Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Zombie Jim

by Mark Twain

  "I didn't mean nothing, m'am. I didn't mean no harm. I-I-thought you'd like it."

  "Why, you born fool!” She took up the spinning stick, and it looked like it was 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's another lunatic. I never heard the beat of it. Who's they?"

  "Why, everybody. They all said so, m'am."

  It was all she could do to hold in; and her eyes snapped, and her fingers worked like she wanted to scratch him; and she says:

  "Who's ‘everybody'? Out with their names, or there'll be an idiot short."

  He got up and looked distressed, and fumbled his hat, and says:

  "I'm sorry, and I warn't expecting it. They told me to. They all told me to. They all said, kiss her; and said she'd like it. They all said it-every one of them. But I'm sorry, m'am, and I won't do it no more-I won't, honest."

  "You won't, won't you? Well, I sh'd 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 see the beat of it in my born days! I lay you'll be the Methusalem-numskull of creation before ever I ask you-or the likes of you."

  "Well,” he says, “it does surprise me so. I can't make it out, somehow. They said you would, and I thought you would. But-” He stopped and looked around slow, like he wished he could run across a friendly eye somewheres, and fetched up on the old gentleman's, and says, “Didn't you think she'd like me to kiss her, sir?"

  "Why, no; I-I-well, no, I b'lieve I didn't."

  Then he looks on around the same way to me, and says:

  "Tom, didn't you think Aunt Sally'd open out her arms and say, ‘Sid Sawyer-’”

  "My land!” she says, breaking in and jumping for him, “you impudent young rascal, to fool a body so-” and was going to hug him, but he fended her off, and says:

  "No, not till you've asked me first."

  So she didn't lose no time, but asked him; and hugged him and kissed him over and over again, and then turned him over to the old man, and he took what was left. And after they got a little quiet again she says:

  "Why, dear me, I never see such a surprise. We warn't looking for you at all, but only Tom. Sis never wrote to me about anybody coming but him."

  "It's because it warn't intended for any of us to come but Tom,” he says; “There's a lotto to see who gets on which boat an’ it was just Tom what did on the first one, as you know. But one feller died before he got his spot an’ I begged and begged, and at the last minute I was let to come, too; so, coming down the river, me and Tom thought it would be a first-rate surprise for him to come here to the house first, and for me to by and by tag along and drop in, and let on to be a stranger. But it was a mistake, Aunt Sally. This ain't no healthy place for a stranger to come."

  "No-not impudent whelps, Sid. You ought to had your jaws boxed; I hain't been so put out since I don't know when. But I don't care, I don't mind the terms-I'd be willing to stand a thousand such jokes to have you here. Well, to think of that performance! I don't deny it, I was most putrified with astonishment when you give me that smack."

  We had dinner out in that broad open passage betwixt the house and the kitchen; and there was things enough on that table for seven families-and all hot, too; none of your flabby, tough meat that's laid in a cupboard in a damp cellar all night and tastes like a hunk of old cold cannibal in the morning. Uncle Silas he asked a pretty long blessing over it, said all kinda things about plague and Judgment an’ death an’ forgiveness, but it was worth it; and it didn't cool it a bit, neither, the way I've seen them kind of interruptions do lots of times. There was a considerable good deal of talk all the afternoon, and me and Tom was on the lookout all the time; but it warn't no use, they didn't happen to say nothing about the rounded-up baggers, an’ where they was bein’ corralled, and we was afraid to try to work up to it. But at supper, at night, one of the little boys says:

  "Pa, mayn't Tom and Sid and me go to the show when it comes?"

  "No,” says the old man, “I reckon it's gonna be gruesome, an’ you young fellas-though I know it you already seen a lot-you shore don't need to be seein’ what's comin'. We had fifty penned out at Cobb Field, an’ there's bound to be more…"

  So there it was!-but I couldn't help it. Tom and me was to sleep in the same room and bed; so, being tired, we bid good-night and went up to bed right after supper, and clumb out of the window and down the lightning-rod, and shoved for the town.

