Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Zombie Jim

by Mark Twain

  Well, the crazy old man he liked that speech, and he mighty soon got it so he could do it first-rate. It seemed like he was just born for it; and when he had his hand in and was excited, it was perfectly lovely the way he would rip and tear and rair up behind when he was getting it off.

  Birdock boasted he ought to git some showbills printed; and then, for two or three days as we floated along, the raft was a most uncommon lively place, for there warn't nothing but sword fighting and rehearsing-as Birdock called it-going on all the time. Jim was mostly awestruck by the one-man spectacle. One morning, when we was pretty well down the State of Arkansaw, we come in sight of a little one-horse town in a big bend; so we tied up about three-quarters of a mile above it, in the mouth of a crick which was shut in like a tunnel by the cypress trees, and both of us but Jim took the canoe and went down there to see if there was any chance in that place for this Hamlet show.

  We struck it mighty lucky; there was going to be a circus there that afternoon, and the country people was already beginning to come in, in all kinds of old shackly wagons, and on horses. The circus would leave before night, so Birdock figured his one-man show would have a pretty good chance. He said he'd like to hire the courthouse. He said it would be a grand thing.

  He was all talk and talk and talk.

  He said we should get them bills printed up.

  He made it sound so exciting, this show that he'd probably never get to perform. He described exactly what the new showbills would say:

  Shaksperean Revival!!!

  Wonderful Attraction!

  For One Night Only!

  The world renowned tragedian, Birdock the Younger, now deceased, of Drury Lane Theatre London, and the Royal Continental Theatres, in his sublime Shaksperean Spectacle entitled

  The Balcony Scene in Romeo and Juliet!!!

  Romeo… Birdock

  Juliet… Birdock

  Assisted by the whole strength of the company!

  New costumes, new scenes, new appointments!

  Also: The thrilling, masterly, and blood-curdling

  Broad-sword conflict In Richard III, performed by one man!!!

  Richard III… Birdock

  Richmond… Birdock

  Also: (by special request) Hamlet's Immortal Soliloquy!!

  By The Illustrious Birdock! Done by him 300 consecutive nights in Paris!

  For One Night Only, On account of imperative European engagements!

  Admission 25 cents; children and servants, 10 cents.

  Well, I had to tell it to him that no one was going to allow no bagger to hire a courthouse an’ put on a show. An’ I know he weren't really no bagger, but he didn't seem to know it for himself. And eventually he jus’ gave up on the notion of gettin’ to perform. I was mostly just hoping to see bits of the circus.

  Birdock showed me his methods fer pickin’ pockets, an’ we got a few more dollars from that. I told him I ne'er heard of no bagger gettin’ such urges as to steal. But he told me he was just havin’ pangs of his former life.

  He suggested we take our dollars an’ get a hotel room, and sleep a proper sleep on a soft mattress, bunked together for comfort. Wall, I sure din’ feel like goin’ back to sleep already. I said,

  "You is a bagger, so you says, and you ain't needin’ to be worryin’ about comforts ‘cause you got no feelins left."

  "I got habits,” he said. “Ain't broke ‘em yet."

  "You jus’ make it up as you go, don't ya?"

  "Mebby some of it, Huck. For certain."

  "I want sweets. An’ some tabacky, too."

  "Yeah, Huck."

  Then we went loafing around town. The stores and houses was most all old, shackly, dried up frame concerns that hadn't ever been painted; they was set up three or four foot above ground on stilts, so as to be out of reach of the water when the river was over-flowed. The houses had little gardens around them, but they didn't seem to raise hardly anything in them but jimpson-weeds, and sunflowers, and ash piles, and old curled-up boots and shoes, and pieces of bottles, and rags, and played-out tinware. The fences was made of different kinds of boards, nailed on at different times; and they leaned every which way, and had gates that didn't generly have but one hinge-a leather one. Some of the fences had been white-washed some time or another, but Birdock said it was in Clumbus’ time, like enough. There was generly hogs in the garden, and people driving them out.

