Uncle Tom's Cabin or, Life Among the Lowly

by Harriet Beecher Stowe

  Mr. Wilson, a good-natured but extremely fidgety and cautious old gentleman, ambled up and down the room, appearing, as John Bunyan hath it, "much tumbled up and down in his mind," and divided between his wish to help George, and a certain confused notion of maintaining law and order: so, as he shambled about, he delivered himself as follows:

  "Well, George, I s'pose you're running away-leaving your lawful master, George-(I don't wonder at it)-at the same time, I'm sorry, George,-yes, decidedly-I think I must say that, George-it's my duty to tell you so."

  "Why are you sorry, sir?" said George, calmly.

  "Why, to see you, as it were, setting yourself in opposition to the laws of your country."

  "My country!" said George, with a strong and bitter emphasis; "what country have I, but the grave,-and I wish to God that I was laid there!"

  "Why, George, no-no-it won't do; this way of talking is wicked-unscriptural. George, you've got a hard master-in fact, he is-well he conducts himself reprehensibly-I can't pretend to defend him. But you know how the angel commanded Hagar to return to her mistress, and submit herself under the hand; [4] and the apostle sent back Onesimus to his master." [5]

  "Don't quote Bible at me that way, Mr. Wilson," said George, with a flashing eye, "don't! for my wife is a Christian, and I mean to be, if ever I get to where I can; but to quote Bible to a fellow in my circumstances, is enough to make him give it up altogether. I appeal to God Almighty;-I'm willing to go with the case to Him, and ask Him if I do wrong to seek my freedom."

  "These feelings are quite natural, George," said the good-natured man, blowing his nose. "Yes, they're natural, but it is my duty not to encourage 'em in you. Yes, my boy, I'm sorry for you, now; it's a bad case-very bad; but the apostle says, 'Let everyone abide in the condition in which he is called.' We must all submit to the indications of Providence, George,-don't you see?"

  George stood with his head drawn back, his arms folded tightly over his broad breast, and a bitter smile curling his lips.

  "I wonder, Mr. Wilson, if the Indians should come and take you a prisoner away from your wife and children, and want to keep you all your life hoeing corn for them, if you'd think it your duty to abide in the condition in which you were called. I rather think that you'd think the first stray horse you could find an indication of Providence-shouldn't you?"

  The little old gentleman stared with both eyes at this illustration of the case; but, though not much of a reasoner, he had the sense in which some logicians on this particular subject do not excel,-that of saying nothing, where nothing could be said. So, as he stood carefully stroking his umbrella, and folding and patting down all the creases in it, he proceeded on with his exhortations in a general way.

  "You see, George, you know, now, I always have stood your friend; and whatever I've said, I've said for your good. Now, here, it seems to me, you're running an awful risk. You can't hope to carry it out. If you're taken, it will be worse with you than ever; they'll only abuse you, and half kill you, and sell you down the river."

  "Mr. Wilson, I know all this," said George. "I do run a risk, but-" he threw open his overcoat, and showed two pistols and a bowie-knife. "There!" he said, "I'm ready for 'em! Down south I never will go. No! if it comes to that, I can earn myself at least six feet of free soil,-the first and last I shall ever own in Kentucky!"

  "Why, George, this state of mind is awful; it's getting really desperate George. I'm concerned. Going to break the laws of your country!"

  "My country again! Mr. Wilson, you have a country; but what country have I, or any one like me, born of slave mothers? What laws are there for us? We don't make them,-we don't consent to them,-we have nothing to do with them; all they do for us is to crush us, and keep us down. Haven't I heard your Fourth-of-July speeches? Don't you tell us all, once a year, that governments derive their just power from the consent of the governed? Can't a fellow think, that hears such things? Can't he put this and that together, and see what it comes to?"

  Mr. Wilson's mind was one of those that may not unaptly be represented by a bale of cotton,-downy, soft, benevolently fuzzy and confused. He really pitied George with all his heart, and had a sort of dim and cloudy perception of the style of feeling that agitated him; but he deemed it his duty to go on talking good to him, with infinite pertinacity.

