Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe

by Harriet Beecher Stowe

  “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.”*

  * Jer. 31:15.

  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:

  “EXECUTOR’S SALE, — NEGROES! — Agreeably to order of court, will be sold, on Tuesday, February 20, before the Court-house door, in the town of Washington, Kentucky, the following negroes: Hagar, aged 60; John, aged 30; Ben, aged 21; Saul, aged 25; Albert, aged 14. Sold for the benefit of the creditors and heirs of the estate of Jesse Blutchford,

  “SAMUEL MORRIS, THOMAS FLINT, Executors.”

  “This yer I must look at,” said he to Tom, for want of somebody else to talk to.

  “Ye see, I’m going to get up a prime gang to take down with ye, Tom; it’ll make it sociable and pleasant like, — good company will, ye know. We must drive right to Washington first and foremost, and then I’ll clap you into jail, while I does the business.”

  Tom received this agreeable intelligence quite meekly; simply wondering, in his own heart, how many of these doomed men had wives and children, and whether they would feel as he did about leaving them. It is to be confessed, too, that the naive, off-hand information that he was to be thrown into jail by no means produced an agreeable impression on a poor fellow who had always prided himself on a strictly honest and upright course of life. Yes, Tom, we must confess it, was rather proud of his honesty, poor fellow, — not having very much else to be proud of; — if he had belonged to some of the higher walks of society, he, perhaps, would never have been reduced to such straits. However, the day wore on, and the evening saw Haley and Tom comfortably accommodated in Washington, — the one in a tavern, and the other in a jail.

  About eleven o’clock the next day, a mixed throng was gathered around the court-house steps, — smoking, chewing, spitting, swearing, and conversing, according to their respective tastes and turns, — waiting for the auction to commence. The men and women to be sold sat in a group apart, talking in a low tone to each other. The woman who had been advertised by the name of Hagar was a regular African in feature and figure. She might have been sixty, but was older than that by hard work and disease, was partially blind, and somewhat crippled with rheumatism. By her side stood her only remaining son, Albert, a bright-looking little fellow of fourteen years. The boy was the only survivor of a large family, who had been successively sold away from her to a southern market. The mother held on to him with both her shaking hands, and eyed with intense trepidation every one who walked up to examine him.

  “Don’t be feard, Aunt Hagar,” said the oldest of the men, “I spoke to Mas’r Thomas ‘bout it, and he thought he might manage to sell you in a lot both together.”

  “Dey needn’t call me worn out yet,” said she, lifting her shaking hands. “I can cook yet, and scrub, and scour, — I’m wuth a buying, if I do come cheap; — tell em dat ar, — you tell em,” she added, earnestly.

  Haley here forced his way into the group, walked up to the old man, pulled his mouth open and looked in, felt of his teeth, made him stand and straighten himself, bend his back, and perform various evolutions to show his muscles; and then passed on to the next, and put him through the same trial. Walking up last to the boy, he felt of his arms, straightened his hands, and looked at his fingers, and made him jump, to show his agility.

  “He an’t gwine to be sold widout me!” said the old woman, with passionate eagerness; “he and I goes in a lot together; I ‘s rail strong yet, Mas’r and can do heaps o’ work, — heaps on it, Mas’r.”

  “On plantation?” said Haley, with a contemptuous glance. “Likely story!” and, as if satisfied with his examination, he walked out and looked, and stood with his hands in his pocket, his cigar in his mouth, and his hat cocked on one side, ready for action.

  “What think of ‘em?” said a man who had been following Haley’s examination, as if to make up his own mind from it.

  “Wal,” said Haley, spitting, “I shall put in, I think, for the youngerly ones and the boy.”

  “They want to sell the boy and the old woman together,” said the man.

  “Find it a tight pull; — why, she’s an old rack o’ bones, — not worth her salt.”

  “You wouldn’t then?” said the man.

  “Anybody ‘d be a fool ‘t would. She’s half blind, crooked with rheumatis, and foolish to boot.”

  “Some buys up these yer old critturs, and ses there’s a sight more wear in ’em than a body ‘d think,” said the man, reflectively.

  “No go, ‘t all,” said Haley; “wouldn’t take her for a present, — fact, — I’ve seen, now.”

  “Wal, ‘t is kinder pity, now, not to buy her with her son, — her heart seems so sot on him, — s’pose they fling her in cheap.”

  “Them that’s got money to spend that ar way, it’s all well enough. I shall bid off on that ar boy for a plantation-hand; — wouldn’t be bothered with her, no way, not if they’d give her to me,” said Haley.

  “She’ll take on desp’t,” said the man.

  “Nat’lly, she will,” said the trader, coolly.

  The conversation was here interrupted by a busy hum in the audience; and the auctioneer, a short, bustling, important fellow, elbowed his way into the crowd. The old woman drew in her breath, and caught instinctively at her son.

