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Chapter 13
TOM'S mind was made up now. He was gloomy and desperate. He was a forsaken, friendless
boy, he said; nobody loved him; when they found out what they had driven him to, perhaps
they would be sorry; he had tried to do right and get along, but they would not let him;
since nothing would do them but to be rid of him, let it be so; and let them blame HIM
for the consequences — why shouldn't they? What right had the friendless to complain?
Yes, they had forced him to it at last: he would lead a life of crime. There was no choice.
By this time he was far down Meadow Lane, and the bell for school to "take up" tinkled
faintly upon his ear. He sobbed, now, to think he should never, never hear that old familiar
sound any more — it was very hard, but it was forced on him; since he was driven out
into the cold world, he must submit — but he forgave them. Then the sobs came thick
and fast. Just at this point he met his soul's sworn
comrade, Joe Harper — hard-eyed, and with evidently a great and dismal purpose in his
heart. Plainly here were "two souls with but a single thought." Tom, wiping his eyes with
his sleeve, began to blubber out something about a resolution to escape from hard usage
and lack of sympathy at home by roaming abroad into the great world never to return; and
ended by hoping that Joe would not forget him.
But it transpired that this was a request which Joe had just been going to make of Tom,
and had come to hunt him up for that purpose. His mother had whipped him for drinking some
cream which he had never tasted and knew nothing about; it was plain that she was tired of
him and wished him to go; if she felt that way, there was nothing for him to do but succumb;
he hoped she would be happy, and never regret having driven her poor boy out into the unfeeling
world to suffer and die. As the two boys walked sorrowing along, they
made a new compact to stand by each other and be brothers and never separate till death
relieved them of their troubles. Then they began to lay their plans. Joe was for being
a hermit, and living on crusts in a remote cave, and dying, some time, of cold and want
and grief; but after listening to Tom, he conceded that there were some conspicuous
advantages about a life of crime, and so he consented to be a pirate.
Three miles below St. Petersburg, at a point where the Mississippi River was a trifle over
a mile wide, there was a long, narrow, wooded island, with a shallow bar at the head of
it, and this offered well as a rendezvous. It was not inhabited; it lay far over toward
the further shore, abreast a dense and almost wholly unpeopled forest. So Jackson's Island
was chosen. Who were to be the subjects of their piracies was a matter that did not occur
to them. Then they hunted up Huckleberry Finn, and he joined them promptly, for all careers
were one to him; he was indifferent. They presently separated to meet at a lonely spot
on the river-bank two miles above the village at the favorite hour — which was midnight.
There was a small log raft there which they meant to capture. Each would bring hooks and
lines, and such provision as he could steal in the most dark and mysterious way — as
became outlaws. And before the afternoon was done, they had all managed to enjoy the sweet
glory of spreading the fact that pretty soon the town would "hear something." All who got
this vague hint were cautioned to "be mum and wait."
About midnight Tom arrived with a boiled ham and a few trifles, and stopped in a dense
undergrowth on a small bluff overlooking the meeting-place. It was starlight, and very
still. The mighty river lay like an ocean at rest. Tom listened a moment, but no sound
disturbed the quiet. Then he gave a low, distinct whistle. It was answered from under the bluff.
Tom whistled twice more; these signals were answered in the same way. Then a guarded voice
said: "Who goes there?"
"Tom Sawyer, the Black Avenger of the Spanish Main. Name your names."
"Huck Finn the Red-Handed, and Joe Harper the Terror of the Seas." Tom had furnished
these titles, from his favorite literature. "'Tis well. Give the countersign."
Two hoarse whispers delivered the same awful word simultaneously to the brooding night:
"BLOOD!" Then Tom tumbled his ham over the bluff and
let himself down after it, tearing both skin and clothes to some extent in the effort.
There was an easy, comfortable path along the shore under the bluff, but it lacked the
advantages of difficulty and danger so valued by a pirate.
