CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Lite ConMll Unlverslly Library E443 .S66 MMiiiiiir 3 1924 032 554 713 MRR13- 958 KtJ ^^r--« ^ ■ ._— HiP^^V. 158 J 1^ JUN3 1? SB^- W**"" ** -.^:::^ JAN ^h| ^0 ^^ ^^^^^ (** 23233 Us.*. B Cornell University B Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92403255471 3 ''^^\\\>Sv THE BOOT BLACK. ii!r, ii I i I i' 11 -- : *'*-f-'i;»^\,^^ _^ THE SCHOOLMASTER. LIFE ATXEE SQUTH: ' UNCLE TOM'S CABIN " AS IT IS. NARRATIVES, SCENES, AND INCIDENTS REAL "LIFE OF THE LOWLY." •J/ 'r'i~' il-UUip.iiV Bt w. l. g. SM-ITH. BUFFALO: GEO. H. DERBY AND CO. CINCINNATI: H. "W. DERBY AND 00 CHICAGO: D. B. COOKE AND CO. 1852. A, 4^z^y 'CORNELL-- UNIVERSITY; LfBRAR\ Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, \ij W. L. G. SMITH, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Northern District of New York. JBWETT, THOSUS AND CO. Staraotypers aod Frlnt^ri, BirFPALO, N. T. ) / J / OP HENKT CLAY, .OVOCATE OF THE AMERICAN COLOr'IS^TION SOCnSTT, ASD FRIEXD OF THE COXSTITCnO!! OF HIS CODKTEI LS- DVEBT RESPECT, THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED BY TSE AlilTHOB. PREFACE. The object which the author of the following story has in view, is to represent the^Mations between master and slave. To do this, it was necessary to depict the passions and senti- ments as the same are usually found to exist in the every-day scenes of life. The lot of the latter must necessarily be humble, as sod- ety is at present constituted; whilst that of the former, as an inevitable consequence, seems to be more exalted. The farmer at the North shares the toils of the field from necessity, or choice, or both; the planter at the South is a husbandman, it is true, but is not so apt to participate in the toil of tiU^e and harvest. Every nation, and many parts of the same nation — espe- cially when it embraces a continent like that of the United States of America, with diversified soils and various cli- mates — have their own customs and modes of livelihood. The people are bom and educated under the institutions peculiar to their own locality, and strange would it be, if they did not become attached to them, and ready to repel assaults, come from whatever quarter they may. Statesmen and philanthropists 2- '^ho look to the perpe- tuity of the Union of the several States which compose thii PBBFAOE. confederacy, and are unwilling to hazard the invaluable bless- ings which every person m the country, whether bond or free, daily enjoys under it — have always considered the question of Slavery a delicate subject. And if it is a stain on our national character, as is frequently alleged, they con- sider it an heir-loom which has descended with ' the immortal charter of independence, and that the curse, if any, appro- priately belongs to the Fathers of the Kepublic. If the historian has given us a true record, there have been " hewers of wood and drawers of water " in every clime and age since the days of Adam. Disinterested philanthropy looks to the amelioration of all conditions, and the enlighten- ment of all classes of society. And although the lot of the slave may be regarded as the lowest in the scale, still, the candid-minded in every section of our country, indulge the hope, that the day wUl yet come when the descendants of Ham will be gathered together in the land of their ancestors, and Liberia, in God's own good time, take its position among the independent states of the world. It is proper to observe, that some of the embellishments which illustrate this book have been kindfy furnished by Mr. Q-. P. Putnam, the publisher of Mr. Kennedy's " Swallow Bam." BuBTALO, July 30th, 1852. LIFE AT THE SOUTH: UNCLE TOM'S CABIN AS IT IS. CHAPTEE I. "old vteginia." "Who .is not familiar with the history of the Old Dominion f " remarked a portly-appearing gentleman, seated at his ease in the portico of the United States Hotel, at Washington, some years since. " And where is her eqnal, sir, in all that's good and chivalrous?" he added, with the view of engaging the attention of a member of Congress, who just then took a seat by his side. " Ah, Mr. Erskine," replied the person addressed, " I find yon 'still harping on my daughter.' Her his- tory is good so far as it goes ; but it does not go far enough. It is the unwritten pages which we of the North take exceptions to." " Beg your pardon, Mr. Pettibone, but if you will allow- me, sir, I say not one of her sons would consent to strike out one iota of that history. We are proud. 14 LIFE AT THE SOUTH', OB sir, of our lineage, and customs, and polity, and we would record it — all of it, for the benefit of our descendants." "Ah! yes, Mr. Erskine, yes, yes, that's all very well. But, we of the North hear of many scenes and events, daily occurring upon your plantations, which disturb our sensibilities ; and as we have good author- ity for believing that all men are born free and equal, we, that is to say, myself and those who act with me, are determined tD take the matter in hand ourselves, and relieve the oppressed." " That is to say, Mr. Pettibone, you will pass by the abuses and unhappiness of your own home and fire- side, and interest yourself exclusively with those of your neighbor. And then" — " JSTo, no ! " interrupted Mr. Pettibone, in rather a sharp tone of voice, evidently nettled at this oppor- tune intimation. " And then," continued Mr. Erskine, who was deter- mined to conclude his reply before Mr. Pettibone, who was then rising from his seat, passed out of the portico, "you flatter yourselves with an impression that you are ameliorating the condition of the down- trodden, and call this service philanthropy ! " Mr. Pettibone was, all of a sudden, in a hurry to get up to the capitol, as he had the floor that day in the "House." Mr. Erskine, as the reader perhaps may have al- ready anticipated, was a Yirginia " gentleman of the old school," of reflned sentiments and manners and the owner of a large landed estate, situate in the county 15 of Frederick, west of the Blue Ridge range of moun- tains. That estate had been his home for more than half a century, and came into his possession as the legitimate inheritance from his ancestor. Plentifully stocked with negroes that were born and reared there, the plantation was " well worked," and yielded, from year to year, an abundant harvest. Notwithstanding he was thus favored with the riches of this world, and the blessings and pleasures consequent thereon, he did not occupy a singular position, nor was he isolated from his fellow-citizens. It was not a remarkable nor uncommon condition in that latitude. "Whoever, at the time of which we write, or at this day, should traverse the country lying between the Blue Ridge and the Alleghany mountains, would pass over many a plantation, as fair and pleasant as that of Mr. Er- skine, and as well supplied with an abject race of humanity. We say abject, but do not mean worth less; for the traveling observer would find the race really " hewers of wood and drawers of water," such as it had been through a long series of generations. And if, with the calm and unbiased feelings of an enlightened philanthropy, the traveler should stop to inquire into the reason of this servitude, and with his own personal observation inspect its condition and diversified relations, in their almost endless variety and multiplicity of detail, he probably would not fail to discover, long before the task was completed, an unexpected ligament existing between master and slave — one, indeed, most diflScult to sever, even if the statutes of the Commonwealth were annulled — 2* 16 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OB namely, the strong cord of affection; and composed,^ if we may be allowed the expression, of the strands - of imiform Mndness and sincere attachment compactly and firmly twisted together. The manners and customs of the inhabitants of this region of country, to which we have referred, may, have undergone some modification, or change, in the year 1839, from what it was during the first quarter of the present century. Some of their despend-, ants, at intervals, may have bidden adieu to the land of their natiyity, and passing into other states, there taken, np their abode: some settling them- selves upon plantations beneath a more southern sky and in a balmier climate, and adding to their "worldly stock of goods" by a steady annual in- come derived from theii* luxuriant fields -of rice and cotton ; and others, peopling the marts of the south and southwest, occupying the time in trade and traffic, or embracing the "learned professions," spending their lives in expounding the law, preaching the gos-^ pel, or healing " the ills which flesh is heir to." In fact, the state of Virginia, which has been so appro- priately styled "the mother of presideptsj" has also been to a. very great extent the mother of states. Many a son of her's was : the first to fire, the, rifle, use the axe and spade, and build the log cabin, in all that great area of country washed by ,the water? of the Ohio and Mississippi riyors, and their countless tribu- taries. Her laws and institutions have made their impress upon the . minds of lawgivers, given shape and tone to legislsition, until, under their beniaa 17 influence, the forest, savanna, and prairie have been converted into towns, hamlets, and cities, and occu- pied by people in the enjoyment of the comforts and pleasures, elegancy and refinement of civilization. . But if the " looker on in Vienna " desires to take a more extended observation, and, descending from the higher or middling classes, view Southern society in its humblest form, the vision should not be strained through the magnifying lenses of idle rumor and imaginative story. The life and livelihood of the slave should be seen with the naked eyesight, and viewed as it is ; not confining the observation to ex- treme cases of happiness or misery, but scanning it " as a whole," wherever the institution of slavery is recognized by the law of the land. And then, if this impartial examination should satisfy the mind that the natural laws of humanity had been violated ; and the gratification of that sentiment which is common to all mankind — the love and pursuit of happiness — not allowed, and beyond the pale of hope, the philan- thropist might murmur with propriety, and look arou.id for the remedy — some potent elixir— which would remove this cancer from the body politic. As it ia not our desire, so we do not deem it to be our duty, to grope our way through the labyrinthiaii mazes of a speculative philosophy, and endeavor " to catch a sight" of some fanciful object of philanthrop^i in the distempered imaginings of an excited brain. The true morp,list is content to view nature as he finds it, and rehearse ,4o, the listener the actual, every-d-av scenes of life, as they ordinarily occur in their various 18 LIFE AT THE SOUTH', OK phases. And the story which is recited in the follo-n ing pages will discover to the reader au nnvarnishec narrative of what has occurred more than once, during the last dozen years, north of the Potomac. To return from our digression to Mr. Erskine. He had now (we may as well mention the time, it was in the winter of 1839,) for the first time in many years, visited the federal metropolis. He had a two-fold pur- pose in view, for making the visit at the present time. First, for pleasure and the improvement of his acquain- tance ; and secondly, to inform himself of the real state of the slavery question before the country. Ae he had observed, in reading over the proceedings of Congress, that the subject was frequently discussed there, and sometimes with great warmth, and apparently with the belief that it was an evil and a curse, he was becoming somewhat alarmed, for he did not know what might be the result of this agitation in Virginia. No sooner had he arrived in Washington than he commenced his inquiries. He paid his respects to the President, and was informed by that high functionary that there was no occasion for any uneasiness ; that the debates in the " House " were a mere fanfaronade got up for political effect, and intended for a different meridian. And being further informed by the chief magistrate of the republic, that a large majority of the freemen of the Old Dominion were too much loved and respected by the party in power, ever to allow them to be disturbed in the enjoyment of their hered- itary rights ; and that all assaults upon their political privileges, come from whatsoever quarter they might. UNCLE TOM's cabin AS IT IS. 19 would be triumphantly repelled, the fears of Mr. Ersk- ine were allayed, and he left the White House with hearty thanks for the intelligence he had received, and promenaded Pennsylvania Avenue with perfect composure. It was the following morning, that the colloquy occurred between him and Mr. Pettibone, as above detailed. As the latter-named personage remarked, when he left the portico, that he had the floor that day in the House, Mr. Erskine at once determined to go up to the capitol himself, and remain a quiet spectator of that day's sitting. He stopped for a moment in the corridor leading from the rotunda to the galleries of the House, and not observing the member from the Frederick District, he presently wound his way up the marble stairs, and reaching the door of the gentle- men's gallery, he took his diagram and examined it attentively, for the purpose of finding Mr. Pettibone's seat, so as to locate himself in full view of the orator. His desire was very easily gratified, for all the benches were unoccupied. The speaker had not as yet called the House to order, and but few members were at their desks. Mr. Erskine amused himself in glancing at the beautiful architecture, and admiring the elegance and grandeur of the hall. In a few moments, the honorable members began to come in, and among them Mr. Pettibone. Busy in conversation, and giv- ing the usual salutation to each other, the echo of their voices created such a buzz as to make the sensation quite painful to the ears of Mr. Erskine. The Speak- er's mallet, however, soon brought order out of chaos, ' 20 LIFE AT THE SOTJTH I OK and the clerk was reading, the jotimal of the previous , day, wilii ' such impetuous rapidity ^thab its contents .were imperfectly understood by the stranger. The eyes of Mr. Erskine fell upon the orator of the day, who was seated at his desk, perusing a newspaper, with as. much nonc7vny of the members occupying the time in the sanaei way, or else opening their 4ittle mail bags, and untying and unfolding, and casting a mere glance at, or read- ing at iBiigtJiii letters and papers-^parcel after parcel — so much so, that he concluded such '-behavior was provided for "by- the rules," and that' perhaps an opposite line of 'conduct would there be deemed an anomaly, if not an eccentricity. JSTever having had the honor of ai seat -in a legislative aseembly, and ignorant of iall-parli-a-mfentary conduct save that con- tained in Jefferson's Manual, the surprise of Mr. Erskine on this oocasiomi ought not to be -wondered at by those who are familiar with Oongressioaal deport- ment. ■ Belthi'si as it may, Mr. Erskine remained patiently iin his position, and- in-due- -time the Speaker gwtdnn'tediithef: '^spedial order." It -turned out- to be imoLE tom's cabin as it is. 21 the question whether a petition, praying for the pas- Ba.ge of an act abolishing the traffic of slavery in the District of Columbia, should be respectfully received or thrown under the table. Mr. Pettibone being enti- tled to the floor, rose in his place, and proceeded to give his views in the affirmative. Mr. Erskine, from the fame of the orator, — -at least in the frequent men- tion of his name in the newspapers — expected to see a crowded auditory ; but perceiving nearly all the benches unoccupied, he was surprised at its thinness. And then again was he surprised, that Mr. Pettibone's arguments or eloquence failed to enchain the attention of liis fellow-members ; and, instead of an attractive, appeared to possess, so far as he could discover, a repelling, influence. For one seat after another was gradually becoming vacant, until, if a count had been taken, scarcely a quorum was in attendance ; and not even that, if the sergeant-at-arms had omitted the stragglers in the lobby. Nevertheless, however in- auspicious such circumstances might be of a good, sensible, or brilliant speech, Mr. Erskine's desire to hear the sentiments lierbatim et literatim of this renowned opponent of the "domestic institution," remained unabated, and so he resolved to "sit it.OTt." Mr. Pettibone proceeded to deliver his views at ran- dom, as it seemed to Mr. Erskine ; for he had an ass's load of pamphlets and periodicals at his elbow, which he, referred^to and, read from in rotation ; some of them giving an. account of the adventures and hair-breadth ee6ai>es of the friends of the colored man, and o.thers eff^nteinjiiiig graphical descriptions, of ^lavery and, its 22 LIFE AT THE SOUTH', OB evil tendencies. But like the race-horse, which on the last quarter quickens his speed for the winning post, Mr. Pettibone, as he approached the termination of his speech, became more and more rapid in his elocution, and more frequent in his gesticulation. These move- ments were communicated by the pages in attendance to the honorable gentlemen outside, who now began to flock into the " Hall," with the same alacrity that the horse-courser and jockey repair to the judges' stand on the race-ground. The pointer of the clock, which was placed directly over the main entrance, and in full view of the speaker, soon designated the hour specified for the committee to rise, and the rap of the mallet brought up Mr. Pettibone " all standing." He was not quite through, and asked for further time. But the " party in power" did not fancy the topic xmder debate. His request was not acceded to, and he very reluctantly re- sumed his seat. Mr. Erskine regarded the speech as a mere harangue, and he would have left the gallery much disappointed, were it not for the suggestions of the President, which prepared his mind in advance for something of the sort he had heard. Although meant for an attack on Southern rights, he believed it would be perfectly harmless, and his feelings were becoming more and more gratified, that he had taken the trouble to visit Washington. A man of candor himself, he thought Mr. Pettibone the same. And as he conjec- tured that Mr. Pettibone took the course he was pur- suing, on the subject of slavery, from erroneous senti- ments founded upon false statements, he made up his tnind to avail himself of the first opportunity he might UNCLE TOM'S cabin AS IT IS. 23 hare, to set Mr. Pettibone right. Especially, as he again and again, on that day, had reiterated that he relied, "foi^the rectitude of his conduct," upon the facts, as he was pleased to term them, which he recited at length to the audience, Mr. Erskine thought he should perform an act of kindness to him, and at the same time, in a quiet and gentlemanly way, vindicate himself and neighbors from the false and ungenerous imputations which it was becoming fashionable in certain quarters constantly to cast upon them. And believing that Mr. Pettibone was actuated solely by the impulses of genuine philanthropy, he did not an- ticipate much difficulty in undeceiving him. Mr. Erskine accordingly retired fi-om the gallery in a happy mood, and returned to his hotel. Some few days afterward, Mr. Erskine met Mr. Pettibone at a private dinner-party given by the mem- ber from Frederick. Mr. Pettibone was fond of hilar- ity and a good joke, and so was Mr. Erskine, and they were passing together a very jovial hour. As they were becoming merry enough to throw off the restraint or coldness which on other occasions prob- ably would characterize their conduct toward one another, Mr. Erskine improved the opportunity to rally his companion upon the slavery topic, with the view of testing his sincerity. ■ " I never had the honor of listening to a speech in Congress until I heard you," said he, " and I listened with attention." Mr. Pettibone's vanity was his great weakness, and 24 LIFB AT TETE SOUTH; OB he received Mr. Erskine's remark as a compliment, -and replied accordingly. " From what passed between ns that mcyning at the hotel, I expected to hear some of the vMwritten history of my state," added Mr. Erskine, dryly, "but I.per- ceived that you occasionally read from -^ may I ask from what ? " " Yes, sir, certainly," replied Mr. Pettibone, shov- ing back his chair from the table sufficiently to enable him to turn it aslant toward Mr. Erskine, " why cer- tainly, sir," he continued, beginning to think that he had made an impression on the mind of Mr. Erskine, " the facts which I narrated in my speech I obtained jfrom the 'Emancipator,' and the documents from which I read to the Souse are pamphlets compiled with much particularity " — "I noticed the jpwrtiGuloff'ity,^'' interrupted Mr. Erskine. " And with great care and accuracy, by compilers at the North who have traveled through many parts of the Southern country." "And it is upon such data that you form your opinions of us slaveholders ? " " Oh ! sir, those are only a small sample of the in- numerable wrongs inflicted upon our colored brethren The half, sir, has not been told." "It would really be quite gratifying to me," very pleasantly remarked Mr. Erskine, " to know where in all the South, such scenes occur — " " They are common to all parts of slmedom; I heai of no exceptions." UKOLE tom's cabin AS rr IS. 25 f "And, Mr. Pettibone, the circumstances — the cir- cumstances, sir, under which they occur. For I cau readily imagine that isolated instances may occur. -The lash with us may supply the place of the felon's cell with you ; and the colored man of the South, I presume, labors in the field and shop, just like the white man at the North." " With this marked difference," quickly responded Ml- Pettibone, under the belief that he had his adver- sary on the hip, " the white man labors according to his own will, and is master of his own wages." " Yes, ah ! yes, Mr. Pettibone ; and if I am not wrongly posted up, you also have your poor houses for the idlers and superannuated, and your jails for your spendthrifts and insolvents." Mr. Pettibone felt his inability to sustain himself in this tete a tete, unless he took higher ground. " You will understand us, Mr. Erskine, to take the position we do, not because we desire to carp at your manners and customs, but because we think your imMibuiion incompatible with our religious no- tions and sensationa, and uncongenial with true republican liberty." " And therefore yon do not hesitate to set at naught that sacred ark of our liberty — the Constitution — which tolerates all religions ; and are in too much haste to await the gradual emancipation of the slaves in the order of time allotted by Providence." " You are facetious, Mr. Erskiae ; trifling, sir. Per- haps you have not been over on the island," said Mr. 26 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OB Pettibone, evidently annoyed by the replies of the planter. " Ah ! what have yon there? " "What is called, in common parlance, a slave pen." "A slave ;pen! and pray, what nse is made of that?" "Oh! a sort of sty, to shut up the blacks in — a place to jockey in for human flesh, sir! " said Mr. Pettibone, with considerable vehemence. " Ah, yes ! a slave-mart," replied Mr. Erskine, with great composure. "Common — common, I presume, sir, with you in the South ; for I perceive it occasions you no surprise." " Not at all ; not at all. It is the first I have vis- ited. We do not have such in Old Virginia. If we part with one of our blacks, it is at our own door; and that 's done hardly once in an age." " Great evil ; all wrong, Mr. Erskine. It 's a curse to the country — a libel on free America." "It is very easy so to swy. But, Mr. Pettibone, if slavedom was converted into freedom, what 's to become of the poor creatures ? You could not Tmc them, I '11 be bound, to go away ; and if they stayed, would not know how to live." "Such might be the case with the present grown generation. But the younger, and their future de- scendants, would be educated, and would learn hx)w to Tme. We look forward to the future." "And, Mr. Pettibone, do you really think tha» they would be happier ? " 27 "Yes, both now and hereafter; they wonld be, then, moral beings — accountable beings ; not only the semblance, but the substance of humanity." " As for their present state, they could not be hap- pier; and so far as the future is concerned, I leave that to the theologians. The argument that they are not now accountable beings proves too much for you, I suspect. As to their welfare in the world to come, liiey may be classed with ' the little children ' spoken of in the Testament, for aught I know." "No body that holds a human soul can bo TiSppy in chains, be it black or white, either in a heathen or christian land." "There it is — you now meet the point, Mr. Pet- tibone. I have been fearful that such sentiments ob- tained in the Free States. The mistake is unfortunate." "Oh! no mistake — tw? mistake, sir," rejoined Mr. Pettibone, with a smile on his countenance. " But, I affirm it is a mistake," said Mr. ErsMne, with more earnestness of manner; " and," he continued, " it would delight me to convince you, by a personal observation of that society, of which you now get your notions at second hand. Come, go with me into the interior of Old Virginny, and view the life of the lowly, as it is." " Thank you, Mr. Ersktne, thank you. My duties at the capitol are too pressing to allow me that pleas- ure. It 's the short session, you are aware, and we are already into February." " It would be impolite to urge you- Your company, however, would give me infinite gratification, dr.^ 28 LIFE AT THE SOUTH", OK " Thank you, Mr. Erskine, thank yon." "The spring with yon is not half so delightful as it is with us. Say after the adjournment — any time you may please to name, and I shall be happy to entertain you." " Eeally, Mr. Erskine, you are very kind, I should enjoy Virginia hospitality, I know ; besides, I have never passed an hour upon a plantation." " So I supposed. I venture to predict new views to you." " Perhaps, more practical. May I ask when yon leave "Washington ? " " To-morrow." " I wiU retain your invitation, and write you in a few days, if agreeable." " Do, and I hope that you will find it convenient to make the visit." Mr. Pettibone bowed very = amiably, and having an engagement to fulfill that evening^ excused himself from the dinner-board, and withdrew. Mr.- Erskine remained to participate in the further entertainment of his representative, and reached his apartment at^ the hotel at a late hour. TTNOUE TOM's CABIN AS IT 18. 29 CHAPTER II. THB PLANTATION UlfOI/E TOM'b LAZHTESS "The rirer noblj foams and flows, The charm of this enchanted ground. And all its thonsand turns disclose Some fresher beauty varying round ; The haughtiest breast its wish might bounds Through life to dwell delighted here ; Dor could on earth a spot be found To nature and to me so dear." A few miles from the town of Millwood, in the county of Frederick and state of Virginia, was situated the plantation of Mr. Erskine. Viewed in all aspects, it was as fine a plantation as the sun ever shone npon. Its proprietor was bom and bred there. It, in the year 183i9, had been his home, and to all intents and purposes his world, for more than sixty years. The lovely waters of the Shenandoah meandered in grace- ful curves through the valley ; and the banks of the river were studded, at iiitervals, ^vith the beautiful, wide-spreading, and loffy trees of the' forest, eonie of which had stood there beyond the recollection of the eldest inhabitant. The high hills and bluff mountains^ witli their crags and precipices, called the Blue Ridge, 30 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OB sMrted the eastern hprizon, and far away io the west could be discerned, in the dim distance, the swelling peaks and towering summits of the Alleghanies. The domain of Mr. Erskine extended along the river for nearly a mile ; and not far from the center, upon a slight acclivity near its bank, had stood for many years the family mansion. It lay, as it were, embowered amid " some oaks and elms," whose upper- most limbs seemed to repose upon the roof. A lawn, lined on each side with a row of high poplars, reached from the piazza to the public road, tastefully graveled ; and a garden lay upon the left, with its beds and walks, the work of years. The river made a large bend here ; and, if traced upon paper, it would have the resemblance of a semicircle. The mansion was so located, that a view of the river could be obtained from either extremity of the main hall, which was opened into, both front and rear, by doors of similar size. There was nothing peculiar in its architecture from many others upon the wayside; commodious, and partitioned into suitable rooms, and furnished with simple but elegant fumitiire, it presented an inviting appearance, and was worthy of its occupant. The plantation was worked by slaves, reared there, and who formed "part and parcel" of the estate. Com and tobacco were the staple articles of produc- tion. The land was easy to till, and yielded an abund- ant harvest. The outbuildings, fences, and implements of industry — the pastures, meadows, and other enclos- ures, wore the appearance of thrift ; and above all, the long range, or, more accurately speaking, hamlet of tnsfcLE tom's cabin as it is. 31 Bmall white buildings, which occnpied a long knoll of ground at the distance of, say some two hundred rods from the mansion, appeared to be the abode of con tentment and quiet happiness. The traveler would pause 'to view the prospect, and as he passed along the highway, gaze with lingering admiration. In the woods, there was plenty of game, whilst the river, and the numerous creeks which flowed into it from the neighboring hills, furnished an unfailing supply of trout and pickerel ; and irequent and great was the fun and merriment enjoyed there by both "bond and free." Mr. Ei-skine'e slaves were commensurate in number to the extent of his possessions ; and like others, of similar condition, he entrusted the direction of the " heavy work " to an overseer. The reader must not suppose that all toiled in the field. Their dxities and ordinary routine of labor, were as various and inde- pendent as those of citizens of some north^ village. Some labored in the tillage of the land, and others were mere servants ; but all acknowledged a commoo master. The winter of the year to which we have refei-red, was uncommonly rigorous for this latitude. Snow, to the depth of several inches, covered the earth as late even as the first days in March; and the overseer was « behind iii getting in the spring crops." He, there- forp, hurried the work on the plantation, a«d urged the slftyes to toil the harder. It was high time that the corn-fields, in particular, should b© put into proper condition, and the seed pl&nted, Mr. Erskine was Liii-_ 32 LITE AT THE SOUTH ; OB absent, at Washington, when the overseer commenced in earnest the spring work. The slaves had a desire, if not some sort of pride, to get the seed into the ground; for they even had an indistinct, but, as it seemed, not a very forcible impression, that unless the seed was planted there would be no yield ; and they, by no means, fancied the idea of short com mons. And yet, they did not appreciate the import ance of such great haste as the overseer manifested. If, by constant urging, their exertions were quickened in the least, they would shortly relapse into their usual slow, jog-trot manner of work ; between which and absolute laziness — as the latter term is commonly un- derstood — thei-e was not a very wide margin. The ovei'seer, however, had calculated the time when he would have the work completed, and to guard against a failure, he concluded that he would not rely simply on the virtues of corporal punishment, but would also try moral persuasion. As the love of gain is one of the most prominent incentives to exertion, he promised the slaves an increase of their weekly stipend. To several of them, this lure was sufficiently attractive to produce the effect defiifed ; whilst, in others, it created no sensation, unless it might be that of levity. Most of them, however, went to the field on the morning of the next day, with an apparent determination to do their best. The field where they went to work lay along the river, and contained some fifty acres of land. The soil was of a darkish color, easy to turn and shift >yith tho hoe, being a mixture pf saiid and gravel which had UNCLE TOM's cabin AS IT IS. 33 gradually accumulated there, from the overflows of the Shenandoah. The negroes took hold of it, as if they meant to do something. It was amusing to see them strive to get ahead, and catch up with each other. Some dropped the seeds, and othere covered them with the earth. Old and young, men and boys, were busy. " Take care. Hector, cover not too deep, or we shall never hear from them kernels," said the overseer to a broad-shouldered, strapping negro, who was taking the lead, and plying the hoe with uncommon rapidity. " Hst ! massa, I 'm, I 'm into him dis time. I takes all dem niggers down, dis time, massa, list! Out of de way. Jack, hst ! Lor', how I make - de dust rise." replied the ,slq,ye, very good-hunaoredly, and progress- ing more rapidly than before. " Wha' dat you say, nigger ? " shouted — another slave, who was tall and spindle-shanked, with gray hairs occasionally showing themselves on the top of his head — sufficiently so to make hjs appearance rather interesting; and who was evidently an heir- loom to the estate, and known on the plantation as TJi^ele, Tom. " Wha' dat you ^y ? beat dis nigger, will you ! I 's I ; try dat on, nigger. Be hasty wid dat corn, Joe, drop him squar in de hole ! Dis old nigger is arter dat young 'un, dar. Hst ! out of de way wid you ! " said he, and threw his whole- soul into the work. The overseer was Relighted, and congratulated him- self that he had hit upon the right expedient to make the negroes work according to h48 desire. Hector and 34 UFE AT THE SOUTH; OK TJncle Tom cro-wded each other hard, and the contest, as they were nearing the opposite side of the field, seemed to be neck and nech, to use the sportsman's phrase. The length of the rows of hills, in which the corn was planted, was nearly of a quarter of a mile in distance. It was a long reach to make without stopping ; but Hector and Uncle Tom were on a race. TJncle Tom had hitherto been the foremost and most sturdy of the clan, on that or the adjoining planta- tions ; and when he made an effort in downright earn- estness, usually had been victorious, no matter what it was. Long before they reached the other side of the field, they parted company with their fellow corn- planters, who one by one dropped behind ; and when they were "on the last quarter," the contest was so exciting that the laggers stopped, leaned on their hoes, and tooh a look. " Gosh, Jeff, look you dar ! " " Da's it ! I see, Caesar." "Ki, Jeff! enty ol' Uncle Tom down dis time; ha, ha ! gosh ! Zip, wha' you guine to do now ? Dar 's no use." " Yas. Da 's it ; Hector is out. Lor' ! is n't dat ole fellar busted now ! " said Jeff, and laughed as if he would split his throat. " What are you standing there for, you lazy clod- poles! Handle them hoes, and make yourselves busy, or you will never get to the end of your rows," said the overseer to the negroes, vexed at their stupidity. " Sa, massa ! " exclaimed Csesar, with an expression mrcLE tom's cabin as it is. 35 of amazera€nt in his countenance, that the overseer did not appreciate the spectacle. " I saj, use them hoes, and not stand there looking all day, doing nothing," reiterated the overseer. " Yas, massa, yas," replied the negroes together, complying with the order, and showing the white of their eyes, as they cast an occasional glance to the other side of the field. "And, Jim, let me see the kernels come out of the corn-bag fast," added the overseer, to a little urchin who was dropping the seed for these planters to cover up. "Hold up, you little cur! not so many, not so many in a hill ; why, if you are not careful, the seed will not hold out, and then we shall be in a nice box." Jim was huffy, because he could not stop and see the race longer; and it was all the same to him, whether he dropped the designated number of kernels, or threw a handfull into the pit^ as he called it. Caesar, Jeff, and the rest of them, M-ere also huffy, and from the same cause ; and it did not grieve them in the least, to see the waste of the seed, but they chuckled over it. " Gosh ! Jeff, massa's com will be short, long 'fore night, if he drop um in dis way." " Ei ! Caesar, dar 's no use to talk about it ; let 'em cum ; we cover up jeest as fast. When it 's all gone, we '11 go down to de river and fish all artemoon ; da's it." "Wha' dat? Wha'! you 'spose massa guine to 36 LIFE AT THE SOTTTH; OB turn us off dis time o' day. Gosh! Jeff, don't make a fool ob yourself." The overseer had stepped aher.d a short distance, and halted until the planters come up with him. "There, Jim, careful — careful in the number. Be scarce with it — scarce, Jim," sail the overseer. " Sa, massa, sa ! " answered the cunning little seeds- man, who at once halted, pretending that he did not understand the overseer's remark. "Keep at your work, you black dolt! what do you stopfer?" " Sa, massa ! " exclaimed Jim, with more ajppa/rmt bewilderment than ever. "Sa, massa! I'll sa you, if you do n't keep that corn dropping out of the pouch. At your work, or Jeff and all the rest of them will soon stop, and take another look." "Yas, massa," said Jim, and he resumed his task. "I say, be scarce with the seeds!" reiterated the overseer, losing, in some measure, his equanimity of temper. " Yas, massa." " Or corncake will be scarce in these parts next season, I '11 warrant ye." "Dunno, massa," drawled Jim, and the overseer again walked ahead. " Dat young nigger no fool ; he 's up with massa, eber time," remarked Jeff, chuckling over this idea. In a few moments they approached Hector and Uncle Tom, on the way back, working with all tlieir might. The overseer was delighted, and eyed them UNCLE TOM's cabin AS IT IS. 37 attentively. As the sportsman would say, Uncle Tom had bottom and girth, and when these rival planters commenced their return from the opposite side of the field, Hector had the start; hut Uncle Tom was now gaining rapidh- ; and his long, sinewy arms, with scarcely a pound of flesh thereon, enabled him to han- dle the hoe with wonderful dexterity. Hector began to flag, and evidently felt that his antagonist was an overmatch for him. He, however, looked neither to the right nor left, but settled himself into the work with all the physical power at his command. Their seedsmen. Jack and Joe, had no time to loiter; neither did they appear to have any inclination to do so. For each took as much interest in the success of his planter as the rider does in the speed of his nag on the race- course. As they came abreast of Caesar and Jeff, the eyes of all the negroes were upon them. Both were determined not to be outdone by the other— especially at that point, in full view of the spectators — and each worked the harder. Hector held his own; and as they passed on. Uncle Tom was still behind. "Come, come," said the overseer, "you have had your look again ; now use your own hoes, and let Hector and Uncle Tom fight it out." "Sa! massa." " I say, plant away yourselves, and let Hector and Uncle Tom fight it out." "Tas, massa." " Dat 's it — dat 's it ! " said Jeff to Caesar. " Gosh ! de ole fence will fotch 'um, I be boun'," said Caesar to Jeff; and they began leisurely to use 38 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OB .the toes. The progress of this squad was anything but "fast. They worked as if they meant to make sure work, and not botch' it ; that is to say, if the time con- sumed is to be takeii as evidence of their intention. It is just to say, however, that tJiey finally reached the end of tlie row, and commenced "working back." And in this manner did they toil on the remainder of the day. " Dar ! " shouted Hector, as he covered the last hill in his row; "dar, ole nigger, 1 'spccts you gib 'um up ! " thi'owing his ho'e upon his left shotilder with an air of triumph. - "Wha's dat?" muttered Uncle Tom, almost ex- hausted with his labor. " I 'spects you 'i-e satisfactory. I too big hos^ for TJhcle Tom ; I take de wictory." ■ ' " i)unno," said Uncle Tom, in a growling toni- of voice, ashamed to acknowledge the triumph, and vexed that he was beaten. ^ • • "Wha'I i)unnoJ Try 'urn »g^^ den.* I'm off like a four year ole. "Dar, ole hoe ! " reniovin{| it from his shoulder, and throwing it upon the" ground ; " wha'l you do n't cotch 'um up. Uncle Tom ! I's do 'uui. i?o, ole hoe," taking- it up, "we go togedd^if^ fur good' or , worser," spitting on his hands, and huunninft' to him- self some favorite ditty. ■ / Uncle Tom showed no particular haste to renew the work on another row; and his hoe did not move over the ground' as fast as usual. In fact, so tardy were his movements, tnat it was not long before Caesar and Jeff came up with him. This gave him additio»i*} THE SLAVES IN THE CORNFIELD. mrca^E tom's cabin as rris. 39 annoyance, and he was very restive under their jokes and gibes. He purposely fell behind ; for, of all things, he disliked to be a butt for ridicule and merri- ment. Cowed by his defeat, he did not feel any inclination, with his drooping spirits, to be sportive. Long before midday, he was not much better than an idler. The ovei-seer, of course, noticed this unusual conduct, and gave him a jog. This did not have the desired effect. The overseer reminded him of his duty, and urged him to work with greater zeal. The overseer attributed his disinclination to labor more efficientlh, to some chagrin which the defeat might have created; and he was disposed, at first, to humoi the slave, and let him have his own way. But, when the negroes came into the field after dinner, he thought that Uncle Tom should amend his conduct, and per- form his part of the labor. And when he found that the slave was indisposed to take hold of the work, he reproved him, again and again, and as often received snrly answers in reply. In spite of all his efforts, it was with much difliiculty that the overseer could keep him up with the most lazy of the squad ; and, instead of dealing gently, as he studiously did, in consequence of the former good services of the slave, he used harsher language, and a more authoritative tone of voice. What influence, or what motives controlled or actuated Uncle Tom at this juncture, we will not undertake to state ; but certain was it, that the more he was urged to work, the more dilatory he became ; and the more he was threatened with punishment, the greater doggedness he exhibited. Until, finally, the 40 LIFE AT THE SOUTH ; OB overseer informed him, that unless he woi-lied with jtiore of a will to do his part of the planting, he should report him for punishment to his master, as soon as he returned to the mansoin. The overseer felt that he should be justified in plying the lash on the spot, but he preferred, as it was Uncle Tom who was refractory, to consult his owner; and indulging the hope that, in the meantime, the slave would get rid of his laziness and surliness. Joe was directed to work with the other negroes, and Uncle Tom was left in the rear, to drop his own corn and cover it up, as slowly as his will or disposition might suggest. lie, however, continued, day after day, in the same mood, and, as the overseer thought, instead of growing better, was becoming worse. Hector, in consequence, \ worked earlier and later, and more vigorously than ever. He expected that his master would give him the position which Uncle Tom had theretofore occupied among the slaves on the plantation, and he evinced as much desire as the overseer, to finish the planting before his master returned home. TOCLE TOM'S CABm AS ms. 41 CHAPTER III. SOBRIETY AKD MEEEIMENT. " De banjo hung in de kitchen wall, De gals got fraid de banjo fall — I took it down, and 'gin to play. We kick up de debbil on a holiday." Old Scnb. Mr. Erskine remained in Washington longer than he intended on the day of the dinner-party, and did not reach his home until the last of March. Mr. Petti- bone found it inconvenient to accept of his invitatioi;, and he arrived at the plantation accompanied only by his favorite servant, Pompey. He was agreeably dis- appointed, to hear from the overseer that the corn was planted ; and, delighted with the jonmey, and the entertainments which he received at the capitol, he felt happy himself, and wished others to feel likewise. He passed the first few days after his return, in rehearsing to his family the various scenes which he witnessed ; and so full was his mind with the piany interesting incidents which occurred, that he scarcely thought of anything else. They constituted the topic of conversa- tion at the breakfast-table, dinner-table, tea-table, and, for the most part, during the intervals of these several 42 IIFE AT THE SOUTH ; OE periods of the day, until Pompey, who witnessed a portion, could recite them as minutely and accurately as his master. After the lapse of a week, Mr. Erskine walked over the plantation. Its condition was perfectly satisfactory; and, pleased with the attention which the overseer had evidently bestowed upon it, during his absence, he thanked him again and again, for his care and assidu- ity. As the master met the slaves in the fields, he said many a kind woi'd to them, and complimented them upon their labor. Pleased with his condescension and aflfability, they respected, if not loved him more than ever ; and, after he walked on, chatted his praise to each other. Having informed himself of the state of the " crops," he told the overseer that he would not detain him longer from his customary duties ; and, followed by Pompey, Mr. Erskine took the lane which leads to the cabins. The cabins were the quarters of the slaves, and Mr. Erskine had taken great pains to make them comfort- able. They were not remarkable for cleanliness, and yet there was an air of tidiness and gentility prevailing within — much more than might be expected bv a stranger. The occupants belonged to the hnmblest class of society, but born and brought up tliere, its sorrows and pleasures, labors and amusements, became a part of their -education, and they would liave felt and appeared unnatural in a more elevated position. They were accustomed to this mode of life, and with their wants supplied, took no tliought fur the morrow, and were contented and happy. 43 The negresses were glad to see their master : and aa he took out of the carpetbag, which Pompey lugged upon his back, some suitable present, their eyes spar- kled ^\-ith delight; and, as they crowded around him to receive the gifts, the little tenements resounded with their thanks and meiTy laughter. He passed in and out of the cabins, one after the other, complimenting the big blacks, and patting the little ones. It so hap- pened that the last cabin he went into was the one occupied by Uncle Tom and that good old negress, Dinah. It stood out in a little bolder relief than the others, and had a wider veranda in front, and, in fact, more attention seemed to have been paid to this end of the quarters. To his surprise, Mr. Erskine found Uncle Tom lying upon the mat. He was surprised, for he had not heard that this slave was sick, and he was never known to be absent from tlie field when there was labor to be performed, if in health. And also, from some cause not apparent, Mr. Erskine no- ticed an imnsual reserve in his demeanor. He, how* ever, passed it over without comment, and taking from the boy a rich-colored' piece of calico, gave it to Dinah, and bid them good morning. He repaired to the mansion, and whilst reflecting upon what occurred between himself and Mr. Pettibone, the suspicion flashed across his mind, that perhaps Pompey, who at times was wonderfully loquacious, had given Uncle Tom some crude notions of freedom. The thouglit made him uneasy; and the scene at the cabin, which, at another time, probably would have created no sen- sation, was in his mind all the afternoon. He sent 44 LIFE AT THTE BOTTTH ; OR Pompey to the overseer, to say that he wislied to see him immediately after supper. Shortly after dusk, the overseer called at the man- sion, and Mr. Erskine communicated to him his fears about Uncle Tom. The overseer informed him of the occurrence in the cornfield, and its effect upon the slave. He also told him of Uncle Tom's continued aversion to labor ; that he had not been of much use in the spring work ; and of his dislike to inflict pimish- ment himself upon the slave, or to report him to the mansion, by reason of age and previous good services. Mr. Erskine excused the overseer, and said that he was reluctant to ply the lash, so long as there existed any reason for supposing that the slave was in ill health. The overseer was of the opinion that it was feigned ; for, as he said, Dinah told him that Uncle Tom eat as heartily as ever, and slept as soundly. To make sure, the overseer was directed to send to Millwood for a physician, and if it turned out that the disease was laziness, to apply the proper antidote at once. " And if it is spunk," added the overseer, as he rose to execute these commands, "shall I drive that out of him?" " "Without delay, sir, and let me hear no more of it," answered the master, believing that in such an event forbearance would cease to be a virtue. After the overseer left the mansion, Mr. Erskine still continued to think of Uncle Tom ; and the more he thought of hira, the more suspicious he became of his disposition and intention ; and then, if these siispicions should be realized, he was fearful that Uncle Tom's TTNCLE TOm's CABIN AS IT IS. 45 disease woiild be contagious. " I have provided well for these creatures," he mused to himself, " cared for them as bountifully as my means admit, and think almost as much of them as if they were my own bone and sinew. If I should free them aud send them adrift, they would be at a loss what to do. It would be downright cruelty. Pshaw, leave ! I doubt whether they could be hired to do so. I will try on one of them. I will take Hector, as I can conjure up a plausible excuse ; and if he stands fire, his example will have a good effect at the quarters, and prevent Uncle Tom from doing mischief, if he should attempt it." And he called Pompey, and directed him to go to the overseer and say that his master would be at the quarters at seven o'clock the next morning. Mr. Erskine was punctual to his engagement, hav- ing hurried his breakfast, and taking a seat under the veranda in front of Uncle Tom's cabin, he directed the overseer to call Hector there. This proceeding was so unusual for the master, that the attention of the negroes and negresses, old and young, was excited, and all huddled around the veranda, on tiptoe to see and hear. Hector came forward reluctantly. He was not conscious of having done any wrong, unless by beating Uncle Tom in the cornfield, he had thrown him into sickness, and therefore the overseer had cast the blame of Uncle Tom's subsequent conduct upon his shoulders; and this he thought would be unmerciful. "Hector," said his master, as he approached him under the veranda, "give me Philisee. Henceforward I shall take care of her myself." 46' LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OB "Sal massa," exclaimed the negro, with an air of almost terrific amazement in his countenance. "Yes, Hector, you are now free! I give you your freedom, old fellow. Here is money, too, and in Win- chester you shall have a house, such as white folks use, to live in for yourself." " No, massa, I can't, sir — I can't be free," replied the negro, shaking his head, and looking around for Philisee. "Here I is ! " she cried out, the tears trickling down her face. "Why can't you. Hector? What do you mean? Am I not your master? Can't I make you free, and do n't I tell you that I do make you free? I see how' it is ! You do n't like to part with Philisee ; well, take her with you. From this moment you are your own master, and she is her own mistress." "Wha' for, massa? Wha' Hector done, you guine turn um off now? " " Done ! You have served me faithfully ever j you saved my life, old fellow, at the flood, a year ago, like a friend, and I am now your friend, and not any longer your master." " Ki, massa ! enty you always been a frien' to Hec- tor? Enty you gib um physic when he sick, and come and see and talk wid um, and do ebbery ting he want you for do?" What more you guine to do now?" "Yes, Hector, I have done for you all tliis ; but I have done it because you were my slave, and becausfj I was bound to do it." 47 "Ah! you no want to be boun' any longer; da's it! I see. You want poor Hector for eat acorn wid de liog, and take de swamp wid de 'possum, enty?" " Not so, old fellow ! but I can not call you my slave when I would call you my friend. I shall get another slave in your place, and you shall be free." '• I dam to hell, massa, if I guine to be free ! " roared the adhesive black, in a tone of unrestrainable determin- ation. "I can't loss you' company ; and who work for you like Hector? T is unpossible, massa, and dere 's no use to talk about it. De ting ain't right ; and enty I know wha' kind of ting freedom is wid black man ? Ha ! you make Hector free, 'come wuss more nor poor buckrah ; he tief out of de shop — he get drnnk and lie in de ditch ; den, if sick come, he roll, he toss in de wet grass of de stable; you come in de morning — • Hector dead! and who know — he take no physic, he hab no parson — who know, I say, massa, but de deb- bil find um 'fore any body else? No, massa, you berry good company for Hector; I tank God he so good ! I no want any better." The negro was positive, and his master, deeply af fected with this evidence of his attachment, remarked to the overseer that Hector might still remain his slave, and walked away toward the mansion. " Gosh ! Jeff, dat beats my eyes all out o' my head." "I always knowed massa sich man, Csesar — good man. Lor' how he shid tears ! I neber saw'd massa cry 'fore." " Look dar, Jeff, how he uses his 'kerchief! I gibs um up. I tank de Lor' for sich massa. I sticks close 48 to dis spot, if I 'd been Hector." These and similai remarks were made by the slaves, as they dispersed to their respective labors. Mr. Erskine was satisfied with his strong hold upon the aflfection of the blacks, and his mind was once more contented. In a day or two, he had another in- terview with the overseer, in relation to Uncle Tom, and as he evinced no symptoms of reform, and it was evident, from the physician's report, that he feigned sickness, it was determined to use other antidotes than physic, and see if he could not be restored to his for- mer state of activity and good conduct. The overseer received his oi'ders, and proceeded to execute them. Uncle Tom's wife was named Dinah. They had lived together as man and wife for twenty years. Both were born on the plantation, and they had several chil- dren. Dinah occupied the same position among the negresses, tliat her husband did among the negroes. They were both looked up to by their fellow blacks, and all along enjoyed the esteem and confidence of their master. They were also members of the churfch. Start not, gentle reader ! The fact was precisely as we now write it. It was the church of Christ, through whom, with the Father, even Godhimself, its members' prayed for life eternal in the world to come. "We may as well add, that they were zealous members, and for aught that appeared, sincere and constant believers in the faith. We huve almost forgotten the particular denomination, but it runs m our mind that it was the Methodist Episcopal. Be this as it may, they believed in the existence of the Soul Immortal, and that its UNCLE TOM's cabin AS IT IS. 49 destiny in the world to come was Leaven or hell, according to the deeds done in the body. Withal, Uncle Tom was habitually affable and courteons to Dinah, whom he loved dearly. It is true, that it was his custom, and so indeed was it her's, to mix with their fellow slaves in the pastimes and amusements incident to their humble lot. Heligion with them was not worldly or theoretical, but practical — such as the heart, unburdened of the webs of sophistry, and re- lieved from the artifice of self-interest, would intuitively receive and express. The same might be said of some of the others, but not of all. For if so, the quartera might then have been called a religioxis community, and quite likely run into a sect, which would have landed them, in the end — we will not undertake to say where. In short, Uncle Tom and Dinah were patterns for their fellows, both in sobriety and merriment. They were not so old as to be antiquated, nor so young as to be free and easy equals. As their cabin was a little the best, so were they treated with a little more con- sideration, in other respects, by their master. Such was their conduct and condition from year to year. With plenty " to eat and to wear," sheltered from the storms and elements without, and " free of care," they glided tranquilly down the stream of time, in the un- disturbed enjoyment of happiness, and were contented with their lot in society. On the evening of the day of the race in the corn- field, Dinah was as chirk as usual. Uncle Tom did not come home as soon as the work was over, and the supper-table waited for his return some time. It was 50 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OR late when he entered the cabin. This did not disturb " Dinah's serenity; indeed, she did not give it a thought. She was putting the children abed when he came in. After she had tucked up the clothes, and "put things to rights," she drew up her rocking chair near the cor- ner of the fireplace, took up her knitting work, and commenced humming a familiar song. It was Uncle Tom's habit, unless he was too fatigued, to unite with her in singing, and especially that song. But he did not then do so. This, together with his disinclination to talk, excited her attention. She thought it strange, for she could not discover symptoms of unusual fatigue, and he did not complain of being unwell. " Tom, wha' the matter ? You hab a bad look," she said, now that she began to think of him. _. "Dunno — dunno Dinah." "You arn't guine to be sick, Tom?" asked Dinah, with more earnestness. " Hab bad feeling, Dinah. The debbil, I'm afeerd, is in um," said Tom, and began to undress himself. Dinah concluded he had overworked himself, and dismissed the subject. He passed a restless night, and in the morning did not act with his usual cheer. Dinah renewed her inquiries, but to no purpose. He was short in his conversation, and thoughtful. She saw there was trouble of some kind, and was anxious to acquaint herself with it. He kept his thoughts to himself, and evinced no particular haste in his move- ments. He loitered about the cabin, and did not get early to his work. When he came for his dinner, or returned at night, his conduct remained the same ; and 51 80 it continued from day to day, and from week to week, until Dinah really thought that " the debbil was in um." Dinah thought it would be beneficial to Uncle Tom, if he would participate more freely in the weekly mer- riment of the quarters. Soj a day or two before the above mentioned morning visit of the master to the cabin, as they were sitting before the fire in the eve- ning, she thus accosted him : "Tom, you likes to know wha' I'm tinking 'bout?" "Tas." " Does you? Den I'se tell you, wid all my heart." "Dat 's gude, dat 's gude, Dinah." " I'se tinking wha' jolly time we will hab on Satur- day artemoon, down under ole elm trees, on bank ob de riber." " Git out ! I goes to no sich place, Dinah. Too much debbil in my feelings for dat." "Wha', Tom ? not go wid your own lubly Dinah to jaassa's pic nic ! Ki, Tom, enty no more of de dance m yonr feelings? Drive um out dar. Hop, swash- ehay, hands across, down an' up de middle ! wid Jefl''s fiddle to keep tune by. De Lor'! Tom, we hab reglar breakdown." "I does n't go right now wid ole massa. Times altered ; dey ar' not as used to was. Hector am de ■ nigger, now. De overseer says he is head 'bove dis nigger. Can't stand it, Dinah ! I won't— won't stand it ! So dar, you hab my feelings now ! " said Uncle Tom, at the top of his voice, and bringing his hand hard upon the table. 