Pictures and Stories from Uncle Tom's Cabin

Harriet Beecher Stowe

Pictures and Stories from Uncle Tom's Cabin

THIS LITTLE WORKIS DESIGNED TO ADAPTMRS. STOWE'S TOUCHING NARRATIVETO THE UNDERSTANDINGS OF THE YOUNGEST READERSAND TO FOSTER IN THEIR HEARTSA GENEROUS SYMPATHY FOR THEWRONGED NEGRO RACE OF AMERICA

The purpose of the Editor of this little Work, has been to adapt it for the juvenile family circle. The verses have accordingly been written by the Authoress for the capacity of the youngest readers, and have been printed in a large bold type. The prose parts of the book, which are well suited for being read aloud in the family circle, are printed in a smaller type, and it is presumed that in these our younger friends will claim the assistance of their older brothers or sisters, or appeal to the ready aid of their mamma.

January, 1853.

UNCLE TOM'S PICTURE BOOK

THE SALE OF LITTLE HARRY

Come read my book good boys and girlsThat live on freedom's ground,With pleasant homes, and parents dear,And blithesome playmates round;And you will learn a woeful tale,Which a good woman told,About the poor black negro race,How they are bought and sold.Within our own AmericaWhere these bad deeds are done,A father and a mother livedWho had a little son;As slaves, they worked for two rich men,Whose fields were fair and wide —But Harry was their only joy,They had no child beside.Now Harry's hair was thick with curlsAnd softly bright his eyes,And he could play such funny tricksAnd look so wondrous wise,That all about the rich man's houseWere pleased to see him play,Till a wicked trader buying slavesCame there one winter day.The trader and the rich man satTogether, at their wine,When in poor simple Harry slippedIn hopes of something fine.He shewed them how the dandy danced,And how old Cudjoe walked,Till loud they laughed and gave him grapes,And then in whispers talked.The young child knew not what they said,But at the open doorEliza, his poor mother, stood,With heart all sick and sore.Oh children dear, 'twas sad to hear,That for the trader's gold,To that hard-hearted evil manHer own sweet boy was sold.And he would take him far away,To where the cotton grew,And sell him for a slave to menMore hard and wicked too.She knew that none would heed his woe,His want, or sickness there,Nor ever would she see his face,Or hear his evening prayer.So when the house was all asleep,And when the stars were bright,She took her Harry in her arms,And fled through that cold night: —Away through bitter frost and snowDid that poor mother flee;And how she fared, and what befell,Read on, and you shall see.

Before setting out, Eliza took a piece of paper and a pencil, and wrote hastily the following note to her kind mistress, who had tried in vain to save little Harry from being sold: —

"Oh missus! dear missus! don't think me ungrateful; don't think hard of me. I am going to try to save my boy; you will not blame me! God bless and reward you for all your kindness!"

Hastily folding and directing this, she went to a drawer and made up a little package of clothing for her boy, which she tied firmly round her waist; and so fond is a mother's remembrance, that even in the terrors of that hour she did not forget to put up in the little package one or two of his favourite toys.

On the bed lay her slumbering boy, his long curls falling negligently around his unconscious face, his rosy mouth half open, his little fat hands thrown out over the bed-clothes, and a smile spread like a sunbeam over his whole face. "Poor boy! poor fellow!" said Eliza, "they have sold you, but your mother will save you yet."

It was some trouble to arouse the little sleeper; but after some effort he sat up, and began playing with his wooden bird, while his mother was putting on her bonnet and shawl.

"Where are you going, mother?" said he, as she drew near the bed with his little coat and cap.

His mother drew near, and looked so earnestly into his eyes, that he at once divined that something unusual was the matter.

"Hush, Harry," she said; "mustn't speak loud, or they will hear us. A wicked man was coming to take little Harry away from his mother, and carry him 'way off in the dark; but mother won't let him – she's going to put on her little boy's cap and coat, and run off with him, so the ugly man can't catch him."

Saying these words, she had tied and buttoned on the child's simple outfit, and taking him in her arms, she whispered to him to be very still; and, opening the door, she glided noiselessly out.

It was a sparkling, frosty, starlight night, and the mother wrapped the shawl close round her child, as, perfectly quiet with terror, he clung round her neck.

At first the novelty and alarm kept him waking; but after they had gone a considerable way, poor Harry said, as he found himself sinking to sleep —

"Mother I don't need to keep awake, do I?"

