Chapter 29

12 min

The first thing Tom heard on Friday morning was a glad piece of news—Judge Thatcher’s family had come back to town the night before. Both Injun Joe and the treasure sunk into secondary importance for a moment, and Becky took the chief place in the boy’s interest. He saw her and they had an exhausting good time playing “hispy” and “gully-keeper” with a crowd of their schoolmates. The day was completed and crowned in a peculiarly satisfactory way: Becky teased her mother to appoint the next day for the long-promised and long-delayed picnic, and she consented. The child’s delight was boundless; and Tom’s not more moderate. The invitations were sent out before sunset, and straightway the young folks of the village were thrown into a fever of preparation and pleasurable anticipation. Tom’s excitement enabled him to keep awake until a pretty late hour, and he had good hopes of hearing Huck’s “maow,” and of having his treasure to astonish Becky and the picnickers with, next day; but he was disappointed. No signal came that night.

The first thing Tom heard on Friday morning was happy news. Judge Thatcher’s family had returned to town the night before. For a moment, both Injun Joe and the treasure mattered less, and Becky became Tom’s main interest. He saw her, and they wore themselves out playing “hispy” and “gully-keeper” with a crowd of their schoolmates. The day ended in an especially satisfying way. Becky pestered her mother to set the long-promised, long-delayed picnic for the next day, and her mother agreed. Becky’s delight knew no bounds, and Tom was just as delighted. The invitations went out before sunset. Immediately, the village’s young people were caught up in excited preparations and happy anticipation. Tom’s excitement kept him awake until quite late. He had high hopes of hearing Huck’s “maow” and getting his treasure to amaze Becky and the picnickers the next day. But he was disappointed. No signal came that night.

Morning came, eventually, and by ten or eleven o’clock a giddy and rollicking company were gathered at Judge Thatcher’s, and everything was ready for a start. It was not the custom for elderly people to mar the picnics with their presence. The children were considered safe enough under the wings of a few young ladies of eighteen and a few young gentlemen of twenty-three or thereabouts. The old steam ferry-boat was chartered for the occasion; presently the gay throng filed up the main street laden with provision-baskets. Sid was sick and had to miss the fun; Mary remained at home to entertain him. The last thing Mrs. Thatcher said to Becky, was:

Morning finally came. By ten or eleven o’clock, a lively, laughing crowd had gathered at Judge Thatcher’s, and everything was ready to go. Older people did not usually spoil picnics by coming along. The children were thought safe enough with a few young women of eighteen and young men of about twenty-three. The old steam ferryboat had been rented for the occasion. Soon the cheerful crowd made their way up the main street, carrying baskets of food. Sid was sick and had to miss the fun. Mary stayed home to keep him company. The last thing Mrs. Thatcher said to Becky was:

“You’ll not get back till late. Perhaps you’d better stay all night with some of the girls that live near the ferry-landing, child.”

“You won’t get back until late. Maybe you’d better stay overnight with some of the girls who live near the ferry landing, child.”

“Then I’ll stay with Susy Harper, mamma.”

“Then I’ll stay with Susy Harper, Mom.”

“Very well. And mind and behave yourself and don’t be any trouble.”

“All right. And make sure you behave yourself and don’t cause any trouble.”

Presently, as they tripped along, Tom said to Becky:

Soon, as they skipped along, Tom said to Becky:

“Say—I’ll tell you what we’ll do. ’Stead of going to Joe Harper’s we’ll climb right up the hill and stop at the Widow Douglas’. She’ll have ice-cream! She has it most every day—dead loads of it. And she’ll be awful glad to have us.”

“Say, I’ll tell you what we’ll do. Instead of going to Joe Harper’s, we’ll climb right up the hill and stop at the Widow Douglas’. She’ll have ice cream! She has it most every day, tons of it. And she’ll be awful glad to have us.”

“Oh, that will be fun!”

Then Becky reflected a moment and said:

Then Becky thought for a moment and said:

“But what will mamma say?”

