Uncle Tom's Cabin
what lay between them;—and while it lay there before him, every passage
breathing of some old home scene, and recalling some past enjoyment,
his Bible seemed to him all of this life that remained, as well as the
promise of a future one.
Among the passengers on the boat was a young gentleman of fortune and
family, resident in New Orleans, who bore the name of St. Clare. He had
with him a daughter between five and six years of age, together with a
lady who seemed to claim relationship to both, and to have the little
one especially under her charge.
Tom had often caught glimpses of this little girl,—for she was one of
those busy, tripping creatures, that can be no more contained in one
place than a sunbeam or a summer breeze,—nor was she one that, once
seen, could be easily forgotten.
Her form was the perfection of childish beauty, without its usual
chubbiness and squareness of outline. There was about it an undulating
and aerial grace, such as one might dream of for some mythic and
allegorical being. Her face was remarkable less for its perfect beauty
of feature than for a singular and dreamy earnestness of expression,
which made the ideal start when they looked at her, and by which the
dullest and most literal were impressed, without exactly knowing why.
The shape of her head and the turn of her neck and bust was peculiarly
noble, and the long golden-brown hair that floated like a cloud around
it, the deep spiritual gravity of her violet blue eyes, shaded by heavy
fringes of golden brown,—all marked her out from other children, and
made every one turn and look after her, as she glided hither and
thither on the boat. Nevertheless, the little one was not what you
would have called either a grave child or a sad one. On the contrary,
an airy and innocent playfulness seemed to flicker like the shadow of
summer leaves over her childish face, and around her buoyant figure.
She was always in motion, always with a half smile on her rosy mouth,
flying hither and thither, with an undulating and cloud-like tread,
singing to herself as she moved as in a happy dream. Her father and
female guardian were incessantly busy in pursuit of her,—but, when
caught, she melted from them again like a summer cloud; and as no word
of chiding or reproof ever fell on her ear for whatever she chose to
do, she pursued her own way all over the boat. Always dressed in white,
she seemed to move like a shadow through all sorts of places, without
contracting spot or stain; and there was not a corner or nook, above or
below, where those fairy footsteps had not glided, and that visionary
golden head, with its deep blue eyes, fleeted along.
The fireman, as he looked up from his sweaty toil, sometimes found
those eyes looking wonderingly into the raging depths of the furnace,
and fearfully and pityingly at him, as if she thought him in some
dreadful danger. Anon the steersman at the wheel paused and smiled, as
the picture-like head gleamed through the window of the round house,
and in a moment was gone again. A thousand times a day rough voices
blessed her, and smiles of unwonted softness stole over hard faces, as
she passed; and when she tripped fearlessly over dangerous places,
rough, sooty hands were stretched involuntarily out to save her, and
smooth her path.
Tom, who had the soft, impressible nature of his kindly race, ever
yearning toward the simple and childlike, watched the little creature
with daily increasing interest. To him she seemed something almost
divine; and whenever her golden head and deep blue eyes peered out upon
him from behind some dusky cotton-bale, or looked down upon him over
some ridge of packages, he half believed that he saw one of the angels
stepped out of his New Testament.
Often and often she walked mournfully round the place where Haley’s
gang of men and women sat in their chains. She would glide in among
them, and look at them with an air of perplexed and sorrowful
earnestness; and sometimes she would lift their chains with her slender
hands, and then sigh wofully, as she glided away. Several times she
appeared suddenly among them, with her hands full of candy, nuts, and
oranges, which she would distribute joyfully to them, and then be gone
again.
Tom watched the little lady a great deal, before he ventured on any
overtures towards acquaintanceship. He knew an abundance of simple acts
to propitiate and invite the approaches of the little people, and he
resolved to play his part right skilfully. He could cut cunning little
baskets out of cherry-stones, could make grotesque faces on
hickory-nuts, or odd-jumping figures out of elder-pith, and he was a
very Pan in the manufacture of whistles of all sizes and sorts. His
pockets were full of miscellaneous articles of attraction, which he had
hoarded in days of old for his master’s children, and which he now
produced, with commendable prudence and economy, one by one, as
overtures for acquaintance and friendship.
The little one was shy, for all her busy interest in everything going
on, and it was not easy to tame her. For a while, she would perch like
a canary-bird on some box or package near Tom, while busy in the little
arts afore-named, and take from him, with a kind of grave bashfulness,
the little articles he offered. But at last they got on quite
confidential terms.
“What’s little missy’s name?” said Tom, at last, when he thought
matters were ripe to push such an inquiry.
“Evangeline St. Clare,” said the little one, “though papa and everybody
else call me Eva. Now, what’s your name?”
“My name’s Tom; the little chil’en used to call me Uncle Tom, way back
thar in Kentuck.”
“Then I mean to call you Uncle Tom, because, you see, I like you,” said
Eva. “So, Uncle Tom, where are you going?”
“I don’t know, Miss Eva.”
“Don’t know?” said Eva.
“No, I am going to be sold to somebody. I don’t know who.”
“My papa can buy you,” said Eva, quickly; “and if he buys you, you will
have good times. I mean to ask him, this very day.”
