{"id":261,"date":"2025-09-26T20:54:25","date_gmt":"2025-09-26T20:54:25","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/?p=261"},"modified":"2026-01-28T15:35:25","modified_gmt":"2026-01-28T15:35:25","slug":"uncle-toms-cabin-chapters-40-41-45","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/?p=261","title":{"rendered":"Uncle Tom’s Cabin – Chapters 40, 41, 45"},"content":{"rendered":"

These are the final chapters and the climax of the novel.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

CHAPTER XL<\/h6>\n

The Martyr<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cDeem not the just by Heaven forgot!
\nThough life its common gifts deny,\u2014
\nThough, with a crushed and bleeding heart,
\nAnd spurned of man, he goes to die!
\nFor God hath marked each sorrowing day,
\nAnd numbered every bitter tear,
\nAnd heaven\u2019s long years of bliss shall pay
\nFor all his children suffer here.\u201d BRYANT.[1]<\/p>\n

[1]\u00a0This poem does not appear in the collected works of William Cullen Bryant, nor in the collected poems of his brother, John Howard Bryant. It was probably copied from a newspaper or magazine.<\/pre>\n
The longest way must have its close,\u2014the gloomiest night will wear on to a morning. An eternal, inexorable lapse of moments is ever hurrying the day of the evil to an eternal night, and the night of the just to an eternal day. We have walked with our humble friend thus far in the valley of slavery; first through flowery fields of ease and indulgence, then through heart-breaking separations from all that man holds dear. Again, we have waited with him in a sunny island, where generous hands concealed his chains with flowers; and, lastly, we have followed him when the last ray of earthly hope went out in night, and seen how, in the blackness of earthly darkness, the firmament of the unseen has blazed with stars of new and significant lustre.<\/p>\n
The morning-star now stands over the tops of the mountains, and gales and breezes, not of earth, show that the gates of day are unclosing.<\/p>\n
The escape of Cassy and Emmeline irritated the before surly temper of Legree to the last degree; and his fury, as was to be expected, fell upon the defenceless head of Tom. When he hurriedly announced the tidings among his hands, there was a sudden light in Tom\u2019s eye, a sudden upraising of his hands, that did not escape him. He saw that he did not join the muster of the pursuers. He thought of forcing him to do it; but, having had, of old, experience of his inflexibility when commanded to take part in any deed of inhumanity, he would not, in his hurry, stop to enter into any conflict with him.<\/p>\n
Tom, therefore, remained behind, with a few who had learned of him to pray, and offered up prayers for the escape of the fugitives.<\/p>\n
When Legree returned, baffled and disappointed, all the long-working hatred of his soul towards his slave began to gather in a deadly and desperate form. Had not this man braved him,\u2014steadily, powerfully, resistlessly,\u2014ever since he bought him? Was there not a spirit in him which, silent as it was, burned on him like the fires of perdition?<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u00a0hate\u00a0him!\u201d said Legree, that night, as he sat up in his bed; \u201cI\u00a0hate\u00a0him! And isn\u2019t he MINE? Can\u2019t I do what I like with him? Who\u2019s to hinder, I wonder?\u201d And Legree clenched his fist, and shook it, as if he had something in his hands that he could rend in pieces.<\/p>\n
But, then, Tom was a faithful, valuable servant; and, although Legree hated him the more for that, yet the consideration was still somewhat of a restraint to him.<\/p>\n
The next morning, he determined to say nothing, as yet; to assemble a party, from some neighboring plantations, with dogs and guns; to surround the swamp, and go about the hunt systematically. If it succeeded, well and good; if not, he would summon Tom before him, and\u2014his teeth clenched and his blood boiled\u2014then\u00a0he would break the fellow down, or\u2014there was a dire inward whisper, to which his soul assented.<\/p>\n
Ye say that the\u00a0interest\u00a0of the master is a sufficient safeguard for the slave. In the fury of man\u2019s mad will, he will wittingly, and with open eye, sell his own soul to the devil to gain his ends; and will he be more careful of his neighbor\u2019s body?<\/p>\n
\u201cWell,\u201d said Cassy, the next day, from the garret, as she reconnoitred through the knot-hole, \u201cthe hunt\u2019s going to begin again, today!\u201d<\/p>\n
Three or four mounted horsemen were curvetting about, on the space in front of the house; and one or two leashes of strange dogs were struggling with the negroes who held them, baying and barking at each other.<\/p>\n
The men are, two of them, overseers of plantations in the vicinity; and others were some of Legree\u2019s associates at the tavern-bar of a neighboring city, who had come for the interest of the sport. A more hard-favored set, perhaps, could not be imagined. Legree was serving brandy, profusely, round among them, as also among the negroes, who had been detailed from the various plantations for this service; for it was an object to make every service of this kind, among the negroes, as much of a holiday as possible.<\/p>\n
Cassy placed her ear at the knot-hole; and, as the morning air blew directly towards the house, she could overhear a good deal of the conversation. A grave sneer overcast the dark, severe gravity of her face, as she listened, and heard them divide out the ground, discuss the rival merits of the dogs, give orders about firing, and the treatment of each, in case of capture.<\/p>\n
Cassy drew back; and, clasping her hands, looked upward, and said, \u201cO, great Almighty God! we are\u00a0all\u00a0sinners; but what have\u00a0we\u00a0done, more than all the rest of the world, that we should be treated so?\u201d<\/p>\n
There was a terrible earnestness in her face and voice, as she spoke.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf it wasn\u2019t for\u00a0you, child,\u201d she said, looking at Emmeline, \u201cI\u2019d\u00a0go\u00a0out to them; and I\u2019d thank any one of them that\u00a0would\u00a0shoot me down; for what use will freedom be to me? Can it give me back my children, or make me what I used to be?\u201d<\/p>\n
Emmeline, in her child-like simplicity, was half afraid of the dark moods of Cassy. She looked perplexed, but made no answer. She only took her hand, with a gentle, caressing movement.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t!\u201d said Cassy, trying to draw it away; \u201cyou\u2019ll get me to loving you; and I never mean to love anything, again!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPoor Cassy!\u201d said Emmeline, \u201cdon\u2019t feel so! If the Lord gives us liberty, perhaps he\u2019ll give you back your daughter; at any rate, I\u2019ll be like a daughter to you. I know I\u2019ll never see my poor old mother again! I shall love you, Cassy, whether you love me or not!\u201d<\/p>\n
