CHAPTER XX
THEY asked us considerable many questions; wanted to
know what we covered up the raft that way for, and
laid by in the daytime instead of running -- was Jim
a runaway nigger? Says I:
"Goodness sakes! would a runaway nigger run south?"
No, they allowed he wouldn't. I had to account for
things some way, so I says:
"My folks was living in Pike County, in Missouri,
where I was born, and they all died off but me and
pa and my brother Ike. Pa, he 'lowed he'd break up
and go down and live with Uncle Ben, who's got a
little one-horse place on the river, forty-four mile
below Orleans. Pa was pretty poor, and had some
debts; so when he'd squared up there warn't nothing
left but sixteen dollars and our nigger, Jim. That
warn't enough to take us fourteen hundred mile, deck
passage nor no other way. Well, when the river rose
pa had a streak of luck one day; he ketched this
piece of a raft; so we reckoned we'd go down to
Orleans on it. Pa's luck didn't hold out; a
steamboat run over the forrard corner of the raft
one night, and we all went overboard and dove under
the wheel; Jim and me come up all right, but pa was
drunk, and Ike was only four years old, so they
never come up no more. Well, for the next day or two
we had considerable trouble, because people was
always
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coming out in skiffs and trying to take Jim away
from me, saying they believed he was a runaway
nigger. We don't run day-times no more now; nights
they don't bother us."
The duke says:
"Leave me alone to cipher out a way so we can run in
the daytime if we want to. I'll think the thing over
-- I'll invent a plan that'll fix it. We'll let it
alone for to-day, because of course we don't want to
go by that town yonder in daylight -- it mightn't be
healthy."
Towards night it begun to darken up and look like
rain; the heat lightning was squirting around low
down in the sky, and the leaves was beginning to
shiver -- it was going to be pretty ugly, it was
easy to see that. So the duke and the king went to
overhauling our wigwam, to see what the beds was
like. My bed was a straw tick -- better than Jim's,
which was a cornshuck tick; there's always cobs
around about in a shuck tick, and they poke into you
and hurt; and when you roll over the dry shucks
sound like you was rolling over in a pile of dead
leaves; it makes such a rustling that you wake up.
Well, the duke allowed he would take my bed; but the
king allowed he wouldn't. He says:
"I should a reckoned the difference in rank would a
sejested to you that a corn-shuck bed warn't just
fitten for me to sleep on. Your Grace 'll take the
shuck bed yourself."
Jim and me was in a sweat again for a minute, being
afraid there was going to be some more trouble
amongst them; so we was pretty glad when the duke
says:
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"'Tis my fate to be always ground into the mire
under the iron heel of oppression. Misfortune has
broken my once haughty spirit; I yield, I submit;
'tis my fate. I am alone in the world -- let me
suffer; can bear it."
We got away as soon as it was good and dark. The
king told us to stand well out towards the middle of
the river, and not show a light till we got a long
ways below the town. We come in sight of the little
bunch of lights by and by -- that was the town, you
know -- and slid by, about a half a mile out, all
right. When we was three-quarters of a mile below we
hoisted up our signal lantern; and about ten o'clock
it come on to rain and blow and thunder and lighten
like everything; so the king told us to both stay on
watch till the weather got better; then him and the
duke crawled into the wigwam and turned in for the
night. It was my watch below till twelve, but I
wouldn't a turned in anyway if I'd had a bed,
because a body don't see such a storm as that every
day in the week, not by a long sight. My souls, how
the wind did scream along! And every second or two
there'd come a glare that lit up the white-caps for
a half a mile around, and you'd see the islands
looking dusty through the rain, and the trees
thrashing around in the wind; then comes a h-whack!
-- bum! bum! bumble-umble-um-bum-bum-bum-bum -- and
the thunder would go rumbling and grumbling away,
and quit -- and then rip comes another flash and
another sockdolager. The waves most washed me off
the raft sometimes, but I hadn't any clothes on, and
didn't mind. We didn't have no trouble about snags;
the lightning was glaring and flittering around so
constant
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that we could see them plenty soon enough to throw
her head this way or that and miss them.
I had the middle watch, you know, but I was pretty
sleepy by that time, so Jim he said he would stand
the first half of it for me; he was always mighty
good that way, Jim was. I crawled into the wigwam,
but the king and the duke had their legs sprawled
around so there warn't no show for me; so I laid
outside -- I didn't mind the rain, because it was
warm, and the waves warn't running so high now.
About two they come up again, though, and Jim was
going to call me; but he changed his mind, because
he reckoned they warn't high enough yet to do any
harm; but he was mistaken about that, for pretty
soon all of a sudden along comes a regular ripper
and washed me overboard. It most killed Jim
a-laughing. He was the easiest nigger to laugh that
ever was, anyway.
I took the watch, and Jim he laid down and snored
away; and by and by the storm let up for good and
all; and the first cabin-light that showed I rousted
him out, and we slid the raft into hiding quarters
for the day.
The king got out an old ratty deck of cards after
breakfast, and him and the duke played seven-up a
while, five cents a game. Then they got tired of it,
and allowed they would "lay out a campaign," as they
called it. The duke went down into his carpetbag,
and fetched up a lot of little printed bills and
read them out loud. One bill said, "The celebrated
Dr. Armand de Montalban, of Paris," would "lecture
on the Science of Phrenology" at such and such a
place, on the blank day of blank, at ten cents
admission, and "furnish charts of character at
twenty-five cents
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apiece." The duke said that was him. In another bill
he was the "world-renowned Shakespearian tragedian,
Garrick the Younger, of Drury Lane, London." In
other bills he had a lot of other names and done
other wonderful things, like finding water and gold
with a "divining-rod," "dissipating witch spells,"
and so on. By and by he says:
"But the histrionic muse is the darling. Have you
ever trod the boards, Royalty?"
"No," says the king.
"You shall, then, before you're three days older,
Fallen Grandeur," says the duke. "The first good
town we come to we'll hire a hall and do the sword
fight in Richard III. and the balcony scene in Romeo
and Juliet. How does that strike you?"
"I'm in, up to the hub, for anything that will pay,
Bilgewater; but, you see, I don't know nothing about
play-actin', and hain't ever seen much of it. I was
too small when pap used to have 'em at the palace.
Do you reckon you can learn me?"
"Easy!"
"All right. I'm jist a-freezn' for something fresh,
anyway. Le's commence right away."
So the duke he told him all about who Romeo was and
who Juliet was, and said he was used to being Romeo,
so the king could be Juliet.
"But if Juliet's such a young gal, duke, my peeled
head and my white whiskers is goin' to look oncommon
odd on her, maybe."
"No, don't you worry; these country jakes won't ever
think of that. Besides, you know, you'll be in
costume, and that makes all the difference in the
world; Juliet's in a balcony, enjoying the moonlight
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before she goes to bed, and she's got on her
night-gown and her ruffled nightcap. Here are the
costumes for the parts."
He got out two or three curtain-calico suits, which
he said was meedyevil armor for Richard III. and
t'other chap, and a long white cotton nightshirt and
a ruffled nightcap to match. The king was satisfied;
so the duke got out his book and read the parts over
in the most splendid spread-eagle way, prancing
around and acting at the same time, to show how it
had got to be done; then he give the book to the
king and told him to get his part by heart.
There was a little one-horse town about three mile
down the bend, and after dinner the duke said he had
ciphered out his idea about how to run in daylight
without it being dangersome for Jim; so he allowed
he would go down to the town and fix that thing. The
king allowed he would go, too, and see if he
couldn't strike something. We was out of coffee, so
Jim said I better go along with them in the canoe
and get some.
When we got there there warn't nobody stirring;
streets empty, and perfectly dead and still, like
Sunday. We found a sick nigger sunning himself in a
back yard, and he said everybody that warn't too
young or too sick or too old was gone to
camp-meeting, about two mile back in the woods. The
king got the directions, and allowed he'd go and
work that camp-meeting for all it was worth, and I
might go, too.
The duke said what he was after was a
printing-office. We found it; a little bit of a
concern, up over a carpenter shop -- carpenters and
printers all gone to the meeting, and no doors
locked. It was a dirty,
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littered-up place, and had ink marks, and handbills
with pictures of horses and runaway niggers on them,
all over the walls. The duke shed his coat and said
he was all right now. So me and the king lit out for
the camp-meeting.
We got there in about a half an hour fairly
dripping, for it was a most awful hot day. There was
as much as a thousand people there from twenty mile
around. The woods was full of teams and wagons,
hitched everywheres, feeding out of the
wagon-troughs and stomping to keep off the flies.
There was sheds made out of poles and roofed over
with branches, where they had lemonade and
gingerbread to sell, and piles of watermelons and
green corn and such-like truck.
The preaching was going on under the same kinds of
sheds, only they was bigger and held crowds of
people. The benches was made out of outside slabs of
logs, with holes bored in the round side to drive
sticks into for legs. They didn't have no backs. The
preachers had high platforms to stand on at one end
of the sheds. The women had on sun-bonnets; and some
had linsey-woolsey frocks, some gingham ones, and a
few of the young ones had on calico. Some of the
young men was barefooted, and some of the children
didn't have on any clothes but just a tow-linen
shirt. Some of the old women was knitting, and some
of the young folks was courting on the sly.
The first shed we come to the preacher was lining
out a hymn. He lined out two lines, everybody sung
it, and it was kind of grand to hear it, there was
so many of them and they done it in such a rousing
way; then he lined out two more for them to sing --
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and so on. The people woke up more and more, and
sung louder and louder; and towards the end some
begun to groan, and some begun to shout. Then the
preacher begun to preach, and begun in earnest, too;
and went weaving first to one side of the platform
and then the other, and then a-leaning down over the
front of it, with his arms and his body going all
the time, and shouting his words out with all his
might; and every now and then he would hold up his
Bible and spread it open, and kind of pass it around
this way and that, shouting, "It's the brazen
serpent in the wilderness! Look upon it and live!"
And people would shout out, "Glory! -- A-a-men!" And
so he went on, and the people groaning and crying
and saying amen:
"Oh, come to the mourners' bench! come, black with
sin! (amen!) come, sick and sore! (amen!) come, lame
and halt and blind! (amen!) come, pore and needy,
sunk in shame! (a-a-men!) come, all that's worn and
soiled and suffering! -- come with a broken spirit!
come with a contrite heart! come in your rags and
sin and dirt! the waters that cleanse is free, the
door of heaven stands open -- oh, enter in and be at
rest!" (a-a-men! glory, glory hallelujah!)
And so on. You couldn't make out what the preacher
said any more, on account of the shouting and
crying. Folks got up everywheres in the crowd, and
worked their way just by main strength to the
mourners' bench, with the tears running down their
faces; and when all the mourners had got up there to
the front benches in a crowd, they sung and shouted
and flung themselves down on the straw, just crazy
and wild.
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Well, the first I knowed the king got a-going, and
you could hear him over everybody; and next he went
a-charging up on to the platform, and the preacher
he begged him to speak to the people, and he done
it. He told them he was a pirate -- been a pirate
for thirty years out in the Indian Ocean -- and his
crew was thinned out considerable last spring in a
fight, and he was home now to take out some fresh
men, and thanks to goodness he'd been robbed last
night and put ashore off of a steamboat without a
cent, and he was glad of it; it was the blessedest
thing that ever happened to him, because he was a
changed man now, and happy for the first time in his
life; and, poor as he was, he was going to start
right off and work his way back to the Indian Ocean,
and put in the rest of his life trying to turn the
pirates into the true path; for he could do it
better than anybody else, being acquainted with all
pirate crews in that ocean; and though it would take
him a long time to get there without money, he would
get there anyway, and every time he convinced a
pirate he would say to him, "Don't you thank me,
don't you give me no credit; it all belongs to them
dear people in Pokeville camp-meeting, natural
brothers and benefactors of the race, and that dear
preacher there, the truest friend a pirate ever
had!"
And then he busted into tears, and so did everybody.
Then somebody sings out, "Take up a collection for
him, take up a collection!" Well, a half a dozen
made a jump to do it, but somebody sings out, "Let
him pass the hat around!" Then everybody said it,
the preacher too.
So the king went all through the crowd with his
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hat swabbing his eyes, and blessing the people and
praising them and thanking them for being so good to
the poor pirates away off there; and every little
while the prettiest kind of girls, with the tears
running down their cheeks, would up and ask him
would he let them kiss him for to remember him by;
and he always done it; and some of them he hugged
and kissed as many as five or six times -- and he
was invited to stay a week; and everybody wanted him
to live in their houses, and said they'd think it
was an honor; but he said as this was the last day
of the camp-meeting he couldn't do no good, and
besides he was in a sweat to get to the Indian Ocean
right off and go to work on the pirates.
When we got back to the raft and he come to count up
he found he had collected eighty-seven dollars and
seventy-five cents. And then he had fetched away a
three-gallon jug of whisky, too, that he found under
a wagon when he was starting home through the woods.
The king said, take it all around, it laid over any
day he'd ever put in in the missionarying line. He
said it warn't no use talking, heathens don't amount
to shucks alongside of pirates to work a
camp-meeting with.
The duke was thinking he'd been doing pretty well
till the king come to show up, but after that he
didn't think so so much. He had set up and printed
off two little jobs for farmers in that
printing-office -- horse bills -- and took the
money, four dollars. And he had got in ten dollars'
worth of advertisements for the paper, which he said
he would put in for four dollars if they would pay
in advance -- so they done it. The price of the
paper was two dollars a year,
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but he took in three subscriptions for half a dollar
apiece on condition of them paying him in advance;
they were going to pay in cordwood and onions as
usual, but he said he had just bought the concern
and knocked down the price as low as he could afford
it, and was going to run it for cash. He set up a
little piece of poetry, which he made, himself, out
of his own head -- three verses -- kind of sweet and
saddish -- the name of it was, "Yes, crush, cold
world, this breaking heart" -- and he left that all
set up and ready to print in the paper, and didn't
charge nothing for it. Well, he took in nine dollars
and a half, and said he'd done a pretty square day's
work for it.
Then he showed us another little job he'd printed
and hadn't charged for, because it was for us. It
had a picture of a runaway nigger with a bundle on a
stick over his shoulder, and "$200 reward" under it.
The reading was all about Jim, and just described
him to a dot. It said he run away from St. Jacques'
plantation, forty mile below New Orleans, last
winter, and likely went north, and whoever would
catch him and send him back he could have the reward
and expenses.
"Now," says the duke, "after to-night we can run in
the daytime if we want to. Whenever we see anybody
coming we can tie Jim hand and foot with a rope, and
lay him in the wigwam and show this handbill and say
we captured him up the river, and were too poor to
travel on a steamboat, so we got this little raft on
credit from our friends and are going down to get
the reward. Handcuffs and chains would look still
better on Jim, but it wouldn't go well with the
story of us being so poor. Too much like jewelry.
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Ropes are the correct thing -- we must preserve the
unities, as we say on the boards."
We all said the duke was pretty smart, and there
couldn't be no trouble about running daytimes. We
judged we could make miles enough that night to get
out of the reach of the powwow we reckoned the
duke's work in the printing office was going to make
in that little town; then we could boom right along
if we wanted to.
We laid low and kept still, and never shoved out
till nearly ten o'clock; then we slid by, pretty
wide away from the town, and didn't hoist our
lantern till we was clear out of sight of it.
When Jim called me to take the watch at four in the
morning, he says:
"Huck, does you reck'n we gwyne to run acrost any
mo' kings on dis trip?"
"No," I says, "I reckon not."
"Well," says he, "dat's all right, den. I doan' mine
one er two kings, but dat's enough. Dis one's
powerful drunk, en de duke ain' much better."
I found Jim had been trying to get him to talk
French, so he could hear what it was like; but he
said he had been in this country so long, and had so
much trouble, he'd forgot it.
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