IT would be most an hour yet till breakfast, so we left and struck down into the woods; because Tom said we got to have SOME light to see how to dig by, and a lantern makes too much, and might get us into trouble; what we must have was a lot of them rotten chunks that's called fox-fire, and just makes a soft kind of a glow when you lay them in a dark place. We fetched an armful and hid it in the weeds, and set down to rest, and Tom says, kind of dissatisfied:

"Blame it, this whole thing is just as easy and awkward as it can be. And so it makes it so rotten difficult to get up a difficult plan. There ain't no watchman to be drugged -- now there OUGHT to be a watchman. There ain't even a dog to give a sleeping-mixture to. And there's Jim chained by one leg, with a ten-foot chain, to the leg of his bed: why, all you got to do is to lift up the bedstead and slip off the chain. And Uncle Silas he trusts everybody; sends the key to the punkin-headed nigger, and don't send nobody to watch the nigger. Jim could a got out of that windowhole before this, only there wouldn't be no use trying to travel with a ten-foot chain on his leg. Why, drat it, Huck, it's the stupidest arrangement I ever see. You got to invent ALL the difficulties. Well, we can't help it; we got to do the best we can with the materials we've got. Anyhow, there's one thing -- there's more honor in getting him out through a lot of difficulties and dangers, where there warn't one of them furnished to you by the people who it was their duty to furnish them, and you had to contrive them all out of your own head. Now look at just that one thing of the lantern. When you come down to the cold facts, we simply got to LET ON that a lantern's resky. Why, we could work with a torchlight procession if we wanted to, I believe. Now, whilst I think of it, we got to hunt up something to make a saw out of the first chance we get."

"What do we want of a saw?"

"What do we WANT of a saw? Hain't we got to saw the leg of Jim's bed off, so as to get the chain loose?"

"Why, you just said a body could lift up the bedstead and slip the chain off."

"Well, if that ain't just like you, Huck Finn. You CAN get up the infant-schooliest ways of going at a thing. Why, hain't you ever read any books at all? -- Baron Trenck, nor Casanova, nor Benvenuto Chelleeny, nor Henri IV., nor none of them heroes? Who ever heard of getting a prisoner loose in such an oldmaidy way as that? No; the way all the best authorities does is to saw the bed-leg in two, and leave it just so, and swallow the sawdust, so it can't be found, and put some dirt and grease around the sawed place so the very keenest seneskal can't see no sign of it's being sawed, and thinks the bed-leg is perfectly sound. Then, the night you're ready, fetch the leg a kick, down she goes; slip off your chain, and there you are. Nothing to do but hitch your rope ladder to the battlements, shin down it, break your leg in the moat -- because a rope ladder is nineteen foot too short, you know -- and there's your horses and your trusty vassles, and they scoop you up and fling you across a saddle, and away you go to your native Langudoc, or Navarre, or wherever it is. It's gaudy, Huck. I wish there was a moat to this cabin. If we get time, the night of the escape, we'll dig one."

I says:

"What do we want of a moat when we're going to snake him out from under the cabin?"

But he never heard me. He had forgot me and everything else. He had his chin in his hand, thinking. Pretty soon he sighs and shakes his head; then sighs again, and says:

"No, it wouldn't do -- there ain't necessity enough for it."

"For what?" I says.

"Why, to saw Jim's leg off," he says.

"Good land!" I says; "why, there ain't NO necessity for it. And what would you want to saw his leg off for, anyway?"

"Well, some of the best authorities has done it. They couldn't get the chain off, so they just cut their hand off and shoved. And a leg would be better still. But we got to let that go. There ain't necessity enough in this case; and, besides, Jim's a nigger, and wouldn't understand the reasons for it, and how it's the custom in Europe; so we'll let it go. But there's one thing -- he can have a rope ladder; we can tear up our sheets and make him a rope ladder easy enough. And we can send it to him in a pie; it's mostly done that way. And I've et worse pies."

"Why, Tom Sawyer, how you talk," I says; "Jim ain't got no use for a rope ladder."

