Project Gutenberg's Pictures and Stories from Uncle Tom's Cabin, by Unknown
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Title: Pictures and Stories from Uncle Tom's Cabin
Author: Unknown
Editor: John P. Jewett
Release Date: February 8, 2009 [EBook #28021]
Language: English
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THIS LITTLE WORK
IS DESIGNED TO ADAPT
MRS. STOWE'S TOUCHING NARRATIVE
TO THE UNDERSTANDINGS OF THE YOUNGEST READERS
AND TO FOSTER IN THEIR HEARTS
A GENEROUS SYMPATHY FOR THE
WRONGED NEGRO RACE OF AMERICA.
The purpose of the Editor of this little Work, has been to adapt it for
the juvenile family circle. The verses have accordingly been written by
the Authoress for the capacity of the youngest readers, and have been
printed in a large bold type. The prose parts of the book, which are
well suited for being read aloud in the family circle, are printed in a
smaller type, and it is presumed that in these our younger friends will
claim the assistance of their older brothers or sisters, or appeal to
the ready aid of their mamma.
JANUARY, 1853.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by
JOHN P. JEWETT AND COMPANY,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court
of the District of Massachusetts.
PICTURES AND STORIES
From
UNCLE TOM'S CABIN.
Published by John P. Jewett & Co., Boston.
UNCLE TOM'S PICTURE BOOK.
THE SALE OF LITTLE HARRY.
Come read my book good boys and girls
That live on freedom's ground,
With pleasant homes, and parents dear,
And blithesome playmates round;
And you will learn a woeful tale,
Which a good woman told,
About the poor black negro race,
How they are bought and sold.
Within our own America
Where these bad deeds are done,
A father and a mother lived
Who had a little son;
As slaves, they worked for two rich men,
Whose fields were fair and wide--
But Harry was their only joy,
They had no child beside.
Now Harry's hair was thick with curls
And softly bright his eyes,
And he could play such funny tricks
And look so wondrous wise,
[Illustration: THE SALE OF LITTLE HARRY.
Oh children dear, 'twas sad to hear,
That for the trader's gold,
To that hard-hearted evil man
Her own sweet boy was sold.]
That all about the rich man's house
Were pleased to see him play,
Till a wicked trader buying slaves
Came there one winter day.
The trader and the rich man sat
Together, at their wine,
When in poor simple Harry slipped
In hopes of something fine.
He shewed them how the dandy danced,
And how old Cudjoe walked,
Till loud they laughed and gave him grapes,
And then in whispers talked.
The young child knew not what they said,
But at the open door
Eliza, his poor mother, stood,
With heart all sick and sore.
Oh children dear, 'twas sad to hear,
That for the trader's gold,
To that hard-hearted evil man
Her own sweet boy was sold.
And he would take him far away,
To where the cotton grew,
And sell him for a slave to men
More hard and wicked too.
She knew that none would heed his woe,
His want, or sickness there,
Nor ever would she see his face,
Or hear his evening prayer.
So when the house was all asleep,
And when the stars were bright,
She took her Harry in her arms,
And fled through that cold night:--
Away through bitter frost and snow
Did that poor mother flee;
And how she fared, and what befell,
Read on, and you shall see.
Before setting out, Eliza took a piece of paper and a pencil, and wrote
hastily the following note to her kind mistress, who had tried in vain
to save little Harry from being sold:--
"Oh missus! dear missus! don't think me ungrateful; don't think hard of
me. I am going to try to save my boy; you will not blame me! God bless
and reward you for all your kindness!"
Hastily folding and directing this, she went to a drawer and made up a
little package of clothing for her boy, which she tied firmly round her
waist; and so fond is a mother's remembrance, that even in the terrors
of that hour she did not forget to put up in the little package one or
two of his favourite toys.
On the bed lay her slumbering boy, his long curls falling negligently
around his unconscious face, his rosy mouth half open, his little fat
hands thrown out over the bed-clothes, and a smile spread like a sunbeam
over his whole face. "Poor boy! poor fellow!" said Eliza, "they have
sold you, but your mother will save you yet."
It was some trouble to arouse the little sleeper; but after some effort
he sat up, and began playing with his wooden bird, while his mother was
putting on her bonnet and shawl.
"Where are you going, mother?" said he, as she drew near the bed with
his little coat and cap.
His mother drew near, and looked so earnestly into his eyes, that he at
once divined that something unusual was the matter.
"Hush, Harry," she said; "mustn't speak loud, or they will hear us. A
wicked man was coming to take little Harry away from his mother, and
carry him 'way off in the dark; but mother won't let him--she's going to
put on her little boy's cap and coat, and run off with him, so the ugly
man can't catch him."
Saying these words, she had tied and buttoned on the child's simple
outfit, and taking him in her arms, she whispered to him to be very
still; and, opening the door, she glided noiselessly out.
It was a sparkling, frosty, starlight night, and the mother wrapped the
shawl close round her child, as, perfectly quiet with terror, he clung
round her neck.
At first the novelty and alarm kept him waking; but after they had gone
a considerable way, poor Harry said, as he found himself sinking to
sleep--
"Mother I don't need to keep awake, do I?"
"No, my darling; sleep now, if you want to."
"But, mother, if I do get asleep, you won't let him get me?"
"No! so may God help me!" said his mother with a paler cheek, and a
brighter light in her large dark eyes.
"You're _sure_, an't you, mother?"
