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Chapter XXIV.
NEXT day, towards night, we laid up under a
little willow towhead out in the middle,
where there was a village on each side of
the river, and the duke and the king begun
to lay out a plan for working them towns.
Jim he spoke to the duke, and said he hoped
it wouldn't take but a few hours, because
it got mighty heavy and tiresome to him
when he had to lay all day in the wigwam
tied with the rope.
You see, when we left him all alone we had
to tie him, because if anybody happened on
to him all by himself and not tied it
wouldn't look much like he was a runaway
***, you know.
So the duke said it WAS kind of hard to
have to lay roped all day, and he'd cipher
out some way to get around it.
He was uncommon bright, the duke was, and
he soon struck it.
He dressed Jim up in King Lear's outfit--it
was a long curtain-calico gown, and a white
horse-hair wig and whiskers; and then he
took his theater paint and painted Jim's
face and hands and ears and neck all over a
dead, dull, solid blue, like a man that's
been drownded nine days.
Blamed if he warn't the horriblest looking
outrage I ever see.
Then the duke took and wrote out a sign on
a shingle so:
Sick Arab--but harmless when not out of his
And he nailed that shingle to a lath, and
stood the lath up four or five foot in
front of the wigwam.
Jim was satisfied.
He said it was a sight better than lying
tied a couple of years every day, and
trembling all over every time there was a
sound.
The duke told him to make himself free and
easy, and if anybody ever come meddling
around, he must hop out of the wigwam, and
carry on a little, and fetch a howl or two
like a wild beast, and he reckoned they
would light out and leave him alone.
Which was sound enough judgment; but you
take the average man, and he wouldn't wait
for him to howl.
Why, he didn't only look like he was dead,
he looked considerable more than that.
These rapscallions wanted to try the
Nonesuch again, because there was so much
money in it, but they judged it wouldn't be
safe, because maybe the news might a worked
along down by this time.
They couldn't hit no project that suited
exactly; so at last the duke said he
reckoned he'd lay off and work his brains
an hour or two and see if he couldn't put
up something on the Arkansaw village; and
the king he allowed he would drop over to
t'other village without any plan, but just
trust in Providence to lead him the
profitable way--meaning the devil, I
reckon.
We had all bought store clothes where we
stopped last; and now the king put his'n
on, and he told me to put mine on.
I done it, of course.
The king's duds was all black, and he did
look real swell and starchy.
I never knowed how clothes could change a
body before.
Why, before, he looked like the orneriest
old rip that ever was; but now, when he'd
take off his new white beaver and make a
bow and do a smile, he looked that grand
and good and pious that you'd say he had
walked right out of the ark, and maybe was
old Leviticus himself.
Jim cleaned up the canoe, and I got my
paddle ready.
There was a big steamboat laying at the
shore away up under the point, about three
mile above the town--been there a couple of
hours, taking on freight.
Says the king:
"Seein' how I'm dressed, I reckon maybe I
better arrive down from St. Louis
or Cincinnati, or some other big place.
Go for the steamboat, Huckleberry; we'll
come down to the village on her."
I didn't have to be ordered twice to go and
take a steamboat ride.
I fetched the shore a half a mile above the
village, and then went scooting along the
bluff bank in the easy water.
Pretty soon we come to a nice innocent-
looking young country jake setting on a log
swabbing the sweat off of his face, for it
was powerful warm weather; and he had a
couple of big carpet-bags by him.
"Run her nose in shore," says the king.
I done it.
"Wher' you bound for, young man?"
"For the steamboat; going to Orleans."
"Git aboard," says the king.
"Hold on a minute, my servant 'll he'p you
with them bags.
Jump out and he'p the gentleman, Adolphus"-
-meaning me, I see.
I done so, and then we all three started on
again.
The young chap was mighty thankful; said it
was tough work toting his baggage such
weather.
He asked the king where he was going, and
the king told him he'd come down the river
and landed at the other village this
morning, and now he was going up a few mile
to see an old friend on a farm up there.
The young fellow says:
"When I first see you I says to myself,
'It's Mr.
Wilks, sure, and he come mighty near
getting here in time.'
But then I says again, 'No, I reckon it
ain't him, or else he wouldn't be paddling
up the river.'
You AIN'T him, are you?"
"No, my name's Blodgett--Elexander
Blodgett--REVEREND Elexander Blodgett, I
s'pose I must say, as I'm one o' the Lord's
poor servants.
But still I'm jist as able to be sorry for
Mr.
Wilks for not arriving in time, all the
same, if he's missed anything by it--which
I hope he hasn't."
"Well, he don't miss any property by it,
because he'll get that all right; but he's
missed seeing his brother Peter die--which
he mayn't mind, nobody can tell as to that-
-but his brother would a give anything in
this world to see HIM before he died; never
talked about nothing else all these three
weeks; hadn't seen him since they was boys
together--and hadn't ever seen his brother
William at all--that's the deef and dumb
one--William ain't more than thirty or
thirty-five.
Peter and George were the only ones that
come out here; George was the married
brother; him and his wife both died last
year.
Harvey and William's the only ones that's
left now; and, as I was saying, they
haven't got here in time."
"Did anybody send 'em word?"
"Oh, yes; a month or two ago, when Peter
was first took; because Peter said then
that he sorter felt like he warn't going to
get well this time.
You see, he was pretty old, and George's
g'yirls was too young to be much company
for him, except Mary Jane, the red-headed
one; and so he was kinder lonesome after
George and his wife died, and didn't seem
to care much to live.
