For You to Read
属于您的小说阅读网站
汤姆·索亚历险记 - Chapter 11
繁体
恢复默认
返回目录【键盘操作】左右光标键:上下章节;回车键:目录;双击鼠标:停止/启动自动滚动;滚动时上下光标键调节滚动速度。
  CLOSE upon the hour of noon the whole village was suddenly electrified with the ghastly news. No need of the as yet undreamed-of telegraph; the tale flew from man to man, from group to group, from house to house, with little less than telegraphic speed. Of course the schoolmaster gave holiday for that afternoon; the town would have thought strangely of him if he had not.A gory knife had been found close to the murdered man, and it had been recognized by somebody as belonging to Muff potter -- so the story ran. And it was said that a belated citizen had come upon potter washing himself in the "branch" about one or two o'clock in the morning, and that potter had at once sneaked off -- suspicious circumstances, especially the washing which was not a habit with potter. It was also said that the town had been ransacked for this "murderer" (the public are not slow in the matter of sifting evidence and arriving at a verdict), but that he could not be found. Horsemen had departed down all the roads in every direction, and the Sheriff "was confident" that he would be captured before night.All the town was drifting toward the graveyard. Tom's heartbreak vanished and he joined the procession, not because he would not a thousand times rather go anywhere else, but because an awful, unaccountable fascination drew him on. Arrived at the dreadful place, he wormed his small body through the crowd and saw the dismal spectacle. It seemed to him an age since he was there before. Somebody pinched his arm. He turned, and his eyes met Huckleberry's. Then both looked elsewhere at once, and wondered if anybody had noticed anything in their mutual glance. But everybody was talking, and intent upon the grisly spectacle before them."poor fellow!" "poor young fellow!" "This ought to be a lesson to grave robbers!" "Muff potter'll hang for this if they catch him!" This was the drift of remark; and the minister said, "It was a judgment; His hand is here."Now Tom shivered from head to heel; for his eye fell upon the stolid face of Injun Joe. At this moment the crowd began to sway and struggle, and voices shouted, "It's him! it's him! he's coming himself!""Who? Who?" from twenty voices."Muff potter!""Hallo, he's stopped! -- Look out, he's turning! Don't let him get away!"people in the branches of the trees over Tom's head said he wasn't trying to get away -- he only looked doubtful and perplexed."Infernal impudence!" said a bystander; "wanted to come and take a quiet look at his work, I reckon -- didn't expect any company."The crowd fell apart, now, and the Sheriff came through, ostentatiously leading potter by the arm. The poor fellow's face was haggard, and his eyes showed the fear that was upon him. When he stood before the murdered man, he shook as with a palsy, and he put his face in his hands and burst into tears."I didn't do it, friends," he sobbed; "'pon my word and honor I never done it.""Who's accused you?" shouted a voice.This shot seemed to carry home. potter lifted his face and looked around him with a pathetic hopelessness in his eyes. He saw Injun Joe, and exclaimed:"Oh, Injun Joe, you promised me you'd never --""Is that your knife?" and it was thrust before him by the Sheriff.potter would have fallen if they had not caught him and eased him to the ground. Then he said:"Something told me 