XCLASSICS UNCLE TOMS CABIN EB

Harriet Beecher Stowe

• Publisher: William Collins
• Year: 2012
• Print ISBN: 9780007902262
• eBook ISBN: 9780007480807
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Classics
• Index: Literature

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'One thing is certain, – that there is a mustering among the masses, the world over; and there is a dis irae coming on, sooner or later.'

Viewed by many as fuelling the abolitionist movement of the 1850s and laying the groundwork for the Civil War, Harriet Beecher Stowe's sentimental and moral tale of slaves attempting to secure their freedom was one of the most popular books of the nineteenth century. Centred round the long-suffering Uncle Tom, a devout Christian slave who endures cruelty and abuse from his owners, Tom is often celebrated as the first black hero in American fiction who refuses to obey his white masters. With other strong protagonists such as Eliza, a courageous slave who flees to the North with her son when she learns that he is to be sold, Beecher Stowe highlighted the plight of southern slaves and the breaking up of black families. Not without its controversy, more recent criticism has suggested that the novel contributed negatively to the stereotyping of the black community.

CHAPTER 1


In Which the Reader is Introduced to a Man of Humanity

Late in the afternoon of a chilly day in February, two gentlemen were sitting alone over their wine, in a well-furnished dining-parlour, in the town of P—, in Kentucky. There were no servants present, and the gentlemen, with chairs closely approaching, seemed to be discussing some subject with great earnestness.

For convenience’ sake, we have said, hitherto, two gentlemen. One of the parties, however, when critically examined, did not seem, strictly speaking, to come under the species. He was a short, thick-set man, with coarse, commonplace features and that swaggering air of pretension which marks a low man who is trying to elbow his way upward in the world. He was much overdressed, in a gaudy vest of many colours, a blue neckerchief, bedropped gaily with yellow spots, and arranged with a flaunting tie, quite in keeping with the general air of the man. His hands, large and coarse, were plentifully bedecked with rings; and he wore a heavy gold watch-chain, with a bundle of seals of portentous size, and a great variety of colours, attached to it—which, in the ardour of conversation, he was in the habit of flourishing and jingling with evident satisfaction. His conversation was in free and easy defiance of Murray’s Grammar, and was garnished at convenient intervals with various profane expressions, which not even the desire to be graphic in our account shall induce us to transcribe.

His companion, Mr. Shelby, had the appearance of a gentleman; and the arrangements of the house, and the general air of the housekeeping, indicated easy, and even opulent, circumstances. As we before stated, the two were in the midst of an earnest conversation.

“That is the way I should arrange the matter,” said Mr. Shelby.

“I can’t make trade that way—I positively can’t, Mr. Shelby,” said the other, holding up a glass of wine between his eye and the light.

“Why, the fact is, Haley, Tom is an uncommon fellow; he is certainly worth that sum anywhere—steady, honest, capable, manages my whole farm like a clock.”

“You mean honest, as niggers go,” said Haley, helping himself to a glass of brandy.

“No; I mean, really, Tom is a good, steady, sensible, pious fellow. He got religion at a camp meeting, four years ago; and I believe he really did get it. I’ve trusted him, since then, with everything I have—money, house, horses—and let him come and go round the country; and I always found him true and square in everything.”

“Some folks don’t believe there is pious niggers, Shelby,” said Haley, with a candid flourish of his hand, “but I do. I had a fellow, now, in this yer last lot I took to Orleans—’twas as good as a meetin’, now, really, to hear that critter pray; and he was quite gentle and quiet like. He fetched me a good sum, too, for I bought him cheap of a man that was ’bliged to sell out; so I realised six hundred on him. Yes, I consider religion a valeyable thing in a nigger, when it’s the genuine article, and no mistake.”

