The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
by Mark Twain
XXI. An Arkansaw Difficulty
IT was after sun-up now, but we went right on and
didn't tie up. The king and the duke turned out by and by
looking pretty rusty; but after they'd jumped overboard
and took a swim it chippered them up a good deal. After
breakfast the king he took a seat on the corner of the
raft, and pulled off his boots and rolled up his
britches, and let his legs dangle in the water, so as to
be comfortable, and lit his pipe, and went to getting his
Romeo and Juliet by heart. When he had got it pretty good
him and the duke begun to practice it together. The duke
had to learn him over and over again how to say every
speech; and he made him sigh, and put his hand on his
heart, and after a while he said he done it pretty well;
"only," he says, "you mustn't bellow out
ROMEO! that way, like a bull — you must say it soft and
sick and languishy, so — R-o-o-meo! that is the idea;
for Juliet's a dear sweet mere child of a girl, you know,
and she doesn't bray like a jackass."
Well, next they got out a couple of long swords that
the duke made out of oak laths, and begun to practice the
sword fight — the duke called himself Richard III.; and
the way they laid on and pranced around the raft was
grand to see. But by and by the king tripped and fell
overboard, and after that they took a rest, and had a
talk about all kinds of adventures they'd had in other
times along the river.
After dinner the duke says:
"Well, Capet, we'll want to make this a first-class
show, you know, so I guess we'll add a little more to it.
We want a little something to answer encores with, anyway."
"What's onkores, Bilgewater?"
The duke told him, and then says:
"I'll answer by doing the Highland fling or the
sailor's hornpipe; and you — well, let me see — oh,
I've got it — you can do Hamlet's soliloquy."
"Hamlet's which?"
"Hamlet's soliloquy, you know; the most
celebrated thing in Shakespeare. Ah, it's sublime,
sublime! Always fetches the house. I haven't got it in
the book — I've only got one volume — but I reckon I
can piece it out from memory. I'll just walk up and down
a minute, and see if I can call it back from
recollection's vaults."
So he went to marching up and down, thinking, and
frowning horrible every now and then; then he would hoist
up his eyebrows; next he would squeeze his hand on his
forehead and stagger back and kind of moan; next he would
sigh, and next he'd let on to drop a tear. It was
beautiful to see him. By and by he got it. He told us to
give attention. Then he strikes a most noble attitude,
with one leg shoved forwards, and his arms stretched away
up, and his head tilted back, looking up at the sky; and
then he begins to rip and rave and grit his teeth; and
after that, all through his speech, he howled, and spread
around, and swelled up his chest, and just knocked the
spots out of any acting ever I see before. This is the
speech — I learned it, easy enough, while he was
learning it to the king:
To be, or not to be; that is the bare bodkin
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would fardels bear, till Birnam Wood do come to Dunsinane,
But that the fear of something after death
Murders the innocent sleep,
Great nature's second course,
And makes us rather sling the arrows of outrageous fortune
Than fly to others that we know not of.
There's the respect must give us pause:
Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The law's delay, and the quietus which his pangs might take,
In the dead waste and middle of the night, when churchyards yawn
In customary suits of solemn black,
But that the undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveler returns,
Breathes forth contagion on the world,
And thus the native hue of resolution, like the poor cat i' the adage,
Is sicklied o'er with care,
And all the clouds that lowered o'er our housetops,
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.
'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.
But soft you, the fair Ophelia:
Ope not thy ponderous and marble jaws,
But get thee to a nunnery — go!
Well, the old man he liked that speech, and he mighty
soon got it so he could do it first-rate. It seemed like
he was just born for it; and when he had his hand in and
was excited, it was perfectly lovely the way he would rip
and tear and rair up behind when he was getting it off.
The first chance we got the duke he had some showbills
printed; and after that, for two or three days as we
floated along, the raft was a most uncommon lively place,
for there warn't nothing but sword fighting and
rehearsing — as the duke called it — going on all the
time. One morning, when we was pretty well down the State
of Arkansaw, we come in sight of a little one-horse town
in a big bend; so we tied up about three-quarters of a
mile above it, in the mouth of a crick which was shut in
like a tunnel by the cypress trees, and all of us but Jim
took the canoe and went down there to see if there was
any chance in that place for our show.
