The Adventures of Tom Sawyer: Chapter 09-10

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:01):
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain, Chapter nine,
Tragedy in the Graveyard. At half past nine that night,
Tom and Sid were sent to bed as usual. They
said their prayers, and Sid was soon asleep. Tom lay
awake and waited in restless impatience. When it seemed to

(00:21):
him that it must be nearly daylight, he heard the
clock strike ten. This was despair. He would have tossed
and fidgeted, as his nerves demanded, but he was afraid
he might wake Sid. So he lay still and stared
up into the dark. Everything was dismally still. By and by.
Out of the stillness, little scarcely perceptible noises began to

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emphasize themselves. The ticking of the clock began to bring
itself into notice. Old beams began to crack mysteriously. The
stairs creaked faintly. Evidently spirits were abroad. A measured, muffled
snore issues from Aunt Polly's chamber, and now the tiresome
chirping of a cricket that no human ingenuity could locate began. Next,

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the ghastly ticking of a death's watch in the wall.
The bed's head made Tom shudder. It meant that somebody's
days were numbered. Then the howl of a far off
dog rose on the night air, and was answered by
a fainter howl from a remoter distance. Tom was in
an agony. At last, he was satisfied the time had ceased,

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an eternity begun. He began to doze in spite of himself.
The clock chimed eleven, but he did not hear it.
And then there came, mingling with his half formed dreams,
a most melancholy catterwauling. The raising of a neighboring window
disturbed him. A cry of scatchy devil, and the crash

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of an empty bottle against the back of his aunt's
wood shed brought him wide awake, And a single minute
later he was dressed and out of the window, and
creeping along the roof of the l on all fours.
He meowed with caution once or twice as he went,
then jumped to the roof of the woodshed, and thence
to the ground. Huckleberry Finn was there with his dead cat.

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The boys moved off and disappeared in the gloom. At
the end of half an hour, they were wading through
the tall grass of the graveyard. It was a graveyard
of the old fashioned western kind. It was on a
hill about a mile and a half from the village.
It had a crazy bared fence around it, which leaned
inward in places and outward the rest of the time,
but stood upright nowhere. Grass and weeds grew rank over

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the whole cemetery. All the old graves were sunken in.
There was not a tombstone on the place. Round topped,
worm eaten boards staggered over the graves, leaning for support,
and finding none. Sacred to the memory of so and
so had been painted on them once, but it could
no longer have been red on the most of them now,

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even if there had been light. A faint wind moaned
through the trees, and Tom feared it might be the
spirits of the dead. Complaining of being disturbed, the boys
talked little and only under their breath, for the time
and the place, and the pervading solemnity in silence oppressed
their spirits. They found a sharp new heap they were seeking,
and ensconced themselves within the protection of three great elms

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that grew in a bunch within a few feet of
the grave. Then they waited in silence for what seemed
a long time. The hooting of a distant owl was
all the sound that troubled the dead stillness. Tom's reflections
grew oppressive. He must force some talk, so he said
in a whisper, Hucky, do you believe the dead people
like it for us to be here? Huckleberry whispered, I

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wished I knowed? It's awful solemn like, ain't it? I
bet it is. There was a considerable pause while the
boys canvassed this matter inwardly. Then Tom whispered, say, Huckey,
do you reckon? Hass Williams hears us talkin? Oh course
he does, least his spirit does Tom. After a pause,

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I wish i'd said, mister Williams, But I never meant
any harm. Everybody called him hass. Well, body can't be
too particular how they talk about these yere dead people. Tom.
This was a damper, and conversation died again. Presently, Tom
seized his comrade's arm and said, sh what is it? Tom?
And the two clung together with beating hearts. Sh there

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it tis again. Didn't you hear it? Aye? There? Now
you hear it, Lord Tom. They're comin, They're comin. Sure,
what do we do? I don't know. I think they'll
see us. Oh Tom, they can see in the dark,
the same as cats. I wished I hadn't come. Oh,
don't don't be feared. I don't believe they'll bother us.
We ain't doing any harm. If we keep perfectly still,

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maybe they won't notice us at all. I'll try to Tom,
but lord, I'm all a shiver. Listen. The boys bent
their heads together and scarcely breathed. A muffled sound of
voices flowed up from the far end of the graveyard.
Look see there, whispered Tom. What is it? It's devil fire?
Oh Tom, this is awful. Some vague figures approached through

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the gloom, swinging an old fashioned tin lantern that freckled
the ground with innumerable little spangles of light. Presently, Huckleberry
whispered with a shudder, it's the devil, sure enough, three
of em. Lordy, Tom, we're goners. Can you pray? I'll try,
But don't you be feared. Think n hurt us now?
I lay me down to sleep. I sh what is it, Huck?

