Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Chapters 16 to 20, Page 3

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  COL. GRANGERFORD was a gentleman, you see. He was a gentleman all over;and so was his family. He was well born, as the saying is, and that'sworth as much in a man as it is in a horse, so the Widow Douglas said,and nobody ever denied that she was of the first aristocracy in our town;and pap he always said it, too, though he warn't no more quality than amudcat himself. Col. Grangerford was very tall and very slim, and had adarkish-paly complexion, not a sign of red in it anywheres; he was cleanshaved every morning all over his thin face, and he had the thinnest kindof lips, and the thinnest kind of nostrils, and a high nose, and heavyeyebrows, and the blackest kind of eyes, sunk so deep back that theyseemed like they was looking out of caverns at you, as you may say. Hisforehead was high, and his hair was black and straight and hung to hisshoulders. His hands was long and thin, and every day of his life he puton a clean shirt and a full suit from head to foot made out of linen sowhite it hurt your eyes to look at it; and on Sundays he wore a bluetail-coat with brass buttons on it. He carried a mahogany cane with asilver head to it. There warn't no frivolishness about him, not a bit,and he warn't ever loud. He was as kind as he could be--you could feelthat, you know, and so you had confidence. Sometimes he smiled, and itwas good to see; but when he straightened himself up like a liberty-pole,and the lightning begun to flicker out from under his eyebrows, youwanted to climb a tree first, and find out what the matter wasafterwards. He didn't ever have to tell anybody to mind their manners--everybody was always good-mannered where he was. Everybody loved to havehim around, too; he was sunshine most always--I mean he made it seemlike good weather. When he turned into a cloudbank it was awful dark forhalf a minute, and that was enough; there wouldn't nothing go wrong againfor a week.

  When him and the old lady come down in the morning all the family got upout of their chairs and give them good-day, and didn't set down againtill they had set down. Then Tom and Bob went to the sideboard where thedecanter was, and mixed a glass of bitters and handed it to him, and heheld it in his hand and waited till Tom's and Bob's was mixed, and thenthey bowed and said, "Our duty to you, sir, and madam;" and THEY bowedthe least bit in the world and said thank you, and so they drank, allthree, and Bob and Tom poured a spoonful of water on the sugar and themite of whisky or apple brandy in the bottom of their tumblers, and giveit to me and Buck, and we drank to the old people too.

  Bob was the oldest and Tom next--tall, beautiful men with very broadshoulders and brown faces, and long black hair and black eyes. Theydressed in white linen from head to foot, like the old gentleman, andwore broad Panama hats.

  Then there was Miss Charlotte; she was twenty-five, and tall and proudand grand, but as good as she could be when she warn't stirred up; butwhen she was she had a look that would make you wilt in your tracks, likeher father. She was beautiful.

  So was her sister, Miss Sophia, but it was a different kind. She wasgentle and sweet like a dove, and she was only twenty.

  Each person had their own nigger to wait on them--Buck too. My niggerhad a monstrous easy time, because I warn't used to having anybody doanything for me, but Buck's was on the jump most of the time.

  This was all there was of the family now, but there used to be more--three sons; they got killed; and Emmeline that died.

  The old gentleman owned a lot of farms and over a hundred niggers.Sometimes a stack of people would come there, horseback, from ten orfifteen mile around, and stay five or six days, and have such junketingsround about and on the river, and dances and picnics in the woodsdaytimes, and balls at the house nights. These people was mostlykinfolks of the family. The men brought their guns with them. It was ahandsome lot of quality, I tell you.

  There was another clan of aristocracy around there--five or six families--mostly of the name of Shepherdson. They was as high-toned and wellborn and rich and grand as the tribe of Grangerfords. The Shepherdsonsand Grangerfords used the same steamboat landing, which was about twomile above our house; so sometimes when I went up there with a lot of ourfolks I used to see a lot of the Shepherdsons there on their fine horses.

  One day Buck and me was away out in the woods hunting, and heard a horsecoming. We was crossing the road. Buck says:

  "Quick! Jump for the woods!"

