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Chapter 32
"Turn Out! They're Found!"
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TUESDAY AFTERNOON CAME, and waned to the twilight. The village of
St. Petersburg still mourned. The lost children had not been found.
Public prayers had been offered up for them, and many and many a
private prayer that had the petitioner's whole heart in it; but
still no good news came from the cave. The majority of the searchers
had given up the quest and gone back to their daily avocations, saying
that it was plain the children could never be found. Mrs. Thatcher was
very ill, and a great part of the time delirious. People said it was
heart-breaking to hear her call her child, and raise her head and
listen a whole minute at a time, then lay it wearily down again with a
moan. Aunt Polly had drooped into a settled melancholy, and her gray
hair had grown almost white. The village went to its rest on Tuesday
night, sad and forlorn.
Away in the middle of the night a wild peal burst from the village
bells, and in a moment the streets were swarming with frantic
half-clad people, who shouted, "Turn out! turn out! they're found!
they're found!" Tin pans and horns were added to the din, the
population massed itself and moved toward the river, met the
children coming in an open carriage drawn by shouting citizens,
thronged around it, joined its homeward march, and swept magnificently
up the main street roaring huzzah after huzzah!
The village was illuminated; nobody went to bed again; it was the
greatest night the little town had ever seen. During the first half
hour a procession of villagers filed through Judge Thatcher's house,
seized the saved ones and kissed them, squeezed Mrs. Thatcher's
hand, tried to speak but couldn't- and drifted out raining tears all
over the place.
Aunt Polly's happiness was complete, and Mrs. Thatcher's nearly
so. It would be complete, however, as soon as the messenger dispatched
with the great news to the cave should get the word to her husband.
Tom lay upon a sofa with an eager auditory about him and told the
history of the wonderful adventure, putting in many striking additions
to adorn it withal; and closed with a description of how he left Becky
and went on an exploring expedition; how he followed two avenues as
far as his kite-line would reach; how he followed a third to the
fullest stretch of the kite-line, and was about to turn back when he
glimpsed a far-off speck that looked like daylight; dropped the line
and groped toward it, pushed his head and shoulders through a small
hole and saw the broad Mississippi rolling by! And if it had only
happened to be night he would not have seen that speck of daylight and
would not have explored that passage any more! He told how he went
back for Becky and broke the good news and she told him not to fret
her with such stuff, for she was tired, and knew she was going to die,
and wanted to. He described how he labored with her and convinced her;
and how she almost died for joy when she had groped to where she
actually saw the blue speck of daylight; how he pushed his way out
at the hole and then helped her out; how they sat there and cried
for gladness; how some men came along in a skiff and Tom hailed them
and told them their situation and their famished condition; how the
men didn't believe the wild tale at first, "because," said they,
"you are five miles down the river below the valley the cave is in"-
then took them aboard, rowed to a house, gave them supper, made them
rest till two or three hours, after dark and then brought them home.
Before day-dawn, Judge Thatcher and the handful of searchers with
him were tracked out, in the cave, by the twine clues they had
strung behind them, and informed of the great news.
Three days and nights of toil and hunger in the cave were not to
be shaken off at once, as Tom and Becky soon discovered. They were
bedridden all of Wednesday and Thursday, and seemed to grow more and
more tired and worn, all the time. Tom got about, a little, on
Thursday, was downtown Friday, and nearly as whole as ever Saturday;
but Becky did not leave her room until Sunday, and then she looked
as if she had passed through a wasting illness.
Tom learned of Huck's sickness and went to see him on Friday, but
could not be admitted to the bedroom; neither could he on Saturday
or Sunday. He was admitted daily after that, but was warned to keep
still about his adventure and introduce no exciting topic. The widow
Douglas stayed by to see that he obeyed. At home Tom learned of the
Cardiff Hill event; also that the "ragged man's" body had eventually
been found in the river near the ferry landing; he had been drowned
while trying to escape, perhaps.
About a fortnight after Tom's rescue from the cave, he started off
to visit Huck, who had grown plenty strong enough, now, to hear
exciting talk, and Tom had some that would interest him, he thought.
Judge Thatcher's house was on Tom's way, and he stopped to see
Becky. The Judge and some friends set Tom to talking, and some one
asked him ironically if he wouldn't like to go to the cave again.
