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Chapter VIII.
THE sun was up so high when I waked that I
judged it was after eight o'clock.
I laid there in the grass and the cool
shade thinking about things, and feeling
rested and ruther comfortable and
satisfied.
I could see the sun out at one or two
holes, but mostly it was big trees all
about, and gloomy in there amongst them.
There was freckled places on the ground
where the light sifted down through the
leaves, and the freckled places swapped
about a little, showing there was a little
breeze up there.
A couple of squirrels set on a limb and
jabbered at me very friendly.
I was powerful lazy and comfortable--didn't
want to get up and cook breakfast.
Well, I was dozing off again when I thinks
I hears a deep sound of "boom!" away up the
river.
I rouses up, and rests on my elbow and
listens; pretty soon I hears it again.
I hopped up, and went and looked out at a
hole in the leaves, and I see a bunch of
smoke laying on the water a long ways up--
about abreast the ferry.
And there was the ferryboat full of people
floating along down.
I knowed what was the matter now.
"Boom!"
I see the white smoke squirt out of the
ferryboat's side.
You see, they was firing cannon over the
water, trying to make my carcass come to
the top.
I was pretty hungry, but it warn't going to
do for me to start a fire, because they
might see the smoke.
So I set there and watched the cannon-smoke
and listened to the boom.
The river was a mile wide there, and it
always looks pretty on a summer morning--so
I was having a good enough time seeing them
hunt for my remainders if I only had a bite
to eat.
Well, then I happened to think how they
always put quicksilver in loaves of bread
and float them off, because they always go
right to the drownded carcass and stop
there.
So, says I, I'll keep a lookout, and if any
of them's floating around after me I'll
give them a show.
I changed to the Illinois edge of the
island to see what luck I could have, and I
warn't disappointed.
A big double loaf come along, and I most
got it with a long stick, but my foot
slipped and she floated out further.
Of course I was where the current set in
the closest to the shore--I knowed enough
for that.
But by and by along comes another one, and
this time I won.
I took out the plug and shook out the
little dab of quicksilver, and set my teeth
in.
It was "baker's bread"--what the quality
eat; none of your low-down corn-pone.
I got a good place amongst the leaves, and
set there on a log, munching the bread and
watching the ferry-boat, and very well
satisfied.
And then something struck me.
I says, now I reckon the widow or the
parson or somebody prayed that this bread
would find me, and here it has gone and
done it.
So there ain't no doubt but there is
something in that thing --that is, there's
something in it when a body like the widow
or the parson prays, but it don't work for
me, and I reckon it don't work for only
just the right kind.
I lit a pipe and had a good long smoke, and
went on watching.
The ferryboat was floating with the
current, and I allowed I'd have a chance to
see who was aboard when she come along,
because she would come in close, where the
bread did.
When she'd got pretty well along down
towards me, I put out my pipe and went to
where I fished out the bread, and laid down
behind a log on the bank in a little open
place.
Where the log forked I could peep through.
By and by she come along, and she drifted
in so close that they could a run out a
plank and walked ashore.
Most everybody was on the boat.
Pap, and Judge Thatcher, and Bessie
Thatcher, and Jo Harper, and Tom Sawyer,
and his old Aunt Polly, and Sid and Mary,
and plenty more.
Everybody was talking about the ***, but
the captain broke in and says:
"Look sharp, now; the current sets in the
closest here, and maybe he's washed ashore
and got tangled amongst the brush at the
water's edge.
I hope so, anyway."
I didn't hope so.
They all crowded up and leaned over the
rails, nearly in my face, and kept still,
watching with all their might.
I could see them first-rate, but they
couldn't see me.
Then the captain sung out:
"Stand away!" and the cannon let off such a
blast right before me that it made me deef
with the noise and pretty near blind with
the smoke, and I judged I was gone.
If they'd a had some bullets in, I reckon
they'd a got the corpse they was after.
Well, I see I warn't hurt, thanks to
goodness.
The boat floated on and went out of sight
around the shoulder of the island.
I could hear the booming now and then,
further and further off, and by and by,
after an hour, I didn't hear it no more.
The island was three mile long.
I judged they had got to the foot, and was
giving it up.
But they didn't yet a while.
They turned around the foot of the island
and started up the channel on the Missouri
side, under steam, and booming once in a
while as they went.
I crossed over to that side and watched
them.
