THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER 5 страница

juvenile superstition that to cross water baffled pursuit. Half an hour

later he was disappearing behind the Douglas mansion on the summit of

Cardiff Hill, and the schoolhouse was hardly distinguishable away off

in the valley behind him. He entered a dense wood, picked his pathless

way to the centre of it, and sat down on a mossy spot under a spreading

oak. There was not even a zephyr stirring; the dead noonday heat had

even stilled the songs of the birds; nature lay in a trance that was

broken by no sound but the occasional far-off hammering of a

woodpecker, and this seemed to render the pervading silence and sense

of loneliness the more profound. The boy's soul was steeped in

melancholy; his feelings were in happy accord with his surroundings. He

sat long with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands,

meditating. It seemed to him that life was but a trouble, at best, and

he more than half envied Jimmy Hodges, so lately released; it must be

very peaceful, he thought, to lie and slumber and dream forever and

ever, with the wind whispering through the trees and caressing the

grass and the flowers over the grave, and nothing to bother and grieve

about, ever any more. If he only had a clean Sunday-school record he

could be willing to go, and be done with it all. Now as to this girl.

What had he done? Nothing. He had meant the best in the world, and been

treated like a dog--like a very dog. She would be sorry some day--maybe

when it was too late. Ah, if he could only die TEMPORARILY!

But the elastic heart of youth cannot be compressed into one

constrained shape long at a time. Tom presently began to drift

insensibly back into the concerns of this life again. What if he turned

his back, now, and disappeared mysteriously? What if he went away--ever

so far away, into unknown countries beyond the seas--and never came

back any more! How would she feel then! The idea of being a clown

recurred to him now, only to fill him with disgust. For frivolity and

jokes and spotted tights were an offense, when they intruded themselves

upon a spirit that was exalted into the vague august realm of the

romantic. No, he would be a soldier, and return after long years, all

war-worn and illustrious. No--better still, he would join the Indians,

and hunt buffaloes and go on the warpath in the mountain ranges and the

trackless great plains of the Far West, and away in the future come

back a great chief, bristling with feathers, hideous with paint, and

prance into Sunday-school, some drowsy summer morning, with a

bloodcurdling war-whoop, and sear the eyeballs of all his companions

with unappeasable envy. But no, there was something gaudier even than

this. He would be a pirate! That was it! NOW his future lay plain

before him, and glowing with unimaginable splendor. How his name would

fill the world, and make people shudder! How gloriously he would go

plowing the dancing seas, in his long, low, black-hulled racer, the

Spirit of the Storm, with his grisly flag flying at the fore! And at

the zenith of his fame, how he would suddenly appear at the old village

and stalk into church, brown and weather-beaten, in his black velvet

doublet and trunks, his great jack-boots, his crimson sash, his belt

bristling with horse-pistols, his crime-rusted cutlass at his side, his

slouch hat with waving plumes, his black flag unfurled, with the skull

and crossbones on it, and hear with swelling ecstasy the whisperings,

" It's Tom Sawyer the Pirate! --the Black Avenger of the Spanish Main! "

Yes, it was settled; his career was determined. He would run away from

home and enter upon it. He would start the very next morning. Therefore

he must now begin to get ready. He would collect his resources

together. He went to a rotten log near at hand and began to dig under

one end of it with his Barlow knife. He soon struck wood that sounded

hollow. He put his hand there and uttered this incantation impressively:

" What hasn't come here, come! What's here, stay here! "

Then he scraped away the dirt, and exposed a pine shingle. He took it

up and disclosed a shapely little treasure-house whose bottom and sides

were of shingles. In it lay a marble. Tom's astonishment was boundless!

He scratched his head with a perplexed air, and said:

" Well, that beats anything! "

Then he tossed the marble away pettishly, and stood cogitating. The

truth was, that a superstition of his had failed, here, which he and

all his comrades had always looked upon as infallible. If you buried a

marble with certain necessary incantations, and left it alone a

fortnight, and then opened the place with the incantation he had just

used, you would find that all the marbles you had ever lost had

gathered themselves together there, meantime, no matter how widely they

had been separated. But now, this thing had actually and unquestionably

failed. Tom's whole structure of faith was shaken to its foundations.

