Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Zombie Jim (16 page)

"Buck went off ‘thout waking me up."

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

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

There was four or five men cavorting around on their horses in the open place before the log store, cussing and yelling, and trying to get at a couple of young chaps that was behind the wood-rank alongside of the steamboat landing; but they couldn't come it. Every time one of them showed himself on the river side of the woodpile he got shot at. The two boys was squatting back to back behind the pile, so they could watch both ways.

By and by the men stopped cavorting around and yelling. They started riding towards the store; then up gets one of the boys, draws a steady bead over the wood-rank, and drops one of them out of his saddle. All the men jumped off of their horses and grabbed the hurt one and started to carry him to the store; and that minute the two boys started on the run. 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 after them. They gained on the boys, but it didn't do no good, the boys had too 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 about nineteen years old.

The men ripped around awhile, and then rode away. As soon as they was out of sight I sung out to Buck and told him. He didn't know what to make of my voice coming out of the tree at first. He was awful surprised. He told me to watch out sharp and let him know when the men come 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't come down. Buck begun to cry and rip, and ‘lowed that him and his cousin Joe (that was the other young chap) would make up for this day yet. He said his father and his two brothers was killed, and two or three of the enemy. Said the Shepherdsons laid for them in ambush. Buck said his father and brothers ought to waited for their relations-the Shepherdsons was too strong for them. I asked him what was become of young Harney and Miss Sophia. He said they'd got across the river and was safe. I was glad of that; but the way Buck did take on because he didn't manage to kill Harney that day he shot at him-I hain't ever heard anything like it.

All of a sudden, bang! bang! bang! goes three or four guns-the men had slipped around through the woods and come in from behind without their horses! The boys jumped for the river-both of them hurt-and as they swum down the current the men run along the bank shooting at them and singing out, “Kill them, kill them!"

And things got much worse than that. Here come a terrible sound, like a crowd of angry hooligans shouting pure gibberish, and from the north comes a storm of teeth and limbs. These was bunderlugs, full-baggers, vicious and stoked with rage.

Where they come out of, I don't know. Somebody might think these zombys got themselves all together and hatched a scheme to cause a bunch of trouble; but someone else might incline to think it was a body's idea to catch n’ corral ‘em an’ release ‘em like a stampeding army at just the right moment.

So there was all this rage and viciousness going on. Men who was shooting on one another had to turn and shoot on the crazed baggers, some two-dozen strong. And it wasn't enough to kill a bagger by shooting him in the gut or in the chest. As I said, you got to get him in the brains, specific'ly at the trunk. You got to put him down by smashing his senses into jelly, otherwise he'll just keep comin’ at you.

Well, what happened was an orgy of teeth and blood.

All those folks down there, no matter who they was or whose side they was on, they got themselves all tore up and ate by this throng of full-baggers.

It made me so sick I most fell out of the tree. I ain't a-going to tell
all
that happened-it would make me sick again if I was to do that. I wished I hadn't ever come ashore that night to see such things. I ain't ever going to get shut of them-lots of times I dream about them. Of these vicious men being outnumbered by even greater viciousness. Ever'thing Jim said ‘bout feeling strange an’ hungry was true. Them bunderlugs had a wicked taste for human flesh.

Only the devil could concoct such a thing.

I stayed in the tree till it begun to get dark, afraid to come down. There was no sound from a living person, only a few stray horses here and about. And when all that was left of the Shepherdsons and the Grangerfords was bones and steel, the baggers began to thin out, moving off into the bushes, yonder. They din’ mark me. Their bellies was too full up to care anymore, I s'pect.

And there was all these piles of chewed meat, red and purple, which had passed through the baggers without being even a mite digested.

I saw another thing, too, which I will get to in a spell.

I was completely sickened and downhearted; so I made up my mind I wouldn't ever go anear that house again, because I reckoned I was to blame, somehow. I judged that that piece of paper meant that Miss Sophia was to meet Harney somewheres at half-past two and run off; and I judged I ought to told her father about that paper and the curious way she acted, and then maybe he would a locked her up, and this awful mess wouldn't ever happened.

