Chapter 14
Happy Camp of the Freebooters
-
WHEN TOM AWOKE in the morning, he wondered where he was. He sat up
and rubbed his eyes and looked around. Then he comprehended. It was
the cool gray dawn, and there was a delicious sense of repose and
peace in the deep pervading calm and silence of the woods. Not a
leaf stirred; not a sound obtruded upon great Nature's meditation.
Beaded dew-drops stood upon the leaves and grasses. A white layer of
ashes covered the fire, and a thin blue breath of smoke rose
straight into the air. Joe and Huck still slept.
Now, far away in the woods a bird called; another answered;
presently the hammering of a woodpecker was heard. Gradually the
cool dim gray of the morning whitened, and as gradually sounds
multiplied and life manifested itself. The marvel of Nature shaking
off sleep and going to work unfolded itself to the musing boy. A
little green worm came crawling over a dewy leaf, lifting two-thirds
of his body into the air from time to time and "sniffing around," then
proceeding again- for he was measuring, Tom said; and when the worm
approached him, of its own accord, he sat as still as a stone, with
his hopes rising and falling, by turns, as the creature still came
toward him or seemed inclined to go elsewhere; and when at last it
considered a painful moment with its curved body in the air and then
came decisively down upon Tom's leg and began a journey over him,
his whole heart was glad- for that meant that he was going to have a
new suit of clothes- without the shadow of a doubt a gaudy piratical
uniform. Now a procession of ants appeared, from nowhere in
particular, and went about their labors; one struggled manfully by
with a dead spider five times as big as itself in its arms, and lugged
it straight up a tree-trunk. A brown spotted lady-bug climbed the
dizzy height of a grass-blade, and Tom bent down close to it and said,
"Lady-bug, lady-bug, fly away home, your house is on fire, your
children's alone," and she took wing and went off to see about it-
which did not surprise the boy, for he knew of old that this insect
was credulous about conflagrations and he had practiced upon its
simplicity more than once. A tumble-bug came next, heaving sturdily at
its ball, and Tom touched the creature, to see it shut its legs
against its body and pretend to be dead. The birds were fairly rioting
by this time. A cat-bird, the northern mocker, lit in a tree over
Tom's head, and trilled out her imitations of her neighbors in a
rapture of enjoyment; then a shrill jay swept down, a flash of blue
flame, and stopped on a twig almost within the boy's reach, cocked his
head to one side and eyed the strangers with a consuming curiosity;
a gray squirrel and a big fellow of the "fox" kind came kurrying
along, sitting up at intervals to inspect and chatter at the boys, for
the wild things had probably never seen a human being before and
scarcely knew whether to be afraid or not. All Nature was wide awake
and stirring, now; long lances of sunlight pierced down through the
dense foliage far and near, and a few butterflies came fluttering upon
the scene.
Tom stirred up the other pirates and they all clattered away with
a shout, and in a minute or two were stripped and chasing after and
tumbling over each other in the shallow limpid water of the white
sand-bar. They felt no longing for the little village sleeping in
the distance beyond the majestic waste of water. A vagrant current
or a slight rise in the river had carried off their raft, but this
only gratified them, since its going was something like burning the
bridge between them and civilization.
They came back to camp wonderfully refreshed, glad-hearted, and
ravenous; and they soon had the camp-fire blazing up again. Huck found
a spring of clear cold water close by, and the boys made cups of broad
oak or hickory leaves, and felt that water, sweetened with such a
wild-wood charm as that, would be a good enough substitute for coffee.
While Joe was slicing bacon for breakfast, Tom and Huck asked him to
hold on a minute; they stepped to a promising nook in the river bank
and threw in their lines; almost immediately they had reward. Joe
had not had time to get impatient before they were back again with
some handsome bass, a couple of sun-perch and a small catfish-
provision enough for quite a family. They fried the fish with the
bacon and were astonished; for no fish had ever seemed so delicious
before. They did not know that the quicker a fresh water fish is on
the fire after he is caught the better he is; and they reflected
little upon what a sauce open air sleeping, open air exercise,
bathing, and a large ingredient of hunger makes, too.
They lay around in the shade, after breakfast, while Huck had a
smoke, and then went off through the woods on an exploring expedition.
They tramped gaily along, over decaying logs, through tangled
underbrush, among solemn monarchs of the forest, hung from their
crowns to the ground with a drooping regalia of grape-vines. Now and
then they came upon snug nooks carpeted with grass and jeweled with
flowers.
They found plenty of things to be delighted with but nothing to be
astonished at. They discovered that the island was about three miles
long and a quarter of a mile wide, and that the shore it lay closest
to was only separated from it by a narrow channel hardly two hundred
yards wide. They took a swim about every hour, so it was close upon
the middle of the afternoon when they got back to camp. They were
too hungry to stop to fish, but they fared sumptuously upon cold
ham, and then threw themselves down in the shade to talk. But the talk
soon began to drag, and then died. The stillness, the solemnity that
brooded in the woods, and the sense of loneliness, began to tell
upon the spirits of the boys. They fell to thinking. A sort of
undefined longing crept upon them. This took dim shape, presently-
it was budding homesickness. Even Finn the Red-Handed was dreaming
of his door-steps and empty hogsheads. But they were all ashamed of
their weakness, and none was brave enough to speak his thought.
