make a clean breast and tell her everything, but she musn't go
back  on  her  promise. Then I told her my father and mother was dead, and
the  law  had bound me out to a mean old farmer in the country thirty mile
back  from  the  river,  and  he  treated me so bad I couldn't stand it no
longer;  he went away to be gone a couple of days, and so I took my chance
and  stole  some  of his daughter's old clothes and cleared out, and I had
been  three  nights  coming  the  thirty miles. I traveled nights, and hid
daytimes  and  slept,  and  the  bag of bread and meat I carried from home
lasted  me  all  the  way,  and I had a-plenty. I said I believed my uncle
Abner  Moore  would  take care of me, and so that was why I struck out for
this town of Goshen.
   "Goshen, child? This ain't Goshen. This is St. Petersburg. Goshen's ten
mile further up the river. Who told you this was Goshen?"
   "Why, a man I met at daybreak this morning, just as I was going to turn
into  the  woods  for my regular sleep. He told me when the roads forked I
must take the right hand, and five mile would fetch me to Goshen."
   "He was drunk, I reckon. He told you just exactly wrong."
   "Well,,he  did act like he was drunk, but it ain't no matter now. I got
to be moving along. I'll fetch Goshen before daylight."
   "Hold on a minute. I'll put you up a snack to eat. You might want it."
   So she put me up a snack, and says:
   "Say,  when a cow's laying down, which end of her gets up first? Answer
up prompt now-don't stop to study over it. Which end gets up first?"
   "The hind end, mum."
   "Well, then, a horse?"
   "The for'rard end, mum."
   "Which side of a tree does the moss grow on?"
   "North side."
   "If  fifteen cows is browsing on a hillside, how many of them eats with
their heads pointed the same direction?"
   "The whole fifteen, mum."
   "Well,  I reckon you HAVE lived in the country. I thought maybe you was
trying to hocus me again. What's your real name, now?"
   "George Peters, mum."
   "Well,  try  to  remember  it,  George.  Don't  forget and tell me it's
Elexander  before you go, and then get out by saying it's George Elexander
when  I  catch  you. And don't go about women in that old calico. You do a
girl tolerable poor, but you might fool men, maybe. Bless you, child, when
you  set  out to thread a needle don't hold the thread still and fetch the
needle  up  to it; hold the needle still and poke the thread at it; that's
the  way  a woman most always does, but a man always does t'other way. And
when  you throw at a rat or anything, hitch yourself up a tiptoe and fetch
your hand up over your head as awkward as you can, and miss your rat about
six  or  seven foot. Throw stiff-armed from the shoulder, like there was a
pivot  there for it to turn on, like a girl; not from the wrist and elbow,
with  your  arm  out  to  one side, like a boy. And, mind you, when a girl
tries  to  catch anything in her lap she throws her knees apart; she don't
clap  them  together,  the  way you did when you catched the lump of lead.
Why,  I  spotted  you  for  a boy when you was threading the needle; and I
contrived  the  other  things just to make certain. Now trot along to your
uncle,  Sarah  Mary  Williams George Elexander Peters, and if you get into
trouble you send word to Mrs. Judith Loftus, which is me, and I'll do what
I can to get you out of it. Keep the river road all the way, and next time
you tramp take shoes and socks with you. The river road's a rocky one, and
your feet'll be in a condition when you get to Goshen, I reckon."
   I  went  up the bank about fifty yards, and then I doubled on my tracks
and  slipped  back  to where my canoe was, a good piece below the house. I
jumped in, and was off in a hurry. I went up-stream far enough to make the
head  of  the  island, and then started across. I took off the sun-bonnet,
for I didn't want no blinders on then. When I was about the middle I heard
the  clock  begin  to strike, so I stops and listens; the sound come faint
over  the  water  but clear-eleven. When I struck the head of the island I
never  waited  to  blow, though I was most winded, but I shoved right into
the  timber where my old camp used to be, and started a good fire there on
a high and dry spot.
   Then I jumped in the canoe and dug out for our place, a mile and a half
below, as hard as I could go. I landed, and slopped through the timber and
up  the  ridge  and  into  the cavern. There Jim laid, sound asleep on the
ground. I roused him out and says:
   "Git  up  and hump yourself, Jim! There ain't a minute to lose. They're
after us!"
   Jim  never  asked  no  questions,  he never said a word; but the way he
worked  for  the next half an hour showed about how he was scared. By that
time  everything we had in the world was on our raft, and she was ready to
be  shoved out from the willow cove where she was hid. We put out the camp
fire at the cavern the first thing, and didn't show a candle outside after
that.
   I  took  the  canoe out from the shore a little piece, and took a look;
but  if  there  was a boat around I couldn't see it, for stars and shadows
ain't  good  to see by. Then we got out the raft and slipped along down in
the shade, past the foot of the island dead still-never saying a word.


        Chapter XII.

