Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

We stopped talking, and got to thinking. By and by Tom said:

“Look here, Huck, what fools we are not to have thought of it before! I bet I know where Jim is.”

“No! Where?”

“In that hut down by the ash hopper. Why, look here. When we were at dinner, didn’t you see an enslaved man go in there with some victuals?”

“Yes.”

“What did you think the victuals were for?”

“For a dog.”

“So did I. Well, it wasn’t for a dog.”

“Why?”

“Because part of it was watermelon.”

“So it was—I noticed it. Well, it does beat all that I never thought about a dog not eating watermelon. It shows how a person can see and not see at the same time.”

“Well, the enslaved man unlocked the padlock when he went in, and he locked it again when he came out. He fetched Uncle a key about the time we got up from the table—the same key, I bet. Watermelon shows a man; a lock shows a prisoner; and it isn’t likely there are two prisoners on such a little plantation, where the people are all so kind and good. Jim’s the prisoner. All right—I’m glad we found it out in detective fashion; I wouldn’t give shucks for any other way. Now you work your mind, and figure out a plan to steal Jim, and I will figure out one, too; and we’ll take the one we like the best.”

What a head for just a boy to have! If I had Tom Sawyer’s head I wouldn’t trade it off to be a duke, nor the mate of a steamboat, nor a clown in a circus, nor anything I can think of. I began thinking out a plan, but only just to be doing something; I knew very well where the right plan was going to come from. Pretty soon Tom said:

“Ready?”

“Yes,” I said.

“All right—bring it out.”

“My plan is this,” I said. “We can easily find out if it’s Jim in there. Then get up my canoe tomorrow night, and fetch my raft over from the island. Then the first dark night that comes, steal the key out of the old man’s trousers after he goes to bed, and shove off down the river on the raft with Jim, hiding in the daytime and running at night, the way Jim and I used to do before. Wouldn’t that plan work?”

“Work? Why, certainly it would work, like rats fighting. But it’s too blamed simple; there isn’t anything to it. What’s the good of a plan that isn’t any more trouble than that? It’s as mild as goose milk. Why, Huck, it wouldn’t make any more talk than breaking into a soap factory.”

I never said anything, because I wasn’t expecting anything different; but I knew mighty well that whenever he got his plan ready it wouldn’t have any of those objections to it.

And it didn’t. He told me what it was, and I saw in a minute it was worth fifteen of mine for style, and would make Jim just as free a man as mine would, and maybe get us all killed besides. So I was satisfied, and said we would waltz in on it. I need not tell what it was here, because I knew it wouldn’t stay the way it was. I knew he would be changing it around every which way as we went along, and heaving in new bullinesses wherever he got a chance. And that is what he did.

Well, one thing was dead sure, and that was that Tom Sawyer was in earnest, and was actually going to help steal that enslaved man out of slavery. That was the thing that was too many for me. Here was a boy who was respectable and well brought up, and had a character to lose, and folks at home who had characters; and he was bright and not leather-headed, and knowing and not ignorant, and not mean, but kind; and yet here he was, without any more pride, or rightness, or feeling, than to stoop to this business, and make himself a shame, and his family a shame, before everybody. I couldn’t understand it in any way at all. It was outrageous, and I knew I ought to just up and tell him so; and so be his true friend, and let him quit the thing right where he was and save himself. And I did start to tell him; but he shut me up, and said:

“Don’t you reckon I know what I’m about? Don’t I generally know what I’m about?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t I say I was going to help steal the enslaved man?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then.”

That’s all he said, and that’s all I said. It was no use to say any more, because when he said he would do a thing, he always did it. But I couldn’t make out how he was willing to go into this thing; so I just let it go, and never bothered any more about it. If he was bound to have it so, I couldn’t help it.

When we got home the house was all dark and still; so we went on down to the hut by the ash hopper to examine it. We went through the yard so as to see what the hounds would do. They knew us, and didn’t make any more noise than country dogs are always making when anything comes by in the night. When we got to the cabin we took a look at the front and the two sides; and on the side I wasn’t acquainted with—which was the north side—we found a square window hole, up fairly high, with just one stout board nailed across it. I said:

“Here’s the ticket. This hole is big enough for Jim to get through if we wrench off the board.”

Tom said:

“It’s as simple as tic-tac-toe, three-in-a-row, and as easy as playing hooky. I should hope we can find a way that’s a little more complicated than that, Huck Finn.”

“Well, then,” I said, “how will it do to saw him out, the way I did before I was murdered that time?”

“That’s more like it,” he said. “It’s really mysterious, and troublesome, and good,” he said; “but I bet we can find a way that’s twice as long. There isn’t any hurry; let’s keep on looking around.”