  All the stores was along one street. They had white domestic awnings in front, and the country people hitched their horses to the awning-posts. There was empty drygoods boxes under the awnings, and loafers roosting on them all day long, whittling them with their Barlow knives; and chawing tobacco, and gaping and yawning and stretching-a mighty ornery lot. They generly had on yellow straw hats most as wide as an umbrella, but didn't wear no coats nor waistcoats, they called one another Bill, and Buck, and Hank, and Joe, and Andy, and talked lazy and drawly, and used considerable many cuss words. There was as many as one loafer leaning up against every awning-post, and he most always had his hands in his britches-pockets, except when he fetched them out to lend a chaw of tobacco or scratch. What a body was hearing amongst them all the time was:

  "Gimme a chaw ‘v tobacker, Hank."

  "Cain't; I hain't got but one chaw left. Ask Bill."

  Maybe Bill he gives him a chaw; maybe he lies and says he ain't got none. Some of them kinds of loafers never has a cent in the world, nor a chaw of tobacco of their own. They get all their chawing by borrowing; they say to a fellow, “I wisht you'd len’ me a chaw, Jack, I jist this minute give Ben Thompson the last chaw I had"-which is a lie pretty much everytime; it don't fool nobody but a stranger; but Jack ain't no stranger, so he says:

  "You give him a chaw, did you? So did your sister's cat's grandmother. You pay me back the chaws you've awready borry'd off'n me, Lafe Buckner, then I'll loan you one or two ton of it, and won't charge you no back intrust, nuther."

  "Well, I did pay you back some of it wunst."

  "Yes, you did-'bout six chaws. You borry'd store tobacker and paid back nigger-head."

  Store tobacco is flat black plug, but these fellows mostly chaws the natural leaf twisted. When they borrow a chaw they don't generly cut it off with a knife, but set the plug in between their teeth, and gnaw with their teeth and tug at the plug with their hands till they get it in two; then sometimes the one that owns the tobacco looks mournful at it when it's handed back, and says, sarcastic:

  "Here, gimme the chaw, and you take the plug."

  All the streets and lanes was just mud; they warn't nothing else but mud-mud as black as tar and nigh about a foot deep in some places, and two or three inches deep in all the places. The hogs loafed and grunted around everywheres. You'd see a muddy sow and a litter of pigs come lazying along the street and whollop herself right down in the way, where folks had to walk around her, and she'd stretch out and shut her eyes and wave her ears whilst the pigs was milking her, and look as happy as if she was on salary. And pretty soon you'd hear a loafer sing out, “Hi! so boy! sick him, Tige!” and away the sow would go, squealing most horrible, with a dog or two swinging to each ear, and three or four dozen more a-coming; and then you would see all the loafers get up and watch the thing out of sight, and laugh at the fun and look grateful for the noise. Then they'd settle back again till there was a dog fight. There couldn't anything wake them up all over, and make them happy all over, like a dog fight-unless it might be putting turpentine on a stray dog and setting fire to him, or tying a tin pan to his tail and see him run himself to death.

  On the river front some of the houses was sticking out over the bank, and they was bowed and bent, and about ready to tumble in, the people had moved out of them. The bank was caved away under one corner of some others, and that corner was hanging over. People lived in them yet, but it was dangersome, because sometimes a strip of land as wide as a house caves in at a time. Sometimes a belt of land a quarter of a mile deep will start in and cave along and cave along till it all caves
into the river in one summer. Such a town as that has to be always moving back, and back, and back, because the river's always gnawing at it.

  One thing I did notice was a considerable lack of baggers hangin’ about, like these folks din’ have much use for ‘em, and that didn't make no sense to me ‘cause this was territory where folks traditionally enjoyed havin’ slaves.