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They're humans? One em is anyway? One UM's old muff
Potter's voice no, tain't so, is it? I bet I
know it? Don't you? Stir nor budge? He ain't sharp
enough to notice us. Drunk the same as usual, likely
blamed old rip. All right, I'll keep still. Now they're stuck,
can't find it Here they come again. Now they're hot,

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cold again, hot again, red hot. They're pointed right this time,
say huck, I n you know another of them voices.
It's injun Joe. That's so that murderin half breed. I'd
ruther they was devil's adurned sight. What can they be
up to? The whisper died wholly out now, for the
three men had reached the grave and stood within a
few feet of the boy's hiding place. Here tis said

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the third voice, and the owner of it held up
the lantern and revealed the face of young doctor Robinson.
Potter and Injun Joe were carrying a hand barrow with
a rope and a couple of shovels on it. They
cast down their load and began to open the grave.
The doctor put the lantern at the head of the
grave and came and sat with his back against one
of the elm trees. He was so close the boys

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could have touched him. Hurry, men, he said, in a
low voice. The moon might come out at any moment.
They growled a response and went on digging. For some time.
There was no noise but the grating sound of the
spades discharging their freight of mold and gravel. It was
very monotonous. Finally, a spade struck upon the coffin with

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a dull, woody accent, and within another minute or two
the men had hoisted it out of the ground. They
pried off the lid with their shovels, got out the
body and dumped it rudely on the ground. The moon
drifted from behind the clouds and exposed the pallid face.
The barrow was got ready and the corpse placed on it,
covered with a blanket, and bound to its place with
a rope. Potter took out a large spring knife and

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cut off the dangling end of the rope, and then said,
now the cusst thing's ready, sawbones, and you'll just out
with another five or here she stays, that's the talk,
said injun Joe. Look here, what does this mean? Said
the doctor. You required your pay in advance, and I've
paid you. Yes, and you've done more than that, said
Injun Joe, approaching the doctor, who was now standing five

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years ago. You drove me away from your father's kitchen
one night when I come to ask for something to eat,
and you said I warn't there for any good. And
when I swore I'd get even with you if it
took a hundred years, your father had me jailed for
a vagrant? Did you think i'd forget the Injun blood
ain't in me for nothing? And now I've got you,
and you've got to settle, you know. He was threatening

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the doctor with his fist in his face. By this time,
the doctor struck out suddenly and stretched the ruffian on
the ground. Potter dropped his knife and exclaimed here, now,
don't don't you hit my pard, And the next moment
he was grappled with the doctor, and the two were
struggling with might and main, trampling the grass and tearing
the ground with their heels. Injun Joe sprang to his feet,

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his eyes flaming with passion, snatched up Potter's knife and
went creeping catlike and snooping round and round about the combatants,
seeking an opportunity. All at once, the doctor flung himself
free seized the heavy head board of William's grave and
felled Potter to the earth with it. And in the
same instance, the half Breed saw his chance and drove
the knife to the hilt in the young man's breast.

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He reeled and fell partly upon Potter, flooding him with
his blood. And in the same moment the clouds blotted
out the dreadful spectacle, and the two frightened boys went
speeding away in the dark. Presently, when the moon emerged
again injun Joe was standing over the two forms, contemplating them.
The doctor murmured inarticulately, gave a long gasp or two,

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and was still. The half breed muttered that score is settled,
damn you. Then he robbed the body, after which he
put the fatal knife in Potter's open right hand and
sat down on the dismantled Coffin three, four five minutes passed,
and then Potter began to stir and moan. His hand
closed upon the knife, he raised it, glanced at it,

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and let it fall with a shudder. Then he sat up,
pushing the body from him, and gazed at it and
then around him. Confusedly. His eyes met Joe's lord, how
is this Joe? He said? It's a dirty business, said Joe,
without moving. What did you do it for? I? I
never done it. Look here, that kind of talk won't wash.

