CHAPTER XXXVIII
Making them pens was a distressid tough job, and so was the saw; andJim allowed the inscription was going to be the toughest of all.That's the one which the prisoner has to scrabble on the wall. But hehad to have it; Tom said he'd _got_ to; there warn't no case of astate prisoner not scrabbling his inscription to leave behind, and hiscoat of arms.
"Look at Lady Jane Grey," he says; "look at Gilford Dudley; look atold Northumberland! Why, Huck, s'pose it _is_ considerbletrouble?--what you going to do?--how you going to get around it? Jim's_got_ to do his inscription and coat of arms. They all do."
Jim says:
"Why, Mars Tom, I hain't got no coat o' arm; I hain't got nuffn butdish yer ole shirt, en you knows I got to keep de journal on dat."
"Oh, you don't understand, Jim; a coat of arms is very different."
"Well," I says, "Jim's right, anyway, when he says he ain't got nocoat of arms, because he hain't."
"I reckon I knowed that," Tom says, "but you bet he'll have one beforehe goes out of this--because he's going out _right_, and there ain'tgoing to be no flaws in his record."
So whilst me and Jim filed away at the pens on a brickbat apiece, Jima-making his'n out of the brass and I making mine out of the spoon,Tom set to work to think out the coat of arms. By and by he said he'dstruck so many good ones he didn't hardly know which to take, butthere was one which he reckoned he'd decide on. He says:
"On the scutcheon we'll have a bend _or_ in the dexter base, a saltire_murrey_ in the fess, with a dog, couchant, for common charge, andunder his foot a chain embattled, for slavery, with a chevron _vert_in a chief engrailed, and three invected lines on a field _azure_,with the nombril points rampant on a dancette indented; crest, arunaway nigger, _sable_, with his bundle over his shoulder on a barsinister; and a couple of gules for supporters, which is you and me;motto, _Maggiore fretta, minore atto_. Got it out of a book--means themore haste the less speed."
"Geewhillikins," I says, "but what does the rest of it mean?"
"We ain't got no time to bother over that," he says; "we got to dig inlike all git-out."
"Well, anyway," I says, "what's _some_ of it? What's a fess?"
"A fess--a fess is--_you_ don't need to know what a fess is. I'll showhim how to make it when he gets to it."
"Shucks, Tom," I says, "I think you might tell a person. What's a barsinister?"
"Oh, I don't know. But he's got to have it. All the nobility does."
That was just his way. If it didn't suit him to explain a thing toyou, he wouldn't do it. You might pump at him a week, it wouldn't makeno difference. He'd got all that coat-of-arms business fixed, so nowhe started in to finish up the rest of that part of the work, whichwas to plan out a mournful inscription--said Jim got to have one, likethey all done. He made up a lot, and wrote them out on a paper, andread them off, so:
_1. Here a captive heart busted.
2. Here a poor prisoner, forsook by the world and friends, fretted his sorrowful life.
3. Here a lonely heart broke, and a worn spirit went to its rest, after thirty-seven years of solitary captivity.
4. Here, homeless and friendless, after thirty-seven years of bitter captivity, perished a noble stranger, natural son of Louis XIV._
Tom's voice trembled whilst he was reading them, and he most brokedown. When he got done he couldn't no way make up his mind which onefor Jim to scrabble onto the wall, they was all so good; but at lasthe allowed he would let him scrabble them all on. Jim said it wouldtake him a year to scrabble such a lot of truck onto the logs with anail, and he didn't know how to make letters, besides; but Tom said hewould block them out for him, and then he wouldn't have nothing to dobut just follow the lines. Then pretty soon he says:
"Come to think, the logs ain't a-going to do; they don't have logwalls in a dungeon: we got to dig the inscriptions into a rock. We'llfetch a rock." Jim said the rock was worse than the logs; he said itwould take him such a pison long time to dig them into a rock hewouldn't ever get out. But Tom said he would let me help him do it.Then he took a look to see how me and Jim was getting along with thepens. It was most pesky tedious hard work and slow, and didn't give myhands no show to get well of the sores, and we didn't seem to make noheadway, hardly; so Tom says:
"I know how to fix it. We got to have a rock for the coat of arms andmournful inscriptions, and we can kill two birds with that same rock.There's a gaudy big grindstone down at the mill, and we'll smouch it,and carve the things on it, and file out the pens and the saw on it,too."
