Chapter 15: Page 2
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I kept quiet, with my ears cocked, about fifteen minutes, I reckon. I was floating along, of course, four or five miles an hour; but you don’t ever think of that. No, you FEEL like you are laying dead still on the water; and if a little glimpse of a snag slips by you don’t think to yourself how fast YOU’RE going, but you catch your breath and think, my! how that snag’s tearing along. If you think it ain’t dismal and lonesome out in a fog that way by yourself in the night, you try it once—you’ll see.
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I kept quiet with my ears cocked for what I imagine was about fifteen minutes. I was still floating along at about four or five miles an hour, though I wasn’t really didn’t notice. At a time like that, you FEEL like you’re sitting still on the water. If a see a snag slip past you don’t think to yourself how fast YOU’RE going. Instead, you catch your breath and think about how fast that snag is moving. If you don’t think it isn’t sad and loney being out in a fog by yourself at night, then try it sometime. You’ll see what I mean.
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Next, for about a half an hour, I whoops now and then; at last I hears the answer a long ways off, and tries to follow it, but I couldn’t do it, and directly I judged I’d got into a nest of towheads, for I had little dim glimpses of them on both sides of me—sometimes just a narrow channel between, and some that I couldn’t see I knowed was there because I’d hear the wash of the current against the old dead brush and trash that hung over the banks. Well, I warn’t long loosing the whoops down amongst the towheads; and I only tried to chase them a little while, anyway, because it was worse than chasing a Jack-o’-lantern. You never knowed a sound dodge around so, and swap places so quick and so much.
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Well, I whooped every now and then for about half and hour. At last, I heard another whoop answer me from a long ways off. I tried to follow it, but I couldn’t. I figured I’d gotten caught in a patch of towheads, since sometimes I’d catch little glimpses of the narrow little channel between them. There were others that I couldn’t see, but I could hear the sound of the current against the old dead brush and trash that hung over their banks. Well, it wasn’t long before I lost the whoops completely in the towheads. I briefly tried going after them, but it was harder to chase them than it was a Jack o’lantern. You can’t imagine how much the sound jumped around and changed places.
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I had to claw away from the bank pretty lively four or five times, to keep from knocking the islands out of the river; and so I judged the raft must be butting into the bank every now and then, or else it would get further ahead and clear out of hearing—it was floating a little faster than what I was.
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I had to work to claw myself away from the bank four or five time, to keep from knocking too hard against the towheads. I figured the raft must also be bumping into the bank every now and then, otherwise it would have gotten farther ahead and would have been clear out of hearing range. The raft was floating a little faster than I was.
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Well, I seemed to be in the open river again by and by, but I couldn’t hear no sign of a whoop nowheres. I reckoned Jim had fetched up on a snag, maybe, and it was all up with him. I was good and tired, so I laid down in the canoe and said I wouldn’t bother no more. I didn’t want to go to sleep, of course; but I was so sleepy I couldn’t help it; so I thought I would take jest one little cat-nap.
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Well, after a little while, I seemed to be back in the open river, but I couldn’t hear any whooping sounds. I figured Jim had gotten caught on a snag and that he was a goner. I was pretty tired, so I lay back in the canoe and said it was no use trying anymore. I didn’t want to go to sleep, of course. But I was so sleepy that I just couldn’t help it, so I decided to take a little catnap.
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But I reckon it was more than a cat-nap, for when I waked up the stars was shining bright, the fog was all gone, and I was spinning down a big bend stern first. First I didn’t know where I was; I thought I was dreaming; and when things began to come back to me they seemed to come up dim out of last week.
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It turned out to be more than a cat nap, though. When I woke up, the stars were shining bright. The fog was all gone, and I was spinning around a big bend stern first. At first I didn’t know where I was, and I thought I was dreaming. But then things began to slowly come back to me, as if everything that had happened took place a long time ago.
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It was a monstrous big river here, with the tallest and the thickest kind of timber on both banks; just a solid wall, as well as I could see by the stars. I looked away down-stream, and seen a black speck on the water. I took after it; but when I got to it it warn’t nothing but a couple of sawlogs made fast together. Then I see another speck, and chased that; then another, and this time I was right. It was the raft.
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The river was extremely wide at this point. The tall, thick trees growing on both riverbanks formted a solid wall that blocked out the stars. I looked far down stream and saw a black speck on the water. I took off after it, but when I reached it, I saw that it was only a couple of sawed logs stuck together. Then I saw another speck and chased after that one too. This time I was right—it was the raft.