“Well, Tom’s got the real article, if ever a fellow had,” rejoined the other. “Why, last fall, I let him go to Cincinnati alone, to do business for me, and bring home five hundred dollars. ‘Tom,’ says I to him, ‘I trust you, because I think you are a Christian—I know you wouldn’t cheat.’ Tom comes back, sure enough; I knew he would. Some low fellows, they say, said to him, ‘Tom, why don’t you make tracks for Canada?’ ‘Ah, master trusted me, and I couldn’t’—they told me about it. I am sorry to part with Tom, I must say. You ought to let him cover the whole balance of the debt; and you would, Haley, if you had any conscience.”

“Well, I’ve got just as much conscience as any man in business can afford to keep—just a little, you know, to swear by, as ’twere,” said the trader, jocularly; “and, then, I’m ready to do anything in reason to ’blige friends; but this yer, you see, is a leetle too hard on a fellow—a leetle too hard.” The trader sighed contemplatively, and poured out some more brandy.

“Well, then, Haley, how will you trade?” said Mr. Shelby, after an uneasy interval of silence.

“Well, haven’t you a boy or gal that you could throw in with Tom?”

“Hum—none that I could well spare; to tell the truth, it’s only hard necessity makes me willing to sell at all. I don’t like parting with any of my hands, that’s a fact.”

Here the door opened, and a small quadroon boy, between four and five years of age, entered the room. There was something in his appearance remarkably beautiful and engaging. His black hair, fine as floss silk, hung in glossy curls about his round, dimpled face, while a pair of large dark eyes, full of fire and softness, looked out from beneath the rich, long lashes, as he peered curiously into the apartment. A gay robe of scarlet and yellow plaid, carefully made and neatly fitted, set off to advantage the dark and rich style of his beauty; and a certain comic air of assurance, blended with bashfulness, showed that he had been not unused to being petted and noticed by his master.

“Hullo, Jim Crow!” said Mr. Shelby, whistling, and snapping a bunch of raisins toward him, “pick that up, now!”

The child scampered, with all his little strength, after the prize, while his master laughed.

“Come here, Jim Crow,” said he. The child came up, and the master patted the curly head, and chucked him under the chin.

“Now, Jim, show this gentleman how you can dance and sing.” The boy commenced one of those wild, grotesque songs common among the negroes, in a rich, clear voice, accompanying his singing with many evolutions of the hands, feet, and whole body, all in perfect time to the music.

“Bravo!” said Haley, throwing him a quarter of an orange.

“Now, Jim, walk like old Uncle Cudjoe when he has the rheumatism,” said his master.

Instantly the flexible limbs of the child assumed the appearance of deformity and distortion, as, with his back humped up, and his master’s stick in his hand, he hobbled about the room, his childish face drawn into a doleful pucker, and spitting from right to left, in imitation of an old man.

Both gentlemen laughed uproariously.

“Now, Jim,” said his master, “show us how old elder Robbins leads the psalm.” The boy drew his chubby face down to a formidable length, and commenced toning a psalm tune through his nose, with imperturbable gravity.

“Hurrah! bravo! what a young un!” said Haley; “that chap’s a case, I’ll promise. Tell you what,” said he, suddenly slapping his hand on Mr. Shelby’s shoulder, “fling in that chap and I’ll settle the business—I will. Come, now, if that an’t doing the thing up about the rightest!”

At this moment, the door was pushed gently open, and a young quadroon woman, apparently about twenty-five, entered the room.

There needed only a glance from the child to her, to identify her as its mother. There was the same rich, full, dark eye, with its long lashes; the same ripples of silky black hair. The brown of her complexion gave way on the cheek to a perceptible flush, which deepened as she saw the gaze of the strange man fixed upon her in bold and undisguised admiration. Her dress was of the neatest possible fit, and set off to advantage her finely-moulded shape; a delicately-formed hand, and a trim foot and ankle were items of appearance that did not escape the quick eye of the trader, well used to run up at a glance the points of a fine female article.

“Well, Eliza?” said her master, as she stopped and looked hesitatingly at him.