52 LDTE AT THE SOtJTH ; OE Dinah was surprised at this announcement, as it was the first intimation she had of the cause of his displeasure. And his look and gesture nearly terrified her. Sho loved her master for his goodness to therti, and she could not bear to think unkindly of him." "Who 'bin pouring pison in your ears 'bout mas- sa ? " she said, after having somewhat recovered from her affright. " Dunno ; ole overseer, I 'spose," he replied, unwil- ling to be frank. " Massa was in cabin yesterday, first time sin' he got home from — from over de mountain. Berry glad to see his ole Dinah, and he spoke good word 'bout Uncle Tom. Massa good as eber. You hab oder feelings, now, ^ nopes." "Wha' dat? "Wha' dat you say! massa gude as eber?" said he, raising his voice. " I says so," replied Dinah, in a meek tone, as if almost afraid of its effect upon Uncle Tom^ > "Den, I says dat am a lie! So dar, you hab my. oder feelings ! " he replied in a louder voice than before. ■ Dinah, began to cry and sob, and continued sobbing the residue of the e%'ening. Poor woman! little did she think of the unhappy days in store for her. But- Uncle Tom's stubborn will forbid sympathy, and he disdained to comfort hen He did not goto the dance. Hg was too proud, or too envious of Hector to. do that. But the next day Dinah thought of nothing else. It was an unusual thing for Mr. Erskine to give such an entertainment ; and she not only desired to enjoy the: merriment, but she thought that it would displease. UNCLE TOM's cabin AS IT B. 53 her master, if the slaves were not all present, as Pom- pey said that they must be sure to come. And -when they began to leave the quarters for the river side, her heart throbbed to accompany thein. Uncle Tom was at the cabin. He did not -even sit under the veranda, as was his custom on a sunny afternoon, if he had no particular work to do ; but remained inside, and, as it seemed to Dinah, for her especial annoyance, although she disliked to think so. The overseer boarded the ground beneath the trees, for the party. All the negroes and negresses, old and young — save Uncle Tom and his family — were there in good season. Mr. Erskine had taken pains to fur- nish an extra entertainment ; and with this view sent to Millwood for boxes of lemons and raisins, and also several cakes of loaf sugar, all of which arrived in good time. A sort of bar was constructed -between the trunks of two large trees, where punch, and wine, and cakes were served to all. Jeff was the principal fiddler ; the Jiddle-stringB were in good order, and his bow was well rosined. And no sooner had he reached the chair which had been stationed npon the boards for his special use, than he " struck up " one of his favorite tunes. The company were as ready to dance as Jeif was to draw the bow, and at once commenced, keeping time with their feet to its enlivening sti-ains. In a few moments, Mr. Erskine made his appearance, and the slaves appeared happier than ever. Now and then Jeff would stop the music, and refresh himself at the bar, and presently the old fiddle would be more eoul-inspiring than before. The dancers, too, did net 54 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OE forget the good things at- their elbows, and freely par- took of them. So engaged, finally, did they become in the frolic, that they were not content simply with dancing, but made the grove echo with, the melody of their songs. Jeff caught the contagion, and com- menced singing to a familiar air — Millwood ladies sing dis song, Du da, du da. Millwood race track" five miles long, Du da, du da. Go down dar wid my hat caved in, Du da, du da ; Come back home wid pocket full.ob tin, Du da, du da. And when he had sung as far as this, the whole com- pany joined in chorus, beating time with their feet : Guine to run all night, Guine to run all day, I'll bet my money on de bob-tail hose, Somebody bet on de bay. Jeff, not satisfied, continued to sing — De bob-tail horse he can't be beat, Du da, du da ; Ruunin' around in a two-mile heat, Du da, du da. I win my money on de bob-tail nag, Du da, du da ; An' carry it home in de ole tow bag, Du da, du da. And the others again joined in chorus, as before, and Jeff listened. " Da's it," he said, as he stopped IfQ rosin his bow. 55 " Give 'um more, ole breakdown! " exclaimed Hector. "Yas, sar, Tse don't gib up so," said Jeff, and " struck up " again — Dar 's fourteen horses in dis race, Du da, du da ; I'm snug in saddle, au' got good brace, Du da, du da. De sorrel horse he 's got a cough, Du da, du d.n ; An' his rider 's drunk in de ole hay loft, Du da, du da, and the grove again resounded with the chorns. "Kow, jist you stop dar!'" shouted out Pompey, who assisted Jeff with his banjo, and was full of the glee, " an' hear a song dat Fse guine to gib." Jeff complied with this request, and Pompey sung the ditty: Dar libed on Virginny shore. Not niaiiY years ago, A maid who often swore. To lub none but Pompey Snow. For oft when dcy were stioUing 'long. Her lub for him slie 'd teL', An' I will speak now in my song, Ob cruel Lucy Bell. Ob cruel Lacy BelL Oh ! Lucy deceibed him quite. An' left him aJl alone ; She started one stormy night. From her Virginny home. Dey searched de woods for many a day. All eflforts proved in vain, — But time now teJls she ran away. An' Fompey'g heart was slain I An' fompej'a heart was alaia I 56 IjTfe at the south; ob She -was false to liim. But he could not think so Lub was not wid dem. Unhappy Pompey Snowl An' " Dar, stop right dar, Pompey ! " interrupted Caesar, who had just come from the bar, and was anxious to hear Jeff's fiddle again; "we'll hear de balance ob your lub song some oder time. Come, Jeff, draw dat ar' bow of yourn, and gib um glory !" All called for Jeff, and he fiddled at the rate of ten knots an hour. The slaves caught the symphony, and shuffled at as rapid speed, and the dance terminated in a perfect rout. They cracked their jokes, sung tbeir Bongs, and frolicked with merry glee, until a late hour. Mr. Erskine was happy in their enjoyment ; and re- turning to the mansion, retired to his bed, and was lulled to sleep by the rapturous melody, as it sweetly and faintly fell upon his ears from the river-side. The stars " did lend their light for torches," and the eve- ning run into morning long before the slaves, contented with the night's mirth, reached the quarters. UNCLE TOm's cabin AS ITIS. ST CHAPTER rV. THE PUNISHMENT. " The world is gro-n-ing older. And wiser day by day; Everybody knows beforehand, What you 're going to say! We used to laugh and frolic. Now we must behave 1 Poor old Fun is dead and buried, — Pride dug his grave." "Come with me," said the overseer to U^cle Tom, as he looked into the cabin, shortly after the slaves had gone to the dance; "I have use for yon. I be- lieve you do n't go to the frolic this afternoon. Come, sir!" Uncle Tom obeyed, but with reluctance. He fol- lowed the overseer, who went up the highway a short distance, and turning into a by-lane, directed his course toward the river. Dinah watched them from the veranda until they were out of her sight. "Whar' can f obuseer be going wid my Tom?" said she to ' .rself. "Something wrong, something wrong! D':" accounts for Tom's feelings. Why dai 58 LIFE AT THE SOITTH ; OE dey go down de cow path ! I 'm afeerd it's for no good. De Lor' hab mercy on us ! " she added, with tears in her eyes, and sitting down upon the bench wiped them away with her check apron, and feeling as if her poor heart was almost broken. Her little children rolled up the whites of their sparkling eyes in astonishment. It was an unusual sight for them to- behold. Their mother crying, and that too on a Saturday afternoon! They huddled around her, and expressing their sym- pathy in childish prattle, tried to soothe, but with little effect. The overseer continued on in the lane until be reached an old, tenantless log hovel, which stood near the bank of the river, and but a short distance north of the elm grove. The hovel was upon the north side of a small hill, near a brook which ran along its base, and could not be seen, either from the grove or the quarters. " Now," said the overseer, turning around to TJncle Tom, and looking at him sharply, "go in there ; " pointing to the door of the hovel; "as Mr. Ersldne fitted the grove for Hector, he at the same time fitted this place for you. Perhaps in this solitary confine- xnent you will refiect upon your conduct, and mend your ways. At any rate, you will have abundance of leisure to do so. Go in, sir," taking the slave by the arm, as he seemed to hesitate. " Go in, and I '11 safely sec .re the door, so that you may not be disturbed in your ineditations by intruders." Uncle Tom's steps were slow, and he opped in the doorway. He gave a deep, long sigh, an evidently DNOLB TOM's CABIK AS IT IS. 59 was inclined to parley; but the overeeer gave him a jog, and, closing the door against him, turned the key of a large, strong padlock, and walked quickly away. Tlie hovel was close, having but one aperture ; and that, in former times, had been used as a window. Mr. Erskinc would not have accomplished his purpose if he had closed up this, as he did not wish the sound of merriment from the grove wholly to escape the ears of the slave. So he left it open, but took the precau- ■tion to fasten some bars of iron across it, to prevent escape. There was some straw spread upon the floor, on which the slave could repose himself, if so disposed. His imprisonment was so sudden and unexpected, that, at first, he scarcely realized his situation ; and for a few moments after he entered the hovel, he stood almost as motionless as a statue. He, however, soon felt an inclination to sit down ; and castiug his eyes around, he discovered the straw. And then, for the first time, the idea flashed across his mind, that perhaps upon this he was doomed to draw his last breath. He sighed more deeply than before, and, feeling that his work on the plantation was over forever, he sunk down upon the straw. His thoughts whirled wildly in his brain, and with more of insanity than grief, he stretched his limbs upon this lonely bed. There he lay, in a drowsy stupor, for hours. At length, coming to his consciousness, he suddenly sprung up, and went to the window. The sweet strains of JeflT's fiddle and Pompey's banjo, as they were wafted by the gentle night-breeze from the grove, caught his ear, and he involuntarily stood and listened with raptare. When 60 LIFE AT THE SOUTH", OR at intervals the music ceased, he thought of Hector, and envious feelings would again take possession of his proud and stubborn heart. And then, vexed because he listened, he would go away from the window. The atmosphere, however, was clear, and it was difficult for his ears to escape the sound ; and the high, full jnoon, rode the heavens in magnificent luster, and the scene without was too attractive for his eyes to confine their gaze within. These senses got the better of the others, and for the time mastered him. But finally the night was still, and, unable to sleep, ae was really left to silent reflection. And then did he remember his past joys, and how contentedly he had lived, basking in the smiles of his master, and abundantly supplied with all the necessaries of life. He thought of his youth, when his master cared for him like a father ; of the manly delight with which he and his lovely Dinah first took possession of the cabin, and of the many and many happy hours passed at the quarters. He recalled to his mind the labors of the plantation, and the pride with which he excelled his fellow-slaves, and his heart would again almost throb with exultation. And now, he was confined! shut up, like a cat, to pine and die! and he cursed the hour that first gave him the light. He thought, too, of Dinah, and how her mind must be distracted at his absence — of his young children, and how they must cry when his footsteps were no longer heard, and his face no more seen, — and the tears, for the first time since the contest with Hector, trickled freely down his cheeks, and cold drops of perspiration bathed his 61 forehead. He cursed his hard fate, and wished he was a better man. The overseer went from the hovel to the grove, and there reported to Mr. Erskine the confinement of the slave, agreeably to his ordere. Hector and the others attributed Uncle Tom's absence to his usual surliness, and thought not much of it. But the next afternoon, as they began to crawl out of the quarters, they were informed of his absence from the cabin. Dinah would not tell them the circumstances under which he left the cabin, for she was ashamed to do that ; all she said was, that he had gone, and she knew not where. They began to be alarmed at his absence. Even Hector, whom he had lately treated so coldly, was anxious to know what had happened to him, and he went to the cabin at once : " Dinah, whar' did Uncle Tom go ? " he said, as he entered it. " Dunno, Hector." " Did he goes alone, Dinah ? " " Dunno." " Dunno, Dinah ? You not seed him go, den ? " " Yas, I seed him go. Hector," she said, beginning to cry. " Enty you wo'nt tell Hector, den ; is dat it ? " " He went down de road." "When?" " Yesterday artemoon." "What time, Dinah?" " Jist arter you all ob yon went down to de river." 62 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OE "An' you hab not seen nm sin' dat hour? Some- thing wrong Bomewhar', Dinah, depend on 't;" and he scratched his head. After a pause, he added, " Did he go up or down de road ? " " He went up to de cow-path, and turnfed in dar." " Da's it," said Jeff, who stood by them, listening, " I'se knowed urn all now ! He 's gone to de riber an' thrown his body into de water. We shall see no more of um." Dinah gave a shriek, and Hector declared that it was their duty to go. and examine the river, and if he was drowned, recover his body. This proposition was assented to by all present, and the news immediately- prevailed in the quarters that Uncle Tom had gone to the river and committed suicide. " Jeff, you git into de skiff, and go on oder side of de riber, and look for tracks," said Hector, when they reached the bank of tbe river. "I'm 'most afeer'd to do dat!" said Jeff, with a sort of superstitious fear. " Afeerd, d' ye say? Lor', Jeff, what you afeerd of?" " If Uncle Tom is dead, de debbil is near um, he acts so bad to massa dis long time." " Git out o' de way den, nigger ! " said Caesar, in a tone of contempt for Jeff's cowardice, "dis nigger will go across de water stark alone. But," scratcliing h:.j head, " 1 'm tinking dat you had better go wid me, Jor I would want help to lift um into de skiff'." "Da's it, Csesar — da's it, nigger! I 'm guine wid you," replied Jeff, taking courage, Under the belief tiiat he should be safe from the evil one. o 6 " Do you tink dat two ob us is enough for de debbil What a fool you am, Jeff! De debbil is strong enough for all de niggers on massa's plantation, if lie fight wid all his might an' strength. No debbil ober dar, or-I would not be guine to hunt for dead body." " Das am it, Csesar ; an' Jeff not afeer'd now." "Jist step dat foot ob your'n lightly," remarked Caesar, as Jeff was about to get into the skiff, lest he might upset it. " Ise know'd what I 'm about," said Jeff, as he seated himself in the skiff, near the center. " If ow pull de oar, Jeff, and I steer wid dis paddle. Here we go," and they made for the opposite shore. When near the middle of the stream, Csesar, either by accident or from design, changed the direction of the skift' very suddenly, and Jeff', losing his balance, careened the skiff too much ujjon one side, and over he went into the water. It was not the depth of the water so much, although it was quite deep iu that particular spot, as this unexpected inmiersion, that bewildered Jeff"; and, as he rose to the surface, he begged for help from Caesar, in this his liour of need "Keep your wool 'bove water mark, Jeff, an' blow yourself like a bladder, until I cotch hold ob you," said Caesar. "Yas," faintly replied Jeff, almost choking with the water, and endeavoring to spit it out of his mouth and blow it out of his wide, flat nostrils. Caesar, being seated in the stern, was able to keep his position, and iu a moment, the skiff was upright. It was perfectly manageable, and before Jeff" had 3* 64 UFE AT THE SOUTH; OK hardly made his outcry for help, it was alongside of him. Bat the skiff was so light, it was difficult to hoist him into the little yawl, without upsetting. Caesar ordered Jeff to take hold of the oar, which he held out to him, and he would draw him into shallow water. Jeff obeyed, and was soon out of danger. Hector noticed Jeff's mishap, and was more dis- posed to stand and laugh, than to lend a helping hand. As he wallowed up the bank, his clothes dripping with water, his appearance was truly ridiculous. Yexed at Csesar, he cast the blame upon him, and threatened vengeance in return for the ducking. Hec- tor beckoned to Csesar, to come back with the skiff with the intention of crossing the river himself. Caesar accordingly, as soon as Jeff landed on terra firma, turned the course of the skiff, and made for the oppo- site side of the river. Jeff, after he climbed the bank, congratulated himself upon his miraculous escape from drowning, and, like a wet dog, began to shake off the water ; at the same time muttering his threats at Caesar : "Dar's no use of denying it," he said, supposing that Csesar was within speaking distance, and heard every word that he uttered, " an' I '11 pay um back to you. Dis nigger is not to be fooled, anyhow ; dat you see," and he turned around with the expectation of re- ceiving some reply from his companion, when, to his surprise, he discovered Caesar paddling his skiff to- ward the other side of the river. The thought struck him now, more forcibly than ever, that Csesar meant to drown him, and, failing to do so, that h« had now left 0NCLE TOm's OABIN AS IT IS. 65 him to the tender mercies of the devil. He attempted to run, and where, he did not stop to consider ; but his entire body quaked so with fear, that he found his limbs lacked the power of locomotion. " Wha' the matter wid you? " said Hector to him, as he jumped from the skiff on to the bank. "Wha' you 'bout, nigger ? " " Dun-no ! " he answered, his teeth chattering so that he could scarcely articulate. " De Lor' ! if you hav n't de ole ague fit on you ! Neber mind, Jeff; soon git off." " I 'spects-not ; it is de debbil ! " he said, already beginning to feel easier. " Gosh ! I sees no debbil, nigger. You got home too late last night. I felt the dew when you gib um de last dance. You are in de midst of an ague fit, ole fellar ! Neber mind, we will row you up, in dat ar skiff, to the elms, and take you to de quarters ; dat am nearer than the cow-path," Hector encouragingly replied, and he and Caesar took him by the arms, and assisted him into the skiff. It so happened, that while the slaves, just alluded to, were at the river, the overseer meanwhile was at the old hovel, having entered it about the time they turned from the highway into the lane. And it not entering into their minds, that the object of their search was in the hovel, they passed by it without observing the padlock, which, if they had noticed it, probably would have attracted their attention inside. The overseer found Uncle Tom in a repentant mood. He had been confined there some twenty-fpur hours. 66 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OB and the cravings of hunger reminded him very forc- ibly of his cabin at the quarters. He was praying, from the bottom of his heart, to be released from the imprisonment, before the overseer opened the door; and when he made lis a.ppearance, the slave' was pleased to see him, and so expressed himself, both in words and actions. The overseer was also pleased at the impression which the punishment appeared to have made, and inquired if he had drove away " his feelings." " Massa, I hah now no oder than good thoughts ; the bad ones I have parted with,'' said Uncle Tom, in a suppliant tone, and with an imploring look. ',' Can you forget , the bad, and remember the good only?" " Yas, massa, yas. I can be as good as I eber was, and me an' Dinah will lib as happy as eber in de cabin." " Come, then," skid the overseer, " and we will walk up to the quarters;" and they left the hovel, and went up the lane. Before they walked far, they heard a cry, as if for help, in the direction of tlie river, and stopped and listened. But the sound did not again greet their ears, and they paid no more attention to it, and passed on to the cabin. As they entered it, the overseer remarked - — "There, Dinah, I have .returned with Uncle Tom. He has lost 'his feelings,' and will be a better man. A happy day to you." , . j^ . It is unnecessary to relate how delighted Dinah was, :y this agreeable surprise, fur she had given him up TTNCLE TOM's CABIN AS IT IS. 67 for dead. She ran out of the cabin, to give the pleas- ing news to her fellow-slaves, and who should she see but Hector and Caesar retui-ning to the quartei-s, carrying Jeff on their shoulders." "Tom is in de cabin alive I '' she shouted. " Wha' dat you say, Dinah \ " exclaimed Jeff, and at the same time endeavoring to raise himself. "Tom hab jist come back w^ith de overseer," she replied, and ran back into the cabin. Jeff immediately showed symptoms of convales- cence, and, uneasy to get a glimpse of Uncle Tom, broke loose from his companions and followed Dinah. Hector and Caesar, believing that Dinah's sorrow was feio-ned, and that she had made fools of them, were not so very desirous of paying their respects to Uncle Tom, and went to their own quarter. "Das am it," exclaimed Jeff, the moment his eyes fell upon him ; and slapping him on his back added, "no ghost I you am de ole nigger himself, by golly!" "Dat von, Jeff?" ml ' " Yas. Uncle Tom, whar — whar hab yon bin ? " " "Whar hab you bin, Jeff? Why, how w-et you are! You havn't been in de river, or nothing, hab you ? " "Don't mention it, Uncle Tom — don't mention it," said Jeff, in a much lower tone. '■ Did you fall into de water? " " Dar you hab me, Uncle Tom ; you cotch'd me on de hip. I must describe um to you an' Dinah," said Jeff, taking a chair for an afternoon chit-chat. " Do, good Jeff," said Dinah. 68 Lira; at the south; ok " Well den, yoa know'd dis nigger, Dinah, stai-ted to find Uncle Tom's body." " Yas." " Well den, you know'd I'se fotched up at ole river, right at the foot of cow-path." " I 'spects so, Jeff," said Dinah. "I know'd so. Well den, Hector — dat ole nigger dat beat Uncle Tom planting coi-n." "Dare — dare — stop whar' you am!" suddenly in- terrupted Uncle Tom ; and at the same time laying his hand upon Jeff's arm. "Wha' — wha' de matter wid um, Uncle Tom?" inquired Jeff, with amazement. " I hab lost ' my feelings,' an' I am afeer'd you call um back, if you talk 'bout Hector. Dat 's all, Jeff," who was satisfied with the explanation as given, and proceeded. '■ Well, den Hector," — Uncle Tom gave a shudder. " No, not Hector," — Uncle Tom gave a sigh. " Caesar, not Hector," — Uncle Tom jumped up out of his chair, and looked toward the door. Dinah started up too, and was upon the point of imploring Jeff to stop, when he exclaimed with much earnest- ness, his eyes meanwhile upon Uncle Tom, " Hold your temper. Uncle Tom, I 'm not guine to make short story long." "Blast your story, and Hector likewise! my feel- ings hab come back again, Jeff; an' — an' you are de cause of all my trouble now," said ■ Uncle Tom, with great earnestness in his manner, and moved toward the door. Dinah again began to cry, and Jeff, feeling UNCLE TOm's cabin AS ITIS. 6& that he had prodnced this nnhappiness, and that too very unwittingly on his part, almost shed tears himself. Satisfied that Uncle Tom was alive, he thought it best to omit narrating the residue of the story, and moved toward the door, also. As they were passing through the doorway together, Jeff remarked that he was sorry that he had ruffled his mind ; that he always had been his friend, and was so now. "^ I know'd so — I know'd so," replied Uncle Tom in a more subdaed voice. " Sit down wid mo under the veranda, and I 'U told you all 'bout it," he added, and both took a seat on a bench. " Proceed, now, proceed wid wha' you would told me," said Uncle Tom. " Well den," said Jeff, " Caesar ordered me to git into "de skiff, and go ober de riber and find your body. Well, you know'd dat I, eber sin' I was born, was afeerd of ole debbil, an' I ax'd him go an' do likewise. He agreed to my proposition, an' was to go, when Hector said, you must go also, Jeff; an' as I thought two ob us would be too much for de ole fellar, I consented." "Hector know'd what he was 'bout," said Uncle Tom, and put on a very knowing look. " Wha' dat you remarked ? " "I say Hector know'd — " " Know'd ? Know'd what ? " inquired Jeff. " Dat you was to be drown'd," replied Uncle Tom, anticipating that Jeff was upset, or that himself and 70 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OB the overseer would not have heard the cry for help, and Jeff 's clothes would not be wet. " Da's it, by golly ! I barely escaped," answered Jeff, and pleased that Uncle Tom was sagacious enough to appreciate the design upon his life. " Almost miraculous." " Yas." ' " And ovuseer is disappointed." "Mistaken dare, Uncle Tom. Overseer was not wid us." "Yas, but he had given Hector orders what to do." "What do you know 'bout it?" asked Jeff, with surprise. " I know'd overseer was boun' to hab my life dis day, and he meant dat you should go wid me," an- swered Uncle Tom. Jeff was amazed, and thought a moment. " Whar' — whar' was you to be killed?" he then inquired. " In de ole hovel ? " said Uncle Tom, in a grave voice. " What ! in de hovel in ole cow-path ? " " Yas, I was locked in dar yesterday, to starve my life out. But overseer relented, an' let me out, when you was in de water." " Dat am horrible, Uncle Tom, Jiorrihle ! If massa know'd it, he would turn um off." "Dare you are mistaken, Jeff. Massa know'd it, an' told overseer to do so." " Overseer lied, if he told so ! I know'd massa won't take life. He 's too good," insisted Jeff. UN CLE tom's cabhj- as it k. 71 " Oil ! you do n't know massa as well as I do. He do n't act without motive, dat I can tell you, from experience," urged Uncle Tom, with the determination of gaining over Jeff to his views. "I won't believe it, 'till I see'd um wid my own eyes. Massa gib us a good time at de grove. I fid- dled, and he danc'd wid um all. Ob ! how he did dance. And he would not do dat, if he was 'bout to kill poor &lave. jSTo, no, Uncle Tom. It was punishment; da's it." "You am a fool, Jeff! dat 's what you ar'," replied Uncle Tom, annoyed at his stubbornness. " If I ar' a fool, I can plant corn wid Hector," said Jeff, angrily, and he got up from his seat and left the veranda. Uncle Tom was disappointed in his game. Jeff was too strongly attached to his master, to believe him ca- pable of intentionally committing a wrong ; especially such a wrong as Uncle Tom attributed to him. 7^ LIFE AT THE BOXITH : OR CHAPTEE V. •THE SCHOOLMASTER. " All lots are equal, and all states tlie same, Alike in merit, though unlike in name." It is fashionable to regard disappointment as the source of unhappiness. Sometimes such is the fact. But the careful observer can not have failed to notice, in many instances, a contrary effect. There is such a thing as " agreeable disappointment." The statesman in his cabinet, or the general in the field, may have anticipated defeat, and be victorious ; the shipholder, amid the tempest and storm, may expect to learn that his vessel has been stranded or lost, and with the dawn of day behold it safe at anchorage ; and the tiller of the soil may fear the barrenness of his labors, and yet garner a bountiful harvest. And thus what, under other circumstances, might have produced no unusual sensation, is now the source of delight. Mr. Erskine was far happier, at Washington,' when he found that the interests of the planter, in their most sensitive relations, were duly taken care of — which he did not anticipate ; and he enjoyed himself much 7S more, after he returned home, when, contrary to his expectation, he beheld the forwardness of the planta- tion. And even Jeff — how very agreeably disap- pointed he must have been, when he alighted, upon terra firma in safety ; and again, when he reached the quarters, and found his friend. Uncle Tom, alive. But we can not say as much, when, imder the veranda, he heard that negro malign his master. Jeff knew the malevolence which he entertained toward the overseer, for he exhibited it in his ill conduct, and the cause was obvious. But, why he should allow his hatred or enmity to extend to the master, and especially what reason could exist for supposing liim desirous of taking their lives, was beyond his comprehension. Perhaps the kind treatment of his master, and the jovial enter- tainment of the day previous, may have prejudiced Teff in his favor. However that may be. Uncle Tom (vas not successful in the effort to estrange his feelings. He was disappointed, and in more misery than ever. But his lot was cast ; and however unpleasant to the mind, to drudge and toil without gaining an inherit- ince for himself, yet he was not prepared to say, in the language of the poet, " These arms Invite the chain, the naked breast the steel ; " ind therefore, he resumed the accustomed labors of the plantation with more alacrity and apparent good will. We do not propose to detail the various daily inci- dents, as they occurred from week to week, on the 74 LIFE AT THE SOrTH ; OE plantation, except so far as they appertain to our nar- ratis'e. And if we succeed in this, we shall have accomplished our undertaking. Some weeks after the occurrences above mentionedj Mr. Erskine was reposing himself in the piazza of his mansion, and enjoying the luxury of an afternoon siesta. On awakening from his slumber, he noticed a gentleman coming up the lawn ; and as he discov- ered him to be a stranger, he at once rose to receive him, with the politeness peculiar to the well-bred Virginian. The stranger appeared to be a man of five and thirty years of age, well dressed, and easy deportment. As he had a prepossessing appearance, Mr. Erskine was glad to have him as a guest, and throwing off all restraint, entered without farther ceremony into fa- miliar conversation. After the usual preliminary civilities, he took the liberty of inquiring the name of his visitor. " Mr. Bates, sir." "From. "Winchester?" " I sojourned there for a few days only." " Ah ! traveling at pleasure, to view the country, I presume." "Not exclusively, sir," replied the stranger, in a tone which awakened the curiosity of Mr. Erskine. '" Business ana pleasure combined, I take it, then,'' quickly remarked Mr. Erskine." " Why, yes sir. I heard of your country-seat, and much of the valley of the Shenandoah," was the evasive answer. ■UNCLE tom's cabin AS itis. 76 "We old residents think there is no place like ours," said Mr. Erskine, in a voice that indicated no particular desire on his part to continue the acquaint- ance, and deliberately seated himself, cooUj inviting the stranger to do the same. " Ton have a delightful climate here, sir," said Mr. Bates, resuming the conversation. "Charming — charming, sir." " Your lands are fertile, I suspect? " " Bountiful yields, and easy of cultivation." "The whites, I suppose, could not compete with your blacks in plantation work," said Mr. Bates, with the view of flattering Mr. Erskine, so as to remove the coldness which he exhibited, perhaps from a suspicion of his motives. " Oh ! no sir. Our sun is too hot for the American to labor in the field. Besides, it would be degrading — degrading, sir." " Labor, with us at the jKTorth, is not regarded as menial." " At the North, sir ! '' replied Mr. Erskine, with a look of surprise ; " are you from the North ? " " Formerly." " And, pray, from what part of the North, and how long since ? " " I am from the land of steady habits, Tiot long since. I was educated at New Haven," he replied, with as pleasing an air as he could give himself. "And you ai-e looking for some place, with us at the South, to make your home, perhaps profession- aUy?" 76 LIFE AT THE SOUTH ; OE "Since my graduation at college, I have devoted my attention, principally, to the duties of some acad- emy. And, tired of teaching a mixed multitude of pupils, I have withdrawn from the Winchester school, and propose to recreate my faculties in giving instruc- tion in some private family, where the service will he mutually advantageous." " Ah ! a commendable calling, sir," said Mr. Ersk- ine, beginning to regard Mr. Bates with more com- placency. " Our schools in this region, likely, are not as common as with you at the North, although we take pains to educate our children in the rudiments of the language, and then frequently send them away to the academies you mention." " It is a question with me, whether private instnic- tion is not the most useful and the best. Too much folly is sometimes prevalent at the public school, and too much roguery acquired for the good of the pupil in after life." These sentiments accorded so well with those enter- tained by Mr. Erskine, that he began to consider Mr. Bates a man of sense as well as education, and with much suavity of manner remarked, " I perceive, Mr. Bates, you have a horse standing in the road. K agreeable, I will be happy to have you tarry with me, at least until to-morrow ; and so I will send Pompey to take care of your beast." Mr. Bates accepted this polite invitation, of course, without hesitancy, as he was desirous of ^becoming tutor to the family of his host ; and as he did not dine at Millwood, Mr. Erskine ordered Lucinda, an old 77 kitchen servant, to serve tlie guest with a cold colla- tion. The repast over, the stranger took a stroll over the plantation with its proprietor, and was pleased with the attention paid to him. All things consid- ered — the neatness of the buildings, the fertility of the soil, as indicated by the large, wavy blades of grass and corn, as they undulated in the gentle breeze which fanned the valley, and the magnificent scenery of hill and woodland that lay in the distance — Mr. Bates considered this country-seat as Utile superior to any his eyes ever beheld. And he made up his mind to effect an engagement, if possible, extending into the succeeding year. The next morning, after breakfast, he opened his budget to Mr. Erskine in good earnest. He had been at much pains to impress the planter with the idea that he was not only a man of accomplishment and erudition, but had an abundance of experience in school-teaching. And his efforts were not ineffectual in at least obtaining the friendly opinion and regard of the planter in his favor, as a gentleman, if not as a man of learning. Accordingly, in the morning he produced for the perusal of the planter, sundry letters of introduction, highly complimentary in terms, and some of them bearing a very old date. As the names of the writers were not familiar to the planter, with the exception of one from a gentleman at Winchester, they were not as influential as desired. Determined not to be disappointed in his application, Mr. Bates handed to Mr. Erskine a long and wide-folded paper, somewhat soiled from wear, and smilingly remarked, 78 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OE " That lie had carried that document for many a year, and considered its price above value." *' Ah ! what have you here ? It has the broad seal of the state attached ! Ah ! you have held some high position in the state, I presume," said Mr. Erskine, and proceeded to unfold it. " Be pleased to peruse the document, sir." And the planter was pleased to do so, but found his attempts unavailing, for the language, as it seemed to him, was everything but English. After examining it atten- tively for a moment, he exclaimed, with some vexation at his ignorance, " Sir, you are too much for me. I have never been beyond my own tongue. This is absolutely heathen, or I am no judge." " Oh ! sir, it is written in what we call the dead languages," replied Mr. Bates, in a very bland tone. " Ah ! the dead languages ! Ah ! yes, I have heard of them ; but this is the first sight I have had of them. Pray excuse me ; I am afraid I should detain you too long, if I undertake to peruse the document," said Mr. Erskine, handing back the document. " You certainly have heard of the dead languages?" said Mr. Bates, uncertain whether he was feigning ignorance; "You must have, before this, in your younger days, certainly have seen.the dead languages." " Oh II am acquainted with the Latin ; I have occa- sionally seen words said to be in that tongue, and I believe I have seen what you learned men call the Greek, but nothing like this. I think there must be some mistake." UNCLE tom's cabin AS rr IS. 79 " Ah . I perceive the difficulty. This document is in tne Hebrew partly, and partly, if you will look at It again, in the Latin. It is a diploma received at one of our theological seminaries at the North." Mr. Erskine took it again, and upon further examin ation, discovered some words composed of English letters. " And here, sir, is another parchment, if you will examine it, conferring the degree of Master of Arts," said Mr. Bates, offering to give it to Mr. Erskine; " this, sir, is all Latin." " Oh ! I am perfectly satisfied, Mr. Bates, that you are a man of sufficient knowledge to teach my chil- dren. I will dismiss any further examination on that head," said Mr. Erskine, and delivered the Hebrew diploma back to hira. " Then as to the terms of my hire," added the school master. " Ah ! yes, I had forgotten that subject. Propose your price and time." "I suppose four hundred dollars, and one year, would be acceptable." " I think your instruction may be worth that ; but, stop ; it is not simply my own children, but I wish some attention to be paid at the quarters. To tell you the truth, I have been thinking for some time of giving my blacks some of the rudiments of education." The schoolmaster expressed his surprise. " Oh ! but if you will only consider the point, Mr. Bates. It has occurred to me, that their servuc would ba mora valuable to me. And they are apt t* ^earu 80 LIFE AT THE SOUTH', OB They have brains, and I am as much entitled to use them as I have the body. At the same time, it would be doing them a kindness. What think you of this proposition ? " "Favorably, sir — favorably," replied Mr. Bates, although he did not relish the idea of undertaking the job of instruction himself. ^^ ""Well, sir, your terms, with this service included, •will be satisfactory." " I think," rejoined the schoolmaster, " upon reflec- tion, that I must vary the price, as, with two schools on my hands, I shall not have much time for recreation or repose." " You can name your own hours for school, and take your own holidays," remarked Mr. Erskine. "Am I to understand that instruction is to be given to the old as well as the young ? '' " Simply the young. The old ones a/re too old to learn much, I presume. They know something, I be- lieve, now. But it is difficult to learn an old African anything but labor and fuu, and mine are adepts in that learning, now," replied Mr. Erskine, laughingly. "I will say five — well, I will take six hundred and close the arrangement at that." "Agreed," quickly answered Mr. Erskine, fearful that the longer he delayed, the higher would be the price. Mr. Bates again expressed his acquiescence, and the services of the schoolmaster were engaged. It was necessary for Mr. Bates to return to Win- chester, for his books and clothes, before he entered UT)on his duties. And it was arranged that Pompey . UNOLE TOm's OABIN AS IT IS. 81 should accompany him, but as it was near noon, the journey was postponed until the next day. In the meantime, Mr. Erskine was attentive to the school- master, treating him as a guest. After dinner, he proposed that they go to the river and fish, for amuse- ment. The proposition was agreeable, and with angle aiid line, they proceeded up the bank of the river some distance. Pickerel, or as there called " pike," was the kind of fish which they caught, although occasionally a bullhead came up with the hook. They angled until the sun had descended behind the AUe- ghanies ; and so great had been their success, that the load was inconvenient for Pompey to carry. " Massa, shall I take um all home," said he, " or dump um in the water, to fish um next time. " Never mind, Pompey. One stick will be enough,' said his master, and he proceeded to unloose them, one by one, and drop them into the river. The question and answer attracted the notice of Jeff, who was in the lane, not far off, driving up the cows to the milk-yard. He could see the master, but not the slave, and so he climbed the fence, and on the top- most rail, singing "Sittin' on a rail, Sittin' on a rail," he stretched his eyes hard, to get a glimpse. As he expected, it was Pompey, who seemed to be dropping something into the river, but what, was indistinct to his vision. "Pompey — Pompey I Lor' de massal wta* you 82 LIFE AT THE SOUTH ; OB • 'bontdar?" he shouted. Pompey did not pay him any attention, but soon riddled the pike from the stick, and started for the mansion. Jeff saw the stranger, and was curious to know who he was. And as Pompey paid no attention to his outcry, he jumped from the fence, and running down the lane, reached the foot of it just as Px)mpey came along. " Wha' the matter, Pompey, dat you no longer dis- course with dis nigger ? I hollars to you, an' you 'd pay no heed ; I 'spects you am gittin' 'bove your legs," said Jeff, as if quite angry. " "Wha' dat you say ! " exclaimed Pompey, rolling up the white of his right eye, as if it meant something. " I'm 'bove you," shaking his head, " I is no company for such niggers." " Ki, Pompey, enty you guine to be nigger no more?" " I'se no nigger to you. Go an' drive your cows, and ax no more questions," said Pompey, and walked on. " Well, den, I 'spects de next ting will be Pompey wid de ivory cane, and massa wid de banjo," said Jeff, and was upon the point of turning back, when he recollected his errand there. "I say, Pompey, who is dat new comer dar wid massa?" Pompey paid no attention to Jeff's ques- tion. He reiterated the question, and again received no reply. "Vexed at this incivility, he muttered, as he turned upon his heels, "Well, go an' be white man; I '11 be nigger still. His complexion changes ; dis ole aigger's do n't. D«r, put dat in your chaw-tobacoy, an' keep um dar." rsroLE tom's cabin as it is. 83 Lucinda broiled a dish of pickerel for supper, and Mr. Bates declared that its flavor surpassed any that he ever eat. Mr. Erskine waived tea, and substituted cogniac. Fond of hearing stories, he was equally fond of telling them ; and he delighted his guest with the account of many exploits in fishing and gaming, to a late hour. The schoolmaster concluded that he had made an engagement which it would be pleasant to fulfill. 84 LIFE AT THE SOTTTH : CB CHAPTEE VI. FAMILY OF THE PLANTEE. All people -went 0pon their ten toes in wUd TTonderment. BisHoi? Hall. Pum>)«y was dressed and astir at an early hour the m xt jBoru^g, for the jaunt to Winchester was his last thought before he fell asleep. Several years had passed since he enjoyed the pleasure of a visit there; and, although, as well may be supposed by the reader, he had not been much of a traveler in his day, yet, the trip to "Washington " whetted his appetite" for sight- seeing, if we may adopt an homely phrase, and he anticipated much amusement. He gave express direc- tions to his wife Lucinda, the night previous, not to jversleep herself, and on no account to omit waking nim the moment she opened her eyes. The precaution turned out to be unnecessary, for " she did not sleep a wink," so great was her desire for Pompey to go. He was as fond of story telling as his master : and he had, for the last six weeks, entertained his cara sposa by 65 the hour, with the many incidents which occmred in his last journey ; insomuch that some had been twice and thrice told, and were becoming somewhat uninter- esting to listen to. It is not to be inferred, however, that Lucinda liked to hear Pompey any the less for that : her ears were never known to be closed when his voice knocked for admittance. Yet she thought he would have something new to relate on his return, and this of itself, aside from any enjoyment which the ride might afford to him, was a sufficient inducement to comply with his earnestly expressed wish. She was expeditious in her movements, and the breakfast being served earlier than usual, Mr. Bates and Pomjiey were on the road with their faces to the north, in good time. As Mr. Bates preferred it, he returned on horseback, and Pompey had his vehicle all to himself. At first, Mr. Bates rode ahead ; but Pompey was so much in- terested with what he saw along the highway, that he insensibly loitered — at least this is the most charitable view to take — and Mr. Bates waiving precedence, which was just as agreeable to Pompey, dropped be- hind, and by occasional promptings to his companion, hastened the speed of the vehicle, and ever and anon entered into conversation with its sable driver. We will not follow them, but will go back with the reader to the mansion. Our narrative has not as yet disclosed the number of Mr. Erskine's family, nor their relations to each other. It may as well be stated now, as at any other time, that Mrs. Erskine departed this life several years before the time of which we write ; and such was the 86 LIFE AT THE SOUTH", OB respect and love of tlie husband for the memory of the dead, that he remained a widower. The left three children to mourn her loss — two sons ai.d a daughter, who was the eldest of the throe, being in her eight- eenth year. Of a gentle disposition, and easy, quiet manners, the daughter fovmd admirers in all her ac quaintancos. Her accomplishments were not so very extraordinary as to dazzle or bewilder the imagination, but her breeding was that of a lady, in its ordinary signification; and the amenity of her mind imited to the goodness of a heart overflowing with the milk of human kindness, attracted the notice, and won tbe admiration of all whom chance threw in her pathway. For the last few years, she had been absent from the plantation in attendance xipon the schools, and had now returned to her home, to delight her father and enliven his hospitality. The two brothers contributed their efforts to make life agreeable ; one of whom was her junior some three years, and the other under the age of ten. It ^&s for the purpose of imparting in- struction to these boys, that Mr. Erskine employed, in part, the services of the schoolmaster. Not inured to heavy labor, nor to any steady labor, as is the custom in other climes with youth similarly situated, their leisure for amusement was unlimited; and the greater was the necessity, therefore, to employ their minds in acquiring information that might he useful in after life. The return of their lister from the ladies seminary, gave a new feature to the family, cir- cle at the mansion, and. dispelled the monotony that had prevailed there for a long time. -She reached 87 home only a short time prior to the visit of Mr. Bates, and her brothers had not yet exhausted their constantly recurring schemes of diversion and pleasure. Mr. Ers- kine was delighted with their pastimes, and readily concurred in whatever was proposed. The day that Pompey accompanied the schoolmaster to Winchester, they had planned an excursion among the hills of the Blue Ridge, as well for sport as to refresh themselves from the oppressively hot weather; and as Pompey was necessarily engaged elsewhere, they took Jeff and his fiddle in place of him. Like many gentlemen at the South, Mr. Erskine possessed a fine stud, and among them was a well-trained but gay pacer, which he determined to keep for the special use of Mary, his daughter. This was the first time she had the pleasure of mounting the pony. Accus- tomed, however, to ride on horseback, she easily man- aged him, and made a graceful appearance. Mr. Erskine joined his children in the excursion, and away they rode over the meadow and across the river, and soon were among the hills. Jeff had a long spur, tied to the heel of his right foot, for. it was too warm to wear shoes, and with the aid of its propelling power, he was enabled to keep his old gray mare within hail- ing distance of the party. After awhile, the party turned into a narrow by-path, hardly passable, in con- sequence of the low limbs of the trees that skirted the path on each side. Besides, it was winding, and Jeff soon lost sight of his master and the children. The old mare was unaccustomed to the speed with which «he had been forep.d to travel thus far, and becoming 4* 88 UFB AT THE SOUTH; OR jaded, by this over-exertion, quicker than nsual, she availed herself of these impediments in the path to slacken her gait. This, together with the boughs againstwhich his head was constantly thumping, was too much for the equanimity of Jeff's temperament, and he began to rail at his beast, and curse Pompey for getting him into so bad a scrape. The party rode on until they reached an opening in the forest near the head-springs of some tiny rivulet, which increases in volume as it flows toward the valley below, until it assumes the form of a creek, long before it unites with the waters of the Shenandoah. They halted and dis- mounted, expecting Jeff would presently heave in eight. He did not make his appearance, and fearful that some accident might have befallen him, Mr. Ersk- ine requested Frederick, his eldest son, to return and ascertain the cause of the delay. After returning some distance — and it seemed longer than before — he all at once heard music, like that of the violin, as it echoed in the woods. He could not believe it came from Jeff's fiddle, for then he must be loitering, which he would hardly presume to do. But as the strain evidently came from some point ahead, and in the vicinity of the path, Frederick went for- ward ; and the music became more and more distinct, until he heard Jeff's voice keeping time to a favorite tune, with the words — "Good bye, old Peter Story, Stone dead, an' gone to glory. Look ovit I 's dar before you," UNCLE TOM's GABIN AS IT IS. 89 ""WTiy, Jeff, this will never do," said Frederick as He rode down the path. The old mare was browsing, and Jeff was sitting on a rock hard by, amnsing him- self, sure enough, with his old fiddle. We took yon to amuse us and not yourself, you black scamp. What do you stop here, for? " "Dar, rail away, massa Fredy, rail away. .TsTeber ask for cause ! " replied Jeff looking up, without be- ing in the least disturbed, and sawing away a\, bis fiddle. "Come, come, sir: you will be punished for this. You had better sling up that fiddle of yours, and start on the mare in less than no time, if you mean to get out with a whole skin," rejoined Frederick. " Now, massa Fredy, do n't be in sich a hurry. Plenty of time, an' Pompey is not half way to Win- chester." " I should like to know what Pompey Las to do with this laziness of yours. Come, come — move yourself from the rock, and mount the mare." " Now, massa Fredy, jist you hold up, and I will splain de cause to you. Neber go off 'fore you're loaded," said Jeff with perfect composure, and retain- ing his seat. Frederick saw it was of no use to hurry the slave, and believing that if he allowed Jeff to take his own way, it would be the shortest, replied, " Well, explain the trouble," and dropped the reins of the bridle upon the neck of his horse. " Well, den, massa Fredy, you must know, we come with a terrible gallop, an' the old mare was bery tired kf>f«rA ve fspi to dis path. Deu dis ]>atk was so giudur 90 LiFis A*r THE south; os dat it was diflScult to see great ways, an' she lost traclc ob de Oder bosses ; an' she concluded dat they had bid good bye to her." " You should have put spur to her." "Sa!" "You should have spurred her right lustily." " An' if I did 'nt, massa Fredy, den call dis nigger a lazy coot. Look at her side, it bleeds now." Frederick cast his eye toward the mare, and the right side of her belly did look as though Jeff had labored hard to spur her forwai'd. "Well, Jeff, I reckon that she is now rested. Sup- posing that you give her another trial. The music has refreshed you, I presume." ""Why, massa Fredy, you ax'd me to take pleasure jaunt wid you. I 'm contented whar I am ; and I 'spects, from de way de ole mare whisks her tail, dat she is too," replied Jeff, disinclined to change hia position. " You must make another effort, and speedily ; or else you may expect the overseer to wait upon you this evening." " I always do as I agreed, massa Fredy. An' I agreed to take pleasure trip wid you, an' if dis far is 'nuff for me, why do you want me to go farder. If I do n't look out, I shall go so far dat I neber shall want to take anoder : an' ''specially, I shall not be able, if I keeps bumping dis head aginst de ole limbs. Its eny- mpst a jelly now." " Then I shall return to the opening, and inform my father that you decline ta do as he bids you, stall 1 2 " JEFF, KXPPING IN THE WOODS. usroLE tom's cabin as it is. 9l said Frederick, and turning the liead of his horse tc start up the path. " Hold your Koss ! " exclaimed Jeff. " Well, sir, saj- on." " Jist tell massa dat I do n't like my eggs ovei fresh." " Do n't like eggs over fresh ! Pray, what has that to do with your obstinacy ? " replied Frederick, at a loss to understand what Jeff was driving at. " Why, it is the tutt of a stoiy I am guine to tell you, if you was not in sich an unconscionable hurry." "Oh! get out with your miserable nonsense," an- swered Frederick, vexed at the slave's incivility. "Well den, jist as you say, massa Fredy, 'bout dat. But if you '11 hold your boss, I will told you de hull of dat story." " Yery-good, Jeff. Talk fast, and I will hear it." "Well den, massa Fredy, you must know, once upon a time, a mass'r thought a good deal of his servant, an' -he invited him to breakfast wid him." "What a lie!" " Dat 's true, massa Fredy, but do n't trouble my story. An' when mass'r an' servant set down to do table, mass'r was bery perlite, an' he ask'd de servant to help himself to a boil'd egg. Sambo took a look in de dish, an' he helped himself. As he was 'bout to break it, mass'r look'd at um, an' said it was not good ; it made no difference, an' Sambo broke um, and was eating, when mass'r said, ' Bah ! Sambo, do n't eat dat ; flavor is bad — bah! it stinks!' an' offer'd de servant anoder. Sambo declined. 'Wha' dat?' said mass'r. 92 LIFE AT THE SOUTH j OB 'I don't care 'bout my eggs being over fresh !' replied Sambo, and continued to eat." " What a dirty pig ! " remarked Frederick. "You don't see de point, massa Fredy? Mass'r thought dat Sambo was economical, and would save lost penny, an' he made Sambo his overseer ; jist wha' he wanted when he eat mass'r's egg." " Fool ! do you suppose that your mass'r will make you overseer, Jeff? " " No, no, massa Fredy ; but perhaps he will be sat- isfied if I do n't wish to take a longer trip of pleasure dis time;" and Frederick, disgusted with Jeff's folly, rode up the path, leaving him and the old mare where he found them. He came up with the party a short distance beyond the opening, and communicated to his father the reason of Jeff's delay. They ascended the hills until they reached the summit of one higher than the others ; and there they paused to view the bills and the valleys below. Away in the distance ould be seen, with the naked eye, Millwood' — "the liveliest village of the plain " — and still farther on, irith the aid of her father's spy-glass, Mary could plainly discern the steeples of "Winchester glittering in an effulgent sun. She was enraptured with the expanding prospect ; and, dismounting from her pony, she took a seat in the shade of a large tree which stood upon the very peak of the summit. In a few moments, Frederick came running up to her, and saying, " Look again through the glass, and your eyes shall fall upon Mr. Bates and Pompey."" 93 Mary did as requested, and distinctly saw them a few miles beyond Millwood, moving rapidly down the road. " It is really them, Frederick. Pompey seems to be enjoying a hearty laugh," she exclaimed, delighted with the view. " I could sit here for hours and hours, and not tire of the prospect," she added. " How would you like to live here, Mary ? " asked Frederick, jestingly. " I should admire it, I have no doubt, as a residence." " The lightning would be sure to hit here," said her younger brother, who had joined them. " And when you became satiated with the prospect, how solitary would it be up- here among the clouds," added her father. " Perhaps so ; but methinks that time would never occur. New scenes would constantly be moving before my eyes, with new objects for admiration." "Tour blood is fresh now, Mary; and your views and ideas are 'vesh also. But they would soon wear off, and you would wish yourself lower down in the world," rejoined her father, and Mary bowed assent. The party gazed with silent wonder; and Mary, fresh from the groves of the academy, gave a wide range to her thoughts; and her young imagination, bounding away from the dull realities of reason, soared afar in the realm of elysium. She heaved a sigh, and a packet dropped from her bosom. Frederick picked it up, and was in the act of handing it to his sister, 94 MKE AT THE SOUTH; OB when, observing the caption, truant-like he opened the queer-folded parcel, and began to peruse it. Mary did not notice the accident. " What have you there? " said the younger brother to Frederick, looking over his shoulder. " For all the world, a love-letter ! " " A love-letter ! " exclaimed Mr. Erskine, with some surprise. " Well," he added, after a minute's pause, " my Mary is in the heyday of youth ; I do n't know that this is wonderful. But, Frederick, you are ungal- lant, my son, to read your sister's letters, and above all, her love-notes." Frederick felt the force of his father's remarks, and quickly folded the packet, to return the same to his sister. " Wever mind," she said, now noticing, for the first time, what had happened, " read it aloud ; it is not all sentimentaUsm,^^ and Frederick again openAd it, and read nearly as follows : Come, lady-love, the flowing tide Returns to bear our bark away ; Come, let us o'er its bosom glide. And through yon fertile woodland stray The stars beam from their vaulted dome. And glitter in the glassy wave ; The wandering night-bird leaves her home^ And seeks the pebbled shore to lave. The mountain-breeze, from off the height. Surcharged with fragrance rich and free. Wafts ambient through the silent ni|ht. And spreads an incense o'er the sea. 95 The moon-lit spire gleams in the air, The green -topped pine ascends in pride. The arching cypress clustere there, And sweetly flows the evening tide. Come, dearest, to the pearly strand, Oiu- bark's impatient to be gone ; Come, let us to yon fairy land. And sport upon its dewy lawn. We 'U wander through its spicy grove, Where grapes in clusters strew the ground ; Where, through the parting trees above. The hallowed moonbeams play around. Tes ! where the wild-flowers thickly spread Their blushing petals to the gaze. There we will haste with lightsome tread. And follow through each winding maze. Will watch the glorious orb of nighty That upward mounts the spacious sky The twinkling stars that shed their light. And shine refulgent from on high. And when we see them each depart. Amid tlie hills that crown the west, I '11 clasp thee, dearest, to my heart. And one fond kiss shall seal our rest. Come, lady-love, the swelling gale Floats onward witli that rising star ; Come, let us up yon distant vale, And o'er the bright blue lake afar. "Elegant, elegantly done!" exclaimed Mr. Erskine, clapping his hands with approbation, "but rather lengthy." 96 LIFE AT THE BOtTTH ; OB "The more so, the better, with us girls, dear father." " It is very well, Mary. If you get no worse non- sense than that, you will be fortunate." " Nonsense ! how can you call it by that name, dear father? " replied the daughter, blushing, and vexed at this harsh criticism. " Oh ! never mind, Mary," said Frederick, coming to her relief, " father's days of love ditties are over." " Yes," said Mary. "And let me add, Mary," observed her father, " that the older you become, the more will you find that there is a limit to all human felicity; that all pleasures are like poppies, we seize the flower, and find its bloom is fled." " Or like the snow-falls on the Shenandoah, A moment they are white, then gone foreyer," Mary replied. "Ah! yes, sensible, very sensible," said Mr. Ersk- ine, and intimated to his children the propriety of turning their faces homeward. This suggestion was adopted, and remounting the horses, the party sauntered down the mountain, amus- ing themselves with the many little incidents and wild scenes that fell upon. their observation. " We must hasten our speed," said Mr. Erskine, as they again reached the opening by the springs, "or we may be caught in the storm which is evidently gathering in the southwest." " Tliat would be delightful," said Mary, " for I have never been in the forest in a thunderstorm: lot it 7 UNCLE TOm's cabin AS IT IS. 97 come ! " and she tapped her pony with the riding whip, and rode on with a more rapid pace. Mr. ErsMne soon espied the gray mare ahead, near the path, and drawing the reins of the bridle tighter, galloped his horse forward, to arouse Jeff, so that there might be no unnecessary delay. " Ki, massa, I's jist guine to get up the ole mare, as I hearn you coming," said the black, rubbing his eyes. " Have you been asleep all this while, you black dog? " inquired his master. " Only jist taken a nap, massa ! " " A nap ! why, yon scamp, it is now in the middle of the afternoon. Come, hurry ! Make amends now, by your haste, or we will leave you to the wolf and panther." Jeff did not relish this idea, and jerked his beast into the path. " Into the stirrups quick, you black rascal, and keep your distance, dead or alive." Jeff began to tremble, for by this -time the party had passed by him, and were out of his sight, although he still heard the rustling of the dead leaves, as the hoofs of the horses scattered them from the path. He coaxed the old mare to quicken her trot, and at the same time roweled her with the spur. All of a sud- den, "it grew dark," and he thought it was nearer night than his master pretended- the hour to be. If he should be caught in that wood, now fast becoming dis- mal to him, after nightfall, wjiat would become of him! he thought to himself, and he plied the spur quicker 98 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OE and harder than before. The old niare was dispose.t to demur to this treatment, and commenced kicking np her hind legs ; so much so, that it was with great difficulty that Jeif could retain his seat in the saddle. " Wha' de matter wid you, you ole critter ? git out of your tracks, or I '11 murder you alive ! so git up," he said, giving her belly another punch with the spur. The beast shook her head, and stopped her gait, began to kick faster and wider of the mark than ever. " It 's all day wid dis nigger ! gosh dam de lazy critter ! " exclaimed Jeff, in despair, and dismounted, with the intention of leading her with the biidle. He hardly touched the ground, before a sharp streak of lightning flashed in his face, fairly dazzling his eyes with its intense brightness, succeeded, as quick as thought, by a terrific peal of thunder. Jeff's teeth chattered, and his knees knocked together, worse than when he was hunting for Uncle Tom's body. Large drops of water began to fall fi-om the cloud, which appeared almost to rest upon the tops of the trees, and the rain soon came down in torrents. The lightning continued to fiash, and the thimder as often crackled, terminating in a loud, heavy roar, which made the earth itself tremble. Jeff's religious views were called into requisition, and he prayed for forgiveness, and begged for mercy, from the unseen God who controlled the elements. Mr. Erskine and his children reached the valley before the shower overtook them, and "reined up" under a shed which forfriinately was near, when the cloud commenced flooding the ground with its water Tiiica:jE tom's cabin as itis. 99 "In good time! we have just saved our distance. We will take our chances here," said he. "The tall trees on the mountain will divert the lightning from us," said Frederick.' " Ah ! yes ; but who knows what will be the fate of Jeff and the poor old mare!" replied Mary, in the goodness of her heart. " Good enough lor him," said Frederick. " It wiU cure him of his laziness and foolery. " I should dislike to lose him," remarked the master. " He is valuable on the plantation, if he is iiot as good a house-servant as Pompey." There was a high craggy ledge extending along the brow of the nearest hill, and from some cause unknown to Mr. Erskine, it was very attractive to the lightning. For several successive minutes, it was as often tearing up the ground ; and this constant flash, as well as their proximity to it, alarmed the party, and they availed themselves of the first gleam of sunshine to leave their uncomfortable position; and after fording the river,' they rode directly across the open field to the highway, and presently alighted at the mansion, pleased with the excursion, although drenched with the shower. After the storm subsided, the overseer directed Hec- tor to go in search of Jeff, who was found, as he was emerging from the woods on foot, leading his mare with perfect composure. 