   IT  must a been close on to one o'clock when we got below the island at
last, and the raft did seem to go mighty slow. If a boat was to come along
we was going to take to the canoe and break for the Illinois shore; and it
was  well a boat didn't come, for we hadn't ever thought to put the gun in
the  canoe,  or  a  fishing-line, or anything to eat. We was in ruther too
much of a sweat to think of so many things. It warn't good judgment to put
EVERYTHING on the raft.
   If  the men went to the island I just expect they found the camp fire I
built, and watched it all night for Jim to come. Anyways, they stayed away
from  us, and if my building the fire never fooled them it warn't no fault
of mine. I played it as low down on them as I could.
   When the first streak of day began to show we tied up to a towhead in a
big bend on the Illinois side, and hacked off cottonwood branches with the
hatchet,  and  covered  up the raft with them so she looked like there had
been  a  cave-in  in  the  bank  there.  A  towhead  is a sandbar that has
cottonwoods on it as thick as harrow-teeth.
   We had mountains on the Missouri shore and heavy timber on the Illinois
side,  and  the  channel  was down the Missouri shore at that place, so we
warn't  afraid  of  anybody  running across us. We laid there all day, and
watched  the  rafts  and  steamboats  spin  down  the  Missouri shore, and
up-bound  steamboats  fight  the  big  river in the middle. I told Jim all
about  the  time  I  had jabbering with that woman; and Jim said she was a
smart  one, and if she was to start after us herself she wouldn't set down
and  watch a camp fire-no, sir, she'd fetch a dog. Well, then, I said, why
couldn't  she  tell  her  husband  to fetch a dog? Jim said he bet she did
think  of  it by the time the men was ready to start, and he believed they
must  a  gone up-town to get a dog and so they lost all that time, or else
we  wouldn't  be  here  on  a  towhead sixteen or seventeen mile below the
village-no,  indeedy, we would be in that same old town again. So I said I
didn't care what was the reason they didn't get us as long as they didn't.
   When  it  was  beginning  to come on dark we poked our heads out of the
cottonwood  thicket,  and looked up and down and across; nothing in sight;
so  Jim took up some of the top planks of the raft and built a snug wigwam
to get under in blazing weather and rainy, and to keep the things dry. Jim
made  a floor for the wigwam, and raised it a foot or more above the level
of  the  raft,  so  now the blankets and all the traps was out of reach of
steamboat waves. Right in the middle of the wigwam we made a layer of dirt
about five or six inches deep with a frame around it for to hold it to its
place; this was to build a fire on in sloppy weather or chilly; the wigwam
would keep it from being seen. We made an extra steering-oar, too, because
one  of  the  others might get broke on a snag or something. We fixed up a
short  forked  stick  to  hang  the old lantern on, because we must always
light  the lantern whenever we see a steamboat coming down-stream, to keep
from  getting  run  over;  but  we wouldn't have to light it for up-stream
boats  unless  we see we was in what they call a "crossing"; for the river
was  pretty  high yet, very low banks being still a little under water; so
up-bound boats didn't always run the channel, but hunted easy water.
   This  second night we run between seven and eight hours, with a current
that was making over four mile an hour. We catched fish and talked, and we
took  a  swim  now and then to keep off sleepiness. It was kind of solemn,
drifting  down the big, still river, laying on our backs looking up at the
stars, and we didn't ever feel like talking loud, and it warn't often that
we laughed-only a little kind of a low chuckle. We had mighty good weather
as a general thing, and nothing ever happened to us at all-that night, nor
the next, nor the next.
   Every  night  we passed towns, some of them away up on black hillsides,
nothing  but  just  a  shiny bed of lights; not a house could you see. The
fifth  night  we passed St. Louis, and it was like the whole world lit up.
In  St.  Petersburg  they  used to say there was twenty or thirty thousand
people  in  St.  Louis,  but I never believed it till I see that wonderful
spread  of  lights  at  two o'clock that still night. There warn't a sound
there; everybody was asleep.
   Every  night  now  I  used  to  slip ashore towards ten o'clock at some
little  village,  and  buy ten or fifteen cents' worth of meal or bacon or
other  stuff to eat; and sometimes I lifted a chicken that warn't roosting
comfortable,  and took him along. Pap always said, take a chicken when you
get  a  chance,  because  if you don't want him yourself you can easy find
somebody  that  does,  and  a good deed ain't ever forgot. I never see pap
when  he didn't want the chicken himself, but that is what he used to say,
anyway.
