by Dave Mckay
I was powerful lazy and comfortable -- didn’t want to get up and cook breakfast. Well, I was falling off to sleep again when I thinks I hears a deep sound of a cannon going off away up the river. I lifts up, and rests on my elbow and listens; pretty soon I hears it again. I jumped up, and went and looked out at an opening in the willows, and I seen a lot of smoke laying on the water a long way up -- about opposite the ferry. And there was the ferry full of people moving along down. I knowed what was happening now. “Bang!” I see the white smoke explode out of the boat’s side. You see, they was shooting a cannon over the water, trying to make my dead body come to the top.
I was pretty hungry, but it weren’t going to do for me to start a fire, because they might see the smoke. So I sat there and watched the cannon smoke and listened to the noise. The river was a mile wide there, and it always looks pretty on a summer morning -- so I was having a good enough time seeing them hunt for my dead body if I only had a bite to eat.
Well, then I happened to think how they always put liquid metal in loaves of bread and put them on top of the water because they always go right to where the body went down and stop there. So, says I, I’ll keep a looking, and if any of them comes around after me I’ll give 'em a show. I changed to the Illinois side of the island to see what luck I could have, and I weren’t wrong. One of them loaves come along, and I almost got it with a long stick, but my foot give way and she moved out farther into the river. I was where the movement of the water come in the closest to the land -- I knowed enough for that. But by and by along comes another one, and this time I won. I shook out the little liquid metal that was in it, and put my teeth in. It was wheat bread -- what the quality people eat; none of your poor man’s corn bread.
I got a good place in behind the willows, and sat there on a log, chewing the bread and watching the ferry boat, and feeling very good. And then something hit me. I says, now the way I see it, the widow or the pastor or someone prayed that this bread would find me, and here it has gone and done it. So there’s no arguing that there is something in that thing -- that is, there’s something in it when a body like the widow or the pastor prays; but it just don’t work for me, and the way I see it, it don’t work for only just the right kind.
I took out my pipe and had a good long smoke, and went on watching. The ferry boat was just following the movement of the river, and I believed I’d be able to see who was on it when she come along, because she would come in close, the way the bread did. When she had got pretty well along down toward me, I put out my pipe and went to where I fished out the bread, and got down behind a big log on the side of the river, in a little open place. Where the log forked I could look through.
By and by she come along, and she come in so close that they could a run out a long board and walked to the land. Most everybody was on the boat: Pap, and Judge Thatcher, and Bessie Thatcher, and Jo Harper, and Tom Sawyer, and his old Aunt Polly, and Sid and Mary, and a lot more. Everybody was talking about the killing, but the man who owned the boat cut in and says: “Look close, now; the water movement comes in the closest here, and maybe he’s washed up and got caught up in the bushes growing at the side of the water. I hope so, anyway.”
I didn’t hope so. They all crowded up and leaned over the side of the boat, nearly in my face, and kept quiet, watch- ing with all their might. I could see them clear as anything, but they couldn’t see me. Then the man running the boat shouted out: “Stand away!” and the cannon let off such an explosion right before me that it destroyed my hearing with the noise and pretty near made me blind with the smoke, and I judged I was gone. If they’d a had a cannon ball in, they would a got the dead body they was after. Well, I see I weren’t hurt, thank God. The boat moved on and went around the shoulder of the island to where I couldn’t see it. I could hear the explosions now and then, farther and farther off, and by and by, after an hour, I didn’t hear it no more. The island was three miles long. I judged they had got to the foot of it, and was giving it up. But they didn’t yet for a while. They turned around the foot of the island and started up the river on the Missouri side, with the motor going, and shooting every once in a while as they went. I crossed over to that side and watched them. When they got to the head of the island they quit shooting and dropped over to the Missouri side and went back home to the town.
I knowed I was all right now. Nobody else would come a-hunting after me. I got my rabbit traps out of the canoe and made me a nice camp in the thickest part of the trees. I made a kind of a tent out of my blankets to put my things under so the rain couldn’t get at them. I caught a fish and cleaned him with my saw blade, and toward dark I started my camp fire and had a nice meal. Then I put out a line to catch some fish for breakfast.
When it was dark I sat by my camp fire smoking, and feeling pretty good; but by and by it got kind of boring, and so I went and sat on the side of the river and listened to the waves washing along, and counted the stars and the logs and rafts that come down, and then went to bed; there ain’t no better way to put in time when you are bored; you can’t stay bored; you soon get over it.
And so it was for three days and nights. No difference -- just the same thing. But the next day I went looking around down through the island. I was boss of it; it all belonged to me, so to speak, and I wanted to know all about it; but mostly I wanted to fill in the time. I found a lot of strawberries, big and red and ready to eat; and green summer grapes, and green berries was just starting to show. They would all be a help by and by, I judged.
Well, I went playing around deep in the trees until I judged I weren’t far from the foot of the island. I had my gun along, but I hadn’t killed nothing; it was just to protect me; I thought I would kill something to eat back closer to home. About this time I nearly stepped on a good-sized snake, and it went off through the grass and flowers, and me after it, hoping to shoot it. I ran along, and all by surprise, I come right onto the ashes of a camp fire that was still smoking.
My heart jumped up into my lungs. I never waited for to look farther, but went quietly back on my toes as fast as ever I could. Every now and then I stopped a second there in the thick leaves and listened, but my breathing come so hard I couldn’t hear nothing else. I went along another piece farther, then listened again; and by and by, if I seen a cut off tree, I took it for a man; if I stepped on a stick and broke it, it made me feel like a person had taken away half of the air from my breathing, and the bigger half, too.
When I got to camp I wasn’t feeling very confident. There weren’t much I could do; but I says, this ain’t no time to be playing games. So I got all my traps into my canoe again so no one could see them, and I put out the fire and threw the ashes around to make it look like an old last year’s camp, and then climbed a tree.
I must a been up in the tree two hours; but I didn’t see nothing, I didn’t hear nothing -- I only thought I heard and seen as much as a thousand things. Well, I couldn’t stay up there forever; so at last I got down, but I stayed deep in the trees and looking out all the time. All I could get to eat was berries and what was left over from breakfast.
By the time it was night I was pretty hungry. So when it was good and dark I pushed off from the island before the moon come up and went by canoe over to the Illinois side of the river -- about four hundred yards. I went into the trees there and cooked a meal, and I was just planning to stay there all night when I heard a plunkety-plunk, plunkety-plunk, and says to myself, horses coming; and next I hear people’s voices. I put everything into the canoe as quickly as I could, and then moved quietly through the trees by the side of the river, to see what I could find out. I hadn’t got far when I heard a man say: “We better camp here if we can find a good place; the horses is about tired out. Let’s look around.”
I didn’t wait, but pushed off and used my oar softly to get away. I tied up in the old place, and ended up sleeping in the canoe.
I didn’t sleep much. I couldn’t, for thinking. And every time I waked up I thought someone had me
by the neck. So the sleep didn’t do me no good. By and by I says to myself, I can’t live this way; I’m a-going to find out who it is that’s here on the island with me; I’ll find it out or die trying. Well, I felt better right off.
So I took my oar and moved quietly along, just a step or two out from the land, letting the canoe stay in the darkness from the trees. The moon was out, and outside where I was, behind the trees, it was almost as light as day. I moved slowly along well on to an hour, everything quiet as sleeping rocks. Well, by this time I was most down to the foot of the island. A little cool wind started to blow, and that was as good as saying the night was about done. I give her a turn with the oar and brought her nose to the beach; then I got my gun and climbed out and into the trees. I sat down there on a log, and looked out through the willows. I seen the moon go off watch, and the darkness start to blanket the river. But in a little while I seen a grey line over the tops of the trees, and knowed the day was coming. So I took my rifle and walked off toward where I had run across that camp fire, stopping every minute or two to listen. But I hadn’t no luck; I couldn’t seem to find the place.
But by and by, sure enough, I caught a little sign of fire away through the trees. I went for it, careful and slow. After a while I was close enough to have a look, and there was a man on the ground. It most give me the shakes. He had a blanket around his head, and his head was nearly in the fire. I sat there behind some bushes about six foot away from him, and kept my eyes on him without moving. It was getting grey morning light now. Pretty soon he moved and took off the blanket, and it was Miss Watson’s Jim!
I know I was glad to see him. I says: “Hello, Jim!” and danced out.
He jumped up and looked at me wild. Then he drops down on his knees, and puts his hands together and says: “Don’t hurt me -- don’t! I ain’t never done no bad to a ghost. I always liked dead people, and done all I could for ‘em. You go and get in de river again, where you belongs, and don’t do nuffin to Old Jim, that was always your friend.”
Well, I wasn’t long making him understand I wasn’t dead. I was ever so glad to see Jim. I wasn’t bored from being alone now. I told him I knew he wouldn’t tell people where I was. Anyway, I talked along, but he only sat there and looked at me; never said nothing.
Then I says: “It’s good light now. Let’s get breakfast. Make up your camp fire good.”
“What’s de use of making up de camp fire to cook strawberries and such? But you got a rifle, ain’t you? We can get sumfin better den strawberries.”
“Strawberries and such,” I says. “Is that what you live on?”
“I couldn’t get nuffin else,” he says.
“Why, how long you been on the island, Jim?”
“I come here de night after you was killed.”
“What, all that time?”
“Yes -- that’s true.”
“And ain’t you had nothing but that kind of food to eat?”
“No, sir -- nuffin else.”
“Well, you must be most dead from hunger, ain’t you?”
“I think I could eat a horse. I think I could. How long you been on de island?”
“Since the night I got killed.”
“No! Why, what has you lived on? But you got a gun. Oh, yes, you got a rifle. Dat’s good. Now you kill sumfin and I’ll make up de fire.”
So we went over to where the canoe was, and while he built a fire in an open place under the trees, I got some corn meal and pig meat and coffee, and a kettle and a pan, and sugar and tin cups, and Jim was surprised more than a little, because he believed it was all done with magic. I caught a good big fish, too, and Jim cleaned him with his knife, and cooked him.
When breakfast was ready we lay back on the grass and eat it smoking hot. Jim jumped into it for all he was worth, as he was almost dead from hunger. Then when we had got pretty well filled, we just laid down and rested.
By and by Jim says: “But look here, Huck, who was it dat was killed in dat cabin if it weren’t you?”
Then I told him the whole thing, and he said it was smart. He said Tom Sawyer couldn’t get up no better plan than what I had.
Then I says: “How do you come to be here, Jim, and how did you get here?”
He looked pretty worried, 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’t tell on me if I was to tell you, would you, Huck?”
“Punish me if I would, Jim.”
“Well, I believe you, Huck. I -- run off.”
“Jim!”
“But remember, you said you wouldn’t tell -- you know you said you wouldn’t tell, Huck?”
“Well, I did. I said I wouldn’t, and I’ll stick to it. Honest Indian, I will. People would call me a low-down Abolitionist and hate me for not talking -- but that don’t make no difference. I ain’t a-going to tell, and I ain’t a-going back there, anyway. So, now, let’s know all about it.”
“Well, you see, it was dis way. Old Mrs. -- dat’s Miss Watson -- she is at me all de time, and she can be pretty rough, but she always said she wouldn’t sell me down to New Orleans. But I saw dey was a slave buyer around de place a lot dese days, and I started to get worried. Well, one night I goes secretly to de door pretty late, and de door weren’t quite shut, and I hear old Mrs. tell de widow she gwyne to sell me down to Orleans, and she didn’t want to, but she could get eight hundred dollars for me, and it was such a big hill of money she couldn’t say no. De widow she tried to get her to say she wouldn’t do it, but I never waited to hear de rest. I took off pretty fast after dat, I tell you. “I took out and run down de hill, planning to rob a boat along de river somewhere above town, but dey was people moving around yet, so I went into de old broken-down barrel shop on de side of the river to hide and wait for everybody to go away. Well, I was dere all night. Dey was someone around all de time. Along about six in de morning boats started to go by, and about eight or nine, every boat dat went along was talking about how your pa come over to de town and say you was killed. Dese last boats was full of men and women a-going over for to see de place. Sometimes dey’d pull up at de beach and take a rest before dey started across, so by de talk I got to know all about de killing. I was powerful sorry you was killed, Huck, but I ain’t no more now.
“I stayed dere under de timber all day. I was hungry, but I weren’t afraid of anyone looking for me; because I knowed old Mrs. and de widow was going to start to de church camp-meeting right after breakfast and be gone all day, and dey knows I goes off wid de cows about daylight, so dey wouldn’t be looking for me round de place, and so dey wouldn’t miss me until after dark dat night. De other servants wouldn’t miss me, because dey’d go off and have a rest soon as de old ones was out of de way.
“Well, when it come dark again I took out up de river road, and went about two miles or more to where dey weren’t no houses. I’d made up my mind about what I was a-gwyne to do. You see, if I kept on trying to get away on foot, de dogs would find me; if I robbed a boat to cross over, dey’d miss dat boat, you see, and dey’d know about where I’d land on de other side, and where to pick up my smell wid de dogs. So I says, a raft is what I’s after; it don’t make no smell.
“I see a light a-coming round de point by and by, so I jumped in and pushed a log ahead of me and started swimming more than half way across de river, and got in behind de timber that was coming down the river, and kept my head down low, and kind of worked against the movement of the water until de raft come along. Den I moved to de back of it and took a hold. It clouded up and was pretty dark for a little while. So I climbed up and lay myself down on de boards. De men was all away up in de middle, where de lantern was. De river was a-coming up, and dey was a good fast movement; so I worked out dat by four in de morning I’d be twenty-five mile down de river, and den I’d go back in the water just before the sun come up and swim to the beach, and take to de trees on de Illinois side.
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p; “But I didn’t have no luck. When we was almost down to de head of de island a man started to come toward de back wid de lantern. I see it weren’t no good for to wait, so I dropped quietly into the water and headed for the island. Well, I thought I could land almost anywhere, but I couldn’t -- the land on the side of the river was too steep. I was almost to de foot of de island before I found a good place. I went into de trees and judged I wouldn’t play with rafts no more, long as dey move de lantern around so. I had my pipe and some tobacco and some matches in my hat, and dey weren’t wet, so I was all right.”
“And so you ain’t had no meat or bread to eat all this time? Why didn’t you get mud turtles?”
“How you gwyne to get dem? You can’t come up on dem and hold dem; and how’s a body gwyne to hit dem wid a rock? How could a body do it in de night? I weren’t gwyne to show myself on de side of de river in de light.”
“Well, that’s so. You’ve had to keep in the trees all the time, for sure. Did you hear them shooting the cannon?”
“Oh, yes. I knowed dey was after you. I see dem go by here -- watched dem through de bushes.”
Some young birds come along, flying a yard or two at a time and then landing. 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 believed it must be 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 was powerful sick once, and some of them caught a bird, and his old grandmother said his father would die, and he did.