"He HAS got use for it. How YOU talk, you better say; you don't know nothing about it. He's GOT to have a rope ladder; they all do."

"What in the nation can he DO with it?"

"DO with it? He can hide it in his bed, can't he?" That's what they all do; and HE'S got to, too. Huck, you don't ever seem to want to do anything that's regular; you want to be starting something fresh all the time. S'pose he DON'T do nothing with it? ain't it there in his bed, for a clew, after he's gone? and don't you reckon they'll want clews? Of course they will. And you wouldn't leave them any? That would be a PRETTY howdy-do, WOULDN'T it! I never heard of such a thing."

"Well," I says, "if it's in the regulations, and he's got to have it, all right, let him have it; because I don't wish to go back on no regulations; but there's one thing, Tom Sawyer -- if we go to tearing up our sheets to make Jim a rope ladder, we're going to get into trouble with Aunt Sally, just as sure as you're born. Now, the way I look at it, a hickry-bark ladder don't cost nothing, and don't waste nothing, and is just as good to load up a pie with, and hide in a straw tick, as any rag ladder you can start; and as for Jim, he ain't had no experience, and so he don't care what kind of a --"

"Oh, shucks, Huck Finn, if I was as ignorant as you I'd keep still -- that's what I'D do. Who ever heard of a state prisoner escaping by a hickry-bark ladder? Why, it's perfectly ridiculous."

"Well, all right, Tom, fix it your own way; but if you'll take my advice, you'll let me borrow a sheet off of the clothesline."

He said that would do. And that gave him another idea, and he says:

"Borrow a shirt, too."

"What do we want of a shirt, Tom?"

"Want it for Jim to keep a journal on."

"Journal your granny -- JIM can't write."

"S'pose he CAN'T write -- he can make marks on the shirt, can't he, if we make him a pen out of an old pewter spoon or a piece of an old iron barrelhoop?"

"Why, Tom, we can pull a feather out of a goose and make him a better one; and quicker, too."

"PRISONERS don't have geese running around the donjon-keep to pull pens out of, you muggins. They ALWAYS make their pens out of the hardest, toughest, troublesomest piece of old brass candlestick or something like that they can get their hands on; and it takes them weeks and weeks and months and months to file it out, too, because they've got to do it by rubbing it on the wall. THEY wouldn't use a goose-quill if they had it. It ain't regular."

"Well, then, what'll we make him the ink out of?"

"Many makes it out of iron-rust and tears; but that's the common sort and women; the best authorities uses their own blood. Jim can do that; and when he wants to send any little common ordinary mysterious message to let the world know where he's captivated, he can write it on the bottom of a tin plate with a fork and throw it out of the window. The Iron Mask always done that, and it's a blame' good way, too."

"Jim ain't got no tin plates. They feed him in a pan."

"That ain't nothing; we can get him some."

"Can't nobody READ his plates."

"That ain't got anything to DO with it, Huck Finn. All HE'S got to do is to write on the plate and throw it out. You don't HAVE to be able to read it. Why, half the time you can't read anything a prisoner writes on a tin plate, or anywhere else."

"Well, then, what's the sense in wasting the plates?"

"Why, blame it all, it ain't the PRISONER'S plates."

"But it's SOMEBODY'S plates, ain't it?"

"Well, spos'n it is? What does the PRISONER care whose --"

He broke off there, because we heard the breakfasthorn blowing. So we cleared out for the house.