When they got abreast the head of the
island they quit shooting and dropped over
to the Missouri shore and went home to the
town.
I knowed I was all right now.
Nobody else would come a-hunting after me.
I got my traps out of the canoe and made me
a nice camp in the thick woods.
I made a kind of a tent out of my blankets
to put my things under so the rain couldn't
get at them.
I catched a catfish and haggled him open
with my saw, and towards sundown I started
my camp fire and had supper.
Then I set out a line to catch some fish
for breakfast.
When it was dark I set by my camp fire
smoking, and feeling pretty well satisfied;
but by and by it got sort of lonesome, and
so I went and set on the bank and listened
to the current swashing along, and counted
the stars and drift logs and rafts that
come down, and then went to bed; there
ain't no better way to put in time when you
are lonesome; you can't stay so, you soon
get over it.
And so for three days and nights.
No difference--just the same thing.
But the next day I went exploring around
down through the island.
I was boss of it; it all belonged to me, so
to say, and I wanted to know all about it;
but mainly I wanted to put in the time.
I found plenty strawberries, ripe and
prime; and green summer grapes, and green
razberries; and the green blackberries was
just beginning to show.
They would all come handy by and by, I
judged.
Well, I went fooling along in the deep
woods till I judged I warn't far from the
foot of the island.
I had my gun along, but I hadn't shot
nothing; it was for protection; thought I
would kill some game nigh home.
About this time I mighty near stepped on a
good-sized snake, and it went sliding off
through the grass and flowers, and I after
it, trying to get a shot at it.
I clipped along, and all of a sudden I
bounded right on to the ashes of a camp
fire that was still smoking.
My heart jumped up amongst my lungs.
I never waited for to look further, but
uncocked my gun and went sneaking back on
my tiptoes as fast as ever I could.
Every now and then I stopped a second
amongst the thick leaves and listened, but
my breath come so hard I couldn't hear
nothing else.
I slunk along another piece further, then
listened again; and so on, and so on.
If I see a stump, I took it for a man; if I
trod on a stick and broke it, it made me
feel like a person had cut one of my
breaths in two and I only got half, and the
short half, too.
When I got to camp I warn't feeling very
brash, there warn't much sand in my craw;
but I says, this ain't no time to be
fooling around.
So I got all my traps into my canoe again
so as to have them out of sight, and I put
out the fire and scattered the ashes around
to look like an old last year's camp, and
then clumb a tree.
I reckon I was up in the tree two hours;
but I didn't see nothing, I didn't hear
nothing--I only THOUGHT I heard and seen as
much as a thousand things.
Well, I couldn't stay up there forever; so
at last I got down, but I kept in the thick
woods and on the lookout all the time.
All I could get to eat was berries and what
was left over from breakfast.
By the time it was night I was pretty
hungry.
So when it was good and dark I slid out
from shore before moonrise and paddled over
to the Illinois bank--about a quarter of a
mile.
I went out in the woods and cooked a
supper, and I had about made up my mind I
would stay there all night when I hear a
PLUNKETY-PLUNK, PLUNKETY-PLUNK, and says to
myself, horses coming; and next I hear
people's voices.
I got everything into the canoe as quick as
I could, and then went creeping through the
woods to see what I could find out.
I hadn't got far when I hear a man say:
"We better camp here if we can find a good
place; the horses is about beat out.
Let's look around."
I didn't wait, but shoved out and paddled
away easy.
I tied up in the old place, and reckoned I
would sleep in the canoe.
I didn't sleep much.
I couldn't, somehow, for thinking.
And every time I waked up I thought
somebody had me by the neck.
So the sleep didn't do me no good.
By and by I says to myself, I can't live
this way; I'm a-going to find out who it is
that's here on the island with me; I'll
find it out or bust.
Well, I felt better right off.
So I took my paddle and slid out from shore
just a step or two, and then let the canoe
drop along down amongst the shadows.
The moon was shining, and outside of the
shadows it made it most as light as day.
I poked along well on to an hour,
everything still as rocks and sound asleep.
Well, by this time I was most down to the
foot of the island.
A little ripply, cool breeze begun to blow,
and that was as good as saying the night
was about done.
I give her a turn with the paddle and brung
her nose to shore; then I got my gun and
slipped out and into the edge of the woods.
I sat down there on a log, and looked out
through the leaves.
I see the moon go off watch, and the
darkness begin to blanket the river.
But in a little while I see a pale streak
over the treetops, and knowed the day was
coming.
So I took my gun and slipped off towards
where I had run across that camp fire,
stopping every minute or two to listen.
But I hadn't no luck somehow; I couldn't
seem to find the place.
But by and by, sure enough, I catched a
glimpse of fire away through the trees.
I went for it, cautious and slow.
By and by I was close enough to have a
look, and there laid a man on the ground.
It most give me the fan-tods.
He had a blanket around his head, and his
head was nearly in the fire.
I set there behind a clump of bushes, in
about six foot of him, and kept my eyes on
him steady.
It was getting gray daylight now.
Pretty soon he gapped and stretched himself
and hove off the blanket, and it was Miss
Watson's Jim!
I bet I was glad to see him.
I says:
"Hello, Jim!" and skipped out.
He bounced up and stared at me wild.
Then he drops down on his knees, and puts
his hands together and says:
"Doan' hurt me--don't!
I hain't ever done no harm to a ghos'.
I alwuz liked dead people, en done all I
could for 'em.
You go en git in de river agin, whah you
b'longs, en doan' do nuffn to Ole Jim, 'at
'uz awluz yo' fren'."
Well, I warn't long making him understand I
warn't dead.
I was ever so glad to see Jim.
I warn't lonesome now.
I told him I warn't afraid of HIM telling
the people where I was.
I talked along, but he only set there and
looked at me; never said nothing.
Then I says:
"It's good daylight.
Le's get breakfast.
Make up your camp fire good."
"What's de use er makin' up de camp fire to
cook strawbries en sich truck?
But you got a gun, hain't you?
Den we kin git sumfn better den
strawbries."
"Strawberries and such truck," I says.
"Is that what you live on?"
"I couldn' git nuffn else," he says.
"Why, how long you been on the island,
Jim?"
"I come heah de night arter you's killed."
"What, all that time?"
"Yes--indeedy."
"And ain't you had nothing but that kind of
rubbage to eat?"
"No, sah--nuffn else."
"Well, you must be most starved, ain't
you?"
"I reck'n I could eat a hoss.
I think I could.
How long you ben on de islan'?"
"Since the night I got killed."
"No!
W'y, what has you lived on?
But you got a gun.
Oh, yes, you got a gun.
Now you kill sumfn en I'll make up de
fire."
So we went over to where the canoe was, and
while he built a fire in a grassy open
place amongst the trees, I fetched meal and
bacon and coffee, and coffee-pot and
frying-pan, and sugar and tin cups, and the
*** was set back considerable, because
he reckoned it was all done with
witchcraft.
I catched a good big catfish, too, and Jim
cleaned him with his knife, and fried him.
When breakfast was ready we lolled on the
grass and eat it smoking hot.
Jim laid it in with all his might, for he
was most about starved.
Then when we had got pretty well stuffed,
we laid off and lazied.
By and by Jim says:
"But looky here, Huck, who wuz it dat 'uz
killed in dat shanty ef it warn't you?"
Then I told him the whole thing, and he
said it was smart.
He said Tom Sawyer couldn't get up no
better plan than what I had.
Then I says:
"How do you come to be here, Jim, and how'd
you get here?"
He looked pretty uneasy, and didn't say
nothing for a minute.
Then he says:
"Maybe I better not tell."
"Why, Jim?"
"Well, dey's reasons.
But you wouldn' tell on me ef I uz to tell
you, would you, Huck?"
"Blamed if I would, Jim."
"Well, I b'lieve you, Huck.
I--I RUN OFF."
"Jim!"
"But mind, you said you wouldn' tell--you
know you said you wouldn' tell, Huck."
"Well, I did.
I said I wouldn't, and I'll stick to it.
Honest ***, I will.
People would call me a low-down
Abolitionist and despise me for keeping
mum--but that don't make no difference.
I ain't a-going to tell, and I ain't a-
going back there, anyways.
So, now, le's know all about it."
"Well, you see, it 'uz dis way.
Ole missus--dat's Miss Watson--she pecks on
me all de time, en treats me pooty rough,
but she awluz said she wouldn' sell me down
to Orleans.
But I noticed dey wuz a *** trader roun'
de place considable lately, en I begin to
git oneasy.
Well, one night I creeps to de do' pooty
late, en de do' warn't quite shet, en I
hear old missus tell de widder she gwyne to
sell me down to Orleans, but she didn' want
to, but she could git eight hund'd dollars
for me, en it 'uz sich a big stack o' money
she couldn' resis'.
De widder she try to git her to say she
wouldn' do it, but I never waited to hear
de res'.
I lit out mighty quick, I tell you.
"I tuck out en shin down de hill, en 'spec
to steal a skift 'long de sho' som'ers
'bove de town, but dey wuz people a-
stirring yit, so I hid in de ole tumble-
down cooper-shop on de bank to wait for
everybody to go 'way.
Well, I wuz dah all night.
Dey wuz somebody roun' all de time.
'Long 'bout six in de mawnin' skifts begin
to go by, en 'bout eight er nine every
skift dat went 'long wuz talkin' 'bout how
yo' pap come over to de town en say you's
killed.
Dese las' skifts wuz full o' ladies en
genlmen a-goin' over for to see de place.
Sometimes dey'd pull up at de sho' en take
a res' b'fo' dey started acrost, so by de
talk I got to know all 'bout de killin'.
I 'uz powerful sorry you's killed, Huck,
but I ain't no mo' now.
"I laid dah under de shavin's all day.
I 'uz hungry, but I warn't afeard; bekase I
knowed ole missus en de widder wuz goin' to
start to de camp-meet'n' right arter
breakfas' en be gone all day, en dey knows
I goes off wid de cattle 'bout daylight, so
dey wouldn' 'spec to see me roun' de place,
en so dey wouldn' miss me tell arter dark
in de evenin'.
De yuther servants wouldn' miss me, kase
dey'd shin out en take holiday soon as de
ole folks 'uz out'n de way.
"Well, when it come dark I tuck out up de
river road, en went 'bout two mile er more
to whah dey warn't no houses.
I'd made up my mine 'bout what I's agwyne
to do.
You see, ef I kep' on tryin' to git away
afoot, de dogs 'ud track me; ef I stole a
skift to cross over, dey'd miss dat skift,
you see, en dey'd know 'bout whah I'd lan'
on de yuther side, en whah to pick up my
track.
So I says, a raff is what I's arter; it
doan' MAKE no track.
"I see a light a-comin' roun' de p'int
bymeby, so I wade' in en shove' a log ahead
o' me en swum more'n half way acrost de
river, en got in 'mongst de drift-wood, en
kep' my head down low, en kinder swum agin
de current tell de raff come along.
Den I swum to de stern uv it en tuck a-
holt.
It clouded up en 'uz pooty dark for a
little while.
So I clumb up en laid down on de planks.
De men 'uz all 'way yonder in de middle,
whah de lantern wuz.
De river wuz a-risin', en dey wuz a good
current; so I reck'n'd 'at by fo' in de
mawnin' I'd be twenty-five mile down de
river, en den I'd slip in jis b'fo'
daylight en swim asho', en take to de woods
on de Illinois side.
"But I didn' have no luck.
When we 'uz mos' down to de head er de
islan' a man begin to come aft wid de
lantern, I see it warn't no use fer to
wait, so I slid overboard en struck out fer
de islan'.
Well, I had a notion I could lan' mos'
anywhers, but I couldn't--bank too bluff.
I 'uz mos' to de foot er de islan' b'fo' I
found' a good place.
I went into de woods en jedged I wouldn'
fool wid raffs no mo', long as dey move de
lantern roun' so.
I had my pipe en a plug er dog-leg, en some
matches in my cap, en dey warn't wet, so I
'uz all right."
"And so you ain't had no meat nor bread to
eat all this time?
Why didn't you get mud-turkles?"
"How you gwyne to git 'm?
You can't slip up on um en grab um; en
how's a body gwyne to hit um wid a rock?
How could a body do it in de night?
En I warn't gwyne to show mysef on de bank
in de daytime."
"Well, that's so.
You've had to keep in the woods all the
time, of course.
Did you hear 'em shooting the cannon?"
"Oh, yes.
I knowed dey was arter you.
I see um go by heah--watched um thoo de
bushes."
Some young birds come along, flying a yard
or two at a time and lighting.
Jim said it was a sign it was going to
rain.
He said it was a sign when young chickens
flew that way, and so he reckoned it was
the same way when young birds done it.
I was going to catch some of them, but Jim
wouldn't let me.
He said it was death.