“But what will Mom say?”

“How’ll she ever know?”

“How will she ever know?”

The girl turned the idea over in her mind, and said reluctantly:

The girl thought the idea over and said reluctantly:

“I reckon it’s wrong—but—”

“I reckon it’s wrong, but...”

“But shucks! Your mother won’t know, and so what’s the harm? All she wants is that you’ll be safe; and I bet you she’d ’a’ said go there if she’d ’a’ thought of it. I know she would!”

“But shucks! Your mother won’t know, so what’s the harm? All she wants is for you to be safe. And I bet you she’d have said to go there if she’d have thought of it. I know she would!”

The Widow Douglas’ splendid hospitality was a tempting bait. It and Tom’s persuasions presently carried the day. So it was decided to say nothing to anybody about the night’s programme. Presently it occurred to Tom that maybe Huck might come this very night and give the signal. The thought took a deal of the spirit out of his anticipations. Still he could not bear to give up the fun at Widow Douglas’. And why should he give it up, he reasoned—the signal did not come the night before, so why should it be any more likely to come tonight? The sure fun of the evening outweighed the uncertain treasure; and, boy-like, he determined to yield to the stronger inclination and not allow himself to think of the box of money another time that day.

The Widow Douglas’ wonderful hospitality was a tempting lure. Together with Tom’s efforts to persuade them, it soon won them over. So they decided not to tell anyone about their plans for the night. Then Tom realized that Huck might come that very night and give the signal. The thought took much of the excitement out of his plans. Still, he couldn’t bear to give up the fun at Widow Douglas’. And why should he give it up, he reasoned? The signal hadn’t come the night before, so why should it be any more likely to come tonight? The evening’s guaranteed fun mattered more than the uncertain treasure. So, like a boy, he decided to follow his stronger urge. He wouldn’t let himself think about the box of money again that day.

Three miles below town the ferryboat stopped at the mouth of a woody hollow and tied up. The crowd swarmed ashore and soon the forest distances and craggy heights echoed far and near with shoutings and laughter. All the different ways of getting hot and tired were gone through with, and by-and-by the rovers straggled back to camp fortified with responsible appetites, and then the destruction of the good things began. After the feast there was a refreshing season of rest and chat in the shade of spreading oaks. By-and-by somebody shouted:

Three miles downriver from town, the ferryboat stopped at the entrance to a wooded valley and tied up. The crowd poured ashore. Soon shouts and laughter echoed far and wide through the woods and rocky heights. They tried every possible way of getting hot and tired. After a while, the wanderers drifted back to camp with impressively hearty appetites. Then the good food began to disappear. After the feast, everyone enjoyed a refreshing rest and a chat in the shade of wide-spreading oaks. After a while, somebody shouted:

“Who’s ready for the cave?”

Everybody was. Bundles of candles were procured, and straightway there was a general scamper up the hill. The mouth of the cave was up the hillside—an opening shaped like a letter A. Its massive oaken door stood unbarred. Within was a small chamber, chilly as an icehouse, and walled by Nature with solid limestone that was dewy with a cold sweat. It was romantic and mysterious to stand here in the deep gloom and look out upon the green valley shining in the sun. But the impressiveness of the situation quickly wore off, and the romping began again. The moment a candle was lighted there was a general rush upon the owner of it; a struggle and a gallant defence followed, but the candle was soon knocked down or blown out, and then there was a glad clamor of laughter and a new chase. But all things have an end. By-and-by the procession went filing down the steep descent of the main avenue, the flickering rank of lights dimly revealing the lofty walls of rock almost to their point of junction sixty feet overhead. This main avenue was not more than eight or ten feet wide. Every few steps other lofty and still narrower crevices branched from it on either hand—for McDougal’s cave was but a vast labyrinth of crooked aisles that ran into each other and out again and led nowhere. It was said that one might wander days and nights together through its intricate tangle of rifts and chasms, and never find the end of the cave; and that he might go down, and down, and still down, into the earth, and it was just the same—labyrinth under labyrinth, and no end to any of them. No man “knew” the cave. That was an impossible thing. Most of the young men knew a portion of it, and it was not customary to venture much beyond this known portion. Tom Sawyer knew as much of the cave as any one.

