{"id":260,"date":"2025-09-26T20:51:50","date_gmt":"2025-09-26T20:51:50","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/?p=260"},"modified":"2026-01-28T15:35:56","modified_gmt":"2026-01-28T15:35:56","slug":"uncle-toms-cabin-chapters-28-31","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/?p=260","title":{"rendered":"Uncle Tom’s Cabin – Chapters 28-31"},"content":{"rendered":"

The following chapters show once again how precarious the lives of the enslaved could be. While Augustine St. Clare finds himself ready to take action in his own life against the evils of slavery under a Christian conviction nurtured by Eva and by Tom, events coincide to complicate Tom’s life once again. In Chapter 31 we are introduced to Simon Legree, Tom’s third and final human master. Of the three, two are portrayed as “humane” and the third as a brute, but Stowe shows that kind master or evil, an enslaved human is at the mercy of a system that defines him as\u00a0 chattel.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

CHAPTER XXVIII<\/h6>\n

Reunion<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Week after week glided away in the St. Clare mansion, and the waves of life settled back to their usual flow, where that little bark had gone down. For how imperiously, how coolly, in disregard of all one\u2019s feeling, does the hard, cold, uninteresting course of daily realities move on! Still must we eat, and drink, and sleep, and wake again,\u2014still bargain, buy, sell, ask and answer questions,\u2014pursue, in short, a thousand shadows, though all interest in them be over; the cold mechanical habit of living remaining, after all vital interest in it has fled.<\/p>\n

All the interests and hopes of St. Clare\u2019s life had unconsciously wound themselves around this child. It was for Eva that he had managed his property; it was for Eva that he had planned the disposal of his time; and, to do this and that for Eva,\u2014to buy, improve, alter, and arrange, or dispose something for her,\u2014had been so long his habit, that now she was gone, there seemed nothing to be thought of, and nothing to be done.<\/p>\n

True, there was another life,\u2014a life which, once believed in, stands as a solemn, significant figure before the otherwise unmeaning ciphers of time, changing them to orders of mysterious, untold value. St. Clare knew this well; and often, in many a weary hour, he heard that slender, childish voice calling him to the skies, and saw that little hand pointing to him the way of life; but a heavy lethargy of sorrow lay on him,\u2014he could not arise. He had one of those natures which could better and more clearly conceive of religious things from its own perceptions and instincts, than many a matter-of-fact and practical Christian. The gift to appreciate and the sense to feel the finer shades and relations of moral things, often seems an attribute of those whose whole life shows a careless disregard of them. Hence Moore, Byron, Goethe, often speak words more wisely descriptive of the true religious sentiment, than another man, whose whole life is governed by it. In such minds, disregard of religion is a more fearful treason,\u2014a more deadly sin.<\/p>\n

St. Clare had never pretended to govern himself by any religious obligation; and a certain fineness of nature gave him such an instinctive view of the extent of the requirements of Christianity, that he shrank, by anticipation, from what he felt would be the exactions of his own conscience, if he once did resolve to assume them. For, so inconsistent is human nature, especially in the ideal, that not to undertake a thing at all seems better than to undertake and come short.<\/p>\n

Still St. Clare was, in many respects, another man. He read his little Eva\u2019s Bible seriously and honestly; he thought more soberly and practically of his relations to his servants,\u2014enough to make him extremely dissatisfied with both his past and present course; and one thing he did, soon after his return to New Orleans, and that was to commence the legal steps necessary to Tom\u2019s emancipation, which was to be perfected as soon as he could get through the necessary formalities. Meantime, he attached himself to Tom more and more, every day. In all the wide world, there was nothing that seemed to remind him so much of Eva; and he would insist on keeping him constantly about him, and, fastidious and unapproachable as he was with regard to his deeper feelings, he almost thought aloud to Tom. Nor would any one have wondered at it, who had seen the expression of affection and devotion with which Tom continually followed his young master.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, Tom,\u201d said St. Clare, the day after he had commenced the legal formalities for his enfranchisement, \u201cI\u2019m going to make a free man of you;\u2014so have your trunk packed, and get ready to set out for Kentuck.\u201d<\/p>\n

The sudden light of joy that shone in Tom\u2019s face as he raised his hands to heaven, his emphatic \u201cBless the Lord!\u201d rather discomposed St. Clare; he did not like it that Tom should be so ready to leave him.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou haven\u2019t had such very bad times here, that you need be in such a rapture, Tom,\u201d he said drily.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, no, Mas\u2019r! \u2019tan\u2019t that,\u2014it\u2019s bein\u2019 a\u00a0freeman!\u00a0that\u2019s what I\u2019m joyin\u2019 for.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy, Tom, don\u2019t you think, for your own part, you\u2019ve been better off than to be free?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, indeed, Mas\u2019r St. Clare,\u201d said Tom, with a flash of energy. \u201cNo, indeed!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy, Tom, you couldn\u2019t possibly have earned, by your work, such clothes and such living as I have given you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKnows all that, Mas\u2019r St. Clare; Mas\u2019r\u2019s been too good; but, Mas\u2019r, I\u2019d rather have poor clothes, poor house, poor everything, and have \u2019em\u00a0mine, than have the best, and have \u2019em any man\u2019s else,\u2014I had\u00a0so, Mas\u2019r; I think it\u2019s natur, Mas\u2019r.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI suppose so, Tom, and you\u2019ll be going off and leaving me, in a month or so,\u201d he added, rather discontentedly. \u201cThough why you shouldn\u2019t, no mortal knows,\u201d he said, in a gayer tone; and, getting up, he began to walk the floor.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot while Mas\u2019r is in trouble,\u201d said Tom. \u201cI\u2019ll stay with Mas\u2019r as long as he wants me,\u2014so as I can be any use.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot while I\u2019m in trouble, Tom?\u201d said St. Clare, looking sadly out of the window. . . . \u201cAnd when will\u00a0my\u00a0trouble be over?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen Mas\u2019r St. Clare\u2019s a Christian,\u201d said Tom.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you really mean to stay by till that day comes?\u201d said St. Clare, half smiling, as he turned from the window, and laid his hand on Tom\u2019s shoulder. \u201cAh, Tom, you soft, silly boy! I won\u2019t keep you till that day. Go home to your wife and children, and give my love to all.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI \u2019s faith to believe that day will come,\u201d said Tom, earnestly, and with tears in his eyes; \u201cthe Lord has a work for Mas\u2019r.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA work, hey?\u201d said St. Clare, \u201cwell, now, Tom, give me your views on what sort of a work it is;\u2014let\u2019s hear.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy, even a poor fellow like me has a work from the Lord; and Mas\u2019r St. Clare, that has larnin, and riches, and friends,\u2014how much he might do for the Lord!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTom, you seem to think the Lord needs a great deal done for him,\u201d said St. Clare, smiling.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe does for the Lord when we does for his critturs,\u201d said Tom.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood theology, Tom; better than Dr. B. preaches, I dare swear,\u201d said St. Clare.<\/p>\n

The conversation was here interrupted by the announcement of some visitors.<\/p>\n

Marie St. Clare felt the loss of Eva as deeply as she could feel anything; and, as she was a woman that had a great faculty of making everybody unhappy when she was, her immediate attendants had still stronger reason to regret the loss of their young mistress, whose winning ways and gentle intercessions had so often been a shield to them from the tyrannical and selfish exactions of her mother. Poor old Mammy, in particular, whose heart, severed from all natural domestic ties, had consoled itself with this one beautiful being, was almost heart-broken. She cried day and night, and was, from excess of sorrow, less skilful and alert in her ministrations of her mistress than usual, which drew down a constant storm of invectives on her defenceless head.<\/p>\n

Miss Ophelia felt the loss; but, in her good and honest heart, it bore fruit unto everlasting life. She was more softened, more gentle; and, though equally assiduous in every duty, it was with a chastened and quiet air, as one who communed with her own heart not in vain. She was more diligent in teaching Topsy,\u2014taught her mainly from the Bible,\u2014did not any longer shrink from her touch, or manifest an ill-repressed disgust, because she felt none. She viewed her now through the softened medium that Eva\u2019s hand had first held before her eyes, and saw in her only an immortal creature, whom God had sent to be led by her to glory and virtue. Topsy did not become at once a saint; but the life and death of Eva did work a marked change in her. The callous indifference was gone; there was now sensibility, hope, desire, and the striving for good,\u2014a strife irregular, interrupted, suspended oft, but yet renewed again.<\/p>\n

One day, when Topsy had been sent for by Miss Ophelia, she came, hastily thrusting something into her bosom.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you doing there, you limb? You\u2019ve been stealing something, I\u2019ll be bound,\u201d said the imperious little Rosa, who had been sent to call her, seizing her, at the same time, roughly by the arm.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou go \u2019long, Miss Rosa!\u201d said Topsy, pulling from her; \u201c\u2018tan\u2019t none o\u2019 your business!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNone o\u2019 your sa\u2019ce!\u201d said Rosa, \u201cI saw you hiding something,\u2014I know yer tricks,\u201d and Rosa seized her arm, and tried to force her hand into her bosom, while Topsy, enraged, kicked and fought valiantly for what she considered her rights. The clamor and confusion of the battle drew Miss Ophelia and St. Clare both to the spot.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s been stealing!\u201d said Rosa.<\/p>\n

\u201cI han\u2019t, neither!\u201d vociferated Topsy, sobbing with passion.<\/p>\n

\u201cGive me that, whatever it is!\u201d said Miss Ophelia, firmly.<\/p>\n

Topsy hesitated; but, on a second order, pulled out of her bosom a little parcel done up in the foot of one of her own old stockings.<\/p>\n

Miss Ophelia turned it out. There was a small book, which had been given to Topsy by Eva, containing a single verse of Scripture, arranged for every day in the year, and in a paper the curl of hair that she had given her on that memorable day when she had taken her last farewell.<\/p>\n

St. Clare was a good deal affected at the sight of it; the little book had been rolled in a long strip of black crape, torn from the funeral weeds.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did you wrap\u00a0this\u00a0round the book for?\u201d said St. Clare, holding up the crape.<\/p>\n

\u201cCause,\u2014cause,\u2014cause \u2019t was Miss Eva. O, don\u2019t take \u2019em away, please!\u201d she said; and, sitting flat down on the floor, and putting her apron over her head, she began to sob vehemently.<\/p>\n

It was a curious mixture of the pathetic and the ludicrous,\u2014the little old stockings,\u2014black crape,\u2014text-book,\u2014fair, soft curl,\u2014and Topsy\u2019s utter distress.<\/p>\n

