The Further Adventures of Huckleberry Finn Read online

  Time slipped along and the leaves come down thick and fast and the nights got colder. Then come the day Jim announces the secret is ready for looking at. There was frost on the ground and we crunched along through it into the woods. Jim points and says:

  “Dere she be, Huck. What you think of her?”

  It’s a tree with all its branches hacked off and the top section gone altogether, also the bark was stripped away clear down to the ground and there’s chunks hacked out of the trunk all the way up. It looked like a twenty-foot-high peeled finger pointing at the sky. Jim stood there with a big grin waiting for me to say something. A few minutes went by and his grin started to slack off.

  “Don’ you like it, Huck?”

  “Why, sure I do, Jim. It’s … magnanimous.”

  “You means it, Huck?”

  “I ain’t ever seen another like it, and that’s the truth. It’s one of a kind, Jim.”

  “I ain’t surprise’ to hear it. Makin’ one is a powerful heaper work I kin tell you.”

  So we stood looking at it awhile longer, then I can’t hold back no more.

  “Say, Jim, what do you call it?”

  “What I calls it? Do it have to have a name, Huck? I didn’ know dat.”

  “Everything has to have a name.”

  “Dat seems a pecul’yer notion, givin’ it a name. What kinder name you reckon’d suit her, Huck? It got to be a big ’un cos she’s awful big. Alexander ’bout de bigges’ name I knows.”

  “Not that kind of name, Jim. What’s that there I’m pointing at?”

  “Das a axe, Huck. You knows dat.”

  “And what’s that over yonder?”

  “A bush I reckon. Is we goin’ to give dat a name too, Huck?”

  “What do we live in?”

  He scratches his head in perplexion.

  “A cabin?”

  “Axe, bush, cabin. All them are names, not people names, descriptual names.”

  “I don’t foller you, Huck.”

  “I mean what the dangblast is it?”

  “You don’ know what it is?”

  “No I don’t, and I bet the smartest man in the world wouldn’t know neither.”

  He hung his head and says sullen-like:

  “It a totem.”

  “A what?”

  “A totem, like de one you whittled an’ showed me.”

  “An Injun totem?”

  “I reckon.”

  “Well why didn’t you come out and say so? I can see it now.”

  And we looked at it awhile longer, taking it in. Then I say:

  “Start at the bottom. What’s that first part?”

  “A bear,” he says.

  It looked more like a fat dog.

  “And what’s the next bit?”

  “Das a eagle wid de wings folded in.”

  It looked like a bat, and an ugly one.

  “How about the big knobbly bit up on top?”

  “Das de snake. You sayin’ as how you wantin’ a snake totem, so das what I done. ’Pears to me you ain’t impressed, Huck.”

  “I’m impressed, Jim. It’s a real work of art. I can see the snake now. It gives me shivers just looking.”

  It was the most boggle-eyed snake I ever seen, more like a fly, but I never let on.

  “Well, Jim, I appreciate what you done for me. This must be the grandest totem east of the Mississippi. All we have to do now is put it where a totem’s supposed to be.”

  “Where dat, Huck?”

  “Why, directly in front of the tepee.”

  “We ain’t got no tepee.”

  “Then we’ll put it in front of the cabin.”

  “It goin’ to be some kinder job movin’. De roots under it go ever’ which way.”

  “Then we’ll have to chop it down.”

  And that’s what we done. I showed Jim where to lay to with the axe and he worked like a demon. Pretty soon down come the totem with a crash. I sent Jim to fetch ropes from the cabin and we tied them around the snake’s head, which was even more repulsive close up than I figured, and we commenced to hauling. But it never budged an inch.

  “Jim,” says I, “we’re going to have to amputate. It’s too blamed long.”

  “We goin’ to cut her short, Huck?”

  “Have to. It can’t stay here.”

  So I showed him where to cut and he chopped off the bottom ten foot or so. It would of been easier with a crosscut saw but we never had one.

  “Well, that’s shortened her considerable, Jim. Let’s try again.”

