HUCKLEBERRY FINN

By Mark Twain

Part 3. 

CHAPTER XI. 

"COME in, " says the woman, and I did. She says: "Take a cheer. "

I done it. She looked me all over with her little shiny eyes, and says:

"What might your name be?"

"Sarah Williams. "

"Where 'bouts do you live? In this neighborhood?'

"No'm. In Hookerville, seven mile below. I've walked all the way andI'm all tired out. "

"Hungry, too, I reckon. I'll find you something. "

"No'm, I ain't hungry. I was so hungry I had to stop two miles belowhere at a farm; so I ain't hungry no more. It's what makes me so late. My mother's down sick, and out of money and everything, and I come totell my uncle Abner Moore. He lives at the upper end of the town, shesays. I hain't ever been here before. Do you know him?"

"No; but I don't know everybody yet. I haven't lived here quite twoweeks. It's a considerable ways to the upper end of the town. You betterstay here all night. Take off your bonnet. "

"No, " I says; "I'll rest a while, I reckon, and go on. I ain't afearedof the dark. "

She said she wouldn't let me go by myself, but her husband would be in byand by, maybe in a hour and a half, and she'd send him along with me. Then she got to talking about her husband, and about her relations up theriver, and her relations down the river, and about how much better offthey used to was, and how they didn't know but they'd made a mistakecoming to our town, instead of letting well alone--and so on and so on, till I was afeard I had made a mistake coming to her to find out what wasgoing on in the town; but by and by she dropped on to pap and the murder, and then I was pretty willing to let her clatter right along. She toldabout me and Tom Sawyer finding the six thousand dollars (only she got itten) and all about pap and what a hard lot he was, and what a hard lot Iwas, and at last she got down to where I was murdered. I says:

"Who done it? We've heard considerable about these goings on down inHookerville, but we don't know who 'twas that killed Huck Finn. "

"Well, I reckon there's a right smart chance of people HERE that'd liketo know who killed him. Some think old Finn done it himself. "

"No--is that so?"

"Most everybody thought it at first. He'll never know how nigh he cometo getting lynched. But before night they changed around and judged itwas done by a runaway nigger named Jim. "

"Why HE--"

I stopped. I reckoned I better keep still. She run on, and nevernoticed I had put in at all:

"The nigger run off the very night Huck Finn was killed. So there's areward out for him--three hundred dollars. And there's a reward out forold Finn, too--two hundred dollars. You see, he come to town the morningafter the murder, and told about it, and was out with 'em on theferryboat hunt, and right away after he up and left. Before night theywanted to lynch him, but he was gone, you see. Well, next day they foundout the nigger was gone; they found out he hadn't ben seen sence teno'clock the night the murder was done. So then they put it on him, yousee; and while they was full of it, next day, back comes old Finn, andwent boo-hooing to Judge Thatcher to get money to hunt for the nigger allover Illinois with. The judge gave him some, and that evening he gotdrunk, and was around till after midnight with a couple of mightyhard-looking strangers, and then went off with them. Well, he hain'tcome back sence, and they ain't looking for him back till this thingblows over a little, for people thinks now that he killed his boy andfixed things so folks would think robbers done it, and then he'd getHuck's money without having to bother a long time with a lawsuit. Peopledo say he warn't any too good to do it. Oh, he's sly, I reckon. If hedon't come back for a year he'll be all right. You can't prove anythingon him, you know; everything will be quieted down then, and he'll walk inHuck's money as easy as nothing. "

"Yes, I reckon so, 'm. I don't see nothing in the way of it. Haseverybody quit thinking the nigger done it?"

"Oh, no, not everybody. A good many thinks he done it. But they'll getthe nigger pretty soon now, and maybe they can scare it out of him. "

"Why, are they after him yet?"

"Well, you're innocent, ain't you! Does three hundred dollars lay aroundevery day for people to pick up? Some folks think the nigger ain't farfrom here. I'm one of them--but I hain't talked it around. A few daysago I was talking with an old couple that lives next door in the logshanty, and they happened to say hardly anybody ever goes to that islandover yonder that they call Jackson's Island. Don't anybody live there?says I. No, nobody, says they. I didn't say any more, but I done somethinking. I was pretty near certain I'd seen smoke over there, about thehead of the island, a day or two before that, so I says to myself, likeas not that nigger's hiding over there; anyway, says I, it's worth thetrouble to give the place a hunt. I hain't seen any smoke sence, so Ireckon maybe he's gone, if it was him; but husband's going over to see--him and another man. He was gone up the river; but he got back to-day, and I told him as soon as he got here two hours ago. "

I had got so uneasy I couldn't set still. I had to do something with myhands; so I took up a needle off of the table and went to threading it. My hands shook, and I was making a bad job of it. When the woman stoppedtalking I looked up, and she was looking at me pretty curious and smilinga little. I put down the needle and thread, and let on to be interested--and I was, too--and says:

"Three hundred dollars is a power of money. I wish my mother could getit. Is your husband going over there to-night?"

"Oh, yes. He went up-town with the man I was telling you of, to get aboat and see if they could borrow another gun. They'll go over aftermidnight. "

"Couldn't they see better if they was to wait till daytime?"

"Yes. And couldn't the nigger see better, too? After midnight he'lllikely be asleep, and they can slip around through the woods and hunt uphis camp fire all the better for the dark, if he's got one. "

"I didn't think of that. "

The woman kept looking at me pretty curious, and I didn't feel a bitcomfortable. Pretty soon she says"

"What did you say your name was, honey?"

"M--Mary Williams. "

Somehow it didn't seem to me that I said it was Mary before, so I didn'tlook up--seemed to me I said it was Sarah; so I felt sort of cornered, and was afeared maybe I was looking it, too. I wished the woman wouldsay something more; the longer she set still the uneasier I was. But nowshe says:

"Honey, I thought you said it was Sarah when you first come in?"

"Oh, yes'm, I did. Sarah Mary Williams. Sarah's my first name. Somecalls me Sarah, some calls me Mary. "

"Oh, that's the way of it?"

"Yes'm. "

I was feeling better then, but I wished I was out of there, anyway. Icouldn't look up yet. 