We struck it mighty lucky; there was going to be a
circus there that afternoon, and the country people was
already beginning to come in, in all kinds of old shackly
wagons, and on horses. The circus would leave before
night, so our show would have a pretty good chance. The
duke he hired the courthouse, and we went around and
stuck up our bills. They read like this:
Shaksperean Revival ! ! !
Wonderful Attraction!
For One Night Only!
The world renowned tragedians,
David Garrick the Younger, of Drury Lane Theatre London,
and
Edmund Kean the elder, of the Royal Haymarket Theatre,
Whitechapel, Pudding Lane, Piccadilly, London, and the
Royal Continental Theatres, in their sublime
Shaksperean Spectacle entitled
The Balcony Scene
in
Romeo and Juliet ! ! !
Romeo...................Mr. Garrick
Juliet..................Mr. Kean
Assisted by the whole strength of the company!
New costumes, new scenes, new appointments!
Also:
The thrilling, masterly, and blood-curdling
Broad-sword conflict
In Richard III. ! ! !
Richard III.............Mr. Garrick
Richmond................Mr. Kean
Also:
(by special request)
Hamlet's Immortal Soliloquy ! !
By The Illustrious Kean!
Done by him 300 consecutive nights in Paris!
For One Night Only,
On account of imperative European engagements!
Admission 25 cents; children and servants, 10 cents.
|
Then we went loafing around town. The stores and
houses was most all old, shackly, dried up frame concerns
that hadn't ever been painted; they was set up three or
four foot above ground on stilts, so as to be out of
reach of the water when the river was overflowed. The
houses had little gardens around them, but they didn't
seem to raise hardly anything in them but jimpson-weeds,
and sunflowers, and ash piles, and old curled-up boots
and shoes, and pieces of bottles, and rags, and played-out
tinware. The fences was made of different kinds of
boards, nailed on at different times; and they leaned
every which way, and had gates that didn't generly have
but one hinge — a leather one. Some of the fences had
been whitewashed some time or another, but the duke said
it was in Clumbus' time, like enough. There was generly
hogs in the garden, and people driving them out.
All the stores was along one street. They had white
domestic awnings in front, and the country people hitched
their horses to the awning-posts. There was empty
drygoods boxes under the awnings, and loafers roosting on
them all day long, whittling them with their Barlow
knives; and chawing tobacco, and gaping and yawning and
stretching — a mighty ornery lot. They generly had on
yellow straw hats most as wide as an umbrella, but didn't
wear no coats nor waistcoats, they called one another
Bill, and Buck, and Hank, and Joe, and Andy, and talked
lazy and drawly, and used considerable many cuss words.
There was as many as one loafer leaning up against every
awning-post, and he most always had his hands in his
britches-pockets, except when he fetched them out to lend
a chaw of tobacco or scratch. What a body was hearing
amongst them all the time was:
"Gimme a chaw 'v tobacker, Hank "
"Cain't; I hain't got but one chaw left. Ask Bill."
Maybe Bill he gives him a chaw; maybe he lies and says
he ain't got none. Some of them kinds of loafers never
has a cent in the world, nor a chaw of tobacco of their
own. They get all their chawing by borrowing; they say to
a fellow, "I wisht you'd len' me a chaw, Jack, I
jist this minute give Ben Thompson the last chaw I had"
— which is a lie pretty much everytime; it don't fool
nobody but a stranger; but Jack ain't no stranger, so he
says:
"YOU give him a chaw, did you? So did your
sister's cat's grandmother. You pay me back the chaws
you've awready borry'd off'n me, Lafe Buckner, then I'll
loan you one or two ton of it, and won't charge you no
back intrust, nuther."
"Well, I DID pay you back some of it wunst."
"Yes, you did — 'bout six chaws. You borry'd
store tobacker and paid back nigger-head."
Store tobacco is flat black plug, but these fellows
mostly chaws the natural leaf twisted. When they borrow a
chaw they don't generly cut it off with a knife, but set
the plug in between their teeth, and gnaw with their
teeth and tug at the plug with their hands till they get
it in two; then sometimes the one that owns the tobacco
looks mournful at it when it's handed back, and says,
sarcastic:
"Here, gimme the CHAW, and you take the PLUG."