100 Lira AT THE SOUTH; OB CHAPTER VII. SCHOOL KEEPING. " Still the -vroiider grew. That one small head could carry all he knew." In the course of two or three days, Mr. Bates arrived from "Winchester with "bag and baggage," and imme- diately commenced his arrangements for school keep- ing. Frederick and his brother were to receive the attention of the schoolmaster at the mansion, and such of the blacks, at the quarters, as Mr. Erskine might designate. The idea of teaching negroes — especially slaves — was new to Mr. Bates. But he had revolved it over in his mind, since the subject was broached, and con- cluded to let this unexpected turn in his destiny take its. course. He walked over to the quarters with Mr. Ersk- ine, and was received with marked attention. The buildings, maugre their homely construction, looked more comfortable than he anticipated, and the apart ments were more cleanly. The planter gave notice, in kis presence, to the heads of the several families, that UNCLE TOM's cabin AS IT IS. 101 all the boys between the ages of five and fifteen years, must make their appearance on Monday morning fol- lowing, at nine o'clock, at the hovel in the lane, for the purpose of being taught the rudiments of educa- tion ; and remarking at the same time, that Mr. Bates was the schoolmaster, and the hovel the only conven- ient place he had for a schoolroom. This piece of intelligence created quite a buzz among the inmates of the quarters, and the subject was talked about by both old and young ; and all wondered who this Mr. Bates could be. The idea of going to school, and that too in the old hovel, was as novel to them, as that of teaching slaves was to the instructor. Mr. Bates thought that it was more than he " bar- gained for," and began to have some misgivings as to its propriety. Besides, he disliked the idea of being confined in so small an apartment, in such hot weather, with so many negroes. In afldition to its unpleasant- ness, the atmosphere there engendered might affect his health. In fine, he was fearful that he might contract some disease of a chronic type, that perhaps might remain in his system for the residue of life. His mind was uneasy, and he wished himself released from this part of the engagement. He did not desire, however, • to acknowledge this wish to Mr. Erskine. Such an acknowledgment might run counter to his ulterior de- signs ; and what those were, we will not now undertake to define. The next day, they were sitting in company on the piazza ; and Mr. Erskine, who had, in earnest, entered upon the design of giving his young negroes the benefits of an ordinary edupatien, was inquiring of 102 LIFE AT THK SOUTH J OE his schoolmaster what books it was desirable to buy at Millwood, for their use, as he proposed to make the purchase on the following day. "I will make a memorandum, sir," replied the schoolmaster; and, after a moment's pause, added, with some hesitation, "you have well weighed in your mind the feasibility of your plan of education. T presume ? " " Perfectly, Mr. Bates." " And the~propriety ? " " Of that, I have no doubt." " Can you inform me, Mr. Erskine, why it is that the education of the slave has not been a part of your system, here at the South?" modestly inquired the fichoolmaster. " Custom, I suppose, sir." "But there must have been a commencement to this custom! And there must have been a reason,! think." "Ah 1 yes, Mr. Bates. "Well, if I were to assign a reason, I should say that it was more the poverty of the owner than his unwillingness." " Why, how is that? I do not appreciate it." " I am not much read in our early history, sir ; but it has come traditionally, if you please, to me, that our ancestors were not overstocked with this world's goods ; and as it was necessary to buy the black, to till the fields, they could not afford to spare his time." " And he could learn to work without the aid of academical instruction ? " "Exactly, sir." imCLE TOM'S OABm AS IT IS. 103 "And then, his soul — what was to become of that, under the old system ? " " Ah ! sir, that 's the point, sure enough," i-emarked Mr. Erskine, and paused for reflection. " It was, doubtless, easy enough to learn them how to live, and how to work, but more difficult to lean- them how to die ! " "Ah! I recollect, my lather was accustomed to say that he had discharged his duty, both to the slaves and the Creator, by learning them how to die honestly J ''^ The answer of the schoolmaster, to this remark, was not ready, and he paused for reflection. "To accomplish this," continued Mr. Erskine, " they were taught to be honest to each other, to be honest to their master, to be honest to themselves; aud then they surely would be honest to their God." " And thus oe honest iu life, and honest in death ! " "Exactly, Mr. Bates." "It has occurred to me, Mr. Erskine," said the schoolmaster, very blandly, " that, in the benev jlence of your heart, you have verlooked one point." "Pray, what is that?" " K you give them too much knowledge, they may be unruly, and discontented with their lot." " I imagine not ; but, on the contrary, . work the harder, to increase their stipend, and, if discontented, be able to buy their freedom." "The task would look too big, and they would de- spair of ever being able to accomplish it. The bond- age would be galling to the mind, and they wouir 104 UFE AT THE SOtlTH; OK resort to all methods, to break the chain which held * them." " That certainly would be dishonest'. And do you mean to say that knowledge — learniDg, I mean — is uie twin sister of knaveryj " " Xot at all — not at all, Mr. Erskine. But the poet has written, " Where ignorance is Bliss, 't is folly to be wise,"' and these slaves of yom's are contented now, because, nnable to read, they appreciate no other condition of life. But, allow them to acquire information, and a change would speedily come o'er their spirit; and,, instead of expanding their energies for the good of the plantation, their thoughts would dwell on the in-^ numerable advantages of freedom, and be busy in schemes to reach them. If they failed, the creatures' would repine at their hard lot, and prove a curse t* the owner." " Am I to understand, then, that, as a Northerner, you disapprove of my plan of benevolence ? " " As a Nffrthefmer^ I might second it, for 1 consider slavery an evil ; but as a physician, asked fo prescribe some antidote for the ills of slavery, I say let it alone; it needs no medicine ; if left to itself, it will work its own cure." "True, nature is strong in her own constitution; and if you keep out drugs and purgatives, and not interrupt the machinery by accident or abuse, she will take care of herself. But I lieard so much said, when I was in tlie city of Washington, about educating the 105 black, I thoTight I would try it on, and see how it worked on a large scale. For yon must know, that many a slave, first and last, has been taught to read and write, and remained faithful to his master." The schoolmaster thought Mr. Erskine immovable. Yet, he inferred from the scope of his remarks, that some kind spot in his heart had been reached by the philanthropist ; and, for a wonder, he proposed to give the blacks some education, and thus discharge what, perhaps, he deemed a moral duty. "I said, Mr. Erskine, that I considered slavery an evil. Do not misunderstand me. I do not mean to say that it is a sin, involving moral depravity. The—" Mr. Erskine had a reply at hand, and was upon the point of uttering it, but as the schoolmaster evidently was not through, he simply remarked, " Proceed, sir, if you please." " He institution of slavery dates far back into anti- quity. Whoever hag read the page of history atten- tively, must have observed, that a system of vassalage has existed, to a greater or -less extent, in every age and country ; that individual has been subject to indi- vidual, and even nation to nation, until one has good reason for supposing, that it is a part of the great moral economy." "And if ever free, thev have worked themselves out of bondage, is it not so, sir ? " "Tou mean fought for their right to freedom, either by recompense or bright deeds ? " " Exactly, sir." 106 LtFE AT THE SOBTH; OE " Such is the record, as I read it," replied the schpol- nJasterj " and «uch being the record — the authenticity of which rests not either in doubt or conjecture — I can not conceive it to be your duty to jeopard rights that have come into your possession in. the ordinary course of .humanity. If you wish to give them away, my advice is, to sign an act of. emancipation at once, for then you will have prevented evil acts from evil designs, and not injure your neighbor." " I have too much confidence in my blacks to fear any such consequences. I do n't believe that you could hire them to run away, if that is your meaning," replied Mr. Erskine with abruptness. " "Well, sir, if you have fully considered the subject, and are ready to take the risk, I wiU commence the task of instruction, and see how it works,", replied the schoolmaster, abandoning, his project of changing the determination of Mr. Erskine, and withdrew to his chamber to make out a catalogue of books for the use of his pupils., ti^ ., !,;;><; The overseer was surprised, when he heard, what the planter proposed to do, and so expressed himself to him. But it was of no use. Mr, . Erskine had taken his position, and Pompey was dispatched, to ]M[ill- wood for such books as were designated hj the school- master. Ou the following Monday school commenced at the hovel in the lane, as previously arranged. The boys were there long before.the Jiour; and time with them moved so tardily, that they watched for the .entrance of the schoolmaster with nearly the same anxiety that UNOLE TOm's CABIN AS IT IS. 107 children at the circus look for the entrance of the down into the ring. Indeed, it is quite likely that they anticipated some amateur performance in the art of legerdemain, or the feats of the gymnasium. He at length made his appearance, and was received with silent hut respectful attention. "Their manners are good," he thought to himself, " and with a pliable dis- position, I shall make them learn." The negresses, and some of the negroes who hung back from work that morning, came down, as they said, to see the show, and were loitering around the schoolhouse, surmising a variety of things that were to happen. Neither Jeff nor Csesar could persuade themselves to remain away. " Wha' is de gemman guine ti> do wid dat stick?" asked the former, pointing to a beechen switch that the schoolmaster laid on the table. Csesar, casting his eyes in that direction, suggested that " He was guine to whip the boys." " Golly ! dat 's um, ar' it? I '11 seed to dat," said Jef^ and walked to the door of the hovel, and looked for his Joe. " Here Joe," said he, " come out of dar. I 'U do my own flogging." The schoolmaster expressed his astonishment at this unceremonious intrusion, and remarked that " school had only just begun." "And when does nm end?" inquired Jeff, in a saucy tone of voice. "I shall report you to your master, sir, if any more disturbance is created. I command silence, and as you do not belong to the school, I request you to go 108 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OB about your own business," replied? the scboolmastBi^, with earnestness. " "Well, den, jist say wha' you are guine to do wdd. dat stick afore you ?-" "It is none of your business, sir! you black dirty clout. And if you don't remove yourself, from the doorway, I '11 try its virtues upon, you," said the schoolmaster, and seized the switek. to put his thxeaJi in execution. Jeff's disposition was of- the timid kind, and enter-^ taining a feeling of horror at personal violence^, espe* ciaUy to himself, he left the hovel. Mr. Bates ascertarined, upon examination, that. the boys, for the most part, were ignorant of the aiphabet-, and that he must devote most of his sehool hoars in Ifeamihg his pupils their letters. This seemed so much like teaching an infent'-schooli that be felt humbled, and was ashamed and vexed with himself, that he must " stoop so low to conquer." TSiere did not seem, However, to be any other alternative than to proceed in this humble calling, and he accordingly devoted himself to the work, with as much earnestness and heart as he could muster. It seemed to him, that their minds were not as bright as those of white persons of a siinilar age. For he experienced great difficulty in making them comprehend the instruction. On account of his iiiexperience, he at first thought this dullness might be attributable to an absence of simplicity in his method of instruction, as he had been. for years engaged in seminaries where the higher branches of learning were taught. And he directed his attention 109 to that point. But, either he did not ma.ke much pro- gress in acquiring the art of teaching these fundamen- tal rudiments of education, or else the, hoys were uncommonly stupid — for it was certain that they did •not make mudi headway. He had run his school into the fourth week, and they could scarcely, with one or two exceptions, spell a word with one syllable. Yet, 'he thought, be had earned his wages, and consoled himself with this reflection. His duties, however, at the mansion, were more congenial to his feelings, and recompensed him, in some measure, for his unhappi- ness at the hoTel: Teaching there seemed more like teaching ; and the hours of recreation were enlivened by the smiles^ blandishments, and accomplishments of the sweet Mary. ^Frederick, among other branches of ■study,' was engaged upon the la,w of nations, using Vattel as his text-book. This, together with Paley's Philosophy, occupied the most of his school hours. He was thus, not only acquiring information upon the eubject of international rights, but acquainting himself minutely with the moral rights and duties of ^persons, in all the diversified relations of life. "When he ■reached tiiat part of Paley which treats of slavery, he was unable to perceive or comprehend the moral right under which his father held the service of his slaves, remarking to Mr. Ba,tes, that their ancestors may have come from- Africa, and sufiered the horrors of the middle passage.- " That would not affect the right, unless knowledge of their condition in Africa was known to the original purchaser, and not even that, at this day, for ths 110 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OE present slaves owe their life and means of living t* you, and until that debt is discharged, can not, even on Mr. Paley's principle, claim their freedom," replied the schoolmaster. " Do you mean to assert that the hlood which flows in Pompey's veins was ever free?" inquired Frederick. " As to that, I can not say. But, there are many slaves whose ancestors did come from Africa." " And what was their condition in that country ? " "Their own masters, of course, as black is the color indigenous to the human race in that country." " If so, how happens it, then, that they became slaves ? Por certainly no nation, without violating the law as laid down in Vattel, could rob them of their freedom. And this country has not made war upon Africa." " Oh ! as to that," replied the schoolmaster, desirous of terminating the colloquy, " you must know, or if you do not, let me inform yon, that there are many tribes in that country, each striving for the mastery over the other ; and the more powerful sell, to the white men, those whom they subject to their dominion, for trinkets, and gold, and such other commodities as may be offered in exchange." " Then they are not their own masters, after all, but have lost their freedom before they are, in common parlance, ' sold into slavery ; ' is not this so? " " I think it is said, that they are sometimes caught and manacled, when acting as their own masters, on their native soil." "By whom?" tWOtE tOM's CABtN AS ITIS. Ill *' The oflBcers of some negro king." " Against whose power they can not defend them- selves ? " " Of course that must be the reason." " Then, according to this same Doctor Paley, their natm-al rights were lost, because they had not the power to protect themselves. To speak nearer the mark, their rights, in this respect, were never perfect. Not possessing the means of subsistence for man, even in the natural state, their rights were imperfect, for the reason that they could not retain the dominion over the earth. And when it came to that point, ignorant of all art or science, they must either starve and die, or work for their superiors and live. They, obeying the impulses of nature, involuntarily preferred the latter, and became slaves. Is not this so ? " "I believe, Frederick, you state the case as it is. But it was the triumph of ' might against right.' In a moral point of view, the superior ought not to have taken advantage of necessity, and reduced .them to vassalage fvrev&r, but only for such a length of time as would enable them to ransom their freedom." " And pray, what was that, but the price of their subsistence for life ? " " It does not appear so ; for a small sum, the king would suffer them to return to their savannas and fastnesses, and inhale once more the glorious air of freedom ! " " Ah ! my instructor, but will you be so kind as to intimate where that small sum was to be obtained? Not from their own means, for they possessed nothing; 5* ma LIFE AT- TSB SOUTH '^ OR not from labor for thej king,, for he had no labor for them to perform." The schoolmaster was puzzled for a reply, and hesi- tated what to say, " If they could have pawned their bodies for the sum demanded^" finally said he, "they would have escaped the thraldom of the king." "That was done, sir, and they are now, morally speaking, in the hands of the pawnbroker, awaiting redemption." This reply was unexpected to Mr. Bates. He felt that his pupil thotight deeper than himself, and this impression wounded his vanity ; but he was unwilling to acknowledge it, by his silence. " The weakness or poverty of those imbecile crea- tures, in their original state, does not excuse tiie rapa^ city. Like the wild animal, it was their right to roam at pleasure ; and like the birds of the air, to make their habitations wherever they might chance to light. Such was their destiny, as allotted by an overruling Power," remarked the schoolmaster, at the same time closing the text-book. " And in the dispensation of Providence,, by that same overruling Power, their destiny allotted them for a different sphere of action from the animal and the bird ; for they have neither the instinct of the former, nor the heavenly nature of the latter," replied the pupil. " "Well, really, Frederick, you will some day become a metaphysician. But. you must learn to abandon sophistry." UNCLE TOM's cabin AS IT IS. 113 " Why, sir, is there not a king among animals, as well as among birds ? Think yon, that the lion would consent to starve, because the jackal had nothing to eat ; or would the eagle let loose his prey, from his high cliff in the skies, because the buzzards were famishing below f " Oh ! certainly not." *'Then, upon what principle of moral justice, can you reverse l3iis order of Divinity, and make the crea- tor supply the wants of the creature, without the right of demanding a recompense in return ? " Mr. Bates had no answer to make, but contented himself with simply saying that the lesson for that day was satisfactorily recited, and descended the stairs for arecreation, Mary was sitting in the drawing-room, as chirp as a bird, and as blooming as a rosebud. She appeared to have the faculty of enjoyment. With a guileless heart, and a mind free of care, every hour came laden with fresh delights, and she wondered why others could be unhappy- Fond of reading, and a proficient in music, the time passed lightly with her; and her brothers were always ready to cater for her amusement. And when they were absent at the schoolroom, and her father abroad upon the plantation, tired of thumbing the piano, "many a time and oft" would she place her harp upon the window, and, listening to its wild Bymphonious notes, as the balmy zephyrs came o'er it, look out upon the valley and the hills, with the grow- ing crops and green foliage, that never looked half so lovely before. She was thus amusing herself, when 114 LIFE AT THE SOTTTH ; OK a gentleman entered the door. So much interested was she in the contemplation of the scene before her, that she did not notice him. As a surprise, he came softly to her side, and for a moment joined in the view. So wrapt were her senses in the enchantment, that his presence did not attract attention. " Mary ! " he abruptly exclaimed. The voice star- tled her, and as she turned her face and looked up, she was accosted with a kiss from the lips of the schoolmaster. She pushed them away with her hands; the blood, with magic celerity, rnshed deeply into her countenance, and she instantly rose from her seat and left the room. As she passed through the hall, she caught the eye of Frederick, and she walked it witifei such rapid strides, so unlike her usual gait, that his curiosity was awakened to know the cause, and he ran to overtake her. " Mary, Mary ! " exclaimed the brother, " what trou- ble has overtaken you? what in the world is the matter?" " Oh ! Frederick, I know not what to think or say," she replied, her eyes moistened with tears. "Why! pray tell me what is the trouble, Mary?" said her brother, very excitedly. "An insult." "An insult!" loudly exclaimed her brother, and ready to avenge it. "From whom? and where? Tell it to me, Mary, and the miscreant shall atone for it." " The drawing-room," was the reply, and Frederick turned to go thither. rwoLE tom's casts as rris. 116 "Stop," she quickly added, and Frederick again turned, to listen to what his sister might say. " I may be too fast. It may have been intended as a joke, although the manner of it shocked my feelings too much, so to receive it." " Again, I ask yon what it was, and from whom ? " Mary explaiued. " The schoolmaster I Mr. Bates, our schoolmaster 1 " said Frederick. "It was Mr. Bates, and I presume you will now find him in the room, by the window." Frederick was astonished at this freedom of the schoolmaster ; and at a loss how to construe it, whethei as an affiont or a playful jest, he walked into the draw ing-room. And sure enough, there was the schoolmas- ter, at the window, listening to the melody of the harp, as unconcerned as if nothing uncommon had occurred. ' Have yon seen Mary, since you come down stairs ? " said Frederick to the schoolmaster, as if he had not seen her himself. " Yes. She only now passed out into the hall. Did you not meet her ? She can not be far off." " No, I did not meet her," said Frederick, ironically, " but I overtook her at the end of the hall. She was in tears, sir ! " " Ah ! I am very sorry to hear that." " And in consequence of an insult from you, sir ! " " Insult ! Oh ! not at aU. Ton allude to the kiss, I suppose." " I think you certainly must concede it to be a great impropriety, sir." 116 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OB " Why, Frederick, I know of no reason for giving it that name. It is not so viewed at the 1;^ orth." "Of itself, sir, quite harmless. But the manner in which yon saluted my sister, makes the act objec- tionable." " I beg the pardon of both of you." "Too much familiarity upon so short an acquaint- ance." " I will take care and not repeat it," said the school- master, biting his nether lip ; and leaving the window, sallied out upon the piazza, and then down the lawn, and meeting Mr, Erskine, they walked to the brow of the hill in the rear of the mansion ; and then strolling to the river, whiled away the afternoon in chatting over the news of the day. rarOLB T0M?8 CABIH AS IT IS. 117 C HAPTER VIII. •v'«E bS,\.is\i"T i:eagu:e op bebeixioii. Bketucoio. — Let aB the rest be there : I have a stranger to present to them. Cu,zKDAao. — A stranger 1 doth he kno-w the secret ? Besttjcoio. — Yes. • CALEKDABC-r-Ajid have you dared to peril your fiends' Urea On a rash confidence in one we know not 1 We left TTncle Tom, some pages back, in possession of " his feelings " again, and vexed, in addition, be- canse he conld not bring Jeff into hie views. , Those feelings daily became worse and worse ; they were a torment to him throngh the day, and were his evil spirits at night. His appearance and actions did not escape the notice of Dinah. Ever alive to her hus- band's prosperity and happiness, she was more sensible than would have been ackaowledged, to the keen and nnceasing anguish in which her dear Tom seemed to writhe day in and day out, from week to week. She would offer palliatives for its assuagement, but they were uniformly declined. Aware of the jealousy en- tertained by him toward the open-minded and tender- hearted Hector, she, on mora occasions than one. 118 UFE AT THE SOtlTa ; OB Ventured to mention the subject, hoping to discdter the tender point, and, if practicable, soften the asper- ity, if not heal the wound. But these advances of her's were not only, in the end, simply declined, but they were rejected in cold disdain^ and, not unfre- quently, in vociferous anger. And thus finding her- self debarred the pleasure of sharing or alleviating his ills, she submissively yielded to the necessity, and prayed in her heart that he might become a more duti- ful servant, and a better man. When it was announced at the quarters, that Mr. Erskine had engaged a teacher for the little children, no one was heard to ecoff but Uncle Tom. It was true, that he could not appreciate the favor, for he knew not what education was ; but whatever it might be, he believed there was a sinister motive that actuated the master. Prejudice — perhaps it might be more charitable to say madness — had so warped or blinded his innate sense of right and wrong, that he was unwilling to think, for an instant of time, even, that the same kind heart which, in its bountiM goodness, had hovered over him for nearly half a cen- tury, could now overlook his "short comings," and, like an angel of grace, not only forgive him, hut bless his blood, even to the second , generation. And, for aught we know, it may seem sti;ange to any person. But Mr. Erskine's property descended to him by inher- itance. If he had more or other slaves, the same was the gift of nature, nourished and sustained by his paternal care. His means were abundant for shelter and sustenance; his confidence in the affection of his household was unbounded ; and if the rising generation 119 was susceptible of education, he believed that its ac- quirement would redound to their happiness and his advantage. Besides, at Washington, he had heard much sympathy expressed for the ignorance of the blacks ; and he fully resolved that he would learn, by practical illustration, how far removed they were from the condition of the brute. That they would avail themselves of the lights of knowledge, to do wrong, he did not believe. And if possessed of consciences, like the free-born, he believed that these silect lecturers would be so many monitors, to confjie them to the path of rectitude. It happened that two of Uncle Tom's children at- tended the school. One of them was a bright lad, and studious. And such was the proficiency which he made, as compared with his fellow-students, that he attracted the attention of the schoolmaster, and some- times was petted, at the expense of the other pnpils. Naturally enough, this familiarity banished from the mind of the lad any bashful reserve, and by degrees ripened into a fondness for the society of his teacher. After the " school hours " were over, and his associates were wending their way homeward, he would linger at the hovel until Mr. Bates was ready. Finally, one day, and soon after the unpleasant interview with Frederick in the drawing-room, the schoolmaster in- qtiired whose chUd he was. He said that his mother was called Dinah, and his father Uncle Tom. " Ah ! him that has a cabin with a veranda in front. • Yery good. Can you say to your father, that he has a smart son, and that if he will stray dovra 120 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OK the lane, after dark, he will hear something to his advantage ? " "Tes, mass'r." " That 's a good boy ; and here is a penny for your pains." The lad made a very thanlsM bow, and ran to over- take the other children. "Stop!" said the schoolmaster, and the command was no sooner nttered than obeyed. " Be careful and not mention what I have told you. It is for your father's ear alone." " Yes, mass'r." " And you will be sure not to forget the errand ? " " Yes, mass'r," replied the lad, and ran up the lane at the top of his speed. Mr. Bates did not converse with his usual freedom, at the tea-table that evening. He had no observations to make, or questions to ask, and his replies were in monosyllables. The atmosphere was sultry and ener- vating, and Mr. Erskine, who was peculiarly fond of a chat over his coffee cup, excused this unsociableness, at- tributing it to the weariness of the weather. Frederick and Mary, neither of whom had mentioned the scene in tiie drawing-room, attributed the schoolmaster's reserve to that. And so belie\ang, they more strongly sus- pected that there was a design in it;' especially as he, at the time of the occurrence, endeavored to make so light of it. Mary, therefore, and also Frederick, instead of regretting the dullness and unamiableness of Mr. Bates, were glad to be relieved from his pres- ence, and were as much disinclined to converse. As UNCLB Tom's oabin ab itib. 131 Boon, as coffee was over, the schoolmaster withdrew to his- chamber, and the family to the piazza, to fan themselves, and enjoy the light breezes of the evening. " Come, Marj', can you not sing me that sweet fev- orite of yours, or is it too crnel to ask yon, when the air is so oppressive?" said the father. "The air is never too oppressive to gratify yon," B^Ued-the daughter, and reached for her guitar* And while his brow was fanned by the delicious breezes, that now began^ " to creep gently o'er" tibe valley from the. billR beyond, she fingered her light instrtimeat, aad he< listened to it& plaintive hut ecstatic strains, as as she sang, in the richest melody, the following Enmple linefl of Shelley : Good night ? ah I no ; the hour is ill, Which severs those it should unite ; Let us remain together still, Then it -will be. good Dighb< Ho-w can I caU the lone night good, ThJongh thy sweet wishes wing its flight ? Be it not said, thoagh understood, Tb«»-it will be good nig^t. To hearts which' near each other move. From evening close to morning light, The night is good ; because, my lovej They never sat good night. "ExeellteBt^ ISfery; and I will beg you to repeat it again, some other evening," said her father, delighted wilJi tiie song and her filial affection. Mr. Bates listeaed in bis (^mber^ and was envious of the happiness which prevailed. Soon after nightfall, 122 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OE he crept silently down the stairs, and passing ont of the back door of the hall, directed his footsteps, with a soft, bnt quick tread, toward the hovel. Fearful, lest Uncle Tom might not meet him according to the appointment ; and perhaps, vain of the notice paid to him by the schoolmaster, divnlge the lad's errand at the quarters, he hurried his gait, as he approached the lane, to remove his suspense. "When he neared the hovel, hearing no footsteps but his own, and seeing " no signs of life," his heart began to throb with rapid pulsation. He thought to return, but upon going to the door and looking inside, sure enough, Uncle Tom had promptly complied with the request, and was seated in the schoolroom, quietly awaiting his arrival. The slave rose as the schoolmaster entered, and uncov- ering his head, placed his hat under his arm. " Resume your seat," said the schoolmaster, in the tone almost of a whisper, " and we will converaa freely and at our leisure." " Berry good, mass'r," replied Unde Tom, aui was again seated. "What is the age of your little boy? " " 'Bout ten, I 'spect, mass'r." " He is full of brains." "Takes arter his fader, den," said Unde Tom, laughingly, and proud of the compliment. " So I supposed. And when I reflected upon his lowly lot in life, I thought that the possession of so much brain would be a curse to him, as he grew up." " Ki, mass'r, enty he guiue to be good ? " "Ohl not that." mroLE: tom'b oAsm as rr is. 123 "Wlia' yon goine to say, mass'rl" asked Uncle Tom, who naturally disliked indirection, and impatient to understand the Bchoolmaster's idea. " As he grows into manhood, his brains will grow stronger and stronger, and develope their power more and more." " Berry like, mass'r." " AnAif Mr. Erskine really carries out his plan of education, as now commenced, the lad will be able to appreciate the natural rights of man in aU their phases ; and, repining at his hard &te, his anguish of mind will be keener, and he will be more miserable than he would be, if he remained ia ignorance. "I>nnno, mass'r." " I know it will be so ; and it is a great pity, I sometimes think I will abandon the school. I do not like to be an instrument of misery to any person." " An' den not learn nm any more, mass'r?" "Not here." " Whar' den? my ole massa hab no oder place." " In a more Northern latitude." " Can not be done, mass'r." " Why not ? I could take him home with me." "Wha'! mass'r, wha'! you guine to hab ran run away? No, no," said Uncle Tom, shaking his head. " I am astonished that you decline the offer." " Wha'! mass'r, your hab um run away from friends, an! guang aiflong enemies, an' hab nothin' to eat! No, no." ; ... " You have a queer notion of the state of fr> ■^ord which the schoolmaster happened to use. " I do not understand you, Abe." 'iDar 's, in ole Yirginny, a law 'gainst stealing away niggers, an' dat sticks in my crop." " Oh ! this is the trouble. Why, man, you need have no fear on that account. In the first place yw, do not propose to steal Uncle Tom, and if you did, the proof of the crime mnst precede conviction." "If I should git de slave his freedom, it would be known all over Millwood in a jiff." " JiTot if you used ordinary discretion, and kept your thoughts to youreelf." " 'Case I was away from de stable, wonld be de Reason of my being fcmd out, mass'r." " Ah ! I see. If you icVlc^ts^ 3iy direction, you would not be absent froni you- xiwaal place of work. i38 LIFE AT THE SOtTTH ; OK And am not I — ajwbite man — incurring as mnch risk as you ? " " Yas, mass'r." " I have no fear. As I read the great book, it justi fies me in doing my duty, leaving the consequences to God ! " " "Well, mass'r, dis nigger hardly knows what to do It would do my ole heart good to help Uncle Tom He is de prince of niggers. I knows um long time ago." " Then say you will put your shoulder to the wheel, and we will proceed in the business ; or we will break up our meeting, and abandon the slave to his lowly lot. It is for you to decide the question. I am con- trolled by my pure feeling of philanthropy for the oppressed. So far as my own personal interest is con- cerned, it is of no consequence to me, whether the slaves remain in their present condition^ or bask in the sunshine of freedom." "Abe, you hab gone too far to back out; say j'as," implored the slave. " Mass'r, I must ax you question," said Abe, turu ing to the schoolmaster, who had risen from his seat, apparently with the intention of bidding them good night. " Very good. You shall be answered." " 'Spose we follow your directions, are you sure, mass'r, dat you bring um out safe in de end ? " " Beyond a doubt.'* " So mass'r told dis nigger," remarked the slave. " Den I am resolved,, mass'r," replied Abe. 139 This determination was gratifying, as well to the schoolmaster as the slave ; and even Abe felt relieved at his heart, when he made the announcement. '• Come, then,"' said the former, " we will now pro ceed at once to plan the escape. We have lost much time bj your dalliance in coming squarely up to the work." "Sa! mass'r,"' exclaimed Abe, a little alarmed, or' perhaps, beginning to be afraid of the schoolmaster; for his address was suddenly different — assuming more the lordly air of a master, than that of a boon companion. " We must now lay out our work, and concoct the means of executing it promptly. There must be no dilatoriness now, and each must be sure to do his pait." " Berry good, mass'r." "To begin with, we must be careful and not divulge onr secrets, only to those of the blacks who come into the arrangement." " No, mass'r. How many are to know um ? " " Every slave in this valley who will join us." "Wha', mass'r! all de niggers dat ar' n't free? " " Certainly." " T is unpossible, mass'r." " That is a mistake of yours, Abe. It is easier for, say twenty, to go away in company, than one." "How is dat?" "Why, they can defend themselves, if attacked, with surer success ; and then, if they make their escape, they can form a community by themselves, in the land of freedom." 14v) LIFE AT THE SOUTH ; OE "• How is it, Uncle Torn ? are there oder niggers dat am guine to run off? " " Mass'r thinks so. I 'm guine to see." " And, Abe, we must proceed to learn this by de- grees. We must not be in too great a hurry." " Berry good." "Uncle Tom will sound them on this point. He has already learned of some who would avail them- selves of the opportunity at the proper time. Is it not so, Tom?" "Tas, mass'r." " And when we know, with certainty, those that can be relied upon, all must meet together, and an-ange the details." " How long, first, mass'r ? " " I should suppose, within ten days, at the furthest." " An' whar shall we meet ? " " That must depend upon circumstances. You and Uncle Tom can arrange that." " Jist so. I shall be at de ole stable, and can be told when to come up." "Not at all. Tou must do the ninning. It will not answer for the slave to go backward and forward to Millwood. That of itself would create suspicion. To avoid this, we propose to use you as messenger between tlie slaves." " Berry good." " "We wish you, to-morrow and the next day, to visit your old friends in the valley, and, as occasion may offer, talk to them of freedom. Get the names of those who are anxious to enjoy it, and who, in your dpinion, TJTTCLE TOm's CABIN AS FT IS. 141 have the pluck to use the means to reach it, and report to us here. "We will then canvass them, and deter- mine how we are to approach them, and divulge the plan. Can yon do this, Abe? " "Yas, mass'r, an' I will do it. I neber put my hand to de plough an' look back." " Do n't mention um to Dinah. I '11 do dat part." "Yas, Uncle Tom." "And be sure and impress upon their minds the impossibility of failure, if they will follow your direc- tion. But be carefal and not let them know of this meetilig, nor of any concert of action between us now. Otherwise, the whole scheme may be frustrated." " On dat head, I shall be as mum as a 'possum, mass'r." " Very well, we now understand each other, and our Becrets are one. We will now part company, to meet here again at the time I have designated," said the schoolmaster, satisfied that his scheme of emancipation would work successfully. Abe, the free negro, was busy circulating among the slaves, in accordance with the direction of the school- master, during the following two days. Contrary to his expectation, he did not find the blacks disposed to ran away. In fact, excepting in two or three instances, and on as many plantations, he did not find any that had given the subject a thought. Contented" as they were, their views of freedom had not gone beyond the condition of those blacks who had purchased their time of their masters. And the condition of many of this latter class presented to their minds no very 14:2 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OK attractive features ; and as for going off — away off — from the land of their nativity, among entire strangers, this idea was repulsive to their fadings, and not enter- tained for a moment. Abe concluded, that most of them, instead of fighting their masters to make an escape, would fight those who should attempt " to run them into freedom." And even those who fancied a trip, did not evince much anxiety to undertake it, as, in the language of some of them, as reported by Abe, "it would be too long for pleasure." However, he met Uncle Tom and the schoolmas- ter at the appointed time, and reported all he had seen and heard. It was unwelcome information, and damped their hopes. Uncle Tom was not aware that his actions were the promptings of revenge. The schoolmaster had depicted the beauties of freedom in such glowing colors, and his desire to deliver himself from the servility due to his master was so great, that he did not stop to inquire whether his fellow-slaves would experience sensations like himself, but thought only of the gratification of his own wish and desire. And when Abe, in the honest fulfillment of the duty which he had taken upon himself to perform, detailed the numerous' conversations he had with the various blacks on the several plantations in the valley, it oc- curred, for the first time, to the slave, that, perhaps, it was ndt simply freedom which he seeked to enjoy. He now began to reason with himself; and the more he reflected, the more he feared that he should fail, and be more miserable than ever he was before. The schoolmaster observed his downcast appearance, and 143 attributed it to that despondency which is the natural concomitant of ill luck. " Xever mind, Uncle Tom," said he " all the blacks would jump into freedom, if chance offered ; they hate to walk there, as yon do. They will be glad to em- brace the opportunity of escape, when the way thereof is told them in detail. No being with a soul, can con- tentedly remain and endure the low degradation of slavery — that infamy of infamies." These remarks were words of encouragement, and well calculated to straighten into line again his un- steady mind, now oscillating, as it were, between the revengeful feelings of a haughty heart and the dazzling visions of a distempered imagination. " N eber mind my looks, mass'r ; I 'm all right here," said the slave, bringing his hand upon his breast; " when it gives out here, den I will hollar stop." , "Ah! yes, that is the true spirit. I knew I had not mistaken my man. Ton, sir, were bom for free- dom ! " replied the schoolmaster, gratified that he now saw his way clear once more. "Well, mass^r," said Abe, "what is your direction? I have not mnch more time to lose." " Do you suppose that the blacks you have named can be trusted ? " " Tas, mass'r." "Have they had any altercation with their mas ters?" "Dunno." "It is a pity. II they had, their appetites for a runaway would be keener." 144 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OK "They will bite sharp, if yon gib um de vict'als, mass'r." "Sureof that, Abe?" " Oh ! I know'd so, mass'r." " "Well, we will trust to their honor." " Agreed to, mass'r." "Invite them — where shall we say? Abe, give me your counsel." " Dunno, mass'r. Somewhar' dat 's secret." "I was thinking of some other place; but, on the whole, I think that this is the spot." " Yas, mass'r," said Uncle Tom. " Very good. Can you see them to-day, Abe ? " " Oh ! I 'spects so." "Ask them to come here to-morrow night; and, Abe, tell thera to be sure and come separately ; for, if they come in squads, it might attract attention." " Yas, mass'r." " And say to them, not to come until after it is dark." " Yas, Abe, pitch dark ! " said Uncle Tom. " Agreed to, gemmen," replied the ostler, in a tone of voice not much above a whisper ; and this council was adjourned accordingly. Abe went to the cabin of a trusty friend, on the neighboring plantation, to tarry for the night. His name' was Caesar, but not the same Caesar spoken of before. He was smart, and ripe for freedom. Con- trary to orders, Abe had made a confidant of this Caesar, and he was up, awaiting Abe's return, when he entered the cabin. Although long past the usual 146 hour of going to bed, such was Caesar's anxiety to know what transpired at the hovel, that he prevailed upon Ahe to acquaint him with all the particulars. And when the loquacious hostler finished his story, Caesar, for the first time, intimated his distrust of the schoolmaster. Abe was astonished that Caesar should talk so, and insisted that he was the best of friends to the poor slave, and worthy of unlimited confidence. Caesar finally admitted, that it was the part of gener- osity, not to condemn him unheard ; and, if he was a snake in the grass, they should hear his rattle or hiss in due time to escape his venom. Caesar, however, was happy to learn that the arrangement was rapidly progressing to a head, and laid down upon his bed and slept soundly. We can not say the same of the hostler. He passed a sleepless night, tossing to and fro in the bunk, and " looked worse for wear " in the moming. But his heart was not faint, and he executed the orders of the schoolmaster with undeviating fidel- ity, and when night came, he was the first at the hovel. Mr. Bates did not keep school on that day, and being unwell, as he said, kept -himself close in his chamber. At evening, he walked out to refresh himself with the night-breeze, and took occasion to stop at the hovel, soon after Abe entered it. It was not long before the blacks, who had been invited there, began to assemble ; and the sable flock, with its white shephei-d, were soon gathered into the fold. Perceiving so many together, agreeably to their promise, and among the number several from his own 146 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OB quarters, Uncle Tom " took courage," and was remark- ably pleasant. He had not looked so much like him- self for many weeks. " "Well, mass'r," said Abe, " my boys are here." " Close the door, Tom, that there may be no eaves- droppers." " Yas, mass'r," replied the slave, and stepped as nimbly as a boy ; " I fasten um tight, mass'r.'' " How many are here to embark in this enterprise ? " " Ten of um, mass'r," replied the hostler. " If there are any cowards, now is the time for them to stand up. !None ! Very good. We will march to freedom together." " All ready for dis consult." 'The sooner we put the plans in execution, the better will be the chance of success." " I agrees to dat," remarked Jeff, the fiddler. " Yas, mass'r," said Jack, who belonged on a plan- tation near Millwood. " ]^o delay. I 'm guine to be free in a jiff," said the Caesar who had lodged Abe. " Yas, mass'r," echoed all. " Excellent spirit ; but we must take care and cover our tracks. It is easier to talk than to act. We must observe secrecy, and act together as a unit." " Yas, mass'r. Tell um wha' to do, and I '11 bo boun' dat ebery ting will come out exactly as you said." " We must have some place of rendezvous; Where shall that be ? You know the make of the country roundabout, better than myself." ITNCLE TOm's cabin AS ITIS. 147 " Dunno, mass'r. Speak um yotirself," said Abe. " Perhaps some of cm- comrades do know. I should hke to hear some of them express their views." " Oh ! mass'r, I know'd good place," remarked Jeff, and all gave their attention. " Name it, if you please." " Way up on de high hill in de foot path. I lay'd dar one artemoon, an' nobody come along but de lightnen an' thunder. Berry secret place ; an' mass'r .you hab no tracks dar; you can kiver um up wid de leaves. Oh ! bags, bags of um up dar ! " "Pshaw! you simpleton. You misunderstand my meaning, when I say that we must cover our tracks." " Wha' ! wha' dat, mass'r? " asked Jeff, who was not alone in his wonderment. " We must proceed so stealthy that the pursuers will not hear our footsteps, and keep our thoughts to our- selves, so that there will be nothing from which they can conjecture our designs, or learn whither we are going." " Oh ! dat 's it, mass'r. Berry good. They will not cotch dis nigger. When I starts, I 'm guine like a race-horse," said Jeff, in no respect miffed by the harsh remark of the schoolmaster. " I think," finally said the schoolmaster, " that Abe's barn at Millwood, is the place for the rendezvous. Why say you ? " " Dat 's um," was the universal response. " An' when, mass'r? " inquired the hostler. " Ah ! that is a very important item in our league. Our friends, I presume, can name the time better than myself. What say you to this ? " 148 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OB "Suit your own convenience, mass'r," said Uncle Tom. " Can you all be ready to move on from the rendez- vous two weeks from to-night ? " " Tas, mass'r," was the united reply. "Well, then, let that be the time. And as you assemble at the barn, come into the town from differ- ent directions ; and go leisurely along the street, ^as if you had nothing in particular upon your mind. In the intermediate time, get yourselves in readiness for a long jom-ney, and fill your pockets with as much ready money as you conveniently can, so that you may have something to defray necessary expenses." " Gosh, Uncle Tom, dat ar' advice will fetch us to de state of freedom ! '" exclaimed Jeff. " Is this the order of our arrangement ? If any one has objection, let him make it known now." The entire company approved of the plan of the schoolmaster, and nodded assent. " Two weeks from to-night, then, at Millwood," he reiterated, as they began to depart for their several quarters ; " and forget not our league ; for if you do, slavery is your lot, and justly too, forever and ever." " No, mass'r," answered all ; and ere long, the old hovel was as silent as the grave. Abe rested easier that night, and Uncle Tom was in ecstacy. UKOLE rOU'S CABIN AS ITIB. 149 CHAPTEKIX. THE SUEPEISE. "We '11 meet it As men whose triumph is not in success. Bat who can make their own minds all iu all Eqnal to every fortune." "We are now to return to that part of onr story where we left Mr. Erskine and the family on the piazza of the mansion, enjoying the cool of the evening. He was to set out the following morning for Winchester, to attend the assize, and Pompey had received direc- tions to accompany him. He so informed Mr. Bates, when the latter snggested the purchase of more school books; but as the same were needed for immediate use, and Mr. Erskine probably would be detained foi several days, Uncle Tom was dispatched instead, aa already mentioned. During his stay at court, it so happened that, one day, Mr. Erskine fell in company with the bookseller , and in the course of the conversation, he observed to the bookseller, that his young slaves were making rapid- progress in acquiring the rudiments of education. (60 LIFE AT THE Sr":TH I OB " I have not mucli faith in your plan," replied the bookseller. " Whether they will recollect the teachings of the schoolmaster, is more than I can undertake to say ; but I do not understand why their memory is not to be regarded as reliable in this particular as in the recol- lection of the duties which they are taught to perform, day after day." " They will not be troubled so much to remember as to learn. They can not bring their minds to the sub- ject; that is the trouble, sir; their brains are too light; too fond of play and frolic — too facile: light- headed race, sir — not designed for education." " Oh ! but I know, already, that you are mistaken in that opinion. They appear to learn rapidly — very rapidly. Why, sir, it was only a day or two since, you know, that I was under the necessity of getting from you a fresh instalment of books ; the first supply being disposed of — entirely learned by the little fellows — and, so that no time be lost, it was necessary to buy more books without delay." " I was not aware of that circumstance, sir." " Not aware of it ! " " No, sir." - " Ah ! you were not in your store when ray slave, Tom, got the last batch." "I was at home, sir, when your Tom called, the other day, certainly ; but he received no new books, sir," said the bookseller, regretting that he had missed a sale to the planter. " What ! Tom received no new books ! Why, there T3N0LE TOM's CABIIT AS IT IS. 151 is a mistake somewhere in this matter," said the planter, with an expression of great surprise in his countenance. " No, sir ; Tom got no hooks." "The devil! You are forgetful — very forgetful. Why, sir, Tom brought home a receipt for the same ; and what is more, I believe I have it now in my pocket- book," said the planter, and he looked over his papers for the receipt which the slave gave to him at the mansion, upon his return from Winchester. "There, sir — there is your receipt for the payment of the last parcel which you sold me," added the planter, hand- ing the paper to the bookseller ; " read it, sir, if you please." "Yes, sir; this is my handwriting; I recollect the circumstance. It runs as follows : ' Received of Mr . Bates, the grammarian, ten 50-100 dollars, in full for account, per the hand of Mr. Erskine, planter, near Millwood. Thos. Ewbank.' AU right." " To be sure it is all right, Mr. Ewbank. I knew- you would recollect Tom's getting the' books." " You are under a misapprehension, Mr. Erskine ; Tom got no new books. The money was received by me, to square an old account against Mr. Bates. It had been running several months." " JS^o new books ! to square an old account against Mr. Bates, my schoolmaster ! The devil ! Well, this is a misapprehension. Inexplicabla — it is really in- explicable. I confess, I am surpaised. And Tom got no new books, d' ye say ? " "No, sir, he got no new books. He merely called 153 LIFE AT THE SOITTH ; OB into the store, handed to me the money, I wrote him the receipt, he took it — that was all." " Not a word 'bout new books ? " "No, sir; not a lisp, that- 1 heard, about any more books." " Why, did he not have a line, or verbal message, from Mr. Bates to yon, sir ? " " Ah ! I remember ; he handed me a note from Mr. Bates, to the effect, I think, that enclosed was the money ^ and requesting me to give a voucher therefor. Of course, sir, I applied the money as I understood it; and I could understand its application in no other sense, for he had repeatedly promised to liquidate the account, and I was expecting its receipt daily," replied Mr. Ewbank, for the purpose of removing all suspicion from the mind of the planter, that he had intentionally and without authority appropriated the money to the credit of the schoolmaster; for it was evident to his mind, that the planter had been deceived, in some way, either by Mr. Bates, the schoolmaster, or the slave, Tom. " It is a very remarkable transaction. I repeat, I do not understand it. I was told that my little blacks needed more books. I was glad to hear so ; for I sup- posed that they were taking hold of their books, "and that jaj plan would be successful. Ton are sure that Tom got no more books ? " " Certainly, sir. He did not make any purchase." " Then I must ask an explanation of Mr. Bates, as soon as I return home. I can not, though, harbor the 1;hough,t that he has purposely practiced this deception VSCLE TOM S CABIN AS ITIS. 153 on me. But I must know," said the planter ; and parting company with the bookseller, sallied forth into the street, wondering that Mr. Bates should be dis- posed to practice deception. He felt chagrined — mortified, that he should be thus hoodwinked. And then, he did not know how much he had been cheated about the improvement of the children. He was flat- tering himself upon the success of his plan ; he had confidence in the integrity and capacity of the school- master. It was a wonder, therefore, that Mr. Bates should be inclined to use duplicity. But how the cheat, if there had been any, was played off, was the greatest enigma. He rather thought, after all, that Tom was the rogue ; and tliat, perhaps, he had got " his feelings " once more. However, he should go home again the next day, and then he would solve the riddle. " Massa, I think dat Uncle Tom was here last night an' yesterday," said Pompey, accosting Mr. Erskine, as he came into his room at the hotel. "Veiy probably, very probably; I should not be surprised now at anything I may hear about the black rogue. Did you see him, Pompey ? " " No, massa, no." "•Mistake, then, I reckon." " No, massa, no ; tnie. Arter more books, I 'spose." "But, Pompey, where was he seen, and who saw him ? It 's strange that he should be in town, and not report himself to me." "Sambo, down at de barn dar, told me so. I told him I 'sposed not, 'case I thought the nigger meant to 154: LIFE AT THE BOITTH ; OB " Ah ! it was intended for a hoax, I have no doubt, upon reflection." '' Dunno, dunno, massa." " You see him again, and satisfy yourself of the truth ; and, Pompey, find out his business here." " Dunno how 's I can do dat. I ax'd the nigger some particular questions, an' he would make no an- swer. He know'd nothin'." " "Well, perhaps, it was intended as a jest." , " Oh ! no, massa ; no jist. Pompey know'd too much for dat." " Well, ask Sambo when Tom was here. I presume he saw the rogue when he was here after the books. And yet I would like to know that with more certainty. Do this at once, for we go home to-morrow." " Yes, massa." Pompey obeyed the command of his master, but the information that he obtained was not satisfactory. Sambo was ignorant as a dolt. Arrived home at the plantation, Mr. Erskine, as soon as convenience would permit, plainly informed Mr. Bates of his discovery, and requested an explana- tion. It was readily given, and so artlessly, that the planter was disarmed of a,ll suspicion of chicanery, and his confidence in the purity of the schoolmaster^s motives remained unshaken. The explanation resulted in the conviction that the misappropriation of the money was all a blunder of Tom's, and he was repri- manded accordingly. Tom, in fact, in this matter, acted in good faith. For the schoolmaster gave him a Uiie to the bookseller, and, as he could not read, the tTNCi c tom's CABm AS IT IS. 155 contents were " a.I Greek " to him. and it is charitable to suppose that he executed the errand at the book- store with intended correctness. He had other busi- ness to transact with Abe, the hostlei-, and meant to cheat his master in that. And wliether he had been _ to Winchester since, Mr. Erskine, after the explana- tion of the schoolmaster, evinced no desire to know. Tom had made a blunder ; and the schoolmaster, mor- tified at the occurrence, ashamed to admit his indeb(>- edness, and with no money then at his command, to reimburse the planter, determined to make the most of it, and get on at the school with the books which he had on hand, for the present. At least, such was the explanation to Mr. Erskine, who was right glad to hear it. For he wanted the schoolmaster to be able to ex- plain ; he did not wish his generous confidence abused ; he did not wisli to believe that the schoolmaster would abuse it ; and he was truly rejoiced to learn that it was not abused. He was happy, on the whole, that he had been of service to the schoolmaster, and his disposition was ready for a similar kindness at any time. He was more hoodwinked than ever. It had been the custom of Mr. Erskine, for many years, to reward his slaves according to the service which they rendered. It was paid to them, either in money or clothing, or such articles of merchandise as might be useful. And although it may appear strange, nevertheless true it is, that each cabin of blacks had its head, the same as a white family at the North ; and for all ordinary purposes, the head negro regarded everything appertaining to the cabin as his own 156 LIFE AT THE SOUTH ; OB property, and used it with all that feeling of impor- tance which such an estimate of his position would naturally create. From the stipend periodically paid to him, the slave, now and then, would save enough, after payment of his sundry little expenses, to redeem himself from his bondage ; and if our memory serves us correctly, it had so happened that, during a quarter of a century, several of Mr. Erskine's blacks had pur- chased their freedom. He, and his father before him, found it to redound to their interest, to hold out to the slaves the hope of reward. The slaves were more faithful generally, and performed their labor with greater promptitude. The next evening after his return from Winchester, Mr. Erskine was conversing with the overseer relative to the condition of the crops growing upon the planta- tion. The backwardness of the spring retarded the work, yet the despatch with which it had been per- formed at the earliest opportunity, and the genial weather consequent, after all, contributed in the month of June to make everything as forward as if the winter had left the valley at its usual time. The planter was pleased ; indeed, more pleased than if the season had opened at its wonted period. ' '- 1 think you intimated to me," said he to the over- seer, " that Hector's stipend ought to be increased." " Such is my opinion, sir ; the policy would be good." " Why not also to Caesar and Jeff? " " If to them, it might do harm, unless you extended it further. The others might be jealous, and lazier in consequence of it. It would not do, I fancy, sir." UJSCLE TOM's cabin AS IT IS. 167 " Are they now well supplied ? " " Oh ! 