Chapter 20
CHAPTER XX. They asked us considerable many questions, wanted to know what we covered up the raft that way for, and laid by in the daytime instead of running. Was Jim a runaway nigger? Says I.
For Christ sakes, would a runaway nigger run south? No, they allowed he wouldn't. I had to account for things some way. So I says. My folks was living in Pikey County, in Missouri, where I was born, and they all died off but
me and Pa and my brother Ike. Pa, he allowed he'd break up and go down, and live with Uncle Ben, who's got a little one-horse place on the river, forty-four mile below Orleans. Pa was pretty poor and had some debts, so when he'd squared up there weren't nothing left but sixteen dollars and her nigger Jim.
That weren't enough to take us fourteen hundred mile, deck passage nor no other way. Well, when the river rose, Pa had a streak of luck one day. He catched this piece of a raft, so we reckoned we'd go down to Orleans on it. Pa's luck didn't hold out. A steamboat run over the forward corner of the raft one night, and we all went overboard,
and dove under the wheel. Jim and me come up all right, but Pa was drunk, and Ike was only four years old, so they never come up no more. Well, for the next day or two we had considerable trouble, because people was always coming out in skiffs and trying to take Jim away from me, saying they believed he was a runaway
nigger. We don't run daytimes no more now. Nights they don't bother us. The Duke says, Leave me alone to cipher out a way so we can run in the daytime if we want to.
I'll think the thing over. I'll invent a plan that'll fix it. We'll let it alone for today, because of course we don't want to go by that town yonder in daylight. It mightn't be healthy.
This night it begun to darken up and look like rain. The heat lightning was squirting around low down in the sky, and the leaves was beginning to shiver. It was going to be pretty ugly. It was easy to see that.
So the Duke and the King went to overhauling our wigwam to see what the beds was like. My bed was a straw tick, better than Jim's, which was a corn shuck tick. There's always cobs around about in a shuck tick, and they poke into you and hurt, and when you roll over the dry shucks sound like you was rolling over in a pile of dead leaves, you make such a rustling that you wake up.
Well, the Duke allowed he would take my bed, but the King allowed he wouldn't. He says, I should reckon the difference in rank would have suggested to you that a corn shuck bed warn't just fit for me to sleep on. Your grace will take the shuck bed yourself.
Jim and me was in a sweat again for a minute, being afraid there was going to be some more trouble amongst them. So we was pretty glad when the Duke says, Tis my fate to be always ground into the mire under the iron heel of oppression. Misfortune has broken my once haughty spirit.
I yield, I submit. Tis my fate. I am alone in the world. Let me suffer. I can bear it.
We got away as soon as it was good and dark. The King told us to stand well out towards the middle of the river and not show a light till we got a long ways below the town. We come in sight of the little bunch of lights by and by—that was the town, you know—and by about a half mile out all right.
When we was three quarters of a mile below we hoisted up our signal lantern, and about ten o'clock it come on to rain and blow and thunder and lighten like everything. So the King told us both to stay on watch till the weather got better. Then him and the Duke crawled into the wigwam and turned in for the night. It was my watch below till twelve.
But I wouldn't have turned in anyway if I'd had a bed, because a body don't see such a storm as that every day in the week, not by a long sight. My soul's how the wind did scream along, and every second or two there'd come a glare that lit up the whitecaps for a half a mile around, and you'd see the islands looking dusty through the rain, and the trees thrashing around in the wind.
Then comes a whole whack—bum bum bumble umble um bum bum bum bum—and the thunder would go rumbling and grumbling away and quit, and then rip comes another flash and another sock-dollager. The waves most washed me off the raft sometimes, but I hadn't any clothes on and didn't mind. We didn't have no trouble about snags.
The lightning was glaring and flittering around so constant that we could see them plenty soon enough to throw her head this way or that and miss them. I had the middle watch, you know, but I was pretty sleepy by that time, so Jim said he would stand the first half of it for me. He was always mighty good that way, Jim was.
I crawled into the wigwam, but the King and the Duke had their legs sprawled around so that there weren't no show for me, so I laid outside. I didn't mind the rain, because it was warm, and the waves weren't running so high now. About two they come up again, though, and Jim was going to call me, but he changed his mind, because he reckoned they weren't high enough yet to do any harm, but he was mistaken
about that, for pretty soon all of a sudden along comes a regular ripper and washed me overboard. It most killed Jim a-laughing. He was the easiest nigger to laugh that ever was, anyway. I took the watch, and Jim he laid down and snored away, but by and by the storm let up
for good and all, and the first cabin light that showed I rousted him out, and we slid the raft into hiding quarters for the day. The King got out an old, ratty deck of cards after breakfast, and him and the Duke played seven up a while, five cents a game. Then they got tired of it, and aloud they would, lay out a campaign, as they called
it. The Duke went down into his carpet bag and fetched up a lot of little printed bills, and read them out loud. One bill said, The celebrated Dr. Armand de Montalban of Paris would lecture on the science of phrenology at such and such a place on the blank day of blank at ten cents admission,
and furnish charts of character at twenty-five cents apiece. The Duke said that was him. In another bill, he was the world-renowned Shakespearean tragedian, Garrick the Younger, of Drury Lane, London. In other bills he had a lot of other names, and done other wonderful things, like finding
water and gold with a divining-rod, dissipating witch spells, and so on. By and by, he says, But the histrionic muse is the darling. Have you ever tried the board's royalty? No, says the King. You shall then, before you're three days older, fall in grandeur, says the Duke.
