The World's Greatest Books - Volume 8 Part 19

"My child!--this boy--he'd sold him! There is his mas'r," said she, pointing to the Kentucky sh.o.r.e. "Oh, Mr. Symmes, you've got a little boy."

"So I have," said the man, as he roughly but kindly helped her up the bank. "Besides, you're a right brave gal. I'd be glad to do something for you. The best thing I can do is to tell you to go _there_," pointing to a large white house, standing by itself, "they're kind folks. There's no kind o' danger but they'll help you--they're up to all that sort of thing."

"The Lord bless you!" said Eliza earnestly, and folding her child to her bosom, walked firmly away.

Late that night the fugitives were driven to the house of a man who had once been a considerable shareholder in Kentucky; but, being possessed of a great, honest, just heart, he had witnessed for years with uneasiness the workings of a system equally bad for oppressors and oppressed, and one day bought some land in Ohio, made out free pa.s.ses for all his people, and settled down to enjoy his conscience. He conveyed Eliza to a Quaker settlement, where by the help of these good friends she was joined by her husband and soon landed in Canada. Free!

_III.--The Property Is Carried Off_

An unceremonious kick pushed open the door of Uncle Tom's cabin, and Mr.

Haley stood there in very ill humour after his hard riding and ill success.

"Come, ye n.i.g.g.e.r, ye'r ready. Servant, ma'am!" said he, taking off his hat as he saw Mrs. Shelby, who detained him a few moments. Speaking in an earnest manner, she made him promise to let her know to whom he sold Tom; while Tom rose up meekly, and his wife took the baby in her arms, her tears seeming suddenly turned to sparks of fire, to go with him to the wagon: "Get in," said Haley, and Tom got in, when Haley made fast a heavy pair of shackles round each ankle; a groan of indignation ran round the crowd of servants gathered to bid Tom farewell. Mr. Shelby had gone away on business, hoping all would be over before he returned.

"Give my love to Mas'r George," said Tom earnestly, as he was whirled away, fixing a steady, mournful look to the last on the old place. Tom insensibly won his way far into the confidence of such a man as Mr.

Haley, and on the steamboat was permitted to come and go freely where he pleased. Among the pa.s.sengers was a young gentleman of New Orleans whose little daughter often and often walked mournfully round the place where Haley's gang of men and women were chained. To Tom she appeared almost divine; he half believed he saw one of the angels stepped out of his New Testament, and they soon got on confidential terms. As the steamer drew near New Orleans Mr. St. Clare, carelessly putting the tip of his finger under Tom's chin, said good-humouredly, "Look up, Tom, and see how you like your new master."

It was not in nature to look into that gay, handsome young face without pleasure, and Tom said heartily, "G.o.d bless you, Mas'r."

Eva's fancy for him had led her to pet.i.tion her father that Tom might be her special attendant in her walks and rides. He was called coachman, but his stable duties were a sinecure; struck with his good business capacity, his master confided in him more and more, till gradually all the providing for the family was entrusted to him. Tom regarded his airy young master with an odd mixture of fealty, reverence and fatherly solicitude, and his friendship with Eva grew with the child's growth; but his home yearnings grew so strong that he tried to write a letter--so unsuccessfully that St. Clare offered to write for him, and.

Tom had the joy of receiving an answer from Master George, stating that Aunt Chloe had been hired out, at her own request, to a confectioner, and was gaining vast sums of money, all of which was to be laid by for Tom's redemption.

About two years after his coming, Eva began to fail rapidly, and even her father could no longer deceive himself. Eva was about to leave him.

It was Tom's greatest joy to carry the frail little form in his arms, up and down, into the veranda, and to him she talked, what she would not distress her father with, of these mysterious intimations which the soul feels ere it leaves its clay for ever. He lay, at last, all night in the veranda ready to rouse at the least call, and at midnight came the message. Earth was pa.s.sed and earthly pain; so solemn was the triumphant brightness of that face it checked even the sobs of sorrow. A glorious smile, and she said, brokenly, "Oh--love--joy--peace" and pa.s.sed from death unto life.

Week after week glided by in the St. Clare mansion and the waves of life settled back to their usual flow where that little bark had gone down.

St. Clare was in many respects another man; he read his little Eva's Bible seriously and honestly; he thought soberly of his relations to his servants, and he commenced the legal steps necessary to Tom's emanc.i.p.ation as he had promised Eva he would do. But, one evening while Tom was sitting thinking of his home, feeling the muscles of his brawny arms with joy as he thought how he would work to buy his wife and boys; his master was brought home dying. He had interfered in an affray in a cafe and been stabbed.

He reached out and took Tom's hand; he closed his eyes, but still retained his hold; for in the gates of eternity the black hand and the white hold each other with an equal grasp, and softly murmured some words he had been singing that evening--words of entreaty to Infinite Pity.

