UNCLE TOM S CABIN;
OR,
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY.
BY
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.
VOL. II.
SEVENTIETH THOUSAND.
BOSTON:
JOHN P. JEWETT & COMPANY
CLEVELAND, OHIO:
JEWETT, PROCTOR & WORTHINGTON.
1852.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1861, by
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE,
In the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the District of Maine.
8TEREOTTPED BT
HOBART & BOBBINS,
HEW ENGLAND TYPE AND STEREOTYPE FOrNDEKT,
BOSTON.
Printed by Geo. C. Rand & Co., No. 3 Cornhill.
V- 2.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
VOL. n.
CHAPTER XIX.
Miss OPHELIA S EXPERIENCES AND OPINIONS, CONTINUED, . 5
CHAPTER XX.
Topsr, ........... 32
CHAPTER XXI.
KENTUCK, .......... 53
CHAPTER XXII.
"TnE GRASS WITHERETH THE FLOWER FADETH," ... 60
CHAPTER XXIII.
HENRIQUE, .......... 70
CHAPTER XXIV.
FORESHADOWINGS, ......... 80
CHAPTER XXV.
THE LITTLE EVANGELIST, ...... .89
CHAPTER XXVI.
DEATH, ........... 96
CHAPTER XXVII.
"Tms is THE LAST OF EARTH," ...... 114
CHAPTER XXVIII.
RE-UNION, ..... ..... 124
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE UNPROTECTED, ...... . 144
CHAPTER XXX.
THE SLAYE WAREHOUSE, ....... 154
IV CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE MIDDLE PASSAGE, : . 108
CHAPTER XXXII.
DARK PLACES, 176
CHAPTER XXXIII.
CASSY, 188
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE QUADROON S STORY, 198
CHAPTER XXXV.
THE TOKENS, 213
CHAPTER XXXVI.
EMMELDJE AND CASSY, 222
CHAPTER XXXVII.
LIBERTY, 231
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE VICTORY, 240
CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE "STRATAGEM, 254
CHAPTER XL.
THE MARTYR, 267
CHAPTER XLI.
THE YOUNG MASTER, 276
CHAPTER XLII.
AJST AUTHENTIC GHOST STORY, 285
CHAPTER XLIII.
RESULTS, % 294
CHAPTER XLIV.
TaE LIBERATOR, . , 305
CHAPTER XLV.
CONCLUDING REMARKS, 310
UNCLE TOM S CABIN-
OB,
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY
CHAPTER XIX.
MISS OIIPELIA S EXPERIENCES AND OPINIONS, CONTINUED.
"Ton, you needn t get me the horses. I don t want to
go," she said.
"Why not, Miss Eva?"
" These things sink into my heart, Tom," said Eva,
"they sink into my heart," she repeated, earnestly. * I
don t want to go ; " and she turned from Tom, and went into
the house.
A few days after, another woman came, in old Prue s
place, to hring the rusks ; Miss Ophelia was in the kitchen.
" Lor ! " said Dinah, " what s got Prue?"
11 Prue is n t coming any more," said the woman, mysteri
ously.
" Why not ? " said Dinah. "She an t dead, is she ? "
"We doesn t exactly know. She s down cellar," said
the woman, glancing at Miss Ophelia.
After Miss Ophelia had taken the rusks, Dinah followed
the woman to the door.
11 What has got Prue, any how ? " she said.
VOL. IT. 1*
UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
The woman seemed desirous, yet reluctant, to speak, and
answered, in a low, mysterious tone.
"Well, you mustn t tell nobody. Prue, she got drunk
agin, and they had her down cellar, and thar they left
her all day, and I hearn em saying that the flies had got
to her, and she s dead ! "
Dinah held up her hands, and, turning, saw close by her
side the spirit-like form of Evangeline, her large, mystic
eyes dilated with horror, and every drop of blood driven from
her lips and cheeks.
"Lor bless us! Miss Eva s gwine to faint away!
What got us all, to let her har such talk ? Her pa 11 be
rail mad." t y
" I shan t faint, Dinah," said the child, firmly ; "and why
should n t I hear it ? It an t so much for me to hear it, as
for poor Prue to suffer it."
" Lor sakes ! it is n t for sweet, delicate young ladies, like
you, these yer stories is n t; it s enough to kill em ! "
Eva sighed again, and walked up stairs with a slow and
melancholy step.
Miss Ophelia anxiously inquired the woman s story.
Dinah gave a very garrulous version of it, to which Tom
added the particulars which he had drawn from her that
"An abominable business, perfectly horrible!" she ex
claimed, as she entered the room where St. Clare lay reading
his paper.
" Pray, what iniquity has turned up now? " said he.
"What now? why, those folks have whipped Prue to
tleath! " said Miss Ophelia, going on, with great strength of
detail, into the story, and enlarging on its most shocking
particulars.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY.
" I thought it would come to that, some time," said St.
Clare, going on with his paper.
" Thought so ! an t you going to do anything about it? "
said Miss Ophelia. "Haven t you got any selectmen , or
anybody, to interfere and look after such matters? "
" It s commonly supposed that the property interest is a
sufficient guard in these cases. If people choose to ruin their
own possessions, I don t know what s to be done. It seems
the poor creature was a thief and a drunkard ; and so there
won t be much hope to get up sympathy for her."
"It is perfectly outrageous, it is horrid, Augustine ! It
will certainly bring down vengeance upon you."
"My dear cousin, I didn t do it, and I can t help it; I
would, if I could. If low-minded, brutal people will act like
themselves, what am I to do ? They have absolute control ;
they are irresponsible despots. There would be no use in
interfering ; there is no law that amounts to anything prac
tically, for such a case. The best we can do is to shut our
eyes and ears, and let it alone. It s the only resource left
us."
" How can you shut your eyes and ears ? How can you
let such things alone? "
"My dear child, what do you expect? Here is a whole
class, debased, uneducated, indolent, provoking, put, with
out any sort of terms or conditions, entirely into the hands of
such people as the majority in our world are ; people who
have neither consideration nor self-control, who have n t even
an enlightened regard to their own interest, for that s the
case with the largest half of mankind. Of course, in a com-
munity so organized, what can a man of honorable and
^^
his .heartl I can t buy every poor wretch I see. I
8 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
can t turn knight-errant, and undertake to redress every
individual case of wrong in such a city as this. The most I
can do is to try and keep out of the way of it."
St. Clare s fine countenance was for a momont overcast ;
he looked annoyed, but suddenly calling up a gay smile, he
said,
" Come, cousin, don t stand there looking like one of the
Fates ; you ve only seen a peep through the curtain, a
specimen of what is going on, the world over, in some shape
or other. If we are to be prying and spying into all the
dismals of life, we should have no heart to anything. T is
like looking too close into the details of Dinah s kitchen ; "
and St. Clare lay back on the sofa, and busied himself with
his paper.
Miss Ophelia sat down, and pulled out her knitting-work,
and sat there grim with indignation. She knit and knit, but
while she mused the fire burned ; at last she broke out
"I tell you, Augustine, I can t get over things so, if you
can. It 7 s a perfect abomination for you to defend such a
system, that s my mind ! "
" What now ? " said St. Clare, looking up. " At it again,
hey?"
"I say it s perfectly abominable for you to defend such a
system!" said Miss Ophelia, with increasing warmth.
"/ defend it, my dear lady? Who ever said I did defend
it?" said St, Clare.
" Of course, you defend it, you all do, all you South
erners. What do you have slaves for, if you don t? "
" Are you such a sweet innocent as to suppose nobody in
this world ever does what they don t think is right? "Don t
you, or did n t you ever, do anything that you did not think
quite right?"
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 9
" If I do, I repent of it, I hope," said Miss Ophelia, rat
tling her needles with energy.
"So do I," said St. Clare, peeling his orange; " I m
repenting of it all the time."
" What do you keep on doing it for ? "
"Didn t you ever keep on doing wrong, after you d
repented, my good cousin?"
"Well, only when I ve been very much tempted," said
Miss Ophelia.
"Well, I m very much tempted," said St. Clare; "that s
just my difficulty."
" But I always resolve I won t, and I try to break off."
"Well, I have been resolving I won t, off and on, these
ten years," said St. Clare; "but I haven t, some how, got
clear. Have you got clear of all your sins, cousin ? "
" Cousin Augustine," said Miss Ophelia, seriously, and
laying down her knitting- work, " I suppose I deserve that
you should reprove my short-comings. I know all you
say is true enough; nobody else feels them more than I
do ; but it does seem to me, after all, there is some differ
ence between me and you. It seems to me I would cut off
my right hand sooner than keep on, from day to day, doing
what I thought was wrong. But, then, my conduct is so
inconsistent with my profession, I don t wonder you reprove
me."
" 0, now, cousin," said Augustine, sitting down on the
floor, and laying his head back in her lap, " don t take on so
awfully serious ! You know what a good-for-nothing, saucy
boy I always was. I love to poke you up, that s all,
just to see you get earnest. I do think you are desperately,
distressingly good ; it tires me to death to think of it."
10 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OE,
u
"But this is a serious subject, my boy, Auguste," said
Miss Ophelia, laying her hand on his forehead.
" Dismally so," said he ; " and I well, I never want
to talk seriously in hot weather. What with mosquitos and
all, a fellow can t get himself up to any very sublime moral
flights ; and I believe," said St. Clare, suddenly rousing him
self up, " there s a theory, now! I understand now why
northern nations are always more virtuous than southern
ones, I see into that whole subject."
" 0, Auguste, you are a sad rattle-brain ! "
" Am 1 1 Well, so I am, I suppose ; but for once I will
be serious, now; but you must hand me that basket of
oranges ; you see, you 11 have to stay me with flagons
and comfort me with apples, if I m going to make this
effort. Now," said Augustine, drawing the basket up, "I 11
begin : When, in the course of human events, it becomes
necessary for a fellow to hold two or three dozen of his fellow-
worms in captivity, a decent regard to the opinions of society
requires "
"I don t see that you are growing more serious," said
Miss Ophelia.
" Wait, I m coming on, you ll hear. The short of
the matter is, cousin," said he, his handsome face suddenly
settling into an earnest and serious expression, "on this
abstract question of slavery there can, as I think, be but one
opinion. Planters, who have money to make by it, clergy
men, who have planters to please, politicians, who want to
rule by it, may warp and bend language and ethics to a
degree that shall astonish the world at their ingenuity ; they
can press nature and the Bible, and nobody knows what else,
into the service ; but, after all, neither they nor the world
believe in it one particle the more. It comes from the devil,
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 11
that s the short of it ; and, to my mind, it s a pretty
respectable specimen of what he can do in his own line."
Miss Ophelia stopped her knitting, and looked surprised ;
and St. Clare, apparently enjoying her astonishment, went
on.
" You seem to wonder ; but if you will get me fairly at it,
I 11 make a clean breast of it. This cursed business, accursed
of God and man, what is it ? Strip ft of all its ornament,
run it down to the root and nucleus of the whole, and what is
it ? Why, because my brother Quashy is ignorant and weak,
and I am intelligent and strong, because I know how, and
can do it, therefore, I may steal all he has, keep it, and give
him only such and so much as suits my fancy. Whatever is
too hard, too dirty, too disagreeable, for me, I may set Quashy
to doing. Because I don t like work, Quashy shall work.
Because the sun burns me, Quashy shall stay in the sun.
Quashy shall earn the money, and I will spend it. Quashy
shall lie down in every puddle, that I may walk over dry-
shod. Quashy shall do my will, and not his, all the days of
his mortal life, and have such chance of getting to heaven, at
last, as I find convenient. This I take to be about what
slavery is. I defy anybody on earth to read our slave-code,
as it stands in our law-books, and make anything else of it.
Talk of the abuses of slavery! Humbug! The thing
itself is the essence of all abuse ! And the only reason why
the land don t sink under it, like Sodom and Gomorrah, is
because it is used in a way infinitely better than it is. For
pity s sake, for shame s sake, because we are men born of
women, and not savage beasts, many of us do not, and dare
not, we would scorn to use the full power which our savage
laws put into our hands. And he who goes the furthest, and
docs the ..worst, .only uses within limits the power that the
law gives him."
12 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
St. Clare had started up, and, as his manner was when
excited, was walking, with hurried steps, up and down the
floor. His fine face, classic as that of a Greek statue,
seemed actually to burn with the fervor of his feelings. His
large blue eyes flashed, and he gestured with an unconscious
eagerness. Miss Ophelia had never seen him in this mood
before, and she sat perfectly silent.
" I declare to you," said he, suddenly stopping before his
cousin "(it s no sort of use to talk or to feel on this sub
ject), but I declare to you, there have been times when I
have thought, if the whole country would sink, and hide all
this injustice and misery from the light, I would willingly
sink with it. When I have been travelling up and down on
our boats, or about on my collecting tours, and reflected that
every brutal, disgusting, mean, low-lived fellow I met, was
allowed by our laws to become absolute despot of as many
men, women and children, as he could cheat, steal, or gamble
money enough to buy, when I have seen such men in
j actual ownership of helpless children, of young girls and
I women, I have been ready to curse my country, to curse
| the human race ! "
"Augustine ! Augustine ! " said Miss Ophelia, " I J m sure
you ve said enough. I never, in my life, heard anything like
this, even at the North."
" At the North ! " said St. Clare, with a sudden change of
expression, and resuming something of his habitual careless
tone. " Pooh ! your northern folks are cold-blooded ; you
are cool in everything ! You can t begin to curse up hill
and down as we can, when we get fairly at it."
" Well, but the question is," said Miss Ophelia.
" 0, yes, to be sure, the question is, and a deuce of a
question it is ! How came you in this state of sin and
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 13
misery? Well, I shall answer in the good old words you
used to teach me, Sundays. I came so by ordinary genera
tion. My servants were my father s, and, what is more, my
mother s ; and now they are mine, they and their increase,
which bids fair to be a pretty considerable item. My father,
you know, came first from New England ; and he was just
such another man as your father. a regular old Roman,
upright, energetic, noble-minded, with an iron will. Your
father settled down in New England, to rule over rocks and
stones, and to force tin existence out of Nature ; and mine
settled in Louisiana, to rule over men and women, and force
existence out of them. My mother," said St. Clare, getting
up and walking to a picture at the end of the room, and
gazing upward with a face fervent with veneration, "she was
divine ! Don t look at me so ! you know what I mean !
She probably was of mortal birth ; but, as far as ever I could
observe, there was no trace of any human weakness or error
about her ; and everybody that lives to remember her,
whether bond or free, servant, acquaintance, relation, all say
the same. Why, cousin, that mother has been all that has
stood between me and utter unbelief for years. She was a
dinct embodiment and personification of the New Testament,
a living fact, to be accounted for, and to be accounted for
in no other way than by its truth. $, mother ! mother ! "
said St. Clare, clasping his hands, in a sort of transport ; and
then suddenly checking himself, he came back, and seating
himself on an ottoman, he went on :
" My brother and I were twins ; and they say, you know,
that twins ought to resemble each other ; but we were in all
points a contrast. He had black, fiery eyes, coal-black hair,
a strong, fine Roman profile, and a rich brown complexion.
I had blue eyes, golden hair, a Greek outline, and fair com-
VOL. II. 2
14 UNCLE TOM ; S CABIN; OR,
plexion. He was active and observing, I dreamy and inact
ive. He was generous to his friends and equals, but proud
dominant; overbearing, to inferiors, and utterly unmerciful t<
whatever set itself up against him. Truthful we both were
he from pride and courage, I from a sort of abstract ideality
We loved each other about as boys generally do, off and on
and in general; he was my father s pet, and I my mother s
" There was a morbid sensitiveness and acuteness of feeling
in me on all possible subjects, of which he and my fathe:
had no kind of undei standing, and with which they coulc
have no possible sympa ;hy. But mother did ; and so. whei
I had quarrelled with Alfred, and father looked sternb
on me, I used to go oiF to mother s room, and sit by her
I remember just how st e used to look, with her pale cheeks
her deep, soft, serious eyes, her white dress, she alwayi
wore white ; and I used to think of her whenever I reac
in Revelations about the saints that were arrayed in fin<
linen, clean and white. She had a great deal of genius of
one sort and another, particularly in music ; and she used t<
sit at her organ, playing fine old majestic music of th<
Catholic church, and singing with a voice more like an ange
than a mortal woman ; and I would lay my head down 01
her lap, and cry, and dream, and feel, oh, immeasurably
things that I had no language to say !
"In those days, this matter of slavery had never beer
canvassed as it has now ; nobody dreamed of any harm in it,
" My father was a bora aristocrat. I think, in some pre-
existent state, he must have been in the higher circles of
spirits, and brought all his old court pride along with him ;
for it was ingrain, bred in the bone, though he was originally
of poor and not in any way of noble family. My brother
was begotten in his image.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 15
"Now, an aristocrat, you know, tlm wnr"M OYfi ^ has no
human sympathies, bayo^d n- ^rtnin li np i>n p^iety.. In Eno--
land the line is in one place, in Burmah in another, and in
America in another ; but the aristocrat of all these countries
never goes over it. What would be hardship and distress and
injustice in his own class, is a cool matter of course in
another one. My father s dividing line was that of color.
Among his equals, never was a man more just and generous ;
but he considered the negro, through all possible gradations
of color, as an intermediate link between man and animals,
and graded all his ideas of justice or generosity on this
hypothesis. I suppose, to be sure, if anybody had asked
him, plump and fair, whether they had human immortal souls,
he might have hemmed and hawed, and said yes. But my
father was not a man much troubled with spiritualism ; ^
religious sentiment he had none, beyond a veneration for God, j
as decidedly the head of the upper classes.
"Well, my father worked some five hundred negroes; ho
was an inflexible, driving, punctilious business man; every
thing was to move by system, to be sustained with unfailing
accuracy and precision. Now, if you take into account that
all this was to be worked out by a set of lazy, twaddling,
shiftless laborers, who had grown up, all their lives, in the
absence of every possible motive to learn how to do anything
but shirk, as you Yermonters say, and you ll see that there
might naturally be, on his plantation, a great many things
that looked horrible and distressing to a sensitive child, like
me.
"Besides all, he had an overseer, a great, tall, slab
sided, two-fisted renegade son of Vermont (begging your
pardon), who had gone through a regular apprenticeship in
hardness and brutality, and taken his degree to be admitted
16 UNCLE TOM S CABIN; OR,
to practice. My mother never could endure him, nor I :. but
he obtained an entire ascendency over my father ; and tins
man was the absolute despot of the estate.
"I was a little fellow then, but I had the same love that
I have now for all kinds of human things, a kind of passion
for the study of humanity, come in what shape it would. I
was found in the cabins and among the field-hands a great
deal, and, of course, was a great favorite ; and all sorts of
complaints and grievances were breathed in my ear ; and I
told them to mother, and we, between us, formed a sort of
committee for a redress of grievances. We hindered and
repressed a great deal of cruelty, and congratulated ourselves
on doing a vast deal of good, till, as often happens, my zeal
overacted. Stubbs complained to my father that he could n t
manage the hands, and must resign his position. Father was
a fond, indulgent husband, but a man that never flinched
from anything that he thought necessary; and so he put
down his foot, like a rock, between us and the field-hands.
He told my mother, in language perfectly respectful and
deferential, but quite explicit, that over the house-servants
she should be entire mistress, but that with the field-hands
he could allow no interference. He revered and respected
her above all living beings ; but he would have said it all the
same to the virgin Mary herself, if she had come in the way
of his system.
"I used sometimes to hear my mother reasoning cases
with him, endeavoring to excite his sympathies. He would
listen to the most pathetic appeals with the most discouraging
politeness and equanimity. It all resolves itself into this,
he would say ; must I part with Stubbs 3 or keep him ?
Stubbs is the soul of punctuality, honesty, and efficiency,
a thorough business hand, and as humane as the general run.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 17
We can t have perfection; and if I keep him, I must sustain
his administration as a whole^ even if there are, now and then,
things that are exceptionable. All
necessary hardness. General rules will bear hard on
particular cases. This last maxim my father seemed_io_
consider a s^ttlerjiTmost alleged cases of cruelty. After he
had said that, he commonly drew up his feet on the sofa, like
a man that has disposed of a business, and betook himself to
a nap, or the newspaper, as the case might be.
u The fact is, my father showed the exact sort of talent
for a statesman. He could have divided Poland as easily as
an orange, or trod on Ireland as quietly and systematically
as any man living. At last rny mother gave up, in despair.
It never will be known, till the last account, what noble and
sensitive natures like hers have felt, cast, utterly helpless,
into what seems to them an abyss of injustice and cruelty,
and which seems so to nobody about them. It has been an
age of long sorrow of such natures, in such a hell-begotten
sort. of world as ours. What remained for her, but to train
her children in her own views and sentiments ? Well, after all
you say about training, children will grow up substantially
what they are by nature, and only that. From the cradle,
Alfred was an aristocrat ; and as he grew up, instinctively,
all his sympathies and all his reasonings were in that line,
and all mother s exhortations went to the winds. As to me,
they sunk deep into me. She never contradicted, in form,
anything that my father said, or seemed directly to differ from
him; but she impressed, burnt into my very soul, with all
the force of her deep, earnest nature, an idea of the dignity
and worth of the meanest human soul. I have looked in
her face with solemn awe, when she would point up to the
stars in the evening, and say to me, c See there, Auguste !
VOL. II, 2*
18 UNCLE TOM S CABIN; OR,
the poorest, meanest soul on our place will be living, when
all these stars are gone forever, will live as long as God
lives! 7
" She had some fine old paintings ; one, in particular, of
Jesus healing a blind man. They were very fine, and used
to impress me strongly. See there, Auguste, she would
say; the blind man was a beggar, poor and loathsome ; there
fore, he would not heal him afar off I He called him to
him, and put his hands on him I Remember this, my boy.
If I had lived to grow up under her care, she might have
stimulated me to I know not what of enthusiasm. I might
have been a saint, reformer, martyr, but, alas ! alas ! I
went from her when I was only thirteen, and I never saw
her again ! "
St. Clare rested his head on his hands, and did not speak
for some minutes. After a while, he looked up, and went on ;
"What poor, mean trash this whole business of human
virtue is ! A mere matter, for the most part, of latitude and
longitude, and geographical position, acting with natural
temperament. The greater part is nothing but an accident !
Your father, for example, settles in Vermont, in a town
where all are, in fact, free and equal; becomes a regular
church member and deacon, and in due time joins an Aboli
tion society, and thinks us all little better than heathens.
Yet he is, for all the world, in constitution and habit, a-
duplicate of my father. I can see it leaking out in fifty
different ways, just that same strong, overbearing, dominant
spirit. You know very well how impossible it is to persuade
some of the folks in your village that Squire Sinclair does
not feel above them. The fact is, though he has fallen on
democratic times, and embraced a democratic theory, he is tc
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 19
the heart an aristocrat, as much as my father, who ruled
over five or six hundred slaves."
Miss Ophelia felt rather disposed to cavil at this picture,
and was laying down her knitting to begin, but St. Clare
stopped her.
" Now, I know every word you are going to say. I do
not say they were alike, in fact. One fell into a condition
where everything acted against the natural tendency, and the
other where everything acted for it ; and so one turned out
a pretty wilful, stout, overbearing old democrat, and the
other a wilful, stout old despot. If both had owned plant
ations in Louisiana, they would have been as like as two old
.oullets cast in the same mould."
u What an undutiful boy you are ! " said Miss Ophelia.
"I don t mean them any disrespect," said St. Clare.
" You know reverence is not my forte. But, to go back to
my history :
" When father died, he left the whole property to us twin
boys, to be divided as we should agree. There does not
breathe on God s earth a nobler-souled, more generous fellow,
than Alfred, in all that concerns his equals ; and we got on
admirably with this property question, without a single
unbrotherly word or feeling. We undertook to work the
plantation together; and Alfred, whose outward life and
capabilities had double the strength of mine, became an
enthusiastic planter, and a wonderfully successful one.
" But two years trial satisfied me that I could not be a
partner in that matter. To have a great gang of seven
hundred, whom I could not know personally, or feel any
individual interest in, bought and driven, housed, fed, worked
like so many horned cattle, strained up to military precision,
the question of how little of life s commonest enjoyments
20 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
would keep them in working order being a constantly recur
ring problem, the necessity of drivers and overseers, the
ever-necessary whip, first, last, and only argument, the
whole thing was insufferably disgusting and loathsome to me ;
and when I thought of my mother s estimate of one poor
human soul, it became even frightful !
" It s all nonsense to talk to me about slaves enjoying all
this ! To this day, I have no patience with the unutterable
trash that some of your patrornzin^Northeriiers have made
up, as in their zeal to apologize for our sins. We all know
better. Tell me that any man living wants to work all his
days, from day-dawn till dark, under the constant eye of a
master, without the power of putting forth one irresponsible
volition, on the same dreary, monotonous, unchanging toil,
and all for two pairs of pantaloons and a pair of shoes a year,
with enough food and shelter to keep him in working order !
Any man who thinks that human beings can, as a general
thing, be made about as comfortable that way as any other, I
wish he might try it. I d buy the dog, and work him, with a
clear conscience ! "
"I always have supposed," said Miss Ophelia, "that you,
all of you, approved of these things, and thought them right^
according to Scripture."
" Humbug ! We are not quite reduced to that yet,
Alfred, who is as determined a despot as ever walked, does
not pretend to this kind of defence; no, he stands, high and
haughty, on that good old respectable ground, the right of
the strongest ; and he says, and I think quite sensibly, that
the American planter is only doing, in another form, what
the English aristocracy and capitalists are doing by the lower
classes ; that is, I take it, appropriating them, body and
bone, soul and spirit, to their use and convenience. He
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 21
defends both, and I think, at least, consistently. He says
that there can be no high civilization without enslavement of
the masses, either nominal or real. There must, he says, be
a lower class, given up to physical toil and confined to an
animal nature; and a higher one thereby acquires leisure and
wealth for a more expanded intelligence and improvement, and
becomes the directing soul of the lower. So he reasons,
because, as I said, he is born an aristocrat; so I don t
believe, because I was born a democrat."
" How in the world can the two things be compared?"
said Miss Ophelia. " The English laborer is not sold, traded,
parted from his family, whipped."
"He is as much at the will of his employer as if he were
sold to him. The slave-owner can whip his refractory slave
to death, the capitalist can starve him to death. As to
family security, it is hard to say which is the worst, to
have one s children sold, or see them starve to death at
home."
" But it s no kind of apology for slavery, to prove that it
isn t worse than some other bad thing."
"I didn t give it for one, nay, I ll say, besides, that
ours is the more bold and palpable infringement of human
rights ; actually buying a man up, like a horse, looking at
his teeth, cracking his joints, and trying his paces, and then
paying down for him, having speculators, breeders, traders,
and brokers in human bodies and souls, sets the thing before
the eyes of the civilized world in a more tangible form,
though the thing done be, after all, in its nature, the same ;
that is, appropriating one set of human beings to the use and
improvement of another, without any regard to their own."
" I never thought of the matter in this light," said Misa
Ophelia.
22 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
" Well, I ve travelled in England some, and I ve looked
over a good many documents as to the state of their lower
classes ; and I really think there is no denying Alfred, when
he says that his slaves are better off than a large class of the
population of England. You see, you must not infer, from
what I have told you,, that Alfred is what is called a hard
master ; for he is n t. He is despotic, and unmerciful to
insubordination ; he would shoot a fellow down with as little
remorse as he would shoot a buck, if he opposed him. But,
in general, he takes a sort of pride in having his slaves
comfortably fed and accommodated.
" When I was with him, I insisted that he should do
something for their instruction ; and, to please me, he did get
a chaplain, and used to have them catechized Sunday, though,
I believe, in his heart, that he thought it would do about as
much good to set a chaplain over his dogs and horses. And the
fact is, that a mind stupefied and animalized by every bad
influence from the hour of birth, spending the whole of every
week-day in unreflecting toil, cannot be done much with by a
few hours on Sunday. The teachers of Sunday-schools
among the manufacturing population of England, and among
plantation-hands in our country, could perhaps testify to the
same result, there and here. Yet some striking exceptions
there are among us, from the fact that the negro is naturally
more impressible to religious sentiment than the white."
"Well," said Miss Ophelia, "how came you to give up
your plantation life ? "
"Well, we jogged on together some time, till Alfred saw
plainly that I was no planter. He thought it absurd, after
he had reformed, and altered, and improved everywhere, to
suit my notions, that I still remained unsatisfied. The fact
was, it was, after all, the THING that I hated, the using
LIFE AMONG TILE LOWLY. 23
these men and women, the perpetuation of all this ignorance,
brutality and vice, just to make money for me !
Besides, I was always interfering in the details. Being
myself one of the laziest of mortals, I had altogether too
much fellow-feeling for the lazy ; and when poor, shiftless
dogs put stones at the bottom of their cotton-baskets to make
them weigh heavier, or filled their sacks with dirt, with cot
ton at the top, it seemed so exactly like what I should do if I
were they, I could n t and would n t have them flogged for it.
Well, of course, there was an end of plantation discipline ; and
Alf and I came to about the same point that I and my
respected father did, years before. So he told me that I was
a womanish sentimentalist, and would never do for business
life and advised me to take the bank-stock and the New
Orleans family mansion, and go to writing poetry, and let
him manage the plantation. So we parted, and I came
here."
" But why did n t you free your slaves ? "
"Well, I wasn t up to that. To hold them as tools for
money-making, I could not; have them to help spend
money, you know, did n t look quite so ugly to me. Some
of them were old house-servants, to whom I was much
attached; and the younger ones were children to the old.
All were well satisfied to be as they were." He paused, and
walked reflectively up and down the room.
"There was,," gaid^ St. Clare, ^^ajdme^ in my life when I
had plans and hopes of doinp; something in this world, more
than to float and drift. , !_ had., vague, indistinct yearnings to
be a sort of ejTm.nc,ipator t to free nay_native land Jiom this
spot and stain. All young men havghadjmch fever^fits, I_
suppose, some time, but then
24 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
"Why didn t you? . said Miss Ophelia; "you ought
not to put your hand to the plough, and look back."
" , well, things didn t go with me as I expected, anclj^
got the despair of _ living that Solomon did. I suppose it was
a necessary incident to wisdom in us both ; but, some how or
nfopy, infitad__pf being actor and regeneratoj^n jspciety, I
Jbecame a piecejrfdrift-wood, and have been floating and
Alfred scolds~me, every time we
meet; and he has the better of me, I grant, for he really
does something ; his life is a logical result of his opinions,
and mine is a contemptible non seqititur"
" My dear cousin, can you be satisfied with such a way o
spending your probation ? "
"Satisfied! Was I not just telling you I despised it?
But, then, to come back to this point, we were on this libera
tion business. I don t think my feelings about slavery are
peculiar. I find many men who, in their hearts, think of it
just as I do. The land groans under it ; and, bad as it is for
the slave, it is worse, if anything, for the master. Jt takes
no spectacles tosee that a greatclass of vicious, improvident,
degradedjpeople, among us, are an evil to us, as well as to
themselves. GDhe capitalist and aristocrat of England cannot
feel that as we do, because they do not mingle with the class
they degrade as we do. They are in our houses ; they are
the associates of our children, and they form their minds
faster than we can ; for they are a race that children always
will cling to and assimilate with. If Eva, now, was not
more angel than ordinary, she would be ruined. We might
as well allow the small-pox to run among them, and think
our children would not take it, as to let them be uninstructed
and vicious, and think our children will not be affected by
that. Yet ourjaws-positi vely_Jjjj_J^ijy forbid any efficient
LIFE AMONU THE LOWLY. 25
JQst_begin and thoroughly educatg__gge Jggieration^ andthe
whole thing wouldjff blowr ?Vy high Tfwft
them liberty, they would . jtakejt.^
"5jHtlvh1jr~c[o you think -will be the end of this?" said
Miss Ophelia.
"I don t know. One thing is certain, that there is a
mustering among the masses, the world over ; and there is a
dies ircB coming on, sooner or later. The same thing is
working in Europe, in England, and in this country, MV
rpotW nsftfl to fpTJ me pf ft iriiTJArmiiim. t1lfl.fi Wflii
Christ should reign, and all men, should b
And she taught me, when I was a boy, to pray, Thy kingdom
come. Sometimes I think all this sighing, and groaning,
and stirring among the dry bones foretells what she used to
tell me was coming. But who may abide the day of His
appearing?"
"Augustine, sometimes I think you are not far from the
kingdom," said Miss Ophelia, laying down her knitting, and
looking anxiously at her cousin.
" Thank you for your good opinion ; but it s up and down
with me, up to heaven s gate in theory, down in earth s
dust in practice. But there s the tea-bell, do let s go,
and don t say, now, I have n t had one downright serious talk,
for once in my life."
At table, Marie alluded to the incident of Prue. "I
suppose you ll think, cousin," she said, "that we are all
barbarians."
" I think that s a barbarous thing," said Miss Ophelia,
" but I don t think you are all barbarians. "_
" Well, now," said Marie, " I know it s impossible to get
along with some of these creatures. They are so bad they
voj,. n. 3
26 UNCLE TOM S CABIN; OR,
ought not to live. I don t feel a particle of sympathy for
such cases. If they d only behave themselves, it would not
happen."
"But, mamma," said Eva, " the poor creature was un-
nappy ; that s what made her drink."
" 0, fiddlestick ! as if that were any excuse ! I m
unhappy, very often. I presume," she said, pensively, "that
I ve had greater trials than ever she had. It s just because
they are so bad. There s some of them that you cannot
break in by any kind of severity. I remember father had a
man that was so lazy he would run away just to get rid of
work, and lie round in the swamps, stealing and doing all
sorts of horrid things. That man was caught and whipped, time
and again, and it never did him any good ; and the last time
he crawled off, though he couldn t but just go, and died in
the swamp. There was no sort of reason for it, for father s
hands were always treated kindly."
"I broke a fellow in, once," said St. Clare, "that all the
overseers and masters had tried their hands on in vain."
"You!" said Marie; "well, I d be glad to know when
you ever did anything of the sort."
"Well, he was a powerful, gigantic fellow, a native-born
African ; and he appeared to have the rude instinct of freedom
in him to an uncommon degree. He was a regular African
lion. They called him Scipio. Nobody could do anything
with him ; and he was sold round from overseer to overseer,
till at last Alfred bought him, because he thought he could
manage him. Well, one day he knocked down the overseer,
and was fairly off into the swamps. I was on a visit to Alfa
plantation, for it was after we had dissolved partnership.
Alfred was greatly exasperated ; but I told him that it was
his own fault, and laid him any wager that I could break the
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 27
man ; and finally it was agreed that, if I caught him, I should
have him to experiment on. So they mustered out a party
of some six or seven, with guns and dogs, for the hunt.
People, you know, can get up just as much enthusiasm in
hunting a man as a deer, if it is only customary ; in fact, I
got a little excited myself, though I had only put in as a
sort of mediator, in case he was caught.
i Well, the dogs bayed and howled, and we rode and
scampered, and finally we started him. He ran and bounded
like a buck, and kept us well in the rear for some time ; but
at last he got caught in an impenetrable thicket of cane ; then
he turned to bay, and I tell you he fought the dogs right gal
lantly. He dashed them to right and left, and actually killed
three of them with only his naked fists, when a shot from a
gun brought him down, and he fell, wounded and bleeding,
almost at my feet. The poor fellow looked up at me with
manhood and despair both in his eye. I kept back the clogs
and the party, as they came pressing up, and claimed him as
my prisoner. It was all I could do to keep them from shoot
ing him, in the flush of success ; but I persisted in my bar
gain, and Alfred sold him to me. Well, I took him in hand,
and in one fortnight I had him tamed down as submissive
and tractable as heart could desire."
" What in the world did you do to him ? " said Marie.
" Well, it was quite <a simple process. I took him to my
own room, had a good bed made for him, dressed his wounds,
and tended him myself, until he got fairly on his feet again.
And, in process of time, I had free papers made out for him,
and told him he might go where he liked."
11 And did he go ?" said Miss Opheli a.
" No. The foolish fellow tore the paper in two, and abso
lutely refused to leave me. I never had a braver, better
28 UNCLE TOM S CABIN; OR,
fellow, trusty and true as steel. He embraced Christianity
afterwards, and became as gentle as a child. He used to
oversee my place on the lake, and did it capitally, too. I
lost him the first cholera season. In fact, he laid down his life
for me. For I was sick, almost to death ; and when, through
the panic, everybody else fled, Scipio worked for me like a
giant and actually brought me back into life again. But,
poor fellow ! he was taken, right after, and there was no
saving him. I never felt anybody s loss more."
Eva had come gradually nearer and nearer to her father,
as he told the story, her small lips apart, her eyes wide and
earnest with absorbing interest.
As he finished, she suddenly threw her arms around his
neck, burst into tears, and sobbed convulsively.
"Eva, dear child! what is the matter?" said St. Clare,
as the child s small frame trembled and shook with the
violence of her feelings. "This child," he added, "ought
not to hear any of this kind of thing, she s nervous."
"No, papa, I m not nervous," said Eva, controlling her
self, suddenly, with a strength of resolution singular in such
a child. "I m not nervous, but these things sink into my
heart. 1 1
" What do you mean, Eva ? "
" I can t tell you, papa. I think a great many thoughts.
Perhaps some day I shall tell you."
" Well, think away, dear, only don t cry and worry your
papa," said St. Clare. " Look here, see what a beautiful
poach I have got for you ! "
Eva took it, and smiled, though there was still a nervous
twitching about the corners of her mouth.
" Come, look at the gold-fish," said St. Clare, taking her
hand and stepping e>n to the verandah. A few moments, and
LIF1-] AMONG THE LOWLY. 29
merry laughs were heard through the silken curtains, as
Eva and St. Clare were pelting each other with roses, and
chasing each other among the alleys of the court.
There is danger that <? ir humble friend Tom be neglected
amid the adventures of the higher born ; but, if our readers
will accompany us up to a little loft over the stable, they
may, perhaps, learn a little of his affairs. It was a decent
room, containing a bed, a chair, and a small, rough stand,
where lay Tom s Bible and hymn-book ; and where he sits, at
present, with his slate before him, intent on something that
seems to cost him a great deal of anxious thought.
The fact was, that Tom s home-yearnings had become so
strong, that he had begged a sheet of writing-paper of Eva,
and, mustering up all his small stock of literary attainment
acquired by Mas r George s instructions, he conceived the
bold idea of writing a letter ; and he was busy now, on his
slate, getting out his first draft. Tom was in a good deal of
trouble, for the forms of some of the letters he had forgotten
entirely; and of what he did remember, he did not know
exactly which to use. And while he was working, and
breathing very hard, in his earnestness, Eva alighted, like a
bird, on the round of his chair behind him, and peeped over
his shoulder.
" , Uncle Tom! what funny things you -are making,
there ! "
" I m trying to write to my poor old woman, Miss Eva,
and my little chil en," said Tom, drawing the back of his
hand over his eyes ; " but, some how, I m feard I shan t make
it out."
" I wish I could help yo/i, Tom! I ve learnt to write
VOL. ii. 8*
30 UNCLE TOM S CABIN; OR,
. ;
some. Last year I could make all the letters, but I m afraid
I ve forgotten."
So Eva put her little golden head close to his, and the
two commenced a grave and anxious discussion, each one
equally earnest, and ahout equally ignorant ; and, with a
deal of consulting and advising over every word, the com
position began, as they both felt very sanguine, to look quite
like writing.
" Yes, Uncle Tom, it really begins to look beautiful," said
Eva, gazing delightedly on it. " How pleased your wife 11
be, and the poor little children ! , it s a shame you ever
had to go away from them ! I mean to ask papa to let you
go back, some time."
" Missis said that she would send down money for me, as
soon as they could get it together," said Tom. " I m spectin
she will. Young Mas r George, he said he d come for me ;
and he gave me this yer dollar as a sign ; " and Tom drew
from under his clothes the precious dollar.
" , he ll certainly come, then!" said Eva. "I m so
glad ! "
" And I wanted to send a letter, you know, to let em
know whar I was, and tell poor Chloe that I was well off,
cause she felt so drefful, poor soul ! "
" I say, Tom ! " said St. Clare s voice, corning in the door
at this moment.
Tom and Eva both started.
"What s here? J said St. Clare, coming up and looking
at the slate.
" $, it s Tom s letter. I m helping him to write it,"
said Eva; " is n t it nice ?"
"I wouldn t discourage either of you," said St. Clare,
" but I rather think, Tom, you d better get me to write
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 31
your letter for you. I 11 do it, when I come home from my
ride."
"It s very important he should write," said Eva, "be
cause his mistress is going to send down money to redeem
him, you know, papa ; he told me they told him so."
St. Clare thought, in his heart, that this was probably only
one of those things which good-natured owners say to their
servants, to alleviate their horror of being sold, without any
intention of fulfilling the expectation thus excited. But he
did not make any audible comment upon it, only ordered
Tom to get the horses out for a ride.
Tom s letter was written in due form for him that evening,
and safely lodged in the post-office.
Miss Ophelia still persevered in her labors in the house
keeping line. It was universally agreed, among all the house
hold, from Dinah down to the youngest urchin, that Miss
Ophelia was decidedly u curis," a term by which a southern
servant implies that his or her betters don t exactly suit
them.
The higher circle in the family to wit, Adolph, Jane
I and Rosa agreed that she was no lady ; ladies never kept
working about as she did ; that she had no air at all ; and
they were surprised that she should be any relation of the
St. Clares. Even Marie declared that it was absolutely
fatiguing to see Cousin Ophelia always so busy. And, in fact,
Miss Ophelia s industry was so incessant as to lay some
foundation for the complaint. She sewed and stitched away,
from daylight till dark, with the energy of one who is pressed
on by some immediate urgency; and then, when the light
faded, and the work was folded away, with one turn out came
the ever-ready knitting-work, and there she was again, going
on as briskly as ever. It really was a labor to see her.
32 UNCLE IOM S CABIN: on,
CHAPTER XX.
TOPSY.
ONE morning, while Miss Ophelia was busy in some of her
domestic cares, St. Clare s voice was heard, calling her at the
foot of the stairs.
" Come down here, Cousin; I ve something to show you."
"What is it?" said Miss Ophelia, coming down, with her .
sewing in her hand.
" I ve made a purchase for your department, see here,"
said St. Clare ; and, with the word, he pulled along a little
negro girl, about eight or nine years of age.
She was one of the blackest of her race ; and her round,
shining eyes, glittering as glass beads, moved with quick and
restless glances over everything in the room. Her mouth,
half open with astonishment at the wonders of the new Mas r s
parlor, displayed a white and brilliant set of teeth. Her
woolly hair was braided in sundry little tails, which stuck out
in every direction. The expression of her face was an odd
mixture of shrewdness and cunning, over which was oddly
drawn, like a kind of veil, an expression of the most doleful
gravity and solemnity. She was dressed in a single filthy,
ragged garment, made of bagging ; and stood with her hands
demurely folded before her. Altogether, there was some
thing odd and goblin-like about her appearance, something,
as Miss Ophelia afterwards said, "so heathenish," as to in
spire that good lady with utter dismay ; and, turning to St.
Clare, she said,
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 3
"Augustine, what in the world have you brought that
thing here for?"
" For you to educate, to be sure, and train in the way she
should go. I thought she was rather a funny specimen in
the Jim Crow line. Here, Topsy," he added, giving a
whistle, as a man would to call the attention of a dog, " give
us a song, now, and show us some of your dancing."
The black, glassy eyes glittered with a kind of wicked droll
ery, and the thing struck up, in a clear shrill voice, an odd
negro melody, to which she kept time with her hands and
feet, spinning round, clapping her hands, knocking her knees
together, in a wild, fantastic sort of time, and producing in
her throat all those odd guttural sounds which distinguish the
native music of her race ; and finally, turning a summerset or
two, and giving a prolonged closing note, as odd and un
earthly as that of a steam- whistle, she came suddenly down
on the carpet, and stood with her hands folded, and a most
sanctimonious expression of meekness and solemnity over her
face, only broken by the cunning glances which she shot
askance from the corners of her eyes.
Miss_0phelia_ stood silent, perfectly paralyzed with amaze
ment.
St. Clare, like a mischievous fellow as he was, appeared to
enjoy her astonishment ; and, addressing the child again, said,
Topsy, this is your new mistress. I m going to give
you up to her; see now that you behave yourself."
"Yes, Mas r," said Topsy, with sanctimonious gravity, her
wicked eyes twinkling as she spoke.
"You re going to be good, Topsy, you understand," said
St. Clare.
" yes, Mas r," said Topsy, with another twinkle, her
hands ptill devoutly folded.
UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OR,
" Now, Augustine, what upon earth is this for? " said Miss
Ophelia. " Your house is so full of these little plagues, now,
that a body can t set down their foot without treading on em.
I get up in the morning, and find one asleep behind the door,
and see one black head poking out from under the table, one
lying on the door-mat, and they are mopping and mowing
and grinning between all the railings, and tumbling over the
kitchen floor ! What on earth did you want to bring this one
for?"
1 For you to educate did n t I tell you ? You re always
preaching about educating. I thought I would make you a
present of a fresh-caught specimen, and let you try your
hand on her, and bring her up in the way she should go."
f\F i" / don t want her, I am sure ; I have more to do with
em now than I want to."
"That s you Christians, all over! you ll get up a soci
ety, and get some poor missionary to spend all his days among
just such heathen. But let me see one of you that would
take one into your house with you, and take the labor of
their conversion on yourselves ! No ; when it conies to that,
they are dirty and disagreeable, and it s too much care, and
so on."
"Augustine, you know I didn t think of it in that light,"
said Miss Ophelia, evidently softening. "Well, it might be
a real missionary work," said she, looking rather more favor
ably on the child.
St. Clare had touched the right string. Miss Ophelia s
conscientiousness was ever on the alert. "But," she added,
" I really didn t see the need of buying this one ; there are
enough now,- in your house, to take all my time and skill."
"Well, then, Cousin," said St. Clare, drawing her aside,
" I ought to beg your pardon for my good-for-nothing
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 35
speeches. You are so good, after all, that there s no sense
in them. Why, the fact is, this concern belonged to a couple
of drunken creatures that keep a low restaurant that I have
to pass by every day, and I was tired of hearing her scream
ing, and them beating and swearing at her. She looked
bright and funny, too, as if something might be made of her ;
so I bought her, and I 11 give her to you. Try, now, and
give her a good orthodox New England bringing up, and see
what it ll make of her. You know I haven t any gift that
way; but I d like you to try."
" WelLjL 11 do what I can," said Miss Ophelia; and she
approached her new subject very much as a person might be
supposed to approach a black spider, supposing them to have
benevolent designs toward it.
"She s dreadfully dirty, and half naked," she said.
" Well, take her down stairs, and make some of them clean
and clothe her up."
Miss Ophelia carried her to the kitchen regions.
"Don t see what Mas r St. Clare wants of nother nig
ger ! " said Dinah, surveying the new arrival with no friendly
air. " Won t have her round under my feet, / know ! "
"Pah!" said Rosa and Jane, with supreme disgust; "let
her keep out of our way ! What in the world Mas r
wanted another of these low niggers for, I can t see ! "
"You go long! No more nigger dan you be, Miss Rosa,"
said Dinah, who felt this* last remark a reflection on herself.
"You seem to tink yourself white folks. You an t nerry.
one, black nor white. I d like to be one or turrer."
Miss Ophelia saw that there was nobody in the camp that
would undertake to oversee the cleansing and dressing of the
new arrival ; and so she was forced to do it herself, with some
very ungracious and reluctant assistance from Jane.
86
It is not for ears polite to hear the particulars of the first
toilet of a neglected, abused child. In fact, in this world,
multitudes must live and die in a state that it would be too
great a shock to the nerves of their fellow-mortals even to
hear described. Miss Ophelia had a good, strong, practical
deal of resolution ; and she went through all the disgusting
details with heroic thoroughness, though, it must be confessed,
with no very gracious air, for endurance was the utmost to
which her principles could bring her. When she saw, on the
back and shoulders of the child, great welts and calloused
spots, ineffaceable marks of the system under which she had
grown up thus far, her heart became pitiful within her.
"See there!" said Jane, pointing to the marks, "don t
that show she s a limb? We ll have fine works with her,
I reckon. I hate these nigger young uns ! so disgusting ! I
wonder that Mas r would buy her ! "
The " young un" alluded to heard all these comments with
the subdued and doleful air which seemed habitual to her,
only scanning, with a keen and furtive glance of her flickering
eyes, the ornaments which Jane wore in her ears. When
arrayed at last in a suit of decent and whole clothing, her hair
cropped short to her head, Miss Ophelia, with some satisfac
tion, said she looked more Christian-like than she did, and in
7
her own mind began to mature some plans for her instruction.
Sitting down before her, she began to question her.
" How old are you, Topsy ? "
" Dun no, Missis," said the image, with a grin that showed
all her teeth.
"Don t know how old you are? Didn t anybody ever
tell you? Who was your mother? "
" Never had none ! " said the child, with another grin.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY.
37
"Never had any mother? What do you mean? Where
were you born?"
" Never was born ! " persisted Topsy, with another grin,
that looked so goblin-like, that, if Miss Ophelia had been at
all nervous, she might have fancied that she had got hold of
some sooty gnome from the land of Diablerie ; but Miss
Ophelia was not nervous, but plain and business-like, and shs
said, with some sternness,
"You mustn t answer me in that way, child; I m not
playing with you. Tell me where you were born, and who
your father and mother were."
"Never was born," reiterated the creature, more emphati^
3ally ; "never had no father nor mother, nor nothin . I was/
raised by a speculator, with lots of others. Old Aunt Sue/
used to take car on us."
The child was evidently sincere ; and Jane, breaking into a
short laugh, said,
"Laws, Missis, there s heaps of em. Speculators buys ,
em up cheap, when they s little, and gets em raised for
market."
"How long have you lived with your master and mis
tress?"
" Dun no, Missis."
" Is it a year, or more, or less? "
" Dun no, Missis."
"Laws, Missis, those low negroes, they can t tell; they
don t know anything about time," said Jane; "they don t
know what a year is ; they don t know their own ages."
" Have you ever heard anything about G}d, Topsy?"
The child looked bewildered, but grinned as usual. "
" Do you know who made you ? "
VOL. II. 4
38 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OR,
, :
" Nobody, as I knows on," said the child, with a short
laugh.
The idea appeared to amuse her considerably; for her eyes
twinkled, and she added,
" I spect I grow d. Don t think nobody never made me."
"Do you know how to sew?" said Miss Ophelia, who
thought she would turn her inquiries to something more tan
gible.
"No, Missis."
"What can you do? what did you do for your master and
mistress?"
" Fetch water, and wash dishes, and rub knives, and wait
on folks."
" Were they good to you ? "
" Spect they was," said the child, scanning Miss Ophelia
cunningly.
Miss Ophelia rose from this encouraging colloquy; St. Clare
was leaning over the back of her chair.
" You find virgin soil there, Cousin ; put in your own ideas,
you won t find many to pull up."
Miss Ophelia s ideas of education, like all her other ideas,
were very set and definite ; and of the kind that prevailed in
New England a century ago, and which are still preserved in
some very retired and unsophisticated parts, where there are
no railroads. As nearly as could be expressed, they could be
comprised in very few words : to teach them to mind when
they were spoken to ; to teach them the catechism, sewing,
and reading; and to whip them if they told lies. And
though, of course, in the flood of light that is now poured
on education, these are left far away in the rear, yet it v&
an undisputed fact that our grandmothers raised some toler
ably fair men and women under this regime, as many of
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 39
us can remember and testify. At all events, Miss Ophelia
knew of nothing else to do; and, therefore, applied her
mind to her heathen with the best diligence she could coin-
\nand.
The child was announced and considered in the family as
Miss Ophelia s girl ; and, as she was looked upon with no gra
cious eve in the kitchen, Miss Ophelia resolved to confine her
sphere of operation and instruction chiefly to hey own cham
ber. With a self-sacrifice which some of our readers will
appreciate, she resolved, instead of comfortably making her
own bed, sweeping and dusting her own chamber, which she
had hitherto done, in utter scorn of all offers of help from the
chambermaid of the establishment, to condemn herself to the
martyrdom of instructing Topsy to perform these operations,
ah, woe the day ! Did any of our readers ever do the same,
they will appreciate the amount of her self-sacrifice.
Miss Ophelia began with Topsy by taking her into her
chamber, the first morning, and solemnly commencing a
course of instruction in the art and mystery of bed-making.
Eehold, then, Topsy, washed and shorn of all the little
braided tails wherein her heart had delighted, arrayed in a
clean gown, with well-starched apron, standing reverently
before Miss Ophelia, with an expression of solemnity well
befitting a funeral.
" Now, Topsy, I m going to show you just how my bed is
to be made. I am very particular about my bed. You must
learn exactly how to do it."
" Yes, ma am," says Topsy, with a deep sigh, and a face
of woful earnestness.
" Now, Topsy, look here ; this is the hem of the sheet,
this is the right side of the sheet, and this is the wrong ;
will you remember ?
40 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OR,
"Yes, ma am," says Topsy, with another sigh.
" Well, now, the under sheet you must bring over the
bolster, so, and tuck it clear down under the mattress
nice and smooth, so, do you see? "
" Yes, ma am," said Topsy, with profound attention.
"But the upper sheet," said Miss Ophelia, "must be
brought down in this way, and tucked under firm and smooth
at the foot, so, the narrow hem at the foot."
"Yes, ma am," said Topsy, as before; but we will add,
what Miss Ophelia did not see, that, during the time when
the good lady s back was turned, in the zeal of her manipula
tions, the young disciple had contrived to snatch a pair of
gloves and a ribbon, which she had adroitly slipped into her
sleeves, and stood with her hands dutifully folded, as before.
"Now, Topsy, let s see you do this," said Miss Ophelia,
pulling off the clothes, and seating herself.
Topsy, with great gravity and adroitness, went through the
exercise completely to Miss Ophelia s satisfaction; smoothing
the sheets, patting out every wrinkle, and exhibiting, through
the whole process, a gravity and seriousness with which her
instructress was greatly edified. By arf unlucky slip, how
ever, a fluttering fragment of the ribbon hung out of one of
her sleeves, just as she was finishing, and caught Miss Ophe
lia s attention. Instantly she pounced upon it. "What s
this ? You naughty, wicked child, you ve been stealing
this ! "
The ribbon was pulled out of Topsy s own sleeve, yet was
she not in the least disconcerted ; she only looked at it with
an air of the most surprised and unconscious innocence.
"Laws! why, that ar s Miss Feely s ribbon, an t it?
How could it a got caught in my sleeve ?"
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 41
,
4< Topsy, you naughty girl, don t you tell me a lie, you
stole that ribbon ! "
" Missis, I declar for t, I didn t; never seed it till dis
yer blessed minnit."
" Topsy," said Miss Ophelia, " don t you know it s
wicked to tell lies?"
" I never tells no lies, Miss Feely," said Topsy, with
virtuous gravity; "it s jist the truth I ve been a tellin
now, and an t nothin else."
" Topsy, I shall have to whip you, if you tell lies so."
" Laws, Missis, if you s to whip all day, couldn t say no
other way," said Topsy, beginning to blubber. " I never
seed dat ar, it must a got caught in my sleeve. Miss
Feely must have left it on the bed, and it got caught in the
clothes, and so got in my sleeve."
Miss Ophelia was so indignant at the barefaced lie, that
she caught the child and shook her.
" Don t you tell me that again !"
The shake brought the gloves on to the floor, from the
other sleeve.
" There, you ! " said Miss Ophelia, " will you tell me now,
you did n t steal the ribbon ? "
Topsy now confessed to the gloves, but still persisted in
denying the ribbon.
" Now, Topsy," said Miss Ophelia, " if you 11 confess all
about it, I won t whip you this time." Thus adjured, Topsy
confessed to the ribbon and gloves, with woful protestations
of penitence.
" Well, now, tell me. I know you must have taken other
things since you have been in the house, for I let you run
about all day yesterday. Now, tell me if you took anything,
and I shan t whip you."
VOL II. 4*
42 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
u_ ,
" Laws. Missis! I took Miss Eva s red thing she wars on
her neck."
" You did, you naughty child ! Well, what else?"
" I took Rosa s yer-rings, them red ones."
" Go bring them to me this minute, both of em."
" Laws, Missis ! I can t, they s burnt up ! "
" Burnt up ! what a story ! Go get em, or I 11 whip
you."
Topsy, with loud protestations, and tears, and groans,
declared that she could not. "They s burnt up, they
was."
" What did you burn em up for ?" said Miss Ophelia.
" Cause I s wicked, I is. I s mighty wicked, any how.
I can t help it."
Just at this moment, Eva came innocently into the room,
with the identical coral necklace on her neck.
"Why, Eva, where did you get your necklace?" said
Miss Ophelia.
" Get it ? Why, I ve had it on all day," said Eva.
" Did you have it on yesterday? "
"Yes ; and what is funny, Aunty, I had it on all night.
I forgot to take it off when I went to bed."
