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- 4190
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- 2026-01-28T02:26:44.207Z
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- 4107
- text
- was a long silence, profound and unbroken; then a deep, sullen boom came
floating down out of the distance.
“What is it!” exclaimed Joe, under his breath.
“I wonder,” said Tom in a whisper.
“’Tain’t thunder,” said Huckleberry, in an awed tone, “becuz thunder—”
“Hark!” said Tom. “Listen—don’t talk.”
They waited a time that seemed an age, and then the same muffled boom
troubled the solemn hush.
“Let’s go and see.”
They sprang to their feet and hurried to the shore toward the town. They
parted the bushes on the bank and peered out over the water. The little
steam ferry-boat was about a mile below the village, drifting with the
current. Her broad deck seemed crowded with people. There were a great
many skiffs rowing about or floating with the stream in the neighborhood
of the ferryboat, but the boys could not determine what the men in
them were doing. Presently a great jet of white smoke burst from the
ferryboat’s side, and as it expanded and rose in a lazy cloud, that same
dull throb of sound was borne to the listeners again.
“I know now!” exclaimed Tom; “somebody’s drownded!”
“That’s it!” said Huck; “they done that last summer, when Bill Turner
got drownded; they shoot a cannon over the water, and that makes
him come up to the top. Yes, and they take loaves of bread and put
quicksilver in ’em and set ’em afloat, and wherever there’s anybody
that’s drownded, they’ll float right there and stop.”
“Yes, I’ve heard about that,” said Joe. “I wonder what makes the bread
do that.”
“Oh, it ain’t the bread, so much,” said Tom; “I reckon it’s mostly what
they _say_ over it before they start it out.”
“But they don’t say anything over it,” said Huck. “I’ve seen ’em and
they don’t.”
“Well, that’s funny,” said Tom. “But maybe they say it to themselves. Of
_course_ they do. Anybody might know that.”
The other boys agreed that there was reason in what Tom said, because
an ignorant lump of bread, uninstructed by an incantation, could not
be expected to act very intelligently when set upon an errand of such
gravity.
“By jings, I wish I was over there, now,” said Joe.
“I do too,” said Huck. “I’d give heaps to know who it is.”
The boys still listened and watched. Presently a revealing thought
flashed through Tom’s mind, and he exclaimed:
“Boys, I know who’s drownded—it’s us!”
They felt like heroes in an instant. Here was a gorgeous triumph; they
were missed; they were mourned; hearts were breaking on their account;
tears were being shed; accusing memories of unkindness to these poor
lost lads were rising up, and unavailing regrets and remorse were being
indulged; and best of all, the departed were the talk of the whole town,
and the envy of all the boys, as far as this dazzling notoriety was
concerned. This was fine. It was worth while to be a pirate, after all.
As twilight drew on, the ferryboat went back to her accustomed business
and the skiffs disappeared. The pirates returned to camp. They were
jubilant with vanity over their new grandeur and the illustrious trouble
they were making. They caught fish, cooked supper and ate it, and then
fell to guessing at what the village was thinking and saying about them;
and the pictures they drew of the public distress on their account were
gratifying to look upon—from their point of view. But when the shadows
of night closed them in, they gradually ceased to talk, and sat gazing
into the fire, with their minds evidently wandering elsewhere. The
excitement was gone, now, and Tom and Joe could not keep back thoughts
of certain persons at home who were not enjoying this fine frolic as
much as they were. Misgivings came; they grew troubled and unhappy; a
sigh or two escaped, unawares. By and by Joe timidly ventured upon a
roundabout “feeler” as to how the others might look upon a return to
civilization—not right now, but—
- title
- Chunk 3