Well, the woman fell to talking about how hard times was, and how poorthey had to live, and how the rats was as free as if they owned theplace, and so forth and so on, and then I got easy again. She was rightabout the rats. You'd see one stick his nose out of a hole in the cornerevery little while. She said she had to have things handy to throw atthem when she was alone, or they wouldn't give her no peace. She showedme a bar of lead twisted up into a knot, and said she was a good shotwith it generly, but she'd wrenched her arm a day or two ago, and didn'tknow whether she could throw true now. But she watched for a chance, anddirectly banged away at a rat; but she missed him wide, and said "Ouch!"it hurt her arm so. Then she told me to try for the next one. I wantedto be getting away before the old man got back, but of course I didn'tlet on. I got the thing, and the first rat that showed his nose I letdrive, and if he'd a stayed where he was he'd a been a tolerable sickrat. She said that was first-rate, and she reckoned I would hive thenext one. She went and got the lump of lead and fetched it back, andbrought along a hank of yarn which she wanted me to help her with. Iheld up my two hands and she put the hank over them, and went on talkingabout her and her husband's matters. But she broke off to say:

"Keep your eye on the rats. You better have the lead in your lap, handy. "

So she dropped the lump into my lap just at that moment, and I clapped mylegs together on it and she went on talking. But only about a minute. Then she took off the hank and looked me straight in the face, and verypleasant, and says:

"Come, now, what's your real name?"

"Wh--what, mum?"

"What's your real name? Is it Bill, or Tom, or Bob?--or what is it?"

I reckon I shook like a leaf, and I didn't know hardly what to do. But Isays:

"Please to don't poke fun at a poor girl like me, mum. If I'm in the wayhere, I'll--"

"No, you won't. Set down and stay where you are. I ain't going to hurtyou, and I ain't going to tell on you, nuther. You just tell me yoursecret, and trust me. I'll keep it; and, what's more, I'll help you. So'll my old man if you want him to. You see, you're a runaway'prentice, that's all. It ain't anything. There ain't no harm in it. You've been treated bad, and you made up your mind to cut. Bless you, child, I wouldn't tell on you. Tell me all about it now, that's a goodboy. "

So I said it wouldn't be no use to try to play it any longer, and I wouldjust make a clean breast and tell her everything, but she musn't go backon her promise. Then I told her my father and mother was dead, and thelaw had bound me out to a mean old farmer in the country thirty mile backfrom the river, and he treated me so bad I couldn't stand it no longer;he went away to be gone a couple of days, and so I took my chance andstole some of his daughter's old clothes and cleared out, and I had beenthree nights coming the thirty miles. I traveled nights, and hiddaytimes and slept, and the bag of bread and meat I carried from homelasted me all the way, and I had a-plenty. I said I believed my uncleAbner Moore would take care of me, and so that was why I struck out forthis town of Goshen. 

"Goshen, child? This ain't Goshen. This is St. Petersburg. Goshen'sten mile further up the river. Who told you this was Goshen?"

"Why, a man I met at daybreak this morning, just as I was going to turninto the woods for my regular sleep. He told me when the roads forked Imust take the right hand, and five mile would fetch me to Goshen. "

"He was drunk, I reckon. He told you just exactly wrong. "

"Well, he did act like he was drunk, but it ain't no matter now. I gotto be moving along. I'll fetch Goshen before daylight. "

"Hold on a minute. I'll put you up a snack to eat. You might want it. "

So she put me up a snack, and says:

"Say, when a cow's laying down, which end of her gets up first? Answerup prompt now--don't stop to study over it. Which end gets up first?"

"The hind end, mum. "

"Well, then, a horse?"

"The for'rard end, mum. "

"Which side of a tree does the moss grow on?"

"North side. "

"If fifteen cows is browsing on a hillside, how many of them eats withtheir heads pointed the same direction?"

"The whole fifteen, mum. "

"Well, I reckon you HAVE lived in the country. I thought maybe you wastrying to hocus me again. What's your real name, now?"

"George Peters, mum. "

"Well, try to remember it, George. Don't forget and tell me it'sElexander before you go, and then get out by saying it's George Elexanderwhen I catch you. And don't go about women in that old calico. You do agirl tolerable poor, but you might fool men, maybe. Bless you, child, when you set out to thread a needle don't hold the thread still and fetchthe needle up to it; hold the needle still and poke the thread at it;that's the way a woman most always does, but a man always does t'otherway. And when you throw at a rat or anything, hitch yourself up a tiptoeand fetch your hand up over your head as awkward as you can, and missyour rat about six or seven foot. Throw stiff-armed from the shoulder, like there was a pivot there for it to turn on, like a girl; not from thewrist and elbow, with your arm out to one side, like a boy. And, mindyou, when a girl tries to catch anything in her lap she throws her kneesapart; she don't clap them together, the way you did when you catched thelump of lead. Why, I spotted you for a boy when you was threading theneedle; and I contrived the other things just to make certain. Now trotalong to your uncle, Sarah Mary Williams George Elexander Peters, and ifyou get into trouble you send word to Mrs. Judith Loftus, which is me, and I'll do what I can to get you out of it. Keep the river road all theway, and next time you tramp take shoes and socks with you. The riverroad's a rocky one, and your feet'll be in a condition when you get toGoshen, I reckon. "

I went up the bank about fifty yards, and then I doubled on my tracks andslipped back to where my canoe was, a good piece below the house. Ijumped in, and was off in a hurry. I went up-stream far enough to makethe head of the island, and then started across. I took off thesun-bonnet, for I didn't want no blinders on then. When I was about themiddle I heard the clock begin to strike, so I stops and listens; thesound come faint over the water but clear--eleven. When I struck thehead of the island I never waited to blow, though I was most winded, butI shoved right into the timber where my old camp used to be, and starteda good fire there on a high and dry spot. 

Then I jumped in the canoe and dug out for our place, a mile and a halfbelow, as hard as I could go. I landed, and slopped through the timberand up the ridge and into the cavern. There Jim laid, sound asleep onthe ground. I roused him out and says:

"Git up and hump yourself, Jim! There ain't a minute to lose. They'reafter us!"

Jim never asked no questions, he never said a word; but the way he workedfor the next half an hour showed about how he was scared. By that timeeverything we had in the world was on our raft, and she was ready to beshoved out from the willow cove where she was hid. We put out the campfire at the cavern the first thing, and didn't show a candle outsideafter that. 

I took the canoe out from the shore a little piece, and took a look; butif there was a boat around I couldn't see it, for stars and shadows ain'tgood to see by. Then we got out the raft and slipped along down in theshade, past the foot of the island dead still--never saying a word. 

CHAPTER XII. 

IT must a been close on to one o'clock when we got below the island atlast, and the raft did seem to go mighty slow. If a boat was to comealong we was going to take to the canoe and break for the Illinois shore;and it was well a boat didn't come, for we hadn't ever thought to put thegun in the canoe, or a fishing-line, or anything to eat. We was inruther too much of a sweat to think of so many things. It warn't goodjudgment to put EVERYTHING on the raft. 