Tom said yes, he thought he wouldn't mind it. The judge said:
"Well, there are others just like you, Tom, I've not the least
doubt. But we have taken care of that. Nobody will get lost in that
cave any more."
"Why?"
"Because I had its big door sheathed with boiler iron two weeks ago,
and triple-locked- and I've got the keys."
Tom turned as white as a sheet.
"What's the matter, boy! Here, run, somebody! Fetch a glass of
water!"
The water was brought and thrown into Tom's face.
"Ah, now you're all right. What was the matter with you, Tom?"
"O, judge, Injun Joe's in the cave!"
CHAPTER_33
Chapter 33
The Fate of Injun Joe
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WITHIN A FEW MINUTES the news had spread, and a dozen were on
their way to McDougal's cave, at, well filled with passengers, soon
followed. Tom Sawyer was in the skiff that bore Judge Thatcher.
When the cave door was unlocked a sorrowful sight presented itself
in the dim twilight of the place. Injun Joe lay stretched upon the
ground, dead, with his face close to the crack of the door, as if
his longing eyes had been fixed, to the latest moment, upon the
light and the cheer of the free world outside. Tom was touched, for he
knew by his own experience how this wretch had suffered. His pity
was moved, but nevertheless he felt an abounding sense of relief and
security, now, which revealed to him in a degree which he had not
fully appreciated before how vast a weight of dread had been lying
upon him since the day he lifted his voice against this
bloody-minded outcast.
Injun Joe's bowie knife lay close by, its blade broken in two. The
great foundation-beam of the door had been chipped and hacked through,
with tedious labor; useless labor, too, it was, for the native rock
formed a sill outside it, and upon that stubborn material the knife
had wrought no effect; the only damage done was to the knife itself.
But if there had been no stony obstruction there the labor would
have been useless still, for if the beam had been wholly cut away
Injun joe could not have squeezed his body under the door, and he knew
it. So he had only hacked that place in order to be doing something-
in order to pass the weary time- in order to employ his tortured
faculties. Ordinarily one could find half a dozen bits of candle stuck
around in the crevices of this vestibule, left there by tourists;
but there were none now. The prisoner had searched them out and
eaten them. He had also contrived to catch a few bats, and these,
also, he had eaten, leaving only their claws. The poor unfortunate had
starved to death. In one place near at hand, a stalagmite had been
slowly growing up from the ground for ages, builded by the
water-drip from a stalactite overhead. The captive had broken off
the stalagmite, and upon the stump had placed a stone, wherein he
had scooped a shallow hollow to catch the precious drop that fell once
in every three minutes with the dreary regularity of a clock-tick- a
dessert spoonful once in four and twenty hours. That drop was
falling when the Pyramids were new; when Troy fell; when the
foundations of Rome were laid; when Christ was crucified; when the
Conqueror created the British empire; when Columbus sailed; when the
massacre at Lexington was "news." It is falling now; it will still
be falling when all these things shall have sunk down the afternoon of
history, and the twilight of history, and the twilight of tradition,
and been swallowed up in the thick night of oblivion. Has everything a
purpose and a mission? Did this drop fall patiently during five
thousand years to be ready for this flitting human insect's need?
and has it another important object to accomplish ten thousand years
to come? No matter. It is many and many a year since the hapless
half-breed scooped out the stone to catch the priceless drops, but
to this day the tourist stares longest at that pathetic stone and that
slow dropping water when he comes to see the wonders of McDougal's
cave. Injun Joe's Cup stands first in the list of the cavern's
marvels; even "Aladdin's Palace" cannot rival it.
Injun Joe was buried near the mouth of the cave; and people
flocked there in boats and wagons from the towns and from all the
farms and hamlets for seven miles around; they brought their children,
and all sorts of provisions, and confessed that they had had almost as
satisfactory a time at the funeral as they could have had at the
hanging.
This funeral stopped the further growth of one thing- the petition
to the Governor for Injun Joe's pardon. The petition had been
largely signed; many tearful and eloquent meetings had been held,
and a committee of sappy women been appointed to go in deep mourning
and wail around the governor and implore him to be a merciful ass
and trample his duty under foot. Injun Joe was believed to have killed
five citizens of the village, but what of that? If he had been Satan
himself there would have been plenty of weaklings ready to scribble
their names to a pardon-petition, and drip a tear on it from their
permanently impaired and leaky water-works.