  “Keep close to yer mammy, Albert, — close, — dey’ll put us up togedder,” she said.

  “O, mammy, I’m feard they won’t,” said the boy.

  “Dey must, child; I can’t live, no ways, if they don’t” said the old creature, vehemently.

  The stentorian tones of the auctioneer, calling out to clear the way, now announced that the sale was about to commence. A place was cleared, and the bidding began. The different men on the list w
ere soon knocked off at prices which showed a pretty brisk demand in the market; two of them fell to Haley.

  “Come, now, young un,” said the auctioneer, giving the boy a touch with his hammer, “be up and show your springs, now.”

  “Put us two up togedder, togedder, — do please, Mas’r,” said the old woman, holding fast to her boy.

  “Be off,” said the man, gruffly, pushing her hands away; “you come last. Now, darkey, spring;” and, with the word, he pushed the boy toward the block, while a deep, heavy groan rose behind him. The boy paused, and looked back; but there was no time to stay, and, dashing the tears from his large, bright eyes, he was up in a moment.

  His fine figure, alert limbs, and bright face, raised an instant competition, and half a dozen bids simultaneously met the ear of the auctioneer. Anxious, half-frightened, he looked from side to side, as he heard the clatter of contending bids, — now here, now there, — till the hammer fell. Haley had got him. He was pushed from the block toward his new master, but stopped one moment, and looked back, when his poor old mother, trembling in every limb, held out her shaking hands toward him.

  “Buy me too, Mas’r, for de dear Lord’s sake! — buy me, — I shall die if you don’t!”

  “You’ll die if I do, that’s the kink of it,” said Haley,—”no!” And he turned on his heel.

  The bidding for the poor old creature was summary. The man who had addressed Haley, and who seemed not destitute of compassion, bought her for a trifle, and the spectators began to disperse.

  The poor victims of the sale, who had been brought up in one place together for years, gathered round the despairing old mother, whose agony was pitiful to see.

  “Couldn’t dey leave me one? Mas’r allers said I should have one, — he did,” she repeated over and over, in heart-broken tones.

  “Trust in the Lord, Aunt Hagar,” said the oldest of the men, sorrowfully.

  “What good will it do?” said she, sobbing passionately.

  “Mother, mother, — don’t! don’t!” said the boy. “They say you ‘s got a good master.”

  “I don’t care, — I don’t care. O, Albert! oh, my boy! you ‘s my last baby. Lord, how ken I?”

  “Come, take her off, can’t some of ye?” said Haley, dryly; “don’t do no good for her to go on that ar way.”

  The old men of the company, partly by persuasion and partly by force, loosed the poor creature’s last despairing hold, and, as they led her off to her new master’s wagon, strove to comfort her.

  “Now!” said Haley, pushing his three purchases together, and producing a bundle of handcuffs, which he proceeded to put on their wrists; and fastening each handcuff to a long chain, he drove them before him to the jail.

  A few days saw Haley, with his possessions, safely deposited on one of the Ohio boats. It was the commencement of his gang, to be augmented, as the boat moved on, by various other merchandise of the same kind, which he, or his agent, had stored for him in various points along shore.

  The La Belle Riviere, as brave and beautiful a boat as ever walked the waters of her namesake river, was floating gayly down the stream, under a brilliant sky, the stripes and stars of free America waving and fluttering over head; the guards crowded with well-dressed ladies and gentlemen walking and enjoying the delightful day. All was full of life, buoyant and rejoicing; — all but Haley’s gang, who were stored, with other freight, on the lower deck, and who, somehow, did not seem to appreciate their various privileges, as they sat in a knot, talking to each other in low tones.

  “Boys,” said Haley, coming up, briskly, “I hope you keep up good heart, and are cheerful. Now, no sulks, ye see; keep stiff upper lip, boys; do well by me, and I’ll do well by you.”

  The boys addressed responded the invariable “Yes, Mas’r,” for ages the watchword of poor Africa; but it’s to be owned they did not look particularly cheerful; they had their various little prejudices in favor of wives, mothers, sisters, and children, seen for the last time, — and though “they that wasted them required of them mirth,” it was not instantly forthcoming.

  “I’ve got a wife,” spoke out the article enumerated as “John, aged thirty,” and he laid his chained hand on Tom’s knee,—”and she don’t know a word about this, poor girl!”

  “Where does she live?” said Tom.

  “In a tavern a piece down here,” said John; “I wish, now, I could see her once more in this world,” he added.

  Poor John! It was rather natural; and the tears that fell, as he spoke, came as naturally as if he had been a white man. Tom drew a long breath from a sore heart, and tried, in his poor way, to comfort him.