The gentle, child-like spirit conquered. Cassy sat down by her, put her arm round her neck, stroked her soft, brown hair; and Emmeline then wondered at the beauty of her magnificent eyes, now soft with tears.<\/p>\n
\u201cO, Em!\u201d said Cassy, \u201cI\u2019ve hungered for my children, and thirsted for them, and my eyes fail with longing for them! Here! here!\u201d she said, striking her breast, \u201cit\u2019s all desolate, all empty! If God would give me back my children, then I could pray.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou must trust him, Cassy,\u201d said Emmeline; \u201che is our Father!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHis wrath is upon us,\u201d said Cassy; \u201che has turned away in anger.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, Cassy! He will be good to us! Let us hope in Him,\u201d said Emmeline,\u2014\u201cI always have had hope.\u201d<\/p>\n
The hunt was long, animated, and thorough, but unsuccessful; and, with grave, ironic exultation, Cassy looked down on Legree, as, weary and dispirited, he alighted from his horse.<\/p>\n
\u201cNow, Quimbo,\u201d said Legree, as he stretched himself down in the sitting-room, \u201cyou jest go and walk that Tom up here, right away! The old cuss is at the bottom of this yer whole matter; and I\u2019ll have it out of his old black hide, or I\u2019ll know the reason why!\u201d<\/p>\n
Sambo and Quimbo, both, though hating each other, were joined in one mind by a no less cordial hatred of Tom. Legree had told them, at first, that he had bought him for a general overseer, in his absence; and this had begun an ill will, on their part, which had increased, in their debased and servile natures, as they saw him becoming obnoxious to their master\u2019s displeasure. Quimbo, therefore, departed, with a will, to execute his orders.<\/p>\n
Tom heard the message with a forewarning heart; for he knew all the plan of the fugitives\u2019 escape, and the place of their present concealment;\u2014he knew the deadly character of the man he had to deal with, and his despotic power. But he felt strong in God to meet death, rather than betray the helpless.<\/p>\n
He sat his basket down by the row, and, looking up, said, \u201cInto thy hands I commend my spirit! Thou hast redeemed me, oh Lord God of truth!\u201d and then quietly yielded himself to the rough, brutal grasp with which Quimbo seized him.<\/p>\n
\u201cAy, ay!\u201d said the giant, as he dragged him along; \u201cye\u2019ll cotch it, now! I\u2019ll boun\u2019 Mas\u2019r\u2019s back \u2019s up\u00a0high!\u00a0No sneaking out, now! Tell ye, ye\u2019ll get it, and no mistake! See how ye\u2019ll look, now, helpin\u2019 Mas\u2019r\u2019s niggers to run away! See what ye\u2019ll get!\u201d<\/p>\n
The savage words none of them reached that ear!\u2014a higher voice there was saying, \u201cFear not them that kill the body, and, after that, have no more that they can do.\u201d Nerve and bone of that poor man\u2019s body vibrated to those words, as if touched by the finger of God; and he felt the strength of a thousand souls in one. As he passed along, the trees and bushes, the huts of his servitude, the whole scene of his degradation, seemed to whirl by him as the landscape by the rushing ear. His soul throbbed,\u2014his home was in sight,\u2014and the hour of release seemed at hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, Tom!\u201d said Legree, walking up, and seizing him grimly by the collar of his coat, and speaking through his teeth, in a paroxysm of determined rage, \u201cdo you know I\u2019ve made up my mind to KILL YOU?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s very likely, Mas\u2019r,\u201d said Tom, calmly.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u00a0have,\u201d said Legree, with a grim, terrible calmness, \u201cdone\u2014just\u2014that\u2014thing, Tom, unless you\u2019ll tell me what you know about these yer gals!\u201d<\/p>\n
Tom stood silent.<\/p>\n
\u201cD\u2019ye hear?\u201d said Legree, stamping, with a roar like that of an incensed lion. \u201cSpeak!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI han\u2019t got nothing to tell, Mas\u2019r,\u201d said Tom, with a slow, firm, deliberate utterance.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you dare to tell me, ye old black Christian, ye don\u2019t\u00a0know?\u201d said Legree.<\/p>\n
Tom was silent.<\/p>\n
\u201cSpeak!\u201d thundered Legree, striking him furiously. \u201cDo you know anything?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know, Mas\u2019r; but I can\u2019t tell anything.\u00a0I can die!\u201d<\/p>\n
Legree drew in a long breath; and, suppressing his rage, took Tom by the arm, and, approaching his face almost to his, said, in a terrible voice, \u201cHark \u2019e, Tom!\u2014ye think, \u2019cause I\u2019ve let you off before, I don\u2019t mean what I say; but, this time,\u00a0I\u2019ve made up my mind, and counted the cost. You\u2019ve always stood it out again\u2019 me: now,\u00a0I\u2019ll conquer ye, or kill ye!\u2014one or t\u2019 other. I\u2019ll count every drop of blood there is in you, and take \u2019em, one by one, till ye give up!\u201d<\/p>\n
Tom looked up to his master, and answered, \u201cMas\u2019r, if you was sick, or in trouble, or dying, and I could save ye, I\u2019d\u00a0give\u00a0ye my heart\u2019s blood; and, if taking every drop of blood in this poor old body would save your precious soul, I\u2019d give \u2019em freely, as the Lord gave his for me. O, Mas\u2019r! don\u2019t bring this great sin on your soul! It will hurt you more than \u2019t will me! Do the worst you can, my troubles\u2019ll be over soon; but, if ye don\u2019t repent, yours won\u2019t\u00a0never\u00a0end!\u201d<\/p>\n
Like a strange snatch of heavenly music, heard in the lull of a tempest, this burst of feeling made a moment\u2019s blank pause. Legree stood aghast, and looked at Tom; and there was such a silence, that the tick of the old clock could be heard, measuring, with silent touch, the last moments of mercy and probation to that hardened heart.<\/p>\n
It was but a moment. There was one hesitating pause,\u2014one irresolute, relenting thrill,\u2014and the spirit of evil came back, with seven-fold vehemence; and Legree, foaming with rage, smote his victim to the ground.<\/p>\n
Scenes of blood and cruelty are shocking to our ear and heart. What man has nerve to do, man has not nerve to hear. What brother-man and brother-Christian must suffer, cannot be told us, even in our secret chamber, it so harrows the soul! And yet, oh my country! these things are done under the shadow of thy laws! O, Christ! thy church sees them, almost in silence!<\/p>\n
But, of old, there was One whose suffering changed an instrument of torture, degradation and shame, into a symbol of glory, honor, and immortal life; and, where His spirit is, neither degrading stripes, nor blood, nor insults, can make the Christian\u2019s last struggle less than glorious.<\/p>\n
Was he alone, that long night, whose brave, loving spirit was bearing up, in that old shed, against buffeting and brutal stripes?<\/p>\n
Nay! There stood by him ONE,\u2014seen by him alone,\u2014\u201clike unto the Son of God.\u201d<\/p>\n
