Oh,  they have just a bully time-take ships and burn them, and get the
money and bury it in awful places in their island where there's ghosts and
things  to  watch  it,  and  kill  everybody  in the ships-make 'em walk a
plank."
   "And  they  carry  the women to the island," said Joe; "they don't kill
the women."
   "No,"  assented  Tom, "they don't kill the women-they're too noble. And
the women's always beautiful, too.
   "And  don't  they wear the bulliest clothes! Oh no! All gold and silver
and di'monds," said Joe, with enthusiasm.
   "Who?" said Huck.
   "Why, the pirates."
   Huck scanned his own clothing forlornly.
   "I  reckon  I  ain't  dressed  fitten  for  a  pirate," said he, with a
regretful pathos in his voice; "but I ain't got none but these."
   But  the  other  boys told him the fine clothes would come fast enough,
after  they  should  have begun their adventures. They made him understand
that  his  poor  rags  would do to begin with, though it was cusTomary for
wealthy pirates to start with a proper wardrobe.
   Gradually  their  talk  died out and drowsiness began to steal upon the
eyelids  of  the  little  waifs.  The pipe dropped from the fingers of the
Red-Handed,  and  he slept the sleep of the conscience-free and the weary.
The  Terror of the Seas and the Black Avenger of the Spanish Main had more
difficulty  in  getting  to  sleep.  They said their prayers inwardly, and
lying down, since there was nobody there with authority to make them kneel
and  recite  aloud;  in truth, they had a mind not to say them at all, but
they  were afraid to proceed to such lengths as that, lest they might call
down  a  sudden  and  special  thunderbolt  from heaven. Then at once they
reached and hovered upon the imminent verge of sleep-but an intruder came,
now,  that would not "down." It was conscience. They began to feel a vague
fear  that they had been doing wrong to run away; and next they thought of
the  stolen  meat,  and then the real torture came. They tried to argue it
away by reminding conscience that they had purloined sweetmeats and apples
scores  of  times;  but  conscience  was  not  to be appeased by such thin
plausibilities;  it  seemed to them, in the end, that there was no getting
around  the stubborn fact that taking sweetmeats was only "hooking," while
taking  bacon  and  hams  and such valuables was plain simple stealing-and
there  was  a command against that in the Bible. So they inwardly resolved
that  so  long as they remained in the business, their piracies should not
again  be  sullied  with  the crime of stealing. Then conscience granted a
truce, and these curiously inconsistent pirates fell peacefully to sleep.


        Chapter XIV

   When  Tom awoke in the morning, he wondered where he was. He sat up and
rubbed  his  eyes and looked around. Then he comprehended. It was the cool
gray dawn, and there was a delicious sense of repose and peace in the deep
pervading  calm  and silence of the woods. Not a leaf stirred; not a sound
obtruded  upon  great  Nature's meditation. Beaded dewdrops stood upon the
leaves  and  grasses.  A white layer of ashes covered the fire, and a thin
blue breath of smoke rose straight into the air. Joe and Huck still slept.
   Now,  far  away in the woods a bird called; another answered; presently
the  hammering  of  a woodpecker was heard. Gradually the cool dim gray of
the  morning  whitened,  and  as  gradually  sounds  multiplied  and  life
manifested  itself.  The  marvel  of Nature shaking off sleep and going to
work  unfolded itself to the musing boy. A little green worm came crawling
over a dewy leaf, lifting two-thirds of his body into the air from time to
time  and  "sniffing  around," then proceeding again-for he was measuring,
Tom  said;  and when the worm approached him, of its own accord, he sat as
still  as  a  stone,  with  his hopes rising and falling, by turns, as the
creature  still  came  toward  him or seemed inclined to go elsewhere; and
when  at  last  it considered a painful moment with its curved body in the
air  and then came decisively down upon Tom's leg and began a journey over
him,  his  whole heart was glad-for that meant that he was going to have a
new  suit  of  clothes-without  the  shadow  of  a doubt a gaudy piratical
uniform.  Now  a  procession of ants appeared, from nowhere in particular,
and  went about their labors; one struggled manfully by with a dead spider
five  times  as  big  as  itself  in its arms, and lugged it straight up a
tree-trunk.  A  brown spotted lady-bug climbed the dizzy height of a grass
blade, and Tom bent down close to it and said:

   "Lady-bug,  lady-bug,  fly away home,
    your house is on fire, your children's alone,"

   and  she  took wing and went off to see about it-which did not surprise
the  boy,  for  he  knew  of  old  that  this  insect  was credulous about
conflagrations, and he had practised upon its simplicity more than once. A
tumblebug  came  next,  heaving  sturdily at its ball, and Tom touched the
creature, to see it shut its legs against its body and pretend to be dead.