For some time, now, the boys had been dully conscious of a
peculiar sound in the distance, just as one sometimes is of the
ticking of a clock which he takes no distinct note of. But now this
mysterious sound became more pronounced, and forced a recognition. The
boys started, glanced at each other, and then each assumed a listening
attitude. There was a long silence, profound and unbroken; then a
deep, sullen boom came floating down out of the distance.
"What is it!" exclaimed Joe, under his breath.
"I wonder," said Tom in a whisper.
"'Tain't thunder," said Huckleberry, in an awed tone, "becuz
thunder-"
"Hark!" said Tom. "Listen- don't talk."
They waited a time that seemed an age, and then the same muffled
boom troubled the solemn hush.
"Let's go and see."
They sprang to their feet and hurried to the shore toward the
town. They parted the bushes on the bank and peered out over the
water. The little steam ferry boat was about a mile below the village,
drifting with the current. Her broad deck seemed crowded with
people. There were a great many skiffs rowing about or floating with
the stream in the neighborhood of the ferry boat, but the boys could
not determine what the men in them were doing. Presently a great jet
of white smoke burst from the ferry boat's side, and as it expanded
and rose in a lazy cloud, that same dull throb of sound was borne to
the listeners again.
"I know now!" exclaimed Tom; "somebody's drownded!"
"That's it!" said Huck; "they done that last summer, when Bill
Turner got drownded; they shoot a cannon over the water, and that
makes him come up to the top. Yes, and they take loaves of bread and
put quicksilver in 'em and set 'em afloat, and wherever there's
anybody that's drownded, they'll float right there and stop."
"Yes, I've heard about that," said Joe. "I wonder what makes the
bread do that."
"O it ain't the bread, so much," said Tom; "I reckon it's mostly
what they say over it before they start it out."
"But they don't say anything over it," said Huck. "I've seen 'em and
they don't."
"Well that's funny", said Tom. "But maybe they say it to themselves.
Of course they do. Anybody might know that."
The other boys agreed that there was reason in what Tom said,
because an ignorant lump of bread, uninstructed by an incantation,
could not be expected to act very intelligently when sent upon an
errand of such gravity.
"By jings I wish I was over there, now," said Joe.
"I do too," said Huck. "I'd give heaps to know who it is."
The boys still listened and watched. Presently a revealing thought
flashed through Tom's mind, and he exclaimed:
"Boys, I know who's drownded- it's us!"
They felt like heroes in an instant. Here was a gorgeous triumph;
they were missed; they were mourned; hearts were breaking on their
account; tears were being shed; accusing memories of unkindnesses to
these poor lost lads were rising up, and unavailing regrets and
remorse were being indulged; and best of all, the departed were the
talk of the whole town, and the envy of all the boys, as far as this
dazzling notoriety was concerned. This was fine. It was worth while to
be a pirate, after all.
As twilight drew on, the ferry boat went back to her accustomed
business and the skiffs disappeared. The pirates returned to camp.
They were jubilant with vanity over their new grandeur and the
illustrious trouble they were making. They caught fish, cooked
supper and ate it, and then fell to guessing at what the village was
thinking and saying about them; and the pictures they drew of the
public distress on their account were gratifying to look upon- from
their point of view. But when the shadows of night closed them in,
they gradually ceased to talk, and sat gazing into the fire, with
their minds evidently wandering elsewhere. The excitement was gone,
now, and Tom and Joe could not keep back thoughts of certain persons
at home who were not enjoying this fine frolic as much as they were.
Misgivings came; they grew troubled and unhappy; a sigh or two
escaped, unawares. By and by Joe timidly ventured upon a roundabout
"feeler" as to how the others might look upon a return to
civilization- not right now, but-
Tom withered him with derision! Huck, being uncommitted, as yet,
joined in with Tom, and the waverer quickly "explained," and was
glad to get out of the scrape with as little taint of
chicken-hearted homesickness clinging to his garments as he could.
Mutiny was effectually laid to rest for the moment.
As the night deepened, Huck began to nod, and presently to snore.
Joe followed next. Tom lay upon his elbow motionless, for some time,
watching the two intently. At last he got up cautiously, on his knees,
and went searching among the grass and the flickering reflections
flung by the camp-fire. He picked up and inspected several large
semi-cylinders of the thin white bark of a sycamore, and finally chose
two which seemed to suit him. Then he knelt by the fire and
painfully wrote something upon each of these with his "red keel;"
one he rolled up and put in his jacket pocket, and the other he put in
Joe's hat and removed it to a little distance from the owner. And he
also put into the hat certain schoolboy treasures of almost
inestimable value- among them a lump of chalk, an India rubber ball,
three fish-hooks, and one of that kind of marbles known as a "sure
'nough crystal." Then he tip-toed his way cautiously among the trees
till he felt that he was out of hearing, and straightway broke into
a keen run in the direction of the sand-bar.
