- end_line
- 7220
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-28T02:27:40.839Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 7159
- text
- could not bear to give up the fun at Widow Douglas’. And why should he
give it up, he reasoned—the signal did not come the night before, so
why should it be any more likely to come tonight? The sure fun of the
evening outweighed the uncertain treasure; and, boy-like, he determined
to yield to the stronger inclination and not allow himself to think of
the box of money another time that day.
Three miles below town the ferryboat stopped at the mouth of a woody
hollow and tied up. The crowd swarmed ashore and soon the forest
distances and craggy heights echoed far and near with shoutings and
laughter. All the different ways of getting hot and tired were gone
through with, and by-and-by the rovers straggled back to camp fortified
with responsible appetites, and then the destruction of the good things
began. After the feast there was a refreshing season of rest and chat in
the shade of spreading oaks. By-and-by somebody shouted:
“Who’s ready for the cave?”
Everybody was. Bundles of candles were procured, and straightway there
was a general scamper up the hill. The mouth of the cave was up the
hillside—an opening shaped like a letter A. Its massive oaken door stood
unbarred. Within was a small chamber, chilly as an icehouse, and walled
by Nature with solid limestone that was dewy with a cold sweat. It was
romantic and mysterious to stand here in the deep gloom and look out
upon the green valley shining in the sun. But the impressiveness of the
situation quickly wore off, and the romping began again. The moment
a candle was lighted there was a general rush upon the owner of it; a
struggle and a gallant defence followed, but the candle was soon knocked
down or blown out, and then there was a glad clamor of laughter and a
new chase. But all things have an end. By-and-by the procession went
filing down the steep descent of the main avenue, the flickering rank of
lights dimly revealing the lofty walls of rock almost to their point of
junction sixty feet overhead. This main avenue was not more than
eight or ten feet wide. Every few steps other lofty and still narrower
crevices branched from it on either hand—for McDougal’s cave was but a
vast labyrinth of crooked aisles that ran into each other and out again
and led nowhere. It was said that one might wander days and nights
together through its intricate tangle of rifts and chasms, and never
find the end of the cave; and that he might go down, and down, and
still down, into the earth, and it was just the same—labyrinth under
labyrinth, and no end to any of them. No man “knew” the cave. That was
an impossible thing. Most of the young men knew a portion of it, and it
was not customary to venture much beyond this known portion. Tom Sawyer
knew as much of the cave as any one.
The procession moved along the main avenue some three-quarters of
a mile, and then groups and couples began to slip aside into branch
avenues, fly along the dismal corridors, and take each other by surprise
at points where the corridors joined again. Parties were able to elude
each other for the space of half an hour without going beyond the
“known” ground.
By-and-by, one group after another came straggling back to the mouth
of the cave, panting, hilarious, smeared from head to foot with tallow
drippings, daubed with clay, and entirely delighted with the success of
the day. Then they were astonished to find that they had been taking
no note of time and that night was about at hand. The clanging bell had
been calling for half an hour. However, this sort of close to the day’s
adventures was romantic and therefore satisfactory. When the ferryboat
with her wild freight pushed into the stream, nobody cared sixpence for
the wasted time but the captain of the craft.
- title
- Chunk 2