St. Clare smiled; but there were tears in his eyes, as he said,<\/p>\n

\u201cCome, come,\u2014don\u2019t cry; you shall have them!\u201d and, putting them together, he threw them into her lap, and drew Miss Ophelia with him into the parlor.<\/p>\n

\u201cI really think you can make something of that concern,\u201d he said, pointing with his thumb backward over his shoulder. \u201cAny mind that is capable of a\u00a0real sorrow\u00a0is capable of good. You must try and do something with her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe child has improved greatly,\u201d said Miss Ophelia. \u201cI have great hopes of her; but, Augustine,\u201d she said, laying her hand on his arm, \u201cone thing I want to ask; whose is this child to be?\u2014yours or mine?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy, I gave her to you,\u201d said Augustine.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut not legally;\u2014I want her to be mine legally,\u201d said Miss Ophelia.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhew! cousin,\u201d said Augustine. \u201cWhat will the Abolition Society think? They\u2019ll have a day of fasting appointed for this backsliding, if you become a slaveholder!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cO, nonsense! I want her mine, that I may have a right to take her to the free States, and give her her liberty, that all I am trying to do be not undone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cO, cousin, what an awful \u2018doing evil that good may come\u2019! I can\u2019t encourage it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t want you to joke, but to reason,\u201d said Miss Ophelia. \u201cThere is no use in my trying to make this child a Christian child, unless I save her from all the chances and reverses of slavery; and, if you really are willing I should have her, I want you to give me a deed of gift, or some legal paper.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, well,\u201d said St. Clare, \u201cI will;\u201d and he sat down, and unfolded a newspaper to read.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I want it done now,\u201d said Miss Ophelia.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s your hurry?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause now is the only time there ever is to do a thing in,\u201d said Miss Ophelia. \u201cCome, now, here\u2019s paper, pen, and ink; just write a paper.\u201d<\/p>\n

St. Clare, like most men of his class of mind, cordially hated the present tense of action, generally; and, therefore, he was considerably annoyed by Miss Ophelia\u2019s downrightness.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy, what\u2019s the matter?\u201d said he. \u201cCan\u2019t you take my word? One would think you had taken lessons of the Jews, coming at a fellow so!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI want to make sure of it,\u201d said Miss Ophelia. \u201cYou may die, or fail, and then Topsy be hustled off to auction, spite of all I can do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cReally, you are quite provident. Well, seeing I\u2019m in the hands of a Yankee, there is nothing for it but to concede;\u201d and St. Clare rapidly wrote off a deed of gift, which, as he was well versed in the forms of law, he could easily do, and signed his name to it in sprawling capitals, concluding by a tremendous flourish.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere, isn\u2019t that black and white, now, Miss Vermont?\u201d he said, as he handed it to her.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood boy,\u201d said Miss Ophelia, smiling. \u201cBut must it not be witnessed?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cO, bother!\u2014yes. Here,\u201d he said, opening the door into Marie\u2019s apartment, \u201cMarie, Cousin wants your autograph; just put your name down here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s this?\u201d said Marie, as she ran over the paper. \u201cRidiculous! I thought Cousin was too pious for such horrid things,\u201d she added, as she carelessly wrote her name; \u201cbut, if she has a fancy for that article, I am sure she\u2019s welcome.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere, now, she\u2019s yours, body and soul,\u201d said St. Clare, handing the paper.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo more mine now than she was before,\u201d Miss Ophelia. \u201cNobody but God has a right to give her to me; but I can protect her now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, she\u2019s yours by a fiction of law, then,\u201d said St. Clare, as he turned back into the parlor, and sat down to his paper.<\/p>\n

Miss Ophelia, who seldom sat much in Marie\u2019s company, followed him into the parlor, having first carefully laid away the paper.<\/p>\n

\u201cAugustine,\u201d she said, suddenly, as she sat knitting, \u201chave you ever made any provision for your servants, in case of your death?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d said St. Clare, as he read on.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen all your indulgence to them may prove a great cruelty, by and by.\u201d<\/p>\n

St. Clare had often thought the same thing himself; but he answered, negligently.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I mean to make a provision, by and by.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen?\u201d said Miss Ophelia.<\/p>\n

\u201cO, one of these days.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat if you should die first?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCousin, what\u2019s the matter?\u201d said St. Clare, laying down his paper and looking at her. \u201cDo you think I show symptoms of yellow fever or cholera, that you are making post mortem arrangements with such zeal?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2018In the midst of life we are in death,\u2019\u201d said Miss Ophelia.<\/p>\n

St. Clare rose up, and laying the paper down, carelessly, walked to the door that stood open on the verandah, to put an end to a conversation that was not agreeable to him. Mechanically, he repeated the last word again,\u2014\u201cDeath!\u201d\u2014and, as he leaned against the railings, and watched the sparkling water as it rose and fell in the fountain; and, as in a dim and dizzy haze, saw flowers and trees and vases of the courts, he repeated, again the mystic word so common in every mouth, yet of such fearful power,\u2014\u201cDEATH!\u201d \u201cStrange that there should be such a word,\u201d he said, \u201cand such a thing, and we ever forget it; that one should be living, warm and beautiful, full of hopes, desires and wants, one day, and the next be gone, utterly gone, and forever!\u201d<\/p>\n

It was a warm, golden evening; and, as he walked to the other end of the verandah, he saw Tom busily intent on his Bible, pointing, as he did so, with his finger to each successive word, and whispering them to himself with an earnest air.<\/p>\n

\u201cWant me to read to you, Tom?\u201d said St. Clare, seating himself carelessly by him.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf Mas\u2019r pleases,\u201d said Tom, gratefully, \u201cMas\u2019r makes it so much plainer.\u201d<\/p>\n

St. Clare took the book and glanced at the place, and began reading one of the passages which Tom had designated by the heavy marks around it. It ran as follows:<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen the Son of man shall come in his glory, and all his holy angels with him, then shall he sit upon the throne of his glory: and before him shall be gathered all nations; and he shall separate them one from another, as a shepherd divideth his sheep from the goats.\u201d St. Clare read on in an animated voice, till he came to the last of the verses.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen shall the king say unto him on his left hand, Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire: for I was an hungered, and ye gave me no meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me no drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me not in: naked, and ye clothed me not: I was sick, and in prison, and ye visited me not. Then shall they answer unto Him, Lord when saw we thee an hungered, or athirst, or a stranger, or naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not minister unto thee? Then shall he say unto them, Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these my brethren, ye did it not to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

St. Clare seemed struck with this last passage, for he read it twice,\u2014the second time slowly, and as if he were revolving the words in his mind.<\/p>\n

\u201cTom,\u201d he said, \u201cthese folks that get such hard measure seem to have been doing just what I have,\u2014living good, easy, respectable lives; and not troubling themselves to inquire how many of their brethren were hungry or athirst, or sick, or in prison.\u201d<\/p>\n

Tom did not answer.<\/p>\n

St. Clare rose up and walked thoughtfully up and down the verandah, seeming to forget everything in his own thoughts; so absorbed was he, that Tom had to remind him twice that the teabell had rung, before he could get his attention.<\/p>\n

St. Clare was absent and thoughtful, all tea-time. After tea, he and Marie and Miss Ophelia took possession of the parlor almost in silence.<\/p>\n

Marie disposed herself on a lounge, under a silken mosquito curtain, and was soon sound asleep. Miss Ophelia silently busied herself with her knitting. St. Clare sat down to the piano, and began playing a soft and melancholy movement with the \u00c6olian accompaniment. He seemed in a deep reverie, and to be soliloquizing to himself by music. After a little, he opened one of the drawers, took out an old music-book whose leaves were yellow with age, and began turning it over.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere,\u201d he said to Miss Ophelia, \u201cthis was one of my mother\u2019s books,\u2014and here is her handwriting,\u2014come and look at it. She copied and arranged this from Mozart\u2019s Requiem.\u201d Miss Ophelia came accordingly.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was something she used to sing often,\u201d said St. Clare. \u201cI think I can hear her now.\u201d<\/p>\n

He struck a few majestic chords, and began singing that grand old Latin piece, the \u201cDies Ir\u00e6.\u201d<\/p>\n

Tom, who was listening in the outer verandah, was drawn by the sound to the very door, where he stood earnestly. He did not understand the words, of course; but the music and manner of singing appeared to affect him strongly, especially when St. Clare sang the more pathetic parts. Tom would have sympathized more heartily, if he had known the meaning of the beautiful words:\u2014<\/p>\n

\u201cRecordare Jesu pie
\nQuod sum causa tu\u00e6r vi\u00e6
\nNe me perdas, illa die
\nQu\u00e6rens me sedisti lassus
\nRedemisti crucem passus
\nTantus labor non sit cassus.\u201d[1]<\/p>\n