He said his father laid mighty sick once,
and some of them catched a bird, and his
old granny said his father would die, and
he did.
And Jim said you mustn't count the things
you are going to cook for dinner, because
that would bring bad luck.
The same if you shook the table-cloth after
sundown.
And he said if a man owned a beehive and
that man died, the bees must be told about
it before sun-up next morning, or else the
bees would all weaken down and quit work
and die.
Jim said bees wouldn't sting idiots; but I
didn't believe that, because I had tried
them lots of times myself, and they
wouldn't sting me.
I had heard about some of these things
before, but not all of them.
Jim knowed all kinds of signs.
He said he knowed most everything.
I said it looked to me like all the signs
was about bad luck, and so I asked him if
there warn't any good-luck signs.
He says:
"Mighty few--an' DEY ain't no use to a
body.
What you want to know when good luck's a-
comin' for?
Want to keep it off?"
And he said: "Ef you's got hairy arms en a
hairy breas', it's a sign dat you's agwyne
to be rich.
Well, dey's some use in a sign like dat,
'kase it's so fur ahead.
You see, maybe you's got to be po' a long
time fust, en so you might git discourage'
en kill yo'sef 'f you didn' know by de sign
dat you gwyne to be rich bymeby."
"Have you got hairy arms and a hairy
breast, Jim?"
"What's de use to ax dat question?
Don't you see I has?"
"Well, are you rich?"
"No, but I ben rich wunst, and gwyne to be
rich agin.
Wunst I had foteen dollars, but I tuck to
specalat'n', en got busted out."
"What did you speculate in, Jim?"
"Well, fust I tackled stock."
"What kind of stock?"
"Why, live stock--cattle, you know.
I put ten dollars in a cow.
But I ain' gwyne to resk no mo' money in
stock.
De cow up 'n' died on my han's."
"So you lost the ten dollars."
"No, I didn't lose it all.
I on'y los' 'bout nine of it.
I sole de hide en taller for a dollar en
ten cents."
"You had five dollars and ten cents left.
Did you speculate any more?"
"Yes. You know that one-laigged *** dat
b'longs to old Misto Bradish?
Well, he sot up a bank, en say anybody dat
put in a dollar would git fo' dollars mo'
at de en' er de year.
Well, all de *** went in, but dey
didn't have much.
I wuz de on'y one dat had much.
So I stuck out for mo' dan fo' dollars, en
I said 'f I didn' git it I'd start a bank
mysef.
Well, o' course dat *** want' to keep me
out er de business, bekase he says dey
warn't business 'nough for two banks, so he
say I could put in my five dollars en he
pay me thirty-five at de en' er de year.
"So I done it.
Den I reck'n'd I'd inves' de thirty-five
dollars right off en keep things a-movin'.
Dey wuz a *** name' Bob, dat had ketched
a wood-flat, en his marster didn' know it;
en I bought it off'n him en told him to
take de thirty-five dollars when de en' er
de year come; but somebody stole de wood-
flat dat night, en nex day de one-laigged
*** say de bank's busted.
So dey didn' none uv us git no money."
"What did you do with the ten cents, Jim?"
"Well, I 'uz gwyne to spen' it, but I had a
dream, en de dream tole me to give it to a
*** name' Balum--Balum's *** dey call
him for short; he's one er dem
chuckleheads, you know.
But he's lucky, dey say, en I see I warn't
lucky.
De dream say let Balum inves' de ten cents
en he'd make a raise for me.
Well, Balum he tuck de money, en when he
wuz in church he hear de preacher say dat
whoever give to de po' len' to de Lord, en
boun' to git his money back a hund'd times.
So Balum he tuck en give de ten cents to de
po', en laid low to see what wuz gwyne to
come of it."
"Well, what did come of it, Jim?"
"Nuffn never come of it.
I couldn' manage to k'leck dat money no
way; en Balum he couldn'.
I ain' gwyne to len' no mo' money 'dout I
see de security.
Boun' to git yo' money back a hund'd times,
de preacher says!
Ef I could git de ten CENTS back, I'd call
it squah, en be glad er de chanst."
"Well, it's all right anyway, Jim, long as
you're going to be rich again some time or
other."
"Yes; en I's rich now, come to look at it.
I owns mysef, en I's wuth eight hund'd
dollars.
I wisht I had de money, I wouldn' want no
mo'."