CHAPTER_15
Chapter 15
Tom's Stealthy Visit Home
-
A FEW MINUTES LATER Tom was in the shoal water of the bar, wading
toward the Illinois shore. Before the depth reached his middle he
was half way over; the current would permit no more wading, now, so he
struck out confidently to swim the remaining hundred yards. He swam
quartering up stream, but still was swept downward rather faster
than he had expected. However, he reached the shore finally, and
drifted along till he found a low place and drew himself out. He put
his hand on his jacket pocket, found his piece of bark safe, and
then struck through the woods, following the shore, with streaming
garments. Shortly before ten o'clock he came out into an open place
opposite the village, and saw the ferry boat lying in the shadow of
the trees and the high bank. Everything was quiet under the blinking
stars. He crept down the bank, watching with all his eyes, slipped
into the water, swam three or four strokes and climbed into the
skiff that did "yawl" duty at the boat's stern. He laid himself down
under the thwarts and waited, panting.
Presently the cracked bell tapped and a voice gave the order to
"cast off." A minute or two later the skiff's head was standing high
up, against the boat's swell, and the voyage was begun. Tom felt happy
in his success, for he knew it was the boat's last trip for the night.
At the end of a long twelve or fifteen minutes the wheels stopped, and
Tom slipped overboard and swam ashore in the dusk, landing fifty yards
down stream, out of danger of possible stragglers.
He flew along unfrequented alleys, and shortly found himself at
his aunt's back fence. He climbed over, approached the "ell" and
looked in at the sitting-room window, for a light was burning there.
There sat Aunt Polly, Sid, Mary, and Joe Harper's mother, grouped
together, talking. They were by the bed, and the bed was between
them and the door. Tom went to the door and began to softly lift the
latch; then he pressed gently and the door yielded a crack; he
continued pushing cautiously, and quaking every time it creaked,
till he judged he might squeeze through on his knees; and so he put
his head through and began, warily.
"What makes the candle blow so?" said Aunt Polly. Tom hurried up.
"Why that door's open, I believe. Why of course it is. No end of
strange things now. Go 'long and shut it, Sid."
Tom disappeared under the bed just in time. He lay and "breathed"
himself for a time, and then crept to where he could almost touch
his aunt's foot.
"But as I was saying," said Aunt Polly, "he warn't bad, so to say-
only mischeevous. Only just giddy, and harum-scarum, you know. He
warn't any more responsible than a colt. He never meant any harm,
and he was the best-hearted boy that ever was"- and she began to cry.
"It was just so with my Joe- always full of his devilment, and up to
every kind of mischief, but he was just as unselfish and kind as he
could be- and laws bless me, to think I went and whipped him for
taking that cream, never once recollecting that I throwed it out
myself because it was sour, and I never to see him again in this
world, never, never, poor abused boy!" And Mrs. Harper sobbed as if
her heart would break.
"I hope Tom's better off where he is," said Sid, "but if he'd been
better in some ways-"
"Sid!" Tom felt the glare of the old lady's eye, though he could not
see it. "Not a word against my Tom, now that he's gone! God'll take
care of him- never you trouble yourself, sir! Oh, Mrs. Harper, I don't
know how to give him up, I don't know how to give him up! He was
such a comfort to me, although he tormented my old heart out of me,
'most."
"The Lord giveth and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name
of the Lord! But it's so hard- O, it's so hard! Only last Saturday
my Joe busted a fire-cracker right under my nose and I knocked him
sprawling. Little did I know then, how soon- O, if it was to do over
again I'd hug him and bless him for it."
"Yes, yes, yes, I know just how you feel, Mrs. Harper, I know just
exactly how you feel. No longer ago than yesterday noon, my Tom took
and filled the cat full of Pain-Killer, and I did think the cretur
would tear the house down. And God forgive me, I cracked Tom's head
with my thimble, poor boy, poor dead boy. But he's out of all his
troubles now. And the last words I ever heard him say was to
reproach-"
But this memory was too much for the old lady, and she broke
entirely down. Tom was snuffling, now, himself- and more in pity of
himself than anybody else. He could hear Mary crying, and putting in a
kindly word for him from time to time. He began to have a nobler
opinion of himself than ever before. Still he was sufficiently touched
by his aunt's grief to long to rush out from under the bed and
overwhelm her with joy- and the theatrical gorgeousness of the thing
appealed strongly to his nature, too, but he resisted and lay still.