3'es, sir ; very well indeed." ' "With all that is necessary ? " ' Undoubtedly, sir. They are healthy, have plenty to eat, and abundance of clothes. I heard Caesar — yey, Caesar — tell some of them, the other day, that he had enough to last him for a year." "How is it with the children ?" "Well cared for, sir; in first-best rig. Better than the whites where I come from." " I noticed, when at the quarters to-day, that Dinah and Philisee looked more cleanly about their cabins, both inside and out, than I have seen them for many a day ; it seemed to me that they were getting ambitious." " Oh ! it is all in good trim down there ; and they took more pains to whitewash. The truth is, they talk and act as if it was all theirs; and it is a happy idea for them to have, even if it is fancy with them." "Well, I have concluded to increase the stipend oncrthird, until harvest is over." "One-third, sir?" "Yes, ONB-THIED." " It will absolutely surprise the niggers. Too much, ■sir — too much for their own good. I would say one- fourth, and try that figure for awhile." "Why, I shall do them much good, and myself no harm." " Bat, one-fourth, sir, I beg leave to name." " Why that particular sum ? " 158 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OB " For no reason. I say one-fourth because you name one-third ; it is better to raise a little than to fall off, or even to stand at the same figure." " Oh ! very good ; let it be one-fourth, then ; and I wish you would communicate this news at the quaiv ters ; say that the time will commence next Monday, and be observed until altered, after notice to them." " Yes, sir ; and glorious good merriment will they l}ave over the annohncement." The overseer, it is needless to add, was astonished at the generosity of Mr. Erskine. He knew him to be a man of noble impulses, and possessed of a heart full of warm blood. But this unexpected favor to the slaves raised him higher in the estimation of the c yerseer. The next day was Saturday ; and in the evening the overseer walked down to the quarters. He expected to find the slaves in a frolic, and was not disappointed. Jeff was at the height of his ambition, using his fiddle and bow with uncommon agility. It can not be said that the music was more melodious ; and, indeed, the tones which the instrument made indicated that i-osin was scarce, or else the fiddler was in so great a hurry that he could not consent to stop long enough to draw it across the bow. He had contrived to elevate himself on a pedestal, sufficiently high to enable him to over- look the whole company — bringing an old salt barrel into requisition for that purpose. He entered more into the spirit of the merriment than was his habit. His head inclined to the right, and then to the left — oscillating like a pendulum. Neither were his eyes 159 partly shut, as was his wont ; but were distended wide open, and fairly sparkled with theii* brilliancy. His whole soul was briinfuU of the sport, and his frolicking companions danced more to the time beaten by his right foot, than to the cadence of the fiddle. Csesar and Hector was there, at the tip-top of fun. Philisee, Hector's wife, was there; and she danced, and sung, and laughed, and fairly scraped the floor with her long feet — which, by the way, protruded so far in the rear of her ankle joints that they lost their resemblance to other feet of the human kind, and could not with propriety be called by that name in its ordi- nary acceptation — we do say that she shuffled so rap- idly, and come down so hard, that the jig or reel which was on the tapis when the overseer arrived, terminated in a contest between her and Jeff — whether the former could dance as fast as the latter could fiddle; which bet could not be decided, for both stopped at the same instant precisely. "Wha' stop for, Jeff?" cried out the negress, almost out of breath, " rosin up, an' at um agin." "Golly, Phili! " said Jeff, "hold um up— hold nm to take breath ; golly ! you almost too much for this nigger," wiping away the perspiration from his fore- head and face. " Rosin up agin, ole nigger ! The spirit is on me," she replied, and began to shuffle her feet again, singing a ditty to keep time by. The others joined her, and the company were, in a jiff, under full headway. Jeff could not remain idle on such an occasion, and the old violin rang forth sonorous notes, so loud and thrUling 7* 160 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OE that the negroes themselves were taken all aback, and stopped of a sudden in amazement. " Wha' all 'bout dar?" yelled the fiddler, "neber do for you niggers to run dis ole music-maker oif de track. Up an' at it agin," he added, and drew the bow Bwitter than before. Hector was not to be beaten at the dance, any more than in the cornfield ; and he at once settled himself into an old fashioned Virginia reel, and the way he made the dust fly that had lain between the cracks of the fioor-boards for years, was perfectly astonishing to his laughing, giegling, jolly, roistering companions. " Lay it — laf it on, Jeflf," said Caesar, who was en- joying the scene at the heighth of delight, "gib it good. Spur up your ole grinder : draw urn tight." " Ifeber tire — neber tire um, Fi-yi-ya, it te oot te doodle dum," said and sung the fiddler; and so Hector jumped, shuflled, stamped, and ^^ pirouetted " for full five min- utes after the rosin gave out ; then, for some reason that was not quite apparent to the lookers-on, he •stopped, and looked around in amazement. " Tas, ole feller gib um up ! " he exclaimed. "C ye ? Ha! ha! hum! I can jig you to next week, "if you mind to come!" he added, kicking up his heels. "Gib us some more. Here, Pompey, fetch on Lucinda, an' you, Philisee — wha', out of de ring ! Ha, ha, Aaw— hst! hst! come, you dark copper skin, gib us your hand. Jehu jehimminy ! "Well, dance agin the sun, moon, and stars of night ! • Strike up your ole music, 161 hoBSj dai-! an' Pkilisee an' dis ole nigger w."ll shin um into week arter last!" said Hector, and pulling Phili- see into the proper position, they commenced to trip the "light fantastic toe," preparatory to another scruh race with the violin. " Ton don't cotch um agin," said Jeff, shaking his head. " No, no, no ; enough of it. Take your part- ners all 'round, an' I '11 make my ole hoss gib you some lubly music." "Wha'dat?" "No more joggling; steady um now: dance to time, and do n't git ahead. It puts um out. Steady." " Berry good ; rosin up slow, an' take your time, now ole hoss," said Hector, and danced at " all fours," the company huniming — " what lubly eyes hab she, Dey always sliine so clearly — She says she lubs no nig but me^ An' me she lubs sincerely. The lubly gal libs in our town. An? all you niggers knows her ; Her teeth aint black, her complexion brown, " Her name am lubly Rosa." "G-emmen," said the overseer after they had en- joyed this long enoagfr to satisfy any reasonable mind, " I have soniething impoj-tant to communicate, if you will only listen to me." , '•Sa?" said Jeff. " Stop, and 1 will tell you some good news." "Ta6, mass'r." 162 LIFE AT THE SOTTTH ; OE " Your stipend is raised one-fourth, until notice to the contrary." " One-fourth ! " they all exclaimea. " Yes, onefowrih. Mr. Erskine so orders me, and I am glad to give you the information." " Good massa — good massa ! " " The time commences running next Monday. So find no fault hereafter, if you do your duty." "Good massa — good massa!" all again exclaimed, their faces beaming with exultation. Uncle Tom came in just in season to hear the intelligence. He did not relish it. He was fearful of the effect it might have upon the league, which was uppermost in his mind, and " his all in all." And the overseer had hardly con- cluded when he told Dinah that it was time for them to go to the cabin. " No, no, Tom ; I 'm gwine to see Philisee an' Hec- tor reel off once more — they do it so nicely. Tom, what d 'ye say ? " "Dunno, Dinah," he answered very cheerlessly, " dunno." " Wha', Tom, out of sorts agin ? Pshaw ! do n't hang your head so : come, you an' Dinah shall have a jig together." " No, Dinah, I 'm too old for dat. I 'm gwine to the cabin. Come with me," said Uncle Tom sharply, and, like an affectionate and dutiful wife, Dinah ob- served the wish of her husband, and they withdrew to the cabin, — the one melancholy from anticipated dis- appointment, and the other miserable in consequence, as any loying wife would be. 163 ITot BO with the others. Hilarity with them struck on a higher key. Their very souls leaped with joy : their hearts abounded with gratitude ; and various were the expressions of thanks for this surprise. Uncon- scious of deserving this increased favor of their master, they imputed it entirely to a warm, lofty generosity ; aud the chain which held them to the plantation ap- peared in a different aspect. They forgot bondage, and enjoyed freedom there. If our reader had passed along the highway, which skirted the green, he would have been surprised, also, to see how jovial they passed the hour; and, perhaps, would have wondered at that matchless aud enduring order of Providence which dispenses, in its wisdom, favors to mankind, most curi- ously graduated to all lots, minds, inclinations, and dispositions. And if he was a philanthropist, those chords of sympathy which permea1--the heart of such a being, would have been attuned by this unexpected revelation of one of the happy phases in the life of the slave ; and involuntaril^'^ he would have joined in the chorus, as Hector and his jolly companions dabc-sd to the music, which, time and again for years, had v^xde the hills and dells of Yirginia vocal with its iT[»p>'-.'v notes. 164 LIFE AT THE SODTH ; OE OHAPTEE X. INDEPBNDENCE DAY. " Let India boast her groves, nor envy ■we. The weeping; amber and the balmy tree." On the day following the increase of the wagei Mr. Bates, it being Sunday, went down to the river to bathe. He unexpectedly met Uncle Tom in the lane, with a downcast look. He spoke to the slave famil- iarly, who, although he stopped^ did not seem inclined to talk. He was cross, and ill humor stood out in bold relief upon his countenance. "Nothing of importance has happened to you?" half inquired tlie schoolmaster, fearful that something Lad gone wrong in their league, and rather preferring not to hear it, though he would not wish to remain in ignorance. "Dunno, mass'r." "You don't know?" The slave shook his head, and was proceeding for- ward. 165 "But stop, Tom. I am suspicious that there is something out of sorts. Tell me," again asked the schoolmaster, beginning to be anxious, lest the desire for freedom was abating. " Lor, mass'r, I 'm afeerd dat we am blow'd up." "Pray let me know." " Tlie niggers are recanting ! " "Eecanting! recanting, Tom ? It can not be. It was too solemnly agreed to stand together." "Dat rascal of a Hector is playing de devil wid um. He 's traitor." "What is it you say? Has he divulged the secret to Mr. Erskine ? Tell me, Tom." " Dunno, mass'r." " Oh ! but you do know, Tom. Out with it. I see yon have something on your mind. It is always best for friends to be free to each other." ' Wages are more, an' de niggers are loud in their praise of massa. Do n't want to go North, I 'm afeerd," replied the slave, and he proceeded to give the schoolmaster all the particulars. Mr. Bates was alarmed. The secret might get out, and then, what would become of him? He hurried to' the water, and as sood os he had finished his ablution, he repaired to the mansion. He met Mr. Erskine in the lawn, and stopped to converse with him. There was no indication of any change in his senti- ments toward the schoolmaster. Cordial and familiar as ever — so much so that Mr. Bates' mind was some- what relieved. He concluded that the league was known only to those engaged in it, and that, if ho 166 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OR / availed himself of the first opportunity to paint anew the miraculous glories of freedom to the slaves, it, would all go right again. He went to his chamber, and looked over toward the quarters, but saw none of the blacks, except some of the children on the green. He was uneasy and restless, notwithstanding the un- changed demeanor of the planter. If satisfied in his own mind that the secret was safely kept, still, the fear of discovery haunted him ; and perhaps that monitor within — sometimes called conscience — was suggest- ing the wrong that would be inflicted, if the plot was not exploded. He put his head out of the window, and saw Lucinda scouring knives, and, feigning to be unwell, asked for a cup of tea to be brought into the chamber. " Is Mr. Bates sick ? " asked the planter of Lucinda, as she came down the stairway. " Yes, massa, berry sick, I tink ; pain in de head, — bones ache." The planter immediately went up to the chamber, and proposed to send to Millwood for a physician, This the schoolmaster declined, as he thought — so he said — that he should feel better next day: especial- ly if he could be qiiiet. The planter took the hint, and renewing the offer of his kind services, left the schoolmaster to himself, and directed Pompey occa- sionally go to the chamber. The time for the meeting of the blacks at Abe's barn, in Winchester, was rapidly approaching. It was now the second day of July, and on the evening of the fourth, they M'ere to meet. And although the interval 167 ■was short, such was the anxiety of the schoolmaster to be away, that it looted long to him. He reflected upon the chances of detection, in every point of view, and finally flattered himself that it would come out safe in the end, and became more qiiiet. He was con- valescent the next day, and was at the school as usual. The increased stipend, in the meantime, did its work. Hector^ Caesar, and Jefl", lost the desire for change of jposition, and abandoned the idea of going to the State of Freedom. They neither saw nor felt the chains of slavery. They were at work, thinking of Independence on the morrow, instead of getting ready for the stwmpede. "Is dis your last hoeing?" asked Csesar of Uncle Tom, who lagged, and moved as if he was carrying upon his shoulders the years of Methuselah. "Dunno, nigger." " Tou cover up hills so deep, dat I'm 'sposing you 'spect it was for the last.". " Oh ! get out, you saucy col'd man." "Wha', Uncle Tom, cross — cross, you 'spects to be gwine to Winchester in de morning? I 'spects not." •'Wha' dat?" "Dis nigger don't make fool of himself, I can tell you. Pshaw! Talk 'bout massa! You am a dunce, 7ncleTom." "Ho, ho, Caesar! smooth now: all good. Well, I ilways 'sposed you'd stick to your word, but de school- aiass'r talked dat some of you would be bought up ; and it am so. You are bought up — goll darn you ole wool ! " 168 LIFE AT THE S0T7TH ; OB " Stop your jaw, jou ole, crazy fool. No sauce to dis nigger, or I'll show you de way to next week, in a jiff." " Rail on — ^jaw away. It 's all you 're good for. Yon aint fit for freedom. You do n't know how to be your own mass'r. No, you do n't : dat am a fact. I hopes you '11 stay where you ar', an' be a low, dirty, good-for- nothing slave." " Jist remark dat agin," said Caesar, dropping his hoe, and raising his arm in such an attitude, that made it apparent he intended to use his fist. "Jist spoke it agin', an' — an I 'U gib you a lesson on manners, you lazy, bad-looking nigger." Cassar was too warlike, and Uncle Tom staggered back a step or two. " I shall not fight wid you, Csesar. If you are de- termined to stay an' die on dis plantation, so — dat's all I 'm gwine to speak to you." " Yas, I go into the ground here." " But 'spose massa takes it into hie head to sell you off, to raise money, or sich like. I calculates you be buried up somewhar else." " Do n't you fret your ole soul 'bopt dat. It will be time enough when dat event occurs, to meditate upon a stampede." " Oh, ho! you ca n't stampede when your disposition says so. Dat 's de difference between freedom an' sla^ ery. If you was in de free country, you could do as you might please ; but you must calculate dat you would be watched by de ole massa, whoever it might be, an' iio schoolmas'r to take your hand an' Ijead you 169 off, as is de case now. Ah, ha ! think of dat side of de picture, Oaesar." "Pshaw! pshaw! Uncle Tom. You are always horrowing trouble; you forget dat de schoolmas'r said dat, whar dar was a will, dar was always a way." " Oh ! nigger, nigger I how am you to run into free- dom, wid no one to help you ? 'T is unpossible, Caesar ; now is de only chance." " Mumbo jumbo — hobgoblins, Uncle Tom. I repeat urn once more to you, dat I does not wish to be guine off from dis plantation foreber. I goes to Millwood to-morrow, to celebrate Independence." " Did massa or overseer say you might ? " " Yes, nigger, an' I 'm guine, too ; we are all guine." ""Well, I shall go to Winchester, an' do jist as I agreed. If you wish to stumble, you can." "Is Dinah guine wid you?" " Yas, she is ; an' children, too." "Then she fibs." "You bin talkin' to her, Caesar? " " I knows she lubs massa too strong for dat." " Caesar, I 'm guine to ax yon one question." " Well, ax it. Uncle Tom." " Have you poached dis ting to living mortal i " " No, nor dead one either." " Are you guine to do dat ? " "Dunno." " Dunno ! Dunno, Caesar? " "Dat's jistum." "If I 'spos'd you would do dat, I would — I would' " lYO LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OK " Out with it." "Kill you! dar, you know'd my feelings now." " You hab spoke um, Uncle Tom. Now do it, foi it will be too late by an' by." " You would be a d — d rascal den, Caesar." "Uncle Tom spoke sich hard word, an' den go an' pray in meetin', ha!" " You distress me, Csesar ; you talk so." " Dat conscience you hab got, is what does dat job ; it smites you right an' left. Da 's it." " Cro away — go away, Csesar, I hates you ; 1 hates you ! from my soul, I hates you ! " " Dar 's no use of talking to dis nigger — ha ! haw ! haw ! Fireproof to all your dirty artillery — hi ! haw ! haw!" . " I 'm off, Caesar," said Uncle Tom, and throwing his hoe under the fence, left for his dinner. Pretty soon all left, it being noontime^ and the overseer remarking that they need not come to the field in the afternoon. It was twenty- four hours afterward, when Caesar and Uncle Tom again met. The former was rigged up for celebrating, in a becoming manner, the anniversary of the nation's liberty ; whilst the latter thought he was ready, "fully armed and equipped," to achieve Tiis own liberty. They were both of them mounted upon horses. Uncle Tom had a large pair of saddle-bags, stuffed to the full with eatables and clothing, fastened to the saddle. Caesar rode bareback. And although one rode in stirrups, with a good bridle and crupper, and saddle-cloth, the difference in the caparison of the UNCLE TOM's cabin AS IT IS. 171 several horses was not half as striking, as the contrast in their own visage and personal conduct. Csesar had on a coat made a la militaire, with one row of small, white pewter buttons, and collar intended to stand in a perpendicular position. The main mate rial of the garment appeared to be red flannel, with white lappels, while underneath he wore a pair of pantaloons of white jean. He had dispensed with shoes, boots, and slippers, and stockings and socks ; but his head was protected from the burning sun by a high round covering, made out of stiff leather — very highly varnished — and surmounted with a red feather ; there was a remnant of a cockade stitched on to this head- gear, and there hung dangling by his side a wooden sword — save the sharp end, which was tipped with tinfoil. He sat astride the horse as erect as the cir- cumstances would admit of, and looked, and, we have no doubt, felt independent. Uncle Tom, on the con- trary, wore the dress of a private citizen. His coat and pantaloons were " the worse for wear," and as for his hat, it lacked rim and Jiead top — so much so, that the motion created by the gait of the beast he rode, made it quite difficult for him to keep it above his eyes. He had on a pair of boots, it is true, but his heels came up nearly in the middle of the legs, or rather, to speak more accurately, " he wore the boots on the heels." He crouched in the seat of the saddle, and, every now and then, would cast a furtive glance back over the road, as if he was afraid he might per- ceive something disagreeable to the eyes. He looked and acted anything but independent. 172 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OE " I seed you, ole fellar ! " halloed Caesar to Uncle Tom, as he was riding by an inn, at which the former stopped "to water" his horse; "hold your hoss, an' I '11 spoke to you." Uncle Tom saw Csesar before he spoke, and in- tended to pass without attracting his attention. But, lest the latter should halloo again, he reined up his beast to the trough, and begged the red-coat not to notice him. "'Dunno 'boixt dat, Uncle Tom. I 'm no scapegoat." "Pshaw! nigger; wha' you to do wid me? Let me go unmolested. If you meant to keep me here, you ought to have let out the secret; den you would not seed me now." " Dunno 'bout dat either. Uncle Tom. I did n't 'spose dat you would go off alone." " How do you know wha' you speaking of? " ".Golly ! ar' de rest on um in de boat ? " " Dis nigger makes no answer." " Golly ! guine in separate roads, ha ? " "Pshaw, Caesar! hold your tongue, an' make no outcry." "Ah, ha! do you saw dis instrument?" pointing to his sword. " D' ye seed um. Uncle Tom ? " " "Well, you ar' no officer." " I 'm officer enough for you." " Git out, you scapegi'ace." " Wha' dat you say? No officer, ha? I '11 seed to dat. You ar' my prisoner," said Ctesar, very authori- tatively, and, at the same time, tapping him on the shoulder with his hard. '' You ar' my prisoner ; an, I TmoLB tom'b oasis as rriB. 173 command you to touch the ground, with them feet of yours, instantly — instantly." " I 'm dam'd if I do dat 1 " replied Uncle Tom, and tightening the rein of the bridle, undertook to sheer the horse from the watering place. " Hold your hoss, you old sinner ! You do n't get off ia dis way ; you ar' in de clutches of de law. I once more command you to lift that leg of yours over de saddle-pommel, an' touch ground, or I 'U make you. Mind your reckoning. Uncle Tom," said Caesar, in a much louder and imperious tone of voice, and unsheath- ing his sword, elevated it at an angle of about forty- five degrees. "Why, Csesar, yon guine to murder dis nigger I UnpoBsible 1 " " Tou seed um, do you I " said Caesar, holding up the sword higher than before. " Wha' you guine to do ? Be merciful 1 " " Look at um. I gib you five minutes to surrender as my prisoner ; and den, if you are not on de ground, I sAoZZput my order into execution, according to de law." " Csesar, dar is my jack-knife ; I gibs um freely to fou. Take de gift, an' let poor Tom go his way." "No, sir — no, sir! You cant bribe me." " Pshaw 1 Caesar, take um to remember me by." " De debbil take your gift ! 1 11 hab a bigger one. I takes de body ; an' as foryour soul, I do n't think you can hab one, an' run away from massa like a dirty thief." "I don't "knoi* dat de rest of them will be at de bam; if not, dis nigger is not guine off IJorth idone. Iiet me go without disturbance." 174r LITE AT THE SOTJTH ; OB "Neither do I know whetlier de rest of them will go oflf. But I knows dat yow will not go off; dat's certain, ole feUar. So, down. Ton had better look out. You seed um, Uncle Tom," said Caesar, brand- ishing his sword. " Well^ if I mAJst surrender, I '11 not do it willingly," replied the runaway ; and suddenly spurring his horse with both heels, bounded away from the trough, with Caesar after him, on a full run, and crying out " stop thief! " as loud as he could yell. Uncle Tom's beast was a fast traveler, and of sure foot and bottom. Its excess of speed over the animal that Caesar rode, gradually widened the distance be- tween them, and the ftigitive was soon out of sight. Caesar did not care about riding quite so fast, and he slackened the gait of his horse, and took the road more leisurely. Shortly before he reached the place of his destination, — which was no other than the village of Millwood — he ascended a hill, and upon attaining its summit, he descried far ahead the fugitive. Cffisar gave up the chase, and dismounting, reposed himself for awhile in the " bar-room " of another inn. As Uncle Tom passed through the village of Mill- wood, he saw the people assembling in large numbers upon the common ; the boys were firing their crack- ers; and wagons and carts, overflowing with beer, cakes, and &uit, stood upon almost every corner of the streets. The multitude — old and young, without dis- tinction of color — seemed to be at the height of en- joyment. "The spirit of the olden time" came o'er the ftigitive, and ha was half-inclined to stop and TJKCLE TOM's cabin AS ITIS. 175 participate, as he had been wont to do, in the festivities of the occasion. His beast was fully inclined to do so ; and, in a (arice, Uncle Tom found himself involuntarily among his old associates, some of whom he had not seen for a year. " Why, how d' ye do ? " said a broad-nosed, gray- haired, limping old negro to him ; " how hab you kept yourself, Tom, sin' I seed you last ? " " Lackaday, lackaday ! " "Wha' — wha' de ^matter? Tom's well, I hope. Come, off from de ole hoss, an' tie um up, over by de church. We '11 hab fun enough to-day." " I 'm guine to Winchester." "To Winchester! Wha' on arth takes you dar? Pooh ! it is too late for you to go in time. Besides, you know, nobody dar. Pshaw! dis is de place. Come, I was jist bujjng a bottle of ginger-pop, as you rode up ; make your ole beast fast, an' we will enjoy it together." Uncle Tom shook his head, and began to make his way out of the crowd which had already gathered about him. "You 're not going to get away from here, ole fellar. I was thinking of you, Tom — I was, Tom — jist as I had a glimpse of you on de common. We shall miss you, if you go on. So, take my advice, an' hitch de beast at any of the posts over dar." "I 'm thinking of freedom," said Uncle Tom, gravely. "Exactly; and, of all places, dis is de spot for dat, The Millwood boys can't be beat." 176 LITE AT THE SOIfrH; OB "No, my ole fiiend," rejoined the fugitive, again Bhaking his head, and looking very solemn; "no, no; I hab business at Winchester, an' must be on the road." . "Well, drink off de ginger-pop wid me; dat you can do," replied the old negro; and handing him a tumbler running over with the foam of the beer, Uncle Tom drank hastily. The beverage was sufficiently strong to revive, after a few moments, the flagging spirits of the fugitive. He soon became more loquacious and social, and dismounting, a boy, at the suggestion of the old negro, led the horse away, and Uncle Tom soon was beset with many of his ol^d friends, who had come to the village to indulge, unrestrained, in the frolic of Independence day. A platform was erected near the center of the com- mon, covered over, at the heighth of some ten feet, by an awning, upon which the immftrtal Declaration was to be read, and an oration pronounced. As the time appointed for these exercises drew near, the people) who were collected in small assemblages in different • parts of the village, began to wend their way thither. They did not march in procession, to the music of fife and drum, but walked, scrambled, and ran, to the roar of the artillery stationed at the platform, as gun after gun was discharged, in honor of the stars and stripes which floated in the breeze above the awning. Uncle Tom and his coterie, moved by the patriotism common to the rest of the people, made their way to the center also. A gentleman designated for the duty, read very impressively the great charter of American liberty ; and he was listened to with profound attention UNOLB T0M*9 OABIN AS ITIB. 177 by the spectators. Th.e orator succeeded him, and received the applause of the auditory ; but Uncle Tom and- his companions grew weary of the discourse. Whether they had patronised the wagons and carts too freely to remain, or whether it was the inaptitude of their minds to appreciate the glowing sentiments and brilliant ideas with which the oration abounded, may be problematical. At any rate, they left the plat- form. Csesar, who in the meantime had arrived, hap- pened to discover Uncle Tom as he was going across the common, and followed in the same direction. As he came up to him, he hailed him as his prisoner. . To this the fugitive demurred, and his companions took his part. " Well, if you hab made up your mind to stay wid massa, den you 're not my prisoner," said Csesar, with considerable emphasis. " Pshaw ! " exclaimed the old negro. " Dat nigger," pointing to Uncle Tom, " had a notion of guine to Winchester, to celebrate ; but he gibs um up. Is not dat so, Tom ? " "Tas." " An' here we ar'. Come, Csesar, an' join us." " Dat 's it. " I 'm glad to hear him say so ; an' we will go home in company." As this squad reached a booth hard by, they heard the music of the fiddle and the banjo, and elbowing /through the crowd, saw several enjoying the luxury of a dance. Caesar, and some of the others, partici- pated in the amusement, which, together with an occa- sional bottle of beer, made the sport veiy exhilarating. 178 LIFE AT THE SOUTH J OK After awhile, dancing became tame, and all were uproarious for a song — a good old song. " An' let it Be one fit for to-day," interposed Uncle Tom, " none of your common nigger songs." To this proposition all agreed ; but who could sing such a song, was the question. There was much dal- lying : and Caesar swore that if some one did not com- mence very soon, he would sing " the whole town out of home," himself. At this juncture, a country-look- ing chap, poorly clad, and of bashful appearance, and who wore a hat that had lost its form and pressure, insomuch that it came nearly over his eyes, stepped forward and volunteered his services. " Dat 's no nigger ! " exclaimed Cssar. "No matter for dat," yelled one of the dancers — "if jie can sing, let him do so." A murmur of approbation to the proposition ran through the crowd, and the songster commenced — « " Old Grime's boy lives in our town, A clever lad is lie — He 's long enough, if cut in half. To make two men like me. He has a sort of waggish look, And cracks a harmless jest — His clothes are rather worse for wear. Except his Sunday's best He 'a kind and lib'ral to the poor. That is, to Number One — He sometimes saws a load of wo )d. And piles it when he 's done. UNCLE TOm's cabin AS IT IS. 179 -\ He 's always ready ready for a job — When paid — whate'r you choose ; He 's often at the colleges. And brushes boots and shoes. Like honest men, he pays his debts. No fear has he of duns — At leisure, he prefers to walk, But when in haste, he runs. » His life was written sometiiBo since. And many read it through — He makes a racket when he snores, As other people do. "When once oppress'd, he proy'd his blood Not covered with the yoke — But now he sports a freeman's cap. And when it rains, a cloak 1 He 's drooped beneath a southern sky. He 'a trod the northern snows — He 's taller by a foot or more. When standing on his toes I In dnffich he credits all that 's said. Whatever preachers rise — They say he has been seen in tears. When dust got in his eyes 1 A man remarkable as this, Must sure immortal be — And more than aU because he is Old Grimes' posterity." Bravos and vivas followed the concluding stanzas, as well as clapping of hands and stamping of feet. T^e song attracted the attention of many of the whites, T80 upB AT THB south; ofl ■who joined in this general ontbnrst of entniifliafltic de- light. It was loudly and rapturoualy encored. The songster was disinclined to gratify the wish of the audience ; but it was so universal, and the encore was so persevered in, that he again commenced. "Hark'ee, Uncle Tom," said Csesar, "dat am de schoolmaster, by golly ! " " Pooh 1 nigger, no sich thing. Out wid your nonsense." "Wha' dat? Don't dis nigger know'd um? Dat am mass'r Bates." " Well, 'spose so. Do n't make a fool of yourself, Caesar." The songster overheard the colloquy between Uncle Tom and Caesar ; and as Caesar's conjecture Was cor- rect, the schoolmaster, like the professional singer sometimes, upon the stage of the lyceum or play-house, cut short the song, and withdrew from the booth. PKOLM TOM's cabin AS IT IB 1 81 CHAPTEE XI. THE OVEESEEE. Peace I I have sought it where it should be found, In love — with love too, which perhaps deserved it: And, in its stead, a heaviness of heart — A weakness of the spirit — listless days. And nights inexorable to sweet sleep — Have come upon me. Heaven amd Eauth. Abe, the hostler, made his arrangements to be ab- sent from home for several days, and was at the bam in "Winchester at the time designated for the assem- bling of the slaves. One only made his appearance. "What had occurred was a mystery. The arrange- ments were so minute in detail, and, as he supposed, so perfectly adjusted, that a frustration appeared out of the question. It was long after dusk before he was relieved of his ignorance. And then the relief was partial, unless the fact that the expected fugitives did not congregate at his quarters in pursuance of the league, should have been full proof in itself of an abandonment of the conspiracy to runaway. He was 8* 1 82 LIFE AT THE SOUTH ; OE inside of the barn, with the door closed. The requi- site number of horses were saddled and bridled in the stalls. Anxiously did he wait, until finally the con- certed signal was given outside. He speedily opened one of the doors, with the expectation of beholding a bevy of fugitives, when, to his surprise, who should •walk in but Mr. Bates, "solitary and alone." The schoolmaster, desirous of communicating with the hostler in great privacy, beckoned to the slave, who had been there since the middle of the afternoon,' to retire into the hayloft. "Which done, Mr. Bates in- formed Abe, in a very low tone of voice, that in con- sequence of an increase of the stipend, the slaves on Mr. Erskine's plantation had modified their views on the subject of freedom, and, he was sorry to say, that the hegira must be postponed to some more auspi- cious moment. The hostler regretted that they must take the labor for their pains, and intimated, as politely as his nature would admit of, that he would see the slaves, schoolmaster and all, in , before he would be so fooled again. Such a sentiment was anything but agreeable, to the sensitive feelings of Mr. Bates, and he begged to be excused from fiirther conversation at that time. The hostler was too vexed to desire his presence, and each bidding the other "good night" at the same instant, the wish to be relieved of the pres- ence of the other was perfectly mutual and satisfactory. The schoolmaster did not reach the plantation imtil near noon of the next day. He excused the tardiness of his return, by saying that he remained over night with a friend at Millwood. The apology was as insfOLa tom's oabut as it is. 183 unnecessary as it was false. The planter had not given his absence a thought ; and, if he had done so, it would. have been attributed to a proper motive. Uncle Tom returned to his cabin the night previous, in company with Csesar ; and said to Dinah, as he was retiring to bed, that he never enjoyed Independence with better satisfaction. It was probably aftei mid- night, before he finished his rehearsal to her of what he had drank, eaten, and seen during the day. He took good care not to disclose the purpose which he entertained when he bade her good morning, and was evidently glad that the horse was wiser than himself. The halt at the village changed his destiny, as ■ he thought ; and the wife and children, and even the cabin itself, seemed dearer to him than ever before. The holiday over, the slaves resumed their labor as usual. As they had passed it differently, each had a fund of story for the other. To those who were at work with him, Caesar gave a graphical description of the doings at Millwood ; and among other things, he referred to the long song which the white man sung at the booth, and revealed his suspicion as to whom the person was. His auditors were incredulous. They could not believe it. " Oh ! Jeff, I know dat it was de schoolmass'r." " Dunno ; I 'm guine to consider dat." The schoolmaster was foiled in his effort to despoil the planters of their honestly-acquired property. "Why the slaves of Mr. Erskine should secede from the league was obvious ; but what influence controlled the slaves of the neighboring plantations, was beyond Lli 184 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OB conjecture. Addicted to jmaginaiy conceptions, and naturally prone to religiousness, he inwardly besought the Creator of heaven and earth " to make his paths straight." He was ill at ease. He paced his chamber, and as the clock struck eleven, read a chapter in the Bible, and knelt in prayer. It was the evening of the day he returned from the celebration of his country's Independence. He prayed for the enlightenment of the blacks everywhere, and especially those sojourning in the valley of the Shenandoah. He asked that the shackles might fall from the bondman and bondmaid, and the captive be speedily released from servitude. He thanked his God that he stiU inherited life and liberty — the matchless boon of Providence to human- ity — and as his soul rose with- the mighty theme, his sanguine and fragile mind caught the flickering flame, and soaring away, with the velocity of the tiny balloon, into a region of the wildest enthusiasm, he prayed for dlZ — both bond and free. He had no more than done this, when, as sweet a strain of music as ever broke upon mortal ear, filled the apartment with its enchant- ing melody. He tried to say Amen, but his senses were enraptured ; and some influence emanating, as it seemed to him, from beyond the confines of earth, stayed the organ of speech in its office. Unconsciously he reposed his body upon the bed ; but that which con- Btiimtes the life of being was already traversing the alluring fields of another country ■ — far hidden within the Veil of Divinity. He dreamed, that — we had almost written — but, to state more accurately, he saw the whole human family dwelling together ia a state of CKOLE TOm's cabin AS TT IS. 186 unity and equality. Countless generations, extending through an almost interminable line of descent, were there; the high-bom and the low-born, the king and his subject, the prince and peasant, the master and 'Slave — all grades and conditions of earthly society and esdstence — all were there, in beatitude. It was indeed a heavenly sight, and the soul of the schoolmaster reveled in elysium. It may appear cruel to break the trance ; but. Uncle Tom did not play the accordeon beneath the window as a mere compliment. He came at that late hour of the night on an errand of business, not pleasure. When he finds that the sound of his instrument does not break the silence of the household, he takes cour- age, and noiselessly winds his way up the ascent of the stairs, and reaching the door of Mr. Bates' chamber, quietly turns it upon the hinges. He takes the liberty to approach the bed, and gently taking the hand of the sleeper into his own awakes him. The schoolmaster rises in his bed instantly, and intense astonishment fills his countenance, "Who are you?" he asks, bis eyes glaring in their sockets. "Wha' de matter wid you, mass'r? Be quiet. It is your poor old slave." " Ah 1 it is you, Tom, is it? Very good. Sit upon the bed, and let me know- your thoughts. Ton are not here at this late hour without a purpose." "Tas, mass'r, dat 's it. But you 'most frighten me, you look so wild. I hope dat you ar' not out wid me for not going to Winchester, mass'r." 186 LIITS AT THK south; OR Oh! no, no ; I was in the midst of a — I know not what name to mention; the like never occurred to me before." " Wha', masa'r ! wha' d' ye say? for Lor' de mercy ! explain um." • " I can aot now ; it would take too long. Let me know your business. Somethingnew on foot, I imagine?" "Dunno, mass'r." "How is that? Are you here for nothing?" " Dis poor ole nigger could n't sleep. I hab no peace, day or night. So I thought I would come and consult wid you, my good friend." "Tom, have you prayed to-night?" "Oh! yes, mass'r. Dis nigger pray'd long, an' wid earnest heart ; but I felt no more at ease." " Shall I' tell you the reason?" "Yas, mass'r." "It is your punishment." "Punishment! for what, mass'r ? " " Because you loitered at Millwood." "I'm not to blaine for dat. De ole horse would stop, in spite of all I could say." " Ah ! Tom, Tom. Just as if you had not the powei to make the animal budge. !No, no ! You recognized some T)ld faces, and you thought you would stop only for a few moments. You were urged, I '11 be bound, to stop and celebrate. You were importuned to drinkand eat; and, like Eve. in the garden of paradise, you thought you would just taste — no more. But you know that the preacher says, that 'brought death into the world and all our woe.' " 187 " Dat 's it. Tou hab mentioned de feelings of dis nigger, jist as they was. But, mass'r, I could n't help um." "And therefore you are now here in slavery, instead of being on the path to freedom. Tell me, Tom, did you really intend to go to Winchester, when you left the cabin that morning ? " , " Tas, mass'r." " I am afraid not. Tou may have had some such idea ; but, I suspect, you did not feel as if yon were taking your last look of the plantation, when you passed the brow of the hUl. Be sincere, and tell me, now, Tom?" " Dunno 'zactly how dat was, mass'r. I allow dat I did not like de idea of leaving forever my good ole DiQah." "Ah! ha! I thought as much. And how was it with reference to those little children of yours ? " " Oh ! mass'r, it is painful to think of it. But, as I was afeerd to teU Dinah whar' I was guine dat day, I did not bid good-bye to any one. I had sounded her ibout freedom ; but she thought nothin' of it, an' I did oot tell her 'bout de league." " "Well, pass that by. What project have you now in your head? Talk fast, and to the mark." " I can not bear, mass'r, to stay here. I 'm not con- tented. I want to be my own man." "Very good; that is for you to say. If you will go to work in earnest, I doubt not you can get "Will you help me as afore?" 188 , LIFB AT THE SOUTH; OB " Certainly, certainly ; nay services are at yonr com- mand. Ton ought to be free ; you have lived in chains long enough. You have only to will it, and the thing is done." "If I could get Caesar, or Jeff, or Hector, or any of them, to go wid me, I should be contented. I hate to go alone." " Can you not persuade Dinah, after all, to accom- pany you? Try her again." " Oh ! if you could talk wid her as you hab wid me, she would come to it, I believe in my soul." " It is diflBcult to get an opportunity." "No, mass'r, no." "Can you arrange an interview?" "Tas, mass'r." "Well, do so, and I wiU talk to her aa man never did before. I will make an impression on her." "Will you, mass'r?" "Xou may rely upon it, Tom." " Den I 'm glad dat I came over an' waked you," replied the slave, and rising from his seat on the bed, walked to the door, and added, " God bless you, mass'r." "Let me see you, Tom, to-morrow night, in the road." "Tas, mass'r," he replied, and going out of the mansion as silently ae he entered it, returned to his cabin. The schooln>aster was happy to find that the seed which he had sown had not fallen entirely on barren ground. He took courage, and determined that he TmOLE TOM'S OABm AS IT B. 189 would make another effort. His thoughts were more tranquil, and he soon fell asleep. The next day, Uncle Tom went into the woods, about a mile from the quarters, for blackberries. There he fell in company with a couple of slaves, who were members of the league. One of them was about his age. "Jim," said he, "whar was you on Independence day?" " On our plantation." "Jim, you ar' faithless nigger." "I should 'spect you to make dat appear, if true." "Easy, easy enough, Jim." " Let dis nigger see you do um." "Shall I, Jim?" "So I spoke. Uncle Tom." " "Well, you ignorant nigger, I tell you why. 'Kase you did not keep your word wid Abe. Now you knows wha' I said, Jim." "Ohlyas, yas. Well, Uncle Tom, I take. I make a clean breast of iL" "Good! out wid it." "Tou must know. Uncle Tom, dat massa raised ouir stipend, an' — " " Curse de stipend I dat was de trouble wid Caesar an' de rest ob um." " An' we thought as how we would try massa on a little longer." " So I supposed. How much more do you get ? " "We hab got noffin yet ; only de oberseer spoke dat it should be bigger." (.90 LIFE AT THE SOUTH *, OB " Jim, do you want me to put a flea in your ear ? " "Yas, if you can cotch um." " Pshaw ! you misunderstand. I gib you some word of advice, if you will hear me." " Go on ; my ears are open for him." "De stipend will neber be increased— neber. Re- collect what I speak to you." "I would like to see you make out dat, when de oberseer has expressly told us dat it should be increased ? " "When did he say dat it should be bigger?" " Oh ! now I believe dat you hab me," replied Jim, scratchiig his head ; "I had forgot dat." "Exactly. Rather important, I should think, to hab it commence, if you ar' to be benefited by um." "True; I'm glad you mentioned dat circumstance to me. I shall go to Mr. Rawls, our oberseer, as soon as I git back wid my berries, and understand dat point." " An' if it is not to be increased until arter you ar under de green turf, what den ? " " Den dis nigger will be off, as agreed." " But, perhaps, Abe's services will not be forthcom- ing when you may want um." " I '11 risk dat nigger ; I know'd him long time ago." The suggestion of Uncle Tom disturbed Jim's equa- nimity, and as soon as he filled his pail with the ber- ries, he started for home. He revealed his thoughts to some of his fellow-slaves, and they were as anxious as himself to know the truth. They repaired to the house (f-Mr. Rawls, and were disappointed in not finding 191 him at home. Jim, and some of the others, loitered about the door until he returned. It was near sun- down. "What is wanted?" inquired the overseer, as he came up, and apparently much surprised to see the company. • " We hab come to know 'bout de increase of our stipend," replied Jim, who, upon his own motion, acted as spokesman. " And what do you want to ^now ? " " When ar' um to be increased ? " "What is that to you? It will be time enough for you to know that when you receive it," answered Mr. Rawls, in a gruff tone of voice, and jostled among them to reach tlie door of his house. "Dat is unsatisfactory, mass'r," said Jim, "we want to know de particulars." " Toil will know no more now from me. So get you Dack to your quarters, you ill-mannered scamps. It is very kind in your master to give you any, much more to increase it," replied the overseer, and entering the house, shut the door upon them. Jim and his fellow-slaves went away with heavy hearts, and much disappointed in being treated so harshly. They at least expected their inquiries to be answered in a civil manner. If the stipend was not to be increased at any time, they thought the overseer could say so. Jim thought of Uncle Tom's suggestion, and began to believe that there was some truth in it. "We should have stuck to the league," said Jim. "Tas; an' de blame is all on you, for backing out." 192 vnm at thb sottth; ob " I thought dat massa was honest ; I neber know'd him otherwise afore " " I believe dat massa am honest, now." " How do you make um so, when he promised to gib us more wages, an' do n't keep bis word ? " "You may hab heard massa say so; dis niggei has n't, anybow." "De oberseer said it; dat's all de same." " 1 'spects mass'r Eawls lied some." " Den, 'spose you ax massa, Sam." "Ifo; dis nigger not so green as dat. I will ai missus to-morrow." " Do, Sam ; an' if de oberseer hab lied, he neb& will hear de last ob it." Sam kept his word, and improved the first opportu nity which he had to ask his mistress about tho stipend. " So, Sam, your master has always taken good care of you, has he not? " " Yas, missus." "Then, I would not give myself further uneasiness You will always have what is proper and right, and 60 will your femily." "But, missuB, we had our expectations raised by de oberseer. He said as I hab told you. I could n't believe dat massa would not keep his promises." " Mr. Eawlfl, perhaps, anticipated what he told you. As Mr. Erskine had been bo kind as to increase the stipend on his plantation, perhaps Mr. Eawls thought that yours would be raised also. I presume that he trjiraLE tom'b oabis as itib. 193 could have no ibotive in exdting yonr expectations unnecessarily." Sam shook his head ; and at night, when Jim re- turned from his work to the quarters, he told him what his missus said. " Do you know what I am guine to do? " said Jim, as Sam finished the story. "No; I does not." " I 'm guine to make a point with mass'r Rawls." ""Wha' dat you guine to do ? " "I say dat I'm guine to make my point wid de oberseer. I 'm bound to know 'bout dis." "Oh! dat's right, Jim. Do so; an' keep your courage good ; mark dat." " Oh I do n't you take die nigger for a fool. I shall not let um off as easy as afore. I must know de bad part, if dar is any." Jim was at work mowing grass, the next day after the above conversation between him and Sam. In the course of the afternoon, he was raking the new- mown hay into smaU cocks, so as to shed the dew and rain which might fall before it was housed in the bam. Mr. Rawls was giving some directions in relation to {he size of the cocks, when Jim, believing that the opportunity was as favorable as he should have, again called the attention of the overseer to the stipend. "Why do you dog me about that? Do you not have your wants gratified?" inquired the overseer, quite out of patience with the slave's impudence. " Dat 's not de point, mass'r. You said some tiiie ago dat our stipend was increased, or would bo 194: Lira AT THE SOUTH; OE increased. "What I want to know is, when it is to begin?" " I am not disposed to answer you ; and I could not, if I was." " Den, I understand um. It is a cheat ; an' I am bound to report to massa. I '11 not stand it." " Perhaps you would like to change masters ; eh ? What do you say to that ? " "ISTo danger, no danger of dat, mass'r oberseer. I 'm too old — too many gray hairs." " Perhaps not ; but I can tell you one thing. If 1 am not greatly deceived, the crops must be larger, and the prices higher this year than usual, or some of you must go, and no mistake." " Do you say dat, mass'r? " " You had better believe I do, Jim." "I did not think that massa was in straightened circumstances. But I 'm opposed to lying," dryly remarked the slave. " I understand you, you saucy puppy !' I told you all that your stipend would be increased, so as to stim- ulate you to work the more diligently, and, perhaps, thereby save your master from the disagreeable neces- sity of parting with any of you. And I repeat now to you, that I have a strong impression that the stipend will be increased when your master sees his way clear.' "I did not understand you so afore, mass'r. Foi my part, I does n't care 'bout changing hands." " Yery good ; work, then, the harder, and live the closer ; for what you save is to the master's benefit, and to your own likewise, as you now, I think, understand." UNOLE TOM's cabin AS IT IS. 3 93 " DimnOj mass'r, how dat will be. I had rather hire my own time." "You might fare worse." "Not in dis valley, mass'r.'' "Very true. But if you should leave this planta- tion, there is no knowing where you might fetch up, at last." " Is massa in debt? " " Tes ; and the day of payment is coming around." "I can't understand it, mass'f. He lives not half BO well as some oder planters," said Jim, slow to believe the overseer, after the deception which he had practiced. "The debt is an old one — extending back to the purchase of a portion of the plantation. But it is now fast reaching its maturity, and must be promptly met, or the mortgage given to secure its payment will be foreclosed without mercy." ' Dis nigger am not acquainted wid de subject you speak on, mass'r. Dis much I will say: I shall do my part of de work, for I lub missus. But I 'm not afeerdof changing owners. Too many white hairs — too many, mass'r — ha! haw! hum!" remarked the slave, good-naturedly ; and plied the rake with greatei zeal than usual. Sam saw the overseer and Jim conversing together, and he concluded that the latter was making his point. He was anxious to learn the result, and as soon as he had eaten his supper, repaired to Jim's cabin. "Well, massa is in debt," said Jim, anticipating the object of his visit. 198 ItETH A.T THI SOUTH; OH " I reckon not much." " De oberseer says so." "What 'bout de stipend? dat interests dis nigger most." *• Iji is not increased, nor am it to be." The large white orbs of Sam's eyes looked pecu- liarly at this announcement. " How 'a dat, Jim ? Dis am a new feature, indeed." " I told you already ; massa is in debt, an' we must work harder, or some ob us must be sold. Come, go out wid me, an' I wiU tell um all.'-' "Agreed," replied Sam, looking most profoundly surprised ; and they went into the yard. " Here, you niggers I " shouted Jim, " come to me, an' hear something for your own good." They flocked around him immediately, to listen to the news. " Some of U9 must be sold, to help massa pay his debt, if de crops are not big ! " A peal of thunder, in a cloudless sky, could not have occasioned greater amazement. "Wha' dat! wha' dat you mention?" quickly in- quired a broad-shouldered, well-formed, robust negro, who had not seen five and twenty years. " I spoke dat some one would be sold afore long, if massa did not pay his debt." The young negro ap- peared to be troubled in his mind, lest his good con- dition should recommend him to the purchaser. " I hope dat you will do your best dis summer," continued Jim, addressing his conversation to the black last men- eioned, " for I should hate to part company wid you," ClfCLE TOM's cabin AS ET IS. 197 " Do n't yon mind me ; do yom- part. It will not follow dat I 'm guine to be the sold nigger, if I am smarter than di^rest of you. It will depend upon de sum to be raised, as to de price to be got. Perhaps some of de bt ys — dat one on de fence yonder — may do." "Well, dey will not take us ole ones — dat 's sartin ; for de buyer would be afeerd we should die too soon," replied Jim, apparently believing t, .it he was in no danger. "I do n't know'd dat," said Sam ; " it stands us all in hand, to lend our assistance, when missus cries for help. Dis nigger is glad dat you made your point, Jim, wid de oberseer; it 's better to know the bad now in season. I goes in for work." All of them acquiesced in this sentiment, and retiied U> their cabins. 19S LTTE AT THE SOUTH ; OB CHAPTEE XII. "Mark well your words, sir; for you must answer for them." Babd, After tea, on the day sncceeding his trance, Mr. Bates sauntered about the lawn, and in the iruit orch- ard. The sun was rapidly verging toward the cope of the western horizon, and the clouds, richly tinted with the reflection of his mellow rays, were gathering around, " as if to curtain his repose heneath their gorgeous drapery." What he beheld in the trance, had been uppermost in the mind of Mr. Bates during the whole day. And now that he was released from the duties of the schoolroom, it engrossed his entire thoughts. He believed that the slaves were to be re- leased from their thraldom, if equality was to exist in the 'New Jerusalem. He was 'T.ore than ever pei- suaded, that he was doing his Maker good service, iu contributing his mite toward the liberation of the down-trodden, and their Ultimate evangelization. This •"OHsideration braced his courage, and overbalanced UNCLE TOM's cabin AS IT B. 199 any misgivings which conscience, in moments of ten- derness, may have occasioned. What, if the fortune of the slaveholder was wrecked! What, if poverty succeeded affluence ! What, if the bondman himself sunk to a stiU deeper degradation, in this sphere he- low ! What, if the Union of the States was dissolved ! What, if the constitution of his country — the palla- dium of liberty — was scattered to the winds and waves of furious bigotry and imcontroUable fanaticism ! Such dismal events might occur. But he consoled himself with the comfortable reflection, that there was an unseen power above all — a higher law — that would guide the whirlwind of popular commotion, and finally allay the elements of discord, and harmonize the bel- ligerent interests of society. Uncle Tom did not forget his engagement; and shortly after sunset he was in the road, awaiting the appearance of his mentor — the schoolmaster. It was sometime before he came ; it was quite dark. " Tom, you are punctual, I see." " Tas, mass'r." " What a pity that the rest of them do not prize as highly as you, manly independence — the glory of life." " Can't say, mass'r, how dat am. Dis nigger is bent on guine to freedom." " Good pluck, my old boy ! Keep your hopes cen- tered there, and you will yet gain the victory." " I 'm afeerd dat time is long ways off." "It piay be so. But remember the story of the Israelites. Eugged w',8 the way, many the privations, 200 LIFE AT THE SOUTH J OK and very long the time, before that good old patriarch, Moses, stood on Pisgah's mount, and looked upon Palestine." This admonition was too much for the negro's pious heart, and, unable to restrain himself, he sung, in a manner so exquisitely pathetic as even to move Mr. Bates to tears, " There is a land of pure delight. Where saints immortal reign," alace, on de plantation, or any whar else in a land proper for you, living jist as you do now, or as Abe, de hostler, at Winchester — you would meet Dinah's eyes, an' Joe's eyes, an' your children's eyes, 'way up in de moon dar, jist as you do now. Don't you seed um ? " "No, you fool!" "You don't, hey?" "Do you?" " Out of your right mind, jist as I s'posed. 01 course I do not. Dis nigger am no gallant. Do n't you seed soinethiii' dat looks like a human faoe?" iiiiciLfi tom's cabin as it is. 287 "Yas." " t)at 's Dinali, wonderin' why you make so big fool of yourself as to think of Kanon." Uncle Tom was not pleased with Caesar's disquisi tion upon astronomy It was too personal. He de- spaired of converting the stubborn skeptic, and his notions of freedom were so little appreciated by his fellow slaves, that he began to doubt himself. Not desirous of prolonging the present conversation, he moved up the lane, and soon entered the cabin. Since the departure of the schoolmaster, Dinah had lost all desire to go to the free states. They could not go without a guide, and there was no one to perform that office. Besides, Mr. Bates left so suddenly — without even bidding them "good-bye" — her confi- dence in his integrity was impaired, and she believed the land of happiness he pictured in such fascinating colors, to be a humbug. Contented as she was, she did not wish to change her quarters. All the trouble of leaving, and the incidental preparations, iiad once been encountered, and without success. She experi- enced the mortification of returning from Winchester, and abandoning the journey to the North ; and all on account of the faithlessness of the schoolmaster, as she believed. They managed to avoid being seen by. Mr. Erskine, or the overseer, and their intended flight re- mained a secret on the plantation. She vowed in her heart not to be caught in that plight again. Not so with her husband. Two failures in succes- sion, to carry out his plan of escape, neither discour- aged or intimidated the disposition to change his 288 LIFE AT THE SOUTH ; OE residence. He was full of expedients, and had a . unchangeable will. His aversion to labor increased ; his love for the master was daily growing less. Later at work in the morning, he was earlier at the cabin in the evening. Destitute of ambition to see the crops well garnered, and losing all interest in the prosperity of his owner, he was lazy during the day, and would slight his duty, if possible. He watched the eyes of the overseer with great assiduity, appearing to be more interested in their movements than in executing the task imposed upon him, however light or inconsider- able it might be. He availed himself of the slightest -jar, to stir up ill feelings, and engender discontent. If the overseer spoke harshly, or looked cross, the circum- stance was magnified, until such eflforts became so abundant, and frequently so inopportune, that the effect was contrary to what was intended, and Uncle Tom's companions were disposed to jeer and ridicule his sayings-^BO wisely uttered, in his own judgment — and to treat him with indifference and contempt. These efforts to distract, aad create mischief and discontent, were noticed by the overseer, and brought to the attention of the master. The slave was put under a stricter regimen, and his movements more closely observed. Dinah was aware of all this, and oftentimes, in the absence of her husband, was sorely grieved in spirit at his waywardness. But what could she do? If an abundance of victuals, and coojjed with a good relish — a cleanly floor and soft bed — a wholesome cabin, and a pleasant smile — ^with no drudgery at home, and an undeviating obedience tQ TTNCLE TOM's CABIN A8 IT IS. 289 the smallest request — if these could not induce con- tentment, her wit was exhausted, and "things must take their course." Alter Hector, and Csesar, and Jeff would no longer listen to his complaints, he would bottle \ip his wrath, and pour it out unrelentingly when partaking of his meals, or lingering about the door. The master was unkind, the overseer was severe, the work was hard, his clothes were too ragged, his back ached with rheumatism, he was sick — in short, the world w ent wrong with him. Dinah would meekly listen, but make no answer. If the menaces and ill- natured vociferations of the father aroused the com- passion of the children for their mother, she would- instantly check it, and excuse his conduct, however great the raoroseness or severe the provocation to reta- liate. She loved her husband, and cast all the blame upon the schoolmaster. If he had never visited the plantation, she believed Uncle Tom would have been a better and a happier man. In this wise days, weeks, and even months, passed away. Once or twice he was prevailed upon to go to "meeting" at the oaks ; but he had lost even his taste for that ; and as for religious service in bis closet at home, it had been entirely neglected. The voice of prayer, there, was no longer heard ; he crawled into his bed at night, thankless for his existence, and hope- less for the future. "We said hopeless ; not quite so. He had yet a hope that he should some day exchange his present lot for the state of freedom. One Saturday afternoon, toward the close of com 290* LIFE AT THE BOUTE ; OB harvest, Dinah pressed him hard t'^ go K«i:t 'ic'v Z c^f fiddle, and dance oif " the blaes." " Dat am unpossihle ! Yer music wiR do no good I am too big to play Jike children," hp. saia, withou; a care for any enjoyment which Dinah might receipt from the pastime. " You increase your misery by your obstinacy." " Dar am whar' you deceive yourself. You think 'kase I am fretful, I would not dance ; dat 's a mistake.' " I is sure — sure. Tommy." " S'pose I told you, you would not believe." " 0, yes 1 would ! I is alwars sure to hear an' thinl right," she said, patting him under the chin. " I would like to listen to de fiddle ; but dat instru- ment now disconcerts my thoughts." " You am deceived dar, Tommy. You hab no thoughts now, except to throw blame on Dmah's shoulders." " My mind is constantly on de wrong wo both suffer." " Do n't include me." " Yas, yas ; I know'd you ar' not conscious. 'T is not like rheumatism. Bigger pain, we both suffer." " Name it, Tommy." '■We suffer an evil. "We ar' subjects of de curs'd institution of slavery. We hab de power of shakin' um off; but we ar' too cowardly — too cowardly; dat 's de trouble." " Oh ! I hab heard you say dis so many times that I am sick of de sound. Why do n't oder niggers know, an' feel, an' speak so ? " UNCLE TOm's cabin AS IT IS. 291 " 'Kase they hab no brains like Uncle Tona ; dat 'g the reason." " I s'pects de oder people hab not as much dislike to massa as yourself, Tommy." ' Neber you mind dat ; I am instructin' them, day by day. You '11 see em hobble ; hold your breath awhile, an' you. will not find me alone in my feelins'." Dinah was upon the point of asking for an explana- tion of this enigma, but she thought it was one of her husband's idle sayings, and he might be displeased if she appeared to be incredulous. " I am guine to hear Jefij" she said. "Dat's right, Dinah. I am guine to hear better music ; shall I tell you? " " Yes, Tommy ; I always like to hear you talk." " I am guine to hear mass'r Gravity preach to de niggers; an' Jeff will be dar, too," he replied, and bursting into a loud laugh, hopped over the fence. This was a greater enigma than the other. Dinah, however, did not permit it to make a lodgment in bet mind, and taking the children, went to hear the fiddle. For some reason unknown to Mr. Erskine, the blacks, tor some time past, did not evince as great a willing-, ness to wqrk. Daily becoming more sliack, he directed the overseer to have a talk with them, and ascertain whether the change in their conduct proceeded from any particular cause. Accordingly, on. the day in question, the slaves were bidden by the overseer to meet him at the elms. Hector, Csesar, Jeff, and all the rest — save Uncle Tom — were ignorant of the pur- pose, and he, even, knew not tbe precise object. He 292 LIFE AT THE BOUIH J <^^ was enlightened lYiore by suspicion than actual knowl- edge, as we shall soon discover. They were directed to be on the ground as early as the hour of two in the afternoon. Mr. Gravity was punctual, but they were not all there until long after the time appointed. Indeed, Jeff was so tardy tliai the overseer began to suspect that he would not be present. Uncle Tom chuckled at his absence, and hoped that it would be prolonged until Mr. Gravity, "with his patience exhausted, returned to the house. "You are growing lazy, Jeff — lazy — very lazy," said the overseer, as the fiddler came sauntering along. " Dunno, raass'r." "You should have been here more than an hour ago ; you have kept us waiting." " Sorry, massa ; dat nigger dar," pointing to Uncle Tom, " said you uam'd dis time for de meetin', or I should not hab danced de women so long." "That fiddle will be the death of you, unless yon pay more attention to your work, Jeff. The good book .tells us that there is a time for all things, for all men; but I am fearful that you are left out." "I will saw the brisker, mass'r, to make up for lost hour. He is ready ; so, nigger, git on de track," re- plied Jeff, with the impression that they were under the elms for a frolic; and, at the same time tuning the strings of his instrument. Mr. Gravity perceived that the fiddler mistook the reason why they were called there ; but, perhaps he would attain his object better by allowing instinct to have its way; and sOj without appearing in the DlfOtE TOM'S CABm AB ITIS. 293 disconcerted, he replied, " Lose no time, my boys, but up, and strive who shall be called the nimblest and longest-winded." The word was no sooner given than Jeff commenced, and all commenced, and such a reel those old, tail, wide-spreading and low-bough trees never before wit- nessed. It seemed, too, to Mr. Gravity, that it would never come to an end. It was certainly full half an hour before the music ceased a moment, and equally untiring were the feet of the dancers. Finally they stopped to take breath, and the overseer, availing him- self of the interval, remarked, " Boys, if you would work as heartily as you dance, the corn would soon be garnered ; I wish I could say as much." They all giggled, and showed their teeth, which, in contrast with their jet black faces, appeared remark- ably white. Uncle Tom laughed outright; and Jeff, without seeming to notice the suggestion, again struck up a very familiar air. Like the sound of the bugle, in calling the men of the heath or high road together, it brought them to their places again, and before Mr. Gravity had time to add another remark, away they hopped, jumped, and danced, without regard to step or measure. Mr. Gravity concluded that he must adopt some new mode of imparting the instructions with which the planter had charged him, or fail to do his duty. He beckoned several times to Jeff, to hold his bow, but the slave was either too much taken up with the mer- riment, or did not comprehend. It was of no use. Finally, he ran out from under the shade of the trees 13 294 LIPE AT THE SOUTH; OE to the brink of the bank of the river, and, for some minutes, gazed with intense earnestness upon the water below. Jeff noticed the overseer, and wondered what it could be that attracted his attention. He could not control his eager curiosity to know, and with hardly more than one bound, he sprung to his side. "Wha', mass'rl wha' d'ye see down thai-?" he instantly inquired, unwilling to lose one moment's observation. "Not anything," Mr. Gravity calmly replied. "Noffinlmass'r?" " Yes. Do n't disturb me." « Thinkin', mass'r ? Thinkin' ? " " To be sure I am. Would you know what? " "Speak um, mass'r — speak um." " How busy the pickerel are ! See them dart througl the water ; no laziness, Jeff, there." " Natur', mass'r ; dat dis nigger calls natur'." " D' ye think, my trusty man, those tiny beings were intended to act differently from aU other animate creation ? " " Tou hab de start of me, now ; I do n't take. Please mass'r, explain dat remark." "Why, are you so ignorant? have you heard the gospel to Bo little profit? Have you not hea'rd the preacher, time and again, say, at the oaks, that the fowls of the air and the fishes of the sea were typical of similar instinctive attributes among both men and "Tas — Oyas." " It is unnatural, then, for me or you to shirk our UNCLE TOM's cabin AS IT IS. 296 work ; and when I grow lazy, I feel I am wronging massa, and outraging the God that made me." " Berry good, mass'r Gravity." " And when that is my feeling, I always reproach myself, and go into the woods you see yonder, and look at the biids as they fly nimbly from bush to bush ; or come to the river, as now, and observe the trout and pike as they skim along the surface of the water, or plunging into it at my feet, in a moment show themselves at some other point. The lesson teaches me to be industrious, and I ply myself to work with more zeal and greater contentment." The rest of the slaves came to a halt when the music ceased, and following Jeff, heard what the overseer said, in profound silence. "Mass'r Gravity, is dat de real object of your call- ing us to de elms dis artemoon ? " inquired Jeff, after a pause. " Do you not think it was necessary ? " "Dnnno, mass'r." " Have not all of you hung back in the field, and shown less disposition to hurry the work ? You con- fess it in your looks ; and the com is on the hill when it should be in the stack. What d'ye think massa will say ? " " I s'pects stipend will be decreased," said Uncle Tom, as if he did not care if it was. "No, no; dat will neber do. We must finish the work next week without fail," remarked Hector, ap- pearing to be ashamed that this reproof was deserved. " What say you all ? " asked the overseer. 296 UFB AT THE SOUTH; OK The desire to keep the wages up, by better behavior, was universally assented to, with the exception of Uncle Tom. He turned his head aside, and made no response ; he looked as if disappointed. " Shalll yours be kept up to the mark ? " said the overseer to him. " As massa may think best," he replied, with sul- lenness. Mr. Gravity was surprised, and again turned his eyes to the water. Uncle Tom, to draw him out farther, added, in an ironical voice, " Dis nigger alwars did his duty — he am no slouch, an' massa know'd dat years ago. He can't work foreber ; 't is not right, 'less he reaps all de fruits himself. Dare, you hab my notion." "Let Uncle Tom alone; he thinks of noffin but Kanon," said Caesar, disposed to act as a pacificator. "Confound the schoolmaster! the blame is upon him," replied the overseer, and, sensible that further parley at this time would be useless, expressed a wish that they would reform, and be early at work on Monday morning. mrcLE Toil's OABiN AS tr IS. 29? OHAPTEE XXI. ' STATE OF FREEDOM." The discontented negro returned from the elms to the quarters disheartened. Why could not his com panions appreciate the glorious "state of freedom?" was the question which he asked himself repeatedly ; and the involuntary response uniformly was, " be con- tent with thy lot." "Uncle Tom was aware of the indolence of his fellow- slaves, for he- was instrumental in producing it. He constantly harped upon their hardships, magnified every fault of the planter, and resorted to all the means that his ingenuity could devise, to create alienation and uneasiness. He watched, as intently as ever snake did the harmless bird perched upon a tree, the effect of his efforts.' He noticed their dilatoriness, and took courage ; he observed the annoyance it occasioned the overseer ; and when the appointment at the elms was named, he flattered himself with the hope that the crisis had come. He expected a lecture fall of curses in the old-fashioned way ; a reduction of the gratuity 298 LIFE it THE sdtriH: Oe threatened, and the way fully prepared for a revolt. The sterling good sense of Mr. Gravity, acting in obe- dience to the command of the proprietor of the estate, prompted the pursuit of an entirely different course to reach a remedy for the evil. And when it was too plain not to be perceived, that Ceesar and Jeff — to say nothing of Hector — were disposed "to mend their ways," he was -satisfied that the rest would foUow the example, and all desire to change their condition would be banished from their minds, and perhaps for forever. Uncle Tom met Dinah that evening, at supper, in a far different mood from what he was when she left him, in the aftomoto, to hear Jeff's fiddle. " Tommy, my dear, what now? Ton gaine to be ugly agin, wid yoiir own Dinah ? " " Peelin's — feelin's ar' on — neber go away." " Whaf' you bin ? " " D' ye recollect, last spring massa gib um a big dance by the river side ? ^ " When yoTi was shiit up in dat ole hovel ? " " Tas — yas." " I shall neber in my life lose the mettorj of dat circumstance. Oh ! it makes me shudder now to think of it." "Dat's whar'Ibin." " Pray, Tominy, what was dar to stir you up ? It 's a quick turn ybu made ; why, you hab not looked so much like your ownself since dat dance, as you did this artemoon ; an' now you so much changed ! " "Dis nigger's integrity is too large to staa' sich treatment." rarcLE tom's cabin as rris. 299 " I s'pose you could not help thinkin' how you war' punished? " " Pshaw ! sich little things do n't trouble me ; big^ ger ones in my mind -^ more important — looking more to the future, as mass'r Bates would say." "Well, I cannot imagine what ye think 'bout— 'less, " Ah ! I knows wha' you guine to say now, Dinah.." "Freedom?" " De same." "Hab you not gib um up yet ? I seed now de cause of your feelin's ; sorry you can not git rid of um." " ISTeber mention dat agin ; I will alwars hold on to it." • " Then mark what I was sayin', Tommy ; then, you will be miserable for all time to come. Gib um up at once." "I am determined to be a free man." "One thing to say — quite different to do. You said dat afore; too old and cross. You can neber save enough to buy your liberty of massa." " Nor will I ever do sich foolish thing." " La, me ! you do n't 'spect to ever ipn off North, d'ye?" _. " " Dinah, mark what I now say to you, in de strictest confidence : I shall not see' our cabin arter to-morrow night!" " Why, how you talk ! " exclaimed Dinah, her eyeS moistening with tears. "Now, do n't take on so ; it 's no use." "But, v6u can not fetch me an' de children; you 300 LIFE AT THE SOtTTH ; OB could hardly contrive how to do so when mass'r Bates was here to help ; now we are alone, an' wid no friend to help us in our hour of need." " Hah 1 not feet to walk on, an' legs to run with, an' can I not fetch myself? " " Tommy, would you really leave us all in slavery, wid no prospect of ever being otherwise ; an' you, at de same time, your own master and happy ? !N"o, no ! too soft-hearted for sich conduct." " Believe, I shall not desert you. When I am safely housed in de 'state of freedom,' you will hear from me, in de shape of a letter filled with money — plenty of money." " I had rather see you than the money." . " So you shall see me. Money will carry you, in fljn'ng colors, through all troubles, an' over all quag- 'iiires, no matter how deep." " Do you mean that I shall then come to you, wid our dear children ? " "JSToffin less dan dat." "Ah, ha! my heart aches to think of it. A wild plan — never can be carried out," said Dinah, shaking her head, and moving back from the table. "To-mor- row am Sunday — de Lor's day — do not go then," she added, " wait 'till Monday, an' I will help you." He paused a moment. . " On Monday, then," he said, and the conversation here dropped. Late in the afternoon of next day, Philisee came running into the cabin, and before she had been there five minutes, stated that Miss Mary had just then tmcLE Tom's cabin as it b. 301 looked in upon her, and gave her calico enough for 9 new frock. " La, suz ! she gib me one last week, wid compli ments of our good ole massa." " Do yon recollect our ole missus, Dinah ? " " Oh ! bless her ! mebbe I hab forgot her ! N"o, no I never — never I Did n't she alwars come an' look in, an' sit down ; and when we war sick, comfort us, an' deal out de medicine ? " " Yes, Dinah ; an' when ole disease broke up, she would send Pompey wid some wine, an' insist upon our takin' all we could wish. She is in heaven among de saints ; an', as you mention her, — ^would you believe it? — I.actually — it is as true as I now sit here, I saw her in my sleep last night!" " Pooh ! you wench, do n't turn Dinah's head topsy- turvey wid dreams ; there is enough of reality, with- out making up stuff," interposed Uncle Tom, who desired to terminate the conversation so happily in progress. "La! Tommy, my ole head is too solid. I believe we see our spirits, though ; they watch over us for our good." " I wish, den, you an' Philisee could see one spirit for me." " What 's dat? " eagerly inquired the latter. " De mighty spirit of liberty ! Dat would be sen- sible." This exclamation was uttered so solemnly, accom- panied with such a wild, demoniac look, that Phili- see was terrified, and shrieked. Her scream was so S6% X.W& AT THE scrora; oft piercing, it i*eached the ears of her Eusband, in a neigh* boring yard, and he flew to her assistance. "She has fainted — throw water in her face — it will revive her," said Dinah, handing hitn a cup. He dis- dainfully dashed it away, and lifting np her head, he carried her in his arms into the open air. The fresh breeze restored the negress to consciousness, and she begged to be taken home. "Who struck you? " asked Hector; "tell me quick, [ 'm in haste to return the blow." "]!?"o one. Uncle Tom was talkin' of Kftnon ; he Is a, perfect fury on dat subject. Let me git out of his sight." "D'ye see what a inuss yoiir feelin'a mdceP'said Dinah, after Philisee and licr Iiusband left the veranda. "No harm to me; it may do good to them. Let the wench ponder de thought ober, so dat when you come arter me she nuiy be inclined to bear yon company." " That day will not come. You will talk, but you can not find the way ; it is a long road, an' the corners and windings ar' many, an' difficult to travel. The wolves will howl, an' the serpents will bite. If you eber git dar, the cold will freeze you stiff, an' no more on earth will be heard of poor Uncle Tom. Abandon your feelin's, an' think of home." " You waste your words, Dinah." " Here lie the bones of your good old father ffla' mother -^" . " Stop right-dai^I "said the slave, the floodgates of pure loVe bursting their barriers at the mention of 303 those hallowed names, and hot tears fast trickling down his attenuated cheeks. " Wid & good white fence, to keep off ebery animal an' profane intruder. And dar you see," she continued, " de smooth marble dat massa put in the ground, to notify our children, an' their children, an' all our blood, of de place whar' repose de remains of their ancestors. Oh ! will you forsake um all, to lie down in a strange land, wid none to close your eyes, or wateh your spirit as it ascends — ah! I know not whar' — away off to de Iforth? K you would not tear out my heart, think no more of your ' state of freedom.' " The slave was so much excited, he, for a moment or two, did not dare to trust his tongue. He silently gazed, alternately upon his wife and children as they lay in the low bed. He soon collected himself, wiped away the teardrops that lingered'upon the face, and rising up from his chair, stepped toward a picture of Jesus nailed to the cross, knelt down, and exclaimed in a mild but determined voice, " I swear by the blood of my Saviour, if I live to see de sun go beliind ole liills to mon-ow, I will take de road to freedom ! " and returned to tlie table. "Foolish man! you will famish by the way. Oh ! [ beg of you, remain 'tented at home. You know not whar' yon go ; I fear dar am a deep sea of trouble afore you," was, the unflinching response of an affec- tionate wife. "De road may be — what did mass'r Bates call um ? ah, dis nigger hab a good memory — intiicate, some- vhat; more than once I shall take a wron^ tumiuft 304 MFE AT THE SOITTH j OB an' perhaps be forced to take back my steps; bnt Knowing the distance I hab to perform, I shall not hurry my horse too much. Fortune will favor me, depend upon it, Dinah; an' I shall finally reach de promised land, wid my head erect, and at a slash- ing trot." " Tou 'd best quicken your pace, then, if you 're bent upon makin' de trial, for thar may be them a coming arter you, dat may stop your getting away quite so easy ; and, I s'pose you hab weighed um well in yom* mind — if you ar' cotch'd stealin' de horse, "Winchester jail will be your home for many a long day." " Mistaken already, Dinah. Abe — good Abe — furnishes de horse. I don't take massa's." " So be it, if you will go ; but I know'd you will not eber be in my sight again." " Be of good cheer ; stick to your integrity, an' Tom- my and Dinah will sit some day under their own vine and fig tree in de ' state of freedom,' " gaily said the slave. , The wife assured him of her cooperation in making his eficape, and he retired early to bed. 805 CHAPTER XXII. THE ESCAPE- JSText day's sun did not rise earlier than Uncle Tom. With a beating heart and throbbing pulse, he went through the various chores, and anxious to devote the entire portion of the day in making preparations, he -feigned sickness, and did not, as usual, go to the field. Worn out by a night which care had rendered almost sleepless, he hastily swallowed a cup of milk, and turning away from the untasted eatables, flung him- fielf upon the bed. Dinah, glad to see her husband rest, would not dis- turb him; and when, in the course of an hour, the overseer called to learn the reason of his absence, she pointed to the bed, for an answer. It was enough. " K your husband feels no better when he awakes, let Joe come and tell me," said Mr. Gravity. "Tas, mass'r, I will be sure to do that," quickly replied Dinah, thankful that the overseer did not mis- trust the trick. He slept, soundly, and it was mid-day when he awoke. The repose refreshed him : he got up and ate 306 MSE AT THE SOBTS J Ofi a liearty meal. It was a busy afternoon, arid tte slia'des of evening wei'e close upon the day ere his arrangements were perfected. Luckily, he had not been disturbed by visitoi-s or loungers. The men were at work, and the women engaged in washing. He had . a clear field and an open sky, and he improved the tim«. Dinah packed his clothes in as. small a compaes as possible ; indeed, tJiere were not many to cany, as he proposed to take only what might be necessary for actual use — he did not wish to be incumbered. Be- sides, he entertained no doubt but that he should easily I'eplenish his scanty wardrobe, as soon as he reached the happy land. And wlieu night actn.i-lly set in, he believed himself ready to set off on the journey. Notwithstanding "his feelings," iic liad a desire to take a parting Jook at his master, and he saunterec over to the house. He' pretended tliat he came to thank *he ovei-seer fijr his^ attention in the morning, and after announcing tliat his sickness was over, said he should be able to recommence' work the next day. This was welcome intelligence to all, and especially to Mr. Erskine, who concluded that the slave inteiidi#to Sict better and work with more will.' It was after nine o'clock; all was still at the quar- ters — no lights were to be seen at the mansion. The slave and his wife were sitting in their cabin} each anxious for the proper time to arrive, and yet wishing it to be deferred as long as possible. The hour had at length come. He must then leave, or never. Sum- moning all his" fortitude, he broke the silese© by whis- jDerinec, " he must go." 307 "Oh! Tommy, Tommy!" exclaimed Dinali, and covered her face and eyes with her apron. " Hush ! hush ! you will wake up the children wid your sobbing. I can not bear dat now ! if I should see their eyes, I 'm afeerd I could not stir," he said, and at once slung " the pack " upon his shoulders. " An' must you. Tommy — ^must you now leave us ? " " Pluck, my good woman ; now, if ever, let me know your pluck. No whimpering : look sorrow plump in de face. I must go." " Oh ! I fear our days are few, and full of sorrow ! " " Ifo, Dinah, no. From this minute commences our happiness. We will now think of freedom, an' soon shall hab um." " Dmmo ; I can't believe it, so contrary to natur." "Pooh! I feel nm in my bones." " But, I fear me, dat wc ar' doin' wrong in sight of our Divine Master. I can't think otherwise. It gibs me much trouble. Oh ! I 'm afraid you ar' wild, Tommy." "You jist mentioned, Dinah, de berry thing that justifies us. We hab but one mass'r, an' he is 'bove de earth. We are not bonn' to serve mass'r Erskine, if we do not eat his substance. We shall work for ourselves, an' live upon ourselves : what injury, den, do we to him, as we ar' accountable only to God, who breathed into us de breath of life ? No, no ; make you^'elf easy on dat subject. All right, if we can only get to 'he land prepared for us ; dat accomplished, and our anxiety is at an end." " Oh! be careful of yourself: if sick, take medicine; 308 • LIFE AT THE SOtTTa; OK be not wasteful wid yotir new clotlieB, and send Word to poor Dinah how you am, and when she shall over- take you." " Trust me for dat," he answered, and with a slight tremulousnesB in his voice, requested the candle to be blown out. "It will throw a light into the yard as I open de door," he added, and after hugging and kissing his wife, he said "good bye," and softly opening the door wide enough to get out, crept along by the side of the fence to the highway. An unexpected obstacle here interrupted his pro- gress. He heard the distant rattling of carriage wheels, and the sound seemed to be down the road, in the direc- tion he proposed to travel. It would not do for him to be. seen at the dead of night in his present plight: it would be suspicious. He might then, perhaps, be taken up. And besides, he did not care to have it known the next day, which way he went. ■ He walked on, and soon was near enough to satisfy himself that the vehicle was approaching him. Clouds overcast the heavens, and the moon rose late. He turned into the lane, and notwithstanding it was very dark, pro- ceeded down it some distance, lest the dog that might accompany the traveler should bark, if he crouched under the fence by the wayside. It turned out to be a gig, with a gentleman and lady, and in a moment or two passed by. The slave • reentered the road, and pushed on as fast as his legs could carry him. !N"othing occurred to disturb his midnight walk, and when the heralds of morning began 309 to piirple the horizon in the east, he was several milea helow the viDage of Millwood. His intention was to reach Abe's barn before daylight, and there rest until eveiiing. He hurried his pace as it grew light ; but when the sun was up, he was several miles off from ATinchester, and he did not dare to trust himself longer on the public thoroughfare. There was a narrow clear iiig between the road and the woods, and he jumped across the ditch and hedge, and hid himself in tha thicket. The fugitive was glao enough to lie down and rest his weary limbs. But he did not know who might chance to come and pounce upon his defenceless body, he must not, therefore, indulge himself in the luxury of a sleep, and the effort, constantly, to keep awake, made it the more difficult*to keep his eyes open. He ate his comcake, and ..drank liberally of the milk that Dinah bottled for his use. Exhausted with watch fulness, he finally stretched himself at full length upon the ground, and fell into a slumber. Towards noon he awoke, and opening his eyes, he saw standing before him a lad, with a basket suspended upon his arm. He started to his feet so suddenly that the lad was frightened, and scampered to get out of his sight. "Hallo! you little nigger, you!" cried Uncle Tom, unwilling to part company so. He was fearful that the lad might run and tell what he had seen ; but the youngster was too frightened to stop. This would never do, thought the fugitive, and he ran after him. The underbrush, however, was thick, and the limbs alO LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OE of the trees were low, and the lad had the advantage. Uncle Tom gave up the chase, and returned to his hid- ing-place. He remained undisturbed the residue of the afternoon ; and the privacy would have been lonely and irksome, but his mind was constantly on the alert, and full of anticipated scenes. Immediately after nightfall, he issued forth from the woods, and made his way to the road. This was im- prudent, for he was in danger of being seen when he entered it, and probably would meet more or less per- sons, so early in the evening. He was in too urgent haste, .however, to get on farther from the plantation of his master before the sun should show himself again. His pace was rapid, for he desired to reach the bam ere his friend, the hostler, closed it for the night. Two hours walk, he thought, would bring him to the city, and the result of this extra exertion showed that he was not so much mistaken in his anticipation. He saw many lights as he entered the suburbs, and taking one of the back streets proceeded as fast and noiselessly as he could, to Abe's quarters. Fortunately, the hos- tler was detained later than usual, and was readily found. " Come at last, hab you ? " he said, as the fugitive came to the stall where he was currying and brushing off a horse. " Yas, Abe, my friend." " "Why war you not here last night — any accident? " "Too far — too long walk for one night — slept during the day nine or ten miles back. I'm all right." - DNcrtJ! tom's cabin as itis. 311 " "Well, git up on de hay-mow, till I hab diBan'd dis hoss, an' I '11 attend to you." The fugitive complied cheerfully with this order, and took a lunch. " Here 's some bacon an' oder fixin's ; make a sup- per of them, tor you will be hungry, riding all night," said Abe as he ascended the ladder. " Thank 'ee, I hab list made my supper from some articles dat Dinah put up for me." " Well, throw urii, then, into the saddlebag ; keep aH you can git." Uncle Tom and Abe had known each other inti- mately from boyhood. There was more than a simple " good fellow-feeling " existing between them. They had played and romped together as boys, danced and attended " meiry-makings " in company as they ad- vanced in years, and ^though the latter, by possessing more enterprise, and from good In^, acquired means enough to buy his freedom several years before, yet their jntinaacy continued unbroken, and the fi*ee man took a lively interest in the welfare of the slave. Con- sequently, Abe readily seconded the efforts of his friend to run away, and did not hesitate to offer all tiie aid in his power. It was arranged between them that the hostler should loan tte furtive a horsej- and after he reached the " state of freedom," he should remit him fifty dol- lars therefor. This would enable the slave to widen the distance faster between himself and Ms master ; and if he should find it 'difficult to beg hay and prov- ender after he traveled far on his way, he could sell 312 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OB the animal to the best advantage, and with the money obtained upon the sale, hire his passage in some pub lie conveyance. The beast was ready when the fugitive reached th» bam, and as there was no time to be lost, he was soon 'saddled and bridled, and the bags containing- clothing and provisions fastened to the seat. TJncle Tom de- scended the ladder to mount into the saddle. "It is necessary that yon should daub your face with flour, so that you may not be taken for a colored man. It will last you until out of the city. I will give you my permit to use when you get out. I can get a new one," said the hostler. " I do n't understand this ? " • " "Why, no color'd man has a right to be out arter dark, here in "Winchester, unless permitted by master, or if free, has de evidence thereof in his possession. So, do as I tell you." The fugitive whitened his face as directed, and thanking his friend in the warmest terms, bid him farewell. " Kemember, now, your name is Abe," said the host- ler, and the fugitive, nodding assent, rode out of the bam. The heavens were clear and fuU of stars, and lighted him on his way. The beast moved over the gi-ound at good speed, and long,before morning, h^ was far from the county of Frederick, and riding rapidly on toward the northern limits of the state. Abe was well ac- quainted with the country for some distance, and gave his friend particular dirc^ptions as to the course ha should pursue. xrsCLE toh's cAsm as it is. 313 Fortune, for the first time, as he thought, now £&• vored him. He was unmolested, and took courage. He had money enough to buy forage for several days. Se traveled the main road, believing that he should rje less liable to snspicion. He stopped at an nnpre- cending inn, to rest and feed, near the usual time for oreaklast. He was treated like other travelers ; and after an hour's repose, remounted and pursued his journey. It so happened that he had struck upon a inmpike, and after riding a short distance, came to a 'jate. By a regulation then in force in that precinct, t was incumbent upon the keeper to know the author- ity under which the ftigitive was traveling the high load. "Tour name?" said he, as he came out of the lodge to raise the gate for the traveler to pass. "Tom — Uncle Tom," was the prompt reply. "Are you free?" "Tas, yas ; I can go as I like." "Let me see the warrant." He handed the gate-tender the paper which Abe gave him. "What is this?" said the gate-tender, turning it over with an air of surprise. " Where did you get it from, my good fellow ? what does it mean ? I do n't inderstand this, at all." " From Winchester," replied the slave, disconcerted. " From Winchester ? " repeated the gate-tender, with i Bunilar air of surprise, for the purpose of making the olack think it was a different paper, — supposing that le could not read, or he would not be so simple as to 314 LIFE AT TJIE SatTTH ; OB give his name different from the one written in the document. " Yas, mass'r, jist so," the slave affirmed, with an innocent look. The gate-tender turned, it over again. " I understood you to give your name as Tom ; am 1 right, my good fellow ? " The mistake flashed upon his mind, and the last injunction of the hostler came fresh to his memory. His heart, which a moment before was buoyant with hope, sunk within him, and he scarcely had courage to answer. If he had been white, this sudden de- spondency would have stood out in bold relief upon his visage ; as it was, his black face served as an admira- ble visor to conceal his real emotions. He coughed, and gained time to think, and then faintly stammered out, "ISTo, massa, Abe am the correct name." " Ah, ha ! that does not correspond with the name here given in this document! A mistake — perhaps cheat — somewhere," said the gate-tender, knowing well enough that he did not misunderstand, and from the horseman's procrastination in answering, mistrust- ful that there was something wrong. So he thought he would bo justified in pretending that the name given the second time was also not correct, if the paper was to be relied upon by the black for his passport,- The slave had good sense enough to knOw it was policy to adhere to the name he gave last, and " lie it through." " I toM you, sir, my name war Abe. It war Abe from de begiiming ; it will be Abe foreber. Gib me back my permit, an' let me pass ; here 's your change— UNCLE TOJi's CABIN AS IT IS 316 slaves hab no money ! " said he, with remarkable self- possession. "Don't they! The devil take me, if they don't, now-a-days, have more money than the whites, in these parts. I do n't know what has got into the masters. There was a time when I could tell whether a nigger was a slave or not, the moment I saw him ; bnt the free are getting to be as thick and common as white folks." "Dis nigger cares not to hear your speech ; he has a great way to travel, an' am in a hurry; so hoist your gate, an' let me pass on," "But, my good fellow, answer me honestly this : did you not give your name as Tom — r Uncle Tom — when 70U first rode up ? Now, no deception." " Pshaw ! white man, no ; do you s'pose dat I am guine to palm myself off for somebody else ? De thought neber entered dis nigger's head. I am not asham'd to own myself anywhar'." "Bejabers, though, you said Tom — Uncle Tom." "Oh! — ah! I remembers; I said — I meant to hab said — dat Tom, my excellent friend, brought it to me from de court house at "Winchester ; da 's it." "When?" " I disremember de time — no matter; I put myself on the defensive ; make de most of um. I '11 complain of yer detaining me imlawfully, if de gate am not immediately run up." The gate tender verily believed that the negro had crossed himself; but he had no evidence, and possibly he was mistaken. The stage was coming rapidly up, and without more ado, he gave the negro the paper, 316 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OS and pulled the rope. The fugitive passed under the gate, and putting spurs to his horse rode on at a fast trot. The animal was not sure-footed, and descending a hill, a mile or two distant from the gate, stumbled and fell upon his side, jamming one of the slave's legs quite badly. After a little delay, be got the horse upon his feet again, and pushed forward, but not as briskly. The pain from the btuise increased, and in a short time it became so poignant that he found himself compelled — much against his inclination — to halt, and ask for assistance. Upon examination, the ankle appeared to be dislocated; he was offered the hos- pitality of the house into which he chanced to wander, and a physician kindly sent for. nroLS Ton's oAsm juhstb. 817 CHAPTER XXIIL THE pmtsinr. On the second day after Uncle Tom bade farewell to the cahio, the following was posted on the corners of the principal streets in the city of Winchester : EOTTAWAY — $100 EEWABD. My slave Tom — familiarly known as Uncle Tom— scaped from my plantation, as near as I can ascertain, night before the last. Whoever shall restore him to my possession, will be entitled to the above rewaid. The slave is forty-five years of age ; color, jet black; built s tpaL; about five feet four inches in height; ^ scar on the tbrebead, above the right eye ; limps in his walk; carries his head high, and usually very talkative. James Ebskute, Of Oakland, near Millwood. The handbill attracted the attention of the passers, and -nai>y stopped to peruse it. There was one posted 14 al8 UFE AT THE SOUTH; OS upon Abe's barn, it being a public place •, and in tLe course of two or three hoiirs — such circulation did this item of news have — many of the free colored people of the town had congregated there, each desirous to know whether the other possessed any information on the subject, and freely discussing the direction the runaway might have taken, and the probability of liis recapture. Mr. Gravity was aware of the Intimacy existing be- tween the hostler and fugitive; and hoping that the former might, at some time, casually drop a hint to his comrades, if he did, in fact, know anything of the whereabouts of the latter, the overseer employed one of the citizens, who was accustomed to trade and traf- fic in the barter of horses, to court his company, and loiter about the premises as much as he properly could, without creating a suspicion of his purpose, and, to report, at short intervals, to the planter at the tavern, what he might happen to hear. The citizen was well acquainted with Abe, and ex- per.enced no inconvenience in whiling away the time. He laughed and joked, and was so full of witticism, as to throw the blacks, and Abe also, entirely off their guard. Queerly enough, Abe, some two months before, purchased of this citizen the horse which carried Uncle Tom out of town. In looking around, the citi- zen did not perceive the horse in question, and naturally inquired of the hostler if he had parted with him. "Yas," said he, without evincing any disposition to mention the particulars. " 5"ow much iiid you make on the trade, jockey 1 " 319 " Do n't be too inquisitive," he bluntly replied. *' Ah ! lost ; well, you must drive a better bargain the next time." " Who told you dis nigger lost ? He know'd noflin, eeny way," said the negro, his temijer beginning to rise at such a reflection upon his sagacity. " These little fellars up here," said the citizen, point- ing to his brains. "Berry good, you can inform um dat I got what I wanted, an' it am none of yer business ; so git along." "When did you part with the animal, Abe?" "Not long since." " I am sorry I did not know you would sell ; for I would have liked to have had the refusal of the beast. Good wind and sure-footed. By the way, how was his flesh ? " . ' " Bound as a barrel — plump — neber look'd better." "What a pity that I did not hear of it! Why, I should have thought I must heard of your disposition to Bell ; I 'm passing here 'most every day," remarked the citizen, apparently very sorry that he lost the chance.' " I do n't alwars make a sign of myself," replied the hostler, walking into one of the stalls. "Who bought the critter? perhaps I can get him now." "Oh! I sold um to one of my friends, for a family horse; he would n't part wid de beast now, for any sura— dat I does know." "You can tell me where the purchaser lives? Per- haps, now, I can make a rap ; I have did such things many a time, though it had a bad look when 1 opened." 320 J^TFE TS THE SOtJTH ; OE "I did u't ax de question." " Ah ! I understand ; he was a stranger in these parts." , " Appeared to be traveling — chanced along here," replied the hostler; and started off whistling into the street. " There is necromancy somewhere," said the citizen, in an under- tone. As he could not continue the con- versation, he proceeded to the tavern, to report to the planter. To return to the plantation. "We can not say that Mr. Erskine was at all astonished, when he heard, the next day, that Tom had gone off. He was expecting some such trouble, although he hoped to avert it by generous treatment. The intelligence, however, reached him so qu^ck, he flattered himself that he should be able to recover his property. The information leaked out oddly. It appeared, that when Dinah got up in the morning, such was her sense of guilt in conniving at the escape, and wilfully blinding the eyes of the overseer, the day before, by felsely pretending that her husband was sick, — added to that feeling of utter loneliness, which came over her as she sat down to eat her breakfast, — that she wept bitterly herself, and aroused a kindred sensation in the bosoms of the chil- dren. The unusual wailing, at so early an hour, caught the ears of Hector passing by, and fearful that some Budden calamity had befallen this humble household, he looked in, and, to his perfect astonishment, beheld Dinah stretched upon the bed, the children on their knees in front of it, and all in tears, writhing in the 321 deepest sorrow. Anxious for the cause, and ready do all in his power to allay the grief, he demanded to to be informed immediately. The distracted woman scarcely knew what she said. Taking pity on her helpless condition, he asked where her husband was, and received for answer that he had gone North. Hector consoled her as well as he could, and went t« the overseer, to inform him of the occurrence. The field and work was abandoned for the day, ana all hands were busy to ascertain the particular direc- tion taken by the runaway slave. They tracked hira for a mile or two on the road, and then lost sight of him. Whether he had taken to the open lots, to avoid pursuit, or hidden in the woods, rested in conjecture. One thing was certain, he would make his way north- ward ; and believing that he was not many miles off, the planter deemed it advisable to proceed to Win- chester, and give public notice of his loss. He made inquiries there, but had not, up to this time, derived any reliable information. He heard that some person saw a strange negro in one of the back streets, the eve- ning previous; but the individual could not be found, and he remained in the dark as much as ever. It was under these circumstances, that the citizen had been employed as a spy; and Mr. Erskine was now — it being near noon — awaiting at his room for news. A rap on the outside of the door signified that some per- son desired admission, and he rose to welcome the visitor. It was the overseer and citizen. "What have you learned?" he immediately asked. " Enough to set me thinking," replied the citizen, 322 LIFE AT THE SOUTH*, OR who at once rehearsed, as minutely as he could recol- lect, what passed between himself and the hostler. " Suspicious, I must confess, very suspicious. Not suflBcient to found an accusation' upon, however. We must know more ; can you not obtain more information at the bar? The clerk may recollect the stranger." " That has already been done ; but nothing worth mentioning is known there," replied the citizen. " "Well, what is your advice ? " " I would despatch some person forward, without delay." " He has a good start." ' Yes ; but with relay of horses, he will be over- hauled in the course of the next eight and forty hours." " "What do you say, Mr. Gravity ? " " It is the only course to take." " If your suspicion is well founded, I must engage your services," said Mr. Erekine to the citizen. " I am at your service, sir ; but the overseer would be more apt to track the nigger. Besides, I might not know him, from the advertisement, even if I should see him." " Yes, but you know the horse, and can easier de- scribe the animal as you proceed along the road." " I think," remarked Mr. Gravity, " that we both should go. I can describe and know the runaway, and our friend here can describe and know the horse. No mistake will then be made, in either case." "Very good; be it as you say. "When shall you start?" UNCLE TOm's CABI^f AS IT IS. 323 •' Immediately after dinner, as our horses can then ho in readiness." "Is this agreeable to you?" said the planter to the titizen. " Certainly ; I 'm ready at any liour," he replied. "We will consider it so arranged. Be thorough, and ride hard and late." " How far shall we follow?" asked the overseer. "As your own judgment may dictate, Mr. Gravity," said Mr. Erskine, and filled the overseer's purse with money. The pursuers left the city immediately after dinner, the planter concluding to remain there quietly for a few days, and if the runaway was still south of that point, to be ready to act as circumstances might suggest. The hostler was not pleased with his interview with the citizen. He was fearful that he might have gone too far, and watched his movements. He observed him and the overseer, whom he knew 'perfectly well, as they left the tavern ; and perceiving that they took the high road that lead to the northward, he became more uneasy, lest he might have said something that compromised himself He thought Tom had a good start, however, and would hold his own. "They are arter him," said he to a free negro stand- ing by his side, " but blame me if they cotch up. He. is over a hundred miles on de way. Now 's de time to know how much nigger am worth." "They won't cotch him, for anoder reason." "What's dat?" " Kase Uncle Tom am not fool 'nough to stick to big road. He will shy um, depend on 't." 324: LIFE AT THE SOUTH', OB "Don't know 'bout dat; I advised liim to keep straight on, for he would make better time than to take crooked paths." " Tau-^ou advised Tom ! Den you know'd it, hey? " "Pshaw! you am no fool. Wouldn't you help a brother nigger, if you was applied to? " « O yas. I was only glad dat I know'd um ; no harm done." " Now, look here, ole fellar ! you guine to blab ? kase if you say you would, I 'U choke you right on da spot," said the hostler, and suiting the action to the word, seized hold of the shirt collar. " No, no ; dis child will not expose you. Hands off.' At this juncture, a gentleman advanced in years stopped at the door of the barn, and pretended to be engaged reading the notice. Abe recognized him, and in a low undertone remarked, " Dat am mass'r Ersk- ine, or I misjudge. Bless my stars, how gray he has grown ! He looks twenty years older ! " " Am dat individual Tom's master ? " " Yas, an' he is comin' in, arter he reads the noticu. Dar, he is comin' now ; hold your tongue — I '11 do the talkin'." The planter walked in, to see what he could learn. " Good day, mass'r Erskine," said Abe. " Ah ! you know me, do you? " " Of course I do, jist as well as I know myself." "I entertained hopes of finding Tom here," re- marked the planter, in a bland voice. "I hab seen noffin of him; gone in some oder direction." BWCLK TOm's cabin AS IT IS. 325 " Tou and he were such good friends, I did not know but that he might come to you for help, and be advised to retm-n home." "No, sir; noffin of de kind." " I knew well enough that you would be the last person to encourage him to run away," continued the planter,, as if he had the utmost confidence in the hostler's sincerity. " Tom know'ii better than dat. I abide de law." "So I am aware; hence, you had the enterprise and honesty to work, until you amassed a sum suiE- cient to luy freedom, and not cheat your master." " Yes, sir ; I am my own man, as free as your honor." " Oh, certainly, and that is the best passport you can have to the society of the sober-minded and industrious." " I earned um, sir." " Then I am to find myself mistaken ; you have not seen my man Tom ? " " Not at all, sir , he took some oder route." " If you should happen to see him, I shall feel my- self much obliged, if you would inform me." " Dat I can safely promise to do. "How you hab lied!" remarked the negro, who was listening to the conversation, to Abe, after Mr. Erskine had gone out of the bam. " Pooh ! justifiable — perfectly justifiable. Do you s'pose dat I am boun' to tell all I knows, at any time, an' csnecially now ? No, nigger, no." " Tom is foolish to leave sich a master ; I know'd he is a kind man, firom his talk." 14* 32 <» LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OE " I am satisfied of one thing." " Wha' dat ? " " They think Tom hab guine northward. I 'in afeerd they will gib him hot time. I believe mass'r Erskine mistrusts. No matter, I '11 keep a good look out." " Dnnno." " Can't we deceive him ? Let us see : , s'pose you go to the tavern, an' pretend you see Tom go west, on foot. It will knock um ; we shall hear no more 'bout ole horse." " What good will that do ? The two gemmen will ride on ; it will make no difference." " "We can try de experiment ; it will make m.atters no worse." " No, I believe not ; I do n't like deception. I shall not hoax any one in this matter — too serious." "Perfectly justifiable ; I '11 do it myself, then. But, do you recollect, no blabbing ! " " Dat I '11 remember. I hope, arter all, Tom will get free." "An' you. will not lend a helping hand?" " It 's none of my business. 1 earn'd mine ; all of um' could, if they war not so confounded lazy, an' so spendthrift wid what money they do git. . Depend on 't, Abe, de road you and I took to get to freedom, am de only honest one. Let de niggers all travel same way ; it 's open to all." Abe shook his head — as much as to say, he and his friend were exceptions to the general rule — and as he could derive no consolation or encouragement f om his companion, dropped the conversation. The. planter UNCLE TOm's cabin AS IT IS. 327 went back to hie room, satisfied that the hostler knew more than he was willing to tell, and convinced that he had adopted wise counsel in sending Mr. Gravity forward. Possibly, however, his slave's hiding-place was nearer than he was aware of; he therefore deter- mined to use discretion, and reconnoiter. In the meantime, Uncle Tom's pursuers were not idle. They pressed their horses, for they had not passed two hours on the road before they began to hear of him,. The animal he rode was, beyond a doubt, the identical one sold by the citizen to the hostler; and as for the negro himself, almost everybody, it seemed, had noticed him — he rode so awkwardly, and made such imtiring efforts to hurry his beast. They did not "put up," when night came on, but procuring fresh horses, kept to the road. The night was beautiful. There was no moon, it ia true, but the whole firmament appeared to be one vast milky-way — -so thick and brilliant were the stars. A gentle breeze crept over the hills, and along the dales,, divesting the evening atmosphere of that enervating influence which sometimes succeeds an October sun in old Virginia. The two horsemen were passing through a rich agricultural region ; the valleys skirted with natural groves, and the' high hills, and loftier mountains, covered with dense forests. The ride was interesting, especially to Mr. Gravity. He was not much of a traveler, having, for the most of his life, confined himself close to the plantation, and its im- mediate vicinity. His views were not, therefore, as broad and comprehensive, or liberal, as they might « 328 LIFE AT THE SOXJTH ; OK have been, if he had seen more of the world. The Talley of the Shenandoah, to his mind, was about the only valley worth mentioning, and in goodness of climate and fertility of soil, stood unrivaled. But now, in passing along, he was constantly in the midst of wide fields of meadow, corn, wheat, and to- bacco land ; or ascending and descending low hills, abounding with pastures, full of thick, heavy feed, and buildings, abundant and well constructed, for the use of both man and beast. Such a country he did not expect to see, and therefore viewed it with more inte- rest and greater pleasure. He was almost glad that Tom had run away, so that he might thus enjoy him- self in the pursuit. Just at dawn, they reached the turnpike gate. Upon instituting the usual inquiry, whether a strange negro had passed that way, the gate-tender recapitulated what transpired the day before. " Ah ! the rascal ! he gave his name correctly the first time,'" remarked the citizen. " No doiibt of it," said the overseer. " I could hardly consent to pass him ; but what could I do ? He had the document, and I could not gainsay it," said the gate-tender. "How did the horse appear to endure hard riding!" inquired the citizen. " All in a foam, and quite lank ; he puffed like a pair of bellows. It was this circumstance more than wything else, that excited my suspicion." "He did not get far last night, d' ye think?" "The inn at Swamp Creek holds him now, I reckon." 329 " Ho-w far on is that ? " asked Mr. Gravity. "We call it ten miles — rather long." " We will ride there to breakfast," said the citizen ; and putting spurs to their horses they passed quickly under the gate, and started off at a full gallop. The sun was not two hours high when the pursuers reached the creek. No sooner were they dismounted, than they inquired if the negro was stopping there, or had been seen. The landlord replied in the negative ; and upon it being intimated that perhaps he was dis- posed to deceive, he asseverated, upon his honor, that no such person had passed the inn to his knowledge. They were at fault what to do. The slave would not stop at a private house, unless that of an acquaintance ; and he could have none in that region. His horse must have rest, and he would not think of proceeding to the next public house — several miles ahead. " Mr. Gravity, we must eat, and bait, and consider. I 'm afraid we ai-e getting to the end of our rope. Wo have had a good stretch. We are now coming to close quarters, or I am no judge. I believe that I can almost smell the critter ; he is in this vicinity, depend on 't," said the citizen. " Well, sir, we will halt, and take our recV jning," replied the overseer; and at once ordi-uu the neces- sary entertainment. " I will take a walk around this settlement, and see if I can learn anything. Meanwhile, you question the landlord," said the citizen. He went into a low, wooden building that looked the worse for wear, from the ravages of wind, rain, 330 LIFE AT THE SOVTIl ; OB and time. It was partially fiUed with candies, a box or two of dried herring, hard-looking, withered raisins, and there lay scattered upon the shelves a few papers of tobacco, and a dozen or so of pipes. A barrel, from which a tapster occasionally drew whiskey, stood in one of the corners of the room ; and a chest of tea, recently opened, was under the counter. A lad, some- where in his teens, was in attendance, to wait upon customers. " My boy, can you give rae any information, if I should ask you ? " said the citizen. " I will be arter tellin' you when you have asked it." " That 's frank. Have you seen anybody since yes- terday, whom you did n't know? " " That 's hard question, mister ; to speak at random, I should say not," answered the lad, with an air of perfect simplicity. " I heard that a large buck negro stopped or passed through this burg last night — ^a mighty big fellar, with a splendid bay horse ; did you see him ? " said the citizen, as naturally as if he told the truth. " Oh ! no ; that 's not so. He fell from his horse before he got here." " Fell from his horse ! what do you mean, my boy ? " " Why, they say an unknown black was thrown, as he was riding below here yesterday, and — " " But where was this ? " asked the citizen, before the boy had time to finish what he would say. " I can not tell you exactly ; 't was this side of the gate." " That 's the fellar I wish to see ; he is a runaway. UNCLE TOM's cabin AS IT IS. 331 Fou can't inform me the exact place where he met ffith the accident ? " "2fo, mister; it must have been on some hill, for they said the horse stnmbled." "Ah! and fell on to the nigger; I see how it was. Well, let me think — there is a long slope about half way from here ; I suspect that was the place. By the way, when did you hear the news ? " "Not half an hour ago. Budd Cramer told me, as soon as he got his grist into the hopper. He lives down the road." " Can you point this gentleman out to me? I should like to put him some questions. He can tell me the exact place." " He was off as soon as his grist was groimd" " Bad luck ! I must get hold of the nigger." " No trouble to do that ; he is under the turf now, I s'pect." "Dead?" " Certainly ; I thought I told you so. Yes ; that is so. He died in the night ; and Budd said he was to be buried early, for he was mortifying fast." " Dead and buried ! Well, well ; I do n't see but that the race is up. Poor fellar! he should have stayed at home ; good enough for him — a just punish- ment!" exclaimed the citizen; and returning to the inn, informed the overseer of this melancholy intel- ligence. Mr. Gravity agreed with the citizen, that there could be no doubt of the information being reliable-— it came in such an authentic way — but to satisfy 332 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OB * themselves that such was the fact, they inquired at most every house, as they returned ; and finally, after much trouble, saw a new-made grave in an adjoining lot, which they took to be TJncle Tom's. They alighted flt a house near by, and were informed that a negro was buried there that morning. This was enough ; and without troubling themselves to know the condition of the horse, remounted and directed their course home- ward. They traveled more leisurely, and reached the city toward dusk of the next day. Mr. Erskine saw no reason to doubt the accuracy of the overseer's- statement and conclusion, and went home to Oakland, regretting the loss of his property, and sorry that the slave had hurried himself so thought- lessly into eternity. He broke the moui'uful tidings to Dinah, as gently as the circumstances would admit of. But there were no bounds to her lamentation; she blamed herself for consenting to the escape ; and for months this, with all the particulars, constituted the theme of her conversation. The people at the quar- ters condoled with her ; the overseer was attentive to her wants ; Mary was more fi-equently at the cabin ; and all pitied the lamentable fate of poor Tom. UNCLE TOm's cabin AS IT IS. 333 CHAPTER XXIY. BVFFAXO THE BOOT-BLACK. " Long sought ! and foand in vain In sonshine hare I sought thee, and in shade." It has been sublimely said, " 't is distance lend* ea chantment to the view." Hope — the mighty incen- tive of all human effort — can not exist of itself. That which b^ets a wish or desire for some good, must also, at the same time, present it in such an attitude as to produce an expectation or belief, no matter how slight, of obtaining it, in order to create hope. And when this mainspring of the soul is once touched, its resilience is constant, and sometimes almost seems to be impelled by a supernatural power. Hence, the greater the effort, the more poignant the disappointment, if not attained. That the object, when reached, is ever pre- cisely what, in a distant view, it may have appeared to be, no one will venture to assert ; and the failure of expectation will be proportionate, and the mind sur- prised and inclined to be downcast. But, if this attrac- tive star of hope shoots suddenly into nonentity, when 334 LIFE AT THE SOUTH ; OK approached, and oblivion, like a pall, mantles the vision, then indeed the soul sickens, the journey of life looks dismal, and, if not well grounded in the faith, we look upon heaven as a chimera and hell as a bugbear, and are ready to exclaim, " what shadows we are, what shadows do we pursue ! " "We will not aver that this was the condition of mind in which Uncle Tom found himself, some three years after he fell from his horse, on the high road from "Winchestev to Harper's Ferry. He was left for dead, by his pursuers, and such we supposed to be the fact, until we learned to the contrary. But what his precise condition then was, and whether he ever arrived at that "state of freedom," which he set out to reach, the reader will learn in the sequel. Suffice it to say, that upwards of three years after the events mentioned. in the preceding chapter, in the edge of a hot evening in the month of August, a gen- tleman rodp up to a house of public entertainment, in a retired little village, not far from the river Niagara, known by the name of Saint Davids. This hamlet — never very noisy, and its citizens usually very sedate — was uncommonly so on the evening in question. 'No person was visible about the public house 5 a large dog lay on the stoop, half asleep ; but the tramp- ing of the horse aroused him from his lethargy, and after considerable effort he rose up, although not " upon all fours," for he was too lazy to do that. The door was wide open, but no host in attendance, save Jowler, to welcome the guest. The posts designed to support the roof of tlie stoop seemed to be tired of their position, UNCLE TOm's CABIHT AS IT IS. 336 and were quietly but unceasingly at work to get away; for their tenons, and the mortices with which they had been in close companionship for years, had rotted out and silently taken their departure; the small doors that were used as barricades to the windows, stood ajar and dangled upon their rusty hinges ; th-e gign, which hung from a joist nailed to one of the posts, was almost illegible, so much battered was it by the weather; and many a clapboard on the exterior of the main buildinc "had parted company from its fellow, and those which still remained appeared lonesome and anxious to be on the move. " Halloo ! halloo, here ! " vociferated the traveler, retaining his seat in the saddle, for he did not care about having a personal rencounter with the dog — although he wagged his tail as if he was glad to see the stranger. There was no response, and no stir inside. "I say — halloo there, I say!" again shouted the traveler; "are you all dead here? halloo, the land- lord ! " The air was so sMU that this summons could be heard all over the village. As no one came out on to the stoop, Jowler considered it his duty to attend to the call so earnestly made, and began to growl and bark. " Get out of the way, and let a friend pass," said the traveler, " or I '11 give you the benefit of my riding whip." This language did not suit the notions of Jowler, and he at once bristled up, and barked louder and sharper than before. 