JIM STANDING SIEGE
The next few meals was pretty sandy, but that don’t make no difference
when you are hungry; and when you ain’t it ain’t no satisfaction to
eat, anyway, and so a little grit in the meat ain’t no particular
drawback, as far as I can see.
Then we struck the east end of the Desert at last, sailing on a
northeast course. Away off on the edge of the sand, in a soft pinky
light, we see three little sharp roofs like tents, and Tom says:
“It’s the pyramids of Egypt.”
It made my heart fairly jump. You see, I had seen a many and a many a
picture of them, and heard tell about them a hundred times, and yet to
come on them all of a sudden, that way, and find they was _real_,
’stead of imaginations, ’most knocked the breath out of me with
surprise. It’s a curious thing, that the more you hear about a grand
and big and bully thing or person, the more it kind of dreamies out, as
you may say, and gets to be a big dim wavery figger made out of
moonshine and nothing solid to it. It’s just so with George Washington,
and the same with them pyramids.
And moreover, besides, the thing they always said about them seemed to
me to be stretchers. There was a feller come to the Sunday-school once,
and had a picture of them, and made a speech, and said the biggest
pyramid covered thirteen acres, and was most five hundred foot high,
just a steep mountain, all built out of hunks of stone as big as a
bureau, and laid up in perfectly regular layers, like stair-steps.
Thirteen acres, you see, for just one building; it’s a farm. If it
hadn’t been in Sunday-school, I would ’a’ judged it was a lie; and
outside I was certain of it. And he said there was a hole in the
pyramid, and you could go in there with candles, and go ever so far up
a long slanting tunnel, and come to a large room in the stomach of that
stone mountain, and there you would find a big stone chest with a king
in it, four thousand years old. I said to myself, then, if that ain’t a
lie I will eat that king if they will fetch him, for even Methusalem
warn’t that old, and nobody claims it.
As we come a little nearer we see the yaller sand come to an end in a
long straight edge like a blanket, and on to it was joined, edge to
edge, a wide country of bright green, with a snaky stripe crooking
through it, and Tom said it was the Nile. It made my heart jump again,
for the Nile was another thing that wasn’t real to me. Now I can tell
you one thing which is dead certain: if you will fool along over three
thousand miles of yaller sand, all glimmering with heat so that it
makes your eyes water to look at it, and you’ve been a considerable
part of a week doing it, the green country will look so like home and
heaven to you that it will make your eyes water _again_.
It was just so with me, and the same with Jim.
And when Jim got so he could believe it _was_ the land of Egypt he was
looking at, he wouldn’t enter it standing up, but got down on his knees
and took off his hat, because he said it wasn’t fitten’ for a humble
poor nigger to come any other way where such men had been as Moses and
Joseph and Pharaoh and the other prophets. He was a Presbyterian, and
had a most deep respect for Moses which was a Presbyterian, too, he
said. He was all stirred up, and says:
“Hit’s de lan’ of Egypt, de lan’ of Egypt, en I’s ’lowed to look at it
wid my own eyes! En dah’s de river dat was turn’ to blood, en I’s
looking at de very same groun’ whah de plagues was, en de lice, en de
frogs, en de locus’, en de hail, en whah dey marked de door-pos’, en de
angel o’ de Lord come by in de darkness o’ de night en slew de
fust-born in all de lan’ o’ Egypt. Ole Jim ain’t worthy to see dis
day!”
And then he just broke down and cried, he was so thankful. So between
him and Tom there was talk enough, Jim being excited because the land
was so full of history—Joseph and his brethren, Moses in the
bulrushers, Jacob coming down into Egypt to buy corn, the silver cup in
the sack, and all them interesting things; and Tom just as excited too,
because the land was so full of history that was in _his_ line, about
Noureddin, and Bedreddin, and such like monstrous giants, that made
Jim’s wool rise, and a raft of other Arabian Nights folks, which the
half of them never done the things they let on they done, I don’t
believe.
