Муниципальное бюджетное общеобразовательное учреждение города Керчи Республики Крым "Специализированная школа № 1 имени Володи Дубинина"

 







Mark Twain

 


 

LESSON 1-2

Mark Twain

(1835—1910)

Mark Twain (his real name was Samuel Langhorne Clemens) was the founder of the realistic American novel of the present day. Not without reason E. Hemingway wrote: "All modern American literature comes from one book by Mark Twain called 'Huckleberry Finn'."

In his youth he worked as an apprentice-printer, then a river-pilot on the Mississippi, a miner in Nevada, a journalist writing humorous newspaper items under the pseudonym of "Mark Twain". The phrase meaning "two fathoms deep" was employed in making soundings on the Mississippi River boats!    -

Mark Twain scored great success with humorous stories about the life of common American people ("The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County", "How I Edited an Agricultural Paper", "My Watch", "Punch, Brothers, Punch", etc.).    .

Despite the fame of a brilliant humourist, Mark Twain made an important contribution to American literature as a social critic. His social criticism is of enduring significance. It can be found in his best works: "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" (1876), "Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" (1884), "The Prince and the Pauper" (1882), "A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court" (1889), "The Man Who Corrupted Hadleyburg" (1900).

Both adults and children enjoy Mark Twain's books. His mocking humour is based on the common sense of plain people whom the author always de­scribes with a Warmth of human understanding and sympathy.


 

TASK to the LESSONS 1-2

 

Task 1. Read and translate the text.
Task 2. Pick out new words in your vocabulary.

Task 3. Make a summary of the auther’s life in chronological order

 

LESSONS 3-4

 

ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN

I. I DISCOVER MOSES AND THE BULRUSHERS '

You don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, but that ain't no mat­ter. That book was made by Mr. Mark Twain and he told the truth, mainly. There was things which he stretched,^ but mainly he told the truth. That is nothing. I never seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was Aunt Polly or the widow, or may-be Mary. Aunt Polly — Tom's Aunt Polly, she is — and Mary and the Widow Douglas is all told about in that book, which is mostly a true book, with some stretchers as I said before.

Now the way that the book winds up is this: Tom and me found the money that the robbers hid in the cave and it made us rich. We got six thousand dollars apiece — all gold. It was an awful sight of money when it was piled up. Well, Judge Thatcher he took it and put it out at interest, and it fetched us a dollar a day apiece all the year round — more than a body could tell what to do with. The Widow Douglas she took me for her son and allowed she would sivilize 3 me; but it was rough  living in the house all the time, considering how dismal regular and decent the widow was in all her ways, and' so when I couldn't stand it no longer I lit out.4 I got into my old rags and my sugar-hogshead again, and was free and satisfied. But Tom Sawyer he hunted me up and said he was going to start a band of robbers, and I might join if I would go back to the widow and be respectable. So   I   went   back.

The widow she cried over me and called me a poor lost lamb, and she called me a lot of other names, too, but she never meant no harm by it. She put me in them new clothes again, and I couldn't do nothing but sweat and sweat and feel all cramped up. Well, then, the old thing commenced again. The widow rung a bell for supper and you had to come to time. When you got to the table you couldn't go right to eating but you had to wait for the widow to tuck down her head and grumble a little over the victuals, though there warn't really anything the matter with them — that is, nothing only everything was cooked by itself. In a barrel of odds and ends it is different; things get mixed up and  the juice kind  of swaps" around  and  the things  go  better.

After supper she got out her book and learned me5 about Moses and the Bulrushers and I was in a sweat to find out all about him; but by and by she let it out that Moses had been dead a considerable long time; so then I didn't care no more about him, because I don't take no stock in 6 dead people.

Pretty soon I wanted to smoke and asked the widow to let me. But she wouldn't. She said it was a mean practice and wasn't clean, and I must try to not do it any more. That is just the way with some people. They get down on a thing when they don't know nothing about it. Here she was a-bothering about Moses, which was no kin to her and no use to anybody, being gone, you see, yet finding a power of fault with me for doing a thing that had some good in it. And she took snuff, too: of course that was all right, because she done it herself.

Her sister, Miss Watson, a tolerable slim old maid with gog-gles on, had just come to live with her, and took a set at me7 'now with a spelling-book. She worked me middling hard for about an hour and then the widow made her ease up. I couldn't stood it much longer. Then for an hour it was deadly dull, and I was fidgety. Miss Watson would say, "Don't put your feet up there, Huckleberry"; and "Don't scrunch up like that, Huckleberry — set up straight"; and pretty soon she would say, "Don't gap8 and stretch like that, Huckleberry — why don't you try to behave?" Then she told me all about the bad place9 and I said I wished I was there. She got mad then but, I didn't mean no harm. All 1 wanted was to go somewheres; all I wanted was a change, I warn't particular. She said it was wicked to say what I said, said she wouldn't say it for the whole world, she was going to live so as to go to the good place. Well, I couldn't see no advantage in going where she was going, so I made up my mind I wouldn't try for it. But I never said so, because it would only make trouble and   wouldn't   do   no   good.

Now she had got a start and she went on and told me all about the good place. She said all a body would have to do there was to go around all day long with a harp   and sing, forever and

ever. So I didn't think much of it. But I never said so. I asked her if she reckoned Tom Sawyer would go there and she said not by a considerable sight. I was glad about that, because I wanted him and me to be together.

Miss Watson she kept pecking at me10 and it got tiresome and lonesome. By and by they fetched the niggers in and had prayers and then everybody was off to bed. I went up to my room with a piece of candle and put it on the table. Then I set down in a chair by the window and tried to think of something cheerful, but it warn't no use. 1 felt so lonesome I most wished I was dead. [...]

(Huck's father shows up and makes trouble. He kidnaps Huck from Widow Douglas who has adopted him, and takes him to a hut on the Illinois shore to live with him. To avoid his father's abuse and being "sivilized" by Widow Douglas, Huck escapes to Jackson's Island. There he meets the escaping slave Jim. They both make up their minds to drift on a raft down the Mississippi. They plan to go to Cairo, sell the raft, and take a steamboat up the Ohio to the Free states. During the journey Huck and Jim encounter many sorts of people who represent the bourgeois civilization   with its injustice, cruelty, and hypocrisy.)

 

Task 1. Read and translate the text.

Task 2. Pick out new words in your vocabulary.

Task 3. Compose a sentence with as many new words as possible 

 

 

 

LESSONS 5-6

XVI. THE RATTLESNAKE-SKIN DOES ITS WORK

We slept most all day, and started out at night, a little ways behind a monstrous long raft that was as long going by as a procession. She had four long sweeps at each end, so we judged she carried as many as thirty men, likely. She had five big wig­wams aboard, wide apart, and an open camp-fire in the middle and a tall flag-pole at each end. There was a power of11 style about her. It amounted to something being a raftsman on such a craft as that.

