had foteen dollars, but I tuck to specalat'n', en got busted out."

  "What did you speculate in, Jim?"

  "Well, fust I tackled stock."

  "What kind of stock?"

  "Why, live stock-cattle, you know. I put ten dollars in a cow. But I ain’ gwyne to resk no mo’ money in stock. De cow up ‘n’ died on my han's."

  "So you lost the ten dollars."

  "No, I didn't lose it all. I on'y los’ ‘bout nine of it. I sole de hide en taller for a dollar en ten cents."

  "You had five dollars and ten cents left. Did you speculate any more?"

  "Yes. You know that one-laigged negro dat friends wit’ Misto Bradish? Well, he sot up a bank, en say anybody dat put in a dollar would git fo’ dollars mo’ at de en’ er de year. Well, all de negros went in, but dey didn't have much. I wuz de on'y one dat had much. So I stuck out for mo’ dan fo’ dollars, en I said ‘f I didn’ git it I'd start a bank mysef. Well, o’ course dat negro want’ to keep me out er de business, bekase he says dey warn't business ‘nough for two banks, so he say I could put in my five dollars en he pay me thirty-five at de en’ er de year.

  "So I done it. Den I reck'n'd I'd inves’ de thirty-five dollars right off en keep things a-movin'. Dey wuz a characta name’ Bob, dat had ketched a wood-flat, en his partner didn’ know it; en I bought it off'n him en told him to take de thirty-five dollars when de en’ er de year come; but somebody stole de wood-flat dat night, en nex day de one-laigged negro say de bank's busted. So dey didn’ none uv us git no money."

  "What did you do with the ten cents, Jim?"

  "Well, I ‘uz gwyne to spen’ it, but I had a dream, en de dream tole me to give it to a negro name’ Balum-Balum's Ass dey call him for short; he's one er dem chuckleheads, you know. But he's lucky, dey say, en I see I warn't lucky. De dream say let Balum inves’ de ten cents en he'd make a raise for me. Well, Balum he tuck de money, en when he wuz in church he hear de preacher say dat whoever give to de po’ len’ to de Lord, en boun’ to git his money back a hund'd times. So Balum he tuck en give de ten cents to de po', en laid low to see what wuz gwyne to come of it."

  "Well, what did come of it, Jim?"

  "Nuffn never come of it. I couldn’ manage to k'leck dat money no way; en Balum he couldn'. I ain’ gwyne to len’ no mo’ money ‘dout I see de security. Boun’ to git yo’ money back a hund'd times, de preacher says! Ef I could git de ten cents back, I'd call it squah, en be glad er de chanst."

  "Well, it's all right anyway, Jim; I don’ think a bagger's allowed to be rich. You ain't allowed to own nothin’ at all, as I un'erstand."

  "Mebby it could happen."

  "Mebby."

  "Yes; en I's rich now, come to look at it. I owns mysef, en I's wuth eight hund'd dollars. I wisht I had de money, I wouldn’ want no mo'."

  Wall, I din’ know if he was still woth no eight hundred, but I din’ tell him so. I reckon wit’ so many bunderlugs runnin’ round the bushes, a fella might as well go an’ snatch up the one he wants an’ not hafta pay a red cent. But then, too, Jim still had most o’ himself an’ could be put to good work. So mebby he was worth somethin', even if it warn't no eight hundred dollars.

  Jim said eight hundred is what a good negro used to be worth.

  I told him negros was all abolitioned on account of th’ fissythis, an’ one thing din’ have nothin’ to do with th’ other. Negros was happy all up an’ down the country, free for th’ last two years. They was havin’ their own property and incomes, and makin’ babies to beat the band.

  Negros thanks God for the fissythis, calls it the equalizer of men. An’ I heard too of negros buyin’ an’ sellin’ in baggers, which is fair cuz these slaves finally gets to own slaves an’ they gets to feelin’ impo'tant about it. Jim says:

  "I uz a slave when I uz alive, an’ then I get dead, an’ I still gets to be a slave. Th’ warld is a funny place."

  Right ‘bout this time the friendship boat arrived in New York. Joe Sink an’ a bunch of negros mutineed an’ turned out ornery, sayin’ they wasn't gonna be anyone's slaves. And folks had to explain it to ‘em that nobody wanted black slaves anyway; an’ that negros'd been reprieved by bunderlugs; an’ the whole thing was a big misunderstandin; and the President got himself involved; and someone tol’ Joe Sink that there wouldn't even hafta be a trial, except for the fact that he went an’ killed the ship's cook. An’ someone else said the whole affair was a travesty anyway, and no one was supposed to be transporting African negros in the first place; and then there were all these men with pie on their faces; and the whole affair turned out to be a big ol’ farce.

  But me and Jim didn't know nothin’ about it, at the time. How could we? Jim woulda liked thet story. He woulda called it excitin'.

  CHAPTER IX

  Jim had a bad smell if you sat with him for too long. I had a pretty bad smell, myself, but it wasn't nothing like Jim. Miss Watson used ta put the bucket to him an’ make him stand in the shed ‘til he uz dry. Myself, I always found it was just better to not be too close to him, or to stand in the breeze, or just to keep on movin'. I wanted to go and look at a place right about the middle of the island that I'd found when I was exploring; so we started and soon got to it, because the island was only three miles long and a quarter of a mile wide.

  This place was a tolerable long, steep hill or ridge about forty foot high. We had a rough time getting to the top, the sides was so steep and the bushes so thick. We tramped and clumb around all over it, and by and by found a good big cavern in
the rock, most up to the top on the side towards Illinois. The cavern was as big as two or three rooms bunched together, and Jim could stand up straight in it. It was cool in there. Jim was for putting our traps in there right away, but I said we didn't want to be climbing up and down there all the time.

  Jim said if we had the canoe hid in a good place, and had all the traps in the cavern, we could rush there if anybody was to come to the island, and they would never find us without dogs. And, besides, he said them little birds had said it was going to rain, and did I want the things to get wet?

  So we went back and got the canoe, and paddled up abreast the cavern, and lugged all the traps up there. Then we hunted up a place close by to hide the canoe in, amongst the thick willows. We took some fish off of the lines and set them again, and begun to get ready for dinner.

  The door of the cavern was big enough to roll a hogshead in, and on one side of the door the floor stuck out a little bit, and was flat and a good place to build a fire on. So we built it there and cooked dinner.

  We spread the blankets inside for a carpet, and eat our dinner in there. We put all the other things handy at the back of the cavern. Pretty soon it darkened up, and begun to thunder and lighten; so the birds was right about it. Directly it begun to rain, and it rained like all fury, too, and I never see the wind blow so. It was one of these regular summer storms. It would get so dark that it looked all blue-black outside, and lovely; and