Chapter 8

20 min

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.

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 rather 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 ferry-boat full of people floating along down. I knowed what was the matter now. “Boom!” I see the white smoke squirt out of the ferry-boat’s side. You see, they was firing cannon over the water, trying to make my carcass come to the top.

I was powerful lazy and comfortable. I didn’t want to get up and cook breakfast. Well, I was dozing off again when I thinks I hears a deep “boom!” far up the river. I rouses up, rests on my elbow, and listens. Pretty soon I hears it again. I hopped up and looked out through a hole in the leaves. I see a cloud of smoke hanging over the water a long ways upstream, about level with the ferry. And there was the ferryboat, full of people, floating downstream. I knowed what was going on now. “Boom!” I see white smoke shoot out of the ferryboat’s side. You see, they was firing a cannon over the water, trying to make my dead body float 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 was pretty hungry, but it wasn’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 wasn’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 found a good spot among the leaves and set there on a log, munching the bread and watching the ferry. I was very well satisfied. And then something struck me. I says, now I reckon the widow or the preacher or somebody prayed that this bread would find me. And here it has gone and done it. So there ain’t no doubt there’s something to prayer. That is, there’s something to it when somebody like the widow or the preacher prays. But it don’t work for me, and I reckon it don’t work for anybody but just the right kind.

I lit a pipe and had a good long smoke, and went on watching. The ferry-boat 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.

I lit a pipe and had a good long smoke, and kept watching. The ferryboat was floating with the current. I allowed I’d have a chance to see who was aboard when she come along. That was because she would come close to shore, where the bread did. When she’d come pretty far downstream toward me, I put out my pipe. I went to where I’d fished out the bread. Then I laid down behind a log on the bank in a little open spot. I could peek through where the log forked.

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:

After a while, the boat come along. She drifted in so close that they could have 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.”

“Keep a sharp lookout now. The current runs closest to shore here. And maybe he’s washed ashore and got tangled in 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:

I didn’t hope so. They all crowded up and leaned over the rails, nearly in my face. They stayed quiet, watching as hard as they could. I could see them just fine, but they couldn’t see me. Then the captain called 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 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.

“Stand back!” and the cannon went off right in front of me. The noise made me deaf, and the smoke pretty near blinded me. I judged I was done for. If they’d had some bullets in it, I reckon they’d have got the corpse they was after. Well, I see I wasn’t hurt, thank goodness. The boat floated on and went out of sight around the bend of the island. I could hear the booming now and then, further and further off. After an hour, I didn’t hear it no more. The island was three mile long. I judged they had reached the downstream end and was giving up. But they didn’t give up just yet. They rounded that end of the island and steamed up the channel on the Missouri side, firing now and then. I crossed over to that side and watched them. When they came level with the upstream end of the island, they quit shooting. Then they headed 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.

I knowed I was all right now. Nobody else would come looking for me. I got my gear out of the canoe and made me a nice camp in the thick woods. I made a kind of tent out of my blankets to keep my things under, safe from the rain. I catched a catfish and cut him open with my saw. Towards sundown I started my campfire and had supper. Then I set out a fishing 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.

When it was dark, I set by my campfire smoking and feeling pretty well satisfied. But after a while, it got sort of lonesome. So I went and set on the bank and listened to the current splashing along. I counted the stars and the drifting logs and rafts that come down, and then went to bed. There ain’t no better way to pass the time when you are lonesome. You can’t stay lonesome that way. 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.

And so it went for three days and nights. No difference, just the same thing. But the next day I went exploring down through the island. I was boss of it. It all belonged to me, so to speak, and I wanted to know all about it. But mainly I wanted to pass the time. I found plenty strawberries, ripe and just right. I also found green summer grapes and green raspberries, and the green blackberries was just beginning to show. All that fruit would come in handy later on, I figured.

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.

Well, I went fooling along through the deep woods till I figured I wasn't far from the island's lower end. I had my gun along, but I hadn't shot nothing. It was for protection. I thought I would kill some game near home. About this time I mighty near stepped on a good-sized snake. It went sliding off through the grass and flowers, and I went after it, trying to shoot it. I hurried along, and all of a sudden I landed right on the ashes of a campfire, 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.

