Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
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 agwyne to do. You see, ef I kep’ on tryin’ to git away afoot,
de dogs ’ud track me; ef I stole a skift to cross over, dey’d miss dat
skift, you see, en dey’d know ’bout whah I’d lan’ on de yuther side, en
whah to pick up my track. So I says, a raff is what I’s arter; it doan’
_make_ no track.
“I see a light a-comin’ roun’ de p’int bymeby, so I wade’ in en shove’
a log ahead o’ me en swum more’n half way acrost de river, en got in
’mongst de drift-wood, en kep’ my head down low, en kinder swum agin de
current tell de raff come along. Den I swum to de stern uv it en tuck
a-holt. It clouded up en ’uz pooty dark for a little while. So I clumb
up en laid down on de planks. De men ’uz all ’way yonder in de middle,
whah de lantern wuz. De river wuz a-risin’, en dey wuz a good current;
so I reck’n’d ’at by fo’ in de mawnin’ I’d be twenty-five mile down de
river, en den I’d slip in jis b’fo’ daylight en swim asho’, en take to
de woods on de Illinois side.
“But I didn’ have no luck. When we ’uz mos’ down to de head er de
islan’ a man begin to come aft wid de lantern, I see it warn’t no use
fer to wait, so I slid overboard en struck out fer de islan’. Well, I
had a notion I could lan’ mos’ anywhers, but I couldn’t—bank too bluff.
I ’uz mos’ to de foot er de islan’ b’fo’ I found’ a good place. I went
into de woods en jedged I wouldn’ fool wid raffs no mo’, long as dey
move de lantern roun’ so. I had my pipe en a plug er dog-leg, en some
matches in my cap, en dey warn’t wet, so I ’uz all right.”
“And so you ain’t had no meat nor bread to eat all this time? Why
didn’t you get mud-turkles?”
“How you gwyne to git ’m? You can’t slip up on um en grab um; en how’s
a body gwyne to hit um wid a rock? How could a body do it in de night?
En I warn’t gwyne to show mysef on de bank in de daytime.”
“Well, that’s so. You’ve had to keep in the woods all the time, of
course. Did you hear ’em shooting the cannon?”
“Oh, yes. I knowed dey was arter you. I see um go by heah—watched um
thoo de bushes.”
Some young birds come along, flying a yard or two at a time and
lighting. Jim said it was a sign it was going to rain. He said it was a
sign when young chickens flew that way, and so he reckoned it was the
same way when young birds done it. I was going to catch some of them,
but Jim wouldn’t let me. He said it was death. He said his father laid
mighty sick once, and some of them catched a bird, and his old granny
said his father would die, and he did.
And Jim said you mustn’t count the things you are going to cook for
dinner, because that would bring bad luck. The same if you shook the
table-cloth after sundown. And he said if a man owned a beehive and
that man died, the bees must be told about it before sun-up next
morning, or else the bees would all weaken down and quit work and die.
Jim said bees wouldn’t sting idiots; but I didn’t believe that, 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 agwyne to
be rich. Well, dey’s some use in a sign like dat, ’kase it’s so fur
ahead. You see, maybe you’s got to be po’ a long time fust, en so you
might git discourage’ en kill yo’sef ’f you didn’ know by de sign dat
you gwyne to be rich bymeby.”
“Have you got hairy arms and a hairy breast, Jim?”
“What’s de use to ax dat question? Don’t you see I has?”
“Well, are you rich?”
“No, but I ben rich wunst, and gwyne to be rich agin. Wunst I had
foteen dollars, but I tuck to specalat’n’, en got busted out.”
“What did you speculate in, Jim?”
“Well, fust I tackled stock.”
“What kind of stock?”
“Why, live stock—cattle, you know. I put ten dollars in a cow. But I
ain’ gwyne to resk no mo’ money in stock. De cow up ’n’ died on my
han’s.”
“So you lost the ten dollars.”
“No, I didn’t lose it all. I on’y los’ ’bout nine of it. I sole de hide
en taller for a dollar en ten cents.”
“You had five dollars and ten cents left. Did you speculate any more?”
“Yes. You know that one-laigged nigger dat b’longs to old Misto
Bradish? Well, he sot up a bank, en say anybody dat put in a dollar
would git fo’ dollars mo’ at de en’ er de year. Well, all de niggers
went in, but dey didn’t have much. I wuz de on’y one dat had much. So I
stuck out for mo’ dan fo’ dollars, en I said ’f I didn’ git it I’d
start a bank mysef. Well, o’ course dat nigger want’ to keep me out er
de business, bekase he says dey warn’t business ’nough for two banks,
so he say I could put in my five dollars en he pay me thirty-five at de
en’ er de year.
“So I done it. Den I reck’n’d I’d inves’ de thirty-five dollars right
off en keep things a-movin’. Dey wuz a nigger name’ Bob, dat had
ketched a wood-flat, en his marster didn’ know it; en I bought it off’n
him en told him to take de thirty-five dollars when de en’ er de year
come; but somebody stole de wood-flat dat night, en nex day de
one-laigged nigger say de bank’s busted. So dey didn’ none uv us git no
money.”
