Pictures and Stories from Uncle Tom's Cabin

But all those pleasant days came to an end. Mr. Shelby lost his money, and got in debt to a man who dealt in slaves; for that debt he sold little Harry to him, and the rest of it was paid with poor Tom. Think what sad news that was for the cabin!

TOM AND HIS WIFE HAVE HEARD THAT HE IS SOLD

The work of the winter day is o'er,But Tom and his wife are weeping soreBeside the hearth, where you can't forgetHow the cakes were baked, and the copy set.Oh, never again will Tom be taught!From his master, by wicked trader bought;And he will carry poor Tom next day,From children, and wife, and home away.His home – It was low of roof and wall,But there had been room and love for all,The peace that waits on contented days,The voice of prayer and the hymn of praise.And Tom himself, he is black of skin,But, children, his soul is fair within,His life is good and his heart is brave,And yet they have sold him as a slave.The fire light shows on the lowly bed,Each dusky face, and each curly headOf his little children, sound asleep;Oh well may their poor tired mother weep!Now Tom is trying to soothe her woe:"Dear Chloe 'tis best that I should go,Our babes and you will live safely here,And I may be far, but God is near.""Yet think of me, love, when I am gone,And the days of the pleasant spring come on.Don't grieve, dear wife" – and his tears fell fast."You know we will meet in heaven at last."

Tom might have fled away, as Eliza did with Harry, but he took pity on Mr. Shelby for being in debt to the trader, and also feared that if he fled, his wife and children would be sold to pay it. Poor Chloe wept sore, and so did the boys, and all the negroes on the estate were very sorry to part with him. George Shelby was from home when Tom was sold, and knew nothing about the matter. But he returned that very day, and the moment he learned that Tom was gone, he saddled his horse and rode after him. When he came up to the waggon he sprang into it, and throwing his arms round Tom's neck, began sobbing and scolding most violently.

"I declare it's a shame! I don't care what they say, any of them. It's a nasty mean shame! If I was a man, they shouldn't do it," said George.

"Oh, Mas'r George! this does me good!" said Tom. "I couldn't bear to go off without seein' ye! It does me real good, ye can't tell!" Here Tom made some movement of his feet, and George's eyes fell on the fetters.

"What a shame!" he exclaimed, lifting his hands. "I'll knock that old fellow down – I will!"

"No, you won't, Mas'r George; and you must not talk so loud. It won't help me any, to anger him."

"Well, I won't, then, for your sake; but only to think of it – isn't it a shame? They never sent for me, nor sent me any word, and, if it hadn't been for Tom Lincoln, I shouldn't have heard it. I tell you, I blew them up well, all of them, at home."

"That wasn't right, I'm feared, Mas'r George."

"Can't help it! I say it's a shame! Look here, Uncle Tom," said he, turning his back to the rest of the party, and speaking in a mysterious tone, "I've brought you my dollar!"

"Oh, I couldn't think o' takin' it, Mas'r George, no ways in the world," said Tom, quite moved.

"But you shall take it," said George. "Look here; I told Aunt Chloe I'd do it, and she advised me just to make a hole in it, and put a string through, so you could hang it round your neck, and keep it out of sight, else this mean scamp would take it away. I tell ye, Tom, I want to blow him up! it would do me good."

"No, don't, Mas'r George, for it won't do me any good."

"Well, I won't, for your sake," said George, busily tying his dollar round Tom's neck; "but there, now, button your coat tight over it, and keep it, and remember, every time you see it, that I'll come down after you, and bring you back. Aunt Chloe and I have been talking about it. I told her not to fear; I'll see to it, and I'll tease father's life out if he don't do it."

"O, Mas'r George, ye mustn't talk so about your father! You must be a good boy; remember how many hearts is set on ye. Always keep close to yer mother. Don't be gettin' into them foolish ways boys has of gettin' too big to mind their mothers. Tell ye what, Mas'r George, the Lord gives good many things twice over; but he don't give ye a mother but once. Ye'll never see sich another woman, Mas'r George, if ye live to be a hundred years old. So, now, you hold on to her, and grow up, and be a comfort to her, thar's my own good boy – you will, now, won't ye?"