  We done it, and then peeped down the woods through the leaves. Prettysoon a splendid young man come galloping down the road, setting his horseeasy and looking like a soldier. He had his gun across his pommel. Ihad seen him before. It was young Harney Shepherdson. I heard Buck'sgun go off at my ear, and Harney's hat tumbled off from his head. Hegrabbed his gun and rode straight to the place where we was hid. But wedidn't wait. We started through the woods on a run. The woods warn'tthick, so I looked over my shoulder to dodge the bullet, and twice I seenHarney cover Buck with his gun; and then he rode away the way he come--toget his hat, I reckon, but I couldn't see. We never stopped running tillwe got home. The old gentleman's eyes blazed a minute--'twas pleasure,mainly, I judged--then his face sort of smoothed down, and he says,kind of gentle:

  "I don't like that shooting from behind a bush. Why didn't you step intothe road, my boy?"

  "The Shepherdsons don't, father. They always take advantage."

  Miss Charlotte she held her head up like a queen while Buck was tellinghis tale, and her nostrils spread and her eyes snapped. The two youngmen looked dark, but never said nothing. Miss Sophia she turned pale,but the color come back when she found the man warn't hurt.

  Soon as I could get Buck down by the corn-cribs under the trees byourselves, I says:

  "Did you want to kill him, Buck?"

  "Well, I bet I did."

  "What did he do to you?"

  "Him? He never done nothing to me."

  "Well, then, what did you want to kill him for?"

  "Why, nothing--only it's on account of the feud."

  "What's a feud?"

  "Why, where was you raised? Don't you know what a feud is?"

  "Never heard of it before--tell me about it."

  "Well," says Buck, "a feud is this way: A man has a quarrel with anotherman, and kills him; then that other man's brother kills HIM; then theother brothers, on both sides, goes for one another; then the COUSINSchip in--and by and by everybody's killed off, and there ain't no morefeud. But it's kind of slow, and takes a long time."

  "Has this one been going on long, Buck?"

  "Well, I should RECKON! It started thirty year ago, or som'ers alongthere. There was trouble 'bout something, and then a lawsuit to settleit; and the suit went agin one of the men, and so he up and shot the manthat won the suit--which he would naturally do, of course. Anybodywould."

  "What was the trouble about, Buck?--land?"

  "I reckon maybe--I don't know."

  "Well, who done the shooting? Was it a Grangerford or a Shepherdson?"

  "Laws, how do I know? It was so long ago."

  "Don't anybody know?"

  "Oh, yes, pa knows, I reckon, and some of the other old people; but theydon't know now what the row was about in the first place."

  "Has there been many killed, Buck?"

  "Yes; right smart chance of funerals. But they don't always kill. Pa'sgot a few buckshot in him; but he don't mind it 'cuz he don't weigh much,anyway. Bob's been carved up some with a bowie, and Tom's been hurt onceor twice."

  "Has anybody been killed this year, Buck?"

  "Yes; we got one and they got one. 'Bout three months ago my cousin Bud,fourteen year old, was riding through the woods on t'other side of theriver, and didn't have no weapon with him, which was blame' foolishness,and in a lonesome place he hears a horse a-coming behind him, and seesold Baldy Shepherdson a-linkin' after him with his gun in his hand andhis white hair a-flying in the wind; and 'stead of jumping off and takingto the brush, Bud 'lowed he could out-run him; so they had it, nip andtuck, for five mile or more, the old man a-gaining all the time; so atlast Bud seen it warn't any use, so he stopped and faced around so as tohave the bulle
t holes in front, you know, and the old man he rode up andshot him down. But he didn't git much chance to enjoy his luck, forinside of a week our folks laid HIM out."

  "I reckon that old man was a coward, Buck."

  "I reckon he WARN'T a coward. Not by a blame' sight. There ain't acoward amongst them Shepherdsons--not a one. And there ain't no cowardsamongst the Grangerfords either. Why, that old man kep' up his end in afight one day for half an hour against three Grangerfords, and come outwinner. They was all a-horseback; he lit off of his horse and got behinda little woodpile, and kep' his horse before him to stop the bullets; butthe Grangerfords stayed on their horses and capered around the old man,and peppered away at him, and he peppered away at them. Him and hishorse both went home pretty leaky and crippled, but the Grangerfords hadto be FETCHED home--and one of 'em was dead, and another died the nextday. No, sir; if a body's out hunting for cowards he don't want to foolaway any time amongst them Shepherdsons, becuz they don't breed any ofthat KIND."

