EN + ES
Escuchar
120
Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer
Capítulo 16, Página 8
About
midnight
Joe
awoke,
and
called
the
boys.
There
was
a
brooding
oppressiveness
in
the
air
that
seemed
to
bode
something.
The
boys
huddled
themselves
together
and
sought
the
friendly
companionship
of
the
fire,
though
the
dull
dead
heat
of
the
breathless
atmosphere
was
stifling.
They
sat
still,
intent
and
waiting.
The
solemn
hush
continued.
Beyond
the
light
of
the
fire
everything
was
swallowed
up
in
the
blackness
of
darkness.
Presently
there
came
a
quivering
glow
that
vaguely
revealed
the
foliage
for
a
moment
and
then
vanished.
By
and
by
another
came,
a
little
stronger.
Then
another.
Then
a
faint
moan
came
sighing
through
the
branches
of
the
forest
and
the
boys
felt
a
fleeting
breath
upon
their
cheeks,
and
shuddered
with
the
fancy
that
the
Spirit
of
the
Night
had
gone
by.
There
was
a
pause.
Now
a
weird
flash
turned
night
into
day
and
showed
every
little
grassblade,
separate
and
distinct,
that
grew
about
their
feet.
And
it
showed
three
white,
startled
faces,
too.
A
deep
peal
of
thunder
went
rolling
and
tumbling
down
the
heavens
and
lost
itself
in
sullen
rumblings
in
the
distance.
A
sweep
of
chilly
air
passed
by,
rustling
all
the
leaves
and
snowing
the
flaky
ashes
broadcast
about
the
fire.
Another
fierce
glare
lit
up
the
forest
and
an
instant
crash
followed
that
seemed
to
rend
the
treetops
right
over
the
boys’
heads.
They
clung
together
in
terror,
in
the
thick
gloom
that
followed.
A
few
big
raindrops
fell
pattering
upon
the
leaves.
“Quick!
boys,
go
for
the
tent!”
exclaimed
Tom.
They
sprang
away,
stumbling
over
roots
and
among
vines
in
the
dark,
no
two
plunging
in
the
same
direction.
A
furious
blast
roared
through
the
trees,
making
everything
sing
as
it
went.
One
blinding
flash
after
another
came,
and
peal
on
peal
of
deafening
thunder.
And
now
a
drenching
rain
poured
down
and
the
rising
hurricane
drove
it
in
sheets
along
the
ground.
The
boys
cried
out
to
each
other,
but
the
roaring
wind
and
the
booming
thunderblasts
drowned
their
voices
utterly.
However,
one
by
one
they
straggled
in
at
last
and
took
shelter
under
the
tent,
cold,
scared,
and
streaming
with
water;
but
to
have
company
in
misery
seemed
something
to
be
grateful
for.
They
could
not
talk,
the
old
sail
flapped
so
furiously,
even
if
the
other
noises
would
have
allowed
them.
The
tempest
rose
higher
and
higher,
and
presently
the
sail
tore
loose
from
its
fastenings
and
went
winging
away
on
the
blast.
The
boys
seized
each
others’
hands
and
fled,
with
many
tumblings
and
bruises,
to
the
shelter
of
a
great
oak
that
stood
upon
the
riverbank.
Now
the
battle
was
at
its
highest.
Under
the
ceaseless
conflagration
of
lightning
that
flamed
in
the
skies,
everything
below
stood
out
in
cleancut
and
shadowless
distinctness:
the
bending
trees,
the
billowy
river,
white
with
foam,
the
driving
spray
of
spumeflakes,
the
dim
outlines
of
the
high
bluffs
on
the
other
side,
glimpsed
through
the
drifting
cloudrack
and
the
slanting
veil
of
rain.
Every
little
while
some
giant
tree
yielded
the
fight
and
fell
crashing
through
the
younger
growth;
and
the
unflagging
thunderpeals
came
now
in
ear-splitting
explosive
bursts,
keen
and
sharp,
and
unspeakably
appalling.