336 LIFE AT THE SOUTH ; OE " Confound your impertinence ! Well, bark then — bark away. Perhaps your throat will be more effec- tive than mine ; I have barked some myself, from first to last, and at times, perhaps, with as little cause as you now have. That 's right now ; bark loud and strong," said the traveler; and settled back into his seat. It was not long before he heard a rustling inside the dog's noise produced the desired effect. A black man soon stood in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. He was scantily dressed, although he did not appear to have been abed. He had on a pair of pantaloons made out of towcloth, much soiled with dirt ; an old, tattered satin vest — the pocket linings having worn through, and hanging out conspicuously; a hat made out of very coarse straw, and saturated pretty much all over with perspiration — that is to say, what was left of it as originally made, for the rim was gone, except a small piece directl} over the eyes as it was now worn, and the top was entirely gone— and a thick, red flannel shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. " Cuffy, is that you ? " inquired the traveler. " I as, mass'r." ... , ,., . ,„ •■■ '> f'.lT; iT. rr. ' ' " A good while coming ! ' "Dunno." "Are you the landlord here?" "What will you have?" " I did think of tarrying here to-night, and halted for that purpose ; but you are all so dull and slow, I have almost changed my mind. What 'b the distance to the next inn? " uschs tom'b cabin Aa IT IB. 337 " I s'pose dey call nm seven or eight miles." " Oh ! heyday ! I am too fatigned to ride that dis- tance ; I must bold to mj first purpose, and stop with you. Good quarters for the beast, I hope ? " "Turn um into the lot; I reckon he can crop it a little — hard an' dry, though." " Ah ! that will not do ; take him to the bam, and give him a good measure of oats." The black man shook his head. ""What ! no oats ? "Well, then, feed the animal with some com." " I hab not seen an oat nor a kernel dis long time ; I am eenymost dead for hoecake myself; can't gib am dat." "You have no provender! I advise yon to take down your sign." " The road is open to all, sir ; you are not compelled to stop," replied the black man, with considerable spunk. " Polite — that is very polite ; if your master is equally so, hospitality under this roof must be any- thing but agreeable." " Oh ! I am sorry to oflfend, sir; I merely meant to say that you was not obleeged to stop, if you did see de sign; dat 's all. You can have what the house affords," responded the black, in a meeker voice. " Very good ; I suppose I must make the most of it. Put out the horse, and give him to eat of the best you have," said the traveler; and dismounting, the black man lead the beast to the stable. The traveler took a survey of the inside of the house ; 338 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OB it was the counterpart of the exterior. The floors lookfcJ as though they had not seen water for months, or the scrubbing-broom or mop for years ; the decan ters and glasses in the bar were specked with dirt ; the plaster in the ceiling, and on the walls, was cracked and broken, and what remained looked as if everj moment it was about to fall ; the wainscot was cut marked, and hacked in a variety of ways, and proba bly once had a coat of paint, but now so dim, diflBcull to see ; a broken chair or two, and a rickety old table, with an article called a bunk, for the negro to reposa in, about comprised the furniture of the public room. He opened a door which conducted out of this place toward the rear of the building, and discovered a room used as a sitting and dining-room. He walked into it. There was a carpet lying upon most of the floor, but so full of dirt that it grated his shoes, as he gently stepped across the room ; a segment of what, in the day of its prime, might have been called a mirror, hung over a table placed between two windows ; there was a small book directly under the glass, which he found, upon opening, was the holy bible. This dis- covery tended to soothe his ruffled temper, notwith- standing everything else which his eyes fell upon, looked dingy and uninviting. He saw no pereon, nor heard the footstep or voice of any one, until the negro came in from the barn. "You are not keeping tavern alone, are you?" asked the traveler of the negro. "They have gone from home now — all but the cook." UNCLE TOm'b cabin AS IT IS . 339 "Thank fortune! I want nothing to eat," thought he to himself. " Well, you have stabled the animal, have you ? " " Yas, mass'r; all right — cut some grass, and give liini plenty." "You are not troubled with guests very often, I take it." " Oh ! yes ; plenty for me to do ; up early and late." "Light work — light work, I expect." " Light work ! give me de ole cabin to this situation There is no rest here ; up at all times o' night." " Good pay, though. How long you been here ? " " Since spring." " I should n't think it was very hard. I do n't see why you -should have customers, you are "so short of the comforts for both man and beast ; yon was so hard to arouse, I was on the point of proceeding on." " Excuse dat ; I must have been in a snooze ; I at- tended to your call as soon as I heard it. For de Lor's sake! do n't tell the old man, if he gets home afore you go ; if you do, I can not tell what wiU become of me."' "Why, yon are an able-bodied man, and can easily earn your livelihood. I do n't see why you should be so sensitive of being discharged ; from your appear- ance, I should not suppose your wages could be any very great inducement for you to desire to remain here." " Lor' bless you, sir, you do n't know what we poor people endure ; you rich folks can't begin to dream of our troubles. I hab neber seen so much misery as during the last three years." 340 LIFE AT THE SOUTH J OB Fudge ! Cuffy , you, and such like, can not have so ranch trouble. What annoys you ? nobody but yourself to provide for ; no wife, I presnrae ? " " Oh ! God bless you, sir, don't mention dat!" ex- claimed the negro, with a deep, long drawn sighi "Ah! some domestic trouble. Parted with some Nelly, eh ? " said the traveler ; and before the words were scarcely out of his mouth, the negro was upon his knees, both hands upon his breast, his eyes cast upward,: aud his lips moving, evidently in deep grijef. The traveler looked at him a moment, in utter aston- ishment. ; But the attitude of the negro, with the time and place, and his personal appearance — all together, made the scene ,lndici"ous, and the stranger was more inclined to mirth than sorrow. " If the tavern-keeper discharge^ you, Cuify, there is one thing you can do," said, he. "iWha' dat?" said the negro, idropping his hands by his side, and rising, from the floor. "You can go on to. the stage and play tragedy. I have no doubt but that yoii was boro for the sock and buskin." " Oh ! my heart is sore ^ — berry sore, nuiss'i*," " All have their troubles, and you Ipok as if you had seen a good many years, I suppose you have had your share of ills." " Dunno ; I have enough. I am disappointed, and theife is no peace for me." *' Pshaw! who, pray, has not b^en disappointed 2 Yon could not apprecisite tlje gpo^, : if yoi; did jipit occasionally have a share , of, ,the bad.;: Poverty i^ 34:1 unpleasant, and labor sometimes seems to be still more BO. The former may produce sorrow, but the latter never should. Whoever obeys the laws of his country ought to be allowed a serene miod, whatever his lot. You are poor, and are compelled to drudge ; but you should harmonize your feelings to it, then you will not get into such flighty moods. I suspect laziness, Cuffy, is your disease. I do n't know as yon are to be blamed for it, though, for I never knew a nigger that would nt be so." " That 's not my case, sir. No matter what I do, I can not help alwars thinkin' of whar' I come from; sm* first 1 know, I stop my work." It occurred to the traveler, that perhaps he had actually stumbled upon a tu.^tive slave; and as he took a deep interest in that class "^f persons, and their humble condition had his warmest sj Tfipatiiy, he might now have a good opportunity to learn something to his own advantage. Instead, therefore, of asking for a candle to light the way to bed, he continued the conversation : " Cuffy, yon have lived here in Canada from your youth up, have yon not ? " " O no, sir ; it is now guine on three years since I first set my foot in dis land of freedom." " Ah ! are you what is called a fugitive ? " "Tas, I run away; and almost dead, I reached here." " And did you not find it as you expected ? " "Oh! mass'r, no; nothin' — nothia' as I expe g^iine to 8e« what I can do for myself." " gluccesa to you, Tom; stir aronnd, don't be bash- ful ; slam right up to them, and tell what you want- that 's the way to, git business. There's considerable competition in your line, now — prices rule low, and, I rather guess, considera,ble is done on home account; but no matter for th^t, we are filling up fast, and your kind of stock is in good demand." " Thank 'ee ; I 'm guine in for my fortune now." " Tom, where do you boar;! ? " , "Here, at de depot., Mr, Easy advised, me to save my pennies." ,, " Good ! I will call in and help yott. Eight glad you. have come into this neighborhood.. Ah! here comes the old man himself. Got a partner, have you, Easy ? yah.) yah ! yaih ! 'r said the visitor, and made for the door. -^ "What has, that oje fellar been doing in here?" in- quired Mr. Easy. "He is an old rip." , " So he told me," said Tom. " What did he tell vou ? " " He spoke his name, Old Rip." "JPshaw.! that's mot his name; it is Hard— Jim Hard — a poor creature ;. drunk, whenever he can get BO. Avoid him; he is full of tongue, and sedoctive," said Mr. Easy. ^ The fugitive found plenty. to do, tod flattered hini- fielf that he had opened the. right vein. He workesd assiduously, fo^r he was ambitious to redeem his pledge to Dinah. His customers were abuudant, and payment tJNOJCE tom's cabin AS itis. 371 prompt. Days and weeks elapsed, and finally months He was surprised, however, that his coffers did not fill up fast. Although his receipts, considering the business he was following, were ftill as large as he had any right to anticipate, still, after he had made the requisite drafts upon them to liquidate the rent of six shillings per week to Mr. Easy, and supply himself with the necessaries of life, the surplus remaining was trifling, and he sometimes almost despaired of ever being able to get farther ahead. He resolved to live closer, and scrimp his expenses. It was growing late in the season, and the days were shorter, and there did not seem to be as many chance - patrons. In addition to the expenses heretofore incurred to keep his bodily condition good for labor, he was now, in the month of November, compelled to make an outlay for fuel, to keep himself comfortable, and if he pursued his voca- tion after five of the clock in the afternoon, he must have oil or candles to light him the way to perform his work. At the expiration of another month, his puree was empty before the usual time for settlement with Mr. Easy ; and when, a few mornings • before Christmas, his landlord intimated that he should desire the pay- ment of arrears by the twenty-fitlh, so that he might meet his holiday engageraenta, Tom's heart shrunk within him, for he knew jkot from whence he should obtain the requisite amount. Mr. Easy noticed Tom's emotioDS, and upon learning the cause, suggested that there was no occasion for despondency, as he had no doubt biit that the " young bucks" of the city who 378 LIFE AT THE SOUTH ; OE ga\ him their patronage, would maTse him a slight advance. This was a new idea ; and as he was wil- lii g to turn mendicant for the time, hoping that the future had bigger gains in store for him, and thus en- a')le him to repay his borrowings, his mind became eisier, and he brushed and rubbed the boots and shoes, s nd carried them to the doors of his several patrons, ; .nd made their fires, and swept and dusted their apart- ments, and did short errands, with accustomed cheer- fulness and promptitude. He did not mind the snow and cold, for his heart was warm and vigorous, and his thoughts were as gay and merry as the most flip- pant beau or lively belle that dashed along the great street of the town. Time had run through all the holidays, and the new year was full a month old. Tom was in the depot at the foot of the hill, shivering with cold. He had been there all day, for the snow drove through the air u-nceasingly and furiously, and the footman could make but slow progress, so difficult was it to see, and so heavy and deep was the snow in every direction. He liad been alone. Mr. Easy was ill with fever, and if well, would not have ventured out in such a blustering storm. It was after dark, and Tom had neither wood nor candles'. He took every cent of money in his pos- session to Mr. Easy's house, the day previous, to satisfy the rent. He expected to borrow enough in the morn- ing to purchase some wood, but the storm came on, and it was out of the question to get even a small sup- ply. He had a fragment of a twist of bread, and a small bit of cheese left over, but that was ^one now. TTNOLE TOM'b CABIN AS IT IS. 379 If he was not moneyless, it might be worth while to make an effort to reach some bakery or grocery ; but who would trust him ? And if he attempted to beg, who would have compassion on a man so able-bodied, and apparently so capable of laying in his own stores ? He ruminated upon his destitute condition, and such thoughts loomed in his imagination. He sunk back in the chair, and dropped his head between his knees. To say that he cried, and that the tears came gushing from his eyes " thick and fast," would be a tame de- scription of his feelings. His mind was distracted, and memory carried him back to that lowly but com- fortable cabin, which never seemed half so dear before. He thought of his wife, and those sweet, loved chil- dren, and the many scenes of domestic quietude through which he so often and pleasantly passed ; and how much happiness he enjoyed, as he grew from infancy to manhood. His heart was sore, lacerated, torn with sorrow and grief, and he cared but littlo whether or no he gazed upon the light of another sun. And yet, thought he, if I should die, what, oh ! what will become of Dinah ! I promised to send her money. She will think me an ungrateful, cold-blooded monster, that I have delayed till now ! I told her, as I flung my arms about her neck, and gave her that last kiss, if I lived to see the land of freedom, I would send her word by the post; and to |his hour have I broken my most solemn promise. Can I add ignominy to per- jury? No, no! Father in heaven! forgive me my sins, save me from starvation, and bless me with the light of another day. The recollection that there w*8 a 380 LIFE AT THE SOtTTH ; OB God, in tbis extremity, gave him courage and strength. He had not prayed for years. And he had not looked into a bible since the Sunday before he left Oakland, but once, and then it was accidental. He drove Mrs. Brown to a quarterly meeting at Saint Catharines — a thriving village near Saint Davids — and after they returned, she handed it to him to read the chapter which contained the next. We say, he felt better after he thought of his religion ; and although, every time the wind moaned through the crevices of his frail tene- ment, a sensation of terrific horror thrilled through his heart, his mind would involuntarily carry him to Cal- vary, and he thought his Saviour smiled in mercy upon his destitute, helpless condition ! He saw, or at least he thought he saw. Divinity ; and although the shrill, wintry, tempestuous blasts of a northern lati- tude silently but constantly crept over his limbs, and streaked through every part of his body, this warmed his heart and banished loneliness. His feelings be- came less excited, and he laid down upon his bed to await in patience the coming of another day. The clouds had cleared away, the wind was hushed — the elements were calm, and the sun shone brightly, when Tom opened his eyes on the ensuing morning. He crawled out from beneath the pile of clothes, which he contrived in the darkness to draw, one after the other, upon his shivering body, and made an eflfurt to go outside the door. But his progress was arrested by a huge bank of snow at the entrance. He needed a shovel, or spade, or something of tlie kind, to make an o])ening. He seized the poker, and undertook to UNCLE TOm's cabin AS IT IS. 381 break a path, but tlie snow lay so compact and deep that he did not make much headway. He had not eaten anything but a morsel of bread and cheese, in the past twenty-four hours, and was weak. He again began to despair, and lament his obstinacy. If he had taken Dinah's counsel, and turned a deaf ear to mass'r Bates, he should not now be contending with cold and hunger. He thought he would try another expedient to make a path, by throwing the whole weiglit of his body upon the snow, and wallowing throngh ' it. He met with no better success ; and ' exhausted by the effort, he gave up the undertaking, and remained in the drift, for it was as difficult to go back as forward. A dizzi- ness came over him, and the light receded from his vision. He was soon senseless, and his limbs stiffened with the cold. He had lain in this condition some time, when a passer-by upon the sidewalk above, hap- pening to cast his eyes downward into the hollow, observed him, and supposing that he was dead, did not hail him; but in humanity communicated the inforiua- tion to an overseer of the poor. Lest all vitality might not yet be extinguished, this messenger of charity hastened to remove the body from the snow, and ere long had it deposited in a store near by. The ovei-seer found that the man breathed, and he applied the necessary restoratives. Luckily, Tom had the fnll benefit of an unclouded sun, as he lay in his perilous position, or the frost would have nipped the seat of life. It was not long, however, after his body felt the genial influence of a warm fire. 582 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OE before he began to throw off the stupor and return to his senses. He was bewildered. He had been dreaming. It was not reality. How came be in the store? And' who was this man, pouring oil upon his swollen hands and inflamed limbs ? It was not mass'r Gravity, and yet he seemed to be as attentive and obliging, in alle- viating his pains and soothing his wounds. Tom finally appreciated these acts of benevolence, and felt thankful that he was not left to die. He told the merchant, in brief, the history of his life for the past four years, and how difficult he now found it, to p.'-ocure the means of subsistence. " Buffalo is a hard place, in the winter, for the poor — nothing to do," said the merchant, having less pity for the negro because he abandoned so good quarters at the South. " I do not find the place mass'r Bates described to as so often." "And you never will," added the merchant "-It can't be possible dat he meant to deceive," said Tom, raising himself partly up from the blanket. "It is possible — it is a fact, and so you will find, that he deceived you ; whether he meant to do it, is a question for his own conscience," replied the merchant. " I almost begin to believe you. I find everything different from what I expected," said Tom, again laying down. " Hard times, eh ? " " Yas, sir, hard times ; do n't see sich in ole Vir- ginny." 383 " If I was in your place, I should make tracks for my cabin the first opportunity. I should n't mind the being free. Slavery, with plenty to eat and drink, and enough to wear, before freedom and starvation, would be my motto," said the merchant. Tom groaned sorrowfully. "It's thawin' out, eh? Poor fellow, I pity you; but you must grin and bear it. Mr. Long has done the fair thing by you. What an untiring fellow Long is ! Always at his post, rain or shine, cold or hot. I declare, I do n't know what all the poor people would do, down there in the first ward, if it was n't for him. They say he is getting rich ; I hope such is the case ; he ought to get rich. The town would be overrun with beggars, if it was n't for him. "Would you like to chaw a cracker, Tom ? " asked the merchant. "Thank 'e; I hab eatin' noffin since yesterday morning." " How do you feel ? " asked the merchant, prefen'ing to remove him, if he was threatened with illness, to some other place. " Bad, sir ; berry bad ; I 'm afeerd this freezing will throw me into sickness. I dunno what will become of me," replied the negro, dejected, and caring but little what did become of him. " I think you would do better, if placed in a more comfortable bed. Besides, the noise of business will retard your convalescence. Are you not acquainted with some person of your own color ? " " I know'd Jim Hard." "Humph! that old rip has no place for you; I 384: irFE AT THE SOUTH; OK fihould n't wonder if he was under the s.tow himself. But it 's all the same ;' there is no danger of his stiff- ening ; he carries too much whiskey in his boiler evei to get cold." " Also, Mr. Easy." "Easy — let me see — ah! yes; Easy I tnow. In good circumstances, and very likely man. Well, I '11 send up and see, what he can do for you. Lives on Vine street, I believe," said the merchant ; and call- ing his pofter, directed him to go and inform Mr. Easy of Tom's situationf' The invalid was requested to make hiriiself as comfortable in the meantin-e, as his situation would permit. TOOLE TOMS OABlSr AS IT IS. 385 CHAPTEE XXVI. UNCLE TOm's soliloquy. The fugitive's body was badly frozen ; fever ensued, and he was thrown, into sickness for several weeks. Mr. Easy could not accommo4ate him with a separate room, being ill himself; but fortunately he found con- venient accommodations in a colored family that lived upon the same street. He received kind attention and careful nursing ; and although his life was despaired of, when the disease was at its crisis, a rugged consti- tution, under the management of a skillful physician, withstood the furious disease, and the fever abated. It was long after the snow disappeared, however, before he could walk with comfort. Tom was anxious to resume his profession ; for the good, attentive doctor must not only be paid, but he had run in debt for medicine. And last, though by no means least in his heart, was the desire to recom- pense with liberality the faithful nurse, who unremit- tingly stood by his bedside to administer to all his. little wants, and soothe and pacify him in his sickest 386 LIFE AT THE SOUTH ; OB hours. No sum of money seemed too large to give her. He had the benefit of her fuel and lights for weeks, in the coldest of winter. The price for these articles was high, and she was in need of, and ought to hcive what she had actually paid out immediately She " took in washing " to raise the means of defray ing the maintenance of herself and children, her hu& baud having died some two years before. And to meet the rent on April quarter-day, she had been com- pelled to borrow from a friend. Tom's old customers had gone elsewhere to get their boots cleaned, and he must look up new patrons. The owner of the hollow had torn down ihe depot, prepar-. atory to the erection of larger and more substantial buildings, and it was necessary to find new quarters. He hobbled down the hill, the first day it was deemed prudent for him " to venture out," and looked among the rubbish for his brushes, and the boxes of blacking which he purchased the day previous to the snow- storm. But he could not find them, and his stock in trade had not only vanished, but with it had gone also the implements of his profession. He thought he was ' worse off than when he first came to Buffalo. He was not so much of a stranger now, but he then was free from debt, and had money in his purse. Now, he had none, and a debt which appeared large in his eyes now hung over him ; and that too of the most sacred character. He limped back to Yine street, and frankly told the washer-woman his situation. She was not prepared tc hear it ; for, in the wild paroxysms of a delirious brain, he often talked of money, fortune, palaces^ and the UNCLE TOm's cabin AS IT IS. 387 like, and the humble nui-se thought her patient to be ambitious in health, and favored with a reasonable share of this world's goods. And now, when the honest boot-black told her the simple truth, it was an awful disappointment. She regretted that she had labored under such great misapprehension, and jet was not sorry that she had been able to be so charit- able to the poor fugitive. He still enjoyed her benefi- cence, and she disliked to turn him away. But it was necessary to devise some means to enable him to com- mence business again on his own account. He could hire out as a servant, but then he was lame, and prob- ably would continue so for months to come. He told her about his friend, Mr. Allgood, and how he had not yet seen him. She found a directory, in the grocery on the opposite side of the street, and learned where the gentleman was to be found ; and it was deemed proper and advisable for the fugitive to give him a call. Tom was not so well the next day, and it was wet and blustering. He did not go out. The nfext day succeeding, he felt the effects of venturing "to the hollow," as he called it. He had taken cold, and the good washer-woman would not consent that he should 80 soon again expose himself to the inclement weather He accordingly remained within doors. It was, per haps a week before he sought out Mr. Allgood. He had tried, many a time, to find him, but unenlightened by the directory, his travels through the many streets of Buffalo were in vain. He never enjoyed that pleas- ure. Unable to appreciate the mentor who had been 588 LIFE AT THE SOUTH ; OE consulted by his friend, he did not now, to tell the truth, entertain very, sanguine hopes of seeing him. But necessity, the mother of invention, was, in his case at least, the mother of exertion. He started out from Vine street, determined to find the object of his search, if possible. He followed the direction ; and within half an hour, was ushered into his presence. Strange to say, Tom rung the bell at the front door; and, what was still more remarkable, the servant who ansWiered it invited him to be seated in the sitting- room. Mr. Allgood soon made his appearance. "Ah! you are the man I saw at Saint Davids, I think," said he, as he entered the room. " Yas, sir." "So, you adopted my advice, and have come to Buffalo, have you ? " " Yas, sir ; I thought I could n't do better," replied Tom, in a bashful and hesitating voice. "Well, this is a good season of the year. You will meet with no diflSculty in succeeding, if yon are indus- trious. You must work, though; the people in the States work." I " Yas, sir," replied Tom, in a still meeker voice. "What do you propose to do?" inquired Mr. All- good, noticing that the fugitive answered in mono- syllables. "Wait on gemmen, sir," said Tom, in a still meeker voice, if it was possible so to do. "Wait on gentlemen, did you say?" quickly asked Mr. Allgood, rather surprised at the answer. " Yas, sir." mrOLE Toil's CABIN AS ITIS. S89 "In what capacity, pray ? " " Cleaning their boots, rooms, and the like, sir." "Ah! well, perhaps that may pay," replied Mr. Allgood, somewhat disappointed ; for he thought, as he was an able-bodied man, he would aspire to some higher and, as he viewed it, more lucrative employ- ment. " You must be active, and up early and late. If so, there will be no difficulty in succeeding," he added, after a pause. " Tas, sir ; I have had some experience in de pro- fession," said the fugitive, with evident reluctance. " Have you, indeed ! Where, pray ? " " Here, in dis town," replied Tom. "In BuflEalo!" when?" inquired Mr. AUgood, in astonishment. " Oh ! yas, sir ; dat I have," replied Tom ; and at the same time drawing a long, deep sigh. "When? I ask. It was my impression you now visited our city for the first time." " Oh ! sir, I came across the river right away arter I saw you at Saint Davids, last fall," said Tom, with more courage, and in a fuller tone of voice. " Yon have been here since last faU, and have not let me see you until now ! " " I inquired arter you often, but was so bn^ in my profession dat I had no 'time to hunt you up," said Tom, beginning to feel less a stranger. "Well, I am happy. you have called upon me at last," remarked Mr. Allgood in a very bland voice. " rknow'd you would be glad to see me ; I told IsTelly so," said Tom, his countenance beaming with pleasure. 17 LIF& At THE south; OB " And who is Nelly, pray ? " "Oh! she is the washwoman on Vine street. I did n't know but yon might recollect her, sir." «0h! — ah! — IS'elly — not far from Easy 's house. Fes — yes; I do now call her to mind. Honest woman! Do yon stay there?" "Tas, sir, I board there," replied Tom ; and if Mr. Allgood had taken the trouble, he would have seen a tear or two glisten in the eyes of the fugitive ; but his attention just then was called to the street to see a pair of handsome blood baj^s trot by at full speed. "Well, can I do anything for you?" inquired Mr. Allgood, turning from the window. " Dat 's why I spoke to Nelly 'bout coming here," said Tom, regretting that he postponed the visit so long. " I come to see if you would help me." Mr. Allgood seemed puzzled. He did not compre- hend why the fugitive should so soon be in want. Tom explained. " I am afraid that you was not sufficiently industri- ous. Do you drink?" inquired Mr. Allgood, after hearing the negro through. "No, mass'r, neber ; I despise um." " Your sickness is natural enough; and I recollect the storm well. Unusual ; and it came on suddenly. We had a warm January, though; the ice had not formed even in 'the creek.' And, really, if you was steady and stuck to your business ; I can't understand why you should have been so necessitous." "I hab told you de truth, mass'r. I paid to Mr- Easy all my money, to the last cent." UNCLB TOm's cabin AS IT IS . 391 "I guess yoB must have taken a cruise with Hard, occasionally. Bad man — very bad man ; never does anything but drinJr, and loiter around the tippling shops. lie was so near you, I am afraid j-ou some- times kept him company. It was a wrong neighbor- hood. But, you must live and learn, I suppose. 1 am Sony." "It is no sich thing, mass'r ; dis nigger 'tended his own business. I took the advice you gib me at Saint Davids ; up early an' late ; my trouble am 'evitable," said Tom with much pertness of manner. " You in- jure my feeliligs, mass'r Allgood, wher. you talk so; dat you do," he added in a more subdued tone. " Pshaw ! you should n't get angry. I am a plain, blunt man ; I always express my sentiments freely." " Dat I do n't mind so much, mass'r ; it 's de down- right falsehood what wakes me up." "Well, I guess you are pretty honest; the story hangs well together, at any rate. I must go down town ; call and see me again ; shall be always glad to -learn of your prosperity," remarked Mr. Allgood, and opened the door. " You are not guine to turn um off so, mass'r, are you ? Nelly thought you would be so good as to help poor Tom along a bit ; I dislikes to turn beggar, but if you could help me to a few dollars, it would be of great sarvice. I should go right into business agin," said the fiigitive, with a trembling voice, and hat in his hand, ready to leave. " I husband my resources ; I can't afford to be giv- ing, every day," said Mr. Allgood, shaking his head. 392 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OE " You mistake my meaning, mass'r; I only want to borrow, for a short time. I s'pect to pay back in a few weeks ; Nelly said that 's what I 'm to do." " Pooh ! any money I may give you, will not come back ; I shall never see it again," remarked Mr. All- good, gruffly. Tom was at a loss what to say. He thought his friend had no heart ; he expected different treatment. He stood a moment, rumbling his hat, and become more angry than sorrowful. Mr. Allgood went into the hall, and retiyned with an overcoat, and put it on. "Come, sir, time is precious with me; I must go down town," said he. Tom was not in so great hurry. "You refuse to help me, then? Blast the white man's friendship ! down South, the poor negro would not be left to shift in dis way." " Can't help it ; I must husband my money." "Are you not the friend of color'd man?" " Certainly ; I lend all my influence to benefit their lowly, down-trodden condition ; but when it comes to giving money outright to the slave, that 's more than I contracted for. It is enough for me to spend my time in getting up and attending meetings, and dis- cussing the subject; that, let me tell you, costs money. ITo, no; if we are able to run you into freedom, that 's aU that can be expected. You must now "^ake care of yourself," replied Mr. Allgood, with mu,h emphasis, and Tom followed him into the street, aud with' a dejected spirit, bid him good morning. UNCLE Tom's cabin as it is. 893 JSitr. Allgood, glad to get rid of his acquaintance, walked rapidly a]ong the sidewalk, and suddenly turning around a comer, relieved himself of the negro's company. The broken-hearted fugitive picked his way back to Vine street. The task was irksome, for the walk was icy in many places, and as yet he could not dispense with the cmtch. " Tom, you look down in the mouth," said Nelly, as he hobbled up the steps. " Bad luck ? " "Tes, the world goes wrong with me." "Didn't you see Mr. Allgood?" "Tas, Nelly; but dar was no good for dis body. All wrong! " said the fugitive with a sigh, and helping himself to a chair. "What! you don't say that gentleman turned you away empty?" "It's true, Nelly." " Good gracious 1 who would have thought it ? " "Bad people in dis world; I'm tired of living." " "Well, well ; I 've no more to say, if Mr. Allgood turns his back on us color'd people, too. Why, he pretends the greatest friendship. I must run over and tell Easy. He will be thunderstmck. Oh! he is now off arter ole clothes ; I 'U see him at noon." " Mass'r Allgood, I reckon, thinks more of pennies than souls." " I can't believe it, Tom. If I did n't know you, I would n't believe it, so there ! Why, how often I have seen him come into the church, and join in the exer- cises ; it is n't four weeks, hardly— jist afore 'lection — 394: LIFE AT THE SOUTH : OB since he actually come to our prayer-meeting ! I can't believe it — I don't believe it, so, now! You misun- derstood him, Tom. Why, if he had actually put his hand into his pocket, and took out a ten-dollar bill, he would n't have missed it an hour afterwards. "What does he care for naoney ? he has oceans of it. Why, come to think of it, I heard him say, with his own lips, last winter, standing over there at the corner gro- cery, and of his own accord, that he would give half his fortune to root slavery out of the country ! Tom, I 'm suspicious you got hold the wrong man. Where did you go ? tell the truth, now," said Nelly. "To de place you told of." " Did you actually call liim by name?" "To be sure, I did, several times — no mistake. An' do n't you s'pose I know'd him ? Did n't I seed him at Saint Davids ? and did n't he say to me to come to dis town ? No, ^o, no ; I know'd who I was talkin' to, Nelly. It w&s no body else, but mass'r. All- good : it was de man himself." "Well, you speak so reasonable, I s'pects I hiust believe you," replied the washer-woman, reluctantly giving credit to Tom's assertion. The gate that opened into a little yard in fi-ont ut the house creaked, accompanied with a sort of crash, as if something had fallen. Nelly run to the window. " If there is n't that old rip, Jim Hard ! Fell down on the sidewalk, and tipsy as a lord, I'll be bound! Yah, yah, yah ! he 's tryin' to come in ; how he stag- gers ! What in creation has brought him up here so early in the jiorning? " exclaimed Nelly. UJTCLK TOM's cabin AS ITIS. 395 Tom hopped to the window, also, and the washer- woman went to the door and opened it. " What 's wanted I " she asked. " Do yt)n keep neighbor Tom here, yet ? " answered Hard. "Yes." " What are you doing with so much ice — -keeping it for summer, eh? I shall complain to his — hie — honor — hie— I think — ^hic — ^NeKy. Clear the road — hie — and give this vessel roona— hie — ^to sail into har- bcff," said the old negro, and made an effort to enter the house. " This is no place for yon, Mr. Hard, so you can jist move back, and go your way," said Nelly, and put her hands upon his shoulders, to prevent his entrance. She did not push him, le»st he might fall ov£r back- wards. He struggled, and begged to be admitted. " Let the old fellar come in, and rest," said Tom ; " he, will do no harm." "Too early in the morning to excuse such free drink- ing. He ought to know better than to come away up here into Vine street with such a jog. He won't do much hurt ; come along, but mind and be quiet," said Nelly, finally consenting to let the old negro pass the door. Hard availing himself of the permission, stumbled into the hall, and the washer-woman closed the door, for sh^did not wish the people in that vicinity to think she kept a disorderly house — she had too much pride i^ character. Hard had not seen Tom since the snow-storm, and 396 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OB learning his whereabouts, took it into his head to call up and see him. The old negi-o possessed a kind dis- position, and was harmless ; his fault was constant and excessive drinking. "Whisky was his 'Geverage, and how he continued to get it, at all times, was the wonder to those who knew him. He rarely engaged in any work, except to do occasional errands. He was known to beg his clothing, and it was generally sup- posed, that he begged his whisky, also. He took con- siderable fancy to Tom — not because the latter could be considered a boon companion, for, to his praise, be it said, he let liquor alone. The truth was. Hard first saw the light in middle Tennessee, and never having paid his master the price of his services, was equally a fugitive with Tom. " Birds of a feather floc> together," and hence his partiality for the boot- 1 .ack. He had drank too much on the morning in question to be talkative ; probably it was a 'continua- tion of the previouB day's carousing. Nelly allowed him to occupy the big rocking-chair, and he fell into a doze. He waked up in time for dinner, and learning that his brother fugitive had not re-established himself in business, proposed a co-partnership. The washer woman cut the conversation short, by suggesting that his company was anything but agreeable, and the old negro, after displaying much ill-temper that I^elly should interfere with his private affairs, left the house. Tom did not venture out again, but kept within doors, brooding over his disappointments. A critical observe would have come to the conclusion that his th .ughts were not all the time confined tb the great ireroLE tom's cabin as rris. 397 city in which he then happened to be, but occasionally were roaming in another clime. Nelly took occasion to inform her neighbor Easy of the interview with Mr. AUgood, and both were sm-prised. " Can it be true," they both said, " that he was becoming lukewarm in the cause ? " If eUyl^egan to evince some impatience to have Tom at work, and it was arranged that he should use the kitchen, if he could find any customers, and trust to luck to get sufficient money to repay what she bor- rowed. Mr. Easy advised this course, and his views usually were found to be correct. Accordingly, the next day Tom went up to Main street, and looked around for work. He strolled some distance, and finally met the merchant, who stopped, and kindly inqnii-ed after his health. " Your appearance indicates that you have had a siege. Not entirely over it yet, I presume," said he. " Thank 'ee, sir; hard sick," replied Tom, at the same time uncovering his head, and making a respect- fol bow. " At your old trade, I perceive," said the merchant, pointing to a pair of boots dangling upon Tom's arm. " Tas, sir; dis is my first job." " Ah ! " politely exclaimed the merchant. " Yes, sir, I 'm hard up ; much in debt." " Well, if you have your health, there 's no occasion for low spirits ; you must work the harder; I under- stood you to say, you left your master. I can't say I approve of that ; but I like your looks, and pity your misfortune. My clerks, I presume, will patronize you. 17* 398 LIFE AT THE BOUTH ; OB Give them a call," said the merchant, and passed along. Tom felt encouraged ; these few words were cheer- ing to his heart, and when he reached the merchant's door, he took the libertjLtp walk in. He was recog- nized as the negro whom Mr. Long brought into the store for dead. " It 's the same old fellow, by jings ! " said one of the clerks. " I never expected to see him again," said another. " I '11 be hanged if Jack Frost did n't put his grip on you ! " said the porter, going up to him to take a closer view. All, he thought, were glad to see him alive, and put him many questions. In the meantime, the merchant himself came in. " Boys," said he, " can't you give the old man a lift ? He tells me, he wants work in his line." " Yes, he can take ray boots," said one. " There 's a coat you can tinker up," said another. " Then you run under, did you, Tom ? " asked the merchant. " Yas, sir, to my sorrow ; it threw me out of busi- ness, an' I am in debt to Nelly." " And pray, who is NfeUy ? " Tom explained. " Oh, I know her," said one of the clerks, " she has washed for me, and does her work well." " How much do you stand in her debt, Tom ? " " Not far from twenty doUare, I s'pects." CNGLE TOM's cabin AS IT IS. 399 "If I lend jou a quarter of it, do yoti believe j'ou can evftr refund it ? " asked the merchant. "I '11 try, sir, if you will be so berry good." " Well, there it is. The holidays did not bring you any presents, I take it." " No, mass'r, no ; poor Tom was gi'oaning with pain, then." " Well, you have one now ; so cheer up," said the merchant, with a pleasant smile. Tom took the money; but his heart was so full of thanks that he knew not what to say in return. " De Lor' bless you, mass'r — de Lor bless you I " he at last uttered, and with many bows to the mer- chant and his clerks, left the store, and returned to Vine street. "I wonder if Allgood would have done that?" remarked the merchant, after Tom shut the door. The unexpected beneficence, and coming from a man with such views upon the slavery question as this mer- chant was known to entei-tain, excited the wonder of Mr. Easy, and constituted his principal topic of con- versation for weeks to come. Neither was he idle in circulating the intelligence. The fugitive cared but little about the merchant's views ; he was thankful for the well-timed charity, and it encouraged him to make efforts to gain a respectable subsistence. He fre- quently called at the store, to take away and carry back the boots and clothes, as well for himself as for Nelly, and never failed to remember his benefactor. Lameness had left his body, although the deep scars of the frost king still remained. His receipts were not 400 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OB as large as they were when he worked in. the hollow, but Ihe quarters were more agreeable, and with econ' omy, he continued to pay his way. He tried to be happy ; he was determined to be happy. He had traveled, he kgew not how far ; aban- doned Dinah — the children ; took his last look at the cabin ;- wandered over bog and through swamps; en- camped in the forest, with no weapons but his own sinewy arms to repel the attack of man or beast ; gone asleep, with the eternal howl of -the wolf, and the sharp, frantic, piercing cries of the panthers, chaunting their hideous, terrific anthems ; swam the cold, shiver- ing waters of the St. Lawrence ; and lain for days a1 the very portals of that dark valley — the shadow of death! he had endured enough to be a freeman I "Why," thought he, " why should I not now enjoy its beatitude ? " It was an evening — we said evening ! it was nearei " the noon of night," — the day had been intensely hot ; a cloud had gathered in the western horizon, dark as Erebus, emitted its lightning, roared its thunder, poured down its torrent of water, and passed from sight; the sun " was out again," and the Lake, stretch ing far away towards its setting, appeared, indeed, kind i-eaderj like "a sea of molten gold," — if you wish to see, with your own eyes, such a sunset as your own favorite Byron, or adored Scott, has described to you, you should have been with our Tom, as he sat alone on Erie's beach, and beheld, with thrilling emotions, the God of day pass quietly to rest, below the main, as g-ently and calmly as the infant upon the bosom of VHtCLE TOM's cabin AS itis. 401 its mother. He thonght of Dinah ; and oh ! how fer- vently he prayed in his heart, that he might take nnto himself wings, and fly away to his native Oakland! He thonght of Emily, and wondered if she was in the heaven he saw before him ! He looked upon the long range of woods, extending np the coast beyond the ken of his vision, and marveled if the landscape illu- minated by the dazzling effulgence of the sun, was emblematical of the city of his God, "not made with hands, eternal in the heavens : " and now, at the dead of night, stretched upon his humble bed, cribbed in an insignificant garret, reposing = — from what? not the labor of a stalwart man, with head erect, and a spirit uDcowed by past or present fears of starvation ; but the toil of threading the streets and alleys of a metropolis, to gain a pittance to gratify the necessary wants of to-day, ignorant of what the morrow might bring forth ! " Small encouragement was this, and an une- qual recompense," thought the fugitive, " for the anxi- eties and privations of a thousand miles of pilgrimage, to be called a freeman." " If this am mass'r Bates' Kanon, give dis nigger ole Egypt, wid plenty o' corn and hoecake," said Tom to himself, and so restless did he become, that he got ap and paced the room. His thoughts were busy. He looked out of the window — pshaw! this word fails to gi'. e the idea; it was a hole scarcely big enough to protrude his head through — and gazed at the sky. It was cloudless; and there were stars. "Are they the same," he mused, "that lighted the heavens the night I lay at 4-02 LIFE AT THE SOUTH ', OK the hovel in the lane, and listened to the sweet music from the Elms ? " This thought brought vividly to his mind the punishment. " War I sich a fool! act ugly to massa, 'kase I was too old to hold my own with young Hector? Let me try um agin, an' mass'r oberseer would n't be obliged to turn dat ole padlock, an' leave me to die ; I would act like oder niggers — go home to my cabin, eat hearty, an' sleep so soundly ; dat would I, eeny bow." Nelly heard footsteps overhead. She was afraid thieves were in the house : she might be mistaken, and lay still and listened. She heard them again. And now she could not be mistaken. Tom was up there — probably asleep. They would steal his scanty stock of clothing, and then what would he do? It would ruin him ; he certainly would give it up, and be worse than old Hard ! She could not endure the thought, and ventured to go to the garret door. She opened it softly, stood a moment, and all was silence. They beard her, she thought, and were still. Presently, a sound, like hard, heavy breathing, caught her ear. "There, there!" she audibly exclaimed, "they are taking his life ! Oh ! Tom, Tom ! " and rushed up the stairs, and met him at the top. There was hardly light enough for them to recognize each other. " Nelly, is tils you? I thought it was your voice. ■ What 's the matter ? " said the fugitive, seizing her arms. "Why, Tom, are you awake! and alone ? I thought they were murdering you ! What ails you, to be up at this time o' night ? " rNCLE tom's oabik as rris. 403 "1 have a spell on me. I'm soliloquizing, Nelly; dat 's all." " Pooh ! how yon frightened me ! Get to bed, or yon will be too late in the offices, in the morning," she replied, and descended the stairs, vexed that she should be alarmed so foolishly. Tom appreciated the advice, and tried again to sleep. The dame was coy, and he did little more than drowse, until it was time to go to Main street. He felt unpleasantly, as he moped along the alley to his work. "This comes o' it, by guine to de state of freedom. Blast mass'r Bates ! I would like to lay my hands on him some morning. Den he would see "my feelings " in earnest. Oh, ho ! dar is a man yonder on de side- Walk what looks jist like him," said Tom to himself, and quickened his step to overtake the schoolmaster. 404 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OB CHAPTEE XXVII. THE ALAEM. " If you. allow any passion, even though it he esteemed innocent, to acquire an ascendant, your inward peace will be impaired." Blaib's Sekmons. The greatest foible in Tom's character was ohstinacj. Not so much self-willed in jiidgment as inflexible in purpose. Pie possessed, in fact, a docile, amiable dis- position. He would not inflict a blow upon the body of a fellow-being from mere wantonness ; , neither would he pierce the heart with a rough remark or personal iuuendo, unless in self-defence. But he was not way- ward. He acted affirmatively. Easy and willing to be taught ; yet, if the instructor closed the book, or proposed to open some new chapter in the volume of life, it would be unsafe to count with certainty upon Tom. He might change the path, or he might go on in the old track, even if it conducted him to destruction. To this master passion may be traced his unwilling- ness to listen to Dinah, and remain on the plantation. To the same cause may be attributed his disinclination tnifCLE Tom's cabin as rris. 405 tO adopt the advice of Kitty and Mrs. Brown, and stay at the inn in Saint Davids. He was under the tuition of Mr. Bates in the first instance ; and in the latter, he was taking lessons from his friend, Allgood. In both cases, he had reached the conclusion, and the admonition came too late. He was too obstinate to be fickle-minded ; his will could not change with every passing breeze. If he did not enjoy tranquillity, and misfortune attended his efforts after happiness, it was not because he lacked the desire for it, or was desti- tute of an enterprising spirit. His labor was mis- directed, and he would not heed his errors when kindness pointed them out. He allowed himself to become discontented on the plantation. He sought happiness in Canada, but did not find it. He was now in Buffalo, searching daily for the same object. If the prize which the fugitive sought was covered up in money or property, it can not be said that he was making very encouraging progress. He soon began to think, that the fortune which dazzled his imagination was a phantom, for he not only did not acquire wealth, but, on the contrary, it was with ex- treme difficulty, and, as it seemed to him, great over- exertion, that he earned enough to supply actual necessities. In his walks about the city, he saw many large buildings, filled with immense stocks of goods of all descriptions; aiid many splendid edifices, in which the people lived in elegance and luxury. He could not traverse the long and broad avenue which extended from the water far on to the hills that over- looked the town, without beholding some of the citizens 4:06 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OH riding in their eostly carriages, or promenading the walk clad in the richest apparel; and all appear^ ing merry with enjoyment. If he turned his eyes to the beautiful, though sometimes turbulent bay, its waters were whitened with many a departing and re- turning sail ; he could not pass along the wharves and docks, without beholding flour, pork, and corn enough, he thought, to supply a market for the entire world. If perchance he paused at the square where, for the first time, he witnessed the flag of his country mourn- ing the loss of an estimable citizen, or stepped into the side streets which lead into the surrounding coun- try, he could feast his eyes upon wagon and cart loads of the choicest productions of the soil ; and an army almost of farmers, whose very appearance indicated thrift and good living. Andyet he strove as diligently to obtain these means of happiness, and was constantly disappointed. He was told that the whites were the lucky owners. " These gemmen inherit their property, like massa Erskine, or else white men must have bigger brains, and know how to take care of themselves .better tlian Tis slaves," he frequently muttered to himself, as, day after day, he returned to the kitchen on Vine street. Our story has mn into the month of July. It was a stormy morning, and the weather was so cold that, although in the midst of summer, a blazing fire was comfortable. Tom had been to the street, and waited upon his customers. If he had seen the schoolmaster, he was unfortunate not to be able to overtake him. He lost sight of liim after he passed the first block. UKCLE TOm's CABnsr AS IT IS. 407 Tom and Welly remained at the "breakfast table longer than usual. She had not forgotten the affi'ight, and had many questions to ask concerning his pro- pensity to somnambulism. "Tom, as long as you live here, don't you frighten me so again."' " Oh ! I was thinkin' of home ; dat 's all." " Of home ! Why, this is your home." "I know'ii it ; but I was thinkin' of my oder home, down South." " Tou have left there forevep I do n't think any more of it," said Nelly, who was pleased with the disposition and deportment of her boarder. Tom made no reply ; he was pensive. "What you thinking of now?" inquired Nelly, iu-a peculiarly affectionate tone of voice. " How de white folks enjoy all the happiness," Tom replied. " La sakes ! how you talk ! I guess we colored citi- zens have onr share. I do n't see what should put that into your head, Tommy." "'Kase they own all de big stores, an' bosses and gigs, an' wear all de nice clothes. Color'd gemmen go 'foot." " Oh, yon great dunce ! Do n't you suppose we have good times? And what does it signify? We work week days, and rest on the Sabbath. Then, do n't. we go to church ? " said Nelly. "Can't say as to dat; 1 hab not been much, you know." " Well, you walk without your crutch now, and if 408 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OE you can get rid of your pride, you may go with me to-morrow, Sunday school an' all. I have a class, you know." "I'll do dat. I'm 'most asham'd for neglectin' meeting so long. But my mind has been filled with property; an' den agin, I couldn't go on my ole crutch — I should be laughed at; you know'd dat NeUy?" " Yes, yes ; you are mighty proud, I know'd — par ticularly so, for an ole man — yah! yah! yah ! " Tom did not mention- to Nelly that he had a glimpse of the schoolmaster, who was uppermost in his mind, and he thought he would stray up into the town, and go to the hotels. The storm subsided, and he wan- dered about from place to place most of the day; he did not retm-n home until after dusk. Unable to find Mr. Bates, he came to the conclusion that he had taken some one else for his old friend, and thought no no more of it. He brushed up what boots he had lugged home, and as he did not get much sleep the previous night, went to bed earlier than usual. JSTelly would have been glad to have had him remain up a little longer ; but she felt fatigued herself, and made no remark. The fugitive and washerwoman slept late. Nelly, because she had no shirts to iron ; Tom, because he had not a boot — strange to say — to deliver. "What he brought home with him, after his stroll for the schoolmaster, were cast-off leather, so it turned out, not intended for Sunday wear. Upon taking a count, there were only six, and those mostly- worn out. The lawyer, doctor, and tradesman kept these for estr» 409 ♦v^casions — such as, for instance, reader, an excursion to the woods of Cattauraugus, to spear trout; or a walk to the Indian Reservation, to collect herbs, so that the heart may not stop its pulsations before age nas attained to three-score and ten ; or a sail to Grand Island. The fii-st for health, the second for science, the third — not for amusement merely, if it occurred on the first day on the week, but to worship God in his living' presence! Tova fdt it to be the Lord's day. He put on a tidy shirt, a clean pair of panta- loons — color, white — and over this, in front, extending down to his knees, as nice an apron as Nelly could make for him. He was particular in combing his head — it hardly looked natural, he had fixed it up so much. He was ready for church before the hour, and wondered why the bells did not ring. Nelly dressed her front hair in £urls, (it was not straight, and hence, by some, she was pronounced to be mulatto,) she put on her best calico dress, and looked neat. This was not aU. She wore — not a handkerchief, bright with red or yellow tints — but a plain white muslin cap, such as might be seen on many a white lady, on ordinary days. "Tom," said Nelly, "why don't you put on that white linen roundabout which the merchant give you? It 's starched stiff. Tou should not wear that apron ; it 's unbecoming." "Too hot; and dis nigger am not proud," replied Tom. As the bells of the several churches pealed forth their solemn chime, Tom and Nelly walked over to 410 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OE the colored Sunday school. The children were not very prompt in attendance. - The teachers, with the exception of Nelly, were as tardy in their attendance as the pupils. The hour designated was nine o'clock, but it was nearer ten before they reached the room. She did not wait for the others, but as soon as a por- tioi: of her class arrived, commenced the exercise of hearing the little boys and girls recite the few passages of scripture which, at the previous school, they were directed to commit to memory. She removed the straw bonnet from her head, for she thought it unbecoming, Tom was interested, and pleased with the appearance of the children. He patted their heads, and praised them for being so good. After Nelly heard her class through, they went above and took their seats, to hear the minister. He preached upon the subject of repen- tance, to a large and attentive congregation. Tom heard every word, and appeared more devout than Nelly had seen him at any time before. This espe cially pleased her, for she had the reputation of being, and no doubt was, a sincere Christian. After church was over, they returned home in company. Tom re- proached himself for not being more regular in going to meeting, and resolved that he would resume his morning and evening prayers. " You saw manv goodJooking people at church to- day did n't you, Tom s " asked Nelly,, as they were sippmg their tea. " O yas." " Property is not all confined to the white folks : we are some, ourselves," she added. V X SUNDAY SCHOOL. ITNCLB TOM'S-OABm A8 IT B. 413 "No big fortins among nm ; they must work jist as color'd people do whar I come from," replied Tom. " You toilet that they are their own masters; do n't have to budge as the whim of the tyrant dictates. Mighty difference ! " " I know'd dat ; an' if they do n't git work, must starve or beg ! Dunne, dunno," said Tom, shaking his head. "You will like our society better, when you get naturalized to it. Things will come round right, by- and-by," said Nelly. The fugitive prayed that night, for the first time since he came to the land of freedom, and the washer- woman joined him in his devotion. It reminded him of the cabin, and he felt more at home. He kissed the children, as he retired to the garret, and wished Nelly pleasant dreams. It was his habit to rise early, for it was difficult to sleep after daylight. But the next morning found him stirring earlier than usual. The sun was not up when he reached- the creek. He was looking for some chance-work. Occasionally he slipped a sixpence or shilling into his pocket, for carrying a valise or carpet- hag from the steamboat to the railroad depot, or some private residence. He had but one office to sweep, and, as he passed " the churches," he descried a steam- boat coming rapidly into port. He had hurried down to the wharf, thinking he should have an abundance of time to attend to the office afterward. There were Beveral persons engaged in soliciting the patronage of passengers : others with strong, heavy canes in their 18 414 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OB hands, indicating that they were there to keep the peace ; and these, with almost any number of hackney coachmen, drivers of baggage-wagons, and carmen, created a very respectable crowd, in point of size. All made a rush for the gangway of the boat, the instant the officer in command pulled the bell to^stop the wheels, and Tom among the rest. It turned out to be the boat from Perrysburgh and Toledo, Captain , an old veteran in the service, and popular with the traveling public. There was much hurrying to and fro, as well on the part of the passengers as gentlemen from on shore, who kindly offered to take them in charge, and to such a degree that, to some of the passengers, the offer became ex- ceedingly offensive. Tom had not yet succeeded in obtaining any baggage, and was jostling his way to the upper deck. As he reached the foot of the stairs to go up into the ladies' saloon, whom should he be- hold but his young master Frederick! He quickly stopped, to turn around ; but the pressure was too strong, and he was wedged in so tight, that he found it difficult even to turn his face. He cast his eye above, to see whether his person was recognizEd, and was glad to observe his young master still talking to some person inside the saloon. H^ redoubled his efforts to relieve himself from the unpleasant position, and succeeded, after receiving a bruise or two from the baggage which was in process of transhipment, and more curses from the various porters who were crowd- ing the gangway. Once asfiore, he did not look back to make say further discoveries but scampered though CNCLE tom's cabut as rriB. 415 a narrow alley into a street, less frequented by the public conveyances, and retreated to the oflSce. He commenced his work there, and notwithstanding he, would not, for the price of himself, be seen by Fred- erick, yet so great was his anxiety to catch another glance of his young master, he could not refrain from keeping up an almost constant lookout, as omnibus and carriage, one after the other, passed up the street. He either did not look out at the right tiBip, or he had mistaken some other person for Frederick. He could not be mistaken : he knew that the gentleman whom he had seen was his young master: he had not altered in the least particular. Tom was not so particular to make the suit of rooms look nice ; he felt anxious to learn more of Frederick. Perhaps he was in quest of his runaway slave. Per- haps the old master was dead, and his young master succeeding to the estate, had commenced searching anew for his lost property. Tlie more he reflected upon the incident at the boat, the more uneasy he became. Having swept out the rooms, Tom did not stop to dust the ftimiture, books, and law papers, but " cut the work short," and turning out of Main, took Pearl street in his course, to avoid passing the principal hotels. " Nelly," said he, as soon as he entered the house, "I hab bin scar'd worse than you war, oder night." "What now, Tom?" " I seed my young master Frederick, down at the boat." 416 lWk at the sotJi'H; OE " Why, Tom, is that so ? Then you must go right over the river, to Canada ; he is after his slave, you may depend on 't," said l^elly, alarmed at her fears, "Dunno; he did not set his eyes on me." " No matter ; he will scour the town to find you. Some ragamuffin has sent word to him that you are here ; I '11 put the breakfast on the table now," ob- served NeUy. " I do n't know 'bout guine to de state of freedom agin. I hates missus Brown ; she scolds and frets all the time," remarked the fugitive, unwilling to take the trip. " Oh ! you need n't go to Saint Davids. La sakes ! plenty o' places to stop at. There, hurry Tom ! you have no time to spare ; I '11 pack up your things," added Nelly. " Spare yourself the trouble, Nelly ; I must think of it." " Why, would you think it, Mr. Easy ! Tom's mas- ter is in search of him- and is actually in this city, and he hesitates to go across the river ! " said Nelly to her neighbor, who then happened in. The intelligence alarmed him almost as much as it did her. "Foolish fellow! by all means go — lose not a moment," said Mr. Easy. " I had rather 'connoiter a little. Who knows but dat ole Pompey, or some o' de oders, may be with him. No, no ; he won't know whar I am. I '11 keep watch, an' if I seed um coming, dis nigger will hide under the bed, up in the garret," replied the lugitive, still unwilling to go to Canada. BwctE Tom's OAsm as fr k. 417 " Wtat a dunce ! Why, man, I would n't give a pin for your chance to escape, if constable takes the field. Talk of hiding under the bed ! why, that officer is the greatest setter in the whole country — he's notorious," replied Mr. Easy, vexed at Tom's stubbornness. "Yes, yes; and that's the first — the very first place — he would go to look for you. Come, if you know what 's best for you, you will take our advice," said Nelly. " Oh ! it is lonesome over thar," replied the fugitive. " Pshaw 1 we wiU come over and see you ; won't we, Mr. Easy?" "I think likely," he replied, with some hesitation. " I win, at any rate," added Nelly. " If I was sure that I can not hear from Dinah, if 1 stay'd," said the fugitive, in an undertone, to himself. "What is it you remark?" inquired the washer- woman. " K I was certain that he went to the hotel, I think it would be best to go. I must think," he replied. " Well, Mr. Easy, s'pose you loiter about, and see what you can learn. K Tom is determined to stay in the city, we must keep him snug," observed NeUy. " Yery good ; Tom can describe his master to me, as well as he can, and I 'U take a look," replied Mr. Easy. He received a pretty full description of the person of young Mr. Erskine, and walked up to Main street, be- lieving he should be able to recognize the gentleman, if he should be fortunate enough to see Mm. In the mean- time, the fugitive remained with the washer-woman. 