THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER 9 страница

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 thunder-peals 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 a

change. They were attracted by this idea; so it was not long before

they were stripped, and striped from head to heel with black mud, like

so many zebras--all of them chiefs, of course--and then they went

tearing through the woods to attack an English settlement.

By and by they separated into three hostile tribes, and darted upon

each other from ambush with dreadful war-whoops, and killed and scalped

each other by thousands. It was a gory day. Consequently it was an

extremely satisfactory one.

They assembled in camp toward supper-time, hungry and happy; but now a

difficulty arose--hostile Indians could not break the bread of

hospitality together without first making peace, and this was a simple

impossibility without smoking a pipe of peace. There was no other

process that ever they had heard of. Two of the savages almost wished

they had remained pirates. However, there was no other way; so with

such show of cheerfulness as they could muster they called for the pipe

and took their whiff as it passed, in due form.

And behold, they were glad they had gone into savagery, for they had

gained something; they found that they could now smoke a little without

having to go and hunt for a lost knife; they did not get sick enough to

be seriously uncomfortable. They were not likely to fool away this high

promise for lack of effort. No, they practised cautiously, after

supper, with right fair success, and so they spent a jubilant evening.

They were prouder and happier in their new acquirement than they would

have been in the scalping and skinning of the Six Nations. We will

leave them to smoke and chatter and brag, since we have no further use

for them at present.

CHAPTER XVII

BUT there was no hilarity in the little town that same tranquil

Saturday afternoon. The Harpers, and Aunt Polly's family, were being

put into mourning, with great grief and many tears. An unusual quiet

possessed the village, although it was ordinarily quiet enough, in all

conscience. The villagers conducted their concerns with an absent air,

and talked little; but they sighed often. The Saturday holiday seemed a

burden to the children. They had no heart in their sports, and

gradually gave them up.

In the afternoon Becky Thatcher found herself moping about the

deserted schoolhouse yard, and feeling very melancholy. But she found

nothing there to comfort her. She soliloquized:

" Oh, if I only had a brass andiron-knob again! But I haven't got

anything now to remember him by. " And she choked back a little sob.

Presently she stopped, and said to herself:

" It was right here. Oh, if it was to do over again, I wouldn't say

that--I wouldn't say it for the whole world. But he's gone now; I'll

never, never, never see him any more. "

This thought broke her down, and she wandered away, with tears rolling

down her cheeks. Then quite a group of boys and girls--playmates of

Tom's and Joe's--came by, and stood looking over the paling fence and

talking in reverent tones of how Tom did so-and-so the last time they

saw him, and how Joe said this and that small trifle (pregnant with

awful prophecy, as they could easily see now! )--and each speaker

pointed out the exact spot where the lost lads stood at the time, and

then added something like " and I was a-standing just so--just as I am

now, and as if you was him--I was as close as that--and he smiled, just

this way--and then something seemed to go all over me, like--awful, you

know--and I never thought what it meant, of course, but I can see now! "

Then there was a dispute about who saw the dead boys last in life, and

many claimed that dismal distinction, and offered evidences, more or

less tampered with by the witness; and when it was ultimately decided

who DID see the departed last, and exchanged the last words with them,

the lucky parties took upon themselves a sort of sacred importance, and

were gaped at and envied by all the rest. One poor chap, who had no

other grandeur to offer, said with tolerably manifest pride in the

remembrance:

" Well, Tom Sawyer he licked me once. "

But that bid for glory was a failure. Most of the boys could say that,

and so that cheapened the distinction too much. The group loitered

away, still recalling memories of the lost heroes, in awed voices.

When the Sunday-school hour was finished, the next morning, the bell

began to toll, instead of ringing in the usual way. It was a very still

Sabbath, and the mournful sound seemed in keeping with the musing hush

that lay upon nature. The villagers began to gather, loitering a moment

in the vestibule to converse in whispers about the sad event. But there

was no whispering in the house; only the funereal rustling of dresses

as the women gathered to their seats disturbed the silence there. None

could remember when the little church had been so full before. There

was finally a waiting pause, an expectant dumbness, and then Aunt Polly

entered, followed by Sid and Mary, and they by the Harper family, all

in deep black, and the whole congregation, the old minister as well,

rose reverently and stood until the mourners were seated in the front

pew. There was another communing silence, broken at intervals by

muffled sobs, and then the minister spread his hands abroad and prayed.

