Chapter 11
Conscience Racks Torn
-
CLOSE UPON THE HOUR OF NOON the whole village was suddenly
electrified with the ghastly news. No need of the as yet
undreamed-of telegraph; the tale flew from man to man, from group to
group, from house to house, with little less than telegraphic speed.
Of course the schoolmaster gave holiday for that afternoon; the town
would have thought strangely of him if he had not.
A gory knife had been found close to the murdered man, and it had
been recognized by somebody as belonging to Muff Potter- so the
story ran. And it was said that a belated citizen had come upon Potter
washing himself in the "branch" about one or two o'clock in the
morning, and that Potter had at once sneaked off- suspicious
circumstances, especially the washing, which was not a habit with
Potter. It was also said that the town had been ransacked for this
"murderer" (the public are not slow in the matter of sifting
evidence and arriving at a verdict) but that he could not be found.
Horsemen had departed down all the roads in every direction, and the
Sheriff "was confident" that he would be captured before night.
All the town was drifting toward the graveyard. Tom's heart-break
vanished and he joined the procession, not because he would not a
thousand times rather go anywhere else, but because an awful,
unaccountable fascination drew him on. Arrived at the dreadful
place, he wormed his small body through the crowd and saw the dismal
spectacle. It seemed to him an age since he was there before. Somebody
pinched his arm. He turned, and his eyes met Huckleberry's. Then
both looked elsewhere at once, and wondered if anybody had noticed
anything in their mutual glance. But everybody was talking, and intent
upon the grisly spectacle before them.
"Poor fellow!" "Poor young fellow!" "This ought to be a lesson to
grave-robbers!" "Muff Potter'll hang for this if they catch him!" This
was the drift of remark; and the minister said, "It was a judgment;
His hand is here."
Now Tom shivered from head to heel; for his eye fell upon the stolid
face of Injun Joe. At this moment the crowd began to sway and
struggle, and voices shouted, "It's him! it's him! he's coming
himself!"
"Who? Who?" from twenty voices.
"Muff Potter!"
"Hallo, he's stopped!- Look out, he's turning! Don't let him get
away!"
People in the branches of the trees over Tom's head, said he
wasn't trying to get away- he only looked doubtful and perplexed.
"Infernal impudence!" said a bystander; "wanted to come and take a
quiet look at his work, I reckon- didn't expect any company."
The crowd fell apart, now, and the Sheriff came through,
ostentatiously leading Potter by the arm. The poor fellow's face was
haggard, and his eyes showed the fear that was upon him. When he stood
before the murdered man, he shook as with a palsy, and he put his face
in his hands and burst into tears.
"I didn't do it, friends," he sobbed; "'pon my word and honor I
never done it."
"Who's accused you?" shouted a voice.
This shot seemed to carry home. Potter lifted his face and looked
around him with a pathetic hopelessness in his eyes. He saw Injun Joe,
and exclaimed: "O, Injun Joe, you promised me you'd never-"
"Is that your knife?" and it was thrust before him by the Sheriff.
Potter would have fallen if they had not caught him and eased him to
the ground. Then he said:
"Something told me 't if I didn't come back and get-" He
shuddered; then waved his nerveless hand with a vanquished gesture and
said, "Tell 'em, Joe, tell 'em- it ain't any use any more."
Then Huckleberry and Tom stood dumb and staring, and heard the
stony-hearted liar reel off his serene statement, they expecting every
moment that the clear sky would deliver God's lightnings upon his
head, and wondering to see how long the stroke was delayed. And when
he had finished and still stood alive and whole, their wavering
impulse to break their oath and save the poor betrayed prisoner's life
faded and vanished away, for plainly this miscreant had sold himself
to Satan and it would be fatal to meddle with the property of such a
power as that.
"Why didn't you leave? What did you want to come here for?" somebody
said.
"I couldn't help it- I couldn't help it," Potter moaned. "I wanted
to run away, but I couldn't seem to come anywhere but here." And he
fell to sobbing again.