The first good town we come to, we'll hire a hall and do the sword-fight in Richard III, and the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet. How does that strike you? I'm in, up to the hub, for anything that will pay, Bilgewater. But you see, I don't know nothing about play-acting, and ain't ever seen much of it.
I was too small on Papy's to have him at the palace. Do you reckon you can learn me? Easy. All right. I'm just a-freezin' for something fresh anyway.
Let's commence right away. So the Duke, he told him all about who Romeo was, and who Juliet was, and said he was used to being Romeo, so the King could be Juliet. But if Juliet's such a young gal, Duke, my peeled head and my white whiskers is going to look uncommon odd on her, maybe.
No, don't you worry. These country jakes won't ever think of that. Besides, you know, you'll be in costume, and that makes all the difference in the world. Juliet's in a balcony, enjoying the moonlight before she goes to bed, and she's got on her nightgown and her ruffled nightcap.
Here are the costumes for the parts. He got out two or three curtain calico suits, which he said was medieval armor for Richard and other chap, and a long white cotton nightshirt and a ruffled nightcap to match. The King was satisfied, so the Duke got out his book and read the parts over in the most splendid spread eagle way, prancing around and acting at the same time, to show how it
had got to be done. Then he gave the book to the King and told him to get his part by heart. There was a little one-horse town about three miles down the bend, and after dinner the he had ciphered out his idea about how to run in daylight without it being dangerous for Jim, so he allowed he would go to the town and fix that thing.
The King allowed he would go too and see if he couldn't strike something. We was out of coffee, so Jim said I better go along with him in the canoe and get some. When we got there, there weren't nobody stirring, streets empty and perfectly dead and still, like Sunday. We found a sick nigger sunning himself in a back yard, and he said everybody that weren't
too young or too sick or too old was gone to camp meeting about two miles back in the woods. The King got the directions and allowed he'd go and work that camp meeting for all it was worth, and I might go too. The Duke said what he was after was a printing office.
We found it, a little bit of a concern, up over a carpenter's shop. Carpenters and printers all gone to the meeting, and no doors locked. It was a dirty, littered-up place, and had ink marks and handbills with pictures of horses and runaway niggers on them all over the walls. The Duke shed his coat and said he was all right now, so me and the King lit out for
camp meeting. We got there in about a half an hour, fairly dripping, for it was a most awful hot day. There was as much as a thousand people there from twenty mile around. The woods was full of teams and wagons, hitched everywhere, feeding out of the wagon troughs and stomping to keep off the flies.
There was sheds made out of poles and roofed over with branches, where they had lemonade and gingerbread to sell, and piles of watermelons and green corn and suchlike truck. The preaching was going on under the same kinds of sheds, only they was bigger and held crowds of people. The benches was made out of outside slabs of logs, with holes bored in the round side
to drive sticks into for legs. They didn't have no backs. The preachers had high platforms to stand on at one end of the sheds. The women had on sunbonnets, and some had lindsey-woolsey frocks. Some gangham ones and a few of the young ones had on calico.
Some of the young men was barefooted, and some of the children didn't have on any clothes but just a toe-linen shirt. Some of the old women was knitting, and some of the young folks was courting on the sly. The first shed we come to the preacher was lining out a hymn. He lined out two lines, everybody sung it, and it was kind of grand to hear it.
There was so many of them, and they done it in such a rousing way. Then he lined out two more for them to sing, and so on. The people woke up more and more, and sung louder and louder. And towards the end some begun to groan, and some begun to shout. Then the preacher begun to preach, and begun an earnest too, and went weaving first to
one side of the platform and then the other, and then a-leaning down over the front of it with his arms and his body going all the time, and shouting his words out with all his might. And every now and then he would hold up his Bible and spread it open, and kind of pass it around this way and that, shouting, It's the brazen serpent in the wilderness.
Look upon it and live. Then the people would shout, Glory! Amen! And so he went on, and the people groaning and crying and saying Amen! Oh, come to the mourner's bench, come black with sin!
Amen! Come sick and sore! Amen! Come lame and halt and blind! Amen!
Come poor and needy, sunk in shame! Amen! Come all that's worn and soiled and suffering! Come with a broken spirit! Come with a contrite heart!
Come in your rags and sin and dirt! The waters that cleanse is free, the door of heaven stands open, oh, enter in and be at rest! Eh, amen! Glory!