We went drifting down into a big bend and the night clouded up and got hot. The river was very wide and was walled with solid timber on both sides; you couldn't see a break in it hardly ever, or a light. We talked about Cairo and wondered whether we would know it when we got to it. I said likely we wouldn't, because I had heard say there warn't but about a dozen houses there and if they didn't happen to have them lit up, how was we going to know we was passing a town? Jim said if the two big rivers joined together there, that would show. But I said maybe we might think we was passing the foot of an island and coming into the same old river again. That disturbed Jim — and me too. So the question was, what to do? I said, paddle ashore the first time a light showed and tell them pap was behind, coming along with a trading-scow, and was a green hand at the business and wanted to know how far it was to Cairo. Jim thought it was a good idea, so we took a smoke on it and waited. [...]

       There warn't nothing to do now but to look out sharp for the town and not pass it without seeing it. He said he'd be mighty sure to see it because he'd be a free man the minute he seen it, but if he missed it he'd be in a slave country again and no more show for freedom. Every little while he jumps up and says:

"Dah she is!"

But it warn't. It was Jack-o-lanterns or lightning-bugs, so he set down again and went to watching, same as before. Jim said it made him all over trembly 12 and feverish to be so close to freedom. Well, I can fell you it made me all over trembly and feverish, too, to hear him, because I begun to get it through my head that he was most free — and who was to blame for it? Why, me. I couldn't get that out of my conscience, no how nor no way. It got to troubling me so 1 couldn't rest; I couldn't stay still in one place. It hadn't ever come home to me before, what this thing was that I was doing. But now it did, and it stayed with me and scorched me more and more. 1 tried to make out to myself that I warn't to blame because / didn't run Jim off from his rightful owner, but it warn't no use, conscience up and says, every time, "But you knowed he was running for his freedom, and you could 'a' paddled ashore and told somebody." That was so — I couldn't get around that no way. That was where it pinched. Conscience says to me, "What had poor Miss Watson done to you that you could see her nigger go off right under your eyes and never say one single word? What did that poor old woman do to you that you could treat her so mean? Why, she tried to learn you your book, she tried to learn you your manners, she tried to be good to you every way she knowed how. That's what she done."

I got to feeling so mean and so miserable I most wished I was dead. I fidgeted up and down the raft, abusing myself to myself, and Jim was fidgeting up and down past me. We neither of us could keep still. Every time he danced around and says, "Dah's Cairo!" it went through me like a shot, and I thought if it was Cairo I reckoned  I would die of miserableness.

Jim talked out loud all the time while I was talking to my­self. He was saying how the first thing he would do when he got to a free state he would go to saving up money and never spend a single cent, and when he got enough he would buy his wife, which was owned on a farm close to where Miss Watson lived, and then they would both work to buy the two children, and if their master wouldn't sell them, they'd get an Ab'litionist 13 to go   and   steal   them.

It most froze me to hear such talk. He wouldn't ever dared to talk such talk in his life before. Just see what a difference it made in him the minute he judged he was about free. It was according to the old saying, "Give a nigger an inch and he'll take an ell." Thinks I, this is what comes of my not thinking.


 

Here was this nigger, which I had as good as helped to run away, coming right out flat-footed and saying he would steal his chil-dren _ children that belonged to a man I didn't even know; a man that hadn't ever done me no harm.

I was sorry to hear Jim say that, it was such a lowering of him. My conscience got to stirring me up hotter than ever, until at last I says to it, "Let up on me —it ain't too late yet — I'll pad-dle ashore at the first light and tell." I felt easy and happy and light as a feather right off. All my troubles was gone. I went to looking out sharp for a light; and sort of singing to myself. By and   by   one  showed.  Jim  sings  out:

"We's safe, Huck, we's safe! Jump up and crack yo' heels! Dat's de good ole Cairo at las', I jis knows it!"

I says:

"I'll take the canoe and go' and see, Jim. It mightn't be, you know."

He jumped and got the canoe ready and put his old coat in the bottom for me to set on and give me the paddle; and as I   shoved   off,   he   says:

"Pooty soon I'll be a-shout'n' for joy, en I'll say, it's all on accounts o'Huck; I's a free man, en I couldn't ever ben free ef it hadn't ben for Huck; Huck done it. Jim won't ever forgit you, Huck; you's de bes' fren' Jim's ever had; en you's de only fren' ole Jim's got now."

I was paddling off, all in a sweat to tell on him, but when he says this, it seemed to kind of take the tuck14 all out of me. I went along slow then, and I warn't  right down certain whether I was glad I started or whether 1 warn't. When I was fifty yards

off,   Jim   says:

"Dah you goes, de ole true Huck; de on'y white genlman dat ever   kep'  his  promise  to  ole  Jim."

Well, 1 just felt sick. But I says, I got to do it — I can't get out of it. Right then along comes a skiff with two men in it with guns, and they stopped and I stopped. One of them says:

"What's   that   yonder?"

"A  piece  of   a   raft,"   I   says.

"Do   you   belong   on   it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any men oh it?" "Only one, sir."

"Well, there's five niggers run off to-night up yonder, above the head of the bend. Is your man white or black?"

1 didn't answer up prompt. I tried to, but the words wouldn't come. I tried for a second or two to brace up and out with it,15 but I warn't man enough — hadn't the spunk of a rabbit. I see I was weakening; so I just give up trying, and up and says:

"He's white."

"I reckon we'll go and see for ourselves."

"I wish you would," says I, "because it's pap that's there, and maybe you'd help me tow the raft ashore where the light is. He's sick — and   so   is   mam   and   Mary   Ann."

"Oh, the devil! we're in a hurry, boy. But I s'pose we've got to. Come, buckle to your paddle, and let's get along."

I buckled to my paddle and they laid to their oars. When we had made a stroke or two, I says:

"Pap'll be mighty much obleeged to you, I can tell you. Eve­rybody goes away when I want them to help me tow the raft ashore, and 1 can't do it by myself."

"Well, that's infernal mean. Odd, too. Say, boy, what's the matter with your father?"

"It's the &‐ a — the—well, it ain't anything much."

They stopped pulling. It warn't but a mighty little ways to the raft now.   One   says: "

"Boy, that's a lie. What is the matter with your pap? Answer up square now, and it'll be the better for you."

"I will, sir, I will, honest — but don't leave us, please. It's the — the — Gentlemen, if you'll only pull ahead, and let me heave you the headline, you won't have to come a-near the raft — please do."