"Yes, _sure_!" said the mother, in a voice that startled herself; for it
seemed to her to come from a spirit within, that was no part of her; and
the boy dropped his little weary head on her shoulder, and was soon
asleep.
When morning came, as poor Harry complained of hunger and thirst, she
sat down behind a large rock, which hid them from the road, and gave him
a breakfast out of her little package. The boy wondered and grieved that
she could not eat, and when putting his arms round her neck he tried to
force some of his cake into her mouth, it seemed to her that the rising
in her throat would choke her.
"No, no, Harry, darling! mother can't eat till you are safe! We must go
on--on--till we come to the river." And she hurried again into the road
and proceeded on her journey.
When the trader came to take away Harry, he was in a great rage, because
neither the boy nor his mother could be found. The master who sold him
was also very angry, and ordered two of his negroes, called Andy and
Sam, to bring out two of the swiftest horses, and help the trader to
pursue Eliza, and take Harry from her. Andy and Sam did not like that
work, but being slaves, they dare not disobey. However, they did what
they could to detain the trader; for, pretending to be in great haste,
they squalled for this and that, and frightened the horses, till they
ran off over hedges and ditches, with Andy and Sam after them, laughing
till their sides ached as soon as they got out of sight. The trader all
the while stood cursing and swearing, like a wicked man as he was.
When the horses were caught, they were so tired with their race, that he
was fain to let them stay and rest till dinner-time. But when
dinner-time came, Chloe the cook, of whom you will hear more in the
course of the story, spilled one dish, kept another long in baking; and
so the trader did not get his dinner till it was late in the afternoon.
The horses were brought out at last, and he set off with Sam and Andy in
pursuit of poor Harry and his mother. They had gone a great way by this
time, and Eliza's feet were sore with walking all the night and day, and
Harry was ready to lie down and sleep on the snow. As the sun was
setting, they came in sight of the great river Ohio. There was no bridge
over it. People crossed in boats in the summer time, and in winter on
the thick ice, with which it was always covered. Now it was the month of
February. The ice had broken, because spring was near. The river was
swollen over all its banks, and no boatman would venture on it. There
was a little inn hard by, and there poor Eliza hoped to get a little
rest for herself and Harry, who was now fast asleep in her arms. She had
just sat down by the fire, when, who should ride into the yard but the
trader and his guides. The swift horses had brought them much quicker
than she and Harry could walk, but the weary mother would not lose her
child. She darted out with him that moment, and the verses will tell you
by what means she escaped.
ELIZA CROSSING THE RIVER
From her resting-place by the trader chased,
Through the winter evening cold,
Eliza came with her boy at last,
Where a broad deep river rolled.
Great blocks of the floating ice were there,
And the water's roar was wild,
But the cruel trader's step was near,
Who would take her only child.
Poor Harry clung around her neck,
But a word he could not say,
For his very heart was faint with fear,
And with flying all that day.
Her arms about the boy grew tight,
With a loving clasp, and brave;
"Hold fast! Hold fast, now, Harry dear,
And it may be God will save."
From the river's bank to the floating ice
She took a sudden bound,
And the great block swayed beneath her feet
With a dull and heavy sound.
So over the roaring rushing flood,
From block to block she sprang,
And ever her cry for God's good help
Above the waters rang.
And God did hear that mother's cry,
For never an ice-block sank;
While the cruel trader and his men
Stood wondering on the bank.
A good man saw on the farther side,
And gave her his helping hand;
So poor Eliza, with her boy,
Stood safe upon the land.
A blessing on that good man's arm,
On his house, and field, and store;
May he never want a friendly hand
To help him to the shore!
A blessing on all that make such haste,
Whatever their hands can do!
For they that succour the sore distressed,
Our Lord will help them too.
When the two negroes saw Eliza's escape, they began to laugh and cheer;
on which the trader chased them with his horsewhip, cursing and swearing
as usual. But he could not get over the river, and went in very bad
temper to spend that night at the little inn, determined to get a boat,
if possible, and catch Harry in the morning. The man who had helped
Eliza up the river's bank, showed her a pretty white house at some
distance, where a kind gentleman and his wife lived. The dark night had
fallen, the tea-cups were on the table, and the fires were bright in
kitchen and parlour, when the poor mother, all wet and weary, her feet
cut by the sharp ice (for she had lost her shoes in the river), walked
in, with Harry still in her arms. Before she could ask for shelter, she
dropped down fainting on the floor. The good people of the house
thought she was dead, and raised a terrible alarm. Mr. and Mrs. Bird ran
into the kitchen to see what had happened. They were good, kind people,
and great in that place, for Mr. Bird was a member of the American
Parliament. He kept slaves himself, and tried to think it was no sin. He
had even been trying that very night, in conversation with his wife, to
defend a law lately passed, which forbade any one to give shelter to
poor runaway slaves. But Mrs. Bird would listen to no defence of such a
law, and said, "It is a shameful, wicked, and abominable law, and I'll
break it for one the first time I have a chance, and I hope I shall have
a chance too. I know nothing about politics, but I can read my Bible,
and there I see that I must feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and
comfort the desolate; and that Bible I mean to follow. No, no, John,
said she, you may talk all night, but you would not do what you say.
Would you now turn away a poor, shivering, hungry creature from your
door because he was a runaway? Would you, now?"
Now, if the truth must be told, Mr. Bird was a very kind man, and could
not in his heart give a very decided reply to his wife; and it was just
at this moment that poor Eliza and little Harry came to his door. As we
said, Mr. and Mrs. Bird ran to the kitchen to see what had happened.