The
storm
culminated
in
one
matchless
effort
that
seemed
likely
to
tear
the
island
to
pieces,
burn
it
up,
drown
it
to
the
treetops,
blow
it
away,
and
deafen
every
creature
in
it,
all
at
one
and
the
same
moment.
It
was
a
wild
night
for
homeless
young
heads
to
be
out
in.
But
at
last
the
battle
was
done,
and
the
forces
retired
with
weaker
and
weaker
threatenings
and
grumblings,
and
peace
resumed
her
sway.
The
boys
went
back
to
camp,
a
good
deal
awed;
but
they
found
there
was
still
something
to
be
thankful
for,
because
the
great
sycamore,
the
shelter
of
their
beds,
was
a
ruin,
now,
blasted
by
the
lightnings,
and
they
were
not
under
it
when
the
catastrophe
happened.
Everything
in
camp
was
drenched,
the
campfire
as
well;
for
they
were
but
heedless
lads,
like
their
generation,
and
had
made
no
provision
against
rain.
Here
was
matter
for
dismay,
for
they
were
soaked
through
and
chilled.
They
were
eloquent
in
their
distress;
but
they
presently
discovered
that
the
fire
had
eaten
so
far
up
under
the
great
log
it
had
been
built
against
(where
it
curved
upward
and
separated
itself
from
the
ground),
that
a
handbreadth
or
so
of
it
had
escaped
wetting;
so
they
patiently
wrought
until,
with
shreds
and
bark
gathered
from
the
under
sides
of
sheltered
logs,
they
coaxed
the
fire
to
burn
again.
Then
they
piled
on
great
dead
boughs
till
they
had
a
roaring
furnace,
and
were
gladhearted
once
more.
They
dried
their
boiled
ham
and
had
a
feast,
and
after
that
they
sat
by
the
fire
and
expanded
and
glorified
their
midnight
adventure
until
morning,
for
there
was
not
a
dry
spot
to
sleep
on,
anywhere
around.
As
the
sun
began
to
steal
in
upon
the
boys,
drowsiness
came
over
them,
and
they
went
out
on
the
sandbar
and
lay
down
to
sleep.
They
got
scorched
out
by
and
by,
and
drearily
set
about
getting
breakfast.
After
the
meal
they
felt
rusty,
and
stiff-jointed,
and
a
little
homesick
once
more.
Tom
saw
the
signs,
and
fell
to
cheering
up
the
pirates
as
well
as
he
could.
But
they
cared
nothing
for
marbles,
or
circus,
or
swimming,
or
anything.
He
reminded
them
of
the
imposing
secret,
and
raised
a
ray
of
cheer.
While
it
lasted,
he
got
them
interested
in
a
new
device.
This
was
to
knock
off
being
pirates,
for
a
while,
and
be
Indians
for
a
change.
They
were
attracted
by
this
idea;
so
it
was
not
long
before
they
were
stripped,
and
striped
from
head
to
heel
with
black
mud,
like
so
many
zebras—all
of
them
chiefs,
of
course—and
then
they
went
tearing
through
the
woods
to
attack
an
English
settlement.
By
and
by
they
separated
into
three
hostile
tribes,
and
darted
upon
each
other
from
ambush
with
dreadful
warwhoops,
and
killed
and
scalped
each
other
by
thousands.
It
was
a
gory
day.
Consequently
it
was
an
extremely
satisfactory
one.
They
assembled
in
camp
toward
suppertime,
hungry
and
happy;
but
now
a
difficulty
arose—hostile
Indians
could
not
break
the
bread
of
hospitality
together
without
first
making
peace,
and
this
was
a
simple
impossibility
without
smoking
a
pipe
of
peace.
There
was
no
other
process
that
ever
they
had
heard
of.
Two
of
the
savages
almost
wished
they
had
remained
pirates.
However,
there
was
no
other
way;
so
with
such
show
of
cheerfulness
as
they
could
muster
they
called
for
the
pipe
and
took
their
whiff
as
it
passed,
in
due
form.
||
||
Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer — C1 Inglés | Cuentana