   Mornings  before  daylight  I  slipped  into  cornfields and borrowed a
watermelon,  or  a  mushmelon, or a punkin, or some new corn, or things of
that  kind.  Pap always said it warn't no harm to borrow things if you was
meaning  to pay them back some time; but the widow said it warn't anything
but  a soft name for stealing, and no decent body would do it. Jim said he
reckoned  the widow was partly right and pap was partly right; so the best
way  would be for us to pick out two or three things from the list and say
we  wouldn't  borrow them any more-then he reckoned it wouldn't be no harm
to  borrow  the others. So we talked it over all one night, drifting along
down  the  river,  trying  to  make  up  our  minds  whether  to  drop the
watermelons,  or  the  cantelopes, or the mushmelons, or what. But towards
daylight  we  got  it  all  settled  satisfactory,  and  concluded to drop
crabapples and p'simmons. We warn't feeling just right before that, but it
was  all  comfortable  now.  I  was glad the way it come out, too, because
crabapples  ain't ever good, and the p'simmons wouldn't be ripe for two or
three months yet.
   We  shot a water-fowl now and then that got up too early in the morning
or  didn't  go  to  bed early enough in the evening. Take it all round, we
lived pretty high.
   The fifth night below St. Louis we had a big storm after midnight, with
a  power  of  thunder  and  lightning, and the rain poured down in a solid
sheet.  We stayed in the wigwam and let the raft take care of itself. When
the  lightning  glared  out  we  could see a big straight river ahead, and
high,  rocky  bluffs  on both sides. By and by says I, "Hel-LO, Jim, looky
yonder!"  It  was  a  steamboat  that had killed herself on a rock. We was
drifting  straight  down  for her. The lightning showed her very distinct.
She  was  leaning  over,  with part of her upper deck above water, and you
could see every little chimbly-guy clean and clear, and a chair by the big
bell,  with  an old slouch hat hanging on the back of it, when the flashes
come.
   Well,   it   being   away   in   the  night  and  stormy,  and  all  so
mysterious-like, I felt just the way any other boy would a felt when I see
that  wreck  laying  there  so  mournful and lonesome in the middle of the
river.  I  wanted  to get aboard of her and slink around a little, and see
what there was there. So I says:
   "Le's land on her, Jim."
   But Jim was dead against it at first. He says:
   "I  doan'  want to go fool'n 'long er no wrack. We's doin' blame' well,
en  we  better  let  blame'  well alone, as de good book says. Like as not
dey's a watchman on dat wrack."
   "Watchman  your grandmother," I says; "there ain't nothing to watch but
the  texas  and  the pilothouse; and do you reckon anybody's going to resk
his  life  for  a  texas and a pilot-house such a night as this, when it's
likely  to  break up and wash off down the river any minute?" Jim couldn't
say  nothing  to  that, so he didn't try. "And besides," I says, "we might
borrow  something  worth having out of the captain's stateroom. Seegars, I
bet  you-and  cost  five  cents  apiece, solid cash. Steamboat captains is
always  rich,  and  get  sixty dollars a month, and THEY don't care a cent
what a thing costs, you know, long as they want it. Stick a candle in your
pocket; I can't rest, Jim, till we give her a rummaging. Do you reckon Tom
Sawyer would ever go by this thing? Not for pie, he wouldn't. He'd call it
an  adventure-that's  what he'd call it; and he'd land on that wreck if it
was  his last act. And wouldn't he throw style into it?-wouldn't he spread
himself,  nor  nothing?  Why,  you'd  think  it  was  Christopher C'lumbus
discovering Kingdom-Come. I wish Tom Sawyer WAS here."
   Jim he grumbled a little, but give in. He said we mustn't talk any more
than  we could help, and then talk mighty low. The lightning showed us the
wreck  again  just in time, and we fetched the stabboard derrick, and made
fast there.
   The  deck  was  high out here. We went sneaking down the slope of it to
labboard,  in  the  dark, towards the texas, feeling our way slow with our
feet, and spreading our hands out to fend off the guys, for it was so dark
we  couldn't see no sign of them. Pretty soon we struck the forward end of
the skylight, and clumb on to it; and the next step fetched us in front of
the  captain's door, which was open, and by Jimminy, away down through the
texas-hall  we see a light! and all in the same second we seem to hear low
voices in yonder!
   Jim  whispered  and  said  he was feeling powerful sick, and told me to
come  along.  I  says, all right, and was going to start for the raft; but
just then I heard a voice wail out and say:
   "Oh, please don't, boys; I swear I won't ever tell!"
   Another voice said, pretty loud:
   "It's  a lie, Jim Turner. You've acted this way before. You always want
more'n  your  share  of  the truck, and you've always got it, too, because
you've  swore  't  if  you didn't you'd tell. But this time you've said it
jest  one  time too many. You're the meanest, treacherousest hound in this
country."
   By  this  time  Jim  was  gone  for  the raft. I was just a-biling with
curiosity;  and I says to myself, Tom Sawyer wouldn't back out now, and so
I  won't  either; I'm a-going to see what's going on here. So I dropped on
my  hands  and knees in the little passage, and crept aft in the dark till
there warn't but one stateroom betwixt me and the cross-hall of the texas.
Then  in  there I see a man stretched on the floor and tied hand and foot,
and  two  men  standing over him, and one of them had a dim lantern in his
hand, and the other one had a pistol. This one kept pointing the pistol at
the man's head on the floor, and saying:
   "I'd LIKE to! And I orter, too-a mean skunk!"