  So we hauled on the ropes and it still never shifted.

  “Lawd, Huck, dere ain’t no way to tote dis totem.”

  “I reckon we’ll just have to cut more off it.”

  “Dere ain’t but ten foot lef’. What kinder totem it goin’ to be if’n we cut her down more?”

  “It has to be done, Jim.”

  And so it was. But even a five-foot totem turned out too heavy. Finally I made Jim cut off the snake head bit, which was about three foot long, or tall when stood up, and we hauled it successful to the cabin.

  “Now we need a hole to sit her in so the wind don’t blow her over, Jim.”

  “But de wind don’ hardly blow here, Huck. De trees too many keepin’ it out. An’ how de wind goin’ to blow over somethin’ jest three foot high?”

  I explained to him about how Injun totems is sunk into the ground traditional.

  “You wouldn’t want it to fall down and get your enemies’ scalps all over dirt would you?”

  “Scalps, Huck?”

  “A totem ain’t a totem without it’s got ten or fifty scalps hanging off it.”

  “How we goin’ to get ’em? Ain’t no one around here to scalp ’cept you an’ me.”

  “We’ll raid St. Petersburg and lift some hair off the population.”

  “Dat soun’s awful risky, Huck. Dere’s a lotter folks in town. Who you got in mind?”

  I could see Becky Thatcher’s curls dangling off the snake’s nose clear as day, but I told Jim to forget about scalps for the while and get a hole dug for the totem. Which he done, two foot deep. We rolled the snake over to it and stood her upright and filled in dirt around the neck. It looked like a frog poking its nose out of water.

  “Das de shortes’ totem in de worl’, Huck. It don’ amount to hardly nothin’.”

  “Never mind, Jim. It’ll bring us good luck.”

  “I hopes you right, Huck. Dat totem costed me a heaper sweat.”

  Next day the snow come and buried it. And it kept on coming, dropping down soft and white and silent, and pretty soon everything was knee deep. It’s a fine sight but awful hard to slog through. We started sleeping twelve and sixteen hours at a stretch, only getting up to eat and smoke and stoke up the stove with wood till it was going full blast and the air around the flue shivered with heat. Jim says:

  “I reckon de bears an’ squirrels got de right notion, Huck, shuttin’ theirselfs away in de hibernation. Dis winter livin’ jest a waster time an’ food. Ol’ Jim’d rather be rolled up in a cave somewheres sleepin’ cozy till springtime.”

  “You’ve hit on something, Jim. We’ll try it.”

  “How you mean, Huck?”

  “We’ll make a hibernation experiment. It’ll be the first one in history.”

  “How we goin’ to do it?”

  “It’s simple. There’s the meat hut outside with nothing in it right now. I reckon you could just about squeeze in there and pretend it’s a cave.”

  “Me, Huck?”

  “One of us has to stay awake and go out every once in awhile to check up on you and take notes. That’s how experiments are made.”

  “But why do it have to be me as goes in de meat hut?”

  “Because you can’t write notes, Jim. It’s obvious.”

  “I ain’t sure ’bout dis, Huck.”

  “Just think, Jim, if it works you’ll be famous. Don’t you want to see your name in the newspapers? I bet we get invited to give
scientifical lectures in England and Europe and them places.”

  “An’ what if it don’ work? Das what I’m askin’.”

  “Faint heart never won famousness, Jim. You can take a blanket with you.”

  “But Huck, I’se four foot from de stove an’ I got three blankets aroun’ me now an’ I’se jest tol’able warm. Ain’t no way I’se goin’ to keep warm out in de meat hut.”

  “The trick is to fall asleep fast as you can, then you don’t feel the cold.”

  He never wanted to do it, not having the adventure spirit, but I got him out of bed in the end and pushed him outside, where it’s bitter cold with more snow floating down. I hauled open the meat hut door and Jim crawled in and sat himself crosslegged. I give him a blanket and he got it across his shoulders after considerable twisting and turning and skinning his knuckles on the roof and walls. He’s none too happy, so I told him again about being famous then shut the door and dropped the latch. Then I went back in the cabin and dozed off. When I woke up I wondered where Jim was, then I remembered the experiment and went out to the meat hut.

  “Did you fall asleep yet, Jim?”

  No answer. I opened the door quiet in case he was hibernating and looked in. His eyes was open still and his teeth chattering away in his head, so it ain’t happened yet.

  “I’ll come back later when you’re asleep,” says I.

  He never spoke so I figured he was agreeable. I went inside and dozed some more then come out and checked again. His teeth was quiet now but his eyes had kept open and his face and hands turned a shade of blue, hard to detect in a nigger, but there it was.

  “You got to close your eyes, Jim. It won’t work otherwise.”

  He give a kind of moan and rolled his eyes, telling me he’s sorry I guess. I made to close the door again when he give a strangled sort of cry and throwed himself through the doorway, still all huddled up and crosslegged, like one of them little Chinaman statues that’s gone and fell on its face. It was pretty clear he never wanted to keep at it. Some folks won’t take a chance for fame even if it’s give to them on a silver plate. So I turned him on his back like a turtle and slid him across to the cabin on the blanket, which has gone stiffish, and rolled him through the door. He still never uncrossed his legs or talked. I figured he was peeved at me over something so I propped him against the wall and left him alone till he come out of the sulks. After a pipe I nodded off and when I woke up it was night and Jim was back in bed same as before with all the blankets piled on top of him. I decided next time he come up with an idea I’d ignore it.

  Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year come and went but we never paid them no heed. I figured 1849 would be a year just like any other. It turned out I was wrong, but I never knowed it then. Our supplies ran low so we took the skiff and headed for town. The river was dark and mean-looking with chunks of ice floating along here and there so we had to work our way across to the Missouri shore real careful. When St. Petersburg come into view it’s looking pretty as a picture under all that snow. We tied up at the wharf and Jim says he’ll go visit some nigger friends while I collect my back allowance from the judge. We agreed to meet at the store in a couple of hours and I headed for the Thatcher place. The judge took me through to his office and counted out the money, looking stern while he done it. Then he says to me:

  “I’m concerned for you, my boy.”

  I seen a lecture coming plain as day.

  “The people of St. Petersburg are concerned for you,” he says, driving it home.

  “How so, Judge?”

  “You have seven thousand dollars in trust, which places you in an enviable position. It is my hope and the hope of other leading citizens that you will in due course assume the mantle of responsibility that awaits you. Certainly you have the wherewithal to achieve this end. But …” and he points his finger right between my eyes, “you are not behaving in a manner suited to your station. With all this money, with all the opportunity it represents, you still choose to live in a ramshackle cabin out in the woods. It will not do. You are building a reputation for eccentricity, and that is a stigma no sane man should bring upon himself if he can avoid it. I’m aware of the difficulties that have dogged your footsteps since you came into the world, Huckleberry, and I understand your inability to cope with a style of living to which you are unaccustomed, but you must be able to see that living as you do will only result in your becoming as useless as was your wretched father. You must adjust to your newfound position in society, for your own sake.”

  “Maybe I have got seven thousand dollars, Judge, but I may as well not have seeing as I can’t touch none of it. I’m still a long ways from twenty-one.”

  “Quite so, but as trustee of your estate I am empowered to release capital for your needs, so long as I deem them worthwhile.”

  “Like for fancy schooling and such.”

  “Correct, and while we’re on the subject I should add that the land on which the widow’s house stood is now an eyesore. I would cheerfully arrange for an allocation of funds should you decide to rebuild on the site and move back to St. Petersburg.”

  “Well, I’ll think about it.”

  “There is one other matter.”

  “Yes, Judge?”

  “Jim. People find it hard to understand why he is with you. As a freed slave he is not part of your legacy.”

  “We’re friends.”

  “That is exactly what disturbs me. You are living on a level with the poorest white trash and supporting a nigger to boot. I realize Jim is a good man but the fact remains you are treating him as an equal.”

  The way he said it made me feel guilty all right. He rattled on for another few minutes about presenting the right face to the world, then he relaxed and got chatty.

  “Living a life of isolation as you do, I suppose you have not heard the news.”

  “What news would that be, Judge?”

  “Why, the gold strike in California. The entire country is buzzing. President Polk has announced that the rumors of a bonanza are perfectly true. According to reports it’s possible to make your fortune in a matter of days. There are even stories of men striking it rich within minutes, but these are probably exaggerations. At best a gold rush will provide an incentive for Americans to go west and populate the new territories. At worst it will mean a disastrous loss of manpower in the east. Thousands have left their homes and families already, and the figure will rise dramatically in the spring. Gold fever has a way of drawing men from all walks of life.”

  Listening to him I felt a funny kind of tingle come tiptoeing up my spine and I swear the hairs on the back of my neck stood out. I can’t hardly breathe and there’s a drumming in my ears that drowned out everything he says except “gold.” Then he stopped and give me a queer look.

  “Are you all right, my boy?”

  “Yessir, Judge. The room’s a mite warm I reckon.”

  “Would you like a glass of water?”

  “No, thank you, Judge. I have to be getting along now.”

  “Very well. Promise me you’ll think carefully on our little talk.”

  “Yessir, I’ll do that. I’m already giving it ponderation.”

  “Good,” he says, and give me a fatherly smile.

  I took myself to where the widow’s house used to be. It looked kind of sad and forlorn with just the chimney bricks poking up through the snow. I stayed there awhile stamping my feet to keep out the cold and thinking hard, then I went to the store. By the time Jim come along I had all the stuff we needed and he helped me load it in a couple of gunny sacks and we went back to the wharf. All under the piles was sheet ice going out a few yards to where the water got deeper and faster. We had to rock the skiff to break her free, then we rowed four miles upriver staying close to the Missouri shore, then swung across and let the current take us back a mile to the cabin. It took that whole mile to get across to the Illinois shore, dodging ice all the way. By that time it was coming on to dusk and we fired up the stove to thaw
out. I was still thinking. I ate thinking and fell asleep thinking.

  What woke me was a cold wind coming through the doorway and Jim moaning and babbling and pulling at my shoulder.

  “What is it, Jim? What’s wrong?”

  “She come for me, Huck.… She down by de river waitin’.…”

  “Who is? Who’s down there?”

  “My ol’ woman. She come for me like I knowed she would. Don’ let her git me, Huck!”

  “Your old woman’s dead, Jim. She can’t hurt you.”

  “She come back an’ she down by de river right dis minute. I wen’ out for to take a leak an’ I seed her ghos’ all over white an’ starin’ at me. She call out my name, Huck, I swear.…”

  “I never seen a ghost before. Show me.”

  “I ain’t goin’ back out dere, Huck, not for a barr’ler money.”

  “Well I aim to see it. Tell me where it is.”

  “Don’ go, Huck! De ghos’ an’ goblins git you for sure!”

  “I ain’t afraid of no goblins nor ghosts. I want to see it, Jim. Tell me where it is.”

  We argued back and forth and finally he give in and come back out with me. We tiptoed a way till we could hear the river grumbling along then Jim points with the axe he brung for protection.

  “Dere she be, Huck, my ol’ woman.”

  And my heart skipped a beat when I looked. There she was, all in white like he told me. We froze still as statues, waiting for her to say something or beckon mysterious the way ghosts do, but she just stood there same as us.

  “Le’s go, Huck,” Jim whispers.

  “Wait on. Maybe she’s got a message for you.”

  But she stayed silent, which was vexing. I figured seeing she’s a beginner she ain’t yet got the hang of spooking, so I say:

  “Have you got a message for Jim and what is it?”

  But she stayed quiet. Then the moon come out from behind the clouds and I seen the way of it.

  “Why, she ain’t but a little tree covered in snow.”

  “No, Huck, she jest look dat way to fool you.”

  “I’m telling you, Jim, it’s a tree.”