The work of the winter day is o'er,
But Tom and his wife are weeping sore
Beside the hearth, where you can't forget
How 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.
[Illustration: TOM AND HIS WIFE HAVE HEARD THAT HE IS SOLD.
The fire-light shows on the lowly bed,
Each dusky face, and each curly head
Of his little children, sound asleep;
Oh well may their poor tired mother weep!]
The fire light shows on the lowly bed,
Each dusky face, and each curly head
Of 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.