[1]\u00a0These lines have been thus rather inadequately translated:\r\n\r\n\u201cThink, O Jesus, for what reason\r\nThou endured\u2019st earth\u2019s spite and treason,\r\nNor me lose, in that dread season;\r\nSeeking me, thy worn feet hasted,\r\nOn the cross thy soul death tasted,\r\nLet not all these toils be wasted.\u201d\r\n\r\n[Mrs. Stowe\u2019s note.]<\/pre>\n
St. Clare threw a deep and pathetic expression into the words; for the shadowy veil of years seemed drawn away, and he seemed to hear his mother\u2019s voice leading his. Voice and instrument seemed both living, and threw out with vivid sympathy those strains which the ethereal Mozart first conceived as his own dying requiem.<\/p>\n
When St. Clare had done singing, he sat leaning his head upon his hand a few moments, and then began walking up and down the floor.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat a sublime conception is that of a last judgment!\u201d said he,\u2014\u201ca righting of all the wrongs of ages!\u2014a solving of all moral problems, by an unanswerable wisdom! It is, indeed, a wonderful image.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is a fearful one to us,\u201d said Miss Ophelia.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt ought to be to me, I suppose,\u201d said St. Clare stopping, thoughtfully. \u201cI was reading to Tom, this afternoon, that chapter in Matthew that gives an account of it, and I have been quite struck with it. One should have expected some terrible enormities charged to those who are excluded from Heaven, as the reason; but no,\u2014they are condemned for\u00a0not\u00a0doing positive good, as if that included every possible harm.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPerhaps,\u201d said Miss Ophelia, \u201cit is impossible for a person who does no good not to do harm.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd what,\u201d said St. Clare, speaking abstractedly, but with deep feeling, \u201cwhat shall be said of one whose own heart, whose education, and the wants of society, have called in vain to some noble purpose; who has floated on, a dreamy, neutral spectator of the struggles, agonies, and wrongs of man, when he should have been a worker?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI should say,\u201d said Miss Ophelia, \u201cthat he ought to repent, and begin now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAlways practical and to the point!\u201d said St. Clare, his face breaking out into a smile. \u201cYou never leave me any time for general reflections, Cousin; you always bring me short up against the actual present; you have a kind of eternal\u00a0now, always in your mind.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNow\u00a0is all the time I have anything to do with,\u201d said Miss Ophelia.<\/p>\n
\u201cDear little Eva,\u2014poor child!\u201d said St. Clare, \u201cshe had set her little simple soul on a good work for me.\u201d<\/p>\n
It was the first time since Eva\u2019s death that he had ever said as many words as these to her, and he spoke now evidently repressing very strong feeling.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy view of Christianity is such,\u201d he added, \u201cthat I think no man can consistently profess it without throwing the whole weight of his being against this monstrous system of injustice that lies at the foundation of all our society; and, if need be, sacrificing himself in the battle. That is, I mean that\u00a0I\u00a0could not be a Christian otherwise, though I have certainly had intercourse with a great many enlightened and Christian people who did no such thing; and I confess that the apathy of religious people on this subject, their want of perception of wrongs that filled me with horror, have engendered in me more scepticism than any other thing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you knew all this,\u201d said Miss Ophelia, \u201cwhy didn\u2019t you do it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cO, because I have had only that kind of benevolence which consists in lying on a sofa, and cursing the church and clergy for not being martyrs and confessors. One can see, you know, very easily, how others ought to be martyrs.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, are you going to do differently now?\u201d said Miss Ophelia.<\/p>\n
\u201cGod only knows the future,\u201d said St. Clare. \u201cI am braver than I was, because I have lost all; and he who has nothing to lose can afford all risks.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd what are you going to do?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy duty, I hope, to the poor and lowly, as fast as I find it out,\u201d said St. Clare, \u201cbeginning with my own servants, for whom I have yet done nothing; and, perhaps, at some future day, it may appear that I can do something for a whole class; something to save my country from the disgrace of that false position in which she now stands before all civilized nations.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you suppose it possible that a nation ever will voluntarily emancipate?\u201d said Miss Ophelia.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d said St. Clare. \u201cThis is a day of great deeds. Heroism and disinterestedness are rising up, here and there, in the earth. The Hungarian nobles set free millions of serfs, at an immense pecuniary loss; and, perhaps, among us may be found generous spirits, who do not estimate honor and justice by dollars and cents.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI hardly think so,\u201d said Miss Ophelia.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut, suppose we should rise up tomorrow and emancipate, who would educate these millions, and teach them how to use their freedom? They never would rise to do much among us. The fact is, we are too lazy and unpractical, ourselves, ever to give them much of an idea of that industry and energy which is necessary to form them into men. They will have to go north, where labor is the fashion,\u2014the universal custom; and tell me, now, is there enough Christian philanthropy, among your northern states, to bear with the process of their education and elevation? You send thousands of dollars to foreign missions; but could you endure to have the heathen sent into your towns and villages, and give your time, and thoughts, and money, to raise them to the Christian standard? That\u2019s what I want to know. If we emancipate, are you willing to educate? How many families, in your town, would take a negro man and woman, teach them, bear with them, and seek to make them Christians? How many merchants would take Adolph, if I wanted to make him a clerk; or mechanics, if I wanted him taught a trade? If I wanted to put Jane and Rosa to a school, how many schools are there in the northern states that would take them in? how many families that would board them? and yet they are as white as many a woman, north or south. You see, Cousin, I want justice done us. We are in a bad position. We are the more\u00a0obvious\u00a0oppressors of the negro; but the unchristian prejudice of the north is an oppressor almost equally severe.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, Cousin, I know it is so,\u201d said Miss Ophelia,\u2014\u201cI know it was so with me, till I saw that it was my duty to overcome it; but, I trust I have overcome it; and I know there are many good people at the north, who in this matter need only to be\u00a0taught\u00a0what their duty is, to do it. It would certainly be a greater self-denial to receive heathen among us, than to send missionaries to them; but I think we would do it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u00a0would, I know,\u201d said St. Clare. \u201cI\u2019d like to see anything you wouldn\u2019t do, if you thought it your duty!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, I\u2019m not uncommonly good,\u201d said Miss Ophelia. \u201cOthers would, if they saw things as I do. I intend to take Topsy home, when I go. I suppose our folks will wonder, at first; but I think they will be brought to see as I do. Besides, I know there are many people at the north who do exactly what you said.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, but they are a minority; and, if we should begin to emancipate to any extent, we should soon hear from you.\u201d<\/p>\n
Miss Ophelia did not reply. There was a pause of some moments; and St. Clare\u2019s countenance was overcast by a sad, dreamy expression.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know what makes me think of my mother so much, tonight,\u201d he said. \u201cI have a strange kind of feeling, as if she were near me. I keep thinking of things she used to say. Strange, what brings these past things so vividly back to us, sometimes!\u201d<\/p>\n
St. Clare walked up and down the room for some minutes more, and then said,<\/p>\n
\u201cI believe I\u2019ll go down street, a few moments, and hear the news, tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n
He took his hat, and passed out.<\/p>\n
Tom followed him to the passage, out of the court, and asked if he should attend him.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, my boy,\u201d said St. Clare. \u201cI shall be back in an hour.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tom sat down in the verandah. It was a beautiful moonlight evening, and he sat watching the rising and falling spray of the fountain, and listening to its murmur. Tom thought of his home, and that he should soon be a free man, and able to return to it at will. He thought how he should work to buy his wife and boys. He felt the muscles of his brawny arms with a sort of joy, as he thought they would soon belong to himself, and how much they could do to work out the freedom of his family. Then he thought of his noble young master, and, ever second to that, came the habitual prayer that he had always offered for him; and then his thoughts passed on to the beautiful Eva, whom he now thought of among the angels; and he thought till he almost fancied that that bright face and golden hair were looking upon him, out of the spray of the fountain. And, so musing, he fell asleep, and dreamed he saw her coming bounding towards him, just as she used to come, with a wreath of jessamine in her hair, her cheeks bright, and her eyes radiant with delight; but, as he looked, she seemed to rise from the ground; her cheeks wore a paler hue,\u2014her eyes had a deep, divine radiance, a golden halo seemed around her head,\u2014and she vanished from his sight; and Tom was awakened by a loud knocking, and a sound of many voices at the gate.<\/p>\n
He hastened to undo it; and, with smothered voices and heavy tread, came several men, bringing a body, wrapped in a cloak, and lying on a shutter. The light of the lamp fell full on the face; and Tom gave a wild cry of amazement and despair, that rung through all the galleries, as the men advanced, with their burden, to the open parlor door, where Miss Ophelia still sat knitting.<\/p>\n
St. Clare had turned into a cafe, to look over an evening paper. As he was reading, an affray arose between two gentlemen in the room, who were both partially intoxicated. St. Clare and one or two others made an effort to separate them, and St. Clare received a fatal stab in the side with a bowie-knife, which he was attempting to wrest from one of them.<\/p>\n
The house was full of cries and lamentations, shrieks and screams, servants frantically tearing their hair, throwing themselves on the ground, or running distractedly about, lamenting. Tom and Miss Ophelia alone seemed to have any presence of mind; for Marie was in strong hysteric convulsions. At Miss Ophelia\u2019s direction, one of the lounges in the parlor was hastily prepared, and the bleeding form laid upon it. St. Clare had fainted, through pain and loss of blood; but, as Miss Ophelia applied restoratives, he revived, opened his eyes, looked fixedly on them, looked earnestly around the room, his eyes travelling wistfully over every object, and finally they rested on his mother\u2019s picture.<\/p>\n
The physician now arrived, and made his examination. It was evident, from the expression of his face, that there was no hope; but he applied himself to dressing the wound, and he and Miss Ophelia and Tom proceeded composedly with this work, amid the lamentations and sobs and cries of the affrighted servants, who had clustered about the doors and windows of the verandah.<\/p>\n
\u201cNow,\u201d said the physician, \u201cwe must turn all these creatures out; all depends on his being kept quiet.\u201d<\/p>\n
St. Clare opened his eyes, and looked fixedly on the distressed beings, whom Miss Ophelia and the doctor were trying to urge from the apartment. \u201cPoor creatures!\u201d he said, and an expression of bitter self-reproach passed over his face. Adolph absolutely refused to go. Terror had deprived him of all presence of mind; he threw himself along the floor, and nothing could persuade him to rise. The rest yielded to Miss Ophelia\u2019s urgent representations, that their master\u2019s safety depended on their stillness and obedience.<\/p>\n
St. Clare could say but little; he lay with his eyes shut, but it was evident that he wrestled with bitter thoughts. After a while, he laid his hand on Tom\u2019s, who was kneeling beside him, and said, \u201cTom! poor fellow!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat, Mas\u2019r?\u201d said Tom, earnestly.<\/p>\n
\u201cI am dying!\u201d said St. Clare, pressing his hand; \u201cpray!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you would like a clergyman\u2014\u201d said the physician.<\/p>\n
St. Clare hastily shook his head, and said again to Tom, more earnestly, \u201cPray!\u201d<\/p>\n
And Tom did pray, with all his mind and strength, for the soul that was passing,\u2014the soul that seemed looking so steadily and mournfully from those large, melancholy blue eyes. It was literally prayer offered with strong crying and tears.<\/p>\n
When Tom ceased to speak, St. Clare reached out and took his hand, looking earnestly at him, but saying nothing. He closed his eyes, but still retained his hold; for, in the gates of eternity, the black hand and the white hold each other with an equal clasp. He murmured softly to himself, at broken intervals,<\/p>\n
\u201cRecordare Jesu pie\u2014
\n* * * *
\nNe me perdas\u2014illa die
\nQu\u00e6rens me\u2014sedisti lassus.\u201d<\/p>\n
It was evident that the words he had been singing that evening were passing through his mind,\u2014words of entreaty addressed to Infinite Pity. His lips moved at intervals, as parts of the hymn fell brokenly from them.<\/p>\n
\u201cHis mind is wandering,\u201d said the doctor.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo! it is coming\u00a0HOME, at last!\u201d said St. Clare, energetically; \u201cat last! at last!\u201d<\/p>\n
The effort of speaking exhausted him. The sinking paleness of death fell on him; but with it there fell, as if shed from the wings of some pitying spirit, a beautiful expression of peace, like that of a wearied child who sleeps.<\/p>\n
So he lay for a few moments. They saw that the mighty hand was on him. Just before the spirit parted, he opened his eyes, with a sudden light, as of joy and recognition, and said\u00a0\u201cMother!\u201d\u00a0and then he was gone!<\/p>\n
[click 2 for next chapter]<\/p>\n
\n