"Set her back, John, set her back!" says one. They backed wa­ter. "Keep away, boy—keep to looard.16 Confound it, I just ex­pect the wind has blowed it to us. Your pap's got the smallpox and you know it precious well. Why didn't you come out and say so? Do you want to spread it all over?"

"Well," says I, a-blubbering, "I've told everybody before, and they   just   went   away   and   left   us."

"Poor devil, there's something in that. We are right down sorry for you, but we—well, hang it, we don't want the smallpox, you see. Look here, I'll tell you what to do. Don't you try to land , by yourself, or you'll smash everything to pieces. You float along down about twenty miles and you'll come to a town on the left-hand side of the river. It will be long after sun-up then, and when you ask for help you tell them your folks are all down with chills and fever. Don't be a fool again and let people guess what is the matter. Now we're trying to do you a kindness; so you just put twenty miles between us, that's a good boy. It wouldn't do any good to land yonder where the light is —it's only a wood-yard. Say, I reckon your father's poor, and I'm bound to say he's in pretty hard luck. Here, I'll put a twenty-dollar gold piece on this board, and you get it when it floats by. I feel mighty mean to leave you, but my kingdom! it won't do to fool with smallpox, don't   you   see?"

"Hold on, Parker," says the man, "here's a twenty to put on the board for me. Good-by, boy; you do as Mr. Parker told you, and you'll be all right."

"That's so, my boy — good-by, good-by. If you see any runaway niggers you get help and nab them, and you can make some money by it."

"Good-by, sir," says I, "I won't let no runaway niggers get by me if I can help it."

They went off and I got aboard the raft, feeling bad and low, because I knowed very well I had done wrong, and I see it warn't no use for me to try to learn to do right; a body that don't get started right when he's little ain't got no show — when the pinch comes there ain't nothing to back him up and keep him to his work, and so he gets beat. Then I thought a minute and says to myself, hold on; s'pose you'd 'a' done right and give Jim up, would you felt better than what you do now? No, says I, I'd feel bad — I'd feel just the same way 1 do now. Well, then, says I, what's the use you learning to do right when it's troublesome to do right and ain't no trouble to do wrong, and the wages is just the same? I was stuck. I couldn't answer that. So I reckoned I wouldn't bother no more about it, but after this always do whichever come handiest at the time.

I went into the. wigwam; Jim warn't there. I looked all around; he   warn't   anywhere.   I   says:

"Jim!"

"Here I is, Huck. Is dey out o'sight yit? Don't talk loud."

He was in the river under the stern oar, with just his nose out. I told him they was out of sight, so he come aboard. He says:

"1 was a-listenin' to all de talk, en I slips into de river en was gwyne to shove for sho' if dey come aboard. Den I was gwyne to swim to de raf' agin when dey was gone. But lawsy,17 how you did fool 'em, Huck! Dat wuz de smartes' dodge! I tell you, chile, I 'spec it save' ole Jim — ole Jim ain't gwyne to forgit you for dat, honey."

Then we talked about the money. It was a pretty good raise — twenty dollars apiece. Jim said we could take deck passage on a  steamboat  now,  and  the  money would  last  us  as  far  as  we wanted to go in the free states. He said twenty mile more warn't far for the raft to go, but he wished we was already there.

Towards daybreak we tied up, and Jim was mighty particular about hiding the raft good. Then he worked all day fixing things in bundles, and getting all ready to quit rafting.

That night about ten we hove in sight of the lights of a town away   down  in   a  left-hand   bend.

I went off in the canoe to ask about it. Pretty soon I found a man out in the river with a skiff, setting a trotline.18 I ranged up   and says:

"Mister,   is   that   town   Cairo?"

"Cairo? no. You must be a blame fool."

"What   town   is  it,   mister?"

"If you want to know, go and find out. If you stay here botherin' around me for about a half a minute longer you'll get something   you   won't   want."

I paddled to the raft. Jim was awful disappointed, but I said never mind, Cairo would be the next place, I reckoned.

We passed another town before daylight, and I was going out again; but it was high ground, so I didn't go. No high ground about Cairo, Jim said. I had forgot it. We laid up for the day on a towhead tolerable close to the left-hand bank. I begun to suspicion  something.   So   did  Jim.   I   says:

"Maybe we went by Cairo in the fog that night."

He says:

"Doan' le's talk about it, Huck. Po' niggers can't have no luck. I awluz 'spected dat rattlesnake-skin warn't done wid its work."

"I wish I'd never seen that snake-skin, Jim—I do wish I'd never   laid   eyes   on   it."

"It ain't yo' fault, Huck; you didn' know. Don't you blame yo'self 'bout it."

When it was daylight, here was the clear Ohio water inshore, sure enough, and outside was the old regular Muddy!19 So it was all   up   with   Cairo.

We talked it all over. It wouldn't do to take to the shore; we couldn't take the raft up the stream, of course. There warn't no way but to wait for dark and start back in the canoe and take the chances. So we slept all day amongst the cottonwood thicket, so as to be fresh for the work, and when we went back to the raft   about   dark   the   canoe  was   gone!

We didn't say a word for a good while. There warn't anything to say. We both knowed well enough it was some more work of the rattlesnake-skin; so what was the use to talk about it? It would only look like we was finding fault and that would be bound to fetch more bad luck — and keep on fetching it, too, till we   knowed   enough   to   keep still.

By and by we talked about what we better do, and found there warn't no way but just to go along down with the raft till we got a chance to buy a canoe to go back in. We warn't going to borrow it when there warn't anybody around, the way pap would do,  for  that   might set   people   after  us.

So we shoved out after dark on the raft.

Anybody that don't believe yet that it's foolishness to handle a snake-skin, after all that that snake-skin done for us, will believe it now if they read on and see what more it done for us.

The place to buy canoes is off of rafts laying up at shore. But we didn't see no rafts laying up; so we went along during three hours and more. Well, the night got gray and ruther thick, which is the next meanest thing to fog. You can't tell the shape of the river and you can't see no distance. It got to be very late and still, and then along comes a steamboat up the river. We lit the lantern and judged she would see it. Up-stream boats didn't generly come close to us; they go out and follow the bars and hunt for easy water under the reefs; but nights like this they bull right up the channel20 against the whole river.

We could hear her pounding along but we didn't see her good till she was close. She aimed right for us. Often they do that and try to see how close they can come without touching; sometimes the wheel bites off- a sweep, and then the pilot sticks his head out and laughs and thinks he's mighty smart. Well, here she comes, and we said she was going to try and shave us, but she didn't seem to be sheering off a bit. She was a big one and she was coming in a hurry, too, looking like a black cloud with rows of glow-worms around it, but all of a sudden she bulged out, big and scary, with a long row of wide-open furnace doors shining like red-hot teeth and her monstrous bows and guards hanging right over us. There was a yell at us and a jingling of bells to stop the engines, a powwow of cussing, and whistling of steam — and as Jim went overboard on one side and I on the other, she come smashing   straight   through   the raft.

