THE sun was up so high when I waked that I judged it
was after eight o'clock. I laid there in the grass and
the cool shade thinking about things, and feeling rested
and ruther comfortable and satisfied. I could see the sun
out at one or two holes, but mostly it was big trees all
about, and gloomy in there amongst them. There was
freckled places on the ground where the light sifted down
through the leaves, and the freckled places swapped about
a little, showing there was a little breeze up there. A
couple of squirrels set on a limb and jabbered at me very
friendly.
I was powerful lazy and comfortable — didn't want to
get up and cook breakfast. Well, I was dozing off again
when I thinks I hears a deep sound of "boom!"
away up the river. I rouses up, and rests on my elbow and
listens; pretty soon I hears it again. I hopped up, and
went and looked out at a hole in the leaves, and I see a
bunch of smoke laying on the water a long ways up —
about abreast the ferry. And there was the ferryboat full
of people floating along down. I knowed what was the
matter now. "Boom!" I see the white smoke
squirt out of the ferryboat's side. You see, they was
firing cannon over the water, trying to make my carcass
come to the top.
I was pretty hungry, but it warn't going to do for me
to start a fire, because they might see the smoke. So I
set there and watched the cannon-smoke and listened to
the boom. 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 remainders if I
only had a bite to eat. Well, then I happened to think
how they always put quicksilver in loaves of bread and
float them off, because they always go right to the
drownded carcass and stop there. So, says I, I'll keep a
lookout, and if any of them's floating around after me
I'll give them a show. I changed to the Illinois edge of
the island to see what luck I could have, and I warn't
disappointed. A big double loaf come along, and I most
got it with a long stick, but my foot slipped and she
floated out further. Of course I was where the current
set in the closest to the shore — I knowed enough for
that. But by and by along comes another one, and this
time I won. I took out the plug and shook out the little
dab of quicksilver, and set my teeth in. It was "baker's
bread" — what the quality eat; none of your low-down
corn-pone.
I got a good place amongst the leaves, and set there
on a log, munching the bread and watching the ferryboat,
and very well satisfied. And then something struck me. I
says, now I reckon the widow or the parson or somebody
prayed that this bread would find me, and here it has
gone and done it. So there ain't no doubt but there is
something in that thing — that is, there's something in
it when a body like the widow or the parson prays, but it
don't work for me, and I reckon it don't work for only
just the right kind.
I lit a pipe and had a good long smoke, and went on
watching. The ferryboat was floating with the current,
and I allowed I'd have a chance to see who was aboard
when she come along, because she would come in close,
where the bread did. When she'd got pretty well along
down towards me, I put out my pipe and went to where I
fished out the bread, and laid down behind a log on the
bank in a little open place. Where the log forked I could
peep through.
By and by she come along, and she drifted in so close
that they could a run out a plank and walked ashore. 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 plenty more.
Everybody was talking about the murder, but the captain
broke in and says:
"Look sharp, now; the current sets in the closest
here, and maybe he's washed ashore and got tangled
amongst the brush at the water's edge. I hope so, anyway."
"I didn't hope so. They all crowded up and leaned
over the rails, nearly in my face, and kept still,
watching with all their might. I could see them first-rate,
but they couldn't see me. Then the captain sung out:
"Stand away!" and the cannon let off such a
blast right before me that it made me deef with the noise
and pretty near blind with the smoke, and I judged I was
gone. If they'd a had some bullets in, I reckon they'd a
got the corpse they was after. Well, I see I warn't hurt,
thanks to goodness. The boat floated on and went out of
sight around the shoulder of the island. I could hear the
booming now and then, further and further off, and by and
by, after an hour, I didn't hear it no more. The island
was three mile long. I judged they had got to the foot,
and was giving it up. But they didn't yet a while. They
turned around the foot of the island and started up the
channel on the Missouri side, under steam, and booming
once in a while as they went. I crossed over to that side
and watched them. When they got abreast the head of the
island they quit shooting and dropped over to the
Missouri shore and went home to the town.
I knowed I was all right now. Nobody else would come a-hunting
after me. I got my traps out of the canoe and made me a
nice camp in the thick woods. 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 catched a catfish and haggled him
open with my saw, and towards sundown I started my camp
fire and had supper. Then I set out a line to catch some
fish for breakfast.
When it was dark I set by my camp fire smoking, and
feeling pretty well satisfied; but by and by it got sort
of lonesome, and so I went and set on the bank and
listened to the current swashing along, and counted the
stars and drift logs and rafts that come down, and then
went to bed; there ain't no better way to put in time
when you are lonesome; you can't stay so, you soon get
over it.