When I got down out of the tree I crept along down the river bank a piece, and found two bodies laying in the edge of the water, and tugged at them till I got them ashore; these ones wasn't eaten by zombys; then I covered up their faces, and got away as quick as I could. I cried a little when I was covering up Buck's face, for he was mighty good to me.

It was just dark now. I never went near the house, but struck through the woods and made for the swamp. Jim warn't on his island, so I tramped off in a hurry for the crick, and crowded through the willows, red-hot to jump aboard and get out of that awful country. The raft was gone! My souls, 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 the bank a piece and got aboard, and Jim he grabbed me and hugged me, he was so glad to see me. He says:

"Laws bless you, chile, I ‘uz right down sho’ you's dead agin. Bagger's been heah; he say he reck'n you's ben shot or ate up, kase you didn’ come home no mo'; so I's jes’ dis minute a startin’ de raf’ down towards de mouf er de crick, so's to be all ready for to shove out en leave soon as Jack comes agin en tells me for certain you IS dead. Lawsy, I's mighty glad to git you back again, honey."

I says:

"All right-that's mighty good; folks'll think I've been killed again, and chewed up or floated down the river-there's
lots
up there that ‘ll
surely
help them think so-so don't you lose no time, Jim, but just shove off for the big water as fast as ever you can. The woods is full up of monsters, more'n I coula ‘magined."

I never felt easy till the raft was two mile below there and out in the middle of the Mississippi. Then we hung up our signal lantern, and judged that we was free and safe once more. I hadn't had a bite to eat since yesterday, an’ I first wasn't sure thet I
could
eat but my stummick said it surely thought so, so Jim he got out some corn-dodgers and buttermilk, and pork and cabbage and greens-there ain't nothing in the world so good when it's cooked right-and whilst I eat my supper we talked and had a good time. I was powerful glad to get away from the death, and so was Jim to get away from the swamp. We said there warn't no home like a raft, after all. Other places do seem so cramped up and smothery, but a raft don't. You feel mighty free and easy and comfortable on a raft.

And the monsters cain't get you there. Not so easy.

I had to ask Jim a thing. I says:

"You say you got the hunger, huh?"

"Aw yes,” Jim says. “I got it alla time, like a pain inside me, but I knows betta than to act on it. I's yo’ friend, Huck. I ain't never want to eat you up."

"When I saw them vicious full-baggers come eatin’ on the Shepherdsons an’ the Grangerfords, I saw other things, too."

"Like what, chile? Say."

"I saw some of the half-baggers thet worked the Grangerford house. I saw thet these ones was among the vicious ones, and they was doing just as much eating. It was like there was no diff'rence in disposition. Like they was the same, all claws an’ teeth, even though they was docile just th’ night before."

"That
is
something, Huck."

"I think so."

A little smoke couldn't be noticed now, so we would take some fish off of the lines and cook up a hot breakfast. And afterwards we would watch the lonesomeness of the river, and kind of lazy along, and by and by lazy off to sleep. Wake up by and by, and look to see what done it, and maybe see a steamboat coughing along up-stream, so far off towards the other side you couldn't tell nothing about her only whether she was a stern-wheel or side-wheel; then for about an hour there wouldn't be nothing to hear nor nothing to see-just solid lonesomeness. Next you'd see a raft sliding by, away off yonder, and maybe a galoot on it chopping, because they're most always doing it on a raft; you'd see the axe flash and come down-you don't hear nothing; you see that axe go up again, and by the time it's above the man's head then you hear the
k'chunk
!-it had took all that time to come over the water. So we would put in the day, lazying around, listening to the stillness. Once there was a thick fog, and the rafts and things that went by was beating tin pans so the steamboats wouldn't run over them. A scow or a raft went by so close we could hear them talking and cussing and laughing-heard them plain; but we couldn't see no sign of them; it made you feel crawly; it was like spirits carrying on that way in the air. Jim said he believed it was spirits; but I says:

"No; spirits wouldn't say, ‘Dern the dern fog.’”