  "George, this is bad. I must tell you, you know, as a friend, you'd better not be meddling with such notions; they are bad, George, very bad, for boys in your condition,-very;" and Mr. Wilson sat down to a table, and began nervously chewing the handle of his umbrella.

  "See here, now, Mr. Wilson," said George, coming up and sitting himself determinately down in front of him; "look at me, now. Don't I sit before you, every way, just as much a man as you are? Look at my face,-look at my hands,-look at my body," and the young man drew himself up proudly; "why am I not a man, as much as anybody? Well, Mr. Wilson, hear what I can tell you. I had a father-one of your Kentucky gentlemen-who didn't think enough of me to keep me from being sold with his dogs and horses, to satisfy the estate, when he died. I saw my mother put up at sheriff's sale, with her seven children. They were sold before her eyes, one by one, all to different masters; and I was the youngest. She came and kneeled down before old Mas'r, and begged him to buy her with me, that she might have at least one child with her; and he kicked her away with his heavy boot. I saw him do it; and the last that I heard was her moans and screams, when I was tied to his horse's neck, to be carried off to his place."

  "Well, then?"

  "My master traded with one of the men, and bought my oldest sister. She was a pious, good girl,-a member of the Baptist church,-and as handsome as my poor mother had been. She was well brought up, and had good manners. At first, I was glad she was bought, for I had one friend near me. I was soon sorry for it. Sir, I have stood at the door and heard her whipped, when it seemed as if every blow cut into my naked heart, and I couldn't do anything to help her; and she was whipped, sir, for wanting to live a decent Christian life, such as your laws give no slave girl a right to live; and at last I saw her chained with a trader's gang, to be sent to market in Orleans,-sent there for nothing else but that,-and that's the last I know of her. Well, I grew up,-long years and years,-no father, no mother, no sister, not a living soul that cared for me more than a dog; nothing but whipping, scolding, starving. Why, sir, I've been so hungry that I have been glad to take the bones they threw to their dogs; and yet, when I was a little fellow, and laid awake whole nights and cried, it wasn't the hunger, it wasn't the whipping, I cried for. No, sir, it was for my mother and my sisters,-it was because I hadn't a friend to love me on earth. I never knew what peace or comfort was. I never had a kind word spoken to me till I came to work in your factory. Mr. Wilson, you treated me well; you encouraged me to do well, and to learn to read and write, and to try to make something of myself; and God knows how grateful I am for it. Then, sir, I found my wife; you've seen her,-you know how beautiful she is. When I found she loved me, when I married her, I scarcely could believe I was alive, I was so happy; and, sir, she is as good as she is beautiful. But now what? Why, now comes my master, takes me right away from my work, and my friends, and all I like, and grinds me down into the very dirt! And why? Because, he says, I forgot who I was; he says, to teach me that I am only a nigger! After all, and last of all, he comes between me and my wife, and says I shall give her up, and live with another woman. And all this your laws give him power to do, in spite of God or man. Mr. Wilson, look at it! There isn't one of all these things, that have broken the hearts of my mother and my sister, and my wife and myself, but your laws allow, and give every man power to do, in Kentucky, and none can say to him nay! Do you call these the laws of my country? Sir, I haven't any country, anymore than I have any father. But I'm going to have one. I don't want anything of your country, except to be let alone,-to go peaceably out of it; and when I get to Canada, where the laws will own me and protect me, that shall be my country, and its laws I will obey. But if any man tries to
stop me, let him take care, for I am desperate. I'll fight for my liberty to the last breath I breathe. You say your fathers did it; if it was right for them, it is right for me!"

  This speech, delivered partly while sitting at the table, and partly walking up and down the room,-delivered with tears, and flashing eyes, and despairing gestures,-was altogether too much for the good-natured old body to whom it was addressed, who had pulled out a great yellow silk pocket-handkerchief, and was mopping up his face with great energy.

  "Blast 'em all!" he suddenly broke out. "Haven't I always said so-the infernal old cusses! I hope I an't swearing, now. Well! go ahead, George, go ahead; but be careful, my boy; don't shoot anybody, George, unless-well-you'd better not shoot, I reckon; at least, I wouldn't hit anybody, you know. Where is your wife, George?" he added, as he nervously rose, and began walking the room.