"No, my darling; sleep now, if you want to."

"But, mother, if I do get asleep, you won't let him get me?"

"No! so may God help me!" said his mother with a paler cheek, and a brighter light in her large dark eyes.

"You're sure, an't you, mother?"

"Yes, sure!" said the mother, in a voice that startled herself; for it seemed to her to come from a spirit within, that was no part of her; and the boy dropped his little weary head on her shoulder, and was soon asleep.

When morning came, as poor Harry complained of hunger and thirst, she sat down behind a large rock, which hid them from the road, and gave him a breakfast out of her little package. The boy wondered and grieved that she could not eat, and when putting his arms round her neck he tried to force some of his cake into her mouth, it seemed to her that the rising in her throat would choke her.

"No, no, Harry, darling! mother can't eat till you are safe! We must go on – on – till we come to the river." And she hurried again into the road and proceeded on her journey.

When the trader came to take away Harry, he was in a great rage, because neither the boy nor his mother could be found. The master who sold him was also very angry, and ordered two of his negroes, called Andy and Sam, to bring out two of the swiftest horses, and help the trader to pursue Eliza, and take Harry from her. Andy and Sam did not like that work, but being slaves, they dare not disobey. However, they did what they could to detain the trader; for, pretending to be in great haste, they squalled for this and that, and frightened the horses, till they ran off over hedges and ditches, with Andy and Sam after them, laughing till their sides ached as soon as they got out of sight. The trader all the while stood cursing and swearing, like a wicked man as he was.

When the horses were caught, they were so tired with their race, that he was fain to let them stay and rest till dinner-time. But when dinner-time came, Chloe the cook, of whom you will hear more in the course of the story, spilled one dish, kept another long in baking; and so the trader did not get his dinner till it was late in the afternoon.

The horses were brought out at last, and he set off with Sam and Andy in pursuit of poor Harry and his mother. They had gone a great way by this time, and Eliza's feet were sore with walking all the night and day, and Harry was ready to lie down and sleep on the snow. As the sun was setting, they came in sight of the great river Ohio. There was no bridge over it. People crossed in boats in the summer time, and in winter on the thick ice, with which it was always covered. Now it was the month of February. The ice had broken, because spring was near. The river was swollen over all its banks, and no boatman would venture on it. There was a little inn hard by, and there poor Eliza hoped to get a little rest for herself and Harry, who was now fast asleep in her arms. She had just sat down by the fire, when, who should ride into the yard but the trader and his guides. The swift horses had brought them much quicker than she and Harry could walk, but the weary mother would not lose her child. She darted out with him that moment, and the verses will tell you by what means she escaped.

ELIZA CROSSING THE RIVER

From her resting-place by the trader chased,Through the winter evening cold,Eliza came with her boy at last,Where a broad deep river rolled.Great blocks of the floating ice were there,And the water's roar was wild,But the cruel trader's step was near,Who would take her only child.Poor Harry clung around her neck,But a word he could not say,For his very heart was faint with fear,And with flying all that day.Her arms about the boy grew tight,With a loving clasp, and brave;"Hold fast! Hold fast, now, Harry dear,And it may be God will save."From the river's bank to the floating iceShe took a sudden bound,And the great block swayed beneath her feetWith a dull and heavy sound.So over the roaring rushing flood,From block to block she sprang,And ever her cry for God's good helpAbove the waters rang.And God did hear that mother's cry,For never an ice-block sank;While the cruel trader and his menStood wondering on the bank.A good man saw on the farther side,And gave her his helping hand;So poor Eliza, with her boy,Stood safe upon the land.A blessing on that good man's arm,On his house, and field, and store;May he never want a friendly handTo help him to the shore!A blessing on all that make such haste,Whatever their hands can do!For they that succour the sore distressed,Our Lord will help them too.