Then we struck a disappointment, for one of them early morning fogs
started up, and it warn’t no use to sail over the top of it, because we
would go by Egypt, sure, so we judged it was best to set her by compass
straight for the place where the pyramids was gitting blurred and
blotted out, and then drop low and skin along pretty close to the
ground and keep a sharp lookout. Tom took the hellum, I stood by to let
go the anchor, and Jim he straddled the bow to dig through the fog with
his eyes and watch out for danger ahead. We went along a steady gait,
but not very fast, and the fog got solider and solider, so solid that
Jim looked dim and ragged and smoky through it. It was awful still, and
we talked low and was anxious. Now and then Jim would say:
“Highst her a p’int, Mars Tom, highst her!” and up she would skip, a
foot or two, and we would slide right over a flat-roofed mud cabin,
with people that had been asleep on it just beginning to turn out and
gap and stretch; and once when a feller was clear up on his hind legs
so he could gap and stretch better, we took him a blip in the back and
knocked him off. By and by, after about an hour, and everything dead
still and we a-straining our ears for sounds and holding our breath,
the fog thinned a little, very sudden, and Jim sung out in an awful
scare:
“Oh, for de lan’s sake, set her back, Mars Tom, here’s de biggest giant
outen de ’Rabian Nights a-comin’ for us!” and he went over backwards in
the boat.
Tom slammed on the back-action, and as we slowed to a standstill a
man’s face as big as our house at home looked in over the gunnel, same
as a house looks out of its windows, and I laid down and died. I must
’a’ been clear dead and gone for as much as a minute or more; then I
come to, and Tom had hitched a boat-hook on to the lower lip of the
giant and was holding the balloon steady with it whilst he canted his
head back and got a good long look up at that awful face.
Jim was on his knees with his hands clasped, gazing up at the thing in
a begging way, and working his lips, but not getting anything out. I
took only just a glimpse, and was fading out again, but Tom says:
“He ain’t alive, you fools; it’s the Sphinx!”
I never see Tom look so little and like a fly; but that was because the
giant’s head was so big and awful. Awful, yes, so it was, but not
dreadful any more, because you could see it was a noble face, and kind
of sad, and not thinking about you, but about other things and larger.
It was stone, reddish stone, and its nose and ears battered, and that
give it an abused look, and you felt sorrier for it for that.
We stood off a piece, and sailed around it and over it, and it was just
grand. It was a man’s head, or maybe a woman’s, on a tiger’s body a
hundred and twenty-five foot long, and there was a dear little temple
between its front paws. All but the head used to be under the sand, for
hundreds of years, maybe thousands, but they had just lately dug the
sand away and found that little temple. It took a power of sand to bury
that cretur; most as much as it would to bury a steamboat, I reckon.
[Illustration: “Jim standing a siege”]
We landed Jim on top of the head, with an American flag to protect him,
it being a foreign land; then we sailed off to this and that and
t’other distance, to git what Tom called effects and perspectives and
proportions, and Jim he done the best he could, striking all the
different kinds of attitudes and positions he could study up, but
standing on his head and working his legs the way a frog does was the
best. The further we got away, the littler Jim got, and the grander the
Sphinx got, till at last it was only a clothespin on a dome, as you
might say. That’s the way perspective brings out the correct
proportions, Tom said; he said Julus Cesar’s niggers didn’t know how
big he was, they was too close to him.
Then we sailed off further and further, till we couldn’t see Jim at all
any more, and then that great figger was at its noblest, a-gazing out
over the Nile Valley so still and solemn and lonesome, and all the
little shabby huts and things that was scattered about it clean
disappeared and gone, and nothing around it now but a soft wide spread
of yaller velvet, which was the sand.
