CHAPTER TWENTY
-
They asked us considerable many questions; wanted to know what we
covered up the raft that way for, and laid by in the day-time
instead of running- was Jim a runaway nigger? Says I-
"Goodness sakes, would a runaway nigger run south?"
No, they allowed he wouldn't. I had to account for things some way,
so I says:
"My folks was living in Pike County, in Missouri, where I was
born, and they all died off but me and pa and my brother Ike. Pa, he
'lowed he'd break up and go down and live with Uncle Ben, who's got
a little one-horse place on the river, forty-four mile below
Orleans. Pa was pretty poor, and had some debts; so when he'd
squared up there warn't nothing left but sixteen dollars and our
nigger, Jim. That warn't enough to take us fourteen hundred mile, deck
passage nor no other way. Well, when the river rose, pa had a streak
of luck one day; he ketched this piece of a raft; so we reckoned
we'd go down to Orleans on it. Pa's luck didn't hold out; a
steamboat run over the forrard corner of the raft, one night, and we
all went overboard and dove under the wheel; Jim and me come up, all
right, but pa was drunk, and Ike was only four years old, so they
never come up no more. Well, for the next day or two we had
considerable trouble, because people was always coming out in skiffs
and trying to take Jim away from me, saying they believed he was a
runaway nigger. We don't run day-times no more, now; nights they don't
bother us."
The duke says-
"Leave me alone to cipher out a way so we can run in the day-time if
we want to. I'll think the thing over- I'll invent a plan that'll
fix it. We'll let it alone for to-day, because of course we don't want
to go by that town yonder in daylight- it mightn't be healthy."
Towards night it begun to darken up and look like rain; the heat
lightning was squirting around, low down in the sky, and the leaves
was beginning to shiver- it was going to be pretty ugly, it was easy
to see that. So the duke and the king went to overhauling our
wigwam, to see what the beds was like. My bed was a straw tick- better
than Jim's, which was a corn-shuck tick; there's always cobs around
about in a shuck tick, and they poke into you and hurt; and when you
roll over, the dry shucks sound like you was rolling over in a pile of
dead leaves; it makes such a rustling that you wake up. Well, the duke
allowed he would take my bed; but the king allowed he wouldn't. He
says-
"I should a reckoned the difference in rank would a sejested to
you that a corn-shuck bed warn't just fitten for me to sleep on.
Your Grace'll take the shuck bed yourself."
Jim and me was in a sweat again, for a minute, being afraid there
was going to be some more trouble amongst them; so we was pretty
glad when the duke says-
"'Tis my fate to be always ground into the mire under the iron heel
of oppression. Misfortune has broken my once haughty spirit; I
yield, I submit; 'tis my fate. I am alone in the world- let me suffer;
I can bear it."
We got away as soon as it was good and dark. The king told us to
stand well out towards the middle of the river, and not show a light
till we got a long ways below the town. We come in sight of the little
bunch of lights by-and-by- that was the town, you know- and slid by,
about a half a mile out, all right. When we was three-quarters of a
mile below, we hoisted up our signal lantern; and about ten o'clock it
come on to rain and blow and thunder and lighten like everything; so
the king told us to both stay on watch till the weather got better;
then him and the duke crawled into the wigwam and turned in for the
night. It was my watch below, till twelve, but I wouldn't a turned in,
anyway, if I'd had a bed; because a body don't see such a storm as
that every night in the week, not by a long sight. My souls, how the
wind did scream along! And every second or two there'd come a glare
that lit up the white-caps for a half a mile around, and you'd see the
islands looking dusty through the rain, and the trees thrashing around
in the wind; then comes a h-wack!- bum! bum!
bumble-umble-um-bum-bum-bum-bum- and the thunder would go rumbling and
grumbling away, and quit- and then rip comes another flash and another
sockdolager. The waves most washed me off the raft, sometimes, but I
hadn't any clothes on, and didn't mind. We didn't have no trouble
about snags; the lightning was glaring and flittering around so
constant that we could see them plenty soon enough to throw her head
this way or that and miss them.
I had the middle watch, you know, but I was pretty sleepy by that
time, so Jim he said he would stand the first half of it for me; he
was always mighty good, that way, Jim was. I crawled into the
wigwam, but the king and the duke had their legs sprawled around so
there warn't no show for me; so I laid outside- I didn't mind the
rain, because it was warm, and the waves warn't running so high,
now. About two they come up again, though, and Jim was going to call
me, but he changed his mind because he reckoned they warn't high
enough yet to do any harm; but he was mistaken about that, for
pretty soon all of a sudden along comes a regular ripper, and washed
me overboard. It most killed Jim a-laughing. He was the easiest nigger
to laugh that ever was, anyway.
I took the watch, and Jim he laid down and snored away; and
by-and-by the storm let up for good and all; and the first cabin-light
that showed, I rousted him out and we slid the raft into
hiding-quarters for the day.
The king got out an old ratty deck of cards, after breakfast, and
him and the duke played seven-up a while, five cents a game. Then they
got tired of it, and allowed they would "lay out a campaign," as
they called it. The duke went down into his carpet-bag and fetched
up a lot of little printed bills, and read them out loud. One bill
said "The celebrated Dr. Armand de Montalban of Paris," would "lecture
on the Science of Phrenology" at such and such a place, on the blank
day of blank, at ten cents admission, and "furnish charts of character
at twenty-five cents apiece." The duke said that was him. In another
bill he was the "world renowned Shaksperean tragedian, Garrick the
Younger, of Drury Lane, London." In other bills he had a lot of
other names and done other wonderful things, like finding water and
gold with a "divining rod," "dissipating witch-spells," and so on.
By-and-by he says-
"But the histrionic muse is the darling. Have you ever trod the
boards, Royalty?"
"No," says the king.
"You shall, then, before you're three days older, Fallen
Grandeur," says the duke. "The first good town we come to, we'll
hire a hall and do the sword-fight in Richard III. and the balcony
scene in Romeo and Juliet. How does that strike you?"
"I'm in, up to the hub, for anything that will pay, Bilgewater,
but you see I don't know nothing about play-actn', and hain't ever
seen much of it. I was too small when pap used to have 'em at the
palace. Do you reckon you can learn me?"
"Easy!"
"All right. I'm jist a-freezn' for something fresh, anyway. Less
commence, right away."
So the duke he told him all about who Romeo was, and who Juliet was,
and said he was used to being Romeo, so the king could be Juliet.
"But if Juliet's such a young gal, Duke, my peeled head and my white
whiskers is goin' to look oncommon odd on her, maybe."