_IV.--Freedom_

Mrs. St. Clare decided at once to sell the place and all the servants, except her own personal property, and although she was told of her husband's intention of freeing Tom, he was sold by auction with the rest. His new master, Mr. Simon Legree, came round to review his purchases as they sat in chains on the lower deck of a small mean boat, on their way to his cotton plantation, on the Red River. "I say, all on ye," he said, "look at me--look me right in the eye--straight, now!"

stamping his foot. "Now," said he, doubling his great heavy fist, "d'ye see this fist? Heft it," he said, bringing it down on Tom's hand. "Look at these yer bones! Well, I tell ye this yer fist has got as hard as iron knocking down n.i.g.g.e.rs. I don't keep none of yer cussed overseers; I does my own overseeing and I tell ye things _is_ seen to. You won't find no soft spot in me, nowhere. So, now, mind yourselves; for I don't show no mercy!" The women drew in their breath; and the whole gang sat with downcast, dejected faces. Trailing wearily behind a rude wagon, and over a ruder road, Tom and his a.s.sociates came to their new home. The whole place looked desolate, everything told of coa.r.s.e neglect and discomfort.

Three or four ferocious looking dogs rushed out and were with difficulty restrained from laying hold of Tom and his companions.

"Ye see what ye'd get!" said Legree. "Ye see what ye'd get if you tried to run off. They'd just as soon chaw one on ye up as eat their supper.

So mind yourself. How now, Sambo!" to a ragged fellow, who was officious in his attentions, "How have things been goin' on?"

"Fust rate, mas'r."

"Quimbo," said Legree to another, "ye minded what I tell'd ye?"

"Guess I did, didn't I?"

Legree had trained these two men in savagery as systematically as he had his bulldogs, and they were in admirable keeping with the vile character of the whole place.

Tom's heart sank as he followed Sambo to the quarters. They had a forlorn, brutal air. He had been comforting himself with the thought of a cottage, rude indeed but one which he might keep neat and quiet and read his Bible in out of his labouring hours. They were mere rude sheds with no furniture but a heap of straw, foul with dirt. "Spec there's room for another thar'," said Sambo, "thar's a pretty smart heap o'

n.i.g.g.e.rs to each on 'em, now. Sure, I dunno what I's to do with more."

Tom looked in vain, as the weary occupants of the shanties came flocking home, for a companionable face; he saw only sullen, embruted men and feeble, discouraged women; or, those who, treated in every way like brutes, had sunk to their level.

"Thar you!" said Quimbo throwing down a coa.r.s.e bag containing a peck of corn, "thar, n.i.g.g.e.r, grab, you won't get no more _dis_ yer week."

Tom was faint for want of food, but moved by the utter weariness of two women, whom he saw trying to grind their corn, he ground for them; and then set about getting his own supper. An expression of kindness came over their hard faces--they mixed his cake for him, and tended the baking, and Tom drew out his Bible by the light of the fire--for he had need of comfort.

Tom saw enough of abuse and misery in his new life to make him sick and weary; but he toiled on with religious patience, committing himself to Him that judgeth righteously. Legree took silent note, and rating him as a first-cla.s.s hand, made up his mind that Tom must be hardened; he had bought him with a view to making him a sort of overseer, so one night he told him to flog one of the women. Tom begged him not to set him at that. He could not do it, "no way possible." Legree struck him repeatedly with a cowhide. "There," said he stopping to rest, "now will ye tell me ye can't do it?"

"Yes, mas'r," said Tom, wiping the blood from his face. "I'm willin' to work, night and day; but this yer thing I can't feel it right to do; and mas'r, I never shall do it, never!"

Legree looked stupefied--Tom was so respectful--but at last burst forth:

"What, ye blasted black beast! tell _me_ ye don't think it right to do what I tell ye. So ye pretend it's wrong to flog the girl?"

"I think so, mas'r," said Tom. "'Twould be downright cruel, the poor critter's sick and feeble. Mas'r, if you mean to kill me, kill me; but as to my raising my hand against anyone here, I never will--I'll die first." Legree shook with anger. "Here, Sambo!--Quimbo!" he shouted, "give this dog such a breakin' in as he won't get over this month."

The two seized Tom with fiendish exultation, and dragged him unresistingly from the place.

For weeks and months Tom wrestled, in darkness and sorrow--crushing back to his soul the bitter thought that G.o.d had forgotten him. One night he sat like one stunned when everything around him seemed to fade, and a vision rose of One crowned with thorns, buffeted and bleeding; and a voice said, "He that overcometh shall sit down with Me on My throne, even as I also overcame, and am set down with My Father upon His throne."

From this time an inviolable peace filled the lowly heart of the oppressed one; life's uttermost woes fell from him unharming.

Scenes of blood and cruelty are shocking to our ear and heart. What man has nerve to do, man has not nerve to hear.

Tom lay dying at last; not suffering, for every nerve was blunted and destroyed; when George Shelby found him, and his voice reached his dying ear.

"Oh, Mas'r George, he ain't done me any real harm: only opened the gate of Heaven for me. Who--who shall separate us from the love of Christ?"

and with a smile he fell asleep.

As George knelt by the grave of his poor friend, "Witness, eternal G.o.d,"

said he, "Oh, witness that, from this hour, I will do what one man can to drive out the curse of slavery from my land!"