Huckleberry Finn

by Dave Mckay

  “That’s so, my boy -- goodbye, goodbye. If you see any slaves hiding out there you get help and take them, and you can make some money by it.”

  “Goodbye, sir,” says I; “I won’t let no slaves get by me if I can help it.”

  They went off and I got on the raft, feeling bad and low, because I knowed very well I had done wrong, and I see it weren’t no use for me to try to learn to do right; a body that don’t get started right when he’s little ain’t got no show -- when a test comes there ain’t nothing to back him up and keep him to his work, and so he loses. Then I thought a minute, and says to myself, hold on; what if you’d a done right and give Jim up, would you of felt better than what you do now? No, says I, I’d feel bad -- I’d feel just the same way I do now. Well, then, says I, what’s the good of you learning to do right when it’s difficult to do right and it ain’t no trouble at all to do wrong, and the pay is just the same? I couldn’t answer that. So I said to myself I wouldn’t worry no more about it, but after this always do whatever come easiest at the time.

  I went into the tent; Jim weren’t there. I looked all around; he weren’t anywhere. I says: “Jim!”

  “Here I is, Huck. Is dey gone yet? Don’t talk loud.”

  He was in the river under the back oar, with just his nose out. I told him they were gone, so he come up. He says: “I was a-listenin’ to all de talk, and I gets down into de river and was gwyne to swim for land if dey come on de raft. Den I was gwyne to swim to de raft again when dey was gone. But my good lord, how you did it to dem, Huck! Dat was de smartest trick! I tell you, child, I believe it saved old Jim -- old Jim ain’t going to forget you for dat, honey.”

  Then we talked about the money. It was a pretty good lift -- twenty dollars each. Jim said we could take a river boat up the Ohio now if we was happy to sleep out on the ship’s floor at night, and the money would go as far as we wanted to go. He said twenty mile more weren’t far for the raft to go, but he wished we was already there.

  Toward morning we tied up, and Jim was mighty careful about hiding the raft good. Then he worked all day fixing things into bags, and getting all ready to quit rafting.

  That night about ten we saw the lights of a town away down in a left-hand bend.

  I went off in the canoe to ask about it. Pretty soon I found a man out in the river with a boat, setting a long line of hooks. I pulled up and says:

  “Mr., is that town Cairo?”

  “Cairo? no. You must be full on stupid.”

  “What town is it, Mr.?”

  “If you want to know, go and find out. If you stay here talking to me for about a half a minute longer you’ll get something you won’t want.”

  I went back to the raft. Jim was awful discouraged, but I said not to worry. I reasoned that Cairo would be the next place.

  We passed another town before morning, and I was going out again; but it was high ground, so I didn’t go. No high ground around Cairo, Jim said. I knew that but had not remembered it. We rested up for the day on a little island pretty close to the left-hand side. I started to think something was wrong. So did Jim. I says: “Maybe we went by Cairo in the fog that night.”

  He says: “Don’t let’s talk about it, Huck. Poor niggers can’t have no luck. I always believed dat snake skin weren’t done wid its work.”

  “I wish I’d never seen that snake skin, Jim -- I do wish I’d never set eyes on it.”

  “You ain’t to blame, Huck; you didn’t know. Don’t you hit yourself around about it.”

  When the sun was up, here was the clear Ohio water on one side, sure enough, and out in the middle was the muddy water of the Mississippi! So it was all up with Cairo.

  We talked it all over. It wouldn’t do to walk back on land and we clearly couldn’t take a raft up the river. There weren’t no way but to wait for dark, and start back in the canoe and trust our luck. So we rested up all day in some thick trees, so as to be wide awake for the work, and when we went back to the raft about dark the canoe was gone!

  We didn’t say a word for a good while. There weren’t anything to say. We both knowed well enough it was some more work of the snake skin; so what was the use to talk about it? It would only look like we was finding wrong in what was happening, and that would be sure to bring more bad luck -- and keep on bringing it, too, until we knowed enough to not fight it.

  We talked about what to do, and found there weren’t no way but just to go along down with the raft until we could buy a canoe to go back in. We wouldn't borrow it when people weren’t around, the way pap would, for that might bring people after us.

  So we started out after dark on the raft.

  Anyone that don’t believe yet that it’s foolishness to handle a snake skin, after all that that snake skin done for us, will believe it now if they read on and see what more it done for us.

  The place to buy canoes is off rafts laying on the beach. But we didn’t see none laying up; so we went on for three hours or more. Well, the night got grey and thick, which is almost as bad as fog. You can’t tell the shape of the river, and you can’t see no distance. It got to be late and quiet, when along comes a big river boat up the river. We put a light in the lantern, and judged she would see it. Boats going up river didn’t most times come close to us; they go out and hunt for easy water; but nights like this they push right up the channel against the whole river.