\nCHAPTER XXIX<\/p>\n
The Unprotected<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n
We hear often of the distress of the negro servants, on the loss of a kind master; and with good reason, for no creature on God\u2019s earth is left more utterly unprotected and desolate than the slave in these circumstances.<\/p>\n
The child who has lost a father has still the protection of friends, and of the law; he is something, and can do something,\u2014has acknowledged rights and position; the slave has none. The law regards him, in every respect, as devoid of rights as a bale of merchandise. The only possible acknowledgment of any of the longings and wants of a human and immortal creature, which are given to him, comes to him through the sovereign and irresponsible will of his master; and when that master is stricken down, nothing remains.<\/p>\n
The number of those men who know how to use wholly irresponsible power humanely and generously is small. Everybody knows this, and the slave knows it best of all; so that he feels that there are ten chances of his finding an abusive and tyrannical master, to one of his finding a considerate and kind one. Therefore is it that the wail over a kind master is loud and long, as well it may be.<\/p>\n
When St. Clare breathed his last, terror and consternation took hold of all his household. He had been stricken down so in a moment, in the flower and strength of his youth! Every room and gallery of the house resounded with sobs and shrieks of despair.<\/p>\n
Marie, whose nervous system had been enervated by a constant course of self-indulgence, had nothing to support the terror of the shock, and, at the time her husband breathed his last, was passing from one fainting fit to another; and he to whom she had been joined in the mysterious tie of marriage passed from her forever, without the possibility of even a parting word.<\/p>\n
Miss Ophelia, with characteristic strength and self-control, had remained with her kinsman to the last,\u2014all eye, all ear, all attention; doing everything of the little that could be done, and joining with her whole soul in the tender and impassioned prayers which the poor slave had poured forth for the soul of his dying master.<\/p>\n
When they were arranging him for his last rest, they found upon his bosom a small, plain miniature case, opening with a spring. It was the miniature of a noble and beautiful female face; and on the reverse, under a crystal, a lock of dark hair. They laid them back on the lifeless breast,\u2014dust to dust,\u2014poor mournful relics of early dreams, which once made that cold heart beat so warmly!<\/p>\n
Tom\u2019s whole soul was filled with thoughts of eternity; and while he ministered around the lifeless clay, he did not once think that the sudden stroke had left him in hopeless slavery. He felt at peace about his master; for in that hour, when he had poured forth his prayer into the bosom of his Father, he had found an answer of quietness and assurance springing up within himself. In the depths of his own affectionate nature, he felt able to perceive something of the fulness of Divine love; for an old oracle hath thus written,\u2014\u201cHe that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him.\u201d Tom hoped and trusted, and was at peace.<\/p>\n
But the funeral passed, with all its pageant of black crape, and prayers, and solemn faces; and back rolled the cool, muddy waves of every-day life; and up came the everlasting hard inquiry of \u201cWhat is to be done next?\u201d<\/p>\n
It rose to the mind of Marie, as, dressed in loose morning-robes, and surrounded by anxious servants, she sat up in a great easy-chair, and inspected samples of crape and bombazine. It rose to Miss Ophelia, who began to turn her thoughts towards her northern home. It rose, in silent terrors, to the minds of the servants, who well knew the unfeeling, tyrannical character of the mistress in whose hands they were left. All knew, very well, that the indulgences which had been accorded to them were not from their mistress, but from their master; and that, now he was gone, there would be no screen between them and every tyrannous infliction which a temper soured by affliction might devise.<\/p>\n
It was about a fortnight after the funeral, that Miss Ophelia, busied one day in her apartment, heard a gentle tap at the door. She opened it, and there stood Rosa, the pretty young quadroon, whom we have before often noticed, her hair in disorder, and her eyes swelled with crying.<\/p>\n
\u201cO, Miss Feeley,\u201d she said, falling on her knees, and catching the skirt of her dress, \u201cdo, do go\u00a0to Miss Marie for me! do plead for me! She\u2019s goin\u2019 to send me out to be whipped\u2014look there!\u201d And she handed to Miss Ophelia a paper.<\/p>\n
It was an order, written in Marie\u2019s delicate Italian hand, to the master of a whipping-establishment to give the bearer fifteen lashes.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat have you been doing?\u201d said Miss Ophelia.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know, Miss Feely, I\u2019ve got such a bad temper; it\u2019s very bad of me. I was trying on Miss Marie\u2019s dress, and she slapped my face; and I spoke out before I thought, and was saucy; and she said that she\u2019d bring me down, and have me know, once for all, that I wasn\u2019t going to be so topping as I had been; and she wrote this, and says I shall carry it. I\u2019d rather she\u2019d kill me, right out.\u201d<\/p>\n
Miss Ophelia stood considering, with the paper in her hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou see, Miss Feely,\u201d said Rosa, \u201cI don\u2019t mind the whipping so much, if Miss Marie or you was to do it; but, to be sent to a\u00a0man!\u00a0and such a horrid man,\u2014the shame of it, Miss Feely!\u201d<\/p>\n
Miss Ophelia well knew that it was the universal custom to send women and young girls to whipping-houses, to the hands of the lowest of men,\u2014men vile enough to make this their profession,\u2014there to be subjected to brutal exposure and shameful correction. She had\u00a0known\u00a0it before; but hitherto she had never realized it, till she saw the slender form of Rosa almost convulsed with distress. All the honest blood of womanhood, the strong New England blood of liberty, flushed to her cheeks, and throbbed bitterly in her indignant heart; but, with habitual prudence and self-control, she mastered herself, and, crushing the paper firmly in her hand, she merely said to Rosa,<\/p>\n
\u201cSit down, child, while I go to your mistress.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShameful! monstrous! outrageous!\u201d she said to herself, as she was crossing the parlor.<\/p>\n
She found Marie sitting up in her easy-chair, with Mammy standing by her, combing her hair; Jane sat on the ground before her, busy in chafing her feet.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow do you find yourself, today?\u201d said Miss Ophelia.<\/p>\n
A deep sigh, and a closing of the eyes, was the only reply, for a moment; and then Marie answered, \u201cO, I don\u2019t know, Cousin; I suppose I\u2019m as well as I ever shall be!\u201d and Marie wiped her eyes with a cambric handkerchief, bordered with an inch deep of black.<\/p>\n
\u201cI came,\u201d said Miss Ophelia, with a short, dry cough, such as commonly introduces a difficult subject,\u2014\u201cI came to speak with you about poor Rosa.\u201d<\/p>\n
Marie\u2019s eyes were open wide enough now, and a flush rose to her sallow cheeks, as she answered, sharply,<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, what about her?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe is very sorry for her fault.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe is, is she? She\u2019ll be sorrier, before I\u2019ve done with her! I\u2019ve endured that child\u2019s impudence long enough; and now I\u2019ll bring her down,\u2014I\u2019ll make her lie in the dust!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut could not you punish her some other way,\u2014some way that would be less shameful?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI mean to shame her; that\u2019s just what I want. She has all her life presumed on her delicacy, and her good looks, and her lady-like airs, till she forgets who she is;\u2014and I\u2019ll give her one lesson that will bring her down, I fancy!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut, Cousin, consider that, if you destroy delicacy and a sense of shame in a young girl, you deprave her very fast.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDelicacy!\u201d said Marie, with a scornful laugh,\u2014\u201ca fine word for such as she! I\u2019ll teach her, with all her airs, that she\u2019s no better than the raggedest black wench that walks the streets! She\u2019ll take no more airs with me!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou will answer to God for such cruelty!\u201d said Miss Ophelia, with energy.<\/p>\n
\u201cCruelty,\u2014I\u2019d like to know what the cruelty is! I wrote orders for only fifteen lashes, and told him to put them on lightly. I\u2019m sure there\u2019s no cruelty there!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo cruelty!\u201d said Miss Ophelia. \u201cI\u2019m sure any girl might rather be killed outright!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt might seem so to anybody with your feeling; but all these creatures get used to it; it\u2019s the only way they can be kept in order. Once let them feel that they are to take any airs about delicacy, and all that, and they\u2019ll run all over you, just as my servants always have. I\u2019ve begun now to bring them under; and I\u2019ll have them all to know that I\u2019ll send one out to be whipped, as soon as another, if they don\u2019t mind themselves!\u201d said Marie, looking around her decidedly.<\/p>\n