I dived — and I aimed to find the bottom, too, for a thirty-foot wheel had got to go over me, and I wanted it to have plenty of room. I could always stay under water a minute; this time I reckon I stayed under a minute and a half. Then I bounced for the top in a hurry, for I was nearly busting. I popped out to my armpits and blowed the water out of my nose, and puffed a bit. Of course there was a booming current, and of course that boat started her engines again ten seconds after she stopped them, for they never cared much for raftsmen, so now she was churning along up the river, out of sight in the thick weather, though   I   could   hear   her.

I sung out for Jim about a dozen times but I didn't get any answer; so I grabbed a plank that touched me while I was "treading water" and struck out for shore, shoving it ahead of me. But I made out to see that the drift of the current was to­wards the left-hand shore, which meant that I was in a crossing; so   I   changed   off   and   went   that   way.

It was one of these long, slanting, two-mile crossings; so I was a good long time in getting over. I made a safe landing and clumb up the bank. I couldn't see but a little ways but I went poking along over rough ground for a quarter of a mile or more, and then I run across a big old-fashioned double log house before I noticed it. I was going to rush by and get away but a lot of dogs jumped out and went to howling and barking at me, and I knowed better than to move another peg.

 

TASKS to the LESSONS 5-6

 

Task 1. Read and translate the text.
Task 2. Pick out new words in your vocabulary.
Task 3. Compose three sentences with as many new words as possible.

Task 4. Describe the characters of this story.

 


 

LESSONS 7-8

XVII. THE GRANGERFORDS TAKE ME IN

In about a minute somebody spoke out of a window without putting   his   head   out,   and   says:

"Be done,21 boys! Who's there?"

I says:

"It's me."

"Who's me?"

"George  Jackson,   sir."

"What   do   you   want?"

"I don't want nothing, sir. I only want to go along by, but the dogs won't let me."

"What are you prowling around here this time of night for — hey?"

"I warn't prowling around, sir; I fell overboard off of the steamboat."

"Oh, you did, did you? Strike a light there, somebody. What did   you   say   your   name   was?"

"George Jackson, sir. I'm only a boy."

"Look here, if you're telling the truth you needn't be afraid — nobody'll hurt you. But don't try to budge; stand right where you are. Rouse out Bob and Tom, some of you, and fetch the guns. George Jackson, is there anybody with you?"

"No,   sir,   nobody."

I heard the people stirring around in the house now, and see a   light.   The   man   sung   out:

"Snatch that light away, Betsy, you old fool — ain't you got any sense? Put it on the floor behind the front door. Bob, if you and   Tom   are   ready,   take   your   places."

"All   ready."

"Now, George Jackson, do you know the Shepherdsons?"

"No,   sir;   I   never   heard  of   them."

"Well, that may be so, and it mayn't. Now, all ready. Step forward, George Jackson. And mind, don't you hurry — come mighty slow. If there's anybody with you, let him keep back— if he shows himself he'll be shot. Come along now. Come slow; push the door open yourself— just enough to squeeze in, d'you hear?"

I didn't hurry; I couldn't if I'd a-wanted to. I took one slow step at a time and there warn't a sound, only I thought I could hear my heart. The dogs were as still as the humans but they followed a little behind me. When I got to the three log doorsteps I heard them unlocking and unbarring and unbolting. I put my hand on the door and pushed it a little and a little more till somebody said, "There, that's enough — put your head in." I done it  but   I  judged  they  would take  it   off.

The candle was on the floor and there they all was, lookingat me, and me at them, for about a quarter of a minute: three big men with guns pointed at me, which made me wince, I tell you; the oldest gray and about sixty, the other two thirty or more — all of them fine and handsome —and the sweetest old gray-headed lady, and back of her two young women which I couldn't see   right   well.   The   old   gentleman   says:

"There; I reckon it's all right. Come in."

As soon as I was in the old gentleman he locked the door and barred it and bolted it, and told the young men to come in with their guns, and they all went in a big parlor that had a new rag carpet on the floor, and got together in a corner that was out of range of the front windows — there warn't none on the side. They held the candle, and took a good look at me, and all said, "Why, he ain't a Shepherdson — no, there ain't any Shepherdson about him." Then the old man said he hoped I wouldn't mind being searched for arms, because he didn't mean no harm by it — it was only to make sure. So he didn't pry into my pockets but only felt outside with his hands, and said it was all right. He told me to make myself easy and at home and tell all about myself, but the old lady says:

"Why, bless, you, Saul, the poor thing's as wet as he can be, and don't you reckon it may be he's hungry?"

"True for you, Rachel — I forgot."

So   the   old   lady   says;

"Betsy" (this was a nigger woman), ‐nbsp;"you fly around and get him something to eat as quick as you can, poor thing; and one of you girls go and wake up Buck and tell him — oh, here he is himself. Buck, take this little stranger and get the wet clothes off from him and dress him up in some of yours that's dry."

Buck looked about as old as me — thirteen or fourteen or along there, though he was a little bigger than me. He hadn't on anything but a shirt, and he was very frowzy-headed. He came in gaping and digging one fist into his eyes, and he was dragging a   gun   along  with  the  other  one.  He  says:

"Ain't   they   no   Shepherdsons  around?"

They said, no, 'twas a false alarm.

"Well," he says, "if they'd 'a' ben some, I reckon I'd 'a'   got one."

They all laughed, and Bob says:

"Why, Buck, they might have scalped us all, you've been so slow in coming."

"Well, nobody come after me, and it ain't right. I'm always kep' down; 1 don't get no show."

"Never mind, Buck, my boy," says the old man, "you'll have show enough, all in good time, don't you fret about that. Go 'long with you now, and do as your mother told you." [...]

 

TASKS to the LESSONS 7-8

 

Task 1. Read and translate the text.
Task 2. Pick out new words in your vocabulary.
Task 3. Compose three sentences with as many new words as possible.

Task 4. Describe the characters of this story.