  On the road Tom he told me all about how it was reckoned I was murdered, and how pap disappeared pretty soon, and didn't come back no more, and what a stir there was when Jim run away; and I told Tom all about our li'l adventures, ‘bout the King an’ the Duke an’ thet crazed Birdock, and as much of the raft voyage as I had time to; and as we struck into the town and up through the-here comes a raging rush of people with torches, and an awful whooping and yelling, and banging tin pans and blowing horns; and we jumped to one side to let them go by; and as they went by I see they had Birdock astraddle of a rail-that is, I knowed it was Birdock, though he was all over tar and feathers, and didn't look like nothing in the world that was human-just looked like a monstrous big soldier-plume. Well, it made me sick to see it; and I was sorry for that poor pitiful fool, it seemed like I couldn't ever feel any hardness against him any more in the world. It was a dreadful thing to see. Human beings can be awful cruel to one another.

  Someone said he was caught touchin’ a young feller, most inappropriate.

  I heard ‘bout men like him before. I wunnert if'n he been sizin’ me up like that all along. That whole bit about pretendin’ to be a bagger jus’ some kinda ruse to seem least like a threat. Mebby not, mebby so. But it was a good thing Jim was most always nearby.

  We see we was too late-couldn't do no good. We asked some stragglers about it, and they said they was going to toss Birdock into the gulch an’ burn him alive. Birdock yelled,

  "Huck! I is caught in a bad way!"

  But what could I do for him?

  All I could muster was a wave as they carted him past.

  An’ thet's southern justice for ya.

  We went to where Tom figgered Cobb Field was, and it was, and we could see that so many baggers had been put into a corral, ‘cept it was dark and we'd hafta get good an’ close to see if Jim was in with ‘em.

  They was all bein’ presided over by one of them traders, plus two fellas in tall hats. Some baggers was groaning and some was mumbling and some was talkin’ low, an’ all of them seemed perfectly well heeled, in my opinion. Tom said,

  "You bes’ watch an’ be shore, Huck. They look tame enough, but I seen what happens when the change comes. It's a sore sight. Whole big groups of ‘em just go mad."

  "I seen it, too,” I says. “Don't ferget that. But I know Jim ain't like the others; an’ if Hell comes to Earth, ol’ Jim will stan’ by me."

  And then Tom had a laugh ‘cause he was rememberin’ playin’ tricks on the old fella. An’ I laughed, too, and soon we was both laughin’ to beat the band. I said,

  "I'm shore glad you're here, Tom."

  Tom nodded and smiled an’ I could see his nose was runnin’ yella.

  I never said nothing; but I knowed mighty well it weren't a good thing.

  And it warn't.

  That bagger trader come over and told us to scoot; to get goin’ home before he got th’ urge to whack us good.

  So we did. An’ on the way back to the Phelpses Tom told me he had a plan, and I see in a minute it was worth fifteen of mine for style, and would make Jim just as free a zomby as any of mine would, and maybe get us all killed besides. So I was satisfied, and said we would waltz in on it on the ‘morrow.

  We poked along back home, and I warn't feeling so gay as I was before, but kind of ornery, and humble, and to blame, somehow-though I hadn't done nothing. But
that's always the way; it don't make no difference whether you do right or wrong, a person's conscience ain't got no sense, and just goes for him anyway. If I had a yaller dog that didn't know no more than a person's conscience does I would piss on him.

  CHAPTER THE LAST

  No need to say what was Tom's good idea, ‘cause it didn't get to pan out, anyway. But it was a good one. Tom was a fox for schemes. Come dawn, he was a-hackin’ and coughin’ and his eyes were movin’ unnatural, rollin’ back in his skull one minute and normal the next. We was bunkin’ together an’ I was the first t'notice him like that.

  Aunt Sally come along and she was still callin’ him Sid; and that tweaked at me ‘cause I knew Tom could pass, an’ he would pass with his aunt thinkin’ he was somebody who he wasn't. And for a moment I thought about Tom buried under a headstone with th’ wrong name, but then sense grabbed me an’ I realized he'd be comin’ back as a bagger; so I wouldn't really be losin’ my good friend, no how.

  In a clear moment, Tom as't if Silas would come an’ talk to him, but Sally said Silas was gone to the field, bein’ that word had come of some kinda commotion. My stomach near jumped up into my mouth, and I asked her,

  "Are they killin the baggers already?"