  We could hear her moving, but we didn’t see her good until she was close. She was coming right for us. Often they do that to see how close they can come without touching; sometimes the wheel bites off an oar, and then the driver puts his head out and laughs, and thinks he’s smart. Well, here she comes, and we said she was going to try and cut it close; but she didn’t turn off at all. She was a big one, and she was coming in a hurry, too, looking like a black cloud with lines of fire flies around it; but all at once she was right on us big and deadly, with a long line of wide open fire doors looking like red-hot teeth, and all of her body hanging right over us. There was a shout at us, and a ringing of bells to stop the motors, more shouting, and whistling of the hot air in the motors -- and as Jim went over on one side and I on the other, she come cutting straight through the raft.

  I went down as far as I could, looking to find the bottom, for a thirty foot wheel had got to go over me, and I wanted it to have enough room. I could always stay under water a minute; this time I’d say I stayed under a minute and a half. Then I went for the top in a hurry, for I was almost exploding. I broke the water and blowed water out of my nose, and breathed heavy for a while. The river was moving strongly; and that boat must a started her motors again ten seconds after she stopped them, as they never cared much for people on rafts; so now she was too far away to see in the thick weather, even if I could still hear her.

  I shouted for Jim ten or twelve times, but I didn’t get no answer; so I took hold of a board I found on the water while I was waiting there and headed for the beach, pushing it ahead of me. But the movement was toward the left side, meaning that I was in a crossing; so I changed off and went that way. It was one of those long two-mile crossings; so I was a good while getting over made a safe landing,and climbed up the side.

  I couldn’t see but a little ways, but I went slowly along over rough ground for a few hundred yards, and then I come across a big old log house. I was going to hurry by and get away but a lot of dogs jumped out and went to barking, andI knowed better than to move another inch.

  Chapter 17

  In about a minute someone spoke out of a window without putting his head out, and says:

  “Be done, boys! Who’s there?”

  I says: “It’s me.”

  “Who’s me?”

  “George Jackson, sir.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I don’t want nothing, sir. I only want to go along by, but the dogs won’t let me.”

  “What are you looking around here for this time of night?”

  “I weren’t looking around, sir, I fell off the riv
er boat.”

  “Oh, you did, did you? Bring a light here, someone. What did you say your name was?”

  “George Jackson, sir. I’m only a boy.”

  “Look here, if you’re telling the truth you needn’t be afraid -- nobody’ll hurt you. But don’t try to move; stand right where you are. Wake up Bob and Tom, some of you, and bring the guns. George Jackson, is there anyone with you?”

  “No, sir, nobody.”

  I heard the people moving around in the house now, and I seen a light. The man shouted out: “Take that light away, Betsy, you stupid old thing -- don’t you understand? Put it on the floor behind the front door. Bob, if you and Tom are ready, take your places.”

  “All ready.”

  “Now, George Jackson, do you know the Shepherdsons?”

  “No, sir; I never heard of them.”

  “Well, that may be, and it may not. Now, all ready. Step forward, George Jackson. And remember, don’t hurry -- come very slowly. If there’s anyone with you, let him stay back -- if he shows himself we’ll shoot. Come along now. Come slow; push the door open yourself -- just enough to squeeze in, you hear?”

  I didn’t hurry; I couldn’t if I’d a wanted to. I took one slow step at a time and there weren’t a sound, only I thought I could hear my heart. The dogs were as quiet as the people, but they followed a little behind me. When I got to the three log steps in front of the door I heard them taking off locks and bars. I put my hand on the door and pushed it a little and a little more until someone said, “There, that’s enough -- put your head in.” I done it, but I judged they would take it off.

  The candle was on the floor, and there they all was, looking at me, and me at them, for about fifteen seconds: Three big men with guns pointed at me, which made me pull back in fear, I tell you; the oldest, grey and about sixty, the other two thirty or more -- all of them strong and good looking -- and the sweetest old grey-headed woman, and back of her two young women which I couldn’t see right well.

  The old man says: “There; I think it’s all right. Come in.”

  As soon as I was in the old man he locked the door and put a bar across it, and told the young men to come in with their guns, and they all went in a big room that had a new cloth rug on the floor, and got together in a corner that was out of the line of the front windows. They held the candle, and took a good look at me, and all said, “Why, he ain’t a Shepherdson -- no, there ain’t any Shepherdson about him.”

  Then the old man said he hoped I would agree to him feeling me for weapons, because he didn’t mean nothing by it -- it was only to make sure. So he didn’t put his hands into my pockets, but only felt outside with his hands, and said it was all right. He told me to make myself easy and at home, and tell all about myself; but the old woman says: “Why, bless you, Saul, the poor thing’s as wet as can be; and don’t you think it may be he’s hungry?”

  “Right you are, Rachel -- Forgive me for not thinking of it.”

  So the old woman says: “Betsy” (This was a black woman.) “you fly around and get him something to eat as fast as you can, poor thing; and one of you girls go and wake up Buck and tell him -- oh, here he is himself. Buck, take this little stranger and get the wet clothes off him and dress him up in some of yours that’s dry.”

  Buck looked about as old as me -- thirteen or fourteen or along there, but he was a little bigger than me. He hadn’t on anything but a shirt, and his hair was very messy. He came in with his mouth wide open and digging one fist into his eyes, and he was pulling a rifle along with the other hand.

