The Christian Slave: A Drama

by Harriet Beecher Stowe

  Aunt C. The good Lord hab pity on us! O, it don't seem like's if it was true! What has he done that mas'r should sell him?

  Eliza. He hasn't done anything--it is n't for that. Master don't want to sell, and missis --she's always good--I heard her plead and beg for us; but he told her't was no use--that he was in this man's debt, and that this man had got the power over him, and that if he did n't pay him off clear, it would end in his having to sell the place and all the people, and move off. Yes, I heard him say there was no choice between selling these two and selling all, the man was driving him so hard. Master said he was sorry; but, O missis! you ought to have heard her talk! If she an't a Christian and an angel, there never was one. I'm a wicked girl to leave her so; but then I can't help it. She said herself one soul was worth more than the world; and this boy has a soul, and if I let him be carried off, who knows what'll become of it? It must be right; but if it an't right, the Lord forgive me, for I can't help doing it!

  Aunt C. Well, ole man, why don't you go too? Will you wait to be toted down river, whar dey kill niggers wid hard work and starving? I'd a heap rather fur to die than go dar, any day! Dere's time for ye; be off with Lizy--you've got a pass to come and go any time. Come, bustle up, and I'll get your things together.

  Uncle T. No, no; I an't going. Let Eliza go; it's her right. I wouldn't be the one to say no. 'T an't in natur for her to stay; but you heard what she said! If I must be sold, or all the people on the place, and everything go to rack, why, let me be sold. I s'pose I can b'ar it as well as any on 'em. [Sobbing.] Mas'r always found me on the spot--he always will. I never have broke trust, nor used my pass noways contrary to my word, and I never will. It's better for me alone to go, than to break up the place and sell all. Mas'r an't to blame, Chloe; and he'll take care of you and the poor--[Covers his face with his hands.]

  Eliza. And now, I saw my husband only this afternoon, and I little knew then what was to come. They have pushed him to the very last standing place, and he told me to-day he was going to run away. Do try, if you can, to get word to him. Tell him how I went, and why I went; and tell him I'm going to try and find Canada. You must give my love to him, and tell him, if I never see him again [turning away, and speaking agitatedly], tell him to be as good as he can, and try and meet me in the kingdom of heaven. Call Bruno in there. Shut the door on him, poor beast! He must n't go with me!

  [Exit.]

  SCENE IV.--Lawn before the house.

  BLACK SAM solus. Sam. It's an ill wind dat blow nowhar--dat ar a fact. Yes, it's an ill wind blows nowhar. Now, dar, Tom's down--wal, course der's room for some nigger to be up; and why not dis nigger?--dat's de idee. Tom, a ridin' round de country--boots blacked--pass in his pocket--all grand as Cuffee; but who he? Now, why should n't Sam?--dat's what I want to know.

  Enter ANDY, shouting. Andy. Halloo, Sam! O Sam! Mas'r wants you to cotch Bill and Jerry.

  Sam. High! what's afoot now, young un?

  Andy. Why, you don't know, I s'pose, that Lizy's cut stick, and clared out, with her young un?

  Sam. You teach your granny! knowed it a heap sight sooner than you did. Dis nigger ain't so green, now.

  Andy. Well, anyhow, mas'r wants Bill and Jerry geared right up; and you and I's to go with Mas'r Haley, to look arter her.

  Sam. Good, now! dat's de time o' day! It's Sam dat's called for in dese yer times. He's de nigger. See if I don't cotch her, now; mas'r'll see what Sam can do!

  Andy. Ah! but Sam, you'd better think twice; for missis don't want her cotched, and she'll be in yer wool.

  Sam. High! how you know dat ar?

  Andy. Heard her say so, my own self, dis blessed mornin', when I bring in mas'r's shaving water. She sent me to see why Lizy did n't come to dress her; and when I telled her she was off, she jest riz up, and ses she, "The Lord be praised!" And mas'r he seemed rael mad, and ses he, "Wife, you talk like a fool!" But, Lor! she'll bring him to! I knows well enough how that'll be--it's allers best to stand missis' side the fence, now I tell yer.

  Sam. [Scratching his head.] Der an't no sayin'--never--'bout no kind o' thing in dis yer world. Now, sartin I'd a said that missis would a scoured the varsal world after Lizy.

  Andy. So she would; but can't ye see through a ladder, ye black nigger? Missis don't want dis yer Mas'r Haley to get Lizy's boy, dat's de go.

  Sam. High!

  Andy. And I'll tell ye what, Sam, ye'd better be makin' tracks for dem hosses--mighty sudden too; mas'r's in a grand hurry.

  Sam. Andy, chile, you go cotch 'em--you's a mighty good boy, Andy--and bring 'em long quick.