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When I got to it Jim was setting there with his head down between his knees, asleep, with his right arm hanging over the steering-oar. The other oar was smashed off, and the raft was littered up with leaves and branches and dirt. So she’d had a rough time.
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When I got to it, Jim was sitting there asleep with his head down between his knees and his right arm hanging over the steering oar. The other oar had smashed off, and the raft was littered with leaves and branches and dirt. The raft looked like it’d had rough time coming down the river.
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I made fast and laid down under Jim’s nose on the raft, and began to gap, and stretch my fists out against Jim, and says:
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I tied the canoe to the raft, then lay down on the raft at Jim’s feet. I began to yawn, and I stretched my fists out against Jim and said:
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“Hello, Jim, have I been asleep? Why didn’t you stir me up?”
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“Hello, Jim. Have I been asleep? Why didn’t you wake me up?”
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“Goodness gracious, is dat you, Huck? En you ain’ dead—you ain’ drownded—you’s back agin? It’s too good for true, honey, it’s too good for true. Lemme look at you chile, lemme feel o’ you. No, you ain’ dead! you’s back agin, ’live en soun’, jis de same ole Huck—de same ole Huck, thanks to goodness!”
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“Goodness gracious! Is that you, Huck? And you aren’t dead—you didn’t drown. You’re back? It’s too good to be true, pal, too good to be true. Let me look at you, child. Let me feel you. No, you aren’t dead! You’re back, alive and well. You’re just the same old Huck—the same old Huck! Thank God!”
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“What’s the matter with you, Jim? You been a-drinking?”
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“What’s the matter with you, Jim? Have you been drinking?”
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“Drinkin’? Has I ben a-drinkin’? Has I had a chance to be a-drinkin’?”
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“Drinking? Have I been drinking? Have I had the chance to drink?”
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“Well, then, what makes you talk so wild?”
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“Well then, why are you talking so crazy?”
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“How does I talk wild?”
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“What do you mean crazy? Do I sound like I’m crazy?”
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“HOW? Why, hain’t you been talking about my coming back, and all that stuff, as if I’d been gone away?”
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“DO YOU? Haven’t you been talking about me coming back and all? As if I’d been gone?”
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Chapter 15: Page 3
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“Huck—Huck Finn, you look me in de eye; look me in de eye. HAIN’T you ben gone away?”
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“Huck. Huck Finn. You look me in the eye. Look me in the eye. HAVEN’T you been gone?”
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“Gone away? Why, what in the nation do you mean? I hain’t been gone anywheres. Where would I go to?”
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“Gone? Why, what do you mean? I haven’t been gone at all. Where would I go?”
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“Well, looky here, boss, dey’s sumf’n wrong, dey is. Is I ME, or who IS I? Is I heah, or whah IS I? Now dat’s what I wants to know.”
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“Well, look here, boss. There’s something funny going on, there sure is. Am I ME? Who AM me? Am I here or not? Now that’s what I want to know.”
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“Well, I think you’re here, plain enough, but I think you’re a tangle-headed old fool, Jim.”
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“Well, it’s pretty obvious you’re here, but I think you’re a mixed up old fool, Jim.”
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“I is, is I? Well, you answer me dis: Didn’t you tote out de line in de canoe fer to make fas’ to de tow-head?”
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“I am, am I? Well, answer me this: Didn’t you get out the rope in the canoe so that we could tie ourselves up to the towhead?”
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“No, I didn’t. What tow-head? I hain’t see no tow-head.”
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“No, I didn’t. What towhead? I haven’t seen any towheads.”
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“You hain’t seen no towhead? Looky here, didn’t de line pull loose en de raf’ go a-hummin’ down de river, en leave you en de canoe behine in de fog?”
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“You haven’t seen any towheads? Look here. Didn’t the rope pull loose and the raft go sliding down the river and leave you and the canoe behind in the fog?”
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“What fog?”
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“What fog?”
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“Why, de fog!—de fog dat’s been aroun’ all night. En didn’t you whoop, en didn’t I whoop, tell we got mix’ up in de islands en one un us got los’ en t’other one was jis’ as good as los’, ’kase he didn’ know whah he wuz? En didn’t I bust up agin a lot er dem islands en have a terrible time en mos’ git drownded? Now ain’ dat so, boss—ain’t it so? You answer me dat.”