Everybody was. Bundles of candles were gathered, and everyone immediately scrambled up the hill. The cave’s entrance was on the hillside, an opening shaped like the letter A. Its massive oak door stood unbarred. Inside was a small chamber, as chilly as an icehouse. Nature had formed its walls from solid limestone, damp with cold sweat. Standing in the deep gloom and looking out at the green valley shining in the sun felt romantic and mysterious. But the wonder of the place quickly wore off, and the roughhousing began again. Whenever someone lit a candle, everyone rushed at its owner. A struggle followed, with the owner putting up a brave defense. But soon the candle was knocked down or blown out, followed by delighted laughter and another chase. But all things come to an end. After a while, the group filed down the steep slope of the main passage. The flickering line of candles dimly lit the towering rock walls, almost to where they met sixty feet overhead. This main passage was no more than eight or ten feet wide. Every few steps, other tall, even narrower cracks branched off on either side. McDougal’s cave was nothing but a vast maze of crooked passages that joined, split apart again, and led nowhere. People said you could wander for days and nights through its tangled cracks and chasms without finding the cave’s end. They also said you could go down, and down, and still farther down into the earth, with the same result. There was maze beneath maze, with no end to any of them. No one “knew” the cave. That was impossible. Most of the young men knew part of the cave, and people usually did not venture much beyond that area. Tom Sawyer knew as much of the cave as anyone.

The procession moved along the main avenue some three-quarters of a mile, and then groups and couples began to slip aside into branch avenues, fly along the dismal corridors, and take each other by surprise at points where the corridors joined again. Parties were able to elude each other for the space of half an hour without going beyond the “known” ground.

The procession followed the main passage for about three-quarters of a mile. Then groups and couples began slipping into side passages and racing along the gloomy corridors. They surprised each other where the corridors joined up again. Groups could avoid each other for half an hour without going beyond the “known” ground.

By-and-by, one group after another came straggling back to the mouth of the cave, panting, hilarious, smeared from head to foot with tallow drippings, daubed with clay, and entirely delighted with the success of the day. Then they were astonished to find that they had been taking no note of time and that night was about at hand. The clanging bell had been calling for half an hour. However, this sort of close to the day’s adventures was romantic and therefore satisfactory. When the ferryboat with her wild freight pushed into the stream, nobody cared sixpence for the wasted time but the captain of the craft.

After a while, one group after another straggled back to the cave entrance, panting and laughing wildly. They were covered from head to foot in candle drippings and smeared with clay, and delighted with the day’s success. Then they were astonished to realize they had lost track of time and night was almost upon them. The bell had been clanging for half an hour, calling them back. Still, this ending to the day’s adventures felt romantic and was therefore satisfying. The ferryboat pushed out into the river with its wild passengers. Nobody cared a bit about the wasted time except the captain.

Huck was already upon his watch when the ferryboat’s lights went glinting past the wharf. He heard no noise on board, for the young people were as subdued and still as people usually are who are nearly tired to death. He wondered what boat it was, and why she did not stop at the wharf—and then he dropped her out of his mind and put his attention upon his business. The night was growing cloudy and dark. Ten o’clock came, and the noise of vehicles ceased, scattered lights began to wink out, all straggling foot-passengers disappeared, the village betook itself to its slumbers and left the small watcher alone with the silence and the ghosts. Eleven o’clock came, and the tavern lights were put out; darkness everywhere, now. Huck waited what seemed a weary long time, but nothing happened. His faith was weakening. Was there any use? Was there really any use? Why not give it up and turn in?