418 LIFB AT THE SOTITH; OB CSAPTER XXVill. AMEEIOAIT HOTEL. Mary, the fdaiiter's daughter, had frequently asked het father to take a trip to the Falls of Niagara. She impoittmed him so much, that finally he consented to come North. Frederick, his son, desired to accom- pany them ; and the father, son, and daughter, taking with them Pompey and Dinah, composed the party. Instead of going by the seaboard, they took the National Koad to the' Ohio river, and thence to Cin- cinnati. Mr. Erskine had not traveled much — never haviiig gone beyond the limits of his native common- wealth, excepting upon a few occasions, and then only for a shoi't distance. He was pleased to make as wide a circuit as he conveuiently could, for the mutual grat- ification of himself and children. From Cincinnati, he pursued the most dmact route to the Lakes, embark- ing at Sandusky upon the steamboat bound for the «ity of Baffalo. Tom was right in his coMJecture as to Frederickj for the party arrived that morning at the latter-named city, and engaged apartments at the Ameriaatx Hotel TmcvE Tom's CAni> as ms. 419 Mary desired to take some female domestic; and Dinah teased so hard, that she concluded to take her in place of Philisee. It seemed that Mr. Gravity, subsequent to his return from Swamp Creek, learned that he was mistaken in his supposition that Uncle Tom was buried in the field, the grave which he saw finally turning out to be that of another negro, who departed this life after a lingering and painful illness. The .boy had been told of the accident on the turn- pike, and, as is frequently the case, surmised the rest of his information. It was, therefore, generally be- lieved on the plantation that Uncle Tom had escaped alive. Dinah loved her husband dearly ; and when she heard that her young missis though of visiting the North, she begged the privilege of attending her. Philisee did not object, although she knew she was the favorite, am could go if she pleased. But she pitied Dinah, who, if she went, perhaps might have the pleasure of seeing her husband. Aboard of the boat on the lake, Dinah kept strain- ing her eyes, whenever she was outside of the saloon, to see Canada. The chambermaid assured her the pleasure of beholding that country in the morning, and it was not daybreak when the devoted wife was again upon the deck. She had no desire to sleep, and all her thou^ts were centered upon her own dear Tom. The moon had gone down, and it was too dark to see objects afar with distinctness. She wished the boat would move faster over the water. Presently, •he thought she canght a faint glimpse of the land far 420 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OB away in the distance. She almost held her brtath in ecstacy. She set her eyes upon the object ; but in a few minutes it was too dim to be seen. The darkness in- creased, and she went below again with a saddened heart. The boat kept on its course ; and when the day began to dawn, the lighthouse upon Buifalo pier was in plain sight. Dinah, as she sat in the lower saloon, overheard one of the passengers remark, " there is old fort Erie," and without knowing wnat place was meant rushevi out the door. " There is Canada; you can have a good view of it. We are now going into the creek," said the chamber- maid. Dinah was satisfied ; she had seen the land of free- dom ; and went |o the stateroom above, to wait upon Mary. Pompey's curiosity to see the land about which he had heard so much, was also excited ; and he did not fail to give it his respectful attention. He did not care to talk about it, however, in the presence of Mr. Ersk ine, — neither did Dinah ; both kept their thoughts to themselves. After breakfast, Frederick missed his cane, and directed Pompey to return to the boat and get it. Dinah asked Mary's consent to go M'ith him to the boat, which was readily given.. " Pompey, I want to tell you so bad, how I see whar Tommy is," said Dinah, as they were going down the stairs of the hotel. " Speak um," said he, in an undertone. " Jist afore we got off, I looked way 'cross the sep ; I '11 show you when we git down dar, I will." TTNCLE TOm's OAUm AS IT IB. 421 "Dinah, did you saw how green it is ober dar? " " Dunno, Pompey ; I s'pects not. Wha'-^— wha' yon mean ? " she asked earnestly. " Why, Dinah, yon did n't see how green it look'd I Why, you war n't half so 'serving as dis nigger ; an' he hab no hnsband ober dar — ha ! haw ! haw ! " " Pompey, you 're cruel to make light," she plain- tively answered. " Why, Dinah, dis nigger would n't injure your fedin's — only a little sport; dat 's all. I feel like fun. Let um go, though. Wha' ! what a spankin' big nig- ger goes on t'other side o' road ! I would like to know who he belongs to. Jehu, jehimmini ! only jist look at dat ole fellar ! why, he can hardly walk ! by golly, he gibs um up ! Dar, he 's guine to nap it on de road, as sure as we live — poor fellar! " exclaimed Pompey, as he beheld Jim Hard lying down on the sidewalk, below the canal bridge on Commercial street, after a night's debauch. "Poor fellar!'' echoed Dinah. "He's enjoying freedom here; it's not necessary for him to go to Canada," said Pompey. " Tree, I s'pects," said Dinah. "Dat ole nigger bought his freedom ! He could n't hoe a peck of com in a week," said Pompey, turning up his nose. Tliey went aboard of the boat, and found Frederick's cane in the stateroom. " Pompey, come you now wid me, an' I '11 show you where I stood when I first cast these eyes across de sea," said Dinah, as he was turning to go down the gangway. 18* 422 UB^ AT THE soTrra ; ok " Berry good," replied Pompey ; and she conducted him to the stern of the boat, on the lowcvr deck. " Eight here, Pompey ; an' how I felt ! I wondei if Tommy is ober dar?" she said; and began to cry. "Pshaw! Dunno; don't act foolish^ Dinah, -or I shall cry myself. Think no more on 't. Perhaps you will seed him afore massa goes home. Come — come along, Dinah ; don 't stand dare idle. Young massa wants his cane. Come along ; you hinder me," said Pompey, rather harshly, from impatience. Dinah complied reluctantly with his request: "Only jist look at dat ole fellar. "Why, see the flies ! Pooh ! I can't bear de sight," exclaimed Pom- pey, as they again passed by Hard, still lying on the sidewalk, near an empty sugar hogshead. ■They walked leisurely up the sidewalk to the hotel. Pompey admired the buildings, .stores, shops, and car- riages, and was eonsta;ntly uttering his praise. Dinah admired them too, as they pleased her fancy when immediately before her eyes. But she had no remarks Lo make. Her heart was elsewhere. He delivered the cane to his young master " We shall stop and look at this town for a day or two. Take that, and supply yourself with nick-nacks, Pompey," said Frederick, handing the slave a bright American half dollar. "Thank 'e, massa," said Pompey, making a very low bow. He ran to find Dinah, for he wanted her to help him spend the money. Mary overheard what he said. "Dinah, there'?, the mate to it," sq^id «he, topsiUf a xrscLE tom's cabin as it ifl. 423 similar piece of money into her laj), as she sat by the window, looking down upon the street. "Thankee, missis Mary," replied Dinah, at the same time rising and making a curtsy. Pompey and Dinah, in the course of the forenoon, took another stroll. "I wonder whar' Tom is, an' what he is doin?" said Dinah. "I wonder whar' mass'r Bates am?" said Pompey. " Pompey, you take 'way half my 'joyment, talkin'so." " Not at all, Dinah. I neber thinks of one widout de oder; dat's all." They stopped at a confectioner's, and Pompey bought some candies for Dinah and himself. A negro woman came into the store whilst they were there. Pompey felt so comfortable, and joked so freely with Dinah, that the woman did not feel any restraint in speaking to them, especially as she had an object in view. " We see a good many of you southern people here in the hot weather. Ton are traveling with yoiu- mis- tress, I suppose," she said to Dinah. " Tis ; missis Mary war good 'nough to take me wid her on de journey," replied Dinah. " Going to the Falls, I expects." "Tis ; we stop dar afore we go home to Virginny, I s'pose," replied Dinah. " Great curiosity," remai-ked the woman ; and left the store. Pompey and Dinah soon supplied them- selves with what they wanted, and sauntered along the teidewalk, eating their candies, until they reached again the hotel. 424 LIFE AT THE SOtJTH ; OB The planter and his children had gone ont to ride, and view the town. They admired its location, and the beautiful and cleanly streets. The numerous build- ings that were being erected, and the many vessels for the lake, and boats for the canals, that were being built, indicated enterprise and prosperity. Mr. Ersk- ine thought the hotel surpassed any he had ever seen, 80 elegant was the structure itself, and so admirable were all the interior appointments and arrangements. They passed the day agreeably, and in the evening visited the theatre. Mr. — '■ — , the great tragedian, appeared upon the boards, and enacted the humpback tyrant of England, amid the loud applause of the audience, and to their own great gratification. They returned to their lodgings, delighted Miil,h Ibo entertain- ment, and concluded t( » prolong their staj ai Buffalo at least another day. uiTCLE tom's cabin AS itib. 425 CHAPTEE XXIX. THE FREE NEGEO. In the meantime, whilst the planter and his family the servants included, were enjoying themselves as thousands of other travelers will continue to do, we have no doubt, who may chance to stop for a day or two in that delightful metropolis, Mr. Easy was mak- ing heavy draughts upon his wit, to learn whether Tom's master was actually in the city. He went to the several public houses, and scanned critically the various strangers whom he happened to see. He lin- gered about the American hotel until near noon. He saw many gentlemen and ladies whom he took to be Southerners ; but none corresponded with the descrip- tion given him, and he concluded that Frederick had proceeded directly from the boat to the cars — and so he reported to the ftigitive. "Tom, you must fly to Canada suddenly!" said Nelly, almost out of breath, as she came running into the house on Yine street. " I hab de start of you ; Mr. Easy jist told me he was gone," replied Tom, perfectly calm. 426 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OB " Mr. Easy is not sharp ; I tell yon, he is here ! your very magter! Ton have not a minute to spare! I have seen that " Nelly here hesitated, and knit her brow, as if she had something to say, but either could not, or was unwilling to utter it. Tom stared. Nelly looked downcast. ""Well, proceed — spoke um," said he, in a gentle tone. Nelly seemed to be in thought ; Tom began to grow uneasy. " Ton aint takin' sick, or noffin? " he remarked. Nelly sat down in the rocking chair, and took off her bonnet. "Why, Nelly, why! Don't fool dis nigger so! You war 'bout to say something — out wid um ; you seed me patient," said Tom. "Tom, I think I will accompany you • I likes to go to Saint Davids," she said. ' " Not wid dis nigger, eeny how ! No, no ; gib me de States. Here am de only place to live like freeman." " I agree to that ; but such color 'd gemmen as your- self are denied the privilege," replied Nelly. " 1 am not guine dar. I tell you, Mr. Easy jist said that massa war out o' town." " It is not so ; I have seen with my own eyes, that " " Who — ^who ? why do n't you spoke um ? " inquired Tom, in a louder tone of voice. " Why, if you must know," replied Nelly, with a sneer upon her countenancej " I have seen that wench, Dinah!" 427 "DinaL! niy own Inbly Dinah?" exclaimed the fugitive, and buried his face in his hands. " Yes, I have seen lier ; and I see some one else, too, Tom." " What dat yon say, Nelly ? " said he, looking np in sm-prise. " I see a colored gemman." " Who ? what his name? " asked Tom. " She called him Pompey ; he did n't look bad." "It isn't possible!" exclaimed Tom, more in sor- row than anger. "I say it is a fact ; he was bnying candy for her." Tom burst into tears, and cried like a child. Nelly pitied him, and yet was glad to see the information affect him. "Now, I'm guine to die!" said Tom, sobbing continually. " I can't help it, Tom ; but yon shall not kill your- self. Tlie true way is to think no more of it. Fly to Canada,. and be safe from bondage. I will come to you, as soon as I can settle up, and we will have a happy home," said Nelly, thinking she had aroused his jealousy suflSciently to bend him to her wiU, and weaken, if not altogether destroy, his affection for Dinah. "I must see um, first," he replied. "See them ! why, how can yon be so foolhardy ? I tell you, your master is on the watch ; and it is out of the question for you to do that, without being discov- ered and caught," said she, rising to attend to a knock at the outer door. 428 ■ LIFE AT THE SOTTTH; OB It was Jim Hard, who, liaving slept his nap out oa the sidewalk, and hearing Mr. Easy say that the hoot- black was in danger, came to give his aid and advice. " "Well, Tom, in bilboes, eh? " remarked Hard, " haw, haw, haw ! you should lead free and easy life, like me, then they would n't take the trouble to hunt you up, Tom, you are too infernal smart for the times ; can't be helped, though. Come, cheer up ; you must show yourself a trump now. Haw, haw, haw ! " " I likes no sich talk, Mr. Hard ; my heart feels bad," said Tom. " Fiddle de dee ! throw your heart away. You must not sit here and brood : if my master was here, 1 should put for the other side of the river,, posthaste." " Exactly, Mr, Hard ; that 's my counsel, and he will not take it. I am glad to see you so sensible," said Nelly. "Of course, I am — never otherwise. Come with me ; I '11 pilot you safe, master or no master." " I would like to take jist one look of Dinah ; den I am ready to go to Saint Davids," remarked Tom. " Mr. Hard, that is impossible, and get away safe," Baid Nelly, before he had time to reply. " I do n't know — I do n't know, missis ISTelly ; I guess we can fetch that. Let us see," said Hard, scratching his head. "Where is she?" he finally asked. "At hotel — American," replied Tom. " Very gpod ; we will try that." Tom got up from the chair, and said that he was ready to make the effort. 429 "Not too fast, Tom; I don't like dajlight for sich a jaunt; we must talce the dark for that. "We will make our descent this evening," said Hard. " Yes ; and before that time, Tom will be in the hands of constable ! I almost hear him coming, now," said Nelly. " Oh ! do n't be alarmed about that officer. I have often given him a lead around the comer," said Hard, who always felt perfectly at home when playing " hide and seek " with the police. " Come, missis Nelly, give us some feed, and I will take thjs gem- man into my custody ; and mark you, I '11 bring him out safe and sound. He will find me a blood, and no mistake." " I never did see sich a contrary fellar," said Nelly, vexed at the fugitive's obstinacy, and fearful that old Hard would get them into trouble. But it was of no use ; Tom was inflexibly determined to take a peep at Dinah, and old Hard was too fond of adventure to allow this opportunity to pass by unim- proved. She got them something to eat ; and shortly after the sun went down, the fugitive and his pilot started out for a cruise. "A\Tiar — whar you guine, frien' Hard?" asked Tom, as they entered a narrow alley in the rear of the hotel. " Close, now— not a word," whisper'/i the pilot. " If we should be seen, we would have o- ustable arter us, in good earnest." " I know'd dat voice ! it am " excU -ned Tom, in as low a tone as his excited feelings woui ' permit him. 430 LIFE AT THE SOUTH ; OE "Hist — hist! careful, careful — now; there, liold your walk," said Hard, as they came within hearing of Dinah's voice, talking to Ponipey in the windo\'' above. There was no moon, and a thunder-cloud, hovering low over %e city, shut out the light of the stars. They took their position under the window, standing close to the wall of the building, and listened. " I would give eeny thing, if I only could agin see my dear Tom," said Dinah. " Dar, dar ! I know'd Nelly war wrong," whispered Tom. "Histl unless you are ready to go back to the street," said Hard. " Lucinda told dis nigger to be sure an' see um, afore I left de K'orth," said Pompey. " Mebbe, we shall see him at the Falls. Missis Mary told me, she hoped I might," replied Dinah' "I wonder how he likes his state of freedom? Heigh, ho ! the old boat kept me awake last night. I wish massa home from the theatre," remarked Pompey. They soon retired from the window, and Tom and old Hard picked their way back to the street. There was no doubt now, in the fugitive's mind, of the presence of his master in the city. And if he har- bored any suspicion of the fidelity of his wife, that was removed by the interview, and he could not bear the thought of never beholding her again. If he could have a chance to talk with her, he believed that he could perstade her to remain at the Noi-th, and flee tTNCLE TOm's cabin AS IT IS 431 pith him to Canada. How to accomplish this, he did lot know. He was afraid to approach his master, and ret he felt as though he would like to take him by the land. And as for Pompey, how much did he wish to lear him tell over what had transpired since he left he cabin. He hurried back with Hard to the washer- woman. He rehearsed to Nelly what conversation he leard between the two slaves, and insisted that he vould not cross the Niagara until he had seen more )f his wife, whatever might be the consequences to limself. She again urged him to make his escape jood, but to no purpose, and dismissed the subject. Hard advised him to contrive some way to get pos- iession of his wife. That done, and the fugitive thought lis fortune would be better, and himself contented. Ifter canvassing the subject, they concluded the planter did not mistrust that Tom was in Buffalo, and ierefore, the fugitive need not continue in such close jonfinement. If he kept out of the sight of his master, t was all that was necessary. "And now," said Hard, "will you stand fire, and lot run, if we really undertake to run your wife across ;he rivert " " Tas ; depend on 't," replied Tom. "Not even if she should take it into her head to Jcream, and faint, and all that ? " "No, no. Do evil that good may come, you know,'' said the fugitive, with- more cheerfulness of manner than he had exhibited for a long time. "Very good. I will take a look at the subject, »nd see how the thing can be brought about. Meet 432 LIFE AT THE SOTTTH ; OB me on the canal bridge, in the morning, and we will talk further. I shall have some ideas to give yon, I '11 warrant ye. So, good night to you, and do n't let me catch you blubbering agin," said Hard ; and after suggesting to the washer-woman to let Tom's fears alone, he left the house and went down town, de- lighted that he had so much work on his hands. It was this kind which suited his fancy, and he would on no account lose the fun in prospect. After the fugitive got to bed that night, he won- dered why it was that Pompey and Dinah did not long to be free, like himself; and much more was he amazed, that his master ventured to take them to Buffalo. He thought more of him than ever before. He must have a confiding heart, and be unconscious that slaves desired to change their condition. Tom thought it would be too bad to decoy Dinah away, and felt half-inclined to abandon the project. In the morning, he kept his word with Hard, punc- tually. There was quite a stir in the vicinity of the bridge, it being the hour for the departure of the packet boat eastward. The crowd had pretty much dispersed, before his old friend appeared at the ren- dezvous. " Hullo, IsTelly, is that you ! I heard you was com- ing, but I did not believe a bit of it," said Hard to the washer-woman, who had just then reached the bridge. " It is necessary ; I take too deep an interest," said she. "Well, mum is the word — mind that, now. N i tales, nor whining," he replied. tnroLB tom's cabin as it is. 433 "Wha' makes you so late?" asked Tom. "Cholera morbus." "Who?" " The cholera — cholera morbus, I think they call it." " Oh ! sick, Jim ? " inquired Nelly. "No, not myself. Prevalent down here — several dead." "Dead! Who?" "Two, I believe. I think two." "What are their names?" asked Nelly, who had many acquaintances in the lower part of the city. "The barber on Water street, and fourteen other people." " Good heavens ! " "Tes, there were ten of them. Their time is up." "Well, be quick now; talk fast. What you got to say? "said Nelly, who was afraid of the disease, and did not wish to remain in the hot sim any longer than was necessary. "Seen her, Tom, since?" asked Hard. " No ; I come down the back street." " I have, though," said Nelly. " Look amiable — cross — did n't care,- eh ? ' "She was at the candy store agin," said Nelly. " Tou do n't ! What a sweet creature — yah ! yah ! yah!" " What you mean by dat ? " asked Tom, in a voice that showed he resented the remark. "Don't vex yourself; it's all right," replied Hard. "Well, why do n't you tell it? not keep us waiting 434 tiFE AT THE SOUTH ; OK here all the morning," said ISTelly, growing m(,-a impatient. "Do you know Jake, the cook?" asked Hard. " Jake ! where does he cook ? " " On the steamboat what runs to the other end of the lake." " O, yes ; I am acquainted with the gemman," said Ifelly. " He recollects um." " "Who do you mean — Dinah ? " " Of course ; who else we talking about ? He says he will stay over and take a hand in ; and he is a blood, let me tell you that. He come near killing his over- seer, off there somewhere. His master was glad to sell him cheap, and they raised a distribution for him, a,nd he got his freedom — yah ! yah ! yah!" "Take me whar' he is ? I 'd like to talk wid um," said Tom. " Oh ! you can rely ori him," remarked Hard. " He is on the boat, I s'pose," said ITelly. " Do n't you believe that. He has gone up the creek to look for a little sail craft lying up there. I 'm to meet him at noon, below the ship canal," said Hard.. "And then you are to arrange it are you?" a^ked Nelly. " Arranged ! What you talking for ? All settled now ; you ought to know this chap better than to s'pect I 'd leave things half done. I tell you, it 's all settled. The point now is, to have Dinah at the boat," said Hard. " At noon ? ". asked Nelly. UNCLE TOM's cabin AS IT IS. 435 "Why not? I had as lief fight in the daytime as in the night. I had rather. Then I can see better where to strike." " You are not going to fight, are you ? " asked Nelly. " There it comes. I was afeerd you would blubber, if I told you nothing. Fight ! of course we are going to fight', if necessary. But no matter for that. Can you do anything ? Come, show your hand. You seem to want to take a part in the business. What can you do? " asked Hard. "I do n't know, Jim, except to look on." "Shall I tell you what you can do, ISTeUy?" "Of course." " You can fall in with Dinah somewhere, and coax her to the boat. That 's what you can do. Jake and myself will do the rest." "Yes, yes; so I can; and I'll try it too," said SeWj. "That 's it. No^, you talk like somebody. Per- haps, she is still in the street. You go and look. And mind you, do n't take no for an answer." " Yes, Jim, you can rely on me," said Nelly, turn- ing to go off the bridge. "That's the way to talk it. Tom, you come with me. Do n't forget, Nelly, the place," said Hard. " Not a bit. I 'm posted on that," she replied. It was nearer night than noon, before Jake moored his little sail vessel at the point agreed upon. His companions had waited some time. They were quickly aboard. Jake was armed with a bowie knife, ready fir any assault; and he looked as though he would use 4:36 LIFE AT THE SOUTH ; UB, it with a will, if necessary. He wore a heavy nenk- cloth, loosely tied, and extending half-way down the front of his body ; which he said could be used as a gag, if the woman noade any outcry. Some sailor noticing the craft, inquired where she was bound, and Jake remarked that they were going down the river to fish. The answer undoubtedly was satisfactory; for he had taken the precaution to get a couple of poles and fish lines, which lay in full sight. Hard infoiaied him that Nelly had undertaken the job of persuading the woman to come down to tlie boat ; and all they had to do, in the meantime, was to wait in patience. An hour or so elapsed, and she did not make her ap- pearance. Jake suggested that Hard should go ashore and take a look. To this proposition the latter made no objection, as he had not tasted a drop of liquor for at least three hours ; and left his friend Tom in chai-ge of the free negro. -3 Is) 19 UNCLE TOM's cabin AS IT IS. 439 CHAPTEE XXX. COUEAGE, GEATITTODE, AND CONTENTMENT. Nelly did not find Dinah at the confectioners; neither could she get a sight of her in the street. She lingered on the sidewalk opposite the hotel, so long as she deemed it prudent, and then went home. It would be uncharitable to say she did not regret her inability to execute the errand; but, however that may have been, she did not disguise to Mr. Easy, whom she met on the way, her hope that the sailors, in any event, would take the fugitive to Canada. Unwilling to be censured for not making every rea- sonable effort, after dinner Nelly sallied out again. It 80 happened, that she saw Dinah going into a public garden, near the hotel, and as she approached the door, she halted for the slave to come out. It was not long before the latter made her appearance, with her hands fuU of oranges. "You have bought so many, I guess you are from the South," said NeUy, with a half-smile and pointing to the fruit. "No whar else, I'm thinking," replied the slave, and evincing no disposition to stop. 4iO LH^ AT THE south; OB " How far are you traveling ? " asked IKelly. " Guine to de Falls," she replied. " Is your name Dinah? " again asked Nelly. The slave had almost passed the washer-woman, but upon hearing the last question, she suddenly looked around, and said, with surprise, " W'har did you hear that ? " " Oh ! nothing ; only I thought I would make bold to put the question. 'So offence, I hope? " said Nelly. " Fes, my name am Dinah." "I thought as much; if I could get a chance, I would tell you some good news," said Nelly. Dinah did not know what to make of the stranger. "Who' are you?" she inquired, earnestly. " Oh ! my name is Nelly ; I lives in this town." " I neber seed you, afore," remarked Dinah, and turned her head. " I hab no time to talk — missus is waitin'," she added. "Would you like to see Tom?" asked Nelly in a low voice. " Who ? My Tom, d 'ye say ? " ^'Yes, he that run away from his master several years ago." " Oh ! bless you, yes ! but dat 's out o' de question," replied the slave, and started on. " I can show him to you, if you will go with me," said Nelly, walking the same way. "When? whar?" " Now, if you says so — eeny time ; he is not far off." Dinah did not know what to say or do. She thought a moment. raroLE tom's cabin as it la. 44:1 " i wish to hear you talk more ; but I 'm afeerd missis wilknot like it, if I stop longer, she is waitin' for me," said Dinah. " No matter ; you come out to the street, back of the hotel, and I will meet you there," said Nelly. " Da 's it ; I '11 be thar in a jiff," said Dinah, and at once crossed the street, her heart throbbing with joy- Nelly lost no time in getting into Pearl street. She found Dinah in an alley conducting to it from the hack door of the hotel, and invited her to walk down the street "We will not stand nete, we may be observed ; w6 will talk as we go," said the washer-woman, and Dinah Tery wiQingly complied with the request. "Whar am Tommy?" she asked, as they were walking alohg. "Not far off; you must promise not to tell yovi missis," said Dinah. "No, no ; 1 does no sich thing," she replied. " Nor your master ; nor no one," said Dinah. " Nobody ; I shall not betray him," she declared. "Very good. I am taking you to him now; so, hurry your steps, and you will see him the sooner," said Nelly, as they reached Erie street, which lead to the spot where the sail vessel was anchored. "Yes, I '11 keep up. The fester we go, the better to my feelin's," said the slave. "How far is it?" she " Do you see the cfe^, yonder ? — " yes ; in plain 6ight," Replied Dinah. 442 tXFE AT THE SOUTH ; OE "He is aboard of a vessel, there, I s'pose; he prom ised to be," said the washer-woman, almost out of breath, from walking so rapidly. The slave thought too much about seeing her husband to mind the fatigue ; indeed, the faster she walked, the greater wa? her desire to increase the speed. " Oh, bless me ! how glad 1 am, to think I 'm guine to see him," said Dinah. " You will not wish to leave him, I guess," remarked Nelly. "No, no; that you may depend on," said Dinah. "There, I know'd it would be so; I told Jim Hard there was no danger of your backing out. Of course, you would go to Canada with him," said Nelly, as they reached the bridge which crossed a ship-canal. "What's dat? d'ye say go to Canada? "said Di- nah, and stopped. " Why, certainly ; your husband is in the boat now, waiting to take you to the other side of the river," said Nelly. " No, no ; I 'm not guine to his state of freedom," said Dinah, stretching up her neck, to get a glimpse of him, if possible. " Why, how you talk, woman ! you will not go and live with your own dear husband? Tes, you will, though ; come along — we shall soon be aboard," said Nelly. The slave did not move, or speak ;- but the tears fell in s' I earns from her eyes. The washer-woman gazed upon L' .-r with the most profound astonishment. This UNOLE Tom's oasis as rris. 443 was a new freak in human nature. The idea that the slave would not embrace her freedom, when it was within her grasp ! and, above all, un :^ling to go and share it with her husband ! Suet conduct was a per- fect enigma — it was unnatur'^. She began to think that the slave did not care or Tom. " You are willing to aoandon poor Tom then, are you? You're a m-.erable creature, that 's what you be; unwilling tc ve with your husband ! Oh! I see how it is ; yoi» have no affection for him ! it 's all pretence, this desire to look at him. You will go, I s'pose, and inform your master what I have told you. If you do, you had n't better stay in this town long — that I can tell you, any how," said Nelly, vexed with the slave. " Are you married ? " asked Dinah, after a moment or two. " Yes ; but my husband — bless his good heart 1 is long since dead." " Have you children ? " again asked Dinah. " To be sure I have — two ; and I love them dearly. Why do you ask the q[uestion? " inquired Nelly. " Which would you 'bandon, if boun' to choose ? " It was Nelly's turn now to make no answer. "What do you say? " asked Dinah. " A hard question ; excuse me," said Nelly. " Dat's my situation." r " Ah ! yes, I remember ; Tom told me he had chil- dren at the South. Well, you can go and see him; perhaps, he will not force you to go," remarked Ifelly. 444 LIFE AT THE SOTTTH f OE " No, no ; I stirs not a step ! My heart breads to see him: I will stay here till yon go an' ax him to come," said Dinah. The washer-woman perceived that was the onlj alternative, and left the slave on the bridge, whilst she went to report to Tom. She was nnable to find him '; Jake's delay in coming down the creek with the boat was the reason. Nelly was at a loss to understand why the rescuers were not at the point designated ; and after looking around vmsuecessfiilly to find them, she returned to Dinah. " They are gone ; I suspect the project is aban- doned," said Nelly. " i am sorry — very sorry. Do n't you s'pose I shall be able to see my Tommy, good woman ? " asked Dinah. "When do you leave town?" "Missis Mary says, to-morrow." " Could you get out of the hotel to night ? " "I coiitd try um," said the slave. "Tom, to tell you the whole truth, boards with me ; he was brought to my bouse, sick," said Nelly. " Sick ! has the poor man been sick ? " earOestly asked Dinah. " I guess yon would have thought so, if you had seen him ; he lay next to death's door, for weeks." " "When war this ? " asked Dinah. "Last winter; he was frozen in the snow," said Nelly. Dinah gave a shudder. " I told him dat, the night he left the cabin ; bnt he TJiroLE Tom's cabin as it is. 445 war so headstrong, it made no difference wid his feel- ins'," said she. " He is well, now. I nursed him night and day ; he had all my attention. I like him. He is a well disposed man — mnch self-will, though : I do n't blame him for that — it 's-nat'ral," said Nelly. " How grateful I feel to you ; I '11 ax missis Mary for a present," said Dinah. " Why, woman, you must not do that ! Tom wiU be discovered at once ! No ; do n't you do that for the world! mind, now," exclaimed Dinah, almost sorry that she mentioned Tom's illness. " Sure enough ; but if I can git anything for you, J will, and hand it to yon to-night, in de alley. An' if you find Tommy, bring him with you," said Dinah. " Yes ; we will consider that the arrangement," said Nelly. They had reached Pearl street on their return, and the washer-woman hastened to her house, to tell the fugitive what she had done, if he chanced to be at home. Dinah had been gone from the hotel for more than an hour. Her absence was not noticed by the planter or his children. But not so with Pompey ; he missed her; and when she came in, was anxious to know where she had strayed. She made light of his ques- tions, and went to Mary's room, to see if she was wanted. Mary and her brother were discussing the question of freedom, and the relative condition of happiness of the bond and the free. And the former, with the 19* 446 LIFE AT THE SOtTTH; OB view of quizzing the ionest, faithful, good hearted slave, asked her how she would like to be her own mistress. " La sakes ! missis Mary, I would n't be free, for noflan," she said. "Tut, tut, Dinah! now be honest for once," said Mary, pleasantly. " I told you de truth already," affirmed the slave. " What ! Do you pretend to say that you want us to take you home to Oakland again ? " asked Mary — frivolously, it is true. "Yes, missis; I wouldn't stay here an' freeze — I '11 warrant. No, no ; not I," said Dinah. '^Very good. See if there is any water in tie pitcher, Dinah." ■" All gone, missis." " Pull the bell, Dinah ; I am very thirsty." " Yes, missis." "I don't see, Dinah, but that we must keep you, then." " I hope so, missis." " Well, if you are going to return, Dinah, look around,- and improve your time ; see all you can. We go down to Niagara in the morning train," said Mary. " It is amusing to hear Pompey and Dinah make their remarks about the blacks they see in the street," remarked Frederick, after Dinah went out. " I really do not believe there is one in fifty half as well cared for as our slaves ; I 'm sure I have not seen any that began to look as tidy or comfortable as our CXCLK TOM's cabin AS IT IS. 43:7 Dinah. No wonder that she dislites the idea of re- maining here," said ilarj. Pompey was watching for Dinah at the head of the first flight of stairs. He was determined she should not run out of the hotel again, without his knowing it. And although Mary's room was in the third story, the door to it was in full view. This hotel, reader, was indeed sui generis — to borrow a homely phrase from the classics — in America. Its pattern, it is said, can be seen in Mai-seilles, France. It was — pshaw! we will not stop to describe its remarkably easy flights of stairs, one exactly above the other, to an altitude of one hundred and fifty feet; its wide and spacious halls; its high, airy, and commodious rooms; its multitude of parlors, both public and private, when every nook and comer is familiar to — ^we know not how many, who have tarried for a day or week in the Venice of the western world ! We wUl pass it over, and come back to the simple narrative. Pompey saw Dinah when she came out of Mary's room, and he kept his eyes upon her, as she brushed along the balustrade, and descended the stairs. " Whar' you guine now. Miss Dinah ? " he asked. "How berry particular you am, Pompey," she said. " Oh ! I ax your pardon, if you are ashamed of dis nigger. I '11 not intrude," remarked Pompey, turning his back, and whisking down stairs. "Pompey, you ar n't offended, I hopes; I war only talkin','.' she said, as they walked to the rear of the building, on the first floor. " I likes your company," she added. MS LIFE AT THE SOrTff; OB " Berry good ; dat 'e all, Dinah. I 'm at yoer ser- vice," he said. " I 've got something to m0.ntion to you, Pompey." " Spoke nm, Dinah — spoke um," said he. " What do you s'pose I have heard, Pompey ? " "Dunno — dunno." " You wo n't believe me, if I tell you." "Try um — try urn." " I hav n't seed my Tommy." " I s'pects not. Who said you had ? " " Pompey, you are heriy obstinate." "Whar' did you go, Dinah? Tell me that, and then I '11 be perlite an' sociable," said Pomprey. " Why ax sich foolish question ? I told you I walk'd down street ; dat 's all, Pompey," said Dinah. "There it is ; now you talk um ; dat 's de way. Dis iiigger am not particular; he only wants to know — not particular." " Missis says enjoy myself. I 'm guine to walk agin," said Dinah. " Am guine, too. What war' you 'bout to say ? " "Noffin, Pompey." " What 'bout Uncle Tom ? " "Noffin." "Now, you ar' obstinate, Dinah. You hab seen him ; I know'd you have. Own up, now." " Oh! no, no ! but I expect to see him with my own eyes ; an' to-night, too," replied Dinah. "To-night!" " Y«s, dis berry night ! " " Whar'— whar', Dinah ! " UNCLE Tom's cabik as rris. 449 "In the street." " Ah, ha ! you guine to run off? Now 1 know'd it." " He wants me to go to Canada ; but I shall not do 80. I likes massa an' missis Mary too well," sha replied, with apparent sincerity. "To make sure, dis nigger goes wid you." " Will you, Pompey?" " Certainly. I likes to look at de ole fellar." " Dat 's right. I '11 call to you when it 's time," Baid she. " I know'd you would. But, you must n't think of running off; I '11 go agin dat," replied Pompey. " I tell you, I 'm not guine to think of it ; do n't mention um agin," said Dinah, vexed to be suspected. After dusk, Dinah contrived to get into the alley in the rear of the hotel, without the knowledge of Pom- pey. Nelly met her there, as she promised ; but Tom did not accompany her. She had not seen him since the interview with Dinah, in the afternoon. Her presence, however, was no less the welcome to the slave. " Take that for your pains," said Dinah, handing to the washer-woman a few pennies. " Thank 'e, good woman," replied Nelly, " you ought to be free." j " Do n't speak dat," she answered ; " my money /comes from missis Mary. An' please give this to Tommy," she added, handing to the washerwoman a half-dollar. "By all means, I will; how he will be gratified!" she said. 450 LIFE' AT THE SOrTH ; OB " Tell him it am from his dear Dinah, and how sorry she is, not to see him," said the slave. "Yes, yes; that I will," answered the washer- woman. "Say to him, that our children are all well, and how often they ask for him," said the slave. " Oh ! how he will be affected ! " said the washer- woman. " Tell him of his ole hickory cane, with Emily's face cut into the head ; and how it stands in the corner under the cupboard, jist as it did the night he left the cabin," enjoined the slave. "Everything you want me to say," replied the washer-woman. " An' say to him, how much we want him to come back an' sit under the veranda," said the slave. " Yes." " Tell him all this, an' my ole heart will neber for- get yon — neber !" reiterated Dinah. "All — all shall be told him," replied the washer- woman; and they separated. Dinah was disappointed not to see her husband; but she felt some comfort to have, it in her power to make him a present, however humble it might be, and to be near enough to him to send thisse simple imoLE tom's cabin as rrm. 451 CHAPTER XX5I. HIAGAEA FAUS CLIBTON HOUSE CANADA. We stated, a few pages back, that Hard started from tho little sail-boat in the creek, to see if he could find Kelly. He went to the honse on Vine street, and not finding her in, concluded to go over the way, and call on Mr. Easy. He did not find this gentleman in, either. Instead of going back to the washer-woman's domicil, and there remaining until she returned, he made his way back to the creek. He loitered at a place where the occupant sold grog for a penny or two a drink, and so long a while that it was time for the occupants of the neighboring buildings to close up for the night, before he thought of leaving. Jake, the free negro, grew tired of waiting, and wondered why neither Hard nor Kelly reported them- selves. He thought it was an imposition, and vented his spleen upon Tom. The ftigitive, of course, was ignorant of the trouble, and endeavored to excuse his ignorance ; but to no purpose. Jake imagined that it was a contrived plan, to throw the entire responsibility 452 ttFE AT THE SOtTfl; OB of the entei-prise upon his shoulders. It would n't do not to make some use of the vessel, for he would be the laughing-stock of the crew on the steamboat. Besides, for the past three hours, he had repeatedly said to the sailors and boys, he was going down the river, to fish. "Tom," said he, "did you ever use the fish-pole? " "O yes; alwars drop the sinkers, when it rains, afore I come North," he replied. "Well, we will try our hand to-night, at the Eock; I guess they may bite some." " Guine fishing in earnest, Jake?" "Yes; d'ye spose I'm to have all this trouble foi nothing ? " " An^ leave Dinah ? " asked the fugitive. " Leave her? we hain't got her, yit." " Oh ! she will trot along on de beach in a minute ; do n't be in a hurry, I hate to go so." « No,, sir." " Guine now, capt'in? " "To be sure ; do you know 'nough to steer? " "Notsich big vessel as this," answered Tom, sur- prised that the free negro should imagine he could. "Big vessel? why, man, I can gilide it with one hand." " Dunno," said the fugitive, shaking his head. " Wall, I know ; do you take me for a child ? " " She will go on to the roek, I 'm afeerd ; less wait ft little longer." " I 'm off." rscLE tom's cabin as it is. 453 "An' leave friend Hard?" inquired the fugitive, anxiously. "Ha! haw! haw! leave Hard? He has left him self, already, in some rum-hole, I '11 bet." " Reckon not, capt'in." "Reckon not! why, you don't know that old rip as well as I do. He never shuts his mouth, as long as the bung-hole runs : he is laid up for the night, I '11 bet." " He thinks too much of Dinah," said the fugitive. "What a fool you be! Did he ebber see the woman ? " " Reckon not." " And you s'pose he cares a fig for her? " " "Why, yes, capt'in. He would not miss the chance of helpin', for any thing." " Exactly ; and d' ye want to know the cause ? " " Yes, capt'in." "Kase he has nothin' to do; and, if the truth was known, he expects liquor aboard. Did you see how ready he was to go and look for the washer-woman ? " asked Jake. "Yes; an' 'kase he ar' for freedom — dat's de reason." "Fudge! he was dry; I know'd it, but I didn't know but he might light upon her, somewhere, and so help along. We have waited, and we may wait till indming, and that 's all the good it will do. We shall see no Dinah, nor any one else of the crew," said the free negro. "Dat's him coming now — ^thar on the dock ; doni you see, capt'in ? " said the fugitive, trying to idelay. ft54 LIFE AT THE SOTTTH; OE "Over where? I see most everybody but that old rip. No, no; we shall not see him again to-night, so, if you do n't know 'nongh to hold the rudder, be ballast, and get yourself into the bottom, and I will do the rest: we are oflF, the first breeze — do you hear that ? " said the free negro, with as much pomposity as if he trod the quarter deck of a brig. The fugitive evinced the same servility as if he had been on board of a man-of-war. He stood in as much awe of Jake, as if he had been a commodore, with the broad pennant flying in the breeze. " I '11 go an' find my friend Hard," answered the fugitive " JS'o you do n't though. You will go and help find fish. You find the ole rip ! Why, he would lead you till next week, for there is no telling what covey he is snug with now," said the free negro. "I reckon," said the fugitive, "it's you datdo'nt know'd um. He — I heard him say so wid his own lips — thinks more of me an' my Dinah, than all." "AH what?" " All de color'd folks in dis town." "Fiddle-de-dee." " I know'd what I talk 'bout, capt'in." " Why, man, he steals — I guess, robs — when good chance offers. He is most notorious. Too lazy to work. If he had n't been, he would never run away from Tennessee," said the free negro. Tom thought that was a personal refiection ; and if he had not been afraid of the free negro, would have demonstrated it. As it was, he shrugged his shoulderS; UNCLE TOM's OAEDf AS IT IS. 455 and held his tongue. The captain, as he called him, seated himself in the stem of the boat, preparatory to leaving the anchorage. "Now, see if yon can hoist the sail," said he. The fugitive was as ignorant as the man o' the woods, how to go to work to execute the order. He attempted to raise it two or three times, but without success. "Dunno, capt'in. Too big craft for dis nigger," he replied. "Pull on the rope. She will come to the mast," said the free negro, with a harsh, commanding voice. Tom made an effort, but was unsnccessfiil. He gave it up. " Dunno, captin'. Do n't fetch um," said he. "What a fool! Do n't know 'nough to raise even a sail. Try um agin, you ninny ! " said the free negro. Tom made another effort, and was more successful, and they set sail directly across the mouth of the river, and landed at Fort Erie. " Step ashore," said the free negro, "and haul her on the sand, and make her fest. "We will try our luck with the line here." " Whar we cum to, captin' ? " asked Tom. "You don't know, do you? Don't it look like Canady, you fool ? " Tom looked around, after he stepped upon the beach, but as this was his first visit to that particular spot, he could not tell whether he was in the land of freedom or not. "Dunno, captin'. Do n't look much like Saint Davids," said the fugitive. 456 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OR "Pshaw! Is that the- only place in this country?" "What do you call it?" "Fort Erie. The place where they fought in the war. Do n't you see the stone over there ? " "S'pectnot." "Look sharp." " Can't catch um, capt'in ; too dart." "Getting blind, hey?" said the free negro, sneer ingly. " In the night time, when there is no moon, capt'in. An't you puzzled, also?" asked Tom, going up to the road to get a nearer view of the Fort. "Never; eye-sight as good in the dark as in the light." " Oh, I sees a wall up in de field. Dat 's um, d' ye say?" "Nothing else; that's the place whefe we fought the British at the point of the bayonet. How do you like the looks of it ? " asked the free negro, at the same time shoving- the prow of the boat off the sknd, " GroUy, dis niggeu'would lay close under de wall, when they shot their guns, you 'd better belieVe." "Not stand up and fight likfe soldier! Coward 1 "Well, that is the way with most folks. S'pOse you go and see how it would seem to lay there now ; good place to lodgOj" said the free negro, and hoisted the sail again. Tom heard it flutter, and run down from the road to the beach. The vessel had left shore, and was slowly getting under motion ; it was already in deep water. " Hullo, capt'in, you ar n't guiae to leav^ t»«, {,ji£ TmcLB Tom's cabin as rr is. 467 fou?" yelled Tom, as loud as he could make his voice .•ing. "Why not, yon booby? Yon are home, now, and be content to stay there — ha! haw! haw!" roared the free negro. " For Lor' sake ! stop, an' let me get aboard ! I shall starve and die, if I am left in dis country. Stop — do stop ! " again screamed the ftigitive. But it was no use. A stiff breeze sprung up, and the little clipper Bcud swiftly before it, and run into Buffalo creek ere the furtive hardly had time to consider what to do. " There, I think I shall know it, when I goes fishing with sich critters agin," said the free negro to himself, as he sailed up the creek, to take the vessel to its owner. "Catch much, Jake?" asked an inquisitive asso- ciate, as he landed on the dock, "No ; did n't bite," answered the free negro, gruffly. " Back too soon ; should hung out longer. How far lid you go — Squaw Island ?" " Do p't be so inquisitive. Do n't you believe me ? You seed I have nothin'. Mind your business. I tell you the fish, for some reason, would not bite. So there, be quiet with your nonsense," answered the free aegro, more gruffly than before ; and walked as fast as he could, to get out of the way. "How mighty snarly and cross you be, Jake! I know'd you would n't catch nothing, when I see you go by the lighthouse." " "Was you standing there ? " "Yes I was ; jist ^rt^r 4i?»er. I see you go down 458 LIBB AT THE SOOTH; OE to the Rock along Sandytown. I knew then, that Jim Hard would get drunk, and joggle the boat so that the fish would n't bite — I know'd it. If you had inyited me, you would have hit it square on the head. Live and learn, though, Jake ; that 's the way." ""Well, if you aint the most knowing darkey I have seen to-day, I wouldn't say so. Never mind, I '11 take yon the next time I lay over a trip," remarked the free negro, and hastened along to find lodgings. Tom was at a loss what course to pursue. He was alone, in a strange land, and did not know to whom he could go for assistance. He was penniless, and had not eaten anything since noon. He mused a a moment or two, and went back to the road. He saw a light some distance ahead, and directed his steps thither. It proceeded from a small grocery. The door was open and he walked in. In the rear part of the room, he noticed' a sort of a bar with eatables and drinkables. He stepped up to it, and begged for a cracker or twist of cake. The person who tended the place roughly declined to accommodate him, and inti- mated that, if he knew what was good for himself, he had better be off. Tom told him his situation, and how he happened to be set down there at that time of night. The bar-tender affected not to believe his story, and ordered the fugitive to leave. Tom reiterated his destitute condition, and again begged for a bit of bread to quiet his stomach. But his importunity was un- availmg, and the bar-tender, not content with simply ordering the fugitive peremptorily out of doois, took mjoLE Tom's cabik as rris. 459 hold of his shirt collar and assisted him along to the door. "There," said he, shoving the fugitive out of tha door, " now take the road and leave ; and do n't yon let me see you in these parts agin." Tom hesitated, for he reaDy did not know which way to go. He felt more like giving np, and if he must starve, so be it. The bartender perceived that he did not evince mnch disposition to move off, and he stepped out of the grocery into the road, and kicked and pushed him. "Yon go from here, old chap," said he, " I can tell yon; so, there 's no use of feigning hunger or dmnken- ness. You know what you are about. This is the last place for you to come for plunder; you can't steal here, you 'd better believe. And if you do n't make yourself scarce right aS, I wiU have you taken up on suspicion. Now, mind your points, yon old codger — do you hear? " Tom made some slight resistance to this indignity, which aroused the ire of the bar-tender. "You won't move, hey? Ill see if you don't," said he, and stepped back into the grocery and got a whip with a raw, heavy lash, and plied it hard on the fbgilive's body. Tom quailed, begged for mercy, and endeavored to get out of its reach. The bar-tender followed, and kept plying the lash harder and faster. " I ILmake your old back smoke, you poacher, you! I will cut the marks so that .you will remember this place for some time," said he. 460 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OR " Oh ! mass'r, oli ! yon eenymost hit my heart ! Let me go, mass'r, I beg ! I beg you ! Oh ! do stop ! " ex- claimed the fugitive, his red flannel shirt proving in- sufficient to staunch the blood now fast trictling down the back even to his feet, and each repeated blow tear- ing the wound of the previous one, until he felt as if his bac^ was raw with the deep cuts of the whip-lash. "Yery well. Move along, and I will stand still; and if you keep moving, the sooner will you be beyond the reach of my laish," said the bar-tender, keeping his word Tom gladly accepted the proposition, and soon ceased to feel these inhuman blows. He felt that he had not amended his condition by going into the grocery, Now, not only hunger gnawed at his stomach, but the sensitive, sma,rting pains of his wounds almost die-' tracted him. He did not dare to stop and sit down, until he had gone over the road some distance, fearing that the bar tender would again overtake him. Finally he bee£|,me so much exhausted, that he ventmed to stop. It was on the brink of a ravine, and he washed off the bipod from his hands, bathed his body in the \rater, and in a short time appeared to forget his misery. He awoke by daybreak, and was too feverish to be hungry. He felt more like crawling than valk- ing. His back pained him, for the wounds of the lash were much inflamed. He looked around, and hi? mind was so much bewildered that he had no distinct reco.- I^etion of how he happened to be there. After much exertion, he made out to ascend a small hill in the road ; and the fresh momii^g l»$ez^ f^tnn@4 ^is l^m^ les TJNCLE TOm's cabin AS IT IS. 461 iUid cooled his brain. He began to be more sane, and remembered the scene at the grocery. He was near the bank of the river, and conld plainly discern objects upon the other side of it. He was conscious that he traveled that road before, when he went from Saint Davids to Buffalo. In fact, he was a short distance below Waterloo. Not far ahead, there was a farm- house, and he thought he would make an effort to reach it. He did so; and as he entered the j'ard, the owner met him. "What do you want?" said he, perceiving that the negro's pantaloons were stained with blood. "Rest, an' somethin' to eat, mass'r," replied the fugitive. " Tou are a hard character, I 'm afraid," said the farmer. "Lor' bless you! mass'r, no. Take me in, please mass'r?" "But where do you come from? and what means that blood ? " said the farmer, pointing to the pantaloons. Tom briefly explained, and the farmer consented to let him walk aronnd to the kitchen. " Mrs. Sharp, here is a colored person in need," said the farmer to his wife. " Bless me ! you look as though you come from a slaughter yard ! Whom have you been fighting?" inquired Mrs. Sharp. "Nobody, missus. Man 'bove here flogged me," said Tom. "Flogged yon ? What mischief you done ? " she asked. Tom explained to her. 20 462 Lira! AT THE SOTTTH ; OK "I leave him to yon, Mrs. Sharp; I must go to work. He says he was once a slave," said Mr. Sharp ; and went about his business. Mrs. Sharp gave the fugitive some victuals, and heard him tell the story of his escape, and how he had lived since. It bore the impress of truth, and she believed it. " You say your master is in Buffalo now ? " " Tas, missus ; an' goes ±o de Falls to-day." "It is lucky, after all, I think, that the captain set you off on this side. Tour master is after you ; depend on 't." " Dinah 's 'long, too," said the fugitive. " Dinah ! "Who is Dinah ? " asked Mrs. Sharp. "My wife." "Your wife!" "Yas." "Well, that is the luckiest of all. "When she gets to the Falls, you must contrive some'way to get her on to this side." " Yas, missus. If I know'd how, dis nigger will do it," said the fugitive. " Oh ! easy 'nough. Well, wash up, and I will give you another shirt and pantaloons to put on ; those are stiff with blood, and soiled," said Mrs. Sharp. " Oh ! how my back pains me I " exclaimed the fugitive. "Yes; well, I '11 bathe it in some oil; that will relieve the pain, I guess, and you will soon feel better," remarked Mrs, Sharp; and stepped to the cupboard for the bottle, 463 " Easy, missns, easy ! it smarts awfully ! " exclaimed the fogitive, as she poured a pc rtion of the contents of the bottle upon his wounds. "Never mind ; it will soon be over." "Do you knows missus Brown? " " Mrs. Brown ! she that lives at Saint Davids ? " "Tas, missus." " If I do n't, I can't say I know myself," said Mrs. Sharp. "I wish I neher left her, if she war so cross. I alwars had 'nough to eat. I thought of it dis morning." "Did you ever live with that lady ? " "Yaa, missus. I know'd her well," replied the fugitive; and explained the particulars. " Now, Tom, as soon as you get possession of Dinah, do you take her to Mrs. Brown. It won't do to stay 80 near the line ; they may kidknap you. Will you promise me to do this-? " "Yas, missus." "And, be particular and lay your plans well." " Yas, missus ; neber fear dat." " I 'm afraid you will not be equal to the emergency. I rather guess my husband had better help; yes, I am sure of it. Sharp must go this very night." " Will he ? I 'm so glad," said the fiigitive, thank- ful that he still had friends. "Will he, do you ask?" " Of course he will, if I say so. I '11 call him. No, I won't. Let him slay tiU noon ; there wiU b.e time enough, then." 464 LIFE AT THE SOtlTH: J OB " Plenty, missus," said the fugitive, delighted that he was to have the farmer's aid in rescuing Dinah. "Make yourself contented, Tom, till Mr. Sharp comes in, and then we will arrange what 's to be done," said Mr. Sharp. The fugitive felt at home at this farm-house, and soon went into the yafd, and laid down on the grass and rested himself. The farmer came up from the field at twelve o'clock. He was as punctual as the pointer. He noticed the negro, who was yet lying in the yard. The sun had got around on that side of the house, and shone fuU in the face of the fugitive ; but this circumstance did not appear to make any difference with him. He lay as contented as before, and was sound asleep. "What did you make out of the negro, Mrs. Sharp? " said the farmer, as he entered the house. " Oh ! Mr. Sharp, it is very lucky, I think, that he happened to give us a call," said she. "Ah!" " Yes. He wants help, and there never was a better opportunity for philanthropy ? " " Another colored bieggar, hey ! When will they stop coming ? I wish some one would tell me that," remarked Mr. Sharp, with ill temper. "There it is agin. You always think they want money. Mebbe they do sometimes ; that 's not the case with Tom," said Mrs. Sharp, with a firm emphasis. " What does that chap want ? " he inquired. "To rescue his wife, whom he has not lived with, now going on some four years," said Mrs. Sharp. f»rci.i; tom's oabin as rr is. 465 " Where is the womaa ? " " She will be at the Falls to-night." " How long to remain there ? " "That's doabtM; and therefore it is important to act promptly ; and, Mr. Sharp, you must go down this afternoon, and help Tom plan how to do it," said Mrs. Sharp. "Bless me!" "Yes, this afternoon." " And what is to be done with the hay, in the mean time? There are loads cnred enough to haol into the bam." "!N^o matter for that; the boys will take care of it. And no matter, if they don't; it won't spofl," said she. " Why, Mrs. Sharp, are yon in earnest? " " To be sure I am. Why not, pray ? " " Ton really want me to turn ni^er-catcher ! " "Oh! pshaw! If o nigger catching abont about it," said Mrs. Sharp, twisting her neck and shaking her head; "only helping Tom in an emergency; that's all. Astonishing yon are so obstinate and hard-hearted, Mr. Sharp. S'pose it was me, and Tom helped you, would you not feel it to be right? Just consider." "O, there is no use of murmuring. I am. in for whatever of this kind comes along, I expect. But, if the hay spoils, yon must charge it to charity, Mrs. Sharp ; do n't complain to me. I s'pose it will rain this afternoon." "Always borrowing trouble. I never did see the lite! " said Mrs. ^arp, in a blunt tone. 466 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OE ""Well, when are Tom and myself to start? " asted Mr. Sharp, with more resignation of spirit. " "We think right after dinner. Ton will have to take the old mare, and she is not a very fast traveler, you know," said Mrs. Sharp, in a subdued tone, and with more complacency. " True ; well thought of. I '11 go and get her up. They turned her, this morning, into the lower mea- dow," said Mr. Sharp. "No, no. Let our hired man do that; here he comes. Tou must shave and put on a clean shirt, just as soon as you can swallow your dinner. The more I think of this, the greater do I feel its importance," said Mrs. Sharp. "Very good. I s'pose Tom can eat after I get through, can't he ? " inquired Mr. Sharp. " Certainly ; I 've not got quite as far as that yet. I guess the niggers can eat by themselves," said Mrs. Sharp, vexed with her husband for making so silly a remark. " I am glad to hear you express yourself so. I 've been afraid, for some time, that I should have to go that too," said Mr. Sharp, and drew a chair up to the table. The farmer felt a reluctance to embark in the enter- prise ; but his wife urged him so hard, that he con- cluded to comply with her wish; and shortly after dinner, he took Tom into his buggy and started for the Falls. The negro had no idea how he could get possession of Dinah, and for a very good reason — lie had not contemplated a rescue at Niagara, until UNCLE TOm's cabin AS IT IS. 467 Mrs. Sharp made the suggestion. He had not even entertained the thought of following her there. It was by chance purely, that Jake, the free negro, took him across the river, and it was an accident merely that he wandered into the farmer's yard. But Mr. Sharp was a man of method, as well as business ; and if he had an enterprise afoot, it would have been unnatural, if he did not at once settle in his mind the details. Hence, they were not two miles on the way before he desired to know how the rescue was to be effected. The fugitive's views were vague, and wide of practical utility. He had never been on the American side at the Falls, knew no person there, and could not with any positiveness say whether the party would stop over even one train of cars. It was all conjecture, and quite unsatisfactory to a man con- stituted like Mr. Sharp. "Astonishing," said he, "that Mrs. Sharp should consent to send me on a wild goose chase. It will all end in smoke, and I shall be the butt of my neigh- bors. I 'm good mind, Tom, to turn 'round, and head the old mare for home." " Try um, mass'r, little longer ; when we get nearer, the place, we can tell better. Dis nigger has notion dat it will come right in the eend." " We are on a tom-fool's errand ; nothing will come out of it," said Mr. Sharp, becoming more and more dissatisfied. " Your ole woman knows best. . Please try um, mass'r," said the fugitive. " Well we will go as far as Chippewa. We want 468 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OK some salt for the mow," replied Mr. Sharp, aud "whipped up," so as to get home by the edge of evening. Tlie fugitive thought a ride as far as that was a point gained, as it respected himself, and offered no objection. The farmer dismissed the subject of run- ning Dinah into Canada from his mind, and enter- tained himself with asking Tom a variety of questions concerning the life of the slaves at the South, unti] they turned from the river to go to the village of Chippewa. "Now, Tom, I shall go no farther; and you can return or not, as you please," said he. " Tiiank 'ee, mass'r, for the ride, but I believe I wiU stay," re;>lied the fugitive, and they rode up to a store, and separated. The planter and family, accoraing to their intention, as expressed' by Mary to her servant Dinah, left Buf- falo for Niagara Falls. Upon their arrival at the American side, Mr. Erskine was solicited to take rooms at the Clifton House. Frederick suggested that the hotel might be an objectionable place for them to stop at, as it was in Canada. The two slaves might be dis- posed to avail themselves of the occasion to declare themselves free from servitude, and decline returning to the states. The suggestion did not appear to make any impression upon the mind of his father ; and as the planter proposed to remain a few days, and enter- tainfng the idea that he should enjoy himself more on the opposite side of the river, the pai'ty hurried down to the ferry, and crossed over to the Clifton House. 