Injun Joe repeated his statement, just as calmly, a few minutes
afterward on the inquest, under oath; and the boys, seeing that the
lightnings were still withheld, were confirmed in their belief that
Joe had sold himself to the devil. He was now become, to them, the
most balefully interesting object they had ever looked upon, and
they could not take their fascinated eyes from his face. They inwardly
resolved to watch him, nights, when opportunity should offer, in the
hope of getting a glimpse of his dread master.
Injun Joe helped to raise the body of the murdered man and put it in
a wagon for removal; and it was whispered through the shuddering crowd
that the wound bled a little! The boys thought that this happy
circumstance would turn suspicion in the right direction; but they
were disappointed, for more than one villager remarked:
"It was within three feet of Muff Potter when it done it."
Tom's fearful secret and gnawing conscience disturbed his sleep
for as much as a week after this; and at breakfast one morning Sid
said:
"Tom, you pitch around and talk in your sleep so much that you
keep me awake about half the time."
Tom blanched and dropped his eyes.
"It's a bad sign," said Aunt Polly, gravely. "What you got on your
mind, Tom?"
"Nothing. Nothing 't I know of." But the boy's hand shook so that he
spilled his coffee.
"And you do talk such stuff," Sid said. "Last night you said 'it's
blood, it's blood, that's what it is!' You said that over and over.
And you said, 'Don't torment me so- I'll tell!' Tell what? What is
it you'll tell?"
Everything was swimming before Tom. There is no telling what might
have happened, now, but luckily the concern passed out of Aunt Polly's
face and she came to Tom's relief without knowing it. She said:
"Sho! It's that dreadful murder. I dream about it most every night
myself. Sometimes I dream it's me that done it."
Mary said she had been affected much the same way. Sid seemed
satisfied. Tom got out of the presence as quick as he plausibly could,
and after that he complained of toothache for a week and tied up his
jaws every night. He never knew that Sid lay nightly watching, and
frequently slipped the bandage free and then leaned on his elbow
listening a good while at a time, and afterward slipped the bandage
back to its place again. Tom's distress of mind wore off gradually and
the toothache grew irksome and was discarded. If Sid really managed to
make anything out of Tom's disjointed mutterings, he kept it to
himself.
It seemed to Tom that his schoolmates never would get done holding
inquests on dead cats, and thus keeping his trouble present to his
mind. Sid noticed that Tom never was coroner at one of these
inquiries, though it had been his habit to take the lead in all new
enterprises; he noticed, too, that Tom never acted as a witness,-
and that was strange; and Sid did not overlook the fact that Tom
even showed a marked aversion to these inquests, and always avoided
them when he could. Sid marveled, but said nothing. However, even
inquests went out of vogue at last, and ceased to torture Tom's
conscience.
Every day or two, during this time of sorrow, Tom watched his
opportunity and went to the little grated jail-window and smuggled
such small comforts through to the "murderer" as he could get hold of.
The jail was a trifling little brick den that stood in a marsh at
the edge of the village, and no guards were afforded for it; indeed it
was seldom occupied. These offerings greatly helped to ease Tom's
conscience.
The villagers had a strong desire to tar-and-feather Injun Joe and
ride him on a rail, for body-snatching, but so formidable was his
character that nobody could be found who was willing to take the
lead in the matter, so it was dropped. He had been careful to begin
both of his inquest-statements with the fight, without confessing
the grave-robbery that preceded it; therefore it was deemed wisest not
to try the case in the courts at present.
CHAPTER_12
Chapter 12
The Cat and the Painkiller
-
ONE OF THE REASONS why Tom's mind had drifted away from its secret
troubles was, that it had found a new and weighty matter to interest
itself about. Becky Thatcher had stopped coming to school. Tom had
struggled with his pride a few days, and tried to "whistle her down
the wind," but failed. He began to find himself hanging around her
father's house, nights, and feeling very miserable. She was ill.