He had many a time heard of this thing succeeding but never of its

failing before. It did not occur to him that he had tried it several

times before, himself, but could never find the hiding-places

afterward. He puzzled over the matter some time, and finally decided

that some witch had interfered and broken the charm. He thought he

would satisfy himself on that point; so he searched around till he

found a small sandy spot with a little funnel-shaped depression in it.

He laid himself down and put his mouth close to this depression and

called--

" Doodle-bug, doodle-bug, tell me what I want to know! Doodle-bug,

doodle-bug, tell me what I want to know! "

The sand began to work, and presently a small black bug appeared for a

second and then darted under again in a fright.

" He dasn't tell! So it WAS a witch that done it. I just knowed it. "

He well knew the futility of trying to contend against witches, so he

gave up discouraged. But it occurred to him that he might as well have

the marble he had just thrown away, and therefore he went and made a

patient search for it. But he could not find it. Now he went back to

his treasure-house and carefully placed himself just as he had been

standing when he tossed the marble away; then he took another marble

from his pocket and tossed it in the same way, saying:

" Brother, go find your brother! "

He watched where it stopped, and went there and looked. But it must

have fallen short or gone too far; so he tried twice more. The last

repetition was successful. The two marbles lay within a foot of each

other.

Just here the blast of a toy tin trumpet came faintly down the green

aisles of the forest. Tom flung off his jacket and trousers, turned a

suspender into a belt, raked away some brush behind the rotten log,

disclosing a rude bow and arrow, a lath sword and a tin trumpet, and in

a moment had seized these things and bounded away, barelegged, with

fluttering shirt. He presently halted under a great elm, blew an

answering blast, and then began to tiptoe and look warily out, this way

and that. He said cautiously--to an imaginary company:

" Hold, my merry men! Keep hid till I blow. "

Now appeared Joe Harper, as airily clad and elaborately armed as Tom.

Tom called:

" Hold! Who comes here into Sherwood Forest without my pass? "

" Guy of Guisborne wants no man's pass. Who art thou that--that--"

" Dares to hold such language, " said Tom, prompting--for they talked

" by the book, " from memory.

" Who art thou that dares to hold such language? "

" I, indeed! I am Robin Hood, as thy caitiff carcase soon shall know. "

" Then art thou indeed that famous outlaw? Right gladly will I dispute

with thee the passes of the merry wood. Have at thee! "

They took their lath swords, dumped their other traps on the ground,

struck a fencing attitude, foot to foot, and began a grave, careful

combat, " two up and two down. " Presently Tom said:

" Now, if you've got the hang, go it lively! "

So they " went it lively, " panting and perspiring with the work. By and

by Tom shouted:

" Fall! fall! Why don't you fall? "

" I sha'n't! Why don't you fall yourself? You're getting the worst of

it. "

" Why, that ain't anything. I can't fall; that ain't the way it is in

the book. The book says, 'Then with one back-handed stroke he slew poor

Guy of Guisborne. ' You're to turn around and let me hit you in the

back. "

There was no getting around the authorities, so Joe turned, received

the whack and fell.

" Now, " said Joe, getting up, " you got to let me kill YOU. That's fair. "

" Why, I can't do that, it ain't in the book. "

" Well, it's blamed mean--that's all. "

" Well, say, Joe, you can be Friar Tuck or Much the miller's son, and

lam me with a quarter-staff; or I'll be the Sheriff of Nottingham and

you be Robin Hood a little while and kill me. "

This was satisfactory, and so these adventures were carried out. Then

Tom became Robin Hood again, and was allowed by the treacherous nun to

bleed his strength away through his neglected wound. And at last Joe,

representing a whole tribe of weeping outlaws, dragged him sadly forth,

gave his bow into his feeble hands, and Tom said, " Where this arrow

falls, there bury poor Robin Hood under the greenwood tree. " Then he

shot the arrow and fell back and would have died, but he lit on a

nettle and sprang up too gaily for a corpse.

The boys dressed themselves, hid their accoutrements, and went off

grieving that there were no outlaws any more, and wondering what modern

civilization could claim to have done to compensate for their loss.

They said they would rather be outlaws a year in Sherwood Forest than

President of the United States forever.

CHAPTER IX

AT half-past nine, that night, Tom and Sid were sent to bed, as usual.

They said their prayers, and Sid was soon asleep. Tom lay awake and

waited, in restless impatience. When it seemed to him that it must be

nearly daylight, he heard the clock strike ten! This was despair. He

would have tossed and fidgeted, as his nerves demanded, but he was

afraid he might wake Sid. So he lay still, and stared up into the dark.

