CHAPTER VIII
THE sun was up so high when I waked that I judged it
was after eight o'clock. I laid there in the grass
and the cool shade thinking about things, and
feeling rested and ruther comfortable and satisfied.
I could see the sun out at one or two holes, but
mostly it was big trees all about, and gloomy in
there amongst them. There was freckled places on the
ground where the light sifted down through the
leaves, and the freckled places swapped about a
little, showing there was a little breeze up there.
A couple of squirrels set on a limb and jabbered at
me very friendly.
I was powerful lazy and comfortable -- didn't want
to get up and cook breakfast. Well, I was dozing off
again when I thinks I hears a deep sound of "boom!"
away up the river. I rouses up, and rests on my
elbow and listens; pretty soon I hears it again. I
hopped up, and went and looked out at a hole in the
leaves, and I see a bunch of smoke laying on the
water a long ways up -- about abreast the ferry. And
there was the ferryboat full of people floating
along down. I knowed what was the matter now.
"Boom!" I see the white smoke squirt out of the
ferryboat's side. You see, they was firing cannon
over the water, trying to make my carcass come to
the top.
I was pretty hungry, but it warn't going to do for
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me to start a fire, because they might see the
smoke. So I set there and watched the cannon-smoke
and listened to the boom. The river was a mile wide
there, and it always looks pretty on a summer
morning -- so I was having a good enough time seeing
them hunt for my remainders if I only had a bite to
eat. Well, then I happened to think how they always
put quicksilver in loaves of bread and float them
off, because they always go right to the drownded
carcass and stop there. So, says I, I'll keep a
lookout, and if any of them's floating around after
me I'll give them a show. I changed to the Illinois
edge of the island to see what luck I could have,
and I warn't disappointed. A big double loaf come
along, and I most got it with a long stick, but my
foot slipped and she floated out further. Of course
I was where the current set in the closest to the
shore -- I knowed enough for that. But by and by
along comes another one, and this time I won. I took
out the plug and shook out the little dab of
quicksilver, and set my teeth in. It was "baker's
bread" -- what the quality eat; none of your
low-down corn-pone.
I got a good place amongst the leaves, and set there
on a log, munching the bread and watching the
ferry-boat, and very well satisfied. And then
something struck me. I says, now I reckon the widow
or the parson or somebody prayed that this bread
would find me, and here it has gone and done it. So
there ain't no doubt but there is something in that
thing -- that is, there's something in it when a
body like the widow or the parson prays, but it
don't work for me, and I reckon it don't work for
only just the right kind.
I lit a pipe and had a good long smoke, and went
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on watching. The ferryboat was floating with the
current, and I allowed I'd have a chance to see who
was aboard when she come along, because she would
come in close, where the bread did. When she'd got
pretty well along down towards me, I put out my pipe
and went to where I fished out the bread, and laid
down behind a log on the bank in a little open
place. Where the log forked I could peep through.
By and by she come along, and she drifted in so
close that they could a run out a plank and walked
ashore. Most everybody was on the boat. Pap, and
Judge Thatcher, and Bessie Thatcher, and Jo Harper,
and Tom Sawyer, and his old Aunt Polly, and Sid and
Mary, and plenty more. Everybody was talking about
the murder, but the captain broke in and says:
"Look sharp, now; the current sets in the closest
here, and maybe he's washed ashore and got tangled
amongst the brush at the water's edge. I hope so,
anyway."
"I didn't hope so. They all crowded up and leaned
over the rails, nearly in my face, and kept still,
watching with all their might. I could see them
first-rate, but they couldn't see me. Then the
captain sung out:
"Stand away!" and the cannon let off such a blast
right before me that it made me deef with the noise
and pretty near blind with the smoke, and I judged I
was gone. If they'd a had some bullets in, I reckon
they'd a got the corpse they was after. Well, I see
I warn't hurt, thanks to goodness. The boat floated
on and went out of sight around the shoulder of the
island. I could hear the booming now and then,
further and further off, and by and by, after an
hour, I
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didn't hear it no more. The island was three mile
long. I judged they had got to the foot, and was
giving it up. But they didn't yet a while. They
turned around the foot of the island and started up
the channel on the Missouri side, under steam, and
booming once in a while as they went. I crossed over
to that side and watched them. When they got abreast
the head of the island they quit shooting and
dropped over to the Missouri shore and went home to
the town.
