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UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN, 


on, 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY. 


BY 


HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE. 


VOL.    I. 

SIXTIETH     THOUSAND. 

BOSTON: 
JOHN    P.    JEWETT    &    COMPANY. 

CLEVELAND,    OHIO: 

JEWETT,  PROCTOR  &  WORTHINGTON. 

1852. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1851,  by 

HARRIET   BEECHER   STOWE, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Maine. 


STEREOTYPED   BY 

HOBART   &    BOBBINS, 

NEW  ESGLAND   TYPE   AND   STEREOTYPE   POl'NDKRV, 

BOSTON. 
Printed  by  Gco.  C.  Rand  &  Co.,  No.  3  Cornhill. 


Us 
\/,  I 


PREFACE. 


THE  scenes  of  this  story,  as  its  title  indicates,  lie 
among  a  race  hitherto  ignored  by  the  associations  of 
polite  and  refined  society ;  an  exotic  race,  whose 
ancestors,  born  beneath  a  tropic  .sun,  brought 
with  them,  and  perpetuated  to  their  descendants,  a 
character  so  essentially  unlike  the  hard  and  domi 
nant  Anglo-Saxon  race,  as  for  many  years  to  haye 
won  from  it  only  misunderstanding  and  contempt. 

But,  another  and  better  day  is  dawning ;  every 
influence  of  literature,  of  poetry  and  of  art,  in  our 
times,  is  becoming  more  and  more  in  unison  with 
the  great  master  chord  of  Christianity,  "  good  will 
to  man." 

The  poet,  the  painter,  and  the  artist,  now  seek 
out  and  embellish  the  common  and  gentler  humani 
ties  of  life,  and,  under  the  allurements  of  fiction, 


VI  PREFACE. 

breathe  a  humanizing  and  subduing  influence,  favor- 

>  * 

able  <to  the  development  of  the  great  principles  of 

Christian  brotherhood. 

The  hand  of  benevolence  is  everywhere  stretched 
out,  searching  into  abuses,  righting  wrongs,  alleviat 
ing  distresses,  and  bringing  to  the  knowledge  and 
sympathies  of  the  world  the  lowly,  the  oppressed, 
and  the  forgotten. 

In  this  general  movement,  unhappy  Africa  at  last 
is  remembered ;  Africa,  who  began  the  race  of 
civilization  and  human  progress  in  the  dim,  gray 
dawn  of  early  time,  but  who,  for  centuries,  has  lain 
bound  and  bleeding  at  the  foot  of  civilized  and  Chris 
tianized  humanity,  imploring  compassion  in  vain. 

But  the  heart  of  the  dominant  race,  who  have  been 
her  conquerors,  her  hard  masters,  has  at  length  been 
turned  towards  her  in  mercy  ;  and  it  has  been  seen 
how  far  nobler  it  is  in  nations  to  protect  the  feeble 
than  to  oppress  them.  Thanks  be  to  God,  the  world 
has  at  last  outlived  the  slave-trade  ! 

The  object  of  these  sketches  is  to  awaken  sym 
pathy  and  feeling  for  the  African  race,  as  they  exist 
among  us  ;  to  show  their  wrongs  and  sorrows,  under 
a  system  so  necessarily  cruel  and  unjust  as  to 


PREFACE.  VII 

defeat  and  do  away  the  good  effects  of  all  that 
can  be  attempted  for  them,  by  their  best  friends, 
under  it. 

In  doing  this,  the  author  can  sincerely  disclaim 
any  invidious  feeling  towards  those  individuals  who, 
often  without  any  fault  of  their  own,  are  involved  in 
the  trials  and  embarrassments  of  the  legal  relations 
of  slavery. 

Experience  has  shown  her  that  some  of  the 
noblest  of  minds  and  hearts  are  often  thus  involved  ; 
and  no  one  knows  better  than  they  do,  that  what 
may  be  gathered  of  the  evils  of  slavery  from 
sketches  like  these,  is  not  the  half  that  could  be 
told,  of  the  unspeakable  whole. 

In  the  northern  states,  these  representations  may, 
perhaps,  be  thought  caricatures ;  in  the  southern 
states  are  witnesses  who  know  their  fidelity.  What 
personal  knowledge  the  author  has  had,  of  the  truth 
of  incidents  such  as  here  are  related,  will  appear  in 
its  time. 

It  is  a  comfort  to  hope,  as  so  many  of  the  world's 
sorrows  and  wrongs  have,  from  age  to  age,  been  lived 
down,  so  a  time  shall  come  when  sketches  similar 


VIII  PREFACE. 

to  these  shall  be  valuable  only  as  memorials  of  what 
ias  long  ceased  to  be. 

When  an  enlightened  and  Christianized  commu 
nity  shall  have,  on  the  shores  of  Africa,  laws, 
language  and  literature,  drawn  from  among  us, 
may  then  the  scenes  of  the  house  of  bondage  be  to 
them  like  the  remembrance  of  Egypt  to  the 

Israelite, —  a  motive  of  thankfulness  to  Him  who 

•  **• 
hath  redeemed  them  ! 

For,  while  politicians  contend,  and  men  are 
swerved  this  way  and  that  by  conflicting  tides  of 
interest  and  passion,  the  great  cause  of  human 
liberty  is  in  the  hands  of  one,  of  whom  it  is  said  : 

"  He  shall  not  fail  nor  be  discouraged 
Till  He  have  set  judgment  in  the  earth." 

"  He  shall  deliver  the  needy  when  he  crieth, 
The  poor,  and  him  that  hath  no  helper." 

"  He  shall  redeem  their  soul  from  deceit  and  violence, 
And  precious  shall  their  blood  be  in  His  sight." 


TABLE  OP  CONTENTS. 
VOL.  I. 


CHAPTER  I. 
IN  WHICH  THE  READER  is  INTRODUCED  TO  A  MAN  OF  HUMANITF,      .        13 

CHAPTER  II. 
THE  MOTHER,        *  .....        ....        27 

CHAPTER  III. 

THE  HUSBAND  AND  FATHER,     ......         ,        ,        31- 

*. 

CHAPTER  IV. 
AN  EVENING  IN  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN,       .....        38 

CHAPTER  V.      ' 

SHOWING  THE  FEELINGS  OF  LITING  PROPERTY  ON  CHANGING  OWNERS,      54 

CHAPTER   VI. 
DISCOYERF,     .  ........        66 

CHAPTER   VII. 
THE  MOTHER'S  STRUGGLE,        .......        79 

*         CHAPTER   VIII. 
ELIZA'S  ESCE       ..........        97 


CHAPTER   IX.     . 

IN  WHICH  IT  APPEARS  THAT  A  SENATOR  IS  BUT  A  MAN,   .     .    118 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  X. 
THE  PROPERTY  is  CARRIED  OFF, 140 

CHAPTER   XI. 

IN  WHICH  PROPERTY  GETS  INTO  AN  IMPROPER  STATE  OF  MIND,         154 

CHAPTER  XII. 
SELECT  INCIDENT  OF  LAWFUL  TRADE, 172 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
THE  QUAKER  SETTLEMENT, 195 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

EVANGELINE, 207 

CHAPTER  XV. 

OF  TOM'S  NEW  MASTER,  AND  VARIOUS  OTHER  MATTERS,  .        221 

« 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
TOM'S  MISTRESS  AND  HER  OPINIONS,        .....        243 

CHAPTER   XVII. 

THE  FREEMAN'S  DEFENCE,       .         .         .  .        .        .        268 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 
Miss  OPHELIA'S  EXPERIENCES  AND  OPINIONS,  .        .        ,        291 


UNCLE  TOM'S   CABIN: 

OR, 

LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

IN  WHICH  THK  READER  IS   INTRODUCED  TO  A  MAN   OP  HUMANITY. 

LATE  in  the  afternoon  of  a  chilly  day  in  February,  two 
gentlemen  were  sitting  alone  over  their  wine,  in  a  well- 
furnished  dining  parlor,  in  the  town  of  P ,  in  Kentucky. 

There  were  no  servants  present,  and  the  gentlemen,  with 
chairs  closely  approaching,  seemed  to  be  discussing  some 
subject  with  great  earnestness. 

For  convenience  sake,  we  have  said,  hitherto,  two  gentle 
men.  One  of  the  parties,  however,  when  critically  examined, 
did  not  seem,  strictly  speaking,  to  come  under  the  species. 
He  was  a  short,  thick-set  man,  with  coarse,  commonplace 
features,  and  that  swaggering  air  of  pretension  which  marks  a 
low  man  who  is  trying  to  elbow  his  way  upward  in  the  world. 
He  was  much  over-dressed,  in  a  gaudy  vest  of  many  colors,  a 
blue  neckerchief,  bedropped  gayly  with  yellow  spots,  and 
arranged  with  a  flaunting  tie,  quite  in  keeping  with  the  gen 
eral  air  of  the  man.  His  hands,  large  and  coarse,  were  plen 
tifully  bedecked  with  rings ;  and  he  wore  a  heavy  gold  watch- 
chain,  with  a  bundle  of  seals  of  portentous  size,  and  a  great 
2 


14  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN  :    OH, 

variety  of  colors,  attached  to  it, —  -which,  in  the  ardor  of  con 
versation,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  flourishing  and  jingling  with 
evident  satisfaction.  His  conversation  was  in  free  and  easy 
defiance  of  Murray's  Grammar,  and  was  garnished  at  conve 
nient  intervals  with  various  profane  expressions,  which  not 
even  the  desire  to  be  graphic  in  our  account  shall  induce  us 
to  transcribe. 

His  companion,  Mr.  Shelby,  had  the  appearance  of  a  gen 
tleman  ;  and  the  arrangements  of  the  house,  and  the  general 
air  of  the  housekeeping,  indicated  easy,  and  even  opulent  cir 
cumstances.  As  we  before  stated,  the  two  were  in  the  midst 
of  an  earnest  conversation. 

"  That  is  the  way  I  should  arrange  the  matter,"  said  Mr. 
Shelby. 

"I  can't  make  trade  that  way  —  I  positively  can't,  Mr. 
Shelby,"  said  the  other,  holding  up  a  glass  of  wine  between 
his  eye  and  the  light. 

"Why,  the  fact  is,  Haley,  Tom  is  an  uncommon  fellow; 
he  is  certainly  worth  that  sum  anywhere, —  steady,  honest, 
capable,  manages  my  whole  farm  like  a  clock." 

"  You  mean  honest,  as  niggers  go,"  said  Haley,  helping 
himself  to  a  glass  of  brandy. 

"  No ;  I  mean,  really,  Tom  is  a  good,  steady,  sensible, 
pious  fellow.  He  got  religion  at  a  camp-meeting,  four  years 
ago ;  and  I  believe  he  really  did  get  it.  I  've  trusted  him, 
since  then,  with  ever/cuing  I  have, —  money,  house,  horses, — 
and  let  him  come  and  go  round  the  country ;  and  I  always 
found  him  true  anc]  square  in  everything." 

"Some  folks  don't  believe  there  is  pious  niggers,  Shelby," 
said  Haley,  with  a  candid  flourish  of  his  hand,  "  but  /  do.  I 
had  a  fellow,  now,  in  this  yer  last  lot  I  took  to  Orleans  — 
't  was  as  good  as  a  meetin,  now,  really,  to  hear  that  critter 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  15 

pray ;  and  he  was  quite  gentle  and  quiet  like.  He  fetched  me 
a  good  sum,  too,  for  I  bought  him  cheap  of  a  man  that  was 
'bliged  to  sell  out ;  so  I  realized  six  hundred  on  him.  Yes, 
I  consider  religion  a  valeyable  thing  in  a  nigger,  when  it 's 
the  genuine  article,  and  no  mistake." 

"Well,  Tom's  got  the  real  article,  if  ever  a  fellow  had," 
rejoined  the  other.  "  Why,  last  fall,  I  let  him  go  to  Cincin 
nati  alone,  to  do  business  for  me,  and  bring  home  five  hun 
dred  dollars.  i  Tom,'  says  I  to  him,  £  I  trust  you,  because  I 
think  you  're  a  Christian — I  know  you  would  n't  cheat.'  Tom 
comes  back,  sure  enough ;  I  knew  he  would.  Some  low  fel 
lows,  they  say,  said  to  him  — c  Tom,  why  don't  you  make 
tracks  for  Canada  ? '  '  Ah,  master  trusted  me,  and  I  could  n't,' 
—  they  told  me  about  it.  I  am  sorry  to  part  with  Tom,  I 
must  say.  You  ought  to  let  him  cover  the  whole  balance  of 
the  debt ;  and  you  would,  Haley,  if  you  had  any  conscience. w 

"  Well,  I  've  got  just  as  much  conscience  as  any  man  in 
business  can  afford  to  keep, — just  a  little,  you  know,  to  swear 
by,  as  'twere,"  said  the  trader,  jocularly;  "and,  then,  I'm 
ready  to  do  anything  in  reason  to  'blige  friends ;  but  this  yer, 
you  see,  is  a  leetle  too  hard  on  a  fellow  — a  leetle  too  hard." 
The  trader  sighed  contemplatively,  and  poured  out  some  more 
brandy. 

"Well,  then,  Haley,  how  will  you  trade?"  said  Mr. 
Shelby,  after  an  uneasy  interval  of  silence. 

"  Well,  have  n't  you  a  boy  or  gal  that  you  could  throw  in 
with  Tom?" 

"  Hum !  —  none  that  I  could  well  spare ;  to  tell  the  truth, 
it 's  only  hard  necessity  makes  me  willing  to  sell  at  all.  I 
don't  like  parting  with  any  of  my  hands,  that 's  a  fact." 

-  Here  the  door  opened,  and  a  small  quadroon  boy,  between 
four  and  five  years  of  age,  entered  the  room.     There  was 


16  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OB, 

something  in  his  appearance  remarkably  beautiful  and  engag 
ing.  His  black  hair,  fine  as  floss  silk,  hung  in  glossy  curls 
about  his  round,  dimpled  face,  while  a  pair  of  large  dark 
eyes,  full  of  fire  and  softness,  looked  out  from  beneath  the 
rich,  long  lashes,  as  he  peered  curiously  into  the  apartment. 
A  gay  robe  of  scarlet  and  yellow  plaid,  carefully  made  and 
neatly  fitted,  set  off  to  advantage  the  dark  and  rich  style  of 
his  beauty ;  and  a  certain  comic  air  of  assurance,  blended  with 
bashfulness,  showed  that  he  had  been  not  unused  to  being 
petted  and  noticed  by  his  master. 

"Hulloa,  Jim  Crow!"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  whistling,  and 
snapping  a  bunch  of  raisins  towards  him,  "pick  that  up, 
now ! " 

The  child  scampered,  with  all  his  little  strength,  after  the 
prize,  while  his  master  laughed. 

"  Come  here,  Jim  Crow,"  said  he.  The  child  came  up, 
and  the  master  patted  the  curly  head,  and  chucked  him  under 
the  chin. 

"  Now,  Jim,  show  this  gentleman  how  you  can  dance  and 
sing."  The  boy  commenced  one  of  those  wild,  grotesque 
songs  common  among  the  negroes,  in  a  rich,  clear  voice, 
accompanying  .his  singing  with  many  comic  evolutions  of  the 
hands,  feet,  and  whole  body,  all  in  perfect  time  to  the  music. 

"  Bravo  ! "  said  Haley,  throwing  him  a  quarter  of  an 
orange. 

"  Now,  Jim,  walk  like  old  Uncle  Cudjoe,  when  he  has  the 
rheumatism,"  said  his  master. 

Instantly  the  flexible  limbs  of  the  child  assumed  the  ap 
pearance  of  deformity  and  distortion,  as,  with  his  back' humped 
up,  and  his  master's  stick  in  his  hand,  he  hobbled  about  the 
room,  his  childish  face  clrawn  into  a  doleful  pucker,  and  spit 
ting  from  right  to  left,  in  imitation  of  an  old  man. 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  17 

Both  gentlemen  laughed  uproariously. 

"Now,  Jim,"  said  his  master,  "show  us  how  old  Elder 
Bobbins  leads  the  psalm."  The  boy  drew  his  chubby  face 
down  to  a  formidable  length,  and  commenced  toning  a  psalm 
tune  through  his  nose,  with  imperturbable  gravity. 

"Hurrah!  bravo!  what  a  young  'un  !  "  said  Haley; 
"  that  chap  's  a  case,  I  '11  promise.  Tell  you  what,"  said 
he,  suddenly  clapping  his  hand  on  Mr.  Shelby's  shoulder, 
"fling  in  that  chap,  and  I'll  settle  the  business  —  I  will. 
Come,  now,  if  that  ain't  doing  the  thing  up  about  the 
Tightest !  " 

At  this  moment,  the  door  was  pushed  gently  open,  and  a 
young  quadroon  woman,  apparently  about  twenty-five,  entered 
the  room. 

There  needed  only  a  glance  from  the  child  to  her,  to  iden 
tify  her  as  its  mother.  There  was  the  same  rich,  full,  dark 
eye,  with  its  long  lashes ;  the  same  ripples  of  silky  black  hair. 
The  brown  of  her  complexion  gave  way  on  the  cheek  to  a  per 
ceptible  flush,  which  deepened  as  she  saw  the  gaze  of  the 
strange  man  fixed  upon  her  in  bold  and  undisguised  admira 
tion.  Her  dress  was  of  the  neatest  possible  fit,  and  set  off  to 
advantage  her  finely  moulded  shape ;  —  a  delicately  formed 
hand  and  a  trim  foot  and  ankle  were  items  of  appearance  that 
did  not  escape  the  quick  eye  of  the  trader,  well  used  to  run 
up  at  a  glance  the  points  of  a  fine  female  article. 

"Well,  Eliza?"  said  her  master,  as  she  stopped  and  looked 
hesitatingly  at  him. 

"  I  was  looking  for  Harry,  please,  sir; "  and  the  boy 
bounded  toward  her,  showing  his  spoils,  which  he  had  gath 
ered  in  the  skirt  of  his  robe. 

"Well,  take  him  away,   then,"    said  Mr.   Shelby;   and 
hastily  she  withdrew,  carrying  the  child  on  her  arm. 
2* 


18  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

"By  Jupiter,"  said  the  trader,  turning  to  him  in  admira 
tion,  "  there  's  an  article,  now  !  You  might  make  your  for 
tune  on  that  ar  gal  in  Orleans,  any  day.  I  've  seen  over  a 
thousand,  in  my  day,  paid  down  for  gals  not  a  bit  handsomer." 

"I  don't  want  to  make  my  fortune  on  her,"  said  Mr. 
Shelby,  dryly;  and,  seeking  to  turn  the  conversation,  he 
uncorked  a  bottle  of  fresh  wine,  and  asked  his  companion's 
opinion  of  it. 

"  Capital,  sir,, — first  chop  !  "  said  the  trader;  then  turning, 
and  slapping  his  hand  familiarly  on  Shelby's  shoulder,  ho 
added  — 

li  Come,  how  will  you  trade  about  the  gal  ?  —  what  shall  I 
say  for  her  —  what  '11  you  take  ?  " 

"Mr.  Haley,  she  is  not  to  be  sold,"  said  Shelby.  "My 
wife  would  not  part  with  her  for  her  weight  in  gold." 

"Ay,  ay!  women  always  say  such  things,  cause  they 
ha'nt  no  sort  of  calculation.  Just  show  'em  how  many 
watches,  feathers,  and  trinkets,  one's  weight  in  gold  would 
buy,  and  that  alters  the  case,  /reckon." 

"  I  tell  you,  Haley,  this  must  not  be  spoken  of:  I  say  no, 
and  I  mean  no,"  said  Shelby,  decidedly. 

"Well,  you'll  let  mo  have  the  boy.  though/'  said  the 
trader ;  "  you  must  own  I  've  come  down  pretty  handsomely 
for  him." 

"What  on  earth  can  you  want  with  the  child?"  said 
jShelby. 

"  Why,  I  've  got  a  friend  that 's  going  into  this  yer  branch 
of  the  business  —  wants  to  buy  up  handsome  boys  to  raise  for 
the  market.  Fancy  articles  entirely  —  sell  for  waiters,  and 
so  on,  to  rich  'uns,  that  can  pay  for  handsome  'uns.  It  sets 
off  one  of  yer  great'  places  —  a  real  handsome  boy  to  open 
door,  wait,  and  tend.  They  fetch  a  good  sum ;  and  this  lit- 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  19 

tie  devil  is  such  a  comical,  musical  concern,  he  's  just  the 
article." 

j      "I  would  rather  not  sell  him,"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  thought 
fully;   "the  fact  is,  sir,  I'm  a  humane  man,  and  I  hate  to 
take  the  boy  from  his  mother,  sir." 

"  0,  you  do?  —  La  !  yes  —  something  of  that  ar  natur.  I 
understand,  perfectly.  It  is  mighty  onpleasant  getting  on 
with  women,  sometimes.  I  al'ays  hates  these  yer  screachin', 
screamin'  times.  They  are  mighty  onpleasant ;  but,  as  I 
manages  business,  I  generally  avoids  'em,  sir.  Now,  what 
if  you  get  the  girl  off  for  a  day,  or  a  week,  or  so  ;  then  the 
thing  's  done  quietly, —  all  over  before  she  comes  home.  Your 
wife  might  get  her  some  ear-rings,  or  a  new  gown,  or  some 
such  truck,  to  make  up  with  her." 

"I'm  afraid  not." 

"  Lor  bless  ye,  yes  !  These  critters  an't  like  white  folks, 
you  know  ;  they  gets  over  things,  only  manage  right.  Now, 
they  say,"  said  Haley,  assuming  a  candid  and  confidential 
air,  "that  this  kind  o'  trade  is  hardening  to  the  feelings;  but 
I  never  found  it  so.  Fact  is,  I  never  could  do  things  up  the 
way  some  fellers  manage  the  business.  I  've  seen  'em  as 
would  pull  a  woman's  child  out  of  her  arms,  and  set  him  up 
to  sell,  and  she  screechin'  like  mad  all  the  time ;  —  very  bad 
policy  —  damages  the  article  —  makes  'em  quite  unfit  for  ser 
vice  sometimes.  I  knew  a  real  handsome  gal  once,  in  Orleans; 
as  was  entirely  ruined  by  .this  sort  o%  handling.  The  fellow 
that  was  trading  for  her  did  n't  want  her  baby ;  and  she  was 
one  of  your  real  high  sort,  when  her  blood  was  up.  I  tell 
you,  she  squeezed  up  her  child  in  her  arms,  and  talked,  and 
went  on  real  awful.  It  kinder  makes  my  blood  run  cold  to 
think  on't ;  and  when  they  carried  off  the  child,  and  locked 
her  up.  she  jest  went  ravin'  mad,  and  died  in  a  week.  Cleai 


20  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN:    OR, 

waste,  sir,  of  a  thousand  dollars,  just  for  want  of  management, 
—  there 's  where  't  is.  It 's  always  best  to  do  the  humane 
thing,  sir;  that's  been  my  experience."  And  the  trader 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  folded  his  arm,  with  an  air  of 
virtuous  decision,  apparently  considering  himpelf  a  second 
Wilberforce. 

The  subject  appeared  to  interest  the  gentleman  deeply ;  for 
while  Mr.  Shelby  was  thoughtfully  peeling  an  orange,  Haley 
broke  out  afresh,  with  becoming  diffidence,  but  as  if  actually 
driven  by  the  force  of  truth  to  say  a  few  words  more. 

"It  don't  look  well,  now,  for  a  feller  to  be  praisin'  him 
self;  but  I  say  it  jest  because  it 's  the  truth.  I  believe  I  'm 
reckoned  to  bring  in  about  the  finest  droves  of  niggers  that  is 
brought  in, —  at  least,  I  've  been  told  so ;  if  I  have  once,  I 
reckon  I  have  a  hundred  times, —  all  in  good  case, —  fat  and 
likely,  and  I  lose  as  few  as  any  man  in  the  business.  And  I 
lays  it  all  to  my  management,  sir  j  and  humanity,  sir,  I  may 
say,  is  the  great  pillar  of  my  management." 

Mr.  Shelby  did  not  know  what  to  say,  and  so  he  said, 
" Indeed!"  * 

"  Now,  I  've  been  laughed  at  for  my  notions,  sir,  and  I  've 
been  talked  to.  They  an't  pop'lar,  and  they  an't  common  ; 
but  I  stuck  to  'em,  sir ;  I  've  stuck  to  'em,  and  realized  well  on 
'em  ;  yes,  sir,  they  have  paid  their  passage,  1  may  say,"  and 
the  trader  laughed  at  his  joke. 

There  was  something  so  piquant  and  original  in  these  elu 
cidations  of  humanity,  that  Mr.  Shelby  could  not  help  laugh 
ing  in  company.  Perhaps  you  laugh  too,  dear  reader ;  but 
you  know  humanity  comes  out  in  a  variety  of  strange  forms 
now-a-days,  and  there  is  no  end  to  the  odd  things  that  humane 
people  will  say  and  do. 

Mr.  Shelby's  laugh  encouraged  the  trader  to  proceed. 


j^tV^WT    3V* 

LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY. 


"It 's  strange,  now,  but  I  never  could  beat  this  into  peo 
ple's  heads.  Now,  there  was  Tom  Loker,  my  old  partner, 
down  in  Natchez  ;  he  was  a  clever  fellow,  Tom  was,  only  the 
very  devil  with  niggers, —  on  principle  't  was,  you  see,  for  a 
better  hearted  feller  never  broke  bread ;  't  was  his  system, 
sir.  I  used  to  talk  to  Tom.  '  Why,  Tom,'  I  used  to  say,  '  when 
your  gals  takes  on  and  cry,  what 's  the  use  o'  crackin  on  'em 
over  the  head,  and  knockin'  on  'em  round?  It 's  ridiculous,' 
says  I,  c  and  don't  do  no  sort  o'  good.  Why,  I  don't  see  no 
harm  in  their  cryin','  says  I;  'it 's  natur,'  says  I,  'and  if  natur 
can't  blow  off  one  way,  it  will  another.  Besides,  Tom,'  says 
I,  '  it  jest  spiles  your  gals  ;'  they  get  sickly,  and  down  in  the 
mouth;  and  sometimes  they  gets  ugly, — -  particular  y  allow 
gals  do, —  and  it 's  the  devil  and  all  gettin'  on  'em  broke  in. 
Now,'  says  I,  'why  can't  you  kinder  coax  'em  up,  and  speak 
'em  fair  ?  Depend  on  it,  Tom,  a  little  humanity,  thrown  in 
along,  goes  a  heap  further  than  all  your  jawin'  and  crackin'  ; 
and  it  pays  better,'  says  I,  *  depend  on  't.'  But  Tom  could  n't 
get  the  hang  on  't;  and  he  spiled  so  many  for  me,  that  I  had 
to  break  off  with  him,  though  he  was  a  good-hearted  fellow, 
and  as  fair  a  business  hand  as  is  g  )inV 

"  And  do  you  find  your  ways  o;'  managing  do  the  business 
better  than  Tom's  1 "  said  Mr.  Shelby. 

"Why,  yes,  sir,  I  may  say  so.  You  see,  when  I  any 
ways  can,  I  takes  a  leetle  care  about  the  onpleasant  parts 
like  selling  young  uns  and  that, —  get  the  gals  out  of  the  way 
—  out  of  sight,  out  of  mind,  you  know, —  and  when  it 's  clean 
done,  and  can't  be  helped,  they  naturally  gets  used  to  it. 
'Tan't,  you  know,  as  if  it  was  white  folks,  that 's  brought  up 
in  the  way  of  'spectin'  to  keep  their  children  and  wives,  and 
all  that.  Niggers,  you  know,  that's  fetched  up  properly. 


22  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:    OR, 

ha'n't  no  kind  of  'spectations  of  no  kind ;  so  all  these  things 
comes  easier." 

"  I'm  afraid  mine  are  not  properly  brought  up,  then,"  said 
Mr.  Shelby. 

"  S'pose  not;  you  Kentucky  folks  spile_j£pjir_  niggers. 
You  mean  well  by  'em,  but  'tan't  no  real  kindness,  arter  all 
Now,  a  nigger,  you  see,  what 's  got  to  be  hacked  and  tumbled 
round  the  world,  and  sold  to  Tom,  and  Dick,  and  the  Lord 
knows  who,  'tan't  no  kindness  to  be  givin'  on  him  notions 
and  expectations,  and  bringin'  on  him  up  too  well,  for  the 
rough  and  tumble  comes  all  the  harder  on  him  arter.  Now, 
I  venture  to  say,  your  niggers  would  be  quite  chop-fallen  in  a 
place  where  some  of  your  plantation  niggers  would  be  singing 
and  whooping  like  all  possessed.  Every  man,  you  know,  Mr. 
Shelby,  naturally  thinks  well  of  his  own  ways ;  and  I  think  I 
treat  niggers  just  about  as  well  as  it 's  ever  worth  while  to 
treat  'em." 

"  It's  a  happy  thing  to  be  satisfied,"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  with 
a  slight  shrug,  and  some  perceptible  feelings  of  a  disagreeable 
nature. 

"Well,"  said  Haley,  after  they  had  both  silently  picked 
their  nuts  for  a  season,  "^fhat  do  you  say?" 

"I'll  think  the  matter  over,  and  talk  with  my  wife,"  said 
Mr.  Shelby.  "Meantime,  Haley,  if  you  want  the  matter 
carried  on  in  the  quiet  way  you  speak  of,  you  'd  best  not  let 
your  business  in  this  neighborhood  be  known.  It  will  get  out 
among  my  boys,  and  it  will  not  be  a  particularly  quiet  busi 
ness  getting  away  any  of  my  fellows,  if  they  know  it,  I  '11 
promise  you." 

"  0  !  certainly,  by  all  means,  mum  !  of  course.  But 
I  '11  tell  you,  I  'm  in  a  devil  of  a  hurry,  and  shall  want  to 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY. 


know,  as  soon  as  possible,  what  I  may  depend  on,-'  said  he, 
rising  and  putting  on  his  overcoat. 

"  Well,  call  up  this  evening,  between  six  and  seven,  and 
you  shall  have  my  answer,"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  and  the  trader 
bowed  himself  out  of  the  apartment. 

"I'd  like  to  have  been  able  to  kick  the  fellow  down  the 
steps,"  said  he  to  himself,  as  he  saw  the  door  fairly  closed, 
"  with  his  impudent  assurance  ;  but  he  knows  how  much  he 
has  me  at  advantage.  If  anybody  had  ever  said  to  me  that  I 
should  sell  Tom  down  south  to  one  of  those  rascally  traders, 
I  should  have  said,  '  Is  thy  servant  a  dog.  that  he  should  do 
this  thing  ?  '  And  now  it  must  come,  for  aught  I  see.  And 
Eliza's  child,  too  !  I  know  that  I  shall  have  some  fuss  with 
wife  about  that  ;  and,  for  that  matter,  about  Tom,  too.  So 
much  for  being  in  debt,  —  heigho  !  The  fellow  sees  his  advan 
tage,  and  means  to  push  it." 

Perhaps  the  mildest  form  of  the  system  of  slavery  is  to  be 


agricultural  pursuits  of  a  quiet  and  gradual  nature,  not 
requiring  those  periodic  seasons  of  hurry  and  pressure  that 
are  called  for  in  the  business  of  more  southern  districts, 
makes  the  task  of  the  negro  a  more  healthful  and  reasonable 
one  ;  while  the  master,  content  -with  a  more  gradual  style  of 
acquisition,  has  not  those  temptations  to  hardheartedness 
which  always  overcome  frail  human  nature  when  the  prospect 
of  sudden  and  rapid  gain  is  weighed  in  the  balance,  with  no 
heavier  counterpoise  than  the  interests  of  the  helpless  and 
unprotected. 

Whoever  visits  some  estates  there,  and  witnesses  the  good- 
humored  indulgence  of  some  masters  and  mistresses,  and  the 
affectionaf  <?  byalty  of  some  slaves,  might  be  tempted  to  dream 
the  o  poetic  legend  of  a  patriarchal  institution,  and  all 


Ty 

24  k,)      UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN:    OK, 

v^  7^ 

that ;  but  over  and  above  the  scene  there  broods  a  portentous 
shadow  —  the  shadow  of  law.  So  long  as  the  law  considers 
all  these  human  beings,  with  beating  hearts  and  living  affec 
tions,  only  as  so  many  things  belonging  to  a  master, —  so 
long  as  the  failure,  or  misfortune,  or  imprudence,  or  death  of 
the  kindest  owner,  may  cause  them  any  day  to  exchange  a 
life  of  kind  protection  and  indulgence  for  one  of  hopeless 
misery  and  toil, —  so  long  it  is  impossible  to  make  anything 
beautiful  or  desirable  in  the  best  regulated  administration  of 
\  slavery. 

Mr.  Shelby  was  a  fair  average  kind  of  man,  good-natured 
and  kindly,  and  disposed  to  easy  indulgence  of  those  around 
him,  and  there  had  never  been  a  lack  of  anything  which  might 
contribute  to  the  physical  comfort  of  the  negroes  on  his  estate. 
He  had,  however,  speculated  largely  and  quite  loosely ;  had 
involved  himself  deeply,  and  his  notes  to  a  large  amount  had 
come  into  the  hands  of  Haley ;  and  this  small  piece  vof  inform 
ation  is  the  key  to  the  preceding  conversation. 

Now,  it  had  so  happened  that,  in  approaching  the  door, 
Eliza  had  caught  enough  of  the  conversation  to  know  that  a 
trader  was  making  offers  to  her  master  for  somebody. 

She  would  gladly  have  stopped  at  the  door  to  listen,  as  she 
came  out ;  but  her  mistress  just  then  calling,  she  was  obliged 
to  hasten  away. 

Still  she  thought  she  heard  the  trader  make  an  offer  for 
her  boy ;  —  could  she  be  mistaken  ?  Her  heart  swelled  arid 
throbbed,  and  she  involuntarily  strained  him  so  tight  that  the 
little  fellow  looked  up  into  her  face  in  astonishment. 

"  Eliza,  girl,  what  ails  you  to-day?"  said  her  mistress, 
when  Eliza  had  upset  the  wash-pitcher,  knocked  down  the 
work-stand,  and  finally  was  abstractedly  offering  her  mistress 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  25 

a  long  night-gown  in  place  of  the  silk  dress  she  had  ordered 
her  to  bring  from  the  wardrobe. 

Eliza  started.  "  0,  missis  !"  she  said,  raising  her  eyes; 
then,  bursting  into  tears,  she  sat  down  in  a  chair,  and  began 
sobbing. 

"  Why,  Eliza,  child  !  what  ails  you  ?  "  said  her  mistress. 

"  0  !  missis,  missis,"  said  Eliza,  "  there  's  been  a  trader 
talking  with  master  in  the  parlor !  I  heard  him." 

"  Well,  silly  child,  suppose  there  has." 

"  0,  missis,  do  you  suppose  mas'r  would  sell  my  Harry?  " 
And  the  poor  creature  threw  herself  into  a  chair,  and  sobbed 
convulsively. 

"  Sell  him  !  No,  you  foolish  girl !  You  know  your  mas 
ter  never  deals  with  those  southern  traders,  and  never  means 
to  sell  any  of  his  servants,  as  long  as  they  behave  well.  Why, 
you  silly  child,  who  do  you  think  would  want  to  buy  your 
Harry  1  Do  you  think  all  the  world  are  set  on  him  as  you 
are,  you  goosie?  Come,  cheer  up,  and  hook  my  dress. 
There  now,  put  ray  back  hair  up  in  that  pretty  braid  you 
learnt  the  other  day,  and  don't  go  listening  at  doors  any 
more." 

"Well,  but,  missis,  you  never  would  give  your  consent  — 
to— to  — " 

"  Nonsense,  child  !  to  be  sure,  I  should  n't.  What  do  you 
talk  so  for  ?  I  would  as  soon  have  one  of  my  own  children 
sold.  But  really,  Eliza,  you  are  getting  altogether  too  proud 
of  that  little  fellow.  A  man  can't  put  his  nose  into  the  door, 
but  you  think  he  must  be  coming  to  buy  him." 
F  Reassured  by  her  mistress'  confident  tone,  Eliza  pro 
ceeded  nimbly  and  adroitly  with  her  toilet,  laughing  at  her 
own  fears,  as  she  proceeded, 

Mrs..  Shelby  was  a  woman  of  a  high  class,  both  intellect 
s' 


' 


UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN:    OR, 


ually  and  morally.  To  that  natural  magnanimity  and  gene 
rosity  of  mind  which  one  often  marks  as  characteristic  of  the 
women  of  Kentucky,  she  added  high  moral  and  religious  sens 
ibility  and  principle,  carried  out  with  great  energy  and  ability 
into  practical  results.  Her  husband,  who  made  no  professions 
to  any  particular  religious  character,  nevertheless  reverenced 
and  respected  the  consistency  of  hers,  and  stood,  perhaps,  a 
little  in  awe  of  her  opinion.  Certain  it  was  that  he  gave  her 
unlimited  scope  in  all  her  benevolent  efforts  for  the  comfort, 
instruction,  and  improvement  of  her  servants,  though  he  never 
took  any  decided  part  in  them  himself.  In  fact,  if  not  exactly 
a  believer  in  the  doctrine  of  the  efficiency  of  the  extra  good 
works  of  saints,  he  really  seemed  somehow  or  other  to  fancy 
that  his  wife  had  piety  and  benevolence  enough  for  two  —  to 
indulge  a  shadowy  expectation  of  getting  into  heaven  through 
her  superabundance  of  qualities  to  which  he  made  no  particu 
lar  pretension. 

The  heaviest  load  on  his  mind,  after  his  conversation  with 
the  trader,  lay  in  the  foreseen  necessity  of  breaking  to  his 
wife  the  arrangement  contemplated, — meeting  the  importuni 
ties  and  opposition  which  ne  knew  he  should  have  reason  to 
encounter. 

Mrs.  Shelby,  bejng  entirely  ignorant  of  her  husband's 
embarrassments,  and  knowing  only  the  general  kindliness  of 
his  temper,  had  been  quite  sincere  in  the  entire  incredulity 
with  which  she  had  met  Eliza's  suspicions.  In  fact,  she  dis 
missed  the  matter  from  her  mind,  without  a  second  thought ; 
and  being  occupied  in  preparations  for  an  evening  visit,  it 
passed  out  of  her  thoughts  entirely.  ? 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY. 


CHAPTER  H. 

THE  MOTHER. 

\ 

ELIZA  had  been  brought  up  by  her  mistress,  from  girlhood, 
as  a  petted  and  indulged  favorite. 

The  traveller  in  the  south  must  often  have  remarked  that 
peculiar  air  of  refinement,  that  softness  of  voice  and  manner, 
which  seems  in  many  cases  to  be  a  particular  gift  to  the  quad 
roon  and  mulatto  women.  These  natural  graces  in  the  quad 
roon  are  often  united  with  beauty  of  the  most  dazzling  kind, 
and  in  almost  every  case  with  a  personal  appearance  prepos 
sessing  and  agreeable.  Eliza,  such  as  we  have  described  her, 
is  not  a  fancy  sketch,  but  taken  from  remembrance,  as  we 
saw  her,  years  ago,  in  Kentucky.  Safe  under  the  protecting 
care  of  her  mistress,  Eliza  had  reached  maturity  without  those 
temptations  which  make  beauty  so  fatal  an  inheritance  to  a 
slave.  She  had  been  married  to  a  bright  and  talented  young 
mulatto  man,  who  was  a  slave  on  a  neighboring  estate,  and 
bore  the  name  of  Qeorge  Harris. 

This  young  man ^iatT15e^nhired  out  by  his  master  to  work 
in  a  bagging  factory,  where  his  adroitness  and  ingenuity  caused 
him  to  be  considered  the  first  hand  in  the  place.  He  had 
invented  a  machine  for  the  cleaning  of  the  hemp,  which,  con 
sidering  the  education  and  circumstances  of  the  inventor,  dis 
played  quite  as  much  mechanical  genius  as  Whitney's  cotton- 
gin.* 

*  A  machine  .of  this  description  was  really  the  invention  of  a  young 
colored  man  in  Kentucky. 


28  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

*He  was  possessed  of  a  handsome  person  and  pleasing  man 
ners,  and  was  a  general  favorite  in  the  factory.  Nevertheless, 
as  this  young  man  was  in  the  eye  of  the  law  not  a  man,  but  a 
thing,  all  these  superior  qualifications  were  subject  to  the 
control  of  a  vulgar,  narrow-minded,  tyrannical  master.  This 
same  gentleman,  having  heard  of  the  fame  of  George's  inven 
tion,  took  a  ride  over  to  the  factory,  to  see  what  this  intelli 
gent  chattel  had  been  about.  He  was  received  with  great 
enthusiasm  by  the  employer,  who  congratulated  him  on  pos 
sessing  so  valuable  a  slave. 

He  was  waited  upon  over  the  factory,  shown  the  machinery 
by  George,  who,  in  high  spirits,  talked  so  fluently,  held  him 
self  so  erect,  looked  so  handsome  and  manly,  that  his  master 
began  to  feel  an  uneasy  consciousness  of  inferiority.  What 
business  had  his  slave  to  be  marching  round  the  country, 
inventing  machines,  and  holding  up  his  head  among  gentle 
men  ?  He  'd  soon  put  a  stop  to  it.  He  'd  take  him  back,  and 
put  him  to  hoeing  and  digging,  and  "  see  if  he'd  step  about 
so  smart."  Accordingly,  the  manufacturer  and  all  hands 
concerned  were  astounded  when  he  suddenly  demanded 
George's  wages,  and  announced  his  intention  of  taking  him 
home. 

"  But,    Mr.    Harris,"    remonstrated   the   manufacturer, 
"  is  n't  this  rather  sudden  ?  " 

"  What  if  it  is  ?  —  is  n't  the  man  mine  ?  " 

"  We  would  be  willing,  sir,  to  increase  the  rate  of  compen 
sation." 

"  No  object  at  all,  sir.  I  don't  need  to  hire  any  of  my 
hands  out,  unless  I've  a  mind  to." 

"  But,  sir,  he  seems  peculiarly  adapted  to  this  business." 
;>  "Dare  say  he  may  be;  never  was  much  adapted  to  any 
thing  that  I  set  him  about,  I'll  be  bound." 


LIFE   AMONG   THIS   LOWLY.  29 

"  But  only  think  of  his  inventing  this  machine,"  interposed 
one  of  the  workmen,  rather  unluckily. 

"0  yes! — a  machine  for  saving  work,  is  it?  He'd 
invent  that,  I  '11  be  bound ;  let  a  nigger  alone  for  that,  any 
time.  They  are  all  labor-saving  machines  themselves,  every 
one  of  'em.  No,  he  shall  tramp  ! " 

George  had  stood  like  one  transfixed,  at  hearing  his  doom 
thus  suddenly  pronounced  by  a  power  that  he  knew  was  irre 
sistible.  He  folded  his  arms,  tightly  pressed  in  his  lips,  but 
a  whole  volcano  of  bitter  feelings  burned  in  his  bosom,  and 
sent  streams  of  fire  through  his  veins.  He  breathed  short, 
and  his  large  dark  eyes  flashed  like  live  coals  ;  and  he  might 
have  broken  out  into  some  dangerous  ebullition,  had  not  the 
kindly  manufacturer  touched  him  on  the  arm,  and  said,  in  a 
low  tone, 

"Give  way,  George  ;  go  with  him  for  the  present.  We  '11 
try  to  help  you,  yet." 

The  tyrant  observed  the  whisper,  and  conjectured  its  import 
though  he  could  not  hear  what  was  said ;  and  he  inwardly 
strengthened  himself  in  his  determination  to  keep  the  power 
he  possessed  over  his  victim. 

George  was  taken  home,  and  put  to  the  meanest  drudgery 
of  the  farm.  He  had  been  able  to  repress  every  disrespectful 
word ;  but  the  flashing  eye,  the  gloomy  and  troubled  brow, 
were  part  of  a  natural  language  that  could  not  be  repressed, — 
indubitable  signs,  which  showed  too  plainly  that  the  man  could 
not  become  a  thing. 

It  was  during  the  happy  period  of  his  employment  in  the 
factory  that  George  had  seen  and  married  his  wife.  During 
that  period, —  being  much  trusted  and  favored  by  his  employer, 
—  he  had  free  liberty  to  come  and  go  at  discretion.  The  mar- 

iag<?  was  highly  approved  of  by  Mrs.  Shelby,  who,  with  a 
a* 


SO  UNCLE   TOM'S    CABIN:    OR, 

litne  womanly  complacency  in  match-making,  felt  pleased  to 
unite  her  handsome  favorite  with  one  of  her  own  class  who 
seemed  in  every  way  suited  to  her ;  and  so  they  were  mar 
ried  in  her  mistress'  great  parlor,  and  her  mistress  herself 
adorned  the  bride's  beautiful  hair  with  orange-blossoms,  and 
threw  over  it  the  bridal  veil,  which  certainly  could  scarce  have 
rested  on  a  fairer  head ;  and  there  was  no  lack  of  white 
gloves,  and  cake  and  wine, —  of  admiring  guests  to  praise  the 
bride's  beauty,  and  her  mistress'  indulgence  and  liberality. 
For  a  year  or  two  Eliza  saw  her  husband  frequently,  and 
there  was  nothing  to  interrupt  their  happiness,  except  the  loss 
of  two  infant  children,  to  whom  she  was  passionately  attached, 
and  whom  she  mourned  with  a  grief  so  intense  as  to  call  for 
gentle  remonstrance  from  her  mistress,  who  sought,  with 
maternal  anxiety,  to  direct  her  naturally  passionate  feelings 
within  the  bounds  of  reason  and  religion. 

After  the  birth  of  little  Harry,  however,  she  had  gradually 
become  tranquillized  and  settled ;  and  every  bleeding  tie  and 
throbbing  nerve,  once  more  entwined  with  that  little  life, 
seemed  to  become  sound  and  healthful,  and  Eliza  was  a  happy 
woman  up  to  the  time  that  her  husband  was  rudely  torn  from 
his  kind  employer,  and  brought  under  the  iron  sway  of  his 
legal  owner. 

The  manufacturer,  true  to  his  word,  visited  Mr.  Harris  a 
week  or  two  after  George  had  been  taken  away,  when,  as  he 
hoped,  the  heat  of  the  occasion  had  passed  away,  and  tried 
every  possible  inducement  to  lead  him  to  restore  him  to  his 
former  employment. 

"You  needn't  trouble  yourself  to  talk  any  longer,"  said 
he,  doggedly  ;  "I  know  my  own  business,  sir." 

"I  did  not   presume   to   interfere   with   it,  sir.     I  only 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  31 

thought  that  you  might  think  it  for  your  interest  to  let  your 
man  to  us  on  the  terms  proposed." 

"  0,  I  understand  the  matter  well  enough.  I  saw  your 
winking  and  whispering,  the  day  I  took  him  out  of  the  fac 
tory  ;  but  you  don't  come  it  over  me  that  way.  It 's  a  free 
country,  sir ;  the  man 's  mine,  and  I  do  what  I  please  with 
him,— that 's  it !" 

And  so  fell  George's  last  hope ;  —  nothing  before  him  but  a 
life  of  toil  and  drudgery,  rendered  more  bitter  by  every  little 
smarting  vexation  and  indignity  which  tyrannical  ingenuity 
could  devise. 

A  very  humane  jurist  once  said,  The  worst  use  you  can 
put  a  man  to  is  to  hang  him.  No ;  there  is  another  use  that 
a  man  can  be  Dut  to  that  is  WORSE  ! 


CHAPTER  in. 

THE   HUSBAND   AND   FATHER. 

MRS.  SHELBY  had  gone  on  her  visit,  and  Eliza  stood  in  the 
verandah,  rather*  dejectedly  looking  after  the  retreating  car* 
riage,  when  "a  hand  was  kid  on  her  shoulder^.  SJie  turned, 
and  a  bright  smile  lighted  up  her  fine  eyes, 

"George,  is  it  you?  How  you  frighten^  me!  Well;  I 
am  so  glad  you 's  come  !  Missis  is  gone  to  spend  the  after 
noon  ;  so  come  into  my  little  room,  and  we  '11  have  the.  time 
all  to  ourselves."  .  /  *  '  -  .:  ,  v*  ;•' 

Saying  this,  she  drew  him  into  a  heat  little  apartment 
opening  on  the  Verandah,  where  she  generally  sat  at  her 
sewing,  within  call  of  her  mistress. 


32  '  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OR, 

"  How  glad  I  am  !  —  why  don't  you  smile  ?  —  and  look  at 
Harry  —  how  he  grows."  The  boy  stood  shyly  regarding 
his  father  through  his  curls,  holding  close  to  the  skirts  of  his 
mother's  dress.  "  Is  n't  he  beautiful?"  said  Eliza,  lifting 
his  long  curls  and  kissing  him. 

"I  wish  he'd  never  been  born!  "  said  George,  bitterly. 
(<  I  wish  I  'd  never  been  born  myself  !  " 

Surprised  and  frightened,  Eliza  sat  down,  leaned  her  head 
on  her  husband's  shoulder,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  There  now,  Eliza,  it's  too  bad  for  me  to  make  you  feel 
so,  poor  girl  !  "  said  he,  fondly;  "  it's  too  bad.  0,  how  I 
wish  you  never  had  seen  me  —  you  might  have  been  happy  !  " 

"  George  !  George  !  how  can  you  talk  so?  What  dreadful 
thing  has  happened,  or  is  going  to  happen?  I  'm  sure  we  've 
been  very  happy,  till  lately." 

"  So  we  have,  dear,"  said  George.  Then  drawing  his  child 
on  his  knee,  he  gazed  intently  on  his  glorious  dark  eyes,  and 
passed  his  hands  through  his  long  curls. 

"  Just  like  you,  Eliza  ;  and  you  are  the  handsomest  woman 
I  ever  saw,  and  the  best  one  I  ever  wish  to  see  ;  but,  oh,  I 
wish  I  'd  never  seen  you,  nor  you  me  !  " 

"  0,  George,  how  can  you  !  " 

"  Yes,  Eliza,  it  's  all  misery,  misery,  misery  !  My  life  is 
bitter  as  wormwood  ;  the  very  life  is  burning  out  of  me.  I  'm 
a  poor,  miserable,  forlorn  drudge;  I  shall  only  drag  you 
down  with  me,  that's  all.  What  's  the  use  of  our  trying  to 

? 
J_  wish,  I  was  " 


•:0,  now,  dear  George,  that  is  really  wicked  !  I  know 
how  you  feel  about  losing  your  place  in  the  factory,  and  you 
have  a  hard  master  ;  but  pray  be  patient,  and  perhaps  some- 
thins:  —  ;' 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  ''S3 

"Patient!"  said  he,  interrupting  her ;  "haven't  I  been 
patient  ?  Did  I  say  a  word  when  he  came  and  took  me  away, 
for  no  earthly  reason,  from  the  place  where  everybody  was 
kind  to  me  ?  I  'd  paid  him  truly  every  cent  of  my  earnings, 

—  and  they  all  say  I  worked  well." 

"Well,  it  is  dreadful,"  said  Eliza;  "but,  after  all,  he  is 
your  master,  you  know." 

"My  master!  and  who  made  him  my  mpter?  That's 
what  I  think  of — whnt  right  Tina  VIP-  to  me  1  j^I'm  a  man  as 
much  as  he  is.  I  'm  a  better  man  than  he  is.  I  know  more 
about  business  than  he  does ;  I  am  a  better  manager  than 
he  is ;  I  can  read  better  than  he^  can ;  I  can  write  a  better 
hand,  —  and  I  've  learned  it  all  myself,  and  no  thanks  to  him/) 

—  I  've  learned  it  in  spite  of  him  ]  and  now  what  right  has" 
he  to  make  a  dray-horse  of  me  ?  —  to  take  me  from  things  I 
can  do,  and  do  better  than  he  can,  and  put  me  to  work  that 
any  horse  can  do  ?     He  tries  to  do  it ;  he  says  he  '11  bring 
me  down  and  humble  me,  and  he  puts  me  to  just  the  hardest, 
meanest  and  dirtiest  work,  on  purpose  !  " 

"  0,  George  !  George  !  you  frighten  me  !  Why,  I  never 
heard  you  talk  so  ;  I'm  afraid  you '11  do  something  dreadful. 
I  don't  wonder  at  your  feelings,  at  all ;  but  oh,  do  be  careful 

—  do,  do  —  for  my  sake  —  for  Harry's  !  " 

"I -have  been  careful,  and  I  have  been  patient,  but  it's 
growing  worse  and  worse ;  flesh  and  blood  can't  bear  it  any 
longer ;  —  every  chance  he  can  get  to  insult  and  torment  me, 
he  takes.  I  thought  I  could  do  my  work  well,  and  keep  on 
quiet,  and  have  some  time  to  read  and  learn  out  of  work 
hours  j  bac  the  more  he  sees  I  can  do,  the  more  he  loads  on. 
He  says  that  though  I  don't  say  anything,  he  sees  I  've  got 
the  devil  in  me,  and  he  means  to  bring  it  out  j  and  one  of 


34  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OB, 


these  day  3  it  will  come  out  in  a  way  that  he  won't  like,  or 
I'm  mistaken!  " 

"  0  dear !  what  shall  we  Jj^  "  sdid  Eliza,  r^mrnfully. 

"It  was  only  yesterday,"  said  George, '  "  as  I  wate  busy 
loading  stones  into  a  cart,  that  young  Mas'r  Tom  stood' there, 
slashing  his  whip  so  near  the  horse  that  the  creature  was 
frightened.  I  asked  him  to  stop,  as  pleasant  as  I  could,— he 
just  ke^t  right  dn.  I  begged  him  again,  and'  thetfnje  turned 
on  me,  and  began  striding  me>  '  J  held  his  JianB,'  and  then!  }ae 
screamed  and  kicked  and  ran  to'  liis •' father,"  and  tolcf liim  that 
I  was  fighting  him.  He  came  in  a  rage,  -and  saM  he  'd  teach 
me  wlro  was  my  master;  and  he/ 'tied  me  to  a  tree,  and  cut, 
switches  for  young  master,  and  told  him  that  ^he  might  whip 
me  till  he  was  tired;  — and  he  did  do  it  !d|If  I  don't  make 
him  remember  it,  some  time !  "  and  the  brow  of  the  young 
man  grew  dark,  and  his  eyes  burned  with  an  expression  that 
made  his  young  wife  tremble.  "Who  made  this  man  my 
master  ?  That 's  what  I  want  to  know  !  "  he  said. 

"Well,"  said ' Eliza,  mournfully;  "I  always  thought  that 
I  must  obey  my  master  and  mistress,  or  I  couldn't  be  a 
Christian.  V 

"  There  is  some  sense  in  it,  in  your  case ;  they  have  brought 
you  up  like  a  child,  fed  you,  clothed  you,  indulged  you,  and 
taught  you,  so  that  you  have  a  good  education ;  that  is  some 
reason  why  they  should  claim  you.  But  I  have  been  kicked 
arid  cuffed  and  sworn  at,  and  at  the  best  only  let  alone ;  and 
what  do  I  owe  ?  I  've  paid  for  all  my  keeping  a  hundred 
times  over.  I  won't  bear  it.  No,  I  won't!"  he  said, 
clenching  his  hand  with  a  fierce  frown. 

Eliza  trembled,  and  was  silent.  She  had  never  seen  her 
husband  in  this  mood  before;  and.  her  gentle  system  of  ethics 
seemed  to  bend  like  a  reed  in  the  surges  of 'such  passions. 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  35 

uYou  know  poor  little  Carlo,  that  you  gave  me,"  added 
George;  " the  creature  has  been  about  all  the  comfort  that 
I  've  had.  He  has  slept  with  me  nights,  and  followed  me 
around  days,  and  kind  o'  looked  at  me  as  if  he  understood 
how  I  felt.  Well,  the  other  day  I  was  just  feeding  him  with 
a  few  old  scraps  I  picked  up  by  the  kitchen  door,  and  Mas'r 
came  along,  and  said  I  was  feeding  him  up  at  his  expense,  and 
that  he  could  n't  afford  to  have  every  nigger  keeping  his  dog, 
and  ordered  me  to  tie  a  stone  to  his  neck  and  throw  him  in 
the  pond." 

"  0,  George,  you  didn't  do  it ! " 

"  Do  it  ?  not  I !  —  but  he  did.  Mas'r  and  Tom  pelted  the 
poor  drowning  creature  with  stones.  Poor  thing !  he  looked 
at  me  so  mournful,  as  if  he  wondered  why  I  didn't  save  him. 
I  had  to  take  a  flogging  because  I  would  n't  do  it  myself.  I 
don't  care.  Mas'r  will  find  out  that  I 'm  one  lhat  whipping 
won't  tame.  My  day  will  come  yet,  if  he  don't  look  out." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?  0,  George,  don't  do  any 
thing  wicked ;  if  you  only  trust  in  God,  and  try  to  do  right, 
he  '11  deliver  you." 

"I  an't  a  Christian  like  you,  Eliza;  my  heart 's  full  of 
bitterness ;  I  can't  trust  in  God.  Why  does  he  let  things  be 
so?" 

"0,  George,  we  mwt  have  faith.  Mistress  says  that 
when  all  things  go  wrongSp  us,  we  must  believe  that  God  is 
doing  the  very  best." 

"  That 's  easy  to  say  for  people  that  are  sitting  on  their 
sofas  and  riding  in  their  carriages ;  but  let  'em  be  where  I 
am,  I  guess  it  would  come  some  harder.  I  wish  I  could  be 
good  ;  but  my  heart  burns^jmd  can't  be  refQncile^^anjjiow. 
You  couldn't,  m  my  place, —  you  can't  now,  if  I  tell  you 
all  I  've  got  to  say.  You  don't  know  the  whole  yet." 


£6  UNCLE  TOM'S   CABIN:    OR, 

"  What  can  be  coming  now  ?  " 

"  Well,  lately  Mas'r  has  been  saying  that  he  was  a  fool  to 
let  me  marry  off  the  place  ;  that  he  hates  Mr.  Shelby  and  all 
his  tribe,  because  they  are  proud,  and  hold  their  heads  up 
above  him,  and  that  I've  got  proud  notions  from  you  ;  arid 
he  says  he  won't  let  me  come  here  any  more,  and  that  I 
shall  take  a  wife  and  settle  down  on  his  place.  At  first  he 
only  scolded  and  grumbled  these  things  ;  but  yesterday  he 
told  ine  that  I  should  take  Mina  for  a  wife,  and  settle  down  in 
a  cabin  with  her,  or  he  would  sell  me  down  river." 

"  Why  —  but  you  were  married  to  me,  by  the  minister,  as 
much  as  if  you  'd  been  a  white  man  !  "  said  Eliza,  simply. 

"  Don't  you  know  a  slave  can't  be  married?  There  is  no 
law  in  this  country  for  thatTTTcarftirold  you  for  my  wife,  if 
he  chooses  to  part  us.  That  's  why  I  wish  I  'd  never  seen 
you,  —  why  I  wish  I  'd  never  been  born  ;  it  would  have  been 
better  for  us  both,  —  it  would  have  been  better  for  this  poor 
child  if  he  had  never  been  born.  All  this  may.  happen  to  him 
yet!" 

"  0,  but  master  is  so  kind  !  " 

"  Yes,  but  who  knows  ?  —  he  may  die  —  and  then  he  may 
be  sold  to  nobody  knows  who.  What  pleasure  is  it  that  he  is 
handsome,  and  smart,  and  bright  ?  I  tell  you,  Eliza,  that  a 
sword  will  pierce  through  your  soul  for  every  good  and  pleas 
ant  thing  your  child  is  or  has  ;  it  will  make  him  wrorth  too 
much  for  you  to  keep  !  " 

The  words  smote  heavily  on  Eliza's  heart  ;  the  vision  of  the 
trader  came  before  her  eyes,  and,  as  if  some  one  had  struck 
her  a  deadly  blow,  she  turned  pale  and  gasped  for  breath. 
She  looked  nervously  out  on  the  verandah,  where  the  boy, 
tired  of  the  grave  conversation,  h?.\d  retired,  and  where  he  was 
riding  triumphantly  up  and  down  on  Mr.  Shelby's  walking- 


^[ 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  37 

stick.     She  would  have  spoken  to  tell  her  husband  her  fears, 
but  checked  herself. 

"No,  no, — he  has  enough  to  bear,  poor  fellow!"  she 
thought.  "  No,  I  won't  tell  him ;  besides,  it  an't  true  ; 
Missis  never  deceives  us." 

"  So,  Eliza,  my  girl,"  said  the  husband,  mournfully,  "  bear 
up,  now;  and  good-by,  for  I'm  going."  , 

"  Going,  George  !     Going  where?  " 

"To  Canada,"  said  he,  straightening  himself  up;  "and 
when  I  'm  there,  I  '11  buy  you ;  that 's  all  the  hope  that 's  left 
us.  You  have  a  kind  master,  that  won't  refuse  to  sell  you. 
I  '11  buy  you  and  the  boy ;  —  God  helping  me,  I  will !  " 

"  0,  dreadful !  if  you  should  be  taken  ?  " 

"  I  won't  be  taken,  Eliza ;  I  '11  die  first !  I  '11  be  free,  or 
I '11  die!" 

"  You  won't  kill  yourself !  " 

"No  need  of  that.  They  will  kill  me,  fast  enough;  they 
never  will  get  me  down  the  river  alive  !  " 

"0,  George,  for  my  sake,  do  be  careful !  Don't  do  any 
thing  wicked ;  don't  lay  hands  on  yourself,  or  anybody  else  ! 
You  are  tempted  too  much  —  too  much;  but  don't  —  go  you 
must  —  but  go  carefully,  prudently;  pray  God  to  help  you." 

"  Well,  then,  Eliza,  hear  my  plan.  Mas'r  took  it  into  his 
head  to  send  me  right  by  here,  with  a  note  to  Mr.  Symmes, 
that  lives  a  mile  past.  I  believe  he  expected  I  should  come 
here  to  tell  you  what  I  have.  It  would  please  him,  if  he 
thought  it  would  aggravate  c  Shelby's  folks,'  as  he  calls  'em. 
I  'm  going  home  quite  resigned,  you  understand;  as  if  all  was 
over.  I've  got  some  preparations  made, —  and  there  are 
those  tnat  will  help  me ;  and,  in  the  course  of  a  week  or  so, 
I  shall  be  among  the  missing,  some  day.  Pray  for  me,  Eliza  j 
perhaps  the  good  Lord  will  hear  you." 
4 


iwu  \  ^v 

88  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OB, 

"  0,  pray  yourself,  George,  and  go  trusting  in  him;  then 
you  won't  do  anything  wicked." 

"Well,  now,  good-by"  said  George,  holding  Eliza's 
hands,  and  gazing  into  her  eyes,  without  moving.  They 
stood  silent ;  then  there  were  last  words,  and  sobs,  and  bitter 
weeping, —  such  parting  as  those  may  make  whose  hope  to 
meet  again  is  as  the  spider's  web, —  and  the  husband  and 
wife  were  parted.  \ 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AN  EVENING  IN  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN. 

THE  cabin  of  Uncle  Tom  was  a  small  log  building,  close 
adjoining  to  "  the  house,7'  as  the  negro  par  excellence  desig 
nates  his  master's  dwelling.  In  front  it  had  a  neat  garden- 
patch,  where,  every  summer,  strawberries,  raspberries,  and  a 
variety  of  fruits  and  vegetables,  flourished  under  careful  tend 
ing.  The  whole  front  of  it  was  covered  by  a  large  scarlet 
bignonia  and  a  native  multiflora  rose,  which,  entwisting  and 
interlacing,  left  scarce  a  vestige  of  the  rough  logs  to  be 
seen.  Here,  also,  in  summer,  various  brilliant  annuals,  such 
as  marigolds,  petunias,  four-o' clocks,  found  an  indulgent 
corner  in  which  to  unfold  their  splendors,  and  were  the  delight 
and  pride  of  Aunt  Chloe's  heart. 

Let  us  enter  the  dwelling.  The  evening  meal  at  the  house 
is  over,  and  Aunt  Chloe,  who^presided  over  its  preparation  as 
head  cook,  has  left  to  inferior  officers  in  the  kitchen  the 
business  of  clearing  away  and  washing  dishes,  and  come 
out  into  her  own  snug  territories,  to  "get  her  ole  man's 


LIFE   AMONG  THE  LOWLY. 


supper;  "  therefore,  doubt  not  that  it  is  her  you  see  by  the 
fire,  presiding  with  anxious  interest  over  certain  frizzling 
items  in  a  stew-pan,  and  anon  with  grave  consideration  lifting 
the  cover  of  a  bake-kettle,  from  whence  steam  forth  indubi 
table  intimations  of  "something  good."  A  round,  black, 
shining  face  is  hers,  so  glossy  as  to  suggest  the  idea  that  sho 
might  have  been  washed  over  with  white  of  eggs,  like  one  of 
her  own  tea  rusks.  Her  whole  plump  countenance  beams 
with  satisfaction  and  contentment  from  under  her  well-starched 
checked  turban,  bearing  on  it,  however,  if  we  must  confess  it, 
a  little  of  that  tinge  of  self-  consciousness  which  becomes  the 
first  cook  of  the  neighborhood,  as  Aunt  Chloe  was  universally 
held  and  acknowledged  to  be. 

A  cook  she  certainly  was,  in  the  very  bone  and  centre  of 
her  soul.  Not  a  chicken  or  turkey  or  duck  in  the  barn-yard 
but  looked  grave  when  they  saw  her  approaching,  and  seemed 
evidently  to  be  reflecting  on  their  latter  end  ;  and  certain  it 
was  that  she  was  always  meditating  on  trussing,  stuffing  and 
roasting,  to  a  degree  that  was  calculated  to  inspire  terror  in 
any  reflecting  fowl  living.  Her  corn-cake,  in  all  its  varieties 
of  hoe-cake,  dodgers,  muffins,  and  other  species  too  numerous 
to  mention,  was  a  sublime  mystery  to  all  less  practised  com- 
ponnders  ;  and  she  would  shake  her  fat  sides  with  honest  pride 
and  merriment,  as  she  would  narrate  the  fruitless  efforts  that 
one  and  another  of  her  compeers  had  made  to  attain  to  her 
elevation. 

The  arrival  of  company  at  the  house,  the  arranging  of 
dinners  and  suppers  "  in  style,"  awoke  all  the  energies  of  her 
soul  ;  and  no  sight  was  more  ^Icome  to  her  than  a  pile  of 
travelling  trunks  launched  on  the  verandah,  for  then  she 
foresaw  fresh  efforts  and  fresh  triumphs. 

Just  at  present,  however,  Aunt  Chloe  is  looking  into  the 


40  UNCLE  TOM'S   CABIN:   OB, 

bake-pan ;  in  which  congenial  operation  we  shall  leave  her  till 
we  finish  our  picture  of  the  cottage. 

In  one  corner  of  it  stood  a  bed,  covered  neatly  with  a  snowy 
spread ;  and  by  the  side  of  it  was  a  piece  of  carpeting,  of 
some  considerable  size.  On  this  piece  of  carpeting  Aunt 
Chloe  took  her  stand,  as  being  decidedly  in  the  upper  walks 
of  life  ;  and  it  and  the  bed  by  which  it  lay,  and  the  whole 
corner,  in  fact,  were  treated  with  distinguished  consideration, 
and  made,  so  far  as  possible,  sacred  from  the  marauding 
%  inroads  and  desecrations  of  little  folks.  In  fact,  that  corner 
was  the  drawing-room  of  the  establishment.  In  the  other 
corner  was  a  bed  of  much  humbler  pretensions,  and  evidently 
designed  for  use.  The  wajl  over  the  fireplace  was  adorned 
with  some  very  brilliant  scriptural  prints,  and  a  portrait  of 
General  Washington,  drawn  and  colored  in  a  manner  which 
would  certainly  have  astonished  that  hero,  if  ever  he  had 
happened  to  meet  with  its  like. 

On  a  rough  bench  in  the  corner,  a  couple  of  woolly-headed 
boys,  with  glistening  black  ej^es  and  fat  shining  cheeks,  were 
busy  in  superintending  the  first  walking  operations  of  tho 
baby,  which,  as  is  usually  the  case,  consisted  in  getting  up  on 
its  feet,  balancing  a  moment,  and  then  tumbling  down, —  each 
successive  failure  being  violently  cheered,  as  something  decid 
edly  clever. 

A  table,  somewhat  rheumatic  in  its  limbs,  was  drawn  out 
in  front  of  the  fire,  and  covered  with  a  cloth,  displaying  cups 
and  saucers  of  a  decidedly  brilliant  pattern,  with  other  symp 
toms  of  an  approaching  meal.  At  this  table  was  seated 
Uncle  Tom,  Mr.  Shelby's  best  hand,  who,  as  he  is  to  be  the 
hero  of  our  story,  we  must  daguerreotype  for  our  readers. 
He  was  a  large,  broad-chested,  powerfully-made  man,  of  a 
full  glossy  black,  and  a  face  whose  truly  African  features 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  41 

were  characterized  by  an  expression  of  grave  and  steady  good 
sense,  united  with  much  kindliness  and  benevolence.  There 
was  something  about  his  whole  air  self-respecting  and  dig 
nified,  yet  united  with  a  confiding  and  humble  simplicity. 

He  was  very  busily  intent  at  this  moment  on  a  slate  lying 
before  him,  on  which  he  was  carefully  and  slowly  endeavoring 
to  accomplish  a  copy  of  some  letters,  in  which  operation  he 
was  overlooked  by  young  Mas'r  George,  a  smart,  bright  boy 
of  thirteen,  who  appeared  fully  to  realize  the  dignity  of  his 
position  as  instructor. 

"Not  that  way,  Uncle  Tom, — not  that  way,"  said  he, 
briskly,  as  Uncle  Tom  laboriously  brought  up  the  tail  of  his  g 
the  wrong  side  out;  "  that  makes  a  y,  you  see." 

"  La  sakes,  now,  does  it?  "  said  Uncle  Tom,  looking  with 
a  respectful,  admiring  air,  as  his  young  teacher  flourishingly 
scrawled  ^'s  and  g^&  innumerable  for  his  edification ;  and 
then,  taking  the  pencil  in  his  big,  heavy  fingers,  he  patiently 
re-commenced. 

"How  easy  white  folks  al'us  does  things!"  said  Aunt 
Chloe,  pausing  while  she  was  greasing  a  griddle  with  a  scrap 
of  bacon  on  her  fork,  and  regarding  young  Master  George 
with  pride.  "  The  way  he  can  write,  now  !  and  read,  too  ! 
and  then  to  come  out  here  evenings  and  read  his  lessons  to 
us, —  it's  mighty  interests*' !  " 

"But,  Aunt  Chloe,  I'm  getting  mighty  hungry,"  said 
George.  "  Is  n't  that  cake  in  the  skillet  almost  done  ?  " 

"  Mose  done,  Mas'r  George,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  lifting  the 
lid  and  peeping  in, —  "browning  beautiful  —  a  real  lovely 
brown.  Ah !  let  "me  alone  for  dat.  Missis  let  Sally  try  to 
make  some  cake,  t'other  day,  jes  to  larn  her,  she  said.  i  0, 
go  way,  Missis,'  says  I;  'it  really  hurts  my  feelin's,  now,  to 
4* 


42  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

see  good  vittles  spiled  dat  ar  way  !  Cake  ris  all  to  one  side  — 
no  shape  at  all;  no  more  than  my  shoe ;  —  go  way  !  " 

And  with  this  final  expression  of  contempt  for  Sally's 
greenness,  Aunt  Chloe  whipped  the  cover  off  the  bake-kettle, 
and  disclosed  to  view  a  neatly-baked  pound-cake,  of  which  no 
city  confectioner  need  to  have  been  ashamed.  This  being 
evidently  the  central  point  of  the  entertainment,  Aunt  Chloe 
]  egan  now  to  bustle  about  earnestly  in  the  supper  department. 

"  Here  you,  Mose  and  Pete  !  get  out  de  way,  you  niggers ! 
Get  away,  Polly,  honey,  — mammy  '11  give  her  baby  somefin, 
by  and  by.  Now,  Mas'r  George,  you  jest  take  off  dem  books, 
and  set  down  now  with  my  old  man,  and  I  '11  take  up  de 
sausages,  and  have  de  first  griddle  full  of  cakes  on  your  plates 
in  less  dan  no  time." 

"  They  wanted  me  to  come  to  supper  in  the  house,"  said 
George  ;  "  but  I  knew  what  was  what  too  well  for  that,  Aunt 
Chloe." 

"  So  you  did  —  so  you  did,  honey,"  said  Aunt  Chloe, 
heaping  tne  smoking  batter-cakes  on  his  plate ;  "  you  know'd 
your  old  aunty  'd  keep  the  best  for  you.  0,  let  you  alone 
for  dat !  Go  way  !  "  And,  with  that,  aunty  gave  George  a 
nudge  with  her  finger,  designed  to  be  immensely  facetious, 
and  turned  again  to  her  griddle  with  great  briskness. 

"  Now  for  the  cake,"  said  Mas'r  George,  when  the  activity 
of  the  griddle  department  had  somewhat  subsided ;  and,  with 
that,  the  youngster  flourished  a  large  knife  over  the  article  in 
question. 

':La  bless  you,  Mas'r  George  !  "  said  Aunt  Chloe,  with 
earnestness,  catching  his  arm,  "  you  wouldn't  be  for  cuttin'  it 
wid  dat  ar  great  heavy  knife  !  Smash  all  down  —  spile  all  de 
pretty  rise  of  it.  Here,  I  've  got  a  thin  old  knife,  I  keeps 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  43 

sharp  a  purpose.  Dar  now,  see  !  comes  apart  light  as  a  feather ! 
Now  eat  away  —  you  won't  get  anything  to  beat  dat  ar." 

"  Tom  Lincon  says,"  said  George,  speaking  with  his  mouth 
full,  "  that  their  Jinny  is  a  better  cook  than  you." 

"  Dem  Lincons  an't  much  count,  no  way !"  said  Aunt 
Chloe,  contemptuously;  "I  mean,  set  alongside  our  folks. 
They 's '  spectable  folks  enough  in  a  kinder  plain  way ;  but,  as  to 
gettin'  up  anything  in  style,  they  don't  begin  to  have  a  notion 
on't.  Set  Mas'r  Lincon,  now,  alongside  Mas'r  Shelby! 
Good  Lor !  and  Missis  Lincon,  —  can  she  kinder  sweep  it  into 
a  room  like  my  missis,  —  so  kinder  splendid,  yer  know  !  0, 
go  way  !  don't  tell  me  nothin'  of  dem  Lincons  !  " —  and  Aunt 
Chloe  tossed  her  head  as  one  who  hoped  she  did  know  some 
thing  of  the  world. 

"Well,  though,  I've  heard  you  say,"  said  George,  "that 
Jinny  was  a  pretty  fair  cook." 

"  So  I  did,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  —  "  I  may  say  dat.  Good, 
plain,  common  cookin',  Jinny '11  do;  — make  a  good  pone  o' 
bread, —  bile  her  taters/ar, —  her  corn  cakes  isn't  extra,  not 
extra  now,  Jinny's  corn  cakes  isn't,  but  then  they's  far, — 
hut,  Lor,  come  to  de  higher  branches,  and  what  can  she  do  ? 
Why,  she  makes  pies  —  sartin  she  does;  but  what  kinder 
crust  ?  Can  she  make  your  real  flecky  paste,  as  melts  in  your 
mouth,  and  lies  all  up  like  a  puff?  Now,  I  went  over  thar 
when  Miss  Mary  was  gwine  to  be  married,  and  Jinny  she 
jest  showed  me  de  weddin'  pies.  Jinny  and  I  is  good  friends, 
ye  know.  I  never  said  nothin' ;  but  go  long,  Mas'r  George  ! 
Why,  I  shouldn't  sleep  a  wink  for  a  week,  if  I  had  a  batch 
of  pies  like  dem  ar.  Why,  deywan't  no  'count  'tall." 

"  I  suppose  Jinny  thought  they  were  ever  so  nice,"  said 
George. 

"  Thought  so  !  —  did  n't  she  ?   Thar  she  was;  showing  'em, 


44  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN:    OR, 

as  innocent  —  ye  see,  it's  jest  here,  Jinny  dorit  know.  Lor. 
the  family  an't  nothing !  She  can't  be  spected  to  know  J 
'Ta'nt  no  fault  o'  hern.  Ah,  Mas'r  George,  you  doesn't 
know  half  your  privileges  in  yer  family  and  bringin'  up  !  " 
Here  Aunt  Chloe  sighed,  and  rolled  up  her  eyes  -with 
emotion. 

"  I  'm  sure,  Aunt  Chloe,  I  understand  all  my  pie  and  pud 
ding  privileges,"  said  George.     "  Ask  Tom  Lincon  if  I  don't 
crow  over  him,  every  time  I  meet  him." 

Aunt  Chloe  sat  back  in  her  chair,  and  indulged  in  a  hearty 
guffaw  of  laughter,  at  this  witticism  of  young  MasYs, 
laughing  till  the  tears  rolled  down  her  black,  shining  cheeks, 
and  varying  the  exercise  with  playfully  slapping  I  poking 
Mas'r  Georgey,  and  telling  him  to  go  way,  and  that  he  was 
a  case  —  that  he  was  fit  to  kill  her,  and  that  he  sartin  would 
kill  her,  one  of  these  days ;  and,  between  each  of  these  san 
guinary  predictions,  going  off  into  a  laugh,  each  longer  and 
stronger  than  the  other,  till  George  really  began  to  think  that 
he  was  a  very  dangerously  witty  fellow,  and  that  it  became 
him  to  be  careful  how  he  talked  "  as  funny  as  he  could." 

"And  so  ye  telled  Tom,  did  ye?  0,  Lor!  what  young 
uns  will  be  up  ter !  Ye  crowed  over  Tom  ?  0,  Lor  !  Mas'r 
George,  if  ye  wouldn't  make  a  hornbug  laugh  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  George,  "  I  says  to  him,  '  Tom,  you  ought  to 
see  some  of  Aunt  Chloe 's  pies ;  they  're  the  right  sort,' 
says  I." 

"Pity,  now,  Tom  couldn't,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  on  whose 
benevolent  heart  the  idea  of  Tom's  benighted  condition  seemed 
to  make  a  strong  impression.  "  Ye  oughter  just  ask  him  here 
to. dinner,  some  o' these  times,  Mas'r  George,"  she  added; 
"  it  would  look  quite  pretty  of  ye.  Ye  know,  Mas'r  George, 
ye  oughtenter  feel  'bove  nobody,  on  'count  yer  privileges,  'cause 


LIEB   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  45 

all  our  privileges  is  gi'n  to  us ;  we  ought  al'ays  to  'member 
that/'  said  Aunt  Chloe,  looking  quite  serious. 

"  Well,  I  mean  to  ask  Tom  here,  some  day  next  week,"  said 
George ;  "  and  you  do  your  prettiest,  Aunt  Chloe,  and  we  '11 
make  him  stare.  Won't  we  make  him  eat  so  he  won't  get 
over  it  for  a  fortnight?  " 

"  Yes,  yes  —  sartin,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  delighted ;  "  you  '11 
see.  Lor  !  to  think  of  some  of  our  dinners  !  Yer  mind  dat 
ar  great  chicken  pie  I  made  when  we  guv  de  dinner  to  General 
Knox  ?  I  and  Missis,  we  come  pretty  near  quarrelling  about 
dat  ar  crust.  What  does  get  into  ladies  sometimes,  I  don't 
know ;  but,  sometimes,  when  a  body  has  de  heaviest  kind  o7 
'sponsibility  on  'em,  as  ye  may  say,  and  is  all  kinder  '  seris ' 
and  taken  up,  dey  takes  dat  ar  time  to  be  hangin'  round  and 
kinder  interferin'  !  Now,  Missis,  she  wanted  me  to  do  dis 
way,  and  she  wanted  me  to  do  dat  way ;  and,  finally,  I  got 
kinder  sarcy,  and,  says  I,  l  Now,  Missis,  do  jist  look  at  dem 
beautiful  white  hands  o'  yourn,  with  long  fingers,  and  all  a 
sparkling  with  rings,  like  my  white  lilies  when ,  de  dew 's  on 
7 em ;  and  look  at  my  great  black  stumpin  hands.  sTow,  don't  ye 
think  dat  de  Lord  must  have  meant  me  to  make  de  pie-crust, 
and  you  to  stay  in  de  parlor  7  )Dar !  I  was  jist  so  sarcy, 
Mas'r  George." 

"  And  what  did  mother  say  ?  "  said  George. 

"  Say?  —  why,  she  kinder  larfed  in  her  eyes  —  dem  great 
handsome  eyes  o'  hern  •  and,  says  she,  '  Well,  Aunt  Chloe,  I 
think  you  are  about  in  the  right  on't,'  says  she;  and  she 
went  off  in  de  parlor.  She  oughter  cracked  me  over  de  head 
for  bein'  so  sarcy ;  but  dar  's  whar  't  is  —  I  can't  do  nothin* 
with  ladies  in  de  kitchen  !  " 

"  Well,  you. made  out  well  with  that  dinner.  —I  remember 
everybody  said  so,"  said  George. 


4:6  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:    OB, 

"  Didn't  I?  And  wan't  I  behind  de  dinin'-room  door  dat 
bery  day?  and  didn't  I  see  de  General  pass  his  plate  three 
times  for  some  more  dat  bery  pie  ?  —  and,  says  he,  *  You  must 
have  an  uncommon  cook,  Mrs.  Shelby.'  Lor !  I  was  fit  to 
split  myself. 

"  And  de  Gineral,  he  knows  what  cookin'  is,"  said  Aunt 
Chloe,  drawing  herself  up  with  an  air.  "  Bery  nice  man,  de 
Gineral !  He  comes  of  one  of  de  bery  fastest  families  in  Old 
Virginny  !  He  knows  what 's  what,  now,  as  well  as  I  do  — 
de  Gineral.  Ye  see,  there 's  pints  in  all  pies,  Mas'r  George ; 
but  tan't  everybody  knows  what  they  is,  or  orter  be.  But 
the  Gineral,  he  knows ;  I  knew  by  his  'marks  he  made.  Yes, 
he  knows  what  de  pints  is !  " 

By  this  time,  Master  George  had  arrived  at  that  pass  to 
which  even  a  boy  can  come  (under  uncommon  circumstances, ) 
when  he  really  could  not  eat  another  morsel,  and,  therefore, 
he  was  at  leisure  to  notice  the  pile  of  woolly  heads  and  glis 
tening  eyes  which  were  regarding  their  operations  hungrily 
from  the  opposite  corner. 

"  Here,  you  Mose,  Pete,"  he  said,  breaking  off  liberal  bit?, 
and  throwing  it  at  them;  "you  want  some,  don't  you? 
Come,  Aunt  Chloe,  bake  them  some  cakes." 

And  George  and  Tom  moved  to  a  comfortable  seat  in  the 
chimney-corner,  while  Aunt  Chloe,  after  baking  a  goodly  pile 
of  cakes,  took  her  baby  on  her  lap,  and  began  alternately  fill 
ing  its  mouth  and  her  own,  and  distributing  to  Mose  and  Pete, 
who  seemed  rather  to  prefer  eating  theirs  as  they  rolled  about 
on  the  floor  under  the  table,  tickling  each  other,  and  occasion 
ally  pulling  the  baby's  toes. 

"  0  !  go  long,  will  ye  ?  "  said  the  mother,  giving  now  and 
then  a  kick,  in  a  kind  of  general  way,  under  the  table,  when 
the  movement  became  too  obstreperous.  "Can't  ye 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  47 

when  white  folks  comes  to  see  ye?  Stop  dat  ar,  now,  will  ye? 
Better  mind  yerselves,  or. I '11  take  ye  down  a  button-hole 
lower,  when  Mas'r  George  is  gone  !  " 

What  meaning  was  couched  under  this  terrible  threat,  it  is 
difficult  to  say ;  but  certain  it  is  that  its  awful  indistinctness 
seemed  to  produce  very  little  impression  on  the  young  sinners 
addressed. 

"  La,  now  !  "  said  Uncle  Tom,  "they  are  so  full  of  tickle 
all  the  while,  they  can't  behave  theirselves." 

Here  the  boys  emerged  from  under,  the  table,  and,  with 
hands  and  faces  well  plastered  with  molasses,  began  a  vigorous 
kissing  of  the  baby. 

"  Get  along  wid  ye !  "  said  the  mother,  pushing  away  their 
woolly  heads.  "  Ye  '11  all  stick  together,  and  never  get  clar, 
if  ye  do  dat  fashion.  Go  long  to  de  spring  and  wash  yer 
selves  !  "  she  said,  seconding  her  exhortations  by  a  slap,  which 
resounded  very  formidably,  but  which  seemed  only  to  knock 
out  so  much  more  laugh  from  the  young  ones,  as  they  tumbled 
precipitately  over  each  other  out  of  doors,  where  they  fairly 
screamed  with  merriment. 