“I was looking for Harry, please, sir;” and the boy bounded toward her, showing his spoils, which he had gathered in the skirt of his robe.

“Well, take him away, then,” said Mr. Shelby; and hastily the withdrew, carrying the child on her arm.

“By Jupiter!” said the trader, turning to him in admiration, “there’s an article, now! You might make your fortune on that ar gal in Orleans, any day. I’ve seen over a thousand, in my day, paid down for gals not a bit handsomer.”

“I don’t want to make my fortune on her,” said Mr. Shelby dryly; and, seeking to turn the conversation, he uncorked a bottle of fresh wine, and asked his companion’s opinion of it.

“Capital, sir—first chop!” said the trader; then turning, and slapping his hand familiarly on Shelby’s shoulder, he added:—

“Come, how will you trade about the gal?—what shall I say for her—what’ll you take?”

“Mr. Haley, she is not to be sold,” said Shelby. “My wife would not part with her for her weight in gold.”

“Ay, ay! women always say such things, ’cause they han’t no sort of calculation. Just show ’em how many watches, feathers, and trinkets one’s weight in gold would buy, and that alters the case, I reckon.”

“I tell you, Haley, this must not be spoken of; I say no, and I mean no,” said Shelby decidedly.

“Well, you’ll let me have the boy, though,” said the trader; “you must own I’ve come down pretty handsomely for him.”

“What on earth can you want with the child?” said Shelby.

“Why, I’ve got a friend that’s going into this yer branch of the business—wants to buy up handsome boys to raise for the market. Fancy articles entirely—sell for waiters, and so on, to rich uns, that can pay for handsome uns. It sets off one of yer great places—a real handsome boy to open door, wait, and tend. They fetch a good sum; and this little devil is such a comical, musical concern, he’s just the article.”

“I would rather not sell him,” said Mr. Shelby thoughtfully; “the fact is, sir, I’m a humane man, and I hate to take the boy from his mother, sir.”

“Oh, you do? La!—yes, something of that ar natur. I understand, perfectly. It is mighty onpleasant getting on with women, sometimes. I al’ays hates these yer screechin’, screamin’ times. They are mighty onpleasant; but, as I manages business, I generally avoids ’em, sir. Now, what if you get the girl off for a day, or a week, or so; then the thing’s done quietly—all over before she comes home. Your wife might get her some earrings, or a new gown, or some such truck, to make up with her.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Lor bless ye, yes! These critters an’t like white folks, you know; they gets over things, only manage right. Now, they say,” said Haley, assuming a candid and confidential air, “that this kind o’ trade is hardening to the feelings; but I never found it so. Fact is, I never could do things up the way some fellers manage the business. I’ve seen ’em as would pull a woman’s child out of her arms, and set him up to sell, and she screechin’ like mad all the time; very bad policy—damages the article—makes ’em quite unfit for service sometimes. I knew a real handsome gal once, in Orleans, as was entirely ruined by this sort o’ handling. The fellow that was trading for her didn’t want her baby; and she was one of your real high sort, when her blood was up. I tell you, she squeezed up her child in her arms, and talked, and went on real awful. It kinder makes my blood run cold to think on’t, and when they carried off the child, and locked her up, she just went ravin’ mad, and died in a week. Clear waste, sir, of a thousand dollars, jest for want of management—there’s where ’tis. It’s always best to do the humane thing, sir; that’s been my experience.” And the trader leaned back in his chair, and folded his arms with an air of virtuous decision, apparently considering himself a second Wilberforce.

The subject appeared to interest the gentleman deeply; for while Mr. Shelby was thoughtfully peeling an orange, Haley broke out afresh, with becoming diffidence, but as if actually driven by the force of truth to say a few words more.