The Terror of the Seas had brought a side of bacon, and had about worn himself out with
getting it there. Finn the Red-Handed had stolen a skillet and a quantity of half-cured
leaf tobacco, and had also brought a few corn-cobs to make pipes with. But none of the pirates
smoked or "chewed" but himself. The Black Avenger of the Spanish Main said it would
never do to start without some fire. That was a wise thought; matches were hardly known
there in that day. They saw a fire smouldering upon a great raft a hundred yards above, and
they went stealthily thither and helped themselves to a chunk. They made an imposing adventure
of it, saying, "Hist!" every now and then, and suddenly halting with finger on lip; moving
with hands on imaginary dagger-hilts; and giving orders in dismal whispers that if "the
foe" stirred, to "let him have it to the hilt," because "dead men tell no tales." They knew
well enough that the raftsmen were all down at the village laying in stores or having
a spree, but still that was no excuse for their conducting this thing in an unpiratical
way. They shoved off, presently, Tom in command,
Huck at the after oar and Joe at the forward. Tom stood amidships, gloomy-browed, and with
folded arms, and gave his orders in a low, stern whisper:
"Luff, and bring her to the wind!" "Aye-aye, sir!"
"Steady, steady-y-y-y!" "Steady it is, sir!"
"Let her go off a point!" "Point it is, sir!"
As the boys steadily and monotonously drove the raft toward mid-stream it was no doubt
understood that these orders were given only for "style," and were not intended to mean
anything in particular. "What sail's she carrying?"
"Courses, tops'ls, and flying-jib, sir." "Send the r'yals up! Lay out aloft, there,
half a dozen of ye — foretopmaststuns'l! Lively, now!"
"Aye-aye, sir!" "Shake out that maintogalans'l! Sheets and
braces! NOW my hearties!" "Aye-aye, sir!"
"Hellum-a-lee — hard a port! Stand by to meet her when she comes! Port, port! NOW,
men! With a will! Stead-y-y-y!" "Steady it is, sir!"
The raft drew beyond the middle of the river; the boys pointed her head right, and then
lay on their oars. The river was not high, so there was not more than a two or three
mile current. Hardly a word was said during the next three-quarters of an hour. Now the
raft was passing before the distant town. Two or three glimmering lights showed where
it lay, peacefully sleeping, beyond the vague vast sweep of star-gemmed water, unconscious
of the tremendous event that was happening. The Black Avenger stood still with folded
arms, "looking his last" upon the scene of his former joys and his later sufferings,
and wishing "she" could see him now, abroad on the wild sea, facing peril and death with
dauntless heart, going to his doom with a grim smile on his lips. It was but a small
strain on his imagination to remove Jackson's Island beyond eyeshot of the village, and
so he "looked his last" with a broken and satisfied heart. The other pirates were looking
their last, too; and they all looked so long that they came near letting the current drift
them out of the range of the island. But they discovered the danger in time, and made shift
to avert it. About two o'clock in the morning the raft grounded on the bar two hundred yards
above the head of the island, and they waded back and forth until they had landed their
freight. Part of the little raft's belongings consisted of an old sail, and this they spread
over a nook in the bushes for a tent to shelter their provisions; but they themselves would
sleep in the open air in good weather, as became outlaws.
They built a fire against the side of a great log twenty or thirty steps within the sombre
depths of the forest, and then cooked some bacon in the frying-pan for supper, and used
up half of the corn "pone" stock they had brought. It seemed glorious sport to be feasting
in that wild, free way in the *** forest of an unexplored and uninhabited island, far
from the haunts of men, and they said they never would return to civilization. The climbing
fire lit up their faces and threw its ruddy glare upon the pillared tree-trunks of their
forest temple, and upon the varnished foliage and festooning vines.
When the last crisp slice of bacon was gone, and the last allowance of corn pone devoured,
the boys stretched themselves out on the grass, filled with contentment. They could have found
a cooler place, but they would not deny themselves such a romantic feature as the roasting camp-fire.
"AIN'T it gay?" said Joe. "It's NUTS!" said Tom. "What would the boys
say if they could see us?" "Say? Well, they'd just die to be here — hey,
Hucky!" "I reckon so," said Huckleberry; "anyways,
I'm suited. I don't want nothing better'n this. I don't ever get enough to eat, gen'ally
— and here they can't come and pick at a feller and bullyrag him so."
"It's just the life for me," said Tom. "You don't have to get up, mornings, and you don't
have to go to school, and wash, and all that blame foolishness. You see a pirate don't
have to do ANYTHING, Joe, when he's ashore, but a hermit HE has to be praying considerable,
and then he don't have any fun, anyway, all by himself that way."
