บทที่ บทที่ 16 · 第16章

We slept most all day, and started out at night, a little ways behind a

monstrous long raft that was as long going by as a procession. She had

four long sweeps at each end, so we judged she carried as many as

thirty men, likely. She had five big wigwams aboard, wide apart, and an

open camp fire in the middle, and a tall flag-pole at each end. There

was a power of style about her. It _amounted_ to something being a

raftsman on such a craft as that.

We went drifting down into a big bend, and the night clouded up and got

hot. The river was very wide, and was walled with solid timber on both

sides; you couldn’t see a break in it hardly ever, or a light. We

talked about Cairo, and wondered whether we would know it when we got

to it. I said likely we wouldn’t, because I had heard say there warn’t

but about a dozen houses there, and if they didn’t happen to have them

lit up, how was we going to know we was passing a town? Jim said if the

two big rivers joined together there, that would show. But I said maybe

we might think we was passing the foot of an island and coming into the

same old river again. That disturbed Jim—and me too. So the question

was, what to do? I said, paddle ashore the first time a light showed,

and tell them pap was behind, coming along with a trading-scow, and was

a green hand at the business, and wanted to know how far it was to

Cairo. Jim thought it was a good idea, so we took a smoke on it and

waited.

There warn’t nothing to do now but to look out sharp for the town, and

not pass it without seeing it. He said he’d be mighty sure to see it,

because he’d be a free man the minute he seen it, but if he missed it

he’d be in a slave country again and no more show for freedom. Every

little while he jumps up and says:

“Dah she is?”

But it warn’t. It was Jack-o’-lanterns, or lightning bugs; so he set

down again, and went to watching, same as before. Jim said it made him

all over trembly and feverish to be so close to freedom. Well, I can

tell you it made me all over trembly and feverish, too, to hear him,

because I begun to get it through my head that he _was_ most free—and

who was to blame for it? Why, _me_. I couldn’t get that out of my

conscience, no how nor no way. It got to troubling me so I couldn’t

rest; I couldn’t stay still in one place. It hadn’t ever come home to

me before, what this thing was that I was doing. But now it did; and it

stayed with me, and scorched me more and more. I tried to make out to

myself that _I_ warn’t to blame, because _I_ didn’t run Jim off from

his rightful owner; but it warn’t no use, conscience up and says, every

time, “But you knowed he was running for his freedom, and you could a

paddled ashore and told somebody.” That was so—I couldn’t get around

that noway. That was where it pinched. Conscience says to me, “What had

poor Miss Watson done to you that you could see her nigger go off right

under your eyes and never say one single word? What did that poor old

woman do to you that you could treat her so mean? Why, she tried to

learn you your book, she tried to learn you your manners, she tried to

be good to you every way she knowed how. _That’s_ what she done.”

I got to feeling so mean and so miserable I most wished I was dead. I

fidgeted up and down the raft, abusing myself to myself, and Jim was

fidgeting up and down past me. We neither of us could keep still. Every

time he danced around and says, “Dah’s Cairo!” it went through me like

a shot, and I thought if it _was_ Cairo I reckoned I would die of

miserableness.

Jim talked out loud all the time while I was talking to myself. He was

saying how the first thing he would do when he got to a free State he

would go to saving up money and never spend a single cent, and when he

got enough he would buy his wife, which was owned on a farm close to

where Miss Watson lived; and then they would both work to buy the two

children, and if their master wouldn’t sell them, they’d get an

Ab’litionist to go and steal them.

It most froze me to hear such talk. He wouldn’t ever dared to talk such

talk in his life before. Just see what a difference it made in him the

minute he judged he was about free. It was according to the old saying,

“Give a nigger an inch and he’ll take an ell.” Thinks I, this is what

comes of my not thinking. Here was this nigger, which I had as good as

helped to run away, coming right out flat-footed and saying he would

steal his children—children that belonged to a man I didn’t even know;

a man that hadn’t ever done me no harm.