I knowed I was all right now. Nobody else would come
a-hunting after me. I got my traps out of the canoe
and made me a nice camp in the thick woods. I made a
kind of a tent out of my blankets to put my things
under so the rain couldn't get at them. I catched a
catfish and haggled him open with my saw, and
towards sundown I started my camp fire and had
supper. Then I set out a line to catch some fish for
breakfast.
When it was dark I set by my camp fire smoking, and
feeling pretty well satisfied; but by and by it got
sort of lonesome, and so I went and set on the bank
and listened to the current swashing along, and
counted the stars and drift logs and rafts that come
down, and then went to bed; there ain't no better
way to put in time when you are lonesome; you can't
stay so, you soon get over it.
And so for three days and nights. No difference --
just the same thing. But the next day I went
exploring around down through the island. I was boss
of it; it all belonged to me, so to say, and I
wanted to know all about it; but mainly I wanted to
put in the time. I found plenty strawberries, ripe
and prime;
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and green summer grapes, and green razberries; and
the green blackberries was just beginning to show.
They would all come handy by and by, I judged.
Well, I went fooling along in the deep woods till I
judged I warn't far from the foot of the island. I
had my gun along, but I hadn't shot nothing; it was
for protection; thought I would kill some game nigh
home. About this time I mighty near stepped on a
good-sized snake, and it went sliding off through
the grass and flowers, and I after it, trying to get
a shot at it. I clipped along, and all of a sudden I
bounded right on to the ashes of a camp fire that
was still smoking.
My heart jumped up amongst my lungs. I never waited
for to look further, but uncocked my gun and went
sneaking back on my tiptoes as fast as ever I could.
Every now and then I stopped a second amongst the
thick leaves and listened, but my breath come so
hard I couldn't hear nothing else. I slunk along
another piece further, then listened again; and so
on, and so on. If I see a stump, I took it for a
man; if I trod on a stick and broke it, it made me
feel like a person had cut one of my breaths in two
and I only got half, and the short half, too.
When I got to camp I warn't feeling very brash,
there warn't much sand in my craw; but I says, this
ain't no time to be fooling around. So I got all my
traps into my canoe again so as to have them out of
sight, and I put out the fire and scattered the
ashes around to look like an old last year's camp,
and then clumb a tree.
I reckon I was up in the tree two hours; but I
didn't see nothing, I didn't hear nothing -- I only
thought I
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heard and seen as much as a thousand things. Well, I
couldn't stay up there forever; so at last I got
down, but I kept in the thick woods and on the
lookout all the time. All I could get to eat was
berries and what was left over from breakfast.
By the time it was night I was pretty hungry. So
when it was good and dark I slid out from shore
before moonrise and paddled over to the Illinois
bank -- about a quarter of a mile. I went out in the
woods and cooked a supper, and I had about made up
my mind I would stay there all night when I hear a
plunkety-plunk, plunkety-plunk, and says to myself,
horses coming; and next I hear people's voices. I
got everything into the canoe as quick as I could,
and then went creeping through the woods to see what
I could find out. I hadn't got far when I hear a man
say:
"We better camp here if we can find a good place;
the horses is about beat out. Let's look around."
I didn't wait, but shoved out and paddled away easy.
I tied up in the old place, and reckoned I would
sleep in the canoe.
I didn't sleep much. I couldn't, somehow, for
thinking. And every time I waked up I thought
somebody had me by the neck. So the sleep didn't do
me no good. By and by I says to myself, I can't live
this way; I'm a-going to find out who it is that's
here on the island with me; I'll find it out or
bust. Well, I felt better right off.
So I took my paddle and slid out from shore just a
step or two, and then let the canoe drop along down
amongst the shadows. The moon was shining, and
outside of the shadows it made it most as light as
day. I poked along well on to an hour, everything
still
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as rocks and sound asleep. Well, by this time I was
most down to the foot of the island. A little
ripply, cool breeze begun to blow, and that was as
good as saying the night was about done. I give her
a turn with the paddle and brung her nose to shore;
then I got my gun and slipped out and into the edge
of the woods. I sat down there on a log, and looked
out through the leaves. I see the moon go off watch,
and the darkness begin to blanket the river. But in
a little while I see a pale streak over the
treetops, and knowed the day was coming. So I took
my gun and slipped off towards where I had run
across that camp fire, stopping every minute or two
to listen. But I hadn't no luck somehow; I couldn't
seem to find the place. But by and by, sure enough,
I catched a glimpse of fire away through the trees.