"Yes, I will, Uncle Tom," said George, seriously.

"And be careful of yer speaking, Mas'r George. Young boys, when they come to your age, is wilful, sometimes – it's natur they should be. But real gentlemen, such as I hopes you'll be, never lets fall no words that isn't respectful to thar parents. Ye an't offended, Mas'r George?"

"No indeed, Uncle Tom; you always did give me good advice."

"I's older, ye know," said Tom, stroking the boy's fine curly head with his large, strong hand, but speaking in a voice as tender as a woman's – "and I sees all that's bound up in you. O, Mas'r George, you has everything – larnin', privileges, readin', writin' – and you'll grow up to be a great, learned, good man, and all the people on the place, and your mother and father'll be so proud on ye! Be a good mas'r, like yer father; and be a Christian, like yer mother. Remember yer Creator in the days o' yer youth, Mas'r George. And now, Good-bye, Mas'r George," said Tom, looking fondly and admiringly at him. "God Almighty bless you!" Away George went, and Tom looked, till the clatter of his horse's heels died away, the last sound or sight of his home.

When the trader was disappointed in catching Harry, he put handcuffs on poor Tom to prevent his escape, and took him away in a waggon to a town, where he bought more slaves – children from their mothers, and husbands from their wives – some of them as black as Tom, and some nearly white, like Harry and his mother. Then he put them all on board of a steamboat going down the great river Mississippi. You will see on the map that it is one of the largest rivers in America. There are many towns on its banks, and steamboats go from one to another carrying goods and passengers; and the trader seeing that Tom was quiet and peaceable, took off the handcuffs, and allowed him to go about the steamboat helping the sailors, for Tom would help anybody. There were many people on board besides the negroes, and among them a rich gentleman called Mr. St. Clair. He was returning home from a visit to his relations, who lived in New England, and had with him his little daughter Eva, and his cousin Miss Feely. Eva had long yellow curls, and a fair, pretty face; better than that, she had the fear of God and the love of all goodness in her heart. Always cheerful, meek, and kindly, everybody loved Eva St. Clair, especially her father, for she was his only daughter. Tom saw her play about the steamboat, for they were days and nights on the voyage. Eva used to come close and look at him, when he sat thinking of Chloe and the children. The little one was shy, notwithstanding all her busy interest in everything going on, and it was not easy to tame her. But at last Tom and she 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. Clair," said the little one, "though papa and everybody else call me Eva. Now, what's your name?"

"My name's Tom; the little children used to call me Uncle Tom, away back thar in Kentucky."

"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 to, 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 she soon recovered.

Her father was much rejoiced, and Eva took such a liking for Tom, that she would not rest till the rich Mr. St. Clair had bought him from the trader; and the girl hoped that she would one day get her father coaxed to set him free. From that day Tom and Eva were great friends. The steamer brought them safely to New Orleans. The trader took all his slaves away to sell them in that town; and Tom was taken to Mr. St. Clair's fine house, where you see him and Eva. You may also see the doings of little Topsy, a poor negro child, whom Mr. St. Clair bought, and made a present of to his cousin Miss Feely.

EVA PUTTING A WREATH OF FLOWERS ROUND TOM'S NECK

Poor Tom is far from his cottage now,From his own good wife, and children three,Where coffee, and rice, and cedars grow,By a wide old river like the sea.And he has a master rich and kind,With all that his heart can well desire,But homeward still goes the negro's mind,To the curly heads by his cottage fire.He the gentle Eva's life did save,When over the great ship's side she fell,And brought her up from the drowning wave, —So Eva had grown to love him well.She will read to Tom for hours on hours,And sit with him on the grass all day;You see she is wreathing pretty flowers,About his neck, in her pleasant play.Different in colour and in yearsAre the negro man and that fair child's face;But a likeness in God's sight appears,For both are the children of his grace.