I was sorry to hear Jim say that, it was such a lowering of him. My

conscience got to stirring me up hotter than ever, until at last I says

to it, “Let up on me—it ain’t too late yet—I’ll paddle ashore at the

first light and tell.” I felt easy and happy and light as a feather

right off. All my troubles was gone. I went to looking out sharp for a

light, and sort of singing to myself. By-and-by one showed. Jim sings

out:

“We’s safe, Huck, we’s safe! Jump up and crack yo’ heels! Dat’s de good

ole Cairo at las’, I jis knows it!”

I says:

“I’ll take the canoe and go and see, Jim. It mightn’t be, you know.”

He jumped and got the canoe ready, and put his old coat in the bottom

for me to set on, and give me the paddle; and as I shoved off, he says:

“Pooty soon I’ll be a-shout’n’ for joy, en I’ll say, it’s all on

accounts o’ Huck; I’s a free man, en I couldn’t ever ben free ef it

hadn’ ben for Huck; Huck done it. Jim won’t ever forgit you, Huck;

you’s de bes’ fren’ Jim’s ever had; en you’s de _only_ fren’ ole Jim’s

got now.”

I was paddling off, all in a sweat to tell on him; but when he says

this, it seemed to kind of take the tuck all out of me. I went along

slow then, and I warn’t right down certain whether I was glad I started

or whether I warn’t. When I was fifty yards off, Jim says:

“Dah you goes, de ole true Huck; de on’y white genlman dat ever kep’

his promise to ole Jim.”

Well, I just felt sick. But I says, I _got_ to do it—I can’t get _out_

of it. Right then along comes a skiff with two men in it with guns, and

they stopped and I stopped. One of them says:

“What’s that yonder?”

“A piece of a raft,” I says.

“Do you belong on it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any men on it?”

“Only one, sir.”

“Well, there’s five niggers run off to-night up yonder, above the head

of the bend. Is your man white or black?”

I didn’t answer up prompt. I tried to, but the words wouldn’t come. I

tried for a second or two to brace up and out with it, but I warn’t man

enough—hadn’t the spunk of a rabbit. I see I was weakening; so I just

give up trying, and up and says:

“He’s white.”

“I reckon we’ll go and see for ourselves.”

“I wish you would,” says I, “because it’s pap that’s there, and maybe

you’d help me tow the raft ashore where the light is. He’s sick—and so

is mam and Mary Ann.”

“Oh, the devil! we’re in a hurry, boy. But I s’pose we’ve got to. Come,

buckle to your paddle, and let’s get along.”

I buckled to my paddle and they laid to their oars. When we had made a

stroke or two, I says:

“Pap’ll be mighty much obleeged to you, I can tell you. Everybody goes

away when I want them to help me tow the raft ashore, and I can’t do it

by myself.”

“Well, that’s infernal mean. Odd, too. Say, boy, what’s the matter with

your father?”

“It’s the—a—the—well, it ain’t anything much.”

They stopped pulling. It warn’t but a mighty little ways to the raft

now. One says:

“Boy, that’s a lie. What _is_ the matter with your pap? Answer up

square now, and it’ll be the better for you.”

“I will, sir, I will, honest—but don’t leave us, please. It’s

the—the—gentlemen, if you’ll only pull ahead, and let me heave you the

headline, you won’t have to come a-near the raft—please do.”

“Set her back, John, set her back!” says one. They backed water. “Keep

away, boy—keep to looard. Confound it, I just expect the wind has

blowed it to us. Your pap’s got the small-pox, and you know it precious

well. Why didn’t you come out and say so? Do you want to spread it all

over?”

“Well,” says I, a-blubbering, “I’ve told everybody before, and they

just went away and left us.”

“Poor devil, there’s something in that. We are right down sorry for

you, but we—well, hang it, we don’t want the small-pox, you see. Look

here, I’ll tell you what to do. Don’t you try to land by yourself, or

you’ll smash everything to pieces. You float along down about twenty

miles, and you’ll come to a town on the left-hand side of the river. It

will be long after sun-up then, and when you ask for help you tell them

your folks are all down with chills and fever. Don’t be a fool again,

and let people guess what is the matter. Now we’re trying to do you a

kindness; so you just put twenty miles between us, that’s a good boy.

