Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Zombie Jim Read online

Sherburn never said a word-just stood there, looking down. The stillness was awful creepy and uncomfortable. Sherburn run his eye slow along the crowd; and wherever it struck the people tried a little to out-gaze him, but they couldn't; they dropped their eyes and looked sneaky. Then pretty soon Sherburn sort of laughed; not the pleasant kind, but the kind that makes you feel like when you are eating bread that's got sand in it.

  Then he says, slow and scornful:

  "The idea of you lynching anybody! It's amusing. The idea of you thinking you had pluck enough to lynch a man! Because you're brave enough to tar and feather poor friendless cast-out women that come along here, did that make you think you had grit enough to lay your hands on a man? Why, a man's safe in the hands of ten thousand of your kind-as long as it's daytime and you're not behind him.

  "Do I know you? I know you clear through was born and raised in the South, and I've lived in the North; so I know the average all around. The average man's a coward. In the North he lets anybody walk over him that wants to, and goes home and prays for a humble spirit to bear it. In the South one man all by himself, has stopped a stage full of men in the daytime, and robbed the lot. Your newspapers call you a brave people so much that you think you are braver than any other people-whereas you're just as brave, and no braver. Why don't your juries hang murderers? Because they're afraid the man's friends will shoot them in the back, in the dark-and it's just what they would do.

  "So they always acquit; and then a man goes in the night, with a hundred masked cowards at his back and lynches the rascal. Your mistake is, that you didn't bring a man with you; that's one mistake, and the other is that you didn't come in the dark and fetch your masks. You brought part of a man-Buck Harkness, there-and if you hadn't had him to start you, you'd a taken it out in blowing.

  "You didn't want to come. The average man don't like trouble and danger. You don't like trouble and danger. But if only half a man-like Buck Harkness, there-shouts ‘Lynch him! lynch him!’ you're afraid to back down-afraid you'll be found out to be what you are-cowards-and so you raise a yell, and hang yourselves on to that half-a-man's coat-tail, and come raging up here, swearing what big things you're going to do. The pitifulest thing out is a mob; that's what an army is-a mob; they don't fight with courage that's born in them, but with courage that's borrowed from their mass, and from their officers. But a mob without any man at the head of it is beneath pitifulness. Now the thing for you to do is to droop your tails and go home and crawl in a hole. If any real lynching's going to be done it will be done in the dark, Southern fashion; and when they come they'll bring their masks, and fetch a man along. Now leave-and take your half-a-man with you"-tossing his gun up across his left arm and cocking it when he says this.

  The crowd washed back sudden, and then broke all apart, and went tearing off every which way, and Buck Harkness he heeled it after them, looking tolerable cheap. I could a stayed if I wanted to, but I didn't want to.

  I told Birdock I wanted to have a look at the circus and that sounded just fine to him, bein’ that he was half out of his mind and thought he might perform a bit o’ Hamlet for the crowd. I told him it would be best just to stifle it. People was already agitated enough.

  And there was a woman wandering ‘round an’ through the tents callin’ out for her son, calling him by name. He was Joseph and he was but five years old. She went around callin’ and callin’ out for him, but there weren't no response.

  It was such a noisy and riotous place to be. No one woulda heard Birdock's Hamlet anyhow, even if he stood on the deck an’ yelled it through a drum.

  In the big tent I could see a bit of what was going on:

  It was a real bully circus. It was the splendidest sight that ever was when they all come riding in, two and two, a gentleman and lady, side by side, the men just in their drawers and undershirts, and no shoes nor stirrups, and resting their hands on their thighs easy and comfortable-there must a been twenty of them-and every lady with a lovely complexion, and perfectly beautiful, and looking just like a gang of real sure-enough queens, and dressed in clothes that cost millions of dollars, and just littered with diamonds. It was a powerful fine sight; I never see anything so lovely. And then one by one they got up and stood, and went a-weaving around the ring so gentle and wavy and graceful, the men looking ever so tall and airy and straight, with their heads bobbing and skimming along, away up there under the tent-roof, and every lady's rose-leafy dress flapping soft and silky around her hips, and she looking like the most loveliest parasol.

  And then faster and faster they went, all of them dancing, first one foot out in the air and then the other, the horses leaning more and more, and the ringmaster going round and round the center-pole, cracking his whip and shouting “Hi!-hi!” and the clown cracking jokes behind him; and by and by all hands dropped the reins, and every lady put her knuckles on her hips and every gentleman folded his arms, and then how the horses did lean over and hump themselves! And so one after the other they all skipped off into the ring, and made the sweetest bow I ever see, and then scampered out, and everybody clapped their hands and went just about wild.

  And then Birdock took me by the scruff of my shirt and pulled me aside. He said we best be leaving now. Said he had a right terrible feeling in the bottom of his guts. I said, “How can you have a feeling in your guts if you dead, Birdock?"

  "I don't rightly know,” he said, “but there's an awful commotion yonder, and it strikes me that we should get to going while the going is good."

  And then comes a yippin’ and a hootin’ and all kinds of hollering, and it was a sound like I'd only heard one time before. A most dreadful sound.

