Chapter 35: Page 4
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“I don’t know.”
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“I don’t know.”
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“Well, guess.”
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“Well, take a guess.”
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“I don’t know. A month and a half.”
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“I don’t know—a month and a half.”
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“THIRTY-SEVEN YEAR—and he come out in China. THAT’S the kind. I wish the bottom of THIS fortress was solid rock.”
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“Thirty-seven YEARS. And he popped out in China. That’s the way to do it. I wish the bottom of THIS fortress was solid rock.”
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“JIM don’t know nobody in China.”
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“JIM doesn’t know anyone in China.”
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“What’s THAT got to do with it? Neither did that other fellow. But you’re always a-wandering off on a side issue. Why can’t you stick to the main point?”
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“What’s THAT got to do with it? Neither did that other fellow. But you’re always wandering off topic. Why can’t you ever stick to the main point?”
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“All right—I don’t care where he comes out, so he COMES out; and Jim don’t, either, I reckon. But there’s one thing, anyway—Jim’s too old to be dug out with a case-knife. He won’t last.”
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“All right—I don’t care where he comes out so long as he COMES out. And Jim doesn’t either, I suppose. But there’s one other thing—Jim’s too old to be dug out with a pocket knife. He wouldn’t last that long.”
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“Yes he will LAST, too. You don’t reckon it’s going to take thirty-seven years to dig out through a DIRT foundation, do you?”
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“Yes he will LAST that long. You don’t think it’s going to take us thirty-seven years to dig through a DIRT foundation, do you?”
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“How long will it take, Tom?”
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“Well how long will it take us, Tom?”
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“Well, we can’t resk being as long as we ought to, because it mayn’t take very long for Uncle Silas to hear from down there by New Orleans. He’ll hear Jim ain’t from there. Then his next move will be to advertise Jim, or something like that. So we can’t resk being as long digging him out as we ought to. By rights I reckon we ought to be a couple of years; but we can’t. Things being so uncertain, what I recommend is this: that we really dig right in, as quick as we can; and after that, we can LET ON, to ourselves, that we was at it thirty-seven years. Then we can snatch him out and rush him away the first time there’s an alarm. Yes, I reckon that ’ll be the best way.”
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“Well, we can’t risk taking as much time as it should take, because it might not be long before Uncle Silas sends word back from New Orleans. He’ll find out that Jim isn’t from there. Then his next move will be to advertise Jim as a runaway slave, or something like that. We can’t risk spending too much time digging. We should take a couple of years, but we can’t. With things being so uncertain, I recommend that we dig right in as quickly as we can, then we PRETEND that it took us thirty-seven years. Then we can snatch Jim out of there and take him away the first time there’s an alarm. Yes, I think that’s the best way to do it.”
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“Now, there’s SENSE in that,” I says. “Letting on don’t cost nothing; letting on ain’t no trouble; and if it’s any object, I don’t mind letting on we was at it a hundred and fifty year. It wouldn’t strain me none, after I got my hand in. So I’ll mosey along now, and smouch a couple of case-knives.”
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“Now THAT makes sense,” I said. “Pretending doesn’t cost anything or bring any trouble. And I wouldn’t mind pretending that it took us a hundred and fifty years to do it. I wouldn’t care much either after it’s done. So I’ll go along now and steal a couple of pocket knives.”
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“Smouch three,” he says; “we want one to make a saw out of.”
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“Steal three,” he said. “We want to make a saw out of one.”
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“Tom, if it ain’t unregular and irreligious to sejest it,” I says, “there’s an old rusty saw-blade around yonder sticking under the weather-boarding behind the smoke-house.”
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“Tom, I don’t mean to be rude or disrespectful,” I said, “but there’s an old rusty saw blade over there that’s sticking under the weather boarding behind the smokehouse.”
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He looked kind of weary and discouraged-like, and says:
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Looking discouraged and kind of tired, he said:
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“It ain’t no use to try to learn you nothing, Huck. Run along and smouch the knives—three of them.” So I done it.
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“It isn’t any use trying to teach you anything, Huck. Go on and steal the knives—three of them.” So I did.