  And over head, in the cabin, sat fathers and mothers, husbands and wives; and merry, dancing children moved round among them, like so many little butterflies, and everything was going on quite easy and comfortable.

  “O, mamma,” said a boy, who had just come up from below, “there’s a negro trader on board, and he’s brought four or five slaves down there.”

  “Poor creatures!” said the mother, in a tone between grief and indignation.

  “What’s that?” said another lady.

  “Some poor slaves below,” said the mother.

  “And they’ve got chains on,” said the boy.

  “What a shame to our country that such sights are to be seen!” said another lady.

  “O, there’s a great deal to be said on both sides of the subject,” said a genteel woman, who sat at her state-room door sewing, while her little girl and boy were playing round her. “I’ve been south, and I must say I think the negroes are better off than they would be to be free.”

  “In some respects, some of them are well off, I grant,” said the lady to whose remark she had answered. “The most dreadful part of slavery, to my mind, is its outrages on the feelings and affections, — the separating of families, for example.”

  “That is a bad thing, certainly,” said the other lady, holding up a baby’s dress she had just completed, and looking intently on its trimmings; “but then, I fancy, it don’t occur often.”

  “O, it does,” said the first lady, eagerly; “I’ve lived many years in Kentucky and Virginia both, and I’ve seen enough to make any one’s heart sick. Suppose, ma’am, your two children, there, should be taken from you, and sold?”

  “We can’t reason from our feelings to those of this class of persons,” said the other lady, sorting out some worsteds on her lap.

  “Indeed, ma’am, you can know nothing of them, if you say so,” answered the first lady, warmly. “I was born and brought up among them. I know they do feel, just as keenly, — even more so, perhaps, — as we do.”

  The lady said “Indeed!” yawned, and looked out the cabin window, and finally repeated, for a finale, the remark with which she had begun,—”After all, I think they are better off than they would be to be free.”

  “It’s undoubtedly the intention of Providence that the African race should be servants, — kept in a low condition,” said a grave-looking gentleman in black, a clergyman, seated by the cabin door. “‘Cursed be Canaan; a servant of servants shall he be,’ the scripture says.”*

  * Gen. 9:25. This is what Noah says when he wakes out of

  drunkenness and realizes that his youngest son, Ham, father

  of Canaan, has seen him naked.

  “I say, stranger, is that ar what that text means?” said a tall man, standing by.

  “Undoubtedly. It pleased Providence, for some inscrutable reason, to doom the race to bondage, ages ago; and we must not set up our opinion against that.”

  “Well, then, we’ll all go ahead and buy up niggers,” said the man, “if that’s the way of Providence, — won’t we, Squire?” said he, turning to Haley, who had been standing, with his hands in his pockets, by the stove and intently listening to the conversation.

  “Yes,” continued the tall man, “we must all be resigned to the decrees of Providence. Niggers must be sold, and trucked round, and kept under; it’s what the
y’s made for. ‘Pears like this yer view ‘s quite refreshing, an’t it, stranger?” said he to Haley.

  “I never thought on ‘t,” said Haley, “I couldn’t have said as much, myself; I ha’nt no larning. I took up the trade just to make a living; if ‘tan’t right, I calculated to ‘pent on ‘t in time, ye know.”

  “And now you’ll save yerself the trouble, won’t ye?” said the tall man. “See what ‘t is, now, to know scripture. If ye’d only studied yer Bible, like this yer good man, ye might have know’d it before, and saved ye a heap o’ trouble. Ye could jist have said, ‘Cussed be’ — what’s his name?—’and ‘t would all have come right.’” And the stranger, who was no other than the honest drover whom we introduced to our readers in the Kentucky tavern, sat down, and began smoking, with a curious smile on his long, dry face.

  A tall, slender young man, with a face expressive of great feeling and intelligence, here broke in, and repeated the words, “‘All things whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so unto them.’ I suppose,” he added, “that is scripture, as much as ‘Cursed be Canaan.’”

  “Wal, it seems quite as plain a text, stranger,” said John the drover, “to poor fellows like us, now;” and John smoked on like a volcano.

  The young man paused, looked as if he was going to say more, when suddenly the boat stopped, and the company made the usual steamboat rush, to see where they were landing.

  “Both them ar chaps parsons?” said John to one of the men, as they were going out.

  The man nodded.

  As the boat stopped, a black woman came running wildly up the plank, darted into the crowd, flew up to where the slave gang sat, and threw her arms round that unfortunate piece of merchandise before enumerate—”John, aged thirty,” and with sobs and tears bemoaned him as her husband.

  But what needs tell the story, told too oft, — every day told, — of heart-strings rent and broken, — the weak broken and torn for the profit and convenience of the strong! It needs not to be told; — every day is telling it, — telling it, too, in the ear of One who is not deaf, though he be long silent.