   The man on the floor would shrivel up and say, "Oh, please don't, Bill;
I hain't ever goin' to tell."
   And  every  time  he said that the man with the lantern would laugh and
say:
   "'Deed  you AIN'T! You never said no truer thing 'n that, you bet you."
And  once he said: "Hear him beg! and yit if we hadn't got the best of him
and  tied  him  he'd a killed us both. And what FOR? Jist for noth'n. Jist
because  we  stood  on  our  RIGHTS-that's  what  for. But I lay you ain't
a-goin'  to  threaten  nobody  any  more,  Jim Turner. Put UP that pistol,
Bill."
   Bill says:
   "I  don't want to, Jake Packard. I'm for killin' him-and didn't he kill
old Hatfield jist the same way-and don't he deserve it?"
   "But I don't WANT him killed, and I've got my reasons for it."
   "Bless  yo'  heart  for them words, Jake Packard! I'll never forgit you
long's I live!" says the man on the floor, sort of blubbering.
   Packard  didn't  take  no  notice of that, but hung up his lantern on a
nail  and started towards where I was there in the dark, and motioned Bill
to  come.  I  crawfished  as fast as I could about two yards, but the boat
slanted  so  that  I couldn't make very good time; so to keep from getting
run over and catched I crawled into a stateroom on the upper side. The man
came  apawing  along in the dark, and when Packard got to my stateroom, he
says:
   "Here-come in here."
   And  in he come, and Bill after him. But before they got in I was up in
the  upper  berth, cornered, and sorry I come. Then they stood there, with
their  hands  on  the ledge of the berth, and talked. I couldn't see them,
but  I  could  tell where they was by the whisky they'd been having. I was
glad  I  didn't drink whisky; but it wouldn't made much difference anyway,
because  most  of  the  time  they  couldn't  a  treed me because I didn't
breathe.  I was too scared. And, besides, a body COULDN'T breathe and hear
such  talk.  They  talked  low and earnest. Bill wanted to kill Turner. He
says:
   "He's  said  he'll tell, and he will. If we was to give both our shares
to  him NOW it wouldn't make no difference after the row and the way we've
served him. Shore's you're born, he'll turn State's evidence; now you hear
ME. I'm for putting him out of his troubles."
   "So'm I," says Packard, very quiet.
   "Blame it, I'd sorter begun to think you wasnUt. Well, then, that's all
right. Le's go and do it."
   "Hold  on  a  minute;  I  hain't  had  my  say  yit.  You listen to me.
Shooting's  good,  but there's quieter ways if the thing's GOT to be done.
But  what  I say is this: it ain't good sense to go court'n around after a
halter if you can git at what you're up to in some way that's jist as good
and at the same time don't bring you into no resks. Ain't that so?"
   "You bet it is. But how you goin' to manage it this time?"
   "Well,  my  idea  is  this:  we'll rustle around and gather up whatever
pickins  we've  overlooked in the staterooms, and shove for shore and hide
the  truck.  Then  we'll wait. Now I say it ain't a-goin' to be more'n two
hours befo' this wrack breaks up and washes off down the river. See? He'll
be  drownded,  and  won't  have nobody to blame for it but his own self. I
reckon   that's  a  considerble  sight  better  'n  killin'  of  him.  I'm
unfavorable  to  killin'  a man as long as you can git aroun' it; it ain't
good sense, it ain't good morals. Ain't I right?"
   "Yes, I reck'n you are. But s'pose she DON'T break up and wash off?"
   "Well, we can wait the two hours anyway and see, can't we?"
   "All right, then; come along."
   So  they  started,  and  I  lit out, all in a cold sweat, and scrambled
forward.  It  was  dark  as pitch there; but I said, in a kind of a coarse
whisper,  "Jim  !" and he answered up, right at my elbow, with a sort of a
moan, and I says:
   "Quick, Jim, it ain't no time for fooling around and moaning; there's a
gang  of  murderers  in yonder, and if we don't hunt up their boat and set
her drifting down the river so these fellows can't get away from the wreck
there's  one of 'em going to be in a bad fix. But if we find their boat we
can  put ALL of 'em in a bad fix-for the sheriff 'll get 'em. Quick-hurry!
I'll  hunt  the  labboard  side,  you hunt the stabboard. You start at the
raft, and-"
   "Oh,  my  lordy,  lordy!  RAF'? Dey ain' no raf' no mo'; she done broke
loose en gone I-en here we is!"


        Chapter XIII.