Along during the morning I borrowed a sheet and a white shirt off of the clothes-line; and I found an old sack and put them in it, and we went down and got the fox-fire, and put that in too. I called it borrowing, because that was what pap always called it; but Tom said it warn't borrowing, it was stealing. He said we was representing prisoners; and prisoners don't care how they get a thing so they get it, and nobody don't blame them for it, either. It ain't no crime in a prisoner to steal the thing he needs to get away with, Tom said; it's his right; and so, as long as we was representing a prisoner, we had a perfect right to steal anything on this place we had the least use for to get ourselves out of prison with. He said if we warn't prisoners it would be a very different thing, and nobody but a mean, ornery person would steal when he warn't a prisoner. So we allowed we would steal everything there was that come handy. And yet he made a mighty fuss, one day, after that, when I stole a watermelon out of the nigger-patch and eat it; and he made me go and give the niggers a dime without telling them what it was for. Tom said that what he meant was, we could steal anything we NEEDED. Well, I says, I needed the watermelon. But he said I didn't need it to get out of prison with; there's where the difference was. He said if I'd a wanted it to hide a knife in, and smuggle it to Jim to kill the seneskal with, it would a been all right. So I let it go at that, though I couldn't see no advantage in my representing a prisoner if I got to set down and chaw over a lot of gold-leaf distinctions like that every time I see a chance to hog a watermelon.

Well, as I was saying, we waited that morning till everybody was settled down to business, and nobody in sight around the yard; then Tom he carried the sack into the lean-to whilst I stood off a piece to keep watch. By and by he come out, and we went and set down on the woodpile to talk. He says:

"Everything's all right now except tools; and that's easy fixed."

"Tools?" I says.

"Yes."

"Tools for what?"

"Why, to dig with. We ain't a-going to GNAW him out, are we?"

"Ain't them old crippled picks and things in there good enough to dig a nigger out with?" I says.

He turns on me, looking pitying enough to make a body cry, and says:

"Huck Finn, did you EVER hear of a prisoner having picks and shovels, and all the modern conveniences in his wardrobe to dig himself out with? Now I want to ask you -- if you got any reasonableness in you at all -- what kind of a show would THAT give him to be a hero? Why, they might as well lend him the key and done with it. Picks and shovels -- why, they wouldn't furnish 'em to a king."

"Well, then," I says, "if we don't want the picks and shovels, what do we want?"

"A couple of case-knives."

"To dig the foundations out from under that cabin with?"

"Yes."

"Confound it, it's foolish, Tom."

"It don't make no difference how foolish it is, it's the RIGHT way -- and it's the regular way. And there ain't no OTHER way, that ever I heard of, and I've read all the books that gives any information about these things. They always dig out with a case-knife -- and not through dirt, mind you; generly it's through solid rock. And it takes them weeks and weeks and weeks, and for ever and ever. Why, look at one of them prisoners in the bottom dungeon of the Castle Deef, in the harbor of Marseilles, that dug himself out that way; how long was HE at it, you reckon?"

"I don't know."

"Well, guess."

"I don't know. A month and a half."

"THIRTY-SEVEN YEAR -- and he come out in China. THAT'S the kind. I wish the bottom of THIS fortress was solid rock."

"JIM don't know nobody in China."

"What's THAT got to do with it? Neither did that other fellow. But you're always a-wandering off on a side issue. Why can't you stick to the main point?"

"All right -- I don't care where he comes out, so he COMES out; and Jim don't, either, I reckon. But there's one thing, anyway -- Jim's too old to be dug out with a case-knife. He won't last."

"Yes he will LAST, too. You don't reckon it's going to take thirty-seven years to dig out through a DIRT foundation, do you?"

"How long will it take, Tom?"

"Well, we can't resk being as long as we ought to, because it mayn't take very long for Uncle Silas to hear from down there by New Orleans. He'll hear Jim ain't from there. Then his next move will be to advertise Jim, or something like that. So we can't resk being as long digging him out as we ought to. By rights I reckon we ought to be a couple of years; but we can't. Things being so uncertain, what I recommend is this: that we really dig right in, as quick as we can; and after that, we can LET ON, to ourselves, that we was at it thirty-seven years. Then we can snatch him out and rush him away the first time there's an alarm. Yes, I reckon that 'll be the best way."

"Now, there's SENSE in that," I says. "Letting on don't cost nothing; letting on ain't no trouble; and if it's any object, I don't mind letting on we was at it a hundred and fifty year. It wouldn't strain me none, after I got my hand in. So I'll mosey along now, and smouch a couple of case-knives."

"Smouch three," he says; "we want one to make a saw out of."