"No, don't you worry- these country jakes won't ever think of
that. Besides, you know, you'll be in costume, and that makes all
the difference in the world; Juliet's in a balcony, enjoying the
moonlight before she goes to bed, and she's got on her night-gown
and her ruffled night-cap. Here are the costumes for the parts."
He got out two or three curtain-calico suits, which he said was
meedyevil armor for Richard III. and t'other chap, and a long white
cotton night-shirt and a ruffled night-cap to match. The king was
satisfied; so the duke got out his book and read the parts over in the
most splendid spread-eagle way, prancing around and acting at the same
time, to show how it had got to be done; then he give the book to
the king and told him to get his part by heart.
There was a little one-horse town about three mile down the bend,
and after dinner the duke said he had ciphered out his idea about
how to run in daylight without it being dangersome for Jim; so he
allowed he would go down to the town and fix that thing. The king
allowed he would go too, and see if he couldn't strike something. We
was out of coffee, so Jim said I better go along with them in the
canoe and get some.
When we got there, there warn't nobody stirring; streets empty,
and perfectly dead and still, like Sunday. We found a sick nigger
sunning himself in a back yard, and he said everybody that warn't
too young or too sick or too old, was gone to camp-meeting, about
two mile back in the woods. The king got the directions, and allowed
he'd go and work that camp-meeting for all it was worth, and I might
go, too.
The duke said what he was after was a printing office. We found
it; a little bit of a concern, up over a carpenter shop- carpenters
and printers all gone to the meeting, and no doors locked. It was a
dirty, littered-up place, and had ink marks, and handbills with
pictures of horses and runaway niggers on them, all over the walls.
The duke shed his coat and said he was all right, now. So me and the
king lit out for the camp-meeting.
We got there in about a half an hour, fairly dripping, for it was
a most awful hot day. There was as much as a thousand people there,
from twenty mile around. The woods was full of teams and wagons,
hitched everywheres, feeding out of the wagon troughs and stomping
to keep off the flies. There was sheds made out of poles and roofed
over with branches, where they had lemonade and gingerbread to sell,
and piles of watermelons and green corn and such-like truck.
The preaching was going on under the same kinds of sheds, only
they was bigger and held crowds of people. The benches was made out of
outside slabs of logs, with holes bored in the round side to drive
sticks into for legs. They didn't have no backs. The preachers had
high platforms to stand on, at one end of the sheds. The women had
on sunbonnets; and some had linsey-woolsey frocks, some gingham
ones, and a few of the young ones had on calico. Some of the young men
was barefooted, and some of the children didn't have on any clothes
but just a tow-linen shirt. Some of the old women was knitting, and
some of the young folks was courting on the sly.
The first shed we come to, the preacher was lining out a hymn. He
lined out two lines, everybody sung it, and it was kind of grand to
hear it, there was so many of them and they done it in such a
rousing way; then he lined out two more for them to sing- and so on.
The people woke up more and more, and sung louder and louder; and
towards the end, some begun to groan, and some begun to shout. Then
the preacher begun to preach; and begun in earnest, too; and went
weaving first to one side of the platform and then the other, and then
a leaning down over the front of it, with his arms and his body
going all the time, and shouting his words out with all his might; and
every now and then he would hold up his Bible and spread it open,
and kind of pass it around this way and that, shouting, "It's the
brazen serpent in the wilderness! Look upon it and live!" And people
would shout out, "Glory!- A-a-men!" And so he went on, and the
people groaning and crying and saying amen:
"Oh, come to the mourners' bench! come, black with sin! (amen!)
come, sick and sore! (amen!) come, lame and halt, and blind! (amen!)
come, pore and needy, sunk in shame! (amen!) come all that's worn, and
soiled, and suffering!- come with a broken spirit! come with a
contrite heart! come in your rags and sin and dirt! the waters that
cleanse is free, the door of heaven stands open- oh, enter in and be
at rest!" (a-a-men! glory, glory hallelujah!)
And so on. You couldn't make out what the preacher said, any more,
on account of the shouting and crying. Folks got up, everywheres in
the crowd, and worked their way, just by main strength, to the
mourners' bench, with the tears running down their faces; and when all
the mourners had got up there to the front benches in a crowd, they
sung, and shouted, and flung themselves down on the straw, just
crazy and wild.
Well, the first I knowed, the king got agoing; and you could hear
him over everybody; he went a-charging up on to the platform and the
preacher he begged him to speak to the people, and he done it. He told
them he was a pirate- been a pirate for thirty years, out in the
Indian Ocean, and his crew was thinned out considerable, last
spring, in a fight, and he was home now, to take out some fresh men,
and thanks to goodness he'd been robbed last night, and put ashore off
of a steamboat without a cent, and he was glad of it, it was the
blessedest thing that ever happened to him, because he was a changed
man now, and happy for the first time in his life; and poor as he was,
he was going to start right off and work his way back to the Indian
Ocean and put in the rest of his life trying to turn the pirates
into the true path; for he could do it better than anybody else, being
acquainted with all the pirate crews in that ocean; and though it
would take him a long time to get there, without money, he would get
there anyway, and every time he convinced a pirate he would say to
him, "Don't you thank me, don't you give me no credit, it all
belongs to them dear people in Pokeville camp-meeting, natural
brothers and benefactors of the race- and that dear preacher there,
the truest friend a pirate ever had!"
And then he busted into tears, and so did everybody. Then somebody
sings out, "Take up a collection for him, take up a collection!" Well,
a half dozen made a jump to do it, but somebody sings out, "Let him
pass the hat around!" Then everybody said it, the preacher too.
So the king went all through the crowd with his hat, swabbing his
eyes, and blessing the people and praising them and thanking them
for being so good to the poor pirates away off there; and every little
while the prettiest kind of girls, with the tears running down their
cheeks, would up and ask him would he let them kiss him, for to
remember him by; and he always done it; and some of them he hugged and
kissed as many as five or six times- and he was invited to stay a
week; and everybody wanted him to live in their houses, and said
they'd think it was an honor; but he said as this was the last day
of the camp-meeting he couldn't do no good, and besides he was in a
sweat to get to the Indian Ocean right off and go to work on the
pirates.
When we got back to the raft and he come to count up, he found he
had collected eighty-seven dollars and seventy-five cents. And then he
had fetched away a three-gallon jug of whisky, too, that he found
under a wagon when we was starting home through the woods. The king
said, take it all around, it laid over any day he'd ever put in the
missionarying line. He said it warn't no use talking, heathens don't
amount to shucks, alongside of pirates, to work a camp-meeting with.