The tempter stood by him, too,\u2014blinded by furious, despotic will,\u2014every moment pressing him to shun that agony by the betrayal of the innocent. But the brave, true heart was firm on the Eternal Rock. Like his Master, he knew that, if he saved others, himself he could not save; nor could utmost extremity wring from him words, save of prayers and holy trust.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s most gone, Mas\u2019r,\u201d said Sambo, touched, in spite of himself, by the patience of his victim.<\/p>\n
\u201cPay away, till he gives up! Give it to him!\u2014give it to him!\u201d shouted Legree. \u201cI\u2019ll take every drop of blood he has, unless he confesses!\u201d<\/p>\n
Tom opened his eyes, and looked upon his master. \u201cYe poor miserable critter!\u201d he said, \u201cthere ain\u2019t no more ye can do! I forgive ye, with all my soul!\u201d and he fainted entirely away.<\/p>\n
\u201cI b\u2019lieve, my soul, he\u2019s done for, finally,\u201d said Legree, stepping forward, to look at him. \u201cYes, he is! Well, his mouth\u2019s shut up, at last,\u2014that\u2019s one comfort!\u201d<\/p>\n
Yes, Legree; but who shall shut up that voice in thy soul? that soul, past repentance, past prayer, past hope, in whom the fire that never shall be quenched is already burning!<\/p>\n
Yet Tom was not quite gone. His wondrous words and pious prayers had struck upon the hearts of the imbruted blacks, who had been the instruments of cruelty upon him; and, the instant Legree withdrew, they took him down, and, in their ignorance, sought to call him back to life,\u2014as if\u00a0that\u00a0were any favor to him.<\/p>\n
\u201cSartin, we \u2019s been doin\u2019 a drefful wicked thing!\u201d said Sambo; \u201chopes Mas\u2019r\u2019ll have to \u2019count for it, and not we.\u201d<\/p>\n
They washed his wounds,\u2014they provided a rude bed, of some refuse cotton, for him to lie down on; and one of them, stealing up to the house, begged a drink of brandy of Legree, pretending that he was tired, and wanted it for himself. He brought it back, and poured it down Tom\u2019s throat.<\/p>\n
\u201cO, Tom!\u201d said Quimbo, \u201cwe\u2019s been awful wicked to ye!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI forgive ye, with all my heart!\u201d said Tom, faintly.<\/p>\n
\u201cO, Tom! do tell us who is\u00a0Jesus, anyhow?\u201d said Sambo;\u2014\u201cJesus, that\u2019s been a standin\u2019 by you so, all this night!\u2014Who is he?\u201d<\/p>\n
The word roused the failing, fainting spirit. He poured forth a few energetic sentences of that wondrous One,\u2014his life, his death, his everlasting presence, and power to save.<\/p>\n
They wept,\u2014both the two savage men.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy didn\u2019t I never hear this before?\u201d said Sambo; \u201cbut I do believe!\u2014I can\u2019t help it! Lord Jesus, have mercy on us!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPoor critters!\u201d said Tom, \u201cI\u2019d be willing to bar all I have, if it\u2019ll only bring ye to Christ! O, Lord! give me these two more souls, I pray!\u201d<\/p>\n
That prayer was answered!<\/p>\n
[click 2 for next chapter]<\/p>\n
\n

\nCHAPTER XLI<\/p>\n
The Young Master<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n
Two days after, a young man drove a light wagon up through the avenue of China trees, and, throwing the reins hastily on the horse\u2019s neck, sprang out and inquired for the owner of the place.<\/p>\n
It was George Shelby; and, to show how he came to be there, we must go back in our story.<\/p>\n
The letter of Miss Ophelia to Mrs. Shelby had, by some unfortunate accident, been detained, for a month or two, at some remote post-office, before it reached its destination; and, of course, before it was received, Tom was already lost to view among the distant swamps of the Red River.<\/p>\n
Mrs. Shelby read the intelligence with the deepest concern; but any immediate action upon it was an impossibility. She was then in attendance on the sick-bed of her husband, who lay delirious in the crisis of a fever. Master George Shelby, who, in the interval, had changed from a boy to a tall young man, was her constant and faithful assistant, and her only reliance in superintending his father\u2019s affairs. Miss Ophelia had taken the precaution to send them the name of the lawyer who did business for the St. Clares; and the most that, in the emergency, could be done, was to address a letter of inquiry to him. The sudden death of Mr. Shelby, a few days after, brought, of course, an absorbing pressure of other interests, for a season.<\/p>\n
Mr. Shelby showed his confidence in his wife\u2019s ability, by appointing her sole executrix upon his estates; and thus immediately a large and complicated amount of business was brought upon her hands.<\/p>\n
Mrs. Shelby, with characteristic energy, applied herself to the work of straightening the entangled web of affairs; and she and George were for some time occupied with collecting and examining accounts, selling property and settling debts; for Mrs. Shelby was determined that everything should be brought into tangible and recognizable shape, let the consequences to her prove what they might. In the mean time, they received a letter from the lawyer to whom Miss Ophelia had referred them, saying that he knew nothing of the matter; that the man was sold at a public auction, and that, beyond receiving the money, he knew nothing of the affair.<\/p>\n
Neither George nor Mrs. Shelby could be easy at this result; and, accordingly, some six months after, the latter, having business for his mother, down the river, resolved to visit New Orleans, in person, and push his inquiries, in hopes of discovering Tom\u2019s whereabouts, and restoring him.<\/p>\n
After some months of unsuccessful search, by the merest accident, George fell in with a man, in New Orleans, who happened to be possessed of the desired information; and with his money in his pocket, our hero took steamboat for Red River, resolving to find out and re-purchase his old friend.<\/p>\n
He was soon introduced into the house, where he found Legree in the sitting-room.<\/p>\n
Legree received the stranger with a kind of surly hospitality.<\/p>\n
\u201cI understand,\u201d said the young man, \u201cthat you bought, in New Orleans, a boy, named Tom. He used to be on my father\u2019s place, and I came to see if I couldn\u2019t buy him back.\u201d<\/p>\n
Legree\u2019s brow grew dark, and he broke out, passionately: \u201cYes, I did buy such a fellow,\u2014and a h\u2014l of a bargain I had of it, too! The most rebellious, saucy, impudent dog! Set up my niggers to run away; got off two gals, worth eight hundred or a thousand apiece. He owned to that, and, when I bid him tell me where they was, he up and said he knew, but he wouldn\u2019t tell; and stood to it, though I gave him the cussedest flogging I ever gave nigger yet. I b\u2019lieve he\u2019s trying to die; but I don\u2019t know as he\u2019ll make it out.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere is he?\u201d said George, impetuously. \u201cLet me see him.\u201d The cheeks of the young man were crimson, and his eyes flashed fire; but he prudently said nothing, as yet.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s in dat ar shed,\u201d said a little fellow, who stood holding George\u2019s horse.<\/p>\n