The morning after the funeral Tom took Huck to a private place to
have an important talk. Huck had learned all about Tom's adventure
from the Welchman and the widow Douglas, by this time, but Tom said he
reckoned there was one thing they had not told him; that thing was
what he wanted to talk about now. Huck's face saddened. He said:
"I know what it is. You got into No. 2 and never found anything
but whisky. Nobody told me it was you; but I just knowed it must 'a'
ben you, soon as I heard 'bout that whisky business; and I knowed
you hadn't got the money becuz you'd 'a' got at me some way or other
and told me even if you was mum to everybody else. Tom, something's
always told me we'd never get holt of that swag."
"Why Huck, I never told on that tavern-keeper. You know his You know
his tavern was all right the Saturday I went to the picnic. Don't
you remember you was to watch there that night?"
"O, yes! Why it seems 'bout a year ago. It was that very night
that I follered Injun Joe to the widder's."
"You followed him?"
"Yes- but you keep mum. I reckon Injun Joe's left friends behind
him, and I don't want souring on me and doing me mean tricks. If it
hadn't ben for me he'd be down in Texas now, all right."
Then Huck told his entire adventure in confidence to Tom, who had
only heard of the Welchman's part of it before.
"Well," said Huck, presently, coming back to the main question,
"whoever nipped the whisky in No. 2, nipped the money too, I reckon-
anyways it's a goner for us, Tom."
"Huck, that money wasn't ever in No. 2!"
"What!" Huck searched his comrade's face keenly. "Tom, have you
got on the track of that money again?"
"Huck, it's in the cave!"
Huck's eyes blazed.
"Say it again, Tom!"
"The money's in the cave!"
"Tom,- honest injun, now- is it fun, or earnest?"
"Earnest, Huck- just as earnest as ever I was in my life. Will you
go in there with me and help get it out?"
"I bet I will! I will if it's where we can blaze our way to it and
not get lost."
"Huck, we can do that without the least little bit of trouble in the
world."
"Good as wheat! What makes you think the money's-"
"Huck, you just wait till we get in there. If we don't find it
I'll agree to give you my drum and everything I've got in the world. I
will, by jings."
"All right- it's a whiz. When do you say?"
"Right now, if you say it. Are you strong enough?"
"Is it far in the cave? I ben on my pins a little, three or four
days, now, but I can't walk more'n a mile, Tom- least I don't think
I could."
"It's about five mile into there the way anybody but me would go,
Huck, but there's a mighty short cut that they don't anybody but me
know about. Huck, I'll take you right to it in a skiff. I'll float the
skiff down there, and I'll pull it back again all by myself. You
needn't ever turn your hand over."
"Less start right off, Tom."
"All right. We want some bread and meat, and our pipes, and a little
bag or two, and two or three kite-strings, and some of these
newfangled things they call lucifer matches. I tell you many's the
time I wished I had some when I was in there before."
A trifle after noon the boys borrowed a small skiff from a citizen
who was absent, and got under way at once. When they were several
miles below "Cave Hollow," Tom said:
"Now you see this bluff here looks all alike all the way down from
the cave hollow- no houses, no wood-yards, bushes all alike. But do
you see that white place up yonder where there's been a landslide?
Well that's one of my marks. We'll get ashore, now."
They landed.
"Now Huck, where we're a-standing you could touch that hole I got
out of with a fishing-pole. See if you can find it."
Huck searched all the place about, and found nothing. Tom proudly
marched into a thick clump of sumach bushes and said-
"Here you are! Look at it, Huck; it's the snuggest hole in this
country. You just keep mum about it. All along I've been wanting to be
a robber, but I knew I'd got to have a thing like this, and where to
run across it was the bother. We've got it now, and we'll keep it
quiet, only we'll let Joe Harper and Ben Rogers in- because of
course there's got to be a Gang, or else there wouldn't be any style
about it. Tom Sawyer's Gang- it sounds splendid, don't it, Huck?"
"Well it just does, Tom. And who'll we rob?"
"O, most anybody. Waylay people- that's mostly the way."
"And kill them?"
"No- not always. Hide them in the cave till they raise a ransom."
"What's a ransom?"
"Money. You make them raise all they can, off'n their friends; and
after you've kept them a year, if it ain't raised then you kill
them. That's the general way. Only you don't kill the women. You
shut up the women, but you don't kill them. They're always beautiful
and rich, and awfully scared. You take their watches and things, but
you always take your hat off and talk polite. They ain't anybody as
polite as robbers- you'll see that in any book. Well the women get
to loving you, and after they've been in the cave a week or two
weeks they stop crying and after that you couldn't get them to
leave. If you drove them out they'd turn right around and come back.