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Potter trembled and grew white. I thought I'd got sober,
I'd no business to drink to night. But it's in
my head yet worse than when we started here. I'm
all in a muddle, can't recollect anything of it. Hardly
tell me, Joe, honest, now, old feller, did I do it? Joe?
I never meant to, upon my soul and honor, I
never meant to, Joe, tell me how it was, Joe, Oh,

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it's awful. And him so young and promising. Why you
two was scuffling and he fetched you one with the
head board, and you fell flat, And then up you come,
all reeling and staggering like, and snatched the knife and
jammed it into him just as he fetched you another
awful clip. And here you've laid as dead as a
wedge till now. Oh, I didn't know what I was doing.

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I wish I may die this minute. If I did,
it was all on account of the whisky and the excitement.
I reckon I never used a weepin in my life
before Joe. I've fought, but never with weepins. They'll all
say that Joe, don't tell. Say you won't tell, Joe.
That's a good feller. I always liked you, Joe, and
stood up for you too. Don't you remember? You won't tell,

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will you? Joe? And the poor creature dropped on his
knees before the stolid murderer and clasped his appealing hands. No,
you've always been fair and square with me, muff Potter,
and I won't go back on you there now, that's
as fair as a man can say. Oh, Joe, you're
an angel. I'll bless you for this the longest day
I live. And Potter began to cry, Come now, that's

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enough of that. This ain't any time for blubbering. You
be off yonder way and I'll go this. Move now,
and don't leave any tracks behind you. Potter started on
a trot that quickly increased to a run. The half
breed stood looking after him. He muttered, if he's as
much stunned with the lick and fuddled with the rum
as he had the look of being, he won't think

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of the knife till he's gone so far he'll be
afraid to come back after it to such a place
by himself checkin a heart. Two or three minutes later,
the murdered man, the blanketed corpse, the lidless coffin, and
the open grave rendered no inspection, but the moon's the
stillness was complete again too. End of chapter nine, Chapter ten,

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Dire Prophecy of the Howling Dog. The two boys flew
on and on toward the village, speechless with horror. They
glanced backwards over their shoulders from time to time apprehensively,
as if they feared they might be followed. Every stump
that started up in their path seemed a man and
an enemy, and made them catch their breath. And as
they sped by some outlying cottages that lay near the village,

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the barking of the aroused watch dogs seemed to give
wings to their feet. If we can only get to
the old tannery before we break down, whispered Tom, in
short catches between breaths. I can't stand it much longer.
Huckleberry's hard pantings were his only reply, and the boys
fixed their eyes on the goal of their hopes, and
bent to their work to win it. They gained steadily
on it, and at last, breast to breast, they burst

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through the open door and fell grateful and exhausted in
the sheltering shadows beyond. By and by their pulses slowed down,
and Tom whispered, Huckleberry, what'll come of this? If doctor
Robinson dies? I reckon, hanging'll come of it? Do you though?
Why I know it? Tom? Tom thought, awhile, and he said,

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who'll tell we? What are you talking about? Suppose something
happened and Injun Joe didn't hang, why he'd kill us
some time or other, just as dead, sure as we're
laying here. That's just what I was thinking to myself, Huck.
If anybody tells, let muff Potter do it. If he's
fool enough, he's generally drunk enough. Tom said nothing, went

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on thinking presently, He whispered, Huck, muff Potter don't know it?
How can he tell? What's the reason he don't know it?
Because he'd just got that whack when Injun Joke done it?
Do you reckon he could see anything? Do you reckon
he knowed anything? By hokey? That's so Tom? And besides,

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look here, maybe that whack done for him. No, tain't likely, Tom,
He had liquor in him, I could see that. And
besides he always has well when PABs full. You might
take and belt him over the head with a church
and you couldn't FaZe him. He says so his own self.
So it's the same with muff Potter, of course. But
if a man was dead sober, I reckon maybe that