And so for three days and nights. No difference —
just the same thing. But the next day I went exploring
around down through the island. I was boss of it; it all
belonged to me, so to say, and I wanted to know all about
it; but mainly I wanted to put in the time. I found
plenty strawberries, ripe and prime; and green summer
grapes, and green razberries; and the green blackberries
was just beginning to show. They would all come handy by
and by, I judged.
Well, I went fooling along in the deep woods till I
judged I warn't far from the foot of the island. I had my
gun along, but I hadn't shot nothing; it was for
protection; thought I would kill some game nigh home.
About this time I mighty near stepped on a good-sized
snake, and it went sliding off through the grass and
flowers, and I after it, trying to get a shot at it. I
clipped along, and all of a sudden I bounded right on to
the ashes of a camp fire that was still smoking.
My heart jumped up amongst my lungs. I never waited
for to look further, but uncocked my gun and went
sneaking back on my tiptoes as fast as ever I could.
Every now and then I stopped a second amongst the thick
leaves and listened, but my breath come so hard I
couldn't hear nothing else. I slunk along another piece
further, then listened again; and so on, and so on. If I
see a stump, I took it for a man; if I trod on a stick
and broke it, it made me feel like a person had cut one
of my breaths in two and I only got half, and the short
half, too.
When I got to camp I warn't feeling very brash, there
warn't much sand in my craw; but I says, this ain't no
time to be fooling around. So I got all my traps into my
canoe again so as to have them out of sight, and I put
out the fire and scattered the ashes around to look like
an old last year's camp, and then clumb a tree.
I reckon I was 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 kept in the thick woods and on the lookout 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 slid out from shore before
moonrise and paddled over to the Illinois bank — about a
quarter of a mile. I went out in the woods and cooked a
supper, and I had about made up my mind I would stay
there all night when I hear a PLUNKETY- PLUNK, PLUNKETY-PLUNK,
and says to myself, horses coming; and next I hear
people's voices. I got everything into the canoe as quick
as I could, and then went creeping through the woods to
see what I could find out. I hadn't got far when I hear a
man say:
"We better camp here if we can find a good place;
the horses is about beat out. Let's look around."
I didn't wait, but shoved out and paddled away easy. I
tied up in the old place, and reckoned I would sleep in
the canoe.
I didn't sleep much. I couldn't, somehow, for thinking.
And every time I waked up I thought somebody 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 bust. Well, I felt better right off.
So I took my paddle and slid out from shore just a
step or two, and then let the canoe drop along down
amongst the shadows. The moon was shining, and outside of
the shadows it made it most as light as day. I poked
along well on to an hour, everything still as rocks and
sound asleep. Well, by this time I was most down to the
foot of the island. A little ripply, cool breeze begun to
blow, and that was as good as saying the night was about
done. I give her a turn with the paddle and brung her
nose to shore; then I got my gun and slipped out and into
the edge of the woods. I sat down there on a log, and
looked out through the leaves. I see the moon go off
watch, and the darkness begin to blanket the river. But
in a little while I see a pale streak over the treetops,
and knowed the day was coming. So I took my gun and
slipped off towards where I had run across that camp
fire, stopping every minute or two to listen. But I
hadn't no luck somehow; I couldn't seem to find the place.
But by and by, sure enough, I catched a glimpse of fire
away through the trees. I went for it, cautious and slow.
By and by I was close enough to have a look, and there
laid a man on the ground. It most give me the fantods. He
had a blanket around his head, and his head was nearly in
the fire. I set there behind a clump of bushes in about
six foot of him, and kept my eyes on him steady. It was
getting gray daylight now. Pretty soon he gapped and
stretched himself and hove off the blanket, and it was
Miss Watson's Jim! I bet I was glad to see him. I says:
"Hello, Jim!" and skipped out.
He bounced up and stared at me wild. Then he drops
down on his knees, and puts his hands together and says:
"Doan' hurt me — don't! I hain't ever done no
harm to a ghos'. I alwuz liked dead people, en done all I
could for 'em. You go en git in de river agin, whah you
b'longs, en doan' do nuffn to Ole Jim, 'at 'uz awluz yo'
fren'."
Well, I warn't long making him understand I warn't
dead. 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 you live on?"
"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, you must be most starved, ain't you?"
"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."
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 nigger 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, 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'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
lowdown Abolitionist and despise me for keeping mum —
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 nigger
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 campmeet'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 driftwood,
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 arisin', 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? Why didn't you get mud-turkles?"
"How you gwyne to git 'm? You can't slip up on um
en grab um; en how's a body gwyne to hit um wid a rock?
How could a body do it in de night? En I warn't gwyne to
show mysef on de bank in de daytime."
"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. 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 nigger dat
b'longs to old 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 niggers 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 nigger
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 nigger name' Bob, dat had ketched a woodflat,
en his marster 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 nigger 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 nigger 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, long as you're
going to be rich again some time or other."
"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'."