It's so in all the books."
"Why it's real bully, Tom. I b'lieve it's better'n to be a pirate."
"Yes, it's better in some ways, because it's close to home and
circuses and all that."
By this time everything was ready and the boys entered the hole, Tom
in the lead. They toiled their way to the farther end of the tunnel,
then made their spliced kite-strings fast and moved on. A few steps
brought them to the spring and Tom felt a shudder quiver all through
him. He showed Huck the fragment of candle-wick perched on a lump of
clay against the wall, and described how he and Becky had watched
the flame struggle and expire.
The boys began to quiet down to whispers, now, for the stillness and
gloom of the place oppressed their spirits. They went on, and
presently entered and followed Tom's other corridor until they reached
the "jumping-off place." The candles revealed the fact that it was not
really a precipice, but only a steep clay hill twenty or thirty feet
high. Tom whispered-
"Now I'll show you something, Huck."
He held his candle aloft and said-
"Look as far around the corner as you can. Do you see that? There-
on the big rock over yonder- done with candle smoke."
"Tom, it's a cross!"
"Now where's your Number Two? 'Under the cross,' hey? Right yonder's
where I saw Injun joe poke up his candle, Huck!"
Huck stared at the mystic sign a while, and then said with a shaky
voice-
"Tom, less git out of here!"
"What! and leave the treasure?"
"Yes- leave it. Injun Joe's ghost is round about there, certain."
"No it ain't, Huck, no it ain't. It would ha'nt the place where he
died- away out at the mouth of the cave- five mile from here."
"No, Tom, it wouldn't. It would hang round the money. I know the
ways of ghosts, and so do you."
Tom began to fear that Huck was right. Misgivings gathered in his
mind. But presently an idea occurred to him-
"Looky-here Huck, what fools we're making of ourselves! Injun
Joe's ghost ain't a-going to come around where there's a cross!"
The point was well taken. It had its effect.
"Tom I didn't think of that. But that's so. It's luck for us, that
cross is. I reckon we'll climb down there and have a hunt for that
box."
Tom went first, cutting rude steps in the clay hill as he descended.
Huck followed. Four avenues opened out of the small cavern which the
great rock stood in. The boys examined three of them with no result.
They found a small recess in the one nearest the base of the rock,
with a pallet of blankets spread down in it; also an old suspender,
some bacon rind, and the well gnawed bones of two or three fowls.
But there was no money box. The lads searched and re-searched this
place, but in vain. Tom said:
"He said under the cross. Well, this comes nearest to being under
the cross. It can't be under the rock itself, because that sets
solid on the ground."
They searched everywhere once more, and then sat down discouraged.
Huck could suggest nothing. By and by Tom said:
"Looky-here, Huck, there's foot-prints and some candle grease on the
clay about one side of this rock, but not on the other sides. Now
what's that for? I bet you the money is under the rock. I'm going to
dig in the clay."
"That ain't no bad notion, Tom!" said Huck with animation.
Tom's "real Barlow" was out at once, and he had not dug four
inches before he struck wood.
"Hey, Huck!- you hear that?"
Huck began to dig and scratch now. Some boards were soon uncovered
and removed. They had concealed a natural chasm which led under the
rock. Tom got into this and held his candle as far under the rock as
he could, but said he could not see to the end of the rift. He
proposed to explore. He stooped and passed under; the narrow way
descended gradually. He followed its winding course, first to the
right, then to the left, Huck at his heels. Tom turned a short
curve, by and by, and exclaimed-
"My goodness, Huck, looky-here!"
It was the treasure box, sure enough, occupying a snug little
cavern, along with an empty powder keg, a couple of guns in leather
cases, two or three pairs of old moccasins, a leather belt, and some
other rubbish well soaked with the water-drip.
"Got it at last!" said Huck, plowing among the tarnished coins
with his hand. "My, but we're rich, Tom!"
"Huck, I always reckoned we'd get it. It's just too good to believe,
but we have got it, sure! Say- let's not fool around here. Let's snake
it out. Lemme see if I can lift the box."
It weighed about fifty pounds. Tom could lift it, after an awkward
fashion, but could not carry it conveniently.
