Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

ice-looking younger one, with his right arm in a sling. And, my souls,
how the people yelled and laughed, and kept it up. But I didn’t see no
joke about it, and I judged it would strain the duke and the king some
to see any. I reckoned they’d turn pale. But no, nary a pale did they
turn. The duke he never let on he suspicioned what was up, but just
went a goo-gooing around, happy and satisfied, like a jug that’s
googling out buttermilk; and as for the king, he just gazed and gazed
down sorrowful on them new-comers like it give him the stomach-ache in
his very heart to think there could be such frauds and rascals in the
world. Oh, he done it admirable. Lots of the principal people gethered
around the king, to let him see they was on his side. That old
gentleman that had just come looked all puzzled to death. Pretty soon
he begun to speak, and I see straight off he pronounced like an
Englishman—not the king’s way, though the king’s was pretty good for
an imitation. I can’t give the old gent’s words, nor I can’t imitate
him; but he turned around to the crowd, and says, about like this:

“This is a surprise to me which I wasn’t looking for; and I’ll
acknowledge, candid and frank, I ain’t very well fixed to meet it and
answer it; for my brother and me has had misfortunes; he’s broke his
arm, and our baggage got put off at a town above here last night in the
night by a mistake. I am Peter Wilks’ brother Harvey, and this is his
brother William, which can’t hear nor speak—and can’t even make signs
to amount to much, now’t he’s only got one hand to work them with. We
are who we say we are; and in a day or two, when I get the baggage, I
can prove it. But up till then I won’t say nothing more, but go to the
hotel and wait.”

So him and the new dummy started off; and the king he laughs, and
blethers out:

“Broke his arm—very likely, ain’t it?—and very convenient, too, for
a fraud that’s got to make signs, and ain’t learnt how. Lost their
baggage! That’s mighty good!—and mighty ingenious—under the
circumstances!”

So he laughed again; and so did everybody else, except three or four,
or maybe half a dozen. One of these was that doctor; another one was a
sharp-looking gentleman, with a carpet-bag of the old-fashioned kind
made out of carpet-stuff, that had just come off of the steamboat and
was talking to him in a low voice, and glancing towards the king now
and then and nodding their heads—it was Levi Bell, the lawyer that was
gone up to Louisville; and another one was a big rough husky that come
along and listened to all the old gentleman said, and was listening to
the king now. And when the king got done this husky up and says:

“Say, looky here; if you are Harvey Wilks, when’d you come to this
town?”

“The day before the funeral, friend,” says the king.

“But what time o’ day?”

“In the evenin’—’bout an hour er two before sundown.”

“How’d you come?”

“I come down on the Susan Powell from Cincinnati.”

“Well, then, how’d you come to be up at the Pint in the mornin’—in a
canoe?”

“I warn’t up at the Pint in the mornin’.”

“It’s a lie.”

Several of them jumped for him and begged him not to talk that way to
an old man and a preacher.

“Preacher be hanged, he’s a fraud and a liar. He was up at the Pint
that mornin’. I live up there, don’t I? Well, I was up there, and he
was up there. I see him there. He come in a canoe, along with Tim
Collins and a boy.”

The doctor he up and says:

“Would you know the boy again if you was to see him, Hines?”

“I reckon I would, but I don’t know. Why, yonder he is, now. I know him
perfectly easy.”

It was me he pointed at. The doctor says:

“Neighbors, I don’t know whether the new couple is frauds or not; but
if these two ain’t frauds, I am an idiot, that’s all. I think it’s
our duty to see that they don’t get away from here till we’ve looked
into this thing. Come along, Hines; come along, the rest of you. We’ll
take these fellows to the tavern and affront them with t’other couple,
and I reckon we’ll find out something before we get through.”

It was nuts for the crowd, though maybe not for the king’s friends; so
we all started. It was about sundown. The doctor he led me along by the
hand, and was plenty kind enough, but he never let go my hand.

We all got in a big room in the hotel, and lit up some candles, and
fetched in the new couple. First, the doctor says:

“I don’t wish to be too hard on these two men, but I think they’re
frauds, and they may have complices that we don’t know nothing about.
If they have, won’t the complices get away with that bag of gold Peter
Wilks left? It ain’t unlikely. If these men ain’t frauds, they won’t
object to sending for that money and letting us keep it till they prove
they’re all right—ain’t that so?”