The duke was thinking he'd been doing pretty well, till the king
come to show up, but after that he didn't think so much. He had set up
and printed off two little jobs for farmers, in that printing
office- horse bills- and took the money, four dollars. And he had
got in ten dollars worth of advertisements for the paper, which he
said he would put in for four dollars if they would pay in advance- so
they done it. The price of the paper was two dollars a year, but he
took in three subscriptions for half a dollar apiece on condition of
them paying him in advance; they were going to pay in cord-wood and
onions, as usual, but he said he had just bought the concern and
knocked down the price as low as he could afford it, and was going
as low as he could afford it, and was going to run it for cash. He set
up a little piece of poetry, which he made, himself, out of his own
head- three verses- kind of sweet and saddish- the name of it was,
"Yes, crush, cold world, this breaking heart"- and he left that all
set up and ready to print in the paper and didn't charge nothing for
it. Well, he took in nine dollars and a half, and said he'd done a
pretty square day's work for it.
Then he showed us another little job he'd printed and hadn't charged
for, because it was for us. It had a picture of a runaway nigger, with
a bundle on a stick, over his shoulder, and "$200 reward" under it.
The reading was all about Jim, and just described him to a dot. It
said he run away from St. Jacques' plantation, forty mile below New
Orleans, last winter, and likely went north, and whoever would catch
him and send him back, he could have the reward and expenses.
"Now," says the duke, "after to-night we can run in the daytime if
we want to. Whenever we see anybody coming, we can tie Jim hand and
foot with a rope, and lay him in the wigwam and show this handbill and
say we captured him up the river, and were too poor to travel on a
steamboat, so we got this little raft on credit from our friends and
are going down to get the reward. Handcuffs and chains would look
still better on Jim, but it wouldn't go well with the story of us
being so poor. Too much like jewelry. Ropes are the correct thing-
we must preserve the unities, as we say on the boards."
We all said the duke was pretty smart, and there couldn't be no
trouble about running daytimes. We judged we could make miles enough
that night to get out of the reach of the pow-wow we reckoned the
duke's work in the printing office was going to make in that little
town- then we could boom right along, if we wanted to.
We laid low and kept still, and never shoved out till nearly ten
o'clock; then we slid by, pretty wide away from the town, and didn't
hoist our lantern till we was clear out of sight of it.
When Jim called me to take the watch at four in the morning, he
says-
"Huck, does you reck'n we gwyne to run acrost any mo' kings on dis
trip?"
"No," I says, "I reckon not."
"Well," says he, "dat's all right, den. I doan' mine one er two
kings, but dat's enough. Dis one's powerful drunk, en de duke ain'
much better."
I found Jim had been trying to get him to talk French, so he could
hear what it was like; but he said he had been in this country so
long, and had so much trouble, he'd forgot it.
CH_21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
-
It was after sun-up, now, but we went right on, and didn't tie up.
The king and the duke turned out, by-and-by, looking pretty rusty; but
after they'd jumped overboard and took a swim, it chippered them up
a good deal. After breakfast the king he took a seat on a corner of
the raft, and pulled off his boots and rolled up his britches, and let
his legs dangle in the water, so as to be comfortable, and lit his
pipe, and went to getting his Romeo and Juliet by heart. When he had
got it pretty good, him and the duke begun to practice it together.
The duke had to learn him over and over again, how to say every
speech; and he made him sigh, and put his hand on his heart, and after
while he said he done it pretty well; "only," he says, "you mustn't
bellow out Romeo! that way, like a bull- you must say it soft, and
sick, and languishy, so- R-o-o-meo! that is the idea; for Juliet's a
dear sweet mere child of a girl, you know, and she don't bray like a
jackass."
Well, next they got out a couple of long swords that the duke made
out of oak laths, and begun to practice the swordfight- the duke
called himself Richard III.; and the way they laid on, and pranced
around the raft was grand to see. But by-and-by the king tripped and
fell overboard, and after that they took a rest, and had a talk
about all kinds of adventures they'd had in other times along the
river.
After dinner, the duke says:
"Well, Capet, we'll want to make this a first-class show, you
know, so I guess we'll add a little more to it. We want a little
something to answer encores with, anyway."
"What's onkores, Bilgewater?"
The duke told him, and then says:
"I'll answer by doing the Highland fling or the sailor's hornpipe;
and you- well, let me see- oh, I've got it- you can do Hamlet's
soliloquy."
"Hamlet's which?"
"Hamlet's soliloquy, you know; the most celebrated thing in
Shakespeare. Ah, it's sublime, sublime! Always fetches the house. I
haven't got it in the book- I've only got one volume- but I reckon I
can piece it out from memory. I'll just walk up and down a minute, and
see if I can call it back from recollection's vaults."
So he went to marching up and down, thinking, and frowning
horrible every now and then; then he would hoist up his eyebrows; next
he would squeeze his hand on his forehead and stagger back and kind of
moan; next he would sigh, and next he'd let on to drop a tear. It
was beautiful to see him. By-and-by he got it. He told us to give
attention. Then he strikes a most noble attitude, with one leg
shoved forwards, and his arms stretched away up, and his head tilted
back, looking up at the sky; and then he begins to rip and rave and
grit his teeth; and after that, all through his speech he howled,
and spread around, and swelled up his chest, and just knocked the
spots out of any acting ever I see before. This is the speech- I
learned it, easy enough, while he was learning it to the king:
-
To be, or not to be; that is the bare bodkin
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would fardels bear, till Birnam Wood do come to Dunsinane,
But that the fear of something after death
Murders the innocent sleep,
Great nature's second course,
And makes us rather sling the arrows of outrageous fortune
Than fly to others that we know not of.
There's the respect must give us pause:
Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The law's delay, and the quietus which his pangs might take,
In the dead waste and middle of the night, when churchyards yawn
In customary suits of solemn black,
But that the undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveler
returns,
Breathes forth contagion on the world,
And thus the native hue of resolution, like the poor cat i' the
adage,
Is sicklied o'er with care,
And all the clouds that lowered o'er our housetops,
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.
'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. But soft you, the fair
Ophelia:
Ope not thy ponderous and marble jaws,
But get thee to a nunnery- go!
-
Well, the old man he liked that speech, and he mighty soon got it so
he could do it first rate. It seemed like he was just born for it; and
when he had his hand in and was excited, it was perfectly lovely the
way he would rip and tear and rair up behind when he was getting it
off.
