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“No, sah,” says Jim; “I hain’t said nothing, sah.” |
“Not a word?” |
“No, sah, I hain’t said a word.” |
“Did you ever see us before?” |
“No, sah; not as I knows on.” |
So Tom turns to the nigger, which was looking wild and distressed, and says, kind of severe: |
“What do you reckon’s the matter with you, anyway? What made you think somebody sung out?” |
“Oh, it’s de dad-blame’ witches, sah, en I wisht I was dead, I do. Dey’s awluz at it, sah, en dey do mos’ kill me, dey sk’yers me so. Please to don’t tell nobody ’bout it sah, er ole Mars Silas he’ll scole me; ’kase he say dey ain’t no witches. I jis’ wish to goodness he was heah now—den what would he say! I jis’ bet h... |
Tom give him a dime, and said we wouldn’t tell nobody; and told him to buy some more thread to tie up his wool with; and then looks at Jim, and says: |
“I wonder if Uncle Silas is going to hang this nigger. If I was to catch a nigger that was ungrateful enough to run away, I wouldn’t give him up, I’d hang him.” And whilst the nigger stepped to the door to look at the dime and bite it to see if it was good, he whispers to Jim and says: |
“Don’t ever let on to know us. And if you hear any digging going on nights, it’s us; we’re going to set you free.” |
Jim only had time to grab us by the hand and squeeze it; then the nigger come back, and we said we’d come again some time if the nigger wanted us to; and he said he would, more particular if it was dark, because the witches went for him mostly in the dark, and it was good to have folks around then. |
CHAPTER XXXV. |
It would be most an hour yet till breakfast, so we left and struck down into the woods; because Tom said we got to have some light to see how to dig by, and a lantern makes too much, and might get us into trouble; what we must have was a lot of them rotten chunks that’s called fox-fire, and just makes a soft kind of a ... |
“Blame it, this whole thing is just as easy and awkward as it can be. And so it makes it so rotten difficult to get up a difficult plan. There ain’t no watchman to be drugged—now there ought to be a watchman. There ain’t even a dog to give a sleeping-mixture to. And there’s Jim chained by one leg, with a ten-foot chain... |
“What do we want of a saw?” |
“What do we want of it? Hain’t we got to saw the leg of Jim’s bed off, so as to get the chain loose?” |
“Why, you just said a body could lift up the bedstead and slip the chain off.” |
“Well, if that ain’t just like you, Huck Finn. You can get up the infant-schooliest ways of going at a thing. Why, hain’t you ever read any books at all?—Baron Trenck, nor Casanova, nor Benvenuto Chelleeny, nor Henri IV., nor none of them heroes? Who ever heard of getting a prisoner loose in such an old-maidy way as th... |
I says: |
“What do we want of a moat when we’re going to snake him out from under the cabin?” |
But he never heard me. He had forgot me and everything else. He had his chin in his hand, thinking. Pretty soon he sighs and shakes his head; then sighs again, and says: |
“No, it wouldn’t do—there ain’t necessity enough for it.” |
“For what?” I says. |
“Why, to saw Jim’s leg off,” he says. |
“Good land!” I says; “why, there ain’t no necessity for it. And what would you want to saw his leg off for, anyway?” |
“Well, some of the best authorities has done it. They couldn’t get the chain off, so they just cut their hand off and shoved. And a leg would be better still. But we got to let that go. There ain’t necessity enough in this case; and, besides, Jim’s a nigger, and wouldn’t understand the reasons for it, and how it’s the ... |
“Why, Tom Sawyer, how you talk,” I says; “Jim ain’t got no use for a rope ladder.” |
“He has got use for it. How you talk, you better say; you don’t know nothing about it. He’s got to have a rope ladder; they all do.” |
“What in the nation can he do with it?” |
“Do with it? He can hide it in his bed, can’t he?” That’s what they all do; and he’s got to, too. Huck, you don’t ever seem to want to do anything that’s regular; you want to be starting something fresh all the time. S’pose he don’t do nothing with it? ain’t it there in his bed, for a clew, after he’s gone? and don’t y... |
“Well,” I says, “if it’s in the regulations, and he’s got to have it, all right, let him have it; because I don’t wish to go back on no regulations; but there’s one thing, Tom Sawyer—if we go to tearing up our sheets to make Jim a rope ladder, we’re going to get into trouble with Aunt Sally, just as sure as you’re born... |
“Oh, shucks, Huck Finn, if I was as ignorant as you I’d keep still—that’s what I’d do. Who ever heard of a state prisoner escaping by a hickry-bark ladder? Why, it’s perfectly ridiculous.” |
“Well, all right, Tom, fix it your own way; but if you’ll take my advice, you’ll let me borrow a sheet off of the clothesline.” |
He said that would do. And that gave him another idea, and he says: |
“Borrow a shirt, too.” |
“What do we want of a shirt, Tom?” |
“Want it for Jim to keep a journal on.” |
“Journal your granny—Jim can’t write.” |
“S’pose he can’t write—he can make marks on the shirt, can’t he, if we make him a pen out of an old pewter spoon or a piece of an old iron barrel-hoop?” |
“Why, Tom, we can pull a feather out of a goose and make him a better one; and quicker, too.” |
“Prisoners don’t have geese running around the donjon-keep to pull pens out of, you muggins. They always make their pens out of the hardest, toughest, troublesomest piece of old brass candlestick or something like that they can get their hands on; and it takes them weeks and weeks and months and months to file it out, ... |
“Well, then, what’ll we make him the ink out of?” |
“Many makes it out of iron-rust and tears; but that’s the common sort and women; the best authorities uses their own blood. Jim can do that; and when he wants to send any little common ordinary mysterious message to let the world know where he’s captivated, he can write it on the bottom of a tin plate with a fork and t... |
“Jim ain’t got no tin plates. They feed him in a pan.” |
“That ain’t nothing; we can get him some.” |
“Can’t nobody read his plates.” |
“That ain’t got anything to do with it, Huck Finn. All he’s got to do is to write on the plate and throw it out. You don’t have to be able to read it. Why, half the time you can’t read anything a prisoner writes on a tin plate, or anywhere else.” |
“Well, then, what’s the sense in wasting the plates?” |
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