Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 George and Eliza
 An evening in Uncle Tom's...
 Crossing the Ohio
 Uncle Tom's farewell
 The escape
 Eva St. Clare
 Tom's new home
 Quaker friends
 The warning
 The end
 The slave market
 Dark places
 The victory
 Back Cover

Group Title: Old stories told anew
Title: Uncle Tom's cabin
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00080112/00001
 Material Information
Title: Uncle Tom's cabin
Series Title: Old stories told anew
Physical Description: 97 p., 6 leaves of plates : ill. (some col.) ; 18 x 23 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Stowe, Harriet Beecher, 1811-1896
Rae, Julia S. E ( Editor )
Maplestone, Florence ( Illustrator )
Trischler & Company ( Publisher )
Publisher: Trischler & Company
Place of Publication: London
Publication Date: 1891
Subject: Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Slavery -- Juvenile fiction -- United States   ( lcsh )
Slaves -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Plantation life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
African Americans -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Fugitive slaves -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Slavery -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1891
Genre: novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
Germany -- Bavaria
Statement of Responsibility: edited by Julia S.E. Rae ; with original illustrations by Florence Mapleston.
General Note: Some illustrations printed in colors; others and text printed in brown.
General Note: Printed in Bavaria.
General Note: "In the revision ... the incidents, plot and dialogue have throughout been carefully preserved as far as possible; ... adapted to the modern tastes of younger readers of the present generation ..."
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00080112
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002238056
notis - ALH8551
oclc - 42673618

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
    Title Page
        Title Page
    Table of Contents
        Table of Contents
    George and Eliza
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
    An evening in Uncle Tom's cabin
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 12a
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
    Crossing the Ohio
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 20a
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 24a
    Uncle Tom's farewell
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
    The escape
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
    Eva St. Clare
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
    Tom's new home
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
    Quaker friends
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
    The warning
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
    The end
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 78a
        Page 79
    The slave market
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
    Dark places
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
    The victory
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 96a
        Page 97
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

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P R I Z -

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The Baldwin Library

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See I'nce ii
Eliza escaping ucpass ~he Ohio


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In the revision of this short series of old stories, enjoying unrivalled popularity
in their original form, the incidents, plot and dialogue have throughout been carefully
preserved as far as possible; the object of the omissions made in the text being to
simplify and adapt it to the modern tastes of younger readers of the present generation,
to whom the new and interesting style of the illustrations will especially appeal.



PTERI. George and Eliza . .
II. An Evening in Uncle Tom's Cabin
SIII. Crossing the Ohio . .
,, IV. Uncle Tom's Farewell .
V. The Escape . .
SVI. Eva St. Clare . .
,, VII. Tom's New Home . .
,, VIII. Quaker Friends ...
,IX. Shadows . .
X. The Warning . .
,, XI. The End . .
SXII. Re-Union . ...
,, XIII. The Slave Market . .
,, XIV. Dark Places . .
,, XV. The Victory . .



Eliza escaping across the Ohio Frontispiece
Uncle Tom's new Master carries him off 12
Eva distributing oranges and candy to Haley's
gang of slaves . 20
Uncle Tom saves Eva .. 24
"Uncle Tom I'm going there" . 29
Topsy laying Flowers at Eva's feet 40
"Thee is not wanted here, Friend" 49
Tom refusing to whip Lucy . 59
Cassy ministering to Uncle Tom . 69
The sale of Emmeline .. 78
George Shelby freeing all his Slaves 87
George Shelby covering Uncle Tom's dead face 96


Uncle 0 om's Cabin.

ATE in the afternoon of a chilly day in February, two men were sitting over
their wine in a well-furnished dining-room in a town of Kentucky. One of
them, Mr. Shelby, looked like a gentleman, and seemed ill at ease while
talking earnestly with his companion, whose conversation was as coarse and
ungrammatical as his appearance was common, though he was smartly
dressed, and wore a large gold chain and rings, which he took care every-
I body should see.
Mr. Shelby poured him out another glass of wine as he said, "The fact
is, Haley, Tom is an uncommon fellow-he is certainly worth that sum anywhere-he's
steady, honest, clever-"
"You mean honest as niggers go," said Haley, coolly drinking off the wine.
"No; I mean really-Tom is a good steady, pious fellow. I've trusted him
with everything I have--money, horses, house-and let him come and go round the
country, and I've always found him true and square."
"Some folks don't believe in pious niggers, Shelby, but I do:' replied Haley.
"I had a fellow in this yer last lot I took to Orleans who was always prayin', and


quite gentle and quiet like. He fetched me a good sum too. I think religion valeyable
in a nigger when it's the real thing."
"Well, Tom's got the real thing, if ever a fellow had," replied the other.
"I am sorry to part with him, I must say. You ought to let him cover the
whole debt, and you would, Haley, if you had any conscience."
"Well, haven't you a boy or a gal you could throw in with Tom?"
"No; to say truth, I can't bear selling any of my hands, and wouldn't if I could
help myself."
Here a beautiful little quadroon boy between four and five years old came
into the room. His soft, silky black hair hung in glossy curls about his round, dimpled
face, and a pair of large, bright dark eyes looked out from beneath their long lashes,
as he peered into the room. He was gaily and neatly dressed, and was evidently a
pet of his master's.
"Hallo, Jim Crow! pick up that' said Mr. Shelby, throwing him a bunch of
raisins from the table.
The child scampered as well as he could after the prize, and his master
laughed, and said, "Now, Jim, show this gentleman how you can dance and sing."
The boy began one of the wild, grotesque songs sung by the negroes, in a
rich, clear voice, with many comic movements of the feet, hands, and body, all in
perfect time to the music.
"Now, Jim, walk like old Uncle Cudjoe when he has the rheumatism," said
Mr. Shelby.


Instantly the child humped up his back, and hobbled about the room with
his master's stick in his hand, his childish face drawn up as if in pain.
"Bravo!" cried Haley, and clapping his hand on Mr. Shelby's shoulder, he
added, "Fling in that chap, and the thing's done! I call that a fair offer."
At that moment the door was pushed gently open, and a young quadroon
woman entered the room. No one who saw her and the boy together could doubt that
she was his mother. She had the same full dark eye, with its long lashes, the same
silky black hair; and her brown complexion flushed when she saw the strange man's
looks fixed upon her, as he noticed with the quick eye of the trader what a pretty
figure, hand and foot she had.
"I was looking for Harry, sir -she said shyly as soon as she could speak.
"Well, Eliza, take him away then," said Mr. Shelby, as the boy ran up to his
mother, who carried him away.
"What a beauty!" said Haley when she was gone, "What'll you take for
her, eh?"
"Mr. Haley-my wife wouldn't part with her for her weight in gold," replied
Shelby, gravely.
"You'll let me have the boy though?" said Haley.
"I would rather not sell him-the fact is, sir, I hate to take the boy from
his mother," said Mr. Shelby.
"Oh-these critters ain't like white folk," said Haley, "but I don't find it
pay to be cruel, I always use 'em well. You see when I anyways can I take a little
care about the onpleasant parts, like selling young 'uns and that, get the gals out


of the way, and when it's clean dcne and can't be helped, they naturally gets used
to it. 'Taint like white folks that's brought up 'specting to keep their wives and
children and all that. Niggers that's fetched up right hain't no idees of that kind,
so these things comes easier."
"Mine are not properly brought up then," said Mr. Shelby.
"S'pose not, you Kentucky folk spile your niggers. You mean well by 'em,
but 'taint no real kindness arter all, for the rough and tumble when it comes is
harder on 'em. No, Mr, Shelby I think I treat niggers just as well as it's ever worth
while to treat 'em. Well, let me know soon what you are going to do," said Haley
as he went away.
"I'd like to have been able to kick the fellow down stairs," said Shelby to
himself. "If anybody had ever told me I should sell Tom down south to one of those
rascally traders,I couldn't have believed it. So much for being in debt, and to a
fellow like that!"
Eliza had been kindly and carefully brought up by a kind mistress, and
happily married for some years to a bright handsome young man, named George Harris,
who was a slave on a neighboring estate.
Eliza was thinking over the strange words she had heard from Haley, with a
dread at her heart as to what they might mean, when a hand was laid on her shoulder.
She turned and with a bright smile exclaimed, "George! Who'd have thought of
seeing you? Missis is out for the afternoon so we'll have the time all to ourselves."
As she spoke she drew him into the little room opening to the verandah, where
she usually sat at her work, exclaiming, "How glad I am! Why don't you smile


and look at Harry, isn't he beautiful?" said Eliza, lifting the boy's long curls and
kissing him.
"I wish he'd never been born-I wish I'd never been born myself," said
George, bitterly.
Surprised and frightened, Eliza sat down, leaned her head on her husband's
shoulder, and burst into tears.
"There now, Eliza, it's too bad for me to make you feel so, poor girl! I wish
you had never seen me, it would have been better for you."
"What dreadful thing can have happened, George, to make you talk so?" said
Eliza, "I'm sure we ve been very happy till now."
"So we have, dear," said George, drawing his child fondly on his knee, and
gazing at his glorious dark eyes.
"Just like you, Eliza, and you are the handsomest woman I ever saw, and the
best I ever wish to see, but it's all misery, misery!"
"Dear George, I know you have a hard master, but pray be patient- -"
"Patient ?" said he interrupting her, "Did I say a word when he took me away
from the place where I was working hard. and everyone was kind to me, to put me
to work that any horse can do."
"It is dreadful," said Eliza, "but after all he's your master, you know."
"Who made him my master? What right has he to me? I'm a better man
than he is, and know more about business, and he says he'll bring down my proud
spirit, and puts me to the hardest and dirtiest work on purpose. Why only yesterday
as I was loading a cart with stones, that young Mas'r Tom stood slashing his whip


so near the horse that the creature got frightened, and because I asked him not to
do it he turned on me, and his father told him he might whip me till he was tired
if he liked. And he did it too-but I'1l pay him out some day! It's all very well
for you, for you have been always kindly treated and well brought up, but I've been
kicked and cuffed and sworn at, and 1 won't bear it, I won't!" Eliza trembled and
was silent. "You know poor little Carlo you gave me?" added George, "the creature
has been the greatest comfort I had, and kind of understood how I felt, and as I was
feeding him the other day with a few scraps I picked up by the kitchen door, Mas'r
came along and said he couldn't afford to have every nigger keeping his dog, and
tied a stone to his neck and threw him into the pond. Poor thing, he looked so sad
at me as if he wondered why I didn't save him. I had to take a flogging because
I wouldn't drown him myself-I don't care-Mas'r will find out I'm one that whipping
won't tame."
'"Oh, George, don't do anything wicked. If you only trust in God and try to
do right He will deliver you.'
"I ain't a Christian like you, Eliza, but you don't know all. Mas'r says I
shan't come to see you any more."
"But we are married," said Eliza quietly
"Don't you know a slave can't be married by law? I can't hold yo:i for my
wife, if Mas'r chooses to part us. That's why 1 wish I had never seen you-that I
had never been born, or the boy either."
"Mr Shelby is so kind to us!" said Eliza.


"Yes, but if he died the boy might be sold any day. The brighter and
handsomer he grows, the more likely he is to be taken from you."
Eliza thought of the man she had seen, and turned pale and faint, but she
would not add to her husband's trouble by telling him her fears.
Then he said, "Goodbye now, Eliza, for I'm going to Canada, and when I'm
there I'll buy you and the boy, God helping me, I will! You've a kind master who
won't refuse to sell you."
"BI t what if you should be taken?"
"I won't be taken--I'll die first! Hear my plan. Mas'r sent me down near
here thinking I'd come and tell you what he said, and I'm going home as if it was
all over. There are those that will help me, and in the course of a week or so I
shall be among the missing. Pray for me, Eliza, perhaps God will hear you."
"Pray yourself, George, and trust in Him, then you won't do anything wicked."
"Well, now good-bye," said George, looking earnestly upon her-then there were
last words, and sobs and bitter weeping, and the husband and wife were parted,
perhaps for ever.