  The nearer it got to noon that day the thicker and thicker was the wagons and horses in the streets, and more coming all the time. Families fetched their dinners with them from the country, and eat them in the wagons. There was considerable whisky drinking going on, and I seen three fights. By and by somebody sings out:

  "Here comes old Boggs!-in from the country for his little old monthly drunk; here he comes, boys!"

  All the loafers looked glad; I reckoned they was used to having fun out of Boggs. One of them says:

  "Wonder who he's a-gwyne to chaw up this time. If he'd a-chawed up all the men he's ben a-gwyne to chaw up in the last twenty year he'd have considerable ruputation now."

  Another one says, “I wisht old Boggs'd threaten me, ‘cuz then I'd know I warn't gwyne to die for a thousan’ year."

  Boggs comes a-tearing along on his horse, whooping and yelling like an Injun, and singing out:

  "Cler the track, thar. I'm on the waw-path, and the price uv coffins is a-gwyne to raise."

  He was drunk, and weaving about in his saddle; he was over fifty year old, and had a very red face. Everybody yelled at him and laughed at him and sassed him, and he sassed back, and said he'd attend to them and lay them out in their regular turns, but he couldn't wait now because he'd come to town to kill old Colonel Sherburn, and his motto was, “Meat first, and spoon vittles to top off on."

  He see me, and rode up and says:

  "Whar'd you come f'm, boy? You prepared to die?"

  Then he rode on. I was scared, but a man says:

  "He don't mean nothing; he's always a-carryin’ on like that when he's drunk. He's the best naturedest old fool in Arkansaw-never hurt nobody, drunk nor sober."

  Boggs rode up before the biggest store in town, and bent his head down so he could see under the curtain of the awning and yells:

  "Come out here, Sherburn! Come out and meet the man you've swindled. You're the houn’ I'm after, and I'm a-gwyne to have you, too!"

  And so he went on, calling Sherburn everything he could lay his tongue to, and the whole street packed with people listening and laughing and going on. By and by a proud-looking man about fifty-five-and he was a heap the best dressed man in that town, too-steps out of the store, and the crowd drops back on each side to let him come. He says to Boggs, mighty ca'm and slow-he says:

  "I'm tired of this, but I'll endure it till one o'clock. Till one o'clock, mind-no longer. If you open your mouth against me only once after that time you can't travel so far but I will find you."

  Then he turns and goes in. The crowd looked mighty sober; nobody stirred, and there warn't no more laughing. Boggs rode off blackguarding Sherburn as loud as he could yell, all down the street; and pretty soon back he comes and stops before the store, still keeping it up. Some men crowded around him and tried to get him to shut up, but he wouldn't; they told him it would be one o'clock in about fifteen minutes, and so he must go home-he must go right away. But it didn't do no good. He cussed away with all his might, and throwed his hat down in the mud and rode over it, and pretty soon away he went a-raging down the street again, with his gray hair a-flying. Everybody that could get a chance at him tried their best to coax him off of his horse so they could lock him up and get him sober; but it warn't no use-up the street he would tear again, and give Sherburn another cussing. By and by somebody says:

  "Go for his daughter!-quick, go for his daughter; sometimes he'll listen to her. If anybody can persuade him, she can."

  So somebody started on a run. I walked down street a ways and stopped. In about five or ten minutes here comes Boggs again, but not on his horse. He was a-reeling across the street towards me, bare-headed, with a friend on both sides of him a-holt of his arms and hurrying him along. He was quiet, and looked uneasy; and he warn't hanging back any, but was doing some of the hurrying himself. Somebody sings out:

  "Boggs!"

