Uncle Tom's Cabin
forgiveness, through which alone they are to conquer, which it is to be
their mission to spread over the continent of Africa.
“In myself, I confess, I am feeble for this,—full half the blood in my
veins is the hot and hasty Saxon; but I have an eloquent preacher of
the Gospel ever by my side, in the person of my beautiful wife. When I
wander, her gentler spirit ever restores me, and keeps before my eyes
the Christian calling and mission of our race. As a Christian patriot,
as a teacher of Christianity, I go to _my country_,—my chosen, my
glorious Africa!—and to her, in my heart, I sometimes apply those
splendid words of prophecy: ‘Whereas thou hast been forsaken and hated,
so that no man went through thee; _I_ will make thee an eternal
excellence, a joy of many generations!’
“You will call me an enthusiast: you will tell me that I have not well
considered what I am undertaking. But I have considered, and counted
the cost. I go to _Liberia_, not as an Elysium of romance, but as to _a
field of work_. I expect to work with both hands,—to work _hard_; to
work against all sorts of difficulties and discouragements; and to work
till I die. This is what I go for; and in this I am quite sure I shall
not be disappointed.
“Whatever you may think of my determination, do not divorce me from
your confidence; and think that, in whatever I do, I act with a heart
wholly given to my people.
“GEORGE HARRIS.”
George, with his wife, children, sister and mother, embarked for
Africa, some few weeks after. If we are not mistaken, the world will
yet hear from him there.
Of our other characters we have nothing very particular to write,
except a word relating to Miss Ophelia and Topsy, and a farewell
chapter, which we shall dedicate to George Shelby.
Miss Ophelia took Topsy home to Vermont with her, much to the surprise
of the grave deliberative body whom a New Englander recognizes under
the term “_Our folks_.” “Our folks,” at first, thought it an odd and
unnecessary addition to their well-trained domestic establishment; but,
so thoroughly efficient was Miss Ophelia in her conscientious endeavor
to do her duty by her _èléve_, that the child rapidly grew in grace and
in favor with the family and neighborhood. At the age of womanhood, she
was, by her own request, baptized, and became a member of the Christian
church in the place; and showed so much intelligence, activity and
zeal, and desire to do good in the world, that she was at last
recommended, and approved as a missionary to one of the stations in
Africa; and we have heard that the same activity and ingenuity which,
when a child, made her so multiform and restless in her developments,
is now employed, in a safer and wholesomer manner, in teaching the
children of her own country.
P.S.—It will be a satisfaction to some mother, also, to state, that
some inquiries, which were set on foot by Madame de Thoux, have
resulted recently in the discovery of Cassy’s son. Being a young man of
energy, he had escaped, some years before his mother, and been received
and educated by friends of the oppressed in the north. He will soon
follow his family to Africa.
CHAPTER XLIV
The Liberator
George Shelby had written to his mother merely a line, stating the day
that she might expect him home. Of the death scene of his old friend he
had not the heart to write. He had tried several times, and only
succeeded in half choking himself; and invariably finished by tearing
up the paper, wiping his eyes, and rushing somewhere to get quiet.
There was a pleased bustle all through the Shelby mansion, that day, in
expectation of the arrival of young Mas’r George.
Mrs. Shelby was seated in her comfortable parlor, where a cheerful
hickory fire was dispelling the chill of the late autumn evening. A
supper-table, glittering with plate and cut glass, was set out, on
whose arrangements our former friend, old Chloe, was presiding.
Arrayed in a new calico dress, with clean, white apron, and high,
well-starched turban, her black polished face glowing with
satisfaction, she lingered, with needless punctiliousness, around the
arrangements of the table, merely as an excuse for talking a little to
her mistress.
“Laws, now! won’t it look natural to him?” she said. “Thar,—I set his
plate just whar he likes it round by the fire. Mas’r George allers
wants de warm seat. O, go way!—why didn’t Sally get out de _best_
tea-pot,—de little new one, Mas’r George got for Missis, Christmas?
I’ll have it out! And Missis has heard from Mas’r George?” she said,
inquiringly.
“Yes, Chloe; but only a line, just to say he would be home tonight, if
he could,—that’s all.”
“Didn’t say nothin’ ’bout my old man, s’pose?” said Chloe, still
fidgeting with the tea-cups.
“No, he didn’t. He did not speak of anything, Chloe. He said he would
tell all, when he got home.”
“Jes like Mas’r George,—he’s allers so ferce for tellin’ everything
hisself. I allers minded dat ar in Mas’r George. Don’t see, for my
part, how white people gen’lly can bar to hev to write things much as
they do, writin’ ’s such slow, oneasy kind o’ work.”
Mrs. Shelby smiled.
“I’m a thinkin’ my old man won’t know de boys and de baby. Lor’! she’s
de biggest gal, now,—good she is, too, and peart, Polly is. She’s out
to the house, now, watchin’ de hoe-cake. I ’s got jist de very pattern
my old man liked so much, a bakin’. Jist sich as I gin him the mornin’
he was took off. Lord bless us! how I felt, dat ar morning!”
Mrs. Shelby sighed, and felt a heavy weight on her heart, at this
allusion. She had felt uneasy, ever since she received her son’s
letter, lest something should prove to be hidden behind the veil of
silence which he had drawn.
“Missis has got dem bills?” said Chloe, anxiously.
“Yes, Chloe.”