They found poor Eliza just recovering from her faint. She stared wildly
round her for a moment, and then sprang to her feet, saying, "Oh! my
Harry! have you got him?" The boy at this ran to her, and put his arms
round her neck. "Oh! he's here, he's here!" she exclaimed. And then she
cried wildly to Mrs. Bird, "O, ma'am, do protect us, don't let them get
him!"
"Nobody shall hurt you here, poor woman," said Mrs. Bird. "You are safe;
don't be afraid."
"God bless you," said the woman, covering her face and sobbing, while
poor little Harry, seeing her crying, tried to get into her lap.
With many gentle and womanly offices which no one knew better how to
render than Mrs. Bird, the poor woman was rendered more calm. A
temporary bed was provided for her near the fire; and after a short
time, Eliza, faint and weary with her long journey, fell into a heavy
slumber, with little Harry soundly sleeping on her arm.
"I wonder who and what she is," said Mr. Bird, when he had gone back to
the parlour with his wife.
"When she wakes and feels a little rested, we shall see," said Mrs.
Bird, who began to busy herself with her knitting.
Mr. Bird took up a newspaper, and pretended to be reading it, but it was
not long before he turned to his wife and said, "I say, wife, couldn't
she wear one of your gowns; and there's that old cloak that you keep on
purpose to put over me when I take my afternoon's nap, you might give
her that; she needs clothes."
Mrs. Bird simply replied, "We'll see;" but a quiet smile passed over her
face as she remembered the conversation they had had together that very
night before Eliza and little Harry came to their door.
After an hour or two, Eliza awoke, and Mr. and Mrs. Bird again went to
the kitchen. As they entered, poor Eliza lifted her dark eyes, and fixed
them on Mrs. Bird, with such a forlorn and imploring expression, that
the tears came into the kind-hearted woman's eyes.
"You need not be afraid of anything; we are friends here, poor woman!
Tell me where you came from, and what you want?" said she.
"I came from Kentucky," said poor Eliza.
"And what induced you to run away?" said Mrs. Bird.
The woman looked up with a keen, scrutinising glance, and it did not
escape her that Mrs. Bird was dressed in deep mourning.
"Ma'am," she said, suddenly, "have you ever lost a child?"
The question was unexpected, and it was a thrust on a new wound; for it
was only a month since a darling child of the family had been laid in
the grave.
Mr. Bird turned round and walked to the window, and Mrs. Bird burst into
tears; but, recovering her voice, she said--
"Why do you ask that? I have lost a little one."
"Then you will feel for me. I have lost two, one after another--left
them buried there when I came away; and I had only this one left. I
never slept a night without him; he was all I had. He was my comfort and
pride day and night; and, ma'am, they were going to take him away from
me--to _sell_ him--a baby that had never been away from his mother in
his life! I couldn't stand it, ma'am. I knew I never should be good for
anything if they did; and when I knew the papers were signed and he was
sold, I took him and came off in the night, and they chased me--the man
that bought him and some of master's folks, and they were coming down
right behind me, and I heard them--I jumped right on to the ice, and how
I got across I don't know, but first I knew a man was helping me up the
bank."
"Crossed on the ice?" cried every one present.
"Yes," said poor Eliza, slowly. "I did, God helping me. I crossed on the
ice, for they were behind me--right behind--and there was no other way!"
All around were affected to tears by Eliza's story.
Mr. Bird himself, to hide his feelings, had to turn away, and became
particularly busy in wiping his spectacle-glasses and blowing his nose.
After a short pause, Mrs. Bird asked:--
"And where do you mean to go to, my poor woman?"
"To Canada if I only knew where that was. Is it very far off ma'am?"
said she, looking up with a simple and confiding air to Mrs. Bird's
face.
"Poor woman," said Mrs. Bird, "it is much further off than you think;
but we will try to think what can be done for you. Here Dinah," said she
to one of the servants, "make her up a bed in your own room close by the
kitchen, and I'll think what to do for her in the morning. Meanwhile,
never fear poor woman, put your trust in God, He will protect you."
Mrs. Bird and her husband re-entered the parlour. She sat down in her
little rocking chair before the fire, swinging it thoughtfully to and
fro. Mr. Bird strode up and down the room, grumbling to himself. At
length, striding up to his wife, he said:--
"I say, wife, she'll have to get away from here this very night. That
trader fellow will be down after her early to-morrow morning."
"To-night," said Mrs. Bird, "how is it possible--and where to?"
"Well, I know pretty well where to," said Mr. Bird, beginning to put on
his boots. "I know a place where she would be safe enough, but the
plague of the thing is, nobody could drive a carriage there to-night but
me. The creek has to be crossed twice, and the second crossing is quite
dangerous, unless one know it as I do. But never mind. I'll take her
over myself. There is no help for it. I could not bear to see the poor
woman caught."
"Thank you, thank you, dear John," said the wife, laying her white hand
on his--"Could I ever have loved you had I not known you better than you
do yourself?"
Off Mr. Bird set to see about the carriage, but at the door he stopped
for a moment, and then coming back, he said, with a quivering voice,--
"Mary, I don't know how you'd feel about it, but there's the drawer full
of things--of--of--poor little Henry's." So saying, he turned quickly on
his heel, and shut the door after him.
His wife opened the little bedroom door adjoining her room, and taking
the candle, set it down on the top of a bureau there; then from a small
recess she took a key, and put it thoughtfully in the lock of a drawer,
and made a sudden pause, while two boys, who, boy-like, had followed
close on her heels, stood looking, with silent, significant glances, at
their mother. And oh! mother that reads this, has there never been in
your house a drawer, or a closet, the opening of which has been to you
like the opening again of a little grave? Ah! happy mother that you are,
if it has not been so!
Mrs. Bird slowly opened the drawer. There were little coats of many a
form and pattern, piles of aprons, and rows of small stockings; and even
a pair of little shoes, worn and rubbed at the toes, were peeping from
the folds of a paper. There was a toy horse and waggon, a top, a
ball--memorials gathered with many a tear and many a heartbreak! She sat
down by the drawer, and leaning her head on her hands over it, wept till
the tears fell through her fingers into the drawer; then suddenly
raising her head, she began, with nervous haste, selecting the plainest
and most substantial articles, and gathering them into a bundle.
"Mamma," said one of the boys, gently touching her arm, "are you going
to give away those things?"
"My dear boys," she said, softly and earnestly, "if our dear, loving,
little Henry looks down from heaven, he would be glad to have us do
this. I could not find it in my heart to give them away to any common
person--to anybody that was happy; but I give them to a mother more
heart-broken and sorrowful than I am; and I hope God will send his
blessings with them!"
Mr. Bird returned about twelve o'clock with the carriage. "Mary," said
he, coming in with his overcoat in his hand, you must wake her up now.
"We must be off." Soon arrayed in a cloak, bonnet, and shawl that had
belonged to her benefactress, poor Eliza appeared at the door with her
child in her arms. When she got seated in the carriage, she fixed her
large dark eyes on Mrs. Bird's face, and seemed going to speak. Her lips
moved, but there was no sound; pointing upward with a look never to be
forgotten, she fell back in her seat and covered her face. The door was
shut, and the carriage drove on.
It was not long before they arrived at the place where Mr. Bird thought
they would be safe from the cruel trader. It was a village about seven
miles off, consisting of neat houses, with orchards and meadows about
them.
They all belonged to Quakers, a sect of Christians whom foolish people
laugh at, because they think it right to wear broad-brimmed hats, and
odd old-fashioned bonnets; but they do many good and charitable things,
especially for the poor negroes, and one of them took Harry and his
mother in.
I cannot tell all the kindness the Quaker and his family did to them,
giving Harry such good things, and watching lest the trader should come
that way; but the greatest joy of all was, one evening, when a tall
strong man, called Phineas Fletcher, who was a Quaker, and a great
traveller, guided to the village Harry's poor father, George. His master
was going to sell him too, and he had run away, and searched everywhere
for his wife and child, to take them with him to Canada, which you know
belongs to England. Oh what a happy meeting that was between George,
Eliza, and little Harry.
But they could not remain long with the kind Quakers. Their cruel
pursuers had found out where they were hid, so they had all to set out
again together. This time they were guided by the brave-hearted Phineas
Fletcher, and hoped to reach Canada in safety. But their pursuers
overtook them, and they had to run to the rocks to defend themselves, as
the verses will tell.
THE DEFENCE.
See Harry's poor father, with pistol in hand,
How bravely he takes on the steep rock his stand,
Over rivers, and forests, and towns he has passed,
And found his Eliza and Harry at last.
The kind Quaker folks that wear drab, brown, and gray,
To the wanderers gave shelter and bread on their way,
Their warm clothes were given them, their waggon was lent,
And the strong-armed Phineas along with them went.
Their hope was to journey to Canada's shore,
Where the trader or master could reach them no more;
For the English flag floats there, o'er land and o'er sea,
And they knew in its shadow the negro was free.
But far is their way through the slave-dealing land,
And now on their track comes the trader's fierce band;
So for refuge and rest to the rocks they have run,
And the father will fight for his wife and his son.
He fires on the first up the steep rock that springs,
But the trader comes on, shouting all wicked things,
Till Phineas right over the crag flings him clear,
Saying, "Friend, in my mind thou hast no business here."
Then off go the traders to find them more men,
And off go the friends in their waggon again;
But don't you wish well to the good man for life,
Who would fight for his freedom, his child, and his wife?
[Illustration: THE DEFENCE.
But far is their way through the slave-dealing land,
And now on their track comes the trader's fierce band
So for refuge and rest to the rocks they have run,
And the father will fight for his wife and his son.]
After this, George and Eliza, with their little Harry, journeyed on,
never stopping, except at the house of another kind friend, to disguise
themselves before going on board the steamboat, which at last brought
them safe to Canada.
ARRIVAL IN THE LAND OF FREEDOM.
Look on the travellers kneeling,
In thankful gladness, here,
As the boat that brought them o'er the lake,
Goes steaming from the pier.
'Tis Harry, like a girl disguised,
His mother, like a boy,
But the father kneels beside them,
And their hearts are full of joy.
No man can buy or sell them,
No trader chase them more,
The land of freedom has been gained,
The good Canadian shore.
And they are strangers on the soil,
As poor as poor can be,
But the English flag above them floats,
They know that they are free.
George got employment in a factory, and as he was active and clever in
his work, he soon earned enough to take a pretty little house, where
they all lived together. Harry grew older, and went to school, where he
was a good boy, and never forgot how God had preserved him from the
wicked trader, and what his poor mother had suffered to bring him away.
His father, George, though he worked all day, was learning too from all
sorts of good books, which he used to read by the fire in the evenings.