  Someone said, “Baggers."

  And that was enough for my ears. I knowed from what I already seen what was really going on. Folks was getting’ tore up and eaten by the dead, like what happened to the Grangerfords. I sure didn't care to see such a sight again.

  I took Birdock by the hand and begun to run. Didn't put no thought to it at all, just ran. All the way back to the river. And the whole way I could hear that the carnage was out of hand. Screams an’ snarls an’ just the worst kind of commotion.

  See, those folks musta thought their baggers just up and wandered off, but it was more like they was regrouping in the forest, formulatin’ a scheme to eat.

  And when we come down to the raft to push off an’ get clear, ol’ Jim has his face buried in the entrails of a li'l blond boy, eatin’ like he was just famished. I says,

  "Jim! What the devil is into you?” And Jim says,

  "I sorry, Huck. I got hungry and careless, and done let my instink get th’ betta of me. I knowed it was wrong before I did it, but I jus’ couldn’ help maself."

  And Birdock's face twisted up in disgustedness an’ fear. I says,

  "It's a damn feast back there, Jim. We gotta shove off."

  An’ Jim composed hisself an’ wiped his face and kicked the little boy into the river and we hove out. Birdock still din’ know what to make of things as we floated away from the massacre. He din’ look to know whether he was safer here, with Jim, or back there with all them hungry baggers. Mebby just a wee bit of his sense was shining through.

  Birdock weren't dead. He was just nuts.

  He got all fidgety an’ nervous and started singing out like a loon:

  At the Court House! For 3 Nights Only!

  The World-Renowned Tragedian

  Birdock the Younger!

  Of the London and

  Continental Theatres,

  In his Thrilling Tragedy of

  The King's Cameleopard,

  Or the Royal Nonesuch!!!

  Admission 50 cents.

  Jim looked at me like he din’ know what to make of it, but I was cross about what Jim done and showed him my angriest frown. He couldn't muster the nerve to look my way for the rest of the evening. That was something akin to shame, I reckon.

  Things was all messed up.

  I says to Birdock, “If'n you is a zomby, like you sa
y you is, why don't you go on an’ tell me why even these tame baggers are suddenly risin’ up an’ eatin’ their masters, huh?"

  Birdock shrugged. “Mebby I can't figger it."

  "Mebby you dilluted in the brain."

  "Mebby I ain't."

  "My guess is you're jus’ playin’ dead ‘cause you in some kind of trouble. Maybe you stole some un's horse or kist his wife. I dunno, but I know for sure this is a ruse. You're summonin’ yer actin’ abilities, hopin’ to come off as a dead man, but it ain't workin’ on me. No, sir. You a fraud. You don’ know nothin."

  Zomby Jim just held his tongue.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  In the mornin’ Birdock was still fast asleep, twitterin’ about poetry an’ scratchin’ himself, but me an’ Jim was awake and we had ourselves a talk about things. He said he feared the worst for me, bein’ that baggers from all over, half-baggers and full-baggers alike, fresh and rotten, was now givin’ in to their urges to eat. He said it was happenin’ more than I knew, an’ that he could hear the wickedness in the calm of night.

  "Jus’ lyin’ still I kin hear ‘em all over, hungered as ever, frothin’ an’ growlin’ up a storm."

  I told ‘im he had to get leverage on his own wicked instincts. I said it wouldn't be long ‘fore someone come along and konked his head off for eatin’ kids. “You know as well as I do thet folks don’ tolerate eatin’ kids.” Jim said,

  "Naw. I shore reckon they don't."

  An’ that day was pretty unadventurous, ‘cept for a part when Birdock got to performin’ and fell in the river again. Me an’ Jim wondered between us if we should jus’ leave him behind, but it didn't seem right to me in the end.

  Mostly it was a day for quiet an’ reflection.

  I went to sleep, and Jim didn't call me when it was my turn. He often done that. When I waked up just at daybreak he was sitting there with his head down betwixt his knees, moaning and mourning to himself. I didn't take notice nor let on. I knowed what it was about. He was thinking about his wife and his children, wherever they was, and he was low and homesick; because he hadn't ever been away from home before in his life. Or his death. He was often moaning and mourning that way nights, when he judged I was asleep, and saying, “Po’ little ‘Lizabeth! po’ little Johnny! it's mighty hard; I spec’ I ain't ever gwyne to see you no mo', no mo'!” He was a mighty good bagger, Jim was, when he wasn't eatin’ folks.

  But this time I somehow got to talking to him about his wife and young ones. When he was alive he was a brute. By and by he says:

  "What makes me feel so bad dis time ‘uz bekase I hear sumpn over yonder on de bank like a whack, er a slam, while ago, en it mine me er de time I treat my little ‘Lizabeth so ornery. She warn't on'y ‘bout fo’ year ole, en she tuck de sk'yarlet fever, en had a powful rough spell; but she got well, en one day she was a-stannin’ aroun', en I says to her, I says:

  "'Shet de do'.'

  "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!"

  But then I wondered aloud if Zomby Jim could forgive himself now, bein’ that he wasn't alive no more. I said,

  "Bein’ dead ought to be liberatin’ of such things."