Huck was already keeping watch when the ferryboat’s lights glinted past the wharf. He heard no noise on board. The young people were as quiet and subdued as people usually are when they are nearly dead tired. He wondered what boat it was and why it did not stop at the wharf. Then he put the boat out of his mind and turned his attention back to his task. The night was growing cloudy and dark. Ten o’clock came, and the noise of vehicles stopped. Scattered lights began to go out, and the last few people on foot disappeared. The village went to sleep, leaving the young watcher alone with the silence and the ghosts. Eleven o’clock came, and the tavern lights went out. Now it was dark everywhere. Huck waited for what seemed a terribly long time, but nothing happened. He was losing faith. Was there any point? Was there really any point? Why not give up and go to bed?

A noise fell upon his ear. He was all attention in an instant. The alley door closed softly. He sprang to the corner of the brick store. The next moment two men brushed by him, and one seemed to have something under his arm. It must be that box! So they were going to remove the treasure. Why call Tom now? It would be absurd—the men would get away with the box and never be found again. No, he would stick to their wake and follow them; he would trust to the darkness for security from discovery. So communing with himself, Huck stepped out and glided along behind the men, cat-like, with bare feet, allowing them to keep just far enough ahead not to be invisible.

He heard a noise. In an instant, he was listening closely. The alley door closed softly. He sprang to the corner of the brick store. A moment later, two men brushed past him. One seemed to be carrying something under his arm. It must be that box! So they were going to move the treasure. Why call Tom now? That would be ridiculous. The men would get away with the box and never be found again. No, he would follow right behind them. He would trust the darkness to keep him from being seen. With these thoughts, Huck stepped out and slipped along behind the men, moving like a cat on his bare feet. He let them stay ahead, but kept them just close enough to see.

They moved up the river street three blocks, then turned to the left up a crossstreet. They went straight ahead, then, until they came to the path that led up Cardiff Hill; this they took. They passed by the old Welshman’s house, halfway up the hill, without hesitating, and still climbed upward. Good, thought Huck, they will bury it in the old quarry. But they never stopped at the quarry. They passed on, up the summit. They plunged into the narrow path between the tall sumach bushes, and were at once hidden in the gloom. Huck closed up and shortened his distance, now, for they would never be able to see him. He trotted along awhile; then slackened his pace, fearing he was gaining too fast; moved on a piece, then stopped altogether; listened; no sound; none, save that he seemed to hear the beating of his own heart. The hooting of an owl came over the hill—ominous sound! But no footsteps. Heavens, was everything lost! He was about to spring with winged feet, when a man cleared his throat not four feet from him! Huck’s heart shot into his throat, but he swallowed it again; and then he stood there shaking as if a dozen agues had taken charge of him at once, and so weak that he thought he must surely fall to the ground. He knew where he was. He knew he was within five steps of the stile leading into Widow Douglas’ grounds. Very well, he thought, let them bury it there; it won’t be hard to find.

They went three blocks up the street along the river, then turned left onto a cross street. They kept going until they reached the path leading up Cardiff Hill, then followed it. They passed the old Welshman’s house halfway up the hill without hesitating and kept climbing. Good, thought Huck, they will bury it in the old quarry. But they never stopped at the quarry. They went on up to the summit. They plunged into the narrow path between the tall sumac bushes and immediately disappeared into the darkness. Huck moved closer now, since they would never be able to see him. He trotted along for a while, then slowed down, afraid he was catching up too quickly. He went a little farther, then stopped completely and listened. There was no sound, except what seemed to be his own heartbeat. An owl hooted over the hill. What an ominous sound! But there were no footsteps. Heavens, was everything lost! He was about to dash forward when a man cleared his throat less than four feet away! Huck’s heart leaped into his throat, but he swallowed it back down. Then he stood shaking as if a dozen bouts of fever had struck him at once. He felt so weak that he thought he would surely fall to the ground. He knew where he was. He knew he was within five steps of the stile leading into Widow Douglas’ grounds. Very well, he thought, let them bury it there. It won’t be hard to find.

