A FEW minutes later Tom was in the shoal
water of the bar, wading toward the
Illinois shore. Before the depth reached
his middle he was half-way over; the current would permit no more wading, now,
so he struck out confidently to swim the
remaining hundred yards. He swam quartering upstream, but still was swept downward rather faster
than he had expected. However, he reached the shore
finally, and drifted along till he found a low place and
drew himself out. He put his hand on his jacket pocket,
found his piece of bark safe, and then struck through
the woods, following the shore, with streaming garments.
Shortly before ten o'clock he came out into an open
place opposite the village, and saw the ferryboat lying
in the shadow of the trees and the high bank. Everything was quiet under the blinking stars. He crept
down the bank, watching with all his eyes, slipped into
the water, swam three or four strokes and climbed into
the skiff that did "yawl" duty at the boat's stern. He
laid himself down under the thwarts and waited, panting.
Presently the cracked bell tapped and a voice gave
the order to "cast off." A minute or two later the
skiff's head was standing high up, against the boat's
swell, and the voyage was begun. Tom felt happy in
his success, for he knew it was the boat's last trip for
the night. At the end of a long twelve or fifteen minutes
the wheels stopped, and Tom slipped overboard and
swam ashore in the dusk, landing fifty yards downstream, out of danger of possible stragglers.
He flew along unfrequented alleys, and shortly found
himself at his aunt's back fence. He climbed over,
approached the "ell," and looked in at the sitting-room
window, for a light was burning there. There sat
Aunt Polly, Sid, Mary, and Joe Harper's mother,
grouped together, talking. They were by the bed, and
the bed was between them and the door. Tom went
to the door and began to softly lift the latch; then he
pressed gently and the door yielded a crack; he continued pushing cautiously, and quaking every time it
creaked, till he judged he might squeeze through on his
knees; so he put his head through and began, warily.
"What makes the candle blow so?" said Aunt
Polly. Tom hurried up. "Why, that door's open,
I believe. Why, of course it is. No end of strange
things now. Go 'long and shut it, Sid."
Tom disappeared under the bed just in time. He
lay and "breathed" himself for a time, and then crept
to where he could almost touch his aunt's foot.
"But as I was saying," said Aunt Polly, "he warn't
BAD, so to say -- only mischEEvous. Only just giddy,
and harum-scarum, you know. He warn't any more
responsible than a colt. HE never meant any harm,
and he was the best-hearted boy that ever was" -- and
she began to cry.
"It was just so with my Joe -- always full of his
devilment, and up to every kind of mischief, but he
was just as unselfish and kind as he could be -- and
laws bless me, to think I went and whipped him for
taking that cream, never once recollecting that I
throwed it out myself because it was sour, and I never
to see him again in this world, never, never, never, poor
abused boy!" And Mrs. Harper sobbed as if her
heart would break.
"I hope Tom's better off where he is," said Sid,
"but if he'd been better in some ways --"
"SID!" Tom felt the glare of the old lady's eye,
though he could not see it. "Not a word against my
Tom, now that he's gone! God'll take care of HIM -- never you trouble YOURself, sir! Oh, Mrs. Harper, I
don't know how to give him up! I don't know how to
give him up! He was such a comfort to me, although
he tormented my old heart out of me, 'most."
"The Lord giveth and the Lord hath taken away
-- Blessed be the name of the Lord! But it's so hard
-- Oh, it's so hard! Only last Saturday my Joe busted
a firecracker right under my nose and I knocked him
sprawling. Little did I know then, how soon -- Oh,
if it was to do over again I'd hug him and bless him
"Yes, yes, yes, I know just how you feel, Mrs.
Harper, I know just exactly how you feel. No longer
ago than yesterday noon, my Tom took and filled the
cat full of Pain-killer, and I did think the cretur would
tear the house down. And God forgive me, I cracked
Tom's head with my thimble, poor boy, poor dead boy.
But he's out of all his troubles now. And the last words
I ever heard him say was to reproach --"
But this memory was too much for the old lady,
and she broke entirely down. Tom was snuffling, now,
himself -- and more in pity of himself than anybody
else. He could hear Mary crying, and putting in a
kindly word for him from time to time. He began to
have a nobler opinion of himself than ever before.
Still, he was sufficiently touched by his aunt's grief to
long to rush out from under the bed and overwhelm
her with joy -- and the theatrical gorgeousness of the
thing appealed strongly to his nature, too, but he resisted and lay still.
He went on listening, and gathered by odds and ends
that it was conjectured at first that the boys had got
drowned while taking a swim; then the small raft had
been missed; next, certain boys said the missing lads
had promised that the village should "hear something" soon; the wise-heads had "put this and that
together" and decided that the lads had gone off on
that raft and would turn up at the next town below,
presently; but toward noon the raft had been found,
lodged against the Missouri shore some five or six miles
below the village -- and then hope perished; they must
be drowned, else hunger would have driven them home
by nightfall if not sooner. It was believed that the
search for the bodies had been a fruitless effort merely
because the drowning must have occurred in midchannel, since the boys, being good swimmers, would
otherwise have escaped to shore. This was Wednesday
night. If the bodies continued missing until Sunday,
all hope would be given over, and the funerals would
be preached on that morning. Tom shuddered.
Mrs. Harper gave a sobbing good-night and turned
to go. Then with a mutual impulse the two bereaved
women flung themselves into each other's arms and had
a good, consoling cry, and then parted. Aunt Polly
was tender far beyond her wont, in her good-night to
Sid and Mary. Sid snuffled a bit and Mary went off
crying with all her heart.
Aunt Polly knelt down and prayed for Tom so touchingly, so appealingly, and with such measureless love
in her words and her old trembling voice, that he was
weltering in tears again, long before she was through.
He had to keep still long after she went to bed, for
she kept making broken-hearted ejaculations from time
to time, tossing unrestfully, and turning over. But at
last she was still, only moaning a little in her sleep.
Now the boy stole out, rose gradually by the bedside,
shaded the candle-light with his hand, and stood regarding her. His heart was full of pity for her. He
took out his sycamore scroll and placed it by the candle.
But something occurred to him, and he lingered considering. His face lighted with a happy solution of his
thought; he put the bark hastily in his pocket. Then
he bent over and kissed the faded lips, and straightway
made his stealthy exit, latching the door behind him.
He threaded his way back to the ferry landing, found
nobody at large there, and walked boldly on board the
boat, for he knew she was tenantless except that there
was a watchman, who always turned in and slept like
a graven image. He untied the skiff at the stern,
slipped into it, and was soon rowing cautiously upstream. When he had pulled a mile above the village,
he started quartering across and bent himself stoutly to
his work. He hit the landing on the other side neatly,
for this was a familiar bit of work to him. He was
moved to capture the skiff, arguing that it might be
considered a ship and therefore legitimate prey for a
pirate, but he knew a thorough search would be made
for it and that might end in revelations. So he stepped
ashore and entered the woods.
He sat down and took a long rest, torturing himself meanwhile to keep awake, and then started warily
down the home-stretch. The night was far spent.
It was broad daylight before he found himself fairly
abreast the island bar. He rested again until the sun
was well up and gilding the great river with its splendor,
and then he plunged into the stream. A little later he
paused, dripping, upon the threshold of the camp,
and heard Joe say:
"No, Tom's true-blue, Huck, and he'll come back.
He won't desert. He knows that would be a disgrace
to a pirate, and Tom's too proud for that sort of thing.
He's up to something or other. Now I wonder what?"
"Well, the things is ours, anyway, ain't they?"
Pretty near, but not yet, Huck. The writing says
they are if he ain't back here to breakfast."
"Which he is!" exclaimed Tom, with fine dramatic
effect, stepping grandly into camp.
A sumptuous breakfast of bacon and fish was shortly
provided, and as the boys set to work upon it, Tom
recounted (and adorned) his adventures. They were
a vain and boastful company of heroes when the tale
was done. Then Tom hid himself away in a shady
nook to sleep till noon, and the other pirates got ready
to fish and explore.