Everybody agreed to that. So I judged they had our gang in a pretty
tight place right at the outstart. But the king he only looked
sorrowful, and says:

“Gentlemen, I wish the money was there, for I ain’t got no disposition
to throw anything in the way of a fair, open, out-and-out investigation
o’ this misable business; but, alas, the money ain’t there; you k’n
send and see, if you want to.”

“Where is it, then?”

“Well, when my niece give it to me to keep for her I took and hid it
inside o’ the straw tick o’ my bed, not wishin’ to bank it for the few
days we’d be here, and considerin’ the bed a safe place, we not bein’
used to niggers, and suppos’n’ ’em honest, like servants in England.
The niggers stole it the very next mornin’ after I had went down
stairs; and when I sold ’em I hadn’t missed the money yit, so they got
clean away with it. My servant here k’n tell you ’bout it, gentlemen.”

The doctor and several said “Shucks!” and I see nobody didn’t
altogether believe him. One man asked me if I see the niggers steal it.
I said no, but I see them sneaking out of the room and hustling away,
and I never thought nothing, only I reckoned they was afraid they had
waked up my master and was trying to get away before he made trouble
with them. That was all they asked me. Then the doctor whirls on me and
says:

“Are you English, too?”

I says yes; and him and some others laughed, and said, “Stuff!”

Well, then they sailed in on the general investigation, and there we
had it, up and down, hour in, hour out, and nobody never said a word
about supper, nor ever seemed to think about it—and so they kept it up,
and kept it up; and it was the worst mixed-up thing you ever see.
They made the king tell his yarn, and they made the old gentleman tell
his’n; and anybody but a lot of prejudiced chuckleheads would a seen
that the old gentleman was spinning truth and t’other one lies. And
by-and-by they had me up to tell what I knowed. The king he give me a
left-handed look out of the corner of his eye, and so I knowed enough
to talk on the right side. I begun to tell about Sheffield, and how we
lived there, and all about the English Wilkses, and so on; but I didn’t
get pretty fur till the doctor begun to laugh; and Levi Bell, the
lawyer, says:

“Set down, my boy; I wouldn’t strain myself if I was you. I reckon you
ain’t used to lying, it don’t seem to come handy; what you want is
practice. You do it pretty awkward.”

I didn’t care nothing for the compliment, but I was glad to be let off,
anyway.

The doctor he started to say something, and turns and says:

“If you’d been in town at first, Levi Bell—” The king broke in and
reached out his hand, and says:

“Why, is this my poor dead brother’s old friend that he’s wrote so
often about?”

The lawyer and him shook hands, and the lawyer smiled and looked
pleased, and they talked right along awhile, and then got to one side
and talked low; and at last the lawyer speaks up and says:

“That’ll fix it. I’ll take the order and send it, along with your
brother’s, and then they’ll know it’s all right.”

So they got some paper and a pen, and the king he set down and twisted
his head to one side, and chawed his tongue, and scrawled off
something; and then they give the pen to the duke—and then for the
first time the duke looked sick. But he took the pen and wrote. So then
the lawyer turns to the new old gentleman and says:

“You and your brother please write a line or two and sign your names.”

The old gentleman wrote, but nobody couldn’t read it. The lawyer looked
powerful astonished, and says:

“Well, it beats me”—and snaked a lot of old letters out of his
pocket, and examined them, and then examined the old man’s writing, and
then them again; and then says: “These old letters is from Harvey
Wilks; and here’s these two handwritings, and anybody can see they
didn’t write them” (the king and the duke looked sold and foolish, I
tell you, to see how the lawyer had took them in), “and here’s this
old gentleman’s hand writing, and anybody can tell, easy enough, he
didn’t write them—fact is, the scratches he makes ain’t properly
writing at all. Now, here’s some letters from—”

The new old gentleman says:

“If you please, let me explain. Nobody can read my hand but my brother
there—so he copies for me. It’s his hand you’ve got there, not mine.”

“Well!” says the lawyer, “this is a state of things. I’ve got some
of William’s letters, too; so if you’ll get him to write a line or so
we can com—”

“He can’t write with his left hand,” says the old gentleman. “If he
could use his right hand, you would see that he wrote his own letters
and mine too. Look at both, please—they’re by the same hand.”