"I thought so," he said; "they carried it like it was heavy, that
day at the ha'nted house. I noticed that. I reckon I was right to
think of fetching the little bags along."
The money was soon in the bags and the boys took it up to the
cross-rock.
"Now less fetch the guns and things," said Huck.
"No, Huck- leave them there. They're just the tricks to have when we
go to robbing. We'll keep them there all the time, and we'll hold
our orgies there, too. It's an awful snug place for orgies."
"What's orgies?"
"I dono. But robbers always have orgies, and of course we've got
to have them, too. Come along, Huck, we've been in here a long time.
It's getting late, I reckon. I'm hungry, too. We'll eat and smoke when
we get to the skiff."
They presently emerged into the clump of sumach bushes, looked
warily out, found the coast clear, and were soon lunching and
smoking in the skiff. As the sun dipped toward the horizon they pushed
out and got under way. Tom skimmed up the shore through the long
twilight, chatting cheerily with Huck, and landed shortly after dark.
"Now Huck," said Tom, "we'll hide the money in the loft of the
widow's wood-shed, and I'll come up in the morning and we'll count
it and divide, and then we'll hunt up a place out in the woods for
it where it will be safe. Just you lay quiet here and watch the
stuff till I run and hook Benny Taylor's little wagon; I won't be gone
a minute."
He disappeared, and presently returned with the wagon, put the two
small sacks into it, threw some old rags on top of them, and started
off, dragging his cargo behind him. When the boys reached the
Welchman's house, they stopped to rest. Just as they were about to
move on, the Welchman stepped out and said:
"Hallo, who's that?"
"Huck and Tom Sawyer."
"Good! Come along with me, boys, you keeping everybody waiting.
Here- hurry up, trot ahead- I'll haul the wagon for you. Why, it's not
as light as it might be. Got bricks in it?- or old metal?"
"Old metal," said Tom.
"I judged so; the boys in this town will take more trouble and
fool away more time, hunting up six bits' worth of old iron to sell to
the foundry than they would to make twice the money at regular work.
But that's human nature- hurry along, hurry along!"
The boys wanted to know what the hurry was about.
"Never mind; you'll see, when we get to the Widow Douglas's."
Huck said with some apprehension- for he was long used to being
falsely accused-
"Mr. Jones, we haven't been doing nothing."
The Welchman laughed.
"Well, I don't know, Huck, my boy. I don't know about that. Ain't
you and the widow good friends?"
"Yes. Well, she's ben good friends to me, any ways."
"All right, then. What do you want to be afraid for?"
This question was not entirely answered in Huck's slow mind before
he found himself pushed, along with Tom, into Mrs. Douglas's
drawing-room. Mr. Jones left the wagon near the door and followed.
The place was grandly lighted, and everybody that was of any
consequence in the village was there. The Thatchers were there, the
Harpers, the Rogerses, Aunt Polly, Sid, Mary, the minister, the
editor, and a great many more, and all dressed in their best. The
widow received the boys as heartily as any one could well receive
two such looking beings. They were covered with clay and candle
grease. Aunt Polly blushed crimson with humiliation, and frowned and
shook her head at Tom. Nobody suffered half as much as the two boys
did, however. Mr. Jones said:
"Tom wasn't at home, yet, so I gave him up; but I stumbled on him
and Huck right at my door, and so I just brought them along in a
hurry."
"And you did just right," said the widow:- "Come with me, boys."
She took them to a bed chamber and said:
"Now wash and dress yourselves. Here are two new suits of clothes-
shirts, socks, everything complete. They're Huck's- no, no thanks,
Huck- Mr. Jones bought one and I the other. But they'll fit both of
you. Get into them. We'll wait- come down when you are slicked up
enough."
Then she left.
CHAPTER_34
Chapter 34
Floods of Gold
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HUCK SAID:
"Tom, we can slope, if we can find a rope. The window ain't high
from the ground."
"Shucks, what do you want to slope for?"
"Well I ain't used to that kind of a crowd. I can't stand it. I
ain't going down there, Tom."
"O, bother! It ain't anything. I don't mind it a bit. I'll take care
of you."
Sid appeared.
"Tom," said he, "Auntie has been waiting for you all the
afternoon. Mary got your Sunday clothes ready, and everybody's been
fretting about you. Say- ain't this grease and clay, on your clothes?"