I went for it, cautious and slow. By and by I was
close enough to have a look, and there laid a man on
the ground. It most give me the fantods. He had a
blanket around his head, and his head was nearly in
the fire. I set there behind a clump of bushes in
about six foot of him, and kept my eyes on him
steady. It was getting gray daylight now. Pretty
soon he gapped and stretched himself and hove off
the blanket, and it was Miss Watson's Jim! I bet I
was glad to see him. I says:
"Hello, Jim!" and skipped out.
He bounced up and stared at me wild. Then he drops
down on his knees, and puts his hands together and
says:
"Doan' hurt me -- don't! I hain't ever done no harm
to a ghos'. I alwuz liked dead people, en done all I
could for 'em. You go en git in de river agin,
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whah you b'longs, en doan' do nuffn to Ole Jim, 'at
'uz awluz yo' fren'."
Well, I warn't long making him understand I warn't
dead. I was ever so glad to see Jim. I warn't
lonesome now. I told him I warn't afraid of him
telling the people where I was. I talked along, but
he only set there and looked at me; never said
nothing. Then I says:
"It's good daylight. Le's get breakfast. Make up
your camp fire good."
"What's de use er makin' up de camp fire to cook
strawbries en sich truck? But you got a gun, hain't
you? Den we kin git sumfn better den strawbries."
"Strawberries and such truck," I says. "Is that what
you live on?"
"I couldn' git nuffn else," he says.
"Why, how long you been on the island, Jim?"
"I come heah de night arter you's killed."
"What, all that time?"
"Yes -- indeedy."
"And ain't you had nothing but that kind of rubbage
to eat?"
"No, sah -- nuffn else."
"Well, you must be most starved, ain't you?"
"I reck'n I could eat a hoss. I think I could. How
long you ben on de islan'?"
"Since the night I got killed."
"No! W'y, what has you lived on? But you got a gun.
Oh, yes, you got a gun. Dat's good. Now you kill
sumfn en I'll make up de fire."
So we went over to where the canoe was, and while he
built a fire in a grassy open place amongst the
trees, I fetched meal and bacon and coffee, and
coffee-pot
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and frying-pan, and sugar and tin cups, and the
nigger was set back considerable, because he
reckoned it was all done with witchcraft. I catched
a good big catfish, too, and Jim cleaned him with
his knife, and fried him.
When breakfast was ready we lolled on the grass and
eat it smoking hot. Jim laid it in with all his
might, for he was most about starved. Then when we
had got pretty well stuffed, we laid off and lazied.
By and by Jim says:
"But looky here, Huck, who wuz it dat 'uz killed in
dat shanty ef it warn't you?"
Then I told him the whole thing, and he said it was
smart. He said Tom Sawyer couldn't get up no better
plan than what I had. Then I says:
"How do you come to be here, Jim, and how'd you get
here?"
He looked pretty uneasy, and didn't say nothing for
a minute. Then he says:
"Maybe I better not tell."
"Why, Jim?"
"Well, dey's reasons. But you wouldn' tell on me ef
I uz to tell you, would you, Huck?"
"Blamed if I would, Jim."
"Well, I b'lieve you, Huck. I -- run off."
"Jim!"
"But mind, you said you wouldn' tell -- you know you
said you wouldn' tell, Huck."
"Well, I did. I said I wouldn't, and I'll stick to
it. Honest injun, I will. People would call me a
low-down Abolitionist and despise me for keeping mum
-- but that don't make no difference. I ain't
a-going to tell, and I ain't a-going back there,
anyways. So, now, le's know all about it."
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"Well, you see, it 'uz dis way. Ole missus -- dat's
Miss Watson -- she pecks on me all de time, en
treats me pooty rough, but she awluz said she
wouldn' sell me down to Orleans. But I noticed dey
wuz a nigger trader roun' de place considable
lately, en I begin to git oneasy. Well, one night I
creeps to de do' pooty late, en de do' warn't quite
shet, en I hear old missus tell de widder she gwyne
to sell me down to Orleans, but she didn' want to,
but she could git eight hund'd dollars for me, en it
'uz sich a big stack o' money she couldn' resis'. De
widder she try to git her to say she wouldn' do it,
but I never waited to hear de res'. I lit out mighty
quick, I tell you.
