The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (Tom Sawyer's Comrade)

  CHAPTER XVIII

  Col. Grangerford was a gentleman, you see. He was a gentleman allover; and so was his family. He was well born, as the saying is, andthat's worth as much in a man as it is in a horse, so the WidowDouglas said, and nobody ever denied that she was of the firstaristocracy in our town; and pap he always said it, too, though hewarn't no more quality than a mudcat himself. Col. Grangerford wasvery tall and very slim, and had a darkish-paly complexion, not a signof red in it anywheres; he was clean-shaved every morning all over histhin face, and he had the thinnest kind of lips, and the thinnest kindof nostrils, and a high nose, and heavy eyebrows, and the blackestkind of eyes, sunk so deep back that they seemed like they was lookingout of caverns at you, as you may say. His forehead was high, and hishair was gray and straight and hung to his shoulders. His hands waslong and thin, and every day of his life he put on a clean shirt and afull suit from head to foot made out of linen so white it hurt youreyes to look at it; and on Sundays he wore a blue tail-coat with brassbuttons on it. He carried a mahogany cane with a silver head to it.There warn't no frivolishness about him, not a bit, and he warn't everloud. He was as kind as he could be--you could feel that, you know,and so you had confidence. Sometimes he smiled, and it was good tosee; but when he straightened himself up like a liberty-pole, and thelightning begun to flicker out from under his eyebrows, you wanted toclimb a tree first, and find out what the matter was afterwards. Hedidn't ever have to tell anybody to mind their manners--everybody wasalways good-mannered where he was. Everybody loved to have him around,too; he was sunshine most always--I mean he made it seem like goodweather. When he turned into a cloud-bank it was awful dark for half aminute, and that was enough; there wouldn't nothing go wrong again fora week.

  When him and the old lady come down in the morning all the family gotup out of their chairs and give them good day, and didn't set downagain till they had set down. Then Tom and Bob went to the sideboardwhere the decanter was, and mixed a glass of bitters and handed it tohim, and he held it in his hand and waited till Tom's and Bob's wasmixed, and then they bowed and said, "Our duty to you, sir, andmadam"; and _they_ bowed the least bit in the world and said thankyou, and so they drank, all three, and Bob and Tom poured a spoonfulof water on the sugar and the mite of whisky or apple-brandy in thebottom of their tumblers, and give it to me and Buck, and we drank tothe 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,like her 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 bemore--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 suchjunketings round about and on the river, and dances and picnics in thewoods daytimes, 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 sixfamilies--mostly of the name of Shepherdson. They was as high-tonedand well born and rich and grand as the tribe of Grangerfords. TheShepherdsons and Grangerfords used the same steamboat-landing, whichwas about two mile above our house; so sometimes when I went up therewith a lot of our folks I used to see a lot of the Shepherdsons thereon their fine horses.

  One day Buck and me was away out in the woods hunting, and heard ahorse coming. 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 came galloping down the road, setting hishorse easy and looking like a soldier. He had his gun across hispommel. I had seen him before. It was young Harney Shepherdson. Iheard Buck's gun go off at my ear, and Harney's hat tumbled off fromhis head. He grabbed his gun and rode straight to the place where wewas hid. But we didn't wait. We started through the woods on a run.The woods warn't thick, so I looked over my shoulder to dodge thebullet, and twice I seen Harney cover Buck with his gun; and then herode away the way he come--to get his hat, I reckon, but I couldn'tsee. We never stopped running till we got home. The old gentleman'seyes blazed a minute--'twas pleasure, mainly, I judged--then his facesort of smoothed down, and he says, kind of gentle:

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

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

  Miss Charlotte she held her head up like a queen while Buck wastelling his tale, and her nostrils spread and her eyes snapped. Thetwo young men looked dark, but never said nothing. Miss Sophia sheturned pale, but the color come back when she found the man warn'thurt.

  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 withanother man, and kills him; then that other man's brother kills _him_;then the other brothers, on both sides, goes for one another; then the_cousins_ chip in--and by and by everybody's killed off, and thereain't no more feud. 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 theman that 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 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; butthey don'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 weighmuch, anyway. Bob's been carved up some with a bowie, and Tom's beenhurt once or twice."

  "Has anybody been killed this year, Buck?"