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whack might fetch him. I don't know. After another reflective silence,
Tom said, Hockey, you sure you can keep mum? Tom,
we got to keep mum. You know that that engine
devil wouldn't make any more of drowning us than a
couple of cats if we was to squeak about this
and they didn't hang him. Now look here, Tom, let's
take and swear to one another. That's what we got

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to do. Swear to keep Mum. I'm agreed, it's the
best thing. Would you just hold hands and swear that
we Oh, no, that wouldn't do for this. That's good
enough for little rubbishy common things, especially with gals, because
they go back on you anyway and blab if they
get in a huff. But there ought to be writing
about a big thing like this and blood Tom's hole

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being applauded this idea. It was deep and dark, and
all the hour, the circumstances the surroundings were in keeping
with it. He picked up a clean pine shingle that
lay in the moonlight, took a little fragment of red
keel out of his pocket, got the moon on his work,
and painfully scrawled these lines, emphasizing each slow downstroke by

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clamping his tongue between his teeth and letting up the
pressure on the upstrokes see next page. Huckleberry was filled
with admiration of Tom's facility in writing and the sublimity
of his language. He at once took a pin from
his lapel and was going to prick his flesh, but
Tom said, hold on, don't do that. A pin's brass.
It might have verdigrease on it. What's verdigrease. It's pisin,

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that's what it is. You just swallow some of it once,
you'll see. So Tom unwand a thread from one of
his needles, and each boy pricked the ball of his
thumb and squeezed out a drop of blood. Huck Finn
and Tom Sawyer swears they will keep Mum about this,
and they wish they may drop down dead in the

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tracks if they ever tell, and rot in time. After
many squeezes, Tom managed to sign his initials, using the
ball of his little finger for a pen. Then he
showed Huckleberry how to make an H and an F,
and the oath was complete. They buried the shingle close
to the wall with some dismal ceremonies and incantations, and

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the fetters that bound their tongues were considered to be locked,
and the key thrown away. A figure crept stealthily through
a break in the other end of the ruined building. Now,
but they did not notice it. Tom whispered, Huckleberry, does
this keep us from ever telling? Always? Of course it does.
It don't make any difference what happens. We gotta keep mum.

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We drop down dead, don't you know that? Yes, I reckon,
That's so. They continued to whisper for some little time.
Presently a dog set up a long, lugubrious howl just outside,
within ten feet of them. The boys clasped each other
suddenly in an agony of fright. Which of us does
he mean? Gasped Huckleberry. I don't know peep through the crack. Quick,
No you, Tom, I can't. I can't do it. Huck, Please, Tom,

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there tis again. Oh lordy, I'm thankful, whispered Tom. I
know his voice. It's Bull Harbison. Note if mister Harbison
has owned a slave named Bull, Tom would have spoken
of him as Harbison's bull. But a son or a
dog of that name was Bull Harbison. Oh that's good,
I tell you, Tom. I was scared to death, and

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I'd a bet anything it was its stray dog. The
dog howled again. The boy's heart sank once more. Oh my,
that ain't no Bull Harbison, whispered Huckleberry. Do Tom, Tom,
quaking with fear, yielded and put his eye to the crack.
His whisper was hardly audible when he said, Oh, Huck,
it's a stray dog. Quick, Tom, Quick, Who does they mean, Huck?

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He must mean us both. We're right together. Oh Tom,
I reckon, we're goners. I reckon. There ain't no mistake
bout where I'll go to. I've been so wicked. Dag
fetch it this he comes of playing hookey and doing
everything a feller's told not to do. I might have
been good like sid if i'd ha tried. But no,
I wouldn't, of course. But if ever I get off
of this time, I lay, I'll just waller in Sunday schools.

