chapter 29
湯姆索亞曆險記英文版 作者：馬克·吐溫 投票推薦 加入書簽 留言反饋
the first thing tom heard on friday morning was a d piece of news -- judge thatcher''s family hade back to town the night before. both injun joe and the treasure sunk into secondary importance for a moment, and becky took the chief ce in the boy''s interest. he saw her and they had an exhausting good time ying "hi-spy" and "gully-keeper" with a crowd of their schoolmates. the day waspleted and crowned in a peculiarly satisfactory way: becky teased her mother to appoint the next day for the long-promised and long-dyed pic, and she consented. the child''s delight was boundless; and tom''s not more moderate. the invitations were sent out before sunset, and straightway the young folks of the vige were thrown into a fever of preparation and pleasurable anticipation. tom''s excitement enabled him to keep awake until a prettyte hour, and he had good hopes of hearing huck''s "maow," and of having his treasure to astonish becky and the pickers with, next day; but he was disappointed. no signal came that night.
morning came, eventually, and by ten or eleven o''clock a giddy and rollickingpany were gathered at judge thatcher''s, and everything was ready for a start. it was not the custom for elderly people to mar the pics with their presence. the children were considered safe enough under the wings of a few youngdies of eighteen and a few young gentlemen of twenty-three or thereabouts. the old steam ferry-boat was chartered for the asion; presently the gay throng filed up the main streetden with provision-baskets. sid was sick and had to miss the fun; mary remained at home to entertain him. thest thing mrs. thatcher said to becky, was:
"you''ll not get back tillte. perhaps you''d better stay all night with some of the girls that live near the ferrynding, child."
"then i''ll stay with susy harper, mamma."
"very well. and mind and behave yourself and don''t be any trouble."
presently, as they tripped along, tom said to becky:
"say -- i''ll tell you what we''ll do. ''stead of going to joe harper''s we''ll climb right up the hill and stop at the widow dous''. she''ll have ice-cream! she has it most every day -- dead loads of it. and she''ll be awful d to have us."
"oh, that will be fun!"
then becky reflected a moment and said:
"but what will mamma say?"
"how''ll she ever know?"
the girl turned the idea over in her mind, and said reluctantly:
"i reckon it''s wrong -- but --"
"but shucks! your mother won''t know, and so what''s the harm? all she wants is that you''ll be safe; and i bet you she''d ''a'' said go there if she''d ''a'' thought of it. i know she would!"
the widow dous'' splendid hospitality was a tempting bait. it and tom''s persuasions presently carried the day. so it was decided to say nothing anybody about the night''s programme. presently it urred to tom that maybe huck mighte this very night and give the signal. the thought took a deal of the spirit out of his anticipations. still he could not bear to give up the fun at widow dous''. and why should he give it up, he reasoned -- the signal did note the night before, so why should it be any more likely toe to-night? the sure fun of the evening outweighed the uncertain treasure; and, boy-like, he determined to yield to the stronger inclination and not allow himself to think of the box of money another time that day.
three miles below town the ferryboat stopped at the mouth of a woody hollow and tied up. the crowd swarmed ashore and soon the forest distances and craggy heights echoed far and near with shoutings andughter. all the different ways of getting hot and tired were gone through with, and by-and-by the rovers straggled back to camp fortified with responsible appetites, and then the destruction of the good things began. after the feast there was a refreshing season of rest and chat in the shade of spreading oaks. by-and-by somebody shouted:
"who''s ready for the cave?"
everybody was. bundles of candles were procured, and straightway there was a general scamper up the hill. the mouth of the cave was up the hillside -- an opening shaped like a letter a. its massive oaken door stood unbarred. within was a small chamber, chilly as an ice-house, and walled by nature with solid limestone that was dewy with a cold sweat. it was romantic and mysterious to stand here in the deep gloom and look out upon the green valley shining in the sun. but the impressiveness of the situation quickly wore off, and the romping began again. the moment a candle was lighted there was a general rush upon the owner of it; a struggle and a gant defence followed, but the candle was soon knocked down or blown out, and then there was a d mor ofughter and a new chase. but all things have an end. by-and-by the procession went filing down the steep descent of the main avenue, the flickering rank of lights dimly revealing the lofty walls of rock almost to their point of junction sixty feet overhead. this main avenue was not more than eight or ten feet wide. every few steps other lofty and still narrower crevices branched from it on either hand -- for mcdougal''s cave was but a vastbyrinth of crooked aisles that ran into each other and out again and led nowhere. it was said that one might wander days and nights together through its intricate tangle of rifts and chasms, and never find the end of the cave; and that he might go down, and down, and still down, into the earth, and it was just the same --byrinth underbyrinth, and no end to any of them. no man "knew" the cave. that was an impossible thing. most of the young men knew a portion of it, and it was not customary to venture much beyond this known portion. tom sawyer knew as much of the cave as any one.