Legree kicked the boy, and swore at him; but George, without saying another word, turned and strode to the spot.<\/p>\n
Tom had been lying two days since the fatal night, not suffering, for every nerve of suffering was blunted and destroyed. He lay, for the most part, in a quiet stupor; for the laws of a powerful and well-knit frame would not at once release the imprisoned spirit. By stealth, there had been there, in the darkness of the night, poor desolated creatures, who stole from their scanty hours\u2019 rest, that they might repay to him some of those ministrations of love in which he had always been so abundant. Truly, those poor disciples had little to give,\u2014only the cup of cold water; but it was given with full hearts.<\/p>\n
Tears had fallen on that honest, insensible face,\u2014tears of late repentance in the poor, ignorant heathen, whom his dying love and patience had awakened to repentance, and bitter prayers, breathed over him to a late-found Saviour, of whom they scarce knew more than the name, but whom the yearning ignorant heart of man never implores in vain.<\/p>\n
Cassy, who had glided out of her place of concealment, and, by overhearing, learned the sacrifice that had been made for her and Emmeline, had been there, the night before, defying the danger of detection; and, moved by the last few words which the affectionate soul had yet strength to breathe, the long winter of despair, the ice of years, had given way, and the dark, despairing woman had wept and prayed.<\/p>\n
When George entered the shed, he felt his head giddy and his heart sick.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs it possible,\u2014is it possible?\u201d said he, kneeling down by him. \u201cUncle Tom, my poor, poor old friend!\u201d<\/p>\n
Something in the voice penetrated to the ear of the dying. He moved his head gently, smiled, and said,<\/p>\n
\u201cJesus can make a dying-bed
\nFeel soft as down pillows are.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tears which did honor to his manly heart fell from the young man\u2019s eyes, as he bent over his poor friend.<\/p>\n
\u201cO, dear Uncle Tom! do wake,\u2014do speak once more! Look up! Here\u2019s Mas\u2019r George,\u2014your own little Mas\u2019r George. Don\u2019t you know me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMas\u2019r George!\u201d said Tom, opening his eyes, and speaking in a feeble voice; \u201cMas\u2019r George!\u201d He looked bewildered.<\/p>\n
Slowly the idea seemed to fill his soul; and the vacant eye became fixed and brightened, the whole face lighted up, the hard hands clasped, and tears ran down the cheeks.<\/p>\n
\u201cBless the Lord! it is,\u2014it is,\u2014it\u2019s all I wanted! They haven\u2019t forgot me. It warms my soul; it does my heart good! Now I shall die content! Bless the Lord, on my soul!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou shan\u2019t die! you\u00a0mustn\u2019t\u00a0die, nor think of it! I\u2019ve come to buy you, and take you home,\u201d said George, with impetuous vehemence.<\/p>\n
\u201cO, Mas\u2019r George, ye\u2019re too late. The Lord\u2019s bought me, and is going to take me home,\u2014and I long to go. Heaven is better than Kintuck.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cO, don\u2019t die! It\u2019ll kill me!\u2014it\u2019ll break my heart to think what you\u2019ve suffered,\u2014and lying in this old shed, here! Poor, poor fellow!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t call me poor fellow!\u201d said Tom, solemnly, \u201cI\u00a0have\u00a0been poor fellow; but that\u2019s all past and gone, now. I\u2019m right in the door, going into glory! O, Mas\u2019r George!\u00a0Heaven has come!\u00a0I\u2019ve got the victory!\u2014the Lord Jesus has given it to me! Glory be to His name!\u201d<\/p>\n
George was awe-struck at the force, the vehemence, the power, with which these broken sentences were uttered. He sat gazing in silence.<\/p>\n
Tom grasped his hand, and continued,\u2014\u201cYe mustn\u2019t, now, tell Chloe, poor soul! how ye found me;\u2014\u2018t would be so drefful to her. Only tell her ye found me going into glory; and that I couldn\u2019t stay for no one. And tell her the Lord\u2019s stood by me everywhere and al\u2019ays, and made everything light and easy. And oh, the poor chil\u2019en, and the baby;\u2014my old heart\u2019s been most broke for \u2019em, time and agin! Tell \u2019em all to follow me\u2014follow me! Give my love to Mas\u2019r, and dear good Missis, and everybody in the place! Ye don\u2019t know! \u2019Pears like I loves \u2019em all! I loves every creature everywhar!\u2014it\u2019s nothing\u00a0but\u00a0love! O, Mas\u2019r George! what a thing \u2019t is to be a Christian!\u201d<\/p>\n
At this moment, Legree sauntered up to the door of the shed, looked in, with a dogged air of affected carelessness, and turned away.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe old Satan!\u201d said George, in his indignation. \u201cIt\u2019s a comfort to think the devil will pay\u00a0him\u00a0for this, some of these days!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cO, don\u2019t!\u2014oh, ye mustn\u2019t!\u201d said Tom, grasping his hand; \u201che\u2019s a poor mis\u2019able critter! it\u2019s awful to think on \u2019t! Oh, if he only could repent, the Lord would forgive him now; but I\u2019m \u2019feared he never will!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI hope he won\u2019t!\u201d said George; \u201cI never want to see\u00a0him\u00a0in heaven!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHush, Mas\u2019r George!\u2014it worries me! Don\u2019t feel so! He an\u2019t done me no real harm,\u2014only opened the gate of the kingdom for me; that\u2019s all!\u201d<\/p>\n
At this moment, the sudden flush of strength which the joy of meeting his young master had infused into the dying man gave way. A sudden sinking fell upon him; he closed his eyes; and that mysterious and sublime change passed over his face, that told the approach of other worlds.<\/p>\n
He began to draw his breath with long, deep inspirations; and his broad chest rose and fell, heavily. The expression of his face was that of a conqueror.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho,\u2014who,\u2014who shall separate us from the love of Christ?\u201d he said, in a voice that contended with mortal weakness; and, with a smile, he fell asleep.<\/p>\n
George sat fixed with solemn awe. It seemed to him that the place was holy; and, as he closed the lifeless eyes, and rose up from the dead, only one thought possessed him,\u2014that expressed by his simple old friend,\u2014\u201cWhat a thing it is to be a Christian!\u201d<\/p>\n
He turned: Legree was standing, sullenly, behind him.<\/p>\n
Something in that dying scene had checked the natural fierceness of youthful passion. The presence of the man was simply loathsome to George; and he felt only an impulse to get away from him, with as few words as possible.<\/p>\n
Fixing his keen dark eyes on Legree, he simply said, pointing to the dead, \u201cYou have got all you ever can of him. What shall I pay you for the body? I will take it away, and bury it decently.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t sell dead niggers,\u201d said Legree, doggedly. \u201cYou are welcome to bury him where and when you like.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBoys,\u201d said George, in an authoritative tone, to two or three negroes, who were looking at the body, \u201chelp me lift him up, and carry him to my wagon; and get me a spade.\u201d<\/p>\n
One of them ran for a spade; the other two assisted George to carry the body to the wagon.<\/p>\n
George neither spoke to nor looked at Legree, who did not countermand his orders, but stood, whistling, with an air of forced unconcern. He sulkily followed them to where the wagon stood at the door.<\/p>\n
George spread his cloak in the wagon, and had the body carefully disposed of in it,\u2014moving the seat, so as to give it room. Then he turned, fixed his eyes on Legree, and said, with forced composure,<\/p>\n
\u201cI have not, as yet, said to you what I think of this most atrocious affair;\u2014this is not the time and place. But, sir, this innocent blood shall have justice. I will proclaim this murder. I will go to the very first magistrate, and expose you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo!\u201d said Legree, snapping his fingers, scornfully. \u201cI\u2019d like to see you doing it. Where you going to get witnesses?\u2014how you going to prove it?\u2014Come, now!\u201d<\/p>\n
George saw, at once, the force of this defiance. There was not a white person on the place; and, in all southern courts, the testimony of colored blood is nothing. He felt, at that moment, as if he could have rent the heavens with his heart\u2019s indignant cry for justice; but in vain.<\/p>\n
\u201cAfter all, what a fuss, for a dead nigger!\u201d said Legree.<\/p>\n
The word was as a spark to a powder magazine. Prudence was never a cardinal virtue of the Kentucky boy. George turned, and, with one indignant blow, knocked Legree flat upon his face; and, as he stood over him, blazing with wrath and defiance, he would have formed no bad personification of his great namesake triumphing over the dragon.<\/p>\n
Some men, however, are decidedly bettered by being knocked down. If a man lays them fairly flat in the dust, they seem immediately to conceive a respect for him; and Legree was one of this sort. As he rose, therefore, and brushed the dust from his clothes, he eyed the slowly-retreating wagon with some evident consideration; nor did he open his mouth till it was out of sight.<\/p>\n
Beyond the boundaries of the plantation, George had noticed a dry, sandy knoll, shaded by a few trees; there they made the grave.<\/p>\n
\u201cShall we take off the cloak, Mas\u2019r?\u201d said the negroes, when the grave was ready.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, no,\u2014bury it with him! It\u2019s all I can give you, now, poor Tom, and you shall have it.\u201d<\/p>\n
They laid him in; and the men shovelled away, silently. They banked it up, and laid green turf over it.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou may go, boys,\u201d said George, slipping a quarter into the hand of each. They lingered about, however.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf young Mas\u2019r would please buy us\u2014\u201d said one.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019d serve him so faithful!\u201d said the other.<\/p>\n
\u201cHard times here, Mas\u2019r!\u201d said the first. \u201cDo, Mas\u2019r, buy us, please!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t!\u2014I can\u2019t!\u201d said George, with difficulty, motioning them off; \u201cit\u2019s impossible!\u201d<\/p>\n
The poor fellows looked dejected, and walked off in silence.<\/p>\n
\u201cWitness, eternal God!\u201d said George, kneeling on the grave of his poor friend; \u201coh, witness, that, from this hour, I will do\u00a0what one man can\u00a0to drive out this curse of slavery from my land!\u201d<\/p>\n
There is no monument to mark the last resting-place of our friend. He needs none! His Lord knows where he lies, and will raise him up, immortal, to appear with him when he shall appear in his glory.<\/p>\n
Pity him not! Such a life and death is not for pity! Not in the riches of omnipotence is the chief glory of God; but in self-denying, suffering love! And blessed are the men whom he calls to fellowship with him, bearing their cross after him with patience. Of such it is written, \u201cBlessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.\u201d<\/p>\n
[click 3 for next chapter]<\/p>\n
\n

\nCHAPTER XLV<\/p>\n
Concluding Remarks<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n
The writer has often been inquired of, by correspondents from different parts of the country, whether this narrative is a true one; and to these inquiries she will give one general answer.<\/p>\n
The separate incidents that compose the narrative are, to a very great extent, authentic, occurring, many of them, either under her own observation, or that of her personal friends. She or her friends have observed characters the counterpart of almost all that are here introduced; and many of the sayings are word for word as heard herself, or reported to her.<\/p>\n
The personal appearance of Eliza, the character ascribed to her, are sketches drawn from life. The incorruptible fidelity, piety and honesty, of Uncle Tom, had more than one development, to her personal knowledge. Some of the most deeply tragic and romantic, some of the most terrible incidents, have also their parallels in reality. The incident of the mother\u2019s crossing the Ohio river on the ice is a well-known fact. The story of \u201cold Prue,\u201d in the second volume, was an incident that fell under the personal observation of a brother of the writer, then collecting-clerk to a large mercantile house, in New Orleans. From the same source was derived the character of the planter Legree. Of him her brother thus wrote, speaking of visiting his plantation, on a collecting tour; \u201cHe actually made me feel of his fist, which was like a blacksmith\u2019s hammer, or a nodule of iron, telling me that it was \u2018calloused with knocking down niggers.\u2019 When I left the plantation, I drew a long breath, and felt as if I had escaped from an ogre\u2019s den.\u201d<\/p>\n
That the tragical fate of Tom, also, has too many times had its parallel, there are living witnesses, all over our land, to testify. Let it be remembered that in all southern states it is a principle of jurisprudence that no person of colored lineage can testify in a suit against a white, and it will be easy to see that such a case may occur, wherever there is a man whose passions outweigh his interests, and a slave who has manhood or principle enough to resist his will. There is, actually, nothing to protect the slave\u2019s life, but the\u00a0character\u00a0of the master. Facts too shocking to be contemplated occasionally force their way to the public ear, and the comment that one often hears made on them is more shocking than the thing itself. It is said, \u201cVery likely such cases may now and then occur, but they are no sample of general practice.\u201d If the laws of New England were so arranged that a master could\u00a0now and then\u00a0torture an apprentice to death, would it be received with equal composure? Would it be said, \u201cThese cases are rare, and no samples of general practice\u201d? This injustice is an\u00a0inherent\u00a0one in the slave system,\u2014it cannot exist without it.<\/p>\n
