home
***
CD-ROM
|
disk
|
FTP
|
other
***
search
/
Multimedia Mania
/
abacus-multimedia-mania.iso
/
dp
/
0133
/
01331.txt
< prev
next >
Wrap
Text File
|
1993-07-27
|
13KB
|
263 lines
$Unique_ID{bob01331}
$Pretitle{}
$Title{Adventures Of Huckleberry Finn, The
Fooling Poor Old Jim}
$Subtitle{}
$Author{Twain, Mark}
$Affiliation{}
$Subject{en
de
didn't
jim
fog
away
couldn't
raft
right
time}
$Date{}
$Log{}
Title: Adventures Of Huckleberry Finn, The
Author: Twain, Mark
Fooling Poor Old Jim
We judged that three nights more would fetch us to Cairo, at the bottom
of Illinois, where the Ohio River comes in, and that was what we was after.
We would sell the raft and get on a steamboat and go way up the Ohio 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 towhead
to tie to, for it wouldn't do to try to run in a fog; but when I paddled
ahead in the canoe, with the line to make fast, there warn't anything but
little saplings to tie to. I passed the line around one of them right on the
edge of the cut bank, but there was a stiff current, and the raft come
booming down so lively she tore it out by the roots and away she went. I see
the fog closing down, and it made me so sick and scared I couldn't budge for
most a half a minute it seemed to me - and then there warn't no raft in
sight; you couldn't see twenty yards. I jumped into the canoe and run back
to the stern, and grabbed the paddle and set her back a stroke. But she
didn't come. I was in such a hurry I hadn't untied her. I got up and tried
to untie her, but I was so excited my hands 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, right
down the towhead. That was all right as far as it went, but the towhead
warn't sixty yards long, and the minute I flew by the foot of it I shot out
into the solid white fog, and hadn't no more idea which way I was going than
a dead man.
Thinks I, it won't do to paddle; first I know I'll run into the bank or
a towhead or something; I got to set still and float, and yet it's mighty
fidgety business to have to hold your hands still at such a time. I whooped
and listened. Away down there somewheres I hears a small whoop, and up comes
my spirits. I went tearing after it, listening sharp to hear it again. The
next time it come I see I warn't heading for it, but heading away to the
right of it. And the next time I was heading away to the left of it - and
not gaining on it much either, for I was flying around, this way and that and
t'other, but it was going straight ahead all the time.
I did wish the fool would think to beat a tin pan, and beat it all the
time, but he never did, and it was the still places between the whoops that
was making the trouble for me. Well, I fought along, and directly I hears
the whoop behind me. I was tangled good now. That was somebody else's
whoop, or else I was turned around.
I throwed the paddle down. I heard the whoop again; it was behind me
yet, but a different place; it kept coming, and kept changing its place, 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 I was all right if
that was Jim and not some other raftsman hollering. I couldn't tell nothing
about voices in a fog, for nothing don't look natural nor sound natural in a
fog.
The whooping went on, and in about a minute I come abooming down on a
cut bank with smoky ghosts of big trees on it, and the current throwed me off
to the left and shot by, amongst a lot of snags that fairly roared, the
current was tearing by them so swift.
In another second or two it was solid white and still again. I set
perfectly still then, listening to my heart thump, and I reckon I didn't draw
a breath while it thumped a hundred.
I just give up then. I knowed what the matter was. That cut bank was
an island, and Jim had gone down t'other side of it. It warn't no towhead
that you could float by in ten minutes. It had the big timber of a regular
island; it might be five or six miles long and more than half a mile wide.
I kept quiet, with my ears cocked, about fifteen minutes, I reckon. I
was floating along, of course, four or five miles an hour; but you don't ever
think of that. No, you feel like you are laying dead still on the water; and
if a little glimpse of a snag slips by you don't think to yourself 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 lonesome out in a fog that
way by yourself in the night, you try it once - you'll see.
Next, for about a half an hour, I whoops now and then; at last I hears
the 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 little dim
glimpses of them on both sides of me - sometimes just a narrow channel
between, and some that I couldn't see I knowed was there because I'd hear the
wash of the current against the old dead brush and trash that hung over the
banks. Well, I warn't long losing the whoops down amongst the towheads; and
I only tried to chase them a little while, anyway, because it was worse than
chasing a Jack-o'-lantern. You never knowed a sound dodge around so, and
swap places so quick and so much.