"Oh yes, that's so," said Joe, "but I hadn't thought much about it, you know. I'd a good
deal rather be a pirate, now that I've tried it."
"You see," said Tom, "people don't go much on hermits, nowadays, like they used to in
old times, but a pirate's always respected. And a hermit's got to sleep on the hardest
place he can find, and put sackcloth and ashes on his head, and stand out in the rain, and
—" "What does he put sackcloth and ashes on his
head for?" inquired Huck. "I dono. But they've GOT to do it. Hermits
always do. You'd have to do that if you was a hermit."
"Dern'd if I would," said Huck. "Well, what would you do?"
"I dono. But I wouldn't do that." "Why, Huck, you'd HAVE to. How'd you get around
it?" "Why, I just wouldn't stand it. I'd run away."
"Run away! Well, you WOULD be a nice old slouch of a hermit. You'd be a disgrace."
The Red-Handed made no response, being better employed. He had finished gouging out a cob,
and now he fitted a weed stem to it, loaded it with tobacco, and was pressing a coal to
the charge and blowing a cloud of fragrant smoke — he was in the full bloom of luxurious
contentment. The other pirates envied him this majestic vice, and secretly resolved
to acquire it shortly. Presently Huck said: "What does pirates have to do?"
Tom said: "Oh, they have just a bully time — take
ships and burn them, and get the money and bury it in awful places in their island where
there's ghosts and things to watch it, and kill everybody in the ships — make 'em walk
a plank." "And they carry the women to the island,"
said Joe; "they don't kill the women." "No," assented Tom, "they don't kill the women
— they're too noble. And the women's always beautiful, too.
"And don't they wear the bulliest clothes! Oh no! All gold and silver and di'monds,"
said Joe, with enthusiasm. "Who?" said Huck.
"Why, the pirates." Huck scanned his own clothing forlornly.
"I reckon I ain't dressed fitten for a pirate," said he, with a regretful pathos in his voice;
"but I ain't got none but these." But the other boys told him the fine clothes
would come fast enough, after they should have begun their adventures. They made him
understand that his poor rags would do to begin with, though it was customary for wealthy
pirates to start with a proper wardrobe. Gradually their talk died out and drowsiness
began to steal upon the eyelids of the little waifs. The pipe dropped from the fingers of
the Red-Handed, and he slept the sleep of the conscience-free and the weary. The Terror
of the Seas and the Black Avenger of the Spanish Main had more difficulty in getting to sleep.
They said their prayers inwardly, and lying down, since there was nobody there with authority
to make them kneel and recite aloud; in truth, they had a mind not to say them at all, but
they were afraid to proceed to such lengths as that, lest they might call down a sudden
and special thunderbolt from heaven. Then at once they reached and hovered upon the
imminent verge of sleep — but an intruder came, now, that would not "down." It was conscience.
They began to feel a vague fear that they had been doing wrong to run away; and next
they thought of the stolen meat, and then the real torture came. They tried to argue
it away by reminding conscience that they had purloined sweetmeats and apples scores
of times; but conscience was not to be appeased by such thin plausibilities; it seemed to
them, in the end, that there was no getting around the stubborn fact that taking sweetmeats
was only "hooking," while taking bacon and hams and such valuables was plain simple stealing
— and there was a command against that in the Bible. So they inwardly resolved that
so long as they remained in the business, their piracies should not again be sullied
with the crime of stealing. Then conscience granted a truce, and these curiously inconsistent
pirates fell peacefully to sleep. Chapter 14
WHEN Tom awoke in the morning, he wondered where he was. He sat up and rubbed his eyes
and looked around. Then he comprehended. It was the cool gray dawn, and there was a delicious
sense of repose and peace in the deep pervading calm and silence of the woods. Not a leaf
stirred; not a sound obtruded upon great Nature's meditation. Beaded dewdrops stood upon the
leaves and grasses. A white layer of ashes covered the fire, and a thin blue breath of
smoke rose straight into the air. Joe and Huck still slept.