\CILE Tom's cabin was a small log building near his master's house, with a
neat garden in front, where every summer strawberries, raspberries, and various
Fruits and vegetables flourished. The cottage was covered by a large scarlet
begonia and a multiflora rose that, twining together, left scarce a sign of the
rough logs to be seen, with marigolds, petunias, and other brilliant annuals that
Were the pride of Aunt Chloe's heart. A round, black, shining face was hers,
r and she looked proud of her position as the first cook in the neighbourhood,
-c which all allowed her to be.
As soon as Aunt Chloe had retired from her duties as head cook at the house
for the day, she came home to her own fireside to "get her ole man's supper," and then
a table was drawn up set out with cups and saucers of very gay pattern, and here
sat Uncle Tom awaiting his meal. He was a large, broad-chested, powerfully-made
man of a full glossy black, with a face whose truly African features had an expression
of quiet good sense, kindness and benevolence. Young Mas'r George, a bright boy of
thirteen, was by Uncle Tom's side, trying to teach him to write on a slate. "How easy
white folks allus does things," said Aunt Chloe, looking at George with pride as she
carefully watched her cakes. "The way he can write and read too! It's mighty interesting. "
"But, Aunt Chloe, I'm getting very hungry", said George, "isn't that cake nearly dn-?"
"'Most done, Mas'r George," said Aunt Chloe, "brownin' beautiful, a real lovely
brown. Let me 'lone, for dat! Missis let Sally try to make some cake t'other day,


jest to larn her she said. Oh go 'way Missis, says I, it really hurts my feelings to see
good vittles spoilt dat ar way! Cake ris' all to one side, no shape at all, no more
than my shoe!"
With this Aunt Chloe took out a well baked pound cake, of which no city
confectioner need have been ashamed, and then began to bustle about in earnest.
"Here you, Mose and Pete, get out of de way you niggers! Get away, Polly,
mammy'll give her baby somefin by and bye. No, Mas'r George, you set down now
with my old man, and I'll take up de sausages, an have the hot cakes on your plates
in less dan no time."
"They wanted me to come to supper at the house," said George, "but I knew
what was what too well for that."
"So you did," said Aunt Chloe, heaping the cakes on his plate, "You know'd
your ole Aunty'd keep the best for you Let me 'lone for dat!"
"Now for the cake," said George, flourishing a large knife over it.
"La bless you, Mas'r George," said Aunt Chloe earnestly, "you wouldn't cut
it with dat ar great heavy knife?- Smash all down, spile de pretty rise of it. I've
got a thin ole knife a purpose. Now eat away, you won't get anything to beat dat ar."
When Mas'r George had arrived at that pass to which even a boy can come,
when he really could not eat another morsel, he had time to notice the woolly heads
and glistening eyes that were looking on hungrily from the opposite corner.
"Here, Aunt Chloe," said he, "Mose and Pete want some too-bake them
some cakes."
George and Tom moved to the chimney corner, and Aunt Chloe having placed


a heap of cakes on the table, took her baby on her lap and fed it, giving some to
Mose and Pete, who ate theirs rolling about under the table.
"Oh, go 'long," said the mother, with a kick here and there under the table,
"Can't ye be quiet when white folk come to see ye? Better mind what ye're about or
I'll take ye down a button-hole lower, when Mas'r George is gone."
It is hard to say what this terrible threat meant, but the boys didn't seem
to mind it much, and coming out with hands and faces smeared with treacle, they
began to kiss the baby.
"Get 'long wid ye," said the mother, pushing away their woolly heads.
"Ye'll all stick together and never get clar. Go 'long to the spring and wash
yourselves. Did ye ever see such aggravating young 'uns?" added Aunt Chloe when
they were gone, and having washed the baby's face, she laid her down in Tom's lap.
He set her on his broad shoulder, and began capering and dancing with her, while
Mose and Pete, who had now come back, roared round him like young bears.
"Well now I hopes you're done," said Aunt Chloe, when she had cleared away
the supper, "we's going to have de meeting, but what we's to do for chairs I declare
I don't know."
As the "meetings" had been held weekly for some time at Uncle Tom's
without any more chairs, it seemed likely this difficulty would be got over.
"Old Uncle Peter sung both de legs out of dat oldest cheer, last week,"
said Mose.
"You go 'long, p'raps you pulled 'em out some of your shines," replied
Aunt Chloe._


"We'll get Uncle Peter into it," said Mose, "and den he'll begin 'Come saints
and sinners hear me tell', and den, down he'll go!" and Mose imitated the old man's
voice, tumbling on the floor at the end to shew the supposed disaster.
"Come now, ain't yer 'shamed?" said Aunt Chloe. "Mas'r George is such a
beautiful reader, I know he'll stay to read for us."
George readily agreed to this, and soon the room was filled with darkiess"
of all ages who took part heartily in singing the spirited hymns about "Going to
glory," "New Jerusalem," "Canaan's Fields,' and "Jordan's banks," which negroes always
prefer to any others. Mas'r George read by request the -last chapter of the Revelation,
with an occasional explanation of his own thrown in, and it was agreed on all sides
that it was really makingg how he did it. Then the meeting ended with one of the
simple earnest prayers that good Uncle Tom well knew how to offer up to God, and
that always went to the heart of those for whom he prayed.
While this was going on in Uncle Tom's cabin, Mr. Shelby was signing the
papers that were to dispose of his faithful old servant, and as he handed them to
Haley with a heavy sigh, added,
"I hope you'll remember, IHaley, that you promised on your honour not to
sell Tom rwithoutt k]n,\ing what sort of hands he's going to."
"Not unless I'm obliged to," said the trader, "however I'll do the very best
I can to rget Tomn a good berth," and with that he took his departure.
When Mr. Shelby rejoined his wife that night, she asked him who the common
fellow was, who had come to dinner with them that day.


"A man named Haley, with whom I had some business lately," answered Mr.
Shelby moving rather uneasily in his chair.
"Is he a negro-trader?" said Mrs. Shelby remarking her husband's manner.
"Why, dear, what put that into your head ?' said he, looking up.
"Why, Eliza came in here after dinner, crying and miserable, and said you
were talking to a trader and that she heard him make an offer for her boy, the
ridiculous little goose!"
"She did, eh?" said Mr. Shelby, at a loss what to say.
"I told Eliza," added Mrs. Shelby "that I was sure you never meant to sell any
of our people, least of all to a man like that."
"I've always felt and said so, Emily," said her husband, "but I'm sorry to
say I can't help it-I shall have to sell some of my hands."
"Not to that creature? You cannot mean what you say."
"I do indeed. I've agreed to sell Tom!"
"What, our good faithful Tom? Your servant from a boy? Why we have
promised him his freedom a hundred times! I can believe anything now-even that
you could sell little Harry, poor Eliza's only child," said Mrs. Shelby in a tone of grief
and anger.
"If you must know the truth then, I have agreed to sell Tom and Harry both.
After all it's no more than everybody does."
"But why sell them, of all others on the place?"
"Because they are worth the most. The fellow would have paid a high price
for Eliza, only I wouldn't listen to it for a moment for your sake," said Mr. Shelby.



uncle Tom's ne Master c ies hi~ off
Uncle Tom's nero Master carpies him off

-4 *.


P~7r' -



"Do let me say a good word for these poor creatures," said his wife earnestly.
"Tom is a noble-hearted faithful fellow, if he is black. I believe he would lay down
his life for you. I have tried so hard to do my duty to these poor helpless people
and teach them what was right, and how can 1 bear to let them see that we care more
for a little money than for their precious souls?"
"I am sorry to pain you, Emily, and I know you are right in your feelings,
but I am in this Haley's power, and he will not settle my debt to him in any other
way. It would be worse if we had to sell all our people."
"This is God's curse on slavery" said Mrs. Shelby bitterly, "It is a sin to hold
a slave under laws like ours-I always felt it was!"
"I'm very, very sorry, but the thing is done, and you must be thankful it is
no worse. In fact Haley wants to take them away toinQurr. w. I can't bear to see Tom,
so I shall go out early, and you had better take Eliza somewhere out of the way."
"No, I will have nothing to do with this cruel business. I'll go and see poor
old Tom in his trouble. As to Eliza I dare not-think of her."
There was one listener to these words that Mr. and Mrs. Shelby little : pll1-1eted,
for in a large closet opening out of their room, poor Eliza had hidden herself in the
restless state of her mind, and had heard all that was said.
When all was still, she crept away pale and shivering to her own pretty room.
where her boy lay asleep on the bed with a smile on his happy little face.
"Poor boy! they have sold you, but your mother will save you yet!" said Eliza.
She could not shed a tear, but taking a piece 'of paper and a pencil she wrote hastily-
"Dear Missis, don't think me ungrateful-don't think hard of me! I heard all you and


master said to-night. 1 am going to try and save my boy. God bless and reward you
for all your kindness!"
Then she made up a small bundle of clothing for her boy, which she tied
round her waist, not forgetting even at that terrible moment, to take one or two of his
favourite toys, and arousing the little sleeper, she dressed him and put on her own
bonnet and shawl, whispering as she did so, "Harry mustn't speak loud or they'll
hear us. A wicked man was coming to carry Harry away in the dark, but Mother
won't let him, so she's going to run off with her little boy."
It was a sparkling, frosty, starlight night, and the mother wrapped the
shawl close round her child, as he clung round her neck. A few minutes brought
them to the window of Uncle Tom's cottage, and Eliza, stopping, tapped lightly on
the window.
The prayer meeting had lasted a long time, and Uncle Tom had sung some
hymns alone afterwards, so he and Chloe were not yet asleep, although it was between
twelve and one o'clock.
"What's that?" said Aunt Chloe, starting up-"Why, if it ain't 'Liza! Get on
your clothes quick, ole man. I'm goin' to open the door."
The door flew open, and the light fell on Eliza's worn face and dark
wild eyes.
"I'm skeered to look at you, 'Lizy? Are ye tuck sick, or what's come over ye?"
"I'm running away, Uncle Tom and Aunt Chloe, carrying off my child. Master
sold him!"
'Sold him?" exclaimed both, lifting up their hands in horror.


"Yes, sold him!" said Eliza firmly. "I crept into the closet by Missis's door
to-night, and heard Master tell Missis that he had sold my Harry and you, Uncle
Tom, to a trader."
Tom had stood during this speech like a man in a dream, and slowly, as
its meaning grew clear to him, he sank upon his old chair, and bowed his head
down over his knees.
"The good Lord have pity on us!" said Aunt Chloe, "It can't be true! What
has he done that Mas'r should sell him?"
"He hasn't done anything, it isn't for that. Mas'r don't want to sell, but he
told Missis this man had got power over him, and if he didn't pay him a debt clear
off, he would have to sell the place and all the people. Master said he was sorry,
but if Missis ain't a Chri'stian and an angel there never was one. I'm a wicked girl
to leave her so, but I can't help it. God forgive me if I am wrong."
"Well, ole man, why don't you go too?" said Aunt Chloe. "Will you wait to
be taken down river, where they kill niggers with hard work? I'd rather die than
go there any day! Be off with 'Lizy, you've got a pass to come and go any time."
Tom slowly raised his head, and looking round sadly said:
"No, no-I ain't going. Let 'Liza go, it's her right. 'Taint in natur for her
to stay. But you heard what she said. If I must be sold or all the people on the
place go to ruin, why let me be sold. I s'pose I can bear it as well as any on 'em.
Mas'r always found me on the spot, he always will. I have never broke trust nor
used my pass noways contrary to my word, and I never will. Mas'r ain't to blame,
Chloe, and he'll take care of you and the poor-" Here he turned to the rough trundle-bed


full of little woolly heads, and fairly broke down. He covered his face with
his large hands, sobs, heavy hoarse and loud, shook the chair, and great tears fell
through his fingers to the floor.
"And now," said Eliza as she was going away, "I saw my husband only to-day,
and he told me he was so hard pushed, he was going to run away. Do try to send
him word how I went and why, and tell him I'm going to try and find Canada. Tell
him-if I never see him again-to be as good as he can, and try and meet me in
heaven." And with her child in her arms, Eliza glided away.



1 s impossible to imagine a more forlorn and desolate creature than Eliza,
when she left Uncle Tom's cabin.
Her husband's suffering and danger, and the dread of losing her child,
i, made her forget the risk of leaving the only home she had ever known, and
i her motherly love blinded her to all she would have to go through to save
her boy. Although he was old enough to walk by her side, she could
not bear to put him out of her arms, and as she went rapidly forward,
she hardly felt his weight in the excited state of her mind. She had
often been to a little village near the Ohio river, and knew the way well, and
to go there and cross the river was her first idea; beyond that she could only
hope and pray for God's help She walked on and on until sunset, only stopping
once or twice during the whole day to rest and take the most necessary food.
She was far beyond the places where she was known to anyone, and she and
the child being quite white enough not to call attention to themselves on account of
colour, she passed without notice to the river bank. It was early spring, and great
cakes of ice were wedged in by the bends in the water as it swept round the points
of land, until they formed a sort of floating raft,that filled up the river almost from
one shore to the other. Eliza at once saw that this state of things must have stopped
the ferry- boat from running, and finding this was so, sat down at a little inn to


rest until she could find some way of crossing. She told the landlady she was
hastening to a sick child on the other side, and laying the tired boy upon a bed. sat
by him until he was fast asleep. For her there was no rest.
Meanwhile her flight had caused a general sensation at home, and as may
be supposed Haley was in a great rage at losing part of his bargain. He at once
prepared to ride after Eliza, but it was pretty well guessed on the place that Mrs.
Shelby would be very glad if she escaped, and many delays in catching and taming
the horses occurred before he could get fairly off.
"Sarve him right," said Aunt Chloe, when news was brought her, in the kitchen
that "Mas'r Haley was mighty oneasy at havin' to wait so long." "He'll get wus nor
uneasy if he don't mend his ways. He's broke a many, many hearts. Don't he pull
off and sell de little children, and tear husband and wife apart, when it's taking
the very life of 'em. Lor; if the devil don't get sich as him, what's he good for?" And
here Aunt Chloe began to cry and sob in good earnest.
"You oughter thank God you ain't like him, Chloe," said Uncle Tom. "I'd
rather be sold ten thousand times over than have all that ar critter's got to answer
for." The bell here rang for Tom.
"Tom," said his master kindly, "I want to tell you that I shall have to pay
this gentleman a thousand dollars, if you're not here when he wants you. You can
have to-day to yourself. Go where you like, boy."
"And mind," added Haley, "don't come it over your master, with any of your
nigger tricks-I wouldn't trust any on ye."


"Mas'r," said Tom, "Have I ever broke word to you, since you was put into
my arms by ole Missis as a baby when I was eight years old till now?"
The tears came into Mr. Shelby's eyes, as he replied.
"It is quite true. If I could help it, no one should buy you."
"As sure as I am a Christian woman," said Mrs. Shelby to Haley, "I will buy
him back as soon as I can. Be sure you let me know to whom you sell him."
From all the delays that had taken place, it was about an hour after Eliza
had reached the village, that her pursuers came riding into it. One of the blacks
who saw her at the window gave her a signal, and catching her child in her arms,
she sprang out by a side door near the river. The trader saw her as she ran to
the bank, and in a moment was after her like a hound after a deer. Her feet seemed
to her scarce to touch the ground, and with the strength of despair giving one wild
cry and flying leap, she vaulted clear over the rough current near the shore, on to
the raft of ice beyond!
The huge green fragment of ice on which she alighted creaked as her weight
came on it, but she stayed there not a moment. With wild cries she leaped to another
and still another cake-her shoes were gone, her stockings cut from her feet, while
blood marked every step, but she saw and felt nothing, till dimly as in a dream, she
saw the Ohio side, and a man helping her up the bank.
Haley had stood looking on amazed till Eliza had disappeared,when he turned
inquiringly to his assistants, Sam and Andy, saying:
"The gal's got seven devils in her, I think!"