  Mrs. Shelby. [Calling from the balcony.] Sam! Sam!

  Sam. Andy! don't ye hear, ye nigger? be off quick, and bring the critturs up, and I'll go and 'scuse us to missis--dat ar takes dis chile to do.

  Mrs. S. [From the balcony.] Sam! what have you been loitering so for?

  Sam. Lord bless you, missis! hosses won't be cotched all in a minnit; they'd done clared out way down to the south pasture, and the Lord knows whar!

  Mrs. S. Sam, how often must I tell you not to say "Lord bless you," and "the Lord knows," and such things? It's wicked.

  Sam. O, Lord bless my soul! I done forgot, missis! I won't say nothing of de sort no more.

  Mrs. S. Why, Sam, you just have said it again.

  Sam. Did I? O Lord! I mean--I did n't go fur to say dar ar.

  Mrs. S. You must be careful, Sam.

  Sam. Jest let me get my breath, missis, and I'll start fair. I'll be wery careful.

  Mrs. S. Well, Sam, you are to go with Mr. Haley, to show him the road, and help him. Be careful of the horses, Sam; you know Jerry was a little lame last week; don't ride them too fast.

  Sam. Let dis chile alone for dat! Lord knows! High! did n't say dat! Yes, missis, I'll look out fur de hosses.

  SCENE V.--The Lawn before the house.

  Enter SAM and ANDY with the horses. Andy. Here dey is!

  [Fastens them to a post.] Sam. Here, now, Andy--see dis?

  [Holding up a beech-nut.] Andy. Laws! what?

  Sam. Look here! [Slips it under the saddle.] Soh!

  Andy. Why Sam!

  Sam. An't I a hoss!--ku! ku!--[Strokes the horse.]--Skeery are ye? I'll fix ye--Ku! [Poking Andy in the side.] Now, Andy, chile, I's gwine to be 'structin' ye in yer duties. Ye see, by'm-bye, when dat ar grand gentleman comes to be gettin' up, I would n't be't all surprised if this yer critter should gib a fling. Ye know, Andy, critters will do sich things. K u! ku!

  Andy. High ah!

  Sam. Yes, you see, Andy, missis wants to make time,--dat ar's clar to der most or'nary 'bserver. I jis make a little for her. Now, ye see, get all dese yer hosses loose, caperin' permiscus round dis yer lot and down to de wood dar, and I spec mas'r won't be off in a hurry.

  Andy. Ku! ku! ku!

  Sam. Yer see, Andy, if any such thing should happen as that Mas'r Haley's horse should begin to act contrary, and cut up, you and I jist let's go of our 'n to help him; and we'll help him--O yes!

  Enter HALEY, booted and spurred, with large riding-whip. Haley. Well, boys, look alive now; we must lose no time.

  Sam. Not a bit of him, mas'r.

  [HALEY mounts, and is instantly thrown. The horses run away. SAM and ANDY chasing, waving their hats and shouting, followed by all the neg ro children. HALEY retires to the parlor.]

  SCENE VI.--The Stable-yard.

  Enter SAM and ANDY, leading the horses, covered with foam. Sam. [Panting.] Did yer see him, Andy?--did yer see him? O, Lor, if it war n't as good as a meetin', now, to see him a dancin' and kickin' and swarin' at us. Did n't I hear him? Swar away, ole fellow, ses I; will yer have yer hoss now, or wait till you cotch him? ses I. Lor, Andy, I think I can see him now.

  Sam and Andy. Ha ha ha! he he he! hi hi hi! ho ho ho!

  Sam. Yer oughter seen how mad he looked, when I brought the hoss up. Lor, he'd a killed me, if he durs' to; and there I was a standin' as innercent and as humble.

  Andy. Lor, I seed you; an't you an old hoss
, Sam?

  Sam. Rather 'spects I am. Did yer see missis upstars at the winder? I seed her laughin'.

  Andy. I'm sure, I was racin' so, I did n't see nothing.

  Sam. Well, yer see, I's 'quired what yer may call a habit o' bobservation, Andy. It's a very 'portant habit, Andy, and I 'commend yer to be cultivatin' it, now yer young. Hist up that hind foot, Andy. Yer see, Andy, it's bobservation makes all de difference in niggers. Did n't I see which way the wind blew dis yer mornin'? Didn't I see what Missis wanted, though she never let on? Dat ar's bobservation, Andy. I 'spects it's what you may call a faculty. Faculties is different in different peoples, but cultivation of 'em goes a great way.

  Andy. I guess if I had n't helped yer bobservation dis mornin', yer would n't have see yet way so smart.