Miss Ophelia looked perfectly bewildered ; the more so, as
Rosa, at that instant, came into the room, with a basket of
newly-ironed linen poised on her head, and the coral ear
drops shaking in her ears !
" I m sure I can t tell anything what to do with such a
child !" she said, in despair. " What in the world did you
tell me you took those things for, Topsy ?"
" Why, Missis said I must fess ; and I couldn t think of
no thin else to fess," said Topsy, rubbing her eyes.
" But, of course, I did n t want you to confess things you
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 43
V
did n t do," said Miss Ophelia ; " that s telling a lie. Just as
much as the other."
^- " Laws, now, is it?" said Topsy, with an air of innocent
wonder.
" La, there an t any such thing as truth in that limb,"
said Rona, looking indignantly at Topsy. " If I was Mas r
St. Clare, I d whip her till the blood run. I would, I d
let her catch it !"
" No, no, Rosa," said Eva, with an air of command, which
the child could assume at times; "you mustn t talk so,
Rosa. I can t bear to hear it."
"La sakes ! Miss Eva, you s so good, you don t know
nothing how to get along with niggers. There s no way but
to cut em well up, I tell ye."
" Rosa ! " said Eva, " hush ! Don t you say another word
of that sort ! " and the eye of the child flashed, and her cheek
deepened its color.
Rosa was cowed in a moment.
" Miss Eva has got the St. Clare blood in her, that s
plain. She can speak, for all the world, just like her papa,"
she said, as she passed out of the room.
Eva stood looking at Topsy.
There Stood the tg" fhi 1drAn ; rAprggfir^ t ph vpa of tTiA.f-.wn
extremes of society. Thfi fyiVj Tnffi-k^ ^Hld, jvUh her
golden head, her deep, eyes, her spiritual^ _Doble_brpw,
and prince-like movements; and^iie.r__ black, keen, subtle
They stood the representatives
o their races. The Saxon, born of ages of^cujtivation, com-
mand^ eduo.ntion ) pTiy^ pnl and moral eminence ; the Afnc,
born of ages of oppression, submission, ijmorarice, toil, and
vice L
Something, perhaps, of such thoughts struggled through
44 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OR,
Eva s mini. But a child s thoughts are rather dim, unde
fined instincts ; and in Eva s noble nature many such were
yearning and working, for which she had no power of utter
ance. When Miss Ophelia expatiated on Topsy s naughty,
wicked conduct, the child looked perplexed and sorrowful, but
said, sweetly,
" Poor Topsy, why need you steal ? You re going to be
taken good care of, now. I m sure I d rather give you any
thing of mine, than have you steal it."
It was the first word of kindness the child had ever heard
in her life ; and the sweet tone and manner struck strangely
on the wild, rude heart, and a sparkle of something like a
tear shone in the keen, round, glittering eye ; but it was fol
lowed by the short laugh and habitual grin. No ! the ear
that has never heard anything but abuse is strangely incred
ulous of anything so heavenly as kindness ; and Topsy only
thought Eva s speech something funny and inexplicable,
she did not believe it.
But what was to be done with Topsy? Miss Ophelia
found the case a puzzler ; her rules for bringing up did n t
seem to apply. She thought she would take time to think
of it ; and, by the way of gaining time, and in hopes of some
indefinite moral virtues supposed to be inherent in dark
closets, Miss Ophelia shut Topsy up in one till she had
arranged her ideas further on the subject.
"I don t see," said Miss Ophelia to St. Clare, " how I m
going to manage that child, without whipping her."
" Well, whip her, then, to your heart s content ; I 11 give
you full power to do what you like."
" Children always have to be whipped," said Miss Ophelia;
" I never heard of bringing them up without."
"0, well, certainly," said St. Clare; "do as you think
/ X
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 45
est. Only I 11 make one suggestion: I ve~ seen this child
shipped with a poker, knocked down with the shovel or
tongs, whichever came handiest, &c. ; and, seeing that she is
used to that style of operation, I think your whippings will
,ave to be pretty energetic, to make much impression."
" What is to be done with her, then? " said Miss Ophelia.
" You have started a serious question," said St. Clare ;
" I wish you d answer it. What is to be done with a human
being that can be governed only by the lash, that fails,
it s a very common state of things down here ! "
"I m sure I don t know; I never saw such a child as
this."
" Such children are very common among us, and such
men and women, too. How are they to bo governed?" said
St. Clare.
"I m sure it s more than I can say," said Miss Ophelia.
" r I either," said St. Clare. " The horrid cruelties and
outrages that once and a while find their way into the papers,
such cases as Prue s, for example, what do they come
from ? In many cases, it is a gradual hardening process on
both sides, the owner growing more and more cruel, as the
servant more and more callous. Whipping and abuse are like
laudanum ; you have to double the dose as the sensibilities
decline. I saw this very early when I became an owner ; and
I resolved never to begin, because I did not know when I
should stop, and I resolved, at least, to protect my own
moral nature/ The consequence is, that my servants act like
spoiled children ; but I think that better than for us both to
be brutalized together. You have talked a great deal about
our responsibilities in educating, Cousin. I really wanted you
to try with one child, who is a specimen of thousands among
"It is your system makes such children," said Miss
Ophelia.
" I know it ; but they are made, they exist, and what
is to be done with them ?"
"Well, I can t say I thank you for the experiment. But,
then, as it appears to be a duty, I shall persevere and try, and
do the best I can," said Miss Ophelia; and Miss Ophelia,
after this, did labor, with a commendable degree of zeal and
energy, on her new subject. She instituted regular hours
and employments for her, and undertook to teach her to read
and to sew.
In the former art, the child was quick enough. She
learned her letters as if by magic, and was very soon able
to read plain reading ; but the sewing was a more difficult
matter. The creature was as lithe as a cat, and as active as
a monkey, and the confinement of sewing was her abomina
tion ; so she broke her needles, threw them slyly out of
windows, or down in chinks of the walls ; she tangled, broke,
and dirtied her thread, or, with a sly movement, would
throw a spool away altogether. Her motions were almost
as quick as those of a practised conjurer, and her command
of her face quite as great ; and though Miss Ophelia could
not help feeling that so many accidents could not possibly
happen in succession, yet she could not, without a watchful
ness which would leave her no time for anything else, detect
her.
Topsy was soon a noted character in the establishment.
Her talent for every species of drollery, grimace, arid mim
icry, for dancing, tumbling, climbing, singing, whistling,
imitating every sound that hit her fancy, seemed inexhausti
ble. In her play-hours, she invariably had every child in the
establishment at her heels, open-mouthed with admiration
LIFF, AMONG riH8~ LOWLY. 47
and wonder, not excepting Miss Eva, who appeared to be
fascinated by her wild diablerie, as a dove is sometimes
charmed by a glittering serpent. Miss Ophelia was uneasy
that Eva should fancy Topsy s society so much, and implored
St. Clare to forbid it.
" Poh ! let the child alone," said St. Clare. " Topsy will
do her good."
" But so depraved a child, are you not afraid she will
teach her some mischief?"
" She can t teach her mischief; she might teach it to some
children, but evil rolls off Eva s mind like dew off a cabbage-
leaf, not a drop sinks in."
" Don t be too sure," said Miss Ophelia. " I know I d
never let a child of mine play with Topsy."
" Well, your children need n t," said St. Clare, " but mine
may; if Eva could have been spoiled, it would have been
done years ago."
Topsy was at first despised and contemned by the upper
servants. They soon found reason to alter their opinion. It
was very soon discovered that whoever cast an indignity on
Topsy was sure to meet with some inconvenient accident
shortly after ; either a pair of ear-rings or some cherished
trinket would be missing, or an article of dress would be sud
denly found utterly ruined, or the person would stumble
accidentally into a pail of hot water, or a libation of dirty slop
would unaccountably deluge them from above when in full gala
dress ; and on all these occasions, when investigation was
made, there was nobody found to stand sponsor for the
indignity. Topsy was cited, and had up before all the domes
tic judicatories, time and again; but always sustained her
examinations with most edifying innocence and gravity of
appearance. Nobody in the world ever doubted who did the
48 % UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OR,
things ; but not a scrap of any direct evidence could be found
to establish the suppositions, and Miss Ophelia was too just to
feel at liberty to proceed to any lengths without it.
The mischiefs done were always so nicely timed, also,
as further to shelter the aggressor. Thus, the times for
revenge on Rosa and Jane, the two chamber-maids, were
always chosen in those seasons when (as not unfrequently
happened) they were in disgrace with their mistress, when
any complaint from them would of course meet with no sym
pathy. In short, Topsy soon made the household under
stand the propriety of letting her alone; and she was let alone
accordingly.
Topsy was smart and energetic in all manual operations,
learning everything that was taught her with surprising
quickness. With a few lessons, she had learned to do the
proprieties of Miss Ophelia s chamber in a way with which
even that particular lady could find no fault. Mortal hands
could not lay spread smoother, adjust pillows more accurately,
sweep and dust and arrange more perfectly, than Topsy, when
she chose, but she did n t very often choose. If Miss Ophelia,
after three or four days of careful and patient supervision, was
so sanguine as to suppose that Topsy had at last fallen into
her way, could do without overlooking, and so go off and busy
herself about something else, Topsy would hold a perfect car
nival of confusion, for some one or two hours. Instead of
making the bed, she ould amuse herself with pulling off the
pillow-cases, butting ner woolly head among the pillows, till
it would sometimes je grotesquely ornamented with feathers
sticking out in various directions ; she would climb the posts,
and hang head downward from the tops ; flourish the sheets
and spreads all over the apartment ; dress the bolster up in
Miss Ophelia s night-clothes, and enact various scenic per-
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 49
tbrmances with that, singing and whistling, and making
grimaces at herself in the looking-glass ; in short, as Miss
Ophelia phrased it, "raising Cain" generally.
On one occasion, Miss Ophelia found Topsy with her very
best scarlet India Canton crape shawl wound round her head
for a turban, going on with her rehearsals before the glass in
great style, Miss Ophelia having, with carelessness most
unheard-of in her, left the key for once in her drawer.
" Topsy ! " she would say, when at the end of all patience,
" what does make you act so ? "
" Dunno, Missis, I spects cause I s so wicked ! "
" I don t know anything what I shall do with you, Topsy."
11 Law, Missis, you must whip me; my old Missis allera
whipped me. I an t used to workin unless I gets whipped."
" Why, Topsy, I don t want to whip you. You can do
well, if you ve a mind to ; what is the reason you won t I "
" Laws, Missis, I s used to whippin ; I spects it s good
for me."
Miss Ophelia tried the recipe, and Topsy invariable made
a terrible commotion, screaming, groaning and imploring,
though half an hour afterwards, when roosted on some projec
tion of the balcony, and surrounded by a flock of admiring
" young uns/ she would express the utmost contempt of the
whole affair.
"Law, Miss Feely whip! wouldn t kill a skeeter, her
whippins. Oughter see how old Mas r made the flesh fly ;
old Mas r know d how ! "
Topsy always made great capital of her own sins and enor
mities, evidently considering them as something peculiaily
distinguishing.
u Law, you niggers," she would say to some of her auditors,
11 does you know you s all sinners ? Well, you is evory-
VOL. n. 5
50 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
body is. White folks is sinners too, - Miss Feely says so ; but
I spects niggers is the biggest ones ; but lor ! ye an t any on ye
up to me. I s so awful wicked there can t nobody do nothin 1
with me. I used to keep old Missis a swarm at me half de
time. I spects I s the wickedest critter in the world ;" and
Topsy would cut a summerset, and come up brisk and shining
on to a higher perch, and evidently plume herself on the dis
tinction.
Miss Ophelia busied herself very earnestly on Sundays,
teaching Topsy the catechism. Topsy had an uncommon
verbal memory, and committed with a fluency that greatly
encouraged her instructress.
" What good do you expect it is going to do her?" said
St. Clare.
"Why, it always has done children good. It s what
children always have to learn, you know," said Miss Ophelia.
" Understand it or not," said St. Clare.
" 0, children never understand it at the time; but, after
they are grown up, it 11 come to them."
" Mine hasn t come to me yet," said St. Clare, "though
I 11 bear testimony that you put it into me pretty thoroughly
when I was a boy."
"Ah, you were always good at learning, Augustine. I
used to have great hopes of you," said Miss Ophelia.
"Well, haven t you now?" said St. Clare.
"I wish you were as good as you were when you were a
boy, Augustine."
" So do I, that s a fact, Cousin," said St. Clare. " Well,
go ahead and catechize Topsy ; may be you 11 make out
something yet."
Topsy, who had stood like a black statue during this dis-
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 51
eussion, with hands decently folded, now, at a signal from
Miss Ophelia, went on :
Our first parents, being left to the freedom of their own
will, fell from the state wherein they were created."
Topsy s eyes twinkled, and she looked inquiringly.
"What is it, Topsy?" said Miss Ophelia.
" Please, Missis, was dat ar state Kintuck ? "
" What state, Topsy?"
" Dat state dey fell out of. I used to hear Mas r tell how
we came down from Kintuck."
St. Clare laughed.
" You 11 have to give her a meaning, or she 11 make one,"
said he. " There seems to be a theory of emigration sug
gested there." %
" ! Augustine, be still," said Miss Ophelia; " how can
I do anything, if you will be laughing?"
" Well, I won t disturb the exercises again, on my honor;"
and St. Clare took his paper into the parlor, and sat down,
till Topsy had finished her recitations. They were all very
well, only that now and then she would oddly transpose some
important words, and persist in the mistake, in spite of every
effort to the contrary; and St. Clare, after all his promises
of goodness, took a wicked pleasure in these mistakes, calling
Topsy to him whenever he had a mind to amuse himself, and
getting her to repeat the offending passages, in spite of Miss
Ophelia s remonstrances.
"How do you think I can do anything with the child, if
you will go on so, Augustine?" she would say.
" Well, it is too bad, I won t again ; but I do like to hear
the droll little image stumble over those big words ! "
" But you confirm her in the wrong way."
52 UNCLE TOM S cABra: OP.,
,,. ,.. ; _
What s the odds? One word is as good as another to
her."
" You wanted me to bring her up right; and you ought to
remember she is a reasonable creature, and be careful of jour
influence over her."
" 0, dismal ! so I ought ; but, as Topsy herself says, I s
so wicked !
In very much this way Topsy s training proceeded, for a
year or two, Miss Ophelia worrying herself, from day to
day, with her, as a kind of chronic plague, to whose inflictions
she became, in time, as accustomed, as persons sometimes do
to the neuralgia or sick head-ache.
St. Clare took the same kind of amusement in the child
that a man might in the tricks of a parrot or a pointer.
Topsy, whenever her sins brought her into disgrace in other
quarters, always took refuge behind his chair ; and St. Clare,
in one way or other, would make peace for her. From him
she got many a stray picayune, which she laid out in nuts and
candies, and distributed, with careless generosity, to all the
children in the family; for Topsy, to do her justice, was
good-natured and liberal, and only spiteful in self-defence.
She is fairly introduced into our corps de ballet, and will
figure, from time to time, in her turn, with other performers.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 53
CHAPTER XXI.
EENTUCK.
OUR readers may not be unwilling to glance back, for a
brief interval, at Uncle Tom s Cabin, on the Kentucky farm,
and see what has been transpiring among those whom he had
left behind.
It was late in the summer afternoon, and the doors and
windows of the large parlor all stood open, to invite any stray
breeze, that might feel in a good humor, to enter. Mr. Shelby
sat in a large hall opening into the room, and running
through the whole length of the house, to a balcony on either
end. Leisurely tipped back in one chair, with his heels in
another, he was enjoying his after-dinner cigar. Mrs. Shelby
sat in the door, busy about some fine sewing ; she seemed" 1
like one who had something on her mind, which she was seek
ing an opportunity to introduce.
" Do you know," she said, "that Chloe has had a letter
from Tom?"
"Ah! has she? Tom s got some friend there, it seems.
How is the old boy?"
"He has been bought by a very fine family, I should
think," said Mrs. Shelby, "is kindly, treated, and has not
much to do."
" Ah ! well, I m glad of it, very glad," said Mr. Shelby,
heartily. " Tom, I suppose, will get reconciled to a South
ern residence; hardly want to come up here again."
"On the contrary, he inquires very anxiously," said Mrs.
VOL. IT. 5*
54 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
ShelHy, ""when the money for his redemption is to be
raised."
"I m sure JdonH know," said Mr. Shelby. "Once get
business running wrong, there does seem to be no end to it.
It s like jumping from one bog to another, all through a
swamp ; borrow of one to pay another, and then borrow of
another to pay one, and these confounded notes falling due
before a man has time to smoke a cigar and turn round,
dunning letters and dunning messages, all scamper and
hurry-scurry."
"It does seem to me, my dear, that something might be
done to straighten matters. Suppose we sell off all the
horses, and sell one of your farms, and pay up square? "
U 0, ridiculous, Emily! You are the finest woman in
Kentucky; but still you haven t sense to know that you
don t understand business ; women never do, and never
can."
"But, at least," said Mrs. Shelby, "could not you give
me some little insight into yours ; a list of all your debts, at
least, and of all that is owed to you, and let me try and
see if I can t help you to economize."
"0, bother! don t plague me, Emily! I can t tell
exactly. I know somewhere about what things are likely to
be ; but there s no trimming and squaring my affairs, as
Chloe trims crust off her pies. You don t know anything
about business, I tell you."
And Mr. Shelby, not knowing any other way of enforc
ing his ideas, raised his voice, a mode of arguing very con
venient and convincing, when a gentleman is discussing mat
ters of business with his wife.
Mrs. Shelby ceased talking, with something of a sigh.
The fact was, that though her husband had stated she was a
I
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 55
woman, she had a clear, energetic, practical mind, and a force
of character every way superior to that of her husband ; so
that it would not have been so very absurd a supposition, to
nave allowed her capable of managing, as Mr. Shelby sup
posed. Her heart was set on performing her promise to Tom
and Aunt Chloe, and she sighed as discouragements thickened
around her.
" Don t you think we might in some way contrive to raise
that money? Poor Aunt Chloe ! her heart is so set on it ! "
"" I in sorry, if it is. I think I was premature in promis
ing. I m not sure, now, but it s the best way to tell Chloe,
and let her make up her mind to it. Tom 11 have another
wife, in a year or two ; and she had better take up with some
body else."
"Mr. Shelby, I have taught my people that their mar
riages are as sacred as ours. I never could think of giving-
Chloe such advice."
"It s a pity, wife, that you have burdened theTn with a
morality above their condition and prospects. I always
thought soT 7 "
" It s only the morality of the Bible, Mr. Shelby."
" Well, well, Emily, I don t pretend to interfere with your
religious notions ; only they seem extremely unfitted for peo-
pl: in that condition."
"They are, indeed," said Mrs. Shelby, "and that is why,
fiom my soul, I hate the whole thing. I tell you, my dear, /
cannot absolve myso from the promises I make to these
helpless creatures, ii I can get the money no other way, I
will take music-scholars ; I could get enough, I know, and
earn the money myself."
"You wouldn t degrade yourself that way, Emily? I
never could consent to it."
UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OH,
" Degrade ! would it degrade me as much as to break my
faith with the helpless ? No, indeed ! "
"Well, you are always heroic and transcendental," said
Mr. Shelby, "but I think you had better think before you
undertake such a piece of Quixotism."
Here the conversation was interrupted by the appearance
of Aunt Chloe, at the end of the verandah.
"If you please, Missis," said she.
"Well, Chloe, what is it?" said her mistress, rising, and
going to the end of the balcony.
" If Missis would come and look at dis yer lot o poetry."
Chloe had a particular fancy for calling poultry poetry,
an application of language in which she always persisted, not
withstanding frequent corrections and advisings from the
young members of the family.
" La sakes ! " she would say, "I can t see; one jis good as
turry, poetry suthin good, any how;" and so poetry Chloe
continued to call it.
Mrs. Shelby smiled as she saw a prostrate lot of chickens
and ducks, over which Chloe stood, with a very grave face of
consideration.
" I m a thinkin whether Missis would be a havin a chicken
pie o dese yer."
"Really, Aunt Chloe, I don t much care; serve them
any way you like."
Chloe stood handling them over abstractedly ; it was quite
evident that the chickens were not what she w r as thinking of.
At last, with the short laugh with which her tribe often
introduce a doubtful proposal, she said,
"Laws me, Missis! what should Mas r and Missis be a
troublin theirselves bout de money, and not a usin what s
right in der hands?" and Chloe laughed again.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 57
"I don t understand you, Chloc," said Mrs. Shelby, noth
ing doubting, from her knowledge of Chloe s manner, that
she had heard every word of the conversation that had passed
between her and her husband.
"Why, laws me, Missis!" said Chloe, laughing again,
" other folks hires out der niggers and makes money on em !
Don t keep sieh a tribe eatin em out of house and home."
"Well, Chloe, who do you propose that we should hire
out?"
"Laws! I an t a proposin nothin; only Sam he said der
was one of dese yer perfectioners, dey calls em, in Louisville,
said he wanted a good hand at cake and pastry ; and said he d
give four dollars a week to one, he did."
" Well, Chloe."
"Well, laws, I s a thinkin, Missis, it s time Sally was
put along to be doin something. Sally s been under my
care, now, dis some time, and she does most as well as me,
considerin ; and if Missis would only let me go, I would help
fetch up de money. I an t afraid to put my cake, nor pies
nother, long side no perfection s"
"Confectioner s, Chloe."
" Law sakes, Missis ! t an t no Qdds ; words is so curis,
can t never get em right ! "
" But, Chloe, do you want to leave your children? "
"Laws, Missis! de boys is big enough to do day s works;
dcydoes well enough; and Sally, she ll take de baby, she s
such a peart young un, she won t take no lookin arter."
" Louisville is a good way off."
"Law sakes! who s afeard? it s down river, somer neaj
my old man, perhaps?" said Chloe, speaking the last in tlr
tone of a question, and looking at Mrs. Shelby.
58 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
" No, Chloej it s many a hundred miles off," said Mr*
Shelby.
Chloe s countenance fell.
"Never mind; your going there shall bring you nearer,
Chloe. Yes, you may go ; and your wages shall every cent
of them be laid aside for your husband s redemption."
As when a bright sunbeam turns a dark cloud to silver, so
Chloe s dark face brightened immediately, it really shone.
"Laws ! if Missis isn t too good ! I was thinking of dat
ar very thing ; cause I should n t need no clothes, nor shoes,
nor nothin, I could save every cent. How many weeks is
der in a year, Missis 1 "
"Fifty-two," said Mrs. Shelby.
"Laws! now, dere is? and four dollars for each on em.
Why, how much d dat ar be 1 "
"Two hundred and eight dollars," said Mrs. Shelby.
"Why-e!" said Chloe, with an accent of surprise and
delight; "and how long would it take me to work it out,
Missis?"
"Some four or five years, Chloe; but, then, you needn t
do it all. I shall add something to it."
"I wouldn t hear to Missis givin lessons nor nothin.
Mas r s quite right in dat ar ; t would n t do, no ways. I
hope none our family ever be brought to dat ar, while I s got
hands."
"Don t fear, Chloe; I ll take care of the honor of the
family," said Mrs. Shelby, smiling. "But when do you
expect to go?"
"Well, I want spectin nothin; only Sam, he s a gwine to
de river with some colts, and he said I could go long with
him ; so I jes put my things together. If Missis was willin,
LIFE AHONfl THE LOWLY. 59
I d go with Sam to-morrow morning, if Missis would write
my pass, and write me a commendation."
1 Well, Chloe, I 11 attend to it, if Mr. Shelby lias no
objections. I must speak to him."
Mrs. Shelby went up stairs, and Aunt Chloe, delighted,
went out to her cabin, to make her preparation.
"Law sakes, Mas r George! ye didn t know I s a gwine
to Louisville to-morrow ! " she said to George, as, entering her
cabin, he found her busy in sorting over her baby s clothes.
"I thought I d jis look over sis s things, and get em
straightened up. But I m gwine, Mas r George, gwine to
have four dollars a week ; and Missis is gwine to lay it all
up, to buy back my old man agin ! "
"Whew! " said George, "here s a stroke of business, to
be sure ! How are you going? "
" To-morrow, wid Sam. And now, Mas r George, I
knows you 11 jis sit down and write to my old man, and tell
him all about it, won t ye?"
" To be sure," said George; "Uncle Tom 11 be right glad
to hear from us. I 11 go right in the house, for paper and
ink ; nud then, you know, Aunt Chloe, I can tell about the
new colts and all."
" Sartin, sartin, Mas r George; you go long, and I ll get
ye up a bit o chicken, or some sich ; ye won t have many
more suppers wid yer poor old aunty."
60 UNCLE TOM S CABIN :
CHAPTER XXII.
"THE GRASS WITHERETH THE FLOWER FADETH."
LIFE passes, with us all, a day at a time ; so it passed with
our friend Tom, till two years were gone. Though parted
from all his soul held dear, and though often yearning for
what lay beyond, still was he never positively and consciously
miserable ; for, so well is the harp of human feeling strung,
that nothing but a crash that breaks every string can wholly
mar its harmony ; and, on looking back to seasons which in
review appear to us as those of deprivation and trial, we can
remember that each hour, as it glided, brought its diversions
and alleviations, so that, though not happy wholly, we were
not, either, wholly miserable.
Tom read, in his only literary cabinet, of one who had
" learned in whatsoever state he was, therewith to be content."
It seemed to him good and reasonable doctrine, and accorded
well with the settled and thoughtful habit which he had
acquired from the reading of that same book.
His letter homeward, as we related in the last chapter, was
in due time answered by Master George, in a good, round,
school-boy hand, that Tom said might be read " most acrost
the room." It contained various refreshing items of home
intelligence, with which our reader is fully acquainted :
stated how Aunt Chloe had been hired out to a confectioner
in Louisville, where her skill in the pastry line was gaining
wonderful sums of money, all of which, Tom was informed^
Lll li AMONG THE LOWLY. 61
was to be laid up to go to make up the sum of his redemption
money ; Mose and Pete were thriving, and the baby was
trotting all about the house, under the care of Sally and the
family generally.
Tom s cabin was shut up for the present; but George expa
tiated brilliantly on ornaments and additions to be made to it
when Tom came back.
The rest of this letter gave a list of George s school studies,
each one headed by a flourishing capital ; and also told the
names of four new colts that appeared on the premises since
Tom left and stated, in the same connection, that father and
mother were well. The style of the letter was decidedly
concise and terse ; but Tom thought it the most wonderful
specimen of composition that had appeared in modern times.
He was never tired of looking at it, and even held a council
with Eva on the expediency of getting it framed, to hang up
in his room. Nothing but the difficulty of arranging it so
that both sides of the page would show at once stood in the
way of this undertaking.
The friendship between Tom and Eva had grown with the
child s growth. It would be hard to say what place she held
in the soft, impressible heart of her faithful attendant. He loved
her as something frail and earthly, yet almost worshipped
her as something heavenly and divine. He gazed on her
as the Italian sailor gazes on his image of the child Jesus,
with a mixture of reverence and tenderness ; and to humor
her graceful fancies, and meet those thousand simple wants
which invest childhood like a many-colored rainbow, was
Tom s chief delight. In the market, at morning, his eyes
were always on the flower-stalls for rare bouquets for her,
and the choicest peach or orange was slipped into his pocket
to give to her when he came back ; and the sight that pleased
VOL. II. 6
62 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
him most was her sunny head looking out the gate for his
distant approach, and her childish question, "Well, Uncle
Tom, what have you got for me to-day ? "
Nor was Eva less zealous in kind offices, in return. Though
a child, she was a beautiful reader; a fine musical ear, a
quick poetic fancy, and an instinctive sympathy with what is
grand and noble, made her such a reader of the Bible as Tom
had never before heard. At first, she read to please her humble
friend; but soon her own earnest nature threw out its tendrils,
and wound itself around the majestic book; and Eva loved it,
because it woke in her strange yearnings, and strong, dim
emotions, such as impassioned, imaginative children love to
feel.
The partsjhat pleased he most wg^j^he_K^y^l^ions .and
the PropKedeSj parts whose dim and wondrous imagery,
and fervent language, impressed her the more, that she ques
tioned vainly of their meaning ; and she and her simple
friend, the old child and the young one, felt just alike about
it. All that they knew was, that they spoke of a glory to be
reve^d r ->auffifinjirous something yet to come, wherein their
spul^ejpiced^yet knew not why^.and though it be not so in
the physical, yet in moral science that which cannot be under
stood is not always profitless. For the soul awakes, a trein-
stranger, between two dim eternities, the eternal j)ast,
The light shm3_j^ly QgJLII^II. ?P ace
; therefore,she needs must .yearn ^va_rds the
and t^_ymV nc ? nH RVmdowy mr>vmgq wiiinli >"p^"t^
her from out the cloudy _pillar_c^JnspiratiQn_haYe._eacX one
echoes and answers in her own expecting nature. Its mystic
imagery are so many talismans and gems inscribed with
unknown hieroglyphics ; she folds them in her bosoui, and
expects to read them when she passes beyond the veil.
Ar
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 63
At this time in our story, the whole St. Clare establish
ment is. for the tims being, removed to their villa on Lake
Pontchartrain. The heats of summer had driven all who
were able to leave the sultry and unhealthy city, to seek the
shores of the lake, and its cool sea-breezes.
St. Clare s villa was an East Indian cottage, surrounded by
light verandahs of bamboo- work, and opening on all sides into
gardens and pleasure-grounds. The common sitting-room
opened on to a large garden, fragrant with every picturesque
)lant and flower of the tropics, where winding paths ran
down to the very shores of the lake, whose silvery sheet of
water lay there, rising and falling in the sunbeams, a pic-
ure never for an hour the same, yet every hour more beau-
iful.
It is now one of those intensely golden sunsets which
dndles the whole horizon into one blaze of glory, and makes
he water another sky. The lake lay in rosy or golden
streaks, save where white-winged vessels glided hither and
bhither, like so many spirits, and little golden stars twinkled
through the glow, and looked down at themselves as they
:rembled in the water.
Tom and Eva were seated on a litttle mossy seat, in an
irbor, at the foot of the garden. It was Sunday evening, and
Eva s Bible lay open on her knee. She read, "And I saw
sea of glass, mingled with fire."
" Tom," said Eva, suddenly stopping, and pointing to the
lake, "there tis."
"What, Miss Eva?"
"Don t you see, there? " said the child, pointing to the
glassy water, which, as it rose and fell, reflected the golden
;low of the sky. "There s a sea of glass, mingled with
Hire. "
64 UffCLE TOM S CABIN : OR,
" True enough, Miss Eva," said Tom ; and Tom sang
" 0, had I the wings of the morning,
I d fly away to Canaan s shore ;
Bright angels should convey me home,
To the new Jerusalem."
" Where do you suppose new Jerusalem is, Uncle Tom? "
said Eva.
"0, up in the clouds, Miss Eva."
"Then I think I see it," said Eva. "Look in those
clouds! they look like great gates of pgarlj_and you can see
beyonjltij.ein -far^ far off it 7 s all gold. Tom ; sing about
Tom sung the words of a well-known Methodist hymn,
\
" I see a band of spirits bright,
That taste the glories there;
They all are robed in spotless white,
And conquering palms they bear."
" Uncle Tom, I ve seen them" said Eva.
Tom had no doubt of it at all ; it did not surprise him in
the least. If Eva had told him she had been to heaven, he
would have thought it entirely probable.
: They come to me sometimes in my sleep, those spirits ;"
and Eva s eyes grew dreamy, and she hummed, in a low
voice,
" They are all robed in spotless white,
And conquering palms they bear."
Uncle Tom," said Eva, "I m going there."
"Where, Miss Eva?"
The child rose, and pointed her little hand to the sky; the
glow of evening lit her golden hair and flushed cheek with a
kind of unearthly radiance, and her eyes were bent earnestly
on the skies.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY.
65
" I m going there" she said, " to the spirits bright, Tom ;
I m going j before long"
The faithful old heart felt a su,dden thrust; and Tom
thought how often he had noticed, within six months, that
Eva s little hands had grown thinner, and her skin more
transparent, and her breath shorter ; and how, when she ran or
played in the garden, as she once could for hours, she became
soon so tired and- languid. He had heard Miss Ophelia speak
often of a cough, that all her medicaments could not cure ;
and even *iow that fervent cheek and little hand were burning
with hectic fever; and yet the thought that Eva s words
suggested had never come to him till now.
Has there ever been a child like Eva ? Yes, there have
been ; but their names are always on grave-stones, and their
sweet smiles, their heavenly eyes, their singular words and
ways, are among the btoried treasures of yearning hearts. In
how many families do you hear the legend that all the good
ness and graces of the living are nothing to the peculiar
charms of one who is not. It is as if heaven had an especial
band of angels, whose office it was to sojourn for a season
here, and endear to them the wayward human heart, that they
might bear it upward with them in their homeward flight.
When yon spft that deep, spirifnn.l ^g lnf 1>n f1l>1 "j 1 " ; ll1 " n the
ordinary words of children,, hope not to retain fo^t flfril^ ;.^ nr
the seal of heaven is on it, and the light of immortality looks
ojirTrom its eyes^ "
Even so, beloved Eva ! fair star of thy dwelling ! Thou
art passing away ; but they that love thee dearest know it not.
The colloquy between Tom and Eva was interrupted by a
hasty call from Miss Ophelia.
VOL. II. 6*
66 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OR,
"Eva Eva! why, child, the dew is falling; you
must n t be out there ! "
Eva and Tom hastened in.
Miss Ophelia was old, and skilled in the tactics of nursing.
She was from New England, and knew well the first guileful
footsteps of that soft, insidious disease, which sweeps away so
many of the fairest and loveliest, and, before one fibre of life
seems broken, seals them irrevocably for death.
She had noted the slight, dry cough, the daily brightening
cheek ; nor could the lustre of the eye, and the airyJbuoyancy
born of fever, deceive her.
She tried to communicate her fears to St. Clare; but he
threw back her suggestions with a restless petulance, unlike
his usual careless good-humor.
" Don t be croaking, Cousin, I hate it ! " he would say ;
" don t you see that the child is only growing. Children
always lose strength when they grow fast."
" But she has that cough ! "
u ! nonsense of that cough ! it is not anything. She
has taken a little cold, perhaps."
u Well, that was just the way Eliza Jane was taken, and
Ellen and Maria Sanders."
" ! stop these hobgoblin nurse legends. You old hands
got so wise, that a child cannot cough, or sneeze, but you see
desperation and ruin at hand. Only take care of the child,
keep her from the night air, and don t let her play too hard,
and she 11 do well enough."
So St. Clare said ; but he grew nervous and restless. He
watched Eva feverishly day by day, as might be told by the
frequency with which he repeated over that " the child was
quite well" that there wasn t anything in that cough, it
was only some little stomach affection, such as children often
LIFE AMONG TIIE LOWLY. 67
had. .But he kept by her more than before, took her oftener
to ride with him, brought home every few days some receipt
or strengthening mixture, " not," he said, " that the child
needed it, but then it would not do her any harm."
If it must be told, the thing that struck a deeper pang to
his heart than anything else was the daily increasing matur
ity of the child s mind and feelings. While still retaining all
a child s fanciful graces, yet she often dropped, unconsciously,
wmls of such a reach of thought, and strange unworldly
wisdom, that they seemed to be an inspiration. At such
times, St. Clare would feel a sudden thrill, and clasp her in
his arms, as if that fond clasp could save her ; and his heart
rose up with wild determination to koep her, never to let
her go.
The child s whole heart and soul seemed absorbed in works
of love and kindness. Impulsively generous she had always
been ; but there was a tonfihin.o; and w
about her now, that every one noticed. She still loved to
playwiih Topsy^and the various colored children ; but she
now seemed rather a spectator than an actor of their plays,
and she would sit for half an hour at a time, laughing at the
odd tricks of Topsy, and then a shadow would seem to pass
across her face, her eyes grew misty, and her thoughts were
afar.
"Mamma," she said, suddenly, to her mother, one day,
u why don t we teach our servants to read ? "
" What a question, child ! People never do."
" Why don t they ? " said Eva.
" Because it is no use for them to read. It don t help
them to work any better, and they are not made for anything
else."
68 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OR,
.
" But they ought to read the Bible, mamma, to learn God s
will."
" they can get that read to them all they need."
"It seems to me, mamma, the Bible is for every one to
read themselves. They need it a great many times when
there is nobody to read it."
" Eva, you are an odd child," said her mother.
" Miss Ophelia has taught Topsy to read," continued Eva.
" Yes, and you see how much good it does. Topsy is the
worst creature I ever saw ! "
" Here s poor Mammy ! " said Eva. " She does love the
Bible so much, and wishes so she could read ! And what will
she do when I can t read to her ? "
Marie was busy, turning over the contents of a drawer, as
she answered,
" Well, of course, by and by, Eva, you will have other
things to think of, besides reading the Bible round to servants.
Not but that is very proper ; Pve done it myself, when I had
health. But when you come to be dressing and going into
company, you won t have time. See here ! " she added,
" these jewels I m going to give you when you come out. I
wore them to my first ball. I can tell you, Eva, I made a
sensation."
Eva took the jewel-case, and lifted from it a diamond neck
lace. Her large, thoughtful eyes rested on them, but it was
plain her thoughts were elsewhere.
" How sober you look, child ! " said Marie.
" Are these worth a great deal of money, mamma ? "
"To be sure, they are. Father sent to France for them.
They are worth a small fortune."
"I wish I had them," said Eva, "to do what I pleased
with,! "
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 69
" What would you do with them? "
" I d sell them, and buy a place in the free states, and take
all our people there, and hire teachers, to teach them to read
and write."
Eva was cut short hy her mother s laughing.
" Set up a boarding-school ! Would n t you teach then
to play on the piano, and paint on velvet ?"
" I d teach them to read their own Bible, and write thei
own letters, and read letters that are written to them," saf (
Eva, steadily. " I know, mamma, it does come very hard < n
them, that they can t do these things. Tom feels it,
Mammy does, a great many of them do. I think a s
wrong."
"Come, come, Eva; you are only a child! You ion t
know anything about these things," said Marie; "Hsides,
your talking makes my head ache."
Marie always had a head-ache on hand for any conversa
tion that did not exactly suit her.
Eva stole away; but after that, she assiduously gave
Mammy reading lessons.
70 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: on,
CHAPTER XXIII.
HENRIQUE.
ABOUT this time, St. Clare s brother Alfred, with his eldest
son, a boj of twelve, spent a day or two with the family at
the lake.
No sight could be more singular and beautiful than that of
these twin brothers. Nature, instead of instituting resem
blances between them, had made them opposites on every
point ; yet a mysterious tie seemed to unite them in a closer
friendship than ordinary.
They used to saunter, arm in arm, up and down the alleys
and walks of the garden. Augustine, with his blue eyes
and golden hair, his ethereally flexible form and vivacious
features ; and Alfred, dark-eyed, with haughty Roman profile,
firmly-knit limbs, and decided bearing. They w^ere always
abusing each other s opinions and practices, and yet never a
whit the less absorbed in each other s society ; in fact, the
very contrariety seemed to unite them, like the attraction
between opposite poles of the magnet.
Henrigue, the eldest son of Alfred, was a noble, dark-eyed,
princely boy ,"" full of vivacity and spirit; and, from the first
moment of introduction, seemed to be perfectly fascinated by
the spirituelle graces of his cousin Evangeline.
Eva had a little pet pony, of a snowy whiteness. It was
easy as a cradle, and as gentle as its little mistress ; and this
pony was now brought up to the back verandah by Tom,
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 71
while a little mulatto boy of about thirteen led along a small
black Arabian, which had just been imported, at a great
expense, for Henrique.
Henrique had a boy s pride in his new possession ; and, as
he advanced and took the reins out of the hands of his little
groom, he looked carefully over him, and his brow darkened.
"What s this, Dodo, you little lazy dog! you haven t
rubbed my horse down, this morning."
"Yes, Mas r," said Dodo, submissively; "he got that
dust on his own self."
"You rascal, shut your mouth! " said Henrique, violently
raising his riding-whip. " How dare you speak? "
The boy was a handsome, bright-eyed mulatto, of just
Henrique s size, and his curling hair hung round a high,
bold forehead. He had white blood in his veins, as could be
seen by the quick flush in his cheek, and the sparkle of his
eye, as he eagerly tried to speak.
" Mas r Henrique ! " he began.
Henrique struck him across the face with his riding-whip,
and, seizing one of his arms, forced him on to his knees, and
beat him till he was out of breath.
"There, you impudent dog! Now will you learn not to
answer back when I speak to you ? Take the horse back,
and clean him properly. I 11 teach you your place ! "
"Young Mas r," said Tom, "I specs what he was gwine
to say was, that the horse would roll when he was bringing
him up from the stable ; he s so full of spirits, that s the
way he got that dirt on him ; I looked to his cleaning."
" You hold your tongue till you re asked to speak ! " said
Henrique, turning on his heel, and walking up the steps to
speak to Eva, who stood in her riding-dress. , A
"Dear Cousin, I m sorry this stupid fellow has kept you
72 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
waiting," he said. "Let s sit down here, on this seat, till
they come. What s the matter, Cousin ? - you look sober."
"How could you be so cruel and wicked to poor Dodo?"
said Eva.
" Cruel, wicked ! " said the boy, with unaffected surprise.
" What do you mean, dear Eva? "
" I don t want you to call me dear Eva, when you do so,"
sai^ Eva.
" Dear Cousin, you don t know Dodo ; it s the only w r ay to
manage him, he s so full of lies and excuses. The only way
is to put him down at once, not let him open his mouth ;
that s the way papa manages."
" But Uncle Tom said it was an accident, and he never
tells what isn t true."
"He s an uncommon old nigger, then!" said Henrique.
" Dodo will lie as fast as he can speak."
"You frighten him into deceiving, if you treat him so."
"Why, Eva, you ve really taken such a fancy to Dodo,
that I shall be jealous."
"But you beat him, and he didn t deserve it."
" 0, well, it may go for some time when he does, and
don t get it. A few cuts never come amiss with Dodo,
he s a regular spirit, I can tell you; but I won t beat him
again before you, if it troubles you."
Eva was not satisfied, but found it in vain to try to make
her handsome cousin understand her feelings.
Dodo soon appeared, with the horses.
" Well, Dodo, you ve done pretty well, this time," said his
young master, with a more gracious air. "Come, now, and
hold Miss Eva s horse, while I put her on to the saddle."
Dodo came and stood by Eva s pony. His face was
troubled ; his eyes looked as if he had been crying.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 78
Henrique, who valued himself on his gentlemanly adroit
ness in all matters of gallantry, soon had his fair cousin in
the saddle, and, gathering the reins, placed them in her
hands.
But Eva bent to the other side of the horse, where Dodo
was standing, and said, as he relinquished the reins,
" That s a good boy, Dodo ; thank you ! "
Dodo looked up in amazement into the sweet young face ;
the blood rushed to his cheeks, and the tears to his eyes.
"Here, Dodo," said his master, imperiously.
Dodo sprang and held the horse, while his master mounted.
"There s a picayune for you to buy candy with. Dodo,"
said Henrique; "go get some."
And Henrique cantered down the walk after Eva. Dodo
stood looking after the two children. One had given him
money ; and one had given him what he wanted far more,
a kind word, kindly spoken. Dodo had been only a few
months away from his mother. His master had bought him
at a slave warehouse, for his handsome face, to be a match to
tne handsome pony; and he was now getting his breaking in,
at the hands of his young master.
The scene of the beating had been witnessed by the two
brothers St. Clare, from another part of the garden.
Augustine s cheek flushed; but he only observed, with his
usual sarcastic carelessness,
" I suppose that s what we may call republican education,
Alfred?"
" Henrique is a devil of a fellow, when his blood s up," said
Alfred, carelessly.
"I suppose you consider this an instructive practice for
him," said Augustine, drily.
"I couldn t help it, if I didn t. Henrique is a regular
VOL. II. 7
74 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
little tempest ; his mother and I have given him up, long
ago. But, then, that Dodo is a perfect sprite, no amount
of whipping can hurt him."
" And this by way of teaching Henrique the first verse of a
republican s catechism, All men are born free and equal ! "
" Poh ! " said Alfred ; " one of Tom Jefferson s pieces of
French sentiment and humbug. It s perfectly ridiculous to
have that going the rounds among us, to this day."
" I think it is," said St. Clare, significantly.
" Because," said Alfred, " we can see plainly enough that
all men are not born free, nor born equal; they are born
anything else. For my part, I think half this republican
talk sheer humbug. It ia^he educated 1 the intelligent^ Jim
who ought to have equalrights, andjiot
the canaille."
"If you can keep the canaille of that opinion," said
Augustine. "T^H^ofc f-ifV
" Of course, they must be kept down, consistently,
steadily, as I should" said Alfred, setting his foot hard
down, as if he were standing on somebody.
" It makes a terrible slip when they get up," said Augus
tine, "in St. Dcr jngo, for instance."
"Poh!" said Alfred, "we ll take care of that, in this
country. We must set our face against all this educating,
elevating talk, that is getting about now; the lower class
must not be educated."
"That is past praying for," said Augustine; "educated
they will be, and we have only to say how. Our system is
educating them in barbarism and brutality. We are break
ing all humanizing ties, and making them brute beasts ; and,
if they get the upper hand, such we shall find them."
" They never shall get the upper hand ! " said Alfred
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 75
ITJ-J1
"That s right," said St. Clare; "put on the steam, fasten
down the escape- valve, and sit on it, and see where you ll
land."
"Well," said Alfred, "we will see. I m not afraid to
sit on the escape-valve, as long as the boilers are strong, and
the machinery works well."
"The nobles in Louis XVI. s time thought just so; and
Austria and Pius IX. think so now ; and, some pleasant morn
ing, you may all be caught up to meet each other in the air,
when the boilers burst."
"Dies declarabit^ said Alfred, laughing.
"I tell you," said Augustine, "jjthfireJs_jiny thing that
igjrvvypa 1 ^ with *iip nfrgngfifr of n. fijvine law in our timeyit
is that the masses are to rise, and the under class become
the upper one."
"That s one of your red republican humbugs, Augus
tine! Why didn t you ever take to the stump; you d
make a famous stump orator ! Well, I hope I shall be dead
before this millennium of your greasy masses comes on."
" Greasy or not greasy, they will govern you, when their
time comes," said Augustine; "and they will be just such
rulers as you make them. The French noblesse chose to
have the people sans culottes, and they had sans culotte
governors to their hearts content, ^he people of Hayti "
"0, come, Augustine! as if we hadn t had enough of that
abominable, contemptible Hayti ! The Haytiens were not
Anglo Saxons; if they had been, there would have been
another story. The Anglo Saxon is the dominant race of the
world, and is to be so."
"Well, there is a pretty fair infusion of Anglo Saxon
blood among our slaves, now," said Augustine. "There ate
plenty among them who have only enough of the African to
76 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OK,
give a sort of tropical warmth and fervor to our calculating
firmness and foresight. If ever the San Domingo hour
comes, Anglo Saxon blood will lead on the day. Sons of
white fathers, with all our haughty feelings burning in their
veins, will not always be bought and sold and traded. They
will nstft 1 fl.r|fl raise with them their mother s race."
"Stuff! nonsense!"
"Well," said Augustine, "there goes an old saying to
this effect l As it was in the clays of Noah, so shall it be ;
they ate, they drank, they planted, they builded, and knew
not till the flood came and took them. "
" On the whole, Augustine, I think your talents might do
for a circuit rider," said Alfred, laughing. " Never you
fear for us ; possession is our nine points. We ve got the
power. This subject race," said he, stamping firmly, "is
down, and shall stay down! We have energy enough to
manage our own powder."
" Sons trained like your Henrique will be grand guardians
of your powder-magazines," said Augustine, "so cool and
self-possessed ! The proverb says, They that cannot govern
themselves cannot govern others.
"There is a trouble there," said Alfred, thoughtfully;
" there s no doubt that our system is a difficult one to train
children under. It gives too free scope to the passions, alto
gether, which, in our climate, are hot enough. I find trouble
with Henrique. The boy is generous and warm-hearted, but
a perfect fire-cracker when excited. I believe I shall send
him North for his education, where obedience is more fashion
able, and where he will associate more with equals, and less
with dependants."
" Since training children is the staple work of the human
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 77
race," said Augustine, "I should think it something of a
consideration that our system does not work well there."
" It does not for some things," said Alfred; "for others,
again, it does. It makes boys manly and courageous ; an<L
the very vices of an abject race tend to strengthen in them
the opposite virtues. I think Henrique, now, has a keenei
sense of the beauty of truth, from seeing lying and deception
the universal badge of slavery."
"A Christian-like view of the subject, certainly!" said
Augustine.
"It s true, Christian-like or not; and is about as Chris
tian-like as most other things in the world," said Alfred.
"That may be," said St. Clare.
"Well, there s no use in talking, Augustine. I believe
we ve been round and round this old track five hundred
times, more or less. What do you say to a game of back
gammon?"
The two brothers ran up the verandah steps, and were
soon seated at a light bamboo stand, with the backgammon-
board between them. As they were setting their men, Alfred
said,
"I tell you, Augustine, if I thought as you do, I should
cb something."
"I dare say you would, you are one of the doing sort,
but what?"
"Why, elevate your own servants, for a specimen," said
Alfred, with a half-scornful smile.
" You might as well set Mount ^Etna on them flat, and tell
them to stand up under it, as tell me to elevate my servants
under all the superincumbent mass of society upon them.
OlMrmTi pan fin nothin fiii ml liln- iihnlr nctin
mumty_. EducajLioa ? to do anything, munt be a. staff* ecluca-
VOL. II. 7*
78 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
:tion; or there must b$jsaiuiffk--affl^e^^ a cur-
" You take the first throw." said Alfred; and the brothers
1
were soon lost in the game, and heard no more till the scrap
ing of horses feet was heard under the verandah.
* There come the children, said Augustine, rising. : Look
here, Alf ! Did you ever see anything so beautiful ? " And,
in truth, it was a beautiful sight. Henrique, with his bold
brow, and dark, glossy curls, and glowing cheek, was laugh
ing gayly, as he bent towards his fair cousin, as they came on.
She was dressed in a blue riding-dress, with a cap of the
same color. Exercise had given a brilliant hue to her cheeks,
and heightened the effect of her singularly transparent skin,
and golden hair.
" Good heavens ! what perfectly dazzling beauty ! " said
Alfred. "I tell you, Auguste, won t she make some hearts
ache, one of these days?"
" She will, too truly, God knows I m afraid so ! " said St.
Clare, in a tone of sudden bitterness, as he hurried down to
take her off her horse.
"Eva, darling! you re notjmuch tired?" he said, as he
clasped her in his arms.
"No, papa," said the child; but her short, hard breathing
alarmed her father.
"How could you ride so fast, dear? you know it s bad
for you."
" I felt so well, papa, and liked it so much, I forgot."
St. Clare carried her in his arms into the parlor, and laid
her on the sofa.
"Henrique, you must be careful of Eva," said he,- "you
mustn t ride fast with her."
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 79
"I ll take her under my care," said Henrique, seating
himself by the sofa, and taking Eva s hand.
Eva soon found herself much better. Her father and uncle
resumed their game, and the children were left together.
" Do you know. Eva, I m so sorry papa is only going to
stay two days here, and then I shan t see you again for ever
so long ! If I stay with you, I d try to be good, and not be
cross to Dodo, and so on. I don t mean to treat Dodo ill;
but, you know, I ve got such a quick temper. I m not
really bad to him, though. I give him a picayune, now and
then ; and you see he dresses well. I think, on the whole,
Dodo s pretty well off."
"Would you think you were well off, if there were not
one creature in the world near you to love you? "
"I? Well, of course not."
"And you have taken Dodo away from all the friends he
ever had, and now he has not a creature to love him ; no
body can be good that way."
"Well, I can t help it, as I know of. I can t get his
mother, and I can t love him myself, nor anybody else, as I
know of."
" Why can t you ? " said Eva.
"Love Dodo! Why, Eva, you wouldn t have me! I
may like him well enough ; but you don t love your servants."
"I do, indeed."
"How odd!"
" Don t the Bible say we must love everybody? "
"0, the Bible ! To be sure, it says a great many such
things ; but, then, nobody ever thinks of doing them, you
know, Eva, nobody does."
Eva did not speak ; her eyes were fixed and thoughtful, for
a few moments.
80 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OK,
"At any rate," she said, " dear Cousin, do love poor Dodo,
and be kind to him, for my sake ! "
" I could love anything, for your sake, dear Cousin; for I
really think you are the loveliest creature that I ever saw!"
And Henrique spoke with an earnestness that flushed his
handsome face. Eva received it with perfect simplicity, with
out even a change of feature ; merely saying, cc I m glad you
feel so, dear Henrique ! I hope you will remember."
The dinner-bell put an end to the interview.
CHAPTER XXIV.
FORESHADOWINGS.
Two days after this, Alfred St. Clare and Augustine
Darted ; and Eva, who had been stimulated, by the society of
her young cousin, to exertions beyond her strength, began to
fail rapidly. St. Clare was at last willing to call in medical
advice, a thing from which he had always shrunk, because
it was the admission of an unwelcome truth.
But, for a day or two, Eva was so unwell as to be confined
to the house ; and the doctor was called.
Marie St. Clare had taken no notice of the child s gradually
decaying health and strength, because she was completely
absorbed in studying out two or three new forms of disease
to which she believed she herself was a victim. It was the
first principle of Marie s belief that nobody ever was or could
be so great a sufferer as herself; and, therefore, she always
repelled quite indignantly any suggestion that any one around
her could be sick. She was always sure, in such a case, that
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 81
it was nothing but laziness, or want of energy ; and that, if
they had had the suffering she had, they would soon know
the difference.
Miss Ophelia had several times tried to awaken her mater
nal fears about Eva ; but to no avail.
" I don t see as anything ails the child," she would say ;
" she runs about, and plays."
" But she has a cough."
" Cough ! you don t need to tell me about a cough. I ve
always been subject to a cough, all my days. When I was
of Eva s age, they thought I was in a consumption. Night
after night, Mammy used to sit up with me. ! Eva s
cough is not anything."
" But she gets weak, and is short-breathed."
" Law ! I ve had that, years and years ; it s only a nerv
ous affection."
" But she sweats so, nights ! "
" "Well, I have, these ten years. Yery often, night after
night, my clothes will be wringing wet. There won t be a dry
thread in my night-clothes, and the sheets will be so that
Mammy has to hang them up to dry ! Eva does n t sweat
anything like that ! "
Miss Ophelia shut her mouth for a season. But, now
that Eva was fairly and visibly prostrated, and a doctor
called, Marie, all on a sudden, took a new turn.
"She knew it," she said; "she always felt it, that she
was destined to be the most miserable of mothers. . Here she
was, with her wretched health, and her only darling child
going down to the grave before her eyes;" and Marie
routed up Mammy nights, and rumpussed and scolded, with
more energy than ever, all day, on the strength of this new
misery.
82 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OK,
" My dear Marie, don t talk so ! " said St. Clare. " You
ought not to give up the case so, at once."
" You have not a mother s feelings, St. Clare ! You never
could understand me ! you don t now."
" But don t talk so, as if it were a gone case ! "
" I can t take it as indifferently as you can, St. Clare. If
you don t feel when your only child is in this alarming state,
/do. It s a blow too much for me, with all I was bearing
before."
" It s true," said St. Clare, " that Eva is very delicate, that
I always knew ; and that she has grown so rapidly as to
exhaust her strength ; and that her situation is critical. But
just now she is only prostrated by the heat of the weather,
and by the excitement of her cousin s visit, and the exer
tions she made. The physician says there is room for hope."
" Well, of course, if you can look on the bright side, pray
do ; it s a mercy if people have n t sensitive feelings, in this
world. I am sure I wish I didn t feel as I do ; it only
makes me completely wretched ! I wish I could be as easy
as the rest of you! "
And the " rest of them" had good reason to breathe the
same prayer, for Marie paraded her new misery as the reason
and apology for all sorts of inflictions on every one about her.
Every word that was spoken by anybody, everything that
was done or was not done everywhere, was only a new proof
that she was sur/ounded by hard-hearted, insensible beings,
who were unmindful of her peculiar sorrows. Poor Eva heard
some of these speeches ; and nearly cried her little eyes out, in
pity for her mamma, and in sorrow that she should make her
so much distress.
In a week or two, there was a great improvement of symp
toms,- - one of those deceitful lulls, by which her inexorable
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 83
disease so often beguiles the anxious heart, even on the verge
of the grave. Eva s step was again in the garden, in the
balconies; she played and laughed again, and her father,
in a transport, declared that they should soon have her as
hearty as anybody. Miss Ophelia and the physician alone
felt no encouragement from this illusive truce. There was
one other heart, too, that felt the same certainty, and that
was the little heart of Eva. What is it that sometimes speaks
in the soul so calmly, so clearly, that its earthly time ia
short ? Is it the secret instinct of decaying nature, or the
soul s impulsive throb, as immortality draws on ? Be it what
it may, it rested in the heart of Eva, a calm, sweet, prophetic
certainty that Heaven was near ; calm as the light of sunset,
sweet as the bright stillness of autumn, there her little heart
reposed, only troubled by sorrow for those who loved her so
dearly.