Everything was dismally still. By and by, out of the stillness, little,

scarcely perceptible noises began to emphasize themselves. The ticking

of the clock began to bring itself into notice. Old beams began to

crack mysteriously. The stairs creaked faintly. Evidently spirits were

abroad. A measured, muffled snore issued from Aunt Polly's chamber. And

now the tiresome chirping of a cricket that no human ingenuity could

locate, began. Next the ghastly ticking of a deathwatch in the wall at

the bed's head made Tom shudder--it meant that somebody's days were

numbered. Then the howl of a far-off dog rose on the night air, and was

answered by a fainter howl from a remoter distance. Tom was in an

agony. At last he was satisfied that time had ceased and eternity

begun; he began to doze, in spite of himself; the clock chimed eleven,

but he did not hear it. And then there came, mingling with his

half-formed dreams, a most melancholy caterwauling. The raising of a

neighboring window disturbed him. A cry of " Scat! you devil! " and the

crash of an empty bottle against the back of his aunt's woodshed

brought him wide awake, and a single minute later he was dressed and

out of the window and creeping along the roof of the " ell" on all

fours. He " meow'd" with caution once or twice, as he went; then jumped

to the roof of the woodshed and thence to the ground. Huckleberry Finn

was there, with his dead cat. The boys moved off and disappeared in the

gloom. At the end of half an hour they were wading through the tall

grass of the graveyard.

It was a graveyard of the old-fashioned Western kind. It was on a

hill, about a mile and a half from the village. It had a crazy board

fence around it, which leaned inward in places, and outward the rest of

the time, but stood upright nowhere. Grass and weeds grew rank over the

whole cemetery. All the old graves were sunken in, there was not a

tombstone on the place; round-topped, worm-eaten boards staggered over

the graves, leaning for support and finding none. " Sacred to the memory

of" So-and-So had been painted on them once, but it could no longer

have been read, on the most of them, now, even if there had been light.

A faint wind moaned through the trees, and Tom feared it might be the

spirits of the dead, complaining at being disturbed. The boys talked

little, and only under their breath, for the time and the place and the

pervading solemnity and silence oppressed their spirits. They found the

sharp new heap they were seeking, and ensconced themselves within the

protection of three great elms that grew in a bunch within a few feet

of the grave.

Then they waited in silence for what seemed a long time. The hooting

of a distant owl was all the sound that troubled the dead stillness.

Tom's reflections grew oppressive. He must force some talk. So he said

in a whisper:

" Hucky, do you believe the dead people like it for us to be here? "

Huckleberry whispered:

" I wisht I knowed. It's awful solemn like, AIN'T it? "

" I bet it is. "

There was a considerable pause, while the boys canvassed this matter

inwardly. Then Tom whispered:

" Say, Hucky--do you reckon Hoss Williams hears us talking? "

" O' course he does. Least his sperrit does. "

Tom, after a pause:

" I wish I'd said Mister Williams. But I never meant any harm.

Everybody calls him Hoss. "

" A body can't be too partic'lar how they talk 'bout these-yer dead

people, Tom. "

This was a damper, and conversation died again.

Presently Tom seized his comrade's arm and said:

" Sh! "

" What is it, Tom? " And the two clung together with beating hearts.

" Sh! There 'tis again! Didn't you hear it? "

" I--"

" There! Now you hear it. "

" Lord, Tom, they're coming! They're coming, sure. What'll we do? "

" I dono. Think they'll see us? "

" Oh, Tom, they can see in the dark, same as cats. I wisht I hadn't

come. "

" Oh, don't be afeard. I don't believe they'll bother us. We ain't

doing any harm. If we keep perfectly still, maybe they won't notice us

at all. "

" I'll try to, Tom, but, Lord, I'm all of a shiver. "

" Listen! "

The boys bent their heads together and scarcely breathed. A muffled

sound of voices floated up from the far end of the graveyard.

" Look! See there! " whispered Tom. " What is it? "

" It's devil-fire. Oh, Tom, this is awful. "

Some vague figures approached through the gloom, swinging an

old-fashioned tin lantern that freckled the ground with innumerable

little spangles of light. Presently Huckleberry whispered with a

shudder:

" It's the devils sure enough. Three of 'em! Lordy, Tom, we're goners!