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“Why, the fog! The fog that’s been around all night. Didn’t you whoop, and didn’t I whoop until we got mixed up in the islands? And then one of us got lost and the other one was as good as lost since he didn’t know where he was? And didn’t I almost drown getting the raft through those islands? Now isn’t that what happened, boss? Isn’t it? Answer me.”
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“Well, this is too many for me, Jim. I hain’t seen no fog, nor no islands, nor no troubles, nor nothing. I been setting here talking with you all night till you went to sleep about ten minutes ago, and I reckon I done the same. You couldn’t a got drunk in that time, so of course you’ve been dreaming.”
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“This is too much for me, Jim. I haven’t seen any fog, or any islands, or trouble, or anything. I was sitting here talking with you all night until you went to sleep about ten minutes ago. Then I suppose I did the same. You couldn’t have gotten drunk in that time, so you must have been dreaming.”
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“Dad fetch it, how is I gwyne to dream all dat in ten minutes?”
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“Come on, how could I dream all that in ten minutes?”
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“Well, hang it all, you did dream it, because there didn’t any of it happen.”
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“Well, darn it, you did dream it because none of it happened.”
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“But, Huck, it’s all jis’ as plain to me as—”
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“But Huck, it all seemed so real to me, just as plain as….”
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“It don’t make no difference how plain it is; there ain’t nothing in it. I know, because I’ve been here all the time.”
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“It doesn’t matter how plain it seemed. Your story isn’t. I know because I’ve been here the whole time.”
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Jim didn’t say nothing for about five minutes, but set there studying over it. Then he says:
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Jim didn’t say anything for about five minutes. He just sat there thinking it over. Then he said:
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“Well, den, I reck’n I did dream it, Huck; but dog my cats ef it ain’t de powerfullest dream I ever see. En I hain’t ever had no dream b’fo’ dat’s tired me like dis one.”
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“Well, then, I guess I did dream it, Huck. But I’ll be damned if that wasn’t the most intense dream I’ve ever had. And I’ve never had a dream before that’s made me as tired as this one did.”
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“Oh, well, that’s all right, because a dream does tire a body like everything sometimes. But this one was a staving dream; tell me all about it, Jim.”
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“Oh, well that’s alright because dreams can really wear you out sometimes. This one seems to have been a doozy, though. Tell me all about it, Jim.”
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So Jim went to work and told me the whole thing right through, just as it happened, only he painted it up considerable. Then he said he must start in and “’terpret” it, because it was sent for a warning. He said the first towhead stood for a man that would try to do us some good, but the current was another man that would get us away from him. The whoops was warnings that would come to us every now and then, and if we didn’t try hard to make out to understand them they’d just take us into bad luck, ’stead of keeping us out of it. The lot of towheads was troubles we was going to get into with quarrelsome people and all kinds of mean folks, but if we minded our business and didn’t talk back and aggravate them, we would pull through and get out of the fog and into the big clear river, which was the free States, and wouldn’t have no more trouble.
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So Jim started to tell me the whole story from beginning to end. He told it just the way it had happened, though he exaggerated quite a bit. Then he said he needed to interpret the dream, because it was meant to be some kind of warning. He said that the first towhead represented a man that would try to help us, but the current was another man that would take us away from the first man. The whoops were warnings that would come to us every now and then. If we didn’t try hard to figure out what they meant, we would end up having bad luck instead of good luck. The area with a lot of towheads represented trouble we were going to get into with some bad people. But if we minded our own business and didn’t talk back or do anything to aggravate them, then we would pull through the fog. We would make it into the open river, which represented the free states.
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It had clouded up pretty dark just after I got on to the raft, but it was clearing up again now.
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It had gotten pretty cloudy shortly after I’d gotten on the raft, but it was starting to clear up again.
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“Oh, well, that’s all interpreted well enough as far as it goes, Jim,” I says; “but what does THESE things stand for?”
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“Well, your interpretation is pretty good, Jim,” I said. “But what do THESE things stand for?”
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It was the leaves and rubbish on the raft and the smashed oar. You could see them first-rate now.
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I was referring to the smashed oar and the leaves and debris on the raft. You could see them pretty clearly now.