"Wall now," said Sam, chuckling-"I hope Mas'r 'scuse us trying' dat ar road.
Don't feel spry enough for dat, no way."
"Laugh if you dare!" said the trader with a growl.
"Bless you, Mas'r, I can't help it, "said Sam, "She looked so cur'ous a leapin
an' springin', ice a crackin', to hear her plump! splash! how she goes it." And Sam
and Andy laughed till the tears rolled down their cheeks.
"I'll make you laugh i',th!,r side yer mouths',' said Haley, laying about him
with his riding-whip.
Both ducked, and got on their horses, before he was up the bank.
"Good evening Mas'r," said Sam gravely "Mas'r Haley won't want us no more
to-night, Missis wouldn't hear of our ridin' de critters over Lizzy's bridge nohow," and
he and Andy started off at full speed.
Eliza made her desperate way over the river in the dusk of twilight, and the
grey mist of evening rising from the water, the swollen current and masses of ice
placed a hopeless barrier between her and her pursuers; so Haley went discontentedly
back to the little inn to think what he could do. After a time he met there, by good
luck as he thought, two old acquaintances of his to whom he related his troubles, and
as their business was to catch runaway slaves, they soon agreed to recover the boy
for Haley, on condition of k,'~eping Eliza to sell on their own account.
On the very night of poor Eliza's mad flight, the wife and children of Senator
Bird of Ohio State were rejoicing over his unexpected return home after an absence
of some days. When he had rested and refreshed himself a little with the comforts
of his own fireside, his gentle loving little wife asked him if it was true that a law

See Page 43

Gva distributing oranges and cand, laley's gang

I '







had just been passed forbidding people to help or shelter the poor slaves that come
over from Kentucky, and when he owned that this had been done, she exclaimed,
"It's a shameful, wicked law, and I'll break it for one the first time I get a
chance! I put it to you. John, would you turn away a poor, shivering, hungry creature
from your door, because he was a runaway? Would you, now ?"
To tell the truth Mr. Bird had a kind nature, and his wife knew it too, so he
was rather at a loss what to say.
"Of course it would be a very painful duty," he began.
"Don't use that word, John", interrupted his wife. "It can't be a duty If people
want to keep their slaves from running away, let 'em treat 'em well. And when they
do run away they suffer enough from cold and hunger and fear, without everybody
turning against them, and law or no law, I never will! You wouldn't do it either any
sooner than I."
At this moment Mrs. Bird was called away, and fetching her husband directly
afterwards, they saw in the kitchen of their own house a young delicate woman, with
the fatal tinge of colour of the despised race on her sad sorrowful face, lying faint
and helpless on two chairs. The old black cook was explaining how the poor thing
had begged shelter from the cold, when the woman opened her large dark eyes, and
sprang up with a look of agony, saying,
"My Harry! have they got him?" The boy ran to her as she spoke, and then
turning to Mrs. Bird she cried "Do protect me, Ma' am. Don't let them get him!"
"You are safe here, no one shall hurt you", said Mrs. Bird kindly.


A bed was hastily made for the poor woman near the fire, and soon she fell
into a sound sleep, with her arm still around her boy When she awoke, calm and sad
once more, Mrs. Bird asked her where she came from and who she was.
"I came from Kentucky, and I crossed the ice!" said she.
"But the ice is all broken up, in great frozen masses", said Mr. Bird.
"I know it, but I did it! I didn't think I should get over, but I didn't care. I
could but die if I didn't. The Lord helped me--nobody knows how much th, Lord
can help 'em till they try."
"Were you a slave ?" Asked Mr. Bird.
"Yes, I had a kind master and mistress."
"Then what made you run away from them?" said Mrs. Bird.
Eliza looked keenly at Mrs. Bird, who was in deep mourning, and said
"Have you ever lost a child, Ma'am?"
Mrs. Bird burst into tears, but as soon as she could speak, replied,
"I have just lost a little one, but why do you ask?"
"Then you will feel for me. I have lost two, and I had only this one
left, and Ma'am, they sold him, a baby that had never been away from his mother
in his life. So when I knew this I took him and came off in the night, an' the man
that bought him and some of Masr's folks chased me. Then I jumped right on to the
ice, and how I got across I don't know."
Eliza did not shed a tear, but all who heard her were deeply touched, even
the Senator. At last he turned suddenly round upon her and said,


"How came you to tell me you had a kind master?"
"Because he was kind, but he couldn't help himself. He owed money, and had
to give in to this trader and let him have my boy. But I couldn't stand it."
"Have you no husband?"
"Yes, but his master is real hard to him, and threatens to sell him down
south. It's like I'll never see him again."
"And where do you mean to go?" asked Mrs. Bird.
"To Canada. Is it very far off?" said Eliza, earnestly.
"We'll see what we can do for you in the morning," said Mrs. Bird, "mean-
while try to rest, poor woman. Put your trust in God, He will protect you."
Mr. Bird and his wife returned to their room, and coming up to her he said:
"She'll have to get away this very night. That fellow will be here after her
early to morrow morning. A pretty thing for me if they were caught in my house!
They'll have to be got off to night. I've been thinking if I could get her to Van
Tromp's, the man that came over from Kentucky, and set all his slaves free--he lives
up in the back woods, and there she'd be safe enough. The plague of the thing is,
nobody could drive there to night but me, as the creek has to be cro-.si-d twice, and
no one who doesn't know it as well as I do, can do it without danger. Cudjoe must
put in the horses about 12, and I'll take her over, so mind she's all ready to come.
And Mary, I don't know how you feel, but there's the drawer full--of poor little
Henry's things-some of them might do for the boy."
Good little Mrs. Bird did not want telling twice to do a kindness, and put-
ting together a few of her lost darling's treasured up clothes for the poor mother


more suffering than herself, and dressing the fugitive in useful things of her own,
sent her on her way over the rough swampy road that led to the dwelling of honest
John Van Tromp. It was full late in the night when the carriage stopped, dripping
and splashed, at the door of a large farm-house, the owner of which at length
"Are you the man to shelter a poor woman and child from slave-catchers?"
asked Mr. Bird.
"I rather think I am," said honest John- "l've got seven sons each six foot
high, and we'll all be ready for 'em if they come here!"
Weary and worn out,Eliza dragged herself up to- the door with her child
lying asleep on her arm. The rough man lighted her in, opened the door of a small
bed- room next the kitchen, and told her to go in, adding,
"Now I say, gal, you needn't be a bit afeard, let who will come here. I'm up
to all that sort of thing, and those that know me won't try to get anybody out of my
house when I'm agin it. So you jest go to sleep as quiet as if your mother was
rocking you," said he as he shut the door.
"She's an uncommon handsome 'un," added he to Mr. Bird, who told her story
in a few words.
"Ou! Ah! I tell ye what-these yer things make me come the nighest to
swearing' of most anything," said honest John.
When the Senator took leave of him, he put a ten dollar note into his hand.
"It's for her," was all he said.
"Ay-ay!" answered John, as they shook hands at parting.




Sec Page 44

Uncle Tom saves Eva


.i r, t -...

,~~3,~m~ ; ~-~~?~_
-.- I,
rOilil~~c~i~i In~ .- p,




t, February morning looked grey and drizzling through the window of Uncle
Tom's cabin. It looked on sad faces there! The little table stood before the
fire, and on it was spread out a coarse clean shirt which Aunt Chloe was
S ironing, every now and then raising her hand to her face, to wipe away the
tears that were running down her cheeks. Tom sat by with his Testament
open on his knee, but neither spoke. It was yet early, the children lay all
to look at them.
"It's the last time!" he said.
"S'pose we must bear it-but how can I?" said poor Aunt Chloe, as she sat
down and began to cry. "Misses says. she'll try and get ye back in a year or two,
but nobody comes up that goes down thar. I've heard tell how dey works 'em on dem
ar plantations".
"There'll be the same God there, Chloe, as here."
"Well," said Aunt Chloe, "S'pose dere will, but de Lord lets drefful things
happen sometimes. I don't seem to get no comfort dat way."
"I'm in the Lord's hands," said Tom, "and there's one thing I can thank him
for. It's me that's sold, and not you nor the children. What comes will come only on
me, and the Lord will help me--I know he will."


"Any way, there's wrong about it somewhat," said Aunt Chloe, 1'im clar of that"
"Ye ought to look up to the Lord above, there don't a sparrow fall without Him."
"It don't seem to comfort me, but I 'spect it oughter," said Aunt Chloe, "but
der's no use talking, ll11 jest bake the corn-cake, and get. ye one good breakfast, 'cause
nobody knows when ye'll get another."
Mrs. Shelby had excused Aunt Chloe's attendance at the great house that morn-
ing, and the poor soul had spent all her care on this farewell feast, cooked her nic
est chicken, prepared her corn-cake just to her husband's taste, and brought out some
preserves kept for special occasions.
"Oh, Pete," said Mose joyfully, "ain't we got a buster of a breakfast"!
Aunt Chloe gave him a sudden box on the ear.
"Thar now! Crowin' over the lastbreakfastyer poor Daddy's goin' to have to home!"
"Oh, Chloe!" said Tom gently.
"I can't help it. I's so tossed about, it makes me act ugly," said Chloe hiding
her face in her apron, then taking up the baby and wiping her eyes she added.
"Now, I's done I hope. Do eat something This yer's my nicest chicken. Thar,
boys-ye shall have some-yer Mammy's been cross to yer."
The boys needed no second invitation to eat all they could get, and bustling
about after breakfast Aunt Chloe said:
"Now I must put up yer clothes. Jest like as not he'll take 'em all away.
These here's your old shirts, and these yer is new ones-so be careful 'cause there
won't nobody make yer no more! To think on't, no critter to do for ye, sick or well!"
and Aunt Chloe laid her head on the box, and sobbed again.


The boys now began to cry too, and Tom taking the baby on his knee let
her enjoy herself in her own way, by scratching his face and pulling his hair.
"Ay, crow away, poor critter" said Chloe, "Ye'll have to come to it too-ye'll
live to see yer husband sold or be sold yourself, jest as like as not-it's no use
niggers havin' nuthin'."
Here one of the boys called out- "Thar's Missis a-comin' in!"
"She can't do no good-what's she coming' for?" said Aunt Chloe, as she set
a chair for Mrs. Shelby, in a gruff crusty way. She seemed pale and unhappy, and
quietly looking at the silent group, sat down, and burst into tears. For a few
moments they all wept together, and in those tears melted away the bitter anger of
the oppressed. At last Mrs. Shelby said:
"I can't give you anything now to do you any good. But I promise you
faithfully that I will find out where you go, and bring you back as soon as I can
get the money. Till then, trust in God."
Here the boys called out that Mas'r Haley was coming, and then a rough
kick pushed open the door. Haley stood there in a very bad humour, having ridden
hard the night before, and failed to capture his prey.
"Come, ye nigger, ain't ye ready?" said he, taking off his hat as he saw
Mrs. Shelby. Aunt Chloe shut and corded the box, and getting up looked gruffly on
the trader.
Tom rose up meekly to follow his new master carrying his heavy box on
his shoulder. His wife took the baby in her arms to go with him to the waggon,
and the children, still crying, followed them.


Mrs. Shelby, walking up to Haley, talked to him earnestly for a few minutes,
while the family party proceeded to a waggon that stood ready at the door. A crowd
of the hands on the place was there to bid farewell to their old Christian leader
and friend, and much grief was felt, especially by the women.
"Get in!" said Haley to Tom, as he strode through the crowd of servants,
who were frowning on him.
Tom got in, and Haley drawing from under the seat a pair of heavy fetters,
fastened them round each ankle. A groan of indignation was heard, and Mrs. Shelby
spoke from the verandah.
"Mr. Haley, those fetters are quite unnecessary."
"Don't know, Ma'am, I've lost one five hundred dollars from this yer place,
and I can't afford to run no more risks."
"What else could she 'spect on him ?" said Chloe, angrily, while the two boys
now clung sobbing to her gown."
"I'm sorry," said Tom, "that Mas'r George happened to be away. Give my
love to Mas'r George." Haley whipped up the horse, and with a steady sad look fixed
to the last on the old place, Tom was whirled away along the dusty road until
Haley suddenly drew up at a blacksmith's shop, to have some alteration made in a
pair of handcuffs.
"These year's a little too small for him," said Haley pointing to Tom.
"What? Shelby's Tom sold? Who'd have thought it? Ye needn't go to fetterin
him up like this. He's the faithfullest best critter- -"
"Yes ---yes," said Haley, "your good fellers are just the ones to want to run off."

w U w ~WU -- -------n---.~------ -


+_.--. ..

W\\'el." said the n-iiti. -1 "- S; -, I
plantations dilwn tlnr, straiweir, ain't
jest tle place a kentulik iigi'er \\'lu.
to go ti. \ tfell:r can't help thinkin'
it's a pity toi have a quiet likely feller like Tom o, do
to be done for, on ,ine oif thlip tlhar sugar plantations." '.
"Wa\ll-he's .ict a fair ,chance. I pi-,rnmised to
do well by him. I'll ,,et him llo.e servant in some ,. ,
good old family, and then he'll have as good a berth as an.' ni gwer gh~ t ask for."
Tom was sitting very sadly outside the shop while this conversation was
going on. Suddenly he heard the click of a horse's hoof behind him, and before
he could believe his eyes, George sprang into the waggon, threw his arms round his
neck, and sobbed and scolded aloud.
"I declare it's a nasty, mean shame! I don't care what they say, any of 'em.
If I were a man they shouldn't do it, they shouldn't!" said George with a kind of howl.