“It don’t look well, now, for a feller to be praisin’ himself; but I say it jest because it’s the truth. I believe I’m reckoned to bring in about the finest droves of niggers that is brought in—at least, I’ve been told so; if I have once, I reckon I have a hundred times, all in good case—fat and likely; and I lose as few as any man in the business. And I lays it all to my management, sir; and humanity, sir, I may say, is the great pillar of my management.”

Mr. Shelby did not know what to say, and so he said “Indeed!”

“Now, I’ve been laughed at for my notions, sir, and I’ve been talked to. They an’t pop’lar, and they an’t common; but I’ve stuck to ’em, sir; I’ve stuck to ’em and realised well on ’em; yes, sir, they have paid their passage, I may say,” and the trader laughed at his joke.

There was something so piquant and original in these elucidations of humanity that Mr. Shelby could not help laughing in company. Perhaps you laugh, too, dear reader; but you know humanity comes out in a variety of strange forms nowadays, and there is no end to the odd things that humane people will say and do.

Mr. Shelby’s laugh encouraged the trader to proceed.

“It’s strange, now, but I never could beat this into people’s heads. Now, there was Tom Loker, my old partner, down in Natchez; he was a clever fellow, Tom was, only the very devil with niggers—on principle ’twas, you see, for a better-hearted fellow never broke bread; ’twas his system, sir. I used to talk to Tom. ‘Why, Tom,’ I used to say, ‘when your gals take on and cry, what’s the use o’ crackin’ on ’em over the head, and knockin’ on ’em round? It’s ridiculous,’ says I, ‘and don’t do no sort o’ good. Why, I don’t see no harm in their cryin’,’ says I; ‘it’s natur,’ says I, ‘and if natur can’t blow off one way, it will anothe...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Contents
• Chapter 1: In Which the Reader is Introduced to a Man of Humanity
• Chapter 2: The Mother
• Chapter 3: The Husband and Father
• Chapter 4: An Evening in Uncle Tom’s Cabin
• Chapter 5: Showing the Feelings of Living Property on Changin’ Owners
• Chapter 6: Discovery
• Chapter 7: The Mother’s Struggle
• Chapter 8: Eliza’s Escape
• Chapter 9: In Which IT Appears that a Senator is But a Man
• Chapter 10: The Property is Carried Off
• Chapter 11: In Which Property Gets into an Improper State of Mind
• Chapter 12: Select Incident of Lawful Trade
• Chapter 13: The Quaker Settlement
• Chapter 14: Evangeline
• Chapter 15: Of Tom’s New Master, and Various Other Matters
• Chapter 16: Tom’s Mistress and Her Opinions
• Chapter 17: The Freeman’s Defence
• Chapter 18: Miss Ophelia’s Experiences and Opinions
• Chapter 19: Miss Ophelia’s Experiences and Opinions—Continued
• Chapter 20: Topsy
• Chapter 21: Kentuck
• Chapter 22: “The Grass Withereth—The Flower Fadeth.”
• Chapter 23: Henrique
• Chapter 24: Foreshadowings
• Chapter 25: The Little Evangelist
• Chapter 26: Death
• Chapter 27: “This is the Last of Earth.”—John Q. Adams
• Chapter 28: Reunion
• Chapter 29: The Unprotected
• Chapter 30: The Slave Warehouse
• Chapter 31: The Middle Passage
• Chapter 32: Dark Places
• Chapter 33: Cassy
• Chapter 34: The Quadroon’s Story
• Chapter 35: The Tokens
• Chapter 36: Emmeline and Cassy
• Chapter 37: Liberty
• Chapter 38: The Victory
• Chapter 39: The Stratagem
• Chapter 40: The Martyr
• Chapter 41: The Young Master
• Chapter 42: An Authentic Ghost Story
• Chapter 43: Results
• Chapter 44: The Liberator
• Chapter 45: Concluding Remarks
• Classic Literature: Words and Phrases Adapted from the Collins English Dictionary
• About the Author
• History of Collins
• Copyright
• About the Publisher