ger, and
don't send nobody to watch the nigger. Jim could a got out of that
window-hole before this, only there wouldn't be no use trying to travel
with a ten-foot chain on his leg. Why, drat it, Huck, it's the stupidest
arrangement I ever see. You got to invent ALL the difficulties. Well, we
can't help it; we got to do the best we can with the materials we've got.
Anyhow, there's one thing--there's more honor in getting him out
through a lot of difficulties and dangers, where there warn't one of them
furnished to you by the people who it was their duty to furnish them, and
you had to contrive them all out of your own head. Now look at just that
one thing of the lantern. When you come down to the cold facts, we
simply got to LET ON that a lantern's resky. Why, we could work with a
torchlight procession if we wanted to, I believe. Now, whilst I think of
it, we got to hunt up something to make a saw out of the first chance we
get."
"What do we want of a saw?"
"What do we WANT of a saw? Hain't we got to saw the leg of Jim's bed
off, so as to get the chain loose?"
"Why, you just said a body could lift up the bedstead and slip the chain
off."
"Well, if that ain't just like you, Huck Finn. You CAN get up the
infant-schooliest ways of going at a thing. Why, hain't you ever read
any books at all?--Baron Trenck, nor Casanova, nor Benvenuto Chelleeny,
nor Henri IV., nor none of them heroes? Who ever heard of getting a
prisoner loose in such an old-maidy way as that? No; the way all the
best authorities does is to saw the bed-leg in two, and leave it just so,
and swallow the sawdust, so it can't be found, and put some dirt and
grease around the sawed place so the very keenest seneskal can't see no
sign of it's being sawed, and thinks the bed-leg is perfectly sound.
Then, the night you're ready, fetch the leg a kick, down she goes; slip
off your chain, and there you are. Nothing to do but hitch your rope
ladder to the battlements, shin down it, break your leg in the moat
--because a rope ladder is nineteen foot too short, you know--and there's
your horses and your trusty vassles, and they scoop you up and fling you
across a saddle, and away you go to your native Langudoc, or Navarre, or
wherever it is. It's gaudy, Huck. I wish there was a moat to this cabin.
If we get time, the night of the escape, we'll dig one."
I says:
"What do we want of a moat when we're going to snake him out from under
the cabin?"
|