  Next Sunday we all went to church, about three mile, everybodya-horseback. The men took their guns along, so did Buck, and kept thembetween their knees or stood them handy against the wall. TheShepherdsons done the same. It was pretty ornery preaching--all aboutbrotherly love, and such-like tiresomeness; but everybody said it was agood sermon, and they all talked it over going home, and had such apowerful lot to say about faith and good works and free grace andpreforeordestination, and I don't know what all, that it did seem to meto be one of the roughest Sundays I had run across yet.

  About an hour after dinner everybody was dozing around, some in theirchairs and some in their rooms, and it got to be pretty dull. Buck and adog was stretched out on the grass in the sun sound asleep. I went up toour room, and judged I would take a nap myself. I found that sweet MissSophia standing in her door, which was next to ours, and she took me inher room and shut the door very soft, and asked me if I liked her, and Isaid I did; and she asked me if I would do something for her and not tellanybody, and I said I would. Then she said she'd forgot her Testament,and left it in the seat at church between two other books, and would Islip out quiet and go there and fetch it to her, and not say nothing tonobody. I said I would. So I slid out and slipped off up the road, andthere warn't anybody at the church, except maybe a hog or two, for therewarn't any lock on the door, and hogs likes a puncheon floor insummer-time because it's cool. If you notice, most folks don't goto church only when they've got to; but a hog is different.

  Says I to myself, something's up; it ain't natural for a girl to be insuch a sweat about a Testament. So I give it a shake, and out drops alittle piece of paper with "HALF-PAST TWO" wrote on it with a pencil. Iransacked it, but couldn't find anything else. I couldn't make anythingout of that, so I put the paper in the book again, and when I got homeand upstairs there was Miss Sophia in her door waiting for me. Shepulled me in and shut the door; then she looked in the Testament till shefound the paper, and as soon as she read it she looked glad; and before abody could think she grabbed me and give me a squeeze, and said I was thebest boy in the world, and not to tell anybody. She was mighty red inthe face for a minute, and her eyes lighted up, and it made her powerfulpretty. I was a good deal astonished, but when I got my breath I askedher what the paper was about, and she asked me if I had read it, and Isaid no, and she asked me if I could read writing, and I told her "no,only coarse-hand," and then she said the paper warn't anything but abook-mark to keep her place, and I might go and play now.

  I went off down to the river, studying over this thing, and pretty soon Inoticed that my nigger was following along behind. When we was out ofsight of the house he looked back and around a second, and then comesa-running, and says:

  "Mars Jawge, if you'll come down into de swamp I'll show you a wholestack o' water-moccasins."

  Thinks I, that's mighty curious; he said that yesterday. He oughter knowa body don't love water-moccasins enough to go around hunting for them.What is he up to, anyway? So I says:

  "All right; trot ahead."

  I followed a half a mile; then he struck out over the swamp, and wadedankle deep as much as another half-mile. We come to a little flat pieceof land which was dry and very thick with trees and bushes and vines, andhe says:

  "You shove right in dah jist a few steps, Mars Jawge; dah's whah dey is.I's seed 'm befo'; I don't k'yer to see 'em no mo'."

  Then he slopped right along and went away, and pretty soon the trees hidhim. I poked into the place a-ways and come to a little open patch asbig as a bedroom all hung around with vines, and found a man laying thereasleep--and, by jings, it was my old Jim!

  I waked him up, and I reckoned it was going to be a grand surprise to himto see me again, but it warn't. He nearly cried he was so glad, but hewarn't surprised. Said he swum along behind me that night, and heard meyell every time, but dasn't answer, because he didn't want nobody to pickHIM up and take him into slavery again. Says he:

  "I got hurt a little, en couldn't swim fas', so I wuz a considable waysbehine you towards de las'; when you landed I reck'ned I could ketch upwid you on de lan' 'dout havin' to shout at you, but when I see dat houseI begin to go slow. I 'uz off too fur to hear what dey say to you--I wuz'fraid o' de dogs; but when it 'uz all quiet agin I knowed you's in dehouse, so I struck out for de woods to wait for day. Early in de mawnin'some er de niggers come along, gwyne to de fields, en dey tuk me enshowed me dis place, whah de dogs can't track me on accounts o' de water,en dey brings me truck to eat every night, en tells me how you's a-gitt'nalong."

  "Why didn't you tell my Jack to fetch me here sooner, Jim?"

  "Well, 'twarn't no use to 'sturb you, Huck, tell we could do sumfn--butwe's all right now. I ben a-buyin' pots en pans en vittles, as I got achanst, en a-patchin' up de raf' nights when--"

  "WHAT raft, Jim?"