For the child, though nursed so tenderly, and though life
was unfolding before her with every brightness that love and
wealth could give, had no regret for herself in dying.
In that book which she and her simple old friend had read
so much together, she had seen and taken to her young heart
the image of one who loved the little child ; and, as she gazed
and mused, He had ceased to be an image and a picture of
the distant past, and come to be a living, all-surrounding
reality. His love enfolded her childish heart with more than
mortal tenderness ; and it was to Him, she said, she was going,
and to his home.
But her heart yearned with sad tenderness for all that she
was to leave behind. Her father most, for Eva, though
she never distinctly thought so, had an instinctive perception
that she was more in his heart than any other. She loved
her mother because she was so loving a creature^ and all the
84 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: on,
selfishness that she had seen in her only saddened and perplexed
her; for she had a child s implicit trust that her mother
could not do wrong. There was something about her that
Eva never could make out ; and she always smoothed it over
with thinking that, after all, it was mamma, and she loved
her very dearly indeed.
She felt, too, for those fond, faithful servants, to whom she
was as daylight and sunshine. Children do not usually gen
eralize ; but Eva was an uncommonly mature child, and the
things that she had witnessed of the evils of the system under
which they were living had fallen, one by one, into the depths
of her thoughtful, pondering heart. She had vague long
ings to do something for them, to bless and save not only
them, but all in their condition, longings that contrasted
sadly with the feebleness of her little frame.
" Uncle Tom," she said, one day, when she was reading to
her friend, "I can understand why Jesus wanted to die for
us."
"Why, Miss Eva?"
" Because I ve felt so, too."
li What is it, Miss Eva ? I don t understand."
" I can t tell -you ; but, when I saw those poor creatures on
the boat, you know, when you came up and I, some had lost
their mothers, and some their husbands, and some mothers
cried for their little children, and when I heard about poor
Prue, oh, was n t that dreadful ! and a great many other
times, I ve felt that I would be glad to die, if my dying
could stop all this misery. I would die for them, Tom, if I
could," said the child, earnestly, laying her little thin hand
on his.
Tom looked at the child with awe ; and when she, hearing
LITE AMONG THE LOWLY. 85
her father s voice, glided away, he wiped his eyes many times,
as he looked after her.
" It s jest no use tryin to keep Miss Eva here," he said
to Mammy, whom he met a moment after. " She s got the
Lord s mark in her forehead. 7
"Ah, yes, yes," said Mammy, raising her hands; "I ve
allers said so. She was n t never like a child that s to live
there was allers something deep in her eyes. I ve told
Missis so, many the time ; it s a comin true, we all sees it,
-"dear, little, blessed lamb ! "
Eva came tripping up the verandah steps to her father. It
was late in the afternoon, and the rays of the sun formed a
kind of glory behind her, as she came forward in her white
dress, with her golden hair and glowing cheeks, her eyes
unnaturally bright with the slow fever that burned in her
veins.
St. Clare had called her to show a statuette that he had
been buying for her ; but her appearance, as she came on,
impressed him suddenly and painfully. There is a kind of
beauty so intense, yet so fragile, that we cannot bear to look
at it. Her father folded her suddenly in his arms, and
almost forgot what he was going to tell her.
" Eva, dear, you are better now-a-days, are you not? "
" Papa," said Eva, with sudden firmness, "I ve had things
I wanted to say to you, a great while. I want to say them
now, before 1 get weaker."
St. Clare trembled as Eva seated herself in his lap. She
laid her head on his bosom, and said,
" It s all no use, papa, to keep it to myself any longer.
The time is coming that I am going to leave you. I am
going, and never to come back! " and Eva sobbed.
" 0, now, my dear little Eva!" said St. Clare, trembling
VOL. II. 8
86 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR.
as he spoke, but speaking cheerfully, " you ve got nervous
and low-spirited; you must n t indulge such gloomy thoughts.
See here, I ve bought a statuette for you ! "
" No, papa," said Eva, putting it gently away, " don t
deceive yourself ! I am not any better, I know it perfectly
well, and I am going, before long. I am not nervous, I am
not low-spirited. If it were not for you, papa, and my
friends, I should be perfectly happy. I want to go, I long
to go ! "
" Why, dear child, what has made your poor little heart so
sad? You have had everything, to make you happy, that
could be given you."
" I had rather be in heaven; though, only for my friends
sake, I would be willing to live. There are a great many
things here that make me sad, that seem dreadful to me ; I
had rather be there; but I don t want to leave you, it
almost breaks my heart ! "
u What makes you sad, and seems dreadful, Eva?"
"0, things that are done, and done all the time. I feel
sad for our poor people ; they love me dearly, and they are
all good and kind to me. I wish, papa, they were all free"
" Why, Eva, child, don t you think they are well enough
off now?"
" 0, but, papa, if anything should happen to you, what
would become of them ? There are very few men like you,
papa. Uncle Alfred isn t like you, and mamma isn t; and
then, think of poor old Prue s owners ! What horrid things
people do, and can do ! " and Eva shuddered.
" My dear child, you are too sensitive. I m sorry I ever
let you hear such stories."
"0, that s what troubles me, papa. You want me to live
so happy, and never to have any pain, never suffer any-
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 87
thing, not even hear a sad story, -when other poor creatures
have nothing but pain and sorrow, all their lives ; it seems
selfish. I ought to know such things, I ought to feel about
them ! Such things always sunk into my heart ; they went
down deep; I ve thought and thought about them. Papa,
is n t there any way to have all slaves made free?"
" That s a difficult question, dearest. There s no doubt
that this way is a very bad one ; a great many people think
so ; I do myself. I heartily wish that there were not a slave
in the land ; but, then, I don t know what is to be done about
it!
" Papa, you are such a g*d man, and so noble, and kind,
and you always have a way of saying things that is so pleas
ant, could n t you go all round and try to persuade people to
do right about this ? When I am dead, papa, then you will
think of me, and do it for my sake. I would do it, if I
could."
"When you are dead, Eva," said St. Clare, passionately.
"0, child, don t talk to me so ! You are all I have on
earth."
" Poor Id Prue s child was all that she had, and yet she
had to hear it crying, and she could n t help it ! Papa, these
poor creatures love their children as much as you do me. !
do something for them ! There s poor Mammy loves her
children ; I ve seen her cry when she talked about them.
And Tom loves his children ; and it s dreadful, papa, that
such things are happening, all the time ! "
"There, there, darling," said St. Clare, soothingly; "only
don t distress yourself, and don t talk of dying, and I will do
anything you wish."
"And promise me, dear father, that Tom shall have his
UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OB,
freedom as soon as " she stopped, and said, in a hesitating
tone " I am gone ! "
" Yes, dear, I will do anything in the world, anything
you could ask me to."
"Dear papa," said the child, laying her burning cheek
against his, u how I wish we could go together ! "
" Where, dearest?" said St. Clare.
" To our Saviour s home ; it s so sweet and peaceful there
it is all so loving there ! " The child spoke unconsciously,
as of a place where she had often been. " Don t you want to
go, papa?" she said.
St. Clare drew her closer to him, but was silent.
" You will come to me," said the child, speaking in a voice
of calm certainty which she often used unconsciously.
" I shall come after you. I- shall not forget you."
The shadows of the solemn evening closed round them
deeper and deeper, as St. Clare sat silently holding the little
frail form to his bosom. . He saw no more the deep eyes, but
the voice came over him as a spirit voice, and, as in a sort of
judgment vision, his whole past life rose in a moment before his
eyes : his mother s prayers and hymns ; his own early yearn
ings and aspirings for good ; and, betweenjthem agd_this hour,
and scepticism, and what man calls
respectable living. We can think muck, very much, in
a moment. St. Clare saw and felt many things, but spoke
nothing ; and, as it grew darker, he took his child to her bed
room ; and, when she was prepared for rest, he sent away the
attendants, and rocked her in his arms, and sung to her till
she was asleep.
LIFE AMONG THS LOWLY. 89
CHAPTER XXV.
THE LITTLE EVANGELIST.
IT was Sunday afternoon. St. Clare was stretched on a
bamboo lounge in the verandah, solacing himself with a cigar.
Marie lay reclined on a sofa, opposite the window opening on
the verandah, closely secluded, under an awning of transpar
ent gauze, from the outrages of the mosquitos, and languidly
holding in her hand an elegantly bound prayer-book. She
was holding it because it was Sunday, and she imagined
she had been reading it, though, in fact, she had been only
taking a succession of short naps, with it open in her hand.
Miss Ophelia, who, after some rummaging, had hunted up
a small Methodist meeting within riding distance, had gone
out, with Tom as driver, to attend it ; and Eva had accom
panied them.
"I say, Augustine," said Marie after dozing a while, "I
must send to the city after my old Doctor Posey ; I m sure
I ve got the complaint of the heart."
"Well; why need you send for him? This doctor thi*t
attends Eva seems skilful."
"I would not trust him in a critical case," said Marie; "and
I think I may say mine is becoming so ! I ve been thinking
of it, these two or three nights past ; I have such distressing
pains, and such strange feelings."
" 0, Marie, you are blue; I don t believe it s heart com
plaint."
" I dare say you don t," said Marie ; "I was prepared to
expect that. You can be alarmed enough, if Eva coughs, or
VOL. II. 8*
90 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: on,
has the least thing the matter with her ; hut you never think
of me."
" If it s particularly agreeable to you to have heart dis
ease, why, I ll try and maintain you have it," said St.
Clare ; " I did n t know it was."
" Well, I only hope you won t be sorry for this, when it s
too late!" said Marie; "but, believe it or not, my distress
about Eva, and the exertions I have made with that dear
child, have developed what I have long suspected."
What the exertions were which Marie referred to, it would
have been difficult to state. St. Clare quietly made this com
mentary to himself, and went on smoking,, like a hard-hearted
wretch of a man as he was, till a carriage drove up before the
verandah, and Eva and Miss Ophelia alighted.
Miss Ophelia marched straight to her own chamber, to put
away her bonnet and shawl, as was always her manner, before
she spoke a word on any subject ; while Eva came, at St.
Clare s call, and was sitting on his knee, giving him an
account of the services they had heard.
They soon heard loud exclamations from Miss Ophelia s
room, -which, like the one in which they were sitting, opened
on to the verandah, and violent reproof addressed to some
body.
"What new witchcraft has Tops been brewing?" asked
St. Clare. "That commotion is of her raising, I ll be
bound!"
And, in a moment after, Miss Ophelia, in high indignation,
came dragging the culprit along.
" Come out here, now ! " she said. " I will tell your mas-
ter!"
" What s the case now ? " asked Augustine.
fi The case is, that I cannot be plagued with this child, any
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 91
longer ! It s past all bearing ; flesh and blood cannot endure
it ! Here, I locked her up, and gave her a hymn to study ;
and what does she do, but spy out where I put my key, and
has gone to my bureau, and got a bonnet-trimming, and cut
it all to pieces, to make dolls jwkits ! I never saw anything
like it, in my life ! "
" I told you, Cousin," said Marie, "that you d find out
that these creatures can t be brought up, without severity.
If I had my way, now," she said, looking reproachfully at
St. Clare, " I d send that child out, and have her thoroughly
whipped; I d have her whipped till she couldn t stand ! "
"I doi t doubt it," said St. Clare. Tell me of the
lovely rule of woman ! I never saw above a dozen women
that wouldn t half kill a horse, or a servant, either, if they
had their own way with them ! let alone a man."
"There is no use in this shilly-shally way of yours, St.
Clare !" said Marie. " Cousin is a woman of sense, and she
sees it now, as plain as I do."
Miss Ophelia had just the capability of indignation that
belongs to the thorough-paced housekeeper, and this had
been pretty actively roused by the artifice and wastefulness
of the child ; in fact, many of my lady readers must own that
they should have felt just so in her circumstances; but
Marie s words went beyond her, and she felt less heat.
" I wouldn t have the child treated so, for the world," she
said; "but, I am sure, Augustine, I don t know what to do.
I ve taught and taught; I ve talked till I m tired; I ve
whipped her I ve punisl^ed her in every way I can think of,
and still she s just yhat she was at first."
" Come here, Tjf$, you monkey! " said St. Clare, calling
the child up to hfra.
Topsy came up ; her round, hard eyes glittering and blink-
92 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
ing with a mixture of apprehensiveness and their usual odd
drollery.
"What makes you behave so? " said St. Clare, who could
not help being amused with the child s expression.
" Spects it s my wicked heart," said Topsy, demurely;
"Miss Feely says so."
" Don t you see how much Miss Ophelia has done for you?
She says she has done everything she can think of."
"Lor, yes, Mas r! old Missis used to say so, too. She
whipped me a heap harder, and used to pull my har, and
knock my head agin the door; but it didn t do me no good!
I spects, if they s to pull every spear o har out c my head,
it wouldn t do no good, neither, I s so wicked ! Laws!
I s nothin but a nigger, no ways ! "
"Well, I shall have to give her up," said Miss Ophelia;
" I can t have that trouble any longer."
"Well. I d just like to ask one question," said St. Clare.
"What is it?"
"Why, if your Gospel is not strong enough to save one
heathen child, that you can have at home here, all to your
self, what s the use of sending one or two poor missionaries
off with it among thousands of just such ? I suppose this
child is about a fair sample of what thousands of your heathen
are."
Miss Ophelia did not make an immediate answer; and Eva,
who had stood a silent spectator of the scene thus far, made a
silent sign to Topsy to follow her. There was a little glass-
room at the corner of the veranda!^ which St. Clare used as
a sort of reading-room ; and Eva and Topsy disappeared into
this place.
"What s Eva going about, now? "said St. Clare; "I
mean to see."
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 93
And, advancing on tiptoe, be lifted up a curtain that cov
ered the glass-door, and looked in. In a moment, laying his
finger on his lips, he made a silent gesture to Miss Ophelia
to come and look. There sat the two children on the floor,
with their side faces towards them. Topsy, with her usual
air of careless drollery and unconcern ; but, opposite to her,
Eva, her whole face fervent with feeling, and tears in her
large eyes.
"What does make you so bad, Topsy? Why won t you
try and be good? Don t you love anybody, Topsy? "
" Donno nothing bout love; I loves candy and sich, that s
all," said Topsy.
"But you love your father and mother ? "
" Never had none, ye know. I telled ye that, Miss Eva."
"(VI know," said Eva, sadly; "but hadn t you any
brother, or sister, or aunt, or
" No, none on em, never had nothing nor nobody."
" But, Topsy, if you d only try to be good, you might
" Couldn t never be nothin but a nigger, if I was ever so
good," said Topsy. "If I could be skinned, and come white,
I d try then."
"But people can love you, if you are black, Topsy. Miss
Ophelia would love you, if you were good."
Topsy gave the short, blunt laugh that was her common
mode of expressing incredulity.
" Don t you think so? " said Eva.
"No; she can t bar ne, cause I m a nigger! she d s
soon have a toad touch bar ! There can t nobody love nifp
gers, and niggers can t do nothin ! / don t care," said Topsy,
beginning to whistle.
"0, Topsy, poor child, I love you! " said Eva, with a
sudden burst of feeling, and laying her little thin, white
*
/
94 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
hand on Topsy s shoulder; " I love you, because you haven t
had any father, or mother, or friends ; because you ve been
a poor, abused child ! I love you, and I want you to be good.
I am very unwell, Topsy, and I think I shan t live a great
while ; and it really grieves me, to have you be so naughty. I
wish you would try to be good, for my sake; it s only a
little while I shall be with you."
The round A _keja-ze3 of the black child were... overcast jyith
tearsj^ large, brJglit tlropg_rn11pj heavily down, one by one,
I and fell on__the little white Jiand. Yes, in that moment, a
ray of real belief, a ray of heavenly love, had penetrated the
\ - -
i^l da^kn^ss ^nreT^n^aTEen^soul I She laid her head down
/ betweenheTTn^e^T^ncrwept and sobbed, while the beauti
ful child, bending over her, looked like the picture of some
bright angel stooping to reclaim a sinner.
"Poor Topsy!" said Eva, "don t you know that Jesus
loves all alike ? He is just as willing to love you, as me.
He loves you just as I do, only more, because he is better.
He will help you to be good ; and you can go to Heaven at
last, and be an angel forever, just as much as if you were
white. Only think of it, Topsy ! you can be one of those
spirits bright, Uncle Tom sings about."
" 0, dear Miss Eva, dear Miss Eva!" said the child;
"I will try, I will try; I never did care nothin about it
before."
St. Clare, at this instant,- dropped the curtain. "It puts
me in mind of mother," he said to Miss Ophelia. "It is true
what she told me ; if we want to give sight to the blind, we
must be willing to do as Christ did, call them to us, and
put our hands on them"
"I ve always had a prejudice against negroes," said Miss
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 95
Ophelia, "and it s a fact, I never could bear to have that
child touch me; but, I didn t think she knew it."
" Trust any child to find that out," said St. Clare;
" there s no keeping it from them. But I believe tl at all the
trying in the world to benefit a child, and all the substantial
favors you can do them, will never excite one emotion of
gratitude, while that feeling of repugnance remains in Qc
heart; it s a queer kind of a fact, but so it is."
"I don t know how I can help it," said Miss Ophelia;
" they are disagreeable to me, this child in particular,
how can I help feeling so? "
" Eva does, it seems."
" Well, she s so loving ! After all, though, she s no mor
than Christ-like," said Miss Ophelia; "I wish I were like
her. She might teach me a lesson."
"It wouldn t be the first time a little child had been used
to instruct an old disciple, if it were so," said St. Clare.
mm
96 UNCLE TOM S CABIN; OR,
CHAPTER XXVI.
DEATH.
Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb,
In life s early morning, hath hid from our eyes.
EVA S bed-room was a spacious apartment, which, like
all the other rooms in the house, opened on to the broad
verandah. The room communicated, on one side, with her
father and mother s apartment; on the other, with that appro
priated to Miss Ophelia, St. Clare had gratified his own eye
and taste, in furnishing this room in a style that had a pecu
liar keeping with the character of her for whom it was
intended. The windows were hung with curtains of rose-
colored and white muslin, the floor was spread with a matting
which had been ordered in Paris, to a pattern of his own
device, having round it a border of rose-buds and leaves, and
a centre-piece with fall-blown roses. The bedstead, chairs,
and lounges, were of bamboo, wrought in peculiarly graceful
and fanciful patterns. Over the head of the bed was an
alabaster bracket, on which a beautiful sculptured angel
stood, with drooping wings, holding out a crown of myrtle-
/eaves. Erom this depended, over the bed, light curtains of
rose-colored gauze, striped with silver, supplying that protec
tion from mosquitos which is an indispensable addition to all
sleeping accommodation in that climate. The graceful bam
boo lounges were amply supplied with cushions of rose-colored
damask, while over them, depending from the hands of sculp
tured figures, were gauze curtains similar to those of the bed.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 97
A light, fanciful bamboo table stood in the middle of the
room, where a Parian vase, wrought in the shape of a white
lily, with its buds, stood, ever filled with flowers. On this
table lay Eva s books and little trinkets, with an elegantly
wrought alabaster writing-stand, which her father had sup
plied to her when he saw her trying to improve herself in
writing. There was a fireplace in the room, and on the
marble mantle above stood a beautifully wrought statuette of
Jesus receiving little children, and on either side marble
vases, for which it was Tom s pride and delight to offer
bouquets every morning. Two or three exquisite paintings
of children, in various attitudes, embellished the wall. In
short, the eye could turn nowhere without meeting images of
childhood, of beauty, and of peace. Those little eyes never
opened, in the morning light, without falling on something
which suggested to the heart soothing and beautiful thoughts.
The deceitful strength which had buoyed Eva up for a
little while was fast passing away ; seldom and more seldom
her light footstep was heard in the verandah, and oftener and
oftener she was found reclined on a little lounge by the open
window, her large, deep eyes fixed on the rising and falling
waters of the lake.
It was towards the middle of the afternoon, as she was so
reclining, her Bible half open, her little transparent fingers
lying listlessly between the leaves, suddenly she heard her
mother s voice, in sharp tones, in the verandah.
" What now, you baggage ! what new piece of mischief !
You ve been picking the flowers, hey ? " and Eva heard the
sound of a smart slap.
" Law, Missis! they s for Miss Eva," she heard a voice
say, which she knew belonged to Topsy.
" Miss Eva ! A pretty excuse ! you suppose she wants
VOL. II. 9
98 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OB,
your flowers, you good-for-nothing nigger ! Get along off with
you ! "
In a moment, Eva was off from her lounge, and in the
verandah.
" 0, don t, mother ! I should like the flowers ; do give
them to me ; I want them ! "
" Why, Eva, your room is full now."
" I can t have too many," said Eva. " Topsy, do bring
them here."
Topsy, who had stood sullenly, holding down her head,
now came up and offered her flowers. She did it with a look
of hesitation and bashfulness, quite unlike the eldrich
ness and brightness which was usual with her.
" It s a beautiful bouquet! " said Eva, looking at it.
It was rather a singular one, a brilliant scarlet geranium,
and one single white japonica, with its glossy leaves. It
was tied up with an evident eye to the contrast of color, and
the arrangement of every leaf had carefully been studied.
Topsy looked pleased, as Eva said, " Topsy, you arrange
flowers very prettily. Here," she said, " is this vase I
have n t any flowers for. I wish you d arrange something
every day for it."
" Well, that s odd ! " said Marie. " What in the world do
you want that for?"
" Never mind, mamma ; you d as lief as not Topsy should
do it, had you not ? "
"Of course, anything you please, dear ! Topsy, you hear
your young mistress ; see that you mind."
Topsy made a short courtesy, and looked down ; and, as
she turned away, Eva saw a tear roll down her dark cheek.
" You see, mamma, I knew poor Topsy wanted to do some
thing for me," said Eva to her mother.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 99
" 0, nonsense ! it s only because she likes to do mischief.
She knows she mustn t pick flowers, so she does it;
that s all there is to it. But, if you fancy to have her pluck
them, so be it."
" Mamma, I think Topsy is different from what she used
to be ; she s trying to be a good girl."
She ll have to try a good while before she gets to be
good," said Marie, with a careless laugh.
"Well, you know, mamma, poor Topsy! everything has
always been against her."
"Not since she s been here, I m sure. If she hasn t
been talked to, and preached to, and every earthly thing done
that anybody could do ; and she s just so ugly, and always
will be ; you can t make anything of the creature ! "
" But, mamma, it s so different to be brought up as I ve
been, with so many friends, so many things to make me good
and happy ; and to be brought up as she s been, all the time,
till she came here ! "
" Most likely," said Marie, yawning, "dear me, how hot
it is!"
" Mamma, you believe, don t you, that Topsy could be
come an angel, as well as any of us, if she were a Chris
tian?"
" Topsy ! what a ridiculous idea ! Nobody but you would
over think of it. I suppose she could, though."
"But, mamma, isn t God her father, as much as ours?
Is n t Jesus her Saviour ?"
"Well, that may be. I suppose God made everybody,"
said Marie. " Where is my smelling-bottle? "
" It s such a pity, oh ! such a pity ! " said Eva, looking
out on the distant lake, and speaking half to herself.
"What s a pity?" said Marie.
100 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
" Why, that any one, who could be a bright angel, and live
with angels, should go all down, down, down, and nobody help
them ! oh, dear ! "
" Well, we can t help it ; it s no use worrying, Eva ! I
don t know what s to be done ; we ought to be thankful for
our own advantages."
11 1 hardly can be," said Eva," I m so sorry to think of
poor folks that have n t any."
" That s odd enough," said Marie; "I m sure my
religion makes me thankful for my advantages."
" Mamma," said Eva, " I want to have some of my hair
cut off, a good deal of it."
" What for ? " said Marie.
" Mamma, I want to give some away to my friends, while
I am able to give it to them myself. Won t you ask aunty
to come and cut it for me 1 "
Marie raised her voice, and called Miss Ophelia, from the
other room.
The child half rose from her pillow as she came in, and,
shaking down her long golden-brown curls, said, rather play
fully, " Come, aunty, shear the sheep ! "
"What s that?" said St. Clare, who just then entered
with some fruit he had been out to get for her.
" Papa, I just want aunty to cut off some of my hair;
there s too much of it, and it makes my head hot. Besides, I
want to give some of it away."
Miss Ophelia came, with her scissors.
" Take care, don t spoil the looks of it ! " said her father;
" cut underneath, where it won t show. Eva s curls are my
pride."
" 0, papa ! " said Eva, sadly.
" Yes, and I want them kept handsome against the time I
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 101
take you up to your uncle s plantation, to see Cousin Hen
rique," said St. Clare, in a gay tone.
" I shall never go there, papa ; I am going to a better
country. 0, do believe me ! Don t you see, papa, that I
get weaker, every day ? "
" Why do you insist that I shall believe puch a cruel thing/
Eva } " said her father.
" Only because it is true, papa : and, if you will believe it
now, perhaps you will get to feel about it as I do."
St. Clare closed his lips, and stood gloomily eying the
long, beautiful curls, which, as they were separated from the
child s head, were laid, one by one, in her lap. She raised
them up, looked earnestly at them, twined them around her
thin fingers, and looked, from time to time, anxiously at her
father.
" It s just what I ve been foreboding ! " said Marie ; " it J s
just what has been preying on my health, from day to day,
bringing me downward to the grave, though nobody regards
it. I have seen this, long. St. Clare, you will see, after a
while, that I was right:"
" Which will afford you great consolation, no doubt ! " said
St. Clare, in a dry, bitter tone.
Marie lay back on a lounge, and covered her face with her
cambric handkerchief.
Eva s clear blue eye looked earnestly from one to the
other. It was the calm, comprehending gaze of a soul half
loosed from its earthly bonds ; it was evident she saw, felt,
and appreciated, the difference between the two.
She beckoned with her hand to her father. He came, and
sat down by her.
" Papa, my strength fades away every day, and I know I
must go. There are some things I want to say and do,
VOL. n. 9*
102 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OK,
that I ought to do ; and you are so unwilling to have i/ie
speak a word on this subject. But it must come ; there s
no putting it off. Do be willing I should speak now ! "
"My child, I am willing!" said St. Clare, covering his
eyes with one rharid, and holding up Eva s hand with the
other. ...
Tlien, I want, to so 4 e. all our people together. I have
some things I must say to them," said Eva.
" Well" said St. Clare, in a tone of dry endurance.
Miss Ophelia despatched a messenger, and soon the whole
of the servants were convened in the room.
Eva lay back on her pillows; her hair hanging loosely
about her face, her crimson cheeks contrasting painfully
with the intense whiteness of her complexion and the thin
contour of her limbs and features, and her large, soul-like
eyes fixed earnestly on every one.
The servants were struck with a sudden emotion. The
spiritual face, the long locks of hair cut off and lying by
her, her father s averted face, and Marie s sobs, struck at
once upon the feelings of a sensitive and impressible race ;
and, as they came in, they looked one on another, sighed, and
shook their heads. There was a deep silence, like that of a
funeral.
Eva raised herself, and looked long and earnestly round at
every one. All looked sad and apprehensive. Many of the
women hid their faces in their aprons.
" I sent for you all, my dear friends," said Eva, "because
I love you. I love you all ; and I have something to say to
you, which I want you always to remember I am
going to leave you. In a few more weeks, you will see me
no more "
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 103
Here the child was interrupted by bursts of groans, sobs,
and lamentations, which broke from all present, and in which
her slender voice was lost entirely. She waited a moment,
and then, speaking in a tone that checked the sobs of all, she
said
If you love me, you must not interrupt me so. Listen
to what I say. I want to speak to you about your souls.
Many of you, I am afraid, are very careless. You
are thinking only about this world. I want you to remember
that there is a beautiful world, where Jesus is. I am going
there, and you can go there. It is for you, as much as me.
But, if you want to go there, you must not live idle, care
less, thoughtless lives. You must be Christians. You must
remember that each one of you can become angels, and be
angels forever If you want to be Christians, Jesus
will help you. You must pray to him ; you must read
The child checked herself, looked piteously at them, and
said, sorrowfully,
"0, dear ! you carft read, poor souls ! " and she hid her
face in the pillow and sobbed T -while many a smothered sob
from those she was addressing, who were kneeling on the
floor, aroused her.
"Never mind," she said, raising her face and smiling
brightly through her tears, " I have prayed for you ; and I
know Jesus will help you, even if you can t read. Try all to
do the best you can ; pray every day ; ask Him to help you,
and get the Bible read to you whenever you can; and I think
I shall see you all in heaven."
"Amen," was the murmured response from the lips of Tom
and Mammy, and some of the elder ones, who belonged to the
Methodist church. The younger and more thoughtless ones,
104 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
for the time completely overcome, were sobbing, with their
heads bowed upon their knees. .
" I know," said Eva, " you all love me."
" Yes ; oh, yes ! indeed we do ! Lord bless her ! " was the
involuntary answer of all.
"Yes, I know you do! There isn t one of you that
has n t always been very kind to me ; and I want to give
you something that, when you look at, you shall always
remember me. I m going to give all of you a curl of my
hair ; and, when you look at it, think that I loved you and am
gone to heaven, and that I want to see you all there."
It is impossible to describe the scene, as, with tears and
sobs, they gathered round the little creature, and took from
her hands what seemed to them a last mark of her love.
They fell on their knees ; they sobbed, and prayed, and kissed
the hem of her garment; and the elder ones poured forth
words of endearment, mingled in prayers and blessings, after
the manner of their susceptible race.
As each one took their gift, Miss Ophelia, who was appre
hensive for the effect of all this excitement on her little patient,
signed to each one to pass out of the apartment.
At last, all were gone but Tom and Mammy.
"Here, Uncle Tom," said Eva, "is a beautiful one for
you. 0, I am so happy, Uncle Tom, to think I shall see
you in heaven, for I m sure I shall ; and Mammy, dear,
good, kind Mammy!" she said, fondly throwing her arms
round her old nurse, "I know you 11 be there, too."
" 0, Miss Eva, don t see how I can live without ye, no
how!" said the faithful creature. " Pears like it s just
taking everything off the place to oncet ! " and Mammy gave
way to a passion of grief.
Miss Ophelia pushed her and Tom gently from the
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 105
apartment, and thought they were all gone; but, as she
turned, Topsy was standing there.
" Where did you start up from?" she said, suddenly.
" I was here," said Topsy, wiping the tears from her eyes.
"0, Miss Eva, I ve been a bad girl; but won t you give
ine one, too? "
" Yes, poor Topsy! to be sure, I will. There every
time you look at that, think that I love you, and wanted you
to be a good girl ! "
" 0, Miss Eva, I is tryin ! " said Topsy, earnestly; " but,
Lor, it s so hard to be good ! Pears like I an t used to it,
no ways ! "
"Jesus knows it, Topsy; he is sorry for you ; he will help
you."
Topsy, with her eyes hid in her apron, was silently passed
from the apartment by Miss Ophelia; but, as she went, she
hid the precious curl in her bosom.
All being gone, Miss Ophelia shut the door. That worthy
lady had wiped away many tears of her own, during the scene ;
but concern for the consequence of such an excitement to her
young charge was uppermost in her mind.
St. Clare had been sitting, during the whole time, with his
hand shading his eyes, in the same attitude. When they
were all gone, he sat so still.
" Papa ! " said Eva, gently, laying her hand on his.
He gave a sudden start and shiver ; but made no answer.
" Dear papa ! " said Eva.
" I cannot" said St. Clare, rising, " I cannot have it so !
The Almighty hath dealt very bitterly with me !" and St.
Clare pronounced these words with a bitter emphasis, indeed.
" Augustine ! has not God a right to do what he will with
his own?" said Miss Ophelia.
108 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: on,
.
" Perhaps so ; but that doesn t make it any easier to bear,"
said he, with a dry, hard, tearless manner, as he turned
away.
" Papa, you break my heart!" said Eva, rising and
throwing herself into his arms ; " you must not feel so ! " and
the child sobbed and wept with a violence which alarmed
them all, and turned her father s thoughts at once to another
channel.
" There, Eva, there, dearest! Hush! hush! I was
wrong; I was wicked. I will feel any way, do any way,
only don t distress yourself; don t sob so. I will be resigned;
I was wicked to speak as I did."
Eva soon lay like a wearied dove in her father s arms ; and
he, bending over her, soothed her by every tender word he
could think of.
Marie rose and threw herself out of the apartment into her
own, when she fell into violent hysterics.
" You didn t give me a curl, Eva," said her father, smil
ing sadly.
"They are all yours, papa," said she, smiling, "yours
and mamma s ; and you must give dear aunty as many as she
wants. I only gave them to our poor people myself, because
you know, papa, they might be forgotten when I am gone,
and because I hoped it might help them remember
You are a Christian, are you not, papa? " said Eva, doubt-
fully.
"Why do you ask me?"
"I don t know. You are so good, I don t see how you
can help it."
" What is being a Christian, Eva?"
"Loving Christ most of all," said Eva.
"Do you, Eva?"
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 107
" Certainly I do."
"You never saw him," said St. Clare.
"That makes no difference," said Eva. " I believe him,
and in a few days I shall see him ; " and the young face grew
fervent, radiant with joy.
St. Clare said no more. It was a feeling which he had seen
before in his mother ; but no chord within vibrated to it. "
Eva, after this, declined rapidly; there was no more any
doubt of the event ; the fondest hope could not be blinded.
Her beautiful room was avowedly a sick room ; and Miss
Ophelia day and night performed the duties of a nurse, and
never did her friends appreciate her value more than in that
capacity. With so well-trained a hand and eye, such perfect
adroitness and practice in every art which could promote
neatness and comfort, and keep out of sight every disagree
able incident of sickness, with such a perfect sense of time,
such a clear, untroubled head, such exact accuracy in re
membering every prescription and direction of the doctors,
she was everything to him. They who had shrugged their
shoulders at her Jittle peculiarities and setnesses, so unlike
the careless freedom of southern manners, acknowledged that
now she was the exact person that was wanted.
Uncle Tom was much in Eva s room. The child suffered
much from nervous restlessness, and it was a relief to her to
be carried ; and it was Tom s greatest delight to carry her lit
tle frail form in his arms, resting on a pillow, now up and
down her room, now out into the verandah ; and when the
fresh sea-breezes blew from the lake, -and the child felt
freshest in the morning, he would sometimes walk with her
under the orange-trees in the garden, or, sitting down in
some of their old seats, sing to her their favorite old hymns.
108 UNCLE TOM S CABIN:
Her father often did the same thing ; but his frame was
slighter, and when he was weary, Eva would say to him,
" 0, papa, let Tom take me. Poor fellow ! it pleases him ;
and you know it s all he can do now, and he wants to do
something ! "
" So do I, Eva ! " said her father.
"Well, papa, you can do everything, and are everything
to me. You read to me, you sit up nights, and Tom has
only this one thing, and his singing ; and I know, too, he
does it easier than you can. He carries me so strong ! "
The desire to do something was not confined to Tom.
Every servant in the establishment showed the same feeling,
and in their way did what they could.
Poor Mammy s heart yearned towards her darling ; but she
found no opportunity, night or day, as Marie declared that
the state of her mind was such, it was impossible for her to
rest ; and, of course, it was against her principles to let any
one else rest. Twenty times in a night, Mammy would be
roused to rub her feet, to bathe her head, to find her pocket-
handkerchief, to see what the noise was in Eva s room, to
let down a curtain because it was too light, or to put it up
because it was too dark; and, in the day-time, when she
longed to have some share in the nursing of her pet, Marie
seemed unusually ingenious in keeping her busy anywhere
and everywhere all over the house, or about her own person ;
so that stolen interviews and momentary glimpses were all
she could obtain.
" I feel it my duty to be particularly careful of myself,
now," she would say, " feeble as I am, and with the whole
care and nursing of that dear child upon me."
" Indeed, my dear," said St. Clarj, "I thought our cousin
relieved you of that."
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 109
You talk like a man, St. Clare, just as if a mother
could be relieved of the care of a child in that state ; but,
then, it s all alike, no one ever knows what I feel ! I can t
throw things off, as you do."
St. Clare smiled. You must excuse him, he couldn t
help it, for St. Clare could smile yet. For so bright and
placid was the farewell voyage of the little spirit, by such
sweet and fragrant breezes was the small bark borne towards
the heavenly shores, that it was impossible to realize that it
was death that was approaching. The child felt no pain,
only a tranquil, soft weakness, daily and almost insensibly
increasing ; and she was so beautiful, so loving, so trustful, so
happy, that one could not resist the soothing influence of
that air of innocence and peace which seemed to breathe
around her. St. Clare found a strange calm coming over him.
It was not hope, that was impossible; it was not resigna
tion ; it was only a calm resting in the present, which seemed
so beautiful that he wished to think of no future. It was
like that hush of spirit which we feel ( amid the bright, mild
woods of autumn, when the bright hectic flush is on the trees,
and the last lingering flowers by the brook ; and we joy in it
all the more, because we know that soon it will all pass away.
The friend who knew most of Eva s own imaginings and
foreshadowings was her faithful bearer, Tom. To him she
said what she would not disturb her father by saying. To
him she imparted those mysterious intimations which the soul
feels, as the cords begin to unbind, ere it leaves its clay for
ever.
Tom, at last, would not sleep in his room, but lay all night
in the outer verandah, ready to rouse at every call.
"Uncle Tom, what alive have you taken to sleeping any
where and everywhere, like a dog, for?" said Miss Ophelia.
VOL. II. 10
.
110 UNCLE TOMS CABIN: OR,
I thought you was one of the orderly sort, that liked to lie
in bed in a Christian way."
" I do, Miss Feely," said Tom, mysteriously. " I do, but
now "
"Well, what now?"
"We mustn t speak loud; Mas r St. Clare won t heai
on t; but Miss Feely, you know there must be somebodj
watchin for the bridegroom."
" What do you mean, Tom? "
" You know it says in Scripture, At midnight there waj
a great cry made. Behold, the bridegroom cometh. That s
what I m spectin now, every night, Miss Feely, and ]
couldn t sleep out o hearin, no ways."
" Why, Uncle Tom, what makes you think so ? "
"Miss Eva, she talks to me. The Lord, he sends hi
messenger in the soul. I must be thar, Miss Feely; fo:
when that ar blessed child goes into the kingdom, they l
open the door so wide, we 11 all get a look in at the glory
Miss Feely."
" Uncle Tom, did Miss Eva say she felt more unwell thai
usual to-night?"
"No; but she telled me, this morning, she was coming
nearer, thar s them that tells it to the child, Miss Feelj
It s the angels, it s the trumpet sound afore the break Q
day, " said Tom, quoting from a favorite hymn.
This dialogue passed between Miss Ophelia and Tom
between ten and eleven, one evening, after her arrangement
had all been made for the night, when, on going to bolt he
outer door, she found Tom stretched along by it, in the oute
verandah.
She was not nervous or impressible ; but the solemn, heart
felt manner struck her. Eva had been unusually bright an<
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. Ill
cheerful, that afternoon, and had sat raised in her bed, and
looked over all her little trinkets and precious things, and
designated the friends to whom she would have them given ;
and her manner was more animated, and her voice more nat
ural, than they had known it for weeks. Her father had
been in, .in the evening, and had said that Eva appeared more
like her former self than ever she had done since her sick
ness ;. and when he kissed her for the night, he said to Miss
Ophelia, " Cousin, we may keep her with us, after all; she
is certainly better;" and he had retired with a lighter heart
in his bosom than he had had there for weeks.
But at midnight, strange, mystic hour ! when the veil
between the frail present and the eternal future grows thin,
then came the messenger!
There was a sound in that chamber, first of one who
stepped quickly. It was Miss Ophelia, who had resolved to
sit up all night with her little charge, and who, at the turn of
the night, had discerned what experienced nurses significantly
call "a change." The outer door was quickly opened, and
Tom, who was watching outside, was on the alert, in a
moment.
" Go for the doctor, Tom ! lose not a moment," said Miss
Ophelia; and, stepping across the room, she rapped at St.
Clare s door.
" Cousin," she said, " I wish you would come."
Those words fell on his heart like clods upon a coffin. Why
did they? He was up and in the room in an instant, and
bending over Eva, who still slept.
What was it he saw that made his heart stand still ? . Why
was no word spoken between the two ? Thou canst say, who
hast seen that same expression on the face dearest to thee;
r :
112 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OB,
that look indescribable, hopeless, unmistakable, that says to
thee that thy beloved is no longer thine.
On the face of the child, however, there was no ghastly
imprint, only a high and almost sublime expression, the
overshadowing presence of spiritual natures, the dawning of
immortal life in that childish soul.
They stood there so still, gazing upon her, that even the
ticking of the watch seemed too loud. In a few moments 5
Tom returned, with the doctor. He entered, gave one look,
and stood silent as the rest.
"When did this change take place?" said he, in a low
whisper, to Miss Ophelia.
"About the turn of the night," was the reply.
Marie, roused by the entrance of the doctor, appeared,
hurriedly, from the next room.
"Augustine ! Cousin ! ! what ! " she hurriedly be
gan.
"Hush!" said St. Clare, hoarsely; "she is dying!"
Mammy heard the words, and flew to awaken the servants.
The house was soon roused, lights were seen, footsteps
heard, anxious faces thronged the verandah, and looked tear
fully through the glass doors ; but St. Clare heard and said
nothing, he saw only that look on the face of the little
sleeper.
"0, if she would only wake, and speak once more ! " he
said; and, stooping over her, he spoke in her ear, " Eva.
darling!"
The large blue eyes unclosed, a smile passed over hei
face ; she tried to raise her head, and to speak.
" Do you know me, Eva? "
"Dear papa," said the child, with a last effort, throwing
her arms about his neck. In a moment they dropped again;
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 118
and, as St. Clare raised his head, he saw a spasm of mortal
agony pass over the face, she struggled for breath, and
threw up her little hands.
" 0, God, this is dreadful ! " he said, turning away in agony,
and wringing Tom s hand, scarce conscious what he was
doing. " 0, Tom, my boy, it is killing me ! "
Tom had his master s hands between his own; and, with
tears streaming down his dark cheeks, looked up for help
where he had always been used to look.
"Pray that this may be cut short!" said St. Clare,
" this wrings my heart."
u 0, bless the Lord ! it s over, it -s over, dear Master ! "
said Tom; " look at her."
The child lay panting on her pillows, as one exhausted,
the large clear eyes rolled up and fixed. Ah, what said
those eyes, that spoke so much of heaven? Earth was past,
and earthly pain; but so solemn, so mysterious, was the
triumphant brightness of that face, that it checked even the
sobs of sorrow. They pressed around her, in breathless still
ness.
" Eva," said St. Clare, gently.
She did not hear.
0, Eva, tell us what you see! What is it?" said her
father.
A bright, a glorious smile passed over her face, and she
said, brokenly, " ! love, joy, peace ! " gave one sigh,
and passed from death unto life !
"Farewell, beloved child! the bright, eternal doors have
closed after thee ; we shall see thy sweet face no more. 0,
woe for them who watched fhy entrance into heaven, when
they shall wake and find only the cold gray sky of daily life,
and thou gone forever! "
VOL. II. 10*
1 14 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OR,
CHAPTER XXVII.
" THIS IS THE LAST OF EARTH." John Q. Adams.
THE statuettes and pictures in Eva s room were shrouded
in white napkins, and only hushed breathings and muffled
foot-falls were heard there, and the light stole in solemnly
through windows partially darkened by closed blinds.
The bed was draped in white; and there, beneath the
drooping angel-figure, lay a little sleeping form, sleeping
never to waken !
There she lay, robed in one of the simple white dresses she
had been wont to wear when living ; the rose-colored light
through the curtains cast over the icy coldness of death a
warm glow. The heavy eyelashes drooped softly on the pure
cheek; the head was turned a little to one side, as if in
natural sleep, but there was diffused over every lineament of
the face that high celestial expression, that mingling of rap
ture and repose, which showed it was no earthly or temporary
sleep, but the long, sacred rest which " He giveth to his
beloved."
There is no death to such as thou, dear Eva ! neither dark
ness nor shadow of death ; only such a bright fading as when
the morning star fades in the golden dawn. Thine is the
victory without the battle, the crown without the conflict.
So did St. Clare think, as, with folded arms, he stood there
gazing. Ah ! who shall say what he did think ? for, from
the hour that voices had said, in the dying chamber, " she is
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 115
gone," it had been all a dreary mist, a heavy " dimness of
anguish." He had heard voices around him; he had had
questions asked, and answered them; they had asked him
when he would have the funeral, and where they should lay
her ; and he had answered, impatiently, that he cared not.
Adolph and Rosa had arranged the chamber; volatile,
fickle and childish, as they generally were, they were soft
hearted and full of feeling ; and, while Miss Ophelia presided
over the general details of order and neatness, it was their
hands that added those soft, poetic touches to the arrange
ments, that took from the death-room the grim and ghastly
air which too often marks a New England funeral.
There were still flowers on the shelves, all white, deli
cate and fragrant, with graceful, drooping leaves. Eva s
little table, covered with white, bore on it her favorite vase,
with a single white moss rose-bud in it. The folds of the
drapery, the fall of the curtains, had been arranged and
rearranged, by Adolph and Rosa, with that nicety of eye
which characterizes their race. Even now, while St. Clare
stood there thinking, little Rosa tripped softly into the cham
ber with a basket of white flowers. She stepped back when
she saw St. Clare, and stopped respectfully ; but, seeing that
he did not observe her, she came forward to place them
around the dead. St. Clare saw her as in a dream, while she
placed in the small hands a fair cape jessamine, and, with
admirable taste, disposed other flowers around the couch.
The door opened again, and Topsy, her eyes swelled with
crying, appeared, holding something under her apron. Rosa
made a quick, forbidding gesture ; but she took a step into the
room.
"You must go out," said Rosa, in a sharp, positive
whisper ; " you haven t any business here ! "
116 UNCLE TOSTS CABIN: OR,
" 0, do let me ! I brought a flower, such a pretty one ! "
said Topsy, holding up a half-blown tea rose-bud. "Do let
me put just one there,"
" Get along ! " said Rosa, more decidedly.
u Let her stay ! " said St. Clare, suddenly stamping his
foot. " She shall come."
Rosa suddenly retreated, and Topsy came forward and laid
her offering at the feet of the corpse ; then suddenly, with a
wild and bitter cry, she threw herself on the floor alongside
the bed, and wept, and moaned aloud.
Miss Ophelia hastened into the room, and tried to raise and
silence her ; but in vain.
" 0, Miss Eva ! oh, Miss Eva ! I wish I s dead, too, I
do!"
There was a piercing wildness in the cry ; the blood
flushed into St. Clare s white, marble-like face, and the first
tears he had shed since Eva died stood in his eyes.
" Get up, child," said Miss Ophelia, in a softened voice;
" don t cry so.- Miss Eva is gone to heaven ; she is an
angel."
" But I can t see her ! " said Topsy. " I never shall see
her ! " and she sobbed again.
They all stood a moment in silence.
" She said she loved me," said Topsy, " she did ! 0,
dear ! oh, dear ! there an t nobody left now, there an t ! "
"That s true enough," said St. Clare; "but do," he
said to Miss Ophelia, "see if you can t comfort the poor
creature."
" I jist wish I had n t never been born." said Topsy. " I
did n t want to be born, no ways ; and I don t see no use
on t."
Miss Ophelia raised her gently, but firmly, and took her
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 117
from the room ; but, as she did so, some tears fell from her
eyes.
" Topsy, you poor chilli," she said, as she led her into her
room, " don t give up ! / can love you, though I am not like
that dear little child. I hope I ve learnt something of the
love of Christ from her. I can love you ; I do, and I 11 try
it help you t* grow up a good Christian girl."
Miss Ophelia s voice was more than her words, and mere
than that were the honest tears that fell down her face.
Frdm that hour, she acquired an influence over the mind f
the destitute child that she never l@st.
" 0, my Eva, whose little hour on earth did so much of
good," thought St. Clare, " what account have I to give for
my long years ? "
There were, for a while, soft whisperings and foot-falls in
the chamber, as one after another stole in, to look at the
dead ; and then came the little coffin ; and then there was a
funeral, and carriages drove to the door, and strangers came
and were seated ; and there were white scarfs and ribbons,
and crape bands, and mourners dressed in black crape ; and
there were words read from the Bible, and prayers offered ;
and St. Clare lived, and walked, and moved, as one who has
shed every tear; to the last he saw only one thing, that
golden head in the coffin ; but then he saw the cloth spread
over it, the lid of the coffin closed ; and he walked, when he
was put beside the others, down to a little place at the bottom
of the garden, and there, by the mossy seat where she and
Tom had talked, and sung, and read so often, was the little
grave. St. Clare stood beside it, looked vacantly down-
he saw them lower the little coffin; he heard, dimly, the
solemn words, " I am the resurrection and the Life fjg^Jj 1 ^
believethhi me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; "
118 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
and, as the earth was cast in and filled up the little -grave, he
could not realize that it was his Eva that they were hiding
from his sight.
Nor was it ! not Eva, but only the frail seed of that
bright, immortal form with which she shall yet come forth, in
the day of the Lord Jesus !
And then all were gone, and the mourners went back to
the place which should know her no more ; and Marie s room
was darkened, and she lay on the bed, sobbing and moaning
in uncontrollable grief, and calling every moment for the
attentions of all her servants. Of course, they had no time
to cry, why should they ? the grief was her grief, and she
was fully convinced that nobody on earth did, could, or would
feel it as she did.
"St. Clare did not shed a tear," she said; "he didn t
sympathize with her ; it was perfectly wonderful to think how
hard-hearted and unfeeling he was, when he must know how
she suffered."
So much are 1 people the slave of their eye and ear, that many
of the servants really thought that Missis was the principal
sufferer in the case, especially as Marie began to have hyster
ical spasms, and sent for the doctor, and at last declared her
self dying ; and, in the running and scampering, and bringing
up hot bottles, and heating of flannels, and chafing, and fuss
ing, that ensued, there was quite a diversion.
Tom, however, had a feeling at his own heart, that drew
him to his master. He followed him wherever he walked,
wistfully and sadly ; and when he saw him sitting, so pale and
quiet, in Eva s room, holding before his eyes her little open
Bible, though seeing no letter or word of what was in it, there
was more sorrow to Tom in that still, fixed, tearless eye, than
in all Mane s moans and lamentations.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 119
In a few days the St. Clare family were back again in the
city ; Augustine, with the restlessness of grief, longing for
another scene, to change the current of his thoughts. So
they left the house and garden, with its little grave, and
came back to New Orleans ; and St. Clare walked the streets
busily, and strove to fill up the chasm in his heart with
hurry and bustle, and change of place ; and people who saw
hirn in the street, or met him at the cafe, knew of his loss
only by the weed on his hat ; for there he was, smiling and
talking, and reading the newspaper, and speculating on
politics, and attending to business matters ; and who could
see that all this smiling outside was but a hollow shell over
a heart that was a dark and silent sepulchre 7
" Mr. St. Clare is a singular man," said Marie to Miss
Ophelia, in a complaining tone. "I used to think, if there
was anything in the world he did love, it was our dear little
Eva ; but he seems to be forgetting her very easily. I can
not ever get him to talk about her. I really did think he
would show more feeling ! "
" Still waters run deepest, they used to tell me," said Miss
Ophelia, oracularly.
" 0, I don t believe in such things; it s all talk. If peo
ple have feeling, they will show it, they can t help it ; but,
then, it s a great misfortune to have feeling. I d rather
have been made like St. Clare. My feelings prey upon me
so!"
" Sure, Missis, Mas r St. Clare is gettin thin as a shader.
They say, he don t never eat nothin ," said Mammy,
know he don t forget Miss Eva; I know there couldn t
nobody, dear, little, blessed cretur ! " she added, wiping her
eyes.
"Well, at all events, he has no consideration for me," said
120 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OR,
Marie; "he hasn t spoken one word of sympathy, and ho
must know how much more a mother feels than any man
can."
" The heart knoweth its own bitterness," said Miss Ophelia,
gravely.
" That s just what I think. I know just what I feel,
nobody else seems to. Eva used to, but she is gone ! " and
Marie lay back on her lounge, and began to sob disconsolately.
Marie was one of those unfortunately constituted mortals,
in whose eyes whatever is lost and gone assumes a value
which it never had in possession. Whatever she had, she
seemed to survey only to pick flaws in it ; but, once fairly
away, there was no end to her valuation of it.
While this conversation was taking place in the parlor,
another was going on in St. Clare s library.
Tom, who was always uneasily following his master about,
had seen him go to his library, some hours before ; and, after
vainly waiting for him to come out, determined, at last, to
make an errand in. He entered softly. St. Clare lay on
his lounge, at the further end of the room. He was lying on
his face, with Eva s Bible open before him, at a little distance.
Tom walked up, and stood by the sofa. He hesitated ; and,
while he was hesitating, St. Clare suddenly raised himself up.
The honest face, so full of grief, and with such an imploring
expression of affection and sympathy, struck his master.
He laid his hand on Tom s, and bowed down his forehead
on it.
" 0, Tom, my boy, the whole world is as empty as an egg
shell."
"I know it, Mas r, I know it," said Tom; "but, oh, if
Mas r could only look up, up where our dear Miss Eva is,
up to the dear Lord Jesus ! "
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 121
" All, Tom! I do look up; but the trouble is, I don t see
anything, when I do. I wish I could."
Tom sighed heavily.
" It seems to be given to children, and poor, honest fellows,
like you, to see what we can t," said St. Clare. " How
comes it? "
" Thou hast hid from the wise and prudent, and revealed
unto babes, " murmured Tom; " even so, Father, for so
it seemed good in thy sight.
"Tom, I don t believe, I can t believe, I ve got the
habit 01 doubting," said St. Clare. "I want to believe this
Bible, and I can t."
" Dear Mas r, pray to the good Lord, Lord, I believe ;
help thou my unbelief. J:
"Who knows anything about anything?" said St. Clare,
his eyes wandering dreamily, and speaking to himself. " Was
all that beautiful love and faith only one of the ever-shifting
phases of human feeling, having nothing real to rest on, pass
ing away with the little breath ? And is there no more Eva,
no heaven, no Christ, nothing ? "
" 0, dear Mas r, there is ! I know it ; I m sure of it,"
said Tom, falling on his knees. " Do, . do, dear Mas r,
believe it ! "
"How do you know there s any Christ, Tom? You
never saw the Lord."
" Felt Him in my soul, Mas r, feel Him now ! 0, Mas r,
when I was sold away from my old woman and the children,
I was jest a most broke up. I felt as if there warn t nothin 7
left ; and then the good Lord, he stood by me, and he says,
Fear not, Tom ; and he brings light and joy into a poor
feller s soul, makes all peace ; and I s so happy, and loves
everybody, and feels willin jest to be the Lord s, and have
VOL. II. 11
122 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OK,
the Lord s will clone, and be put jest -where the Lord wants
to put me. I know it could n t come from me, cause I s a
poor, complainin cretur; it comes from the Lord; and I
know He s willin to do for Mas r."
Tom spoke with fast-running tears and choking voice. St.
Clare leaned his head on his shoulder, and wrung the hard,
faithful, black hand.
" Tom, you love me," he said.
" I s willin to lay down my life, this blessed day, to see
Mas r a Christian."
" Poor, foolish boy ! " said St. Clare, half-raising himself.
" I J m not worth the love of one good, honest heart, like
yours."
" 0, Mas r, dere s more than me loves you, the blessed
Lord Jesus loves you."
" How do you know that, Tom? " said St. C?are.
" Feels it in my soul. 0, Mas r ! the love of Christ, that
passeth knowledge. "
" Singular ! " said St. Clare, turning away, "that the
story of a man that lived and died eighteen hundred years
ago can affect people so yet. But he was no man," he
added, suddenly. "No m? i ever had such long and living
power ! 0, that I could I Jieve what my mother taught me,
and pray as I did when I was a boy ! "
" If Mas r pleases," ;aid Tom, " Miss Eva used to read this
so beautifully. I wish Mas r d be so good as read it. Don t
get no readin , hard] ,, now Miss Eva s gone."
The chapter was the eleventh of John, the touching
account of the raising of Lazarus. St. Clare read it aloud,
often pausing to wrestle down feelings which were roused by
the pathos of the story. Tom knelt before him, with clasped
LIFE AMONG TIIE LOWLY. 123
hands, and with an absorbed expression of love, trust, adora
tion, on his quiet face.
" Tom," said his Master, " this is all real to you ! n
u I can jest fairly see it, Mas r," said Tom,
" I wish I had your eyes, Tom."
" I wish, to the dear Lord, Mas r had ! "
"But, Tom, you know that I have a great deal more ^ y
knowledge than you ; what if I should tell you that I don t
believe this Bible ?"
11 0, Mas r !" said Tom, holding up his hands, with a
deprecating gesture.
" Would n t it shake your faith some, Tom ? "
" Not a grain," said Tom.
" Why, Tom, you must know I know the most."
" 0, Mas r, haven t you jest read how he hides from the
wise and prudent, and reveals unto babes ? But Mas r
was n t in earnest, for sartin, now ? " said Tom, anxiously.
" No, Tom, I was not. I don t disbelieve, and I think
there is reason to believe ; and still I don t. It s a trouble
some bad habit I ve got, Tom."
" If Mas r would only pray ! "
" How do you know I don t, Tom? "
"Does Mas r?"
" I would, Tom, if there was anybody there when I pray ;
but it s all speaking unto nothing, when I do. But come,
Tom, you pray, now, and show me how."
Tom s heart was full ; he poured it out in prayer, like
waters that have been long suppressed. One thing was plain
enough ; Tom thought there was somebody to hear, whether
there were or not. In fact, St. Clare felt himself borne, on
the tide of his faith and feeling, almost to the gates of that
124 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
heaven lie seemed so vividly to conceive. It seemed to bring
Lim nearer to Eva.
Thank you, my boy," said St. Clare, when Toifi roso.
" I like to hear you, Tom ; but go, now, and leave me alono
some other time, I 11 talk more."
Tom silently left the room.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
KEUJUON.
WEEK after week glided away in the St. Clare mansion, and
the waves of life settled back to their usual flow, where that
little bark had gone down. For how imperiously, how coolly,
in disregard of all one s feeling, does the hard, cold, uninter-
esting course of daily realities move on ! Still must we eat,
and drink, and sleep, and wake again, still bargain, buy,
sell, ask and answer questions, pursue, in short, a thousand
shadows, though all interest in them be over ; the cold me
chanical habit of living remaining, after all vital interest in it
has fled.
All the interests and hopes of Str Clare s life had uncon
sciously wound themselves around this child. It was for
Eva that he had managed his property ; it was for Eva that
he had planned the disposal of his time ; and, to do this and
that for Eva, to buy, improve, alter, and arrange, or dis
pose something for her, had been so long his habit, that
now she was gone, there seemed nothing to be thought of,
and nothing to be done.
True, there was another life, a life which, once believed
in, stands as a solemn, significant figure before the otherwise
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 125
unmeaning ciphers of time, changing them to orders of
mysterious, untold value. St. Clare knew this well; and
often, m many a weary hour, he heard that slender, childish
voice calling him to the skies, and saw that little hand point
ing to him the way of life ; but a heavy lethargy of sorrow
lay on him, he could not arise. He had one of those
natures which could better and more clearly conceive of reli
gious things from its own perceptions and instincts, than
many a matter-of-fact and practical Christian. The gift to
appreciate and the sense to feel the finer shades and relations
of moral things, often seems an attribute of those whose whole
life shows a careless disregard of them. Hence Moore,
Byron, Goethe, often speak words more wisely descriptive of
the true religious sentiment, than another man, whose whole
life is governed by it. In such minds, disregard of religion
is a more fearful treason, a more deadly sin.
St. Clare had never pretended to govern himself by any
religious obligation ; and a certain fineness of nature gave him
such an instinctive view of the extent of the requirements of
Christianity, that he shrank, by anticipation, from what he felt
would be the exactions of his own conscience, if he once did
resolve to assume them. For^ so inconsistent is human natur^, At,
especially in the ideal, that not to undertake a thing at all
seems better than to undertake and comeshorjb.
Still St. (jlare was, in many respects, another man. He
read his little Eva s Bible seriously and honestly ; he thought
more soberly and practically of his relations to his servants,
enough to make him extremely dissatisfied with both his
past and present course ; and one thing he did, soon after his
return to New Orleans, and that was to commence the legal
steps necessary to Tom s emancipation, which was to be per
fected as soon as he could get through the necessary forua* i; -
VOL. II. 11*
126 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OB,
tics. Meantime, he attached himself to Tom more and more,
every day. In all the wide world, there was nothing that
seemed to remind him so much of Eva ; and he would insist
on keeping him constantly about him, and, fastidious and
unapproachable as he was with regard to his deeper feelings,
he almost thought aloud to Tom. Nor would any one have
wondered at it, who had seen the expression of affection and
devotion with which Tom continually followed his young
master.
"Well, Tom," said St. Clare, the day after he had com
menced the legal formalities for his enfranchisement, "I m
going to make a free man of you ; so, have your trunk
packed, and get ready to set out for Kentuck."
The sudden light of joy that shone in Tom s face as he
raised his hands to heaven, .his emphatic " Bless the Lord ! "
rather discomposed St. Clare ; he did not like it that Tom
should be so ready to leave him.
" You have n t had such very bad times here, that you
need be in such a rapture, Torn," he said, drily.
"No, no, Mas r! tan t that, it s bein a free man!
That s what I m joyin for."
"Why, Tom, don t you think, for your own part, you ve
been better off than to be free ? "
" No, indeed, Mas r St. Clare," said Tom, with a flash of
energy. " No, indeed ! "
"Why, Tom, you couldn t possibly have earned, by your
work, such clothes and such living as I have given you."
"Knows all that, Mas r St. Clare; Mas r s been too good;
but, Mas r, I d rather have poor clothes, poor house, poor
everything, and have em mine, than have the best, and have
em any man s else, I had so, Mas r ; I think it s natur
Mas r."
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 127
"I suppose so, Tom. and you ll be going off and leaving
me, in a month or so," he added, rather discontentedly.
"Though why you shouldn t, no mortal knows," he said, in a
gayer tone; ai?;!, getting up, he began to walk the floor.
"Not while Mas r is in trouble," said Tom. "I ll stay
with Mas r as long as he wants me, so. as I can be any use."
"Not while I m in trouble, Tom?" said St. Clare, look
ing sadly out of the window " And when, will
my trouble be over?"
"When Mas r St. Clare s a Christian," said Tom.
"And you really mean to stay by till that day comes?"
said St. Clare, half smiling, as he turned from the window,
and laid his hand on Tom s shoulder. " Ah, Tom, you soft,
silly boy ! I won t keep you till that day. Go home to your
wife and children, and give my love to all."
"I s faith to believe that day will come," said Tom.
earnestly, and with tears in his eyes ; "the Lord has a work
for Maslr."
"A work, hey?" said St. Clare; "well, now, Tom, give
me your views on what sort of a work it is ; let s hear."
"Why, even a poor fellow like me has a work from the
Lord ; and Mas r St. Clare, that has larnin, and riches, and
friends, how much he might do for the Lord! "
Tom, you seem to think the Lord needs a great deal done
for him," said t. Clare, smiling.
"We does for the Lord when we does for his critturs,"
said Tom.
" Good theology, Tom ; better than Dr. B. preaches, I dare
swear," said St. Clare.
The conversation was here interrupted by the announce
ment of some visiters.
Marie St. Clare felt the loss of Eva as deeply as she could
128 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
feel anything; and, as she was a woman that had a great
faculty of making everybody unhappy when she was, hei
immediate attendants had still stronger reason to regret the
loss of their young mistress, whose winning ways and gentle
intercessions had so often been a shield to them from the
tyrannical and selfish exactions of her mother. Poor old
Mammy, in particular, whose heart, severed from all nat
ural domestic ties, had consoled itself with this one beautiful
being, was almost heart-broken. She cried day and night,
and was, from excess of sorrow, less skilful and alert in her
ministrations on her mistress than usual, which drew down s,
constant storm of invectives on her defenceless head.
Miss Ophelia felt the loss; but, in her good and honest
heart, it bore fruit unto everlasting life. She was more soft
ened, more gentle ; and, though equally assiduous in every
duty, it was with a chastened and quiet air, as one who com
muned with her own heart not in vain. She was more dili
gent in teaching Topsy, taught her mainly from the Bible,
did not any longer shrink from her touch, or manifest an
ill-repressed disgust, because she felt none. She viewed her
now through the softened medium that Eva s hand had first
held before her eyes, and saw in her only an immortal crea
ture, whom God had sent to be led by her to glory and vir
tue. Topsy did not become at once a saint ; but the life and
death of Eva did work a marked change in her. The cal
lous indifference was gone ; there was now sensibility, hope,
desire, and the striving for good, a strife irregular, inter
rupted, suspended oft, but yet renewed again.
One day, when Topsy had been sent for by Miss Ophelia,
she came, hastily thrusting something into her bosom.
"What are you doing there, you limb? You ve been
stealing something, I ll be bound," said the imperious little
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 129
Rosa, who bad been sent to call her, seizing her, at the
same time, ro ighly by the arm.
"You go long, Miss Rosa!" said Topsy, pulling from
her; " tan t none o your business ! "
"Noneo your sa ce ! " said Rosa. "I saw you hiding
something, I know yer tricks," and Rosa seized her arm,
and tried to force her hand into her bosom, while Topsy,
enraged,. kicked and fought valiantly for what she considered
her rights. The clamor and confusion of the battle drew
Miss Ophelia and St. Clare both to the spot.
" She s been stealing ! " said Rosa.
"I han t, neither!" vociferated Topsy, sobbing with pas
sion.
" Give me that, whatever it is ! " said Miss Ophelia, firmly.
Topsy hesitated ; but, on a second order, pulled out of her
bosom a little parcel done up in the foot of one of her own
old stockings.
Miss Ophelia turned it out. There was a small book,
which had been given to Topsy by Eva, containing a single
verse of Scripture, arranged for every day in the year, and
in a paper the curl of hair that she had given her on that
memorable day when she had taken her last farewell.
St. Clare was a good deal affected at the sight of it ; the
little book had been rolled in a long strip of black crape, torn
from the funeral weeds.
"What did you wrap this round the book for?" said St.
Clare, holding up the crape.
" Cause, cause, cause twas Miss Eva. 0, don t take
em away, please!" she said; and, sitting flat down on the
floor, and putting her apron over her head, she began to sob
vehemently.
It was a curious mixture of the pathetic and the ludicrous,
130 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
the little old stocking, black crape, text-book, fair
soft curl, and Topsy s utter distress.
St. Clare smiled ; but there were tears in his eyes, as he
said,
"Come, come, don t cry; you shall have them!" and,
putting them together, he threw them into her lap, and drew
Miss Ophelia with him into the parlor.
" I really think you can make something of that concern,"
he said, pointing with his thumb backward over his shoulder.
Xr" Any mind that is capable of a real sorrow is capable of
/\jood. You must try and do something with her."
" The child has improved greatly," said Miss Ophelia. "I
have great hopes of her ; but, Augustine," she said, laying
her hand on his arm, "one thing I want to ask; whose is
this child to be ? yours or mine ? "
"Why, I gave her to you" said Augustine.
" But not legally; I want her to be mine legally," said
Miss Ophelia.
" Whew ! cousin," said Augustine. "What will the Aboli
tion Society think ? They 11 have a day of fasting appointed
for this backsliding, if you become a slave-holder !"
"0, nonsense ! I want her mine, that I may have a right
to take her to the free States, and give her her liberty, that
all I am trying to do be not undone."
0, cousin, what an awful c doing evil that good may
come ! I can t encourage it."
"I don t want you to joke, but to reason," said Miss
Ophelia. " There is no use in my trying to make this child
a Christian child, unless I save her from all the chances and
reverses of slavery ; and, if you really are willing I should
have her, I want you to give me a deed of gift, or some legal
paper."
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 131
"Well, well," said St. Clare, "I "will; " and he sat down,
ind unfolded a newspaper to read.
" But I want it done now," said Miss Ophelia.
"What s your hurry?"
"Because now is the only time there ever is to do a thing
in," said Miss Ophelia. "Come, now, here s paper, pen,
and ink ; just write a paper."
St. Clare, like most men of his class of mind, cordially
hated the present tense of action, generally ; and, therefore,
he was considerably annoyed by Miss Ophelia s downright-
ness.
"Why, what s the matter?" said he. "Can t you take
my word ? One would think you had taken lessons of the
Jews, coming at a fellow so ! "
"I want to make sure of it," said Miss Ophelia. "You
may die, or fail, and then Topsy be hustled off to auction,
spite of all I can do."
"Really, you are quite provident. Well, seeing I m in
the hands of a Yankee, there is nothing for it but to con
cede ; and St. Clare rapidly wrote off a deed of gift, which,
as he was well versed in the forms of law, he could easily do,
and signed his name to it in sprawling capitals, concluding by
a tremendous flourish.
"There, isn t that black and white, now, Miss Ver
mont? " he said, as he handed it to her.
"Good boy," said Miss Ophelia, smiling. "But must it
not be witnessed? "
"0, bother ! yes. Here," he said, opening the door into
Marie s apartment, "Marie, Cousin wants your autograph;
just put your name down here."
"What s this?" said Marie, as she ran over the paper.
"Ridiculous! I thought Cousin was too pious for such
132 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
horrid things," she added, as she carelessly -wrote her name,
"but, if she has a fancy for that article, I am sure she s
welcome."
"There, now, she s yours, body and soul," said St. Clare,
handing the paper.
"No more mine now than she was before," said Miss
Ophelia. " Nobody but God has a right to give her to me;
but I can protect her now."
"Well, she s yours by a fiction of law, then," said St.
Clare, as he turned back into the parlor, and sat down to his
paper.
Miss Ophelia, who seldom sat much in Marie s company,
followed him into the parlor, having first carefully laid away
the paper.
" Augustine," she said, suddenly, as she sat knitting,
" have you ever made any provision for your servants, in case
of your death? "
"No." said St. Clare, as he read on.
"Then all your indulgence to them may prove a great
cruelty, by and by."
S Clare had often thought the same thing himself; but
he answered, negligently,
" Well, I mean to make a provision, by and by."
"When? " said Miss Ophelia.
"0, one of these days."
" What if you should die first? "
"Cousin, what s the matter?" said St. Clare, laying
down his paper and looking at her. " Do you think I show
symptoms of yellow fever, or cholera, that you are making
post mortem arrangements with such zeal? "
" In the midst of life we are in death, " said Miss
Ophelia.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLtf. 133
St. Clare rose up, and laying the paper down, carelessly,
walked to the door that stood open on the verandah, to put an
end to a conversation that was not agreeable to him. Me
chanically, he repeated the last word again, " Death /"
a,nd, as he leaned against the railings, and watched the spark
ling water as it rose and fell in the fountain ; and, as in a dim
and dizzy haze, saw flowers and trees and vases of the courts,
he repeated again the mystic word so common in every
mouth, yet of such fearful power, " DEATH!" " Strange
that there should be such a word," he said, " and such a
thing, and we ever forget it ; that one should be living, warm
and beautiful, full of hopes, desires and wants, one day,
and the next be gone, utterly gone, and forever! "
It was a warm, golden .evening ; and, as he walked to the
other end of the verandah, he saw Tom busily intent on his
Bible, pointing, as he did so, with his finger to each succes
sive word, and whispering them to himself with an earnest
air.
"Want me to read to you, Tom?" said St. Clare, seating
himself carelessly by him.
"If Mas r pleases," said Tom, gratefully, "Mas ivmakes
it so much plainer."
St. Clare took the book and glanced at the place, and
began reading one of the passages which Tom had designated
by the heavy marks around it. It ran as follows :
1 When the Son of man shall come in his glory, and all
his holy angels with him, then shall he sit upon the throne
of his glory : and before him shall be gathered all nations ;
and he shall separate them one from another, as a shepherd
divideth his sheep from the goats." St. Clare read on in an
animated voice, till he came to the last of the verses.
" Then shall the king say unto them on his left hand,
VOL. n. 12
134 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OB,
Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire : for I was
an hungered, and ye gave me no meat : I was thirsty, and ye
gave me no drink : I was a stranger, and ye took me not in :
naked, and ye clothed me not : I was sick, and in prison, and
ye visited me not. Then shall they answer unto Him, Lord
when saw we thee an hungered, or athirst, or a stranger, or
naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not minister unto thee ?
Then shall he say unto them, Inasmuch as ye did it not to
one of the least of these my brethren, ye did it not to me."
St. Clare seemed struck with this last passage, for he read
it twice, the second time slowly, and as if he were revolv
ing the words in his mind.
" Tom," he said, " these folks that get such hard measure
seem to have been doing just what I have, living good,
easy, respectable lives ; and not troubling themselves to in
quire how many of their brethren were hungry or athirst, or
sick, or in prison."
Tom did not answer.
St. Clare rose up and walked thoughtfully up and down
the verandah, seeming to forget everything in his own
thoughts; so absorbed was he, that Tom had to remind him
twice that the tea-bell had rung, before he could get his
attention.
St. Clare was absent and thoughtful, all tea-time. After
tea, he and Marie and Miss Ophelia took possession of the
parlor, almost in silence.
Marie disposed herself on a lounge, under a silken mosquito
curtain, and was soon sound asleep. Miss Ophelia silently
busied herself with her knitting. St. Clare sat down to the
piano, and began playing a soft and melancholy movement
with the JEolian accompaniment. He seemed in a deep
reverie, and to be soliloquizing to himself by music. Aftei a
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 135
little, he opened one of the drawers, took out an old music-
book whose leaves were yellow with age, and began turning
it over.
"There," he said to Miss Ophelia, "this was one of my
mother s books, and here is her handwriting, come and
look at it. She copied and arranged this from Mozart s
Bequiem." Miss Ophelia came accordingly.
" It was something she used to sing often," said St. Clare.
" I think I can hear her now."
He struck a few majestic chords, and began singing that
grand old Latin piece, the " Dies Irog."
Tom, who was listening in the outer verandah, was drawn
by the sound to the very door, where he stood earnestly.
He did not understand the words, of course ; but the music
and manner of singing appeared to affect him strongly, espec
ially when St. Clare sang the more pathetic parts. Tom
would have sympathized more heartily, if he had known the
meaning of. the beautiful words :
Recordare Jesu pie
Quod sum causa tuse viaa
Ne me perdas, ilia die
Quaerens me sedisti lassus
Redemisti crucem passus
Tantus labor non sit cassus.*
St. Clare threw a deep and pathetic expression into the
* These lines *iave been thus rather inadequately translated :
Think, Jesus, for what reason
Thou endured st earth s spite and treason,
Nor me lose, in that dread season;
Seeking me, thy worn feet hasted,
On the cross thy soul death tasted,
T >et not all these toils be wasted.
136 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OB,
words ; for the shadowy veil of years seemed drawn away, and
he seemed to hear his mother s voice leading his. Voice and
instrument seemed both living, and threw out with vivid
sympathy those strains which the ethereal Mozart first con
ceived as his own dying requiem.
When St. Clare had done singing, he sat leaning his head
upon his hand a few moments, and then began walking up
and down the floor.
" What a sublime conception is that of a last judgment ! "
said he, " a righting of all the wrongs of ages ! a solving
of all moral problems, by an unanswerable wisdom ! It is,
indeed, a wonderful image."
" It is a fearful one to us," said Miss Ophelia.
" It ought to be to me, I suppose," said St Clare, stopping,
thoughtfully. "I was reading to Tom, this afternoon, that
chapter in Matthew that gives an account of it, and I have
been quite struck with it. One should have expected some
terrible enormities charged to those who are excluded from
Heaven, as the reason ; but no, they are condemned for not
doing positive good, as if that included every possible harm."
"Perhaps," said Miss Ophelia, "it is impossible for a per
son who does no good not to do harm."
"And what," said St. Clare, speaking abstractedly, but
with deep feeling, "what shall be said of one whose own
heart, whose education, and the wants of society, have called
in vain to some noble purpose ; who has floated on, a dreamy,
neutral spectator of the struggles, agonies, and wrongs of
man, when he should have been a worker? "
"I should say," said Miss Ophelia, "that he ought to
repent, and begin now."
"Always practical and to the point! " said St. Clare, his
face breaking out into a smile. "You never leave ine any
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 187
time for general reflections. Cousin; you always bring me
short up against the actual present ; you have a kind of eter
nal now, always in your mind."
" Noiv is all the time I have anything to do with," said
Miss Ophelia.
" Dear little Eva, poor child! " said St. Clare, " she had
set her little simple soul on a good work for me."
It was the first time since Eva s death that he had ever
said as many words as these of her, and he spoke now evi
dently repressing very strong feeling.
"My view of Christianity is such," he added, "that I
think no man can consistently profess it without throwing the
whole weight of his being against this monstrous system of
injustice that lies at the foundation of all our society ; and, if
need be, sacrificing himself in the battle. That Isj I mean that y"
/ could not be a Christian otherwise, though I have certainly
had intercourse with a great many enlightened and Christian
people who did no such thing ; and I confess that the apathy
of religious people on this subject, their want of perception
of wrongs that filled me with horror, have engendered in me
more scepticism than any other thing."
"If you knew all this," said Miss Ophelia, "why didn t
you do it?"
"0, because I have had only that kind of benevolence
which consists in lying on a sofa, and cursing the church and
clergy for not being martyrs and confessors. One can see,
you know, very easily, how others ought to be martyrs."
"Well, are you going to do differently now ? " said Miss
Ophelia.
"God only knows the future," said St. Clare. "I am
braver than I was, because I have lost all ; and he who has
nothing to lose can afford all risks."
VOL. II. 12*
138 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OE,
" And what are you going to do ? "
" My duty, I hope, to the poor and lowly, as fast as I find it
out," said St. Clare, " beginning with my own servants, for
whom I have yet done nothing ; and, perhaps, at some future
day, it may appear that I can do something for a whole class ;
something to save my country from the disgrace of that false
position in which she now stands before all civilized nations."
" Do you suppose it possible that a nation ever will volun
tarily emancipate? " said Miss Ophelia.
" I don t know," said St. Clare. " This is a day of great
deeds. Heroism and disinterestedness are rising up, here and
there, in the earth. The Hungarian nobles set free millions
of serfs, at an immense pecuniary loss ; and, perhaps, among
us may be found generous spirits, who do not estimate honor
and justice by dollars and cents."
" I hardly think so," said Miss Ophelia.
" But, suppose we should rise up to-morrow and eman
cipate, who would educate these millions, and teach them how
to use their freedom ? They never would rise to do much
among us. The fact is, we are too lazy and unpractical, our
selves, ever to give them much of an idea of that industry
and energy which is necessary to form them into men. They
will have to go north, where labor is the fashion, the uni
versal custom; and tell me, now, is there enough Christian
philanthropy, among your northern states, to bear with the
process of their education and elevation? You send thou
sands of dollars to foreign missions ; but could you endure to
have the heathen sent into your towns and villages, and give
your time, and thoughts, and money, to raise them to the
Christian standard? That s what I want to know. If we
emancipate, are you willing to educate ? How many families,
in your town, would take in a negro man and woman, teach
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 139
them, bear with them, and seek to make them Christians ?
How many merchants would take Adolph, if I wanted to
make him a clerk ; or mechanics, if I wanted him taught a
trade ? If I wanted to put Jane and Rosa to a school, how
many schools are there in the northern states that would
take them in ? how many families that would board them 7
and yet they are as white as many a woman, north or south.
You see, Cousin, I want justice done us. We are in a bad
position. "We are the more obvious oppressors of the negro;
but the unchristian prejudice of the north is an oppressor
almost equally severe."
" Well, Cousin, I know it is so," said Miss Ophelia, " I
know it was so with me, till I saw that it was my duty to
overcome it ; but, I trust I have overcome it ; and I know
there are many good people at the north, who in this matter
need only to be taught what their duty is, to do it. It
would certainly be a greater self-denial to receive heathen
among us, than to send missionaries to them ; but I think
we would do it."
" Yoif would, I know," said St. Clare. " I d like to see
anything you would n t do, if you thought it your duty ! "
"Well, I m not uncommonly good," said Miss Ophelia.
" Others would, if they saw things as I do. I intend to take
Topsy home, when I go. I suppose our folks will wonder, at
first ; but I think they will be brought to see as I do. Be
sides, I know there are many people at the north who do
exactly what you said."
" Yes, but they are a minority; and, if we should begin
to emancipate to any extent, we should soon hear from you."
Miss Ophelia did not reply. There was a pause of some
moments ; and St. Clare s countenance was overcast by a sad,
dreamy expression.
310 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
" I don t know what makes me think of my mother so
much, to-night," he said. " I have a strange kind of feeling,
as if she were near me. I keep thinking of things she used
to say. Strange, what brings these past things so vividly
back to us, sometimes ! "
St. Clare walked up and down the room for some minutes
more, and then said,
" I believe I 11 go down street, a few moments, and hear
the news, to-night."
He took his hat, and passed out.
Tom followed him to the passage, out of the court, and
asked if he should attend him.
" No, my boy," said St. Clare. " I shall be back in an
hour."
Tom sat down in the verandah. It was a beautiful moon
light evening, and he sat watching the rising and falling
spray of the fountain, and listening to its murmur. Tom
thought of his home, and that he should soon be a free man,
and able to return to it at will. He thought how he should
work to buy his wife and boys. He felt the muscles of his
brawny arms with a sort of joy, as he thought they would
soon belong to himself, and how much they could do to work
out the freedom of his family. Then he thought of his noble
young master, and, ever second to that, came the habitual
prayer that he had always offered for him; and then his
thoughts passed on to the beautiful Eva, whom he now
thought of among the angels ; and he thought till he almost
fancied that that bright face and golden hair were looking
upon him, out of the spray of the fountain. And, so musing,
he fell asleep, and dreamed he saw her coming bounding
towards him, just as she used to come, with a wreath of jes
samine in her hair, her cheeks bright, and her eyes radiant
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 141
with delight ; but, as he looked, she seemed to rise from tho
ground; her cheeks wore a paler hue, her eyes had a deep,
divine radiance, a golden halo seemed around her head,
and she vanished from his sight ; and Tom was awakened by
a loud knocking, and a sound of many voices at the gate.
He hastened to undo it ; and, with smothered voices and
heavy tread, came several men, bringing a body, wrapped in
a cloak, and lying on a shutter. The light of the lamp fell
full on the face ; and Tom gave a wild cry of amazement and
despair, that rung through all the galleries, as the men
advanced, with their burden, to the open parlor door, where
Miss Ophelia still sat knitting.
St. Clare had turned into a cafe, to look over an evening
paper. As he was reading, an affray arose between two gen
tlemen in the room, who were both partially intoxicated. Si
Clare and one or two others made an effort to separate them,
and St. Clare received a fatal stab in the side with a bowie-
knife, which he was attempting to wrest from one of them.
The house was full of cries and lamentations, shrieks and
screams ; servants frantically tearing their hair, throwing
themselves on the ground, or running distractedly about,
lamenting. Tom and Miss Ophelia alone seemed to have
any presence of mind ; for Marie was in strong hysteric con
vulsions. At Miss Ophelia s direction, one of the lounges in
the parlor was hastily prepared, and the bleeding form laid
upon it. St. Clare had fainted, through pain and loss of
blood ; but, as Miss Ophelia applied restoratives, he revived,
opened his eyes, looked fixedly on them, looked earnestly
around the room, his eyes travelling wistfully over every
object, and finally they rested on his mother s picture.
The physician now arrived, and made his examination. It
was evident, from the expression of his face, that there was
142 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
no hope ; but he applied himself to dressing the wound, and
he and Miss Ophelia and Tom proceeded composedly with
this work, amid the lamentations and sobs and cries of the
affrighted servants, who had clustered about the doors and
windows of the verandah.
"Now," said the physician, "we must turn all these
creatures out ; all depends on his being kept quiet."
St. Clare opened his eyes, and looked fixedly on the dis
tressed beings, whom Miss Ophelia and the doctor were trying
to urge from >. the apartment. "Poor creatures!" he said,
and an expression of bitter self-reproach passed over his
face. Adolph absolutely refused to go. Terror had deprived
him of all presence of mind ; he threw himself along on the
floor, and nothing could persuade him to rise. The rest
yielded to Miss Ophelia s urgent representations, that their
master s safety depended on their stillness and obedience.
St. Clare could say but little ; he lay with his eyes shut,
but it was evident that he wrestled with bitter thoughts.
After a while, he laid his hand on Tom s, who was kneeling
beside him, and said, " Tom ! poor fellow ! "
" What, Mas r 1 " said Tom, earnestly.
".I am dying!" said St. Clare, pressing his hand;
"pray!"
"If you would like a clergyman ". said the physician.
St. Clare hastily shook his head, and said again to Tom,
more earnestly, " Pray ! "
And Tom did pray, with all his mind and strength, for the
soul that was passing, the soul that seemed looking so
steadily and mournfully from those large, melancholy blue
eyes. It was literally prayer offered with strong crying and
tears.
When Tom ceased to speak, St. Clare reached out and
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 143
took his hand, looking earnestly at him,dbut saying nothing.
He closed his eyes, but still retained his hold ; for, in the
gates of eternity, the black hand and the white hold each other
with an equal clasp. He murmured softly to himself, at
broken intervals,
" Kecordare Jesu pie
* * * #
Ne me perdas ille die
Qucerens me sedisti lassus."
It was evident that the words he had been singing that
evening were passing through his mind, words of entreaty
addressed to Infinite Pity. His lips moved at intervals, as
parts of the hymn fell brokenly from them.
" His mind is wandering," said the doctor.
" No ! it is coming HOME, at last ! " said St. Clare, ener
getically; "at last! at last!"
The effort of speaking exhausted him. The sinking pale
ness of death fell him ; but with it there fell, as if shed
from the wings of SJiue pitying spirit, a beautiful expression
of peace, like that of a wearied child who sleeps.
So he lay for a few moments. They saw that the mighty
hand was on him. Just before the s^jfr-parted^-hfr opened
his eyes, with ajgd^mjigy^a^af^j and recognition, and
said "Mother!" and then he was gone !
144 UNCLE TOM S CABIN; OR,
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE UNPROTECTED.
WE hear often of the distress of the negro servants, on the
loss of a kind master ; and with good reason, for no creature
on God s earth is left more utterly unprotected and desolate
than the slave in these circumstances.
The child who has lost a father has still the protection of
friends, and of the law ; he is something, and can do some
thing, has acknowledged rights and position ; the slave has
none. The law regards him, in every respect, as devoid of
rights as a bale of merchandise. The only possible acknowl
edgment of any of the longings and wants of a human and
immortal creature, which are given to him, comes to him
through the sovereign and irresponsible will of his master ;
and when that master is stricken down, nothing remains.
The number of those men who know how to use wholly
irresponsible power humanely and generously is small.
Everybody knows this, and the slave knows it best of all ; so
that he feels that there are ten chances of his finding an
abusive and tyrannical master, to one of his finding a con
siderate and kind one. Therefore is it that the wail over
a kind master is loud and long, as well it may be.
_ When St. Clare breathed his last, terror and consternation
took hold of all his household. He had been stricken down
so in a moment, in the flower and strength of his youth !
Every room and gallery of the house resounded with sobs
and shrieks of despair.
Marie, whose nervous system had been enervated by a con-
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 145
stant course of self-indulgence, had nothing to support tha
terror of the shock, and, at the time her husband breathed
his last, was passing from one fainting fit to another ; and he
to whom she had been joined in the mysterious tie of mar
riage passed from her forever, without the possibility of even
a parting word.
Miss Ophelia, with characteristic strength and self-control,
nad remained with her kinsman to the last, all eye, all ear,
all attention ; doing everything of the little that could be
done, and joining with her whole soul in the tender and
impassioned prayers which the poor slave had poured forth
for the soul of his dying master.
When they were arranging him for his last rest, they found
upon his bosom a small, plain miniature case, opening with a
spring. It was the miniature of a noble and beautiful female
face ; and on the reverse, under a crystal, a lock of dark hair.
They laid them back on the lifeless breast, dust to dust,
poor mournful relics of early dreams, which once made that
cold heart beat so warmly !
Tom s whole soul was filled with thoughts of eternity ; and
while he ministered around the lifeless clay, he did not once
think that the sudden stroke had left him in hopeless slavery.
He felt at peace about his master ; for in that hour, when he
had poured forth his prayer into the bosom of his Father, he
had found an answer of quietness and assurance springing up
within himself. In the depths of his own affectionate nature,
he felt able to perceive something of the fulness of Divine
love ; for an old oracle hath thus written, " He that dwell-
eth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him." Tom hoped
and trusted, and was at peace.
But the funeral passed, with all its pageant of black crape,
tand prayers, and solemn faces ; and back rolled the cool,
VOL. II: 13
146 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
muddy waves of every-day life ; and up came the everlasting
hard inquiry of " What is to be done next? "
It rose to the mind of Marie, as, dressed in loose morn
ing-robes, and surrounded by anxious servants, she sat up in a
great easy-chair, and inspected samples of crape and bomba
zine. It rose to Miss Ophelia, who began to turn her
thoughts towards her northern home. It rose, in silent ter
rors, to the minds of the servants, who well knew the unfeel
ing, tyrannical character of the mistress in whose hands
they were left. All knew, very well, that the indulgences
which had been accorded to them were not from their mis
tress, but from their master; and that, now he was gone,
there would be no screen between them and every tyrannous
infliction which a temper soured by affliction might devise.
It was about a fortnight after the funeral, that Miss Ophe
lia, busied one day in her apartment, heard a gentle tap at
the door. She opened it, and there stood Rosa, the pretty
young quadroon, whom we have before often noticed, her
hair in disorder, and her eyes swelled with crying.
"0, Miss Feely," she said, falling on her knees, and
catching the skirt of her dress, "do, do go to Miss Marie for
me ! do plead for me ! She s goin to send me out to be
whipped, look there ! " And she handed to Miss Ophelia a
paper.
It was an order, written in Marie s delicate Italian hand,
to the master of a whipping-establishment, to give the bearer
fifteen lashes.
" What have you been doing ? " said Miss Ophelia.
"You know, Miss Feely, I ve got such a bad temper; j
it s very bad of me. I was trying on Miss Marie s dress, j
and she slapped my face ; and I spoke out before I thought,
and was saucy ; and she said that she d bring me down, and
LITE AMONG THE LOWLY. 147
have me know, once for all, that I was n t going to be so top
ping as I had been ; and she wrote this, and says I shall
carry it. I d rather shew kill me, right out."
Miss Ophelia stood considering, with the paper in her
hand.
"You see, Miss Feely," said Rosa, "I don t mind the
whipping so much, if Miss Marie or you was to do it ; but,
to be sent to a man ! and such a horrid man, the shame
of it, Miss Feely !"
Miss Ophelia well knew that it was the universal custom
to send women and young girls to whipping-houses, to the
hands of the lowest of men, men vile enough to make this
their profession, there to be subjected to brutal exposure and
shameful correction. She had known it before ; but hitherto
she had never realized it, till she saw the slender form of
Rosa almost convulsed with d stress. All the honest blood
of womanhood, the strong New England blood of liberty,
flushed to her cheeks, and throbbed bitterly in her indignant
heart ; but, with habitual prudence and self-control, she mas
tered herself, and, crushing the paper firmly in her hand, she
merely said to Rosa,
" Sit down, child, while I go to your mistress."
" Shameful ! monstrous ! outrageous ! " she said to her
self, as she was crossing the parlor.
She found Marie sitting up in her easy-chair, with Mammy
standing by her, combing her hair ; Jane sat on the ground
before her, busy in chafing her feet.
" How do you find yourself, to-day? " said Miss Ophelia.
A deep sigh, and a closing of the eyes, was the only reply,
for a moment; and then Marie answered, " 0, I don t know,
: Cousin; I suppose I m as well as I ever shall be!" and
148 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
Marie wiped her eyes with a cambric handkerchief, bordered
with an inch deep of black.
"I came," said Miss Ophelia, with a short, dry cough,
such as commonly introduces a difficult subject, "I came to
speak with you about poor Rosa."
Marie s eyes were open wide enough now, and a flush rose
to her sallow cheeks, as she answered, sharply,
"Well, what about her?"
" She is very sorry for her fault."
" She is, is she? She ll be sorrier, before I "ve done with
her! I ve endured that child s impudence long enough; and
now I 11 bring her down, I 11 make her lie in the dust ! "
" But could not you punish her some other way, some
way that would be less shameful ? "
" I mean to shame her ; that s just what I want. She has
all her life presumed on her delicacy, and her good looks, and
her lady-like airs, till she forgets who she is ; and I 11 give
her one lesson that will bring her down, I fancy ! "
"But, Cousin, consider that, if you destroy delicacy and a
sense of shame in a young girl, you deprave her verjdast.^M
<{ Delicacy ! " said Marie, with a scornful laugh, " a fine
word for such as she ! I 11 teach her, with TO her airs, that
she s no better than the raggedest black wench that walks
the streets ! She 11 take no more airs with me ! "
"You will answer to God for such cruelty!" said Miss
Ophelia, with energy.
"Cruelty, I d like to know what the cruelty is! I ,
wrote orders for only fifteen lashes, and told him to put them
on lightly. I rn sure there s no cruelty there ! "
No cruelty ! " said Miss Ophelia. "I m sure any girl f
might rather be killed outright ! "
. " It might seem so to anybody with your feeling; but aL
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 149
these creatures get used to it ; it s the only way they can be
kept in order. Once let them feel that they are to take any
airs about delicacy, and all that, and they 11 run all over you,
just as my servants always have. I ve begun now to bring
them under; and I ll have them all to know that I ll send
one out to be whipped, as soon as another, if they don t mind
the:nselves ! " said Marie, looking around her decidedly.
Jane hung her head and cowered at this, for she felt as if
it was particularly directed to her. Miss Ophelia sat for a
moment, as if she had swallowed some explosive mixture, and
were ready to burst. Then, recollecting the utter uselcssness
of contention with such a nature, she shut her lips resolutely,
gathered herself up, and walked out of the room.
It was hard to go back and tell Rosa that she could do
nothing for her; and, shortly after, one of the man-servants
came to say that her mistress had ordered him to take Rosa
with him to the whipping-house, whither she was hurried, in
spite of her tears and entreaties.
A few days after, Tom was standing musing by the bal
conies, when he was joined by Adolph, who, since the death
of his master, had been entirely crest-fallen and disconsolate.
Adolph knew that he had always been an object of dislike to
Marie; but while his master lived he had paid but little
attention to it. Now that he was gone, he had moved about
in daily dread and trembling, not knowing what might befall
him next. Marie had held several consultations with her
lawyer ; after communicating with St. Clare s brother, it was
determined to sell the place, and all the servants, except her
own personal property, and these she intended to take with
her, and go back to her father s plantation.
"Do ye know, Tom, that we ve all got to be sold?" said
Adolph.
VOL. II.
150 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
"How did you bear that?" said Tom.
" I bid myself behind the curtains \vhen Missis was talking
Tvith the lawyer. In a few days we shall all be sent off to
auction, Tom."
"The Lord s will be done !" said Tom, folding his arms
and sighing heavily.
"We ll never get another such a master," said Adolph,
apprehensively; "but I d rather be sold than take my chance
under Missis."
Tom turned away ; his heart was full. The hope of lib
erty, the thought of distant wife and children, rose up before
his patient soul, as to the mariner shipwrecked almost in port
rises the vision of the church-spire and loving roofs of his
native village, seen over the top of some black wave only for
one last farewell. He drew his arms tightly over his bosom,
and choked back the bitter tears, and tried to pray. The
poor old soul had such a singular, unaccountable prejudice in
favor of liberty, that it was a hard wrench for him ; and the
more he said, "Thy will be done," the worse he felt.
He sought Miss Ophelia, who, ever since Eva s death, had
treated him with marked and respectful kindness.
"Miss Fcely," he said, "Mas r St. Clare promised me
my freedom. He told me that he had begun to take it out
for me ; and now, perhaps, if Miss Feeiy would be good
enough to speak about it to Missis, she would feel like goin
on with it, as it was Mas r St. Clare s wish."
"I ll speak for you, Tom, and do my best," said Miss
Ophelia; " but, if it depends on Mrs. St. Clare, I can t hope
;;:iuch for you; nevertheless, I will try."
This incident occurred a few days after that of Rosa, while
Miss Ophelia was busied in preparations to return north.
Seriously reflecting within herself, she considered that per-
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 151
haps she had shown too hasty a warmth of language in her
former interview with Marie ; and she resolved that she would
now endeavor to moderate her zeal, and to be as conciliatory
as possible. So the good soul gathered herself up. and, tak
ing her knitting, resolved to go into Marie s room, be as
agreeable as possible, and negotiate Tom s case with all the
diplomatic skill of which she was mistress.
She found Marie reclining at length upon a lounge, sup
porting herself on one elbow by pillows, while Jane, who had
been out shopping, was displaying before her certain samples
of thin black stuffs.
" That will do," said Marie, selecting one ; " only I m not
sure about its being properly mourning."
"Laws, Missis," said Jane, volubly, "Mrs. General Der-
bennon wore just this very thing, after the General died, last
summer ; it makes up lovely ! "
"What do you think? " said Marie to Miss Ophelia.
"It s a matter of custom, I suppose," said Miss Ophelia.
" You can judge about it better than I."
" The fact is," said Marie, " that I haven t a dress in the
world that I can wear ; and, as I am going to break up the
establishment, and go off, next wee,k, I must decide upon
something."
"Are you going so soon?"
" Yes. St. Clare s brother has written, and he and the
lawyer think that the servants and furniture had better be
put up at auction, and the place left with our lawyer."
"There s one thing I wanted to speak with you about,"
said Miss Ophelia. "Augustine promised Tom his liberty,
and began the legal forms necessary to it. I hope you will
use your influence to have it perfected."
" Indeed, I shall do no such thing ! " said Marie, sharply.
152 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
11 Tom is one of the most valuable servants on the place, it
couldn t be afforded, any way. Besides, what does he want
of liberty ? He s a great deal better off as he is."
" But he does desire it, very earnestly, and his master
promised it," said Miss Ophelia.
" I dare say he does want it," said Marie ; " they all want
it, just because they arc a discontented set, always wanting
what they have n t got. Now, I m principled against eman
cipating, in any case. Keep a negro under the care of a
master, and he does well enough, and is respectable ; but set
them free, and they get lazy, and won t work, and take to
drinking, and go all down to be mean, worthless fellows.
I ve seen it tried, hundreds of times. It s no favor to set
them free."
" But Tom is so steady, industrious, and pious."
" 0, you needn t tell me ! I ve seen a hundred like him.
I He 11 do very well, as long as he s taken care of, that s
1 all."
"But, then, consider," said Miss Ophelia, "when you set
him up for sale, the chances of his getting a bad master."
"0, that s all humbug ! " said Marie ; "it isn t one time
in a hundred that a good fellow gets a bad master ; most
masters are good, for all the talk that is made. I ve lived
and grown up here, in the South, and I never yet was ac
quainted with a master that didn t treat his servants well,
quite as well as is worth while. I don t feel any fears on
that head."
"Well," said Miss Ophelia, energetically, "I know it was
one of the last wishes of your husband that Tom should have
his liberty ; it was one of the promises that he made to dear
little Eva on her death-bed, and I should not think you
would feel at liberty to disregard it."
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 153
Marie had her face covered with her handkerchief at this
appeal, and began sobbing and using her smelling-bottle, with
great vehemence.
u Everybody goesiagainst me ! " she said. ll Everybody is
so inconsiderate ! I shouldn t have expected that you would
bring up all these remembrances of my troubles to me, it s
so inconsiderate ! But nobody ever does consider, my trials
are so peculiar ! It s so hard, that when I had only one
daughter, she should have been taken ! and when I had a
husband that just exactly suited me, and I m so hard to be
suited ! he should be taken ! And you seem to have so
little feeling for me, and keep bringing it up to me so care
lessly, when you know how it overcomes me ! I suppose
you mean well ; but it is very inconsiderate, very ! " And
Marie sobbed, and gasped for breath, and called Mammy to
open the window, and to bring her the camphor-bottle, and
to bathe her head, and unhook her dress. And, in the gen
eral confusion that ensued, Miss Ophelia made her escape to
her apartment.
She saw, at once, that it would do no good to say anything
more ; for Marie had an indefinite capacity for hysteric fits ;
and, after this, whenever her husband s or Eva s wishes with
regard to the servants were alluded to, she always found it
convenient to set one in operation. Miss Ophelia, therefore,
did the next best thing she could for Tom, she wrote a let
ter to Mrs. Shelby for him, stating his troubles, and urging
them to send to his relief.
The next day, Tom and Adolph, and some half a dozen
other servants, were marched down to a slave-warehouse, to
await the convenience of the trader, who was going to make
up a lot for auction,
154 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OK,
CHAPTER XXX.
THE SLAVE WAREHOUSE.
A SLAVE warehouse ! Perhaps some of my readers con
jure up horrible visions of such a place. They fancy sonu
foul, obscure den, some horrible Tartarus " informis, in-
gens, cui lumen ademptum" But no, innocent friend; in
these days men have learned the art of sinning expertly and
genteelly, so as not to shock the eyes and senses of re
spectable society. Human property is high in the market ;
and is, therefore, well fed, well cleaned, tended, and looked
after, that it may come to sale sleek, and strong, and shining.
A slave-warehouse in New, Orleans is a house externally not
much unlike many others, kept with neatness ; and where
every day you may see arranged, under a sort of shed along
the outside, rows of men and women, who stand there as a
sign of the property sold within.
Then you shall be courteously entreated to call and ex
amine, and shall find an abundance of husbands, wives, broth
ers, sisters, fathers, mothers, and young children, to be "sold
separately, or in lots to suit the convenience of the pur
chaser;" and that soul immortal, once bought with blood and
anguish by the Son* of God, when the earth shook, and the
rocks rent, and thegraves were opened, can be sold, leased,
mortgaged, exchanged for groceries or dry goods, to suit the
phases of trade, or the fancy of the purchaser.
It was a day or two after the conversation between Marie
and Miss Ophelia, that Tom, Adolph, and about half a dozen
others of the St. Clare estate, were turned over to the loving
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 155
kindness of Mr. Skeggs, the keeper of a depot on street,
to await the auction, next day.
Tom had with him quite a sizable trunk fall of clothing, as
had most others of them. They were ushered, for the night,
into a long room, where many other men, of all ages, sizes,
and shades of complexion, were assembled, and from which
roars of laughter and unthinking merriment were proceeding.
"Ah, ha! that s right. Go it, boys, go it! " said Mr.
Skeggs, the keeper. "My people are always so merry!
Sambo, I see ! " he said, speaking approvingly to a burly
negro who was performing tricks of low buffoonery, which
occasioned the shouts which Tom had heard.
As might be imagined, Tom was in no humor to join these
proceedings ; and, therefore, setting his trunk as far as possi
ble from the noisy group, he sat down on it. and leaned his
face against the wall.
The dealers in the human article make scrupulous and
systematic efforts to promote noisy mirth among them, as a
means of drowning reflection, and rendering them insensible
to their condition. The whole object of the training to
which the negro is put, from the time he is sold in the north
ern market till he arrives south, is systematically directed
towards making him callous, unthinking, and brutal. The
slave-dealer collects his gang in Virginia or Kentucky, and
drives them to some convenient, Lcallhy place, often a
watering place, to be fattened. Here they are fed full daily ;
and, because some incline to pine, a fiddle is kept commonly
going among them, and they are made to dance daily; and he
who refuses to be merry in whose soul thoughts of wife, or
child, or home, are too strong for him to be gay is marked
as sullen and dangerous, and subjected to all the evils which
the ill will of an utterly irresponsible and hardened man can
156 UNCLE TOM ? S CABIN: OR,
inflict upon him. Briskness, alertness, and cheerfulness of
appearance, especially before observers, are constantly en
forced upon them, both by the hope of thereby getting a good
master, and the fear of all that the driver may bring upon
them, if they prove unsalable.
"What dat ar nigger doin here?" said Sambo, coming
ap to Tom, after Mr. Skeggs had left the room. Sambo was
a full black, of great size, very lively, voluble, and full of
trick and grimace.
"What you doin here?" said Sambo, coming up to Tom,
and poking him facetiously in the side. " Meditatin , eh ? "
"I am to be sold at the auction, to-morrow! " said Tom,
quietly.
" Sold at auction, haw ! haw ! boys, an t this yer fun? I
wish t I was gwine that ar way ! tell ye, wouldn t I make
ern laugh ? But how is it, dis yer whole lot gwine to-mor
row?" said Sambo, laying his hand freely on Adolph s
shoulder.
"Please to let me alone ! " said Adolph, fiercely, straight
ening himself up, with extreme Sisgust.
"Law, now, boys! dis yer s one o yer white niggers,
kind o cream color, ye know, scented ! " said he, coming up
to Adolph and snuffing. " 0, Lor ! he d do for a tobaccer-
shop; they could keep him to scent snuff! Lor, he d keep
a whole shope agwme, he would ! "
"I say, keep off, can t you?" said Adolph, enraged.
" Lor, now, how touchy we is, we white niggers ! Look
at us, now ! " and Sambo gave a ludicrous imitation of
Adolph s manner; "here s de airs and graces. We s been
in a good family, I specs."
"Yes," said Adolph; "I had a master that could have
bought you all for old truck ! "
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 157
I
"Laws, now, only think," said Sambo, "the gentlemens
that we is ! "
"I belonged to the St. Clare family," said Adolph,
proudly.
"Lor, you did! Be hanged if they ar n t lucky to get
shet of ye. Spects they s gwine to trade ye off with a lot o
cracked tea-pots and sich like !" said Sambo, with a provok
ing grin.
Adolph, enraged at this taunt, flew furiously at his adver
sary; swearing and striking on every side of him. The rest
laughed and shouted, and the uproar brought the keeper to
the door.
" What now, boys ? Ord. , Id coming in
and flourishing a large whip
All fled in different dir<
suming on the favor which the keepc-i ua^ ^ ....
wag, stood his ground, ducking his head with a facetious
grin, whenever the master made a dive at him.
"Lor, Mas r, Han t us, we s reglar stiddy, it s these
yer new hands ; they s real aggravating kinder pickin at
us, all time ! "
The keeper, at this, turned upon Tom and Adolph, and dis
tributing a few kicks and cuffs without much inquiry, and
leaving general orders for all to be good boys and go to sleep,
left the apartment.
While this scene was going on in the men s sleeping-room,
the reader may be curious to take a peep at the corresponding
apartment allotted to the women. Stretched out in various
attitudes over the floor, he may see numberless sleeping forms
of every shade of complexion, from the purest ebony to white,
and of all years, from childhood to old age, lying now asleep.
Here is a fine bright girl, of ten years, whose mother was sold
VOL. II. 14
158 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
out yesterday, and who to-night cried herself to sleep when
nobody was looking at her. Here, a worn old negress, whose
thin arms and callous fingers tell of hard toil, waiting to be
sold to-morrow, as a cast-off article, for what can be got for
her; and some forty or fifty others, with heads variously
enveloped in blankets or articles of clothing, lie stretched
around them. But, in a corner, sitting apart from the rest,
are two females of a more interesting appearance than com
mon. One of these is a respectably-dressed mulatto woman
between forty and fifty, with soft eyes and a gentle and pleas
ing physiognomy. She has on her head a high-raised tur
ban, made of a gay red Madras handkerchief, of the first
quality, and her dress is neatly fitted, and of good material,
showing that she has been provided for with a careful hand.
jjy her side, and nestling closely to her, is a young girl of
fifteen. her daughter. She is a quadroon, as may be seen
from her fairer complexion, though her likeness to her mother
is quite discernible. She has the same soft, dark eye, with
longer lashes, and her curling hair is of a luxuriant brown.
She also is dressed with great neatness, and her white, delicate
hands betray very little acquaintance with servile toil. These
two are to be sold to-morrow, in the same lot with the St.
Clare servants ; and the gentleman to wihom they belong, and
to whom the money for their sale is to be transmitted, is a
member of a Christian church in New York, w r ho will receive
the money, and go thereafter to the sacrament of his Lord
and theirs, and think no more of it.
These two, whom we shall call Susan and Emmeline, had
been the personal attendants of an amiable and pious lady of
New Orleans, by whom they had been carefully and piously
instructed and trained. They had been taught to read and
write, diligently instructed in the truths of religion, and their
LIFE AMOXQ THE LOWLY. 159
lot had been as happy an one as in their condition it was pos
sible to be. But the only son of their protectress had the
management of her property ; and, by carelessness and extrav
agance involved it to a large amount, and at hist failed. One
of the largest creditors was the respectable firm of B. & Co.,
in New. York. B. .& Co. wrote to their lawyer in New
Orleans, who attached the real estate (these two articles and
a lot of plantation hands formed the most valuable part of it),
and wrote word to that effect to New York. Brother B.,
being, as we have said, a Christian man, and a resident in a
free State, felt some uneasiness on the subject. He did n t
like trading in slaves and souls of men, of course, he didn t ;
but, then, there were thirty thousand dollars in the case, and
that was rather too much money to be lost for a principle;
and so, after much considering, and asking advice from those
that he knew would advise to suit him, Brother B. wrote to
his lawyer to dispose of the business in the way that seemed
to him the most suitable, and remit the proceeds.
The day after the letter arrived in New Orleans, Susan
and Emmeline were attached, and sent to the depot to await
a general auction on the following morning; and as they
glimmer faintly upon us in the moonlight which steals through
the grated window, we may listen to their conversation. Both
arc weeping, but each quietly, that the other may not hear.
"Mother, just lay your head on my lap, and see if you
can t sleep a little," says the girl, trying to appear calm.
"I haven t any heart to sleep, Em; I can t; it s the last
night we may be together ! "
"0, mother, don t say so! perhaps we shall get sold to
gether, who knows? "
"If twas anybody s else case, I should say so, too, Em,"
160 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
said the woman ; " but I m so feard of losin you that I don t
see anything but the danger."
"Why, mother, the man said we were both likely, and
would sell well."
Susan remembered the man s looks and words. With a
deadly sickness at her heart, she remembered how he had
looked at Emmeline s hands, and lifted up her curly hair,
and pronounced her a first-rate article. Susan had been
trained as a Christian, brought up in the daily reading of the
Bible, and had the same horror of her child s being sold to a
life of shame that any other Christian mother might have ;
but she had no hope, no protection.
"Mother, I think we might do first rate, if you could get
a place as cook, and I as chamber-maid or seamstress, in some
family. I dare say we shall. Let s both look as bright and
lively as we can, and tell all we can do, and perhaps we
shall," said Emmeline.
" I want you to brush your hair all back straight, to-mor
row," said Susan.
"What for, mother? I don t look near so well, that
way."
" Yes, but you 11 sell better so."
" I don t see why ! " said the child.
" Respectable families would be more apt to buy you, if
they saw you looked plain and decent, as if you was n t try
ing to look handsome. I know their ways better n you do,"
said Susan.
"Well, mother, then I will."
"And, Emmeline, if we shouldn t ever see each other
again, after to-morrow, if I m sold way up on a plantation
somewhere, and you somewhere else, always remember how
you ve been brought up, and all Missis has told you ; take
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 161
your Bible with you, and your hymn-book; and if you re
faithful to the Lord, he ll be faithful to you."
So speaks the poor soul, in sore discouragement ; for she
knows that to-morrow any man, however vile and brutal,
however godless and merciless, if he only has money to pay
for her, may become owner of her daughter, body and soul ;
arid then, how is the child to be faithful ? She thinks of all
this, as she holds her daughter in her arms, and wishes that
she were not handsome and attractive. It seems almost an
aggravation to her to remember how purely and piously,
how much above the ordinary lot, she has been brought up.
But she has no resort but to pray ; and many such prayers
to God have gone up from those same trim, neatly-arranged,
respectable slave-prisons, prayers which God has not for
gotten, as a coming day shall show; for it is written, "Whoso
causeth one of these little ones to offend, it were better for
him that a mill-stone were hanged about his neck, and that
he were drowned in the depths of the sea."
The soft, earnest, quiet moonbeam looks in fixedly mark
ing the bars of the grated windows on the prostrate, sleeping
forms. The mother and daughter are singing together a wild
and melancholy dirge, common as a funeral hymn among the
slaves :
"0, where is weeping Mary ?
0, where is weeping Mary 3
Rived in the goodly land.
She is dead and gone to Heaven ;
She is dead and gone to Heaven ;
Rived in the goodly land."
These words, sung by voices of a peculiar and melancholy
sweetness, in an air which seemed like the sighing of earthly
despair after heavenly hope, floated through the dark prison
VOL. ii. 14*
162 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
rooms with a pathetic cadence, as verse after verse was
breathed out:
"0, where are Paul and Silas ?
0, where are Paul and Silas ?
Gone to the goodly land.
They are dead and gone to Heaven ;
They are dead and gone to Heaven ;
Rived in the goodly land."
Sing on, poor souls ! The night "is short, and the morning
will part you forever !
But now it is morning, and everybody is astir ; and the
worthy Mr. Skeggs is busy and bright, for a lot of goods is
to be fitted out for auction. There is a brisk look-put on the
toilet; injunctions passed around to every one to put on their
best face and be spry ; and now all are arranged in a circle
for a last review, before they are marched up to the Bourse.
Mr. Skeggs. with his palmetto on and his cigar in his
mouth, walks around to put farewell touches on his wares.
"How s this?" he said, stepping in front of Susan and
Ernmeline. " Where s your curls, gal? "
The girl looked timidly at her mother, who, with the
smooth adroitness common among her class, answers,
"I was telling her, last night, to put up her hair smooth
and neat, and not havin it flying about in curls ; looks more
respectable so."
"Bother!" said the man, peremptorily, turning to the
girl; "you go right along, and curl yourself real smart!"
He added, giving a crack to a rattan he held in his hand,
" And be back in quick time, too ! "
"You go and help her," he added, to the mother. "Them
curls may make a hundred dollars difference in the sale of her."
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 163
Beneath a splendid dome were men of all nations, movin^
to and fro, over the marble pave. On every side of the cir
cular area were little tribunes, or stations, for the use of
speakers and auctioneers. Two of these, on opposite sides of
the area, w r ere now oceupied by brilliant and talented gentle
men, enthusiastically forcing up, in English and French com
mingled, the bids of connoisseurs in their various wares. A
third one, on the other side, still unoccupied, was surrounded
by a group, w r aiting the moment of sale to begin. And here
we may recognize the St. Clare servants, Tom, Adolph,
and others; and there, too, Susan and Emmeline, awaiting
their turn with anxious and dejected faces. Various specta
tors, intending to purchase, or not intending, as the case
might be, gathered around the group, handling, examining,
and commenting on their various points and faces with the
same freedom that a set of jockeys discuss the merits of a
horse.
"Hulloa, Alf! what brings you here?" said a young
exquisite, slapping the shoulder of a sprucely-dressed young
man, who was examining Adolph through an eye-glass.
" Well, I was wanting a valet, and I heard that St. Clare s
lot was going. I thought I d jus,t look at his
" Catch me ever buying any of St. Clare s people ! Spoilt
niggers, every one. Impudent as the devil!" said the
other.
" Never fear that! " said the first. "If I get em, I ll
soon have their airs out of them; they ll soon find that
they ve another kind of master to deal with than Monsieur
St. Clare. Ton my word, I ll buy that fellow. I like the
shape of him."
" You 11 find it 11 take all you ve got to keep him. He s
deucedly extravagant ! "
164 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OB,
"Yes, but my lord will find that lie can t be extravagant
with me. Just let him be sent to the calaboose a few times,
and thoroughly dressed down ! I 11 tell you if it don t bring
him to a sense of his ways ! 0, I 11 reform him, up hill and
down, you 11 see. I buy him, that s flat ! "
Tom had been standing wistfully examining the multitude
of faces thronging around him, for one whom he would wish
to call master. And if you should ever be under the neces
sity, sir, of selecting, out of two hundred men, one who was
to become your absolute owner and disposer, you would, per
haps, realize, just as Tom did, how few there jyere that you
would feel at all comfortable in being made over to. Tom
saw abundance of men, great, burly, gruff men; little,
chirping, dried men; long-favored, lank, hard men; and
every variety of stubbed-looking, commonplace men, who pick
up their fellow-men as one picks up chips, putting them into
the fire or a basket with equal unconcern, according to their
convenience ; but he saw no St. Clare.
A little before the sale commenced, a short, broad, muscu
lar man, in a checked shirt considerably open at the bosom,
and pantaloons much the worse for dirt and wear, elbowed
his way through the crowd, like one who is going actively
into a business ; and, coming up to the group, began to ex
amine them systematically. From the moment that Tom
saw him approaching, he felt an immediate and revolting
horror at him, that increased as he came near. He was
evidently, though short, of gigantic strength. His round,
bullet head, large, light-gray eyes, with their shaggy, sandy
eye-brows, and stiff, wiry, sun-burned hair, were rather un
prepossessing items, it is to be confessed; his large, coarse
mouth was dis tended with tobacco, the juice of which, from
time to time, he ejected from him with great decision and
LIFE- AMONG THE LOTVLY. 165
explosive force ; his hands were immensely large, hairy, sun
burned, freckled, and very dirty, and garnished -with long
nails, in a yery foul condition. This man proceeded to a
very free personal examination of the lot. He seized Tom
by the jaw, and pulled open his mouth to inspect his teeth ;
made him strip up his sleeve, to show his muscle ; turned him
round, made him jump and spring, to show his paces.
"Where was you raised?" he added, briefly, to these in
vestigations.
"In Kintuck, Mas r," said Tom, looking about, as if for
deliverance.
"What have you done?"
"Had care of Mas r s farm," said Tom.
"Likely story ! " said the other, shortly, as he passed on.
He paused a moment before Dolph ; then spitting a discharge
of tobacco-juice on his well-blacked boots, and giving a con
temptuous umph, he walked on. Again he stopped before
Susan and Emmeline. He put out his heavy, dirty hand,
and drew the girl towards him ; passed it over her neck and
bust, felt her arms, looked at her teeth, and then pushed her
back against her mother, whose patient face showed the suf
fering she had been going through at every motion of the
hideous stranger.
The girl was frightened, and began to cry.
" Stop that, you minx ! " said the salesman ; "no whimp
ering here, the sale is going to begin." And accordingly
the sale begun.
Adolph was knocked off, at a good sum, to the young gen
tleman who had previously stated his intention of buying
him ; and the other servants of the St. Clare lot went to
various bidders.
166 UNCLfi TOM S CABIN: OR,
" Now, up with you, boy ! d ye hear ? " said the auction
eer to Torn.
Tom stepped upon the block, gave a few anxious looks
round all seemed mingled in a common, indistinct noise,
the clatter of the salesman crying off his qualifications in
French and English, the quick fire of French and English
bids ; and almost in a moment came the final thump of the
hammer, and the clear ring on the last syllable of the word
11 dollars" as the auctioneer announced his price, and Tom
was made over. He had a master !
He was prashed from the block ; the short, bullet-headed
man seizing him roughly by the shoulder, pushed him to one
side, saying, in a harsh voice, " Stand there, you ! "
Tom hardly realized anything ; but still the bidding went
on. rattling, clattering, now French, now English. Down
goes the hammer again, Susan is sold ! She goes down
from the block, stops, looks wistfully back, her daughter
stretches her hands towards her. She looks with agony in
the face of the man who has bought her, a respectable mid
dle-aged man, of benevolent countenance. .
U 0, Mas r, please do buy my daughter ! "
"I d like to, but I m afraid I can t afford it ! " said the
gentleman, looking, with painful interest, as the young girl
mounted the block, and looked around her with a frightened
and timid glance.
The blood flushes painfully in her otherwise colorless
cheek, her eye has a feverish fire, and her mother groans
to see that she looks more beautiful than she ever saw her
before. The auctioneer sees his advantage, and expatiates
volubly in mingled French and English, and bids rise in
rapid succession.
"I ll do anything in reason," said the benevolent-looking
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 167
gentleman, pressing in and joining with the bids. In a few
moments they have run beyond his purse. He is silent ; the
auctioneer grows warmer ; but bids gradually drop off. It
lies now between an aristocratic old citizen and our bullet-
headed acquaintance. The citizen bids for a few turns, con
temptuously measuring his opponent; but the bullet-head
has the advantage over him, both in obstinacy and concealed
length of purse, and the controversy lasts but a moment ; the
hammer falls, he has got the girl, body and soul, unless
God help her !
Her master is Mr. Legree, who owns a cotton plantation
on the Red river. She is pushed along into the same lot with
Tom and two other men, and goes off, weeping as she goes.
The benevolent gentleman is sorry ; but, then, the thing
happens every day ! One sees girls and mothers crying, at
these sales, always! it can t be helped, &c. ; and he walks
off, with his acquisition, in another direction.
Two days after, the Lwyer of the Christian firm of B. &
Co., New York, sent on their money to them. On the
reverse of that draft, so obtained, let them write these words
of the great Paymaster, to whom they shall make up their
account in a future day: " When he maketh inquisition
for blood, hcforgettcth not the cry of the humble! "
168 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OK,
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE MIDDLE PASSAGE.
"Thou art of purer eyes than to beliold evil, and canst not look upon
iniquity : wherefore lookest thou upon them that deal treacherously, and
holdest thy tongue when the wicked devoureth the man that is more right
eous than he ?" HAB. 1 : 13.
,
ON the lower part of a small, mean boat, on the Red river,
Tom sat, chains on his wrists, chains on his feet, and a
weight heavier than chains lay on his heart. All had faded
from his sky, moon and star ; all had passed by him, as
the trees and banks were now passing, to return no more.
Kentucky home, with wife and children, and indulgent
owners; St. Clare home, with all its refinements and splen
dors ; the golden head of Eva, with its saint-like eyes ; the
proud, gay, handsome, seemingly careless, yet ever-kind St.
Clare; hours of ease and indulgent leisure, all gone! and
in place thereof, what remains ?
It is one of the bitterest apportionments of a lot of slavery,
that the negro, sympathetic and assimilative, after acquiring,
in a refined family, the tastes and feelings which form the
I atmosphere of such a place, is not the less liable to become
I the bond-slave of the coarsest and most brutal, just as a
chair or table, which once decorated the superb saloon, comes,
at last, battered and defaced, to the bar-room of some filthy
tavern, or some low haunt of vulgar debauchery. The great
difference is, that the table and chair cannot feel, and the
man can; for even a legal enactment that he shall be
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 169
. -
taken, reputed, adjudged in law, to be a chattel personal,"
cannot blot out his soul, with its own private little world of
memories, hopes, loves, fears, and desires.
Mr. Simon Legree, Tom s master, had purchased slaves at
one place and another, in New Orleans, to the number of
eight, and driven them, handcuffed, in couples of two and two,
down to the good steamer Pirate, which lay at the levee,
Treacly for a trip up the Red river.
Having got them fairly on board, and the boat being off,
he came round, with that air of efficiency which ever char
acterized him, to take a review of them. Stopping opposite
to Tom, who had been attired for sale in his best broadcloth
suit, with well-starched linen and shining boots, he briefly
expressed himself as follows :
" Stand up."
Tom stood up.
" Take off that stock ! " and, as Tom, encumbered by his
fetters, proceeded to do it, he assisted him, by pulling it, with
no gentle hand, from his neck, and putting it in his pocket.
Legree now turned to Tom s trunk, which, previous to this,
he had been ransacking, and, taking from it a pair of old
pantaloons and a dilapidated coat, which Tom had been wont
to put on about his stable-work, he said, liberating Tom s
hands from the handcuffs, and pointing to a recess in among
the boxes,
"You go there, and put these on."
Tom obeyed, and in a few moments returned.
" Take off your boots," said Mr. Legree.
Tom did so.
" There," said the former, throwing him a pair of coarse,
etout shoes, such as were common among the slaves, "put
these on."
VOL. II. 15
170 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OR,
In Tom s hurried exchange, he had not forgotten to trans
fer his cherished Bible to his pocket. It was well he did so ;
for Mr. Legree. having refitted Tom s handcuffs, proceeded
deliberately to investigate the contents of his pockets. He
drew out a silk handkerchief, and put it into his own pocket.
Several little trifles, which Tom had treasured, chiefly because
they had amused Eva, he looked upon with a contemptuous
grunt, and tossed them over his shoulder into the river.
Tom s Methodist hymn-book, which, in his hurry, he had
forgotten, he now held up and turned over.
"Humph! pious, to be sure. So, what s yer name,
you belong to the church, eh?"
"Yes, Mas r," said Tom, firmly.
" Well, I ll soon have that out of you. I have none o
yer bawling, praying, singing niggers on my place ; so
remember. Now, mind yourself," he said, with a stamp and
a fierce glance of his gray eye, directed at Tom, "I m your
church now ! You understand, you ve got to be as / say."
Something within the silent black man answered No ! and,
as if repeated by an invisible voice, came the words of an old
prophetic scroll, as Eva had often read them to him, " Fear
not ! for I have redeemed thee. I have called thee by my
name. Thou art MINE ! "
But Simon Legree heard no voice. That voice is one he
never shall hear. He only glared for a moment on the
downcast face of Tom, and walked off. He took Tom s trunk,
which contained a very neat and abundant wardrobe, to the
forecastle, where it was soon surrounded by various hands of
the boat. With much laughing, at the expense of niggers
who tried to be gentlemen, the articles very readily were sold
to one and another, and the empty trunk finally put up at auc
tion. It was a good joke, they all thought, especially to see
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 171
how Tom looked after his things, as they were going this way
and that ; and then the auction of the trunk, that was fun
nier than all, and occasioned abundant witticisms.
This little affair being over, Simon sauntered up again to
his property.
" ISUw, Tom, I ve relieved you of any extra baggage,
you see. Take mighty good care of them clothes. It 11 be
long enough fore you get more. I go iu for making niggers
careful ; one suit has to do for one year, on my place."
Simon next walked up to the place where Emmeline was
sitting, chained to another woman.
"Well, my dear," he said, chucking her under the chin,
" keep up your spirits."
The involuntary look of horror, fright and aversion, with
"jvhich the girl regarded him, did not escape his eye. He
frowned fiercely.
" None o your shines, gal ! you s got to keep a pleasant
face, when I speak to ye, d ye hear ? And" you, you old
yellow poco moonshine!" he said, giving a shove to the
mulatto woman to whom Emmeline was chained, " don t you
carry that sort of face ! You s got to look chipper, I tell
ye!"
" I say, all on ye," he said retreating a pace or two back,
"look at me, look at me, look me right in the eye,-
straight, now ! " said he, stamping his foot at every pause.
As by a fascination, every eye was now directed to the
glaring greenish-gray eye of Simon.
" Now," said he, doubling his great, heavy fist into some
thing resembling a blacksmith s hammer, "d ye see this fist ?
Heft it ! " he said, bringing it down on Tom s hand. "Look
at these yer bones ! Well, I tell ye this yer fist has got as
hard as iron knocking down niggers. I never see the
172 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
__
nigger, yet, I could n t_ bring down with one crack," said he,
bringing his fist down so near to the face of Tom that he winked
and drew back. " I don t keep none o yer cussed overseers;
I does my own overseeing ; and I tell you things is seen to.
You s every one on ye got to toe the mark, "I tell ye ; quick,
straight, the moment I speak. That s the way to keep
in with me. Ye won t find no soft spot in me, nowhere.
So, now. mind yerselves ; for I don t show no mercy ! "
The women involuntarily drew in their breath, and the
whole gang sat with downcast, dejected faces. Meanwhile,
Simon turned on his heel, and marched up to the bar of the
boat for a dram.
" That s the way I begin with my niggers," he said, to a
gentlemanly man, who had stood by him during his speech.
" It s my system to begin strong, just let em know what
to expect."
" Indeed ! " said the stranger, looking upon him with the
curiosity of a naturalist studying some out-of-the-way speci
men.
c Yes, indeed. I m none o yer gentlemen planters, with
lily fingers, to slop round and be cheated by some old cuss of
an overseer ! Just feel of my knuckles, now ; look at my
fist. Tell ye, sir, the flesh on ; t has come jest like a stone,
practising on niggers, feel on it."
The stranger applied his fingers to the implement in ques
tion, and simply said,
"Tis hard enough ; and, I suppose," he added, " practice
has made your heart just like it."
" Why, yes, I may say so," said Simon, with a hearty
laugh. " I reckon there s as little soft in me as in any one
going. Tell you, nobody comes it over me ! Niggers never
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 173
gets round me, neither with squalling nor soft soap, that s
a fact."
{ You have a fine lot there."
" Real," said Simon. " There s that Tom, they telled me
he was suthin uncommon. I paid a little high for him, tendin
him for a driver and a managing chap ; only get the notions
out that he s larnt by bein treated as niggers never ought to
be, he "ll do prime ! The yellow woman I got took in in. I
ray ther think she s sickly, but I shall put her through for
what she s worth ; she may last a year or two. I don t go
for savin niggers. Use up, and buy more, s my way ;
makes you less trouble, and I m quite sure it conies cheaper
in the end; " and Simon sipped his glass.
"And how long do they generally last?" said the
stranger.
" Well, donno ; cordin as their constitution is. Stout
fellers last six or seven years ; trashy ones gets worked up in
two or three. I used to, when I fust begun, have consider
able trouble fussin with em and trying to make em hold
out, doctorin on em up when they s sick, and givin on
em clothes and blankets, and what not, tryin to keep em
all sort o decent and comfortable. Law, t was n t no sort o
use ; I lost money on em, and t was heaps o trouble. Now,
you see, I just put em straight through, sick or well. When
one nigger s dead, I buy another; and I find it comes cheaper
and easier, every way."
The stranger turned away, and seated himself beside a
gentleman, who had been listening to the conversation with
repressed uneasiness.
" You must not take that fellow to be any specimen of
Southern planters," said he.
VOL, II. 15*
174 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
" I should hope not," said the young gentleman, with
emphasis.
"He is a mean, low, brutal fellow ! " said the other.
"And yet your laws allow him to hold any number of
human beings subject to his absolute will, without even a
shadow of protection ; and, low as he is, you cannot say that
there are not many such."
"Well," said the other, "there are also many considerate
and humane men among planters."
" Granted," said the young man ; " but, in my opinion, it is
you considerate, humane men, that are responsible for all the
brutality and outrage wrought by these wretches ; because,
if it were not for your sanction and influence, the whole
system could not keep foot-hold for an hour. If there were
no planters except such as that one," said he, pointing with
his finger to Legree, who stood with his back to them, " the
whole thing would go down like a mill-stone. It is your
respectability and humanity that licenses and protects his
brutality."
"You certainly have a high opinion of my good nature,"
said the planter, smiling ; " but I advise you not to talk quite
so loud, as there are people on board the boat who might not^
be quite so toleram to opinion as I am. You had better wait
till I get up to my plantation, and there you may abuse us all, ^
quite at your leisure."
The young gentleman colored and smiled, and the two
were soon busy in a game of backgammon. Meanwhile,
another conversation was going on in the lower part of the
boat, between Emmeline and the mulatto woman with whom
she was confined. As was natural, they were exchanging
with each other some particulars of their history.
" Who did you belong to ? " said Emmeline.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 175
" Well, my Mas r was Mr. Ellis, lived on Levee-street.
P raps you ve seen the house."
" Was he good to you ? " said Emmeline.
"Mostly, till he tuk sick. He s lain sick, off and on,
more than six months, and been orful oneasy. Pears like
he warnt willin to have nobody rest, day nor night ; and got
so curous, there couldn t nobody suit him. Pears like he
just grew crosser, every day ; kep me up nights till I got
farly beat out, and could n t keep awake no longer ; and
cause I got to sleep, one night, Lors, he talk so orful to me,
and he tell me he d sell me to just the hardest master he
could find ; and he d promised me my freedom, too, when he
died."
" Had you any friends ? " said Emmeline.
"Yes, my husband, he s a blacksmith. Mas r gen ly
hired him out. They took me off so quick, I did n t even
have time to see him ; and I s got four children. 0, dear
me ! " said the woman, covering her face with her hands.
It is a natural impulse, in every one, when they hear a tale
of distress, to think of something to say by way of consola
tion. Emmeline wanted to say something, but she could not
think, of anything to say. What was there to be said ? As
by a common consent, they both avdWed, with fear and
dread, all mention of the horrible man who was now their
master.
True, there is religious trust for even the darkest hour
The mulatto woman was a member of the Methodist church,
and had an unenlightened but very sincere spirit of piety.
Emmeline had been educated much more intelligently,
taught to read and write, and diligently instructed in the
Bible, by the care of a faithful and pious mistress; yet, would
it not try the faith of the firmest Christian, to find them-
176 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : on,
selves abandoned, apparently, of God, in the grasp of ruth
less violence ? How much more must it shake the faith of
Christ s poor little ones, weak in knowledge and tender in
years !
The boat moved on, freighted with its weight of sorrow,
up the red, muddy, turbid current, through the abrupt,
tortuous windings of the Red river ; and sad eyes gazed
wearily on the steep red-clay banks, as they glided by in
dreary sameness. At last the boat stopped at a small town,
and Legree, with his party, disembarked.
CHAPTER XXXII.
DARK PLACES.
" The dark places of the earth are full of the habitations of cruelty."
TRAILING wearily behind a rude wagon, and over a ruder
road, Tom and his, associates faced onward.
In the wagon was seated Simon Legree; and the two
women, still fettered together, were stowed away with some
baggage in the back part of it, and the whole company were
seeking Legree s plantation, which lay a good distance off.
It was a wild, forsaken road, now winding through dreary
pine barrens, where the wind whispered mournfully, and now
over log causeways, through long cypress swamps, the
doleful trees rising out of the slimy, spongy ground, hung
with long wreaths of funereal black moss, while ever and
anon the loathsome form of the moccasin snake might be seen
sliding among broken stumps and shattered branches that lay
here and there, rotting in the water.
LIFE AMONG THE LO "LY. 177
It is disconsolate enough, this riding, to the stranger, who,
with well-filled pocket and well-appointed horse, threads the
lonely way on some errand of business ; but wilder, drearier,
to the man enthralled, whom every weary step bears further
from all that man loves and prays for.
So one should have thought, that witnessed the sunken
and dejected expression on those dark faces ; the wistful,
patient weariness with which those sad eyes rested on object
after object that passed them in their sad journey.
Simon rode on, however, apparently well pleased, occasion
ally pulling away at a flask of spirit, which he kept in his
pocket.
" I say, you ! " he said, as he turned back and caught a
glance at the dispirited faces behind him! " Strike up a
eong, boys, come ! "
The men looked at each other, and the "come" was
repeated, with a smart crack of the whip which the driver
carried in his hands. Tom began a Methodist hymn,
" Jerusalem, my happy home,
Name ever dear to me !
When shall my sorrows have an end,
Thy joys when shall "
" Shut up, you black cuss ! " roared Legree ; " did ye think
I wanted any o yer infernal old Methodism ? I say, tune
up, now, something real rowdy, quick ! "
One of the other men struck up one of those unmeaning
Bongs, common among the slaves.
" Mas r see d me cotch a coon,
High boys, high !
He laughed to split, d ye see the moon,
Ho ! ho ! ho ! boys, ho !
Ho! yol hi e! ohi"
178 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
.
The singer appeared to make up the song to his own
pleasure, generally hitting on rhyme, without much attempt
at rsason ; and all the party took up the chorus, at intervals,
" Ho ! ho ! ho ! boys, ho !
High e oh ! high e oh ! "
It was sung very boisterously, and with a forced attempt
at merriment; but no wail of despair, no words of impas
sioned prayer, could have had such a depth of woe in them
as the wild notes of the chorus. As if the poor, dumb heart,
threatened,^ prisoned, took refuge in that inarticulate sanc
tuary of music, and found there a language in which to
breathe its prayer to God ! There was a prayer in it, which
Simon could not hear. He only heard the boys singing
noisily, and was well pleased; he was making them "keep
up their spirits."
" Well, my little dear," said he, turning to Emmeline, and
laying his hand on her shoulder, ll we re almost home ! "
When Legree scolded and stormed, Emmeline was terri
fied ; but when he laid his hand on her, and spoke as he now
did, she felt as if she had rather he would strike her. The
expression of his eyes made her soul sick, and her flesh creep.
Involuntarily she clung closer to the mulatto woman by her
side, as if she were her mother.
"You didn t ever wear ear-rings," he said, taking hold
of her small ear with his coarse fingers.
" No, Mas r ! " said Emmeline, trembling and looking
down.
" Well, I ll give you a pair, when we get home, if you re
a good girl. You need n t be so frightened ; I don t mean to
make you work very hard. You 11 have fine times with me.
and live like a lady, only be a good girl."
LIFE AMONO THE LOWLY. 179
Legree had been drinking to that degree that he was
inclining to be very gracious ; and it was about this time that
;he enclosures of the plantation rose to view. The estate had
brmerly belonged to a gentleman of opulence and taste, who
md bestowed some considerable attention to the adornment
>f his grounds. Having died insolvent, it had been pur
chased, at a bargain, by Legree, who used it, as he did every
thing else, merely as an implement for money-making. Tho
jlace had that ragged, forlorn appearance, which is always
>roduced by the evidence that the care of the former owner
las been left to go to utter decay.
What was once a smooth-shaven lawn before the house,
tttted here and there with ornamental shrubs, was now
severed with frowsy tangled grass, with horse-posts set up,
lere and there, in it, where the turf was stamped away, and the
ground littered with broken pails, cobs of corn, and other slov-
>nly remains. Here and there, a mildewed jessamine or honey-
uckle hung raggedly from some ornamental support, which
lad been pushed to one side by being used as a horse-post.
What once was a large garden was now all grown over with
weeds, through which, here and there, some solitary exotic
reared its forsaken head. What had been a conservatory
had now no window-sashes, and on the mouldering shelves
stood some dry, forsaken flower-pots, with sticks in them,
whose dried leaves showed they had once been plants.
The wagon rolled up a weedy gravel walk, under a noble
avenue of China trees, whose graceful forms and ever-
springing foliage seemed to be the only things there that
neglect could not daunt or alter, like noble spirits, so deeply
rooted in goodness, as to flourish and grow stronger amid
discouragement and decay.
The house had been large and handsome. It was built in
180 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OB,
a manner common at the South ; a wide verandah of two
stories running round every part of the house, into which
every outer door opened, the lower tier being supported by
brick pillars.
But the place looked desolate and uncomfortable; some
windows stopped up with boards, some with shattered panes,
and shutters hanging by a single hinge, all telling of coarse
neglect and. discomfort.
Bits of board, straw, old decayed barrels and boxes, gar
nished the ground in all directions ; and three or four fero
cious-looking dogs, roused by the sound of the wagon- wheels,
came tearing out, and were with difficulty restrained from
laying hold of Tom and his companions, by the effort of the
ragged servants who came after them.
: Ye see what ye d get ! " said Legree, caressing the dogs
with grim satisfaction, and turning to Tom and his companions.
" Ye see what ye d get, if ye try to run off. These yer
dogs has been raised to track niggers ; and they d jest as
soon chaw one on ye up as eat their supper. So, mind yer-
self ! How now, Sambo ! " he said, to a ragged fellow, with
out any brim to his hat, who was officious in his attentions.
" How have things been going?"
" Fust rate, Mas r."
" Quimbo," said Legree to another, who was making zeal
ous demonstrations to attract his attention, " ye minded what
I tolled ye?"
"Guess I did, did n t I?"
These two colored men were the two principal hands on
the plantation. Legree had trained them in savageness and
brutality as systematically as he had his bull-dogs ; and, by
long practice in hardness and cruelty, brought their whole
nature to about the same range of capacities. It is a com-
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 181
mon remark, and one that is thought to militate strongly
against the character of the race, that the negro overseer is
always more tyrannical and cruel than the white one. This
is simply saying that the negro mind has been more crushed
and debased than the white. It is no more true of this race
than of every oppressed race, the world over. The slave is
always a tyrant, if he can get a chance to be one.
Legree, like some potentates we read of in history, governed
his plantation by a sort of resolution of forces. Sambo and
Quimbo cordially hated each other ; the plantation hands, one
and all, cordially hated them ; and, by playing off one against
another, he was pretty sure, through one or the other of the
three parties, to get informed of whatever was on foot in the
place.
Nobody can live entirely without social intercourse; and
Legree encouraged his two black satellites to a kind of coarse
familiarity with him, a familiarity, however, at any
moment liable to get one or the other of them into trouble ;
for, on the slightest provocation, one of them always stood
ready, at a nod, to be a minister of his vengeance on the other.
As they stood there now by Legree, they seemed an apt
illustration of the fact that brutal men are lower even than
animals. Their coarse, dark, heavy features ; their great eyes,
rolling enviously on each other ; their barbarous, guttural,
half-brute intonation ; their dilapidated garments fluttering in
the wind, were all in admirable keeping with the vile and
unwholesome character of everything about the place.
"Here, you Sambo," said Legree, "take these yer boys
down to the quarters ; and here s a gal I ve got for you"
said he, as he separated the mulatto woman from Emmeline,
and pushed her towards him ; "I promised to bring you one,
you know."
VOL. II. 16
182 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: on,
The woman gave a sudden start, and, drawing back, said,
suddenly,
" 0, Mas r ! I left my old man in New Orleans."
"What of that, you ; won t you want one here?
None o your words, go long ! " said Legree, raising his
whip.
" Come, mistress," he said to Emmeline, "you go in here
with me."
A dark, wild face was seen, for a moment, to glance at
the window of the house ; and, as Legree opened the door, a
female voice said something, in a quick, imperative tone.
Tom, who was looking, with anxious interest, after Emme
line, as she went in, noticed this, and heard Legree answer,
angrily, " You may hold your tongue ! I 11 do as I please,
for all you ! "
Tom heard no more ; for he was soon following Sambo to
the quarters. The quarters was a little sort of street of rude
shanties, in a row, in a part of the plantation, far off from the
aouse. They had a forlorn, brutal, forsaken air. Tom s heart
gunk when he saw them. He had been comforting himself
"with the thought of a cottage, rude, indeed, but one which
he might make neat and quiet, and where he might have a
shelf for his Bible, and a place to be alone out of his laboring
hours. He looked into several ; they were mere rude shells,
destitute of any species of furniture, except a heap of straw,
foul with dirt, spread confusedly over the floor, which was
merely the bare ground, trodden hard by the tramping of
innumerable feet.
"Which of these will be mine ? " said he, to Sambo, sub
missively.
"Dunno; ken turn in here, I spose," said Sambo;
"specta thar s room for another thar; thar ? s a pretty smart
*m
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 188
heap o niggers to each on em, now ; sure, I dunno what I J a
to do with more."
*,.. .*.## ....!
It was late in the evening when the weary occupants of
the shanties came flocking home, men and women, in soiled
and tattered garments, surly and uncomfortable, and in no
mood to look pleasantly on new-comers. The small village
was alive with no inviting sounds ; hoarse, guttural voices con
tending at the hand-mills where their morsel of hard corn
was yet to he ground into meal, to fit it for the cake that
was to constitute their only supper. From the earliest dawn
of the day, they had been in the fields, pressed to work under
the driving lash of the overseers ; for it was now in the very
heat and hurry of the season, and no means was left untried to
press every one up to the top of their capabilities. "True,"
says the negligent lounger; "picking cotton isn t hard work."
Isn t it? And it isn t much inconvenience, either, to
have one drop of water fall on your head; yet the worst
torture of the inquisition is produced by drop after drop, drop
after drop, falling moment after moment, with monotonous
succession, on the same spot ; and work, in itself not hard,
becomes so, by being pressed, hour after hour, with unvarying,
unrelenting sameness, with not even the consciousness of free
will to take from its tediousness. Tom looked in vain among
the gang, as they poured along, for companionable faces. He
saw only sullen, scowling, imbruted men, and feeble, dis
couraged women, or women that were not women, the
strong pushing away the weak, the gross, unrestricted ani
mal selfishness of human beings, of whom nothing good wad
expected and desired ; and who, treated in every way like
brutes, had sunk as nearly to their level as it was possible foi
human beings to do. To a late hour in the night the sound
184 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: on,
of the grinding was protracted ; for the mills were few in
number compared with the grinders, and the weary and
feeble ones were driven back by the strong, and came on last
in their turn.
"Ho yo ! " said Sambo, coming to the mulatto woman,
and throwing down a bag of corn before her; " wffat a cuss
yo name? "
" Lucy," said the woman.
"Wai, Lucy, yo my woman now. Yo grind dis yer corn,
and get my supper baked, ye har ? "
"I an t your woman, and I won t be ! " said the woman,
with the sharp, sudden courage of despair; " you go long \
"I ll kick yo, then! " said Sambo, raising his foot threat
eningly.
"Ye may kill me, if ye choose, the sooner the better!
Wish t I was dead ! " said she.
" I say, Sambo, you go to spilin the hands, I 11 tell Mas r
o you," said Quimbo, who was busy at the mill, from which
he had viciously driven two or three tired women, who were
waiting to grind their corn.
"And I ll tell him ye won t let the women come to the
mills, yo old nigger ! " said Sambo. " Yo jes keep to yo own
row."
Tom was hungry with his day s journey, and almost faint
for want of food.
" Thar, yo!" said Quimbo, throwing down a coarse bag,
which contained a peck of corn; " thar, nigger, grab, take car
on t, yo won t get no more, dis yer week."
Tom waited till a late hour, to get a place at the mills ; and
then, moved by the utter weariness of two women, whom he
saw trying to grind their corn there, he ground for them, put
together the decaying brands of the fire, where many had
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 185
baked cakes before them, and then went about getting his
own supper. It was a new kind of work there, a deed of
charity, small as it was ; but it woke an answering touch in
their hearts, an expression of womanly kindness came over
their hard faces; they mixed his cake for him, and tended its
baking ; and Tom sat down by the light of the fire, and drew
out his Bible, for he had need of comfort.
11 What s that ? " said one of the women.
"A Bible," said Tom.
11 Good Lord ! han t seen un since I was in Kentuck."
" Was you raised in Kentuck? " said Tom, with interest.
_J Yes, and well raised, too; never spected to come to dis
yer! " said the woman, sighing.
" What s dat ar book, any way ? " said the other woman.
"Why, the Bible."
" Laws a me ! what s dat? " said the woman.
" Do tell ! you never hearn on t? " said the other woman.
" I used to har Missis a readin on t, sometimes, in Kentuck;
but, laws o me ! we don t har nothin here but crackin and
swarin ."
"Read a piece, anyways!" said the first woman, curi
ously, seeing Tom attentively poring over it.
Tom read, " Come unto ME, all ye that labor and are
heavy laden, and I will give you rest,"
"Them s good words, enough," said the woman; "who
says em?"
" The Lord," said Tom.
"I jest wish I know d whar to find Him," said the woman.
" I would go ; pears like I never should get rested agin.
My flesh is fairly sore, and I. tremble all over, every day, and
Sambo s allers a jawin at me, cause I does n t pick faster ;
and nights it s most midnight fore I can get my supper ; and
VOL. II. 16*
186 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR.
den pears like I don t turn over and shut my eyes, fore I
hear de horn blow to get up, and at it agin in de mornin .
If I knew whar de Lor was, I d tell him."
" He s here, he s everywhere," said Tom.
"Lor, you an t gwine to make me believe dat ar ! I know
de Lord an t here," said the woman ; " tan t no use talking,
though. I s jest gwine to camp down, and sleep while I
ken."
The women went off to their cabins, and Tom sat alone, by
the smouldering fire, that nickered up redly in his face.
The silver, fair-browed moon rose in the purple sky, and
looked down, calm and silent, as God looks on the scene of
misery and oppression, looked calmly on the lone black
man, as he sat, with his arms folded, and his Bible on his knee.
" Is God HERE? " Ah, how is it possible for the untaught
heart to keep its faith, unswerving, in the face of dire misrule,
and palpable, unrebuked injustice? Injthat simple heart
Wjigejij^ fiercej3onflict : .the- cr4ishin^seas.e. of wrong, the fore-
shadowm^of^whole lifejoj^futu^jnis^ry^^e^wreck of all
past hopes, mournfiilly_Jojsjii^^ like_dead
corpses of wife, and child, and fnen^j^ising from the dark
way^^jmdjsujrj]^^^ !
Ah, was it easy Aergjo_believe-.n.p(l Tmlrl ^
worcUxf Christian faith, that " God ISjJtnd is
Tom rose, disconsolate, and stumbled into the cabin that
had been allotted to him. The floor was already strewn with
weary sleepers, and, the foul air of the place almost repelled
him; but the heavy night-dews were chill, and his limbs
weary, and, wrapping about him a tattered blanket, which
formed his only bed-clothing, he stretched himself in the
straw and fell asleep.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 187
In dreams, a gentle voice came over his ear ; he was sitting
on the mossy seat in the garden by Lake Pontchartrain, and
Eva, with her serious eyes bent downward, was reading to
him from the Bible; and he heard her read,
" When thou passest through the waters, I will be with
thee, and the rivers they shall not overflow thee ; when thou
walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned, neither
shall the flame kindle upon thee ; for I am the Lord thy God,
the Holy One of Israel, thy Saviour."
Gradually the words seemed to melt and fade, as in a
divine music ; the child raised her deep eyes, and fixed them
lovingly on him, and rays of warmth and comfort seemed to
go from them to his heart ; and, as if wafted on the music,
she seemed to rise on shining wings, from which flakes and
spangles of gold fell off like stars, and she was gone.
Tom woke. Was it a dream ? Let it pass for one. But
who shall say that that sweet young spirit, which in life so
yearned to comfort and console the distressed, was forbidden
to assume this ministry after death ?
It is a beautiful belief,
That ever round our head
Are hovering, on angel wings,
The spirits of the dead.
188 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OB.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
CASST.
" And behold, the tears of such as were oppressed, and they had no
comforter ; and on the side of their oppressors there was power, but they
had no comforter." ECCL. 4:1.
IT took but a short time to familiarize Tom with all that
was to be hoped or feared in his new way of life. He was
an expert and efficient workman in whatever he undertook ;
and was, both from habit and principle, prompt and faithful.
Quiet and peaceable in his disposition, he hoped, by unremit
ting diligence, to avert from himself at least a portion of the
evils of his condition. He saw enough of abuse and misery
to make him sick and weary ; but he determined to toil on,
with religious patience, committing himself to Him that
judgeth righteously, not without hope that some way of
escape might yet be opened to him.
Legree took silent note of Tom s availability. He rated
him as a first-class hand; and yet he felt a secret dislike to
him, the native antipathy of bad to good. He saw, plainly,
that when, as was often the case, his violence and brutality
fell on the helpless, Tom took notice of it ; for, so subtle
is the atmosphere of opinion, that it will make itself felt,
without words ; and the opinion even of a slave may annoy
a master. Tom in various ways manifested a tenderness of
feeling, a commiseration for his fellow-sufferers, strange and
new to them, which was watched with a jealous eye by Lc-
gree. He had purchased Tom with a view of eventually
making him a sort of overseer, with whom he might, at times,
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 189
intrust his affairs, in short absences ; and, in his view, the
first, second, and third requisite for that place, was hard
ness. Legree made up his mind, that, as Tom was not hard
to his hand, he would harden him forthwith; and some few
weeks after Tom had been on the place, he determined to
commence the process.
One morning, when the hands were mustered for the field,
Tom noticed, with surprise, a new comer among them, whose
appearance excited his attention. It was a woman, tall and
slenderly formed, with remarkably delicate hands and feet,
and dressed in neat and respectable garments. By the ap
pearance of her face, she might have been between thirty-five
and forty ; and it was a face that, once seen, could never be
forgotten, one of those that, at a glance, seem to convey to
us an idea of a wild, painful, and romantic history. Her
forehead was high, and her eyebrows marked with beautiful
clearness. Her straight, well-formed nose, her finely-cut
mouth, and the graceful contour of her head and neck, showed
that she must once have been beautiful; but her face was
deeply wrinkled with lines of pain, and of proud and bitter
endurance. Her complexion was sallow and unhealthy, her
cheeks thin, her features sharp, and her whole form emaci
ated. But her eye was the most remarkable feature, so
large, so heavily black, overshadowed by long lashes of equal
darkness, and so wildly, mournfully despairing. There was a
fierce pride and defiance in every line of her face, in every
curve of the flexible lip, in every motion of her body ; but in
her eye was a deep, settled night of anguish, an expression
so hopeless and unchanging as to contrast fearfully with the
scorn and pride expressed by her whole demeanor.
Where she came from, or who she was, Tom did not know.
The first he did know, she was walking by his side, erect and
190 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
proud, in the dim gray of the dawn. To the gang, however,
she was known ; for there was much looking and turning of
heads, and a smothered yet apparent exultation among the
miserable, ragged, half-starved creatures by whom she was
surrounded.
" Got to come to it, at last, grad of it ! " said one.
" He ! he ! he ! " said another; " you 11 know how good it
is, Misse !"
" We 11 see her work !"
"Wonder if she ll get a cutting up, at night, like the rest
of us!"
"I M be glad to see her down for a flogging, I 11 bound ! "
said another.
The woman took no notice of these taunts, but walked on,
with the same expression of angry scorn, as if she heard noth
ing. Tom had always lived among refined and cultivated
people, and he felt intuitively, from her air and bearing, that
she belonged to that class ; but how or why she could be fallen
to those degrading circumstances, he could not tell. The
woman neither looked at him nor spoke to him, though, all
the way to the field, she kept close at his side.
Tom was soon busy at his work but, as the woman was at
no great distance from him, he often glanced an eye to her, at
her work* He saw, at a glance, that a native adroitness and
handiness made the task to her an easier one than it proved
to many. She picked very fast and very clean, and with an
air of scorn, as if she despised both the work and the dis
grace and humiliation of the circumstances in which she was
placed.
In the course of the day, Tom was working near the mu
latto woman who had been bought in the same lot with him
self. She was evidently in a condition of great suffering, and
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 191
Tom often heard her praying, as she wavered and trembled,
and seemed about to fall down. Tom silently, as he came
near to her, transferred several handfuls of cotton from his
own sack to hers.
" 0, don t, don t! "said the woman, looking surprised;
" it 11 get you into trouble."
Just then Sambo came up. He seemed to have a special
spite against this woman ; and, flourishing his whip, said, in
brutal, guttural tones, "What dis yer, Luce, foolin a ?"
and, with the word, kicking the woman with his heavy cow
hide shoe, he struck Tom across the face with his whip.
Tom silently resumed his task ; but the woman, before at
the last point of exhaustion, fainted.
"I ll bring her to ! " said the driver, with a brutal grin.
"I ll give her something better than camphire!" and, tak
ing a pin from his coat-sleeve, he buried it to the head in her
flesh. The woman groaned, and half rose. " Get up, you
beast, and work, will yer, or I 11 show yer a trick more ! "
The woman seemed stimulated, for a few moments, to an
unnatural strength, and worked with desperate eagerness.
" See that you keep to dat ar," said the man, "or yer 11
wish yer s dead to-night, I reckin ! "
That I do now ! Tom heard her say ; and again he
heard her say, "0, Lord, how long! 0, Lord, why don t
you help us ? "
At the risk of all that he might suffer, Tom came forward
again, and put all the cotton in his sack into the woman s.
" 0, you mustn t ! you donno what they ll do to ye ! "
said the woman.
" I can bar it ! " said Tom, " better n you ; " and he was
at his place again. It passed in a moment.
Suddenly, the stranger woman whom we have described, and
192 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OB,
who had, in the course of her work, come near enough to hear
Tom s last words, raised her heavy black eyes, and fixed
them, for a second, on him ; then, taking a quantity of cotton
from her basket, she placed it in his.
"You know nothing about this place," she said, "or you
would n t have done that. When you ve been here a month,
you ll be done helping anybody; you ll find it hard enough
to take care of your own skin ! "
"The Lord forbid, Missis! " said Tom, using instinctively
to his field companion the respectful form proper to the high
bred with whom he had lived.
"The Lord never visits these parts," said the woman, bit
terly, as she went nimbly forward with her work ; and again
the scornful smile curled her lips.
But the action of the woman had been seen by the driver,
across the field ; and, flourishing his whip, he came up to
her.
What! what! "he said to the woman, with an air of
triumph, " you a foolin"? Go along ! yer under me now,
mM yourself, or yer 11 cotch it ! "
A glance like sheet-lightning suddenly flashed from those
black eyes ; and, facing about, with quivering lip and dilated
nostrils, she drew herself up, and fixed a glance, blazing with
rage and scorn, on the driver.
" Dog ! " she said," " touch me, if you dare ! I ve power
enough, yet, to have you torn by the dogs, burnt alive, cut to
inches ! I ve only to say the word ! "
"What de devil you here for, den?" said the man, evi
dently cowed, and sullenly retreating a step or two. "Didn t
mean no harm, Misse Gassy ! "
"Keep your distance, then! " said the woman. And, in
LIFE AMONG THi3 LOWLY. 193
truth, the man seemed greatly inclined to attend to something
at the other end of the field, and started off in quick time.
The woman suddenly turned to her work, and labored with
a despatch that was perfectly astonishing to Tom. She
seemed to work by magic. Before the day was through, her
basket was filled, crowded down, and piled, and she had sev
eral times put largely into Tom s. Long after dusk, the
whole weary train, with their baskets on their heads, defiled
up to the building appropriated to the storing and weighing
the cotton. Legree was there 3 busily conversing with the
two drivers.
" Dat ar Tom s gwine to make a powerful deal o trouble
kept a puttin into Lucy s basket. One o these yer dat will
get all der niggers to feelin bused, if Mas r don t wutch
him ! " said Sambo.
"Hey-dey! The black cuss!" said Legree. "He ll
have to get a breakin in, won t he, boys?"
Both negroes grinned a horrid grin, at this intimation.
"Ay, ay! let Mas r Legree alone, for breakin in! De
debil heself couldn t beat Mas r at dat ! " said Quimbo.
" Wai, boys, the best way is to give him the flogging to
do, till he gets over his notions. Break him in ! "
" Lord, Mas r 11 have hard work to get dat out o him ! "
" It 11 have to come out of him, though ! " said Legree, as
he rolled his tobacco in his mouth.
"Now, dar s Lucy, de aggravatinest, ugliest wench on
de place ! " pursued Sambo.
" Take care, Sam ; I shall begin to think what *3 the rea
son for your spite agin Lucy."
"Well, Mas r knows she sot herself up agin Mas r, and
wouldn t have me, when he telled her to."
"I d a flogged her into t," said Legree, spitting, "only
VOL. IT. 17
194 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
there s such a press o work, it don t seem wuth a while to
upset her jist now. She s slender ; but these yer slender
gals will bear half killin to get their own way ! "
"Wai, Lucy was real aggravatin and lazy, sulkin round;
wouldn t do nothin , and Tom he tuck up for her."
"He did, eh! Wai, then, Tom shall have the pleasure
of flogging her. It 11 be a good practice for him, and he
won t put it on to the gal like you devils, neither."
"Ho, ho! haw! haw! haw!" laughed both the sooty
wretches ; and the diabolical sounds seemed, in truth, a not
unapt expression of the fiendish character which Legree gave
them.
"Wai, but, Mas r, Tom and Misse Oassy, and dey among
em, filled Lucy s basket. I ruther guess der weight s in it.
Mas r!"
" I do the weighing!" said Legree, emphatically.
Both the drivers again laughed their diabolical laugh.
" So ! " he added, " Misse Cassy did her day s work."
"She picks like de debil and all his angels ! "
" She ? s got em all in her, I believe ! " said Legree; and,
growling a brutal oath, he proceeded to the weighing-room.
Slowly the weary, dispirited creatures, wound their way
into the room, and, with crouching reluctance, presented their
baskets to be weighed.
Legree noted on a slate, on the side of which was pasted
a lis t of names, the amount.
Tom s basket was weighed and approved ; and he looked,
with an anxious glance, for the success of the woman he had
befriended.
Tottering with weakness, she came forward, and delivered
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 195
her basket. It was of full weight, as Legree well perceived;
but, affecting anger, he said,
"What, you lazy beast ! short again! stand aside, you ll
catch it, pretty soon ! "
The woman gave a groan of utter despair, and sat down on
a board.
The person who had been called Misse Cassy now came
forward, and, with a haughty, negligent air, delivered her
basket. As she delivered it, Legree looked in her eyes with
a sneering yet inquiring glance.
She fixed her black eyes steadily on him, her lips moved
slightly, and she said something in French. What it was, no
one knew ; but Legree s face became perfectly demoniacal in
its expression, as she spoke ; he half raised his hand, as if to
strike, a gesture which she regarded with fierce disdain, as
she turned and walked away.
" And now," said Legree, " come here, you Tom. You see,
I telled ye I didn t buy ye jest for the common work; I
mean to promote ye, and make a driver of ye ; and to-night
y*e may jest as well begin to get yer hand in. Now, ye jest
take this yer gal and flog her; ye ve seen enough on t to
know how."
"I beg Mas r s pardon," said Tom; "hopes Mas r won t
set me at that. It s what I an t used to, never did,
and can t do, no way possible."
"Ye 11 larn a pretty smart chance of things ye never
did know, before I ve done with ye ! " said Legree, taking
up a cow-hide, and striking Tom a heavy blow across the
cheek, and following up the infliction by a shower of blows.
"There!" he said, as he stopped tc rest; "now, will ye
tell me ye can t do it? "
" Yes, Mas r," said Tom, putting up his hand, to wipe
196 UNOLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
the blood, that trickled down his face. " I m willin to work,
night and day, and work while there s life and breath in me ;
but this yer thing I can t feel it right to do ; and, Mas r, I
never shall do it, never! "
Tom had a remarkably smooth, soft voice, and a habitually
respectful manner, that had given Legree an idea that he
would be cowardly, and easily subdued. When he spoko
these last words, a thrill of amazement went throug| every
one; the poor woman clasped her hands, and said, "
Lord ! " and every one involuntarily looked at each other and
drew in their breath, as if to prepare for the storm that was
about to burst.
Legree looked stupefied and confounded; but at last burst
forth,
" What ! ye blasted black beast ! tell me ye don t think it
right to do what I tell ye ! What have any of you cussed
cattle to do with thinking what s right? I ll put a stop to
it ! Why, what do ye think ye are ? May be ye think ye r
a gentleman, master Tom, to be a telling your master what *
right, and what an t ! So you pretend it s wrong to flog
gal !
"I think so, Mas r," said Tom; " the poor crittur s sick
and feeble; twould be downright cruel, and it s what I
never will do, nor begin to. Mas r, if you mean to kill me,
kill me ; but, as to my raising my hand agin any one here,
I never shall, I 11 die first ! "
Tom spoke in a mild voice, but with a decision that could
not be mistaken. Legree shook with anger ; his greenish
eyes glared fiercely, and his very whiskers seemed to curl
with passion ; but, like some ferocious beast, that plays with
its victim before he devours it, he kept back his strong
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 197
impulse to proceed to immediate violence, and broke out into
bitter raillery.
" Well, here s a pious dog, at last, let down among us
sinners ! a saint, a gentleman, and no less, to talk to us
sinners about our sins ! Powerful holy critter, he must be !
Here, $ou rascal, you make believe to be so pious, didn t,
you never hear, out of yer Bible, * Servants, obey yer mas
ters ? An t I yer master? Didn t I pay down twelve
hundred dollars, cash, for all there is inside yer old cussed
black shell ? An t yer mine, now, body and soul? " he said,
giving Tom a violent kick with his heavy boot ; " tell me ! "
In the very depth of physical suffering, bowed by brutal
oppression, this question shot a gleam of joy and triumph
through Tom s soul. He suddenly stretched himself up, and,
looking earnestly to heaven, while the tears and blood that
flowed down his face mingled, he exclaimed,
" No ! no ! no ! my soul an t yours, Mas r ! You have n t
bought it, ye can t buy it ! It s been bought and paid for,
t by one that is able to keep it; rpno matter, no matter, you
L
W can t harm me ! "
" I can t ! " said Legree. with a sneer: "we ll see, we ll
see ! Here, Sambo, ^uimbo, give this dog such a breakin
in as he won t get over, this month ! "
The two gigantic negroes that now laid hold of Tom, with
fiendish exultation in their faces, might have formed no unapt
personification of powers of darkness. The poor woman
screamed with apprehension, and all rose, as by a general
impulse, while they dragged him unresisting from the place.
VOL. II. 17*
198 UNCLE TOM S CABIN; OB,
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE QUADROON S STORY.
And behold the tears of such as are oppressed; and on the side of their
oppressors there was power. "Wherefore I praised the dead that aie
already dead more than the living that are yet alive. ECCL. 4:1.
IT was late at night, and Tom lay groaning and bleeding
alone, in an old forsaken room of the gin-house, among pieces
of broken machinery, piles of damaged cotton, and other
rubbish which had there accumulated.
The night was damp and close, and the thick air swarmed
with myriads of mosquitos, which increased the restless
torture of his wounds ; whilst a burning thirst a torture
beyond all others filled up the uttermost measure of physical
anguish.
" 0, good Lord ! Do look down, give me the victory !
give me the victory over all ! " prayed poor Tom, in his
anguish.
A footstep entered the room, behind him, and the light of
a lantern flashed on his eyes.
" Who s there ? 0, for the Lord s massy, please give
me some water ! "
The woman Gassy for it was she set down her lantern,
and, pouring water from a bottle, raised his head, and gave
him drink. Another and another cup were drained, with
feverish eagerness.
" Drink all ye want," she said ; " I knew how it would be
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 199
It is n t the first time I ve been out in the night, carrying
"Water to such as you."
" Thank you, Missis," said Tom, when he had done
drinking.
11 Don t call me Missis ! I m a miserable slave, like your
self, a lower one than you can ever be ! " said she, bitterly ;
u but now," said she, going to the door, and dragging in a
small pallaise, over which she had spread linen cloths wet
with cold water, "try, my poor fellow, to roll yourself on to
this."
Stiff with wounds and bruises, Tom was a long time in
accomplishing this movement; but, when done, he felt a
sensible relief from the cooling application to his wounds.
The woman, whom long practice with the victims of
brutality had made familiar with many healing arts, went on
to make many applications to Tom s wounds, by means of
which he was soon somewhat relieved.
" Now," said the woman, when she had raised his head on
a roll of damaged cotton, which served for a pillow, " there s
the best I can do for you."
Tom thanked her; and the woman, sitting down on the
floor, drew up her knees, and embracing them with her arms,
locked fixedly before her, with a bitter and painful expression
of countenance. Her bonnet fell back, and long wavy
streams of black hair fell around her singular and melan
choly face.
"It s no use, my poor fellow ! " she broke out, at last,
" it s of no use, this you ve been trying to do. You were a
brave fellow, you had the right on your side ; but it s all
in vain, and out of the question, for you to struggle. You
are in the devil s hands ; he is the strongest, and you must
give up ! "
200 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
Give up ! and, had not human weakness and physical
agony whispered that, before ? Tom started ; for the bitter
woman, with her wild eyes and melancholy voice, seemed to
him an embodiment of the temptation with which he had
been wrestling.
" Lord! Lord!" he groaned, " how can I give
up]"
" There s no use calling on the Lord, he never hears,"
said the woman, steadily ; " there is n t any God, I believe;
or, if there is, he s taken sides against us. All goes against
us, heaven and earth. Everything is pushing us into hell.
Why should n t we go?"
Tom closed his eyes, and shuddered at the dark, atheistic
words.
"You see," said the woman, "you don t know anything
about it ; I do. I ve been on this place five years, body
and soul, under this man s foot; and I hate him as I do the
devil ! Here you are, on a lone plantation, ten miles from
any other, in the swamps ; not a white person here, who could
testify, if you were burned alive, if you were scalded,
cut into inch-pieces, set up for the dogs to tear, or hung up
and whipped to death. There s no law here, of God or man,
that can do you, or any one of us, the least good ; and, this man !
there s no earthly thing that he s too good to do. I could
make any one s hair rise, and their teeth chatter, if I should
only tell what I ve seen and been knowing to, here, and
it s no use resisting ! Did I want to live with him ? Was n t
I a woman delicately bred ; and he God in heaven ! what
was he, and is he ? And yet, I ve lived with him, these
five years, and cursed every moment of my life, night and
day ! And now, he s got a new one, a young thing, only
fifteen, and she brought up, she says, piously. Her good
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 201
mistress taught her to read the Bible ; and she s brought her
Bible here to hell with her !" and the woman laughed
o
a wild and doleful laugh, that rung, with a strange, supernat
ural sound, through the old ruined shed.
Tom folded his hands ; all was darkness and horror.
" Jesus ! Lord Jesus ! have you quite forgot us poor
critturs ?" burst forth, at last ; "help, Lord, I perish ! "
The woman sternly continued :
" And what are these miserable low dogs you work with,
that you should suffer on their account ? Every one of them
would turn against you, the first time they got a chance.
They are all of em as low and cruel to each other as they
can be ; there s no use in your suffering to keep from hurt
ing them. 7
" Poor critturs ! " said Tom, " what made em cruel ?
and, if I give out, I shall get used to t, and grow, little by little,
just like em ! No, no, Missis ! I ve lost everything, wife,
and children, and home, and a kind Mas r, and he would
have set me free, if he d only lived a week longer ; I ve lost
everything in this world, and it s clean gone, forever, and
now I can t lose Heaven, too ; no, I can t get to be wicked,
besides all !"
"But it can t be that the Lord will lay sin to our account, "
said the woman; "he won t charge it to us, when we re forced
to it ; he 11 charge it to them that drove us to it."
" Yes," said Tom ; " but that won t keep us from growing
wicked. If I get to be as hard-hearted as that ar Sambo,
and as wicked, it won t make much odds to me how I come
so ; it s the beirf so, that ar s what I m a dreadin ."
The woman fixed a wild and startled look on Tom, as if
a new thought had struck her ; and then, heavily groaning,
said,
202 UNCLE TOM -S CABIN I OK,
"0 God a mercy! you speak the truth!
! J and, with groans, she fell on the floor, like one crushed
and writhing under the extremity of mental anguish.
There was a silence, a while, in which the breathing of both
parties could be heard, when Tom faintly said, "0. please,
Missis ! "
The woman suddenly rose up, with her face composed to
its usual stern, melancholy expression.
" Please, Missis, I saw em throw my coat in that ar cor
ner, and in my coat-pocket is my Bible ; if Missis would
please get it for me."
Gassy went and got it. Tom opened, at once, to a heavily
marked passage, much worn, of the last scenes in the life of
Him by whose stripes we are healed.
" If Missis would only be so good as read that ar , it s
better than water."
Cassy took the book, with a dry, proud air, and looked ovei
the passage. She then read aloud, in a soft voice, and with a
beauty of intonation that was peculiar, that touching account
of anguish and of glory. Often, as she read, her voice fal
tered, and sometimes failed her altogether, when she would
stop, with an air of frigid composure, till she had mastered
herself. When she came to the touching words, "JEa&e*-
forgive them, for they know not wjbajt. tJjjgjijdo,." she threw
down the book, and, burying her face in the heavy masses of
her hair, she sobbed aloud, with a convulsive violence.
Tom was weeping, also, and occasionally uttering a smoth
ered ejaculation.
" If we only could keep up to that ar ! " said Tom ; "it
seemed to come so natural to him, and we have to fight so
hard for t ! Lord, help us ! blessed Lord Jesus, do
help us!"
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 203
"Missis," said Tom, after a while, "I can see that, some
how, you re quite bove me in everything ; but there s one
thing Missis might learn even from poor Tom. Ye said the
Lord took sides against us, because he lets us be bused and
knocked round ; but ye see what come on his own Son, the
blessed Lord of Glory, wan t he allays poor ? and have we,
any on us, yet come so low as he come ? The Lord han t
forgot us, I m sartin o that ar . If we suffer with him, we
shall also reign, Scripture says ; but, if we deny Him, he also
will deny us. Did n t they all suffer ? the Lord and all
his ? It tells how they was stoned and sawn asunder, and
wandered about in sheep-skins and goat-skins, and was desti
tute, afflicted, tormented. Sufferin an t no reason to make
us think the Lord s turned agin us ; but jest the contrary,
if only we hold on to him, and does n t give up to sin."
" But why does he put us where we can t help but sin ?"
said the woman.
" I think we can help it," said Tom.
" You 11 see," said Gassy ; "what 11 you do? To-morrow
they 11 be at you again. I know em ; I ve seen all their
doings ; I can t bear to think of all they 11 bring you to ;
and they 11 make you give out, at last ! "
"Lord Jesus!" said Tom, "you will take care of my
soul 1 Lord, do ! don t let me give out ! "
" dear ! " said Gassy ; " I ve heard all this crying and
praying before ; and yet, they ve been broken down, and
brought under. There s Emmeline, she s trying to hold
on, and you re trying, but what use ? You must give up,
or be killed by inches."
"Well, then, I will die ! " said Tom. " Spin it out as long
as they can, they can t help my dying, some time ! and, after
204 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
that, they can t do no more. I m clar, I m set! I know the
Lord 11 help me, and bring me through."
The woman did not answer ; she sat with her black eyes
intently fixed on the floor.
"May be it s the way," she murmured to herself; "but
those that have given up, there s no hope for them ! none !
We live in filth, and grow loathsome, till we loathe ourselves !
And we long to die, and we don t dare to kill ourselves !
No hope ! no hope ! no hope ! this girl now, just as old
as I was !
" You see me now," she said, speaking to Tom very rap
idly; " see what I am ! Well, I was brought up in luxury ;
the first I remember is, playing about, when I was a child, in
splendid parlors ; when I was kept dressed up like a doll,
and company and visitors used to praise me. There was
a garden opening from the saloon windows ; and there I used
to play hide-and-go-seek, under the orange-trees, with my
brothers and sisters. I went to a convent, and there I
learned music, French and embroidery, and what not ; and
when I was fourteen, I came out to my father s funeral.
He died very suddenly, and when the property came to be
settled, they found that there was scarcely enough to cover
the debts ; and when the creditors took an inventory of the
property, I was set down in it. My mother was a slave
woman, and my father had always meant to set me free ; but
he had not done it, and so I was set down in the list. I d
always known who I was, but never thought much about it.
Nobody ever expects that a strong, healthy man is a going
/ to die. My father was a well man only four hours before he
died ; it was one of the first cholera cases in New Orleans.
The day after the funeral, my father s wife took her children,
and went up to her father s plantation. I thought they
LIIE AMONG THE LOWLY. 205
treated me strangely, but did n t know. There was a young
lawyer who they left to settle the business ; and he came every
day, and was about the house, and spoke very politely to me.
lie brought with him, one day, a young man, whom I thought
the handsomest I had ever seen. I shall never forget that
evening. I walked with him in the garden. I was lonesome
and full of sorrow, and he was so kind and gentle to me ; and
he told me that he had seen me before I went to the convent,
and that he had loved me a great while, and that he would
be my friend and protector; in short, though he did n t tell
me, he had paid two thousand dollars for me, and I was his
property, I became his willingly, for I loved him. Loved ! "
said the woman, stopping. " 0, how I did love that man !
How I love him now, and always shall, while I breathe !
He was so beautiful, so high, so noble ! He put me into a
beautiful house, with servants, horses, and carriages, and fur
niture, and dresses. Everything that money could buy, he
gave me; but I didn t set any value on all that, I only
cared for him. I loved him better than my God and my own
soul : and, u I tried, I could n t do any other way from what
he wanted me to.
" I wanted only one thing I did want him to marry me.
I thought, if he loved me as he said he did, and if I was what
he seemed to think I was, he would be willing to marry me
and set me free. But lie convinced me that it would be
impossible ; and he told me that, if we were only faithful to
each other, it was marriage before God. If that is true,
was n t I that man s wife ? Was n t I faithful ? For seven
years, did n t I study every look and motion, and only live
and breathe to please him ? He had the yellow fever, and for
twenty days and nights I watched with him. I alone, and
gave him all his medicine, and did everything for him ; and
VOL. II. 18
206 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OB,
then lie called me his good angel, and said I d saved his life.
We had two beautiful children. The .first was a boy, and we
called him Henry. He was the image of his father, he had
such beautiful eyes, such a forehead, and his hair hung all in
curls around it ; and he had all his father s spirit, and his tal
ent, too. Little Elise, he said, looked like me. He used to
tell me that I was the most beautiful woman in Louisiana, he
was so proud of me and the children. He used to love to
have me dress them up, and take them and me about in an
open carriage, and hear the remarks that people would make
on us ; and he used to fill my ears constantly with the fine
things that were said in praise of me and the children. 0,
those were happy days ! I thought I was as happy as any
one could be ; but then there came evil times. He had a
cousin come to New Orleans, who was his particular friend,
he thought all the world of him ; but, from the first time I
saw him, I couldn t tell why, I dreaded him; for I felt sure he
was going to bring misery on us. He got Henry to going out
with him, and often he would not corne home nights till two or
three o clock. I did not dare say a word ; for Henry was so
high-spirited, I was afraid to. He got him to the gaming
houses ; and he was one of the sort that, when he once got a
going there, there was no holding back. And then he intro
duced him to another lady, and I saw soon that his heart
was gone from me. He never told me, but I saw it, I
knew it, day after day, I felt my heart breaking, but I
could not say a word ! At this, the wretch offered to buy me
and the children of Henry, to clear off his gambling debts,
which stood in the way of his marrying as he wished ; and
he sold us. He told me, one day, that he had business in the
country, and should be gone two or three weeks. He spoko
kinder than usual, and said he should come back; but it
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 207
did n t deceive me. I knew that the time had come ; I was
just like one turned into stone; I couldn t speak, nor shed a
tear. He kissed me and kissed the children, a good many
times, and went out. I saw him get on his horse, and I
watched him till he was quite out of sight ; and then I fell
down, and fainted.
"Then he came, the cursed wretch! he came to take
possession. He told me that he had bought me and my
children ; and showed me the papers. I cursed him before
God, and told him I d die sooner than live with him.
" Just as you please/ said he; but, if you don t behave
reasonably, I 11 sell both the children, where you shall never
see them again. He told me that he always had meant to
have me, from the first time he saw me ; and that he had
drawn Henry on, and got him in debt, on purpose to make
him willing to sell me. That he got him in love with
another woman ; and that I might know, after all that, that he
should not give up for a few airs and tears, and things of that
sort.
" I gave up, for my hands were tied. He had my children ;
whenever I resisted his will anywhere, he would talk about
selling them, and he made me as submissive as he desired.
0, what a life it was ! to live with my heart breaking, every
day, to keep on, on, on, loving, when it was only misery;
and to be bound, body and soul, to one I hated. I used to love
to read to Henry, to play to him, to waltz with him, and sing to
him ; but everything I did for this one was a perfect drag, yet
I was afraid to refuse anything. He was very imperious, and
harsh to the children. Elise was a timid little thing; but
Henry was bold and high-spirited, like his father, and he had
never been brought under, in the least, by any one. He was
always finding fault, and quarrelling with him ; and I used to
208 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
live in daily fear and dread. I tried to make the cliil
respectful ; I tried to keep them -apart, for I held on t jj
those children like death ; but it did no good. He sold hot*
those children. He took me to ride, one day, and when I canr>
home, they were nowhere to be found ! He told me he had
sold them; he showed me the money, the price of their
blood. Then it seemed as if all good forsook me. I raved
and cursed, cursed God and man; and, for a while, I
believe, he really was afraid of me. But he did n t give up so.
He told me that my children were sold, but whether I ever
saw their faces again, depended on him ; and that, if I was n t
quiet, they should smart for it. Well, you can do anything
with a woman, when you ve got her children. He made me
submit; he made me be peaceable; he flattered me with hopes
that, perhaps, he would buy them back ; and so things went
on, a week or two. One day, I was out walking, and passed
by the calaboose; I saw a crowd about the gate, and heard a
child s voice, and suddenly my Henry broke away from two
or three men who were holding him, and ran, screaming, and
caught my dress. They came up to him, swearing dreadfully ;
and one man, whose face I shall never forget, told him that
he would n t get away so; that he was going with him into the
calaboose, and he d get a lesson there he d never forget.
I tried to beg and plead, they only laughed; the poor boy
screamed and looked into my face, and held on to me, until, in
tearing him off, they tore the skirt of my dress half away ; and
they carried him in, screaming Mother ! mother ! mother !
There was one man stood there seemed to pity me. I offered
him all the money I had, if he d only interfere. He shook
his head, and said that the man said the boy had been impu
dent and disobedient, ever since he bought him ; that he was
going to break him in, once for all. I turned and ran and
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 209
every step of the way, I thought that I heard him scream.
I got into the house; ran, all out of breath, to the parlor,
where I found Butler. I told him, and begged him to go and
interfere. He only laughed, and told me the boy had got his
deserts. He d got to be broken in, the sooner the better ;
what did I expect? he asked.
It seemed to me something in my head snapped, at that
moment. I felt dizzy and furious. I remember seeing a great
sharp bowie-knife on the table ; I remember something about
catching it, and flying upon him; and then all grew dark,
and I did n t know any more not for days and days.
" When I came to myself, I was in a nice room, but not
mine. An old black woman tended me; and a doctor came to
see me, and there was a great deal of care taken of me.
After a while, I found that he had gone away, and left me
at this house to be sold ; and that s why they took such
pains with me.
" I did n t mean to get well, and hoped I should n t ; but,
in spite of me, the fever went off, and I grew healthy, and
finally got up. Then, they made me dress up, every day ;
and gentlemen used to come in and stand and smoke their
cigars, and look at me, and ask questions, and debate my
price. I was so gloomy and silent, that none of them wanted
me. They threatened to whip me, if I wasn t gayer, and
did n t take some pains to make myself agreeable. At
length, one day, came a gentleman named Stuart. He seemed
to have some feeling for me ; he saw that something dreadful
was on my heart, and he came to see me alone, a great many
times, and finally persuaded me to tell him. He bought me,
at last, and promised to do all he could to find and buy back my
.children. He went to the hotel where my Henry was ; they
told him he had been sold to a planter up on Pearl river ; that
VOL. IT. 18*
210 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: on,
was the last that I ever heard. Then he found where my
daughter was ; an old woman was keeping her. He .offered ail
immense sum for her, but they would not sell her. Butler
found out that it was for me he wanted her; and he sent
me word that I should never have her. Captain Stuart was
very kind to me ; he had a splendid plantation, and took me
to it. In the course of a year, I had a son born. 0, that
child ! how I loved it ! How just like my poor Henry the
little thing looked ! But I had made up my mind, yes, I
had. I would never again let a child live to grow up ! I took
the little fellow in my arms, when he was two weeks old, and
kissed him, and cried over him ; and then I gave him lauda
num, and held him close to my bosom, while he slept to death.-
How I mourned and cried over it ! and who ever dreamed
that it was anything but a mistake, that had made me give it
the laudanum ? but it s one of the few things that I m glad
of, now. I am not sorry, to this day ; he, at least, is out of
pain. What better than death could I give him, poor child !
After a while, the cholera came, and Captain Stuart died ;
everybody died that wanted to live, and I, I, though I
went down to death s door, I lived! Then I was sold, and
passed from hand to hand, till I grew faded and wrinkled,
and I had a fever ; and then this wretch bought me, and
brought me here, and here I am ! "
The woman stopped. She had hurried on through her
story, with a wild, passionate utterance ; sometimes seeming
to address it to Tom, and sometimes speaking as in a solilo
quy. So vehement and overpowering was the force with
which she spoke, that, for a season, Tom was beguiled even
from the pain of his wounds, and, raising himself on one
elbow, watched her as she paced restlessly up and down, her
long black hair swaying heavily about her, as she moved.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 211
" You tell me," she said, after a pause, "that there is a
God, a God that looks down and sees all these things. May
be it s so. The sisters in the convent used to tell me of a
day of judgment, when everything is coming to light ; won t
there be vengeance, then !
" They think it s nothing, what we suffer, nothing, what
our children suffer ! It s all a small matter ; yet I ve walked
the streets when it seemed as if I had misery enough in my
one heart to sink the city. I ve wished the houses would
fall on me, or the stones sink under me. Yes ! and, in the
judgment day, I will stand up before God, a witness against
those thzvt have ruined me and my children, body and
soul!
" When I was a girl, I thought I was religious ; I used to
love God and prayer. Now, I ? m a lost soul, pursued by
devils that torment me day and night ; they keep pushing me
on and on and I 11 do it, too, some of these days ! " she
said, clenching her hand, while an insane light glanced in her
heavy black eyes. "I ll send him where he belongs, a
short way, too , one of these nights, if they burn me alive
for it ! " A wild, long laugh, rang through the deserted
room, and ended in a hysteric sob ; she threw herself on the
floor, in convulsive sobbings and struggles.
In a few moments, the frenzy fit seemed to pass off; she
rose slowly, and seemed to collect herself.
"Can I do anything more for you, my poor fellow?"
she said, approaching where Tom lay ; " shall I give you
some more water 1 ? "
There was a graceful and compassionate sweetness in her
voice and manner, as she said this, that formed a strange
contrast with the former wildness.
212 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OR,
Tom drank the water, and looked earnestly and pitifully
into her face.
" 0, Missis, I wish you d go to him that can give you
living waters ! "
" Go to him ! Where is he ? Who is he ? " said Gassy.
"Him that you read of to me, the Lord."
" I used to sse the picture of him, over the altar, when I
was a girl," said Gassy, her dark eyes fixing themselves in
an expression of mournful reverie; "but, he isn t here!
there s nothing here, but sin and long, long, long despair !
! " She laid her hand on her breast and drew in her breath,
as if to lift a heavy weight.
Tom looked as if he would speak again; but she cut him
short, with a decided gesture.
"Don t talk, my poor fellow. Try to sleep, if you can."
And, placing water in his reach, and making whatever little
arrangements for his comfort she could, Gassy left the
shed.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 213
CHAPTER XXXV.
THE TOKENS.
" And slight, withal, may be the things that bring
Back on the heart the weight which it would fling
Aside forever; it may be a sound,
A flower, the wind, the ocean, which shall wound,
Striking the electric chain wherewith we re darkly bound."
Childe Harold s Pilgrimage, Can. 4.
THE sitting-room of Legree s establishment was a large,
long room, with a wide, ample fireplace. It had once
been hung with a showy and expensive paper, which now
hung mouldering, torn and discolored, from the damp walls.
The place had that peculiar sickening, unwholesome smell,
compounded of mingled damp, dirt and decay, which one
often notices in close old houses. The wall-paper was defaced,
in spots, by slops of beer and wine ; or garnished with chalk
memorandums, and long sums footed up, as if somebody had
been practising arithmetic there. In the fireplace stood a
brazier full of burning charcoal ; for, though the weather was
not cold, the evenings always seemed damp and chilly in that
great room; and Legree, moreover, wanted a place to light
his cigars, and heat his water for punch. The ruddy glare
of the charcoal displayed the confused and unpromising
aspect of the room, saddles, bridles, several sorts of harness,
riding-whips, overcoats, and various articles of clothing, scat
tered up and down the room in confused variety ; and the
214 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: on,
dogs, of whom we have before spoken, had encamped them
selves among them, to suit their own taste and convenience.
Legree was just mixing himself a tumbler of punch, pour
ing his hot water from a cracked and broken-nosed pitcher,
grumbling, as he did so,
" Plague on that Sambo, to kick up this yer row between
me and the new hands ! The fellow won t be fit to work for
a week, now, right in the press of the season ! "
" Yes, just like you," said a voice, behind his chair. It
was the woman Gassy, who had stolen upon his soliloquy.
" Hah ! you she-devil ! you ve come back, have you? "
" Yes, I have," she said, coolly; "come to have my own
way, too ! "
"You lie, you jade! I ll be up to my word. Either
behave yourself, or stay down to the quarters, and fare and
work with the rest."
" I d rather, ten thousand times," said the woman, " live
in the dirtiest hole at the quarters, than be under your
hoof!"
"But you are under my hoof, for all that," said he,
turning upon her, with a savage grin; "that s one comfort.
So, sit down here on my knee, my dear, and hear to reason,"
said he, laying hold on her wrist.
"Simon Legree, take care!" said the woman, with a
sharp flash of her eye, a glance so wild and insane in its
light as to be almost appalling. " You re afraid of me.
Simon," she said, deliberately; "and you ve reason to be!
But be careful, for I ve got the devil in me ! "
The last words she wnispered in a hissing tone, close to his
ear.
" Get out ! I believe^ to my soul, you have ! " said Legree,
pushing her from him, and looking uncomfortably at her,
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 215
. After all, Gassy," he said, " why can t you be friends with
ie, as you used to ?"
"Used to!" said she, bitterly. She stopped short, a
world of choking feelings, rising in her heart, kept her silent.
Gassy had always kept over Lcgree the kind of influence
that a strong, impassioned woman can ever keep over the
most brutal man ; but, of late, she had grown more and more
irritable and restless, under the hideous yoke of her servi
tude, and her irritability, at times, broke out into raving
insanity ; and this liability made her a sort of object of dread
to Legree, who had that superstitious horror of insane per
sons which is common to coarse and uninstructed minds.
"When Legree brought Emmeline to the house, all the smoul
dering embers of womanly feeling flashed up in the worn
heart of Gassy, and she took part with the girl ; and a fierce
quarrel ensued between her and Legree. Legree, in a fury,
swore she should be put to field service, if she would not be
peaceable. Gassy, with proud scorn, declared she would go
to the field. And she worked there one day, as we have
described, to show how perfectly she scorned the threat.
Legree was secretly uneasy, all day ; for Gassy had an influ
ence over him from which he could not free himself. When
she presented her basket at the scales, he had hoped for some
concession, and addressed her in a sort of half conciliatory,
half scornful tone ; and she had answered with the bitterest
contempt.
The outrageous treatment of poor Tom had roused her still
more ; and she had followed Legree to the house, with no par
ticular intention, but to upbraid him for his brutality.
"I wi^h, Gassy," said Legree, "you d behave yourself
decently."
" You talk about behaving decently ! And what have you
210 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
. .
been doing? you, who haven t even sense enough to keep
from spoiling one of your best hands, right in the most press
ing season, just for your devilish temper ! "
"I was a fool, it s a fact, to let any such brangle come
up," said Legree; "but, when the boy set up his will, he
had to be broke in."
" I reckon you won t break him in ! "
"Won t I?" said Legree, rising, passionately. "I d like
to know if I won t ? He 11 be the first nigger that ever came
it round me ! I 11 break every bone in his body, but he shall
give up ! "
Just then the door opened, and Sambo entered. He came
forward, bowing, and holding out something in a paper.
" What s that, you dog ?" said Legree.
" It s a witch thing, Mas !"
"A what?"
" Something that niggers gets from witches. Keeps em
from feelin when they s flogged. He had it tied round his
neck, with a black string."
Legree, like most godless and cruel men, was superstitious.
He took the paper, and opened it uneasily.
There dropped out of it a silver dollar, and a long, shining
curl of fair hair, hair which, like a living thing, twined
itself round Legree s fingers.
"Damnation !" he screamed, in sudden passion, stamping
on the floor, and pulling furiously at the hair, as if it burned
him. " Where did this come from ? Take it off ! burn it
up ! burn it up ! " he screamed, tearing it off, and throwing
it into the charcoal. " What did you bring it to me for ? "
Sambo stood, with his heavy mouth wide open, a ld aghast
with wonder ; and Gassy, who was preparing to leave the
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 217
ipartment, stopped, and looked at him in perfect amaze
ment.
" Don t you bring me any more of your devilish things ! "
said he, shaking his fist at Sambo, "who retreated hastily
towards the door; and, pi :ing up the silver dollar, he sent
it smashing through tho .iclow-pane, out into the darkness.
Sambo was glad to ma ke his escape. When he was gone,
Legree seemed a little ashamed of his fit of alarm. He sat
doggedly down in his chair, and began sullenly sipping his
tumbler of punch.
Gassy prepared herself for going out, unobserved by him ;
and slipped away to minister to poor Tom, as we have already
related.
And what was the matter with Legree ? and what was
there in a simple curl of fair hair to appall that brutal man,
familiar with every form of cruelty? To answer this, we
must carry the reader backward in his history. Hard and
reprobate as the godless man seemed now, there had been a
time when he had been rocked on the bosom of a mother.
cradled with prayers and pious hymns, his now seared
brow bedewed with the waters of holy baptism. In early
childhood, a fair-haired woman had led him, at the sound of
Sabbath bell, to worship and to pray. Far in New England
that mother had trained her only son, with long, unwearied
love, and patient prayers. Born of a hard-tempered sire, on
whom that gentle woman had wasted a world of unvalued
love, Legree had followed in the steps of his father. Bois
terous, unruly, and tyrannical, he despised all her counsel,
and would none of her reproof; and, at an early age, broke
from her, to seek his fortunes at sea. He never came home
but once, after ; and then, his mother, with the yearning of a
heart that must love something, and has nothing else to love,
VOL. H. 19
218 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OK,
clung to him, and sought, with passionate prayers and entrea
ties, to win him from a life of sin, to his soul s eternal good.
That was Legree s day of grace ; then good angels called
him; then he was almost persuaded, and mercy held him
by the hand. His heart inly relented, there was a con
flict, but sin got the victory, and he set all the force of his
rough nature against the conviction of his conscience. Ho
drank and swore, was wilder and more brutal than ever.
And, one night, when his mother, in the last agony of her
despair, knelt at his feet, he spurned her from him, threw
her senseless on the floor, and, with brutal curses, fled to his
ship. The next Legree heard of his mother was, when, one
night, as he was carousing among drunken companions, a
letter was put into his hand. He opened it, and a lock of
long, curling hair fell from it, and twined about his fingers.
The letter told him his mother was dead, and that, dying, she
blest, and forgave him.
There is a dread, unhallowed necromancy of evil, that turns
things sweetest and holiest to phantoms of horror and affright.
That pale, loving mother, her dying prayers, her forgiving
love, wrought in that demoniac heart of sin only as a damn
ing sentence, bringing with it a fearful looking for of judgment
and fiery indignation. Legree burned the hair, and burned
the letter ; and when he saw them hissing and crackling in
the flame, inly shuddered as he thought of everlasting fires.
He tried to drink, and revel, and swear away the memory ;
but often, in he deep night, whose solemn stillness arraigns
the bad soul in forced communion with herself, he had seen
that pale mother rising by his bedside, and felt the soft twin
ing of that hair around his fingers, till the cold sweat would
roll down his face, and he would spring from his bed in hor
ror. Ye who have wondered to hear, in the same evangel,
,
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 219
that God is love, and that God is a consuming fire, see ye not
how, to the soul resolved in evil, perfect love is the most
fearful torture, the seal and sentence of the direst despair ?
"Blast it! " said Legree to himself, as he sipped his liquor;
where did he get that? If it didn t look just like
whoo! I thought I d forgot that. Curse me, if I think
there s any such thing as forgetting anything, any how, -
hang it ! I m lonesome ! I mean to call Em. She hates
me the monkey ! I don t care, I 11 make her come ! "
Legree stepped out into a large entry, which went up
stairs, by what had formerly been a superb winding stair
case ; but the passage-way was dirty and dreary, encumbered
with boxes and unsightly litter. The stairs, uncarpeted,
seemed winding up, in the gloom, to nobody knew where !
The pale moonlight streamed through a shattered fanlight
over the door ; the air was unwholesome and chilly, like that
of a vault.
Legree stopped at the foot of the stairs, and heard a voice
singing. It seemed strange and ghostlike in that dreary old
house, perhaps because of the already tremulous state of his
nerves. Hark ! what is it ?
A wild, pathetic voice, chants a hymn common among the
" there 11 be mourning, mourning, mourning,
there 11 be mourning, at the judgment-seat of Christ ! "
" Blast the girl ! " said Legree. " I 11 choke her. Em !
Em ! " he called, harshly; but only a mocking echo from the
walls answered him. The sweet voice still sung on :
" Parents and children there shall part !
Parents and children there shall part !
Shall part to meet no more ! "
220 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
_
And clear and loud swelled through the empty halls the
refrain,
tl there 11 be mourning, mourning, mourning,
there 11 be mourning, at the judgment-seat of Christ ! "
Legree stopped. He would have been ashamed to tell of
it, but large drops of sweat stood on his forehead, his heart
beat heavy and thick with fear ; he even thought he saw
something white rising and glimmering in the gloom before
him, and shuddered to think what if the form of his dead
mother should suddenly appear to him.
"I know one thing," he said to himself, as he stumbled
back in the sitting-room, and sat down ; " I 11 let that fellow
alone, after this ! What did I want of his cussed paper ? I
b lieve I am bewitched, sure enough ! I ve been shivering
and sweating, ever since ! Where did he get that hair ? It
could n t have been that ! I burnt that up, I know I did !
It would be a joke, if hair could rise from the dead ! "
Ah, Legree ! that golden tress was charmed ; each hair
had in it a spell of terror and remorse for thee, and was used
by a mightier power to bind thy cruel hands from inflicting
uttermost evil on the helpless !
"I say," said Legree, stamping and whistling to the dogs,
"wake up, some of you, and keep me company !" but the
dogs only opened one eye at him, sleepily, and closed it
again.
" I 11 have Sambo and Quimbo up here, to sing and dance
one of their hell dances, and keep off these horrid notions,"
said Legree ; and, putting on his hat, he went on to the
verandah, and blew a horn, with which he commonly sum
moned his two sable drivers.
Legree was often wont, when in a gracious humor, to get
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 221
these two worthies into his sitting-room, and, after warming
them up with whiskey, amuse himself by setting them to sing
ing, dancing or fighting, as the humor took him.
It was between one and two o clock at night, as Cassy was
returning from her ministrations to poor Tom, that she heard
the sound of wild shrieking, whooping, halloing, and singing,
from the sitting-room, mingled with the barking of dogs, and
other symptoms of general uproar.
She came up on the verandah steps, and looked in. Legree
and both the drivers, in a state of furious intoxication, were
singing, whooping, upsetting chairs, and making all manner
of ludicrous and horrid grimaces at each other.
She rested her small, slender hand on the window-blind,
and looked fixedly at them ; there was a world of anguish,
scorn, and fierce bitterness, in her black eyes, as she did so.
" Would it be a sin to rid the world of such a wretch?"
she said to herself.
She turned hurriedly away, and, passing round to a back
door, glided up stairs, and tapped at Emmeline s door.
VOL. II. 19*
222 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
CHAPTER XXXVI.
EMMELINE AND OASST.
GASSY entered the room, and found Emineline sitting, pale
with fear, in the furthest corner of it. As she came in, the
girl started up nervously ; but, on seeing who it was, rushed
forward, and catching her arm, said, " , Gassy, is it you?
I m so glad you ve come ! I was afraid it was . 0, you
don t know what a horrid noise there has been, down stairs,
all this evening !"
"I ought to know," said Gassy, dryly. "I ve heard it
often enough."
" @ Gassy ! do tell me, could n t we get away from this
place ? I don t care where, into the swamp among the
snakes, anywhere! Couldn t we get somewhere away
from here?"
" Nowhere, but into our graves," said Gassy.
" Did you ever try?"
"I ve seen enough of trying, and what comes of it," said
Gassy.
"I d be willing to live in the swamps, and gnaw the bark
from trees. I an t afraid of snakes ! I d rather have one
near me than him," said Emmeline, eagerly.
11 There have been a good many here of your opinion," said
Gassy; "but you couldn t stay in the swamps, you d be
tracked by the dogs, and brought back, and then then"
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 228
" What would he do ?" said the girl, looking, with breath
less interest, into her face.
"What would rtt he do, you d better ask," said Gassy.
" He s learned his trade well, among the pirates in the West
Indies. You wouldn t sleep much, if I should tell you
things I ve seen, things that he tells of, sometimes, for good
jokes. I ve heard screams here that I have n t been able to
get out of my head for weeks and weeks. There s a place
way out down by the quarters, where you can see a black,
blasted tree, and the ground all covered with black ashes.
Ask any one what was done there, and see if they will dare
to tell you."
" ! what do you mean ?"
" I won t tell you. I hate to think of it. And I tell you,
the Lord only knows what we may see to-morrow, if that
poor fellow holds out as he s begun."
"Horrid.^ said Emmeline, every drop of blood reced
ing from her cheeks. " 0, Gassy, do tell me what I shall
do ! "
" What I ve done. Do the best you can, do what you
must, and make it up in hating and cursing."
"He wanted to make me drink some of his hateful brandy,"
said Emmeline ; " and I hate it so
" You d better drink," said Gassy. " I hated it, too; and
now I can t live without it. One must have something ;
things don t look so dreadful, when you take that."
" Mother used to tell me never to touch any such thing,"
said Emmeline.
"Mother told you !" said Gassy, with a thrilling and bit
ter emphasis on the word mother. "What use is it for
mothers to say anything ? You are all to be bought and paid
for, and your souls belong to whoever gets you. That s the
224 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
way it goes. I say, drink brandy ; drink all you can, and
it 11 make things come easier."
"0, Gassy! do pity me!"
" Pity you ! don t I ? Have n t I a daughter, Lord
knows where she is, and whose she is, now, going the way
her mother went, before her, I suppose, and that her children
must go, after her ! There s no end to the curse forever !"
" I wish I d never been born ! " said Emmeline, wringing
her hands.
" That s an old wish with me," said Gassy. " I ve got
used to wishing that. I d die, if I dared to," she said, look
ing out into the darkness, with that still, fixed despair which
was the habitual expression of her face when at rest.
" It would be wicked to kill one s self," said Emmeline.
"I don t know why, no wickeder than things we live and
do, day after day. But the sisters told me things, when I was
in the convent, that make me afraid to die. If it would only
be the end of us, why, then "
Emmeline turned away, and hid her face in her hands.
While this conversation was passing in the chamber, Legree,
overcome with his carouse, had sank to sleep in the room
below. Legree was not an habitual drunkard. His coarse,
strong nature craved, and could endure, a continual stimula
tion, that would have utterly wrecked and crazed a finer one.
But a deep, underlying spirit of cautiousness prevented his
often yielding to appetite in such measure as to lose control
of himself.
This night, however, in his feverish efforts to banish from
his mind those fearful elements of woe and remorse which
woke within him, he had indulged more than Common ; so
that, when he had discharged his sable attendants, he fell
heavily on a settle in the room, and was sound asleep.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 225
! how dares the bad soul to enter the shadowy world of
sleep ? that land whose dim outlines lie so fearfully near to
the mystic scene of retribution ! Legree dreamed. In his
heavy and feverish sleep, a veiled form stood beside him, and
laid a cold, soft hand upon him. He thought he knew who
it was ; and shuddered, with creeping horror, though the face
was veiled. Then he thought he felt that hair twining
round his fingers ; and then, that it slid smoothly round his
neck, and tightened and tightened, and he could not draw his
breath ; and then he thought voices whispered to him,
whispers that chilled him with horror. Then it seemed to
him he was on the edge of a frightful abyss, holding on and
struggling in mortal fear, while dark hands stretched up, and
were pulling him over ; and Gassy came behind him laughing,
and pushed him. And then rose up that solemn veiled figure,
and drew aside the veil. It was his mother ; and she turned
away from him, and he fell down, down, down, amid a con
fused noise of shrieks, and groans, and shouts of demon
laughter, and Legree awoke.
Calmly the rosy hue of dawn was stealing into the room.
The morning star stood, with its solemn, holy eye of light,
looking down on the man of sin, from out the brightening
sky. 0, with what freshness, what solemnity and beauty, is
each new day born ; as if to say to insensate man, " Behold !
thou hast one more chance ! Strive for immortal glory ! "
There is no speech nor language where this voice is not
heard ; but the bold, bad man heard it not. He woke with
an oath and a curse. What to him was the gold and t purple,
the daily miracle of morning ! What to him the sanctity
of that star which the Son of God has hallowed as his own
emhlem ? Brute-like, he saw without perceiving ; and, stum-
226 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OB,
bling forward, poured out a tumbler of brandy, and drank
half of it.
" I ve had a h 1 of a night ! " he said to Gassy, who just
then entered from an opposite door.
1 You 11 get plenty of the same sort, by and by," said she,
dryly.
" What do you mean, you minx ?"
"You 11 find out, one of these days," returned Gassy, in
the same tone. " Now, Simon, I ve one piece of advice to
give you."
"The devil, you have!"
"My advice is," said Gassy, steadily, as she began adjust
ing some things about the room, "that you let Tom alone."
" What business is t of yours ?"
"What? To be sure, I don t know what it should be.
If you want to pay twelve hundred for a fellow, and use him
right up in the press of the season, just to serve your own
spite, it s no business of mine. I ve done what I could for
him."
" You have ? What business have you meddling in my
matters?"
"None, to be sure. I ve saved you some thousands of
dollars, at different times, by taking care of your hands,
that s all the thanks I get. If your crop comes shorter into
market than any of theirs, you won t lose your bet, I sup
pose? Tompkins won t lord it over you, I suppose, and
you 11 pay down your money like a lady, won t you ? I
think I see you doing it ! "
Legree, like many other planters, had but one form of
ambition, to have in the heaviest crop of the season, and
he had severa^ bets on this very present season pending in
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 227
the next town. Gassy, therefore, -with woman s tact, touched
the only string that could be made to vibrate.
"Well, I ll let him off at what he s got, 1 said Legree;
1 but he shall beg my pardon, and promise better fashions."
" That he won t do," said Gassy.
"Won t, eh?"
"No, he won t," said Gassy.
"I d like to know why, Mistress," said Legree } in the
extreme of scorn.
"Because he s done right, and he knows it, and won t say
he s done wrong."
" Who a cuss cares what he knows? The nigger shall say
what I please, or "
" Or, you ll lose your bet on the cotton crop, by keeping
him out of the field, just at this very press."
" But he will give up, course, he will ; don t I know
what niggers is ? He 11 beg like a dog, this morning."
" He won t, Simon ; you don t know this kind. You may
kill him by inches, you won t get the first word of confes
sion out of him."
" We 11 see ; where is he ? " said Legree, going out.
" In the waste-room of the gin-house," said Gassy.
Legree, though he talked so stoutly to Gassy, still sallied
forth from the house with a degree of misgiving which was
not common with him. His dreams of the past night, min
gled with Gassy s prudential suggestions, considerably affected
his mind. He resolved that nobody should be witness of his
encounter with Tom ; and determined, if he could not subdue
him by bullying, to defer his vengeance, to be wreaked in a
more convenient season.
The solemn light of dawn the angelic glory of the morn
ing-star had looked in through the rude window of the
228 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OR,
shed where Tom was lying ; and, as if descending on that
star-beam, came the solemn words, "I am the root and
offspring of David, and the bright and morning star." The
mysterious warnings and intimations of Cassy, so far from
discouraging his soul, in the end had roused it as with
a heavenly call. He did not know but that the day of
his death was dawning in the sky ; and his heart throbbed
with solemn throes of joy and desire, as he thought that
the wondrous all, of which he had often pondered, the
great white throne, with its ever radiant rainbow ; the white-
robed multitude, with voices as many waters; the crowns,
the palms, the harps, might all break upon his vision before
that sun should set again. And, therefore, without shudder
ing or trembling, he heard the voice of his persecutor, as he
drew near.
" Well, my boy," said Legree, with a contemptuous kick,
" how do you find yourself? Did n t I tell yer I could larn
yer a thing or two ? How do yer like it, eh ? How did yer
whaling agree with yer, Tom ? An t quite so crank as ye
was last night. Ye could n t treat a poor sinner, now, to a
bit of a sermon, could ye, eh ? "
Tom answered nothing.
" Get up, you beast ! " said Legree, kicking him again.
This was a difficult matter for one so bruised and faint ;
and, as Tom made efforts to do so, Legree laughed brutally.
"What makes ye so spry, this morning, Tom? Cotched
cold, may be, last night."
Tom by this time had gained his feet, and was confronting
his master with a steady, unmoved front.
: The devil, you can ! " said Legree, looking him over.
"I believe you haven t got enough yet. Now, Tom, get
LIFE AMONG THB LOWLY. 229
right down on yer knees and beg my pardon, for yer shines
last night."
Tom did not move.
"Down, you dog!" said Legree, striking him with his
riding-whip.
" Mas r Legree," said Tom, " I can t do it. I did only
what I thought was right. I shall do just so again, if ever
the time comes. I never will do a cruel thing, come what
may."
" Yes, but ye don t know what may come, Master Tom. Ye
think what you ve got is something. I tell you t an t any
thing, nothing t all. How would ye like to be tied to a tree,
and have a slow fire lit up around ye ; would n t that be
pleasant, eh, Tom ? "
"Mas r," said Tom, " I know ye can do dreadful things ,
but," he stretched himself upward and clasped his hands,
" but, after ye ve killed the body, there an t no more ye
can do. And 0, there s all ETERNITY to come, after that! "
ETERNITY, the word thrilled through the black man s
soul with light and power, as he spoke ; it thrilled through
the sinner s soul, too, like the bite of a scorpion. Legree
gnashed on him with his teeth, but rage kept him silent ; and
Tom, like a man disenthralled, spoke, in a clear and cheerful
voice,
" Mas r Legree, as ye bought me, I 11 be a true and faith
ful servant to ye. I 11 give ye all the work of my hands,
all my time, all my strength ; but my soul I won t give up
to mortal man. I will hold on to the Lord, and put his
commands before all, die or live ; you may be sure on t.
Mas r Legree, I an t a grain afeard to die. I d as soon die
j as not. Ye may whip me, starve me, burn me, it 11 only
send me sooner where I want to go."
VOL. n. 20
230 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OB,
^
"I ll make ye give out, though, fore I ve done!" said
Legree, in a rage.
" I shall have help" said Tom ; " you 11 never do it."
"Who the devil s- going to help you?" said Legree,
scornfully.
"The Lord Almighty," said Tom.
"D n you! " said Legree, as with one blow of his fist
he felled Tom to the earth.
A cold soft hand fell on Legree s, at this moment. He
turned, it was Gassy s ; but the cold soft touch recalled his
dream of the night before, and, flashing through the chambers
of his brain, came all the fearful images of the night-watches,
with a portion of the horror that accompanied them.
" Will you be a fool ? " said Gassy, in French. " Let him
go ! Let me alone to get him fit to be in the field again.
Is n t it just as I told you 1 "
They say the alligator, the rhinoceros, though enclosed
in bullet-proof mail, have each a spot where they are vul
nerable; and fierce, reckless, unbelieving reprobates, have
commonly this point in superstitious dread.
Legree turned away, determined to let the point go for the
time.
"Well, have it your own way," he said, doggedly, to
Gassy.
"Hark, ye!" he said to Tom; "I won t deal with ye
now, because the business is pressing, and I want all my
hands; but I never forget. I ll score it against ye, and
sometime I 11 have my pay out o yer old black hide, mind
ye!"
Legree turned, and went out.
"There you go," said Gassy, looking darkly after him;
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 231
"your reckoning s to come, yet! My poor fellow, how
are you? "
" The Lord God hath sent his angel, and shut the lion s
mouth, for this time," said Tom.
"For this time, to be sure," said Gassy; "but now you ve
got his ill will upon you, to follow you day in, day out, hang
ing like a dog on your throat, sucking your blood, bleeding
away your life, drop by drop. I know the man."
CHAPTER XXXVII.
LIBERTY.
"No matter with what solemnities he may have been devoted upon the
altar of slavery, the moment he touches the sacred soil of Britain, the altar
and the God sink together in the dust, and he stands redeemed, regener
ated, and disenthralled, by the irresistible genius of universal emancipa
tion." Cur ran.
A WHILE we must leave Tom in the hands of his perse-
cutorl^while we turn to pursue the fortunes of George and
his wife, whom we left in friendly hands, in a farm-house on
the road-side.
Tom Loker we left groaning and touzling in a most immac
ulately clean Quaker bed, under the motherly supervision of
Aunt Dorcas, who found him to the full as tractable a patient
as a sick bison.
Imagine a tall, dignified, spiritual woman, whose clear mus
lin cap shades waves of silvery hair, parted on a broad, clear
forehead, which overarches thoughtful gray eyes. A snowy
handkerchief of lisse crape is folded neatly across her bosom ;
232 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
her glossy brown silk dress rustles peacefully, as she glides up
and down the chamber.
" The devil ! " says Tom Loker, giving a great throw to
the bed-clothes.
" I must request thee, Thomas, not to use such language,"
says Aunt Dorcas, as she quietly rearranged the bed.
"Well, I won t, granny, if I can help it," says Tom; "but
it is enough to make a fellow swear, so cursedly hot ! "
Dorcas removed a comforter from the bed, straightened the
clothes again, and tucked them in till Tom looked something
like a chrysalis ; remarking, as she did so,
" I wish, friend, thee would leave off cursing and swearing,
and think upon thy ways."
"What the devil," said Tom, "should I think of them for?
Last thing ever / want to think of hang it all ! " And Tom
flounced over, untucking and disarranging everything, in a
manner frightful to behold.
" That fellow and gal are here, I spose," said he, sullenly,
after a pause.
" They are so," said Dorcas.
" They d better be off up to the lake," said Tom ; " the
quicker the better."
" Probably they will do so," said Aunt Dorcas, knitting
peacefully.
" And hark ye," said Tom ; "we ve got correspondents in
Sandusky, that watch the boats for us. I don t care if I tell,
now. I hope they will get away, just to spite Marks, the
cursed puppy ! d n him ! "
" Thomas ! " said Dorcas.
"I tell you, granny, if you bottle a fellow up too tight, I
shall split," said Tom. "But about the gal, tell em to
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 233
dress her up some way, so s to alter her. Her description s
out in Sandusky."
"We will attend to that matter," said Dorcas, with char
acteristic composure.
As we at this place take leave of Tom Loker, we may as
well say, that, having lain three weeks at the Quaker dwel
ling, sick with a rheumatic fever, which set in, in company
with his other afflictions, Tom arose from his bed a somewhat
sadder and wiser man ; and, in place of slave-catching, betook
himself to life in one of the new settlements, where his talents
developed themselves more happily in trapping bears, wolves,
and other inhabitants of the forest, in which he made himself
quite a name in the land. Tom always spoke reverently of
the Quakers. "Nice people," he would say; "wanted to
convert me, but could n t come it, exactly. But, tell ye what,"
stranger, they do fix up a sick fellow first rate, no mistake.
Make jist the tallest kind o broth and knicknacks."
As Tom had informed them that their party would be
looked for in Sandusky, it was thought prudent to divide
them. Jim, with his old mother, was forwarded separately ;
and a night or two after, George and Eliza, with their child,
were driven privately into Sandusky, and lodged beneath a
hospitable roof^ preparatory to taking their last passage on
the lake.
Their night was now far spent, and the morning star of
liberty rose fair before them. Liberty ! electric word !
What is it ? Is there anything more in it than a name a
rhetorical flourish ? Why, men and women of America, does
your heart s blood thrill at that word, for which your fathers
bled, and your braver mothers were willing that their noblest
and best should die ?
Is there anything in it glorious and dear for a nation, that
VOL. ii. 20*
234 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR.
is not also glorious and dear for a man ? What is freedom to
a nation, but freedom to the individuals in it ? What is free
dom to that young man, who sits there, with his arms folded
over his broad chest, the tint of African blood in his cheek,
its dark fires in his eye, what is freedom to George Harris?
To your fathers, freedom was the right of a nation to be a
nation. To him, it is the right of a man to be a man, and not
a brute ; the right to call the wife of his bosom his wife, and
to protect her from lawless violence ; the right to protect
and educate his child ; the right to have a home of his own, a
religion of his own, a character of his own, unsubject to the
will of another. All these thoughts were rolling and seething
in George s breast, as he was pensively leaning his head on
his hand, watching his wife, as she was adapting to her slen
der and pretty form the articles of man s attire, in which it
was deemed safest she should make her escape.
"Now for it," said she, as she stood before the glass, and
shook down her silky abundance of black curly hair. "I say,
George, it s almost a pity, is n t it," she said, as she held up
some of it, playfully, " pity it s all got to come off?"
George smiled sadly, and made no answer.
Eliza turned to the glass, and the scissors glittered as one
long lock after another was detached from her head.
"There, now, that ll do," she said, taking up a hair-brush;
" now for a few fancy touches."
" There, an t I a pretty young fellow ? " she said, turning
around to her husband, laughing and blushing at the same
time.
"You always will be pretty, do what you will," said
George.
" What does make you so sober ?" said Eliza, kneeling on
one knee, and laying her hand on his. " We are only with-
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 235
in twenty-four hours of Canada, they say. Only a day and
a night on the lake, and then oh, then ! "
"0, Eliza ! " said George, drawing her towards him;
" that is it ! Now my fate is all narrowing down to a point.
To come so near, to be almost in sight, and then lose all. I
should never live under it, Eliza."
" Don t fear," said his wife, hopefully. "The good Lord
would not hare brought us so far, if he did n t mean to carry
us through. I seem to feel him with us, George."
" You are a blessed woman, Eliza ! " said George, clasping
her with a convulsive grasp. "But, oh, tell me ! can this
great mercy be for us ? Will these years and years of misery
come to an end ? shall we be free ? "
"I am sure of it, George," said Eliza, looking upward,
while tears of hope and enthusiasm shone on her long, dark
lashes. " I feel it in me, that God is going to bring us out
of bondage, this very day."
"I will believe you, Eliza," said George, rising suddenly
up. "I will believe, come, let s be off. Well, indeed,"
said he, holding her off at arm s length, and looking admir
ingly at her, "you are a pretty little fellow. That crop of
little, short curls, is quite becoming. Put on your cap. So
a little to one side. I never saw you look quite so pretty.
But, it s almost time for the carriage ; I wonder if Mrs.
Smyth has got Harry rigged ? "
The door opened, and a respectable, middle-aged woman
entered, leading little Harry, dressed in girl s clothes.
"What a pretty girl he makes," said Eliza, turning him
round. "We call him Harriet, you see ; don t the name
come nicely?"
The child stood gravely regarding his mother in her new
and strange attire, observing a profound silence, and occa-
236 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
sionally drawing deep sighs, and peeping at her from under
his dark curls.
" Does Harry know mamma ? " said Eliza, stretching her
hands toward him.
The child clung shyly to the woman.
" Come, Eliza, why do you try to coax him, when you
know that he has got to be kept away from you ? "
"I know it s foolish," said Eliza; "yet, I can t bear to
have him turn away from me. But come, where s my
cloak ? Here, how is it men put on cloaks, George ? "
" You must wear it so," said her husband, throwing it over
his shoulders.
"So, then," said Eliza, imitating the motion, "and I
must stamp, and take long steps, and try to look saucy."
"Don t exert yourself," said George. " There is, now and
then, a modest young man; and I think it would be easier for
you to act that character."
" And these gloves ! mercy upon us ! " said Eliza ; " why,
my hands are lost in them."
"I advise you to keep them on pretty strictly," said
George. " Your little slender paw might bring us all out.
Now, Mrs. Smyth, you are to go under our charge, and be
our aunty, you mind."
"I ve heard," said Mrs. Smyth, "that there have been
men down, warning all the packet captains against a man and
woman, with a little boy."
" They have ! " said George. " Well, if we see any such
people, we can tell them."
A hack now drove to the door, and the friendly family who
had received the fugitives crowded around them with farewell
greetings.
The disguises the party had assumed were in accordance
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 237
with the hints of Tom Loker. Mrs. Smyth, a respectable
woman from the settlement in Canada, whither they were
fleeing, being fortunately about crossing the lake to return
thither, had consented to appear as the aunt of little Harry ;
and, in order to attach him to her, he had been allowed to
remain, the two last days, under her sole charge ; and an extra
amount of petting, joined to an indefinite amount of seed
cakes and candy, had cemented a very close attachment on
the part of the young gentleman.
The hack drove to the wharf. The two young men, as
they appeared, walked up the plank into the boat, Eliza
gallantly giving her arm to Mrs. Smyth, and George attend
ing to their baggage.
George was standing at the captain s office, settling for his
party, when he overheard two men talking by his side.
" I ve watched every one that came on board," said one,
" and I know they re not on this boat."
The voice was that of the clerk of the boat. The speaker
whom he addressed was our sometime friend Marks, who,
with that valuable perseverance which characterized him, had
come on to Sandusky, seeking whom he might devour.
" You would scarcely know the woman from a white orfe,"
said Marks. " The man is a very light mulatto ; he has a
brand in one of his hands."
The hand with which George was taking the tickets and
change trembled a little ; but he turned coolly around, fixed
an unconcerned glance on the face of the speaker, and walked
leisurely toward another part of the boat, where Eliza stood
waiting for him.
Mrs. Smyth, with little Harry, sought the seclusion of the
ladies cabin, where the dark beauty of the supposed little
girl drew many flattering comments from the passengers.
238 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
George had the satisfaction, as the bell rang out its fare
well peal, to see Marks walk down the plank to the shore ,
and drew a long sigh of relief, when the boat had put a
returnless distance between them.
It was a superb day. The blue waves of Lake Erie danced,
rippling and sparkling, in the sun-light. A fresh breeze blew
from the shore, and the lordly boat ploughed her way right
gallantly onward.
0, what an untold world there is in one human heart !
Who thought, as George walked calmly up and down the
deck of the steamer, with his shy companion at his side, of
all that was burning in his bosom ? The mighty good that
seemed approaching seemed too good, too fair, even to be a
reality ; and he felt a jealous dread, every moment of the day,
that something would rise to snatch it from him.
But the boat swept on. Hours fleeted, and, at last, clear
and full rose the blessed English shores ; shores charmed by
a mighty spell, with one touch to dissolve every incantation
of slavery, no matter in what language pronounced, or by
what national power confirmed.
George and his wife stood arm in arm, as the boat neared
the small town of Amherstberg, in Canada. His breath grew
thick and short ; a mist gathered before his eyes ; he silently
pressed the little hand that lay trembling on his arm. The
bell rang ; the boat stopped. Scarcely seeing what he did, he
looked out his baggage, and gathered his little party. The
little company were landed on the shore. They stood still
till the boat had cleared; and then, with tears and embracings,
the husband and wife, with their wondering child in their
arms, knelt down and lifted up their hearts to God !
.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 239
" T was something like the burst from death to life
From the grave s cerements to the robes of heaven;
From sin s dominion, and from passion s strife.
To the pure freedom of a soul forgiven ;
Where all the bonds of death and hell are riven,
And mortal puts on immortality,
When Mercy s hand hath turned the golden key,
And Mercy s voice hath said, Rejoice, thy soul is free."
The little party were soon guided, by Mrs. Smyth, to the
jv/spitable abode of a good missionary, whom Christian charity
las placed here as a shepherd to the out-cast and wandering,
yho are constantly finding an asylum on this shore.
Who can speak the blessedness of that first day of freedom ?
!s ot the sense of liberty a higher and a finer one than any
3f the five ? To move, speak and breathe, go out and come
in unwatched, and free from danger ! Who can speak the
blessings of that rest which comes down on the free man s
pillow, under laws which insure to him the rights that God
has given to man ? How fair and precious to that mother
was that sleeping child s face, endeared by the memory of a
thousand dangers ! How impossible was it to sleep, in the
exuberant possession of such blessedness ! And yet, these
two had not one acre of ground, not a roof that they could
call their own, they had spent their all, to the last dollar.
They had nothing more than the birds of the air, or the flow
ers of the field, yet they could not sleep for joy. " 0, ye
who take freedom from man, with what words shall ye answer
it to God?"
240 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
CHAPTER XXXVIIL
THE VICTORY.
" Thanks be unto God, who giveth us the victory."
HAVE not many of us, in the weary way of life, felt, in
some hours, how far easier it were to die than to live ?
The martyr, when faced even by a death of bodily anguish
and horror, finds in the very terror of his doom a strong stim
ulant and tonic. There is a vivid excitement, a thrill and
fervor, which may carry through any crisis of suffering that
is the birth-hour of eternal glory and rest.
But to live, to wear on, day after day, of mean, bitter,
low, harassing servitude, every nerve dampened and depressed,
every power of feeling gradually smothered, this long and
wasting heart-martyrdom, this slow, daily bleeding away of
the inward life, drop by drop, hour after hour, this is the
true searching test of what there may be in man or woman.
When Tom stood face to face with his persecutor, and heard
his threats, and thought in his very soul that his hour was
come, his heart swelled bravely in him, and he thought he
could bear torture and fire, bear anything, with the vision of
Jesus and heaven but just a step beyond ; but, when he was
gone, and the present excitement passed off, came back the
pain of his bruised and weary limbs, came back the sense of
his utterly degraded, hopeless, forlorn estate; and the day
passed wearily enough.
Long before his wounds were healed, Legree insisted that
he should be put to the regular field-work ; and then came
A
LIFE AMONU- THE LOWLY. 241
day after day of pain and weariness, aggravated by every kind
of injustice and indignity that the ill-will of a mean and ma
licious mind could devise. Whoever, in our circumstances,
has made trial of pain, even with all the alleviations which,
for us, usually attend it, must know the irritation that comes
with it. Tom no longer wondered at the habitual surliness
of his associates; nay. he found the placid, sunny temper,
which had been the habitude of his life, broken in on, and
sorely strained, by the inroads of the same thing. He
had flattered himself on leisure to read his Bible ; but there
was no such thing as leisure there. In the height of the
season, Legree did not hesitate to press all his hands through,
Sundays and week-days alike. Why should n t he ? he made
more cotton by it, and gained his wager ; and if it wore out a
few more hands, he could buy better ones. At first, Tom
used to read a verse or two of his Bible, by the nicker of the
fire, after he had returned from his daily toil ; but, after the
cruel treatment he received, he used to come home so
Exhausted, that his head swam and his eyes failed when he
tried to read; and he was fain to stretch himself down, with
the others, in utter exhaustion.
Is it strange that the religious peace and trust, which had
upborne him hitherto, should give way to tossings of soul and
despondent darkness ? The gloomiest problem of this myste
rious life was constantly before his eyes, souls crushed and
ruined, evil triumphant, and God silent. It was weeks and
months that Tom wrestled, in his own soul, in darkness and
sorrow. He thought of Miss Ophelia s letter to his Kentucky
friends, and would pray earnestly that God would send him
deliverance. And then he would watch, day after day, in the
vague hope of seeing somebody sent to redeem him; and,
when nobody came, he would crush back to his soul bitter
VOL. II. 21
243 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : ou,
thoughts, that it was vain to serve God, that God had for
gotten him. He sometimes saw Gassy ; and sometimes, when
summoned to the house, caught a glimpse of the dejected form
of Emmeline, but held very little communion with either ; in
fact, there was no time for him to commune with anybody.
One evening, he was sitting, in utter dejection and prostra
tion, by a few decaying brands, where his coarse supper was
baking. He put a few bits of brushwood on the fire, and
strove to raise the light, and then drew his worn Bible from
his pocket. There were all the marked passages, which had
thrilled his soul so often, words of patriarchs and seers,
poets and sages, who from early time had spoken courage to
man, voices from the great cloud of witnesses who ever sur
round us in the race of life. Had the word lost its power,
or could the failing eye and weary sense no longer answer to
the touch of that mighty inspiration ? Heavily sighing, he
put it in his pocket. A coarse laugh roused him ; he looked
up, Legree was standing opposite to him.
"Well, old boy," he said, "you find your religion don -t
work, it seems ! I thought I should get that through your
wool, at last!"
The cruel taunt was more than hunger and cold and naked
ness. Tom was silent.
" You were a fool," said Legree ; " for I meant to do well
by you, when I bought you. You might have been better off
than Sambo, or Quimbo either, and had easy times ; and,
instead of getting cut up and thrashed, every day or two, ye
might have had liberty to lord it round, and cut up the other
niggers ; and ye might have had, now and then, a good warm
ing of whiskey punch. Come, Tom, don t you think you d
better be reasonable ? heave that ar old pack of trash in the
fire, and join my church ! "
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 243
" The Lord forbid ! " said Tom, fervently.
"You. see the Lord an t going to help you; if he had
been, he wouldn t have let me get you ! This ycr religion
is all a mess of lying trumpery, Tom. I know all about it.
Ye d better hold to me ; I in somebody, and can do some
thing !"
"No, Mas r," said Tom; "I ll hold on. The Lord may
help me, or not help ; but I 11 hold to him, and believe him
to the last!"
" The more fool you !" said Legree, spitting scornfully at
him, and spurning him with his foot. "Never mind; I ll
chase you down, yet, and bring you under. you ll see!"
and Legree turned away.
When a heavy weight presses the soul to the lowest level at
which endurance is possible, there is an instant and desperate
effort of every physical and moral nerve to throw off the
weight ; and hence the heaviest anguish often precedes a
return tide of joy and courage. So was it now with Tom.
The atheistic taunts of his cruel master sunk his before
dejected soul to the lowest ebb ; and, though the hand of faith
still held to the eternal rock, it was with a numb, despairing
grasp. Tom sat, like one stunned, at the fire. Suddenly
everything around him seemed to fade, and a vision rose before
him of one crowned with thorns, buffeted and bleeding. Tom
gazed, in awe and wonder, at the majestic patience of the face ;
the deep, pathetic eyes thrilled him to his inmost heart ; his
soul woke, as, with floods of emotion, he stretched out his
hands and fell upon his knees, when, gradually, the vision
changed : the sharp thorns became rays of glory ; and, iu
splendor inconceivable, he saw that same face bending com
passionately towards him, and a voice said, " He that over-
244 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OR,
. , . .
/cometh shall sit down with me on my throne, even as I als<;
I overcame, and am set down with my Father on his throne."
How long Tom lay there, he knew not. When he came to
himself, the fire was gone out, his clothes were wet with the
\ chill and drenching dews ; but the dread soul-crisis was past,
and, in the joy that filled him, he no longer felt hunger, cold,
degradation, disappointment, wretchedness. From his deep
est soul, he that hour loosed and parted from every hope in
the life that now is, and offered his own will an unquestioning
sacrifice to the Infinite. Tom looked up to the silent, ever-
living stars, types of the angelic hosts who ever look down
on man ; and the solitude of the night rung with the
triumphant words of a hymn, which he had sung often in
happier days, but never with such feeling as now :
" The earth shall be dissolved like snow,
The sun shall cease to shine ;
But God, who called me here below,
Shall be forever mine.
" And when this mortal life shall fail,
And flesh and sense shall cease,
I shall possess within the veil
A life of joy and peace.
f< When we ve been there ten thousand years,
Bright shining like the sun,
We ve no less days to sing God s praise
Than when we first begun."
Those who have been familiar with the religious histories
of the slave population know that relations like what we
have narrated are very common among them. We have
heard some from their own lips, of a very touching and
affecting character. The psychologist tells us of a state, in
which the affections and images of the mind become so
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 245
dominant and overpowering, that they press into their service
the outward senses, and make them give tangible shape to
the inward imagining. Who shall measure what an all-per
vading Spirit may do with these capabilities of our mortality,
or the ways in which He may encourage the desponding
souls of the desolate ? If the poor forgotten slave believes
that Jesus hath appeared and spoken to him, who shall con
tradict him 7 Did He not say that his mission, in all ages,
was to bind up the broken-hearted, and set at liberty them
that ore bruised?
When the dim gray of dawn woke the slumberers to go
forth to the field, there was among those tattered and
shivering wretches one who walked with an exultant tread ;
for firmer than the ground he trod on was his strong faith in
Almighty, eternal love. Ah, Legree, try all your forces
now ! Utmost agony, woe, degradation, want, and loss of all
things, shall only hasten on the process by which he shall be
made a king and a priest unto God !
From this time, an inviolable sphere of peace encompassed
the_ lowly heart of the oppressed^ one^an^ ever-present
Saviour hallowed it as a temple. Past now the bTeeding~pf
earthly~regrets ; past ^rEs"1rucTuations of hope, and fear, and
desire; the human willfbent, and bleeding, and struggling
long, jgas~l-iow entifeTy merged in the Piyine.- So short now
seemed the remaining voyage of life, so near, so vivid,
seemed eternal blessedness, that life s uttermost woes fell
from nim unharming.
All noticed the change in his appearance. Cheerfulness
and alertness seemed to return to him, and a quietness which
no insult or injury could ruffle seemed to possess him.
" What the devil s got into Tom ? " Legree said to Sambo.
VOL. II. 21*
246 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OR,
" A while ag he was all down in the mouth, and now he s
peart as a cricket."
" Dunno, Mas r ; gwine to run off, mebbe."
"Like to see him try that," said Legree, with a savage
grin, " would n t we, Sambo ? "
"Guess we would! Haw! haw! ho!" said the sooty
gnome, laughing obsequiously. " Lord, de fan ! To see
him stickin in de mud, chasin and tarin through de bushes,
dogs a holdin on to him ! Lord, I laughed fit to split, dat
ar time we cotched Molly. I thought they d a had her all
stripped up afore I could get em off. She car s de marks
o dat ar spree yet."
"I reckon she will, to her grave," said Legree. "But
now, Sambo, you look sharp. If the nigger s got anything
of this sort going, trip him up."
" Mas r, let me lone for dat," said Sambo. " I 11 tree de
coon. Ho, ho, ho ! "
This was spoken as Legree was gettir^ to his horse, to
go to the neighboring town. That night, as he was return
ing, he thought he would turn his horse and ride round the
quarters, and see if all was safe.
It was a superb moonlight night, and the shadows of the
graceful China trees lay minutely pencilled on the turf below,
and there was that transparent stillness in the air which it
seems almost unholy to disturb. Legree was at a little
distance from the quarters, when he heard the voice of some
one singing. It was not a usual sound there, and he paused
to listen. A musical tenor voice sang,
" When I can read my title clear
To mansions in the skies,
I 11 bid farewell to every fear,
And wipe my weeping eyes.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 247
" Should earth against my soul engage,
And hellish darts be hurled,
Then I can smile at Satan s rage,
And face a frowning world.
" Let cares like a wild deluge come,
And storms of sorrow fall,
May I but safely reach my home,
My God, my Heaven, my All."
" So ho ! " said Legree to himself, " he thinks so, does he ?
How I hate these cursed Methodist hymns ! Here, you
nigger," said he, coming suddenly out upon Tom, and raising
his riding- whip, " how dare you be gettin up this yer row,
when you ought to be in bed ? Shut yer old black gash, and
get along in. with you ! "
" Yes, Mas r," said Tom, with ready cheerfulness, as he
rose to go in.
Legree was provoked beyond measure by Tom s evident
happiness; and, v;i vg up to him, belabored him ovei his
head and shouldeis.
" There, you dog," he said, " see if you 11 feel so comfort
able, after that ! "
But the blows fell now only on the outer man, and not, as
before, on the heart. Torn stood perfectly submissive; and
yet Legree could not hide from himself that his power ovei
his bond thrall was somehow gone. And, as Tom disap
peared in his cabin, and he wheeled his horse suddenly
round, there passed through his mind one of those vivid
flashes that often send the lightning of conscience across the
dark and wicked soul. He understood full well that it was
GOD whp was standing between him and his victim, and he
blasphemed him. That submissive and silent man, whom
taunts, nor threats, nor stripes, nor cruelties, could disturb,
248 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
roused a voice within him, such as of old his Master roused in
the demoniac soul, saying, "What have we to do with thee,
thou Jesus of Nazareth ? art thou come to torment us before
the time ? "
Tom s whole soul overflowed with compassion and sympathy
for the poor wretches by whom he was surrounded. To him it
seemed as if his life-sorrows were now over, and as if, out of
that strange treasury of peace and joy, with which he had
been endowed from above, he longed to pour out something
for the relief of their woes. It is true, opportunities were
scanty; but, on the way to the fields, and back again, and
during the hours of labor, chances fell in his way of extending
a helping-hand to the weary, the disheartened and discour
aged. The poor, worn-down, brutalized creatures, at first,
could scarce comprehend this ; but, when it was continued
week after week, and month after month, it began to awaken
long-silent chords in their benumbed hearts. Gradually and
imperceptibly the strange, silent, patient man, who was ready
5o bear every one s burden, and sought help from none, who
stood aside for all, and came last, and took least, yet was
foremost to share his little all with any who needed, the
man who, in cold nights, would give up his tattered blanket
to add to the comfort of some woman who shivered with sick
ness, and who filled the baskets of the weaker ones in the
field, at the terrible risk of coming short in his own measure,
and who, though pursued with unrelenting cruelty by their
common tyrant, never joined in uttering a word of reviling or
cursing, this man, at last, began to have a strange power
over them ; and, when the more pressing season was past, and
they were allowed again their Sundays for their own use,
many would gather together to hear from him of Jesus. They
would gladly have met to hear, and pray, and sing, in some
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 249
place, together ; but Legree would not permit it, and more
than once broke up such attempts, with oaths and brutal exe
crations, so that the blessed news had to circulate from indi
vidual to individual. Yet who can speak the simple joy with
which some of those poor outcasts, to whom life was a joyless
journey to a dark unknown, heard of a compassionate Ile-
deemer and a heavenly home ? It is the statement of mis
sionaries, that, of all races of the earth, none have received
the Gospel with such eager docility as the African. The
principle of reliance and unquestioning faith, which is its
foundation, is more a native element in this race than any
other ; and it has often been found among them, that a stray
seed of truth, borne on some breeze of accident into hearts the
most ignorant, has sprung up into fruit, whose abundance has
shamed that of higher and more skilful culture.
The poor mulatto woman, whose simple faith had been
well-nigh crushed and overwhelmed, by the avalanche of
cruelty and wrong which had fallen upon her, felt her soul
raised up by the hymns and passages of Holy Writ, which
this lowly missionary breathed into her ear in intervals, as
they were going to and returning from work ; and even the
half-crazed and wandering mind of Gassy was soothed and
calmed by his simple and unobtrusive influences.
Stung to madness and despair by the crushing agonies of a
life, Gassy had often resolved in her soul an hour of retribu
tion, when her hand should avenge on her oppressor all the
injustice and cruelty to which she had been witness, or which
she had in her own person suffered.
One night, after all in Tom s cabin were sunk in sleep, he
was suddenly aroused by seeing her face at the hole between
the logs, that served for a window. She made a silent gesture
for him to come out.
250 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
Tom came out the door. It was between one and two
o clock at night, broad, calm, still moonlight. Tom re
marked, as the light of the moon fell upon Gassy s large,
black eyes, that there was a wild and peculiar glare in them,
unlike their wonted fixed despair.
" Come here, Father Tom," she said, laying her small
hand on his wrist, and drawing him forward with a force as if
the hand were of steel ; " come here, I ve news for you."
"What, Misse Gassy?" said Tom, anxiously.
" Tom, would n t you like your liberty ?"
"I shall have it, Misse, in God s time," said Tom.
"Ay, but you may have it to-night," said Gassy, with a
flash of sudden energy. " Come on."
Tom hesitated.
" Come ! " said she, in a whisper, fixing her black eyes on
him. " Come along ! He s asleep sound. I put enough
into his brandy to keep him so. I wish I d had more, I
should n t have wanted you. But come, the back door is
unlocked ; there s an axe there, I put it there, his room
door is open ; I 11 show you the way. I d a done it myself,
only my arms are so weak. Come along ! "
" Not for ten thousand worlds, Misse ! " said Tom, firmly,
stopping and holding her back, as she was pressing forward.
" But think of all these poor creatures," said Gassy. "We
might set them all free, and go somewhere in the swamps, and
find an island, and live by ourselves ; I ve heard of its being
done. Any life is better than this."
" No ! " said Tom, firmly. " No ! good never comes of
wickedness. I d sooner chop my right hand off f "
" Then /shall do it," said Gassy, turning/
" 0, Misse Gassy ! " said Tom, throwing himself before
her, "for the dear Lord s sake that died for ye, don t sell
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 251
your precious soul to the devil, that way ! Nothing but evil
will come of it. The Lord has n t called us to wrath. Wo
must suffer, and wait his time."
" Wait ! " said Gassy. " Have n t I waited ? waited till
my head is dizzy and my heart sick ? What has he made me
suffer ? What has he made hundreds of poor creatures suf
fer ? Is n t he wringing the life-blood out of you 7 I m
called on ; they call me ! His time s come, and I 11 have
his heart s blood ! "
"No, no, no !" said Tom, holding her small hands, which
were clenched with spasmodic violence. "No, ye poor, lost
soul, that ye must n t do. The dear, blessed Lord never shed
no blood but his own, and that he poured out for us when we
was enemies. Lord, help us to follow his steps, and love our
enemies."
"Love !" said Gassy, with a fierce glare ; "love such ene
mies ! It is n t in flesh and blood."
"No, Misse, it isn t," said Tom, looking up; "but//c
gives it to us, and that s the mctory. When we can love
and pray over all and through all, the battle s past, and the
victory s come, glory be to Go- . ! " And, with streaming
eyes and choking voice, the black man looked up to heaven.
And this, oh Africa ! latest called of nations, called to
the crown of thorns, the scour-; e, the bloody sweat, the cross
of agony, this is to be thy v otory ; by this shalt thou reign
with Christ when his kingdor , shall come on earth.
The deep fervor of Tom s feelings, the softness of his voice,
his tears, fell like dew on the wild, unsettled spirit of the poor
woman. A softness gathered over the lurid fires of her eye ;
she looked down, and Tom could feel the relaxing muscles of
her hands, as she said,
"Did n t I tell you that evil spirits followed me? O 1
252 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
Father Tom, I can t pray, I wish I could. I never have
prayed since my children were sold ! What you say must
be right, I know it must ; but when I try to pray, I can only
hate and curse. I can t pray ! "
" Poor soul ! " said Tom, compassionately. " Satan desires
to have ye, and sift ye as wheat. I pray the Lord for ye. !
Misse Gassy, turn to the dear Lord Jesus. He came to bind
up the broken-hearted, and comfort all that mourn."
Gassy stood silent, while large, heavy tears dropped from
her downcast eyes.
"Misse Gassy," said Tom, in a hesitating tone, after sur
veying her a moment in silence, "if ye only could get away
from here, if the thing was possible, I d vise ye and
Emmeline to do it; that is, if ye could go without blood-
guiltiness, not otherwise."
." Would you try it with us, Father Tom ?"
"No," said Tom; "time was when I would; but the
Lord s given me a work among these yer poor souls, and I ll
stay with em and bear my cross with em till the end. It s
different with you ; it s a snare to you, it s more n you
can stand, and you d bo.ter go, if you can."
"I know no way but through the grave," said Gassy.
11 There s no beast or bird hut can find a home somewhere ;
even the snakes and the all gators have their places to lie
clown and be quiet ; but there s no place for us. Down in
the darkest swamps, their dogs will hunt us out, and find us.
Everybody and everything is against us ; even the very beasts
side against us, and where shall we go?"
Tom stood silent ; at length he said, 1
"Him that saved Daniel in the den of lions, that saved
the children in the fiery furnace, Him that walked on the
pea, and bade the winds be still, He s alive yet; and I ve
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 253
faith to believe he can deliver you. Try it, and I 11 pray,
with all my might, for you."
By what strange law of mind is it that an idea long over
looked, and trodden under foot as a useless stone, suddenly
sparkles out in new light, as a discovered diamond ?
Cassy had often revolved, for hours, all possible or probable
schemes of escape, and dismissed them all, as hopeless and
impracticable ; but at this moment there flashed through her
mind a plan, so simple and feasible in all its details, as to
awaken an instant hope.
"Father Tom, I ll try it !" she said, suddenly.
" Amen ! " said Tom ; " the Lord help ye ! "
CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE STRATAGEM.
, " The -way of the nicked is as darkness ; he knoweth not at what he
stumbleth."
THE garret of the house that Legree occupied, like most
other garrets, was a great, desolate space, dusty, hung with
cobwebs, and littered with cast-off lumber. The opulent
family that had inhabited the house in the days of its splen
dor had imported a great deal of splendid furniture, some of
which they had taken away with them, while some remained
standing desolate in mouldering, unoccupied rooms, or stored
away in this place. One or two immense packing-boxes, in
which this furniture was brought, stood against the sides of
the garret. There was a small window there, which let in,
VOL. ii. 22
254 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
..- .
through its dingy, dusty panes, a scanty, uncertain light on j
-the tall, high-backed chairs and dusty tables, that had onco ]
seen better days. Altogether, it was a weird and ghostly
place ; but, ghostly as it was, it wanted not in legends among
the superstitious negroes, to increase its terrors. Some few
years before, a negro woman, who had incurred Legree 3 dis
pleasure, was confined there for several weeks. What passed
there, we do not say ; the negroes used to whisper darkly to
each other ; but it was known that the body of the unfortu
nate creature was one day taken down from there, and
buried ; and, after that, it was said that oaths and cursings,
and the sound of violent blows, used to ring through that old
garret, and mingled with wailings and groans of despair.
Once, when Legree chanced to overhear something of this
kind, he flew into a violent passion, and swore that the next
one that told stories about that garret should have an oppor
tunity of knowing what was there, for he would chain them
up there for a week. This hint was enough to repress talk
ing, though, of course, it did not disturb the credit of thd
story in the least.
Gradually, the staircase that led to the garret, and even
the passage-way to the staircase, were avoided by every one
in the house, from every one fearing to speak of it, and the
legend was gradually falling into desuetude. It had suddenly
occurred to Gassy to make use of the superstitious excitabil
ity, which was so great in Legree, for the purpose of her
liberation, and that of her fellow-sufferer.
The sleeping-room of Gassy was directly under the garret.
One day, without consulting Legree, she suddenly took it
upon her, with some considerable ostentation, to change all
the furniture and appurtenances of the room to one at some
considerable distance. The under-servants, who were called
r
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 255
on to effect this movement, were running and bustling about
with great zeal and confusion, when Legree returned from a
ride.
"Hallo! you Cass!" said Legree, "what s in the wind
now?"
"Nothing; only I choose to have another room," said
Gassy, doggedly.
" And what for, pray 1 " said Legree.
"I choose to," said Gassy.
" The devil you do ! and what for ? "
" I d like to get some sleep } now and then."
" Sleep ! well, what hinders your sleeping ?"
" I could tell, I suppose, if you want to hear," said Gassy,
dryly.
" Speak out, you minx ! " said Legree.
" ! nothing. I suppose it would n t disturb you ! Only
groans, and people scuffling, and rolling round on the garret
floor, half the night, from twelve to morning ! "
" People up garret ! " said Legree, uneasily, but forcing a
laugh ; " who are they, Gassy ?"
Gassy raised her sharp, black eyes, and looked in the face
of Legree, with an expression that went through his bones, as
she said, "To be sure, Simon, who are they? I d like to
have you tell me. You don t know, I suppose ! "
With an oath, Legree struck at her with his riding- whip ;
but she glided to one side, and passed through the door, and
Booking back, said, "If you ll sleep in that room, you ll
know all about it. Perhaps you d better try it ! " and then
immediately she shut and locked the door.
Legree blustered and swore, and threatened to break down
the door ; but apparently thought better of it, and walked
uneasily into the sitting-room. Gassy perceived that her
UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OB,
shaft had struck home ; and, from that hour, with the most
exquisite address, she never ceased to continue the train of
influences she had begun.
In a knot-hole in the garret she had inserted the neck of
an old bottle, in such a manner that when there was the least
wind, most doleful and lugubrious wailing sounds proceeded
from it, which, in a high wind, increased to a perfect shriek,
such as to credulous and superstitious ears might easily seem
to be that of horror and despair.
These sounds were, from time to time, heard by the ser
vants, and revived in full force the memory of the old ghost
legend. A superstitious creeping horror seemed to fill the
house ; and though no one dared to breathe it to Legree, he
found himself encompassed by it, as by an atmosphere.
No one is so thoroughly superstitious as the godless man.
!heJ2hristian is composed by the belief of a wise, all-ruling
ffather, whose presence fills the void unknown with light and
" *"^ i - ..> o :ii
order ; but to the man who has dethroned God, the spirit-land
is, indeed, in the words of the Hebrew poet, "a land of dark
ness and the shadow of death," without any order, where the
light is al^daxkness. Tile and death to him are haunted*
^rounds^^filled with goblin forms of vague and shadowy
dread.
Legree had had the slumbering moral element in him
roused by his encounters with Tom, roused, only to be
resisted by the determinate force of evil ; but still there was
a thrill and commotion of the dark, inner world, produced by
every word, or prayer, or hymn, that reacted in superstitious
dread. &.
The influence of Gassy over him was of a strange and sin
gular kind. He was her owner, her tyrant and tormentor.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 257
She was, as he knew, wholly, and without any possibility of
help or redress, in his hands ; and yet so it is, that the most
brutal man cannot live in constant association wjth a strong
female influence, and not be greatly controlled by it. When
he first bought her, she was, as she had said, a^voman deli
cately bred ; and then he crushed her, without scruple, beneath
the foot of his brutality. But, as time, and debasing influences,
and despair, hardened womanhood within her, and waked the
fires of fiercer passions, she had become in a measure his mis
tress, and he alternately tyrannized over and dreaded her.
This influence had become more harassing and decided,
since partial insanity had given a strange, weird, unsettled
cast to all her words and language.
A night or two after this, Legree was sitting in the old
sitting-room, by the side of a flickering wood fire, that threw
uncertain glances round the room. It was a stormy, windy
night, such as raises whole squadrons of nondescript noises in
rickety old houses. Windows were rattling, shutters flapping,
the wind carousing, rumbling, and tumbling down the chim
ney, and, every once in a while, puffing out smoke and ashes,
as if a legion of spirits were coming after them. Legree had
been casting up accounts and reading newspapers for some
hours, while Gassy sat in the corner, sullenly looking into the
fire. Legree laid down his paper, and seeing an old book
lying on the table, which he had noticed Gassy reading, the
first part of the evening, took it up, and began to turn it over.
It was one of those collections of stories of bloody murders,
ghostly legends, and supernatural visitations, which, coarsely
got up and illustrated, have a strange fascination for one who
once begins to read them.
Legree poohed and pished, but read, turning page after
VOL. II. 22*
58 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: on,
page, till, finally, after reading some way, he threw clown the
book, with an oath.
"You don t believe in ghosts, do you, Cass?" said he,
taking the tongs and settling the fire. " I thought you d
more sense than to let noises scare you"
" No matter what I believe," said Gassy, sullenly.
" Fellows used to try to frighten me with their yarns at
sea," said Legree. " Never come it round me that way.
I m too tough for any such trash, tell ye."
Gassy sat looking intensely at him in the shadow of the
corner. There was that strange light in her eyes that always
impressed Legree with uneasiness.
"Them noises was nothing but rats and the wind," said
Legree. " Rats will make a devil of a noise. I used to
hear em sometimes down in the hold of the ship ; and wind,
Lord s sake ! ye can make anything out o wind."
Gassy knew Legree was uneasy under her eyes, and, there
fore, she made no answer, but sat fixing them on him, with
that strange, unearthly expression, as before.
"Come, speak out, woman, don t you think so?" said
Legree.
" Can rats walk down stairs, and come walking through
the entry, and open a door when you ve locked it and set a
chair against it?" said Gassy; " and come walk, walk, walk
ing right up to your bed, and put out their hand, so ? "
Gassy kept her glittering eyes fixed on Legree, as she
spoke, and he stared at her like a man in the nightmare, till,
when she finished by lajang her hand, icy cold, on his, he
sprung back, with an oath.
" Woman ! what do you mean ? Nobody did ? "
" 0, no, of course not. did I say they did ? " said
Gassy, with a smile of chilling derision.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 259
" But did have you really seen ? Come, Cass, what
is it, now, speak out ! "
" You may sleep there, yourself," said Gassy, " if you
want to know."
" Did it come from the garret, Gassy ? "
" It, what?" said Gassy.
" Why, what you told of"
"I didn t tell you anything," said Gassy, with dogged
sullenness.
Legree walked up and down the room, uneasily.
" I 11 have this yer thing examined. I 11 look into it, this
very night. I 11 take my pistols
" Do," said Gassy ; " sleep in that room. I d like to see
you doing it. Fire your pistols, do ! "
Legree stamped his foot, and swore violently.
" Don t swear," said Gassy ; " nobody knows who may bo
hearing you. Hark ! What was that ? "
"What?" said Legree, starting.
A heavy old Dutch clock, that stood in the corner of the
room, began, and slowly struck twelve.
For some reason or other, Legree neither spoke nor moved ;
a vague horror fell on him ; while Gassy, with a keen, sneer
ing glitter in her eyes, stood looking at him, counting the
strokes.
11 Twelve o clock ; well, now we 11 see," said she, turning,
and opening the door into the passage-way, and standing as
if listening.
11 Hark ! What s that?" said she, raising her finger.
"It s only the wind," said Legree. "Don t you hear
how cursedly it blows ?"
" Simon, come here," said Gassy, in a whisper, laying her
260 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
hand on his, and leading him to the foot of the stairs : "do
you know what that is ? Hark ! "
A wild shriek came pealing down the stairway. It came
from the garret. Legree s knees knocked together ; his face
grew white with fear.
" Had n t you hetter get your pistols ?" said Gassy, with a
sneer that froze Legree s blood. "It s time this thing was
looked into, you know. I d like to have you go up now ;
they re at it."
" I won t go ! " said Legree, with an oath.
"Why not? There an t any such thing as ghosts, you
know ! Come !" and Gassy flitted up the winding stairway,
laughing, and looking back after him. " Come on."
" I believe you are the devil ! " said Legree. " Come back,
you hag, come back, Cass ! You shan t go ! ".
But Gassy laughed wildly, and fled on. He heard her
open the entry doors that led to the garret. A wild gust of
wind swept down, extinguishing the candle he held in his
hand, and with it the fearful, unearthly screams ; they seemed
to be shrieked in his very ear.
Legree fled frantically into the parlor, whither, in a few
moments, he was followed by Gassy, pale, calm, cold as an
avenging spirit, and with that same fearful light in her eye.
" I hope you are satisfied," said she.
" Blast you, Cass !" said Legree.
" What for ?" said Gassy. " I only went up and shut the
doors. What s the matter ivith that garret, Simon, do
you suppose?" said she.
" None of your business ! " said Legree.
" 0, it an t? Well," said Gassy, " at any rate, I m glad
/don t sleep under it."
Anticipating the rising of the wind, that very evening,
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 261
Cassy had been up and opened the garret window. Of course,
the moment the doors were opened, the wind had drafted
down, and extinguished the light.
This may serve as a specimen of the game that Gassy
played with Legree, until he would sooner have put his head
into a lion s mouth than to have explored that garret. Mean
while, in the night, when everybody else was asleep, Cassy
slowly and carefully accumulated there a stock of provisions
sufficient to afford subsistence for some time j she transferred,
article by article, a greater part of her own and Emmeline s
wardrobe. All things being arranged, they only waited a
fitting opportunity to put their plan in execution.
By cajoling Legree, and taking advantage of a good-
natured interval, Cassy had got him to take her with him to
the neighboring town, which was situated directly on the Red
river. With a memory sharpened to almost preternatural
clearness, she remarked every turn in the road, and formed
a mental estimate of the time to be occupied in traversing it.
At the time when all was matured for action, our readers
may, perhaps, like to look behind the scenes, and see the final
coup d etat.
It was now near evening. Legree had been absent, on a
ride to a neighboring farm. For many days Cassy had been
unusually gracious and accommodating in her humors ; and
Legree and she had been, apparently, on the best of terms.
At present, we may behold her and Emmeline in the room of
the latter, busy in sorting and arranging two small bundles.
" There, these will be large enough," said Cassy. " Now
put on your bonnet, and let s start : it s just about the right
time."
"Why, they can see us yet," said Emmeline.
"I mean they shall," said Cassy, coolly. " Don t you
262 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : on,
know that they must have their chase after us, at any rate ?
The way of the thing is to be just this : We will steal out
of the back door, and run down by the quarters. Sambo or
Quimbo will be sure to see us. They will give chase, and we
will get into the swamp ; then, they can t follow us any fur
ther till they go up and give the^ alarm, and turn out the
dogs, and so on; and, while they are blundering round, and
tumbling over each other, as they always do, you and I will
just slip along to the creek, that runs back of the house, and
wade along in it, till we get opposite the back door. That
will put the dogs all at fault ; for scent won t lie in the water.
Every one will run out of the house to look after us, and
then we 11 whip in at the back door, and up into the garret,
where I ve got "a nice bed made up in one of the great boxes.
We must stay in that garret a good while; for, I tell you, he
will raise heaven and earth after us. He 11 muster some of
those old overseers on the other plantations, and have a great
hunt; and they ll go over every inch of ground in that
swamp. He makes it his boast that nobody ever got away
from him. So let him hunt at his leisure."
" Gassy, how well you have planned it ! " said Emmeline.
" Who ever would have thought of it, but you? "
There was neither pleasure nor exultation in Gassy s eyes,
only a despairing firmness.
" Come," she said, reaching her hand to Emmeline.
The two fugitives glided noiselessly from the house, and
flitted, through the gathering shadows of evening, along by
the quarters. The crescent moon, set like a silver signet
in the western sky, delayed a little the approach of night. As
Gassy expected, when quite near the verge of the swamps that
encircled the plantation, they heard a voice calling to them to
stop. It was not Sambo, however, but Legree, who was pur-
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 268
suing them with violent execrations. At the sound, the feebler
spirit of Emmeline gave way; and, laying hold of Gassy s
arm, she said, " 0, Gassy, I m going to faint ! "
"If you do, I 11 kill you ! " said Gassy, drawing a small,
glittering stiletto, and flashing it before the eyes of the girl.
The diversion accomplished the purpose. Emmeline did
not faint, and succeeded in plunging, with Gassy, into a part
of the labyrinth of swamp, so deep and dark that it was per
fectly hopeless for Legree to think of following them, without
assistance.
" Well," said he, chuckling brutally ; "at any rate, they ve
got themselves into a trap now the baggages ! They re
safe enough. They shall sweat for it ! "
< < Hulloa, there ! Sambo ! Quimbo ! All hands ! " called
Legree, coming to the quarters, when the men and women
were just returning from work. "There s two runaways in
the swamps. I 11 give five dollars to any nigger as catches
em. Turn out the dogs ! Turn out Tiger, and Fury, and
the rest!"
The sensation produced by this news was immediate. Many
of the men sprang forward, officiously, to offer their services,
either from the hope of the reward, or from that cringing sub
serviency which is one of the most baleful effects of slavery.
Some ran one way, and some another. Some were for getting
flambeaux of pine-knots. Some were uncoupling the dogs,
whose hoarse, savage bay added not a little to the animation
of the scene.
" Mas r, shall we shoot em, if we can t cotch em?" said
Sambo, to whom his master brought out a rifle.
" You may fire on Cass, if you like ; it s time she was
gone to the devil, where she belongs; but the gal, not," said
Legree. " And now, boys, be spry and smart. Five dollars
264 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: on,
for him that gets em ; and a glass of spirits to every one of
you, anyhow."
The whole band, with the glare of blazing torches, and
whoop, and shout, and savage yell, of man and beast, pro
ceeded down to the swamp, followed, at some distance, by
every servant in the house. The establishment was, of a
consequence, wholly deserted, when Cassy and Emmeline
glided into it the back way. The whooping and shouts of
their pursuers were still filling the air ; and, looking from the
sitting-room windows, Cassy and Emmeline could see the
troop, with their flambeaux, just dispersing themselves along
the edge of the swamp.
" See there!" said Emmeline, pointing to Cassy; "the
hunt is begun ! Look how those lights dance about ! Hark !
the dogs ! Don t you hear ? If \ve were only there, our
chance would n t be worth a picayune. 0, for pity s sake,
do let s hide ourselves. Quick ! "
"There s no occasion for hurry," said Cassy, coolly; "they
are all out after the hunt, that <> the amusement of the
evening ! We 11 go up stairs, by and by. Meanwhile," said
she, deliberately taking a key from the r >cket of a coat that
Legree had thrown down in his hurry, "meanwhile I shall
take something to pay our passage."
She unlocked the desk, took from it a roll of bills, which
she counted over rapidly.
" 0, don t let s do that ! " said Emmeline.
"Don t!" said Cassy; "why not? Would you have us
starve in the swamps, or have that that will pay our way to
the free states ? Money w ll do anything, girl." And, as
she spoke, she put the money in her bosom.
"It would be stealing,," said Emmeline, in a distressed
whisper.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 265
"Stealing!" said Gassy, with a scornful laugh. "They
who steal body and soul need n t talk to us. Every one of
these bills is stolen, stolen from poor, starving, sweating
creatures, who must go to the devil at last, for his profit. Let
him talk about stealing ! But come, we may as well go up
garret ; I ve got a stock of candles there, and some books to
pass away the time. You may be pretty sure they won t
come there to inquire after us. If they do, I 11 play ghost
for them."
When Emmeline reached the garret, she found an immense
box, in which some heavy pieces of furniture had once been
brought, turned on its side, so that the opening faced the
wall, or rather the eaves. Cassy lit a small lamp, and, creep
ing round under the eaves, they established themselves in it.
It was spread with a couple of small mattresses and some
pillows ; a box near by was plentifully stored with candles,
provisions, and all the clothing necessary to their journey,
which Cassy had arranged into bundles of an astonishingly
small compass.
" There," said Cassy, as she fixed the lamp into a small
hook, which she had ""riven into the side of he box for that
purpose ; "this is to be our home for the proent. How do
you like it?"
" Are you sure they won t come and search U e garret ?"
"I d like to see Simon Legree doing that, ; said Cassy.
" No, indeed; he will be too glad to keep away. As to the
servants, they would any of them stand and be shot, sooner
than show their faces here."
Somewhat reassured, Emmeline settled herself back on her
pillow.
" What did you mean, Cassy, by saying you would kill
me?" she said, simply.
VOL. ii. 23
266 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
"I meant to stop your fainting," said Gassy, " and I did
do it. And now I tell you, Emmeline, you must make up
your mind not to faint, let what will come ; there s no sort
of need of it. If I had not stopped you, that wretch mighl
have had his hands on you now."
Emmeline shuddered.
The two remained some time in silence. Cassy busied
herself with a French book ; Emmeline, overcome with the
exhaustion, fell into a doze, and slept some time. She was
awakened by loud shouts and outcries, the tramp of horses
feet, and the baying of dogs, She started up, with a faint
shriek.
"Only the hunt coming back," said Cassy, coolly; " never
fear. Look out of this knot-hole. Don t you see em all
down there ? Simon has to give it up, for this night. Look,
how muddy his horse is, flouncing about in the swamp ; the
dogs, too, look rather creet-fallen. Ah, my good sir, you 11
have to try the race again and again, the game isn t there."
" 0, don t speak a word ! " said Emmeline ; " what if they
should hear you ?"
" If they do *ear anything, it will make them very partic
ular to keep away," said Cassy. "No danger; we may
make any nol je we please, and it will only add to the effect."
At length the stillness of midnight settled down over the
house. Lcgree, cursing his ill luck, and vowing dire ven
geance on the morrow, went to bed.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 267
CHAPTER XL.
THE MABTYR.
" Deem not the just by Heaven forgot !
Though life its common gifts deny,
Though, with a crushed and bleeding heart.
And spurned of man, he goes to die !
For God hath marked each sorrowing day,
And numbered every bitter tear ;
And heaven s long years of bliss shall pay
For all his children suffer here." BRYANT.
THE longest way must have its close, the gloomiest night
will wear on to a morning. An eternal, inexorable lapse of
moments is ever hurrying the day of the evil to an eternal
night, and the night of the just to an eternal day. We have j,
walked with our humble friend thus far in the valley of slav- j
ery ; first through flowery fields of ease and indulgence, then j
through heart-breaking separations from all that man holds
dear. Again, we have waited with him in a sunny island,
where generous hands concealed his chains with flowers ; and,
lastly, we have followed him when the last ray of earthly
hope went out in night, and seen how, in the blackness of
eafffily darkness, the firmament of the unseen has blazed with.
stars of new and significant lustre.
*~ The morning-star now stands over the tops of the moun
tains, and gales and breezes, not of earth, show that the gates
of day are unclosing.
The escape of Gassy and Emmeline irritated the before
268 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
-
surly temper of Legree to the last degree ; and his fury, as
was to be expected, fell upon the defenceless head of Tom.
When he hurriedly announced the tidings among his hands,
there was a sudden light in Tom s eye, a sudden upraising
of his hands, that did not escape him. He saw that he did
not join the muster of the pursuers. He thought of forcing
him to do it ; but, having had, of old, experience of his inflex
ibility when commanded to take part in any deed of inhuman
ity, he would not, in his hurry, stop to enter into any conflict
with him.
Tom, therefore, remained behind, with a few who had
learned of him to pray, and offered up prayers for the escape
of the fugitives.
When Legree returned, baffled and disappointed, all the
long-working hatred of his soul towards his slave began to
gather in a deadly and desperate form. Had not this man
braved him, steadily, powerfully, resistlessly, ever since
he bought him ? Was there not a spirit in him which, silent
as it was, burned on him like the fires of perdition ?
" I hate him ! " said Legree, that night, as he sat up in his
bed ; "I hate him ! And is n t he MINE ? Can t I do what
jl like with him? Who s to hinder, I wonder?" And
Legree clenched his fist, and shook it, as if he had something
in his hands that he could rend in pieces.
But, then, Tom was a faithful, valuable servant; and,
although Legree hated him the more for that, yet the consid
eration was still somewhat of a restraint to him.
The next morning, he determined to say nothing, as yet ; to
assemble a party, from some neighboring plantations, with dogs
and guns ; to surround the swamp, and go about the hunt sys
tematically. If it succeeded, well and good ; if not, he would
summon Tom befcre him, and his teeth clenched and his
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 269
blood boiled then he would break that fellow down, or
there was a dire inward whisper, to which his soul assented.
Ye say that the interest of the master is a sufficient safe
guard for the slave. In the fury of man s mad will, he will
wittingly, and with open eye, sell his own soul to the devil to
gain his ends ; and will he be more careful of his neighbor s
body?
" Well," said Gassy, the next day, from the garret, as she
reconnoitred through the knot-hole, "the hunt s going to
begin again, to-day ! "
Three or four mounted horsemen were curvetting about, on
the space front of the house ; and one or two leashes of strange
dogs were struggling with the negroes who held them, baying
and barking at each other.
The men are, two of them, overseers of plantations in the
vicinity; and others were some of Legree s associates at the
tavern-bar of a neighboring city, who had come for the inter
est of the sport. A more hard-favored set, perhaps, could
not be imagined. Legree was serving brandy, -profusely,
round among them, as also among the negroes, who had been
detailed from the various plantations for this service ; for ifc
was an object to make every service of this kind, among the
negroes, as much of a holiday as possible.
Gassy placed her ear at the knot-hole ; and, as the morning
air blew directly towards the house, she could overhear a
good deal of the conversation. A grave sneer overcast the
dark, severe gravity of her face, as she listened, and heard
them divide out the ground, discuss the rival merits of the
dogs, give orders about firing, and the treatment of each, in
case of capture.
Gassy drew back ; and, clasping her hands, looked upward,
and said, " 0, great Almighty God ! we are all sinners ; but
VOL. II. 23*
270 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
what have we done, more than all the rest of the world , that
we should be treated so?"
There was a terrible earnestness in her face and voice, as
she spoke.
"If it wasn t for you, child," she said, looking at Emme-
line, li I d go out to them ; and I d thank any one of them
that would shoot me down ; for what use will freedom be to
me? Can it give me back my children, or make me what I
used to be?"
Emmeline, in her child-like simplicity, was half afraid of
the dark moods of Gassy. She looked perplexed, but made
no answer. She only took her hand, with a gentle, caressing
movement.
"Don t!" said Gassy, trying to draw it away; "you ll
get me to loving you ; and I never mean to love anything,
again ! "
"Poor Gassy!" said Emmeline, "don t feel so! If the
Lord gives us liberty, perhaps he ll give you back your
Daughter; at any rate, I ll be like a daughter to you. I
know I 11 never see my poor old mother again ! I shall love
you, Gassy, whether you love me or not ! "
The gentle, child-like spirit conquered. Gassy sat down
by her, put her arm round her neck, stroked her soft, brown
hair; and Emmeline then wondered at the beauty of her
magnificent eyes, now soft with tears.
"0, Em!" said Gassy, "I ve hungered for my children,
and thirsted for them, and my eyes fail with longing for
them! Here! here!" she said, striking her breast, "it s
all desolate, all empty! If God would give me back my
children, then I could pray."
" You must trust him, Gassy," said Emoeline ; " he is our
Father!"
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 271
" His wrath is upon us," said Cassj ; " he has turned away
in anger."
"No, Cassj! He will be good to us! Let us hope in
Him," said Emmeline, " I always have had hope."
& * *
The hunt was long, animated, and thorough, but unsuccess
ful ; and, with grave, ironic exultation, Gassy looked down on
Legree, as, weary and dispirited, he alighted from his horse.
" Now, Quimbo," said Legree, as he stretched himself
down in the sitting-room, "you jest go and. walk that Tom
up here, right away ! The old cuss is at the bottom of this
yer whole matter ; and I 11 have it out of his old black hide,
or I 11 know the reason why ! "
Sambo and Quimbo, both, though hating each other, were
joined in one mind by a no less cordial hatred of Tom. Legree
had told them, at first, that he had bought him for a general
overseer, in his absence ; and this had begun an ill will, on
their part, which had increased, in their debased and servile
natures, as they saw him becoming obnoxious to their mas
ter s displeasure. Quimbo, therefore, departed, with a will, to
execute his orders.
Tom heard the message with a forewarning heart ; for he
knew all the plan of the fugitives escape, and the place of
their present concealment ; he knew the deadly character
of the man he had to deal with, and his despotic power. But
he felt strong in God to meet death, rather than betray the
helpless.
He sat his basket down by the row, and, looking up, said,
" Into thy hands I commend my spirit ! Thou hast redeemed
me, oh Lord God of truth !" and then quietly yielded him
self to the rough, brutal grasp with which Quimbo seized him.
"Ay, ay!" said the giant, as he dragged him along;
272 * UNCLE TOM S CABIN: on,
" ye 11 cotch it, now ! I 11 boun Mas r s back s up high !
No sneaking out, now ! Tell ye, ye 11 get it, and no mis
take ! See how ye 11 look, now, helpin Mas r s niggers to
run away ! See what ye 11 get ! "
The savage words none of them reached that ear! a
higher voice there was saying, "Fear not them that kill the
body, and, after that, have no more that they can do."
Nerve and bone of that poor man s body vibrated to those
words, as if touched by the finger of God ; and he felt the
strength of a thousand souls in one. As he passed along, the
trees and bushes, the huts of his servitude, the whole scene
of his degradation, seemed to whirl by him as the landscape
by the rushing car. its soul throbbed, his home was in
sight, and the hour of release seemed at hand.
"Well, Tom!" said Legree, walking up, and seizing him
grimly by the collar of his coat, and speaking through his
teeth, in a paroxysm of determined rage, " do you know I ve
made up my mind to KILL you ?"
"It s very likely, Mas r," said Tom, calmly.
"I have," said Legree, with grim, terrible calmness,
" done just that thing, Tom, unless you ll tell me
what you know about these yer gals ! "
Tom stood silent.
"D ye hear?" said Legree, stamping, with a roar like
that of an incensed lion. " Speak ! "
"I han t got nothing to tell, Mas r" said Tom, with a
slow, firm, deliberate utterance.
"Do you dare to tell me, ye old black Christian, ye don t
knew?" said Legree.
Tom was silent.
Speak ! thundered Legree, striking him furiously. ( Do
you know anything?"
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 273
" I know, Mas r ; but I can t tell anything. / can die ! "
Legree drew in a long breath ; and, suppressing his rage,
took Tom by the arm, and, approaching his face almost to his,
said, in a terrible voice, "Hark e, Tom! ye think, cause
I ve let you off before, I don t mean \vhat I say; but, this
time, I ve made up my mind, and counted the cost. You ve .
always stood it out agin me : now, I 11 conquer ye, or kill
yd one or t other. I ll count every drop of blood there
is in you, and take em, one by one, till ye give up ! "
Tom looked up to his master, and answered, "Mas r, if
you was sick, or in trouble, or dying, and I could save ye,
I d give ye my heart s blood ; and, if taking every drop of
blood in this poor old body would save your precious soul,
I d give em freely, as the Lord gave his for me. 0, Mas r!
don t bring this great sin on your soul ! It will hurt you
more than twill me ! Do the worst you can, my troubles 11
be over soon; but, if ye don t repent, yours won t never end ! "
Like a strange snatch of heavenly music, heard in the lull
of a tempest, this burst of feeling made a moment s blank
pause. Legree stood aghast, and looked at Tom ; and there
was such a silence, that the tick of the old clock could be
heard, measuring, with silent touch, the last moments of
mercv and probation to that hardened heart.
It was but a moment. There was one hesitating pause,
one irresolute, relenting thrill, and the spirit of evil came
back, with seven-fold vehemence ; and Legree, foaming with
rage, smote his victim to the ground.
* * * * * *
Scen.es of blood and cruelty are shocking to our ear and
heart. What man has nerve to do, man has not nerve to
hear. What brother-man and brother- Christian must suffer,
cannot be told us, even in our secret chamber, it so harrows
274 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OR,
up the soul ! And yet, oh my country ! these things are done
under the shadow of thy laws ! 0, Christ ! thy church sees
them, almost in silence !
But, of old, there was One whose suffering changed an
instrument of torture, degradation and shame, into a symbol
of glory, honor, and immortal life ; and, where His spirit is,
neither degrading stripes, nor blood, nor insults, can make
the Christian s last struggle less than glorious.
Was he alone, that long night, whose brave, loving spirit
was bearing up, in that old shed, against buffeting and brutal
stripes ?
Nay ! There stood by him ONE, seen by him alone,-
" like unto the Son of God."
The tempter stood by him, too, blinded by furious, des
potic will, every moment pressing him to shun that agony
by the betrayal of the innocent. But the brave, true heart
was firm on the Eternal Rock. Like his Master, he knew
that, if he saved others, himself he could not save ; nor fiould
utmost extremity wring from him words, save of prayer and
holy trust.
"He s most gone, Mas r," said Sambo, touched, in spite
of himself, by the patience of his victim.
" Pay away, till he gives up ! Give it to him ! give it
to him!" shouted Legree. "I ll take every drop of blood
he has, unless he confesses !"
Tom opened his eyes, and looked upon his master. "Ye
poor miserable critter !" he said, " there an t no more ye can
do! I forgive ye, with all my soul!" and he fainted
entirely away.
"I b lieve, my soul, he s done for, finally," said Legree,
stepping forward, to look at him. " Yes, he is ! Well, his
mouth s shut up, at last, that s one comfort ! "
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 275
Yes, Legree ; but who shall shut up that voice in thy soul ?
that soul, past repentance, past prayer, past hope, in whom
the fire that never shall be quenched is already burning !
Yet Tom was not quite gone. His wondrous words and
pious prayers had struck upon the hearts of the imbruted
blacks, who had been the instruments of cruelty upon him ;
and, the instant Legree withdrew, they took him down, and,
in their ignorance, sought to call him back to life, as if that
were any favor to him.
" Sartin, we s been doin a drefful wicked thing!" said
Sambo; "hopes Mas r 11 have to count for it, and not we."
They washed his wounds, they provided a rude bed, of
some refuse cotton, for him to lie down on ; and one of them,
stealing up to the house, begged a drink of brandy of Legree,
pretending that he was tired, and wanted it for himself. He
brought it back, and poured it down Tom s throat.
" 0, Tom ! " said Quimbo, " we s been awful wicked to ye !
% forgive ye. with all my heart!" said Tom, faintly.
; Tom ! do tell us who is Jesus, anyhow?" said Sambo;
" Jesus, that s been a standin by you so, all this night !
Who is he?"
The word roused the failing, fainting spirit. He poured
forth a few energetic sentences of that wondrous One, his
life, his death, his everlasting presence, and power to save.
They wept, both the two savage men.
" Why did n t I never hear this before ? " said Sambo ; "but
I do believe ! I can t help it ! Lord Jesus, have mercy on
us!"
"Poor critters !" said Tom, "I d be willing to bar all I
have, if it 11 only bring ye to Christ ! 0, Lord ! give me
these two more souls, I pray ! "
That prayer was answered !
276 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
CHAPTER XL!
THE YOUNG MASTER.
Two days after, a young man drove a light wagon up
through the avenue of china-trees, and, throwing the reins
hastily on the horses neck, sprang out and inquired for the
owner of the place.
It was George Shelby ; and, to show how he came to be
there, we must go back in our story.
The letter of Miss Ophelia to Mrs. Shelby had, by some
unfortunate accident, been detained, for a month or two, at
some remote post-office, before it reached its destination ; and,
of course, before it was received, Tom was already lost to
view among the distant swamps of the Red river.
Mrs. Shelby read the intelligence with the deepest con
cern ; but any immediate action upon it was an impossibility.
She was then in attendance on the sick-bed of her husband,
who lay delirious in the crisis of a fever. Master George
Shelby, who, in the interval, had changed from a boy to a tall
young man, was her constant and faithful assistant, and her only
reliance in superintending his father s affairs. Miss Ophelia
had taken the precaution to send them the name of the lawyer
who did business for the St. Clares ; and the most that, in the
emergency, could be done, was to address a letter of inquiry
to him. The sudden death of Mr. Shelby, a few days after,
brought, of course, an absorbing pressure of other interests,
for a season. v
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 277
Mr. Shelby showed his confidence in his wife s ability, by
appointing her sole executrix upon his estates ; and thus
immediately a large and complicated amount of business was
brought upon her hands.
Mrs. Shelby, with characteristic energy, applied herself to
the work of straightening the entangled web of affairs ; and
she and George were for some time occupied with collect
ing and examining accounts, selling property and settling
debts ; for Mrs. Shelby was determined that everything
should be brought into tangible and recognizable shape, let
the consequences to her prove what they might. In the
mean time, they received a letter from the lawyer to whom
Miss Ophelia had referred them, saying that he knew nothing
of the matter ; that the man was sold at a public auction, and
that, beyond receiving the money, he knew nothing of the
affair.
Neither George nor Mrs. Shelby could be easy at this
result; and, accordingly, some six months after, the latter,
having business for his mother, down the river, resolved to
visit New Orleans, in person, and push his inquiries, in hopes
of discovering Tom s whereabouts, and restoring him.
After some months of unsuccessful search, by the merest
accident, George fell in with a man,^ in New Orleans, who
happened to be possessed of the desired information; and
with his money in his pocket, our hero took steamboat for
Red river, resolving to find out and re-purchase his old friend.
He was soon introduced into the house, where he found
Legree in the sitting-room.
Legree received the stranger with a kind of surly hospi
tality.
" I understand," said the young man, " that you bought,
in New Orleans, a boy, named Tom. He used to be on my
VOL. II. 24
278 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
father s place, and I came to see if I couldn t buy him
back."
Legree s brow grew dark, and he broke out, passionately :
" Yes, I did buy such a fellow, and a h 1 of a bargain
I had of it, too ! The most rebellious, saucy, impudent dog !
Set up my niggers to run away ; got off two gals, worth eight
hundred or a thousand dollars apiece. He owned to that,
and, when I bid him tell me where they was, he up and said
he knew, but he wouldn t tell; and stood to it, though I
gave him the cussedest flogging I ever gave nigger yet. I
b lieve he s trying to die; but I don t know as he 11 make it
out."
"Where is he?" said George, impetuously. "Let me see
him." The cheeks of the young man were crimson, and his
eyes flashed fire ; but he prudently said nothing, as yet.
" He s in dat ar shed," said a little fellow, who stood hold
ing George s horse.
Legree kicked the boy, and swore at him ; but George,
without saying another word, turned and strode to the spot,
Tom had been lying two days since the fatal night ; not
suffering, for every nerve of suffering was blunted and
destroyed. He lay, for the most part, in a quiet stupor ; for
the laws of a powerful and well-knit frame would not at once
release the imprisoned spirit. By stealth, there had been
there, in the darkness of the night, poor desolated creatures,
who stole from their scanty hours rest, that they might
repay to him some of those ministrations of love in which he
had always been so abundant. Truly, those poor disciples
had little to give, only the cup of cold water ; but it was
given with full hearts.
Tears had fallen on that honest, insensible face, tears of
late repentance in the poor, ignorant heathen, whom his dying
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 279
love and patience had awakened to repentance, and bitter
prayers, breathed over him to a late-found Saviour, of
whom they scarce knew more than the name, but whom the
yearning ignorant heart of man never implores in vain.
Cassy, who had glided out of her place of concealment,
and, by over-hearing, learned the sacrifice that had been made
for her and Emmeline, had been there, the night before,
defying the danger of detection ; and, moved by the few last
words which the affectionate soul had yet strength to
breathe, the long winter of despair, the ice of years, had
given way, and the dark, despairing woman had wept and
prayed.
When George entered the shed, he felt his head giddy and
his heart sick.
"Is it possible, is it possible? " said he, kneeling down
by him. " Uncle Tom, my poor, poor old friend ! "
Something in the voice penetrated to the ear of the dying.
He moved his head gently, smiled, and said,
Jesus can make a dying-bed
Feel soft as downy pillows are."
Tears which did honor to his manly heart fell from the
young man s eyes, as he bent over his poor friend.
"0, dear Uncle Tom! do wake, do speak once more!
Look up ! Here s Mas r George, your own little Mas r
George. Don t you know me?"
" Mas r George ! " said Tom, opening his eyes, and speak
ing in a feeble voice ; " Mas r George ! " He looked bewil
dered.
Slowly tne idea seemed to fill his soul ; and the vacant eye
became fixed and brightened, the whole face lighted up, the
hard hands clasped, and tears ran down the cheeks.
" Bless the Lord ! it is, it is, it s all I wanted ! They
280 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
have n t forgot me. It warms my soul ; it does my old heart
good ! Now I shall die content ! Bless the Lord, oh my
soul ! "
" You shan t die ! you must n t die, nor think of it ! I ve
come to buy you, and take you home," said George, with
impetuous vehemence.
" 0, Mas r George, ye re too late. The Lord s bought
me, and is going to take me home, and I long to go.
Heaven is better than Kintuck."
" 0, don t die ! It 11 kill me ! it 11 break my heart to
think what you ve suffered, and lying in this old shed, here !
Poor, poor fellow ! "
"Don t call me poor fellow!" said Tom, solemnly. "I
have been poor fellow; but that s all past and gone, now.
I m right in the door, going into glory ! 0, Mas r George !
Heaven has come ! I ve got the victory ! the Lord Jesus
has given it to me ! Glory be to His name ! "
George was awe-struck at the force, the vehemence, the
power, with which these broken sentences were uttered. He
sat gazing in silence.
Tom grasped his hand, and continued, " Ye must n t, now,
tell Chloe, poor soul ! how ye found me ; t would be so
dreiful to her. Only tell her ye found me going into glory ;
and that I could n t stay for no one. And tell her the Lord s
stood by me everywhere and al ays, and made everything
light and easy. And oh, the poor chil en, and the baby!
my old heart s been most broke for em, time and agin ! Tell
em all to follow me follow me ! Give my love to Mas r,
and dear good Missis, and everybody in the place ! Ye don t
know ! Pears like I loves em all ! I loves every creatur
everywhar ! it s nothing but love ! 0, Mas r George .
what a thing tis to be a Christian ! "
LIFE AMOtfG THE LOWLY. 281
At this moment, Legree sauntered up to the door of the
shed, looked in, with a dogged air of affected carelessness, and
turned away.
" The old satan ! " said George, in his indignation. " It s
a comfort to think the devil will pay him for this, some of
these days ! "
" 0, don t! oh, ye mustn t!" said Tom, grasping his
hand; "he s a poor mis able critter! it s awful to think
on t! 0, if he only could repent, the Lord would forgive
him now ; but I m feared he never will ! "
" I hope he won t ! " said George; " I never want to see
him in heaven !"
" Hush, Mas r George ! it worries me ! Don t feel so !
He an t done me no real harm, only opened the gate of the
kingdom for me ; that s all ! "
At this moment, the sudden flush of strength which the joy
of meeting his young master had infused into the dying man
gave way. A sudden sinking fell upon him ; he closed his
eyes ; and that mysterious and sublime change passed over
his face, that told the approach of other worlds.
He began to draw his breath with long, deep inspirations ;
and his broad chest rose and fell, heavily. The expression of
his face was that of a conqueror.
"Who, who, who shall separate us from the love of
Christ ?" he said, in a voice that contended with mortal weak
ness ; and, with a smile, he fell asleep.
George sat fixed with solemn awe. It seemed to him that
the place was holy ; and, as he closed the lifeless eyes, and
rose up from the dead, only one thought possessed him, that
expressed by his simple old friend, " What a thing it is to
be a Christian ! "
He turned : Legree was standing, sullenly, behind him.
VOL. ii. 24*
282 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OR.
__
Something in that dying scene had checked the natural
fierceness of youthful passion. The presence of the man was
simply loathsome to George ; and he felt only an impulse to
get away from him, with as few words as possible.
Fixing his keen dark eyes on Legree, he simply said,
pointing to the dead, " You have got all you ever can of
him. What shall I pay you for the body ? I will take it
away, and bury it decently."
" I don t sell dead niggers," said Legree, doggedly. " You
are welcome to bury him where and when you like."
" Boys," said George, in an authoritative tone, to two or
three negroes, who were looking at the body, "help me lift
him up, and carry him to my wagon ; and get me a spade."
One of them ran for a spade; the other two assisted George
to carry the body to the wagon.
George neither spoke to nor looked at Legree, who did not
countermand his orders, but stood, whistling, with an air of
forced unconcern. He sulkily followed them to where the
wagon stood at the door.
George spread his cloak in the wagon, and had the body
carefully disposed of in it, moving the seat, so as to give it
room. Then he turned, fixed his eyes on Legree, and said,
with forced composure,
" I have not, as yet, said to you what I think of this most
atrocious affair ; this is not the time and place. But, sir,
this innocent blood shall have justice. I will proclaim this
murder. I will go to the very first magistrate, and expose
you."
" Do ! " said Legree, snapping his fingers, scornfully. " I ; d
like to see you doing it. Where you going to get witnesses 9
how you going to prove it? Come, now ! "
George saw, at once, the force of this defiance. There was
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 283
=-^
not a white person on the place ; and, in all southern courts,
the testimony of colored blood is nothing. He felt, at that
moment, as if he could have rent the heavens with his heart s
indignant cry for justice ; but in vain.
" After all, what a fuss, for a dead nigger ! " said Legree.
The word was as a spark to a powder magazine. Prudence
was never a cardinal virtue of the Kentucky boy. George
turned, and, with one indignant blow, knocked Legree flat
upon his face ; and, as he stood over him, blazing with wrath
and defiance, he would have formed no bad personification of
his great namesake triumphing over the dragon.
Some men, however, are decidedly bettered by being
knocked down. If a man lays them fairly flat in the dust,
they seem immediately to conceive a respect for him ; and
Legree was one of this sort. As he rose, therefore, and
brushed the dust from his clothes, he eyed the slowly-retreat
ing wagon with some evident consideration ; nor did he open
his mouth till it was out of sight.
Beyond the boundaries of the plantation, George had noticed
a dry, sandy knoll, shaded by a few trees : there they made
the grave.
"Shall we take off the cloak, Mas r?" said the negroes,
when the grave was ready.
No, no, bury it with him ! It s all I can give you,
now, poor Tom, and you shall have it."
They laid him in ; and the men shovelled away, silently.
They banked it up, and laid green turf over it.
" You may go, boys," said George, slipping a quarter into
the hand of each. They lingered about, however.
" If young Mas r would please buy us " said one.
"We d serve him so faithful ! " said the other,
284 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OK,
" Hard times here, Mas r ! " said the first. " Do, Mas r,
buy us, please !"
" I can t ! I can t ! " said George, with difficulty, motion
ing them off; " it s impossible ! "
The poor fellows looked dejected, and walked off in silence.
"Witness, eternal God!" said George, kneeling on the
grave of his poor friend; " oh, witness, that, from this hour,
I will do what one man can to drive out this curse of slav
ery from my land !"
There is no monument to mark the last resting-place of
our friend. He needs none ! His Lord knows where he lies,
and will raise him up, immortal, to appear with him when he
shall appear in his glory.
Pity him not ! Such a life and death is not for pity !
Not in the riches of omnipotence is the chief glory of God ;
but in self-denying, suffering love ! And blessed are the men
whom he calls to fellowship with him, bearing their cross
after him with patience. Of such it is written, " Blessed are
they that mourn, for they shall be comforted."
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 285
CHAPTER XLH.
AN AUTHENTIC GnOST STORY.
FOB, some remarkable reason, ghostly legends were uncom
monly rife, about this time, among the servants on Legree s
place.
It was whisperingly asserted that footsteps, in the dead of
night, had been heard descending the garret stairs, and patrol
ling the house. In vain the doors of the upper entry had been
locked ; the ghost either carried a duplicate key in its pocket,
or availed itself of a ghost s immemorial privilege of coming
through the keyhole, and promenaded as before, with a free
dom that was alarming.
Authorities were somewhat divided, as to the outward form
of the spirit, owing to a custom quite prevalent among negroes,
and, for aught we know, among whites, too, of invariably
shutting the eyes, and covering up heads under blankets, petti
coats, or whatever else might come in use for a shelter, on these
occasions. Of course, as everybody knows, when the bodily
eyes are thus out of the lists, the spiritual eyes are uncommonly
vivacious and perspicuous ; and, therefore, there were abun
dance of full-length portraits of the ghost, abundantly sworn
and testified tOj which, as is often the case with portraits,
agreed with each other in no particular, except the common
family peculiarity of the ghost tribe, the wearing of a white
sheet. The poor souls were not versed in ancient history,
286 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: on,
and did not know that Shakspeare had authenticated this
costume, by telling how
" The sheeted dead
Did squeak and gibber in the streets of Rome. *
And, therefore, their all hitting upon this is a striking fact
in pneumatology, which we recommend to the attention of
spiritual media generally.
Be it as it may, we have private reasons for knowing that
a tall figure in a white sheet did walk, at the most approved
ghostly hours, around the Legree premises, pass out the
doors, glide about the house, disappear at intervals, and,
reappearing, pass up the silent stair-way, into that fatal
garret ;"* and that, in the morning, the entry doors were all
found shut and locked as firm as ever.
Legree could not help overhearing this whispering ; and it
was all the more exciting to him, from the pains that were
taken to conceal it from him. He drank more brandy than
usual ; held up his head briskly, and swore louder than ever
in the day-time; but he had bad dreams, and the visions of his
head on his bed were anything but agreeable. The night
after Tom s body had been carried away, he rode to the next
town for a carouse, and had a high one. Got home late and
tired ; locked his door, took out the key, and went to bed.
After all, let a man take what pains he may to hush it
down, a human soul is an awful ghostly, unquiet possession,
for a bad man to have. Who knows the metes and bounds
of it ? Who knows all its awful perhapses, those shudder-
ings and tremblings, which it can no more live down than it
can outlive its own eternity ! What a fool is he who locks
his door to keep out spirits, who has in his own bosom a spirit
he dares not meet alone, whose voice, smothered far clown,
LIFE .AMONG THE LOWLY. 287
and piled over with mountains of earthliness, is jet like the
forewarning trumpet of doom !
But Legree locked his door and set a chair against it ;
he set a night-lamp at the head of his bed ; and he put his
pistols there. He examined the catches and fastenings of tho
windows, and then swore he " did n t care for the devil and all
his angels," and went to sleep.
Well, he slept, for he was tired, slept soundly. But,
finally, there came over his sleep a shadow, a horror, an
apprehension of something dreadful hanging over him. It
was his mother s shroud, he thought ; but Gassy had it, hold
ing it up, and showing it to him. He heard a confused
noise of screams and groanings ; and, with it all, he knew
he was asleep, and he struggled to wake himself. He was
half awake. He was sure something was coming into his
room. He knew the door was opening, but he could not
stir hand or foot. At last he turned, with a start ; the door
was open, and he saw a hand putting out his light.
It was a cloudy, misty moonlight, and there he saw it !
something white, gliding in ! He heard the still rustle of its
ghostly garments. It stood still by his bed ; a cold hand
touched his ; a voice said, three times, in a low, fearful whis
per, "Come! come! come!" And, while he lay sweating
with terror, he knew not when or how, the thing was gone.
He sprang out of bed, and pulled at the door. It was shut
and locked, and the man fell down in a swoon.
After this, Legree became a harder drinker than ever
before. He no longer drank cautiously, prudently, but
imprudently and recklessly.
There were reports around the country, soon after, that he
was sick and dying. Excess had brought on that frightful
disease that seems to throw the lurid shadows of a coming
288 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OR,
retribution back into the present life. None could bear the
horrors of that sick room, when he raved and screamed, and
spoke of sights which almost stopped the blood of those who
heard him ; and, at his dying bed, stood a stern, white, inexor
able figure, saying, " Come ! come ! come ! "
By a singular coincidence, on the very night that this
vision appeared to Legree, the house-door was found open in
the morning, and some of the negroes had seen two white
figures gliding down the avenue towards the high-road.
It was near sunrise when Gassy and Emmeline paused, for
a moment, in a little knot of trees near the town.
Gassy was dressed after the manner of the Creole Spanish
ladies, wholly in black. A small black bonnet on her head,
covered by a veil thick with embroidery, concealed her face.
It had been agreed that, in their escape, she was to persoriate
the character of a Creole lady, and Emmeline that of her
servant.
Brought up, from early life, in connection with the highest
society, the language, movements and air of Cassy, were all
in agreement with this idea; and she had still enough remain
ing with her, of a once splendid wardrobe, and sets of jewels,
to enable her to personate the thing to advantage.
She stopped in the outskirts of the town, where she had
noticed trunks for sale, and purchased a handsome one. This
she requested the man to send along with her. And, accord
ingly, thus escorted by a boy wheeling her trunk, and Emme
line behind her, carrying her carpet-bag and sundry bundles,
she made her appearance at the small tavern, like a lady of
consideration.
The first person that struck her, after her arrival, was
George Shelby, who was staying there, awaiting the next
boat.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 289
Cassy had remarked the young man from her loop-hole in
the garret, and seen him bear away the body of Tom, and
observed, with secret exultation, his rencontre with Legree.
Subsequently, she had gathered, from the conversations she
had overheard among the negroes, as she glided about in her
ghostly disguise, after nightfall, who he was, and in what
relation he stood to Tom. She, therefore, felt an immediate
accession of confidence, when she found that he was, like
herself, awaiting the next boat.
Cassy s air and manner, address, and evident command of
money, prevented any rising disposition to suspicion in tho
hotel. People never inquire too closely into those who are
fair on the main point, of paying well, a thing which Cassy
had foreseen when she provided herself with money.
In the edge of the evening, a boat was heard coming along,
and George Shelby handed Cassy aboard, with the politeness
which comes naturally to every Kentuckian, and exerted him
self to provide her with a good state-room.
Cassy kept her room and bed, on pretext of illness, during
the whole time they were on Red river ; and was waited on,
with obsequious devotion, by her attendant.
When they arrived at the Mississippi river, George, having
learned that the course of the strange lady was upward, like
his own, proposed to take a state-room for her on the same
boat with himself, good-naturedly compassionating her fee
ble health, and desirous to do what he could to assist her.
Behold, therefore, the whole party safely transferred to the
good steamer Cincinnati, and sweeping up the river under a
powerful head of steam.
Cassy s health was much better. She sat upon the guards,
came to the table, and was remarked upon in the boat as a
lady that must have been very handsome.
VOL. n. 25
^ 290 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OK,
J :
From the moment that George got the first glimpse of her
face, he was troubled with one of those fleeting and indefinite
likenesses, which almost everybody can remember, and has
been, at times, perplexed with. He could not keep himself
from looking at her, and watching her perpetually. At table,
or sitting at her state-room door, still she would encounter
the young man s eyes fixed on her, and politely withdrawn,
when she showed, by her countenance, that she was sensible
of the observation.
Cassy became uneasy. She began to think that he sus
pected something; and finally resolved to throw herself
entirely on his generosity, and intrusted him with her whole
history.
George was heartily disposed to sympathize with any one
who had escaped from Legree s plantation, a place that he
could not remember or speak of with patience, and, with
the courageous disregard of consequences which is charac
teristic of his age and state, he assured her that he would do
all in his power to protect and bring them through.
The next state-room to Cassy s was occupied by a French
lady, named De Thoux, who was accompanied by a fine little
daughter, a child of some twelve summers.
This lady, having gathered, from George s conversation,
that he was from Kentucky, seemed evidently disposed to
cultivate his acquaintance ; in which design she was seconded
by the graces of her little girl, who was about as pretty a
plaything as ever diverted the weariness of a fortnight s trip
on a steamboat.
George s chair was often placed at her state-room door; and
Cassy, as she sat upon the guards, could hear their conver
sation.
Madame de Thoux was very minute in her inquiries as to
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 291
Kentucky, where she said she had resided in a former period
of her life. George discovered, to his surprise, that her for
mer residence must have heen in his own vicinity ; and her
inquiries showed a knowledge of people and things in his
region, that was perfectly surprising to him.
"Do you know," said Madame de Thoux to him, one day,
"of any man, in your neighborhood, of the name of Harris?"
"There is an old fellow, of that name, lives not far from
my father s place," said George. "We never have had much
intercourse with him, though."
"He is a large slave-owner, I believe," said Madame de
Thoux, with a manner which seemed to betray more interest
than she was exactly willing to show.
"He is," said George, looking rather surprised at her
manner.
"Did you ever know of his having perhaps, you may
have heard of his having a mulatto boy, named George ?"
"0, certainly, George Harris, I know him well; he
married a servant of my mother s, but has escaped, now, to
Canada."
"He has?" said Madame de Thoux, quickly. "Thank
God ! "
George looked a surprised inquiry, but said nothing.
Madame de Thoux leaned her head on her hand, and burst
into tears.
" He is my brother," she said.
" Madame ! " said George, with a strong accent of sur
prise.
"Yes," said Madame de Thoux, lifting her head, proudly,
and wiping her tears; "Mr. Shelby, George Harris is my
brother!"
292 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OR,
"I am perfectly astonished," said George, pushing back
his chair a pace or two, and looking at Madame de Thoux.
"I was sold to the South when he was a boy," said she.
"I was bought by a good and generous man. He took me
with him to the West Indies, set me free, and married me.
It is but lately that he died ; and I was coming up to Ken
tucky, to see if I could find and redeem my brother."
"I have heard him speak of a sister Emily, that was sold
South," said George.
" Yes, indeed ! I am the one," said Madame de Thoux;
" tell me what sort of a "
" A very fine young man," said George, " notwithstand
ing the curse of slavery that lay on him. He sustained a
first rate character, both for intelligence and principle. I
know, you see," he said; " because he married in our
family."
" What sort of a girl ? " said Madame de Thoux, eagerly.
"A treasure," said George; "a beautiful, intelligent, amia
ble girl. Very pious. My mother had brought her up, and
trained her as carefully, almost, as a daughter. She could
read and write, embroider and Sew, beautifully ; and was a
beautiful singer."
" Was she born in your house ? " said Madame de Thoux.
" No. Father bought her once, in one of his trips to New
Orleans, and brought her up as a present to mother. She
was about eight or nine years old, then. Father would never*
tell mother what he gave for her; but, the other day, in look
ing over his old papers, we came across the bill of sale. He
paid an extravagant sum for her, to be sure. I suppose, on
account of her extraordinary beauty."
George sat with his back to Gassy, and did not see the
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 293
absorbed expression of her countenance, as he was givin
these details.
At this point in the story, she touched his arm, and, with
face perfectly white with interest, said, "Do you know the
names of the people he bought her of ? "
" A man of the name of Simmons, I think, was the princi
pal in the transaction. At least, I think that was the name
on the bill of sale."
" 0, my God! " said Cassy, and fell insensible on the floor
of the cabin.
George was wide awake now, and so was Madame do
Thoux. Though neither of them could conjecture what was
the cause of Cassy s fainting, still they made all the tumult
which is proper in such cases; George upsetting awash-
pitcher, and breaking two tumblers, in the warmth of his
humanity ; and various ladies in the cabin, hearing that
somebody had fainted, crowded the state-room door, and kept
out all the air they possibly could, so that, on the whole, every
thing was done that could be expected.
Poor Cassy ! when she recovered, turned her face to the
wall, and wept and sobbed like a child, perhaps, mother,
you can tell what she was thinking of! Perhaps you cannot,
but she felt as sure, in that hour, that God had had mercy
on her, and that she should see her daughter, as she did,
months afterwards, when but we anticipate.
VOL. ir. 25*
294 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OR,
*
CHAPTER XLIII.
RESULTS.
THE rest of our story is soon told. George Shelby j
interested, as any other young man might be, by the romance
of the incident, no less than by feelings of humanity,
was at the pains to send to Gassy the bill" of sale of Eliza ;
whose date and name all corresponded with her own knowl
edge of facts, and left no doubt upon- her mind as to the
identity of her child. It remained now only for her to trace
out the path of the fugitives.
Madame de Thoux and she, thus drawn together by the
singular coincidence of their fortunes, proceeded immediately
to Canada, and began a tour of inquiry among the stations,
where the numerous fugitives from slavery are located. At
Amherstberg they found the missionary with whom George
and Eliza had taken shelter, on their first arrival in Canada ;
and through him were enabled to trace the family to Mon
treal.
George and Eliza had now been five years free., Georga
had found constant occupation in the shop of a worthy
machinist, where he had been earning a competent support
for his family, which, in the mean time, had been increased by
the addition of another daughter.
Little Harry a fine bright boy had been put to a good
school, and was making rapid proficiency in knowledge.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 295
The worthy pastor of the station, in Amherstberg, wher^*
George had first landed, was so much interested in the stajfl
ments of Madame de Thoux and Gassy, that he yielded to
the solicitations of the former, to accompany them to Mon
treal, in their search, she bearing all the expense of the
expedition.
The scene now changes to a small, neat tenement, in the
outskirts of Montreal ; the time, evening. A cheerful fire
blazes on the hearth ; a tea-table, covered with a snowy cloth,
stands prepared for the evening meal. In one corner of the
room was a table covered with a green cloth, where was an
open writing-desk, pens, paper, and over it a shelf of well-
selected books.
This was George s study. The same zeal for self-improve
ment, which led him to steal the much coveted arts of reading
and writing, amid all the toils and discouragements of his
early life, still led him to devote all his leisure time to self-
cultivation.
At this present time, he is seated at the table, making
notes from a volume of the family library he has been
reading.
" Come, George," says Eliza, "you ve been gone all day.
Do put down that book, and let s talk, while I m getting tea,
do."
And little Eliza seconds the effort, by toddling up to her
father, and trying to pull the book out of his hand, and install
herself on his knee as a substitute.
" 0, you little witch !" says George, yielding, as, in such
circumstances, man always must.
"That s right." says Eliza, as she begins to cut a loaf of
bread. A little older she looks; her form a. little fuller;
296 UNCLE IOM S CABIN: OR,
Aer air more matronly than of yore; but evidently con
tented and happy as woman need be.
" Harry, my boy, how did you come on in that sum,
to-day?" says George, as he laid his hand on his son s
head.
Harry has lost his long curls ; but he can never lose those
eyes and eyelashes, and that fine, bold brow, that flushes with
triumph, as he answers, "I did it, every bit of it, myself,
father; and nobody helped me ! "
" That s right," says his father; " depend on yourself,
my son. You have a better chance than ever your poor
father had."
At this moment, there is a rap at the door ; and Eliza goes
and opens it. The delighted " Why ! this you?"
calls up her husband ; and the good pastor of Amherstberg
is welcomed. There are two more women with him, and Eliza
asks them to sit down.
JSTow, if the truth must be told, the honest pastor had
arranged a little programme, according to which this affair
was to develop itself; and, on the way up, all had very
cautiously and prudently exhorted each other not to let
things out, except according to previous arrangement.
What was the good man s consternation, therefore, just as
he had motioned to the ladies to be seated, and was taking
out his pocket-handkerchief to wipe his mouth, so as to
proceed to his introductory speech in good order, when
Madame de Thoux upset the whole plan, by throwing her
arms around George s neck, and letting all out at once, by
saying, " 0, George! don t you know me? I m your
sister Emily."
Gassy had seated herself more composedly, and would have
carried on her part very well, had not little Eliza suddenly
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 29V
appeared before her in exact shape and form, every outline
and curl, just as her daughter was when she saw her lastfl
The little thing peered up in her face ; and Cassy caught her
up in her arms, pressed her to her bosom, saying, what
at the moment she really believed, "Darling, I m your
mother!"
In fact, it was a troublesome matter to do up exactly in
proper order ; but the good pastor, at last, succeeded in
getting everybody quiet, and delivering the speech with
which he had intended to open the exercises ; and in which,
at last, he succeeded so well, that his whole audience were
sobbing about him in a manner that ought to satisfy any
orator, ancient or modern.
They knelt together, and the good man prayed, for there
are some feelings so agitated and tumultuous, that they can
find rest only by being poured into the bosom of Almighty
love, and then, rising up, the new-found family embraced
each other, with a holy trust in Him, who from such peril
and dangers, and by such unknown ways, had brought them
together.
The note-book of a missionary, among the Canadian fugi-
Hives, contains truth stranger than fiction. How can it be
otherwise, when a system prevails which whirls families and
scatters their members, as the wind whirls and scatters
the leaves of autumn? These shores of refuge, like the
eternal shore, often unite again, in glad communion, hearts
that for long years have mourned each other as lost. And
affecting beyond expression- is the earnestness with which
every new arrival among them is met, if, perchance, it may
bring tidings of mother, sister, child or wife, still lost to view
in the shadows of slavery.
Deeds of heroism are wrought here more than those of
298 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OR,
romance, when, defying torture, and braving death itself, the
^ fugitive voluntarily threads his way back to the terrors and
perils of that dark land, that he may bring out his sister, or
mother, or wife.
One young man, of whom a missionary has told us, twice
re-captured, and suffering shameful stripes for his heroism,
had escaped again ; and, in a letter which we heard read, tella
his friends that he is going back a third time, that he may, at
last, bring away his sister. My good sir, is this man a hero,
or a criminal ? Would not you do as much for your sister ?
And can you blame him ?
But, to return to our friends, whom we left wiping their
eyes, and recovering themselves from too great and sudden a
joy. They are now seated around the social board, and are
getting decidedly companionable : only that Gassy, who keeps
little Eliza on her lap, occasionally squeezes the little thing,
in a manner that rather astonishes her, and obstinately
refuses to have her mouth stuffed with cake to the extent the
little one desires, alleging, what the child rather wonders at,
that she has got something better than cake, and does n t
want it.
And, indeed, in two or three days, such a change has
passed over Gassy, that our readers would scarcely know her.
The despairing, haggard expression of her face had given
Way to one of gentle trust. She seemed to sink, at once, into
the bosom of the family, and take the little ones into her
heart, as something for which it long had waited. Indeed,
her love seemed to flow more naturally to the little Eliza
than to her own daughter ; for she was the exact image and
body of the child whom she had lost. The little one was a
flowery bond between mother and daughter, through whom
grew up acquaintanceship and affection. Eliza s steady, con-
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 299
eistent piety, regulated by the constant reading of the sacred
word, made her a proper guide for the shattered and wearied
mind of her mother. Gassy yielded at once, and with her
whole soul, to every good influence, and became a devout
and tender Christian.
After a day or two, Madame de Thoux told her brother
more particularly of her affairs. The death of her husband
had left her an ample fortune, which she generously offered
to share with the .family. When she asked George what
way she could best apply it for him, he answered, " Give me
an education, Emily ; that has always been my heart s desire.
Then, I can do all the rest."
On mature deliberation, it was decided that the whole
family should go, for some years, to France ; whither they
sailed, carrying Emmeline with them.
The good looks of the latter won the affection of the first
mate of the vessel; and, shortly after entering the port, she
became his wife.
George remained four years at a French university, and,
applying himself with an unintermitted zeal, obtained a very
thorough education.
Political troubles in France, at last, led the family again
to seek an asylum in this country.
George s feelings and views, as an educated man, may be
best expressed in a letter to one of his friends.
" I feel somewhat at a loss, as to my future course. True,
as you have said to me, I might mingle in the circles of the
whites, in this country, my shade of color is so slight, and
that of my wife and family scarce perceptible. Well,
perhaps, on sufferance, I might. But, to tell you the truth,
I have no wish to.
" My sympathies are not for my father s race, but for my
00 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
I
mother s. To him I was no more than a fine dog or horse :
to my poor heart-broken mother I was a child; and, though
I never saw her, after the cruel sale that separated us, till she j
died, yet I knoib she always loved me dearly. I know it by
my own heart. When I think of all she suffered, of my own
early sufferings, of the distresses and struggles of my heroic
wife, of my sister, sold in the New Orleans slave-market, ;
though I hope to have no unchristian sentiments, yet I may
be excused for saying, I have no wish to pass for an Amer- j
ican, or to identify myself with them.
"It is with the oppressed, enslaved African race that I
cast in my lot ; and, if I wished anything, I would wish my
self two shades darker, rather than one lighter.
"The desire and yearning of my soul is for an African
nationality. I want a people that shall have a tangible,
separate existence of its own ; and where am I to look for it ?
Not in Hayti ; for in Hayti they had nothing to start with.
A stream cannot rise above its fountain. The race that
formed the character of the Haytiens was a worn-out, effem
inate one ; and, of course, the subject race will be centuries in
rising to anything.
" Where, then, shall I look? On the shores of Africa I
see a republic, a republic formed of picked men, who, by
energy and self-educating force, have, in many cases, individ
ually, raised themselves above a condition of slavery. Having
gone through a preparatory stage of feebleness, this republic
has, at last, become an acknowledged nation on the face of
the earth, acknowledged by both France and England.
There it is my wish to go, and find myself a people.
" I am aware, now, that I shall have you all against me ;
but, before you strike, hear me. During my stay in France,
I have followed up, with intense interest, the history of my
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 801
people in America. I have noted the struggle between abo
litionist and colonizationist, and have received some impres
sions, as a distant spectator, which could never have occurred
to me as a participator.
" I grant that this Liberia may have subserved all sorts of
purposes, by being played off, in the hands of our oppressors,
against us. Doubtless the scheme may have been used, in
unjustifiably ways, as a means of retarding our emancipation.
But the question to me is, Is there not a God above all man s
schemes ? May He not have overruled their designs, and
founded for us a nation by them ?
" In these days, a nation is born in a day. A nation starts,
now, with all the great problems of republican life and civil
ization wrought out to its hand ; it has not to discover, but
only to apply. Let us, then, all take hold together, with all
our might, and see what we can do with this new enterprise,
and the whole splendid continent of Africa opens before us
and our children. Our nation shall roll the tide of civiliza
tion and Christianity along its shores, and plant there mighty
republics, that, growing with the rapidity of tropical vege
tation, shall be for all coming ages.
"Do you say that I am deserting my enslaved brethren?
I think not. If I forget them one hour, one moment of my
life, so may God forget me ! But, what can I do for them,
here ? Can I break their chains ? No, not as an individual ;
but, let me go and form part of a nation, which shall have a
voice in the councils of nations, and then we can speak. A
nation has a right to argue, remonstrate, implore, and present
the cause of its race, which an individual has not.
"If Europe ever becomes a grand council of free nations, \
as I trust in God it will, if, there, serfdom, and all unjust !
and oppressive social inequalities, are done away ; and if they, ,
VOL, IT. 26
302 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: on,
as France and England have done, acknowledge our position,
then, in the great congress of nations, we will make our
appeal, and present the cause of our enslaved and suffering
race ; and it cannot be that free, enlightened America will
not then desire to wipe from her escutcheon that bar sinister
which disgraces her among nations, and is as truly a curse to
her as to the enslaved.
"But, you will tell me, our race have equal rights to
mingle in the American republic as the Irishman, the German,
the Swede. Granted, they have. We ought to be free to
meet and mingle, to rise by our individual worth, without
any consideration of caste or color ; and they who deny us
this right are false to their own professed principles of human
equality. We ought, in particular, to be allowed here. We
have more than the rights of common men ; we have the
claim of an injured mcejbr^Apnrnflrvp^ But, then, I do not
want if; I want a country^ a nation, of my own. I think
that the African race has peculiarities, yet to be unfolded in
the light of civilization and Christianity, which, if not the
same with those of the Anglo-Saxon, may prove to be, morally,
of even a higher type.
" To the Anglo-Saxon race has been intrusted the destinies
of the world, during its pioneer period of struggle and conflict*
To that mission its stern, inflexible, energetic elements, were
well adapted ; but, as a Christian, I look for another era to
arise. On its borders I trust we stand ; and the throes that
now convulse the nations are, to my hope, but the birth-pangs
of an hour of universal peace and brotherhood.
" I trust that the development of Africa is to be essentially
a Christian one. If not a dominant and commanding race,
they are, at least, an affectionate, magnanimous, and. forgiving
one. Having been called in the furnace of injustice and
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 303
oppression, they have need to bind closer to their hearts that
sublime doctrine of love and forgiveness, through which alone
they are to conquer, "which it is to be their mission to spread
over the continent of Africa.
" In myself, I confess, I am feeble for this, full half the
blood in my veins is the hot and hasty Saxon ; but I have an
eloquent preacher of the Gospel ever by my side, in the per
son of my beautiful wife. When I wander, her gentler spirit
ever restores me, and keeps before my ^yes the Christian
calling and mission of our race. As a Christian patriot, as a
teacher of Christianity, I go to my country r , my chosen, my
glorious Africa ! and to her, in my heart, I sometimes
apply those splendid words of prophecy : l Whereas thou hast
been forsaken and hated, so that no man went through thee ;
/ will make thee an eternal excellence, a joy of many gene
rations ! J
" You will call me an enthusiast : you will tell me that I
have not well considered what I am undertaking. But I have
considered, and counted the cost. I go 4 to Liberia^ not as to
an Elysium of romance, but as to a, field of work. I expect
to work with both hands, to work hard ; to work against
all sorts of difficulties and discouragements ; and* to work till
I die. This is what I go for ; and in this I am quite sure I
shall not be disappointed.
"Whatever you may think of my determination, do not
divorce me from your confidence ; and think that, in whatever
I do, I act with a heart wholly given to my people.
"GEORGE HARRIS."
George, with his wife, children, sister and mother, embarked
for Africa, some few weeks after. If we are not mistaken,
the world will yet hear from him there.
804 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
Of our other characters we have nothing very particular to
write, except a word relating to Miss Ophelia and Topsy, and
a farewell chapter, which we shall dedicate to George Shelby.
Miss Ophelia took Topsy home to Vermont with her, much
to the surprise of that grave deliberative body whom a JSTew
Englander recognizes under the term " Our folks" " Our
folks," at first, thought it an odd and unnecessary addi
tion to their well- trained domestic establishment; but, so
thoroughly efficient was Miss Ophelia in her conscientious
endeavor to do her duty by her eleve, that the child rapidly
grew in grace and in favor with the family and neighborhood.
At the age of womanhood, she was, by her own request, bap
tized, and became a member of the Christian church in the
place ; and showed so much intelligence, activity and zeal, and
desire to do good in the world, that she was at last recom
mended, and approved, as -a missionary to one of the stations
in Africa ; and we have heard that the same activity and inge
nuity which, when a child, made her so multiform and rest
less in her developments, is now employed, in a safer and
wholesomer manner, in teaching the children of her own
country.
. It will be a satisfaction to some mother, also, to
state, that some inquiries, which were set on foot by Madame
de Thoux, have resulted recently in the discovery of Gassy s
ge>n. Being a young man of energy, he had escaped, some
years before his mother, and been received and educated by
friends of the oppressed in the north. He will soon follow his
family to Africa.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 305
CHAPTER XLIV.
THE LIBERATOR.
GEORGE SHELBY had written to his mother merely a line,
stating the day that she might expect him home. Of the
death scene of his old friend he had not the heart to write.
He had tried several times, and only succeeded in half chok
ing himself; and invariably finished by tearing up the paper,
wiping his eyes, and rushing somewhere to get quiet.
There was a pleased bustle all through the Shelby man
sion, that day, in expectation of the arrival of young Mas r
George.
Mrs. Shelby was seated in her comfortable parlor, where a
cheerful hickory fire was dispelling the chill of the late
autumn evenhfg. A supper-table, glittering with plate and
cut glass, was set out, on whose arrangements our former
friend, old Chloe, was presiding.
Arrayed in a new calico dress, with clean, white apron, and
high, well-starched turban, her black polished face glowing
with satisfaction, she lingered, with needless punctiliousness,
around the arrangements of the table, merely as an excuse for
talking a little to her mistress.
"Laws, now! won t it look natural to him?" she said
"Thar, I set his plate just whar he likes it, round by the
fire. Mas r George allers wants de warm seat. 0, go way !
why didn t Sally get out de best tea-pot, de little new
one, Mas r George got for Missis, Christmas ? I 11 have it
VOL. ii. 26*
806 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OK,
out ! And Missis has heard from Mas r George ? " she said,
inquiringly.
"Yes, Chloe; but only a line, just to say he would be
home to-night, if he could, that s all."
"Didn t say nothin bout my old man, s pose?" said
Chloe, still fidgeting with the tea-cups.
" No, he did n t. He did not speak of anything, Chloe.
He said he would tell all, when he got home."
" Jes like Mas r George, he s allers so ferce for tellin
everything hisself. I allers minded dat ar in Mas r George.
Don t see, for my part, how white people gen lly can bar to
hev to write things much as they do, writin s such slow,
oneasy kind o work."
Mrs. Shelby smiled.
" I ni a thinkin my old man won t know de boys and de
baby. Lor ! she s de biggest gal, now, good she is, too,
and peart, Polly is. She s out to the house, now, watch-
in de hoe-cake. I s got jist de very pattern my old man
Irked so much, a bakin . Jist sich as I gin him the mornin
he was took off. Lord bless us ! how I felt, dat ar morn-
ing!"
Mrs. Shelby sighed, and felt a heavy weight on her heart,
at this allusion. She had felt uneasy, ever since she received
her son s letter, lest something should prove to be hidden
behind the veil of silence which he had drawn.
" Missis has got dem bills ? " said Chloe, anxiously.
"Yes, Chloe."
" Cause I wants to show my old man dem very bi r 3 de
perfectioncr gave me. And, says he, c Chloe, I wish * v u d
stay longer. l Thank you, Mas r, says I, c I would, only
my old man s coming home, and Missis, she can t do \rith-
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 307
out me no longer. There s jist what I telled him. Berry
nice man, dat Mas r Jones was."
Chloe had pertinaciously insisted that the very bills in
which her wages had been paid should be preserved, to
show to her husband, in memorial of her capability. And
Mrs. Shelby had readily consented to humor her in the
request.
" He won t know Polly, my old man won t. Laws, it s
five year since they tuck him ! She was a baby den,
could n t but jist stand. Remember how tickled he used to
be, cause she would keep a fallin 7 over, when she sot out to
walk. Laws a me ! "
The rattling of wheels now was heard.
"Mas r George !" said Aunt Chloe, starting to the win
dow.
Mrs. Shelby ran to the entry door, and was folded in the
arms of her son. Aunt Chloe stood anxiously straining her
eyes out into the darkness.
" 0, poor Aunt Chloe ! " said George, stopping compas
sionately, and taking her hard, black hand between both his ;
"I d have given all my fortune to have brought him with
me, but he s gone to a better country."
There was a passionate exclamation from Mrs. Shelby, but
Aunt Chloe said nothing.
The party entered the supper-room. The money, of which
Chloe was so proud, was still lying on the table.
"Thar," said she, gathering it up, and holding it, with a
trembling hand, to her mistress, "don t never want to see nor
hear on t again. Jist as I knew t would be, sold, and
murdered on dem ar old plantations ! "
Chloe turned, and was walking proudly out of the room.
308 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OK,
Mr3. Shelby followed her softly, and took one of her hands,
drew her down into a chair, and sat down by her.
" My poor, good Chloe ! " said she.
Chloe leaned her head on her mistress shoulder, and
sobbed out, "0 Missis! scuse me, my heart s broke,
dat s all ! "
"I know it is," said* Mrs. Shelby, as her tears fell fast;
"and / cannot heal it, bit Jesus can. He healeth the bro
ken hearted, and bindeth up their wounds."
There was a silence for some time, and all wept together.
At last, George, sitting down beside the mourner, took her
hand, and, with simple pathos, repeated the triumphant scene
of her husband s death, and his last messages of love.
About a month after this, one morning, all the servants of
the Shelby estate were convened together in the great hall
that ran through the house, to hear a few words from their
young master.
To the surprise of all, he appeared among them with a
bundle of papers in his hand, containing a certificate of free
dom to every one on the place, which he read successively,
and presented, amid the sobs and tears and shouts of all
present.
Many, however, pressed around him, earnestly begging
him not to send them away ; and, with anxious faces, tender
ing back their free papers.
" We don t want to be no freer than we are. We s allers
had all we wanted. We don t want to leave de ole place, and
Mas r and Missis, and de rest ! "
"My good friends," said George, as soon as he could get
a silence, "there ll be no need for you to leave me. The
place wants as many hands to work it as it did before. We
need the same about the house that we did before. But,
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 309
you are now free men and free women. I shall pay you
wages for your work, such as we shall agree on. The advan
tage is, that in case of my getting in debt, or dying, things
that might happen, you cannot now be taken up and sold.
I expect to carry on the estate, and to teach you what, per
haps, it will take you some time to learn, how to use the
rights I give you as free men and women. I expect you tc
be good, and willing to learn ; and I trust in God that I shall
be faithful, and willing to teach. And now, my friends, look
up, and thank God for the blessing of freedom."
An aged, patriarchal negro, who had grown gray and blind
on the estate, now rose, and, lifting his trembling hand said,
"Let us give thanks unto the Lord ! " As all kneeled by
one consent, a more touching and hearty Te Deum never
ascended to heaven, though borne on the peal of organ, bell
and cannon, than came from that honest old heart.
On rising, another struck up a Methodist hymn, of which
the burden was,
" The year of Jubilee is coine,
Return, ye ransomed sinners, home."
" One thing more," said George, as he stopped the con
gratulations of the throng ; " you all remember our good old
Uncle Tom?"
George here gave a short narration of the scene of his
death, and of hij loving farewell to all on the place, and
added,
"It was on his grave, my friends, that I resolved, before
God, that I would never own another slave, while it was pos
sible to free him ; that nobody, through me, should ever
run the risk of being parted from home and friends, and
dying on a lonely plantation, as he died. So, when you
810 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
rejoice in your freedom, think that you owe it to that good
old soul, and pay it back in kindness to his wife and children.
Think of your freedom, every time you see UNCLE TOM S
CABIN ; and let it be a memorial to put you all in mind to
follow in his steps, and be as honest and faithful and Christian
as he was."
CHAPTER XLV.
CONCLUDING REMARKS.
THE writer has often been inquired of, by correspondents
from different parts of the country, whether this narrative is
a true one ; and to these inquiries she will give one general
answer.
The separate incidents that compose the narrative are, to a
very great extent, authentic, occurring, many of them, either
under her own observation, or that of her personal friends.
She or her friends have observed characters the counterpart
of almost all that are here introduced ; and many of the say
ings are word for word as heard herself, or reported to her.
The personal appearance of Eliza, the character ascribed to
her, are sketches drawn from life. The incorruptible fidelity,
piety and honesty, of Uncle Tom, had more than one develop
ment, to her personal knowledge. Some of the most deeply
tragic and romantic, some of the most terrible incidents, have
also their parallel in reality. The incident of the mother s cross
ing the Ohio river on the ice is a well-known fact. The story
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 311
of " old Prue," in the second volume, was an incident that
fell under the personal observation of a brother of the "writer,
then collecting-clerk to a large mercantile house, in New
Orlejms,,__From the same source was derived the character of
the planter Legree. Of him her brother thus wrote, speaking
of visiting his plantation, on a collecting tour : He act
ually made me feel of his fist, which was like a blacksmith s
hammer, or a nodule of iron, telling me that it was calloused
with knocking down niggers. When I left the plantation, I
drew a long breath, and felt as if I had escaped from an
ogre s den."
That the tragical fate of Tom, also, has too many times had
its parallel, there are living witnesses, all over our land, to
testify. Let it be remembered that in all southern states it
is a principle of jurisprudence that no person of colored
lineage can testify in a suit against a white, and it will be easy
to see that such a case may occur, wherever there is a man
whose passions outweigh his interests, and a slave who has man
hood or principle enough to resist his will. There is, actually, {
nothing to protect the slave s life, but the character of the \
master. Facts too shocking to be contemplated occasionally
force their way to the public ear, and the comment that one
often hears made on them is more shocking than the thing itself.
It is said, "Very likely such cases may now and then occur,
but they are no sample of general practice." If the laws of
New England were so arranged that a master could now
and then torture an apprentice to death, without a possi
bility of being brought to justice, would it be received with
equal composure ? Would it be said, " These cases are rare,
and no samples of general practice"? This injustice is :
inherent one in the slave system. it cannot exist without it.
The public and shameless sale of beautiful mulatto and
812 UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
quadroon girls lias acquired a notoriety, from the incidents
following the capture of the Pearl. We extract the following
from the speech of lion. Horace Mann, one of the legal
counsel for the defendants in that case. He says : "In that
company of seventy-six persons, who attempted, in 1848, to
escape from the District of Columbia in the schooner Pearl,
and whose officers I assisted in defending, there were several -
young and healthy girls, who had those peculiar attractions
of form and feature which connoisseurs prize so highly.
Elizabeth Kussel was one of them. She immediately fell
into the slave-trader s fangs, and was doomed for the New
Orleans market. The hearts of those that saw her were
touched with pity for her fate. They offered eighteen hun
dred dollars to redeem her ; and some there were who offered
to give, that would not have much left after the gift ; but
the fiend of a slave-trader was inexorable. She was des
patched to New Orleans ; but, when about half way there, God
had mercy on her, and smote her with death. There were
two girls named Edmundson in the same company. When
about to be sent to the same market, an older sister went to
the shambles, to plead with the wretch who owned them, for
the love of God, to spare his victims. He bantered her,
telling what fine dresses and fine furniture they would have.
Yes, she said, l that may do very well in this life, but
what will become of them in the next ? They too were
sent to New Orleans; but were afterwards redeemed, at an
enormous ransom, and brought back." Is it not plain, from
this, that the" histories of Emmeline and Cassy may have
many counterparts ?
Justice, too, obliges the author to state that the fairness
of mind and generosity attributed to St. Clare are not
without a parallel, as the following anecdote will show.
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 313
A few years since, a young southern gentleman was in
Cincinnati, with a favorite servant, who had been his personal
attendant from a boy. The young man took advantage
of this opportunity to secure his own freedom, and fled to
the protection of a Quaker, who was quite noted in affairs of
this kind. The owner was exceedingly indignant. He had
always treated the slave with such indulgence, and his con
fidence in his affection was such, that he believed he must
have been practised upon to induce him to revolt from him.
He visited the Quaker, in high anger ; but, being possessed of
uncommon candor and fairness, was soon quieted by his
arguments and representations. It was a side of the subject
which he never had heard, never had thought on ; and he
immediately told the Quaker that, if his slave would, to his
own face, say that it was his desire to be free, he would
liberate him. An interview was forthwith procured, and
Nathan was asked by his young master whether he had ever
had any reason to complain of his treatment, in any respect.
"No, Mas r," said Nathan; "you ve always been good
to me."
" Well, then, why do you want to leave me ? "
"Mas r may die, and then who get me ? I d rather be
a free man."
After some deliberation, the young master replied, " Na
than, in your place, I think I should feel very much so,
myself. You are free."
He immediately made him out free papers; deposited a
sum of money in the hands of the Quaker, to be judiciously
used in assisting him to start in life, and left a very sensible
and kind letter of advice to the young man. That letter was
for some time in the writer s hands.
The author hopes she has done justice to that nobility,
VOL. ir. 27
814
UNCLE TOM S CABIN: OR,
>
generosity, and humanity, which in many cases characterize
individuals at the South. Such instances save us from utter
despair of our kind. But, she asks any person, who knows
the world, are such characters common, anywhere ?
For many years of her life, the author avoided all reading
upon or allusion to the subject of slavery, considering it as
too painful to be inquired into, and one which advancing
light and civilization w r ould certainly live down. But, since
the legislative act of 1850, when she heard, with perfect
surprise and consternation, Christian and humane people
actually recommending the remanding escaped fugitives into
slavery, as a duty binding on good citizens. when she
heard, on all hands, from kind, compassionate and estimable
people, in the free states of the North, deliberations and
discussions as to what Christian duty could be on this head,
she could only think, These men and Christians cannot know
what slavery is ; if they did, such a question could never be
open for discussion. And from this arose a desire to exhibit
it in a living dramatic reality. She has endeavored to
show it fairly, in its best and its worst phases. In its best
aspect, she has, perhaps, been successful ; but, oh ! who shall
say what yet remains untold in that valley and shadow of
death, that lies the other side ?
To you, ^iiexQuSy-Boble-minded men and women, of the
South, you, whose virtue, and magnanimity, and purity of
character, are the greater for the severer trial it has encoun- ;
tered, to you is her appeal. Have you not, in your own
secret souls, in your own private conversings, felt that there
are woes and evils, in this accursed system, far beyond what
are here shadowed, or can be shadowed ? Can it be other
wise ? Is man ever a creature to be trusted with wholly
irresponsible power? And does not the slave system, by
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 815
denying the slave all legal right of testimony, make every indi
vidual owner an irresponsible despot ? Can anybody fail to
make the inference what the practical result will be ? If there
is, as we admit, a public sentiment among you, men of honor,
justice and humanity, is there not also another kind of public
sentiment among the ruffian, the brutal and debased ? And
cannot the ruffian, the brutal, the debased, by slave law, own
just as many slaves as the best and purest ? Are the honor
able, the just, the high-minded and compassionate, the major
ity anywhere in this world ?
The slave-trade is now, by American law, considered as
piracy. But a slave-trade, as systematic as ever was carried
on on the coast of Africa, is an inevitable attendant and result
of American slavery. And its heart-break and its horrors,
can they be told ?
The writer has given only a faint shadow, a dim picture,
of the anguish and despair that are, at this very moment,
riving thousands of hearts, shattering thousands of families,
and driving a helpless and sensitive race to frenzy and despair.
There are those living who know the mothers whom this
accursed traffic has driven to the murder of their children ;
and themselves seeking in death a shelter from woes more
dreaded than death. Nothing of tragedy can be written, can
be spoken, can be conceived, that equals the frightful reality
of scenes daily and hourly acting on our shores, beneath the
shadow of American law, and the shadow of the cross of
Christ.
And now, men and women of America, is this a thing to
be trifled with, apologized for, and passed over in silence?
Farmers of Massachusetts, of New Hampshire, of Vermont, ]
of Connecticut, who read this book by the blaze of your a
winter-evening fire, strong-hearted, generous sailors and
816 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OR,
ship-owners of Maine, is this a thing for you to countenance
and encourage? Brave and generous men of New York, farm
ers of rich and joyous Ohio, and ye of the wide prairie states,
answer, is chis a thing for you to protect and countenance 7
, And you, mothers of America, you, who have learned, by
l the cradles of your own children, to love and feel for all man
kind, by the sacred love you bear your child; by your joy
in his beautiful, spotless infancy; by the motherly pity and
tenderness with which you guide his growing years ; by the
anxieties of his education ; by the prayers you breathe for his
soul s eternal good ; I beseech you, pity the mother who has
all your affections, and not one legal right to protect, guide,
or educate, the child of her bosom ! By the sick hour of your
child ; by those dying eyes, which you can never forget ; by
those last cries, that wrung your heart when you could neither
help nor save ; by the desolation of that empty cradle, that
silent nursery, I beseech you, pity those mothers that are
constantly made childless by the American slave-trade ! And
say, mothers of America, is this a thing to be defended, sym
pathized with, passed over in silence ?
Do you say that the people of the free states have nothing
to do with it, and can do nothing? Would to God this were
true ! But it is not true. The people of the free states have
defended, encouraged, arid participated ; arid are more guilty
for it, before God, than the South, in that they have not the
apology of education or custom.
If the mothers of the free states had all felt as they should,
in times past, the sons of the free states would not have been
the holders, and, proverbially, the hardest masters of slaves ;
the sons of the free states would not have connived at the ex
tension of slavery, in our national body ; the sons of the free
states would not, as they do, trade the souls and bodies of
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 317
as an equivalent to money, in their mercantile dealings. There
are multitudes oLslayes ..temporarily owned, and sold aguin, by
merchants in northern cities; and shall the whole guilt or
obloquy of slavery fall only on the South ?
Northern men, northern mothers, northern Christians, have
something more to do than denounce their brethren at the
South; they have to look to the evil among themselves.
But, what can any individual do ? Of that, every indi
vidual can judge. There is one thing that every individual
can do, they can see to it that they feel right. An atmos
phere of sympathetic influence encircles every human being;
and the man or woman who feels strongly, healthily and
justly, on the great interests of humanity, is a constant bene
factor to the human race. See, then, to your sympathies ii*
this matter ! Are they in harmony with the sympathies of
Christ ? or are they swayed and perverted by the sophistries
of worldly policy ?
Christian men and women of the North ! still further,
you have another power ; you can pray ! Do you believe in
prayer? or has it become an indistinct apostolic tradition?
You pray for the heathen abroad ; pray also for the heathen at
home. And pray for those distressed Christians whose whole
chance of religious improvement is an accident of trade and
sale ; from whom any adherence to the morals of Christianity-
is, in many cases, an impossibility, unless they have given
them, from above, the courage and grace of martyrdom.
But, still more. On the shores of our free states
emerging the poox, skittered, broken remnants of families,
men and women, escaped, by miraculous providences, from the
surges jof... slavery. feeble in knowledge, and, in many cases,
infirm in moral constitution, from a system which confounds
and confuses every principle of Christianity and morality.
VOL. ii. 27*
318 UNCLE TOM S CABIN : OB,
They come to seek a refuge among you ; they come to seek
education, knowledge. Christianity.
What do you owe to these poor unfortunates, oh Christians ?
Does not every American Christian owe to the African race
some eflbrt at reparation for the wrongs that the American
nation has brought upon them ? Shall the doors of churches
and school-houses be shut upon them ? Shall states arise and
shake them out ? Shall the church of Christ hear in silence
the taunt that is thrown at them, and shrink away from the
helpless hand that they stretch out; and, by her silence-
encourage the cruelty that would chase them from our bor
ders 1 If it must be so, it will be a mournful spectacle. If it
must be so, the country will have reason to tremble, when it
remembers that the fate of nations is in the hands of One who
is very pitiful, and of tender compassion.
Do you say, "We don t want them here; let them go to
Africa"?
That the providence of God has provided a refuge in Africa,
is, indeed, a great and noticeable fact ; but that is no reason
why the church of Christ should throw off that responsibility
to this outcast race which her profession demands of her.
To fill up Liberia with an ignorant, inexperienced, half- bar
barized race, just escaped from the chains of slavery, would be
only to prolong, for ages, the period of struggle and conflict
which attends the inception of new enterprises. Let the church
of the north receive these poor sufferers in the spirit of Christ;
receive them to the educating advantages of Christian repub
lican society and schools, until they have attained to somewhat
of a moral and intellectual maturity, and then assist them in
their passage to those shores, where they may put in practice
the lessons they have learned in America.
There is a body of men at the north, comparatively small,
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 819
who have been doing this; and, as the result, this country ha?
already seen examples of men, formerly slaves, who have rapidly
acquired property, reputation, and education. Talent has been
developed, which, considering the circumstances, is certainly
remarkable ; and, for moral traits of honesty, kindness, tender
ness* of feeling, for heroic efforts and self-denials, endured
for the ransom of brethren and friends yet in slavery, they
have been remarkable to a degree that, considering the influ
ence under which they were born, is surprising.
The writer has lived, for many years, on the frontier-line
of slave states, and has had great opportunities of observation
among those who formerly were slaves. They have been in
her family as servants ; and, in default of any other school to
receive them, she has, in many cases, had them instructed in
a family school, with her own children. She has also the tes
timony of missionaries, among the fugitives in Canada, in
coincidence with her own experience ; and her deductions, with
regard to the capabilities of the race, are encouraging in the
highest degree.
The first desire of the emancipated slave, generally, is fo:
education. There is nothing that they are not willing to
give or do to have their children instructed; and, so far as the
writer has observed herself, or taken the testimony of teachers
among them, they are remarkably intelligent and quick to
learn. The results of schools, founded for them by benevo
lent individuals in Cincinnati, fully establish this.
The author gives the following statement of facts, on the
authority of Professor C. E. Stowe. then of Lane Seminary,
Ohio, with regard to emancipated slaves, now resident in Cin
cinnati; given to show the capability of the race, even without
any very particular assistance or encouragement.
820 UNCLE TOM S CA JIN : CR.
The initial letters alone are given. They are all residents
of Cincinnati.
"B . Furniture maker; twenty years in the city;
worth ten thousand dollars, all his own earnings ; a Baptist.
c C . Full black ; stolen from Africa ; sold in New
Orleans ; been free fifteen years ; paid for himself six hun
dred dollars; a farmer ; owns several farms in Indiana ; Pres
byterian ; probably worth fifteen or twenty thousand dollars,
all earned by himself.
" K . Full black ; dealer in real estate ; worth thirty
thousand dollars ; about forty years old ; free six years ; paid
eighteen hundred dollars for his family ; member of the Bap
tist church ; received a legacy from his master, which he hag
taken good care of, and increased.
"G . Full black; coal dealer; about thirty years
old ; worth eighteen thousand dollars ; paid for himself twice,
being once defrauded to the amount of sixteen hundred dol
lars ; made all his money by his own efforts much of it
while a slave, hiring his time of his master, and doing busi
ness for himself; a^fine, gentlemanly fellow.
C{ W . Three-fourths black ; barber and waiter ; from
Kentucky ; nineteen years free ; paid for self and family over
three thousand dollars ; worth twenty thousand dollars, all his
own earnings ; deacon in the Baptist church.
" G. D . Three-fourths black; white-washer; from
Kentucky ; nine years free ; paid fifteen hundred dollars for
self and family ; recently died, aged sixty ; worth six thousand
dollars."
Professor Stowe says, "With all these, except G , I
have been, for some years, personally acquainted, and make
my statements from my own knowledge."
The writer well remembers an aged colored woman, who
LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 321
was employe*! as a washerwoman in her father s family. The
daughter of this woman married a slave. She was a remark
ably active and capable young woman, and, by her industry
and thrift, and the most persevering self-denial, raised nine
hundred dollars for her husband s freedom 5 which she paid, as
she raised it, into the hands of his master. She yet wanted a
hundred dollars of the price, when he died. She never recov
ered any of the money.
These are but few facts, among multitudes which might be
adduced, to show the self-denial, energy, patience, and hon
esty, which the slave has exhibited in a state of freedom.
And let it be remembered that these individuals have thus
bravely succeeded in conquering for themselves comparative
wealth and social position, in the face of every disadvantage
and discouragement. The colored man, by the law of Ohio,
cannot be a voter, and, till within a few years, was even
denied the right of testimony in legal suits with the white.
Nor are these instances confined to the State of Ohio. In
all states of the Union we see men, but yesterday burst from
the shackles of slavery, who, by a self-educating force, which
cannot be too much admired, have risen to highly respectable
stations in society. Pennington, among clergymen, Douglas
and Ward, among editors, are well known instances.
If this persecuted race, with every discouragement and
disadvantage, have done thus much, how much more they
might do, if the Christian church would act towards them in
the spirit of her Lord !
This is an age of the world when nations are trembling
and convulsed. A mighty influence is abroad, surging and
heaving the world, as with an earthquake. And is America
safe? Every nation that carries in its bosom great and unre-
drcssed injustice has in it the elements of this last coiivul&ion
322 UNCLE TOM S CABIN.
For what is this mighty influence thus rousing in all
nations and languages those groanings that cannot be uttered,
for man s freedom and equality?
0, Church of Christ, read the signs of the times ! Is not
this power the spirit of HIM whose kingdom is yet to come,
and whose will to be done on earth as it is in heaven ?
But who may abide the day of his appearing? "for that day
shall burn as an oven : and he shall appear as a swift witness
against those that oppress the hireling in his wages, the
widow and the fatherless, and that turn aside the stranger
in his right: and he shall break in pieces the oppressor."
Are not these dread words for a nation bearing in her
bosom so mighty an injustice ? Christians ! every time that
you pray that the kingdom of Christ may come, can you for
get that prophecy associates, in dread fellowship, the day of
vengeance with the year of his redeemed ?
A day of grace is yet held out to us. Both North and
South have been guilty before God ; and the Christian
church has a heavy account to answer. Not by combining
together, to protect injustice and cruelty, and making a
common capital of sin, is this Union to be saved, but by
> repentance, justice and mercy; for, not urer is the eternal
law by which the millstone sinks in the ocean, than that
stronger law, by which injustice and cruelty shall bring on
nations the wrath of Almighty God !
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