  "Gone, sir gone, with her child in her arms, the Lord only knows where;-gone after the north star; and when we ever meet, or whether we meet at all in this world, no creature can tell."

  "Is it possible! astonishing! from such a kind family?"

  "Kind families get in debt, and the laws of our country allow them to sell the child out of its mother's bosom to pay its master's debts," said George, bitterly.

  "Well, well," said the honest old man, fumbling in his pocket: "I s'pose, perhaps, I an't following my judgment,-hang it, I won't follow my judgment!" he added, suddenly; "so here, George," and, taking out a roll of bills from his pocket-book, he offered them to George.

  "No, my kind, good sir!" said George, "you've done a great deal for me, and this might get you into trouble. I have money enough, I hope, to take me as far as I need it."

  "No; but you must, George. Money is a great help everywhere;-can't have too much, if you get it honestly. Take it,-do take it, now,-do, my boy!"

  "On condition, sir, that I may repay it at some future time, I will," said George, taking up the money.

  "And now, George, how long are you going to travel in this way?-not long or far, I hope. It's well carried on, but too bold. And this black fellow,-who is he?"

  "A true fellow, who went to Canada more than a year ago. He heard, after he got there, that his master was so angry at him for going off that he had whipped his poor old mother; and he has come all the way back to comfort her, and get a chance to get her away."

  "Has he got her?"

  "Not yet; he has been hanging about the place, and found no chance yet. Meanwhile, he is going with me as far as Ohio, to put me among friends that helped him, and then he will come back after her.

  "Dangerous, very dangerous!" said the old man.

  George drew himself up, and smiled disdainfully.

  The old gentleman eyed him from head to foot, with a sort of innocent wonder.

  "George, something has brought you out wonderfully. You hold up your head, and speak and move like another man," said Mr. Wilson.

  "Because I'm a freeman!" said George, proudly. "Yes, sir; I've said Mas'r for the last time to any man. I'm free!"

  "Take care! You are not sure,-you may be taken."

  "All men are free and equal in the grave, if it comes to that, Mr. Wilson," said George.

  "I'm perfectly dumb-founded with your boldness!" said Mr. Wilson,-"to come right here to the nearest tavern!"

  "Mr. Wilson, it is so bold, and this tavern is so near, that they will never think of it; they will look for me on ahead, and you yourself wouldn't know me. Jim's master don't live in this county; he isn't known in these parts. Besides, he is given up; nobody is looking after him, and nobody will take me up from the advertisement, I think."

  "But the mark in your hand?"

  George drew off his glove, and showed a newly-healed scar in his hand.

  "That is a parting proof of Mr. Harris' regard," he said, scornfully. "A fortnight ago, he took it into his head to give it to me, because he said he believed I should try to get away one of these days. Looks interesting, doesn't it?" he said, drawing his glove on again.

  "I declare, my very blood runs cold when I think of it,-your condition and your risks!" said Mr. Wilson.

  "Mine has run cold a good many years, Mr. Wilson; at present, it's about up to the boiling point," said George.

  "Well, my good sir," continued George, after a few moments' silence, "I saw you knew me; I thought I'd just have this talk with you, lest your surprised looks should bring me out. I leave early tomorrow morning, before daylight; by tomorrow night I hope to sleep safe in Ohio. I shall travel by daylight, stop at the best hotels, go to the dinner-tables with the lords of the land. So, good-by, sir; if you hear that I'm taken, you may know that I'm dead!"

  George stood up like a rock, and put out his hand with the air of a prince. The friendly little old man shook it heartily, and after a little shower of caution, he took his umbrella, and fumbled his way out of the room.

  George stood thoughtfully looking at the door, as the old man closed it. A thought seemed to flash across his mind. He hastily stepped to it, and opening it, said,

  "Mr. Wilson, one word more."

  The old gentleman entered again, and George, as before, locked the door, and then stood for a few moments looking on the floor, irresolutely. At last, raising his head with a sudden effort-"Mr. Wilson, you have shown yourself a Christian in your treatment of me,-I want to ask one last deed of Christian kindness of you."