The first chance we got, the duke he had some show bills printed;
and after that, for two or three days as we floated along, the raft
was a most uncommon lively place, for there warn't nothing but
sword-fighting and rehearsing- as the duke called it- going on all the
time. One morning, when we was pretty well down the State of Arkansaw,
we come in sight of a little one-horse town in a big bend; so we
tied up about three-quarters of a mile above it, in the mouth of a
crick which was shut in like a tunnel by the cypress trees, and all of
us but Jim took the canoe and went down there to see if there was
any chance in that place for our show.
We struck it mighty lucky; there was going to be a circus there that
afternoon, and the country people was already beginning to come in, in
all kinds of old shackly wagons, and on horses. The circus would leave
before night, so our show would have a pretty good chance. The duke he
hired the court house, and we went around and stuck up our bills. They
read like this:
-
Shaksperean Revival!!!
Wonderful Attraction!
For One Night Only!
-
The world renowned tragedians,
David Garrick the younger,
of Drury Lane Theatre, London,
and
Edmund Kean the elder,
of the Royal Haymarket Theatre, Whitechapel,
Pudding Lane, Piccadilly, London, and the
Royal Continental Theatres, in their sublime
Shaksperean Spectacle entitled
-
The Balcony Scene
in
Romeo and Juliet!!!
-
Romeo............................................... Mr. Garrick.
Juliet.............................................. Mr. Kean.
-
Also:
The thrilling, masterly, and blood-curdling
-
Broad-sword conflict
In Richard III.!!!
-
Assisted by the whole strength of the company!
New costumes, new scenery, new appointments!
-
Richard III........................................ Mr. Garrick.
Richmond........................................... Mr. Kean.
-
Also
(by special request,)
-
Hamlet's Immortal Soliloquy!!
-
By the Illustrious Kean!
Done by him 300 consecutive nights in Paris!
For One Night Only,
On account of imperative European engagements!
Admission 25 cents; children and servants, 10 cents.
-
Then we went loafing around the town. The stores and houses was most
all old shackly dried-up frame concerns that hadn't ever been painted;
they was set up three or four foot above ground on stilts, so as to be
out of reach of the water when the river was overflowed. The houses
had little gardens around them, but they didn't seem to raise hardly
anything in them but jimpson weeds, and sunflowers, and ash-piles, and
old curled-up boots and shoes, and pieces of bottles, and rags, and
played-out tin-ware. The fences was made of different kinds of boards,
nailed on at different times; and they leaned every which-way, and had
gates that didn't generly have but one hinge- a leather one. Some of
the fences had been whitewashed, some time or another, but the duke
said it was in Clumbus's time, like enough. There was generly hogs
in the garden, and people driving them out.
All the stores was along one street. They had white-domestic awnings
in front, and the country people hitched their horses to the
awning-posts. There was empty dry-goods boxes under the awnings, and
loafers roosting on them all day long, whittling them with their
Barlow knives; and chawing tobacco, and gaping and yawning and
stretching- a mighty ornery lot. They generly had on yellow straw hats
most as wide as an umbrella, but didn't wear no coats nor
waistcoats; they called one another Bill, and Buck, and Hank, and Joe,
and Andy, and talked lazy and drawly, and used considerable many
cuss-words. There was as many as one loafer leaning up against every
awning-post, and he most always had his hands in his britches pockets,
except when he fetched them out to lend a chaw of tobacco or
scratch. What a body was hearing amongst them, all the time was-
"Gimme a chaw'v tobacker, Hank."
"Cain't- I hain't got but one chaw left. Ask Bill."
Maybe Bill he gives him a chaw; maybe he lies and says he ain't
got none. Some of them kinds of loafers never has a cent in the world,
nor a chaw of tobacco of their own. They get all their chawing by
borrowing- they say to a fellow, "I wisht you'd len' me a chaw,
Jack, I jist this minute give Ben Thompson the last chaw I had"- which
is a lie, pretty much every time; it don't fool nobody but a stranger;
but Jack ain't no stranger, so he says-
"You give him a chaw, did you? so did your sister's cat's
grandmother. You pay me back the chaws you've awready borry'd off'n
me, Lafe Buckner, then I'll loan you one or two ton of it, and won't
charge you no back intrust, nuther."
"Well, I did pay you back some of it wunst."
"Yes, you did- 'bout six chaws. You borry'd store tobacker and
paid back nigger-head."
Store tobacco is flat black plug, but these fellows mostly chaws the
natural leaf twisted. When they borrow a chaw, they don't generly
cut it off with a knife, but they set the plug in between their teeth,
and gnaw with their teeth and tug at the plug with their hands till
they get it in two- then sometimes the one that owns the tobacco looks
mournful at it when it's handed back, and says, sarcastic-
"Here, gimme the chaw, and you take the plug."
All the streets and lanes was just mud, they warn't nothing else but
mud- mud as black as tar, and nigh about a foot deep in some places;
and two or three inches deep in all the places. The hogs loafed and
grunted around, everywheres. You'd see a muddy sow and a litter of
pigs come lazying along the street and whollop herself right down in
the way, where folks had to walk around her, and she'd stretch out,
and shut her eyes, and wave her ears, whilst the pigs was milking her,
and look as happy as if she was on salary. And pretty soon you'd
hear a loafer sing out, "Hi! so boy! sick him, Tige!" and away the sow
would go, squealing most horrible, with a dog or two swinging to
each ear, and three or four dozen more a-coming; and then you would
see all the loafers get up and watch the thing out of sight, and laugh
at the fun and look grateful for the noise. Then they'd settle back
again till there was a dog-fight. There couldn't anything wake them up
all over, and make them happy all over, like a dog-fight- unless it
might be putting turpentine on a stray dog and setting fire to him, or
tying a tin to his tail and see him run himself to death.
On the river front some of the houses was sticking out over the
bank, and they was bowed and bent, and about ready to tumble in. The
people had moved out of them. The bank was caved away under one corner
of some others, and that corner was hanging over. People lived in them
yet, but it was dangersome, because sometimes a strip of land as
wide as a house caves in at a time. Sometimes a belt of land a quarter
of a mile deep will start in and cave along and cave along till it all
caves into the river in one summer. Such a town as that has to be
always moving back, and back, and back, because the river's always
gnawing at it.
The nearer it got to noon that day, the thicker and thicker was
the wagons and horses in the streets, and more coming all the time.
Families fetched their dinners with them, from the country, and eat
them in the wagons. There was considerable whiskey drinking going
on, and I seen three fights. By-and-by somebody sings out-
"Here comes old Boggs!- in from the country for his little old
monthly drunk- here he comes, boys!"
All the loafers looked glad- I reckoned they was used to having
fun out of Boggs. One of them says-
"Wonder who he's a gwyne to chaw up this time. If he'd a chawed up
all the men he's ben a gwyne to chaw up in the last twenty year,
he'd have considerable ruputation, now."