It wouldn’t do any good to land yonder where the light is—it’s only a

wood-yard. Say, I reckon your father’s poor, and I’m bound to say he’s

in pretty hard luck. Here, I’ll put a twenty-dollar gold piece on this

board, and you get it when it floats by. I feel mighty mean to leave

you; but my kingdom! it won’t do to fool with small-pox, don’t you

see?”

“Hold on, Parker,” says the other man, “here’s a twenty to put on the

board for me. Good-bye, boy; you do as Mr. Parker told you, and you’ll

be all right.”

“That’s so, my boy—good-bye, good-bye. If you see any runaway niggers

you get help and nab them, and you can make some money by it.”

“Good-bye, sir,” says I; “I won’t let no runaway niggers get by me if I

can help it.”

They went off and I got aboard the raft, feeling bad and low, because I

knowed very well I had done wrong, and I see it warn’t no use for me to

try to learn to do right; a body that don’t get _started_ right when

he’s little ain’t got no show—when the pinch comes there ain’t nothing

to back him up and keep him to his work, and so he gets beat. Then I

thought a minute, and says to myself, hold on; s’pose you’d a done

right and give Jim up, would you felt better than what you do now? No,

says I, I’d feel bad—I’d feel just the same way I do now. Well, then,

says I, what’s the use you learning to do right when it’s troublesome

to do right and ain’t no trouble to do wrong, and the wages is just the

same? I was stuck. I couldn’t answer that. So I reckoned I wouldn’t

bother no more about it, but after this always do whichever come

handiest at the time.

I went into the wigwam; Jim warn’t there. I looked all around; he

warn’t anywhere. I says:

“Jim!”

“Here I is, Huck. Is dey out o’ sight yit? Don’t talk loud.”

He was in the river under the stern oar, with just his nose out. I told

him they were out of sight, so he come aboard. He says:

“I was a-listenin’ to all de talk, en I slips into de river en was

gwyne to shove for sho’ if dey come aboard. Den I was gwyne to swim to

de raf’ agin when dey was gone. But lawsy, how you did fool ’em, Huck!

Dat _wuz_ de smartes’ dodge! I tell you, chile, I ’speck it save’ ole

Jim—ole Jim ain’t going to forgit you for dat, honey.”

Then we talked about the money. It was a pretty good raise—twenty

dollars apiece. Jim said we could take deck passage on a steamboat now,

and the money would last us as far as we wanted to go in the free

States. He said twenty mile more warn’t far for the raft to go, but he

wished we was already there.

Towards daybreak we tied up, and Jim was mighty particular about hiding

the raft good. Then he worked all day fixing things in bundles, and

getting all ready to quit rafting.

That night about ten we hove in sight of the lights of a town away down

in a left-hand bend.

I went off in the canoe to ask about it. Pretty soon I found a man out

in the river with a skiff, setting a trot-line. I ranged up and says:

“Mister, is that town Cairo?”

“Cairo? no. You must be a blame’ fool.”

“What town is it, mister?”

“If you want to know, go and find out. If you stay here botherin’

around me for about a half a minute longer you’ll get something you

won’t want.”

I paddled to the raft. Jim was awful disappointed, but I said never

mind, Cairo would be the next place, I reckoned.

We passed another town before daylight, and I was going out again; but

it was high ground, so I didn’t go. No high ground about Cairo, Jim

said. I had forgot it. We laid up for the day on a tow-head tolerable

close to the left-hand bank. I begun to suspicion something. So did

Jim. I says:

“Maybe we went by Cairo in the fog that night.”

He says:

“Doan’ le’s talk about it, Huck. Po’ niggers can’t have no luck. I

awluz ’spected dat rattlesnake-skin warn’t done wid its work.”

