Uncle Tom's Cabin
sir.”
“O, you do?—La! yes—something of that ar natur. I understand,
perfectly. It is mighty onpleasant getting on with women, sometimes. I
al’ays hates these yer screechin’, screamin’ times. They are _mighty_
onpleasant; but, as I manages business, I generally avoids ’em, sir.
Now, what if you get the girl off for a day, or a week, or so; then the
thing’s done quietly,—all over before she comes home. Your wife might
get her some ear-rings, or a new gown, or some such truck, to make up
with her.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Lor bless ye, yes! These critters an’t like white folks, you know;
they gets over things, only manage right. Now, they say,” said Haley,
assuming a candid and confidential air, “that this kind o’ trade is
hardening to the feelings; but I never found it so. Fact is, I never
could do things up the way some fellers manage the business. I’ve seen
’em as would pull a woman’s child out of her arms, and set him up to
sell, and she screechin’ like mad all the time;—very bad policy—damages
the article—makes ’em quite unfit for service sometimes. I knew a real
handsome gal once, in Orleans, as was entirely ruined by this sort o’
handling. The fellow that was trading for her didn’t want her baby; and
she was one of your real high sort, when her blood was up. I tell you,
she squeezed up her child in her arms, and talked, and went on real
awful. It kinder makes my blood run cold to think on’t; and when they
carried off the child, and locked her up, she jest went ravin’ mad, and
died in a week. Clear waste, sir, of a thousand dollars, just for want
of management,—there’s where ’t is. It’s always best to do the humane
thing, sir; that’s been _my_ experience.” And the trader leaned back in
his chair, and folded his arms, with an air of virtuous decision,
apparently considering himself a second Wilberforce.
The subject appeared to interest the gentleman deeply; for while Mr.
Shelby was thoughtfully peeling an orange, Haley broke out afresh, with
becoming diffidence, but as if actually driven by the force of truth to
say a few words more.
“It don’t look well, now, for a feller to be praisin’ himself; but I
say it jest because it’s the truth. I believe I’m reckoned to bring in
about the finest droves of niggers that is brought in,—at least, I’ve
been told so; if I have once, I reckon I have a hundred times,—all in
good case,—fat and likely, and I lose as few as any man in the
business. And I lays it all to my management, sir; and humanity, sir, I
may say, is the great pillar of _my_ management.”
Mr. Shelby did not know what to say, and so he said, “Indeed!”
“Now, I’ve been laughed at for my notions, sir, and I’ve been talked
to. They an’t pop’lar, and they an’t common; but I stuck to ’em, sir;
I’ve stuck to ’em, and realized well on ’em; yes, sir, they have paid
their passage, I may say,” and the trader laughed at his joke.
There was something so piquant and original in these elucidations of
humanity, that Mr. Shelby could not help laughing in company. Perhaps
you laugh too, dear reader; but you know humanity comes out in a
variety of strange forms now-a-days, and there is no end to the odd
things that humane people will say and do.
Mr. Shelby’s laugh encouraged the trader to proceed.
“It’s strange, now, but I never could beat this into people’s heads.
Now, there was Tom Loker, my old partner, down in Natchez; he was a
clever fellow, Tom was, only the very devil with niggers,—on principle
’t was, you see, for a better hearted feller never broke bread; ’t was
his _system_, sir. I used to talk to Tom. ‘Why, Tom,’ I used to say,
‘when your gals takes on and cry, what’s the use o’ crackin on ’em
over the head, and knockin’ on ’em round? It’s ridiculous,’ says I,
‘and don’t do no sort o’ good. Why, I don’t see no harm in their
cryin’,’ says I; ‘it’s natur,’ says I, ‘and if natur can’t blow off one
way, it will another. Besides, Tom,’ says I, ‘it jest spiles your gals;
they get sickly, and down in the mouth; and sometimes they gets
ugly,—particular yallow gals do,—and it’s the devil and all gettin’ on
’em broke in. Now,’ says I, ‘why can’t you kinder coax ’em up, and
speak ’em fair? Depend on it, Tom, a little humanity, thrown in along,
goes a heap further than all your jawin’ and crackin’; and it pays
better,’ says I, ‘depend on ’t.’ But Tom couldn’t get the hang on ’t;
and he spiled so many for me, that I had to break off with him, though
he was a good-hearted fellow, and as fair a business hand as is goin’.”
“And do you find your ways of managing do the business better than
Tom’s?” said Mr. Shelby.
“Why, yes, sir, I may say so. You see, when I any ways can, I takes a
leetle care about the onpleasant parts, like selling young uns and
that,—get the gals out of the way—out of sight, out of mind, you
know,—and when it’s clean done, and can’t be helped, they naturally
gets used to it. ’Tan’t, you know, as if it was white folks, that’s
brought up in the way of ’spectin’ to keep their children and wives,
and all that. Niggers, you know, that’s fetched up properly, ha’n’t no
kind of ’spectations of no kind; so all these things comes easier.”
“I’m afraid mine are not properly brought up, then,” said Mr. Shelby.
“S’pose not; you Kentucky folks spile your niggers. You mean well by
’em, but ’tan’t no real kindness, arter all. Now, a nigger, you see,
what’s got to be hacked and tumbled round the world, and sold to Tom,
and Dick, and the Lord knows who, ’tan’t no kindness to be givin’ on
him notions and expectations, and bringin’ on him up too well, for the
rough and tumble comes all the harder on him arter. Now, I venture to
say, your niggers would be quite chop-fallen in a place where some of
your plantation niggers would be singing and whooping like all
possessed. Every man, you know, Mr. Shelby, naturally thinks well of
his own ways; and I think I treat niggers just about as well as it’s
ever worth while to treat ’em.”