He went on listening, and gathered by odds and ends that it was
conjectured at first that the boys had got drowned while taking a
swim; then the small raft had been missed; next, certain boys said the
missing lads had promised that the village should "hear something"
soon; the wise-heads had "put this and that together" and decided that
the lads had gone off on that raft and would turn up at the next
town below, presently; but toward noon the raft had been found, lodged
against the Missouri shore some five or six miles below the
village,- and then hope perished; they must be drowned, else hunger
would have driven them home by nightfall if not sooner. It was
believed that the search for the bodies had been a fruitless effort
merely because the drowning must have occurred in mid-channel, since
the boys, being good swimmers, would otherwise have escaped to
shore. This was Wednesday night. If the bodies continued missing until
Sunday, all hope would be given over, and the funerals would be
preached on that morning. Tom shuddered.
Mrs. Harper gave a sobbing good-night and turned to go. Then with
a mutual impulse the two bereaved women flung themselves into each
other's arms and had a good, consoling cry, and then parted. Aunt
Polly was tender far beyond her wont, in her good-night to Sid and
Mary. Sid snuffled a bit and Mary went off crying with all her heart.
Aunt Polly knelt down and prayed for Tom so touchingly, so
appealingly, and with such measureless love in her words and her old
trembling voice, that he was weltering in tears again, long before she
was through.
He had to keep still long after she went to bed, for she kept making
broken-hearted ejaculations from time to time, tossing unrestfully,
and turning over. But at last she was still, only moaning a little
in her sleep. Now the boy stole out, rose gradually by the bedside,
shaded the candle-light with his hand, and stood regarding her. His
heart was full of pity for her. He took out his sycamore scroll and
placed it by the candle. But something occurred to him, and he
lingered, considering.
His face lighted with a happy solution of his thought; he put the
bark hastily in his pocket. Then he bent over and kissed the faded
lips, and straightway made his stealthy exit, latching the door behind
him.
He threaded his way back to the ferry landing, found nobody at large
there, and walked boldly on board the boat, for he knew she was
tenantless except that there was a watchman, who always turned in
and slept like a graven image. He untied the skiff at the stern,
slipped into it, and was soon rowing cautiously up stream. When he had
pulled a mile above the village, he started quartering across and bent
himself stoutly to his work. He hit the landing on the other side
neatly, for this was a familiar bit of work to him. He was moved to
capture the skiff, arguing that it might be considered a ship and
therefore legitimate prey for a pirate, but he knew a thorough
search would be made for it and that might end in revelations. So he
stepped ashore and entered the wood.
He sat down and took a long rest, torturing himself meantime to keep
awake, and then started wearily down the home-stretch. The night was
far spent. It was broad daylight before he found himself fairly
abreast the island bar. He rested again until the sun was well up
and gilding the great river with its splendor, and then he plunged
into the stream. A little later he paused, dripping, upon the
threshold of the camp, and heard Joe say:
"No, Tom's true-blue, Huck, and he'll come back. He won't desert. He
knows that would be a disgrace to a pirate, and Tom's too proud for
that sort of thing. He's up to something or other. Now I wonder what?"
"Well, the things is ours, anyway, ain't they?"
"Pretty near, but not yet, Huck. The writing says they are if he
ain't back here to breakfast."
"Which he is!" exclaimed Tom, with fine dramatic effect, stepping
grandly into camp.
A sumptuous breakfast of bacon and fish was shortly provided, and as
the boys set to work upon it, Tom recounted (and adorned) his
adventures. They were a vain and boastful company of heroes when the
tale was done. Then Tom hid himself away in a shady nook to sleep till
noon, and the other pirates got ready to fish and explore.
CHAPTER_16
Chapter 16
First Pipes- "I've Lost My Knife"
-
AFTER DINNER all the gang turned out to hunt for turtle eggs on
the bar. They went about poking sticks into the sand, and when they
found a soft place they went down on their knees and dug with their
hands. Sometimes they would take fifty or sixty eggs out of one
hole. They were perfectly round white things a trifle smaller than
an English walnut. They had a famous fried-egg feast that night, and
another on Friday morning.
After breakfast they went whooping and prancing out on the bar,
and chased each other round and round, shedding clothes as they
went, until they were naked, and then continued the frolic far away up
the shoal water of the bar, against the stiff current, which latter
tripped their legs from under them from time to time and greatly
increased the fun. And now and then they stooped in a group and
splashed water in each other's faces with their palms, gradually
approaching each other, with averted faces to avoid the strangling
sprays and finally gripping and struggling till the best man ducked
his neighbor, and then they all went under in a tangle of white legs
and arms and came up blowing, sputtering, laughing and gasping for
breath at one and the same time.
When they were well exhausted, they would run out and sprawl on
the dry, hot sand, and lie there and cover themselves up with it,
and by and by break for the water again and go through the original
performance once more. Finally it occurred to them that their naked
skin represented flesh-colored "tights" very fairly; so they drew a
ring in the sand and had a circus- with three clowns in it, for none
would yield this proudest post to his neighbor.