Can you pray? "

" I'll try, but don't you be afeard. They ain't going to hurt us. 'Now

I lay me down to sleep, I--'"

" Sh! "

" What is it, Huck? "

" They're HUMANS! One of 'em is, anyway. One of 'em's old Muff Potter's

voice. "

" No--'tain't so, is it? "

" I bet I know it. Don't you stir nor budge. He ain't sharp enough to

notice us. Drunk, the same as usual, likely--blamed old rip! "

" All right, I'll keep still. Now they're stuck. Can't find it. Here

they come again. Now they're hot. Cold again. Hot again. Red hot!

They're p'inted right, this time. Say, Huck, I know another o' them

voices; it's Injun Joe. "

" That's so--that murderin' half-breed! I'd druther they was devils a

dern sight. What kin they be up to? "

The whisper died wholly out, now, for the three men had reached the

grave and stood within a few feet of the boys' hiding-place.

" Here it is, " said the third voice; and the owner of it held the

lantern up and revealed the face of young Doctor Robinson.

Potter and Injun Joe were carrying a handbarrow with a rope and a

couple of shovels on it. They cast down their load and began to open

the grave. The doctor put the lantern at the head of the grave and came

and sat down with his back against one of the elm trees. He was so

close the boys could have touched him.

" Hurry, men! " he said, in a low voice; " the moon might come out at any

moment. "

They growled a response and went on digging. For some time there was

no noise but the grating sound of the spades discharging their freight

of mould and gravel. It was very monotonous. Finally a spade struck

upon the coffin with a dull woody accent, and within another minute or

two the men had hoisted it out on the ground. They pried off the lid

with their shovels, got out the body and dumped it rudely on the

ground. The moon drifted from behind the clouds and exposed the pallid

face. The barrow was got ready and the corpse placed on it, covered

with a blanket, and bound to its place with the rope. Potter took out a

large spring-knife and cut off the dangling end of the rope and then

said:

" Now the cussed thing's ready, Sawbones, and you'll just out with

another five, or here she stays. "

" That's the talk! " said Injun Joe.

" Look here, what does this mean? " said the doctor. " You required your

pay in advance, and I've paid you. "

" Yes, and you done more than that, " said Injun Joe, approaching the

doctor, who was now standing. " Five years ago you drove me away from

your father's kitchen one night, when I come to ask for something to

eat, and you said I warn't there for any good; and when I swore I'd get

even with you if it took a hundred years, your father had me jailed for

a vagrant. Did you think I'd forget? The Injun blood ain't in me for

nothing. And now I've GOT you, and you got to SETTLE, you know! "

He was threatening the doctor, with his fist in his face, by this

time. The doctor struck out suddenly and stretched the ruffian on the

ground. Potter dropped his knife, and exclaimed:

" Here, now, don't you hit my pard! " and the next moment he had

grappled with the doctor and the two were struggling with might and

main, trampling the grass and tearing the ground with their heels.

Injun Joe sprang to his feet, his eyes flaming with passion, snatched

up Potter's knife, and went creeping, catlike and stooping, round and

round about the combatants, seeking an opportunity. All at once the

doctor flung himself free, seized the heavy headboard of Williams'

grave and felled Potter to the earth with it--and in the same instant

the half-breed saw his chance and drove the knife to the hilt in the

young man's breast. He reeled and fell partly upon Potter, flooding him

with his blood, and in the same moment the clouds blotted out the

dreadful spectacle and the two frightened boys went speeding away in

the dark.

Presently, when the moon emerged again, Injun Joe was standing over

the two forms, contemplating them. The doctor murmured inarticulately,

gave a long gasp or two and was still. The half-breed muttered:

" THAT score is settled--damn you. "

Then he robbed the body. After which he put the fatal knife in

Potter's open right hand, and sat down on the dismantled coffin. Three

--four--five minutes passed, and then Potter began to stir and moan. His

hand closed upon the knife; he raised it, glanced at it, and let it

fall, with a shudder. Then he sat up, pushing the body from him, and

gazed at it, and then around him, confusedly. His eyes met Joe's.

" Lord, how is this, Joe? " he said.

" It's a dirty business, " said Joe, without moving.

" What did you do it for? "

" I! I never done it! "

" Look here! That kind of talk won't wash. "

Potter trembled and grew white.

