WE went tiptoeing along a path
amongst the trees back towards
the end of the widow's garden,
stooping down so as the branches
wouldn't scrape our heads. When
we was passing by the kitchen
I fell over a root and made a
noise. We scrouched down and
laid still. Miss Watson's big
nigger, named Jim, was setting
in the kitchen door; we could
see him pretty clear, because
there was a light behind him.
He got up and stretched his neck
out about a minute, listening.
Then he says:
"Who dah?"
He listened some more; then
he come tiptoeing down and stood
right between us; we could a
touched him, nearly. Well, likely
it was minutes and minutes that
there warn't a sound, and we
all there so close together.
There was a place on my ankle
that got to itching, but I dasn't
scratch it; and then my ear begun
to itch; and next my back, right
between my shoulders. Seemed
like I'd die if I couldn't scratch.
Well, I've noticed that thing
plenty times since. If you are
with the quality, or at a funeral,
or trying to go to sleep when
you ain't sleepy -- if you are
anywheres where it won't do for
you to scratch, why you will
itch all over in upwards of a
thousand places. Pretty soon
Jim says:
"Say, who is
you? Whar is you? Dog my cats
ef I didn' hear sumf'n.
Well, I know what I's gwyne to
do: I's gwyne to set down here
and listen tell I hears it agin."
So he set down on the ground
betwixt me and Tom. He leaned
his back up against a tree, and
stretched his legs out till one
of them most touched one of mine.
My nose begun to itch. It itched
till the tears come into my eyes.
But I dasn't scratch. Then it
begun to itch on the inside.
Next I got to itching underneath.
I didn't know how I was going
to set still. This miserableness
went on as much as six or seven
minutes; but it seemed a sight
longer than that. I was itching
in eleven different places now.
I reckoned I couldn't stand it
more'n a minute longer, but I
set my teeth hard and got ready
to try. Just then Jim begun to
breathe heavy; next he begun
to snore -- and then I was pretty
soon comfortable again.
Tom he made a sign to me --
kind of a little noise with his
mouth -- and we went creeping
away on our hands and knees.
When we was ten foot off Tom
whispered to me, and wanted to
tie Jim to the tree for fun.
But I said no; he might wake
and make a disturbance, and then
they'd find out I warn't in.
Then Tom said he hadn't got candles
enough, and he would slip in
the kitchen and get some more.
I didn't want him to try. I said
Jim might wake up and come. But
Tom wanted to resk it; so we
slid in there and got three candles,
and Tom laid five cents on the
table for pay. Then we got out,
and I was in a sweat to get away;
but nothing would do Tom but
he must crawl to where Jim was,
on his hands and knees, and play
something on him. I waited, and
it seemed a good while, everything
was so still and lonesome.
As soon as
Tom was back we cut along the
path, around the
garden fence, and by and by fetched
up on the steep top of the hill
the other side of the house.
Tom said he slipped Jim's hat
off of his head and hung it on
a limb right over him, and Jim
stirred a little, but he didn't
wake. Afterwards Jim said the
witches bewitched him and put
him in a trance, and rode him
all over the State, and then
set him under the trees again,
and hung his hat on a limb to
show who done it. And next time
Jim told it he said they rode
him down to New Orleans; and,
after that, every time he told
it he spread it more and more,
till by and by he said they rode
him all over the world, and tired
him most to death, and his back
was all over saddle-boils. Jim
was monstrous proud about it,
and he got so he wouldn't hardly
notice the other niggers. Niggers
would come miles to hear Jim
tell about it, and he was more
looked up to than any nigger
in that country. Strange niggers
would stand with their mouths
open and look him all over, same
as if he was a wonder. Niggers
is always talking about witches
in the dark by the kitchen fire;
but whenever one was talking
and letting on to know all about
such things, Jim would happen
in and say, "Hm! What you know
'bout witches?" and that nigger
was corked up and had to take
a back seat. Jim always kept
that five-center piece round
his neck with a string, and said
it was a charm the devil give
to him with his own hands, and
told him he could cure anybody
with it and fetch witches whenever
he wanted to just by saying something
to it; but he never told what
it was he said to it. Niggers
would come from all around there
and give Jim anything they had,
just for a sight of that fivecenter
piece; but they wouldn't touch
it, because the devil had had
his hands on it. Jim was most
ruined for a servant, because
he got stuck up on account of
having seen the devil and been
rode by witches.
Well, when Tom and me got to
the edge of the hilltop we looked
away down into the village and
could see three or four lights
twinkling, where there was sick
folks, maybe; and the stars over
us was sparkling ever so fine;
and down by the village was the
river, a whole mile broad, and
awful still and grand. We went
down the hill and found Jo Harper
and Ben Rogers, and two or three
more of the boys, hid in the
old tanyard. So we unhitched
a skiff and pulled down the river
two mile and a half, to the big
scar on the hillside, and went
ashore.
We went to a clump of bushes,
and Tom made everybody swear
to keep the secret, and then
showed them a hole in the hill,
right in the thickest part of
the bushes. Then we lit the candles,
and crawled in on our hands and
knees. We went about two hundred
yards, and then the cave opened
up. Tom poked about amongst the
passages, and pretty soon ducked
under a wall where you wouldn't
a noticed that there was a hole.
We went along a narrow place
and got into a kind of room,
all damp and sweaty and cold,
and there we stopped. Tom says:
"Now, we'll
start this band of robbers
and call it Tom Sawyer's
Gang. Everybody that wants to
join has got to take an oath,
and write his name in blood."
Everybody was willing. So Tom
got out a sheet of paper that
he had wrote the oath on, and
read it. It swore every boy to
stick to the band, and never
tell any of the secrets; and
if anybody done anything to any
boy in the band, whichever boy
was ordered to kill that person
and his family must do it, and
he mustn't eat and he mustn't
sleep till he had killed them
and hacked a cross in their breasts,
which was the sign of the band.
And nobody that didn't belong
to the band could use that mark,
and if he did he must be sued;
and if he done it again he must
be killed. And if anybody that
belonged to the band told the
secrets, he must have his throat
cut, and then have his carcass
burnt up and the ashes scattered
all around, and his name blotted
off of the list with blood and
never mentioned again by the
gang, but have a curse put on
it and be forgot forever.
Everybody said it was a real
beautiful oath, and asked Tom
if he got it out of his own head.
He said, some of it, but the
rest was out of pirate-books
and robber-books, and every gang
that was high-toned had it.
Some thought it would be good
to kill the FAMILIES of boys
that told the secrets. Tom said
it was a good idea, so he took
a pencil and wrote it in. Then
Ben Rogers says:
"Here's Huck
Finn, he hain't got no family;
what you going
to do 'bout him?"
"Well, hain't he got a father?" says
Tom Sawyer.
"Yes, he's
got a father, but you can't
never find him these
days. He used to lay drunk with
the hogs in the tanyard, but
he hain't been seen in these
parts for a year or more."
They talked it over, and they
was going to rule me out, because
they said every boy must have
a family or somebody to kill,
or else it wouldn't be fair and
square for the others. Well,
nobody could think of anything
to do -- everybody was stumped,
and set still. I was most ready
to cry; but all at once I thought
of a way, and so I offered them
Miss Watson -- they could kill
her. Everybody said:
"Oh, she'll
do. That's all right. Huck
can come in."
Then they all stuck a pin in
their fingers to get blood to
sign with, and I made my mark
on the paper.
"Now," says Ben Rogers, "what's
the line of business of this
Gang?"
"Nothing only robbery and murder," Tom
said.
"But who are
we going to rob? -- houses,
or cattle, or --"
"Stuff! stealing cattle and
such things ain't robbery; it's
burglary," says Tom Sawyer. "We
ain't burglars. That ain't no
sort of style. We are highwaymen.
We stop stages and carriages
on the road, with masks on, and
kill the people and take their
watches and money."
"Must we always
kill the people?"
"Oh, certainly.
It's best. Some authorities
think different,
but mostly it's considered best
to kill them -- except some that
you bring to the cave here, and
keep them till they're ransomed."
"Ransomed?
What's that?"
"I don't know.
But that's what they do. I've
seen it in books;
and so of course that's what
we've got to do."
"But how can
we do it if we don't know what
it is?"
"Why, blame
it all, we've GOT to do it.
Don't I tell you it's
in the books? Do you want to
go to doing different from what's
in the books, and get things
all muddled up?"
"Oh, that's
all very fine to SAY, Tom Sawyer,
but how in the
nation are these fellows going
to be ransomed if we don't know
how to do it to them? -- that's
the thing I want to get at. Now,
what do you reckon it is?"
"Well, I don't
know. But per'aps if we keep
them till they're
ransomed, it means that we keep
them till they're dead. "
"Now, that's
something LIKE. That'll answer.
Why couldn't
you said that before? We'll keep
them till they're ransomed to
death; and a bothersome lot they'll
be, too -- eating up everything,
and always trying to get loose."
"How you talk,
Ben Rogers. How can they get
loose when there's
a guard over them, ready to shoot
them down if they move a peg?"
"A guard! Well,
that IS good. So somebody's
got to set up all
night and never get any sleep,
just so as to watch them. I think
that's foolishness. Why can't
a body take a club and ransom
them as soon as they get here?"
"Because it
ain't in the books so -- that's
why. Now, Ben Rogers,
do you want to do things regular,
or don't you? -- that's the idea.
Don't you reckon that the people
that made the books knows what's
the correct thing to do? Do you
reckon YOU can learn 'em anything?
Not by a good deal. No, sir,
we'll just go on and ransom them
in the regular way."
"All right.
I don't mind; but I say it's
a fool way, anyhow.
Say, do we kill the women, too?"
"Well, Ben
Rogers, if I was as ignorant
as you I wouldn't
let on. Kill the women? No; nobody
ever saw anything in the books
like that. You fetch them to
the cave, and you're always as
polite as pie to them; and by
and by they fall in love with
you, and never want to go home
any more."
"Well, if that's
the way I'm agreed, but I don't
take no stock
in it. Mighty soon we'll have
the cave so cluttered up with
women, and fellows waiting to
be ransomed, that there won't
be no place for the robbers.
But go ahead, I ain't got nothing
to say."
Little Tommy Barnes was asleep
now, and when they waked him
up he was scared, and cried,
and said he wanted to go home
to his ma, and didn't want to
be a robber any more.
So they all made fun of him,
and called him crybaby, and that
made him mad, and he said he
would go straight and tell all
the secrets. But Tom give him
five cents to keep quiet, and
said we would all go home and
meet next week, and rob somebody
and kill some people.
Ben Rogers said he couldn't
get out much, only Sundays, and
so he wanted to begin next Sunday;
but all the boys said it would
be wicked to do it on Sunday,
and that settled the thing. They
agreed to get together and fix
a day as soon as they could,
and then we elected Tom Sawyer
first captain and Jo Harper second
captain of the Gang, and so started
home.
I clumb up the shed and crept
into my window just before day
was breaking. My new clothes
was all greased up and clayey,
and I was dog-tired. |