't if I didn't come back and get --" He shuddered; then waved his nerveless hand with a vanquished gesture and said, "Tell 'em, Joe, tell 'em -- it ain't any use any more."Then Huckleberry and Tom stood dumb and staring, and heard the stony-hearted liar reel off his serene statement, they expecting every moment that the clear sky would deliver God's lightnings upon his head, and wondering to see how long the stroke was delayed. And when he had finished and still stood alive and whole, their wavering impulse to break their oath and save the poor betrayed prisoner's life faded and vanished away, for plainly this miscreant had sold himself to Satan and it would be fatal to meddle with the property of such a power as that."Why didn't you leave? What did you want to come here for?" somebody said."I couldn't help it -- I couldn't help it," potter moaned. "I wanted to run away, but I couldn't seem to come anywhere but here." And he fell to sobbing again.Injun Joe repeated his statement, just as calmly, a few minutes afterward on the inquest, under oath; and the boys, seeing that the lightnings were still withheld, were confirmed in their belief that Joe had sold himself to the devil. He was now become, to them, the most balefully interesting object they had ever looked upon, and they could not take their fascinated eyes from his face.They inwardly resolved to watch him nights, when opportunity should offer, in the hope of getting a glimpse of his dread master.Injun Joe helped to raise the body of the murdered man and put it in a wagon for removal; and it was whispered through the shuddering crowd that the wound bled a little! The boys thought that this happy circumstance would turn suspicion in the right direction; but they were disappointed, for more than one villager remarked:"It was within three feet of Muff potter when it done it."Tom's fearful secret and gnawing conscience disturbed his sleep for as much as a week after this; and at breakfast one morning Sid said:"Tom, you pitch around and talk in your sleep so much that you keep me awake half the time."Tom blanched and dropped his eyes."It's a bad sign," said Aunt polly, gravely. "What you got on your mind, Tom?""Nothing. Nothing 't I know of." But the boy's hand shook so that he spilled his coffee."And you do talk such stuff," Sid said. "Last night you said, 'It's blood, it's blood, that's what it is!' You said that over and over. And you said, 'Don't torment me so -- I'll tell!' Tell what? What is it you'll tell?"Everything was swimming before Tom. There is no telling what might have happened, now, but luckily the concern passed out of Aunt polly's face and she came to Tom's relief without knowing it. She said:"Sho! It's that dreadful murder. I dream about it most every night myself. Sometimes I dream it's me that done it."Mary said she had been affected much the same way. Sid seemed satisfied. Tom got out of the presence as quick as he plausibly could, and after that he complained of toothache for a week, and tied up his jaws every night. He never knew that Sid lay nightly watching, and frequently slipped the bandage free and then leaned on his elbow listening a good while at a time, and afterward slipped the bandage back to its place again. Tom's distress of mind wore off gradually and the toothache grew irksome and was discarded. If Sid really managed to make anything out of Tom's disjointed mutterings, he kept it to himself.It