Next they got their marbles and played "knucks" and "ring-taw" and
"keeps" till that amusement grew stale. Then Joe and Huck had
another swim, but Tom would not venture, because he found that in
kicking off his trousers he had kicked his string of rattlesnake
rattles off his ankle, and he wondered how he had escaped cramp so
long without the protection of this mysterious charm. He did not
venture again until he had found it, and by that time the other boys
were tired and ready to rest. They gradually wandered apart, dropped
into the "dumps," and fell to gazing longingly across the wide river
to where the village lay drowsing in the sun. Tom found himself
writing "BECKY" in the sand with his big toe; he scratched it out, and
was angry with himself for his weakness. But he wrote it again,
nevertheless; he could not help it. He erased it once more and then
took himself out of temptation by driving the other boys together
and joining them.
But Joe's spirits had gone down almost beyond resurrection. He was
so homesick that he could hardly endure the misery of it. The tears
lay very near the surface. Huck was melancholy, too. Tom was
downhearted, but tried hard not to show it. He had a secret which he
was not ready to tell, yet, but if this mutinous depression was not
broken up soon, he would have to bring it out. He said, with a great
show of cheerfulness:
"I bet there's been pirates on this island before, boys. We'll
explore it again. They've hid treasures here somewhere. How'd you feel
to light on a rotten chest full of gold and silver- hey?"
But it roused only a faint enthusiasm, which faded out, with no
reply. Tom tried one or two other seductions; but they failed, too. It
was discouraging work. Joe sat poking up the sand with a stick and
looking very gloomy. Finally he said:
"O, boys, let's give it up. I want to go home. It's so lonesome."
"O, no, Joe, you'll feel better by and by," said Tom. "Just think of
the fishing that's here."
"I don't care for fishing. I want to go home."
"But Joe, there ain't such another swimming place anywhere."
"Swimming's no good. I don't seem to care for it, somehow, when
there ain't anybody to say I shan't go in. I mean to go home."
"O, shucks! Baby! You want to see your mother, I reckon."
"Yes, I do want to see my mother- and you would too, if you had one.
I ain't any more baby than you are." And Joe snuffled a little.
"Well, we'll let the cry-baby go home to his mother, won't we
Huck? Poor thing- does it want to see its mother? And so it shall. You
like it here, don't you Huck? We'll stay, won't we?"
Huck said "Y-e-s"- without any heart in it.
"I'll never speak to you again as long as I live," said Joe, rising.
"There now!" And he moved moodily away and began to dress himself.
"Who cares!" said Tom. "Nobody wants you to. Go 'long home and get
laughed at. O, you're a nice pirate. Huck and me ain't cry-babies.
We'll stay, won't we Huck? Let him go if he wants to. I reckon we
can get along without him, per'aps."
But Tom was uneasy, nevertheless, and was alarmed to see Joe go
sullenly on with his dressing. And then it was discomforting to see
Huck eyeing Joe's preparations so wistfully, and keeping up such an
ominous silence. Presently, without a parting word, Joe began to
wade off toward the Illinois shore. Tom's heart began to sink. He
glanced at Huck. Huck could not bear the look, and dropped his eyes.
Then he said:
"I want to go, too, Tom. It was getting so lonesome anyway, and
now it'll be worse. Let's us go too, Tom."
"I won't! You can all go, if you want to. I mean to stay."
"Tom, I better go."
"Well go 'long- who's hendering you."
Huck began to pick up his scattered clothes. He said:
"Tom, I wisht you'd come too. Now you think it over. We'll wait
for you when we get to shore."
"Well you'll wait a blame long time, that's all."
Huck started sorrowfully away, and Tom stood looking after him, with
a strong desire tugging at his heart to yield his pride and go along
too. He hoped the boys would stop, but they still waded slowly on.
It suddenly dawned on Tom that it was become very lonely and still. He
made one final struggle with his pride, and then darted after his
comrades, yelling:
"Wait! Wait! I want to tell you something!"
They presently stopped and turned around. When he got to where
they were, he began unfolding his secret, and they listened moodily
till at last they saw the "point" he was driving at, and then they set
up a war-whoop of applause and said it was "splendid!" and said if
he had told them at first, they wouldn't have started away. He made
a plausible excuse; but his real reason had been the fear that not
even the secret would keep them with him any very great length of
time, and so he had meant to hold it in reserve as a last seduction.
The lads came gaily back and went at their sports again with a will,
chattering all the time about Tom's stupendous plan and admiring the
genius of it. After a dainty egg and fish dinner, Tom said he wanted
to learn to smoke, now. Joe caught at the idea and said he would
like to try, too. So Huck made pipes and filled them. These novices
had never smoked anything before but cigars made of grape-vine and
they "bit" the tongue and were not considered manly, anyway.
Now they stretched themselves out on their elbows and began to puff,
charily, and with slender confidence. The smoke had an unpleasant
taste, and they gagged a little, but Tom said:
"Why it's just as easy! If I'd a knowed this was all, I'd a learnt
long ago."