“Thank you, my little lady,” said Tom.
The boat here stopped at a small landing to take in wood, and Eva,
hearing her father’s voice, bounded nimbly away. Tom rose up, and went
forward to offer his service in wooding, and soon was busy among the
hands.
Eva and her father were standing together by the railings to see the
boat start from the landing-place, the wheel had made two or three
revolutions in the water, when, by some sudden movement, the little one
suddenly lost her balance and fell sheer over the side of the boat into
the water. Her father, scarce knowing what he did, was plunging in
after her, but was held back by some behind him, who saw that more
efficient aid had followed his child.
Tom was standing just under her on the lower deck, as she fell. He saw
her strike the water, and sink, and was after her in a moment. A
broad-chested, strong-armed fellow, it was nothing for him to keep
afloat in the water, till, in a moment or two the child rose to the
surface, and he caught her in his arms, and, swimming with her to the
boat-side, handed her up, all dripping, to the grasp of hundreds of
hands, which, as if they had all belonged to one man, were stretched
eagerly out to receive her. A few moments more, and her father bore
her, dripping and senseless, to the ladies’ cabin, where, as is usual
in cases of the kind, there ensued a very well-meaning and kind-hearted
strife among the female occupants generally, as to who should do the
most things to make a disturbance, and to hinder her recovery in every
way possible.
It was a sultry, close day, the next day, as the steamer drew near to
New Orleans. A general bustle of expectation and preparation was spread
through the boat; in the cabin, one and another were gathering their
things together, and arranging them, preparatory to going ashore. The
steward and chambermaid, and all, were busily engaged in cleaning,
furbishing, and arranging the splendid boat, preparatory to a grand
entree.
On the lower deck sat our friend Tom, with his arms folded, and
anxiously, from time to time, turning his eyes towards a group on the
other side of the boat.
There stood the fair Evangeline, a little paler than the day before,
but otherwise exhibiting no traces of the accident which had befallen
her. A graceful, elegantly-formed young man stood by her, carelessly
leaning one elbow on a bale of cotton while a large pocket-book lay
open before him. It was quite evident, at a glance, that the gentleman
was Eva’s father. There was the same noble cast of head, the same large
blue eyes, the same golden-brown hair; yet the expression was wholly
different. In the large, clear blue eyes, though in form and color
exactly similar, there was wanting that misty, dreamy depth of
expression; all was clear, bold, and bright, but with a light wholly of
this world: the beautifully cut mouth had a proud and somewhat
sarcastic expression, while an air of free-and-easy superiority sat not
ungracefully in every turn and movement of his fine form. He was
listening, with a good-humored, negligent air, half comic, half
contemptuous, to Haley, who was very volubly expatiating on the quality
of the article for which they were bargaining.
“All the moral and Christian virtues bound in black Morocco, complete!”
he said, when Haley had finished. “Well, now, my good fellow, what’s
the damage, as they say in Kentucky; in short, what’s to be paid out
for this business? How much are you going to cheat me, now? Out with
it!”
“Wal,” said Haley, “if I should say thirteen hundred dollars for that
ar fellow, I shouldn’t but just save myself; I shouldn’t, now, re’ly.”
“Poor fellow!” said the young man, fixing his keen, mocking blue eye on
him; “but I suppose you’d let me have him for that, out of a particular
regard for me.”
“Well, the young lady here seems to be sot on him, and nat’lly enough.”
“O! certainly, there’s a call on your benevolence, my friend. Now, as a
matter of Christian charity, how cheap could you afford to let him go,
to oblige a young lady that’s particular sot on him?”
“Wal, now, just think on ’t,” said the trader; “just look at them
limbs,—broad-chested, strong as a horse. Look at his head; them high
forrads allays shows calculatin niggers, that’ll do any kind o’ thing.
I’ve, marked that ar. Now, a nigger of that ar heft and build is worth
considerable, just as you may say, for his body, supposin he’s stupid;
but come to put in his calculatin faculties, and them which I can show
he has oncommon, why, of course, it makes him come higher. Why, that ar
fellow managed his master’s whole farm. He has a strornary talent for
business.”
“Bad, bad, very bad; knows altogether too much!” said the young man,
with the same mocking smile playing about his mouth. “Never will do, in
the world. Your smart fellows are always running off, stealing horses,
and raising the devil generally. I think you’ll have to take off a
couple of hundred for his smartness.”
“Wal, there might be something in that ar, if it warnt for his
character; but I can show recommends from his master and others, to
prove he is one of your real pious,—the most humble, prayin, pious
crittur ye ever did see. Why, he’s been called a preacher in them parts
he came from.”
“And I might use him for a family chaplain, possibly,” added the young
man, dryly. “That’s quite an idea. Religion is a remarkably scarce
article at our house.”
“You’re joking, now.”
“How do you know I am? Didn’t you just warrant him for a preacher? Has
he been examined by any synod or council? Come, hand over your papers.”
If the trader had not been sure, by a certain good-humored twinkle in
the large eye, that all this banter was sure, in the long run, to turn
out a cash concern, he might have been somewhat out of patience; as it