Now, far away in the woods a bird called; another answered; presently the hammering
of a woodpecker was heard. Gradually the cool dim gray of the morning whitened, and as gradually
sounds multiplied and life manifested itself. The marvel of Nature shaking off sleep and
going to work unfolded itself to the musing boy. A little green worm came crawling over
a dewy leaf, lifting two-thirds of his body into the air from time to time and "sniffing
around," then proceeding again — for he was measuring, Tom said; and when the worm
approached him, of its own accord, he sat as still as a stone, with his hopes rising
and falling, by turns, as the creature still came toward him or seemed inclined to go elsewhere;
and when at last it considered a painful moment with its curved body in the air and then came
decisively down upon Tom's leg and began a journey over him, his whole heart was glad
— for that meant that he was going to have a new suit of clothes — without the shadow
of a doubt a gaudy piratical uniform. Now a procession of ants appeared, from nowhere
in particular, and went about their labors; one struggled manfully by with a dead spider
five times as big as itself in its arms, and lugged it straight up a tree-trunk. A brown
spotted lady-bug climbed the dizzy height of a grass blade, and Tom bent down close
to it and said, "Lady-bug, lady-bug, fly away home, your house is on fire, your children's
alone," and she took wing and went off to see about it — which did not surprise the
boy, for he knew of old that this insect was credulous about conflagrations, and he had
practised upon its simplicity more than once. A tumblebug came next, heaving sturdily at
its ball, and Tom touched the creature, to see it shut its legs against its body and
pretend to be dead. The birds were fairly rioting by this time. A catbird, the Northern
mocker, lit in a tree over Tom's head, and trilled out her imitations of her neighbors
in a rapture of enjoyment; then a shrill jay swept down, a flash of blue flame, and stopped
on a twig almost within the boy's reach, cocked his head to one side and eyed the strangers
with a consuming curiosity; a gray squirrel and a big fellow of the "fox" kind came skurrying
along, sitting up at intervals to inspect and chatter at the boys, for the wild things
had probably never seen a human being before and scarcely knew whether to be afraid or
not. All Nature was wide awake and stirring, now; long lances of sunlight pierced down
through the dense foliage far and near, and a few butterflies came fluttering upon the
scene. Tom stirred up the other pirates and they
all clattered away with a shout, and in a minute or two were stripped and chasing after
and tumbling over each other in the shallow limpid water of the white sandbar. They felt
no longing for the little village sleeping in the distance beyond the majestic waste
of water. A vagrant current or a slight rise in the river had carried off their raft, but
this only gratified them, since its going was something like burning the bridge between
them and civilization. They came back to camp wonderfully refreshed,
glad-hearted, and ravenous; and they soon had the camp-fire blazing up again. Huck found
a spring of clear cold water close by, and the boys made cups of broad oak or hickory
leaves, and felt that water, sweetened with such a wildwood charm as that, would be a
good enough substitute for coffee. While Joe was slicing bacon for breakfast, Tom and Huck
asked him to hold on a minute; they stepped to a promising nook in the river-bank and
threw in their lines; almost immediately they had reward. Joe had not had time to get impatient
before they were back again with some handsome bass, a couple of sun-perch and a small catfish
— provisions enough for quite a family. They fried the fish with the bacon, and were
astonished; for no fish had ever seemed so delicious before. They did not know that the
quicker a fresh-water fish is on the fire after he is caught the better he is; and they
reflected little upon what a sauce open-air sleeping, open-air exercise, bathing, and
a large ingredient of hunger make, too. They lay around in the shade, after breakfast,
while Huck had a smoke, and then went off through the woods on an exploring expedition.
They tramped gayly along, over decaying logs, through tangled underbrush, among solemn monarchs
of the forest, hung from their crowns to the ground with a drooping regalia of grape-vines.
Now and then they came upon snug nooks carpeted with grass and jeweled with flowers.
They found plenty of things to be delighted with, but nothing to be astonished at. They
discovered that the island was about three miles long and a quarter of a mile wide, and
that the shore it lay closest to was only separated from it by a narrow channel hardly
two hundred yards wide. They took a swim about every hour, so it was close upon the middle
of the afternoon when they got back to camp. They were too hungry to stop to fish, but
they fared sumptuously upon cold ham, and then threw themselves down in the shade to
talk. But the talk soon began to drag, and then died. The stillness, the solemnity that
brooded in the woods, and the sense of loneliness, began to tell upon the spirits of the boys.
