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Chapter XX.
THEY asked us considerable many questions;
wanted to know what we covered up the raft
that way for, and laid by in the daytime
instead of running --was Jim a runaway
***?
Says I:
"Goodness sakes! would a runaway *** 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 ***,
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 ***.
We don't run daytimes 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 daytime 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; 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 day 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-WHACK!--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 *** 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
Shakespearian 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-actin', 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.
Le's 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
nightcap.
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 nightshirt and a ruffled
nightcap 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 *** 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 *** 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 sun-bonnets; 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!
(A-A-MEN!) 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 a-
going, and you could hear him over
everybody; and next 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 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 a 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 he was starting home through the
woods.
The king said, take it all around, it laid
over any day he'd ever put in 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 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 cordwood 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 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 *** 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 powwow
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.