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:
"Goodness 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 Pike County, in Missouri, where I was born, and
they all died off but me and pa and my brother Ike. Pa, he 'lowed 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 warn't nothing left but
sixteen dollars and our nigger, Jim. That warn'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 ketched 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 forrard 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 to-day, because of course we don't want to go by
that town yonder in daylight-it mightn't be healthy."
Towards 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 tickQbetter than Jim's, which was a
cornshuck 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; it makes 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 a reckoned the difference in rank would a sejested to you
that a corn-shuck bed warn't just fitten for me to sleep on. Your Grace
'll 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; 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 slid by, about a half a 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 to both 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 a 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 souls,
how the wind did scream along! And every second or two there'd come a
glare that lit up the white-caps 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 H-WHACK!-bum! bum!
bumble-umble-um-bum-bumbum-bum-and the thunder would go rumbling and
grumbling away, and quit-and then RIP comes another flash and another
sockdolager. 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 he 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 there warn't no show for me; so
I laid outside-I didn't mind the rain, because it was warm, and the waves
warn'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
warn'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; and 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 allowed they would "lay out a campaign," as they called
it. The duke went down into his carpetbag, 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 Shakespearian 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 trod the boards,
Royalty?"
"No," says the king.
"You shall, then, before you're three days older, Fallen 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-actin', and hain't ever seen much
of it. I was too small when pap used to have 'em at the palace. Do you
reckon you can learn me?"
"Easy!"
"All right. I'm jist a-freezn' for something fresh, anyway. Le'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 goin' to look oncommon 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
meedyevil armor for Richard III. and t'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 give the book to the king and told him to
get his part by heart.
There was a little one-horse town about three mile down the bend, and
after dinner the duke said he had ciphered out his idea about how to run
in daylight without it being dangersome for Jim; so he allowed he would go
down 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 them in the canoe and get some.
When we got there there warn'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 warn't too young or too
sick or too old was gone to campmeeting, about two mile 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 printingoffice. We found it; a
little bit of a concern, up over a carpenter 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 the
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 everywheres,
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 such-like 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 sun-bonnets; and some had
linsey-woolsey frocks, some gingham 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 towlinen 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 in
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!" And people would
shout out, "Glory!-A-a-MEN!" And so he went on, and the people groaning
and crying and saying amen:
"Oh, come to the mourners' bench! come, black with sin! (AMEN!) come,
sick and sore! (AMEN!) come, lame and halt and blind! (AMEN!) come, pore
and needy, sunk in shame! (A-A-MEN!) 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!" (A-A-MEN! 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 everywheres in the crowd,
and worked their way just by main strength to the mourners' 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 down on 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 on to 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 of 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 get there without money, 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 campmeeting, 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 eighty-seven dollars and seventy-five cents. And then he had
fetched away a three-gallon jug of whisky, 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 warn't no use talking, heathens don't amount to 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
bills-and took the money, four dollars. And he had got in 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 paper was two dollars a year, but he took in three subscriptions for
half a dollar apiece 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 "$200 reward" under it. The
reading was all about Jim, and just described him to a dot. It said he run
away from St. Jacques' 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 daytime 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 this handbill 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 daytimes. 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 reck'n we gwyne to run acrost any mo' kings on dis trip?"
"No," I says, "I reckon not."
"Well," says he, "dat's all right, den. I doan' mine one er two kings,
but dat's enough. Dis one's powerful drunk, en de duke ain' 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.