"I tuck out en shin down de hill, en 'spec to steal
a skift 'long de sho' som'ers 'bove de town, but dey
wuz people a-stirring yit, so I hid in de ole
tumble-down cooper-shop on de bank to wait for
everybody to go 'way. Well, I wuz dah all night. Dey
wuz somebody roun' all de time. 'Long 'bout six in
de mawnin' skifts begin to go by, en 'bout eight er
nine every skift dat went 'long wuz talkin' 'bout
how yo' pap come over to de town en say you's
killed. Dese las' skifts wuz full o' ladies en
genlmen a-goin' over for to see de place. Sometimes
dey'd pull up at de sho' en take a res' b'fo' dey
started acrost, so by de talk I got to know all
'bout de killin'. I 'uz powerful sorry you's killed,
Huck, but I ain't no mo' now.
"I laid dah under de shavin's all day. I 'uz hungry,
but I warn't afeard; bekase I knowed ole missus en
de widder wuz goin' to start to de camp-meet'n'
right arter breakfas' en be gone all day, en dey
knows I goes off wid de cattle 'bout daylight, so
dey wouldn' 'spec to see me roun' de place, en so
dey
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wouldn' miss me tell arter dark in de evenin'. De
yuther servants wouldn' miss me, kase dey'd shin out
en take holiday soon as de ole folks 'uz out'n de
way.
"Well, when it come dark I tuck out up de river
road, en went 'bout two mile er more to whah dey
warn't no houses. I'd made up my mine 'bout what I's
agwyne to do. You see, ef I kep' on tryin' to git
away afoot, de dogs 'ud track me; ef I stole a skift
to cross over, dey'd miss dat skift, you see, en
dey'd know 'bout whah I'd lan' on de yuther side, en
whah to pick up my track. So I says, a raff is what
I's arter; it doan' make no track.
"I see a light a-comin' roun' de p'int bymeby, so I
wade' in en shove' a log ahead o' me en swum more'n
half way acrost de river, en got in 'mongst de
drift-wood, en kep' my head down low, en kinder swum
agin de current tell de raff come along. Den I swum
to de stern uv it en tuck a-holt. It clouded up en
'uz pooty dark for a little while. So I clumb up en
laid down on de planks. De men 'uz all 'way yonder
in de middle, whah de lantern wuz. De river wuz
a-risin', en dey wuz a good current; so I reck'n'd
'at by fo' in de mawnin' I'd be twenty-five mile
down de river, en den I'd slip in jis b'fo' daylight
en swim asho', en take to de woods on de Illinois
side.
"But I didn' have no luck. When we 'uz mos' down to
de head er de islan' a man begin to come aft wid de
lantern, I see it warn't no use fer to wait, so I
slid overboard en struck out fer de islan'. Well, I
had a notion I could lan' mos' anywhers, but I
couldn't -- bank too bluff. I 'uz mos' to de foot er
de islan' b'fo' I found' a good place. I went into
de
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woods en jedged I wouldn' fool wid raffs no mo',
long as dey move de lantern roun' so. I had my pipe
en a plug er dog-leg, en some matches in my cap, en
dey warn't wet, so I 'uz all right."
"And so you ain't had no meat nor bread to eat all
this time? Why didn't you get mud-turkles?"
"How you gwyne to git 'm? You can't slip up on um en
grab um; en how's a body gwyne to hit um wid a rock?
How could a body do it in de night? En I warn't
gwyne to show mysef on de bank in de daytime."
"Well, that's so. You've had to keep in the woods
all the time, of course. Did you hear 'em shooting
the cannon?"
"Oh, yes. I knowed dey was arter you. I see um go by
heah -- watched um thoo de bushes."
Some young birds come along, flying a yard or two at
a time and lighting. Jim said it was a sign it was
going to rain. He said it was a sign when young
chickens flew that way, and so he reckoned it was
the same way when young birds done it. I was going
to catch some of them, but Jim wouldn't let me. He
said it was death. He said his father laid mighty
sick once, and some of them catched a bird, and his
old granny said his father would die, and he did.