When the two negroes saw Eliza's escape, they began to laugh and cheer; on which the trader chased them with his horsewhip, cursing and swearing as usual. But he could not get over the river, and went in very bad temper to spend that night at the little inn, determined to get a boat, if possible, and catch Harry in the morning. The man who had helped Eliza up the river's bank, showed her a pretty white house at some distance, where a kind gentleman and his wife lived. The dark night had fallen, the tea-cups were on the table, and the fires were bright in kitchen and parlour, when the poor mother, all wet and weary, her feet cut by the sharp ice (for she had lost her shoes in the river), walked in, with Harry still in her arms. Before she could ask for shelter, she dropped down fainting on the floor. The good people of the house thought she was dead, and raised a terrible alarm. Mr. and Mrs. Bird ran into the kitchen to see what had happened. They were good, kind people, and great in that place, for Mr. Bird was a member of the American Parliament. He kept slaves himself, and tried to think it was no sin. He had even been trying that very night, in conversation with his wife, to defend a law lately passed, which forbade any one to give shelter to poor runaway slaves. But Mrs. Bird would listen to no defence of such a law, and said, "It is a shameful, wicked, and abominable law, and I'll break it for one the first time I have a chance, and I hope I shall have a chance too. I know nothing about politics, but I can read my Bible, and there I see that I must feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and comfort the desolate; and that Bible I mean to follow. No, no, John, said she, you may talk all night, but you would not do what you say. Would you now turn away a poor, shivering, hungry creature from your door because he was a runaway? Would you, now?"

Now, if the truth must be told, Mr. Bird was a very kind man, and could not in his heart give a very decided reply to his wife; and it was just at this moment that poor Eliza and little Harry came to his door. As we said, Mr. and Mrs. Bird ran to the kitchen to see what had happened. They found poor Eliza just recovering from her faint. She stared wildly round her for a moment, and then sprang to her feet, saying, "Oh! my Harry! have you got him?" The boy at this ran to her, and put his arms round her neck. "Oh! he's here, he's here!" she exclaimed. And then she cried wildly to Mrs. Bird, "O, ma'am, do protect us, don't let them get him!"

"Nobody shall hurt you here, poor woman," said Mrs. Bird. "You are safe; don't be afraid."

"God bless you," said the woman, covering her face and sobbing, while poor little Harry, seeing her crying, tried to get into her lap.

With many gentle and womanly offices which no one knew better how to render than Mrs. Bird, the poor woman was rendered more calm. A temporary bed was provided for her near the fire; and after a short time, Eliza, faint and weary with her long journey, fell into a heavy slumber, with little Harry soundly sleeping on her arm.

"I wonder who and what she is," said Mr. Bird, when he had gone back to the parlour with his wife.

"When she wakes and feels a little rested, we shall see," said Mrs. Bird, who began to busy herself with her knitting.

Mr. Bird took up a newspaper, and pretended to be reading it, but it was not long before he turned to his wife and said, "I say, wife, couldn't she wear one of your gowns; and there's that old cloak that you keep on purpose to put over me when I take my afternoon's nap, you might give her that; she needs clothes."

Mrs. Bird simply replied, "We'll see;" but a quiet smile passed over her face as she remembered the conversation they had had together that very night before Eliza and little Harry came to their door.

After an hour or two, Eliza awoke, and Mr. and Mrs. Bird again went to the kitchen. As they entered, poor Eliza lifted her dark eyes, and fixed them on Mrs. Bird, with such a forlorn and imploring expression, that the tears came into the kind-hearted woman's eyes.

"You need not be afraid of anything; we are friends here, poor woman! Tell me where you came from, and what you want?" said she.

"I came from Kentucky," said poor Eliza.

"And what induced you to run away?" said Mrs. Bird.

The woman looked up with a keen, scrutinising glance, and it did not escape her that Mrs. Bird was dressed in deep mourning.

"Ma'am," she said, suddenly, "have you ever lost a child?"

The question was unexpected, and it was a thrust on a new wound; for it was only a month since a darling child of the family had been laid in the grave.

Mr. Bird turned round and walked to the window, and Mrs. Bird burst into tears; but, recovering her voice, she said —

"Why do you ask that? I have lost a little one."

"Then you will feel for me. I have lost two, one after another – left them buried there when I came away; and I had only this one left. I never slept a night without him; he was all I had. He was my comfort and pride day and night; and, ma'am, they were going to take him away from me – to sell him – a baby that had never been away from his mother in his life! I couldn't stand it, ma'am. I knew I never should be good for anything if they did; and when I knew the papers were signed and he was sold, I took him and came off in the night, and they chased me – the man that bought him and some of master's folks, and they were coming down right behind me, and I heard them – I jumped right on to the ice, and how I got across I don't know, but first I knew a man was helping me up the bank."

"Crossed on the ice?" cried every one present.

"Yes," said poor Eliza, slowly. "I did, God helping me. I crossed on the ice, for they were behind me – right behind – and there was no other way!"

All around were affected to tears by Eliza's story.