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And Tom began to snuffle a little, you bad, and
Huckleberry began to snuffle too, gone sounded Tom, sawyer, you're
just old pie alongside O what I am? Oh? Lordy, lordy, lordy.
I wished i'd only had half your chance. Tom choked
off and whispered, Look, Hucky, look he's got his back

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to us. Huckey looked with joy in his heart. Well
he has by jingoes did he before? Yes? He did?
But I, like a fool, I never thought, oh this
is bully, you know now? Who can he mean? The
howling stopped, and Tom pricked up his ears. Shit, what's that?
He whispered? Sounds like like hogs grunting. No, it's somebody snoring, Tom,

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that is it? Whereabounds? Is it? Huck? I believe it's
down at t'other end? Sound so anyway, Pap used to
sleep there sometimes long with the hogs. But laws, bless you,
he just lifts things when he snores. Besides, I reckon
he ain't ever coming back to this town any more.
The spirited adventure rose in the boy's souls once more. Huckeyed,

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you dares to go if I lead? I don't like
too much? Tom suppose its injun Joe. Tom quailed, but
presently the temptation rose up strong again, and the boys
agreed to try, with the understanding that they would take
to their heels if the snoring stopped. So they went
tiptoeing stealthily down, the one behind the other. When they
had got to within five steps of the snore, Tom

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stepped on a stick and it broke with a sharp snap.
The man moaned, writhed a little, and his face came
into the moonlight. It was muff Potter. The boy's hearts
had stood still, and their hopes too when the man moved,
but their fears passed away. Now. They tiptoed out through
the broken weatherboarding and stopped at a little distance to
exchange a parting word. That long lugubrious hug rose on

(20:00):
the night. There again they turned and saw the strange
dog standing within a few feet of where Potter was lying,
and facing Potter with his nose pointing heavenwarth Oh Jimminy.
It's him, exclaimed Both boys in a breath, say Tom.
They say, a stray dog come howling round Johnny Miller's
house about midnight, as much as two weeks ago, and

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a whipper will come in and lit on a banistairs
and sung the very same evening. And there ain't anybody
dead there yet. Well I know that, and s'pose there ain't.
Didn't Gracie Miller fall in the kitchen fire and burn
herself terrible the very next Saturday? Yes, but she ain't dead.
And what's more, she's getting better too. All right, will

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you wait and see she's a goner, just as dead.
Sure as Muff Potter's a goner. That's what the niggers say.
And they know all about these kind of things, Huck.
Then they separated, cogitating. When Tom crept in at his
bedroom window the night was almost spent. He undressed with
excessive caution and fell asleep, congratulating himself that nobody knew
of his escapade. He was not aware that the gently

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snoring Sid was awake, and had been so for an hour.
When Tom awoke, Sid was dressed and gone. There was
a late look in the light of a late sense
in the atmosphere. He was startled. Why had he not
been called persecuted till he was up as usual? The
thought filled him with bodings. Within five minutes he was
dressed and downstairs, feeling sore and drowsy. The family were

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still at table, but they had finished breakfast. There was
no voice of rebuke, but there were averted eyes. There
was a silence and an air of solemnity that struck
a chill to the culprit's heart. He sat down and
tried to seem gay, but it was uphill work. It
roused no smile, no response, and he lapsed into silence
and let his heart sink down to the depths. After breakfast,

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his aunt took him aside, and Tom was almost brightened
in the hope that he was going to be flogged.
But it was not so. His aunt wept over him
and asked him how he could go and break her
old heart so and finally told him to go on
and ruin himself and bring her gray hairs with sorrow
to the grave, for it was no use for her
to try any more. This was worse than a thousand whippings,

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and Tom's heart was soreer now than his body. He cried,
He pleaded for forgiveness, promised to reform over and over again,
and then received his dismissal. Feeling that he had won
but an imperfect forgiveness and established but a feeble confidence.
He left the presence, too miserable to even feel revengeful
towards Sid, and so the latter's prompt retreat through the

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back gateway was unnecessary. He moped to school, gloomy and sad,
and took his flogging along with Joe Harper for playing
hooky the day before, with the air of one whose
heart was busy with heavier woes and wholly dead to trifles.
Then he betook himself to his seat, rested his elbows
on his desk and his jaws in his hands, and
stared at the wall with a stony stare of suffering

(22:54):
that has reached the limit and can no further go.
His elbow was pressing against some hard supace distance. After
a long time, he slowly and sadly changed his position
and took up this object with a sigh. It was
in a paper. He unrolled it. A long, lingering, colossal
sigh followed, and his heart broke. It was his brass
and iron knob, his final feather broke the camel's back

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end of Chapter ten,