   WELL,  I  catched  my  breath and most fainted. Shut up on a wreck with
such  a gang as that! But it warn't no time to be sentimentering. We'd GOT
to  find  that boat now-had to have it for ourselves. So we went a-quaking
and  shaking  down  the stabboard side, and slow work it was, too-seemed a
week  before  we  got  to the stern. No sign of a boat. Jim said he didn't
believe  he  could  go any further-so scared he hadn't hardly any strength
left, he said. But I said, come on, if we get left on this wreck we are in
a fix, sure. So on we prowled again. We struck for the stern of the texas,
and  found  it, and then scrabbled along forwards on the skylight, hanging
on from shutter to shutter, for the edge of the skylight was in the water.
When  we got pretty close to the cross-hall door there was the skiff, sure
enough!  I  could just barely see her. I felt ever so thankful. In another
second I would a been aboard of her, but just then the door opened. One of
the  men  stuck  his  head  out only about a couple of foot from me, and I
thought I was gone; but he jerked it in again, and says:
   "Heave that blame lantern out o' sight, Bill!"
   He  flung a bag of something into the boat, and then got in himself and
set  down. It was Packard. Then Bill HE come out and got in. Packard says,
in a low voice:
   "All ready-shove off!"
   I couldn't hardly hang on to the shutters, I was so weak. But Bill says:
   "Hold on-'d you go through him?"
   "No. Didn't you?"
   "No. So he's got his share o' the cash yet."
   "Well, then, come along; no use to take truck and leave money."
   "Say, won't he suspicion what we're up to?"
   "Maybe he won't. But we got to have it anyway. Come along."
   So they got out and went in.
   The  door slammed to because it was on the careened side; and in a half
second  I  was  in the boat, and Jim come tumbling after me. I out with my
knife and cut the rope, and away we went!
   We  didn't  touch  an  oar, and we didn't speak nor whisper, nor hardly
even  breathe.  We  went gliding swift along, dead silent, past the tip of
the  paddlebox,  and past the stern; then in a second or two more we was a
hundred  yards below the wreck, and the darkness soaked her up, every last
sign of her, and we was safe, and knowed it.
   When  we  was three or four hundred yards downstream we see the lantern
show  like a little spark at the texas door for a second, and we knowed by
that  that  the  rascals  had  missed  their  boat,  and  was beginning to
understand that they was in just as much trouble now as Jim Turner was.
   Then  Jim  manned the oars, and we took out after our raft. Now was the
first  time that I begun to worry about the men-I reckon I hadn't had time
to before. I begun to think how dreadful it was, even for murderers, to be
in  such  a fix. I says to myself, there ain't no telling but I might come
to  be  a  murderer myself yet, and then how would I like it? So says I to
Jim:
   "The  first  light  we see we'll land a hundred yards below it or above
it,  in  a place where it's a good hiding-place for you and the skiff, and
then  I'll  go  and fix up some kind of a yarn, and get somebody to go for
that gang and get them out of their scrape, so they can be hung when their
time comes."
   But  that  idea was a failure; for pretty soon it begun to storm again,
and  this  time  worse  than ever. The rain poured down, and never a light
showed;  everybody  in  bed,  I  reckon.  We  boomed along down the river,
watching  for lights and watching for our raft. After a long time the rain
let  up,  but the clouds stayed, and the lightning kept whimpering, and by
and  by  a  flash showed us a black thing ahead, floating, and we made for
it.
   It  was  the raft, and mighty glad was we to get aboard of it again. We
seen  a  light  now away down to the right, on shore. So I said I would go
for it. The skiff was half full of plunder which that gang had stole there
on  the  wreck.  We hustled it on to the raft in a pile, and I told Jim to
float  along  down,  and show a light when he judged he had gone about two
mile,  and  keep  it burning till I come; then I manned my oars and shoved
for  the light. As I got down towards it three or four more showed-up on a
hillside. It was a village. I closed in above the shore light, and laid on
my  oars  and  floated. As I went by I see it was a lantern hanging on the
jackstaff  of  a double-hull ferryboat. I skimmed around for the watchman,
awondering whereabouts he slept; and by and by I found him roosting on the
bitts  forward,  with his head down between his knees. I gave his shoulder
two or three little shoves, and begun to cry.
   He stirred up in a kind of a startlish way; but when he see it was only
me he took a good gap and stretch, and then he says:
   "Hello, what's up? Don't cry, bub. What's the trouble?"
   I says:
   "Pap, and mam, and sis, and-"
   Then I broke down. He says:
   "Oh,  dang  it  now, DON'T take on so; we all has to have our troubles,
and this 'n 'll come out all right. What's the matter with 'em?"
   "They're-they're-are you the watchman of the boat?"
   "Yes,"  he  says,  kind of pretty-well-satisfied like. "I'm the captain
and  the owner and the mate and the pilot and watchman and head deck-hand;
and  sometimes  I'm the freight and passengers. I ain't as rich as old Jim
Hornback,  and  I  can't  be so blame' generous and good to Tom, Dick, and
Harry  as what he is, and slam around money the way he does; but I've told
him  a  many  a  time  't I wouldn't trade places with him; for, says I, a
sailor's  life's  the life for me, and I'm derned if I'D live two mile out
o'  town,  where  there  ain't  nothing  ever  goin'  on,  not for all his
spondulicks and as much more on top of it. Says I-"
   I broke in and says:
   "They're in an awful peck of trouble, and-"
   "WHO is?"