It warn't no slouch of an idea; and it warn't no slouch of agrindstone nuther; but we allowed we'd tackle it. It warn't quitemidnight yet, so we cleared out for the mill, leaving Jim at work. Wesmouched the grindstone, and set out to roll her home, but it was amost nation tough job. Sometimes, do what we could, we couldn't keepher from falling over, and she come mighty near mashing us every time.Tom said she was going to get one of us, sure, before we got through.We got her halfway; and then we was plumb played out, and mostdrownded with sweat. We see it warn't no use; we got to go and fetchJim. So he raised up his bed and slid the chain off of the bed-leg,and wrapt it round and round his neck, and we crawled out through ourhole and down there, and Jim and me laid into that grindstone andwalked her along like nothing; and Tom superintended. He couldout-superintend any boy I ever see. He knowed how to do everything.
Our hole was pretty big, but it warn't big enough to get thegrindstone through; but Jim he took the pick and soon made it bigenough. Then Tom marked out them things on it with the nail, and setJim to work on them, with the nail for a chisel and an iron bolt fromthe rubbage in the lean-to for a hammer, and told him to work till therest of his candle quit on him, and then he could go to bed, and hidethe grindstone under his straw tick and sleep on it. Then we helpedhim fix his chain back on the bed-leg, and was ready for bedourselves. But Tom thought of something, and says:
"You got any spiders in here, Jim?"
"No, sah, thanks to goodness I hain't, Mars Tom."
"All right, we'll get you some."
"But bless you, honey, I doan' _want_ none. I's afeard un um. I jis''s soon have rattlesnakes aroun'."
Tom thought a minute or two, and says:
"It's a good idea. And I reckon it's been done. It _must_ 'a' beendone; it stands to reason. Yes, it's a prime good idea. Where couldyou keep it?"
"Keep what, Mars Tom?"
"Why, a rattlesnake."
"De goodness gracious alive, Mars Tom! Why, if dey was a rattlesnaketo come in heah I'd take en bust right out thoo dat log wall, I would,wid my head."
"Why, Jim, you wouldn't be afraid of it after a little. You could tameit."
"_Tame_ it!"
"Yes--easy enough. Every animal is grateful for kindness and petting,and they wouldn't _think_ of hurting a person that pets them. Any bookwill tell you that. You try--that's all I ask; just try for two orthree days. Why, you can get him so in a little while that he'll loveyou; and sleep with you; and won't stay away from you a minute; andwill let you wrap him round your neck and put his head in your mouth."
"_Please_, Tom--_doan_' talk so! I can't _stan'_ it! He'd _let_ meshove his head in my mouf--fer a favor, hain't it? I lay he'd wait apow'ful long time 'fo' I _ast_ him. En mo' en dat, I doan' _want_ himto sleep wid me."
"Jim, don't act so foolish. A prisoner's _got_ to have some kind of adumb pet, and if a rattlesnake hain't ever been tried, why, there'smore glory to be gained in your being the first to ever try it thanany other way you could ever think of to save your life."
"Why, Mars Tom, I doan' _want_ no sich glory. Snake take 'n bite Jim'schin off, den _whah_ is de glory? No, sah, I doan' want no sichdoin's."
"Blame it, can't you _try?_ I only _want_ you to try--you needn't keepit up if it don't work."
"But de trouble all _done_ ef de snake bite me while I's a-tryin' him.Mars Tom, I's willin' to tackle mos' anything 'at ain't onreasonable,but ef you en Huck fetches a rattlesnake in he
ah for me to tame, I'sgwyne to _leave_, dat's _shore_."
"Well, then, let it go, let it go, if you're so bull-headed about it.We can get you some garter-snakes, and you can tie some buttons ontheir tails, and let on they're rattlesnakes, and I reckon that 'llhave to do."
"I k'n stan' _dem_, Mars Tom, but blame' 'f I couldn' get along widoutum, I tell you dat. I never knowed b'fo' 'twas so much bother andtrouble to be a prisoner."
"Well, it _always_ is when it's done right. You got any rats aroundhere?"
"No, sah, I hain't seed none."
"Well, we'll get you some rats."
"Why, Mars Tom, I doan' _want_ no rats. Dey's de dadblamedest cretursto 'sturb a body, en rustle roun' over 'im, en bite his feet, whenhe's tryin' to sleep, I ever see. No, sah, gimme g'yarter-snakes, 'fI's got to have 'm, but doan' gimme no rats; I hain' got no use f'rum, skasely."
"But, Jim, you _got_ to have 'em--they all do. So don't make no morefuss about it. Prisoners ain't ever without rats. There ain't noinstance of it. And they train them, and pet them, and learn themtricks, and they get to be as sociable as flies. But you got to playmusic to them. You got anything to play music on?"
"I ain' got nuffn but a coase comb en a piece o' paper, en ajuice-harp; but I reck'n dey wouldn' take no stock in a juice-harp."
"Yes they would. _They_ don't care what kind of music 'tis. Ajews-harp's plenty good enough for a rat. All animals like music--in aprison they dote on it. Specially, painful music; and you can't get noother kind out of a jew's-harp. It always interests them; they comeout to see what's the matter with you. Yes, you're all right; you'refixed very well. You want to set on your bed nights before you go tosleep, and early in the mornings, and play your jew's-harp; play 'TheLast Link is Broken'--that's the thing that 'll scoop a rat quicker 'nanything else; and when you've played about two minutes you'll see allthe rats, and the snakes, and spiders and things begin to feel worriedabout you, and come. And they'll just fairly swarm over you, and havea noble good time."
"Yes, _dey_ will, I reck'n, Mars Tom, but what kine er time is _Jim_havin'? Blest if I kin see de pint. But I'll do it ef I got to. Ireck'n I better keep de animals satisfied, en not have no trouble inde house."
Tom waited to think it over, and see if there wasn't nothing else; andpretty soon he says:
"Oh, there's one thing I forgot. Could you raise a flower here, do youreckon?"
"I doan' know but maybe I could, Mars Tom; but it's tolable dark inheah, en I ain' got no use f'r no flower, nohow, en she'd be a pow'fulsight o' trouble."
"Well, you try it, anyway. Some other prisoners has done it."
"One er dem big cat-tail-lookin' mullen-stalks would grow in heah,Mars Tom, I reck'n, but she wouldn't be wuth half de trouble she'dcoss."
"Don't you believe it. We'll fetch you a little one and you plant itin the corner over there, and raise it. And don't call it mullen, callit Pitchiola--that's its right name when it's in a prison. And youwant to water it with your tears."
"Why, I got plenty spring water, Mars Tom."
"You don't _want_ spring water; you want to water it with your tears.It's the way they always do."
"Why, Mars Tom, I lay I kin raise one er dem mullen-stalks twyste widspring water whiles another man's a start'n one wid tears."
"That ain't the idea. You _got_ to do it with tears."
"She'll die on my han's, Mars Tom, she sholy will; kase I doan'skasely ever cry."
So Tom was stumped. But he studied it over, and then said Jim wouldhave to worry along the best he could with an onion. He promised hewould go to the nigger cabins and drop one, private, in Jim'scoffee-pot, in the morning. Jim said he would "jis' 's soon havetobacker in his coffee"; and found so much fault with it, and with thework and bother of raising the mullen, and jew's-harping the rats, andpetting and flattering up the snakes and spiders and things, on top ofall the other work he had to do on pens, and inscriptions, andjournals, and things, which made it more trouble and worry andresponsibility to be a prisoner than anything he ever undertook, thatTom most lost all patience with him; and said he was just loadeneddown with more gaudier chances than a prisoner ever had in the worldto make a name for himself, and yet he didn't know enough toappreciate them, and they was just about wasted on him. So Jim he wassorry, and said he wouldn't behave so no more, and then me and Tomshoved for bed.