Now there was a voice—a very low voice—Injun Joe’s:

Now a voice spoke, very quietly. It was Injun Joe’s:

“Damn her, maybe she’s got company—there’s lights, late as it is.”

“Damn her, maybe she’s got company. There’s lights on, even this late.”

“I can’t see any.”

This was that stranger’s voice—the stranger of the haunted house. A deadly chill went to Huck’s heart—this, then, was the “revenge” job! His thought was, to fly. Then he remembered that the Widow Douglas had been kind to him more than once, and maybe these men were going to murder her. He wished he dared venture to warn her; but he knew he didn’t dare—they might come and catch him. He thought all this and more in the moment that elapsed between the stranger’s remark and Injun Joe’s next—which was—

That was the stranger’s voice, the stranger from the haunted house. An icy chill struck Huck’s heart. So this was the “revenge” job! His first thought was to run away. Then he remembered that the Widow Douglas had been kind to him more than once. And maybe these men were going to murder her. He wished he dared try to warn her. But he knew he didn’t dare, because the men might come and catch him. All these thoughts and more raced through his mind between the stranger’s remark and Injun Joe’s next words, which were:

“Because the bush is in your way. Now—this way—now you see, don’t you?”

“Because the bush is in your way. Now, this way. Now you see, don’t you?”

“Yes. Well, there is company there, I reckon. Better give it up.”

“Yes. Well, there is someone there, I reckon. Better give it up.”

“Give it up, and I just leaving this country forever! Give it up and maybe never have another chance. I tell you again, as I’ve told you before, I don’t care for her swag—you may have it. But her husband was rough on me—many times he was rough on me—and mainly he was the justice of the peace that jugged me for a vagrant. And that ain’t all. It ain’t a millionth part of it! He had me horsewhipped!—horsewhipped in front of the jail, like a !—with all the town looking on! Horsewhipped!—do you understand? He took advantage of me and died. But I’ll take it out of her.”

“Give it up, and I just leaving this country forever! Give it up and maybe never have another chance. I tell you again, as I’ve told you before, I don’t care for her loot. You may have it. But her husband treated me rough. Many times he treated me rough. And most of all, he was the justice of the peace that jailed me for being a vagrant. And that ain’t all. It ain’t a millionth part of it! He had me horsewhipped! Horsewhipped in front of the jail, like a ! With all the town looking on! Horsewhipped! Do you understand? He took advantage of me and died. But I’ll take it out on her.”

“Oh, don’t kill her! Don’t do that!”

“Kill? Who said anything about killing? I would kill him if he was here; but not her. When you want to get revenge on a woman you don’t kill her—bosh! you go for her looks. You slit her nostrils—you notch her ears like a sow!”

“Kill? Who said anything about killing? I would kill him if he was here, but not her. When you want to get revenge on a woman, you don’t kill her. Nonsense! You go after her looks. You slit her nostrils. You cut notches in her ears like a female pig!”

“By God, that’s—”

“By God, that’s...”

“Keep your opinion to yourself! It will be safest for you. I’ll tie her to the bed. If she bleeds to death, is that my fault? I’ll not cry, if she does. My friend, you’ll help me in this thing—for my sake—that’s why you’re here—I mightn’t be able alone. If you flinch, I’ll kill you. Do you understand that? And if I have to kill you, I’ll kill her—and then I reckon nobody’ll ever know much about who done this business.”

“Keep your opinion to yourself! That will be safest for you. I’ll tie her to the bed. If she bleeds to death, is that my fault? I won’t cry if she does. My friend, you’ll help me with this for my sake. That’s why you’re here. I might not be able to do it alone. If you back out, I’ll kill you. Do you understand that? And if I have to kill you, I’ll kill her. Then I reckon nobody will ever know much about who done this.”

“Well, if it’s got to be done, let’s get at it. The quicker the better—I’m all in a shiver.”

“Well, if it’s got to be done, let’s get started. The quicker the better. I’m shaking all over.”