Between the hut and the fence, on the back side, was a lean-to that joined the hut at the eaves, and was made out of planks. It was as long as the hut, but narrow—only about six feet wide. The door to it was at the south end, and was padlocked. Tom went to the soap kettle and searched around, and fetched back the iron thing they lift the lid with; so he took it and pried out one of the staples. The chain fell down, and we opened the door and went in, and shut it, and struck a match, and saw the shed was only built against a cabin and had no connection with it; and there was no floor to the shed, nor anything in it but some old rusty worn-out hoes and spades and picks and a crippled plow. The match went out, and so did we, and we shoved in the staple again, and the door was locked as well as ever. Tom was joyful. He said:

“Now we’re all right. We’ll dig him out. It’ll take about a week!”

Then we started for the house, and I went in the back door—you only have to pull a buckskin latchstring; they don’t fasten the doors—but that wasn’t romantic enough for Tom Sawyer; no way would do for him but to climb up the lightning rod. But after he got up halfway about three times, and missed fire and fell every time, and the last time almost busted his brains out, he thought he had to give it up; but after he was rested he said he would give it one more turn for luck, and this time he made the trip.

In the morning we were up at break of day, and down to the enslaved people’s cabins to pet the dogs and make friends with the enslaved man who fed Jim—if it was Jim who was being fed. The enslaved people were just getting through breakfast and starting for the fields; and the man who fed Jim was piling up a tin pan with bread and meat and things; and while the others were leaving, the key came from the house.

This enslaved man had a good-natured, chuckleheaded face, and his hair was all tied up in little bunches with thread. That was to keep witches off. He said the witches were pestering him awfully these nights, and making him see all kinds of strange things, and hear all kinds of strange words and noises, and he didn’t believe he had ever been witched so long before in his life. He got so worked up, and got to running on so about his troubles, that he forgot all about what he had been going to do. So Tom said:

“What are the victuals for? Going to feed the dogs?”

The enslaved man kind of smiled around gradually over his face, as when you heave a brickbat in a mud puddle, and he said:

“Yes, Master Sid, a dog. A curious dog, too. Do you want to go and look at him?”

“Yes.”

I nudged Tom, and whispered:

“You going, right here at daybreak? That wasn’t the plan.”

“No, it wasn’t; but it’s the plan now.”

So, drat him, we went along, but I didn’t like it much. When we got in we could hardly see anything—it was so dark; but Jim was there, sure enough, and could see us; and he sang out:

“Why, Huck! And good land! Isn’t that Mister Tom?”

I just knew how it would be; I just expected it. I didn’t know anything to do; and if I had, I couldn’t have done it, because that enslaved man burst in and said:

“Why, gracious sakes! Does he know you gentlemen?”

We could see pretty well now. Tom looked at the enslaved man, steadily and kind of wondering, and said:

“Does who know us?”

“Why, this runaway enslaved man.”

“I don’t reckon he does; but what put that into your head?”

“What put it there? Didn’t he just this minute sing out as if he knew you?”

Tom said, in a puzzled kind of way:

“Well, that’s mighty curious. Who sang out? When did he sing out? What did he sing out?” And he turned to me, perfectly calm, and said, “Did you hear anybody sing out?”

Of course there was nothing to be said but the one thing; so I said:

“No; I haven’t heard anybody say anything.”

Then he turned to Jim, and looked him over as if he had never seen him before, and said:

“Did you sing out?”

“No, sir,” said Jim; “I haven’t said anything, sir.”

“Not a word?”

“No, sir, I haven’t said a word.”

“Did you ever see us before?”

“No, sir; not that I know of.”

So Tom turned to the enslaved man, who was looking wild and distressed, and said, kind of severely:

“What do you reckon is the matter with you, anyway? What made you think somebody sang out?”

“Oh, it’s the dad-blamed witches, sir, and I wish I were dead, I do. They’re always at it, sir, and they almost kill me—they scare me so. Please don’t tell anybody about it, sir, or old Master Silas will scold me, because he says there aren’t any witches. I just wish to goodness he were here now—then what would he say! I just bet he couldn’t find any way to get around it this time. But it’s always just so; people who are set stay set; they won’t look into anything and find it out for themselves, and when you find it out and tell them about it, they don’t believe you.”

Tom gave him a dime, and said we wouldn’t tell anybody; and told him to buy some more thread to tie up his hair with; and then looked at Jim, and said:

“I wonder if Uncle Silas is going to hang this enslaved man. If I were to catch an enslaved man who was ungrateful enough to run away, I wouldn’t give him up; I’d hang him.” And while the enslaved man stepped to the door to look at the dime and bite it to see if it was good, he whispered to Jim and said:

“Don’t ever let on that you know us. And if you hear any digging going on at night, 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 enslaved man came back, and we said we would come again sometime if the enslaved man wanted us to; and he said he would, more particularly if it was dark, because the witches went for him mostly in the dark, and it was good to have folks around then.