A moving hymn was sung, and the text followed: " I am the Resurrection

and the Life. "

As the service proceeded, the clergyman drew such pictures of the

graces, the winning ways, and the rare promise of the lost lads that

every soul there, thinking he recognized these pictures, felt a pang in

remembering that he had persistently blinded himself to them always

before, and had as persistently seen only faults and flaws in the poor

boys. The minister related many a touching incident in the lives of the

departed, too, which illustrated their sweet, generous natures, and the

people could easily see, now, how noble and beautiful those episodes

were, and remembered with grief that at the time they occurred they had

seemed rank rascalities, well deserving of the cowhide. The

congregation became more and more moved, as the pathetic tale went on,

till at last the whole company broke down and joined the weeping

mourners in a chorus of anguished sobs, the preacher himself giving way

to his feelings, and crying in the pulpit.

There was a rustle in the gallery, which nobody noticed; a moment

later the church door creaked; the minister raised his streaming eyes

above his handkerchief, and stood transfixed! First one and then

another pair of eyes followed the minister's, and then almost with one

impulse the congregation rose and stared while the three dead boys came

marching up the aisle, Tom in the lead, Joe next, and Huck, a ruin of

drooping rags, sneaking sheepishly in the rear! They had been hid in

the unused gallery listening to their own funeral sermon!

Aunt Polly, Mary, and the Harpers threw themselves upon their restored

ones, smothered them with kisses and poured out thanksgivings, while

poor Huck stood abashed and uncomfortable, not knowing exactly what to

do or where to hide from so many unwelcoming eyes. He wavered, and

started to slink away, but Tom seized him and said:

" Aunt Polly, it ain't fair. Somebody's got to be glad to see Huck. "

" And so they shall. I'm glad to see him, poor motherless thing! " And

the loving attentions Aunt Polly lavished upon him were the one thing

capable of making him more uncomfortable than he was before.

Suddenly the minister shouted at the top of his voice: " Praise God

from whom all blessings flow--SING! --and put your hearts in it! "

And they did. Old Hundred swelled up with a triumphant burst, and

while it shook the rafters Tom Sawyer the Pirate looked around upon the

envying juveniles about him and confessed in his heart that this was

the proudest moment of his life.

As the " sold" congregation trooped out they said they would almost be

willing to be made ridiculous again to hear Old Hundred sung like that

once more.

Tom got more cuffs and kisses that day--according to Aunt Polly's

varying moods--than he had earned before in a year; and he hardly knew

which expressed the most gratefulness to God and affection for himself.

CHAPTER XVIII

THAT was Tom's great secret--the scheme to return home with his

brother pirates and attend their own funerals. They had paddled over to

the Missouri shore on a log, at dusk on Saturday, landing five or six

miles below the village; they had slept in the woods at the edge of the

town till nearly daylight, and had then crept through back lanes and

alleys and finished their sleep in the gallery of the church among a

chaos of invalided benches.

At breakfast, Monday morning, Aunt Polly and Mary were very loving to

Tom, and very attentive to his wants. There was an unusual amount of

talk. In the course of it Aunt Polly said:

" Well, I don't say it wasn't a fine joke, Tom, to keep everybody

suffering 'most a week so you boys had a good time, but it is a pity

you could be so hard-hearted as to let me suffer so. If you could come

over on a log to go to your funeral, you could have come over and give

me a hint some way that you warn't dead, but only run off. "

" Yes, you could have done that, Tom, " said Mary; " and I believe you

would if you had thought of it. "

" Would you, Tom? " said Aunt Polly, her face lighting wistfully. " Say,

now, would you, if you'd thought of it? "

" I--well, I don't know. 'Twould 'a' spoiled everything. "

" Tom, I hoped you loved me that much, " said Aunt Polly, with a grieved

tone that discomforted the boy. " It would have been something if you'd

cared enough to THINK of it, even if you didn't DO it. "

" Now, auntie, that ain't any harm, " pleaded Mary; " it's only Tom's

giddy way--he is always in such a rush that he never thinks of

anything. "

" More's the pity. Sid would have thought. And Sid would have come and

DONE it, too. Tom, you'll look back, some day, when it's too late, and

wish you'd cared a little more for me when it would have cost you so

little. "

" Now, auntie, you know I do care for you, " said Tom.

" I'd know it better if you acted more like it. "

" I wish now I'd thought, " said Tom, with a repentant tone; " but I

dreamt about you, anyway. That's something, ain't it? "

" It ain't much--a cat does that much--but it's better than nothing.