  "Yes; we got one and they got one. 'Bout three months ago my cousinBud, fourteen year old, was riding through the woods on t'other sideof the river, and didn't have no weapon with him, which was blame'foolishness, and in a lonesome place he hears a horse a-coming behindhim, and sees old Baldy Shepherdson a-linkin' after him with his gunin his hand and his white hair a-flying in the wind; and 'stead ofjumping off and taking to the brush, Bud 'lowed he could outrun him;so they had it, nip and tuck, for five mile or more, the old mana-gaining all the time; so at last Bud seen it warn't any use, so hestopped and faced around so as to have the bullet-holes in front, youknow, and the old man he rode up and sh
ot him down. But he didn't gitmuch chance to enjoy his luck, for inside 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 nocowards amongst the Grangerfords either. Why, that old man kep' up hisend in a fight one day for half an hour against three Grangerfords,and come out winner. They was all a-horseback; he lit off of his horseand got behind a little woodpile, and kep' his horse before him tostop the bullets; but the Grangerfords stayed on their horses andcapered around the old man, and peppered away at him, and he pepperedaway at them. Him and his horse both went home pretty leaky andcrippled, but the Grangerfords had to be _fetched_ home--and one of'em was dead, and another died the next day. No, sir; if a body's outhunting for cowards he don't want to fool away any time amongst themShepherdsons, becuz they don't breed any of that _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 wasa good 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 tome to 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 anda dog was stretched out on the grass in the sun sound asleep. I wentup to our room, and judged I would take a nap myself. I found thatsweet Miss Sophia standing in her door, which was next to ours, andshe took me in her room and shut the door very soft, and asked me if Iliked her, and I said I did; and she asked me if I would do somethingfor her and not tell anybody, and I said I would. Then she said she'dforgot her Testament, and left it in the seat at church between twoother books, and would I slip out quiet and go there and fetch it toher, and not say nothing to nobody. I said I would. So I slid out andslipped off up the road, and there warn't anybody at the church,except maybe a hog or two, for there warn't any lock on the door, andhogs likes a puncheon floor in summer-time because it's cool. If younotice, most folks don't go to church only when they've got to; but ahog 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 apencil. I ransacked it, but couldn't find anything else. I couldn'tmake anything out of that, so I put the paper in the book again, andwhen I got home and upstairs there was Miss Sophia in her door waitingfor me. She pulled me in and shut the door; then she looked in theTestament till she found the paper, and as soon as she read it shelooked glad; and before a body could think she grabbed me and give mea squeeze, and said I was the best boy in the world, and not to tellanybody. She was mighty red in the face for a minute, and her eyeslighted up, and it made her powerful pretty. I was a good dealastonished, but when I got my breath I asked her what the paper wasabout, and she asked me if I had read it, and I said no, and she askedme if I could read writing, and I told her "no, only coarse-hand," andthen she said the paper warn't anything but a book-mark to keep herplace, and I might go and play now.

  I went off down to the river, studying over this thing, and prettysoon I noticed that my nigger was following along behind. When we wasout of sight of the house he looked back and around a second, and thencomes a-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 oughterknow a body don't love water-moccasins enough to go around hunting forthem. 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 flatpiece of land which was dry and very thick with trees and bushes andvines, and he says:

  "You shove right in dah jist a few steps, Mars Jawge; dah's whah deyis. 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 treeshid him. I poked into the place a-ways and come to a little open patchas big as a bedroom all hung around with vines, and found a man layingthere asleep--and, by jings, it was my old Jim!

  I waked him up, and I reckoned it was going to be a grand surprise tohim to see me again, but it warn't. He nearly cried he was so glad,but he warn't surprised. Said he swum along behind me that night, andheard me yell every time, but dasn't answer, because he didn't wantnobody to pick _him_ up and take him into slavery again. Says he:

  "I got hurt a little, en couldn't swim fas', so I wuz a considerableways behine you towards de las'; when you landed I reck'ned I couldketch up wid you on de lan' 'dout havin' to shout at you, but when Isee dat house I begin to go slow. I 'uz off too fur to hear what deysay to you--I wuz 'fraid o' de dogs; but when it 'uz all quiet ag'in Iknowed you's in de house, so I struck out for de woods to wait forday. Early in de mawnin' some er de niggers come along, gwyne to defields, en dey tuk me en showed me dis place, whah de dogs can't trackme on accounts o' de water, en dey brings me truck to eat every night,en tells me how you's a-gittin' along."

  "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 dosumfn--but we's all right now. I ben a-buyin' pots en pans en vittles,as I got a chanst, 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't benso dark, en we warn't so sk'yerd, en ben sich punkin-heads, as desayin' is, we'd a seed de raf'. But it's jis' as well we didn't, 'kasenow she's all fixed up ag'in mos' as good as new, en we's got a newlot o' stuff, in de 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 upsen settles de trouble by tellin' 'um she don't b'long to none uv 'um,but to you en me; en I ast 'm if dey gwyne to grab a young whitegenlman's propaty, en git a hid'n for it? Den I gin 'm ten centsapiece, en dey 'uz mighty well satisfied, en wisht some mo' raf's 'udcome along en make 'm rich ag'in. Dey's mighty good to me, deseniggers is, en whatever I wants 'm to do fur me I doan' have to ast 'mtwice, honey. Dat Jack's a good 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 bethe truth."