"Tom, if it ain't unregular and irreligious to sejest it," I says, "there's an old rusty saw-blade around yonder sticking under the weather-boarding behind the smoke-house."

He looked kind of weary and discouraged-like, and says:

"It ain't no use to try to learn you nothing, Huck. Run along and smouch the knives -- three of them." So I done it.

这时离吃早饭还有个把钟头，我们就离开了那里，到了林子里去。因为汤姆说，挖地道
时最好能有点儿光亮，能看得见，而灯呢，又太亮，怕给我们惹出乱子。我们最好能找到一
些烂木头，人们称做“狐火”①的，放在黑洞洞的地方，能发出幽幽的光。我们在林子里找
到了一些，堆放在草丛里，然后坐下来休息。汤姆以一种不大满意的口气说道：    ①诺顿版注：腐烂的木料发出的磷光。

“真该死，这件事嘛，整个儿说来，有多容易就多容易，有多别扭就多别扭。要搞出个曲曲折折的方案，可真是太难啦。又没有一个看守理该毒死的——本来就应该有这么一个看守嘛。甚至连应该下蒙汗药的狗也一只都没有。杰姆呢，也只是铐上了一付一丈长的脚镣，一头拴住了一条腿，一头拴在床腿上，你只须把床往上那么一提，脚镣就往下掉了。再说，西拉斯姨父这人啊，他对谁都一概信任，把钥匙给那个傻呼呼的黑奴，也不派一个人从旁监视他。在这样的情况下，其实杰姆早就能从窗洞里爬出来，只不过腿上拴了一丈长的铁镣，走不了路。真是糟透了，哈克，这样一类顶顶愚索的安排我从未见过。所有的艰险曲折，一桩桩、一件件都得凭空制造出来。啊，实在无法可想，我们只能凭眼前的材料能做到怎么样就做到怎么样。不过有一件事是确定无疑的。必须经过千难万险方能把他搭救出来，这才称得上光荣。可这样的千难万险，原本应该有人有这个责任提供的，如今却一无着落，必须由你从自己的脑袋里编造出来。眼下就拿灯这一件事来看一看吧。面对眼前无情的现实，我们就非得装做那是一件多么危险的事。其实呢，据我看，只要我们高兴，我们原本不妨来个火炬大游行也碍不了事啊。哦，我眼下又想起了一件事，那就是，一有机会，我们就得找些材料做一把锯子哩。”“要一把锯子干什么用？”“要一把锯子干什么用？不是我们得把杰姆那张床的腿给锯断，好叫脚镣脱下来？”“哈，你不是说，只要有人把床往上一提，脚镣就能往下掉么？”“啊，哈克·芬，你这话真是活象你这样的人说的。你遇到一件事，就会象一个上幼儿园的小孩子那样对待它。难道你从没有念过那些书？——难道没有念过有关屈伦克伯爵，或者卡萨诺伐，或者贝佛努托·契里尼，或者亨利第四这类英雄好汉的书①？有谁听说过曾有人用老娘们的那套办法去救出一个囚犯的？那可不行。凡是赫赫有名的人，他们一个个都是这么干的，把床腿给锯成两截子，让床照原样放在那里，把锯下的木屑吞下肚去，好叫人家无从找到。在锯过的地方呢，涂上泥和油，好叫眼睛最尖的人也看不出一点儿锯过的痕迹，还以为床腿还是好好的。随后，到了夜晚，你把一切都准备好了，就对准床腿那么一踢，床腿的一截子给踢到了一边，那脚镣就脱落了，就大功告成了。此外不用忙别的什么事，只消把你的绳梯拴在城垛上，顺着它爬下去，然后在城墙里摔坏了腿——因为，你知道吧，那绳梯短了十九英尺——好，你的马，你忠实可靠的亲随正守在那里，他们连忙把你给打捞起来，扶你跨上马鞍，你就飞奔而去，去到你的老家朗格多克或者纳伐尔，或者别的什么地方。这才叫有声有色哩，哈克，我多么希望小屋下面有个城墙啊。到了逃亡的那个晚上，要是有时间，让我们挖出一个城壕来。”