“What did you do with the ten cents, Jim?”
“Well, I ’uz gwyne to spen’ it, but I had a dream, en de dream tole me
to give it to a nigger name’ Balum—Balum’s Ass dey call him for short;
he’s one er dem chuckleheads, you know. But he’s lucky, dey say, en I
see I warn’t lucky. De dream say let Balum inves’ de ten cents en he’d
make a raise for me. Well, Balum he tuck de money, en when he wuz in
church he hear de preacher say dat whoever give to de po’ len’ to de
Lord, en boun’ to git his money back a hund’d times. So Balum he tuck
en give de ten cents to de po’, en laid low to see what wuz gwyne to
come of it.”
“Well, what did come of it, Jim?”
“Nuffn never come of it. I couldn’ manage to k’leck dat money no way;
en Balum he couldn’. I ain’ gwyne to len’ no mo’ money ’dout I see de
security. Boun’ to git yo’ money back a hund’d times, de preacher says!
Ef I could git de ten _cents_ back, I’d call it squah, en be glad er de
chanst.”
“Well, it’s all right anyway, Jim, long as you’re going to be rich
again some time or other.”
“Yes; en I’s rich now, come to look at it. I owns mysef, en I’s wuth
eight hund’d dollars. I wisht I had de money, I wouldn’ want no mo’.”
CHAPTER IX.
I wanted to go and look at a place right about the middle of the island
that I’d found when I was exploring; so we started and soon got to it,
because the island was only three miles long and a quarter of a mile
wide.
This place was a tolerable long, steep hill or ridge about forty foot
high. We had a rough time getting to the top, the sides was so steep
and the bushes so thick. We tramped and clumb around all over it, and
by-and-by found a good big cavern in the rock, most up to the top on
the side towards Illinois. The cavern was as big as two or three rooms
bunched together, and Jim could stand up straight in it. It was cool in
there. Jim was for putting our traps in there right away, but I said we
didn’t want to be climbing up and down there all the time.
Jim said if we had the canoe hid in a good place, and had all the traps
in the cavern, we could rush there if anybody was to come to the
island, and they would never find us without dogs. And, besides, he
said them little birds had said it was going to rain, and did I want
the things to get wet?
So we went back and got the canoe, and paddled up abreast the cavern,
and lugged all the traps up there. Then we hunted up a place close by
to hide the canoe in, amongst the thick willows. We took some fish off
of the lines and set them again, and begun to get ready for dinner.
The door of the cavern was big enough to roll a hogshead in, and on one
side of the door the floor stuck out a little bit, and was flat and a
good place to build a fire on. So we built it there and cooked dinner.
We spread the blankets inside for a carpet, and eat our dinner in
there. We put all the other things handy at the back of the cavern.
Pretty soon it darkened up, and begun to thunder and lighten; so the
birds was right about it. Directly it begun to rain, and it rained like
all fury, too, and I never see the wind blow so. It was one of these
regular summer storms. It would get so dark that it looked all
blue-black outside, and lovely; and the rain would thrash along by so
thick that the trees off a little ways looked dim and spider-webby; and
here would come a blast of wind that would bend the trees down and turn
up the pale underside of the leaves; and then a perfect ripper of a
gust would follow along and set the branches to tossing their arms as
if they was just wild; and next, when it was just about the bluest and
blackest—_fst!_ it was as bright as glory, and you’d have a little
glimpse of tree-tops a-plunging about away off yonder in the storm,
hundreds of yards further than you could see before; dark as sin again
in a second, and now you’d hear the thunder let go with an awful crash,
and then go rumbling, grumbling, tumbling, down the sky towards the
under side of the world, like rolling empty barrels down stairs—where
it’s long stairs and they bounce a good deal, you know.
“Jim, this is nice,” I says. “I wouldn’t want to be nowhere else but
here. Pass me along another hunk of fish and some hot corn-bread.”
“Well, you wouldn’t a ben here ’f it hadn’t a ben for Jim. You’d a ben
down dah in de woods widout any dinner, en gittn’ mos’ drownded, too;
dat you would, honey. Chickens knows when it’s gwyne to rain, en so do
de birds, chile.”
The river went on raising and raising for ten or twelve days, till at
last it was over the banks. The water was three or four foot deep on
the island in the low places and on the Illinois bottom. On that side
it was a good many miles wide, but on the Missouri side it was the same
old distance across—a half a mile—because the Missouri shore was just a
wall of high bluffs.
Daytimes we paddled all over the island in the canoe, It was mighty
cool and shady in the deep woods, even if the sun was blazing outside.
We went winding in and out amongst the trees, and sometimes the vines
hung so thick we had to back away and go some other way. Well, on every
old broken-down tree you could see rabbits and snakes and such things;
and when the island had been overflowed a day or two they got so tame,
on account of being hungry, that you could paddle right up and put your
hand on them if you wanted to; but not the snakes and turtles—they
would slide off in the water. The ridge our cavern was in was full of