The lawyer done it, and says:

“I believe it’s so—and if it ain’t so, there’s a heap stronger
resemblance than I’d noticed before, anyway. Well, well, well! I
thought we was right on the track of a solution, but it’s gone to
grass, partly. But anyway, one thing is proved—these two ain’t
either of ’em Wilkses”—and he wagged his head towards the king and the
duke.

Well, what do you think? That muleheaded old fool wouldn’t give in
then! Indeed he wouldn’t. Said it warn’t no fair test. Said his
brother William was the cussedest joker in the world, and hadn’t
tried to write—he see William was going to play one of his jokes
the minute he put the pen to paper. And so he warmed up and went
warbling and warbling right along till he was actuly beginning to
believe what he was saying himself; but pretty soon the new gentleman
broke in, and says:

“I’ve thought of something. Is there anybody here that helped to lay
out my br—helped to lay out the late Peter Wilks for burying?”

“Yes,” says somebody, “me and Ab Turner done it. We’re both here.”

Then the old man turns towards the king, and says:

“Perhaps this gentleman can tell me what was tattooed on his breast?”

Blamed if the king didn’t have to brace up mighty quick, or he’d a
squshed down like a bluff bank that the river has cut under, it took
him so sudden; and, mind you, it was a thing that was calculated to
make most anybody sqush to get fetched such a solid one as that
without any notice, because how was he going to know what was
tattooed on the man? He whitened a little; he couldn’t help it; and it
was mighty still in there, and everybody bending a little forwards and
gazing at him. Says I to myself, Now he’ll throw up the sponge—there
ain’t no more use. Well, did he? A body can’t hardly believe it, but he
didn’t. I reckon he thought he’d keep the thing up till he tired them
people out, so they’d thin out, and him and the duke could break loose
and get away. Anyway, he set there, and pretty soon he begun to smile,
and says:

“Mf! It’s a very tough question, ain’t it! Yes, sir, I k’n tell
you what’s tattooed on his breast. It’s jest a small, thin, blue
arrow—that’s what it is; and if you don’t look clost, you can’t see it.
Now what do you say—hey?”

Well, I never see anything like that old blister for clean
out-and-out cheek.

The new old gentleman turns brisk towards Ab Turner and his pard, and
his eye lights up like he judged he’d got the king this time, and
says:

“There—you’ve heard what he said! Was there any such mark on Peter
Wilks’ breast?”

Both of them spoke up and says:

“We didn’t see no such mark.”

“Good!” says the old gentleman. “Now, what you did see on his breast
was a small dim P, and a B (which is an initial he dropped when he was
young), and a W, with dashes between them, so: P—B—W”—and he marked
them that way on a piece of paper. “Come, ain’t that what you saw?”

Both of them spoke up again, and says:

“No, we didn’t. We never seen any marks at all.”

Well, everybody was in a state of mind now, and they sings out:

“The whole bilin’ of ’m ’s frauds! Le’s duck ’em! le’s drown ’em!
le’s ride ’em on a rail!” and everybody was whooping at once, and there
was a rattling powwow. But the lawyer he jumps on the table and yells,
and says:

“Gentlemen—gentlemen! Hear me just a word—just a single word—if you
PLEASE! There’s one way yet—let’s go and dig up the corpse and look.”

That took them.

“Hooray!” they all shouted, and was starting right off; but the lawyer
and the doctor sung out:

“Hold on, hold on! Collar all these four men and the boy, and fetch
them along, too!”

“We’ll do it!” they all shouted; “and if we don’t find them marks we’ll
lynch the whole gang!”

I was scared, now, I tell you. But there warn’t no getting away, you
know. They gripped us all, and marched us right along, straight for the
graveyard, which was a mile and a half down the river, and the whole
town at our heels, for we made noise enough, and it was only nine in
the evening.

As we went by our house I wished I hadn’t sent Mary Jane out of town;
because now if I could tip her the wink she’d light out and save me,
and blow on our dead-beats.

