by Twain, Mark
“He has heard of it, too; it’s an old thing; there’s been a million of them.”
Jim couldn’t speak, he was so astonished. And so hurt, too. He judged it was a sin for Tom to say such a thing. But Tom told him it was so, and everybody knowed it that had read the histories. So Jim had to believe it, but he didn’t want to, and said he didn’t believe Providence would allow it any more; and then he got doubtful and troubled and ontrustful, and asked Tom to lay low and not sejest it. And he was so anxious that he couldn’t be comforted till Tom promised him he wouldn’t.
So Tom done it; but he was disappointed. And for a while he couldn’t keep from talking about it and hankering after it. It shows what a good heart he had; he had been just dead set on getting up a civil war, and had even planned out the preparations for it on the biggest scale, and yet he throwed it all aside and give it up to accommodate a nigger. Not many boys would a done such a thing as that. But that was just his style; when he liked a person there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for them. I’ve seen Tom Sawyer do a many a noble thing, but the noblest of all, I think, was the time he countermanded the civil war. That was his word—and not a half a mouthful for him, either, but I don’t fat up with such, they give me the dry gripes. He had the preparations all made, and was going to have a billion men in the field, first and last, besides munitions of war. I don’t know what that is—brass bands, I reckon; sounds like it, anyway, and I knowed Tom Sawyer well enough to know that if he got up a war and was in a hurry and overlooked some of the things, it wouldn’t be the brass bands, not by a blame sight. But he give up the civil war, and it is one of the brightest things to his credit. And he could a had it easy enough if he had sejested it, anybody can see it now. And it don’t seem right and fair that Harriet Beacher Stow and all them other second-handers gets all the credit of starting that war and you never hear Tom Sawyer mentioned in the histories ransack them how you will, and yet he was the first one that thought of it. Yes, and years and years before ever they had the idea. And it was all his own, too, and come out of his own head, and was a bigger one than theirs, and would a cost forty times as much, and if it hadn’t been for Jim he would a been in ahead and got the glory. I know, becuz I was there, and I could go this day and point out the very place on Jackson’s island, there on the sand-bar up at the head where it begins to shoal off. And where is Tom Sawyer’s monument, I would like to know? There ain’t any. And there ain’t ever going to be any. It’s just the way, in this world. One person does the thing, and the other one gets the monument.
So then I says, “What’s the next plan, Tom?”
And he said his next idea was to get up a revolution. Jim licked his chops over that, and says—
“Hit’s a pow’ful big word, Mars Tom, en soun’ mighty good. What ’s a revolution?”
“Well, it’s where there ain’t only nine-tenths of the people satisfied with the gov’ment, and the others is down on it and rises up full of patriotic devotion and knocks the props from under it and sets up a more different one. There’s nearly about as much glory in a revolution as there is in a civil war, and ain’t half the trouble and expense if you are on the right side, because you don’t have to have so many men. It’s the economicalest thing there is. Anybody can get up a revolution.”
“Why lookyhere, Tom,” I says, “how can one-tenth of the people pull down a gov’ment if the others don’t want them to? There ain’t any sense in that. It can’t be done.”
“It can’t, can’t it? Much you know about history, Huck Finn. Look at the French revolution; and look at ourn. I reckon that ’ll show you. Just a handful started it, both times. You see, they don’t know they’re going to revolute when they start in, and they don’t know they are revoluting till it’s all over. Our boys started in to get taxation by representation—it’s all they wanted—and when they got through and come to look around, they see they had knocked out the king. And besides, had more taxation and liberty and things than they knowed what to do with. Washington found out towards the last that there had been a revolution, but he didn’t know when it happened, and yet he was there all the time. The same with Cromwell, the same with the French. That’s the peculiarity of a revolution—there ain’t anybody intending to do anything when they start in. That’s one of the peculiarities; and the other one is, that the king gets left, every time.”
“Every time?”
“Of course; it’s all there is to a revolution—you knock out the gov’ment and start a fresh kind.”