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Jim looked at the trash, and then looked at me, and back at the trash again. He had got the dream fixed so strong in his head that he couldn’t seem to shake it loose and get the facts back into its place again right away. But when he did get the thing straightened around he looked at me steady without ever smiling, and says:
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Jim looked at the debris, then at me, then back at the debris again. He’d gotten the dream fixed so firmly in his mind that he couldn’t let go of it and confront the facts. But when he did piece it together and he realized what had really happened, he looked at me with a serious expression and said:
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Chapter 15: Page 4
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“What do dey stan’ for? I’se gwyne to tell you. When I got all wore out wid work, en wid de callin’ for you, en went to sleep, my heart wuz mos’ broke bekase you wuz los’, en I didn’ k’yer no’ mo’ what become er me en de raf’. En when I wake up en fine you back agin, all safe en soun’, de tears come, en I could a got down on my knees en kiss yo’ foot, I’s so thankful. En all you wuz thinkin’ ’bout wuz how you could make a fool uv ole Jim wid a lie. Dat truck dah is TRASH; en trash is what people is dat puts dirt on de head er dey fren’s en makes ’em ashamed.”
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“What do they stand for? I’ll tell you. When I’d worn myself out working so hard to call for you that I fell asleep, my heart was completely broken because you were lost. I didn’t care anymore about myself or the raft. Then I woke up and found you back again all safe and sound, and I cried. I was so thankful that I could have gotten down on my knees and kissed your feet. And all you were thinking about was how you could make a fool out of old Jim by lying to him. This stuff here is TRASH. And trash is what people are who play dirty tricks on their friends and make them feel ashamed.”
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Then he got up slow and walked to the wigwam, and went in there without saying anything but that. But that was enough. It made me feel so mean I could almost kissed HIS foot to get him to take it back.
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Then he got up slowly and walked to the wigwam. He went in without saying another word, but what he’d said had been enough. I felt so awful that I almost kissed HIS feet to get him to take back what he’d said.
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It was fifteen minutes before I could work myself up to go and humble myself to a nigger; but I done it, and I warn’t ever sorry for it afterwards, neither. I didn’t do him no more mean tricks, and I wouldn’t done that one if I’d a knowed it would make him feel that way.
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It took me fifteen minutes to work myself up to apologize to a n-----. But I did it, and I wasn’t ashamed of it afterwards. I never played any more mean tricks on him after that, and I would have never played that one if I had known it would make him feel that way.
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Chapter 16
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WE slept most all day, and started out at night, a little ways behind monstrous long raft that was as long going by as a procession. She had four long sweeps at each end, so we judged she carried as many as thirty men, likely. She had five big wigwams aboard, wide apart, and an open camp fire in the middle, and a tall flag-pole at each end. There was a power of style about her. It AMOUNTED to something being a raftsman on such a craft as that.
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We slept most of the day and started out at night. We were a little ways behind a monstrously long raft that seemed as long as a funeral procession. It had four long oars at each end, so we figured it could probably carry about thirty men. On the deck were five big wigwams spaced widely apart and an open campfire in the middle. There were tall flagpoles at each end. It had an impressive style to it. You were really SOMEBODY if you were a raftsman on a raft like that.
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We went drifting down into a big bend, and the night clouded up and got hot. The river was very wide, and was walled with solid timber on both sides; you couldn’t see a break in it hardly ever, or a light. We talked about Cairo, and wondered whether we would know it when we got to it. I said likely we wouldn’t, because I had heard say there warn’t but about a dozen houses there, and if they didn’t happen to have them lit up, how was we going to know we was passing a town? Jim said if the two big rivers joined together there, that would show. But I said maybe we might think we was passing the foot of an island and coming into the same old river again. That disturbed Jim—and me too. So the question was, what to do? I said, paddle ashore the first time a light showed, and tell them pap was behind, coming along with a trading-scow, and was a green hand at the business, and wanted to know how far it was to Cairo. Jim thought it was a good idea, so we took a smoke on it and waited.
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As the night was getting hot and cloudy, we drifted down into a big bend. The river was very wide, and thick forests formed a wall along both banks. You could barely any light through the breaks in the trees. We talked about the city of Cairo and wondered whether we would know it when we reached it. I said we probably wouldn’t because I’d heard that there weren’t even a dozen houses there. If those houses weren’t lit up, how would we know we were passing the town? Jim said we would know because the two big rivers joined together there. I said that we might mistakenly think we were passing the foot of an island that runs down the middle of the river. That bothered both of us. So the question was, what should we do? I said that we should paddle ashore at first light and tell everyone that pap was following us in a trading barge. We could say that he was new to the business and wanted to know how far it was to Cairo. Jim liked the idea, so we had ourselves a smoke while we waited.