Soon as it was night out we shoved; when we got her out to about the middle we let her alone, and let her float wherever the current wanted her to; then we lit the pipes, and dangled our legs in the water, and talked about all kinds of things-we was always naked, day and night, whenever the mosquitoes would let us-the new clothes Buck's folks made for me was too good to be comfortable, and besides I didn't go much on clothes, nohow.

Jim was a damn sight, naked. If you saw him without his clothes, thar's no way you could mistake him for a living being. Aside from all his lesions and pocks and scars and ‘brasions and holes, such as the spot where I cut his brand out, he was also grossly out of color in certain places. When he was alive, he was a negro of medium darkness, like powdered cocoa. But now that he was dead, having visited the devil, he was all sorts of colors and shades. His back, where the ribs showed through, was like a vibrant purple. His legs below the knees, down to his ankles, was coal black. His stummick was kinda blue and kinda green. He was something like a dark rainbow.

Sometimes we'd have that whole river all to ourselves for the longest time. Yonder was the banks and the islands, across the water; and maybe a spark-which was a candle in a cabin window; and sometimes on the water you could see a spark or two-on a raft or a scow, you know; and maybe you could hear a fiddle or a song coming over from one of them crafts. It's lovely to live on a raft. We had the sky up there, all speckled with stars, and we used to lay on our backs and look up at them, and discuss about whether they was made or only just happened. Jim he allowed they was made, but I allowed they happened; I judged it would have took too long to
make
so many. Jim said the moon could a
laid
them; well, that looked kind of reasonable, so I didn't say nothing against it, because I've seen a frog lay most as many, so of course it could be done. We used to watch the stars that fell, too, and see them streak down. Jim allowed they'd got spoiled and was hove out of the nest.

Jim says, “You trus’ that I won’ eat you, doncha, Huck?"

I says, “I trust
you
, Jim. But I don’ think I trust none o’ th’ others, no matter how gentle they says they is."

"Only mattas what you trus’ me, Huck."

"Well, I do, Jim."

Once or twice of a night we would see a steamboat slipping along in the dark, and now and then she would belch a whole world of sparks up out of her chimbleys, and they would rain down in the river and look awful pretty; then she would turn a corner and her lights would wink out and her powwow shut off and leave the river still again; and by and by her waves would get to us, a long time after she was gone, and joggle the raft a bit, and after that you wouldn't hear nothing for you couldn't tell how long, except maybe frogs or something.

After midnight the people on shore went to bed, and then for two or three hours the shores was black-no more sparks in the cabin windows. These sparks was our clock-the first one that showed again meant morning was coming, so we hunted a place to hide and tie up right away.

Jim said the bunderlugs woulda lay off me as long as I was with him. He said if any come along they'd reco'nize him as one o’ their own an’ not bother with me at all, no matter how fierce they was. I asked him how he could know such a thing for certain and he said it didn't
know
it, but
felt
it.

One morning about daybreak I found a canoe and crossed over a chute to the main shore-it was only two hundred yards-and paddled about a mile up a crick amongst the cypress woods, to see if I couldn't get some berries. Just as I was passing a place where a kind of a cowpath crossed the crick, here comes a couple of men tearing up the path as tight as they could foot it. I thought I was a goner, for whenever anybody was after anybody I judged it was
me
-or maybe Jim. An’ I couldn't tell if these was baggers or not. I was about to dig out from there in a hurry, but they was pretty close to me then, and sung out and begged me to save their lives-said they hadn't been doing nothing, and was being chased for it-said there was men and dogs a-coming. They wanted to jump right in, but I says:

"Don't you do it. I don't hear the dogs and horses yet; you've got time to crowd through the brush and get up the crick a little ways; then you take to the water and wade down to me and get in-that'll throw the dogs off the scent."

They done it, and soon as they was aboard I lit out for our towhead, and in about five or ten minutes we heard the dogs and the men away off, shouting. We heard them come along towards the crick, but couldn't see them; they seemed to stop and fool around a while; then, as we got further and further away all the time, we couldn't hardly hear them at all; by the time we had left a mile of woods behind us and struck the river, everything was quiet, and we paddled over to the towhead and hid in the cottonwoods and was safe.