the procession moved along the main avenue some three-quarters of a mile, and then groups and couples began to slip aside into branch avenues, fly along the dismal corridors, and take each other by surprise at points where the corridors joined again. parties were able to elude each other for the space of half an hour without going beyond the "known" ground.
by-and-by, one group after another came straggling back to the mouth of the cave, panting, hrious, smeared from head to foot with tallow drippings, daubed with y, and entirely delighted with the sess of the day. then they were astonished to find that they had been taking no note of time and that night was about at hand. the nging bell had been calling for half an hour. however, this sort of close to the day''s adventures was romantic and therefore satisfactory. when the ferryboat with her wild freight pushed into the stream, nobody cared sixpence for the wasted time but the captain of the craft.
huck was already upon his watch when the ferry-boat''s lights went glinting past the wharf. he heard no noise on board, for the young people were as subdued and still as people usually are who are nearly tired to death. he wondered what boat it was, and why she did not stop at the wharf -- and then he dropped her out of his mind and put his attention upon his business. the night was growing cloudy and dark. ten o''clock came, and the noise of vehicles ceased, scattered lights began to wink out, all straggling foot-passengers disappeared, the vige betook itself to its slumbers and left the small watcher alone with the silence and the ghosts. eleven o''clock came, and the tavern lights were put out; darkness everywhere, now. huck waited what seemed a weary long time, but nothing happened. his faith was weakening. was there any use? was there really any use? why not give it up and turn in?
a noise fell upon his ear. he was all attention in an instant. the alley door closed softly. he sprang to the corner of the brick store. the next moment two men brushed by him, and one seemed to have something under his arm. it must be that box! so they were going to remove the treasure. why call tom now? it would be absurd -- the men would get away with the box and never be found again. no, he would stick to their wake and follow them; he would trust to the darkness for security from discovery. somuning with himself, huck stepped out and glided along behind the men, cat-like, with bare feet, allowing them to keep just far enough ahead not to be invisible.
they moved up the river street three blocks, then turned to the left up a cross-street. they went straight ahead, then, until they came to the path that led up cardiff hill; this they took. they passed by the old welshman''s house, half-way up the hill, without hesitating, and still climbed upward. good, thought huck, they will bury it in the old quarry. but they never stopped at the quarry. they passed on, up the summit. they plunged into the narrow path between the tall sumach bushes, and were at once hidden in the gloom. huck closed up and shortened his distance, now, for they would never be able to see him. he trotted along awhile; then ckened his pace, fearing he was gaining too fast; moved on a piece, then stopped altogether; listened; no sound; none, save that he seemed to hear the beating of his own heart. the hooting of an owl came over the hill -- ominous sound! but no footsteps. heavens, was everything lost! he was about to spring with winged feet, when a man cleared his throat not four feet from him! huck''s heart shot into his throat, but he swallowed it again; and then he stood there shaking as if a dozen agues had taken charge of him at once, and so weak that he thought he must surely fall to the ground. he knew where he was. he knew he was within five steps of the stile leading into widow dous'' grounds. very well, he thought, let them bury it there; it won''t be hard to find.
now there was a voice -- a very low voice -- injun joe''s:
"damn her, maybe she''s gotpany -- there''s lights,te as it is."
"i can''t see any."
this was that stranger''s voice -- the stranger of the haunted house. a deadly chill went to huck''s heart -- this, then, was the "revenge" job! his thought was, to fly. then he remembered that the widow dous had been kind to him more than once, and maybe these men were going to murder her. he wished he dared venture to warn her; but he knew he didn''t dare -- they mighte and catch him. he thought all this and more in the moment that psed between the stranger''s remark and injun joe''s next -- which was --
"because the bush is in your way. now -- this way -- now you see, don''t you?"
"yes. well, there ispany there, i reckon. better give it up."
"give it up, and i just leaving this country forever! give it up and maybe never have another chance. i tell you again, as i''ve told you before, i don''t care for her swag -- you may have it. but her husband was rough on me -- many times he was rough on me -- and mainly he was the justice of the peace that jugged me for a vagrant. and that ain''t all. it ain''t a millionth part of it! he had me horsewhipped! -- horsewhipped in front of the jail, like a nigger! -- with all the town looking on! horsewhipped! -- do you understand? he took advantage of me and died. but i''ll take it out of her."
"oh, don''t kill her! don''t do that!"
"kill? who said anything about killing? i would kill him if he was here; but not her. when you want to get revenge on a woman you don''t kill her -- bosh! you go for her looks. you slit her nostrils -- you notch her ears like a sow!"
"by god, that''s --"
"keep your opinion to yourself! it will be safest for you. i''ll tie her to the bed. if she bleeds to death, is that my fault? i''ll not cry, if she does. my friend, you''ll help me in this thing -- for my sake -- that''s why you''re here -- i mightn''t be able alone. if you flinch, i''ll kill you. do you understand that? and if i have to kill you, i''ll kill her -- and then i reckon nobody''ll ever know much about who done this business."
"well, if it''s got to be done, let''s get at it. the quicker the better -- i''m all in a shiver."
"do it now? andpany there? look here -- i''ll get suspicious of you, first thing you know. no -- we''ll wait till the lights are out -- there''s no hurry."
huck felt that a silence was going to ensue -- a thing still more awful than any amount of murderous talk; so he held his breath and stepped gingerly back; nted his foot carefully and firmly, after bncing, one-legged, in a precarious way and almost toppling over, first on one side and then on the other. he took another step back, with the same boration and the same risks; then another and another, and -- a twig snapped under his foot! his breath stopped and he listened. there was no sound -- the stillness was perfect. his gratitude was measureless. now he turned in his tracks, between the walls of sumach bushes -- turned himself as carefully as if he were a ship -- and then stepped quickly but cautiously along. when he emerged at the quarry he felt secure, and so he picked up his nimble heels and flew. down, down he sped, till he reached the welshman''s. he banged at the door, and presently the heads of the old man and his two stalwart sons were thrust from windows.
"what''s the row there? who''s banging? what do you want?"
"let me in -- quick! i''ll tell everything."
"why, who are you?"
"huckleberry finn -- quick, let me in!"
"huckleberry finn, indeed! it ain''t a name to open many doors, i judge! but let him in,ds, and let''s see what''s the trouble."
"please don''t ever tell i told you," were huck''s first words when he got in. "please don''t -- i''d be killed, sure -- but the widow''s been good friends to me sometimes, and i want to tell -- i will tell if you''ll promise you won''t ever say it was me."
"by george, he has got something to tell, or he wouldn''t act so!" eximed the old man; "out with it and nobody here''ll ever tell,d."
three minutester the old man and his sons, well armed, were up the hill, and just entering the sumach path on tiptoe, their weapons in their hands. huck apanied them no further. he hid behind a great bowlder and fell to listening. there was agging, anxious silence, and then all of a sudden there was an explosion of firearms and a cry.
huck waited for no particrs. he sprang away and sped down the hill as fast as his legs could carry him.
morning came, eventually, and by ten or eleven o''clock a giddy and rollickingpany were gathered at judge thatcher''s, and everything was ready for a start. it was not the custom for elderly people to mar the pics with their presence. the children were considered safe enough under the wings of a few youngdies of eighteen and a few young gentlemen of twenty-three or thereabouts. the old steam ferry-boat was chartered for the asion; presently the gay throng filed up the main streetden with provision-baskets. sid was sick and had to miss the fun; mary remained at home to entertain him. thest thing mrs. thatcher said to becky, was:
"you''ll not get back tillte. perhaps you''d better stay all night with some of the girls that live near the ferrynding, child."
"then i''ll stay with susy harper, mamma."
"very well. and mind and behave yourself and don''t be any trouble."
presently, as they tripped along, tom said to becky:
"say -- i''ll tell you what we''ll do. ''stead of going to joe harper''s we''ll climb right up the hill and stop at the widow dous''. she''ll have ice-cream! she has it most every day -- dead loads of it. and she''ll be awful d to have us."
"oh, that will be fun!"
then becky reflected a moment and said:
"but what will mamma say?"