"Now Mr. Siddy, you just 'tend to your own business. What's all this
blow-out about, anyway?"
"It's one of the widow's parties that she's always having. This time
it's for the Welchman and his sons, on account of that scrape they
helped her out of the other night. And say- I can tell you something,
if you want to know."
"Well, what?"
"Why old Mr. Jones is going to try to spring something on the people
here to-night, but I overheard him tell auntie to-day about it, as a
secret, but I reckon it's not much of a secret now. Everybody knows-
the widow, too, for all she tries to let on she don't. Oh, Mr. Jones
was bound Huck should be here- couldn't get along with his grand
secret without Huck, you know!"
"Secret about what, Sid?"
"About Huck tracking the robbers to the widow's. I reckon Mr.
Jones was going to make a grand time over his surprise, but I bet
you it will drop pretty flat."
Sid chuckled in a very contented and satisfied way.
"Sid, was it you that told?"
"O, never mind who it was. Somebody told- that's enough."
"Sid, there's only one person in this town mean enough to do that,
and that's you. If you had been in Huck's place you'd 'a' sneaked down
the hill and never told anybody on the robbers. You can't do any but
mean things, and you can't bear to see anybody praised for doing
good ones. There- no thanks, as the widow says"- and Tom cuffed
Sid's ears and helped him to the door with several kicks. "Now go
and tell auntie if you dare- and to-morrow you'll catch it!"
Some minutes later the widow's guests were at the supper table,
and a dozen children were propped up at little side tables in the same
room, after the fashion of that country and that day. At the proper
time Mr. Jones made his little speech, in which he thanked the widow
for the honor she was doing himself and his sons, but said that
there was another person whose modesty-
And so forth and so on. He sprung his secret about Huck's share in
the adventure in the finest dramatic manner he was master of, but
the surprise it occasioned was largely counterfeit and not as
clamorous and effusive as it might have been under happier
circumstances. However, the widow made a pretty fair show of
astonishment, and heaped so many compliments and so much gratitude
upon Huck that he almost forgot the nearly intolerable discomfort of
his new clothes in the entirely intolerable discomfort of being set up
as a target for everybody's gaze and everybody's laudations.
The widow said she meant to give Huck a home under her roof and have
him educated; and that when she could spare the money she would
start him in business in a modest way. Tom's chance was come. He said:
"Huck don't need it. Huck's rich!"
Nothing but a heavy strain upon the good manners of the company kept
back the due and proper complimentary laugh at this pleasant joke. But
the silence was a little awkward. Tom broke it-
"Huck's got money. Maybe you don't believe it, but he's got lots
of it. O, you needn't smile- I reckon I can show you. You just wait
a minute."
Tom ran out of doors. The company looked at each other with a
perplexed interest- and inquiringly at Huck, who was tongue-tied.
"Sid, what ails Tom?" said Aunt Polly. "He- well, there ain't ever
any making of that boy out. I never-"
Tom entered, struggling with the weight of his sacks, and Aunt Polly
did not finish her sentence. Tom poured the mass of yellow coin upon
the table and said-
"There- what did I tell you? Half of it's Huck's and half of it's
mine!"
The spectacle took the general breath away. All gazed, nobody
spoke for a moment. Then there was a unanimous call for an
explanation. Tom said he could furnish it, and he did. The tale was
long, but brim full of interest. There was scarcely an interruption
from anyone to break the charm of its flow. When he had finished,
Mr. Jones said-
"I thought I had fixed up a little surprise for this occasion, but
it don't amount to anything now. This one makes it sing mighty
small, I'm willing to allow."
The money was counted. The sum amounted to a little over twelve
thousand dollars. It was more than any one present had ever seen at
one time before, though several persons were there who were worth
considerably more than that in property.
CHAPTER_35
Chapter 35
Respectable Huck Joins the Gang
-
THE READER MAY REST SATISFIED that Tom's and Huck's windfall made
a mighty stir in the poor little village of St. Petersburg. So vast
a sum, all in actual cash, seemed next to incredible. It was talked
about, gloated over, glorified, until the reason of many of the
citizens tottered under the strain of the unhealthy excitement.