①诺顿版注：以上四人都曾试图冒险越狱，或越狱成功，或失败。屈伦克伯爵是菲特烈大帝的重臣；卡萨诺伐为意大利有名的情人；契里尼为著名雕刻家；亨利第四为法国国王。

我说：“我们要个城壕干什么？我们不是要从小屋下面让他象蛇一般偷偷爬出来么？”可是他根本没有听到我说的话。他把我啊以及其它的一切全都忘得一干二净。他手托住了下巴颏，陷进了沉思。没多久，他叹了一口气，摇摇脑袋，随后又叹起气来。他说：“不，这个行不通——这样干还没有必要。”“干什么？”我说。“啊，把杰姆的腿给锯断。”他说。“我的老天！”我说，“怎么啦？根本没有必要这么干嘛。你要锯断他的腿，究竟又为的什么呢？”“嗯，有些顶出名的人物便是这么干的。他们无法挣脱锁链，便干脆把手砍断了逃走。砍断腿相比起来要更好一些。不过我们得把这个放弃掉。拿这回的事来说，还没有这样干的必要。再说，杰姆是个黑奴，对必须这样干的原因也无法懂得。这是在欧洲流行的风俗嘛，所以我们只得放弃。不过有一件事非办不可——他必须有一根绳梯才行。我们不妨把我们的衬衫撕下来，便能不费事地给他搞一根绳梯。我们可以把绳梯藏在馅饼里给他送去。人家多半是这么干的。比这还难吃的馅饼我也吃过。”“啊，汤姆·索亚，你说到哪里去了啊，”我说，“杰姆根本用不着绳梯啊。”“他非得用绳梯不可。看你说的。你倒不如说，对这个你还一窍不通。他非得有一根绳梯不可，人家都是这么干的嘛。”“你得说一说，他用这个能干些什么啊？”“干些什么？他不妨把这个藏在褥子底下，不是么？他们都是这么干的。他就得也是这么干。哈克，你啊，仿佛总不肯按照规矩办事。你总喜欢搞些新花样。就算这个他派不上用处吧，在他逃走以后，这个不还是留在床上，也就成了一个线索么？你以为他们不是都需要线索么？当然，他们都需要。你怎么可以不留下点线索呢？不然的话，岂不是叫人急得不知道该怎么办才好么，你说是不是啊？这样的事，我可从没有听说过。”“好吧，”我说，“如果这是规矩，那他就准得有一根绳梯。那就让他有一根吧。因为我并不退回到不按规矩办事的地步，不过嘛，还有一件事呢，汤姆·索亚——要是得把我们的衬衫给撕下来，给杰姆搞一根绳梯，那萨莉姨妈肯定会找我们算帐，这是可以断得定的。依我看，用胡桃树皮做成一挂绳梯，既不用花什么钱，又不用糟塌东西，也一样可以包在馅饼里，藏在草垫子底下，跟布条编的绳梯一个样。至于杰姆，他并没有什么经验，因此他不会在乎究竟是什么一种——”“哦，别胡说了，哈克·芬，我要是像你那样缺乏知识的话，我宁愿不则声的——我就会这么做。可有谁听说过，一个政治犯竟然从一根胡桃树皮做的绳梯逃跑的？啊，这简直荒唐透顶。”“那好吧，汤姆，就照你自己的路子办吧。不过嘛，要是你听从我劝告的话，你会赞成由我从晒衣绳上借条把床单。”他说这也行。并且这引发了他另一个想法，他说：“顺便还借一件衬衫吧。”“要一件衬衫干什么，汤姆？”“为了让杰姆在上面写日记。”“记你奶奶的日记——杰姆连字也不会写啊。”“就算他不会写吧——他可以在衬衫上做些符号，不是么？只要我们用一只旧白铁皮调羹，或者用一片箍桶的旧铁条为他做一枝笔就行了。”“怎么啦，汤姆，我们不是可以从鹅身上拔一根毛，就能做成一枝更好的笔，并且更快便能把笔做成么？”“囚犯可没有鹅在地牢周围容他拔毛做笔啊，你这个笨蛋。他们总是用最坚硬、最结实、最费劲的东西，象旧烛台啊，或是能弄到手的别的什么东西，用来做成笔。这就得花好多个星期、好多个月才能锉成笔，因为他们非得在墙上锉。就算是有一枝鹅毛笔吧，他们也不会用，因为这不合乎规矩嘛。”“好吧，那么，我们用什么来给他做成墨水呢？”“很多人是用铁锈和眼泪做的。不过那是庸庸碌碌之辈和娘儿们的办法，那些赫赫有名的人物用的是他们自己身上的鲜血。这是杰姆可以干的。在他要送出具有一般神秘性质的小小的通常的信息，将叫全世界都知道他如今被囚在何地何处，他就可以用叉子刻在一只白铁盘子背后，并且把这个从窗子里扔将出来。铁面人①就是这么干的，这也是个顶呱呱的办法哩。”