  I looked over there to see who said it, and it was that Colonel Sherburn. He was standing perfectly still in the street, and had a pistol raised in his right hand-not aiming it, but holding it out with the barrel tilted up towards the sky. The same second I see a young girl coming on the run, and two men with her. Boggs and the men turned round to see who called him, and when they see the pistol the men jumped to one side, and the pistol-barrel come down slow and steady to a level-both barrels cocked. Boggs throws up both of his hands and says, “Don't shoot!” Bang! goes the first shot, and he staggers back, clawing at the air-bang! goes the second one, and he tumbles backwards on to the ground, heavy and solid, with his arms spread out. That young girl screamed out and comes rushing, and down she throws herself on her father, crying, and saying, “Oh, he's killed him, he's killed him!” The crowd closed up around them, and shouldered and jammed one another, with their necks stretched, trying to see, and people on the inside trying to shove them back and shouting, “Back, back! give him air, give him air!"

  Colonel Sherburn he tossed his pistol on to the ground, and turned around on his heels and walked off.

  They took Boggs to a little drug store, the crowd pressing around just the same, and the whole town following, and I rushed and got a good place at the window, where I was close to him and could see in. They laid him on the floor and put one large Bible under his head, and opened another one and spread it on his breast; but they tore open his shirt first, and I seen where one of the bullets went in. He made about a dozen long gasps, his breast lifting the Bible up when he drawed in his breath, and letting it down again when he breathed it out-and after that he laid still; he was dead. Then they pulled his daughter away from him, screaming and crying, and took her off. She was about sixteen, and very sweet and gentle looking, but awful pale and scared.

  Well, pretty soon the whole town was there, squirming and scrouging and pushing and shoving to get at the window and have a look, but people that had the places wouldn't give them up, and folks behind them was saying all the time, “Say, now, you've looked enough, you fellows; ‘tain't right and ‘tain't fair for you to stay thar all the time, and never give nobody a chance; other folks has their rights as well as you."

  There was considerable jawing back, so I slid out, thinking maybe there was going to be trouble. The streets was full, and everybody was excited. Everybody that seen the shooting was telling how it happened, and there was a big crowd packed around each one of these fellows, stretching their necks and listening. One long, lanky man, with long hair and a big white fur stovepipe hat on the back of his head, and a crooked-handled cane, marked out the places on the ground where Boggs stood and where Sherburn stood, and the people following him around from one place to t'other and watching everything he done, and bobbing their heads to show they understood, and stooping a little and resting their hands on their thighs to watch him mark the places on the ground with his cane; and then he stood up straight and stiff where Sherburn had stood, frowning and having his hat-brim down over his eyes, and sung out, “Boggs!” and then fetched his cane down slow to a level, and says “Bang!” staggered backwards, says “Bang!” again, and fell down flat on his back. The people that had seen the thing said he done it perfect; said it was just exactly the way it all happened. Then as much as a dozen people got out their bottles and treated him.

  Well, by and by somebody said Sherburn ought to be lynched. An’ somebody else said it weren't enough for the fissythis to be takin’ from us all our best people, an’ even some of our worst, but that ain't enough, an’ men got to kill one another just to hurry things along. And then another person was agreein’ about how Sherburn ought to be lynched, and directly. In about a minute everybody was saying it; so away they went, mad and y
elling, and snatching down every clothes-line they come to to do the hanging with.

  CHAPTER XXII

  They swarmed up towards Sherburn's house, a-whooping and raging like Injuns, and everything had to clear the way or get run over and tromped to mush, and it was awful to see. Children was heeling it ahead of the mob, screaming and trying to get out of the way; and every window along the road was full of women's heads, and there was young boys in every tree, and old-timers looking over every fence; and as soon as the mob would get nearly to them they would break and skaddle back out of reach. Lots of the women and girls was crying and taking on, scared most to death. They swarmed up in front of Sherburn's palings as thick as they could jam together, and you couldn't hear yourself think for the noise. It was a little twenty-foot yard. Some sung out “Tear down the fence! tear down the fence!” Then there was a racket of ripping and tearing and smashing, and down she goes, and the front wall of the crowd begins to roll in like a wave.

  Just then Sherburn steps out on to the roof of his little front porch, with a double-barrel gun in his hand, and takes his stand, perfectly ca'm and deliberate, not saying a word. The racket stopped, and the wave sucked back.