What if she should die! There was distraction in the thought. He no
longer took an interest in war, nor even in piracy. The charm of
life was gone; there was nothing but dreariness left. He put his
hoop away, and his bat; there was no joy in them any more. His aunt
was concerned. She began to try all manner of remedies on him. She was
one of those people who are infatuated with patent medicines and all
new-fangled methods of producing health or mending it. She was an
inveterate experimenter in these things. When something fresh in
this line came out she was in a fever, right away, to try it; not on
herself, for she was never ailing, but on anybody else that came
handy. She was a subscriber for all the "Health" periodicals and
phrenological frauds; and the solemn ignorance they were inflated with
was breath to her nostrils. All the "rot" they contained about
ventilation, and how to go to bed, and how to get up, and what to eat,
and what to drink, and how much exercise to take, and what frame of
mind to keep one's self in, and what sort of clothing to wear, was all
gospel to her, and she never observed that her health-journals of
the current month customarily upset everything they had recommended
the month before. She was as simple-hearted and honest as the day
was long, and so she was an easy victim. She gathered together her
quack periodicals and her quack medicines, and thus armed with
death, went about on her pale horse, metaphorically speaking, with
"hell following after." But she never suspected that she was not an
angel of healing and the balm of Gilead in disguise, to the
suffering neighbors.
The water treatment was new, now, and Tom's low condition was a
windfall to her. She had him out at daylight every morning, stood
him up in the woodshed and drowned him with a deluge of cold water;
then she scrubbed him down with a towel like a file, and so brought
him to; then she rolled him up in a wet sheet and put him away under
blankets till she sweated his soul clean and "the yellow stains of
it came through his pores"- as Tom said.
Yet notwithstanding all this, the boy grew more and more
melancholy and pale and dejected. She added hot baths, sitz baths,
shower baths and plunges. The boy remained as dismal as a hearse.
She began to assist the water with a slim oatmeal diet and blister
plasters. She calculated his capacity as she would a jug's, and filled
him up every day with quack cure-alls.
Tom had become indifferent to persecution, by this time. This
phase filled the old lady's heart with consternation. This
indifference must be broken up at any cost. Now she heard of
Pain-Killer for the first time. She ordered a lot at once. She
tasted it and was filled with gratitude. It was simply fire in a
liquid form. She dropped the water treatment and everything else,
and pinned her faith to Pain-Killer. She gave Tom a tea-spoonful and
watched with the deepest anxiety for the result. Her troubles were
instantly at rest, her soul at peace again; for the "indifference" was
broken up. The boy could not have shown a wilder, heartier interest,
if she had build a fire under him.
Tom felt that it was time to wake up; this sort of life might be
romantic enough, in his blighted condition, but it was getting to have
too little sentiment and too much distracting variety about it. So
he thought over various plans for relief, and finally hit upon that of
professing to be fond of Pain-Killer. He asked for it so often that he
became a nuisance, and his aunt ended by telling him to help himself
and quit bothering her. If it had been Sid, she would have had no
misgivings to alloy her delight; but since it was Tom, she watched the
bottle clandestinely. She found that the medicine did really diminish,
but it did not occur to her that the boy was mending the health of a
crack in the sitting-room floor with it.
One day Tom was in the act of dosing the crack when his aunt's
yellow cat came along, puffing, eyeing the tea-spoon avariciously, and
begging for a taste. Tom said:
"Don't ask for it unless you want it, Peter."
But Peter signified that he did want it.
"You better make sure."
Peter was sure.
"Now you've asked for it, and I'll give it to you, because there
ain't anything mean about me; but if you find you don't like it, you
musn't blame anybody but your own self."
Peter was agreeable. So Tom pried his mouth open and poured down the
Pain-Killer. Peter sprang a couple of yards into the air, and then
delivered a war-whoop and set off round and round the room, banging
against furniture, upsetting flower-pots and making general havoc.
