Uncle Tom's Cabin
“Singing lessons, hey?—you _are_ coming on.”
“Yes, he sings for me, and I read to him in my Bible; and he explains
what it means, you know.”
“On my word,” said Marie, laughing, “that is the latest joke of the
season.”
“Tom isn’t a bad hand, now, at explaining Scripture, I’ll dare swear,”
said St. Clare. “Tom has a natural genius for religion. I wanted the
horses out early, this morning, and I stole up to Tom’s cubiculum
there, over the stables, and there I heard him holding a meeting by
himself; and, in fact, I haven’t heard anything quite so savory as
Tom’s prayer, this some time. He put in for me, with a zeal that was
quite apostolic.”
“Perhaps he guessed you were listening. I’ve heard of that trick
before.”
“If he did, he wasn’t very polite; for he gave the Lord his opinion of
me, pretty freely. Tom seemed to think there was decidedly room for
improvement in me, and seemed very earnest that I should be converted.”
“I hope you’ll lay it to heart,” said Miss Ophelia.
“I suppose you are much of the same opinion,” said St. Clare. “Well, we
shall see,—shan’t we, Eva?”
CHAPTER XVII
The Freeman’s Defence
There was a gentle bustle at the Quaker house, as the afternoon drew to
a close. Rachel Halliday moved quietly to and fro, collecting from her
household stores such needments as could be arranged in the smallest
compass, for the wanderers who were to go forth that night. The
afternoon shadows stretched eastward, and the round red sun stood
thoughtfully on the horizon, and his beams shone yellow and calm into
the little bed-room where George and his wife were sitting. He was
sitting with his child on his knee, and his wife’s hand in his. Both
looked thoughtful and serious and traces of tears were on their cheeks.
“Yes, Eliza,” said George, “I know all you say is true. You are a good
child,—a great deal better than I am; and I will try to do as you say.
I’ll try to act worthy of a free man. I’ll try to feel like a
Christian. God Almighty knows that I’ve meant to do well,—tried hard to
do well,—when everything has been against me; and now I’ll forget all
the past, and put away every hard and bitter feeling, and read my
Bible, and learn to be a good man.”
“And when we get to Canada,” said Eliza, “I can help you. I can do
dress-making very well; and I understand fine washing and ironing; and
between us we can find something to live on.”
“Yes, Eliza, so long as we have each other and our boy. O! Eliza, if
these people only knew what a blessing it is for a man to feel that his
wife and child belong to _him_! I’ve often wondered to see men that
could call their wives and children _their own_ fretting and worrying
about anything else. Why, I feel rich and strong, though we have
nothing but our bare hands. I feel as if I could scarcely ask God for
any more. Yes, though I’ve worked hard every day, till I am twenty-five
years old, and have not a cent of money, nor a roof to cover me, nor a
spot of land to call my own, yet, if they will only let me alone now, I
will be satisfied,—thankful; I will work, and send back the money for
you and my boy. As to my old master, he has been paid five times over
for all he ever spent for me. I don’t owe him anything.”
“But yet we are not quite out of danger,” said Eliza; “we are not yet
in Canada.”
“True,” said George, “but it seems as if I smelt the free air, and it
makes me strong.”
At this moment, voices were heard in the outer apartment, in earnest
conversation, and very soon a rap was heard on the door. Eliza started
and opened it.
Simeon Halliday was there, and with him a Quaker brother, whom he
introduced as Phineas Fletcher. Phineas was tall and lathy, red-haired,
with an expression of great acuteness and shrewdness in his face. He
had not the placid, quiet, unworldly air of Simeon Halliday; on the
contrary, a particularly wide-awake and _au fait_ appearance, like a
man who rather prides himself on knowing what he is about, and keeping
a bright lookout ahead; peculiarities which sorted rather oddly with
his broad brim and formal phraseology.
“Our friend Phineas hath discovered something of importance to the
interests of thee and thy party, George,” said Simeon; “it were well
for thee to hear it.”
“That I have,” said Phineas, “and it shows the use of a man’s always
sleeping with one ear open, in certain places, as I’ve always said.
Last night I stopped at a little lone tavern, back on the road. Thee
remembers the place, Simeon, where we sold some apples, last year, to
that fat woman, with the great ear-rings. Well, I was tired with hard
driving; and, after my supper I stretched myself down on a pile of bags
in the corner, and pulled a buffalo over me, to wait till my bed was
ready; and what does I do, but get fast asleep.”
“With one ear open, Phineas?” said Simeon, quietly.
“No; I slept, ears and all, for an hour or two, for I was pretty well
tired; but when I came to myself a little, I found that there were some
men in the room, sitting round a table, drinking and talking; and I
thought, before I made much muster, I’d just see what they were up to,
especially as I heard them say something about the Quakers. ‘So,’ says
one, ‘they are up in the Quaker settlement, no doubt,’ says he. Then I
listened with both ears, and I found that they were talking about this
very party. So I lay and heard them lay off all their plans. This young
man, they said, was to be sent back to Kentucky, to his master, who was
going to make an example of him, to keep all niggers from running away;
and his wife two of them were going to run down to New Orleans to sell,
on their own account, and they calculated to get sixteen or eighteen
hundred dollars for her; and the child, they said, was going to a
trader, who had bought him; and then there was the boy, Jim, and his
mother, they were to go back to their masters in Kentucky. They said
that there were two constables, in a town a little piece ahead, who
would go in with ’em to get ’em taken up, and the young woman was to be
taken before a judge; and one of the fellows, who is small and
smooth-spoken, was to swear to her for his property, and get her
delivered over to him to take south. They’ve got a right notion of the
track we are going tonight; and they’ll be down after us, six or eight
strong. So now, what’s to be done?”
The group that stood in various attitudes, after this communication,
were worthy of a painter. Rachel Halliday, who had taken her hands out
of a batch of biscuit, to hear the news, stood with them upraised and
floury, and with a face of the deepest concern. Simeon looked
profoundly thoughtful; Eliza had thrown her arms around her husband,
and was looking up to him. George stood with clenched hands and glowing
eyes, and looking as any other man might look, whose wife was to be
sold at auction, and son sent to a trader, all under the shelter of a
Christian nation’s laws.
“What _shall_ we do, George?” said Eliza faintly.
“I know what _I_ shall do,” said George, as he stepped into the little
room, and began examining pistols.
“Ay, ay,” said Phineas, nodding his head to Simeon; “thou seest,
Simeon, how it will work.”
“I see,” said Simeon, sighing; “I pray it come not to that.”
“I don’t want to involve any one with or for me,” said George. “If you
will lend me your vehicle and direct me, I will drive alone to the next
stand. Jim is a giant in strength, and brave as death and despair, and
so am I.”
“Ah, well, friend,” said Phineas, “but thee’ll need a driver, for all
that. Thee’s quite welcome to do all the fighting, thee knows; but I
know a thing or two about the road, that thee doesn’t.”
“But I don’t want to involve you,” said George.
“Involve,” said Phineas, with a curious and keen expression of face,
“When thee does involve me, please to let me know.”
“Phineas is a wise and skilful man,” said Simeon. “Thee does well,
George, to abide by his judgment; and,” he added, laying his hand
kindly on George’s shoulder, and pointing to the pistols, “be not over
hasty with these,—young blood is hot.”
“I will attack no man,” said George. “All I ask of this country is to
be let alone, and I will go out peaceably; but,”—he paused, and his
brow darkened and his face worked,—“I’ve had a sister sold in that New
Orleans market. I know what they are sold for; and am I going to stand
by and see them take my wife and sell her, when God has given me a pair
of strong arms to defend her? No; God help me! I’ll fight to the last
breath, before they shall take my wife and son. Can you blame me?”
“Mortal man cannot blame thee, George. Flesh and blood could not do
otherwise,” said Simeon. “Woe unto the world because of offences, but
woe unto them through whom the offence cometh.”
“Would not even you, sir, do the same, in my place?”
“I pray that I be not tried,” said Simeon; “the flesh is weak.”
“I think my flesh would be pretty tolerable strong, in such a case,”
said Phineas, stretching out a pair of arms like the sails of a
windmill. “I an’t sure, friend George, that I shouldn’t hold a fellow
for thee, if thee had any accounts to settle with him.”
“If man should _ever_ resist evil,” said Simeon, “then George should
feel free to do it now: but the leaders of our people taught a more
excellent way; for the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of
God; but it goes sorely against the corrupt will of man, and none can
receive it save they to whom it is given. Let us pray the Lord that we
be not tempted.”
“And so _I_ do,” said Phineas; “but if we are tempted too much—why, let
them look out, that’s all.”
“It’s quite plain thee wasn’t born a Friend,” said Simeon, smiling.
“The old nature hath its way in thee pretty strong as yet.”
To tell the truth, Phineas had been a hearty, two-fisted backwoodsman,
a vigorous hunter, and a dead shot at a buck; but, having wooed a
pretty Quakeress, had been moved by the power of her charms to join the
society in his neighborhood; and though he was an honest, sober, and
efficient member, and nothing particular could be alleged against him,
yet the more spiritual among them could not but discern an exceeding
lack of savor in his developments.
“Friend Phineas will ever have ways of his own,” said Rachel Halliday,
smiling; “but we all think that his heart is in the right place, after
all.”
“Well,” said George, “isn’t it best that we hasten our flight?”
“I got up at four o’clock, and came on with all speed, full two or
three hours ahead of them, if they start at the time they planned. It
isn’t safe to start till dark, at any rate; for there are some evil
persons in the villages ahead, that might be disposed to meddle with
us, if they saw our wagon, and that would delay us more than the
waiting; but in two hours I think we may venture. I will go over to
Michael Cross, and engage him to come behind on his swift nag, and keep
a bright lookout on the road, and warn us if any company of men come
on. Michael keeps a horse that can soon get ahead of most other horses;
and he could shoot ahead and let us know, if there were any danger. I
am going out now to warn Jim and the old woman to be in readiness, and
to see about the horse. We have a pretty fair start, and stand a good
chance to get to the stand before they can come up with us. So, have
good courage, friend George; this isn’t the first ugly scrape that I’ve
been in with thy people,” said Phineas, as he closed the door.
“Phineas is pretty shrewd,” said Simeon. “He will do the best that can
be done for thee, George.”
“All I am sorry for,” said George, “is the risk to you.”
“Thee’ll much oblige us, friend George, to say no more about that. What
we do we are conscience bound to do; we can do no other way. And now,