CHAPTER XI. THE SAND-STORM
WE went a-fooling along for a day or two, and then just as the full moonwas touching the ground on the other side of the desert, we see a stringof little black figgers moving across its big silver face. You couldsee them as plain as if they was painted on the moon with ink. It wasanother caravan. We cooled down our speed and tagged along after it,just to have company, though it warn't going our way. It was a rattler,that caravan, and a most bully sight to look at next morning when thesun come a-streaming across the desert and flung the long shadders ofthe camels on the gold sand like a thousand grand-daddy-long-legsesmarching in procession. We never went very near it, because we knowedbetter now than to act like that and scare people's camels and break uptheir caravans. It was the gayest outfit you ever see, for rich clothesand nobby style. Some of the chiefs rode on dromedaries, the first weever see, and very tall, and they go plunging along like they was onstilts, and they rock the man that is on them pretty violent and churnup his dinner considerable, I bet you, but they make noble good time,and a camel ain't nowheres with them for speed.
The caravan camped, during the middle part of the day, and then startedagain about the middle of the afternoon. Before long the sun begun tolook very curious. First it kind of turned to brass, and then to copper,and after that it begun to look like a blood-red ball, and the air gothot and close, and pretty soon all the sky in the west darkened up andlooked thick and foggy, but fiery and dreadful--like it looks througha piece of red glass, you know. We looked down and see a big confusiongoing on in the caravan, and a rushing every which way like they wasscared; and then they all flopped down flat in the sand and laid thereperfectly still.
Pretty soon we see something coming that stood up like an amazing widewall, and reached from the Desert up into the sky and hid the sun, andit was coming like the nation, too. Then a little faint breeze struckus, and then it come harder, and grains of sand begun to sift againstour faces and sting like fire, and Tom sung out:
"It's a sand-storm--turn your backs to it!"
We done it; and in another minute it was blowing a gale, and the sandbeat against us by the shovelful, and the air was so thick with it wecouldn't see a thing. In five minutes the boat was level full, and wewas setting on the lockers buried up to the chin in sand, and only ourheads out and could hardly breathe.
Then the storm thinned, and we see that monstrous wall go a-sailing offacross the desert, awful to look at, I tell you. We dug ourselves outand looked down, and where the caravan was before there wasn't anythingbut just the sand ocean now, and all still and quiet. All them peopleand camels was smothered and dead and buried--buried under ten foot ofsand, we reckoned, and Tom allowed it might be years before the winduncovered them, and all that time their friends wouldn't ever know whatbecome of that caravan. Tom said:
"NOW we know what it was that happened to the people we got the swordsand pistols from."
Yes, sir, that was just it. It was as plain as day now. They got buriedin a sand-storm, and the wild animals couldn't get at them, and the windnever uncovered them again until they was dried to leather and warn'tfit to eat. It seemed to me we had felt as sorry for them poor people asa person could for anybody, and as mournful, too, but we was mistaken;this last caravan's death went harder with us, a good deal harder.You see, the others was total strangers, and we never got to feelingacquainted with them at all, except, maybe, a little with the man thatwas watching the girl, but it was different with this last caravan. Wewas huvvering around them a whole night and 'most a whole day, and hadgot to feeling real friendly with them, and acquainted. I have foundout that there ain't no surer way to find out whether you like people orhate them than to travel with them. Just so with these. We kind of likedthem from the start, and traveling with them put on the finisher. Thelonger we traveled with them, and the more we got used to their ways,the better and better we liked them, and the gladder and gladder we wasthat we run across them. We had come to know some of them so well thatwe called them by name when we was talking about them, and soon got sofamiliar and sociable that we even dropped the Miss and Mister and justused their plain names without any handle, and it did not seem unpolite,but just the right thing. Of course, it wasn't their own names, butnames we give them. There was Mr. Elexander Robinson and Miss AdalineRobinson, and Colonel Jacob McDougal and Miss Harryet McDougal, andJudge Jeremiah Butler and young Bushrod Butler, and these was big chiefsmostly that wore splendid great turbans and simmeters, and dressed likethe Grand Mogul, and their families. But as soon as we come to know themgood, and like them very much, it warn't Mister, nor Judge, nor nothing,any more, but only Elleck, and Addy, and Jake, and Hattie, and Jerry,and Buck, and so on.
And you know the more you join in with people in their joys and theirsorrows, the more nearer and dearer they come to be to you. Now wewarn't cold and indifferent, the way most travelers is, we was rightdown friendly and sociable, and took a chance in everything that wasgoing, and the caravan could depend on us to be on hand every time, itdidn't make no difference what it was.
When they camped, we camped right over them, ten or twelve hundred feetup in the air. When they et a meal, we et ourn, and it made it everso much home-liker to have their company. When they had a wedding thatnight, and Buck and Addy got married, we got ourselves up in the verystarchiest of the professor's duds for the blow-out, and when theydanced we jined in and shook a foot up there.
But it is sorrow and trouble that brings you the nearest, and it wasa funeral that done it with us. It was next morning, just in the stilldawn. We didn't know the diseased, and he warn't in our set, but thatnever made no difference; he belonged to the caravan, and that wasenough, and there warn't no more sincerer tears shed over him than theones we dripped on him from up there eleven hundred foot on high.
Yes, parting with this caravan was much more bitterer than it was topart with them others, which was comparative strangers, and been dead solong, anyway. We had knowed these in their lives, and was fond of them,too, and now to have death snatch them from right before our faces whilewe was looking, and leave us so lonesome and friendless in the middle ofthat big desert, it did hurt so, and we wished we mightn't ever makeany more friends on that voyage if we was going to lose them again likethat.
We couldn't keep from talking about them, and they was all the timecoming up in our memory, and looking just the way they looked when wewas all alive and happy together. We could see the line marching, andthe shiny spearheads a-winking in the sun; we could see the dromedarieslumbering along; we could see the wedding and the funeral; and moreoftener than anything else we could see them praying, because they don'tallow nothing to prevent that; whenever the call come, several times aday, they would stop right there, and stand up and face to the east, andlift back their heads, and spread out their arms and begin, and four orfive times they would go down on their knees, and then fall forward andtouch their forehead to the ground.
Well, it warn't good to go on talking about them, lovely as they wasin their life, and dear to us in their life and death both, becauseit didn't do no good, and made us too down-hearted. Jim allowed he wasgoing to live as good a life as he could, so he could see them againin a better world; and Tom kept still and didn't tell him they was onlyMohammedans; it warn't no use to disappoint him, he was feeling badenough just as it was.
When we woke up next morning we was feeling a little cheerfuller, andhad had a most powerful good sleep, because sand is the comfortablestbed there is, and I don't see why people that can afford it don't haveit more. And it's terrible good ballast, too; I never see the balloon sosteady before.
Tom allowed we had twenty tons of it, and wondered what we better dowith it; it was good sand, and it didn't seem good sense to throw itaway. Jim says:
"Mars Tom, can't we tote it back home en sell it? How long'll it take?"
"Depends on the way we go."
"Well, sah, she's wuth a quarter of a dollar a load at home, en I reckonwe's got as much as twenty loads, hain't w
e? How much would dat be?"
"Five dollars."
"By jings, Mars Tom, le's shove for home right on de spot! Hit's more'na dollar en a half apiece, hain't it?"
"Yes."
"Well, ef dat ain't makin' money de easiest ever I struck! She jes'rained in--never cos' us a lick o' work. Le's mosey right along, MarsTom."
But Tom was thinking and ciphering away so busy and excited he neverheard him. Pretty soon he says:
"Five dollars--sho! Look here, this sand's worth--worth--why, it's worthno end of money."
"How is dat, Mars Tom? Go on, honey, go on!"
"Well, the minute people knows it's genuwyne sand from the genuwyneDesert of Sahara, they'll just be in a perfect state of mind to git holdof some of it to keep on the what-not in a vial with a label on it fora curiosity. All we got to do is to put it up in vials and float aroundall over the United States and peddle them out at ten cents apiece.We've got all of ten thousand dollars' worth of sand in this boat."
Me and Jim went all to pieces with joy, and begun to shoutwhoopjamboreehoo, and Tom says:
"And we can keep on coming back and fetching sand, and coming back andfetching more sand, and just keep it a-going till we've carted thiswhole Desert over there and sold it out; and there ain't ever going tobe any opposition, either, because we'll take out a patent."
"My goodness," I says, "we'll be as rich as Creosote, won't we, Tom?"
"Yes--Creesus, you mean. Why, that dervish was hunting in that littlehill for the treasures of the earth, and didn't know he was walkingover the real ones for a thousand miles. He was blinder than he made thedriver."
"Mars Tom, how much is we gwyne to be worth?"
"Well, I don't know yet. It's got to be ciphered, and it ain't theeasiest job to do, either, because it's over four million square milesof sand at ten cents a vial."
Jim was awful excited, but this faded it out considerable, and he shookhis head and says:
"Mars Tom, we can't 'ford all dem vials--a king couldn't. We better nottry to take de whole Desert, Mars Tom, de vials gwyne to bust us, sho'."
Tom's excitement died out, too, now, and I reckoned it was on accountof the vials, but it wasn't. He set there thinking, and got bluer andbluer, and at last he says:
"Boys, it won't work; we got to give it up."
"Why, Tom?"
"On account of the duties."
I couldn't make nothing out of that, neither could Jim. I says:
"What IS our duty, Tom? Because if we can't git around it, why can't wejust DO it? People often has to."
But he says:
"Oh, it ain't that kind of duty. The kind I mean is a tax. Whenever youstrike a frontier--that's the border of a country, you know--you find acustom-house there, and the gov'ment officers comes and rummages amongyour things and charges a big tax, which they call a duty becauseit's their duty to bust you if they can, and if you don't pay the dutythey'll hog your sand. They call it confiscating, but that don't deceivenobody, it's just hogging, and that's all it is. Now if we try to carrythis sand home the way we're pointed now, we got to climb fences till wegit tired--just frontier after frontier--Egypt, Arabia, Hindostan, andso on, and they'll all whack on a duty, and so you see, easy enough, weCAN'T go THAT road."
"Why, Tom," I says, "we can sail right over their old frontiers; how areTHEY going to stop us?"
He looked sorrowful at me, and says, very grave:
"Huck Finn, do you think that would be honest?"
I hate them kind of interruptions. I never said nothing, and he went on:
"Well, we're shut off the other way, too. If we go back the way we'vecome, there's the New York custom-house, and that is worse than all ofthem others put together, on account of the kind of cargo we've got."
"Why?"
"Well, they can't raise Sahara sand in America, of course, and when theycan't raise a thing there, the duty is fourteen hundred thousand percent. on it if you try to fetch it in from where they do raise it."
"There ain't no sense in that, Tom Sawyer."
"Who said there WAS? What do you talk to me like that for, Huck Finn?You wait till I say a thing's got sense in it before you go to accusingme of saying it."
"All right, consider me crying about it, and sorry. Go on."
Jim says:
"Mars Tom, do dey jam dat duty onto everything we can't raise inAmerica, en don't make no 'stinction 'twix' anything?"
"Yes, that's what they do."
"Mars Tom, ain't de blessin' o' de Lord de mos' valuable thing dey is?"
"Yes, it is."
"Don't de preacher stan' up in de pulpit en call it down on de people?"
"Yes."
"Whah do it come from?"
"From heaven."
"Yassir! you's jes' right, 'deed you is, honey--it come from heaven, endat's a foreign country. NOW, den! do dey put a tax on dat blessin'?"
"No, they don't."
"Course dey don't; en so it stan' to reason dat you's mistaken, MarsTom. Dey wouldn't put de tax on po' truck like san', dat everybody ain't'bleeged to have, en leave it off'n de bes' thing dey is, which nobodycan't git along widout."
Tom Sawyer was stumped; he see Jim had got him where he couldn't budge.He tried to wiggle out by saying they had FORGOT to put on that tax, butthey'd be sure to remember about it, next session of Congress, and thenthey'd put it on, but that was a poor lame come-off, and he knowed it.He said there warn't nothing foreign that warn't taxed but just thatone, and so they couldn't be consistent without taxing it, and to beconsistent was the first law of politics. So he stuck to it that they'dleft it out unintentional and would be certain to do their best to fixit before they got caught and laughed at.
But I didn't feel no more interest in such things, as long as wecouldn't git our sand through, and it made me low-spirited, and Jim thesame. Tom he tried to cheer us up by saying he would think up anotherspeculation for us that would be just as good as this one and better,but it didn't do no good, we didn't believe there was any as big asthis. It was mighty hard; such a little while ago we was so rich, andcould 'a' bought a country and started a kingdom and been celebrated andhappy, and now we was so poor and ornery again, and had our sand lefton our hands. The sand was looking so lovely before, just like gold anddi'monds, and the feel of it was so soft and so silky and nice, but nowI couldn't bear the sight of it, it made me sick to look at it, and Iknowed I wouldn't ever feel comfortable again till we got shut of it,and I didn't have it there no more to remind us of what we had been andwhat we had got degraded down to. The others was feeling the same wayabout it that I was. I knowed it, because they cheered up so, the minuteI says le's throw this truck overboard.
Well, it was going to be work, you know, and pretty solid work, too; soTom he divided it up according to fairness and strength. He said me andhim would clear out a fifth apiece of the sand, and Jim three-fifths.Jim he didn't quite like that arrangement. He says:
"Course I's de stronges', en I's willin' to do a share accordin', but byjings you's kinder pilin' it onto ole Jim, Mars Tom, hain't you?"
"Well, I didn't think so, Jim, but you try your hand at fixing it, andlet's see."
So Jim reckoned it wouldn't be no more than fair if me and Tom done aTENTH apiece. Tom he turned his back to git room and be private, andthen he smole a smile that spread around and covered the whole Sahara tothe westward, back to the Atlantic edge of it where we come from. Thenhe turned around again and said it was a good enough arrangement, and wewas satisfied if Jim was. Jim said he was.
So then Tom measured off our two-tenths in the bow and left the rest forJim, and it surprised Jim a good deal to see how much difference therewas and what a raging lot of sand his share come to, and said hewas powerful glad now that he had spoke up in time and got the firstarrangement altered, for he said that even the way it was now, there wasmore sand than enjoyment in his end of the contract, he believed.
Then we laid into it. It was mighty hot work, and tough; so hot we hadto move up into cooler
weather or we couldn't 'a' stood it. Me and Tomtook turn about, and one worked while t'other rested, but there warn'tnobody to spell poor old Jim, and he made all that part of Africa damp,he sweated so. We couldn't work good, we was so full of laugh, and Jimhe kept fretting and wanting to know what tickled us so, and we hadto keep making up things to account for it, and they was pretty poorinventions, but they done well enough, Jim didn't see through them.At last when we got done we was 'most dead, but not with work but withlaughing. By and by Jim was 'most dead, too, but: it was with work; thenwe took turns and spelled him, and he was as thankfull as he could be,and would set on the gunnel and swab the sweat, and heave and pant, andsay how good we was to a poor old nigger, and he wouldn't ever forgitus. He was always the gratefulest nigger I ever see, for any littlething you done for him. He was only nigger outside; inside he was aswhite as you be.