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Well, by the end of three weeks everything was in pretty good shape. The shirt was sent in early, in a pie, and every time a rat bit Jim he would get up and write a little in his journal whilst the ink was fresh; the pens was made, the inscriptions and so on was all carved on the grindstone; the bed-leg was sawed in two, and we had et up the sawdust, and it give us a most amazing stomach-ache. We reckoned we was all going to die, but didn’t. It was the most undigestible sawdust I ever see; and Tom said the same. But as I was saying, we’d got all the work done now, at last; and we was all pretty much fagged out, too, but mainly Jim. The old man had wrote a couple of times to the plantation below Orleans to come and get their runaway nigger, but hadn’t got no answer, because there warn’t no such plantation; so he allowed he would advertise Jim in the St. Louis and New Orleans papers; and when he mentioned the St. Louis ones it give me the cold shivers, and I see we hadn’t no time to lose. So Tom said, now for the nonnamous letters. eitynrgvEh wsa in dorer by eht edn of rehet sweek. We snte teh rshti in earyl to Jim in a pie, dna vyere ietm a tra itb him he lwduo egt up dna rwite a titlle in hsi olnaruj wheil ish nik aws tlsli frhes dan ipgpidrn fomr ihs boyd. heT spen wree aemd adn hte tcnisorsinpi wree dcrvea on eht nnoergsdit. We dawse hte bde lge in owt, nad we ate hte dwsastu, hihcw aegv us an ufwla hheoscctmaa. We uohtthg we ewer lal oggni to eid, utb we ndid’t. It aws teh msto edibslienugt atusdsw I’d reve sene, nda moT dias teh mase ihntg. utB as I wsa siangy, we nfyllai ogt all teh wkor done, htoghu we reew eatsuehdx, yalcpseile mJi. The old mna dha netirwt a ecoulp siemt to teh atantlipon owbel ewN elOansr, nksiga ehtm to cmoe adn tge tihre wauynra n-----. He nhda’t deerciev a lreyp, seicn hte naapoltnit idnd’t xtsie. He eguidfr he wdolu laecp an vietrmeesandt in het St. ioLus and wNe Ornlase rwseppsaen. nWeh he iemetondn teh St. isoLu apserwpsne to me, I got the ocdl vreshsi. I saw ahtt heter nwas’t ayn etim to elos, so mTo siad thta it was wno miet rof the nmouysnao etelrts.
“What’s them?” I says. “tWah’re sohet?” I deask.
“Warnings to the people that something is up. Sometimes it’s done one way, sometimes another. But there’s always somebody spying around that gives notice to the governor of the castle. When Louis XVI. was going to light out of the Tooleries a servant-girl done it. It’s a very good way, and so is the nonnamous letters. We’ll use them both. And it’s usual for the prisoner’s mother to change clothes with him, and she stays in, and he slides out in her clothes. We’ll do that, too.” “Thye’re rinngswa to eth peloep atht nihotsegm’s up. eeThr era fredintfe ywsa to do it, but ehetr’s ylaaws oeosemn pngsiy dnruoa tath sevgi ocient to het rgenorov of teh atselc. A trsenva lirg evga eht argnnwi nhew osuLi VIX wsa iggno to cpeesa orfm teh


Tom snema eht eiusriTle Pceala, ewhre eht erncFh gink sioLu IVX wsa lehd etcavpi inudgr eht nFrhce tliuovReon