"Did  ye  ever  see  such  aggravating  young  uns?"  said 
Aunt  Chloe,  rather  complacently,  as,  producing  an  old  towel, 
kept  for  such  emergencies,  she  poured  a  little  water  out  of 
the  cracked  tea-pot  on  it,  and  began  rubbing  off  the  molasses 
from  the  baby's  face  and  hands ;  and,  having  polished  her  till 
she  shone,  she  set  her  down  in  Tom's  lap,  while  she  busied 
herself  in  clearing  away  supper.  The  baby  employed  the 
intervals  in  pulling  Tom's  nose,  scratching  his  face,  and  bury 
ing  her  fat  hands  in  his  woolly  hair,  which  last  operation 
seemed  to  afford  her  special  content. 

"  Aint  she  a  peart  young  un  ?  "  said  Tom,  holding  her  from 
him  to  take  a  full-length  view ;  then,  getting  up,  he  set  her 


48  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN:    OR, 

on  his  broad  shoulder,  and  began  capering  and  dancing  with 
her,  while  Mas'r  George  snapped  at  her  with  his  pocket- 
handkerchief,  and  Mose  and  Pete,  now  returned  again,  roared 
after  her  like  bears,  till  Aunt  Chloe  declared  that  they  "fairly 
took  her  head  off'7  with  their  noise.  As,  according  to  her 
own  statement,  this  surgical  operation  was  a  matter  of  daily 
occurrence  in  the  cabin,  the  declaration  no  whit  abated  the 
merriment,  till  every  one  had  roared  and  tumbled  and  danced 
themselves  down  to  a  state  of  composure. 

"Well,  now,  I  hopes  you  're  done,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  who 
had  been  busy  in  pulling  out  a  rude  box  of  a  trundle-bed ; 
"and  now,  you  Mose  and  you  Pete,  get  into  thar;  for  we  's 
goin'  to  have  the  meetin'." 

"  0  mother,  we  don't  wanter.  We  wants  to  sit  up  to 
meetin',  — meetin's  is  so  curis.  We  likes  'em." 

"  La,  Aunt  Chloe,  shove  it  under,  and  let  'em  sit  up," 
said  Mas'r  George,  decisively,  giving  a  push  to  the  rude 
machine. 

Aunt  Chloe,  having  thus  saved  appearances,  seemed  highly 
delighted  to  push  the  thing  under,  saying,  as  she  did  so, 
"Well,  mebbe  'twill  do  'em  some  good." 

The  house  now  resolved  itself  into  a  committee  of  the 

> 

•whole,  to  consider  the  accommodations  and  arrangements  for 
the  meeting. 

"  What  we 's  to  do  for  cheers,  now,  /declar  I  don't  know," 
said  Aunt  Chloe.  As  the  meeting  had  been  held  at  Uncle 
Tom's,  weekly,  for  an  indefinite  length  of  time,  without  any 
more  "cheers,"  there  seemed  some  encouragement  to  hope 
that  a  way  would  be  discovered  at  present. 

"  Old  Uncle  Peter  sung  both  de  legs  out  of  dat  oldest 
cheer,  last  week,"  suggested  Mose. 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  49 

*"  You  go  long  !  I  '11  boun'  you  pulled  'em  out ;  some  o' 
your  shinep,"  said  Aunt  Chloe. 

"  Well,  it  '11  stand,  if  it  only  keeps  jam  up  agin  de  wall !  " 
said  Mose. 

"  Den  Uncle  Peter  mus'n't  sit  in  it,  cause  he  al'ays  hitches 
•when  he  gets  a  singing.  He  hitched  pretty  nigh  across  de 
room,  t'  other  night,"  said  Pete. 

"  Good  Lor!  get  him  in  it,  then,"  said  Mose,  "and  den 
he  'd  begin,  l  Come  saints  and  sinners,  hear  me  tell,'  and  den 
down  he'd  go," — and  Mose  imitated  precisely  the  nasal 
tones  of  the  old  -man,  tumbling  on  the  floor,  to  illustrate  the 
supposed  catastrophe. 

"Come  now,  be  decent,  can't  ye?"  said  Aunt  Chloe; 
"an'tyer  shamed?" 

Mas'r  George,  however,  joined  the  offender  in  the  laugh, 
and  declared  decidedly  that  Mose  was  a  c  buster."  So  the 
maternal  admonition  seemed  rather  to  fail  of  effect. 

"Well,  ole  man,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  "you  '11  have  to  tote 
in  them  ar  bar 'Is." 

"  Mother's  bar' Is  is  like  dat  ar  widder's,  Mas'r  George 
was  reading  'bout,  in  de  good  book,  —  dey  never  fails,"  said 
Mose,  aside  to  Pete. 

"  I  'm  sure  one  on  'em  caved  in  last  week,"  said  Pete, 
"  and  let  'em  all  down  in  de  middle  of  de  singin' ;  dat  ar  was 
failin',  warntit?" 

During  this  aside  between  Mose  and  Pete,  two  empty  casks 
had  been  rolled  into  the  cabin,  and  being  secured  from  rolling, 
by  stones  on  each  side,  boards  were  laid  across  them,  which 
arrangement,  together  with  the  turning  down  of  certain  tubs 
and  pails,  and  the  disposing  of  the  rickety  chairs,  at  last 
completed  the  preparation. 

"  Mas'r  George  is  such  a  beautiful  reader,  now,  I  know 
5 


50  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  on, 

he  '11  stay  to  read  for  us,"  said  Aunt  Chloe ;  "  'pears  like 
't  will  be  so  much  more  interestin'." 

George  very  readily  consented,  for  your  boy  is  always 
ready  for  anything  that  makes  him  of  importance. 

The  room  was  soon  filled  with  a  motley  assemblage,  from 
the  old  gray-headed  patriarch  of  eighty,  to  the  young  girl 
and  lad  of  fifteen.  A  little  harmless  gossip  ensued  on  various 
themes,  such  as  where  old  Aunt  Sally  got  her  new  red  head- 
kerchief,  and  how  "  Missis  was  a  going  to  give  Lizzy  that 
spotted  muslin  gown,  when  she  'd  got  her  new  berage  made 
up ;  "  and  how  Mas'r  Shelby  was  thinking  of  buying  a  new 
sorrel  colt,  that  was  going  to  prove  an  addition  to  the  glories 
of  the  place.  A  few  of  the  worshippers  belonged  to  families 
hard  by,  who  had  got  permission  to  attend,  and  who  brought 
in  various  choice  scraps  of  information,  about  the  sayings  and 
doings  at  the  house  and*  on  the  place,  which  circulated  as 
freely  as  the  same  sort  of  small  change  does  in  higher 
circles. 

After  a  while  the  singing  commenced,  to  the  evident  delight 
of  all  present.  Not  even  all  the  disadvantage  of  nasal  intona 
tion  could  prevent  the  effect  of  the  naturally  fine  voices,  in 
airs  at  once  wild  and  spirited.  The  words  were  sometimes 
the  well-known  and  common  hymns  sung  in  the  churches 
about,  and  sometimes  of  a  wilder,  more  indefinite  character, 
picked  up  at  camp-meetings. 

The  chorus  of  one  of  them,  which  ran  as  follows,  was  sung 
with  great  energy  and  unction  : 

"  Die  on  the  field  of  battle, 
Die  on  the  field  of  battle, 
Glory  in  my  souL" 

Another  special  favorite  had  oft  repeated  the  words  — 


LIFE   AMONG   THE  LOWLY.  61 


"  0, 1  'm  going  to  glory,  —  won't  you  come  along  with  me  ? 
Don't  you  see  the  angels  beck'ning,  and  a  calling  me  away  ? 
Don't  you  see  the  golden  city  and  the  everlasting  day  ?  " 

There  were  others,  which  made  incessant  mention  of  "  Jor 
dan's  banks,"  and  "  Canaan's  fields,"  and  the  "  New  Jerusa 
lem;"  for  the  negro  mind,  impassioned  and  imaginative, 
always  attaches  itself  to  hymns  and  expressions  of  a  vivid  and 
pictorial  nature  ;  and,  as  they  sung,  some  laughed,  and  some 
cried,  and  some  clapped  hands,  or  shook  hands  rejoicingly 
with  each  other,  as  if  they  had  fairly  gained  the  other  side 
of  the  river. 

Various  exhortations,  or  relations  of  experience,  followed, 
and  intermingled  with  the  singing.  One  old  gray-headed 
woman,  long  past  work,  but  much  revered  as  a  sort  of  chron 
icle  of  the  past,  rose,  and  leaning  on  her  staff,  said  — 

"Well,  chil'en!  Well,  I'm  mighty  glad  to  hear  ye  all 
and  see  ye  all  once  more,  'cause  I  don't  know  when  I  '11  be 
gone  to  glory ;  but  I  've  done  got  ready,  chil'en ;  'pears  like 
I  'd  got  my  little  bundle  all  tied  up,  and  my  bonnet  on,  jest  a 
waitin'  for  the  stage  to  come  along  and  take  me  home ;  some 
times,  in  the  night,  I  think  I  hear  the  wheels  a  rattlin',  and 
I  'm  lookin'  out  all  the  time ;  now,  you  jest  be  ready  too,  for 
I  tell  ye  all,  chil'en,"  she  said,  striking  her  staff  hard  on  the 
floor,  "dat  ar  glory  is  a  mighty  thing !  It 's  a  mighty  thing, 
chil'en,  —  you  don' no  nothing  about  it,  —  it 's  wonderful" 
And  the  old  creature  sat  down,  with  streaming  tears,  as 
wholly  overcome,  while  the  whole  circle  struck  up  — 

"  0  Canaan,  bright  Canaan, 
I  'm  bound  for  the  land  of  Canaan." 

Mas'r  George,  by  request,  read  the  last  chapters  of  Reve 
lation,  often  interrupted  by  such  exclamations  as  "  The  sakes 


52  ^    UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

now  !  "'  "  Only  hear  that !  "  "  Jest  think  on  't !  "  "  Is 
all  that  a  comin'  sure  enough  I " 

George,  who  was  a  bright  boy,  and  well  trained  in  reli- 

V\T'  gious  things  by  his  mother,  finding  himself  an  object  of  gen- 

'    eral  admiration,  threw  in  expositions  of  his  own,  from  time  to 

.   time,  with  a  commendable  seriousness  and  gravity,  for  which 

he  was  admired  by  the  young  and  blessed  by  the  old ;  and 

it  was  agreed,  on  all  hands,  that  "  a  minister  could  n't  lay  it 

off  better  than  he  did  ;  "  that  "  't  was  reely  'mazin'  !  " 

Uncle  Tom  was  a  sort  of  patriarch  in  religious  matters,  in 
the  neighborhood.  Having,  naturally,  an  organization  in 
which  the  morale  was  strongly  predominant,  together  with  a 
greater  breadth  and  cultivation  of  mind  than  obtained  among 
his  companions,  he  was  looked  up  to  with  great  respect,  as  a 
sort  of  minister  among  them  j  and  the  simple,  hearty,  sincere 
style  of  his  exhortations  might  have  edified  even  better  edu 
cated  persons.  But  it  was  in  prayer  that  he  especially 
excelled.  Nothing  could  exceed  the  touching  simplicity,  the 
child-like  earnestness,  of  his  prayer,  enriched  with  the  lan 
guage  of  Scripture,  which  seemed  so  entirely  to  have  wrought 
itself  into  his  being,  as  to  have  become  a  part  of  himself,  and 
to  drop  from  his  lips  unconsciously;  in  the  language  of  a 
pious  old  negro,  he  "prayed  right  up."  And  so  much  did 
his  prayer  always  work  on  the  devotional  feelings  of  his 
audiences,  that  there  seemed  often  a  danger  that  it  would  be 
lost  altogether  in  the  abundance  of  the  responses  which  broke 
out  everywhere  around  him. 


While  this  scene  was  passing  in  the  cabin  of  the  man,  one 
quite  otherwise  passed  in  the  halls  of  the  master. 

The  trader  and  Mr.  Shelby  were  seated  together  in  the 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  53 

dining  room  afore-named,  at  a  table  covered  with  papers  and 
writing  utensils. 

-Mr.  Shelby  was  busy  in  counting  some  bundles  of  bills, 
which,  as  they  were  counted,  he  pushed  over  to  the  trader, 
who  counted  them  likewise. 

"All  fair,"  said  the  trader;  "  and  now  for  signing  these 
yer." 

Mr.  Shelby  hastily  drew  the  bills  of  sale  towards  him,  and 
signed  them,  like  a  man  that  hurries  over  some  disagreeable 
business,  and  then  pushed  them  over  with  the  money.  Haley 
produced,  from  a  well-worn  valise,  a  parchment,  which,  after 
looking  over  it  a  moment,  he  handed  to  Mr.  Shelby,  who  took 
it  with  a  gesture  of  suppressed  eagerness. 

"Wai,  now,  the  thing's  done!"  said  the  trader,  get 
ting  up. 

"it's  done!"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  in  a  musing  tone;  and, 
fetching  a  long  breath,  he  repeated,  "  It  Js  done!  " 

"  Yer  don't  seem  to  feel  much  pleased  with  it,  'pears  to 
me,"  said  the  trader. 

"Haley,"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  "I  hope  you'll  remember  that 
you  promised,  on  your  honor,  you  would  n't  sell  Tom,  with 
out  knowing  what  sort  of  hands  he  's  going  into." 

"  Why,  you  've  just  done  it,  sir,"  said  the  trader. 

"  Circumstances,  you  well  know,  obliged  me,"  said  Shelby, 
haughtily. 

"Wai,  you  know,  they  may  'blige  me,  too,"  said  the 
trader.  "  Howsomever,  I  '11  do  the  very  best  I  can  in  gettin' 
Tom  a  good  berth ;  as  to  my  treatin'  on  him  bad,  you  need  n't 
be  a  grain  afeard.  If  there  's  anything  that  I  thank  the 
Lord  for,  it  is  that  I  'm  never  noways  cruel." 

After  the   expositions  which  the   trader  had  previously 
given  of  his  humane  principles,  Mr.  Shelby  did  not  feel  par- 
5* 


54  UNCLE  TOM'S   CABIN  :    OR, 

ticularly  reassured  by  these  declarations  ;  but,  as  they  were 
the  best  comfort  .the  case  admitted  of,  he  allowed  the  trader 
to  depart  in  silence,  and  betook  himself  to  a  solitary  cigar. 


CHAPTER  V. 

SHOWING  THE  FEELINGS  OP  LIVING  PROPERTY  ON  CHANGING  OWNERS. 

MR.  and  Mrs.  Shelby  had  retired  to  their  apartment  for  the 
night.  He  was  lounging  in  a  large  easy-chair,  looking  over 
some  letters  that  had  come  in  the  afternoon  mail,  and  she  was 
standing  before  her  mirror,  brushing  out  the  complicated 
braids  and  curls  in  which  Eliza  had  arranged  her  hair ;  for, 
noticing  her  pale  cheeks  and  haggard  eyes,  she  had  excused 
her  attendance  that  night,  and  ordered  her  to  bed.  The 
employment,  naturally  enough,  suggested  her  conversation 
with  the  girl  in  the  morning ;  and,  turning  to  her  husband, 
she  said,  carelessly, 

"By  the  by,  Arthur,  who  was  that  low-bred  fellow  that 

you  lugged  in  to  our  dinner-table  to-day  ?"*^ 

'  "Haley  is  his  name,"  said  Shelby,  turning  himself  rather 
uneasily  in  his  chair,  and  continuing  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  /a 
letter. 

"  Haley  !  Who  is  he}  and  what  may  he  his  business  here, 
pray?" 

"Well,  he's  a<;  man  that  I  transacted  some  business  with, 
last  time  I  was, at  Natchez,"  said  Mr.  Shelby. 

"And  he  presumed  on  it  to  make  himself  quite  at  home, 
and  call  and  dine  here,  ay  ?  " 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  55 

'•Why,  I  invited  him;  I  had  some  accounts  with  him," 
said  Shelby. 

"  Is  he  a  negro-trader?'  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  noticing  & 
certain  embarrassment  in  her  husband's  manner. 

"Why,  my  dear,  what  put  that  into  your  head?"  said 
Shelby,  looking  up. 

"Nothing, —  only  Eliza  came  inhere,  after  dinner,  in  a 
great  worry,  crying  and  taking  on,  and  said  you  were  talking 
with  a  trader,  and  that  she  heard  him  make  an  offer  for  her 
boy  —  the  ridiculous  little  goose !  " 

"  She  did.  hey?  "  said  Mr.  Shelby,  returning  to  his  paper, 
which  he  scorned  for  a  few  moments  quite  intent  upon,  not 
perceiving  that  he  was  holding  it  bottom  upwards. 

"It  will  have  to  come  out,"  said  he,  mentally;  "as  well 
now  as  ever." 

"  I  told  Eliza,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  as  she  continued  brush 
ing  her  hair,  "that  she  was  a  little  fool  for  her  pains,  and 
that  you  never  had  anything  to  do  with  that  sort  of  persons. 
Of  course,  I  knew  you  never  meant  to  sell  any  of  our  people, 
—  least  of  all,  to  such  a  fellow." 

"Well,  Emily,"  said  her  husband,  "so  I  have  always  felt 
and  said ;  but  the  fact  is  that  my  business  lies  so  that  I  can 
not  get  on  without.  I  shall  have  to  sell  some  of  my  hands." 

"  To  that  creature  ?  Impossible !  Mr.  Shelby,  you  cannot 
be  serious." 

"  I  'm  sorry  to  say  that  I  am,"  said  Mr.  Shelby.  "  I  've 
agreed  to  sell  Tom." 

"What!    our  Tom?  — that  good,   faithful  creature  !- 
been  your  faithful  servant  from  a  boy !     0,  Mr.  Shelby !  — 
and  you  have  -promised  himhis  freedom,  too, —  you  and  I 
have  spoken  to  him  a  hundred  times  of  it.     Well,  I  can 
believe  anything  now,~^  I  can  believe  now  that  you  coul'd 


56  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

sell  little  Harry,  poor  Eliza's  only  child !  "  said  Mrs.  Shelby, 
in  a  tone  between  grief  and  indignation. 

"Well,  since  you  must  know  all,  it  is  so.  I  have  agreed 
to  sell  Tom  and  Harry  both ;  and  I  don't  know  why  I  am  to 
be  rated,  as  if  I  were  a  monster,  for  doing  what  every  one 
does  every  day." 

"  But  why,  of  all  others,  choose  these?  "  said  Mrs.  Shelby. 
"  Why  sell  them,  of  all  on  the  place,  if  you  must  sell  at  all  1 " 

"  Because  they  will  bring  the  highest  sum  of  any, —  that 's 
why..  I  could  choose  another,  if  you  say  so.  The  fellow 
made  me  a  high  bid  on  Eliza,  if  that  would  suit  you  any 
better,"  said  Mr.  Shelby. 

"  The  wretch  !  "  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  vehemently. 

"Well,  I  didn't  listen  to  it,  a  moment, —  out  of  regard  to 
your  feelings,  I  wouldn't;  —  so  give  me  some  credit." 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  recollecting  herse'If,  "for 
give  me.  I  have  been  hasty.  I  was  surprised,  and  entirely 
unprepared  for  this ;  —  but  surely  you  will  allow  me  to  inter- 
yy  cede  for  these  poor  creatures.  Tom  is  a  noble-hearted,  faith- 
:'//  ful  fellow,  if  he  is  black.  I  do  believe,  Mr.  Shelby,  that  if 
he  were  put  to  it,  he  would  lay  down  his  life  for  you." 

"I  know  it, —  I  dare  say; — but  what's  the  use  of  all 
this?  —I  can't  help  myself." 

"Why  not  make  a  pecuniary  sacrifice?  I'm  willing  to 
bear  my  part  of  the  inconvenience.  0,  Mr.  Shelby,  I  have 
tried  —  tried  most  faithfully,  as  a  Christian  woman  should  — 
to  do  my  duty  to  these  poor,  simple,  dependent  crtatures.  I 
have  cared  for  them,  instructed  them,  watched  over  them,  and 
known  all  their  little  cares  and  joys,  for  years ;  and  how  can 
I  ever  hold  up  my  head  again  among  them,  if,  for  the  sake 
of  a  little  paltry  gain,  we  sell  such  a  faithful,  excellent,  con 
fiding  creature  as  poor  Tom,  and  tear  from  him  in  a  moment 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  57 

all  we  have  taught  him  to  love  and  value  ?  I  have  taught 
them  the  duties  of  the  family,  of  parent  and  child,  and  hus 
band  and  wife;  and  how  can  I  bear  to  have  this  open 
acknowledgment  that  we  care  for  no  tie,  no  duty,  no  relation, 
however  sacred,  compared  with  money  ?  I  have  talked  with 
Eliza  about  her  boy  —  her  duty  to  him  as  a  Christian  mother, 
to  watch  over  him,  pray  for  him,  and  bring  him  up  in  a 
Christian  way ;  and  now  what  can  I  say,  if  you  tear  him 
away,  and  sell  him,  soul  and  body,  to  a  profane,  unprincipled 
man,  just  to  save  a  little  money  ?  I  have  told  her  that  one 
soul  is  worth  more  than  all  the  money  in  the  world ;  and 
how  will  she  believe  me  when  she  sees  us  turn  round  and  sell 
her  child  ?  —  sell  him,  perhaps,  to  certain  ruin  of  body  and 
soul ! » 

"I'm  sorry  you  feel  so  about  it,  Emily, — .jndeed  I  am," 
said  Mr.  Shelby ;  "  and  I  respect  yoiuTTeeiings,  too,  though  I 
don't  pretend  to  share  them  to  their  full  extent;  but  I  tell 
you  now,  solemnly,  it 's  of  no  use  —  I  can't  help  myself.  I 
did  n't  mean  to  tell  you  this,  Emily ;  but,  in  plain  words, 
there  is  no  choice  between  selling  these  two  and  selling 
everything.  Either  they  must  go,  or  all  Inust.  Haley  has 
come  into  possession  of  a  mortgage,  which,  if  I  don't  clear  off 
with  him  directly,  will  take  everything  before  it.  I  've  raked, 
and  scraped,  and  borrowed,  and  all  but  begged, —  and  the 
price  of  these  two  was  needed  to  make  up  the  balance,  and  I 
had  to  give  them  up.  Haley  fancied  the  child ;  he  agreed  to 
settle  the  matter  that  way,  and  no  other.  I  was  in  his 
power,  and  had  to  do  it.  If  you  feel  so  to  have  them  sold, 
would  it  be  any  better  to  have  all  sold?  " 

Mrs.  Shelby  stood  like  one  stricken.  Finally,  turning  to 
her  toilet,  she  rested  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  gave  a  sort 
of  groan. 


UNCLE   TOM'S  CABIN  I    OB, 


"  This  is  God's  curse  on  slavery  !  — a  bitter,  bitter,  most 
accursed  thing  !  —  a  Curse  to  the  master  and  a  curse  to  the 
slave !  I  was  a  fool  to  think  I  could  make  anything  good  out 
of  such  a  deadly  evil.  It  is  a  sin  to  hold  a  slave  under  laws 
like  ours,  —  I  always  felt  it  was,  —  I  always  thought  so 
when  I  was  a  girl,  —  I  thought  so  still  more  after  I  joined 
tho  church  ;  but  I  thought  I  could  gild  it  over,  —  I  thought, 
by  kindness,  and  care,  and  instruction,  I  could  make  the 
condition  of  mine  better  than  freedom —  fool  that  I  was  ! " 

"  Why,  wife,  you  are  getting  to  be  an  abolitionist,  quite." 

"  Abolitionist !  if  they  knew  all  I  know  about  slavery  they 
might  talk  !  We  don't  need  them  to  tell  us ;  you  know  I 
never  thought  that  slavery  was  right  —  never  felt  willing  to 
own  slaves." 

"  Well,  therein  you  diifer  from  many  wise  and  pious  men," 
v  said  Mr.  Shelby.     "  You  remember  Mr.  B.'s  sermon,  the 

other  Sunday?" 

j^       "I  don't  want  to  hear  such  sermons;  I  never  wish  to 

*   hear  Mr.  B.  in  our  church  again.     Ministers  can't  help  the 

evil,  perhaps,  —  can't  cure  it,  any  more  than  we  can,  —  but 

d     defend  it !  —  it  always  went  against  my  common  sense.    And 

I  think  you  did  n't  think  much  of  that  sermon,  either." 

"Well,"  said  Shelby,  "  I  must  say  these  ministers  some 
times  carry  matters  further  than  we  poor  sinners  would 
exactly  dare  to  do.  We  men  of  the  world  must  wink  pretty 
hard  at  various  things,  and  get  used  to  a  deal  that  is  n't  the 
exact  thing.  But  we  don't  quite  fancy,  when  women  and 
ministers  come  out  broad  and  square,  and  go  beyond  us  in 
matters  of  either  modesty  or  morals,  that 's  a  fact.  But  now, 
my  dear,  I  trust  you  see  the  necessity  of  the  thing,  and  you 
see  that  I  have  done  the  very  best  that  circumstances  would 
allow." 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  59 

"  0  yes,  yes !  "  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  hurriedly  and  abstracts 
edly  fingering  her  gold  watch, —  "  I  have  n't  any  jewelry  of 
any  amount,"  she  added,  thoughtfully;  "but  would  not  this 
watch  do  something  ?  —  it  was  an  expensive  one,  when  it  was 
bought.  If  I  could  only  at  least  save  Eliza's  child,  I  would 
sacrifice  anything  I  have." 

"I'm  sorry,  very  sorry,  Emily,"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  "I'm 
sorry  this  takes  hold  of  you  so ;  but  it  will  do  no  good.  The 
fact  is,  Emily,  the  thing 's  done  ;  the  bills  of  sale  are  already 
signed,  and  in  Haley's  hands ;  and  you  must  be  thankful  it 
is  no  worse.  That  man  has  had  it  in  his.  power  to  ruin  us 
all, —  and  now  he  is  fairly  off.  If  you  knew  the  man  as  I 
do,  you  'd  think  that  we  had  had  a  narrow  escape." 

"Is  he  so  hard,  then?" 

"  Why,  not  a  cruel  man,  exactly,  but  a  man  of  leather, — 
a  man  alive  to  nothing  but  trade  and  profit, —  cool,  and 
unhesitating,  and  unrelenting,  as  death  and  the  grave.  He  'd 
sell  his  own  mother  at  a  good  per  centage  —  not  wishing  the 
old  woman  any  harm,  either." 

"And  this  wretch  owns  that  good,  faithful  Tom,  and 
Eliza's  child !  " 

"  Well,  my  dear,  the  fact  is  that  this  goes  rather  hard  with 
me ;  it 's  a  thing  I  hate  to  think  of.  Haley  wants  to  drive 
matters,  and  take  possession  to-morrow.  I  'in  going  to  get 
out  my  horse  bright  and  early,  and  be  off.  I  can't  see  Tom, 
that 's  a  fact ;  and  you  had  better  arrange  a  drive  somewhere, 
and  carry  Eliza  off.  Let  the  thing  be  done  when  she  is  out 
of  sight." 

"No,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby;  "I'll  be  in  no  sense  accom 
plice  or  help  in  this  cruel  business.  I  '11  go  and  see  poor  old 
Tom,  God  help  him,  in  his  distress  !  They  shall  see,  at  any 
rate,  that  their  mistress  can  feel  for  and  with  them.  As  to 


GO  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:   OB, 

Eliza,  I  dare  not  think  about  it.  The  Lord  forgive  us ! 
What  have  we  done,  that  this  cruel  necessity  should  come 
on  us  ?  " 

There  was  one  listener  to  this  conversation  whom  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Shelby  little  suspected. 

Communicating  with  their  apartment  was  a  large  closet, 
opening  by  a  door  into  the  outer  passage.  When  Mrs.  Shelby 
had  dismissed  Eliza  for  the  night,  her  feverish  and  excited 
mind  had  suggested  the  idea  of  this  closet ;  and  she  had  hidden 
herself  there,  and,  with  her  ear  pressed  close  against  the  crack 
of  the  door,  had  lost  not  a  word  of  the  conversation. 

When  the  voices  died  into  silence,  she  rose  and  crept 
stealthily  away.  Pale,  shivering,  with  rigid  features  and 
compressed  lips,  she  looked  an  entirely  altered  being  from  the 
soft  and  timid  creature  she  had  been  hitherto.  She  moved 
cautiously  along  the  entry,  paused  one  moment  at  her  mis 
tress'  door,  and  raised  her  hands  in  mute  appeal  to  Heaven, 
and  then  turned  and  glided  into  her  own  room.  It  was  a 
quiet,  neat  apartment,  on  the  same  floor  with  her  mistress. 
There  was  the  pleasant  sunny  window,  where  she  had  often 
sat  singing  at  her  sewing ;  there  a  little  case  of  books,  and 
various  little  fancy  articles,  ranged  by  them,  the  gifts  of 
Christmas  holidays ;  there  was  her  simple  wardrobe  in  the 
closet  and  in  the  drawers :  —  here  was,  in  short,  her  home ; 
and,  on  the  whole,  a  happy  one  it  had  been  to  her.  But 
there,  on  the  bed,  lay  her  slumbering  boy,  his  long  curls  fall 
ing  negligently  around  his  unconscious  face,  his  rosy  mouth 
half  open,  his  little  fat  hands  thrown  out  over  the  bed 
clothes,  and  a  smile  spread  like  a  sunbeam  over  his  whole 
face. 

"  Poor  boy  !  poor  fellow  !  "  said  Eliza;  "  they  have  sold 
you !  but  your  mother  will  save  you  yet !  " 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  61 

No  tear  dropped  over  that  pillow ;  in  such  straits  as  these, 
the  heart  has  no  tears  to  give,  —  it  drops  only  blood,  bleeding 
itself  away  in  silence.  She  took  a  piece  of  paper  and  a  pencil, 
and  wrote,  hastily, 

"0,  Missis!  dear  Missis!  don't  think  me  ungrateful, — 
don't  think  hard  of  me,  any  way,  —  I  heard  all  you  and  mas 
ter  said  to-night.  I  am  going  to  try  to  save  my  boy  —  you 
will  not  blame  me !  God  bless  and  reward  you  for  all  your 
kindness ! "  ^* 

Hastily  folding  and  directing  this,  she  went  to  a  drawer  and 
made  up  a  little  package  of  clothing  for  her  boy,  which  she 
tied  with  a  handkerchief  firmly  round  her  waist;  and,  so 
fond  is  a  mother's  remembrance,  that,  even  in  the  terrors  of 
that  hour,  she  did  not  forget  to  put  in  the  little  package  one 
or  two  of  his  favorite  toys,  reserving  a  gayly  painted  parrot  to 
amuse  him,  when  she  should  be  called  on  to  awaken  him.  It 
was  some  trouble  to  arouse  the  little  sleeper ;  but,  after  some 
effort,  he  sat  up,  and  was  playing  with  his  bird,  while  his 
mother  was  putting  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl. 

"Where  are  you  going,  mother?"  said  he,  as  she  drew 
near  the  bed,  with  his  little  coat  and  cap. 

His  mother  drew  near,  and  looked  so  earnestly  into  his 
eyes,  that  he  at  once  divined  that  something  unusual  was  the 
matter. 

"  Hush,  Harry,"  she  said  ;  "  musn't  speak  loud,  or  they 
will  hear  us.  A  wicked  man  was  coming  to  take  little  Harry 
away  from  his  mother,  and  carry  him  'way  off  in  the  dark ; 
but  mother  won't  let  him  —  she's  going  to  put  on  her  little 
boy's  cap  and  coat,  and  run  off  with  him,  so  the  ugly  man 
can't  catch  him." 

x  Saying  these  words,  she  had  tied  and  buttoned  on  the  child's 
simple  outfit,  and,  taking  him  in  her  arms,  she  whispered  to 
6 


UNCLE  TOM'S   CABIN:    OR, 


him  to  bo  very  still  ;  and,  opening  a  door  in  her  room  -which 
led  into  the  outer  verandah,  she  glided  noiselessly  out. 

It  was  a  sparkling,  frosty,  star-light  night,  and  the  mother 
wrapped  the  shawl  close  round  her  child,  as,  perfectly  quiet 
with  vague  terror,  he  clung  round  her  neck. 

Old  Bruno,  a  great  Newfoundland,  who  slept  at  the  end  of 
the  porch,  rose,  with  a  low  growl,  as  she  came  near.  She 
gently  spoke  his  name,  and  the  animal,  an  old  pet  and  play 
mate  of  hers,  instantly,  wagging  his  tail,  prepared  to  follow 
her,  though  apparently  revolving  much,  in  his  simple  dog's 
head,  what  such  an  indiscreet  midnight  promenade  might 
mean.  Some  dim  ideas  of  imprudence  or  impropriety  in  the 
measure  seemed  to  embarrass  him  considerably  ;  for  he  often 
stopped,  as  Eliza  glided  forward,  and  looked  wistfully,  first  at 
her  and  then  at  the  house,  and  then,  as  if  reassured  by  reflec 
tion,  he  pattered  along  after  her  again.  A  few  minutes 
brought  them  to  the  win$6\r  of  -'  Uncle  Tom's  cottage,  and 
Eliza,  stopping,  tapped  lightly  o^sthe  window-pane. 

The  prayer-meeting  atj£ij£le  Tom's  had,  in  the  order  of 
hymn-singing,  been  protrac&d  '  to  a  very  late  hour  ;  and,  as 
Uncle  Tom  had  indulged  himself  in  a  few  lengthy  solos  after 
wards,  the  consequence  was,  that,  although  it  was  now  between 
twelve  and  one  o'clock,  he  and  his  worthy  helpmeet  were  not 
yet  asleep. 

"Good  Lord!  what's  that?"  said  Aunt  Ohloc,  starting 
up  and  hastily  drawing  the  curtain.  "  My  sakes  alive,  if  it 
an't  Lizy  !  Get  on  your  clothes,  old  man,  quick  !  —  there  's 
old  Bruno,  too,  a  pawin'  round  ;  what  on  airth  1  I  'm  gwine 
to  open  the  door." 

And,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  the  door  flew  open, 
and  the  light  of  the  tallow  candle,  which  Tom  had  hastily 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  63 


lighted,  fell  on  the  haggard  face  and  dark,  wild  eyes  of  the 
fugitive. 

"Lord  bless  you  !  —  I  'm  skeered  to  look  at  ye,  Lizy  !  Are 
ye  tuck  sick,  or  what 's  come  over  ye? " 

"I'm  running  away — Uncle  Tom  and  Aunt  Chloe  — 
carrying  off  my  child  —  Master  sold  him  !  " 

"  Sold  him  ?  "  echoed  both,  lifting  up  their  hands  in  dismay 

"Yes,  sold  him!"  said  Eliza,  firmly;  "I  crept  into  the 
closet  by  Mistress'  door  to-night,  and  I  heard  Master  tell 
Missis  that  he  had  sold  my  Harry,  and  you,  Uncle  Tom,  both, 
to  a  trader ;  and  that  he  was  going  off  this  morning  on  his 
horse,  and  that  the  man  was  to  take  possession  to-day." 

Torn  had  stood,  during  this  speech,  with  his  hands  raised, 
and  his  eyes  dilated,  like  a  man  in  a  dream.  Slowly  and 
gradually,  as  its  meaning  came  over  him,  he  collapsed,  rather 
than  seated  himself,  on  his  old  chair,  and  sunk  his  head  down 
upon  his  knees. 

"The  good  Lord  have  pity  on  us!"  said  Aunt  Chloe. 
"  0  !  it  don't  seem  as  if  it  was  true !  What  has  he  done, 
that  Mas'r  should  sell  him?  " 

"He  has  n't  done  anything, — it  is  n't  for  that.  Master 
don't  want  to  sell ;  and  Missis  —  she 's  always  good.  I  heard 
her  plead  and  beg  for  us ;  but  he  told  her  't  was  no  use ;  that 
he  was  in  this  man's  debt,  and  that  this  man  had  got  the 
power  over  him;  and  that  if  he  didn't  pay  him  off  clear, 
it  would  end  in  his  having  to  sell  the  place  and  all  the  people, 
and  move  off.  Yes,  I  heard  him  say  there  was  no  choice 
between  selling  these  two  and  selling  all,  the  man  was  driving 
him  so  hard.  Master  said  he  was  sorry;  but  oh,  Missis 
—  you  ought  to  have  heard  her  talk  !  If  she  an't  a  Chris 
tian  and  an  angel,  there  never  was  one.  I  'm  a  wicked  girl 
to  leave  her  so;  but,  then,  I  can't  help  it.  She  said,  herself, 


64  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

one  soul  was  worth  more  than  the  world ;  and  this  boy  has  a 
soul,  and  if  I  let  him  be  carried  off,  who  knows  what '11 
become  of  it  ?  It  must  be  right :  but,  if  it  an't  right,  the 
Lord  forgive  me,  for  I  can't  help  doing  it !  " 

"  Well,  old  man !  "  said  Aunt  Chloe,  "  why  don't  you  go> 
too  ?  Will  you  wait  to  be  toted  down  river,  where  they  kill 
niggers 'with  hard  work  and  starving?  I  'd  a  heap  rather  die 
than  go  there,  any  day !  There  's  time  for  ye,  —  be  off  with 
Lizy,  —  you  've  got  a  pass  to  come  and  go  any  time.  Come, 
bustle  up,  and  I'll  get  your  things  together." 

Tom  slowly  raised  his  head,  and  looked  sorrowfully  but 
quietly  around,  and  said, 

"  No,  no  —  I  an't  going.  Let  Eliza  go  —  it 's  her  right ! 
I  wouldn't  be  the  one  to  say  no  —  'tan't  in  natur  for  her  to 
stay ;  but  you  heard  what  she  said !  If  I  must  be  sold,  or 
all  the  people  on  the  place,  and  everything  go  to  rack,  why, 
0-  let  me  be  sold.  I  s'pose  I  can  b'ar  it  as  well  as  any  on  'em," 
£  he  added,  while  something  like  a  sob  and  a  sigh  shook  his 
broad,  rough  chest  convulsively.  "  Mas'r  always  found  me 
on  the  spot  —  he  always  will.  I  never  have  broke  trust,  nor 
used  my  pass  no  ways  contrary  to  my  word,  and  I  never  will. 
It 's  better  for  me  alone  to  go,  than  to  break  up  the  place  and 
sell  all.  Mas'r  an't  to  blame,  Chloe,  and  he  '11  take  care  of 
you  and  the  poor  —  " 

Here  he  turned  to  the  rough  trundle-bed  full  of  little  woolly 
heads,  and  broke  fairly  down.  He  leaned  over  the  back  of 
the  chair,  and  covered  his  face  with  his  large  hands.  Sobs, 
heavy,  hoarse  and  loud,  shook  the  chair,  and  great  tears  fell 
through  his  fingers  on  the  floor:  just  such  tears,  sir,  as  you 
dropped  into  the  coffin  where  lay  your  first-born  son ;  such 
tears,  woman,  as  you  shed  when  you  heard  the  cries  of  your 
dying  babe.  For,  sir,  he  was  a  man,  —  and  you  are  but  another 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.       ^    >/,  65 

man.  And,  woman,  though  dressed  in  silk  and  jewels,  you 
are  but  a  woman,  and,  in  life's  great  straits  and  mighty  griefs, 
ye  feel  but  one  sorrow f ,  ^t  -=hj 

"  And  now,"  said  Eliza,  as  she  stood  in  the  door,  "I  saw 
my  husband  only  this  afternoon,  and  I  little  knew  then  what 
was  to  come.  They  have  pushed  him  to  the  very  last  standing  - 
place,  and  he  told  me,  to-day,  that  he  was  going  to  run  away. 
Do  try,  if  you  can,  to  get  word  to  him.  Tell  him  how  I 
went,  and  why  I  went ;  and  tell  him  I  'm  going  to  try  and 
find  Canada.  You  must  give  my  love  to  him,  and  tell  him, 
if  I  never  see  him  again," —  she  turned  away,  and  stood  with 
her  back  to  them  for  a  moment,  and  then  added,  in  a  husky- 
voice,  "tell  him  to  be  as  good  as  he  can,  and  try  and  meet 
me  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 

"  Call  Bruno  in  there,"  she  added.  "  Shut  the  door  on 
him,  poor  beast !  He  must  n't  go  with  me  !  " 

A  few  Jast  words  and  tears,  a  few  simple  adieus  and  bless 
ings,  and,  clasping  her  wondering  and  affrighted  child  in  her 
arms,  she  glided  noiselessly  away. 


66  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OR, 


CHAPTER  VI. 

DISCOVERT. 

MR.  and  Mrs.  Shelby,  after  their  protracted  discussion  of 
the  night  before,  did  not  readily  sink  to  repose,  and,  in 
consequence,  slept  somewhat  later  than  usual,  the 'ensuing 
morning. 

"I  wonder  what  keeps  Eliza,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  after 
giving  her  bell  repeated  pulls,  to  no  purpose. 

Mr.  Shelby  was  standing  before  his  dressing-glass,  sharp 
ening  his  razor ;  and  just  then  the  door  opened,  and  a  colored 
boy  entered,  with  his  shaving- water. 

"Andy,"  said  his  mistress,  "  step  to  Eliza's  door,  and  tell 
her  I  have  rung  for  her  three  times.  Poor  thing ! "  she 
added,  to  herself,  with  a  sigh. 

Andy  soon  returned,  with  eyes  very  wide  in  astonishment. 

"  Lor,  Missis  !  Lizy's  drawers  is  all  open,  and  her  things 
all  lying  every  which  way ;  and  I  believe  she 's  just  done 
clared  out ! " 

The  truth  flashed  upon  Mr.  Shelby  and  his  wife  at  the 
same  moment.  He  exclaimed, 

"  Then  she  suspected  it,  and  she  ?s  off! " 

"The  Lord  be  thanked!  "  said  Mrs.  Shelby.  "I  trust 
she  is." 

"Wife,  you  talk  like  a  fool !  Really,  it  will  be  something 
pretty  awkward  for  me,  if  she  is.  Haley  saw  that  I  hesitated 
about  selling  this  child,  and  he  '11  think  I  connived  at  it,  to 


LIFE  AMONG 


.v 

TH^OWLY.  67 


get  him  out  of  the  way.  It  touches  my  honor  !  "  And  Mr. 
Shelby  left  the  room  hastily. 

There  was  great  running  and  ejaculating,  and  opening  and 
shutting  of  doors,  and  appearance  of  faces  in  all  shades  of  color 
in  different  places,  for  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  One 
person  only,  who  might  have  shed  some  light  on  the  mat 
ter,  was  entire'y  silent,  and  that  was  the  head  cook,  Aunt 
Chloe.  Silently,  and  with  a  heavy  cloud  settled  down  over 
her  once  joyous  face,  she  proceeded  making  out  her  breakfast 
biscuits,  as  if  she  heard  and  saw  nothing  of  the  excitement 
around  her. 

Very  soon,  about  a  dozen  young  imps  were  roosting,  like 
so  many  crows,  on  the  verandah  railings,  each  one  determined 
to  be  the  first  one  to  apprize  the  strange  Mas'r  of  his  ill  luck. 

"  He  '11  be  rael  mad,  I  '11  be  bound,"  said  Andy. 

"  Won't  he  swar  !  "  said  little  black  Jake. 

"  Yes,  for  he  docs  swar,"  said  woolly-headed  Mandy.  "  I 
hearn  him  yesterday,  at  dinner.  I  hearn  all  about  it  then, 
'cause  I  got  into  the  closet  where  Missis  keeps  the  great  jugs, 
and  I  hearn  every  word."  And  Mandy,  who  had  never  in 
her  life  thought  of  the  meaning  of  a  word  she  had  heard, 
more  than  a  black  cat,  now  took  airs  of  superior  wisdom,  and 
strutted  about,  forgetting  to  state  that,  though  actually  coiled 
up  among  the  jugs  at  the  time  specified,  she  had  been  fast 
asleep  all  the  time. 

When,  at  last,  Haley  appeared,  booted  and  spurred,  he  was 
saluted  with  the  bad  tidings  on  every  hand.  The  young 
imps  on  ths  verandah  were  not  disappointed  in  their  hope  of 
hearing  him  "  swar,"  which  he  did  with  a  fluency  and  fer 
vency  which  delighted  them  all  amazingly,  as  they  ducked 
and  dodged  hither  and  thither,  to  be  out  of  the  reach  of  his 
riding-whip  ;  and,  all  whooping  off  together,  they  tumbled,  in 


68  cLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 


a  pile  of  immeasurable  giggle,  on  the  withered  turf  under  the 
verandah,  where  they  kicked  up  their  heels  and  shouted  to 
their  full  satisfaction. 

"  If  I  had  the  little  devils  !  "  muttered  Haley,  between  his 
teeth. 

"  But  you  ha'nt  got  'em,  though  !  "  said  Andy,  with  a 
triumphant  nourish,  and  making  a  string  of  indescribable 
mouths  at  the  unfortunate  trader's  back,  when  he  was  fairly 
beyond  hearing. 

"I  say  now,  Shelby,  this  yer's  a  most  extro'rnary  busi 
ness  !  "  said  IJaley,  as  he  abruptly  entered  the  parlor.  "  It 
seems  that  gal  's  off,  with  her  young  un." 

"Mr.  Haley,  Mrs.  Shelby  is  present,"  said  Mr.  Shelby. 

"I  beg  pardon,  ma'am,"  said  Haley,  bowing  slightly,  with 
a  still  lowering  brow;  "  but  still  I  say,  as  I  said  before,  this 
yer  's  a  sing'lar  report.  Is  it  true,  sir  ?  " 

"Sir,"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  "if  you  wish  to  communicate 
with  me,  you  must  observe  something  of  the  decorum  of  a 
gentleman.  Andy,  take  Mr.  Haley's  hat  and  riding-  whip. 
Take  a  seat,  sir.  Yes,  sir  ;  I  regret  to  say  that  the  young 
woman,  excited  by  overhearing,  or  having  reported  to  her, 
something  of  this  business,  has  taken  her  child  in  the  night, 
and  made  off." 

"I  did  expect  fair  dealing  in  this  matter,  I  confess,"  said 
Haley. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  turning  sharply  round  upon 
him,  "what  am  I  to  understand  by  that  remark?  If  any 
man  calls  my  honor  in  question,  I  have  but  one  answer  for 
him." 

The  trader  cowered  at  this,  and  in  a  somewhat  lower  tone 
said  that  "it  was  plaguy  hard  on  a  fellow,  that  had  made  a 
fair  bargain,  to  be  gulled  that  way." 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY. 


;9 


"Mr.  Haley,"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  "if  I  did  not  think  you 
had  some  cause  for  disappointment,  I  should  not  have  borne 
from  you  the  rude  and  unceremonious  style  of  your  entrance 
into  my  parlor  this  morning.  I  say  thus  much,  however, 
since  appearances  call  for  it,  that  I  shall  allow  of  no  insinua 
tions  cast  upon  me,  as  if  I  were  at  all  partner  to  any  unfair 
ness  in  this  matter.  Moreover,  I  shall  feel  bound  to  give 
you  every  assistance,  in  the  use  of  horses,  servants,  &c.,  in 
the  recovery  of  your  property.  So,  in  short,  Haley,"  said  he, 
suddenly  dropping  from  the  tone  of  dignified  coolness  to  his 
ordinary  one  of  easy  frankness,  "  the  best  way  for  you  is  to 
keep  good-natured  and  eat  some  breakfast,  and  we  will  then 
see  what  is  to  be  done." 

Mrs.  Shelby  now  rose,  and  said  her  engagements  would 
prevent  her  being  at  the  breakfast- table  that  morning ;  and, 
deputing  a  very  respectable  mulatto  woman  to  attend  to  the 
gentlemen's  coffee  at  the  side-board,  she  left  the  room. 

"  Old  lady  don't  like  your  humble  servant,  over  and 
above,"  said  Haley,  with  an  uneasy  effort  to  be  very  familiar. 

"  I  am  not  accustomed  to  hear  my  wife  spoken  of  with  such 
freedom,"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  dryly. 

"Beg  pardon;  of  course,  only  a  joke,  you  know,"  said 
Haley,  forcing  a  laugh. 

"  Some  jokes  are  less  agreeable  than  others,'/  rejoined 
Shelby. 

"  Devilish  free,  now  1  've  signed  those  papers,  cuss  him !  " 
muttered  Haley  to  himself;  "  quite  grand,  since  yesterday !  " 

Never  did  fall  of  any  prime  minister  at  court  occasion 
wider  surges  of  sensation  than  the  report  of  Tom's  fate  among 
his  compeers  on  the  place.  It  was  the  topic  in  every  mouth, 
everywhere ;  and  nothing  was  done  in  the  house  or  in  the 
field,  but  to  discuss  its  probable  results.  Eliza's  flight  —  an 


70  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN:    OB, 

unprecedented  event  on  the  place  —  was  also  a  great  accessory 
in  stimulating  the  general  excitement. 

Black  Sam,  as  he  was  commonly  called,  from  his  being 
about  three  shades  blacker  than  any  other  son  of  ebony  on  the 
place,  was  revolving  the  matter  profoundly  in  all  its  phases 
and  bearings,  with  a  comprehensiveness  of  vision  and  a  strict 
look-out  to  his  own  personal  well-being,  that  would  have  done 
credit  to  any  white  patriot  in  Washington. 

"  It 's  an  ill  wind  dat  blows  nowhar, —  dat  ar  a  fact,"  said 
Sam,  sententiously,  giving  an  -additional  hoist  to  his  panta 
loons,  and  adroitly  substituting  a  long  nail  in  place  of  a  miss 
ing  suspender-button,  with  which  effort  of  mechanical  genius 
he  seemed  highly  delighted. 

"Yes,  it's  an  ill  wind  blows  nowhar,"  he  repeated. 
"  Now,  dar,  Tom's  down  —  wal,  course  der 's  room  for  some 
nigger  to  be  up  —  and  why  not  dis  nigger  ?  —  dat 's  de  idee. 
Tom,  a  ridin'  round  de  country  —  boots  blacked  —  pass  in 
his  pocket  —  all  grand  as  Cuffee  —  who  but  he  ?  Now,  why 
shouldn't  Sam?  — dat's  what  I  want  to  know." 

" Halloo,  Sam  —  0  Sam!  Mas' r  wants  you  to  cotch  Bill 
and  Jerry,"  said  Andy,  cutting  short  Sam's  soliloquy. 

"  High  1  what 's  afoot  now,  young  un  1 " 

"  Why,  you  don't  know,  I  s'pose,  that  Lizy's  cut  stick, 
and  clared  out,  with  her  young  un  ?  " 

"  You  teach  your  granny  !  "  said  Sam,  with  infinite  con 
tempt;  " knowed  it  a  heap  sight  sooner  than  you  did;  this 
nigger  an't  so  green,  now  !  " 

u  Well,  anyhow,  Mas'r  wants  Bill  and  Jerry  geared  right 
up  ;  and  you  and  I 's  to  go  with  Mas'r  Haley,  to  look  arter 
her." 

"  Good,  now !  dat 's  de  time  o'  day  !  "  said  Sam.  "  It 's 
Sam  dat 's  called  for  in  dese  yer  times.  He 's  de  nigger. 


LIFE  AMONG   THE   LOTVLY.  71 

See  if  I  don't  cotch  her,  now ;  Mas'r  '11  see  what  Sam  can 
do!" 

"  Ah  !  but,  Sam,"  said  Andy,  "  you  'd  better  think  twice ; 
for  Missis  don't  want  her  cotched,  and  she  '11  be  in  yer  wool." 

"  High  !  "  said  Sam,  opening  his  eyes.  "  How  you  know 
dat?" 

"Heard  her  say  so,  nay  own  self,  dis  blessed  mornin',  when 
I  bring  in  MasYs  shaving- water.  She  sent  me  to  see  why 
Lizy  did  n't  come  to  dress  her ;  and  when  I  telled  her  she 
was  off,  she  jest  ris  up,  and  ses  she,  '  The  Lord  be  praised ; ' 
and  Mas'r,  he  seemed  rael  mad,  and  ses  he,  '  Wife,  you  talk 
like  a  fool.'  But  Lor  !  she  '11  bring  him  to  !  I  knows  well 
enough  how  that'll  be, —  it's  allers  best  to  stand  Missis' 
side  the  fence,  now  I  tell  yer." 

Black  Sam,  upon  this,  scratched  his  woolly  pate,  which,  if 
it  did  not  contain  very  profound  wisdom,  still  contained  a 
great  deal  of  a  particular  species  much  in  demand  among 
politicians  of  all  complexions  and  countries,  and  vulgarly 
denominated  "knowing  which  side  the  bread  is  buttered;  " 
so,  stopping  with  grave  consideration,  he  again  gave  a  hitch 
to  his  pantaloons,  which  was  his  regularly  organized  method 
of  assisting  his  mental  perplexities. 

"  Der  an't  no  sayin'  —  never  —  'bout  no  kind  o'  thing  in 
dis  yer  world,"  he  said,  at  last. 

Sam  spoke  like  a  philosopher,  emphasizing  this  '• —  as  if  he 
had  had  a  large  experience  in  different  sorts  of  worlds,  and 
therefore  had  come  to  his  conclusions  advisedly. 

"  Now,  sartin  I  'd  a  said  that  Missis  would  a  scoured  the 
yarsal  world  after  Lizy,"  added  Sam,  thoughtfully. 

"  So  she  would,"  said  Andy ;  "but  can't  ye  see  through  a 
ladder,  ye  black  nigger  ?  Missis  don't  want  dis  yer  Mas'r 
Haley  to  get  Lizy's  boy ;  dat 's  de  go !  " 


72  UNCLE  TOM^S   CABIN  :    OB, 

"High!"  said  Sam,  with  , an  indescribable  intonation, 
known  only  to  those  who  have  heard  it  among  the  negroes. 

"And  I'll  tell  yer  more 'n  all,"  said  Andy;  "I  specs 
you  'd  better  be  making  tracks  for  dem  hosses, —  mighty  sud 
den,  too,  —  for  I  hearn  Missis  'quirin'  arter  yer,  —  so  you  've 
stood  foolin'  long  enough." 

Sam,  upon  this,  began  to  bestir  himself  in  real  earnest,  and 
after  a  while  appeared,  bearing  down  gloriously  towards  the 
house,  with  Bill  and  Jerry  in  a  full  canter,  and  adroitly 
throwing  himself  off  before  they  had  any  idea  of  stopping,  he 
brought  them  up  alongside  of  the  horse-post  like  a  tornado. 
Haley's  horse,  which  was  a  skittish  young  colt,  winced,  and 
bounced,  and  pulled  hard  at  his  halter. 

"Ho,  ho  !  "  said  Sam,  "skeery,  ar  ye?"  and  his  black 
visage  lighted  up  with  a  curious,  mischievous  gleam.  "  I  '11 
fix  ye  now  !  "'said  he. 

There  was  a  large  beech-tree  overshadowing  the  place,  and 
the  small,  sharp,  triangular  beech-nuts  lay  scattered  thickly 
on  the  ground.  With  one  of  these  in  his  fingers,  Sam 
approached  the  colt,  stroked  and  patted,  and  seemed  appa 
rently  busy  in  soothing  his  agitation.  On  pretence  of  adjust 
ing  the  saddle,  he  adroitly  slipped  under  it  the  sharp  little 
nut,  in  such  a  manner  that  the  least  weight  brought  upon  the 
saddle  would  annoy  the  nervous  sensibilities  of  the  animal, 
without  leaving  any  perceptible  graze  or  wound. 

"  Dar  !  "  he  said,  rolling  his  eyes  with  an  approving  grin: 
"  me  fix  'em !  " 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Shelby  appeared  on  the  balcony, 
beckoning  to  him.  Sam  approached  with  as  good  a  determi 
nation  to  pay  court  as  did  ever  suitor  after  a  vacant  place  at 
St.  James'  or  Washington. 


LIFE  AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  73 

"  Why  have  you  been  loitering  so,  Sam  ?  I  sent  Andy  to 
tell  you  to  hurry." 

"Lord  bless  you,  Missis!"  said  Sam,  "horses  won't  be 
cotched  all  in  a  mimit ;  they  'd  done  clared  out  way  down  to 
the  south  pasture,  and  the  Lord  knows  whar !  " 

"  Sam,  how  often  must  I  tell  you  not  to  say  c  Lord  bless 
you,  and  the  Lord  knows,'  and  such  things  ?  It 's  wicked." 

"  0,  Lord  bless  my  soul !  I  done  forgot,  Missis  !  I  won't 
say  nothing  of  de  sort  no  more." 

"  Why,  Sam,  you  just  have  said  it  again." 

"  Did  I  ?     0,  Lord  !     I  mean— I  did  n't  go  fur  to  say  it." 

"  You  must  be  careful,  Sam." 

"  Just  let  me  get  my  breath,  Missis,  and  I  '11  start  fair. 
I  '11  be  berry  careful." 

"  Well,  Sam,  you  are  to  go  with  Mr.  Haley,  to  show  him 
the  road,  and  help  him.  Be  careful  of  the  horses,  Sam ;  you 
know  Jerry  was  a  little  lame  last  week;  don't  ride  them  too 
fast." 

Mrs.  Shelby  spoke  the  last  words  with  a  low  voice,  and 
strong  emphasis. 

"  Let  dis  child  alone  for  dat !  "  said  Sam,  rolling  up  his 
eyes  with  a  volume  of  meaning.  "Lord  knows!  High! 
Did  n't  say  dat !  "  said  he,  suddenly  catching  his  breath,  with 
f\  ludicrous  nourish  of  apprehension,  which  made  his  mistress 
laugh,  spite  of  herself.  "Yes,  Missis,  I'll  look  out  for  de 
bosses ! " 

"  Now,  Andy,"  said  Sam,  returning  to  his  stand  under  the 
beech-trees,  "you  see  I  wouldn't  be  'tall  surprised  if  dat 
ar  gen'lman's  crittur  should  gib  a  fling,  by  and  by,  when  he 
comes  to  be  a  gettin'  up.  You  know,  Andy,  critturs  will  do 
such  things;"  and  therewith  Sam  poked  Andy  in  the  side, 
in  a.  highly  suggestive  manner. 


74  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

"  High !  "  said  Andy,  with  an  air  of  instant  appreciation. 

"Yes,  you  see,  Andy,  Missis  wants  to  make  time,  —  dat 
ar  's  clar  to  der  most  or'nary  'bserver.  I  jis  make  a  little 
for  her.  Now,  you  see,  get  all  dese  yer  bosses  loose,  caperin' 
permiscus  round  dis  yer  lot  and  down  to  de  wood  dar,  and  I 
spec  Mas'r  won't  be  off  in  a  hurry." 

Andy  grinned. 

"Yer  see,"  said  Sam,  "yer  see,  Andy,  if  any  such  thing 
should  happen  as  that  Mas'r  Haley's  horse  should  begin  to 
act  contrary,  and  cut  up,  you  and  I  jist  lets  go  of  our'n  to 
help  him,  and  we'll  help  him  —  oh  yes  !  "  And  Sam  and 
Andy  laid  their  heads  back  on  their  shoulders,  and  broke  into 
a  low,  immoderate  laugh,  snapping  their  fingers  and  flourish 
ing  their  heels  with  exquisite  delight. 

At  this  instant,  Haley  appeared  on  the  verandah.  Some 
what  mollified  by  certain  cups  of  very  good  coffee,  he  came 
out  smiling  and  talking,  in  tolerably  restored  humor.  Sam 
and  Andy,  clawing  for  certain  fragmentary  palm-leaves, 
which  they  were  in  the  habit  of  considering  as  hats,  flew  to 
the  horse-posts,  to  be  ready  to  "  help  Mas'r." 

Sam's  palm-leaf  had  been  ingeniously  disentangled  from  all 
pretensions  to  braid,  as  respects  its  brim;  and  the  slivers  start 
ing  apart,  and  standing  upright,  gave  it  a  blazing  air  of  free 
dom  and  defiance,  quite  equal  to  that  of  any  Pejee  chief; 
while  the  whole  brim  of  Andy's  being  departed  bodily,  he 
rapped  the  crown  on  his  head  with  a  dexterous  thump,  and 
looked  about  well  pleased,  as  if  to  say,  "  Who  says  I  have  n't 
got  a  hat?" 

"Well,  boys,"  said  Haley,  "look  alive  now;  we  must  lose 
no  time." 

"Not  a  bit  of  tym,  Mas'r!"  said  Sam,  putting  Haley's 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  76 

rein  in  his  hand,  and  holding  his  stirrup,  while  Andy  was 
untying  the  other  two  horses. 

The  instant  Haley  touched  the  saddle,  the  mettlesome  crea 
ture  bounded  from  the  earth  with  a  sudden  spring,  that  threw 
his  master  sprawling,  some  feet  off,  on  the  soft,  dry  turf. 
Sam,  with  frantic  ejaculations,  made  a  dive  at  the  reins,  but 
only  succeeded  in  brushing  the  blazing  palm-leaf  afore-named 
into  the  horse's  eyes,  which  by  no  means  tended  to  allay  the 
confusion  of  his  nerves.  So,  with  great  vehemence,  he  over 
turned  Sam,  and,  giving  two  or  three  contemptuous  snorts, 
flourished  his  heels  vigorously  in  the  air,  and  was  soon  pranc 
ing  away  towards  the  lower  end  of  the  lawn,  followed  by  Bill 
and  Jerry,  whom  Andy  had  not  failed  to  let  loose,  according 
to  contract,  speeding  them  off  with  various  direful  ejacula 
tions.  And  now  ensued  a  miscellaneous  scene  of  confusion. 
Sam  and  Andy  ran  and  shouted,  —  dogs  barked  here 
and  there,  —  and  Mike,  Mose,  Mandy,  Fanny,  and  all  the 
smaller  specimens  on  the  place,  both  male  and  female,  raced, 
clapped  hands,  whooped,  and  shouted,  with  outrageous  offi- 
ciousness  and  untiring  zeal. 

Haley's  horse,  which  was  a  white  one,  and  very  fleet  and 
spirited,  appeared  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  scene  with 
great  gusto ;  and  having  for  his  coursing  ground  a  lawn  of 
nearly  half  a  mile  in  extent,  gently  sloping  down  on  every 
side  into  indefinite  woodland,  he  appeared  to  take  infinite 
delight  in  seeing  how  near  he  could  allow  his  pursuers  to 
approach  him,  and  then,  when  within  a  hand's  breadth,  whisk 
off  with  a  start  and  a  snort,  like  a  mischievous  beast  as  he 
was,  and  career  far  down  into  some  alley  of  the  wood-lot. 
Nothing  was  further  from  Sam's  mind  than  to  have  any  one 
of  the  troop  taken  until  such  season  as  shoul  1  seem  to  him 
most  befitting,  —  and  the  exertions  that  he  made  were  cer- 


76  UNCLE  TOM'S   CABIN:    OR, 

tainly  most  heroic.  Like  the  sword  of  Coeur  De  Lion,  which 
always  blazed  in  the  front  and  thickest  of  the  battle,  Sam's 
palm-leaf  tfras  to  be  seen  everywhere  when  there  was  the 
least  danger  that  a  horse  could  be  caught ;  —  there  he  would 
bea,r  down  full  tilt,  shouting,  "  Now  for  it !  cotch  him  !  cotch 
him ! "  in  a  way  that  would  set  everything  to  indiscriminate 
rout  in  a  moment. 

Haley  ran  up  and  down,  and  cursed  and  swore  and  stamped 
miscellaneously.  Mr.  Shelby  in  vain  tried  to  shout  directions 
from  the  balcony,  and  Mrs.  Shelby  from  her  chamber  window 
alternately  laughed  and  wondered,  —  not  without  some  ink 
ling  of  what  lay  at  the  bottom  of  all  this  confusion. 

At  last,  about  twelve  o'clock,  Sam  appeared  triumphant, 
mounted  on  Jerry,  with  Haley's  horse  by  his  side,  reeking 
with  sweat,  but  with  flashing  eyes  and  dilated  nostrils,  show 
ing  that  the  spirit  of  freedom  had  not  yet  entirely  subsided. 

"He's  cotched!"  he  exclaimed,  triumphantly.  "If't 
had  n't  been  for  me,  they  might  a  bust  theirselves,  all  on  'em; 
but  I  cotched  him  ! " 

"  You !  "  growled  Haley,  in  no  amiable  mood.  "If  it 
had  n't  been  for  you,  this  never  would  have  happened." 

11  Lord  bless  us,  Mas'r,"  said  Sam,  in  a  tone  of  the  deepest 
concern,  "  and  me  that  has  been  racin'  and  chasin'  till  the 
swet  jest  pours  off  me ! " 

"Well,  well!"  said  Haley,  "you've  lost  me  near  three 
hours,  with  your  cursed  nonsense.  Now  let's  be  off,  and 
have  no  more  fooling." 

"Why,  Mas'r,"  said  Sam,  in  a  deprecating  tone,  "I 
believe  you  mean  to  kill  us  all  clar,  horses  and  all.  Here  we 
are  all  just  ready  to  drop  down,  and  the  critters  all  in  a  reek 
of  sweat.  Why,  Mas'r  won't  think  of  startin'  on  now  till 
arter  dinner.  Mas'r's  hoss  wants  rubben  down  •  see  how  he 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  77 

splashed  hisself ;  and  Jerry  limps  too ;  doh/t  think  Missis 
would  be  willin'  to  have  us  start  dis  yer  way,  no  how.  Lord 
bless  you,  Mas'r,  we  can  ketch  up,  if  we  do  stop.  Lizy 
never  was  no  great  of  a  walker." 

Mrs.  Shelby,  who,  greatly  to  her  amusement,  had  over 
heard  this  conversation  from  the  verandah,  now  resolved  to 
do  her  part.  She  came  forward,  and,  courteously  expressing 
her  concern  for  Haley's  accident,  pressed  him  to  stay  to 
dinner,  saying  that  the  cook  should  bring  it  on  the  table 
immediately. 

Thus,  all  things  considered,  Haley,  with  rather  an  equivo 
cal  grace,  proceeded  to  the  parlor,  while  Sam,  rolling  his  eyes 
after  him  with  unutterable  meaning,  proceeded  gravely  with 
the  horses  to  the  stable-yard. 

"  Did  yer  see  him,  Andy  ?  did  yer  see  him  ?  "  said  Sam, 
when  he  had  got  fairly  beyond  the  shelter  of  the  barn,  and 
fastened  the  horse  to  a  post.  "  0,  Lor,  if  it  warn't  as  good 
as  a  meetin',  now,  to  see  him  a  dancin'  and  kickin'  and 
swarin'  at  us.  Didn't  I  hear  him?  Swar  away,  ole  fellow 
(says  I  to  myself)  ;  will  yer  have  yer  hoss  now,  or  wait  till 
you  cotch  him?  (says  I).  Lor,  Andy,  I  think  I  can  see  him 
now."  And  Sam  and  Andy  leaned  up  against  the  barn,  and 
laughed  to  their  hearts'  content. 

"  Yer  oughter  seen  how  mad  he  looked,  when  I  brought  the 
hoss  up.  Lord,  he  ?d  a  killed  me,  if  he  durs'  to ;  and  there  1 
was  a  standin'  as  innercent  and  as  humble." 

"Lor,  I  seed  you,"  said  Andy;  "an't  you  an  old  hoss, 
Sam?" 

" Rather  specks  I  am,"  said  Sam  ;  "did  yer  see  Missis  up 
stars  at  the  winder  ?  I  seed  her  laughin'." 

"I'm  sure,  I  was  racin'  so,  I  didn't  see  nothing,"  said 
Andy. 

7* 


78  DNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:    OR, 

"Well,  yer  see,"  said  Sam,  proceeding  gravely  to  wash 
down  Haley's  pony,  "  I'se  'quired  what  yer  may  call  a  habit 
o'  bobservation,  Andy.  It 's  a  very  'portant  habit,  Andy ; 
and  I  'commend  yer  to  be  cultivatin'  it,  now  yer  young. 
Hist  up  that  hind  foot,  Andy.  Yer  see,  Andy,  it 's  bobser 
vation  makes  all  de  difference  in  niggers.  Didn't  I  see 
which  way  the  wind  blew  dis  yer  mornin'  1  Did  n't  I  see 
what  Missis  wanted,  though  she  never  let  on?  Dat  ar's 
bobservation,  Andy.  I  'spects  it 's  what  you  may  call  a  fac 
ulty.  Faculties  is  different  in  different  peoples,  but  cultiva 
tion  of  'em  goes  a  great  way." 

"  I  guess  if  I  had  n't  helped  your  bobservation  dis  mornin', 
yer  would  n't  have  seen  your  way  so  smart,"  said  Andy. 

"Andy,"  said  Sam,  "you's  a  promisin'  child,  der  an't  no 
manner  o'  doubt.  I  thinks  lots  of  yer,  Andy  ;  and  I  don't 
feel  no  ways  ashamed  to  take  idees  from  you.  We  oughten- 
ter  overlook  nobody,  Andy,  cause  the  smartest  on  us  gets 
tripped  up  sometimes.  And  so,  Andy,  let 's  go  up  to  the 
house  now.  I  '11  be  boun'  Missis  '11  give  us  an  uncommon 
good  bite,  dis  yer  time." 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  79 


CHAPTER  VH. 

THE  MOTHER'S  STRUGGLE. 

IT  is  impossible  to  conceive  of  a  human  creature  moro 
wholly  desolate  and  forlorn  than  Eliza,  when  she  turned  her 
footsteps  from  Uncle  Tom's  cabin. 

Her  husband's  suffering  and  dangers,  and  the  danger  of 
her  child,  all  blended  in  her  mind,  with  a  confused  and  stun 
ning  sense  of  the  risk  she  was  running,  in  leaving  the  only 
home  she  had  ever  known,  and  cutting  loose  from  the  protec 
tion  of  a  friend  whom  she  loved  and  revered.  Then  there 
was  the  parting  from  every  familiar  object,  —  the  place  where 
she  had  grown  up,  the  trees  under  which  she  had  played,  the 
groves  where  she  had  walked  many  an  evening  in  happier 
days,  by  the  side  of  her  young  husband,  —  everything,  as  it 
lay  in  the  clear,  frosty  starlight,  seemed  to  speak  reproach 
fully  to  her,  and  ask  her  whither  could  she  go  from  a  home 
like  that? 

But  stronger  than  all  was  maternal  love,  wrought  into  a 
paroxysm  of  frenzy  by  the  near  approach  of  a  fearful  danger. 
Her  boy  was  old  enough  to  have  walked  by  her  side,  and,  in 
an  indifferent  case,  she  would  only  have  led  him  by  the  hand ; 
but  now  the  bare  thought  of  putting  him  out  of  her  arms 
made  her  shudder,  and  she  strained  him  to  her  bosom  with  a 
convulsive  grasp,  as  she  went  rapidly  forward. 

The  frosty  ground  creaked  beneath  her  feet,  and  she  trem 
bled  at  the  sound ;  every  quaking  leaf  and  fluttering  shadow 
sent  the  blood  backward  to  her  heart,  and  quickened  her 


bO      V*       S\SCXCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OR, 


footsteps.  She  wondered  within  herself  at  the  strength  that 
seemed  to  be  come  upon  her  ;  for  she  felt  the  weight  of  her  boy 
as  if  it  had  been  a  feather,  and  ever  y  flutter  of  fear  seemed 
to  increase  the  supernatural  power  that  bore  her  on,  while 
from  her  pale  lips  burst  forth,  in  frequent  ejaculations,  the 
prayer  to  a  Friend  above  —  "  Lord,  help  !  Lord,  save  me  !  " 

If  it  were  your  Harry,  mother,  or  your  Willie,  that  were] 
0     going  to  be  torn  from  you  by  a  brutal  trader,  to-morrow  morn 
ing,  —  if  you  had  seen  the  man,  and  heard  that  the  papers 
were  signed  and  delivered,  and  you  had  only  from  twelve 
o'clock  till  morning  to  make  good  your  escape,  —  how  fast  could 
you  walk  ?     How  many  miles  could  you  make  in  those  few 
brief  hours,  with  the  darling  at  your  bosom,  —  the  little  sleepy 
X   head  on  your   shoulder,  —  the   small,  soft   arms  trustingly 
"*  holding  on  to  your  neck  ? 

\  For  the  child  slept.  At  first,  the  novelty  and  alarm  kept 
him  waking;  but  his  mother  so  hurriedly  repressed  every 
breath  or  sound,  and  so  assured  him  that  if  he  were  only 
still  she  would  certainly  save  him,  that  he  clung  quietly  round 
her  neck,  only  asking,  as  he  found  himself  sinking  to  sleep, 

"  Mother,  I  don't  need  to  keep  awake,  do  I?  " 

"No,  my  darling;  sleep,  if  you  want  to." 

"  But,  mother,  if  I  do  get  asleep,  you  won't  let  him  get 
me?" 

"No!  so  may  God  help  me!"  said  his*  mother,  with  a 
paler  cheek,  and  a  brighter  light  in  her  large  dark  eyes. 

"  You  're  sz/re,  an't  you,  mother?  " 

"  Yes,  sure  !  "  said  the  mother,  in  a  voice  that  startled 
herself;  for  it  seemed  to  her  to  come  from  a  spirit  within,  that 
was  no  part  of  her  ;  and  the  boy  dropped  his  little  weary 
head  on  her  shoulder,  and  was  soon  asleep.  How  the  touch  of 
those  warm  arms,  the  gentle  breathings  that  came  in  her  neck, 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  81 


seemed  to  add  fire  and  spirit  to  her  movements  !  It  seemed 
to  her  as  if  strength  poured  into  her  in  electric  streams,  from 
every  gentle  touch  and  movement  of  the  sleeping,  confiding 
child.  fJMablimfi  is  thg  dominion  .gJLthe  mind  overjhe  body, 
r  a  time^  can  make  flesh  and  nerve  impregnable,  and 


string  the  sinews  like  steel,  so  that  the  weak  become  so  mighty. 

The  boundaries  of  the  farm,  the  grove,  the  wood-lot,  passed 
by  her  dizzily,  as  she  walked  on  ;  and  still  she  went,  leaving 
one  familiar  object  after  another,  slacking  not,  pausing  not, 
till  reddening  daylight  found  her  many  a  long  mile  from  all 
traces  of  any  familiar  objects  upon  the  open  highway. 

She  had  often  been,  with  her  mistress,  to  visit  some  connec 
tions,  in  the  little  village  of  J  -  ,  not  far  from  the  Ohio 
river,  and  knew  the  road  well.  To  go  thither,  to  escape 
across  the  Ohio  river,  were  the  first  hurried  outlines  of  her 
plan  of  escape  ;  beyond  that,  she  could  only  hope  in  God. 

When  horses  and  vehicles  began  to  move  along  the  high 
way,  with  that  alert  perception  peculiar  to  a  state  of  excite 
ment,  and  which  seems  to  be  a  sort  of  inspiration,  she  became 
aware  that  her  headlong  pace  and  distracted  air  might  bring  on 
her  remark  and  suspicion.  She  therefore  put  the  boy  on  the 
ground,  and,  adjusting  her  dress  and  bonnet,  she  walked  on  at  as 
rapid  a  pace  as  she  thought  consistent  with  the  preservation 
of  appearances.  In  her  little  bundle  she  had  provided  a  store 
of  cakes  and  apples,  which  she  used  as  expedients  for  quick 
ening  the  speed  of  the  child,  rolling  the  apple  some  yards 
before  them,  when  the  boy  would  run  with  all  his  might  after 
it  ;  and  this  ruse,  often  repeated,  carried  them  over  many  a 
half-mile. 

After  a  while,  they  came  to  a  thick  patch  of  woodland, 
through  which  murmured  a  clear  brook.  As  the  child  com 
plained  of  hunger  and  thirst,  she  climbed  over  the  fence  with 


82  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OR, 

him  ;  and,  sitting  down  behind  a  large  rock  which  concealed 
them  from  the  road,  she  gave  him  a  breakfast  out  of  her  little 
package.  The  boy  wondered  and  grieved  that  she  could  not 
eat ;  and  when,  putting  his  arms  round  her  neck,  he  tried  to 
wedge  some  of  his  cake  into  her  mouth,  it  seemed  to  her  that 
the  rising  in  her  throat  would  choke  her. 

"  No,  no,  Harry  darling!  mother  can't  eat  till  you  are 
safe !  We  must  go  on  —  on  —  till  we  come  to  the  river  !  " 
And  she  hurried  again  into  the  road,  and  again  constrained 
herself  to  walk  regularly  and  composedly  forward. 

She  was  many  miles  past  any  neighborhood  where  she  was 
personally  known.  If  she  should  chance  to  meet  any 
who  knew  her,  she  reflected  thtt  the  well-known  kindness  of 
the  family  would  be  of  itself  a  blind  to  suspicion,  as  making 
it  an  unlikely  supposition  that  she  could  be  a  fugitive.  As 
she  wag  also  so  white  as  not  to  be  known  as  of  colored  lineage, 
without  a  critical  survey,  and  her  child  was  white  also,  it  was 
much  easier  for  her  to  pass  on  unsuspected. 

On  this  presumption,  she  stopped  at  noon  at  a  neat  farm 
house,  to  rest  herself,  and  buy  some  dinner  for  her  child  and 
self;  for,  as  the  danger  decreased  with  the  distance,  the 
supernatural  tension  of  the  nervous  system  lessened,  and  she 
found  herself  both  weary  and  hungry. 

The  good  woman,  kindly  and  gossipping,  seemed  rather 
pleased  than  otherwise  with  having  somebody  come  in  to  talk 
with;  and  accepted,  without  examination,  Eliza's  statement, 
that  she  "  was  going  on  a  little  piece,  to  spend  a  week  with 
her  friends," — all  which  she  hoped  in  her  heart  might 
prove  strictly  true. 

An  hour  before  sunset,  she  entered  the  village  of  T , 

by  the  Ohio  river,  weary  and  foot-sore,  but  still  strong  in 
heart.  Her  first  glance  was  at  the  river,  which  lay,  like 


LIFE  AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  83 


Jordan,  between  her  and  the  Canaan  of  liberty  on  the  other 
side. 

It  was  now  early  spring,  and  the  river  was  swollen  and 
turbulent ;  great  cakes  of  floating  ice  were  swinging  heavily 
to  and  fro  in  the  turbid  waters.  Owing  to  the  peculiar  form 
of  the  shore  on  the  Kentucky  side,  the  land  bending 
far  out  into  the  water,  the  ice  had  been  lodged  and  detained 
in  great  quantities,  and  the  narrow  channel  which  swept 
round  the  bend  was  full  of  ice,  piled  one  cake  over  another, 
thus  forming  a  temporary  barrier  to  the  descending  ice, 
which  lodged,  and  formed  a  great,  undulating  raft,  filling  up 
the  whole  river,  and  extending  almost  to  the  Kentucky  shore. 

Eliza  stood,  for  a  moment,  contemplating  this  unfavorable 
aspect  of  things,  which  she  saw  at  once  must  prevent  the  usual 
ferry-boat  from  running,  and  then  turned  into  a  small  public 
house  on  the  bank,  to  make  a  few  inquiries. 

The  hostess,  who  was  busy  in  various  fizzing  and  stewing 
operations  over  the  fire,  preparatory  to  the  evening  meal, 
stopped,  with  a  fork  in  her  hand,  as  Eliza's  sweet  and  plain 
tive  voice  arrested  her. 

"  What  is  it?"  she  said. 

"Isn't  there  any  ferry  or  boat,  that  takes  people  over  to 
.B ,  now  ?  ' '  she  said. 

"No,  indeed!  "  said  the  woman;  "the  boats  has  stopped 
running." 

Eliza's  look  of  dismay  and  disappointment  struck  the  woman, 
and  she  said,  inquiringly, 

"  May  be  you  're  wanting  to  get  over?  —  anybody  sick? 
Ye  seem  mighty  anxious  ?  " 

"  I  've  got  a  child  that 's  very  dangerous,"  said  Eliza.  "  I 
never  heard  of  it  till  last  night,  and  I  've  walked  quite  a  piece 
to-day,  in  hopes  to  get  to  the  ferry." 


84  UNCLE  TOM'S   CABIN  :    OR, 

"Well,  now,  that's  onlucky,"  said  the  woman,  whose 
motherly  sympathies  were  much  aroused;  "  I  'm  re'lly  con- 
sarned  for  ye.  Solomon !  "  she  called,  from  the  window, 
towards  a  small  back  building.  A  man,  in  leather  apron  and 
very  dirty  hands,  appeared  at  the  door. 

"I  say,  Sol,"  said  the  woman,  "  is  that  ar  man  going  to 
tote  them  bar'ls  over  to-night?  " 

"  He  said  he  should  try,  if  't  was  any  way  prudent,"  said 
the  man. 

"  There  's  a  man  a  piece  down  here,  that 's  going  over 
with  some  truck  this  evening,  if  he  durs'to ;  he  '11  be  in  here  to 
supper  to-night,  so  you  ''d  better  set  down  and  wait.  That 's 
a  sweet  little  fellow,"  added  the  woman,  offering  him  a  cake. 

But  the  child,  wholly  exhausted,  cried  with  weariness. 

"  Poor  fellow  !  he  is  n't  used  to  walking,  and  I  've  hurried 
him  on  so,"  said  Eliza. 

"  Well,  take  him  into  this  room,"  said  the  woman,  opening 
into  a  small  bed-room,  where  stood  a  comfortable  bed.  Eliza 
laid  the  weary  boy  upon  it,  and  held  his  hands  in  hers  till  he 
was  fast  asleep.  For  her  there  was  no  rest.  As  a  fire  in 
her  bones,  the  thought  of  the  pursuer  urged  her  on ;  and  she 
gazed  with  longing  eyes  on  the  sullen,  surging  waters  that 
lay  between  her  and  liberty. 

Here  we  must  take  our  leave  of  her  for  the  present,  to 
follow  the  course  of  her  pursuers. 


Though  Mrs.  Shelby  had  promised  that  the  dinner  should 
be  hurried  on  table,  yet  it  was  soon  seen,  as  the  thing 
has  often  been  seen  before,  that  it  required  more  than  one  to 
make  a  bargain.  So,  although  the  order  was  fairly  given 
out  in  Haley's  hearing,  and  carried  to  Aunt  Chloe  by  at 


LIFE  AMONG  THE   LOWLY.  85 


least  half  a  dozen  juvenile  messengers,  that  dignitary  only 
gave  certain  very  gruff  snorts,  and  tosses  of  her  head,  and 
went  on  with  every  operation  in  an  unusually  leisurely  and 
circumstantial  manner. 

For  some  singular  reason,  an  impression  seemed  to  reign 
among  the  servants  generally  that  Missis  would  not  he  partic 
ularly  disobliged  by  delay ;  and  it  was  wonderful  what  a  num 
ber  of  counter  accidents  occurred  constantly,  to  retard  the 
course  of  things.  One  luckless  wight  contrived  to  upset  the 
gravy ;  and  then  gravy  had  to  be  got  up  de  novo,  with  due 
care  and  formality,  Aunt  Chloe  watching  and  stirring  with 
dogged  precision,  answering  shortly,  to  all  suggestions  of 
haste,  that  she  "warn't  a  going  to  have  raw  gravy  on  the 
table,  to  help  nobody's  catchings."  One  tumbled  down  with 
the  water,  an  3  had  to  go  to  the  spring  for  more ;  and  another 
precipitated  the  butter  into  the  path  of  events  ;  and  there  was 
from  time  to  time  giggling  news  brought  into  the  kitchen  that 
"Mas'r  Haley  was  mighty  oneasy,  and  that  he  couldn't  sit 
in  his  cheer  no  ways,  but  was  a  walkin'  and  stalkin'  to  the 
winders  and  through -the  porch." 

"Sarves  him  right!"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  indignantly. 
"He  '11  get  wus  nor  oneasy,  one  of  these  days,  if  he  don't 
mend  his  ways.  His  master  '11  be  sending  for  him,  and  then 
see  how  he  '11  look !  " 

"  He  '11  go  to  torment,  and  no  mistake,"  said  little  Jake. 

"  He  desarves  it !  "  said  Aunt  Chloe,  grimly ;  "he 's  broke 
a  many,  many,  many  hearts,  —  I  tell  ye  all !  "  she  said, 
stopping,  with  a  fork  uplifted  in  her  hands  ;  "  it 's  like  what 
Mas'r  George  reads  in  Ravelations,  —  souls  a  callin'  under 
the  altar !  and  a  callin'  on  the  Lord  for  vengeance  on  sich  !  — 
and  by  and  by  the  Lord  he  '11  hear  'em  —  so  he  will !  " 

Aunt  Chloe,  who  was  much  revered  in  the  kitchen,  was 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 


listened  to  with  open  mouth  ;  and,  the  dinner  being  now  fairly 
sent  in,  the  whole  kitchen  was  at  leisure  to  gossip  with  her, 
and  to  listen  to  her  remarks. 

