by Mark Twain
About an hour after dinner everybody was dozing around, some in their chairs and some in their rooms, and it got to be pretty dull. Buck and a dog was stretched out on the grass in the sun sound asleep. I went up to our room, and judged I would take a nap myself. I found that sweet Miss Sophia standing in her door, which was next to ours, and she took me in her room and shut the door very soft, and asked me if I liked her, and I said I did; and she asked me if I would do something for her and not tell anybody, and I said I would. Then she said she'd forgot her Testament, and left it in the seat at church between two other books, and would I slip out quiet and go there and fetch it to her, and not say nothing to nobody. I said I would. So I slid out and slipped off up the road, and there warn't anybody at the church, except maybe a hog or two, for there warn't any lock on the door, and hogs likes a puncheon floor in summer-time because it's cool. If you notice, most folks don't go to church only when they've got to; but a hog is different.
Says I to myself, something's up; it ain't natural for a girl to be in such a sweat about a Testament. So I give it a shake, and out drops a little piece of paper with “half-past two” wrote on it with a pencil. I ransacked it, but couldn't find anything else. I couldn't make anything out of that, so I put the paper in the book again, and when I got home and upstairs there was Miss Sophia in her door waiting for me. She pulled me in and shut the door; then she looked in the Testament till she found the paper, and as soon as she read it she looked glad; and before a body could think she grabbed me and give me a squeeze, and said I was the best boy in the world, and not to tell anybody. She was mighty red in the face for a minute, and her eyes lighted up, and it made her powerful pretty. I was a good deal astonished, but when I got my breath I asked her what the paper was about, and she asked me if I had read it, and I said no, and she asked me if I could read writing, and I told her “no, only coarse-hand,” and then she said the paper warn't anything but a book-mark to keep her place, and I might go and play now.
I went off down to the river, studying over this thing, and pretty soon I noticed that my bagger was following along behind. Not Jim, but the one that was provided for me by the Grangerfords. I din’ know what become of Jim. When this bagger was out of sight of the house he looked back and around a second, and then comes a-running, and says:
"Mars Jawge, if you'll come down into de swamp I'll show you a whole stack o’ water-moccasins."
Thinks I, that's mighty curious; he said that yesterday. He oughter know a body don't love water-moccasins enough to go around hunting for them. What is he up to, anyway? So I says:
"All right; trot ahead."
I followed a half a mile; then he struck out over the swamp, and waded ankle deep as much as another half-mile. We come to a little flat piece of land which was dry and very thick with trees and bushes and vines, and he says:
"You shove right in dah jist a few steps, Mars Jawge; dah's whah dey is. I's seed ‘m befo'; I don't k'yer to see ‘em no mo'."
Then he slopped right along and went away, and pretty soon the trees hid him. I poked into the place a-ways and come to a little open patch as big as a bedroom all hung around with vines, and found a man laying there asleep-and, by jings, it was my old Jim!
I waked him up, and I reckoned it was going to be a grand surprise to him to see me again, but it warn't. He nearly cried he was so glad, but he warn't surprised. Said he swum along behind me that night, and heard me yell every time, but dasn't answer, because he didn't want nobody to pick him up and take him into slavery again. Says he:
"I got sad a little, en couldn't swim fas', so I wuz a considable ways behine you towards de las'; when you landed I reck'ned I could ketch up wid you on de lan’ ‘dout havin’ to shout at you, but when I see dat house I begin to go slow. I ‘uz off too fur to hear what dey say to you-I wuz ‘fraid o’ de dogs; but when it ‘uz all quiet agin I knowed you's in de house, so I struck out for de woods to wait for day. Early in de mawnin’ some er de baggers come along, gwyne to de fields, en dey tuk me en showed me dis place, whah de dogs can't track me on accounts o’ de water, en dey brings me truck to eat every night, en tells me how you's a-gitt'n along."
"Why didn't you tell my bunderlug to fetch me here sooner, Jim?"
"Well, ‘twarn't no use to ‘sturb you, Huck, tell we could do sumfn-but we's all right now. I ben doin’ what I cain, en a-patchin’ up de raf’ nights when-"
"What raft, Jim?"
"Our ole raf'."