If the men went to the island I just expect they found the camp fire Ibuilt, and watched it all night for Jim to come. Anyways, they stayedaway from us, and if my building the fire never fooled them it warn't nofault of mine. I played it as low down on them as I could. 

When the first streak of day began to show we tied up to a towhead in abig bend on the Illinois side, and hacked off cottonwood branches withthe hatchet, and covered up the raft with them so she looked like therehad been a cave-in in the bank there. A tow-head is a sandbar that hascottonwoods on it as thick as harrow-teeth. 

We had mountains on the Missouri shore and heavy timber on the Illinoisside, and the channel was down the Missouri shore at that place, so wewarn't afraid of anybody running across us. We laid there all day, andwatched the rafts and steamboats spin down the Missouri shore, andup-bound steamboats fight the big river in the middle. I told Jim allabout the time I had jabbering with that woman; and Jim said she was asmart one, and if she was to start after us herself she wouldn't set downand watch a camp fire--no, sir, she'd fetch a dog. Well, then, I said, why couldn't she tell her husband to fetch a dog? Jim said he bet shedid think of it by the time the men was ready to start, and he believedthey must a gone up-town to get a dog and so they lost all that time, orelse we wouldn't be here on a towhead sixteen or seventeen mile below thevillage--no, indeedy, we would be in that same old town again. So I saidI didn't care what was the reason they didn't get us as long as theydidn't. 

When it was beginning to come on dark we poked our heads out of thecottonwood thicket, and looked up and down and across; nothing in sight;so Jim took up some of the top planks of the raft and built a snug wigwamto get under in blazing weather and rainy, and to keep the things dry. Jim made a floor for the wigwam, and raised it a foot or more above thelevel of the raft, so now the blankets and all the traps was out of reachof steamboat waves. Right in the middle of the wigwam we made a layer ofdirt about five or six inches deep with a frame around it for to hold itto its place; this was to build a fire on in sloppy weather or chilly;the wigwam would keep it from being seen. We made an extra steering-oar, too, because one of the others might get broke on a snag or something. We fixed up a short forked stick to hang the old lantern on, because wemust always light the lantern whenever we see a steamboat comingdown-stream, to keep from getting run over; but we wouldn't have to lightit for up-stream boats unless we see we was in what they call a"crossing"; for the river was pretty high yet, very low banks being stilla little under water; so up-bound boats didn't always run the channel, but hunted easy water. 

This second night we run between seven and eight hours, with a currentthat was making over four mile an hour. We catched fish and talked, andwe took a swim now and then to keep off sleepiness. It was kind ofsolemn, drifting down the big, still river, laying on our backs lookingup at the stars, and we didn't ever feel like talking loud, and it warn'toften that we laughed--only a little kind of a low chuckle. We hadmighty good weather as a general thing, and nothing ever happened to usat all--that night, nor the next, nor the next. 

Every night we passed towns, some of them away up on black hillsides, nothing but just a shiny bed of lights; not a house could you see. Thefifth night we passed St. Louis, and it was like the whole world lit up. In St. Petersburg they used to say there was twenty or thirty thousandpeople in St. Louis, but I never believed it till I see that wonderfulspread of lights at two o'clock that still night. There warn't a soundthere; everybody was asleep. 

Every night now I used to slip ashore towards ten o'clock at some littlevillage, and buy ten or fifteen cents' worth of meal or bacon or otherstuff to eat; and sometimes I lifted a chicken that warn't roostingcomfortable, and took him along. Pap always said, take a chicken whenyou get a chance, because if you don't want him yourself you can easyfind somebody that does, and a good deed ain't ever forgot. I never seepap when he didn't want the chicken himself, but that is what he used tosay, anyway. 

Mornings before daylight I slipped into cornfields and borrowed awatermelon, or a mushmelon, or a punkin, or some new corn, or things ofthat kind. Pap always said it warn't no harm to borrow things if you wasmeaning to pay them back some time; but the widow said it warn't anythingbut a soft name for stealing, and no decent body would do it. Jim saidhe reckoned the widow was partly right and pap was partly right; so thebest way would be for us to pick out two or three things from the listand say we wouldn't borrow them any more--then he reckoned it wouldn't beno harm to borrow the others. So we talked it over all one night, drifting along down the river, trying to make up our minds whether todrop the watermelons, or the cantelopes, or the mushmelons, or what. Buttowards daylight we got it all settled satisfactory, and concluded todrop crabapples and p'simmons. We warn't feeling just right before that, but it was all comfortable now. I was glad the way it come out, too, because crabapples ain't ever good, and the p'simmons wouldn't be ripefor two or three months yet. 

We shot a water-fowl now and then that got up too early in the morning ordidn't go to bed early enough in the evening. Take it all round, welived pretty high. 

The fifth night below St. Louis we had a big storm after midnight, with apower of thunder and lightning, and the rain poured down in a solidsheet. We stayed in the wigwam and let the raft take care of itself. When the lightning glared out we could see a big straight river ahead, and high, rocky bluffs on both sides. By and by says I, "Hel-LO, Jim, looky yonder!" It was a steamboat that had killed herself on a rock. Wewas drifting straight down for her. The lightning showed her verydistinct. She was leaning over, with part of her upper deck above water, and you could see every little chimbly-guy clean and clear, and a chairby the big bell, with an old slouch hat hanging on the back of it, whenthe flashes come. 

Well, it being away in the night and stormy, and all so mysterious-like, I felt just the way any other boy would a felt when I see that wrecklaying there so mournful and lonesome in the middle of the river. Iwanted to get aboard of her and slink around a little, and see what therewas there. So I says:

"Le's land on her, Jim. "

But Jim was dead against it at first. He says:

"I doan' want to go fool'n 'long er no wrack. We's doin' blame' well, enwe better let blame' well alone, as de good book says. Like as not dey'sa watchman on dat wrack. "

"Watchman your grandmother, " I says; "there ain't nothing to watch butthe texas and the pilot-house; and do you reckon anybody's going to reskhis life for a texas and a pilot-house such a night as this, when it'slikely to break up and wash off down the river any minute?" Jim couldn'tsay nothing to that, so he didn't try. "And besides, " I says, "we mightborrow something worth having out of the captain's stateroom. Seegars, Ibet you--and cost five cents apiece, solid cash. Steamboat captains isalways rich, and get sixty dollars a month, and THEY don't care a centwhat a thing costs, you know, long as they want it. Stick a candle inyour pocket; I can't rest, Jim, till we give her a rummaging. Do youreckon Tom Sawyer would ever go by this thing? Not for pie, he wouldn't. He'd call it an adventure--that's what he'd call it; and he'd land onthat wreck if it was his last act. And wouldn't he throw style into it?--wouldn't he spread himself, nor nothing? Why, you'd think it wasChristopher C'lumbus discovering Kingdom-Come. I wish Tom Sawyer WAShere. "

Jim he grumbled a little, but give in. He said we mustn't talk any morethan we could help, and then talk mighty low. The lightning showed usthe wreck again just in time, and we fetched the stabboard derrick, andmade fast there. 