That was the right place to stop, and we done it. We set there
a-looking and a-thinking for a half an hour, nobody a-saying anything,
for it made us feel quiet and kind of solemn to remember it had been
looking over that valley just that same way, and thinking its awful
thoughts all to itself for thousands of years, and nobody can’t find
out what they are to this day.
At last I took up the glass and see some little black things a-capering
around on that velvet carpet, and some more a-climbing up the cretur’s
back, and then I see two or three wee puffs of white smoke, and told
Tom to look. He done it, and says:
“They’re bugs. No—hold on; they—why, I believe they’re men. Yes, it’s
men—men and horses both. They’re hauling a long ladder up onto the
Sphinx’s back—now ain’t that odd? And now they’re trying to lean it up
a—there’s some more puffs of smoke—it’s guns! Huck, they’re after Jim.”
[Illustration: “Rescue of Jim”]
We clapped on the power, and went for them a-biling. We was there in no
time, and come a-whizzing down amongst them, and they broke and
scattered every which way, and some that was climbing the ladder after
Jim let go all holts and fell. We soared up and found him laying on top
of the head panting and most tuckered out, partly from howling for help
and partly from scare. He had been standing a siege a long time—a week,
_he_ said, but it warn’t so, it only just seemed so to him because they
was crowding him so. They had shot at him, and rained the bullets all
around him, but he warn’t hit, and when they found he wouldn’t stand up
and the bullets couldn’t git at him when he was laying down, they went
for the ladder, and then he knowed it was all up with him if we didn’t
come pretty quick. Tom was very indignant, and asked him why he didn’t
show the flag and command them to _git_, in the name of the United
States. Jim said he done it, but they never paid no attention. Tom said
he would have this thing looked into at Washington, and says:
“You’ll see that they’ll have to apologize for insulting the flag, and
pay an indemnity, too, on top of it even if they git off _that_ easy.”
Jim says:
“What’s an indemnity, Mars Tom?”
“It’s cash, that’s what it is.”
“Who gits it, Mars Tom?”
“Why, _we_ do.”
“En who gits de apology?”
“The United States. Or, we can take whichever we please. We can take
the apology, if we want to, and let the gov’ment take the money.”
“How much money will it be, Mars Tom?”
“Well, in an aggravated case like this one, it will be at least three
dollars apiece, and I don’t know but more.”
“Well, den, we’ll take de money, Mars Tom, blame de ’pology. Hain’t dat
yo’ notion, too? En hain’t it yourn, Huck?”
We talked it over a little and allowed that that was as good a way as
any, so we agreed to take the money. It was a new business to me, and I
asked Tom if countries always apologized when they had done wrong, and
he says:
“Yes; the little ones does.”
We was sailing around examining the pyramids, you know, and now we
soared up and roosted on the flat top of the biggest one, and found it
was just like what the man said in the Sunday-school. It was like four
pairs of stairs that starts broad at the bottom and slants up and comes
together in a point at the top, only these stair-steps couldn’t be
clumb the way you climb other stairs; no, for each step was as high as
your chin, and you have to be boosted up from behind. The two other
pyramids warn’t far away, and the people moving about on the sand
between looked like bugs crawling, we was so high above them.
Tom he couldn’t hold himself he was so worked up with gladness and
astonishment to be in such a celebrated place, and he just dripped
history from every pore, seemed to me. He said he couldn’t scarcely
believe he was standing on the very identical spot the prince flew from
on the Bronze Horse. It was in the Arabian Night times, he said.
Somebody give the prince a bronze horse with a peg in its shoulder, and
he could git on him and fly through the air like a bird, and go all
over the world, and steer it by turning the peg, and fly high or low
and land wherever he wanted to.
When he got done telling it there was one of them uncomfortable
silences that comes, you know, when a person has been telling a whopper
and you feel sorry for him and wish you could think of some way to
change the subject and let him down easy, but git stuck and don’t see
no way, and before you can pull your mind together and _do_ something,
that silence has got in and spread itself and done the business. I was
embarrassed, Jim he was embarrassed, and neither of us couldn’t say a
word. Well, Tom he glowered at me a minute, and says:
“Come, out with it. What do you think?”