Next he rose on his hind feet and pranced around, in a frenzy of
enjoyment, with his head over his shoulder and his voice proclaiming
his unappeasable happiness. Then he went tearing around the house
again spreading chaos and destruction in his path. Aunt Polly
entered in time to see him throw a few double summersets, deliver a
final mighty hurrah, and sail through the open window, carrying the
rest of the flower-pots with him. The old lady stood petrified with
astonishment, peering over her glasses; Tom lay on the floor
expiring with laughter.
"Tom, what on earth ails that cat?"
"I don't know, aunt," gasped the boy.
"Why I never see anything like it. What did make him act so?"
"Deed I don't know Aunt Polly; cats always act so when they're
having a good time."
"They do, do they?" There was something in the tone that made Tom
apprehensive.
"Yes'm. That is, I believe they do."
"You do?"
"Yes'm."
The old lady was bending down, Tom watching, with interest
emphasized by anxiety. Too late he divined her "drift." The handle
of the tell-tale tea-spoon was visible under the bed-valance. Aunt
Polly took it, held it up. Tom winced, and dropped his eyes. Aunt
Polly raised him by the usual handle- his ear- and cracked his head
soundly with her thimble.
"Now, sir, what did you want to treat that poor dumb beast so, for?"
"I done it out of pity for him- because he hadn't any aunt."
"Hadn't any aunt!- you numscull. What has that got to do with it?"
"Heaps. Because if he'd a had one she'd a burnt him out herself!
She'd a roasted his bowels out of him 'thout any more feeling than
if he was a human!"
Aunt Polly felt a sudden pang of remorse. This was putting the thing
in a new light; what was cruelty to a cat might be cruelty to a boy,
too. She began to soften; she felt sorry. Her eyes watered a little,
and she put her hand on Tom's head and said gently:
"I was meaning for the best, Tom. And Tom, it did do you good."
Tom looked up in her face with just a perceptible twinkle peeping
through his gravity:
"I know you was meaning for the best, aunty, and so was I with
Peter. It done him good, too. I never see him get around so since-"
"O, go 'long with you, Tom, before you aggravate me again. And you
try and see if you can't be a good boy, for once, and you needn't take
any more medicine."
Tom reached school ahead of time. It was noticed that this strange
thing had been occurring every day latterly. And now, as usual of
late, he hung about the gate of the school-yard instead of playing
with his comrades. He was sick, he said, and he looked it. He tried to
seem to be looking everywhere but whither he really was looking-
down the road. Presently Jeff Thatcher hove in sight, and Tom's face
lighted; he gazed a moment, and then turned sorrowfully away. When
Jeff arrived, Tom accosted him, and "led up" warily to opportunities
for remark about Becky, but the giddy lad never could see the bait.
Tom watched and watched, hoping whenever a frisking frock came in
sight, and hating the owner of it as soon as he saw she was not the
right one. At last frocks ceased to appear, and he dropped
hopelessly into the dumps; he entered the empty school-house and sat
down to suffer. Then one more frock passed in at the gate, and Tom's
heart gave a great bound. The next instant he was out, and "going
on" like an Indian; yelling, laughing, chasing boys, jumping over
the fence at risk of life and limb, throwing hand-springs, standing on
his head- doing all the heroic things he could conceive of, and
keeping a furtive eye out, all the while, to see if Becky Thatcher was
noticing. But she seemed to be unconscious of it all; she never
looked. Could it be possible that she was not aware that he was there?
He carried his exploits to her immediate vicinity; came war-whooping
around, snatched a boy's cap, hurled it to the roof of the
school-house, broke through a group of boys, tumbling them in every
direction, and fell sprawling, himself, under Becky's nose, almost
upsetting her- and she turned, with her nose in the air, and he
heard her say. "Mf! some people think they're mighty smart- always
showing off!"
Tom's cheeks burned. He gathered himself up and sneaked off, crushed
and crestfallen.
CHAPTER_13
Chapter 13
The Pirate Crew Set Sail
-
TOM'S MIND was made up now. He was gloomy and desperate. He was a
forsaken, friendless boy, he said; nobody loved him; when they found
out what they had driven him to, perhaps they would be sorry; he had
tried to do right and get along, but they would not let him; since
nothing would do them but to be rid of him, let it be so; and let them
blame him for the consequences- why shouldn't they? What right had the
friendless to complain? Yes, they had forced him to it at last: he
would lead a life of crime. There was no choice.
By this time he was far down Meadow Lane, and the bell for school to
"take up" tinkled faintly upon his ear. He sobbed, now, to think he
should never, never hear that old familiar sound any more- it was very
hard, but it was forced on him; since he was driven out into the
cold world, he must submit- but he forgave them. Then the sobs came
thick and fast.
Just at this point he met his soul's sworn comrade, Hoe Harper-
hard-eyed, and with evidently a great and dismal purpose in his heart.
Plainly here were "two souls with but a single thought." Tom, wiping
his eyes with his sleeve, began to blubber out something about a
resolution to escape from hard usage and lack of sympathy at home by
roaming abroad into the great world never to return; and ended by
hoping that Joe would not forget him.
But it transpired that this was a request which Joe had just been
going to make of Tom, and had come to hunt him up for that purpose.
His mother had whipped him for drinking some cream which he had
never tasted and knew nothing about; it was plain that she was tired
of him and wished him to go; if she felt that way, there was nothing
for him to do but succumb; he hoped she would be happy, and never
regret having driven her poor boy out into the unfeeling world to
suffer and die.
As the two boys walked sorrowing along, they made a new compact to
stand by each other and be brothers and never separate till death
relieved them of their troubles. Then they began to lay their plans.
Joe was for being a hermit, and living on crusts in a remote cave, and
dying, some time, of cold, and want, and grief; but after listening to
Tom, he conceded that there were some conspicuous advantages about a
life of crime, and so he consented to be a pirate.
Three miles below St. Petersburg, at a point where the Mississippi
river was a trifle over a mile wide, there was a long, narrow,
wooded island, with a shallow bar at the head of it, and this
offered well as a rendezvous. It was not inhabited; it lay far over
toward the further shore, abreast a dense and almost wholly
unpeopled forest. So Jackson's Island was chosen. Who were to be the
subjects of their piracies, was a matter that did not occur to them.
Then they hunted up Huckleberry Finn, and he joined them promptly, for
all careers were one to him; he was indifferent. They presently
separated to meet at a lonely spot on the river bank two miles above
the village at the favorite hour- which was midnight. There was a
small log raft there which they meant to capture. Each would bring
hooks and lines, and such provision as he could steal in the most dark
and mysterious way- as became outlaws. And before the afternoon was
done, they had all managed to enjoy the sweet glory of spreading the
fact that pretty soon the town would "hear something." All who got
this vague hint were cautioned to "be mum and wait."
About midnight Tom arrived with a boiled ham and a few trifles,
and stopped in a dense undergrowth on a small bluff overlooking the
meeting-place. It was starlight, and very still. The mighty river
lay like an ocean at rest. Tom listened a moment, but no sound
disturbed the quiet. Then he gave a low, distinct whistle. It was
answered from under the bluff. Tom whistled twice more; these
signals were answered in the same way. Then a guarded voice said:
"Who goes there?"
"Tom Sawyer, the Black Avenger of the Spanish Main. Name your
names."
"Huck Finn the Red-Handed, and Joe Harper the Terror of the Seas."
Tom had furnished these titles, from his favorite literature.
"'Tis well. Give the countersign."
Two hoarse whispers delivered the same awful word simultaneously
to the brooding night:
"BLOOD!"
Then Tom tumbled his ham over the bluff and let himself down after
it, tearing both skin and clothes to some extent in the effort.
There was an easy, comfortable path along the shore under the bluff,
but it lacked the advantages of difficulty and danger so valued by a
pirate.
The Terror of the Seas had brought a side of bacon, and had about
worn himself out with getting it there. Finn the Red-Handed had stolen
a skillet, and a quantity of half-cured leaf tobacco, and had also
brought a few corn-cobs to make pipes with. But none of the pirates
smoked or "chewed" but himself. The Black Avenger of the Spanish
Main said it would never do to start without some fire. That was a
wise thought; matches were hardly known there in that day. They saw
a fire smouldering upon a great raft a hundred yards above, and they
went stealthily thither and helped themselves to a chunk. They made an
imposing adventure of it, saying "Hist!" every now and then and
suddenly halting with finger on lip; moving with hands on imaginary
dagger-hilts; and giving orders in dismal whispers that if "the foe"
stirred, to "let him have it to the hilt," because "dead men tell no
tales." They knew well enough that the raftsmen were all down at the
village laying in stores or having a spree, but still that was no
excuse for their conducting this thing in an unpiratical way.
They shoved off, presently, Tom in command, Huck at the after oar
and Joe at the forward. Tom stood amidships, gloomy-browed, and with
folded arms, and gave his orders in a low, stern whisper:
"Luff, and bring her to the wind!"
"Aye-aye, sir!"
"Steady, stead-y-y-y!"
"Steady it is, sir!"
"Let her go off a point!"
"Point it is, sir!"
As the boys steadily and monotonously drove the raft toward
midstream, it was no doubt understood that these orders were given
only for "style," and were not intended to mean anything in
particular.
"What sail's she carrying?"
"Courses, tops'ls and flying-jib, sir."
"Send the r'yals up! Lay out aloft, there, half a dozen of ye,-
foretopmast-stuns'l! Lively, now!"
"Aye-aye, sir!"
"Shake out that maintogalans'l! Sheets and braces! Now, my
hearties!"
"Aye-aye, sir!"
"Hellum-a-lee- hard a port! Stand by to meet her when she comes!
Port, port! Now, men! With a will! Stead-y-y-y!"
"Steady it is, sir!"
The raft drew beyond the middle of the river; the boys pointed her
head right, and then lay on their oars. The river was not high, so
there was not more than a two- or three-mile current. Hardly a word
was said during the next three-quarters of an hour. Now the raft was
passing before the distant town. Two or three glimmering lights showed
where it lay, peacefully sleeping, beyond the vague vast sweep of
star-gemmed water, unconscious of the tremendous event that was
happening. The Black Avenger stood, still with folded arms, "looking
his last" upon the scene of his former joys and his later
sufferings, and wishing "she" could see him now, abroad on the wild
sea, facing peril and death with dauntless heart, going to his doom
with a grim smile on his lips. It was but a small strain on his
imagination to remove Jackson's Island beyond eye-shot of the village,
and so he "looked his last" with a broken and satisfied heart. The
other pirates were looking their last, too; and they all looked so
long that they came near letting the current drift them out of the
range of the island. But they discovered the danger in time, and
made shift to avert it. About two o'clock in the morning the raft
grounded on the bar two hundred yards above the head of the island,
and they waded back and forth until they had landed their freight.
Part of the little rafts belongings consisted of an old sail, and this
they spread over a nook in the bushes for a tent to shelter their
provisions; but they themselves would sleep in the open air in good
weather, as became outlaws.
They built a fire against the side of a great log twenty or thirty
steps within the sombre depths of the forest, and then cooked some
bacon in the frying-pan for supper, and used up half of the corn
"pone" stock they had brought. It seemed glorious sport to be feasting
in that wild free way in the virgin forest of an unexplored and
uninhabited island, far from the haunts of men, and they said they
never would return to civilization. The climbing fire lit up their
faces and threw its ruddy glare upon the pillared tree trunks of their
forest temple, and upon the varnished foliage and festooning vines.
When the last crisp slice of bacon was gone, and the last
allowance of corn pone devoured, the boys stretched themselves out
on the grass, filled with contentment. They could have found a
cooler place, but they would not deny themselves such a romantic
feature as the roasting camp-fire.
"Ain't it gay?" said Joe.
"It's nuts!" said Tom. "What would the boys say if they could see
us?"
"Say? Well they'd just die to be here- hey Hucky?"