The deck was high out here. We went sneaking down the slope of it tolabboard, in the dark, towards the texas, feeling our way slow with ourfeet, and spreading our hands out to fend off the guys, for it was sodark we couldn't see no sign of them. Pretty soon we struck the forwardend of the skylight, and clumb on to it; and the next step fetched us infront of the captain's door, which was open, and by Jimminy, away downthrough the texas-hall we see a light! and all in the same second we seemto hear low voices in yonder!

Jim whispered and said he was feeling powerful sick, and told me to comealong. I says, all right, and was going to start for the raft; but justthen I heard a voice wail out and say:

"Oh, please don't, boys; I swear I won't ever tell!"

Another voice said, pretty loud:

"It's a lie, Jim Turner. You've acted this way before. You always wantmore'n your share of the truck, and you've always got it, too, becauseyou've swore 't if you didn't you'd tell. But this time you've said itjest one time too many. You're the meanest, treacherousest hound in thiscountry. "

By this time Jim was gone for the raft. I was just a-biling withcuriosity; and I says to myself, Tom Sawyer wouldn't back out now, and soI won't either; I'm a-going to see what's going on here. So I dropped onmy hands and knees in the little passage, and crept aft in the dark tillthere warn't but one stateroom betwixt me and the cross-hall of thetexas. Then in there I see a man stretched on the floor and tied handand foot, and two men standing over him, and one of them had a dimlantern in his hand, and the other one had a pistol. This one keptpointing the pistol at the man's head on the floor, and saying:

"I'd LIKE to! And I orter, too--a mean skunk!"

The man on the floor would shrivel up and say, "Oh, please don't, Bill; Ihain't ever goin' to tell. "

And every time he said that the man with the lantern would laugh and say:

"'Deed you AIN'T! You never said no truer thing 'n that, you bet you. "And once he said: "Hear him beg! and yit if we hadn't got the best ofhim and tied him he'd a killed us both. And what FOR? Jist for noth'n. Jist because we stood on our RIGHTS--that's what for. But I lay youain't a-goin' to threaten nobody any more, Jim Turner. Put UP thatpistol, Bill. "

Bill says:

"I don't want to, Jake Packard. I'm for killin' him--and didn't he killold Hatfield jist the same way--and don't he deserve it?"

"But I don't WANT him killed, and I've got my reasons for it. "

"Bless yo' heart for them words, Jake Packard! I'll never forgit youlong's I live!" says the man on the floor, sort of blubbering. 

Packard didn't take no notice of that, but hung up his lantern on a nailand started towards where I was there in the dark, and motioned Bill tocome. I crawfished as fast as I could about two yards, but the boatslanted so that I couldn't make very good time; so to keep from gettingrun over and catched I crawled into a stateroom on the upper side. Theman came a-pawing along in the dark, and when Packard got to mystateroom, he says:

"Here--come in here. "

And in he come, and Bill after him. But before they got in I was up inthe upper berth, cornered, and sorry I come. Then they stood there, withtheir hands on the ledge of the berth, and talked. I couldn't see them, but I could tell where they was by the whisky they'd been having. I wasglad I didn't drink whisky; but it wouldn't made much difference anyway, because most of the time they couldn't a treed me because I didn'tbreathe. I was too scared. And, besides, a body COULDN'T breathe andhear such talk. They talked low and earnest. Bill wanted to killTurner. He says:

"He's said he'll tell, and he will. If we was to give both our shares tohim NOW it wouldn't make no difference after the row and the way we'veserved him. Shore's you're born, he'll turn State's evidence; now youhear ME. I'm for putting him out of his troubles. "

"So'm I, " says Packard, very quiet. 

"Blame it, I'd sorter begun to think you wasn't. Well, then, that's allright. Le's go and do it. "

"Hold on a minute; I hain't had my say yit. You listen to me. Shooting's good, but there's quieter ways if the thing's GOT to be done. But what I say is this: it ain't good sense to go court'n around after ahalter if you can git at what you're up to in some way that's jist asgood and at the same time don't bring you into no resks. Ain't that so?"

"You bet it is. But how you goin' to manage it this time?"

"Well, my idea is this: we'll rustle around and gather up whateverpickins we've overlooked in the staterooms, and shove for shore and hidethe truck. Then we'll wait. Now I say it ain't a-goin' to be more'n twohours befo' this wrack breaks up and washes off down the river. See?He'll be drownded, and won't have nobody to blame for it but his ownself. I reckon that's a considerble sight better 'n killin' of him. I'munfavorable to killin' a man as long as you can git aroun' it; it ain'tgood sense, it ain't good morals. Ain't I right?"

"Yes, I reck'n you are. But s'pose she DON'T break up and wash off?"

"Well, we can wait the two hours anyway and see, can't we?"

"All right, then; come along. "

So they started, and I lit out, all in a cold sweat, and scrambledforward. It was dark as pitch there; but I said, in a kind of a coarsewhisper, "Jim !" and he answered up, right at my elbow, with a sort of amoan, and I says:

"Quick, Jim, it ain't no time for fooling around and moaning; there's agang of murderers in yonder, and if we don't hunt up their boat and sether drifting down the river so these fellows can't get away from thewreck there's one of 'em going to be in a bad fix. But if we find theirboat we can put ALL of 'em in a bad fix--for the sheriff 'll get 'em. Quick--hurry! I'll hunt the labboard side, you hunt the stabboard. You start at the raft, and--"

"Oh, my lordy, lordy! RAF'? Dey ain' no raf' no mo'; she done brokeloose en gone I--en here we is!"

CHAPTER XIII. 

WELL, I catched my breath and most fainted. Shut up on a wreck with sucha gang as that! But it warn't no time to be sentimentering. We'd GOT tofind that boat now--had to have it for ourselves. So we went a-quakingand shaking down the stabboard side, and slow work it was, too--seemed aweek before we got to the stern. No sign of a boat. Jim said he didn'tbelieve he could go any further--so scared he hadn't hardly any strengthleft, he said. But I said, come on, if we get left on this wreck we arein a fix, sure. So on we prowled again. We struck for the stern of thetexas, and found it, and then scrabbled along forwards on the skylight, hanging on from shutter to shutter, for the edge of the skylight was inthe water. When we got pretty close to the cross-hall door there was theskiff, sure enough! I could just barely see her. I felt ever sothankful. In another second I would a been aboard of her, but just thenthe door opened. One of the men stuck his head out only about a coupleof foot from me, and I thought I was gone; but he jerked it in again, andsays:

"Heave that blame lantern out o' sight, Bill!"