“I wish I’d never seen that snake-skin, Jim—I do wish I’d never laid

eyes on it.”

“It ain’t yo’ fault, Huck; you didn’ know. Don’t you blame yo’self

’bout it.”

When it was daylight, here was the clear Ohio water inshore, sure

enough, and outside was the old regular Muddy! So it was all up with

Cairo.

We talked it all over. It wouldn’t do to take to the shore; we couldn’t

take the raft up the stream, of course. There warn’t no way but to wait

for dark, and start back in the canoe and take the chances. So we slept

all day amongst the cottonwood thicket, so as to be fresh for the work,

and when we went back to the raft about dark the canoe was gone!

We didn’t say a word for a good while. There warn’t anything to say. We

both knowed well enough it was some more work of the rattlesnake-skin;

so what was the use to talk about it? It would only look like we was

finding fault, and that would be bound to fetch more bad luck—and keep

on fetching it, too, till we knowed enough to keep still.

By-and-by we talked about what we better do, and found there warn’t no

way but just to go along down with the raft till we got a chance to buy

a canoe to go back in. We warn’t going to borrow it when there warn’t

anybody around, the way pap would do, for that might set people after

us.

So we shoved out after dark on the raft.

Anybody that don’t believe yet that it’s foolishness to handle a

snake-skin, after all that that snake-skin done for us, will believe it

now if they read on and see what more it done for us.

The place to buy canoes is off of rafts laying up at shore. But we

didn’t see no rafts laying up; so we went along during three hours and

more. Well, the night got gray and ruther thick, which is the next

meanest thing to fog. You can’t tell the shape of the river, and you

can’t see no distance. It got to be very late and still, and then along

comes a steamboat up the river. We lit the lantern, and judged she

would see it. Up-stream boats didn’t generly come close to us; they go

out and follow the bars and hunt for easy water under the reefs; but

nights like this they bull right up the channel against the whole

river.

We could hear her pounding along, but we didn’t see her good till she

was close. She aimed right for us. Often they do that and try to see

how close they can come without touching; sometimes the wheel bites off

a sweep, and then the pilot sticks his head out and laughs, and thinks

he’s mighty smart. Well, here she comes, and we said she was going to

try and shave us; but she didn’t seem to be sheering off a bit. She was

a big one, and she was coming in a hurry, too, looking like a black

cloud with rows of glow-worms around it; but all of a sudden she bulged

out, big and scary, with a long row of wide-open furnace doors shining

like red-hot teeth, and her monstrous bows and guards hanging right

over us. There was a yell at us, and a jingling of bells to stop the

engines, a powwow of cussing, and whistling of steam—and as Jim went

overboard on one side and I on the other, she come smashing straight

through the raft.

I dived—and I aimed to find the bottom, too, for a thirty-foot wheel

had got to go over me, and I wanted it to have plenty of room. I could

always stay under water a minute; this time I reckon I stayed under a

minute and a half. Then I bounced for the top in a hurry, for I was

nearly busting. I popped out to my armpits and blowed the water out of

my nose, and puffed a bit. Of course there was a booming current; and

of course that boat started her engines again ten seconds after she

stopped them, for they never cared much for raftsmen; so now she was

churning along up the river, out of sight in the thick weather, though

I could hear her.

I sung out for Jim about a dozen times, but I didn’t get any answer; so

I grabbed a plank that touched me while I was “treading water,” and

struck out for shore, shoving it ahead of me. But I made out to see

that the drift of the current was towards the left-hand shore, which

meant that I was in a crossing; so I changed off and went that way.

It was one of these long, slanting, two-mile crossings; so I was a good

long time in getting over. I made a safe landing, and clumb up the

bank. I couldn’t see but a little ways, but I went poking along over

rough ground for a quarter of a mile or more, and then I run across a

big old-fashioned double log-house before I noticed it. I was going to

rush by and get away, but a lot of dogs jumped out and went to howling

and barking at me, and I knowed better than to move another peg.