Another one says, "I wisht old Boggs'd threaten me, 'cuz then I'd
know I warn't gwyne to die for a thousan' year."
Boggs comes a-tearing along on his horse, whopping and yelling
like an Injun, and singing out-
"Cler the track, thar. I'm on the waw-path, and the price uv coffins
is a gwyne to raise."
He was drunk, and weaving about in his saddle; he was over fifty
year old, and had a very red face. Everybody yelled at him, and
laughed at him, and sassed him, and he sassed back, and said he'd
attend to them and lay them out in their regular turns, but he
couldn't wait now, because he'd come to town to kill old Colonel
Sherburn, and his motto was, "meat first, and spoon vittles to top off
on."
He see me, and rode up and says-
"Whar'd you come f'm, boy? You prepared to die?"
Then he rode on. I was scared; but a man says- "He don't mean
nothing; he's always a carryin'on like that, when he's drunk. He's the
best-naturedest old fool in Arkansaw- never hurt nobody, drunk nor
sober."
Boggs rode up before the biggest store in town and bent his head
down so he could see under the curtain of the awning, and yells"-
Come out here, Sherburn! Come out and meet the man you've
swindled. You're the houn' I'm after, and I'm a gwyne to have you,
too!"
And so he went on, calling Sherburn everything he could lay his
tongue to, and the whole street packed with people listening and
laughing and going on. By-and-by a proudlooking man about
fifty-five- and he was a heap the best dressed man in that town,
too- steps out of the store, and the crowd drops back on each side
to let him come. He says to Boggs, mighty ca'm and slow- he says:
"I'm tired of this; but I'll endure it till one o'clock. Till one
o'clock, mind- no longer. If you open your mouth against me only once,
after that time, you can't travel so far but I will find you."
Then he turns and goes in. The crowd looked mighty sober; nobody
stirred, and there warn't no more laughing. Boggs rode off
blackguarding Sherburn as loud as he could yell, all down the
street; and pretty soon back he comes and stops before the store,
still keeping it up. Some men crowded around him and tried to get
him to shut up, but he wouldn't; they told him it would be one o'clock
in about fifteen minutes, and so he must go home- he must go right
away. But it didn't do no good. He cussed away, with all his might,
and throwed his hat down in the mud and rode over it, and pretty
soon away he went a-raging down the street again, with his gray hair
a-flying. Everybody that could get a chance at him tried their best to
coax him off of his horse so they could lock him up and get him sober;
but it warn't no use- up the street he would tear again, and give
Sherburn another cussing. By-and-by somebody says-
"Go for his daughter!- quick, go for his daughter; sometimes he'll
listen to her. If anybody can persuade him, she can."
So somebody started on a run. I walked down street a ways, and
stopped. In about five or ten minutes, here comes Boggs again- but not
on his horse. He was a-reeling across the street towards me,
bareheaded, with a friend on both sides of him aholt of his arms and
hurrying him along. He was quiet, and looked uneasy; and he warn't
hanging back any, but was doing some of the hurrying himself. Somebody
sings out-
"Boggs!"
I looked over to see who said it, and it was that Colonel
Sherburn. He was standing perfectly still, in the street, and had a
pistol raised in his right hand- not aiming it, but holding it out
with the barrel tilted up towards the sky. The same second I see a
young girl coming on the run, and two men with her. Boggs and the
men turned round, to see who called him, and when they see the
pistol the men jumped to one side, and the pistol barrel come down
slow and steady to a level-both barrels cocked. Boggs throws up both
of his hands, and says, "O Lord, don't shoot!" Bang! goes the first
shot, and he staggers back clawing at the air- bang! goes the second
one, and he tumbles backwards onto the ground, heavy and solid, with
his arms spread out. That young girl screamed out, and comes
rushing, and down she throws herself on her father, crying, and
saying, "Oh, he's killed him, he's killed him!" The crowd closed up
around them, and shouldered and jammed one another, with their necks
stretched, trying to see, and people on the inside trying to shove
them back, and shouting, "Back, back! give him air, give him air!"
Colonel Sherburn he tossed his pistol onto the ground, and turned
around on his heels and walked off.
They took Boggs to a little drug store, the crowd pressing around,
just the same, and the whole town following, and I rushed and got a
good place at the window, where I was close to him and could see in.
They laid him on the floor, and put one large Bible under his head,
and opened another one and spread it on his breast- but they tore open
his shirt first, and I seen where one of the bullets went in. He
made about a dozen long gasps, his breast lifting the Bible up when he
drawed in his breath, and letting it down again when he breathed it
out- and after that he laid still; he was dead. Then they pulled his
daughter away from him, screaming and crying, and took her off. She
was about sixteen, and very sweet and gentle-looking, but awful pale
and scared.
Well, pretty soon the whole town was there, squirming and
scrouging and pushing and shoving to get at the window and have a
look, but people that had the places wouldn't give them up, and
folks behind them was saying all the time, "Say, now, you've looked
enough, you fellows; 'taint right and 'taint fair, for you to stay
thar all the time, and never give nobody a chance; other folks has
their rights as well as you.
There was considerable jawing back, so I slid out, thinking maybe
there was going to be trouble. The streets was full, and everybody was
excited. Everybody that seen the shooting was telling how it happened,
and there was a big crowd packed around each one of these fellows,
stretching their necks and listening. One long lanky man, with long
hair and a big white fur stove-pipe hat on the back of his head, and a
crooked-handled cane, marked out the places on the ground where
Boggs stood, and where Sherburn stood, and the people following him
around from one place to t'other and watching everything he done,
and bobbing their heads to show they understood, and stopping a little
and resting their hands on their thighs to watch him mark the places
on the ground with his cane; and then he stood up straight and stiff
where Sherburn had stood, frowning and having his hatbrim down over
his eyes, and sung out, "Boggs!" and then fetched his cane down slow
to a level, and says "Bang!" staggered backwards, says "Bang!"
again, and fell down flat on his back. The people that had seen the
thing said he done it perfect; said it was just exactly the way it all
happened. Then as much as a dozen people got out their bottles and
treated him.
Well, by-and-by somebody said Sherburn ought to be lynched. In about
a minute everybody was saying it; so away they went, mad and
yelling, and snatching down every clothes-line they come to, to do the
hanging with.
CH_22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
-
They swarmed up the street towards Sherburn's house, a-whooping
and yelling and raging like Injuns, and everything had to clear the
way or get run over and tromped to mush, and it was awful to see.
Children was heeling it ahead of the mob, screaming and trying to
get out of the way; and every window along the road was full of
women's heads, and there was nigger boys in every tree, and bucks
and wenches looking over every fence; and as soon as the mob would get
nearly to them they would break and skaddle back out of reach. Lots of
the women and girls was crying and taking on, scared most to death.
They swarmed in front of Sherburn's palings as thick as they could
jam together, and you couldn't hear yourself think for the noise. It
was a little twenty-foot yard. Some sung out "Tear down the fence!
tear down the fence!" Then there was a racket of ripping and tearing
and smashing, and down she goes, and the front wall of the crowd
begins to roll in like a wave.
Just then Sherburn steps out of the roof of his little front
porch, with a double-barrel gun in his hand, and takes his stand,
perfectly ca'm and deliberate, not saying a word. The racket
stopped, and the wave sucked back.
Sherburn never said a word- just stood there, looking down. The
stillness was awful creepy and uncomfortable. Sherburn run his eye
slow along the crowd; and wherever it struck, the people tried a
little to outgaze him, but they couldn't; they dropped their eyes
and looked sneaky. Then pretty soon Sherburn sort of laughed; not
the pleasant kind, but the kind that makes you feel like when you
are eating bread that's got sand in it.
Then he says, slow and scornful:
"The idea of you lynching anybody! It's amusing. The idea of you
thinking you had pluck enough to lynch a man! Because you're brave
enough to tar and feather poor friendless cast-out women that come
along here, did that make you think you had grit enough to lay your
hands on a man? Why, a man's safe in the hands of ten thousand of your
kind- as long as it's day-time and you're not behind him.
"Do I know you? I know you clear through. I was born and raised in
the South, and I've lived in the North; so I know the average all
around. The average man's a coward. In the North he lets anybody
walk over him that wants to, and goes home and prays for a humble
spirit to bear it. In the South one man, all by himself, has stopped a
stage full of men, in the day-time, and robbed the lot. Your
newspapers call you brave people so much that you think you are braver
than any other people- whereas you're just as brave, and no braver.
Why don't your juries hang murderers? Because they're afraid the man's
friends will shoot them in the back, in the dark- and it's just what
they would do.
"So they always acquit; and then a man goes in the night, with a
hundred masked cowards at his back, and lynches the rascal. Your
mistake is, that you didn't bring a man with you; that's one
mistake, and the other is that you didn't come in the dark, and
fetch your masks. You brought part of a man- Buck Harkness, there- and
if you hadn't had him to start you, you'd a taken it out in blowing.
"You didn't want to come. The average man don't like trouble and
danger. You don't like trouble and danger. But if only half a man-
like Buck Harkness, there- shouts 'Lynch him, lynch him!' you're
afraid to back down- afraid you'll be found out to be what you are-
cowards- and so you raise a yell, and hang yourselves onto that
half-a-man's coat tail, and come raging up here, swearing what big
things you're going to do. The pitifulest thing out is a mob; that's
what an army is- a mob; they don't fight with courage that's born in
them, but with courage that's borrowed from their mass, and from their
officers. But a mob without any man at the head of it, is beneath
pitifulness. Now the thing for you to do, is to droop your tails and
go home and crawl in a hole. If any real lynching's going to be
done, it will be done in the dark, Southern fashion; and when they
come they'll bring their masks, and fetch a man along. Now leave-
and take your half-a-man with you"- tossing his gun up across his left
arm and cocking it, when he says this.
The crowd washed back sudden, and then broke all apart and went
tearing off every which way, and Buck Harkness he heeled it after
them, looking tolerable cheap. I could a staid, if I'd a wanted to,
but I didn't want to.
I went to the circus, and loafed around the back side till the
watchman went by, and then dived in under the tent. I had a
twenty-dollar gold piece and some other money, but I reckoned I better
save, because there ain't no telling how soon you are going to need
it, away from home and amongst strangers, that way. You can't be too
careful. I ain't opposed to spending money on circuses, when there
ain't no other way, but there ain't no use in wasting it on them.
It was a real bully circus. It was the splendidest sight that ever
was, when they all come riding two and two, a gentleman and lady, side
by side, the men just in their drawers and under-shirts, and no
shoes nor stirrups, and resting their hands on their thighs, easy
and comfortable- there must a' been twenty of them- and every lady
with a lovely complexion, and perfectly beautiful, and looking just
like a gang of real sure-enough queens, and dressed in clothes that
cost millions of dollars, and just littered with diamonds. It was a
powerful fine sight; I never see anything so lovely. And then one by
one they got up and stood, and went a-weaving around the ring so
gentle and wavy and graceful, the men looking ever so tall and airy
and straight, and their heads bobbing and skimming along, away up
there under the tentroof, and every lady's rose-leafy dress flapping
soft and silky around her hips, and she looking like the most
loveliest parasol.
And then faster and faster they went, all of them dancing, first one
foot stuck out in the air and then the other, the horses leaning
more and more, and the ring-master going round and round the
centre-pole, cracking his whip and shouting "hi!- hi!" and the clown
cracking jokes behind him; and by-and-by all hands dropped the
reins, and every lady put her knuckles on her hips and every gentleman
folded his arms, and then how the horses did lean over and hump
themselves! And so, one after the other they all skipped off into
the ring, and made the sweetest bow I ever see, and then scampered
out, and everybody clapped their hands and went just about wild.
Well, all through the circus they done the most astonishing
things; and all the time that clown carried on so it most killed the
people. The ring-master couldn't ever say a word to him but he was
back at him quick as a wink with the funniest things a body ever said;
and how he ever could think of so many of them, and so sudden and so
pat, was what I couldn't noway understand. Why, I couldn't a thought
of them in a year. And by-and-by a drunk man tried to get into the
ring- said he wanted to ride; said he could ride as well as anybody
that ever was. They argued and tried to keep him out, but he
wouldn't listen, and the whole show come to a standstill. Then the
people begun to holler at him and make fun of him, and that made him
mad, and he begun to rip and tear; so that stirred up the people,
and a lot of men begun to pile down off of the benches and swarm
towards the ring, saying, "Knock him down! throw him out!" and one
or two women begun to scream. So, then, the ring-master he made a
little speech, and said he hoped there wouldn't be no disturbance, and
if the man would promise he wouldn't make no more trouble, he would
let him ride, if he thought he could stay on the horse. So everybody
laughed and said all right, and the man got on. The minute he was
on, the horse begun to rip and tear and jump and cavort around, with
two circus men hanging onto his bridle trying to hold him, and the
drunk man hanging onto his neck, and his heels flying in the air every
jump, and the whole crowd of people standing up shouting and
laughing till the tears rolled down. And at last sure enough, all
the circus men could do, the horse broke loose, and away he went
like the very nation, round and round the ring, with that sot laying
down on him and hanging to his neck with first one leg hanging most to
the ground on one side, and then t'other one on t'other side, and
the people just crazy. It warn't funny to me, though; I was all of a
tremble to see his danger. But pretty soon he struggled up astraddle
and grabbed the bridle, a-reeling this way and that; and the next
minute he sprung up and dropped the bridle and stood! and the horse
agoing like a house afire too. He just stood up there, a-sailing
around as easy and comfortable as if he warn't ever drunk in his life-
and then he begun to pull off his clothes and sling them. He shed them
so thick they kind of clogged up the air, and altogether he shed
seventeen suits. And then, there he was, slim and handsome, and
dressed the gaudiest and prettiest you ever saw, and he lit into
that horse with his whip and made him fairly hum- and finally
skipped off, and made his bow and danced off to the dressing-room, and
everybody just a-howling with pleasure and astonishment.