"I reckon so," said Huckleberry; "anyways I'm suited. I don't want
nothing better'n this. I don't ever get enough to eat, gen'ally- and
here they can't come and pick at a feller and bullyrag him so."
"It's just the life for me," said Tom. "You don't have to get up,
mornings, and you don't have to go to school, and wash, and all that
blame foolishness. You see a pirate don't have to do anything, Joe,
when he's ashore, but a hermit he has to be praying considerable,
and then he don't have any fun, anyway, all by himself that way."
"O yes, that's so," said Joe, "but I hadn't thought much about it,
you know. I'd a good deal ruther be a pirate, now that I've tried it."
"You see," said Tom, "people don't go much on hermits, now-a-days,
like they used to in old times, but a pirate's always respected. And a
hermit's got to sleep on the hardest place he can find, and put
sack-cloth and ashes on his head, and stand out in the rain, and-"
"What does he put sack-cloth and ashes on his head for?" inquired
Huck.
"I dono. But they've got to do it. Hermits always do. You'd have
to do that if you was a hermit."
"Dern'd if I would," said Huck.
"Well what would you do?"
"I dono. But I wouldn't do that."
"Why Huck, you'd have to. How'd you get around it?"
"Why I just wouldn't stand it. I'd run away."
"Run away! Well you would be a nice old slouch of a hermit. You'd be
a disgrace."
The Red-Handed made no response, being better employed. He had
finished gouging out a cob, and now he fitted a weed stem to it,
loaded it with tobacco, and was pressing a coal to the charge and
blowing a cloud of fragrant smoke- he was in the full bloom of
luxurious contentment. The other pirates envied him this majestic
vice, and secretly resolved to acquire it shortly. Presently Huck
said:
"What does pirates have to do?"
Tom said:
"O they have just a bully time- take ships, and burn them, and get
the money and bury it in awful places in their island where there's
ghosts and things to watch it, and kill everybody in the ships- make
'em walk a plank."
"And they carry the women to the island," said Joe; "they don't kill
the women."
"No," assented Tom, "they don't kill the women- they're too noble.
And the women's always beautiful, too."
"And don't they wear the bulliest clothes! Oh, no! All gold and
silver and di'monds," said Joe, with enthusiasm.
"Who?" said Huck.
"Why the pirates."
Huck scanned his own clothing forlornly.
"I reckon I ain't dressed fitten for a pirate," said he, with a
regretful pathos in his voice; "but I ain't got none but these."
But the other boys told him the fine clothes would come fast enough,
after they should have begun their adventures. They made him
understand that his poor rags would do to begin with, though it was
customary for wealthy pirates to start with a proper wardrobe.
Gradually their talk died out and drowsiness began to steal upon the
eyelids of the little waifs. The pipe dropped from the fingers of
the Red-Handed, and he slept the sleep of the conscience-free and
the weary. The Terror of the Seas and the Black Avenger of the Spanish
Main had more difficulty in getting to sleep. They said their
prayers inwardly, and lying down, since there was nobody there with
authority to make them kneel and recite aloud; in truth they had a
mind not to say them at all, but they were afraid to proceed to such
lengths as that, lest they might call down a sudden and special
thunderbolt from Heaven. Then at once they reached and hovered upon
the imminent verge of sleep- but an intruder came, now, that would not
"down." It was conscience. They began to feel a vague fear that they
had been doing wrong to run away; and next they thought of the
stolen meat, and then the real torture came. They tried to argue it
away by reminding conscience that they had purloined sweetmeats and
apples scores of times; but conscience was not to be appeased by
such thin plausibilities. It seemed to them, in the end, that there
was no getting around the stubborn fact that taking sweetmeats was
only "hooking," while taking bacon and hams and such valuables was
plain simple stealing- and there was a command against that in the
Bible. So they inwardly resolved that so long as they remained in
the business, their piracies should not again be sullied with the
crime of stealing. Then conscience granted a truce, and these
curiously inconsistent pirates fell peacefully to sleep.
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