They fell to thinking. A sort of undefined longing crept upon them. This took dim shape,
presently — it was budding homesickness. Even Finn the Red-Handed was dreaming of his
doorsteps and empty hogsheads. But they were all ashamed of their weakness, and none was
brave enough to speak his thought. For some time, now, the boys had been dully
conscious of a peculiar sound in the distance, just as one sometimes is of the ticking of
a clock which he takes no distinct note of. But now this mysterious sound became more
pronounced, and forced a recognition. The boys started, glanced at each other, and then
each assumed a listening attitude. There was a long silence, profound and unbroken; then
a deep, sullen boom came floating down out of the distance.
"What is it!" exclaimed Joe, under his breath. "I wonder," said Tom in a whisper.
"'Tain't thunder," said Huckleberry, in an awed tone, "becuz thunder —"
"Hark!" said Tom. "Listen — don't talk." They waited a time that seemed an age, and
then the same muffled boom troubled the solemn hush.
"Let's go and see." They sprang to their feet and hurried to the
shore toward the town. They parted the bushes on the bank and peered out over the water.
The little steam ferryboat was about a mile below the village, drifting with the current.
Her broad deck seemed crowded with people. There were a great many skiffs rowing about
or floating with the stream in the neighborhood of the ferryboat, but the boys could not determine
what the men in them were doing. Presently a great jet of white smoke burst from the
ferryboat's side, and as it expanded and rose in a lazy cloud, that same dull throb of sound
was borne to the listeners again. "I know now!" exclaimed Tom; "somebody's drownded!"
"That's it!" said Huck; "they done that last summer, when Bill Turner got drownded; they
shoot a cannon over the water, and that makes him come up to the top. Yes, and they take
loaves of bread and put quicksilver in 'em and set 'em afloat, and wherever there's anybody
that's drownded, they'll float right there and stop."
"Yes, I've heard about that," said Joe. "I wonder what makes the bread do that."
"Oh, it ain't the bread, so much," said Tom; "I reckon it's mostly what they SAY over it
before they start it out." "But they don't say anything over it," said
Huck. "I've seen 'em and they don't." "Well, that's funny," said Tom. "But maybe
they say it to themselves. Of COURSE they do. Anybody might know that."
The other boys agreed that there was reason in what Tom said, because an ignorant lump
of bread, uninstructed by an incantation, could not be expected to act very intelligently
when set upon an errand of such gravity. "By jings, I wish I was over there, now,"
said Joe. "I do too" said Huck "I'd give heaps to know
who it is." The boys still listened and watched. Presently
a revealing thought flashed through Tom's mind, and he exclaimed:
"Boys, I know who's drownded — it's us!" They felt like heroes in an instant. Here
was a gorgeous triumph; they were missed; they were mourned; hearts were breaking on
their account; tears were being shed; accusing memories of unkindness to these poor lost
lads were rising up, and unavailing regrets and remorse were being indulged; and best
of all, the departed were the talk of the whole town, and the envy of all the boys,
as far as this dazzling notoriety was concerned. This was fine. It was worth while to be a
pirate, after all. As twilight drew on, the ferryboat went back
to her accustomed business and the skiffs disappeared. The pirates returned to camp.
They were jubilant with vanity over their new grandeur and the illustrious trouble they
were making. They caught fish, cooked supper and ate it, and then fell to guessing at what
the village was thinking and saying about them; and the pictures they drew of the public
distress on their account were gratifying to look upon — from their point of view.
But when the shadows of night closed them in, they gradually ceased to talk, and sat
gazing into the fire, with their minds evidently wandering elsewhere. The excitement was gone,
now, and Tom and Joe could not keep back thoughts of certain persons at home who were not enjoying
this fine frolic as much as they were. Misgivings came; they grew troubled and unhappy; a sigh
or two escaped, unawares. By and by Joe timidly ventured upon a roundabout "feeler" as to
how the others might look upon a return to civilization — not right now, but —
Tom withered him with derision! Huck, being uncommitted as yet, joined in with Tom, and
the waverer quickly "explained," and was glad to get out of the scrape with as little taint
of chicken-hearted homesickness clinging to his garments as he could. Mutiny was effectually
laid to rest for the moment. As the night deepened, Huck began to nod,
and presently to snore. Joe followed next. Tom lay upon his elbow motionless, for some
time, watching the two intently. At last he got up cautiously, on his knees, and went
searching among the grass and the flickering reflections flung by the camp-fire. He picked
up and inspected several large semi-cylinders of the thin white bark of a sycamore, and
finally chose two which seemed to suit him. Then he knelt by the fire and painfully wrote
something upon each of these with his "red keel"; one he rolled up and put in his jacket
pocket, and the other he put in Joe's hat and removed it to a little distance from the
owner. And he also put into the hat certain schoolboy treasures of almost inestimable
value — among them a lump of chalk, an India-rubber ball, three fishhooks, and one of that kind
of marbles known as a "sure 'nough crystal." Then he tiptoed his way cautiously among the
trees till he felt that he was out of hearing, and straightway broke into a keen run in the
direction of the sandbar. Chapter 15
A FEW minutes later Tom was in the shoal water of the bar, wading toward the Illinois shore.