“Tom Sawyer,” I says, “where are you going to get a king to knock out? There ain’t any.”
“Huck Finn, you don’t have to have any to knock out, this time—you put one in.”
He said it would take all summer, and break up school and everything, and so I was willing for us to start the revolution; but Jim says—
“Mars Tom, I’s gwyne to object. I hadn’t nothing agin kings ontel I had dat one on my han’s all las’ summer. Dat one’s enough for me. He was de beatenes’ ole cuss—now warn’t he, Huck? Warn’t he de wust lot you ever see?—awluz drunk en carryin’ on, him en de duke, en tryin’ to rob Miss Mary en de Hair-lip—no sah, I got enough; I ain’ gwyne to have nothing more to do wid kings.”
Tom said that that warn’t no regular king, and couldn’t be took as a sample; and tried his level best to argufy Jim into some kind of reasonableness, but it warn’t any use; he was set, and when he was set once, he was set for good. He said we would have all the trouble and worry and expense, and when we got the revolution done our old king would show up and hog the whole thing. Well, it begun to sound likely, the way Jim put it, and it got me to feeling oneasy, and I reckoned we was taking too much of a resk; so I pulled out and sided with Jim, and that let the stuffing out of the revolution. I was sorry to have Tom so disappointed again, and him so happy and hopeful; but ever since, when I look back on it I know I done for the best. Kings ain’t in our line; we ain’t used to them, and wouldn’t know how to keep them satisfied and quiet; and they don’t seem to do anything much for the wages, anyway, and don’t pay no rent. They have a good heart, and feel tender for the poor and for the best charities, and they leg for them, too, and pass the hat pretty frequent, I can say that for them; but now and then they don’t put anything in it themselves. They let on to economise, but that is about all. If one of them has got something on hand the other side of the river, he will go over in about nine ships; and the ferry-boat a laying there all the time. But the worst is the trouble it is to keep them still; it can’t be done. They are always in a sweat about the succession, and the minute you get that fixed to suit them they bust out in another place. And always, rain or shine, they are hogging somebody else’s land. Congress is a cuss, but we better get along with it. We always know what it will do, and that is a satisfaction. We can change it when we want to. And get a worse one, most of the time; but it is a change, anyway, and you can’t do that with a king.
So Tom he give up the revolution, and said the next best thing would be to start an insurrection. Well, me and Jim was willing to that, but when we come to look it over we couldn’t seem to think up anything to insurrect about. Tom explained what it was, but there didn’t seem to be any way to work it. He had to give in, himself, that there wasn’t anything definite about an insurrection. It wasn’t either one thing nor t’other, but only just the middle stage of a tadpole. With its tail on, it was only just a riot; tail gone, it was an insurrection; tail gone and legs out, it was a revolution. We worried over it a little, but we see we couldn’t do anything with it, so we let it go; and was sorry about it, too, and low spirited, for it was a beautiful name.
“Now then,” I says, “what’s the next?”
Tom said the next was the last we had in stock, but was the best one of all, in some ways, because the hide and heart of it was mystery. The hide and heart of the others was glory, he said, and glory was grand and valuable; but for solid satisfaction, mystery laid over it. It warn’t worth while his telling us
he was fond of mysteries, we knowed it before. There warn’t anything he wouldn’t do to be connected with a mystery. He was always that way. So I says—
“All right, what is your idea?”
“It’s a noble good one, Huck. It’s for us to get up a conspiracy.”
“Is it easy, Mars Tom? Does you reckon we can do it?”
“Yes, anybody can.”
“How does you go at it, Mars Tom? What do de word mean?”
“It means laying for somebody—private. You get together at night, in a secret place, and plan out some trouble against somebody; and you have masks on, and passwords, and all that. Georges Cadoudal got up a conspiracy. I don’t remember what it was about, now, but anyway he done it, and we can do it, too.”
“Is it cheap, Mars Tom?”
“Cheap? Well, I should reckon! Why, it don’t cost a cent. That is, unless you do it on a big scale, like Bartholomew’s Day.”
