Kabanata Kabanata 15 · CHAPTER XV. Tom Reconnoiters—Learns the Situation—Reports at Camp

. CHAPTER XV. Tom Reconnoiters—Learns the Situation—Reports at Camp

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 halfway

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

misch_ee_vous. 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 _your_self, 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 mid-channel, 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 goodnight 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 goodnight 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.