What did you dream? "

" Why, Wednesday night I dreamt that you was sitting over there by the

bed, and Sid was sitting by the woodbox, and Mary next to him. "

" Well, so we did. So we always do. I'm glad your dreams could take

even that much trouble about us. "

" And I dreamt that Joe Harper's mother was here. "

" Why, she was here! Did you dream any more? "

" Oh, lots. But it's so dim, now. "

" Well, try to recollect--can't you? "

" Somehow it seems to me that the wind--the wind blowed the--the--"

" Try harder, Tom! The wind did blow something. Come! "

Tom pressed his fingers on his forehead an anxious minute, and then

said:

" I've got it now! I've got it now! It blowed the candle! "

" Mercy on us! Go on, Tom--go on! "

" And it seems to me that you said, 'Why, I believe that that door--'"

" Go ON, Tom! "

" Just let me study a moment--just a moment. Oh, yes--you said you

believed the door was open. "

" As I'm sitting here, I did! Didn't I, Mary! Go on! "

" And then--and then--well I won't be certain, but it seems like as if

you made Sid go and--and--"

" Well? Well? What did I make him do, Tom? What did I make him do? "

" You made him--you--Oh, you made him shut it. "

" Well, for the land's sake! I never heard the beat of that in all my

days! Don't tell ME there ain't anything in dreams, any more. Sereny

Harper shall know of this before I'm an hour older. I'd like to see her

get around THIS with her rubbage 'bout superstition. Go on, Tom! "

" Oh, it's all getting just as bright as day, now. Next you said I

warn't BAD, only mischeevous and harum-scarum, and not any more

responsible than--than--I think it was a colt, or something. "

" And so it was! Well, goodness gracious! Go on, Tom! "

" And then you began to cry. "

" So I did. So I did. Not the first time, neither. And then--"

" Then Mrs. Harper she began to cry, and said Joe was just the same,

and she wished she hadn't whipped him for taking cream when she'd

throwed it out her own self--"

" Tom! The sperrit was upon you! You was a prophesying--that's what you

was doing! Land alive, go on, Tom! "

" Then Sid he said--he said--"

" I don't think I said anything, " said Sid.

" Yes you did, Sid, " said Mary.

" Shut your heads and let Tom go on! What did he say, Tom? "

" He said--I THINK he said he hoped I was better off where I was gone

to, but if I'd been better sometimes--"

" THERE, d'you hear that! It was his very words! "

" And you shut him up sharp. "

" I lay I did! There must 'a' been an angel there. There WAS an angel

there, somewheres! "

" And Mrs. Harper told about Joe scaring her with a firecracker, and

you told about Peter and the Painkiller--"

" Just as true as I live! "

" And then there was a whole lot of talk 'bout dragging the river for

us, and 'bout having the funeral Sunday, and then you and old Miss

Harper hugged and cried, and she went. "

" It happened just so! It happened just so, as sure as I'm a-sitting in

these very tracks. Tom, you couldn't told it more like if you'd 'a'

seen it! And then what? Go on, Tom! "

" Then I thought you prayed for me--and I could see you and hear every

word you said. And you went to bed, and I was so sorry that I took and

wrote on a piece of sycamore bark, 'We ain't dead--we are only off

being pirates, ' and put it on the table by the candle; and then you

looked so good, laying there asleep, that I thought I went and leaned

over and kissed you on the lips. "

" Did you, Tom, DID you! I just forgive you everything for that! " And

she seized the boy in a crushing embrace that made him feel like the

guiltiest of villains.

" It was very kind, even though it was only a--dream, " Sid soliloquized

just audibly.

" Shut up, Sid! A body does just the same in a dream as he'd do if he

was awake. Here's a big Milum apple I've been saving for you, Tom, if

you was ever found again--now go 'long to school. I'm thankful to the

good God and Father of us all I've got you back, that's long-suffering

and merciful to them that believe on Him and keep His word, though

goodness knows I'm unworthy of it, but if only the worthy ones got His

blessings and had His hand to help them over the rough places, there's

few enough would smile here or ever enter into His rest when the long

night comes. Go 'long Sid, Mary, Tom--take yourselves off--you've

hendered me long enough. "

The children left for school, and the old lady to call on Mrs. Harper

and vanquish her realism with Tom's marvellous dream. Sid had better

judgment than to utter the thought that was in his mind as he left the

house. It was this: " Pretty thin--as long a dream as that, without any

mistakes in it! "

What a hero Tom was become, now! He did not go skipping and prancing,

but moved with a dignified swagger as became a pirate who felt that the

public eye was on him. And indeed it was; he tried not to seem to see

the looks or hear the remarks as he passed along, but they were food

and drink to him. Smaller boys than himself flocked at his heels, as

proud to be seen with him, and tolerated by him, as if he had been the

drummer at the head of a procession or the elephant leading a menagerie

into town. Boys of his own size pretended not to know he had been away

at all; but they were consuming with envy, nevertheless. They would

have given anything to have that swarthy suntanned skin of his, and his

glittering notoriety; and Tom would not have parted with either for a

circus.

At school the children made so much of him and of Joe, and delivered

such eloquent admiration from their eyes, that the two heroes were not

long in becoming insufferably " stuck-up. " They began to tell their

adventures to hungry listeners--but they only began; it was not a thing

likely to have an end, with imaginations like theirs to furnish

material. And finally, when they got out their pipes and went serenely

puffing around, the very summit of glory was reached.