“What is dat, Mars Tom? What did dey do?”
“I don’t know. But it was on a big scale, anyway. It was in France. I think it was the Presbyterians cleaning out the missionaries.”
Jim was disappointed, and says, kind of irritated—
“So, den, blame de conspiracy, down she goes. We got plenty Presbyterians, but we ain’t got no missionaries.”
“Missionaries, your granny—we don’t need them.”
“We don’t, don’t we? Mars Tom, how you gwyne to run yo’ conspiracy if you ain’ got but one end to it?”
’Why, hang it, can’t we have somebody in the place of missionaries?”
“But would dat be right, Mars Tom?”
“Right? Right hasn’t got anything to do with it. The wronger a conspiracy is, the better it is. All we’ve got to do is to have somebody in the place of the missionaries, and then—”
“But Mars Tom, will dey take de place, onless you explains to them how it is, en how you couldn’t help yoself becase you couldn’t git no mish—”
“Oh, shut up! You make me tired. I never see such a nigger to argue, and argue, and argue, when you don’t know anything what you are talking about. If you’ll just hold still a minute I’ll get up a conspiracy that ’ll make Bartholomew sick—and not a missionary in it, either.”
Jim knowed it wouldn’t do for him to chip in any more for a spell, but he went on a mumbling to himself, the way a nigger does, and saying he wouldn’t give shucks for a conspiracy that was made up out of just any kinds of odds and ends that come handy and hadn’t anything lawful about it. But Tom didn’t let on to hear; and it’s the best way, to let a nigger or a child go on and grumble itself out, then it’s satisfied.
Tom bent his head down, and propped his chin in his hands, and begun to forget us and the world; and pretty soon when he got up and begun to walk the sand and bob his head and wag it, I knowed the conspiracy was beginning to bile; so I stretched out in the sun and went to sleep, for I warn’t going to be needed in that part of the business. I got an hour’s nap, and then Tom was ready, and had it all planned out.
Chapter 2
I SEE in a minute that he had struck a splendid idea. It was to get the people in a sweat about the ablitionists. It was the very time for it. We knowed that for more than two weeks past there was whispers going around about strangers being seen in the woods over on the Illinois side, and then disappearing, and then seen again; and everybody reckoned it was ablitionists laying for a chance to run off some of our niggers to freedom. They hadn’t run off any yet, and most likely they warn’t even thinking about it and warn’t ablitionists anyway; but in them days a stranger couldn’t show himself and not start an uneasiness unless he told all about his business straight off and proved it hadn’t any harm in it. So the town was considerable worried, and all you had to do was to slip up behind a man and say Ablitionist if you wanted to see him jump, and see the cold sweat come.
And they had tightened up the rules, and a nigger couldn’t be out after dark at night, pass or no pass. And all the young men was parceled out into paterollers, and they watched the streets all night, ready to stop any stranger that come along.
Tom said it was a noble good time for a conspiracy—it was just as if it was made for it on a contract. He said all we had to do was to start it, and it would run itself. He believed if we went at it right and conscientious, and done our duty the best we could, we could have the town in a terrible state in three days. And I believed he was right, because he had a good judgment about conspiracies and those kind of things, mysteries being in his line and born to it, as you may say.
For a beginning, he said we must have a lot of randyvoozes—secret places to meet at and conspire; and he reckoned we better kind of surround the town with them, pardy for style and partly so as there would always be one of them handy, no matter what part of town we might be in. So, for one he appointed our old hanted house, in the lonesome place three miles above town where Crawfish creek comes in out of Catfish hollow. And for another, mine and Jim’s little cave up in the rocks in the deep woods on Jackson’s island. And for another, the big cave on the main land three miles below town—Injun Joe’s cave, where we found the money that the robbers had hid. And for another, the old deserted slaughterhouse on Slaughterhouse Point at the foot of town, where the creek comes in. The polecats couldn’t stand that place, it smelt like the very nation; and so me and Jim tried to get him to change, but he wouldn’t. He said it was a good strattyjick point, and besides was a good place to retreat to and hide, because dogs couldn’t follow us there, on account of our scent not being able to beat the competition, and even if the dogs could follow us the enemy couldn’t follow the dogs because they would suffocate. We seen that it was a good idea and sound, so then we give in.