Then the ring-master he see how he had been fooled, and he was the
sickest ring-master you ever see, I reckon. Why, it was one of his own
men! He had got up that joke all out of his own head, and never let on
to nobody. Well, I felt sheepish enough, to be took in so, but I
wouldn't a been in that ringmaster's place, not for a thousand
dollars. I don't know; there may be bullier circuses than what that
one was, but I never struck them yet. Anyways it was plenty good
enough for me; and wherever I run across it, it can have all of my
custom, every time.
Well, that night we had our show; but there warn't only about twelve
people there; just enough to pay expenses. And they laughed all the
time, and that made the duke mad; and everybody left, anyway, before
the show was over, but one boy which was asleep. So the duke said
these Arkansaw lunkheads couldn't come up to Shakspeare; what they
wanted was low comedy- and may be something ruther worse than low
comedy, he reckoned. He said he could size their style. So next
morning he got some big sheets of wrapping-paper and some black paint,
and drawed off some handbills and stuck them up all over the
village. The bills said:
-
AT THE COURT HOUSE!
For 3 Nights Only!
The World-Renowned Tragedians
DAVID GARRICK THE YOUNGER!
AND
EDMUND KEAN THE ELDER!
Of the London and Continental Theatres,
In their Thrilling Tragedy of
THE KING'S CAMELOPARD
or
THE ROYAL NONESUCH!!!
Admission 50 cents.
-
Then at the bottom was the biggest line of all-which said:
-
LADIES AND CHILDREN NOT ADMITTED
-
"There," says he, "if that line don't fetch them, I don't know
Arkansaw!"
CH_23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
-
Well, all day him and the king was hard at it, rigging up a stage,
and a curtain, and a row of candles for footlights; and that night the
house was jam full of men in no time. When the place couldn't hold
no more, the duke he quit tending door and went around the back way
and come onto the stage and stood up before the curtain, and made a
little speech, and praised up this tragedy, and said it was the most
thrillingest one that ever was; and so he went on a-bragging about the
tragedy and about Edmund Kean the Elder, which was to play the main
principal part in it; and at last when he'd got everybody's
expectations up high enough, he rolled up the curtain, and the next
minute the king come a-prancing out on all fours, naked; and he was
painted all over, ring-streaked-and-striped, all sorts of colors, as
splendid as a rainbow. And- but never mind the rest of his outfit,
it was just wild, but it was awful funny. The people most killed
themselves laughing; and when the king got done capering, and
capered off behind the scenes, they roared and clapped and stormed and
haw-hawed till he come back and done it over agin; and after that,
they made him do it another time. Well, it would a made a cow laugh to
see the shines that old idiot cut.
Then the duke he lets the curtain down, and bows to the people,
and says the great tragedy will be performed only two nights more,
on accounts of pressing London engagements, where the seats is all
sold aready for it in Drury Lane; and then he makes them another
bow, and says if he has succeeded in pleasing them and instructing
them, he will be deeply obleeged if they will mention it to their
friends and get them to come and see it.
Twenty people sings out:
"What, is it over? Is that all?"
The duke says yes. Then there was a fine time. Everybody sings
out "sold," and rose up mad, and was agoing for that stage and them
tragedians. But a big fine-looking man jumps up on a bench, and
shouts:
"Hold on! Just a word, gentlemen." They stopped to listen. "We are
sold- mighty badly sold. But we don't want to hear the last of this
thing as long as we live. No. What we be the laughing-stock of this
whole town, I reckon, and never want, is to go out here quiet, and
talk this show up, and sell the rest of the town! Then we'll all be in
the same boat. Ain't that sensible?" ("You bet it is!- the jedge is
right!" everybody sings out.) "All right, then- not a word about any
sell. Go along home, and advise everybody to come and see the
tragedy."
Next day you couldn't hear nothing around that town but how splendid
that show was. House was jammed again, that night, and we sold this
crowd the same way. When me and the king and the duke got home to
the raft, we all had a supper; and by-and-by, about midnight, they
made Jim and me back her out and float her down the middle of the
river and fetch her in and hide her about two mile below the town.
The third night the house was crammed again- and they warn't
new-comers, this time, but people that was at the show the other two
nights. I stood by the duke at the door, and I see that every man that
went in had his pockets bulging or something muffled up under his
coat- and I see it warn't no perfumery neither, not by a long sight. I
smelt sickly eggs by the barrel, and rotten cabbages, and such things;
and if I know the signs of a dead cat being around, and I bet I do,
there was sixty-four of them went in. I shoved in there for a
minute, but it was too various for me, I couldn't stand it. Well, when
the place couldn't hold no more people, the duke he give a fellow a
quarter and told him to tend door for him a minute, and then he
started around for the stage door, I after him; but the minute we
turned the corner and was in the dark, he says:
"Walk fast, now, till you get away from the houses, and then shin
for the raft like the dickens was after you!"
I done it, and he done the same. We struck the raft at the same
time, and in less than two seconds we was gliding down stream, all
dark and still, and edging towards the middle of the river, nobody
saying a word. I reckoned the poor king was in for a gaudy time of
it with the audience; but nothing of the sort; pretty soon he crawls
out from under the wigwam, and says:
"Well, how'd the old thing pan out this time, Duke?"
He hadn't been up town at all.
We never showed a light till we was about ten mile below that
village. Then we lit up and had a supper, and the king and the duke
fairly laughed their bones loose over the way they'd served them
people. The duke says:
"Greenhorns, flatheads! I knew the first house would keep mum and
let the rest of the town get roped in; and I knew they'd lay for us
the third night, and consider it was their turn now. Well, it is their
turn, and I'd give something to know how much they'd take for it. I
would just like to know how they're putting in their opportunity. They
can turn it into a picnic, if they want to- they brought plenty
provisions."