All the streets and lanes was just mud; they warn't
nothing else BUT mud — mud as black as tar and nigh
about a foot deep in some places, and two or three inches
deep in ALL the places. The hogs loafed and grunted
around everywheres. You'd see a muddy sow and a litter of
pigs come lazying along the street and whollop herself
right down in the way, where folks had to walk around
her, and she'd stretch out and shut her eyes and wave her
ears whilst the pigs was milking her, and look as happy
as if she was on salary. And pretty soon you'd hear a
loafer sing out, "Hi! SO boy! sick him, Tige!"
and away the sow would go, squealing most horrible, with
a dog or two swinging to each ear, and three or four
dozen more a-coming; and then you would see all the
loafers get up and watch the thing out of sight, and
laugh at the fun and look grateful for the noise. Then
they'd settle back again till there was a dog fight.
There couldn't anything wake them up all over, and make
them happy all over, like a dog fight — unless it might
be putting turpentine on a stray dog and setting fire to
him, or tying a tin pan to his tail and see him run
himself to death.
On the river front some of the houses was sticking out
over the bank, and they was bowed and bent, and about
ready to tumble in, The people had moved out of them. The
bank was caved away under one corner of some others, and
that corner was hanging over. People lived in them yet,
but it was dangersome, because sometimes a strip of land
as wide as a house caves in at a time. Sometimes a belt
of land a quarter of a mile deep will start in and cave
along and cave along till it all caves into the river in
one summer. Such a town as that has to be always moving
back, and back, and back, because the river's always
gnawing at it.
The nearer it got to noon that day the thicker and
thicker was the wagons and horses in the streets, and
more coming all the time. Families fetched their dinners
with them from the country, and eat them in the wagons.
There was considerable whisky drinking going on, and I
seen three fights. By and by somebody sings out:
"Here comes old Boggs! — in from the country for
his little old monthly drunk; here he comes, boys!"
All the loafers looked glad; I reckoned they was used
to having fun out of Boggs. One of them says:
"Wonder who he's a-gwyne to chaw up this time. If
he'd a-chawed up all the men he's ben a-gwyne to chaw up
in the last twenty year he'd have considerable ruputation
now."
Another one says, "I wisht old Boggs 'd threaten
me, 'cuz then I'd know I warn't gwyne to die for a
thousan' year."
Boggs comes a-tearing along on his horse, whooping and
yelling like an Injun, and singing out:
"Cler the track, thar. I'm on the waw-path, and
the price uv coffins is a-gwyne to raise."
He was drunk, and weaving about in his saddle; he was
over fifty year old, and had a very red face. Everybody
yelled at him and laughed at him and sassed him, and he
sassed back, and said he'd attend to them and lay them
out in their regular turns, but he couldn't wait now
because he'd come to town to kill old Colonel Sherburn,
and his motto was, "Meat first, and spoon vittles to
top off on."
He see me, and rode up and says:
"Whar'd you come f'm, boy? You prepared to die?"
Then he rode on. I was scared, but a man says:
"He don't mean nothing; he's always a-carryin' on
like that when he's drunk. He's the best naturedest old
fool in Arkansaw — never hurt nobody, drunk nor sober."
Boggs rode up before the biggest store in town, and
bent his head down so he could see under the curtain of
the awning and yells:
"Come out here, Sherburn! Come out and meet the
man you've swindled. You're the houn' I'm after, and I'm
a-gwyne to have you, too!"
And so he went on, calling Sherburn everything he
could lay his tongue to, and the whole street packed with
people listening and laughing and going on. By and by a
proud-looking man about fifty-five — and he was a heap
the best dressed man in that town, too — steps out of
the store, and the crowd drops back on each side to let
him come. He says to Boggs, mighty ca'm and slow — he
says:
"I'm tired of this, but I'll endure it till one
o'clock. Till one o'clock, mind — no longer. If you open
your mouth against me only once after that time you can't
travel so far but I will find you."
Then he turns and goes in. The crowd looked mighty
sober; nobody stirred, and there warn't no more laughing.
Boggs rode off blackguarding Sherburn as loud as he could
yell, all down the street; and pretty soon back he comes
and stops before the store, still keeping it up. Some men
crowded around him and tried to get him to shut up, but
he wouldn't; they told him it would be one o'clock in
about fifteen minutes, and so he MUST go home — he must
go right away. But it didn't do no good. He cussed away
with all his might, and throwed his hat down in the mud
and rode over it, and pretty soon away he went a-raging
down the street again, with his gray hair aflying.