"how''ll she ever know?"
the girl turned the idea over in her mind, and said reluctantly:
"i reckon it''s wrong -- but --"
"but shucks! your mother won''t know, and so what''s the harm? all she wants is that you''ll be safe; and i bet you she''d ''a'' said go there if she''d ''a'' thought of it. i know she would!"
the widow dous'' splendid hospitality was a tempting bait. it and tom''s persuasions presently carried the day. so it was decided to say nothing anybody about the night''s programme. presently it urred to tom that maybe huck mighte this very night and give the signal. the thought took a deal of the spirit out of his anticipations. still he could not bear to give up the fun at widow dous''. and why should he give it up, he reasoned -- the signal did note the night before, so why should it be any more likely toe to-night? the sure fun of the evening outweighed the uncertain treasure; and, boy-like, he determined to yield to the stronger inclination and not allow himself to think of the box of money another time that day.
three miles below town the ferryboat stopped at the mouth of a woody hollow and tied up. the crowd swarmed ashore and soon the forest distances and craggy heights echoed far and near with shoutings andughter. all the different ways of getting hot and tired were gone through with, and by-and-by the rovers straggled back to camp fortified with responsible appetites, and then the destruction of the good things began. after the feast there was a refreshing season of rest and chat in the shade of spreading oaks. by-and-by somebody shouted:
"who''s ready for the cave?"
everybody was. bundles of candles were procured, and straightway there was a general scamper up the hill. the mouth of the cave was up the hillside -- an opening shaped like a letter a. its massive oaken door stood unbarred. within was a small chamber, chilly as an ice-house, and walled by nature with solid limestone that was dewy with a cold sweat. it was romantic and mysterious to stand here in the deep gloom and look out upon the green valley shining in the sun. but the impressiveness of the situation quickly wore off, and the romping began again. the moment a candle was lighted there was a general rush upon the owner of it; a struggle and a gant defence followed, but the candle was soon knocked down or blown out, and then there was a d mor ofughter and a new chase. but all things have an end. by-and-by the procession went filing down the steep descent of the main avenue, the flickering rank of lights dimly revealing the lofty walls of rock almost to their point of junction sixty feet overhead. this main avenue was not more than eight or ten feet wide. every few steps other lofty and still narrower crevices branched from it on either hand -- for mcdougal''s cave was but a vastbyrinth of crooked aisles that ran into each other and out again and led nowhere. it was said that one might wander days and nights together through its intricate tangle of rifts and chasms, and never find the end of the cave; and that he might go down, and down, and still down, into the earth, and it was just the same --byrinth underbyrinth, and no end to any of them. no man "knew" the cave. that was an impossible thing. most of the young men knew a portion of it, and it was not customary to venture much beyond this known portion. tom sawyer knew as much of the cave as any one.
the procession moved along the main avenue some three-quarters of a mile, and then groups and couples began to slip aside into branch avenues, fly along the dismal corridors, and take each other by surprise at points where the corridors joined again. parties were able to elude each other for the space of half an hour without going beyond the "known" ground.
by-and-by, one group after another came straggling back to the mouth of the cave, panting, hrious, smeared from head to foot with tallow drippings, daubed with y, and entirely delighted with the sess of the day. then they were astonished to find that they had been taking no note of time and that night was about at hand. the nging bell had been calling for half an hour. however, this sort of close to the day''s adventures was romantic and therefore satisfactory. when the ferryboat with her wild freight pushed into the stream, nobody cared sixpence for the wasted time but the captain of the craft.
huck was already upon his watch when the ferry-boat''s lights went glinting past the wharf. he heard no noise on board, for the young people were as subdued and still as people usually are who are nearly tired to death. he wondered what boat it was, and why she did not stop at the wharf -- and then he dropped her out of his mind and put his attention upon his business. the night was growing cloudy and dark. ten o''clock came, and the noise of vehicles ceased, scattered lights began to wink out, all straggling foot-passengers disappeared, the vige betook itself to its slumbers and left the small watcher alone with the silence and the ghosts. eleven o''clock came, and the tavern lights were put out; darkness everywhere, now. huck waited what seemed a weary long time, but nothing happened. his faith was weakening. was there any use? was there really any use? why not give it up and turn in?
a noise fell upon his ear. he was all attention in an instant. the alley door closed softly. he sprang to the corner of the brick store. the next moment two men brushed by him, and one seemed to have something under his arm. it must be that box! so they were going to remove the treasure. why call tom now? it would be absurd -- the men would get away with the box and never be found again. no, he would stick to their wake and follow them; he would trust to the darkness for security from discovery. somuning with himself, huck stepped out and glided along behind the men, cat-like, with bare feet, allowing them to keep just far enough ahead not to be invisible.
they moved up the river street three blocks, then turned to the left up a cross-street. they went straight ahead, then, until they came to the path that led up cardiff hill; this they took. they passed by the old welshman''s house, half-way up the hill, without hesitating, and still climbed upward. good, thought huck, they will bury it in the old quarry. but they never stopped at the quarry. they passed on, up the summit. they plunged into the narrow path between the tall sumach bushes, and were at once hidden in the gloom. huck closed up and shortened his distance, now, for they would never be able to see him. he trotted along awhile; then ckened his pace, fearing he was gaining too fast; moved on a piece, then stopped altogether; listened; no sound; none, save that he seemed to hear the beating of his own heart. the hooting of an owl came over the hill -- ominous sound! but no footsteps. heavens, was everything lost! he was about to spring with winged feet, when a man cleared his throat not four feet from him! huck''s heart shot into his throat, but he swallowed it again; and then he stood there shaking as if a dozen agues had taken charge of him at once, and so weak that he thought he must surely fall to the ground. he knew where he was. he knew he was within five steps of the stile leading into widow dous'' grounds. very well, he thought, let them bury it there; it won''t be hard to find.
now there was a voice -- a very low voice -- injun joe''s:
"damn her, maybe she''s gotpany -- there''s lights,te as it is."
"i can''t see any."
this was that stranger''s voice -- the stranger of the haunted house. a deadly chill went to huck''s heart -- this, then, was the "revenge" job! his thought was, to fly. then he remembered that the widow dous had been kind to him more than once, and maybe these men were going to murder her. he wished he dared venture to warn her; but he knew he didn''t dare -- they mighte and catch him. he thought all this and more in the moment that psed between the stranger''s remark and injun joe''s next -- which was --
"because the bush is in your way. now -- this way -- now you see, don''t you?"
"yes. well, there ispany there, i reckon. better give it up."
"give it up, and i just leaving this country forever! give it up and maybe never have another chance. i tell you again, as i''ve told you before, i don''t care for her swag -- you may have it. but her husband was rough on me -- many times he was rough on me -- and mainly he was the justice of the peace that jugged me for a vagrant. and that ain''t all. it ain''t a millionth part of it! he had me horsewhipped! -- horsewhipped in front of the jail, like a nigger! -- with all the town looking on! horsewhipped! -- do you understand? he took advantage of me and died. but i''ll take it out of her."
"oh, don''t kill her! don''t do that!"
"kill? who said anything about killing? i would kill him if he was here; but not her. when you want to get revenge on a woman you don''t kill her -- bosh! you go for her looks. you slit her nostrils -- you notch her ears like a sow!"
"by god, that''s --"
"keep your opinion to yourself! it will be safest for you. i''ll tie her to the bed. if she bleeds to death, is that my fault? i''ll not cry, if she does. my friend, you''ll help me in this thing -- for my sake -- that''s why you''re here -- i mightn''t be able alone. if you flinch, i''ll kill you. do you understand that? and if i have to kill you, i''ll kill her -- and then i reckon nobody''ll ever know much about who done this business."
"well, if it''s got to be done, let''s get at it. the quicker the better -- i''m all in a shiver."
"do it now? andpany there? look here -- i''ll get suspicious of you, first thing you know. no -- we''ll wait till the lights are out -- there''s no hurry."
huck felt that a silence was going to ensue -- a thing still more awful than any amount of murderous talk; so he held his breath and stepped gingerly back; nted his foot carefully and firmly, after bncing, one-legged, in a precarious way and almost toppling over, first on one side and then on the other. he took another step back, with the same boration and the same risks; then another and another, and -- a twig snapped under his foot! his breath stopped and he listened. there was no sound -- the stillness was perfect. his gratitude was measureless. now he turned in his tracks, between the walls of sumach bushes -- turned himself as carefully as if he were a ship -- and then stepped quickly but cautiously along. when he emerged at the quarry he felt secure, and so he picked up his nimble heels and flew. down, down he sped, till he reached the welshman''s. he banged at the door, and presently the heads of the old man and his two stalwart sons were thrust from windows.
"what''s the row there? who''s banging? what do you want?"
"let me in -- quick! i''ll tell everything."
"why, who are you?"
"huckleberry finn -- quick, let me in!"
"huckleberry finn, indeed! it ain''t a name to open many doors, i judge! but let him in,ds, and let''s see what''s the trouble."
"please don''t ever tell i told you," were huck''s first words when he got in. "please don''t -- i''d be killed, sure -- but the widow''s been good friends to me sometimes, and i want to tell -- i will tell if you''ll promise you won''t ever say it was me."
"by george, he has got something to tell, or he wouldn''t act so!" eximed the old man; "out with it and nobody here''ll ever tell,d."
three minutester the old man and his sons, well armed, were up the hill, and just entering the sumach path on tiptoe, their weapons in their hands. huck apanied them no further. he hid behind a great bowlder and fell to listening. there was agging, anxious silence, and then all of a sudden there was an explosion of firearms and a cry.
huck waited for no particrs. he sprang away and sped down the hill as fast as his legs could carry him.