" I thought I'd got sober. I'd no business to drink to-night. But it's

in my head yet--worse'n when we started here. I'm all in a muddle;

can't recollect anything of it, hardly. Tell me, Joe--HONEST, now, old

feller--did I do it? Joe, I never meant to--'pon my soul and honor, I

never meant to, Joe. Tell me how it was, Joe. Oh, it's awful--and him

so young and promising. "

" Why, you two was scuffling, and he fetched you one with the headboard

and you fell flat; and then up you come, all reeling and staggering

like, and snatched the knife and jammed it into him, just as he fetched

you another awful clip--and here you've laid, as dead as a wedge til

now. "

" Oh, I didn't know what I was a-doing. I wish I may die this minute if

I did. It was all on account of the whiskey and the excitement, I

reckon. I never used a weepon in my life before, Joe. I've fought, but

never with weepons. They'll all say that. Joe, don't tell! Say you

won't tell, Joe--that's a good feller. I always liked you, Joe, and

stood up for you, too. Don't you remember? You WON'T tell, WILL you,

Joe? " And the poor creature dropped on his knees before the stolid

murderer, and clasped his appealing hands.

" No, you've always been fair and square with me, Muff Potter, and I

won't go back on you. There, now, that's as fair as a man can say. "

" Oh, Joe, you're an angel. I'll bless you for this the longest day I

live. " And Potter began to cry.

" Come, now, that's enough of that. This ain't any time for blubbering.

You be off yonder way and I'll go this. Move, now, and don't leave any

tracks behind you. "

Potter started on a trot that quickly increased to a run. The

half-breed stood looking after him. He muttered:

" If he's as much stunned with the lick and fuddled with the rum as he

had the look of being, he won't think of the knife till he's gone so

far he'll be afraid to come back after it to such a place by himself

--chicken-heart! "

Two or three minutes later the murdered man, the blanketed corpse, the

lidless coffin, and the open grave were under no inspection but the

moon's. The stillness was complete again, too.

CHAPTER X

THE two boys flew on and on, toward the village, speechless with

horror. They glanced backward over their shoulders from time to time,

apprehensively, as if they feared they might be followed. Every stump

that started up in their path seemed a man and an enemy, and made them

catch their breath; and as they sped by some outlying cottages that lay

near the village, the barking of the aroused watch-dogs seemed to give

wings to their feet.

" If we can only get to the old tannery before we break down! "

whispered Tom, in short catches between breaths. " I can't stand it much

longer. "

Huckleberry's hard pantings were his only reply, and the boys fixed

their eyes on the goal of their hopes and bent to their work to win it.

They gained steadily on it, and at last, breast to breast, they burst

through the open door and fell grateful and exhausted in the sheltering

shadows beyond. By and by their pulses slowed down, and Tom whispered:

" Huckleberry, what do you reckon'll come of this? "

" If Doctor Robinson dies, I reckon hanging'll come of it. "

" Do you though? "

" Why, I KNOW it, Tom. "

Tom thought a while, then he said:

" Who'll tell? We? "

" What are you talking about? S'pose something happened and Injun Joe

DIDN'T hang? Why, he'd kill us some time or other, just as dead sure as

we're a laying here. "

" That's just what I was thinking to myself, Huck. "

" If anybody tells, let Muff Potter do it, if he's fool enough. He's

generally drunk enough. "

Tom said nothing--went on thinking. Presently he whispered:

" Huck, Muff Potter don't know it. How can he tell? "

" What's the reason he don't know it? "

" Because he'd just got that whack when Injun Joe done it. D'you reckon

he could see anything? D'you reckon he knowed anything? "

" By hokey, that's so, Tom! "

" And besides, look-a-here--maybe that whack done for HIM! "

" No, 'taint likely, Tom. He had liquor in him; I could see that; and

besides, he always has. Well, when pap's full, you might take and belt

him over the head with a church and you couldn't phase him. He says so,

his own self. So it's the same with Muff Potter, of course. But if a

man was dead sober, I reckon maybe that whack might fetch him; I dono. "

After another reflective silence, Tom said:

" Hucky, you sure you can keep mum? "

" Tom, we GOT to keep mum. You know that. That Injun devil wouldn't

make any more of drownding us than a couple of cats, if we was to

squeak 'bout this and they didn't hang him. Now, look-a-here, Tom, less

take and swear to one another--that's what we got to do--swear to keep

mum. "

" I'm agreed. It's the best thing. Would you just hold hands and swear

that we--"