"Oh, Mas'r George, this does me good!' said Tom, "I couldn't bear to go off
without seeing' you!" Here Tom made a movement and as George's eye fell on the
fetters he exclaimed.
"What a shame! I'll knock that old fellow down !"
"No you won't, Mas'r George. It won't help me to anger him."
"I won't then for your sake, but isn't it a shame? They never sent for me,
nor told me, and if it hadn't been for Tom Lincoln, I shouldn't have heard it. I can
tell you I blew 'em all up at home!"
"That ar wasn't right, Mas'r George."
"Can't help it-it's a shame! Look here, Uncle Tom," said he, turning his back
to the shop and speaking in a low tone. "I've brought you my dollar!"
"I couldn't think of takin' it, Mas'r George, no ways," said Tom.
"But you shall take it," said George.
"Look here, I told Aunt Chloe I'd do it, and she advised me to make a hole
in it and put a string through, to hang it round your neck out of sight, or else this
mean s'an ip would take it away! I should like to blow him up, Tom, it would do me good."
"It won't do me no good, Mas'r George."
"Then I won't for your sake," said George tying his dollar round Tom's neck.
"Now button your coat tight over 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'll
see to it, I'll tease Father's life out if he don't do it."
"And now, Mas'r George, ye must be a good boy. Allus keep close to yer
mother. Don't be getting' into any o' them foolish ways boys has of getting' too big


to mind their mothers. Tell ye what, Mas'r George, the Lord gives many good
things twice over, but He don't give ye a mother but once. So now you hold on to
her, and grow up to be a comfort to her, thar's my own good boy. You will now,
won't ye?"
"Yes, I will, Uncle Tom," said George earnestly.
"You'll grow up to be a lamed good man, and all the people on the place
and your Father and Mother'll be so proud on ye. Be a good Mas'r like your Father,
and a good Christian like your Mother," said Uncle Tom stroking the boy's fine curly
head with his large strong hand.
I'11 be real good, Uncle Tom, I'm going to be a first-rater. And I'll have
you back to the place yet, as I told Aunt Chloe this morning. You'll have good
times yet."
Haley now came back with the handcuffs in his hand.
"Look here now, Mister," said George in a grand way, "I shall let Father and
Mother know how you treat Uncle Tom."
"You're welcome," answered the trader.
"I should think you'd be ashamed to spend your life buying and selling men
and women, and chaining them like cattle!" said George.
"So long as your grand folks want to buy 'em Im as good as they is, 'taint
any meaner selling' on 'em than 'tis buying. "
"I'll never do either when I'm a man," replied George, "'mi ashamed to be a
Kentuckian. I always was proud of it before. Well, goodbye, Uncle Tom, keep up
your spirits," said George, sitting very straight on his horse as he rode away.


"Goodbye, Mas'r George, God bless you, Kentucky hain't got many like you'" said
Tom looking fondly after the frank boyish face as it was lost to view. Over his heart
there seemed to be a -:ir-iii spot where those young hands had placed that precious dollar.
"Now I tell ye what, Tom," said lialey as he came up to the w~a.gon, and
threw in the handcuffs, "You treat me fa'r and I'll treat you far. I ain't never hard
on my nig Ye'd better jest settle down comfortable, and not try no tricks, 'cause
niggers tricks of all sorts I'm up to, and it's no use. If niii- ,r is quiet and don't
try to get off, they has good times with me, and if they don't, why its thar fault
Hot mine.



traveller arrived late one drizzly afternoon at a small country hotel in a
l l village of Kentucky, and going up to the jolly crackling fire, was struck by
seeing a large hand-bill hung up against the wall, which was being eagerly
read. by a group of men standing near it. Mr. Wilson--that was the old
gentleman's name-took out his spectacles and putting them on, carefully stu-
died the contents of the paper: "Ran away my mulatto boy George, 6 feet
u '-.' in height, almost white, brown curly hair: very intelligent, speaks well, can
read and write. Branded in right hand with the letter II. Four hundred
dollars for him dead or alive, the same for proof of his death."
A tall stranger standing near Mr. Wilson remarked- "Such papers as these
are a shame to Kentucky. I've got a gang of boys, sir. I let 'em feel free to go whar
they like, and they know I've got free papers ready for 'em all when I die, and I tell
ye, stranger, there ain't a man in our parts gets more out of his ni'-,-'rs than I do."
"I think you are right, friend," said Mr. Wilson," and this boy named here is
a fine fellow-no mistake about that-he worked once for me, and was my best hand,
sir. He invented a clever machine too for cleaning hemp, used in many factories-his
master has a patent for it."
"He holds it, I s'pose and makes money of it, and then brands the boy in
his right hand; he's a nice 'un!"


Here a small one-horse chaise drove up to the inn, and a well-dressed, tall,
handsome-looking man entered the room. He had a dark Spanish complexion, fine
black eyes and hair, and walking quietly up to the bar gave in his name as Henry
Butler, Oaklands, Shelby County, asked for a private room, and sat down to wait
while it was got ready for him.
Mr. Wilson had not been able to take his eyes from the stranl-. from the
moment of his appearance, and at last ihe latter seemed to recognize him, and walking
up gave his hand as he said-"Mr. Wilson, I think? I see you remember me?"
"Yes-sir-" answered Wilson, half reluctantly. "I should like to see you, sir,
in my room for a few minutes on business!" said the .trn:-r.
When they were alone, the young man locked the door, put the key into his
pocket, and faced Mr. Wilson.
"George?" said Mr. Wilson.
"Yes, George-I'm well disguised you see, don't answer to the description at
all. A little walnut-bark made my yellow skin a Spanish brown, and I've dyed my
hair black."
"I know, George, your master isn't all he ought to be, but you shouldn't run
away-it's against the law-you're running an awful risk. If you're taken you'll be
worse off than ever--they'll half kill you and sell you down river."
"Mr. Wilson, I know I run a risk"--said George, "but I've got pistols about
me-and down South I never will go! If it comes to that I can earn six feet of free
soil in Kentucky for myself!"


"Why George, this state of mind is awful! You surely wouldn't break the
laws of your country?" said Mr. Wilson, nervously.
"I have no country," said the young man bitterly. My mother was a slave,
and 1 saw her put up to sale with her seven children, all sold to different masters!
1 lay awake whole nights when I was a little fellow, and cried for my mother and
sisters; never had a kind word said to me till I came to work in your factory, sir.
You were good to me, and God knows I am grateful for it Then I found my good
beautiful wife, and last of all my master comes between her and me, and says I must
give her up. Sir, these things the law of Kentucky allows, but I have no country!
I only want to be allowed to-leave yours in peace-when I get to Canada, that shall
be my country, where I am free!
"Go ahead, George, go ahead-but be careful, my boy-don't shoot anybody-at
least I wouldn't you know,' said good Mr. Wilson, walking up and down the room.
"Where's your wife, George?"
"Gone, sir-with her chil in her arms-no one knows where."
"Is it possible? From such a kind family."
"Kind families sometimes get into debt, and have to sell children away from
their mothers to pay with,' said George bitterly.
"Well, well," said the kind old man, taking a roll of notes from his pocket-book,
-which he offered to George--"You must take this to help you, my boy-money goes
a long way everywhere-you can't have too much if you get it honestly."
"I think I have money enough, sir," said George, "but I will take it if I may
repay you again when I can. I have a faithful black friend who will go with me


as far as Ohio, and put me with some friends there, and to-morrow night I hope to
get so far safely. I shall travel boldly by daylight, though I feel I am running a
terrible risk-So good-bye, sir. If you hear I'm taken, you may know I'm dead!"
"Take heart, George, and trust in the Lord. You're a brave fellow. Everything
will be set right-if not in this world in another."
"Thank you for saying that, sir. I'll think of that," said George, as Mr. Wilson
left the room.

A quiet scene now rises before us. A large roomy, neatly painted kitchen,
its yellow floor smooth, without an atom of dust upon it: rows of shining tins for
ci",kiig all sorts of good things to eat; glossy green wood chairs, old and firm, a
small rocking-chair with patchwork cushions, and a large comfortable one with tempting
f-.;i her cushions, in which sat our old friend Eliza at work. She looked paler and
thinner than in her old Kentucky home, and as her dark eye followed the gambols
of her little Harry, who was playing on the floor beside her, it had an earnest depth
of resolve that never was there in earlier and happier days. Near her sat a woman
about sixty, whose snowy cap, plain white muslin handkerchief smoothly folded over
her bosom, and grey dress, shewed her to be a Quaker. She had a face that time
seemed to touch only to make it sweeter and more loveable; her silvery hair was
neatly parted over a placid forehead, beneath which shone a pair of clear, honest,
loving brown eyes.
"And so thee thinks still of going to Canada, Eliza?'" she said.
"Yes, Ma'am-- must go onward. I dare not stop," said Eliza firmly.


"Thee knows thee can stay here as long as thee pleases," continued Rachel
"Thank you'' said Eliza warmly, "but I can't rest. Last night I dreamt that
man was here!"
"Poor child!" said Rachel kindly. "The Lord hath ordered it so that never
has a fugitive been stolen from our village. I trust thou will not be the first."
At this moment the door opened, and Mary, an honest rosy looking girl with
large brown eyes like her mother's, came in.
"Mary, thee'd better fill the kettle," said her mother gently. And while it
was boiling Rachel quietly proceeded to make some biscuits. Simeon Halliday, a tall
strong man in drab coat and trousers and broad-brimmed hat, now entered.
"Any news, Father?" said Rachel, putting her biscuits into the oven.
"Peter Stebbins told me they should be along to-night with friends," said
Simeon, as he was washing his hands in a little back porch.
"Indeed?" said Rachel looking anxiously at Eliza.
"Did thee say thy name was Harris?" asked Simeon of Eliza as he came
in again.
Eliza slowly answered "Yes," half afraid that some one had found her out.
Then Simeon called Rachel away, and said to her:
"This child's husband will be here to-night. He has come to the settlement
with Peter-he is a bright likely fellow too. Shall we tell her now?"
"We must, I couldn't bear to keep it from her."
Rachel came out into the kitchen, and said gently to Eliza,


"Come with me, my daughter--I have news for thee, nay it is good news" she
added as she led her into the next room.
Mary had taken up little Harry in her arms, and kissed him as she whispered,
"Thy father is coming, little one."
Meanwhile Rachel drew Eliza tenderly to her, and said:
"The Lord hath had mercy on thee, my child. Thy husband is among friends,
who will bring him here to-night."
Eliza gazed upon her as in a happy dream, and soon overcome by the feeling
of perfect rest and peace after her long suffering, slept as she had not slept since
the fearful midnight hour when she had fled with her boy. She dreamt of a beautiful
home in a free land, where her boy played in freedom and joy; she heard her hus-
band's footsteps coming nearer; his arms were'around her, his tears on her face, and
she awoke! It was no dream. The daylight had long faded; her child lay asleep by
her side, and her husband was sobbing by her pillow!



hundred years ago the Mississippi was a river of mighty unbroken solitude,
P 'rolling amid unknown wonders of vegetable and animal life. Now what
other river of the world bears to the ocean, riches like those of a country
S bringing forth all that grows between the tropics and the poles? The
I slanting light of the setting sun quivers on the sea-like breadth of the
river; the slender canes, and the tall dark cypress glow in the golden ray,
S as the heavily laden steamboat marches onward.
Piled with cotton-bales from many a plantation, we must look well
among her crowded decks before we shall find again our friend Uncle Tom, sitting
in a little, nook among the cotton bales. He had gradually won the confidence even
of a man like Haley, and for some time had been allowed to come and go freely
where he pleased on the boat. He was ever ready to lend a helping hand to any
work that was going on, and when he had nothing to do, he climbed to a nook among
the cotton on the upper deck, and spelt over his Bible to himself.
For a hundred or more miles above New Orleans the river is higher than the
country around, and the traveller from the deck of the steamer overlooks the plantations
on all sides. As poor Tom looked back in thought upon the old home ever moving
farther and farther away from him, as he passed on to a new and untried life, he
felt that his Bible was all left to him now of the, happy past.


Among the passengers
on the boat was a youna man
of fortune and good family named
St. Clare, with his little daughter
of five or six, and a lady relative,
who had. the little one especially,
under her care.
Tom had often caught
glimpses of the little girl, for
she was one of the busy tripping
creatures that flit like a sunbeam .,
from place to place, and once
seen she was not easily furgitten
her form was perfect in its
childish beauty and grace, and
her face remarked less for its .
loveliness of feature, than for a dreamy seriousness uf expressiozL. ":."
The shape of her head and turn of her neck were peculiarly noble,
and the long-golden-brown hair that floated like a cloud around it, and the soft
depths of her violet blue eyes shaded by heavy fringes of gblden-brown, were so
unlike those of other children, that all eyes followed her as she glided hither and
thither upon the boat.


She was always in motion, with a half smile upon her rosy mouth, singing to herself
as she moved lightly about, as in a happy dream.
No word of reproof ever fell upon her ear for what she chose to do, and
she went all over the boat as she pleased, always dressed in spotless white; and
there was not a nook or corner above or below, that those fairy footsteps and that
golden head had not visited.
The fireman, as he looked up from his fiery furnace, sometimes found her
deep blue eyes looking fearfully and pityingly at him, as if she thought him in some
dreadful danger. A thousand times a day rough voices blessed her, and smiles of
unusual softness stole over hard faces as she passed; and when she tripped fearlessly
over dangerous places, hands were stretched out to save her and smooth her path.
Tom watched the little creature with more and more interest every day. To him
she seemed something almost divine, and he half believed he saw one of the angels
stepped out of his New Testament. Often and often she walked sadly round the place
where Haley's gang of men and women sat in their chains. She would glide in among
them and look at them with an air of wondering sorrow, and sometimes lift their
chains in her little hands as she flitted away with a woful sigh.
Several times she appeared suddenly among them with her hands full of
candy, oranges and nuts, which she would divide joyfully among them, and then be
gone again.
Tom watched the little lady a great deal before he tried to make her
acquaintance. He could cut pretty little baskets out of cherry-stones, make funny
faces on hickory-nuts, or odd jumping figures out of elder-pith, and whistles of all


sorts and sizes. The little one was shy and it was not easy to tame her. She would
perch like a bird on some box or package near Tom, and take from him-without a
word the little toys he offered her one by one, but at last they became friends.
"What's little missy's name?" said Tom when he thought he might venture to ask.
"Evangeline St. Clare--though Papa and everybody else call me Eva. Now
',h:il's your name?"
"My name's Tom-the little children used to call me Uncle Tom way back
thar in Kentuck."
"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'm going to be sold to somebody."
"My Papa can buy you;' said Eva quickly; "and if he buys you, you will have
good times. I'll ask him to this very day."
"Thank you, my little lady;" said Tom.
The boat here stopped at a landing to take in wood, and Eva hearing her
father's voice, bounded gaily away. Tom offered his help in wooding, and was soon
busy among the hands.
Eva and her father were standing together by the railings to see the boat
start from the landing-place, when by a sudden movement the child lost her balance,
and fell over the side of the boat into the water. Her father was about to plunge
in after her, but was held back by some who saw that more effectual aid had followed


the little one. Tom was standing just under her on the lower deck when 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 easy for him to keep afloat in the water till the
child rose to the surface, and he caught her in his arms, and swimming with her to the
side of the boat handed her up, all dripping, to the hands eagerly stretched out to
receive her.
The next day as the steamer drew near New Orleans, a general bustle of
preparation for landing prevailed on board. On the lower deck sat Tom, anxiously
watching from time to time a group on the other side of the boat. There stood the
fair Eva, none the worse for the accident that had befallen her, and a graceful young
man stood by her, carelessly leaning one elbow on a bale of cotton, while a large
pocket-book lay open before him. It was evident that he was Eva's father; he had
the same noble cast of head, the same blue eyes, and golden-brown hair, yet the
exlpri--ion was quite different. The beautifully cut mouth was proud and rather
sarcastic, and an air of free-and-easy importance sat lightly upon every turn and movement
of his handsome face and form.
He was listening with good-humoured careless indifference to Haley's remarks
as to the value of the article for which they were bargaining, and when the trader
had finished speaking said half contemptuously-"Well, my good fellow, what's the
damage? as they say in Kentucky-How much are you going to cheat me out of?"
"Well' said Haley, "if 1 should say thirteen hundred dollars for that ar fellow,
I shouldn't but just save myself, rally!"
"Poor fellow! but I suppose you'd let me have him for that, out of a


particular regard for me?" said St. Clare fixing his keen mocking blue eye upon
the trader.
"Papa, do buy him-it's no matter what you pay--I want him," whispered Eva
softly, putting her arms round her father's neck.
"What for, pussy? Are you going to make a rocking horse of him, or what?"
Here the trader gave in a certificate signed by Mr. Shelby, which the young
man took up with the tips of his long fingers, and glanced over carelessly.
"A gentlemanly hand-" he said "but I'm not sure after all about this religion-
How many hundred dollars now do you put on for that?"
"You like to be a-joking now," said Haley--"but you see in this letter what
Toni's old master says about him."
"There, count your money, old boy-" said St. Clare as he handed a roll of
notes to the trader,- who with a face beaming with joy, filled up the bill of sale.
"I wonder how much I might fetch if I were for sale myself"-said St. Clare
as he took Eva by the hand, and walked up to Tom saying, "Look up, Tom, and see
how you like your new master."
Tom looked up. It was not in nature to look at that young gay, handsome
face, without pleasure, and Tom felt the tears start into his eyes as he said heartily,
"God bless you, Masr."
"I hope he will. Can you drive horses, Tom?"
"I've been allus used to horses-Mas'r Shelby raised heaps of em," said Tom.
"I think I shall make you coach, on condition you won't get drunk more than
once a week, as a rule, Tom."


Tom look surprised and hurt as he said-"I never drink, Mas'r."
"I've heard that story before, Tom, but we'll see. It will be particularly
convenient to all concerned if you don't. Never mind, my boy, I'm sure you mean
to do well.'
"I sartin do mas'r"-said Tom.
"And you shall have good times," said Eva. "Papa is good to everybody, only
he -will laugh at them."
"Papa is much obliged to you," said St. Clare, laughing as he walked away.



va's father, Augustine St. Clare, was the son of a rich planter in Louisiana.
His mother was a French Huguenot lady, and he had only one twin brother
named Alfred. His first love had been given to a good and beautiful girl
whom he hoped to marry, but this chance of happiness he lost, and the handsome
hiress who soon afterwards became his wife, was selfish and heartless as
only a spoilt beauty can be. Still St. Clare was always kind and indulgent to
'( .j her, and when Marie had a lovely little girl, her husband felt for a time
real affection for her. He gave this child the name of his mother, to whom
he had been devoted, and as Eva was very delicate, and Marie too much taken up
with her own fancied ill health to bestow care upon her child or household, St. Clare
had just returned from-a tour in the Northern State of Vermont, having invited his
cousin Ophelia St. Clare to return with him on a visit to his home in the South, where
her skill and experience as a good housekeeper and nurse were sadly needed. Miss
Ophelia was no longer young, her figure was tall and ungraceful, her movements quick
and decided; and although she did not talk much, her words were to the purpose when
she did speak. She loved her cousin Augustine dearly, and so he was able to persuade
her that the path of duty she was always trying honestly to follow, lay in the direction
of New Orleans, and that she must go with him to take care of Eva, and keep (eny thing
from going to rack and ruin during the frequent illnesses of his wife.


The carriage met the St. Clare family when the boat arrived, Miss Ophelia's
numerous packages having been safely placed in it.
"Where's Tom?" said Eva to her father as they drove him.
"He's outside, pussy. I'm going to give Tom to mother to make up for that
drunken fellow that upset the carriage."
The house was built in the Moorish style, it was a square building enclosing
a courtyard, entered through an arched gateway. In the middle of the court a fountain
threw high its silvery waters falling in never-ceasing spray into a marble basin, fringed
with a deep border of sweet violets. Two large orange trees, now full of blossom,
threw a delicious shade around; huge pomegranate-trees with their glossy leaves and
flame-coloured flowers; dark leaved Arabian jessamines with their silvery stars, geraniums,
rose-trees loaded with blossoms, golden jasmines and lemon scented verbenum, all gave
fragrance and beauty to the scene.
Eva was in a state of frantic delight. "Isn't it beautiful -lovely-my own
dear, darling home?" said she to Miss Ophelia.
"It's a pretty place, though it looks rather old and heathen-ish to me," replied
Miss Ophelia.
St. Clare smiled as he heard this remark, and turning to Tom, whose beaming
black face was radiant with admiration, he said, "Tom my boy, this seems to suit you."
"Yes, mas'r, it looks about the right thing," said Tom.
Eva had flown like a bird through the porch into a little boudoir .iiening on
the verandah, where a tall pale dark-eyed woman half rose from a couch on which
she was reclining.


"Mailiina"! said Eva, embracing her again and again-
"That'll do, child, don't make my head ache"' said her mother. languidly
kissing her.
A crowd of servants now pressed ftriward, among them a mulatto woman of
very respectable appearance.
"Oh, there's mammy"--said Eva as she flew across the room, and throwing
herself into her nurse's arms, kissed her repeatedly.
"Well," said Miss Ophelia to St. Clare, "Southern children can do something
I couldn't."
"What's that?" said St. Clare.
"I wish to be kind to everybody, and I wouldn't have anything hurt, but as to
kissing niggers!"
'That you're not up to, eh?" said St. Clare with a laugh, as he went into the
passage. "Here you all, Mammy, Jemmy, Polly, Sakey, glad to see Mas'r?" he said as
he went about shaking hands with one and another, and added as he stumbled over
a sooty little urchin crawling upon all fours-"Look out for the babies! If I step upon
anybody, let 'em cry out!"
There was plenty of laughing and blessing Mas'r, as St.. Clare distributed
small pieces of money among them, saying,
"Come now, take yourselves off. like good boys and girls-And the whole party
disappeared through a door into a large verandah, followed by Eva, who carried a
great bag she had been filling with apples, nuts, candy, ribbons, laces, and toys of
every kind during her homeward journey.


"'fe here. T,,m, sa'.id
hiis imati-, and a> T' menteied

St. Clear e' sai t, his. wife: "Hlere
'"S IMarie, I've brought you a coach-
ian to order, at last. .Now
say I never think of you
!. i shetn I'm away."
.. sMarie iit.onlid her eyes
and looked at Tom without
rising, and said, "I know he'll get drunk!"
*'I-N,, hti v warranted pious and sober."
"I lIqiv he'll turn out well, but it's
nlore than I expect, s.ai.l Marie, adding when Tom was
S gone- he'. a perfect h16,l ,iplitamus."
PagPe: "C,-, Iie 'iw Maiie.- said St. Clare seating himself
'iN, her sofa, "say .somiietllingii pretty to a fellow! here's a
I-present I g.ot for -,lu in New York." It was a photograph
f Eva and ]her fateller sitting hatld in hand.
"\\'hat made :,ou sit in such an awkward way?"
said Marie. "I wishl \ou woulIll't insist on my talking and
l1Ioking at thing.s. I've Ihad a bad headache all day."


"Our good useful New England cousin is come to. take some of your worries
off your hands," said St. Clare, trying to find something-kind to say.
"I'm sure she's welcome," said Marie languidly, "I 'think she'll soon find out
that. we mistre-.-I:s are the slaves down here."
"Come, Marie, that's too bad," said St. Clare-"there's Mammy now, the best
creature, what could you do without her?"
"Manummy's the best I ever knew," said Marie, "yet she's selfish, dreadfully
selfish, it's the fault of the race."
'Selfiishii.'ss is a dreadful fault," said St. Clare gravely.
"She's good in some ways," continued Marie, "but she's always worrying about
that husband of hers-You see," she said turning to Miss Ophelia, whenn I married and
came here to live, of course I had to 'ing her with me, and her husl. iill my father
could not spare. He was a blacksmith and very useful. and I thought and said at the
time Mammy and he had better give each other up, as it wasn't likely to be convenient
for them to live together again."
"Has she children?" asked Miss Ophelia.
"Yes, she has two."
"I suppose she feels being away from them?"
"I couldn't have then here. They were dirty little things, and besides thev
took up too much of her time, but I believe Manimy is rather sulky about this. I
feel sure, though she knows how much I want her, and how wn- rr.'d,.il my health is,
she would go back to her husband to-morrow if she could I do indeed!"
"It's very sad," said St. Clare, with a sarcastic curl of his lip.


"Now Mammy has always been a pet of mine" said Marie, quite unconscious
of the pain she was giving to her kind-hearted husband, "I've given her no end of
dresses, and worked sometimes whole afternoons trimming her caps when she was
going to a party. She never was whipped more than once or twice in her life, and
has her strong coffee or tea every day, with white sugar in it. The fact is our servants
are spoilt. I'm always talking to St. Clare about it."
Here St. Clare said he had to go and give some orders on the place, and
Eva soon tripped away after her father.
When she was gone her mother added-
"Eva wants looking after in some things. She was always disposed to be
with servants, and that doesn't matter with some children. I played with my father's
negroes, and it never did me any harm. But Eva seems somehow to put herself on
an equality with every creature that comes near her. It's a strange thing about the
child-She isn't a bit like me."
Miss Ophelia thought, "I hope she isn't," but took care not to say so.
Marie was still complaining of the way in which the servants were indulged
by St. Clare, when a merry laugh rang out from the Verandah, and Miss Ophelia stepping
out saw Eva sitting perched like a bird upon Uncle Tom's knee, hanging a wreath
of roses round his neck, after having stuck cape jessamines into all his buttonholes,
gaily laughing as she cried out, "oh Tom, you look so funny!" Her father stood near,
laughing too.
This was a happy time to Tom in many ways. Little Eva's fancy for him,
the gratitude of a noble nature, had led her to ask her father to let Tom attend her


in her walks and rides whenever she wanted him. He was well-dressed, and not hard
worked, and then too he was in a beautiful place, and did enjoy the birds, the flowers,
the fountains, the light and beauty of the court, and what seemed to him a palace
within the house.
If he could have forgotten all he had left behind him in old Kentucky, he
would have had nothing left to wish for in this world.



.'Itjhere was a gentle bustle at the Quaker house on the day after George's
,I' meeting with his wife, as Rachael Haltiday moved quietly to and fro, putting
.-.l together from her household stores, useful things for the wanderers who were
to go forth that night. The afternoon was drawing to a close when George
and Eliza sat together, in the little room where they had taken shelter. He
,. had his boy on his knee, and held her hand in his. as he said.
S"I'll try to feel like a Christian as you say, to forget the past, and put
--, away hard and bitter feelings; read my Bible and learn to be a good man."
"When we get to Canada I can help you," replied Eliza-"I can make dresses
very well, and wash and iron fine things; between us we can earn enough to live upon."
"Yes, Eliza, so long as we are together and have our boy. What a blessing
it is for a man to feel that his wife and child are his own! If they will only let me
alone now I will be happy- and thankful, though I have not a cent of money, nor a
roof to cover me, nor a spot of land to call mine!"'
"But we are not in Canada yet," said Eliza.
At this moment voices were heard in the outer room, and soon a rap came at
the door. Eliza started and opened it.
Simeon Halliday was there, and with him a Quaker brother, named Phineas Fletcher,
who had not the peaceful air of Simeon, but looked particularly shrewd and wide-awake.


"Our friend Phineas hath heard something it is important for thee to know,
George," said Simeon quietly.
"That I have," said Phineas, "for I stopped last night at a little lone tavern
on the road, and while I was lying down on a buffalo rug till my bed was ready,
half asleep, for I was tired with hard driving, I heard some fellows drinking and
talking about the 'Quaker settlement'. So I listened, and found out all their little plans.
This young man was to be sent back to Kentucky to his master,. and his wife two of
them were going to sell in New Orleans on their own account. The child was to go
to a trader who had bought him, and the *boy Jim to his master in Kentucky. They
know the road we are going to-night, and they'll be down after us, six or eight strong,
so what's to be done?"
"What shall we do, George?" said Eliza faintly.
"I know what I shall do," said George, examining his pistols. "I don't want to
drag anyone else into it. If you will lend me a conveyance and tell me the way, I
will drive alone to the next stand. Jim is a strong brave fellow, and so am 1."
"Well, friend, but thee'11 need a driver for all that," answered Phineas with
a keen look-"Thee's welcome to do all the fighting, but I know a thing or two about
the road thee doesn't."
"Phineas is a wise and skilful man," said Simeon, "Let him help thee, George."
"All I ask is to be allowed to go out of the country in peace," said George,
"but I'll fight to the last breath before they shall take my wife and son. Can you
blame me ?"
"I pray I be not tried," said Simeon. "The flesh is weak."