"So would I," said Joe. "It's just nothing."
"Why many a time I've looked at people smoking, and thought well I
wish I could do that; but I never thought I could," said Tom.
"That's just the way with me, hain't it Huck? You've heard me talk
just that way- haven't you Huck? I'll leave it to Huck if I haven't."
"Yes- heaps of times," said Huck.
"Well I have too," said Tom; "O, hundreds of times. Once down
there by the slaughter-house. Don't you remember, Huck? Bob Tanner was
there, and Johnny Miller, and Jeff Thatcher, when I said it. Don't you
remember Huck, 'bout me saying that?"
"Yes, that's so," said Huck. "That was the day after I lost a
white alley. No, 'twas the day before."
"There- I told you so," said Tom. "Huck recollects it."
"I bleeve I could smoke this pipe all day," said Joe. "I don't
feel sick."
"Neither do I," said Tom. "I could smoke it all day. But I bet you
Jeff Thatcher couldn't."
"Jeff Thatcher! Why he'd keel over just with two draws. Just let him
try it once. He'd see!"
"I bet he would. And Johnny Miller- I wish I could see Johnny Miller
tackle it once."
"O, don't I" said Joe, "Why I bet you Johnny Miller couldn't any
more do this than nothing. Just one little snifter would fetch him."
"'Deed it would, Joe. Say- I wish the boys could see us now."
"So do I."
"Say- boys, don't say anything about it, and some time when they're
around, I'll come up to you and say 'Joe, got a pipe? I want a smoke.'
And you'll say, kind of careless like, as if it warn't anything,
you'll say, 'Yes, I got my old pipe, and another one, but my
tobacker ain't very good.' I'll say, 'O, that's all right, if it's
strong enough.' And then you'll out with the pipes, and we'll light up
just as ca'm, and then just see 'em look!"
"By jings that'll be gay, Tom! I wish it was now!"
"So do I! And when we tell 'em we learned when we was off
pirating, won't they wish they'd been along?"
"O, I reckon not! I'll just bet they will!"
So the talk ran on. But presently it began to flag a trifle, and
grow disjointed. The silences widened; the expectoration marvelously
increased. Every pore inside the boys' cheeks became a spouting
fountain; they could scarcely bail out the cellars under their tongues
fast enough to prevent an inundation; little overflowings down their
throats occurred in spite of all they could do, and sudden retchings
followed every time. Both boys were looking very pale and miserable,
now. Joe's pipe dropped from his nerveless fingers. Tom's followed.
Both fountains were going furiously and both pumps bailing with
might and main. Joe said feebly:
"I've lost my knife. I reckon I better go and find it."
Tom said, with quivering lip and halting utterance:
"I'll help you. You go over that way and I'll hunt around by the
spring. No, you needn't come, Huck- we can find it."
So Huck sat down again, and waited an hour. Then he found it
lonesome, and went to find his comrades. They were wide apart in the
woods, both very pale, both fast asleep. But something informed him
that if they had had any trouble they had got rid of it.
They were not talkative at supper that night. They had a humble
look, and when Huck prepared his pipe after the meal and was going
to prepare theirs, they said no, they were not feeling very well-
something they ate at dinner had disagreed with them.
About midnight Joe awoke, and called the boys. There was a
brooding oppressiveness in the air that seemed to bode something.
The boys huddled themselves together and sought the friendly
companionship of the fire, though the dull dead heat of the breathless
atmosphere was stifling. They sat still, intent and waiting. The
solemn hush continued. Beyond the light of the fire everything was
swallowed up in the blackness of darkness. Presently there came a
quivering glow that vaguely revealed the foliage for a moment and then
vanished. By and by another came, a little stronger. Then another.
Then a faint moan came sighing through the branches of the forest
and the boys felt a fleeting breath upon their cheeks, and shuddered
with the fancy that the Spirit of the Night had gone by. There was a
pause. Now a weird flash turned night into day and showed every little
grass-blade, separate and distinct, that grew about their feet. And it
showed three white, startled faces, too. A deep peal of thunder went
rolling and tumbling down the heavens and lost itself in sullen
rumblings in the distance. A sweep of chilly air passed by, rustling
all the leaves and snowing the flaky ashes broadcast about the fire.
Another fierce glare lit up the forest and an instant crash followed
that seemed to rend the tree-tops right over the boys' heads. They
clung together in terror, in the thick gloom that followed. A few
big rain-drops fell pattering upon the leaves.
"Quick! boys, go for the tent!" exclaimed Tom.