“It’s a happy thing to be satisfied,” said Mr. Shelby, with a slight
shrug, and some perceptible feelings of a disagreeable nature.
“Well,” said Haley, after they had both silently picked their nuts for
a season, “what do you say?”
“I’ll think the matter over, and talk with my wife,” said Mr. Shelby.
“Meantime, Haley, if you want the matter carried on in the quiet way
you speak of, you’d best not let your business in this neighborhood be
known. It will get out among my boys, and it will not be a particularly
quiet business getting away any of my fellows, if they know it, I’ll
promise you.”
“O! certainly, by all means, mum! of course. But I’ll tell you, I’m in
a devil of a hurry, and shall want to know, as soon as possible, what I
may depend on,” said he, rising and putting on his overcoat.
“Well, call up this evening, between six and seven, and you shall have
my answer,” said Mr. Shelby, and the trader bowed himself out of the
apartment.
“I’d like to have been able to kick the fellow down the steps,” said he
to himself, as he saw the door fairly closed, “with his impudent
assurance; but he knows how much he has me at advantage. If anybody had
ever said to me that I should sell Tom down south to one of those
rascally traders, I should have said, ‘Is thy servant a dog, that he
should do this thing?’ And now it must come, for aught I see. And
Eliza’s child, too! I know that I shall have some fuss with wife about
that; and, for that matter, about Tom, too. So much for being in
debt,—heigho! The fellow sees his advantage, and means to push it.”
Perhaps the mildest form of the system of slavery is to be seen in the
State of Kentucky. The general prevalence of agricultural pursuits of a
quiet and gradual nature, not requiring those periodic seasons of hurry
and pressure that are called for in the business of more southern
districts, makes the task of the negro a more healthful and reasonable
one; while the master, content with a more gradual style of
acquisition, has not those temptations to hardheartedness which always
overcome frail human nature when the prospect of sudden and rapid gain
is weighed in the balance, with no heavier counterpoise than the
interests of the helpless and unprotected.
Whoever visits some estates there, and witnesses the good-humored
indulgence of some masters and mistresses, and the affectionate loyalty
of some slaves, might be tempted to dream the oft-fabled poetic legend
of a patriarchal institution, and all that; but over and above the
scene there broods a portentous shadow—the shadow of _law_. So long as
the law considers all these human beings, with beating hearts and
living affections, only as so many _things_ belonging to a master,—so
long as the failure, or misfortune, or imprudence, or death of the
kindest owner, may cause them any day to exchange a life of kind
protection and indulgence for one of hopeless misery and toil,—so long
it is impossible to make anything beautiful or desirable in the best
regulated administration of slavery.
Mr. Shelby was a fair average kind of man, good-natured and kindly, and
disposed to easy indulgence of those around him, and there had never
been a lack of anything which might contribute to the physical comfort
of the negroes on his estate. He had, however, speculated largely and
quite loosely; had involved himself deeply, and his notes to a large
amount had come into the hands of Haley; and this small piece of
information is the key to the preceding conversation.
Now, it had so happened that, in approaching the door, Eliza had caught
enough of the conversation to know that a trader was making offers to
her master for somebody.
She would gladly have stopped at the door to listen, as she came out;
but her mistress just then calling, she was obliged to hasten away.
Still she thought she heard the trader make an offer for her boy;—could
she be mistaken? Her heart swelled and throbbed, and she involuntarily
strained him so tight that the little fellow looked up into her face in
astonishment.
“Eliza, girl, what ails you today?” said her mistress, when Eliza had
upset the wash-pitcher, knocked down the workstand, and finally was
abstractedly offering her mistress a long nightgown in place of the
silk dress she had ordered her to bring from the wardrobe.
Eliza started. “O, missis!” she said, raising her eyes; then, bursting
into tears, she sat down in a chair, and began sobbing.
“Why, Eliza, child, what ails you?” said her mistress.
“O! missis, missis,” said Eliza, “there’s been a trader talking with
master in the parlor! I heard him.”
“Well, silly child, suppose there has.”
“O, missis, _do_ you suppose mas’r would sell my Harry?” And the poor
creature threw herself into a chair, and sobbed convulsively.
“Sell him! No, you foolish girl! You know your master never deals with
those southern traders, and never means to sell any of his servants, as
long as they behave well. Why, you silly child, who do you think would
want to buy your Harry? Do you think all the world are set on him as
you are, you goosie? Come, cheer up, and hook my dress. There now, put
my back hair up in that pretty braid you learnt the other day, and
don’t go listening at doors any more.”
“Well, but, missis, _you_ never would give your consent—to—to—”
“Nonsense, child! to be sure, I shouldn’t. What do you talk so for? I
would as soon have one of my own children sold. But really, Eliza, you
are getting altogether too proud of that little fellow. A man can’t put
his nose into the door, but you think he must be coming to buy him.”
Reassured by her mistress’ confident tone, Eliza proceeded nimbly and
adroitly with her toilet, laughing at her own fears, as she proceeded.
Mrs. Shelby was a woman of a high class, both intellectually and morally.
To that natural magnanimity and generosity of mind which one often