TOPSY AT THE LOOKING GLASS

See little Topsy at the glass quite gay,Her mistress has forgot the keys to-day,So she has rummaged every drawer, and dressedHerself out in Miss Feely's very best.Mark where she stands! the shawl of gorgeous redWound like a Turk's great turban round her head;A finer shawl far trailing on the floor,Just shews her bare black elbows, and no more.With what an air she flaunts the ivory fan,And tries to step as stately as she can,Mincing fine words to her own shadow, "Dear!How very ungenteel the folks are here!"But while that shadow only Topsy sees,Back comes the careful lady for her keys,And finds her in the grandeur all arrayed —Poor Topsy will be punished, I'm afraid.Now it is wrong, as every reader knows,To rummage people's drawers, and wear their clothes;But Topsy is a negro child, you see,Who never learned to read like you and me.A child whom bad men from her mother sold,Whom a harsh mistress used to cuff and scold,Whom no one taught or cared for all her days,No wonder that the girl had naughty ways.No home, no school, no Bible she had seen,How bless'd besides poor Topsy we have been!Yet boys and girls among ourselves, I've knownPuffed up with praise for merits not their own.The copy by some clever school-mate penned,The witty saying picked up from a friend,Makes many a miss and master look as fine,As if they coined the words or penned the line.But none can keep such borrowed plumes as these,For some one still comes back to find the keys,And so they are found out, it comes to pass,Just like poor Topsy at the looking-glass.

TOPSY BRINGING FLOWERS TO EVA

Poor Topsy, trying to be kind,Has brought a bunch of garden flowersTo Eva, when she lies reclinedThrough the bright summer's sultry hours.For sickness hangs on Eva now,She can no longer run or play,Her cheek is pale, her voice is low,And there she lies the livelong day.Yet Eva does not fear to die,She knows a better home remainsFor her, beyond the great blue sky,Where comes no sickness, tears, or pains.For in her happier days of healthShe read and prized her Bible true,Above this poor world's pride or wealth,And loved her blessed Saviour too.And she like him was kind to all,And pity on poor Topsy had,Because the rest would scold and callHer names, for being black and bad.So Eva strove to make her good,And told her, of all tales the best,How Christ came down to shed his blood,That sinners might be saved and blest.Poor Topsy tried to understand —None ever taught her so before —And brought the sweet flowers in her hand, —The negro girl could do no more.But Eva's proud mamma comes inWith scornful look and frown severe,She cries, "begone, you nasty thing!In all the world what brings you here?""Oh mother dear, let Topsy stay,"Says Eva in her gentle mood,"She brought such pretty flowers to-day,Indeed she's trying to be good.""I'm going fast, where there will beNo difference, but in sins forgiven,And mother it might chance that weWould bring poor Topsy flowers in heaven."

THE DEATH OF EVA

There is peace on Eva's wasted brow,And a soft light in her eye;But her father's heart grows hopeless now,For he knows that she must die.Yet the thought is kind and the trust is true,As she takes him by the hand, —Dear father I will look for youIn the light of God's own land."Oh let them cut the long, long curlsThat flow about my head,And let our poor kind negroes comeFor a moment round my bed."They have smoothed and stroked it many a dayIn their kindly sport, and care,And it may be they will think of meWhen they see that curling hair."The negroes loved her, young and old,With a fond and deep regard,For Eva's look was never sour,And her words were never hard.And her old nurse by the bedside stood,Sore sobbing in her woe,That so many sinners here should stay,And the good and young should go."Dear nurse," said Eva, "I go homeTo the happiest home of all;Where never an evil thing will come,And never a tear will fall."And I will hope each one to see,That blessed home within;Where Christ himself will set us freeFrom the bonds of death and sin."Oh, swift and sad were the tears that fell,As her gifts among them passed,And Tom, he got the first fair curl,And Topsy got the last.But first and last alike were given,With some words of love and prayer;And it may be, hearts were helped to heaven,By the links of that soft hair.

When Eva was dead and buried, Tom missed her sore, but he knew it was the will of God, and tried to comfort his master. Mr. St. Clair intended to set him free for Eva's sake. He was a kind man, but given to delay, and one day a wicked man stabbed him in a coffee-house, when he was trying to settle a quarrel. Mrs. St. Clair was a proud, hard-hearted woman, who cared for nobody but herself. She sold all the negroes, and Tom among them, to a cruel cotton planter, called Legree, and you shall see how he behaved.

