We needed light to dig by, so we went into the woods and got an armful of rotten wood that glows softly in the dark. Then we sat down, and Tom said unhappily:
“This whole thing is too easy. There’s no guard and not even a dog. Jim is chained by one leg to his bed, so all you have to do is lift up the bed and slip off the chain. We have to invent all the difficulties ourselves. First, we need something to make a saw.”
“What do we want a saw for?”
“To saw off the leg of Jim’s bed, of course.”
“But you just said we could lift up the bed and slip the chain off.”
“That’s just like you, Huck Finn. Haven’t you ever read any books? The best prisoners all saw the bed leg in two and swallow the sawdust, so nobody finds it. On the night of the escape they kick the leg, and down it goes. Then they climb down a rope ladder from the castle wall, break a leg because the ladder is too short, and their horses are waiting to carry them away. It’s beautiful, Huck.”
Then he sat with his chin in his hand and sighed. “No, there’s no real need for it.”
“For what?”
“To saw off Jim’s leg.”
“Goodness! Why would you want to saw off his leg?”
“Some of the best prisoners did it, when they couldn’t get the chain off. But we’ll let that go. He can have a rope ladder, though. We’ll send it to him in a pie. That’s how it’s mostly done.”
“Jim doesn’t need a rope ladder.”
“He has to have one. They all do. He can hide it in his bed, and after he’s gone, it’s a clue.”
“All right, if it’s in the rules. But if we tear up our sheets for it, Aunt Sally will be after us. Let me borrow a sheet from the clothesline.”
He said that would do. “Borrow a shirt too, so Jim can keep a diary on it.”
“Jim can’t write!”
“He can make marks, can’t he? We’ll make him a pen out of an old spoon, and he can write with his own blood. And he can write secret messages on tin plates and throw them out of the window.”
Then the breakfast horn blew, and we ran to the house.
That morning I borrowed a sheet and a white shirt from the clothesline. Tom said it was stealing, but it was all right, because a prisoner has the right to steal anything he needs to escape. But when I stole a watermelon from the slaves’ garden and ate it, Tom made me go and give them a dime. He said I didn’t need the watermelon to escape from prison. I couldn’t see the difference, but I let it go.
“Now we only need tools,” Tom said. “Table knives, to dig with.”
“Table knives? There are picks and shovels in the shed!”
He looked at me as if he was sorry for me. “Huck Finn, did you ever hear of a prisoner with picks and shovels? How could he be a hero then? They always dig out with a knife. One prisoner in a castle in France dug himself out that way. How long do you think it took him?”
“A month and a half?”
“Thirty-seven years—and he came out in China!”
“Jim doesn’t know anybody in China.”
“What does that have to do with it? You always get off the point.” But then he admitted we couldn’t take so long. Uncle Silas would soon hear from New Orleans that Jim wasn’t from there. “So we’ll dig as fast as we can, and then we’ll pretend it took thirty-seven years.”
“Now that makes sense,” I said. “Pretending doesn’t cost anything. I don’t mind pretending it took a hundred and fifty years. I’ll go and get two knives.”
“Get three. We need one to make a saw.”
“Tom, there’s an old saw behind the smokehouse.”
He looked tired. “It’s no use trying to teach you anything, Huck. Go and get the knives.”
So I did.