Them rapscallions took in four hundred and sixty-five dollars in
that three nights. I never see money hauled in by the wagon-load
like that, before.
By-and-by, when they was asleep and snoring, Jim says:
"Don't it 'sprise you, de way dem kings carries on, Huck?"
"No," I says, "it don't."
"Why don't it, Huck?"
"Well, it don't, because it's in the breed. I reckon they're all
alike."
"But, Huck, dese kings o' ourn is regular rapscallions; dat's jist
what dey is; dey's reglar rapscallions."
"Well, that's what I'm a-saying; all kings is mostly rapscallions,
as fur as I can make out."
"Is dat so?"
"You read about them once- you'll see. Look at Henry the Eight;
this'n's a Sunday-School Superintendent to him. And look at Charles
Second, and Louis Fourteen, and Louis Fifteen, and James Second, and
Edward Second, and Richard Third, and forty more; besides all them
Saxon heptarchies that used to rip around so in old times and raise
Cain. My, you ought to seen old Henry the Eight when he was in
bloom. He was a blossom. He used to marry a new wife every day, and
chop off her head next morning. And he would do it just as indifferent
as if he was ordering up eggs. 'Fetch up Nell Gwynn,' he says. They
fetch her up. Next morning, 'Chop off her head!' And they chop it off.
'Fetch up Jane Shore,' he says; and up she comes. Next morning 'Chop
off her head'- and they chop it off. 'Ring up Fair Rosamun.' Fair
Rosamun answers the bell. Next morning, 'Chop off her head.' he made
every one of them tell him a tale every night; and he kept that up
till he had hogged a thousand and one tales that way, and then he
put them all in a book, and called it Domesday Book- which was a
good name and stated the case. You don't know kings, Jim, but I know
them; and this old rip of ourn is one of the cleanest I've struck in
history. Well, Henry he takes a notion he wants to get up some trouble
with this country. How does he go at it- give notice?- give the
country a show? No. All of a sudden he heaves all the tea in Boston
Harbor overboard, and whacks out a declaration of independence, and
dares them to come on. That was his style- he never give anybody a
chance. He had suspicions of his father, the Duke of Wellington. Well,
what did he do?- ask him to show up? No- drownded him in a butt of
mamsey, like a cat. Spose people left money laying around where he
was- what did he do? He collared it. Spose he contracted to do a
thing; and you paid him, and didn't set down there and see that he
done it- what did he do? He always done the other thing. Spose he
opened his mouth- what then? If he didn't shut it up powerful quick,
he'd lose a lie, every time. That's the kind of a bug Henry was; and
if we'd a had him along 'stead of our kings, he'd a fooled that town a
heap worse than ourn done. I don't say that ourn is lambs because they
ain't, when you come right down to the cold facts; but they ain't
nothing to that old ram, anyway. All I say is, kings is kings, and you
got to make allowances. Take them all around, they're a mighty
ornery lot. It's the way they're raised."
"But dis one do smell so like de nation, Huck."
"Well, they all do, Jim. We can't help the way a king smells;
history don't tell no way."
"Now de duke, he's a tolerble likely man, in some ways."
"Yes, a duke's different. But not very different. This one's a
middling hard lot, for a duke. When he's drunk, there ain't no
near-sighted man could tell him from a king."
"Well, anyways, I doan' hanker for no mo' un um, Huck. Dese is all I
kin stan'."
"It's the way I feel, too, Jim. But we've got them on our hands, and
we got to remember what they are, and make allowances. Sometimes I
wish we could hear of a country that's out of kings."
What was the use to tell Jim these warn't real kings and dukes? It
wouldn't a done no good; and besides, it was just as I said; you
couldn't tell them from the real kind.
I went to sleep, and Jim didn't call me when it was my turn. He
often done that. When I waked up, just at daybreak, he was setting
there with his head down betwixt his knees, moaning and mourning to
himself. I didn't take notice, nor let on. I knowed what it was about.
He was thinking about his wife and his children, away up yonder, and
he was low and homesick; because he hadn't ever been away from home
before in his life; and I do believe he cared just as much for his
people as white folks does for their'n. It don't seem natural, but I
reckon it's so. He was often moaning and mourning that way, nights,
when he judged I was asleep, and saying, "Po' little 'Lizabeth! po'
little Johnny! its mighty hard; I spec' I ain't ever gwyne to see
you no mo', no mo'!" He was a mighty good nigger, Jim was.
But this time I somehow got to talking to him about his wife and
young ones; and by-and-by he says:
"What makes me feel so bad dis time, 'uz bekase I hear sumpn over
yonder on de bank like a whack, er a slam, while ago, en it mine me er
de time I treat my little 'Lizabeth so ornery. She warn't on'y 'bout
fo' year ole, en she tuck de sk'yarlet-fever, en had a powful rough
spell; but she got well, en one day she was a-stannin' aroun', en I
says to her, I says:
"'Shet de do'.'
"She never done it; jis'stood dah, kiner smilin' up at me. It make
me mad; en I says agin, mighty loud, I says:
"'Doan' you hear me?- shet de do'!'
"She jis' stood de same way, kiner smilin'up. I was a-bilin'! I
says:
"'I lay I make you mine!'
"En wid dat I fetch' her a slap side de head dat sont her
a-sprawlin'. Den I went into de yuther room, en 'uz gone 'bout ten
minutes; en when I come back, dah was dat do' a-stannin' open yit,
en dat chile stannin' mos' right in it, a-lookin' down and mournin',
en de tears runnin' down. My, but I wuz mad, I was agwyne for de
chile, but jis' den- it was a do' dat open innerds- jis' den 'long
come de wind en slam it to, behine de chile, ker-blam!- en my lan', de
chile never move'! My breff mos' hop outer me; en I feel so- so- I
doan' know how I feel. I crope out, all a-tremblin', en crope aroun'
en open de do' easy en slow, en poke my head in behine de chile,
sof' en still, en all uv a sudden, I says pow! jis' as loud as I could
yell. She never budge! Oh, Huck, I bust out a-cryin' en grab her up in
my arms, en say, 'Oh, de po' little thing! de Lord God Amighty
fogive po' ole Jim, kaze he never gwyne to fogive hisself as long's he
live!' Oh, she was plumb deef en dumb, Huck, plumb deef en dumb- en
I'd ben a-treat'n her so!"
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