WE stopped talking, and got to thinking. By and by Tom
says:
"Looky here, Huck, what fools we are to not think
of it before! I bet I know where Jim is."
"No! Where?"
"In that hut down by the ash-hopper. Why, looky
here. When we was at dinner, didn't you see a nigger man
go in there with some vittles?"
"Yes."
"What did you think the vittles was for?"
"For a dog."
"So 'd I. Well, it wasn't for a dog."
"Why?"
"Because part of it was watermelon."
"So it was — I noticed it. Well, it does beat
all that I never thought about a dog not eating
watermelon. It shows how a body can see and don't see at
the same time."
"Well, the nigger unlocked the padlock when he
went in, and he locked it again when he came out. He
fetched uncle a key about the time we got up from table
— same key, I bet. Watermelon shows man, lock shows
prisoner; and it ain't likely there's two prisoners on
such a little plantation, and where the people's all so
kind and good. Jim's the prisoner. All right — I'm glad
we found it out detective fashion; I wouldn't give shucks
for any other way. Now you work your mind, and study out
a plan to steal Jim, and I will study out one, too; and
we'll take the one we like the best."
What a head for just a boy to have! If I had Tom
Sawyer's head I wouldn't trade it off to be a duke, nor
mate of a steamboat, nor clown in a circus, nor nothing I
can think of. I went to thinking out a plan, but only
just to be doing something; I knowed very well where the
right plan was going to come from. Pretty soon Tom says:
"Ready?"
"Yes," I says.
"All right — bring it out."
"My plan is this," I says. "We can easy
find out if it's Jim in there. Then get up my canoe to-morrow
night, and fetch my raft over from the island. Then the
first dark night that comes steal the key out of the old
man's britches after he goes to bed, and shove off down
the river on the raft with Jim, hiding daytimes and
running nights, the way me and Jim used to do before.
Wouldn't that plan work?"
"WORK? Why, cert'nly it would work, like rats a-fighting.
But it's too blame' simple; there ain't nothing TO it.
What's the good of a plan that ain't no more trouble than
that? It's as mild as goose-milk. Why, Huck, it wouldn't
make no more talk than breaking into a soap factory."
I never said nothing, because I warn't expecting
nothing different; but I knowed mighty well that whenever
he got HIS plan ready it wouldn't have none of them
objections to it.
And it didn't. He told me what it was, and I see in a
minute it was worth fifteen of mine for style, and would
make Jim just as free a man as mine would, and maybe get
us all killed besides. So I was satisfied, and said we
would waltz in on it. I needn't tell what it was here,
because I knowed it wouldn't stay the way, it was. I
knowed he would be changing it around every which way as
we went along, and heaving in new bullinesses wherever he
got a chance. And that is what he done.
Well, one thing was dead sure, and that was that Tom
Sawyer was in earnest, and was actuly going to help steal
that nigger out of slavery. That was the thing that was
too many for me. Here was a boy that was respectable and
well brung up; and had a character to lose; and folks at
home that had characters; and he was bright and not
leather-headed; and knowing and not ignorant; and not
mean, but kind; and yet here he was, without any more
pride, or rightness, or feeling, than to stoop to this
business, and make himself a shame, and his family a
shame, before everybody. I COULDN'T understand it no way
at all. It was outrageous, and I knowed I ought to just
up and tell him so; and so be his true friend, and let
him quit the thing right where he was and save himself.
And I DID start to tell him; but he shut me up, and says:
"Don't you reckon I know what I'm about? Don't I
generly know what I'm about?"
"Yes."
"Didn't I SAY I was going to help steal the
nigger?"
"Yes."
"WELL, then."
That's all he said, and that's all I said. It warn't
no use to say any more; because when he said he'd do a
thing, he always done it. But I couldn't make out how he
was willing to go into this thing; 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.
When we got home the house was all dark and still; so
we went on down to the hut by the ash-hopper for to
examine it. We went through the yard so as to see what
the hounds would do. They knowed us, and didn't make no
more noise than country dogs is always doing when
anything comes by in the night. When we got to the cabin
we took a look at the front and the two sides; and on the
side I warn't acquainted with — which was the north side
— we found a square windowhole, up tolerable high, with
just one stout board nailed across it. I says:
"Here's the ticket. This hole's big enough for
Jim to get through if we wrench off the board."
Tom says:
"It's as simple as tit-tat-toe, three-in-a-row,
and as easy as playing hooky. I should HOPE we can find a
way that's a little more complicated than THAT, Huck Finn."
"Well, then," I says, "how 'll it do to
saw him out, the way I done before I was murdered that
time?"
"That's more LIKE," he says. "It's real
mysterious, and troublesome, and good," he says;
"but I bet we can find a way that's twice as long.
There ain't no hurry; le's keep on looking around."