   "Why,  pap  and  mam  and  sis  and Miss Hooker; and if you'd take your
ferryboat and go up there-"
   "Up where? Where are they?"
   "On the wreck."
   "What wreck?"
   "Why, there ain't but one."
   "What, you don't mean the Walter Scott?"
   "Yes."
   "Good land! what are they doin' THERE, for gracious sakes?"
   "Well, they didn't go there a-purpose."
   "I  bet they didn't! Why, great goodness, there ain't no chance for 'em
if  they  don't git off mighty quick! Why, how in the nation did they ever
git into such a scrape?"
   "Easy enough. Miss Hooker was a-visiting up there to the town-"
   "Yes, Booth's Landing-go on."
   "She  was  a-visiting there at Booth's Landing, and just in the edge of
the  evening  she started over with her nigger woman in the horse-ferry to
stay  all  night  at  her  friend's  house,  Miss  What-you-may-call-herQI
disremember her name-and they lost their steeringoar, and swung around and
went  a-floating  down, stern first, about two mile, and saddle-baggsed on
the  wreck,  and  the ferryman and the nigger woman and the horses was all
lost,  but  Miss  Hooker  she  made a grab and got aboard the wreck. Well,
about  an  hour  after dark we come along down in our trading-scow, and it
was  so dark we didn't notice the wreck till we was right on it; and so WE
saddle-baggsed;  but  all  of us was saved but Bill Whipple-and oh, he WAS
the best cretur !-I most wish 't it had been me, I do."
   "My  George!  It's the beatenest thing I ever struck. And THEN what did
you all do?"
   "Well, we hollered and took on, but it's so wide there we couldn't make
nobody  hear. So pap said somebody got to get ashore and get help somehow.
I  was  the  only  one  that could swim, so I made a dash for it, and Miss
Hooker  she said if I didn't strike help sooner, come here and hunt up her
uncle,  and  he'd  fix  the thing. I made the land about a mile below, and
been  fooling  along ever since, trying to get people to do something, but
they said, 'What, in such a night and such a current? There ain't no sense
in it; go for the steam ferry.' Now if you'll go and-"
   "By  Jackson,  I'd LIKE to, and, blame it, I don't know but I will; but
who in the dingnation's a-going' to PAY for it? Do you reckon your pap-"
   "Why  THAT'S  all  right. Miss Hooker she tole me, PARTICULAR, that her
uncle Hornback-"
   "Great guns! is HE her uncle? Looky here, you break for that light over
yonder-way, and turn out west when you git there, and about a quarter of a
mile  out  you'll  come  to  the  tavern;  tell 'em to dart you out to Jim
Hornback's,  and  he'll  foot  the  bill.  And  don't you fool around any,
because he'll want to know the news. Tell him I'll have his niece all safe
before  he  can  get to town. Hump yourself, now; I'm agoing up around the
corner here to roust out my engineer."
   I struck for the light, but as soon as he turned the corner I went back
and  got into my skiff and bailed her out, and then pulled up shore in the
easy  water  about  six  hundred  yards,  and  tucked myself in among some
woodboats;  for I couldn't rest easy till I could see the ferryboat start.
But  take  it  all around, I was feeling ruther comfortable on accounts of
taking  all  this  trouble  for that gang, for not many would a done it. I
wished  the  widow  knowed about it. I judged she would be proud of me for
helping  these  rapscallions,  because  rapscallions and dead beats is the
kind the widow and good people takes the most interest in.
   Well,  before  long  here comes the wreck, dim and dusky, sliding along
down!  A  kind  of  cold shiver went through me, and then I struck out for
her. She was very deep, and I see in a minute there warn't much chance for
anybody being alive in her. I pulled all around her and hollered a little,
but  there  wasn't  any  answer;  all  dead  still.  I  felt  a little bit
heavy-hearted  about  the gang, but not much, for I reckoned if they could
stand it I could.
   Then  here comes the ferryboat; so I shoved for the middle of the river
on  a  long  down-stream slant; and when I judged I was out of eye-reach I
laid on my oars, and looked back and see her go and smell around the wreck
for  Miss  Hooker's  remainders,  because the captain would know her uncle
Hornback  would  want  them; and then pretty soon the ferryboat give it up
and  went  for  the shore, and I laid into my work and went a-booming down
the river.
   It did seem a powerful long time before Jim's light showed up; and when
it  did  show it looked like it was a thousand mile off. By the time I got
there the sky was beginning to get a little gray in the east; so we struck
for  an  island,  and  hid the raft, and sunk the skiff, and turned in and
slept like dead people.


        Chapter XIV.

   BY  and by, when we got up, we turned over the truck the gang had stole
off  of  the  wreck,  and  found boots, and blankets, and clothes, and all
sorts of other things, and a lot of books, and a spyglass, and three boxes
of  seegars. We hadn't ever been this rich before in neither of our lives.
The seegars was prime. We laid off all the afternoon in the woods talking,
and  me  reading the books, and having a general good time. I told Jim all
about  what  happened  inside  the  wreck and at the ferryboat, and I said
these  kinds  of things was adventures; but he said he didn't want no more
adventures.  He  said that when I went in the texas and he crawled back to
get  on  the  raft and found her gone he nearly died, because he judged it
was  all  up with HIM anyway it could be fixed; for if he didn't get saved
he  would  get  drownded; and if he did get saved, whoever saved him would
send  him  back  home  so as to get the reward, and then Miss Watson would
sell him South, sure. Well, he was right; he was most always right; he had
an uncommon level head for a nigger.
   I  read  considerable  to Jim about kings and dukes and earls and such,
and  how  gaudy  they  dressed, and how much style they put on, and called
each  other  your  majesty,  and your grace, and your lordship, and so on,
'stead  of  mister;  and  Jim's eyes bugged out, and he was interested. He
says:
   "I  didn'  know dey was so many un um. I hain't hearn 'bout none un um,
skasely,  but  ole  King Sollermun, onless you counts dem kings dat's in a
pack er k'yards. How much do a king git?"
   "Get?"  I  says; "why, they get a thousand dollars a month if they want
it; they can have just as much as they want; everything belongs to them."
   "AIN' dat gay? En what dey got to do, Huck?"
   "THEY don't do nothing! Why, how you talk! They just set around."
   "No; is dat so?"
   "Of  course  it  is. They just set around-except, maybe, when there's a
war; then they go to the war. But other times they just lazy around; or go
hawking-just hawking and sp-Sh!-d' you hear a noise?"
   We  skipped  out and looked; but it warn't nothing but the flutter of a
steamboat's wheel away down, coming around the point; so we come back.
   "Yes,"  says  I,  "and other times, when things is dull, they fuss with
the  parlyment;  and  if  everybody don't go just so he whacks their heads
off. But mostly they hang round the harem."
   "Roun' de which?"
   "Harem."
   "What's de harem?"
   "The  place  where  he keeps his wives. Don't you know about the harem?
Solomon had one; he had about a million wives."
   "Why,  yes, dat's so; I-I'd done forgot it. A harem's a bo'd'n-house, I
reck'n.  Mos'  likely  dey has rackety times in de nussery. En I reck'n de
wives quarrels considable; en dat 'crease de racket. Yit dey say Sollermun
de  wises'  man  dat ever live'. I doan' take no stock in dat. Bekase why:
would  a  wise man want to live in de mids' er sich a blim-blammin' all de
time?  No-'deed  he wouldn't. A wise man 'ud take en buil' a biler-factry;
en den he could shet DOWN de biler-factry when he want to res'."
   "Well, but he WAS the wisest man, anyway; because the widow she told me
so, her own self."
   "I  doan k'yer what de widder say, he WARN'T no wise man nuther. He had
some  er  de dad-fetchedes' ways I ever see. Does you know 'bout dat chile
dat he 'uz gwyne to chop in two?"
   "Yes, the widow told me all about it."
   "WELL, den! Warn' dat de beatenes' notion in de worl'? You jes' take en
look  at  it  a  minute. Dah's de stump, dah-dat's one er de women; heah's
you-dat's  de  yuther  one;  I's  Sollermun;  en dish yer dollar bill's de
chile. Bofe un you claims it. What does I do? Does I shin aroun' mongs' de
neighbors  en  fine out which un you de bill DO b'long to, en han' it over
to  de  right  one,  all  safe  en  soun',  de way dat anybody dat had any
gumption  would? No; I take en whack de bill in TWO, en give half un it to
you,  en  de  yuther  half  to de yuther woman. Dat's de way Sollermun was
gwyne to do wid de chile. Now I want to ast you: what's de use er dat half
a  bill?-can't buy noth'n wid it. En what use is a half a chile? I wouldn'
give a dern for a million un um."
   "But  hang  it,  Jim,  you've  clean  missed the point-blame it, you've
missed it a thousand mile."
   "Who?  Me? Go 'long. Doan' talk to me 'bout yo' pints. I reck'n I knows
sense  when  I  sees  it;  en  dey ain' no sense in sich doin's as dat. De
'spute  warn't 'bout a half a chile, de 'spute was 'bout a whole chile; en
de  man  dat think he kin settle a 'spute 'bout a whole chile wid a half a
chile  doan'  know enough to come in out'n de rain. Doan' talk to me 'bout
Sollermun, Huck, I knows him by de back."
   "But I tell you you don't get the point."
   "Blame  de  point!  I reck'n I knows what I knows. En mine you, de REAL
pint  is  down  furder-it's  down  deeper. It lays in de way Sollermun was
raised. You take a man dat's got on'y one or two chillen; is dat man gwyne
to  be waseful o' chillen? No, he ain't; he can't 'ford it. HE know how to
value 'em. But you take a man dat's got 'bout five million chillen runnin'
roun'  de house, en it's diffunt. HE as soon chop a chile in two as a cat.
Dey's  plenty  mo'.  A  chile  er two, mo' er less, warn't no consekens to
Sollermun, dad fatch him!"
   I  never  see such a nigger. If he got a notion in his head once, there
warn't  no  getting  it  out again. He was the most down on Solomon of any
nigger I ever see. So I went to talking about other kings, and let Solomon
slide.  I  told  about Louis Sixteenth that got his head cut off in France
long  time  ago; and about his little boy the dolphin, that would a been a
king, but they took and shut him up in jail, and some say he died there.
   "Po' little chap."
   "But some says he got out and got away, and come to America."
   "Dat's  good!  But  he'll  be pooty lonesome-dey ain' no kings here, is
dey, Huck?"
   "No."
   "Den he cain't git no situation. What he gwyne to do?"
   "Well,  I don't know. Some of them gets on the police, and some of them
learns people how to talk French."
   "Why, Huck, doan' de French people talk de same way we does?"
   "NO, Jim; you couldn't understand a word they said-not a single word."
   "Well, now, I be ding-busted! How do dat come?"
   "I  don't  know; but it's so. I got some of their jabber out of a book.
S'pose  a  man  was to come to you and say Polly-voo-franzy-what would you
think?"
   "I  wouldn'  think nuff'n; I'd take en bust him over de head-dat is, if
he warn't white. I wouldn't 'low no nigger to call me dat."
   "Shucks,  it  ain't calling you anything. It's only saying, do you know
how to talk French?"
   "Well, den, why couldn't he SAY it?"
   "Why, he IS a-saying it. That's a Frenchman's WAY of saying it."
   "Well,  it's  a  blame  ridicklous  way, en I doan' want to hear no mo'
'bout it. Dey ain' no sense in it."
   "Looky here, Jim; does a cat talk like we do?"
   "No, a cat don't."
   "Well, does a cow?"
   "No, a cow don't, nuther."
   "Does a cat talk like a cow, or a cow talk like a cat?"
   "No, dey don't."
   "It's  natural  and  right  for  'em to talk different from each other,
ain't it?"
   "Course."
   "And  ain't  it natural and right for a cat and a cow to talk different
from US?"
   "Why, mos' sholy it is."
   "Well,  then,  why  ain't  it natural and right for a FRENCHMAN to talk
different from us? You answer me that."
   "Is a cat a man, Huck?"
   "No."
   "Well,  den, dey ain't no sense in a cat talkin' like a man. Is a cow a
man?-er is a cow a cat?"
   "No, she ain't either of them."
   "Well,  den,  she  ain't got no business to talk like either one er the
yuther of 'em. Is a Frenchman a man?"
   "Yes."
   "WELL,  den!  Dad blame it, why doan' he TALK like a man? You answer me
DAT!"
   I see it warn't no use wasting words-you can't learn a nigger to argue.
So I quit.


        Chapter XV.

   WE judged that three nights more would fetch us to Cairo, at the bottom
of  Illinois,  where  the  Ohio  River  comes in, and that was what we was
after.  We  would  sell  the raft and get on a steamboat and go way up the
Ohio amongst the free States, and then be out of trouble.
   Well,  the  second  night  a  fog  begun  to come on, and we made for a
towhead  to  tie to, for it wouldn't do to try to run in a fog; but when I
paddled  ahead  in  the  canoe,  with  the line to make fast, there warn't
anything  but  little  saplings to tie to. I passed the line around one of
them right on the edge of the cut bank, but there was a stiff current, and
the raft come booming down so lively she tore it out by the roots and away
she  went. I see the fog closing down, and it made me so sick and scared I
couldn't  budge  for  most  a half a minute it seemed to me-and then there
warn't  no raft in sight; you couldn't see twenty yards. I jumped into the
canoe and run back to the stern, and grabbed the paddle and set her back a
stroke.  But she didn't come. I was in such a hurry I hadn't untied her. I
got  up  and  tried to untie her, but I was so excited my hands shook so I
couldn't hardly do anything with them.
   As  soon  as  I  got  started I took out after the raft, hot and heavy,
right  down  the  towhead.  That  was all right as far as it went, but the
towhead warn't sixty yards long, and the minute I flew by the foot of it I
shot out into the solid white fog, and hadn't no more idea which way I was
going than a dead man.
   Thinks I, it won't do to paddle; first I know I'll run into the bank or
a  towhead or something; I got to set still and float, and yet it's mighty
fidgety  business  to  have  to  hold  your  hands still at such a time. I
whooped  and  listened.  Away down there somewheres I hears a