Tom decided that he could be independent of Becky Thatcher now. Glory

was sufficient. He would live for glory. Now that he was distinguished,

maybe she would be wanting to " make up. " Well, let her--she should see

that he could be as indifferent as some other people. Presently she

arrived. Tom pretended not to see her. He moved away and joined a group

of boys and girls and began to talk. Soon he observed that she was

tripping gayly back and forth with flushed face and dancing eyes,

pretending to be busy chasing schoolmates, and screaming with laughter

when she made a capture; but he noticed that she always made her

captures in his vicinity, and that she seemed to cast a conscious eye

in his direction at such times, too. It gratified all the vicious

vanity that was in him; and so, instead of winning him, it only " set

him up" the more and made him the more diligent to avoid betraying that

he knew she was about. Presently she gave over skylarking, and moved

irresolutely about, sighing once or twice and glancing furtively and

wistfully toward Tom. Then she observed that now Tom was talking more

particularly to Amy Lawrence than to any one else. She felt a sharp

pang and grew disturbed and uneasy at once. She tried to go away, but

her feet were treacherous, and carried her to the group instead. She

said to a girl almost at Tom's elbow--with sham vivacity:

" Why, Mary Austin! you bad girl, why didn't you come to Sunday-school? "

" I did come--didn't you see me? "

" Why, no! Did you? Where did you sit? "

" I was in Miss Peters' class, where I always go. I saw YOU. "

" Did you? Why, it's funny I didn't see you. I wanted to tell you about

the picnic. "

" Oh, that's jolly. Who's going to give it? "

" My ma's going to let me have one. "

" Oh, goody; I hope she'll let ME come. "

" Well, she will. The picnic's for me. She'll let anybody come that I

want, and I want you. "

" That's ever so nice. When is it going to be? "

" By and by. Maybe about vacation. "

" Oh, won't it be fun! You going to have all the girls and boys? "

" Yes, every one that's friends to me--or wants to be"; and she glanced

ever so furtively at Tom, but he talked right along to Amy Lawrence

about the terrible storm on the island, and how the lightning tore the

great sycamore tree " all to flinders" while he was " standing within

three feet of it. "

" Oh, may I come? " said Grace Miller.

" Yes. "

" And me? " said Sally Rogers.

" Yes. "

" And me, too? " said Susy Harper. " And Joe? "

" Yes. "

And so on, with clapping of joyful hands till all the group had begged

for invitations but Tom and Amy. Then Tom turned coolly away, still

talking, and took Amy with him. Becky's lips trembled and the tears

came to her eyes; she hid these signs with a forced gayety and went on

chattering, but the life had gone out of the picnic, now, and out of

everything else; she got away as soon as she could and hid herself and

had what her sex call " a good cry. " Then she sat moody, with wounded

pride, till the bell rang. She roused up, now, with a vindictive cast

in her eye, and gave her plaited tails a shake and said she knew what

SHE'D do.

At recess Tom continued his flirtation with Amy with jubilant

self-satisfaction. And he kept drifting about to find Becky and lacerate

her with the performance. At last he spied her, but there was a sudden

falling of his mercury. She was sitting cosily on a little bench behind

the schoolhouse looking at a picture-book with Alfred Temple--and so

absorbed were they, and their heads so close together over the book,

that they did not seem to be conscious of anything in the world besides.

Jealousy ran red-hot through Tom's veins. He began to hate himself for

throwing away the chance Becky had offered for a reconciliation. He

called himself a fool, and all the hard names he could think of. He

wanted to cry with vexation. Amy chatted happily along, as they walked,

for her heart was singing, but Tom's tongue had lost its function. He

did not hear what Amy was saying, and whenever she paused expectantly he

could only stammer an awkward assent, which was as often misplaced as

otherwise. He kept drifting to the rear of the schoolhouse, again and

again, to sear his eyeballs with the hateful spectacle there. He could

not help it. And it maddened him to see, as he thought he saw, that

Becky Thatcher never once suspected that he was even in the land of the

living. But she did see, nevertheless; and she knew she was winning her

fight, too, and was glad to see him suffer as she had suffered.

Amy's happy prattle became intolerable. Tom hinted at things he had to

attend to; things that must be done; and time was fleeting. But in

vain--the girl chirped on. Tom thought, " Oh, hang her, ain't I ever

going to get rid of her? " At last he must be attending to those

things--and she said artlessly that she would be " around" when school

let out. And he hastened away, hating her for it.

" Any other boy! " Tom thought, grating his teeth. " Any boy in the whole

town but that Saint Louis smarty that thinks he dresses so fine and is

aristocracy! Oh, all right, I licked you the first day you ever saw

this town, mister, and I'll lick you again! You just wait till I catch

you out! I'll just take and--"

And he went through the motions of thrashing an imaginary boy