One of these fellows was about seventy or upwards, and had a bald head and very gray whiskers. He had an old battered-up slouch hat on, and a greasy blue woollen shirt, and ragged old blue jeans britches stuffed into his boot-tops, and home-knit galluses-no, he only had one. He had an old long-tailed blue jeans coat with slick brass buttons flung over his arm, and both of them had big, fat, ratty-looking carpet-bags.

The other fellow was about thirty, and dressed about as ornery. After breakfast we all laid off and talked, and the first thing that come out was that these chaps didn't know one another.

"What got you into trouble?” says the baldhead to t'other chap.

"Well, I'd been selling an article to take the tartar off the teeth-and it does take it off, too, and generly the enamel along with it-but I stayed about one night longer than I ought to, and was just in the act of sliding out when I ran across you on the trail this side of town, and you told me they were coming, and begged me to help you to get off. So I told you I was expecting trouble myself, and would scatter out
with
you. That's the whole yarn-what's yourn?

"Well, I'd ben a-running’ a little temperance revival thar ‘bout a week, and was the pet of the women folks, big and little, for I was makin’ it mighty warm for the rummies, I
tell
you, and takin’ as much as five or six dollars a night-ten cents a head, children and negros free-and business a-growin’ all the time, when somehow or another a little report got around last night that I had a way of puttin’ in my time with a private jug on the sly. A negro rousted me out this mornin', and told me the people was getherin’ on the quiet with their dogs and horses, and they'd be along pretty soon and give me ‘bout half an hour's start, and then run me down if they could; and if they got me they'd tar and feather me and ride me on a rail, sure. I didn't wait for no breakfast-I warn't hungry."

"Old man,” said the young one, “I reckon we might double-team it together; what do you think?"

"I ain't undisposed. What's your line-mainly?"

"Jour printer by trade; do a little in patent medicines; theater-actor-tragedy, you know; take a turn to mesmerism and phrenology when there's a chance; teach singing-geography school for a change; sling a lecture sometimes-oh, I do lots of things-most anything that comes handy, so it ain't work. What's your lay?"

"I've done considerble in the doctoring way in my time. Layin’ on o’ hands is my best holt-for cancer and paralysis, and sich things; and I k'n tell a fortune pretty good when I've got somebody along to find out the facts for me. Preachin's my line, too, and workin’ camp-meetin's, and missionaryin’ around."

Nobody never said anything for a while; then the young man hove a sigh and says:

"Alas!"

"What're you alassin’ about?” says the bald-head.

"To think I should have lived to be leading such a life, and be degraded down into such company.” And he begun to wipe the corner of his eye with a rag.

"Dern your skin, ain't the company good enough for you?” says the baldhead, pretty pert and uppish.

"Yes, it
is
good enough for me; it's as good as I deserve; for who fetched me so low when I was so high? I did myself. I don't blame
you
, gentlemen-far from it; I don't blame anybody. I deserve it all. Let the cold world do its worst; one thing I know-there's a grave somewhere for me. The world may go on just as it's always done, and take everything from me-loved ones, property, everything; but it can't take that. Some day I'll lie down in it and forget it all, and my poor broken heart will be at rest.” He went on a-wiping.

"None of us will ever be at rest, I suspect, with the pox keeping us from going into our graves."

"That's a true sentiment, ain't it?"

"Drot your pore broken heart,” says the baldhead; “what are you heaving your pore broken heart at
us
f'r?
We
hain't done nothing."

"No, I know you haven't. I ain't blaming you, gentlemen. I brought myself down-yes, I did it myself. It's right I should suffer-perfectly right-I don't make any moan."

"Brought you down from whar? Whar was you brought down from?"

"Ah, you would not believe me; the world never believes-let it pass-'tis no matter. The secret of my birth-"

"The secret of your birth! Do you mean to say-"

"Gentlemen,” says the young man, very solemn, “I will reveal it to you, for I feel I may have confidence in you. By rights I am a duke!"