  "Our ole raf'."

  "You mean to say our old raft warn't smashed all to flinders?"

  "No, she warn't. She was tore up a good deal--one en' of her was; butdey warn't no great harm done, on'y our traps was mos' all los'. Ef wehadn' dive' so deep en swum so fur under water, en de night hadn' ben sodark, en we warn't so sk'yerd, en ben sich punkin-heads, as de sayin' is,we'd a seed de raf'. But it's jis' as well we didn't, 'kase now she'sall fixed up agin mos' as good as new, en we's got a new lot o' stuff, inde place o' what 'uz los'."

  "Why, how did you get hold of the raft again, Jim--did you catch her?"

  "How I gwyne to ketch her en I out in de woods? No; some er de niggersfoun' her ketched on a snag along heah in de ben', en dey hid her in acrick 'mongst de willows, en dey wuz so much jawin' 'bout which un 'umshe b'long to de mos' dat I come to heah 'bout it pooty soon, so I ups ensettles de trouble by tellin' 'um she don't b'long to none uv um, but toyou en me; en I ast 'm if dey gwyne to grab a young white genlman'spropaty, en git a hid'n for it? Den I gin 'm ten cents apiece, en dey'uz mighty well satisfied, en wisht some mo' raf's 'ud come along en make'm rich agin. Dey's mighty good to me, dese niggers is, en whatever Iwants 'm to do fur me I doan' have to ast 'm twice, honey. Dat Jack's agood nigger, en pooty smart."

  "Yes, he is. He ain't ever told me you was here; told me to come, andhe'd show me a lot of water-moccasins. If anything happens HE ain'tmixed up in it. He can say he never seen us together, and it 'll be thetruth."

  I don't want to talk much about the next day. I reckon I'll cut itpretty short. I waked up about dawn, and was a-going to turn over and goto sleep again when I noticed how still it was--didn't seem to be anybodystirring. That warn't usual. Next I noticed that Buck was up and gone.Well, I gets up, a-wondering, and goes down stairs--nobody around;everything as still as a mouse. Just the same outside. Thinks I, whatdoes it mean? Down by the wood-pile I comes across my Jack, and says:

  "What's it all about?"

  Says he:

  "Don't you know, Mars Jawge?"

  "No," says I, "I don't."

  "Well, den, Miss Sophia's run off! 'deed she has. She run off in denig
ht some time--nobody don't know jis' when; run off to get married todat young Harney Shepherdson, you know--leastways, so dey 'spec. Defambly foun' it out 'bout half an hour ago--maybe a little mo'--en' ITELL you dey warn't no time los'. Sich another hurryin' up guns enhosses YOU never see! De women folks has gone for to stir up derelations, en ole Mars Saul en de boys tuck dey guns en rode up de riverroad for to try to ketch dat young man en kill him 'fo' he kin git acrostde river wid Miss Sophia. I reck'n dey's gwyne to be mighty roughtimes."

  "Buck went off 'thout waking me up."

  "Well, I reck'n he DID! Dey warn't gwyne to mix you up in it. Mars Buckhe loaded up his gun en 'lowed he's gwyne to fetch home a Shepherdson orbust. Well, dey'll be plenty un 'm dah, I reck'n, en you bet you he'llfetch one ef he gits a chanst."

  I took up the river road as hard as I could put. By and by I begin tohear guns a good ways off. When I came in sight of the log store and thewoodpile where the steamboats lands I worked along under the trees andbrush till I got to a good place, and then I clumb up into the forks of acottonwood that was out of reach, and watched. There was a wood-rankfour foot high a little ways in front of the tree, and first I was goingto hide behind that; but maybe it was luckier I didn't.

  There was four or five men cavorting around on their horses in the openplace before the log store, cussing and yelling, and trying to get at acouple of young chaps that was behind the wood-rank alongside of thesteamboat landing; but they couldn't come it. Every time one of themshowed himself on the river side of the woodpile he got shot at. The twoboys was squatting back to back behind the pile, so they could watch bothways.

  By and by the men stopped cavorting around and yelling. They startedriding towards the store; then up gets one of the boys, draws a steadybead over the wood-rank, and drops one of them out of his saddle. Allthe men jumped off of their horses and grabbed the hurt one and startedto carry him to the store; and that minute the two boys started on therun. They got half way to the tree I was in before the men noticed.Then the men see them, and jumped on their horses and took out afterthem. They gained on the boys, but it didn't do no good, the boys hadtoo good a start; they got to the woodpile that was in front of my tree,and slipped in behind it, and so they had the bulge on the men again.One of the boys was Buck, and the other was a slim young chap aboutnineteen years old.