"  Sich  '11  be  burnt  up  forever,  and  no  mistake ;  won't 
ther?"  said  Andy. 

"  I  'd  be  glad  to  see  it,  I  '11  be  boun',''  said  little  Jake. 

"  Chil'en !  "  said  a  voice,  that  made  them  all  start.  It  was 
Uncle  Tom,  who  had  come  in,  and  stood  listening  to  the  con 
versation  at  the  door. 

"  Chil'en  !  "  he  said,  "  I'm  afeard  you  don't  know  what 
ye  're  sayin'.  Forever  is  a  dregful  word,  chil'en;  it's  awful 
to  think  on 't.  You  oughtenter  wish  that  ar  to  any  human 
crittur." 

"We  wouldn't  to  anybody  but  the  soul-drivers,"  said 
Andy ;  "  nobody  can  help  wishing  it  to  them,  they 's  so  awful 
wicked." 

"  Don't  natur  herself  kinder  cry  out  on  em?  "  said  Aunt 
Chloe.  "  Don't  dey  tear  der  suckin'  baby  right  off  his 
mother's  breast,  and  sell  him,  and  der  little  children  as  is 
crying  and  holding  on  by  her  clothes, — don't  dey  pull  'em  off 
and  sells  em?  Don't  dey  tear  wife  and  husband  apart?" 
said  Aunt  Chloe,  beginning  to  cry,  "  when  it 's  jest  takin' 
the  very  life  on  'em  ?  —  and  all  the  while  does  they  feel  one 
bit,  —  don't  dey  drink  and  smoke,  and  take  it  oncommon 
easy  ?  Lor,  if  the  devil  don't  get  them,  what 's  he  good  for  ?  " 
And  Aunt  Chloe  covered  her  face  with  her  checked  apron, 
and  began  to  sob  in  good  earnest. 

"  Pray  for  them  that  'spitefully  use  you,  the  good  book 
says,"  says  Tom. 

"  Pray  for  'em !  "  said  Aunt  Chloe ;  "  Lor,  it 's  too  tough! 
I  can't  pray  for  'em." 

"It's  natur,  Chloe,  and  natur 's  strong,"  said  Tom,  "  but 


LIF2   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  87 


the  Lord's  grace  is  stronger ;  besides,  you  oughter  think  what 
an  awful  state  a  poor  crittur's  soul 's  in  that  '11  do  them  ar 
things.  —  you  oughter  thank  God  that  you  an't  like  him, 
Chloe.  I  'm  sure  I  'd  rather  be  sold,  te,n  thousand  times 
over,  than  to  have  all  that  ar  poor  crittur  's  got  to  answer 
for." 

"So  'd  I.  a  heap,"  said  Jake.  "Lor,  shouldn't  we  cotch 
it,  Andy?" 

Andy  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  gave  an  acquiescent 
whistle. 

"  I  'm  glad  Mas'r  didn't  go  off  this  morning,  as  he  looked 
to,"  said  Tomj  "that  ar  hurt  me  more  than  sellin',  it 
did.  Mebbe  it  might  have  been  natural  for  him,  but 
'twould  have  come  desp't  hard  on  me,  as  has  known  him  from 
a  baby;  but  I've  seen  Mas'r,  and  I  begin  ter  feel  sort  o' 
reconciled  to  the  Lord's  will  now.  Mas'r  could  n't  help  his- 
self ;  he  did  right,  but  I  'm  feared  things  will  be  kinder  goin' 
to  rack,  when  I  'm  gone.  Mas'r  can't  be  spected  to  be  a 
pryin'  round  every whar,  as  I  've  done,  a  keepin'  up  all  the 
ends.  The  boys  all  means  well,  but  they 's  powerful  car'less. 
That  ar  troubles  me." 

The  bell  here  rang,  and  Tom  was  summoned  to  the 
parlor. 

"Tom,"  said  his  master,  kindly,  "I  want  you  to  notice 
that  I  give  this  gentleman  bonds  to  forfeit  a  thousand  dollars 
if  you  are  not  on  the  spot  when  he  wants  you ;  he  's  going 
to-day  to  look  after  his  other  business,  and  you  can  have  the 
day  to  yourself.  Go  anywhere  you  like,  boy." 

"  Thank  you,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom. 

"And  mind  yerself,"  said  the  trader,  "and  don't  come  it 
over  your  master  with  any  o'  yer  nigger  tricks ;  for  I  '11  take 


88  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

every  cent  out  of  him,  if  you  an't  thar.  If  he  'd  hear  to  me, 
he  would  n't  trust  any  on  ye  —  slippery  as  eels  !  " 

" Mas'r,"  said  Tom,  —  and  he  stood  very  straight,  —  "I 
was  jist  eight  years  old  when  ole  Missis  put  you  into  my 
arms,  and  you  was  n't  a  year  old.  '  Thar,'  says  she,  *  Tom, 
that 's  to  be  your  young  Mas'r ;  take  good  care  on  him,'  says 
she.  And  now  I  jist  ask  you,  Mas'r,  have  I  ever  broke 
word  to  you,  or  gone  contrary  to  you,  'specially  since  I  was  a 
Christian?" 

Mr.  Shelby  was  fairly  overcome,  and  the  tears  rose  to  his 
eyes. 

"My  good  boy,"  said  he,  "the  Lord  knows  you  say  but 
the  truth ;  and  if  I  was  able  to  help  it,  all  the  world  should  n't 
buy  you." 

"  And  sure  as  I  am  a  Christian  woman,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby, 
"you  shall  be  redeemed  as  soon  as  I  can  any  way  bring 
together  means.  Sir,"  she  said  to  Haley,  "take  good 
account  of  who  you  sell  him  to,  and  let  me  know." 

"  Lor,  yes,  for  that  matter,"  said  the  trader,  "I  may  bring 
him  up  in  a  year,  not  much  the  wuss  for  wear,  and  trade  him 
Dack." 

"I'll  trade  with  you  then,  and  make  it  for  your  advan 
tage,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby. 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  trader,  "all's  equal  with  me;  li'ves 
trade  'em  up  as  down,  so  I  does  a  good  business.  All  I  want 
is  a  livin',  you  know,  ma'am;  that 's  all  any  on  us  wants,  I 
s'pose." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Shelby  both  felt  annoyed  and  degraded  by 
the  familiar  impudence  of  the  trader,  and  yet  both  saw  the 
absolute  necessity  of  .putting  a  constraint  on  their  feelings. 
The  more  hopelessly  sordid  and  insensible  he  appeared,  the 
greater  became  Mrs.  Shelby's  dread  of  his  succeeding  in 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  89 

recapturing  Eliza  and  her  child,  and  of  course  the  greater  her 
motive  for  detaining  him  by  every  female  artifice.  She 
therefore  graciously  smiled,  assented,  chatted  familiarly,  and 
did  all  she  could  to  make  time  pass  imperceptibly. 

At  two  o'clock  Sam  and  Andy  brought  the  horses  up  to 
the  posts,  apparently  greatly  refreshed  and  invigorated  by  the 
scamper  of  the  morning. 

Sam  was  there  new  oiled  from  dinner,  with  an  abundance 
of  zealous  and  ready  officiousness.  As  Haley  approached,  he 
was  boasting,  in  flourishing  style,  to  Andy,  of  the  evident  and 
eminent  success  of  the  operation,  now  that  he  had  "  farly 
come  to  it." 

"  Your  master,  I  s'pose,  don't  keep  no  dogs,"  said  Haley, 
thoughtfully,  as  he  prepared  to  mount. 

"Heaps  on  'em,"  said  Sam,  triumphantly;  "thar's 
Bruno —  he 's  a  roarer  !  and,  besides  that,  'bout  every  nigger 
of  us  keeps  a  pup  of  some  natur  or  uther." 

"Poh!"  said  Haley, — and  he  said  something  else,  too, 
with  regard  to  the  said  dogs,  at  which  Sam  muttered, 

"  I  don't  see  no  use  cussin'  on  'em,  no  way." 

"  But  your  master  don't  keep  no  dogs  (I  pretty  much 
know  he  don't)  for  trackin'  out  niggers.'' 

Sam  knew  exactly  what  he  meant,  but  he  kept  on  a  look 
of  earnest  and  desperate  simplicity. 

"Our  dogs  all  smells  round  considable  sharp.  I  spect 
they's  the  kind,  though  they  han't  never  had  no  practice. 
They 's  far  dogs,  though,  at  most  anything,  if  you  'd  get 
'em  started.  Here,  Bruno,"  he  called,  whistling  to  the  lum 
bering  Newfoundland,  who  came  pitching  tumultuously 
toward  them. 

"  You  go  hang ! "  said  Haley,  getting  up.  "  Come,  tumble 
up  now." 

8* 


90  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

Sam  tumbled  up  accordingly,  dexterously  contriving  to 
tickle  Andy  as  he  did  so,  which  occasioned  Andy  to  split  out 
into  a  laugh,  greatly  to  Haley's  indignation,  who  made  a  cut 
at  him  with  his  riding- whip. 

"  I 's  'stonished  at  yer,  Andy,"  said  Sam,  with  awful  grav 
ity.  "  This  yer  's  a  seris  bisness,  Andy.  Yer  must  n't  be  a 
makin'  game.  This  yer  an't  no  way  to  help  Mas'r." 

"  I  shall  take  the  straight  road  to  the  river,"  said  Haley, 
decidedly,  after  they  had  come  to  the  boundaries  of  the  estate. 
"  I  know  the  way  of  all  of  'em,  —  they  makes  tracks  for  the 
underground." 

"Sartin,"  said  Sam,  "dat's  de  idee.  Mas'r  Haley  hits 
de  thing  right  in  de  middle.  Now,  der  's  two  roads  to  de 
river,  —  de  dirt  road  and  der  pike,  —  which  Mas'r  mean  to 
take?" 

Andy  looked  up  innocently  at  Sam,  surprised  at  hearing 
this  new  geographical  fact,  but  instantly  confirmed  what  he 
said,  by  a  vehement  reiteration. 

"  Cause,"  said  Sam,  "I'd  rather  be  'clined  to 'magine 
that  Lizy  'd  take  de  dirt  road,  bein'  it 's  the  least  travelled." 

Haley,  notwithstanding  that  he  was  a  very  old  bird,  and 
naturally  inclined  to  be  suspicious  of  chaff,  was  rather  brought 
up  by  this  view  of  the  case. 

"If  yer  warn't  both  on  yer  such  cussed  liars,  now  !  "  he 
said,  contemplatively,  as  he  pondered  a  moment. 

The  pensive,  reflective  tone  in  which  this  was  spoken 
appeared  to  amuse  Andy  prodigiously,  and  he  drew  a  little 
behind,  and  shook  so  as  apparently  to  run  a  great  risk  of 
falling  off  his  horse,  while  Sam's  face  was  immovably  com 
posed  into  the  most  doleful  gravity. 

"Course,"  said  Sam,  "Mas'r  can  do  as  he'd  ruther;  go 
de  straight  road,  if  Mas'r  thinks  best,  —  it 's  all  one  to  us. 


LIFE   AMONG  THE   LOWLY.  91 

Now,  when  I  study  'pon  it,  I  think  de  straight  road  de  best, 
deridedly" 

"  She  would  naturally  go  a  lonesome  way,"  said  Haley, 
thinking  aloud,  and  not  minding  Sam's  remark. 

"Dar  an't  no  sayin',''  said  Sam;  "gals  ispecular;  they 
never  does  nothin'  ye  thinks  they  will ;  mose  gen'lly  the  con- 
trar.  Gals  is  nat'lly  made  contrary;  and  so,  if  you  thinks 
they've  gone  one  road,  it  is  sartin  you'd  better  go  t'  other, 
and  then  you  '11  be  sure  to  find  'em.  Now,  my  private  'pin 
ion  is,  Lizy  took  der  dirt  road ;  so  I  think  we  'd  better  take 
de  straight  one." 

This  profound  generic  view  of  the  female  sex  did  not  seem 
to  dispose  Haley  particularly  to  the  straight  road ;  and  he 
announced  decidedly  that  he  should  go  the  other,  and  asked 
Sam  when  they  should  come  to  it. 

"  A  little  piece  ahead,"  said  Sam,  giving  a  wink  to  Andy 
with  the  eye  which  was  on  Andy's  side  of  the  head ;  and  he 
added,  gravely,  "but  I've  studded  on  de  matter,  and  I'm 
quite  clar  we  ought  not  to  go  dat  ar  way.  I  nebber  been 
over  it  no  way.  It 's  despit  lonesome,  and  we  might  lose  our 
way,  —  whar  we  'd  come  to,  de  Lord  only  knows." 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  Haley,  "  I  shall  go  that  way." 

"  Now  I  think  on  't,  I  think  I  hearn  'em  tell  that  dat  ar 
road  was  all  fenced  up  and  down  by  der  creek,  and  thai,  an't 
it,  Andy?" 

Jbidy  was  n't  certain ;  he  'd  only  "  hearn  tell "  about  that 
/road,  but  never  been  over  it.  In  short,  he  was  strictly  non 
committal. 

Haley,  accustomed  to  strike  the  balance  of  probabilities 
between  lies  of  greater  or  lesser  magnitude,  thought  that  it 
lay  in  favor  of  the  dirt  road  aforesaid.  The  mention  of  the 
thing  he  thought  he  perceived  was  involuntary  on  Sam's  part 


92  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

at  first,  and  his  confused  attempts  to  dissuade  him  he  set 
down  to  a  desperate  lying  on  second  thoughts,  as  being  unwil 
ling  to  implicate  Eliza. 

When,  therefore,  Sam  indicated  the  road.  Haley  plunged 
briskly  into  it,  followed  by  Sam  and  Andy. 

Now.  the  road,  in  fact,  was  an  old  one,  that  had  formerly 
been  a  thoroughfare  to  the  river,  but  abandoned  for  many 
''years  after  the  laying  of  the  new  pike.  It  was  open  for  about 
an  hour's  ride,  and  after  that  it  was  cut  across  by  various 
farms  and  fences.  Sam  knew  this  fact  perfectly  well,  — 
indeed,  the  road  had  been  so  long  closed  up,  that  Andy  had 
never  heard  of  it.  He  therefore  rode  along  with  an  air  of 
dutiful  submission,  only  groaning  and  vociferating  occasionally 
that  'twas  "  desp't  rough,  and  bad  for  Jerry's  foot." 

"Now,  I  jest  give  yer  warning,"  said  Haley,  "I  know 
yer ;  yer  won't  get  me  to  turn  off  this  yer  road,  with  all  yer 
fussin'  —  so  you  shet  up !  " 

"  Mas'r  will  go  his  own  way ! "  said  Sam,  with  rueful  sub 
mission,  at  the  same  time  winking  most  portentously  to  Andy, 
whose  delight  was  now  very  near  the  explosive  point. 

Sam  was  in  wonderful  spirits,  —  professed  to  keep  a  very 
brisk  look-out,  —  at  one  time  exclaiming  that  he  saw  "a  gal's 
bonnet "  on  the  top  of  some  distant  eminence,  or  calling  to 
Andy  "if  that  thar  wasn't  'Lizy'  down  in  the  hollow;  " 
always  making  these  exclamations  in  some  rough  or  craggy 
part  of  the  road,  where  the  sudden  quickening  of  speed  was  a 
special  inconvenience  to  all  parties  concerned,  and  thus  keep 
ing  Haley  in  a  state  of  constant  commotion. 

After  riding  about  an  hour  in  this  way,  the  whole  party 
made  a  precipitate  and  tumultuous  descent  into  a  barn-yard 
belonging  to  a  large  farming  establishment.  Not  a  soul  was 
in  sight,  all  the  hands  being  employed  in  the  fields ;  but,  as 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  93 

the  barn  stood  conspicuously  and  plainly  square  across  the 
road,  it  was  evident  that  their  journey  in  that  direction  had 
reached  a  decided  finale. 

"  Wan?t  dat  ar  what  I  telled  Mas'r  1 "  said  Sam,  with  an 
air  of  injured  innocence.  "How  does  strange  gentleman 
spect  to  know  more  about  a  country  dan  de  natives  born  and 
raised?" 

"  You  rascal ! "  said  Haley,  "  you  knew  all  about  this." 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  yer  I  know' d,  and  yer  wouldn't  believe 
me?  I  telled  Mas'r  't  was  all  shet  up,  and  fenced  up,  and  I 
did  n't  spect  we  could  get  through,  —  Andy  heard  me." 

It  was  all  too  true  to  be  disputed,  and  the  unlucky  man 
had  to  pocket  his  wrath  with  the  best  grace  he  was  able,  and 
all  three  faced  to  the  right  about,  and  took  up  their  line  of 
march  for  the  highway. 

In  consequence  of  all  the  various  delays,  it  was  about 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  after  Eliza  had  laid  her  child  to 
sleep  in  the  village  tavern  that  the  party  came  riding  into 
the  same  place.  Eliza  was  standing  by  the  window,  looking 
out  in  another  direction,  when  Sam's  quick  eye  caught  a 
glimpse  of  her.  Haley  and  Andy  were  two  yards  behind. 
At  this  crisis,  Sam  contrived  to  have  his  hat  blown  off,  and 
uttered  a  loud  and  characteristic  ejaculation,  which  startled 
her  at  once  ;  she  drew  suddenly  back ;  the  whole  train  swept 
by  the  window,  round  to  the  front  door. 

A  thousand  lives  seemed  to  be  concentrated  in  that  one 
moment  to  Eliza.  Her  room  opened  by  a  side  door,  to  the 
river.  She  caught  her  child,  and  sprang  down  the  steps 
towards  it.  The  trader  caught  a  full  glimpse  of  her,  just  as 
she  was  disappearing  down  the  bank ;  and  throwing  himself 
from  his  horse,  and  calling  loudly  on  Sam  and  Andy,  he  was 
after  her  like  a  hound  after  a  deer.  In  that  dizzy  moment 


94  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

her  feet  to  her  scarce  seemed  to  touch  the  ground,  and  a 
moment  brought  her  to  the  water's  edge.  Right  on  behind 
they  came;  and,  nerved  with  strength  such  as  God  gives 
only  to  the  desperate,  •with  one  wild  cry  and  flying  leap,  she 
vaulted  sheer  over  the  turbid  current  by  the  shore,  on  to  the 
raft  of  ice  beyond.  It  was  a  desperate  leap  —  impossible  to 
anything  but  madness  and  despair;  and  Haley,  Sam,  and 
Andy,  instinctively  cried  out,  and  lifted  up  their  hands,  as 
she  did  it. 

The  huge  green  fragment  of  ice  on  which  she  alighted 
pitched  and  creaked  as  her  weight  came  on  it,  but  she  staid 
there  not  a  moment.  With  wild  cries  and  desperate  energy 
she  leaped  to  another  and  still  another  cake ;  —  stumbling  — 
leaping  —  slipping  —  springing  upwards  again  !  Her  shoes 
are  gone  —  her  stockings  cut  from  her  feet  —  while  blood 
marked  every  step;  but  she  saw  nothing,  felt  nothing,  till 
dimly,  as  in  a  dream,  she  saw  the  Ohio  side,  and  a  man  help 
ing  her  up  the  bank. 

"  Yer  a  brave  gal,  now,  whoever  ye  ar  !  "  said  the  man, 
with  an  oath. 

Eliza  recognized  the  voice  and  face  of  a  man  who  owned  a 
farm  not  far  from  her  old  home. 

"  0,  Mr.  Symmes  ! — save  me  —  do  save  me  —  do  hide 
me !  "  said  Eliza. 

"Why,  what's  this? "-said  the  man.  "Why,  if  Han't 
Shelby's  gal !  " 

"  My  child  !  —  this  boy  !  —  he  'd  sold  him  !  There  is  his 
Mas'r,"  said  she,  pointing  to  the  Kentucky  shore.  "  0, 
Mr.  Symmes,  you  've  got  a  little  boy !  " 

"  So  I  have,"  said  {he  man,  as  he  roughly,  but  kindly, 
drew  her  up  the  steep  bank.  "  Besides,  you  're  a  right  bravo 
apl.  I  like  grit,  wherever  I  see  it." 


ll/V 

LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.       *      '  Q*7      95 

When  they  had  gained  the  top  of  the  bank,  the  man 
paused. 

"I'd  be  glad  to  do  something  for  ye,"  said  he;  "but 
then  there  ?s  nowliar  I  could  take  ye.  The  best  I  can  do  is 
to  tell  ye  to  go  thar"  said  he,  pointing  to  a  large  white 
house  which  stood  by  itself,  off  the  main  street  of  the  village. 
"Go  thar;  they're  kind  folks.  Thar 's  no  kind  o' danger 
but  they  '11  help  you, —  they  're  up  to  all  that  sort  o'  thing." 

"  The  Lord  bless  you  !  "  said  Eliza,  earnestly. 

"  No  'casion,  no  'casion  in  the  world,"  said  the  man. 
"  What  I  've  done  's  of  no  'count." 

"  And,  oh,  surely,  sir,  you  won't  tell  any  one !  " 

"Go  to  thunder,  gal!  What  do  you  take  a  feller  for? 
In  course  not,"  said  the  man.  "  Come,  now,  go  along  like  a 
likely,  sensible  gal,  as  you  are.  You  've  arnt  your  liberty, 
and  you  shall  have  it,  for  all  me." 

The  woman  folded  her  child  to  her  bosom,  and  walked 
firmly  and  swiftly  away.  The  man  stood  and  looked  after  her. 

"  Shelby,  now,  mebbe  won't  think  this  yer  the  most  neigh 
borly  thing  in  the  world ;  but  what 's  a  feller  to  do  ?  If  he 
catches  one  of  my  gals  in  the  same  fix,  he 's  welcome  to  pay 
back.  Somehow  I  never  could  see  no  kind  o'  critter  a  strivin' 
and  pantin',  and  trying  to  clar  theirselves,  with  the  dogsarter 
'em,  and  go  agin  'em.  Besides,  I  don't  see  no  kind  of 
'casion  for  me  to  be  hunter  and  catcher  for  other  folks, 
neither." 

So  spoke  this  poor,  heathenish  Kentuckian,  who  had  not 
been  instructed  in  his  constitutional  relations,  and  conse 
quently  was  betrayed  into  acting  in  a  sort  of  Christianized 
manner,  which,  if  he  had  been  better  situated  and  more 
enlightened,  he  would  not  have  been  left  to  do. 

Haley  had  stood  a  perfectly  amazed  spectator  of  the  scene, 


96  UNCLE  TOM'S   CABIN  :    OR, 

till  Eliza  had  disappeared  up  the  bank,  when  he  turned  a 
blank,  inquiring  look  on  Sam  and  Andy. 

"  That  ar  was  a  tolable  fair  stroke  of  business,"  said  Sam. 

"The  gal's  got  seven  devils  in  her,  I  believe!"  said 
Haley.  "  How  like  a  wildcat  she  jumped !  " 

"Wai,  now,"  said  Sam,  scratching  his  head,  "I  hope 
Mas'r  '11  'scuse  us  tryin'  dat  ar  road.  Don't  think  I  feel 
spry  enough  for  dat  ar,  no  way !  "  and  Sam  gave  a  hoarse 
chuckle. 

"  "You  laugh !  "  said  the  trader,  with  a  growl. 

"Lord  bless  you,  Mas'r,  I  couldn't  help  it,  now,"  said 
Sam,  giving  way  to  the  long  pent-up  delight  of  his  soul. 
"  She  looked  so  curi's,  a  leapin'  and  springin' — ice  a  crackin' 
—  and  only  to  hear  her, —  plump!  ker  chunk!  ker  splash! 
Spring !  Lord !  how  she  goes  it ! "  and  Sam  and  Andy 
laughed  till  the  tears  rolled  down  their  cheeks. 

"I'll  make  ye  laugh  t'other  side  yer  mouths !  "  said  the 
trader,  laying  about  their  heads  with  his  riding-whip. 

Both  ducked,  and  ran  shouting  up  the  bank,  and  were  on 
their  horses  before  he  was  up. 

"Good-evening,  Mas'r!"  said  Sam,  with  much  gravity. 
"I  berry  much  spect  Missis  be  anxious  'bout  Jerry.  Mas'r 
Haley  won't  want  us  no  longer.  Missis  would  n't  hear  of  our 
ridin'  the  critters  over  Lizy's  bridge  to-night; "  and,  with  a 
facetious  poke  into  Andy's  ribs,  he  started  off,  followed  by  the 
latter,  at  full  speed, —  their  shouts  of  laughter  coming  faintly 
on  the  wind. 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  97 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

ELIZA  made  her  desperate  retreat  across  the  river  just  in 
the  dusk  of  twilight.  The  gray  mist  of  evening,  rising  slowly 
from  the  river,  enveloped  her  as  she  disappeared  up  the  bank, 
and  the  swollen  current  and  floundering  masses  of  ice  pre 
sented  a  hopeless  barrier  between  her  and  her  pursuer. 
Haley  therefore  slowly  and  discontentedly  returned  to  the 
little  tavern,  to  ponder  further  what  was  to  be  done.  The 
woman  opened  to  him  the  door  of  a  little  parlor,  covered  with 
a  rag  carpet,  where  stood  a  table  with  a  very  shining  black 
oil-cloth,  sundry  lank,  high-backed  wood  chairs,  with  some 
plaster  images  in  resplendent  colors  on  the  mantel-shelf, 
above  a  very  dimly-smoking  grate ;  a  long  hard- wood  settle 
extended  its  uneasy  length  by  the  chimney,  and  here 
Haley  sat  him  down  to  meditate  on  the  instability  of  human 
hopes  and  happiness  in  general. 

"  What  did  I  want  with  the  little  cuss,  now,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "  that  I  should  have  got  myself  treed  like  a  coon,  as 
I  am,  this  yer  way  ?  "  and  Haley  relieved  himself  by  repeat 
ing  over  a  not  very  select  litany  of  imprecations,  on  himself, 
which,  though  there  was  the  best  possible  reason  to  consider 
them  as  true,  we  shall,  as  a  matter  of  taste,  omit. 

He  was  startled  by  the  loud  and  dissonant  voice  of  a  man 
who  was  apparently  dismounting  at  the  door.  He  hurried  to 
the  window. 

il  By  tho  land  !  if  this  yer  an't  the  nearest,  now,  to  what 
9 


98  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN  :    Oil, 

I've   heard   folks   call   Providence,"    said   Haley.     "I   do 
b'lieve  that  ar  's  Tom  Loker." 

Haley  hastened  out.  Standing  by  the  bar,  in  the  corner 
of  the  room,  was  a  brawny,  muscular  man,  full  six  feet  in 
height,  and  broad  in  proportion.  He  was  dressed  in  a  coat 
of  buffalo-skin,  made  with  the  hair  outward,  which  gave 
him  a  shaggy  and  fierce  .appearance,  perfectly  in  keeping 
with  the  whole  air  of  his  physiognomy.  In  the  head  and 
face  every  organ  and  lineament  expressive  of  brutal  and 
unhesitating  violence  was  in  a  state  of  the  highest  possible 
development.  Indeed,  could  our  readers  fancy  a  bull-dog 
come  unto  man's  estate,  and  walking  about  in  a  hat  and  coat, 
they  would  have  no  unapt  idea  of  the  general  style  and  effect 
of  his  physique.  He  was  accompanied  by  a  travelling  com 
panion,  in  many  respects  an  exact  contrast  to  himself.  He 
was  short  and  slender,  lithe  and  cat-like  in  his  motions,  and 
had  a  peering,  mousing  expression  about  his  keen  black  eyes, 
with  which  every  feature  "of  his  face  seemed  sharpened  into 
sympathy ;  his  thin,  long  nose,  ran  out  as  if  it  was  eager  to 
bore  into  the  nature  of  things  in  general ;  his .  sleek,  thin, 
black  hair  was  stuck  eagerly  forward,  and  all  his  motions  and 
evolutions  expressed  a  dry,  cautious  acuteness.  The  great 
big  man  poured  out  a  big  tumbler  half  full  of  raw  spirits,  and 
gulped  it  down  without  a  word.  The  little  man  stood  tip-toe, 
and  putting  his  head  first  to  one  side  and  then  to  the  other, 
and  snuffing  considerately  in  the  directions  of  the  various 
bottles,  ordered  at  last  a  mint  julep,  in  a  thin  and  quivering 
voice,  and  with  an  air  of  great  circumspection.  When  poured 
out,  he  took  it  and  looked  at  it  with  a  sharp,  complacent  air, 
like  a  man  who  thinks -he  has  done  about  the  right  thing,  and 
hit  the  nail  on  the  head,  and  proceeded  to  dispose  of  it  in 
short  and  well-advised  sips. 


LIFE   AMOXG-   THE   LOWLY.  99 


"  Wai.  now,  who  'd  a  thought  this  yer  luck  'ad  come  to  me? 
Why,  Loker,  how  are  ye?  "  said  Haley,  coming  forward,  and 
extending  his  hand  to  the  big  man. 

"  The  devil !  "  was  the  civil  reply.  "  What  brought  you 
here,  Haley?" 

The  mousing  man,  who  bore  the  name  of  Marks,  instantly 
stopped  his  sipping,  and,  poking  his  head  forward,  looked 
shrewdly  on  the  new  acquaintance,  as  a  cat  sometimes  looks 
at  a  moving  dry  leaf,  or  some  other  possible  object  of  pursuit. 

"I  say,  Tom,  this  yer 's  the  luckiest  thing  in  the  world. 
I  'm  in  a  devil  of  a  hobble,  and  you  must  help  me  out." 

"Ugh?  aw!  like  enough!"  grunted  his  complacent  ac 
quaintance.  "  A  body  may  be  pretty  sure  of  that,  when 
you  're  glad  to  see  'em ;  something  to  be  made  off  of  'em. 
What 's  the  blow  now  ?  " 

"  You've  got  a  friend  here?"  said  Haley,  looking  doubt 
fully  at  Marks ;  "  partner,  perhaps?  "  / 

""  Yes,  I  have.  Here,  Marks  !  here 's  that  ar  feller  that  I 
was  in  with  in  Natchez." 

"  Shall  be  pleased  with  his  acquaintance,"  said  Marks, 
thrusting  out  a  long,  thin  hand,  lik?a  raven's  claw.  "Mr. 
Haley,  I  believe?" 

"The  same,  sir,"  said  Haley.  "And  now,  gentlemen, 
seem'  as  we've,  met  so  happily,  I  think  I'll  stand  up  to  a 
small  matter  of  a  treat  in  this  here  parlor.  So,  now,  .old 
coon,"  said  he  to  the  man  at  the  bar,  "  get  us  hot  water,  and 
sugar,  and  cigars,  and  plenty  of  the  real  stuff,  and  we  '11 
have  a  blow-out." 

Behold,  then,  the  candles  lighted,  the  fire  stimulated  to  the 
burning  point  in  the  grate,  and  our  three  worthies  seated 
round  a  table,  well  spread  with  all  the  accessories  to  good 
fellowship  enumerated  before. 


100  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN:    OK, 

Haley  began  a  pathetic  recital  of  his  peculiar  troubles. 
Loker  shut  up  his  mouth,  and  listened  to  him  with  gruff  and 
surly  attention.  Marks,  who  was  anxiously  and  with  much 
fidgeting  compounding  a  tumbler  of  punch  to  his  own  peculiar 
taste,  occasionally  looked  up  from  his  employment,  and, 
pokir  g  his  sharp  nose  and  chin  almost  into  Haley's  face,  gave 
the  most  earnest  heed  to  the  whole  narrative.  The  conclusion 
of  it  appeared  to  amuse  him  extremely,  for  he  shook  his 
shoulders  and  sides  in  silence,  and  perked  up  his  thin  lips 
with  an  air  of  great  internal  enjoyment. 

"  So,  then,  ye  'r  fairly  sewed  up,  an't  ye  ?  "  he  said ;  "  he  ! 
he !  he  !  It 's  neatly  done,  too." 

"This  yer  young-un  business  makes  lots  of  trouble  in  the 
trade,"  said  Haley,  dolefully. 

"  If  we  could  get  a  breed  of  gals  that  did  n't  care,  now,  for 
their  young  uns,"  said  Marks  ;  "  tell  ye,  I  think  'twould  be 
'bout  the  greatest  mod' rn  improvement  I  knows  on," — and 
Marks  patronized  his  joke  by  a  quiet  introductory  sniggle. 

"Jes  so,"  said  Haley;  "I  never  couldn't  see  into  it; 
young  uns  is  heaps  of  triple  to  'em ;  one  would  think,  now, 
they  'd  be  glad  to  get  clSr  on  'era ;  but  they  arn't.  Arid  the 
more  trouble  a  young  un  is,  and  the  more  good  for  nothing, 
as  a  gen'l  thing,  the  tighter  they  sticks  to  'em." 

"Wai,  Mr.  Haley,"  said  Marks,  "jest  pass  the  hot  watei\ 
Yes,  sir;  you  say  jest  what  I  feel  and  all' us  have.  Now,  I 
bought  a  gal  once,  when  I  was  in  the  trade, —  a  tight,  likely 
wench  she  was,  too,  and  quite  considerable  smart, —  and  she 
had  a  young  un  that  was  mis' able  sickly ;  it  had  a  crooked 
back,  or  something  or  other ;  and  I  jest  gin 't  away  to  a  man 
that  thought  he  'd  take  his  chance  raising  on  't,  being  it 
didn't  cost  nothin' ;  — never  thought,  yer  know,  of  the  gal's 
takin'  on  about  it, —  but,  Lord,  yer  oughter  seen  how  she 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  10-1 


wont  on.  Why,  rc'lly,  she  did  seem  to  .die  to  valley  Luc  clii'd 
more  'cause  'twas  sickly  and  cross,  and  plagued  her:  and 
she  warn't  making  b'lieve,  neither,  —  cried  about  it,  she  did, 
and  lopped  round,  as  if  she'd  lost  every  friend  she  had.  It 
rc'lly  was  droll  to  think  on 't.  Lord,  there  an't  no  end  to 
women's  notions." 

"  Wai,  jest  so  with  me,"  said  Haley.  "  Last  summer, 
down  on  Red  river,  I  got  a  gal  traded  off  on  me,  with  a  likely 
lookin'  child  enough,  and  his  eyes  looked  as  bright  as  yourn ; 
but,  come  to  look,  I  found  him  stone  blind.  Fact  —  he  was 
stone  blind.  Wai,  ye  see,  I  thought  there  warn't  no  harm  in 
my  jest  passing  him  along,  and  not  say  in'  nothin'  ;  and  I  'd 
got  him  nicely  swapped  off  for  a  keg  o'  whiskey ;  but  come 
to  get  him  away  from  the  gal,  she  was  jest  like  a  tiger.  So 
't  was  before  we  started,  and  I  had  n't  got  my  gang  chained 
up ;  so  what  should  she  do  but  ups  on  a  cotton-bale,  like  a 
cat,  ketches  a  knife  from  one. of  the  deck  hands,  and,  I  tell 
ye,  she  made  all  fly  for  a  minit,  till  she  saw  'twan't  no 
use  ;  and  she  jest  turns  round,  and  pitches  head  first,  young 
un  and  all,  into  the  river,  —  went  down  plump,  and  never 
ris."  \ 

"  Bah  !  "  said  Tom  Loker,  who  had  listened  to  these  storied 
with  ill-repressed  disgust,  —  "  shif  less,  both  on  ye!  my 
gals  don't  cut  up  no  such  shines,  I  tell  ye  !  " 

"  Indeed  !  how  do  you  help  it  ?  "  said  Marks,  briskly. 

"  Help  it?  why,  I  buys  a  gal,  and  if  she's  got  a  young 
im  to  be  sold,  I  jest  walks  up  and  puts  my  fist  to  her 
face,  and  says,  '  Look  here,  now,  if  you  give  me  one  word 
out  of  your  head,  I  '11  smash  yer  face  in.  I  won't  hear  one 
-word  —  not  the  beginning  of  a  word.'  I  says  to  'em,  '  This 
yer  young  im  's  mine,  and  not  yourn,  and  you  've  no  kind  o' 
business  with  it.  I  'm  coins;  to  sell  it,  first  chance  ;  mind, 


102  I^CLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :   OR, 


you-  don't  cut  r.p  none  o'  yer  shines  about  it,  or  I ;11  make  ye 
wish  ye  'd  never  been  born.'  I  tell  3^0.  they  sees  it  an't  no 
play,  when  I  gets  hold.  I  makes  'em  as  whist  as  fishes :  and 
if  one  on  'em  begins  and  gives  a  yelp,  why, — "  and  Mr.  Loker 
brought  down  his  fist  with  a  thump  that  fully  explained  the 
hiatus. 

"That  ar's  what  ye  may  call  emphasis,"  said  Marks 
poking  Haley  in  the  side,  and  going  into  another  small 
giggle.  "  An't  Tom  peculiar?  he  !  he  !  he  !  I  say,  Tom,  I 
s'pect  you  make  'em  understand,  for  all  niggers'  heads  is 
woolly.  They  don't  never  have  no  doubt  o'  your  meaning, 
Tom.  If  you  an't  the  devil,  Tom,  you  's  his  twin  brother, 
I'll  say  that  for  ye  !  " 

Tom  received  the  compliment  with  becoming  modesty,  and 
began  to  look  as  affable  as  wTas  consistent,  as  John  Bunyan 
says,  "  with  his  doggish  nature." 

Haley,  who  had  been  imbibing  very  freely  of  the  staple  of 
the  evening,  began  to  feel  a  sensible  elevation  and  enlarge 
ment  of  his  moral  faculties,  —  a  phenomenon  not  unusual 
with  gentlemen  of  a  serious  and  reflective  turn,  under  similar 
circumstances.  w 

"  Wai,  now,  Tom,"  he  said,  "  ye  re'lly  is  too  bad,  as  I 
al'ays  have  told  ye ;  ye  know,  Tom,  you  and  I  used  to  talk 
over  these  yer  matters  down  in  Natchez,  and  I  used  to  prove 
to  ye  that  we  made  full  as  much,  and  was  as  well  off  for  this 
yer  world,  by  treatin'  on  'em  well,  besides  keepin'  a  better 
chance  for  comin'  in  the  kingdom  at  last,  when  wust  comes  to 
wust,  and  thar  an't  nothing  else  left  to  get,  ye  know." 

"  Boh  !  "  said  Tom,  "  don't  I  know?  — don't  make  me  too 
sick  with  any  yer  stuff,  —  my  stomach  is  a  leetle  riled  now  ;  " 
and  Tom  drank  half  a  glass  of  raw  brandy. 

"I  say,"  said  Haley,  and  leaning  back  in  his  chair  and 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  103 

gesturing  impressively,  "  I  '11  say  this  now,  I  al'ays  meant  to 
drive  my  trade  so  as  to  make  money  on  't,  fust  and  foremost ', 
as  much  as  any  man ;  but,  then,  trade  an't  everything,  and 
money  an't  everything,  'cause  we  's  all  got  souls.  I  don't 
care,  now,  who  hears  me  say  it, —  and  I  think  a  cussed  sight 
on  it ,  —  so  I  may  as  well  come' out  with  it.  I  b'lieve  in  religion, 
and  one  of  these  days,  when  I  've  got  matters  tight  and  snug, 
I  calculates  to  tend  to  my  soul  and  .  them  ar  matters  ;  and  so 
what 's  the  use  of  doin'  any  more  wickedness  than 's  re'lly 
necessary?  —  it  don't  seem  to  me  it 's  'tall  prudent." 

"Tend  to  yer  soul!"  repeated  Tom,  contemptuously; 
"  take  a  bright  look-out  to  find  a  soul  in  you,  —  save  yourself 
any  care  on  that  score.  If  the  devil  sifts  you  through  a  hair 
sieve,  he  won't  find  one." 

"  Why,  Tom,  you  're  cross,"  said  Haley;  "  why  can  't  ye 
take  it  pleasant,  now,  when  a  feller  's  talking  for  your  good?  " 

"Stop  that  ar  jaw  o'  yourn,  there,"  said  Tom,  gruffly. 
"  I  can  stand  most  any  talk  o'  yourn  but  your  pious  talk,  — 
that  kills  me  right  up.  After  all,  what 's  the  odds  between 
me  and  you  ?  'Tan't  that  you  care  one  bit  more,  or  have  a  bit 
more  feelin', — it's  clean,  sheer,  dog  meanness,  wanting  to 
cheat  the  devil  and  save  your  own  skin ;  don't  I  see  through 
it  ?  And  your  '  gettin'  religion,'  as  you  call  it,  arter  all,  is 
too  p'isin  mean  for  any  crittur ;  —  run  up  a  bill  with  the  devil 
all  your  life,  and  then  sneak  out  when  pay  time  comes  ! 
Boh !  " 

"Come,  come,  gentlemen,  I  say;  this  isn't  business," 
said  Marks.  "  There  's  different  ways,  you  know,  of  looking 
at  all  subjects.  Mr.  Haley  is  a  very  nice  man,  no  doubt,  and 
has  his  own  conscience ;  and,  Tom,  you  have  your  ways,  and 
very  good  ones,  too,  Tom :  but  quarrelling,  you  know,  won't 
answer  no  kind  of  purpose.  Let 's  go  to  business.  Now, 


101  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN:    OR, 


Mr.  Haley,  what  is  it  ?  —  you  want  us  to  undertake  to  catch 
this  yer  gal  ?  " 

"  The  gal 's  no  matter  of  mine. —  she  's  Shelby's ;  it 's  cnly 
the  boy.  I  was  a  fool  for  buying  the  monkey  ! " 

"  You  're  generally  a  fool !  "  said  Torn,  gruffly. 

(i  Come,  now,  Loker,  none  of  your  huffs,"  said  Mark?, 
licking  his  lips  ;  "  you  see,  Mr.  Haley 's  a  puttin'  us  in  a  way 
of  a  good  job,  I  reckon  ;  just  hold  still. — these  yer  arrange 
ments  is  my  forte.  This  yer  gal.  Mr.  Haley,  how  is  she  ? 
what  is  she?" 

"Wai!  wThite  and  handsome  —  well  brought  up.  I'd 
a  gin  Shelby  eight  hundred  or  a  thousand,  and  then  made 
well  on  her." 

"  White  and  handsome  — well  brought  up  ! "  said  Marks,  his 
sharp  eyes,  nose  and  mouth,  all  alive  with  enterprise.  "  Look 
here,  now,  Loker,  a  beautiful  opening.  We  '11  do  a  business 
here  on  our  own  account ;  —  we  does  the  catchin' ;  the  boy,  of 
course,  goes  to  Mr.  Haley, —  we  takes  the  gal  to  Orleans  to 
speculate  on.  An't  it  beautiful  ?  " 

Tom,  whose  great  heavy  mouth  had  stood  ajar  during  this 
communication,  now  suddenly  snapped  it  together,  as  a  big 
dog  closes  on  a  piece  of  meat,  and  seemed  to  be  digesting  the 
idea  at  his  leisure. 

"  Ye  see,"  said  Marks  to  Haley,  stirring  his  punch  as  he 
did  so,  "  ye  see,  we  has  justices  convenient  at  all  p'ints  along 
shore,  that  does  up  any  little  jobs  in  our  line  quite  reasonable. 
Tom,  he  does  the  knockin'  down  and  that  ar ;  and  I  coma  in 
all  dressed  up  —  shining  boots  —  everything  first  chop,  when 
the  swearin'  's  to  be  done.  You  oughter  see,  now,"  said 
Marks,  in  a  glow  of  .professional  pride,  "how  I  can  tone  it 
off.  One  day,  I  'm  Mr.  Twickem,  from  New  Orleans ;  'nother 
day.  I  'm  just  come  from  my  plantation  on  Pearl  river,  where 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  105 

I  works  seven  hundred  niggers ;  then,  again,  I  come  out  a 
distant  relation  of  Henry  Clay,  or  some  old  cock  in  Kcntuck. 
Talents  is  different,  you  know.  Now,  Tom  's  a  roarer  when 
there  's  any  thumping  or  fighting  to  be  done  ;  but  at  lying  he 
ari't  good,  Tom  an't, — ye  see  it  don't  come  natural  to  him ;  but, 
Lord,  if  thar  ?s  a  feller  in  the  country  that  can  swear  to  anything 
and  everything,  and  put  in  all  the  circumstances  and  flour 
ishes  with  a  longer  face,  and  carry 't  through  better  'n  I  can, 
why,  I  'd  like  to  see  him,  that 's  all !  I  b'lieve  my  heart,  I 
could  get  along  and  snake  through,  even  if  justices  were  more 
particular  than  they  is.  Sometimes  I  rather  wish  they  was 
more  particular;  'twould  be  a  heap  more  relishin'  if  they  was, 
—  more  fun,  yer  know." 

Tom  Loker,  who,  as  we  have  made  it  appear,  was  a  man  of 
slow  thoughts  and  movements,  here  interrupted  Marks  by 
bringing  his  heavy  fist  down  on  the  table,  so  as  to  make  all 
ring  again.  "  It'll  do!"  he  said. 

"  Lord  bless  ye,  Tom,  ye  needn't  break  all  the  glasses!  " 
said  Marks ;  "  save  your  fist  for  time  o'  need." 

"  But,  gentlemen,  an't  I  to  come  in  for  a  share  of  the 
profits  ?  ' '  said  Haley. 

"  An't  it  enough  we  catch  the  boy  for  ye?"  said  Loker. 
"What  do  ye  want?" 

"Wai,"  said  Haley,  "if  I  gives  you  the  job,  it's  worth 
something, —  say  ten  per  cent,  on  the  profits,  expenses  paid." 

"  Now,"  said  Loker,  with  a  tremendous  oath,  and  striking 
the  table  with  his  heavy  fist,  "  don't  I  know  you,  Dan  Haley? 
Don't  you  think  to  come  it  over  me !  Suppose  Marks  and  I 
have  taken  up  the  catchin'  trade,  jest  to  'commodate  gentle 
men  like  you,  and  get  nothin'  for  ourselves  ?  —  Not  by  a  long 
chalk  !  we  ;11  have  the  gal  out  and  out,  and  you  keep  quiet, 
or.  ye  see,  we  '11  have  both, — what 's  to  hinder  ?  Han't  you 


10G  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN  :    OR, 

show'd  us  the  game?  It's  as  free  to  us  as  you,  I  hope.  If 
you  or  Shelby  wants  to  chase  us,  look  where  the  partridges 
was  last  year ;  if  you  find  them  or  us,  you  're  quite  welcome." 

"  0,  wal.  certainly,  jest  let  it  go  at  that,"  said  Haley, 
alarmed ;  "  you  catch  the  boy  fox-  the  job ;  — you  allers  did 
trade  far  with  me,  Tom,  and  was  up  to  yer  word." 

"  Ye  know  that,"  said  Tom;  "I  don't  pretend  none  of 
your  snivelling  ways,  but  I  won't  lie  in  my  'counts  with  the 
devil  himself.  What  I  ses  I  '11  do,  I  will  do, —  you  know 
that,  Dan  Haley." 

"  Jes-so,  jes  so, —  I  said  so,  Tom,"  said  Haley;  "and  if 
you  'd  ojily  promise  to  have  the  boy  for  me  in  a  week,  at  any 
point  you '11  name,  that's  all  I  want." 

"  But  it  an't  all  I  -want,  by  a  long  jump,"  said  Tom. 
Ci  Ye  don't  think  I  did  business  with  you,  down  in  Natchez, 
for  nothing,  Haley ;  I  've  learned  to  hold  an  eel.  when  I  catch 
him.  You  've  got  to  fork  over  fifty  dollars,  flat  down,  or  this 
child  don't  start  a  peg.  I  know  yer." 

"Why,  when  you  have  a  job  in  hand  that  may  bring  a 
clean  profit  of  somewhere  about  a  thousand  or  sixteen  hun 
dred,  why,  Tom,  you're  onreasonable,"  said  Haley. 

"Yes,  and  hasn't  we  business  booked  for  five  weeks  to 
come, —  all  we  can  do  ?  And  suppose  we  leaves  all,  and  goes 
to  bushwhacking  round  arter  yer  young  un,  and  finally  does 
n't  catch  the  gal, —  and  gals  allers  is  the  devil  to  catch, — 
what 's  then  ?  would  you  pay  us  a  cent  —  would  you  ?  I 
think  I  see  you  a  doin'  it  —  ugh !  No,  no ;  flap  down  your 
fifty.  If  we  get  the  job,  and  it  pays,  I'll  hand  it  back;  if 
we  don't,  it's  for  our  trouble, —  that  'sfar,  an't  it,  Marks?  " 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  said  Marks,  with  a  conciliatory 
tone ;  "  it 's  only  a  retaining  fee,  you  see. —  he  !  he  !  he  !  — 
we  lawyers,  you  know.  •  Wal,  we  must  all  keep  good-natured. 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  107 


—  keep  easy,  yer  know.     Tom  '11  have  the  boy  for  yer,  any 
where  ye  '11  name ;  won't  ye,  Tom?  " 

"  If  I  find  the  young  un,  I  '11  bring  him  on  to  Cincinnati, 
and  leave  him  at  Granny  Belcher's,  on  the  landing,"  said 
Loker. 

Marks  had  got  from  his  pocket  a  greasy  pocket-book,  and 
taking  a  long  paper  from  thence,  he  sat  down,  and  fixing  his 
keen  black  eyes  on  it,  began  mumbling  over  its  contents  : 
"Barnes  —  Shelby  County  —  boy  Jim,  three  hundred  dol 
lars  for  him,  dead  or  alive. 

"  Edwards  —  Dick  and  Lucy  —  man  and  wife,  six  hundred 
dollars ;  wench  Polly  and  two  children  —  six  hundred  for  her 
or  her  head. 

"I'm  jest  a  runnin'  over  our  business,  to  see  if  we  can 
take  up  this  yer  handily.  Loker,"  he  said,  after  a  pause, 
"we  must  set  Adams  and  Springer  on  the  track  of  these  yer; 
they  've  been  booked  some  time." 

"They'll  charge  too  much,"  said  Tom. 

"I  '11  manage  that  ar;  they 's  young  in  the  business,  and 
must  spect  to  work  cheap,"  said  Marks,  as  he  continued  to 
read.  "Ther's  three  on 'em  easy  cases,  'cause  all  you've 
got  to  do  is  to  shoot  'em,  or  swear  they  is  shot ;  they  could  n't, 
of  course,  charge  much  for  that.  .  Them  other  cases,"  he  said, 
folding  the  paper,  "will  bear  puttin'  off  a  spell.  So  now 
let 's  come  to  the  particulars.  Now,  Mr.  Haley,  you  saw 
this  yer  gal  when  she  landed?  " 

"  To  be  sure, —  plain  as  I  see  you." 

"  And  a  man  helpin'  on  her  up  the  bank?  "  said  Loker. 

"  To  be  sure,  I  did." 

"Most likely,"  said  Marks,  "she's  took  in  somewhere 
but  where,  's  a  question.  Tom,  what  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  We  must  cross  the  river  to-night,  no  mistake,"  said  Tom. 


108  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

"  But  there 's  no  boat  about,"  said  Marks.  "The  ice  is 
running  awfully,  Tom;  an't  it  dangerous?  " 

"  Don'no  nothing  'bout  that, —  only  it's  got  to  be  done," 
said  Tom,  decidedly. 

"Dear  me,"  said  Marks,  fidgeting,  "it'll  be  — I  say," 
he  said,  walking  to  the  window,  "  it 's  dark  as  a  wolf's  mouth, 
and,  Tom  —  " 

"  The  long  and  short  is,  you  're  scared,  Marks  ;  but  I  can't 
help  that, —  you  've  got  to  go.  Suppose  you  want  to  lie  by  a 
day  or  two,  till  the  gal 's  been  carried  on  the  underground 
line  up  to  Sandusky  or  so,  before  you  start." 

"  0,  no;  I  an't  a  grain  afraid,"  said  Marks,  "  only — " 

"Only  what?"  said  Tom. 

"  Well,  about  the  boat.     Yer  see  there  an't  any  boat." 

"  I  heard  the  woman  say  there  was  one  coming  along  this 
evening,  and  that  a  man  was  going  to  cross  over  in  it.  Neck 
or  nothing,  we  must  go  with  him,"  said  Tom. 

"  I  s'pose  you  've  got  good  dogs,"  said  Haley. 

"  First  rate,"  said  Marks.  "But  what's  the  use?  you 
han't  got  nothin'  o'  hers  to  smell  on." 

"Yes,  I  have,"  said  Haley,  triumphantly.  "Here's  her 
shawl  she  left  on  the  bed  in  her  hurry ;  she  left  her  bonnet, 
too." 

"  That  ar  's  lucky,"  said  Loker ;   "  fork  over." 

"  Though  the  dogs  might  damage  the  gal,  if  they  come  on 
her  unaware,"  said  Haley. 

"That  ar's  a  consideration,"  said  Marks.  "Our  dogs 
tore  a  feller  half  to  pieces,  once,  down  in  Mobile,  'fore  we 
could  get  'em  off." 

"Well,  ye  see,  for  this  sort  that's  to  be  sold  for  their 
looks,  that  ar  won't  answer,  ye  see,"  said  Haley. 

"  I  do  see,"  said  Marks.     "  Besides,  if  she  's  got  took  in, 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWL1.  109 

'tan't  no  go,  neither.  Dogs  is  no  'count  in  these  yer  up  states 
where  these  critters  gets  carried;  of  course,  ye  can't  get  on 
their  track.  They  only  docs  down  in  plantations,  where 
niggers,  when  they  runs,  has  to  do  their  own  running,  and 
don't  get  no  help." 

"  Well,"  said  Loker,  who  had  just  stepped  out  to  the  bar 
to  make  some  inquiries,  "  they  say  the  man 's  come  with  the 
boat ;  so,  Marks  — ' ' 

That  worthy  cast  a  rueful  look  at  the  comfortable  quarters 
he  was  leaving,  but  slowly  rose  to  obey.  After  exchanging  a 
few  words  of  further  arrangement,  Haley,  with  visible  reluc 
tance,  handed  over  the  fifty  dollars  to  Tom,  and  the  worthy 
trio  separated  for  the  night. 

If  any  of  our  refined  and  Christian  readers  object  to  the 
society  into  which  this  scene  introduces  them,  let  us  beg  them 
to  begin  and  conquer  their  prejudices  in  time.  The  catching 
business,  we  beg  to  remind  them,  is  rising  to  the  dignity  of  a 
lawful  and  patriotic  profession.  If  all  the  broad  land  between 
the  Mississippi  and  the  Pacific  becomes  one  great  market  for 
bodies  and  souls*,  and  human  property  retains  tjje  locomotive 
tendencies  of  this  nineteenth  century,  the  trader  and  catcher 
may  yet  be  among  our  aristocracy. 


While  this  scene  was  going  on  at  the  tavern,  Sam  and 
Andy,  in  a  state  of  high  felicitation,  pursued  their  way  home. 

Sam  was  in  the  highest  possible  feather,  and  expressed  his 
exultation  by  all  sorts  of  supernatural  howls  and  ejaculations, 
by  divers  odd  motions  and  contortions  of  his  whole  system. 
Sometimes  he  would  sit  backward,  with  his  face  to  the  horse's 
tail  and  s.des,  and  then,  with  a  whoop  and  a  somerset,  come 
right  side  up  in  his  place  again,  and,  drawing  on  a  grave  face, 
10 


110  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:    OR, 

begin  to  lecture  Andy  in  high-sounding  tones  for  laughing 
and  playing  the  fool.  Anon,  slapping  his  sides  with  his  arms, 
he  would  burst  forth  in  peals  of  laughter,  that  made  the  old 
woods  ring  as  they  passed.  With  all  these  evolutions,  he 
contrived  to  keep  the  horses  up  to  the  top  of  their  speed, 
until,  between  ten  and  eleven,  their  heels  resounded  on  the 
gravel  at  the  end  of  the  balcony.  Mrs.  Shelby  flew  to  the 
railings. 

"  Is  that  you,  Sam  ?     Where  are  they  ?  " 

"Mas'r  Haley's  a-restin'  at  the  tavern;  he's  drefful 
fatigued,  Missis." 

"And  Eliza,  Sam?" 

"  Wai,  she 's  clar  'cross  Jordan.  As  a  body  may  say,  in 
the  land  o'  Canaan." 

"Why,  Sam,  what  do  you  mean?"  said  Mrs.  Shelby, 
breathless,  and  almost  faint,  as  the  possible  meaning  of  these 
words  came  over  her. 

"  Wai,  Missis,  de  Lord  he  persarves  his  own.  Lizy's 
done  gone  over  the  river  into  'Hio,  as  'markablyas  if  de  Lord 
took  her  over  in  a  charrit  of  fire  and  two  hosses." 

Sam's  vein  of  piety  was  always  uncommonly  fervent  in  his 
mistress'  presence;  and  he  made  great  capital  of  scriptural 
figures  and  images. 

"  Come  up  here,  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  who  had  followed 
on  to  the  verandah,  "and  tell  your  mistress  what  she  wants. 
Come,  come,  Emily,"  said  he,  passing  his  arm  round  her, 
"you  are  cold  and  all  in  a  shiver;  you  allow  yourself  to  feel 
too  much." 

"  Feel  too  much  !  Am  not  I  a  woman, —  a  mother  ?  Aro 
we  not  both  responsible  to  God  for  this  poor  girl  ?  My  God  ' 
lay  not  this  sin  to  our  charge." 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  Ill 

fi  What  sin,  Emily  ?  You  see  yourself  that  we  have  only 
done  what  we  were  obliged  to." 

"  There 's  an  awful  feeling  of  guilt  about  it,  thougn,"  said 
Mrs.  Shelby.  "  I  can't  reason  it  away." 

"  Here,  Andy,  you  nigger,  be  alive  !  "  called  Sam,  under 
the  verandah;  "take  these  yer  hosses  to  der  barn;  don't  ye 
hear  Mas'r  a  callin'  ?  "  and  Sam  soon  appeared,  palm-leaf  in 
hand,  at  the  parlor  door. 

"  Now,  Sam,  tell  us  distinctly  how  the  matter  was,"  said 
Mr.  Shelby.  "  Where  is  Eliza,  if  you  know?  " 

"Wai,  Mas'r,  I  saw  her,  with  my  own  eyes,  a  crossin'  on 
>he  floatin'  ice.  She  crossed  most 'markably;  it  was  n't  no 
less  nor  a  miracle ;  and  I  saw  a  man  help  her  up  the  'Hio 
side,  and  then  she  was  lost  in  the  dusk." 

"Sam,  I  think  this  rather  apocryphal,  —  this  miracle. 
Crossing  on  floating  ice  is  n't  so  easily  done."  said  Mr. 
Shelby. 

"  Easy !  could  n't  nobody  a  done  it,  widout  de  Lord.  Why, 
now,"  said  Sam,  "'twas  jist  dis  yer  way.  Mas'r  Haley, 
and  me,  and  Andy,  we  comes  up  to  de  little  tavern  by  the 
river,  and  I  rides  a  leetle  ahead,  —  (I 's  so  zealous  to  be  a 
cotchin'  Lizy,  that  I  could  n't  hold  in,  no  way),  —  and  when 
I  comes  by  the  tavern  winder,  sure  enough  there  she  was, 
right  in  plain  sight,  and  dey  diggin'  on  behind.  Wai,  I  loses 
off  my  hat,  and  sings  out  nuff  to^raise  the  dead.  Course  Lizy 
she  liars,  and  she  dodges  back,  when  Mas'r  Haley  he  goes, 
past  the  door ;  and  then,  I  tell  ye,  she  clared  out  de  side 
door;  she  went  down  de  river  bank;  —  Mas'r  Haley  he  seed 
her,  and  yelled  out,  and  him,  and  me,  and  Andy,  we  took 
arter.  Down  she  come  to  the  river,  and  thar  was  the  cur 
rent  running  ten  feet  wide  by  the  shore,  and  over  t'  other  side 
ice  a  sawin'  and  a  jiggling  up  and  down,  kinder  as  't  were  a 


112  UNCLE  TOM'S   CABIN:    OR, 

great  island.  We  come  right  behind  her,  and  I  thought  my 
soul  he  'd  got  her  sure  enough,  — when  she  gin  sich  a  screech 
as  I  never  hearn,  and  thar  she  was,  clar  over  t'  other  side  the 
current,  on  the  ice,  and  then  on  she  went,  a  screeching  and  a 
j ampin',  — the  ice  went  crack  !  c' wallop  !  cracking  !  chunk! 
and  she  a  boundin'  like  a  buck  !  Lord,  the  spring  that  ar 
gal's  got  in  her  an't  common,  I  'in  o'  'pinion." 

Mrs.  Shelby  sat  perfectly  silent,  pale  with  excitement, 
while  Sam  told  his  story. 

"  God  be  praised,  she  is  n't  dead  !  "  she  said  ;  "  but  where 
is  the  poor  child  now  ?  " 

"  De  Lord  will  pervide,"  said  Sam,  rolling  up  his  eyes 
piously.  "  As  I  've  been  a  sayin',  dis  yer's  a  providence  and 
no  mistake,  as  Missis  has  allers  been  a  instructin'  on  us. 
Thar  's  allers  instruments  ris  up  to  do  de  Lord's  will.  Now, 
if 't  hadn't  been  for  me  to-day,  she  'd  a  been  took  a  dozen 
times.  Warn't  it  I  started  off  de  hosses,  dis  yer  mornin',  and 
kept  'em  chasin'  till  nigh  dinner  time?  And  didn't  I  car 
Mas'r  Haley  nigh  five  miles  out  of  de  road,  dis  evening,  or 
else  he  'd  a  come  up  with.  Lizy  as  easy  as  a  dog  arter  a  coon. 
These  yer  's  all  providences." 

"  They  are  a  kind  of  providences  that  you  '11  have  to  be 
pretty  sparing  of,  Master  Sam.  I  allow  no  such  practices 
with  gentlemen  on  my  place,"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  with  as 
much  sternness  as  he  coulcj^  command,  under  the  circum- 
.  stances. 

P  Now,  there  is  no  more  use  in  making  believe  be  angry 
with  a  negro  than  with  a  child ;  both  instinctively  see  the 
I  true  state  of  the  case,  through  all  attempts  to  affect  the  con 
trary  ;  and  Sam  wa*  in  no  wise  disheartened  by  this  rebuke, 
though  he  assumed  an  air  of  doleful  gravity,  and  stood  with 
the  corners  of  his  mouth  lowered  in  most  penitential  style. 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  113 

"  Mas'r  's  quite  right,  —  quite ;  it  was  ugly  on  me,  — 
there  's  no  disputin'  that  ar  ;  and  of  course  Mas'r  and  Missis 
would  n't  encourage  no  such  works.  I  'm  sensible  of  dat  ar  ; 
but  a  poor  nigger  like  me's  'raazin'  tempted  to  act  ugly 
sometimes,  when  fellers  will  cut  up  such  shines  as  dat  ar 
Mas'r  Haley  ;  he  an't  no  gen7!' man  no  way ;  anybody 's  been 
raised  as  I  've  been  can't  help  a  seein'  dat  ar." 

"Well,  Sam,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  "as  you  appear  to  have 
a  proper  sense  of  your  errors,  you  may  go  now  and  tell 
Aunt  Chloe  she  may  get  you  some  of  that  cold  ham  that  was 
left  of  dinner  to-day.  You  and  Andy  must  be  hungry." 

"  Missis  is  a  heap  too  good  for  us,"  said  Sam,  making  his 
bow  with  alacrity,  and  departing. 

It  will  be  perceived,  as  has  been  before  intimated,  that 
Master  Sam  had  a  native  talent  that  might,  undoubtedly,  have 
raised  him  to  eminence  in  political  life,  —  a  talent  of  making 
capital  out  of  everything  that  turned  up,  to  be  invested  for 
his  own  especial  praise  and  glory ;  and  having  done  up  his 
piety  and  humility,  as  he  trusted,  to  the  satisfaction  of  the 
parlor,  he  clapped  his  palm-leaf  on  his  head,  with  a  sort  of 
rakish,  free-and-easy  air,  and  proceeded  to  the  dominions  of 
Aunt  Chloe,  with  the  intention  of  flourishing  largely  in  the 
kitchen. 

"  I'll  speechify  these  yer  niggers,"  said  Sam  to  himself, 
''  now  I  've  got  a  chance.  Lord,  I  '11  reel  it  off  to  make  'em 
stare  !  " 

It  must  be  observed  that  one  of  Sam's  especial  delights  had 
been  to  ride  in  attendance  on  his  master  to  all  kinds  of  politi 
cal  gatherings,  where,  roosted  on  some  rail  fence,  or  perched 
aloft  in  some  tree,  he  would  sit  watching  the  orators,  with  the 
greatest  apparent  gusto,  and  then,  descending  among  the 
various  brethren  of  his  own  color,  assembled  on  the  same 

fo* 


114  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

errand,  he  would  edify  and  delight  them  with  the  most  ludi 
crous  burlesques  and  imitations,  all  delivered  with  the  most 
imperturbable  earnestness  and  solemnity;  and  though  the 
auditors  immediately  about  him  were  generally  of  his  own 
color,  it  not  unfrequently  happened  that  they  were  fringed 
pretty  deeply  with  those  of  a  fairer  complexion,  who  listened, 
laughing  and  winking,  to  Sam's  great  self-congratulation.  In 
fact,  Sam  considered  oratory  as  his  vocation,  and  never  let 
slip  an  opportunity  of  magnifying  his  office. 

Now,  between  Sam  and  Aunt  Chloe  there  had  existed, 
from  ancient  times,  a  sort  of  chronic  feud,  or  rather  a  decided 
coolness  ;  but,  as  Sam  was  meditating  something  in  the  pro 
vision  department,  as  the  necessary  and  obvious  foundation 
of  his  operations,  he  determined,  on  the  present  occasion,  to 
be  eminently  conciliatory;  for  he  well  knew  that  although 
"  Missis'  orders  "  would  undoubtedly  be  followed  to  the  let 
ter,  yet  he  should  gain  a  considerable  deal  by  enlisting  the 
spirit  also.  He  therefore  appeared  before  Aunt  Chloe  with  a 
touchingly  subdued,  resigned  expression,  like  one  who  has 
suffered  immeasurable  hardships  in  behalf  of  a  persecuted  fel 
low-creature,  —  enlarged  upon  the  fact  that  Missis  had 
directed  him  to  come  to  Aunt  Chloe  for  whatever  might  be 
wanting  to  make  up  the  balance  in  his  solids  and  fluids,  — 
and  thus  unequivocally  acknowledged  her  right  and  suprem 
acy  in  the  cooking  department,  and  all  thereto  pertaining. 

The  thing  took  accordingly.  No  poor,  simple,  virtuous 
body  was  ever  cajoled  by  the  attentions  of  an  electioneering 
politician  with  more  ease  than  Aunt  Chloe  was  won  over  by 
Master  Sam's  suavities ;  and  if  he  had  been  the  prodigal  son 
himself,  he  could  not  have  been  overwhelmed  with  more 
maternal  bountifulness ;  and  he  soon  found  himself  seated, 
happy  and  glorious,  over  a  large  tin  pan,  containing  a  sort  of 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  115 

olla  podrida  of  all  that  had  appeared  on  the  table  for  two  or 
three  days  past.  Savory  morsels  of  ham,  golden  blocks  of 
corn-cake,  fragments  of  pie  of  every  conceivable  mathematical 
figure,  chicken  wings,  gizzards,  and  drumsticks,  all  appeared 
in  picturesque  confusion ;  and  Sam,  as  monarch  of  all  he  sur 
veyed,  sat  with  his  palm-leaf  cocked  rejoicingly  to  one  side, 
and  patronizing  Andy  at  his  right  hand. 

The  kitchen  was  full  of  all  his  compeers,  who  had  hurried 
and  crowded  in,  from  the  various  cabins,  to  hear  the  termina 
tion  of  the  day's  exploits.  Now  was  Sam's  hour  of  glory. 
The  story  of  the  day  was  rehearsed,  with  all  kinds  of  orna 
ment  and  varnishing  which  might  be  necessary  to  heighten  its 
effect ;  for  Sam,  like  some  of  our  fashionable  dilettanti, 
never  allowed  a  story  to  lose  any  of  its  gilding  by  passing 
through  his  hands.  Roars  of  laughter  attended  the  narra 
tion,  and  were  taken  up  and  prolonged  by  all  the  smaller  fry, 
who  were  lying,  in  any  quantity,  about  on  the  floor,  or  perched 
in  every  corner.  In  the  height  of  the  uproar  and  laughter, 
Sam,  however,  preserved  an  immovable  gravity,  only  from 
time  to  time  rolling  his  eyes  up,  and  giving  his  auditors  divers 
inexpressibly  droll  glances,  without  departing  from  the  sen 
tentious  elevation  of  his  oratory. 

"  Yer  see,  fellow-countrymen,"  said  Sam,  elevating  a  tur 
key's  leg,  with  energy,  "yer  see,  now,  what  dis  yer  chile  's 
up  ter,  for  fendin'  yer  all,  —  yes,  all  on  yer.  For  him  as 
tries  to  get  one  o'  our  people,  is  as  good  as  tryin'  to  get  all ; 
yer  see  the  principle  's  de  same, . —  dat  ar  's  clar.  And  any 
one  o'  these  yer  drivers  that  comes  smelling  round  arter  any 
our  people,  why,  he's  got  me  in  his  way ;  Pm  the  feller  he  's 
got  to  set  in  with,  —  I  'm  the  feller  for  yer  all  to  cojne  to, 
bredren,  —  I  '11  stand  up  for  yer  rights,  —  I  '11  fend  'em  to 
the  last  breath!" 


116  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN  :    OR, 

"Why,  but  Sam,  yer  telled  me,  only  this  mornin',  that 
you  'd  help  this  yer  Mas'r  to  cotch  Lizy ;  seems  to  me  yer 
talk  don't  hang  together,"  said  Andy. 

"I  tell  you  now,  Andy,"  said  Sam,  with  awful  superior 
ity,  "  don't  yer  be  a  talkin'  'bout  what  yer  don't  know 
nothin'  on ;  boys  like  you,  Andy,  means  well,  but  they 
can't  be  spected  to  collusitate  the  great  principles  of  action." 

Andy  looked  rebuked,  particularly  by  the  hard  word  col 
lusitate,  which  most  of  the  youngerly  members  of  the  com 
pany  seemed  to  consider  as  a  settler  in  the  case,  while  Sam 
proceeded. 

"  Dat  ar  was  conscience,  Andy;  when  I  thought  of  gwine 
arter  Lizy,  I  railly  spected  Mas'r  was  sot  dat  way.  When  I 
found  Missis  was  sot  the  contrar,  dat  ar  was  conscience  more 
yet,  —  cause  fellers  allers  gets  more  by  stickin'  to  Missis' 
side,  —  so  yer  see  I 's  persistent  either  way,  and  sticks  up  to 
conscience,  and  holds  on  to  principles.  Yes,  principles :" 
said  Sam,  giving  an  enthusiastic  toss  to  a  chicken's  neck,  — 
•''what's  principles  good  for,  if  we  isn't  persistent,  I  wanter 
know  ?  Thar,  Andy,  you  may  have  dat  ar  bone,  —  'tan't 
picked  quite  clean." 

Sam's  audience  hanging  on  his  words  with  open  mouth,  he 
could  not  but  proceed. 

"  Dis  yer  matter  'bout  persistence,  feller-niggers,"  said 
Sam,  with  the  air  of  one  entering  into  an  abstruse  subject, 
"  dis  yer  'sistency  's  a  thing  what  an't  seed  into  very  clar,  by 
most  anybody.  Now,  yer  see,  when  a  feller  stands  up  for  a 
thing  one  day  and  night,  de  contrar  de  next,  folks  ses  (and 
nat' rally  enough  dey  ses),  why  he  an't  persistent,  —  hand 
me  dat  ar  bit  o'  corn-cake,  Andy.  But  let 's  look  inter  it. 
I  hope  the  gen'lmen  and  der  fair  sex  will  scuse  my  usin'  an 
or'nary  sort  o'  'parison.  Here  !  I  'm  a  tryin'  to  get  top  o' 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  117 

der  hay.  Wai,  I  puts  up  my  larder  dis  yer  side  ;  'tan't  no 
go :  —  den,  cause  I  don't  try  derc  no  more,  but  puts  my  larder 
right  de  contrar  side,  an't  I  persistent ?  I'm  persistent  in 
wantin'  to  get  up  which  ary  side  my  larder  is  ;  don't  you  see, 
all  on  yer?" 

"It's  the  only  thing  ye  ever  was  persistent  in,  Lord 
knows ! "  muttered  Aunt  Chloe,  who  was  getting  rather 
restive  ;  the  merriment  of  the  evening  being  to  her  somewhat 
after  the  Scripture  comparison,  — like  "vinegar  upon  nitre." 

"  Yes,  indeed  !  "  said  Sam,  rising,  full  of  supper  and  glory, 
for  a  closing  effort.  "  Yes,  my  feller-citizens  and  ladies  of 
de  other  sex  in  general,  I  has  principles,  —  I  'm  proud  to 
'oon  'em,  —  they  's  perquisite  to  dese  yer  times,  and  ter  all 
times.  I  has  principles,  and  I  sticks  to  'em  like  forty,  — jest 
anything  that  I  thinks  is  principle,  I  goes  in  to  't ;  —  I 
would  n't  mind  if  dey  burnt  me  'live,  —  I  'd  walk  right  up  to 
de  stake,  I  would,  and  say,  here  I  comes  to  shed  my  last 
blood  fur  my  principles,  fur  my  country,  fur  der  gen'l  inter 
ests  of  s'ciety." 

"Well,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  "one  o'  yer  principles  will 
have  to  be  to  get  to  bed  some  time  to-night,  and  not  be  a 
keepin'  everybody  up  till  mornin' ;  now,  every  one  of  you 
young  uns  that  don't  want  to  be  cracked,  had  better  be  scase, 
mighty  sudden." 

"Niggers!  all  on  yer."  said  Sajn,  waving  his  palm-leaf 
with  benignity,  "  I  give  yer  my  blessin' ;  go  to  bed  now,  and 
be  good  boys." 

And,  with  this  pathetic  benediction,  the  assembly  dis 
persed. 


118  UNCLE  TOM'S   CA13TX:    OR, 


CHAPTER  IX. 

IN  WHICH  IT  APPEARS  THAT  A  SENATOR  IS  BUT  A  MAN. 

THE  light  of  the  cheerful  fixe  shone  on  the  rug  and  carpet 
of  a  cosey  parlor,  and  glittered  on  the  siHes  of  the  tea-cups  and 
well-brightened  tea-pot,  as  Senator  Bird  was  drawing  off  his 
boots,  preparatory  to  inserting  his  feet  in  a  pttir^of  new  hand 
some  slippers,  which  his  wife  had  been  working  for  him  while 
away  on  his  senatorial  tour.  Mrs.  Bird,  looking  the  very 
picture  of  delight,  was  superintending  the  arrangements  of  the 
table,  ever  and  anon  mingling  admonitory  remarks  to  a  num 
ber  of  frolicsome  juveniles,  who  were  effervescing  in  all  those 
modes  of  untold  gambol  and  mischief  that  have  astonished 
mothers  ever  since  the  flood. 

"  Tom,  let  the  door-knob  alone,  —  there 's  a  man  !  Mary ! 
Mary!  don't  pull  the  cat's  tail, — poor  pussy!  Jim.  you 
must  n't  climb  on  that  table,  —  no,  no  !  — You  don't  know, 
my  dear,  what  a  surprise  it  is  to  us  all,  to  see  you  here 
to-night !  "  said  she,  at  last,  when  she  found  a  space  to  say 
something  to  her  husband.  i 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  thought  I  'd  just  make  a  run  down,  spend  the 
night,  and  have  a  little  comfort  at  home.  I  'm  tired  to  death, 
and  my  head  aches  !  " 

Mrs.  Bird  cast  a  glance  at  a  camphor-bottle,  which  stood 
in  the  half-open  closet,  and  appeared  to  meditate  an  approach 
to  it,  but  her  husband  interposed. 

u  No,  no,  Mary,  no  doctoring  !  a  cup  of  your  good  hot  tea, 
and  some  of  our  good  home  living,  is  what  I  want.  *  It 's  a 
tiresome  business,  this  legislating  !  " 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  119 

And  the  senator  smiled,  as  if  he  rather  liked  the  idea  of 
considering  himself  a  sacrifice  to  his  country. 

"Well,"  said  his  wife,  after  the  business  of 'the  tea-table 
was  getting  rather  slack,  "  and  what  have  they  been  doing 
in  the  Senate?" 

Now,  it  was  a  very  unusual  thing  for  gentle  little  Mrs. 
Bird  ever  to  trouble  her  head  with  what  was  going  on  in  the 
house"  of  the  state,  very  wisely  considering  that  she  had 
enough  to  do  to  mind  her  own.  Mr.  Bird,  therefore,  opened 
his  eyes  in  surprise,  and  said, 

"  Not  very  much  of  importance." 

"  Well;  but  is  it  true  that  they  have  been  passing  a  law 
forbidding  people  to  give  meat  and  drink  to  those  poor  colored 
folks  that  come  along  ?  I  heard  they  were  talking  of  some 
such  law,  but  I  didn't  think  any  Christian  legislature  would 
pass  it !  " 

"  Why,  Mary,  you  are  getting  to  be  a  politician,  all  at  once." 

"  No,  nonsense  !  I  wouldn't  give  a  fip  for  all  your  politics, 
generally,  but  I  think  this  is  something  downright  cruel  and 
unchristian.  I  hope,  my  dear,  no  such  law  has  been  passed." 

"  There  has  been  a  law  passed  forbidding  people  to  help  off 
the  slaves  that  come  over  from  Kentucky,  my  dear ;  so  much 
of  that  thing  has  been  done  by  these  reckless  Abolitionists, 
that  our  brethren  in  Kentucky  are  very  strongly  excited,  and 
it  seems  necessary,  and  no  more  than  Christian  and  kind,  that 
something  should  be  done  by  our  state  to  quiet  the  excite 
ment." 

"  And  what  is  the  law  ?  It  don't  forbid  us  to  shelter  these 
poor  creatures  a  night,  does  it,  and  to  give  'em  something 
comfortable  to  eat,  and  a  few  old  clothes,  and  send  them 
quietly  about  their  business?  " 


120  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :    OR, 

"  Why,  yes,  my  dear  ;  that  would  be  aiding  and  abetting, 
you  know." 

Mrs.  BirdVas  a  timid,  blushing  little  woman,  of  about  four 
feet  in  height,  and  with  mild  blue  eyes,  and  a  peach-blow 
complexion,  and  the  gentlest,  sweetest  voice  in  the  world ;  — 
as  for  courage,  a  moderate-sized  cock-turkey  had  been  known 
to  put  her  to  rout  at  the  very  first  gobble,  and  a  stout  house 
dog,  of  moderate  capacity,  would  bring  her  into  subjection 
merely  by  a  show  of  his  teeth.  Her  husband  and  children  were 
her  entire  world,  and  in  these  she  ruled  more  by  entreaty  and 
persuasion  than  by  command  or  argument.  There  was  only 
one  thing  that  was  capable  of  arousing  her,  and  that  provoca 
tion  came  in  on  the  side  of  her  unusually  gentle  and  sympa 
thetic  nature ;  —  anything  in  the  shape  of  cruelty  would  throw 
her  into  a  passion,  which  was  the  more  alarming  and  inexpli 
cable  in  proportion  to  the  general  softness  of  her  nature. 
Generally  the  most  indulgent  and  easy  to  be  entreated  of  all 
mothers,  still  her  boys  had  a  very  reverent  remembrance  of  a 
most  vehement  chastisement  she  once  bestowed  on  them, 
because  she  found  them  leagued  writh  several  graceless  boys  of 
the  neighborhood,  stoning  a  defenceless  kitten. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  Master  Bill  used  to  say,  "I  was 
scared  that  time.  Mother  came  at  me  so  that  I  thought  she 
was  crazy,  and  I  was  whipped  and  tumbled  off  to  bed,  without 
any  supper,  before  I  could  get  over  wondering  what  had  come 
about;  and,  after  that,  I  heard  mother  crying  outside  the 
door,  which  made  me  feel  worse  than  all  the  rest.  I  '11  tell 
you  what,"  he  'd  say,  "  we  boys  never  stoned  another  kitten  ! " 

On  the  present  occasion,  Mrs.  Bird  rose  quickly,  with  very 
red  cheeks,  which  quite  improved  her  general  appearance,  and 
walked  up  to  her  husband,  with  quite  a  resolute  air.  and  said, 
in  a  determined  tone, 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  121 

"  Now,  John,  I  want  to  know  if  you  think  such  a  law  as 
that  is  right  and  Christian  ?  " 

"  You  won't  shoot  me,  now,  Mary,  if  I  say  I  do !  " 

"I  never  could  have  thought  it  of  you,  John;  you  didn't 
vote  for  it?" 

"  Even  so,  my  fair  politician." 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed,  John  !  Poor,  homeless,  house 
less  creatures  !  It 's  a  shameful,  wicked,  ahominable  law,  and 
I  '11  break  it,  for  oney  the  first  time  I  get  a  chance ;  and 
I  hope  I  shall  have  a  chance,  I  do !  Things  have  got  to  a 
pretty  pass,  if  a  woman  can't  give  a  warm  supper  and  a  bed 
to  poor,  starving  creatures,  just  because  they  are  slaves,  and 
have  been  abused  and  oppressed  all  their  lives,  poor  things  ! " 

"  But,  Mary,  just  listen  to  me.  Your  feelings  are  all  quite 
right,  dear,  and  interesting,  and  I  love  you  for  them;  but, 
then,  dear,  we  mustn't  suffer  our  feelings  to  run  awny  with 
our  judgment ;  you  must  consider  it 's  not  a  matter  of  private 
feeling,  —  there  are  great  public  interests  involved,  —  there 
is  such  a  state  of  public  agitation  riaincr,  th^f,  ^  must,  pnt 
a-side  our  private  feelings." 

"  Now,  John,  I  don't  know  anything  about  politics,  but  I 
can  read  my  Bible :  and  there  I  see  that  I  must  feed  the 
hungry,  clothe  the  naked,  and  comfort  the  desolate ;  and  that 
Bible  I  mean  to  follow." 

"  But  in  cases  where  your  doing  so  would  involve  a  great 
public  evil  — " 

"  Obeying  God  never  brings  on  public  evils.  I  know  it 
can't.  It 's  always  safest,  all  round,  to  do  as  He  bids  us/' 

"  Now,  listen  to  me,  Mary,  and  I  can  state  to  you  a  very 
clear*argument,  to  show  — " 

"  0,  nonsense.  John!  you  can  talk  all  night,  but  you 
wouldn't  do  it.  I  put  it  to  you,  John, — would  you  iiCW 
11 


122  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

turn  away  a  poor,  shivering,  hungry  creature  from  your  door, 
because  he  was  a  runaway?  Would  you,  now?  " 

Now,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  our  senator  had  the  misfor 
tune  to  be  a  man  who  had  a  particularly  humane  and  accessi 
ble  nature,  and  turning  away  anybody  that  was  in  trouble 
never  had  been  his  forte  ;  and  what  was  worse  for  him  in  this 
particular  pinch  of  the  argument  was,  that  his  wife  knew  it, 
and,  of  course,  was  making  an  assault  on  rather  an  indefens 
ible  point.  So  he  had  recourse  to  the  usual  means  of  gaining 
time  for  such  cases  made  and  provided;  he  said  "  ahem,"  and 
coughed  several  times,  took  out  his  pocket-handkerchief,  and 
began  to  wipe  his  glasses.  Mrs.  Bird,  seeing  the  defenceless 
condition  of  the  enemy's  territory,  had  no  more  conscience 
than  to  push  her  advantage. 

"I  should  like  to  see  you  doing  that,  John  —  I  really 
should  !  Turning  a  woman  out  of  doors  in  a  snow-storm,  for 
instance ;  or,  may  be  you  'd  take  her  up  and  put  her  in  jail, 
would  n't  you  ?  You  would  make  a  great  hand  at  that !  " 

"  Of  course,  it  would  be  a  very  painful  duty,"  began  Mr. 
Bird,  in  a  moderate  tone. 