Everybody that could get a chance at him tried their best
to coax him off of his horse so they could lock him up
and get him sober; but it warn't no use — up the street
he would tear again, and give Sherburn another cussing.
By and by somebody says:
"Go for his daughter! — quick, go for his
daughter; sometimes he'll listen to her. If anybody can
persuade him, she can."
So somebody started on a run. I walked down street a
ways and stopped. In about five or ten minutes here comes
Boggs again, but not on his horse. He was a-reeling
across the street towards me, bareheaded, with a friend
on both sides of him a-holt of his arms and hurrying him
along. He was quiet, and looked uneasy; and he warn't
hanging back any, but was doing some of the hurrying
himself. Somebody sings out:
"Boggs!"
I looked over there to see who said it, and it was
that Colonel Sherburn. He was standing perfectly still in
the street, and had a pistol raised in his right hand —
not aiming it, but holding it out with the barrel tilted
up towards the sky. The same second I see a young girl
coming on the run, and two men with her. Boggs and the
men turned round to see who called him, and when they see
the pistol the men jumped to one side, and the pistol-barrel
come down slow and steady to a level — both barrels
cocked. Boggs throws up both of his hands and says,
"O Lord, don't shoot!" Bang! goes the first
shot, and he staggers back, clawing at the air — bang!
goes the second one, and he tumbles backwards on to the
ground, heavy and solid, with his arms spread out. That
young girl screamed out and comes rushing, and down she
throws herself on her father, crying, and saying, "Oh,
he's killed him, he's killed him!" The crowd closed
up around them, and shouldered and jammed one another,
with their necks stretched, trying to see, and people on
the inside trying to shove them back and shouting, "Back,
back! give him air, give him air!"
Colonel Sherburn he tossed his pistol on to the
ground, and turned around on his heels and walked off.
They took Boggs to a little drug store, the crowd
pressing around just the same, and the whole town
following, and I rushed and got a good place at the
window, where I was close to him and could see in. They
laid him on the floor and put one large Bible under his
head, and opened another one and spread it on his breast;
but they tore open his shirt first, and I seen where one
of the bullets went in. He made about a dozen long gasps,
his breast lifting the Bible up when he drawed in his
breath, and letting it down again when he breathed it out
— and after that he laid still; he was dead. Then they
pulled his daughter away from him, screaming and crying,
and took her off. She was about sixteen, and very sweet
and gentle looking, but awful pale and scared.
Well, pretty soon the whole town was there, squirming
and scrouging and pushing and shoving to get at the
window and have a look, but people that had the places
wouldn't give them up, and folks behind them was saying
all the time, "Say, now, you've looked enough, you
fellows; 'tain't right and 'tain't fair for you to stay
thar all the time, and never give nobody a chance; other
folks has their rights as well as you."
There was considerable jawing back, so I slid out,
thinking maybe there was going to be trouble. The streets
was full, and everybody was excited. Everybody that seen
the shooting was telling how it happened, and there was a
big crowd packed around each one of these fellows,
stretching their necks and listening. One long, lanky
man, with long hair and a big white fur stovepipe hat on
the back of his head, and a crooked-handled cane, marked
out the places on the ground where Boggs stood and where
Sherburn stood, and the people following him around from
one place to t'other and watching everything he done, and
bobbing their heads to show they understood, and stooping
a little and resting their hands on their thighs to watch
him mark the places on the ground with his cane; and then
he stood up straight and stiff where Sherburn had stood,
frowning and having his hat-brim down over his eyes, and
sung out, "Boggs!" and then fetched his cane
down slow to a level, and says "Bang!"
staggered backwards, says "Bang!" again, and
fell down flat on his back. The people that had seen the
thing said he done it perfect; said it was just exactly
the way it all happened. Then as much as a dozen people
got out their bottles and treated him.
Well, by and by somebody said Sherburn ought to be
lynched. In about a minute everybody was saying it; so
away they went, mad and yelling, and snatching down every
clothes-line they come to to do the hanging with.
The Classical Library, This HTML edition copyright 2000.
|