 

LESSONS 9-10

XVIII. WHY HARNEY RODE AWAY FOR HIS HAT

Col.22 Grangerford was a gentleman, you see. He was a gen­tleman all over, and so was his family. He was well born, as the saying is, and that's worth as much in a man as it is in a horse, so the Widow Douglas said, and nobody ever denied that she was of the first aristocracy in our town; and pap he always said it, too, though he warn't no more quality than a mudcat23 himself. Col. Grangerford was very tall and very slim, and had a darkish-paly complexion, not a sign of red in it anywheres; he was clean-shaved every morning all over his thin face, and he had the thin­nest kind of lips and the thinnest kind of nostrils, and a high nose and heavy eyebrows, and the blackest kind of eyes, sunk so deep back that they seemed like they was looking out of caverns at you, as you may say. His forehead was high and his hair was gray and straight and hung to his shoulders. His hands was long and thin, and every day of his life he put on a clean shirt and a full suit from head to foot made out of linen so white it hurt your eyes to look at it, and on Sundays he wore a blue tail-coat with brass buttons on it. He carried a mahogany cane with a silver head to it. There warn't no frivolishness about him, not a bit, and he warn't ever loud. He was as kind as he could be — you could feel that, you know, and so you had confidence. Sometimes he smiled and it was good to see, but when he straightened himself up like a liberty pole24 and the lightning begun to flicker out from under his eyebrows, you wanted to climb a tree first and find out what the matter was afterwards. He didn't ever have to tell anybody to mind their manners — everybody was always good-mannered where he was. Everybody loved to have him around, too; he was sunshine most always — I mean he made it seem like good weather. When he turned into a cloud-bank it was awful dark for half a minute, and that was enough; there wouldn't nothing go wrong again for a week.

When him and the old lady come down in the morning all the family got up out of their chairs and give them good day, and didn't set down again till they had set down. Then Tom and Bob went to the sideboard where the decanters was and mixed a glass of bitters and handed it to him, and he held it in his hand and waited till Tom's and Bob's was mixed, and then they bowed and said, "Our duty to you,25 sir, and madam," and they bowed the least bit in the world and said thank you, and so they drank, all three, and Bob and Tom poured a spoonful of water on the sugar and the mite of whisky or apple-brandy in the bottom of their tumblers and give it to me and Buck, and we drank to the old people too.

Bob was the oldest and Tom next — tall, beautiful men with very broad shoulders and brown faces, and long black hair and black eyes. They dressed in white linen from head to foot, like the old  gentleman,  and wore broad  Panama  hats.

Then there was Miss Charlotte; she was twenty-five and tall and proud and grand but as good as she could be when she warn't stirred up, but when she was she had a look that would make you wilt in your tracks, like her father. She was beautiful.

So was her sister, Miss Sophia, but it was a  different kind. She   was   gentle   and   sweet   like   a   dove   and   she   was   only " twenty.

Each person had their own nigger to wait on them — Buck too. My nigger had a monstrous easy time, because I warn't used to having anybody do anything for me, but Back's was on the jump most of the time.

This was all there was of the family now, but there used to be more — three sons; they got killed; and Emmeline that died.

The old gentleman owned a lot of farms and over a hundred niggers. Sometimes a stack of people would come there, horse­back, from ten or fifteen mile around, and stay five or six days and have such junketings 26 round about and on the river, and dances and picnics in the woods daytimes, and balls at the house nights. These people was mostly kinfolks of the family. The men brought their guns with them. It was a handsome lot of quality, I tell you.

There was another clan of aristocracy around there — five or six families — mostly of the name of Shepherdson. They was as high-toned and well born and rich and grand as the tribe of Grangerfords. The Shepherdsons and Grangerfords used the same steamboat landing, which was about two mile above our house; so sometimes when I went up there with a lot of our folks I used to see a lot of the Shepherdsons there on their fine horses.

One day Buck and me was away out in the woods hunting and heard a horse coming. We was crossing the road. Buck says:

"Quick!   Jump   for   the woods!"

We done it, and then peeped down the woods through the leaves. Pretty soon a splendid young man come galloping down the road, setting his horse easy and looking like a soldier. He had his gun across his pommel. I had seen him before. It was young Harney Shepherdson. I heard Buck's gun go off at my ear, and Harney's hat tumbled off from his head. He grabbed his gun and rode straight to the place where we was hid. But we didn't wait. We started through the woods on a run. The woods warn't thick, so I looked over my shoulder to dodge the bullet, and twice I seen Harney cover Buck with his gun; and then he rode away the way he come &‐ to get his hat, I reckon, but I couldn't see. We never stopped running till we got home. The old gentleman's eyes blazed a minute — 'twas pleasure, mainly, I judged — then his face sort of smoothed down, and he says, kind of gentle:

"I don't like that shooting from behind a bush. Why didn't you   step   into   the   road,   my   boy?"

"The Shepherdsons don't, father. They always take advan­tage."

Miss Charlotte she held her head up like a queen while Buck was telling his tale, and her nostrils spread and her eyes snapped. The two young men looked dark but never said nothing. Miss Sophia she turned pale, but the color come back when she found the   man   warn't   hurt.

Soon as I could get Buck down by the corn-cribs under the trees   by   ourselves,   I   says:

"Did   you   want   to   kill   him,   Buck?"

"Well, I bet I did."

"What did he do to you?"

"Him? He never done nothing to me."

"Well, then, what did you want to kill him for?"

"Why, nothing — only it's on account of the feud."

"What's a feud?"

"Why, where was you raised? Don't you know what a feud is?"

"Never heard of it before — tell me about it."

"Well," says Buck, "a feud is this way: A man has a quarrel with another man, and kills him; then that other man's brother kills him; then the other brothers on both sides goes for one another; then the cousins chip in — and by and by everybody's killed off and there ain't no more feud. But it's kind of slow and takes a long time."

"Has this one been going on long, Buck?"

"Well, I should reckon! It started thirty year ago, or som'ers along there. There was trouble 'bout something and then a lawsuit to settle it, and the suit went agin one of the men and so he up and shot the man that won the suit —which he would naturally do, of course. Anybody would."

"What was the trouble about, Buck? — land?"

"I reckon maybe — I don't know."

"Well, who done the shooting? Was it a Grandgerford or a Shepherdson?"

"Laws, how do / know? It was so long ago."

"Don't anybody know?"

"Oh, yes, pa knows, I reckon, and some of the other old people; but they don't know now what the row was about in the first place."

"Has  there   been   many   killed,   Buck?"

"Yes; right smart chance of funerals. But they don't always kill. Pa's got a few buckshot in him, but he don't mind it 'cuz he don't weigh much, anyway. Bob's been' carved up some with a bowie and Tom's been hurt once or twice."

"Has anybody been killed this year, Buck?"