  The men ripped around awhile, and then rode away. As soon as they wasout of sight I sung out to Buck and told him. He didn't know what tomake of my voice coming out of the tree at first. He was awfulsurprised. He told me to watch out sharp and let him know when the mencome in sight again; said they was up to some devilment or other--wouldn't be gone long. I wished I was out of that tree, but I dasn'tcome down. Buck begun to cry and rip, and 'lowed that him and his cousinJoe (that was the other young chap) would make up for this day yet. Hesaid his father and his two brothers was killed, and two or three of theenemy. Said the Shepherdsons laid for them in ambush. Buck said hisfather and brothers ought to waited for their relations--the Shepherdsonswas too strong for them. I asked him what was become of young Harney andMiss Sophia. He said they'd got across the river and was safe. I wasglad of that; but the way Buck did take on because he didn't manage tokill Harney that day he shot at him--I hain't ever heard anything likeit.

  All of a sudden, bang! bang! bang! goes three or four guns--the men hadslipped around through the woods and come in from behind without theirhorses! The boys jumped for the river--both of them hurt--and as theyswum down the current the men run along the bank shooting at them andsinging out, "Kill them, kill them!" It made me so sick I most fell outof the tree. I ain't a-going to tell ALL that happened--it would make mesick again if I was to do that. I wished I hadn't ever come ashore thatnight to see such things. I ain't ever going to get shut of them--lotsof times I dream about them.

  I stayed in the tree till it begun to get dark, afraid to come down.Sometimes I heard guns away off in the woods; and twice I seen littlegangs of men gallop past the log store with guns; so I reckoned thetrouble was still a-going on. I was mighty downhearted; so I made up mymind I wouldn't ever go anear that house again, because I reckoned I wasto blame, somehow. I judged that that piece of paper meant that MissSophia was to meet Harney somewheres at half-past two and run off; and Ijudged I ought to told her father about that paper and the curious wayshe acted, and then maybe he would a locked her up, and this awful messwouldn't ever happened.

  When I got down out of the tree I crept along down the river bank apiece, and found the two bodies laying in the edge of the water, andtugged at them till I got them ashore; then I covered up their faces, andgot away as quick as I could. I cried a little when I was covering upBuck's face, for he was mighty good to me.

  It was just dark now. I never went near the house, but struck throughthe woods and made for the swamp. Jim warn't on his island, so I trampedoff in a hurry for the crick, and crowded through the willows, red-hot tojump aboard and get out of that awful country. The raft was gone! Mysouls, but I was scared! I couldn't get my breath for most a minute.Then I raised a yell. A voice not twenty-five foot from me says:

  "Good lan'! is dat you, honey? Doan' make no noise."

  It was Jim's voice--nothing ever sounded so good before. I run along thebank a piece and got aboard, and Jim he grabbed me and hugged me, he wasso glad to see me. He says:

  "Laws bless you, chile, I 'uz right down sho' you's dead agin. Jack'sbeen heah; he say he reck'n you's ben shot, kase you didn' come home nomo'; so I's jes' dis minute a startin' de raf' down towards de mouf er decrick, so's to be all ready for to shove out en leave soon as Jack comesagin en tells me for certain you IS dead. Lawsy, I's mighty glad to gityou back again, honey."

  I says:

  "All right--that's mighty good; they won't find me, and they'll thinkI've been killed, and floated down the river--there's something up therethat 'll help them think so--so don't you lose no time, Jim, but justshove off for the big water as fast as ever you can."

  I never felt easy till the raft was two mile below there and out in themiddle of the Mississippi. Then we hung up our signal lantern, andjudged that we was free and safe once more. I hadn't had a bite to eatsince yesterday, so Jim he got out some corn-dodgers and buttermilk, andpork and cabbage and greens--there ain't nothing in the world so goodwhen it's cooked right--and whilst I eat my supper we talked and had agood time. I was powerful glad to get away from the feuds, and so wasJim to get away from the swamp. We said there warn't no home like araft, after all. Other places do seem so cramped up and smothery, but araft don't. You feel mighty free and easy and comfortable on a raft.