“She never done it; jis’ stood dah, kiner
smilin’ up at me. It make me mad; en I
says agin, mighty loud, I says:
“‘Doan’ you hear me? Shet
de do’!’
“She jis stood de same way, kiner smilin’
up. I was a-bilin’! I says:
“‘I lay I make you mine!’
“En wid dat I fetch’ her a slap side de
head dat sont her a-sprawlin’. Den I went
into de yuther room, en ’uz gone ’bout
ten minutes; en when I come back dah was dat do’
a-stannin’ open yit, en dat chile stannin’
mos’ right in it, a-lookin’ down and mournin’,
en de tears runnin’ down. My, but I wuz
mad! I was a-gwyne for de chile, but jis’
den—it was a do’ dat open innerds—jis’
den, ’long come de wind en slam it to, behine
de chile, ker-BLAM!—en my lan’, de
chile never move’! My breff mos’
hop outer me; en I feel so—so—I
doan’ know how I feel. I crope out,
all a-tremblin’, en crope aroun’ en open
de do’ easy en slow, en poke my head in behine
de chile, sof’ en still, en all uv a sudden I
says pow! jis’ as loud as I could yell.
She never budge! Oh, Huck, I
bust out a-cryin’ en grab her up in my arms,
en say, ‘Oh, de po’ little thing!
De Lord God Amighty fogive po’ ole Jim, kaze
he never gwyne to fogive hisself as long’s he
live!’ Oh, she was plumb deef en dumb, Huck,
plumb deef en dumb—en I’d ben a-treat’n
her so!”
Next day, towards night, we laid up under a little
willow towhead out in the middle, where there was
a village on each side of the river, and the duke
and the king begun to lay out a plan for working them
towns. Jim he spoke to the duke, and said he
hoped it wouldn’t take but a few hours, because
it got mighty heavy and tiresome to him when he had
to lay all day in the wigwam tied with the rope.
You see, when we left him all alone we had to tie
him, because if anybody happened on to him all by
himself and not tied it wouldn’t look much like
he was a runaway nigger, you know. So the duke
said it was kind of hard to have to lay roped
all day, and he’d cipher out some way to get
around it.
He was uncommon bright, the duke was, and he soon
struck it. He dressed Jim up in King Lear’s
outfit—it was a long curtain-calico gown,
and a white horse-hair wig and whiskers; and then
he took his theater paint and painted Jim’s
face and hands and ears and neck all over a dead, dull,
solid blue, like a man that’s been drownded nine
days. Blamed if he warn’t the horriblest
looking outrage I ever see. Then the duke took
and wrote out a sign on a shingle so:
Sick Arab—but harmless when not out of
his head.