They sprang away, stumbling over roots and among vines in the
dark, no two plunging in the same direction. A furious blast roared
through the trees, making everything sing as it went. One blinding
flash after another came, and peal on peal of deafening thunder. And
now a drenching rain poured down and the rising hurricane drove it
in sheets along the ground. The boys cried out to each other, but
the roaring wind and the booming thunder-blasts drowned their voices
utterly. However, one by one they straggled in at last and took
shelter under the tent, cold scared, and streaming with water; but
to have company in misery seemed something to be grateful for. They
could not talk, the old sail flapped so furiously, even if the other
noises would have allowed them. The tempest rose higher and higher,
and presently the sail tore loose from its fastenings and went winging
away on the blast. The boys seized each others' hands and fled, with
many tumblings and bruises, to the shelter of a great oak that stood
upon the river bank. Now the battle was at its highest. Under the
ceaseless conflagration of lightning that flamed in the skies,
everything below stood out in clean-cut and shadowless distinctness:
the bending trees, the billowy river, white with foam, the driving
spray of spume-flakes, the dim outlines of the high bluffs on the
other side, glimpsed through the drifting cloud-rack and the
slanting veil of rain. Every little while some giant tree yielded
the fight and fell crashing through the younger growth; and the
unflagging thunder-peals came now in ear-splitting explosive bursts,
keen and sharp, and unspeakably appalling. The storm culminated in one
matchless effort that seemed likely to tear the island to pieces, burn
it up, drown it to the tree-tops, blow it away, and deafen every
creature in it, all at one and the same moment. It was a wild night
for homeless young heads to be out in.
But at last the battle was done, and the forces retired with
weaker and weaker threatenings and grumblings, and peace resumed her
sway. The boys went back to camp, a good deal awed; but they found
there was still something to be thankful for, because the great
sycamore, the shelter of their beds, was a ruin now, blasted by the
lightnings, and they were not under it when the catastrophe happened.
Everything in camp was drenched, the camp-fire as well; for they
were but heedless lads, like their generation, and had made no
provision against rain. Here was matter for dismay, for they were
soaked through and chilled. They were eloquent in their distress;
but they presently discovered that the fire had eaten so far up
under the great log it had been built against, (where it curved upward
and separated itself from the ground,) that a hand-breadth or so of it
had escaped wetting; so they patiently wrought until, with shreds
and bark gathered from the under sides of sheltered logs, they
coaxed the fire to burn again. Then they piled on great dead boughs
till they had a roaring furnace and were glad-hearted once more.
They dried their boiled ham and had a feast, and after that they sat
by the fire and expanded and glorified their midnight adventure
until morning, for there was not a dry spot to sleep on, anywhere
around.
As the sun began to steal in upon the boys, drowsiness came over
them and they went out on the sand-bar and lay down to sleep. They got
scorched out by and by, and drearily set about getting breakfast.
After the meal they felt rusty, and stiff-jointed, and a little
homesick once more. Tom saw the signs, and fell to cheering up the
pirates as well as he could. But they cared nothing for marbles, or
circus, or swimming, or anything. He reminded them of the imposing
secret, and raised a ray of cheer. While it lasted, he got them
interested in a new device. This was to knock off being pirates, for a
while, and be Indians for a change. They were attracted by this
idea; so it was not long before they were stripped, and striped from
head to heel with black mud, like so many zebras,- all of them chiefs,
of course- and then they went tearing through the woods to attack an
English settlement.
By and by they separated into three hostile tribes, and darted
upon each other from ambush with dreadful war-whoops, and killed and
scalped each other by thousands. It was a gory day. Consequently it
was an extremely satisfactory one.
They assembled in camp toward supper time, hungry and happy; but now
a difficulty arose- hostile Indians could not break the bread of
hospitality together without first making peace, and this was a simple
impossibility without smoking a pipe of peace. There was no other
process that ever they had heard of. Two of the savages almost
wished they had remained pirates. However, there was no other way:
so with such show of cheerfulness as they could muster they called for
the pipe and took their whiff as it passed, in due form.
And behold they were glad they had gone into savagery, for they
had gained something; they found that they could now smoke a little
without having to go and hunt for a lost knife; they did not get
sick enough to be seriously uncomfortable. They were not likely to
fool away this high promise for lack of effort. No, they practiced
cautiously, after supper, with right fair success, and so they spent a
jubilant evening. They were prouder and happier in their new
acquirement than they would have been in the scalping and skinning
of the Six Nations. We will leave them to smoke and chatter and
brag, since we have no further use for them at present.
CHAPTER_17
Chapter 17
Pirates at Their Own Funeral
-
BUT THERE WAS NO hilarity in the little town that same tranquil
Saturday afternoon. The Harpers, and Aunt Polly's family, were being
put into mourning, with great grief and many tears. An unusual quiet
possessed the village, although it was ordinarily quiet enough, in all
conscience. The villagers conducted their concerns with an absent air,
and talked little; but they sighed often. The Saturday holiday
seemed a burden to the children. They had no heart in their sports,
and gradually gave them up.
In the afternoon Becky Thatcher found herself moping about the
deserted school-house yard, and feeling very melancholy. But she found
nothing there to comfort her. She soliloquised:
"O, if I only had his brass andiron-knob again! But I haven't got
anything now to remember him by." And she choked back a little sob.