He was ever thinking of the poor heathen kings in Africa, and the
negroes they sold for slaves. So at last, when he had learned a great
deal, he determined to become a missionary; and, with his wife and
family, he embarked for Africa, where he still labours, teaching the
poor negroes the glad tidings of the gospel.
WHO UNCLE TOM WAS.
Now I must tell you something about Uncle Tom, from whom this book is
named. He was a negro man, as black as jet, and a slave, belonging to
Mr. Shelby, the rich man who at first owned Eliza and Harry. Mr. Shelby
had a great estate, and many slaves to cultivate it, but they all loved
and respected Tom, for he was a good Christian, and kind to everybody,
on which account they used all to call him Uncle. Tom's master was kind
to his slaves, and especially to Tom, because he was honest and careful
with his property. Tom had a cabin or cottage hard by the rich man's
house; it was built of logs cut from great trees; there was a garden in
front, with beautiful flowers and strawberries in it; and climbing
plants, so common in our country, twined along the walls. Tom had also a
wife as black as himself; her name was Chloe, and she cooked for the
Shelbys. You will remember how late she kept the trader's dinner when he
wanted to pursue Eliza. They had two little sons, with very black faces
and curly heads, and a little black baby just beginning to walk. Tom and
his family were very happy in that cabin; the poor negroes used to
gather there to hear Tom sing hymns and pray, for, as I said, he was a
pious man, and the slaves had no other church to go to, for many people
in America will not let negroes worship God with them. Mr. Shelby's son,
a very clever boy, who had gained many prizes at school, liked Tom too,
and used to come teach him to read and write in the evenings, and Tom
had great hopes of being able to read the Bible at last. As Chloe was a
cook she always contrived to have ready something very nice for Mr.
George when he came to teach her goodman, and George would stand with
one eye on Tom's copy, and another on the cake she prepared, while the
boys and the baby played about them.
[Illustration: ARRIVAL IN THE LAND OF FREEDOM.
No man can buy or sell them,
No trader chase them more,
The land of freedom has been gained,
The good Canadian shore.]
But all those pleasant days came to an end. Mr. Shelby lost his money,
and got in debt to a man who dealt in slaves; for that debt he sold
little Harry to him, and the rest of it was paid with poor Tom. Think
what sad news that was for the cabin!
TOM AND HIS WIFE HAVE HEARD THAT HE IS SOLD.
The work of the winter day is o'er,
But Tom and his wife are weeping sore
Beside the hearth, where you can't forget
How the cakes were baked, and the copy set.
Oh, never again will Tom be taught!
From his master, by wicked trader bought;
And he will carry poor Tom next day,
From children, and wife, and home away.
His home--It was low of roof and wall,
But there had been room and love for all,
The peace that waits on contented days,
The voice of prayer and the hymn of praise.
And Tom himself, he is black of skin,
But, children, his soul is fair within,
His life is good and his heart is brave,
And yet they have sold him as a slave.
[Illustration: TOM AND HIS WIFE HAVE HEARD THAT HE IS SOLD.
The fire-light shows on the lowly bed,
Each dusky face, and each curly head
Of his little children, sound asleep;
Oh well may their poor tired mother weep!]
The fire light shows on the lowly bed,
Each dusky face, and each curly head
Of his little children, sound asleep;
Oh well may their poor tired mother weep!
Now Tom is trying to soothe her woe:
"Dear Chloe 'tis best that I should go,
Our babes and you will live safely here,
And I may be far, but God is near."
"Yet think of me, love, when I am gone,
And the days of the pleasant spring come on.
Don't grieve, dear wife"--and his tears fell fast.
"You know we will meet in heaven at last."
Tom might have fled away, as Eliza did with Harry, but he took pity on
Mr. Shelby for being in debt to the trader, and also feared that if he
fled, his wife and children would be sold to pay it. Poor Chloe wept
sore, and so did the boys, and all the negroes on the estate were very
sorry to part with him. George Shelby was from home when Tom was sold,
and knew nothing about the matter. But he returned that very day, and
the moment he learned that Tom was gone, he saddled his horse and rode
after him. When he came up to the waggon he sprang into it, and throwing
his arms round Tom's neck, began sobbing and scolding most violently.
"I declare it's a shame! I don't care what they say, any of them. It's a
nasty mean shame! If I was a man, they shouldn't do it," said George.
"Oh, Mas'r George! this does me good!" said Tom. "I couldn't bear to go
off without seein' ye! It does me real good, ye can't tell!" Here Tom
made some movement of his feet, and George's eyes fell on the fetters.
"What a shame!" he exclaimed, lifting his hands. "I'll knock that old
fellow down--I will!"
"No, you won't, Mas'r George; and you must not talk so loud. It won't
help me any, to anger him."
"Well, I won't, then, for your sake; but only to think of it--isn't it a
shame? They never sent for me, nor sent me any word, and, if it hadn't
been for Tom Lincoln, I shouldn't have heard it. I tell you, I blew them
up well, all of them, at home."
"That wasn't right, I'm feared, Mas'r George."
"Can't help it! I say it's a shame! Look here, Uncle Tom," said he,
turning his back to the rest of the party, and speaking in a mysterious
tone, "_I've brought you my dollar!_"
"Oh, I couldn't think o' takin' it, Mas'r George, no ways in the world,"
said Tom, quite moved.