Jane hung her head and cowered at this, for she felt as if it was particularly directed to her. Miss Ophelia sat for a moment, as if she had swallowed some explosive mixture, and were ready to burst. Then, recollecting the utter uselessness of contention with such a nature, she shut her lips resolutely, gathered herself up, and walked out of the room.<\/p>\n
It was hard to go back and tell Rosa that she could do nothing for her; and, shortly after, one of the man-servants came to say that her mistress had ordered him to take Rosa with him to the whipping-house, whither she was hurried, in spite of her tears and entreaties.<\/p>\n
A few days after, Tom was standing musing by the balconies, when he was joined by Adolph, who, since the death of his master, had been entirely crest-fallen and disconsolate. Adolph knew that he had always been an object of dislike to Marie; but while his master lived he had paid but little attention to it. Now that he was gone, he had moved about in daily dread and trembling, not knowing what might befall him next. Marie had held several consultations with her lawyer; after communicating with St. Clare\u2019s brother, it was determined to sell the place, and all the servants, except her own personal property, and these she intended to take with her, and go back to her father\u2019s plantation.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo ye know, Tom, that we\u2019ve all got to be sold?\u201d said Adolph.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow did you hear that?\u201d said Tom.<\/p>\n
\u201cI hid myself behind the curtains when Missis was talking with the lawyer. In a few days we shall be sent off to auction, Tom.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe Lord\u2019s will be done!\u201d said Tom, folding his arms and sighing heavily.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019ll never get another such a master,\u201d said Adolph, apprehensively; \u201cbut I\u2019d rather be sold than take my chance under Missis.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tom turned away; his heart was full. The hope of liberty, the thought of distant wife and children, rose up before his patient soul, as to the mariner shipwrecked almost in port rises the vision of the church-spire and loving roofs of his native village, seen over the top of some black wave only for one last farewell. He drew his arms tightly over his bosom, and choked back the bitter tears, and tried to pray. The poor old soul had such a singular, unaccountable prejudice in favor of liberty, that it was a hard wrench for him; and the more he said, \u201cThy will be done,\u201d the worse he felt.<\/p>\n
He sought Miss Ophelia, who, ever since Eva\u2019s death, had treated him with marked and respectful kindness.<\/p>\n
\u201cMiss Feely,\u201d he said, \u201cMas\u2019r St. Clare promised me my freedom. He told me that he had begun to take it out for me; and now, perhaps, if Miss Feely would be good enough to speak bout it to Missis, she would feel like goin\u2019 on with it, was it as Mas\u2019r St. Clare\u2019s wish.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll speak for you, Tom, and do my best,\u201d said Miss Ophelia; \u201cbut, if it depends on Mrs. St. Clare, I can\u2019t hope much for you;\u2014nevertheless, I will try.\u201d<\/p>\n
This incident occurred a few days after that of Rosa, while Miss Ophelia was busied in preparations to return north.<\/p>\n
Seriously reflecting within herself, she considered that perhaps she had shown too hasty a warmth of language in her former interview with Marie; and she resolved that she would now endeavor to moderate her zeal, and to be as conciliatory as possible. So the good soul gathered herself up, and, taking her knitting, resolved to go into Marie\u2019s room, be as agreeable as possible, and negotiate Tom\u2019s case with all the diplomatic skill of which she was mistress.<\/p>\n
She found Marie reclining at length upon a lounge, supporting herself on one elbow by pillows, while Jane, who had been out shopping, was displaying before her certain samples of thin black stuffs.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat will do,\u201d said Marie, selecting one; \u201conly I\u2019m not sure about its being properly mourning.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLaws, Missis,\u201d said Jane, volubly, \u201cMrs. General Derbennon wore just this very thing, after the General died, last summer; it makes up lovely!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you think?\u201d said Marie to Miss Ophelia.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a matter of custom, I suppose,\u201d said Miss Ophelia. \u201cYou can judge about it better than I.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe fact is,\u201d said Marie, \u201cthat I haven\u2019t a dress in the world that I can wear; and, as I am going to break up the establishment, and go off, next week, I must decide upon something.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you going so soon?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes. St. Clare\u2019s brother has written, and he and the lawyer think that the servants and furniture had better be put up at auction, and the place left with our lawyer.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s one thing I wanted to speak with you about,\u201d said Miss Ophelia. \u201cAugustine promised Tom his liberty, and began the legal forms necessary to it. I hope you will use your influence to have it perfected.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIndeed, I shall do no such thing!\u201d said Marie, sharply. \u201cTom is one of the most valuable servants on the place,\u2014it couldn\u2019t be afforded, any way. Besides, what does he want of liberty? He\u2019s a great deal better off as he is.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut he does desire it, very earnestly, and his master promised it,\u201d said Miss Ophelia.<\/p>\n
\u201cI dare say he does want it,\u201d said Marie; \u201cthey all want it, just because they are a discontented set,\u2014always wanting what they haven\u2019t got. Now, I\u2019m principled against emancipating, in any case. Keep a negro under the care of a master, and he does well enough, and is respectable; but set them free, and they get lazy, and won\u2019t work, and take to drinking, and go all down to be mean, worthless fellows, I\u2019ve seen it tried, hundreds of times. It\u2019s no favor to set them free.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut Tom is so steady, industrious, and pious.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cO, you needn\u2019t tell me! I\u2019ve see a hundred like him. He\u2019ll do very well, as long as he\u2019s taken care of,\u2014that\u2019s all.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut, then, consider,\u201d said Miss Ophelia, \u201cwhen you set him up for sale, the chances of his getting a bad master.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cO, that\u2019s all humbug!\u201d said Marie; \u201cit isn\u2019t one time in a hundred that a good fellow gets a bad master; most masters are good, for all the talk that is made. I\u2019ve lived and grown up here, in the South, and I never yet was acquainted with a master that didn\u2019t treat his servants well,\u2014quite as well as is worth while. I don\u2019t feel any fears on that head.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell,\u201d said Miss Ophelia, energetically, \u201cI know it was one of the last wishes of your husband that Tom should have his liberty; it was one of the promises that he made to dear little Eva on her death-bed, and I should not think you would feel at liberty to disregard it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Marie had her face covered with her handkerchief at this appeal, and began sobbing and using her smelling-bottle, with great vehemence.<\/p>\n
\u201cEverybody goes against me!\u201d she said. \u201cEverybody is so inconsiderate! I shouldn\u2019t have expected that\u00a0you\u00a0would bring up all these remembrances of my troubles to me,\u2014it\u2019s so inconsiderate! But nobody ever does consider,\u2014my trials are so peculiar! It\u2019s so hard, that when I had only one daughter, she should have been taken!\u2014and when I had a husband that just exactly suited me,\u2014and I\u2019m so hard to be suited!\u2014he should be taken! And you seem to have so little feeling for me, and keep bringing it up to me so carelessly,\u2014when you know how it overcomes me! I suppose you mean well; but it is very inconsiderate,\u2014very!\u201d And Marie sobbed, and gasped for breath, and called Mammy to open the window, and to bring her the camphor-bottle, and to bathe her head, and unhook her dress. And, in the general confusion that ensued, Miss Ophelia made her escape to her apartment.<\/p>\n
She saw, at once, that it would do no good to say anything more; for Marie had an indefinite capacity for hysteric fits; and, after this, whenever her husband\u2019s or Eva\u2019s wishes with regard to the servants were alluded to, she always found it convenient to set one in operation. Miss Ophelia, therefore, did the next best thing she could for Tom,\u2014she wrote a letter to Mrs. Shelby for him, stating his troubles, and urging them to send to his relief.<\/p>\n
The next day, Tom and Adolph, and some half a dozen other servants, were marched down to a slave-warehouse, to await the convenience of the trader, who was going to make up a lot for auction.<\/p>\n
[click 3 for next chapter]<\/p>\n
\n