"Yes; we got one and they got one; 'Bout three months ago my cousin Bud, fourteen year old, was riding through the woods on t'other side of the river and didn't have no weapon with him, which was blame' foolishness, and in a lonesome place he hears a horse a-coming behind him and sees old Baldy Shepherdson a-linkin' after him with his gun in his hand and his white hair a-flying in the wind; and 'stead of jumping off and taking to the brush, Bud 'lowed he could outrun him; so they had it nip and tuck for five mile or more, the old man a-gaining all the time; so at last Bud seen it warn't any use, so he stopped and faced around so as to have the bullet holes in front, you know, and the old man he rode up and shot him down. But he didn't git much chance to enjoy his luck, for inside of a week our folks laid him out."

"I reckon that old man was a coward, Buck."

"I reckon he warn't a coward. Not by a blame' sight. There ain't a coward amongst them Shepherdsons — not a one. And there ain't no cowards amongst the Grangerfords either. Why, that old man kep' up his end in a fight one day for half an hour against three Grangerfords, and come out winner. They was all a-horseback; he lit off of his horse and got behind a little woodpile and kep' his horse before him to stop the bullets; but the Granger-fords stayed on their horses and capered around the old man and peppered away27 at him, and he peppered away at them. Him and his horse both went home pretty leaky28 and crippled, but the Grangerfords had to be fetched home — and one of 'em was dead and another died the next day. No, sir; if a body's out hunting for cowards he don't want to fool away any time amongst them Shep-herdsons, becuz they don't breed any of that kind."

Next Sunday we all went to church, about three mile, every­body a-horseback. The men took their guns along, so did Buck, and kept them between their knees, or stood them handy against the wall. The Shepherdsons done the same. It was pretty ornery preaching — all about brotherly love, and such-like tiresomeness; but everybody said it was a good sermon and they all talked it over going home, and had such a powerful lot to say about faith and good works and free grace and preforeordestination,29 and I don't know what all, that it did seem to me to be one of the roughest Sundays I had run across yet.

About an hour after dinner everybody was dozing around, some in their chairs and some in their rooms, and it got to be pretty dull. Buck and a dog was stretched out on the grass in the sun sound asleep. I went up to our room, and judged I would take a nap myself. I found that sweet Miss Sophia standing in her door, which was next to ours, and she took me in her room and shut the door very soft and asked me if I liked her, and I said I did; and she asked me if I would do something for her and not tell anybody, and I said I would. Then she said she'd forgot her Testament30 and left it in the seat at church between two other books, and would I slip out quiet and go there and fetch it to her and not say nothing to nobody. I said I would. So I slid out and slipped off up the road and there warn't anybody at the church, except maybe a hog or two, for there warn't any lock on the door, and hogs likes a puncheon floor in summer-time because it's cool. If you notice, most folks, don't go to church only when they've got to; but a hog is different.

Says I to myself, something's up; it ain't natural for a girl to be in such a sweat about a Testament. So I give it a shake, and out drops a little piece of paper with "Half past two" wrote on it with a pencil. I ransacked it, but couldn't find anything else. I couldn't make anything out of that, so I put the paper in the book again, and when I got home and upstairs there was Miss Sophia in her door waiting for me. She pulled me in and shut the door; then she looked in the Testament till she found the paper, and as soon as she read it she looked glad; and before a body could think she grabbed me and give me a squeeze, and said I was the best boy in the world, and not to tell anybody. She was mighty red in the face for a minute and her eyes lighted up, and it made her powerful pretty. I was a good deal astonished but when I got my breath I asked her what the paper was about, and she asked me if 1 had read it, and I said no, and she asked me if I could read writing, and I told her "no, only coarse-hand," 31 and then she said the paper warn't anything but a book-mark to keep her place, arid I might go and play now.

I went off down to the river, studying over this thing, and pretty soon I noticed that my nigger was following along behind. When we was out of sight of the house he looked back and around a second and then comes a-running, and says:

"Mars Jawge, if you'll come down into de swamp I'll show you a whole stack o' water-moccasins."

Thinks I, that's mighty curious; he said that yesterday. He oughter know a body don't love water-moccasins enough to go around hunting for them. What is he up to, anyway? So I says:

"All right;   trot   ahead."

I followed a half a mile; then he struck out over the swamp and waded ankle-deep as much as another half-mile. We come to a little flat piece of land which was dry and very thick with trees and bushes and vines, and he says:

"You shove right in dah jist a few steps,. Mars Jawge; dah's whah dey is. I's seed 'em befo'; I don't k'yer to see 'em no mo'."

Then he slopped right along and went away, and pretty soon the trees hid him. I poked into the place a ways and come to a little open patch as big as a bedroom all hung around with vines, and found a man laying there asleep —and, by jings, it was my old Jim!

I waked him up and I reckoned it was going to be a grand surprise to him to see me again, but it warn't. He nearly cried he was so glad, but he warn't surprised. Said he swum along behind me that night, and heard me yell every time, but dasn't answer, because he didn't want nobody to pick him up and take -him into slavery again. Says he:

"I got hurt a little, en couldn't swim, fas', so I wuz a consider­able ways behine you towards de las'; when you landed I reck'ned I could ketch up wid you on de Ian' 'dout havin' to shout at you, but when 1 see dat house I begin to go slow. I 'uz off too fur to hear what dey say to you — I wuz 'fraid o' de dogs; but when it 'uz all quiet agin I knowed you's in de house, so I struck out for de woods to wait for day. Early in de mawnin' some er de niggers, come along, gwyne to de fields, en dey tuck me en showed me dis place, whah de dogs can't track me on accounts o' de water, en dey brings me truck to eat every night, en tells me how you's a-gittin' along."

"Why didn't you tell my Jack to fetch me here sooner, Jim?"

"Well, 'twarn't no use to 'sturb you, Huck, tell we could do sumfn — but we's all right now. I ben a-buyin' pots en pans en vittles, as I got a chanst, en a-patchin' up de raf nights when —"

"What raft, Jim?"

"Our ole raf."

"You mean to say our old raft warn't smashed all to flinders?"

"No, she warn't. She was tore up a good deal — one en' of her was; but dey warn't no great harm done, on'y our traps was mos' all los'. Ef we hadn' dive' so deep en swum so fur under water, en de night hadn' ben so dark, en we warn't so sk'yerd, en ben sich punkin-heads,32 as de sayin' is, we'd a seed de raf. But it's jis' as well we didn't, 'kase now she's all fixed up agin mos' as good as new, en we's got a new lot o' stuff, too, in de place o' what 'uz los'."

"Why, how did you get hold of the raft again, Jim — did you catch her?"