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Chapter 36
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AS soon as we reckoned everybody was asleep that night we went down the lightning-rod, and shut ourselves up in the lean-to, and got out our pile of fox-fire, and went to work. We cleared everything out of the way, about four or five foot along the middle of the bottom log. Tom said we was right behind Jim’s bed now, and we’d dig in under it, and when we got through there couldn’t nobody in the cabin ever know there was any hole there, because Jim’s counter-pin hung down most to the ground, and you’d have to raise it up and look under to see the hole. So we dug and dug with the case-knives till most midnight; and then we was dog-tired, and our hands was blistered, and yet you couldn’t see we’d done anything hardly. At last I says:
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As soon as we figured that everyone was asleep that night, we climbed down the lightning rod and closed ourselves up in the lean-to. We got out our pile of foxfire and went to work. We cleared everything out of the way about four or five feet along the middle of the bottom log of the wall. Tom said we were right behind Jim’s bed, and we’d dig under it. He said that no one in the cabin would ever know there was a hole in it when we were done because Jim’s sheets hung down almost to the ground—you’d have to lift it up and look under in order to see the hole. So we dug with the pocketknives until it was almost midnight. We were dog-tired by then, and our hands were blistered, but you couldn’t tell that we’d been working so hard. Finally I said:
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“This ain’t no thirty-seven year job; this is a thirty-eight year job, Tom Sawyer.”
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“This isn’t a thirty-seven year job—it’s a thirty-eight year job, Tom Sawyer.”
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He never said nothing. But he sighed, and pretty soon he stopped digging, and then for a good little while I knowed that he was thinking. Then he says:
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He didn’t say anything, but he signed. Pretty soon he stopped digging, and I knew what he was thinking for a while. Then he said:
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“It ain’t no use, Huck, it ain’t a-going to work. If we was prisoners it would, because then we’d have as many years as we wanted, and no hurry; and we wouldn’t get but a few minutes to dig, every day, while they was changing watches, and so our hands wouldn’t get blistered, and we could keep it up right along, year in and year out, and do it right, and the way it ought to be done. But WE can’t fool along; we got to rush; we ain’t got no time to spare. If we was to put in another night this way we’d have to knock off for a week to let our hands get well—couldn’t touch a case-knife with them sooner.”
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“It isn’t any use, Huck. This isn’t going to work. It would if we were prisoners, because then we’d have as many years as we wanted and there wouldn’t be a rush. And it’d be fine that we’d only get a few minutes a day to dig, while they were changing the watch, which means our hands wouldn’t get blistered. We could just keep doing that year in and year out. We could do it properly, the way it ought to be done. But we CAN’T do that here—we’ve got to hurry up. We don’t have any spare time. If we have to spend another night digging, we’d have to wait a whole week just to let our hands heal. We wouldn’t even be able to TOUCH a knife before that.”
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“Well, then, what we going to do, Tom?”
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“Well then, what are we going to do, Tom?”
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“I’ll tell you. It ain’t right, and it ain’t moral, and I wouldn’t like it to get out; but there ain’t only just the one way: we got to dig him out with the picks, and LET ON it’s case-knives.”
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“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. It isn’t right or moral, and I don’t want anyone to know aobut it, but there’s only one other option—we’ve got to dig him out with the picks and just TELL EVERYONE that we used pocket knives.”
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“NOW you’re TALKING!” I says; “your head gets leveler and leveler all the time, Tom Sawyer,” I says. “Picks is the thing, moral or no moral; and as for me, I don’t care shucks for the morality of it, nohow. When I start in to steal a nigger, or a watermelon, or a Sunday-school book, I ain’t no ways particular how it’s done so it’s done. What I want is my nigger; or what I want is my watermelon; or what I want is my Sunday-school book; and if a pick’s the handiest thing, that’s the thing I’m a-going to dig that nigger or that watermelon or that Sunday-school book out with; and I don’t give a dead rat what the authorities thinks about it nuther.”
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“NOW you’re TALKING!” I said. “Your mind gets more and more practical all the time, Tom Sawyer,” I said. “Using picks is the way to do it, moral or immoral. As for me, I don’t give a darn for the morality of it anyway. When I start to steal a n----- or a watermelon or a Sunday school book, I’m not very particular in how it’s done so long as it IS done. All I want is my n----- or my watermelon or my Sunday school book. And if a pick’s the handiest thing, that’s the thing I’m going to use to dig that n----- out or get that watermelon or steal that Sunday school book. And I don’t give a rat’s ass what the authorities think about it!”
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“Well,” he says, “there’s excuse for picks and letting-on in a case like this; if it warn’t so, I wouldn’t approve of it, nor I wouldn’t stand by and see the rules broke—because right is right, and wrong is wrong, and a body ain’t got no business doing wrong when he ain’t ignorant and knows better. It might answer for YOU to dig Jim out with a pick, WITHOUT any letting on, because you don’t know no better; but it wouldn’t for me, because I do know better. Gimme a case-knife.”