Betwixt the hut and the fence, on the back side, was a
lean-to that joined the hut at the eaves, and was made
out of plank. It was as long as the hut, but narrow —
only about six foot wide. The door to it was at the south
end, and was padlocked. Tom he went to the soap-kettle
and searched around, and fetched back the iron thing they
lift the lid with; so he took it and prized out one of
the staples. The chain fell down, and we opened the door
and went in, and shut it, and struck a match, and see the
shed was only built against a cabin and hadn't no
connection with it; and there warn't no floor to the
shed, nor nothing in it but some old rusty played-out
hoes and spades and picks and a crippled plow. The match
went out, and so did we, and shoved in the staple again,
and the door was locked as good as ever. Tom was joyful.
He says;
"Now we're all right. We'll DIG him out. It 'll
take about a week!"
Then we started for the house, and I went in the back
door — you only have to pull a buckskin latchstring,
they don't fasten the doors — but that warn't romantical
enough for Tom Sawyer; no way would do him but he must
climb up the lightning-rod. But after he got up half way
about three times, and missed fire and fell every time,
and the last time most busted his brains out, he thought
he'd got to give it up; but after he was rested he
allowed he would give her one more turn for luck, and
this time he made the trip.
In the morning we was up at break of day, and down to
the nigger cabins to pet the dogs and make friends with
the nigger that fed Jim — if it WAS Jim that was being
fed. The niggers was just getting through breakfast and
starting for the fields; and Jim's nigger was piling up a
tin pan with bread and meat and things; and whilst the
others was leaving, the key come from the house.
This nigger had a good-natured, chuckle-headed face,
and his wool was all tied up in little bunches with
thread. That was to keep witches off. He said the witches
was pestering him awful these nights, and making him see
all kinds of strange things, and hear all kinds of
strange words and noises, and he didn't believe he was
ever witched so long before in his life. He got so worked
up, and got to running on so about his troubles, he
forgot all about what he'd been a-going to do. So Tom
says:
"What's the vittles for? Going to feed the dogs?"
The nigger kind of smiled around graduly over his
face, like when you heave a brickbat in a mud-puddle, and
he says:
"Yes, Mars Sid, A dog. Cur'us dog, too. Does you
want to go en look at 'im?"
"Yes."
I hunched Tom, and whispers:
"You going, right here in the daybreak? THAT
warn't the plan."
"No, it warn't; but it's the plan NOW."
So, drat him, we went along, but I didn't like it much.
When we got in we couldn't hardly see anything, it was so
dark; but Jim was there, sure enough, and could see us;
and he sings out:
"Why, HUCK! En good LAN'! ain' dat Misto Tom?"
I just knowed how it would be; I just expected it. I
didn't know nothing to do; and if I had I couldn't a done
it, because that nigger busted in and says:
"Why, de gracious sakes! do he know you genlmen?"
We could see pretty well now. Tom he looked at the
nigger, steady and kind of wondering, and says:
"Does WHO know us?"
"Why, dis-yer runaway nigger."
"I don't reckon he does; but what put that into
your head?"
"What PUT it dar? Didn' he jis' dis minute sing
out like he knowed you?"
Tom says, in a puzzled-up kind of way:
"Well, that's mighty curious. WHO sung out? WHEN
did he sing out? WHAT did he sing out?" And turns to
me, perfectly ca'm, and says, "Did YOU hear anybody
sing out?"
Of course there warn't nothing to be said but the one
thing; so I says:
"No; I ain't heard nobody say nothing."
Then he turns to Jim, and looks him over like he never
see him before, and says:
"Did you sing out?"
"No, sah," says Jim; " I hain't said
nothing, sah."
"Not a word?"
"No, sah, I hain't said a word."
"Did you ever see us before?"
"No, sah; not as I knows on."
So Tom turns to the nigger, which was looking wild and
distressed, and says, kind of severe:
"What do you reckon's the matter with you,
anyway? What made you think somebody sung out?"
"Oh, it's de dad-blame' witches, sah, en I wisht
I was dead, I do. Dey's awluz at it, sah, en dey do mos'
kill me, dey sk'yers me so. Please to don't tell nobody
'bout it sah, er ole Mars Silas he'll scole me; 'kase he
say dey AIN'T no witches. I jis' wish to goodness he was
heah now — DEN what would he say! I jis' bet he couldn'
fine no way to git aroun' it DIS time. But it's awluz
jis' so; people dat's SOT, stays sot; dey won't look into
noth'n'en fine it out f'r deyselves, en when YOU fine it
out en tell um 'bout it, dey doan' b'lieve you."
Tom give him a dime, and said we wouldn't tell nobody;
and told him to buy some more thread to tie up his wool
with; and then looks at Jim, and says:
"I wonder if Uncle Silas is going to hang this
nigger. If I was to catch a nigger that was ungrateful
enough to run away, I wouldn't give him up, I'd hang him."
And whilst the nigger stepped to the door to look at the
dime and bite it to see if it was good, he whispers to
Jim and says:
"Don't ever let on to know us. And if you hear
any digging going on nights, it's us; we're going to set
you free."
Jim only had time to grab us by the hand and squeeze
it; then the nigger come back, and we said we'd come
again some time if the nigger wanted us to; and he said
he would, more particular if it was dark, because the
witches went for him mostly in the dark, and it was good
to have folks around then.