I says:
“Tom Sawyer, _you_ don’t believe that, yourself.”
“What’s the reason I don’t? What’s to hender me?”
“There’s one thing to hender you: it couldn’t happen, that’s all.”
“What’s the reason it couldn’t happen?”
“You tell me the reason it _could_ happen.”
“This balloon is a good enough reason it could happen, I should
reckon.”
“_Why_ is it?”
“_Why_ is it? I never saw such an idiot. Ain’t this balloon and the
bronze horse the same thing under different names?”
“No, they’re not. One is a balloon and the other’s a horse. It’s very
different. Next you’ll be saying a house and a cow is the same thing.”
“By Jackson, Huck’s got him ag’in! Dey ain’t no wigglin’ outer dat!”
“Shut your head, Jim; you don’t know what you’re talking about. And
Huck don’t. Look here, Huck, I’ll make it plain to you, so you can
understand. You see, it ain’t the mere _form_ that’s got anything to do
with their being similar or unsimilar, it’s the _principle_ involved;
and the principle is the same in both. Don’t you see, now?”
I turned it over in my mind, and says:
“Tom, it ain’t no use. Principles is all very well, but they don’t git
around that one big fact, that the thing that a balloon can do ain’t no
sort of proof of what a horse can do.”
“Shucks, Huck, you don’t get the idea at all. Now look here a
minute—it’s perfectly plain. Don’t we fly through the air?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. Don’t we fly high or fly low, just as we please?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t we steer whichever way we want to?”
“Yes.”
“And don’t we land when and where we please?”
“Yes.”
“How do we move the balloon and steer it?”
“By touching the buttons.”
“_Now_ I reckon the thing is clear to you at last. In the other case
the moving and steering was done by turning a peg. We touch a button,
the prince turned a peg. There ain’t an atom of difference, you see. I
knowed I could git it through your head if I stuck to it long enough.”
He felt so happy he begun to whistle. But me and Jim was silent, so he
broke off surprised, and says:
“Looky here, Huck Finn, don’t you see it _yet?_”
I says:
“Tom Sawyer, I want to ask you some questions.”
“Go ahead,” he says, and I see Jim chirk up to listen.
“As I understand it, the whole thing is in the buttons and the peg—the
rest ain’t of no consequence. A button is one shape, a peg is another
shape, but that ain’t any matter?”
“No, that ain’t any matter, as long as they’ve both got the same
power.”
“All right, then. What is the power that’s in a candle and in a match?”
“It’s the fire.”
“It’s the same in both, then?”
“Yes, just the same in both.”
“All right. Suppose I set fire to a carpenter shop with a match, what
will happen to that carpenter shop?”
“She’ll burn up.”
“And suppose I set fire to this pyramid with a candle—will she burn
up?”
“Of course she won’t.”
“All right. Now the fire’s the same, both times. _Why_ does the shop
burn, and the pyramid don’t?”
“Because the pyramid _can’t_ burn.”
“Aha! and _a horse can’t fly!_”
“My lan’, ef Huck ain’t got him ag’in! Huck’s landed him high en dry
dis time, I tell you! Hit’s de smartes’ trap I ever see a body walk
inter—en ef I—”
But Jim was so full of laugh he got to strangling and couldn’t go on,
and Tom was that mad to see how neat I had floored him, and turned his
own argument ag’in him and knocked him all to rags and flinders with
it, that all he could manage to say was that whenever he heard me and
Jim try to argue it made him ashamed of the human race. I never said
nothing; I was feeling pretty well satisfied. When I have got the best
of a person that way, it ain’t my way to go around crowing about it the
way some people does, for I consider that if I was in his place I
wouldn’t wish him to crow over me. It’s better to be generous, that’s
what I think.