  "Well, George."

  "Well, sir,-what you said was true. I am running a dreadful risk. There isn't, on earth, a living soul to care if I die," he added, drawing his breath hard, and speaking with a great effort,-"I shall be kicked out and buried like a dog, and nobody'll think of it a day after,-only my poor wife! Poor soul! she'll mourn and grieve; and if you'd only contrive, Mr. Wilson, to send this little pin to her. She gave it to me for a Christmas present, poor child! Give it to her, and tell her I loved her to the last. Will you? Will you?" he added, earnestly.

  "Yes, certainly-poor fellow!" said the old gentleman, taking the pin, with watery eyes, and a melancholy quiver in his voice.

  "Tell her one thing," said George; "it's my last wish, if she can get to Canada, to go there. No matter how kind her mistress is,-no matter how much she loves her home; beg her not to go back,-for slavery always ends in misery. Tell her to bring up our boy a free man, and then he won't suffer as I have. Tell her this, Mr. Wilson, will you?"

  "Yes, George. I'll tell her; but I trust you won't die; take heart,-you're a brave fellow. Trust in the Lord, George. I wish in my heart you were safe through, though,-that's what I do."

  "Is there a God to trust in?" said George, in such a tone of bitter despair as arrested the old gentleman's words. "O, I've seen things all my life that have made me feel that there can't be a God. You Christians don't know how these things look to us. There's a God for you, but is there any for us?"

  "O, now, don't-don't, my boy!" said the old man, almost sobbing as he spoke; "don't feel so! There is-there is; clouds and darkness are around about him, but righteousness and judgment are the habitation of his throne. There's a God, George,-believe it; trust in Him, and I'm sure He'll help you. Everything will be set right,-if not in this life, in another."

  The real piety and benevolence of the simple old man invested him with a temporary dignity and authority, as he spoke. George stopped his distracted walk up and down the room, stood thoughtfully a moment, and then said, quietly,

  "Thank you for saying that, my good friend; I'll think of that."

  CHAPTER XII

  Select Incident of Lawful Trade

  "In Ramah there was a voice heard,-weeping, and lamentation, and great mourning; Rachel weeping for her children, and would not be comforted." [6]

  Mr. Haley and Tom jogged onward in their wagon, each, for a time, absorbed in his own reflections. Now, the reflections of two men sitting side by side are a curious thing,-seated on the same seat, having the same eyes, ears, hands and organs of all sorts, and having pass before their eyes the same objects,-it is wonderful what
a variety we shall find in these same reflections!

  As, for example, Mr. Haley: he thought first of Tom's length, and breadth, and height, and what he would sell for, if he was kept fat and in good case till he got him into market. He thought of how he should make out his gang; he thought of the respective market value of certain supposititious men and women and children who were to compose it, and other kindred topics of the business; then he thought of himself, and how humane he was, that whereas other men chained their "niggers" hand and foot both, he only put fetters on the feet, and left Tom the use of his hands, as long as he behaved well; and he sighed to think how ungrateful human nature was, so that there was even room to doubt whether Tom appreciated his mercies. He had been taken in so by "niggers" whom he had favored; but still he was astonished to consider how good-natured he yet remained!

  As to Tom, he was thinking over some words of an unfashionable old book, which kept running through his head, again and again, as follows: "We have here no continuing city, but we seek one to come; wherefore God himself is not ashamed to be called our God; for he hath prepared for us a city." These words of an ancient volume, got up principally by "ignorant and unlearned men," have, through all time, kept up, somehow, a strange sort of power over the minds of poor, simple fellows, like Tom. They stir up the soul from its depths, and rouse, as with trumpet call, courage, energy, and enthusiasm, where before was only the blackness of despair.

  Mr. Haley pulled out of his pocket sundry newspapers, and began looking over their advertisements, with absorbed interest. He was not a remarkably fluent reader, and was in the habit of reading in a sort of recitative half-aloud, by way of calling in his ears to verify the deductions of his eyes. In this tone he slowly recited the following paragraph: