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Uncle Tom’s	Cabin
OR LIFE AMONG THE	LOWLY
BY
HARRIET BEECHER	STOWE ;
THE MERSHON COMPANY i
RAHWAY, N. ],	NEW YORK

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PREFACE.

The scenes of this story, as its title indicates, lie among m race hitherto ignored by the associations of polite and refined society; an exotic race, whose ancestors, born beneath a tropic 6un, brought with them, and perpetuated to their descend¬ ants, 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 to man.”

The poet, the painter, and the artist now seek out and em¬ bellish the common and gentler humanities of life, and, under the allurements of fiction, breathe a humanizing and subdu¬ ing influence, favorable to the development of the great prin¬ ciples of Christian brotherhood.

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

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

But the heart of the dominant race, who have been her con¬ querors, her hard masters, has at length been turned toward 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 sympathy and feeling for the African race, as they exist among us; to show their wrongs and sorrows, under a system so necessarily cruel

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PREFACE.

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 any invidi* ous feeling toward those individuals who, often without any fault of their own, are involved in the trials and embarrass¬ ment of the legal relations of slavery.

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

In the Northern States these representations may, perhaps, be thought caricatures; in the Southern States are witnesses who know their fidelity. What personal knowledge the author has had of the truth of incidents such as here are re¬ lated, 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 motive of thankfulness to Him who hath re¬ deemed 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:

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

44 He shall deliver the needy when he crieth,

The poor, and him that hath no helper,"

He shall r^deom thMr sonl from deceit and violence*

And precious shall their blood fee in His sight."

CONTENTS.

©HAPTEB PA@®

I. In which the Reader is Introduced to a Man of

Humanity, * . t

II. The Mother, ........ 11

III. The Husband and Father, . . . *14

• IV. An Evening in Uncle Tom’s Cabin, ... 19

V. Showing the Feelings of Living Property on

Changing Owners, ...... SI

VI. Discovery, ......... 89

VII. The Mother’s Struggle, ...... 49

VIII. Eliza’s Escape, ........ 63

IX. In which it Appears that a Senator m but a

Man, . . 77

X. The Property is Carried Off, 98

XI. In which Property Gets into an Improper State

of Mind, ........ 108

XII. Select Incidents of Lawful Trade, . • .117

XIII. The Quaker Settlement, ..... 184

XIV. Evangeline, ........ 148

XV. Of Tom's Hew Master and Various Other Mat*

TERS, ......... 153

XVI. Tom's Mistress and Her Opinions, . * .189

XVII. The Freeman’s Defense, ..... 188

XVIII. Miss Ophelia’s Experiences and Opinions, . . 205

XIX. Miss Ophelia’s Experiences and Opinions, Oou-

tinned , ......... 221

XX. Topsy, .......... 241

XXI. Kentuck, ......... 256

XXII mThk Grass Withereth— The Flower Fadeth,” 261

Vi CONTENTS.

CHAPTBB PAG®

XXIII, Henrique, . „ * . 268

XXIV. FoilESHADO'WINGS, ....... 278

XXV. The Little Evangelist, . 282

XXVI. Death, . 287

XXVII. 41 This is the Last of Earth," . „ . 800

XXVIII. Reunion, . . 808

XXIX. The Unprotected, . 822

XXX. The Slave Warehouse, . 830

XXXI. The Middle Passage, 340

XXXII. Dark Places, . 346

XXXIII. Gassy, 335

XXXIV. The Quadroon’s Story, . 362

XXXV. The Tokens, ........ 873

XXXVI. Emmeline and Gassy, ...... 379

XXX VIL Liberty, ......... 886

SXXVIIL The Victory ........ 392

XXXIX. The Stratagem. ....... 402

XL. The Martyr, ........ 412

XLI. The Young Master, . ..... 419

XLIL An Authentic Ghost Story* .... 425

XLIII. Results, ......... 432

XLIV. The Liberator, .»•••». 439 XLY. Concluding Remarks* • * « • • 443

j

UNCLE TOM’S CABIN;

OB,

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY.

CHAPTEE I.

IN WHICH THE READER IS INTRODUCED TO A MAN 01 HUMANITY.

Late in the afternoon of a chilly day in February, two gentlemen were sitting alone over their wine, in a well- furnished dining parlor, in the town c 2 P — in Kentucky. There were no servants present, and the gentlemen, with chairs closely approaching, seemed to be discussing some sub« ject with great earnestness.

For convenience* sake, we have said, hitherto, two gentle¬ men. One of the parties, however, when critically examined, did not seem, strictly speaking, to come under the species. He was a short, thick-set man, with coarse, commonplace features and that swaggering air of pretension which marks a low man who is trying to elbow his way upward in the world. He was much overdressed, in a gaudy vest of many colors, a blue neckerchief, bedropped gayly with yellow spots, and arranged with a flaunting tie, quite in keeping with the genera] air of the man. His hands, large and coarse, were plentifully bedecked with rings; and he wore a heavy gold watchchain, 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 satisfaction. 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 m to transcribe.

§ uncle tom’s cabin; OB,

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ 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 fellow, now, in this yer last lot I took to Orleans, — ’twas as good as a meetin’, 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 religion a valeyable thing in a nigger, when it’s the genuine article, and no mistake.”

“ Well, Tom’s got the real article, if ever a fellow had,” rejoined the other. “ Why, last fall, I let him go to Cincin¬ nati alone, to do business for me, and bring home five hun¬ dred dollars. ‘ 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. >e got just as much conscience as any man ia

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. It

business can afford to keep, — just a little, you know, to swear bj, as 'twere,” said the trader jocularly; “ and, then, I'm ready to do anything in reason to 'bilge friends; but this yer, you see, is a leetle too hard on a fellow, — a leetle too hard.” The trader sighed contemplatively, and poured out some more brandy.

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

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

“ Hullo, Jim Crow! ” said Mr. Shelby, whistling, and snap¬ ping a bunch of raisins toward him, “ pick that up now! ”

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

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

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

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

“ Row, Jim, walk like old Unde Cudjoe when he has the rheumatism,” said his master.

Instantly the flexible limbs of the child assumed the ap- l "nee of deformity and distortion, as* with his baofe

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UM)LB tom’s cabin ; OB,

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

“ Hurrah! bravo! what a young un! ” said Haley; “that chap’s a case. I’ll promise. Tell you what,” said he, sud¬ denly slapping his hand on Mr. Shelby’s shoulder, “ fling in that chap and I’ll settle the business,— I will. Come, now, if that an’t doing the thing up about the Tightest! ”

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

There needed only a glance from the child to her, to identify 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 admiration. Her dress was of the neatest possible fit, and set off to advantage her finely molded shape; a delicately formed hand and a trim foot and ankle were items of ap¬ pearance that did not escape the quick eye of the trader, well used to run up at a glance the points of a fine female article.

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

“ I was looking for Harry, please, sir;” and the boy bounded toward her, showing his spoils, which he had 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 admira- tion, “ there’s an article, now! You might make your for-* tune on that ar gal in Orleans, any day. I’ve seen over a thousand, in my day, paid down for gals not a bit handsomer.*1

“ I don’t want to make my fortune on her,” said Mr. Shelby dryly; and. seeking to turn the conversation, he un¬ corked a bottle of fresh wine, and asked his companion^ opinion of it.

“Capita^ sir;— first chop! ” said the trader; then turning,

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY

5

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 *11 you take?**

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

“Ay, ay! women always say such things, *cause they han*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 X*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 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.**

“Oh, 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*, scrcamin* times. They are mighty onpleasant; but, as I manage business, I generally avoids *em, sir. How, 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 earrings, 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, yon know; they gets over things, only manage right. How, 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 sell4

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UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB,

and she sereeehin* like mad all the time;— very bad policy, —damages the article,— makes ’em quite unlit for service sometimes. I knew a real handsome gal once, in Orleans, as was entirely ruined by this sort o’ handling. The fellow that was trading for her 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, jest for want of man¬ agement, — 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.

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

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

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

“ Now, I’ve been laughed at for my notions, sir, and I’ve been talked to. They an’t pop’lar, and they an’t common; but I’ve stuck to ’em, sir; I’ve stuck to ’em and realized welt 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 elucidations of humanity that Mr. Shelby could not help laughing in company. Perhaps you laugh, too, dear reader; but you know humanity comes ont in a variety of strange forms nowadays, 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 peopled

LIFB AMONG TUB LOWLY*

1

heads. Now, there was Tom Loker, my old partner, down in Natchez; he was a clever fellow, Tom was, only the very devil with niggers,— on principle 'twas, you see, for a better-hearted feller never broke bread; 'twas his system , sir. I used to talk to Tom. 4 Why, Tom/ I used to say, 4 when your gals take on and cry, what's the use o' crackin' on 'em over the head, and knockin' on 'em round? It's ridiculous,' says I, 4 and don't do no sort o' good. Why, I don't see no harm in their cry in',' says 1; 4 it's natur,' says I, 4 and if natur can't blow off one way, it will another. Besides, Tom,' says I, 4 it jest spiles your gals; they get sickly and down in the mouth; and sometimes they gets ugly, — particularly yallow gals do,— and it's the devil and all gettin' on 'em broke in. Now,' says I, 4 why can't you kinder coax 'em up, and speak 'em fair? De-

Eend on it, Tom, a little humanity, thrown in along, goes a eap further than all your jawin' and crackin'; and it pays better,' says I, 4 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'."

44 And do you find your ways of mar aging do the business better than Tom's? " said Mr. Shelby.

44 Why, yes, sir, I may say so. You see, when I anyways can, I takes a leetle care about the onpleasant parts, like sell¬ ing 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 get used to it. 'Tan't, you know, as if it was white folks, that's brought up in the way of 'speetin' to keep their children and wives, and all that. Niggers, you know, that's fetched up properly, han't no kind of Ypectations of no kind; so all these things comes easier."

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

44 S'posew 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 ex«* peetations, and bringin' on him up too well, for the rough and tumble comes all the harder on h m arter. Now, I venture to say. your niggers wouid he quite chop-fallen in a place where some of your plantation niggers would he sing¬ ing and whooping like all possessed. Every man, you know*

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UNCL3 tom’s cabin; OB,

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 disagree¬ able nature.

“Well,” said Haley, after they had both silently picked their nuts for a season, “ what do you say? ”

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

“ Oh, 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 anybody had ever said to me that I should sell Tom down South to one of those rascally traders, I should have said, ‘ Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing? ’ And now it must come, for aught I see. And Eliza’s child, too! I know that I shall have some fuss with my wife about that; and, for that matter, about Tom, too. So much for being in debt,— heigh-ho! The fellow sees his advantage, 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 acquisition, has not those temptations to hard-hen rtedness which always overcome frail human nature when the pros¬ pect of sudden and rapid gain is weighed in the balance* with

9

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY.

no heavier counterpoise than the interests of the helpless and

unprotected.

Whoever visits some estates there, and witnesses the good- humored indulgence of some masters and mistresses, and the affectionate loyalty of some slaves, might be tempted to dream the oft-fabled poetic legend of a patriarchal institu¬ tion, and all that; but over and above the scene there broods a portentous shadow — the shadow of law . So long as the law considers all these human beings, with beating hearts and living affections, only as so many things belonging to a mas¬ ter; so long as the failure, or misfortune, or imprudence, or death of the kindest owner may cause them any day to ex¬ change a life of kind protection and indulgence for one of hopeless misery and toil, — so long it is impossible to make anything beautiful or desirable in the best-regulated adminis¬ tration of slavery.

Mr. Shelby was a fair average kind of man, good-natured and kindly, and disposed to easy indulgence of those around him, and there had never been a lack of anything which might contribute to the physical comfort of the negroes on his estate. He had, however, speculated largely and quite loosely; had involved himself deeply, and his notes to a large amount had come into the hands of Haley; and this small piece of information 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 maldng 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 nightgown in place of the silk dress she had ordered her to bring from the wardrobe.

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

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

10

uncle tom’s cabin; OB,

“ Oh, missis/’ said Eliza, “ there’s been a trader talking with master in the parlor! I heard him.”

“ Well, silly child, suppose there was? ”

“ Oh, missis, do you suppose mas’r would sell my Harry?” And the poor creature threw herself into a chair, and sobbed convulsively.

“ Sell him! No, you foolish girl! You know your 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 vour 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 learnt the other day, and don’t go listening at doors any more.”

“ Well, but, missis, you never would give vour 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’ 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 intellectually and morally. To that natural magnanimity and generosity 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 piy 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 un¬ limited scope in all her benevolent efforts for the comfort, instruction, and improvement ei lie: servants, though he never took any decided part in them mmself. In fact, if not exactly a believer in the doctrine of the efficacy of the extra good works of saints, he really seemed somehow or other to fancy that his wife had piety and benevolence enough for two,— to indulge a shadowy expectation of getting into heaven through her superabundance of qualities to which he made no particular pretension.

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY.

11

The heaviest load on Ms mind, after his conversation with ihe trader, lay in the foreseen necessity of breaking to his wife the arrangement contemplated, meeting the importunities 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.

CHAPTER II

THE MOTHER.

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

The traveler in the South must cften have remarked that peculiar air of refinement, that softness of voice and manner, which seems in many cases to be a particular gift to the quad¬ roon and mulatto woman. These natural graces in the quadroon are often united with beauty of the most dazzling kind, and in almost every case with a personal appearance prepossessing and agreeable. Eliza, such as we have de¬ scribed her, is not a fancy sketch, but taken from remem¬ brance, as we saw her, years ago, in Kentucky. Safe under the protecting care of her mistress, Eliza had reached ma¬ turity without those temptations which make beauty so fatal an inheritance to a slave. She had been married to a bright and talented young mulatto man, who was a slave on a neigh¬ boring estate, and bore the name of George Harris.

This young man had been hired out bv his master to work in a bagging factory, where his adroitness and ingenuity caused him to be considered the first hand in the place. He had invented a machine for the cleaning of the hemp, which, considering the education and circumstances of the inventor, displayed quite as much mechanical genius as Whitney’s cotton-gin.*

He was possessed of a handsome person and pleasing man-

* A machine of this description was really the invention of a jotmg .Colored man in Kentucky.

19 uncle tom’s cabin; or,

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 con¬ trol 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 around the country, inventing machines, and holding up his head among gentle¬ men? He’d soon put a stop to it. He’d take him back, and put him to hoeing and digging, and “ see if he’d step about so smart.” Accordingly, the manufacturer and all hands con¬ cerned were 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? ”

u W e would he willing, sir, to increase the rate of compen¬ sation.”

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

“ But, sir, he seems peculiarly adapted to this business.”

“ Dare say he may be; never was much adapted to anything that I set him about, I’ll be bound.”

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

“ Oh, 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

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY.

IS

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 get you, yet.”

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

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

It was during the happy period of his employment in the factory that George had seen and married his wife. During that period, — being much trusted and favored by his 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 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’ great parlor, and her mistress herself adorned the bride’s beautiful hair with orange-blossoms, and threw over it the bridal veil, which certainly could scarce have rested on a fairer head; and there was no lack of white gloves, and cake gnd wine,*— of admiring guests to praise the bride’s beauty and her mistress’ indulgence and liberality. For a year or two Eliza saw her husband frequently, and there was nothing to interrupt their happiness, except the loss of two infant children, to whom she was passionately attached, and whom she mourned with a grief so intense as to call for gentle remonstrance from her mistress, who sought, with maternal anxiety, to direct her naturally passionate feelings within the bounds of reason and religion.

After the birth of little Harry, however, she had gradually become tranquillized and settled; and every bleeding tie and throbbing nerve, once more entwined with that little life, 6eemed to become sound and healthful, and Eliza was a happy woman up to the time that her husband was rudely tom from his kind employer and brought under the iron sway of his legal owner.

The manufacturer, true to his word, visited Mr. Harris a

14 uncle tom’s cabin; OB*

week or two after George had been taken away, when, as h® hoped, the heat of the occasion had passed away, and tried every possible inducement to lead him to restore him to his former employment.

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

“ I did not presume to interfere with it, sir. I only thought that you might think it for your interest to let your man to us on the terms proposed.”

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

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

A very handsome 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!

CHAPTEB III

THE HUSBAND AND FATHER.

Mrs. Shelby had gone on her visit, and Eliza stood in the veranda, rather dejectedly looking after the retreating car¬ riage, 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! Well! I am so glad you 's come! Missis is gone to spend the after¬ noon; so come into my little room, and we'll have the time all to ourselves.”

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 don't you smile? — and look at Harry, — how he grows.” The boy stood shyly regarding his father through his curls, holding elo^e to the skirts of his mother's dress. “Isn't he beautiful?” said Eliza, lifting his long curls and kissing him.

UFEE AMONG THE L0WL¥. IS

“ I wish he’d never been bom! ” 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! 99 said he fondly; “ it’s too bad! Oh, how I wish you never had seen me,— you might have been happy! 99

“George! George! how can you talk so? Wh:;„t dreadful thing has happened, or is going to happen? I’m sure we’ve been very happy, till lately.”

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

“ Just like you, Eliza; and you are the handsomest woman I ever saw, and the best one I ever wish to see; but, oh, I wish I’d never seen you, nor you me! 99

“ Oh, George; how can you! ”

“Yes, Eliza; it’s all misery, misery, misery! My life is bitter as wormwood; the very life is burning out of me. I’m a poor, miserable, forlorn drudge; I shall only drag you down with me, that’s all. What’s the use of our trying to do any* thing? trying to know anything, trying to be anything? What’s the use of living? I wish I was dead! ”

“ Oh, now, dear George, that is really wicked! I know how you feel about losing your place in the factory, and you have a hard master; but pray be patient, and perhaps some* thing— — ”

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

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

“ My master! and who made him my 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 lie is. I know more about busi¬ ness 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, aud no thanks to him,— I’ve learned it in spite of him; and now what right has he to ra°ke a dray- horse of me? — to take me from things* I cav’ do. and do better than he can, and put me to work that any horse can do? He

16

tTNCLE tom’s cabin; OB,

tries to do it; he says he’ll bring me down and humble me* and he puts me to just the hardest, meanest, and dirtiest work, on purpose! ”

“ Oh, 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 oh, do be careful — do, do,— for my sake, — for Harry’s! 99

“ I have been careful, and I have been patient, but it’s growing worse and worse; flesh and blood can’t bear it any longer;— every chance he can get to insult and torment me, he takes. I thought I could do my work well, and keep on quiet, and have some time to read and learn out of work hours; but the more he sees I can do, the more he loads on. He says that though I don’t say anything, he sees I’ve got the devil in me, and he means to bring it out; and one of these days it will come out in a way that he won’t like, or I’m mistaken! ”

“ Oh, 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 pleasantly 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 ex¬ pression that made his young wife tremble. “ Who made this man my master? That’s what I want to know!” he said.

“ Well,” said Eliza mournfully, “ I always thought that I must obey my master and mistress, or I couldn’t be a Chris¬ tian.”

“ There is some sense in it, in your case; they have brought yon 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 mh at do I owe? I’ve paid for all my keeping a hundred timed

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. HP

over. I won't bear it. No, I won't!" he said, clenching his hand with a fierce frown.

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

“ You know poor little Carlo, that you ga^re 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 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 m the pond.”

“ Oh, George, you didn’t do it! ”

“Do it? not I!— but he did. Mas’r 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 whipping won’t tame. My day will come yet, if he don’t look out.”

“What are you going to do? Oh, 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? ”

“ Oh, George! we must have faith. Mistress says that when all things go wrong with 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, 1 guess it would come some harder. I wish I could be good; but my heart burns, and can’t be reconciled, anyhow. You couldn’t, in my place, — you can’t now, if I tell you all I’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 mid settle down on his place. At first he only scoldacl

18

UNCLE TOM?S CABIN; OB,

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 bom. 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! ”

“ Oh, but master is so kind! ”

“ Yes; but who knows? — he may die,- — and then he may be sold to nobody knows who. What pleasure is it that he is handsome, and smart, and bright? I tell you, Eliza, that a sword will pierce through your soul for every good and pleas¬ ant thing your child is or has; it will make him 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 someone had struck her a deadly blow, she turned pale and gasped for breath. She looked nervously out on the veranda, where the boy, tired of the grave conversation, had retired, and where he was rid¬ ing triumphantly up and down on Mr. Shelby’s walking-stick. She would have spoken to tell her husband her fears, but checked herself.

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

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

“ Going, George! Going where? ”

“To Canada,” said he, straightening himself up; “and when I’m there, I’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! ”

“ Oh, 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! ”

“ Oil, U gorge, for my sake, do be careful! Don’t do any-

LIFE AMONG THE L0WLY9

m

thing wicked; don’t lay hands on yourself, or anybody else. You are tempted too much,— too much; but don’t— go you must — but go carefully, prudently; pray God to help you/’

“ Well, then, Eliza, hear my plan. Mas’r took it into his head to send me right by here with a note to Mr. Symmes, that lives a mile past. I believe he expected I should come here to tell you what I have. It would please him if he thought it would aggravate 6 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; per¬ haps the good Lord will hear you”

“ Oh, pray yourself, George, and go trusting in Him; then you won’t do anything wicked.”

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

CHAPTER IV.

AN EVENING IN UNCLE TOM’S CABIN.

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

Let us enter the dwelling. The evening meal at the house is over, and Aunt Chloe, who presided over its preparation as head e@ok, 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

20 UNCLE tom’s CABIN ; O B,

therefore, doubt not that it is she you see fcy the fire, preside ing with anxious interest over certain frizzling items in a stew- pan, and anon with grave consideration lifting the cover of a hake-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 cue of her own tea rusks. Her whole plump countenance beams with satisfaction and contentment from under her well-starched checked turban, bearing on it, however, if we must confess it, a little of that tinge of self-consciousness which becomes the first cook of the neighborhood, as Aunt Chloe was universally held and ac¬ knowledged to be.

A cook she certainly was, in the very bone and center of her soul. Not a chicken or turkey or duck in the barnyard but looked grave when they saw her approaching, and seemed evidently to be reflecting on their latter end; and certain it was that she was always meditating on trussing, stuffing, and roasting, to a degree that was calculated to inspire terror in any reflecting fowl living. Her corn-cake, in all its varieties of hoe-cake, dodgers, muffins, and other species too numerous to mention, was a sublime mystery to all less practiced com¬ pounders; 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 at¬ tain to her elevation.

The arrival of company at the house, the arrangement of dinners and suppers “ in style,” awoke all the energies of her soul; and no sight was more welcome to her than a pile of traveling-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 onr picture of the cottage.

In one corner of it stood a bed, covered neatly with a snowy spread; and by the side of it was a piece of carpeting, of some considerable size. On this piece of carpeting Aunt Chloe took her stand, as being decidedly in the upper walks of life; and it and the bed by which it lay, and the whole cor¬ ner, in fact, were treated with distinguished consideration, and made, so far as possible, sacred from the marauding inroads and desecrations of little folks. In fact, that comer was the drawing room of the establishment. In the othej

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY.

SI

corner was a bed of much humbler pretensions, and evidently designed for use. The wall over the fireplace was adorned with some very brilliant scriptural prints, and a portrait of General Washington, drawn and colored in a manner which would certainly have astonished that hero, if ever he had hap¬ pened to meet with its like.

On a rough bench in the comer, 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 successive failure being violently cheered, as something de¬ cidedly clever.

A table, somewhat rheumatic in its limbs, was drawn out in front of the fire, and covered with a cloth, displaying cups and saucers of a decidedly brilliant pattern, with other symp¬ toms of an approaching meal. At this table was seated Uncle Tom, Mr. Shelby’s best hand, who, as he is to be the hero of our story, we must daguerreotype for our readers. He was a large, broad-chested, powerfully made man, of a full glossy black, and a face whose truly African features were character¬ ized by an expression of grave and steady good sense, united with much kindliness and benevolence. There was some¬ thing about his whole air self-respecting and dignified, yet united with a confiding and humble simplicity.

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

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

“ La sakes, now, does it? ” said Uncle Tom, looking with U respectful, admiring air, as his young teacher flourishingly scrawled out g’s and tf s innumerable for his edification; and then, taking the pencil in his big, heavy fingers, he patiently recommenced.

“ How easy white folks aFus does things! ” said Aunt Chloe, pausing while she was greasing a griddle with a scrap of bacon on her fork, and regarding young Master George with pride.

22 TOOLS T0M*3 CABIIT ; OB,

“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 interesting ”

“ But, Aunt Chloe, I’m getting mighty hungry,” said George. “ Isn’t that cake in the ski1 -et almost done? ”

“ Mos’ done, Mas’r George,” said 1 unt 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, jest to lam her, she said. ‘ Oh, 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 greenness, Aunt Chloe whipped the cover off the bake-kettle, and disclosed to view a neatly baked pound-cake, of which no city confectioner need to have been ashamed. This being evidently the central point of the entertainment Aunt Chloe began now to bustle about earnestly in the supper depart¬ ment.

“ 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 jest take off dem books, and set down now with my old man, and I’ll take up de sau¬ sages, and have de first griddleful 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, heap¬ ing the "smoking batter-cakes on his plate; “you knowd your old aunty’ J keep the best for you. Oh, let you alone for dat! Go ’way! ” and, with that, aunty gave George a nudge with her finger, designed to be immensely facetious, and turned again to her griddle with great briskness.

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

“ La bless you, Mas’r George! ” said Aunt Chloe with ear¬ nestness, catching his arm, “you wouldn’t be for cuttin’ it wid dat ar great heavy knife! Smash it all down,— spile all the pretty rise of it. Here, I’ve got a thin old knife, I keeps sharp a purpose. Bar now, see! comes apart light as a

LIFE AMONG THS LOWLY,

m

feather! Now, eat away, — you won’t get anything to beat dat ar.”

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

“ Dem Lincons an’t much ’count, noway! ” said Aunt Chloe contemptuously; “ I mean, set alongside our folks. They’s ’spectable folks enough in a kinder plain way; but as to gettin’ up anything in style, they don’t begin to have a notion on’t. Set Mas’r Lincon, now, \iongside Mas’r Shelby! Good Lor! and Missis Lincon, — can she kinder sweep it into a room like my missis,— so kinder splendid, yer know! Oh, go ’way! don’t tell me nothin’ of dem Lincons! ’’—and Aunt Chloe tossed her head as one who hoped she did know some¬ thing of the world.

“ Well, though, I’ve heard you say,” said George, “ that Jinny was a pretty fair cook.”

■■ So I did,” said Aunt Chloe, — “ I may say dat. Good, plain, common cookin’ Jinny ’ll do; — make a good pone o’ bread,— bile her taters /ur, — 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 wrent over thar when Miss Mary was gwine to be married, and Jinny she jest showed me de weddin’ pies. Jinny and I is good friends, ye know. I never said nothin’; but go ’long, Mas’r George! Why, I shouldn’t sleep a wink for a week, if I had a batch of pies like dem ar. Why, dey warn’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 pud¬ ding privileges,” said George. “ Ask Tom Lincon if I don’t crow over him, every time I meet him.”

Aunt Chloe sat back in her chair and indulged in a hearty guffaw of laughter at this witticism of young mns’r, laughing till the tears rolled down her black, shining cheeks, and vary-

$4 UNCLE tom’s CABIN; OR)

ing the exercises with playfully slapping and poking Maaflp Georgy, 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 pre¬ dictions, 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 care¬ ful how he talked “ as funny as he could/’

“And so ye telled Tom, did ye? Oh, Lor! what young uns will be up ter! Ye crowed over Tom? Oh, Lor! Mas’r George, if ye wouldn’t make a horn-bug 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 privi¬ leges, ’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; “and you do your prettiest, Aunt Chloe, and we’ll make him stare. Won’t we make him eat so he won’t get over it for a fortnight? ”

“Yes, yes,— sartin,” said Aunt Chloe, delighted; “you’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 quarreling 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, c 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.

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 25

44 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 being 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 everybody said so,” said George.

44 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, 6 You must have an uncommon cook, Mrs. Shelby.’ Lor! I was fit to split myself.

“And de gineral, he knows what cookin’ is,” said Aunt Chloe, drawing herself up with an air. “ Bery nice man, de gineral! He comes of one of de bery 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 everybody knows what they is or orter be. But de gineral, he knows; I knew by his ’marks he made. Yes, he knows what de pints is! ”

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

“ Here, you Mose, Pete,” he said, breaking off liberal bits and throwing them at them; “you want some, don’t you? Come, Aunt Chloe, bake them some cakes.”

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

“ Oh, go ’long, will ye? ” said the mother, giving now and then a kick, in a kind of general *wav, 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 yc? Better mind yerselves, or I’ll take ye down a buttonhole lower, when Mas’r George is gone! ”

£6 UNCLE TOM^S CABIN; OB,

What meaning was couched under this terrible threat, it k 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 themselves.”

Here the boys emerged from under the table, and with hands and faces well plastered with molasses, began a vigor¬ ous 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 yer- selves! ” she said, seconding her exhortations by a slap, which resounded very formidably, but which seemed only to knock out so much more laugh from the young ones, as they tumbled precipitately over each other out of doors, where they fairly screamed with merriment.

“Did ye ever see such aggravating young uns? ” said Aunt Chloe rather complacently, as producing an old towel, kept for such emergencies, she poured a little water out of the cracked 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.

“ An’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-handker¬ chief, 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 everyone had roared and tumbled and danced them¬ selves down to a state of composure.

“ Well, now, I hopes you’re done,” said Aunt Chloe, who had been busy in pulling out a rude box of a trundle-bed; “and now, you Mose and you Pete, get into tharj for we’s goin’ to have the meetink”

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. *7

515 Oh, mother! we don’t wanter. We wants to sit up to meeting— meeting is so euris. 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 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, ’caus^ 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 reading ’bout in de good book,— dey never fails,” said Mose aside to Pete.

“ I’m sure one on ’em caved in last week,” said Pete, “ and let ’em all down in de middle of de singin’; dat ar was failix/* warn’t it? ”

■M UNCLE TOM’S .CABIN OB,

During this aside between Mose and Pete two empty casta had been rolled into the cabin, and being secured from roll¬ ing, by stones on each side, boards were laid across them, which arrangement, together with the turning down of cer¬ tain 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 hell stay to read for us/’ said Aunt Chloe; “ ’pears like ’twill be so much more interestin’.”

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

The room was soon filled with a motley assemblage, from the old gray-headed patriarch of eighty, to the young girl and lad of fifteen. A little harmless gossip ensued on various themes, such as where Old Aunt Sally got her new red head- kerchief, and how “ Missis was a-going to give Lizzy that spotted muslin gown, when she’d got her new berage made up;” and how Mas’r Shelby was thinking of buying a new sorrel colt, that was going to prove an addition to the glories of the place. A few of the worshipers 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 de¬ light of all present. Not even all the disadvantages of nasal intonation could prevent the effect of the naturally fine voices, in airs at once wild and spirited. The words were sometimes the well-known and common hymns sung in the churches about, and sometimes of a wilder, more indefinite character, picked up at camp-meetings.

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

“Die on the field of battle.

Die on the field of battle.

Glory in my soul/'

^Another special favorite had, oft repeated, the words:

tf,Oh, I’m goin$ to glory. — won't you come along with me ?

Don’t you see the angels beck'ning, and a-calling me awayt Don’t you see the golden city and the everlasting da^ * 99

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY.

m

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

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

“Well, chil'en! Well, I'm mighty glad to hear ye all and see ye all once more, 'cause I don't know when I'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 to take me home; sometimes, 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 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:

4< 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 saJces now!" “Only hear that!" “Jest think on't!" “Is all that a-comin' sure enough? "

George, who was a bright boy, and well trained in religious things by 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 couldn't lay it off better than he did "; that “ 'twas reely 'mazin' ! " f

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

SO UNCLB TOM'S CABIN ; OB<>

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 ex¬ celled. Nothing could exceed the touching simplicity, the childlike earnestness of his prayer, enriched with the language of Scripture, which seemed so entirely to have wrought itself into his being as to have become a part of himself, and to drop from his lips unconsciously; in the language of a pious old negro, he “ prayed right up.” And so much did his prayer always work on the devotional feelings of his audiences, that there seemed often a danger that it would be lost altogether in the abundance of the responses which broke out 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 din¬ ing 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,” said the trader; “ and now for signing these yer.”

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

“ Wal, now, the thing's done! ” said the trader, getting up*

“ It's done ! ” said Mr. Shelby, in a musing tone; and, fetching 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 von 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*

%WE AMONG THE LOWLY.

31

"Howsomever, TO do the very best I can in gettin’ Tom a good berth; as to my treatin’ cn him bad, you needn’t be a grain afeard. If there’s anything that I thank the Lord for, it is that I’m never noways cruel.”

After the expositions which the trader had previously given of his humane principles, Mr. Shelby did not feel 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 Y.

SHOWING THE FEELINGS OF LIVING PROPERTY ON CHANG¬ ING OWNERS.

Mr. and Mrs. Shelby had retired to their apartment for the night. He was lounging in a large easy-ehair, looking over some letters that had come in the afternoon mail, and she was standing before her mirror, brushing out the compli¬ cated braids and curls in which Eliza had arranged her hair; for, noticing her pale cheeks and haggard eyes, she had ex¬ cused her attendance that night, and ordered her to bed. The employment, naturally enough, suggested her conversa¬ tion with the girl in the morning; and, turning to her hus¬ band, she said carelessly:

" By the bye, Arthur, who was that low-bred fellow that you lugged in to our dinner table to-day? ”

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

" Haley! Who is he, and what may 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, eh? ”

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

"Is he a negro-trader?” said Mrs. Shelby, noticing a cer^ tain embarrassment in her husband’s manner.

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

S2

UNCLE tom’s CABIN ; OB,

a 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 perceiving that he was holding it bottom upward.

" 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 anything to do with that sort of person. 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 fee serious.”

“ I am 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! Oh, Mr. Shelby!— and you have promised him his freedom, too,— you and I have spoken to him a hundred times of it. Well, I can believe anything now,— I can believe now that you 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 he rated, as if I were a monster, for doing what everyone does every day.”

“ But why, of all others, choose these? ” said Mrs. Shelby. u 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 hid on Eliza, if that would suit you any bet¬ ter,” 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.”

u My dear,” said Mrs. Shelby, recollecting herself, “ forgive me. 1 have been hasty. I was surprised and entirely unpre-

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. M

pared for this; — but surely you will allow me to intercede for these poor creatures. Tom is a noble-hearted, faithful fel¬ low, 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 inconvenience1. Oh, 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 paltry 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 duty to him as a Christian mother, to watch over him, pray for him, and bring him up in a Christian way; and now what can I say, if you tear him away, and sell him, soul and body, to a profane unprincipled man just to save a little money? I have told her that one soul is worth more than all the money in the world; and how will she believe me when she sees us turn round and sell her child? — sell hfin, perhaps to certain ruin of body and soul! ”

“I’m sorry you feel so about it, Emily, — indeed I am,” said Mr. Shelby; “and I respect your feelings, too, though I don’t pretend to share them to their full extent; but I tel! 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 mortgage, which, if I don’t clear of! with him directly, will take everything before it. I’ve raked, and scraped, and burrowed, and all but begged,— and the price of these two was needed to make up the balance, and % 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? ”

84

UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; OB.

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 anything good out of such a deadly evil. It is a sin to hold a slave under laws like ours,-— I always felt it was,— I always thought so when I was a girl —I thought so still more after I joined 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.”

“ Well, therein you differ from many wise and pious men,” said Mr. Shelby. “ You remember Mr. B.’s sermon the other Sunday? ”

“ I don’t want to hear such sermons; I never wish to hear Mr. B. in our church again. Ministers can’t help the evil, perhaps, — can’t cure it, any more than we can,— but defend it!— it always went against my common sense. And I think you didn’t think much of that sermon, either.”

“Well,” said Shelby, “I must say these ministers some¬ times carry matters further than we poor sinners would exactly dare to do. We men of the world must wink pretty hard at various things, and get used to a deal that 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 modesty or morals, that’s a fact. But now, my dear, I trust you see the necessity of the thing, and you see that I have done the very best that circumstances would allow.”

“ Oh, yes, yes! ” said Mrs. Shelby, hurriedly and abstract¬ edly 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 anything I have.”

“ I am sorry, very sorry, Emily,” said Mr. Shelby. “ I’m sorry this takes hold of you so; but it will do no good. The

JLIFE AMONG THE LOWLY, 8B

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 me; it’s a thing I hate to think of. Haley wants to drive matters, 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.”

u No, no,” said Mrs. Shelby; “ I’ll be in no sense accom¬ plice 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 against the crack of the door, had lost not a word of the conversation.

When the voices died into silence, she rose and crept stealthily away. Pale, shivering, with rigid features and compressed lips, she looked an entirely altered being from the soft and timid creature she had been hitherto. She moved cautiously along the entry, paused one moment at her mis¬ tress’ door and raised her hands in mute appeal to Heaven, and then turned and glided into her own room. It was a quiet, neat apartment, on the same floor with her mistress.

S6

uncle tom’s cabin; ok,

There was the pleasant sunny window, where she had often sat singing at her sewing; there, a little case of books, and various little fancy articles, ranged by them, the gifts of Christmas holidays; there was her simple wardrobe in the closet and in the drawers:— here was, in short, her home; and, on the whole, a happy one it had been to her. But there, on the bed, lay her slumbering boy, his long curls falling negli¬ gently around his unconscious face, his rosy mouth half open, his little fat hands thrown out over the bedclothes, and a smile spread like a sunbeam over his whole face.

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

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

“ Oh, missis! dear missis! don’t think me ungrateful, — don’t think hard of me, anyway,— I heard all you and mas¬ ter said to-night. I am going to try to save my boy, — you will not blame me! God bless and reward you for all your kindness! 99

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

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

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

“ Hush, Harry! ” she said; “ mustn’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”

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY.

3J

Saying these words, she had tied and buttoned on the child’s simple outfit, and, taking him in her arms, she whis¬ pered 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¬ mate of hers, instantly, wrgging his tail, prepared to follow her, though apparently revolving much, in his simple dog’s head, what such an indiscreet midnight promenade might mean. Some dim ideas of imprudence or impropriety in the measure seemed to embarrass him considerably; for he often stopped as Eliza glided forward, and looked wistfully first at her and then at the house, and then, as if reassured by reflec¬ tion, he pattered along after her again. A few minutes brought them to the 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¬ ward, the consequence was that, although it was now be¬ tween 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,— car¬ rying off my child,— master sold him! ”

“ Sold him?” echoed both, lifting up their hands in dismay.

“ Yea, sold him! ” said Eliza firmly* “ I crept into the

38 UNCLE tom’s cabin ; ob5

closet by mistress5 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, a? rl 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. “ Oh, it don’t seem as if it was true! What has he done, that mas’r should sell him?”

“ He hasn’t done anything,— 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 be¬ tween selling these two and selling all, the man was driving him so hard. Master said he was sorry; but oh, missis, — you ought to have heard her talk! If she an’t a 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 has 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, “wThy 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 Li^y— you’ve got a pass to come and go any time. Come, bustle up, and I’ll get your things together.”

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

“ No, no,— I an’t going. Let Eliza go, — it’s her right! I wouldn’t be the one to say no, — ’tan’t in natur ’ for her to stay; but you heard what she said! If I must be sold, or all the people on the place, and everything go to rack, why, 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 br^ad, rough chest convulsively. “ Mas’r always found me on the

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY..

80

spot,— he always will. I never have broke trust, nor used my pass noways 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 bioke fairly down. He leaned over the back of the chair, and covered his face with his large hands. Sobs, heavy, hoarse, and loud, shook the chair, and great tears fell through his fingers on the floor: just such tears, sir, as you dropped into the coffin where lay your first-born son; such tears, woman, as you shed when you heard the cries of your dying babe. For, sir, he was a man,— and you are but another 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 husband only this afternoon, and I little knew then what was to come. They have pushed him to the very last standing- place, and he told me, to-day, that he was going to run away. Ho 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 awav, 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 mustn’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 VL

DISCOVERY.

Mr. and Mrs. Shelby, after their protracted discussion of the night before, did not readily sink to repose, and, in con¬ sequence, slept somewhat later than usual the ensuing morning.

“ I wonder what keeps Eliza,” said Mrs. Shelby, after giv¬ ing her bell repeated pulls to no purpose.

40

UNCLE TOM1® CABIN; 03,

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

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

Andy soon returned, with eyes very wide in astonishment.

“ Lor, missis! Lizy’s drawers is all open, and her things all lying every which way; and I believe she’s just done dared out! ”

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

“ Then she suspected it, and she’s off ! ”

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

“ Wife, you talk like a fool! Really, it will be something pretty awkward for me, if she is. Haley saw that I hesi¬ tated 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 was great running and ejaculating, and opening and shutting of doors, and appearance of faces in all shades of color in different places, for about a quarter of an hour. One person only, who might have shed some light on the 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, lie was

LIFE AMO NO THE LOWLY. 41

fluted "with the bad tidings on every hand. The young iiiipLon the veranda were not disappointed in their hope of hearing him “ swar,” which he did with a fluency and fer¬ vency which delighted them all amazingly, as they ducked and dodged hither and thither, to be out of the reach of his riding-whip; and, all whooping of! together, they tumbled, in a pile of immeasurable giggle, on the withered turf raider the veranda, 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 eztr’or’nary busi¬ ness! ” 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 singular 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.”

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

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

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

“Mr. Haley,” said Mr. Shelby, “if I did not think you had some cause for disappointment, I should not have borne from you the rude and unceremonious style of your entrance into my parlor this morning. I say thus much, however, since appearances call for it, that I shall allow of no msinuar

43 uncle tom’s cabin ; or,

tions cast upon me, as if I were at all partner to any irnife ness in this matter. Moreover, I shall feel hound to give you every assistance, in the use of horses, servants, etc., 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 rese, 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, everywhere; and nothing was done in the house or in the field, but to discuss its probable results. Eliza’s flight —an unprecedented event on the place— was also a great accessory in stimulating the general excitement.

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

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

“ Yes, it’s an ill wind blows nowhar,” he repeated. “Now, dar, Tom’s down,— wal, course dor’s room for some nigger

MFB AMONG THE LOWLY.

48

to be up,— and why not dis nigger? — dat's de idea. Tom, a-ridin' round de country,— boots blacked, — pass in his pocket,— all grand as Cuffee, — who but he? Now, why shouldn't Sam? — dat's what I want to know."

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

“Hi! what's afoot now, young un?"

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

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

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

“ Good, now! dat's de time o' day! " said Sam. “ It's Sam dat's called for in dese yer times. He's de nigger. See if I don't cotch her, now; mas'r '11 see what Sam can do!"

“Ah! but, Sam," said Andy, “you'd better think twice; for missis don't want her cotch, and she'll be in yer wool."

“Hi!" said Sam, opening his eves. “How you know flat?"

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

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

“ Der an't no sayin'— never— 'bout no kind o' thing in dis yer world," ho 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 Ms conclusions advisedly*

44 UjDTCLE tom?s cabim ; ob9

“ Now, sartin I’d V said that missis would V scoured Idle Varsal world after Lizy,” added Sam thoughtfully.

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

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

. “ And I’ll tell yer more’n all,” said Andy; “ I ’spect you’d better be making tracks for dem bosses, — mighty sudden, too,— for I hearn missis ’quirin’ arter yer,— so you’ve stood foolin’ long enough.”

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

“ Ho, ho!” said Sam, “ skeery, ar ye?” and his black visage lighted up with a curious, mischievous gleam. “ I’ll fix ye now! ” said he.

There was a large beech tree overshadowing the place, and the small, sharp, triangular beechnuts lay scattered thickly on the ground. With one of these in his fingers, Sam ap¬ proached the colt, stroked and patted, and seemed apparently busy in soothing his agitation. On pretense of adjusting the saddle, he adroitly slipped under it the sharp little nut. in such manner that the least weight brought upon the saddle would annoy the nervous sensibilities of the animal, with¬ out leaving any perceptible graze or wound.

“ Dar! ” he said, rolling his eyes with an approving grin; “me fix ’em! ”

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

“ 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 minute; 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.”

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY. 46

“ Oh, Lord bless my soul! I done forgot, missis! 1 won*fe say nothing of de sort no more/*

“ Why, Sam, you just have said it again/*

“ Did I? Oh, Lord! I mean,— I didn’t go fur to say it”

“ You must be careful , Sam/*

“Just let me get my breath, missis, and 1*11 start fair. 1*11 be bery careful/*

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

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

“Let dis child alone for dat! ** said Sam, rolling up his eyes with a volume of meaning. “ Lord knows! Hi! Didn’t say dat! ** said he, suddenly catching his breath, with a ludicrous flourish of apprehension, which made his mistress laugh, spite of herself. “Yes, missis, 1*11 look out for de bosses! **

“ Now, Andy,” said Sam, returning to his stand under the beech tree, “you see 1 wouldn’t be ’tall surprised if dat ar genTman’s crittur should gib a fling by and by, when he comes to be a-gettin* up. You know, Andy, critturs will do such things; ” and therewith Sam poked Andy in the side, in a highly suggestive manner.

“ Hi! ” said Andy, with an air of instant appreciation.

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

Andy grinned.

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

At this instant Haley appeared on the veranda. Some¬ what mollified by certain cups of very good coffee, he came out smiling and talking, in tolerably restored humor. Sam ®nd Andy, clawing for certain fragmentary palm-leaves whicb

46

UNCLE tom’s cabin; OB,

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

The instant Haley touched the saddle the mettlesome creature 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 confusion of his nerves. So, with great vehe¬ mence, he overturned Sam, and giving two or three contemp¬ tuous snorts, flourished his heels vigorously in the air, and was soon prancing away toward 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, ©am 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 in seeing how near he could allow his pursuers to approach him, and then, when within a hand’s breadth, whisk off with a start and a snort, like a mischievous beast as he was. and career far down into some alley of the wood-lot. Nothing was further from Sam’s mind than to have any one of the

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY*

4f

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 Coeur de lion, which always blazed in the front and thickest of the battle, Sam’s palm- leaf was to be seen everywhere when there was the least dan¬ ger that a horse could be caught;— there he would bear down full tilt, shouting, “ Now for it! cotch him! cotch nim! ” in a way that would set everything to indiscriminate rout in a moment

Haley ran up and down, and cursed and swore and stamped miscellaneously. Mr. Shelby in vain tried to shout direc¬ tions 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, shov/ing 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 jest pours off me! ”

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

“ Why, mas’r,” said Sam, in a deprecating tone, “ I be¬ lieve you mean to kill us all clar, horses and all. Here we are all jest ready to drop down, and the critturs all in a reek of sweat. Why, mas’r won’t think of startin’ on now till after dinner. Mas’r’s boss wants rubben’ down; see how he splashed hisself: and Jerry limps too; don’t think missis would be willin’ to have us start dis yer way, nohow. Lord bless you, mas’r, we can ketch up, if we do stop. Lizy never was no great of a walker.”

Mrs, Shelby, who, greatly to - her amusement, had over- heard this conversation from the veranda, now resolved to do her part. She came forward, and, courteously expressing her concern for Haley’s accident, pressed him to stay to din®

48 UNCLE tom’s cabin ; OR,

ner, saying that the cook should bring it on the table

immediately.

Thus, all things considered, Haley, with rather an equiv¬ ocal glance, 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 bam, and fastened the horse to a post. “ Oh, Lor, if it wam't as good as a meeting now, to see him a-dancin' and kickin' and swarm' at us. Didn't I hear him? Swar away, ole fellow (says I to myself); will yer have yer hoss now, or wait till you cotch him? (says I). Lor, Andy, I think I can see him now.” And Sam and Andy leaned up against the barn, and laughed to their hearts' content.

“ Yer oughter seen how mad he looked when I brought the hoss up. Lor, he'd 'a' killed me, if he durs' to; and there I was a-standin' as innercent and as humble.”

“ Lor, 1 seed you,” said Andy; “an't you an old boss, Sam ! ”

“ Rather 'specie I am,” said Sam; “ did yer see missis up- sta'rs at the winder? 1 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 ye may call a habit o' ^observation , Andy. It's a very 'portant habit, Andy, and I 'commend yer to be cultivatin' it, now yer young. Hist up that hind foot, Andy. Yer see, Andy, it's bobservation makes all de difference in niggers. Didn’t X see which way the wind blew dis yer xnornin'? Didn't X see what missis wanted, though she never let on? Dat ar's bobservation, Andy. X 'spects it's what you may call a faculty. Faculties is different in different peoples, but cultivation of 'em goes a great way.”

“ I guess if X hadn't helped your bobservation dis mornin', yer wouldn't have seen your way so smart,” said Andy.

“ Andy,” said Sam, “ you's a promisin' child, der an't no matter o' doubt. T think lots of yer, Andy; and X don't feel noways ashamed to take idees from you. We 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 borin' missis '11 give us an uncommon good bite, dis yer time/'

&IFE AMONG THB LOWLT.

CHAPTER VH.

THE MOTHER’S STRUGGLE.

It 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 sufferings and dangers, and the danger ol her child, all blended in her mind with a confused and stun¬ ning sense of the risk she was running in leaving the only home she had ever known, and cutting loose from the protec¬ tion of a friend whom she loved and revered. Then there was the parting from every familiar object, — the place where she had grown up, the trees under which she had played, the groves where she had walked many an evening in happier days, by the side of her young husband,— everything, as it lay in the clear, frosty starlight, seemed to speak reproach¬ fully to her, and ask her whither she could 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 trembled at the sound; every quaking leaf and fluttering shadow sent the blood backward to her heart, and quickened her footsteps. She wondered within herself at the strength that seemed to be come upon her; for she felt the weight of her boy as if it had been a feather, and 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,— a Lord, help! Lord, save me! ”

If it were your Harry, mother, or your Willie, that were going to be torn from you by a brutal trader, to-morrow morn¬ ing,— if you had seen the man, and heard that the papers were signed and delivered, and you had only from twelve o’clock till morning to make good your escape,— how fast could you walk? How many miles could you make in those few brief

UNCLE TOM’S CABIN ; 03,

m

hours, with the darling at your bosom, — the little sleepy head on your shoulder,— the small, soft arms trustingly hold¬ ing on to your neck? For the child slept. At first the novelty and alarm kept him waking; but his mother so hur¬ riedly 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? ”

" 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, and gentle breathings that came in her neck, seemed to add fire and spirit to her movements. It seemed to her as if strength poured into her in electric streams, from every gentle touch and movement of the sleep¬ ing, confiding child. Sublime is the dominion of the mind over the body, that, for a time, can make flesh and nerve im¬ pregnable, 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 con¬ nections in the little village of T — — , not far from the Ohio Biver, and knew the road well. To go thither, to escape across the Ohio Biver, 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 ©a her remark and suspicion. She therefore put the boy out

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY.

51

the ground, and, adjusting her dress and bonnet, she walked on at as rapid a pace as she thought consistent with the preservation of appearances. In her little bundle she had provided a store of cakes and apples, which she used as ex¬ pedients for quickening the speed of the child, rolling the apple some yards before them, when the boy would run with all his might after it; and this ruse, often repeated, carried them over many a half-mile.

After a while they came to a thick patch of woodland, through which murmured a clear brook. As the child com¬ plained of hunger and thirst she climbed over the fence with him; and sitting down behind a large rock which concealed them from the road, she gave him a breakfast out of her little package. The boy wondered and grieved that she could not eat; and when, putting his arms round her neck, he tried to wedge some of his cake into her mouth, it seemed to her that the rising in her throat would choke h‘er.

“ Ho, 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 vrell-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, without a critical survey, and her child was white also, it was much easier for her to pass on unsuspected.

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

The good woman, kindly and gossiping, 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 prov@ strictly true.

An hour before sunset she entered the village of T— - % by the Ohio River, weary and footsore but still strong in heart. Her first glance was at the river* which Him

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

ede.

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 quantities, and the narrow channel which swept round the bend was full of ice, piled one cake over another, thus form¬ ing a temporary barrier to the descending ice, which lodged and formed a great, undulating raft, filling up the whole river and extending almost to the Kentucky shore.

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

The hostess, who was busjr in various fizzing and stewing operations over the fire, preparatory to the evening meal, stopped, with a fork in her hand, as Eliza’s sweet and plaint¬ ive voice arrested her.

“What is it?” she said.

“ Isn’t there any ferry or boat that takes people over to B— , now? ” she said.

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

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

“ May be you’re wanting to get over?— anybody sick? Ye seem mighty anxious? ”

“ I’ve got a child that’s very dangerous,” said Eliza. “ 1 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 motherly sympathies were much aroused; “I’m re’ily eon- sarned for ye. Solomon! ” she called, from the window, toward a small back building. A man, in a leather apron and very dirty hands, appeared at the door.

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

“ He said he should try, if’t was any way prudent,” said the man.

“ There’s a man a piece down here, that’s going over with ©©me truck this evening, if he dura’ to; he’ll be in here to

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY.

58

supper to-night, so you’d better set down and wait. That’s a sweet little fellow/’ added the woman, offering him a cake.

But the child, wholly exhausted, cried with weariness.

“ Poor fellow! he isn’t used to walking, and I have hur¬ ried him on so/’ said Eliza.

“ Well, take him into this room/’ said the woman, opening into a small bedroom, where stood a comfortable bed. Eliza laid the weary boy upon it, and held his hand 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 fol¬ low the course of her pursuers.

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

For some singular reason an impression seemed to reign among the servants generally that missis v/culd 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 “wam’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 noways, but was walkin’ and stalkin’ to the winders and through the porch.”

“ Sarves him right! ” said Aunt Chloe indignantly. "He’ll get was nor oneasy, one of these days, if he do n't

$4

tool® tom’s cabin; or,

mead his ways, Ilis master ’ll be sending for him, and then see how he’ll look! ”

“ 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, stop¬ ping with a fork uplifted in her hands; “ it’s like what Mas’r George reads in Kavelations,— souls a-callin’ unde” the altar! and a-eallin’ on the Lord for vengeance on sicli!— and by and by the Lord he’ll hear ’em,— so he will! ”

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

“ Sich ’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 a-f eared you don’t know what ye’re sayin’. Forever is a dre’ful word, chil’en; it’s awful to think on’t. You oughtenter wish that ar to any human erittur.”

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

“Don’t natur herself kinder cry out on ’em?” said Aunt Chloe. “ Don’t dey tear der suckin’ baby right off his mother’s breast, and sell him, and der little chil’en 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 tought I can’t pray for ’em.”

“ It’s natur, Chloe, and naturis strong,” said Tom, “but Hie Lord’s grace is stronger; besides, you oughter think what

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY* 55

gn awful state a poor crittur’s soul’s in that ’ll do them ar things,— you oughter thank God that you an’t like him, Chloe. Tm sure I’d rather be sold, ten thousand times over* than to have ail that ar poor crittur’s got to answer for.”

“ So’d I, a heap,” said Jake. “ Lor, shouldn't we cotch itP 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 seilin’, 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 to 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 everywhar, as I’ve done, a-keepin’ up all the ends. The boys all means well, but they’s powerful car’less. That ar troubles me.”

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

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

“ Thank you, mas’r,” said Tom.

“And mind yerself,” said the trader, “and don’t come it over yer master wTith any o’ yer nigger tricks; for I’ll take every cent out of him, if you an’t thar. If he’d hear to me lie wouldn’t trust any on ye,— slippery as eels! ”

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

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

“ My good boy,” said he, “ the Lord knows you say but the truth; and if I was able to help it, all the world shouldn’t buy you.”

“ And ac j am a Christian woman,” said Mrs. Shelby, .

u you shall be redeemed as soon as I can anyway bring to«

56

UNOLB TOlfs CABIN; OBt

gether the 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.”

“ Pll trade with you then, and make it for your advantage,” said Mrs. Shelby.

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

Mr. and Mrs. Shelby both felt annoyed and degraded by the familiar impudence of the trader, and yet both saw the absolute necessity of putting a constraint on their feelings. The more hopelessly sordid and insensible he appeared, the greater became Mrs. Shelby’s dread of his succeeding in re¬ capturing Eliza and her child, and of course the greater her motive for detaining him by every female artifice. She therefore graciously smiled, assented, chatted familiarly, and did all she could to make time pass imperceptibly.

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

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

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

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

“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, noway.”

“ 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 up a look of earnest and desperate simplicity.

“ Our dogs all smells round consid’able sharp. I spect they’s the kind, though they han’t never had no practice. They’s far dogs, though, at most anything, if you’d get

LIFE AMO NG THE LOWLY,

57

started. Here, Bruno," he called, whistling to the lumber¬ ing Newfoundland, who came pitching tumultuously toward him.

“ 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. Yer 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.”

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

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

“ ’Cause,” said Sam, “ I’d rather be ’dined to ’magine that Lizy’d take de dirt road, bein’ it’s de least traveled.”

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

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

The pensive, reflective tone in which this was spoken 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 Sam’s face was immovably composed into the most doleful gravity.

“ Course,” said Sam, “ mas’r can do as he’d ruther; go de straight road, if mas’r thinks best,— it’s all one to us. Now, when I study ’pan it, I think the straight road de best, deridedly .”

“She would naturally go a lonesome way,” said Haley, thinking aloud, and not minding Sam’s remark.

“Bar an’t no sayin’,” said Sam; “gals is peeul’ar; they never does nothin’ ye thinks they will; mose gen’lly th© contrar. Gals is nat’lly made contrary; and so, if you thinks

88 uncle tom’s cabin; or,

they’ve gone one road, it is sartin you’d better go t’other, 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.”