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“Well,” he said. “We’ll have a good excuse for using picks and pretending they’re pocketknives. I wouldn’t approve of this if we could do it any other way. And I wouldn’t stand by and watch you break the rules, because right is right and wrong is wrong. A person has no business doing something wrong when he knows better. YOU might feel okay digging Jim out with a pick and NOT pretending it’s a pocketknife, because you don’t know any better. But it wouldn’t do for me. I do know better. Gimme a pocketknife.”
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He had his own by him, but I handed him mine. He flung it down, and says:
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His own pocketknife was next to him, but I handed him mine. He threw down, though, and said:
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“Gimme a CASE-KNIFE.”
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“Gimme a POCKETKNIFE.”
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I didn’t know just what to do—but then I thought. I scratched around amongst the old tools, and got a pickaxe and give it to him, and he took it and went to work, and never said a word.
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I didn’t quite know what to do—but then it hit me. I searched through the old tools, got a pickaxe, and gave it to him. He took it and went to work without saying a word.
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He was always just that particular. Full of principle.
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He was always that picky. So full of principles.
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So then I got a shovel, and then we picked and shoveled, turn about, and made the fur fly. We stuck to it about a half an hour, which was as long as we could stand up; but we had a good deal of a hole to show for it. When I got up stairs I looked out at the window and see Tom doing his level best with the lightning-rod, but he couldn’t come it, his hands was so sore. At last he says:
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I got a shovel, and we picked and shoveled, swinging around and making dirt fly everywhere. We kept at it for about half an hour, until we couldn’t stand up straight. But we had a pretty good-sized hole to show for all our work. When I got back upstairs, I looked out the window and saw Tom trying his best to climb back up the lightning rod. He couldn’t do it, though—his hands were too sore. Finally he said:
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Chapter 36: Page 2
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“It ain’t no use, it can’t be done. What you reckon I better do? Can’t you think of no way?”
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“It isn’t any use. It can’t be done. What do you think I should do? Can you think of any way up?”
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“Yes,” I says, “but I reckon it ain’t regular. Come up the stairs, and let on it’s a lightning-rod.”
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“Yes,” I said. “But I suppose it’s a bit irregular. Just come up the stairs and pretend it’s a lightning rod.”
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So he done it.
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So he did.
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Next day Tom stole a pewter spoon and a brass candlestick in the house, for to make some pens for Jim out of, and six tallow candles; and I hung around the nigger cabins and laid for a chance, and stole three tin plates. Tom says it wasn’t enough; but I said nobody wouldn’t ever see the plates that Jim throwed out, because they’d fall in the dog-fennel and jimpson weeds under the window-hole—then we could tote them back and he could use them over again. So Tom was satisfied. Then he says:
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The next day Tom stole a pewter spoon and a brass candlestick from the house to use to make some pens for Jim. He also took six tallow candles. I hung around the n----- cabins and waited for my chance to steal three tin plates. Tom said it wasn’t enough, but I said no one would see the tin plates that Jim threw out, because they’d fall among the dog-fennel and jimpson weeds that grew under the window-hole. I said we could just pick them up, carry them back, and use them again. That satisfied Tom. Then he said:
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“Now, the thing to study out is, how to get the things to Jim.”
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“Now we’ve got to figure out how to get these things to Jim.”
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“Take them in through the hole,” I says, “when we get it done.”
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“Just put them through the hole,” I said, “after we finish making it.”
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He only just looked scornful, and said something about nobody ever heard of such an idiotic idea, and then he went to studying. By and by he said he had ciphered out two or three ways, but there warn’t no need to decide on any of them yet. Said we’d got to post Jim first.
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He looked scornfully at me and said something about never having heard of such an idiotic idea. Then he started thinking to himself. Pretty soon he said he’d figured out two or three ways, but that we didn’t need to decide which one to use just yet. He said we had to get word to Jim first.
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That night we went down the lightning-rod a little after ten, and took one of the candles along, and listened under the window-hole, and heard Jim snoring; so we pitched it in, and it didn’t wake him. Then we whirled in with the pick and shovel, and in about two hours and a half the job was done. We crept in under Jim’s bed and into the cabin, and pawed around and found the candle and lit it, and stood over Jim awhile, and found him looking hearty and healthy, and then we woke him up gentle and gradual. He was so glad to see us he most cried; and called us honey, and all the pet names he could think of; and was for having us hunt up a cold-chisel to cut the chain off of his leg with right away, and clearing out without losing any time. But Tom he showed him how unregular it would be, and set down and told him all about our plans, and how we could alter them in a minute any time there was an alarm; and not to be the least afraid, because we would see he got away, SURE. So Jim he said it was all right, and we set there and talked over old times awhile, and then Tom asked a lot of questions, and when Jim told him Uncle Silas come in every day or two to pray with him, and Aunt Sally come in to see if he was comfortable and had plenty to eat, and both of them was kind as they could be, Tom says:
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That night we climbed down the lightning rod a little after ten o’clock. We took one of the candles along and listendd under the window-hole to the sound of Jim snoring. Then we threw the candle in, though it didn’t wake him up. We started digging again with the pick and shovel, and finally finished after about two and a half hours. We crept through the hole and into the cabin under Jim’s bed, and felt around for the candle. We lit it and stood over Jim for a while. He looked pretty hearty and healthy. We woke him up slowly and gently. He was so glad to see us that he almost cried. He called us honey and all the other pet names he could think of. He wanted us to find him a metal chisel right away so that he could cut the chains off his leg and runaway without losing valuable time. But Tom explained how irregular this would be. He sat down and told Jim all about our plans and how we could alter them in a minute’s notice if we thought we were in trouble. He told Jim that he shouldn’t be afraid, because we would make SURE he got away. Jim said that was fine. We sat there and talked about the old days until Tom started asking a lot of questions. Jim told him that Uncle Silas came in every day or two to pray with him. Aunt Sally checked in to see if he was comfortable and make sure he had plenty to eat. Both of them were as kind as they could be. Tom said:
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“NOW I know how to fix it. We’ll send you some things by them.”
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“NOW I know how we can do it! We’ll send you some things with them.”
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I said, “Don’t do nothing of the kind; it’s one of the most jackass ideas I ever struck;” but he never paid no attention to me; went right on. It was his way when he’d got his plans set.
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I said, “That’s one of the dumbest ideas I’ve ever heard—don’t do anything like that,” but he never paid any attention to me. He kept going on like he always did when he made up his mind.
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So he told Jim how we’d have to smuggle in the rope-ladder pie and other large things by Nat, the nigger that fed him, and he must be on the lookout, and not be surprised, and not let Nat see him open them; and we would put small things in uncle’s coat-pockets and he must steal them out; and we would tie things to aunt’s apron-strings or put them in her apron-pocket, if we got a chance; and told him what they would be and what they was for. And told him how to keep a journal on the shirt with his blood, and all that. He told him everything. Jim he couldn’t see no sense in the most of it, but he allowed we was white folks and knowed better than him; so he was satisfied, and said he would do it all just as Tom said.
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He told Jim how we’d have to smuggle in the rope-ladder pie and other large things by way of Nat, the n----- that fed him. Tom told Jim to always be on the lookout and not let Nat catch him opening these things. We told him about all the small things we’d send to him and what they were for. We’d put some items in Uncle Silas’s coat pockets so Jim needed to pickpocket. We would tie some items to Aunt Sally’s apron string or put them in her apron pocket if we got the chance. Tom taught Jim how to keep a journal on the shirt with his blood, and all that too. He told him everything. Jim didn’t see the point in most of it, but he figured we knew better than he did because we were white. He was satisfied and said he’d do as Tom had instructed.
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Jim had plenty corn-cob pipes and tobacco; so we had a right down good sociable time; then we crawled out through the hole, and so home to bed, with hands that looked like they’d been chawed. Tom was in high spirits. He said it was the best fun he ever had in his life, and the most intellectural; and said if he only could see his way to it we would keep it up all the rest of our lives and leave Jim to our children to get out; for he believed Jim would come to like it better and better the more he got used to it. He said that in that way it could be strung out to as much as eighty year, and would be the best time on record. And he said it would make us all celebrated that had a hand in it.
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Jim had plenty of corn cob pipes and tobacco, so we had a good time chatting away. Then we crawled out through the hole and back to bed. Our hands looked like they’d been chewed up. Tom was in high spirits—he said it was the most fun he’d ever had in his life, and the most intellectual time too. He said he wished we could keep doing this for the rest of our lives, and then leave Jim to our children so they could have fun breaking him out too. He thought Jim would like it more and more as he got used to it. He said we could keep this going for another eighty years and make it the best break out on record. And he said that we’d be celebrated for our role in it.
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