  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 andgo to sleep again when I noticed how still it was--didn't seem to beanybody stirring. That warn't usual. Next I noticed that Buck was upand gone. Well, I gets up, a-wondering, and goes down-stairs--nobodyaround; everything as still as a mouse. Just the same outside. ThinksI, what does it mean? Down by the woodpile I comes across my Jack, andsays:

  "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 denight some time--nobody don't know jis' when; run off to get marriedto dat young Harney Shephe
rdson, you know--leastways, so dey 'spec. Defambly foun' it out 'bout half an hour ago--maybe a little mo'--en' I_tell_ 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 deriver road for to try to ketch dat young man en kill him 'fo' he kingit acrost de river wid Miss Sophia. I reck'n dey's gwyne to be mightyrough times."

  "Buck went off 'thout waking me up."

  "Well, I reck'n he _did!_ Dey warn't gwyne to mix you up in it. MarsBuck he loaded up his gun en 'lowed he's gwyne to fetch home aShepherdson or bust. Well, dey'll be plenty un 'm dah, I reck'n, enyou 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 tohear guns a good ways off. When I came in sight of the log store andthe woodpile where the steamboats lands I worked along under the treesand brush till I got to a good place, and then I clumb up into theforks of a cottonwood that was out of reach, and watched. There was awood-rank four foot high a little ways in front of the tree, and firstI 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 theopen place before the log store, cussing and yelling, and trying toget at a couple of young chaps that was behind the wood-rank alongsideof the steamboat-landing; but they couldn't come it. Every time one ofthem 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 couldwatch both ways.

  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 andstarted to carry him to the store; and that minute the two boysstarted on the run. They got half-way to the tree I was in before themen noticed. Then the men see them, and jumped on their horses andtook out after them. They gained on the boys, but it didn't do nogood, the boys had too good a start; they got to the woodpile that wasin front of my tree, and slipped in behind it, and so they had thebulge on the men again. One of the boys was Buck, and the other was aslim young chap about nineteen 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 orother--wouldn't be gone long. I wished I was out of that tree, but Idasn't come down. Buck begun to cry and rip, and 'lowed that him andhis cousin Joe (that was the other young chap) would make up for thisday yet. He said his father and his two brothers was killed, and twoor three of the enemy. Said the Shepherdsons laid for them in ambush.Buck said his father and brothers ought to waited for theirrelations--the Shepherdsons was too strong for them. I asked him whatwas become of young Harney and Miss Sophia. He said they'd got acrossthe river and was safe. I was glad of that; but the way Buck did takeon because he didn't manage to kill Harney that day he shot at him--Ihain't ever heard anything like it.

  All of a sudden, bang! bang! bang! goes three or four guns--the menhad slipped around through the woods and come in from behind withouttheir horses! The boys jumped for the river--both of them hurt--and asthey swum down the current the men run along the bank shooting at themand singing out, "Kill them, kill them!" It made me so sick I mostfell out of the tree. I ain't a-going to tell _all_ that happened--itwould make me sick again if I was to do that. I wished I hadn't evercome ashore that night to see such things. I ain't ever going to getshut of them--lots of 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 upmy mind I wouldn't ever go anear that house again, because I reckonedI was to blame, somehow. I judged that that piece of paper meant thatMiss Sophia was to meet Harney somewheres at half past two and runoff; and I judged I ought to told her father about that paper and thecurious way she acted, and then maybe he would 'a' locked her up, andthis awful mess wouldn'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,and got away as quick as I could. I cried a little when I was coveringup Buck'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 Itramped 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 wasgone! My souls, but I was scared! I couldn't get my breath for most aminute. Then I raised a yell. A voice not twenty-five foot from mesays:

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

  It was Jim's voice--nothing ever sounded so good before. I run alongthe 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 ag'in. Jack'sbeen heah; he say he reck'n you's ben shot, kase you didn' come homeno mo'; so I's jes' dis minute a-startin' startin' de raf' downtowards de mouf er de crick, so's to be all ready for to shove out enleave soon as Jack comes ag'in en tells me for certain you _is_ dead.Lawsy, I's mighty glad to git you back ag'in, 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 upthere that 'll help them think so--so don't you lose no time, Jim, butjust shove 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 inthe middle 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,and pork and cabbage and greens--there ain't nothing in the world sogood when it's cooked right--and whilst I eat my supper we talked andhad a good time. I was powerful glad to get away from the feuds, andso was Jim to get away from the swamp. We said there warn't no homelike a raft, after all. Other places do seem so cramped up andsmothery, but a raft don't. You feel mighty free and easy andcomfortable on a raft.