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

“ A little piece ahead,” said Sam, giving a wink to Andy with the eye which was on Andy’s side of the head; and he added gravely, “ but I’ve studded on de matter, and I’m quite clar we ought not to go dat ar way. I nebber been over it noways. 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 “ beam 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 un¬ willing 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,— in¬ deed, the road had been so long closed up that Andy had never heard of it. He therefore rode along with an air of dutiful submission, only groaning and vociferating occasion¬ ally 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".; will go his own way! ” said Sam, with rw-roi sub»

MFE AMONG TH J LOWLl

59

mission, at the same time winking most portentously to Andy, whose delight was now very near the explosive point.

Sam was in wonderful spirits, —professed to keep a very brisk lookout, — at one time exclaiming that he saw “ a gal’s' bonnet ” on the top of some distant eminence, or calling to Andy “ if thar wasn’t Lizy down in the hollow ”; always making these exclamations in some rough or craggy part of the road, where the sudden quickening of speed was a special inconvenience to all parties concerned, and thus 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 barnyard 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 evident that their journey in that direction had reached a decided finale.

“Warn’t dat ar what I telled mas’r?” said Sam, with an air of injured innocence. f‘ How does strange gentlemen spect to know more about a country dan de natives bora and raised?”

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

“ Didn’t I teli yer I Tcnoiv’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 an¬ other 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 win¬ dow, 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. Rhe caught her child, and sprang down the steps toward iu The trader caught a full glimpse of her, just m

60

uncle tom’s cabin; .or*

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

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

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

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

“ Oh, Mr. Symmes! — save me,— do save me,— do hide me!” said Eliza.

“Whv, what’s this?” said the man. “Why, ift an’t

Shelby’s gal!”

“My child!— this boy! — he’d sold him! There is his mas’r,” said she, pointing to the Kentucky shore. “ Oh, Mr. Symmes, you’ve got a little boy! ”

“ So I have,” said the man, as he roughly, hut 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 hank, 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, off the main street of the village. “ Go thar; they’re kind folks. Thar’s no kind o’ danger but they’il help you, — they’re up to all that sort o’ thing.”

“ The Lord bless you! ” said Eliza earnestly.

XIFB AMO ya THE LOWLY.

61

wTTo ’casion, no ’casion in the world/* said the man. * What I'Ve done’s of no ’count/*

“ And oh, surely, sir, you won*t tell anyone! **

“ 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’ crittur a-strivin’ and pantin’, and trying to clar theirselves with the dogs arter ’em, and go agin ’em. Besides, I don’t see no kind o’ ’casion for me to be hunter and catcher fer other folks, neither.”

So spoke this poor heathenish Kentuckian, who had not been Instructed in hi constitutional relations, and conse¬ quent!}' war betrayed into acting in a sort of Christianized manner, which, if he had been better situated and more en¬ lightened, 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 tol’able 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 sense us tryin’ dat ar road. Don’t think I feel spry enough for dat ar, noway! ” and Sam gave a hoarse chuckle. “ You laugh! ” said the trader, with a growl.

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

“ I’ll make yer laugh t’other side of yer mouths! ” said th© trader, laying about their heads with his riding-whip.

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

§8 UNCLE TOM’S CABIN • 0 B,

“ Good-evening, mas’r! ” said Sam, with much gravity ? “ X bery much spect missis be anxious ’bout Jerry. Mas’r Haley won’t want us no longer. Missis wouldn’t hear of our ridin5 the critters over Lizy’s bridge to-night; ” and with a face¬ tious poke into Andy’s ribs, he started off, foliated by the latter, at full speed,— their shouts of laughter coming faintly ©n the wind.

CHAPTER VIIL eliza’s escape.

Eliza made her desperate retreat across the river just in the dusk of twiiight. 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 \e done. The woman opened to him the door of a little parlor, covered with a rag carpet, where stood a table with a very shining black oil-cloth, sundry lank, high-backed wood chairs, with some plaster images in resplendent colors on the mantel-sheM, above a very dimly smoking grate; a long hard-wood settle extended its uneasy length by the chimney, and here Haley sat him down to meditate on the instability of human hopes and happiness in general.

“ What did I want with the little cuss, now,” he said to himself, “ that I should have got myself treed like a coon, as I am, this yer way?” and Haley relieved himself by re¬ peating 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 ©f the room, was a brawny, muscular man, full six feet in height, and broad in proportion. Pie was dressed in a coat ©f buffalo skin* made with the hair outward* which gave him

LIFE among the lowly, 6#

a shaggy and fierce appearance, perfectly in keeping with the whole car 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 bulldog 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 cf his physique. He was accompanied by a traveling companion, in many re¬ spects an exact contrast to himself. He was short and slen¬ der, 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 general; his sleek, thin black hair was stuck eagerly forward, and all his motions and evolutions expressed a dry, cautious acuteness. The great big man poured out a big tumbler half full of raw spirits, and gulped it down without a word. The little man stood tiptoe, and putting his head first to one side and then to the other, and snuffing considerately in the directions of the various bottles, ordered at last a mint julep in a thin and quavering voice, and with an air of great circumspection. When poured out, he took it and looked at it with a sharp, complacent air, like a man who thinks he has done about the right thing and hit the nail on the head, and proceeded to- dispose of it in short and well-advised sips.

“Wal, now, who’d V thought this yer luck ?ad ecme to me? Why, Loker, how are ye?” said Haley, coming for¬ ward 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 locks at a moving dry leaf, or some other possible object of pursuit

“ 1 say, Tom, this yer’s the luckiest thing in the world, Vm in a devil of a hobble, and you must help me out.”

u 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 of ’em. What*® the blow now? ”

“ Ymfve got a friend here?” said Haley* looking doubfe* fully at Marks; “ partner* perhaps? 99

§4 rNCLis tom’s cabin ; on,

4S Yes, 1 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 daw. “ Mr. Hal^y, I believe? ”

“The same, sir,” said Haley. “And now, gentlemen, seem’ as we’ve met so happily, I think I’ll stand up to a small matter of a treat in this here parlor. So, now, old coon ” said he to the man at the bar, “ get us hot water, and sugar, and cigars, and plenty of the real stuff , and we’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 ail the accessories to good- fellowship enumerated before.

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

“ So, then, ye’re 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’m improvement I knows on/’—and Marks patronized his joke by a quiet introductory sniggle.

“ Jess so,” said Haley; “ I never couldn;t see into it; young tins is heaps of trouble to ’em; one would think, now, they’d be glad to get clar on ’em; but they am’t. And the more trouble a young un is, and the more good for nothing, as a gen’l thing, the tighter they stick to ’em.”

“ Wal, Mr. Halev,” said Marks, “ jest pass the hot water. Yes, sir; you say jest what I feel and allers 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 bad a young un that was xnis’able sickly; it had a crooked

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY.

m

Wc^, 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 vally the child more ’pause *iwa$ sickly and cross, and plagued her; and she warn’t mak¬ ing 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 Eed liiver, 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, ye see, I thought there wan’t no harm in my jest passing him along, and not sayin’ nothin’; and I’d got him nicely swapped off for a keg o’ whisky; but come to get him away from the gal, she was jest like a tiger. So ’twas before we started, and I hadn’t got my gang chained up; so what should she do but ups on a cotton-bale, like a cat, ketches a knife from one of the deck hands, and, I tell ye, she made all fly for a minit, till she saw ’twarn’t no use; and she jest turns round, and pitches head first, young un and all, into the river— went down plump, and never ris.”

“ Bah! ” said Tom Loker, who had listened to these stories with ill-repressed disgust,— “ shii’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. c 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 beginning of a word.’ I says to ’em, 4 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, you don’t cut up none o’ 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 be¬ gins and gives a yelp, why ” — and Mr. Loker brought down his fist with a thump that fully explained the hiatus.

“ That ar’s what ye may call emphasis said Marks, poking Haley in the side, and going into another small giggle.

* An’t Tom peculiar? He! he! he! I say, Ter, X ’sped

m

UHCLJ2 TOM’S CABIN; OB,

you make ’em understand, for ail 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 enlarge¬ ment of his moral faculties,- — a phenomenon not unusual with gentlemen 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.”

“Bah!” said Tom, “don’t I know?— don’t make me too sick with any yer stuff,— my ctomach 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 gesturing 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 everything, ’caise 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 have 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 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? ’Taa’t that you care one bit more, or have a bit more

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY,

m

seelin’, — it’s clean, sheer, dog meanness, wanting to cheat the devil, and save your own skin; don’t I see through it? And your ‘ gettin’ religion/ as you call it, arter all, is too p’isin mean for any crittur; — run up a bill with the devil all your life, and then sneak out when pay time comes! Bah! ”

“ Come, come, gentlemen, I say; this isn’t business/’ said Marks. “ There’s different ways, you know, of looking at all subjects. Mr. Haley is a very nice man, no doubt, and has his own conscience; and, Tom, you have your ways, and very good ones, too, Tom; but quarreling, 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 sral, Mr. Haley, how is she? what is she?”

“ Wal! white and handsome,— well brought up. I’d V 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 a1! alive with enterprise. ^Look here, now, Loker, a beautiful opening. We’ll do a business here on our own account;— are does the eatchin’; 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 Ms leisure.

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

m

use LiS TOM’S C/J1S ; OB,

I works seven hundred niggers; then, again, I come out a distant relation of Henry Ciay, or some old cock in Kentucky Talents is different, yer 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 anything and everything, and put in all the circumstances and flourishes with a longer face, and carry’t through better’ll I can, why, I’d like to see him, that’s all! I b’iieve, in my heart, I could get along and snake through, even if justices were more particular than they is. Sometimes I rather wish they was more particular; ’twould be a heap more relishin* if they was — more fun, yer know.”

Tom Loker, who, as w^e 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 Hale}^.

“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 something, say ten per cent, on the profits, expenses paid.”

“Now,” said Loker, with a tremendous oath, and striking the table with his heavy fist, “ don’t I know you , Dan Haley? Don’t you think to come it over me! Suppose Marks and I have taken up the catchin’ trade; jest to ’commodate gentle¬ men like you, and get nothin’ for ourselves?— Not by a long chalk! we’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 Shelby wants to chase us, look where the partridges was last year; if you find them or us, you’re quite welcome.”

“ Oh, wal, certainly, jest let it go at that,” said Haley* alarmed; “ you catch the hoy for the job; you ailers did trade far with me, Tom, and was up to yer word.”

“ Ye know that,” said Tom; “ I don’t pretend none of your sniveling 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?”

Jes so* jes so*— I said so* Tom/ said Haley, * mid if

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY.

69

Only promise to have the hoy for me in a week, at any point you name, that’s all I want.”

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

“ Why, when you have a job in hand which may bring a clean profit of somewhere about a thousand or sixteen hun¬ dred, why, Tom, you’re onreasonable,” said Haley.

“ Yes, and hasn’t we business booked for five weeks to come, — all we can do? And suppose we leaves all, and goes to bushwhacking round arter yer young un, and finally 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-doing it, — ugh! No, no; flap down your fifty. If we 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, yer know. Wal, we must all keep good-natured,— keep easy, yer know. Tom ’]1 have the boy for yer, anywhere 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 pocketbook, and taking a long paper from thence, he sat down, and fixing his keen black eyes on it, began mumbling its contents: “ 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 nmnin’ over our business to see if we can take up this yer handily. Loker,” he said, after a pause, “we must set Adams and Springer on the track of these yer; they’ve been booked some time.”

“ They’ll charge too much,” said Tom.

“I’ll manage that ar; they’s young in the business, and jnust 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’m, or swear they is shot; they couldn’t^ of

?0

uncle tom’s cabin ; oh,

course, charge much for that. Them other cases;'* he said* folding the paper, “ will bear puttin’ off for a spell. So now let’s come to the particulars. Now, Mr. Haley, you saw thi® yer gal when she landed? ”

“ To be sure, — plain as I see you.”

“ And a man helpin’ 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. Tern -

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

“Oh. no; an’t a grain afraid,” said Marks; “only- — — ”

“ Only what? ” said Tom.

“ Well, about the boat. Yer see there an’t any boat.”

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

“ I s’pose you’ve got good dogs,” salt Haley.

“ First-rate,” said Marks, “ But what’s the use? you han’t got nothing o’ her 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 aFs lucky,” said Loker; “ fork over.”

“ Though the dogs might damage the gal, if they come on her unawares,” said Haley.

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

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

“ I do see,” said Marks. “ Besides, if she’s got took in, ^tan’t no go, neither. Dogs is no ’count in these yer States

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY*

n

where these eritturs gets carried; of course, ye can t get on their track. They only does down in plantations, where nig¬ gers, 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 east 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 re¬ luctance, 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 re¬ tains the locomotive tendencies of this nineteenth century, the trader and catcher may yet be among the aristocracy.

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

Sam was in the highest possible feather, and expressed his exultation by all sorts of supernatural howls and ejaculations, by divers odd motions and contortions of his whole system. Sometimes he would sit backward, with his face to the horse's tail and 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 con¬ trived to keep the horses up to the top of their speed, until, between ten and eleven, their heels resounded on the gravel at the end of the balcony. Mrs. Shelby flew to the railings.

“ Is that you, Sam? Where are they? "

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

“ And Eliza, Sam? "

_ “ Wal, she's clar 'cross Jordan. As a body may say* in the land o' Canaan."

!

UN CL® tom’s cabin; OB*

“ Why, Bam, what do you mean? ” said Mrs, Shelby, breathless, 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 hosses.”

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

“ Come up here, Sam,” said Mr. Shelby, who had followed on to the 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 I not a woman,— a mother? Are we not both responsible to God for this poor girl? My God! lay not this sin to our charge.”

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

“ There’s an awful feeling of guilt about it, though,” said Mrs. Shelby. “ I can’t reason it away.”

“ Here, Andy, you nigger, be alive! ” called Sam under the veranda; “take these yer bosses to de barn; don’t ye hear mas’r a-callin’ ! ” and Sam soon appeared, palm-leaf in hand, at the parlor doer.

“ How, 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-erossin’ 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. Crossing on floating ice isn’t so easily done,” said Mr. Shelby.

“ Easy! couldn’t nobody ’a’ done it, wiclout de Lord. WTiy, 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 little ahead, — I’s so zealous to be a-cotchin’ Lizy that I couldn’t hold in, noway —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 Lisy she bars, and. she dodges back, when Mas’r Haley he goes past the door; and then, I tell ye, she dared ou£ de side door; she

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY.

n

went down de river bank; — Mas’r Haley he seed her, and yelied out, and him, and me, and Andy, we took arter. Down she come to the river, and thar 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 sich a screech as I never heam, and thar she was, clar over t’other side the cur¬ rent, on the ^tee, and then on she went, a-screeching and a-jumpin’— the ice went crack! — c’wallop! cracking! chunk! and she a-boundin’ like a buck! Lord, the spring that ar gal’s got in her an’t common, I’m o’ ’pinion.”

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

“ 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 piously. “ As I’ve been a-sayin’, dis yer’s a providence and no mistake, as missis has allers been a-instructin’ on us. Thar’s allers instruments ris up to de Lord’s will. Now, if’fc 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 aLow no such practices with gentlemen on my place,” said Mr. Shelby, with as much sternness 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 noway; anybody’s been raised as I’ve been can’t Jaelp a-ser : y dat ar.”

tfNQLE TOM’S CABIN ; OR,

“ Well, Sam,” said Mrs. Shelby, “ as you appear to have ft proper sense of your errors, you may go now and tell Aunt Chioe she may get you some of that cold ham that was left of dinner to-daj^. You and Andy must be hungry.”

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

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

“ Fll speechify these yer niggers,” said Sam to himself, “ now Pve got a chance. Lord, Fll reel it off to make 'em stare! ”

It must be observed that one of Sands especial delights had been to ride in attendance on his master to all kinds of politi¬ cal gatherings, where, roosted on some rail fence, or perched aloft in some tree, he would sit watching the orators with the greatest apparent gusto, and then, descending among the various brethren of his own color, assembled on the same errand, he would edify and delight them with the most ludi¬ crous burlesques and imitations, all delivered with the most imperturbable earnestness and solemnity; and though the auditors immediately about him were generally of his own color, it not unfrequently happened that they vrere fringed pretty deeply with those of a fairer complexion, who listened, laughing and winking, to Sands great self-congratulation. In fact, Sam considered oratory as his vocation, and never let slip an opportunity of magnifying his office.

Now, between Sam and Aunt Chioe 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 he emi¬ nently conciliatory; for he well knew that although “ missis* orders ” would undoubtedly he followed to the letter, yet he should gain a considerable deal by enlisting the soirit also. He therefore appeared before Aunt Chioe with a touchingly

SJFB AMONG THE LOWLT.

n

subdued, resigned expression, like one who has suffered im¬ measurable hardships in behalf of a persecuted fellow-erea- 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 unequivoc¬ ally 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 politician with more ease than Aunt Chloe was won over by Master Sam’s suavities; and if he had been the prodigal son himself, he could not have been overwhelmed with more maternal bountifulness; and he soon found himself seated, happy and glorious, over a large tin pan containing a sort of olla podrida of all that had appeared on the table for two or three days past. Savory morsels of ham, golden blocks of corn-cake, fragments of pie of every conceivable mathemati¬ cal figure, chicken wings, gizzards, and drumsticks, all appeared in picturesque confusion; and Sam, as monarch of all he surveyed, sat with his palm-leaf cocked rejoicingly to one side, and patronizing Andy at his right hand.

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

“ Yer see, fellow-countrymen,” said Sam, elevating a turkey’s leg, with energy, “ yer see, now, what dis chile’s up ter, for ’fendin’ yer all, — yes, all on yer. For him as tries to get one o’ our people is as gjod as tryin’ to get all; yer see the principle’s de same,— dat ar s claw And anyone o’ these yer drivers that comes smelling round arter any o’ cur people, .why, he’s got me in Ms way; Fr.i the feller he’s got t® set in

UNCLES tom’s cabin ; OB,

with,— I’m the feller for yer all to come to, bredren,~JTi stand np for yer rights, — i’ll ’fend ’em to the last breath! ” Why, but, Sam, yer telled me, only this mornin’, that you’d help this yer mas’r to eotch Lizy; seems to me yer talk don’t hang together,” said Andy.

“I tell you now, Andy,” said Sam, with awful superiority, “ don’t yer be a-talkin’ ’bout what yer don’t know nothin’ on; boys like you, Andy, means weli, 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 younger members of the company 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 was conscience more yet , — ’cause fellers allers gets more by stickin’ to missis* side, — so yer see I’s persistent either way, and sticks up to conscience, and holds on to principles. Yes, principles ,” said Sam, giving an enthusiastic toss to a chicken’s neck, — “ what’s principles good for, if we isn’t persistent, I wanter know? Thar, Andy, you may have dat ar bone,— ’tan’t picked quite clean.”

Sam’s audience hanging on his words with open mouth, he could but proceed.

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

LIFE AMONG THE LOWLY.

7»

for a closing effort. “ Yes, my feller-citizens and ladies of de other sex in general, I has principles, — I'm proud to 'ooa 'em, — they's perquisite to dese yer times, and ter all times. I has principles, and I sticks