①诺顿版注：这是汤姆喜爱的又一个传奇人物。大仲马在《勃拉格龙伯爵》中写他是个神秘人物，戴铁的面罩，１７０３年死于巴黎的巴士底监狱。

“可杰姆并没有白铁盘子啊，他们是用平底锅给他送吃食的。”“这不费事，我们可以给他几只。”“没有人看得懂盘子底上的东西嘛。”“这无关紧要，哈克·芬。要紧的是他必须在盘子底上写好了，然后扔将出来。你根本不必非得读懂不可。囚犯在白铁盘子上或者在别的东西上写的，你看不懂的，要占半数呢。”“那样说来，白白扔掉些盘子有什么用处呢？”“啊，谁管这些闲事，又不是囚犯自己的盘子。”“可盘子总是有主的，不是么？”“好吧，有主又怎么样？囚犯哪管那是哪个人的——”他说到这儿就收住了，因为我们听到了吃早饭的号角声吹响了。我们就跑回家来。那天一个上午，我借了晒衣服绳子上一条床单和一件白衬衫。我又找到了一只旧口袋，就把这些东西装了进去。我们又下去找到了狐火，也放到了里面。我管这个叫借，因为我爸爸一向这么个叫法。不过汤姆说，这不是借，是偷。他说他是代表了囚犯的，而囚犯并不在乎自己究竟是怎样把一件东西弄到手的，反正弄到了手就是了，也没有谁会为这个怪罪他。一个囚犯，为了逃跑而偷了什么，这不叫犯罪。因此，只要我们是代表了一个囚犯的，那么，为了叫我们逃出牢笼，凡是有用处的，都可以偷，并不算什么犯罪。汤姆这么说。说这是他的正当权利。因此，当我们是代表了一个囚犯的，那我们就完全有这个权利偷这里任何有一点点儿有用处的东西，为了好逃出牢狱。他说，要是并非囚犯的话，那就大不一样了。一个人不是囚犯却偷东西，那他便是一个卑鄙下流的人。因此我们认为，这里手边任何一样东西，我们都可以偷。可是在这么讲了以后，有一天，他跟我庸人自扰地吵了一架。那是我从黑奴的西瓜地里偷了一个西瓜吃了，他逼着我前去，还给了黑奴一角钱，也没有对他们说明是付的什么钱。汤姆说，他的本意是说，我们能偷的，是指我们需要的东西。我说，那好啊，我需要西瓜嘛。不过他说，我并非为了逃出牢狱而需要这个，而不同之处，恰恰正是在这里。他说要是我需要一个西瓜，以便把小刀子藏在里面，偷偷送给杰姆，用来杀死看守监狱的，那就是完全正当的了。因此，我也就没有多说什么，尽管要是每次有机会能饱餐一顿西瓜，却非得要我这么坐下来，仔细分辨其中像一根头发丝那样的差别，那我就看不出代表囚犯有什么好处了。好，我刚才说了，我们在那个早上在等着大伙儿一个个开始干正事了，在场院四周也看不到人影了，汤姆就把那个口袋带进了披间。我呢，站在不远的地方，替他放风。随后他出来了，我们便跑到木材垛上，坐下来说起话来。“眼下一切都搞得顺顺当当的，除了工具一项。那是容易解决的。”“工具？”我说道。“是的。”“工具，干什么用？”“怎么啦？挖地道啊。我们总不能用嘴巴去啃出一条道儿来叫他出来，不是么？”“那儿不是有一些旧的铁镐等等东西，能挖成一个地道么？”我说。他转过身来看着我，那神情仿佛是在可怜一个哭着的娃娃似的。他说：“哈克·芬，你难道听说过有一个囚犯用铁铣和镐头，以及衣柜里的所有现代工具，用来挖地道逃出来的么？我现在倒要问问你——如果你头脑还有点儿清醒的话——这样一来，他还能怎么轰轰烈烈表演一番，显出他的英雄本色？哈哈，那还不如叫人家借给他一把钥匙，靠这个逃出来算了。什么铁铣、镐头——人家才不会拿这些给一个国王呢。”“那么好吧，”我说，“既然我们不要铁铣和镐头，那我们究竟要些什么呢？”“要几把小刀。”“用来在小屋地基下面挖地道？”“是的。”“啊哟！这有多蠢！汤姆。”“蠢不蠢有什么关系，反正该这么办——这是规矩。此外并没有什么别的办法，反正我从没听说过。关于这些事，能提供信息的书，我全都看过了。人家都是用小刀挖地道逃出来的——你可要注意挖的可不是土，而总是坚硬的石头。得用好几个星期又好几个星期的时间哩，硬是没完没了。就拿其中一个囚犯为例吧，那是在马赛港第夫城堡最深一层地牢里的囚犯。他就是这样挖了地道逃出来的。你猜猜，他花了多少时间①？”

①诺顿版注：这是汤姆受到大仲马影响的又一个例子。这一次是指其名著《基度山伯爵》中的主人公。

“不知道。”“那就猜一猜吧。”“我不知道。一个半月？”“三十七年——他逃出来时发现自己到了中国。这才是好样的。我但愿如今这座地牢底下是硬邦邦的石头。”“杰姆在中国可不认识什么人啊。”“那有什么关系？哪一个在中国也没有熟人嘛。不过，你总是说着说着就偏到枝节问题上去。为什么不能紧紧抓住主要的问题不放？”“好吧——我并不在乎他从哪里出来，反正他是出来了，可杰姆还没有。不过有一点可不能忘了——要杰姆用小刀子挖了逃出来，年纪太大了。他活不了这么久。”“不，他会活这么久的。挖土质的地基，要不了三十七年，对吧？”“那要多久呢，汤姆？”“嗯，我们不能冒时间太长的风险，因为西拉斯姨父也许不用多久便能从新奥尔良得到下游的消息。他会得知杰姆不是从那里出来的。那他第二次便会登广告，招领杰姆，或者采取其它类似的行动。因此我们不能冒那种风险，也就是按常理，该挖多久便挖多久。按理说，我看啊，我们该挖好多年，可是我们办不到啊。既然前途难卜，我建议这么办：我们事实上是马上挖，或者尽快挖。在这以后，我们不妨只当是我们已经挖了三十七年才挖成的。随后，一旦有紧急情况，我们就把他给拖出来，赶紧把他送走。是啊，依我看，这是最妥当的办法。”“好，这话有点道理，”我说，“‘只当是’不费什么劲，‘只当是’不会惹出什么麻烦来。如果这是必要的话，我并不在乎‘只当是’已经挖了一百五十年。而且一旦动手以后，我也不会觉得太累人。我这就去，去把两把刀子偷得来。”“偷三把，”他说。“得用一把做成锯子。”“汤姆，也许我这么说有点儿不合规矩，犯忌讳，”我说。“在那个熏肉房后边防雨板下面，有一根长了锈的锯条哩。”他的脸色有点儿疲倦，鼓不起精神。他说：“哈克啊，要想教你多学一点东西，可就是白费劲啊。快去吧，去把小刀偷来——偷三把。”我便按照吩咐办了。