The Further Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

  The teams plodded along all day and when we stopped at dusk the McSweens was too tired to do nothing but crawl inside the wagons and sleep, but before Grace turned in I give her a thank you for what she done. She says:

  “I know about you, Huckleberry Finn. I knew it was you and Jim the first time you came along the road. We passed through a town the day before and I saw a sheet that says you’re a murderer and other things, but when I saw you I knew it wasn’t so. You’re a good boy and Jim’s a good nigger.”

  When I took all that in I ask:

  “Do the others know?”

  “Of course not. I never tell them anything that’s important.”

  The way she spoke I can see she ain’t all that proud to be a McSween.

  “I’m obliged to you, Grace,” says I, and told her everything from the time the widow’s house burned down. She was mighty sorry for me and put her arms around me sisterly and says:

  “Poor Huckleberry. Life has given you punishment you never deserved. At least you have a friend in me.”

  “I’m glad of it, but see here, Grace, if you’re the only one that knows, how is it Reverend Mordecai’s always staring at me strange?”

  “Oh, him,” she says, scornful, “he was thrown out of his church in Deer Falls because of unnatural affections for the choirboys. He thinks you’re handsome I suppose, but then he’s kind of short-sighted. Just don’t let him get you alone in the dark or he’ll have your britches down before you can say Amen. I hate him. It’s thanks to him we’re all homeless wanderers and whores.”

  It give me a shock to hear that kind of brisk talk coming from her lips but she warn’t ashamed to speak so, and she goes on to say how miserable the virtues is underneath the singing and laughing except Chastity, who’s too pinheaded to understand nothing anyway, and how Hope was all set to be married when Pa McSween decided they was all going to be a traveling church and made her finish with the man she was fixed to wed, and she ain’t ever got over it even if it was years ago, and how Ma used to be a whore before Pa married her and don’t think nothing about making her daughters do the same. There’s time enough later for marriage and such but not yet, Ma says.

  “The other girls are so miserable,” says Grace, “but they’re under Ma and Pa’s thumb and daren’t do what they want. Well, I don’t intend they should keep me a whore forever. It’s awful the things men do to you, hurtful or just plain tiring. I don’t ever want anything to do with men the rest of my life, but first I have to get away and be free. Can I come with you to California?”

  That’ll complexify things, thinks I.

  “It’s an awful long way, Grace. It’s understandable you wanting to escape like you do, but why go west? Things is easier back east.”

  “No, I want to go where there’s no one that’ll know who I am. This side of St. Joseph is just filled with men that did things to me. Across the Missouri I’ll be virgin again.”

  I seen it’s going to be uphill work to argue with her. Says I:

  “But Jim and me are wanted men. You’ll be asking for trouble if you come along. There ain’t a grain of sense in it I can see.”

  “If you don’t help me there’s no one else who will. I did you a favor with the sheriff so now you can repay it. I won’t be a burden on you. Please, Huckleberry.”

  She flung her arms around me and it was mighty hard to refuse, pressed up against all that softness, which I seen is why she done it. But she’s right on one thing; when a body does you a favor you got to pay it back, even if you got doubts about the way to do it.

  “Well, all right then,” says I, kind of muffled. “You can come too.”

  She whipped the hat off my head and kissed my hair then jammed it back on, all excited. She even clapped her hands a time or two.

  “When can we go?” she wants to know.

  “I’ll have to think on it awhile and work out a plan,” says I.

  “Will it take long?”

  “That depends. It’s got to be a plan that won’t go wrong, and that kind takes longer to hatch than the regular.”

  “Bless you,” she says, “you’re my salvation. Promise you won’t go off and leave me behind.”

  “I promise.”

  “Swear on it.”

  “There ain’t a need for that, is there?”

  “All the most solemn promises have got to be sworn upon. It’s customary.”

  Tom Sawyer told me that too, so I reckon she’s right.

  “Well, I’ll do it then. I dangblasted sonovabitchin’ promise.”

  That suited her and she says goodnight and went off. Then I had to tell Jim all of it and he’s considerable upset.

  “You goin’ sof’ in de head, Huck. How kin we take a girl wid us? I bet she cain’t even ride. It’s de mos’ ridickerless plan I ever heard.”

  “I ain’t all that happy myself, Jim, but I don’t see a way around it. She could of turned us in but she never. We’re obligated, I reckon.”

  “I don’ like it. When we got dis Grace along we goin’ to stan’ out a mile.”

  “But we’ll be across the river by then, Jim. There’ll be thousands streaming along the trail for us to get lost among. One girl won’t make no difference.”

  “I jest hopes you right, Huck, das all.”

  “I’m positive on it.”

  I warn’t at all, but I never wanted him to worry more than he is already.

  Two days dragged along, and gloomy and dismal is what they were. The McSweens was all sourfaced and silent and painful to be with come mealtimes. The closer we got to St. Joseph the more the road come alive with people heading the same way, gold fever just burning in their eyes. They was stepping quick and eager, all kinds of folk, mostly men but there’s a scattering of women too in some of the wagons.