\nCHAPTER XXX<\/p>\n
The Slave Warehouse<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n
A slave warehouse! Perhaps some of my readers conjure up horrible visions of such a place. They fancy some foul, obscure den, some horrible Tartarus \u201cinformis, ingens, cui lumen ademptum.\u201d But no, innocent friend; in these days men have learned the art of sinning expertly and genteelly, so as not to shock the eyes and senses of respectable society. Human property is high in the market; and is, therefore, well fed, well cleaned, tended, and looked after, that it may come to sale sleek, and strong, and shining. A slave-warehouse in New Orleans is a house externally not much unlike many others, kept with neatness; and where every day you may see arranged, under a sort of shed along the outside, rows of men and women, who stand there as a sign of the property sold within.<\/p>\n
Then you shall be courteously entreated to call and examine, and shall find an abundance of husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, and young children, to be \u201csold separately, or in lots to suit the convenience of the purchaser;\u201d and that soul immortal, once bought with blood and anguish by the Son of God, when the earth shook, and the rocks rent, and the graves were opened, can be sold, leased, mortgaged, exchanged for groceries or dry goods, to suit the phases of trade, or the fancy of the purchaser.<\/p>\n
It was a day or two after the conversation between Marie and Miss Ophelia, that Tom, Adolph, and about half a dozen others of the St. Clare estate, were turned over to the loving kindness of Mr. Skeggs, the keeper of a depot on \u2014\u2014 street, to await the auction, next day.<\/p>\n
Tom had with him quite a sizable trunk full of clothing, as had most others of them. They were ushered, for the night, into a long room, where many other men, of all ages, sizes, and shades of complexion, were assembled, and from which roars of laughter and unthinking merriment were proceeding.<\/p>\n
\u201cAh, ha! that\u2019s right. Go it, boys,\u2014go it!\u201d said Mr. Skeggs, the keeper. \u201cMy people are always so merry! Sambo, I see!\u201d he said, speaking approvingly to a burly negro who was performing tricks of low buffoonery, which occasioned the shouts which Tom had heard.<\/p>\n
As might be imagined, Tom was in no humor to join these proceedings; and, therefore, setting his trunk as far as possible from the noisy group, he sat down on it, and leaned his face against the wall.<\/p>\n
The dealers in the human article make scrupulous and systematic efforts to promote noisy mirth among them, as a means of drowning reflection, and rendering them insensible to their condition. The whole object of the training to which the negro is put, from the time he is sold in the northern market till he arrives south, is systematically directed towards making him callous, unthinking, and brutal. The slave-dealer collects his gang in Virginia or Kentucky, and drives them to some convenient, healthy place,\u2014often a watering place,\u2014to be fattened. Here they are fed full daily; and, because some incline to pine, a fiddle is kept commonly going among them, and they are made to dance daily; and he who refuses to be merry\u2014in whose soul thoughts of wife, or child, or home, are too strong for him to be gay\u2014is marked as sullen and dangerous, and subjected to all the evils which the ill will of an utterly irresponsible and hardened man can inflict upon him. Briskness, alertness, and cheerfulness of appearance, especially before observers, are constantly enforced upon them, both by the hope of thereby getting a good master, and the fear of all that the driver may bring upon them if they prove unsalable.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat dat ar nigger doin here?\u201d said Sambo, coming up to Tom, after Mr. Skeggs had left the room. Sambo was a full black, of great size, very lively, voluble, and full of trick and grimace.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat you doin here?\u201d said Sambo, coming up to Tom, and poking him facetiously in the side. \u201cMeditatin\u2019, eh?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI am to be sold at the auction tomorrow!\u201d said Tom, quietly.<\/p>\n
\u201cSold at auction,\u2014haw! haw! boys, an\u2019t this yer fun? I wish\u2019t I was gwine that ar way!\u2014tell ye, wouldn\u2019t I make \u2019em laugh? But how is it,\u2014dis yer whole lot gwine tomorrow?\u201d said Sambo, laying his hand freely on Adolph\u2019s shoulder.<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease to let me alone!\u201d said Adolph, fiercely, straightening himself up, with extreme disgust.<\/p>\n
\u201cLaw, now, boys! dis yer\u2019s one o\u2019 yer white niggers,\u2014kind o\u2019 cream color, ye know, scented!\u201d said he, coming up to Adolph and snuffing. \u201cO Lor! he\u2019d do for a tobaccer-shop; they could keep him to scent snuff! Lor, he\u2019d keep a whole shope agwine,\u2014he would!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI say, keep off, can\u2019t you?\u201d said Adolph, enraged.<\/p>\n
\u201cLor, now, how touchy we is,\u2014we white niggers! Look at us now!\u201d and Sambo gave a ludicrous imitation of Adolph\u2019s manner; \u201chere\u2019s de airs and graces. We\u2019s been in a good family, I specs.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d said Adolph; \u201cI had a master that could have bought you all for old truck!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLaws, now, only think,\u201d said Sambo, \u201cthe gentlemens that we is!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI belonged to the St. Clare family,\u201d said Adolph, proudly.<\/p>\n
\u201cLor, you did! Be hanged if they ar\u2019n\u2019t lucky to get shet of ye. Spects they\u2019s gwine to trade ye off with a lot o\u2019 cracked tea-pots and sich like!\u201d said Sambo, with a provoking grin.<\/p>\n
Adolph, enraged at this taunt, flew furiously at his adversary, swearing and striking on every side of him. The rest laughed and shouted, and the uproar brought the keeper to the door.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat now, boys? Order,\u2014order!\u201d he said, coming in and flourishing a large whip.<\/p>\n
All fled in different directions, except Sambo, who, presuming on the favor which the keeper had to him as a licensed wag, stood his ground, ducking his head with a facetious grin, whenever the master made a dive at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cLor, Mas\u2019r, \u2019tan\u2019t us,\u2014we \u2019s reglar stiddy,\u2014it\u2019s these yer new hands; they \u2019s real aggravatin\u2019,\u2014kinder pickin\u2019 at us, all time!\u201d<\/p>\n
The keeper, at this, turned upon Tom and Adolph, and distributing a few kicks and cuffs without much inquiry, and leaving general orders for all to be good boys and go to sleep, left the apartment.<\/p>\n
While this scene was going on in the men\u2019s sleeping-room, the reader may be curious to take a peep at the corresponding apartment allotted to the women. Stretched out in various attitudes over the floor, he may see numberless sleeping forms of every shade of complexion, from the purest ebony to white, and of all years, from childhood to old age, lying now asleep. Here is a fine bright girl, of ten years, whose mother was sold out yesterday, and who tonight cried herself to sleep when nobody was looking at her. Here, a worn old negress, whose thin arms and callous fingers tell of hard toil, waiting to be sold tomorrow, as a cast-off article, for what can be got for her; and some forty or fifty others, with heads variously enveloped in blankets or articles of clothing, lie stretched around them. But, in a corner, sitting apart from the rest, are two females of a more interesting appearance than common. One of these is a respectably-dressed mulatto woman between forty and fifty, with soft eyes and a gentle and pleasing physiognomy. She has on her head a high-raised turban, made of a gay red Madras handkerchief, of the first quality, her dress is neatly fitted, and of good material, showing that she has been provided for with a careful hand. By her side, and nestling closely to her, is a young girl of fifteen,\u2014her daughter. She is a quadroon, as may be seen from her fairer complexion, though her likeness to her mother is quite discernible. She has the same soft, dark eye, with longer lashes, and her curling hair is of a luxuriant brown. She also is dressed with great neatness, and her white, delicate hands betray very little acquaintance with servile toil. These two are to be sold tomorrow, in the same lot with the St. Clare servants; and the gentleman to whom they belong, and to whom the money for their sale is to be transmitted, is a member of a Christian church in New York, who will receive the money, and go thereafter to the sacrament of his Lord and theirs, and think no more of it.<\/p>\n
These two, whom we shall call Susan and Emmeline, had been the personal attendants of an amiable and pious lady of New Orleans, by whom they had been carefully and piously instructed and trained. They had been taught to read and write, diligently instructed in the truths of religion, and their lot had been as happy an one as in their condition it was possible to be. But the only son of their protectress had the management of her property; and, by carelessness and extravagance involved it to a large amount, and at last failed. One of the largest creditors was the respectable firm of B. & Co., in New York. B. & Co. wrote to their lawyer in New Orleans, who attached the real estate (these two articles and a lot of plantation hands formed the most valuable part of it), and wrote word to that effect to New York. Brother B., being, as we have said, a Christian man, and a resident in a free State, felt some uneasiness on the subject. He didn\u2019t like trading in slaves and souls of men,\u2014of course, he didn\u2019t; but, then, there were thirty thousand dollars in the case, and that was rather too much money to be lost for a principle; and so, after much considering, and asking advice from those that he knew would advise to suit him, Brother B. wrote to his lawyer to dispose of the business in the way that seemed to him the most suitable, and remit the proceeds.<\/p>\n
The day after the letter arrived in New Orleans, Susan and Emmeline were attached, and sent to the depot to await a general auction on the following morning; and as they glimmer faintly upon us in the moonlight which steals through the grated window, we may listen to their conversation. Both are weeping, but each quietly, that the other may not hear.<\/p>\n
\u201cMother, just lay your head on my lap, and see if you can\u2019t sleep a little,\u201d says the girl, trying to appear calm.<\/p>\n
\u201cI haven\u2019t any heart to sleep, Em; I can\u2019t; it\u2019s the last night we may be together!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cO, mother, don\u2019t say so! perhaps we shall get sold together,\u2014who knows?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf \u2019t was anybody\u2019s else case, I should say so, too, Em,\u201d said the woman; \u201cbut I\u2019m so feard of losin\u2019 you that I don\u2019t see anything but the danger.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy, mother, the man said we were both likely, and would sell well.\u201d<\/p>\n
Susan remembered the man\u2019s looks and words. With a deadly sickness at her heart, she remembered how he had looked at Emmeline\u2019s hands, and lifted up her curly hair, and pronounced her a first-rate article. Susan had been trained as a Christian, brought up in the daily reading of the Bible, and had the same horror of her child\u2019s being sold to a life of shame that any other Christian mother might have; but she had no hope,\u2014no protection.<\/p>\n
\u201cMother, I think we might do first rate, if you could get a place as cook, and I as chambermaid or seamstress, in some family. I dare say we shall. Let\u2019s both look as bright and lively as we can, and tell all we can do, and perhaps we shall,\u201d said Emmeline.<\/p>\n
\u201cI want you to brush your hair all back straight, tomorrow,\u201d said Susan.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat for, mother? I don\u2019t look near so well, that way.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, but you\u2019ll sell better so.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t see why!\u201d said the child.<\/p>\n
\u201cRespectable families would be more apt to buy you, if they saw you looked plain and decent, as if you wasn\u2019t trying to look handsome. I know their ways better \u2019n you do,\u201d said Susan.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, mother, then I will.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd, Emmeline, if we shouldn\u2019t ever see each other again, after tomorrow,\u2014if I\u2019m sold way up on a plantation somewhere, and you somewhere else,\u2014always remember how you\u2019ve been brought up, and all Missis has told you; take your Bible with you, and your hymn-book; and if you\u2019re faithful to the Lord, he\u2019ll be faithful to you.\u201d<\/p>\n
So speaks the poor soul, in sore discouragement; for she knows that tomorrow any man, however vile and brutal, however godless and merciless, if he only has money to pay for her, may become owner of her daughter, body and soul; and then, how is the child to be faithful? She thinks of all this, as she holds her daughter in her arms, and wishes that she were not handsome and attractive. It seems almost an aggravation to her to remember how purely and piously, how much above the ordinary lot, she has been brought up. But she has no resort but to\u00a0pray; and many such prayers to God have gone up from those same trim, neatly-arranged, respectable slave-prisons,\u2014prayers which God has not forgotten, as a coming day shall show; for it is written, \u201cWho causeth one of these little ones to offend, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depths of the sea.\u201d<\/p>\n