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There warn’t nothing to do now but to look out sharp for the town, and not pass it without seeing it. He said he’d be mighty sure to see it, because he’d be a free man the minute he seen it, but if he missed it he’d be in a slave country again and no more show for freedom. Every little while he jumps up and says:
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All we could do at this point was to keep a sharp eye out for the town so as not to miss it. Jim said he wouldn’t miss it because he’d be a free man the minute he saw it, but would be back in slave country again without an ounce of freedom if he missed it. Every now and then he’d jump up and say:
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“Dah she is?”
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“Is that it?”
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But it warn’t. It was Jack-o’-lanterns, or lightning bugs; so he set down again, and went to watching, same as before. Jim said it made him all over trembly and feverish to be so close to freedom. Well, I can tell you it made me all over trembly and feverish, too, to hear him, because I begun to get it through my head that he WAS most free—and who was to blame for it? Why, ME. I couldn’t get that out of my conscience, no how nor no way. It got to troubling me so I couldn’t rest; I couldn’t stay still in one place. It hadn’t ever come home to me before, what this thing was that I was doing. But now it did; and it stayed with me, and scorched me more and more. I tried to make out to myself that I warn’t to blame, because I didn’t run Jim off from his rightful owner; but it warn’t no use, conscience up and says, every time, “But you knowed he was running for his freedom, and you could a paddled ashore and told somebody.” That was so—I couldn’t get around that noway. That was where it pinched. Conscience says to me, “What had poor Miss Watson done to you that you could see her nigger go off right under your eyes and never say one single word? What did that poor old woman do to you that you could treat her so mean? Why, she tried to learn you your book, she tried to learn you your manners, she tried to be good to you every way she knowed how. THAT’S what she done.”
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But it wasn’t. It would only be jack o’lanterns or lighting bugs. So he sat down and went back to watching. Jim said it made him anxious and excited to be so close to freedom. I can tell you, it made me anxious and excited as well to hear him talk about it. I began to start thinking that he WAS free. And who was to blame for setting him free? ME. My conscience was nagging me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It bothered me so much that I couldn’t relax; I couldn’t sit still. What I was doing hadn’t dawned on me before, but now it did, and it burned my conscience. I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t to blame for setting Jim free because I didn’t steal him from his rightful owner. But that didn’t help. My conscience kept saying, “But you knew he was running toward freedom. You could have paddled him back to town and told someone.” This was true—I couldn’t deny it no matter how hard I tried, and that’s what was bothering me. My conscience said to me, “What did poor Miss Watson ever do to you that would make you watch her n----- run away right in front of your eyes and never say a word? What did that poor old woman do to you that could make you treat her so badly? Why, she even tried to teach you how to read. She tried to teach you manners. And she tried to be good to you in every way she knew how. THAT’S what she did.”
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I got to feeling so mean and so miserable I most wished I was dead. I fidgeted up and down the raft, abusing myself to myself, and Jim was fidgeting up and down past me. We neither of us could keep still. Every time he danced around and says, “Dah’s Cairo!” it went through me like a shot, and I thought if it WAS Cairo I reckoned I would die of miserableness.
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I started feeling so sad and so miserable that I almost wished I were dead. I fidgeted and paced up and down the raft, berating myself. Jim fidgeted and paced up and down right along with me. Neither of us could keep still. Every time he jumped around and said, “There’s Cairo!” it went through me like a gunshot. I thought that if it WAS Cairo, I would die of sadness.
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Jim talked out loud all the time while I was talking to myself. He was saying how the first thing he would do when he got to a free State he would go to saving up money and never spend a single cent, and when he got enough he would buy his wife, which was owned on a farm close to where Miss Watson lived; and then they would both work to buy the two children, and if their master wouldn’t sell them, they’d get an Ab’litionist to go and steal them.
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Jim constantly talked out loud while I talked to myself. He would say that the first thing he’d do when he got to a free state would be to start saving up money by not spending a single cent. When he had saved enough money, he would buy his wife, who was owned by a farm close to where Miss Watson lived. Then they would both work to buy their two children. And if their master wouldn’t sell them, they’d get an abolitionist to steal them.
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