Me and Jim thought there ought to be more conspirators if there was going to be much work, but Tom scoffed, and said—
“Lookyhere—what busted up Guy Fawkes? And what busted up Titus Oates?”
He looked at me very hard. But I warn’t going to give myself away. Then he looked at Jim very hard—but Jim warn’t going to, either. So then there wasn’t anything more said about it.
Tom appointed our cave on Jackson’s island for the high chief headquarters, and said common business could be done in the other randyvoozes, but the Council of State wouldn’t ever meet anywhere but there—and said it was sacred. And he said there would have to be two Councils of State to run a conspiracy as important as this one—a Council of Ten and a Council of Three; black gowns for the Ten and red for the Three, and masks for all. And he said all of us would be the Council of Ten, and he would be the Council of Three. Because the Council of Three was supreme and could abrogate anything the other Council done. That was his word—one of his pile-drivers. I sejested it would save wages to leave out the Council of Ten, and there warn’t hardly enough stuff for it anyway; but he only said—
“If I didn’t know any more about conspiracies than you do, Huck Finn, I wouldn’t expose myself.”
So then he said we would go to the Council Chamber now, and hold the first meeting without any gowns or masks, and pass a resolution of oblivion next meeting and justify it; then it would go on the minutes all regular, and nobody could be put under attainder on account of it. It was his way, and he was born so, I reckon. Everything had to be regular, or he couldn’t stand it. Why, I could steal six watermelons while he was chawing over authorities and arranging so it would be regular.
We found our old cave just as me and Jim had left it the time we got scared out and started down the river on the raft. Tom called up the Council of Ten, and made it a speech about the seriousness of the occasion, and hoped every member would reconnize it and put his hand sternly to the wheel and do his duty without fear or favor. Then he made it take an oath to run the conspiracy the best it knowed how in the interests of Christianity and sivilization and to get up a sweat in the town; and God defend the right, amen.
So then he elected himself President of the Council and Secretary, and opened the business.
He says—
“There’s a lot of details—no end of them—but they don’t all come first, they belong in their places; they’ll fall in all right, as we go along. But there’s a first detail, and that is the one for us to take hold of now. What does the Council reckon it is?”
I was stumped, and said so. Jim he said the same.
“Well, then, I’ll tell you. What is it the people are a-worrying about? What is it they are afraid of? You can answer that, I reckon.”
“Why, they’re afraid there’s going to be some niggers run off.”
“That is right. Now, then, what is our duty as a conspiracy?”
Jim didn’t know, and I didn’t.
“Huck Finn, if you would think a minute you would know. There’s a lack—we’ve got to supply it. Ain’t that plain enough? We’ve got to run off a nigger.”
“My lan’, Mars Tom! W’y, dey’ll hang us.”
“Well, what do you want? What is a conspiracy for? Do you reckon it’s to propagate immortality? We’ve got to run risks, or it ain’t any conspiracy at all, and no honor in it. The honor of a conspiracy is to do the thing you are after, but do it right and smart and not get hung. Well, we will fix that. Now then, come back to business. The first thing is, to pick out the nigger, and the next is, to arrange about running him off.”
“Why, Tom, we can’t ever do it. There ain’t a nigger in the town that ’ll listen to it a minute. It would scare him out of his life, and he would run straight to his master and tell on us.”
He looked as if he was ashamed of me; and says—
“Now, Huck Finn, do you reckon I didn’t know that?”
I couldn’t understand what he was getting at. I says—
“Well, then, Tom Sawyer, if there ain’t a nigger in the town that will let us run him off, how can we manage?”
“Very easy. We’ll put one there.”
“Oh, cert’nly—that’s very easy. Where are we going to get him?”