"How I gwyne to ketch her en I out in de woods? No; some er de niggers foun' her ketched on a snag along heah in de ben', en dey hid her in a crick33 'mongst de willows, en dey wuz so much jawin' 'bout which un 'um she b'long to de mos' dat I come to heah 'bout it pooty soon, so I ups en settles de trouble by tellin' 'urn she don't b'long to none uv 'um, but to you en me; en I ast 'm if dey gwyne to grab a young white genlman's propaty, en git a hid'n'34 for it? Den I gin 'm ten cents apiece, en dey 'uz mighty well satisfied, en wisht some mo' rafs 'ud come along en make 'm rich agin. Dey's mighty good to me, dese niggers is, en whatever I wants 'm to do fur me I doan' have to ast 'tn twice, honey. Dat Jack's a good nigger, en pooty smart."

"Yes, he is. He ain't ever told me you was here; told me to come and he'd show me a lot of water-moccasins. If anything happens he ain't mixed up in it. He can say he never seen us to­gether, and it'll be the truth."

I don't want to talk much about the next day. I reckon I'll cut it pretty short. I waked up about dawn and was a-going to turn over and go to sleep again when I noticed how still it was — didn't seem to be anybody stirring. That warn't usual. Next I no­ticed that Buck was up and gone. Well, I gets up, a-wondering, and goes down-stairs — nobody around; everything as still as a mouse. Just the same outside. Thinks I, what does it mean? Down by the woodpile I comes across my Jack, and says:

"What's it all about?"

Says he:

"Don't you know, Mars Jawge?"

"No," says I, "I don't."

"Well, den, Miss Sophia's run off! 'deed she has. She run off in de night some time —nobody don't know jis' when; run off to get married to dat young Harney Shepherdson, you know— leastways, so dey 'spec. De fambly foun' it out 'bout half an hour ago — maybe a little mo' — en' I tell you dey warn't no time los', Sich another hurryin' up guns en hosses you never see! De women folks has gone for to stir up de relations, en ole Mars Saul en de boys tuck dey guns en rode up de river road for to try to ketch dat young man en kill him 'fo' he kin git acrost de river wid Miss Sophia. I reck'n dey's gwyne to be mighty rough times."

"Buck went off  'thout waking me up."

"Well, I reck'n he did! Dey warn't gwyne to mix you up in it. Mars Buck he loaded up his gun en 'lowed he's gwyne to fetch home a Shepherdson or bust.35 Well, dey'll be plenty un 'm dah, I reck'n, en you bet you he'll fetch one ef he gits a chanst."

I took up the river road as hard as I could put. By and by I begin to hear guns a good ways off. When I come in sight of the log store and the woodpile where the steamboats lands I worked along under the trees and brush till I got to a good place, and then I clumb up into the forks of a cotton-wood 36 that was out of reach, and watched. There was a wood-rank37 four foot high a little ways in front of the tree, and first I was going to hide behind that; but maybe it was luckier I didn't.

There was four or five men cavorting38 around on their horses in the open place before the log store, cussing and yelling and trying to get at a couple of young chaps that was behind the wood-rank alongside of the steamboat landing, but they couldn't come it. Every time one of them showed himself on the river side of the woodpile he got shot at. The two boys was squatting back to back behind the pile, so they could watch both ways.

By and by the men stopped cavorting around and yelling. They started riding towards the store; then up gets one of the boys, draws a steady bead over the wood-rank, and drops one of them out of his saddle. All the men jumped off of their horses and grabbed the hurt one and started to carry him to the store; and that minute the two boys started on the run. They got half-way to the tree I was in before the men noticed. Then the men see them and jumped on their horses and took out after them. They gained on the boys but it didn't do no good, the boys had too good a start; they got to the woodpile that was in front of my tree and slipped in behind it, and so they had the bulge on the men again. One of the boys was Buck, and the other was a slim young chap   about   nineteen   years   old.

The men ripped around awhile and then rode away. As soon as they was out of sight I sung out to Buck and told him. He didn't know what to make of my voice coming out of the tree at first. He was awful surprised. He told me to watch out sharp and let him know when the men come in sight again; said they was  up  to  some  devilment  or  other — wouldn't  be  gone  long. I wished I was out of that tree but I dasn't come down. Buck be­gun to cry and rip, and 'lowed that him and his cousin Joe (that was  the other  young chap)   would  make  up  for  this  day yet. He said his father and his two brothers was killed, and two or three of the enemy. Said the Shepherdsons laid for them in am­bush. Buck said his father and brothers ought to waited for their relations — the Shepherdsons was too strong for them. I  asked him what was become of young Harney and Miss Sophia. He said they'd got across the river and was safe. I was glad of that, but the way Buck did take on because he didn't manage to kill Harney that day he shot at him — I hain't ever heard anything like it. All of a sudden, bang! bang! bang! goes three or four guns — the men had slipped around through the woods and come in from behind without their horses! The boys jumped for the river — both of them hurt — and as they swum down the current the men run along the bank shooting at them and singing out, "Kill them, kill them!"  It made me so sick  I most fell out of the tree. I ain't a-going to tell all that happened — it would make me sick again if I was to do that. I wished I hadn't ever come ashore that night to see such things, I ain't ever going to get shut of them — lots of   times   I   dream   about   them..

I stayed in the tree till it begun to get dark, afraid to come down. Sometimes I heard guns away off in the woods and twice I seen little gangs of men gallop past the log store with guns; so I reckoned the trouble was still a-going on. I was mighty downhearted; so I made up my mind I wouldn't ever go anear that house again, because I reckoned I was to blame, somehow. I judged that that piece of paper meant that Miss Sophia was to meet Harney somewheres at half past two and run off, and I judged I ought to told her father about that paper and the curious way she acted, and then maybe he would 'a'  locked her up and this awful mess wouldn't ever happened.

When I got down out of the tree I crept along down the river bank a piece, and found the two bodies laying in the edge of the water, and tugged at them till I got them ashore; then I covered up their faces and got away as quick as I could. I cried a little when I was covering up Buck's face, for he was mighty good to me.

It was just dark now. I never went near the house but struck through the woods and made for the swamp. Jim warn't on his island, so I tramped off in a hurry for the crick, and crowded through the willows, red-hot to jump aboard and get out of that awful country. The raft was gone! My souls, but I was scared! I couldn't get my breath for most a minute. Then I raised a yell. A voice not twenty-five foot from me says:

"Good Ian'! is dat you, honey? Doan' make no noise."

It was Jim's voice — nothing ever sounded so good before. I run along the bank a piece and got aboard and Jim he grabbed me and hugged me, he was so glad to see me. He says:

"Laws bless you, chile, I 'uz right down sho' you's dead agin. Jack's been heah; he say he reck'n you's ben shot, kase you didn't come home no mo'; so I's jes' dis minute a-startin' de raf down towards de mouf er de crick, so's to be all ready for to shove out en leave soon as Jack comes agin en tells me for certain you is dead. Lawsy, I's mighty glad to git you back agin, honey."