"I think my flesh would be pretty strong in such a case, "said Phineas,
stretching out a pair of arms like the sails of a windmill. "I ain't sure, friend George,
I shouldn't hold a fellow for thee, if thee had an account to settle with him."
"Let us pray the Lord we be not tempted," said Simeon.
"And so I do," replied Phineas, "but if we are tempted, why-let them look
out, that's all."
"It's plain thee wasn't born a Friend," said Simeon smiling. In fact Phineas
had been a jolly backwoodsman, a famous hunter and dead shot at a buck, but having
wooed a pretty Quakeress, had for her sake joined the society in these parts.
"It isn't safe to start till dark," added Phineas, "but we ought to keep ahead
of 'em then. So take courage, friend George, this isn't the first ugly scrape I've been
in with thy friends."
And now Rachel took Eliza's hand kindly, and led the way to the supper
table. Soon after supper a large covered waggon drew up before the door, and George
walked out of the door with his child on one arm and his wife on the other. Phineas
placed Eliza and the boy comfortably in the back of the waggon, George and Jim on
a seat before them, mounting in front himself. The waggon rumbled on over wide
dreary plains, up hills and down valleys, hour after hour, but about three o'clock
George's ear caught the first sound of pursuing horsemen, who fast gained on the
party. Phineas raced his horses to a sudden turn in the road, where a steep projecting
rock seemed to promise some shelter and concealment; then suddenly checking them,
and springing out of the waggon he cried out.


"Out with you everyone in a twinkling, and up into the rocks with me. This
is one of our old hunting-dens."
Phineas went first with the boy in his arms, then Jim, George and Eliza last.
A few moments' scrambling brought them to the top of the ledge, the path was then
but a narrow pass, where only one could walk at a time, till it came to a chasm
more than a yard wide, beyond which stood a pile of steep rocks full thirty feet
high. They all leaped this chasm, and found themselves hidden by the fragments of
loose stones lying about the edge of the rock.
"Well now, here we all are, and let 'em get us if they can. No one
can come here without walking in single file between the rocks in fair range of your
pistols, boys, d'ye see?" said Phineas.
The party below, now to be seen in the light of the dawning day, consisted
of Haley's friends, Tom Loker and Marks, with several rowdies hired at a low inn
to help in catching a set of niggers.
"Now, Jim, look to your pistols and watch that pass with me 1 fire at the
first man, you at the second, and so on," said George.
"But what if you don't hit?"
"I shall hit"!said George coolly.
After a short pause, Tom Loker said boldly,
"I'm going right up, for one. I never was afraid of niggers, and I ain't going
to be now!"
One of the most courageous of the party followed Tom, and they all came
pushing up the rock. In a moment Tom's burly form was seen, almost at the verge


of the chasm. George fired-the shot entered his side, but he would not retreat,
and with a yell like that of a mad bull, he was leaping right across the chasm.
"Friend, thee is'nt wanted here!" said Phineas, suddenly stepping forward,
and meeting Loker with a push from his long arms. Down he fell into the chasm,
crackling among trees, bushes, logs, loose stones, till he lay, bruised and groaning,
thirty feet below. Marks headed the retreat down the rocks with much more will
than he had shewn in going up, while all the party came tumbling hastily after him.
"I say, fellers-you jist go round and pick up Tom there, while I go back for
help," said Marks, as he galloped away.
With much trouble the others raised Tom, and dragged him as far as the
horses. George looked over the rocks, and saw them trying to lift Tom into the saddle,
but he reeled and fell heavily to the ground. Upon this the whole party got on their
horses and rode away. When they were quite out of sight, Phineas began to bestir
himself, and soon saw friends coming up to the help of his party.
"Do stop and do something for that poor man before we go," said Eliza. to
Phineas, who went to the wretched man, and bound up his wounds.
"You pushed me down there," said Tom faintly.
"If I hadn't thee'd have pushed us down," returned Phineas quietly, "but we bear no
malice. 1'11 take thee to a house where they'll nurse thee as well as thy own mother could."
The seats were now taken out of the waggon, the buffalo skins spread on one
side, and four men lifted Tom into it. Eliza, George and Jim got in also and after
about an hour's drive the whole party reached a neat fanm-house, where the weary
travellers were welcomed to a good breakfast. Here for the present we leave them.



ne morning when Miss Ophelia was busy in some of her domestic cares,
: St. Clare called her to see a little negro girl about eight or nine years of age,
Whom he had taken a fancy to buy. She was one of the blackest of her race,
and her round glassy eyes moved with quick glances over everything in the
room. Her woolly hair, braided in little tails, stuck out in every direction,
and the expression of her face was shrewd and cunning, though she put on
a solemn look that was almost absurd in its gravity. She was dressed in a
S dirty, ragged garment, and stood with her hands demurely folded before her.
Miss Ophelia was struck with amazement as her cousin mischievously said.
"Topsy, this is your new mistress. I'm going to give you up to her, see now
that you behave yourself."
"Yes mas'r," said Topsy gravely, with a wicked twinkle in her eye.
"I don't want her I'm sure," said Miss Ophelia. "I have more of them now
than I know what to do with'
"It's too bad of me, I believe," said St. Clare, "to add to your bothers, but the
truth is this poor thing belonged to some horrid people at a shop I have to pass every
day, and I was tired of hearing her scream when they were beating and ill-using her.
She looked bright and funny too, so I bought her, and I'11 give her to you to see what
you can do with her."


Thel first tlinC to
be done is to \vasih aiil
d.ess her d-.'reiltI ," re-
rj plied Miss I-phe-lia, as stie
--lie ]olir nfle ihairae awa-.
.. When at last :trrayedl iin a
fresh suit. itll her liair
Cu1 short, Miss. 'I 'phelia sat diown
i and toeQt ll t queS:tion lher.

"H"Ha^ve you ever heard of God, Topsy? Do you know who made you?", Ty?
Nood never mad e gw'd," si said ToTps
,ifit a ,rin.
"Didn't anhyb' '1v ever tell

"ou have yr- "Nevwer hao noin,!' said the child with antd er grin.-
Y dustrn't an-ner in that wa, ghil. Tell cate iechre
,xe- of- e a- l,1 i Wli v,,tr failter arnd i ather were.
"Never bad nu falter, inor nothetor, iinor nothlin! 1Old1 Aunt, she used to take
car' on us!"
"Have you ever heard of God, Topsy? Do you know who made you?"
"Nobody never made -me-I s'pect I grow'd," said Topsy.
"You have your work in hand there, cousin," said St. Clare who had come in
during this catechism.


Topsy was soon a noted character in the house. Her taste for every kind of
drollery, grimace, and mimicry; for dancing, tumbling, climbing, singing, whistling,
imitating every sound that hit her fancy, seemed extraordinary; and it was soon found
out that whoever insulted Topsy was sure to meet with some disagreeable accident
soon afterwards; to lose a pair of ear-rings or other favourite trinket; stumble into
a pail of hot water, or be splashed with dirty slops when dressed to go out for a
holiday, and no one could ever be found to have caused the mischief, though everybody
felt sure it was Topsy. She soon learnt to do many things well when she chose, but
she very seldom did choose. Her greatest delight was to dress herself in Miss
Ophelia's best clothes, and caper about before the glass.
'I don't know what I shall do with you, Topsy," said that Lady one day in
despair at some of her tricks.
"Law, Missis, you must whip me-I ain't used to working' unless I gets
"Why, Topsy, I don't want to whip you. You can do very well if you like.
Why won't you?"
"I's used to whippin', I s'pect it's good for me."
Then Miss Ophelia tried whipping, and Topsy made a great fuss about it,
screaming, groaning with all her might, while half an hour afterwards she would say
to some of her companions,
"Law, Miss Feely's whipping's wouldn't kill a mosquiter. Oughter see how ole
Mas'r did it-he know'd how!"


She quite prided herself on her naughtiness, and would say,
"Law, you niggers, does you know you's all sinners? Miss Feely says so. but
ye ain't any on ye up to me. I's so awful wicked, there can't nobody do nuthin' with me!"
Eva and Uncle Tom were greater friends than ever as time went on, and she
had helped him to write a letter home to his wife, telling her where he was and how
he hoped some day to see her and his children again. In due time Tom received an
answer to it from Master George saying that Aunt Chloe had been hired out to a con-
fectioner in Louisville, where she was earning large sums of money, all of which was
to be saved to buy Uncle Tom back. Mose and Pete were flourishing, and the baby
trotting all over the house. Tom was never tired of looking at this precious letter,
and talking to Eva about it.
Two years had slipped away since he had met the lovely child who had
become to him an angel upon earth, and he was now with the rest of the family
passing the hot summer at Mr. St. Clare's beautiful villa on Lake Pontchartrain.
On one of the golden sunsets that reflect themselves on the bright waters of
the lake, Tom and Eva were seated on a little mossy seat in an arbour at the end
of the garden. It was Sunday evening, and Eva's Bible lay open on her knee. She
read in her sweet musical voice,
"And 1 saw a sea of glass, mingled with fire."
"Tom-there it is!" said Eva suddenly stopping and pointing to the Lake,
which reflected the golden glow of the sky.
"True enough, Miss Eva," said Tom, singing-


"Oh, had I the wings of the morning,
I'd fly away to Canaan's shore;
Bright angels should convey me home,
To the new Jerusalem!"
"Where do you suppose New Jerusalem is, Uncle Tom?"
"Up in the clouds, Miss Eva."
"Then I think I see it. Those clouds look like great gates of pearl, and you
can see beyond them, far, far off-it's all gold. Tom, sing about 'Spirits bright'.
Tom sang the well known hymn:
"I see a band of spirits bright,
That taste the glories there;
They all are robed in spotless white,
And conquering palms they bear."
"Uncle Tom-I've seen them-they come to me sometimes in my sleep-those spirits,"
said Eva.
Tom had no doubt of it at all: it would not have surprised him to hear that
Eva had been to heaven.
"Uncle Tom-I'm going there!"
"Where, Miss Eva?"
The child rose, and pointed her little hand to the sky. The glow of evening
lit her golden hair and flushed cheek with unearthly brightness, and her eyes were
bent earnestly on the skies.


"I'm going there -to the spirits bright, Tom- I'm going before long," she said.
The faithful old heart felt a sudden pang; and Tom thought how often he had
noticed the last six months that Eva's little hands had grown thinner, and how when
she ran or played in the garden, as she once could for hours, she became soon tired
and languid. Miss Ophelia had often spoken of a cough, she could not cure, and even
now that bright cheek and little hand were burning with fever, and yet the thought
that Eva's words suggested had never come to him until now! Could it be indeed so?
The conversation between Eva and Tom was disturbed by a hasty call from Miss
Ophelia to come in quickly, as the dew was falling. She had noted the slight dry
cough, flushed cheek and glittering eye, and had tried to call St. Clare's attention to
them, but he would not listen to her fears, or rather watched Eva secretly with jealous
affection, with sudden thrills of dread at his heart, lest his darling should indeed be
growing too good for this world; and then he felt a wild determination to keep her-
never to let her go.
One day when Eva was alone with her mother, she opened a drawer, and
taking from it a jewel-case, shewed the child its contents saying-
"These are the diamonds I'm going to give you when you come out. I wore
them at my first ball."
Eva took out a diamond necklace, and as her large thoughtful eyes rested on
it she said,
"Are these worth much money, Mamma?"
"Of course they are; Father sent to France for them They are worth a
small fortune."


"I wish I had them to do what I pleased with!"
"What would you do with them?"
"I'd sell them, and buy a place in the free states, to take all our people to,
and hire teachers to teach them to read and write."
"Much good that would do them," said Marie laughing.
"I think they ought to be able to read the Bible and learn God's will," said
Eva steadily, "and to write their own letters, and read letters that are written to them.
I know, Mamma, it does come very hard on them that they can't do these things. Tom
feels it, Mammy does, many do. I think it's wrong."
"Come, come, Eva-you are only a child-you know nothing of these things,"
said her mother-"besides you make my head ache."
Eva stole quietly away, but she gave Mammy reading lessons whenever she could.



bout this time St. Clare's brother Alfred, with his son Henrique,a boy of twelve,
spent two or three days with the family at the lake. The twin brothers
were most unlike in all respects, and yet had uncommon love for each other.
S Henrique was a fine dark-eyed boy, full of spirit, and of admiration for
: p his cousin Eva. Her little pet white pony was brought up to the verandah
by Tom, while a mulatto boy led Henrique's small black Arab horse. As he
,ct' came forward to take the reins from his little groom, he cried out angrily,
"Why, Dodo,.you lazy dog, you haven't rubbed my horse down this morning."
"Yes, Mas'r, he got that dust on his own self," said Dodo, meekly.
"You rascal, how dare you speak?" said Henrique violently, raising his riding-
whip. The boy was a handsome fellow of just Henrique's size, and his cheek flushed
and his eye sparkled as he tried to speak a word or two. Henrique struck him across
the face with his whip, and forcing him on his knees, beat him till he was out of breath.
"Take that for your .impudence, and take the horse back, and clean him
properly," said Henrique, walking away to meet Eva, who stood in her riding-dress near.
"Dear Eva, I am sorry this stupid fellow has kept you waiting. Let us sit
down on this seat till he comes back. What's the matter, Cousin ?"
"How could you be so cruel and wicked to poor Dodo?" asked Eva.


"Dear Eva-you don't know Dodo-he's full of lies and excuses. The only
way is to put him down at once. That's how Papa manages."
"But you beat him, and he didn't deserve it," said Eva sadly.
"It may do for some time when he does, and doesn't get it-but I won't beat
him again before you, Eva, if it vexes you." Eva did not feel satisfied yet.
Dodo soon appeared with the horses.
"Well, Dodo-this seems better," said Henrique more graciously, come and
hold Miss Eva's horse while I put her on it."
As Do,.J was giving up the reins, Eva bent down towards him, and said,
"That's a good boy, Dodo, thank yoi;."
Dodo looked up surprised into the sweet young face, and as the children
cantered away, he watched them with te..i;s in his eyes, for Eva's kind words had
touched his heart with a new pleasure.
As the cousins returned from their ride the St. Clare brothers met them, and
Alfred was struck with the brilliant complexion and golden hair of his little niece.
"What a perfect beauty she is-she will make many hearts ache some day,"
he said to Augustine.
"Indeed I fear so," said her father bitterly, and he hurried to take her off
her horse, saying as he clasped her in his arms,
"How could you ride so fast, dear? you know it's bad for you."
"I felt so well, papa, and liked it so much, I forgot." St. Clare carried her
into the house, and laid her on a sofa.


"I'll take her under my care," said Henrique, seating himself by the sofa and
taking her hand. As soon as the children were alone he said:
"Do you know, Eva, I'm so sorry we're going away in two days, and then I
shan't see you again for ever so long! If I stayed. with you I'd try to be good, and
not cross to Dodo and so on. You see I've got such a quick temper, but I'm not really
bad to him. I think on the whole Dodo's pretty well off!"
"Would you think you were well off, if there were no one in the world to
love you ?"
"I? of course not. But 1 can't help it. I can't love him myself, can I?"
"Why can't you?" said Eva.
"Why, Eva-you don't love your servants, do you?"
'I do, indeed. Doesn't the Bible say we should love everybody?"
"I suppose the Bible does say such things, but then nobody ever thinks of
doing them, Eva, nobody does!"
Eva did not speak at once, but when she did, she said earnestly,
"Do love poor Dodo, and be kind to him for my sake, dear Cousin!"
"I could love anything for your sake, dear Eva," replied Henrique warmly, and
then the dinner bell put an end to the conversation.
Two days after this the brothers parted, and Eva, who had exerted herself
beyond her strength during her cousin's visit, began to fail rapidly, and at last a doctor
w;is sent for. In a week or two she was again better, and her father declared that
she would soon be as well as ever. Miss Ophelia and the doctor alone were not
deceived, and Eva herself felt a strange certainty that her earthly time was short.


One day her father called her to him to show her a statuette he had bought
for her, and as she came forward in her white dress, with golden hair and glowing
cheeks, he could hardly bear to look upon her fragile beauty, and taking her suddenly
in her arms, exclaimed,
"Eva, darling, you are better now, are you not?"
"Papa," said Eva firmly, "I have something I want to say to you now." St. Clare
trembled as she seated herself on his lap. She laid her head on his bosom, and said:
"I cannot keep it to myself any longer-I am going to leave you soon, Papa,
never to come back." And Eva sobbed.
"What can have put such sad thoughts into your little head, dear child?" said
her father trying to speak cheerfully.
"I am not sad about going away, Papa, only because I don't want to leave you
and all my friends-it almost breaks my heart. There are things here that seem
dreadful to me."
"What things, Eva?"
"I feel sad for our poor people-they all love me and I wish, Papa, they were
all free!"
"Why, Eva, don't you think they are well off now?"
"But, Papa, if anything should happen to you, what would become of them?
Everybody isn't like you, Papa. Uncle Alfred isn't, and Mamma isn't. Papa, isn't there
any way to have all slaves made free?"
"It's a difficult question, darling. I heartily wish there were not a slave in
the land, but I don't know what can be done."


"You are such a good man
Papa, so noble and kind, you might find
some way. When I am dead you will
S. think of me, and do it for my sake. I
i would do it if I could."
"When you are dead, Eva? Don't
Sc D talk to me like that! You are all I have
on earth."
-But think, Papa-these poor people
Sr d love their children as much as you do me -
pI ; r Mammy-and Tom--and all of them."
e p"There, darling, only don't talk of dying,
sa oil I s-ill do anything you wish."
"k "Promise me, dear, d.,ar Papia3-that Tom shall have his freedom as soon
as-I am gone!"
"Yes--dear--I will do anything in the world you ask me to do."
"Dear Papa," said the child, laying her burning cheek against his. "I wish
we could go together to our home with God. Don't you want to go, Papa?"
St. Clare drew her closer to him, but was silent.
"You will come to me?" said Eva again.
'I shall come after you-I shall not forget you," said her father.
The shadows of evening closed round them as St. Clare sat silently rocking
the little frail form. in his arms until she fell asleep.


A day. or two afterwards, Topsy was in disgrace with Miss Ophelia, and Eva
followed her into a little glass room near the verandah, where St. Clare heard and
saw the children without being himself seen.
They were both sitting on the floor and Eva began
"Why won't you try and be good, Topsy? Don't you love anybody?"
"Dunno nothing' 'bout love-I loves candy, and sich, that's all. Never had
nothing nor nobody," said Topsy.
"But Topsy if you'd try to be good, you might,"--
"There can't nobody love niggers, niggers can't do nothing I don't care!" said
Topsy, beginning to whistle.
"Oh, Topsy, I love you-because you haven't any father or mother or friends-
and I want you to try and be good. I'm very ill, Topsy, and very likely I mayn't live
much longer."
The sharp bright eyes of the black child filled with tears, as a ray of
heavenly love for the first time pierced the da'-ki's of her heathen soul. She wept
and sobbed, while the beautiful child bi.inliing over her looked like a bright angel.
"Poor Topsy!" said Eva. "God loves you, and can help you to be good and go
to heaven, just as much as if you were white."
"Oh, dear Miss Eva-I will try! I will try! I never cared nothing' about
it before."
And Topsy kept her word.




[ everything in Eva's room was tasteful and beautiful, for her father's loving
care had chosen the prettiest ornaments and fittings for the use of his darling.
The bamboo furniture, with rose-coloured curtains and hangings, was of
light and fanciful design, and exquisite white figures; statuettes and pictures
Were placed on every side, images of childhood, beauty and peace.
.'The deceitful strength that had buoyed Eva up for a little while
was fast passing away; seldom and more seldom her light step was heard
in the verandah, and oftener she was found lying on a little lounge by the
open window, her large deep eyes fixed on the waters of the lake. It was Tom's
greatest delight to carry her slight form now up and down her room, now out into
the verandah, and sometimes he would walk with her under the orange-trees in the
garden, or sitting down in one of their old seats, sing to her the favourite old hymns.
One afternoon Eva had been unusually bright and cheerful, had sat up in her
bed, looked over all her little trinkets and precious things, and named those to whom
she would have them given. Her father had been with her in the evening, and said
that Eva was more like her old self than she had been since her illness, and when
he kissed her for the night, he said to Miss Ophelia,
"We may keep her with us after all," and retired with a lighter heart than
he had had for weeks before.


But at midnight the mysterious message came.
Miss Ophelia saw a sudden change in her loved patient, and in a moment
St. Clare was bending over his child, who was still asleep. What was it he saw in her
face that made his heart stand still? It was the dawning of immortal life in that
childish soul! St. Clare heard and said nothing-he saw only that look on the face of
the little sleeper.
"If she would but wake and speak once imore"' he said, and stooping over her,
spoke in her ear, "Eva darling!" The large blue eyes opened, a smile passed over her
face. She tried to raise her head and to speak.
"Do you know me, Eva?"
"Dear Papa!" said the child with a last effort, throwing her arms about his
neck. In a moment they dropped again, she struggled for breath, and threw up her
little hands.
Tom had taken his master's hands between his own, and with tears streaming
down his dark cheeks, looked up for help-where he had always been used to look.
"Oh-bless the Lord! It's over, dear mas'r-look at her!" said Tom, as Eva
opened her eyes once more.
"Eva!" said St. Clare gently. "Tell us what you see!"
A bright, a glorious smile passed over her face, she said brokenly-
"Love-joy-peace!" gave one sigh, and passed from death into life!
There lay the little sleeping form, robed in a simple white dress; the rose-
coloured light through the curtains cast a warm glow over the icy coldness of death;


but upon the bright happy face rested the blessed expression of the long holy sleep
which "He giveth to His beloved."
St. Clare stood long gazing there, and saw as in a dream how flowers were
lovingly placed around his lost child. The door opened again, and Topsy appeared,
her eyes swollen with crying, holding something under her apron.
"You must not come in," said the maid who was arranging the flowers.
"Do let me put just one, there-such a pretty one," said Topsy, holding up a
half blown tea rosebud.
"Let her stay-she shall come," said St. Clare suddenly. Topsy came forward
and laid her flower at Eva's feet, and then with a wild and bitter cry threw herself
down by the bed, and wept and moaned aloud.
"0, Miss Eva! I wish I's dead too, I do!"
At this cry the blood flushed into St. Clare's white marble-like face, and the
first tears he had shed since Eva died, stood in his eyes.
"She said she loved me, she did!" said Topsy, 'Oh dear! there ain't nobody
left now-there ain't!"
Miss Ophelia raised her gently, and took her from the room, but as she did
so some tears fell from her eyes, and as she led her away she said,
"Topsy, you poor child, don't give up. I can love you though I'm not like
that dear child. I can love you-I do; and I'll try to help you to grow up a good
Christian girl."
Miss Ophelia's voice and honest tears said even more than her words, and
from that hour she gained an influence over poor Topsy that she never lost.


"Oh, my Eva, whose little hour on earth did so much good, what account have
I to give for .my long years ?" thought St. Clare.
There, by the mossy seat where Eva and Tom had talked and sung and read
so often, was the little grave. Tom had a feeling that drew him to his master, wherever
he went, wistful, sad, and as in a dream, or when he sat pale and quiet in Eva's
room, holding before his eyes her little open Bible, though seeing no letter nor word
that was in it.
In a few days the St. Clare family were back again in' New Orleans, restlessly
longing for change of scene in their grief.

e ~o^
o ~ ~m u



Seek after week glided away in the St. Clare home, and the waves of life
settled back to their usual flow where that little bark had gone down.
All the interests and hopes of St. Clare's life had unconsciously \,imini
|1 themselves around his child, and now that she was gone there seemed
nothing to be thought of, and nothing to be done. Still St. Clare was in
some ways a better man than he had been. He honestly read his little
Eva's Bible, and thought more of his duties to his servants; and soon after
his return to New Orleans took steps to free Tom by law. Meanwhile he became
more attached to the honest faithful fellow every day, and in the wide world there
was nothing that seemed to remind him so much of Eva. The day after he had begun
to free Tom St. Clare said to him,
"I'm going to make a free man of you, 'so have your trunk packed to set out
for Kentucky." He was rather annoyed when Tom's face became suddenly lighted
up with joy, and he fervently exclaimed,
"Bless the Lord!"
"You needn't be quite so delighted to leave me, Tom. I've not been a bad
master to you."


Mas'r's been too good, I know" said Tom, "but it's bein' a free man -That's
what I'm joyin' for!"
"1 suppose, Tom, you'll be leaving me then in a month or two," said St. Clare, sadly.
"Not while Mas'r's in trouble," said Tom.
"And when will my trouble be over?" said St. Clare, with another sigh, "No,
Tom, I can't keep you till then."
At this moment Miss Ophelia called her cousin away, and sitting down by
him said seriously,
"I want you to give me Topsy for my own, as you said you would, that
I may have a right to free her when I like. Why not give me the deed of gift at once?
"Why-do you think I'm going to die?" said St. Clare gaily, as he sat down
and wrote the paper.
"We know not what shall be on the morrow," said Miss Ophelia gravely, as
she took the paper, saying, "Now I can protect her whatever happens."
In the evening St. Clare began to play and sing the touching "Dies Irce" from
Mozart's Requiem, telling his cousin it brought back to him his mother's voice, and
the time-when he had first learnt it from her. Then walking restlessly up and down
he said half to himself,
"Dear little Eva! she had set her heart on a good work for me!"
Presently he said to Miss Ophelia,
"I don't know what makes me think of my mother so much to night. I feel
as if she were near me, and'keep thinking of things she used to say. I'm going to
the Club for half an hour to hear the news."


That night he was brought home fatally stabbed in the side by a man whom
he had tried to disarm in a sudden quarrel between two gentlemen that had taken
place in the Club. The doctor who examined him said that there was no hope of
saving his life, and he recovered consciousness for the last time only to.see the terror
and misery of the poor dependents around him, about to lose their only friend.
He laid his hand on Tom's as he knelt beside him, saying,
"Tom-poor fellow-pray for me!"
And Tom did pray with all his heart and mind for the soul that was passing,
that looked so steadily and sadly from those large, mournful blue eyes. St. Clare
murmured softly to himself the words of the requiem hymn he had sung that evening.
"His mind is wandering," said the doctor.
"No--it is coming home at last!" said St. Clare.
The paleness of death fell on him, and with it a happy expression of peace,
like that of a wearied child who sleeps. Just before the spirit departed he opened
his eyes with a sudden light, as of joy-said "Mother!" and then he was gone!
He had been struck down in a moment, in the flower and strength of his
youth, and the house re echoed with sobs and shrieks of despair, from those who
well knew the unfeeling character of the mistress in whose hands they were left.
Tom hardly thought of himself as he felt hope and peace on his master's account,
but before many days had passed he heard that Marie had decided to sell the place,
and all the servants upon it except her own, and return with them to her father's
plantation. The hope of liberty, the thought of wife and children, rose up before his


soul: he choked back the bitter tears, and tried to pray, but the more he said "Thy
will be done," the worse he felt.
He went to Miss Ophelia, who ever since Eva's death had treated him with
marked kindness, and said:
"Miss Feely-Mas'r St. Clare promised me my freedom. He told me he had
begun to take it out for me, and perhaps if Miss Feely would be good enough to
speak to Missis, she would go on with it, as it was Mas'r's wish."
"I'll speak for you, Tom, and do my best," said Miss Ophelia, who was preparing
to return north-"but if it depends upon Mrs. St. Clare I can't hope much for you."
She found Marie lying. upon a sofa, busy in choosing some thin black stuffs
for dresses, and turning to Miss Ophelia she said,
"I haven't a dress to wear, and as I'm going away next week, I must choose something."
"Are you going so soon?"
"Yes, St. Clare's brother has written, and he thinks the servants and furniture
had better be sold at once."
"There's one thing I wanted to speak to you about. Augustine promised Tom
his liberty, and began to have the papers drawn up. I hope you'll do all you can to
carry it out."
"Indeed I shall do no such thing," said Marie sharply, "Tom is one of the
most valuable servants on the place-it couldn't be afforded in any way. Besides
he's a great deal better off as he is!"
"He wants it so much, and it was a promise," said Miss Ophelia.
"I dare say he does want it-they're all a discontented set always wanting

See Pag6:

Sale of Emmeline


what they haven't got. Keep a negro under and he does well enough, but set them
free, and they get lazy and turn out mean worthless fellows. It's no favour to free them."
"But Tom is so steady and good."
"You needn't tell me! I've seen hundreds like him. He'll do very well as
long as he's taken care of."
"But consider the chance of his getting a bad master," said Miss Ophelia again
Oh, most masters are good, for all the talk that's made. I've lived and
grown up in the south, and I never yet knew a master that didn't treat his servants
quite as well as is worth while. I don't feel afraid of that!" replied Marie.
"Well," said Miss Ophelia desperately, "I know it was one of your husband's
last wishes that Tom should have his freedom; it was one of the promises he made
to dear little Eva on her death-bed, and I shouldn't think you would set it aside."
Marie covered her face with her handkerchief, and sobbing violently, exclaimed,
"Everybody is so inconsiderate! I should n't have expected you would remind
me of all my troubles! It was hard when I had only one daughter she should have
been taken! And when I had a husband that exactly suited me, he should be taken!
I suppose you mean well, but it's inconsiderate-very!"
And Marie sobbed and gasped for breath, and, called for Mammy to open the
window and bathe her head, and in the confusion Miss Ophelia made her escape.
She did the next best thing she could for Tom, by writing a letter for him
to Mrs. Shelby, telling her his troubles, and begging her to help him.
The next day Tom and some half dozen other servants were marched down to
the slave warehouse to be sold by auction.



ig|j-i mong the number of men, women and children, awaiting their fate with Tom
and the other servants of the St. Clare family, he could not help noticing
Sone quiet, gentle looking mulatto woman, about fifty, neatly and carefully
", dressed with a high red turban on her head. By her side was her young
daughter, of fifteen, with soft dark eyes, and curling light brown hair. Both
were crying, but each quietly, that the other might not hear.
^,t "Mother, do try if you can't sleep a little," said the girl.
y "I can't sleep, Em, it's the last night we may be together."
"Perhaps we shall get sold together, Mother-who knows ?"
"May be-but I'm so afeard of losin' you, I see nothing' but the danger," said
the poor mother.
"The man said we should both sell well," said poor Emmeline, simply, and
after a moment's pause her mother replied,
"Emmeline, if we shouldn't ever see each other again after to morrow, always
remember how you've been brought up, and all Missis told you. Take your Bible and
hymn book with you, and if you're faithful to the Lord, He'll be faithful to you"
In the morning, Mr. Skeggs, the auctioneer, called his goods together, and
marched them off to the public sale-room, where under a splendid dome were men of
all nations moving about the marble pavement, buyers and sellers of human souls!


Tom had been wistfully looking in the faces of those about him for one he
would wish to call master, but he saw no St. Clare there. Just before the sale began
a short, broad, strong man, shabbily dressed, elbowed his way through the crowd, like
one who means business. From the moment Tom saw him come near the group where
he was, he felt a strange horror of him. He had a round bullet head, large green-grey
eyes, with shaggy sandy eyebrows, and stiff wiry hair; a large coarse mouth, and
enormous dirty hands and nails. He seized Tom by the jaw, and opened his mouth to
look at his teeth, made him put up his sleeve to show his muscle, and made him spring
and jump to see his paces. Again Legree stopped before Emmeline, took hold of her
with his heavy dirty hand, examined her roughly, and then pushed her back against
her mother. And then the sale began. Tom was one of the first to be put up and
sold, before he knew where he was. Emmeline's mother was next bought by a respectable,
kind looking old gentleman, whom she asked to take her daughter too.
"I'd like to, but I'm afraid I can't afford it," said her new master, watching
with painful interest as the young girl mounted the block, and looked around her with
a frightened and timid glance. Her flushed cheeks and the feverish fire of her eyes
made her even more beautiful than before, her price rose beyond the means of more
friendly bidders, and she fell to the lot of the hideous bullet-headed stranger, Simon
Legree, owner of a cotton plantation on the Red River, who had already secured Tom.
She is carried away in the same lot with him and two other other men, and goes off,
weeping as she goes.
On the lower part of a small mean boat on the Red River, Tom sat with
chains on his wrists and feet, and a weight heavier than chains on his heart. All had


faded away from him to return no more- Kentucky home with wife and children, and
kind friends; St. Clare home with its beauty and refinement-the angelic golden-headed
Eva, and the proud, gay, careless yet ever-kind St. Clare-all gone! Legree walked up
to Tom, and taking away his trunk with all its contents, disposed of them to men on
board the boat, and sauntering up again said roughly,
"Now, Tom, we've got rid of your extra baggage, so it'll be long enough before
you get more clothes-I go in for making niggers careful-one suit has to do for one
year on my place. "Now," added Legree, doubling his great heavy fist, "d'ye see this
fist? I never see the nigger yet I couldn't bring down with one crack, so now, mind
yourselves, for I don't shew no mercy."
The boat moved on, up the red muddy current through the windings of the
Red River, and sad eyes gazed wearily on the steep red clay banks, as they glided by
in dreary sameness. At last the boat stopped at a small town, and Legree with his
party, disembarked.



-l oiling wearily behind a rude waggon, over a ruder road, Tom and his
companions marched onward. In the waggon sat Simon Legree, and Emmeline
I and another woman, chained together, were stowed away in the back part
of it. Legree's plantation at length came in view. It had once belonged
to a rich man of taste, who had laid out the grounds well, but the place
,:; now had a ragged forlorn appearance, and what had formerly been a large
'f' I fruitful garden, was now all overgrown with weeds. The waggon rolled
up a neglected gravel path, under a fine avenue of China-trees to the house,
built in the southern style with a wide verandah of two storeys running round it.
Three or four fierce-looking dogs came tearing out, trying to lay hold of Tom and
his companions.
"Ye see what ye'd get if ye tried to run off," said Legree, patting the dogs
with grim pleasure. "These yer dogs has been raised to track niggers, and they'd
jest as soon chaw one of ye up as eat their supper! so mind. Well, Sambo, how is
things going on?"
"First-rate, Mas'r," said Sambo, a ragged fellow.
"Quimbo, yer minded what I tell'd yer?" said Legree to another of his crew.
"Guess I did," said Quimbo, shewing his large white teeth.


These two coloured men were the chief hands on the plantation, and Legree
had trained them to help him in all his cruel deeds.
Tom soon followed Sambo to "the quarters," a sort of street of rude huts in
a row, far off from the house. Tom's heart sank when he saw them, for he hoped
for the comfort of a little place to himself where he might be quiet and alone out
of working hours. They were mere shells of cottages, without any kind of furniture,
only a heap of dirty straw on the bare ground!
"Dunno whar to put ye," said Sambo, "there's a pretty smart heap of niggers
to each just now-it's a busy time!"
It was late in the evening when the weary toilers came flocking home, and
then there was a scramble at the hand-mills, where their handful of hard corn was
yet to be ground to fit it for the cake that was their only supper. To a late hour
of the night the grinding went on, for the mills were few, and the tired and feeble
ones were driven back by the strong. Tom waited patiently to get a place at the
mills, and moved by the utter weakness of two women, who were trying to grind
their corn, he ground for them, put together the fire where many had baked cakes
before him, and then set to work to get his own supper. It was but a small work
of charity, yet it touched their hearts, and a look of womanly kindness came over
their hard faces. They mixed his cake for him and baked it; and Tom sat down
by the light of the fire and took out his Bible, for he had need of comfort.
"What's that?" said one of the women.
"A Bible," replied Tom.
"Hain't seen one since I was in Kentuck!"


"Was you raised in Kentuck?" said Tom with interest.
"Yes, well raised too-never 'spected to come to dis yer. Read a piece
anyways," said the woman, curiously.
Tom read: "Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden-and I will
give you rest."
When the women had gone to their wretched cabins to seek forgetfulness of
their misery in sleep, Tom rose, disconsolate, and stumbled into the hut allotted to
him, where laying himself down on the crowded floor, he fell asleep, and in his
dreams was visited by the sweet ministering angel who had loved and comforted
him when on earth.
Legree soon found out Tom's value, as a good and honest worker in all that
he did, still he hated him for the goodness that made him stand by the weak and
helpless. A few weeks after Tom's arrival on the place he noticed among the workers
one morning a handsome woman whom he had never seen before. She was evidently
a lady in manner and appearance, and as she walked by Tom's side, proud and
erect, he wondered why she came to work like this, and marked that she picked her
cotton very fast and clean. There was a poor mulatto woman named Lucy, who was very
weak and ill that day, and as Tom passed near her, he silently put a few handfuls
of his own cotton into her sack.
"Oh don't! it'll get you into trouble," said Lucy, surprised. "I canb'ar it better'n
you," returned Tom, going away.
Suddenly th? strange woman came near enough to hear Tom's words, took a.
quantity of cotton from her own basket, and put it into his, saying as she did so.


"You know nothing about this place, or you wouldn't have done that." She
then went on with her work, and before the day was over, her basket was filled to
overflowing, and she had several times put largely into Tom's. When Legree was going-
to weigh the baskets that evening Sambo said to his master spitefully,
"Dat ar Lucy's short weight again, Tom and Missie Cassy filled up her
basket though."
"Wall then-Tom shall have the pleasure of flogging her-It'll be good practice
for him, eh?" said Legree, savagely.
"When Lucy gave in her basket, Legree, pretending to find it short weight
said angrily,
"What, short again, you lazy-bones. Stand aside, ye'll catch it pretty soon."
The woman gave a groan and sat down on a board. "Now come here, you, Tom," said
Legree. "You see I didn't buy ye jest for the common work. I mean to make a driver
of ye, and yer may as well begin to get yer hand in You jest take this yer gal and
flog her-ye've seen enough of it to know how."
"I beg mas'r's pardon," said Tom, "It's what I ain't used to-never did-and
can't do--no way possible."
"Ye'll learn things ye never did know before I've done with you," said Legree,
striking Tom a heavy blow across the cheek.
"There, now can't ye do it ?" said he furiously.
"No, Mas'r," said Tom wiping away the blood from his face. "I'm willing' to
work night and day, but this yer thing I can't feel it right to do, and I never will,
Masr, never!"


Legree saw a quiet
determination in Tom's
words that roused his wicked
spirit to fury, and kicking
him violently yelled out,
"You dare to tell
me what's right or wrong?
Ain't I your Mas'r? Didn't
I pay down twelve hundred
dollars for your old black shell?
Ain't yer mine now, body and soul?"
In all his pain this question
roused Tom's better spirit, and he
called out,

"No, no-my soul ain't your's mas'r-Ye haven't bought it, ye can't buy it! It's
been bought and paid for by One that's able to keep it!"
"We'll see," said Legree. "Here, Sambo, Quimbo, give this dog a breaking' in he
won't get over this month."
It was late at night when Tom lay groaning and bleeding alone, in an old
room of the cotton mill, among broken machinery, and other rubbish heaped up there.
The thick air swarmed with mosquitos, which added to the torture of his wounds, while
he suffered agony from thirst.


"Good Lord-Do look down-give me the victory!" prayed poor Tom in
his anguish.
Some one entered the room, and he saw the flash of a lantern.
"Who's there? Please give me some water," said Tom faintly. The woman
Cassy, for it was she, set down her lantern, and pouring water from a bottle, raised
his head and gave him some.
"Drink all you want, I knew how it would be. It isn't the first time I've been
out in the night, carrying' water to such as you," said Cassy.
"Thank you, Missis," said Tom when he had done drinking.
"Don't call me Missis-I'm a miserable slave like yourself," she said bitterly,
and then dragging in a small mattress, on which she had spread wet linen clothes
she added-"Try to roll yourself on tho this."
Stiff with wounds and bruises Tom was some time in doing this, but it
seemed to relieve him a little.
"Now that's the best I can do for you," said Cassy, when she had raised his
head on a roll of damaged cotton for a pillow. There was silence for awhile, and
then Tom said feebly,
"I saw 'em throw my coat in that 'ar corner, my Bible is in the pocket-if
Mis.is would please get it for me." Cassy went and fetched it, and Tom opening it
at once at a deeply marked passage of the last scene in our Saviour's life, said
"If Missis would only be so good as to read that 'ar-it's better than water."
Cassy took the book and read aloud in a soft voice that touching story of


suffering and glory. When she came to the words, "Father, forgive them, for they
know not what they do "she threw down the book and burying her face in the heavy
masses of her hair, sobbed passionately. In a few moments she rose and said,
"Can I do anything more for you, my poor fellow? Shall I give you some
more water ?"
Tom drank the water and looked earnestly and pitifully into her face, but
before he could speak she said kindly,
"Don't talk-try to sleep if you can," and placing water within his reach,
Cassy left the shed.
In the morning, Legree, who began half to regret the loss of one of his best
hands for some days in the press of the cotton-l.ikLing season, came early to see if
his victim was inclined to give in yet.
"How d'ye feel, my boy, eh?" said he sneeringly, "have you had enough yet,
or would ye be glad to do what I tell you now?"
"Mas'r Legree, I can't do it-I never will do a cruel thing, come what may,"
said Tom boldly.
"Yes-but ye don't know what may come. What ye've got ain't nothing-
nothing 'tall!"
"Mas'r, I know ye can do drefful things-but after you've killed the body,
there ain't no more ye can do!" said Tom, adding with more spirit as he went on,
"I'll give ye, as my Mas'r, all the work of my hands, all my time, all my strength,

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