4^69 Satisfied with the accommodations, and delighted with the magnificent view of the greatest curiosity in the vast wonder-work of creation, neither the planter nor his family regretted that they took lodgings there. They passed the afternoon in viewing the cataract. The depth of the gulf, and the immense volume of water unceasingly pouring over the precipice, with its continued and solemn roar, filled them with profound awe and astonishment. As much as they had heard it described, and notwithstanding the high anticipa- tions which they had formed of its sublimity, their views did not equal the reality, and were agreeably disappointed. Language was inadequate to express their admiration, and for hours they surveyed the scene in silence. The two slaves were confounded. They had no con- ception of what they were to see, and were horror-struck. Prone to superstition naturally, they were the easier excited in that direction. They were shy of the abyss below them, and thought it was indeed bottomless. It required much persuasion on the part of Mary, to in- duce Dinah to accompany her down the road to the water. The slave would stop every now and then, and ask permission to turn around. "Missus — head am dizzy. I shall fall — I know I shall ! I feel when I start, as if I war gnine to fall down," said the slave, sitting down, and seizing hold of abash. " Fie ! Do n't be alarmed, Dinah. No danger here. We are in the road. Ton can't fall. Come along,' replied Mary, amused at the fears of the slave. 20* 470 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OE " Oh! how the noise stuns me! I can't hear myself think," said the slave, rising up. "Never fear, Dinah. The noise won't do us any harm. See Pompey! He 's not afraid," said Mary, pointing to him, as he stood upon the very brink of the bank above them. " He will surely fall, he will," said Dinah. "Now look and see if he does. There, d'ye see? all safe. He got what he reached for, and is now handing it to Frederick," said Mary, as Pompey broke off a birchen twig. " Tou would n't catch me doin' dat ! It 's much as I can do to hold my fo6thold here. No, no, missus," said Dinah, "Well, come along; don't be afraid. "We shall soon be at the foot of the hill," said Mary. " What ve gwine down dar' arter, missus ? " asked Dinah, as she slowly and carefully followed. " Nothing." "Noffin." " Why, bless you, for amusement. We can see how the cataract sounds down there. We did not stop long when we crossed the ferry. I think the roar is differ- ent at the bottom of the fall," replied Mary, trying to calm Dinah's fears. " I seed all I wanted." " We can look up, and see the water fall almost over )ur heads. It will be- grand. There, stop and look now," said Mary, sitting upon a log by the way-side. " No, missus." " Well, I 'm ashamed of you, Dinah. What are you iracLE tom's cabin as it is. 4Y1 holding your hands up to your ears for?" inquired Mary. " To keep um out, missus." " What ! the sound ? Is that it, or are you afraid to look? Pshaw! how foolish!" " Gan't do it ! " exclaimed the awe-stricken slave. " What can't you do ? " asked Mary. "I 'm afeard de debil libs up dar', an' he will soon jump down upon us," said Dinah, with a strange wildness in her manner. "Ha, ha, ha! what an idea! Why, Dinah, do you really think what you say ? " " Do n't I, missus ? Mas'r Bates said, dat God built his cabin way up in the clouds, but de ole debil lived in a frightful place, wid a deep, mighty big, deep hole under him, whar' he sent his slaves. I know'd as well as I want to know, he is up dar'," insisted the bewil- dered slave. "Pooh! pooh! your mind is full of hobgoblins. [ imagine that the evil one you speak of, is n't good enough to be the spirit of this place. Why, Dinah, this is one of the exhibitions of God's goodness and power —it 's his own handiwork! " said Mary, in pity af the slave's ignorance. Mary had not stayed half as long as she desired, but the slave appeared to be so much alarmed, she thought it would be cruel to keep her there longer. When they reached the piazza of the hotel, Mary, to shame the slave, repeated what she said, and asked Pompey if he did not think it was ridiculous. '' Can't tell as to dat, but dis nigger ain't afeerd of 472 LIFE AT THE SOUTH ; OK noffin. I do n't think ranch of mas'r Bates' talk. Di- nah knows dat," replied Pompey, at the same time indulging himself in a loud laugh at her expense. "Yon will go down the hill, won't yon, Pompey?" asked Mary. " To be sure, an' eeny whar' else you order," said he. "You shall accompany brother and myself as we stroll, this evening," said Mary. Dinah's feelings were hurt at this slight, and without saying any thing, she walked through the hall to the rear of the hotel. Mary" regretted that she had injured her feelings without any good reason, and the plan- ter felt that the comments of his daughter were un- called for. " Pompey, you go and pacify her," said he. " Yes, do, and tell her that I want to see her," said Mary. The slave at once complied with his master's request, for it was made more in that spirit than in a tone of command. "As sure as I live," said Tom to Mr. Sharp — who finally concluded he would not return home from Chip- pewa, but come directly with Tom to the Falls — " Dar*^ she am ! It is — it is my wife Dinah, in the land of freedom ! "' They stopped, and "put up" the horse at a tavern near by the Clifton House ; and then proceeded towarci the cataract, with the intention of crossing to the other side, if they aaw nothing- of the party. Mr. Sharp did not expect tc find the planter on the Canada side, amS UHOLK TOM's cabin AS IT IS. 473 as Dinah stood with her back toward them, he sus- pected that Tom was mistaken. " I know'd her in darkest night. It 's her," reiter- ated the fugitive, and went toward her. " Now, gently, d'om. If yon are right, I do n't see but that the job is done. Our care must be to git her out of sight of the planter. Then he will not be Able to rescue her,-" said Mr. Sharp. " Oh, I see her plainly. It am a fact. Dinah has got to Canada. Yes, an' dar comes ole Pompey — sure — no mistake," said the fugitive, and took his steps faster. " Tom, see here. We must stop where we are, till after dusk. We shall be discovered, if we are not careful," said Mr. Sharp. "Neber fear, mass'r; they can't take me now." "But, man, they may take Dinah back, in spite of us. We must walk drcumspect. Now, take my advice ;' will you ? " " Let me hear what yon say, mass'r," replied the fugitive, his eyes intent upon Dinah, who seemed to he talking to Pompey. •' Why, we will loiter about this show house here, till it 's too dark to see ; and then we will reconnoitre the hotel. This is the way to make sure," replied Mr. Sharp. " Berry good, master ; I 'm content to that, long as I see her," said the fugitive; and they entered an in- closure which contained some curiosities. Mr. Sharp gave tho proprietor a few pennies, and listened to his garrulity. - ' 474 LIFE AT THB gO0TH ; OK CHAPTEE XXXII. THE INTEKTTEW BBTWEEK MASTER AITO SLAVE. In the evening of the day on which the planter arrived at the Falls, Mary and her brother, Frederick, followed by the faithful Pompey, strolled Pome distance below the hotel, to view the wonders of the place by moonlight. It was an evening of beauty. It would have com- manded homage and admiration in any place; but there, with the beains of the moon resting upon those silvery waters, as they appeared upon the brink of the stupendous precipice, to plunge into the deep gulf below ; that spray continually rising, from the violent and unceasing commingling of the immense streams of water, as they poured from the three points of the compass, and converging and dashing recklessly to- gether, with such gigantic power as almost to make the earth itself tremble, in acknowledgement of the Almighty ; that bow of promise vouchsafed so many centuries ago, and the covenant, of which it is a token, Bo sacredly kept, Mary and Frederick viewed with the 475 most pleasing sensations of deb'ght. They sat down upon the gronnd, and looked, and admired. The mind of each was busy with thought, as it contemplated the inspiring and boundless theme. The mere falling of the water, and its great volume — the distance to which it descended — the eternal roar of the cataract — the splendid rainbow, arching the frightful whirlpool — all, in turn, had excited their wonder and admiration. But now there was something — they knew not what — which enchained their attention, and enchanted their imagination. " Mary," said Frederick, finally, "come ; I am tired with looking. Let us go back and enjoy the music and hop." " Tired, did you say ? I should never tire of this," replied Mary. " It is the only tiling, I reckon, which you would n't tire of," said her brother, playfully. "No, Frederick, you are mistaken in that notion," replied Mary, taking no exceptions to the jesting remark of her brother; "there is at least one other thing, you may be certain." "Pray, name it, Mary." "The ocean. I never got tired of that, the summer I visited the sea shore," she replied. "Niagara and the Ocean! Well, I will intercede with father, to wed you to one or the other. So, come ; I wonld like to have a short hop," said Frederick. They looked aronnd for Pompey, bnt seeing him nowhere, supposed he had tired of the scenery sooner than themselves, and returned. They thought no more 476 LIFE AT THE SOUTH ; OE of him, and entering the jjarlor of the hotel, partici- pated in the dance. The planter was there, looking on, and enjoying himself with the amusement. He had made the acquaintance of some of the guests, and, happy in conversation, felt himself quite at home. He received all the attention he desired, from the domes- tics of the house, and seemed to forget that he had any of his own. Having no occasion for the services of Pompey or Dinah, he had not seen them since tea. After wearying himself with the pleasures of the pub- lic room, he retired to his apartments, more gratified than ever that he yielded to Mary's solicitation, and determined to pass the summer at the Il^orth. While the planter and his children were thus enjoy- ing themselves, quite a different scene was performed outside. "We left Mr. Sharp and the fugitive listening to the wonderful talk of the showman. As the moon made the evening so light, they remained inside the inclosure longer than they intended or then desired. Finally, the fugitive became so impatient that Mr. Sharp con- sehted to go out and see what could be done. They went near the hotel, but were unable to get a sight of Dinah. Hearing music, they went around in front, and Mr. Sharp went on to the piazza. He could not get a sight of either the planter, or children, oi servants, and returned to the fugitive. "They have gone across to the other side, Tom, I guess ; I can see nothing of them," said he to the fugitive. " Dar' now, mass'r, you hab spoil'd it all. It 's all UNCLE TOm's cabin AS IT IS. 477 '^'''oi'ig, gnine to see de show. If I had n't stopped, Binab now would hab bin wid me." "Tes, just so; and instead of being in Canada, enjoying freedom, probably the master would have now had you fast." "How do you make dat out? " "You would been seen together, and there are plenty of people to be hired to take the job of carry- ing both of you off. There is nothing like money ; it will move almost everything," said Mr. Sharp. " I am sorry, mass'r Sharp, 'kase I did n't go right on, when I seed her in de yard," said the fugitive, with a sigh, believing that there was no chance of recovering his wife. " Hist ! there goes a couple of colored persons ; let 's see where they go. It may be them. Who knows, after all, but that we are acting under Providence ! " said Mr. Sharp. Tom looked in the direction pointed out by his com- panion, and immediately exclaimed, loud enough to be heard by the persons themselves, "It's them! it's them, mass'r Sharp! it's them'! Dis nigger keeps close to um." " Hist ! Tom, you will wake the whole neighbor- hood, if you don't talk lower; be quiet," said Mr. Sharp. They followed the persons alluded to; and as they approached them, the fugitive exclaimed again, in a louder voice than was agreeable to Mr. Sharp, "Dinah! Dinah — my wife, sure!" and almost jumped to her side. He came so suddenly, Dinah i78 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OH was at first alarmed ; for she did not expect to see her husband there. "What! don't you know me?" he said, in a most plaintive tone. They were in the shade of a thicket. Dinah had not forgotten the voice, if she did start at his sudden embrace. " Oh ! Tommy, Tommy ! — is it you ? Who 'd thought that night yon left our cabin, we should see each oder so? " she said, and hung her head upon his bosom. Pompey was glad to take the hand of his old com- rade, and shook it heartily. But the fugitive was too much taken up with his wife to return his friendship, and made no reply to Pompey's questions. " I seed how it am. Tou consider yourself your own. Neber mind, Uncle Tom ; dis nigger is honest. He do n't run off, like tief, in de dark night," said Pompey. Mr. Sharp disliked to see this ebullition of feeling, and tried to pacify the excited slave, by reminding him that the fugitive's undivided attention to his wife was most natural, and any inattention to him, at that particular time, should be overlooked. "He can be civil to his ole frien', eenyhow. I dunno you," said Pompey. In the meantime, the fugi- tive had gone aside a few steps, and was in busy con- versation with Dinah. He did not heed Pompey's remark. " Do n't interrupt them," said Mr. Sharp, laying his hand gently on Pompey's shoulder, as he was on the point of going up to the fugitive. "Take dat off my body, an' let me go 'bout my business," said the latter, fiercely. micLE Tom's cabin as rris. 479 Mr. Sharp was confounded. He did not expect to ■witness so much ill nature amons friends, and esoe- cially among slaves in that particular locality. He withdrew his hand, for he had no notion of having a fight at fisticufls with a colored person, under those circumstances. " Dinah," said Pompey, " I am guine back to de hotel." "Wait a minute, an' I'll go wid ye," replied Dinah. "No; I've lost all patience wid dat nigger, if he am his own," said Pompey. The fugitive looked up in wonderment. He had been so much absorbed in his attention to his wife, that he was totally uncon- scious of his incivility. "Wha'! wha' dat you mention, Pompey?" he asked. " I sez I am not to be insulted in dis manner ; I '11 - let you faiow I am as good as any nigger, eenyhow." "Who insult you? mass'r Sharp?" "Mass'r Sharp ! am dat the individual's name? " "Yas; he am my frien', your frien', an' Dinah's. Do n't I speak um as it am ?" inquired the fugitive. " I am the friend of the colored race ; that is to say, the poor African race. They all share alike my sym- pathy. I feel it a duty to aid them, else I should n't be here. That you know, from personal experience," replied Mr. Sharp. ^ " Dar, Pompey, you seed how it is. We are friends. We come to help you and Dinah," said the fugitive. " I want none of your help ; massa gibs me all dat, 480 LIFE AT THE SOUTH ; OB when I wants it," replied Pompey, as independently as if he had paid for himself. " Wha' d' ye mean? I do n't know what you would be arter ? " " Hav n't you ears ? " " Yas ; I heard you, Pompey." " Berry good. Den, if you heerd me, do n't ax me why. Come, Dinah, I 'm guine to de hotel," said Pompey. " An' leave Tommy so quick? " she said. "No. He can come along too, if he am not asham'd of himself I s'pose he need n't be afraid of massa here. I calculate dis am mass'r Bates' state of free- dom. Massa can't take um now," replied Pompey. " Oh, yes, Tommy, come along. Massa, I '11 be bonn', will talk wid you. Missus Mary, I know'd will. Come," said Dinah. " That will not do. No, no," interposed Mr. Sharp. "If Pompey will not stay," said the fugitive, "let him go, an' leave you wid us. Y"ou 're not afeerd to stay wid your own Tommy." "No, but I must not leave missus," she replied. " Pooh ! Wha' care you for her. You can now .be free wid me. You won't think of guine to Yirginny, I s'pect, now," said the fugitive. Mr. Sharp reiterated the same remark. Dinah was suffering the most intense agony of spirit. She could not bear to part so quick with him she loved so dearly, and mourned so long for dead. And yet she did not fail to remember in her extremity the goodness of Mary in allowing her to come north. If it had not been for miOLE tom's cabin as rris. 481 that, sLe would not even have the pleasure of seeing and knowing that he was in the land of the living. This thought filled her heart with thankfulness, and in spite of the pain of parting again, she could not think of breaking the promise so solemnly made — not to give her massa any unnecessary trouble. And yet, as her husband would run no risk of forfeiting his inde- pendence, even if seen by the planter, she could not think of allowing him to leave her presence so quickly, and importuned him to go to the hotel. He was inclined to accede to the request, and undoubtedly #ould have done so, had not Mr. Sharp stoutly ob- jected. As it was, the fugitive promised to see her in the morning. " You won't miss to be here arter breakfast," said he to Dinah. " Depend on 't." " An', Dinah, I hopes you will then say yes to what I ax yon — to lib wid me here," he repeated. " ISTeber — neber. Tommy." " Not even if your master consents," remarked Mr. Sharp. " Dunno." " Oh, I know'd you will," said the fugitive. " An' leave our children alone in Yirginny ? " she said. The fugitive did not make any answer. If they bid each other good night, it was not heard. In the morning Dinah kept her promise, but the fugitive was at the thicket before her. He meant, if possible, to persuade her to go with him into the interior of Canada, and not return to the plantation. -Thinking 482 LIFE AT THE SOOTH; OK that the presence of Mr. Sharp might embarrass her, he came to the thicket without him. "Now, Dinah," said he, as she seated herself on a log, "take my advice, an' be no longer slave." "Tommy, dere 's no use talking so." " What ! won't you on no account ? " he inquired. "No, no." "Tell me de reason." "I do n't wish to starve! dat's de reason," she replied. " Dar' no danger." "i know'd dere am. You hab abeady eenymost starved." "Who told you dat?" "Nelly." "Nelly!" "Yas, Nelly." " Whar' did you see her to talk? " inquired the fugi- tive, surprised to learn that Dinah and Nelly were together long enough for that. "Oh, I seed her, and she told me all 'bout it. I shouldn't s'pose you would want me to run risk of dying, too," she replied. "But whar', Dinah?" " In a road in Buffalo town.'- " Did she speak of dat big snow bank, an' how cold it war'?" " All, wid particulars." "Den dis nigger says noffin. I gibs um up," said the fugitive, despairing of being able to persuade his wife to remain. UNCLE TOm's cabin AS IT 18. i83 *'I likes to hear dat. Oh! I wish I could hear you say anoder thing," said Dinah, with much emotion. "Talk um, Dinah — talk um." " Oh ! how I pray, night and morning, you would go home," a tear dropping from her eyes, in spite of her resolution to be calm. " Home ! home ! No, Dinali. I can't think of sich thing." "Why not? Ton would then get out of misery." " Mistaken — mistaken," said the fugitive. "You enjoy'd yourself afore, if you would only think so." " Do yon s'pose I likes to be shut up like de beast ? " " Pshaw ! Only once, and I pitied you." "Massa now neber would let me out, if I went back." " "Would n't yon like to see him ? " asked Dinah. " Yes, but I am not to be taken." "How 's dat, when you are free?" " Oh, I am my own man here." "Berry good. S'pose yon go wid me to the hotel, and see missus Mary an' mass'r Frederick. Dey will be glad to see you. I know'd so. Tommy." " Dinah, dere is design somewhere. You want um to take me. No, no ; I am too old. You must set bigger trap if yon s'pect to catch um. I shall not run my nose in wid eyes open," replied the fugitive, sus- picious that Dinah was planning to capture him. "Pshaw!" " Oh, but you can't cheat dis nigger." "What foolish man! Only jist to see and talk, dat 'a all," said Dinah, trying to allay his fearj3. 484 LIFE AT THE SOUTH", OK " No, I tell you. No. I will not trust myself," he replied, with an increased energy, and more determined voice. " Well, 1 do n't see what you are to fear. Dis am de land of freedom. You are your own master, and can come and go as you please. You need n't stay half a minute. I do n't care 'bout you' guine. I thought it would please you to see them. I 'II say no more of it," replied Dinah, and rose up from the log. " You are not guine to leave me, Dinah ? " asked the fugitive. '•It's time. Missus Mary wants me by this. She is now dressing, I s'pose. The sun is high." " Do n't you think massa would force me ? " asked the fugitive, desiring to be in his wife's company longer. " Neber ! be glad to see you. Come ; I '11 be answerable," said she. " I 'm most good mind to try um," he replied. "Come along, Tommy, I neber seed you look so foolish." Without saying yes or no, the fugitive accepted the invitation, if rising and walking in the same direction with his wife can be so construed. He did not move with much will, though. Every few steps he would falter, and try to engage her in conversation, but it was of no use. She hurried the more, and gave him no opportunity to talk. They soon reached the piazza. He hesitated to ascend the steps. But Dinah made no stop, and immediately entered the wide hall. ''Come along, Tommy," she said. trucLE tom's cabin as it 19. 486 *' Whar' you guine to lead me?" he whispered. " Oh, never mind. Come along, and trust me," she replied. Tlie fugitive thought he might as well go foi*ward as back. Dinah would tell them she had seen him, and they would immediately be on the search. He com- plied with her direction without more ado, and wind- ing up several flights of stairs, found himself near the roof of the building. " Dare," said she, as they entered a small room in an upper story called the attic, "you stay here till I call for you. This am de room I occupy. Pompey 's close by. I '11 go and wait upon missus. I '11 soon be back." " Dinah, do n't you tell um I 'm here. If you do, it will be the death of me, sartin. llassa would just as lief as not tumble me out o' the window," said he. "Pshaw! Tommy be quiet now. Dinah will be answerable for your safety. ISTeber fear. I havn't felt so good sin' you left our cabin. Oh ! how glad I am missus took me," said she, and descended the stairs with a heart lightened of a heavy load of grief. . Mary was astir earlier than usual, for the thunder of the cataract awakened her long before day-break, and she thought it would be delightful to view the wonder as the morning sun first greeted the waters. She was quite ready to find Frederick, when Dinah knocked at her door. The slave was astonished to find her dressed, and attempted to excuse the delay. "I rose before my time — no blame to you. You go and see if brother Frederick is ready for a walk before breakfast," said Mary. 21 486 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OR Dinah obeyed, and returned for answer, that her young master had gone under the " sheet." " Ah! he thought I would be afraid, and so did not invite me. Well, I believe, after all, I will indulge myself with a bath. Tou can go with me to the bath- house, Dinah," said Mary. Whilst the slave was thus waiting upon her mistress, Pompey happening to look into her room, in the attic, to his surprise discovered the fugitive "Yah! yah! yah! come home to roost, arter all, hab you. Uncle Tom? yah! yah! yah! Well, glad to see you," said he, disposed to be merry over it. " Hist ! you wake up massa," said the fugitive. " No matter ; he would like to see you. I 'm guine right down to tell him." " Now, Pompey, I did n't think dat of you." " Why, Lor' bless you ! Do n't you want to see ole massa? He was full of fun last night. He won't hurt you ; do n't be afeerd," said Pompey, standing in the door. " Dis nigger am not ready to see him. I must com- pose my mind." " No matter 'bout dat. Massa shall see you. I 'm thinking you will run, so I will jist turn the key out- side ; den you won't find it difficult to compose your mind till I come," said Pompey ; and without further ceremony, locked the door, and scampered down the stairs to the planter's room. Mr. Erskine was not up ; but not troubling himself to lock the door when he went to bed, Pompey found TTtTCi-E tom's cabin AS itis. " 487 Jt> difficulty in obtaining admittance. His master was awake. ""Well, Pomijey, are you stii-ring? I reckon it would do me no hurt to walk in the fresh air," re- marked the planter. " Good news, massa ! " exclaimed the slave. " "What now, Pompey ? " "Seen Uncle Tom." "You don't say so! Where, pray?" asked the planter. "Here.'- " In this hotel, do you mean ? " "Tas, massa; he's up in Dinah's room," said Pompey. " Bless me ! I should like to see him myself — just to look at him. Is he altered much?" asked the planter, at once rising from his bed and. slipping on his clothes. " Little older — looks as if he might hab seen trou- ble ; gray hairs thicker — dat ^s 'bout all, massa." " Well, go up and bring him down here. Tell him I shall be happy to shake bis hand," said the planter. " I 'm- afeerd, if I do dat, he will run away ; I tum'd de key as I came out Dinah's room," said Pompey. " Yery good. I will go up myself. Give me my slippers, Pompey," said the planter; and ascended the stairs. Pompey turned the key to Dinah's door, and in they walked. There sat the fugitive on the side of the bed, the perspiration standing in large drops on his fore- head, and trembling frpm head to foot with affright. The 488 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OE planter extended his hand, and with a pleasant smile upon his countenance, inquired after his health. The fugitive would fain make answer, but the words stuck in his throat.- "Why, are you sick, Tom? You look as though you were going into an ague fit. Can't you' speak to your old master ? " asked the planter, in a bland voice. The fugitive made no answer at first ; but the planter treated him so kindly, and difierent from what he anti- cipated, that he lost his fear in a moment or two, and felt more at ease. " I thought you would n't speak to me, if you seed me," finally he said. " Oh ! to be sure. You lived too long with me to be forgotten. "Where do you stay, Tom ? " asked the planter. The fugitive was at a loss what to say in reply. " Are you stopping here at the Falls ? " " No, mass'r." " Where is your home ? " " I can't say, mass'r." " Do you mean to say you have no home ? " said the planter, beginning to take pity on him. " I hab lived in Buffalo sometime back." " Hard times, Tom — eh ? " " Yas, mass'r." " Well, I am sorry to find you in such condition. But, I suppose you consider yourself free, and that thoiight recompenses you for all your trouble in obtain- ing a livelihood," said the planter. "Dunno, mass'r." THE PLANTER AND UNCLE TOM AT THE CLIFTON HOUSE. 489 "Well, here comes Dinah. She, of course, is glad to meet you. She has almost cried her eyes out to see yoUj time and again." " Oh ! massa, I wish he would go back to our cabin. I told him so," said Dinah, looking at her master imploringly. "Very good. He can go if he chooses," said the planter. "Dare, Tommy; what did I tell you? You see Dinah am your best friend, arter aU." "Yes, Tom; if you wish to return to the plantation, the way is open," said the planter. "Oh! Tommy, you will go — won't you?" said Dinah. The fugitive was dumb ; he did not know what to say. "Why do n't you speak, Tommy ? " asked Dinah. "I knows, massa, why he says noffin," remarked l*y>.er resort, and casually fell in company with the fugl'^ive that morning. He did not at first recognize the negro, his appearance was so much changed, and having no expectation of meeting him there. But Tom knew the schoolmaster, the moment he saw him, and freely told him that the planter was in the neighborhood, and. that he meant to return with his master to Oakland. Tom expected that the schoolmaster would try to dissuade him from doing so, and was surprised to hear him talk diiferently. " Dis am mass'r Bates," said he to Mr. Sharp, as the farmer came up to them, "he agrees wid me." " Then he can not be a friend to the colored man," said Mr. Sharp, snappishly. Mr. Bates smiled, and remarked that he did not care about entering into any controversy on that point. " If you had seen this old man in his cabin, as I did, you would not hesitate to say I am right in my advice," he added, and was about to pass along. " Mass'r Bates, s'pose you go an' see massa. My young mass'r and missus are along, too. Come." Mr. Bates hardly knew what to do. He felt as though he had done Mr. Erskine a great wrong, and would rather keep out of his presence. But Tom urged him so hard, he consented to go back and make a friendly call. The farmer did not fancy the talk, and began tc abandon aU hope of success. UNCLE Tom's cabin as it is. 497 "Blast the slaves!" said he to himself, but loud enough to be overheard, if he had not halted to speak to some person on the common, beckoning him to stop; " I will not bother myself any more about them. If Mrs. Sharp must fret and scold, why let her do it ; I am not going to run around and keep myself in a stew for them, any longer. If they are mind to come here and live, why let them take care of themselves, like other people." The man on the common turned out to be Mr. Brown. It seemed, that Nelly could learn nothing of the whereabouts of Tom, from the free negro, Jake, or from Hard ; and thinking he might have gone to the inn at Saint Davids, she took the boat to Chippewa, and from thence by railroad to Queenston — a stnall village only a short distance. She reached Mr. Brown's place late in the afternoon ; and Mrs. Brown concluded that her husband should take the washer-woman to the Falls, before breakfast the ensuing morning. He had just arrived, when he espied his friend, Mr. Sharp, Tom, and another gentleman, in conference together. He hurried toward them, and fortunately attracted the attention of the farmer. "Tom's master, I understand, is over the other side," said he, running up to Mr. Sharp; "who is that gentleman walking with him ? " " His name is given me as Bates." " Who is he ? A friend, I take it ? " "Well, yes; I s'pose we can ca,U him so." "You speak as if you doubted it. Where is he and Tom going? " asked Mr. Brown. 498 LIFE AT THE SOTJTH ; OE " The negro is on his^ way to the Clifton House, and he asked the gentleman to go along." " Ah ! I see. He has gone to look for his wife. He don't think of crossing, I hope — does he?" inquired .Mr. Brown. " Oh ! he has seen her already," said Mr. Sharp. " Good news ! I am right glad to hear so. She finally consented to come over, hey ? Very well ; the master can go home two less now," remarked Mr. Brown. " I do n't see very well how she could do otherwise than come over ; for, I understand, the master would not stop on the American side," coolly replied Mr. Sharp. "You do n't say the planter stopped — " Mr. Brown's breath was so short, from astonishment, that the last word uttered was inaudible. " He put up at the Clifton House," said Mr. Sharp. "At the Clifton House! And brought his slaves with him ? The man must be crazy, I do believe." " It 's so, Mr. Brown ; and that 's not the worst of it. Tom is going home with him ! " " Tom going home again ! " exclaimed Mr. Brown. " It 's actually so," said Mr. Sharp. " "Well, well ; I wonder what Mrs. Brown will say now ?" said Mr. Brown, almost overcome with the news. Mr. Sharp suggested that Tom would soon be out of eight, if tbey remained where they were. " We must put a stop to this," said Mr. Brown. " Out of the question, sir." " Tom can't be such a dunce ! " TTNCLE TOM's OABIK AS IT IS. 499 "I am not prepared to say he is not right," replied Mr. Sharp. " What ! I trust you have not advised him to this course." " Not exactly, sir." "How is this, Mr. Sharp? You seem to he reserved. I took it for granted that we should act in unison." " Certainly, Mr. Brown. But if the negro has gone through one-half what he says he has, I can't blame him. He has been near starvation, and my only won- der is, that he is alive," replied Mr. Sharp. "Ah! I believe I understand you. You go for gradual emancipation ; I told Mrs. Brown I suspected as much. Mrs. Sharp don't, though, I can tell you! " said Mr. Brown, with a sneer. " I think we should look at things just as they are ; there is no use in blinding our eyes. Take Tom, for example ; is his condition improved ? " "Only one case out of a hundred, sir. He has been unlucky, as we term it ; thg,t 's all." "I can't admit that. But, no matter; you agree his condition is not bettered. Why not favor his return home 1 " "The principle, sir, is at stake; and how do we know but that he will be more fortunate hereafter. He has paid for his experience; and, I presume, learned wisdom from the past," replied Mr. Brown. They reached the hotel without overtaking the negro, and lost sight of him. "I should like to get a look at his master," said Mr. Brown, as they entered the house ; " and we must 500 hurry and find Tom. Should n't be surprised if they have already taken him across." "We will go into the sitting-room; perhaps Mr. Bates may be there," said Mr. Sharp. "Do you know the planter?" "No." " Seen- him, of course? " " No ; I hav n't set my eyes on him yet ; that it, I have not recognized him yet." " Well, I should like to make his acquaintance. I would like to hear his justification; the old stoiy, though, I presume," remarked Mr. Brown. "There is Mr. Bates, now," said Mr. Sharp, as they entered the sitting-room. I 'U introduce you to him; " and they crossed the room to the window. " My friend, Mr. Brown," said Mr. Sharp to Mr. Bates. ' Mr. Bates was conversing with the planter, and barely had an opportunity to intimate to the planter his advice to Tom to i^tum, when the farmer and inn- keeper came to the window. He gave both of their an introduction to Mr. Erskine, who politely invited them to be seated. The innkeeper remarked that Tom had lived with him for several months, and left contrary to his wish. "Any charges, sir?" asked the planter. The innkeeper was amazed at this unexpected question, and hemmed and coughed, and did not make much of a reply. " How did I understand you, sir ? " asked the planter, with remarkable complacency. UNCLE TOM's cabin AS ITIS. 501 The innkeeper felt abashed, bnt succeeded in stam- mering, " I will ask Mi-s. Brown, sir." " Thank you — will be much obliged," replied the planter ; and turned again to Mr. Bates. "Shall we be moving? " said the innkeeper presently to the farmer, in an undertone. Mr. Sharp was too much interested in the conversa- tion between the planter and Mr. Bates, to heed the innkeeper's remark. Shortly, the planter asked of Mr. Sharp if he resided at the Falls, and other common- place questions. The innkeeper was envious of the planter's attention to the farmer. "I understand you claim Tom, sir? " he said. " For what ? " quickly asked the planter. " As your slave, sir." " I am not aware of that. He is my property, no doubt, as the law stands with us. But he can do as he likes; return home or stay, as may suit his dis- position." ■' He has a good heart, sir. Bnt, you are aware we go against servitude here. This is a free eounb-y." "You mean free in a limited sense, I apprehend." " No, sir ; it 's general." "Yes; the blacks are free. But, in my country, the whites are free. Grive me the stars and stripes; that 's the flag for me," replied the planter ; and rose to leave the room. " I am sorry, sir, I can't agree with you. I will say one thing, though; you don't seem to be afraid to bring your slaves here, f am told you have two in your company," said the innkeeper. 502 LII'E AT THE SOUTH; OB " Yes ; and I would bring the whole plantation, i without being afraid that they would leave me," reijlied the planter. "You see he has no fear,'' remarked Mr. Sharp to hii friend, as they walked into the hall. '* It 's all put on for the occasion. We must look up Tom, and persuade him to go to Saint Davids. It will never do to let him go in this way ; lie will suffer if they get him back. The planter has taken this co^irae because he believes it better than to use force. Yoti can depend upon it, I am right. If I can have a chance to talk to Tom, he will take my advice," said the innkeeper. ''"Well, we will loiter until you see him," replied Mr. Sharp, glad that the innkeeper was there to take the lead. He cared but little as to the result. Mr. Brown assented, and they whiled away the "time in gazing at the strangers. In the course of an hour or so, Tom made his appearance, and Mr. Brown found no difficulty in engaging the negro in conversa- tion. The innkeeper went aside with him into the garden, and undertook to divest him of the notion of going back with his master, by picturing, as vividly as he could, his situation and the pains and service he would be compelled to undergo when he reached home. Tom could not appreciate it. The pains and service he had suffered since he came away, were constantly in his mind ; and he disliked the idea of making another experiment. " I can't try um again," he said. " The trouble is," said Mr. Brown, " that friend who UNCLE TOM's cabin AS IT IS. 603 advised you to run away — and now, very strangely, it appears to me, advises you to return — give you too big expectations. No wonder your disappointment. But mark what I tell you, he is as far from sense now as be was then,"' said Mr. Brown. "Mass'r Bates hab repented," said Tom. "Pooh! Don't talk to me about repentance! He has been bought ! The planter has hired him to advise you to go back," said Mr. Brown. " Dunno," said Tom. " I know ; and let me teU you, you are unwise to listen to a single word he says. His motives are aU wrong. Come, go with me, and ask your real friend, Nelly — she that kept the breath of life in you, when you lay at the point of death last winter — and see what she says. If her advice is to go, I won't say another word about it ; and I will pick my way home at once," said Mr. Brown. " Nelly ! d 'ye say? Whar" am she? " "Near by. Come. She is the friend for you to consult," said Mr. Brown. Tom liked Nelly, and felt grateful for the interest she had manifested in his welfare. Happy to see her once more, if only to say good-bye, he complied with the inn-keeper's request, and accompanied him to the hill, some distance in the rear of the hotel. Mrs. Brown stopped at a private house, and Nelly remained there during his absence at the Clifton House, because he ordered her to do so, not because she was not anxious to see Tom. As they entered the yard, she Viounded out of the house, and greeted Tom heartily. 604 LIFE AT THE SOUTH", OB " Mr. Brown was so long coming, I had about given you up for lost, Tom," she said. " Neber fear dat. Jake war' aginst me, though." " Have you found Dinah?" " Ax mass'r Brown if I hav n't." ""Well, can you get her?" asked Nelly, secretly wishing he had not, and partly believing so, for she heard that the planter did not halt at the Falls. "2fo," interposed the innkeeper, "but she's got him." "JSTonsense! Mr. Brown." " True. He is going home with her ! " said Mr. Brown. " Impossible ! Tom, it is false ! I know it is," exclaimed Nelly. The negro felt mortified, and regretted he left the hotel, and making no reply, moved towards the gate. "You are not going so quick, Tom?" asked Nelly, more in sorrow than in anger. " Yas, they are waitin'," hr» replied. "And you do not care for the poor washwoman! Oh ! Tom, Tom ! This comes from taking sich good care of you ! If it was not for me, you would have been under the turf long ago ! And you know it, too," said Nelly, her eyes moist with grief. " Do n't hab sich bad feelin's, Nelly, massa wlU make it right with you. He am at the hotel. You can go wid me to him, an' I '11 tell him all about it." Nelly had no time to parley, as Tom immediately went out of the yard. "Set him against that southern friend, Mr. Bates. He is hired to mislead," said the innkfeeper, as she passed through the gate. DlfCLE TOM's cabin AS IT IS. 605 The washer-woman did not know exactly what that remark meant, as Mr. Brown had no opportunity to explain. " Tom, do n't walk so fast — plenty o' time. I want to talk with yon," she remarked. ''Berry good. Alwars wiUin' to hear yer talk H"elly." " Can it be, yon are really going to the plantation ? " "Tas." "What makes yon act so? Who is this Mr. Bates T' '•Why, havn't I told you who he was? " "Something said concerning him, at our house on Vine street." " Did n't I told you who he am, dat morning I seed um on the street in Buffalo < Sure I did. Don't ax me sieh foolish questions, when you know'd all, your- self," said Tom, in any thing but a pleasant voice. The washer-woman deemed it prudent to abandon that inquiry. "What is the reason Dinah won't stay? I think she would if urged, now she is in Canada," said Xelly, changing the subject. "Xo, an' to tell you as I feel, why should she? Nothin' to live on — nothin' to do — no whar* to lay our heads," he replied. "Mrs. Brown said you could come to Saint Davids. The good landlady told me to be sure and fetch both, if possible." "Ha, haw, haw! Dis nigger had 'nough of dat town. No, no ; Mass'r Bates am right dis time. I am 506 LIFE AT THE SOUTH; OE sorry I must leave you, IsTelly ; but massa will make it all right," said Tom. The washer-woman almost despaired of making any impression. " Where did you last see old Hard ? " inquired Nelly. " On de boat. He got off, he told, to hunt up you. Dat 's whar' I seed um." " "Would you like to know whar' you will see him next." " Tas, but I hates him, Nelly," said Tom. " "When you and Dinah are crossing the ferry.-" " No chance to talk with the old rip thar'." " " He will drive you into the whirlpool, and that will be the last of Tom and Dinah ! " said the washer- woman, in a solemn voice. "Wha' dat you say? whirl — pool. Dunno, dunno what you mention, Nelly." " "Whirlpool ! why the place under the Falls what has no bottom ! " " An' drown us — kill us ? am dat de meaning ? Try um agin, Nelly. No scare dis nigger — yah, yah, yah ! "Why, Lor' bless you, the old rip must keep out o' way of our big boat, or he will run under his self; yah, yah, yah ! No, no. I'm not afeerd of Hard. None too good, though ; I know'd dat from 'perience," replied Tom. The washer-woman gave it up. Her only hope, she thought, was to enlist Mr. Bates ; and if she could only see him^ she thought he might be persuaded to advise the fugitive differently. They presently reached the hotel grounds, and Tom requested her to wait near the door, until he ran up to Dinah's room. tmcLE Tom's cabin as itis. 507 Mr. Brown could not quietly remain on the MU, and having taken a shorter ront«, was on the piazza, con- versing with Mr. Bates. jS^eUy heard the innkeeper call Mr. Bates by name, and she wished she conld get a chance to speak with him, if only to say a few words. She beckoned to Mr. Brown as soon as she caught his eye. " Is that the gentleman ? " she asked. Mr. Brown informed her it was, but that he talked "very disconragingly. " Can't I get a chance to say a word to him ? " she asked. "Doubtful. But you go around into the garden, and I wiU bring him to you, if possible," said Mr. Brown. jSTeUy did as requested, and soon had the opportu- nity of speaking I r mind to Mr. Bates. He discov- ered that she evinced more than an ordinary desire to retain Tom ; and he was too much acquainted with the workings of the human heart not to perceive, also, that if she could have her own way, Dinah would be sure to return with her master. In answer tc> her urgent importunity to advise the fugitive to stay at the North, he said that he considered himself woi-thy of reprehen- sion for holding out such strong inducements to the slave to escape from his master, and he deemed it his duty now to make a partial atonement, by persuading or at least counseling him to do what he considered to be for his good. "Is there no hope of your aid, then ? " said she. " Not any, my good woman. And were it not that 508 LIFE AT THE SOUTH ; OE I felt that I had injured my friend Mr. Erskine, I should not trouble myself," said Mr. Bates. Nelly retired from his presence disheartened, and feeling that she must make up her mind to say farewell to Tom, and in all probability for forever. Mr. Brown joined her, and learning that she had made no impression upon the fugitive in her brief interview with him, said that he would make one more effort himself. "Plead with him, Mr. Brown, for my sake. He lived in my house so long, I feel attached to him." The innkeeper promised to do all he could, and went back to the hotel. Tom was hurrying down from Dinah's room, and met him in the hall. " I have just left Nelly, your old nurse. She is in agony, because you think of leaving, Tom. It 's too bad, after she has taken so many steps for you, and by .most affectionate watchfulness saved your life ! " " Where is she ? I war guine to tell her dat massa would make it all right," replied Tom, viewing it simply as a business transaction, although he felt the deepest gratitude for her kind attention. " She has gone to the hill," replied the innkeeper. " Please, mass'r, tell her ; wha' more can I do ? An' if she will com.e here dis arternoon, my young missus, Mary, will settle to her content. As for dis nigger, he 's guine to ole Yirginny," said Tom, and skipped through the hall, and up stairSj with more agility than he had displayed since he left the cabin. DKCLE Ton's CAUIN AS IT IS. 509 CHAPTEE XXXIY. "back to old VrEGtNIA." It was on a Saturday that the scenes recounted in tiie preceding chapter occurred ; and on the following Monday Mr. Erskine and his family left the Clifton House. During the intermediate time, various efforts were made to change Tom's decision, but without avail. The planter, to his credit be it spoken, remun- erated IS'elly for her good care of the fugitive; and she returned to Vine street with her mind fully im- pressed that " people thrive most who attend to their own business." Mr. Brown and Mr. Sharp thought they had performed their duty to the utmost of their ability, that no sensible friend of the colored race should find fault with them, and had gone home — the former entertaining harsher feelings than ever toward those whom he was pleased to denominate dealers and traffickers in human flesh ; and the latter chuckling at Tom's obstinacy, but dreading to encoun- ter the wrath of Mrs. Sharp. The planter did not take Buffalo in his route, but passed to Lake Ontario, and disembarking at the dty 23 .510 LIFE AT THE SOUTH ; OK . of Oswego, traveled rapidly ou to Saratoga. Delighted with the beautiful country, and prosperous villages through which he passed, he amved at this far-famed watering-place, with the intention of remaining there a fortnight at least. , As the space allotted for the residue of this narra- tive is limited, we must quickly locate the newly- arrived guests at the hotel, and at once take the reader to Congress Spring. In was in the morning, a day or two after the planter reached Saratoga. Frederick and Mary had gone there to drink the water before breakfast. Many of the visitors from abroad were there also. Whilst Frederick was elbowing his way amid the crowd, he overheard the remark, "there comes the slave!" and casting his eyes toward the hotel, he perceived Tom and Pompey on the sidewalk. He was satisfied that whoever made the remark intended it for Tom •, and relieving himself as soon as he conveniently could from the pressure, looked around for the observer. He discovered a' gentleman intently looking in the direc- tion from which the slave was approaching the spring, and surmised that this was the person. He watched the gentleriian, and presently saw him touch a person by his side, and whisper something in his ear. " Mary," said Frederick, giving her his arm, " watch Tom ; I think, there is a plot afoot. "We will step aside." " "What now ! " said she, her feelings excited by her Drother's earnestness. " Listen," They, stood a moment or two, alternately looking at UNCLE TOm's cabin AS IT IS. 51 1 the slaves and the two strangers. One of the latter was a tall, sleek, good-natured man, whilst the other was a short, harsh, thin-faced person — his visage indicating him to be never at ease, and continually restless with the burden of care. The former had a pleasant smile, and naturally was disposed to take the world as he found it; while the latter saw nothing that was good but himself, and always prepared to express an opinion. The phrenologist, however, would not fail to perceive one quality common to both. They possessed, in an eminent degree, the bump of fanati- cism; and the size of this organ indicated that it had been well cultivated. Possibly the term we use is not vernacular ; but the reader, it is hoped. Understands what is meant. "Allgood," inquired the tall gentleman, "how do you know that is the slave ? " " Bless you, Mr. Pettibone, did n't I see him often 1 It is the identical person. He is too old ever to lose the marks of the frost; he will carry them to his grave." "He seems to be full of merriment— particularly for one of his age," replied Mr. Pettibone. "Very likely — very likely. He don't appreciate the privilege of being a man. It is astonishing, after all that has been said and done, we should find some colored persons BO obtuse. I see he knows me. I will speak to the fool ! " said Mr. Allgood. " Well, Tom, I see you do not follow my advice. Left Buffalo, your friend Nelly says, to go South." The slave did not pay any attention to the remart. 612 IJFE AT THE SOUTH; OB Mr. Allgood thought Tom did not hear what he said, and repeated it. The slave did not appear to know him. " Why, Tom, do n't you recollect me? " he said, in a louder and more earnest tone ; and laid his hand upon Tom's arm. The slave could not very well avoid noticing him. " Know'd you ! do n't dis nigger recollect dat morn- ing when he called for help? Neber forget you, mass'r Olgood," replied Tom, with a sneer. Mr. Pettibone observed the demeanor of the slave toward his friend, and conscious of the cause, was ashamed, and almost wished himself in other com- pany. Mr. Allgood spoke loud enough to be over- heard by half of the ladies and gentlemen present, and many of them were giggling at his expense. Unable to keep his thoughts to himself ^ — especially upon the subject of negro rights — it seemed that he had enlightened half of the sojourners in the village with hia views and opinions, although he had not been there four and twenty hours. And many of them were very happy to see him meet with the rebuff from the slave. He bit his lip, and with more blood appa- rently in his thin, withered face, than had shown itself there for a twelve-mouth, he joined Mr. Pettibone, who could scarcely restrain his risibility, and walked leisurely up the street. "I have no patience Math the slave. He don't know his rights, and so impudent. Good enough for him ! I hope his master will pound him to pieces 1 ' Bald he. UNCLE TOJSl's CABIN AS IT IS. 513 " Not at all, Mr. Allgood," very pleasantly replied Mr. Pettibone; "I judge the slave is offended with you for some trifling cause." "Oh! I understand his insulting allusion! Lazy, and keeping the company of a drunken loafer by the name of Hard — and who, by the way, is a runaway — he called one morning, and actually had the impu- dence to ask me to open my purse and lend him money! I refused him, of course, sir; and you see what I get by it. My heart yearns, though, for the poor slave," replied Mr. AUgood. Aft«r tlie great friend of negro rights left the spring, it so happened that Mr. Bates made his appearance, and was informed by Frederick of the interview be- tween Tom and Mr. Allgood. Indeed, many of the persons who witnessed it were tittering at its ridicu- lousness ; and Mr. Bates would have inquired the cause, if he had not been told. " Tom," said he, " pay no attention to him. He is wild on this subject. He do n't stop to look at con- sequences." "He 's too stingy to be good," replied the slave. " It did my soul good to see Tom treat him so cava- (iirly," remarked Frederick. " I did not know, when I first observed the gentleman, but that we might have trouble. Do you know his friend? " " Oh ! he is a member of Congress. "Wild, I think, on some points, but a good sort of man. Talks more for effect than because he feels it," replied Mr. Bates " No danger of rescue, then, sir? " " From AllgoCf3j do you mean 2 " 514: UCFB AT THE SOUTH; OR i' Yes," "Gracious! no. Ha I ha! fca! He is all talk. I ■tloubt whether he could plan a rescue. No, no; Mr. Erskine can dismiss all fear," replied Mr. Bates, with Binceritjr. " Fathel- has no intimation of what has occurred," said Frederick. " Then, it is iiot worth while to advise him. Unless you make some new observation, I would n't trouble your father with the news. Mr. Allgood is a very harmless man." " You know him V "Well, from reputation. If you will take the trou- ble to go up where he stops, you can listen to his talk by the hour, and not get a single new idea. He sim- ply repeats what he hears others say. Give yourself no uneasiness," replied Mr. Bates. After breakfast, Mr. Bates met Mr. Allgood and the member of Congress in the drawing-room. They -stopped at the same hotel. Mr. Allgood talked excit- edly concerning the wrongs suffered by the slaves at flie South, and insisted that the only redress was immediate emancipation. Mr. Bates said that his experience, taught him, that .they were not prepared for so sudden a tran&itioil, whilst Mr. Pettibone thought it was the duty of every philanthropist to keep the subject at all times prominently before the people. And there we will leave these gentlemen, each enter- taining bis own pecailiar views, but agreeing upon the main question, that the time might finally come when the institution would be at an end. UNCLE TOM's cabin AS IT IS. 515 ■Mr Erskine's visit overrun its intended duration. The society was so pleasant, and Frederick and Mary enjoyed themselves so much, that he prolonged his stay. After leaving Saratoga, he did not hurry directly homeward, but lingered for several days at Eockaway ; and traveling by easy stages, did not reach Oakland until many days had elapsed in the month of Septem- ber. Having had a most delightful tour, and unex- pectedly recovered the possession of the fugitive, he was happy that he gratified his children, and thankful for his good luck. He appreciated more highly the privileges which he enjoyed, under the constitution of his country, in common with all its citizens, and learned to entertain kinder sentiments, without refer ence to the particular section of this widely-extended confederacy wherein they might happen to dwell. CHAPTER XXXY. CONCLUSION. It was late in the evening when the party arrived at the plantation. All the way from Millwood, Tom was stretching his neck to catch a glimpse of the cabin ; and when it burst in sight, he could scarcely contain himself. There it was, with the little yard and veranda, just as he left it four years before. The grass-plot in front of the quarters was there also. The 516 LIFE A.T THE SOUTH; OE old mansion appeared, as venerable as when last he saw it; and although the twilight was dim, everything looked natural. Such was Tom's eagerness to go to the quarters, after the coach stopped at the gates, he did not wait for Dinah, but ran ahead. The master's return home waked up many slaves, and by the time Tom reached the cabin, the quarters were alive with rejoicings and congratulations. With a pleasant smile, and a kind word for all he met, the slave caught up his 'children with a pleasure bordering on wildness. He kissed and hugged them, his large eyes streaming with tears of joy. He had not language to express his emotions of gratitude, for being permitted again to stand upon his native soil. His return was unexpected to all, and many of his old companions supposed him to be dead. Care had wrought some change in the lineaments of his face. "Why, Uncle Tom!" exclaimed Philisee, who, bearing the merry laugh and lively talk* outside, jumped from the bed and run out of her cabin, " am you really him ? Tom — de real Uncle Tom ! Whar' on arth d' ye cum from ? " "Gib um, Philisee," he said, seizing her hand, and shaking it with great violence, "I alwars liked you. Lor' bless you, Phili, dat face of yourn neber looked better." "We ar' glad you've got rid of your feelin's, an' hab missed you much. Good gracious! Uncle Tom whar' did you git them scratches ? " she asked, point- ing to crumpled skin upon his forehead. TINCLE TOm's cabin AS IT IS. 617 raiCLE TOM AT "HOME." " Oh ! dat 's noffin ! Some oder time will mention nm to you," he replied ; and entered his cabin. Dinah was soon bj his side, and after a separation -which seemed to her an eternity, they were again together, in that same old room, where they had passed a quarter of a century. Both were delighted, enrap- tured ! The children asked a thousand questions, until Uucle Tom was fatigued with their loquacity. His heart, though, did not tire. To him it was a banquet of love ! He recounted to them many a scene, he told them how often he watched the lonely hours of the 518 LIFE AT THE SOUTH ; OE night, and prayed that heaven's light would deign to penetrate the crevices of his cabin! And when he pictured to their horror-stricken minds, the scenes uf that terrible winter — his marvelous rescue from death! the painter could have seen grief — such as nature, when the seat of life is pierced, knows, and alone knows how to depict. But enough. Uncle Tom could not go to bed — that bed! there it stood, upon the identical boards, lowly, but now to him a couch of ^own — more a place of regal repose than that of a slave ! thankfulness gushed up from the deep fountain of his soul, and he closed his eyes in gratitude. If Mr. Brown eould have looked in at tlie door, and heard his simple but expressive prayer, unless infested with the spirit of pandemonium, and blinded by the dark pall of bigotry — in charity let it be called fanaticism — he would have melted in humility, and thanked God also, that the slave's obstinacy repelled the wiles of Nelly's blandishments, laughed at the specious pano- rama of pleasures which freedom unrolled to bewilder his distracted vision, and conducted the man — born and reared in servitude, with no natural sensations but those of obedience, and the inheritor of no desire except that of happiness — back to the land of his nativity — to his master, father, home! That night, for the first time since he skulked in the by-ways, to mislead the pursuer. Uncle Tom enjoyed the sweet repose of a quiet conscience ; and arose in the morn- ing, refreshed by sleep, vigorous and joyful. He had forgotten his fancied wrongs, and as time rolled on, enjoyed lifu anew. Satisfied with his lot, he TTNCLE TOm's CABIN AS IT IS. 619 Beared the feelings of His master, as in days gone by, and was humbled in his adversity and elated with his prosperity. And if the reader shall at any time chance to ti-avel the high road, as it winds up the val- ley of the Shenandoah, above "Winchester, he will find no gentleman more hospitable than Mr. Erskine, and no slave more contented and happy than Uncle Tom. i-S^aSJU^;