I   says:

"All right — that's mighty good; they won't find me, and they'll think I've been killed, and floated down the river — there's something up there that'll help them think so — so don't you lose no time, Jim, but just shove off for the big water as fast as ever you   can."

I never felt easy till the raft was two mile below there and out in the middle of the Mississippi. Then we hung up our signal lan­tern and judged that we was free and safe once more. I hadn't had a bite to eat since yesterday, so Jim he got out some corn-dodgers and buttermilk, and pork and cabbage and greens — there ain't nothing in the world so good when it's cooked right — and whilst I eat my supper we talked and had a good time. I was powerful glad to get away from the feuds, and so was Jim to get away from the swamp. We said there warn't no home like a raft, after all. Other places do seem so cramped up and smothery, but a raft don't. You feel mighty free and easy and comfortable on a raft.

 

 

TASKS to the LESSONS 9-10

 

Task 1. Read and translate the text.
Task 2. Pick out new words in your vocabulary.
Task 3 Compose the plan of the extract in five items with as many new words as possible.

Task 4. Give pluses and minuses of the extract.
Task 5. Make the literary analysis of the text according to the plan or the presentation using Microsoft Power Point Presentation or Movie Maker.

 

 

COMMENTARY

The author uses a number of dialects: the Missouri Negro dialect; the extremest form of the backwoods Southwestern dialect; the ordinary "Pike County" dialect; and four modified varieties of this last.

The main deviations from standard English are as follows: d instead  of th:  de  (the);  dis   (this);  den   (than, then);  dat's   (that's); wid

(with); dey (they, there); f instead of th: sumf'n (something); mouf (mouth); nuffn (nothing); ah instead of ere, ir, are: whah (where); dah (there); heah (here); i instead of e: git (get); yit (yet); forgit (forget); e instead of i: tell (till); ef (if); sence (since); i instead of u: sich (such); jis' (just); e instead of u: jest (just);

e instead of d: chile (child)52‐/p; ole (old); behine (behind); fine (find); t is added: skifft  (skiff); chanst  (chance); acrost  (across); s is added: somewheres (somewhere); nowheres (nowhere); anywheres (anyw­here) ; omitting a sound or syllable: 'live  (alive); 'em  (them); y'r, yo' (your); gren' (friend); o'  (of); bes'   (best); on'y  (only); po'  (poor); soun'  (sound);  los" (lost); mos'   (most); 'dded   (indeed);  f'fo'   (before); 'sturb   (disturb); 'stead (instead); at las' (at last); t'other (the other); sho'  (shore); generly (gene­rally) ; ornery (ordinary); a instead of have: I couldn't 'a' got drunk;  I could 'a' got down;  If I'd 'a'

knowed it. Hain't, ain't correspond to any form of "to be", "to have", and "to do"; thinks I — I think; I hears — I hear; nothing don't look natural — nothing looks

natural; there was things (there were things); we was (we were); the stars was shining

(the stars were shining). The Present Indefinite Tense is used instead of the Past Indefinite Tense: The

next time it come. The Past Participle is used instead of the Past Indefinite Tense: The widow rung

a bell; She done it herself; A fog begun; I seen a black speck. The form  of the Past  Indefinite Tense is used instead of the Past Participle in Perfect Tenses and Passive Voice: The wind had blowed; I had forgot it. Have is omitted in Perfect Tenses: I never seen anybody. The Past Indefinite Tense of irregular verbs is formed by adding ed: knowed

(knew); throwed (threw). Double negative is characteristic:  that  ain't no matter   (that  doesn't matter);; they don't know nothing  (they know nothing); when I couldn't stand it no longer (when I couldn't stand it any longer). An  adjective is used instead of an adverb: I went along slow; He painted it up

considerable. The indefinite article is used with nouns in the plural: a long ways. ag'in (again); ast (ask); ben (been); bekase, bucuz, cuz, 'kase, kaze (because); dumb (climb); dasn't (dare not); doan' (don't); en (and); er (of); fer (for); fur (far); gwyne (going); heah (hear); k'yer (care); ketsh (catch); lemme (let me); le's (let us); Mars Jawge (Master- George); mawnin' (morning); obleeged (obliged); pooty (pretty); propaty (property); seed (seen); sk'yerd (scared); sho' (shore); spec (speak); tuck (took); turrible (terrible); un um (of them); wisht (wish that); warn't (wasn't); wuz (was).

 

1)Moses and the Bulrushers (Bulrushes) (Bib.)—It is an allusion to the biblical legend saying that a child, Moses, a Hebrew prophet, was hidden in the bulrushes on the bank of the Nile and found by the Egyptian queen

2) stretched — exaggerated   (below:   stretchers — exaggeration,   lies).

3) sivilize — civilize.

4) I lit out — Iran away,

5) learned me — taught me.

6)I don’t take no stock in ... — I take no interest in ...

7) to take a set at smb.— to bore smb.

8)to gap — to gape, to yawn.

9)bad place—hell (below:good place— paradise),

10) to peck at smb. (slang) — to nag, to find fault with smb.

11)a power of(colloq.) — a great deal of.

12) trembly — trembling.

13) Ab’litionist(Abolitionist) — adherent of abolitionism; abolitionism includes principles or measures encouraging abolition especially of slavery,

14)tuck — vigour, energy.

15)to brace up and out with it— to take courage

16) looard(leeward) —situated away from the wind

17) lawsy, laws(slang) — god

18) trotline— one of the short lines with hooks that are attached to it at in­tervals.

19) Muddy—The Mississippi is meant (muddy —full of or covered with mud)

20) bull right up the channel — run against the current.

21) Be done!— Be quiet!

22) Col.(abbr.) —Colonel

23) mudcat— mongrel, person not of pure race.

24)  liberty pole— a tall flagstaff surmounted by a liberty cap or the flag of a republic and set up

 as a symbol of liberty.

25) Our duty to you— To your health

26) junketing— merry gathering, feast

27) to pepper away— to shoot

28) leaky— wounded

29) preforeordestination — The word consists of two words: “predestination” and “foreordination” and is used as a joke.

30) Testament— one of the two main parts into which the Bible is divided

31) coarse-hand— print-hand

32) punkin-heads(pumpkin-heads) — fools.

33) crick— creek, stream.

34) hid’n’(hiding) —beating or thrashing.

35) bust(slang) — a complete failure

36) cotton-wood— a poplar of the eastern and central U.S.A. often cultivatedfor its rapid and luxuriant foliage.

37) wood-rank— a pile of logs

38) to cavort(alteration of “curvet”) — to prance.

 

#39;t get my breath for most a minute. Then I raised a yell. A voice not twenty-five foot from me says: