John $. Leipsi'c I UNCLE TOM’S CABIN. ILLUSTRATED. * UNCLE TOM’S CABIN , OK, LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. ILLUSTRATED EDITION. COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. ORIGINAL DESIGNS BY BILLINGS ; ENGRAVED BY BAKER AND SMITH. BOSTON: JOHN P. JEWETT AND COMPANY. CLEVELAND, OHIO: JEWETT, PROCTOR, AND WORTHINGTON. 18 5 3, Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by JOHN P. JEWETT AND COMPANY, In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. STEREOTYPED AT THE BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY. PRESS OF GEO. C. RAND, COP.NHILE, BOSTON. PREFACE. The scenes of this story, as its title indicates, lie among a race hitherto ignored by the associations of polite and refined society ; an exotic race, whose ances¬ tors, bom beneath a tropic sun, brought with them, and perpetuated to their descendants, a character so essentially unlike the hard and dominant Anglo-Saxon race as for many years to have won from it only misunderstanding and contempt. But another and better day is dawning ; every influence of literature, of poetry, and of art, in our times, is becoming more and more in unison with the great master chord of Christianity, — “ Good will t to man.” The poet, the painter, and the artist now seek out and embellish the common and gentler humanities of life, and, under the allurements of fiction, breathe a humanizing and subduing influence, favorable to the 6 PREFACE. development of the great principles of Christian broth¬ erhood. The hand of benevolence is every where stretched out, searching into abuses, righting wrongs, alleviating distresses, and bringing to the knowledge and sympa¬ thies of the world the lowly, the oppressed, and the forgotten. In this general movement, unhappy Africa at last is remembered ; Africa, who began the race of civilization and human progress in the dim, gray dawn of early time, but who, for centuries, has lain bound and bleed¬ ing at the foot of civilized and Christianized humanity, imploring compassion in vain. But the heart of the dominant race who have been her conquerors, her hard masters, has at length been turned towards her in mercy ; and it has been seen how far nobler it is in nations to protect the feeble than to oppress them. Thanks be to God, the world has at last outlived the slave trade ! The object of these sketches is to awaken sym¬ pathy and feeling for the African race, as they exist among us ; to show their wrongs and sorrows, under a system so necessarily cruel and unjust as to defeat and do away the good effects of all that can be attempted for them, by their best friends, under it. In doing this, the author can sincerely disclaim PREFACE. 7 any invidious feeling towards those individuals who, often without any fault of their own, are involved in the trials and embarrassments of the legal relations of slavery. Experience has shown her that some of the noblest of minds and hearts are often thus involved ; and no one knows better than they do, that what may be gathered of the evils of slavery from sketches like these is not the half that could be told of the un¬ speakable whole. In the Northern States, these representations may, perhaps, be thought caricatures ; in the Southern States are witnesses who know their fidelity. What per¬ sonal knowledge the author has had of the truth of incidents such as here are related will appear in its time. It is a comfort to hope, as so many of the world’s sorrows and wrongs have, from age to age, been lived down, so a time shall come when sketches similar to these shall be valuable only as memorials of what has long ceased to be. When an enlightened and Christianized community shall have, on the shores of Africa, laws, language, and literature drawn from among us, may then the scenes of the house of bondage be to them like the remembrance of Egypt to the Israelite — a 8 PREFACE. motive of thankfulness to Him who hath redeemed them ! For, while politicians contend, and men are swerved this way and that by conflicting tides of interest and passion, the great cause of human liberty is in the hands of One, of whom it is said, — u He shall not fail nor be discouraged Till He have set judgment in the earth.” u He shall deliver the needy when he crieth, The poor, and him that hath no helper.” “ He shall redeem their soul from deceit and violence, And precious shall their blood be in his sight.” TABLE OE CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE In which the Reader is introduced to a Man of Humanity, . . 13 CHAPTER II. The Mother, . . . . 25 CHAPTER III. The Husband and Father, ...... „ ... . 30 CHAPTER IY. An Evening in Uncle Tom’s Cabin, . . . 37 CHAPTER Y. Showing the Feelings of living Property on chan¬ ging Owners, . . . . 51 CHAPTER YI. Discovery, . . . 01 CHAPTER YII. The Mother’s Struggle, . . 73 CHAPTER YIII. Eliza’s Escape, . 8S 9 10 CONTENTS. CHAPTER IX. In WHICH APPEARS THAT A SENATOR IS BUT A MAN, . 107 CHAPTER X. The Property is carried off, . 126 CHAPTER XI. In which Pt?operty gets into an improper State of Mind, . . 139 CHAPTER XII. Select Incident of lawful Trade, . 155 CHAPTER XIII. The Quaker Settlement, . 175 CHAPTER XIV. Evangeline, . 186 CHAPTER XV. Of Tom’s new Master, and various other Matters, . 198 CHAPTER XVI. Tom’s Mistress and her Opinions, . 217 CHAPTER XVII. The Freeman’s Defence, . 238 CHAPTER XVIII. Miss Ophet .a’s Experiences and Opinions, . . . . . 258 CHAPTER XIX. Miss Ophelia’s Experiences and Opinions, continued, 277 CHAPTER XX. Topsy . 299 CONTENTS. 1 1. CHAPTER XXI. Kentuck, . OJ 7 CHAPTER XXII. u The Grass withereth — the Flower fadetk,” . . 324 CHAPTER XXIII. Henrique, . 333 CHAPTER XXIY. Foreshadoavings, . 343 CHAPTER XXV. The little Evangelist, . 351 CHAPTER X X Y I. Death, . 357 CHAPTER XX Y II. “This is the Last of Earth,” . . . 373 CHAPTER XXYIII. Reunion, . . 382 CHAPTER XXIX. The Unprotected, . . 399 CHAPTER XXX. The Slaa^e Warehouse, . 408 CHAPTER XXXI. The Middle Passage, . 420 CHAPTER XXXII. Dark Places, . 428 CHAPTER XXXIII. Cassy, . . . 439 12 CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXXIV. Tele Quadroon’s Story, . • . 448 CHAPTER XXXV. The Tokens . . . 461 CHAPTER XXXVI. Emmeline and Cassy, . . . . 469 CHAPTER XXXVII. Liberty, . 478 CHAPTER XXXVIII. The Victory, . 486 CHAPTER XXXIX. The Stratagem, . . . . 498 CHAPTER XL. The Martyr, . .510 CHAPTER XLI. The Young Master, . . 519 CHAPTER XLII . An authentic Ghost Story, . 527 CHAPTER XLIII. Results, . 535 CHAPTER XLIV. The Liberator, . 545 CHAPTER XLV. Concluding Remarks . 550 itoV'/'i CHAPTER I. IN WHICH THE READER IS INTRODUCED TO A MAN OF HUMANITY. ate in the afternoon of a chilly day in Feb¬ ruary, two gentlemen were sitting alone over their wine, in a well-furnished dining parlor, in the town of P - , in Kentucky. There were no servants present, and the gentlemen, with chairs closely approaching, seemed to be discussing some subject with great earnestness. For convenience’ sake, we have said, hitherto, two gentle¬ men. One of the parties, however, when critically examined, did not seem, strictly speaking, to come under the species. He was a short, thick-set man, with coarse, commonplace fea¬ tures, and that swaggering air of pretension which marks a low man who is trying to elbow his way upward in the world. He was much overdressed, in a gaudy vest of many colors, a 14 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, blue neckerchief, bedropped gayly with yellow spots, and ar¬ ranged with a flaunting tie, quite in keeping with the general air of the man. His hands, large and coarse, were plentifully bedecked with rings ; and he wore a heavy gold watch chain, with a bundle of seals of portentous size, and a great variety of colors, attached to it, which, in the ardor of conversation, he was in the habit of flourishing and jingling with evident satis¬ faction. His conversation was in free and easy defiance of Murray’s Grammar, and was garnished at convenient intervals with various profane expressions, which not even the desire to be graphic in our account shall induce us to transcribe. His companion, Mr. Shelby, had the appearance of a gentle¬ man ; and the arrangements of the house, and the general air of the housekeeping, indicated easy, and even opulent cir¬ cumstances. As we before stated, the two were in the midst of an earnest conversation. “That is the way I should arrange the matter,” said Mr. Shelby. “I can’t make trade that way — I positively can’t, Mr. Shelby,” said the other, holding up a glass of wine between his eye and the light. “ Why, the fact is, Haley, Tom is an uncommon fellow ; he is certainly worth that sum any where, — steady, honest, capable, manages my whole farm like a clock.” “You mean honest as niggers go,” said Haley, helping him¬ self to a glass of brandy. “No ; I mean, really, Tom is a good, steady, sensible, pious fellow. He got religion at a camp meeting four years ago ; and I believe he really did get it. I’ve trusted him, since then, with every thing I have, — money, house, horses, — and let him come and go round the country ; and I always found him true and square in every thing.” “Some folks don’t believe there is pious niggers, Shelby,” said Haley, with a candid flourish of his hand, “but I do. I had a feller, now, in this yer last lot I took to Orleans — ’twas as good as a meeting now, really, to hear that critter pray ; and he was quite gentle and quiet like. He fetched me a good sum, too ; for I bought him cheap of a man that was ’bliged to sell out; so I realized six hundred on him. Yes. I consider LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 15 religion a valeyable thing in a nigger, when it’s the genuine article and no mistake.” “Well, Tom’s got the real article, if ever a fellow had,” rejoined the other. “ Why, last fall I let him go to Cincinnati alone, to do business for me, and bring home five hundred dol¬ lars. ‘ Tom,’ says I to him, ‘ I trust you, because I think you’re a Christian, — I know you wouldn’t cheat.’ Tom comes back, sure enough ; I knew he would. Some low fellows, they say, said to him, ‘Tom, why don’t you make tracks for Canada?’ ‘ Ah, master trusted me, and I couldn’t.’ They told me about it. I am sorry to part with Tom, I must say. You ought to let him cover the whole balance of the debt ; and you would, Haley, if you had any conscience.” “Well, I’ve got just as much conscience as any man in busi¬ ness can afford to keep, — just a little, you know, to swear by, as ’twere,” said the trader, jocularly ; “ and, then, I’m ready to do any thing in reason to ’blige friends ; but this yer, you see, is a leetle too hard on a feller — a leetle too hard.” The trader sighed contemplatively, and poured out some more brandy. “Well, then, Haley, how will you trade ?” said Mr. Shelby, after an uneasy interval of silence. “Well, haven’t you a boy or gal that you could throw in with Tom?” “ Hum ! — none that I could well spare ; to tell the truth, it’s only hard necessity makes me willing to sell at all. I don’t like parting with any of my hands, that’s a fact.” Here the door opened, and a small quadroon boy, between four and five years of age, entered the room. There was some¬ thing in his appearance remarkably beautiful and engaging. His black hair, fine as floss silk, hung in glossy curls about his round, dimpled face, while a pair of large, dark eyes, full of fire and softness, looked out from beneath the rich, long lashes, as he peered curiously into the apartment. A gay robe of scarlet and yellow plaid, carefully made and neatly fitted, set off to advantage the dark and rich style of his beauty ; and a certain comic air of assurance, blended with bashfulness, showed that he had been not unused to being pet¬ ted and noticed by his master. •j 16 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, “ Holloa, Jim Crow ! 77 said Mr. Shelby, whistling, and snap¬ ping a bunch of raisins towards him, “ pick that up, now ! 77 The child scampered, with all his little strength, after the prize, while his master laughed. “ Come here, Jim Crow,77 said he. The child came up, and the master patted the curly head, and chucked him under the chin. “Now, Jim, show this gentleman how you can dance and sing.77 The boy commenced one of those wild, grotesque songs common among the negroes, in a rich, clear voice, accompany¬ ing his singing with many comic evolutions of the hands, feet, and whole body, all in perfect time to the music. “ Bravo ! 77 said Haley, throwing him a quarter of an orange. “Now, Jim, walk like old Uncle Cudjoe, when he has the rheumatism,77 said his master. Instantly the flexible limbs of the child assumed the appear¬ ance of deformity and distortion, as, with his back humped up, and his master’s stick in his hand, he hobbled about the room, his childish face drawn into a doleful pucker, and spitting from right to left, in imitation of an old man. Both gentlemen laughed uproariously. “Now, Jim,77 said his master, “show us how old Elder Bobbins leads the psalm.77 The boy drew his chubby face down to a formidable length, and commenced toning a psalm tune through his nose, with imperturbable gravity. “ Hurrah ! bravo ! what a young 7un ! 77 said Haley ; “ that chap’s a case, I’ll promise. Tell you what,77 said he, sud¬ denly clapping his hand on Mr. Shelby’s shoulder, “ fling in that chap, and I’ll settle the business — I will. Come, now, if that ain’t doing the thing up about the lightest! 77 At this moment, the door was pushed gently open, and a young quadroon woman, apparently about twenty-five, entered the room. There needed only a glance from the child to her to iden¬ tify her as its mother. There was the same rich, full, dark eye, with its long lashes ; the same ripples of silky black hair. The brown of her complexion gave way on the cheek to a perceptible flush, which deepened as she saw the gaze of the strange man fixed upon her in bold and undisguised admira- LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 17 tion. Her dress was of the neatest possible fit, and set off to advantage her finely-moulded shape; — a delicately-formed hand and a trim foot and ankle were items of appearance that did not escape the quick eye of the trader, well used to run up at a glance the points of a fine female article. “Well, Eliza?” said her master, as she stopped and looked hesitatingly at him. “ I was looking for Harry, please, sir ; ” and the boy bound¬ ed towards her, showing his spoils, which he had gathered in the skirt of his robe. “Well, take him away, then,” said Mr. Shelby ; and hastily she withdrew, carrying the child on her arm. “By Jupiter,” said the trader, turning to him in admiration, “there’s an article, now! You might make your fortune on that ar gal in Orleans, any day. I’ve seen over a thousand, in my day, paid down for gals not a bit handsomer.” “ I don’t want to make my fortune on her,” said Mr. Shelby, dryly ; and, seeking to turn the conversation, he uncorked a bottle of fresh wine, and asked his companion’s opinion of it. “Capital, sir, — first chop!” said the trader; then turning, and slapping his hand familiarly on Shelby’s shoulder, he added, — “Come, how will you trade about the gal? — what shall I say for her ? — what’ll you take ? ” “ Mr. Haley, she is not to be sold,” said Shelby. “ My wife would not part with her for her weight in gold.” “ Ay, ay ! women always say such things, cause they ha’n’t no sort of calculation. Just show ’em how many watches, feathers, and trinkets, one’s weight in gold would buy, and that alters the case, I reckon.” “I tell you, Haley, this must not be spoken of; I say no, and I mean no,” said Shelby, decidedly, “Well, you’ll let me have the boy, though,” said the trader; “ you must own I’ve come down pretty handsomely for him.” “ What on earth can you want with the child ? ” said Shelby. “ Why, I’ve got a friend that’s going into this yer branch of the business — wants to buy up handsome boys to raise for the market. Fancy articles entirely — sell for waiters, and so on, to rich ’uns, that can pay for handsome ’uns. It sets 3 18 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, off one of yer great places — a real handsome boy to open door, wait, and tend. They fetch a good sum ; and this little devil is such a comical, musical concern, he’s just the article.” “I would rather not sell him,” said Mr. Shelby, thought¬ fully ; “ the fact is, sir, I’m a humane man, and I hate to take the boy from his mother, sir.” “0, you do? — La! yes — something of that ar natur. I understand, perfectly. It is mighty onpleasant getting on with women, sometimes. I al’ays hates these yer screechin’, screamin’ times. They are mighty onpleasant ; but, as I manages business, I generally avoids ’em, sir. Now, what if you get the girl off for a day, or a week, or so ; then the thing’s done quietly, — all over before she comes home. Your wife might get her some ear rings, or a new gown, or some such truck, to make up with her.” “ I’m afraid not.” “ Lor bless ye, yes ! These critters an’t like white folks, you know ; they gets over things, only manage right. Now, they say,” said Haley, assuming a candid and confidential air, “ that this kind o’ trade is hardening to the feelings ; but I never found it so. Fact is, I never could do things up the way some fellers manage the business. I’ve seen ’em as would pull a woman’s child out of her arms, and set him up to sell, and she screechin’ like mad all the time ; — very bad policy — damages the article — makes ’em quite unfit for service sometimes. I knew a real handsome gal once, in Orleans, as was entirely ruined by this sort o’ handling. The feller that was trading for her didn’t want her baby ; and she was one of your real high sort, when her blood was up. I tell you, she squeezed up her child in her arms, and talked and went on real awful. It kinder makes my blood run cold to think on’t ; and when they carried off the child, and locked her up, she jest went ravin’ mad, and died in a week. Clear waste, sir, of a thousand dollars, just for want of management, — there’s where ’tis. It ’s always best to do the humane thing, sir ; that’s been my experience.” And the trader leaned back in his chair, and folded his arms, with an air of virtuous decision, apparently considering himself a second Wilberforce. LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 19 The subject appeared to interest the gentleman deeply ; for while Mr. Shelby was thoughtfully peeling an orange, Haley broke out afresh, with becoming diffidence, but as if actually driven by the force of truth to say a few words more. “ It don't look well, now, for a feller to be praisin' himself ; but I say it jest because it's the truth. I believe I'm reckoned to bring in about the finest droves of niggers that is brought in, — at least, I've been told so ; if I have once, I reckon I have a hundred times, — all in good case, — fat and likely, and I lose as few as any man in the business. And I lays it all to my management, sir ; and humanity, sir, I may say, is the great pillar of my management." Mr. Shelby did not know what to say, and so he said, “ In¬ deed ! " “Now, I've been laughed at for my notions, sir, and I've been talked to. They an't pop'lar, and they an’t common ; but I stuck to 'em, sir ; I've stuck to 'em, and realized well on 'em ; yes, sir, they have paid their passage, I may say ; " and the trader laughed at his joke. There was something so piquant and original in these eluci¬ dations of humanity, that Mr. Shelby could not help laughing in company. Perhaps you laugh, too, dear reader ; but you know humanity comes out in a variety of strange forms now¬ adays, and there is no end to the odd things that humane people will say and do. Mr. Shelby's laugh encouraged the trader to proceed. “ It’s strange now, but I never could beat this into people's heads. Now, there was Tom Loker, my old partner, down in Natchez ; he was a clever feller, Tom was, only the very devil with niggers, — on principle 'twas, you see, for a better hearted feller never broke bread ; 'twas his system , sir. I used to talk to Tom. ‘ Why, Tom,' I used to say, ‘ when your gals takes on and cry, what's the use o' crackin' on 'em over the head and knockin' on 'em round ? It’s ridiculous,' says I, ‘ and don't do no sort o' good. Why, I don't see no harm in their cry in',' says I ; 4 it's natur,' says I, £ and if natur can't blow off one way, it will another. Besides, Tom,' says I, ‘ it jest spiles your gals ; they get sickly, and down in the mouth ; 20 uncle tom’s cabin; or, and sometimes they gets ugly, — particular yaller gals do, — and it’s the devil and all gettin’ on ’em broke in. Now,’ says I, ‘ why can’t you kinder coax ’em up, and speak ’em fair ? Depend on it, Tom, a little humanity, thrown in along, goes a heap further than all your jawin’ and crackin’ ; and it pays better,’ says I, ‘ depend on’t.’ But Tom couldn’t get the hang on’t ; and he spiled so many for me, that I had to break off with him, though he was a good-hearted fellow, and as fair a business hand as is goin’.” “ And do you find your ways of managing do the business better than Tom’s ? ” said Mr. Shelby. “Why, yes, sir, I may say so. You see, when I any ways can, I takes a leetle care about the onpleasant parts like selling young ’uns and that, — get the gals out of the way — out of sight, out of mind, you know, — and when it’s clean done, and can’t be helped, they naturally gets used to it. ’Tan’t, you know, as if it was white folks, that’s brought up in the way of ’spectin’ to keep their children and wives, and all that. Niggers, you know, that’s fetched up properly, ha’n’t no kind of ’spectations of no kind; so all these things comes easier.” “ I’m afraid mine are not properly brought up, then,” said Mr. Shelby. “ S’pose not ; you Kentucky folks spile your niggers. You mean well by ’em, but ’tan’t no real kindness, arter all. Now, a nigger, you see, what’s got to be hacked and tumbled round the world, and sold to Tom, and Dick, and the Lord knows who, ’tan’t no kindness to be givin’ on him notions and expec¬ tations, and bringin’ on him up too well, for the rough and tumble comes all the harder on him arter. Now, I venture to say, your niggers would be quite chopfallen in a place where some of your plantation niggers would be singing and whoop¬ ing like all possessed. Every man, you know, Mr. Shelby, naturally thinks well of his own ways ; and I think I treat niggers just about as well as it’s ever worth while to treat ’em.” “ It ’s a happy thing to be satisfied,” said Mr. Shelby, with a slight shrug, and some perceptible feelings of a disagreeable nature. LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 21 “Well,” said Haley, after they had both silently picked their nuts for a season, “what do you say?” “Ill think the matter over, and talk with my wife,” said Mr. Shelby. “ Meantime, Haley, if you want the matter car¬ ried on in the quiet way you speak of, you’d best not let your business in this neighborhood be known. It will get out among my boys, and it will not be a particularly quiet busi¬ ness getting away any of my fellows, if they know it, I’ll promise you.” “0, certainly, by all means, mum! of course. But I’ll tell you, I’m in a devil of a hurry, and shall want to know, as soon as possible, what I may depend on,” said he, rising and putting on his overcoat. “ Well, call up this evening, between six and seven, and you shall have my answer,” said Mr. Shelby ; and the trader bowed himself out of the apartment. “I’d like to have been able to kick the fellow down the steps,” said he to himself, as he saw the door fairly closed, “ with his impudent assurance ; but he knows how much he has me at advantage. If any body had ever said to me that I should sell Tom down south to one of those rascally traders, I should have said, ‘ Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing ? ’ And now it must come, for aught I see. And Eliza’s child, too ! I know that I shall have some fuss with wife about that ; and, for that matter, about Tom, too. So much for being in debt, — heigh-ho ! The fellow sees his advan¬ tage, and means to push it.” Perhaps the mildest form of the system of slavery is to be seen in the State of Kentucky. The general prevalence of agricultural pursuits of a quiet and gradual nature, not re¬ quiring those periodic seasons of hurry and pressure that are called for in the business of more southern districts, makes the task of the negro a more healthful and reasonable one ; while the master, content with a more gradual style of acqui¬ sition, has not those temptations to hardheartedness which always overcome frail human nature when the prospect of sudden and rapid gain is weighed in the balance, with no heavier counterpoise than the interests of the helpless and unprotected. 22 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN; OR, Whoever visits some estates there, and witnesses the good- humored indulgence of some masters and mistresses, and the affectionate loyalty of some slaves, might be tempted to dream the oft-fabled poetic legend of a patriarchal institution, and all that ; but over and above the scene there broods a porten¬ tous shadow — the shadow of law. So long as the law con¬ siders all these human beings, with beating hearts and living affections, only as so many things belonging to a master, — so long as the failure, or misfortune, or imprudence, or death of the kindest owner may cause them any day to exchange a life of kind protection and indulgence for one of hopeless misery and toil, — so long it is impossible to make any thing beautiful or desirable in the best regulated administration of slavery. Mr. Shelby was a fair average kind of man, good-natured and kindly, and disposed to easy indulgence of those around him, and there had never been a lack of any thing which might contribute to the physical comfort of the negroes on his estate. He had, however, speculated largely and quite loosely ; had involved himself deeply, and his notes to a large amount had come into the hands of Haley ; and this small piece of infor¬ mation is the key to the preceding conversation. Now, it had so happened that, in approaching the door, Eliza had caught enough of the conversation to know that a trader was making offers to her master for somebody. She would gladly have stopped at the door to listen, as she came out ; but her mistress just then calling, she was obliged to hasten away. Still she thought she heard the trader make an offer for her boy ; could she be mistaken ? Her heart swelled and throbbed, and she involuntarily strained him so tight that the little fellow looked up into her face in astonishment. “ Eliza, girl, what ails you to-day ? ” said her mistress, when Eliza had upset the wash-pitcher, knocked down the work-stand, and, finally, was abstractedly offering her mistress a long night-gown in place of the silk dress she had ordered her to bring from the wardrobe. Eliza started. “ 0, missis!’’ she said, raising her eyes; then, bursting into tears, she sat down in a chair, and began sobbing. LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 28 “ Why, Eliza, child ! what ails you ? ” said her mistress. “ 0, missis, missis,” said Eliza, u there’s been a trader talk¬ ing with master in the parlor ! I heard him.” “Well, silly child, suppose there has.” “0, missis, do you suppose mask* would sell my Harry?” And the poor creature threw herself into a chair, and sobbed convulsively. “Sell him! No, you foolish girl! You know your master never deals with those southern traders, and never means to sell any of his servants as long as they behave well. Why, you silly child, who do you think would want to buy your Harry? Do you think all the world are set on him as you are, you goosie ? Come, cheer up, and hook my dress. There now, put my back hair up in that pretty braid you learned the other day, and don’t go listening at doors any more.” “Well, but, missis, you never would give your consent — to — to — ” “Nonsense, child! to be sure I shouldn’t. What do you talk so for ? I would as soon have one of my own children sold. But really, Eliza, you are getting altogether too proud of that little fellow. A man can’t put his nose into the door, but you think he must be coming to buy him.” Reassured by her mistress’s confident tone, Eliza proceeded nimbly and adroitly with her toilet, laughing at her own fears, as she proceeded. Mrs. Shelby was a woman of a high class, both intellectu¬ ally and morally. To that natural magnanimity and gener¬ osity of mind which one often marks as characteristic of the women of Kentucky, she added high moral and religious sensibility and principle, carried out with great energy and ability into practical results. Her husband, who made no professions to any particular religious character, nevertheless reverenced and respected the consistency of hers, and stood, perhaps, a little in awe of her opinion. Certain it was that he gave her unlimited scope in all her benevolent efforts for the comfort, instruction, and improvement of her servants, though he never took any decided part in them himself. In fact, if not exactly a believer in the doctrine of the efficiency of the extra good works of saints, he really seemed somehow 24 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN; OR, or other to fancy that his wife had piety and benevolence enough for two — to indulge a shadowy expectation of getting into heaven through her superabundance of qualities to which he made no particular pretension. The heaviest load on his mind, after his conversation with the trader, lay in the foreseen necessity of breaking to his wife the arrangement contemplated, — meeting the importuni¬ ties and opposition which he knew he should have reason to encounter. Mrs. Shelby, being entirely ignorant of her husband’s em¬ barrassments, and knowing only the general kindliness of his temper, had been quite sincere in the entire incredulity with which she had met Eliza’s suspicions. In fact, she dismissed the matter from her mind, without a second thought ; and being occupied in preparations for an evening visit, it passed out of her thoughts entirely. I CHAPTER II. THE MOTHER. liza had been brought up by her mistress, from girlhood, as a petted and indulged favorite. The traveller in the south must often have remarked that peculiar air of refinement, that softness of voice and manner, which seem in many cases to be a particular gift to the quad¬ roon and mulatto women. These natural graces in the quad¬ roon are often united with beauty of the most dazzling kind, and in almost every case with a personal appearance prepos¬ sessing and agreeable. Eliza, such as we have described her, is not a fancy sketch, but taken from remembrance, as we saw her, years ago, in Kentucky. Safe under the protecting care of her mistress, Eliza had reached maturity without those 4 26 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, temptations which make beauty so fatal an inheritance to a slave. She had been married to a bright and talented young mulatto man, who was a slave on a neighboring estate, and bore the name of George Harris. This young man had been hired out by his master to work in a bagging factory, where his adroitness and ingenuity caused him to be considered the first hand in the place. He had in¬ vented a machine for the cleaning of the hemp, which, consid¬ ering the education and circumstances of the inventor, dis¬ played quite as much mechanical genius as Whitney’s cotton gin.* He was possessed of a handsome person and pleasing man¬ ners, and was a general favorite in the factory. Nevertheless, as this young man was in the eye of the law not a man, but a thing, all these superior qualifications were subject to the control of a vulgar, narrow-minded, tyrannical master. This same gentleman, having heard of the fame of George’s inven¬ tion, took a ride over to the factory, to see what this intelli¬ gent chattel had been about. He was received with great enthusiasm by the employer, who congratulated him on pos¬ sessing so valuable a slave. He was waited upon over the factory, shown the machinery by George, who, in high spirits, talked so fluently, held him¬ self so erect, looked so handsome and manly, that his master began to feel an uneasy consciousness of inferiority. What business had his slave to be marching round the country, in¬ venting machines, and holding up his head among gentlemen ? He’d soon put a stop to it. He’d take him back, and put him to hoeing and digging, and “ see if he’d step about so smart.” Accordingly, the manufacturer and all hands concerned wTere astounded when he suddenly demanded George’s wages, and announced his intention of taking him home. “But, Mr. Harris,” remonstrated the manufacturer, “isn’t this rather sudden ? ” “ What if it is ? — isn’t the man mine ? ” “We would be willing, sir, to increase the rate of compen¬ sation.” * A machine of this description was really the invention of a young colored man in Kentucky. LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 27 “No object at all, sir. I don’t need to hire any of my hands out, unless I’ve a mind to.” “ But, sir, he seems peculiarly adapted to this business.” “ Dare say he may be ; never was much adapted to any thing that I set him about, I’ll be bound.” “ But only think of his inventing this machine,” interposed one of the workmen, rather unluckily. “0, yes! — a machine for saving work, is it? He’d invent that, I’ll be bound; let a nigger alone for that any time. They are all labor-saving machines themselves, every one of ’em. No, he shall tramp ! ” George had stood like one transfixed at hearing his doom thus suddenly pronounced by a power that he knew was irre¬ sistible. He folded his arms, tightly pressed in his lips, but a whole volcano of bitter feelings burned in his bosom, and sent streams of fire through his veins. He breathed short, and his large, dark eyes flashed like live coals ; and he might have broken out into some dangerous ebullition, had not the kindly manufacturer touched him on the arm, and said, in a low tone, — “Give way, George; go with him for the present. We’ll try to help you, yet.” The tyrant observed the whisper, and conjectured its import, though he could not hear what was said; and he inwardly strengthened himself in his determination to keep the power he possessed over his victim. George was taken home, and put to the meanest drudgery of the farm. He had been able to repress every disrespect¬ ful word ; but the flashing eye, the gloomy and troubled brow, were part of a natural language that could not be repressed — indubitable signs, which showed too plainly that the man could not become a thing. It was during the happy period of his employment in the factory that George had seen and married his wife. During that period, — being much trusted and favored by his em¬ ployer, — he had free liberty to come and go at discretion. The marriage was highly approved of by Mrs. Shelby, who, with a little womanly complacency in match-making, felt 28 uncle tom’s cabin ; OR, pleased to unite her handsome favorite with one of her own class who seemed in every way suited to her ; and so they were married in her mistress’s great parlor, and her mistress herself adorned the bride’s beautiful hair with orange-blos¬ soms, and threw over it the bridal veil, which certainly could scarce have rested on a fairer head ; and there was no lack of white gloves, and cake and wine, — of admiring guests to praise the bride’s beauty, and her mistress’s indulgence and liberality. For a year or two Eliza saw her husband fre¬ quently, and there was nothing to .interrupt their happiness, except the loss of two infant children, to whom she was pas¬ sionately attached, and whom she mourned with a grief so intense as to call for gentle remonstrance from her mistress, who sought, with maternal anxiety, to direct her naturally passionate feelings within the bounds of reason and religion. After the birth of little Harry, however, she had gradually become tranquillized and settled ; and every bleeding tie and throbbing nerve, once more entwined with that little life, seemed to become sound and healthful, and Eliza was a happy woman up to the time that her husband was rudely torn from his kind employer, and brought under the iron sway of his legal owner. The manufacturer, true to his word, visited Mr. Harris a week or two after George had been taken away, when, as he hoped, the heat of the occasion had passed away, and tried every possible inducement to lead him to restore him to his former employment. “ Y ou needn’t trouble yourself to talk any longer,” said he, doggedly ; “ I know my own business, sir.” “ I did not presume to interfere with it, sir. I only thought that you might think it for your interest to let your man to us on the terms proposed.” “ 0, I understand the matter well enough. I saw your wink¬ ing and whispering, the day I took him out of the factory ; but you don’t come it over me that way. It’s a free country, sir ; the man’s mine , and I do what I please with him, — that’s it l” And so fell George’s last hope; — nothing before him but LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY 29 a life of toil and drudgery rendered more bitter by every little smarting vexation and indignity which tyrannical in¬ genuity could devise. A very humane jurist once said, The worst use you can put a man to is to hang him. No ; there is another use that a man can be put to that is worse. -- " b* CHAPTER III. THE HUSBAND AND FATHER. rs. Shelby had gone on her visit, and Eliza stood in the veranda, rather dejectedly look¬ ing after the retreating carriage, when a hand was laid on her shoulder. She turned, and a bright smile lighted up her fine eyes. “ George, is it you ? How you frightened me ! W ell, I am so glad you7s come ! Missis is gone to spend the afternoon ; so come into my little room, and well have the time all to ourselves.77 Saying this, she drew him into a neat little apartment open¬ ing on the veranda, where she generally sat at her sewing, within call of her mistress. “How glad I am! — why don7t you smile? — and look at Harry — how lie grows! 77 The boy stood shyly regarding his LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 31 father through his curls, holding close to the skirts of his mother’s dress. “Isn’t he beautiful?” said Eliza, lifting his long curls and kissing him. “ I wish he’d never been born ! ” said George, bitterly. “ I wish I’d never been born myself! ” Surprised and frightened, Eliza sat down, leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder, and burst into tears. “ There now, Eliza, it’s too bad for me to make you feel so, poor girl ! ” said he, fondly ; “ it’s too bad. 0, how I wish you never had seen me — you might have been happy ! ” “ George ! George ! how can you talk so ? What dreadful thing has happened or is going to happen ? I’m sure we’ve been very happy till lately.” “ So we have, dear,” said George. Then drawing his child on his knee, he gazed intently on his glorious dark eyes, and passed his hands through his long curls. “ Just like you, Eliza ; and you are the handsomest woman I ever saw, and the best one I ever wish to see ; but, 0, 1 wish I’d never seen you, nor you me ! ” “ 0 George, how can you ! ” “Yes, Eliza, it’s all misery, misery, misery ! My life is bit¬ ter as wormwood ; the very life is burning out of me. I’m a poor, miserable, forlorn drudge ; I shall only drag you down with me, that’s all. What’s the use of our trying to do any thing, trying to know any thing, trying to be any thing ? What’s the use of living ? I wish I was dead ! ” “ 0, now, dear George, that is really wicked ! I know how you feel about losing your place in the factory, and you have a hard master ; but pray be patient, and perhaps something - ” “ Patient ! ” said he, interrupting her ; “ haven’t I been patient? Did I say a word when he came and took me away, for no earthly reason, from the place where every body was kind to me ? I’d paid him truly every cent of my earn¬ ings, — and they all say I worked well.” “ W ell, it is dreadful,” said Eliza ; “ but, after all, he is your master, you know.” “ My master ! and who made him my master ? That’s what I think of — what right has he to me? I’m a man as much as he is. I’m a better man than he is. I know more about 32 uncle tom’s cabin: or, business than he does ; I am a better manager than he is ; I can read better than he can; I can write a better hand — and I’ve learned it all myself, and no thanks to him, — I’ve learned it in spite of him ; and now what right has he to make a dray horse of me? — to take me from things I can do, and do better than he can, and put me to work that any horse can do ? He tries to do it ; he says he’ll bring me down and hum¬ ble me, and he puts me to just the hardest, meanest, and dirti¬ est work, on purpose ! ” “ 0 George ! George ! you frighten me ! Why, I never heard you talk so ; I’m afraid you’ll do something dreadful. I don’t wonder at your feelings, at all ; but 0, do be careful — do, do — for my sake — for Harry’s!” “ I have been careful, and I have been patient, but it’s grow¬ ing worse and worse ; flesh and blood can’t bear it any longer ; — every chance he can get to insult and torment me, he takes. I thought I could do my work well, and keep on quiet, and have some time to read and learn out of work hours ; but the more he sees I can do, the more he loads on. He says that though I don’t say any thing, he sees I’ve got the devil in me, and he means to bring it out ; and one of these days it will come out in a way that he won’t like, or I’m mistaken ! ” “ 0 dear ! what shall we do ? ” said Eliza, mournfully. “ It was only yesterday,” said George, “ as I was busy load¬ ing stones into a cart, that young Mas’r Tom stood there, slashing his whip so near the horse that the creature was frightened. I asked him to stop, as pleasant as I could, — he just kept right on. I begged him again, and then he turned on me, and began striking me. I held his hand, and then he screamed and kicked, and ran to his father, and told him that I was fighting him. He came in a rage, and said he’d teach me who was my master ; and he tied me to a tree, and cut switches for young master, and told him that he might whip me till he was tired ; — and he did do it ! If I don’t make him remember it, some time ! ” and the brow of the young man grew dark, and his eyes burned with an expression that made his young wife tremble. “Who made this man my master? That’s what I want to know!” he said. LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 33 “Well,” said Eliza, mournfully, “I always thought that I must obey my master and mistress, or I couldn’t be a Chris¬ tian.” “ There is some sense in it, in your case ; they have brought you up like a child, fed you, clothed you, indulged you, and taught you, so that you have a good education ; that is some reason why they should claim you. But I have been kicked, and cuffed, and sworn at, and at the best only let alone ; and what do I owe? I’ve paid for all my keeping a hundred times over. I won’t bear it. No, I won’t!” he said, clinch¬ ing his hand with a fierce frown. Eliza trembled and was silent. She had never seen her husband in this mood before ; and her gentle system of ethics seemed to bend like a reed in the surges of such passions. “You know poor little Carlo, that you gave me,” added George ; “ the creature has been about all the comfort that I’ve had. He has slept with me nights, and followed me around days, and kind o’ looked at me as if he understood how I felt. Well, the other day I was just feeding him with a few old scraps I picked up by the kitchen door, and mas’r came along, and said I was feeding him up at his expense, and that he couldn’t afford to have every nigger keeping his dog, and ordered me to tie a stone to his neck and throw him in the pond.” “ 0 George, you didn’t do it ! ” “Do it? not I! — but he did. Mas’r and Tom pelted the poor drowning creature with stones. Poor thing ! he looked at me so mournful, as if he wondered why I didn’t save him. I had to take a flogging because I wouldn’t do it myself. I don’t care. Mas’r will find out that I’m one that whip¬ ping won’t tame. My day will come yet, if he don’t look out.” “What are you going to do? 0 George, don’t do any thing wicked ; if you only trust in God, and try to do right, he’ll deliver you.” “ I an’t a Christian like you, Eliza ; my heart’s full of bit¬ terness; I can’t trust in God. Why does he let things be so? ” 5 34 UNCLE TOM?S CABIN ; OR, “ 0 George, we must have faith. Mistress says that when all things go wrong to us, we must believe that God is doing the very best.” “That’s easy to say for people that are sitting on their sofas and riding in their carriages ; but let ’em be where I am, I guess it would come some harder. I wish I could be good ; but my heart burns, and can’t be reconciled, any how. Y ou couldn’t, in my place, — you can’t now, if I tell you all T.’ve got to say. You don’t know the whole yet.” “ What can be coming now ? ” “Well, lately mas’r has been saying that he was a fool to let me marry off the place ; that he hates Mr. Shelby and all his tribe, because they are proud, and hold their heads up above him, and that I’ve got proud notions from you ; and he says he won’t let me come here any more, and that I shall take a wife and settle down on his place. At first he only scolded and grumbled these things ; but yesterday he told me that I should take Mina for a wife, and settle down in a cabin with her, or he would sell me down river.” “ Why — but you were married to me, by the minister, as much as if you’d been a white man ! ” said Eliza, simply. “ Don’t you know a slave can’t be married ? There is no law in this country for that ; I can’t hold you for my wife, if he chooses to part us. That’s why I wish I’d never seen you, why I wish I’d never been born ; it would have been bet¬ ter for us both, — it would have been better for this poor child if he had never been born. All this may happen to him yet ! ” “ 0, but master is so kind ! ” “Yes, but who knows? — he may die — and then he may be sold to nobody knows who. What pleasure is it that he is handsome, and smart, and bright? I tell you, Eliza, that a sword will pierce through your soul for every good and pleasant thing your child is or has ; it will make him worth too much for you to keep ! ” The words smote heavily on Eliza’s heart ; the vision of the trader came before her eyes, and, as if some one had struck her a deadly blow, she turned pale and gasped for LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 35 breath. She looked nervously out on the veranda, where the boy, tired of the grave conversation, had retired, and where he was riding triumphantly up and down on Mr. Shel¬ by’s walking-stick. She would have spoken to tell her hus¬ band her fears, but checked herself. “No, no, — he has enough to bear, poor fellow!” she thought. “ No, I won’t tell him ; besides, it an’t true ; missis never deceives us.” “So, Eliza, my girl,” -said the husband, mournfully, “bear up, now ; and good by, for I’m going.” “ Going, George ! Going where ? ” “ To Canada,” said he, straightening himself up ; “ and when I’m there, I’ll buy you ; that’s all the hope that’s left us. You have a kind master, that won’t refuse to sell you. I’ll buy you and the boy ; — God helping me, I will ! ” “0, dreadful! if you should be taken?” “ I won’t be taken, Eliza ; I’ll die first ! I’ll be free, or I’ll die ! ” “You won’t kill yourself!” “No need of that. They will kill me, fast enough; they never will get me down the river alive ! ” “ 0 George, for my sake, do be careful ! Don’t do any thing wicked ; don’t lay hands on yourself, or any body else! You are tempted too much — too much; but don’t — go you must — but go carefully, prudently; pray God to help you.” “ Well, then, Eliza, hear my plan. Mas’r took it into his head to send me right by here, with a note to Mr. Symmes, that lives a mile past. I believe he expected I should come here to tell you what I have. It would please him, if he thought it would aggravate ‘ Shelby’s folks,’ as he calls ’em. I’m going home quite resigned, you understand, as if all was over. I’ve got some preparations made, — and there are those that will help me ; and, in the course of a week or so, I shall be among the missing some day. Pray for me, Eliza ; perhaps the good Lord will hear you .” “ 0, pray yourself, George, and go trusting in him ; then you won’t do any thing wicked.” 36 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, “Well, now, good by ,” said George, holding Eliza’s hands, and gazing into her eyes, without moving. They stood silent ; then there were last words, and sobs, and bitter weeping, — such parting as those may make whose hope to meet again is as the spider’s web, — and the husband and wife were parted. CHAPTER IV. AN EVENING IN UNCLE TOM?S CABIN. he cabin of Uncle Tom was a small log build¬ ing, close adjoining to “the house,” as the negro par excellence designates his masters dwelling. In front it had a neat garden patch, where, every summer, strawberries, rasp¬ berries, and a variety of fruits and vegetables, flourished under careful tending. The whole front of it was covered by a large scarlet bignonia and a native multiflora rose, which, entwisting and interlacing, left scarce a vestige of the rough logs to be seen. Here, also, in summer, various brilliant annuals, such as marigolds, petunias, four-o blocks, found an indulgent corner in which to unfold their splendors, and were the delight and pride of Aunt Chloe’s heart. Let us enter the dwelling. The evening meal at the house 38 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, is over, and Aunt Chloe, who presided over its preparation as head cook, has left to inferior officers in the kitchen the busi¬ ness of clearing away and washing dishes, and come out into her own snug territories, to “ get her ole man’s supper ; ” there¬ fore, doubt not that it is she you see by the fire, presiding with anxious interest over certain frizzling items in a stew pan, and anon, with grave consideration, lifting the cover of a bake kettle, from whence steam forth indubitable intimations of “ something good.” A round, black, shining face is hers,- so glossy as to suggest the idea that she might have been washed over with white of eggs, like one of her own tea rusks. Her whole plump countenance beams with satisfaction and content¬ ment from under her well-starched checked turban, bearing on it, however, if we must confess it, a little of that tinge of self- consciousness which becomes the first cook of the neighborhood, as Aunt Chloe was universally held and acknowledged to be. A cook she certainly was, in the very bone and centre of her soul. Not a chicken, or turkey, or duck, in the barn yard, but looked grave when they saw her approaching, and seemed evi¬ dently to be reflecting on their latter end ; and certain it was that she was always meditating on trussing, stuffing, and roast¬ ing, to a degree that was calculated to inspire terror in any reflecting fowl living. Her corn cake, in all its varieties of hoe cake, dodgers, muffins, and other species too numerous to mention, was a sublime mystery to all less practised compound¬ ers ; and she would shake her fat sides with honest pride and merriment, as she would narrate the fruitless efforts that one and another of her compeers had made to attain to her elevation. The arrival of company at the house, the arranging of din¬ ners and suppers “in style,” awoke all the energies of her soul ; and no sight was more welcome to her than a pile of travelling trunks launched on the veranda, for then she fore¬ saw fresh efforts and fresh triumphs. Just at present, however, Aunt Chloe is looking into the bake pan ; in which congenial operation we shall leave her till we finish our picture of the cottage. In one corner of it stood a bed, covered neatly with a snowy spread ; and by the side of it was a piece of carpeting, of LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 39 some considerable size. On this piece of carpeting Aunt Chloe took her stand, as being decidedly in the upper walks of life ; and it and the bed by which it lay, and the whole corner, in fact, were treated with distinguished consideration, and made, so far as possible, sacred from the marauding inroads and dese¬ crations of little folks. In fact, that corner was the drawing room of the establishment. In the other corner was a bed of much humbler pretensions, and evidently designed for use. The wall over the fireplace was adorned with some very bril¬ liant scriptural prints, and a portrait of General Washington, drawn and colored in a manner which would certainly have astonished that hero, if ever he had happened to meet with its like. On a rough bench in the corner, a couple of woolly-headed boys, with glistening black eyes and fat shining cheeks, were busy in superintending the first walking operations of the baby, which, as is usually the case, consisted in getting up on its feet, balancing a moment, and then tumbling down, — each suc¬ cessive failure being violently cheered, as something decidedly clever. A table, somewhat rheumatic in its limbs, was drawn out in front of the fire, and covered with a cloth, displaying cups and saucers of a decidedly brilliant pattern, with other symptoms of an approaching meal. At this table was seated Uncle Tom, Mr. Shelby’s best hand who, as he is to be the hero of our sto¬ ry, we must daguerreotype for our readers. He was a large, broad-chested, powerfully-made man, of a full glossy black, and a face whose truly African features were characterized by an expression of grave and steady good sense, united with much kindliness and benevolence. There was something about his whole air self-respecting and dignified, yet united with a con¬ fiding and humble simplicity. He was very busily intent at this moment on a slate lying before him, on which he was carefully and slowly endeavoring to accomplish a copy of some letters, in which operation he was overlooked by young Mask* George, a smart, bright boy of thirteen, who appeared fully to realize the dignity of his position as instructor. “Not that way, Uncle Tom, — not that way,” said he, briskly, 40 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, as Uncle Tom laboriously brought up the tail of his g the wrong side out ; “ that makes a q, you see.” “La, sakes, now, does it?” said Uncle Tom, looking with a respectful, admiring air, as his young teacher flourishingly scrawled q1 s and g’s innumerable for his edification ; and then, taking the pencil in his big, heavy fingers, he patiently recom¬ menced. “ How easy white folks al’ays does things ! ” said Aunt Chloe, pausing while she was greasing a griddle with a scrap of ba¬ con on her fork, and regarding young Master George with pride. “ The way he can write, now ! and read, too ! and then to come out here evenings and read his lessons to us, — it’s mighty interestin’ ! ” “ But, Aunt Chloe, I’m getting mighty hungry,” said George. “ Isn’t that cake in the skillet almost done ? ” “ Mose done, Mas’r George-,” said Aunt Chloe, lifting the lid and peeping in, — “ browning beautiful — a real lovely brown. Ah ! let me alone for dat. Missis let Sally try to make some cake, t’other day, jes to lam her, she said. 1 0, go way, missis,’ says I ; ‘it really hurts my feelin’s, now, to see good vittles spiled dat ar way! Cake ris all to one side — no shape at all ; no more than my shoe ; — go way.” And with this final expression of contempt for Sally’s green¬ ness, Aunt Chloe whipped the cover off the bake kettle, and disclosed to view a neatly-baked pound cake, of which no city confectioner need to have been ashamed. This being evident¬ ly the central point of the entertainment, Aunt Chloe began now to bustle about earnestly in the supper department. “ Here you, Mose and Pete ! get out de way, you niggers ! Get away, Polly, honey, — mammy’ll give her baby somefin, by and by. Now, Mas’r George, you just take off dem books, and set down now with my old man, and I’ll take up de sau¬ sages, and have de first griddle full of cakes on your plates in less dan no time.” “ They wanted me to come to supper in the house,” said George ; “ but I knew what was what too well for that, Aunt Chloe.” “ So you did — so you did, honey,” said Aunt Chloe, heaping the smoking batter cakes on his plate ; “ you know’d your old LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 41 aunty’d keep the best for you. 0, let you alone for dat ! Go way ! ” And, with that, aunty gave George a nudge with her linger, designed to be immensely facetious, and turned again to her griddle with great briskness. “Now for the cake,” said Mash* George, when the activity of the griddle department had somewhat subsided ; and with that the youngster flourished a large knife over the article in question. “ La bless you, Mash* George ! ” said Aunt Chloe, with ear¬ nestness, catching his arm, “ you wouldn’t be for cuttin’ it wid dat ar great heavy knife ! Smash all down — spile all de pret¬ ty rise of it. Here, I’ve got a thin old knife, I keeps sharp a purpose. Dar now, see ! comes apart light as a feather ! Now eat away — you won’t get any thing to beat dat ar.” “ Tom Lincon says,” said George, speaking with his mouth full, “ that their Jinny is a better cook than you.” “ Bern Lincons an’t much count, no way ! ” said Aunt Chloe, contemptuously ; “ I mean, set alongside our folks. They’s ’spectable folks enough in a kinder plain way ; but, as to gettin’ up any thing in style, they don’t begin to have a notion on’t. Set Mash* Lincon, now, alongside Mas’r Shelby ! Good Lor ! and Missis Lincon, — can she kinder sweep it into a room like my missis, — so kinder splendid, yer know ! 0, go way ! don’t tell me nothin’ of dem Lincons ! ” — and Aunt Chloe tossed her head as one who hoped she did know something of the world. “Well, though, I’ve heard you say,” said George, “that Jinny was a pretty fair cook.” “ So I did,” said Aunt Chloe, — “I may say dat. Good, plain, common cookin’ Jinny’ll do; — make a good pone o' bread, — bile her taters far, — her corn cakes isn’t extra, not extra now, Jinny’s corn cakes isn’t, but then they’s far, — but, Lor, come to de higher branches, and what can she do ? Why, she makes pies — sartin she does; but what kinder crust? Can she make your real flecky paste, as melts in your mouth, and lies all up like a puff? Now, I went over thar when Miss Mary was gwine to be married, and Jinny she jest showed me de weddin’ pies. Jinny and I is good friends, ye know. I never said nothin’ ; but go long, Mas’r George ! Why, I f> 12 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, shouldn’t sleep a wink for a week, if I had a batch of pies like dem ar. Why, dey wan’t no ’count ’t all.” “ I suppose Jinny thought they were ever so nice,” said George. “ Thought so ! — didn’t she ? Thar she was, showing ’em, as innocent — ye see, it’s jest here, Jinny don’t know. Lor, the family an’t nothing ! She can’t be spected to know ! ’Tan’t no fault o’ hern. Ah, Mas’r George, you doesn’t know half your privileges in yer family and bringin’ up ! ” Here Aunt Chloe sighed, and rolled up her eyes with emotion. “ I’m sure, Aunt Chloe, I understand all my pie and pudding privileges,” said George. “ Ask Tom Lincon if I don’t crow over him every time I meet him.” Aunt Chloe sat back in her chair, and indulged in a hearty guffaw of laughter, at this witticism of young mas’r’s, laughing till the tears rolled down her black, shining cheeks, and vary¬ ing the exercise with playfully slapping and poking Mas’r Georgey, and telling him to go way, and that he was a case — that he was fit to kill her, and that he sartin would kill her, one of these days ; and, between each of these sanguinary predictions, going off into a laugh, each longer and stronger than the other, till George really began to think that he was a very dangerously witty fellow, and that it became him to be careful how he talked “ as funny as he could.” “ And so ye telled Tom, did ye ? 0 Lor ! what young uns will be up ter ! Ye crowed over Tom? 0 Lor ! Mas’r George, if ye wouldn’t make a hornbug laugh! ” “Yes,” said George, “I says to him, ‘Tom, you ought to see some of Aunt Chloe’s pies ; they’re the right sort,’ says I.” “Pity, now, Tom couldn’t,” said Aunt Chloe, on whose benevolent heart the idea of Tom’s benighted condition seemed to make a strong impression. “Ye oughter just ask him here to dinner, some o’ these times, Mas’r George,” she added ; “ it would look quite pretty of ye. Ye know, Mas’r George, ye oughtenter feel ’bove nobody, on ’count yer privileges, ’cause all our privileges is gi’n to us ; we ought al’ays to ’member that,” said Aunt Chloe, looking quite serious. “Well, I mean to ask Tom here some day next week,” said George 5 “ and you do your prettiest, Aunt Chloe, and we’ll LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 43 make him stare. Won’t we make him eat so he won’t get over it for a fortnight ? ” “Yes, yes — sartin,” said Aunt Cldoe, delighted; “you’ll see. Lor! to think of some of our dinners! Yer mind dat ar great chicken pie I made when we guv de dinner to General Knox ? I and missis, we come pretty near quarrelling about dat ar crust. What does get into ladies sometimes, I don’t know ; but, sometimes, when a body has de heaviest kind o’ ’sponsibility on ’em, as ye may say, and is all kinder ‘ seris ’ and taken up, dey takes dat ar time to be hangin’ round and kinder interferin’ ! Now, missis, she wanted me to do dis way, and she wanted me to do dat way ; and, finally, I got kinder sarcy, and says I, ‘Now, missis, do jist look at dem beautiful white hands o’ yourn, with long fingers, and all a sparkling with rings like my white lilies when de dew’s on ’em ; and look at my great black stumpin’ hands. Now, don’t ye think dat de Lord must have meant me to make de pie crust, and you to stay in de parlor ? ’ Dar ! I was jist so sarcy, Mas’r George.” “ And what did mother say ? ” said George. “ Say ? — why, she kinder larfed in her eyes — dem great handsome eyes o’ hern; and says she, ‘Well, Aunt Chloe, I think you are about in the right on’t,’ says she ; and she went off in de parlor. She oughter cracked me over de head for bein’ so sarcy; but dar’s whar ’tis — I can’t do nothin’ with ladies in de kitchen ! ” “Well, you made out well with that dinner, — I remember every body said so,” said George. “ Didn’t I ? And wan’t I behind de dinin’ room door dat bery day? and didn’t I see de gineral pass his plate three times for some more dat bery pie? — and says he, ‘You must have an uncommon cook, Mrs. Shelby.’ Lor! I was fit to split myself. “ And de gineral, he knows wdiat cookin’ is,” said Aunt Chloe, drawing herself up with an air. “ Bery nice man, de gineral ! He comes of one of de bery fustest families in Old Yirginny ! He knows what’s what, now, as well as I do — de gineral! Ye see, there’s pints in all pies, Mas’r George; but tan’t every body knows what they is, or orter be. But the 44 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, gineral, he knows ; I knew by his ’marks he made. Yes, he knows what de pints is ! ” By this time, Master George had arrived at that pass, to which even a boy can come, (under uncommon circumstances,) when he really could not eat another morsel ; and, therefore, he was at leisure to notice the pile of wmolly heads and glis¬ tening eyes which were regarding their operations hungrily from the opposite corner. “ Here, you Mose, Pete,” he said, breaking off liberal bits, and throwing it at them ; “ you want some, don’t you ? Come, Aunt Chloe, bake them some cakes.” And George and Tom moved to a comfortable seat in the chimney corner, while Aunt Chloe, after baking a goodly pile of cakes, took her baby on her lap, and began alternately filling its mouth and her own, and distributing to Mose and Pete, who seemed rather to prefer eating theirs as they rolled about on the floor under the table, tickling each other, and occasionally pulling the baby’s toes. “0, go long, will ye?” said the mother, giving now and then a kick, in a kind of general way, under the table, when the movement became too obstreperous. “ Can’t ye be decent when white folks comes to see ye ? Stop dat ar, now, will ye ? Better mind yerselves, or I’ll take ye down a button-hole lower, when Mas’r George is gone ! ” What meaning was couched under this terrible threat, it is difficult to say ; but certain it is that its awful indistinctness seemed to produce very little impression on the young sinners addressed. “La, now!” said Uncle Tom, “they are so full of tickle all the while, they can’t behave theirselves.” Here the boys emerged from under the table, and, with hands and faces well plastered with molasses, began a vigorous kissing of the baby. “ Get along wid ye ! ” said the mother, pushing away their woolly heads. “Ye’ll all stick together, and never get clar, if ye do dat fashion. Go long to de spring and wash yerselves ! ” she said, seconding her exhortations by a slap, which resounded very formidably, but which seemed only to knock out so much more laugh from the young ones, as they tumbled precipitately LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 45 over each other out of doors, where they fairly screamed with merriment. “Did ye ever see such aggravating young uns?” said Aunt Chloe, rather complacently, as, producing an old towel, kept for such emergencies, she poured a little water out of the cracked teapot on it, and began rubbing off the molasses from the baby’s face and hands ; and, having polished her till she shone, she set her down in Tom’s lap, while she busied herself in clearing away supper. The baby employed the intervals in pulling Tom’s nose, scratching his face, and burying her fat hands in his woolly hair, which last operation seemed to afford her special content. “ Ain’t she a peart young un ? ” said Tom, holding her from him to take a full-length view ; then, getting up, he set her on his broad shoulder, and began capering and dancing with her, while Mas’r George snapped at her with his pocket hand¬ kerchief, and Mose and Pete, now returned again, roared after her like bears, till Aunt Chloe declared that they “fairly took her head off” with their noise. As, according to her own statement, this surgical operation was a matter of daily occur¬ rence in the cabin, the declaration no whit abated the merri¬ ment, till every one had roared, and tumbled, and danced themselves down to a state of composure. “Well, now, I hopes you’re done,” said Aunt Chloe, who had been busy in pulling out a rude bos of a trundle-bed ; “ and now, you Mose and you Pete, get into thar ; for we’s goin’ to have the meetin’.” “0 mother, we don’t wanter. We wants to sit up to meetin’, — meetin’s is so curis. We likes ’em.” “La, Aunt Chloe, shove it under, and let ’em sit up,” said Mas’r George, decisively, giving a push to the rude machine. Aunt Chloe, having thus saved appearances, seemed highly delighted to push the thing under, saying, as she did so, “Well, mebbe ’twill do ’em some good.” The house now resolved itself into a committee of the whole, to consider the accommodations and arrangements for the meeting. “ What we’s to do for cheers, now, I declar I don’t know,” said Aunt Chloe. As the meeting had been held at Uncle 46 UNCLE TOM?S CABIN ; OR, Tom’s, weekly, for an indefinite length of time, without any more “cheers,” there seemed some encouragement to hope that a way would be discovered at present. “ Old Uncle Peter sung both de legs out of dat oldest cheer, last week,” suggested Mose. “.You go long! I’ll boun’ you pulled ’em out; some o’ your shines,” said Aunt Chloe. “ Well, it’ll stand, if it only keeps jam up agin de wall ! ” said Mose. “Den Uncle Peter mus’n’t sit in it, cause he al’ays hitches when he gets a singing. He hitched pretty nigh across de room, t’other night,” said Pete. “ Good Lor ! get him in it, then,” said Mose. “ and den he’d begin, ‘ Come, saints and sinners, hear me tell,’ and den down he’d go,” — and Mose imitated precisely the nasal tones of the old man, tumbling on the floor, to illustrate the supposed catastrophe. “ Come now, be decent, can’t ye ? ” said Aunt Chloe ; “ an’t yer shamed?” Mas’r George, however, joined the offender in the laugh, and declared decidedly that Mose was a “buster.” So the maternal admonition seemed rather to fail of effect. “Well, ole man,” said Aunt Chloe, “you’ll have to tote in them ar bar’ls.” “ Mother’s bar’ls is like dat ar widder’s, Mas’r George was readiug ’bout, in de good book, — dey never fails,” said Mose, aside to Pete. “ I’m sure one on ’em caved in last week,” said Pete, “ and let ’em all down in de middle of de singin’ ; dat ar was failin’, warn’t it ? ” » During this aside between Mose and Pete, two empty casks had been rolled into the cabin, and being secured from rolling, by stones on each side, boards were laid across them, which arrangement, together with the turning down of certain tubs and pails, and the disposing of the rickety chairs, at last completed the preparation. “ Mas’r George is such a beautiful reader, now, I know he’ll stay to read for us,” said Aunt Chloe ; “ ’pears like ’twill be so much more interestin’.” LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 47 George very readily consented, for your boy is always ready for any thing that makes him of importance. The room was soon filled with a motley assemblage, from the old gray-headed patriarch of eighty to the young girl and lad of fifteen. A little harmless gossip ensued on various themes, such as where old Aunt Sally got her new red headkerchief, and how “ missis was a going to give Lizzy that spotted muslin gown, when she’d got her new barege made up ; ” and how Mas’r Shelby was thinking of buying a new sorrel colt, that was going to prove an addition to the glories of the place. A few of the worshippers belonged to families hard by, who had got permission to attend, and who brought in various choice scraps of information, about the sayings and doings at the house and on the place, which circulated as freely as the same sort of small change does in higher circles. After a while the singing commenced, to the evident delight of all present. Not even all the disadvantage of nasal intona¬ tion could prevent the effect of the naturally fine voices, in airs at once wild and spirited. The words were sometimes the well-known and common hymns sung in the churches about, and sometimes of a wilder, more indefinite character, picked up at camp meetings. The chorus of one of them, which ran as follows, was sung with great energy and unction : — “ Die on the field of battle, Die on the field of battle, Glory in ray soul.” Another special favorite had oft repeated the words — “ O, I’m going to glory, — won’t you come along with me ? Don’t you see the angels beck’ning, and a calling me away ? Don’t you see the golden city and the everlasting day 1 ” There were others, which made incessant mention of “ Jor¬ dan’s banks,” and “Canaan’s fields,” and the “New Jerusa¬ lem ; ” for the negro mind, impassioned and imaginative, always attaches itself to hymns and expressions of a vivid and pictorial nature ; and, as they sung, some laughed, and some cried, and some clapped hands, or shook hands rejoicingly with each other, as if they had fairly gained the other side of the river. 48 UNCLE tom’s cabin ; OR, Various exhortations, or relations of experience, followed, and intermingled with the singing. One old gray-headed woman, long past work, but much revered as a sort of chroni¬ cle of the past, rose, and leaning on her staff, said, — “Well, chil’en! Weil, I’m mighty glad to hear ye all and see ye all once more, ’cause I don’t know when I’ll be gone to glory ; but I’ve done got ready, chil’en ; ’pears like I’d got my little bundle all tied up, and my bonnet on, jest a waitin’ for the stage to come along and take me home : some¬ times, in the night, I think I hear the wheels a rattlin’, and I’m lookin’ out all the time ; now, you jest be ready too, for I tell ye all, chil’en,” she said, striking her staff hard on the floor, “ dat ar glory is a mighty thing ! It’s a mighty thing, chil’en, — you don’no nothing about it, — it’s wonderful.'' And the old creature sat down, with streaming tears, as wholly overcome, while the whole circle struck up, — “ O Canaan, bright Canaan, I’m bound for the land of Canaan.” Mas’r George, by request, read the last chapters of Revela¬ tion, often interrupted by such exclamations as “The sakes now!” “ Only hear that ! ” “Jest think on’t!” “Is all that a cornin’ sure enough ? ” George, who was a bright boy, and well trained in religious LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 49 things b y his mother, finding himself an object of general admiration, threw in expositions of his own, from time to time, with a commendable seriousness and gravity, for which he was admired by the young and blessed by the old ; and it was agreed, on all hands, that “ a minister could’nt lay it off better than he did ; 77 that “ 7twas reely hnazin7 ! 77 Uncle Tom was a sort of patriarch in religious matters, in the neighborhood. Having, naturally, an organization in which the morale was strongly predominant, together with a greater breadth and cultivation of mind than obtained among his companions, he was looked up to with great respect, as a sort of minister among them ; and the simple, hearty, sincere style of his exhortations might have edified even better edu¬ cated persons. But it was in prayer that he especially excelled. Nothing could exceed the touching simplicity, the childlike earnestness, of his prayer, enriched with the language of Scrip¬ ture, which seemed so entirely to have wrought itself into his being as to have become a part of himself, and to drop from his lips unconsciously ; in the language of a pious old negro, he “ prayed right up.’7 And so much did his prayer always work on the devotional feelings of his audiences, that there seemed often a danger that it would be lost altogether in the abundance of the responses which broke out every where around him. While this scene was passing in the cabin of the man, one quite otherwise passed in the halls of the master. The trader and Mr. Shelby were seated together in the dining room aforenamed, at a table covered with papers and writing utensils. Mr. Shelby was busy in counting some bundles of bills, which, as they were counted, he pushed over to the trader, who counted them likewise. “ All fair,77 said the trader ; “ and now for signing these yer.77 Mr. Shelby hastily drew the bills of sale towards him, and signed them, like a man that hurries over some disagreeable business, and then pushed them over with the money. Haley 50 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN; OR, produced, from a well-worn valise, a parchment, which, after looking over it a moment, he handed to Mr. Shelby, who took it with a gesture of suppressed eagerness. “ Wal, now, the thing's done ! ” said the trader, getting up. “ It’s done ! ” said Mr. Shelby, in a musing tone ; and, fetch¬ ing a long breath, he repeated, “ It’s done ! ” “ Yer don’t seem to feel much pleased with it, ’pears to me,” said the trader. “ Haley,” said Mr. Shelby, “ I hope you’ll remember that you promised, on your honor, you wouldn’t sell Tom, without knowing what sort of hands he’s going into.” “ Why, you’ve just done it, sir,” said the trader. “ Circumstances, you well know, obliged me,” said Shelby, haughtily. “ Wal, you know, they may ’blige me , too,” said the trader. “ Howsomever, I’ll do the very best I can in gettin’ Tom a good berth ; as to my treatin’ on him bad, you needn’t be a grain afeard. If there’s any thing that I thank the Lord for, it is that I’m never noways cruel.” After the expositions which the trader had previously given of his humane principles, Mr. Shelby did not feel particularly reassured by these declarations ; but, as they were the best comfort the case admitted of, he allowed the trader to depart in silence, and betook himself to a solitary cigar. CHAPTER V. SHOWING THE FEELINGS OF LIVING PROPERTY ON CHANGING OWNERS. R. and Mrs. Shelby had retired to their apart¬ ment for the night. He was lounging in a large easy chair, looking over some letters that had come in the afternoon mail, and she was standing before her mirror, brushing out the complicated braids and curls in which Eliza had arranged her hair ; for, noticing her pale cheeks and hag¬ gard eyes, she had excused her attendance that night, and ordered her to bed. The employment, naturally enough, suggested her conversation with the girl in the morning ; and, turning to her husband, she said, carelessly, — “ By the by, Arthur, who was that low-bred fellow that you lugged in to our dinner table to-day ? ” 52 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, “ Haley is his name,” said Shelby, turning himself rather uneasily in his chair, and continuing with his eyes fixed on a letter. “ Haley ! who is he, and what may be his business here, pray ? ” “Well, he’s a man that I transacted some business with, last time I was at Natchez,” said Mr. Shelby. “ And he presumed on it to make himself quite at home, and call and dine here, ay ? ” “ Why, I invited him ; I had some accounts with him,” said Shelby. “ Is he a negro trader ? ” said Mrs. Shelby, noticing a certain embarrassment in her husband’s manner. “ Why, my dear, what put that into your head ? ” said Shel¬ by, looking up. “Nothing, — only Eliza came in here, after dinner, in a great worry, crying and taking on, and said you were talking with a trader, and that she heard him make an offer for her boy — the ridiculous little goose ! ” “ She did, hey ? ” said Mr. Shelby, returning to his paper, which he seemed for a few moments quite intent upon, not per¬ ceiving that he was holding it bottom upwards. “ It will have to come out,” said he, mentally ; “ as well now as ever.” “ I told Eliza,” said Mrs. Shelby, as she continued brushing her hair, “ that she was a little fool for her pains, and that you never had any thing to do with that sort of persons. Of course, I knew you never meant to sell any of our people, — least of all, to such a fellow.” “Well, Emily,” said her husband, “so I have always felt and said ; but the fact is, that my business lies so that I cannot get on without. I shall have to sell some of my hands.” “ To that creature ? Impossible ! Mr. Shelby, you cannot be serious.” “ I’m sorry to say that I am,” said Mr. Shelby. “ I’ve agreed to sell Tom.” “ What ! our Tom ? — • that good, faithful creature ! — been your faithful servant from a boy ! 0 Mr. Shelby ! — and you have promised him his freedom, too, — you and I have spoken LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 58 to him a hundred times of it. Well, I can believe any thing now, — I can believe now that you could sell little Harry, poor Eliza’s only child ! ” said Mrs. Shelby, in a tone between grief and indignation. “Well, since you must know all, it is so. I have agreed to sell Tom and Harry both ; and I don’t know why I am to be rated, as if I were a monster, for doing what every one does every day.” “ But why, of all others, choose these ? ” said Mrs. Shelby. “ Why sell them, of all on the place, if you must sell at all ? ” “Because they will bring the highest sum of any, — that’s why. I could choose another, if you say so. The fellow made me a high bid on Eliza, if that would suit you any better,” said Mr. Shelby. “ The wretch ! ” said Mrs. Shelby, vehemently. “Well, I didn’t listen to it a moment, — out of regard to your feelings, I wouldn’t ; — so give me some credit.” “ My dear,” said Mrs. Shelby, recollecting herself, “ forgive me. I have been hasty. I was surprised, and entirely unpre¬ pared for this ; — but surely you will allow me to intercede for these poor creatures. Tom is a noble-hearted, faithful fellow, if he is black. I do believe, Mr. Shelby, that if he were put to it, he would lay down his life for you.” “I know it, — I dare say ; but what’s the use of all this? — I can’t help myself.” “ Why not make a pecuniary sacrifice ? I’m willing to bear my part of the inconvenience. 0 Mr. Shelby, I have tried — tried most faithfully, as a Christian woman should — to do my duty to these poor, simple, dependent creatures. I have cared for them, instructed them, watched over them, and known all their little cares and joys, for years ; and how can I ever hold up my head again among them, if, for the sake of a little pal¬ try gain, we sell such a faithful, excellent, confiding creature as poor Tom, and tear from him in a moment all we have taught him to love and value ? I have taught them the duties of the family, of parent and child, and husband and wife ; and how can I bear to have this open acknowledgment that we care for no tie, no duty, no relation, however sacred, compared with money ? I have talked with Eliza about her boy — her 54 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN ; OR, duty to Min as a Christian mother, to watch over him, pray for him, and bring him up in a Christian way ; and now what can I say, if you tear him away, and sell him, soul and body, to a profane, unprincipled man, just to save a little money ? I have told .her that one soul is worth more than all the money in the world ; and how will she believe me when she sees us turn round and sell her child ? — sell him, perhaps, to certain ruin of body and soul ! ” “ Tm sorry you feel so about it, Emily, — indeed I am/7 said Mr. Shelby ; “ and I respect your feelings, too, though I don’t pretend to share them to their full extent ; but I tell you now, solemnly, it’s of no use — I can’t help myself. I didn’t mean to tell you this, Emily ; but, in plain words, there is no choice between selling these two and selling every thing. Either they must go, or all must. Haley has come into possession of a mort¬ gage, which, if I don’t clear oft with him directly, will take every thing before it. I’ve raked, and scraped, and borrowed, and all but begged, — and the price of these two was needed to make up the balance, and I had to give them up. Haley fancied the child ; he agreed to settle the matter that way, and no other. I was in his power, and had to do it. If you feel so to have them sold, would it be any better to have all sold ? ” Mrs. Shelby stood like one stricken. Finally, turning to her toilet, she rested her face in her hands, and gave a sort of groan. “ This is God’s curse on slavery ! — a bitter, bitter, most ac¬ cursed thing ! — a curse to the master and a curse to the slave ! I was a fool to think I could make any thing good out of such a deadly evil. It is a sin to hold a slave under laws like ours, — I always felt it was, — I always thought so when I was a girl, — I thought so still more after I joined the church ; but I thought I could gild it over, — I thought, by kindness, and care, and instruction, I could make the condition of mine bet¬ ter than freedom — fool that I was ! ” “ Why, wife, you are getting to be an abolitionist, quite.” “ Abolitionist ! if they knew all I know about slavery they might talk! We don’t need them to tell us; you know I never thought that slavery was right — never felt willing to own slaves.” LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 55 “ Well, therein you differ from many wise and pious men/7 said Mr. Shelby. “ You remember Mr. B.’s sermon, the other Sunday ? 77 “ I don7t want to hear such sermons ; I never wish to hear Mr. B. in our church again. Ministers can7t help the evil, per¬ haps, — can7t cure it, any more than we can, — but defend it ! — it always went against my common sense. And I think you didn’t think much of that sermon, either.77 “ Well,77 said Shelby, “ I must say these ministers sometimes carry matters further than we poor sinners would exactly dare to do. We men of the world must wink pretty hard at vari¬ ous things, and get used to a deal that isn’t the exact thing. But we don’t quite fancy, when women and ministers come out broad and square, and go beyond us in matters of either mod¬ esty or morals, that’s a fact. But now, my dear, I trust you see the necessity of the thing, and you see that I have done the very best that circumstances would allow.77 “ 0, yes, yes ! 77 said Mrs. Shelby, hurriedly and abstractedly fingering her gold watch, — “I haven’t any jewelry of any amount,” she added, thoughtfully ; “ but would not this watch do something ? — it was an expensive one, when it was bought. If I could only at least save Eliza’s child, I would sacrifice any thing I have.” “ I’m sorry, very sorry, Emily,” said Mr. Shelby, — “ I’m sorry this takes hold of you so ; but it will do no good. The fact is, Emily, the thing’s done ; the bills of sale are already signed, and in Haley’s hands ; and you must be thankful it is no worse. That man has had it in his power to ruin us all, — and now he is fairly off. If you knew the man as I do, you’d think that we had had a narrow escape.” “ Is he so hard, then ? ” “ Why, not a cruel man, exactly, but a man of leather, — a man alive to nothing but trade and profit, — cool, and unhesi¬ tating, and unrelenting, as death and the grave. He’d sell his own mother at a good percentage — not wishing the old woman any harm, either.” “ And this wretch owns that good, faithful Tom, and Eliza’s child ! ” “Well, my dear, the fact is that this goes rather hard with 56 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN; OR, me ; it’s a thing I hate to think of. Haley wants to drive mat¬ ters, and take possession to-morrow. I’m going to get out my horse bright and early, and be off. I can’t see Tom, that’s a fact ; and you had better arrange a drive somewhere, and carry Eliza off. Let the thing be done when she is out of sight.” “ No, no,” said Mrs. Shelby ; “ I’ll be in no sense accomplice or help in this cruel business. I’ll go and see poor old Tom, God help him, in his distress ! They shall see, at any rate, that their mistress can feel for and with them. As to Eliza, I dare not think about it. The Lord forgive us ! What have we done, that this cruel necessity should come on us ? ” There was one listener to this conversation whom Mr. and Mrs. Shelby little suspected. Communicating with their apartment was a large closet, opening by a door into the outer passage. When Mrs. Shelby had dismissed Eliza for the night, her feverish and excited mind had suggested the idea of this closet ; and she had hid¬ den herself there, and, with her ear pressed close against the crack of the door, had lost not a word of the conversation. When the voices died into silence, she rose and crept stealthily away. Pale, shivering, with rigid features and com¬ pressed lips, she looked an entirely altered being from the soft and timid creature she had been hitherto. She moved cau¬ tiously along the entry, paused one moment at her mistress’s door, and raised her hands in mute appeal to Heaven, and then turned and glided into her own room. It was a quiet, neat apartment, on the same floor with her mistress. There was the pleasant sunny window, where she had often sat singing at her sewing ; there a little case of books, and various little fancy articles, ranged by them, the gifts of Christmas holi¬ days ; there was her simple wardrobe in the closet and in the drawers : — here was, in short, her home ; and, on the whole, a happy one it had been to her. But there, on the bed, lay her slumbering boy, his long curls falling negligently around his unconscious face, his rosy mouth half open, his little fat hands thrown out over the bed clothes, and a smile spread like a sun¬ beam over his whole face. “ Poor boy ! poor fellow ! ” said Eliza ; u they have sold you ! but your mother will save you yet ! ” LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 57 No tear dropped over that pillow ; in such straits as these, the heart has no tears to give, — it drops only blood, bleeding itself away in silence. Shq took a piece of paper and a pencil, and wrote, hastily, — “ 0 missis ! dear missis ! don’t think me ungrateful, — don’t think hard of me, any way, — I heard all you and master said to-night. I am going to try to save my boy — you will not blame me ! God bless and reward you for all your kindness ! ” Hastily folding and directing this, she went to a drawer, and made up a little package of clothing for her boy, which she tied with a handkerchief firmly round her waist ; and so fond is a mother’s remembrance, that, even in the terrors of that hour, she did not forget to put in the little package one or two of his favorite toys, reserving a gayly-painted parrot to amuse him, when she should be called on to awaken him. It was some trouble to arouse the little sleeper ; but, after some effort, he sat up, and was playing with his bird, while his mother was putting on her bonnet and shawl. “ Where are you going, mother ? ” said he, as she drew near the bed, with his little coat and cap. His mother drew near, and looked so earnestlv into his eyes, that he at once divined that something unusual was the matter. “ Hush, Harry,” she said ; “ musn’t speak loud, or they will hear us. A wicked man was coming to take little Harry away from his mother, and carry him ’way off in the dark ; but mother won’t let him — she’s going to put on her little boy’s cap and coat, and run off with him, so the ugly man can’t catch him.” Saying these words, she had tied and buttoned on the child’s simple outfit, and, taking him in her arms, she whispered to him to be very still ; and, opening a door in her room which led into the outer veranda, she glided noiselessly out. It was a sparkling, frosty, starlight night, and the mother wrapped the shawl close round her child, as, perfectly quiet with vague terror, he clung round her neck. Old Bruno, a great Newfoundland, who slept at the end of the porch, rose, with a low growl, as she came near. She gently spoke his name, and the animal, an old pet and play- 8 58 UNCLE tom’s CABIN; OR, mate of hers, instantly, wagging his tail, prepared to follow her, though apparently revolving much, in his simple dog’s head, what such an indiscreet midnight promenade might mean. Some dim ideas of imprudence or impropriety in the measure seemed to embarrass him considerably ; for he often stopped, as Eliza glided forward, and looked wistfully, first at her and then at the house, and then, as if reassured by reflection, he pattered along after her again. A few minutes brought them to the window of Uncle Tom’s cottage, and Eliza, stopping, tapped lightly on the window pane. The prayer meeting at Uncle Tom’s had, in the order of hymn-singing, been protracted to a very late hour ; and, as Uncle Tom had indulged himself in a few lengthy solos after¬ wards, the consequence was, that, although it was now between twelve and one o’clock, he and his worthy helpmeet were not yet asleep. “ Good Lord ! what’s that ? ” said Aunt Chloe, starting up and hastily drawing the curtain. “ My sakes alive, if it an’t Lizy ! Get on your clothes, old man, quick ! — there’s old Bruno, too, a pawin’ round ; what on airth ! I’m gwine to open the door.” And, suiting the action to the word, the door flew open, and the light of the tallow candle, which Tom had hastily lighted, fell on the haggard face and dark, wild eyes of the fugitive. “Lord bless you! — I’m skeered to look at ye, Lizy! Are ye tuck sick, or what’s come over ye ? ” “I’m running away — Uncle Tom and Aunt Chloe — carrying off my child — master sold him!” “Sold him?” echoed both, lifting up their hands in dismay. “Yes, sold him!” said Eliza, firmly ; “I crept into the closet by mistress’s door to-night, and I heard master tell missis that he had sold my Harry, and you, Uncle Tom, both, to a trader ; and that he was going off this morning on his horse, and that the man was to take possession to-day.” Tom had stood, during this speech, with his hands raised, and his eyes dilated, like a man in a dream. Slowly and gradually, as its meaning came over him, he collapsed, rather than seated himself, on his old chair, and sunk his head down upon his knees. “The good Lord have pity on us!” said Aunt Chloe. “0, LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 59 it don't seem as if it was true ! What lias he done, that mas'r should sell him ? " “He hasn't done any thing, — it isn't for that. Master don’t want to sell; and missis — she's always good. I heard her plead and beg for us ; but he told her 'twas no use ; that he was in this man's debt, and that this man had got the power over him ; and that if he didn't pay him off clear, it would end in his having to sell the place and all the people, and move off. Yes, I heard him say there was no choice between selling these two and selling all, the man was driving him so hard. Master said he was sorry ; but 0, missis — you ought to have heard her talk ! If she an't a Christian and an angel, there never was one. I'm a wicked girl to leave her so ; but, then, I can't help it. She said, herself, one soul was worth more than the world ; and this boy lias a soul, and if I let him be carried off, who knows what'll become of it ? It must be right ; but, if it an't right, the Lord forgive me, for I can't help doing it ! ” “Well, old man!" said Aunt Chloe, “why don't you go, too? Will you wait to be toted down river, where they kill niggers with hard work and starving ? I'd a heap rather die than go there, any day ! There's time for ye, — be off with Lizy, — you've got a pass to come and go any time. Come, bustle up, and I'll get your things together." Tom slowly raised his head, and looked sorrowfully but quietly around, and said. — “No, no — I an't going. Let Eliza go — it's her right! I wouldn't be the one to say no — 'tan't in natur for her to stay ; but you heard what she said ! If I must be sold, or all the people on the place, and every thing go to rack, why, let me be sold. I s'pose I can b'ar it as well as any on 'em," he added, while something like a sob and a sigh shook his broad, rough chest convulsively. “Mas'r always found me on the spot — he always will. I never have broke trust, nor used my pass no ways contrary to my word, and I never will. It's better for me alone to go, than to break up the place and sell all. Mas'r an't to blame, Chloe, and he’ll take care of you and the poor - " Here he turned to the rough trundle bed, full of little woolly heads, and broke fairly down. He leaned over the back of the chair, and covered his face with his large hands. Sobs, 60 UNCLE TOM;S CABIN ; OR, heavy, hoarse, and loud, shook the chair, and great tears fell through his fingers on the floor ; just such tears, sir, as you dropped into the coffin where lay your first-born son ; such tears, woman, as you shed when you heard the cries of your dying babe. For, sir, he was a man, — and you are but another man. And, woman, though dressed in silk and jewels, you are but a woman, and, in life’s great straits and mighty griefs, ye feel but one sorrow ! “ And now,” said Eliza, as she stood in the door, “ I saw my husband only this afternoon, and I little knew then what was to come. They have pushed him to the very last standing- place, and lie told me, to-day, that he was going to run away. Do try, if you can, to get word to him. Tell him how I went, and why I went ; and tell him I’m going to try and find Canada. You must give my love to him, and tell him, if I never see him again,” — she turned away, and stood with her back to them for a moment, and then added, in a husky voice, — “tell him to be as good as he can, and try and meet me in the kingdom of heaven.” “ Call Bruno in there,” she added. “ Shut the door on him, poor beast ! He musn’t go with me ! ” A few last words and tears, a few simple adieus and bless¬ ings, and clasping her wondering and affrighted child in her arms, she glided noiselessly away. CHAPTER YI. DISCOVERY. r. and Mrs. Shelby, after their protracted dis¬ cussion of the night before, did not readily sink to repose, and, in consequence, slept some¬ what later than usual the ensuing morning. “I wonder what keeps Eliza/7 said Mrs. Shelby, after giving her bell repeated pulls, to no purpose. Mr. Shelby was standing before his dressing glass, sharp¬ ening his razor ; and just then the door opened, and a colored boy entered, with his shaving water. “ Andy/7 said his mistress, “ step to Eliza’s door, and tell her I have rung for her three times. Poor thing ! 77 she added, to herself, with a sigh. Andy soon returned, with eyes very wide in astonishment. 62 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, “ Lor, missis ! Lizy’s drawers is all open, and her things all lying every which way ; and I believe she’s just done clared out ! ” The truth flashed upon Mr. Shelby and his wife at the same moment. He exclaimed, — “Then she suspected it, and she’s off!” “ The Lord be thanked ! ” said Mrs. Shelbv. “ I trust she is.” “ Wife, you talk like a fool ! Really, it will be something pretty awkward for me, if she is. Haley saw that I hesitated about selling this child, and he’ll think I connived at it, to get him out of the way. It touches my honor ! ” And Mr. Shelby left the room hastily. There were great running and ejaculating, and opening and shutting of doors, and appearance of faces in all shades of color in different places, for about a quarter of an hour. One person only, who might have shed some light on the matter, was entirely silent, and that was the head cook, Aunt Chloe. Silently, and with a heavy cloud settled down over her once joyous face, she proceeded making out her breakfast biscuits as if she heard and saw nothing of the excitement around her. Very soon, about a dozen young imps were roosting, like so many crows, on the veranda railings, each one determined to be the first one to apprise the strange mas’r of his ill luck. “ He’ll be rael mad, I’ll be bound,” said Andy. “ Won't he swar ! ” said little black Jake. “Yes, for he does swar,” said woolly-headed Mandy. “I hearn him yesterday, at dinner. I hearn all about it then, ’cause I got into the closet where missis keeps the great jugs, and I hearn every word.” And Mandy, who had never in her life thought of the meaning of a word she had heard, more than a black cat, now took airs of superior wisdom, and strutted about, forgetting to state that, though actually coiled up among the jugs at the time specified, she had been fast asleep all the time. When, at last, Haley appeared, booted and spurred, he was saluted with the bad tidings on every hand. The young imps on the veranda were not disappointed in their hope of hear¬ ing him “ swar,” which lie did with a fluency and fervency which delighted them all amazingly, as they ducked and dodged LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 63 hither and thither to be out of the reach of his riding whip ; and, all whooping off together, they tumbled, in a pile of im¬ measurable giggle, on the withered turf under the yeranda, where they kicked up their heels and shouted to their full satisfaction. “ If I had the little devils ! ” muttered Haley, between his teeth. “ But you han’t got ’em, though ! ” said Andy, with a tri¬ umphant flourish, and making a string of indescribable mouths at the unfortunate trader’s back, when he was fairly beyond hearing. “ I say now, Shelby, this yer’s a most estror’nary business ! ” said Haley, as he abruptly entered the parlor. “ It seems that gal’s off, with her young un.” “Mr. Haley, Mrs. Shelby is present,” said Mr. Shelby. “ I beg pardon, ma’am,” said Haley, bowing slightly, with a still lowering brow ; “ but still I say, as I said before, this yer’s a sing’lar report. Is it true, sir ? ” “ Sir,” said Mr. Shelby, “ if you wish to communicate with me, you must observe something of the decorum of a gentle¬ man. Andy, take Mr. Haley’s hat and riding whip. Take a seat, sir. Yes, sir; I regret to say that the young woman, excited by overhearing, or having reported to her, something of this business, has taken her child in the night, and made off.” 64 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, “I did expect fair dealing in this matter, I confess,” said Haley. “Well, sir,” said Mr. Slielby, turning sharply round upon him, “ what am I to understand by that remark ? If any man calls my honor in question, I have but one answer for him.” The trader cowered at this, and in a somewhat lower tone said that “ it was plaguy hard on a fellow, that had made a fair bargain, to be gulled that way.” “ Mr. Haley,” said Mr. Shelby, “ if I did not think you had some cause for disappointment, I should not have borne from you the rude and unceremonious style of your entrance into my parlor this morning. I say this much, however, since appearances call for it, that I shall allow of no insinuations cast upon me, as if I were at all partner to any unfairness in this matter. Moreover, I shall feel bound to give you every assistance, in the use of horses, servants, &c., in the recovery of your property. So, in short, Haley,” said he, suddenly dropping from the tone of dignified coolness to his ordinary one of easy frankness, “the best way for you is to keep good natured, and eat some breakfast, and we will then see what is to be done.” Mrs. Shelby now rose, and said her engagements would prevent her being at the breakfast table that morning ; and, deputing a very respectable mulatto woman to attend to the gentlemen’s coffee at the sideboard, she left the room. “ Old lady don’t like your humble servant, over and above,” said Haley, with an uneasy effort to be very familiar. “ I am not accustomed to hear my wife spoken of with such freedom,” said Mr. Shelby, dryly. “Beg pardon ; of course, only a joke, you know,” said Haley, forcing a laugh. “ Some jokes are less agreeable than others,” rejoined Shelby. “Devilish free, now I’ve signed those papers, cuss him!” muttered Haley to himself ; “ quite grand, since yesterday ! ” Never did fall of any prime minister at court occasion wider surges of sensation than the report of Tom’s fate among his compeers on the place. It was the topic in every mouth, every where ; and nothing was done in the house or in the field, but to discuss its probable results. Eliza’s flight — an unprece- LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 65 dented event on the place — was also a great accessory in stimulating the general excitement. Black Sam, as he was commonly called, from his being about three shades blacker than any other son of ebony on the place, was revolving the matter profoundly in all its phases and bearings, with a comprehensiveness of vision and a strict lookout to his own personal well being, that would have done credit to any white patriot in Washington. “ It7s an ill wind dat blows nowhar, — dat ar a fact,’7 said Sam, sententiously, giving an additional hoist to his panta¬ loons, and adroitly substituting a long nail in place of a miss¬ ing suspender button, with which effort of mechanical genius he seemed highly delighted. “Yes, it7s an ill wind blows nowliar,77 he repeated. “Now, dar, Tom7s down — wal, course der7s room for some nigger to be up — and why not dis nigger? — dat7s de idee. Tom, a ridin7 round de country — boots blacked — pass in his pocket — all grand as Cuffee — who but he? Now, why shouldn7t Sam?' — dat7s what I want to know.77 “Halloo, Sam — 0 Sam! mas7r wants you to cotch Bill and Jerry,77 said Andy, cutting short Sands soliloquy. “ High ! what7s afoot now, young un ? 77 “ Why, you don7t know, I s’pose. that Lizy7s cut stick, and dared out, with her young un ? 77 “You teach your granny!77 said Sam, with infinite con¬ tempt; “knowed it aheap sight sooner than you did; this nigger an7t so green, now ! 77 “Well, any how, mash* wants Bill and Jerry geared right up ; and you and I7s to go with Mas7r Haley, to look arter her.77 “Good, now! 7dat7s de time o7 day!77 said Sam. “It7s Sam dat7s called for in dese yer times. He7s de nigger. See if I don7t cotch her, now ; mas7r7ll see what Sam can do ! 77 “ Ah ! but, Sam,77 said Andy, “ you7d better think twice ; for missis don7t want her cotched, and she’ll be in yer wool.77 “ High ! 77 said Sam, opening his eyes. “ How you know dat ? 77 “ Heard her say so, my own self, dis blessed mornin7, when I bring in mas7r7s shaving water. She sent me to see why Lizy didn’t come to dress her ; and when I telled her she was off, ' 9 66 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN; OR, she jest ris up, and says she, ‘ The Lord be praised ; 7 and mas’r, he seemed rael mad, and says he, ‘ Wife, you talk like a fool.7 But Lor ! shell bring him to ! I knows well enough how that’ll be, — it’s allers best to stand missis7 side the fence, now I tell yer.77 Black Sam, upon this, scratched his woolly pate, which, if it did not contain very profound wisdom, still contained a great deal of a particular species much in demand among politicians of all complexions and countries, and vulgarly denominated “ knowing which side the bread is buttered;77 so, stopping with grave consideration, he again gave a hitch to his panta¬ loons, which was his regularly-organized method of assisting his mental perplexities. “ Der an7t no sayin7 — never — Tout no kind o7 thing in dis yer world,77 he said, at last. Sam spoke like a philosopher, emphasizing this — as if he had had a large experience in different sorts of worlds, and therefore had come to his conclusions advisedly. “ Now, sartin I7d a said that missis would a scoured the varsal world after Lizy,77 added Sam, thoughtfully. “ So she would,77 said Andy ; “ but can7t ye see through a ladder, ye black nigger ? Missis don’t want dis yer Mas7r Haley to get Lizy’s boy ; dat’s de go ! 77 “ High ! 77 said Sam, with an indescribable intonation known only to those who have heard it among the negroes. “ And Ill tell yer more’n all,77 said Andy ; “ I specs you7d better be making tracks for dem horses, — mighty sudden, too, — for I hearn missis 7quirin7 arter yer, — so you’ve stood foolin’ long enough.77 Sam, upon this, began to bestir himself in real earnest, and after a while appeared, bearing down gloriously towards the house, with Bill and Jerry in a full canter, and adroitly throw¬ ing himself off before they had any idea of stopping, he brought them up alongside of the horse post like a tornado. Haley’s horse, which was a skittish young colt, winced, and bounced, and pulled hard at his halter. “ Ho, ho ! 77 said Sam, “ skeery, ar ye ? 77 and his black vis¬ age lighted up with a curious, mischievous gleam. “ I’ll fix ye now ! 77 said he. LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 67 There was a large beech tree overshadowing the place, and the small, sharp, triangular beech nuts lay scattered thickly on the ground. With one of these in his fingers, Sam approached the colt, stroked and patted, and seemed apparently busy in soothing his agitation. On pretence of adjusting the saddle, he adroitly slipped under it the sharp little nut, in such a man¬ ner that the least weight brought upon the saddle would annoy the nervous sensibilities of the animal, without leaving any perceptible graze or wound. 1 “ Dar ! ” he said, rolling his eyes with an approving grin ; “ me fix ’em ! ” At this moment, Mrs. Shelby appeared on the balcony, beck¬ oning to him. Sam approached with as good a determination to pay court as did ever suitor after a vacant place at St. James’s or Washington. “ Why have you been loitering so, Sam ? I sent Andy to tell you to hurry.” “ Lord bless you, missis ! ” said Sam, “ horses won’t be cotched all in a minit • they’d done dared out way down to the south pasture, and the Lord knows whar ! ” “ Sam, how often must I tell you not to say, ‘ Lord bless you,’ and ‘ the Lord knows,’ and such things ? It’s wicked.” “ 0, Lord bless my soul ! I done forgot, missis ! I won’t say nothing of de sort no more.” “ Why, Sam, you just have said it again.” “ Did I ? 0 Lord ! I mean — I didn’t go fur to say it.” “ You must be careful , Sam.” “ Just let me get my breath, missis, and I’ll start fair. I’ll be bery careful.” “ Wrell, Sam, you are to go with Mr. Haley, to show him the road, and help him. Be careful of the horses, Sam ; you know Jerry was a little lame last week ; dordt ride them too fast.” Mrs. Shelby spoke the last words with a low voice, and strong emphasis. “ Let dis child alone for dat ! ” said Sam, rolling up his eyes with a volume of meaning. “ Lord knows ! High ! Didn’t say dat ! ” said he, suddenly catching his breath, with a ludicrous flourish of apprehension, which made his mistress 68 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN ; OR, laugh, spite of herself. “ Yes, missis, Ill look out for de bosses ! ” “ Now, Andy/7 said Sam, returning to his stand under the beech trees, “ you see I wouldn’t be ’tall surprised if dat ar -gen’lman’s crittur should gib a fling, by and by, when he comes to be a gettin’ up. You know, Andy, critturs will do such things ; 77 and therewith Sam poked Andy in the side, in a highly suggestive manner. “ High ! 77 said Andy, with an air of instant appreciation. “Yes, you see, Andy, missis wants to make time, — dat ar7s clar to der most or’nary ’bserver. I jis make a little for her. Now, you see, get all dese yer hosses loose, caperin’ permiscus round dis yer lot and down to de wood dar, and I spec mas’r won’t be off* in a hurry.77 Andy grinned. “Yer see,” said Sam, “yer see, Andy, if any such thing should happen as that Mas’r Haley’s horse should begin to act contrary, and cut up, you and I jist lets go of our’n to help him, and we’ll help him — 0, yes ! ” And Sam and Andy laid their heads back on their shoulders, and broke into a low, immoderate laugh, snapping their fingers and flourishing their heels with exquisite delight. At this instant Haley appeared on the veranda. Somewhat mollified by certain cups of very good coffee, he came out smiling and talking, in tolerably restored humor. Sam and Andy, clawing for certain fragmentary palm leaves, which they were in the habit of considering as hats, flew to the horse- posts, to be ready to “ help mas’r.” Sam’s palm leaf had been ingeniously disentangled from all pretensions to braid, as respects its brim ; and the slivers, starting apart, and standing upright, gave it a blazing air of 1 freedom and defiance, quite equal to that of any Fejee chief ; while the whole brim of Andy’s being departed bodily, he rapped the crown on his head with a dexterous thump, and looked about well pleased, as if to say, “ Who says I haven’t got a hat ? ” “Well, boys,” said Haley, “look alive now; we must lose no time.” “ Not a bit of him, mas’r ! ” said Sam, putting Haley’s rein LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 69 in his hand, and holding his stirrup, while Andy was untying the other two horses. The instant Haley touched the saddle, the mettlesome crea¬ ture bounded from the earth with a sudden spring, that threw his master sprawling, some feet off, on the soft, dry turf. Sam, with frantic ejaculations, made a dive at the reins, but only succeeded in brushing the blazing palm leaf aforenamed into the horse’s eyes, which by no means tended to allay the confu¬ sion of his nerves. So, with great vehemence, he overturned Sam, and, giving two or three contemptuous snorts, flourished his heels vigorously in the air, and was soon prancing away towards the lower end of the lawn, followed by Bill and Jerry, whom Andy had not failed to let loose, according to contract, speeding them off with various direful ejaculations. And now ensued a miscellaneous scene of confusion. Sam and Andy ran and shouted, — dogs barked here and there, — and Mike, Mose, Mandy, Fanny, and all the smaller specimens on the place, both male and female, raced, clapped hands, whooped, and shouted, with outrageous officiousness and untiring zeal. Haley’s horse, which was a white one, and very fleet and spirited, appeared to enter into the spirit of the scene with great gusto ; and having for his coursing ground a lawn of nearly half a mile in extent, gently sloping down on every side into indefinite woodland, he appeared to take infinite delight 70 UNCLE TOM S CABIN ; OR, in seeing how near he could allow his pursuers to approach him, and then, when within a hand’s breadth, whisk off with a start and a snort, like a mischievous beast as he was, and career far down into some alley of the wood-lot. Nothing was farther from Sam’s mind than to have any one of the troop taken until such season as should seem to him most befitting, — and the exertions that he made were certainly most heroic. Like the sword of Cceur de Lion, which always blazed in the front and thickest of the battle, Sam’s palm leaf was to be seen every where when there was the least danger that a horse could be caught; — there he would bear down full tilt, shouting, “ Now for it ! cotch him ! cotch him ! ” in a way that would set every thing to indiscriminate rout in a moment. Haley ran up and down, and cursed, and swore, and stamped miscellaneously. Mr. Shelby in vain tried to shout directions from the balcony, and Mrs. Shelby from her chamber window alternately laughed and wondered, — - not without some inkling of what lay at the bottom of all this confusion. At last, about twelve o’clock, Sam appeared triumphant, mounted on Jerry, with Haley’s horse by his side, reeking with sweat, but with flashing eyes and dilated nostrils, showing that the spirit of freedom had not yet entirely subsided. “ He’s cotched ! ” he exclaimed, triumphantly. “ If ’t hadn’t been for me, they might a bust theirselves, all on ’em ; but I cotched him ! ” “ You ! ” growled Haley, in no amiable mood. “ If it hadn’t been for you, this never would have happened.” “ Lord bless us, mas’r,” said Sam, in a tone of the deepest concern, “ and me that has been racin’ and chasin’ till the sweat just pours off me ! ” “ Well, well ! ” said Haley, “you’ve lost me near three hours, with your cursed nonsense. Now let’s be off, and have no more fooling.” “ Why, mas’r,” said Sam, in a deprecating tone, “ I believe you mean to kill us all clar, bosses and all. Here we are all just ready to drop down, and the critters all in a reek of sweat. Why, mas’r won’t think of startin’ on now till arter dinner. Mas’r’s hoss wants rubben down : see how he splashed hisself ; and Jerry limps too ; don’t think missis would be willin’ to LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 71 have ns start clis yer way, no how. Lord bless you, mas’r, we can ketch up, if we do stop. Lizy never was no great of a walker.” Mrs. Shelby, who, greatly to her amusement, had overheard this conversation from the veranda, now resolved to do her part. She came forward, and, courteously expressing her con¬ cern for Haley’s accident, pressed him to stay to dinner, say¬ ing that the cook should bring it on the table immediately. Thus, all things considered, Haley, with rather an equivocal grace, proceeded to the parlor, while Sam, rolling his eyes after him with unutterable meaning, proceeded gravely with the horses to the stable yard. “ Did yer see him, Andy ? did yer see him ? ” said Sam, when he had got fairly beyond the shelter of the barn, and fastened the horse to a post. “ 0 Lor, if it warn’t as good as a meetin’, now, to see him a dancin’, and kickin’, and swarin’ at us. Didn’t I hear him ? Swar away, ole fellow, (says I to myself ; ) will yer have yer hoss now, or wait till you catch him ? (says I.) Lor, Andy, I think I can see him now.” And Sam and Andy leaned up against the barn, and laughed to their hearts’ content. “Yer oughter seen how mad he looked, when I brought the hoss up. Lord, he’d a killed me, if he durs’ to ; and there I was a standin’ as innercent and as humble.” “ Lor, I seed you,” said Andy ; “ an’t you an old hoss, Sam ? ” “ Eather specks I am,” said Sam ; “ did yer see missis up stars at the winder ? I seed her laughin’.” “ I’m sure, I was racin’ so, I didn’t see nothing,” said Andy. “ Well, yer see,” said Sam, proceeding gravely to wash down Haley’s pony, “ I’se ’quired what yer may call a habit o’ bobser- vation , Andy. It’s a very ’portant habit, Andy ; and I ’com¬ mend yer to be cultivatin’ it, now yer young. Hist up that hind foot, Andy. Yer see, Andy, it’s bobservation makes all de difference in niggers. Didn’t I see which way the wind blew dis yer mornin’ ? Didn’t I see what missis wanted, though she never let on? Dat ar’s bobservation, Andy. I ’spects it’s what you may call a faculty. Faculties is different in different peoples, but cultivation of ’em goes a great way.” *% 72 uncle tom’s cabin; or, “ I guess if I hadn’t helped your bobservation dis morning yer wouldn’t have seen your way so smart,” said Andy. “Andy,” said Sam, “you’s a promisin’ child, der an’t no manner o’ doubt. I thinks lots of yer, Andy ; and I don’t feel no ■ ways ashamed to take idees from you. W e oughtenter overlook nobody, Andy, cause the smartest on us gets tripped up sometimes. And so, Andy, let’s go up to the house now. I’ll be boun’ missis’ll give us an uncommon good bite, dis yer time.” ' CHAPTER VII. THE MOTHER’S STRUGGLE. t is impossible to conceive of a human creature more wholly desolate and forlorn than Eliza, when she turned her footsteps from Uncle Tom’s cabin. Her husband’s suffering and dangers, and the danger of her child, all blended in her mind, with a confused and stunning sense of the risk she was running, in leaving the only home she had ever known, and cutting loose from the protection of a friend whom she loved and revered. Then there was the parting from every familiar object, — the place where she had grown up, the trees under which she had played, the groves where she had walked many an evening, in happier days, by the side of her young hus¬ band, — every thing, as it lay in the clear, frosty starlight, 10 74 UNCLE tom’s CABIN : OR, / seemed to speak reproachfully to her, and ask her whither could she go from a home like that. But stronger than all was maternal love, wrought into a paroxysm of frenzy by the near approach of a fearful danger. Her boy was old enough to have walked by her side, and, in an indifferent case, she would only have led him by the hand ; but now the bare thought of putting him out of her arms made her shudder, and she strained him to her bosom with a convulsive grasp, as she went rapidly forward. The frosty ground creaked beneath her feet, and she trem¬ bled at the sound : every quaking leaf and fluttering shadow sent the blood backward to her heart, and quickened her foot¬ steps. She wondered within herself at the strength that seemed to be come upon her ; for she felt the weight of her boy as if it had been a feather, and every flutter of fear seemed to increase the supernatural power that bore her on, while from her pale lips burst forth, in frequent ejaculations, the prayer to a Friend above — “ Lord, help ! Lord, save me ! ” If it were your Harry, mother, or your Willie, that was going to be torn from you by a brutal trader, to-morrow morn¬ ing, — if you had seen the man, and heard that the papers were signed and delivered, and vou had onlv from twelve o’clock till morning to make good your escape, — how fast could you walk ? How many miles could you make in those few brief hours, with the darling at your bosom, — the little sleepy head on your shoulder, — the small, soft arms trustingly holding on to your neck ? For the child slept. At first, the novelty and alarm kept him waking ; but his mother so hurriedly repressed every breath or sound, and so assured him that if he were only still she would certainly save him, that he clung quietly round her neck, only asking, as he found himself sinking to sleep, — “ Mother, I don’t need to keep awake, do I ? ” “No, my darling ; sleep, if you want to.” “But, mother, if I do get asleep, you won’t let him get me?” “No ! so may God help me !” said his mother, with a paler cheek, and a brighter light in her large dark eyes. “ You’re sure , an’t you, mother ? ” LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 75 “ Yes, sure ! ” said the mother, in a voice that startled her¬ self ; for it seemed to her to come from a spirit within, that was no part of her ; and the boy dropped his little weary head on her shoulder, and was soon asleep. How the touch of those warm arms, the gentle breathings that came in her neck, seemed to add lire and spirit to her movements ! It seemed to her as if strength poured into her in electric streams, from every gentle touch and movement of the sleeping, confiding child. Sublime is the dominion of the mind over the body, that, for a time, can make flesh and nerve impregnable, and string the sinews like steel, so that the weak become so mighty. The boundaries of the farm, the grove, the wood-lot, passed by her dizzily, as she walked on ; and still she went, leaving one familiar object after another, slacking not, pausing not, till reddening daylight found her many a long mile from all traces of any familiar objects upon the open highway. She had often been, with her mistress, to visit some connec¬ tions, in the little village of T - , not far from the Ohio River, and knew the road well. To go thither, to escape across the Ohio River, were the first hurried outlines of her plan of escape ; beyond that, she could only hope in God. When horses and vehicles began to move along the high¬ way, with that alert perception peculiar to a state of excite¬ ment, and which seems to be a sort of inspiration, she became aware that her headlong pace and distracted air might bring on her remark and suspicion. She therefore put the boy on the ground, and, adjusting her dress and bonnet, she walked on at as rapid a pace as she thought consistent with the preserva¬ tion of appearances. In her little bundle she had provided a store of cakes and apples, which she used as expedients for quickening the speed of the child, rolling the apple some yards before them, when the boy would run wTith all his might after it ; and this ruse, often repeated, carried them over many a half mile. After a while, they came to a thick patch of woodland, through which murmured a clear brook. As the child com¬ plained of hunger and thirst, she climbed over the fence with him ; and, sitting down behind a large rock, which concealed them from the road, she gave him a breakfast out of hei little 76 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, package. The boy wondered and grieved that she could not eat ; and when, putting his arms round her neck, he tried to wedge some of his cake into her mouth, it seemed to her that the rising in her throat would choke her. “No, no, Harry, darling! mother can’t eat till you are safe. We must go on — on — till we come to the river!” And she hurried again into the road, and again constrained herself to walk regularly and composedly forward. She was many miles past any neighborhood where she was personally known. If she should chance to meet any who knew her, she reflected that the well-known kindness of the family would be of itself a blind to suspicion, as making it an unlikely supposition that she could be a fugitive. As she was also so white as not to be known as of colored lineage with¬ out a critical survey, and her child was white also, it was much easier for her to pass on unsuspected. On this presumption, she stopped at noon at a neat farm house, to rest herself, and buy some dinner for her child and self ; for, as the danger decreased with the distance, the super¬ natural tension of the nervous system lessened, and she found herself both weary and hungry. The good woman, kindly and gossipping, seemed rather pleased than otherwise with having somebody come in to talk with ; and accepted, without examination, Eliza’s statement, that she “ was going on a little piece, to spend a week with her friends,” — all which she hoped in her heart might prove strictly true. An hour before sunset, she entered the village of T - , by the Ohio River, weary and foot-sore, but still strong in heart. Her first glance was at the river, which lay, like Jordan, between her and the Canaan of liberty on the other side. It was now early spring, and the river was swollen and tur¬ bulent ; great cakes of floating ice were swinging heavily to and fro in the turbid waters. Owing to the peculiar form of the shore on the Kentucky side, the land bending far out into the water, the ice had been lodged and detained in great quan¬ tities, and the narrow channel which swept round the bend was full of ice, piled one cake over another, thus forming a temporary barrier to the descending ice, which lodged, and LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 77 formed a great, undulating raft, filling up the whole river, and extending almost to the Kentucky shore. Eliza stood, for a moment, contemplating this unfavorable aspect of things, which she saw at once must prevent the usual ferry boat from running, and then turned into a small public house on the bank, to make a few inquiries. The hostess, who was busy in various fizzing and stewing op¬ erations over the fire, preparatory to the evening meal, stopped, with a fork in her hand, as Eliza’s sweet and plaintive voice arrested her. “ What is it ? ” she said. “ Isn’t there any ferry or boat, that takes people over to B - , now ? ” she said. “ No, indeed ! ” said the woman ; “ the boats has stopped running.” Eliza’s look of dismay and disappointment struck the woman, and she said, inquiringly, — » “ May be you’re wanting to get over? — any body sick? Ye seem mighty anxious.” “I’ve got a child that’s very dangerous,” said Eliza. “I never heard of it till last night, and I’ve walked quite a piece to-day, in hopes to get to the ferry.” “ Well, now, that’s onlucky,” said the woman, whose mother¬ ly sympathies were much aroused ; “ I’m re’lly consarned for ye. Solomon ! ” she called, from the window, towards a small back building. A man, in leather apron and very dirty hands, appeared at the door. “ I say, Sol,” said the woman, “ is that ar man going to tote them bar ’Is over to-night ? ” “He said he should try, if ’twas any way prudent,” said the man. “There’s a man a piece down here, that’s going over with some truck this evening, if he durs’ to ; he’ll be in here to sup¬ per to-night, so you’d better set down and wait. That’s a sweet little fellow,” added the woman, offering him a cake. But the child, wholly exhausted, cried with weariness. “ Poor fellow ! he isn’t used to walking, and I’ve hurried him on so,” said Eliza. “Well, take him into this room,” said the woman, opening 78 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, into a small bed room, where stood a comfortable bed. Eliza laid the weary boy upon it, and held his hands in hers till he was fast asleep. For her there was no rest. As a fire in her bones, the thought of the pursuer urged her on ; and she gazed with longing eyes on the sullen, surging waters that lay between her and liberty. Here we must take our leave of her for the present, to follow the course of her pursuers. Though Mrs. Shelby had promised that the dinner should be hurried on table, yet it was soon seen, as the thing has often been seen before, that it required more than one to make a bargain. So, although the order was fairly given out in Ha¬ ley’s hearing, and carried to Aunt Chloe by at least half a dozen juvenile messengers, that dignitary only gave certain very gruff snorts, and tosses of her head, and went on with every operation in an unusually leisurely and circumstantial manner. For some singular reason, an impression seemed to reign among the servants generally that missis would not be par¬ ticularly disobliged by delay ; and it was wonderful what a number of counter accidents occurred constantly to retard the course of things. One luckless wight contrived to upset the gravy ; and then gravy had to be got up de novo , with due care and formality, Aunt Chloe watching and stirring with dogged precision, answering shortly, to all suggestions of haste, that she “wan’t a going to have raw gravy on the table, to help nobody’s catchings.” One tumbled down with the water, and had to go to the spring for more ; and another precipitated the butter into the path of events ; and there was from time to time giggling news brought into the kitchen that “ Mas’r Haley was mighty oneasy, and that he couldn’t sit in his cheer no ways, but was a walkin’ and stalkin’ to the winders and through the porch.” “ Sarves him right ! ” said Aunt Chloe, indignantly. “ He’ll get wus nor oneasy, one of these days, if he don’t mend his ways. His master’ll be sending for him, and then see how he’ll look ! ” LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 79 ‘‘He’ll go to torment, and no mistake,” said little Jake. “ He desarves it ! ” said Aunt Chloe, grimly ; “ he’s broke a many, many, many hearts, — I tell ye all ! ” she said, stopping, with a fork uplifted in her hand ; “ it’s like what Mas’r George reads in Ravelations, — souls a callin’ under the altar ! and a callin’ on the Lord for vengeance on sich ! — and by and by the Lord he’ll hear ’em — so he will!” Aunt Chloe, who was much revered in the kitchen, was lis¬ tened to with open mouth ; and, the dinner being now fairly sent in, the whole kitchen was at leisure to gossip with her, and to listen to her remarks. “ Sich’ll be burnt up forever, and no mistake ; won’t ther ? ” said Andy. “ I’d be glad to see it, I’ll be boun’,” said little Jake. “ Chil’en ! ” said a voice that made them all start. It was Uncle Tom, who had come in. and stood listening to the conversation at the door. “ Chil’en ! ” he said, “ I’m afeard you don’t know what ye’re sayin’. Forever is a dregful word, chil’en ; it’s awful to think on’t. You oughtenter wish that arto any human critter.” “We wouldn’t to any body but the soul-drivers,” said Andy ; “ nobody can help wishing it to them, they’s so aw¬ ful wicked.” “Don’t natur herself kinder crv out on ’em?” said Aunt 80 UNCLE TOM;S CABIN ; OR Chloe. “ Don’t dey tear der suckin’ baby right off his mother’s breast, and sell him, and der little children as is crying and holding on by her clothes, — don’t dey pull ’em off and sells ’em ? Don’t dey tear wife and husband apart ? ” said Aunt Chloe, beginning to cry, “ when it’s jest takin’ the very life on ’em? — and all the while does they feel one bit? — don’t dey drink and smoke, and take it oncommon easy? Lor, if the devil don’t get them, what’s he good for ? ” And Aunt Chloe covered her face with her checked apron, and began to sob in good earnest. “ Pray for them that ’spitefully use you, the good book says,” said Tom. “ Pray for ’em ! ” said Aunt Chloe ; “ Lor, it’s too tough ! I can’t pray for ’em.” “ It’s natur, Chloe, and natur’s strong,” said Tom, “ but the Lord’s grace is stronger ; besides, you oughter think what an awful state a poor critter’s soul’s in that’ll do them ar things, — you oughter thank God that you an’t like him, Chloe. I’m sure I’d rather be sold, ten thousand times over, than to have all that ar poor critter’s got to answer for.” “So’d I, a heap,” said Jake. “Lor, shouldn't we cotch it, Andy ? ” Andy shrugged his shoulders, and gave an acquiescent whistle. “I’m glad mas’r didn’t go off this morning, as he looked to,” said Tom ; “ that ar hurt me more than sellin’, it did. Mebbe it might have been natural for him, but ’twould have come desp’t hard on me, as has known him from a baby ; but I’ve seen mas’r, and I begin ter feel sort o’ reconciled to the Lord’s will now. Mas’r couldn’t help hisself; he did right, but I’m feared things will be kinder goin’ to rack, when I’m gone. Mas’r can’t be ’spected to be a pryin’ round every whar, as I’ve done, a keepin’ up all the ends. The boys all means well, but they’s powerful car’less. That ar trou¬ bles me.” The bell here rang, and Tom was summoned to the parlor. “ Tom,” said his master, kindly, “ I want you to notice that I give this gentleman bonds to forfeit a thousand dollars if you are not on the spot when he wants you ; he’s going LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 81 to-clay to look after his other business, and you can have the day to yourself. Go any where you like, boy.77 “Thank you, mask*,77 said Tom. “ And mind yerself,77 said the trader, “ and don7t come it over your master with any o7 yer nigger tricks ; for I711 take every cent out of him, if you an7t thar. If he7d hear to me, he wouldn’t trust any on ye — slippery as eels ! 77 “ Mas’r,77 said Tom, — and he stood very straight, — “I was jist eight years old when ole missis put you into my arms, and you wasn’t a year old. ‘Thar,7 says she, ‘Tom, that’s to be ymtr young mas’r ; take good care on him,7 says she. And now I jist ask you, mas’r, have I ever broke word to you, or gone contrary to you, ’specially since I was a Chris¬ tian ? 77 Mr. Shelby was fairly overcome, and the tears rose to his eyes. “ My good boy,” said he, “ the Lord knows you say but the truth ; and if I was able to help it, all the world shouldn’t buy you.” “ And sure as I am a Christian woman,” said Mrs. Shelby, “ you shall be redeemed as soon as I can any way bring to¬ gether means. Sir,” she said to Haley, “ take good account of whom you sell him to, and let me know.” “ Lor, yes, for that matter,” said the trader, “ I may bring him up in a year, not much the wuss for wear, and trade him back.” “ I’ll trade with you then, and make it for your advantage,” said Mrs. Shelbv. «/ “ Of course,” said the trader, “ all’s equal with me ; li’ves trade ’em up as down, so I does a good business. All I want is a livin’, you know, ma’am ; that’s all any on us wants, I s’pose.” Mr. and Mrs. Shelby both felt annoyed and degraded by the familiar impudence of the trader, and yet both saw the abso¬ lute necessity of putting a constraint on their feelings. The more hopelessly sordid and insensible he appeared, the greater became Mrs. Shelby’s dread of his succeeding in recapturing Eliza and her child, and of course the greater her motive for detaining him by every female artifice. She therefore 11 82 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OB, graciously smiled, assented, chatted familiarly, and did all she could to make time pass imperceptibly. At two o’clock Sam and Andy brougdit the horses up to the posts, apparently greatly refreshed and invigorated by the scamper of the morning. Sam was there new oiled from dinner, with an abundance of zealous and ready officiousness. As Haley approached, he was boasting, in flourishing style, to Andy, of the evident and emi¬ nent success of the operation, now that he had “farly come fo it.” “Your master, I s’pose, don’t keep no dogs,” said Haley, thoughtfully, as he prepared to mount. “ Heaps on ’em,” said Sam, triumphantly ; “ thar’s Bruno — he’s a roarer ! and, besides that, ’bout every nigger of us keeps a pup of some natur or other.” “Poll! ” said Haley, — and he said something else, too, with regard to the said dogs, at which Sam muttered, — “ I don’t see no use cussin’ on ’em, no way.” “ But your master don’t keep no dogs (I pretty much know he don’t) for trackin’ out niggers.” Sam knew exactly what he meant, but he kept on a look of earnest and desperate simplicity. “ Our dogs all smells round considable sharp. I spect they’s the kind, though they han’t never had no practice. They’s far dogs, though, at most any thing, if you’d get ’em started. Here, Bruno,” he called, whistling to the lumbering Newfoundland, who came pitching tumultuously towards them. “You go hang!” said Haley, getting up. “Come, tumble up now.” Sam tumbled up accordingly, dexterously contriving to tickle Andy as he did so, which occasioned Andy to split out into a laugh, greatly to Haley’s indignation, who made a cut at him with his riding whip. “ I’s ’stonished at yer, Andy,” said Sam, with awful gravity. “This yer’s a seris bisness, Andy. ATer mustn’t be a makin’ game. This yer an’t no way to help mas’r.” “I shall take the straight road to the river,” said Haley, decidedly, after they had come to the boundaries of the estate. “ I know the way of all of ’em, — they makes tracks for the underground.” LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 83 “ Sartin,” said Sam, “ dat’s de idee. Mash* Haley hits de thing right in de middle. Now, der’s two roads to de river, — de dirt road and der pike, — which mask* mean to take?77 Andy looked np innocently at Sam, surprised at hearing this new geographical fact, but instantly confirmed what he said, by a vehement reiteration. “ Cause,77 said Sam, “ I7d rather be Alined to hnagine that Lizy7d take de dirt road, bein7 it7s de least travelled.77 Haley, notwithstanding that he was a very old bird, and naturally inclined to be suspicious of chaff, was rather brought up by this view of the case. “ If yer warn7t both on yer such cussed liars, now ! 77 he said, contemplatively, as he pondered a moment. The pensive, reflective tone in which this was spoken ap¬ peared to amuse Andy prodigiously, and he drew a little be¬ hind, and shook so as apparently to run a great risk of falling off his horse, while Sam7s face was immovably composed into the most doleful gravity. “ Course,77 said Sam, “ mash* can do as he7d rather ; go de straight road, if mask* thinks best, — it7s all one to us. Now when I study 7pon it, I think de straight road de best, deridedly ,77 “She would naturally go a lonesome way,77 said Haley, thinking aloud, and not minding Sands remark. “ Dar an7t no sayin7,77 said Sam ; “ gals is pecular ; they never does nothin7 ye thinks they will ; mose gen’lly the contrar. Gals is nathly made contrary ; and so, if you thinks they’ve gone one road, it is sartin you7d better go t7otker, and then you’ll be sure to find ’em. Now, my private ’pinion is, Lizy took der dirt road; so I think we’d better take de straight one.77 This profound generic view of the female sex did not seem to dispose Haley particularly to the straight road ; and he announced decidedly that he should go the other, and asked Sam when they should come to it. “A little piece ahead,” said Sam, giving a wink to Andy with the eye which was on Andy’s side of the head ; and he added, gravely, “ but I’ve studded on de matter, and I’m quite clar we ought not to go dat ar way. I neber been over it no 84 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN; OR, way. It’s despit lonesome, and we might lose our way, — whar we’d come to, de Lord only knows.” “Nevertheless,” said Haley, “I shall go that way.” “Now I think on’t, I think I hearn ’em tell that dat ar road was all fenced up and down by der creek, and thar, an’t it, Andy ? ” Andy wasn’t certain ; he’d only “ hearn tell ” about that road, but never been over it. In short, he was strictly non¬ committal. Haley, accustomed to strike the balance of probabilities between lies of greater or lesser magnitude, thought that it lay in favor of the dirt road aforesaid. The mention of the thing, he thought he perceived, was involuntary on Sam’s part at first, and his confused attempts to dissuade him he set down to a desperate lying on second thoughts, as being unwilling to implicate Eliza. When, therefore, Sam indicated the road, Haley plunged briskly into it, followed by Sam and Andy. Now, the road, in fact, was an old one, that had formerly been a thoroughfare to the river, but abandoned for many years after the laying of the new pike. It was open for about an hour’s ride, and after that it was cut across by various farms and fences. Sam knew this fact perfectly well, — indeed, the road had been so long closed up, that Andy had never heard of it. He therefore rode along with an air of dutiful submis¬ sion, only groaning and vociferating occasionally that ’twas “ desp’t rough, and bad for Jerry’s foot.” “ Now, I jest give yer warning,” said Haley, “ I know yer ; yer won’t get me to turn off this yer road, with all yer fussin’ — so you shet up ! ” “ Mas’r will go his own way ! ” said Sam, with rueful submis¬ sion, at the same time winking most portentously to Andy, whose delight was now very near the explosive point. Sam was in wonderful spirits, — professed to keep a very brisk lookout, — at one time exclaiming that he saw “ a gal’s bonnet ” on the top of some distant eminence, or calling to Andy “ if that thar wasn’t £ Lizy ’ down in the hollow ; ” always making these exclamations in some rough or craggy part of the road, where the sudden quickening of speed was a special LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 85 inconvenience to all parties concerned, and thus keeping Haley in a state of constant commotion. After riding about an hour in this way, the whole party made a precipitate and tumultuous descent into a barn yard belonging to a large farming establishment. Not a soul was in sight, all the hands being employed in the fields ; but, as the barn stood conspicuously and plainly square across the road, it was evi¬ dent that their journey in that direction had reached a decided finale. “ Wan’t dat ar what I telled mas’r?” said Sam, with an air of injured innocence. “ How does strange gentlemen spect to know more about a country dan de natives born and raised ? ” “You rascal ! ” said Haley, “you knew all about this.7'’ “ Didn’t I tell yer I know’d , and yer wouldn’t believe me ? I telled mas’r ’twas all shet up, and fenced up, and I didn’t spect we could get through — Andy heard me.” It was all too true to be disputed, and the unlucky man had to pocket his wrath with the best grace he was able, and all three faced to the right about, and took up their line of march for the highway. In consequence of all the various delays, it was about three quarters of an hour after Eliza had laid her child to sleep in the village tavern that the party came riding into the same place. Eliza was standing by the window, looking out in another direction, when Sam’s quick eye caught a glimpse of her. Haley and Andy were two yards behind. At this crisis, Sam contrived to have his hat blown off, and uttered a loud and characteristic ejaculation, which startled her at once ; she drew suddenly back ; the whole train swept by the window, round to the front door. A thousand lives seemed to be concentrated in that one moment to Eliza. Her room opened by a side door to the river. She caught her child, and sprang down the steps towards it. The trader caught a full glimpse of her, just as she was disappearing down the bank ; and throwing himself from his horse, and calling loudly on Sam and Andy, he was after her like a hound after a deer. In that dizzy moment her feet to her scarce seemed to touch the ground, and a moment 86 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN; OR, brought her to the water’s edge. Eight on behind they came ; and, nerved with strength such as God gives only to the des¬ perate, with one wild cry and flying leap, she vaulted sheer over the turbid current by the shore, on to the raft of ice beyond. It was a desperate leap — impossible to any thing but madness and despair ; and Haley, Sam, and Andy instinc¬ tively cried out, and lifted up their hands, as she did it. The huge green fragment of ice on which she alighted pitched and creaked as her weight came on it ; but she staid there not a moment. With wild cries and desperate energy she leaped to another and still another cake ; — stumbling — leaping — slipping — springing upwards again ! Her shoes are gone — her stockings cut from her feet — while blood marked every step ; but she saw nothing, felt nothing, till, dimly, as in a dream, she saw the Ohio side, and a man helping her up the bank. “Yer a brave gal, now, whoever ye ar ! ” said the man, with an oath. Eliza recognized the voice and face of a man who owned a farm not far from her old home. “ 0 Mr. Symmes ! — save me — do save me — do hide me ! ” said Eliza. “ Why, what’s this ? ” said the man. “ Why, if ’tan’t Shelby’s gal ! ” “ My child ! — this boy ! — he’d sold him ! There is his mas’r,” said she, pointing to the Kentucky shore. “ 0 Mr. Symmes, you’ve got a little boy ! ” “ So I have,” said the man, as he roughly, but kindly, drew her up the steep bank. “ Besides, you’re a right brave gal. I like grit, wherever I see it.” When they had gained the top of the bank, the man paused. “ I’d be glad to do something for ye,” said he ; “ but then there’s nowhar I could take ye. The best I can do is to tell ye to go thar ,” said he, pointing to a large white house which stood by itself, olf the main street of the village. “ Go thar ; they’re kind folks. Thar’s no kind o’ danger but they’ll help you, — they’re up to all that sort o’ thing.” u The Lord bless you ! ” said Eliza, earnestly. LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 87 “ No ’casion, no ’casion in the world/7 said the man. “What I’ve done’s of no ’count.” “And 0, surely, sir, you won’t tell any one!” “ Go to thunder, gal ! What do you take a feller for ? In course not,” said the man. “ Come, now, go along, like a likely, sensible gal, as you are. You’ve arnt your liberty, and you shall have it, for all me.” The woman folded her child to her bosom, and walked firmly and swiftly away. The man stood and looked after her. “ Shelby, now, mebbe, won’t think this yer the most neigh¬ borly thing in the world ; but what’s a feller to do ? If he catches one of my gals in the same fix, he’s welcome to pay back. Somehow I never could see no kind o’ critter a strivin,’ and pantin’, and tryin’ to clar theirselves, with the dogs arter ’em, and go agin ’em. Besides, I don’t see no kind of ’casion for me to be hunter and catcher for other folks, neither.” So spoke this poor, heathenish Kentuckian, who had not been instructed in his constitutional relations, and conse¬ quently was betrayed into acting in a sort of Christianized manner, which, if he had been better situated and more enlightened, he would not have been left to do. Haley had stood a perfectly-amazed spectator of the scene till Eliza had disappeared up the bank, when he turned a blank, inquiring look on Sam and Andy. “ That ar was a tolable fair stroke of business,” said Sam. “ The gal’s got seven devils in her, I believe ! ” said Haley. “ How like a wildcat she jumped ! ” “Wal, now,” said Sam, scratching his head, “I hope mas’r’ll ’scuse us tryin’ dat ar road. Don’t think I feel spry enough for dat ar, no way ! ” and Sam gave a hoarse chuckle. “ You laugh ! ” said the trader, with a growl. “ Lord bless you, mas’r, I couldn’t help it now,” said Sam, giving way to the long pent-up delight of his soul. “ She looked so curis, a leapin’ and springin’ — ice a crackin’ — and only to hear her, — plump! ker chunk! ker splash! Spring! Lord ! how she goes it ! ” and Sam and Andy laughed till the tears rolled down their cheeks. 88 uncle tom’s cabin; or, “ I’ll make ye laugh t’other side yer mouths ! ” said the trader, laying about their heads with his riding whip. Both ducked, and ran shouting up the bank, and were on their horses before he was up. “ Good evening, mash ! ” said Sam, with much gravity. “ 1 bery much spect missis be anxious ’bout Jerry. Mas’r Haley won’t want us no longer. Missis wouldn’t hear of our ridin’ the critters over Lizy’s bridge to-night ; ” and, with a facetious poke into Andy’s ribs, he started off, followed by the latter, at full speed, — their shouts of laughter coming faintly on the wind. CHAPTER Y III. liza made her desperate retreat across the river just in the dusk of twilight. The gray mist of evening, rising slowly from the river, enveloped her as she disappeared up the bank, and the swollen current and floundering masses of ice presented a hopeless barrier between her and her pursuer. Haley therefore slowly and discontentedly returned to the little tavern, to ponder further what was to be done. The woman opened to him the door of a little parlor, covered with a rag carpet, where stood a table with a very shining black oilcloth, sundry lank, high-backed wood chairs, with some plaster images in resplendent colors on the mantel¬ shelf, above a very dimly-smoking grate ; a long hard wood settle extended its uneasy length by the chimney, and here Haley sat him down to meditate on the instability of human hopes and happiness in general. 12 90 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, “ What did I want with the little cuss, now,” he said to him¬ self, “ that I should have got myself treed like a coon, as I am, this yer way ? ” and Haley relieved himself by repeating over a not very select litany of imprecations on himself, which, though there was the best possible reason to consider them as true, we shall, as a matter of taste, omit. He was startled by the loud and dissonant voice of a man who was apparently dismounting at the door. He hurried to the window. “ By the land ! if this yer an’t the nearest, now, to what I’ve heard folks call Providence,” said Haley. “I do b’lieve that ar’s Tom Loker.” Haley hastened out. Standing by the bar, in the corner of the room, was a brawny, muscular man, full six feet in height, and broad in proportion. He was dressed in a coat of buffalo skin, made with the hair outward, which gave him a shaggy and fierce appearance, perfectly in keeping with the whole air of his physiognomy. In the head and face every organ and lineament expressive of brutal and unhesitating violence was in a state of the highest possible development. Indeed, could our readers fancy a bull dog come unto man’s estate, and walking about in a hat and coat, they would have no unapt idea of the general style and effect of his physique. He was accompanied by a travelling companion, in many respects an exact contrast to himself. He was short and slender, lithe and catlike in his motions, and had a peering, mousing expression about his keen black eyes, with which every feature of his face seemed sharpened into sympathy ; his thin, long nose ran out as if it was eager to bore into the nature of things in gen¬ eral ; his sleek, thin, black hair was stuck eagerly forward, and all his motions and evolutions expressed a dry, cautious acuteness. The great big man poured out a big tumbler half full of raw spirits, and gulped it down without a word. The little man stood tiptoe, and putting his head first to one side and then to the other, and snuffing considerately in the direc¬ tions of the various bottles, ordered at last a mint julep, in a thin and quivering voice, and with an air of great circumspec¬ tion. When poured out, he took it, and looked at it with a sharp, complacent air, like a man who thinks he has done about LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 91 the right thing, and hit the nail on the head, and proceeded to dispose of it in short and well-advised sips. “ Wal, now, who’d a thought this yer luck ’ad come to me? Why, Loker, how are ye ? ” said Haley, coming forward, and extending his hand to the big man. “ The devil ! ” was the civil reply. “ What brought you here, Haley ? ” The mousing man, who bore the name of Marks, instantly stopped his sipping, and, poking his head forward, looked shrewdly on the new acquaintance, as a cat sometimes looks at a moving dry leaf, or some other possible object of pursuit. “ I say, Tom, this yer’s the luckiest thing in the world. I’m in a devil of a hobble, and you must help me out.” “Ugh? aw! like enough!” grunted his complacent ac¬ quaintance. “ A body may be pretty sure of that, when you’re glad to see ’em ; something to be made off of ’em. What’s the blow now ? ” “You’ve got a friend here ?” said Haley, looking doubtfully at Marks ; “ partner, perhaps ? ” “ Yes, I have. Here, Marks ! here’s that ar feller that I was in with in Natchez.” “Shall be pleased with his acquaintance,” said Marks, thrusting out a long, thin hand, like a raven’s claw. “Mr. Haley, I believe?” “ The same, sir,” said Haley. “ And now, gentlemen, seein’ as we’ve met so happily, I think I’ll stand up to a small matter of a treat in this here parlor. So, now, old coon,” said he to the man at the bar, “ get us hot water, and sugar, and cigars, and plenty of the real stuff, and we’ll have a blow out.” Behold, then, the candles lighted, the fire stimulated to the burning point in the grate, and our three worthies seated round a table, well spread with all the accessories to good fellowship enumerated before. Haley began a pathetic recital of his peculiar troubles. Loker shut up his mouth, and listened to him with gruff and surly attention. Marks, who was anxiously and with much fidgeting compounding a tumbler of punch to his own peculiar taste, occasionally looked up from his employment, and,, poking his sharp nose and chin almost into Haley’s face, gave the most 92 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, earnest heed to the whole narrative. The conclusion of it ap¬ peared to amuse him extremely, for he shook his shoulders and sides in silence, and perked up his thin lips with an air of great internal enjoyment. “So, then, ye’r fairly sewed up, an’t ye?” he said ; “he! he! he! It’s neatly done, too.” “ This yer young-un business makes lots of trouble in the trade,” said Haley, dolefully. “ If we could get a breed of gals that didn’t care, now, for their young uns,” said Marks ; “ tell ye, I think ’twould be ’bout the greatest mod’rn improvement I knows on,” — and Marks patronized his joke by a quiet introductory sniggle. “ Jes so,” said Haley ; “I never couldn’t see into it ; young uns is heaps of trouble to ’em ; one would think, now, they’d be glad to get clar on ’em ; but they arn’t. And the more trouble a young un is, and the more good for nothing, as a gen’l thing, the tighter they sticks to ’em.” “Wal, Mr. Haley,” said Marks, “jest pass the hot water. Yes, sir; you say jest what I feel and all’us have. Now, I bought a gal once, when I was in the trade, — a tight, likely wench she was, too, and quite considerable smart, — and she had a young un that was mis’able sickly ; it had a crooked back, or something or other ; and I jest gin’t away to a man that thought he’d take his chance raising on’t, being it didn’t cost nothin’ ; — never thought, yer know, of the gal’s takin’ on about it, — but, Lord, yer oughter seen how she went on. Why, re’lly, she did seem to me to valley the child more ’cause Hwas sickly and cross, and plagued her ; and she warn’t making b’lieve, neither, — cried about it, she did, and lopped round, as if she’d lost every friend she had. It re’lly was droll to think on’t. Lord, there an’t no end to women’s notions.” “Wal, jest so with me,” said Haley. “Last summer, down on Red River, I got a gal traded off on me, with a likely-lookin’ child enough, and his eyes looked as bright as yourn ; but, come to look, I found him stone blind. Fact — he was stone blind. Wal, yer see, I thought there warn’t no harm in my jest pass¬ ing him along, and not bayin’ nothin’ ; and I’d got him nicely swapped off for a keg o’ whiskey ; but come to get him away from the gal, she was jest like a tiger. So it was before we LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 93 started, and I hadn't got my gang chained up ; so what should she do but ups on a cotton bale, like a cat, catches a knife from one of the deck hands, and, I tell ye, she made all fly for a minit, till she saw ’twan’t no use ; and she jest turns round, and pitches head first, young un and all, into the river, — went down plump, and never ris.” “ Bali ! ” said Tom Loker, who had listened to these stories with ill-repressed disgust, — “shif’less, both on ye! my gals don’t cut up no such shines, I tell ye ! ” “Indeed! how do you help it?” said Marks, briskly. “ Help it ? why, I buys a gal, and if she’s got a young un to be sold, I jest walks up and puts my fist to her face, and says, ‘ Look here, now, if you give me one word out of your head, I’ll smash yer face in. I won’t hear one word — not the begin¬ ning of a word.’ I says to ’em, ‘This yer young un’s mine, and not yourn, and you’ve no kind o’ business with it. I’m going to sell it, first chance ; mind, j7ou don’t cut up none o1 yer shines about it, or I’ll make ye wish ye’d never been born.’ I tell ye, they sees it an’t no play, when I gets hold. I makes ’em as whist as fishes ; and if one on ’em begins and gives a yelp, why, - ” and Mr. Loker brought down his fist with a thump that fully explained the hiatus. “ That ar’s what ye may call emphasis ,” said Marks, poking Haley in the side, and going into another small giggle. “An’t 94 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, Tom peculiar ? lie ! lie ! lie ! I say, Tom, I s’pect you make ’em understand , for all niggers’ heads is woolly. They don’t never have no doubt o’ your meaning, Tom. If you an’t the devil, Tom, you’s his twin brother, I’ll say that for ye ! ” Tom received the compliment with becoming modesty, and began to look as affable as was consistent, as John Bunyan says, “ with his doggish nature.” Haley, who had been imbibing very freely of the staple of the evening, began to feel a sensible elevation and enlargement of his moral faculties, — a phenomenon not unusual with gentle¬ men of a serious and reflective turn, under similar circumstances. “ Wal, now, Tom,” he said, “ye re’lly is too bad, as I al’ays have told ye ; ye know, Tom, you and I used to talk over these yer matters down in Natchez, and I used to prove to ye that we made full as much, and was as well off for this yer world, by treatin’ on ’em well, besides keepin’ a better chance for cornin’ in the kingdom at last, when wust comes to wust, and thar an’t nothing else left to get, ye know.” “ Boh ! ” said Tom, “ don’t I know ? — don’t make me too sick with any yer stuff, — my stomach is a leetle riled now ; ” and Tom drank half a glass of raw brandy. “ I say,” said Haley, and leaning back in his chair and ges¬ turing impressively, “ I’ll say this now, I al’ays meant to drive my trade so as to make money on’t, fust and foremost , as much as any man ; but, then, trade an’t every thing, and money an’t every thing, ’cause we’s all got souls. I don’t care, now, who hears me say it, — and I think a cussed sight on it, — so I may as well come out with it. I b’lieve in religion, and one of these days, when I’ve got matters tight and snug, I calculates to tend to my soul and them ar matters ; and so what’s the use of doin’ any more wickedness than’s re’lly necessary? — it don’t seem to me it’s ’tall prudent.” “ Tend to yer soul ! ” repeated Tom, contemptuously ; “ take a bright lookout to find a soul in you, — save yourself any care on that score. If the devil sifts you through a hair sieve, he won’t find one.” “ Why, Tom, you’re cross,” said Haley ; “ why can’t ye take it pleasant, now, when a feller’s talking for your good ?” “ Stop that ar jaw o’ yourn, there,” said Tom, gruffly. “ I LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 95 can stand most any talk o’ yourn but your pious talk, — that kills me right up. After all, what’s the odds between me and you ? ’Tan’t that you care one bit more, or have a bit more feelin’, — it7s clean, sheer, dog meanness, wanting to cheat the devil and save your own skin ; don’t I see through it ? And your ‘gettin’ religion,7 as you call it, arter all, is too p’isin mean for any critter ; — run up a bill with the devil all your life, and then sneak out when pay time comes ! Boh ! 77 “ Come, come, gentlemen, I say ; this isn’t business,77 said Marks. “ There’s different ways, you know, of looking at all subjects. Mr. Haley is a very nice man, no doubt, and has his own conscience ; and, Tom, you have your ways, and very good ones, too, Tom ; but quarrelling, you know, won’t answer no kind of purpose. Let’s go to business. Now, Mr. Haley, what is it? — you want us to undertake to catch this yer gal ? “ The gal’s no matter of mine — she’s Shelby’s ; it’s only the boy. I was a fool for buying the monkey ! ” “You’re generally a fool ! ” said Tom, gruffly. “ Come, now, Loker, none of your huffs,” said Marks, lick¬ ing his lips ; “ you see, Mr. Haley’s a puttin’ us in a way of a good job, I reckon ; just hold still, — these yer arrangements is my forte. This yer gal, Mr. Haley, how is she ? what is she ? ” “ Wal! white and handsome — well brought up. I’d a gin Shelby eight hundred or a thousand, and then made well on her.” “ White and handsome — well brought up ! ” said Marks, his sharp eyes, nose, and mouth all alive with enterprise. “ Look here, now, Loker, a beautiful opening. We’ll do a business here on our own account ; — we does the catchin’ ; the boy, of course, goes to Mr. Haley, — we takes the gal to Orleans to speculate on. An’t it beautiful ? ” Tom, whose great heavy mouth had stood ajar during this communication, now suddenly snapped it together, as a big dog closes on a piece of meat, and seemed to be digesting the idea at his leisure. ^ “Ye see,” said Marks to Haley, stirring his punch as he did so, “ye see we has justices convenient at all p’ints along shore, that does up any little jobs in our line quite reasonable. Tom, 96 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, he does the knockin’ down and that ar ; and I come in all dressed up — shining boots — everything first chop, when the swearin’ ’s to be done. You oughter see, now,” said Marks, in a glow of professional pride, “how I can tone it olf. One day,. I’m Mr. Twickem, from New Orleans ; Mother day, I’m just come from my plantation on Pearl River, where I works seven hundred niggers ; then, again, I come out a distant rela¬ tion of Henry Clay, or some old cock in Kentuck. Talents is different, you know. Now, Tom’s a roarer when there’s any thumping or fighting to be done ; but at lying he an’t good, Tom an’t — ye see it don’t come natural to him ; but, Lord, if thar’s a feller in the country that can swear to any thing and every thing, and put in all the circumstances and flourishes with a longer face, and carry’t through better’n I can, why, I’d like to see him, that’s all ! I b’lieve my heart, I could get along and snake through, even if justices was more particular than they is. Sometimes I rather wish they was more partic¬ ular; ’twould be a heap more relishin’ if they was, — more fun, yer know.” Tom Loker, who, as we have made it appear, was a man of slow thoughts and movements, here interrupted Marks by bringing his heavy fist down on the table, so as to make all ring again. “ It’ll do ! ” he said. “ Lord bless ye, Tom, ye needn’t break all the glasses ! ” said Marks ; “save your fist for time o’ need.” “But, gentlemen, an’t I to come in for a share of the profits ? ” said Haley. “An’t it enough we catch the boy for ye?” said Loker. “What do ye want?” “ Wal,” said Haley, “ if I gives you the job, it’s worth some¬ thing, — say ten per cent, on the profits, expenses paid.” “ Now,” said Loker, with a tremendous oath, and striking the table with his heavy fist, “ don’t I know you , Dan Haley ? Don’t you think to come it over me ! Suppose Marks and I have taken up the catchin’ trade, just to ’commodate gentle¬ men like you, and get nothin’ for ourselves? — Not by a long chalk ! we’ll have the gal out and out, and you keep quiet, or, ye see, we’ll have both, — what’s to hinder ? Han’t you show’d us the game ? It’s as free to us as you, I hope. If you or LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 97 Shelby wants to chase ns, look where the partridges was last year ; if you find them or us, you’re quite welcome.77 “ 0, wal, certainly, jest let it go at that,77 said Haley, alarmed ; “ you catch the boy for the job ; — you allers did trade far with me, Tom, and was up to yer word.77 “Ye know that,77 said Tom ; “I don7t pretend none of your snivelling ways, but I won’t lie in my ’counts with the devil himself. What I ses I’ll do, I will do, — you know that , Dan Haley.77 “Jes so, jes so, — I said so, Tom,” said Haley; “and if you’d only promise to have the boy for me in a week, at any point you’ll name, that’s all I want.” “But it an’t all I want, by a long jump,” said Tom. “Ye don’t think I did business with you, down in Natchez, for nothing, Haley ; I’ve learned to hold an eel when I catch him. You’ve got to fork over fifty dollars, flat down, or this child don’t start a peg. I know yer.” “ Why, when you have a job in hand that may bring a clean profit of somewhere about a thousand or sixteen hundred, why, Tom, you’re onreasonable,” said Haley. “ Yes, and hasn’t we business booked for five weeks to come, — all we can do? and suppose we leaves all, and goes to bush¬ whacking round arter your young un, and finally doesn’t catch the gal, — and gals allers is the devil to catch, — what’s then? would you pay us a cent — would you? I think I see you a doin’ it — ugh! No, no ; flap down your fifty. If we get the job, and it pays, I’ll hand it back ; if we don’t, it’s for our trouble, — that’s far, an’t it, Marks?” “ Certainly, certainly,” said Marks, with a conciliatory tone ; “ it’s only a retaining fee, you see, — he ! he ! he ! — we lawyers, you know. Wal, we must all keep good natured, — keep easy, yer know. Tom’ll have the bov for yer, any where ye’ll name ; won’t ye, Tom ? ” “If I find the young un, I’ll bring him on to Cincinnati, and leave him at Granny Belcher’s, on the landing,” said Loker. Marks had got from his pocket a greasy pocket book, and taking a long paper from thence, he sat down, and fixing his keen black eves on it, began mumbling over its contents : «/ 7 o o 13 98 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, “Barnes — Shelby county — boy Jim, three hundred dollars for him, dead or alive. “Edwards — Dick and Lucy — man and wife, six hundred dollars ; wench Polly and two children — six hundred for her or her head. “ I’m jest a runnin’ over our business, to see if we can take up this yer handily. Loker,” he said, after a pause, “ wo must set Adams and Springer on the track of these yer ; they’ve been booked some time.” “ They’ll charge too much,” said Tom. “ I’ll manage that ar ; they’s young in the business, and must ’spect to work cheap,” said Marks, as he continued to read. “ Ther’s three on ’em easy cases, ’cause all you’ve got to do is to shoot ’em, or swear they is shot ; they couldn’t, of course, charge much for that. Them other cases,” he said, folding the paper, “ will bear puttin’ off a spell. So now, let’s come to the particulars. Now, Mr. Haley, you saw this yer gal when she landed ? ” “To be sure — plain as I see you.” “ And a man helpin’ on her up the bank ? ” said Loker. “ To be sure, I did.” “ Most likely,” said Marks, “ she’s took in somewhere ; but where, ’s a question. Tom, what do you say ? ” “ We must cross the river to-night, no mistake,” said Tom. “But there’s no boat about,” said Marks. “The ice is running awfully, Tom ; an’t it dangerous ? ” “Don’no nothing ’bout that, — only it’s got to be done,” said Tom, decidedly. “Dear me,” said Marks, fidgeting, “it’ll be — I say,” he said, walking to the window, “it’s dark as a wolf’s mouth, and, Tom - ” “ The long and short is, you’re scared, Marks ; but I can’t help that, — you’ve gqt to go. Suppose you want to lie by a day or two, till the gal’s been carried on the underground line up to Sandusky or so, before you start.” “ 0, no ; I an’t a grain afraid,” said Marks, “ only - ” “ Only what ? ” said Tom. “ Well, about the boat. Yer see there an’t any boat.” “ I heard the woman say there was one coming along this / LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 99 evening, and that a man was going to cross over in it. Neck or nothing, we must go with him,” said Tom. “ I s’pose you’ve got good dogs,” said Haley. “ First rate,” said Marks. “ But what’s the use ? you han’t got nothin’ o’ hers to smell on.” “ Yes, I have,” said Haley triumphantly. “ Here’s her shawl she left on the bed in her hurry ; she left her bonnet, too.” “ That ar’s lucky,” said Loker ; “ fork over.” “ Though the dogs might damage the gal, if they come on her unawars,” said Haley. “ That ar’s a consideration,” said Marks. “ Our dogs tore a feller half to pieces, once, down in Mobile, ’fore we could get ’em off.” “ W ell, ye see, for this sort that’s to be sold for their looks, that ar won’t answer, ye see,” said Haley. “ I do see,” said Marks. “ Besides, if she’s got took in, ’tan’t no go neither. Dogs is no ’count in these yer up states where these critters gets carried ; of course, ye can’t get on their track. They only does down in plantations, where niggers, when they runs, has to do their own running, and don’t get no help.” “ Well,” said Loker, who had just stepped out to the bar to make some inquiries, “ they say the man’s come with the boat ; so, Marks — — • ” That worthy cast a rueful look at the comfortable quarters he was leaving, but slowly rose to obey. After exchanging a few words of further arrangement, Haley, with visible reluc¬ tance, handed over the fifty dollars to Tom, and the worthy trio separated for the night. If any of our refined and Christian readers object to the society into which this scene introduces them, let us beg them to begin and conquer their prejudices in time. The catching business, we beg to remind them, is rising to the dignity of a lawful and patriotic profession. If all the broad land between the Mississippi and the Pacific becomes one great market for bodies and souls, and human property retains the locomotive tendencies of this nineteenth century, the trader and catcher may yet be among our aristocracy. 100 UNCLE tom’s CABIN ; OR, While this scene was going on at the tavern, Sam and Andy, in a state of high felicitation, pursued their way home. Sam was in the highest possible feather, and expressed his exultation by all sorts of supernatural howls and ejaculations, by divers odd motions and contortions of his whole system. Sometimes he would sit backward, with his face to the horse’s tail and sides, and then, with a whoop and a somerset, come right side up in his place again, and, drawing on a grave face, begin to lecture Andy in high-sounding tones for laughing and playing the fool. Anon, slapping his sides with his arms, he would burst forth in peals of laughter that made the old woods ring as they passed. With all these evolutions, he contrived to keep the horses up to the top of their speed, until, between ten and eleven, their heels resounded os. the gravel at the end of the balcony. Mrs. Shelby flew to the railings. “ Is that you, Sam ? Where are they ? ” “ Mas’r Haley’s a restin’ at the tavern ; he’s drefful fatigued, missis.” “ And Eliza, Sam ? ” “Wal, she’s clar ’cross Jordan. As a body may say, in the land o’ Canaan.” “ Why, Sam, what do you mean ? ” said Mrs. Shelby, breath¬ less, and almost faint, as the possible meaning of these words came over her. “ Wal, missis, de Lord he presarves his own. Lizy’s done gone over the river into ’Hio, as ’markably as if de Lord took her over in a charrit of fire and two flosses.” Sam’s vein of piety was always uncommonly fervent in his mistress’s presence ; and he made great capital of scriptural figures and images. “ Come up here, Sam,” said Mr. Shelby, who had followed on to the veranda, “and tell your mistress what she wants. Come, come, Emily,” said he, passing his arm round her, “ you are cold and all in a shiver ; you allow yourself to feel too much.” “Feel too much! Am not I a woman, — a mother? Are we not both responsible to God for this poor girl ? My God ! lav not this sin to our charge.’’ LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 101 “What sin, Emily? Yon see yourself that we have only done what we were obliged to.” “There’s an awful feeling of guilt about it, though,” said Mrs. Shelby. “ I can’t reason it away.” “ Here, Andy, you nigger, be alive ! ” called Sam, under the veranda ; “ take these yer hosses to der barn ; don’t ye hear mas’r a callin’ ? ” and Sam soon appeared, palm leaf in hand, at the parlor door. “Now, Sam, tell us distinctly how the matter was,” said Mr. Shelby. “ Where is Eliza, if you know ? ” “ Wal, mas’r, I saw her, with my own eyes, a crossin’ on the floatin’ ice. She crossed most ’markably ; it wasn’t no less nor a miracle ; and I saw a man help her up the ’Hio side, and then she was lost in the dusk.” “ Sam, I think this rather apocryphal, — this miracle. Cross¬ ing on floating ice isn’t so easily done,” said Mr. Shelby. “ Easy ! couldn’t nobody a done it, widout de Lord. Why, now,” said Sam, “’twas jist dis yer way. Mas’r Haley, and me, and Andy, we comes up to de little tavern by the river, and I rides a leetle ahead, — (I’s so zealous to be a cotchin’ Lizy, that I couldn’t hold in, no way,) — and when I comes by the tavern winder, sure enough there she was, right in plain sight, and dey diggin’ on behind. Wal, I loses off my hat, and sings out nuff to raise the dead. Course Lizy she hars, and she dodges back, when Mas’r Haley he goes past the door ; and then, I tell ye, she dared out de side door ; she went down de river bank ; — Mas’r Haley he seed her, and yelled out, and him, and me, and Andy, we took arter. Down she come to the river, and tliar was the current running ten feet wide by the shore, and over t’other side ice a sawin’ and a jiggling up and down, kinder as ’twere a great island. We come right behind her, and I thought my soul he’d got her sure enough, — when she gin sicli a screech as I never liearn, and thar she was, clar over t’other side the current, on the ice, and then on she went, a screeching and a jumpin’, — the ice went crack! c’wal- lop ! cracking ! chunk ! and she a boundin’ like a buck ! Lord, the spring that ar gal’s got in her an’t common, I’m o’pinion.” Mrs. Shelby sat perfectly silent, pale with excitement, while Sam told his story. 102 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, “ God be praised, she isn’t dead ! ” she said ; “ but where is the poor child now ? ” “ De Lord will pervide,” said Sam, rolling up his eyes pious¬ ly. “ As I’ve been a sayin’, dis yer’s a providence and no mis¬ take, -as missis has allers been a instructin’ on us. Thar’s alters instruments ris up to do de Lord’s will. Now, if ’t hadn’t been for me to-day, she’d a been took a dozen times. Warn’t it I started off de bosses, dis yer mornin’, and kept ’em chasin’ till nigh dinner time? And didn’t I car Mas’r Haley nigh five miles out of de road, dis evening, or else he’d a come up with Lizy as easy as a dog arter a coon ? These yer’s all providences.” “ They are a kind of providences that you’ll have to be pretty sparing of, Master Sam. I allow no such practices with gentlemen on my place,” said Mr. Shelby, with as much stern¬ ness as he could command, under the circumstances. Now, there is no more use in making believe be angry with a negro than with a child ; both instinctively see the true state of the case, through all attempts to affect the contrary ; and Sam was in no wise disheartened by this rebuke, though he assumed an air of doleful gravity, and stood with the corners of his mouth lowered in most penitential style. “ Mas’r’s quite right, — quite; it was ugly on me, — there’s no disputin’ that ar ; and of course mas’r and missis wouldn’t encourage no such works. I’m sensible of dat ar ; but a poor nigger like me’s ’mazin’ tempted to act ugly sometimes, when fellers will cut up such shines as dat ar Mas’r Haley ; he an’t no gen’l’man no way ; anybody’s been raised as I’ve been can’t help a seein’ dat ar.” “Well, Sam,” said Mrs. Shelby, “as you appear to have a proper sense of your errors, you may go now and tell Aunt Chloe she may get you some of that cold ham that was left of dinner to-day. You and Andy must be hungry.” “ Missis is a heap too good for us,” said Sam, making his bow with alacrity, and departing. It will be perceived, as has been before intimated, that Mas¬ ter Sam had a native talent that might, undoubtedly, have raised him to eminence in political life, — a talent of making capital out of every thing that turned up, to be invested for his own especial praise and glory ; and having done up his piety LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 103 and humility, as he trusted, to the satisfaction of the parlor, he clapped his palm leaf on his head, with a sort of rakish, free-and-easy air, and proceeded to the dominions of Aunt Chloe, with the intention of flourishing largely in the kitchen. “ I’ll speechify these yer niggers,” said Sam to himself, “ now IVe got a chance. Lord, Fll reel it off to make ’em stare ! ” It must be observed that one of Sam’s especial delights had been to ride in attendance on his master to all kinds of politi¬ cal gatherings, where, roosted on some rail fence, or perched aloft in some tree, he would sit watching the orators, with the greatest apparent gusto, and then, descending among the vari¬ ous brethren of his own color, assembled on the same errand, he would edify and delight them with the most ludicrous burlesques and imitations, all delivered with the most imper¬ turbable earnestness and solemnity ; and though the auditors immediately about him were generally of his own color, it not unfrequently happened that they were fringed pretty deeply with those of a fairer complexion, who listened, laughing and winking, to Sam’s great self-congratulation. In fact, Sam con¬ sidered oratory as his vocation, and never let slip an oppor¬ tunity of magnifying his office. Now, between Sam and Aunt Chloe there had existed, from ancient times, a sort of chronic feud, or rather a decided cool¬ ness ; but, as Sam was meditating something in the provision department, as the necessary and obvious foundation of his operations, he determined, on the present occasion, to be emi¬ nently conciliatory ; for he well knew that although “ missis’ orders” would undoubtedly be followed to the letter, yet he should gain a considerable deal by enlisting the spirit also. He therefore appeared before Aunt Chloe with a touchingly subdued, resigned expression, like one who has suffered im¬ measurable hardships in behalf of a persecuted fellow-crea¬ ture, — enlarged upon the fact that missis had directed him to come to Aunt Chloe for whatever might be wanting to make up the balance in his solids and fluids, — and thus unequivo¬ cally acknowledged her right and supremacy in the cooking department, and all thereto pertaining. The thing took accordingly. No poor, simple, virtuous body was ever cajoled by the attentions of an electioneering 104 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, politician with more ease than Aunt Chloe was won over by Master Sam’s suavities ; and if he had been the prodigal son himself, he could not have been overwhelmed with more mater¬ nal bountifulness ; and he soon found himself seated, happy and" glorious, over a large tin pan, containing a sort of olio podrida of all that had appeared on the table for two or three days past. Savory morsels of ham, golden blocks of corn cake, fragments of pie of every conceivable mathematical figure, chicken wings, gizzards, and drumsticks, all appeared in pic¬ turesque confusion ; and Sam, as monarch of all he surveyed, sat with his palm leaf cocked rejoicingly to one side, and pat¬ ronizing Andy at his right hand. The kitchen was full of all his compeers, who had hurried and crowded in, from the various cabins, to hear the termina¬ tion of the day’s exploits. Now was Sam’s hour of glory. The story of the day was rehearsed, with all kinds of orna¬ ment and varnishing which might be necessary to heighten its effect ; for Sam, like some of our fashionable dilettanti, never allowed a story to lose any of its gilding by passing through his hands. Roars of laughter attended the narration, and were taken up and prolonged by all the smaller fry, who were lying, in any quantity, about on the floor, or perched in every corner. In the height of the uproar and laughter, Sam, however, pre¬ served an immovable gravity, only from time to time rolling his eyes up, and giving his auditors divers inexpressibly droll glances, without departing from the sententious elevation of his oratory. “ Yer see, fellow countrymen,” said Sam, elevating a turkey’s leg, with energy, “ yer see, now, what dis yer chile’s up ter, for fendin’ yer all, — yes, all on yer. For him as tries to get one o’ our people, is as good as tryin’ to get all ; yer see the principle’s de same, — dat ar’s clar. And any one o’ these yer drivers that comes smelling round arter any our people, why, he’s got me in his way ; I’m the feller he’s got to set in with, — I’m the feller for yer all to come to, bredren, — I’ll stand up for yer rights, — I’ll fend ’em to the last breath ! ” “ Why, but, Sam, yer tolled me, only this mornin’, that you’d help this yer mas’r to cotch Lizy ; seems to me yer talk don’t hang together,” said Andy. LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 105 “ I tell you now, Andy/7 said Sam, with awful superiority, “ don’t yer be a talkin’ ’bout what yen don’t know nothin’ on ; boys like you, Andy, means well, but they can’t be spected to collusitate the great principles of action.” Andy looked rebuked, particularly by the hard word col¬ lusitate, which most of the youngerly members of the com¬ pany seemed to consider as a settler in the case, while Sam proceeded. “ Dat ar was conscience , Andy ; when I thought of gwine arter Lizy, I railly spected mas’r was sot dat way. When I found missis was sot the contrar, dat ar was conscience more yet , — cause fellers alters gets more by stickin’ to missis’ side, — so yer see I’s persistent either way, and sticks up to conscience, and holds on to principles. Yes, 'principles ,” said Sam, giving an enthusiastic toss to a chicken’s neck, — “ what’s principles good for, if we isn’t persistent, I wanter know ? Thar, Andy, }rou may have dat ar bone, — ’tan’t picked quite clean.” Sam’s audience hanging on his words with open mouth, he could not but proceed. “ Dis yer matter ’bout persistence, feller-niggers,” said Sam, with the air of one entering into an abstruse subject, “ dis yer ’sistency’s a thing what an’t seed into very clar, by most any body. Now, yer see, when a feller stands up for a thing one day and night, de contrar de next, folks ses, (and nat’rally enough dey ses,) why, he an’t persistent, — hand me dat ar bit o’ corn cake, Andy. But let’s look inter it. I hope the gen’lmen and der fair sex will scuse my usin’ an or ’nary sort o’ ’parison. Here! I’m a tryin’ to get top o’ der hay. Wal, I puts up my larder dis yer side ; ’tan’t no go ; — den, cause I don’t try dere no more, but puts my larder right de contrar side, an’t I persistent ? I’m persistent in wantin’ to get up which ary side my larder is ; don’t you see, all on yer ? ” “ It’s the only thing ye ever was persistent in, Lord knows ! ” muttered Aunt Chloe, who was getting rather restive ; the merriment of the evening being to her somewhat after the Scripture comparison, — like “vinegar upon nitre.” “Yes, indeed!” said Sam, rising, full of supper and glory, for a closing effort, “ yes, my feller-citizens and ladies of the other sex in general, I has principles, — I’m proud to ’oon 14 106 UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OR, ’em, — they’s perquisite to dese yer times, and ter all times. I has principles, and I sticks to ’em like forty, — jest any thing that I thinks is principle, I goes in to’t ; — I wouldn’t mind if dey burnt me ’live, — I’d walk right up to de stake, I would, and say, Here I comes to shed my last blood for my principles, for my country, for der gen’l interests of s’ciety.” “Well,” said Aunt Chloe, “one o’ yer principles will have to be to get to bed some time to-night, and not to be a keepin’ every body up till mornin’ ; now, every one of you young uns that don’t want to be cracked, had better be scase, mighty sudden.” 'Niggers! all on yer,” said Sam, waving his palm leaf with benignity, “ I give yer my blessin’ ; go to bed now, and be good boys.” And with this pathetic benediction, the assembly dispersed. CHAPTER IX. IN WHICH IT APPEARS THAT A SENATOR IS BUT A MAN. he light of the cheerful fire shone on the rug and carpet of a cosy parlor, and glittered on the sides of the teacups and well-brightened teapot, as Senator Bird was drawing off his boots, preparatory to inserting his. feet in a pair of new, handsome slippers, which his wife had been working for him while away on his senatorial tour. Mrs. Bird, looking the very picture of delight, was superin¬ tending the arrangements of the table, ever and anon mingling admonitory remarks to a number of frolicsome juveniles, who were effervescing in all those modes of untold gambol and mischief that have astonished mothers ever since the flood. “Tom, let the door-knob alone, — there’s a man! Mary! Mary! don’t pull the cat’s tail, — poor pussy! Jim, you musn’t 108 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, climb on that table, — no, no! — You don’t know, my dear, what a surprise it is to us all, to see you here to-night ! ” said she, at last, when she found a space to say something to her husband. “Yes, yes, I thought I’d just make a run down, spend the night, and have a little comfort at home. I’m tired to death, and my head aches ! ” Mrs. Bird cast a glance at a camphor bottle, which stood in the half-open closet, and appeared to meditate an approach to it, but her husband interposed. “No, no, Mary, no doctoring! a cup of your good hot tea, and some of our good home living, is what I want. It’s a tiresome business, this legislating ! ” And the senator smiled, as if he rather liked the idea of considering himself a sacrifice to his country. “Well,” said his ivife, after the business of the tea table was getting rather slack, “and what have they been doing in the Senate?” Now, it was a very unusual thing for gentle little Mrs. Bird ever to trouble her head with what was going on in the house of the state, very wisely considering that she had enough to do to mind her own. Mr. Bird, therefore, opened his eyes in surprise, and said, — “Not very much of importance.” “Well; but is it true that they have been passing a law forbidding people to give meat and drink to those poor colored folks that come along ? I heard they were talking of some such law, but I didn’t think any Christian legislature would pass it ! ” “ Why, Mary, you are getting to be a politician, all at once.” “ No, nonsense ! I wouldn’t give a fip for all your politics, generally, but I think this is something downright cruel and unchristian. I hope, my dear, no such law has been passed.” “ There has been a law passed forbidding people to help off the slaves that come over from Kentucky, my dear ; so much of that thing has been done by these reckless abolitionists, that our brethren in Kentucky are very strongly excited, and it seems necessary, and no more than Christian and kind, that LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 109 something should be done by our state to quiet the excite¬ ment.” “ And what is the law ? It don’t forbid us to shelter these poor creatures a night, does it, and to give ’em something comfortable to eat, and a few old clothes, and send them quietly about their business ? ” “ Why, yes, my dear ; that would be aiding and abetting, you know.” Mrs. Bird was a timid, blushing little woman, of about four feet in height, and with mild blue eyes, and a peach-blow complexion, and the gentlest, sweetest voice in the world ; — as for courage, a moderate-sized cock turkey had been known to put her to rout at the very first gobble, and a stout house dog, of moderate capacity, would bring her into subjection merely by a show of his teeth. Her husband and children were her entire world, and in these she ruled more by entreaty and persuasion than by command or argument. There was only one thing that was capable of arousing her, and that provocation came in on the side of her unusually gentle and sympathetic nature ; — any thing in the shape of cruelty would throw her into a passion, which was the more alarming and inexplicable in proportion to the general softness of her nature. Generally the most indulgent and easy to be entreated of all mothers, still her boys had a very reverent remembrance of a most vehement chastisement she once bestowed on them, because she found them leagued with several graceless boys of the neighborhood, stoning a defenceless kitten. “ I’ll tell you what,” Master Bill used to say, “ I was scared that time. Mother came at me so that I thought she was crazy, and I was whipped and tumbled off to bed, without any supper, before I could get over wondering what had come about ; and, after that, I heard mother crying outside the door, which made me feel worse than all the rest. I’ll tell you what,” he’d say, “ we boys never stoned another kitten ! ” On the present occasion, Mrs. Bird rose quickly, with very red cheeks, which quite improved her general appearance, and walked up to her husband, with quite a resolute air, and said, in a determined tone, — “ Now, John, I want to know if you think such a law as that is right and Christian.” 110 UNCLE TOM;S CABIN ; OIL “ You won’t shoot me, now, Mary, if I say I do ! ” “I never could have thought it of you, John; you didn’t vote for it?” “ Even so, my fair politician.” “ You ought to be ashamed, John ! Poor, homeless, houseless creatures ! It’s a shameful, wicked, abominable law, and I’ll break it, for one, the first time I get a chance ; and I hope I shall have a chance, I do ! Things have got to a pretty pass, if a woman can’t give a warm supper and a bed to poor, starving creatures, just because they are slaves, and have been abused and oppressed all their lives, poor things ! ” “ But, Mary, just listen to me. Your feelings are all quite right, dear, and interesting, and I love you for them; but, then, dear, we musn’t suffer our feelings to run away with our judgment ; you must consider it’s not a matter of private feel¬ ing, — there are great public interests involved, — there is such a state of public agitation rising, that we must put aside our private feelings.” “Now, John, I don’t know any thing about politics, but I can read my Bible ; and there I see that I must feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and comfort the desolate ; and that Bible I mean to follow.” “ But in cases where your doing so would involve a great public evil - ” “ Obeying God never brings on public evils. I know it can’t. It’s alwavs safest, all round, to do as He bids us.” “ Now, listen to me, Mary, and I can state to you a very clear argument, to show - ” “ 0, nonsense, John ! you can talk all night, but you wouldn’t do it. I put it to you, John, — would you, now, turn away a poor, shivering, hungry creature from your door, because he was a runaway ? Would you, now ? ” Now, if the truth must be told, our senator had the mis¬ fortune to be a man who had a particularly humane and accessible nature, and turning away any body that was in trouble never had been his forte ; and what was worse for him in this particular pinch of the argument was, that his wife knew it, and, of course, was making an assault on rather an indefensible point. So he had recourse to the usual means of LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. Ill gaining time for such, cases made and provided ; he said “ ahem/7 and coughed several times, took out his pocket hand¬ kerchief, and began to wipe his glasses. Mrs. Bird, seeing the defenceless condition of the enemy’s territory, had no more conscience than to push her advantage. “I should like to see you doing that, John — I really should ! Turning a woman out of doors in a snow storm, for instance ; or, may be, you’d take her up and put her in jail, wouldn’t you ? You would make a great hand at that ! ” “ Of course, it would be a very painful duty,” began Mr. Bird, in a moderate tone. “Duty, John! don’t use that word! You know it isn’t a duty — it can’t be a duty ! If folks want to keep their slaves from running away, let ’em treat ’em well, — that’s my doc¬ trine. If I had slaves, (as I hope I never shall have,) I’d risk their wanting to run away from me, or you either, John. I tell you, folks don’t run away when they are happy ; and when they do run, poor creatures ! they suffer enough with cold, and hunger, and fear, without every body’s turning against them ; and, law or no law, I never will, so help me God ! ” “ Mary ! Mary! My dear, let me reason with you.” “I hate reasoning, John, — especially reasoning on such subjects. There’s a way you political folks have of coming round and round a plain right thing ; and you don’t believe in it yourselves, when it comes to practice. I know you well enough, John. You don’t believe it’s right any more than I do ; and you wouldn’t do it any sooner than I.” At this critical juncture, old Cudjoe, the black man-of-all- work, put his head in at the door, and wished “ missis would come into the kitchen ; ” and our senator, tolerably relieved, looked after his little wife with a whimsical mixture of amuse¬ ment and vexation, and, sealing himself in the arm chair, began to read the papers. After a moment, his wife’s voice was heard at the door, in a quick, earnest tone, — “John! John! I do wish you’d come here, a moment.” He laid down his paper, and went into the kitchen, and started, quite amazed at the sight that presented itself : — A young and slender woman, with garments torn and frozen, 112 UNCLE TOM’S .CABIN ; OR, with one shoe gone, and the stocking tore away from the cut and bleeding foot, was laid back in a deadly swoon upon two chairs. There was the impress of the despised race on her face, yet none could help feeling its mournful and pathetic beauty, while its stony sharpness, its cold, fixed, deathly aspect, struck a solemn chill over him. He drew his breath short, and stood in silence. His wife, and their only colored domes¬ tic, old Aunt Dinah, were busily engaged in restorative meas¬ ures ; while old Cudjoe had got the boy on his knee, and was busy pulling off his shoes and stockings, and chafing his little cold feet. “ Sure, now, if she an’t a sight to behold ! ” said old Dinah, compassionately ; “ ’pears like ’twas the heat that made her faint. She was tol’able peart when she come in, and asked if she couldn’t warm herself here a spell ; and I was just a askin’ her where she come from, and she fainted right down. Never done much hard work, guess, by the looks of her hands.” “ Poor creature ! ” said Mrs. Bird, compassionately, as the woman slowly unclosed her large, dark eyes, and looked vacantly at her. Suddenly an expression of agony crossed her face, and she sprang up, saying, “ 0, my Harry ! Have they got him?” The boy, at this, jumped from Cudjoe’s knee, and, running to her side, put up his arms. “ 0, lie’s here ! he’s here ! ” she exclaimed. “ 0 ma’am ! ” said she, wildly, to Mrs. Bird, “ do protect us ! don’t let them get him ! ” “Nobody shall hurt you here, poor woman,” said Mrs. Bird, encouragingly. “You are safe ; don’t be afraid.” “ God bless you ! ” said the woman, covering her face and sobbing ; while the little boy, seeing her crying, tried to get into her lap. With many gentle and womanly offices, which none knew better how to render than Mrs. Bird, the poor woman was, in time, rendered more calm. A temporary bed was provided for her on the settle, near the fire ; and, after a short time, she fell into a heavy slumber, with the child, who seemed no less weary, soundly sleeping on her arm ; for the mother resisted, with nervous anxiety, the kindest attempts to take him from LTFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 113 her ; and even in sleep, her arm encircled him with an unrelax¬ ing clasp, as if she could not even then be beguiled of her vigilant hold. Mr. and Mrs. Bird had gone back to the parlor, where, strange as it may appear, no reference was made, on either side, to the preceding conversation; but Mrs. Bird busied herself with her knitting work, and Mr. Bird pretended to be reading the paper. “ I wonder who and what she is ! ” said Mr. Bird, at last, as he laid it down. “ When she wakes up and feels a little rested, we will sec,” said Mrs. Bird. “ I say, wife ! ” said Mr. Bird, after musing in silence over his newspaper. “Well, dear! ” “She couldn’t wear one of your gowns, could she, by any letting down, or such matter ? She seems to be rather larger than you are.” A quite perceptible smile glimmered on Mrs. Bird’s face, as she answered, “We’ll see.” Another pause, and Mr. Bird again broke out, — “ I say, wife ! ” “ W ell ! what now ? ” “ Why, there’s that old bombazine cloak, that you keep on purpose to put over me when I take my afternoon’s nap ; you might as well give her that, — she needs clothes.” At this instant, Dinah looked in to say that the woman was awake, and wanted to see missis. Mr. and Mrs. Bird went into the kitchen, followed by the two eldest boys, the smaller fry having, by this time, been safely disposed of in bed. The woman was now sitting up on the settle, by the fire. She was looking steadily into the blaze, with a calm, heart¬ broken expression, very different from her former agitated wildness. “ Did you want me ? ” said Mrs. Bird, in gentle tones. “ I hope you feel better now, poor woman ! ” A long-drawn, shivering sigh was the only answer: but she lifted her dark eyes, and fixed them on her with such a 15 114 UNCLE tom’s cabin; or, forlorn and imploring expression, that the tears came into the little woman’s eyes. “Yon needn’t he afraid of any thing ; we are friends here, poor woman! Tell me where you came from, and what yon want,”- said she. “I came from Kentucky,” said the woman. “ When ? ” said Mr. Bird, taking up the interrogatory. “ To-night.” “How did you come?” “ I crossed on the ice.” “ Crossed on the ice ! ” said every one present. “Yes,” said the woman, slowly, “I did. God helping me, I crossed on the ice ; for they were behind me — right behind — and there was no other way ! ” “ Law, missis,” said Cudjoe, “ the ice is all in broken-up blocks, a swinging and a teetering up and down in the water ! ” “I know it was — I know it!” said she, wildly; “but I did it! I wouldn’t have thought I could, — I didn’t think I should get over, but I didn’t care ! I could but die, if I didn’t. The Lord helped me ; nobody knows how much the Lord can help ’em, till they try,” said the woman, with a flashing eye, “Were you a slave?” said Mr. Bird. “ Yes, sir ; I belonged to a man in Kentucky.” “Was he unkind to you?” “ No, sir ; he was a good master.” “And was your mistress unkind to you?” “ No, sir — no ! my mistress was always good to me.” “ What could induce you to leave a good home, then, and run away, and go through such dangers ? ” The woman looked up at Mrs. Bird, with a keen, scrutiniz¬ ing glance, and it did not escape her that she was dressed in deep mourning. “ Ma’am,” she said, suddenly, “have you ever lost a child ? ” The question was unexpected, and it was a thrust on a new wound ; for it was only a month since a darling child of the family had been laid in the grave. Mr. Bird turned around and walked to the window, and Mrs. Bird burst into tears ; but, recovering her voice, she said, — LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 115 “Why do you ask that? I have lost a little one.” “Then you will feel for me. I have lost two, one after another, — left ’em buried there when I came away ; and I had only this one left. I never slept a night without him ; he was all I had. He was my comfort and pride, day and night ; and, ma’am, they were going to take him away from me, — to sell him, — sell him down south, ma’am, to go all alone, — a baby that had never been away from his mother in his life! I couldn’t stand it, ma’am. I knew I never should be good for any thing, if they did ; and when I knew the papers were signed, and he was sold, I took him and came off in the night ; and they chased me, — the man that bought him, and some of mask’s folks, — and they were coming down right behind me, and I heard ’em. I jumped right on to the ice ; and how I got across, I don’t know, — but, first I knew, a man was helping me up the bank.” The woman did not sob nor weep. She had gone to a place where tears are dry ; but every one around her was, in some way characteristic of themselves, showing signs of hearty sympathy. The two little boys, after a desperate rummaging in their pockets, in search of those pocket handkerchiefs which mothers know are never to be found there, had thrown themselves disconsolately into the skirts of their mother’s gown, where they were sobbing and wiping their eyes and noses, to their hearts’ content ; — Mrs. Bird had her face fairly hidden in her pocket handkerchief ; and old Dinah, with tears streaming down her black, honest face, was ejaculating, “ Lord, have mercy on us ! ” with all the fervor of a camp meeting ; — while old Cudjoe, rubbing his eyes very hard with his cuffs, and making a most uncommon variety of wry faces, occasionally responded in the same key, with great fervor. Our senator was a statesman, and of course could not be expected to cry, like other mortals ; and so he turned his back to the company, and looked out of the window, and seemed particularly busy in clearing his throat and wiping his spectacle glasses, occasion¬ ally blowing his nose in a manner that was calculated to excite suspicion, had any one been in a state to observe critically. 116 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, “ How came you to tell me you liad a kind master ? ” lie suddenly exclaimed, gulping down very resolutely some kind of rising in his throat, and turning suddenly round upon the woman. “ Because he was a kind master ; I’ll say that of him, any way ; — and my mistress was kind ; but they couldn’t help themselves. They were owing money ; and there was some way, I can’t tell how, that a man had a hold on them, and they were obliged to give him his will. I listened, and heard him telling mistress that, and she begging and pleading for me, — and he told her he couldn’t help himself, and that the papers were all drawn ; — and then it was I took him and left my home, and came away. I knew ’twas no use of my trying to live, if they did it ; for’t ’pears like this child is all I have.” “ Have you no husband ? ” “Yes, but he belongs to another man. His master is real hard to him, and won’t let him come to see me hardly ever ; and lie’s grown harder and harder upon us, and he threatens to sell him down south ; — it’s like I’ll never see him again ! ” The quiet tone in which the woman pronounced these words might have led a superficial observer to think that she was entirely apathetic ; but there was a calm, settled depth of anguish in her large, dark eye, that spoke of something far otherwise. “And where do you mean to go, my poor woman?” said Mrs. Bird. “ To Canada, if I only knew where that was. Is it very v far off, is Canada ? ” said she, looking up, with a simple, confiding air, to Mrs. Bird’s face. “ Poor thing ! ” said Mrs. Bird, involuntarily. “ Is’t a very great way off, think ? ” said the woman, earnestly. “ Much farther than you think, poor child ! ” said Mrs. Bird ; “ but we will try to think what can be done for you. Here, Dinah, make her up a bed in your own room, close by the kitchen, and I’ll think what to do for her in the morning. Meanwhile, never fear, poor woman ; put your trust in God ; he will protect you.” LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 117 Mrs. Bird and her husband reentered the parlor. She sat down in her little rocking chair before the lire, swaying thoughtfully to and fro. Mr. Bird strode up and down the room, grumbling to himself, “ Pish ! pshaw ! confounded awkward business ! 77 At length, striding up to his wife, he said, — “ I say, wife, she7ll have to get away from here this very night. That fellow will be down on the scent bright and early to-morrow morning ; if 7twas only the woman, she could lie quiet till it was over ; but that little chap can7t be kept still by a troop of horse and foot, Pll warrant me ; he’ll bring it all out, popping his head out of some window or door. A pretty kettle of fish it would be for me, too, to be caught with them both here, just now ! No ; they7ll have to be got off to-night.77 “ To-nigKt ! How is it possible ? — where to ? 77 “Well, I know pretty well where to,77 said the senator, beginning to put on his boots with a reflective air ; and, stopping when his leg was half in, he embraced his knee with both hands, and seemed to go off in deep meditation. “ It7s a confounded awkward, ugly business,77 said he, at last, beginning to tug at his boot straps again, “ and that’s a fact ! 77 After one boot was fairly on, the senator sat with the other in his hand, profoundly studying the figure of the carpet. “ It will have to be done, though, for aught I see, — hang it all ! 77 and he drew the other boot anxiously on, and looked out of the window. Now, little Mrs. Bird was a discreet woman, — a woman who never in her life said, “ I told you so ! 77 and on the present occasion, though pretty well aware of the shape her husband’s meditations were taking, she very prudently forbore to meddle with them, only sat very quietly in her chair, and looked quite ready to hear her liege lord’s intentions, when he should think proper to utter them. “You see,77 he said, “ there’s my old client, Yan Trompe, has come over from Kentucky, and set all his slaves free ; and he has bought a place seven miles up the creek, here, back in the woods, where nobody goes, unless they go on purpose ; and it’s a place that isn’t found in a hurry. There she’d be 118 UNCLE tom’s cabin; or, safe enough ; but the plague of the thing is, nobody could drive a carriage there to-night, but me” “ Why not ? Cudjoe is an excellent driver.” “ Ay, ay, but here it is. The creek has to be crossed twice.; and the second crossing is quite dangerous, unless one knows it as I do. I have crossed it a hundred times on horse¬ back, and know exactly the turns to take. And so, you see, there’s no help for it. Cudjoe must put in the horses, as quietly as may be, about twelve o’clock, and I’ll take her over ; and then, to give color to the matter, he must carry me on to the next tavern, to take the stage for Columbus, that comes by about three or four, and so it will look as if I had had the carriage only for that. I shall get into business bright and early in the morning. But I’m thinking I shall feel rather cheap there, after all that’s been said and done ; but, hang it, I can’t help it ! ” “ Your heart is better than your head, in this case, John,” said the wife, laying her little white hand on his. Could I ever have loved you, had I not known you better than you know yourself ? ” And the little woman looked so handsome, with the tears sparkling in her eyes, that the senator thought he must be a decidedly clever fellow, to get such a pretty creature into such a passionate admiration of him ; and so, what could he do but walk off soberly, to see about the car¬ riage ? At the door, however, he stopped a moment, and then coming back, he said, with some hesitation, — “ Mary, I don’t know how you’d feel about it, but there’s that drawer full of things — of — of — poor little Henry’s.” So saying, he turned quickly on his heel, and shut the door after him. His wife opened the little bed-room door adjoining her room, and, taking the candle, set it down on the top of a bureau there ; then from a small recess she took a key, and put it thoughtfully in the lock of a drawer, and made a sud¬ den pause, while the two boys, who, boylike, had followed close on her heels, stood looking, with silent, significant glances, at their mother. And 0 ! mother that reads this, has there never been in your house a drawer, or a closet, the opening of which has been to you like the opening again of a LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 119 little grave ? Ah ! happy mother that you are, if it has not been so. Mrs. Bird slowly opened the drawer. There were little coats of many a form and pattern, piles of aprons, and rows of small stockings ; and even a pair of little shoes, worn and rubbed at the toes, were peeping from the folds of a paper. There was a toy horse and wagon, a top, a ball, — memorials gathered with many a tear and many a heartbreak ! She sat down by the drawer, and, leaning her head on her hands over it, wept till the tears fell through her fingers into the drawer ; then suddenly raising her head, she began, with nervous haste, selecting the plainest and most substantial articles, and gathering them into a bundle. “ Mamma,” said one of the boys, gently touching her arm, “ are you going to give away those things ? ” “ My dear boys,” she said, softly and earnestly, “ if our dear, loving little Henry looks down from heaven, he would be glad to have us do this. I could not find it in my heart to give them away to any common person — to any body that was happy ; but I give them to a mother more heart broken and sorrowful than I am ; and I hope God will send his blessings with them ! ” There are in this world blessed souls, whose sorrows all spring up into joys for others ; whose earthly hopes, laid in the grave with many tears, are the seed from which spring healing flowers and balm for the desolate and the distressed. Among such was the delicate woman who sits there by the lamp, dropping slow tears, while she prepares the memorials of her own lost one for the outcast wanderer. After a while, Mrs. Bird opened a wardrobe, and, taking from thence a plain, serviceable dress or two, she sat down busily to her work table, and, with needle, scissors, and thim¬ ble at hand, quietly commenced the “letting-down” process which her husband had recommended, and continued busily at it till the old clock in the corner struck twelve, and she heard the low rattling of wheels at the door. “ Mary,” said her husband, coming in, with his overcoat in his hand, “ you must wake her up now ; we must be off.” Mrs. Bird hastily deposited the various articles she had 120 uncle tom’s cabin; or, collected in a small plain trunk, and locking it, desired her husband to see it in the carriage, and then proceeded to call the woman. Soon, arrayed in a cloak, bonnet, and shawl, that had belonged to her benefactress, she appeared at the door with her child in her arms. Mr. Bird hurried her into the carriage, and Mrs. Bird pressed on after her to the carriage steps. Eliza leaned out of the carriage, and put out her hand, — a hand as soft and beautiful as was given in return. She fixed her large, dark eyes, full of earnest meaning, on Mrs. Bird’s face, and seemed going to speak. Her lips moved, — she tried once or twice, but there was no sound, — and pointing up¬ ward, with a look never to be forgotten, she fell back in the seat, and covered her face. The door was shut, and the carriage drove on. What a situation, now, for a patriotic senator, that had been all the week before spurring up the legislature of his native state to pass more stringent resolutions against escaping fugitives, their harborers and abetters! Our good senator in his native state had not been exceeded by any of his brethren at Washington, in the sort of eloquence which has won for them immortal renown ! How sublimely he had sat with his hands in his pockets, and scouted all senti¬ mental weakness of those who would put the welfare of a few miserable fugitives before great state interests ! He was as bold as a lion about it, and “ mightily convinced ” not only himself, but everybody that heard him; — but then his idea of a fugitive was only an idea of the letters that spell the word, — or, at the most, the image of a little newspaper picture of a man with a stick and bundle, with “ Ran away from the subscriber ” under it. The magic of the real presence of distress, — the imploring human eye, the frail, trembling hu¬ man hand, the despairing appeal of helpless agony, — these he had never tried. He had never thought that a fugitive might be a hapless mother, a defenceless child, — like that one which was now wearing his lost boj ’s little well-known cap ; and so, as our poor senator was not stone or steel, — as he was a man, and a downright noble-hearted one, too, — he was, as every body must see, in a sad case for his patriotism. And you need not exult over him, good brother of the Southern States ; for LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 121 we have some inklings that many of yon, under similar circum¬ stances, would not do much better. We have reason to know, in Kentucky, as in Mississippi, are noble and generous hearts, to whom never was tale of suffering told in vain. Ah, good brother ! is it fair for you to expect of us services which your own brave, honorable heart would not allow you to render, were you in our place ? Be that as it may, if our good senator was a political sin¬ ner, he was in a fair way to expiate it by his night’s penance. There had been a long, continuous period of rainy weather, and the soft, rich earth of Ohio, as every one knows, is admi¬ rably suited to the manufacture of mud, — and the road was an Ohio railroad of the good old times. “ And pray, what sort of a road may that be ? ” says some eastern traveller, who has been accustomed to connect no ideas with a railroad but those of smoothness or speed. Know, then, innocent eastern friend, that in benighted re¬ gions of the west, where the mud is of unfathomable and sub¬ lime depth, roads are made of round, rough logs, arranged transversely side by side, and coated over in their pristine freshness with earth, turf, and whatsoever may come to hand, and then the rejoicing native calleth it a road, and straightway essayeth to ride thereupon. In process of time, the rains wash off all the turf and grass aforesaid, move the logs hither and thither, in picturesque positions, up, down, and crosswise, with divers chasms and ruts of black mud intervening. Over such a road as this our senator went stumbling along, making moral reflections as continuously as under the circum¬ stances could be expected, — the carriage proceeding along much as follows, — bump ! bump ! bump ! slush ! down in the mud ! — the senator, woman, and child reversing their posi¬ tions so suddenly as to come, without any very accurate adjust¬ ment, against the windows of the down-hill side. Carriage sticks fast, while Cudjoe on the outside is heard making a great muster among the horses. After various ineffectual pull¬ ings and twitchings, just as the senator is losing all patience, the carriage suddenly rights itself with a bounce, — two front wheels go down into another abyss, and senator, woman, and child all tumble promiscuously on to the front seat, — senator’s 16 122 UNCLE TOM*S CABIN ; OB, hat is jammed over his eyes and nose quite unceremoniously, and he considers himself fairly extinguished ; — child cries, and Cudjoe on the outside delivers animated addresses to the horses, who are kicking, and floundering, and straining, under repeated cracks of the whip. Carriage springs up, with another bounce, — down go the hind wheels, — senator, woman, and child fly over on to the back seat, his elbows encountering her bonnet, and both her feet being jammed into his hat, which flies off in the concussion. After a few moments the “ slough 77 is passed, and the horses stop, panting ; — the senator finds his hat, the woman straightens her bonnet and hushes her child, and they brace themselves firmly for what is yet to come. For a while, only the continuous bump ! bump ! intermingled, just by way of variety, with divers side plunges and compound shakes ; and they begin to flatter themselves that they are not so badly off, after all. At last, with a square plunge, which puts all on to their feet and then down into their seats with incredible quickness, the carriage stops, — and, after much outside commotion, Cudjoe appears at the door. “ Please, sir, it7s powerful bad spot, this yer. I don’t know how we’s to get clar out. I’m a thinkin’ we’ll have to be a gettin’ rails.” The senator despairingly steps out, picking gingerly for some firm foothold ; down goes one foot an immeasurable depth, — he tries to pull it up, loses his balance, and tumbles over into the mud, and is fished out, in a very despairing condition, by Cudjoe. But we forbear, out of sympathy to our readers’ bones. Western travellers, who have beguiled the midnight hour in the interesting process of pulling down rail fences, to pry their carriages out of mud holes, will have a respectful and mourn¬ ful sympathy with our unfortunate hero. We beg them to drop a silent tear, and pass on. It was full late in the night when the carriage emerged, dripping and bespattered, out of the creek, and stood at the door of a large farm house. It took no inconsiderable perseverance to arouse the in¬ mates ; but at last the respectable proprietor appeared, and undid the door. He was a great, tall, bristling Orson of a LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 123 fellow, full six feet and some inches in his stockings, and arrayed in a red flannel hunting shirt. A very heavy mat of sandy hair, in a decidedly tousled condition, and a beard of some days’ growth, gave the worthy man an appearance, to say the least, not particularly prepossessing. He stood for a few minutes holding the candle aloft, and blinking on our travel¬ lers with a dismal and mystified expression that was truly ludicrous. It cost some effort of our senator to induce him to comprehend the case fully ; and while lie is doing his best at that, we shall give him a little introduction to our readers. Honest old John Van Trompe was once quite a considerable landholder and slave owner in the State of Kentucky. Hav¬ ing “nothing of the bear about him but the skin,” and being- gifted by nature with a great, honest, just heart, quite equal to his gigantic frame, he had been for some years witnessing with repressed uneasiness the workings of a system equally bad for oppressor and oppressed. At last, one day, John’s great heart had swelled altogether too big to wear his bonds any longer ; so he just took his pocket book out of his desk, and went over into Ohio, and bought a quarter of a township of good, rich land, made out free papers for all his people, — men, women, and children, — packed them up in wagons, and sent them off to settle down ; and then honest John turned his face up the creek, and sat quietly down on a snug, retired farm, to enjoy his conscience and his reflections. “ Are you the man that wrill shelter a poor woman and child from slave catchers ? ” said the senator, explicitly. “ I rather think I am,” said honest John, with some consider¬ able emphasis. “I thought so,” said the senator. “If there’s any body comes,” said the good man, stretching his tall, muscular form upward, “ why, here I’m ready for him ; and I’ve got seven sons, each six foot high, and they’ll be ready for ’em. Give our respects to ’em,” said John ; “ tell ’em it’s no matter how soon they call, — make no kinder differ¬ ence to us,” said John, running his fingers through the shock of hair that thatched his head, and bursting out into a great laugh. Weary, jaded, and spiritless, Eliza dragged herself up to 124- uncle TOM’S CABIN ; OR, the door, with her child lying in a heavy sleep on her arm. The rough man held the candle to her face, and uttering a kind of compassionate grunt, opened the door of a small bed room adjoining to the large kitchen where they were standing, and motioned her to go in. He took down a candle, and lighting it, set it upon the table, and then addressed himself to Eliza. “ Now, 1 say, gal, you needn’t be a bit afeard, let who will come here. Em up to all that sort o’ thing,” said he, pointing to two or three goodly rifles over the mantel-piece ; “ and most people that know me know that ’twouldn’t be healthy to try to get any body out o’ my house when I’m agin it. So now you jist go to sleep now, as quiet as if yer mother was a rockin’ ye,” said he, as he shut the door. “ Why, this is an uncommon handsome un,” he said to the senator. “ Ah, well ; handsome uns has the greatest cause to run, sometimes, if they has any kind o’ feelin, such as decent women should. I know all about that.” The senator, in a few words, briefly explained Eliza’s history. “ 0 ! ou ! aw ! now, I want to know ! ” said the good man, pitifully ; “ sho ! now sho ! That’s natur now, poor critter ! hunted down now like a deer, — hunted down, jest for havin’ natural feelin’s, and doin’ what no kind o’ mother could help a doin’ ! I tell ye what, these yer things make me come the nighest to swearin’, now, o’ most any thing,” said honest John, as he wiped his eyes with the back of a great, freckled, yellow hand. “ 1 tell yer what, stranger, it was years and years before I’d jine the church, ’cause the ministers round in our parts used to preach that the Bible went in for these ere cut¬ tings up, — and I couldn’t be up to ’em with their Greek and Hebrew, and so 1 took up agin ’em, Bible and all. I never jined the church till I found a minister that was up to ’em all in Greek and all that, and he said right the contrary ; and then I took right hold, and jined the church, — I did now, fact,” said John, who had been all this time uncorking some very frisky bottled cider, which at this juncture he presented. “Ye’d better jest put up here, now, till daylight,” said he, heartily, “ and I’ll call up the old woman, and have a bed got ready for you in no time.” LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 125 “ Thank you, my good friend/’ said the senator, “ I must be along, to take the night stage for Columbus.” “ Ah ! well, then, if you must, I’ll go a piece with you, and show you a cross road that will take you there better than the road you came on. That road’s mighty bad.” John equipped himself, and, with a lantern in hand, was soon seen guiding the senator’s carriage towards a road that ran down in a hollow, back of his dwelling. When they parted, the senator put into his hand a ten dollar bill. “ It’s for her,” he said, briefly. “ Ay, ay,” said John, with equal conciseness. They shook hands, and parted. CHAPTER X. THE PROPERTY IS CARRIED OFF. he February morning looked gray and driz¬ zling through the window of Uncle Tom’s cabin. It looked on downcast faces, the images of mournful hearts. The little table stood out before the fire, covered with an ironing cloth : a coarse but clean shirt or two, fresh from the iron, hung on the back of a chair by the fire, and Aunt Chloe had another spread out before her on the table. Carefully she rubbed and ironed every fold and every hem, with the most scrupulous exactness, every now and then rais¬ ing her hand to her face to wipe off the tears that were coursing down her cheeks. Tom sat by, with his Testament open on his knee, and his head leaning upon his hand ; — but neither spoke. It was yet LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 127 early, and the children lay all asleep together in their little rude trundle bed. Tom, who had, to the full, the gentle, domestic heart, which, woe for them ! has been a peculiar characteristic of his unhappy race, got up and walked silently to look at his children. “ It’s the last time,” he said. Aunt Chloe did not answer, only rubbed away over and over on the coarse shirt, already as smooth as hands could make it ; and finally setting her iron suddenly down with a despairing plunge, she sat down to the table, and “lifted up her voice and wept.” “ S’pose we must be resigned ; but, 0 Lord ! how ken I ? If I know’d any thing whar you’s goin’, or how they’d sarve you ! Missis says she’ll try and ’deem ye, in a year or two ; but, Lor ! nobody never comes up that goes down thar ! They kills ’em ! I’ve hearn ’em tell how dey works ’em up on dem ar plantations.” “ There’ll be the same God there, Chloe, that there is here.” “Well,” said Aunt Chloe, “ s’pose dcre will ; but de Lord lets drefful things happen, sometimes. I don’t seem to get no comfort dat way.” “ I’m in the Lord’s hands,” said Tom ; “ nothin’ can go no furder than he lets it ; — and thar’s one thing I can thank him for. It’s me that’s sold and going down, and not you nur the chil’en. Here you’re safe; — what comes will come only on me ; and the Lord, he’ll help me, — I know he will.” Ah, brave, manly heart, — smothering thine own sorrow, to comfort thy beloved ones ! Tom spoke with a thick utterance, and with a bitter choking in his throat, — but he spoke brave and strong. “ Let’s think on our marcies ! ” he added, tremulously, as if he was quite sure he needed to think on them very hard indeed. “ Marcies ! ” said Aunt Chloe ; “ don’t see no marcy in’t ! ’tant right ! tan’t right it should be so ! Mas’r never ought ter left it so that ye could be took for his debts. Ye’ve arnt him all he gets for ye, twice over. He owed ye yer freedom, and ought ter gin’t to yer years ago. Mebbe he can’t help 128 UNCLE TOM?S CABIN ; OR, himself now, but I feel it’s wrong. Nothing can’t beat that ar out o’ me. Sich a faithful critter as ye’ve been, — and alters sot his business ’fore yer own every way, — and reckoned on him more than yer own wife and chil’en ! Them as sells heart’s love and heart’s blood, to get out thar scrapes, de Lord’ll be up to ’em ! ” “ Chloe ! now, if ye love me, ye won’t talk so, when perhaps jest the last time we’ll ever have together ! And I’ll tell ye, Chloe, it goes agin me to hear one word agin mas’r. Wan’t he put in my arms a baby ! — it’s natur I should think a heap of him. And he couldn’t be spected to think so much of poor Tom. Mas’rs is used to havin’ all these yer things done for ’em, and nat’lly they don’t think so much on’t. They can’t be spected to, no way. Set him ’longside of other mas’rs — who’s had the treatment and the livin’ I’ve had? And he never would have let this yer come on me, if he could have seed it aforehand. I know he wouldn’t.” “ Wal, any way, thar’s wrong about it somewhar ,” said Aunt Chloe, in whom a stubborn sense of justice was a predominant trait; “I can’t jest make out whar ’tis, but thar’s wrong somewhar, I’m clar o’ that.” “ Yer ought ter look up to the Lord above — he’s above all — thar don’t a sparrow fall without him.” “ It don’t seem to comfort me, but I spect it orter,” said Aunt Chloe. “ But dar’s no use talkin’ ; I’ll jes wet up de corn cake, and get ye one good breakfast, ’cause nobody knows when you’ll get another.” In order to appreciate the sufferings of the negroes sold south, it must be remembered that all the instinctive affections of that race are peculiarly strong. Their local attachments are very abiding. They are not naturally daring and enter¬ prising, but home-loving and affectionate. Add to this all the terrors with which ignorance invests the unknown, aud add to this, again, that selling to the south is set before the negro from childhood as the last severity of punishment. The threat that terrifies more than whipping or torture of any kind is the threat of being sent down river. W e have ourselves heard this feeling expressed by them, and seen the unaffected horror with LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 129 which they will sit in their gossiping hours, and tell frightful stories of that “ down river,” which to them is “ That undiscovered country, from whose bourn No traveller returns.” A missionary among the fugitives in Canada told us that many of the fugitives confessed themselves to have escaped from comparatively kind masters, and that they were induced to brave the perils of escape, in almost every case, by the desperate horror with which they regarded being sold south, — a doom which was hanging either over themselves or their husbands, their wives or children. This nerves the Afri¬ can, naturally patient, timid, and unenterprising, with he¬ roic courage, and leads him to sulfer hunger, cold, pain, the perils of the wilderness, and the more dread penalties of recapture. The simple morning meal now smoked on the table, for Mrs. Shelby had excused Aunt Chloe’s attendance at the great house that morning. The poor soul had expended all her little energies on this farewell feast, — had killed and dressed her choicest chicken, and prepared her corn cake with scru¬ pulous exactness, just to her husband’s taste, and brought out certain mysterious jars on the mantel-piece, some preserves that were never produced except on extreme occasions. “ Lor, Pete',” said Mose, triumphantly, “ han’t we got a bust¬ er of a breakfast ! ” at the same time catching at a fragment of the chicken. Aunt Chloe gave him a sudden box on the ear. “ Thar, now ! crowing over the last breakfast yer poor daddy’s gwine to have to home ! ” “ 0 Chloe ! ” said Tom, gently. “ Wal, I can’t help it,” said Aunt Chloe, hiding her face in her apron; “I’s so tossed about, it makes me act ugly.” The boys stood quite still, looking first at their father and then at their mother, while the baby, climbing up her clothes, began an imperious, commanding cry. “ Thar ! ” said Aunt Chloe, wiping her eyes and taking up the baby ; “ now I’s done, I hope, — now do eat something. 11 130 UNCLE TOM?S CABIN; OR, This yer’s my nicest chicken. Thar, boys, ye shall have some, poor critters ! Yer mammy’s been cross to yer.” The boys needed no second invitation, and went in with great zeal for the eatables ; and it was well they did so, as otherwise there would have been very little performed to any purpose by the party. “Now,” said Aunt Chloe, bustling about after breakfast, “ I must put up yer clothes. Jest like as not, he’ll take ’em all away. I know thar ways — mean as dirt, they is ! Wal, now, yer flannels for rhumatis is in this corner ; so be carful, ’cause there won’t nobody make ye no more. Then here’s your old shirts, and these yer is new ones. I toed off these yer stockings last night, and put de ball in ’em to mend with. But, Lor! who’ll ever mend for ye?” and Aunt Chloe, again overcome, laid her head on the box side, and sobbed. “To think on’t! no critter to do for ye, sick or well! I don’t railly think I ought ter be good now ! ” The boys, having eaten every thing there was on the break¬ fast table, began now to take some thought of the case ; and, seeing their mother crying, and their father looking very sad, began to whimper, and put their hands to their eyes. Uncle Tom had the baby on his knee, and was letting her enjoy herself to the utmost extent, scratching his face and pulling his hair, and occasionally breaking out into clamorous explosions of delight, evidently arising out of her own internal reflections. “ Ay, crow away, poor critter ! ” said Aunt Chloe ; “ ye’ll have to come to it, too ! ye’ll live to see yer husband sold, or mebbe be sold yerself ; and these yer boys, they’s to be sold, I s’pose, too, jest as like as not, when dey gets good for somethin’ ; an’t no use in niggers havin’ nothin ! ” Here one of the boys called out, “ Thar’s missis a com- in m ! “ She can’t do no good ; what’s she cornin’ for ? ” said Aunt Chloe. Mrs. Shelby entered. Aunt Chloe set a chair for her in a LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 131 manner decidedly gruff and crusty. She did not seem to notice either the action or the manner. She looked pale and anxious. “ Tom/7 she said, “ I come to - 77 and stopping sud¬ denly, and regarding the silent group, she sat down in the chair, and, covering her face with her handkerchief, began to sob. “Lor, now, missis, don’t — don’t!77 said Aunt Chloe, burst¬ ing out in her turn • and for a few moments they all wept in company. And in those tears they all shed together, the high and the lowly, melted away all the heartburnings and anger of the oppressed. 0, ye who visit the distressed, do ye know that every thing your money can buy, given with a cold, averted face, is not worth one honest tear shed in real sympathy ? “ My good fellow,77 said Mrs. Shelby, “ I can’t give you any thing to do you any good, If I give you money, it will only be taken from you. But I tell you, solemnly, and before God, that I will keep trace of you, and bring you back as soon as I can command the money ; and, till then, trust in God ! 77 Here the boys called out that M^s’r Haley was coming, and then an unceremonious kick pushed open the door. Ha¬ ley stood there in very ill humor, having ridden hard the night before, and being not at all pacified by his ill success in recapturing his prey. “ Come,” said he, “ ye nigger, ye’r ready ? Servant, ma’am ! 77 said he, taking off his hat, as he saw Mrs. Shelby. Aunt Chloe shut and corded the box, and, getting up, looked gruffly on the trader, her tears seeming suddenly turned to sparks of fire. Tom rose up meekly, to follow his new master, and raised up his heavy box on his shoulder. His wife took the baby in her arms to go with him to the wagon, and the children, still crying, trailed on behind. Mrs. Shelby, walking up to the trader, detained him for a few moments, talking with him in an earnest manner ; and while she was thus talking, the whole family party pro¬ ceeded to a wagon that stood ready harnessed at the door. 132 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, A crowd of all the old and young hands on the place stood gathered around it, to bid farewell to their old associate. Tom had been looked up to both as a head servant and a Christian teacher, by all the place, and there was much honest sympathy and grief about him, particularly among the women. “ Why, Chloe, you bar it better’n we do ! ” said one of the women, who had been weeping freely, noticing the gloomy calmness with which Aunt Chloe stood by the wagon. “ I’s done my tears ! ” she said, looking grimly at the trader, who was coming up. “ I does not feel to cry ’fore dat ar old limb, no how ! ” “ Get in ! ” said Haley to Tom, as he strode through the crowd of servants, who looked at him with lowering brows. Tom got in, and Haley, drawing out from under the wagon seat a heavy pair of shackles, made them fast around each ankle. A smothered groan of indignation ran through the whole circle, and Mrs. Shelby spoke from the veranda, — “ Mr. Haley, I assure you that precaution is entirely un¬ necessary.” “ Don’no, ma’am ; I’ve lost one five hundred dollars from this yer place, and I can’t afford to run no more risks.” “What else could she spect on him?” said Aunt Chloe, indignantly, while the two boys, who now seemed to compre¬ hend at once their father’s destiny, clung to her gown, sob¬ bing and groaning vehemently. “ I’m sorry,” said Tom, “ that Mas’r George happened to be away.” George had gone to spend two or three days with a com¬ panion on a neighboring estate, and having departed early in the morning, before Tom’s misfortune had been made pub¬ lic, had left without hearing of it. “ Give my love to Mas’r George,” he said, earnestly. Haley whipped up the horse, and, with a steady, mourn¬ ful look, fixed to the last on the old place, Tom was whirled away. Mr. Shelby at this time was not at home. He had sold Tom under the spur of a driving necessity, to get out of the power LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 133 of a man whom he dreaded, — and his first feeling, after the consummation of the bargain, had been that of relief. But his wife’s expostulations awoke his half-slumbering regrets ; and Tom’s manly disinterestedness increased the unpleasant¬ ness of his feelings. It was in vain that he said to himself that he had a right to do it, — that every body did it, — and that some did it without even the excuse of necessity ; he could not satisfy his own feelings ; and that he might not witness the unpleasant scenes of the consummation, he had gone on a short business tour up the country, hoping that all would be over before he returned. Tom and Haley rattled on along, the dusty road, whirling past every old familiar spot, until the bounds of the estate were fairly passed, and they found themselves out on the open pike. After they had ridden about a mile, Haley suddenly drew up at the door of a blacksmith’s shop, when, taking out with him a pair of handcuffs, he stepped into the shop, to have a little alteration in them. “These yer’s a little too small for his build,” said Haley, showing the fetters, and pointing out to Tom. “ Lor ! now, if thar an’t Shelby’s Tom. He han’t sold him, now ? ” said the smith. “Yes, he has,” said Haley. “Now, ye don’t! well, reely,” said the smith, “who’d a 134 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OR, thought it ! Why, ye needn’t go to fetterin’ him up this yer way. He’s the faithfulest, best critter - ” “Yes, yes,” said Haley ; “but your good fellers are just the critters to want ter run off. Them stupid ones, as doesn’t care whar they go, and shitless, drunken ones, as don’t care for nothin’, they’ll stick by, and like as not be rather pleased to be toted round ; but these yer prime fellers, they hates it like sin. No way but to fetter ’em; got legs, — they’ll use ’em — no mistake.” “Well,” said the smith, feeling among his tools, “them plan¬ tations down there, stranger, an’t jest the place a Kentuck nig¬ ger wants to go to ; they dies thar tol’able fast, don’t they ? ” “Wal, yes, tol’able fast, ther dying is; what with the ’cli¬ mating and one thing and another, they dies so as to keep the market up pretty brisk,” said Haley. “Wal, now, a feller can’t help thinkin’ it’s a mighty pity to have a nice, quiet, likely feller, as good un as Tom is, go down to be fairly ground up on one of them ar sugar plantations.” “ Wal, he’s got a fa’r chance. I promised to do well by him. I’ll get him in house servant in some good old family, and then, if he stands the fever and ’climating, he’ll have a berth good as any nigger ought ter ask for.” “ He leaves his wife and chil’en up here, s’pose ? ” “Yes; but he’ll get another thar. Lord, thar’s women enough every whar,” said Haley. Tom was sitting very mournfully on the outside of the shop while this conversation was going on. Suddenly he heard the quick, short click of a horse’s hoof behind him ; and, before he could fairly awake from his surprise, young Master George sprang into the wagon, threw his arms tumultuously round his neck, and was sobbing and scolding with energy. “ I declare, it’s real mean ! I don’t care what they say, any of ’em! It’s a nasty, mean shame! If I was a man, they shouldn’t do it, — they should not, so!” said George, with a kind of subdued howl. “0 Mas’r George! this does me good!” said Tom. “I couldn’t bar to go off without seein’ ye ! It does me real good ; ye can’t tell ! ” Here Tom made some movement of his feet, and George’s eye fell on the fetters. LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 135 “What a shame !” he exclaimed, lifting his hands. “I’ll knock that old fellow down — I will!” “No, you won’t, Mas’r George; and you must not talk so loud. It won’t help me any, to anger him.” “ W ell, I won’t, then, for your sake ; but only to think of it — isn’t it a shame ? They never sent for me, nor sent me any word, and, if it hadn’t been for Tom Lincon, I shouldn’t have heard it. I tell you, I blew ’em up well, all of ’em, at home ! ” “ That ar wasn’t right, I’m ’feard, Mas’r George.” “ Can’t help it! I say it’s a shame ! Look here, Uncle Tom,” said he, turning his back to the shop, and speaking in a mys¬ terious tone, “ Fve brought you my dollar ! ” “ 0 ! I couldn’t think o’ takin’ on’t, Mas’r George, no ways in the world ! ” said Tom, quite moved. “ But you shall take it ! ” said George ; “ look here — I told Aunt Chloe I’d do it, and she advised me just to make a hole in it, and put a string through, so you could hang it round your neck, and keep it out of sight ; else this mean scamp would take it away. I tell ye, Tom, I want to blow him up ! it would do me good ! ” “ No, don’t, Mas’r George, for it won’t do me any good.” “ Well, I won’t, for your sake,” said George, busily tying his dollar round Tom’s neck ; “ but there, now, button your coat tight over it, and keep it ; and remember, every time you see it, that I’ll come down after you, and bring you back. Aunt Chloe and I have been talking about it. I told her not to fear ; I’ll see to it, and I’ll tease father’s life out, if he don’t do it.” “ 0 ! Mas’r George, ye musn’t talk so ’bout your father ! ” “Lor, Uncle Tom, I don’t mean any thing bad.” “ And now, Mas’r George,” said Tom, “ ye must be a good boy ; ’member how many hearts is sot on ye. Al’ays keep close to yer mother. Don’t be gettin’ into any of them foolish ways boys has of gettin’ too big to mind their mothers. Tell ye what, Mas’r George, the Lord gives good many things twice over ; but he don’t give ye a mother but once. Ye’ll never see sich another woman, Mas’r George, if ye live to be a hundred years old. So, now, you hold on to her, and grow up, and be a comfort to her, thar’s my own good boy, — you will now, won’t ye ? ” 136 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, “Yes, I will, Uncle Tom,” said George, seriously. “ And be careful of yer speaking, Mas’r George. Young boys, when they comes to your age, is wilful, sometimes — it’s natur they should be. But real gentlemen, such as I hopes you’ll be, never lets fall no words that isn’t ’spectful to thar parents. Ye an’t ’fended, Mas’r George ? ” “ No, indeed, Uncle Tom ; you always did give me good advice.” “ I’s older, ye know,” said Tom, stroking the boy’s fine, curly head with his large, strong hand, but speaking in a voice as tender as a woman’s, “ and 1 sees all that’s bound up in you. 0, Mas’r George, you has every thing, — l’arnin’, privileges, readin’, writin’, — and you’ll grow up to be a great, learned, good man, and all the people on the place and your mother and father’ll be so proud on ye ! Be a good mas’r like yer father ; and be a Christian, like yer moth¬ er. ’Member yer Creator in the days o’ yer youth, Mas’r George.” “ I’ll be real good, Uncle Tom, I tell you,” said George. “ I’m going to be a first-rater; and don’t you be discouraged. I’ll have you back to the place, yet. As I told Aunt Chloe this morning, I’ll build your house all over, and you shall have a room for a parlor with a carpet on it, when I’m a man. 0, you’ll have good times yet ! ” Haley now came to the door, with the handcuffs in his hands. “ Look here, now, mister,” said George, with an air of great superiority, as he got out, “ I shall let father and mother know how you treat Uncle Tom!” “You’re welcome,” said the trader. “I should think you’d be ashamed to spend all your life buying men and women, and chaining them, like cattle! I should think you’d feel mean ! ” said George. “ So long as your grand folks wants to buy men and women, I’m as good as they is,” said Haley ; “ ’tan’t any meaner sellin’ on ’em than ’tis buyin’ ! ” “ I’ll never do either, when I’m a man,” said George ; “ I’m ashamed, this day, that I’m a Kentuckian. I always was proud of it before ; ” and George sat very straight on his LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 187 horse, and looked round with an air, as if he expected the state would be impressed with his opinion. “Well, good by, Uncle Tom; keep a stiff upper lip,” said George. “ Good by, Mash George,” said Tom, looking fondly and admiringly at him. “ God Almighty bless you ! Ah ! Ken¬ tucky han7t got many like you ! 77 he said, in the fulness of his heart, as the frank, boyish face was lost to his view. Away he went, and Tom looked, till the clatter of his horse’s heels died away, the last sound or sight of his home. But over his heart there seemed to be a warm spot, where those young hands had placed that precious dollar. Tom put up his hand, and held it close to his heart. “ Now, I tell ye what, Tom/7 said Haley, as he came up to the wagon, and threw in the handcuffs, “ I mean to start fa7r with ye, as I gen7ally do with my niggers ; and I711 tell ye now, to begin with, you treat me fa7r, and I711 treat you fa7r ; I an7t never hard on my niggers. Calculates to do the best for 7em I can. Now, ye see, you7d better jest settle down comfortable, and not be tryin7 no 'tricks; because niggers7 tricks of all sorts I7m up to, and it7s no use. If niggers is quiet, and don’t try to get off, they has good times with me ; and if they don’t, why, it’s thar fault, and not mine.77 Tom assured Haley that he had no present intentions of 18 138 UNCLE TOM?S CABIN ; OR, running off. In fact, the exhortation seemed rather a super¬ fluous one to a man with a great pair of iron fetters on his feet. But Mr. Haley had got in the habit of commencing his relations with his stock with little exhortations of this nature, calculated, as he deemed, to inspire cheerfulness and confi¬ dence, and prevent the necessity of any unpleasant scenes. And here, for the present, we take our leave of Tom, to pursue the fortunes of other characters in our story. CHAPTER XI. IN WHICH PROPERTY GETS INTO AN IMPROPER STATE OF MIND. t was late in a drizzly afternoon that a travel¬ ler alighted at the door of a small country hotel, in the village of N - , in Kentucky. < In the bar room he found assembled quite a miscellaneous company, whom stress of weather had driven to harbor, and the place presented the usual scenery of such reunions. Great, tall, raw-boned Kentuckians, attired in hunting shirts, and trailing their loose joints over a vast extent of territory, with the easy lounge peculiar to the race, — rifles stacked away in the corner, shot pouches, game bags, hunting dogs, and little negroes, all rolled together in the corners, — were the characteristic features in the picture. At each end of the fireplace sat a long-legged gentleman, with his chair tipped back, his hat on his head, and 140 UNCLE TOM?S CABIN ; OR, the heels of his muddy boots reposing sublimely on the mantel¬ piece, — a position, we will inform our readers, decidedly favor¬ able to the turn of reflection incident to western taverns, where travellers exhibit a decided preference for this particular mode of elevating their understandings. Mine host, who stood behind the bar, like most of his coun¬ trymen, was great of stature, good natured, and loose jointed, with an enormous shock of hair on his head, and a great tall hat on the top of that. In fact, every body in the room bore on his head this char¬ acteristic emblem of man’s sovereignty ; whether it were felt hat, palm leaf, greasy beaver, or fine new chapeau, there it reposed with true republican independence. In truth, it ap¬ peared to be the characteristic mark of every individual. Some wore them tipped rakishly to one side — these were your men of humor, jolly, free-and-easy dogs ; some had them jammed independently down over their noses — these were your hard characters, thorough men, who, when they wore their hats, wanted to wear them, and to wear them just as they had a mind to ; there were those who had them set far over back — wide awake men, who wanted a clear prospect ; while careless men, who did not know, or care, how their hats sat, had them shaking about in all directions. The various hats, in fact, were quite a Shakspearian study. Divers negroes, in very free-and-easy pantaloons, and with no redundancy in the shirt line, were scuttling about, hither and thither, without bringing to pass any very particular results, except expressing a generic willingness to turn over every thing in creation generally for the benefit of mas’r and his guests. Add to this picture a jolly, crackling, rollicking fire, going rejoicingly up a great wide chimney, — the outer door and every window being set wide open, and the calico window curtain flopping and snapping in a good stiff breeze of damp, raw air, — and you have an idea of the jollities of a Kentucky tavern. Your Kentuckian of the present day is a good illustration of the doctrine of transmitted instincts and peculiarities. His fathers were mighty hunters, — men who lived in the woods, and slept under the free, open heavens, with the stars to LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 141 hold their candles ; and their descendant to this day always acts as if the house were his camp, — wears his hat at all hours, tumbles himself about, and puts his heels on the tops of chairs or mantel-pieces, just as his father rolled on the greensward, and put his upon trees and logs, — keeps all the windows and doors open, winter and summer, that he may get air enough for his great lungs, — calls every body “stranger,"’ with nonchalant bonhommie, and is altogether the frankest, easiest, most jovial creature living. Into such an assembly of the free and easy our traveller entered. He was a short, thick-set man, carefully dressed, with a round, good-natured countenance, and something rather fussy and particular in his appearance. He was very careful of his valise and umbrella, bringing them in with his own hands, and resisting, pertinaciously, all offers from the various servants to relieve him of them. He looked round the bar room with rather an anxious air, and, retreating with his valuables to the warmest corner, disposed them under his chair, sat down, and looked rather apprehensively up at the worthy whose heels illustrated the end of the mantel-piece, who was spitting from right to left, with a courage and energy rather alarming to gentlemen of weak nerves and particular habits. “ I say, stranger, how are ye ? ” said the aforesaid gentle¬ man, firing an honorary salute of tobacco juice in the direction of the new arrival. “Well, I reckon,” was the reply of the other, as he dodged, with some alarm, the threatening honor. “ Any news ? ” said the respondent, taking out a strip of tobacco and a large hunting knife from his pocket. “ Not that I know of,” said the man. “ Chaw ? ” said the first speaker, handing the old gentle¬ man a bit of his tobacco, with a decidedly brotherly air. “No, thank ye — it don’t agree with me,” said the little man, edging off. “ Don’t, eh ? ” said the other, easily, and stowing away the morsel in his own mouth, in order to keep up the supply of tobacco juice, for the general benefit of society. The old gentleman uniformly gave a little start whenever 142 UNCLE TOM;S CABIN ; OR, his long-sided brother tired in his direction ; and this being observed by his companion, he very good naturedly turned his artillery to another quarter, and proceeded to storm one of the fire-irons with a degree of military talent fully sufficient to take a city. “ What’s that ? ” said the old gentleman, observing some of the company formed in a group around a large handbill. “Nigger advertised ! ” said one of the company, briefly. Mr. Wilson (for that was the old gentleman’s name) rose up, and, after carefully adjusting his valise and umbrella, pro¬ ceeded deliberately to take out his spectacles and fix them on his nose ; and, this operation being performed, read as follows : — “ Ran away from the subscriber, my mulatto boy, George. Said George six feet in height, a very light mulatto, brown curly hair ; is very intelligent, speaks handsomely, can read and write 5 will probably try to pass for a white man ; is deeply scarred on his back and shoulders ; has been branded in his right hand with the letter H. “ I will give four hundred dollars for him alive, and the same sum for satisfac¬ tory proof that he has been killed.” 'IE VIE” • 1 ii-lm cAID % The old gentleman read this advertisement from end to end, in a low voice, as if he were studying it. _ ^ The long-legged veteran, wh° ha(I been besieging the fire-iron, as before related, now took down his cum- ;S40 0%vARDbrous length, and rearing aloft his tall form, walked up to the advertisement, and very deliberately spit a full discharge of tobacco juice on it. “ There’s my mind upon that ! ” said he, briefly, and sat down again. “ Why, now, stranger, what’s that for ? ” said mine host. “ I’d do it all the same to the writer of that ar paper, if he LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 143 was here/7 said the long man, coolly resuming his old employ¬ ment of cutting tobacco. “Any man that owns a boy like that, and can’t find any better way o’ treating on him, deserves to lose him. Such papers as these is a shame to Kentucky ; that’s my mind right out, if any body wants to know ! ” “Well, now, that’s a fact,” said mine host, as he made an entry in his book. “ I’ve got a gang of boys, sir,” said the long man, resuming his attack on the fire-irons, “and I jest tells ’em — 'Boys,’ says I, — ‘ run now ! dig ! put ! jest when ye want to ! I never shall come to look after you ! ’ That’s the way I keep mine. Let ’em know they are free to run any time, and it jest breaks up their wanting to. More’n all, I’ve got free papers for ’em all recorded, in case I gets keeled up any o’ these times, and they knows it ; and I tell ye, stranger, there an’t a fellow in our parts gets more out of his niggers than I do. Why, my boys have been to Cincinnati, with five hundred dollars’ worth of colts, and brought me back the money, all straight, time and agin. It stands to reason they should. Treat ’em like dogs, and you’ll have dogs’ works and dogs’ actions. Treat ’em like men, and you’ll have men’s works.” And the honest drover, in his warmth, indorsed this moral sentiment by firing a perfect feu de joie at the fireplace. “ I think you’re altogether right, friend,” said Mr. Wilson ; “and this boy described here is a fine fellow — no mistake about that. He worked for me some half dozen years in my bagging factory, and he was my best hand, sir. He is an ingenious fellow, too : he invented a machine for the cleaning of hemp — a really valuable affair ; it’s gone into use in sev¬ eral factories. His master holds the patent of it.” “ I’ll warrant ye,” said the drover, “ holds it and makes money out of it, and then turns round and brands the boy in his right hand. If I had a fair chance, I’d mark him, I reckon, so that he’d carry it one while.” “ These yer knowin’ boys is allers aggravatin’ and sarcy,” said a coarse-looking fellow, from the other side of the room ; “ that’s why they gets cut up and marked so. If they behaved themselves, they wouldn’t.” “That is to say, the Lord made ’em men, and it’s a hard 144 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, squeeze getting ’em clown into beasts,” said the drover, dryly. “ Bright niggers isn’t no kind of ’vantage to their masters,” continued the other, well intrenched, in a coarse, unconscious obtuseness, from the contempt of his opponent ; “ what’s the use o’ talents and them things, if you can’t get the use on ’em yourself? Why, all the use they make on’t is to get round you. I’ve had one or two of these fellers, and I jest sold ’em down river. I knew I’d got to lose ’em, first or last, if I didn’t.” “ Better send orders up to the Lord, to make you a set, and leave out their souls entirely,” said the drover. Here the conversation was interrupted by the approach of a small one-horse buggy to the inn. It had a genteel appear¬ ance, and a well-dressed, gentlemanly man sat on the seat, with a colored servant driving. The whole party examined the new comer with the interest with which a set of loafers in a rainy day usually examine every new comer. He was very tall, with a dark, Spanish complexion, fine, expressive black eyes, and close-curling hair, also of a glossy blackness. His well-formed acquiline nose, straight thin lips, and the admirable contour of his finely- formed limbs, impressed the whole company instantly with the idea of something uncommon. He walked easily in among the company, and with a nod indicated to his waiter where to place his trunk, bowed to the company, and, with his hat in his hand, walked up leisurely to the bar, and gave in his name as Henry Butler, Oaklands, Shelby county. Turning, with an indifferent air, he sauntered up to the advertisement, and read it over. “ Jim,” he said to his man, “ seems to me we met a boy something like this up at Bernam’s, didn’t we?” “Yes, mas’r,” said Jim, “only I an’t sure about the hand.” “Well, I didn’t look, of course,” said the stranger, with a careless yawn. Then, walking up to the landlord, he desired him to furnish him with a private apartment, as he had some writing to do immediately. The landlord was all obsequious, and a relay of about seven negroes, old and young, male and female, little and big, were LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 145 soon whizzing about, like a covey of partridges, bustling, hur¬ rying, treading on each other’s toes, and tumbling over each other, in their zeal to get mas’r’s room ready, while he seated himself easily on a chair in the middle of the room, and entered into conversation with the man who sat next to him. The manufacturer, Mr. Wilson, from the time of the entrance of the stranger, had regarded him with an air of disturbed and uneasy curiosity. He seemed to himself to have met and been acquainted with him somewhere, but he could not recol¬ lect. Every few moments, when the man spoke, or moved, or smiled, he would start and fix his eyes on him, and then sud¬ denly withdraw them, as the bright, dark eyes met his with such unconcerned coolness. At last, a sudden recollection seemed to flash upon him, for he stared at the stranger with such an air of blank amazement and alarm, that he walked up to him. “Mr. Wilson, I think,” said he, in a tone of recognition, and extending his hand. “I beg your pardon, I didn’t recollect you before. I see you remember me, — Mr. Butler, of Oaklands, Shelby county.” “Ye — yes — yes, sir,” said Mr. Wilson, like one speaking in a dream. Just then a negro boy entered, and announced that mas’r’s room was ready. “ Jim, see to the trunks,” said the gentleman, negligently ; then addressing himself to Mr. Wilson, he added, “I should like to have a few moments’ conversation with you on business, in my room, if you please.” Mr. Wilson followed him, as one who walks in his sleep ; and they proceeded to a large upper chamber, where a new- made fire was crackling, and various servants flying about, putting finishing touches to the arrangements. When all was done, and the servants departed, the young man deliberately locked the door, and putting the key in his pocket, faced about, and folding his arms on his bosom, looked Mr. Wilson full in the face. “ George ! ” said Mr. Wilson. “ Yes, George,” said the young man. “ I couldn’t have thought it ! ” 19 146 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, “ I am pretty well disguised, I fancy,” said the young man, with a smile. “ A little walnut bark has made my yellow skin a genteel brown, and I’ve dyed my hair black ; so you see I don’t answer to the advertisement at all.” “ 0 George ! but this is a dangerous game you are playing. I could not have advised you to it.” “ I can do it on my own responsibility,” said George, with the same proud smile. We remark, en passant , that George was, by his father’s side, of white descent. His mother was one of those unfortunates of her race, marked out by personal beauty to be the slave of the passions of her possessor, and the mother of children who may never know a father. From one of the proudest families in Kentucky he had inherited a set of fine European features, and a high, indomitable spirit. From his mother he had received only a slight mulatto tinge, amply compensated by its accompanying rich, dark eye. A slight change in the tint of the skin and the color of his hair had metamorphosed him into the Spanish-looking fellow he then appeared ; and as gracefulness of movement and gentlemanly manners had always been perfectly natural to him, he found no difficulty in playing the bold part he had adopted — that of a gentleman travelling with his domestic. Mr. Wilson, a good-natured but extremely fidgety and cautious old gentleman, ambled up and down the room, appearing, as John Bunvan hath it, “much tumbled up and down in his mind,” and divided between his wish to help George, and a certain confused notion of maintaining law and order : so, as he shambled about, he delivered himself as follows : — “Well, George, I s’pose you’re running away — leaving your lawful master, George — (I don’t wonder at it) — at the same time, I’m sorry, George, — yes, decidedly — I think I must say that, George — it’s my duty to tell you so.” “ Why are you sorry, sir ? ” said George, calmly. “ Why, to see you, as it were, setting yourself in opposition to the laws of your country.” “ My country ! ” said George, with a strong and bitter era- LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 147 pliasis ; “what country have I but the grave, — and I wish to God that I was laid there ! ” “Why, George, no — no — it won’t do; this way of talk¬ ing is wicked — unscriptural. George, you’ve got a hard master — in fact, he is — well, he conducts himself reprehensi- bly — I can’t pretend to defend him. But you know how the angel commanded Hagar to return to her mistress, and submit herself under her hand ; and the apostle sent back Onesimus to his master.” “Don’t quote Bible at me that way, Mr. Wilson,” said George, with a flashing eye, “ don’t ! for my wife is a Chris¬ tian, and I mean to be, if ever I get to where I can ; but to quote Bible to a fellow in my circumstances is enough to make him give it up altogether. I appeal to God Almighty ; — I’m willing to go with the case to Him, and ask Him if I do wrong to seek my freedom.” “ These feelings are quite natural, George,” said the good- natured man, blowing his nose. “ Yes, they’re natural, but it is my duty not to encourage ’em in you. Yes, my boy, I’m sorry for you, now ; it’s a bad case — very bad ; but the apostle says, ‘ Let every one abide in the condition in which he is called.’ We must all submit to the indications of Providence, George, — don’t you see ? ” George stood with his head drawn back, his arms folded tightly over his broad breast, and a bitter smile curling his lips. “ I wonder, Mr. Wilson, if the Indians should come and take you a prisoner away from your wife and children, and want to keep you all your life hoeing corn for them, if you’d think it your duty to abide in the condition in which you were called. I rather think that you’d think the first stray horse you could find an indication of Providence — shouldn’t you?” The little old gentleman stared with both eyes at this illus¬ tration of the case ; but, though not much of a reasoner, he had the sense in which some logicians on this particular subject do not excel, — that of saying nothing, where nothing could be said. So, as he stood carefully stroking his umbrella, and folding and patting down all the creases in it, he pro¬ ceeded on with his exhortations in a general way. 148 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, “You see, George, you know, now, I always have stood your friend ; and whatever I’ve said, I’ve said for your good. Now, here, it seems to me, you’re running an awful risk. You can’t hope to carry it out. If you’re taken, it will he worse with you than ever ; they’ll only abuse you, and half kill you, and sell you down river.” “Mr. Wilson, I know all this,” said George. “I do run a risk, but - ” He threw open his overcoat, and showed two pistols and a bowie knife. “ There ! ” he said, “ I’m ready for ’em ! Down south I never will go. No ! if it comes to that, I can earn myself at least six feet of free soil, — the first and last I shall ever oavii in Kentucky ! ” “ Why, George, this state of mind is awful ; it’s getting really desperate, George. I’m concerned. Going to break the laws of your country ! ” “My country again! Mr. Wilson, you have a country ; but what country have 7, or any one like me, born of slave mothers ? What laws are there for us ? We don’t make them, — we don’t consent to them, — we have nothing to do with them ; all they do for us is to crush us, and keep us down. Haven’t I heard your Fourth of July speeches? Don’t you tell us all, once a year, that governments derive their just power from the con¬ sent of the governed? Can’t a fellow think , that hears such things ? Can’t he put this and that together, and see what it comes to ? ” Mr. Wilson’s mind was one of those that may not unaptly be represented by a bale of cotton, — downy, soft, benevolently fuzzy, and confused. He really pitied George with all his heart, and had a sort of dim and cloudy perception of the style of feeling that agitated him ; but he deemed it his duty to go on talking good to him, with infinite pertinacity. “ George, this is bad. I must tell you, you know, as a friend, you’d better not be meddling with such notions ; they are bad, George, very bad, for boys in your condition, — very;” and Mr. Wilson sat down to a table, and began nervously chewing the handle of his umbrella. “ See here, now, Mr. Wilson,” said George, coming up and sitting himself determinately down in front of him ; “ look at me, now. Don’t I sit before you, every way, ji^t as much a LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 149 man as you are? Look at my face, — look at my hands, — look at my body/’ and the young man drew himself up proud¬ ly ; “ why am I not a man, as much as any body ? Well, Mr. Wilson, hear what I can tell you. I had a father — one of your Ken¬ tucky gentlemen — who didn’t think enough of me to keep me from being sold with his dogs and horses, to satisfy the estate when he died. I saw my mother put up at sheriff’s sale, with her seven children. They were sold before her eyes, one by one, all to different masters ; and I was the youngest. She came and kneeled down before old mas’r, and begged him to buy her with me, that she might have at least one child with her ; and he kicked her away with his heavy boot. I saw him do it ; and the last that I heard was her moans and screams, when I was tied to his horse’s neck, to be carried off to his place.” “Well, then?” “My master traded with one of the men, and bought my oldest sister. She was a pious, good girl, — a member of the Baptist church, — and as handsome as my poor mother had been. She was well brought up, and had good manners. At first, I was glad she was bought, for I had one friend near me. I was soon sorry for it. Sir, I have stood at the door and heard her whipped, when it seemed as if every blow cut into my naked heart, and I couldn’t do any thing to help her ; and she was whipped, sir, for wanting to live a decent Christian life, such as your laws give no slave girl a right to live ; and at last I saw her chained with a trader’s gang, to be sent to market in Orleans, — sent there for nothing else but that, — and that’s the last I know of her. Well, I grew up, — long years and years, — no father, no mother, no sister, not a living soul that cared for me more than a dog ; nothing but whip- 150 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, ping, scolding, starving. Why, sir, I’ve been so hungry that I have been glad to take the bones they threw to their dogs ; and yet, when I was a little fellow, and laid awake whole nights and cried, it wasn’t the hunger, it wasn’t the whipping, I cried for. No, sir ; it was for my mother and my sisters , — it was because I hadn’t a friend to love me on earth. I never knew what peace or comfort was. I never had a kind word spoken to me till I came to work in your factory. Mr. Wil¬ son, you treated me well ; you encouraged me to do well, and to learn to read and write, and to try to make something of myself ; and God knows how grateful I am for it. Then, sir, I found my wife ; you’ve seen her, — you know how beautiful . she is. When I found she loved me, when I married her, I scarcely could believe I was alive, I was so happy ; and, sir, she is as good as she is beautiful. But now what? Why, now comes my master, takes me right away from my work, and my friends, and all I like, and grinds me down into the very dirt ! And why ? Because, he says, I forgot who I was ; he says, to teach me that I am only a nigger ! After all, and last of all, he comes between me and my wife, and says I shall give her up, and live with another woman. And all this your laws give him power to do, in spite of God or man. Mr. Wilson, look at it ! There isn’t one of all these things, that have bro¬ ken the hearts of my mother and my sister, and my wife and myself, but your laws allow, and give every man power to do, in Kentucky, and none can say to him nay ! Do you call these the laws of my country ? Sir, I haven’t any country, any more than I have any father. But I’m going to have one. I don’t want any thing of your country, except to be let alone, — to go peaceably out of it ; and when I get to Canada, where the laws will own me and protect me, that shall be my country, and its laws I will obey. But if any man tries to stop me, let him take care, for I am desperate. I’ll fight for my liberty to the last breath I breathe. You say your fathers did it ; if it was right for them, it is right for me ! ” This speech, delivered partly while sitting at the table, and partly walking up and down the room, — delivered with tears, and flashing eyes, and depairing gestures, — was altogether too much for the good-natured old body to whom it was addressed, LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 151 who had pulled out a great yellow silk pocket handkerchief, and was mopping up his face with great energy. “ Blast ’em all ! 77 he suddenly broke out. “ Haven’t I always said so — the infernal old cusses ! I hope I an’t swearing, now. Well! go ahead, George, go ahead; but be careful, my boy; don’t shoot anybody, George, unless — well — you’d better not shoot, I reckon ; at least, I wouldn’t hit any body, you know. Where is your wife, George ? ” he added, as he nervously rose, and began walking the room. “ Gone, sir, gone, with her child in her arms, the Lord only knows where ; — gone after the north star ; and when we ever meet, or whether we meet at all in this world, no creature can tell.” “ Is it possible ! astonishing ! from such a kind family ? ” “ Kind families get in debt, and the laws of our country allow them to sell the child out of its mother’s bosom to pay its master’s debts,” said George, bitterly. “Well, well,” said the honest old man, fumbling in his pocket. “ I s’pose, perhaps, I an’t following my judgment, — hang it, I won't follow my judgment ! ” he added, suddenly ; “ so here, George,” and taking out a roll of bills from his pocket book, he offered them to George. “ No, my kind, good sir ! ” said George ; “ you’ve done a great deal for me, and this might get you into trouble. I have money enough, I hope, to take me as far as I need it.” “No ; but you must, George. Money is a great help every where ; — can’t have too much, if you get it honestly. Take it, — do take it, now , — do, my boy ! ” “ On condition, sir, that I may repay it at some future time, I will,” said George, taking up the money. “ And now, George, how long are you going to travel in this way? — not long or far, I hope. It’s well carried on, but too bold. And this black fellow, — who is he? ” “ A true fellow, who went to Canada more than a year ago. He heard, after he got there, that his master was so angry at him for going off that he had whipped his poor old mother ; and he has come all the way back to comfort her, and get a chance to get her away.” “ Has he got her ? ” 152 UNCLE TOM7S CABIN ; OR, “Not yet ; lie has been hanging about the place, and found no chance yet. Meanwhile, he is going with me as far as Ohio, to put me among friends that helped him, and then he will come back after her.” “ Dangerous, very dangerous ! ” said the old man. George drew himself up, and smiled disdainfully. The old gentleman eyed him from head to foot, with a sort of innocent wonder. “ George, something has brought you out wonderfully. You hold up your head, and speak and move like another man,” said Mr. Wilson. “Because I7m a freeman /” said George, proudly. “Yes, sir; — I’ve said mas’r for the last time to any man. I’m free ! ” “ Take care ! You are not sure, — you may be taken.” “ All men are free and equal in the grave, if it comes to that, Mr. Wilson,” said George. “ I’m perfectly dumbfoundered with your boldness ! ” said Mr. Wilson, — •“ to come right here to the nearest tavern ! ” “Mr. Wilson, it is so bold, and this tavern is so near, that they will never think of it ; they will look for me on ahead, and you yourself wouldn’t know me. Jim’s master don’t live in this county ; he isn’t known in these parts. Besides, he is given up ; nobody is looking after him, and nobody will take me up from the advertisement, I think.” “ But the mark in your hand ? ” George drew off his glove, and showed a newly-healed scar in his hand. “ That is a parting proof of Mr. Harris’s regard,” he said, scornfully. “ A fortnight ago, he took it into his head to give it to me, because he said he believed I should try to get away one of these days. Looks interesting, doesn’t it ? ” he said, drawing his glove on again. “I declare, my very blood runs cold when I think of it, — your condition and your risks ! ” said Mr. Wilson. “Mine lias run cold a good many years, Mr. Wilson ; at present, it’s about up to the boiling point,” said George. “Well, my good sir,” continued George, after a few mo¬ ments’ silence, “I saw you knew me ; I thought I’d just have LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 153 this talk with you, lest your surprised looks should bring me out. I leave early to-morrow morning, before daylight ; by to-morrow night I hope to sleep safe in Ohio. I shall travel by daylight, stop at the best hotels, go to the dinner tables with the lords of the land. So, good by, sir ; if you hear that I’m taken, you may know that I’m dead ! ” George stood up like a rock, and put out his hand with the air of a prince. The friendly little old man shook it heartily, and after a little shower of caution, he took his umbrella, and fumbled his way out of the room. George stood thoughtfully looking at the door, as the old man closed it. A thought seemed to flash across his mind. He hastily stepped to it, and opening it, said, — “Mr. Wilson, one word more.” The old gentleman entered again, and George, as before, locked the door, and then stood for a few moments looking on the floor, irresolutely. At last, raising his head with a sudden effort, — “ Mr. Wilson, you have shown yourself a Christian in your treatment of me, — I want to ask one last deed of Christian kindness of you.” “Well, George.” “Well, sir, — what you said was true. I am. running a dreadful risk. There isn’t, on earth, a living soul to care if I die,” he added, drawing his breath hard, and speaking with a great effort, — “I shall be kicked out and buried like a dog, and nobody’ll think of it a day after, — only my poor wife! Poor soul ! she’ll mourn and grieve ; and if you’d only con¬ trive, Mr. Wilson, to send this little pin to her. She gave it to me for a Christmas present, poor child ! Give it to her, and tell her I loved her to the last. Will you? Will you?” he added, earnestly. “Yes, certainly — poor fellow!” said the old gentleman, taking the pin, with watery eyes, and a melancholy quiver in his voice. “ Tell her one thing,” said George ; “ it’s my last wish, if she can get to Canada, to go there. No matter how kind her mistress is, — no matter how much she loves her home ; beg her not to go back, — for slavery always ends in misery. Tell 20 154 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN ; OR, her to bring np our boy a free man, and then he won’t suffer as I have. Tell her this, Mr. Wilson, will you ? ” “Yes, George, I’ll tell her; but I trust you won’t die ; take heart, — you’re a brave fellow. Trust in the Lord, George. I wish in my heart you were safe through, though, — that’s what I do.” “ Is there a God to trust in ? ” said George, in such a tone of bitter despair as arrested the old gentleman’s words. “ 0, I’ve seen things all my life that have made me feel that there can’t be a God. You Christians don’t know how these things look to us. There’s a God for you, but is there any for us ? ” “0, now, don't — don’t, my boy!” said the old man, almost sobbing as he spoke; “don’t feel so; there is — there is; clouds and darkness are around about Him, but righteousness and judgment are the habitation of his throne. There’s a God, George, — believe it ; trust in Him, and I’m sure He’ll help you. Every thing will be set right, — if not in this life, in another.” The real piety and benevolence of the simple old man in¬ vested him with a temporary dignity and authority as he spoke. George stopped his distracted walk up and down the room, stood thoughtfully a moment, and then said, quietly, — “ Thank you for saying that, my good friend ; I’ll think of that:' CHAPTER XII. SELECT INCIDENT OF LAWFUL TRADE. “In Rarnali there was a voice heard, — weeping and lamentation, and great mourning ; Rachel weeping for her children, and would not be comforted.” r. Haley and Tom jogged onward in their wagon, each, for a time, absorbed in his own reflections. Now, the reflections of two men sitting side by side are a curious thing, — seat¬ ed on the same seat, having the same eyes, ears, hands, and organs of all sorts, and having- pass before their eyes the same objects, — it is wonderful what a variety we shall find in these same reflections ! As, for example, Mr. Haley : he thought first of Tom’s length, and breadth, and height, and what he would sell for, if he was kept fat and in good case till he got him into market. He thought of how he should make out his gang ; 156 UNCLE tom’s cabin; OR, he thought of the respective market value of certain supposi¬ titious men, and women, and children who were to compose it, and other kindred topics of the business ; then he thought of himself, and how humane he was ; that, whereas other men chained their “ niggers ” hand and foot both, he only put fetters on the feet, and left Tom the use of his hands, as long as he behaved well ; and he sighed to think how ungrateful human nature was, so that there was even room to doubt whether Tom appreciated his mercies. He had been taken in so by “ niggers ” whom he had favored ; but still he was astonished to consider how good natured he yet remained! As to Tom, he was thinking over some words of an unfash¬ ionable old book, which kept running through his head again and again, as follows: “We have here no continuing city, but we seek one to come ; wherefore God himself is not ashamed to be called our God ; for he hath prepared for us a city.” These words of an ancient volume, got up princi¬ pally by “ ignorant and unlearned men,” have, through all time, kept up, somehow, a strange sort of power over the minds of poor, simple fellows, like Tom. They stir up the soul from its depths, and rouse, as with trumpet call, courage, energy, and enthusiasm, where before was only the blackness of despair. Mr. Haley pulled out of his pocket sundry newspapers, and began looking over their advertisements, with absorbed inter¬ est. He was not a remarkably fluent reader, and was in the habit of reading in a sort of recitative half aloud, by way of calling in his ears to verify the deductions of his eyes. In this tone he slowly recited the following paragraph : — “Executor’s Sale, — Negroes! — Agreeably to order of court, will be sold, on Tuesday, February 20, before the court-house door, in the town of Washing¬ ton, Kentucky, the following negroes : Hagar, aged 60 : John, aged 30 ; Ben, aged 21 ; Saul, aged 25 ; Albert, aged 14. Sold for the benefit of the creditors and heirs of the estate of Jesse Blutchford, Esq. Samuel Morris, Thomas Flint, Executors .” “ This yer I must look at,” said he to Tom, for want of somebody else to talk to. “Ye see, Fm going to get up a prime gang to take down LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 157 with ye, Tom ; it’ll ma,ke it sociable and pleasant like ; — good company will, ye know. We must drive right to Washington first and foremost, and then I’ll clap you into jail, while I does the business.” Tom received this agreeable intelligence quite meekly ; simply wondering, in his own heart, how many of these doomed men had wives and children, and whether they would feel as he did about leaving them. It is to be confessed, too, that the naive, off-hand information that he was to be thrown into jail by no means produced an agreeable impres¬ sion on a poor fellow who had always prided himself on a strictly honest and upright course of life. Yes, Tom, we must confess it, was rather proud of his honesty, poor fellow, — not having very much else to be proud off ; — if he had belonged to some of the higher walks of society, he, perhaps, would never have been reduced to such straits. However, the day wore on, and the evening saw Haley and Tom comfortably accommodated in Washington, — the one in a tavern, and the other in a jail. About eleven o’clock the next day, a mixed throng was gathered around the court-house steps, — smoking, chewing, spitting, swearing, and conversing, according to their respec¬ tive tastes and turns, — waiting for the auction to commence. The men and women to be sold sat in a group apart, talking in a low tone to each other. The woman who had been ad¬ vertised by the name of Hagar was a regular African in feature and figure. She might have been sixty, but was older than that by hard work and disease, was partially blind, and somewhat crippled with rheumatism. By her side stood her only remaining son, Albert, a bright-looking little fellow of fourteen years. The boy was the only survivor of a large family, who had been successively sold away from her to a southern market. The mother held on to him with both her shaking hands, and eyed with intense trepidation every one who walked up to examine him. “ Don’t be feard, Aunt Hagar,” said the oldest of the men ; “ I spoke to Mas’r Thomas ’bout it, and he thought he might manage to sell you in a lot both together.” “Dey needn’t call me worn out yet,” said she, lifting her 158 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN; OR, shaking hands. “ I can cook yet, and scrub, and scour, — I’m wuth a buying, if I do come cheap ; — tell ’em dat ar, — you tell ’em,” she added, earnestly. Haley here forced his way into the group, walked up to the old man, pulled his mouth open and looked in, felt of his teeth, made him stand and straighten himself, bend his back, and per¬ form various evolutions to show his muscles ; and then passed on to the next, and put him through the same trial. Walking up last to the boy, he felt of his arms, straightened his hands, and looked at his fingers, and made him jump, to show his agility. “ He an’t gwine to be sold widout me ! ” said the old woman, with passionate eagerness ; “ he and I goes in a lot togedder ; I’s rail strong yet, mas’r, and can do heaps o’ work, — heaps on it, mas’r.” “ On plantation ? ” said Haley, with a contemptuous glance. “ Likely story ! ” and, as if satisfied with his examination, he walked out and looked, and stood with his hands in his pockets, his cigar in his mouth, and his hat cocked on one side, ready for action. “ What think of ’em ? ” said a man who had been following Haley’s examination, as if to make up his own mind from it. “Wal,” said Haley, spitting, “ I shall put in, I think, for the youngerly ones and the boy.” “ They want to sell the boy and the old woman together,” said the man. “Find it a tight pull ; — why, she’s an old rack o’ bones, — not worth her salt.” “You wouldn’t, then?” said the man. “ Any body’d be a fool ’twould. She’s half blind, crooked with rheumatis, and foolish to boot.” “Some buys up these yer old critters,- and ses there’s a sight more wear in ’em than a body’d think,” said the man, reflectively. “No go, ’tall,” said Haley ; “ wouldn’t take her for a pres¬ ent, — fact, — I’ve seen now.” “Wal, ’tis kinder pity, now, not to buy her with her son, — her heart seems so sot on him, — ’spose they fling her in cheap.” “ Them that’s got money to spend that ar way, it’s all well LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 159 enough. 1 shall bid off on that ar boy for a plantation hand ; — wouldn’t be bothered with her, no way, — not if they’d give her to me,” said Haley. “ She’ll take on desp’t,” said the man. “Nat’lly, she will,” said the trader, coolly. The conversation was here interrupted by a busy hum in the audience ; and the auctioneer, a short, bustling, important fellow, elbowed his way into the crowd. The old woman drew in her breath, and caught instinctively at her son. “ Keep close to yer mammy, Albert, — close, — dey’ll put us up togedder,” she said. “ 0 mammy, I’m feard they won’t,” said the boy. “ Dey must, child ; I can’t live, no ways, if they don’t,” said the old creature, vehemently. The stentorian tones of the auctioneer, calling out to clear the way, now announced that the sale was about to commence. A place was cleared, and the bidding began. The different men on the list were soon knocked off at prices which showed a pretty brisk demand in the market ; two of them fell to Haley. “ Come, now, young un,” said the auctioneer, giving the boy a touch with his hammer, “be up and show your springs, now.” “Put us two up togedder, togedder, — do please, mas’r,” said the old woman, holding fast to her boy. “ Be off,” said the man, gruffly, pushing her hands away ; “you come last. Now, darkey, spring and, with the word, he pushed the boy toward the block, while a deep, heavy groan rose behind him. The boy paused, and looked back ; but there was no time to stay, and, dashing the tears from his large, bright eyes, he was up in a moment. His fine figure, alert limbs, and bright face, raised an instant competition, and half a dozen bids simultaneously met the ear of the auctioneer. Anxious, half frightened, he looked from side to side, as he heard the clatter of contending bids, — now here, now there, — till the hammer fell. Haley had got him. He was pushed from the block toward his new master, but stopped one moment, and looked back, when his poor old mother, trembling in every limb, held out her shaking hands toward him. 160 UNCLE TOM?S CABIN; OR, “ Buy me too, mas’r, for de dear Lord’s sake ! — buy me — I shall die if you don’t ! ” “You’ll die if I do, that’s the kink of it,” said Haley, — “ no ! ” And he turned on his heel. The bidding for the poor old creature was summary. The man who had addressed Haley, and who seemed not desti¬ tute of compassion, bought her for a trifle, and the spectators began to disperse. The poor victims of the sale, who had been brought up in one place together for years, gathered round the despairing old mother, whose agony was pitiful to see. “ Couldn’t dey leave me one ? Mas’r allers said I should have one, — he did,” she repeated over and over, in heart¬ broken tones. “ Trust in the Lord, Aunt Hagar,” said the oldest of the men, sor¬ rowfully. “ What good will it do ? ” said she, sobbing passionately. “ Mother, mother, don’t ! don’t ! ” said the boy. “ They say you’s got a good master.” “ I don’t care, — I don’t care. 0 Albert ! 0, my boy ! you’s my last baby. Lord, how ken I ? ” “ Come, take her off, can’t some of ye ? ” said Haley, dryly ; “ don’t do no good for her to go on that ar way.” The old men of the company, partly .by persuasion and partly by force, loosed the poor creature’s last despairing hold, and, as they led her off to her new master’s wagon, strove to comfort her. “ Now ! ” said Haley, pushing his three purchases together, and producing a bundle of handcuffs, which he proceeded to put on their wrists ; and fastening each handcuff to a long chain, he drove them before him to the jail. LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. ifll A few days saw Haley, with his possessions, safely deposited on one of the Ohio boats. It was the commencement of his gang, to be augmented, as the boat moved on, by various other merchandise of the same kind, which he, or his agent, had stored for him in various points along shore. The La Belle Riviere, as brave and beautiful a boat as ever walked the waters of her namesake river, was floating gaylv down the stream, under a brilliant sky, the stripes and stars of free America waving and fluttering overhead ; the guards crowded with well-dressed ladies and gentlemen walking and enjoying the delightful day. All was full of life, buoyant, and rejoicing ; — all but Haley’s gang, who were stored, with other freight, on the lower deck, and who, somehow, did not seem to appreciate their various privileges, as they sat in a knot, talking to each other in low tones. “ Boys,” said Haley, coming up, briskly, “ I hope you keep up good heart, and are cheerful. Now, no sulks, ye see ; keep stiff upper lip, boys ; do well by me, and I’ll do well by you.” The boys addressed responded the invariable “Yes, mas’r,” for ages the watchword of poor Africa ; but it’s to be owned they did not look particularly cheerful ; they had their various little prejudices in favor of wives, mothers, sisters, and chil¬ dren, seen for the last time, — and though “ they that wasted them required of them mirth,” it was not instantly forthcoming. “ I’ve got a wife,” spoke out the article enumerated as “John, aged thirty,” and he laid his chained hand on Tom’s knee, — “ and she don’t know a word about this, poor girl ! ” “ Where does she live ? ” said Tom. “ In a tavern a piece down here,” said John ; “ I wish, now, I could see her once more in this world,” he added. Poor John ! It was rather natural ; and the tears that fell, as he spoke, came as naturally as if he had been a white man. Tom drew a long breath from a sore heart, and tried, in his poor way, to comfort him. And over head, in the cabin, sat fathers and mothers, hus¬ bands and wives ; and merry, dancing children moved round among them, like so many little butterflies, and every thing was going on quite easy and comfortable. “ 0 mamma,” said a bov. who had just come up from below, 21 162 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN ; OR, “ there’s a negro trader on board, and he’s brought four or five slaves down there.” “ Poor creatures ! ” said the mother, in a tone between grief and indignation, “ What’s that ? ” said another lady. “ Some poor slaves below,” said the mother. “ And they’ve got chains on,” said the boy. “ What a shame to our country that such sights are to be seen ! ” said another lady. “ 0, there’s a great deal to be said on both sides of the sub¬ ject,” said a genteel woman, who sat at her state-room door sewing, while her little girl and boy were playing round her. “ I’ve been south, and I must say I think the negroes are better off than they would be to be free.” “ In some respects, some of them are well off, I grant,” said the lady to whose remark she had answered. “ The most dreadful part of slavery, to my mind, is its outrages on the feelings and affections, — the separating of families, for example.” “ That is a bad thing, certainly,” said the other lady, hold¬ ing up a baby’s dress she had just completed, and looking intently on its trimmings ; “ but then, I fancy, it don’t occur often.” “ 0, it does,” said the first lady, eagerly ; “ I’ve lived many years in Kentucky and Virginia both, and I’ve seen enough to make any one’s heart sick. Suppose, ma’am, your two children there should be taken from you, and sold ? ” “We can’t reason from our feelings to those of this class of persons,” said the other lady, sorting out some worsteds on her lap. “ Indeed, ma’am, you can know nothing of them, if you say so,” answered the first lady, warmly. “ I was born and brought up among them. I know they do feel, just as keen¬ ly, — even more so, perhaps, — as we do.” The lady said, “ Indeed ! ” yawned, and looked out the cabin window, and finally repeated, for a finale, the remark with which she had begun, — “ After all, I think they are better off than they would be to be free.” “ It’s undoubtedly the intention of Providence that the Afri- LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 168 can race should be servants, — kept in a low condition,” said a grave-looking gentleman in black, a clergyman, seated by the cabin door. “ ‘ Cursed be Canaan ; a servant of servants shall he be/ the Scripture says.7’ “ I say, stranger, is that ar what that text means ? 77 said a tall man, standing by. “ Undoubtedly. It pleased Providence, for some inscrutable reason, to doom the race to bondage, years ago ; and we must not set up our opinion against that.77 “ Well, then, we7ll all go ahead and buy up niggers,77 said the man, “ if that’s the way of Providence, — won’t we, squire ? 77 said he, turning to Haley, who had been standing, with his hands in his pockets, by the stove, and intently listening to the conversation. “Yes,77 continued the tall man, “we must all be resigned to the decrees of Providence. Niggers must be sold, and trucked round, and kept under ; it’s what they’s made for. ’Pears like this yer view’s quite refreshing, an’t it, stranger ? 77 said he to Haley. “ I never thought on’t,77 said Haley. “ I couldn’t have said as much, myself ; I han’t no laming. I took up the trade just to make a living ; if ’tan’t right, I calculated to ’pent on’t in time, ye know.” “ And now, you’ll save yerself the trouble, won’t ye ? ” said the tall man. “ See what ’tis, now, to know Scripture. If ye’d only studied yer Bible, like this yer good man, ye might have knowed it before, and saved ye a heap o’ trouble. Ye could jist have said, ‘ Cussed be 7 — what’s his name ? — ‘ and ’twould all have come right.7 77 And the stranger, who was no other than the honest drover whom we introduced to our readers in the Kentucky tavern, sat down, and began smoking, with a curious smile on his long, dry face. A tall, slender young man, with a face expressive of great feeling and intelligence, here broke in, and repeated the words, “‘All things whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so unto them.7 I suppose,” he added, “ that is Scripture, as much as ‘Cursed be Canaan.7” “ Wal, it seems quite as plain a text, stranger,” said John the drover, “to poor fellows like us, now;” and John smoked on like a volcano. 164 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN ; OR, The young man paused, looked as if he was going to say more, when suddenly the boat stopped, and the company made the usual steamboat rush, to see where they were landing. “Both them ar chaps parsons?” said John to one of the men, as they were going out. The man nodded. As the boat stopped, a black woman came running wildly up the plank, darted into the crowd, flew up to where the slave gang sat, and threw her arms round that unfortunate piece of merchandise before enumerated, — “John, aged thirty,” — and with sobs and tears bemoaned him as her husband. But what needs tell the story, told too oft, — every day told, — of heartstrings rent and broken, — the weak broken and torn for the profit and convenience of the strong ! It needs not to be told; — eftery day is telling it, — telling it, too, in the ear of One who is not deaf, though he be long silent. The young man who had spoken for the cause of humanity and God before stood with folded arms, looking on this scene. He turned, and Haley was standing at his side. “ My friend,” he said, speaking with thick utterance, “how can you, how dare you, carry on a trade like this? Look at those poor creatures ! Here I am, rejoicing in my heart that I am going home to my wife and child ; and the same bell which is a sig¬ nal to carry me onward towards them will part this poor man and his wife forever. Depend upon it, God will bring you into judgment for this.” The trader turned away in silence. “ I say, now,” said the drover, touching his elbow, “ there’s differences in parsons, air t there ? ‘ Cussed be Canaan ’ don’t seem to go down with this un, does it? ” Haley gave an uneasy growl. “ And that ar an’t the worst on’t,” said John ; “ mabbe it won’t go down with the Lord, neither, when ye come to settle with Him, one o’ these days, as all on us must, I reckon.” Haley walked reflectively to the other end of the boat. “ If 1 make pretty handsomely on one or two next gangs,” he thought, “ I reckon I’ll stop off this yer ; it’s really getting LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 165 dangerous.” And he took out his pocket book, and began adding over his accounts, — a process which many gentle¬ men besides Mr. Haley have found a specific for an uneasy conscience. The boat swept proudly away from the shore, and all went on merrily, as before. Men talked, and loafed, and read, and smoked. Women sewed, and children played, and the boat passed on her way. One day, when she lay to for a while at a small town in Kentucky, Haley went up into the place on a little matter of business. Tom, whose fetters did not prevent his taking a moderate circuit, had drawn near the side of the boat, and stood list¬ lessly gazing over the railings. After a time, he saw the trader returning, with an alert step, in Company with a colored woman, bearing in her arms a young child. She was dressed quite respectably, and a colored man followed her, bringing along a small trunk. The woman came cheerfully onward, talking, as she came, with the man who bore her trunk, and so passed up the plank into the boat. The bell rung, the steamer whizzed, the engine groaned and coughed, and away swept the boat down the river. The woman walked forward among the boxes and bales of the lower deck, and, sitting down, busied herself with chir¬ ruping to her baby. Haley made a turn or two about the boat, and then, coming up, seated himself near her, and began saying something to her in an indifferent undertone. Tom soon noticed a heavy cloud passing over the woman’s brow ; and that she answered rapidly and with great vehe¬ mence. “I don’t believe it, — I won’t believe it !” he heard her say. “You’re jist a foolin’ with me.” “ If you won’t believe it, look here ! ” said the man, drawing out a paper ; “ this yer’s the bill of sale, and there’s your mas¬ ter’s name to it ; and I paid down good solid cash for it, too, I can tell you, — so, now ! ” “ I don’t believe mas’r would cheat me so ; it can’t be true ! ” said the woman, with increasing agitation. 166 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OB, “You can ask any of tliese men here, that can read writing. Here!” lie said to a man that was passing by, “jist read this yer, won’t you? This yer gal won’t believe me, when I tell her what ’tis.” “ Why, it’s a bill of sale, signed by John Fosdick ,” said the man, “ making over to you the girl Lucy and her child. It’s all straight enough, for aught I see.” The woman’s passionate exclamations collected a crowd around her, and the trader briefly explained to them the cause of the agitation. “ He told me that I was going down to Louisville, to hire out as cook to the same tavern where my husband works, — - that’s what mas’r told me, his own self; and I can’t believe he’d lie to me,” said the woman. “But he has sold you, my poor woman; there’s no doubt about it,” said a goodmatured looking man, who had been examining the papers ; “he has done it, and no mistake.” “ Then it’s no account talking,” said the woman, suddenly growing quite calm; and, clasping her child tighter in her arms, she sat down on her box, turned her back round, and gazed listlessly into the river. “ Going to take it easy, after all ! ” said the trader. “ Gal’s got grit, I see.” The woman looked calm, as the boat went on ; and a beau¬ tiful soft summer breeze passed like a compassionate spirit over her head, — the gentle breeze, that never inquires whether the brow is dusky or fair that it fans* And she saw sunshine sparkling on the water, in golden ripples, and heard gay voices, full of ease and pleasure, talking around her every where ; but her heart lay as if a great stone had fallen on it. Her baby raised himself up against her, and stroked her cheeks with his little hands ; and, springing up and down, crowing and chat¬ ting, seemed determined to arouse her. She strained him suddenly and tightly in her arms, and slowly one tear after another fell on his wondering, unconscious face ; and gradually she seemed, and little by little, to grow calmer, and busied herself with tending and nursing him. The child, a boy of ten months, was uncommonly large and strong of his age, and very vigorous in his limbs. Never, for LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 167 a moment, still, he kept his mother constantly busy in holding him, and guarding his springing activity. “ That’s a fine chap ! ” said a man, suddenly stopping opposite to him, with his hands in his pockets. “ How old is he ? ” “ Ten months and a half,” said the mother. The man whistled to the boy, and offered him part of a stick of candy, which he eagerly grabbed at, and very soon had it in a baby’s general depository, to wit, his mouth. “ Rum fellow ! ” said the man, “ Knows what’s what ! ” and he whistled, and walked on. When he had got to the other side of the boat, he came across Haley, who was smoking on top of a pile of boxes. The stranger produced a match, and lighted a cigar, saying, as he did so, — “ Decentish kind o’ wench you’ve got round there, stranger.” “ Why, I reckon she is tol’able fair,” said Haley, blowing the smoke out of his mouth. “ Taking her down south ? ” said the man. Haley nodded, and smoked on. “ Plantation hand ? ” said the man. “ Wal,” said Haley, “I’m fillin’ out an order for a planta¬ tion, and I think I shall put her in. They telled me she was a good cook ; and they can use her for that, or set her at the cotton picking. She’s got the right fingers for that ; I looked at ’em. Sell well, either way ; ” and Haley resumed his cigar. “ They won’t want the young un on a plantation,” said the man. “ I shall sell him, first chance I find,” said Haley, lighting another cigar. “ S’pose you’d be selling him tol’able cheap,” said the stranger, mounting the pile of boxes, and sitting down com¬ fortably. “ Don’t know ’bout that,” said Haley ; “ he’s a pretty smart young un, — straight, fat, strong ; flesh as hard as a brick ! ” “ V ery true, but then there’s all the bother and expense of • • J raisin . “Nonsense!” said Haley; “they is raised as easy as any kind of critter there is going ; they an’t a bit more trouble 168 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN ; OR. than pups. This yer chap will be running all round, in a month.” “ I’ve got a good place for raisin’, and I thought of takin’ in a little more stock,” said the man. “ One cook lost a young un last week, — got drownded in a wash tub, while she was a hangin’ out clothes, — and I reckon it would be well enough to set her to raisin’ this yer.” Haley and the stranger smoked a while in silence, neither seeming willing to broach the test question of the interview. At last the man resumed : — “You wouldn’t think of wantin’ more than ten dollars for that ar chap, seeing you must get him off yer hand, any how ? ” Haley shook his head, and spit impressively. “ That won’t do, no ways,” he said, and began his smoking again. “Well, stranger, what will you take ? ” “Well, now,” said Haley, “ I could raise that ar chap myself, or get him raised ; he’s oncommon likely and healthy, and he’d fetch a hundred dollars, six months hence ; and, in a year or two, he’d bring two hundred, if I had him in the right spot ; — so I shan’t take a cent less nor fifty for him now.” “ 0 stranger ! that’s rediculous, altogether,” said the man. “ Fact ! ” said Haley, with a decisive nod of his head. “ I’ll give thirty for him,” said the stranger, “ but not a cent more.’” “Now, I’ll tell ye what I will do,” said Haley, spitting again, with renewed decision. “I"ll split the difference, and say forty- five ; and that’s the most I will do.” “Well, agreed! ” said the man, after an interval. “Done! ” said Halev. “Where do von land?” “ At Louisville,” said the man. “Louisville,” said Haley. “Very fair; we get there about dusk. Chap will be asleep, — all fair, — get him off quietly, and no screaming, — happens beautiful, — I like to do every thing quietly, — I hates all kind of agitation and fluster.” And so, after a transfer of certain bills had passed from the man’s pocket book to the trader’s, he resumed his cigar. It was a bright, tranquil evening when the boat stopped at the wharf at Louisville. The woman had been sitting with LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 169 her baby in her arms, now wrapped in a heavy sleep. When she heard the name of the place called out, she hastily laid the child down in a little cradle formed by the hollow among the boxes, first carefully spreading under it her cloak ; and then she sprung to the side of the boat, in hopes, that among the various hotel waiters who thronged the wharf she might see her husband. In this hope, she pressed forward to the front rails, and, stretching far over them, strained her eyes intently on the moving heads on the shore, and the crowd pressed in between her and the child. “Now’s your time,” said Haley, taking the sleeping child up, and handing him to the stranger. “ Don’t wake him up, and set him to crying, now ; it would make a devil of a fuss with the gal.” The man took the bundle carefully, and was soon lost in the crowd that went up the wharf. When the boat, creaking, and groaning, and puffing, had loosed from the wharf, and was beginning slowly to strain her¬ self along, the woman returned to her old seat. The trader was sitting there,— the child was gone ! “Why, why, — where?” she began, in bewildered surprise. “ Lucy,” said the trader, “ your child’s gone ; you may as well know it first as last. You see, I know’d you couldn’t take him down south ; and I got a chance to sell him to a first-rate family, that’ll raise him better than you can.” The trader had arrived at that stage of Christian and political perfection which has been recommended by some preachers and politicians of the north, lately, in which lie had . completely overcome every humane weakness and prejudice. His heart was exactly where yours, sir, and mine, could be brought, with proper effort and cultivation. The wild look of anguish and utter despair that the woman cast on him might have disturbed one less practised ; but he was used to it. He had seen that same look hundreds of times. You can get used to such things, too, my friend ; and it is the great object of recent efforts to make our whole northern community used to them, for the glory of the Union. So the trader only regarded the mortal anguish which he saw working in those dark fea¬ tures, those clinched hands, and suffocating breathings, as necessary incidents of the trade, and merely calculated whether 170 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN ; OR. she was going to scream, and get up a commotion on the boat ; for, like other supporters of our peculiar institution, he decidedly disliked agitation. But the woman did not scream. The shot had passed too straight and direct through the heart for cry or tear. Dizzily she sat down. Her slack hands fell lifeless by her side. Her eyes looked straight forward, but she saw nothing. All the noise and hum of the boat, the groaning of the ma¬ chinery, mingled dreamily to her bewildered ear ; and the poor, dumb-stricken heart had neither cry nor tear to show for its utter misery. She was quite calm. The trader, who, considering his advantages, was almost as humane as some of our politicians, seemed to feel called on to administer such consolation as the case admitted of. “ I know this yer comes kinder hard, at first, Lucy,” said he ; “but such a smart, sensible gal as you are won’t give way to it. You see it’s necessary , and can’t be helped ! ” “ 0, don’t, mas’r, don’t ! ” said the woman, with a voice like one that is smothering. “You’re a smart wench, Lucy,” he persisted ; “I mean to do well by ye, and get ye a nice piace down river ; and you’ll soon get another husband, — such a likely gal as you - ” “ 0 mas’r, if you only won’t talk to me now,” said the woman, in a voice of such quick and living anguish that the trader felt that there was something at present in the case beyond his style of operation. He got up, and the woman turned away, and buried her head in her cloak. The trader walked up and down for a time, and occasionally stopped and looked at her. “ Takes it hard, rather,” he soliloquized, “ but quiet, though ; — let her sweat a while ; she’ll come right by and by ? ” Tom had watched the whole transaction from first to last, and had a perfect understanding of its results. To him it looked like something unutterably horrible and cruel, because, poor, ignorant black soul ! he had not learned to generalize, and to take enlarged views. If he had only been instructed by certain ministers of Christianity, he might have thought better of it, and seen in it an every-day incident of a lawful trade — a trade which is the vital support of an institution LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 171 which some American divines tell us has no evils but such as are inseparable from any other relations in social and domestic life. But Tom, as we see, being a poor, ignorant fellow, whose reading had been confined entirely to the New Testament, could not comfort and solace himself with views like these. His very soul bled within him for what seemed to him the wrongs of the poor suffering thing that lay like a crushed reed on the boxes ; the feeling, living, bleeding, yet immortal thing which American state law coolly classes with the bundles, and bales, and boxes, among which she is lying. - *=•- - ^ Tom drew near, and tried to say something ; but she only groaned. Honestly, and with tears running down his own cheeks, he spoke of a heart of love in the skies, of a pitying Jesus, and an eternal home ; but the ear was deaf with anguish, and the palsied heart could not feel. Night came on, — night calm, unmoved, and glorious, shining down with her innumerable and solemn angel eyes, twinkling, beautiful, but silent. There was no speech nor language, no pitying voice nor helping hand, from that distant sky. One after another, the voices of business or pleasure died away ; all on the boat were sleeping, and the ripples at the prow were plainly heard. Tom stretched himself out on a box, and there, as he lay, he heard, ever and anon, a smothered sob or cry from the prostrate creature, — “ 0, what shall I do ? 0 Lord! 0 good Lord, do help me!” and so, ever ani anon, until the murmur died away in silence 172 UNCLE TOM?S CABIN ; OR, At midnight, Tom waked with a sudden start. Something black passed quickly by him to the side of the boat, and he heard a splash in the water. No one else saw or heard any thing. He raised his head, — the woman’s place was vacant! He got up, and sought about him in vain. The poor bleeding heart was still, at last, and the river rippled and dimpled just as brightly as if it had not closed above it. Patience ! patience ! ye whose hearts swell indignant at wrongs like these. Not one throb of anguish, not one tear of the oppressed, is forgotten by the Man of Sorrows, the Lord of Glory. In his patient, generous bosom he bears the an¬ guish of a world. Bear thou, like him, in patience, and labor in love ; for sure as he is God, “ the year of his redeemed shall come.” The trader waked up bright and early, and came out to see to his live stock. It was now his turn to look about in per¬ plexity. “Where alive is that gal?” he said to Tom. Tom, who had learned the wisdom of keeping counsel, did not feel called on to state his observations and suspicions, but said he did not know. “ She surely couldn’t have got off in the night at any of the landings, for I was awake, and on the lookout, whenever the boat stopped. I never trust these yer things to other folks.” This speech was addressed to Tom quite confidentially, as if it was something that would be specially interesting to him. Tom made no answer. The trader searched the boat from stem to stern, among boxes, bales, and barrels, around the machinery, by the chim¬ neys, in vain. “Now, I say, Tom, be fair about this yer,” he said, when, after a fruitless search, he came where Tom was standing. “ You know something about it, now. Don’t tell me, — I know you do. I saw the gal stretched out here about ten o’clock, and ag’in at twelve, and ag’in between one and two ; and then at four she was gone, and you was a sleeping right there all the time. Now, you know something, — you can’t help it.” “Well, mas’r,” said Tom, “towards morning something brushed by me, and I kinder half woke ; and then I hearn LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 173 a great splash, and then I clare woke up, and the gal was gone. That’s all I know on’t.” The trader was not shocked nor amazed ; because, as we said before, he was used to a great many things that you are not used to. Even the awful presence of Death struck no solemn chill upon him. He had seen Death many times, — met him in the way of trade, and got acquainted with him, — and he only thought of him as a hard customer, that embarrassed his prop¬ erty operations very unfairly ; and so he only swore that the gal was a baggage, and that die was devilish unlucky, and that, if things went on in this way, he should not make a cent on the trip. In short, he seemed to consider himself an ill-used man, decidedly ; but there was no help for it. as the woman had escaped into a state which never will give up a fugitive, — not even at the demand of the whole glorious Union. The trader, therefore, sat discontentedly down, with his little account book, and put down the missing body and soul under the head of losses ! “ He’s a shocking creature, isn’t he, — this trader ? so unfeel¬ ing ! It’s dreadful, really ! ” “ 0, but nobody thinks any thing of these traders! They are universally despised, — never received into any decent society.” But who, sir, makes the trader ? Who is most to blame ? The enlightened, cultivated, intelligent man, who supports the system of which the trader is the inevitable result, or the poor trader himself? You make the public sentiment that calls for his trade, that debauches and depraves him, till he feels no shame in it ; and in what are you better than he ? Are you educated and he ignorant, you high and he low, you refined and he coarse, you talented and lie simple? In the day of a future judgment, these very considerations may make it more tolerable for him than for you. In concluding these little incidents of lawful trade, we must beg the world not to think that American legislators are entire¬ ly destitute of humanity, as might, perhaps, be unfairly inferred from the great efforts made in our national body to protect and perpetuate this species of traffic. 174 UNCLE tom’s CABIN : OR, Who does not know how onr great men are outdoing them¬ selves in declaiming against the foreign slave trade. There are a perfect host of Clarksons and Wilberforces risen up among us on that subject, most edifying to hear and behold. Trading negroes from Africa, dear reader, is so horrid ! It is not to be thought of! But trading them from Kentucky, — that’s quite another thing! 9 CHAPTER XIII. THE QUAKER SETTLEMENT. quiet scene now rises before us. A large, roomy, neatly-paintecl kitchen, its yellow floor glossy and smooth, and without a particle of dust ; a neat, well-blacked cooking stove ; rows of shining tin, suggestive of unmentiona¬ ble good things to the appetite ; glossy green wood cliairs, old and firm ; a small flag-bottomed rocking chair, with a patchwork cushion in it, neatly contrived out of small pieces of different colored woollen goods, and a larger sized one, motherly and old, whose wide arms breathed hospitable invitation, seconded by the solicitation of its feather cushions, — a real comfortable, persuasive old chair, and worth, in the way of honest, homely enjoyment, a dozen of your plush or brochetclle drawing-room gentry ; and in the chair, gently 176 UNCLE TOM?S CABIN ; OR, swaying back and forward, her eyes bent on some fine sewing, sat our old friend Eliza. Yes, there she is, paler and thinner than in her Kentucky home, with a world of quiet sorrow lying under the shadow of her long eyelashes, and marking the outline of her gentle mouth ! It was plain to see how old and firm the girlish heart was grown under the discipline of heavy sorrow ; and when, anon, her large, dark eye was raised to follow the gambols of her little Harry, who was sporting, like some trop¬ ical butterfly, hither and thither over the floor, she showed a depth of firmness and steady resolve that was never there in her earlier and happier days. By her side sat a woman with a bright tin pan in her lap, into which she was carefully sorting some dried peaches. She might be fifty-five or sixty ; but hers was one of those faces that time seems to touch only to brighten and adorn. The snowy lisse crape cap, made after the strait Quaker pattern, — the plain white muslin handkerchief, lying in placid folds across her bosom, — the drab shawl and dress, — showed at once the community to which she belonged. Her face was round and rosy, with a healthful, downy softness, suggestive of a ripe peach. Her hair, partially silvered by age, was parted smoothly back from a high placid forehead, on which time had written no inscription, except peace on earth, good will to men, and beneath shone a large pair of clear, honest, loving brown eyes ; you only needed to look straight into them, to feel that you saw to the bottom of a heart as good and true as ever throbbed in woman’s bosom. So much has been said and sung of beautiful young girls, why don’t somebody wake up to the beauty of old women ? If any want to get up an inspiration under this head, we refer them to our good friend Rachel Halliday, just as she sits there in her little rocking chair. It had a turn for quacking and squeaking, — that chair had, — either from having taken cold in early life, or from some asthmatic affection, or perhaps from nervous derangement ; but, as she gently swung backward and forward, the chair kept up a kind of subdued “ creechy crawchy,” that would have been intolerable in any other chair. But old Simeon Halliday often declared it was as good as any music to him, and the children all avowed that thev wouldn’t miss of hearing LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 177 mother’s chair for any thing in the world. For why? for twen¬ ty years or more, nothing but loving words, and gentle morali¬ ties, and motherly loving kindness, had come from that chair ; — headaches and heartaches innumerable had been cured there — difficulties spiritual and temporal solved there, — all by one good, loving woman, God bless her S “And so thee still thinks of going to Canada, Eliza?” she said, as she was quietly looking over her peaches. “ Yes, ma’am,” said Eliza, firmly. “ I must go onward. I dare not stop.” “ And what’ll thee do, when thee gets there ? Thee must think about that, my daughter.” “ My daughter ” came naturally from the lips of Rachel Hal- liday ; for hers was just the face and form that made “ mother ” seem the most natural word in the world. Eliza’s hands trembled, and some tears fell on her fine work ; but she answered, firmly, — “ I shall do — any thing I can find. I hope I can find something.” “ Thee knows thee can stay here as long as thee pleases,” said Rachel. “ 0, thank you,” said Eliza ; “but” — she pointed to Harry — “ I can’t sleep nights ; I can’t rest. Last night I dreamed 1 saw that man coming into the yard,” she said, shuddering. “ Poor child ! ” said Rachel, wiping her eyes ; “ but thee mustn’t feel so. The Lord hath ordered it so that never hath a fugitive been stolen from our village. I trust thine will not be the first.” The door here opened, and a little, short, round, pincushiony woman stood at the door, with a cheery, blooming face, like a ripe apple. She was dressed, like Rachel, in sober gray, with the muslin folded neatly across her round, plump little chest. “ Ruth Stedman,” said Rachel, coming joyfully forward ; “ how is thee, Ruth ? ” she said, heartily taking both her hands. “ Nicely,” said Ruth, taking off her little drab bonnet, and dusting it with her handkerchief, displaying, as she did so, a round little head, on which the Quaker cap sat with a sort of janty air, despite all the stroking and patting of the small fat hands, which were busily applied to arranging it. Cer- 178 UNCLE TOM;S CABIN; OR, tain stray locks of decidedly curly hair, too, had escaped here and there, and had to he coaxed and cajoled into their place again ; and then the new comer, who might have been five and twenty, turned from the small looking glass, before which she had been making these arrangements, and looked well pleased, — as most people who looked at her might have been, — for she was decidedly a wholesome, whole-hearted, chir¬ ruping little woman, as ever gladdened man’s heart withal. “ Ruth, this friend is Eliza Harris ; and this is the little boy I told thee of.” “I am glad to see thee, Eliza, — very,” said Ruth, shaking hands, as if Eliza were an old friend she had long been expect¬ ing ; “and this is thy dear boy, — I brought a cake for him,” she said, holding out a little heart to the boy, who came up gazing through his curls, and accepted it shyly. “ Where’s thy baby, Ruth ? ” said Rachel. “ 0, he’s coming ; but thy Mary caught him as I came in, and ran off with him to the barn, to show him to the children.” At this moment, the door opened, and Mary, an honest, rosv- looking girl, with large brown eyes, like her mother’s, came in with the baby. “ Ah ! ha ! ” said Rachel, coming up, and taking the great, white, fat fellow in her arms ; how good he looks, and how he does grow ! ” “ To be sure he does,” said little bustling Ruth, as she took the child, and began taking off a little blue silk hood, and various layers and 'wrappers of outer garments ; and having given a twitch here, and a pull there, and variously adjusted and arranged him, and kissed him heartily, she set him on the floor to collect his thoughts. Baby seemed quite used to this mode of proceeding, for he put his thumb in his mouth, (as if it were quite a thing of course,) and seemed soon absorbed in his own reflections, while the mother seated herself, and taking out a long stocking of mixed blue and white yarn, began to knit with briskness. “ Mary, thee’d better fill the kettle, hadn’t thee ? ” gently suggested the mother. Mary took the kettle to the well, and soon reappearing, placed it over the stove, where it was soon purring and LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 179 steaming, a sort of censer of hospitality and good cheer. The peaches, moreover, in obedience to a few gentle whispers from Rachel, were soon deposited, by the same hand, in a stew pan over the fire. Rachel now took down a snowy moulding board, and, tying on an apron, proceeded quietly to making up some biscuits, first saying to Mary, — “Mary, hadn’t thee better tell John to get a chicken ready ? ” and Mary disappeared accordingly. “ And how is Abigail Peters ? ” said Rachel, as she went on with her biscuits. “ 0, she’s better,” said Ruth ; “ I was in this morning ; made the bed, tidied up the house. Leah Hills went in this after¬ noon, and baked bread and pies enough to last some days, and I engaged to go back to get her up, this evening.” “ I will go in to-morrow, and do any cleaning there may be, and look over the mending,” said Rachel. “ Ah ! that is well,” said Ruth. “ I’ve heard,” she added, “ that Hannah Stanwood is sick. John was up there last night, — I must go there to-morrow.” “ John can come in here to his meals, if thee needs to stay all day,” suggested Rachel. “ Thank thee, Rachel ; will see to-morrow ; but here comes Simeon.” Simeon Halliday, a tall, straight, muscular man, in drab coat and pantaloons, and broad-brimmed hat, now entered. “ How is thee, Ruth ? ” he said, warmly, as he spread his broad open hand for her little fat palm ; “ and how is John ? ” “ 0, John is well, and all the rest of our folks,” said Ruth, cheerily. “ Any news, father ? ” said Rachel, as she was putting her biscuits into the oven. “ Peter Stebbins told me that they should be along to-night, with friends ,” said Simeon, significantly, as he was washing his hands at a neat sink, in a little back porch. “ Indeed ! ” said Rachel, looking thoughtfully, and glancing at Eliza. “ Hid thee say thy name was Harris ? ” said Simeon to Eliza, as he reentered. 180 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN ; OR, Rachel glanced quickly at her husband, as Eliza tremulously answered “ yes ; ” her fears, ever uppermost, suggesting that possibly there might be advertisements out for her. “ Mother ! ” said Simeon, standing in the porch, and calling Rachel out. “ What does thee want, father ? ” said Rachel, rubbing her floury hands, as she went into the porch. “ This child’s husband is in the settlement, and will be here to-night,” said Simeon. “Mow, thee doesn’t say that, father?” said Rachel, all her face radiant with joy. “ It’s really true. Peter was down yesterday, with the wagon, to the other stand, and there he found an old woman and two men ; and one said his name was George Harris ; and from what he told of his history, I am certain who he is. He is a bright, likely fellow, too.” “ Shall we tell her now ? ” said Simeon. “ Let’s tell Ruth,” said Rachel. “ Here, Ruth, — come here.” Ruth laid down her knitting work, and was in the back porch in a moment. “ Ruth, what does thee think ? ” said Rachel. “ Father says Eliza’s husband is in the last company, and will be here to-night.” A burst of joy from the little Quakeress interrupted the speech. She gave such a bound from the floor, as she clapped her little hands, that two stray curls fell from under her Quaker cap, and lay brightly on her white neckerchief. “ Hush thee, dear ! ” said Rachel, gently ; “ hush, Ruth S Tell us, shall we tell her now ? ” “Now! to be sure, — this very minute. Why, now, suppose ’twas my John, how should I feel ? Do tell her, right off.” “ Thee uses thyself only to learn how to love thy neighbor, Ruth,” said Simeon, looking, with a beaming face, on Ruth. “ To be sure. Isn’t it what we are made for ? If I didn’t love John and the baby, I should not know how to feel for her. Come, now, do tell her, — do!” and she laid her hands per¬ suasively on Rachel’s arm. “Take her into thy bed room, there, and let me fry the chicken while thee does it.” Rachel came out into the kitchen, where Eliza was sewing, LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 181 and opening the door of a small bed room, said, gently, “ Come in here with me, my daughter ; I have news to tell thee.” The blood flushed in Eliza’s pale face ; she rose, trembling with nervous anxiety, and looked towards her boy. “No, no,” said little Ruth, darting up, and seizing her hands. “ Never thee fear ; it’s good news, Eliza, — go in, go in ! ” And she gently pushed her to the door, which closed after her : and then, turning round, she caught little Harry in her arms, and began kissing him. “ Thee’ll see thy father, little one. Does thee know it ? Thy father is coming,” she said, over and over again, as the boy looked wonderingly at her. Meanwhile, within the door, another scene was going on. Rachel Haliiday drew Eliza towards her, and said, “ The Lord hath had mercy on thee, daughter ; thy husband hath escaped from the house of bondage.” The blood flushed to Eliza’s cheek in a sudden glow, and went back to her heart with as sudden a rush. She sat down, pale and faint. “ Have courage, child,” said Rachel, laying her hand on her head. “ He is among friends, who will bring him here to-night.” “ To-night ! ” Eliza repeated, “ to-night ! ” The words lost all meaning to her ; her head was dreamy and confused*; all was mist for a moment. When she awoke, she found herself snugly tucked up on the bed, with a blanket over her, and little Ruth rubbing her hands with camphor. She opened her eyes in a state of dreamy, de¬ licious languor, such as one has who has long been bearing a heavy load, and now feels it gone, and would rest. The tension of the nerves, which had never ceased a moment since the first hour of her flight, had given way, and a strange feeling of security and rest came over her ; and, as she lay, with her large, dark eyes open, she followed, as in a quiet dream, the motions of those about her. She saw the door open into the other room ; saw the supper table, with its snowy cloth ; heard the dreamy murmur of the singing teakettle ; saw Ruth trip- 182 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN ; OR, ping backward and forward, with plates of cake and saucers of preserves, and ever and anon stopping to pnt a cake into Harry’s hand, or pat his head, or twine his long curls round her snowy fingers. She saw the ample, motherly form of Rachel, as she ever and anon came to the bedside, and smoothed and arranged something about the bed clothes, and gave a tuck here and there, by way of expressing her good will ; and was conscious of a kind of sunshine beaming down upon her from her large, clear, brown eyes. She saw Ruth s husband come in, — saw her fly up to him, and commence whis¬ pering very earnestly, ever and anon, with impressive gesture, pointing her little finger towards the room. She saw her, with the baby in her arms, sitting down to tea ; she saw them all at table, and little Harry, in a high chair, under the shadow of Rachel’s ample wing ; there were low murmurs of talk, gentle tinkling of teaspoons, and musical clatter of cups and saucers, and all mingled in a delightful dream of rest ; and Eliza slept as she had not slept before, since the fearful midnight hour when she had taken her child and fled through the frosty starlight. She dreamed of a beautiful country, — a land, it seemed to her, of rest, — green shores, pleasant islands, and beautifully glittering water ; and there, in a house which kind voices told her was a home, she saw her boy playing, a free and happy child. She heard her husband’s footsteps ; she felt him coming nearer ; his arms were around her, his tears falling on her face, and she awoke ! It was no dream. The daylight had long faded ; her child lay calmly sleeping by her side ; a candle was burning dimly on the stand, and her husband was sobbing by her pillow. The next morning was a cheerful one at the Quaker house. “ Mother ” was up betimes, and surrounded by busy girls and boys, whom we had scarce time to introduce to our readers yesterday, and who all moved obediently to Rachel’s gentle “ Thee had better,” or more gentle “ Hadn’t thee better ? ” in the work of getting breakfast ; for a breakfast in the luxuri¬ ous valleys of Indiana is a thing complicated and multiform, LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 183 and, like picking up the rose leaves and trimming the bushes in paradise, asking other hands than those of the original mother. While, therefore, John ran to the spring for fresh water, and Simeon the second sifted meal for corn cakes, and Mary ground coffee, Rachel moved gently and quietly about, making bis- cuits, cutting up chicken, and diffusing a sort of sunny radi¬ ance over the whole proceeding generally. If there was any danger of friction or collision from the ill-regulated zeal of so many young operators, her gentle “ Come ! come ! 77 or “ I wouldn't, now,7’ was quite sufficient to allay the difficulty. Bards have written of the cestus of Venus, that turned the heads of all the world in successive generations. We had rather, for our part, have the cestus of Rachel Halliday, that kept heads from being turned, and made every thing go on harmoniously. We think it is more suited to our modern days, decidedly. While all other preparations were going on, Simeon the elder stood in his shirt sleeves before a little looking glass in the corner, engaged in the anti-patriarchal operation of shav¬ ing. Every thing went on so sociably, so quietly, so harmoni¬ ously, in the great kitchen, — it seemed so pleasant to every one to do just what they were doing, there was such an atrnos phere of mutual confidence and good fellowship every where, — even the knives and forks had a social clatter as they went on to the table ; and the chicken and ham had a cheerful and joyous fizzle in the pan, as if they rather enjoyed being cooked than otherwise; — and when George, and Eliza, and little Harry came out, they met such a hearty, rejoicing welcome, no wonder it seemed to them like a dream. At last, they were ail seated at breakfast, while Mary stood at the stove, baking griddle cakes, which, as they gained the true exact golden-brown tint of perfection, were transferred quite handily to the table. Rachel never looked so truly and benignly happy as at the head of her table. There was so much motherliness and full heartedness even in the way she passed a plate of cakes or poured a cup of coffee, that it seemed to put a spirit into the food and drink she offered. It was the first time that ever George had sat down on 184 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, equal terms at any white man’s table ; and he sat down, at first, with some constraint and awkwardness ; but they all exhaled and went off like fog, in the genial morning rays of this simple, overflowing kindness. This, indeed, was a home, — home , — a word that George had never yet known a meaning for ; and a belief in God, and trust in his providence, began to encircle his heart, as, with a golden cloud of protection and confidence, dark, misanthropic, pining, atheistic doubts, and fierce despair, melted away before the light of a living gospel, breathed in living faces, preached by a thousand unconscious acts of love and good will, which, like the cup of cold water given in the name of a disciple, shall never lose their reward. “ Father, what if thee should get found out again ? ” said Simeon second, as he buttered his cake. “ I should pay my fine,” said Simeon, quietly. “ But what if they put thee in prison ? ” “ Couldn’t thee and mother manage the farm? ” said Simeon, smiling. “ Mother can do almost every thing ” said the boy. “ But isn’t it a shame to make such laws ? ” “ Thee mustn’t speak evil of thy rulers, Simeon,” said his father, gravely. “ The Lord only gives us our worldly goods that we may do justice and mercy ; if our rulers require a price of us for it, we must deliver it up.” “ W ell, I hate those old slaveholders ! ” said the boy, who felt as unchristian as became any modern reformer. “ I am surprised at thee, son,” said Simeon ; “ thy mother never taught thee so. I would do even the same for the slave¬ holder as for the slave, if the Lord brought him to my door in affliction.” Simeon second blushed scarlet ; but his mother only smiled, and said, “ Simeon is my good boy ; he will grow older, by and by, and then he will be like his father.” “ I hope, my good sir, that you are not exposed to any diffi¬ culty on our account,” said George, anxiously. “ Fear nothing, George, for therefore are we sent into the world. If we would not meet trouble for a good cause, we were not worthv of our name.” LTFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 185 “ But for me” said George, “ I could not bear it.77 “ Fear not, then, friend George ; it is not for thee, but for God and man, we do it,77 said Simeon. “ And now thou must lie by quietly this day, and to-night, at ten o’clock, Phineas Fletcher will carry thee onward to the next stand, — thee and the rest of thy company. The pursuers are hard after thee ; we must not delay.77 “If that is the case, why wait till evening?77 said George. “ Thou art safe here by daylight, for every one in the set¬ tlement is a Friend, and all are watching. It has been found safer to travel by night.77 24 CHAPTER XIV. EVANGELINE. “ A young star ! which shone ( )'er life — too sweet an image for such glass ! A lovely being, scarcely formed or moulded; A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded.” he Mississippi ! How, as by an enchanted wand, have its scenes been changed, since Chateaubriand wrote his prose-poetic descrip¬ tion of it, as a river of mighty, unbroken soli¬ tudes, rolling* amid undreamed wonders of vegetable and animal existence ! But, as in an hour, this river of dreams and wild romance lias emerged to a reality scarcely less visionary and splendid. What other river of the world bears on its bosom to the ocean the wealth and enterprise of such another country? — a coun- LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 187 try whose products embrace all between the tropics and the poles ! Those turbid waters, hurrying, foaming, tearing along, an apt resemblance of that headlong tide of business which is poured along its wave by a race more vehement and energetic than any the old world ever saw. Ah ! would that they did not also bear along a more fearful freight, — the tears of the oppressed, the sighs of the helpless, the bitter prayers of poor, ignorant hearts to an unknown God — unknown, unseen, and silent, but who will yet “ come out of his place to save all the poor of the earth ! 77 The slanting light of the setting sun quivers on the sea-like expanse of the river ; the shivery canes, and the tall, dark cypress, hung with wreaths of dark, funereal moss, glow in the golden ray, as the heavily-laden steamboat marches onward. Piled with cotton bales, from many a plantation, up over deck and sides, till she seems in the distance a square, massive block of gray, she moves heavily onward to the nearing mart. We must look some time among its crowded decks before we shall find again our humble friend Tom. High on the upper deck, in a little nook among the every where predominant cotton bales, at last we mav find him. Partly from confidence inspired by Mr. Shelby’s representa¬ tions, and partly from the remarkably inoffensive and quiet character of the man, Tom had insensibly won his way far into the confidence even of such a man as Haley. At first he had watched him narrowly through the day, and never allowed him to sleep at night unfettered ; but the uncomplaining patience and apparent contentment of Tom’s manner led him gradually to discontinue these restraints, and for some time Tom had enjoyed a sort of parole of honor, being permitted to come and go freely where he pleased on the boat. Ever quiet and obliging, and more than ready to lend a hand in every emergency which occurred among the workmen below, he had won the good opinion of all the hands, and spent many hours in helping them with as hearty a good will as ever he worked on a Kentucky farm. When there seemed to be nothing for him to do, he would climb to a nook among the cotton bales of the upper deck, and 188 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN ; OR, busy himself in studying over his Bible, — and it is there we see him now. For a hundred or more miles above New Orleans, the river is higher than the surrounding country, and rolls its tremen¬ dous volume between massive levees twenty feet in height. The traveller from the deck of the steamer, as from some floating castle top, overlooks the whole country for miles and miles around. Tom, therefore, had spread out full before him, in plantation after plantation, a map of the life to which he was approaching. He saw the distant slaves at their toil ; he saw afar their villages of huts gleaming out in long rows on many a planta¬ tion, distant from the stately mansions and pleasure grounds of the master ; — and as the moving picture passed on, his poor, foolish heart would be turning backward to the Ken¬ tucky farm, with its old, shadowy beeches, — to the master’s house, with its wide, cool halls, and, near by, the little cabin, overgrown with the multiflora and bignonia. There he seemed to see familiar faces of comrades, who had grown up with him from infancy ; he saw his busy wife, bustling in her prepara¬ tions for Iris evening meals ; he heard the merry laugh of his boys at their play, and the chirrup of the baby at his knee ; and then, with a start, all faded, and he saw again the cane brakes, and cypresses, and gliding plantations, and heard again the creaking and groaning of the machinery, all telling him too plainly that all that phase of life had gone by forever. In such a case, you write to your wife, and send messages to your children ; but Tom could not write, — the mail for him had no existence, and the gulf of separation was unbridged by even a friendly word or signal. Is it strange, then, that some tears fall on the pages of his Bible, as he lays it on the cotton bale, and, with patient finger, threading his slow way from word to word, traces out its promises ? Having learned late in life, Tom was but a slow reader, and passed on laboriously from verse to verse. Fortu¬ nate for him was it that the book he was intent on was one which slow reading cannot injure, — nay, one whose words, like ingots of gold, seem often to need to be weighed separate- LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 189 ly, that the mind may take in their priceless value. Let us follow him a moment, as, pointing to each word, and pronoun¬ cing each half aloud, he reads, — “ Let — not — your — heart — be — troubled. In — my — Father’s — house — are — many — mansions. I — go — to — prepare — a — place — for — you.” Cicero, when he buried his darling and only daughter, had a heart as full of honest grief as poor Tom’s, — perhaps no fuller, for both were only men ; — but Cicero could pause over no such sublime words of hope, and look to no such future reunion ; and if he had seen them, ten to one he would not have believed, — he must fill his head first with a thousand questions of authenticity of manuscript, and correctness of translation. But, to poor Tom, there it lay, just what he needed, so evidently true and divine that the possibility of a question never entered his simple head. It must be true ; for. if not true, how could he live ? As for Tom’s Bible, though it had no annotations and helps in margin from learned commentators, still it had been embel¬ lished with certain waymarks and guideboards of Tom’s own invention, and which helped him more than the most learned expositions could have done. It had been his custom to get the Bible read to him by his master’s children, in particular by young Master George ; and, as they read, he would designate, by bold, strong marks and dashes, with pen and ink, the pas¬ sages which more particularly gratified his ear or affected his heart. His Bible was thus marked through, from one end to the other, with a variety of styles and designations ; so he could in a moment seize upon his favorite passages, without the labor of spelling out what lay between them ; — and while it lay there before him, every passage breathing of some old home scene, and recalling some past enjoyment, his Bible seemed to him ail of this life that remained, as well as the promise of a future one. Among the passengers on the boat was a young gentleman of fortune and family, resident in New Orleans, who bore the name of St. Clare. He had with him a daughter between five and six years of age, together with a lady who seemed to claim relationship to both, and to have the little one especially under her charge. 190 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR, Tom had often caught glimpses of this little girl, — for she was one of those busy, tripping creatures, that can be no more contained in one place than a sunbeam or a summer breeze, — nor was she one that, once seen, could be easily forgotten. Her form was the perfection of childish beauty, without its usual chubbiness and squareness of outline. There was about it an undulating and aerial grace, such as one might dream of for some mythic and allegorical being. Her face was remark¬ able less for its perfect beauty of feature than for a singular and dreamy earnestness of expression, which made the ideal start when they looked at her, and by which the dullest and most literal were impressed, without exactly knowing why. The shape of her head and the turn of her neck and bust were peculiarly noble, and the long golden-brown hair that floated like a cloud around it, the deep spiritual gravity of her violet- blue eyes, shaded by heavy fringes of golden brown, — all marked her out from other children, and made every one turn and look after her, as she glided hither and thither on the boat. Nevertheless, the little one was not what you would have called either a grave child or a sad one. On the con¬ trary, an airy and innocent playfulness seemed to flicker like the shadow of summer leaves over her childish face, and around her buoyant figure. She was always in motion, al¬ ways with a half smile on her rosy mouth, flying hither and thither, with an undulating and cloudlike tread, singing to herself as she moved as in a happy dream. Her father and female guardian were incessantly busy in pursuit of her, — but, when caught, she melted from them again like a summer cloud ; and as no word of chiding or reproof ever fell on her ear for whatever she chose to do, she pursued her own way all over the boat. Always dressed in white, she seemed to move like a shadow through all sorts of places, without con¬ tracting spot or stain ; and there was not a corner or nook, above or below, where those fairy footsteps had not glided, and that visionary golden head, with its deep-blue eyes, fleeted along. The fireman, as he looked up from his sweaty toil, some¬ times found those eves looking wonderingly into the raging depths of the furnace, and fearfully and pityingly at him, as LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 191 if she thought him in some dreadful danger. Anon the steers¬ man at the wheel paused and smiled, as the picture-like head gleamed through the window of the' roundhouse, and in a mo¬ ment was gone again. A thousand times a day rough voices blessed her, and smiles of unwonted softness stole over hard faces, as she passed ; and when she tripped fearlessly over dangerous places, rough, sooty hands were stretched involun¬ tarily out to save her, and smooth her path. Tom, who had the soft, impressible nature of his kindly race, ever yearning towards the simple and childlike, watched the little creature with daily increasing interest. To him she seemed something almost divine ; and whenever her golden head and deep-blue eyes peered out upon him from behind some dusky cotton bale, or looked down upon him over some ridge of packages, he half believed that lie saw one of the angels stepped out of his New Testament. Often and often she walked mournfully round the place where Haley’s gang of men and women sat in their chains. She would glide in among them, and look at them with an air of perplexed and sorrowful earnestness ; and sometimes she would lift their chains with her slender hands, and then sigh wofully, as she glided away. Several times she appeared suddenly among them, with her hands full of candy, nuts, and oranges, which