I had to claw away from the bank pretty lively four or five times, to
keep from knocking the islands out of the river; and so I judged the raft
must be butting into the bank every now and then, or else it would get
further ahead and clear out of hearing - it was floating a little faster
than what I was.
Well, I seemed to be in the open river again by and by, but I couldn't
hear no sign of a whoop nowheres. I reckoned Jim had fetched up on a snag,
maybe, and it was all up with him. I was good and tired, so I laid down in
the canoe and said I wouldn't bother no more. I didn't want to go to sleep,
of course; but I was so sleepy I couldn't help it; so I thought I would take
jest one little cat-nap.
But I reckon it was more than a cat-nap, for when I waked up the stars
was shining bright, the fog was all gone, and I was spinning down a big bend
stern first. First I didn't know where I was; I thought I was dreaming; and
when things began to come back to me they seemed to come up dim out of last
week.
It was a monstrous big river here, with the tallest and the thickest
kind of timber on both banks; just a solid wall, as well as I could see by
the stars. 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 of
saw-logs 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 his
knees, asleep, with his right arm hanging over the steering-oar. The other
oar was smashed off, and the raft was littered up with leaves and branches
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 ag'in? It's too good for true, honey, it's too good
for true. Lemme look at you chile, lemme feel o' you. No, you ain' dead!
you's back ag'in, live en soun', jis de same ole Huck - de same ole Huck,
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 that
stuff, as if I'd been gone away?"
"Huck - Huck Finn, you look me in de eye; look me in de eye. Hain't you
ben gone away?"
"Gone away? Why, what in the nation do you mean? I hain't been gone
anywheres. Where would I go to?"
"Well, looky here, boss, dey's sumfn wrong, dey is. Is I me, or who is
I? 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 a
tangle-headed old fool, Jim."
"I is, is I? Well, you answer me dis: Didn't you tote out de line in de
canoe for to make fas' to de towhead?"
"No, I didn't. What towhead? I hain't seen no towhead."
"You hain't seen no towhead? Looky here, didn't de line pull loose en
de raf' go a-hummin' down de river, en leave you en de canoe behine in de
fog?"
"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 got
los' en t'other one was jis' as good as los', 'kase he didn' know whah he
wuz? En didn't I bust up again a lot er dem islands en have a turrible time
en mos' git drownded? Now ain' dat so, boss - ain't it so? You answer me
dat."
"Well, this is too many for me, Jim. I hain't seen no fog, nor no
islands, nor no troubles, nor nothing. I been setting here talking with
you all night till you went to sleep about ten minutes ago, and I reckon I
done the same. You couldn't 'a' got drunk in that time, so of course you'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 it
happen."
"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 studying
over it. Then he says:
"Well, den, I reck'n I did dream it, Huck; but dog my cats ef it ain't
de powerfulest dream I ever see. En I hain't ever had no dream b'fo' dat's
tired me like dis one."
"Oh, well, that's all right, because a dream does tire a body like
everything sometimes. But this one was a staving dream; tell me all about
it, Jim."
So Jim went to work and told me the whole thing right through, just as
it happened, only he painted it up considerable. Then he said he must start
in and "'terpret" it, because it was sent for a warning. He said the first
towhead stood for a man that would try to do us some good, but the current
was another man that would get us away from him. The whoops was warnings
that would come to us every now and then, and if we didn't try hard 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 was going 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, we would 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
was clearing up again now.
"Oh, well, that's all interpreted well enough as far as it goes, Jim," I
says; "but what does these things stand for?"
It was the leaves and rubbish on the raft and the smashed oar. You
could see them first-rate now.
Jim looked at the trash, and then looked at me, and back at the trash
again. He had got the dream fixed so strong in his head that he couldn't
seem to shake it loose and get the facts back into its place again right a
way. But when he did get the thing straightened around he looked at me
steady without ever smiling, and says:
"What do dey stan' for? I's gwyne to tell you. When I got all wore out
wid 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 en de
raf'. En when I wake up en fine you back ag'in, all safe en soun', de tears
come, en I coud 'a' got down on my knees en kiss yo' foot, I's so thankful.
En all you wuz thinkin' 'bout wuz how you could make a fool uv ole Jim wid a
lie. Dat truck dah is trash; en trash is what people is dat 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 without
saying anything but that. But that was enough. It made me feel so mean I
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 humble
myself to a nigger; but I done it, and I warn't ever sorry for it afterward,
neither. I didn't do him no more mean tricks, and I wouldn't done that one
if I'd 'a' knowed it would make him feel that way.