"  Duty,  John  !  don't  use  that  word  !  You  know  it  is  n  't 
a  duty  —  it  can't  be  a  duty  !  If  folks  want  to  keep  their 
slaves  from  running  away,  let  'em  treat  'em  well, — that 's  my 
doctrine.  If  I  had  slaves  (as  I  hope  I  never  shall  have),  I  'd 
risk  their  wanting  to  run  away  from  me,  or  you  either,  John, 
I  tell  you  folks  don't  run  away  when  they  are  happy  r  and 
when  they  do  run,  poor  creatures  !  they  suffer  enough  with 
cold  and  hunger  and  fear,  without  everybody's  turning  against 
them;  and,  law  or  no  law,  I  never  will,  so  help  me  God ! " 

"  Mary  !  Mary !    My  dear,  let  me  reason  with  you." 

"I  hate  reasoning,  John, — especially  reasoning  on  such 
subjects.  There 's  a  way  you  political  folks  have  of  coming 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  123 

round  and  round  a  plain  right  thing ;  and  you  don't  believe 
in  it  yourselves,  when  it  comes  to  practice.  I  know  you  well 
enough,  John.  You  don't  believe  it 's  right  any  more  than 
I  do ;  and  you  wouldn't  do  it  any  sooner  than  I." 

At  this  critical  juncture,  old  Cudjoe,  the  black  man-of-all- 
work,  put  his  head  in  at  the  door,  and  wished  ' '  Missis  would 
come  into  the  kitchen;  "  and  our  senator,  tolerably  relieved, 
looked  after  his  little  wife  with  a  whimsical  mixture  of  amuse 
ment  and,  vexation,  and,  seating  himself  in  the  arm-chair, 
began  to  read  the  papers. 

After  a  moment,  his  wife's  voice  was  heard  at  the  door,  in 
a  quick,  earnest  tone, — "  John  !  John !  I  do  wish  you  'd  come 
here,  a  moment." 

He  laid  down  his  paper,  and  went  into  the  kitchen,  and 
started,  quite  amazed  at  the  sight  that  presented  itself :  —  A 
young  and  slender  woman,  with  garments  torn  and  frozen, 
with  one  shoe  gone,  and  the  stocking  torn  away  from  the  cut 
and  bleeding  foot,  was  laid  back  in  a  deadly  swoon  upon -two 
chairs.  There  was  the  impress  of  the  despised  race  on  her 
face,  yet  none  could  help  feeling  its  mournful  and  pathetic 
beauty,  while  its  stony  sharpness,  its  cold,  fixed,  deathly  aspect, 
struck  a  solemn  chill  over  him.  He  drew  his  breath  short, 
and  stood  in  silence.  His  wife,  and  their  only  colored  domes 
tic,  old  Aunt  Dinah,  were  busily  engaged  in  restorative 
measures ;  while  old  Cudjoe  had  got  the  boy  on  his  knee,  and 
was  busy  pulling  off  his  shoes  and  stockings,  and  chafing  his 
little  cold  feet. 

"  Sure,  now,  if  she  an't  a  sight  to  behold! "  said  old  Dinah, 
compassionately;  "  'pears  like  'twas  the  heat  that  made  her 
faint.  She  was  tol'able  peart  when  she  cum  in,  and  asked  if 
she  could  n't  warm  herself  here  a  spell ;  and  I  was  just  a  askin' 


124  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN:    OR, 

her  where  she  cum  from,  and  she  fainted  right  down.  Never 
done  much  hard  work,  guess,  by  the  looks  of  her  hands." 

"  Poor  creature!  "  said  Mrs.  Bird,  compassionately,  as  the 
woman  slowly  unclosed  her  large,  dark  eyes,  and  looked 
vacantly  at  her.  Suddenly  an  expression  of  agony  crossed 
her  face,  and  she  sprang  up,  saying,  "  0,  my  Harry !  Have 
they  got  him?" 

The  boy,  at  this,  jumped  from  Cudjoe's  knee,  and,  running 
-to  her  side,  put  up  his  arms.  "  0,  he  's  here  !  he 's  here  !  " 
site  exclaimed. 

"0.  ma'am !  "  said  she,  wildly,  to  Mrs.  Bird,  "  do  protect 
us  !  don't  let  them  get  him  !  " 

"  Nobody  shall  hurt  you  here,  poor  woman,"  said  Mrs. 
Bird,  encouragingly.  "You  are  safe;  don't  be  afraid." 

11  God  bless  you  !  "  said  the  woman,  covering  her  face  and 
sobbing;  while  the  little  boy,  seeing  her  crying,  tried  to  get 
into  her  lap. 

With  many  gentle  and  womanly  offices,  which  none  knew 
better  how  to  render  than  Mrs.  Bird,  the  poor  woman  was,  in 
time,  rendered  more  calm.  A  temporary  bed  was  provided 
for  her  on  the  settle,  near  the  fire ;  and,  after  a  short  time, 
she  fell  into  a  heavy  si  amber,  with  the  child,  who  seemed  no 
less  weary,  soundly  sleeping  on  her  arm  ;  for  the  mother 
resisted,  with  nervous  anxiety,  the  kindest  attempts  to  take 
him  from  her;  and.  even  in  sleep,  her  arm  encircled  him 
with  an  unrelaxing  clasp,  as  if  she  could  not  even  then  be 
beguiled  of  her  vigilant  hold. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bird  had  gone  back  to  the  parlor,  where, 
strange  as  it  may  appear,  no  reference  was  made,  on  either 
side,  to  the  preceding  conversation  ;  but  Mrs.  Bird  busied 
herself  with  her  knitting-work,  and  Mr.  Bird  pretended  to  be 
reading  the  paper. 


LIFE   AMtfttG   THE   LOWLY.  125 

"  I  wonder  who  and  what  she  is  !  "  said  Mr.  Bird,  at  last, 
as  he  laid  it  down. 

"  When  she  wakes  up  and  feels  a  little  rested,  we  will  see," 
said  Mrs.  Bird. 

"  I  say,  wife  !  "  said  Mr.  Bird,  after  musing  in  silence  over 
his  newspaper. 

" Well,  dear!" 

"  She  could  n't  wear  one  of  your  gowns,  could  she,  by  any 
letting  down,  or  such  matter  ?  She  seems  to  be  rather  larger 
than  you  are." 

A  quite  perceptible  smile  glimmered  on  Mrs.  Bird's  face,  as 
she  answered,  "  We  '11  see." 

Another  pause,  and  Mr.  Bird  again  broke  out, 

"I  say,  wife!" 

"Well!    What  now?" 

"  Why,  there 's  that  old  bombazin  cloak,  that  you  keep  on 
purpose  to  put  over  me  when  I  take  my  afternoon's  nap ; 
you  might  as  well  give  her  that,  — she  needs  clothes." 

At  this  instant,  Dinah  looked  in  to  say  that  the  woman  was 
awake,  and  wanted  to  see  Missis. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bird  went  into  the  kitchen,  followed  by  the 
two  eldest  boys,  the  smaller  fry  having,  by  this  time,  been 
safely  disposed  of  in  bed. 

The  woman  was  now  sitting  up  on  the  settle,  by  the  fire. 
She  was  looking  steadily  into  the  blaze,  with  a  calm,  heart 
broken  Expression,  very  different  from  her  former  agitated 
wildness. 

"Did  you  want  me?"  said  Mrs.  Bird,  in  gentle  tones. 
"  I  hope  you  feel  better  now,  poor  woman  !  " 

A  long-drawn,  shivering  sigh  was  the  only  answer ;  but 
she  lifted  her  dark  eyes,  and  fixed  them  on  her  with  such  a 
11* 


126  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN:    OR, 

forlorn  and  imploring  expression,  that  the  tears  came  into  the 
little  woman's  eyes. 

"  You  need  n't  be  afraid  of  anything  ;  we  are  friends  here, 
poor  woman  !  Tell  me  where  you  came  from,  and  what  you 
want,"  said  she. 

{:  I  came  from  Kentucky,"  said  the  woman. 

"  When  ?  "  said  Mr.  Bird,  taking  up  the  interrogatory. 

"  To-night." 

"  How  did  you  come  ?  " 

"  I  crossed  on  the  ice." 

"  Crossed  on  the  ice  !  "  said  every  one  present. 

"  Yes."  said  the  woman,  slowly,  "  I  did.  God  helping 
me,  I  crossed  on  the  ice ;  for  they  were  behind  me  —  right 
behind  —  and  there  was  no  other  way!  " 

"  Law,  Missis,"  said  Cudjoe,  "the  ice  is  all  in  broken-up 
blocks,  a  swinging  and  a  tetering  up  and  down  in  the  water!  " 

"I  know  it  was  —  I  know  it!  "  said  she,  wildly;  "but  I 
did  it !  I  would  n't  have  thought  I  could, —  I  did  n't  think 
I  should  get  over,  but  I  didn't  care  !  I  could  but  die,  if  I 
did  n't.  The  Lord  helped  me;  nobody  knows  how  much  the 
Lord  can  help  'em,  till  they  try,"  said  the  woman,  with  a 
flashing  eye. 

"  Were  you  a  slave?  "  said  Mr.  Bird. 

"  Yes,  sir;  I  belonged  to  a  man  in  Kentucky." 

"  Was  he  unkind  to  you  ?  " 

"No,  sir;  he  was  a  good  master." 

"  And  was  your  mistress  unkind  to  you  ?  " 
No,  sir  —  no  !  my  mistress  was  always  good  to  me." 

"  What  could  induce  you  to  leave  a  good  home,  then,  and 
run  away,  and  go  through  such  dangers?  " 

The  woman  looked  up  at  Mrs.  Bird,  with  a  keen,  scrutiniz- 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  127 

ing  glance,  and  it  did  not  escape  her  that  she  was  dressed  in 
deep  mourning. 

"  Ma'am,"  she  said,  suddenly,  "  have  you  ever  lost  a  child?  " 

The  question  was  unexpected,  and  it  was  a  thrust  on  a  new 
wound  ;  for  it  was  only  a  month  since  a  darling  child  of  the 
family  had  been  laid  in  the  grave. 

Mr.  Bird  turned  around  and  walked  to  the  window,  and 
Mrs.  Bird  burst  into  tears ;  but,  recovering  her  voice,  she 
said, 

"  WHy  do  you  ask  that?     I  have  lost  a  little  one." 

"  Then  you  will  feel  for  me.  I  have  lost  two,  one  after 
another,  —  left  'em  buried  there  when  I  came  away ;  and  I 
had  only  this  one  left.  I  never  slept  a  night  without  him  ; 
he  was  all  I  had.  He  was  my  comfort  and  pride,  day  and 
night ;  and,  ma'am,  they  were  going  to  take  him  away  from 
me,  — to  sell  him,  — sell  him  down  south,  ma'am,  to  go  all 
alone,  —  a  baby  that  had  never  been  away  from  his  mother  in 
his  life  !  I  could  n't  stand  it,  ma'am.  I  knew  I  never  should 
be  good  for  anything,  if  they  did ;  and  when  I  knew  the 
papers  were  signed,  and  he  was  sold,  I  took  him  and  came  off 
in  the  night ;  and  they  chased  me,  —  the  man  that  bought 
him,  and  some  of  MasVs  folks. —  and  they  were  coming  down 
right  behind  me,  and  I  heard  'em.  I  jumped  right  on  to  the 
ice;  and  how  I  got  across,  I  don't  know, —  but,  first  I  knew,  a 
man  was  helping  me  up  the  bank." 

The  woman  did  not  sob  nor  weep.  She  had  gone  to  a  place 
where  tears  are  dry ;  but  every  one  around  her  was,  in  some 
way  characteristic  of  themselves,  showing  signs  of  hearty 
sympathy. 

The  two  little  boys,  after  a  desperate  rummaging  in  their 
pockets,  in  search  of  those  pocket-handkerchiefs  which  mothers 
know  are  never  to  be  found  there,  had  thrown  themselves 


128  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

disconsolately  into  the  skirts  of  their  mother's  gown,  where 
they  were  sobbing,  and  wiping  their  eyes  and  noses,  to  their 
hearts'  content ;  —  Mrs.  Bird  had  her  face  fairly  hidden  in 
her  pocket-handkerchief;  and  old  Dinah,  with  tears  streaming 
down  her  black,  honest  face,  was  ejaculating,  "Lord  have 
mercy  on  us  !  "  with  all  the  fervor  of  a  camp-meeting;  — 
while  old  Cudjoe,  rubbing  his  eyes  very  hard  with  his  cuffs, 
and  making  a  most  uncommon  variety  of  wry  faces,  occasion 
ally  responded  in  the  same  key,  with  great  fervor.  Our 
senator  was  a  statesman,  and  of  course  could  not  be  expected 
to  cry,  like  other  mortals ;  and  so  he  turned  his  back  to  the 
company,  and  looked  out  of  the  window,  anu  seemed  particu 
larly  busy  in  clearing  his  throat  and  wiping  his  spectacle- 
glasses,  occasionally  blowing  his  nose  in  a  manner  that  was 
calculated  to  excite  suspicion,  had  any  one  been  in  a  state  to 
observe  critically. 

"  How  came  you  to  tell  me  you  had  a  kind  master?  "  he 
suddenly  exclaimed,  gulping  down  very  resolutely  some  kind 
of  rising  in  his  throat,  and  turning  suddenly  round  upon  the 
woman. 

"  Because  he  was  a  kind  master ;  I  '11  say  that  of  him,  any 
way;  —  and  my  mistress  was  kind;  but  they  couldn't  help 
themselves.  They  were  owing  money ;  and  there  was  some 
way,  I  can't  tell  how,  that  a  man  had  a  hold  on  them,  and 
they  were  obliged  to  give  him  his  will.  I  listened,  and  heard 
him  telling  mistress  that,  and  she  begging  and  pleading  for 
me, —  and  he  told  her  he  could  n't  help  himself,  and  that  the 
papers  were  all  drawn  ;  —  and  then  it  was  I  took  him  and 
left  my  home,  and  came  away.  I  knew  't  was  no  use  of  my 
trying  to  live,  if  they  did  it ;  for 't  'pears  like  this  child  is  all 
I  have." 

" Have  you  no  husband? " 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  129 

"  Yes,  but  lie  belongs  to  another  man.  His  master  is  real 
Lard  to  him,  and  won't  let  him  come  to  see  me,  hardly  ever; 
and  he  's  grown  harder  and  harder  upon  us,  and  he  threatens 
to  sell  him  down  south ;  —  it 's  like  I'll  never  see  him  again  !  " 

The  quiet  tone  in  which  the  woman  pronounced  these  words 
might  have  led  a  superficial  observer  to  think  that  she  was 
entirely  apathetic;  but  there  was  a  calm,  settled  depth  of 
anguish  in  her  large,  dark  eye,  that  spoke  of  something  far 
otherwise. 

"  And  where  do  you  mean  to  go,  my  poor  woman  ?  "  said 
Mrs.  Bird. 

"  To  Canada,  if  I  only  knew  where  that  was.  Is  it  very 
far  off.  is  Canada?"  said  she,  looking  up,  with  a  simple,  con 
fiding  air,  to  Mrs.  Bird's  face. 

"  Poor  thing  !  "  said  Mrs.  Bird,  involuntarily. 

"Is't  a  very  great  way  off,  think?"  said  the  woman, 
earnestly. 

"Much  further  than  you  think,  poor  child !"  said  Mrs. 
Bird ;  "  but  we  will  try  to  think  what  can  be  done  for  you. 
Here,  Dinah,  make  her  up  a  bed  in  your  own  room,  close  by 
the  kitchen,  and  I  '11  think  what  to  do  for  her  in  the  morning. 
Meanwhile,  never  fear,  poor  woman ;  put  your  trust  in  God ; 
he  will  protect  you." 

Mrs.  Bird  and  her  husband  reentered  the  parlor.  She  sat 
down  in  her  little  rocking-chair  before  the  fire,  swaying 
thoughtfully  to  and  fro.  Mr.  Bird  strode  up  and  down  the 
room,  grumbling  to  himself,  "  Pish !  pshaw !  confounded 
awkward  business !  "  At  length,  striding  up  to  his  wife,  he 
said, 

" I  say,  wife,  she'll  have  to  get  away  from  here,  this  very 
night.  That  fellow  will  be  down  on  the  scent  bright  and 
early  to-morrow  morning;  if  'twas  only  the  woman,  she  could 


180  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :    OR, 

lie  quiet  till  it  was  over ;  but  that  little  chap  can't  be  kept 
still  by  a  troop  of  horse  and  foot,  I  '11  warrant  me ;  he  '11 
bring  it  all  out,  popping  his  head  out  of  some  window  or  door. 
A  pretty  kettle  of  fish  it  would  be  for  me,  too,  to  be  caught 
with  them  both  here,  just  now  !  No  j  they  '11  have  to  be  got 
off  to-night." 

"  To-night !     How  is  it  possible  ?  —  where  to  ?  " 

"Well,  I  know  pretty  well  where  to,"  said  the  senator, 
beginning  to  put  on  his  boots,  with  a  reflective  air;  and, 
stopping  when  his  leg  was  half  in,  he  embraced  his  knee  with 
both  hands,  and  seemed  to  go  off  in  deep  meditation. 

"It's  a  confounded  awkward,  ugly  business,"  said  he,  at 
last,  beginning  to  tug  at  his  boot-straps  again,  "  and  that 's  a 
fact!"  After  one  boot  was  fairly  on,  the  senator  sat  with 
the  other  in  his  hand,  profoundly  studying  the  figure  of  the 
carpet.  "  It  will  have  to  be  done,  though,  for  aught  I  see, — 
hang  it  all !  "  and  he  drew  the  other  boot  anxiously  on,  and 
looked  out  of  the  window. 

Now,  little  Mrs.  Bird  was  a  discreet  woman, —  a  woman 
who  never  in  her  life  said,  "  I  told  you  so !  "  and,  on  the 
present  occasion,  though  pretty  well  aware  of  the  shape  her 
husband's  meditations  were  taking,  she  very  prudently  forbore 
to  meddle  with  them,  only  sat  very  quietly  in  her  chair,  and 
looked  quite  ready  to  hear  her  liege  lord's  intentions,  when  he 
should  think  proper  to  utter  them. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  there  's  my  old  client,  Van  Trompe, 
has  come  over  from  Kentucky,  and  set  all  his  slaves  free ;  and 
he  has  bought  a  place  seven  miles  up  the  creek,  here,  back  in 
the  woods,  where  nobody  goes,  unless  they  go  on  purpose ; 
and  it 's  a  place  that  is  n't  found  in  a  hurry.  There  she  'd 
be  safe  enough ;  but  the  plague  of  the  thing  is,  nobody  could 
drive  a  carriage  there  to-night,  but  me." 


LIFE  AMONG   THE  LOWLY.  131 

"  Why  not?     Cudjoe  is  an  excellent  driver." 

"Ay,  ay,  but  here  it  is.  The  creek  has  to  be  crossed 
twice ;  and  the  second  crossing  is  quite  dangerous,  unless  one 
knows  it  as  I  do.  I  have  crossed  it  a  hundred  times  on  horse 
back,  and  know  exactly  the  turns  to  take.  And  so,  you  see, 
there 's  no  help  for  it.  Cudjoe  must  put  in  the  horses,  as 
quietly  as  maybe,  about  twelve  o'clock,  and  I'll  take- her 
over ;  and  then,  to  give  color  to  the  matter,  he  must  carry 
me  on  to  the  next  tavern,  to  take  the  stage  for  Columbus, 
that  comes  by  about  three  or  four,  and  so  it  will  look  as  if  I 
had  had  the  carriage  only  for  that.  I  shall  get  into  business 
bright  and  early  in  the  morning.  But  I  'm  thinking  I  shall 
feel  rather  cheap  there,  after  all  that 's  been  said  and  done ; 
but,  hang  it,  I  can't  help  it !  " 

"  Your  heart  is  better  than  your  head,  in  this  case,  John," 
said  the  wife,  laying  her  little  white  hand  on  his.  "  Could  I 
ever  have  loved  you,  had  I  not  known  you  better  than  you 
know  yourself?  "  And  the  little  woman  looked  so  handsome, 
with  the  tears  sparkling  in  her  eyes,  that  the  senator  thought 
he  must  be  a  decidedly  clever  fellow,  to  get  such  a  pretty 
creature  into  such  a  passionate  admiration  of  him;  and  so, 
what  could  he  do  but  walk  off  soberly,  to  see  about  the  car 
riage.  At  the  door,  however,  he  stopped  a  moment,  and  then 
coming  back,  he  said,  with  some  hesitation, 

"  Mary,  I  don't  know  how  you  'd  feel  about  it,  but  there 's 
that  drawer  full  of  things  —  of —  of —  poor  little  Henry's." 
So  saying,  he  turned  quickly  on  his  heel,  and  sliut  the  door 
after  him. 

His  wife  opened  the  little  bed-room  door  adjoining  her 
room,  and,  taking  the  candle,  set  it  down  on  the  top  of  a 
bureau  there ;  then  from  a  small  recess  she  took  a  key,  and 
put  it  thoughtfully  in  the  lock  of  a  drawer,  and  made  a  sud- 


132 

len  pause,  while  two  boys,  who,  boy  like,  had  followed 
close  on  her  heels,  stood  looking,  with  silent,  significant 
glances,  at  their  mother.  And  oh !  mother  that  reads  this, 
las  there  never  been  in  your  house  a  drawer,  or  a  closet,  the 
jpening  of  which  has  been  to  you  like  the  opening  again  of  a 
little  grave  ?  Ah  !  happy  mother  that  you  are,  if  it  has  not 
been  so. 

Mrs.  Bird  slowly  opened  the  drawer.  There  were  little 
coats  of  many  a  form  and  pattern,  piles  of  aprons,  and  rows 
of  small  stockings ;  and  even  a  pair  of  little  shoes,  worn  and 
rubbed  at  the  toes,  were  peeping  from  the  folds  of  a  paper. 
There_was  a  toy  horse  and  wagon,  a  top,  a  ball, —  memorials 
gathered  with  many  a  tear  and  many  a  heart-break  !  She  sat 
down  by  the  drawer,  and,  leaning  her  head  on  her  hands 
over  it,  wept  till  the  tears  fell  through  her  fingers  into  the 
drawer ;  then  suddenly  raising  her  head,  she  began,  with 
nervous  haste,  selecting  the  plainest  and  most  substantial 
articles,  and  gathering  them  into  a  bundle. 

"  Mamma,"  said  one  of  the  boys,  gently  touching  her  arm, 
"  are  you  going  to  give  away  those  things  7  " 

"My  dear  boys,"  she  said,  softly  and  earnestly,  "if  our 
dear,  loving  little  Henry  looks  down  from  heaven,  he  would 
be  glad  to  have  us  do  this.  I  could  not  find  it  in  my  heart  to 
give  them  away  to  any  common  person  —  to  anybody  that 
was  happy ;  but  I  give  them  to  a  mother  moro  heart-broken 
and  sorrowful  than  I  am  •  and  I  hope  God  will  send  his  bless 
ings  with  them  !  "  x 

There  are  in  this  world  blessed  souls,  whose  sorrows  all 
spring  up  into  joys  for  others ;  whose  earthly  hopes,  laid  in 
the  grave  witli  many  tears,  are  the  seed  from  which  spring 
healing  flowers  and  balm  for  the  desolate  and  the  distressed. 
Among  such  was  the  delicate  woman  who  sits  there  by  the 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.    .  133 

lamp,  dropping  slow  tears,  while  she  prepares  the  memorials 
of  her  own  lost  one  for  the  outcast  wanderer. 

After  a  while,  Mrs.  Bird  opened  a  wardrobe,  and,  taking 
from  thence  a  plain,  serviceable  dress  or  two,  she  sat  down 
busity  to  her  work-table,  and,  with  needle,  scissors,  and 
thimble,  at  hand,  quietly  commenced  the  "letting  down'' 
process  which  her  husband  had  recommended,  and  continued 
busily  at  it  till  the  old  clock  in  the  corner  struck  twelve,  and 
she  heard  the  low  rattling  of  wheels  at  the  door. 

u  Mary,"  said  her  husband,  coming  in.  with  his  overcoat  in 
his  hand,  "  you  must  wake  her  up  now ;  we  must  be  off." 

Mrs.  Bird  hastily  deposited  the  various  articles  she  had  col 
lected  in  a  small  plain  trunk,  and  locking  it,  desired  her  hus 
band  to  see  it  in  the  carriage,  and  then  proceeded  to  call  the 
woman.  Soon,  arrayed  in  a  cloak,  bonnet,  and  shawl,  that 
had  belonged  to  her  benefactress,  she  appeared  at  the  door 
with  her  child  in  her  arms.  Mr.  Bird  hurried  her  into  the 
carriage,  and  Mrs.  Bird  pressed  on  after  her  to  the  carriage 
steps.  Eliza  leaned  out  of  the  carriage,  and  put  out  her 
hand,  —  a  hand  as  soft  and  beautiful  as  was  given  in  return. 
She  fixed  her  large,  dark  eyes,  full  of  earnest  meaning,  on 
Mrs.  Bird's  face,  and  seemed  going  to  speak.  Her  lips 
moved.  —  she  tried  once  or  twice,  but  there  was  no  sound,  — 
and  pointing  upward,  with  a  look  never  to  be  forgotten,  she 
fell  back  in  the  seat,  and  covered  her  face.  The  door  was 
shut,  and  the  carriage  drove  on. 

What  a  situation,  now,  for  a  patriotic  senator,  that  had 
been  all  the  week  before  spurring  up  the  legislature  of  his 
native  state  to  pass  more  stringent  resolutions  against  escap 
ing  fugitives,  their  harborers  and  abettors  ! 

Our  good  senator  in  his  native  state  had  not  been  exceeded 
by  any  of  his  brethren  at  Washington,  in  the  sort  of  elo- 
12 


134  UNCLE  TOM'S   CABIN:    OB, 

quence  which  has  won  for  them  immortal  renown !  How 
sublimely  he  had  sat  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and 
scouted  all  sentimental  weakness  of  those  who  would  put  the 
welfare  of  a  few  miserable  fugitives  before  great  state  inter 
ests  ! 

He  was  as  bold  as  a  lion  about  it,  and  "mightily  con 
vinced"  not  only  himself,  but  everybody  that  heard  him;  — 
but  then  his  idea  of  a  fugitive  was  only  an  idea  of  the-  letters 
that  spell  the  word,  —  or,  at  the  most,  the  image  of  a  little 
newspaper  picture  of  a  man  with  a  stick  and  bundle,  with 
"  Ran  away  from  the  subscriber  "  under  it.  The  magic  of 
the  real  presence  of  distress,  —  the  imploring  human  eye,  the 
frail,  trembling  human  hand,  the  despairing  appeal  of  helpless 
agony,  —  these  he  had  never  tried.  He  had  never  thought 
that  a  fugitive  might  be  a  hapless  mother,  a  defenceless 
child,  —  like  that  one  which  was  now  wearing  his  lost  boy's 
little  well-known  cap ;  and  so,  as  our  poor  senator  was  not 
stone  or  steel,  —  as  he  was  a  man,  and  a  downright  noble- 
hearted  one,  too,  —  he  was,  as  everybody  must  see,  in  a  sad 
case  for  his  patriotism.  And  you  need  not  exult  over  him, 
good  brother  of  the  Southern  States ;  for  we  have  some  ink 
lings  that  many  of  you,  under  similar  circumstances,  would 
not  do  much  better.  We  have  reason  to  know,  in  Kentucky, 
as  in  Mississippi,  are  noble  and  generous  hearts,  to  whom 
never  was  tale  of  suffering  told  in  vain.  Ah,  good  brother  ! 
is  it  fair  for  you  to  expect  of  us  services  which  your  own 
brave,  honorable  heart  would  n'ot  allow  you  to  render,  were 
you  in  our  place  ? 

Be  that  as  it  may,  if  our  good  senator  was  a  political  sin 
ner,  he  was  in  a  fair  way  to  expiate  it  by  his  night's  penance. 
There  had  been  a  long  continuous  period  of  rainy  weather, 
and  the  soft,  rich  earth  of  Ohio,  as  every  one  knows,  is  admi- 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  135 

rably  suited  to  the  manufacture  of  mud,  —  and  the  road  was 
an  Ohio  railroad  of  the  good  old  times. 

"  And  pray,  -what  sort  of  a  road  may  that  be?  "  says  some 
eastern  traveller,  who  has  been  accustomed  to  connect  no 
ideas  with  a  railroad,  but  those  of  smoothness  or  speed. 

Know,  then,  innocent  eastern  friend,  that  in  benighted 
regions  of  the  west,  where  the  mud  is  of  unfathomable  and 
sublime  depth,  roads  are  made  of  round  rough  logs,  arranged 
transversely  side  by  side,  and  coated  over  in  their  pristine 
freshness  with  earth,  turf,  and  whatsoever  may  come  to 
hand,  and  then  the  rejoicing  native  calleth  it  a  road,  and 
straightway  essayeth  to  ride  thereupon.  In  process  of  time, 
the  rains  wash  off  all  the  turf  and  grass  aforesaid,  move  the 
logs  hither  and  thither,  in  picturesque  positions,  up,  down  and 
crosswise,  with  divers  chasms  and  ruts  of  black  mud  inter 
vening. 

Over  such  a  road  as  this  our  senator  went  stumbling 
along,  making  moral  reflections  as  continuously  as  under  the 
circumstances  could  be  expected,  —  the  carriage  proceeding 
along  much  as  follows,  —  bump  !  bump  !  bump  !  slush !  down 
in  the  mud  !  —  the  senator,  woman  and  child,  reversing  their 
positions  so  suddenly  as  to  come,  without  any  very  accurate 
adjustment,  against  the  windows  of  the  down-hill  side.  Car 
riage  sticks  fast,  while  Cudjoe  on  the  outside  is  heard  making 
a  great  muster  among  the  horses.  After  various  ineffectual 
pullings  and  twitchings,  just  as  the  senator  is  losing  all 
patience,  the  carriage  suddenly  rights  itself  with  a  bounce,  — 
two  front  wheels  go  down  into  another  abyss,  and  senator, 
woman,  and  child,  all  tumble  promiscuously  on  to  the  fror  t 
scat,  — senator's  hat  is  jammed  over  his  eyes  and  nose  quite 
unceremoniously,  and  he  considers  himself  fairly  extinguished; 
—  child  cries,  and  Cudjoe  on  the  outside  delivers  animated 


186  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  on, 

addresses  to  the  horses,  who  are  kicking,  and  floundering,  and 
straining,  under  repeated  cracks  of  the  whip.  Carriage 
springs  up,  with  another  bounce,  —  down  go  the  hind  wheels, 
—  senator,  woman,  and  child,  fly  over  on  to  the  back  seat, 
his  elbows  encountering  her  bonnet,  and  both  her  feet  being 
jammed  into  his  hat,  which  flies  off  in  the  concussion.  After 
a  few  moments  the  "slough"  is  passed,  and  the  horses  stop, 
panting ;  —  the  senator  finds  his  hat,  the  woman  straightens 
her  bonnet  and  hushes  her  child,  and  they  brace  themselves 
firmly  for  what  is  yet  to  come. 

For  a  while  only  the  continuous  bump  !  bump  !  intermin 
gled,  just  by  way  of  variety,  with  divers  side  plunges  and 
compound  shakes ;  and  they  begin  to  flatter  themselves  that 
they  are  not  so  badly  off,  after  all.  At  last,  with  a  square 
plunge,  which  puts  all  on  to  their  feet  and  then  down  into 
their  seats  with  incredible  quickness,  the  carriage  stops, — 
and,  after  much  outside  commotion,  Cudjoe  appears  at  the 
door. 

"  Please,  sir,  it's  powerful  bad  spot,  this  yer.  I  don't 
know  how  tve  's  to  get  clar  out.  I  'm  a  thinkin'  we  '11  ha,ve 
to  be  a  gettin'  rails." 

The  senator  despairingly  steps  out,  picking  gingerly  for 
Borne  firm  foothold ;  down  goes  one  foot  an  immeasurable 
depth,  —  he  tries  to  pull  it  up.  loses  his  balance,  and  tumbles 
over  into  the  mud,  and  is  fished  out,  in  a  very  despairing  con 
dition,  by  Cudjoe. 

But  we  forbear,  out  of  sympathy  to  our  readers'  bones. 
Western  travellers,  who  have  beguiled  the  midnight  hour  in 
the  interesting  process  of  pulling  down  rail  fences,  to  pry  their 
carriages  out  of  mud  holes,  will  have  a  respectful  and  mourn 
ful  sympathy  with  our  unfortunate  hero.  We  beg  them  to 
drop  a  silent  tear,  and  pass  on. 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  137 

It  was  full  late  in  the  night  when  the  carriage  emerged, 
dripping  and  bespattered,  out  of  the  creek,  and  stood  at  the 
door  of  a  large  farm-house. 

It  took  no  inconsiderable  perseverance  to  arouse  the 
inmates  ;  but  at  last  the  respectable  proprietor  appeared,  and 
undid  the  door.  He  was  a  great,  tall,  bristling  Orson  of  a 
fellow,  full  six  feet  and  some  inches  in  his  stockings,  and 
arrayed  in  a  red  flannel  hunting-shirt.  A  very  heavy  mat 
of  sandy  hair,  in  a  decidedly  tousled  condition,  and  a  beard  of 
some  days'  growth,  gave  the  worthy  man  an  appearance,  to 
say  the  least,  not  particularly  prepossessing.  He  stood  for  a 
few  minutes  holding  the  candle  aloft,  and  blinking  on  our 
travellers  with  a  dismal  and  mystified  expression  that  was 
truly  ludicrous.  It  cost  some  effort  of  our  senator  to  induce 
him  to  comprehend  the  case  fully ;  and  while  he  is  doing  his 
best  at  that,  we  shall  give  him  a  little  introduction  to  our 
readers. 

Honest  old  John  Van  Trompe  was  once  quite  a  considerable 
land-holder  and  slave-owner  in  the  State  of  Kentucky.  Hav 
ing  "  nothing  of  the  bear  about  him  but  the  skin,57  and  being 
gifted  by  nature  with  a  great,  honest,  just  heart,  quite  equal 
to  his  gigantic  frame,  he  had  been  for  some  years  witnessing 
with  repressed  uneasiness  the  workings  of  a  system  equally 
bad  for  oppressor  and  oppressed.  At  last,  one  day,  John's 
great  heart  had  swelled  altogether  too  big  to  wear  his  bonds 
any  longer  ;  so  he  just  took  his  pocket-book  out  of  his  desk, 
and  went  over  into  Ohio,  and  bought  a  quarter  of  a  township 
of  good,  rich  land,  made  out  free  papers  for  all  his  people,  — 
men,  women,  and  children,  —  packed  them  up  in  wagons,  and 
sent  them  off  to  settle  down ;  and  then  honest  John  turned 
his  face  up  the  creek,  and  sat  quietly  down  on  a  snug,  retired 
farm,  to  enjoy  his  conscience  and  his  reflections. 
12* 


138  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OR, 

"Are  you  the  man  that  will  shelter  a  poor  woman  and 
child  from  slave-catchers  1 ' '  said  the  senator,  explicitly. 

"I  rather  think  I  am,"  said  honest  John,  with  some  con 
siderable  emphasis. 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  the  senator. 

"  If  there's  anybody  comes,"  said  the  good  man,  stretch 
ing  his  tall,  muscular  form  upward,  "  why  here  I  'm  ready  for 
him  :  and  I've  got  seven  sons,  each  six  foot  high,  and  they'll 
be  ready  for  'em.  Give  our  respects  to  'em,"  said  John ; 
"  tell  'em  it 's  no  matter  how  soon  they  call,  —  make  no 
kinder  difference  to  us,"  said  John,  running  his  fingers 
through  the  shock  of  hair  that  thatched  his  head,  and  burst 
ing  out  into  a  great  laugh. 

Weary,  jaded,  and  spiritless,  Eliza  dragged  herself  up  to 
the  door,  with  her  child  lying  in  a  heavy  sleep  on  her  arm. 
The  rough  man  held  the  candle  to  her  face,  and  uttering  a 
kind  of  compassionate  grunt,  opened  the  door  of  a  small  bed 
room  adjoining  to  the  large  kitchen  where  they  were  stand 
ing,  and  motioned  her  to  go  in.  He  took  down  a  candle,  and 
lighting  it,  set  it  upon  the  table,  and  then  addressed  himself 
to  Eliza. 

"  Now,  I  say,  gal,  you  need  n't  be  a  bit  afeard,  let  who  will 
come  here.  I'm  up  to  all  that  sort  o'  thing,"  said  he,  pointing 
to  two  or  three  goodly  rifles  over  the  mantel-piece;  "and  most 
people  that  know  me  know  that  't  would  n't  be  healthy  to  try 
to  get  anybody  out  o'  my  house  when  I  'm  agin  it.  So  'now 
you  jist  go  to  sleep  now,  as  quiet  as  if  yer  mother  was  a 
rockin'  ye,"  said  he,  as  he  shut  the  door. 

"  Why,  this  is  an  uncommon  handsome  un,"  he  said  to  the 
senator.  "Ah,  well;  "handsome  uns  has  the  greatest  cause 
to  run,  sometimes,  if  they  has  any  kind  o'  feelin,  such  as 
decent  women  should.  I  know  all  about  that." 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  189 

The  senator,  in  a  few  words,  briefly  explained  Eliza's  his 
tory. 

"  0  !  ou  !  aw  !  now,  I  want  to  know '?  "  said  the  good  man, 
pitifully ;  "  sho  !  now  sho  !  That 's  natur  now,  poor  crittur ! 
hunted  down  now  like  a  deer,  —  hunted  down,  jest  for  havin' 
natural  feelin's,  and  doin'  what  no  kind  o'  mother  could  help 
a  doin'  !  I  tell  ye  what,  these  yer  things  make  me  come  the 
nighest  to  swearin',  now,  o'  most  anything."  said  honest  John, 
as  he  wiped  his  eyes  with  the  back  of  a  great,  freckled,  yel- . 
low  hand.  "  I  tell  yer  what,  stranger,  it  was  years  and 
years  before  I  'd  jine  the  church,  'cause  the  ministers  round 
in  our  parts  used  to  preach  that  the  Bible  went  in  for  these 
ere  cuttings  up,  —  and  I  could  n't  be  up  to  'em  with  their 
Greek  and  Hebrew,  and  so  I  took  up  agin  'em,  Bible  and  all. 
I  never  jined  the  church  till  I  found  a  minister  that  was  up 
to  'em  all  in  Greek  and  all  that,  and  he  said  right  the  con 
trary  ;  and  then  I  took  right  hold,  and  jined  the  church,  —  I 
did  now,  fact,"  said  John,  who  had  been  all  this  time  uncork 
ing  some  very  frisky  bottled  cider,  which  at  this  juncture  he 
presented. 

"  Ye  'd  better  jest  put  up  here,  now,  till  daylight,"  said 
he,  heartily,  "  and  I  '11  call  up  the  old  woman,  and  have  a 
bed  got  ready  for  you  in  no  time." 

"  Thank  you,  my  good  friend,"  said  the  senator,  "  I  must 
b\3  along,  to  take  the  night  stage  for  Columbus." 

"Ah  !  well,  then,  if  you  must,  I  '11  go  a  piece  with  you, 
and  show  you  a  cross  road  that  will  take  you  there  better 
than  the  road  you  came  on.  That  road  's  mighty  bad." 

John  equipped  himself,  and,  with  a  lantern  in  hand,  was 
soon  seen  guiding  the  senator's  carriage  towards  a  road  that 
ran  down  in  a  hollow,  back  of  his  dwelling.  When  they 
parted,  the  senator  put  into  his  hand  a  ten-dollar  bill. 


140  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

"It 's  for  her,"  he  said,  briefly. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  John,  with  equal  conciseness. 

They  shook  hands,  and  parted. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  PROPERTY  IS   CARRIED   OFF. 

THE  February  morning  looked  gray  and  drizzling  through 
the  window  of  Uncle  Tom's  cabin.  It  looked  on  downcast 
faces,  the  images  of  mournful  hearts.  The  little  table  stood 
out  before  the  fire,  covered  with  an  ironing-cloth ;  a  coarse 
but  clean  shirt  or  two,  fresh  from  the  iron,  hung  on  the  back 
of  a  chair  by  the  fire,  and  Aunt  Chloe*  had  another  spread  out 
before  her  on  the  table.  Carefully  she  rubbed  and  ironed 
every  fold  and  every  hem,  with  the  most  scrupulous  exactness, 
every  now  and  then  raising  her  hand  to  her  face  to  wipe  off 
the  tears  that  were  coursing  down  her  cheeks. 

Tom  sat  by,  with  his  Testament  open  on  his  knee,  and  his 
head  leaning  upon  his  hand  ;  —  but  neither  spoke.  It  was 
yet  early,  and  the  children  lay  all  asleep  together  in  their 
little  rude  trundle-bed. 

Tom,  who  had,  to  the  full,   the  gentle,  domestic   heart, 
which,  woe  for  them  !  has  been  a  peculiar  characteristic  of   / 
his  unhappy  race,  got  up  and  walked  silently  to  look  at  his 
children. 

"  It 's  the  last  time,"  he  said. 

Aunt  Chloe  did  not  answer,  only  rubbed  away  over  and 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  141 

over  on  the  coarse  shirt,  already  as  smooth  as  hands  could 
make  it ;  and  finally  setting  her  iron  suddenly  down  with  a 
despairing  plunge,  she  sat  down  to  the  table,  and  "lifted  up 
her  voice  and  wept." 

"  S'pose  we  must  be  resigned;  but  oh  Lord  !  how  ken  I? 
If  I  know'd  anything  whar  you 's  goin',  or  how  they  'd  sarve 
you  !  Missis  says  she  '11  try  and  'deem  ye,  in  a  year  or  two ; 
but  Lor  !  nobody  never  comes  up  that  goes  down  thar  !  Tljey 
kills  'em!  I've  hearn  'em  tell  how  dey  works  'em  up  on 
dem  ar  plantations." 

"There'll  be  the  same  God  there,  Chloe,  that  there  is 
here." 

"Well,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  "s'pose  dere  will;  but  de  Lord 
lets  drefful  things  happen,  sometimes.  I  don't  seem  to  get 
no  comfort  dat  way." 

"I'm  in  the  Lord's  hands,"  said  Tom;  "nothin'  can  go 
no  furder  than  he  lets  it ;  —  and  thar 's  one  thing  I  can 
thank  him  for.  It 's  me  that 's  sold  and  going  down,  and  not 
you  nur  the  chil'en.  Here  you  're  safe ;  —  what  comes  will 
come  only  on  me  ;  and  the  Lord,  he  '11  help  me, —  I  know 
he  will." 

Ah,  brave,  manly  heart, —  smothering  thine  own  sorrow, 
to  comfort  thy  beloved  ones  !  Tom  spoke  with  a  thick  utter 
ance,  and  with  a  bitter  choking  in  his  throat, —  but  he  spoke 
brave  and  strorig. 

"  Let  ?s  think  on  our  marcies  !  "  he  added,  tremulously,  as 
if  he  was  quite  sure  he  needed  to  think  on  them  very  hard 
indeed. 

"  Marcies  !  "  said  Aunt  Chloe ;  "  don't  see  no  marcy  in 't ! 
'tan't  right !  tan't  right  it  should  be  so  !  Mas'r  never  ought 
ter  left  it  so  that  ye  could  be  took  for  his  debts.  Ye  've  arnt 
him  all  he  gets  for  ye,  twice  over.  He  owed  ye  yer  freedom^ 


142  -x      UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

and  ought  ter  gin 't  to  yer  years  ago.  Mebbe  he  can't  help 
himself  now,  hut  I  feel  it 's  wrong.  Nothing  can't  heat  that 
ar  out  o'  me.  Sich  a  faithful  crittur  as  ye  've  heen, —  and 
allers  sot  his  business  'fore  yer  own  every  way, —  and  reckoned 
on  him  more  than  yer  own  wife  and  chil'en  !  Them  as  sells 
heart's  love  and  heart's  blood,  to  get  out  thar  scrapes,  de 
Lord '11  be  up  to  'em!  " 

"  Chloe  !  now,  if  ye  love  me,  ye  won't  talk  so,  when  per 
haps  jest  the  last  time  we  '11  ever  have  together  !  And  I  '11 
tell  ye,  Chloe,  it  goes  agin  me  to  hear  one  word  agin  Mas'r. 
Wan't  he  put  in  my  arms  a  baby  ?  —  it 's  natur  I  should  think 
a  heap  of  him.  And  he  could  n't  be  spected  to  think  so 
much  of  poor  Tom.  Mas'rs  is  used  to  havin'  all  these  yer 
things  done  for  'em,  and  nat'lly  they  don't  think  so  much 
on 't."  They  can't  be  spected  to,  no  way.  Set  him  'longside 
of  other  Mas'rs — who's  had  the  treatment  and  the  livin' 
I've  had?  And  he  never  would  have  let  this  yer  come 
on  me,  if  he  could  have  seed  it  aforehand.  I  know  he 
wouldn't." 

"Wai,  any  way,  thar's  wrong  about  it  somewhar"  said 
Aunt  Chloe,  in  whom  a  stubborn  sense  of  justice  was  a  pre 
dominant  trait ;  "I  can't  jest  make  out  whar  'tis,  but  thar 's 
wrong  some  whar,  I'm  clar  o'  that." 

"  Yer  ought  ter  look  up  to  the  Lord  above  —  he  's  above 
all  —  thar  don't  a  sparrow  fall  without  him." 

"It  don't  seem  to  comfort  me,  but  I  spect  it  orter,"  said 
Aunt  Chloe.  "Butdar's  no  use  talkin' ;  I'll  jes  wet  up 
de  corn-cake,  and  get  ye  one  good  breakfast,  'cause  nobody 
knows  when  you'll  get  another." 

In  order  to  appreciate  the  sufferings  of  the  negroes  sold 
south,  it  must  be  remembered  that  all  the  instinctive  affec 
tions  of  that  race  are  peculiarly  strong.  Their  local  attach- 


LIFE  AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  143 

merits  are  very  abiding,  They  are  not  naturally  daring  and 
enterprising,  but  home-loving  and  affectionate.  Add  to  this 
all  the  terrors  with  which  ignorance  invests  the  unknown,  and 
add"  to  this,  again,  that  selling  to  the  south  is  set  before  the 
negro  from  childhood  as  the  last  severity  of  punishment. 
The  threat  that  terrifies  more  than  whipping  or  torture  of 
any  kind  is  the  threat  of  being  sent  down  river.  We  have 
ourselves  heard  this  feeling  expressed  by  them,  and  seen  the 
unaffected  horror  with  which  they  will  sit  in  their  gossipping 
hours,  and  tell  frightful  stories  of  that  "down  river,"  wrhich 
to  them  is 

"  That  undiscovered  country,  from  whose  bourn 
No  traveller  returns." 

A  missionary  among  the  fugitives  in  Canada  told  us  "that 
many  of  the  fugitives  confessed  themselves  to  have  escaped 
from  comparatively  kind  masters,  and  that  they  were  induced 
to  brave  the  perils  of  escape,  in  almost  every  case,  by  the 
desperate  horror  with  which  they  regarded  being  sold  south, 
—  a  doom  wrhich  was  hanging  either  over  themselves  or  their 
husbands,  their  wives  or  children.  This  nerves  the  African, 
naturally  patient,  timid  and  unenterprising,  with  heroic1 
courage,  and  leads  him  to  suffer  hunger,  cold,  pain,  the 
perils  of  the  wilderness,  and  the  more  dread  penalties  of 
re-capture. 

The  simple  morning  meal  now  smoked  on  the  table,  for 
Mrs.  Shelby  had  excused  Aunt  Chloe's  attendance  at  the 
great  house  that  morning.  The  poor  soul  had  expended  all 
her  little  energies  on  this  farewell  feast, —  had  killed  and 
dressed  her  choicest  chicken,  and  prepared  her  corn-cake 
with  scrupulous  exactness,  just  to  her  husband's  taste,  and 
brought  out  certain  mysterious  jars  on  the  inantel-piece, 


144  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

some  preserves  that  were  never  produced  except  on  extreme 
occasions. 

"Lor,  Pete,"  said  Mose,  triumphantly,  " han't  we  got  a 
buster  of  a  breakfast !  "  at  the  same  time  catching  at  a  frag 
ment  of  the  chicken. 

Aunt  Chloe  gave  him  a  sudden  box  on  the  ear.  "  Thar 
now  !  crowing  over  the  last  breakfast  yer  poor  daddy 's  gwine 
to  have  to  home  !  " 

"  0,  Chloe  !"  said  Tom,  gently. 

"Wai,  I  can't  help  it,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  hiding  her  face 
in  her  apron;  "  I 's  so  tossed  about,  it  makes  me  act  ugly." 

The  boys  stood  quite  still,  looking  first  at  their  father  and 
then  at  their  mother,  while  the  baby,  climbing  up  her  clothes, 
began  an  imperious,  commanding  cry. 

"Thar!  "  said  Aunt  Chloe,  wiping  her  eyes  and  taking  up 
the  baby;  "  now  I 's  done,  I  hope, —  now  do  eat  something. 
This  yer's  my  nicest  chicken.  Thar,  boys,  ye  shall  have 
some,  poor  critturs  !  Yer  mammy 's  been  cross  to  yer." 

The  boys  needed  no  second  invitation,  and  went  in  with 
great  zeal  for  the  eatables ;  and  it  was  well  they  did  so,  as 
otherwise  there  would  have  been  very  little  performed  to  any 
purpose  by  the  party. 

"  Now,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  bustling  about  after  breakfast, 
"  I  must  put  up  yer  clothes.  Jest  like  as  not.  he  '11  take 
'em  all  away.  I  know  thar  ways  —  mean  as  dirt,  they  is  ! 
Wai,  now,  yer  flannels  for  rhumatis  is  in  this  corner ;  so  be 
earful,  'cause  there  won't  nobody  make  ye  no  more.  Then 
here 's  yer  old  shirts,  and  these  yer  is  new  ones.  I  toed  off 
these  yer  stockings  last  night,  and  put  de  ball  in  'em  to  mend 
with.  But  Lor!  who'll  ever  mend  for  ye?"  and  Aunt 
Chloe,  again  overcome,  laid  her  head  on  the  box  side,  and 


LIFE  AMONG   THE    LOWIA.  145 

sobbed.  "  To  think  on  't !  no  crittur  to  do  for  ye,  sick  or 
well !  I  don't  railly  think  I  ought  ter  be  good  now  !  " 

The  boys,  having  eaten  everything  there  was  on  the  break 
fast-table,  began  now  to  take  some  thought  of  the  case ;  and, 
seeing  their  mother  crying,  and  their  father  looking  very  sad. 
began  to  whimper  and  put  their  hands  to  their  eyes.  Uncle 
Tom  had  the  baby  on  his  knee,  and  was  letting  her  enjoy 
herself  to  the  utmost  extent,  scratching  his  face  and  pulling 
his  hair,  and  occasionally  breaking  out  into  clamorous  explo 
sions  of  delight,  evidently  arisirfg  out  of  her  own  internal 
reflections. 

"  Ay,  crow  away,  poor  crittur  !  "  said  Aunt  Chloe ;  "  ye  '11 
have  to  come  to  it,  too  !  ye  '11  live  to  see  yer  husband  sold,  or 
mebbe  be  sold  yerself;  and  these  yer  boys,  they's  to  be 
sold,  I  s'pose,  too,  jest  like  as  not,  when  dey  gets  good  for 
somethin' ;  an't  no  use  in  niggers  havin'  nothin'  !  " 

Here  one  of  the  boys  called  out,  "  Thar 's  Missis  a-comin' 
in!" 

"  She  can't  do  no  good;  what's  she  coming  for?"  said 
Aunt  Chloe. 

Mrs.  Shelby  entered.  Aunt  Chloe  set  a  chair  for  her  in 
a  manner  decidedly  gruff  and  crusty.  She  did  not  seem  to 
notice  either  the  action  or  the  manner.  She  looked  pale  and 
anxious. 

"Tom,"  she  said,  " I  come  to — "and  stopping  suddenly, 
and  regarding  the  silent  group,  she  sat  down  in  the  chair, 
and,  covering  her  face  with  her  handkerchief,  began  to  sob. 

"Lor,  now,  Missis,  don't  —  don't!"  said  Aunt  Chloe, 
bursting  out  in  her  turn ;  and  for  a  few  moments  they  all 
wept  in  company.  And  in  those  tears  they  all  shed  together, 
the  high  and  the  lowly,  melted  a^-ay  all  the  heart-burnings 
and  anger  of  the  oppressed.  0,  ye  who  visit  the  distressed, 
13 


146  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

do  ye  know  that  everything  your  money  can  buy,  given  with 
a  cold,  averted  face,  is  not  worth  one  honest  tear  shed  in  real 
sympathy  ? 

"My  good  fellow,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  "I  can't  give  you 
anything  to  do  you  any  good.  If  I  give  you  money,  it  will 
only  be  taken  from  you.  But  I  tell  you  solemnly,  and  before 
God,  that  I  will  keep  trace  of  you,  and  bring  you  back  as 
soon  as  I  can  command  the  money ;  —  and,  till  then,  trust  in 
God !  " 

Here  tlie  boys  called  out  that  Mas'r  Haley  was  coming, 
and  then  an  unceremonious  kick  pushed  open  the  door. 
Haley  stood  there  in  very  ill  humor,  having  ridden  hard  the 
night  before,  and  being  not  at  all  pacified  by  his  ill  success  in 
re-capturing  his  prey. 

"Come,"  said  he,  "ye  nigger,  ye 'r  ready?  Servant, 
ma' am  !  "  said  he,  taking  off  his  hat,  as  he  saw  Mrs.  Shelby. 

Aunt  Chloe  shut  and  corded  the  box,  and,  getting  up, 
looked  gruffly  on  the  trader,  her  tears  seeming  suddenly 
turned  to  sparks  of  fire. 

Tom  rose  up  meekly,  to  follow  his  new  master,  and  raised 
up  his  heavy  box  on  his  shoulder.  His  wife  took  the  baby  in 
her  arms  to  go  with  him  to  the  wagon,  and  the  children,  still 
crying,  trailed  on  behind. 

Mrs.  Shelby,  walking  up  to  the  trader,  detained  him  for  a 
few  moments,  talking  with  him  in  an  earnest  manner :  and 
while  she  was  thus  talking,  the  whole  family  party  proceeded 
to  a  wagon,  that  stood  ready  harnessed  at  the  door.  A  crowd 
of  all  the  old  and  young  hands  on  the  place  stood  gathered 
around  it,  to  bid  farewell  to  their  old  associate.  Tom  had 
been  looked  up  to,  both  as  a  head  servant  and  a  Christian 
teacher,  by  all  the  place,  $M  there  was  much  honest  sympathy 
and  grief  about  him,  particularly  among  the  women. 


LIFE   AMONG   TUB   LOWLY.  147 

"  Why,  Chlee,  you  bar  it  better  'n  we  do  !  "  said  one  of  the 
women,  who  had  been  weeping  freely,  noticing  the  gloomy 
calmness  w,ith  which  Aunt  Chloe  stood  by  the  wagon. 

"  I 's  done  my  tears !"  she  said,  looking  grimly  at  the 
trader,  who  was  coming  up.  "  I  does  not  feel  to  cry  'fore  dat 
ar  old  limb,  no  how  !  " 

i:  Get  in!  "  said  Haley  to  Tom,  as  he  strode  through,  the 
crowd  of  servanj^  who  looked  at  him  with  lowering  brows. 

Tom  got  in,  and  Haley,  drawing  out  from  under  the  wagon 
seat  a  heavy  pair  of  shackles,  made  them  fast  around  each 
ankle. 

A  smothered  groan  of  indignation  ran  through  the  whole 
circle,  and  Mrs.  Shelby  spoke  from  the  verandah. — 

"Mr.  Haley,  I  assure  you  that  precaution  is  entirely 
unnecessary." 

"Do'n  know,  ma'am;  I've  lost  one  five  hundred  dollars 
from  this  yer  place,  and  I  can't  afford  to  run  no  more  risks." 

"  What  else  could  she  spect  on  him?"  said  Aunt  Chloe, 
indignantly,  while  the  two  boys,  who  now  seemed  to  compre 
hend  at  once  their  father's  destiny,  clung  to  her  gown,  sobbing 
and  groaning  vehemently. 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Tom,  "that  Mas'r  George  happened  to 
be  away." 

George  had  gone  to  spend  two  or  three  days  with  a  com 
panion  on  a  neighboring  estate,  and  having  departed  early  in 
the  morning,  before  Tom's  misfortune  had  been  made  public, 
had  left  without  hearing  of  it. 

"  Give  my  love  to  Mas'r  George,"  he  said,  earnestly. 
Haley  whipped  up  the  horse,  and,  with  a  steady,  mourn 
ful  look,  fixed  to  the  last  on  the  old  place,  Tom  was  whirled 
away. 

Mr.  Shelby  at  this  time  was  not  at  home.     He  had  sold 


148  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  ; 


Tom  under  the  spur  of  a  driving  necessity,  to  get  out  of  the 
power  of  a  man  whom  he  dreaded,  —  and  his  first  feeling,  after 
the  consummation  of  the  bargain,  had  been  that  of  relief.  But 
his  wife's  expostulations  awoke  his  half-slumbering  regrets  ; 
and  Tom's  manly  disinterestedness  increased  the  unpleasant 
ness  of  his  feelings.  It  was  in  vain  that  he  said  to  himself 
that  he  had  a  right  to  do  it,  —  that  everybody  did  it.  —  and 
that  some  did  it  without  even  the  excuse  o^necessity  ;  —  ho 
could  not  satisfy  his  own  feelings  ;  and  that  he  might  not 
witness  the  unpleasant  scenes  of  the  consummation,  he  had 
gone  on  a  short  business  tour  up  the  country,  hoping  that 
all  would  be  over  before  he  returned. 

Tom  and  Haley  rattled  on  along  the  dusty  road,  whirling 
past  every  old  familiar  spot,  until  the  bounds  of  the  estate 
were  fairly  passed,  and  they  found  themselves  out  on  the 
open  pike.  After  they  had  ridden  about  a  mile,  Haley  sud 
denly  drew  up  at  the  door  of  a  blacksmith's  shop,  when, 
taking  out  with  him  a  pair  of  handcuffs,  he  stepped  into  the 
shop,  to  have  a  little  alteration  in  them. 

"  These  yer  's  a  little  too  small  for  his  build,"  said  Haley, 
showing  the  fetters,  and  pointing  out  to  Tom. 

"  Lor  !  now,  if  thar  an't  Shelby's  Tom.  He  han't  sold 
him,  now  ?  "  said  the  smith. 

"Yes,  he  %s,"  said  Haley. 

"  Now,  ye  don't  !  well,  reely,"  said  the  smith,  "  who'd  a 
thought  it  !  Why,  ye  need  n't  go  to  fetterin'  him  up  this 
yer  way.  He  's  the  faithfullest,  best  crittur  —  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Haley;  "but  your  good  fellers  are  just 
the  critturs  to  want  ter  run  off.  Them  stupid  ones,  as  does  n't 
care  whar  they  go,  and  shifless,  drunken  ones,  as  don't  care 
for  nothin',  they'll  stick  by,  and  like  as  not  be  rather  pleased 
to  be  toted  round;  but  these  yer  prime  fellers,  they  hates  it 


LIFE    AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  149 

like  sin.  No  way  but  to  fetter  'em;  got  legs, —  they'll 
use  'em, —  no  mistake." 

"Well,"  said  the  smith,  feeling  among  his  tools,  "them 
plantations  down  thar,  stranger,  an't  jest  the  place  a  Kentuck 
nigger  wants  to  go  to;  they  dies  thar  tol'able  fast,  don't 
they?" 

"Wai,  yes,  tol'able  fast,  ther  dying  is;  what  with  the 
'climating  and  one  thing  and  another,  they  dies  so  as  to  keep 
the  market  up  pretty  brisk,"  said  Haley. 

"  Wai,  now,  a  feller  can't  help  thinldn'  it 's  a  mighty  pity 
to  have  a  nice,  quiet,  likely  feller,  as  good  un  as  Tom  is,  go 
down  to  be  fairly  ground  up  on  one  of  them  ar  sugar  planta 
tions." 

"  Wai,  he  's  got  a  fa'r  chance.  ,1  promised  to  do  well  by 
him.  I  '11  get  him  in  house-servant  in  some  good  old  family, 
and  then,  if  he  stands  the  fever  and  'climating,  he  '11  have  a 
berth  good  as  any  nigger  ought  ter  ask  for." 

"  He  leaves  his  wife  and  chil'en  up  here,  s'pose  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  he  '11  get  another  thar.  Lord,  thar 's  women 
enough  every whar,"  said  Haley. 

Tom  was  sitting  very  mournfully  on  the  outside  of  the 
shop  while  this  conversation  was  going  on.  Suddenly  he 
heard  the  quick,  short  click  of  a  horse's  hoof  behind  him ; 
and,  before  he  could  fairly  awake  from  his  surprise,  young 
Master  George  sprang  into  the  wagon,  threw  his  arms 
tumultuously  round  his  neck,  and  was  sobbing  and  scolding 
with  energy. 

"  I  declare,  it's  real  mean  !  I  don't  care  what  they  say, 
any  of  'em  !  It 's  a  nasty,  mean  shame  !  If  I  was  a  man, 
they  shouldn't  doit, —  they  should  not,  so!"  said  George, 
with  a  kind  of  subdued  howl. 

"  0  !  Mas'r  George  !  this  does  me  good  !  "  said  Tom.  "  [ 
18* 


150  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

could  n't  bar  to  go  off  without  seein'  ye  !  It  does  me  real 
good,  ye  can't  tell !  "  Here  Tom  made  some  movement  of 
his  feet,  and  George's  eye  fell  on  the  fetters. 

"  What  a  shame  !  "  he  exclaimed,  lifting  his  hands.  "  I  '11 
knock  that  old  fellow  down  —  I  will !  " 

"  No  you  won't,  Mas'r  George  ;  and  you  must  not  talk  so 
loud.  It  won't  help  me  any,  to  anger  him." 

"  Well,  I  won't,  then,  for  your  sake  ;  but  only  to  think  of 
it  —  is  n't  it  a  shame  ?  They  never  sent  for  me,  nor  sent  me 
any  word,  and,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Tom  Lincon,  I  shouldn't 
have  heard  it.  I  tell  you,  I  blew  'em  up  well,  all  of  'em,  at 
home!" 

"  That  ar  wasn't  right,  I'm  'feard,  Mas'r  George." 

"  Can't  help  it !  I  say  it's  a  shame  !  Look  here,  Uncle 
Tom,"  said  he,  turning  his  back  to  the  shop,  and  speaking  in 
a  mysterious  tone,  "I've  brought  you  my  dollar !  " 

"  0 !  I  could  n't  think  o'  takin'  on  't,  Mas'r  George,  no 
ways  in  the  world  !  "  said  Tom,  quite  moved. 

"  But  you  shall  take  it ! "  said  George ;  "  look  here  —  I 
told  Aunt  Chloe  I  'd  do  it,  and  she  advised  me  just  to  make 
a  hole  in  it,  and  put  a  string  through,  so  you  could  hang  it 
round  your  neck,  and  keep  it  out  of  sight;  else  this  mean 
scamp  would  take  it  away.  I  tell  ye,  Tom,  I  want  to  blow 
him  up  !  it  wrould  do  me  good  !  " 

"  No,  don't,  Mas'r  George,  for  it  won't  do  me  any  good." 

"  Well,  I  won't,  for  your  sake,"  said  George,  busily  tying 
his  dollar  round  Tom's  neck;  "but  there,  now,  button  your 
coat  tight  over  it,  and  keep  it,  and  remember,  every  time  you 
see  it,  that  I  '11  come  down  after  you,  and  bring  you  back. 
Aunt  Chloe  and  I  have  been  talking  about  it.  I  told  her  no+ 
to  fear ;  I  '11  see  to  it,  and  I  '11  tease  father's  life  out,  if  he 
don't  do  it." 


LIFE   AMONG   TUE   LOWLY.  151 

"  0  !  Mas'r  George,  ye  mustn't  talk  so  'bout  ycr  father! " 

"  Lor,  Uncle  Tom,  I  don't  mean  anything  bad." 

"  And  now,  Mas'r  George,"  said  Tom,  '•'  ye  must  be  a  good 
boy ;  'member  how  many  hearts  is  sot  on  ye.  Al'ays  keep 
close  to  yer  mother.  Don't  be  gettin'  into  any  of  them  foolish 
ways  boys  has  of  gettin'  too  big  to  mind  their  mothers.  Tell 
ye  AY  hat,  Mas'r  George,  the  Lord  gives  good  many  things 
twice  over;  but  he  don't  give  ye  a  mother  but  once.  Ye  '11 
never  see  sich  another  woman,  Mas'r  Geor^  if  ye  live  to  be 
a  hundred  years  old.  So,  now,  you  hold  on  to  her,  and  grow 
up,  and  be  a  comfort  to  her,  thar  's  my  own  good  boy,  —  you 
will  now,  won't  ye?" 

"  Yes,  I  will,  Uncle  Tom,"  said  George,  seriously. 

"  And  be  careful  of  yer  speaking,  Mas'r  George.  Young 
boys,  when  they  comes  to  your  age,  is  wilful,  sometimes  —  it's 
natur  they  should  be.  But  real  gentlemen,  such  as  I  hopes 
you  '11  be,  never  lets  fall  no  words  that  is  n't  'spectful  to  thar 
parents.  Ye  an't  'fended,  Mas'r  George?" 

"  No,  indeed,  Uncle  Tom;  you  always  did  give  me  good 
advice." 

"I's  older,  ye  know,"  said  Tom,  stroking  the  boy's  fine, 
curly  head  with  his  large,  strong  hand,  but  speaking  in  a 
voice  as  tender  as  a  woman's,  "  and  I  sees  all  that 's  bound  up 
in  you.  0,  Mas'r  George,  you  has  everything. — 1'arnin', 
privileges,  readin',  writin', —  and  you  '11  grow  up  to  be  a  great, 
learned,  good  man,  and  all  the  people  on  the  place  and  your 
mother  and  father  '11  be  so  proud  on  ye  !  Be  a  good  Mas'r, 
like  yer  father  ;  and  be  a  Christian,  like  yer  mother.  'Mem 
ber  yer  Creator  in  the  days  o'  yer  youth,  Mas'r  George." 

"  I  '11  be  real  good,  Uncle  Tom,  I  tell  you."  said  George. 
"I'm  going  to  be  a  first-rater ;  and  don't  you  be  discour 
aged.  I  '11  have  you  back  to  the  place,  yet.  As  I  told  Aunt 


152  UNCLE   TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

Chloe  this  morning,  I  '11  build  jour  house  all  over,  and  you 
shall  have  a  room  for  a  parlor  with  a  carpet  on  it,  when  I  in 
a  man.  0,  you  '11  have  good  times  yet  !  " 

Haley  now  came  to  the  door,  with  the  handcuffs  in  his 
hands. 

"  Look  here,  now,  Mister,"  said  George,  with  an  air  of 
great  superiority,  as  he  got  out,  "  I  shall  let  father  and  mother 
know  how  you  treat  Uncle  Tom  !  ' ' 

"  You  're  welcgme,"  said  the  trader. 

"  I  should  think  you'd  be  ashamed  to  spend  all  your  life 
buying  men  and  women,  and  chaining  them,  like  cattle !  I 
should  think  you  'd  feel  mean !  "  said  George. 

"  So  long  as  your  grand  folks  wants  to  buy  men  and  women, 
I'm  as  good  as  they  is,"  said  Haley;  "  'tan't  any  meaner 
sellin'  on  'em,  than  'tis  buyin'  !  " 

"I'll  never  do  either,  when  I'm  a  man,"  said  George; 
"  I  'm  ashamed,  this  day,  that  I  'm  a  Kentuckian.  I  always 
was  proud  of  it  before;"  and  George  sat  very  straight  on  his 
horse,  and  looked  round  with  an  air,  as  if  he  expected  the  state 
would  be  impressed  with  his  opinion. 

"Well,  good-by,  Uncle  Tom;  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip,"  said 
Gewge. 

"  Good-bj,  Mas'r  George,"  said  Tom,  looking  fondly  and 
admiringly  at  him.  "  God  Almighty  bless  you  !  Ah  !  Ken 
tucky  han't  got  many  like  you!"  he  said,  in  the  fulness 
of  his  heart,  as  the  frank,  boyish  face  was  lost  to  his 
view.  Away  he  went,  and  Tom  looked,  till  the  clatter  of  his 
horse's  heels  died  away,  the  last  sound  or  sight  of  his  home. 
But  over  his  heart  there  seemed  to  be  a  warm  spot,  where 
those  young  hands  had  placed  that  precious  dollar.  Tom  put 
up  his  hand,  and  held  it  close  fo  his  heart. 

"Now.  I  tell  ye  what,  Tom,"  said  Haley,  as  he  came  up 


LIFE   AMONG   TUB   LOWLY.  153 

to  the  wagon,  and  threw  in  the  hand-cuffs,  "  I  mean  to  start 
fa'r  with  ye,  as  I  gen' ally  do  with  my  niggers  ;  and  I  '11  tell 
ye  now,  to  begin  with,  you  treat  me  fa'r,  and  I  '11  treat  you, 
fa'r  ;  I  an't  never  hard  on  my  niggers.  Calculates  to  do  the 
best  for  'em  I  can.  Now,  ye  see,  you  'd  better  jest  settle  down 
comfortable,  and  not  be  tryin'  no  tricks ;  because  nigger's  tricks 
of  all  sorts  I  'in  up  to,  and  it 's  no  use.  If  niggers  is  quiet, 
and  don't  try  to  get  off,  they  has  good  times  with  me ;  and  if 
they  don't,  why,  it 's  thar  fault,  and  not  mine." 

Tom  assured  Haley  that  he  had  no  present  intentions  of 
running  off.  In  fact,  the  exhortation  seemed  rather  a  super 
fluous  one  to  a  man  with  a  great  pair  of  iron  fetters  on  his 
feet.  But  Mr.  Haley  had  got  in  the  habit  of  commencing  his 
relations  with  his  stock  with  little  exhortations  of  this  nature, 
calculated,  as  he  deemed,  to  inspire  cheerfulness  and  confi 
dence,  and  prevent  the  necessity  of  any  unpleasant  scenes. 

And  here,  for  the  present,  we  take  our  leave  of  Tom,  to 
pursue  the  fortunes  of  other  characters  in  our  story. 


UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN:    OR, 


CHAPTER  XI. 

IN  WHICH  PROPERTY  GETS  INTO  AN  IMPROPER  STATE  OF  MIND. 

IT  was  late  in  a  drizzly  afternoon  that  a  traveller  alighted 
at  the  door  of  a  small  country  hotel,  in  the  village  of  N  -  — , 
in  Kentucky.  In  the  bar-room  he  found  assembled  quite  a 
miscellaneous  company,  whom  stress  of  weather  had  driven  to 
harbor,  and  the  place  presented  the  usual  scenery  of  such  re 
unions.  Great,  tall,  raw-boned  Kentuckians,  attired  in  hunt 
ing-shirts,  and  trailing  their  loose  joints  over  a  vast  extent  of 
territory,  with  the  easy  lounge  peculiar  to  the  race, —  rifles 
stacked  away  in  the  corner,  shot-pouches,  game-bags,  hunting- 
dogs,  and  little  negroes,  all  rolled  together  in  the  corners, — 
were  the  characteristic  features  in  the  picture.  At  each  end 
of  the  fireplace  sat  a  long-legged  gentleman,  with  his  chair 
tipped  back,  his  hat  on  his  head,  and  the  heels  of  his  muddy 
boots  reposing  sublimely  on  the  mantel-piece, —  a  position,  we 
will  inform  our  readers,  decidedly  favorable  to  the  turn  of 
reflection  incident  to  western  taverns,  where  travellers  exhibit 
a  decided  preference  for  this  particular  mode  of  elevating 
their  understandings. 

Mine  host,  w^ho  stood  behind  the  bar,  like  most  of  his  coun 
trymen,  was  great  of  stature,  good-natured,  and  loose-jointed, 
with  an  enormous  shock  of  hair  on  his  head,  and  a  great  tall 
hat  on  the  top  of  that. 

In  fact,  everybody  in  the  room  bore  on  his  head  this  char 
acteristic  emblem  of  man's  sovereignty  ;  whether  it  were  felt 
hat,  palm-leaf,  greasy  beaver,  or  fine  new  chapeau,  there  it 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  155 


reposed  with  true  republican  independence.  In  truth,  it 
appeared  to  be  the  characteristic  mark  of  every  individual. 
Some  wore  them  tipped  rakishly  to  one  side  —  these  were 
your  men  of  humor,  jolly,  free-and-easy  dogs  ;  some  had 
them  jammed  independently  down  over  their  noses  —  these 
were  your  hard  characters,  thorough  men,  who,  when  they 
wore  their  hats,  wanted  to  wear  them,  and  to  wear  them  just 
as  they  had  a  mind  to  ;  there  were  those  who  had  them  set 
far  over  back  —  wide-awake  men,  who  wanted  a  clear  prospect ; 
while  careless  men,  who  did  not  know,  or  care,  how  their  hats 
sat,  had  them  shaking  about  in  all  directions.  The  various 
hats,  in  fact,  were  quite  a  Shakspearean  study. 

Divers  negroes,  in  very  free-and-easy  pantaloons,  and  with 
no  redundancy  in  the  shirt  line,  were  scuttling  about,  hither 
and  thither,  without  bringing  to  pass  any  very  particular 
results,  except  expressing  a  generic  willingness  to  turn  over 
everything  in  creation  generally  for  the  benefit  of  Mas'r  and 
his  guests.  Add  to  this  picture  a  jolly,  crackling,  rollicking 
fire,  going  rejoicingly  up  a  great  wide  chimney, — the  outer 
door  and  every  window  being  set  wide  open,  and  the  calico 
window-curtain  flopping  and  snapping  in  a  good  stiff  breeze  of 
damp  raw  air. —  and  you  have  an  idea  of  the  jollities  of  a 
Kentucky  tavern. 

Your  Kentuckian  of  the  present  day  is  a  good  illustration 
of  the  doctrine  of  transmitted  instincts  and  peculiarities.  His 
fathers  were  mighty  hunters, —  rnefn  who  lived  in  the  woods, 
and  slept  under  the  free,  open  heavens,  with  the  stars  to 
hold  their  candles ;  and  their  descendant  to  this  day  always 
acts  as  if  the  house  were  his  camp, —  wears  his  hat  at  all 
hours,  tumbles  himself  about,  arid  puts  his  heels  on  the  tops 
of  chairs  or  mantel-pieces,  just  as  his  father  rolled  on  the 
green  sward,  and  put  his  upon  trees  and  logs, —  keeps  all  the 


156  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN  :    OR, 

•windows  and  doors^>pen,  winter  and  summer,  that  he  may  get 
air  enough  for  his  great  lungs, —  calls  everybody  li  stranger," 
with  nonchalant  bonhommie,  and  is  altogether  the  frankest, 
easiest,  most  jovial  creature  living. 

Into  such  an  assembly  of  the  free  and  easy  our  traveller 
entered.  He  was  a  short,  thick-set  man,  carefully  dressed, 
with  a  round,  good-natured  countenance,  and  something  rather 
fussy  and  particular  in  his  appearance.  He  was  very  careful 
of  his  valise  and  umbrella,  bringing  them  in  with  his  own 
hands,  and  resisting,  pertinaciously,  all  offers  from  the  various 
servants  to  relieve  him  of  them.  He  looked  round  the  bar 
room  with  rather  an  anxious  air,  and,  retreating  with  his  val 
uables  to  the  warmest  corner,  disposed  $iem  under  his  chair, 
sat  down,  and  looked  rather  apprehensively  up  at  the  worthy 
whose  heels  illustrated  the  end  of  the  mantel-piece,  who  was 
spitting  from  right  to  left,  with  a  courage  and  energy  rather 
alarming  to  gentlemen  of  weak  nerves  and  particular  habits. 

"  I  say,  stranger,  how  are  ye  ?  "  said  the  aforesaid  gentle 
man,  firing  an  honorary  salute  of  tobacco-juice  in  the  direction 
of  the  new  arrival. 

*Well,  I  reckon,"  wis  the  reply  of  the  other,  as  he  dodged, 
Tvith  some  alarm,  the  threatening  honor. 

"Any  news?"  said  the  respondent,  taking  out  a  strip  of 
tobacco  and  a  large  hunting-knife  from  his  pocket. 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,"  said  the  man. 

"  Chaw  ?  "  said  the  first  speaker,  handing  the  old  gentle 
man  a  bit  of  his  tobacco,  with  a  decidedly  brotherly  air. 

"  No,  thank  ye  —  it  don't  agree  with  me,"  said  the  little 
man,  edging  off. 

"  Don't,  eh  ?  "  said  the  other,  easily,  and  stowing  away  the 
morsel  in  his  own  mouth,  in  order  to  keep  up  the  supply  of 
tobacco-juice,  for  the  general  benefit  of  society. 


LIPE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  157 

The  old  gentleman  uniformly  gave  a  little  start  whenever 
his  long-sided  brother  fired  in  his  direction ;  and  this  being 
observed  by  his  companion,  he  very  good-naturedly  turned  his 
artillery  to  another  quarter,  and  proceeded  to  storm  one  of 
the  fire-irons  with  a  degree  of  military  talent  fully  sufficient 
to  take  a  city. 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  said  the  old  gentleman,  observing  sorao 
of  the  company  formed  in  a  group  around  a  large  handbill. 

"Nigger  advertised  !  "  said  one  of  the  company,  briefly. 

Mr.  Wilson,  for  that  was  the  old  gentleman's  name,  rose 
up,  and,  after  carefully  adjusting  his  valise  and  umbrella,  pro 
ceeded  deliberately  to  take  out  his  spectacles  and  fix  them  on 
his  nose ;  and,  this  operation  being  performed,  read  as  follows  : 

"Ran  away  from  the  subscriber,  my  mulatto  boy,  George.  Said  George 
six  feet  in  height,  a  very  light  mulatto,  brown  curly  hair  ;  is  very  intelli 
gent,  speaks  handsomely,  can  read  and  write  ;  will  probably  try  to  pass 
for  a  white  man  ;  is  deeply  scarred  on  his  back  and  shoulders  ;  has  been 
branded  in  his  right  hand  with  the  letter  H. 

**  I  will  give  four  hundred  dollars  for  him  alive,  and  the  same  sum  for 
satisfactory  proof  that  he  has  been  killed." 

The  old  gentleman  read  this  advertisement  from  end  to  end, 
in  a  low  voice,  as  if  he  were  studying  it. 

The  long-legged  veteran,  who  had  been  besieging  the  fire- 
iron,  as  before  related,  now  took  down  his  cumbrous  length, 
and  rearing  aloft  his  tall  form,  walked  up  to  the  advertisement, 
and  very  deliberately  spit  a  full  discharge  of  tobacco- juico 
on  it. 

"  There 's  my  mind  upon  that !  "  said  he,  briefly,  and  sat 
down  again. 

"  Why,  now,  stranger,  what's  that  for?  "  said  mine  host. 

"  I  'd  do  it  all  the  same  to  the  writer  of  that  ar  paper,  if 
he  was  here/'  said  the  long  man,  coolly  resuming  his  old 
14. 


158  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 


employment  of  cutting  tobacco.  "  Any  man  that  owns  a  boy 
like  that,  and  can't  iihd  any  better  way  o'  treating  on  him, 
deserves  to  lose  him.  Such  papers  as  these  is  a  shame  to 
Kentucky ;  that 's  my  mind  right  out,  if  anybody  wants  to 
know !  " 

"Well,  now,  that's  a  fact,"  said  mine  host;  as  he  made  an 
entry  in  his  book. 

"  I  've  got  a  gang  of  boys,  sir,"  said  the  long  man,  resum 
ing  his  attack  on  the  fire-irons,  ' '  and  I  jest  tells  'em  —  •  Boys, ' 
says  I, — '  run  now  !  dig  !  put !  jest  when  ye  want  to  !  I  never 
shall  come  to  look  after  you  ! '  That 's  the  way  I  keep  mine. 
Let  'em  know  they  are  free  to  run  any  time,  and  it  jest  breaks 
up  their  wanting  to.  More  'n  all,  I  've  got  free  papers  for 
'em  all  recorded,  in  case  I  gets  keeled  up  any  o'  these  times, 
and  they  knows  it ;  and  I  tell  ye,  stranger,  there  an't  a  fel 
low  in  our  parts  gets  more  out  of  his  niggers  than  I  do. 
Why,  my  boys  have  been  to  Cincinnati,  with  five  hundred 
dollars'  worth  of  colts,  and  brought  me  back  the  money,  all 
straight,  time  and  agin.  It  stands  to  reason  they  should. 
Treat  'em  like  dogs,  and  you  '11  have  dogs'  works  and  dogs' 
actions.  Treat  'em  like  men,  and  you  '11  have  men's  works." 
And  the  honest  drover,  in  his  warmth,  endorsed  this  moral 
sentiment  by  firing  a  perfect  feu  dejoie  at  the  fireplace. 

" I  think  you're  altogether  right,  friend,"  said  Mr.  Wil 
son;  "and  this  boy  described  here  is  a  fine  fellow  —  no  mis 
take  about  that.  He  worked  for  me  some  half-dozen  years 
in  my  bagging  factory,  and  he  was  my  best  hand,  sir.  He 
is  an  ingenious  fellow,  too :  he  invented  a  machine  for  the 
cleaning  of  hemp  —  a,  really  valuable  affair  ;  it 's  gone  into 
use  in  several  factories.  His  master  holds  the  patent  of  it." 

"I'll  warrant  ye,"  said  the  drover,  "holds  it  and  makes 
money  out  of  it,  and  then  turns  round  and  brands  the  boy  in 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  159 

his  right  hand.  If  I  had  a  fair  chance,  I'd  mark  him,  I 
reckon,  so  that  he  'd  carry  it  one  while." 

"  These  yer  knowin'  boys  is  allers  aggravatin'  and  sarcy," 
said  a  coarse-looking  fellow,  from  the  other  side  of  the  room ; 
'  •  that 's  why  they  gets  cut  up  and  marked  so.  If  they  behaved 
themselves,  they  wouldn't." 

u  That  is  to  say,  the  Lord  made  'em  men,  and  it's  a  hard 
squeeze  getting  'em  down  into  beasts,"  said  the  drover,  dryly. 

"Bright  niggers  isn't  no  kind  of  'vantage  to  their  mas 
ters,"  continued -the  other,  well  intrenched,  in  a  coarse,  uncon 
scious  obtuseness,  from  the  contempt  of  his  opponent  •  ' '  what 's 
the  use  o'  talents  and  them  things,  if  you  can't  get  the  use 
on  'em  yourself?  Why,  all  the  use  they  make  on't  is  to  get 
round  you.  I've  had  one  or  two  of  these  fellers,  and  I  jest 
sold  'em  down  river.  I  knew  I  'd  got  to  lose  'em,  first  or 
last,  if  I  did  n't." 

':  Better  send  orders  up  to  the  Lord,  to  make  you  a  set,  and 
leave  out  their  souls  entirely,"  said  the  drover. 

Here  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  approach  of 
a  small  one-horse  buggy  to  the  inn.  It  had  a  genteel  appear 
ance,  and  a  well-dressed,  gentlemanly  man  sat  on  the  seat, 
with  a  colored  servant  driving. 

The  whole  party  examined  the  new  comer  with  the  interest 
with  which  a  set  of  loafers  in  a  rainy  day  usually  examine 
every  new  comer.  He  was  very  tall,  with  a  dark,  Spanish 
complexion,  fine,  expressive  black  eyes,  and  close-curling 
hair,  also  of  a  glossy  blackness.  His  well-formed  aquiline 
nose,  straight  thin  lips,  and  the  admirable  contour  of  his  finely- 
formed  limbs,  impressed  the  whole  company  instantly  with  the 
idea  of  something  uncommon.  He  walked  easilyin  among 
the  company,  and  with  a  nod  indicated  to  his  waiter  where  to 
place  his  trunk,  bowed  to  the  company,  and,  with  his  hat  in 


160  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN:    OR, 

his  hand,  walked  up  leisurely  to  the  bar,  and  gave  in  his  name 
as  Henry  Butler,  Oaklands,  Shelby  County.  Turning,  with 
an  indifferent  air,  he  sauntered  up  to  the  advertisement,  and 
read  it  over. 

"Jim,"  he  said  to  his  man,  "seems  to  me  we  met  a  boy 
something  like  this,  up  at  Bernan's,  didn't  we?" 

"Yes,  Mas'r,"  said  Jim,  "only  I  an't  sure  about  the 
hand." 

"Well,  I  didn't  look,  of  course,"  said  the  stranger,  with  a 
careless  yawn.  Then,  walking  up  to  the  landlord,  he  desired 
him  to  furnish  him  with  a  private  apartment,  as  he  had  some 
writing  to  do  immediately. 