Before the depth reached his middle he was half-way over; the current would permit no
more wading, now, so he struck out confidently to swim the remaining hundred yards. He swam
quartering upstream, but still was swept downward rather faster than he had expected. However,
he reached the shore finally, and drifted along till he found a low place and drew himself
out. He put his hand on his jacket pocket, found his piece of bark safe, and then struck
through the woods, following the shore, with streaming garments. Shortly before ten o'clock
he came out into an open place opposite the village, and saw the ferryboat lying in the
shadow of the trees and the high bank. Everything was quiet under the blinking stars. He crept
down the bank, watching with all his eyes, slipped into the water, swam three or four
strokes and climbed into the skiff that did "yawl" duty at the boat's stern. He laid himself
down under the thwarts and waited, panting. Presently the cracked bell tapped and a voice
gave the order to "cast off." A minute or two later the skiff's head was standing high
up, against the boat's swell, and the voyage was begun. Tom felt happy in his success,
for he knew it was the boat's last trip for the night. At the end of a long twelve or
fifteen minutes the wheels stopped, and Tom slipped overboard and swam ashore in the dusk,
landing fifty yards downstream, out of danger of possible stragglers.
He flew along unfrequented alleys, and shortly found himself at his aunt's back fence. He
climbed over, approached the "ell," and looked in at the sitting-room window, for a light
was burning there. There sat Aunt Polly, Sid, Mary, and Joe Harper's mother, grouped together,
talking. They were by the bed, and the bed was between them and the door. Tom went to
the door and began to softly lift the latch; then he pressed gently and the door yielded
a crack; he continued pushing cautiously, and quaking every time it creaked, till he
judged he might squeeze through on his knees; so he put his head through and began, warily.
"What makes the candle blow so?" said Aunt Polly. Tom hurried up. "Why, that door's open,
I believe. Why, of course it is. No end of strange things now. Go 'long and shut it,
Sid." Tom disappeared under the bed just in time.
He lay and "breathed" himself for a time, and then crept to where he could almost touch
his aunt's foot. "But as I was saying," said Aunt Polly, "he
warn't BAD, so to say — only mischEEvous. Only just giddy, and harum-scarum, you know.
He warn't any more responsible than a colt. HE never meant any harm, and he was the best-hearted
boy that ever was"— and she began to cry. "It was just so with my Joe — always full
of his devilment, and up to every kind of mischief, but he was just as unselfish and
kind as he could be — and laws bless me, to think I went and whipped him for taking
that cream, never once recollecting that I throwed it out myself because it was sour,
and I never to see him again in this world, never, never, never, poor abused boy!" And
Mrs. Harper sobbed as if her heart would break. "I hope Tom's better off where he is," said
Sid, "but if he'd been better in some ways —"
"SID!" Tom felt the glare of the old lady's eye, though he could not see it. "Not a word
against my Tom, now that he's gone! God'll take care of HIM— never you trouble YOURself,
sir! Oh, Mrs. Harper, I don't know how to give him up! I don't know how to give him
up! He was such a comfort to me, although he tormented my old heart out of me, 'most."
"The Lord giveth and the Lord hath taken away — Blessed be the name of the Lord! But it's
so hard — Oh, it's so hard! Only last Saturday my Joe busted a firecracker right under my
nose and I knocked him sprawling. Little did I know then, how soon — Oh, if it was to
do over again I'd hug him and bless him for it."
"Yes, yes, yes, I know just how you feel, Mrs. Harper, I know just exactly how you feel.