“‘Cause I wants to show my old man dem very bills de _perfectioner_
gave me. ‘And,’ say he, ‘Chloe, I wish you’d stay longer.’ ‘Thank you,
Mas’r,’ says I, ‘I would, only my old man’s coming home, and
Missis,—she can’t do without me no longer.’ There’s jist what I telled
him. Berry nice man, dat Mas’r Jones was.”
Chloe had pertinaciously insisted that the very bills in which her
wages had been paid should be preserved, to show her husband, in
memorial of her capability. And Mrs. Shelby had readily consented to
humor her in the request.
“He won’t know Polly,—my old man won’t. Laws, it’s five year since they
tuck him! She was a baby den,—couldn’t but jist stand. Remember how
tickled he used to be, cause she would keep a fallin’ over, when she
sot out to walk. Laws a me!”
The rattling of wheels now was heard.
“Mas’r George!” said Aunt Chloe, starting to the window.
Mrs. Shelby ran to the entry door, and was folded in the arms of her
son. Aunt Chloe stood anxiously straining her eyes out into the
darkness.
“O, _poor_ Aunt Chloe!” said George, stopping compassionately, and
taking her hard, black hand between both his; “I’d have given all my
fortune to have brought him with me, but he’s gone to a better
country.”
There was a passionate exclamation from Mrs. Shelby, but Aunt Chloe
said nothing.
The party entered the supper-room. The money, of which Chloe was so
proud, was still lying on the table.
“Thar,” said she, gathering it up, and holding it, with a trembling
hand, to her mistress, “don’t never want to see nor hear on ’t again.
Jist as I knew ’t would be,—sold, and murdered on dem ar’ old
plantations!”
Chloe turned, and was walking proudly out of the room. Mrs. Shelby
followed her softly, and took one of her hands, drew her down into a
chair, and sat down by her.
“My poor, good Chloe!” said she.
Chloe leaned her head on her mistress’ shoulder, and sobbed out, “O
Missis! ’scuse me, my heart’s broke,—dat’s all!”
“I know it is,” said Mrs. Shelby, as her tears fell fast; “and _I_
cannot heal it, but Jesus can. He healeth the broken hearted, and
bindeth up their wounds.”
There was a silence for some time, and all wept together. At last,
George, sitting down beside the mourner, took her hand, and, with
simple pathos, repeated the triumphant scene of her husband’s death,
and his last messages of love.
About a month after this, one morning, all the servants of the Shelby
estate were convened together in the great hall that ran through the
house, to hear a few words from their young master.
To the surprise of all, he appeared among them with a bundle of papers
in his hand, containing a certificate of freedom to every one on the
place, which he read successively, and presented, amid the sobs and
tears and shouts of all present.
Many, however, pressed around him, earnestly begging him not to send
them away; and, with anxious faces, tendering back their free papers.
“We don’t want to be no freer than we are. We’s allers had all we
wanted. We don’t want to leave de ole place, and Mas’r and Missis, and
de rest!”
“My good friends,” said George, as soon as he could get a silence,
“there’ll be no need for you to leave me. The place wants as many hands
to work it as it did before. We need the same about the house that we
did before. But, you are now free men and free women. I shall pay you
wages for your work, such as we shall agree on. The advantage is, that
in case of my getting in debt, or dying,—things that might happen,—you
cannot now be taken up and sold. I expect to carry on the estate, and
to teach you what, perhaps, it will take you some time to learn,—how to
use the rights I give you as free men and women. I expect you to be
good, and willing to learn; and I trust in God that I shall be
faithful, and willing to teach. And now, my friends, look up, and thank
God for the blessing of freedom.”
An aged, partriarchal negro, who had grown gray and blind on the
estate, now rose, and, lifting his trembling hand said, “Let us give
thanks unto the Lord!” As all kneeled by one consent, a more touching
and hearty _Te Deum_ never ascended to heaven, though borne on the peal
of organ, bell and cannon, than came from that honest old heart.
On rising, another struck up a Methodist hymn, of which the burden was,
“The year of Jubilee is come,—
Return, ye ransomed sinners, home.”
“One thing more,” said George, as he stopped the congratulations of the
throng; “you all remember our good old Uncle Tom?”
George here gave a short narration of the scene of his death, and of
his loving farewell to all on the place, and added,
“It was on his grave, my friends, that I resolved, before God, that I
would never own another slave, while it was possible to free him; that
nobody, through me, should ever run the risk of being parted from home
and friends, and dying on a lonely plantation, as he died. So, when you
rejoice in your freedom, think that you owe it to that good old soul,
and pay it back in kindness to his wife and children. Think of your
freedom, every time you see UNCLE TOM’S CABIN; and let it be a memorial
to put you all in mind to follow in his steps, and be honest and
faithful and Christian as he was.”
CHAPTER XLV
Concluding Remarks
The writer has often been inquired of, by correspondents from different
parts of the country, whether this narrative is a true one; and to
these inquiries she will give one general answer.
The separate incidents that compose the narrative are, to a very great
extent, authentic, occurring, many of them, either under her own
observation, or that of her personal friends. She or her friends have
observed characters the counterpart of almost all that are here
introduced; and many of the sayings are word for word as heard herself,
or reported to her.
The personal appearance of Eliza, the character ascribed to her, are
sketches drawn from life. The incorruptible fidelity, piety and
honesty, of Uncle Tom, had more than one development, to her personal