The  landlord  was  all  obsequious,  and  a  relay  of  about  seven 
negroes,  old  and  young,  male  and  female,  little  and  big,  were 
soon  whizzing  about,  like  a  covey  of  partridges,  bustling,  hur 
rying,  treading  on  each  other's  toes,  and  tumbling  over  each 
other,  in  their  zeal  to  get  Mas'r's  room  ready,  while  he  seated 
himself  easily  on  a  chair  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and 
entered  into  conversation  with  the  man  who  sat  next  to  him. 

The  manufacturer,  Mr.  Wilson,  from  the  time  of  the  entrance 
of  the  stranger,  had  regarded  him  with  an  air  of  disturbed  and 
uneasy  curiosity.  He  seemed  to  himself  to  have  met  and 
been  acquainted  with  him  somewhere,  but  he  could  not  recol 
lect.  Every  few  moments,  when  the  man  spoke,  or  moved,  or 
emiled,  he  would  start  and  fix  his  eyes  on  him,  and  then  sud 
denly  withdraw  them,  as  the  bright,  dark  eyes  met  his  with 
such  unconcerned  coolness.  At  last,  a  sudden  recollection 
seemed  to  flash  upon  him,  for  he  stared  at  the  stranger  with 
such  an  air  of  blank  amazement  and  alarm,  that  he  walked  up 
to  him. 

"Mr.  Wilson,  I  think,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  recognition, 
and  extending  his  hand.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  did  n't  recol- 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  161 

Icct  you  before.  I  see  you  remember  me, —  Mr.  Butler,  of 
Oaklands,'  Shelby  County." 

"Ye  —  yes  —  yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Wilson,  like  one  speak 
ing  in  a  dream. 

Just  then  a  negro  boy  entered,  and  announced  that  Mas'r's 
room  was  ready. 

'•'Jim,  see  to  the  trunks,"  said  the  gentleman,  negligently; 
then  addressing  himself  to  Mr.  Wilson,  he  added  —  "I  should 
like  to  have  a  few  moments'  conversation  with  you  on  business, 
in  my  room,  if  you  please." 

Mr.  Wilson  followed  him,  as  one  .who  walks  in  his  sleep ; 
and  they  proceeded  to  a  large  upper  chamber,  where  a  new- 
made  fire  was  crackling,  and  various  servants  flying  about, 
putting  finishing  touches  to  the  arrangements. 

When  all  was  done,  and  the  servants  departed,  the  young 
man  deliberately  locked  the  door,  and  putting  the  key  in  his 
pocket,  faced  about,  and  folding  his  arms  on  his  bosom,  looked 
Mr.  Wilson  full  in  the  face. 

"  George  !  "  said  Mr.  Wilson. 

"  Yes,  George,"  said  the  young  man. 

"  I  could  n't  have  thought  it !  " 

"  I  am  pretty  well  disguised,  I  fancy,"  said  the  young  man, 
with  a  smile.  "A  little  walnut  bark  has  made  my  yellow 
skin  a  genteel  brown,  and  I've  dyed  my  hair  black;  so  you 
see  I  don't  answer  to  the  advertisement  at  all." 

"  0,  George  !  but  this  is  a  dangerous  game  you  are  play 
ing.  I  could  not  have  advised  you  to  it." 

"I  can  do  it  on  my  own  responsibility,"  said  George,  with 
the  same  proud  smile. 

We  remark,  en  passant,  that  George  was,  by  his  father's 
side,  of  white  descent.  His  mother  was  one  of  those  unfor 
tunates  of  her  race,  marked  out  by  personal  beauty  to  be  tlio 


102  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN:    OR, 

slave  of  the  passions  of  her  possessor,  and  the  mother  of  chil 
dren  who  may  never  know  a  father.  From  one  of  the  proud 
est  families  in  Kentucky  he  had  inherited  a  set  of  fine  Euro 
pean  features,  and  a  high,  indomitable  spirit.  From  his 
mother  he  had  received  only  a  slight  mulatto  tinge,  amply 
compensated  by  its  accompanying  rich,  dark  eye.  A  slight 
change  in  the  tint  of  the  skin  and  the  color  of  his  hair  had 
metamorphosed  him  into  the  Spanish-looking  fellow  he  then 
appeared ;  and  as  gracefulness  of  movement  and  gentlemanly 
manners  had  always  been  perfectly  natural  to  him,  he  found 
no  difficulty  in  playing  the  bold  part  he  had  adopted  —  that 
of  a  gentleman  travelling  with  his  domestic. 

Mr.  Wilson,  a  good-natured  but  extremely  fidgety  and 
cautious  old  gentleman,  ambled  up  and  down  the  room, 
appearing,  as  John  Bunyan  hath  it,  "much  tumbled  up  and 
down  in  his  mind,"  and  divided  between  his  wish  to  help 
George,  and  a  certain  confused  notion  of  maintaining  law  and 
order :  so,  as  he  shambled  about,  he  delivered  himself  as 
follows : 

"Well,  George,  I  s'pose  you're  running  away  —  leaving 
your  lawful  master,  George  —  (I  don't  wonder  at  it)  —  at  the 
same  time,  I  'm  sorry,  George, —  yes,  decidedly  —  I  think  I 
must  say  that,  George  —  it's  my  duty  to  tell  you  so." 

"Why  are  you  sorry,  sir?"  said  George,  calmly. 

1  i  Why,  to  see  you,  as  it  were,  setting  yourself  in  opposition 
to  the  laws  of  your  country." 

"My  country!"  said  George,  with  a  strong  and  bitter 
emphasis;  "what  country  have  I,  but  the  grave, —  and  I 
wish  to  God  that  I  was  laid  there !  " 

"Why,  George,  no  —  no  —  it  won't  do;  this  way  of 
talking  is  wicked  —  unscriptural.  George,  you  've  got  a  hard 
master  —  in  fact,  he  is  —  well  he  conducts  himself  rcprchensi- 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  1G3 

\ 

bly  —  I  can't  pretend  to  defend  him.  But  you  know  how 
the  angel  commanded  Hagar  to  return  to  her  mistress,  and 
submit  herself  under  her  hand ;  and  the  apostle  sent  back 
Oncsimus  to  his  master." 

"  Don't  quote  Bible  at  me  that  way,  Mr.  Wilson,"  said 
George,  with  a  flashing  eye,  "  don't !  for  my  wife  is  a  Chris 
tian,  and  I  mean  to  be,  if  ever  I  get  to  where  I  can ;  but  to 
quote  Bible  to  a  fellow  in  my  circumstances,  is  enough  to 
make  him  give  it  up  altogether.  I  appeal  to  God  Almighty ; 
—  Fm  willing  to  go  with  the  case  to  Him,  and  ask  Him  if  I 
do  wrong  to  seek  my  freedom." 

"  These  feelings  are  quite  natural,  George,"  said  the  good- 
natured  man,  blowing  his  nose.  "  Yes  they're  natural,  but 
it  is  my  duty  not  to  encourage  'em  in  you.  Yes,  my  boy, 
I  'm  sorry  for  you,  now  ;  it 's  a  bad  case  —  very  bad ;  but  the 
apostle  says,  '  Let  every  one  abide  in  the  condition  in  which 
he  is  called.'  We  must  all  submit  to  the  indications  of  Prov 
idence,  George,  — don't  you  see? " 

George  stood  with  his  head  drawn  back,  his  arms  folded 
tightly  over  his  broad  breast,  and  a  bitter  smile  curling  his 
lips. 

"  I  wonder,  Mr.  Wilson,  if  the  Indians  should  come  and 
take  you  a  prisoner  away  from  your  wife  and  children,  and 
want  to  keep  you  all  your  life  hoeing  corn  for  them,  if  you  'd 
think  it  your  duty  to  abide  in  the  condition  in  which  you  were 
called.  I  rather  think  that  you  'd  think  the  first  stray  horse 
you  could  find  an  indication  of  Providence  —  should  n't  you  ?  " 

The  little  old  gentleman  stared  with  both  eyes  at  this  illus 
tration  of  the  case ;  but,  though  not  much  of  a  reasoner,  he 
had  the  sense  in  which  some  logicians  on  this  particular  sub 
ject  do  not  excel, —  that  of  saying  nothing,  where  nothing 
could  be  said.  So,  as  he  stood  carefully  stroking  his  umbrella, 


164  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OR, 

and  folding  and  patting  down  all  the  creases  in  it,  he  proceeded 
on  with  his  exhortations  in  a  general  way. 

"  You  see,  George,  you  know,  now,  I  always  have  stood 
your  friend ;  and  whatever  I've  said,  I  've  said  for  your  good. 
Now,  here,  it  seems  to  me,  you  're  running  an  awful  risk. 
You  can 't  hope  to  carry  it  out.  If  you  're  taken,  it  will  be 
worse  with  you  than  ever ;  they  '11  only  abuse  you,  and  half 
kill  you,  and  sell  you  down  river." 

"Mr.  Wilson,  I  know  all  this,"  said  George.  "I  do  run 
a  risk,  but  —  "  he  threw  open  his  overcoat,  and  showed  two 
pistols  and  a  bowie-knife.  "  There  ! "  he  said,  "  I  'm  ready 
for  'em  !  Down  south  I  never  will  go.  No  !  if  it  comes  to 
that,  I  can  earn  myself  at  least  six  feet  of  free  soil, —  the  first 
and  last  I  shall  ever  own  in  Kentucky  !  " 

"Why,  George,  this  state  of  mind  is  awrful  •  it's  getting 
really  desperate,  George.  I  'm  concerned.  Going  to  break 
the  laws  of  your  country !  " 

' '  MY  country  again !  Mr.  Wilson,  yon  have  a  country .; 
but  what  country  have  /,  or  any  one  like  me,  born  of  slave 
,  /  mothers  ?  What  laws  are  there  for  us  ?  We  don't  make 
them, —  we  don't  consent  to  them, —  we  have  nothing  to  do 
with  them ;  all  they  do  for  us  is  to  crush  us,  and  keep  us 
down.  Haven't  I  heard  your-  Fourth-of-July  speeches? 
Don't  you  tell  us  all,  once  a  year,  that  governments  derive 
their  just  power  from  the  consent  of  the  governed?  Can't  a 
fellow  think,  that  hears  such  things  ?T  Can't  he  put  this  and 
that  together,  and  see  what  it  comes  to  ?  " 

Mr.  Wilson's  mind  was- one  of  those  that  may  not  unaptly 
be  represented  by  a  bale  of  cotton, —  downy,  soft,  benevolently 
fuzzy  and  confused.  He  really  pitied  George  with  all  his 
heart,  and  had  a  sort  of  dim  and  cloudy  perception  of  the 


LIFE   AMONG-   THE   LOWLY.  165 


style  of  feeling  that  agitated  him ;  but  he  deemed  it  his  duty 
to  go  on  talking  good  to  him,  with  infinite  pertinacity. 

'•'  George,  this  is  bad.  I  must  tell  you,  you  know,  as  a 
friend,  you  'd  better  not  be  meddling  with  such  notions  ;  they 
are  bad,  George,  very  bad,  for  boys  in  your  condition, —  very ; " 
an$  Mr.  Wilson  sat  down  to  a  table,  and  began  nervously 
chewing  the  handle  of  his  umbrella. 

11  See  here,  now,  Mr.  Wilson,"  said  George,  coming  up  and 
sitting  himself  determinately  down  in  front  of  him  ;  "  look  at 
me,  now.  Don't  I  sit  before  you,  every  way,  just  as  much  a 
man  as  you  are  ?  Look  at  my  face,—  look  at  my  hands, — 
look  at  my  body,"  and  the  young  man  drew  himself  up  proudly ; 
"  why  am  I  not  a  man,  as  much  as  anybody?  Well,  Mr. 
Wilson,  hear  what  I  can  tell  you.  I  had  a  father  —  one  of 
your  Kentucky  gentlemen  —  wrho  did  n't  think  enough  of  me 
to  keep  me  from  being  sold  with  his  dogs  and  horses,  to  satisfy 
the  estate,  when  he  died.  I  saw  my  mother  put  up  at  sheriff's 
sale,  with  her  seven  children.  They  were  sold  before  her 
eyes,  one  by  one,  all  to  different  masters ;  and  I  was  the 
youngest.  She  came  and  kneeled  down  before  old  Mas'r,  and 
begged  him  to  buy  her  with  me,  that  she  might  have  at  least 
one  child  with  her  ;  and  he  kicked  her  away  with  his  heavy 
boot.  I  saw  him  do  it ;  and  the  last  that  I  heard  was  her 
moans  and  screams,  when  I  was  tied  to  his  horse's  neck,  to  be 
carried  off  to  his  place." 

"Well,  then?" 

"My  master  traded  with  one  of  the  men,  and  bought  my 
oldest  sister.  She  was  a  pious,  good  girl, —  a  member  of  the 
Baptist  church, —  and  as  handsome  as  my  poor  mother  had 
been.  '  She  was  well  brought  up,  and  had  good  manners.  At 
first,  I  was  glad  she  was  bought,  for  I  had  one  friend  near  me. 
I  was  soon  sorry  for  it.  Sir,  I  have  stood  at  the  door  jmd 


166  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

heard  her  whipped,  when  it  seemed  as  if  every  blow  cut  into 
my  naked  heart,  and  I  could  n't  do  anything  to  help  her ;  and 
she  was  whipped,  sir,  for  wanting  to  live  a  decent  Christian 
life,  such  as  your  laws  give  no  slave  girl  a  right  to  live  ;  and 
at  last  I  saw  her  chained  with  a  trader's  gang,  to  be  sent  to 
market  in  Orleans, —  sent  there  for  nothing  else  but  that, — 
and  that 's  the  last  I  know  of  her.  Well,  I  grew  up. —  long 
years  and  years, —  no  father,  no  mother,  no  sister,  not  a  liv 
ing  soul  that  cared  for  me  more  than  a  dog ;  nothing  but 
•whipping,  scolding,  starving.  Why,  sir,  I  've  been  so  hungry 
that  I  have  been  glad  to  take  the  bones  they  threw  to  their 
dogs ;  and  yet,  when  I  was  a  little  fellow,  and  laid  awake  whole 
nights  and  cried,  it  was  n't  the  hunger,  it  was  n't  the  whipping, 
I  cried  for.  "N^mj ;  it  wnfl  fnr  w.y  fprffyer  and  my  sisters* 
—  it  was  because  I  hadn't  a  friend  to  love^me  on,_.earlh. 
Ijiever  knew  what  peace,  or  comfort  was.  I  never  had  a 
kind  word  spoken  to  me  till  I  came  to  work  in  your  factory. 
Mr.  Wilson,  you  treated  me  well ;  you  encouraged  me  to  do 
well,  and  to  learn  to  read  and  write,  and  to  try  to  make  some 
thing  of  myself;  and  God  knows  how  grateful  I  am  for 
it.  '  Then,  sir,  I  found  my  wife  ;  you  've  seen  her, — you  know 
how  beautiful  she  is.  When  I  found  she  loved  me,  when  I 
married  her,  I  scarcely  could  believe  I  was  alive,  I  was  so 
happy  ;  and,  sir,  she  is  as  good  as  she  is  beautiful.  But  now 
what  ?  Why,  now  comes  my  master,  takes  me  right  away 
from  my  work,  and  my  friends,  and  all  I  like,  and  grinds  me 
down  into  the  very  dirt !  And  why  ?  Because,  he  says,  I 
forgot  who  I  was ;  he  says,  to  teach  me  that  I  am  only  a 
nigger  !  After  all,  and  last  of  all,  he  coiPCd  between  me  and 
my  wife,  and  says  I  shall  give  her  up,  and  live  with  another 
woman.  And  all  this  your  laws  give  him  power  to  do,  in 
spite  of  God  or  man.  Mr.  Wilson,  look  at  it !  Them  isn't 


LIFE    AMONG    THE   LOWLY.  167 


one  of  all  these  things,  that  have  broken  the  hearts  of  my 
mother  and  my  sister,  and  my  wife  and  myself,  but  your  laws 
allow,  and  give  every  man  power  to  do,  ip_  Kentucky.,  and  none 
can  say  to  him  nay  !  Do  you  call  these  the  laws  of  my 
country  7  Sir,  I  have  n't  any  country,  any  more  than  I  have 
any  father.  But  I  'm  going  to  have  one.  Ijion't  want  any 
thing  of  your  country,  except  to  be  let  alone, —  to  go  peaca- 
big  out  of  it ;  and  when  I  get  to  Panada,  where  the  .lawrs  will 
own  me  and  protect  nie^to  shall  be  my  country,  and  its 
laws  I  will  obey.  But  if  any  man  tries  to  stop  me,  let  him 
take  care,  for  I  am  desperate.  I  '11  fight  for  my  liberty  to 
the  last  breath  I  breathe.  You  say  your  fathers  did  it ;  if  it 
was  right  for  them,  it  is  right  for  me  !  " 

This  speech,  delivered  partly  while  sitting  at  the  table,  and 
partly  walking  up  and  down  the  room, —  delivered  with  tears, 
and  flashing  eyes,  and  despairing  gestures, — was  altogether  too 
much  for  the  good-natured  old  body  to  whom  it  was  addressed, 
who  had  pulled  out  a  great  yellow  silk  pocket-handkerchief, 
and  was  mopping  up  his  face  with  great  energy. 

"  Blast  'em  all !  "  he  suddenly  broke  out.  "Have  n't  I 
always  said  so  —  the  infernal  old  cusses  !  I  hope  I  an't  swear 
ing,  now.  Well !  go  ahead,  George,  go  ahead  ;  but  be  care 
ful,  my  boy ;  don't  shoot  anybody,  George,  unless  —  wrell  — 
you  'd  batter  not  shoot,  I  reckon ;  at  least,  I  would  n't  hit 
anybody,  you  knowT.  Where  is  your  wife,  George  ?  "  he 
added,  as  he  nervously  rose,  and  began  walking  the  room. 

"  Gone,  sir,  gone,  with  her  child  in  her  arms,  the  Lord  only 
knows  where ;  —  gone  after  the  north  star ;  and  when  we  ever 
meet,  or  whether  we  meet  at  all  in  this  world,  no  creature 
can  tell." 

"  Is  it  possible  !  astonishing  !  from  such  a  kind  family  ?  " 

"Kind  families  get  in  debt,  and  the  laws  of  our  country 


168  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN:    OR, 

allow  them  to  sell  the  child  out  of  its  mother's  bosom  to  pay 
its  master's  debts,"  said  George,  bitterly. 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  honest  old  man,  fumbling  in  his 
pocket.  "  I  s'pose,  perhaps,  I  an't  following  my  judgment, — 
hang  it,  I  worit  follow  my  judgment!  "  he  added,  suddenly; 
"  so  here,  George,"  and,  taking  out  a  roll  of  bills  from  his 
pocket-book,  he  offered  them  to  George. 

"No,  my  kind,  good  sir !  "  said  George,  "you've  done  a 
great  deal  for  me,  and'  this  might  get  you  into  trouble.  I 
have  money  enough,  I  hope,  to  take  me  as  far  as  I  need  it." 

"  No  ;  but  you  must,  George.  Money  is  a  great  help  every 
where  ;  —  can't  have  too  much,  if  you  get  it  honestly.  Take 
it, —  do  take  it,  now, —  do,  my  boy  !  " 

"  On  condition,  sir,  that  I  may  repay  it  at  some  future 
time,  I  will,"  said  George,  taking  up  the  money: 

"And  now,  George,  how  long  are  you  going  to  travel  in 
this  way?  —  not  long  or  far,  I  hope.  It 's  well  carried  on, 
but  too  bold.  And  this  black  fellow,—  who  is  he?  " 

"  A  true  fellow,  who  went  to  Canada  more  than  a  year  ago. 
He  heard,  after  he  got  there,  that  his  master  was  so  angry  at 
him  for  going  off  that  he  had  whipped  his  poor  old  mother ; 
and  he  has  come  all  the  way  back  to  comfort  her,  and  get  a 
chance  to  get  her  away." 

"Has  he  got  her?" 

"  Not  yet ;  he  has  been  hanging  about  the  place,  and  found 
no  chance  yet.  Meanwhile,  he  is  going  with  me  as  far  as 
Ohio,  to  put  me  among  friends  that  helped  him,  and  then  he 
will  come  back  after  her." 

"  Dangerous,  very  dangerous  !  "  said  the  old  man. 

George  drew  himself  up,  and  smiled  disdainfully. 

The  old  gentleman  eyed  him  from  head  to  foot,  with  a  sort 
of  innocent  wonder. 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  169 

"  George,  something  has  brought  you  out  wonderfully.  You 
hold  up  your  head,  and  speak  and  move  like  another  man,'* 
said  Mr.  Wilson. 

"Because  I'm  a  freeman!"  said  George,  proudly. 
"Yes,  sir;  I've  said  Mas' r  for  the  last  time  to  any  man. 
f'm  free!" 

"  Take  care  !     You  are  not  sure, —  you  may  be  taken. " 

"All  men  are  free  and  equal  in  the  grave,  if  it  comes  to 
that,  Mr.  Wilson,"  said  George.  - 

"  I  'm  perfectly  dumb-foundered  with  your  boldness  !  "  said 
Mr.  Wilson,  —  "to  come  right  here  to  the  nearest  tavern  !  " 

"  Mr.  Wilson,  it  is  so  bold,  and  this  tavern  is  so  near,  that 
they  will  never  think  of  it ;  they  will  look  for  me  on  ahead, 
and  you  yourself  would  n't  know  me.  Jim's  master  don't 
live  in  this  county ;  he  is  n't  known  in  these  parts.  Besides, 
he  is  given  up ;  nobody  is  looking  after  him,  and  nobody  will 
take  me  up  from  the  advertisement,  I  think." 

"  But  the  mark  in  your  hand  ?  " 

George  drew  off  his  glove,  and  showed  a  newly-healed  scar 
in  his  hand. 

"  That  is  a  parting  proof  of  Mr.  Hams'  regard,"  he  said, 
scornfully.  "  A  fortnight  ago,  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  give 
it  to  me,  because  he  said  he  believed  I  should  try  to  get  away 
one  of  these  days.  Looks  interesting,  doesn't  it?"  he  said, 
drawing  his  glove  on  again. 

"  I  declare,  my  very  blood  runs  cold  when  I  think  of  it, — 
your  condition  and  your  risks  !  "  said  Mr.  Wilson. 

"  Mine  has  run  cold  a  good  many  years,  Mr.  Wilson;  at 
present,  it's  about  up  to  the  boiling  point,"  said  George. 

"Well,  my  good  sir,"  continued  George,  after  a  few  mo 
ments'  silence,   "Isaw^you  knew  me ;  I  thought  I'd  just 
have  this  talk  with  you,  lest  your  surprised  looks  should  bring 
15  " 


170  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR 

me  out.  I  leave  early  to-morrow  morning,  before  daylight , 
by  to-morrow  night  I  hope  to  sleep  safe  in  Ohio.  I  shall 
travel  by  daylight,  stop  at  the  best  hotels,  go  to  the  dinner- 
tables  with  the  lords  of  the  land.  So,  good-by,  sir ;  if  you 
hear  that  I  'm  taken,  you  may  know  that  I  'm  dead !  " 

George  stood  up  like  a  rock,  and  put  out  his  hand  with  tho 
air  of  a  prince.  The  friendly  little  old  man  shook  it  heartily, 
and  after  a  little  shower  of  caution,  he  took  his  umbrella,  and 
fumbled  his  way  out  of  the  room. 

George  stood  thoughtfully  looking  at  the  door,  as  the  old 
man  closed  it.  A  thought  seemed  to  flash  across  his  mind. 
He  hastily  stepped  to  it,  and  opening  it,  said, 

"Mr.  Wilson,  one  word  more." 

;  The  old  gentleman  entered  again,  and  George,  as  before, 
locked  the  door,  and  then  stood  for  a  few  moments  looking  on 
the  floor,  irresolutely.  At  last,  raising  his  head  with  a  sud 
den  effort  — 

"  Mr.  Wilson,  you  have  shown  yourself  a  Christian  in  your 
treatment  of  me, —  I  want  to  ask  one  last  deed  of  Christian 
kindness  of  you." 

"Well,  George." 

"Well,  sir, —  what  you  said  was  true.  I  am  running  a 
dreadful  risk.  There  is  n't,  on  earth,  a  living  soul  to  care  if 
I  die,"  he  added,  drawing  his  breath  hard,  and  speaking  with 
a  great  effort, — "  I  shall  be  kicked  out  and  buried  like  a  dog, 
and  nobody  '11  think  of  it  a  day  after, —  only  my  poor  wife  ! 
Poor  soul !  she  '11  mourn  and  grieve ;  and  if  you  'd  only  con 
trive,  Mr.  Wilson,  to  send  this  little  pin  to  her.  She  gave  it 
to  me  for  a  Christmas  present,  poor  child  !  Give  it  to  her, 
and  tell  her  I  loved  her  to  the  last.  Will  you  ?  Will  you  ?  'J 
he  added,  earnestly. 

"  Yes,  certainly  —  poor  fellow  !  "  said  the  old  gentleman, 


LIFE   AMONG   THE    LOWLY.  171 

taking  the  pin,  with  watery  eyes,  and  a  melancholy  quiver  in 
his  voice. 

"  Tell  her  one  thing,"  said  George;  "it's  my  last  wish, 
if  she  can  get  to  Canada,  to  go  there.  No  matter  how  kind 
her  mistress  is, — no  matter  how  much  she  loves  her  home  ; 
beg  her  not  to  go  back, —  for  slavery  always  ends  in  misery. 
Tell  her  to  bring  up  our  boy  a  free  man,  and  then  he  won't 
suffer  as  I  have.  Tell  her  this,  Mr.  Wilson,  will  you?  " 

"Yes,  George,  I'll  tell  her;  but  I  trust  you  won't  die; 
take  heart, —  you  're  a  brave  fellow.  Trust  in  the  Lord, 
George.  I  wish  in  my  heart  you  were  safe  through,  though, 
—  that's  what  I  do."  , 

"  Is  there  a  God  to  trust  in?  "  said  George,  in  such  a  tono 
of  bitter  despair  as  arrested  the  old  gentleman's  words.  "  0, 
I've  seen  things  all  my  life  that  have  made  me  feel  that  there 
can't  be  a  God.  You  Christians  don't  know  how  these  things 
look  to  us.  There 's  a  God  for  you,  but  is  there  any  for  us  ?  " 

"0,  now,  don't  —  don't,  my  boy!"  said  the  old  man, 
almost  sobbing  as  he  spoke  ;  "  don't  feel  so  !  There  is  —  there 
is ;  clouds  and  darkness  are  around  about  him,  but  righteous 
ness  and  judgment  are  the  habitation  of  his  throne.  There 's 
a  God,  George, —  believe  it;  trust  in  Him,  and  I'm  sure 
He  '11  help  you.  Everything  will  be  set  right, —  if  not  in  this 
life,  in  another." 

The  real  piety  and  benevolence  of  the  simple  old  miin 
invested  him  with  a  temporary  dignity  and  authority,  as  he 
spoke.  George  stopped  his  distracted  walk  up  and  down  the 
room,  stood  thoughtfully  a  moment,  and  then  said,  quietly, 

"  Thank  you  for  saying  that,  my  good  friend;  I'll  think 
of  that." 


172  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN  :    OR, 


CHAPTER  XII. 

SELECT  INCIDENT  OF  LAWFUL  TRADE. 

"In  Kamah  there  was  a  voice  heard, — weeping,  and  lamentation,  and  great 
mourning  ;  Rachel  weeping  for  her  children,  and  would  not  be  comforted.*' 

ME.  HALEY  and  Tom  jogged  onward  in  their  wagon,  each, 
for  a  time,  absorbed  in  his  own  reflections.  Now,  the 
reflections  of  two  men  sitting  side  by  side  are  a  curious  thing, 
—  seated  on  the  same  seat,  having  the  same  eyes,  ears,  hands 
and  organs  of  all  sorts,  and  having  pass  before  their  eyes  the 
game  objects,  —  it  is  wonderful  what  a  variety  we  shall  find 
in  these  same  reflections  ! 

As,  for  example,  Mr.  Haley :  he  thought  first  of  Tom's 
length,  and  breadth,  and  height,  and  what  he  would  sell  for, 
if  he  was  kept  fat  and  in  good  case  till  he  got  him  into 
market.  He  thought  of  how  he  should  make  out  his  gang ; 
he  thought  of  the  respective  market  value  of  certain  supposi 
titious  men  and  women  and  children  who  were  to  compose  it, 
and  other  kindred  topics  of  the  business  ;  then  he  thought  of 
himself,  and  how  humane  he  was,  that  whereas  other  men 
chained  their  "niggers"  hand  and  foot  both,  he  only  put 
fetters  on  the  feet,  and  left  Tom  the  use  of  his  hands,  as  long 
as  he  behaved  well ;  and  he  sighed  to  think  how  ungrateful 
human  nature  was,  so  that  there  was  even  room  to  doubt 
whether  Tom  appreciated  his  mercies.  He  had  been  taken 
in  so  by  "  niggers  "  whom  he  had  favored;  but  still  he  was 
astonished  to  consider  how  good-natured  he  yet  remained ! 

As  to  Tom,  he  was  thinking  over  some  words  of  an 
unfashionable  old  book,  which  kept  running  through  his  head 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  173 

again  and  again,  as  follows:  "We  have  here  no  continuing 
city,  but  we  seek  one  to  come;  wherefore  God  himself  is  not 
ashamed  to  be  called  our  God ;  for  he  hath  prepared  for  us  a 
city."  These  words  of  an  ancient  volume,  got  up  principally 
by  "ignorant  and  unlearned  men,"  have,  through  all  time, 
kept  up,  somehow,  a  strange  sort  of  power  over  the  minds 
of  poor,  simple  fellows,  like  Tom.  They  stir  up  the  soul 
from  its  depths,  and  rouse,  as  with  trumpet  call,  courage, 
energy,  and  enthusiasm,  where  before  was  only  the  blackness 
of  despair. 

Mr.  Haley  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  sundry  newspapers,  and 
began  looking  over  their  advertisements,  with  absorbed  interest. 
He  was  not  a  remarkably  fluent  reader,  and'  was  in  the  habit 
of  reading  in  a  sort  of  recitative  half-aloud,  by  way  of  calling 
in  his  ears  to  verify  the  deductions  of  his  eyes.  In  this  tone 
he  slowly  recited  the  following  paragraph : 

*' EXECUTOR'S  SALE, —  NEGROES! — Agreeably  to  order  of  court,  will 
be  sold,  on  Tuesday,  February  20,  before  the  Court-house  door,  in  the  town 
of  Washington,  Kentucky,  the  following  negroes  :  Hagar,  aged  60  ;  John, 
aged  30 ;  Ben,  aged  21 ;  Saul,  aged  25 ;  Albert,  aged  14.  Sold  for  the 
benefit  of  the  creditors  and  heirs  of  the  estate  of  Jesse  Blutchford,  Esq. 

SAMUEL  MORRIS, 
THOMAS  FLINT, 

Executors.'* 

"This  yer  I  must  look  at,"  said  he  to  Tom,  for  want  of 
somebody  else  to  talk  to. 

"  Ye  see,  I  'm  going  to  get  up  a  prime  gang  to  take  down 
with  ye,  Tom ;  it  '11  make  it  sociable  and  pleasant  like, — good 
company  will,  ye  know.  We  must  drive  right  to  Washington 
first  and  foremost,  and  then  I  '11  clap  you  into  jail,  while  I  does 
the  business." 

Tom  received  this   agreeable   intelligence  quite  meekly; 


174  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OR, 

simply  wondering,  in  his  own  heart,  how  many  of  these  doomed 
men  had  wives  and  children,  and  whether  they  would  feel  as 
he  did  about  leaving  them.  It  is  to  be  confessed,  too,  that 
the  naive,  off-hand  information  that  he  was  to  be  thrown  into 
jail  by  no  means  produced  an  agreeable  impression  on  a  poor 
fellow  who  had  always  prided  himself  on  a  strictly  honest  and 
upright  course  of  life.  /Yes,  Tom,  we  must  confess  it,  was 
rather  proud  of  his  honesty,  poor  fellow,  —  not  having  very 
much  else  to  be  proud  of;  —  if  he  had  belonged  to  some  of  the 
higher  walks  of  society,  he,  perhaps,  would  never  have  been 
reduced  to  such  straits.  However,  the  day  wore  on,  and 
the  evening  saw  Haley  and  Tom  comfortably  accommodated 
in  Washington, — the  one  in  a  tavern,  and  the  other  in  a  jail. 

About  eleven  o'clock  the  next  day,  a  mixed  throng  was 
gathered  around  the  court-house  steps,  —  smoking,  chewing 
spitting,  swearing,  and  conversing,  according  to  their  respect 
ive  tastes  and  turns,  —  waiting  for  the  auction  to  commence. 
The  men  and  women  to  be  sold  sat  in  a  group  apart,  talking 
in  a  low  tone  to  each  other.  The  woman  who  had  been 
advertised  by  the  name  of  Hagar  was  a  regular  African  in 
feature  and  figure.  She  might  have  been  sixty,  but  was  older 
than  that  by  hard  work  and  disease,  was  partially  blind,  and 
somewhat  crippled  with  rheumatism.  By  her  side  stood  her 
only  remaining  son,  Albert,  a  bright-looking  little  fellow  of 
fourteen  years.  The  boy  was  the  only  survivor  of  a  large 
family,  who  had  been  successively  sold  away  from  her  to  a 
southern  market.  The  mother  held  on  to  him  with  both  her 
shaking  hands,  and  eyed  with  intense  trepidation  every  one 
who  walked  up  to  examine  him. 

"  Don't  be  feard,  Aunt  Hagar,"  said  the  oldest  of  the 
men,  "  I  spoke  to  Mas'r  Thomas  'bout  it,  and  he  thought  he 
might  manage  to  sell  you  in  a  lot  both  together." 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  175 

"  Dey  need  n't  call  me  worn  out  yet,"  said  she,  lifting  her 
shaking  hands.  "  I  can  cook  yet,  and  scrub,  and  scour, —  I  ?m 
wuth  a  buying,  if  I  do  come  cheap  ;  —  tell  em  dat  ar,  —  you 
tell  em,"  she  added,  earnestly. 

Haley  here  forced  his  way  into  the  group,  walked  up  to 
the  old  man,  pulled  his  mouth  open  and  looked  in,  felt  of  his 
teeth,  made  him  stand  and  straighten  himself,  bend  his  back, 
and  perform  various  evolutions  to  show  his  muscles ;  and  then 
passed  on  to  the  next,  and  put  him  through  the  same  trial. 
Walking  up  last  to  the  boy,  he  felt  of  his  arms,  straightened 
his  hands,  and  looked  at  his  fingers,  and  made  him  jump,  to 
show  his  agility. 

"He  an't  gwine  to  be  sold  widout  me!"  said  the  old 
woman,  with  passionate  eagerness;  "he  and  I  goes  in  a 
lot  together  ;  I 's  rail  strong  yet,  Mas'r,  and  can  do  heaps  o' 
work,  —  heaps  on  it,  Mas'r." 

"On  plantation?"  said  Haley,  with  a  contemptuous 
glance.  "  Likely  story ! "  and,  as  if  satisfied  with  his  examina 
tion,  he  walked  out  and  looked,  and  stood  with  his  hands  in 
his  pocket,  his  cigar  in  his  mouth,  and  his  hat  cocked  on  one 
side,  ready  for  action. 

"What  think  of  Jem?"  said  a  man  who  had  been  follow 
ing  Haley's  examination,  as  if  to  make  up  his  own  mind 
from  it. 

"  Wai,"  said  Haley,  spitting,  "  I  shall  put  in,  I  think,  for 
the  youngerly  ones  and  the  boy." 

"  They  want  to  sell  the  boy  and  the  old  woman  together,'* 
said  the  man. 

1 '  Find  it  a  tight  pull ;  —  why,  she 's  an  old  rack  o'  bones, — 
not  worth  her  salt." 

"You  would  n't,  then?"  said  the  man. 


176  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN  :    OR, 

"  Anybody  'd  be  a  fool 't  would.  She 's  half  blind,  crooked 
with  rheumatis,  and  foolish  to  boot." 

"  Some  buys  up  these  yer  old  critturs,  and  ses  there  's  a 
sight  more  wear  in  'em  than  a  body 'd  think,"  said  the  man, 
reflectively. 

"No  go,  'tall,"  said  Haley;  "wouldn't  take  her  for  a 
present,  —  fact,  —  I  've  seen,  now." 

"Wai,  'tis  kinder  pity,  now,  not  to  buy  her  with  her  son. 
—  her  heart  seems  so  sot  on  him,  —  s'pose  they  fling  her  in 
cheap." 

"Them  that's  got  money  to  spend  that  ar  way,  it's  all 
well  enough.  I  shall  bid  off  on  that  ar  boy  for  a  plantation- 
hand  ;  —  would  n't  be  bothered  with  her,  no  way,  —  not  if 
they'd  give  her  to  me,"  said  Haley. 

"  She  '11  take  on  desp't,"  said  the  man. 

"Nat'lly,  she  will,"  said  the  trader,  coolly. 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  a  busy  hum  in 
the  audience  ;  and  the  auctioneer,  a  short,  bustling,  important 
fellow,  elbowed  his  way  into  the  crowd.  The  old  woman 
drew  in  her  breath,  and  caught  instinctively  at  her  son. 

"  Keep  close  to  yer  mammy,  Albert,  —  close, —  dey  '11  put 
us  up  togedder,"  she  said. 

"0,  mammy,  I  'HI  feard  they  won't,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Dey  must,  child;  I  can't  live,  no  ways,  if  they  don't," 
said  the  old  creature,  vehemently. 

The  stentorian  tones  of  the  auctioneer,  calling  out  to  clear 
the  way,  now  announced  that  the  sale  was  about  to  commence. 
A  place  was  cleared,  and  the  bidding  began.  The  different 
men  on  the  list  were  soon  knocked  off  at  prices  which  showed 
a  pretty  brisk  demand  in  the  market ;  two  of  them  fell  to 
Haley. 

"Come,   now,   young   un,"  said  the  auctioneer,   giving 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  177 

the  boy  a  touch  with  his  hammer,  "be  up  and  show  your 
springs,  now." 

"  Put  us  two  up  togedder,  togedder,  — do  please,  Mas'r," 
said  the  old  woman,  holding  fast  to  her  boy. 

"  Be  off/'  said  the  man,  gruffly,  pushing  her  hands  away; 
(i  you  come  last.  Now,  darkey,  spring ;"  and,  with  the  word, 
he  pushed  the  boy  toward  the  block,  while  a  deep,  heavy 
groan  rose  behind  him.  The  boy  paused,  and  looked  back ;  but 
there  was  no  time  to  stay,  and,  dashing  the  tears  from  his 
large,  bright  eyes,  he  was  up  in  a  moment. 

His  fine  figure,  alert  limbs,  and  bright  face,  raised  an 
instant  competition,  and  half  a  dozen  bids  simultaneously  met 
the  ear  of  the  auctioneer.  Anxious,  half-frightened,  he 
looked  from  side  to  side,  as  he  heard  the  clatter  of  contending 
bids,  —  now  here,  now  there,  —  till  the  hammer  fell.  Haley 
had  got  him.  He  was  pushed  from  the  block  toward  his  new 
master,  but  stopped  one  moment,  and  looked  back,  when  his 
poor  old  mother,  trembling  in  every  limb,  held  out  her  shak 
ing  hands  toward  him. 

"  Buy  me  too,  Mas'r,  for  de  dear  Lord's  sake  !  — buy  me, 
—  I  shall  die  if  you  don't !  " 

"  You  '11  die  if  I  do,  that 's  the  kink  of  it,"  said  Haley,  — 
"  no  !  "  And  he  turned  on  his  heel. 

The  bidding  for  the  poor  old  creature  was  summary.  The 
man  who  had  addressed  Haley,  and  who  seemed  not  destitute 
of  compassion,  bought  her  for  a  trifle,  and  the  spectators  began 
to  disperse. 

The  poor  victims  of  the  sale,  who  had  been  brought  up  in 
one  place  together  for  years,  gathered  round  the  despairing 
old  mother,  whose  agony  was  pitiful  to  see. 

"  Could  n't  dey  leave  me  one  ?    Mas'r  atlers  said  I  should 


178  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN:    OR, 

have  one, —  he  did,"  she  repeated  over  and  over,  in  heart 
broken  tones. 

"  Trust  in  the  Lord,  Aunt  Hagar,"  said  the  oldest  of  the 
men,  sorrowfully. 

"  What  good  will  it  do?  "  said  she,  sobbing  passionately. 

"  Mother,  mother,—  don't !  don't !  "  said  the  boy.  "  They 
say  you  's  got  a  good  master." 

"  I  don't  care, —  I  don't  care.  0,  Albert !  oh,  my  boy ! 
you 's  my  last  baby.  Lord,  how  ken  I  ?  " 

"  Come,  take  her  off,  can't  some  of  ye?"  said  Haley, 
dryly ;  "  don't  do  no  good  for  her  to  go  on  that  ar  way." 

The  old  men  of  the  company,  partly  by  persuasion  and 
partly  by  force,  loosed  the  poor  creature's  last  despairing 
hold,  and,  as  they  led  her  off  to  her  new  master's  wagon, 
strove  to  comfort  her. 

"  Now !  "  said  Haley,  pushing  his  three  purchases  together, 
and  producing  a  bundle  of  handcuffs,  which  he  proceeded  to 
put  on  their  wrists ;  and  fastening  each  handcuff  to  a  long 
chain,  he  drove  them  before  him  to  the  jail. 

A  few  days  saw  Haley,  with  his  possessions,  safely  deposited 
on  one  of  the  Ohio  boats.  It  was  the  commencement  of  his 
gang,  to  be  augmented,  as  the  boat  moved  on,  by  various 
other  merchandise  of  the  same  kind,  which  he,  or  his  agent, 
aad  stored  for  him  in  various  points  along  shore. 

The  La  Belle  Riviere,  as  brave  and  beautiful  a  boat  as  ever 
walked  the  waters  of  her  namesake  river,  was  floating  gayly 
down  the  stream,  under  a  brilliant  sky,  the  stripes  and  stars 
of  free  America  waving  and  fluttering  over  head ;  the  guards 
crowded  with  well-dressed  ladies  and  gentlemen  walking  and 
enjoying  the  delightful  day.  All  was  full  of  life,  buoyant 
and  rejoicing  ;  —  all  but  Haley's  gang,  who  were  stored,  with 
other  freight,  on  the  lower  deck,  and  who,  somehow,  did  not 


LIFE   AMONG    THE   LOWLY.  179 

•seem  to  appreciate  their  various  privileges,  as  they  sat  in  a 
knot,  talking  to  each  other  in  low  tones. 

"Boys,"  said  Haley,  coming  up,  briskly,  "I  hope  you 
keep  up  good  heart,  and  are  cheerful.  Now,  no  sulks,  ye 
see;  keep  stiff  upper  lip,  boys;  do  well  by  me,  and  I'll  do 
well  by  you." 

The  boys  addressed  responded  the  invariable  '"Yes, 
Mas'r,"  for  ages  the  watchword  of  poor  Africa;  but  it's  to 
be  owned  they  did  not  look  particularly  cheerful ;  they  had 
their  various  little  prejudices  in  favor  of  wives,  mothers,  sis 
ters,  and  children,  seen  for  the  last  time, —  and  though  "  they 
that  wasted  them  required  of  them  mirth,"  it  was  not  instantly 
forthcoming. 

"I've  got  a  wife,"  spoke  out  the  article  enumerated  as 
"  John,  aged  thirty,"  and  he  laid  his  chained  hand  on  Tom's 
knee, —  "  and  she  don't  know  a  word  about  this,  poor  girl !  " 

"  Where  does  she  live?  "  said  Tom. 

"In  a  tavern  a  piece  down  here,"  said  John ;  "I  wish,  now, 
I  could  see  her  once  more  in  this  world,"  he  added. 

Poor  John  !  It  was  rather  natural ;  and  the  tears  that 
fell,  as  he  spoke,  came  as  naturally  as  if  he  had  been  a  white 
man.  Tom  drew  a  long  breath  from  a  sore  heart,  and  tried, 
>  in  his  poor  way,  to  comfort  him. 

And  over  head,  in  the  cabin,  sat  fathers  and  mothers,  hus 
bands  and  wiveg  ;  and  merry,  dancing  children  moved  round 
among  them,  like  so  many  little  butterflies,  and  everything 
was  going  on  quite  easy  and  comfortable. 

"0,  mamma,"  said  a  boy,  who  had  just  come  up  from 
below,  "there's  a  negro  trader  on  board,  and  he's  brought 
four  or  five  slaves  down  there." 

"Poor  creatures!  "  said  the  mother,  in  a  tone  between 
grief  and  indignation. 


180  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  said  another  lady. 

"  Some  poor  slaves  below,"  said  the  mother. 

"  And  they  've  got  chains  on,"  said  the  boy. 

"  What  a  shame  to  our  country  that  such  sights  are  to  be 
seen  !  "  said  another  lady. 

"  0,  there  's  a  great  deal  to  be  said  on  both  sides  of  the 
subject,"  said  a  genteel  woman,  who  sat  at  her  state-room  door 
sewing,  while  her  little  girl  and  boy  were  playing  round  her. 
"I  've  been  south,  an,d  I  must  say  I  think  the  negroes  are 
better  off  than  they  would  be  to  be  free." 

"  In  some  respects,  some  of  them  are  well  off,  I  grant," 
said  the  lady  to  whose  remark  she  had . answered.  "The 
most  dreadful  part  of  slavery,  to  my  mind,  is  its  outrages  on 
the  feelings  and  affections, —  the  separating  of  families,  for 
example." 

"  That  is  a  bad  thing,  certainly,"  said  the  other  lady,  hold 
ing  up  a  baby's  dress  she  had  just  completed,  and  looking 
intently  on  its  trimmings  ;  "  but  then,  I  fancy,  it  don't  occur 
often." 

"0,  it  does,"  said  the  first  lady,  eagerly;  "I've  lived 
many  years  in  Kentucky  and  Virginia  both,  and  I  've  seen 
enough  to  make  any  one's  heart  sick.  Suppose,  ma'am,  your 
two  children,  there,  should  be  taken  from  you,  and  sold  ?  " 

"  We  can't  reason  from  our  feelings  to  those  of  this  class 
of  persons,"  said  the  other  lady,  sorting  out  some  worsteds  on 
her  lap. 

"  Indeed,  ma'am,  you  can  know  nothing  of  them,  if  you 
say  so,"  answered  the  first  lady,  warmly.  "  I  was  born  and 
brought  up  among  them.  I  know  they  do  feel,  just  as 
keenly, —  even  more  so,  perhaps, —  as  we  do." 

The  lady  said  "Indeed!"  yawned,  and  looked  out  the 
cabin  window,  and  finally  repeated,  for  a  finale,  the  remark 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  181 

with  which  she  had  begun, —  "  After  all,  I  think  they  are 
better  off  than  they  would  be  to  be  free." 

"  It 's  undoubtedly  the  intention  of  Providence  that  the 
African  race  should  be  servants, —  kept  in  a  low  condition," 
said  a  grave-looking  gentleman  in  black,  a  clergyman,  seated 
by  the  cabin  door.  "  '  Cursed  be  Canaan  ;  a  servant  of  ser 
vants  shall  he  be,'  the  scripture  says." 

"  I  say,  stranger,  is  that  ar  what  that  text  means  ?  ij  said  a 
tall  man,  standing  by. 

"Undoubtedly.  It  pleased  Providence,  for  some  inscru 
table  reason,  to  doom  the  race  to  bondage,  ages  ago ;  and  we 
must  not  set  up  our  opinion  against  that." 

"  Well,  then,  we  '11  all  go  ahead  and  buy  up  niggers,"  said 
the  man,  "if  that's  the  way  of  Providence, —  won't  we, 
Squire  ?  "  said  he,  turning  to  Haley,  who  had  been  standing, 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  by  the  stove,  and  intently  lis 
tening  to  the  conversation. 

"Yes,"  continued  the  tall  man,  "we  must  all  be  resigned 
to  the  decrees  of  Providence.  Niggers  must  be  sold,  and 
trucked  round,  and  kept  under  ;  it 's  what  they  's  made  for. 
'Pears  like  this  yer  view's  quite  refreshing,  an't  it,  stran 
ger  ?  "  said  he  to  Haley. 

"  I  never  thought  on  't,"  said  Haley.  "  I  could  n't  have 
said  as  much,  myself;  I  ha'nt  no  larning.  I  took  up  the 
trade  just  to  make  a  living  ;  if  't  an't  right,  I  calculated  to 
'pent  on 'tin  time,  ye  know." 

"And  now  you '11  save  yerself  the  trouble,  won't  ye?" 
said  the  tall  man.  "  See  what  'tis,  now,  to  know  scripture, 
If  ye  'd  only  studied  yer  Bible,  like  this  yer  good  man,  ye 
might  have  know'd  it  before,  and  saved  ye  a  heap  o'  trouble. 
Ye  could  jist  have  said,  '  Cussed  be '  —  what 's  his  name  ?  — 
'and  'twould  all  have  come  right.'  "  And  the  stranger, 
16 


182  UNCLE  TOM'S   CABIN:    OR 


who  was  no  other  than  the  honest  drover  whom  we  introduced 
to  our  readers  in  the  Kentucky  tavern,  sat  down,  and  began 
smoking,  with  a  curious  smile  on  his  long,  dry  face. 

A  tall,  slender  young  man,  with  a  face  expressive  of  great 
feeling  and  intelligence,  here  broke  in,  and  repeated  the 
words,  "  '  All  things  whatsoever  ye  would  that  men  should 
do  unto  you,  do  ye  even  so  unto  them.'  I  suppose,"  he 
added,  "  that  is  scripture,  as  much  as  '  Cursed  be  Canaan.'  ' 

"Wai,  it  seems  quite  as  plain  a  text,  stranger,"  said  John 
the  drover,  "to  poor  fellows  like  us,  now;"  and  John  smoked 
on  like  a  volcano. 

The  young  man  paused,  looked  as  if  he  was  going  to  say 
more,  when  suddenly  the  boat  stopped,  and  the  company 
made  the  usual  steamboat  rush,  to  see  where  they  were 
landing. 

"Both  them  ar  chaps  parsons?"  said  John  to  one  of  the 
men,  as  they  w?ie  going  out. 

The  man  nodded. 

As  the  boat  stopped,  a  black  woman  came  running  wildly 
up  the  plank,  darted  into  the  crowd,  flew  up  to  where  the  slave 
gang  sat,  and  threw  her  arms  round  that  unfortunate  piece 
of  merchandise  before  enumerated  —  "John,  aged  thirty,' 
and  with  sobs  and  tears  bemoaned  him  as  her  husband. 

But  what  needs  tell  the  story,  told  too  oft, —  every  day  told, 
—  of  heart-strings  rent  and  broken, —  the  weak  broken  and 
torn  for  the  profit  and  convenience  of  the  strong !  It  reeds 
not  to  be  told ;  —  every  day  is  telling  it,  —  telling  it,  too,  in 
the  ear  of  Ons  who  is  not  deaf,  though  he  be  long  silent. 

The  young  man  who  had  spoken  for  the  cause  of  humanity 
and  God  before  stood  with  folded  arms,  looking  on  this 
scene.  He  turned,  and  Haley  was  standing  at  his  side. 
"My  friend,"  he  said,  speaking  with  thick  utterance,  "how 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  183 

can  you,  how  dare  you,  carry  on  a  trade  like  this  ?  Look  at 
those  poor  creatures !  Here  I  am,  rejoicing  in  my  heart  that 
I  am  going  home  to  my  wife  and  child ;  and  the  same  bell 
which  is  a  signal  to  carry  me  onward  towards  them  will  part 
this  poor  man  and  his  wife  forever.  Depend  upon  it,  God 
will  bring  you  into  judgment  for  this." 

The  trader  turned  away  in  silence. 

"  I  say,  now,"  said  the  drover,  touching  his  elbow,  tm  there's 
differences  in  parsons,  an't  there  1  '  Cussed  be  Canaan '  don't 
seem  to  go  down  with  this  'un,  does  it  ?  " 

Haley  gave  an  uneasy  growl. 

"And  that  ar  an't  the  worst  onrt,"  said  John;  "mabbe 
it  won't  go  down  with  the  Lord,  neither,  when  ye  come  to 
settle  with  Him,  one  o'  these  days,  as  all  on  us  must,  I 
reckon." 

Haley  walked  reflectively  to  the  other  end  of  the  boat. 

"  If  I  make  pretty  handsomely  on  one  or  two  next  gangs," 
he  thought,  "  I  reckon  I'll  stop  off  this  yer ;  it 's  really  get 
ting  dangerous."  And  he  took  out  his  pocket-book,  and 
began  adding  over  his  accounts, —  a  process  which  many 
gentlemen  besides  Mr.  Haley  have  found  a  specific  for  an 
uneasy  conscience. 

The  boat  swept  proudly  away  from  the  shore,  and  all  went 
on  merrily,  as  before.  Men  talked,  and  loafed,  and  read,  and 
smoked.  Women  sewed,  and  children  played,  and  the  boat 
passed  on  her  way. 

One  day,  when  she  lay  to  for  a  while  at  a  small  town  in 
Kentucky,  Haley  went  up  into  the  place  on  a  little  matter  of 
business. 

Tom,  whose  fetters  did  not  prevent  his  taking  a  moderate 
circuit,  had  drawn  near  the  side  of  the  boat,  and  stood  list 
lessly  gazing  over  the  railings.  After  a  time,  he  saw  the 


184  UNCLE   TOM'S  CABIN:    OR, 

trader  returning,  with  an  alert  step,  in  company  with  a 
colored  woman,  bearing  in  her  arms  a  young  child.  She  was 
dressed  quite  respectably,  and  a  colored  man  followed  her, 
bringing  along  a  small  trunk.  The  woman  came  cheerfully 
onward,  talking,  as  she  came,  with  the  man  who  bore  her 
trunk,  and  so  passed  up  the  plank  into  the  boat.  The  bell 
rung,  the  steamer  whizzed,  the  engine  groaned  and  coughed, 
and  away  swept  the  boat  down  the  river. 

The  woman  walked  forward  among  the  boxes  and  bales  of 
the  lower  deck,  and,  sitting  down,  busied  herself  with  chir 
ruping  to  her  baby. 

Haley  made  a  turn  or  two  about  the  boat,  and  then,  coming 
up,  seated  himself  near  her,  and  began  saying  something  to 
her  in  an  indifferent  undertone. 

Tom  soon  noticed  a  heavy  cloud  passing  over  the  woman's 
brow ;  and  that  she  answered  rapidly,  and  with  great  vehe 
mence. 

"  I  don't  believe  it, —  I  won't  believe  it !  "  he  heard  her  say. 
11  You  're  jist  a  foolin  with  me." 

"  If  you  won't  believe  it,  look  here!  "  said  the  man,  draw 
ing  out  a  paper  ;  "  this  yer  's  the  bill  of  sale,  and  there 's 
your  master's  name  to  it ;  and  I  paid  down  good  solid  cash 
for  it,  too,  I  can  tell  you,  —  so,  now  !  " 

"I  don't  believe  Mas' r  would  cheat  me  so;  it  can't  be 
true  !  "  said  the  woman,  with  increasing  agitation. 

"  You  can  ask  any  of  these  men  here,  that  can  read  writ 
ing.  Here ! "  he  said,  to  a  man  that  was  passing  by, 
"  jist  read  this  yer,  won't  you  !  This  yer  gal  won't  believe 
me,  when  I  tell  her  what  'tis." 

'f  Why,  it's  a  bill  of  sale,  signed  by  John  Fosdick,"  said 
the  man,  "  making  over  to  you  the  girl  Lucy  and  her  child. 
It's  all  straight  enough,  for  aught  I  see." 


LIFE   AMONG    THE   LOWLY.  185 

The  woman's  passionate  exclamations  collected  a  crowd 
around  her,  and  the  trader  briefly  explained  to  them  the  cause 
of  the  agitation. 

"  He  told  me  that  I  was  going  down  to  Louisville,  to  hire 
out  as  cook  to  the  same  tavern  where  my  husband  works,  — 
that 's  what  Mas'r  told  me,  his  own  self;  and  I  can't  believe 
lie  Jd  lie  to  me,"  said  the  woman. 

"  But  he  has  sold  you,  my  poor  woman,  there 's  no  doubt 
about  it,"  said  a  good-natured  looking  man,  who  had  been 
examining  the  papers  ;  "  he  has  done  it,  and  no  mistake." 

"  Then  it 's  no  account  talking,"  said  the  woman,  suddenly 
growing  quite  calm ;  and,  clasping  her  child  tighter  in  her 
arms,  she  sat  down  on  her  box,  turned  her  back  round,  and 
gazed  listlessly  into  the  river. 

"Going  to  take  it  easy,  after  all!"  said  the  trader. 
"  GaTs  got  grit,  I  see." 

The  woman  looked  calm,  as  the  boat  went  on ;  and  a  beau 
tiful  soft  summer  breeze  passed  like  a  compassionate  spirit 
over  her  head,  —  the  gentle  breeze,  that  never  inquires 
whether  the  brow  is  dusky  or  fair  that  it  fans.  And  she  saw 
sunshine  sparkling  on  the  water,  in  golden  ripples,  and  heard 
gay  voices,  full  of  ease  and  pleasure,  talking  around  her 
everywhere ;  but  her  heart  lay  as  if  a  great  stone  had  fallen 
on  it.  Her  baby  raised  himself  up  against  her,  and  stroked 
her  cheeks  with  his  little  hands  ;  and,  springing  up  and  down, 
crowing  and  chatting,  seemed  determined  to  arouse  her.  She 
strained  him  suddenly  and  tightly  in  her  arms,  and  slowly 
one  tear  after  another  fell  on  his  wondering,  unconscious  face ; 
and  gradually  she  seemed,  and  little  by  little,  to  grow  calmer, 
and  busied  herself  with  tending  and  nursing  him. 

The  child,  a  boy  of  ten  months,  was  uncommonly  large  and 
strong  of  his  age,  and  very  vigorous  in  his  limbs.  Never,  for 


186  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :    OR, 

a  moment,  still,  he  kept  his  mother  constantly  busy  in  hold 
ing  him,  and  guarding  his  springing  activity. 

"  That's  a  fine  chap!"  said  a  man,  suddenly  stopping 
opposite  to  him,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "How  old  is 
he?" 

"  Ten  months  and  a  half,"  said  the  mother. 

The  man  whistled  to  the  boy,  and  offered  him  part  of  a 
stick  of  candy,  which  he  eagerly  grabbed  at,  and  very  soon 
had  it  in  a  baby's  general  depository,  to  wit,  his  mouth. 

"Rum  fellow  !  "  said  the  man.  "  Knows  what's  what !  " 
and  he  whistled,  and  walked  on.  When  he  had  got  to  the 
other  side  of  the  boat,  he  came  across  Haley,  who  was  smok 
ing  on  top  of  a  pile  of  T)oxes. 

The  stranger  produced  a  match,  and  lighted  a  cigar,  saying, 
as  he  did  so, 

"  Decentish  kind  o'  wench  you  've  got  round  there, 
stranger." 

"Why,  I  reckon  she  is  tol'able  fair,"  said  Haley,  blowing 
the  smoke  out  of  his  mouth. 

"  Taking  her  down  south  ?  "  said  the  man. 

Haley  nodded,  and  smoked  on. 

1 '  Plantation  hand  ?  ' '  said  the  man. 

"  Wai,"  said  Haley,  "I'm  fillin'  out  an  order  for  a  planta 
tion,  and  I  think  I  shall  put  her  in.  They  telled  me  she  was 
a  good  cook  ;  and  they  can  use  her  for  that,  or  set  her  at  the 
cotton-picking.  She 's  got  the  right  fingers  for  that ;  I  looked 
at  'em.  Sell  well,  either  way ;"  and  Haley  resumed  his  cigar. 

"  They  won't  want  the  young  'un  on  a  plantation,"  said 
the  man. 

"  I  shall  sell  him,  first  chance  I  find,"  said  Haley,  lighting 
another  cigar. 

"  S'pose  you  'd  be  selling  him  tol'able  cheap,"  said  the 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  187 

stranger,  mounting  the  pile  of  boxes,  and  sitting  down  com 
fortably. 

"  Don't  know  'bout  that,"  said  Haley;  "he's  a  pretty 
smart  young  'un,  —  straight,  fat,  strong  ;  flesh  as  hard  as  a 
brick  ! " 

"  Very  true,  but  then  there's  all  the  bother  and  expense 
of  raisin'." 

"Nonsense  !  "  said  Haley ;  "  they  is  raised  as  easy  as  any 
kind  of  critter  there  is  going ;  they  an't  a  bit  more  trouble 
than  pups.  This  yer  chap  will  be  running  all  round,  in  a 
month." 

"  I've  got  a  good  place  for  raisin',  and  I  thought  of  takin' 
in  a  little  more  stock,"  said  the  man.  "  One  cook  lost  a 
young  'un  last  week, —  got  drownded  in  a  wash-tub,  while  she 
was  a  hangin'  out  clothes,  —  and  I  reckon  it  would  be  well 
enough  to  set  her  to  raisin'  this  yer." 

Haley  and  the  stranger  smoked  a  while  in  silence,  neither 
seeming  willing  to  broach  the  test  question  of  the  interview. 
At  last  the  man  resumed : 

"You  wouldn't  think  of  wantin'  more  than  ten  dollars  for 
that  ar  chap,  seeing  you  must  get  him  off  yer  hand,  any 
how?" 

Haley  shook  his  head,  and  spit  impressively. 

"  That  won't  do,  no  ways,'"  he  said,  and  began  his  smoking 
again. 

"  Well,  stranger,  what  will  you  take  ?  " 

"Well,  now,"  said  Haley,  "I  could  raise  that  ar  chap 
myself,  or  get  him  raised ;  he 's  oncommon  likely  and  healthy, 
and  he  'd  fetch  a  hundred  dollars,  six  months  hence ;  and,  in  a 
year  or  two,  he  'd  bring  two  hundred,  if  I  had  him  in  the 
right  spot :  —  so  I  shan't  take  a  cent  less  nor  fifty  for  him 


188  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  on, 

"  0,  stranger!  that's  rediculous,  altogether, "  said  the 
man. 

"  Fact !  "  said  Haley,  with  a  decisive  nod  of  his  head. 

"I'll  give  thirty  for.  him,"  said  the  stranger,  "but  not  a 
cent  more." 

"Now,  I '11  tell  ye  what  I  will  do,"  said  Haley,  spitting 
again,  with  renewed  decision.  "  I  '11  split  the  difference,  and 
say  forty-five ;  and  that 's  the  most  I  will  do." 

"  Well,  agreed  !  "  said  the  man,  after  an  interval. 

"  Done !  "  said  Haley.     "  Where  do  you  land  ?  " 

"At  Louisville,"  said  the  man. 

"Louisville,"  said  Haley.  "Very  fair,  we  get  there 
about  dusk.  Chap  will  be  asleep,  —  all  fair,  —  get  him  off 
quietly,  and  no  screaming,  —  happens  beautiful,  —  I  like  to 
do  everything  quietly,  —  I  hates  all  kind  of  agitation  and 
fluster."  And  so,  after  a  transfer  of  certain  bills  had  passed 
from  the  man's  pocket-book  to  the  trader's,  he  resumed  his 
cigar. 

It  was  a  bright,  tranquil  evening  when  the  boat  stopped  at 
the  wharf  at  Louisville.  The  woman  had  been  sitting  with 
her  baby  in  her  arms,  now  wrapped  in  a  heavy  sleep.  When 
she  heard  the  name  of  the  place  called  out,  she  hastily  laid 
the  child  down  in  a  little  cradle  formed  by  the  hollow  among 
the  boxes,  first  carefully  spreading  under  it  her  cloak ;  and 
then  she  sprung  to  the  side  of  the  boat,  in  hopes  that,  among 
the  various  hotel-waiters  who  thronged  the  wharf,  she  might 
see  her  husband.  In  this  hope,  she  pressed  forward  to  the 
front  rails,  and,  stretching  far  over  them,  strained  her  eyes 
intently  on  the  moving  heads  on  the  shore,  and  the  crowd 
pressed  in  between  her  and  the  child. 

"Now's  your  time,"  said  Haley,  taking  the  sleeping  child 
up,  and  handing  him  to  the  stranger.  "  Don't  wake  him  up. 


LIFE  AMC  SQ  THE  LOWLY.  189 

and  set  him  to  crying,  no\\ ;  it  would  make  a  devil  of  a  fuss 
-with  the  gal.*'  The  man  took  the  bundle  carefully,  and  was 
soon  lost  in  the  crowd  that  went  up  the  wharf. 

When  the  boat,  creaking,  and  groaning,  and  puffing,  had 
loosed  from  the  wharf,  and  was  beginning  slowly  to  strain 
herself  along,  the  woman  returned  to  her  old  seat.  The 
trader  was  sitting  there,  —  the  child  was  gone  ! 

"Why,  why,  —  where?"  she  began,  in  bewildered  sur 
prise. 

"Lucy,"  said  the  trader,  "your  child's  gone;  you  may 
as  well  know  it  first  as  last.  You  see,  I  know'd  you 
could  n't  take  him  down  south  ;  and  I  got  a  chance  to  sell 
him  to  a  first-rate  family,  that  '11  raise  him  better  than  you 
can." 

The  trader  had  arrived  at  that  stage  of  Christian  and 
political  perfection  which  has  been  recommended  by  eome 
preachers  and  politicians  of  the  north,  lately,  in  which  he 
had  completely  overcome  every  humane  weakness  and  prej 
udice.  His  heart  was  exactly  where  yours,  sir,  and  mine 
could  be  brought,  with  proper  effort  and  cultivation.  The 
wild  look  of  anguish  and  utter  despair  that  the  woman  oast  on 
him  might  have  disturbed  one  less  practised ;  but  he  was 
used  to  it.  He  had  seen  that  same  look  hundreds  of  times. 
You  can  get  used  to  such  things,  too,  my  friend ;  and  it  is 
the  great  object  of  recent  efforts  to  make  our  whole  northern 
community  used  to  them,  for  the  glory  of  the  Union.  So  the 
trader  only  regarded  the  mortal  anguish  which  he  saw  work 
ing  in  those  dark  features,  those  clenched  hands,  and  suffo 
cating  breathings,  as  necessary  incidents  of  the  trade,  and 
merely  calculated  whether  she  was  going  to  scream,  and  get 
up  a  commotion  on  the  boat ;  for,  like  other  supporters  of  oui 
peculiar  institution,  he  decidedly  disliked  agitation. 


190  UNCLE  TOM'S  CA3IN:   OB, 

But  the  woman  did  not  scream.  The  shot  had  passed  too 
straight  and  direct  through  the  heart,  for  cry  or  tear. 

Dizzily  she  sat  down.  Her  slack  hands  fell  lifeless  by  her 
side.  Her  eyes  looked  straight  forward,  but  she  saw 
nothing.  All  the  noise  and  hum  of  the  boat,  the  groaning  of 
the  machinery,  mingled  dreamily  to  her  bewildered  ear  ;  and 
the  poor,  dumb-stricken  heart  had  neither  cry  nor  tear  to 
show  for  its  utter  misery.  She  was  quite  calm. 

The  trader,  who,  considering  his  advantages,  was  almost 
as  humane  as  some  of  our  politicians,  seemed  to  feel  called  on 
to  administer  such  consolation  as  the  case  admitted  of. 

"  I  know  this  yer  comes  kinder  hard,  at  first,  Lucy,"  said 
he ;  "  but  such  a  smart,  sensible  gal  as  you  are,  won't  give 
way  to  it.  You  see  it 's  necessary,  and  can't  be  helped  !  " 

"  0  !  don't,  Mas'r,  don't !  "  said  the  woman,  with  a  voice 
like  one  that  is  smothering. 

"  You're  a  smart  wench,  Lucy,"  he  persisted;  "I mean  to 
do  well  by  ye,  and  get  ye  a  nice  place  down  river ;  and 
you  '11  soon  get  another  husband,  —  such  a  likely  gal  as 

you—" 

"  0  !  Mas'r,  if  you  only  won't  talk  to  me  now,"  said  the 
woman,  in  a  voice  of  such  quick  and  living  anguish  that  the 
trader  felt  that  there  was  something  at  present  in  the  case 
beyond  his  style  of  operation.  He  got  up,  and  the  woman 
turned  away,  and  buried  her  head  in  her  cloak. 

The  trader  walked  up  and  down  for  a  time,"  and  occasionally 
stopped  and  looked  at  her. 

"  Takes  it  hard,  rather,"  he  soliloquized,  "  but  quiet,  tho'; 
—  let  her  sweat  a  while ;  she  '11  come  right,  by  and  by  !  " 

Tom  had  watched  the  whole  transaction  from  first  to  last, 
and  had  a  perfect  understanding  of  its  results.  To  him,  it 
looked  like  something  unutterably  horrible  and  cruel,  because, 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  191 

poor,  ignorant  black  soul !  he  had  not  learned  to  generalize, 
and  to  take  enlarged  views.  If  he  had  only  been  instructed 
by  certain  ministers  of  Christianity,  he  might  have  thought 
better  of  it,  and  seen  in  it  an  every-day  incident  of  a  lawful 
trade ;  a  trade  which  is  the  vital  support  of  an  institution 
which  an  American  divine  *  tells  us  has  "  no  evils  but  such 
as  are  inseparable  from  any  other  relations  in  social  and 
domestic  life"  But  Tom,  as  we  see,  being  a  poor,  ignorant 
fellow,  whose  reading  had  been  confined  entirely  to  the  New 
Testament,  could  not  comfort  and  solace  himself  with  views 
like  these.  His  very  soul  bled  within  hJF1  for  -*\\*b  p^Tned 
to  him  the  wrongs  of  the  poor  sufferingj^ing  thatjay  like  a 
crushed  reed  on  the^boxes ;  thejkejing^  Hying,  bleeding,  yet 
immortal  thing,  which  American  state  law  coolly  classes 
with  the  bundles,  and  bales,  and  boxes,  among  which  she  is 
jyjng. 

Tom  drew  near,  and  tried  to  say  something ;  but  she  only 
groaned.  Honestly,  and  with  tears  running  down  his  own 
cheeks,  he  spoke  of  a  heart  of  love  in  the  skies,  of  a  pitying 
Jesus,  and  an  eternal  home; -but  the  ear  was  deaf  with 
tuguish,  and  the  palsied  heart  could  not  feel. 

Night  came  on, —  night  calm,  unmoved,  and  glorious,  shin- 
jg  down  with  her  innumerable  and  solemn  angel  eyes,  twink- 
ing,  beautiful,  but  silent.  There  was  no  speech  nor  language, 
'0  pitying  voice  or  helping  hand,  from  that  distant  sky, 
)ne  after  another,  the  voices  of  business  or  pleasure  died  away ; 
«11  on  the  boat  were  sleeping,  and  the  ripples  at  the  prow  were 
plainly  heard.  Tom  stretched  himself  out  on  a  box,  and  there, 
as  he  lay,  he  heard,  ever  and  anon,  a  smothered  sob  or  cry 
from  the  prostrate  creature, —  "0!  what  shall  I  do?  0 

erf 


192  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

Lord !    0  good  Lord,  do  help  me !  "  and  so,  ever  and  anon, 
until  the  murmur  died  away  in  silence. 

At  midnight,  Tom  waked,  with  a  sudden  start.  Something 
black  passed  quickly  by  him  to  the  side  of  the  boat,  and  he 
heard  a  splash  in  the  water.  No  one  else  saw  or  heard  any 
thing.  He  raised  his  head, —  the  woman's  place  was  vacant ! 
He  got  up,  and  sought  about  him  in  vain.  The  poor  bleeding 
heart  was  still,  at  last,  and  the  river  rippled  and  dimpled  just 
as  brightly  as  if  it  had  not  closed  above  it. 

Patience !  patience !  ye  whose-  hearts  swell  indignant  at 
wrongs  like  these.  Not  one  throb  of  anguish,  not  one  tear  of 
the  oppressed,  is  forgotten  by  the  Man  of  Sorrows,  the  Lord 
of  Glory.  In  his  patient,  generous  bosom  he  bears  the  anguish 
of  a  world.  Bear  thou,  like  him,  in  patience,  and  labor  in 
love ;  for  sure  as  he  is  God,  "  the  year  of  his  redeemed  shall 
come." 

The  trader  waked  up  bright  and  early,  and  came  out  to  see 
to  his  live  stock.  It  was  now  his  turn  to  look  about  in  per 
plexity. 

"  Where  alive  is  that  gal  ?"  he  said  to  Tom. 

Tom,  who  had  learned  the  wisdom  of  keeping  counsel,  did 
not  feel  called  on  to  state  his  observations  and  suspicions,  but 
said  he  did  not  know. 

"  She  surely  couldn't  have  got  off  in  the  night  at  any  of 
the  landings,  for  I  was  awake,  and  on  the  look-out,  whenever 
the  boat  stopped.  I  never  trust  these  yer  things  to  other 
folks." 

This  speech  was  addressed  to  Tom  quite  confidentially,  as 
if  it  was  something  that  would  be  specially  interesting  to  him. 
Tom  made  no  answer. 

The  trader  searched  the  boat  from  stem  to  stern,  among 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  193 

boxes,  bales  and  barrels,  around  the  machinery,  by  the  chim 
neys,  in  vain. 

"Now,  I  say,  Tom,  be  fair  about  this  yer,"  he  said,  when, 
after  a  fruitless  search,  he  came  where  Tom  was  standing. 
1  You  know  something  about  it,  now.  Don't  tell  me, —  I  know 
you  do.  I  saw  the  gal  stretched  out  here  about  ten  o'clock, 
and  ag'in  at  twelve,  and  ag'in  between  one  and  two;  and  then 
at  four  she  was  gone,  and  you  was  a  sleeping  right  there  all 
the  time.  Now,  you  know  something, —  you  can't  help  it." 

"Well,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom,  "towards  morning  something 
brushed  by  me,  and  I  kinder  half  woke;  and  then  I  hearn  a 
great  splash,  and  then  I  clare  woke  up,  and  the  gal  was  gone. 
That 's  all  I  know  on't." 

The  trader  was  not  shocked  nor  amazed ;  because,  as  we 
said  before,  he  was  used  to  a  great  many  things  that  you  are 
not  used  to.  Even  the  awful  presence  of  Death  struck  no 
solemn  chill  upon  him.  He  had  seen  Death  many  times, — 
met  him  in  the  way  of  trade,  and  got  acquainted  with  him, — • 
and  he  only  thought  of  him  as  a  hard  customer,  that  embar 
rassed  his  property  operations  Very  unfairly ;  and  so  he  only 
swore  that  the  gal  was  a  baggage,  and  that  he  was  devilish 
unlucky,  and  that,  if  things  went  on  in  this  way,  he  should 
not  make  a  cent  on  the  trip.  In  short,  he  seemed  to  consider 
himself  an  ill-used  man,  decidedly ;  but  there  was  no  help  for 
it,  as  the  woman  had  escaped  into  a  state  which  never  will 
give  up  a  fugitive,  —  not  even  at  the  demand  of  the  whole 
glorious  Union.  The  trader,  therefore,  sat  discontentedly 
down,  with  his  little  account-book,  and  put  down  the  missing 
body  and  soul  under  the  head  of  losses  ! 

" He  's  a  shocking  creature,  isn't  he, —this  trader?  so 
unfeeling  !  It 's  dreadful,  really  !  " 

"  0,  but  nobody  thinks  anything  of  these  traders  !     They 


194  UNCLE  TOM'S   CABIN:    OR, 

are  universally  despised,  —  never  received  into  any  decent 
society." 

But  who,  sir,  makes  the  trader  ?  Who  is  most  to  blame  ? 
The  enlightened,  cultivated,  intelligent  man,  who  supports  the 
system  of  which  the  trader  is  the  inevitable  result,  orjbhe_j)Qac. 
trader  himself?  You  make  the  public  sentiment  that  calls 
for  his  trade,  that  debauches  and  depraves  him,  till  he  feels 
no  shame  in  it ;  and  in  what  are  you  better  than  he  ? 

Are  you  educated  and  he  ignorant,  you  high  and  he 
low,  you  refined  and  he  coarse,  you  talented  and  he  simple  ? 

In  the  day  of  a  future  Judgment,  these  very  considerations 
may  make  it  more  tolerable  for  him  than  for  you. 

In  concluding  these  little  incidents  of  lawful  trade,  we  must 
beg  the  world  not  to  think  that  American  legislators  are 
entirely  destitute  of  humanity,  as  might,  perhaps,  be  unfairly 
inferred  from  the  great  efforts  made  in  our  national  body  to 
protect  and  perpetuate  this  species  of  traffic. 

Who  does  not  know  how  our  great  men  are  outdoing  them 
selves,  in  declaiming  against  the  foreign  slave-trade.  There 
are  a  perfect  host  of  Clarksons  and  Wilberforces  risen  up 
among  us  on  that  subject,  most  edifying  to  hear  and  behold. 
Trading  negroes  from  Africa,  dear  reader,  is  so  horrid  !  It 
is  not  to  be  thought  of !  But  trading  them  from  Kentucky, 
—  that's  quite  another  thing  ! 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  195 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE   QUAKER  SETTLEMENT. 

A  QUIET  scene  now  rises  before  us.  A  large,  roomy,  neatly- 
painted  kitchen,  its  yellow  floor  glossy  and  smooth,  and  with 
out  a  particle  of  dust ;  a .  neat,  well-blacked  cooking-stove ; 
rows  of  shining  tin,  suggestive  of  unmentionable  good  things 
to  the  appetite ;  glossy  green  wood  chairs,  old  and  firm  ; 
a  small  flag-bottomed  rocking-chair,  with  a  patch- work  cush 
ion  in  it,  neatly  contrived  out  of  small  pieces  of  difierent  col 
ored  woollen  goods,  and  a  larger  sized  one,  motherly  and  old, 
whose  wide  arms  breathed  hospitable  invitation,  seconded  by 
the  solicitation  of  its  feather  cushions,  —  a  real  comfortable, 
persuasive  old  chair,  and  worth,  in  the  way  of  honest,  homely 
enjoyment,  a  dozen  of  your  plush  or  brochetelle  drawing-room 
gentry ;  and  in  the  chair,  gently  swaying  back  and  forward, 
her  eyes  bent  on  some  fine  sewing,  sat  our  old  friend  Eliza. 
Yes,  there  she  is,  paler  and  thinner  than  in  her  Kentucky 
home,  with  a  world  of  quiet  sorrow  lying  under  the  shadow 
of  her  long  eyelashes,  and  marking  the  outline  of  her  gentle 
mouth !  It  was  plain  to  s^ee  how  old  and  firm  the  girlish 
heart  was  grown  under  the  discipline  of  heavy  sorrow ;  and 
when,  anon,  her  large  dark  eye  was  raised  to  follow  the  gam 
bols  of  her  little  Harry,  who  was  sporting,  like  some  tropical 
butterfly,  hither  and  thither  over  the  floor,  she  showed  a  depth 
of  firmness  and  steady  resolve  that  was  never  there  in  her 
earlier  and  happier  days. 


196  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN  :    OR, 

By  her  side  sat  a  woman  with  a  bright  tin  pan  in  her  lap, 
into  which  she  was  carefully  sorting  some  dried  peaches.  She 
might  be  fifty-five  or  sixty ;  but  hers  was  one  of  those  faces 
that  time  seems  to  touch  only  to  brighten  and  adorn.  The 
snowy  lisse  crape  cap,  made  after  the  strait  Quaker  pattern, 
—  the  plain  white  muslin  handkerchief,  lying  in  placid  folds 
across  her  bosom, — the  drab  shawl  and  dress, — showed  at  once 
the  community  to  which  she  belonged.  Her  face  was  round 
and  rosy,  with  a  healthful  downy  softness,  suggestive  of  a 
ripe  peach.  Her  hair,  partially  silvered  by  age,  was  parted 
smoothly  back  from  a  high  placid  forehead,  on  which  time 
had  written  no  inscription,  except  peace  on  earth,  good  will  to 
men,  and  beneath  shone  a  large  pair  of  clear,  honest,  loving 
brown  eyes ;  you  only  needed  to  look  straight  into  them,  to 
feel  that  you  saw  to  the  bottom  of  a  heart  as  good  and  Jruo 
as  ever  throbbed  in  woman's  bosom.  So  much  has  been 
said  and  sung  of  beautiful  young  girls,  why  don't  somebody 
wake  up  to  the  beauty  of  old  women  ?  If  any  want  to  get 
up  an  inspiration  under  this  head,  we  refer  them  to  our  good 
friend  Rachel  Halliday,  just  as  she  sits  there  in  her  little 
rocking-chair.  It  had  a  turn  for  quacking  and  squeaking, — 
that  chair  had,  —  either  from  having  taken  cold  in  early  life, 
or  from  some  asthmatic  affection,  or  perhaps  from  nervous 
derangement ;  but,  as  she  gently  swung  backward  and  for 
ward,  the  chair  kept  up  a  kind  of  subdued  "creechy  crawchy," 
that  would  have  been  intolerable  in  any  other  chair.  But  old 
Simeon  Halliday  often  declared  it  was  as  good  as  any  music 
to  him,  and  the  children  all  avowed  that  they  wouldn't  miss 
of  hearing  mother's  chair  for  anything  in  the  world.  For 
why  1  for  twenty  years  or  more,  nothing  but  loving  words 
and  gentle  moralities,  and  motherly  loving  kindness,  had  come 
from  that  chair ;  —  head-aches  and  heart-aches  innumerable 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  ,  197 

had  been  cured  there,  —  difficulties  spiritual  and  temporal 
solved  there,  —  all  by  one  good,  loving  woman,  God  bless 
her  J 

"And  so  thee  still  thinks  of  going  to  Canada,  Eliza?"  she 
said,  as  she  was  quietly  looking  over  her  peaches. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Eliza,  firmly.  "I  must  go  onward. 
I  dare  not  stop." 

"  And  what  '11  thee  do,  when  thee  gets  there  ?  Thee  must 
tliink  about  that,  my  daughter." 

"  My  daughter"  came  naturally  from  the  lips  of  Rachel 
Halliday ;  for  hers  was  just  the  face  and  form  that  made 
"  mother"  seem  the  most  natural  word  in  the  world. 

Eliza's  hands  trembled,  and  some  tears  fell  on  her  fine  work; 
but  she  answered,  firmly, 

"I  shall  do  —  anything  I  can  find.  I  hope  I  can  find 
something." 

"  Thee  knows  thee  can  stay  here,  as  long  as  thee  pleases," 
said  Rachel. 

"0,  thank  you,"  said  Eliza,  "but"— she  pointed  to 
Harry — "I  can't  sleep  nights;  I  can't  rest.  Last  night  I 
dreamed  I  saw  that  man  coming  into  the  yard,"  she  said, 
shuddering. 

"Poor  child  !"  said  Rachel,  wiping  her  eyes;  "but  thee 
mustn't  feel  so.  The  Lord  hath  ordered  it  so  that  never 
hath  a  fugitive  been  stolen  from  our  village.  I  trust  thine 
will  not  be  the  first." 

The  door  here  opened,  and  a  little  short,  round,  pincushiony 
woman  stood  at  the  door,  with  a  cheery,  blooming  face,  like  a 
ripe  apple.  She  was  dressed,  like  Rachel,  in  sober  gray, 
with  the  muslin  folded  neatly  across  her  round,  plump  little 
chest. 

"Ruth  Stedman,"  said  Rachel,  coming  joyfully  forward; 


198  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN:    OR, 

"how  is  thee,  Ruth?"  she  said,  heartily  taking  both  her 
hands. 

"  Nicely,"  said  Ruth,  taking  off  her  little  drab  bonnet,  and 
dusting  it  with  her  handkerchief,  displaying,  as  she  did  so,  a 
round  little  head,  on  which  the  Quaker  cap  sat  with  a  sort  of 
jaunty  air,  despite  all  the  stroking  and  patting  of  the  small 
fat  hands,  which  were  busily  applied  to  arranging  it.  Certain 
stray  locks  of  decidedly  curly  hair,  too,  had  escaped  here  and 
there,  and  had  to  be  coaxed  and  cajoled  into  their  place  again; 
and  then  the  new  comer,  who  might  have  been  five-and- 
twenty,  turned  from  the  small  looking-glass,  before  which 
she  had  been  making  these  arrangements,  and  looked  well 
pleased, —  as  most  people  who  looked  at  her  might  have  been, 
—  for  she  was  decidedly  a  wholesome,  whole-hearted,  chir 
ruping  little  woman,  as  ever  gladdened  man's  heart  withal. 

"  Ruth,  this  friend  is  Eliza  Harris ;  and  this  is  the  little 
boy  I  told  thee  of." 

"I  am  glad  to  see  thee,  Eliza, — very,"  said  Ruth,  shaking 
hands,  as  if  Eliza  were  an  old  friend  she  had  long  been  expect 
ing  ;  "  and  this  is  thy  dear  boy, —  I  brought  a  cake  for  him/' 
she  said,  holding  out  a  little  heart  to  the  boy,  who  came  up, 
gazing  through  his  curls,  and  accepted  it  shyly. 

"  Where 's  thy  baby,  Ruth  ?"  said  Rachel. 

"  0,  he's  coming;  but  thy  Mary  caught  him  as  I  camo 
in,  and  ran  off  with  him  to  the  barn,  to  show  him  to  the 
children." 

At  this  moment,  the  door  opened,  and  Mary,  an  honest, 
rosy-looking  girl,  with  large  brown  eyes,  like  her  mother's, 
came  in  with  the  baby. 

"  Ah !  ha  !  "  said  Rachel,  coming  up,  and  taking  the  great, 
•white,  fat  fellow  in  her  arms ;  "  how  good  he  looks,  and  how 
he  does  grow !" 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  199 

"To  be  sure,  he  does,"  said  little  bustling  Ruth,  as  she 
took  the  child,  and  began  taking  off  a  little  blue  silk  hood, 
and  various  layers  and  wrappers  of  outer  garments ;  and 
having  given  a  twitch  here,  and  a  pull  there,  and  variously 
adjusted  and  arranged  him,  and  kissed  him  heartily,  she  set 
him  on  the  floor  to  collect  his  thoughts.  Baby  seemed  quite 
used  to  this  mode  of  proceeding,  for  he  put  his  thumb  in  his 
mouth  (as  if  it  were  quite  a  thing  of  course),  and  seemed 
soon  absorbed  in  his  own  reflections,  while  the  mother  seated 
herself,  and  taking  out  a  long  stocking  of  mixed  blue  and 
white  yarn,  began  to  knit  with  briskness. 

"Mary,  thee 'd  better  fill  the  kettle,  hadn'tthee?"  gently 
suggested  the  mother. 

Mary  took  the  kettle  to  the  well,  and  soon  reappearing, 
placed  it  over  the  stove,  where  it  was  soon  purring  and  steam 
ing,  a  sort  of  censer  of  hospitality  and*  good  cheer.  The 
peaches,  moreover,  in  obedience  to  a  few  gentle  whispers  from 
Rachel,  were  soon  deposited,  by  the  same  hand,  in  a  stew-pan 
over  the  fire. 

Rachel  now  took  down  a  snowy  moulding-board,  and,  tying 
on  an  apron,  proceeded  quietly  to  making  up  some  biscuits, 
first  saying  to  Mary,  —  "  Mary,  had  n't  thee  better  tell  John 
to  get  a  chicken  ready?"  and  Mary  disappeared  accordingly. 

"And  how  is  Abigail  Peters?"  said  Rachel,  as  she  went 
on  with  her  biscuits. 

"0,  she  's  better,"  said  Ruth ;  "I  was  in,  this  morning; 
made  the  bed,  tidied  up  the  house.  Leah  Hills  went  in,  this 
afternoon,  and  baked  bread  and  pies  enough  to  last  some  days ; 
and  I  engaged  to  go  back  to  get  her  up,  this  evening." 

"  I  will  go  in  to-morrow,  and  do  any  cleaning  there  may 
be,  and  look  over  the  mending,"  said  Rachel. 

"Ah!  that  is  well,"  said  Ruth.     "I  'ye  heard,"  she  added, 


'200  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN:    OR, 

"that  Hannah  Stanwood  is  sick.  John  was  up  there,  last 
night, —  I  must  go  there  to-morrow." 

"  John  can  come  in  here  to  his  meals,  if  thee  needs  to  stay 
all  day,"  suggested  Rachel. 

"  Thank  thee,  Rachel;  will  see,  to-morrow;  but,  here  comes 
Simeon." 

Simeon  Halliday,  a  tall,  straight,  muscular  man,  in  drab 
coat  and  pantaloons,  and  broad-brimmed  hat,  now  entered. 

'•'How  is  thee,  Ruth?"  he  said,  warmly,  as  he  spread 
his  broad  open  hand  for  her  little  fat  palm ;  i  i  and  how  is 
John?" 

"  0 !  John  is  well,  and  all  the  rest  of  our  folks,"  said 
Ruth,  cheerily. 

"Any  news,  father?"  said  Rachel,  as  she  was  putting  her 
biscuits  into  the  oven. 

"Peter  Stebbins  told  me  that  they  should  be  along  to-night, 
"mild  friends,"  said  Simeon,  significantly,  as  he  was  washing 
his  hands  at  a  neat  sink,  in  a  little  back  porch. 

"  Indeed ! "  said  Rachel,  looking  thoughtfully,  and  glancing 
at  Eliza. 

"Did  thee  say  thy  name  was  Harris?"  said  Simeon  to 
Eliza,  as  he  reentered. 

Rachel  glanced  quickly  at  her  husband,  as  Eliza  tremu 
lously  answered  "yes;"  her  fears,  ever  uppermost,  suggest 
ing  that  possibly  there  might  be  advertisements  out  for  her. 

"  Mother  ! "  said  Simeon,  standing  in  the  porch,  and  calling 
Rachel  out. 

"  What  does  thee  want,  father?"  said  Rachel,  rubbing  her 
floury  hands,  as  she  went  into  the  porch. 

"  This  child's  husband  is  in  the  settlement,  and  will  be  here 
to-night,"  said  Simeon. 


LIFE  AMONG  THE   LOWLY.  201 

"Now,  thee  doesn't  say  that,  father?"  said  Rachel,  all 
her  face  radiant  with  joy. 

"  It 's  really  true.  Peter  was  down  yesterday,  with  the 
wagon,  to  the  other  stand,  and  there  he  found  an  old  woman 
and  two  men ;  and  one  said  his  name  was  George  Harris ; 
and,  from  what  he  told  of  his  history,  I  am  certain  who  he  is. 
lie  is  a  bright,  likely  fellow,  too." 

"  Shall  we  tell  her  now?  "  said  Simeon. 

"  Let 's  tell  Ruth,"  said  Rachel.  "  Here,  Ruth,  —  come 
here." 

Ruth  laid  down  her  knitting- work,  and  was  in  the  back 
porch  in  a  moment. 

"  Ruth,  what  does  thee  think  ?  "  said  Rachel.  "  Father 
says  Eliza's  husband  is  in  the  last  company,  and  will  be  here 
to-night." 

A  burst  of  joy  from  the  little  Quakeress  interrupted  the 
speech.  She  gave  such  a  bound  from  the  floor,  as  she 
clapped  her  little  hands,  that  two  stray  curls  fell  from  under 
her  Quaker  cap,  and  lay  brightly  on  her  white  neckerchief. 

"  Hush  thee,  dear !  "  said  Rachel,  gently;  "  hush,  Ruth  ! 
Tell  us,  shall  we  tell  her  now?  " 

"Now!  to  be  sure,  —  this  very  minute.  Why,  now, 
suppose  'twas  my  John,  how  should  I  feel?  Do  tell  her, 
right  off." 

"Thee  uses  thyself  only  to  learn  how  to  love  thy  neighbor, 
Ruth,"  said  Simeon,  looking,  with  a  beaming  face. 'on  Ruth. 

"To  be  sure.  Isn't  it  what  we  are  made  for?  If  I 
didn't  love  John  and  the  baby,  I  should  not  know  how  to  feel 
for  her.  Come,  now,  do  tell  her,  —  do  !  "  and  she  laid  her 
hands  persuasively  on  Rachel's  arm.  "Take  her  into  thy 
bed-room,  there,  and  let  me  fry  the  chicken  while  thee  does 
it" 


202  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

Kaciiel  came  out  into  the  kitchen,  where  Eliza  was  sewing, 
and  opening  the  door  of  a  small  bed-room,  said,  gently, 
"  Come  in  here  with  me,  my  daughter  :  I  have  news  to  tell 
thee." 

The  blood  flushed  in  Eliza's'  pale  face  ;  she  rose,  trembling 
with  nervous  anxiety,  and  looked  towards  her  boy. 

"No,  no,"  said  little  Ruth,  darting  up,  and  seizing  her 
hands.  "  Never  thee  fear ;  it 's  good  news,  Eliza, —  go  in,  go 
in !  "  And  she  gently  pushed  her  to  the  door,  which  closed 
after  her ;  and  then,  turning  round,  she  caught  little  Harry 
in  her  arms,  and  began  kissing  him. 

"  Thee  '11  see  thy  father,  little  one".  Does  thee  know  it? 
Thy  father  is  coming,"  she  said,  over  and  over  again,  as  the 
boy  looked  wonderingly  at  her. 

Meanwhile,  within  the  door,  another  scene  was  going  on. 
Rachel  Halliday  drew  Eliza  toward  her,  and  said,  "  The  Lord 
hath  had  mercy  on  thee,  daughter ;  thy  husband  hath  escaped 
from  the  house  of  bondage." 

The  blood  flushed  to  Eliza's  cheek  in  a  sudden  glow,  and 
went  back  to  her  heart  with  as  sudden  a  rush.  She  sat  down, 
pale  and  faint. 

"Have  courage,  child,"  said  Rachel,  laying  her  hand  on 
her  head.  "He  is  among  friends,  who  will  bring  him  here 
to-night," 

" To-night!"  Eliza  repeated,  "to-night!"  The  words 
lost  all  meaning  to  her ;  her  head  was  dreamy  and  confused ; 
all  was  mist  for  a  moment. 


When  she  awoke,  she  found  herself  snugly  tucked  up  on 
the  bed,  with  a  blanket  over  her,  and  little  Ruth  rubbing  her 
hands  with  camphor.  She  opened  her  eyef  in  a  state  o^ 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  203 

dreamy,  delicious  languor,  such  as  one  has  who  has  long  been 
bearing  a  heavy  load,  and  now  feels  it  gone,  and  would  rest. 
The  tension  of  the  nerves,  which  had  never  ceased  a  moment 
since  the  first  hour  of  her  flight,  had  given  way,  and  a  strange 
feeling  of  security  and  rest  came  over  her ;  and,  as  she  lay, 
with  her  large,  dark  eyes  open,  she  followed,  as  in  a  quiet 
dream,  the  motions  of  those  about  her.  She  saw  the  doer 
open  into  the  other  room ;  saw  the  supper-table,  with  its  snowy 
cloth  ;  heard  the  dreamy  murmur  of  the  singing  tea-kettle  , 
saw  Ruth  tripping  backward  and  forward,  with  plates  of  cake 
and  saucers  of  preserves,  and  ever  and  anon  stopping  to  put  a 
cake  into  Harry's  hand,  or  pat  his  head,  or  twine  his  long 
curls  round  her  snowy  fingers.  She  saw  the  ample,  motherly 
form  of  Rachel,  as  she  ever  and  anon  came  to  the  bed-side, 
and  smoothed  and  arranged  something  about  the  bed-clothes, 
and  gave  a  tuck  here  and  there,  by  way  of  expressing  her 
good-will ;  and  was  conscfous  of  a  kind  of  sunshine  beaming 
down  upon  her  from  her  large,  clear,  brown  eyes.  She  saw 
Ruth's  husband  come  in, — saw  her  fly  up  to  him,  and 
commence  whispering  very  earnestly,  ever  and  anon,  with 
impressive  gesture,  pointing  her  little  finger  toward  the 
room.  She  saw  her,  with  the  baby  in  her  arms,  sitting  down 
to  tea ;  she  saw  them  all  at  table,  and  little  Harry  in  a  high 
chair,  under  the  shadow  of  Rachel's  ample  wing ;  there  were 
low  murmurs  of  talk,  gentle  tinkling  of  tea-spoons,  and 
musical  clatter  of  cups  and  saucers,  and  ,all  mingled  in  a 
delightful  dream  of  rest ;  and  Eliza  slept,  as  she  had  not  slept 
before,  since  the  fearful  midnight  hour  when  she  had  taken 
her  child  and  fled  through  the  frosty  star-light. 

She  dreamed  of  a  beautiful  country,  —  a  land,  it  seemed  to 
her,  of  rest,  — green  shores,  pleasant  islands,  and  beautifully 
glittering  water ;  and  there,  in  a  house  which  kind  voices  told 


204  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OR, 

her  was  a  home,  she  saw  her  boy  playing,  a  free  and  happy 
child.  She  heard  her  husband's  footsteps ;  she  felt  him 
coming  nearer ;  his  arms  were  around  her,  his  tears  falling  on 
her  face,  and  she  awoke  !  It  was  no  dream.  The  daylight 
had  long  faded;  her  child  lay  calmly  sleeping  by  her  side;  a 
candle  was  burning  dimly  on  the  stand,  and  her  husband  was 
sobbing  by  her  pillow. 


The  next  morning  was  a  cheerful  one  at  the  Quaker  house. 
"  Mother  "  was  up  betimes,  and  surrounded  by  busy  girls 
and  boys,  whom  we  had  scarce  time  to  introduce  to  our 
readers  yesterday,  and  who  all  moved  obediently  to  Rachel's 
gentle  "Thee  had  better,"  or  more  gentle  "Hadn't  thee 
better  ?  "  in  the  work  of  getting  breakfast ;  for  a  breakfast  in 
the  luxurious  valleys  of  Indiana  is  a  thing  complicated  and 
multiform,  and,  like  picking  up  the  rose-leaves  and  trimming 
the  bushes  in  Paradise,  asking  other  hands  than  those  of  the 
original  mother.  While,  therefore,  John  ran  to  the  spring  for 
fresh  water,  and  Simeon  the  second  sifted  meal  for  corn- 
cakes,  and  Mary  ground  coffee,  Rachel  moved  gently  and 
quietly  about,  making  biscuits,  cutting  up  chicken,  and 
diffusing  a  sort  of  sunny  radiance  over  the  whole  proceeding 
generally.  If  there  was  any  danger  of  friction  or  collision 
from  the  ill-regulated  zeal  of  so  many  young  operators,  her 
gentle  "  Come  !  come  !  "  or  "I  would  n't,  now,"  was  quite 
sufficient  to  allay  the  difficulty.  Bards  have  written  of  the 
cestus  of  Venus,  that  turned  the  heads  of  all  the  world  in 
successive  generations.  We  had  rather,  for  our  part,  have 
the  cestus  of  Rachel  Halliday,  that  kept  heads  from  being 
turned,  and  made  everything  go  on  harmoniously.  We  think 
it  is  more  suited  to  our  modern  days,  decidedly. 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  205 

While  all  other  preparations  were  going  on,  Simeon  the 
older  stood  in  his  shirt-sleeves  before  a  little  looking-glass  in 
the  corner,  engaged  in  the  anti-patriarchal  operation  of 
shaving.  Everything  went  on  so  sociably,  so  quietly,  so 
harmoniously,  in  the  great  kitchen, — it  seemed  so  pleasant  to 
every  one  to  do  just  what  they  were  doing,  there  Was  such  an 
atmosphere  of  mutual  confidence  and  good  fellowship  every 
where, —  even  the  knives  and  forks  had  a  social  clatter  as  they 
went  on  to  the  table  ;  and  the  chicken  and  ham  had  a  cheerful 
and  joyous  fizzle  in  the  pan,  as  if  they  rather  enjoyed  being 
cooked  than  otherwise ;  —  and  when  George  and  Eliza  and  little 
Harry  came  out,  they  met  such  a  hearty,  rejoicing  welcome, 
no  wonder  it  seemed  to  them  like  a  dream. 

At  last,  they  were  all  seated  at  breakfast,  while  Mary  stood 
at  the  stove,  baking  griddle-cakes,  which,  as  they  gained  the 
true  exact  golden-brown  tint  of  perfection,  were  transferred 
quite  handily  to  the  table. 

Rachel  never  looked  so  truly  and  benignly  happy  as  at  the 
head  of  her  table.  There  was  so  much  motherliness  and 
full-heartedness  even  in  the  way  she  passed  a  plate  of  cakes 
or  poured  a  cup  of  coffee,  that  it  seemed  to  put  a  spirit  into 
the  food  and  drink  she  offered. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  ever  George  had  sat  down  on 
equal  terms  at  any  white  man's  table  ;   and  he  sat  down,  at 
first,   with  some  constraint  and  awkwardness ;  but  they  all 
exhaled  and  went  off  lil^e  fog,  in  the  ffinjgljiiojgijig  rays  oty 
this  simplftj  overflowing  kindness. 

This,  indeed,  was  a  home,  —  home, —  a  word  that  George 
had  never  yet  known  a  meaning  for ;  and  a  belief  in  God,  and 
trust  in  his  providence,  began  to  encircle  his  heart,  as,  with  a 
golden  cloud  of  protection  and  confidence,  dark,  misanthropic,  i 
pining,  atheistic  doubts,  and  fierce  despair,  melted  away  before   \ 
18 


206  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OR, 

the  light  of  a  living  Gospel,  breathed  in  living  faces,  preached 
by  a  thousand  unconscious  acts  of  love  and  good  will,  which, 
like  the  cup  of  cold  water  given  in  the  name  of  a  disciple, 
shall  never  lose  their  reward. 

"  Father,  what  if  thee  should  get  found  out  again  ?  "  said 
Simeon  second,  as  he  buttered  his  cake. 

"I  should  pay  my  fine,"  said  Simeon,  quietly. 

"  But  what  if  they  put  thee  in  prison  ?  " 

"  Could  n't  thee  and  mother  manage  the  farm  ? "  said 
Simeon,  smiling. 

"  Mother  can  do  almost  everything,"  said  the  boy.  "  But 
is  n't  it  a  shame  to  make  such  laws  ?  " 

"Thee  mustn't  speak  evil  of  thy  rulers,  Simeon,"  said  his 
father,  gravely.  "  The  Lord  only  gives  us  our  worldly  goods 
that  we  may  do  justice  and  mercy ;  if  our  rulers  require  a 
price  of  us  for  it,  we  must  deliver  it  up." 

"  Well,  I  hate  those  old  slaveholders  !  "  said  the  boy,  who 
felt  as  unchristian  as  became  any  modern  reformer. 

"  I  am  surprised  at  thee,  son,"  said  Simeon  ;  "  thy  mother 
never  taught  thee  so.  I  would  do  even  the  same  for  the 
slaveholder  as  for  the  slave,  if  the  Lord  brought  him  to  my 
loor  in  affliction." 

Simeon  second  blushed  scarlet;  but  his  mother  only 
jmiled,  and  said,  "Simeon  is  my  good  boy;  he  will  grow 
•»lder,  by  and  by,  and  then  he  will  be  like  his  father." 

' 1 1  hope,  my  good  sir,  that  you  are  not  exposed  to  any 
difficulty  on  our  account,"  said  George,  anxiously. 

"  Fear  nothing,  George,  for  therefore  are  we  sent  into  the 
world.  If  we  would  not  meet  trouble  for  a  good  cause,  we 
were  not  worthy  of  our  name." 

"  But,  for  me,"  said  George,  "  I  could  not  bear  it." 

"  Fear  not,  then,  friend  George ;  it  is  not  for  thee,  but  for 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  207 


GTod  and  man,  we  do  it,"  said  Simeon.  "  And  now  thou 
must  lie  by  quietly  this  day,  and  to-night,  at  ten  o'clock, 
Phineas  Fletcher  will  carry  thee  onward  to  the  next  stand, — 
thee  and  the  rest  of  thy  company.  The  pursuers  are  hard 
after  thee  ;  we  must  not  delay." 

11  If  that  is  the  case,  why  wait  till  evening  1 "  said  George. 

"  Thou  art  safe  here  by  daylight,  for  every  one  in  the  set 
tlement  is  a  Friend,  and  all  are  watching.  It  has  been  found 
safer  to  travel  by  night." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

EVANOELINE. 

"  A  young  star  !  which  shone 
O'er  life  —  too  sweet  an  image  for  such  glass  ! 
A  lovely  being,  scarcely  formed  or  moulded  ; 
A  rose  with  all  its  sweetest  leaves  yet  folded." 

THE  Mississippi !  How,  as  by  an  enchanted  wand,  have 
its  scenes  been  changed,  since  Chateaubriand  wrote  his  prose- 
poetic  description  of  it,  as  a  river  of  mighty,  unbroken  soli 
tudes,  rolling  amid  undreamed  wonders  of  vegetable  and 
animal  existence. 

But,  as  in  an  hour,  this  river  of  dreams  and  wild  romance 
Las  emerged  to  a  reality  scarcely  less  visionary  and  splendid. 
What  other  river  of  the  world  bears  on  its  bosom  to  the  ocean 
the  wealth  and  enterprise  of  such  another  country  ?  —  a 
country  whose  products  embrace  all  between  the  tropics  and 
the  poles  !  Those  turbid  waters,  hurrying,  foaming,  tearing 
along,  an  apt  resemblance  of  that  headlong  tide  of  business 
which  is  poured  along  its  wave  by  a  race  more  vehement  and 


208  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

energetic  than  any  the  old  world  ever  saw.  Ah  !  would  that 
they  did  not  also  bear  along  a  more  fearful  freight,  —  the 
tears  of  the  oppressed,  the  sighs  of  the  helpless,  the  bitter 
prayers  of  poor,  ignorant  hearts  to  an  unknown  God  —  un 
known,  unseen  and  silent,  but  who  will  yet  "  come  out  of  hia 
place  to  save  all  the  poor  of  the  earth  !  " 

The  slanting  light  of  the  setting  sun  quivers  on  the  sea-like 
expanse  of  the  river  ;  the  shivery  canes,  and  the  tall,  dark 
cypress,  hung  with  wreaths  of  dark,  funereal  moss,  glow  in 
the  golden  ray,  as  the  heavily-laden  steamboat  marches 
onward. 

Piled  with  cotton-bales,  from  many  a  plantation,  up  over 
deck  and  sides,  till  she  seems  in  the  distance  a  square,  massive 
block  of  gray,  she  moves  heavily  onward  to  the  nearing  mart. 
We  must  look  some  time  among  its  crowded  decks  before  we 
shall  find  again  our  humble  friend  Tom.  High  on  the  upper 
deck,  in  a  little  nook  among  the  everywhere  predominant 
cotton-bales,  at  last  we  may  find  him. 

Partly  from  confidence  inspired  by  Mr.  Shelby's  represent 
ations,  and  partly  from  the  remarkably  inoffensive  and  quiet 
character  of  the  man,  Tom  had  insensibly  won  his  way  far 
into  the  confidence  even  of  such  a  man  as  Haley. 

At  first  he  had  watched  him  narrowly  through  the"  day, 
and  nevSr  allowed  him  to  sleep  at  night  unfettered  ;  but  the 
uncomplaining  patience  and  apparent  contentment  of  Tom's 
manner  led  him  gradually  to  discontinue  these  restraints,  and 
for  some  time  Tom  had  enjoyed  a  sort  of  parole  of  honor, 
being  permitted  to  come  and  go  freely  where  he  pleased  on 
the  boat. 

Ever  _guiet-and    obliu       and, 


handjT|  fivery  ftnn?rprftncy  whigh  ocfiiirred  among  the  workmen 
below,  he  had  won   the  ^nod  opinion  of-alL-the  hands,  and 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  209 


qpent  many  hojuaJBrJiefomg  them  with  aa  hearty  a. 
sg  ever  he  worked  on  a  Kentucky  farnu 

When  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  for  him  to  do,  he  would 
climb  to  a  nook  among  the  cotton-bales  of  the  upper  deck,  and 
busy  himself  in  studying  over  his  Bible,  —  and  it  is  there  we 
see  him  now. 

For  a  hundred  or  more  miles  above  New  Orleans,  the  river 
is  higher  than  the  surrounding  country,  and  rolls  its  tremen 
dous  volume  between  massive  levees  twenty  feet  in  height. 
The  traveller  from  the  deck  of  the  steamer,  as  from  some 
floating  castle  top,  overlooks  the  whole  country  for  miles  and 
miles  around.  Tom,  therefore,  had  spread  out  full  before  him, 
in  plantation  after  plantation,  a  map  of  the  life  to  which  he 
was  approaching. 

He  saw  the  distant  slaves  at  their  toil  ;  he  saw  afar  their 
villages  of  huts  gleaming  out  in  long  rows  on  many  a  planta 
tion,  distant  from  the  stately  mansions  and  pleasure-grounds 
of  the  master  ;  —  and  as  the  moving  picture  passed  on,  his 
poor,  foolish  heart  would  be  turning  backward  to  the  Ken 
tucky  farm,  with  its  old  shadowy  beeches,  —  to  the  master's 
house,  with  its  wide,  cool  halls,  and,  near  by,  the  little  cabin, 
overgrown  with  the  multiflora  and  bignonia.  There  he  seemed 
to  see  familiar  faces  of  comrades,  who  had  grown  up  with  him 
from  infancy  ;  he  saw  his  busy  wife,  bustling  in  her  prepara 
tions  for  his  evening  meals  ;  he  heard  the  merry  laugh  of 
his  boys  at  their  play,  and  the  chirrup  of  the  baby  at  his 
knee  ;  and  then,  with  a  start,  all  faded,  and  he  saw  again 
the  cane-brakes  and  cypresses  and  gliding  plantations,  and 
heard  again  the  creaking  and  groaning  of  the  machinery,  all 
telling  him  too  plainly  that  all  that  phase  of  life  had  gone  by 
forever. 

In  such  a  case,  you  write  to  your  wife,  and  send  messages 
18* 


210  UNCLE  TOM'S   CABIX :    OR, 

to  your  children  ;  but  Tom  could  not  write, —  the  mail  for  him 
had  no  existence,  and  the  gulf  of  separation  was  unbridged 
by  even  a  friendly  word  or  signal. 

Is  it  strange,  then,  that  some  tears  fall  on  the  pages  of  his 
Bible,  as  he  lays  it  on  the  cotton-bale,  and,  with  patient 
finger,  threading  his  slow  way  from  word  to  word,  traces  out 
its  promises  ?  Having  learned  late  in  life,  Tom  was  but  a 
slow  reader,  and  passed  on  laboriously  from  verse  to  verse. 
Fortunate  for  him  was  it  that  the  book  he  was  intent  on  was 
one  which  slow  reading  cannot  injure, —  nay,  one  whose 
words,  like  ingots  of  gold,  seem  often  to  need  to  be  weighed 
separately,  that  the  mind  may  take  in,  their  priceless  value. 
Let  us  follow  him  a  moment,  as,  pointing  to  each  word,  and 
pronouncing  each  half  aloud,  he  reads, 

1  i  Let  —  not  —  your  —  heart — be  — troubled.  In — my — 
Father' s  —  house — are — many — mansions.  I — go — to — 
prepare  —  a  —  place  —  for  —  you." 

Cicero,  when  he  buried  his  darling  and  only  daughter,  had 
a  heart  as  full  of  honest  grief  as  poor  Tom's, —  perhaps  no 
fuller,  for  both  were  only  men ;  —  but  Cicero  co^M  pa/iiso  over 
no  such  sublime  words  of  hope,  and  look  to  no  suchjfuture 
reunion ;  and  if  he  had  seen  them,  ten  to  one  he  would  not 
have  believed, —  he  must  fill  his  head  first  with  a  thousand 
questions _  of  authenticity  of  iMirafiT!ipt-)  aj»d 


Jranslation.  But,  to  poor  Tom,  there  it  lay,  just  what  he 
needed,  so  evidently  true  and  divine  that  the  possibility  of  a 
question  never  entered  his  simple  head.  It  must  be  true ; 
for,  if  not  true,  how  could  he  live  ? 

As  for  Tom's  Bible,  though  it  had  no  annotations  and  helps 
in  margin  from  learned  commentators,  still  it  had  been  embel 
lished  with  certain  way-marks  and  guide-boards  of  Tom's  own 
invention,  and  which  helped  him  more  than  the  most  learned 


LIFE   AMONG   OJHE   LOWLY.  211 

expositions  could  have  done.  It  had  been  his  custom  to  get 
the  Bible  read  to  him  by  his  master's  children,  in  particular 
by  young  Master  George  ;  and,  as  they  read,  he  would  desig 
nate,  by  bold,  strong  marks  and  dashes,  with  pen  and  ink,  the 
passages  which  more  particularly  gratified  his  ear  or  affected 
his  heart.  His  Bible  was  thus  marked  through,  from  one  end 
to  the  other,  with  a  variety  of  styles  and  designations  ;'so  he 
could  in  a  moment  seize  upon  his  favorite  passages,  without 
the  labor  of  spelling  out  what  lay  between  them ;  —  and  while 
it  lay  there  before  him,  every  passage  breathing  of  some  old 
home  scene,  and  recalling  some  past  enjoyment,  his  Bible 
seemed  to  him  all  of  this  life  that  remained,  as  well  as  the 
promise  of  a  future  one. 

Among  the  passengers  on  the  boat  was  a  y^ung  gentleman 
of  fortune  and  family,  resident  in  New  Orleans,  who  bore  the 
name  of  St.  Clare.  He  had  with  him  a  daughter  between 
five  and  six  years  of  age,  together  with  a  lady  who  seemed  to 
claim  relationship  to  both,  and  to  have  the  little  one  especially 
under  her  charge. 

Tom  had  often  caught  glimpses  of  this  little  girl, —  for  she 
was  one  of  those  busy,  tripping  creatures,  that  can  be  no  more 
contained  in  one  place  than  a  sunbeam  or  a  summer  breeze, — 
nor  was  she  one  that,  once  seen,  could  be  easily  forgotten. 

Her  form  was  the  perfection  of  childish  beauty,  without  its 
usual  chubbiness  and  squareness  of  outline.  There  was  about 
it  an  undulating  and  aerial  grace,  such  as  one  might  dream  of 
for  some  mythic  and  allegorical  being.  Her  face  was  remark 
able  less  for  its  perfect  beauty  of  feature  than  for  a  singular 
and  dreamy  earnestness  of  expression,  which  made  the  ideal 
start  when  they  looked  at  her,  and  by  which  the  dullest  and 
most  literal  were  impressed,  without  exactly  knowing  Tfhy. 
Ihe  shape  of  her  head  and  the  turn  of  her  neck  and  bust  was 


212  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

peculiarly  noble,  and  the  long  golden-brown  hair  that  floated 
like  a  cloud  around  it,  the  deep  spiritual  gravity  of  her  violet 
blue  eyes,  shaded  by  heavy  fringes  of  golden  brown, —  all 
marked  her  out  from  other  children,  and  made  every  one  turn 
and  look  after  her,  as  she  glided  hither  and  thither  on  the  boat. 
Nevertheless,  the  little  one  was  not  what  you  would  have 
called  either  a  grave  child  or  a  sad  one.  On  the  contrary,  an 
airy  and  innocent  playfulness  seemed  to  flicker  like  the  shadow 
of  summer  leaves  over  her  childish  face,  and  around  her  buoy 
ant  figure.  She  was  always  in  motion,  always  with  a  half 
smile  on  her  rosy  mouth,  flying  hither  and  thither,  with  an 
undulating  and  cloud-like  tread,  singing  to  herself  as  she 
moved  as  in  a  happy  dream.  Her  father  and  femole  guardian 
were  incessantly  busy  in  pursuit  of  her, —  but,  when  caught, 
she  melted  from  them  again  like  a  summer  cloud ;  and  as  no 
word  of  chiding  or  reproof  ever  fell  on  her  ear  for  whatever  she 
chose  to  do,  she  pursued  her  own  way  all  over  the  boat.  Always 
dressed  in  white,  she  seemed  to  move  like  a  shadow  through 
all  sorts  of  places,  without  contracting  spot  or  stain ;  and 
there  was  not  a  corner  or  nook,  above  or  below,  where  those 
fairy  footsteps  had  not  glided,  and  that  visionary  golden  head, 
with  its  deep  blue  eyes,  fleeted  along. 

The  fireman,  as  he  looked  up  from  his  sweaty  toil,  some 
times  found  those  eyes  looking  wonderingly  into  the  raging 
depths  of  the  furnace,  and  fearfully  and  pityingly  at  him,  as 
if  she  thought  him  in  some  dreadful  danger.  Anon  the 
steersman  at  the  wheel  paused  and  smiled,  as  the  picture-like 
head  gleamed  through 'the  window  of  the  round  house,  and  in 
a  moment  was  gone  again.  A  thousand  times  a  day  rough 
voices  blessed  her,  and  smiles  of  unwonted  softness  stole  over 
hard  faces,  as  she  passed ;  and  when  she  tripped  fearlessly 


LIFE   AMONG   TIIE   LOWLY.  213 

over  dangerous  places,  rough,  sooty  hands  were  stretched 
involuntarily  out  to  save  her,  and  smooth  her  path. 

Tom,  who  had  the  soft,  impressible  nature  of  his  kindly 
race,  ever  yearning  toward  the  simple  and  childlike,  watched 
the  little  creature  with  daily  increasing  interest.  To  him 
she  seemed  something  almost  divine ;  and  whenever  her  golden 
head  and  deep  blue  eyes  peered  out  upon  him  from  behind 
some  dusky  cotton-bale,  or  looked  down  upon  him  over  some 
ridge  of  packages,  he  half  believed  that  he  saw  one  of  the 
angels  stepped  out  of  his  New  Testament. 

Often  and  often  she  walked  mournfully  round  the  place 
where  Haley's  gang  of  men  and  women  sat  in  their  chains. 
She  would  glide  in  among  them,  and  look  at  them  with  an  air 
of  perplexed  and  sorrowful  earnestness ;  and  sometimes  she 
would  lift  their  chains  with  her  slender  hands,  anr1  then  sigh 
wofully,  as  she  glided  away.  Several  times  sbc  appeared 
suddenly  among  them,  with  her  hands  full  of  candy,  nuts, 
and  oranges,  which  she  would  distribute  joyfully  to  them,  and 
then  be  gone  again. 

Tom  watched  the  little  lady  a  great  deal,  before  he  ventured 
on  any  overtures  towards  acquaintanceship.  He  knew  an 
abundance  of  simple  acts  to  propitiate  and  invite  the  approach 
es  of  the  little  people,  and  he  resolved  to  play  his  part  right 
skilfully.  He  could  cut  cunning  little  baskets  out  of  cherry 
stones,  could  make  grotesque  faces  on  hickory-nuts,  or  odd- 
jumping  figures  out  of  elder-pith,  and  he  was  a  very  Pan  in 
the  manufacture  of  whistles  of  all  sizes  and  sorts.  His  pockets 
were  full  of  miscellaneous  articles  of  attraction,  which  he  had 
hoarded  in  days  of  old  for  his  master's  children,  and  which  he 
now  produced,  with  commendable  prudence  and  economy,  one 
by  one,  as  overtures  for  .acquaintance  and  friendship. 

The  little  one  was  shy,  for  all  her  busy  interest  in  every- 


214  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN  :    (  a, 

thing  going  on,  and  it  was  not  easy  to  tame  her.  For  a  while, 
she  would  perch  like  a  canary-bird  on  some  box  or  package 
near  Tom,  while  busy  in  the  little  arts  afore-named,  and  take 
from  him,  with  a  kind  of  grave  bashfulness,  the  little  articles 
he  offered.  But  at  last  they  got  on  quite  confidential  terms. 

"  What 's  little  missy's  name?"  said  Tom,  at  last,  when  he 
thought  matters  were  ripe  to  push  such  an  inquiry. 

"Evangeline  St.  Clare,"  said  the  little  one,  "though  papa 
and  everybody  else  call  me  Eva.  Now,  what 's  your 
name?" 

"  My  name 's  Tom ;  the  little  chil'en  used  to  cal!  me  Uncle 
Tom,  way  back  thar  in  Kentuck." 

"  Then  I  mean  to  call  you  Uncle  Tom,  because,  you  see, 
I  like  you,"  said  Eva.  "  So,  Uncle  Tom,  where  are  you 
going?" 

"I  don't  know,  Miss  Eva." 

"  Don't  know  ?  "  said  Eva. 

"  No.  I  am  going  to  be  sold  to  somebody.  I  don't  know 
who." 

"  My  papa  can  buy  you,"  said  Eva,  quickly ;  "  and  if  he 
buys  you,  you  will  have  good  times.  I  mean  to  ask  him  to, 
this  very  day." 

"  Thank  you,  my  little  lady,"  said  Tom. 

The  boat  here  stopped  at  a  small  landing  to  take  in  wood, 
and  Eva,  hearing  her  father's  voice,  bounded  nimbly  away. 
Tom  rose  up,  and  went  forward  to  offer  his  service  in  wooding, 
and  soon  was  busy  among  the  hands. 

Eva  and  her  father  were  standing  together  by  the  railings 
to  see  the  boat  start  from  the  landing-place,  the  wheel  had 
made  two  or  three  revolutions  in  the  water,  when,  by  some 
sudden  movement,  the  little  one  suddenly  lost  her  balance,  and 
fell  sheer  over  the  side  of  the  boat  into  the  water.  Her  father, 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  215 

scarce  knowing  what  he  did,  was  plunging  in  after  her,  but 
was  held  back  by  some  behind  him,  who  saw  that  more  efficient 
aid  had  followed  his  child. 

Tom  was  standing  just  under  her  on  the  lower  deck,  as  she 
fell.  He  saw  her  strike  the  water,  and  sink,  and  was  after 
her  in  a  moment.  A  broad-chested,  strong-armed  fellow,  it 
was  nothing  for  him  to  keep  afloat  in  the  water,  till,  in  a 
moment  or  two,  the  child  rose  to  the  surface,  and  he  caught 
her  in  his  arms,  and,  swimming  with  her  to  the  boat-side, 
handed  her  up,  all  dripping,  to  the  grasp  of  hundreds  of 
hands,  which,  as  if  they  had  all  belonged  to  one  man,  were 
stretched  eagerly  out  to  receive  her.  A  few  moments  more, 
and  her  father  bore  her,  dripping  and  senseless,  to  the  ladies' 
cabin,  where,  as  is  usual  in  cases  of  the  kind,  there  ensued  a 
very  well-meaning  and  kind-hearted  strife  among  the  female 
occupants  generally,  as  to  who  should  do  the  most  things  to 
make  a  disturbance,  and  to  hinder  her  recovery  in  every  way 
possible. 


It  was  a  sultry,  close  day,  the  next  day,  as  the  steamer 
drew  near  to  New  Orleans.  A  general  bustle  of  expectation 
and  preparation  was  spread  through  the  boat ;  in  the  cabin, 
one  and  another  were  gathering  their  things  together,  and 
arranging  them,  preparatory  to  going  ashore.  The  steward 
and  chambermaid,  and  all,  were  busily  engaged  in  cleaning, 
furbishing,  and  arranging  the  splendid  boat,  preparatory  to  a 
grand  entree. 

On  the  lower  deck  sat  our  friend  Tom,  with  his  arms  folded, 
and  anxiously,  from  time  to  time,  turning  his  eyes  towards  a 
group  on  the  other  side  of  the  boat. 

There  stood  the  fair  Evangeline,  a  little  paler  than  the  day 
before,  but  otherwise  exhibiting  no  traces  of  the  accident 


216  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN  :    OR, 

•which  had  befallen  her.  A  graceful,  elegantly-formed  young 
man  stood  by  her,  carelessly  leaning  one  elbow  on  a  bale  of 
cotton,  while  a  large  pocket-book  lay  open  before  him.  It 
was  quite  evident,  at  a  glance,  that  the  gentleman  was  Eva's 
father.  There  was  the  same  noble  cast  of  head,  the  same 
large  blue  eyes,  the  same  golden-brown  hair  ;  yet  the  expres 
sion  was  wholly  different.  In  the  large,  clear  blue  eyes, 
though  in  form  and  color  exactly  similar,  there  was  wanting 
that  misty,  dreamy  depth  of  expression ;  all  was  clear,  bold, 
and  bright,  but  with  a  light  wholly  of  this  world  :  the  beauti 
fully  cut  mouth  had  a  proud  and  somewhat  sarcastic  expres 
sion,  wrhile  an  air  of  free-and-easy  superiority  sat  not  ungrace 
fully  in  every  turn  and  movement  of  his  fine  form.  He  was 
listening,  with  a  good-humored,  negligent  air,  half  comic,  half 
contemptuous,  to  Haley,  who  was  very  volubly  expatiating 
on  the  quality  of  the  article  for  which  they  were  bargaining. 

"All  the  moral  and  Christian  virtues  bound  in  black 
morocco,  complete!"  he  said,  wiien  Haley  had  finished. 
"Well,  now,  my  good  fellow,  what's  the  damage,  as  they 
say  in  Kentucky ;  in  short,  what 's  to  be  paid  out  for  this 
business  ?  How  much  are  you  going  to  cheat  me,  now  1  Out 
with  it!" 

"Wai,"  said  Haley,  "if  I  should  say  thirteen  hundred 
dollars  for  that  ar  fellow,  I  shouldn't  but  just  save  myself; 
I  shouldn't,  now,  re'ly." 

"Poor  fellow ! "  said  the  young  man,  fixing  his  keen,  mock 
ing  blue  eye  on  him  ;  "  but  I  suppose  you  'd  let  me  have  him 
for  that,  out  of  a  particular  regard  for  me." 

"  Well,  the  young  lady  here  seems  to  be  sot  on  him,  and 
nat'lly  enough." 

"  0  !  certainly,  there  's  a  call  on  your  benevolence,  my 
friend.  Now,  as  a  matter  of  Christian  charity,  how  cheap 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  217 

could  you  afford  to  let  him  go,  to  oblige  a  young  lady  that 's 
particular  sot  on  him  ?" 

"  Wai,  now,  just  think  on  't,"  said  the  trader  ;  "just  look 
at  them  limbs, —  broad-chested,  strong  as  a  horse.  Look  at 
his  head  ;  them  high  forrads  allays  shows  calculatin  niggers, 
that  '11  do  any  kind  o'  thing.  I  've  marked  that  ar.  Now, 
a  nigger  of  that  ar  heft  and  build  is  worth  considerable,  just, 
as  you  may  say,  for  his  body,  supposin  he  's  stupid;  but  como 
to  put  in  his  calculatin  faculties,  and  them  which  I  can  show 
he  has  oncommon,  why,  of  course,  it  makes  him  come  higher. 
Why,  that  ar  fellow  managed  his  master's  whole  farm.  He 
has  a  strornary  talent  for  business." 

"Bad,  bad,  very  bad ;  knows  altogether  too  much  !"  said 
the  young  man,  with  the  same  mocking  smile  playing  about 
his  mouth.  "Never  will  do,  in  the  world.  Your  smart  fel 
lows  are  always  running  off,  stealing  horses,  and  raising  the 
devil  generally.  I  think  you  '11  have  to  take  off  a  couple  of 
hundred  for  his  smartness." 

"  Wai,  there  might  be  something  in  that  ar,  if  it  warnt  for 
his  character ;  but  I  can  show  recommends  from  his  master 
and  others,  to  prove  he  is  one  of  your  real  pious,  —  the  most 
humble,  prayin,  pious  crittur  ye  ever  did  see.  Why,  he 's 
been  called  a  preacher  in  them  parts  he  came  from." 

"  And  I  might  use  him  for  a  family  chaplain,  possibly," 
added  the  young  man,  dryly.  "  That 's  quite  an  idea.  Reli 
gion  is  a  remarkably  scarce  article  at  our  house." 

"  You  're  joking,  now." 

"  How  do  you  know  I  am  ?  Did  n't  you  just  warrant  him 
for  a  preacher  ?  Has  he  been  examined  by  any  synod  or 
council  ?  Come,  hand  over  your  papers." 

If  the  trader  had  not  been  sure,  by  a  certain  good-humored 
twinkle  in  the  large  blue  eye,  that  all  this  banter  was  sure, 
19 


218  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:    OR, 

in  the  long  run,  to  turn  out  a  cash  concern,  he  might  havo 
been  somewhat  out  of  patience  ;  as  it  was,  he  laid  down  a 
greasy  pocket-hook  on  the  cotton-bales,  and  began  anxiously 
studying  over  certain  papers  in  it,  the  young  man  standing 
by,  the  while,  looking  down  on  him  with  an  air  of  careless, 
easy  drollery. 

"  Papa,  do  buy  him  !  it  's  no  matter  what  you  pay,'7  whis 
pered  Eva,  softly,  getting  up  on  a  package,  and  putting  her 
arm  around  her  father's  neck.  "  You  have  money  enough,  I 
know.  I  want  him." 

"  What  for,  pussy  ?  Are  you  going  to  use  him  for  a  rat 
tle-box,  or  a  rocking-horse,  or  what?" 

"  I  want  to  make  him  happy." 

11  An  original  reason,  certainly." 

Here  the  trader  handed  up  a  certificate,  signed  by  Mr. 
Shelby,  which  the  young  man  took  with  the  tips  of  his  long 
fingers,  and  glanced  over  carelessly. 

"A  gentlemanly  hand,"  he  said,  "and  well  spelt,  too. 
Well.  now  h"*  T  '^  j^pf  gyir  nft^r  n.1] 


said  he,  the  old  wicked^exjn-es^ioTi  returning  tft  I11'**  pyA  ;—  -^Q  .^ 
country  is  almost  ruined  with  piou.fi  white  people  :   such  pioua_  . 
politicians  asjre  frayejust  before  elections,  —  such-pious  ffoincya 
on  in  all  departments  of  church  and  state,  that  a  fellow  does  „ 
not  know  who  '11  cheat  him  next.    I  don't  know?  either^about 
religion  s  being  up  intne  market,  j"pt  -**»y.      I  have  n©t 
looked  in  the  papers  lately,  to  see  how  it  sells.     How  many 
hundred  dollars,  now,  do  you  put  on  for  this  religion?" 

"You  like  to  be  a  jokin,  now,"  said  the  trader;  "but, 
then,  there  's  sense  under  all  that  ar.  I  know  there  's  dif 
ferences  in  r  eli  gion.  jome  kinds  is  mis'rable  :  there  's  your 
meetinjripus  ;  jthere  Vy^our^singin,  roarin  pious;  them  ar  aivt. 
no  account,  in  black  or  white;  —  but  these  rayly  is  ;  and  I  'vo 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  219 

seen  it  in  niggers  as  often  as  any,  your  rail  softly,  quiet, 
stiddy,  honest,  pious,  that  the  hull  world  could  n't  tempt  'em 
to  do  nothing  that  they  thinks  is  wrong ;  and  ye  see  in  this 
letter  what  Tom's  old  master  says  about  him." 

"Now,"  said  the  young  man,  stooping  gravely  over  his 
book  of  bills,  "if  you  can  assure  me  that  I  really  can  buy 
this  kind  of  pious,  and  that  it  will  be  set  down  to  my  account 
in  the  book  up  above,  as  something  belonging  to  me,  I 
would  n't  care  if  I  did  go' a  little  extra  for  it.  How  d'  ye 
say?" 

"Wai,  rally,  I  can't  do  that,"  said  the  trader.  "I'm  a 
thinkin  that  every  man  '11  have  to  hang  on  his  own  hook,  in 
them  ar  quarters." 

"  Kather  hard  on  a  fellow  that  pays  extra  on  religion,  and 
can't  trade  with  it  in  the  state  where  he  wants  it  most,  an't 
it,  now?"  said  the  young  man,  who  had  been  making  out  a 
roll  of  bills  while  he  was  speaking.  "There,  count  your 
money,  old  boy  !"  he  added,  as  he  handed  the  roll  to  the 
trader. 

"All  right,"  said  Haley,  his  face  beaming  with  delight; 
and  pulling  out  an  old  inkhorn,  he  proceeded  to  fill  out  a  bill 
df  sale,  which,  in  a  few  moments,  he  handed  to  the  young 
man. 

"I  wonder,  now,  if  I  was  divided  up  and  inventoried," 
said  the  latter,  as  he  ran  over  the  paper,  "  how  much  I  might 
bring.  Say  so  much  for  the  shape  of  my  head,  so  much  for 
a  high  forehead,  so  much  for  arms,  and  hands,  and  legs,  and 
then  so  much  for  education,  learning,  talent,  honesty,  reli 
gion  !  Bless  me  !  there  would  be  small  charge  on  that  last, 
I  'm  thinking.  But  come,  Eva,"  he  said ;  and  taking  the 
hand  of  his  daughter,  he  stepped  across  the  boat,  and  care 
lessly  putting  the  tip  of  his  finger  under  Tom's  chin,  said, 


220  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OB, 

good-humoredly,  "Look  up,  Tom,  and  see  how  you  like  your 
new  master." 

Tom  looked  up.  It  was  not  in  nature  to  look  into  that 
gay,  young,  handsome  face,  without  a  feeling  of  pleasure ;  and 
Tom  felt  the  tears  start  in  his  eyes  as  he  said,  heartily,  "God 
bless  you,  Mas'r  ! " 

"Well,  I  hope  he  will.  What's  your  name?  Tom? 
Quite  as  likely  to  do  it  for  your  asking  as  mine,  from  all 
accounts.  Can  you  drive  horses,  Tom  ?" 

"I've  been  allays  used  to  horses,"  said  Tom.  "Mas'r 
Shelby  raised  heaps  on  'em." 

"  Well,  I  think  I  shall  put  you  in  coachy,  on  condition 
that  you  won't  be  drunk  more  than  once  a  week,  unless  in 
cases  of  emergency,  Tom." 

Tom  looked  surprised,  and  rather  hurt,  and  said,  "  I  never 
drink,  Mas'r." 

"  I  've  heard  that  story  before,  Tom ;  but  then  we  '11  see. 
It  will  be  a  special  accommodation  to  all  concerned,  if  you 
don't.  Never  mind,  my  boy,"  he  added,  good-humoredly, 
seeing  Tom  still  looked  grave  ;  "I  don't  doubt  you  mean  to 
do  well." 

"I  sartin  do,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom. 

"And  you  shall  have  good  times,"  said  Eva.  "Papa  is 
very  good  to  everybody,  only  he  always  will  laugh  at  them." 

"  Papa  is  much  obliged  to  you  for  his  recommendation," 
said  St  Clare,  laughing,  as  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked 
away. 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  221 


CHAPTER  XV. 

OF  TOM'S  NEW  MASTER,   AND  VARIOUS  OTHER  MATTERS. 

SINCE  the  thread  of  our  humble  hero's  life  has  now  become 
interwoven  with  that  of  higher  ones,  it  is  necessary  to  give 
some  brief  introduction  to  them. 

Augustine  St.  Clare  was  the  son  of  a  wealthy  planter  of 
Louisiana.  The  family  had  its  origin  in  Canada.  Of  two 
brothers,  very  similar  in  temperament  and  character,  one  had 
settled  on  a  flourishing  farm  in  Vermont,  and  the  other  became 
an  opulent  planter  in  Louisiana.  The  mother  of  Augustine 
was  a  Huguenot  French  lady,  whose  family  had  emigrated  to 
Louisiana  during  the  days  of  its  early  settlement.  Augus 
tine  and  another  brother  were  the  only  children  of  their 
parents.  Having  inherited  from  his  mother  an  exceeding 
delicacy  of  constitution,  he  was,  at  the  instance  of  physicians, 
during  many  years  of  his  boyhood,  sent  to  the  care  of  his 
uncle  in  Vermont,  in  order  that  his  constitution  might  be 
strengthened  by  the  cold  of  a  more  bracing  climate. 

In  childhood,  he  was  remarkable  for  an  extreme  and  marked 
sensitiveness  of  character,  more  akin  to  the  softness  of  woman 
than  the  ordinary  hardness  of  his  own  sex.  Time,  however, 
overgrew  this  softness  with  the  rough  bark  of  manhood,  and 
but  few  knew  how  living  and  fresh  it  still  lay  at  the  core. 
His  talents  were  of  the  very  first  order,  although  his  mind 
showed  a  preference  always  for  the  ideal  and  the  aesthetic, 
and  there  was  about  him  that  repugnance  to  the  actual  busi 
ness  of  life  which  is  the  common  result  of  this  balance  of  the 
19* 


222  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  DR, 

faculties.  Soon  after  the  completion  of  his  college  course,  his 
whole  nature  was  kindled  into  one  intense  and  passionate 
effervescence  of  romantic  passion,  ffjs  hour  came, — the  hour 
that  comes  only  once ;  his  star  rose  in  the  horizon,  —  that 
Star  that  rises  so  often  in  vnjji,  tn  bft  ^Tnfigjjjgjgj  only  as.  a 
thing  of  dreams  ;  and  it  rose  for  him  in  vain.  To  drop  the 
figure,  —  he  saw  and  won  the  love  of  a  high-minded  and 
beautiful  woman,  in  one  of  the  northern  states,  and  they  were 
affianced.  He  returned  south  to  make  arrangements  for  their 
marriage,  when,  most  unexpectedly,  his  letters  were  returned 
to  him  by  mail,  with  a  short  note  from  her  guardian,  stating 
to  him  that  ere  this  reached  him  the  lady  would  be  the  wife 
of  another.  Stung  to  madness,  he  vainly  hoped,  as  many 
another  has  done,  to  fling  the  whole  thing  from  his  heart  by 
one  desperate  effort.  Too  proud  to  supplicate  or  seek  explan 
ation,  he  threw  himself  at  once  into  a  whirl  of  fashionable 
society,  and  iu  a  fortnight  from  the  time  of  the  fatal  letter 
was  the  accepted  lover  of  the  reigning  belle  of  the  season;  and 
as  soon  as  arrangements  could  be  made,  he  became  the  hus 
band  of  a  fine  figure,  a  pair  of  bright  dark  eyes,  and  a  hun 
dred  thousand  dollars ;  and,  of  course,  everybody  thought  him 
a  happy  fellow. 

The  married  couple  were  enjoying  their  honeymoon,  and 
entertaining  a  brilliant  circle  of  friends  in  their  splendid  villa, 
near  Lake  Pontchartrain,  when,  one  day,  a  letter  was  brought 
to  him  in  that  well-remembered  writing.  It  was  handed  to 
him  while  he  was  in  full  tide  of  gay  and  successful  conversa 
tion,  in  a  whole  room-full  of  company. .  He  turned  deadly 
pale  when  he  saw  the  writing,  but  still  preserved  his  com 
posure,  and  finished  the  playful  warfare  of  badinage  which 
he  was  at  the  moment  carrying  on  with  a  lady  opposite ;  and, 
a  short  time  after,  was  missed  from  the  circle.  In  his  room. 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  223 

alone,  he  opened  and  read  the  letter,  now  worse  than  idle  and 
useless  to  be  read.  It  was  from  her,  giving  a  long  account 
of  a  persecution  to  which  she  had  been  exposed  by  her  guard 
ian's  family,  to  lead  her  to  unite  herself  with  their  son  :  and 
she  related  how,  for  a  long  time,  his  letters  had  ceased  to 
arrive ;  how  she  had  written  time  and  again,  till  she  became 
weary  and  doubtful ;  how  her  health  had  failed  under  her 
anxieties,  and  how,  at  last,  she  had  discovered  the  whole  fraud 
which  had  been  practised  on  them  both.  The  letter  ended 
with  expressions  of  hope  and  thankfulness,  and  professions  of 
undying  affection,  which  were  more  bitter  than  death  to  the 
unhappy  young  man.  He  wrote  to  her  immediately  : 

"  I  have  received  yours,  —  but  too  late.  I  believed  all  I 
heard.  I  was  desperate.  /  am  married,  and  all  is  over. 
Only  forget,  —  it  is  all  that  remains  for  either  of  us." 

And  thus  ended  the  whole  romance  and  ideal  of  life  for 
Augustine  St.  Clare.  But  the  real  remained, — the  real,  like 
the  flat,  bare,  oozy  tide-mud,  when  the  blue  sparkling  wave, 
with  all  its  company  of  gliding  boats  and  white-winged  ships, 
its  music  of  oars  and  chiming  waters,  has  gone  down,  and 
there  it  lies,  flat,  slimy,  bare,  —  exceedingly  real. 

Of  course,  in  a  novel,  people's  hearts  break,  and  they  die, 
and  that  is  the  end  of  it ;  and  in  a  story  this  is  very  conven 
ient.  But  in  real  life  we  do  not  die  when  all  that  makes 
life  bright  dies  to  us.  There  is  a  most  busy  and  important 
round  of  eating,  drinking,  dressing,  walking,  visiting,  buying, 
selling,  talking,  reading,  and  all  that  makes  up  what  is  com 
monly  called  living,  yet  to  be  gone  through ;  and  this  yet 
remained  to  Augustine.  Had  his  wife  been  a  whole  woman, 
she  might*  yet  have  done  something  —  as  woman  can  —  to 
mend  the  broken  threads  of  life,  and  weave  again  into  a  tissue 
of  brightness.  But  Marie  St.  Clare  could  not  even  see  that 


224  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

they  had  been  broken.  As  before  stated,  she  consisted  of  a 
fine  figure,  a  pair  of  splendid  eyes,  and  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars ;  and  none  of  these  items  were  precisely  the  ones  to 
minister  to  a  mind  diseased. 

When  Augustine,  pale  as  death,  was  found  lying  on  the 
sofa,  and  pleaded  sudden  sick-headache  as  the  cause  of  his 
distress,  she  recommended  to  him  to  smell  of  hartshorn ;  and 
when  the  paleness  and  headache  came  on  week  after  week, 
she  only  said  that  she  never  thought  Mr.  St.  Clare  was 
sickly ;  but  it  seems  he  was  very  liable  to  sick-headaches, 
and  that  it  was  a  very  unfortunate  thing  for  her,  because  he 
did  n't  enjoy  going  into  company  with  her,  and  it  seemed  odd 
to  go  so  much  alone,  when  they  were  just  married.  Augus 
tine  was  glad  in  his  heart  that  he  had  married  so  undiscern- 
ing  a  woman ;  but  as  the  glosses  and  civilities  of  the  honey 
moon  wore  away,  he  discovered  that  a  beautiful  young  woman, 
who  has  lived  all  her  life  to  be  caressed  and  waited  on,  might 
prove  quite  a  hard  mistress  in  domestic  life.  Marie  never 
had  possessed  much  capability  of  affection,  or  much  sensibil 
ity,  and  the  little  that  she  had,  had  been  merged  into  a  most 
intense  and  unconscious  selfishness ;  a  selfishness  the  more 
hopeless,  from  its  quiet  obtuseness,  its  utter  ignorance  of  any 
claims  i)ut  her  own.  From  her  infancy,  she  had  been  sur 
rounded  with  servants,  who  lived  only  to  study  her  caprices  ; 
the  idea  that  they  had  either  feelings  or  rights  had  never 
dawned  upon  her,  even  in  distant  perspective.  Her  father, 
whose  only  child  she  had  been,  had  never  denied  her  anything 
that  lay  within  the  compass  of  human  possibility ;  and  when 
she  entered  life,  beautiful,  accomplished,  and  an  heiress,  she 
had,  of  course,  all  the  eligibles  and  non-eligibles  of  the  other 
sex  sighing  at  her  feet,  and  she  had  no  doubt  that  Augustine 
was  a  most  fortunate  man  in  having  obtained  her.  It  is  a 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  225 

great  mistake  to  suppose  that  a  woman  with  no  heart  will  be 
an  easy  creditor  in  the  exchange  of  affection.  There  is  not 
on  earth  a  more  merciless  exactor  of  love  from  others  than  a 
thoroughly  selfish  woman;  and  the  more  unlovely  she  grows, 
the  more  jealously  and  scrupulously  she  exacts  love,  to  the 
uttermost  farthing.  When,  therefore,  St.  Clare  began  to 
drop  off  those  gallantries  and  small  attentions  which  flowed  at 
first  through  the  habitude  of  courtship,  he  found  his  sultana 
no  way  ready  to  resign  her  slave ;  there  were  abundance  of 
tears,  poutings,  and  small  tempests,  there  were  discontents, 
pinings,  upbraidings.  St.  Clare  was  good-natured  and  self- 
indulgent,  and  sought  to  buy  off  with  presents  and  flatteries ; 
and  when  Marie  became  mother  to  a  beautiful  daughter,  he 
really  felt  awakened,  for  a  time,  to  something  like  tenderness. 

St.  Clare's  mother  had  been  a  woman  of  uncommon  eleva 
tion  and  purity  of  character,  and  he  gave  to  this  child  his 
mother's  name,  fondly  fancying  that  she  would  prove  a 
reproduction  of  her  image.  The  thing  had  been  remarked 
with  petulant  jealousy  by  his  wife,  and  she  regarded  her 
husband's  absorbing  devotion  to  the  child  with  suspicion  and 
dislike ;  all  that  was  given  to  her  seemed  so  much  taken  from 
herself.  From  the  time  of  the  birth  of  this  child,  her  health 
gradually  sunk.  A  life  of  constant  inaction,  bodily  and 
mental, —  the  friction  of  ceaseless  ennui  and  discontent,  united 
to  the  ordinary  weakness  which  attended  the  period  of  mater 
nity, — in  course  of  a  few  years  changed  the  blooming  young 
belle  into  a  yellow,  faded,  sickly  woman,  whose  time  was 
divided  among  a  variety  of  fanciful  diseases,  and  who  con 
sidered  herself,  in  every  sense,  the  most  ill-used  and  suffering 
person  in  existence. 

There  was  no  end  of  her  various  complaints ;  but  her  prin 
cipal  forte  appeared  to  lie  in  sick-headache,  which  sometimes 


226  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OK, 

would  confine  her  to  her  room  three  days  out  of  six.  As,  of 
course,  all  family  arrangements  fell  into  the  hands  of  servants, 
St.  Clare  found  his  menage  anything  but  comfortable.  His 
only  daughter  was  exceedingly  delicate,  and  he  feared  that, 
with  no  one  to  look  after  her  and  attend  to  her,  her  health 
and  life  might  yet  fall  a  sacrifice  to  her  mother's  inefliciency. 
He  had  taken  her  with  him  on  a  tour  to  Vermont,  and  had 
persuaded  his  cousin,  Miss  Ophelia  St.  Clare,  to  return  with 
him  to  his  southern  residence ;  and  they  are  now  returning 
on  this  boat,  where  we  have  introduced  them  to  our  readers. 

And  now,  while  the  distant  domes  and  spires  of  New 
Orleans  rise  to  our  view,  there  is  yet  time  for  an  introduction 
to  Miss  Ophelia. 

Whoever  has  travelled  in  the  New  England  States  will 
remember,  in  some  cool  village,  the  large  farm-house, 
with  its  clean-swept  grassy  yard,  shaded  by  the  dense  and 
massive  foliage  of  the  sugar  maple ;  and  remember  the  air  of 
order  and  stillness,  of  perpetuity  and  unchanging  repose,  that 
seemed  to  breathe  over  the  whole  place.  Nothing  lost,  or  out 
of  order ;  not  a  picket  loose  in  the  fence,  not  a  particle  of  litter 
in  the  turfy  yard,  with  its  clumps  of  lilac-bushes  growing  up 
under  the  windows.  Within,  he  will  remember  wide,  clean 
rooms,  where  nothing  ever  seems  to  be  doing  or  going  to  be 
done,  where  everything  is  once  and  forever  rigidly  in  place, 
and  where  all  household  arrangements  move  with  the  punc 
tual  exactness  of  the  old  clock  in  the  corner.  In  the  family 
"  keeping-room,"  as  it  is  termed,  he  will  remember  the  staid 
respectable  old  bool^-case,  with  its  glass  doors,  where  Rollin's 
History,  Milton's  Paradise  Lost,  Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Pro 
gress,  and  Scott's  Family  Bible,  stand  side  by  side  in 
decorous  order,  with  multitudes  of  other  books,  equally 
solemn  and  respectable.  There  are  no  servants  in  the  house, 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  227 

but  the  lady  in  the  snowy  cap,  with  the  spectacles,  who  sits 
sewing  every  afternoon  among  her  daughters,  as  if  nothing 
ever  had  been  done,  or  were  to  be  done, —  she  and  her  girls, 
in  some  long-forgotten  fore  part  of  the  day,  "did  up  the 
work"  and  for  the  rest  of  the  time,  probably,  at  all  hours 
when  you  would  see  them,  it  is  "  done  up."  The  old  kitchen 
floor  never  seems  stained  or  spotted;  the  tables,  the  chairs, 
and  the  various  cooking  utensils,  never  seem  deranged  or  dis 
ordered  ;  though  three  and  sometimes  four  meals  a  day  are 
got  there,  though  the  family  washing  and  ironing  is  there 
performed,  and  though  pounds  of  butter  and  cheese  are  in 
some  silent  and  mysterious  manner  there  brought  into  exist 
ence. 

On  such  a  farm,  in  such  a  house  and  family,  Miss  Ophelia 
had  spent  a  quiet  existence  of  some  forty-five  years,  when 
her  cousin  invited  her  to  visit  his  southern  mansion.  The 
eldest  of  a  large  family,  she  was  still  considered  by  her  father 
and  mother  as  one  of  "  the  children,"  and  the  proposal  that  she 
should  go  to  Orleans  was  a  most  momentous  one  to  the  family 
circle.  The  old  gray-headed  father  took  down  Morse's  Atlas 
out  of  the  book-case,  and  looked  out  the  exact  latitude  and 
longitude ;  and  read  Flint's  Travels  in  the  South  and  West,  to 
make  up  his  own  mind  as  to  the  nature  of  the  country. 

The  good  mother  inquired,  anxiously,  " if  Orleans  wasn't 
an  awful  wicked  place,"  saying,  "that  it  seemed  to  her  most 
equal  to  going  to  the  Sandwich  Islands,  or  anywhere  among 
the  heathen." 

It  was  known  at  the  minister's,  and  at  the  doctor's,  and  at 
Miss  Peabody's  milliner  shop,  that  Ophelia  St.  Clare  was 
"talking  about"  going  away  down  to  Orleans  with  her 
cousin ;  and  of  course  the  whole  village  could  do  no  less  than 
help  this  very  important  process  of  talking  about  the  matter. 


;-228  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

The  minister,  who  inclined  strongly  to  abolitionist  views,  was 
quite  doubtful  whether  such  a  step  might  not  tend  somewhat 
to  encourage  the  southerners  in  holding  on  to  their  slaves ; 
while  the  doctor,  who  was  a  stanch  colonizationist,  inclined  to 
the  opinion  that  Miss  Ophelia  ought  to  go,  to  show  the 
Orleans  people  that  we  don't  think  hardly  of  them,  after  all. 
He  was  of  opinion,  in  fact,  that  southern  people  needed 
encouraging.  When,  however,  the  fact  that  she  had  resolved 
to  go  was  fully  before  the  public  mind,  she  was  solemnly 
invited  out  to  tea  by  all  her  friends  and  neighbors  for  the 
space  of  a  fortnight,  and  her  prospects  and  plans  duly  can 
vassed  and  inquired  into.  Miss  Moseley,  who  came  into  the 
house  to  help  to  do  the  ^ress-making,  acquired  daily  acces 
sions  of  importance  from  the  developments  with  regard  to 
Miss  Ophelia's  wardrobe  which  she  had  been  enabled  to 
make.  It  was  credibly  ascertained  that  Squire  Sinclare,  as 
his  name  was  commonly  contracted  in  the  neighborhood,  had 
counted  out  fifty  dollars,  and  given  them  to  Miss  Ophelia,  and 
told  her  to  buy  any  clothes  she  thought  best ;  and  that  two 
new  silk  dresses,  and  a  bonnet,  had  been  sent  for  from  Boston. 
As  to  the  propriety  of  this  extraordinary  outlay,  the  public 
mind  was  divided, — some  affirming  that  it  was  well  enough,  all 
things  considered,  for  once  in  one's  life,  and  others  stoutly 
affirming  that  the  money  had  better  have  been  sent  to  the 
missionaries ;  but  all  parties  agreed  that  there  had  be3n  no 
such  parasol  seen  in  those  parts  as  had  been  sent  on  from 
New  York,  and  that  she  had  one  silk  dress  that  might  fairly 
be  trusted  to  stand  -alone,  whatever  might  be  said  of  its  mis 
tress.  There  were  credible  rumors,  also,  of  a  hemstitched 
pocket-handkerchief;  and  report  even  went  so  far  as  to  state 
that  Miss  Ophelia  had  one  pocket-handkerchief  with  lace  all 
around  it, — it  was  even  added  that  it  was  worked  in  the 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  229 

corners ;  but  this  latter  point  was  never  satisfactorily  ascer 
tained,  and  remains,  in  fact,  unsettled  to  this  day. 

Miss  Ophelia,  as  you  now  behold  her,  stands  before  you,  in 
a  very  shining  brown  linen  travelling-dresj,  tall,  square- 
formed,  and  angular.  Her  face  was  thin,  and  rather  sharp 
in  its  outlines ;  the  lips  compressed,  like  those  of  a  person 
who  is  in  the  habit  of  making  up  her  mind  definitely  on  all 
subjects;  while  the  keen,  dark  eyes  had  a  peculiarly  searching, 
advised  movement,  and  travelled  over  everything,  as  if  they 
were  looking  for  something  to  take  care  of. 

All  her  movements  were  sharp,  decided,  and  energetic ; 
and,  though  she  was  never  much  of  a  talker,  her  words  were 
remarkably  direct,  and  to  the  purpose,  when  she  did  speak. 

In  her  habits,  she  was  a  living  impersonation  of  order, 
method,  and  exactness.  In  punctuality,  she  was  as  inevitable 
as  a  clock,  and  as  inexorable  as  a  railroad  engine ;  and  she 
held  in  most  decided  contempt  and  abomination  anything  of  a 
contrary  character. 

The  great  sin  of  sins,  in  her  eyes, —  the  sum  of  all  evils, — 
was  expressed  by  one  very  common  and  important  word  in 
her  vocabulary — "shiftlessness."  Her  finale  and  ultimatum 
of  contempt  consisted  in  a  very  emphatic  pronunciation  of  the 
word  "  shiftless ;"  and  by  this  she  characterized  all  modes  of 
procedure  which  had  not  a  direct  and  inevitable  relation  to 
accomplishment  of  some  purpose  then  definitely  had  in 
mind.  People  who  did  nothing,  or  who  did  not  know  exactly 
what  they  were  going  to  do,  or  who  did  not  take  the  most 
direct  way  to  accomplish  what  they  set  their  hands  to,  were 
objects  of  her  entire  contempt, —  a  contempt  shown  less 
frequently  by  anything  she  said,  than  by  a  kind  of  stony 
grimness,  as  if  she  scorned  to  say  anything  about  the  matter. 

As  to  mental  cultivation, — she  had  a  clear,  strong,  active 
20 


280  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

mind,  was  well  and  thoroughly  read  in  history  and  the  older 
English  classics,  and  thought  with  great  strength  within  cer 
tain  narrow  limits.  Her  theological  tenets  were  all  made  up, 
labelled  in  most  positive  and  distinct  forms,  and  put  by,  like 
the  bundles  in  her  patch  trunk;  there  were  just  so  many  of 
them,  and  there  were  never  to  be  any  more.  So,  also,  were  her 
ideas  with  regard  to  most  matters  of  practical  life, — such  as 
housekeeping  in  all  its  branches,  and  the  various  political 
relations  of  her  native  village.  And,  underlaying  all,  deeper 
than  anything  e1aftT  higher  and,  broader,  Vy  thft  strangest 
principle  of  h^*  Twm^r — nonscientiousness.  Nowhere  is  con 
science  so  dominant  and  all-absorbing  as  with  New  England 
women.  It  is  the  granite  formation,  which  lies  deepest,  and 
rises  out,  even  to  the  tops  of  the  highest  mountains. 

Miss  Ophelia  was  the  absolute  bond-slave  of  the  "  ought" 
Once  make  her  certain  that  the  "  path  of  duty,"  as  she  com 
monly  phrased  it,  lay  in  any  given  direction,  and  fire  and 
water  could  not  keep  her  from  it.  She  would  walk  straight 
down  into  a  well,  or  up  to  a  loaded  cannon's  mouth,  if  she 
were  only  quite  sure  that  there  the  path  lay.  Her  standard 
of  right  was  so  high,  so  all-embracing,  so  minute,  and  making 
so  few  concessions  to  human  frailty,  that,  though  she  strove 
with  heroic  ardor  to  reach  it,  she  never  actually  did  so,  and 
of  course  was  burdened  with  a  constant  and  often  harassing 
sense  of  deficiency ;  —  this  gave  a  severe  and  somewhat  gloomy 
cast  to  her  religious  character. 

But,  how  in  the  world  can  Miss  Ophelia  get  along  with 
Augustine  St.  Clare, — gay,  easy,  unpunctual,  unpractical, 
sceptical, — in  short,  walking  with  impudent  and  nonchalant 
freedom  over  every  one  of  her  most  cherished  habits  and 
opinions? 

To  tell  the  truth,  then,  Miss  Ophelia  loved  him.     When  a 


LIFE   AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  231 

boy,  it  had  been  hers  to  teach  him  his  catechism,  mend  his 
clothes,  comb  his  hair,  and  bring  him  up  generally  in  the  way 
he  should  go ;  and  her  heart  having  a  warm  side  to  it, 
Augustine  had,  as  he  usually  did  with  most  people,  monopo 
lized  a  large  share  of  it*  for  himself,  and  therefore  it  was 
that  he  succeeded  very  easily  in  persuading  her  that  the 
"path  of  duty"  lay  in  the  direction  of  New  Orleans,  and 
that  she  must  go  with  him  to  take  care  of  Eva,  and  keep 
everything  from  going  to  wreck  and  ruin  during  the  frequent 
illnesses  of  his  wife.  The  idea  of  a  house  without  anybody 
to  take  care  of  it  went  to  her  heart;  then  she  loved  the 
lovely  little  girl,  as  few  could  help  doing ;  and  though  she 
regarded  Augustine  as  very  much  of  a  heathen,  yet  she  loved 
him,  laughed  at  his  jokes,  and  forbore  with  his  failings,  to  an 
extent  which  those  who  knew  him  thought  perfectly  incredi 
ble.  But  what  more  or  other  is  to  be  known  of  Miss 
Ophelia  our  reader  must  discover  by  a  personal  acquaint 
ance. 

There  she  is,  sitting  now  in  her  state-room,  surrounded  by 
a  mixed  multitude  of  little  and  big  carpet-bags,  boxes, 
baskets,  each  containing  some  separate  responsibility  which 
she  is  tying,  binding  up,  packing,  or  fastening,  with  a  face  of 
great  earnestness. 

"Now,  Eva,  have  you  kept  count  of  your  things?  Of 
course  you  haven't, — children  never  do:  there's  the  spotted 
carpet-bag  and  the  little  blue  band-box  with  your  best  bonnet, 
—  that 's  two;  then  the  India  rubber  satchel  is  three ;  and  my 
tope  and  needle  box  is  four ;  and  my  band-box,  five ;  and 
my  collar -box,  six ;  and  that  little  hair  trunk,  seven.  What 
have  you  done  with  your  sunshade  ?  Give  it  to  me,  and  let 
me  put  a  paper  round  it,  and  tie  it  to  my  umbrella  with  my 
shade; — there,  now." 


232  UNCLES  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

*'  Why,  aunty,  we  are  only  going  up  home  ; — what  is  the 
use?" 

"  To  keep  it  nice,  child ;  people  must  take  care  of  their 
things,  if  they  ever  mean  to  have  anything ;  and  now,  Eva, 
is  your  thimble  put  up  ?  " 

"  Really,  aunty,  I  don't  know." 

"Well,  never  mind;  I'll  look  your  box  over, — thimble, 
wax,  two  spools,  scissors,  knife,  tape-needle  ;  all  right, — put 
it  in  here.  What  did  you  ever  do,  child,  when  you  were 
coming  on  with  only  your  papa.  I  should  have  thought 
you  'd  a  lost  everything  you  had." 

"Well,  aunty,  I  did  lose  a  great  many;  and  then,  when 
we  stopped  anywhere,  papa  would  buy  some  more  of  what 
ever  it  was." 

"  Mercy  on  us,  child, — what  a  way  !  " 

"  It  was  a  very  easy  way,  aunty,"  said  Eva. 

"  It's  a  dreadful  shiftless  one,"  said  aunty. 

"Why,  aunty,  what '11  you  do  now?"  said  Eva;  "that 
trunk  is  too  full  to  be  shut  down." 

"It  must  shut  down,"  said  aunty,  with  the  air  of  a 
general,  as  she  squeezed  the  things  in,  and  sprung  upon  the 
lid ;  —  still  a  little  gap  remained  about  the  mouth  of  the 
trunk. 

"Get  up  here,  Eva!  "  said  Miss  Ophelia,  courageously; 
"  what  has  been  done  can  be  done  again.  This  trunk  has 
got  to  be  shut  and  locked  —  there  are  no  two  ways  about  it." 

And  the  trunk,  intimidated,  doubtless,  by  this  resolute  state 
ment,  gave  in.  The .  hasp  snapped  sharply  in  its  hole,  and 
Miss  Ophelia  turned  the  key,  and  pocketed  it  in  triumph. 

"  Now  we  're  ready.  Where 's  your  papa  ?  I  think  it 
time  this  baggage  was  set  out.  Do  look  out,  Eva,  and  see  if 
you  seo  your  papa." 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  233 

"0,  yes,  he's  down  the  other  end  of  the  gentlemen's 
cabin,  eating  an  orange." 

"  He  can't  know  how  near  we  are  coming,"  said  aunty ; 
"  had  n't  you  better  run  and  speak  to  him  ?  " 

"  Papa  never  is  in  a  hurry  about  anything,"  said  Eva, 
"and  we  haven't  come  to  the  landing.  Do  step  on  the 
guards,  aunty.  Look  !  there 's  our  house,  up  that  street !  " 

The  boat  now  began,  with  heavy  groans,  like  some  vast,  tired 
monster,  to  prepare  to  push  up  among  the  multiplied  steamers 
at  the  levee.  Eva  joyously  pointed  out  the  various  spires, 
domes,  and  way-marks,  by  which  she  recognized  her  native 
city. 

"Yes,  yes,  dear;  very  fine,"  said  Miss  Ophelia.  "But 
mercy  on  us!  the  boat  has  stopped  !  where  is  your  father?" 

And  now  ensued  the  usual  turmoil  of  landing  —  waiters 
running  twenty  ways  at  once  —  men  tugging  trunks,  carpet 
bags,  boxes  —  women  anxiously  calling  to  their  children,  and 
everybody  crowding  in  a  dense  mass  to  the  plank  towards  the 
landing. 

Miss  Ophelia  seated  herself  resolutely  on  the  lately  van 
quished  trunk,  and  marshalling  all  her  goods  and  chattels  in 
fine  military  order,  seemed  resolved  to  defend  them  to  the  last. 

"  Shall  I  take  your  trunk,  ma'am  ?"  "  Shall  I  take  your 
baggage?"  "Let  me  'tend  to  your  baggage,  Missis?" 
1  Shan't  I  carry  out  these  yer,  Missis  ?  "  rained  down  upon 
her  unheeded.  She  sat  with  grim  determination,  upright 
as  a  darning-needle  stuck  in  a  board,  holding  on  her  bundle 
of  umbrella  and  parasols,  and  replying  with  a  determina 
tion  that  was  enough  to  strike  dismay  even  into  a  hack- 
man,  wondering  to  Eva,  in  each  interval,  "what  upon  earth 
her  papa  could  be  thinking  of;  he  couldn't  have  fallen  over, 
now, — but  something  must  have  happened;" — and  just  as  she 
20* 


234  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OR, 

had  begun  to  work  herself  into  a  real  distress,  he  came  up,  with 
his  usually  careless  motion,  and  giving  Eva  a  quarter  cf  the 
orange  he  was  eating,  said, 

"Well,  Cousin  Vermont,  I  suppose  you  are  all  ready." 

"I've  been  ready,  waiting,  nearly  an  hour,"  said  Miss 
Ophelia  ;  "I  began  to  be  really  concerned  about  you." 

"  That's  a  clever  fellow,  now,"  said  he.  ll  Well,  the  car 
riage  is  waiting,  and  the  crowd  are  now  off,  so  that  one  can 
walk  out  in  a  decent  and  Christian  manner,  and  not  be 
pushed  and  shoved.  Here,"  he  added  to  a  driver  who 
stood  behind  him,  "take  these  things." 

"I'll  go  and  see  to  his  putting  them  in,"  said  Miss 
Ophelia. 

"  0,  pshaw,  cousin,  what 's  the  use  ?  "  said  St.  Clare. 

"Well,  at  any  rate,  I'll  carry  this,  and  this,  and  this," 
said  Miss  Ophelia,  singling  out  three  boxes  and  a  small 
carpet-bag. 

"My  dear  Miss  Vermont,  positively,  you  mustn't  come 
the  Green  Mountains  over  us  that  way.  You  must  adopt  at 
least  a  piece  of  a  southern  principle,  and  not  walk  out  under 
all  that  load.  They'll  take  you  for  a  waiting-maid;  give 
them  to  this  fellow ;  he  '11  put  them  down  as  if  they  were 
eggs,  now." 

Miss  Ophelia  looked  despairingly,  as  her  Cousin  took  all 
her  treasures  from  her,  and  rejoiced  to  find  herself  once  more 
in  the  carriage  with  them,  in  a  state  of  preservation. 

"Where's  Tom?"  said  Eva. 

"0,  he's  on  the  outside,  Pussy.  I'm  going  to  take 
Tom  up  to  mother  for  a  peace-offering,  to  make  up  for  that 
drunken  fellow  that  upset  the  carriage." 

"  0,  Tom  will  make  a  splendid  driver,  I  know,"  said 
Eva ;  "  he'll  never  get  drunk." 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  235 

The  carriage  stopped  in  front  of  an  ancient  mansion,  built 
in  that  odd  mixture  of  Spanish  and  French  style,  of-  which 
there  are  specimens  in  some  parts  of  New  Orleans.  It 
was  built  in  the  Moorish  fashion,  —  a  square  building  enclos 
ing  a  court-yard,  into  which  the  carriage  drove  through  an 
arched  gateway.  The  court,  in  the  inside,  had  evidently  been 
arranged  to  gratify  a  picturesque  and  voluptuous  ideality. 
Wide  galleries  ran  all  around  the  four  sides,  whose  Moorish 
arches,  slender  pillars,  and  arabesque  ornaments,  carried  the 
mind  back,  as  in  a  dream,  to  the  reign  of  oriental  romance  in 
Spain.  In  the  middle  of  the  court,  a  fountain  threw  high  its 
silvery  water,  falling  in  a  never-ceasing  spray  into  a  marble 
basin,  fringed  with  a  deep  border  of  fragrant  violets.  The 
water  in  the  fountain,  pellucid  as  crystal,  was  alive  with 
myriads  of  gold  and  silver  fishes,  twinkling  and  darting 
through  it  like  so  many  living  jewels.  Around  the  fountain 
ran  a  walk,  paved  with  a  mosaic  of  pebbles,  laid  in  various 
fanciful  patterns ;  and  this,  again,  was  surrounded  by  turf, 
smooth  as  green  velvet,  while  a  carriage-drive  enclosed  the 
whole.  Two  large  orange-trees,  now  fragrant  with  blossoms, 
threw  a  delicious  shade  ;  and,  ranged  in  a  circle  round  upon 
the  turf,  were  marble  vases  of  arabesque  sculpture,  containing 
the  choicest  flowering  plants  of  the  tropics.  Huge  pomegran 
ate  trees,  with  their  glossy  leaves  and  flame-colored  flowers, 
dark-leaved  Arabian  jessamines,  with  their  silvery  stars,  gera 
niums,  luxuriant  roses  bending  beneath  their  heavy  abundance 
of  flowers,  golden  jessamines,  lemon-scented  verbenum,  all 
united  their  bloom  and  fragrance,  while  here  and  there  a  mys 
tic  old  aloe,  with  its  strange,  massive  leaves,  sat  looking  like 
some  hoary  old  enchanter,  sitting  in  weird  grandeur  among 
the  more  perishable  bloom  and  fragrance  around  it. 

The  galleries  that  surrounded  the  court  were  festooned 


236  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

with  a  curtain  of  some  kind  of  Moorish  stuff,  and  could  be 
drawn  down  at  pleasure,  to  exclude  the  beams  of  the  sun.  On 
the  whole,  the  appearance  of  the  place  was  luxurious  and 
romantic. 

As  the  carriage  drove  in,  Eva  seemed  like  a  bird  ready  to 
burst  from  a  cage,  with  the  wild  eagerness  of  her  delight. 

"0,  isn't  it  beautiful,  lovely!  my  own  dear,  darling 
home  !  "  she  said  to  Miss  Ophelia.  "  Is  n't  it  beautiful  1  " 

"  'T  is  a  pretty  place,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  as  she  alighted  ; 
"  though  it  looks  rather  old  and  heathenish  to  me." 

Tom  got  down  from  the  carriage,  and  looked  about  with  an 
air  of  calm,  still  enjoyment.  The  negro,  it  must  ha  rpimfim-- 
hored1  is  a.n,  exotic  of  the  most  gnvgAni^<ijLnd  superb  countries 
and  bft  1in.a;  dp^pJxLJiiAJluaarJ^  n.  .^SS10n_  forjlll 

rich,  and  fanciful  •  n.  pnsamr)  wfeb;  xudejy 
by  an  untrained  tastef  draws  on  them  the  ridicule  of 


St.  Clare,  who  was  in  his  heart  a  poetical  voluptuary, 
smiled  as  Miss  Ophelia  made  her  remark  on  his  premises, 
and,  turning  to  Tom,  who  was  standing  looking  round,  his 
beaming  black  face  perfectly  radiant  with  admiration,  he 
said, 

"Tom,  my  boy,  this  seems  to  suit  you." 

"  Yes,  Mas'r,  it  looks  about  the  right  thing,"  said  Tom. 

All  this  passed  in  a  moment,  while  trunks  were  being 
hustled  off,  hackman  paid,  and  while  a  crowd,  of  all  ages  and 
sizes,  —  men,  women,  and  children,  —  came  running  through 
the  galleries,  both  above  and  below,  to  see  Mas'r  come  in. 
Foremost  among  them  was  a  highly-dressed  young  mulatto 
man,  evidently  a  very  distingue  personage,  attired  in  the 
•ultra  extreme  of  the  mode,  and  gracefully  waving  a  scented 
cambric  handkerchief  in  his  hand. 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  237 

This  personage  had  been  exerting  himself,  with  great  alac 
rity,  in  driving  all  the  flock  of  domestics  to  the  other  end  of 
the  verandah. 

"  Back  !  all  of  you.  I  am  ashamed  of  you,"  he  said,  in  a 
tone  of  authority.  "Would  you  intrude  on  Master's  domestic 
relations,  in  the  first  hour  of  his  return?" 

All  looked  abashed  at  this  elegant  speech,  delivered  with 
quite  an  air,  and  stood  huddled  together  at  a  respectful  dis 
tance,  except  two  stout  porters,  who  came  up  and  began  con 
veying  away  the  baggage. 

Owing  to  Mr.  Adolph's  systematic  arrangements,  when  St. 
Clare  turned  round  from  paying  the  hackman,  there  was 
nobody  in  view  but  Mr.  Adolph  himself,  conspicuous  in  satin 
vest,  gold  guard-chain,  and  white  pants,  and  bowing  with 
inexpressible  grace  and  suavity. 

"Ah,  Adolph,  is  it  you?"  said  his  master,  offering  his 
hand  to  him;  "how  are  you,  boy?"  while  Adolph  poured 
forth,  with  great  fluency,  an  extemporary  speech,  which  he 
had  been  preparing,  with  great  care,  for  a  fortnight  before. 

"Well,  well,"  said  St.  Clare,  passing  on,  with  his  usual  air 
of  negligent  drollery,  "that 's  very  well  got  up,  Adolph.  See 
that  the  baggage  is  well  bestowed.  I  '11  come  to  the  people  in 
a  minute ;"  and,  so  saying,  he  led  Miss  Ophelia  to  a  large 
parlor  that  opened  on  to  the  verandah. 

While  this  had  been  passing,  Eva  had  flown  like  a  bird, 
through  the  porch  and  parlor,  to  a  little  boudoir  opening  like 
wise  on  the  verandah. 

A  tall,  dark-eyed,  sallow  woman,  half  rose  from  a  couch  on 
which  she  was  reclining. 

"Mamma!"  said  Eva,  in  a  sort  of  a  rapture,  throwing 
herself  on  her  neck,  and  embracing  her  over  and  over  again. 

"That'll  do, — take  care,  child, — -don't,  you  make  my 


238  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OK,  * 

head  ache,"  said  the  mother,  after  she  had  languidly  kissed 
her. 

St.  Clare  came  in,  embraced  his  wife  in  true,  orthodox, 
husbandly  fashion,  and  then  presented  to  her  his  cousin. 
Marie  lifted  her  large  eyes  on  her  cousin  with  an  air  of  some 
curiosity,  and  received  her  with  languid  politeness.  A  crowd 
of  servants  now  pressed  to  the  entry  door,  and  among  them  a 
middle-aged  mulatto  woman,  of  very  respectable  appearance, 
stood  foremost,  in  a  tremor  of  expectation  and  joy,  at  the 
door. 

"  0,  there  's  Mammy  ! "  said  Eva,  as  she  flew  across  the 
room;  and,  throwing  herself  into  her  arms,  she  kissed  her 
repeatedly. 

This  woman  did  not  tell  her  that  she  made  her  head  ache, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  she  hugged  her,  and  laughed,  and  cried, 
till  her  sanity  was  a  thing  to  be  doubted  of;  and  when 
released  from  her,  Eva  flew  from  one  to  another,  shaking 
hands  and  kissing,  in  a  way  that  Miss  Ophelia  afterwards 
declared  fairly  turned  her  stomach. 

"Well  !"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  "you  southern  children  can 
do  something  that  /couldn't." 

"What,  now,  pray?"  said  St.  Clare. 

"Well,  I  want  to  be  kind  to  everybody,  and  I  wouldn't 
have  anything  hurt ;  but  as  to  kissing  —  " 

"Niggers,"  said  St.  Clare,  "that  you're  not  up  to, — 
hey?" 

"  Yes,  that 's  it.     How  can  she  ?" 

St.  Clare  laughed,. as  he  went  into  the  passage.  "HalLi, 
here,  what's  to  payout  here?  Here,  you  all  —  Mamny, 
Jimmy,  Polly,  Sukey  —  glad  to  see  Mas'r?"  he  said,  as  he 
went  shaking  hands  from  one  to  another.  "  Look  out  for  the 
babies  ! "  he  added,  as  he  stumbled  over  a  sooty  little  urchin, 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  289 

•who  was  crawling  upon  all  fours.  "  If  I  step  upon  anybody, 
let  'ern  mention  it." 

There  was  an  abundance  of  laughing  and  blessing  Mas'r, 
as  St.  Clare  distributed  small  pieces  of  change  among  them. 

"  Come,  now,  take  yourselves  off,  like  good  boys  and  girls," 
he  said;  and  the  whole  assemblage,  dark  and  light,  disappeared 
through  a  door  into  a  large  verandah,  followed  by  Eva,  who 
carried  a  large  satchel,  which  she  had  been  filling  with  apples, 
nuts,  candy,  ribbons,  laces,  and  toys  of  every  description, 
during  her  whole  homeward  journey. 

As  St.  Clare  turned  to  go  back,  hiis  eye  fell  upon  Tom, 
who  was  standing  uneasily,  shifting  from  one  foot  to  the 
other,  while  Adolph  stood  negligently  leaning  against  the 
banisters,,  examining  Tom  through  an  opera-glass,  with  an 
air  that  would  have  done  credit  to  any  dandy  living. 

"Puh!  you  puppy,"  said  his  master,  striking  down  the 
opera  glass;  "is  that  the  way  you  treat  your  company? 
Seems  to  me,  Dolph,"  he  added,  laying  his  finger  on  the 
elegant  figured  satin  vest  that  Adolph  was  sporting,  "seems 
to  me  that 's  my  vest." 

"  0  !  Master,  this  vest  all  stained  with  wine ;  of  course, 
a  gentleman  in  Master's  standing  never  wears  a  vest  like  this. 
I  understood  I  was  to  take  it.  It  does  for  a  poor  nigger-fellow, 
like  me." 

And  Adolph  tossed  his  head,  and  passed  his  fingers  through 
iiis  scented  hair,  with  a  grace. 

"  So,  that 's  it,  is  it  ?  "  said  St.  Clare,  carelessly.  *  Well, 
here,  I  'm  going  to  show  this  Tom  to  his  mistress,  and  then 
you  take  him  to  the  kitchen ;  and  mind  you  don't  put  on 
any  of  your  airs  to  him.  He  's  worth  two  such  puppies  aa 
you." 


240  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  on, 


"  Master  always  will  have  his  joke,"  said  Adolph,  laugh 
ing.  "  I  'm  delighted  to  see  Master  in  such  spirits." 

"Here,  Tom,"  said  St.  Clare,  beckoning. 

Tom  entered  the  room.  He  looked  wistfully  on  the  velvet 
carpets,  and  the  before  unimagined  splendors  of  mirrors,  pic 
tures,  statues,  and  curtains,  and,  like  the  Queen  of  Sheba 
before  Solomon,  there  was  no  more  spirit  in  him.  He  looked 
afraid  even  to  set  his  feet  down. 

"  See  here,  Marie,"  said  St.  Clare  to  his  wife,  "I've 
bought  you  a  coachman,  at  last,  to  order.  I  tell  you,  he  's  a 
regular  hearse  for  blackness  and  sobriety,  and  will  drive  you 
like  a  funeral,  if  you  want.  Open  your  eyes,  now,  and  look 
at  him.  Now,  don't  say  I  never  think  about  you  when  I  'm 
gone." 

Marie  opened  her  eyes,  and  fixed  them  on  Tom,  without 
rising. 

"  I  know  he  '11  get  drunk,"  she  said. 

"  No,  he  's  warranted  a  pious  and  sober  article." 

"Well,  I  hope  he  may  turn  out  well,"  said  the  lady;  "it's 
more  than  I  expect,  though." 

"Dolph,"  said  St.  Clare,  "show  Tom  down  stairs;  and, 
mind  yourself,"  he  added  ;  "  remember  what  I  told  you." 

Adolph  tripped  gracefully  forward,  and  Tom,  with  lumber 
ing  tread,  went  after. 

"  He  's  a  perfect  behemoth  ! "  said  Marie. 

"  Come,  now,  Marie."  said  St.  Clare,  seating  himself  on  a 
stool  beside  her  sofa,  "be  gracious,  and  say  something  pretty 
to  a  fellow." 

"  You  've  been  gone  a  fortnight  beyond  the  time,"  said  the 
lady,  pouting. 

"  Well,  you  know  I  wrote  you  the  reason.'* 

"  Such  a  short,  cold  letter  ! "  said  the  lady. 


LIFE   AMONG   THii   LOWLY.  241 

"  Dear  me  !  the  mail  was  just  going,  and  it  had  to  be  that 
or  nothing." 

''That's  just  the  way,  always,"  said  the  lady;  "always 
something  to  make  your  journeys  long,  and  letters  short." 

"  See  here,  now,"  he  added,  drawing  an  elegant  velvet  case 
out  of  his  pocket,  and  opening  it,  "here 's  a  present  I  got  for 
you  in  New  York." 

It  was  a  daguerreotype,  clear  and  soft  as  an  engraving, 
representing  Eva  and  her  father  sitting  hand  in  hand. 

Marie  looked  at  it  with  a  dissatisfied  air. 

"What  made  you  sit  in  such  an  awkward  position?"  she 
said. 

"  Well,  the  position  may  be  a  matter  of  opinion ;  but  what 
do  you  think  of  the  likeness?" 

"  If  you  don't  think  anything  of  my  opinion  in  one  case,  I 
suppose  you  wouldn't  in  another,"  said  the  lady,  shutting  the 
daguerreotype. 

"  Hang  the  woman !  "  said  St.  Clare,  mentally ;  but  aloud 
he  added,  "  Come,  now,  Marie,  what  do  you  think  of  the 
likeness  ?  Don't  be  nonsensical,  now." 

"  It 's  very  inconsiderate  of  you,  St.  Clare,"  said  the  lady, 
"  to  insist  on  my  talking  and  looking  at  things.  You  know 
I  've  been  lying  all  day  with  the  sick-headache ;  and  there  's 
been  such  a  tumult  made  ever  since  you  came,  I  'm  half 
dead." 

"You  're  subject  to  the  sick-headache,  ma'am?"  said  Miss 
Ophelia,  suddenly  rising  from  the  depths  of  the  large  arm 
chair,  where  she  had  sat  quietly,  taking  an  inventory  of  the 
furniture,  and  calculating  its  expense. 

"  Yes,  I  'm  a  perfect  martyr  to  it,"  said  the  lady. 

"  Juniper-berry  tea  is  good  for  sick-headache,"  said  Miss 
21 


24:2  UKCLE   TOM'S   CABIN  :    OK, 

Ophelia  ;   "  at  least,  Auguste,  Deacon  Abraham  Perry's  wife, 
used  to  say  so  ;  and  she  was  a  great  nurse." 

"  I  '11  have  the  first  juniper-berries  that  get  ripe  in  our 
garden  by  the  lake  brought  in  for  that  especial  purpose," 
said  St.  Clare,  gravely  pulling  the  bell  as  he  did  so  ;  "  mean 
while,  cousin,  you  must  be  wanting  to  retire  to  your  apart 
ment,  and  refresh  yourself  a  little,  after  your  journey. 
Dolph,"  he  added,  "tell  Mammy  to  come  here."  The 
decent  mulatto  woman  whom  Eva  had  caressed  so  rapturously 
soon  entered ;  she  was  dressed  neatly,  with  a  high  red  and 
yellow  turban  on  her  head,  the  recent  gift  of  Eva,  and  which 
the  child  had  been  arranging  on  her  head.  "  Mammy,"  said 
St.  Clare,  "I  put  this  lady  under  your  care;  she  is  tired, 
and  wants  rest ;  take  her  to  her  chamber,  and  be  sure  she  is 
made  comfortable;"  and  Miss  Ophelia  disappeared  in  the  rear 
of  Mammy. 


LIFE  AMONG  THE   LOWLY.  243 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

TOM'S  MISTRESS  AND  HEB,  OPINIONS. 

"AND  now,  Marie,"  said  St.  Clare,  "your  golden  days 
are  dawning.  Here  is  our  practical,  business-like  New  Eng 
land  cousin,  who  will  take  the  whole  budget  of  cares  off  your 
shoulders,  and  give  you  time  to  refresh  yourself,  and  grow 
young  and  handsome.  The  ceremony  of  delivering  the  keys 
had  better  come  off  forthwith." 

This  remark  was  made  at  the  breakfast-table,  a  few  morn 
ings  after  Miss  Ophelia  had  arrived. 

"I  'm  sure  she's  welcome,"  said  Marie,  leaning  her  head 
languidly  on  her  hand.  "  I  think  she'll  find  one  thing,  if  she 
does,  and  that  is,  that  it's  we  mistresses  that  are  the  slaves, 
down  here." 

"0,  certainly,  she  will  discover  that,  and  a  world  of 
wholesome  truths  besides,  no  doubt,"  said  St.  Clare. 

"  Talk  about  our  keeping  slaves,  as  if  we  did  it  for  our 
convenience"  said  Marie.  "I'm  sure,  if  we  consulted  that, 
we  might  let  them  all  go  at  once." 

Evangeline  fixed  her  large,  serious  eyes  on  her  mother's 
face,  with  an  earnest  and  perplexed  expression,  and  said,  sim 
ply,  "  What  do  you  keep  them  for,  mamma  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,  except  for  a  plague  ;  they  are 
the  plague  of  my  life.  I  believe  that  more  of  my  ill  health 
is  caused  by  them  than  by  any  one  thing  ;  and  ours,  I  know, 
are  the  very  worst  that  ever  anybody  was  plagued  with." 

"0,  come,  Marie,  you  rve  got  the  blues,  this  morning," 


244  USCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OB, 

said  St.  Clarfe.  "  You  know  't  is  n't  so.  There  's  Mammy, 
the  best  creature  living, —  what  could  you  do  without  her  'I  " 

"  Mammy  is  the  best  I  ever  knew,"  said  Marie  ;  "  and  yet 
Mammy,  now,  is  selfish  —  dreadfully  selfish;  it's  the  fault 
of  the  whole  race." 

"  Selfishness  is  a  dreadful  fault,"  said  St.  Clare,  gravely. 

"  Well,  now,  there  's  Mammy,"  said  Marie,  "  I  think  it 's 
selfish  of  her  to  sleep  so  sound  nights ;  she  knows  I  need 
little  attentions  almost  every  hour,  when  my  worst  turns  are 
on,  and  yet  she 's  so  hard  to  wake.  I  absolutely  am  worse, 
this  very  morning,  for  the  efforts  I  had  to  make  to  wake  her 
last  night." 

"  Hasn't  she  sat  up  with  you  a  good  many  nights,  lately, 
mamma  ?  "  said  Eva. 

" How  should  you  know  that?"  said  Marie,  sharply; 
"  she's  been  complaining,  I  suppose." 

"  She  didn't  complain  ;  she  only  told  me  what  bad  nights 
you  'd  had)  —  so  many  in  succession." 

"  Why  don't  you  let  Jane  or  Rosa  take  her  place,  a  night 
or  two,"  said  St.  Clare,  "  and  let  her  rest  ?  " 

"How  can  you  propose  it?"  said  Marie.  "St.  Clare, 
you  really  are  inconsiderate.  So  nervous  as  I  am,  the  least 
breath  disturbs  me ;  and  a  strange  hand  about  me  would  drive 
me  absolutely  frantic.  If  Mammy  felt  the  interest  in  me  she 
ought  to,  she'd  wa^e  easier, —  of  course,  she  would.  I've 
heard  of  people  who  had  such  devoted  servants,  but  it  never 
was  my  luck ;"  and  Marie  sighed. 

Miss  Ophelia  had  listened  to  this  conversation  with  an  air 
of  shrewd,  observant  gravity;  and  she  s^ill  kept  her  lips 
tightly  compressed,  as  if  determined  fully  to  ascertain  her 
longitude  and  position,  before  she  committed  herself. 

"  Now    Mammy  has  a  sort  of  goodness,"  said   Marie ; 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  245 

"she's  smooth  and  respectful,  but  she's  selfish  at  heart. 
Now,  she  never  will  be  done  fidgeting  and  worrying  about 
that  husband  of  hers.  You  see,  when  I  was  married  and 
came  to  live  here,  of  course,  I  had  to  bring  her  with  me,  and 
her  husband  my  father  couldn't  spare.  He  was  a  black 
smith,  and,  of  course,  very  necessary ;  and  I  thought  and  said, 
at  the  time,  that  Mammy  and  he  had  better  give  each  other 
up,  as  it  was  n't  likely  to  be  convenient  for  them  ever  to  live 
together  again.  I  wish,  now,  I  'd  insisted  on  it,  and  married 
Mammy  to  somebody  else ;  but  I  was  foolish  and  indulgent, 
and  did  n't  want  to  insist.  I  told  Mammy,  at  the  time,  that 
she  must  n't  ever  expect  to  see  him  more  than  once  or  twice 
in  her  life  again,  for  the  air  of  father's  place  does  n't  agree 
with  my  health,  and  I  can't  go  there ;  and  I  advised  her 
to  take  up  with  somebody  else ;  but  no  —  she  would  n't. 
Mammy  has  a  kind  of  obstinacy  about  her,  in  spots,  that 
everybody  don't  see  as  I  do." 

"  Has  she  children?  "  said  Miss  Ophelia, 

"Yes;  she  has  two." 

"  I  suppose  she  feels  the  separation  from  them  ?  " 

"  Well,  of  course,  I  could  n't  bring  them.  They  were  little 
dirty  things  —  I  could  n't  have  them  about ;  and,  besides, 
they  took  up  too  much  of  her  time ;  but  I  believe  that 
Mammy  has  always  kept  up  a  sort  of  sulkiness  about  this. 
She  won't  marry  anybody  else  ;  and  I  do  .believe,  now,  though 
she  knows  how  necessary  she  is  to  me,  and  how  feeble  my 
health  is,  she  would  go  back  to  her  husband  to-morrow,  if  she 
only  could.  I  do,  indeed,"  said  Marie  ;  "  they  are  just  so 
selfish,  now.  the  best  of  them." 

"It's  distressing  to  reflect  upon,"  said  St.  Clare,  dryly. 

Miss  Ophelia  looked  keenly  at  him,  and  saw  the  flush  of 


246  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

mortification  and  repressed  vexation,  and  the  sarcastic  curl  of 
the  lip,  as  he  spoke. 

"  Now,  Mammy  has  always  been  a  pet  with  me,"  said 
Marie.  "  I  wish  some  of  your  northern  servants  could  look 
at  her  closets  of  dresses, —  silks  and  muslins,  and  one  real 
linen  cambric,  she  has  hanging  there.  I  've  worked  some 
times  whole  afternoons,  trimming  her  caps,  and  getting  her 
ready  to  go  to  a  party.  As  to  abuse,  she  don't  know  what  it 
is.  She  never  was  whipped  more  than  once  or  twice  in  her 
whole  life.  She  has  her  strong  coffee  or  her  tea  every  day, 
with  white  sugar  in  it.  It 's  abominable,  to  be  sure ;  .but  St. 
Clare  will  have  high  life  below-stairs,  and  they  every  one  of 
them  live  just  as  they  please.  The  fact  is,  our  servants  are 
over-indulged.  I  suppose  it  is  partly  our  fault  that  they  are 
selfish,  and  act  like  spoiled  children ;  but  I  've  talked  to  St. 
Clare  till  I  am  tired." 

"  And  I,  too,"  said  St.  Clare,  taking  up  the  morning 
paper. 

Eva,  the  beautiful  Eva,  had  stood  listening  to  her  mothei , 
with  that  expression  of  deep  and  mystic  earnestness  which 
was  peculiar  to  her.  She  walked  softly  round  to  her  mother's 
chair,  and  put  her  arms  round  her  neck. 

"  Well,  Eva,  what  now  ?  "  said  Marie. 

"Mamma,  couldn't  I. take  care  of  you  one  night — just 
one?  I  know  I  should  n't  make  you  nervous,  and  I  shouldn't 
sleep.  I  often  lie  awake  nights,  thinking  — " 

"  0,  nonsense,  child  —  nonsense  !  "  said  Marie  ;  l(  you  are 
such  a  strange  child  !  " 

"  But  may  I,  mamma?  I  think,"  she  said,  timidly, 
"  that  Mammy  is  n't  well.  She  told  me  her  head  ached  all 
the  time,  lately." 

a  0,  that 's  just  one  of  Mammy's  fidgets  !    Mammy  is  just 


LIFE   AMONa   THE   LOWLY.  247 

like  all  the  rest  of  them  —  makes  such  a  fuss  about  every 
little  head-ache  or  finger-ache  ;  it  '11  never  do  to  encourage  it 
—  never!  I'm  principled  about  this  matter,"  said  she, 
turning  to  Miss  Ophelia ;  "you'll  find  the  necessity  of  it. 
If  you  encourage  servants  in  giving  way  to  every  little  dis 
agreeable  feeling,  and  complaining  of  every  little  ailment, 
you  '11  have  your  hands  full.  I  never  complain  myself  — 
nobody  knows  what  I  endure.  I  feel  it  a  duty  to  bear  it 
quietly,  and  I  do." 

Miss  Ophelia's  round  eyes  expressed  an  undisguised 
amazement  at  this  peroration,  which  struck  St.  Clare  as  so 
supremely  ludicrous,  that  he  burst  into  a  loud  laugh. 

"  St.  Clare  always  laughs  when  I  make  the  least  allusion 
to  my  ill  health,"  said  Marie,  with  the  voice  of  a  suffering 
martyr.  "I  only  hope  the  day  won't  come  when  he'll 
remember  it !  "  and  Marie  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

Of  course,  there  was  rather  a  foolish  silence.  Finally, 
St.  Clare  got  up,  looked  at  his  watch,  and  said  he  had  an 
engagement  clown  street.  Eva  tripped  away  after  him,  and 
Miss  Ophelia  and  Marie  remained  at  the  table  alone.  \ 

"  Now,  that's  just  like  St.  Clare !  "  said  the  latter,  with 
drawing  her  handkerchief  with  somewhat  of  a  spirited  flourish 
when  the  criminal  to  be  affected  by  it  was  no  longer  in  sight. 
"  He  never  realizes,  never  can,  never  will,  what  I  suffer,  and 
have,  for  years.  If  I  was  one  of  the  complaining  sort,  or  ever 
made  any  fuss  about  my  ailments,  there  wrould  be  some  reason 
for  it.  Men  do  get  tired,  naturally,  of  a  complaining  wife. 
But  I  've  kept  things  to  myself,  and  borne,  and  borne,  till 
St.  Clare  has  got  in  the  way  of  thinking  I  can  bear  any 
thing." 

Miss  Ophelia  did  not  exactly  know  what  she  was  expected 
to  answer  to  this. 


248  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  on, 

While  she  was  thinking  what  to  say,  Marie  gradually 
wiped  away  her  tears,  and  smoothed  her  plumage  in  a  general 
sort  of  way,  as  a  dove  might  be  supposed  to  make  toilet 
after  a  shower,  and  began  a  housewifely  chat  with  Miss  Ophe 
lia,  concerning  cupboards,  closets,  linen-presses,  store-rooms, 
and  other  matters,  of  which  the  latter  was,  by  common  under 
standing,  to  assume  the  direction, —  giving  her  so  many 
cautious  directions  and  charges,  that  a  head  less  systematic 
and  business-like  than  Miss  Ophelia's  would  have  been  utterly 
dizzied  and  confounded. 

"  And  now,"  said  Marie,  "I Relieve  I've  told  you  every 
thing  ;  so  that,  when  my  next  sick  turn  comes  on,  you  '11  be 
able  to  go  forward  entirely,  without  consulting  me ;  —  only 
about  Eva, —  she  requires  watching." 

"  She  seems  to  be  a  good  child,  very,"  said  Miss  Ophelia ; 
"  I  never  saw  a  better  child." 

"  Eva 's  peculiar,"  said  her  mother,  "very.  There  are 
things  about  her  so  singular;  she  isn't  like  me,  now,  a 
particle  ;"  and  Marie  sighed,  as  if  this  was  a  truly  melancholy 
consideration. 

Miss  Ophelia  in  her  own  heart  said,  "  I  hope  she  isn't," 
but  had  prudence  enough  to  keep  it  down. 

"  Eva  always  was  disposed  to  be  with  servants  ;  and  Ithinl 
that  well  enough  with  some  children.  Now,  I  always  playet 
with  father's  little  negroes  —  it  never  did  me  any  harm.  Bu-. 
Eva  somehow  always  seems  to  put  herself  on  an  equality  with 
every  creature  that  comes  near  her.  It 's  a  strange  thing 
about  the  child.  I  never  have  been  able  to  break  her  of  it 
St.  Clare,  I  believe,  encourages  her  in  it.  The  fact  is,  St. 
Clare  indulges  every  creature  under  this  roof  but  his  own 
wife." 

Again  Miss  Ophelia  sat  in  blank  silence. 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  249 

"  Now,  there's  no  way  with  servants,"  said  Marie,  "but 
to  put  them  down,  and  keep  them  down.  It  was  always 
natural  to  me,  from  a  child.  Eva  is  enough  to  spoil  a  whole 
house-full.  What  she  will  do  when  she  comes  to  keep  house 
herself,  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know.  I  hold  to  being  kind  to 
servants  —  I  always  am ;  but  you  must  make  'em  know  their 
place.  Eva  never  does  ;  there 's  no  getting  into  the  child's 
head  the  first  beginning  of  an  idea  what  a  servant's  place  is  ! 
You  heard  her  offering  to  take  care  of  me  nights,  to  let 
Mammy  sleep  !  That 's  just  a  specimen  of  the  way  the  child 
would  be  doing  all  the  time,  if  she  was  left  to  herself." 

"  Why,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  bluntly,  "  I  suppose  you  think 
your  servants  are  human  creatures,  and  ought  to,  have  some 
rest  when  they  are  tired." 

"Certainly,  of  course.  I'm  very  particular  in  letting 
them  have  everything  that  comes  convenient,  —  anything  that 
does  n't  put  one  at  all  out  of  the  way,  you  know.  Mammy 
can  make  up  her  sleep,  some  time  or  other ;  there's  no  diffi 
culty  about  that.  She's  the  sleepiest  concern  that  ever  I 
saw ;  sewing,  standing,  or  sitting,  that  creature  will  go  to 
sleep,  and  sleep  anywhere  and  everywhere.  No  danger  but 
Mammy  gets  sleep  enough.  But  this  treating  servants  as  if 
they  were  exotic  flowers,  or  china  vases,  is  really  ridiculous," 
said  Marie,  as  she  plunged  languidly  into  the  depths  of  a 
voluminous  and  pillowy  lounge,  and  drew  towards  her,  an 
elegant  cut-glass  vinaigrette. 

"  You  see,"  she  continued,  in  a  faint  and  lady-like  voice, 
like  the  last  dying  breath  of  an  Arabian  jessamine,  or  some 
thing  equally  ethereal,  "you  see,  Cousin  Ophelia,  I  don't 
often  speak  of  myself.  It  isn't  my  habit  ;  'tis  n't  agreeable 
to  me.  In  fact,  I  haven't  strength  to  do  it.  But  there  are 
points  where  St.  Clare  and  I  differ.  St.  Clare  never  under- 


250  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

stood  me,  never  appreciated  me.     I  think  it  lies  at  the  root 
of  all  my  'ill  health.     St^QInra  Tnpnnfl  well,  I  am  bound  to 


*  believe  ;  but  men  are  constitutionally  selfish  and  inconsiderate 
vr>»  to  woman.  That,  at  least,  is  my  impression." 

Miss  Ophelia,  who  had  not  a  small  share  of  the  genuine 
New  England  caution,  and  a  very  particular  horror  of  being 
drawn  into  family  difficulties,  now  began  to  foresee  something 
of  this  kind  impending  ;  so,  composing  her  face  into  a  grim 
neutrality,  and  drawing  out  of  her  pocket  about  a  yard  and  a 
quarter  of  stocking,  which  she  kept  as  a  specific  against  what 
Dr.  Watts  asserts  to  be  a  personal  habit  of  Satan  when  peo 
ple  have  idle  hands,  she  proceeded  to  knit  most  energetically, 
shutting  her  lips  together  in  a  way  that  said,  as  plain  as  words 
could,  "  You  needn't  try  to  make  me  speak.  I  don't  want 
anything  to  do  with  your  affairs,"  —  in  fact,  3he  looked  about 
as  sympathizing  as  a  stone  lion.  But  Marie  didn't  care  for 
that.  She  had  got  somebody  to  talk  to,  and  she  felt  it  her 
duty  to  talk,  and  that  was  enough  :  and  reinforcing  herself  by 
smelling  again  at  her  vinaigrette,  she  went  on. 

"  You  see,  I  brought  my  own  property  and  servants  into 
the  connection,  when  I  married  St.  Clare,  and  I  am  legally 
entitled  to  manage  them  my  own  way.  St.  Clare  had  his 
fortune  and  his  servants,  and  I  'm  well  enough  content  he 
should  manage  them  his  way  ;  but  St.  Clare  will  be  interfer 
ing.  He  has  wild,  extravagant  notions  about  things,  particu- 
,  larly  about  the  treatment  of  servants.  He  really  does  act  as 
if  he  set  his  servants  before  me,  and  before  himself,  too  ;  for 
he  lets  them  make  him  all  sorts  of  trouble,  and  never  lifts  a 
finger.  Now,  about  some  things,  St.  Clare  is  really  frightful 
—  he  frightens  me  —  good-natured  as  he  looks,  in  general. 
Now,  he  has  set  down  his  foot  that,  come  what  will,  there 
shall  not  be  a  blow  struck  in  this  house,  except  what  he  or  I 


LIFE   AMONG    THE   LOWLY.  251 


strike  ;  and  he  does  it  in  a  way  that  I  really  dare  not  cross 
him.  Well,  you  may  see  what  that  leads  to ;  for  St.  Clare 
wouldn't  raise  his  hand,  if  every  one  of  them  walked  over  him, 
and  I  —  you  see  how  cruel  it  would  be  to  require  me  to  make 
tko  exertion.  Now,  you  know  these  servants  are  nothing  but 
grown-up  children. " 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it,  and  I  thank  the  Lord 
that  I  don't !"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  shortly. 

"  Well,  but  you  will  have  to  know  something,  and  know  it 
to  your  cost,  if  you  stay  liere.  You  don't  know  what  a  pro 
voking,  stupid,  careless,  unreasonable  childish,  ungrateful  set 
of  wretches  they  are." 

Marie  seemed  wonderfully  supported,  always,  when  she  got 
upon  this  topic  ;  and  she  now  opened  her  eyes,  and  seemed 
quite  to  forget  her  languor. 

"  You  don't  know,  and  you  can't,  the  daily,  hourly  trials 
that  beset  a  housekeeper  from  them,  everywhere  and  every 
way.  But  it 's  no  use  to  complain  to  St.  Clare.  He  talks 
the  strangest  stuff.  He  says  we  have  made  them  what  they 
are,  and  ought  to  bear  with  them.  He  says  their  faults  are 
all  owing  to  us,  and  that  it  would  be  cruel  to  make  the  fault 
and  punish  it  too.  He  says  we  should  n't  do  any  better,  in 
their  place ;  just  as  if  one  could  reason  from  them  to  us,  you 
know." 

"  Don't  you  believe  that  the  Lord  made  them  of  one  blood 
with  us  ?  "  said  Miss  Ophelia,  shortly. 

"  No,  indeed,  not  I !  A  pretty  story,  truly  !  They  are  a 
degraded  race." 

"  Don't  you  think  they've  got  immortal  souls  ?  "  said  Miss 
Ophelia,  with  increasing  indignation. 

"  0,  well,"  said  Marie,  yawning,  "  that,  of  course —  nobody 
doubts  that.  But  as  to  putting  them  on  any  sort  of  equality 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 


with  us,  you  know,  as  if  we  could  be  compared,  why,  it  's 
impossible  !  Now,  St.  Clare  really  has  talked  to  me  as  if 
keeping  Mammy  from  her  husband  was  like  keeping  me  from 
mine.  There  's  no  comparing  in  this  way.  Mammy  could  n't 
have  the  feelings  that  I  should.  It's  a  different  tiling 
altogether,  —  of  course,  it  is,  —  and  yet  St.  Clare  pretends 
not  to  see  it.  And  just  as  if  Mammy  could  love  her  little 
dirty  babies  as  I  love  Eva  !  Yet  St.  Clare  once  really  and 
soberly  tried  to  persuade  me  that  it  was  my  duty,  with  my 
weak  health,  and  all  I  suffer,  to  let  Mammy  go  back,  and  take 
somebody  else  in  her  place.  That  was  a  little  too  much  even 
for  me  to  bear.  I  don't  often  show  my  feelings.  I  make  it 
a  principle  to  endure  everything  in  silence  ;  it  's  a  wife's 
hard  lot,  and  I  bear  it.  But  I  did  break  out,  that  time  ;  so 
that  he  has  never  alluded  to  the  subject  since.  But  I  know 
by  his  looks,  and  little  things  that  he  says,  that  he  thinks  so 
as  much  as  ever;  and  it's  so  trying,  so  provoking  !  " 

Miss  Ophelia  looked  very  much  as  if  she  was  afraid  she 
should  say  something;  but  she  rattled  away  with  her  needles 
in  a  way  that  had  volumes  of  meaning  in  it/  if  Marie  could 
only  have  understood  it. 

"So,  you  just  see,"  she  continued,  "  what  you've  got  to 
manage.  A  household  without  any  rule;  where  servants 
have  it  all  their  own  way,  do  what  they  please,  and  have 
what  they  please,  except  so  far  as  I,  with  my  feeble  health, 
have  kept  up  government.  I  keep  my  cowhide  about,  and 
sometimes  I  do  lay  it  on  ;  but  the  exertion  is  always  too  much 
for  me.  If  St.  Clare  would  only  have  this  thing  done  as 
others  do  —  " 

"And  how's  that?" 

"  Why,  send  them  to  the  calaboose,  or  some  of  the  other 
places  to  be  flogged.  That  's  the  only  way.  If  I  was  n't 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  253 

such  a  poor,  feeble  piece,  I  believe  I  should  manage  with 
twice  the  energy  that  St.  Clare  does." 

"  And  how  does  St.  Clare  contrive  to  manage?  "  said  Miss 
Ophelia.  "  You  say  he  never  strikes  a  blow." 

"  Well,  men  have  a  more  commanding  way,  you  know  ;  it 
is  easier  for  them ;  besides,  if  you  ever  looked  full  in  his 
eye,  it 's  peculiar,  —  that  eye,  —  and  if  he  speaks  decidedly, 
there 's  a  kind  of  flash.  I  'm  afraid  of  it,  myself;  and  the 
servants  know  they  must  mind.  I  couldn't  do  as  much  by  a 
regular  storm  and  scolding  as  St.  Clare  can  by  one  turn  of 
his  eye,  if  once  he  is  in  earnest.  0,  there 's  no  trouble 
about  St.  Clare  ;  that 's  the  reason  he 's  no  more  feeling  for 
me.  But  you'll  find,  when  you  come  to  manage,  that  there  's 
no  getting  along  without  severity,  —  they  are  so  bad,  so 
deceitful,  so  lazy." 

"The  old  tune,"  said  St.  Clare,  sauntering  in.  "What 
an  awful  account  these  wicked  creatures  will  have  to  settle,  at 
last,  especially  for  being  lazy  !  You  see,  cousin,"  said  he,  as 
he  stretched  himself  at  full  length  on  a  lounge  opposite  to 
Marie,  "it's  wholly  inexcusable  in  them,  in  the  light  of  ths 
example  that  Marie  and  I  set  them,  —  this  laziness." 

"  Come,  now,  St.  Clare,  you  are  too  bad !  "  said  Marie. 

"  Am  I,  now  ?  Why,  I  thought  I  was  talking  good,  quite 
remarkably  for  me.  I  try  to  enforce  your  remarks,  Marie, 
always." 

"  You  know  you  meant  no  such  thing,  St.  Clare,"  said 
Marie. 

"  0,  I  must  have  been  mistaken,  then.  Thank  you,  my 
dear,  for  setting  me  right." 

"  You  do  really  try  to  be  provoking,"  said  Marie. 

"  0,  come,  Marie,  the  day  is  growing  warm,  and  I  have 
just  had  a  long  quarrel  with  Dolph,  which  has  fatigued  me 
99 


254  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OR, 

excessively ;  so,  pray  be  agreeable,  now,  and  let  a  felloe 
repose  in  the  light  of  your  smile."    -*-^» 

"  What 's  the  matter  about  Dolph  1 "  said  Marie.  "  That 
fellow's  impudence  has  been  growing  to  a  point  that  is 
perfectly  intolerable  to  me.  I  only  wish  I  had  the  undis 
puted  management  of  him  a  while.  I  'd  bring  him  down !  " 

"What  you  say,  my  dear,  is  marked  with  your  usual 
a-.uteness  and  good  sense,"  said  St.  Clare.  "As  to  Dolph, 
th )  case  is  this  :  that  he  has  so  long  been  engaged  in  imitat 
ing  my  graces  and  perfections,  that  he  has,  at  last,  really  mis 
taken  himself  for  his  master ;  and  I  have  been  obliged  to  give 
him  a  little  insight  into  his  mistake." 

"How?"  said  Marie. 

"  Why,  I  was  obliged  to  let  him  understand  explicitly  that 
I  preferred  to  keep  some  of  my  clothes  for  my  own  personal 
wearing ;  also,  I  put  his  magnificence  upon  an  allowance  of 
cologne-water,  and  actually  was  so  cruel  as  to  restrict  him  to 
one  dozen  of  my  cambric  handkerchiefs.  Dolph  was  particu 
larly  huffy  about  it,  and  I  had  to  talk  to  him  like  a  father,  to 
bring  him  round." 

"  0 !  Gt.  Clare,  when  will  you  learn  how  to  treat  your 
servants?  It's  abominable,  the  way  you  indulge  them!" 
said  Marie. 

"  Why,  after  all,  what 's  the  harm  of  the  poor  dog's  want 
ing  to  be  like  his  master ;  and  if  I  have  n't  brought  him  up 
any  better  than  to  find  his  chief  good  in  cologne  and  cambric 
handkerchiefs,  why  should  n't  I  give  them  to  him  ?  " 

"  And  why  have  n't  you  brought  him  up  better?"  said 
Miss  Ophelia,  with  blunt  determination. 

"Too  much  trouble,  — laziness,  cousin,  laziness,  — which 
ruins  more  souls   than  you  can   shake   a  stick  at.     If  it  I 
weren't  for  laziness,  I  should  have  been  a  perfect  angel, 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  255 

myself.  I  'm  inclined  to  think  that  laziness  is  what  your  old 
Dr.  Eotlicrem,  up  in  Vermont,  used  to  call  the  '  essence  of 
rnornl  p.yil,'  It  's  an  awful  consideration, 


"I  think  you  slaveholders  have  an  .awful  responsibility 
upon  you,"  said  Miss  Ophelia.  "  I  wouldn't  have  it,  for  a 
thousand  worlds.  You  ouofoft  to  educate  your  slaves,  and 
treat  them  like  reasonable  creatures,  —  like  immortal  crea 
tures,  that  you  've  got  to  stand  before  the  bar  of  God  with. 
That  's  my  mind,"  said  the  good  lady,  breaking  suddenly  out 
with  a  tide  of  zeal  that  had  been  gaining  strength  in  her  mind 
all  the  morning. 

"0!  come,  come,"  said  St.  Clare,  getting  up  quickly; 
"  what  do  you  know  about  us?  "  And  he  sat  down  to  the 
piano,  and  rattled  a  lively  piece  of  music.  St.  Clare  had  a 
decided  genius  for  music.  -  His  touch  was  brilliant  and  firm, 
and  his  fingers  flew  over  the  keys  with  a  rapid  and  bird-like 
motion,  airy,  and  yet  decided.  He  played  piece  after  piece, 
like  a  man  who  is  trying  to  play  himself  into  a  good  humor. 
After  pushing  the  music  aside,  he  rose  up,  and  said,  gayly, 
"Well,  now,  cousin,  you  've  given  us  a  good  talk,  and  done 
your  duty  ;  on  the  whole,  I  think  the  better  of  you  for  it.  I 
make  no  manner  of  doubt  that  you  threw  a  very  diamond  of 
truth  at  me,  though  you  see  it  hit  me  so  directly  in  the  face 
that  it  wasn't  exactly  appreciated,  at  first." 

"For  my  part,  I  don't  see  any  use  in  such  sort  of  talk,"  said 
Marie.  "I'm  sure,  if  anybody  does  more  for  servants  than 
we  do,  I'd  like  to  know  who  ;  and  it  don't  do  'em  a  bit  good, 
—  not  a  particle,  —  they  get  worse  and  worse.  As  to  talking  to 
them,  or  anything  like  that,  I  'm  sure  I  have  talked  till  I  was 
tired  and  hoarse,  telling  them  their  duty,  and  all  that  ;  and 
I  'in  sure  they  can  go  to  church  when  they  like,  though  they 
don't  understand  a  word  of  the  sermon,  more  than  so  many 


256  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

pigs. —  so  it  is  n't  of  any  great  use  for  them  to  go,  as  I  see  ; 
but  they  do  go,  and  so  they  have  every  chance ;  but,  as  I  said 
before,  they  are  a  degraded  race,  and  always  will  be,  and 
there  isn't  any  help  for  them  ;  you  can't  make  anything  of 
them,  if  you  try.  You  see,  Cousin  Ophelia,  I  've  tried,  and 
you  haven't;  I  was  born  and  bred  among  them,  and  I 
know." 

Miss  Ophelia  thought  she  had  said  enough,  and  therefore 
sat  silent.  St.  Clare  whistled  a  tune. 

"St.  Clare,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  whistle,"  said  Marie; 
"  it  makes  my  head  worse." 

"  I  won't,"  said  St.  Clare.  "  Is  there  anything  else  you 
would  n't  wish  me  to  do  ?" 

"  I  wish  you  would  have  some  kind  of  sympathy  Jbjrjmy 
trials ;  you  never  have  any  feeling  for  me." 

"  My  dear  accusing  angel !  "  said  St.  Clare. 

"It's  provoking  to  be  talked  to  in  that  way." 

"  Then,  how  will  you  be  talked  to?  I  '11  talk  to  order,  — 
any  way  you  '11  mention,  — only  to  give  satisfaction." 

A  gay  laugh  from  the  court  rang  through  the  silken 
curtains  of  the  verandah.  St.  Clare  stepped  out,  and  lifting 
up  the  curtain,  laughed  too. 

"  What  is  it?  "  said  Miss  Ophelia,  coming  to  the  railing. 

There  sat  Tom,  on  a  little  mossy  seat  in  the  court,  every 
one  of  his  button-holes  stuck  full  of  cape  jessamines,  and  Eva, 
gayly  laughing,  was  hanging  a  wreath  of  roses  round  his 
neck  ;  and  then  she  sat  down  on  liis  knee,  like  a  chip-sparrow, 
still  laughing. 

"0,  Tom,  you  look  so  funny  !  " 

Tom  had  a  sober,  benevolent  smile,  and  seemed,  in  his 
quiet  way,  to  be  enjoying  the  fun  quite  as  much  as  his  little 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  257 

mistress.  He  lifted  his  eyes,  when  he  saw  his  master,  with  a 
half-deprecating,  apologetic  air. 

"  How  can  you  let  her?  "  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

a  Why  not?"  said  St.  Clare. 

"  Why,  I  don't  know,  it  seems  so  dreadful !  " 

"  You  would  think  no  harm  in  a  child's  caressing  a  large 
dog,  even  if  he  was  black ;  but  a  creature  that  can  think,  and 
reason,  and  feel,  and  is  immortal,  you  shudder  at ;  confess  it, 
cousin.  I  know  the  feeling  among  some  of  you  northerners 
well  enough.  Not  that  there  is  a  particle  of  virtue  in  our 
not  having  it;  but  custom  with  us  does  what  Christianity 
ought  to  do, —  obliterates  the  feeling  of  personal  prejudice.  I 
have  often  noticed,  in  my  travels  north,  how  much  stronger 
this  was  with  you  than  with  us.  You  lofit^A  +^&™  ^  y0u 
would  a  snake  or  a  toad,  yet  you  are  indignant  at  their 
wrongs!  You  would  not  have  them  abused ;  but  yop.  don' t 
want  to  have  anything;  to  do  with  them  yourselves.  You 
would  send  them  to  Africa,  out  of  your  siffht  and  smeJLand 
nr  twft  to  do  np  fll)  fl10  seLW enjal jof 
Is  n't tnat  it  ?  " 

"Well,  cousin,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  thoughtfully,  " there 
may  be  some  truth  in  this." 

"What  would  the  poor  and  lowly  do,  without  children?  " 
said  St.  Clare,  leaning  on  the  railing,  and  watching  Eva,  as 
she  tripped  off,  leading  Tom  with  her.  "  X°lir  1itt]ft  r&m  i'« 
your  only  true  democrat.  Tom,  now,  is  a  hero  to  Eva ;  his 
stcries  are  wonders  in  her  eyes,  his  songs  and  Methodist 
hymns  are  better  than  an  opera,  and  the  traps  and  little  bits 
of  trash  in  his  pocket  a  mine  of  jewels,  and  he  the  most 
wonderful  Tom  that  ever  wore  a  black  skin.  This  is  one  of 
the  roses  of  Igden  t^n^thgJLord  has  dropped  down  expressly 
22* 


258  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OR 


for  the  poor  and  lowlv,  who  get  few  enough  ,p£-any  other 


"It's  strange,  cousin,"  said  Miss  Ophelia;  "one  might 
almost  think  you  were  a  professor,  to  hear  you  talk." 

"  A  professor  1 "  said  St.  Clare. 

"  Yes  ;    a  professor  of  religion." 

"Not  at  all ;  not  a  professor,  as  your  town-folks  have  it; 
iind,  what  is  worse,  I  'm  afraid,  not  &practiser,  either." 

"  What  makes  you  talk  so,  then?  " 

"Nothing  is  easier  than  talking,"  said  St.  Clare.  "I 
believe  Shakspeare  makes  somebody  say,  '  I  could  sooner 
show  twenty  what  were  good  to  be  done,  than  be  one  of  the 
twenty  to  follow  my  own  showing.'  Nothing  like  division  of 
labor.  My  forte  lies  in  talking,  and  yours,  cousin,  lies  in 
doing." 


In  Tom's  external  situation,  at  this  time,  there  was,  as  the 
world  says,  nothing  to  complain  of.  Little  Eva's  fancy  for 
him  —  the  instinctive  gratitude_jmd_jpjre^^ 
nature —  had  led  her  to  petition  her  father  that  he  might  be 
her  especial  attendant,  whenever  she  needed  the  escort  of  a 
servant,  in  her  walks  or  rides ;  and  Tom  had  general  orders  to 
let  everything  else  go,  and  attend  to  Miss  Eva  whenever  she 
'wanted  him,  —  orders  which  our  readers  may  fancy  were  far 
from  disagreeable  to  him.  He  was  kept  well  dressed,  for  St. 
Clare  was  fastidiously  particular  on  this  point.  His  stable 
services  were  merely  a  sinecure,  and  consisted  simply  in  a 
daily  care  and  inspection,  and  directing  an  under-servant  in 
his  duties ;  for  Marie  St.  Clare  declared  that  she  could  not 
have  any  smell  of  the  horses  about  him  when  he  came 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  259 

her,  and  that  he  must  positively  not  be  put  to  any  service 
that  would  make  him  unpleasant  to  her,  as  her  nervous  system 
was  entirely  inadequate  to  any  trial  of  that  nature  ;  one  snuff 
of  anything  disagreeable  being,  according  to  her  account,  quite 
sufficient  to  close  the  scene,  and  put  an  end  to  all  her  earthly 
trials  at  once.  Tom,  therefore,  in  his  well-brushed__broad- 
cloth  suit,  smooth  beaver,  glossy  boots,  faultless  wristbands 
and  collar,  with  his  grave,  good-natured.  -Waek  face,  looked 
respectable  enough  to  be  a  Bishop  of  Carthage,  as  men  of  his 
color  were,  in  other  ages. 

Then,  too,  he  was  in  a  beautiful  place,  a  consideration  to 
which  his  sensitive  race  are  never  indifferent;  and  he  did 
enjoy  with  a  quiet  joy  the  birds,  the  flowers,  the  fountains, 
the  perfume,  and  light  and  beauty  of  the  court,  the  silken 
hangings,  and  pictures,  and  lustres,  and  statuettes,  and  gild 
ing,  that  made  the  parlors  within  a  kind  of  Aladdin's  palace 
to  him. 

If  ever  Africa  shall  show  an  elevated  and  cultivated  race, 
—  and  come  it  must,  some  time,  her  turn  to  figure  in  the 
great  drama  of  human  improvement,  —  life  will  awake  there 
with  a  gorgeousness  and  splendor  of  which  our  cold  western 
tribes  faintly  have  conceived.  In  that  far-off  mystic  land  of 
gold,  and  gems,  and  spices,  and  waving  palms,  and  wondrous 
flowers,  and  miraculous  fertility,  will  awake  new  forms  of  art, 
new  styles  of  splendor ;  and  the  negro  race,  no  longer  despised 
and  trodden  down,  will,  perhaps,  show  forth  some  of  the 
latest  and  mos-t  magnificent  revelations  of  human  life.  Cer 
tainly  thev  will.,  in  their  gentleness,  theirlowly  docility  of 
hearty  their  aptitude  tOLxepose  on  a  superior  mind  and  rest  on 
a  higher  power,  their  childlike  simplicity  of  affection^  and 
facility  of  forgiveness.  In  all  these  they  wiJLjxhJbjjuthe 
highest  form_of  the  peculiarly  Christian  life,  and,  perhaps^ 


260  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  on, 

as   God   chasteneth  whom   frfi  IftYfitihj  Jlft 

Africa  in  the  furnace  of  affliction,  to  make  her  the  highest 

and  noblest  in  thatkingdom  •which  lie  will 

has i  Twn  triVrl   and  foilprl  ;  for  the  first  sha^l 
b£  last,  and  the  last  first. 

Was  this  what  Marie  St.  Clare  was  thinking  of,  as  she 
stood,  gorgeously  dressed,  on  the  verandah,  on  Sunday  morn 
ing,  clasping  a  diamond  bracelet  on  her  slender  wrist  ?  Most 
likely  it  was.  Or,  if  it  was  n't  that,  it  was  something  else : 
for  Marie  patronized  good  things,  and  she  wras  going  now,  in 
full  force, —  diamonds,  silk,  and  lace,  and  jewels,  and  all, — to 
a  fashionable  church,  to  be  very  religious.  Marie  always  made 
a  point  to  be  very  pious  on  Sundays.  There  she  stood,  so 
slender,  so  elegant,  so  airy  and  undulating  in  all  her  motions, 
her  lace  scarf  enveloping  her  like  a  mist.  She  looked  a  grace 
ful  creature,  and  she  felt  very  good  and  very  elegant  indeed. 
Miss  Ophelia  stood  at  her  side,  a  perfect  contrast.  It  was 
not  that  she  had  not  as  handsome  a  silk  dress  and  shawl,  and 
as  fine  a  pocket-handkerchief;  but  stiffness  and  squareness, 
and  bolt-uprightness,  enveloped  her  with  as  indefinite  yet 
appreciable  a  presence  as  did  grace  her  elegant  neighbor ;  not 
the  grace  of  God,  however,  —  that  is  quite  another  thing ! 

"Where  's  Eva?"  said  Marie. 

"  The  child  stopped  on  the  stairs,  to  say  something  to 
Mammy." 

And  what  was  Eva  saying  to  Mammy  on  the  stairs? 
Listen,  reader,  and  you  will  hear,  though  Marie  does  not. 

"  Dear  Mammy,  I  know  your  head  is  aching  dreadfully." 

"  Lord  bless  you,  Miss  Eva  !  my  head  allers  aches  lately 
5Tou  don't  need  to  worry." 

"  Well,  I  'm  glad  you  're  going  out ;  and  here,"  —  and  the 


LIFE   AMONG    THE   LOWLY.  261 

little  girl  threw  her  arms  around  her, — "  Mammy,  you  shall 
take  my  vinaigrette." 

"What!  your  beautiful  gold  thing,  thar,  with  them 
diamonds  !  Lor,  Miss,  'twould  n't  be  proper,  no  ways." 

"Why  not?  You  need  it,  and  I  don't.  Mamma  always 
us^s  it  for  headache,  and  it  '11  make  you  feel  better.  No,  you 
shall  take  it,  to  please  me,  now." 

"  Do  hear  the  darlin  talk  !  "  said  Mammy,  as  Eva  thrust 
it  into  her  bosom,  and,  kissing  her,  ran  down  stairs  to  her 
mother. 

"  What  were  you  stopping  for  ?  " 

"  I  was  just  stopping  to  give  Mammy  my  vinaigrette,  to 
take  to  church  with  her." 

"  Eva  !  "  said  Marie,  stamping  impatiently, — "  your  gold 
vinaigrette  to  Mammy !  When  will  you  learn  what 's 
proper  ?  Go  right  and  take  it  back,  this  moment !  " 

Eva  looked  downcast  and  aggrieved,  and  turned  slowly. 

"I  say,  Marie,  let  the  child  alone:  she  shall  do  as  she 
pleases,"  said  St.  Clare. 

"  St.  Clare,  how  will  she  ever  get  along  in  the  world?  " 
said  Marie. 

"  The  Lord  knows,"  said  St.  Clare  ;  "  but  she  '11  get  along 
in  heaven  better  than  you  or  I." 

"0,  papa,  don't,"  said  Eva,  softly  touching  his  elbow; 
"it  troubles  mother." 

"  Well,  cousin,  are  you  ready  to  go  to  meeting  ?"  said  Miss 
Ophelia,  turning  square  about  on  St.  Clare. 

"  I  'm  not  going,  thank  you." 

"I  do  wish  St.  Clare  ever  would  go  to  church,"  said 
Marie  ;  "  but  he  has  n't  a  particle  of  religion  about  him.  It 
really  isn't  respectable." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  St.  Clare.     "You  ladies  go  to  church 


262  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OP., 

to  learn  how  to  get  along  in  the  world,  I  suppose,  and  yom 
piety  sheds  respectability  on  us.  If  I  did  go  at  all,  I  would 
go  where  Mammy  goes  ;  there  's  something  to  keep  a  fellow 
awake  there,  at  least." 

"What!  those  shouting  Methodists?  Horrible !"  said 
Marie. 

"  Anything  but  the  dead  sea  of  your  respectable  churches, 
Marie.  Positively,  it 's  too  much  to  ask  of  a  man.  Eva,  do 
you  like  to  go  ?  Come,  stay  at  home  and  play  with  me." 

"  Thank  you,  papa ;  but  I  'd  rather  go  to  church." 

"  Is  n't  it  dreadful  tiresome  ?  "  said  St.  Clare. 

"I  think  it  is  tiresome,  some,"-  said  Eva;  "and  I  am. 
sleepy,  too,  but  I  try  to  keep  awake." 

"  What  do  you  go  for,  then?  " 

"Why,  you  know,  papa,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper,  "cousin 
'  told  me  that  God  wants  to  have  us ;  and  he  gives  us  every 
thing,  you  know ;  and  it  is  n't  much  to  do  it,  if  he  wants  us  to. 
It  is  n't  so  very  tiresome,  after  all." 

"You  sweet,  little  obliging  soul !  "  said  St.  Clare,  kissing 
her  ;  "go  along,  that 's  a  good  girl,  and  pray  for  me." 

"Certainly,  I  always  do,"  said  the  child,  as  she  sprang 
after  her  mother  into  the  carriage. 

St.  Clare  stood  on  the  steps  and  kissed  his  hand  to  her, 
as  the  carriage  drove  away ;  large  tears  were  in  his  eyes. 

"  0,  Evangelinel  rightly  named,"  he  said;  _^hatlji  not t 
God  made  thee  an  evangel  to  me  ?  " 

So  he  felt  a  moment ;  and  then  he  smokeda_cigar ..  .-.aadjcead 
the  Picayune,  and  forgot  his  little  gospel.  Was  he  jnuch 
unlike  other  folks  ? 

"You  see,  Evangeline,"  said  her  mother,  "it's  always 
right  and  proper  to  be  kind  to  servants,  but  it  is  n't  proper  to 
treat  them  just  as  >ve  would  our  relations,  or  people  in  our 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  263 

own  class  of  -life.  Now,  if  Mammy  was  sick,  you  wouldn't 
want  to  put  her  in  your  own  bed." 

"I  should  feel  just  like  it,  mamma,"  said  Eva,  "because 
then  it  would  be  handier  to  take  care  of  her,  and  because, 
you  know,  my  bed  is  better  than  hers." 

Marie  was  in  utter  despair  at  the  entire  want  of  moral 
perception  evinced  in  this  reply. 

"  What  can  I  do  to  make  this  child  understand  me  ?  "  she 
said. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  significantly. 

Eva  looked  sorry  and  disconcerted  for  a_^mpjnent^_but 
children,  luckily,  do  not  keep  to  one  impression  long,  and  in 
a  few  moments  she  wJ3£^mcrrily  laughing  aTTvarlous  things 
alift  sn.w  from  tho  p.nnp.h-windn^S,  as  it  rattled  along. 


"Well,  ladies,"  said  St.  Clare,  as  they  were  comfortably 
seated  at  the  dinner-table,  "  and  what  was  the  bill  of  fare  at 
church  to-day?" 

"  0,  Dr.  G  --  preached  a  splendid  sermon,"  said  Marie. 
"It  was  just  such  a  sermon  as  you  ought  to  hear;  it  ex 
pressed  all  my  views  exactly." 

"It  must  have  been  very  improving,"  said  St.  Clare. 
"  The  subject  must  have  been  an  extensive  one." 

"Well,  I  mean  all  my  views  about  society,  and  such 
things,"  said  Marie.  "  The  text  was,  c  TTA  h^-fr  T-nndn  mi^ry, 
thing  beautiful  in  its  season:'  and  he  showed  how  all  tho 
orders  and  distinctions  fa  pQp.W.y_^rnf>  -fyprn  CM  •  ami  thnf.  it 
was  so  ap^ropriate7  you  know,  and  beautiful,  that  stomp,  shrmlrl 
bfi  hifrji  n.nd  srtrflft  1nw1  a.nr}  j.hn.t  Rmr.fi  wfivn  born  to  rule  and 
some  to  serve1  and  al]  fhnt.j  you 


tn..n,11  t,h?'a  riflimilmifl  fi^ag  that  is  made  about  slavery^  and 
he  pj^gejLdistinctly  that  the  Biblqjgaa^Qiumr  .eJdeA_ajod  sup- 


264  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OR, 

ported  all  our  institutions  so   convincingly.       I   only  wish 
you'd  heard  him." 

<"0,  I  didn't  need  it,"  said  St.  Clare.  "I  can  learn 
what  does  me  as  much  good  as  that  from  the  Picayune,  any 
time,  and  smoke  a  cigar  besides  ;  which  I  can't  do,  you  know, 
in  a  church." 

"Why,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  "don't  you  believe  in  these 
views?" 

"Who,  —  I?  yjouknowl'm  such  a  graceless  dog  tl\at 
thaae  religiousaspects  of  such  subjects  don't  edify  me  much. 
^  I  was  to  say  anything;  on  this  slavery  matter.  I  would  gay 
out,  fair  p-nd  pqi1nrp,^(  We're  in  for  it;  we've  g;ot  ?em,  and, 
mean  to  keep  'em,  —  it  'a  for  our  """""liftnre  and  our  inter 
est  ;'  for  that  'ff  thft  long  fljul  short,  of  ^  —  +Mi  ?fi  j"a*  +1™ 
whole  of  what  all  this  smifitjfiftd  stuff  amounts  to^after  all  ;  and 
I  think  that  will  be  intelligible  to  everybody,  everywhere." 

"  I  do  think,  Augustine,  you  are  so  irreverent  !  "  said 
Marie.  "  I  think  it  's  shocking  to  hear  you  talk." 

"  Shocking  I  it  's  the  truth.  This  religious  talk  on  such 
matters^  —  why  don't  they  carry  it  a  little  further,  andjskojy 
the  beauty,  in  its  season,  of  a  fellow's  taking  a  glass  too  much, 
ami  sitting  aUttle  too  kite  over  his  cards,  and  various  prov 
idential  arrangements  of  that  sort,  which  are  pretty  frequent 
among  us  young  menj  —  we  'd  likejp 


"Well,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  "do  you  think  slavery  right 
or  wrong?" 

"  I  'm  not  going  to  have  any  of  your  horrid  New  England 
directness,  cousin,"  said  St.  Clare,  gayly,  "If  I  answer 
that  question,  I  know  you  '11  be  at  me  with  half  a  dozen 
others,  each  one  harder  than  the  last  ;  and  I  ;rn  not  a  going'to. 
jnj^  position.  I  am  onej)f  the  sort  that  lives  by 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  265 


throwing  stones  at  _  other  pp/)p1p'p  g1^  hrewR}  but  I  never 
"  p"*-"p  ™^  %  tlimn  lift  fit™1?." 


"  That  's  just  the  way  he  's  always  talking,"  said  Marie  ; 
"you  can't  get  any  satisfaction  out  of  him.  I  believe  it's 
just  because  he  don't  like  religion,  that  he  's  always  running 
out  in  this  way  he  's  been  doing." 

".  Religion  !  "  said  St.  Clare,  in  a  tone  that  made  both 
ladies  look  at  him.  "  Religion  !  fc  what,  ynn 


religion  ?  Is  that  which  can  bend  and  turn,  and  descend  and 
ascend,  to  fit  every  crooked  phase  of  selfish,  worldly  society, 
religion?  Is  that  religion  which  is  less  scrupulous,  less 
generous,  less  just,  less  considerate  for  man,  than  even  my 
own  ungodly,  worldly?  blinded  nature  ?  So  !  "VOTien  T  look 
fora  religion.  I  must  look  for  something  above  me,  and  not 
something  beneath." 

"  Then  you  don't  believe  that  the  Bible  justifies  slavery," 
said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"The  Bible  was  my  mother's  book,"  said  St.  Clare. 
"  By  it  she  lived  and  died,  and  I  would  be  very  sorry  to 
think  it  did.  I  'd  as  soon  desire  to  have  it  proved  that  my 
mother  could  drink  brandy,  chew  tobacco,  and  sw^ear,  by  way 
of  satisfying  me  that  I  did  right  in  doing  the  same.  It 
wouldn't  make  me  at  all  more  satisfied  with  these  things  in 
myself,  and  it  would  take  from  me  the  comfort  of  respecting 
her  ;  and  it  really  is  a  comfort,  in  this  world,  to  have  anything 
one  can  respect.  In  short,  you  see."  said  he,  suddenly 
resuming  his  gay  tone,  "  all  I  want  is  that  different  things  be 
kept  in  different  boxes.  T^ie  yfyole  frame-work_j)f  society 

in    Tfornpfl    and  Amerfcfl,  iff  TO<fc  lip  f>f  vnrinng_  things 
rriti  Tint  itnnri  ti!1A  tyw+^y  ^  q,n,y  vffr,y  ideal  standard 
of^morality^    Tt^q  pretty  generally  understood  that  men  don't 


aspire-after  thft  afrflplnt.**  right,  "hn^  only  to  do  about  aa_we}l 


266  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  ;  OR, 

as  the  restofjthfij^orld.  Now,  when  any  one  speaks  up,  like 
a  man,  and  says  slavery  is  necessary  to  us,  we  can't  get 
along  without  it,  we  should  be  beggared  if  we  give  it  up,  and, 
of  course,  we  mean  to  hold  on  to  it,  —  this  is  strong,  clear, 
well-defined  language  ;  it  has  the  respectability  of  truth  to  it ; 
and  if  we  may  judge  by  their  practice,  the  majority  of  the 
world  will  bear  us  out  in  it.  But  when  he  begins  to  put  on 
a  long  face,  and  snuffle,  .and  quote  Scripture,  I  incline  to 
think  he  is  n't  much  better  than  he  should  be." 

"  You  are  very  uncharitable,"  said  Marie. 

"Well,"  said  St.  Clare,  "suppose  that  something  should 
bring  down  the  price  of  cotton  once  and  forever,  and  make  the 
whole  slave^  property  a  drug  in  the  market,  don't  you  think 
we  should  soon  have  another  version  of  the  Scripture  doc 
trine  ?  WJ^i.  ;i.  flpod  of  liffht  would  pour  into,, the  church f  all 
at  once,  and  how  immediately  it  would  be  discovered  that 
ft  very  thing  in  ffie  Bible  and  reason  went  the  other  way  !  " 

u  Well,  at  any  rate,"  said  Marie,  as  she  reclined  herself  on 
a  lounge,  "  I'm  thankful  I'm  bom  where  slavery  exists ;  and 
I  believe  it 's  right, —  indeed,  I  feel  it  must  be  ;  and,  at  any 
rate,  I'm  sure  1  couldn't  get  along  without  it." 

"  I  say,  wh  tt  do  you  think,  Pussy?  "  said  her  father  to 
Eva,  who  c?  jae  in  at  this  moment,  with  a  flower  in  her 
hand. 

"What  jtbout,  papa?" 

"  Why,  which  do  you  like  the  best, —  to  live  as  they  do  at 
your  uncle's,  up  in  Vermont,  or  to  have  a  house-full  of 
servants,  as  we  do?  " 

"0,  of  course,  our  way  is  the  pleasantest,"  said  Eva. 

"  Why  so  ?  "  said  St.  Clare,  stroking  her  head. 

"  Why,  it  makes  so  many  more  round  you  to  love,  you 
up  earnestly.^ 


LIFE   AMONU   THE   LOWLY.  267 

"Now,  that's  just  like  Eva,"  said  Marie;  "just  one  of 
her  odd  speeches." 

"Is  it  an  odd  speech,  papa?"  said  Eva,  whisperingly,  as 
she  got  upon  his  knee. 

"  Rather,  as  this  world  goes,  Pussy,"  said  St.  Clare.  "  But 
where  has  my  little  Eva  been,  all  dinner-time  ?  " 

"0,  I've  been  up  in  Tom's  room,  hearing  him  sing,  and 
Aunt  Dinah  gave  me  my  dinner." 

"  Hearing  Tom  sing,  hey  ?  " 

"  0,  yes !  he  sings  such  beautiful  things  about  the  New 
Jerusalem,  and  bright  angels,  and  the  land  of  Canaan." 

"  I  dare  say ;  it 's  better  than  the  opera,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  he  's  going  to  teach  them  to  me." 

"  Singing  lessons,  hey?  —  you  are  coming  on." 

' '  Yes,  he  sings  for  me,  and  I  read,  to  him  in  my  Bible ; 
and  he  explains  what  it  means,  you  know." 

"  On  my  word,"  said  Marie,  laughing,  "  that  is  the  latest 
joke  of  the  season." 

"  Tom  is  n't  a  bad  hand,  now,  at  explaining  Scripture.  I  '11 
dare  swear,"  said  St.  Clare.  "  Tom  has  a  natural  genius  for 
religion.  I  wanted  the  horses  out  early,  this  morning,  and  1 
stole  up  to  Tom's  cubiculum  there,  over  the  stables,  and  thero 
I  heard  him  holding  a  meeting  by  himself;  and,  in  fact,  I 
haven't  heard  anything  quite  so  savory  as  Tom's  prayer,  this 
some  time.  He  put  in  for  me,  with  a  zeal  that  was  quite 
apostolic." 

"  Perhaps  he  guessed  you  were  listening.  I've  heard  of 
that  trick  before." 

"If  he  did,  he  wasn't  very  politic ;  for  he  gave  the  Lord 
his  opinion  of  me,  pretty  freely.  Tom  seemed  to  think  there 
was  decidedly  room  for  improvement  in  me,  and  seemed  very 
earnest  that  I  should  be  converted." 


268  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN;  OR, 

"  I  hope  you  '11  lay  it  to  heart,"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 
"  I  suppose  you  are  much  of  the  same  opinion,"  said  St 
Clare.     "Well,  we  shall  see, — shan't  we,  Eva  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  FREEMAN'S  DEFENCE. 

THERE  was  a  gentle  bustle  at  the  Quaker  house,  as  the 
afternoon  drew  to  a  close.  Rachel  Halliday  moved  quietly 
to  and  fro,  collecting  from  her  household  stores  such  need 
ments  as  could  be  arranged  in  the  smallest  compass,  for  the 
wanderers  who  were  to  go  forth  that  night.  The  afternoon 
shadows  stretched  eastward,  and  the  round  red  sun  stood 
thoughtfully  on  the  horizon,  and  his  beams  shone  yellow  and 
calm  into  the  little  bed-room  where  George  and  his  wife  were 
sitting.  He  was  sitting  with  his  child  on  his  knee,  and  his 
wife's  hand  in  his.  Both  looked  thoughtful  and  serious,  and 
traces  of  tears  were  on  their  cheeks. 

"  Yes,  Eliza,"  said  George,  "I  know  all  you  say  is  true. 
You  are  a  good  child, — a  great  deal  better  than  I  am;  and  I 
will  try  to  do  as  you  say.  I  '11  try  to  act  worthy  of  a  free 
man.  I  '11  try  to  feel  like  a  Christian.  God  Almighty  knows 
that  I  've  meant  to  do  well,  —  tried  hard  to  do  well,  — when 
everything  has  been  'against  me ;  and  now  I  '11  forget  all  the 
past,  and  pi  t  away  every  hard  and  bitter  feeling,  and  read 
my  Bible,  and  learn  to  be  a  good  man." 

"  And  when  we  get  to  Canada,"  said  Eliza,  "I  can  help 
you.  I  can  do  dress-making  very  well;  and  I  understand  fin© 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  26!) 


washing  and  ironing ;  and  between  us  we  can  find  something 
to  live  on." 

"  Yes,  Eliza,  so  long  as  we  have  each  other  and  our  boy. 
0  I  Eliza,  if  these  people  only  knew  what  a  blessing  it  is  for 
a  man  to  feel  that  his  wife  and  child  belong  to  him  !  I  Jve 
often  wondered  to  see  men  that  could  call  their  wives  and 
children  their  own  fretting  and  worrying  about  anything 
else.  Why,  I  feel  rich  and  strong,  though  we  have  nothing 
but  our  bare  hands.  I  feel  as  if  I  could  scarcely  ask  God  for 
any  more.  Yes,  though  I  've  worked  hard  every  day,  till  I 
am  twenty-five  years  old,  and  have  not  a  cent  of  money,  nor  a 
roof  to  cover  me,  nor  a  spot  of  land  to  call  my  own,  yet,  if 
they  will  only  let  me  alone  now,  I  will  be  satisfied  —  thank 
ful  ;  I  will  work,  and  send  back  the  money  for  you  and  my 
boy.  As  to  my  old  master,  he  has  been  paid  five  times  over 
for  all  he  ever  spent  for  me.  I  don't  owe  him  anything." 

1 l  But  yet  we  are  not  quite  out  of  danger,"  said  Eliza;  "we 
are  not  yet  in  Canada." 

"  True,"  said  George,  "  but  it  seems  as  if  I  smelt  the  free 
air,  and  it  makes  me  strong." 

At  this  moment,  voices  were  heard  in  the  outer  apartment, 
in  earnest  conversation,  and  very  soon  a  rap  was  heard  on  the 
door.  Eliza  started  and  opened  it. 

Sin^eon  Halliday  was  there,  and  with  him  a  Quaker  brother, 
whom  he  introduced  as  Phineas  Eletcher.  Phineas  was  tall 
and  lathy,  red-haired,  with  an  expression  of  great  acuteness 
and  shrewdness  in  his  face.  He  had  not  the  placid,  quiet, 
unworldly  air  of  Simeon  Halliday  ;  on  the  contrary,  a  partic 
ularly  wide-awake  and  au  fait  appearance,  like  a  man  who 
rather  prides  himself  on  knowing  what  he  is  about,  and  keep 
ing  a  bright  look-out  ahead ;  peculiarities  which  sorted  rather 
oddly  with  his  broad  brim  and  formal  phraseology. 
23* 


270  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OK, 

"  Our  friend  Phineas  hath  discovered  something  of  import 
ance  to  the  interests  of  thee  and  thy  party,  George,"  said 
Simeon ;  "it  were  well  for  thee  to  hear  it." 

"  That  I  have,"  said  Phineas,  "  and  it  shows  the  use  of  a 
man's  always  sleeping  with  one  ear  open,  in  certain  places,  as 
I  've  always  said.  Last  night  I  stopped  at  a  little  lone  tav 
ern,  back  on  the  road.  Thee  remembers  the  place,  Simeon, 
where  we  sold  some  apples,  last  year,  to  that  fat  woman,  with 
the  great  ear-rings.  Well,  I  was  tired  with  hard  driving ; 
and,  after  my  supper,  I  stretched  myself  down  on  a  pile  of 
bags  In  the  corner,  and  pulled  a  buffalo  over  me,  to  wait 
till  my  bed  was  ready;  and  what  does  I  do,  but  get  fast 
asleep." 
'  "  With  one  ear  open,  Phineas  ?"  said  Simeon,  quietly. 

"  No ;  I  slept,  ears  and  all,  for  an  hour  or  two,  for  I  was 
pretty  well  tired  ;  but  when  I  came  to  myself  a  little,  I  found 
that  there  were  some  men  in  the  room,  sitting  round  a  table, 
drinking  and  talking ;  and  I  thought,  before  I  made  much 
muster,  I  'd  just  see  what  they  were  up  to,  especially  as  I 
heard  them  say  something  about  the  Quakers.  :  So,'  says 
one,  '  they  are  up  in  the  Quaker  settlement,  no  doubt,5  says 
he.  Then  I  listened  with  both  ears,  and  I  found  that  they 
were  talking  about  this  very  party.  So  I  lay  and  heard  them 
lay  off  all  their  plans.  This  young  man,  they  said,  was  to  be 
sent  back  to  Kentucky,  to  his  master,  who  was  going  to  make 
an  example  of  him,  to  keep  all  niggers  from  running  away  ; 
and  his  wife  two  of  them  were  going  to  run  down  to  New 
Orleans  to  sell,  on  their  own  account,  and  they  calculated  to 
get  sixteen  or  eighteen  hundred  dollars  for  her;  and  the  child, 
they  said,  was  going  to  a  trader,  who  had  bought  him ;  and 
then  there  was  the  boy,  Jim,  and  his  mother,  they  were  to  go 
\>ack  to  their  masters  in  Kentucky.  They  said  that  there 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  271 

were  two  constables,  in  a  town  a  little  piece  ahead,  who  would 
go  in  with  'em  to  get  'em  taken  up,  and  the  young  woman 
was  to  be  taken  before  a  judge ;  and  one  of  the  fellows,  who 
is  small  and  smooth-spoken,  was  to  swear  to  her  for  his  prop 
erty,  and  get  her  delivered  over  to  him  to  take  south. 
They  've  got  a  right  notion  of  the  track  we  are  going  to 
night  ;  and  they  '11  be  down  after  us,  six  or  eight  strong. 
So,  now,  what 's  to  be  done  ?" 

The  group  that  stood  in  various  attitudes,  after  this  com 
munication,  were  worthy  of  a  painter.  Rachel  Halliday,  who 
had  taken  her  hands  out  of  a  batch  of  biscuit,  to  hear  the  news, 
stood  with  them  upraised  and  floury,  and  with  a  face  of  the 
deepest  concern.  Simeon  looked  profoundly  thoughtful ;  Eliza 
had  thrown  her  arms  around  her  husband,  and  was  looking  up 
to  him.  George  stood  with  clenched  hands  and  glowing  eyes, 
and  looking  as  any  other  man  might  look,  whose  wife  was  to 
be  sold  at  auction,  and  son  sent  to  a  trader,  all  under  the 
shelter  of  a  Christian  nation's  laws, 

"What  shall  we  do,  George?"  said  Eliza,  faintly. 

"  I  know  what  /shall  do,"  said  George,  as  he  stepped -into 
the  little  room,  and  began  examining  his  pistols. 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  Phineas,  nodding  his  head  to  Simeon; 
"thou  seest,  Simeon,  how  it  will  work." 

"I  see,"  said  Simeon,  sighing;  "I  pray  it  come  not  to 
that." 

"I  don't  want  to  involve  any  one  with  or  for  me,"  said 
George.  "  If  you  will  lend  me  your  vehicle  and  direct  me,  I 
will  drive  alone  to  the  next  stand.  Jim  is  a  giant  in  strength, 
and  brave  as  death  and  despair,  and  so  am  I." 

"Ah,  well,  friend,"  said  Phineas,  "but  thee '11  need  a 
driver,  for  all  that.  Thee's  quite  welcome  to  do  all  the  fight- 


272  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OR, 

ing,  thee  knows  ;  but  I  know  a  thing  or  two  about  the  road, 
that  thee  does  n't." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  involve  you,"  said  George. 

"Involve,"  said  Phineas,  with  a  curious  and  keen  expres 
sion  of  face.  "  When  thee  does  involve  me,  please  to  let  me 
know." 

" Phineas  is  a  wise  and  skilful  man,"  said  Simeon.  "Thee 
does  well,  George,  to  abide  by  his  judgment;  and,"  he  added, 
laying  his  hand  kindly  on  George's  shoulder,  and  pointing 
to  the  pistols,  "be  not  over  hasty  with  these,  — young  blood 
is  hot." 

"  I  will  attack  no  man,"  said  George.  "  All  I  ask  of  this 
country  is  to  be  let  alone,  and  I  will  go  out  peaceably;  but," 
—  he  paused,  and  his  brow  darkened  and  his  face  worked, — 
"I've  had  a  sister  sold  in  that  New  Orleans  market.  1 
know  what  they  are  sold  for ;  and  am  I  going  to  stand  by 
and  see  them  take  my  wife  and  sell  her,  when  God  has  given 
me  a  pair  of  strong  arms  to  defend  her  1  No  ;  God~help  me ! 
I  '11  fight  to  the  last  breath,  before  they  shall  take  my  wife 
and  son.  Can  you  blame  me  ?  " 

"  Mortal  man  cannot  blame  thee,  George.  Flesh  and  blood 
could  not  do  otherwise,"  ^said  Simeon.  "  Woe  unto  the  world 
because  of  offences,  but  woe  unto  them  through  whom  the 
offence  comet V 

"  Would  not  even  you,  sir,  do  the  same,  in  my  place  ?" 

"  I  pray  that  I  be  not  tried,"  said  Simeon  ;  "  the  flesh  ig 
weak." 

"  I  think  my  flesh  would  be  pretty  tolerable  strong,  in  such 
a  case,"  said  Phineas,  stretching  out  a  pair  of  arms  like  the 
sails  of  a  windmill.  "I  an't  sure,  friend  George,  that  I 
should  n't  hold  a  fellow  for  thee,  if  thee  had  any  accounts  to 
settle  with  him." 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  273 

"If  man  should  ever  resist  evil,"  said  Simeon,  "then 
George  should  feel  free  to  do  it  now  :  but  the  leaders  of  our 
people  taught  a  more  excellent  way ;  for  the  wrath  of  man 
worketh  not  the  righteousness  of  God ;  but  it  goes  sorely 
against  the  corrupt  will  of  man,  and  none  can  receive  it  save 
they  to  whom  it  is  given,  Let  us  pray  the  Lord  that  we  b« 
not  tempted." 

"  And  so  /do,"  said  Phineas  ;  "but  if  we  are  tempted  too 
much why,  let  them  look  out,  that 's  all." 

"It 's  quite  plain  thee  was  n't  born  a  Friend,"  said  Sim 
eon,  smiling.  "  The  old  nature  hath  its  way  in  thee  pretty 
strong  as  yet." 

To  tell  the  truth,  Phineas  had  been  a  hearty,  two-fisted 
backwoodsman,  a  vigorous  hunter,  and  a  dead  shot  at  a  buck; 
but,  having  wooed  a  pretty  Quakeress,  had  been  moved  by  the 
power  of  her  charms  to  join  the  society  in  his  neighborhood ; 
and  though  he  was  an  honest,  sober,  and  efficient  member, 
and  nothing  particular  could  be  alleged  against  him,  yet  the 
more  spiritual  among  them  could  not  but  discern  an  exceed 
ing  lack  of  savor  in  his  developments. 

"Friend  Phineas  will  ever  have  ways  of  his  own,"  said 
Rachel  Halliday,  smiling;  "but  we  all  think  that  his  heart 
is  in  the  right  place,  after  all." 

"Well,"  said  George,  "isn't  it  best  that  we  hasten  our 
flight?" 

"  I  got  up  at  four  o'clock,  and  came  on  with  all  speed,  full 
two  or  three  hours  ahead  of  them,  if  they  start  at  the  time 
they  planned.  It  isn't  safe  to  start  till  dark,  at  any  rate;  for 
there  are  some  evil  persons  in  the  villages  ahead,  that  might 
be  disposed  to  meddle  with  us,  if  they  saw  our  wagon,  and 
that  would  delay  us  more  than  the  waiting ;  but  in  two  hours 
I  think  we  may  venture.  I  will  go  over  to  Michael  Cross, 


274  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  on, 

and  engage  him  to  come  behind  on  his  swift  nag,  and  keep  a 
bright  look-out  on  the  road,  and  warn  us  if  any  company  of 
men  corne  on.  Michael  keeps  a  horse  that  can  soon  get  ahead 
of  most  other  horses ;  and  he  could  shoot  ahead  and  let  us 
know,  if  there  were  any  danger.  I  am  going  out  now  to  warn 
Jim  and  the  old  woman  to  be  in  readiness,  and  to  see  about 
the  horse.  We  have  a  pretty  fair  start,  and  stand  a  good 
chance  to  get  to  the  stand  before  they  can  come  up  with  us. 
So,  have  good  courage,  friend  George ;  this  is  n't  the  first 
ugly  scrape  that  I've  been  in  with  thy  people,"  said  Phineas, 
as  he  closed  the  door. 

"Phineas  is  pretty  shrewd,"  said  Simeon.  "He  will  do 
the  best  that  can  be  done  for  thee,  George." 

"  All  I  am  sorry  for,"  said  George,  "  is  the  risk  to  you." 

"Thee  '11  much  oblige  us,  friend  George,  to  say  no  more 
about  that.  What  we  do  we  are  conscience  bound  to  do ;  we 
can  do  no  other  way.  And  now,  mother,"  said  he,  turning  to 
Rachel,  "hurry  thy  preparations  for  these  friends,  for  we  must 
not  send  them  away  fasting." 

And  while  Rachel  and  her  children  were  busy  making  corn-p 
cake,  and  cooking  ham  and  chicken,  and  hurrying  on  the  et 
ceteras  of  the  evening  meal,  George  and  his  wife  sat  in  their  f 
little  room,  with  their  arms  folded  about  each  other,  in  such 
talk  as  husband  and  wife  have  when  they  know  that  a  few 
h?urs  may  part  them  forever. 

"Eliza,"  said  George,  "people  that  have  friends,  and 
houses,  and  lands,  and  money,  and  all  those  things,  can't 
love  as  we  do,  who  haye  nothing  but  each  other.  Till  I  knew 
you,  Eliza,  no  creature  ever  had  loved  me,  but  my  poor,  heart 
broken  mother  and  sister.  I  saw  poor  Emily  that  morning 
the  trader  carried  her  off.  She  came  to  the  corner  where  I 
was  lying  asleep,  and  said,  l  Poor  George,  your  last  friend  is 


LIFE  AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  275 

going.  What  will  become  of  you,  poor  boy  ? '  And  I  .got  up 
and  threw  my  arms  round  her,  and  cried  and  sobbed,  and  she 
cried  too  ;  and  those  were  the  last  kind  words  I  got  for  ten 
long  years  ;  and  my  heart  all  withered  up,  and  felt  as  dry  as 
oshas,  till  I  met  you.  And  your  loving  me,  —  why,  it  was 
almost  like  raising  one  from  the  dead  !  I  've  been  a  new 
man  ever  since  !  And  now,  Eliza,  I  '11  give  my  last  drop  of 
blood,  but  they  shall  not  take  you  from  me.  Whoever  gets 
you  must  walk  over  my  dead  body." 

"0  Lord,  have  mercy!"  said  Eliza,  sobbing.  "If  he 
will  only  let  us  get  out  of  this  country  together,  that  is  all 
we  ask." 

"Is  God  on  their  side  ?"  said  George,  speaking  less  to  his 
wife  than  pouring  out  his  own  bitter  thoughts.  "Does  he 
see  all  they  do  ?  Why  does  he  let  such  things  happen  ? 
Ajid  they  tell  us  that^the^ble.ls^o.nLtheii;  side  ;  certainly  all 
the  power  is.  They  are  rich,  and  healthy,  and  happy ;  they 
are  members  of  churches1  expecting  to  go  to  heaven;  and  they 
get  along  so  easy  in  t^p  world,  nnd  have  it  all  their  own  way ; 
irnrl  pom*,  ^nnpst^  faithful  Christians,  —  Christians  as  good  or 
better  than  they. — are  lying  in  the  wry  dnsfr.  rmrW  tViAiV 
Jgej^,  They  buy  'em  and  sell  'em,  and  make  trade  of  their 
heart's  blood,  and  groans  and  tears, — and  God /e£5jheja^' 

"Friend  George,"  said  Simeon,  from  tBe  kitcnen,  "  listen 
to  this  Psalm;  it  may  do  thee  good." 

George  drew  his  seat  near  the  door,  and  Eliza,  wiping  her 
tears,  came  forward  also  to  listen,  while  Simeon  read  as  fol 
lows : 

"  But  as  for  me,  my  feet  were  almost  gone ;  my  steps  had 
well-nigh  slipped.  For  I  was  envious  of  the  foolish.,  jwhen  I 
saw  the  prosperity  of  the  wickad.  TTipy  a.™  ^nti  in  trnrb1^  1;VQ 
other  men,  neither  are  they  plagued  like  otherjnen.  There- 


276  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 


fore,  gride  compasseth  them  .  p-s  ^  -chain  ; 
tliftip   pa   a   garment.     Their   eyes   stand  out  with  fatness  ; 
they  have  more  than  heart  could  wish.     They  are  corrujoi^jajicU 
speak  wickedly  concerning   oppression  ;   ttmy  ppp.a.V   loftily. 

ierefore  his  people  return,  and  the  waters  of  a  full  cup  are 
wrung  out  to  them,  and  they  say,  How  doth  God  know  ?  and 
is  there  knowledge  in  the  Most  High?  " 

"  Is  not  that  the  way  thee  feels,  George  ?  " 

"  It  is  so,  indeed,"  said  George,  —  "as  well  as  I  could 
have  written  it  myself." 

"Then,  hear,"  said  Simeon:  "When  I  thought  to  know 
this,  it  was  too  painful  for  me  until  I  went  unto  the  sanctuary 
of  God.  Then  understood  I  their  end.  Surely  thou  didst 
set  them  in  slippery  places,  thou  castedst  them  down  to 
destruction.  As  a  dream  when  one  awaketh,  so,  oh  Lord, 
when  thou  awakest,  thou  shalt  despise  their  image.  Never 
theless,  I  am  continually  with  thee  ;  thou  hast  holden  me  by 
my  right  hand.  Thou  shalt  guide  me  by  thy  counsel,  and 
afterwards  receive  me  to  glory.  It  is  good  for  me  to  draw 
near  unto  God.  I  have  put  my  trust  in  the  Lord  God." 

The  words  of  holy  trust,  breathed  by  the  friendly  old  man, 
stole  like  sacred  music  over  the  harassed  and  chafed  spirit  of 
George  ;  and  after  he  ceased,  he  sat  with  a  gentle  and  sub 
dued  expression  on  his  fine  features. 

"If  this  world  were  all,  George,"  said  Simeon,  "thee 
might,  indeed,  ask,  where  is  the  Lord  '?  But  it  is  often  those 
who  have  least  of  all  in  this  life  whom  he  chooseth  for  the 
kingdom.  Put  thy  .trust  in  him,  and,  no  matter  what  befalls 
thee  here,  he  will  make  all  right  hereafter." 

If  these  words  had  been  spoken  by  some  easy,  self-indul 
gent  exhorter,  from  whose  mouth  they  might  have  come 
merely  as  pious  and  rhetorical  nourish,  proper  to  be  used  to 


LIFE   AtaOJM   THE   LOWLY.  277 

people  in  distress,  perhaps  they  might  not  have  had  much 
effect ;  but  coming  from  one  who  daily  and  calmly  risked  fine 
and  imprisonment  for  the  cause  of  God  and  man,  they  had  a 
weight  that  could  not  but  be  felt,  and  both  the  poor,  desolate 
fugitives  found  calmness  and  strength  breathing  into  then 
from  it. 

And  now  Rachel  took  Eliza's  hand  kindly,  and  led  the 
way  to  the  supper-table.  As  they  were  sitting  down,  a  light 
tap  sounded  at  the  door,  and  Ruth  entered. 

"  I  just  ran  in,"  she  said,  "with  these  little  stockings  for 
the  boy, — three  pair,  nice,  warm  woollen  ones.  It  will  be  so 
cold,  -thee  knows,  in  Canada.  Does  thee  keep  up  good 
courage,  Eliza?"  she  added,  tripping  round  to  Eliza's  side  of 
the  table,  and  shaking  her  warmly  by  the  hand,  and  slipping  a 
seed-cake  into  Harry's  hand.  "I  brought  a  little  parcel  of 
these  for  him,"  she  said,  tugging  at  her  pocket  to  get  out  the 
package.  "  Children,  thee  knows,  will  always  be  eating." 

"  0,  thank  you  ;  you  are  too  kind,"  said  Eliza. 

"  Come,  Ruth,  sit  down  to  supper,"  said  Rachel. 

"I  couldn't,  any  way.  I  left  John  with  the  baby,  and 
some  biscuits  in  the  oven;  and  I  can't  stay  a  moment,  else 
John  will  burn  up  all  the  biscuits,  and  give  the  baby  all  the 
sugar  in  the  bowl.  That's  the  way  he  does,"  said  the  little 
Quakeress,  laughing.  "So, good-by,  Eliza;  good-by,  George ; 
the  Lord  grant  thee  a  safe  journey ; "  and,  with  a  few  tripping 
steps,  Ruth  was  out  of  the  apartment. 

A  little  while  after  supper,  a  large  covered- wagon  drew  up 
before  the  door ;  the  night  was  clear  starlight ;  and  Phineas 
jumped  briskly  down  from  his  seat  to  arrange  his  passengers. 
George  walked  out  of  the  door,  with  his  child  on  one  arm  and 
his  wife  on  the  other.  His  step  was  firm,  his  face  settled  and 
resolute.  Rachel  and  Simeon  came  out  after  them. 
24 


278  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OR, 

"  You  get  out,  a  moment,"  said  Phineas  to  those  insido, 
"  and  let  me  fix  the  back  of  the  wagon,  there,  for  the  women 
folks  and  the  boy." 

"  Here  are  the  two  buffaloes,"  said  Rachel.  "Make  the 
seats  as  comfortable  as  may  be ;  it 's  hard  riding  all  night." 

Jim  came  out  first,  and  carefully  assisted  out  his  old 
mother,  who  clung  to  his  arm,  and  looked  anxiously  ^>out,  as 
if  she  expected  the  pursuer  every  moment. 

"Jim,  are  your  pistols  all  in  order?"  said  George,  in  a 
low,  firm  voice. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Jim. 

"And  you've  no  doubt  what  you  shall  do,  if  they  come?" 

"I  rather  think  I  haven't,"  said  Jim,  throwing  open  his 
broad  chest,  and  taking  a  deep  breath.  "  Do  you  think  I'll 
let  them  get  mother  again?" 

During  this  brief  colloquy,  Eliza  had  been  taking  her  leave 
of  her  kind  friend,  Rachel,  and  was  handed  into  the  carriage 
by  Simeon,  and,  creeping  into  the  back  part  with  her  boy, 
sat  down  among  the  buffalo-skins.  The  old  woman  was  next 
handed  in  and  seated,  and  George  and  Jim  placed  on  a  rough 
board  seat  front  of  them,  and  Phineas  mounted  in  front. 

"Farewell,  my  friends,"  said  Simeon,  from  without. 

"  God  bless  you ! "  answered  all  from  within. 

And  the  wagon  drove  off,  rattling  and  jolting  over  the 
frozen  road. 

There  was  no  opportunity  for  conversation,  on  account  of  the 
roughness  of  the  way  and  the  noise  of  the  wheels.  The 
vehicle,  therefore,  rumbled  on,  through  long,  dark  stretches  of 
woodland, — over  wide,  dreary  plains, — up  hills,  and  down 
valleys, — and  on,  on,  on  they  jogged,  hour  after  hour.  The 
child  soon  fell  asleep,  and  lay  heavily  in  his  mother's  lap. 
The  poor,  frightened  old  woman  at  last  forgot  her  fears ;  and, 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  279 

even  Eliza,  as  the  night  waned,  found  all  her  anxieties  insuffi 
cient  to  keep  her  eyes  from  closing.  Phineas  seemed,  on  the 
•whole,  the  briskest  of  the  company,  and  beguiled  his  long 
drive  with  whistling  certain  very  unquaker-like  songs,  as  he 
went  on. 

But  about  three  o'clock  George's  ear  caught  the  hasty  and 
decided  click  of  a  horse's  hoof  coining  behind  them  at  some 
distance,  and  jogged  Phineas  by  the  elbow.  Phineas  pulled 
up  his  horses,  and  listened. 

"  That  must  be  Michael,"  he  said;  "I  think  I  know  the 
sound  of  his  gallop  ;  "  and  he  rose  up  and  stretched  his  head 
anxiously  back  over  the  road. 

A  man  riding  in  hot  haste  was  now  dimly  descried  at  the 
top  of  a  distant  hill. 

"  There  he  is,  I  do  believe  !  "  said  Phineas.  George  and 
Jim  both  sprang  out  of  the  wagon,  before  they  knew  what  they 
were  doing.  All  stood  intensely  silent,  with  their  faces 
turned  towards  the  expected  messenger. .  On  he  came.  Now 
he  went  down  into  a  valley,  where  they  could  not  see  him ; 
but  they  heard  the  sharp,  hasty  tramp,  rising  nearer  and 
nearer;  at  last  they  saw  him  emerge  on  the  top  of  an 
eminence,  within  hail. 

"Yes,  that's  Michael!"  said  Phineas;  and,  raising  his 
voice,  "Halloa,  there,  Michael!" 

"Phineas!  is  that  thee?" 

1 1  Yes ;  what  news  —  they  coming  1 ' ' 

"  Eight  on  behind,  eight  or  ten  of  them,  hot  with  brandy, 
swearing  and  foaming  like  so  many  wolves." 

And,  just  as  he  spoke,  a  breeze  brought  the  faint  sound  of 
galloping  horsemen  towards  them. 

"  In  with  you, — quick,  boys,  in!  "  said  Phineas.  "  If  you 
must  fight,  wait  till  I  get  you  a  piece  ahead."  And,  with 


280  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OB, 

the  word,  both  jumped  in,  and  Phineas  lashed  the  horses  to  a 
run,  the  horseman  keeping  close  beside  them.  The  wagon 
rattled,  jumped,  almost  flew,  over  the  frozen  ground;  but 
plainer,  and  still  plainer,  came  the  noise  of  pursuing  horse 
men  behind.  The  women  heard  it,  and,  looking  anxiously 
out,  saw,  far  in  the  rear,  on  the  brow  of  a  distant  hill,  a  party 
of  men  looming  up  against  the  red-streaked  sky  of  early 
dawn.  Another,  hill,  and  their  pursuers  had  evidently  caught 
sight  of  their  wagon,  whose  white  cloth-covered  top  made  it 
conspicuous  at  some  distance,  and  a  loud  yell  of  brutal 
triumph  came  forward  on  the  wind.  Eliza  sickened,  and 
strained  her  child  closer  to  her  bosom  ;  the  old  woman  prayed 
and  groaned,  and  George  and  Jim  clenched  their  pistols  with 
the  grasp  of  despair.  The  pursuers  gained  on  them  fast ; 
the  carriage  made  a  sudden  turn,  and  brought  them  near  a 
ledge  of  a  steep  overhanging  rock,  that  rose  in  an  isolated 
ridge  or  clump  in  a  large  lot,  which  was,  all  around  it,  quite 
clear  and  smooth.  This  isolated  pile,  or  range  of  rocks,  rose 
up  black  and  heavy  against  the  brightening  sky,  and  seemed 
to  promise  shelter  and  concealment.  It  was  a  place  well 
known  to  Phineas,  who  had  been  familiar  with  the  spot  in  his 
hunting  days ;  and  it  was  to  gain  this  point  he  had  been  racing 
his  horses. 

"  Now  for  it!  "  said  he,  suddenly  checking  his  horses,  and 
springing  from  his  seat  to  the  ground.  "  Out  with  you,  in  a 
twinkling,  every  one,  and  up  into  these  rocks  with  me. 
Michael,  thee  tie  thy  horse  to  the  wagon,  and  drive  ahead  to 
Amariah's,  and  get  him  and  his  boys  to  come  back  and  talk 
to  these  fellows." 

In  a  twinkling  they  were  all  out  of  the  carriage. 

"There,"  said  Phineas,  catching  up  Harry,  " you,  each 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  281 

of  you,  see  to  the  women;  and  run,  72020,  if  you  ever  did 
run !  " 

There  needed  no  exhortation.  Quicker  than  we  can  say  it, 
the  whole  party  were  over  the  fence,  making  with  all  speed 
for  the  rocks,  while  Michael,  throwing  himself  from  his  horse, 
and  fastening  the  bridle  to  the  wagon,  began  driving  it  rapidly 
away. 

"  Come  ahead,"  said  Phineas,  as  they  re.ach.ed  the  rocks, 
and  saw,  in  the  mingled  starlight  and  dawn,  the  traces  of  a 
rude  but  plainly  marked  foot-path  leading  up  among  them ; 
"  this  is  one  of  our  old  hunting-dens.  Come  up ! " 

Phineas  went  before,  springing  up  the  rocks  like  a  goat, 
with  the  boy  in  his  arms.  Jim  came  second,  bearing  his 
trembling  old  mother  over  his  shoulder,  and  George  and  Eliza 
brought  up  the  rear.  The  party  of  horsemen  came  up  to 
the  fence,  and,  with  mingled  shouts  and  oaths,  were  dismount 
ing,  to  prepare  to  follow  them.  A  few  moments'  scrambling 
brought  them  to  the  top  of  the  ledge ;  the  path  then  passed 
between  a  narrow  defile,  where  only  one  could  walk  at  a  time, 
till  suddenly  they  came  to  a  rift  or  chasm  more  than  a  yard 
in  breadth,  and  beyond  which  lay  a  pile  of  rocks,  separate 
from  the  rest  of  the  ledge,  standing  full  thirty  feet  high,  with 
its  sides  steep  and  perpendicular  as  those  of  a  castle.  Phineas 
easily  leaped  the  chasm,  and  sat  down  the  boy  on  a  smooth, 
flat  platform  of  crisp  white  moss,  that  covered  the  top  of  the 
rock. 

'•'Over  with  you  ! "  he  called;  "spring,  now,  once,  for 
your  lives ! "  said  he,  as  one  after  another  sprang  across. 
Several  fragments  of  loose  stone  formed  a  kind  of  breast 
work,  which  sheltered  their  position  from  the  observation  of 
those  below. 

"Well,  here  we  all  are,"  said  Phineas,  peeping  over  the 
24* 


282  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN;  on, 

stone  breast-work  to  watch  the  assailants,  who  were  coming 
tumultuously  up  under  the  rocks.  "  Let  'em  get  us,  if  they 
can.  Whoever  comes  here  has  to  walk  single  file  between 
those  two  rocks,  in  fair  range  of  your  pistols,  boys,  d'ye 
see?" 

"  I  do  see,"  said  George;  "and  now,  as  this  matter  is 
ours,  let  us  take  all  the  risk,  and  do  all  the  fighting." 

"  Thee  's  quite  welcome  to  do  the  fighting,  George,"  said 
Phineas,  chewing  some  checkerberry-leaves  as  he  spoke ; 
"  but  I  may  have  the  fun  of  looking  on,  I  suppose.  But  see, 
these  fellows  are  kinder  debating  down  there,  and  looking  up, 
like  hens  when  they  are  going  to  fly  up  on  to  the  roost. 
Had  n't  thee  better  give  'em  a  word  of  advice,  before  they 
come  up,  just  to  tell  'em  handsomely  they'll  be  shot  if  they 
do?" 

The  party  beneath,  now  more  apparent  in  the  light  of  the 
dawn,  consisted  of  our  old  acquaintances,  Tom  Loker  and 
Marks,  with  two  constables,  and  a  posse  consisting  of  such 
rowdies  at  the  last  tavern  as  could  be  engaged  by  a  little 
brandy  to  go  and  help  the  fun  of  trapping  a  set  of  niggers. 

"Well,  Tom,  yer  coons  are  farly  treed,"  said  one. 

"Yes,  I  see  'em  go  up  right  here,"  said  Tom;  "and 
here  's  a  path.  I  'm  for  going  right  up.  They  can't  jump 
down  in  a  hurry,  and  it  won't  take  long  to  ferret  'em  out." 

"  But,  Tom,  they  might  fire  at  us  from  behind  the  rocks," 
said  Marks.  "  That  would  be  ugly,  you  know." 

"Ugh!"  said  Tom,  with  a  sneer.  "Always  for  saving 
your  skin,  Marks !  .  No  danger !  niggers  are  too  plaguy 
scared ! " 

"I  don't  know  why  I  should  n^t  save  my  skin,"  said 
Marks.  "  It 's  the  best  I  've  got ;  and  niggers  do  fight  like 
the  devil,  sometimes." 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY.  283 

At  this  moment,  George  appeared  on  the  top  of  a  rock 
above  them,  and,  speaking  in  a  calm,  clear  voice,  said, 

"Gentlemen,  who  are  you,  down  there,  and  what  do  you 
want?" 

"  We  want  a  party  of  runaway  niggers,"  said  Tom  Loker. 
"  One  George  Harris,  and  Eliza  Harris,  and  their  son,  and 
Jim  Selden,  and  an  old  woman.  We  've  got  the  officers,  here, 
and  a  warrant  to  take  'em ;  and  we're  going  to  have  'em,  too. 
D'ye  hear  ?  An't  you  George  Harris,  that  belongs  to  Mr. 
Harris,  of  Shelby  county,  Kentucky?" 

1  I  am  George  Harris.  A  Mr.  Harris,  of  Kentucky,  did 
call  me  his  property.  But  now  I  'm  a  free  man,  standing  on 
God's  free  soil ;  and  my  wife  and  my  child  I  claim  as  mine, 
Jim  and  his  mother  are  here.  We  have  arms  to  defend  our- 
selves,  and  we  mean  to  do  it.  You  can  come  up,  if  you  like  ; 
but  the  first  one  of  you  that  comes  within  the  range  of  our 
bullets  is  a  dead  man,  and  the  next,  and  the  next ;  and  so  on 
till  the  last." 

"  0,  come!  come!"  said  a  short,  puffy  man,  stepping 
forward,  and  blowing  his  nose  as  he  did  so.  "  Young  man, 
this  an't  no  kind  of  talk  at  all  for  you.  You  see,  we  're 
officers  of  justice.  We  've  got  the  law  on  our  side,  and  the 
power,  and  so  forth  ;  so  you  'd  better  give  up  peaceably,  you 
see ;  for  you  '11  certainly  have  to  give  up,  at  last." 

"  I  know  very  well  that  you  've  got  the  law  on  your  side, 
and  the  power,"  said  George,  bitterly.  "You  mean  to  take 
my  wife  to  sell  in  New  Orleans,  and  put  my  boy  like  a  calf 
in  a  trader's  pen^and  send  Jim's  old  mother  to  the  brute  that 
whipped  and  abused  her  before,  because  he  couldn't  abuse 
her  son.  You  want  to  send  Jim  and  me  back  to  be  whipped 
and  tortured,  and  ground  down  under  the  heels  of  them  that 
you  call  masters  ;  and  your  laws  will  bear  you  out  in  it, — 


284  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OK, 

more  shame  for  you  and  them  !  But  you  have  n't  got  us. 
Wft  don't,  ^wr>  yA"y  ^wsf  ;  w0  3™'+.  n^n  y^nr^country  ;_we 
stand  here  ajjjree,  rmdftv—  Q^'p  j4ry^jas_you  are  ;  and,Jjy_the 
great  God  that_made  us,  we  '11  fight  _for_our_  liberty  till  we 
die." 

f>"t  in  fair  flight,  nn.tfa  top  nfjjhg_  rnqlr  jjjjift 


made  his  declaration  of  independency  ;  the  glow  of  dawn 
gave  a  flush  to  his  swarthy  cheek,  and  bitter  indignation  and 
despair  gave  fire  to  his  dark  eye  ;  and,  as  if  appealing  from 
man  to  the  justice  of  God,  he  raised  his  hand  to  heaven  as  lr  , 
spoke. 

If  it  had  been  only  a  Hungarian  youth,  now  bravely 
defending  in  some  mountain  fastness  the  retreat  of  fugi 
tives  escaping  from  Austria  into  America,  this  would  have 
been  sublime  heroism;  but  as  it  was  a  youth  of  African 
descent,  defending  the  retreat  of  fugitives  through  America 
into  Canada,  of  course  we  are  too  well  instructed  and  patriotic 
to  see  any  heroism  in  it  ;  and  if  any  of  our  readers  dp,  they 
must,  do  it  on  their  own  private  ^responsibility.  When  de 
spairing  Hungarian  fugitives  make  their  way,  against  all  the 
search-warrants  and  authorities  of  their  lawful  government, 
to  America,  press  and  political  cabinet  ring  with  applause  and 
welcome.  When  despairing  African  fugitives  do  the  same 
thing,  —  it  is  —  what  is  it? 

Be  it  as  it  may,  it  is  certain  that  the  attitude,  eye,  voice, 
manner,  of  the  speaker,  for  a  moment  struck  the  party  below 
to  silence.  There  is  something  in  boldness  and  determination 
that  for  a  time  husjie^  even  the  rudest  nature^  Marks  was 
the  only  one  who  remained  wholly  untouched.  He  was 
deliberately  cocking  his  pistol,  and,  in  the  momentary  silence 
that  followed  George's  speech,  he  fired  at  him. 

"  Ye  see  ye  get  jist  as  much  for  him  dead  as  alive  in 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  285 

Kentucky,"  he  said,  coolly,  as  lie  wiped  his  pistol  on  his  coat- 
sleeve. 

George  sprang  backward, — Eliza  uttered  a  shriek, — the 
ball  had  passed  close  to  his  hair,  had  nearly  grazed  the  cheek 
of  his  wife,  and  struck  in  the  tree  above. 

"It's  nothing,  Eliza,"  said  George,  quickly. 

"  Thee'd  better  keep  out  of  sight,  with  thy  speechifying," 
said  Phineas  ;  "  they  're  mean  scamps." 

"  Now,  Jim,"  said  George,  "  look  that  your  pistols  are  all 
right,  and  watch  that  pass  with  me.  The  first  man  that  shows 
himself  I  fire  at ;  you  take  the  second,  and  so  on.  It  won't 
do,  you  know,  to  waste  two  shots  on  one." 

"  But  what  if  you  don't  hit?  " 

"I  s/iallloit,"  said  George,  coolly. 

"  Good !  now,  there 's  stuff  in  that  fellow,"  muttered 
Phineas,  between  his  teeth. 

The  party  below,  after  Marks  had  fired,  stood,  for  a 
moment,  rather  undecided. 

"  I  think  you  must  have  hit  some  on  'em,"  said  one  of  the 
men.  "  I  heard  a  squeal !  " 

"1 7m  going  right  up  for  one,"  said  Tom.  "I  never  was 
afraid  of  niggers,  and  I  an't  going  to  be  now.  Who  goes 
after  ?  "  he  said,  springing  up  the  rocks. 

George  heard  the  words  distinctly.  He  drew  up  his  pistol, 
examined  it,  pointed  it  towards  that  point  in  the  defile  where 
the  first  man  would  appear. 

One  of  the  most  courageous  of  the  party  followed  Tom, 
and,  the  way  being  thus  made,  the  whole  party  began  push 
ing  up  the  rock, —  the  hindermost  pushing  the  front  ones  faster 
than  they  would  have  gone  of  themselves.  On  they  came, 
and  in  a  moment  the  burly  form  of  Tom  appeared  in  sight, 
almost  at  the  verge  of  the  chasm. 


286  UNCLL  IOM'S  CABI& .  OK, 

George  fired, — the  shot  entered  his  side, — but,  though 
wounded,  he  would  not  retreat,  but,  with  a  yell  like  that  of  a 
inad  bull,  he  was  leaping  right  across  the  chasm  into  the 
party. 

"  Friend,"  said  Phineas,  suddenly  stepping  to  the  front, 
and  meeting  him  with  a  push  from  his  long  arms,  "thee  is  n't 
wanted  here." 

Down  he  fell  into  the  chasm,  crackling  down  among  trees, 
bushes,  logs,  loose  stones,  till  he  lay,  bruised  and  groaning, 
thirty  feet  below.  The  fall  might  have  killed  him,  had  it  not 
been  broken  and  moderated  by  his  clothes  catching  in  the 
branches  of  a  large  tree ;  but  he  came  down  with  some  force, 
however, — more  than  was  at  all  agreeable  or  convenient. 

"  Lord  help  us,  they  are  perfect  devils !  "  said  Marks, 
heading  the  retreat  down  the  rocks  with  much  more  of  a  will 
than  he  had  joined  the  ascent,  while  all  the  party  came  tum 
bling  precipitately  after  him, — the  fat  constable,  in  particular, 
blowing  and  puffing  in  a  very  energetic  manner. 

"I  say,  fellers,"  said  Marks,  "  you  jist  go  round  and  pick 
up  Tom,  there,  while  I  run  and  get  on  to  my  horse,  to  go  back 
for  help, —  that's  you;"  and,  without  minding  the  hootings 
and  jeers  of  his  company,  Marks  was  as  good  as  his  word, 
and  was  sooruseen  galloping  away. 

"Was  ever  such  a  sneaking  varmint ?t"  said  one  of  the 
men;  "to  come  on  his  business,  and  he  clear  out  ^nd leave 
us  this  yer  way !  " 

"  Well,  we  must  pick  up  that  feller,"  said  another.  "  Cuss 
me  if  I  much  care  whether  he  is  dead  or  alive." 

The  men,  led  by  the  groans  of  Tom,  scrambled  and  crackled 
through  stumps,  logs  and  bushes,  to  where  that  hero  lay 
groaning  and  swearing,  with  alternate  vehemence. 


LIFE  AMONG  THE   LOWLY.  287 

"Ye  keep  it  agoing  pretty  loud,  Tom,"  said  one.  "Ye 
much  hurt?'' 

"  Don't  know.  Get  me  up,  can't  ye  ?  Blast  that  infernal 
Quaker !  If  it  had  n't  heen  for  him,  I  'd  a  pitched  some  on 
'em  down  here,  to  see  how  they  liked  it." 

.With  much  labor  and  groaning,  the  fallen  hero  was  assisted 
to  rise ;  and,  with  one  holding  him  up  under  each  shoulder, 
they  got  him  as  far  as  the  horses. 

"  If  you  could  only  get  me  a  mile  back  to  that  ar  tavern. 
Give  me  a  handkerchief  or  something,  to  stuff  into  this  place, 
and  stop  this  infernal  bleeding." 

George  looked  over  the  rocks,  and  saw  them  trying  to  lift 
the  burly  form  of  Tom  into  the  saddle.  After  two  or  three 
ineffectual  attempts,  he  reeled,  and  fell  heavily  to  the  ground. 

"  0,  I  hope  he  is  n't  killed  ! "  said  Eliza,  who,  with  all  the 
party,  stood  watching  the  proceeding. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Phineas  ;  "  serves  him  right." 

"  Because,  after  death  comes  the  judgment,"  said  Eliza. 

"Yes,"  said  the  old  woman,  who  had  been  groaning  and 
praying,  in  her  Methodist  fashion,  during  all  the  encounter, 
"  it 's  an  awful  case  for  the  poor  crittur's  soul." 

"  On  my  word,  they  're  leaving  him,  I  do  believe,"  said 
Phineas. 

It  was  true  ;  for  after  some  appearance  of  irresolution  and 
consultation,  the  whole  party  got  on  their  horses  and  rode 
away.  When  they  were  quite  out  of  sight,  Phineas  began  to 
bestir  himself. 

"  Well,  we  must  go  down  and  walk  a  piece,"  he  said.  "I 
told  Michael  to  go  forward  and  bring  help,  and  be  along  back 
here  with  the  wagon  ;  but  we  shall  have  to  walk  a  piece  along 
the  road,  I  reckon,  to  meet  them.  The  Lord  grant  he  be 
along  soon  !  It 's  early  in  the  day  ;  there  won't  be  much 


288  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  on, 

travel  afoot  yet  a  while;  we  an't  much  more  than  two  miles 
from  our  stopping-place.  If  the  road  hadn't  been  so  rough 
last  night,  we  could  have  outrun  'em  entirely." 

As  the  party  neared  the  fence,  they  discovered  in  the  dis 
tance,  along  the  road,  their  own  wagon  coming  back,  accom 
panied  by  some  men  on  horseback. 

"  Well,  now,  there  's  Michael,  and  Stephen,  and  Amariah," 
exclaimed  Phineas,  joyfully.  "  Now  we  are  made, —  as  safe 
as  if  we  'd  got  there."  0 

"Well,  do  stop,  then,"  said  Eliza,  "  and  do  something  for 
that  poor  man ;  he 's  groaning  dreadfully." 

"It  would  be  no  more  than  Christian,"  said  George ;  "  let 's 
take  him  up  and  carry  him  on." 

"  And  doctor  him  up  among  the  Quakers !  "  said  Phineas ; 
"  pretty  well,  that !  Well,  I  don't  care  if  we  do.  Here,  let 's 
have  a  look  at  him;  "  and  Phineas,  who,  in  the  course  of  his 
hunting  and  backwoods  life,  had  acquired  some  rude  experi 
ence  of  surgery,  kneeled  down  by  the  wounded  man,  and 
began  a  careful  examination  of  his  condition. 
.  "  Marks,"  said  Tom,  feebly,  "  is  that  you,  Marks  ?  " 

"No;  I  reckon  'tan't,  friend,"  said  Phineas.  "Much 
Marks  cares  for  thee,  if  his  own  skin 's  safe.  He  's  off,  long 
ago." 

"I  believe  I'm  done  for,"  said  Tom.  "The  cussed 
sneaking  dog,  to  leave  me  to  die  alone !  My  poor  old  mother 
always  told  me  't  would  be  so." 

"La  sakes !  jist  hear  the  poor  crittur.  He's  got  a 
mammy,  now,"  said  the  old  negress.  "I  can't  help  kinder 
pityin'  on  him." 

"  Softly,  softly;  don't  thee  snap  and  snarl,  friend,"  said 
Phineas,  as  Tom  winced  and  pushed  his  hand  away.  "  Thee 
has  no  chance,  unless  I  stop  the  bleeding."  And  Phineas 


LIFE   AMONG    THE   LOWLY.  289 

busied  himself  with  making  some  off-hand  surgical  arrange 
ments  with  his  own  pocket-handkerchief,  and  such  as  could  be 
mustered  in  the  company. 

"  You  pushed  me  down  there,"  said  Tom,  faintly. 

"  Well,  if  I  had  n't,  thee  would  have  pushed  us  down,  thco 
sees,"  said  Phineas,  as  he  stooped  to  apply  his  bandage. 
"  There,  there, —  let  me  fix  this  bandage.  We  mean  well  to 
thee ;  we  bear  no  malice.  Thee  shall  be  taken  to  a  house 
where  they'll  nurse  thee  fif&  rate, —  as  well  as  thy  own 
mother  could." 

Tom  groaned,  and  shut  his  eyes.  In  men  of  his  class, 
vigor  and  resolution  are  entirely  a  physical  matter,  and  ooze 
out  with  the  flowing  of  the  blood ;  and  the  gigantic  fellow 
really  looked  piteous  in  his  helplessness. 

The  other  party  now  came  up.  The  seats  were  taken  out 
of  the  wagon.  The  buffalo-skins,  doubled  in  fours,  were 
spread  all  along  one  side,  and  four  men,  with  great  diffi 
culty,  lifted  the  heavy  form  of  Tom  into  it.  Before  he  was 
gotten  in,  he  fainted  entirely.  The  old  negress,  in  the  abun 
dance  of  her  compassion,  sat  down  on  the  bottom,  and  took 
his  head  in  her  lap.  Eliza,  George  and  Jim,  bestowed  them 
selves,  as  well  as  they  could,  in  the  remaining  space,  and  the 
whole  party  set  forward. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  him? "  said  George,  who  sat  by 
Phineas  in  front. 

"Well,  it's  only  a  pretty  deep  flesh-wound;  but,  then, 
tumbling  and  scratching  down  that  place  did  n't  help  him 
much.  It  has  bled  pretty  freely  —  pretty  much  dreaned 
him  out,  courage  and  all, —  but  he  '11  get  over  it,  and  may  be 
learn  a  thing  or  two  by  it." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said  George.  "  It  would 
25 


290  UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN:    OB, 

always  be  a  heavy  thought  to  me,  if  I  'd  caused  his  death, 
even  in  a  just  cause." 

"  Yes,"  said  Phineas,  "  killing  is  an  ugly  operation,  any  way 
they  '11  fix  it, —  man  or  beast.  I  've  been  a  great  hunter,  in 
my  day,  and  I  tell  thee  I've  seen  a  buck  that  was  shot 
down,  and  a  dying,  look  that  way  on  a  feller  with  his  eye,  that 
it  reely  most  made  a  feller  feel  wicked  for  killing  on  him ;  and 
human  creatures  is  a  more  serious  consideration  yet,  bein',  as 
thy  wife  says,  that  the  judgment  comes  to  'em  after  death. 
So  I  don't  know  as  our  people's  notions  on  these  matters  is 
too  strict ;  and,  considerin'  how  I  was  raised,  I  fell  in  with 
them  pretty  considerably." 

"  What  shall  you  do  with  tin's  poor  fellow?  "  said  George. 

"  0,  carry  him  along  to  Amariah's.  There's  old  Grand- 
mam  Stephens  there, — Dorcas,  they  call  her, — she  'a  most  an 
amazin'  nurse.  She  takes  to  nursing  real  natura!3  and  an't 
never  better  suited  than  when  she  gets  a  sick  body  to  tend. 
We  may  reckon  on  turning  him  over  to  her  for  a  fortnight  or 
so." 

A  ride  of  about  an  hour  more  brought  the  party  to  a  neat 
farm-house,  where  the  weary  travellers  were  received  to  an 
abundant  breakfast.  Tom  Loker  was  soon  carefully  deposited 
in  a  much  cleaner  and  softer  bed  than  he  had  ever  been  in 
the  habit  of  occupying.  His  wound  was  carefully  dressed 
and  bandaged,  and  he  lay  languidly  opening  and  shutting  his 
eyes  on  the  white  window-curtains  and  gently-gliding  figures 
of  his  sick  room,  like  a  weary  child.  And  here,  for  the 
present,  we  skill  take  our  leave  of  one  par%y. 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  291 


CHAPTER  XVIH 

MISS  OPHELIA'S  EXPERIENCES  AND  OPINIONS. 

OUR  friend  Tom,  in  his  own  simple  musings,  often  com 
pared  his  more  fortunate  lot,  in  the  bondage  into  which  he  was 
cast,  with  that  of  Joseph  in  Egypt ;  and,  in  fact,  as  time  went 
on,  and  he  developed  more  and  more  under  the  eye  of  his 
master,  the  strength  of  the  parallel  increased. 

St.  Clare  was  indolent  and  careless  of  money.  Hitherto 
the  providing  and  marketing  had  been  principally  done  by 
Adolph,  who  was,  to  the  full,  as  careless  and  extravagant  as 
his  master ;  and,  between  them  both,  they  had  carried  on  the 
dispersing  process  with  great  alacrity.  Accustomed,  for  many 
years,  to  regard  his  master's  property  as  his  own  care,  Tom 
saw,  with  an  uneasiness  he  could  scarcely  repress,  the  waste 
ful  expenditure  of  the  establishment;  and,  in  the  quiet, 
indirect  way  which  his  class  often  acquire,  would  sometimes 
make  his  own  suggestions. 

.  St.  Clare  at  first  employed  him  occasionally ;  but,  struck 
with  his  soundness  of  mind  and  good  business  capacity,  he 
confided  in  him  more  and  more,  till  gradually  all  the  market 
ing  and  providing  for  the  family  were  intrusted  to  him. 

<:  No,  no,  Adolph,"  he  said,  one  day,  as  Adolph  was  depre 
cating  the  passing  of  power  out  of  his  hands ;  "let  Tom  alone. 
You  only  understand  what  you  want ;  Tom  understands  cost 
and  come  to ;  and  there  may  be  some  end  to  money,  bye 
and  bye  if  we  don't  let  somebody  do  that." 


292  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN  :    OB. 

Trusted  to  an  unlimited  extent  by  a  careless  master,  who 
Jmnded  him  a  bill  without  looking  at  it.  and  pocketed  tho 
change  without  counting  It.  Tom  had  every  facility  and 
temptation  to  dishonesty ;  and  nothing  but  an  impregnable 
simplicity  of  nature,  strengthened  by  Christian  faith,  could 
have  kept  him  from  it.  But,  to  that  nature,  the  very 
unbounded  trust  reposed  in  him  was  bond  and  seal  for  the 
most  scrupulous  accuracy. 

With  Adolph  the  case  had  been  different.  Thoughtless 
and  self-indulgent,  and  unrestrained  by  a  master  who  found 
it  easier  to  indulge  than  to  regulate,  he  had  fallen  into  an 
absolute  confusion  as  to  meum  tuum  with  regard  to  him 
self  and  his  master,  which  sometimes  troubled  even  St. 
Clare.  His  own  good  sense  taught  him  that  such  a  training 
of  his  servants  was  unjust  and  dangerous.  A  sort  of  chronic 
remorse  went  with  him  everywhere,  although  not  strong 
enough  to  make  any  decided  change  in  his  course ;  and  this 
very  remorse  reacted  again  into  indulgence.  He  passed 
lightly  over  the  most  serious  faults,  because  he  told  himself 
that,  if  he  had  done  his  part,  his  dependents  had  not  fallen 
into  them. 

Tom  regarded  his  gay,  airy,  handsome  young  master  with 
an  odd  mixture  of  fealty,  reverence,  and  fatherly  solicitude. 
That  he  never  read  the  Bible ;  never  went  to  church  ;  that 
lie  jested  and  made  free  with  any  and  every  thing  that  came 
.  i  -ho  way  of  his  wit:  that  he  spent  his  Sunday  evenings  at 
tl.e  opera  or  theatre;  that  he  went  to  wine  parties,  and  clubs, 
and  suppers,  oftener  than  was  at  all  expedient. —  were  all 
things  that  Tom  could  see  as  plainly  as  anybody,  and  on 
which  he  based  a  conviction  that  "Mas'r  wasn't  a  Chris 
tian;" — a  conviction,  however,  which  he  would  have  been 
very  slow  to  express  to- any  one  else,  but  on  which  he  founded 


LIFE   AMONG    THE   LOWLY.  293 

many  prayers,  in  his  own  simple  fashion,  when  he  was  by 
himself  in  his  little  dormitory.  Not  that  Tom  had  not  his 
own  way  of  speaking  his  mind  occasionally,  with  something 
of  the  tact  often  observable  in  his  class ;  as,  for  example,  the 
very  day  after  the  Sabbath  we  have  described,  St.  Clare  waa 
invited  out  to  a  convivial  party  of  choice  spirits,  and  was 
helped  home,  between  one  and  two  o'clock  atr  night,  in  a  con 
dition  when  the  physical  had  decidedly  attained  the  upper 
hand  of  the  intellectual.  Tom  and  Adolph  assisted  to  get 
him  composed  for  the  night,  the  latter  in  high  spirits,  evi 
dently  regarding  the  matter  as  a  good  joke,  and  laughing 
heartily  at  the  rusticity  of  Tom's  horror,  who  really  was  sim 
ple  enough  to  lie  awake  most  of  the  rest  of  the  night,  praying 
for  his  young  master. 

"Well,  Tom,  what  are  you  waiting  for?"  said  St.  Clare, 
the  next  day,  as  he  sat  in  his  library,  in  dressing-gown  and 
slippers.  St.  Clare  had  just  been  intrusting  Tom  with  some 
money,  and  various  commissions.  "  Is  n't  all  right  there, 
Tom?  "  he  added,  as  Tom  still  stood  waiting. 

" Ilm  'fraid  not,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom,  with  a  grave  face. 

St.  Clare  laid  down  .his  paper,  and  set  down  his  cofiee-cup, 
and  looked  at  Tom. 

"  Why,  Tom,  what 's  the  case?  You  look  as  solemn  as  a 
coffin." 

"I  feel  very  bad,  Mas'r.  I  allays  have  thought  that 
Mas'r  would  be  good  to  everybody." 

"  Well,  Tom,  have  n't  I  been?  Come,  now,  what  do  you 
want?  There  's  something  you  haven't  got,  I  suppose,  and 
this  is  the  preface." 

"Mas'r  allays  been  good  to  me.  I  haven't  nothing  to 
complain  of,  on  that  head.  But  there  is  one  that  Mas'r  is  n't 

good  to." 

25* 


294  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OR, 

"  Why,  Tom,  what  5s  got  into  you  ?  Speak  out ;  what  do 
you  mean?" 

"  Last  night,  between  one  and  two,  I  thought  so.  I 
studied  upon  the  matter  then.  Mas'r  is  n't  good  to  him 
self." 

Tom  said  this  with  his  back  to  his  master,  and  his  hand  on 
the  door-knob.  St.  Clare  felt  his  face  flush  crimson,  but  he 
laughed. 

"  0,  that 's  all,  is  it  ?  "  he  said,  gayly. 

"  All !  "  said  Tom,  turning  suddenly  round  and  falling  on 
his  knees.  "  0,  my  dear  young  Mas'r  !  I  'm  'fraid  it  will 
be  loss  of  all — all — body  and  soul.  The  good  Book  says, 
*  it  biteth  like  a  serpent  and  stingeth  like  an  adder ! '  my 
dear  Mas'r !  " 

Tom's  voice  choked,  and  the  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks. 

"You  poor,  silly  fool!"  said  St.  Clare,  with  tears  in  his 
own  eyes.  "  Get  up,  Tom.  I  'm  not  worth  crying  over." 

But  Tom  would  n't  rise,  and  looked  imploring. 

"  Well,  I  won't  go  to  any  more  of  their  cursed  nonsense, 
Tom,"  said  St.  Clare;  "on  my  honor,  I  won't.  I  don't 
know  , why  I  haven't  stopped  long  ago.  I've  always 
despised  it,  and  myself  for  it, — so  now,  Tom,  wipe  up  your 
eyes,  and  go  about  your  errands.  Come,  come,"  he  added, 
"no  blessings.  I  'in  not  so  wonderfully  good,  now,"  he  said, 
as  he  gently  pushed  Tom  to  the  door.  "There,  I  '11  pledge 
my  honor  to  you,  Tom,  you  don't  see  me  so  again,"  he  said ; 
and  Tom  went  off,  wiping  his  eyes,  with  great  satisfaction. 

"I'll  keep  my  faith  with  him,  too,"  said  St.  Clare,  as  he 
closed  the  door. 

And  St.  Clare  did  so, —  for  gross  sensualism,  in  any  form, 
was  not  the  peculiar  temptation  of  his  nature. 

But,  all  this  time,  who  shall  detail  the  tribulations  manifold 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  295 

of  our  friend  Miss  Ophelia,  who  had  begun  the  labors  of  a 
Southern  housekeeper? 

There  is  all  the  difference  in  the  world  in  the  servants  of 
Southern  establishments,  according  to  the  character  and 
capacity  of  the*mistresses  who  have  brought  them  up. 

South  as  well  as  north,  there  are  women  who  have  an 
extraordinary  talent  for  command,  and  tact  in  educating. 
Such  are  enabled,  with  apparent  ease,  and  without  severity, 
to  subject  to  their  will,  and  bring  into  harmonious  and  sys 
tematic  order,  the  various  members  of  their  small  estate, —  to 
regulate  their  peculiarities,  and  so  balance  and  compensate 
the  deficiencies  of  one  by  the  excess  of  another,  as  to  produce 
a  harmonious  and  orderly  system. 

Such  a  housekeeper  was  Mrs.  Shelby,  whom  we  have 
already  described ;  and  such  our  readers  may  remember  to 
have  'met  with.  If  they  are  not  common  at  the  South,  it  is 
because  they  are  not  common  in  the  world.  They  are  to  be 
found  there  as  often  as  anywhere ;  and,  when  existing,  find  in 
that  peculiar  state  of  society  a  brilliant  opportunity  to  exhibit 
their  domestic  talent. 

Such  a  housekeeper  Marie  St.  Clare  was  not,  nor  her 
mother  before  her.  Indolent  and  childish,  unsystematic  and 
improvident,  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  servants  trained 
under  her  care  should  not  be  so  likewise  ;  and  she  had  very 
justly  described  to  Miss  Ophelia  the  state  of  confusion  she 
would  find  in  the  family,  though  she  had  not  ascribed  it  to 
the  proper  cause. 

The  first  morning  of  her  regency,  Miss  Ophelia  was  up  at 
four  o'clock  ;  and  having  attended  to  all  the  adjustments  of 
her  own  chamber,  as  she  had  done  ever  since  she  came  there, 
to  the  great  amazement  of  the  chamber-maid,  she  prepared 


296  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  ;  OR, 

for  a  vigorous  onslaught  on  the  cupboards  and  closets  of  the 
establishment  of  which  she  had  the  keys. 

The  store-room,  the  linen-presses,  the  china-closet,  the 
kitchen  and  cellar,  that  day,  all  went  under  an  awful  review. 
Hidden  things  of  darkness  were  brought  to  light  to  an  extent 
that  alarmed  all  the  principalities  and  powers  of  kitchen  and 
chamber,  and  caused  many  wonderings  and  murmurings 
about  "dese  yer  northern  ladies"  from  the  domestic  cabinet. 

Old  Dinah,  the  head  cook,  and  principal  of  all  rule  and 
authority  in  the  kitchen  department,  was  filled  with  wrath  at 
what  she  considered  an  invasion  of  privilege.  No  feudal 
baron  in  Magna  Charta  times  could  have  more  thoroughly 
resented  some  incursion  of  the  crown. 

Dinah  was  a  character  in  her  own  way,  and  it  would  be 
injustice  to  her  memory  not  to  give  the  reader  a  little  idea  of 
her.  She  was  a  native  and  essential  cook,  as  much  as  Aunt 
Chloe, —  cooking  being  an  indigenous  talent  of  the  African 
race ;  but  Chloe  was  a  trained  and  methodical  one,  who 
moved  in  an  orderly  domestic  harness,  while  Dinah  was  a 
self-taught  genius,  and,  like  geniuses  in  general,  was  positive, 
opinionated  and  erratic,  to  the  last  degree. 

Like  a  certain  class  of  modern  philosophers,  Dinah  per 
fectly  scorned  logic  and  reason  in  every  shape,  and  always 
took  refuge  in  intuitive  certainty ;  and  here  she  was  perfectly 
impregnable.  No  possible  amount  of  talent,  or  authority,  or 
explanation,  could  ever  make  her  believe  that  any  other  way 
was  better  than  her  own,  or  that  the  course  she  had  pursued 
in  the  smallest  matter  could  be  in  the  least  modified.  This 
had  been  a  conceded  point  with  her  old  mistress,  Marie's 
mother;  and  "Miss  Marie,"  as  Dinah  always  called  her 
young  mistress,  even  after  her  marriage,  found  it  easier  to 
submit  than  contend;  and  so  Dinah  had  ruled  supreme. 


LIFE    AMONG    TIIE    LOWLY.  297 

This  was  <he  easier,  in  that  she  was  perfect  mistress  of  that 
diplomatic  art  which  unites  the  utmost  subservience  of  manner 
with  the  utmost  inflexibility  as  to  measure. 

Dinah  was  mistress  of  the  whole  art  and  mystery  of 
excuse-making,  in  all  its  branches.  Indeed,  it  was  an  axiom 
with  her  that  the  cook  can  do  no  wrong ;  and  a  cook-  in  a 
Southern  kitchen  finds  abundance  of  heads  and  shoulders  on 
which  to  lay  off  every  sin  and  frailty,  so  as  to  maintain  her 
own  immaculateness  entire.  If  any  part  of  the  dinner  was  a 
failure,  there  were  fifty  indisputably  good  reasons  for  it ;  and 
it  was  the  fault  undeniably  of  fifty  other  people,  whom  Dinah 
berated  with  unsparing  zeal. 

But  it  was  very  seldom  that  there  was  any  failure  in 
Dinah's  last  results.  Though  her  mode  of  doing  everything 
was  peculiarly  meandering  and  circuitous,  and  without  any 
sort  of  calculation  as  to  time  and  place, — though  her  kitchen 
generally  looked  as  if  it  had  been  arranged  by  a  hurricane 
blowing  through  it,  and  she  had  about  as  many  places  for 
each  cooking  utensil  as  there  were  days  in  the  year, — yet,  if 
one  would  have  patience  to  wait  her  own  good  time,  up  would 
come  her  dinner  in  perfect  order,  and  in  a  style  of  prepara 
tion  with  which  an  epicure  could  find  no  fault. 

It  was  now  the  season  of  incipient  preparation  for  dinner. 
Dinah,  who  required  large  intervals  of  reflection  and  repose, 
and  was  studious  of  ease  in  all  her  arrangements,  was  seated 
on  the  kitchen  floor,  smoking  a  short,  stumpy  pipe,  to  which 
she  was  much  addicted,  and  which  she  always  kindled  up,  as 
a  sort  of  censer,  whenever  she  felt  the  need  of  an  inspiration 
in  her  arrangements.  It  was  Dinah's  mode  of  invoking  the 
domestic  Muses. 

Seated  around  her  were  various  members  of  that  rising 
race  with  which  a  Southern  household  abounds,  engaged  in 


298  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OR, 

shelling  peas,  peeling  potatoes,  picking  pin-feathers  out  of 
fowls,  and  other  preparatory  arrangements, —  Dinah  every 
once  in  a  while  interrupting  her  meditations  to  give  a  poke, 
or  a  rap  on  the  head,  to  some  of  the  young  operators,  with 
the  pudding-stick  that  lay  by  her  side.  In  fact,  Dinah  ruled 
over  the  woolly  heads  of  the  younger  members  with  a  rod  of 
iron,  and  seemed  to  consider  them  born  for  no  earthly  pur 
pose  but  to  "save  her  steps,"  as  she  phrased  it.  It  was  the 
spirit  of  the  system  under  which  she  had  grown  up,  and  she 
carried  it  out  to  its  full  extent. 

Miss  Ophelia,  after  passing  on  her  reformatory  tour  through 
all  the  other  parts  of  the  establishment,  now  entered  the 
kitchen.  Dinah  had  heard,  from  various  sources,  what  was 
going  on,  and  resolved  to  stand  on  defensive  and  conservative 
ground, —  mentally  determined  to  oppose  and  ignore  every 
new  measure,  without  any  actual  and  observable  contest. 

The  kitchen  was  a  large  brick-floored  apartment,  with  a 
great  old-fashioned  fireplace  stretching  along  one  side  of 
it, —  an  arrangement  which  St.  Clare  had  vainly  tried  to 
persuade  Dinah  to  exchange  for  the  convenience  of  a  modern 
cook-stove.  Not  she.  No  Puseyite,  or  conservative  of  any 
school,  was  ever  more  inflexibly  attached  to  time-honored 
inconveniencies  than  Dinah. 

When  St.  Clare  had  first  returned  from  the  north,  im 
pressed  with  the  system  and  order  of  his  uncle's  kitchen 
arrangements,  he  had  largely  provided  his  own  with  an  array 
of  cupboards,  drawers,  and  various  apparatus,  to  induce 
systematic  regulation^  under  the  sanguine  illusion  that  it 
would  be  of  any  possible  assistance  to  Dinah  in  her  arrange 
ments.  He  might  as  well  have  provided  them  for  a  squirrel 
or  a  magpie.  The  more  drawers  and  closets  there  were,  the 
more  hiding-holes  could  Dinah  make  for  the  accommodation 


LIFE   AMONG    THE    LOWLY.  299 

of  old  rags,  hair-combs,  old  shoes,  ribbons,  cast-oft*  artificial 
flowers,  and  other  articles  of  vertu,  wherein  her  soul 
delighted. 

When  Miss  Ophelia  entered  the  kitchen,  Dinah  did  not 
rise,  but  smoked  on  in  sublime  tranquillity,  regarding  her 
movements  obliquely  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye,  but 
apparently  intent  only  on  the  operations  around  her. 

Miss  Ophelia  commenced  opening  a  set  of  drawers. 

"What  is  this  drawer  for,  Dinah?"  she  said. 

::  It 's  handy  for  most  anything,  Missis,"  said  Dinah.  So 
it  appeared  to  be.  From  the  variety  it  contained,  Miss 
Ophelia  pulled  out  first  a  fine  damask  table-cloth  stained 
with  blood,  having  evidently  been  used  to  envelop  some  raw 
jnieat. 

"  What's  this,  Dinah?  You  don't  wrap  up  meat  in  your 
mistress'  best  table-cloths  ?  " 

"0  Lor,  Missis,  no;  the  towels  was  all  a  missin', — so  I 
jest  did  it.  I  laid  out  to  wash  that  ar, — that's  why  I  put  it 
thar." 

"  Shif'less  !"  said  TVliss  Ophelia  to  herself,  proceeding  to 
tumble  over  the  drawer,  where  she  found  a  nutmeg-grater 
and  two  or  three  nutmegs,  a  Methodist  hymn-book,  a  couple 
of  soiled  Madras  handkerchiefs,  some  yarn  and  knitting-work, 
a  paper  of  tobacco  and  a  pipe,  a  few  crackers,  one  or  two 
gilded  china-saucers  with  some  pomade  in  them,  one  or  two 
thin  old  shoes,  a  piece  of  flannel  carefully  pinned  up  enclos 
ing  some  small  white  onions,  several  damask  table-napkins, 
some  coarse  crash  towels,  some  twine  and  darning-needles, 
and  several  broken  papers,  from  which  sundry  sweet  herbs 
were  sifting  into  the  drawer. 

"Where  do  you 'keep  your  nutmegs,  Dinah  ?"  said  Miss 
Ophelia,  with  the  air  of  one  who  prayed  for  patience. 


800  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

"  Most  anywhar,  Missis ;  there  's  some  in  that  cracked  tea 
cup,  up  there,  and  there  's  some  over  in  that  ar  cupboard." 

"  Here  are  some  in  the  grater,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  holding 
them  up. 

"Laws,  yes,  I  put  'em  there  this  morning, —  I  likes  to 
keep  my  things  handy,"  said  Dinah.  "  You,  Jake !  what 
are  you  stopping  for  !  You  '11  cotch  it !  Be  still,  thar !  " 
she  added,  with  a  dive  of  her  stick  at  the  criminal. 

"  What 's  this  ?"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  holding  up  the  saucer 
of  pomade. 

"Laws,  it's  my  bar  grease;  — I  put  it  thar  to  have  it 
handy." 

"  Do  you  use  your  mistress'  hest  saucers  for  that?  " 

"  Law  !  it  was  cause  I  was  driv,  and  in  sich  a  hurry;  — 
I  was  gwine  to  change  it  this  very  day." 

"  Here  are  two  damask  table-napkins." 

"Them  table-napkins  I  put  thar,  to  get  'em  washed  out, 
some  day." 

"  Don't  you  have  some  place  here  on  purpose  for  things  to 
be  washed?" 

"  Well,  Mas'r  St.  Clare  got  dat  ar  chest,  he  said,  for  dat ; 
but  I  likes  to  mix  up  biscuit  and  hev  my  things  on  it  some 
days,  and  then  it  an't  handy  a  liftin'  up  the  lid." 

"  Why  don't  you  mix  your  biscuits  on  the  pastry- table, 
there?" 

"Law,  Missis,  it  gets  sot  so  full  of  dishes,  and  one  thing 
and  another,  der  an't  no  room,  noways  — 

"  But  you  should  wash  your  dishes,  and  clear  them  away." 

"  Wash  my  dishes  !  "  said  Dinah,  in  a  high  key,  as  her 
wrath  began  to  rise  over  her  habitual  respect  of  manner; 
"  what  does  ladies  know  'bout  work,  I  want  to  know  ? 
When  'd  Mas'r  ever  get  his  dinner,  if  I  was  to  spend  all  my 


LIFE   AMONG    THE   LOWLY.  801 

time  a  washin'  and  a  puttin'  up  dishes  ?  Miss  Marie  never 
tolled  me  so,  nohow." 

"  Well,  here  are  these  onions." 

"  Laws,  yes  !  "  said  Dinah ;  "  thar  is  whar  I  put  'em,  now. 
I  couldn't  'member.  Them's  particular  onions  I  was  a 
savin'  for  dis  yer  very  stew.  I  'd  forgot  they  was  in  dat 
ar  old  flannel." 

Miss  Ophelia  lifted  out  the  sifting  papers  of  sweet  herbs. 

"  I  wish  Missis  would  n't  touch  dem  ar.  I  likes  to  keep 
my  things  where  I  knows  whar  to  go  to  'em3"  said  Dinah, 
rather  decidedly. 

"  But  you  don't  want  these  holes  in  the  papers." 

"  Them  's  handy  for  siftin'  on  't  out,"  said  Dinah. 

"  But  you  see  it  spills  all  over  the  drawer." 

"  Laws,  yes  !  if  Missis  will  go  a  tumblin'  things  all  up  so, 
it  will.  Missis  has  spilt  lots  dat  ar  way,"  said  Dinah,  coming 
uneasily  to  the  drawers.  "If  Missis  only  will  go  up  stars 
till  my  clarin'  up  time  comes,  I  '11  have  everything  right ;  but 
I  can't  do  nothin'  when  ladies  is  round,  a  henderin'.  You, 
Sam,  don't  you  gib  the  baby  dat  ar  sugar-bowl !  I  '11  crack 
ye  over,  if  ye  don't  mind !  " 

"  I  'm  going  through  the  kitchen,  and  going  to  put  every 
thing  in  order,  once,  Dinah ;  and  then  I  '11  expect  you  to  keep 
it  so." 

"  Lor,  now !  Miss  Phelia;  dat  ar  an't  no  way  for  ladies  to 
do.  I  never  did  see  ladies  doin'  no  sich ;  my  old  Missis  nor 
Miss  Marie  never  did,  and  I  don't  see  no  kinder  need  on.'t;" 
and  Dinah  stalked  indignantly  about,  while  Miss  Ophelia 
piled  and  sorted  dishes,  emptied  dozens  of  scattering  bowls  of 
sugar  into  one  receptacle,  sorted  napkins,  table-cloths,  and 
towels,  for  washing;  washing,  wiping,  and  arranging  with 
26 


302  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

her  own  hands,  and  with  a  speed  and  alacrity  which  perfectly 
amazed  Dinah. 

"  Lor,  now  !  if  dat  ar  de  way  dem  northern  ladies  do,  dey 
an't  ladies,  nohow,"  she  said  to  some  of  her  satellites,  when 
at  a  safe  hearing  distance.  "  I  has  things  as  straight  as 
anybody,  when  my  clarin'  up  time  comes  ;  but  I  don't  want 
ladies  round,  a  henderin',  and  getting  my  things  all  where  I 
can't  find  'em." 

To  do  Dinah  justice,  she  had,  at  irregular  periods,  paroxysms 
of  reformation  and  arrangement,  which  she  called  "  clarin'  up 
times,"  when  she  would  begin  with  great  zeal,  and  turn  every 
drawer  and  closet  wrong  side  outward,  on  to  the  floor  or 
tables,  and  make  the  ordinary  confusion  seven-fold  more  con 
founded.  Then  she  would  light  her  pipe,  and  leisurely  go 
over  her  arrangements,  looking  things  over,  and  discoursing 
upon  them ;  making  all  the  young  fry  scour  most  vigorously 
on  the  tin  things,  and  keeping  up  for  several  hours  a  most 
energetic  state  of  confusion,  which  she  would  explain  to  the 
satisfaction  of  all  inquirers,  by  the  remark  that  she  was  a 
"  clarin'  up."  "  She  could  n't  hev  things  a  gwine  on  so  as 
they  had  been,  and  she  was  gwine  to  make  these  yer  young 
ones  keep  better  order ; "  for  Dinah  herself,  somehow,  indulged 
the  illusion  that  she,  herself,  was  the  soul  of  order,  and  it 
was  only  the  young  uns,  and  the  everybody  else  in  the  house, 
that  were  the  cause  of  anything  that  fell  short  of  perfection 
in  this  respect.  When  all  the  tins  were  scoured,  and  the  tables 
scrubbed  snowy  white,  and  everything  that  could  offend 
tucked  out  of  sight. in  holes  and  corners,  Dinah  would  dress 
herself  up  in  a  smart  dress,  clean  apron,  and  high,  brilliant 
Madras  turban,  and  .tell  all  marauding  "  young  uns"  to  keep 
out  of  the  kitchen,  for  she  was  gwine  to  have  things  kept 
nice.  Indeed,  these  periodio  seasons  were  often  an  incon- 


LIFE   AMONG    THE   LOWLY.  803 
* 

venience  to  the  whole  household ;  for  Dinah  would  contract 
such  an  immoderate  attachment  to  her  scoured  tin,  as  to  insist 
upon  it  that  it  should  n't  be  used  again  for  any  possible  pur 
pose, —  at  least,  till  the  ardor  of  the  "clarin'  up"  period 
abated. 

Miss  Ophelia,  in  a  few  days,  thoroughly  reformed  every 
department  of  the  house  to  a  systematic  pattern ;  but  her 
labors  in  all  departments  that  depended  on  the  cooperation  of 
servants  were  like  those  of  Sisyphus  or  the  Danaides.  In 
despair,  she  one  day  appealed  to  St.  Clare. 

"There  is  no  such  thing  as  getting  anything  like  system 
in  this  family  !  " 

"  To  be  sure,  there  isn't,"  said  St.  Clare. 

"  Such  shiftless  management,  such  waste,  such  confusion, 
I  never  saw  !  " 

"  I  dare  say  you  did  n't." 

"You  would  not  take  it  so  coolly,  if  you  were  house 
keeper." 

"My  dear  cousin,  you  may  as  well  understand,  once  for 
all,  that  we  masters  are  divided  into  two  classes,  oppressors 
and  oppressed.  We  who  are  good-natured  and  hate  severity 
make  up  our  minds  to  a  good  deal  of  inconvenience.  If  we 
will  k$cp  a  shambling,  loose,  untaught  set  in  the  com 
munity,  for  our  convenience,  why,  we  must  take  the  con 
sequence,  fomftjgre  cases  I  have  seen,  of  persons,  who^ 
by  a  peculiar  tact,  can  produce  order  and  system  without 
se^^^ty  ;  but  I  'm  not  one  of  them, — and  so  I  made  up  my 
mind,  long  ago,  to  let  things  go  just  as  they  do.  I  will  not 
have  the  poor  devils  thrashed  and  cut  to  pieces,  and  they 
know  it, — and,  of  course,  they  know  the  staff  is  in  their  own 
hands." 


304  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 

"But  to  have  no  time,  no  place,  no  order, — all  going  <*i 
in  this  shiftless  way  !  " 

"  My  dear  Vermont,  you  natives  up  by  the  North  Pole  set 
an  extravagant  value  on  time  !  What  on  earth  is  the  use  of 
time  to  a  fellow  who  has  twice  as  much  of  it  as  he  knows 
what  to  do  with  ?  As  to  order  and  system,  where  there  is 
nothing  to  be  done  but  to  lounge  on  the  sofa  and  read,  an 
hour  sooner  or  later  in  breakfast  or  dinner  is  n't  of  much 
account.  Now,  there 's  Dinah  gets  you  a  capital  dinner, — 
soup,  ragout,  roast  fowl,  dessert,  ice-creams  and  all, —  and  she 
creates  it  all  out  of  chaos  and  old  night  down  there,  in  that 
kitchen.  I  think  it  really  sublime,  the  way  she  manages. 
But,  Heaven  bless  us  !  if  we  are  to  go  down  there,  and  view 
all  the  smoking  and  squatting  about,  and  hurryscurryation 
of  the  preparatory  process,  we  should  never  eat  more !  My 
good  cousin,  absolve  yourself  from  that !  It 's  more  than  a 
Catholic  penance,  and  does  no  more  good.  You  '11  only  lose 
your  own  temper,  and  utterly  confound  Dinah.  Let  her  go 
her  own  way." 

"  But,  Augustine,  you  don't  know  how  I  found  things." 

" Don't  I?  Don't  I  know  that  the  rolling-pin  is  under 
her  bed,  and  the  nutmeg-grater  in  her  pocket  with  her 
tobacco, — that  there  are  sixty-five  different  sugar-bowls,  one  in 
every  hole  in  the  house, — that  she  washes  dishes  with  a  dinner- 
napkin  one  day,  and  with  a  fragment  of  an  old  petticoat  the 
next?  But  the  upshot  is,  she  gets  up  glorious  dinners,  makes 
superb  coffee ;  and  you  must  judge  her  as  warriors  and  states 
men  are  judged,  by  her  success" 

"  But  the  waste, — the  expense!  " 

"  0,  well !  Lock  everything  you  can,  and  keep  the  key. 
Give  out  by  driblets,  and  never  inquire  for  odds  and  ends, 
--it  is  n't  best." 


LIFE    AMONG    THE    L0^.\  LY.  305 

"  That  troubles  me,  Augustine.  I  can't  help  feeling  as  if 
these  servants  were  not  strictly  honest.  Are  you  sure  they 
can  be  relied  on?" 

Augustine  laughed  immoderately  at  the  grave  and  anxiou? 
face  with  which  Miss  Ophelia  propounded  the  question. 

"  0,  cousin,  that's  too  good, — honest! — as  if  that's  a 
thing  to  be  expected !  Honest !  —  why,  of  course,  they 
arn't.  Why  should  they  be  ?  What  upon  earth  is  to  make 
them  so?" 

"  Why  don't  you  instruct  ?  " 

"Instruct!  0,  fiddlestick!  What  instructing  do  you 
think  I  should  do  ?  I  look  like  it !  As  to  Marie,  she  has 
spirit  enough,  to  be  sure,  to  kill  off  a  whole  plantation,  if  I  'd 
let  her  manage;  but  she  would  n't  get  the  cheatery  out  of 
them." 

"  Are  there  no  honest  ones  ?  " 

"Well,  now  and  then  one,  whom  Nature  makes  so  imprac 
ticably  simple,  truthful  and  faithful,  that  the  worst  possible 
influence  can't  destroy  it.  But,  you  see,  from  the  mother's 
breast  the  colored  child  feels^and  sees  that  there  are  none  but 
underhand  ways  open  to  it.  It  can  get  along  no  other  way 
•\vith  its  parents,  its  mistress,  its  young  master  and  missie  play 
fellows.  Cunning  and  deception  become  necessary,  inevitable 
habits.  It  is  n't  fair  to  expect  anything  else  of  him.  He 
ought  not  to  be  punished  for  it.  As  to  honesty,  the  slave  is 
kept  in  that  dependent,  semi-childish  state,  that  there  is 
no  making  him  realize  the  rights  of  property,  or  feel  that  his 
master's  goods  are  not  his  own,  if  he  can  get  them.  For  my 
part,  I  don't  see  how  they  can  be  honest.  Such  a  fellow  as 
Tom,  here,  is  —  is  a  moral  miracle  !  " 

"  And  what  becomes  of  their  souls  ?"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"That  is  n't  my  affaii  .  as  I  know  of,"  said  St.  Clare  ;  ''I 
26* 


306  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN:  OR, 


am  only  dealing  in  facts  of  the  present  life.  The  fact  is, 
that  the  whole  race  are  pretty  generally  understood  to  be 
turned  over  to  the  devil,  for  our  benefit,  in  this  world,  how- 
evei  it  may  turn  out  in  another ! " 

"This  is  perfectly  horrible!  "  said  Miss  Ophelia;  "you 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourselves !" 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  am.  We  are  in  pretty  good  company, 
for  all  that,"  said  St.  Clare,  "  as  people  in  the  broad  road 
generally  are.  Look  at  the  high  and  the  low,  all  the  world 
over,  and  it's  the  same  story, —  the  lower  class  used  up, 
body,  soul  and  spirit,  for  the  good  of  the  upper.  It  is  so  in 
England;  it  is  so  everywhere;  and  yet  all  Christendom 
stands  aghast,  with  virtuous  indignation,  because  we  do  the 
thing  in  a  little  different  shape  from  what  they  do  it." 

"  It  isn't  so  in  Vermont." 

"  Ah,  well,  in  New  England,  and  in  the  free  States,  you 
have  the  better  of  us,  I  grant.  But  there  's  the  bell ;  so, 
Cousin,  let  us  for  a  while  lay  aside  our  sectional  prejudices, 
and  come  out  to  dinner." 

As  Miss  Ophelia  was  in  the  kitchen  in  the  ktter  part  of 
the  afternoon,  some  of  the  sable  children  called  out,  "  La, 
sakes  !  thar  's  Prue  a  coming,  grunting  along  like  she  allers 
does." 

A  tall,  bony  colored  woman  now  entered  the  kitchen, 
bearing  on  her  head  a  basket  of  rusks  and  hot  rolls. 

"  Ho,  Prue  !  you  've  come,"  said  Dinah. 

Prue  had  a  peculiar  scowling  expression  of  countenance, 
and  a  sullen,  grumbling  voice.  She  set  down  her  basket, 
squatted  herself  down,  and  resting  her  elbows  on  her  knees 
said, 

"OLord!  I  wish 't  I's  dead!" 

"  Why  do  you  wish  you  were  dead?  "  said  Miss  Ophelia, 


LIFE    AAIOSG    THE    LOAVLY.  307 

"  I  'd  be  out  o'  my  misery,"  said  the  woman,  gruffly,  with 
out  taking  her  eyes  from  the  floor. 

"  What  need  you  getting  drunk,  then,  and  cutting  up, 
Prue?"  said  a  spruce  quadroon  chambermaid,  dangling,  as 
she  spoke,  a  pair  of  coral  ear-drops. 

The  woman  looked  at  her  with  a  sour,  surly  glance. 

"Maybe  you  '11  come  to  it,  one  of  these  yer  days.  I  'd  be 
glad  to  see  you,  I  would ;  then  you  '11  be  glad  of  a  drop,  like 
me,  to  forget  your  misery." 

"Come,  Prue,"  said  Dinah,  "let's  look  at  your  rusks. 
Here's  Missis  will  pay  for  them." 

Miss  Ophelia  took  out  a  couple  of  dozen. 

"Thar's  some  tickets  in  that  ar  old  cracked  jug  on  the 
top  shelf,"  said  Dinah.  "You,  Jake,  climb  up  and  get  it 
doAYn." 

"Tickets, —  Avhat  are  they  for?"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"  We  buys  tickets  of  her  Mas'r,  and  she  gives  us  bread  for 
'em." 

"And  they  counts  my  money  and  tickets,  when  I  gets 
home,  to  see  if  I 's  got  the  change ;  and  if  I  han't,  they  half 
kills  me." 

"  And  serves  you  right,"  said  Jane,  the  pert  chambermaid, 
"if  you  Avill  take  their  money  to  get  drunk  on.  That's 
what  she  does,  Missis." 

"  And  that 's  what  I  will  do, —  I  can't  live  no  other  ways, 
—  drink  and  forget  my  misery." 

"You  are  very  Avicked  and  very  foolish,"  said  Miss 
Ophelia,  "  to  steal  your  master's  money  to  make  yourself  a 
brute  Avith." 

"  It 's-  mighty  likely,  Missis  ;  but  I  will  do  it, — yes,  I 
will.  0  Lord !  I  wish  I 's  dead,  I  do, — I  wish  I 's  dead,  and 
out  of  my  misery !"  and  slowly  and  stiffly  the  old  creature 


308"  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  :  OR, 

rose,  and  got  her  basket  on  her  head  again ;  but  before  she 
went  out,  she  looked  at  the  quadroon  girl,  who  still  stood  play 
ing  with  her  ear-drops. 

"  Ye  think  ye 're  mighty  fine  with  them  ar,  a  frolickin' 
and  a  tossin'  your  head,  and  a  lookin'  down  on  everybody. 
Well,  never  mind, — you  may  live  to  be  a  poor,  old,  cut-up 
crittur,  like  me.  Hope  to  the  Lord  ye  will,  I  do  ;  then  see  if 
ye  won't  drink, —  drink, —  drink, —  yerself  into  torment ;  and 
sarve  ye  right,  too — ugh!"  and,  with  a  malignant  howl,  the 
woman  left  the  room. 

"  Disgusting  old  beast! "  said  Adolph,  who  was  getting  his 
master's  shaving- water.  "  If  I  wits  her  master,  I'd  cut  her 
up  worse  than  she  is." 

.  "  Ye  could  n't  do  that  ar,  no  ways,"  said  Dinah.  "  Her 
back  's  a  far  sight  now, — she  can't  never  get  a  dress  together 
over  it." 

"  I  think  such  low  creatures  ought  not  to  be  allowed  to  go 
round  to  genteel  families,"  said  Miss  Jane.  "  What  do  you 
think,  Mr.  St.  Clare? "she  said,  coquettishly  tossing  her 
head  at  Adolph. 

It  must  be  observed  that,  among  other  appropriations  from 
his  master's  stock,  Adolph  was  in  the  habit  of  adopting  his 
name  and  address;  and  that  the  style  under  which  he  moved, 
among  the  colored  circles  of  New  Orleans,  was  that  of  Mr. 
St.  Clare. 

"I'm  certainly  of  your  opinion.  Miss  Benoir,"  said 
Adolph. 

Benoir  was  the  name  of  Marie  St.  Clare's  family,  and 
Jane  was  one  of  her  servants. 

"  Pray,  Miss  Benoir,  may  I  be  allowed  to  ask  if  those 
drops  are  for  the  ball,  to-morrow  night  ?  They  are  certainly 
bewitching !  ' 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  309 

"  I  wider,  now,  Mr.  St.  Clare,  what  the  impudence  of 
you  men  will  come  to! "  said  Jane,  tossing  her  pretty  head  till 
the  ear-drops  twinkled  again.  "I  shan't  dance  with  you 
for  a  whole  evening,  if  you  go  to  asking  me  any  more  ques 
tions." 

"  0,  you  could  n't  be  so  cruel,  now!  I  was  just  dying  to 
know  whether  you  would  appear  in  your  pink  tarletane," 
said  Adolph. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Rosa,  a  bright,  piquant  little  quad 
roon,  who  came  skipping  down  stairs  at  this  moment. 

"  Why,  Mr.  St.  Clare  's  so  impudent !  " 

"  On  my  honor,"  said  Adolph,  "I'll  leave  it  to  Miss 
Rosa,  now." 

"  I  know  he  's  always  a  saucy  creature,"  said  Rosa,  pois 
ing  herself  on  one  of  her  little  feet,  and  looking  maliciously 
at  Adolph.  "  He  's  always  getting  me  so  angry  with  him." 

"  0  !  ladies,  ladies,  you  will  certainly  break  my  heart, 
between  you,"  said  Adolph.  "  I  shall  be  found  dead  in  my 
bed,  some  morning,  and  you  '11  have  it  to  answer  for." 

"Do  hear  the  horrid  creature  talk!"  said  both  ladies, 
laughing  immoderately. 

"  Come, — clar  out,  you  !  I  can't  have  you  cluttering  up 
the  kitchen,"  said  Dinah ;  "in  my  way,  foolin'  round  here." 

"  Aunt  Dinah's  glum,  because  she  can't  go  to  the  ball," 
said  Rosa. 

"  Don't  want  none  o'  your  light-colored  balls,"  said 
Dinah ;  "  cuttin'  round,  makin'  b'lieve  you 's  white  folks. 
Arter  all,  you's  niggers,  much  as  I  am." 

"  Aunt  Dinah  greases  her  wool  stiff,  every  day,  to  make  it 
lie  straight,"  said  Jane. 

"  And  it  will  be  wool,  after  all,"  said  Rosa,  maliciously 
shaking  down  her  long,  silky  curls. 


310  UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN  :    OR, 

"  Well,  in  the  Lord's  sight,  an't  wool  as  good  as  Jiar,  any 
time?  "  said  Dinah.  "  I  'd  like  to  have  Missis  say  which  is 
worth  the  most, —  a  couple  such  as  you,  or  one  like  me. 
Get  out  wid  ye,  ye  trumpery, —  I  won't  have  ye  round  ! " 

Here  the  conversation  was  interrupted  in  a  two-fold  man 
ner.  St.  Clare's  voice  was  heard  at  the  head  of  the  stairs, 
asking  Adolph  if  he  meant  to  stay  all  night  with  his  shaving- 
water;  and  Miss  Ophelia,  coming  out  of  the  dining-room, 
said, 

"  Jane  and  Rosa,  what  are  you  wasting  your  time  for,  here  ? 
Go  in  and  attend  to  your  muslins." 

Our  friend  Tom,  who  had  been  in  the  kitchen  during  the 
conversation  with  the  old  rusk-woman,  had  followed  her  out 
into  the  street.  He  saw  her  go  on,  giving  every  once  in  a 
while  a  suppressed  groan.  At  last  she  set  her  basket  down 
on  a  door-step,  and  began  arranging  the  old,  faded  shawl 
which  covered  her  shoulders. 

"I'll  carry  your  basket  a  piece,"  said  Tom,  compas 
sionately. 

"  Why  should  ye? "  said  the  woman.  "  I  don't  want  no 
help." 

"  You  seem  to  be  sick,  or  in  trouble,  or  something"  said 
Tom. 

"  I  an't  sick,"  said  the  woman,  shortly. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Tom,  looking  at  her  earnestly, —  "  I  wish  I 
could  persuade  you  to  leave  off  drinking.  Don't  you  know 
it  will  be  the  ruin  of  ye,  body  and  soul?  " 

"I  knows  I'm  gv,*ine  to  torment,"  said  the  woman,  sul 
lenly.  "Ye  don't  need  to  tell  me  that  ar.  I 's  ugly, — 
I 's  wicked, —  I 's  gwine  straight  to  torment.  0,  Lord !  I 
wish  I 's  thar !  " 


LIFE   AMONG   THE   LOWLY.  811 

Tom  shuddered  at  these  frightful  words,  spoken  -with  a 
sullen,  impassioned  earnestness. 

"  0,  Lord  have  mercy  on  ye  !  poor  crittur.  Han't  ye 
never  heard  of  Jesus  Christ?" 

"Jesus  Christ,— who  's  he?" 

"  Why,  he  's  the  Lord,"  said  Tom. 

"  I  think  I  've  hearn  tell  o'  the  Lord,  and  the  judgment 
and  torment.  I  've  heard  o'  that." 

"  But  didn't  anybody  ever  tell  you  of  the  Lord  Jesus, 
that  loved  us  poor  sinners,  and  died  for  us? " 

"  Don't  know  nothin'  'bout  that,"  said  the  woman;  "  no 
body  han't  never  loved  me,  since  my  old  man  died." 

"  Where  was  you  raised  ?  "  said  Tom. 

"  Up  in  Kentuck.  A  man  kept  me  to  breed  chil'en  for 
market,  and  sold  'em  as  fast  as  they  got  big  enough  ;  last  of 
all,  he  sold  me  to  a  speculator,  and  my  Mas'r  got  me  o7 
him." 

"  What  set  you  into  this  bad  way  of  drinkin'  ?  " 

M  To  get  shet  o'  my  misery.  I  had  one  child  after  I  come 
here;  and  I  thought  then  I  'd  have  one  to  raise,  cause  Mas'r 
wasn't  a  speculator.  It  was  de  peartest  little  thing !  and 
Missis  she  seemed  to  think  a  heap  on 't,  at  first ;  it  never 
cried, —  it  was  likely  and  fat.  But  Missis  tuck  sick,  and  I 
tended  her ;  and  I  tuck  the  fever,  and  my  milk  all  left  me, 
and  the  child  it  pined  to  skin  and  bone,  and  Missis  would  n't 
buy  milk  for  it.  She  would  n't  hear  to  me,  when  I  telled 
her  I  hadn't  milk.  She  said  she  knowed.I  could  feed  it 
on  w-hat  other  folks  eat;  and  the  child  kinder  pined,  and 
cried,  and  cried,  and  cried,  day  and  night,  and  got  all  gone  to 
skin  and  bones,  and  Missis  got  sot  agin  it.  and  she  said 
't  wan't  nothin'  but  crossness.  She  wished  it  was  dead,  she 
said  ;  and  she  would  n't  let  me  have  it  o'  nights,  cause,  she 


UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIN  :    OR, 


said,  it  kept  me  awake,  and  made  me  good  for  nothing.  She 
made  me  sleep  in  her  room  •  and  I  had  to  put  it  away  off  in  a 
little  kind  o'  garret,  and  thar  it  cried  itself  to  death,  one 
night.  It  did  ;  and  I  tuck  to  drinkin',  to  keep  its  crying  out 
of  my  ears  !  I  did,  —  and  I  will  drink  !  I  will,  if  I  do  go  to 
torment  for  it  !  Mas'r  says  I  shall  go  to  torment,  and  I  tell 
him  I  've  got  thar  now  !  " 

"  0,  ye  poor  crittur  !  "  said  Tom,  "  han't  nobody  never 
jlled  ye  how  the  Lord  Jesus  loved  ye,  and  died  for  ye? 
they  telled  ye  that  he  '11  help  ye,  and  ye  can  go  to 
heaven,  and  have  rest,  at  last  ?  " 

"  I  looks  like  gwine  to  heaven,"  said  the  woman  ;  "  an't 
thar  where  white  folks  is  gwine  ?  S'pose  they  'd  have  me 
thar  ?  I  'd  rather  go  to  torment,  and  get  away  from  Mas'r 
and  Missis.  I  had  so,"  she  said,  as,  with  her  usual  groan, 
she  got  her  basket  on  her  head,  and  walked  sullenly  away. 

Tom  turned,  and  walked  sorrowfully  back  to  the  house. 
In  the  court  he  met  little  Eva,  —  a  crown  of  tuberoses  on 
her  head,  and  her  eyes  radiant  with  delight. 

"0,  Tom!  here  you  are.  I'm  glad  'I've  found  you. 
Papa  says  you  may  get  out  the  ponies,  and  take  me  in  my 
little  new  carriage,"  she  said,  catching  his  hand.  "  But 
what  's  the  matter,  Tom  ?  —  you  look  sober." 

"  I  feel  bad,  Miss  Eva,"  said  Tom,  sorrowfully.  "  But 
I  '11  get  the  horses  for  you." 

"  But  do  tell  me,  Tom,  what  is  the  matter.  I  saw  you 
talking  to  cross  old  Prue." 

Tom,  in  simple,  earnest  phrase,  told  Eva  the  woman's 
history.  She  did  not  exclaim,  or  wonder,  or  weep,  as  other 
children  do.  Her  cheeks  grew  pale,  and  a  deep,  earnest 
ihadow  passed  over  her  eyes.  She  laid  both  hands  on  her 
bosom,  and  sighed  heavily. 

731*0 


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FORM  NO.  DD6                        UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 
50M    4-04                                                  Berkeley,  California  94720-6000 

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