“Do it now? And company there? Look here—I’ll get suspicious of you, first thing you know. No—we’ll wait till the lights are out—there’s no hurry.”

“Do it now? With guests there? Look here, I’ll start getting suspicious of you before you know it. No, we’ll wait till the lights are out. There’s no hurry.”

Huck felt that a silence was going to ensue—a thing still more awful than any amount of murderous talk; so he held his breath and stepped gingerly back; planted his foot carefully and firmly, after balancing, one-legged, in a precarious way and almost toppling over, first on one side and then on the other. He took another step back, with the same elaboration and the same risks; then another and another, and—a twig snapped under his foot! His breath stopped and he listened. There was no sound—the stillness was perfect. His gratitude was measureless. Now he turned in his tracks, between the walls of sumach bushes—turned himself as carefully as if he were a ship—and then stepped quickly but cautiously along. When he emerged at the quarry he felt secure, and so he picked up his nimble heels and flew. Down, down he sped, till he reached the Welshman’s. He banged at the door, and presently the heads of the old man and his two stalwart sons were thrust from windows.

Huck felt that silence was about to fall, something even more terrifying than all the murderous talk. So he held his breath and stepped carefully backward. He balanced unsteadily on one leg, nearly toppling first one way, then the other, before planting his foot firmly. He took another step back with the same care and the same risks. Then another and another, until a twig snapped under his foot! His breath stopped, and he listened. Not a sound. The silence was complete. His relief and gratitude were endless. Now he turned around between the walls of sumac bushes, moving as carefully as if he were a ship. Then he walked quickly but cautiously away. When he came out at the quarry, he felt safe, so he took to his heels and flew. Down, down he raced until he reached the Welshman’s. He pounded on the door. Soon the old man and his two strong sons stuck their heads out of the windows.

“What’s the row there? Who’s banging? What do you want?”

“What’s all that noise? Who’s banging? What do you want?”

“Let me in—quick! I’ll tell everything.”

“Let me in, quick! I’ll tell everything.”

“Why, who are you?”

“Huckleberry Finn—quick, let me in!”

“Huckleberry Finn, quick, let me in!”

“Huckleberry Finn, indeed! It ain’t a name to open many doors, I judge! But let him in, lads, and let’s see what’s the trouble.”

“Huckleberry Finn, indeed! It ain’t a name that opens many doors, I judge! But let him in, boys, and let’s see what the trouble is.”

“Please don’t ever tell I told you,” were Huck’s first words when he got in. “Please don’t—I’d be killed, sure—but the widow’s been good friends to me sometimes, and I want to tell—I will tell if you’ll promise you won’t ever say it was me.”

“Please don’t ever tell anyone I told you,” Huck said as soon as he came in. “Please don’t. I’d be killed for sure. But the widow’s been good to me sometimes, and I want to tell. I will tell if you’ll promise you won’t ever say it was me.”

“By George, he has got something to tell, or he wouldn’t act so!” exclaimed the old man; “out with it and nobody here’ll ever tell, lad.”

“By George, he has got something to tell, or he wouldn’t act like that!” exclaimed the old man. “Out with it, and nobody here will ever tell anyone, lad.”

Three minutes later the old man and his sons, well armed, were up the hill, and just entering the sumach path on tiptoe, their weapons in their hands. Huck accompanied them no further. He hid behind a great bowlder and fell to listening. There was a lagging, anxious silence, and then all of a sudden there was an explosion of firearms and a cry.

Three minutes later, the old man and his sons, well armed, were up the hill. They were just tiptoeing onto the sumac path, weapons in hand. Huck went no farther with them. He hid behind a large boulder and listened. An anxious silence dragged on. Then, all at once, gunshots rang out, followed by a cry.

Huck waited for no particulars. He sprang away and sped down the hill as fast as his legs could carry him.

Huck didn't wait for any details. He sprang away and raced down the hill as fast as his legs could carry him.