He flung a bag of something into the boat, and then got in himself andset down. It was Packard. Then Bill HE come out and got in. Packardsays, in a low voice:

"All ready--shove off!"

I couldn't hardly hang on to the shutters, I was so weak. But Bill says:

"Hold on--'d you go through him?"

"No. Didn't you?"

"No. So he's got his share o' the cash yet. "

"Well, then, come along; no use to take truck and leave money. "

"Say, won't he suspicion what we're up to?"

"Maybe he won't. But we got to have it anyway. Come along. "

So they got out and went in. 

The door slammed to because it was on the careened side; and in a halfsecond I was in the boat, and Jim come tumbling after me. I out with myknife and cut the rope, and away we went!

We didn't touch an oar, and we didn't speak nor whisper, nor hardly evenbreathe. We went gliding swift along, dead silent, past the tip of thepaddle-box, and past the stern; then in a second or two more we was ahundred yards below the wreck, and the darkness soaked her up, every lastsign of her, and we was safe, and knowed it. 

When we was three or four hundred yards down-stream we see the lanternshow like a little spark at the texas door for a second, and we knowed bythat that the rascals had missed their boat, and was beginning tounderstand that they was in just as much trouble now as Jim Turner was. 

Then Jim manned the oars, and we took out after our raft. Now was thefirst time that I begun to worry about the men--I reckon I hadn't hadtime to before. I begun to think how dreadful it was, even formurderers, to be in such a fix. I says to myself, there ain't no tellingbut I might come to be a murderer myself yet, and then how would I likeit? So says I to Jim:

"The first light we see we'll land a hundred yards below it or above it, in a place where it's a good hiding-place for you and the skiff, and thenI'll go and fix up some kind of a yarn, and get somebody to go for thatgang and get them out of their scrape, so they can be hung when theirtime comes. "

But that idea was a failure; for pretty soon it begun to storm again, andthis time worse than ever. The rain poured down, and never a lightshowed; everybody in bed, I reckon. We boomed along down the river, watching for lights and watching for our raft. After a long time therain let up, but the clouds stayed, and the lightning kept whimpering, and by and by a flash showed us a black thing ahead, floating, and wemade for it. 

It was the raft, and mighty glad was we to get aboard of it again. Weseen a light now away down to the right, on shore. So I said I would gofor it. The skiff was half full of plunder which that gang had stolethere on the wreck. We hustled it on to the raft in a pile, and I toldJim to float along down, and show a light when he judged he had goneabout two mile, and keep it burning till I come; then I manned my oarsand shoved for the light. As I got down towards it three or four moreshowed--up on a hillside. It was a village. I closed in above the shorelight, and laid on my oars and floated. As I went by I see it was alantern hanging on the jackstaff of a double-hull ferryboat. I skimmedaround for the watchman, a-wondering whereabouts he slept; and by and byI found him roosting on the bitts forward, with his head down between hisknees. I gave his shoulder two or three little shoves, and begun to cry. 

He stirred up in a kind of a startlish way; but when he see it was onlyme he took a good gap and stretch, and then he says:

"Hello, what's up? Don't cry, bub. What's the trouble?"

I says:

"Pap, and mam, and sis, and--"

Then I broke down. He says:

"Oh, dang it now, DON'T take on so; we all has to have our troubles, andthis 'n 'll come out all right. What's the matter with 'em?"

"They're--they're--are you the watchman of the boat?"

"Yes, " he says, kind of pretty-well-satisfied like. "I'm the captain andthe owner and the mate and the pilot and watchman and head deck-hand; andsometimes I'm the freight and passengers. I ain't as rich as old JimHornback, and I can't be so blame' generous and good to Tom, Dick, andHarry as what he is, and slam around money the way he does; but I've toldhim a many a time 't I wouldn't trade places with him; for, says I, asailor's life's the life for me, and I'm derned if I'D live two mile outo' town, where there ain't nothing ever goin' on, not for all hisspondulicks and as much more on top of it. Says I--"

I broke in and says:

"They're in an awful peck of trouble, and--"

"WHO is?"

"Why, pap and mam and sis and Miss Hooker; and if you'd take yourferryboat and go up there--"

"Up where? Where are they?"

"On the wreck. "

"What wreck?"

"Why, there ain't but one. "

"What, you don't mean the Walter Scott?"

"Yes. "

"Good land! what are they doin' THERE, for gracious sakes?"

"Well, they didn't go there a-purpose. "

"I bet they didn't! Why, great goodness, there ain't no chance for 'emif they don't git off mighty quick! Why, how in the nation did they evergit into such a scrape?"

"Easy enough. Miss Hooker was a-visiting up there to the town--"

"Yes, Booth's Landing--go on. "

"She was a-visiting there at Booth's Landing, and just in the edge of theevening she started over with her nigger woman in the horse-ferry to stayall night at her friend's house, Miss What-you-may-call-her I disrememberher name--and they lost their steering-oar, and swung around and wenta-floating down, stern first, about two mile, and saddle-baggsed on thewreck, and the ferryman and the nigger woman and the horses was all lost, but Miss Hooker she made a grab and got aboard the wreck. Well, about anhour after dark we come along down in our trading-scow, and it was sodark we didn't notice the wreck till we was right on it; and so WEsaddle-baggsed; but all of us was saved but Bill Whipple--and oh, he WASthe best cretur !--I most wish 't it had been me, I do. "

"My George! It's the beatenest thing I ever struck. And THEN what didyou all do?"

"Well, we hollered and took on, but it's so wide there we couldn't makenobody hear. So pap said somebody got to get ashore and get helpsomehow. I was the only one that could swim, so I made a dash for it, andMiss Hooker she said if I didn't strike help sooner, come here and huntup her uncle, and he'd fix the thing. I made the land about a milebelow, and been fooling along ever since, trying to get people to dosomething, but they said, 'What, in such a night and such a current?There ain't no sense in it; go for the steam ferry. ' Now if you'll goand--"

"By Jackson, I'd LIKE to, and, blame it, I don't know but I will; but whoin the dingnation's a-going' to PAY for it? Do you reckon your pap--"

"Why THAT'S all right. Miss Hooker she tole me, PARTICULAR, that heruncle Hornback--"

"Great guns! is HE her uncle? Looky here, you break for that light overyonder-way, and turn out west when you git there, and about a quarter ofa mile out you'll come to the tavern; tell 'em to dart you out to JimHornback's, and he'll foot the bill. And don't you fool around any, because he'll want to know the news. Tell him I'll have his niece allsafe before he can get to town. Hump yourself, now; I'm a-going uparound the corner here to roust out my engineer. "

I struck for the light, but as soon as he turned the corner I went backand got into my skiff and bailed her out, and then pulled up shore in theeasy water about six hundred yards, and tucked myself in among somewoodboats; for I couldn't rest easy till I could see the ferryboat start. But take it all around, I was feeling ruther comfortable on accounts oftaking all this trouble for that gang, for not many would a done it. Iwished the widow knowed about it. I judged she would be proud of me forhelping these rapscallions, because rapscallions and dead beats is thekind the widow and good people takes the most interest in. 