  "Don't rightly know,” she said. “It sounded like some other kind of business. But don't you fret about all that. We got to get a poultice on Sid right directly. That an’ some cool water might hold him a spell."

  Well, I was stuck.

  There was Jim I had to rescue, somehow; an’ here was Tom Sawyer, prob'ly gonna die b'fore the day ended, maybe sooner.

  Aunt Sally went off to get them comfort items, and then Tom jumped into a moment o’ clarity an’ grabbed me by the scruff of my shirt. He says,

  "Cain't go home, Huck. Thar ain't nothin’ left. It was hell bad. Bad enough thet I don't rightly ‘spect to see any familiar faces if another boat comes along."

  "Don't be sayin’ that, Tom,” I said. “We'll see lots o’ folks again, you can be shore of that."

  "Miss Watson's gone. I din’ wanna say."

  "She passed?"

  "She passed an’ come back, but she was a vicious one. An’ it was only in time to join in with th’ rest of the baggers, and it was a terrible show. An’ I didn't see how it all ended up, ‘cause I ran. Had to run all the way down to Hockett to get onto that boat. It weren't no lotto, like I said. It was every Tom for hisself. An’ I din’ even tell Aunt Sally ‘bout Aunt Polly an’ all the rest who all was gone."

  "You gonna?"

  "Don't rightly know."

  That's all he said, and that's all I said. It warn't no use to say any more. But I couldn't make out how he was willing to go out of this world; so I just let it go, and never bothered no more about it. If he was bound to have it so, I couldn't help it.

  I felt powerful sad, now. I thought about all th’ folks we knowed, an’ how it was all done with, an’ my eyes'd never see ‘em again.

  Aunt Sally come back with a tray an’ she shooed me out of the room. I told Tom I'd come back an’ see him just as soon as I could, but both of us knew it weren't goin’ to go that way. Just like Tom's great scheme to free Jim. It's a good thing to believe, even though you suspect it won't go thet way.

  It takes up more room than all the rest of a person's insides, and yet ain't no good, nohow. Tom Sawyer, he knows the same.

  The door closed behind me and that was truly the last I ever saw of Tom Sawyer.

  Ayyy-men.

  I ran all th’ way to Cobb Field, an’ went through the crick, too, hopin’ to shave some time.

  I weren't happy that Miss Watson was gone, but I found relief knowin’ that it meant Jim was a free bagger. That or he belonged to me for real, an’ that was just the same as bein’ free.

  An’ I remember that the air was thick and the ground was damp and I could taste my own spit so powerful it was like havin’ a mouthful of blood.

  An’ then there was gunfire. An’ more gunfire.

  And the screamin come, too.

  First thing I thought was all them penned baggers was bein’ gunned down, but the closer I got the more I unnerstood what was really happening. It was like before. And the time before that, too. An’ it was clear to me now that the Devil's Army was like a neverendin’ stream of red army ants.

  They come from the north, like fire, an’ there was a million.

  All the men what could be mustard was present, all armed, an’ firin’ at a wave of bodies that was hardly slowed by bullets.

  Here I was at the opposite end of Cobb Field. All that horror was mebby a mile across the grass, on t'other side of the bunderlug coop. I know fear and sense shoulda made turnabout and bolted for the way I come, but it was a voice that steeled me up. Jim hollers,

  "Get yo'self gone, Huck! Run away! Run away, honey!"

  An’ I was so pleased to hear ‘is voice that the smile what crossed my face made my cheeks ache.

  "Go won, Huck! Go won now!"

  There was at least fifty baggers in that pen, an’ Jim was pressed right to the edge, pointed south with a long dead arm through the slats, pointin’ the way I oughted t'be goin'.

  And all that shootin’ and hissin’ and growlin’ and screamin’ kept rollin’ over the field like a wave outta my worst nightmares; but before I know what I'm doin’ I'm at the gate an’ I'm untyin’ it. An’ it struck me how docile these rounded-up half-baggers really was, ‘cause most of ‘em ought to have ‘ad the sense to let theirselves out, but chose not to for bein’ soft-mannered and tamed.

  Yes, they was like a pack of tired hounds, not in any rush to go anywheres or do anything atall. Zomby Jim hadta push his way through the mass to get to me at th’ gate. If those had been livin’ people, or full-bag biters, it woulda been a stampede. But it was not so. I says,

  "Jim, c'mon! We got to git!"