Mr. Bird himself, to hide his feelings, had to turn away, and became particularly busy in wiping his spectacle-glasses and blowing his nose.

After a short pause, Mrs. Bird asked: —

"And where do you mean to go to, my poor woman?"

"To Canada if I only knew where that was. Is it very far off ma'am?" said she, looking up with a simple and confiding air to Mrs. Bird's face.

"Poor woman," said Mrs. Bird, "it is much further off than you think; but we will try to think what can be done for you. Here Dinah," said she to one of the servants, "make her up a bed in your own room close by the kitchen, and I'll think what to do for her in the morning. Meanwhile, never fear poor woman, put your trust in God, He will protect you."

Mrs. Bird and her husband re-entered the parlour. She sat down in her little rocking chair before the fire, swinging it thoughtfully to and fro. Mr. Bird strode up and down the room, grumbling to himself. At length, striding up to his wife, he said: —

"I say, wife, she'll have to get away from here this very night. That trader fellow will be down after her early to-morrow morning."

"To-night," said Mrs. Bird, "how is it possible – and where to?"

"Well, I know pretty well where to," said Mr. Bird, beginning to put on his boots. "I know a place where she would be safe enough, but the plague of the thing is, nobody could drive a carriage there to-night but me. The creek has to be crossed twice, and the second crossing is quite dangerous, unless one know it as I do. But never mind. I'll take her over myself. There is no help for it. I could not bear to see the poor woman caught."

"Thank you, thank you, dear John," said the wife, laying her white hand on his – "Could I ever have loved you had I not known you better than you do yourself?"

Off Mr. Bird set to see about the carriage, but at the door he stopped for a moment, and then coming back, he said, with a quivering voice, —

"Mary, I don't know how you'd feel about it, but there's the drawer full of things – of – of – poor little Henry's." So saying, he turned quickly on his heel, and shut the door after him.

His wife opened the little bedroom door adjoining her room, and taking the candle, set it down on the top of a bureau there; then from a small recess she took a key, and put it thoughtfully in the lock of a drawer, and made a sudden pause, while two boys, who, boy-like, had followed close on her heels, stood looking, with silent, significant glances, at their mother. And oh! mother that reads this, has there never been in your house a drawer, or a closet, the opening of which has been to you like the opening again of a little grave? Ah! happy mother that you are, if it has not been so!

Mrs. Bird slowly opened the drawer. There were little coats of many a form and pattern, piles of aprons, and rows of small stockings; and even a pair of little shoes, worn and rubbed at the toes, were peeping from the folds of a paper. There was a toy horse and waggon, a top, a ball – memorials gathered with many a tear and many a heartbreak! She sat down by the drawer, and leaning her head on her hands over it, wept till the tears fell through her fingers into the drawer; then suddenly raising her head, she began, with nervous haste, selecting the plainest and most substantial articles, and gathering them into a bundle.

"Mamma," said one of the boys, gently touching her arm, "are you going to give away those things?"

"My dear boys," she said, softly and earnestly, "if our dear, loving, little Henry looks down from heaven, he would be glad to have us do this. I could not find it in my heart to give them away to any common person – to anybody that was happy; but I give them to a mother more heart-broken and sorrowful than I am; and I hope God will send his blessings with them!"

Mr. Bird returned about twelve o'clock with the carriage. "Mary," said he, coming in with his overcoat in his hand, you must wake her up now. "We must be off." Soon arrayed in a cloak, bonnet, and shawl that had belonged to her benefactress, poor Eliza appeared at the door with her child in her arms. When she got seated in the carriage, she fixed her large dark eyes on Mrs. Bird's face, and seemed going to speak. Her lips moved, but there was no sound; pointing upward with a look never to be forgotten, she fell back in her seat and covered her face. The door was shut, and the carriage drove on.

It was not long before they arrived at the place where Mr. Bird thought they would be safe from the cruel trader. It was a village about seven miles off, consisting of neat houses, with orchards and meadows about them.

They all belonged to Quakers, a sect of Christians whom foolish people laugh at, because they think it right to wear broad-brimmed hats, and odd old-fashioned bonnets; but they do many good and charitable things, especially for the poor negroes, and one of them took Harry and his mother in.