And Jim said you mustn't count the things you are
going to cook for dinner, because that would bring
bad luck. The same if you shook the table-cloth
after sundown. And he said if a man owned a beehive
and that man died, the bees must be told about it
before sun-up next morning, or else the bees would
all weaken down and quit work and die. Jim said bees
wouldn't sting idiots; but I didn't believe that,
be-
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cause I had tried them lots of times myself, and
they wouldn't sting me.
I had heard about some of these things before, but
not all of them. Jim knowed all kinds of signs. He
said he knowed most everything. I said it looked to
me like all the signs was about bad luck, and so I
asked him if there warn't any good-luck signs. He
says:
"Mighty few -- an' dey ain't no use to a body. What
you want to know when good luck's a-comin' for? Want
to keep it off?" And he said: "Ef you's got hairy
arms en a hairy breas', it's a sign dat you's agwyne
to be rich. Well, dey's some use in a sign like dat,
'kase it's so fur ahead. You see, maybe you's got to
be po' a long time fust, en so you might git
discourage' en kill yo'sef 'f you didn' know by de
sign dat you gwyne to be rich bymeby."
"Have you got hairy arms and a hairy breast, Jim?"
"What's de use to ax dat question? Don't you see I
has?"
"Well, are you rich?"
"No, but I ben rich wunst, and gwyne to be rich
agin. Wunst I had foteen dollars, but I tuck to
specalat'n', en got busted out."
"What did you speculate in, Jim?"
"Well, fust I tackled stock."
"What kind of stock?"
"Why, live stock -- cattle, you know. I put ten
dollars in a cow. But I ain' gwyne to resk no mo'
money in stock. De cow up 'n' died on my han's."
"So you lost the ten dollars."
"No, I didn't lose it all. I on'y los' 'bout nine of
it. I sole de hide en taller for a dollar en ten
cents."
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"You had five dollars and ten cents left. Did you
speculate any more?"
"Yes. You know that one-laigged nigger dat b'longs
to old Misto Bradish? Well, he sot up a bank, en say
anybody dat put in a dollar would git fo' dollars
mo' at de en' er de year. Well, all de niggers went
in, but dey didn't have much. I wuz de on'y one dat
had much. So I stuck out for mo' dan fo' dollars, en
I said 'f I didn' git it I'd start a bank mysef.
Well, o' course dat nigger want' to keep me out er
de business, bekase he says dey warn't business
'nough for two banks, so he say I could put in my
five dollars en he pay me thirty-five at de en' er
de year.
"So I done it. Den I reck'n'd I'd inves' de
thirty-five dollars right off en keep things
a-movin'. Dey wuz a nigger name' Bob, dat had
ketched a wood-flat, en his marster didn' know it;
en I bought it off'n him en told him to take de
thirty-five dollars when de en' er de year come; but
somebody stole de wood-flat dat night, en nex day de
one-laigged nigger say de bank's busted. So dey
didn' none uv us git no money."
"What did you do with the ten cents, Jim?"
"Well, I 'uz gwyne to spen' it, but I had a dream,
en de dream tole me to give it to a nigger name'
Balum -- Balum's Ass dey call him for short; he's
one er dem chuckleheads, you know. But he's lucky,
dey say, en I see I warn't lucky. De dream say let
Balum inves' de ten cents en he'd make a raise for
me. Well, Balum he tuck de money, en when he wuz in
church he hear de preacher say dat whoever give to
de po' len' to de Lord, en boun' to git his money
back a hund'd times. So Balum he tuck en give de
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ten cents to de po', en laid low to see what wuz
gwyne to come of it."
"Well, what did come of it, Jim?"
"Nuffn never come of it. I couldn' manage to k'leck
dat money no way; en Balum he couldn'. I ain' gwyne
to len' no mo' money 'dout I see de security. Boun'
to git yo' money back a hund'd times, de preacher
says! Ef I could git de ten cents back, I'd call it
squah, en be glad er de chanst."
"Well, it's all right anyway, Jim, long as you're
going to be rich again some time or other."
"Yes; en I's rich now, come to look at it. I owns
mysef, en I's wuth eight hund'd dollars. I wisht I
had de money, I wouldn' want no mo'."
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