"But you shall take it," said George. "Look here; I told Aunt Chloe I'd
do it, and she advised me just to make a hole in it, and put a string
through, so you could hang it round your neck, and keep it out of sight,
else this mean scamp would take it away. I tell ye, Tom, I want to blow
him up! it would do me good."
"No, don't, Mas'r George, for it won't do _me_ any good."
"Well, I won't, for your sake," said George, busily tying his dollar
round Tom's neck; "but there, now, button your coat tight over it, and
keep it, and remember, every time you see it, that I'll come down after
you, and bring you back. Aunt Chloe and I have been talking about it. I
told her not to fear; I'll see to it, and I'll tease father's life out
if he don't do it."
"O, Mas'r George, ye mustn't talk so about your father! You must be a
good boy; remember how many hearts is set on ye. Always keep close to
yer mother. Don't be gettin' into them foolish ways boys has of gettin'
too big to mind their mothers. Tell ye what, Mas'r George, the Lord
gives good many things twice over; but he don't give ye a mother but
once. Ye'll never see sich another woman, Mas'r George, if ye live to
be a hundred years old. So, now, you hold on to her, and grow up, and be
a comfort to her, thar's my own good boy--you will, now, won't ye?"
"Yes, I will, Uncle Tom," said George, seriously.
"And be careful of yer speaking, Mas'r George. Young boys, when they
come to your age, is wilful, sometimes--it's natur they should be. But
real gentlemen, such as I hopes you'll be, never lets fall no words that
isn't respectful to thar parents. Ye an't offended, Mas'r George?"
"No indeed, Uncle Tom; you always did give me good advice."
"I's older, ye know," said Tom, stroking the boy's fine curly head with
his large, strong hand, but speaking in a voice as tender as a
woman's--"and I sees all that's bound up in you. O, Mas'r George, you
has everything--larnin', privileges, readin', writin'--and you'll grow
up to be a great, learned, good man, and all the people on the place,
and your mother and father'll be so proud on ye! Be a good mas'r, like
yer father; and be a Christian, like yer mother. Remember yer Creator in
the days o' yer youth, Mas'r George. And now, Good-bye, Mas'r George,"
said Tom, looking fondly and admiringly at him. "God Almighty bless
you!" Away George went, and Tom looked, till the clatter of his horse's
heels died away, the last sound or sight of his home.
When the trader was disappointed in catching Harry, he put handcuffs on
poor Tom to prevent his escape, and took him away in a waggon to a town,
where he bought more slaves--children from their mothers, and husbands
from their wives--some of them as black as Tom, and some nearly white,
like Harry and his mother. Then he put them all on board of a steamboat
going down the great river Mississippi. You will see on the map that it
is one of the largest rivers in America. There are many towns on its
banks, and steamboats go from one to another carrying goods and
passengers; and the trader seeing that Tom was quiet and peaceable, took
off the handcuffs, and allowed him to go about the steamboat helping the
sailors, for Tom would help anybody. There were many people on board
besides the negroes, and among them a rich gentleman called Mr. St.
Clair. He was returning home from a visit to his relations, who lived in
New England, and had with him his little daughter Eva, and his cousin
Miss Feely. Eva had long yellow curls, and a fair, pretty face; better
than that, she had the fear of God and the love of all goodness in her
heart. Always cheerful, meek, and kindly, everybody loved Eva St. Clair,
especially her father, for she was his only daughter. Tom saw her play
about the steamboat, for they were days and nights on the voyage. Eva
used to come close and look at him, when he sat thinking of Chloe and
the children. The little one was shy, notwithstanding all her busy
interest in everything going on, and it was not easy to tame her. But at
last Tom and she got on quite confidential terms.
"What's little missy's name?" said Tom at last, when he thought matters
were ripe to push such an inquiry.
"Evangeline St. Clair," said the little one, "though papa and everybody
else call me Eva. Now, what's your name?"
"My name's Tom; the little children used to call me Uncle Tom, away back
thar in Kentucky."
"Then, I mean to call you Uncle Tom, because, you see, I like you," said
Eva. "So, Uncle Tom, where are you going?"
"I don't know, Miss Eva."
"Don't know?" said Eva.
"No. I am going to be sold to somebody. I don't know who."
"My papa can buy you," said Eva, quickly; "and if he buys you, you will
have good times. I mean to ask him to, this very day."
"Thank you, my little lady," said Tom.
The boat here stopped at a small landing to take in wood, and Eva,
hearing her father's voice, bounded nimbly away. Tom rose up, and went
forward to offer his service in wooding, and soon was busy among the
hands.
Eva and her father were standing together by the railings to see the
boat start from the landing-place; the wheel had made two or three
revolutions in the water, when, by some sudden movement, the little one
suddenly lost her balance, and fell sheer over the side of the boat,
into the water. Her father, scarce knowing what he did, was plunging in
after her, but was held back by some behind him, who saw that more
efficient aid had followed his child.
Tom was standing just under her on the lower deck as she fell. He saw
her strike the water and sink, and was after her in a moment. A
broad-chested, strong-armed fellow, it was nothing for him to keep
afloat in the water, till, in a moment or two, the child rose to the
surface, and he caught her in his arms, and, swimming with her to the
boat-side, handed her up, all dripping, to the grasp of hundreds of
hands, which, as if they had all belonged to one man, were stretched
eagerly out to receive her. A few moments more, and her father bore her,
dripping and senseless, to the ladies' cabin, where she soon recovered.
Her father was much rejoiced, and Eva took such a liking for Tom, that
she would not rest till the rich Mr. St. Clair had bought him from the
trader; and the girl hoped that she would one day get her father coaxed
to set him free. From that day Tom and Eva were great friends. The
steamer brought them safely to New Orleans. The trader took all his
slaves away to sell them in that town; and Tom was taken to Mr. St.
Clair's fine house, where you see him and Eva. You may also see the
doings of little Topsy, a poor negro child, whom Mr. St. Clair bought,
and made a present of to his cousin Miss Feely.
EVA PUTTING A WREATH OF FLOWERS ROUND TOM'S NECK.
Poor Tom is far from his cottage now,
From his own good wife, and children three,
Where coffee, and rice, and cedars grow,
By a wide old river like the sea.
And he has a master rich and kind,
With all that his heart can well desire,
But homeward still goes the negro's mind,
To the curly heads by his cottage fire.
He the gentle Eva's life did save,
When over the great ship's side she fell,
And brought her up from the drowning wave,--
So Eva had grown to love him well.
She will read to Tom for hours on hours,
And sit with him on the grass all day;
You see she is wreathing pretty flowers,
About his neck, in her pleasant play.
Different in colour and in years
Are the negro man and that fair child's face;
But a likeness in God's sight appears,
For both are the children of his grace.
[Illustration: EVA PUTTING A WREATH OF FLOWERS ROUND TOM'S NECK.
She will read to Tom for hours on hours,
And sit with him on the grass all day;
You see she is wreathing pretty flowers
About his neck, in her pleasant play.]
TOPSY AT THE LOOKING GLASS.
See little Topsy at the glass quite gay,
Her mistress has forgot the keys to-day,
So she has rummaged every drawer, and dressed
Herself out in Miss Feely's very best.
Mark where she stands! the shawl of gorgeous red
Wound like a Turk's great turban round her head;
A finer shawl far trailing on the floor,
Just shews her bare black elbows, and no more.
With what an air she flaunts the ivory fan,
And tries to step as stately as she can,
Mincing fine words to her own shadow, "Dear!
How very ungenteel the folks are here!"
But while that shadow only Topsy sees,
Back comes the careful lady for her keys,
And finds her in the grandeur all arrayed--
Poor Topsy will be punished, I'm afraid.
Now it is wrong, as every reader knows,
To rummage people's drawers, and wear their clothes;
But Topsy is a negro child, you see,
Who never learned to read like you and me.
A child whom bad men from her mother sold,
Whom a harsh mistress used to cuff and scold,
Whom no one taught or cared for all her days,
No wonder that the girl had naughty ways.
[Illustration: TOPSY AT THE LOOKING-GLASS.
Mark where she stands! the shawl of gorgeous red
Wound like a Turk's great turban round her head,
A finer shawl for trailing on the floor,
Just shows her bare black elbows, and no more.]
No home, no school, no Bible she had seen,
How bless'd besides poor Topsy we have been!
Yet boys and girls among ourselves, I've known
Puffed up with praise for merits not their own.
The copy by some clever school-mate penned,
The witty saying picked up from a friend,
Makes many a miss and master look as fine,
As if they coined the words or penned the line.
But none can keep such borrowed plumes as these,
For some one still comes back to find the keys,
And so they are found out, it comes to pass,
Just like poor Topsy at the looking-glass.
TOPSY BRINGING FLOWERS TO EVA.
Poor Topsy, trying to be kind,
Has brought a bunch of garden flowers
To Eva, when she lies reclined
Through the bright summer's sultry hours.
For sickness hangs on Eva now,
She can no longer run or play,
Her cheek is pale, her voice is low,
And there she lies the livelong day.
Yet Eva does not fear to die,
She knows a better home remains
For her, beyond the great blue sky,
Where comes no sickness, tears, or pains.
[Illustration: TOPSY BRINGING FLOWERS TO EVA.
"Oh mother dear, let Topsy stay,"
Says Eva in her gentle mood,
"She brought such pretty flowers to-day,
Indeed she's trying to be good."]
For in her happier days of health
She read and prized her Bible true,
Above this poor world's pride or wealth,
And loved her blessed Saviour too.
And she like him was kind to all,
And pity on poor Topsy had,
Because the rest would scold and call
Her names, for being black and bad.
So Eva strove to make her good,
And told her, of all tales the best,
How Christ came down to shed his blood,
That sinners might be saved and blest.
Poor Topsy tried to understand--
None ever taught her so before--
And brought the sweet flowers in her hand,--
The negro girl could do no more.
But Eva's proud mamma comes in
With scornful look and frown severe,
She cries, "begone, you nasty thing!
In all the world what brings you here?"
"Oh mother dear, let Topsy stay,"
Says Eva in her gentle mood,
"She brought such pretty flowers to-day,
Indeed she's trying to be good."
"I'm going fast, where there will be
No difference, but in sins forgiven,
And mother it might chance that we
Would bring poor Topsy flowers in heaven."
[Illustration: DEATH OF EVA.
Oh, swift and sad were the tears that fell,
As her gifts among them passed,
And Tom, he got the first fair curl,
And Topsy got the last.]
THE DEATH OF EVA.
There is peace on Eva's wasted brow,
And a soft light in her eye;
But her father's heart grows hopeless now,
For he knows that she must die.
Yet the thought is kind and the trust is true,
As she takes him by the hand,--
Dear father I will look for you
In the light of God's own land.
"Oh let them cut the long, long curls
That flow about my head,
And let our poor kind negroes come
For a moment round my bed.
