湯姆歷險(xiǎn)記Chapter 31 得而復(fù)失

Chapter 31
      
      
        
            
      
   
    NOW to return to Tom and Becky's share in the picnic. They tripped along the
    murky aisles with the rest of the company, visiting the familiar wonders of the cave --
    wonders dubbed with rather over-descriptive names, such as "The Drawing-Room,"
    "The Cathedral," "Aladdin's Palace," and so on. Presently the
    hide-and-seek frolicking began, and Tom and Becky engaged in it with zeal until the
    exertion began to grow a trifle wearisome; then they wandered down a sinuous avenue
    holding their candles aloft and reading the tangled web-work of names, dates, post-office
    addresses, and mottoes with which the rocky walls had been frescoed (in candle-smoke).
    Still drifting along and talking, they scarcely noticed that they were now in a part of
    the cave whose walls were not frescoed. They smoked their own names under an overhanging
    shelf and moved on. Presently they came to a place where a little stream of water,
    trickling over a ledge and carrying a limestone sediment with it, had, in the
    slow-dragging ages, formed a laced and ruffled Niagara in gleaming and imperishable stone.
    Tom squeezed his small body behind it in order to illuminate it for Becky's gratification.
    He found that it curtained a sort of steep natural stairway which was enclosed between
    narrow walls, and at once the ambition to be a discoverer seized him. Becky responded to
    his call, and they made a smoke-mark for future guidance, and started upon their quest.
    They wound this way and that, far down into the secret depths of the cave, made another
    mark, and branched off in search of novelties to tell the upper world about. In one place
    they found a spacious cavern, from whose ceiling depended a multitude of shining
    stalactites of the length and circumference of a man's leg; they walked all about it,
    wondering and admiring, and presently left it by one of the numerous passages that opened
    into it. This shortly brought them to a bewitching spring, whose basin was incrusted with
    a frostwork of glittering crystals; it was in the midst of a cavern whose walls were
    supported by many fantastic pillars which had been formed by the joining of great
    stalactites and stalagmites together, the result of the ceaseless water-drip of centuries.
    Under the roof vast knots of bats had packed themselves together, thousands in a bunch;
    the lights disturbed the creatures and they came flocking down by hundreds, squeaking and
    darting furiously at the candles. Tom knew their ways and the danger of this sort of
    conduct. He seized Becky's hand and hurried her into the first corridor that offered; and
    none too soon, for a bat struck Becky's light out with its wing while she was passing out
    of the cavern. The bats chased the children a good distance; but the fugitives plunged
    into every new passage that offered, and at last got rid of the perilous things. Tom found
    a subterranean lake, shortly, which stretched its dim length away until its shape was lost
    in the shadows. He wanted to explore its borders, but concluded that it would be best to
    sit down and rest awhile, first. Now, for the first time, the deep stillness of the place
    laid a clammy hand upon the spirits of the children. Becky said:

    "Why, I didn't notice, but it seems ever so long since I heard any of the
    others."

    "Come to think, Becky, we are away down below them -- and I don't know how far
    away north, or south, or east, or whichever it is. We couldn't hear them here."

    Becky grew apprehensive.

    "I wonder how long we've been down here, Tom? We better start back."

    "Yes, I reckon we better. P'raps we better."

    "Can you find the way, Tom? It's all a mixed-up crookedness to me."

    "I reckon I could find it -- but then the bats. If they put our candles out it
    will be an awful fix. Let's try some other way, so as not to go through there."

    "Well. But I hope we won't get lost. It would be so awful!" and the girl
    shuddered at the thought of the dreadful possibilities.

    They started through a corridor, and traversed it in silence a long way, glancing at
    each new opening, to see if there was anything familiar about the look of it; but they
    were all strange. Every time Tom made an examination, Becky would watch his face for an
    encouraging sign, and he would say cheerily:

    "Oh, it's all right. This ain't the one, but we'll come to it right away!"

    But he felt less and less hopeful with each failure, and presently began to turn off
    into diverging avenues at sheer random, in desperate hope of finding the one that was
    wanted. He still said it was "all right," but there was such a leaden dread at
    his heart that the words had lost their ring and sounded just as if he had said, "All
    is lost!" Becky clung to his side in an anguish of fear, and tried hard to keep back
    the tears, but they would come. At last she said:

    "Oh, Tom, never mind the bats, let's go back that way! We seem to get worse and
    worse off all the time."

    "Listen!" said he.

    Profound silence; silence so deep that even their breathings were conspicuous in the
    hush. Tom shouted. The call went echoing down the empty aisles and died out in the
    distance in a faint sound that resembled a ripple of mocking laughter.

    "Oh, don't do it again, Tom, it is too horrid," said Becky.

    "It is horrid, but I better, Becky; they might hear us, you know," and he
    shouted again.

    The "might" was even a chillier horror than the ghostly laughter, it so
    confessed a perishing hope. The children stood still and listened; but there was no
    result. Tom turned upon the back track at once, and hurried his steps. It was but a little
    while before a certain indecision in his manner revealed another fearful fact to Becky --
    he could not find his way back!

    "Oh, Tom, you didn't make any marks!"

    "Becky, I was such a fool! Such a fool! I never thought we might want to come
    back! No -- I can't find the way. It's all mixed up."

    "Tom, Tom, we're lost! we're lost! We never can get out of this awful place! Oh,
    why DID we ever leave the others!"

    She sank to the ground and burst into such a frenzy of crying that Tom was appalled
    with the idea that she might die, or lose her reason. He sat down by her and put his arms
    around her; she buried her face in his bosom, she clung to him, she poured out her
    terrors, her unavailing regrets, and the far echoes turned them all to jeering laughter.
    Tom begged her to pluck up hope again, and she said she could not. He fell to blaming and
    abusing himself for getting her into this miserable situation; this had a better effect.
    She said she would try to hope again, she would get up and follow wherever he might lead
    if only he would not talk like that any more. For he was no more to blame than she, she
    said.

    So they moved on again -- aimlessly -- simply at random -- all they could do was to
    move, keep moving. For a little while, hope made a show of reviving -- not with any reason
    to back it, but only because it is its nature to revive when the spring has not been taken
    out of it by age and familiarity with failure.

    By-and-by Tom took Becky's candle and blew it out. This economy meant so much! Words
    were not needed. Becky understood, and her hope died again. She knew that Tom had a whole
    candle and three or four pieces in his pockets -- yet he must economize.

    By-and-by, fatigue began to assert its claims; the children tried to pay attention, for
    it was dreadful to think of sitting down when time was grown to be so precious, moving, in
    some direction, in any direction, was at least progress and might bear fruit; but to sit
    down was to invite death and shorten its pursuit.

    At last Becky's frail limbs refused to carry her farther. She sat down. Tom rested with
    her, and they talked of home, and the friends there, and the comfortable beds and, above
    all, the light! Becky cried, and Tom tried to think of some way of comforting her, but all
    his encouragements were grown threadbare with use, and sounded like sarcasms. Fatigue bore
    so heavily upon Becky that she drowsed off to sleep. Tom was grateful. He sat looking into
    her drawn face and saw it grow smooth and natural under the influence of pleasant dreams;
    and by-and-by a smile dawned and rested there. The peaceful face reflected somewhat of
    peace and healing into his own spirit, and his thoughts wandered away to bygone times and
    dreamy memories. While he was deep in his musings, Becky woke up with a breezy little
    laugh -- but it was stricken dead upon her lips, and a groan followed it.

    "Oh, how could! I sleep! I wish I never, never had waked! No! No, I don't, Tom!
    Don't look so! I won't say it again."

    "I'm glad you've slept, Becky; you'll feel rested, now, and we'll find the way
    out."

    "We can try, Tom; but I've seen such a beautiful country in my dream. I reckon we
    are going there."

    "Maybe not, maybe not. Cheer up, Becky, and let's go on trying."

    They rose up and wandered along, hand in hand and hopeless. They tried to estimate how
    long they had been in the cave, but all they knew was that it seemed days and weeks, and
    yet it was plain that this could not be, for their candles were not gone yet. A long time
    after this -- they could not tell how long -- Tom said they must go softly and listen for
    dripping water -- they must find a spring. They found one presently, and Tom said it was
    time to rest again. Both were cruelly tired, yet Becky said she thought she could go a
    little farther. She was surprised to hear Tom dissent. She could not understand it. They
    sat down, and Tom fastened his candle to the wall in front of them with some clay. Thought
    was soon busy; nothing was said for some time. Then Becky broke the silence:

    "Tom, I am so hungry!"

    Tom took something out of his pocket.

    "Do you remember this?" said he.

    Becky almost smiled.

    "It's our wedding-cake, Tom."

    "Yes -- I wish it was as big as a barrel, for it's all we've got."

    "I saved it from the picnic for us to dream on, Tom, the way grown-up people do
    with wedding-cake -- but it'll be our --"

    She dropped the sentence where it was. Tom divided the cake and Becky ate with good
    appetite, while Tom nibbled at his moiety. There was abundance of cold water to finish the
    feast with. By-and-by Becky suggested that they move on again. Tom was silent a moment.
    Then he said:

    "Becky, can you bear it if I tell you something?"

    Becky's face paled, but she thought she could.

    "Well, then, Becky, we must stay here, where there's water to drink. That little
    piece is our last candle!"

    Becky gave loose to tears and wailings. Tom did what he could to comfort her, but with
    little effect. At length Becky said:

    "Tom!"

    "Well, Becky?"

    "They'll miss us and hunt for us!"

    "Yes, they will! Certainly they will!"

    "Maybe they're hunting for us now, Tom."

    "Why, I reckon maybe they are. I hope they are."

    "When would they miss us, Tom?"

    "When they get back to the boat, I reckon."

    "Tom, it might be dark then -- would they notice we hadn't come?"

    "I don't know. But anyway, your mother would miss you as soon as they got
    home."

    A frightened look in Becky's face brought Tom to his senses and he saw that he had made
    a blunder. Becky was not to have gone home that night! The children became silent and
    thoughtful. In a moment a new burst of grief from Becky showed Tom that the thing in his
    mind had struck hers also -- that the Sabbath morning might be half spent before Mrs.
    Thatcher discovered that Becky was not at Mrs. Harper's.

    The children fastened their eyes upon their bit of candle and watched it melt slowly
    and pitilessly away; saw the half inch of wick stand alone at last; saw the feeble flame
    rise and fall, climb the thin column of smoke, linger at its top a moment, and then 每 the horror of utter darkness reigned!

    How long afterward it was that Becky came to a slow consciousness that she was crying
    in Tom's arms, neither could tell. All that they knew was, that after what seemed a mighty
    stretch of time, both awoke out of a dead stupor of sleep and resumed their miseries once
    more. Tom said it might be Sunday, now -- maybe Monday. He tried to get Becky to talk, but
    her sorrows were too oppressive, all her hopes were gone. Tom said that they must have
    been missed long ago, and no doubt the search was going on. He would shout and maybe some
    one would come. He tried it; but in the darkness the distant echoes sounded so hideously
    that he tried it no more.

    The hours wasted away, and hunger came to torment the captives again. A portion of
    Tom's half of the cake was left; they divided and ate it. But they seemed hungrier than
    before. The poor morsel of food only whetted desire.

    By-and-by Tom said:

    "Sh! Did you hear that?"

    Both held their breath and listened. There was a sound like the faintest, far-off
    shout. Instantly Tom answered it, and leading Becky by the hand, started groping down the
    corridor in its direction. Presently he listened again; again the sound was heard, and
    apparently a little nearer.

    "It's them!" said Tom; "they're coming! Come along, Becky -- we're all
    right now!"

    The joy of the prisoners was almost overwhelming. Their speed was slow, however,
    because pitfalls were somewhat common, and had to be guarded against. They shortly came to
    one and had to stop. It might be three feet deep, it might be a hundred -- there was no
    passing it at any rate. Tom got down on his breast and reached as far down as he could. No
    bottom. They must stay there and wait until the searchers came. They listened; evidently
    the distant shoutings were growing more distant! a moment or two more and they had gone
    altogether. The heart-sinking misery of it! Tom whooped until he was hoarse, but it was of
    no use. He talked hopefully to Becky; but an age of anxious waiting passed and no sounds
    came again.

    The children groped their way back to the spring. The weary time dragged on; they slept
    again, and awoke famished and woe-stricken. Tom believed it must be Tuesday by this time.

    Now an idea struck him. There were some side passages near at hand. It would be better
    to explore some of these than bear the weight of the heavy time in idleness. He took a
    kite-line from his pocket, tied it to a projection, and he and Becky started, Tom in the
    lead, unwinding the line as he groped along. At the end of twenty steps the corridor ended
    in a "jumping-off place." Tom got down on his knees and felt below, and then as
    far around the corner as he could reach with his hands conveniently; he made an effort to
    stretch yet a little farther to the right, and at that moment, not twenty yards away, a
    human hand, holding a candle, appeared from behind a rock! Tom lifted up a glorious shout,
    and instantly that hand was followed by the body it belonged to -- Injun Joe's! Tom was
    paralyzed; he could not move. He was vastly gratified the next moment, to see the
    "Spaniard" take to his heels and get himself out of sight. Tom wondered that Joe
    had not recognized his voice and come over and killed him for testifying in court. But the
    echoes must have disguised the voice. Without doubt, that was it, he reasoned. Tom's
    fright weakened every muscle in his body. He said to himself that if he had strength
    enough to get back to the spring he would stay there, and nothing should tempt him to run
    the risk of meeting Injun Joe again. He was careful to keep from Becky what it was he had
    seen. He told her he had only shouted "for luck."

    But hunger and wretchedness rise superior to fears in the long run. Another tedious
    wait at the spring and another long sleep brought changes. The children awoke tortured
    with a raging hunger. Tom believed that it must be Wednesday or Thursday or even Friday or
    Saturday, now, and that the search had been given over. He proposed to explore another
    passage. He felt willing to risk Injun Joe and all other terrors. But Becky was very weak.
    She had sunk into a dreary apathy and would not be roused. She said she would wait, now,
    where she was, and die -- it would not be long. She told Tom to go with the kite-line and
    explore if he chose; but she implored him to come back every little while and speak to
    her; and she made him promise that when the awful time came, he would stay by her and hold
    her hand until all was over.

    Tom kissed her, with a choking sensation in his throat, and made a show of being
    confident of finding the searchers or an escape from the cave; then he took the kite-line
    in his hand and went groping down one of the passages on his hands and knees, distressed
    with hunger and sick with bodings of coming doom.