Glory! Hallelujah! And so on. You couldn't make out what the preacher said any more on account of the shouting and crying. Folks got up everywhere in the crowd, and worked their way just by main strength to
the mourner's bench, with the tears running down their faces, and when all the mourners had got up there to the front benches in a crowd, they sung and shouted and flung themselves the straw, just crazy and wild. Well, the first I knowed, the king got a-going, and you could hear him over everybody, and next he went a-charging up onto the platform, and the preacher he begged him to speak to
the people, and he done it. He told them he was a pirate, been a pirate for thirty years out in the Indian Ocean, and his crew was thinned out considerable last spring in a fight, and he was home now to take out some fresh men, and thanks to goodness he'd been robbed last night and put ashore off a steamboat without a cent, and he was glad of it.
It was the blessedest thing that ever happened to him, because he was a changed man now, and happy for the first time in his life, and, poor as he was, he was going to start right off and work his way back to the Indian Ocean, and put in the rest of his life trying to turn the pirates into the true path, for he could do it better than anybody else, being acquainted with all pirate crews in that ocean, and though it would take him a long time to
he would get there anyway, and every time he convinced a pirate he would say to him, Don't you thank me, don't you give me no credit, it all belongs to them dear people in Pokeville camp meeting, natural brothers and benefactors of the race, and that dear preacher there, the truest friend a pirate ever had. And then he busted into tears, and so did everybody.
Then somebody sings out, Take up a collection for him, take up a collection. Well, a half a dozen made a jump to do it, but somebody sings out, Let him pass the hat around. Then everybody said it, the preacher too. So the king went all through the crowd with his hat swabbing his eyes and blessing the
people and praising them and thanking them for being so good to the poor pirates away off there, and every little while the prettiest kind of girls, with the tears running down their cheeks, would up and ask him would he let them kiss him for to remember him by, and he always done it, and some of them he hugged and kissed as many as five or six times, and he was invited to stay a week, and everybody wanted him to live in their houses and said
they'd think it was an honor. But he said as this was the last day of the camp meeting he couldn't do no good, and besides he was in a sweat to get to the Indian Ocean right off and go to work on the pirates. When we got back to the raft and he come to count up he found he had collected $87.75, and then he had fetched away a three gallon jug of whiskey too that he found under a wagon
when he was starting home through the woods. The king said, take it all around. It laid over any day he'd ever put in in the missionarying line. He said it weren't no use talking. He then stowed a mound of shucks alongside of pirates to work a camp meeting with.
The duke was thinking he'd been doing pretty well till the king come to show up, but after that he didn't think so, so much. He had set up and printed off two little jobs for farmers in that printing office, horse spills, and took the money, four dollars. And he had gotten ten dollars worth of advertisements for the paper, which he said he would put
in for four dollars if they would pay in advance, so they done it. The price of the papers was two dollars a year, but he took in three subscriptions for a half a dollar a piece on condition of them paying him in advance. They were going to pay in cordwood and onions as usual. But he said he had just bought the concern, and knocked down the price as low as he could
afford it, and was going to run it for cash. He set up a little piece of poetry, which he made himself out of his own head, three verses, kind of sweet and saddish. The name of it was, yes, Crush Cold World, This Breaking Heart. And he left that all set up and ready to print in the paper, and didn't charge nothing for
it. Well, he took in nine dollars and a half, and said he'd done a pretty square day's work for it. Then he showed us another little job he'd printed, and hadn't charged for, because it was for us.
It had a picture of a runaway nigger with a bundle on a stick over his shoulder, and two hundred dollar reward under it. The reading was all about Jim, and just described him to a dot. It said he ran away from St. Joc's Plantation, forty mile below New Orleans, last winter, and likely went north.
And whoever would catch him and send him back, he could have the reward and expenses. Now, says the Duke, after to-night we can run in the day-time if we want to. Whenever we see anybody coming, we can tie Jim hand and foot with a rope, and lay him in the wigwam, and show the sandbill, and say we captured him up the river, and were too poor to travel on a steamboat.
So we got this little raft on credit from our friends, and are going down to get the reward. Handcuffs and chains would look still better on Jim, but it wouldn't go well with the story of us being so poor. Too much like jewelry.
Ropes are the correct thing. We must preserve the unities, as we say on the boards. We all said the Duke was pretty smart, and there couldn't be no trouble about running day-times. We judged we could make miles enough that night to get out of the reach of the powwow
we reckoned the Duke's work in the printing office was going to make in that little town. Then we could boom right along if we wanted to. We laid low and kept still, and never shoved out till nearly ten o'clock. Then we slid by, pretty wide away from the town, and didn't hoist our lantern till we was clear out of sight of it.
When Jim called me to take the watch at four in the morning, he says, Huck, does you reckon we guine to run across any more kings on this trip? No, I says, I reckon not. What else is he? That's all right, then.
I don't mind one or two kings, but that's enough. This one's powerful drunk, and the Duke ain't much better. I found Jim had been trying to get him to talk French so he could hear what it was like, But he said he had been in this country so long, and had so much trouble he'd forgot it.