Well, before long here comes the wreck, dim and dusky, sliding alongdown! A kind of cold shiver went through me, and then I struck out forher. She was very deep, and I see in a minute there warn't much chancefor anybody being alive in her. I pulled all around her and hollered alittle, but there wasn't any answer; all dead still. I felt a little bitheavy-hearted about the gang, but not much, for I reckoned if they couldstand it I could. 

Then here comes the ferryboat; so I shoved for the middle of the river ona long down-stream slant; and when I judged I was out of eye-reach I laidon my oars, and looked back and see her go and smell around the wreck forMiss Hooker's remainders, because the captain would know her uncleHornback would want them; and then pretty soon the ferryboat give it upand went for the shore, and I laid into my work and went a-booming downthe river. 

It did seem a powerful long time before Jim's light showed up; and whenit did show it looked like it was a thousand mile off. By the time I gotthere the sky was beginning to get a little gray in the east; so westruck for an island, and hid the raft, and sunk the skiff, and turned inand slept like dead people. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

BY and by, when we got up, we turned over the truck the gang had stoleoff of the wreck, and found boots, and blankets, and clothes, and allsorts of other things, and a lot of books, and a spyglass, and threeboxes of seegars. We hadn't ever been this rich before in neither of ourlives. The seegars was prime. We laid off all the afternoon in thewoods talking, and me reading the books, and having a general good time. I told Jim all about what happened inside the wreck and at the ferryboat, and I said these kinds of things was adventures; but he said he didn'twant no more adventures. He said that when I went in the texas and hecrawled back to get on the raft and found her gone he nearly died, because he judged it was all up with HIM anyway it could be fixed; for ifhe didn't get saved he would get drownded; and if he did get saved, whoever saved him would send him back home so as to get the reward, andthen Miss Watson would sell him South, sure. Well, he was right; he wasmost always right; he had an uncommon level head for a nigger. 

I read considerable to Jim about kings and dukes and earls and such, andhow gaudy they dressed, and how much style they put on, and called eachother your majesty, and your grace, and your lordship, and so on, 'steadof mister; and Jim's eyes bugged out, and he was interested. He says:

"I didn' know dey was so many un um. I hain't hearn 'bout none un um, skasely, but ole King Sollermun, onless you counts dem kings dat's in apack er k'yards. How much do a king git?"

"Get?" I says; "why, they get a thousand dollars a month if they wantit; they can have just as much as they want; everything belongs to them. "

"AIN' dat gay? En what dey got to do, Huck?"

"THEY don't do nothing! Why, how you talk! They just set around. "

"No; is dat so?"

"Of course it is. They just set around--except, maybe, when there's awar; then they go to the war. But other times they just lazy around; orgo hawking--just hawking and sp--Sh!--d' you hear a noise?"

We skipped out and looked; but it warn't nothing but the flutter of asteamboat's wheel away down, coming around the point; so we come back. 

"Yes, " says I, "and other times, when things is dull, they fuss with theparlyment; and if everybody don't go just so he whacks their heads off. But mostly they hang round the harem. "

"Roun' de which?"

"Harem. "

"What's de harem?"

"The place where he keeps his wives. Don't you know about the harem?Solomon had one; he had about a million wives. "

"Why, yes, dat's so; I--I'd done forgot it. A harem's a bo'd'n-house, Ireck'n. Mos' likely dey has rackety times in de nussery. En I reck'n dewives quarrels considable; en dat 'crease de racket. Yit dey saySollermun de wises' man dat ever live'. I doan' take no stock in dat. Bekase why: would a wise man want to live in de mids' er sich ablim-blammin' all de time? No--'deed he wouldn't. A wise man 'ud takeen buil' a biler-factry; en den he could shet DOWN de biler-factry whenhe want to res'. "

"Well, but he WAS the wisest man, anyway; because the widow she told meso, her own self. "

"I doan k'yer what de widder say, he WARN'T no wise man nuther. He hadsome er de dad-fetchedes' ways I ever see. Does you know 'bout dat chiledat he 'uz gwyne to chop in two?"

"Yes, the widow told me all about it. "

"WELL, den! Warn' dat de beatenes' notion in de worl'? You jes' take enlook at it a minute. Dah's de stump, dah--dat's one er de women; heah'syou--dat's de yuther one; I's Sollermun; en dish yer dollar bill's dechile. Bofe un you claims it. What does I do? Does I shin aroun'mongs' de neighbors en fine out which un you de bill DO b'long to, enhan' it over to de right one, all safe en soun', de way dat anybody dathad any gumption would? No; I take en whack de bill in TWO, en give halfun it to you, en de yuther half to de yuther woman. Dat's de waySollermun was gwyne to do wid de chile. Now I want to ast you: what'sde use er dat half a bill?--can't buy noth'n wid it. En what use is ahalf a chile? I wouldn' give a dern for a million un um. "

"But hang it, Jim, you've clean missed the point--blame it, you've missedit a thousand mile. "

"Who? Me? Go 'long. Doan' talk to me 'bout yo' pints. I reck'n Iknows sense when I sees it; en dey ain' no sense in sich doin's as dat. De 'spute warn't 'bout a half a chile, de 'spute was 'bout a whole chile;en de man dat think he kin settle a 'spute 'bout a whole chile wid a halfa chile doan' know enough to come in out'n de rain. Doan' talk to me'bout Sollermun, Huck, I knows him by de back. "

"But I tell you you don't get the point. "

"Blame de point! I reck'n I knows what I knows. En mine you, de REALpint is down furder--it's down deeper. It lays in de way Sollermun wasraised. You take a man dat's got on'y one or two chillen; is dat mangwyne to be waseful o' chillen? No, he ain't; he can't 'ford it. HEknow how to value 'em. But you take a man dat's got 'bout five millionchillen runnin' roun' de house, en it's diffunt. HE as soon chop a chilein two as a cat. Dey's plenty mo'. A chile er two, mo' er less, warn'tno consekens to Sollermun, dad fatch him!"