"You mean to say our old raft warn't smashed all to flinders?"
"No, she warn't. She was tore up a good deal-one en’ of her was; but dey warn't no great harm done, on'y our traps was mos’ all los'. Ef we hadn’ dive’ so deep en swum so fur under water, en de night hadn’ ben so dark, en we warn't so sk'yerd, en ben sich punkin-heads, as de sayin’ is, we'd a seed de raf'. But it's jis’ as well we didn't, ‘kase now she's all fixed up agin mos’ as good as new, en we's got a new lot o’ stuff, in de place o’ what ‘uz los'."
"Why, how did you get hold of the raft again, Jim-did you catch her?"
"How I gwyne to ketch her en I out in de woods? No; some er de zombys foun’ her ketched on a snag along heah in de ben', en dey hid her in a crick ‘mongst de willows, en dey wuz so much jawin’ ‘bout which un ‘um she b'long to de mos’ dat I come to heah ‘bout it pooty soon, so I ups en settles de trouble by tellin’ ‘um she don't b'long to none uv um, but to you en me; en I ast ‘m if dey gwyne to grab a young white genlman's propaty, en git a hid'n for it? Den I gin ‘m ten cents apiece, en dey ‘uz mighty well satisfied, en wisht some mo’ raf's ‘ud come along en make ‘m rich agin. Dey's mighty good to me, dese baggers is, sma'test I ever did meet, en whatever I wants ‘m to do fur me I doan’ have to ast ‘m twice, honey. Dat Jack's a good bagger, en pooty clever."
"Yes, he is. Grangerford money buys the best of the bunch. These almost as smart as you, Jim. But this bagger ain't ever told me you was here; told me to come, and he'd show me a lot of water-moccasins. If anything happens he ain't mixed up in it. He can say he never seen us together, and it'll be the truth."
I don't want to talk much about the next day. I reckon I'll cut it pretty short. I waked up about dawn, and was a-going to turn over and go to sleep again when I noticed how still it was-didn't seem to be anybody stirring. That warn't usual. Next I noticed that Buck was up and gone. Well, I gets up, a-wondering, and goes down stairs-nobody around; everything as still as a mouse. Just the same outside. Thinks I, what does it mean? Down by the wood-pile I comes across my bagger, and says:
"What's it all about?"
Says he:
"Don't you know, Mars Jawge?"
"No,” says I, “I don't."
"Well, den, Miss Sophia's run off! ‘deed she has. She run off in de night some time-nobody don't know jis’ when; run off to get married to dat young Harney Shepherdson, you know-leastways, so dey ‘spec. De fambly foun’ it out ‘bout half an hour ago-maybe a little mo'-en’ I tell you dey warn't no time los'. Sich another hurryin’ up guns en hosses you never see! De women folks has gone for to stir up de relations, en ole Mars Saul en de boys tuck dey guns en rode up de river road for to try to ketch dat young man en kill him ‘fo’ he kin git acrost de river wid Miss Sophia. I reck'n dey's gwyne to be mighty rough times."
"Buck went off ‘thout waking me up."
"Well, I reck'n he did! Dey warn't gwyne to mix you up in it. Mars Buck he loaded up his gun en ‘lowed he's gwyne to fetch home a Shepherdson or bust. Well, dey'll be plenty un ‘m dah, I reck'n, en you bet you he'll fetch one ef he gits a chanst."
I took up the river road as hard as I could put. By and by I begin to hear guns a good ways off. When I came in sight of the log store and the woodpile where the steamboats lands I worked along under the trees and brush till I got to a good place, and then I clumb up into the forks of a cottonwood that was out of reach, and watched. There was a wood-rank four foot high a little ways in front of the tree, and first I was going to hide behind that; but maybe it
was luckier I didn't.
There was four or five men cavorting around on their horses in the open place before the log store, cussing and yelling, and trying to get at a couple of young chaps that was behind the wood-rank alongside of the steamboat landing; but they couldn't come it. Every time one of them showed himself on the river side of the woodpile he got shot at. The two boys was squatting back to back behind the pile, so they could watch both ways.