  Jim nodded his head slowly and said, “It sho’ ought to be."

  Birdock woke up and he was listening to our conversation an’ he couldn't resist the urge to throw his own two cents in. He started to say what ways death had liberated him from certain painful memories, but Jim told him to shet his mouth tight. Jim said,

  "You ain't no bagger. You a con man o’ some kind. I don’ know what yo’ game be, but you either out o’ yo’ mind or you be playin’ de angles. Yo don’ know nuttin’ ‘bout bein’ dead, fool."

  And that chafed Birdock good. He said he been all the way down to Hell an’ saw the devil himself, and it weren't to no man to say otherwise. And Jim said,

  "Did you see de lady wit’ de red dress?"

  An’ before no time at all Birdock answered, “Of course I did. I saw her at the devil's right hand, an’ she was equal parts beautiful an’ wicked, both at once."

  At this, Jim could only laugh ‘cause he was just blowin’ wind. There was no red lady in Hell, not one that ol’ Jim knew of. An’ he told Birdock he was just barkin’ out his own backside, an’ I had to laugh about it, too.

  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 ol’ Birdock was still fixin’ to sell himself as a hardworkin’ bagger. Me, I didn't mind ‘cause we needed to hustle up some more supplies and such, even d'spite the fact that the world was becomin’ a pretty dangerous place t'be. Jim he 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, we had to tie him, because I could no more trust him to not eat the passers-by. An’ Jim was pretty acceptin’ of that. He obeyed pretty much ever'thing I told him.

  But then I figured I didn't want anyone to stumble along and find him tied up like that and think to turn him in for the reward, neither, so I told Birdock we had to come up with some kinda ruse.

  He wasn't too bright, that Birdock, but he soon struck it. We gave Jim some slack so he could walk about an’ amuse himself. Jim was already ten shades of blue from bein’ dead, an’ it was hard to judge his original race. Birdock figgered he could pass for an Oriental, perhaps, ‘specially one of them Mohammedans. So he made up a sign. The sign said,

  Sick Arab-but harmless when not out of his head. Keep away.

  And he nailed that shingle to a lath, and stood the lath up four or five foot in front of the wigwam. We was satisfied. Jim said it was a sight better than lying tied a couple of years every day. Birdock told him to make himself free and easy, and if anybody ever come meddling around, he must hop out of the wigwam, and carry on a little, and fetch a howl or two like a wild beast, and he reckoned they would light out and leave him alone. Which was sound enough judgment; but you take the average man, and he wouldn't wait for him to howl. Why, he didn't only look like he was dead, he looked considerable more than that.

  Now me an’ Birdock went into town an’ I picked a couple pockets while he went and quizzed folks about who's like to buy him, being that he was such a fine specimen and could cook an’ clean as good as any living servant, and the whole scene was quite ridiculous ‘cause there wasn't no one who took Birdock fer a dead man.

  But also there was talk trickling through; ‘bout how the fissythis was worse than ever and folks were comin’ back rabid and not peaceful like before. An’ even the peaceful ones was turnin’ mean, as if a switch had been throwed.

  And then there was talk about the things which I'd seen with my own eyes, or heard with my ears, ‘bout whole bands of baggers who swept into towns a
nd et up ever'one who resided there. And those stories just made my stomach turn over ‘cause I knew it to be true. A fella says,

  "It's a curse from the b'yond. New Yawk City is no'n but a graveyard. The whole world is goin’ straight t’ Hell, which is how Beelzebubby planned it."

  An’ I got the goosebumps again and told Birdock it was time to mosey on. He weren't getting’ any takers, anyhow. Most folks looked at him like he was out of his head, anyhow. The ones who didn't was all reluctant to own a bagger ‘cause of all the stories goin’ ‘round. Birdock says,

  "I bet I'm worth a pretty penny in Buffalo."

  He was optimistic like that.

  We hadn’ even got to leave town ‘fore someone started yellin’ about the Devil's Army movin’ in from the East.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  The news was all over town in two minutes, and you could see the people tearing down on the run from every which way, some of them putting on their coats as they come. Pretty soon we was in the middle of a crowd, and the noise of the tramping was like a soldier march. The windows and dooryards was full; and every minute somebody would say, over a fence: "Is it them?"

  And somebody trotting along with the gang would answer back and say:

  "You bet it is."

  And it was the same as before, ‘cept that men had weapons a-ready and was bandin’ to make the best of things. Women an’ children were shuffled away for safe hiding, and tame baggers was beheaded where they stood-just in case they had any plans on mutinying.

  Birdock was sensible enough to be right terrified. He'd saw what I'd saw, after all, and despite all his crazy talk he knowed deep down that he weren't one of the Devil's Army.

  So we run all the way back to the river.

  Jim calls out, “I hear it, yes I does. I hear de commotion. I hear it in de wind, Huck. It be getting’ bad, bad, bad."

  We shoved off an’ I said we best stick to the river forever; never go ashore again. That's how it was getting’ to be. I knowed it wasn't gonna change any. It was only gonna get worse. Miles worse. The dead was a mean, hungry bunch.