I never see such a nigger. If he got a notion in his head once, therewarn't no getting it out again. He was the most down on Solomon of anynigger I ever see. So I went to talking about other kings, and letSolomon slide. I told about Louis Sixteenth that got his head cut off inFrance long time ago; and about his little boy the dolphin, that would abeen a king, but they took and shut him up in jail, and some say he diedthere. 

"Po' little chap. "

"But some says he got out and got away, and come to America. "

"Dat's good! But he'll be pooty lonesome--dey ain' no kings here, isdey, Huck?"

"No. "

"Den he cain't git no situation. What he gwyne to do?"

"Well, I don't know. Some of them gets on the police, and some of themlearns people how to talk French. "

"Why, Huck, doan' de French people talk de same way we does?"

"NO, Jim; you couldn't understand a word they said--not a single word. "

"Well, now, I be ding-busted! How do dat come?"

"I don't know; but it's so. I got some of their jabber out of a book. S'pose a man was to come to you and say Polly-voo-franzy--what would youthink?"

"I wouldn' think nuff'n; I'd take en bust him over de head--dat is, if hewarn't white. I wouldn't 'low no nigger to call me dat. "

"Shucks, it ain't calling you anything. It's only saying, do you knowhow to talk French?"

"Well, den, why couldn't he SAY it?"

"Why, he IS a-saying it. That's a Frenchman's WAY of saying it. "

"Well, it's a blame ridicklous way, en I doan' want to hear no mo' 'boutit. Dey ain' no sense in it. "

"Looky here, Jim; does a cat talk like we do?"

"No, a cat don't. "

"Well, does a cow?"

"No, a cow don't, nuther. "

"Does a cat talk like a cow, or a cow talk like a cat?"

"No, dey don't. "

"It's natural and right for 'em to talk different from each other, ain'tit?"

"Course. "

"And ain't it natural and right for a cat and a cow to talk differentfrom US?"

"Why, mos' sholy it is. "

"Well, then, why ain't it natural and right for a FRENCHMAN to talkdifferent from us? You answer me that. "

"Is a cat a man, Huck?"

"No. "

"Well, den, dey ain't no sense in a cat talkin' like a man. Is a cow aman?--er is a cow a cat?"

"No, she ain't either of them. "

"Well, den, she ain't got no business to talk like either one er theyuther of 'em. Is a Frenchman a man?"

"Yes. "

"WELL, den! Dad blame it, why doan' he TALK like a man? You answer meDAT!"

I see it warn't no use wasting words--you can't learn a nigger to argue. So I quit. 

CHAPTER XV. 

WE judged that three nights more would fetch us to Cairo, at the bottomof Illinois, where the Ohio River comes in, and that was what we wasafter. We would sell the raft and get on a steamboat and go way up theOhio amongst the free States, and then be out of trouble. 

Well, the second night a fog begun to come on, and we made for a towheadto tie to, for it wouldn't do to try to run in a fog; but when I paddledahead in the canoe, with the line to make fast, there warn't anything butlittle saplings to tie to. I passed the line around one of them right onthe edge of the cut bank, but there was a stiff current, and the raftcome booming down so lively she tore it out by the roots and away shewent. I see the fog closing down, and it made me so sick and scared Icouldn't budge for most a half a minute it seemed to me--and then therewarn't no raft in sight; you couldn't see twenty yards. I jumped intothe canoe and run back to the stern, and grabbed the paddle and set herback a stroke. But she didn't come. I was in such a hurry I hadn'tuntied her. I got up and tried to untie her, but I was so excited myhands shook so I couldn't hardly do anything with them. 

As soon as I got started I took out after the raft, hot and heavy, rightdown the towhead. That was all right as far as it went, but the towheadwarn't sixty yards long, and the minute I flew by the foot of it I shotout into the solid white fog, and hadn't no more idea which way I wasgoing than a dead man. 

Thinks I, it won't do to paddle; first I know I'll run into the bank or atowhead or something; I got to set still and float, and yet it's mightyfidgety business to have to hold your hands still at such a time. Iwhooped and listened. Away down there somewheres I hears a small whoop, and up comes my spirits. I went tearing after it, listening sharp tohear it again. The next time it come I see I warn't heading for it, butheading away to the right of it. And the next time I was heading away tothe left of it--and not gaining on it much either, for I was flyingaround, this way and that and t'other, but it was going straight aheadall the time. 

I did wish the fool would think to beat a tin pan, and beat it all thetime, but he never did, and it was the still places between the whoopsthat was making the trouble for me. Well, I fought along, and directly Ihears the whoop BEHIND me. I was tangled good now. That was somebodyelse's whoop, or else I was turned around. 

I throwed the paddle down. I heard the whoop again; it was behind meyet, but in a different place; it kept coming, and kept changing itsplace, and I kept answering, till by and by it was in front of me again, and I knowed the current had swung the canoe's head down-stream, and Iwas all right if that was Jim and not some other raftsman hollering. Icouldn't tell nothing about voices in a fog, for nothing don't looknatural nor sound natural in a fog. 

The whooping went on, and in about a minute I come a-booming down on acut bank with smoky ghosts of big trees on it, and the current throwed meoff to the left and shot by, amongst a lot of snags that fairly roared, the currrent was tearing by them so swift. 

In another second or two it was solid white and still again. I setperfectly still then, listening to my heart thump, and I reckon I didn'tdraw a breath while it thumped a hundred. 

I just give up then. I knowed what the matter was. That cut bank was anisland, and Jim had gone down t'other side of it. It warn't no towheadthat you could float by in ten minutes. It had the big timber of aregular island; it might be five or six miles long and more than half amile wide. 

I kept quiet, with my ears cocked, about fifteen minutes, I reckon. Iwas floating along, of course, four or five miles an hour; but you don'tever think of that. No, you FEEL like you are laying dead still on thewater; and if a little glimpse of a snag slips by you don't think toyourself how fast YOU'RE going, but you catch your breath and think, my!how that snag's tearing along. If you think it ain't dismal and lonesomeout in a fog that way by yourself in the night, you try it once--you'llsee. 

Next, for about a half an hour, I whoops now and then; at last I hearsthe answer a long ways off, and tries to follow it, but I couldn't do it, and directly I judged I'd got into a nest of towheads, for I had littledim glimpses of them on both sides of me--sometimes just a narrow channelbetween, and some that I couldn't see I knowed was there because I'd hearthe wash of the current against the old dead brush and trash that hungover the banks. Well, I warn't long loosing the whoops down amongst thetowheads; and I only tried to chase them a little while, anyway, becauseit was worse than chasing a Jack-o'-lantern. You never knowed a sounddodge around so, and swap places so quick and so much. 

I had to claw away from the bank pretty lively four or five times, tokeep from knocking the islands out of the river; and so I judged the raftmust be butting into the bank every now and then, or else it would getfurther ahead and clear out of hearing--it was floating a little fasterthan what I was. 

Well, I seemed to be in the open river again by and by, but I couldn'thear no sign of a whoop nowheres. I reckoned Jim had fetched up on asnag, maybe, and it was all up with him. I was good and tired, so I laiddown in the canoe and said I wouldn't bother no more. I didn't want togo to sleep, of course; but I was so sleepy I couldn't help it; so Ithought I would take jest one little cat-nap. 

But I reckon it was more than a cat-nap, for when I waked up the starswas shining bright, the fog was all gone, and I was spinning down a bigbend stern first. First I didn't know where I was; I thought I wasdreaming; and when things began to come back to me they seemed to come updim out of last week. 

It was a monstrous big river here, with the tallest and the thickest kindof timber on both banks; just a solid wall, as well as I could see by thestars. I looked away down-stream, and seen a black speck on the water. I took after it; but when I got to it it warn't nothing but a couple ofsawlogs made fast together. Then I see another speck, and chased that;then another, and this time I was right. It was the raft. 

When I got to it Jim was setting there with his head down between hisknees, asleep, with his right arm hanging over the steering-oar. Theother oar was smashed off, and the raft was littered up with leaves andbranches and dirt. So she'd had a rough time. 

I made fast and laid down under Jim's nose on the raft, and began to gap, and stretch my fists out against Jim, and says:

"Hello, Jim, have I been asleep? Why didn't you stir me up?"

"Goodness gracious, is dat you, Huck? En you ain' dead--you ain'drownded--you's back agin? It's too good for true, honey, it's toogood for true. Lemme look at you chile, lemme feel o' you. No, you ain'dead! you's back agin, 'live en soun', jis de same ole Huck--de same oleHuck, thanks to goodness!"

"What's the matter with you, Jim? You been a-drinking?"

"Drinkin'? Has I ben a-drinkin'? Has I had a chance to be a-drinkin'?"

"Well, then, what makes you talk so wild?"

"How does I talk wild?"

"HOW? Why, hain't you been talking about my coming back, and all thatstuff, as if I'd been gone away?"

"Huck--Huck Finn, you look me in de eye; look me in de eye. HAIN'T youben gone away?"

"Gone away? Why, what in the nation do you mean? I hain't been goneanywheres. Where would I go to?"

"Well, looky here, boss, dey's sumf'n wrong, dey is. Is I ME, or who ISI? Is I heah, or whah IS I? Now dat's what I wants to know. "

"Well, I think you're here, plain enough, but I think you're atangle-headed old fool, Jim. "

"I is, is I? Well, you answer me dis: Didn't you tote out de line in decanoe fer to make fas' to de tow-head?"

"No, I didn't. What tow-head? I hain't see no tow-head. "

"You hain't seen no towhead? Looky here, didn't de line pull loose en deraf' go a-hummin' down de river, en leave you en de canoe behine in defog?"

"What fog?"

"Why, de fog!--de fog dat's been aroun' all night. En didn't you whoop, en didn't I whoop, tell we got mix' up in de islands en one un us gotlos' en t'other one was jis' as good as los', 'kase he didn' know whah hewuz? En didn't I bust up agin a lot er dem islands en have a turribletime en mos' git drownded? Now ain' dat so, boss--ain't it so? Youanswer me dat. "

"Well, this is too many for me, Jim. I hain't seen no fog, nor noislands, nor no troubles, nor nothing. I been setting here talking withyou all night till you went to sleep about ten minutes ago, and I reckonI done the same. You couldn't a got drunk in that time, so of courseyou've been dreaming. "

"Dad fetch it, how is I gwyne to dream all dat in ten minutes?"

"Well, hang it all, you did dream it, because there didn't any of ithappen. "

"But, Huck, it's all jis' as plain to me as--"

"It don't make no difference how plain it is; there ain't nothing in it. I know, because I've been here all the time. "

Jim didn't say nothing for about five minutes, but set there studyingover it. Then he says:

"Well, den, I reck'n I did dream it, Huck; but dog my cats ef it ain't depowerfullest dream I ever see. En I hain't ever had no dream b'fo' dat'stired me like dis one. "

"Oh, well, that's all right, because a dream does tire a body likeeverything sometimes. But this one was a staving dream; tell me allabout it, Jim. "

So Jim went to work and told me the whole thing right through, just as ithappened, only he painted it up considerable. Then he said he must startin and "'terpret" it, because it was sent for a warning. He said thefirst towhead stood for a man that would try to do us some good, but thecurrent was another man that would get us away from him. The whoops waswarnings that would come to us every now and then, and if we didn't tryhard to make out to understand them they'd just take us into bad luck, 'stead of keeping us out of it. The lot of towheads was troubles we wasgoing to get into with quarrelsome people and all kinds of mean folks, but if we minded our business and didn't talk back and aggravate them, wewould pull through and get out of the fog and into the big clear river, which was the free States, and wouldn't have no more trouble. 

It had clouded up pretty dark just after I got on to the raft, but it wasclearing up again now. 

"Oh, well, that's all interpreted well enough as far as it goes, Jim, " Isays; "but what does THESE things stand for?"

It was the leaves and rubbish on the raft and the smashed oar. You couldsee them first-rate now. 

Jim looked at the trash, and then looked at me, and back at the trashagain. He had got the dream fixed so strong in his head that he couldn'tseem to shake it loose and get the facts back into its place again rightaway. But when he did get the thing straightened around he looked at mesteady without ever smiling, and says:

"What do dey stan' for? I'se gwyne to tell you. When I got all wore outwid work, en wid de callin' for you, en went to sleep, my heart wuz mos'broke bekase you wuz los', en I didn' k'yer no' mo' what become er me ende raf'. En when I wake up en fine you back agin, all safe en soun', detears come, en I could a got down on my knees en kiss yo' foot, I's sothankful. En all you wuz thinkin' 'bout wuz how you could make a fool uvole Jim wid a lie. Dat truck dah is TRASH; en trash is what people isdat puts dirt on de head er dey fren's en makes 'em ashamed. "

Then he got up slow and walked to the wigwam, and went in there withoutsaying anything but that. But that was enough. It made me feel so meanI could almost kissed HIS foot to get him to take it back. 

It was fifteen minutes before I could work myself up to go and humblemyself to a nigger; but I done it, and I warn't ever sorry for itafterwards, neither. I didn't do him no more mean tricks, and I wouldn'tdone that one if I'd a knowed it would make him feel that way.