By and by the men stopped cavorting around and yelling. They started riding towards the store; then up gets one of the boys, draws a steady bead over the wood-rank, and drops one of them out of his saddle. All the men jumped off of their horses and grabbed the hurt one and started to carry him to the store; and that minute the two boys started on the run. They got half way to the tree I was in before the men noticed. Then the men see them, and jumped on their horses and took out after them. They gained on the boys, but it didn't do no good, the boys had too good a start; they got to the woodpile that was in front of my tree, and slipped in behind it, and so they had the bulge on the men again. One of the boys was Buck, and the other was a slim young chap about nineteen years old.
The men ripped around awhile, and then rode away. As soon as they was out of sight I sung out to Buck and told him. He didn't know what to make of my voice coming out of the tree at first. He was awful surprised. He told me to watch out sharp and let him know when the men come in sight again; said they was up to some devilment or other-wouldn't be gone long. I wished I was out of that tree, but I dasn't come down. Buck begun to cry and rip, and ‘lowed that him and his cousin Joe (that was the other young chap) would make up for this day yet. He said his father and his two brothers was killed, and two or three of the enemy. Said the Shepherdsons laid for them in ambush. Buck said his father and brothers ought to waited for their relations-the Shepherdsons was too strong for them. I asked him what was become of young Harney and Miss Sophia. He said they'd got across the river and was safe. I was glad of that; but the way Buck did take on because he didn't manage to kill Harney that day he shot at him-I hain't ever heard anything like it.
All of a sudden, bang! bang! bang! goes three or four guns-the men had slipped around through the woods and come in from behind without their horses! The boys jumped for the river-both of them hurt-and as they swum down the current the men run along the bank shooting at them and singing out, “Kill them, kill them!"
And things got much worse than that. Here come a terrible sound, like a crowd of angry hooligans shouting pure gibberish, and from the north comes a storm of teeth and limbs. These was bunderlugs, full-baggers, vicious and stoked with rage.
Where they come out of, I don't know. Somebody might think these zombys got themselves all together and hatched a scheme to cause a bunch of trouble; but someone else might incline to think it was a body's idea to catch n’ corral ‘em an’ release ‘em like a stampeding army at just the right moment.
So there was all this rage and viciousness going on. Men who was shooting on one another had to turn and shoot on the crazed baggers, some two-dozen strong. And it wasn't enough to kill a bagger by shooting him in the gut or in the chest. As I said, you got to get him in the brains, specific'ly at the trunk. You got to put him down by smashing his senses into jelly, otherwise he'll just keep comin’ at you.
Well, what happened was an orgy of teeth and blood.
All those folks down there, no matter who they was or whose side they was on, they got themselves all tore up and ate by this throng of full-baggers.
It made me so sick I most fell out of the tree. I ain't a-going to tell all that happened-it would make me sick again if I was to do that. I wished I hadn't ever come ashore that night to see such things. I ain't ever going to get shut of them-lots of times I dream about them. Of these vicious men being outnumbered by even greater viciousness. Ever'thing Jim said ‘bout feeling strange an’ hungry was true. Them bunderlugs had a wicked taste for human flesh.
Only the devil could concoct such a thing.
I stayed in the tree till it begun to get dark, afraid to come down. There was no sound from a living person, only a few stray horses here and about. And when all that was left of the Shepherdsons and the Grangerfords was bones and steel, the baggers began to thin out, moving off into the bushes, yonder. They din’ mark me. Their bellies was too full up to care anymore, I s'pect.
And there was all these piles of chewed meat, red and purple, which had passed through the baggers without being even a mite digested.
I saw another thing, too, which I will get to in a spell.
I was completely sickened and downhearted; so I made up my mind I wouldn't ever go anear that house again, because I reckoned I was to blame, somehow. I judged that that piece of paper meant that Miss Sophia was to meet Harney somewheres at half-past two and run off; and I judged I ought to told her father about that paper and the curious way she acted, and then maybe he would a locked her up, and this awful mess wouldn't ever happened.
When I got down out of the tree I crept along down the river bank a piece, and found two bodies laying in the edge of the water, and tugged at them till I got them ashore; these ones wasn't eaten by zombys; then I covered up their faces, and got away as quick as I could. I cried a little when I was covering up Buck's face, for he was mighty good to me.