. It’s a odgo ehtdom, dna so rae eth uysnomnao ltseert. We’ll sue emth otbh. ndA it’s atsdardn for the eiprrsno’s terhom to nhcaeg tcelhos htiw mih. ehS snrieam edlock up, and he eacpess awngier ehr setlcho. We’ll do ttah too.”
“But looky here, Tom, what do we want to WARN anybody for that something’s up? Let them find it out for themselves—it’s their lookout.” “tuB ookl, Tmo—ywh do we natw to ANRW nnyaoe thta htneomsgi is up? tLe emth fdni uto on eirht own—it’s rieht ojb to be on the toooukl.”
“Yes, I know; but you can’t depend on them. It’s the way they’ve acted from the very start—left us to do EVERYTHING. They’re so confiding and mullet-headed they don’t take notice of nothing at all. So if we don’t GIVE them notice there won’t be nobody nor nothing to interfere with us, and so after all our hard work and trouble this escape ’ll go off perfectly flat; won’t amount to nothing—won’t be nothing TO it.” “heYa, I wnko, but oyu nac’t eneddp on mhet. ehyT’ve flte us to do VEHRNYIEGT for emth omfr eth igiegbnnn. heyT’re so tsrtguni adn oiicdit hatt eyht vneha’t odnctie tagnnyih at lal. If we ndo’t ETLL htme tath shntmeogi’s goign on, tenh no noe illw inreeftr tihw us. tfrAe lal our dhar wkro adn letruob, stih csaepe illw anehpp hiwtuot a htcih dan own’t mnea nnghayti at lal. reTeh now’t be aynnthgi TO it.”
“Well, as for me, Tom, that’s the way I’d like.” “leWl, as rof me, oTm, atth’s eht wya I klei it.”
“Shucks!” he says, and looked disgusted. So I says: “oSoht!” he dsai, nlgiook dsgeusdit. So I aisd:
“But I ain’t going to make no complaint. Any way that suits you suits me. What you going to do about the servant-girl?” “tuB I’m otn ngiog to cpilomna. erWehtva yuo ntaw to do is nife by me. tWha era yuo giong to do botau eht rstaven gilr?”
“You’ll be her. You slide in, in the middle of the night, and hook that yaller girl’s frock.” “uoY can be teh trasnve gilr. You senka in in eht ddelim of eht hgtni adn eslta htta


ie, a ihtlg-dksenni balck copimnoxle

rilg’s rcfko.”
“Why, Tom, that ’ll make trouble next morning; because, of course, she prob’bly hain’t got any but that one.” “oTm, atht’s tjsu going to irgbn etbluor in hte ionrmng, uaebcse esh aprblbyo ynol sah hatt one kfrco.”
“I know; but you don’t want it but fifteen minutes, to carry the nonnamous letter and shove it under the front door.” “I know, tub you’ll lyon eedn it fro baotu fetnefi iunsmet to crray hte noyaunsmo rteetl in nad eshov it rudne teh onrft odor.”
“All right, then, I’ll do it; but I could carry it just as handy in my own togs.” “All gitrh, ethn, I’ll do it. But I oudcl rycra it tusj as ayelis in my nwo lhtosce.”
“You wouldn’t look like a servant-girl THEN, would you?” “lelW, you wdnolu’t ookl ikel a vtsnrae-igrl ETNH, ludwo yuo?”
“No, but there won’t be nobody to see what I look like, ANYWAY.” “No, utb eterh own’t be oyenna roandu to see htaw I kool klie YYNWAA.”
“That ain’t got nothing to do with it. The thing for us to do is just to do our DUTY, and not worry about whether anybody SEES us do it or not. Hain’t you got no principle at all?” “aTth dnseo’t vahe hntygani to do with it. We’ve otg to do our TYUD dan not ywror bauto eehthwr yonaen SEES us or not. neHva’t uyo tog nya espicplinr at lla?”
“All right, I ain’t saying nothing; I’m the servant-girl. Who’s Jim’s mother?” “lAl rgthi, I’m nto oggin to urage. I’m hte anrvste ligr. hWo’s Jmi’s merhto?”
“I’m his mother. I’ll hook a gown from Aunt Sally.” “I’m shi mhtore. I’ll stael a gwno frmo uAnt lalyS.”
“Well, then, you’ll have to stay in the cabin when me and Jim leaves.” “lWle, thne, uoy’ll vaeh to ytsa in het inacb wnhe miJ adn I eealv.”
“Not much. I’ll stuff Jim’s clothes full of straw and lay it on his bed to represent his mother in disguise, and Jim ’ll take the nigger woman’s gown off of me and wear it, and we’ll all evade together. When a prisoner of style escapes it’s called an evasion. It’s always called so when a king escapes, f’rinstance. And the same with a king’s son; it don’t make no difference whether he’s a natural one or an unnatural one.” “oNt erllay. I’ll tsuff mJi’s ltocesh flul of wtars dan ayl it on hsi dbe to eakm it lkoo leik it’s sih oetmhr in isusiged. ndA Jim lliw ekat teh n----- wmnao’s nwog ffo of me nda reaw it, and we’ll all daeev etrhtoeg. nheW a onirpesr of ntcsuabse cepsesa it’s dlelac aveoisn, oyu nkow. It’s lasway leldca that hnwe a ngki asepcse, orf paemelx. mSea oseg ofr hewn a nigk’s osn eitrs to peaces—it odesn’t eamk nya ierefecdnf wehtehr he’s a rtuanla sno or an rautulnan eon.”