Every "haunted" house in St. Petersburg and the neighboring villages
was dissected, plank by plank, and its foundations dug up and
ransacked for hidden treasure- and not by boys, but men- pretty grave,
unromantic men, too, some of them. Wherever Tom and Huck appeared they
were courted, admired, stared at. The boys were not able to remember
that their remarks had possessed weight before; but now their
sayings were treasured and repeated; everything they did seemed
somehow to be regarded as remarkable; they had evidently lost the
power of doing and saying commonplace things; moreover, their past
history was raked up and discovered to bear marks of conspicuous
originality. The village paper published biographical sketches of
the boys.
The widow Douglas put Huck's money out at six per cent, and Judge
Thatcher did the same with Tom's at Aunt Polly's request. Each lad had
an income, now, that was simply prodigious- a dollar for every
week-day in the year and half of the Sundays. It was just what the
minister got- no, it was what he was promised- he generally couldn't
collect it. A dollar and a quarter a week would board, lodge and
school a boy in those old simple days- and clothe him and wash him,
too, for that matter.
Judge Thatcher had conceived a great opinion of Tom. He said that no
commonplace boy would ever have got his daughter out of the cave. When
Becky told her father, in strict confidence, how Tom had taken her
whipping at school, the Judge was visibly moved; and when she
pleaded grace for the mighty lie which Tom had told in order to
shift that whipping from her shoulders to his own, the Judge said with
a fine outburst that it was a noble, a generous, a magnanimous lie-
a lie that was worthy to hold up its head and march down through
history breast to breast with George Washington's lauded Truth about
the hatchet! Becky thought her father had never looked so tall and
so superb as when he walked the floor and stamped his foot and said
that. She went straight off and told Tom about it.
Judge Thatcher hoped to see Tom a great lawyer or a great soldier
some day. He said he meant to look to it that Tom should be admitted
to the National Military Academy and afterwards trained in the best
law school in the country, in order that he might be ready for
either career or both.
Huck Finn's wealth and the fact that he was now under the widow
Douglas's protection, introduced him into society- no, dragged him
into it, hurled him into it- and his sufferings were almost more
then he could bear. The widow's servants kept him clean and neat,
combed and brushed, and they bedded him nightly in unsympathetic
sheets that had not one little spot or stain which he could press to
his heart and know for a friend. He had to eat with knife and fork; he
had to use napkin, cup and plate; he had to learn his book, he had
to go to church; he had to talk so properly that speech was become
insipid in his mouth; whithersoever he turned, the bars and shackles
of civilization shut him in and bound him hand and foot.
He bravely bore his miseries three weeks, and then one day turned up
missing. For forty-eight hours the widow hunted for him everywhere
in great distress. The public were profoundly concerned; they searched
high and low, they dragged the river for his body. Early the third
morning Tom Sawyer wisely went poking among some old empty hogsheads
down behind the abandoned slaughter-house, and in one of them he found
the refugee. Huck had slept there; he had just breakfasted upon some
stolen odds and ends of food, and was lying off, now, in comfort
with his pipe. He was unkempt, uncombed, and clad in the same old ruin
of rags that had made him picturesque in the days when he was free and
happy. Tom routed him out, told him the trouble he had been causing,
and urged him to go home. Huck's face lost its tranquil content, and
took a melancholy cast. He said:
"Don't talk about it, Tom. I've tried it, and it don't work; it
don't work, Tom. It ain't for me; I ain't used to it. The widder's
good to me, and friendly; but I can't stand them ways. She makes me
git up just at the same time every morning; she makes me wash, they
comb me all to thunder; she won't let me sleep in the wood-shed; I got
to wear them blamed clothes that just smothers me, Tom; they don't
seem to any air git through 'em, somehow; and they're so rotten nice
that I can't set down, nor lay down, nor roll around anywher's; I
hain't slid on a cellar-door for- well, it 'pears to be years; I got
to go to church and sweat and sweat- I hate them ornery sermons! I
can't ketch a fly in there, I can't chaw, I got to wear shoes all
Sunday. The widder eats by a bell; she goes to bed by a bell; she gits
up by a bell- everything's so awful reg'lar a body can't stand it."
"Well, everybody does that way, Huck."