  When we’re only ten miles from St. Joe Grace brung me the news that McSween wants to swing away south and go down toward Arkansas. St. Joe’s too big a town, he figures, and bound to have sheriffs and deputies crawling all over, and he’s running shy of lawmen since what happened back in Torrence. So I come up with a plan and it’s this: we just wait for dark and when everyone is snoring Grace sneaks out and meets up with Jim and me and we saddle the mules and go. Simple plans is best, that’s what Napoleon reckoned and Tom Sawyer agreed with him, so I got confidence in this one. I give Grace the word and she give me a hug in return and vowed she’d do it. I was hoping she’d of changed her mind by then but no, she’s all fired up over California, so we still have to take her along. I swore a promise on it.

  We made camp same as always beside the road but there’s plenty of people that kept right on going even after dark, just itching to be out of Missouri and truly begin the trek west. I never seen the sense in it myself. Ten miles is a small bite out of two thousand, but on they went with lamps swinging from the wagons and bunches of perfect strangers talking to each other like they growed up together. They say a war does the same thing.

  I never had no appetite on account of the nervous squirts that kept me running into the bushes, but it never mattered all that much; Ma’s cooking nowadays ain’t a patch on what it was before Torrence. Jim and me lay awake just listening to the tramp of feet and creaking of wheels on the road, then when we figured the McSweens must be asleep we snuck out and saddled up our mules. One of them started braying till Jim give it a fist between the eyes. If you get a mule that don’t behave, just punch it between the eyes and it’ll quiet down immediate, or else bite your arm off. We waited for Grace, but she’s a long time coming.

  “I reckon she still snorin’, Huck. Ain’t no sign of her.”

  “She’ll be along. She won’t of gone to sleep at all, same as us.”

  “I don’ like dis waitin’ aroun’.”

  “Me neither, but we got to.”

  But she never showed.

  “Wait here,” says I to Jim, and went to find out why. The doors on the virtues’ wagons was all shut and I never knowed for sure which one is hers, so no luck there. Then
I heard a voice nearby and it says:

  “Tom.… Tom.… Are you there?”

  It’s soft and whispery and come from the back of the tent wagon, so it has to be Grace looking for me, proberly so excited she forgot to call me Huck. I went back there and near jumped out of my skin because it ain’t Grace at all. It’s Mordecai in his nightshirt peering into the tent wagon, and he’s as perplexified as me.

  “What are you doing?” he says.

  “Taking a leak,” says I. “How about you?”

  “I must talk with you,” he says, all urgent and turning around to see if anyone is listening. They ain’t, so he grabs my elbow.

  “Tom, you are in serious danger,” he hisses, and I figure he’s catched wind of a batch of sheriffs sneaking around the camp.

  “What kind of danger?” I hiss back, worried now.

  “The minions of Satan threaten your immortal soul,” he says, rolling his eyes. “His pernicious imps are everywhere.”

  “I know. I heard a couple talking devil talk under the wagon and come out to see if I can catch one. If you put him in a bottle he’ll give you three wishes.”

  “Listen to me, boy. There are forces at work in this world beyond our pitiful understanding, horrible creeping things designed by the Black Master to crawl inside a man’s soul and devour it from within. The Satanic worm has found its way into your young body and is writhing inside you at this moment.”

  “It’s just the squirts, honest.”

  He give me a shake and put his face close to mine so’s I can smell his awful stinking breath.

  “Tom, only a true servant of the Lord can save you from the terrible fate awaiting you should the worm release its deadly venom. The pain will be excruciating. I have experienced its awful pangs myself, and there is only one way to avoid catastrophe. The poison must be sucked out before it can overwhelm your fine young limbs with hideous palpitations and loathsome boils. Only I can perform this service for you, Tom. I beseech you to place yourself in my hands and submit to the necessary exorcism. Together we will cast out the worm. Let me grant you blessed relief in the name of the Lord. I must pray …”

  And down he goes on his knees and flung his arms around me. It give me a scare on account of the money belt he’s bound to feel wrapped around me so I pulled back, but he locked his hands behind me.

  “Oh, Tom …” he moans. “Oh, God.…”

  I can feel the money crinkling and crackling as he mashes his nose into it, and it called for desperate measures, as they say. I lifted a lamp that’s hanging unlit off the back of the wagon and brung it down hard on his head.

  “Oh, Tom,” he blubbers. “What … what are you doing?…”

  “Hold still, Reverend! There’s one of them imps on your head! I’ll get him this time!”

  Down come the lamp again. It’s only tin so it can’t truly hurt him, but the glass smashed and spilled oil over his shoulders and hair. Then he started giggling and I knowed he’s a lunatic for sure.

  “Tom, you’re not cooperating, you naughty mischievous child.…”

  And he grabs me even tighter. I got panicky then and swung that busted lamp hard as I could, but it done no good so I kicked frantic to get free, but only stomped his legs some.

  “Oh, Tom …” he keeps on moaning.

  I seen it ain’t no use to fight my way out so I figured another way in about a second and give her a try.

  “Reverend! Look out! Satan’s right behind you!”

  It never would of worked with no one else, but Mordecai took the bait right up to the rod. He unhooked his hands and flung himself around to catch a look at Old Scratch, and danged if he don’t throw up his arms and screech like a trod-on cat.

  “No!… No!… Get thee behind me!…” he hollers, and I cut and run for the mules, only before I went five steps there’s Grace with a bonnet on her head and a little tote bag in her hand and a startled look on her face.

  “Huckleberry.…” she says as I go flying past, right smack into McSween in his nightshirt.

  “What is happening here?…” he says, then sees Grace all dressed up to travel. “What are you doing?” he yells at her, and Grace don’t know which way to turn.

  Then Mordecai come blundering around the wagon backward, arms whirling like windmills to keep the devil off him and little groans coming out of his mouth. He headed straight for the fire and tripped and his shoulder went into the embers. His nightshirt and hair catched alight just like that and he’s up and running in circles, screaming for the Lord to save him from the flames of Hell. The rest of the family spilled out of the wagons and the pinhead went mad and run in circles too, screaming just as loud as Mordecai. Grace seen her escape fall to pieces in front of her and starts howling along in chorus, and I figured now is the time to put distance between me and the McSweens.

  While they was trying to douse Mordecai with water I snuck off back to Jim. He’s already on his mule and I swung onto mine.

  “What happen, Huck? Soun’s like a body’s gettin’ killed.”

  “I’ll tell it all later. We got to go.”

  We went off into the woods away from the road and swung around in a half circle and come back to it further down, then waited for a gap in the travelers so’s we don’t get seen coming out of the trees like outlaws on the run. When I figured we’re safe I told Jim everything and he wagged his finger at me.

  “I done tol’ you, Huck. Messin’ wid dat girl jest boun’ to give us a heaper trouble. Maybe nex’ time you goin’ to listen.”

  Leaving Grace behind that way warn’t right. I give her my promise then never done what we agreed, but I reckon it ain’t no use to whale myself over it. I done my best but fickle fate went and sat on the plan. At least Jim and me got away, and that ain’t no mean thing.

  9

  St. Joseph—A New Partner—An Interesting Article—Short Tempers in Tent City—A Long Rifle—Across the Missouri

  Just before dawn we come over a little rise and there’s St. Joseph laid out before us with lighted windows in houses spread far and wide. Between them and us is a tent city, just canvas and wagons and campfires, hundreds of them, and you can see there’s people moving around among them by the way the fires flickered. It’s a mighty impressive sight and we soaked it all in, then nudged the mules and went ahead to be part of it.

  When the sun come up behind our backs we seen pieces of the Missouri behind the town, then we’re too close to see anything except all them wagons and tents. Folks was cooking breakfast over the fires and the smell set our bellies rumbling. Says I:

  “Jim, if I don’t get food inside me directly I’ll fall down in the road and get tromped into the mud.”

  “I’se kinder peckish too, Huck. What we goin’ to do?”

  “It’s simple. Did you see the way people all along the road been acting, all brotherly and friendly? Well, all we got to do is ask for some food and it’ll be handed over gladly, but I’ll offer a quarter for politeness’ sake.”

  I seen a woman frying up bacon and bread in a pan and steered over and got down off the mule, then took off my hat and sidled up next to her. Says I:

  “Pardon me, ma’am. Me and my nigger got no food to eat. I’d be obliged if you’d give us breakfast for a quarter.”

  She looked up, not old but plenty wrinkled, with a wart on her nose.

  “You’d be obliged, would you?” she says. “I’ll do it for five dollars and not a cent less.”

  “Five dollars for breakfast, ma’am?”

  “You heard right.”

  “I reckon that’s too steep for me.”

  “Well, you can try somewhere else, but you won’t get a better offer.”

  “I reckon we’ll try anyhow. Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Just got in, ain’t you,” she says.

  “Yes, ma’am, right this minute.”

  “Well you got a lot to learn. Did you bring cash with you or just the nigger?”

  “Only a few dollars,” says I, not wanting to tell
about the money belt.

  “Then you may as well turn right around and go back where you come from. You can’t do nothing in this place without you’ve got money to burn. See if I’m wrong.”

  She turned away and pointed her wart at the frying pan, and Jim and me went on. I tried two other women that’s fixing breakfast, and the first wanted seven dollars and next wanted ten. We went back to the wart. She seen us coming and stood with hands on hips and a look that says “I told you so” on her face.

  “Where’s the five dollars?” she says, and I give it to her.

  “Set yourselfs down if you don’t mind mud. Stay stood if you do.”

  She give us a plateful each and we stayed stood to gobble it down.

  “Are you headed for California, ma’am?” says I, wanting to be friendly.

  “I’m headed for the grave, same as everyone,” she says, waspish.

  “Oh, I figured seeing as you’re in St. Joseph you must of been aiming to join in the rush.”

  “That was the plan,” she says. “Now there ain’t one. You see that wagon over there and the one horse beside it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, when I come here there was two horses and a husband as well. Last week he got drunk and fell down and a wagon run over his back and killed him. I had to sell one of the team to pay for a decent burial. Now I can’t go backwards nor forwards. I’m stuck in this mudhole with all these other fools that want to find a pot of gold same as my Ephraim done. I reckon you’ll be wanting the same thing.”