He most desperately wanted to see Harvey--
and William, too, for that matter--because
he was one of them kind that can't bear to
make a will.
He left a letter behind for Harvey, and
said he'd told in it where his money was
hid, and how he wanted the rest of the
property divided up so George's g'yirls
would be all right--for George didn't leave
nothing.
And that letter was all they could get him
to put a pen to."
"Why do you reckon Harvey don't come?
Wher' does he live?"
"Oh, he lives in England--Sheffield--
preaches there--hasn't ever been in this
country.
He hasn't had any too much time--and
besides he mightn't a got the letter at
all, you know."
"Too bad, too bad he couldn't a lived to
see his brothers, poor soul.
You going to Orleans, you say?"
"Yes, but that ain't only a part of it.
I'm going in a ship, next Wednesday, for
Ryo Janeero, where my uncle lives."
"It's a pretty long journey.
But it'll be lovely; wisht I was a-going.
Is Mary Jane the oldest?
How old is the others?"
"Mary Jane's nineteen, Susan's fifteen, and
Joanna's about fourteen --that's the one
that gives herself to good works and has a
hare-lip."
"Poor things! to be left alone in the cold
world so."
"Well, they could be worse off.
Old Peter had friends, and they ain't going
to let them come to no harm.
There's Hobson, the Babtis' preacher; and
Deacon Lot Hovey, and Ben Rucker, and Abner
Shackleford, and Levi Bell, the lawyer; and
Dr.
Robinson, and their wives, and the widow
Bartley, and--well, there's a lot of them;
but these are the ones that Peter was
thickest with, and used to write about
sometimes, when he wrote home; so Harvey
'll know where to look for friends when he
gets here."
Well, the old man went on asking questions
till he just fairly emptied that young
fellow.
Blamed if he didn't inquire about everybody
and everything in that blessed town, and
all about the Wilkses; and about Peter's
business--which was a tanner; and about
George's--which was a carpenter; and about
Harvey's--which was a dissentering
minister; and so on, and so on.
Then he says:
"What did you want to walk all the way up
to the steamboat for?"
"Because she's a big Orleans boat, and I
was afeard she mightn't stop there.
When they're deep they won't stop for a
hail.
A Cincinnati boat will, but this is a St.
Louis one."
"Was Peter Wilks well off?"
"Oh, yes, pretty well off.
He had houses and land, and it's reckoned
he left three or four thousand in cash hid
up som'ers."
"When did you say he died?"
"I didn't say, but it was last night."
"Funeral to-morrow, likely?"
"Yes, 'bout the middle of the day."
"Well, it's all terrible sad; but we've all
got to go, one time or another.
So what we want to do is to be prepared;
then we're all right."
"Yes, sir, it's the best way.
Ma used to always say that."
When we struck the boat she was about done
loading, and pretty soon she got off.
The king never said nothing about going
aboard, so I lost my ride, after all.
When the boat was gone the king made me
paddle up another mile to a lonesome place,
and then he got ashore and says:
"Now hustle back, right off, and fetch the
duke up here, and the new carpet-bags.
And if he's gone over to t'other side, go
over there and git him.
And tell him to git himself up regardless.
Shove along, now."
I see what HE was up to; but I never said
nothing, of course.
When I got back with the duke we hid the
canoe, and then they set down on a log, and
the king told him everything, just like the
young fellow had said it --every last word
of it.
And all the time he was a-doing it he tried
to talk like an Englishman; and he done it
pretty well, too, for a slouch.
I can't imitate him, and so I ain't a-going
to try to; but he really done it pretty
good.
Then he says:
"How are you on the deef and dumb,
Bilgewater?"
The duke said, leave him alone for that;
said he had played a deef and dumb person
on the histronic boards.
So then they waited for a steamboat.
About the middle of the afternoon a couple
of little boats come along, but they didn't
come from high enough up the river; but at
last there was a big one, and they hailed
her.
She sent out her yawl, and we went aboard,
and she was from Cincinnati; and when they
found we only wanted to go four or five
mile they was booming mad, and gave us a
cussing, and said they wouldn't land us.
But the king was ca'm.
He says:
"If gentlemen kin afford to pay a dollar a
mile apiece to be took on and put off in a
yawl, a steamboat kin afford to carry 'em,
can't it?"
So they softened down and said it was all
right; and when we got to the village they
yawled us ashore.
About two dozen men flocked down when they
see the yawl a-coming, and when the king
says:
"Kin any of you gentlemen tell me wher' Mr.
Peter Wilks lives?" they give a glance at
one another, and nodded their heads, as
much as to say, "What d' I tell you?"
Then one of them says, kind of soft and
gentle:
"I'm sorry sir, but the best we can do is
to tell you where he DID live yesterday
evening."
Sudden as winking the ornery old cretur
went an to smash, and fell up against the
man, and put his chin on his shoulder, and
cried down his back, and says:
"Alas, alas, our poor brother--gone, and we
never got to see him; oh, it's too, too
hard!"
Then he turns around, blubbering, and makes
a lot of idiotic signs to the duke on his
hands, and blamed if he didn't drop a
carpet-bag and bust out a-crying.
If they warn't the beatenest lot, them two
frauds, that ever I struck.
Well, the men gathered around and
sympathized with them, and said all sorts
of kind things to them, and carried their
carpet-bags up the hill for them, and let
them lean on them and cry, and told the
king all about his brother's last moments,
and the king he told it all over again on
his hands to the duke, and both of them
took on about that dead tanner like they'd
lost the twelve disciples.
Well, if ever I struck anything like it,
I'm a ***.
It was enough to make a body ashamed of the
human race.