No longer ago than yesterday noon, my Tom took and filled the cat full of Pain-killer,
and I did think the cretur would tear the house down. And God forgive me, I cracked
Tom's head with my thimble, poor boy, poor dead boy. But he's out of all his troubles
now. And the last words I ever heard him say was to reproach —"
But this memory was too much for the old lady, and she broke entirely down. Tom was snuffling,
now, himself — and more in pity of himself than anybody else. He could hear Mary crying,
and putting in a kindly word for him from time to time. He began to have a nobler opinion
of himself than ever before. Still, he was sufficiently touched by his aunt's grief to
long to rush out from under the bed and overwhelm her with joy — and the theatrical gorgeousness
of the thing appealed strongly to his nature, too, but he resisted and lay still.
He went on listening, and gathered by odds and ends that it was conjectured at first
that the boys had got drowned while taking a swim; then the small raft had been missed;
next, certain boys said the missing lads had promised that the village should "hear something"
soon; the wise-heads had "put this and that together" and decided that the lads had gone
off on that raft and would turn up at the next town below, presently; but toward noon
the raft had been found, lodged against the Missouri shore some five or six miles below
the village — and then hope perished; they must be drowned, else hunger would have driven
them home by nightfall if not sooner. It was believed that the search for the bodies had
been a fruitless effort merely because the drowning must have occurred in mid-channel,
since the boys, being good swimmers, would otherwise have escaped to shore. This was
Wednesday night. If the bodies continued missing until Sunday, all hope would be given over,
and the funerals would be preached on that morning. Tom shuddered.
Mrs. Harper gave a sobbing good-night and turned to go. Then with a mutual impulse the
two bereaved women flung themselves into each other's arms and had a good, consoling cry,
and then parted. Aunt Polly was tender far beyond her wont, in her good-night to Sid
and Mary. Sid snuffled a bit and Mary went off crying with all her heart.
Aunt Polly knelt down and prayed for Tom so touchingly, so appealingly, and with such
measureless love in her words and her old trembling voice, that he was weltering in
tears again, long before she was through. He had to keep still long after she went to
bed, for she kept making broken-hearted ejaculations from time to time, tossing unrestfully, and
turning over. But at last she was still, only moaning a little in her sleep. Now the boy
stole out, rose gradually by the bedside, shaded the candle-light with his hand, and
stood regarding her. His heart was full of pity for her. He took out his sycamore scroll
and placed it by the candle. But something occurred to him, and he lingered considering.
His face lighted with a happy solution of his thought; he put the bark hastily in his
pocket. Then he bent over and kissed the faded lips, and straightway made his stealthy exit,
latching the door behind him. He threaded his way back to the ferry landing,
found nobody at large there, and walked boldly on board the boat, for he knew she was tenantless
except that there was a watchman, who always turned in and slept like a graven image. He
untied the skiff at the stern, slipped into it, and was soon rowing cautiously upstream.
When he had pulled a mile above the village, he started quartering across and bent himself
stoutly to his work. He hit the landing on the other side neatly, for this was a familiar
bit of work to him. He was moved to capture the skiff, arguing that it might be considered
a ship and therefore legitimate prey for a pirate, but he knew a thorough search would
be made for it and that might end in revelations. So he stepped ashore and entered the woods.
He sat down and took a long rest, torturing himself meanwhile to keep awake, and then
started warily down the home-stretch. The night was far spent. It was broad daylight
before he found himself fairly abreast the island bar. He rested again until the sun
was well up and gilding the great river with its splendor, and then he plunged into the
stream. A little later he paused, dripping, upon the threshold of the camp, and heard
Joe say: "No, Tom's true-blue, Huck, and he'll come
back. He won't desert. He knows that would be a disgrace to a pirate, and Tom's too proud
for that sort of thing. He's up to something or other. Now I wonder what?"
"Well, the things is ours, anyway, ain't they?" Pretty near, but not yet, Huck. The writing
says they are if he ain't back here to breakfast." "Which he is!" exclaimed Tom, with fine dramatic
effect, stepping grandly into camp. A sumptuous breakfast of bacon and fish was
shortly provided, and as the boys set to work upon it, Tom recounted (and adorned) his adventures.
They were a vain and boastful company of heroes when the tale was done. Then Tom hid himself
away in a shady nook to sleep till noon, and the other pirates got ready to fish and explore.