The soft, earnest, quiet moonbeam looks in fixedly, marking the bars of the grated windows on the prostrate, sleeping forms. The mother and daughter are singing together a wild and melancholy dirge, common as a funeral hymn among the slaves:<\/p>\n
\u201cO, where is weeping Mary?
\nO, where is weeping Mary?
\n\u2019Rived in the goodly land.
\nShe is dead and gone to Heaven;
\nShe is dead and gone to Heaven;
\n\u2019Rived in the goodly land.\u201d<\/p>\n
These words, sung by voices of a peculiar and melancholy sweetness, in an air which seemed like the sighing of earthy despair after heavenly hope, floated through the dark prison rooms with a pathetic cadence, as verse after verse was breathed out:<\/p>\n
\u201cO, where are Paul and Silas?
\nO, where are Paul and Silas?
\nGone to the goodly land.
\nThey are dead and gone to Heaven;
\nThey are dead and gone to Heaven;
\n\u2019Rived in the goodly land.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sing on poor souls! The night is short, and the morning will part you forever!<\/p>\n
But now it is morning, and everybody is astir; and the worthy Mr. Skeggs is busy and bright, for a lot of goods is to be fitted out for auction. There is a brisk lookout on the toilet; injunctions passed around to every one to put on their best face and be spry; and now all are arranged in a circle for a last review, before they are marched up to the Bourse.<\/p>\n
Mr. Skeggs, with his palmetto on and his cigar in his mouth, walks around to put farewell touches on his wares.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow\u2019s this?\u201d he said, stepping in front of Susan and Emmeline. \u201cWhere\u2019s your curls, gal?\u201d<\/p>\n
The girl looked timidly at her mother, who, with the smooth adroitness common among her class, answers,<\/p>\n
\u201cI was telling her, last night, to put up her hair smooth and neat, and not havin\u2019 it flying about in curls; looks more respectable so.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBother!\u201d said the man, peremptorily, turning to the girl; \u201cyou go right along, and curl yourself real smart!\u201d He added, giving a crack to a rattan he held in his hand, \u201cAnd be back in quick time, too!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou go and help her,\u201d he added, to the mother. \u201cThem curls may make a hundred dollars difference in the sale of her.\u201d<\/p>\n
Beneath a splendid dome were men of all nations, moving to and fro, over the marble pave. On every side of the circular area were little tribunes, or stations, for the use of speakers and auctioneers. Two of these, on opposite sides of the area, were now occupied by brilliant and talented gentlemen, enthusiastically forcing up, in English and French commingled, the bids of connoisseurs in their various wares. A third one, on the other side, still unoccupied, was surrounded by a group, waiting the moment of sale to begin. And here we may recognize the St. Clare servants,\u2014Tom, Adolph, and others; and there, too, Susan and Emmeline, awaiting their turn with anxious and dejected faces. Various spectators, intending to purchase, or not intending, examining, and commenting on their various points and faces with the same freedom that a set of jockeys discuss the merits of a horse.<\/p>\n
\u201cHulloa, Alf! what brings you here?\u201d said a young exquisite, slapping the shoulder of a sprucely-dressed young man, who was examining Adolph through an eye-glass.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell! I was wanting a valet, and I heard that St. Clare\u2019s lot was going. I thought I\u2019d just look at his\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCatch me ever buying any of St. Clare\u2019s people! Spoilt niggers, every one. Impudent as the devil!\u201d said the other.<\/p>\n
\u201cNever fear that!\u201d said the first. \u201cIf I get \u2019em, I\u2019ll soon have their airs out of them; they\u2019ll soon find that they\u2019ve another kind of master to deal with than Monsieur St. Clare. \u2019Pon my word, I\u2019ll buy that fellow. I like the shape of him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll find it\u2019ll take all you\u2019ve got to keep him. He\u2019s deucedly extravagant!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, but my lord will find that he\u00a0can\u2019t\u00a0be extravagant with\u00a0me. Just let him be sent to the calaboose a few times, and thoroughly dressed down! I\u2019ll tell you if it don\u2019t bring him to a sense of his ways! O, I\u2019ll reform him, up hill and down,\u2014you\u2019ll see. I buy him, that\u2019s flat!\u201d<\/p>\n
Tom had been standing wistfully examining the multitude of faces thronging around him, for one whom he would wish to call master. And if you should ever be under the necessity, sir, of selecting, out of two hundred men, one who was to become your absolute owner and disposer, you would, perhaps, realize, just as Tom did, how few there were that you would feel at all comfortable in being made over to. Tom saw abundance of men,\u2014great, burly, gruff men; little, chirping, dried men; long-favored, lank, hard men; and every variety of stubbed-looking, commonplace men, who pick up their fellow-men as one picks up chips, putting them into the fire or a basket with equal unconcern, according to their convenience; but he saw no St. Clare.<\/p>\n
A little before the sale commenced, a short, broad, muscular man, in a checked shirt considerably open at the bosom, and pantaloons much the worse for dirt and wear, elbowed his way through the crowd, like one who is going actively into a business; and, coming up to the group, began to examine them systematically. From the moment that Tom saw him approaching, he felt an immediate and revolting horror at him, that increased as he came near. He was evidently, though short, of gigantic strength. His round, bullet head, large, light-gray eyes, with their shaggy, sandy eyebrows, and stiff, wiry, sun-burned hair, were rather unprepossessing items, it is to be confessed; his large, coarse mouth was distended with tobacco, the juice of which, from time to time, he ejected from him with great decision and explosive force; his hands were immensely large, hairy, sun-burned, freckled, and very dirty, and garnished with long nails, in a very foul condition. This man proceeded to a very free personal examination of the lot. He seized Tom by the jaw, and pulled open his mouth to inspect his teeth; made him strip up his sleeve, to show his muscle; turned him round, made him jump and spring, to show his paces.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere was you raised?\u201d he added, briefly, to these investigations.<\/p>\n
\u201cIn Kintuck, Mas\u2019r,\u201d said Tom, looking about, as if for deliverance.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat have you done?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHad care of Mas\u2019r\u2019s farm,\u201d said Tom.<\/p>\n
\u201cLikely story!\u201d said the other, shortly, as he passed on. He paused a moment before Dolph; then spitting a discharge of tobacco-juice on his well-blacked boots, and giving a contemptuous umph, he walked on. Again he stopped before Susan and Emmeline. He put out his heavy, dirty hand, and drew the girl towards him; passed it over her neck and bust, felt her arms, looked at her teeth, and then pushed her back against her mother, whose patient face showed the suffering she had been going through at every motion of the hideous stranger.<\/p>\n
The girl was frightened, and began to cry.<\/p>\n
\u201cStop that, you minx!\u201d said the salesman; \u201cno whimpering here,\u2014the sale is going to begin.\u201d And accordingly the sale begun.<\/p>\n
Adolph was knocked off, at a good sum, to the young gentlemen who had previously stated his intention of buying him; and the other servants of the St. Clare lot went to various bidders.<\/p>\n
\u201cNow, up with you, boy! d\u2019ye hear?\u201d said the auctioneer to Tom.<\/p>\n
Tom stepped upon the block, gave a few anxious looks round; all seemed mingled in a common, indistinct noise,\u2014the clatter of the salesman crying off his qualifications in French and English, the quick fire of French and English bids; and almost in a moment came the final thump of the hammer, and the clear ring on the last syllable of the word\u00a0\u201cdollars,\u201d\u00a0as the auctioneer announced his price, and Tom was made over.\u2014He had a master!<\/p>\n
He was pushed from the block;\u2014the short, bullet-headed man seizing him roughly by the shoulder, pushed him to one side, saying, in a harsh voice, \u201cStand there,\u00a0you!\u201d<\/p>\n
Tom hardly realized anything; but still the bidding went on,\u2014ratting, clattering, now French, now English. Down goes the hammer again,\u2014Susan is sold! She goes down from the block, stops, looks wistfully back,\u2014her daughter stretches her hands towards her. She looks with agony in the face of the man who has bought her,\u2014a respectable middle-aged man, of benevolent countenance.<\/p>\n
\u201cO, Mas\u2019r, please do buy my daughter!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019d like to, but I\u2019m afraid I can\u2019t afford it!\u201d said the gentleman, looking, with painful interest, as the young girl mounted the block, and looked around her with a frightened and timid glance.<\/p>\n
The blood flushes painfully in her otherwise colorless cheek, her eye has a feverish fire, and her mother groans to see that she looks more beautiful than she ever saw her before. The auctioneer sees his advantage, and expatiates volubly in mingled French and English, and bids rise in rapid succession.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll do anything in reason,\u201d said the benevolent-looking gentleman, pressing in and joining with the bids. In a few moments they have run beyond his purse. He is silent; the auctioneer grows warmer; but bids gradually drop off. It lies now between an aristocratic old citizen and our bullet-headed acquaintance. The citizen bids for a few turns, contemptuously measuring his opponent; but the bullet-head has the advantage over him, both in obstinacy and concealed length of purse, and the controversy lasts but a moment; the hammer falls,\u2014he has got the girl, body and soul, unless God help her!<\/p>\n
Her master is Mr. Legree, who owns a cotton plantation on the Red River. She is pushed along into the same lot with Tom and two other men, and goes off, weeping as she goes.<\/p>\n
The benevolent gentleman is sorry; but, then, the thing happens every day! One sees girls and mothers crying, at these sales,\u00a0always!\u00a0it can\u2019t be helped, &c.; and he walks off, with his acquisition, in another direction.<\/p>\n
Two days after, the lawyer of the Christian firm of B. & Co., New York, send on their money to them. On the reverse of that draft, so obtained, let them write these words of the great Paymaster, to whom they shall make up their account in a future day:\u00a0\u201cWhen he maketh inquisition for blood, he forgetteth not the cry of the humble!\u201d<\/p>\n
CHAPTER XXXI<\/h6>\n
The Middle Passage<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n
\u201cThou art of purer eyes than to behold evil, and canst not look upon iniquity: wherefore lookest thou upon them that deal treacherously, and holdest thy tongue when the wicked devoureth the man that is more righteous than he?\u201d\u2014HAB. 1: 13.<\/p>\n
On the lower part of a small, mean boat, on the Red River, Tom sat,\u2014chains on his wrists, chains on his feet, and a weight heavier than chains lay on his heart. All had faded from his sky,\u2014moon and star; all had passed by him, as the trees and banks were now passing, to return no more. Kentucky home, with wife and children, and indulgent owners; St. Clare home, with all its refinements and splendors; the golden head of Eva, with its saint-like eyes; the proud, gay, handsome, seemingly careless, yet ever-kind St. Clare; hours of ease and indulgent leisure,\u2014all gone! and in place thereof,\u00a0what\u00a0remains?<\/p>\n
It is one of the bitterest apportionments of a lot of slavery, that the negro, sympathetic and assimilative, after acquiring, in a refined family, the tastes and feelings which form the atmosphere of such a place, is not the less liable to become the bond-slave of the coarsest and most brutal,\u2014just as a chair or table, which once decorated the superb saloon, comes, at last, battered and defaced, to the barroom of some filthy tavern, or some low haunt of vulgar debauchery. The great difference is, that the table and chair cannot feel, and the\u00a0man\u00a0can; for even a legal enactment that he shall be \u201ctaken, reputed, adjudged in law, to be a chattel personal,\u201d cannot blot out his soul, with its own private little world of memories, hopes, loves, fears, and desires.<\/p>\n
Mr. Simon Legree, Tom\u2019s master, had purchased slaves at one place and another, in New Orleans, to the number of eight, and driven them, handcuffed, in couples of two and two, down to the good steamer Pirate, which lay at the levee, ready for a trip up the Red River.<\/p>\n
Having got them fairly on board, and the boat being off, he came round, with that air of efficiency which ever characterized him, to take a review of them. Stopping opposite to Tom, who had been attired for sale in his best broadcloth suit, with well-starched linen and shining boots, he briefly expressed himself as follows:<\/p>\n
\u201cStand up.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tom stood up.<\/p>\n
\u201cTake off that stock!\u201d and, as Tom, encumbered by his fetters, proceeded to do it, he assisted him, by pulling it, with no gentle hand, from his neck, and putting it in his pocket.<\/p>\n
Legree now turned to Tom\u2019s trunk, which, previous to this, he had been ransacking, and, taking from it a pair of old pantaloons and dilapidated coat, which Tom had been wont to put on about his stable-work, he said, liberating Tom\u2019s hands from the handcuffs, and pointing to a recess in among the boxes,<\/p>\n
\u201cYou go there, and put these on.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tom obeyed, and in a few moments returned.<\/p>\n
\u201cTake off your boots,\u201d said Mr. Legree.<\/p>\n
Tom did so.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere,\u201d said the former, throwing him a pair of coarse, stout shoes, such as were common among the slaves, \u201cput these on.\u201d<\/p>\n
In Tom\u2019s hurried exchange, he had not forgotten to transfer his cherished Bible to his pocket. It was well he did so; for Mr. Legree, having refitted Tom\u2019s handcuffs, proceeded deliberately to investigate the contents of his pockets. He drew out a silk handkerchief, and put it into his own pocket. Several little trifles, which Tom had treasured, chiefly because they had amused Eva, he looked upon with a contemptuous grunt, and tossed them over his shoulder into the river.<\/p>\n
Tom\u2019s Methodist hymn-book, which, in his hurry, he had forgotten, he now held up and turned over.<\/p>\n
\u201cHumph! pious, to be sure. So, what\u2019s yer name,\u2014you belong to the church, eh?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, Mas\u2019r,\u201d said Tom, firmly.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, I\u2019ll soon have\u00a0that\u00a0out of you. I have none o\u2019 yer bawling, praying, singing niggers on my place; so remember. Now, mind yourself,\u201d he said, with a stamp and a fierce glance of his gray eye, directed at Tom, \u201cI\u2019m\u00a0your church now! You understand,\u2014you\u2019ve got to be as\u00a0I\u00a0say.\u201d<\/p>\n
Something within the silent black man answered\u00a0No!\u00a0and, as if repeated by an invisible voice, came the words of an old prophetic scroll, as Eva had often read them to him,\u2014\u201cFear not! for I have redeemed thee. I have called thee by name. Thou art MINE!\u201d<\/p>\n
But Simon Legree heard no voice. That voice is one he never shall hear. He only glared for a moment on the downcast face of Tom, and walked off. He took Tom\u2019s trunk, which contained a very neat and abundant wardrobe, to the forecastle, where it was soon surrounded by various hands of the boat. With much laughing, at the expense of niggers who tried to be gentlemen, the articles very readily were sold to one and another, and the empty trunk finally put up at auction. It was a good joke, they all thought, especially to see how Tom looked after his things, as they were going this way and that; and then the auction of the trunk, that was funnier than all, and occasioned abundant witticisms.<\/p>\n
This little affair being over, Simon sauntered up again to his property.<\/p>\n
\u201cNow, Tom, I\u2019ve relieved you of any extra baggage, you see. Take mighty good care of them clothes. It\u2019ll be long enough \u2019fore you get more. I go in for making niggers careful; one suit has to do for one year, on my place.\u201d<\/p>\n
Simon next walked up to the place where Emmeline was sitting, chained to another woman.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, my dear,\u201d he said, chucking her under the chin, \u201ckeep up your spirits.\u201d<\/p>\n
The involuntary look of horror, fright and aversion, with which the girl regarded him, did not escape his eye. He frowned fiercely.<\/p>\n
\u201cNone o\u2019 your shines, gal! you\u2019s got to keep a pleasant face, when I speak to ye,\u2014d\u2019ye hear? And you, you old yellow poco moonshine!\u201d he said, giving a shove to the mulatto woman to whom Emmeline was chained, \u201cdon\u2019t you carry that sort of face! You\u2019s got to look chipper, I tell ye!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI say, all on ye,\u201d he said retreating a pace or two back, \u201clook at me,\u2014look at me,\u2014look me right in the eye,\u2014straight, now!\u201d said he, stamping his foot at every pause.<\/p>\n
As by a fascination, every eye was now directed to the glaring greenish-gray eye of Simon.<\/p>\n
\u201cNow,\u201d said he, doubling his great, heavy fist into something resembling a blacksmith\u2019s hammer, \u201cd\u2019ye see this fist? Heft it!\u201d he said, bringing it down on Tom\u2019s hand. \u201cLook at these yer bones! Well, I tell ye this yer fist has got as hard as iron\u00a0knocking down niggers. I never see the nigger, yet, I couldn\u2019t bring down with one crack,\u201d said he, bringing his fist down so near to the face of Tom that he winked and drew back. \u201cI don\u2019t keep none o\u2019 yer cussed overseers; I does my own overseeing; and I tell you things\u00a0is\u00a0seen to. You\u2019s every one on ye got to toe the mark, I tell ye; quick,\u2014straight,\u2014the moment I speak. That\u2019s the way to keep in with me. Ye won\u2019t find no soft spot in me, nowhere. So, now, mind yerselves; for I don\u2019t show no mercy!\u201d<\/p>\n
The women involuntarily drew in their breath, and the whole gang sat with downcast, dejected faces. Meanwhile, Simon turned on his heel, and marched up to the bar of the boat for a dram.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s the way I begin with my niggers,\u201d he said, to a gentlemanly man, who had stood by him during his speech. \u201cIt\u2019s my system to begin strong,\u2014just let \u2019em know what to expect.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIndeed!\u201d said the stranger, looking upon him with the curiosity of a naturalist studying some out-of-the-way specimen.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, indeed. I\u2019m none o\u2019 yer gentlemen planters, with lily fingers, to slop round and be cheated by some old cuss of an overseer! Just feel of my knuckles, now; look at my fist. Tell ye, sir, the flesh on \u2019t has come jest like a stone, practising on nigger\u2014feel on it.\u201d<\/p>\n
The stranger applied his fingers to the implement in question, and simply said,<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2019T is hard enough; and, I suppose,\u201d he added, \u201cpractice has made your heart just like it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy, yes, I may say so,\u201d said Simon, with a hearty laugh. \u201cI reckon there\u2019s as little soft in me as in any one going. Tell you, nobody comes it over me! Niggers never gets round me, neither with squalling nor soft soap,\u2014that\u2019s a fact.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have a fine lot there.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cReal,\u201d said Simon. \u201cThere\u2019s that Tom, they telled me he was suthin\u2019 uncommon. I paid a little high for him, tendin\u2019 him for a driver and a managing chap; only get the notions out that he\u2019s larnt by bein\u2019 treated as niggers never ought to be, he\u2019ll do prime! The yellow woman I got took in on. I rayther think she\u2019s sickly, but I shall put her through for what she\u2019s worth; she may last a year or two. I don\u2019t go for savin\u2019 niggers. Use up, and buy more, \u2019s my way;-makes you less trouble, and I\u2019m quite sure it comes cheaper in the end;\u201d and Simon sipped his glass.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd how long do they generally last?\u201d said the stranger.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, donno; \u2019cordin\u2019 as their constitution is. Stout fellers last six or seven years; trashy ones gets worked up in two or three. I used to, when I fust begun, have considerable trouble fussin\u2019 with \u2019em and trying to make \u2019em hold out,\u2014doctorin\u2019 on \u2019em up when they\u2019s sick, and givin\u2019 on \u2019em clothes and blankets, and what not, tryin\u2019 to keep \u2019em all sort o\u2019 decent and comfortable. Law, \u2019t wasn\u2019t no sort o\u2019 use; I lost money on \u2019em, and \u2019t was heaps o\u2019 trouble. Now, you see, I just put \u2019em straight through, sick or well. When one nigger\u2019s dead, I buy another; and I find it comes cheaper and easier, every way.\u201d<\/p>\n
The stranger turned away, and seated himself beside a gentleman, who had been listening to the conversation with repressed uneasiness.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou must not take that fellow to be any specimen of Southern planters,\u201d said he.<\/p>\n
\u201cI should hope not,\u201d said the young gentleman, with emphasis.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe is a mean, low, brutal fellow!\u201d said the other.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd yet your laws allow him to hold any number of human beings subject to his absolute will, without even a shadow of protection; and, low as he is, you cannot say that there are not many such.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell,\u201d said the other, \u201cthere are also many considerate and humane men among planters.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGranted,\u201d said the young man; \u201cbut, in my opinion, it is you considerate, humane men, that are responsible for all the brutality and outrage wrought by these wretches; because, if it were not for your sanction and influence, the whole system could not keep foothold for an hour. If there were no planters except such as that one,\u201d said he, pointing with his finger to Legree, who stood with his back to them, \u201cthe whole thing would go down like a millstone. It is your respectability and humanity that licenses and protects his brutality.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou certainly have a high opinion of my good nature,\u201d said the planter, smiling, \u201cbut I advise you not to talk quite so loud, as there are people on board the boat who might not be quite so tolerant to opinion as I am. You had better wait till I get up to my plantation, and there you may abuse us all, quite at your leisure.\u201d<\/p>\n
The young gentleman colored and smiled, and the two were soon busy in a game of backgammon. Meanwhile, another conversation was going on in the lower part of the boat, between Emmeline and the mulatto woman with whom she was confined. As was natural, they were exchanging with each other some particulars of their history.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho did you belong to?\u201d said Emmeline.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, my Mas\u2019r was Mr. Ellis,\u2014lived on Levee-street. P\u2019raps you\u2019ve seen the house.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWas he good to you?\u201d said Emmeline.<\/p>\n
\u201cMostly, till he tuk sick. He\u2019s lain sick, off and on, more than six months, and been orful oneasy. \u2019Pears like he warnt willin\u2019 to have nobody rest, day or night; and got so curous, there couldn\u2019t nobody suit him. \u2019Pears like he just grew crosser, every day; kep me up nights till I got farly beat out, and couldn\u2019t keep awake no longer; and cause I got to sleep, one night, Lors, he talk so orful to me, and he tell me he\u2019d sell me to just the hardest master he could find; and he\u2019d promised me my freedom, too, when he died.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHad you any friends?\u201d said Emmeline.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, my husband,\u2014he\u2019s a blacksmith. Mas\u2019r gen\u2019ly hired him out. They took me off so quick, I didn\u2019t even have time to see him; and I\u2019s got four children. O, dear me!\u201d said the woman, covering her face with her hands.<\/p>\n
It is a natural impulse, in every one, when they hear a tale of distress, to think of something to say by way of consolation. Emmeline wanted to say something, but she could not think of anything to say. What was there to be said? As by a common consent, they both avoided, with fear and dread, all mention of the horrible man who was now their master.<\/p>\n
True, there is religious trust for even the darkest hour. The mulatto woman was a member of the Methodist church, and had an unenlightened but very sincere spirit of piety. Emmeline had been educated much more intelligently,\u2014taught to read and write, and diligently instructed in the Bible, by the care of a faithful and pious mistress; yet, would it not try the faith of the firmest Christian, to find themselves abandoned, apparently, of God, in the grasp of ruthless violence? How much more must it shake the faith of Christ\u2019s poor little ones, weak in knowledge and tender in years!<\/p>\n
The boat moved on,\u2014freighted with its weight of sorrow,\u2014up the red, muddy, turbid current, through the abrupt tortuous windings of the Red river; and sad eyes gazed wearily on the steep red-clay banks, as they glided by in dreary sameness. At last the boat stopped at a small town, and Legree, with his party, disembarked.<\/p>\n
Source: Uncle Tom's Cabin<\/em>, Project Gutenberg<\/a> \r\n\r\nThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at\u00a0www.gutenberg.org<\/a>. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.<\/pre>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The following chapters show once again how precarious the lives of the enslaved could be. While Augustine St. Clare finds himself ready to take action in his own life against the evils of slavery under a Christian conviction nurtured by Eva and by Tom, events coincide to complicate Tom’s life once again. In Chapter 31 … Continue reading Uncle Tom’s Cabin – Chapters 28-31<\/span> →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[76],"tags":[61,40,48,60,58],"class_list":["post-260","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-harriet-beecher-stowe","tag-emancipation","tag-fiction","tag-religious-belief","tag-slavery","tag-social-commentary"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/260","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=260"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/260\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=260"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=260"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=260"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}