seemed to Tom that his schoolmates never would get done holding inquests on dead cats, and thus keeping his trouble present to his mind. Sid noticed that Tom never was coroner at one of these inquiries, though it had been his habit to take the lead in all new enterprises; he noticed, too, that Tom never acted as a witness -- and that was strange; and Sid did not overlook the fact that Tom even showed a marked aversion to these inquests, and always avoided them when he could. Sid marvelled, but said nothing. However, even inquests went out of vogue at last, and ceased to torture Tom's conscience.Every day or two, during this time of sorrow, Tom watched his opportunity and went to the little grated jail-window and smuggled such small comforts through to the "murderer" as he could get hold of. The jail was a trifling little brick den that stood in a marsh at the edge of the village, and no guards were afforded for it; indeed, it was seldom occupied. These offerings greatly helped to ease Tom's conscience.The villagers had a strong desire to tar-and-feather Injun Joe and ride him on a rail, for body-snatching, but so formidable was his character that nobody could be found who was willing to take the lead in the matter, so it was dropped. He had been careful to begin both of his inquest-statements with the fight, without confessing the grave-robbery that preceded it; therefore it was deemed wisest not to try the case in the courts at present.
或许您还会喜欢:
紧急传染
作者:佚名
章节:38 人气:2
摘要:1991年6月12日,这是暮春的一个近似完美的日子。天已破晓,阳光触摸着北美大陆的东海岸。美国大部、加拿大和墨西哥都在期待着阳光明媚的蓝天、只是气象雷达显示雷暴云团即将来临,估计会从平原伸向田纳西河谷。已经有预报,从白令海峡移动过来的阵雨云可能覆盖阿拉斯加的西沃德半岛。这个6月12日几乎在各个方面都与以往的6月12日没什么两样,只有一个奇怪的迹象除外。 [点击阅读]
紫阳花日记
作者:佚名
章节:18 人气:2
摘要:这可是一个完全偶然的机会发现的。实在是太偶然了。与其说是一般的偶然,更应该说不是单纯的偶然,而是好几个偶然的因素,巧上加巧碰在一起,就促成了这么件令人匪夷所思的事情。要说是促成,还不如说是完全没有想到的事情突然出现更准确。那天,川岛省吾也不知道怎么的,竟然会神使鬼差地躺在自己太太的床上休息。通常省吾都不在夫妻俩的主卧房睡觉,他在自己的书房安了一张床,平时基本上都在这张床上休息。 [点击阅读]
莫泊桑短篇小说集
作者:佚名
章节:28 人气:2
摘要:一我有十五年不到韦尔洛臬去了。今年秋末,为了到我的老友塞华尔的围场里打猎,我才重新去了一遭。那时候,他已经派人在韦尔洛臬重新盖好了他那座被普鲁士人破坏的古堡。我非常心爱那个地方,世上真有许多美妙的角落,教人看见就得到一种悦目的快感,使我们不由得想亲身领略一下它的美。 [点击阅读]
闪灵
作者:佚名
章节:38 人气:2
摘要:记不得哪位哲人曾经这样说过:对艺术而言,人类的两种基本欲望只需极小的代价便可以挑动起来,那就是恐惧与性欲。对后者,非本文所涉及的话题,姑且略去。但是把恐惧带进我们的生活,却真的不难。最简单的方法:你可以躲在暗处,出奇不意地向某个路过此地的人大吼一声,你的目的就能达到。当然,前提是他不知道你要玩这个游戏。换句话说,就是对他要保证两个字——悬念。 [点击阅读]
青春咖啡馆
作者:佚名
章节:14 人气:2
摘要:那家咖啡馆有两道门,她总是从最窄的那扇门进出,那扇门人称黑暗之门。咖啡厅很小,她总是在小厅最里端的同一张桌子旁落座。初来乍到的那段时光,她从不跟任何人搭讪,日子一长,她认识了孔岱咖啡馆里的那些常客,他们中的大多数人跟我们年纪相仿,我的意思是说,我们都在十九到二十五岁之间。有时候,她会坐到他们中间去,但大部分时间里,她还是喜欢坐她自己的那个专座,也就是说坐最里端的那个位子。她来咖啡馆的时间也不固定。 [点击阅读]
饥饿游戏1
作者:佚名
章节:27 人气:2
摘要:我睡醒的时候,床的另外半边冷冰冰的。我伸出手想试探一下波丽姆留在被子里的余温,结果只摸到了粗糙的帆布被单,她准是又做了噩梦,爬到妈妈被窝里去了。嗯,准没错。今天是收获节。我用胳膊支起身子,屋子里挺亮,正好看得见他们。小妹妹波丽姆侧身躺着,偎在妈妈怀里,她们的脸紧挨在一块儿。睡着的时候,妈妈看上去要年轻些,脸上尽管还是一样疲倦,可已经不那么憔悴了。 [点击阅读]
4号解剖室
作者:佚名
章节:9 人气:2
摘要:外面一片漆黑,我恍恍忽忽地不知自己昏迷了多长时间。慢慢地我听到一阵微弱而富有节奏的声音,这是只有轮子才能发出的嘎吱嘎吱声。丧失意识的人在黑暗中是听不到这么细微的声响的。因此我判断自己已经恢复了知觉,而且我从头到脚都能感受到外界的存在。我还闻到了一种气味——不是橡胶就是塑料薄膜。 [点击阅读]
万物有灵且美
作者:佚名
章节:15 人气:2
摘要:作者简介JamesHerriot吉米•哈利(1916—1995)(原名JamesAlfredWight)苏格兰人。一个多才多艺的兽医,也是个善于说故事的高手,被英国媒体誉为“其写作天赋足以让很多职业作家羞愧”。平实而不失风趣的文风和朴素的博爱主义打动了千千万万英美读者,并启发了后世的兽医文学。 [点击阅读]
东方快车谋杀案
作者:佚名
章节:31 人气:2
摘要:第一章一位重要的旅客叙利亚。一个冬天的早晨,五点钟。阿勒颇城的月台旁,停着一列火车,这列车在铁路指南上,堂而皇之地称为陶鲁斯快车。它由一节炊事车、一节义餐车、一节卧铺车厢和两节普通客车组成。在卧铺车厢门口的踏脚板旁,站着一个年轻的法国陆军中尉,他身着耀眼的军装,正和一个小个子谈话。这小个子连头带耳都用围巾里着,除了一个鼻尖通红的鼻子和两个往上翘的胡子尖外,什么也看不见。 [点击阅读]
人类群星闪耀时
作者:佚名
章节:17 人气:2
摘要:作品简介StefanZweig斯蒂芬·茨威格茨威格于1881年出生在奥地利维也纳一个富裕的犹太工厂主家庭,青年时代曾在维也纳和柏林攻读哲学和文学,获得博士学位。从二十世纪二十年代起,茨威格便“以德语创作赢得了不让于英、法语作品的广泛声誉”。 [点击阅读]