The  birds  were  fairly  rioting  by  this  time. A catbird, the Northern
mocker,  lit  in a tree over Tom's head, and trilled out her imitations of
her  neighbors  in a rapture of enjoyment; then a shrill jay swept down, a
flash  of blue flame, and stopped on a twig almost within the boy's reach,
cocked  his  head  to  one  side  and  eyed the strangers with a consuming
curiosity;  a  gray  squirrel  and  a  big  fellow  of the "fox" kind came
skurrying  along,  sitting  up  at intervals to inspect and chatter at the
boys, for the wild things had probably never seen a human being before and
scarcely  knew  whether to be afraid or not. All Nature was wide awake and
stirring,  now;  long  lances  of  sunlight pierced down through the dense
foliage  far  and  near,  and  a  few butterflies came fluttering upon the
scene.
   Tom  stirred  up  the  other pirates and they all clattered away with a
shout, and in a minute or two were stripped and chasing after and tumbling
over  each  other  in  the shallow limpid water of the white sandbar. They
felt no longing for the little village sleeping in the distance beyond the
majestic  waste  of water. A vagrant current or a slight rise in the river
had  carried off their raft, but this only gratified them, since its going
was something like burning the bridge between them and civilization.
   They  came  back  to  camp  wonderfully  refreshed,  glad-hearted,  and
ravenous;  and  they soon had the camp-fire blazing up again. Huck found a
spring  of  clear cold water close by, and the boys made cups of broad oak
or  hickory  leaves,  and  felt that water, sweetened with such a wildwood
charm as that, would be a good enough substitute for coffee. While Joe was
slicing  bacon  for breakfast, Tom and Huck asked him to hold on a minute;
they  stepped  to  a  promising  nook in the river-bank and threw in their
lines;  almost  immediately  they  had reward. Joe had not had time to get
impatient before they were back again with some handsome bass, a couple of
sun-perch  and  a small catfish-provisions enough for quite a family. They
fried  the  fish with the bacon, and were astonished; for no fish had ever
seemed  so  delicious  before.  They  did  not  know  that  the  quicker a
fresh-water  fish  is on the fire after he is caught the better he is; and
they  reflected  little  upon  what  a  sauce  open-air sleeping, open-air
exercise, bathing, and a large ingredient of hunger make, too.
   They  lay around in the shade, after breakfast, while Huck had a smoke,
and  then  went  off  through  the  woods on an exploring expedition. They
tramped gayly along, over decaying logs, through tangled underbrush, among
solemn monarchs of the forest, hung from their crowns to the ground with a
drooping  regalia  of  grape-vines. Now and then they came upon snug nooks
carpeted with grass and jeweled with flowers.
   They  found  plenty  of  things to be delighted with, but nothing to be
astonished  at. They discovered that the island was about three miles long
and  a  quarter  of  a mile wide, and that the shore it lay closest to was
only  separated from it by a narrow channel hardly two hundred yards wide.
They  took a swim about every hour, so it was close upon the middle of the
afternoon  when  they  got  back  to camp. They were too hungry to stop to
fish,  but they fared sumptuously upon cold ham, and then threw themselves
down in the shade to talk. But the talk soon began to drag, and then died.
The  stillness,  the solemnity that brooded in the woods, and the sense of
loneliness,  began  to  tell  upon  the  spirits of the boys. They fell to
thinking.  A  sort  of  undefined  longing  crept upon them. This took dim
shape, presently-it was budding homesickness. Even Finn the Red-Handed was
dreaming  of  his doorsteps and empty hogsheads. But they were all ashamed
of their weakness, and none was brave enough to speak his thought.
   For  some  time,  now,  the boys had been dully conscious of a peculiar
sound  in the distance, just as one sometimes is of the ticking of a clock
which  he  takes no distinct note of. But now this mysterious sound became
more  pronounced,  and  forced a recognition. The boys started, glanced at
each  other,  and then each assumed a listening attitude. There was a long
silence,  profound  and  unbroken;  then a deep, sullen boom came floating
down out of the distance.
   "What is it!" exclaimed Joe, under his breath.
   "I wonder," said Tom in a whisper.
   "'Tain't thunder," said Huckleberry, in an awed tone, "becuz thunder-"
   "Hark!" said Tom. "Listen-don't talk."
   They  waited  a time that seemed an age, and then the same muffled boom
troubled the solemn hush.
   "Let's go and see."
   They  sprang  to  their  feet and hurried to the shore toward the town.
They  parted  the  bushes  on  the bank and peered out over the water. The
little  steam  ferryboat was about a mile below the village, drifting with
the current. Her broad deck seemed crowded with people. There were a great
many  skiffs  rowing about or floating with the stream in the neighborhood
of  the  ferryboat,  but the boys could not determine what the men in them
were  doing.  Presently  a  great  jet  of  white  smoke  burst  from  the
ferryboat's  side,  and as it expanded and rose in a lazy cloud, that same
dull throb of sound was borne to the listeners again.
   "I know now!" exclaimed Tom; "somebody's drownded!"
   "That's  it!"  said Huck; "they done that last summer, when Bill Turner
got  drownded; they shoot a cannon over the water, and that makes him come
up  to  the top. Yes, and they take loaves of bread and put quicksilver in
'em  and  set  'em  afloat,  and wherever there's anybody that's drownded,
they'll float right there and stop."
   "Yes,  I've heard about that," said Joe. "I wonder what makes the bread
do that."
   "Oh, it ain't the bread, so much," said Tom; "I reckon it's mostly what
they SAY over it before they start it out."
   "But  they  don't  say anything over it," said Huck. "I've seen 'em and
they don't."
   "Well,  that's  funny," said Tom. "But maybe they say it to themselves.
Of COURSE they do. Anybody might know that."
   The  other  boys agreed that there was reason in what Tom said, because
an  ignorant  lump  of bread, uninstructed by an incantation, could not be
expected  to  act  very  intelligently  when  set  upon  an errand of such
gravity.
   "By jings, I wish I was over there, now," said Joe.
   "I do too" said Huck "I'd give heaps to know who it is."
   The  boys  still  listened  and  watched. Presently a revealing thought
flashed through Tom's mind, and he exclaimed:
   "Boys, I know who's drownded-it's us!"
   They  felt like heroes in an instant. Here was a gorgeous triumph; they
were  missed;  they  were  mourned; hearts were breaking on their account;
tears  were being shed; accusing memories of unkindness to these poor lost
lads  were  rising  up,  and  unavailing  regrets  and  remorse were being
indulged;  and  best of all, the departed were the talk of the whole town,
and  the  envy  of  all  the  boys,  as far as this dazzling notoriety was
concerned. This was fine. It was worth while to be a pirate, after all.
   As twilight drew on, the ferryboat went back to her accusTomed business
and  the  skiffs  disappeared.  The  pirates  returned  to camp. They were
jubilant  with  vanity over their new grandeur and the illustrious trouble
they  were  making.  They  caught fish, cooked supper and ate it, and then
fell  to  guessing at what the village was thinking and saying about them;
and  the  pictures  they drew of the public distress on their account were
gratifying  to look upon-from their point of view. But when the shadows of
night  closed  them in, they gradually ceased to talk, and sat gazing into
the  fire,  with their minds evidently wandering elsewhere. The excitement
was  gone,  now,  and  Tom and Joe could not keep back thoughts of certain
persons  at  home  who  were not enjoying this fine frolic as much as they
were.  Misgivings  came;  they  grew  troubled  and unhappy; a sigh or two
escaped,  unawares.  By  and  by  Joe  timidly  ventured upon a roundabout
"feeler" as to how the others might look upon a return to civilization-not
right now, but-
   Tom  withered him with derision! Huck, being uncommitted as yet, joined
in  with Tom, and the waverer quickly "explained," and was glad to get out
of  the  scrape  with  as  little  taint  of  chicken-hearted homesickness
clinging  to his garments as he could. Mutiny was effectually laid to rest
for the moment.
   As  the  night deepened, Huck began to nod, and presently to snore. Joe
followed  next. Tom lay upon his elbow motionless, for some time, watching
the  two  intently.  At  last he got up cautiously, on his knees, and went
searching  among  the  grass  and  the flickering reflections flung by the
camp-fire.  He picked up and inspected several large semi-cylinders of the
thin  white bark of a sycamore, and finally chose two which seemed to suit
him.  Then he knelt by the fire and painfully wrote something upon each of
these  with his "red keel"; one he rolled up and put in his jacket pocket,
and the other he put in Joe's hat and removed it to a little distance from
the  owner.  And  he  also put into the hat certain schoolboy treasures of
almost inestimable value-among them a lump of chalk, an India-rubber ball,
three  fishhooks,  and one of that kind of marbles known as a "sure 'nough
crystal."  Then he tiptoed his way cautiously among the trees till he felt
that  he  was out of hearing, and straightway broke into a keen run in the
direction of the sandbar.


        Chapter XV

   A  few  minutes  later  Tom  was  in the shoal water of the bar, wading
toward  the  Illinois  shore.  Before  the depth reached his middle he was
half-way  over; the current would permit no more wading, now, so he struck
out  confidently  to  swim the remaining hundred yards. He swam quartering
upstream, but still was swept downward rather faster than he had expected.
However,  he  reached the shore finally, and drifted along till he found a
low  place  and  drew  himself  out. He put his hand on his jacket pocket,
found his piece of bark safe, and then struck through the woods, following
the shore, with streaming garments. Shortly before ten o'clock he came out
into  an  open  place opposite the village, and saw the ferryboat lying in
the  shadow of the trees and the high bank. Everything was quiet under the
blinking  stars.  He  crept  down  the  bank,  watching with all his eyes,
slipped  into  the  water, swam three or four strokes and climbed into the
skiff that did "yawl" duty at the boat's stern. He laid himself down under
the thwarts and waited, panting.
   Presently  the  cracked bell tapped and a voice gave the order to "cast
off." A minute or two later the skiff's head was standing high up, against
the boat's swell, and the voyage was begun. Tom felt happy in his success,
for  he  knew  it  was the boat's last trip for the night. At the end of a
long  twelve  or  fifteen  minutes  the  wheels  stopped,  and Tom slipped
overboard and swam ashore in the dusk, landing fifty yards downstream, out
of danger of possible stragglers.
   He  flew  along  unfrequented  alleys, and shortly found himself at his
aunt's back fence. He climbed over, approached the "ell," and looked in at
the  sitting-room  window,  for  a light was burning there. There sat Aunt
Polly, Sid, Mary, and Joe Harper's mother, grouped together, talking. They
were  by  the  bed, and the bed was between them and the door. Tom went to
the  door  and  began to softly lift the latch; then he pressed gently and
the  door  yielded  a  crack; he continued pushing cautiously, and quaking
every  time  it  creaked,  till  he judged he might squeeze through on his
knees; so he put his head through and began, warily.
   "What makes the candle blow so?" said Aunt Polly. Tom hurried up. "Why,
that  door's  open,  I  believe.  Why,  of course it is. No end of strange
things now. Go 'long and shut it, Sid."
   Tom  disappeared  under  the  bed  just  in time. He lay and "breathed"
himself  for  a  time,  and  then crept to where he could almost touch his
aunt's foot.
   "But  as I was saying," said Aunt Polly, "he warn't BAD, so to say-only
mischEEvous.  Only  just  giddy, and harum-scarum, you know. He warn't any
more  responsible  than  a  colt.  HE never meant any harm, and he was the
best-hearted boy that ever was"-and she began to cry.
   "It  was  just  so  with my Joe-always full of his devilment, and up to
every  kind of mischief, but he was just as unselfish and kind as he could
be-and  laws  bless  me,  to  think I went and whipped him for taking that
cream, never once recollecting that I throwed it out myself because it was
sour,  and  I  never  to see him again in this world, never, never, never,
poor abused boy!" And Mrs. Harper sobbed as if her heart would break.
   "I  hope  Tom's  better  off  where he is," said Sid, "but if he'd been
better in some ways-"
   "SID!"  Tom  felt  the glare of the old lady's eye, though he could not
see  it.  "Not a word against my Tom, now that he's gone! God'll take care
of  HIM-never you trouble YOURself, sir! Oh, Mrs. Harper, I don't know how
to  give him up! I don't know how to give him up! He was such a comfort to
me, although he tormented my old heart out of me, 'most."
   "The  Lord  giveth  and the Lord hath taken away-Blessed be the name of
the  Lord!  But  it's  so hard-Oh, it's so hard! Only last Saturday my Joe
busted  a  firecracker  right  under  my nose and I knocked him sprawling.
Little  did  I  know then, how soon-Oh, if it was to do over again I'd hug
him and bless him for it."
   "Yes,  yes,  yes,  I  know  just how you feel, Mrs. Harper, I know just
exactly  how  you feel. No longer ago than yesterday noon, my Tom took and
filled  the cat full of Pain-killer, and I did think the cretur would tear
the  house down. And God forgive me, I cracked Tom's head with my thimble,
poor  boy,  poor  dead  boy. But he's out of all his troubles now. And the
last words I ever heard him say was to reproach-"
   But  this  memory was too much for the old lady, and she broke entirely
down.  Tom  was  snuffling,  now, himself-and more in pity of himself than
anybody  else. He could hear Mary crying, and putting in a kindly word for
him  from  time to time. He began to have a nobler opinion of himself than
ever  before.  Still,  he  was sufficiently touched by his aunt's grief to
long  to  rush  out  from under the bed and overwhelm her with joy-and the
theatrical gorgeousness of the thing appealed strongly to his nature, too,
but he resisted and lay still.
   He  went  on  listening,  and  gathered  by  odds  and ends that it was
conjectured  at  first  that the boys had got drowned while taking a swim;
then  the  small raft had been missed; next, certain boys said the missing
lads  had  promised  that  the  village  should "hear something" soon; the
wise-heads  had "put this and that together" and decided that the lads had
gone off on that raft and would turn up at the next town below, presently;
but toward noon the raft had been found, lodged against the Missouri shore
some five or six miles below the village-and then hope perished; they must
be  drowned,  else  hunger would have driven them home by nightfall if not
sooner.  It  was  believed  that  the  search  for  the  bodies had been a
fruitless  effort  merely  because  the  drowning  must  have  occurred in
midchannel,  since  the  boys,  being  good swimmers, would otherwise have
escaped  to  shore.  This  was  Wednesday  night.  If the bodies continued
missing until Sunday, all hope would be given over, and the funerals would
be preached on that morning. Tom shuddered.
   Mrs.  Harper  gave  a  sobbing good-night and turned to go. Then with a
mutual  impulse  the two bereaved women flung themselves into each other's
arms and had a good, consoling cry, and then parted. Aunt Polly was tender
far beyond her wont, in her good-night to Sid and Mary. Sid snuffled a bit
and Mary went off crying with all her heart.
   Aunt Polly knelt down and prayed for Tom so touchingly, so appealingly,
and  with  such measureless love in her words and her old trembling voice,
that he was weltering in tears again, long before she was through.
   He  had  to  keep still long after she went to bed, for she kept making
broken-hearted  ejaculations  from  time to time, tossing unrestfully, and
turning  over.  But  at  last  she was still, only moaning a little in her
sleep.  Now  the  boy stole out, rose gradually by the bedside, shaded the
candle-light with his hand, and stood regarding her. His heart was full of
pity for her. He took out his sycamore scroll and placed it by the candle.
But  something  occurred  to  him,  and  he lingered considering. His face
lighted  with  a happy solution of his thought; he put the bark hastily in
his  pocket.  Then he bent over and kissed the faded lips, and straightway
made his stealthy exit, latching the door behind him.
   He  threaded  his  way back to the ferry landing, found nobody at large
there, and walked boldly on board the boat, for he knew she was tenantless
except  that  there  was a watchman, who always turned in and slept like a
graven  image.  He untied the skiff at the stern, slipped into it, and was
soon  rowing  cautiously  upstream.  When  he  had pulled a mile above the
village,  he  started  quartering  across  and bent himself stoutly to his
work. He hit the landing on the other side neatly, for this was a familiar
bit  of  work  to  him. He was moved to capture the skiff, arguing that it
might be considered a ship and therefore legitimate prey for a pirate, but
he  knew  a  thorough  search  would  be made for it and that might end in
revelations. So he stepped ashore and entered the woods.
   He  sat  down and took a long rest, torturing himself meanwhile to keep
awake,  and  then  started warily down the home-stretch. The night was far
spent.  It  was  broad daylight before he found himself fairly abreast the
island  bar.  He  rested  again  until the sun was well up and gilding the
great  river  with  its  splendor,  and then he plunged into the stream. A
little  later  he  paused,  dripping,  upon the threshold of the camp, and
heard Joe say:
   "No,  Tom's  true-blue,  Huck, and he'll come back. He won't desert. He
knows  that  would be a disgrace to a pirate, and Tom's too proud for that
sort of thing. He's up to something or other. Now I wonder what?"
   "Well, the things is ours, anyway, ain't they?"
   Pretty  near,  but not yet, Huck. The writing says they are if he ain't
back here to breakfast."
   "Which  he  is!"  exclaimed  Tom,  with  fine dramatic effect, stepping
grandly into camp.
   A  sumptuous  breakfast  of bacon and fish was shortly provided, and as
the  boys set to work upon it, Tom recounted (and adorned) his adventures.
They  were  a  vain and boastful company of heroes when the tale was done.
Then  Tom  hid  himself  away  in a shady nook to sleep till noon, and the
other pirates got ready to fish and explore.


        Chapter XVI

   After  dinner  all  the  gang turned out to hunt for turtle eggs on the
bar.  They  went  about poking sticks into the sand, and when they found a
soft  place  they  went  down  on  their  knees  and dug with their hands.
Sometimes  they  would take fifty or sixty eggs out of one hole. They were
perfectly round white things a trifle smaller than an English walnut. They
had a famous fried-egg feast that night, and another on Friday morning.
   After  breakfast  they  went  whooping and prancing out on the bar, and
chased  each  other  round and round, shedding clothes as they went, until
they were naked, and then continued the frolic far away up the shoal water
of  the  bar,  against  the stiff current, which latter tripped their legs
from  under  them from time to time and greatly increased the fun. And now
and  then they stooped in a group and splashed water in each other's faces
with  their palms, gradually approaching each other, with averted faces to
avoid  the strangling sprays, and finally gripping and struggling till the
best  man ducked his neighbor, and then they all went under in a tangle of
white legs and arms and came up blowing, sputtering, laughing, and gasping
for breath at one and the same time.
   When  they  were  well  exhausted, they would run out and sprawl on the
dry,  hot  sand, and lie there and cover themselves up with it, and by and
by  break for the water again and go through the original performance once
more.  Finally  it  occurred  to  them  that  their naked skin represented
flesh-colored  "tights"  very  fairly; so they drew a ring in the sand and
had  a  circus-with three clowns in it, for none would yield this proudest
post to his neighbor.
   Next  they  got  their  marbles  and played "knucks" and "ring-taw" and
"keeps"  till  that  amusement  grew  stale. Then Joe and Huck had another
swim,  but Tom would not venture, because he found that in kicking off his
trousers  he  had  kicked his string of rattlesnake rattles off his ankle,
and he wondered how he had escaped cramp so long without the protection of
this mysterious charm. He did not venture again until he had found it, and
by  that  time the other boys were tired and ready to rest. They gradually
wandered  apart,  dropped  into  the "dumps," and fell to gazing longingly
across  the  wide  river to where the village lay drowsing in the sun. Tom
found  himself  writing "BECKY" in the sand with his big toe; he scratched
it  out,  and  was  angry  with  himself for his weakness. But he wrote it
again, nevertheless; he could not help it. He erased it once more and then
took  himself  out  of  temptation  by driving the other boys together and
joining them.
   But  Joe's  spirits had gone down almost beyond resurrection. He was so
homesick  that he could hardly endure the misery of it. The tears lay very
near the surface. Huck was melancholy, too. Tom was downhearted, but tried
hard  not to show it. He had a secret which he was not ready to tell, yet,
but  if  this mutinous depression was not broken up soon, he would have to
bring it out. He said, with a great show of cheerfulness:
   "I  bet there's been pirates on this island before, boys. We'll explore
it again. They've hid treasures here somewhere. How'd you feel to light on
a rotten chest full of gold and silver-hey?"
   But  it  roused  only faint enthusiasm, which faded out, with no reply.
Tom  tried  one  or  two  other  seductions;  but they failed, too. It was
discouraging  work.  Joe  sat  poking up the sand with a stick and looking
very gloomy. Finally he said:
   "Oh, boys, let's give it up. I want to go home. It's so lonesome."
   "Oh  no,  Joe,  you'll feel better by and by," said Tom. "Just think of
the fishing that's here."
   "I don't care for fishing. I want to go home."
   "But, Joe, there ain't such another swimming-place anywhere."
   "Swimming's  no  good. I don't seem to care for it, somehow, when there
ain't anybody to say I sha'n't go in. I mean to go home."
   "Oh, shucks! Baby! You want to see your mother, I reckon."
   "Yes,  I DO want to see my mother-and you would, too, if you had one. I
ain't any more baby than you are." And Joe snuffled a little.
   "Well,  we'll  let  the cry-baby go home to his mother, won't we, Huck?
Poor  thing-does  it  want to see its mother? And so it shall. You like it
here, don't you, Huck? We'll stay, won't we?"
   Huck said, "Y-e-s"-without any heart in it.
   "I'll  never  speak  to you again as long as I live," said Joe, rising.
"There now!" And he moved moodily away and began to dress himself.
   "Who  cares!"  said  Tom.  "Nobody  wants you to. Go 'long home and get
laughed  at. Oh, you're a nice pirate. Huck and me ain't cry-babies. We'll
stay, won't we, Huck? Let him go if he wants to. I reckon we can get along
without him, per'aps."
   But  Tom  was  uneasy,  nevertheless,  and  was  alarmed  to see Joe go
sullenly  on  with his dressing. And then it was discomforting to see Huck
eying  Joe's  preparations  so  wistfully,  and keeping up such an ominous
silence.  Presently,  without a parting word, Joe began to wade off toward
the  Illinois  shore.  Tom's heart began to sink. He glanced at Huck. Huck
could not bear the look, and dropped his eyes. Then he said:
   "I  want  to  go,  too, Tom. It was getting so lonesome anyway, and now
it'll be worse. Let's us go, too, Tom."
   "I won't! You can all go, if you want to. I mean to stay."
   "Tom, I better go."
   "Well, go 'long-who's hendering you."
   Huck began to pick up his scattered clothes. He said:
   "Tom,  I  wisht  you'd come, too. Now you think it over. We'll wait for
you when we get to shore."
   "Well, you'll wait a blame long time, that's all."
   Huck  started sorrowfully away, and Tom stood looking after him, with a
strong desire tugging at his heart to yield his pride and go along too. He
hoped  the  boys  would  stop, but they still waded slowly on. It suddenly
dawned  on Tom that it was become very lonely and still. He made one final
struggle with his pride, and then darted after his comrades, yelling:
   "Wait! Wait! I want to tell you something!"
   They  presently  stopped  and  turned around. When he got to where they
were,  he  began  unfolding  his secret, and they listened moodily till at
last  they  saw  the  "point"  he  was  driving at, and then they set up a
war-whoop  of applause and said it was "splendid!" and said if he had told
them  at  first,  they  wouldn't  have  started  away. He made a plausible
excuse;  but  his  real  reason had been the fear that not even the secret
would  keep  them  with  him  any very great length of time, and so he had
meant to hold it in reserve as a last seduction.
   The  lads  came  gayly back and went at their sports again with a will,
chattering  all  the  time  about  Tom's  stupendous plan and admiring the
genius  of  it.  After a dainty egg and fish dinner, Tom said he wanted to
learn to smoke, now. Joe caught at the idea and said he would like to try,
too.  So  Huck  made pipes and filled them. These novices had never smoked
anything  before but cigars made of grape-vine, and they "bit" the tongue,
and were not considered manly anyway.
   Now  they  stretched  themselves out on their elbows and began to puff,
charily,  and  with slender confidence. The smoke had an unpleasant taste,
and they gagged a little, but Tom said:
   "Why,  it's  just  as  easy! If I'd a knowed this was all, I'd a learnt
long ago."
   "So would I," said Joe. "It's just nothing."
   "Why,  many  a  time  I've looked at people smoking, and thought well I
wish I could do that; but I never thought I could," said Tom.
   "That's  just  the  way  with me, hain't it, Huck? You've heard me talk
just that way-haven't you, Huck? I'll leave it to Huck if I haven't."
   "Yes-heaps of times," said Huck.
   "Well,  I have too," said Tom; "oh, hundreds of times. Once down by the
slaughter-house.  Don't  you  remember,  Huck?  Bob  Tanner was there, and
Johnny  Miller,  and  Jeff  Thatcher,  when I said it. Don't you remember,
Huck, 'bout me saying that?"
   "Yes,  that's  so,"  said  Huck. "That was the day after I lost a white
alley. No, 'twas the day before."
   "There-I told you so," said Tom. "Huck recollects it."
   "I  bleeve  I  could  smoke this pipe all day," said Joe. "I don't feel
sick."
   "Neither do I," said Tom. "I could smoke it all day. But I bet you Jeff
Thatcher couldn't."
   "Jeff  Thatcher!  Why, he'd keel over just with two draws. Just let him
try it once. HE'D see!"
   "I  bet  he  would.  And  Johnny  Miller-I wish could see Johnny Miller
tackle it once."
   "Oh,  don't  I!"  said  Joe. "Why, I bet you Johnny Miller couldn't any
more do this than nothing. Just one little snifter would fetch HIM."
   "'Deed it would, Joe. Say-I wish the boys could see us now."
   "So do I."
   "Say-boys,  don't  say  anything  about  it, and some time when they're
around,  I'll  come  up to you and say, 'Joe, got a pipe? I want a smoke.'
And  you'll  say,  kind of careless like, as if it warn't anything, you'll
say,  'Yes, I got my OLD pipe, and another one, but my tobacker ain't very
good.'  And  I'll  say, 'Oh, that's all right, if it's STRONG enough.' And
then  you'll out with the pipes, and we'll light up just as ca'm, and then
just see 'em look!"
   "By jings, that'll be gay, Tom! I wish it was NOW!"
   "So  do  I!  And  when we tell 'em we learned when we was off pirating,
won't they wish they'd been along?"
   "Oh, I reckon not! I'll just BET they will!"
   So  the  talk ran on. But presently it began to flag a trifle, and grow
disjointed.   The   silences   widened;   the  expectoration  marvellously
increased.  Every pore inside the boys' cheeks became a spouting fountain;
they  could  scarcely bail out the cellars under their tongues fast enough
to  prevent an inundation; little overflowings down their throats occurred
in  spite  of all they could do, and sudden retchings followed every time.
Both  boys  were  looking very pale and miserable, now. Joe's pipe dropped
from  his  nerveless  fingers.  Tom's  followed. Both fountains were going
furiously and both pumps bailing with might and main. Joe said feebly:
   "I've lost my knife. I reckon I better go and find it."
   Tom said, with quivering lips and halting utterance:
   "I'll  help  you.  You  go  over  that  way and I'll hunt around by the
spring. No, you needn't come, Huck-we can find it."
   So  Huck sat down again, and waited an hour. Then he found it lonesome,
and  went  to  find  his comrades. They were wide apart in the woods, both
very  pale,  both fast asleep. But something informed him that if they had
had any trouble they had got rid of it.
   They  were  not talkative at supper that night. They had a humble look,
and  when  Huck  prepared his pipe after the meal and was going to prepare
theirs,  they  said no, they were not feeling very well-something they ate
at dinner had disagreed with them.
   About  midnight  Joe  awoke,  and called the boys. There was a brooding
oppressiveness  in the air that seemed to bode something. The boys huddled
themselves  together  and  sought  the friendly companionship of the fire,
though  the dull dead heat of the breathless atmosphere was stifling. They
sat still, intent and waiting. The solemn hush continued. Beyond the light
of  the  fire  everything  was  swallowed up in the blackness of darkness.
Presently  there  came  a quivering glow that vaguely revealed the foliage
for a moment and then vanished. By and by another came, a little stronger.
Then  another.  Then a faint moan came sighing through the branches of the
forest  and  the  boys  felt  a  fleeting  breath  upon  their cheeks, and
shuddered  with  the fancy that the Spirit of the Night had gone by. There
was  a  pause.  Now  a  weird flash turned night into day and showed every
little grass-blade, separate and distinct, that grew about their feet. And
it  showed  three  white, startled faces, too. A deep peal of thunder went
rolling  and tumbling down the heavens and lost itself in sullen rumblings
in  the distance. A sweep of chilly air passed by, rustling all the leaves
and snowing the flaky ashes broadcast about the fire. Another fierce glare
lit  up  the  forest and an instant crash followed that seemed to rend the
tree-tops  right  over  the boys' heads. They clung together in terror, in
the  thick  gloom  that followed. A few big rain-drops fell pattering upon
the leaves.
   "Quick! boys, go for the tent!" exclaimed Tom.
   They  sprang away, stumbling over roots and among vines in the dark, no
two  plunging  in  the  same direction. A furious blast roared through the
trees, making everything sing as it went. One blinding flash after another
came,  and  peal  on  peal  of deafening thunder. And now a drenching rain
poured  down and the rising hurricane drove it in sheets along the ground.
The  boys  cried  out  to each other, but the roaring wind and the booming
thunder-blasts  drowned  their  voices  utterly.  However, one by one they
straggled  in  at  last and took shelter under the tent, cold, scared, and
streaming with water; but to have company in misery seemed something to be
grateful for. They could not talk, the old sail flapped so furiously, even
if  the  other noises would have allowed them. The tempest rose higher and
higher,  and  presently  the  sail tore loose from its fastenings and went
winging  away  on  the blast. The boys seized each others' hands and fled,
with  many tumblings and bruises, to the shelter of a great oak that stood
upon  the  river-bank.  Now  the  battle  was  at  its  highest. Under the
ceaseless  conflagration of lightning that flamed in the skies, everything
below  stood  out  in  clean-cut  and shadowless distinctness: the bending
trees,   the  billowy  river,  white  with  foam,  the  driving  spray  of
spume-flakes,  the  dim  outlines  of  the  high bluffs on the other side,
glimpsed  through  the  drifting cloud-rack and the slanting veil of rain.
Every  little  while  some  giant tree yielded the fight and fell crashing
through  the  younger  growth; and the unflagging thunderpeals came now in
ear-splitting explosive bursts, keen and sharp, and unspeakably appalling.
The  storm  culminated  in one matchless effort that seemed likely to tear
the island to pieces, burn it up, drown it to the tree-tops, blow it away,
and  deafen every creature in it, all at one and the same moment. It was a
wild night for homeless young heads to be out in.
   But at last the battle was done, and the forces retired with weaker and
weaker  threatenings  and grumblings, and peace resumed her sway. The boys
went  back  to  camp,  a  good  deal  awed; but they found there was still
something  to  be thankful for, because the great sycamore, the shelter of
their  beds, was a ruin, now, blasted by the lightnings, and they were not
under it when the catastrophe happened.
   Everything  in  camp was drenched, the camp-fire as well; for they were
but  heedless  lads,  like  their  generation,  and  had made no provision
against rain. Here was matter for dismay, for they were soaked through and
chilled.  They  were  eloquent  in  their  distress;  but  they  presently
discovered  that  the  fire had eaten so far up under the great log it had
been  built  against (where it curved upward and separated itself from the
ground),  that  a  handbreadth  or  so  of it had escaped wetting; so they
patiently  wrought  until,  with  shreds  and bark gathered from the under
sides  of  sheltered  logs,  they coaxed the fire to burn again. Then they
piled  on  great  dead  boughs  till  they had a roaring furnace, and were
glad-hearted  once  more. They dried their boiled ham and had a feast, and
after  that they sat by the fire and expanded and glorified their midnight
adventure  until  morning,  for  there  was  not  a  dry spot to sleep on,
anywhere around.
   As  the sun began to steal in upon the boys, drowsiness came over them,
and  they went out on the sandbar and lay down to sleep. They got scorched
out  by  and  by, and drearily set about getting breakfast. After the meal
they  felt  rusty, and stiff-jointed, and a little homesick once more. Tom
saw  the  signs,  and fell to cheering up the pirates as well as he could.
But  they  cared nothing for marbles, or circus, or swimming, or anything.
He  reminded them of the imposing secret, and raised a ray of cheer. While
it  lasted,  he got them interested in a new device. This was to knock off
being  pirates,  for  a  while,  and  be  Indians  for