I cannot tell all the kindness the Quaker and his family did to them, giving Harry such good things, and watching lest the trader should come that way; but the greatest joy of all was, one evening, when a tall strong man, called Phineas Fletcher, who was a Quaker, and a great traveller, guided to the village Harry's poor father, George. His master was going to sell him too, and he had run away, and searched everywhere for his wife and child, to take them with him to Canada, which you know belongs to England. Oh what a happy meeting that was between George, Eliza, and little Harry.

But they could not remain long with the kind Quakers. Their cruel pursuers had found out where they were hid, so they had all to set out again together. This time they were guided by the brave-hearted Phineas Fletcher, and hoped to reach Canada in safety. But their pursuers overtook them, and they had to run to the rocks to defend themselves, as the verses will tell.

THE DEFENCE

See Harry's poor father, with pistol in hand,How bravely he takes on the steep rock his stand,Over rivers, and forests, and towns he has passed,And found his Eliza and Harry at last.The kind Quaker folks that wear drab, brown, and gray,To the wanderers gave shelter and bread on their way,Their warm clothes were given them, their waggon was lent,And the strong-armed Phineas along with them went.Their hope was to journey to Canada's shore,Where the trader or master could reach them no more;For the English flag floats there, o'er land and o'er sea,And they knew in its shadow the negro was free.But far is their way through the slave-dealing land,And now on their track comes the trader's fierce band;So for refuge and rest to the rocks they have run,And the father will fight for his wife and his son.He fires on the first up the steep rock that springs,But the trader comes on, shouting all wicked things,Till Phineas right over the crag flings him clear,Saying, "Friend, in my mind thou hast no business here."Then off go the traders to find them more men,And off go the friends in their waggon again;But don't you wish well to the good man for life,Who would fight for his freedom, his child, and his wife?

After this, George and Eliza, with their little Harry, journeyed on, never stopping, except at the house of another kind friend, to disguise themselves before going on board the steamboat, which at last brought them safe to Canada.

ARRIVAL IN THE LAND OF FREEDOM

Look on the travellers kneeling,In thankful gladness, here,As the boat that brought them o'er the lake,Goes steaming from the pier.'Tis Harry, like a girl disguised,His mother, like a boy,But the father kneels beside them,And their hearts are full of joy.No man can buy or sell them,No trader chase them more,The land of freedom has been gained,The good Canadian shore.And they are strangers on the soil,As poor as poor can be,But the English flag above them floats,They know that they are free.

George got employment in a factory, and as he was active and clever in his work, he soon earned enough to take a pretty little house, where they all lived together. Harry grew older, and went to school, where he was a good boy, and never forgot how God had preserved him from the wicked trader, and what his poor mother had suffered to bring him away. His father, George, though he worked all day, was learning too from all sorts of good books, which he used to read by the fire in the evenings. He was ever thinking of the poor heathen kings in Africa, and the negroes they sold for slaves. So at last, when he had learned a great deal, he determined to become a missionary; and, with his wife and family, he embarked for Africa, where he still labours, teaching the poor negroes the glad tidings of the gospel.

WHO UNCLE TOM WAS

Now I must tell you something about Uncle Tom, from whom this book is named. He was a negro man, as black as jet, and a slave, belonging to Mr. Shelby, the rich man who at first owned Eliza and Harry. Mr. Shelby had a great estate, and many slaves to cultivate it, but they all loved and respected Tom, for he was a good Christian, and kind to everybody, on which account they used all to call him Uncle. Tom's master was kind to cabin or cottage hard by the rich man's house; it his slaves, and especially to Tom, because he was honest and careful with his property. Tom had a was built of logs cut from great trees; there was a garden in front, with beautiful flowers and strawberries in it; and climbing plants, so common in our country, twined along the walls. Tom had also a wife as black as himself; her name was Chloe, and she cooked for the Shelbys. You will remember how late she kept the trader's dinner when he wanted to pursue Eliza. They had two little sons, with very black faces and curly heads, and a little black baby just beginning to walk. Tom and his family were very happy in that cabin; the poor negroes used to gather there to hear Tom sing hymns and pray, for, as I said, he was a pious man, and the slaves had no other church to go to, for many people in America will not let negroes worship God with them. Mr. Shelby's son, a very clever boy, who had gained many prizes at school, liked Tom too, and used to come teach him to read and write in the evenings, and Tom had great hopes of being able to read the Bible at last. As Chloe was a cook she always contrived to have ready something very nice for Mr. George when he came to teach her goodman, and George would stand with one eye on Tom's copy, and another on the cake she prepared, while the boys and the baby played about them.