My heart jumped up among my lungs. I never waited for to look further, but uncocked my gun. Then I went sneaking back on tiptoe as fast as ever I could. Every now and then I stopped a second among the thick leaves and listened. But my breath come so hard I couldn’t hear nothing else. I slunk along a little further, then listened again. And so on, and so on. If I see a stump, I took it for a man. If I stepped on a stick and broke it, I felt like somebody had cut my breath 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.

When I got to camp I wasn’t feeling very brash. There wasn’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 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.

I reckon I was up in the tree two hours. But I didn’t see nothing, and I 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 stayed in the thick woods and kept on the lookout the whole 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:

By nightfall I was pretty hungry. So when it was good and dark, I slipped away from shore before moonrise. I paddled over to the Illinois bank, about a quarter of a mile away. I went into the woods and cooked supper. I had about made up my mind to stay there all night when I hear a plunkety-plunk, plunkety-plunk. I says to myself, horses coming. Next I hear people’s voices. I got everything into the canoe as quick as I could. Then I 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.”

“We better camp here if we can find a good place. The horses is about worn 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 wait, but pushed off and paddled away easy. I tied up at the old spot 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.

I didn’t sleep much. Somehow, I couldn’t sleep because I kept thinking. And every time I waked up, I thought somebody had me by the neck. So the sleep didn’t do me no good. After a while, I says to myself, I can’t live this way. I’m going to find out who’s here on the island with me. I’ll find out or bust. Well, I felt better right away.

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 fan-tods. 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:

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 campfire, 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 fan-tods. He had a blanket around his head, and his head was nearly in the fire. I set there behind a clump of bushes, within about six foot of him, and kept my eyes on him steady. It was getting gray daylight now. Pretty soon he yawned 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.

“Hello, Jim!” and hurried out.

He bounced up and stared at me wild. Then he drops down on his knees, and puts his hands together and says:

He jumped up and stared at me wildly. Then he drops to his knees, 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, whah you b’longs, en doan’ do nuffn to Ole Jim, ’at ’uz awluz yo’ fren’.”

“Don’t hurt me, don’t! I ain’t ever done no harm to a ghost. I always liked dead people, and done all I could for them. You go and get in the river again, where you belongs. And don’t do nothing to Old Jim, that was always your friend.”

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:

Well, I wasn't long making him understand I wasn't dead. I was ever so glad to see Jim. I wasn't lonesome now. I told him I wasn't afraid of him telling the people where I was. I talked on, but he only set there and looked at me. He never said nothing. Then I says:

“It’s good daylight. Le’s get breakfast. Make up your camp fire good.”

“It’s broad daylight. Let’s get breakfast. Build up your campfire 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.”

“What’s the use of building up the campfire to cook strawberries and such stuff? But you got a gun, ain’t you? Then we can get something better than strawberries.”

“Strawberries and such truck,” I says. “Is that what you live on?”

“Strawberries and stuff like that,” I says. “Is that what you live on?”

“I couldn’ git nuffn else,” he says.

“I couldn’t get nothing else,” he says.

“Why, how long you been on the island, Jim?”

“I come heah de night arter you’s killed.”

“I come here the night after you was killed.”

“What, all that time?”

“Yes—indeedy.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“And ain’t you had nothing but that kind of rubbage to eat?”

“And ain’t you had nothing but that kind of rubbish to eat?”

“No, sah—nuffn else.”

“No, sir, nothing else.”

“Well, you must be most starved, ain’t you?”

“Well, you must be almost starving, ain’t you?”

“I reck’n I could eat a hoss. I think I could. How long you ben on de islan’?”

“I reckon I could eat a horse. I think I could. How long you been on the island?”

“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.”

“No! Why, what has you lived on? But you got a gun. Oh, yes, you got a gun. That’s good. Now you kill something and I’ll make up the 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 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.

So we went over to where the canoe was. While he built a fire in a grassy clearing among the trees, I fetched cornmeal, bacon, and coffee. I fetched the coffee pot, frying pan, sugar, and tin cups, too. The 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:

When breakfast was ready we lolled on the grass and eat it smoking hot. Jim laid into it 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?”

“But look here, Huck, who was it that was killed in that shack if it wasn'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:

Then I told him the whole thing, and he said my plan was smart. He said Tom Sawyer couldn’t come up with no better plan than what I had. Then I says:

“How do you come to be here, Jim, and how’d you get here?”

“Why are you here, Jim, and how did you get here?”

He looked pretty uneasy, and didn’t say nothing for a minute. Then he says:

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?”

“Well, there's reasons. But you wouldn't tell on me if I was to tell you, would you, Huck?”

“Blamed if I would, Jim.”

“Well, I b’lieve you, Huck. I—I run off.”

“Well, I believe you, Huck. I, I run off.”

“Jim!”

“But mind, you said you wouldn’ tell—you know you said you wouldn’ tell, Huck.”

“But remember, you said you wouldn’t tell. You know you said you wouldn’t 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, 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 quiet. But that don’t make no difference. I ain’t going to tell, and I ain’t going back there, anyways. So, now, let’s hear 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 pooty rough, but she awluz said she wouldn’ sell me down to Orleans. But I noticed dey wuz a 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.

“Well, you see, it was this way. Old missus, that’s Miss Watson, she pecks at me all the time and treats me pretty rough. But she always said she wouldn’t sell me down to Orleans. But I noticed they was a trader around the place a good deal lately, and I begin to get uneasy. Well, one night I creeps to the door pretty late, and the door wasn’t quite shut. And I hear old missus tell the widow she going to sell me down to Orleans. But she didn’t want to. But she could get eight hundred dollars for me. And it was such a big stack of money she couldn’t resist. The widow she try to get her to say she wouldn’t do it, but I never waited to hear the rest. 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 took off and scramble down the hill. I expect to steal a skiff somewhere along the shore above the town. But there was people still stirring. So I hid in the old tumble-down barrel shop on the bank to wait for everybody to go away. Well, I was there all night. There was somebody around all the time. Along about six in the morning, skiffs begin to go by. And about eight or nine, every skiff that went along was talking about how your pap come over to town. He say you was killed. These last skiffs was full of ladies and gentlemen going over to see the place. Sometimes they’d pull up at the shore and take a rest before they started across. So from their talk I got to know all about the killing. I was powerful sorry you was killed, Huck, but I ain’t no more 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.

“I laid there under the shavings all day. I was hungry, but I wasn’t afraid. Because I knowed old missus and the widow was going to the camp meeting right after breakfast. They was going to be gone all day. And they knows I goes off with the cattle about daylight, so they wouldn’t expect to see me around the place. And so they wouldn’t miss me till after dark in the evening. The other servants wouldn’t miss me, because they’d slip out and take a holiday soon as the old folks was gone.

“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.

“Well, when it come dark I took out up the river road, and went about two mile or more to where there wasn’t no houses. I’d made up my mind about what I’s a-going to do. You see, if I kept on trying to get away afoot, the dogs would track me. If I stole a skiff to cross over, they’d miss that skiff, you see, and they’d know about where I’d land on the other side, and where to pick up my track. So I says, a raft is what I’s after. It don’t 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.

“I see a light a-coming round the point by and by, so I waded in and shoved a log ahead of me and swum more than halfway across the river. I got in amongst the driftwood, and kept my head down low, and kind of swum against the current till the raft come along. Then I swum to the stern of it and took a-hold. It clouded up and was pretty dark for a little while. So I clumb up and laid down on the planks. The men was all away yonder in the middle, where the lantern was. The river was a-rising, and there was a good current, so I reckoned that by four in the morning I’d be twenty-five mile down the river. Then I’d slip in just before daylight and swim ashore, and take to the woods on the 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 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.”

“But I didn’t have no luck. When we was most down to the head of the island, a man begin to come aft with the lantern. I see it wasn’t no use for to wait, so I slid overboard and struck out for the island. Well, I had a notion I could land most anywheres, but I couldn’t. The bank was too steep. I was most to the foot of the island before I found a good place. I went into the woods and judged I wouldn’t fool with rafts no more, long as they move the lantern round so. I had my pipe and a plug of dog-leg tobacco, and some matches in my cap, and they weren’t wet, so I was all right.”

“And so you ain’t had no meat nor bread to eat all this time? Why didn’t you get mud-turkles?”

“And so you ain’t had no meat nor bread to eat all this time? Why didn’t you get mud turtles?”

“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.”

“How you going to get them? You can’t sneak up on them and grab them. And how’s a body going to hit them with a rock? How could a body do it at night? And I wasn’t going to show myself on the bank in the 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?”

“Well, that’s true. You’ve had to stay in the woods all the time, of course. Did you hear them firing the cannon?”

“Oh, yes. I knowed dey was arter you. I see um go by heah—watched um thoo de bushes.”

“Oh, yes. I knowed they was after you. I see them go by here. Watched them through the 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.

Some young birds come along, flying a yard or two at a time and landing. Jim said it was a sign it was going to rain. He said it was a sign when young chickens flew that way. So he reckoned it was the same when young birds done it. I was going to catch some of them, but Jim wouldn’t let me. He said catching them meant death. He said his father laid mighty sick once, and some of them catched a bird. 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, because I had tried them lots of times myself, and they wouldn’t sting me.

And Jim said you mustn’t count the things you are going to cook for dinner, because that would bring bad luck. The same went for shaking the tablecloth after sunset. And he said if a man owned a beehive and died, the bees must be told before sunrise the next morning. Otherwise, the bees would all grow weak, stop working, 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:

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. So I asked him if there weren'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.”

“Mighty few, and they ain't no use to a body. What you want to know when good luck's coming for? Want to keep it off?” And he said: “If you's got hairy arms and a hairy chest, it's a sign that you's going to be rich. Well, there's some use in a sign like that, because it's so far ahead. You see, maybe you's got to be poor a long time first. And so you might get discouraged and kill yourself if you didn't know from the sign that you going to be rich by and by.”

“Have you got hairy arms and a hairy breast, Jim?”

“Have you got hairy arms and a hairy chest, Jim?”

“What’s de use to ax dat question? Don’t you see I has?”

“What’s the use to ask that 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.”

“No, but I been rich once, and going to be rich again. Once I had fourteen dollars, but I took to speculating and went broke.”

“What did you speculate in, Jim?”

“Well, fust I tackled stock.”

“Well, first 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.”

“Why, livestock, cattle, you know. I put ten dollars in a cow. But I ain't going to risk no more money in livestock. The cow up and died on my hands.”

“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.”

“No, I didn’t lose it all. I only lost about nine of it. I sold the hide and tallow for a dollar and ten cents.”

“You had five dollars and ten cents left. Did you speculate any more?”

“Yes. You know that one-laigged 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 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 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.

“Yes. You know that one-legged that belongs to old Mister Bradish? Well, he set up a bank. He say anybody that put in a dollar would get four dollars more at the end of the year. Well, all the went in, but they didn’t have much. I was the only one that had much. So I held out for more than four dollars. And I said if I didn’t get it, I’d start a bank myself. Well, of course that wanted to keep me out of the business. Because he says there wasn’t business enough for two banks. So he say I could put in my five dollars. And he pay me thirty-five at the end of the 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 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 say de bank’s busted. So dey didn’ none uv us git no money.”

“So I done it. Then I reckoned I’d invest the thirty-five dollars right off and keep things a-moving. There was a named Bob that had catched a wood-flat, and his master didn’t know it. I bought it off of him and told him to take the thirty-five dollars when the end of the year come. But somebody stole the wood-flat that night, and next day the one-legged say the bank’s busted. So they didn’t none of us get 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 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, I was going to spend it, but I had a dream. And the dream told me to give it to a named Balum. Balum’s Ass they call him for short. He’s one of them chuckleheads, you know. But he’s lucky, they say, and I see I weren’t lucky. The dream said let Balum invest the ten cents and he’d make some money for me. Well, Balum he took the money, and when he was in church he hear the preacher say something. Whoever give to the poor lend to the Lord, and bound to get his money back a hundred times over. So Balum he took and give the ten cents to the poor, and laid low to see what would come of it.”

“Well, what did come of it, Jim?”

“Well, what happened in the end, 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.”

“Nothing never come of it. I couldn’t manage to collect that money no way, and Balum he couldn’t. I ain’t going to lend no more money without I see the collateral. Bound to get your money back a hundred times, the preacher says! If I could get the ten cents back, I’d call it square, and be glad of the chance.”

“Well, it’s all right anyway, Jim, long as you’re going to be rich again some time or other.”

“Well, it’s all right anyway, Jim, long as you’re going to be rich again someday.”

“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’.”

“Yes, and I is rich now, come to look at it. I owns myself, and I is worth eight hundred dollars. I wish I had the money. I wouldn’t want no more.”