It was just dark now. I never went near the house, but struck through the woods and made for the swamp. Jim warn't on his island, so I tramped off in a hurry for the crick, and crowded through the willows, red-hot to jump aboard and get out of that awful country. The raft was gone! My souls, but I was scared! I couldn't get my breath for most a minute. Then I raised a yell. A voice not twenty-five foot from me says:
"Good lan'! is dat you, honey? Doan’ make no noise."
It was Jim's voice-nothing ever sounded so good before. I run along the bank a piece and got aboard, and Jim he grabbed me and hugged me, he was so glad to see me. He says:
"Laws bless you, chile, I ‘uz right down sho’ you's dead agin. Bagger's been heah; he say he reck'n you's ben shot or ate up, kase you didn’ come home no mo'; so I's jes’ dis minute a startin’ de raf’ down towards de mouf er de crick, so's to be all ready for to shove out en leave soon as Jack comes agin en tells me for certain you IS dead. Lawsy, I's mighty glad to git you back again, honey."
I says:
"All right-that's mighty good; folks'll think I've been killed again, and chewed up or floated down the river-there's lots up there that ‘ll surely help them think so-so don't you lose no time, Jim, but just shove off for the big water as fast as ever you can. The woods is full up of monsters, more'n I coula ‘magined."
I never felt easy till the raft was two mile below there and out in the middle of the Mississippi. Then we hung up our signal lantern, and judged that we was free and safe once more. I hadn't had a bite to eat since yesterday, an’ I first wasn't sure thet I could eat but my stummick said it surely thought so, so Jim he got out some corn-dodgers and buttermilk, and pork and cabbage and greens-there ain't nothing in the world so good when it's cooked right-and whilst I eat my supper we talked and had a good time. I was powerful glad to get away from the death, and so was Jim to get away from the swamp. We said there warn't no home like a raft, after all. Other places do seem so cramped up and smothery, but a raft don't. You feel mighty free and easy and comfortable on a raft.
And the monsters cain't get you there. Not so easy.
CHAPTER XIX
Two or three days and nights went by; I reckon I might say they swum by, they slid along so quiet and smooth and lovely. Here is the way we put in the time. It was a monstrous big river down there-sometimes a mile and a half wide; we run nights, and laid up and hid daytimes; soon as night was most gone we stopped navigating and tied up-nearly always in the dead water under a towhead; and then cut young cottonwoods and willows, and hid the raft with them. Then we set out the lines. Next we slid into the river and had a swim, so as to freshen up and cool off; then we set down on the sandy bottom
where the water was about knee deep, and watched the daylight come. Not a sound anywheres-perfectly still-just like the whole world was asleep, only sometimes the bullfrogs a-cluttering, maybe. The first thing to see, looking away over the water, was a kind of dull line-that was the woods on t'other side; you couldn't make nothing else out; then a pale place in the sky; then more paleness spreading around; then the river softened up away off, and warn't black any more, but gray; you could see little dark spots drifting along ever so far away-trading scows, and such things; and long black streaks-rafts; sometimes you could hear a sweep screaking; or jumbled up voices, it was so still, and sounds come so far; and by and by you could see a streak on the water which you know by the look of the streak that there's a snag there in a swift current which breaks on it and makes that streak look that way; and you see the mist curl up off of the water, and the east reddens up, and the river, and you make out a log-cabin in the edge of the woods, away on the bank on t'other side of the river, being a woodyard, likely, and piled by them cheats so you can throw a dog through it anywheres; then the nice breeze springs up, and comes fanning you from over there, so cool and fresh and sweet to smell on account of the woods and the flowers; but sometimes not that way, because they've left dead fish laying around, gars and such, and they do get pretty rank; and next you've got the full day, and everything smiling in the sun, and the song-birds just going it! I had to ask Jim a thing. I says:
"You say you got the hunger, huh?"
"Aw yes,” Jim says. “I got it alla time, like a pain inside me, but I knows betta than to act on it. I's yo’ friend, Huck. I ain't never want to eat you up."
"When I saw them vicious full-baggers come eatin’ on the Shepherdsons an’ the Grangerfords, I saw other things, too."
"Like what, chile? Say."