LEGREE STRIKING TOM

Tom's good wife Chloe, far at home,And his boys so blythe and black,Are all working hard, in hopes to winThe dollars, to buy him back.And George, who taught him long ago,Has many a pleasant plan,To pay his price, and set him free.When he comes to be a man.But little does that wicked man,In his angry madness, know,That God himself will take accountOf each cruel word and blow.And children dear, who see him here,At night and morning pray,That you may never have aught like thisLaid up for the judgment day!

By the time all these things happened, George Shelby had grown up; but when he came to buy back Tom, the pious, kindly negro, had been so ill-treated by that cruel planter, because he tried to save the other slaves from his evil temper, that he lay dying in an old shed; and there was no law to punish the wicked planter, because Tom was black.

When George entered the shed where Tom lay, he felt his head giddy and his heart sick.

"Is it possible?" said he, kneeling down by him. "Uncle Tom, my poor, poor old friend!"

Something in the voice penetrated to the ear of the dying. He smiled, and said —

"Jesus can make a dying bedFeel soft as downy pillows are."

Tears fell from the young man's eyes as he bent over his poor friend.

"O, dear Uncle Tom! do wake – do speak once more! Look up. Here's Mas'r George – your own little Mas'r George. Don't you know me?"

"Mas'r George!" said Tom, opening his eyes, and speaking in a feeble voice – "Mas'r George!" He looked bewildered.

Slowly the idea seemed to fill his soul; and the vacant eye became fixed and brightened, the whole face lighted up, the hard hands clasped, and tears ran down the cheeks.

"Bless the Lord' it is – it is – it's all I wanted! They haven't forgot me. It warms my soul; it does my old heart good! Now I shall die content! Bless the Lord, O my soul!"

He began to draw his breath with long, deep aspirations; and his broad chest rose and fell heavily. The expression of his face was that of a conqueror.

"Who – who shall separate us from the love of Christ?" he said, in a voice that contended with mortal weakness; and with a smile he fell asleep.

Beyond the boundaries of the plantation George had noticed a dry, sandy knoll, shaded by a few trees; there they made a grave for poor Tom.

"Shall we take off the cloak, mas'r?" said the negroes, when the grave was ready.

"No, no; bury it with him. It's all I can give you now, poor Tom, and you shall have it."

They laid him in; and the men shovelled away silently. They banked it up, and laid green turf over it.

"You may go, boys," said George, slipping a quarter dollar into the hand of each. They lingered about, however.

"If young mas'r would please buy us," said one.

"We'd serve him so faithful!" said the other. "Do, mas'r, buy us, please!"

"I can't – I can't," said George, with difficulty, motioning them off; "it's impossible!"

The poor fellows looked dejected, and walked off in silence.

"Witness, eternal God," said George, kneeling on the grave of his poor friend – "O, witness that, from this hour, I will do what one man can to drive out this curse of slavery from my land!"

There is no monument to mark the last resting-place of poor Tom. He needs none. His Lord knows where he lies, and will raise him up immortal, to appear with Him when He shall appear in his glory.

LITTLE EVA SONG

UNCLE TOM'S GUARDIAN ANGEL

WORDS BY JOHN G. WHITTIER… MUSIC BY MANUEL EMILIO.

Dry the tears for holy Eva!With the blesséd angels leave her;Of the form so sweet and fair,Give to earth the tender care.For the golden locks of Eva,Let the sunny south land give herFlow'ry pillow of repose,Orange bloom and budding rose,Orange bloom and budding rose.All is light and peace with Eva;There the darkness cometh never;Tears are wiped, and fetters fall,And the Lord is all in all.Weep no more for happy Eva;Wrong and sin no more shall grieve her,Care, and pain, and weariness,Lost in love so measureless!Gentle Eva, loving Eva,Child confessor, true believer,Listener at the Master's knee,"Suffer such to come to me."O for faith like thine, sweet Eva,Lighting all the solemn river,And the blessing of the poor,Wafting to the heavenly shore.THE END