  He says: “Ain’t they no Shepherdsons around?”

  They said, no, it was a false warning.

  “Well,” he says, “if they’d been some, I think I’d a got one.”

  They all laughed, and Bob says: “Why, Buck, they might have killed us all, you’ve been so slow in coming.”

  “Well, nobody come after me, and it ain’t right I’m always put down; I don’t get no show.”

  “Don’t worry, Buck, my boy,” says the old man, “you’ll have show enough, all in good time, don’t you worry about that. Go along with you now, and do as your mother told you.”

  When we got up to his room he got me a rough shirt and a short coat and pants of his, and I put them on.

  While I was at it he asked me what my name was, and then he started to tell me about a blue-bird and a young rabbit he had caught in the trees day before yesterday, and he asked me where Moses was when the candle went out. I said I didn’t know; I hadn’t heard about it before, no way.

  “Well, try,” he says.

  “How am I going to try,” says I, “when I never heard tell of it before?”

  “But you can try, can’t you? It’s just as easy.”

  “Which candle?” I says.

  “Any candle,” he says.

  “I don’t know where he was. Where was he?”

  “He was in the dark! That’s where he was!”

  “Well, if you knowed where he was, what'd you ask me for?”

  “Why, shoot, it’s a joke, don’t you see? Say, how long are you going to stay here? You got to stay always. We can just have great times -- they don’t have no school now. Do you own a dog? I’ve got a dog -- and he’ll go in the river and bring out sticks that you throw in. Do you like to brush up Sundays, and all that kind of foolishness? You can be sure I don’t, but mum she makes me. I hate these old pants! I’d better put ‘em on, but I’d be happier not, it’s so warm. Are you all ready? All right. Come along, old horse.”

  Cold corn-bread, cold salt-meat, butter and milk -- that is what they had for me down there, and there ain’t nothing better that ever I’ve come across yet. Buck and his mum and all of them smoked corn pipes, all but the black woman, who was gone, and the two young women. They all smoked and talked, and I eat and talked. The young women had quilts around them, and their hair down their backs. They all asked me questions, and I told them how pap and me and all the family was living on a little farm down at the bottom of Arkansas, and my sister Mary Ann run off and got married and never was heard of no more, and Bill went to hunt them and he weren’t heard of no more, and Tom and Mort died, and then there weren’t nobody but just me and pap left, and he was just cut down to nothing, because of his troubles; so when he died I took what there was left, because the farm didn’t belong to us, and started up the river, sleeping out on the floor of the ship, and fell over into the river; and that was how I come to be here. So they said I could have a home there as long as I wanted it. With Jim gone and all, I could see this was as good a plan as any I could think of.

  Then it was almost morning and everybody went to bed, and I went to bed with Buck, and when I waked up in the morning, end it all, I couldn’t remember what my name was. So I was lying there about an hour trying to think, and when Buck waked up I says:

  “Can you spell, Buck?”

  “Yes,” he says.

  “I don’t think you can spell my name,” says I.

  “What you don’t think I can? I can,” says he.

  “All right,” says I, “go ahead.”

  “G-e-o-r-g-e J-a-x-o-n -- there now,” he says.

  “Well,” says I, “you done it, but I didn’t think you could. It ain’t no easy name to spell -- right off without studying.”

  I wrote it down secretly, because someone might want me to spell it next, and so I wanted to be good with it and spell it easy, like I did it all the time.

  It was a mighty nice family, and a mighty nice house. I hadn’t seen no house out in the country before that was so nice.

  They had pictures hanging on the walls -- mostly soldiers and wars. But there was some that one of the daughters, Emmeline, which was dead now, had made herself when she was only fifteen years old. Everybody was sorry she died, because she had planned out a lot more of these pictures to do, and a body could see by what she had done what they had lost. They kept Emmeline’s room clean and nice, and all her things in it just the way she liked to have them w
hen she was alive, and nobody ever used the room to sleep in. The old woman took care of it herself, when it was easy to see there was enough slaves to do it, and she sewed there a lot and read her Bible there. All in all I was thinking that I had landed in the nicest family I could think of.

  Chapter 18

  The old man, Mr. Grangerford was well born, and that’s worth as much in a man as it is in a horse, so the Widow Douglas said, and nobody ever argued that she wasn’t the most well born in our town; and pap he always said it, too,even if he weren’t no more quality than a skunk himself.

  Mr. Grangerford was very tall and very thin, with the thinnest kind of lips, and the thinnest kind of high nose, and the blackest kind of eyes, so deep back that they seemed like they was looking out of caves at you, as you may say.His hair was black and straight, hanging down to his shoulders. His hands was long and thin, and every day of his life he put on a clean shirt and a full suit from head to foot made out of cloth so white it hurt your eyes to look at it; and on Sundays he put on a blue coat with a tail and gold-coloured buttons on it. There weren’t no foolishness about him, not at all, and he weren’t ever loud. He was as kind as he could be you could feel that, you know, and so you had confidence around him.