Presently she stopped, and said to herself:
"It was right here. O, if it was to do over again, I wouldn't say
that- I wouldn't say it for the whole world. But he's gone now; I'll
never never never see him any more."
This thought broke her down and she wandered away, with the tears
rolling down her cheeks. Then quite a group of boys and girls,-
playmates of Tom's and Joe's- came by, and stood looking over the
paling fence and talking in reverent tones of how Tom did so-and-so,
the last time they saw him, and how Joe said this and that small
trifle (pregnant with awful prophecy, as they could easily see
now!)- and each speaker pointed out the exact spot where the lost lads
stood at the time, and then added something like "and I was a-standing
just so- just as I am now, and as if you was him- I was as close as
that- and he smiled, just this way- and then something seemed to go
all over me, like,- awful, you know- and I never thought what it
meant, of course, but I can see now!"
Then there was a dispute about who saw the dead boys last in life,
and many claimed that dismal distinction, and offered evidences,
more or less tampered with by the witness; and when it was
ultimately decided who did see the departed last, and exchanged the
last words with them, the lucky parties took upon themselves a sort of
sacred importance, and were gaped at and envied by all the rest. One
poor chap, who had no other grandeur to offer, said with tolerably
manifest pride in the remembrance:
"Well, Tom Sawyer he licked me once."
But that bid for glory was a failure. Most of the boys could say
that, and so that cheapened the distinction too much. The group
loitered away, still recalling memories of the lost heroes, in awed
voices.
When the Sunday-school hour was finished, the next morning, the bell
began to toll, instead of ringing in the usual way. It was a very
still Sabbath, and the mournful sound seemed in keeping with the
musing hush that lay upon nature. The villagers began to gather,
loitering a moment in the vestibule to converse in whispers about
the sad event. But there was no whispering in the house; only the
funereal rustling of dresses as the women gathered to their seats
disturbed the silence there. None could remember when the little
church had been so full before. There was finally a waiting pause,
an expectant dumbness, and then Aunt Polly entered, followed by Sid
and Mary, and they by the Harper family, all in deep black, and the
whole congregation, the old minister as well, rose reverently and
stood, until the mourners were seated in the front pew. There was
another communing silence, broken at intervals by muffled sobs, and
then the minister spread his hands abroad and prayed. A moving hymn
was sung, and the text followed: "I am the Resurrection, and the
Life."
As the service proceeded, the clergyman drew such pictures of the
graces, the winning ways and the rare promise of the lost lads, that
every soul there, thinking he recognized these pictures, felt a pang
in remembering that he had persistently blinded himself to them,
always before, and had as persistently seen only faults and flaws in
the poor boys. The minister related many a touching incident in the
lives of the departed, too, which illustrated their sweet, generous
natures, and the people could easily see, now, how noble and beautiful
those episodes were, and remembered with grief that at the time they
occurred they had seemed rank rascalities, well deserving of the
cowhide. The congregation became more and more moved, as the
pathetic tale went on, till at last the whole company broke down and
joined the weeping mourners in a chorus of anguished sobs, the
preacher himself giving way to his feelings, and crying in the pulpit.
There was a rustle in the gallery, which nobody noticed; a moment
later the church door creaked; the minister raised his streaming
eyes above his handkerchief, and stood transfixed! First one and
then another pair of eyes followed the minister's, and then almost
with one impulse the congregation rose and stared while the three dead
boys came marching up the aisle, Tom in the lead, Joe next, and
Huck, a ruin of drooping rags, sneaking sheepishly in the rear! They
had been hid in the unused gallery listening to their own funeral
sermon!
Aunt Polly, Mary and the Harpers threw themselves upon their
restored ones, smothered them with kisses and poured out
thanksgivings, while poor Huck stood abashed and uncomfortable, not
knowing exactly what to do or where to hide from so many unwelcoming
eyes. He wavered, and started to slink-away, but Tom seized him and
said:
"Aunt Polly, it ain't fair. Somebody's got to be glad to see Huck."
"And so they shall. I'm glad to see him, poor motherless thing!" And
the loving attentions Aunt Polly lavished upon him were the one
thing capable of making him more uncomfortable than he was before.
Suddenly the minister shouted at the top of his voice: "Praise God
from whom all blessings flow- SING!- and put your hearts in it!"
And they did. Old Hundred swelled up with a triumphant burst, and
while it shook the rafters Tom Sawyer the Pirate looked around upon
the envying juveniles about him and confessed in his heart that this
was the proudest moment of his life.
As the "sold" congregation trooped out they said they would almost
be willing to be made ridiculous again to hear Old Hundred sung like
that once more.
Tom got more cuffs and kisses that day- according to Aunt Polly's
varying moods- than he had earned before in a year; and he hardly knew
which expressed the most gratefulness to God and affection for
himself.
No comments:
Post a Comment