The public and shameless sale of beautiful mulatto and quadroon girls has acquired a notoriety, from the incidents following the capture of the Pearl. We extract the following from the speech of Hon. Horace Mann, one of the legal counsel for the defendants in that case. He says: \u201cIn that company of seventy-six persons, who attempted, in 1848, to escape from the District of Columbia in the schooner Pearl, and whose officers I assisted in defending, there were several young and healthy girls, who had those peculiar attractions of form and feature which connoisseurs prize so highly. Elizabeth Russel was one of them. She immediately fell into the slave-trader\u2019s fangs, and was doomed for the New Orleans market. The hearts of those that saw her were touched with pity for her fate. They offered eighteen hundred dollars to redeem her; and some there were who offered to give, that would not have much left after the gift; but the fiend of a slave-trader was inexorable. She was despatched to New Orleans; but, when about half way there, God had mercy on her, and smote her with death. There were two girls named Edmundson in the same company. When about to be sent to the same market, an older sister went to the shambles, to plead with the wretch who owned them, for the love of God, to spare his victims. He bantered her, telling what fine dresses and fine furniture they would have. \u2018Yes,\u2019 she said, \u2018that may do very well in this life, but what will become of them in the next?\u2019 They too were sent to New Orleans; but were afterwards redeemed, at an enormous ransom, and brought back.\u201d Is it not plain, from this, that the histories of Emmeline and Cassy may have many counterparts?<\/p>\n
Justice, too, obliges the author to state that the fairness of mind and generosity attributed to St. Clare are not without a parallel, as the following anecdote will show. A few years since, a young southern gentleman was in Cincinnati, with a favorite servant, who had been his personal attendant from a boy. The young man took advantage of this opportunity to secure his own freedom, and fled to the protection of a Quaker, who was quite noted in affairs of this kind. The owner was exceedingly indignant. He had always treated the slave with such indulgence, and his confidence in his affection was such, that he believed he must have been practised upon to induce him to revolt from him. He visited the Quaker, in high anger; but, being possessed of uncommon candor and fairness, was soon quieted by his arguments and representations. It was a side of the subject which he never had heard,\u2014never had thought on; and he immediately told the Quaker that, if his slave would, to his own face, say that it was his desire to be free, he would liberate him. An interview was forthwith procured, and Nathan was asked by his young master whether he had ever had any reason to complain of his treatment, in any respect.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, Mas\u2019r,\u201d said Nathan; \u201cyou\u2019ve always been good to me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, then, why do you want to leave me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMas\u2019r may die, and then who get me?\u2014I\u2019d rather be a free man.\u201d<\/p>\n
After some deliberation, the young master replied, \u201cNathan, in your place, I think I should feel very much so, myself. You are free.\u201d<\/p>\n
He immediately made him out free papers; deposited a sum of money in the hands of the Quaker, to be judiciously used in assisting him to start in life, and left a very sensible and kind letter of advice to the young man. That letter was for some time in the writer\u2019s hands.<\/p>\n
The author hopes she has done justice to that nobility, generosity, and humanity, which in many cases characterize individuals at the South. Such instances save us from utter despair of our kind. But, she asks any person, who knows the world, are such characters\u00a0common, anywhere?<\/p>\n
For many years of her life, the author avoided all reading upon or allusion to the subject of slavery, considering it as too painful to be inquired into, and one which advancing light and civilization would certainly live down. But, since the legislative act of 1850, when she heard, with perfect surprise and consternation, Christian and humane people actually recommending the remanding escaped fugitives into slavery, as a duty binding on good citizens,\u2014when she heard, on all hands, from kind, compassionate and estimable people, in the free states of the North, deliberations and discussions as to what Christian duty could be on this head,\u2014she could only think, These men and Christians cannot know what slavery is; if they did, such a question could never be open for discussion. And from this arose a desire to exhibit it in a\u00a0living dramatic reality. She has endeavored to show it fairly, in its best and its worst phases. In its\u00a0best\u00a0aspect, she has, perhaps, been successful; but, oh! who shall say what yet remains untold in that valley and shadow of death, that lies the other side?<\/p>\n
To you, generous, noble-minded men and women, of the South,\u2014you, whose virtue, and magnanimity and purity of character, are the greater for the severer trial it has encountered,\u2014to you is her appeal. Have you not, in your own secret souls, in your own private conversings, felt that there are woes and evils, in this accursed system, far beyond what are here shadowed, or can be shadowed? Can it be otherwise? Is\u00a0man\u00a0ever a creature to be trusted with wholly irresponsible power? And does not the slave system, by denying the slave all legal right of testimony, make every individual owner an irresponsible despot? Can anybody fail to make the inference what the practical result will be? If there is, as we admit, a public sentiment among you, men of honor, justice and humanity, is there not also another kind of public sentiment among the ruffian, the brutal and debased? And cannot the ruffian, the brutal, the debased, by slave law, own just as many slaves as the best and purest? Are the honorable, the just, the high-minded and compassionate, the majority anywhere in this world?<\/p>\n
The slave-trade is now, by American law, considered as piracy. But a slave-trade, as systematic as ever was carried on on the coast of Africa, is an inevitable attendant and result of American slavery. And its heart-break and its horrors, can they be told?<\/p>\n
The writer has given only a faint shadow, a dim picture, of the anguish and despair that are, at this very moment, riving thousands of hearts, shattering thousands of families, and driving a helpless and sensitive race to frenzy and despair. There are those living who know the mothers whom this accursed traffic has driven to the murder of their children; and themselves seeking in death a shelter from woes more dreaded than death. Nothing of tragedy can be written, can be spoken, can be conceived, that equals the frightful reality of scenes daily and hourly acting on our shores, beneath the shadow of American law, and the shadow of the cross of Christ.<\/p>\n
And now, men and women of America, is this a thing to be trifled with, apologized for, and passed over in silence? Farmers of Massachusetts, of New Hampshire, of Vermont, of Connecticut, who read this book by the blaze of your winter-evening fire,\u2014strong-hearted, generous sailors and ship-owners of Maine,\u2014is this a thing for you to countenance and encourage? Brave and generous men of New York, farmers of rich and joyous Ohio, and ye of the wide prairie states,\u2014answer, is this a thing for you to protect and countenance? And you, mothers of America,\u2014you who have learned, by the cradles of your own children, to love and feel for all mankind,\u2014by the sacred love you bear your child; by your joy in his beautiful, spotless infancy; by the motherly pity and tenderness with which you guide his growing years; by the anxieties of his education; by the prayers you breathe for his soul\u2019s eternal good;\u2014I beseech you, pity the mother who has all your affections, and not one legal right to protect, guide, or educate, the child of her bosom! By the sick hour of your child; by those dying eyes, which you can never forget; by those last cries, that wrung your heart when you could neither help nor save; by the desolation of that empty cradle, that silent nursery,\u2014I beseech you, pity those mothers that are constantly made childless by the American slave-trade! And say, mothers of America, is this a thing to be defended, sympathized with, passed over in silence?<\/p>\n
Do you say that the people of the free state have nothing to do with it, and can do nothing? Would to God this were true! But it is not true. The people of the free states have defended, encouraged, and participated; and are more guilty for it, before God, than the South, in that they have not the apology of education or custom.<\/p>\n
If the mothers of the free states had all felt as they should, in times past, the sons of the free states would not have been the holders, and, proverbially, the hardest masters of slaves; the sons of the free states would not have connived at the extension of slavery, in our national body; the sons of the free states would not, as they do, trade the souls and bodies of men as an equivalent to money, in their mercantile dealings. There are multitudes of slaves temporarily owned, and sold again, by merchants in northern cities; and shall the whole guilt or obloquy of slavery fall only on the South?<\/p>\n
Northern men, northern mothers, northern Christians, have something more to do than denounce their brethren at the South; they have to look to the evil among themselves.<\/p>\n
But, what can any individual do? Of that, every individual can judge. There is one thing that every individual can do,\u2014they can see to it that\u00a0they feel right. An atmosphere of sympathetic influence encircles every human being; and the man or woman who\u00a0feels\u00a0strongly, healthily and justly, on the great interests of humanity, is a constant benefactor to the human race. See, then, to your sympathies in this matter! Are they in harmony with the sympathies of Christ? or are they swayed and perverted by the sophistries of worldly policy?<\/p>\n
Christian men and women of the North! still further,\u2014you have another power; you can\u00a0pray!\u00a0Do you believe in prayer? or has it become an indistinct apostolic tradition? You pray for the heathen abroad; pray also for the heathen at home. And pray for those distressed Christians whose whole chance of religious improvement is an accident of trade and sale; from whom any adherence to the morals of Christianity is, in many cases, an impossibility, unless they have given them, from above, the courage and grace of martyrdom.<\/p>\n
But, still more. On the shores of our free states are emerging the poor, shattered, broken remnants of families,\u2014men and women, escaped, by miraculous providences from the surges of slavery,\u2014feeble in knowledge, and, in many cases, infirm in moral constitution, from a system which confounds and confuses every principle of Christianity and morality. They come to seek a refuge among you; they come to seek education, knowledge, Christianity.<\/p>\n
What do you owe to these poor unfortunates, oh Christians? Does not every American Christian owe to the African race some effort at reparation for the wrongs that the American nation has brought upon them? Shall the doors of churches and school-houses be shut upon them? Shall states arise and shake them out? Shall the church of Christ hear in silence the taunt that is thrown at them, and shrink away from the helpless hand that they stretch out; and, by her silence, encourage the cruelty that would chase them from our borders? If it must be so, it will be a mournful spectacle. If it must be so, the country will have reason to tremble, when it remembers that the fate of nations is in the hands of One who is very pitiful, and of tender compassion.<\/p>\n
Do you say, \u201cWe don\u2019t want them here; let them go to Africa\u201d?<\/p>\n
That the providence of God has provided a refuge in Africa, is, indeed, a great and noticeable fact; but that is no reason why the church of Christ should throw off that responsibility to this outcast race which her profession demands of her.<\/p>\n
To fill up Liberia with an ignorant, inexperienced, half-barbarized race, just escaped from the chains of slavery, would be only to prolong, for ages, the period of struggle and conflict which attends the inception of new enterprises. Let the church of the north receive these poor sufferers in the spirit of Christ; receive them to the educating advantages of Christian republican society and schools, until they have attained to somewhat of a moral and intellectual maturity, and then assist them in their passage to those shores, where they may put in practice the lessons they have learned in America.<\/p>\n
There is a body of men at the north, comparatively small, who have been doing this; and, as the result, this country has already seen examples of men, formerly slaves, who have rapidly acquired property, reputation, and education. Talent has been developed, which, considering the circumstances, is certainly remarkable; and, for moral traits of honesty, kindness, tenderness of feeling,\u2014for heroic efforts and self-denials, endured for the ransom of brethren and friends yet in slavery,\u2014they have been remarkable to a degree that, considering the influence under which they were born, is surprising.<\/p>\n
The writer has lived, for many years, on the frontier-line of slave states, and has had great opportunities of observation among those who formerly were slaves. They have been in her family as servants; and, in default of any other school to receive them, she has, in many cases, had them instructed in a family school, with her own children. She has also the testimony of missionaries, among the fugitives in Canada, in coincidence with her own experience; and her deductions, with regard to the capabilities of the race, are encouraging in the highest degree.<\/p>\n
The first desire of the emancipated slave, generally, is for\u00a0education. There is nothing that they are not willing to give or do to have their children instructed, and, so far as the writer has observed herself, or taken the testimony of teachers among them, they are remarkably intelligent and quick to learn. The results of schools, founded for them by benevolent individuals in Cincinnati, fully establish this.<\/p>\n
The author gives the following statement of facts, on the authority of Professor C. E. Stowe, then of Lane Seminary, Ohio, with regard to emancipated slaves, now resident in Cincinnati; given to show the capability of the race, even without any very particular assistance or encouragement.<\/p>\n
The initial letters alone are given. They are all residents of Cincinnati.<\/p>\n
\u201cB\u2014\u2014. Furniture maker; twenty years in the city; worth ten thousand dollars, all his own earnings; a Baptist.<\/p>\n
\u201cC\u2014\u2014. Full black; stolen from Africa; sold in New Orleans; been free fifteen years; paid for himself six hundred dollars; a farmer; owns several farms in Indiana; Presbyterian; probably worth fifteen or twenty thousand dollars, all earned by himself.<\/p>\n
\u201cK\u2014\u2014. Full black; dealer in real estate; worth thirty thousand dollars; about forty years old; free six years; paid eighteen hundred dollars for his family; member of the Baptist church; received a legacy from his master, which he has taken good care of, and increased.<\/p>\n
\u201cG\u2014\u2014. Full black; coal dealer; about thirty years old; worth eighteen thousand dollars; paid for himself twice, being once defrauded to the amount of sixteen hundred dollars; made all his money by his own efforts\u2014much of it while a slave, hiring his time of his master, and doing business for himself; a fine, gentlemanly fellow.<\/p>\n
\u201cW\u2014\u2014. Three-fourths black; barber and waiter; from Kentucky; nineteen years free; paid for self and family over three thousand dollars; deacon in the Baptist church.<\/p>\n
\u201cG. D\u2014\u2014. Three-fourths black; white-washer; from Kentucky; nine years free; paid fifteen hundred dollars for self and family; recently died, aged sixty; worth six thousand dollars.\u201d<\/p>\n
Professor Stowe says, \u201cWith all these, except G\u2014\u2014, I have been, for some years, personally acquainted, and make my statements from my own knowledge.\u201d<\/p>\n
The writer well remembers an aged colored woman, who was employed as a washerwoman in her father\u2019s family. The daughter of this woman married a slave. She was a remarkably active and capable young woman, and, by her industry and thrift, and the most persevering self-denial, raised nine hundred dollars for her husband\u2019s freedom, which she paid, as she raised it, into the hands of his master. She yet wanted a hundred dollars of the price, when he died. She never recovered any of the money.<\/p>\n
These are but few facts, among multitudes which might be adduced, to show the self-denial, energy, patience, and honesty, which the slave has exhibited in a state of freedom.<\/p>\n
And let it be remembered that these individuals have thus bravely succeeded in conquering for themselves comparative wealth and social position, in the face of every disadvantage and discouragement. The colored man, by the law of Ohio, cannot be a voter, and, till within a few years, was even denied the right of testimony in legal suits with the white. Nor are these instances confined to the State of Ohio. In all states of the Union we see men, but yesterday burst from the shackles of slavery, who, by a self-educating force, which cannot be too much admired, have risen to highly respectable stations in society. Pennington, among clergymen, Douglas and Ward, among editors, are well known instances.<\/p>\n
If this persecuted race, with every discouragement and disadvantage, have done thus much, how much more they might do if the Christian church would act towards them in the spirit of her Lord!<\/p>\n
This is an age of the world when nations are trembling and convulsed. A mighty influence is abroad, surging and heaving the world, as with an earthquake. And is America safe? Every nation that carries in its bosom great and unredressed injustice has in it the elements of this last convulsion.<\/p>\n
For what is this mighty influence thus rousing in all nations and languages those groanings that cannot be uttered, for man\u2019s freedom and equality?<\/p>\n
O, Church of Christ, read the signs of the times! Is not this power the spirit of Him whose kingdom is yet to come, and whose will to be done on earth as it is in heaven?<\/p>\n
But who may abide the day of his appearing? \u201cfor that day shall burn as an oven: and he shall appear as a swift witness against those that oppress the hireling in his wages, the widow and the fatherless, and that\u00a0turn aside the stranger in his right: and he shall break in pieces the oppressor.\u201d<\/p>\n
Are not these dread words for a nation bearing in her bosom so mighty an injustice? Christians! every time that you pray that the kingdom of Christ may come, can you forget that prophecy associates, in dread fellowship, the\u00a0day of vengeance\u00a0with the year of his redeemed?<\/p>\n
A day of grace is yet held out to us. Both North and South have been guilty before God; and the\u00a0Christian church\u00a0has a heavy account to answer. Not by combining together, to protect injustice and cruelty, and making a common capital of sin, is this Union to be saved,\u2014but by repentance, justice and mercy; for, not surer is the eternal law by which the millstone sinks in the ocean, than that stronger law, by which injustice and cruelty shall bring on nations the wrath of Almighty God!<\/p>\n
[End of Book]<\/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":"
These are the final chapters and the climax of the novel.\u00a0 CHAPTER XL The Martyr \u201cDeem not the just by Heaven forgot! Though life its common gifts deny,\u2014 Though, with a crushed and bleeding heart, And spurned of man, he goes to die! For God hath marked each sorrowing day, And numbered every bitter tear, … Continue reading Uncle Tom’s Cabin – Chapters 40, 41, 45<\/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-261","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\/261","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=261"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/261\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=261"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=261"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=261"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}