"Tom, it don't make no difference. I ain't everybody, and I can't
stand it. It's awful to be tied up so. And grub comes too easy- I
don't take no interest in vittles, that way. I got to ask, to go
a-fishing; I got to ask, to go in a-swimming- dern'd if I hain't got
to ask to do everything. Well, I'd got to talk so nice it wasn't no
comfort- I'd got to go up in the attic and rip out a while, every day,
to git a taste in my mouth, or I'd a died, Tom. The widder wouldn't
let me smoke; she wouldn't let me yell, she wouldn't let me gape,
nor stretch, nor scratch, before folks-" [Then with a spasm of special
irritation and injury],- "And dad fetch it, she prayed all the time! I
never see such a woman! I had to shove, Tom- I just had to. And
besides, that school's going to open, and I'd a had to go to it- well,
I wouldn't stand that, Tom. Looky-here, Tom, being rich ain't what
it's cracked up to be. It's just worry and worry, and sweat and sweat,
and a-wishing you was dead all the time. Now these clothes suits me,
and this bar'l suits me, and I ain't ever going to shake 'em any more.
Tom, I wouldn't ever got into all this trouble if it hadn't 'a' ben
for that money; now you just take my sheer of it along with your'n,
and gimme a ten-center sometimes- not many times, becuz I don't give a
dem for a thing 'thout it's tollable hard to git- and you go and beg
off for me with the widder."
"O, Huck, you know I can't do that. 'Tain't fair; and besides if
you'll try this thing just a while longer you'll come to like it."
"Like it! Yes- the way I'd like a hot stove if I was to set on it
long enough. No, Tom, I won't be rich, and I won't live in them cussed
smothery houses. I like the woods, and the river, and hogsheads, and
I'll stick to 'em, too. Blame it all! just as we'd got guns, and a
cave, and all just fixed to rob, here this dem foolishness has got
to come up and spile it all!"
Tom saw his opportunity-
"Looky-here, Huck, being rich ain't going to keep me back from
turning robber."
"No! O, good-licks, are you in real dead-wood earnest, Tom?"
"Just as dead earnest as I'm a-sitting here. But Huck, we can't
let you into the gang if you ain't respectable, you know."
Huck's joy was quenched.
"Can't let me in, Tom? Didn't you let me go for a pirate?"
"Yes, but that's different. A robber is more high-toned than what
a pirate is- as a general thing. In most countries they're awful
high up in the nobility- dukes and such."
"Now Tom, hain't you always ben friendly to me? You wouldn't shet me
out, would you, Tom? You wouldn't do that, now, would you, Tom?"
"Huck, I wouldn't want to, and I don't want to- but what would
people say? Why they'd say, 'Mph! Tom Sawyer's Gang! pretty low
characters in it!' They'd mean you, Huck. You wouldn't like that,
and I wouldn't."
Huck was silent for some time, engaged in a mental struggle. Finally
he said:
"Well, I'll go back to the widder for a month and tackle it and
see if I can come to stand it, if you'll let me b'long to the gang,
Tom."
"All right, Huck, it's a whiz! Come along, old chap, and I'll ask
the widow to let up on you a little, Huck."
"Will you Tom- now will you? That's good. If she'll let up on some
of the roughest things, I'll smoke private and cuss private, and crowd
through or bust. When you going to start the gang and turn robbers?"
"O, right off. We'll get the boys together and have the initiation
to-night, maybe."
"Have the which?"
"Have the initiation."
"What's that?"
"It's to swear to stand by one another, and never tell the gang's
secrets, even if you're chopped all to flinders, and kill anybody
and all his family that hurts one of the gang."
"That's gay- that's mighty gay, Tom, I tell you."
"Well I bet it is. And all that swearing's got to be done at
midnight, in the lonesomest, awfulest place you can find- a ha'nted
house is the best, but they're all ripped up now."
"Well, midnight's good, anyway, Tom."
"Yes, so it is. And you've got to swear on a coffin, and sign it
with blood."
"Now that's something like! Why it's a million times bullier than
pirating. I'll stick to the widder till I rot, Tom; and if I git to be
a reg'lar ripper of a robber, and everybody talking 'bout it, I reckon
she'll be proud she snaked me in out of the wet."
CONCLUSION
Conclusion.
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SO ENDETH THIS CHRONICLE. It being strictly a history of a boy, it
must stop here; the story could not go much further without becoming
the history of a man. When one writes a novel about grown people, he
knows exactly where to stop- that is, with a marriage; but when he
writes of juveniles, he must stop where he best can.
Most of the characters that perform in this book still live, and are
prosperous and happy. Some day it may seem worth while to take up
the story of the younger ones again and see what sort of men and women
they turned out to be; therefore it will be wisest not to reveal any
of that part of their lives at present.
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THE END
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