"They have smoothed and stroked it many a day
In their kindly sport, and care,
And it may be they will think of me
When they see that curling hair."
The negroes loved her, young and old,
With a fond and deep regard,
For Eva's look was never sour,
And her words were never hard.
And her old nurse by the bedside stood,
Sore sobbing in her woe,
That so many sinners here should stay,
And the good and young should go.
"Dear nurse," said Eva, "I go home
To the happiest home of all;
Where never an evil thing will come,
And never a tear will fall.
"And I will hope each one to see,
That blessed home within;
Where Christ himself will set us free
From the bonds of death and sin."
Oh, swift and sad were the tears that fell,
As her gifts among them passed,
And Tom, he got the first fair curl,
And Topsy got the last.
But first and last alike were given,
With some words of love and prayer;
And it may be, hearts were helped to heaven,
By the links of that soft hair.
When Eva was dead and buried, Tom missed her sore, but he knew it was
the will of God, and tried to comfort his master. Mr. St. Clair intended
to set him free for Eva's sake. He was a kind man, but given to delay,
and one day a wicked man stabbed him in a coffee-house, when he was
trying to settle a quarrel. Mrs. St. Clair was a proud, hard-hearted
woman, who cared for nobody but herself. She sold all the negroes, and
Tom among them, to a cruel cotton planter, called Legree, and you shall
see how he behaved.
LEGREE STRIKING TOM.
Tom's good wife Chloe, far at home,
And his boys so blythe and black,
Are all working hard, in hopes to win
The dollars, to buy him back.
And George, who taught him long ago,
Has many a pleasant plan,
To pay his price, and set him free.
When he comes to be a man.
But little does that wicked man,
In his angry madness, know,
That God himself will take account
Of each cruel word and blow.
And children dear, who see him here,
At night and morning pray,
That you may never have aught like this
Laid up for the judgment day!
By the time all these things happened, George Shelby had grown up; but
when he came to buy back Tom, the pious, kindly negro, had been so
ill-treated by that cruel planter, because he tried to save the other
slaves from his evil temper, that he lay dying in an old shed; and there
was no law to punish the wicked planter, because Tom was black.
When George entered the shed where Tom lay, he felt his head giddy and
his heart sick.
"Is it possible?" said he, kneeling down by him. "Uncle Tom, my poor,
poor old friend!"
Something in the voice penetrated to the ear of the dying. He smiled,
and said--
"Jesus can make a dying bed
Feel soft as downy pillows are."
Tears fell from the young man's eyes as he bent over his poor friend.
"O, dear Uncle Tom! do wake--do speak once more! Look up. Here's Mas'r
George--your own little Mas'r George. Don't you know me?"
"Mas'r George!" said Tom, opening his eyes, and speaking in a feeble
voice--"Mas'r George!" He looked bewildered.
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.
"Bless the Lord' it is--it is--it's all I wanted! They haven't forgot
me. It warms my soul; it does my old heart good! Now I shall die
content! Bless the Lord, O my soul!"
He began to draw his breath with long, deep aspirations; and his broad
chest rose and fell heavily. The expression of his face was that of a
conqueror.
"Who--who shall separate us from the love of Christ?" he said, in a
voice that contended with mortal weakness; and with a smile he fell
asleep.
Beyond the boundaries of the plantation George had noticed a dry, sandy
knoll, shaded by a few trees; there they made a grave for poor Tom.
"Shall we take off the cloak, mas'r?" said the negroes, when the grave
was ready.
"No, no; bury it with him. It's all I can give you now, poor Tom, and
you shall have it."
They laid him in; and the men shovelled away silently. They banked it
up, and laid green turf over it.
"You may go, boys," said George, slipping a quarter dollar into the hand
of each. They lingered about, however.
"If young mas'r would please buy us," said one.
"We'd serve him so faithful!" said the other. "Do, mas'r, buy us,
please!"
"I can't--I can't," said George, with difficulty, motioning them off;
"it's impossible!"
The poor fellows looked dejected, and walked off in silence.
"Witness, eternal God," said George, kneeling on the grave of his poor
friend--"O, witness that, from this hour, I will do _what one man can_
to drive out this curse of slavery from my land!"
There is no monument to mark the last resting-place of poor Tom. 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.
[Illustration: LEGREE STRIKING TOM.
But little does that wicked man,
In his angry madness, know,
That God himself will take account
Of each cruel word and blow.]
LITTLE EVA SONG.
UNCLE TOM'S GUARDIAN ANGEL.
WORDS BY JOHN G. WHITTIER . . . . MUSIC BY MANUEL EMILIO.
[Illustration: Music]
Dry the tears for holy Eva!
With the blesséd angels leave her;
Of the form so sweet and fair,
Give to earth the tender care.
For the golden locks of Eva,
Let the sunny south land give her
Flow'ry pillow of repose,
Orange bloom and budding rose,
Orange bloom and budding rose.
All is light and peace with Eva;
There the darkness cometh never;
Tears are wiped, and fetters fall,
And the Lord is all in all.
Weep no more for happy Eva;
Wrong and sin no more shall grieve her,
Care, and pain, and weariness,
Lost in love so measureless!
Gentle Eva, loving Eva,
Child confessor, true believer,
Listener at the Master's knee,
"Suffer such to come to me."
O for faith like thine, sweet Eva,
Lighting all the solemn river,
And the blessing of the poor,
Wafting to the heavenly shore.
THE END.
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