Multimedia Mania/abacus-multimedia-mania.iso/dp/0132/01324.txt

Text File | 1993-07-27 | 24KB | 454 lines

$Unique_ID{bob01324}
$Pretitle{}
$Title{Adventures Of Huckleberry Finn, The
I Spare Miss Watson's Jim}
$Subtitle{}
$Author{Twain, Mark}
$Affiliation{}
$Subject{de
en
jim
come
warn't
dey
didn't
says
time
dat}
$Date{}
$Log{}
Title:       Adventures Of Huckleberry Finn, The
Author:      Twain, Mark

I Spare Miss Watson's Jim

     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 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 ferryboat, 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 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 Joe 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
deaf 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 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 awhile.
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; 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 all 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,
didn't hear nothing - I only thought I 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 heard 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 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
ag'in, whah you b'longs, en doan' do nuffin to Old Jim, 'at 'uz alwuz 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't 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-sash - 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 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 - 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."

     "Well, you see, it 'uz dis way.  Ole missus - dat's Miss Watson - she
pecks on me all de time, en treats me poorty rough, but she alwuz 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-stirrin' yit, so I hid in de
ole tumbledown 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 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 a-gwyne 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 the 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
driftwood, 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 climb 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' - bank too bluff.  I 'uz mos' to de
foot er de islan' b'fo' I foun' a good place.  I went into de woods en jedged
I wouldn't 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 myself 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 sameif you shook the
tablecloth after sun-down.  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, because 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 a-gwyne 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't 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 ag'in.  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."
     "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't git it I'd start a bank myself.
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't 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't 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 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 myself, en I's wuth
eight hund'd dollars.  I wisht I had de money, I wouldn't want no mo'."