  He was darker and a little more rotted than when I last saw him. Or maybe I'd been so accustomed to him thet I hardly noticed. That little time apart made me realize how crackly and peeled he was becomin'. He says,

  "We goan back to da raft, Hyuck! Ol’ Jim will git you safe."

  An’ by this time, so many of those armed men were on the ground, getting’ chewed up and feasted on, an’ there wasn't hardly no more gunfire goin’ off. And here comes the bagger horde, thunderin’ across the plain to feast on me an’ anyone else who might come along. All dead eyes, brown skin and yella teeth.

  Jim scooped me up like I was a bagga flour and threw me on his shoulder. And then he starts a-takin’ giant runnin’ strides and I feel like one of them Arabs perched high upon a racin’ elephant. I kin see backwards an’ I see that when the Devil's Army gets close to the corral, the tame baggers inside began thrashin’ and clawin’ around, like a ‘coon turned on a penny from rabies.

  Seemed to me they mus’ all be sharin’ thoughts-and when a bad one gets close to a not-bad one, their ideas become the same. Just as when one duck starts flyin’ away across the pond, the rest of ‘em go, too. And that's what happened when the horde neared the pen. Pretty quick it was all chompin’ teeth.

  A million crazed baggers and a million chompin’ teeth.

  Pretty soon I had to close my eyes. I kept ‘em shut tight and it was a dark and ankshis trip, goin’ up an’ down and up an’ down as Jim hurled through the bushes and over the hills and down to the river. And always right in front of my closed eyes I knowed we was bein’ pursued, and closely, too.

  But here is me tellin’ this story, so y'all know I din’ die.

  Wall, we got fairly clear. Comin’ past the Phelps place, I reckon, them zombys turned to feast on Aunt Sally and whoever else might be nearby; and me n’ Jim just kept on hurlin'.

  I don't hardly remember showin’ Jim where the raft was, nor castin’ off, nor fallin’ dead asleep from fright, nor none o’ that. It was Jim what took care of ever'thing. It was Jim what got us clear and free and safe. And I'll bet I didn't wake up until it was a whole new morning.

  That was
how we went. Back on the river.

  And things wasn't good nowhere. Good baggers was turnin’ bad all the ways across the nation, and their numbers grew, and they swept into towns like sheet lightning and consumed ever'thing that breathed. All the way from Buffalo to N'Orlins to Mexico to wherever.

  An’ me and Jim just kept goin’ with th’ river, thinkin’ mebby we'll get to England or the South Pole with our hides intact. Well, with my hide intact. Jim's hide was much like a rotten potato. But he knowed what I knowed: That Napoleon had killed the fissythis in Europe, so there couln’ possibly be bagger hordes over there.

  Mebby we din’ know much.

  We drifted an’ drifted and I thought about all those million folks who perished. Most of ‘em I didn't know, but I concentrated real hard on the ones I did. Thought about ever'one I ever met, at least once. I thought about Miss Watson an’ I thought about pap, too. I thought about how I'd never really know which folks got eaten up, and which ones was doin’ th’ eating.

  I hoped Tom Sawyer was doin’ th’ eatin'. It coulda gone either way. If he passed before the horde arrived, he woulda come back. If not, wall, I knowed he must be in a better place now, with the big Lord, like th’ others. Jim said,

  "We sho’ das got a long way to go, Huck."

  "Yuh,” I says. “But we come a long ways, too."

  "Ain't dat da truf!"

  "It is, Jim. It shorely is."

  "Byootyful day."

  "Yuh. I wonder if pap is out there somewhere. He be a vicious one even if he ain't dead."

  Jim says, kind of solemn:

  "He ain't a-comin’ back no mo', Huck."

  I says:

  "I know it, Jim."

  "For sho’ he ain't. Hunnert pa cent."

  "How you so shore?"

  "Nemmine why, Huck-but he ain't comin’ back no mo."

  But I kept at him; so at last he says:

  "Doan’ you ‘member de house dat was float'n down de river, en dey wuz a mad bagga in dah, crazed, en I went in en delivered him and didn’ let you come close? Well, den, you kin tank yo’ stahs, kase dat wuz him."