Well, we swarmed along down the river road, just carrying on like
wildcats; and to make it more scary the sky was darking up, and the
lightning beginning to wink and flitter, and the wind to shiver amongst
the leaves. This was the most awful trouble and most dangersome I ever
was in; and I was kinder stunned; everything was going so different
from what I had allowed for; stead of being fixed so I could take my
own time if I wanted to, and see all the fun, and have Mary Jane at my
back to save me and set me free when the close-fit come, here was
nothing in the world betwixt me and sudden death but just them
tattoo-marks. If they didn’t find them—

I couldn’t bear to think about it; and yet, somehow, I couldn’t think
about nothing else. It got darker and darker, and it was a beautiful
time to give the crowd the slip; but that big husky had me by the
wrist—Hines—and a body might as well try to give Goliar the slip. He
dragged me right along, he was so excited, and I had to run to keep up.

When they got there they swarmed into the graveyard and washed over it
like an overflow. And when they got to the grave they found they had
about a hundred times as many shovels as they wanted, but nobody hadn’t
thought to fetch a lantern. But they sailed into digging anyway by the
flicker of the lightning, and sent a man to the nearest house, a half a
mile off, to borrow one.

So they dug and dug like everything; and it got awful dark, and the
rain started, and the wind swished and swushed along, and the lightning
come brisker and brisker, and the thunder boomed; but them people never
took no notice of it, they was so full of this business; and one minute
you could see everything and every face in that big crowd, and the
shovelfuls of dirt sailing up out of the grave, and the next second the
dark wiped it all out, and you couldn’t see nothing at all.

At last they got out the coffin and begun to unscrew the lid, and then
such another crowding and shouldering and shoving as there was, to
scrouge in and get a sight, you never see; and in the dark, that way,
it was awful. Hines he hurt my wrist dreadful pulling and tugging so,
and I reckon he clean forgot I was in the world, he was so excited and
panting.

All of a sudden the lightning let go a perfect sluice of white glare,
and somebody sings out:

“By the living jingo, here’s the bag of gold on his breast!”

Hines let out a whoop, like everybody else, and dropped my wrist and
give a big surge to bust his way in and get a look, and the way I lit
out and shinned for the road in the dark there ain’t nobody can tell.

I had the road all to myself, and I fairly flew—leastways, I had it all
to myself except the solid dark, and the now-and-then glares, and the
buzzing of the rain, and the thrashing of the wind, and the splitting
of the thunder; and sure as you are born I did clip it along!

When I struck the town I see there warn’t nobody out in the storm, so I
never hunted for no back streets, but humped it straight through the
main one; and when I begun to get towards our house I aimed my eye and
set it. No light there; the house all dark—which made me feel sorry and
disappointed, I didn’t know why. But at last, just as I was sailing by,
flash comes the light in Mary Jane’s window! and my heart swelled up
sudden, like to bust; and the same second the house and all was behind
me in the dark, and wasn’t ever going to be before me no more in this
world. She was the best girl I ever see, and had the most sand.

The minute I was far enough above the town to see I could make the
tow-head, I begun to look sharp for a boat to borrow, and the first time
the lightning showed me one that wasn’t chained I snatched it and
shoved. It was a canoe, and warn’t fastened with nothing but a rope.
The tow-head was a rattling big distance off, away out there in the
middle of the river, but I didn’t lose no time; and when I struck the
raft at last I was so fagged I would a just laid down to blow and gasp
if I could afforded it. But I didn’t. As I sprung aboard I sung out:

“Out with you, Jim, and set her loose! Glory be to goodness, we’re shut
of them!”

Jim lit out, and was a-coming for me with both arms spread, he was so
full of joy; but when I glimpsed him in the lightning my heart shot up
in my mouth and I went overboard backwards; for I forgot he was old
King Lear and a drownded A-rab all in one, and it most scared the
livers and lights out of me. But Jim fished me out, and was going to
hug me and bless me, and so on, he was so glad I was back and we was
shut of the king and the duke, but I says:

“Not now; have it for breakfast, have it for breakfast! Cut loose and
let her slide!”

So in two seconds away we went a-sliding down the river, and it did
seem so good to be free again and all by ourselves on the big river,
and nobody to bother us. I had to skip around a bit, and jump up and
crack my heels a few times—I couldn’t help it; but about the third
crack I noticed a sound that I knowed mighty well, and held my breath
and listened and waited; and sure enough, when the next flash busted
out over the water, here they come!—and just a-laying to their oars and
making their skiff hum! It was the king and the duke.

So I wilted right down on to the planks then, and give up; and it was
all I could do to keep from crying.