  Sam. Andy, you's a promisin' child, der an't no manner o' doubt. I thinks lots of yer, Andy; and I don't feel no ways ashamed to take idees from you. We oughtenter overlook nobody, Andy, 'cause the smartest on us gets tripped up sometimes. And so, Andy, let's go up to the house now. I'll be boun' missis 'll give us an uncommon good bite dis yer time.

  SCENE VII.--The Road.

  Enter HALEY, SAM and ANDY, mounted. Haley. Your master, I s'pose, don't keep no dogs?

  Sam. Heaps on 'em; that's Bruno-- he's a roarer! and, besides that, 'bout every nigger of us keeps a pup of some natur' or uther.

  Haley. Ho! But your master don't keep no dogs--I pretty much know he don't--for trackin' out niggers?

  Sam. Our dogs all smells round considerable sharp. I 'spect the's the kind, though they ha' n't never had no practice. The's far dogs, though, at most anything, if you'd get 'em started. Here, Bruno! [Whistling.]

  Haley. Bruno be -------!

  Sam. Lor, Mas'r Haley, don't see no use, cursin on 'em, nuther!

  Haley. [Smothering his anger.] Take the straight road to the river. I know the way of all of 'em--they make tracks for the underground.

  Sam. Sartin, dat's de idee. Mas'r Haley hits de things right in de middle. Now, der's two roads to de river--de dirt road and der pike--which mas'r mean to take?

  Andy. Dat am fact.

  Sam. 'Cause, I'd rather be 'clined to 'magine that Lizy'd take de dirt road, bein' it's the least travelled.

  Andy. I tink so too.

  Haley. [Contemplatively.] If yet war n't both on yer such cussed liars, now!

  Sam. Course, mas'r can do as he'd ruther; go de straight road, if mas'r think best--it's all one to us. Now, when I study 'pon it, I think de straight road de best, decidedly.

  Haley. She would naturally go a lonesome way

  Sam. Dar an't no sayin'; gals is pecular. They never does nothin' ye thinks they will; mose gen'lly the contrar. Gals is nat'lly made contrary; and so, if you thinks they've gone one road, it is sartin you'd better go t'other, and then you'll be sure to find 'em. Now, my private 'pinion is, Lizy took der dirt road; so I think we'd better take de straight one.

  Haley. On the whole, I shall take the dirt road. How far is it?

  Sam. A little piece ahead [winking to Andy]; but I've studded on de matter, and I'm quite clar we ought not to go dat ar way. I nebber been over it no way. It's despit lonesome, and we might lose our way--whar we'd come to, de Lord only knows.

  Haley. Nevertheless, I shall go that way.

  Sam. Now I think on't, I think I hearn 'em tell dat ar road was all fenced up and down by der creek, and that; an't it, Andy.

  Andy. Dunno 'zackly. So I hearn tell.

  Sam. Its despit rough and bad for Jerry's lame foot, mas'r.

  Haley. Now, I jest give yer warning, I know yer; yer won't get me to turn off this yer road, with all yer fussin'--so you shet up!

  Sam. Mas'r will go his own way!

  [Exeunt.]

  SCENE VIII.--The Parlor.

  Enter SAM and ANDY below, horseback. MRS. SHELBY from the window. Mrs. Shelby. Is that you, Sam? Where are they?

  Sam. Mas'r Haley's a-restin' at the tavern; he's drefful fatigued, missis.

  Mrs. S. And Eliza, Sam?

  Sam. Wal, she's clar 'cross Jordan. As a body may say, in the land o' Canaan.

  Mrs. S. Why Sam, what di you mean?

  Sam. Wal, missis, de Lord he persarves his own. Lizy's done gone over the river into 'Hio, as 'markably as if the Lord took her over in a charrit of fire and two hosses.

  Enter MR. SHELBY. Mr. S. Come up here, Sam, and tell your mistress what she wants. Come, come, Emily, you are cold are all in a shiver; you allow yourself to feel too much.

  Mrs. S. Feel too much! Am I not a woman--a mother? Are we not both responsible to God for this poor girl? My God, lay not this sin to our charge!

  Mr. S. What sin, Emily? You see yourself that we have only done what we were obliged to.

  Mrs. S. There's an awful feeling of guilt about it, though. I can't reason it away.

  Enter SAM from below. Mr. S. Now, Sam, tell us distinctly how the matter was. Where is Eliza, if you know?

  Sam. Wal, mas'r, I saw her, with my own eyes, a crossin' on the floatin' ice. She crossed most 'markably; it wasn't no less nor a miracle; and I saw a man help her up the 'Hio side, and then she was lost in the dusk.

  Mr. S. Sam, I think this rather apocryphal--this miracle. Crossing on floating ice is n't so easily done.

  Sam. Easy! couldn't nobody a done it, without de Lord. Why, now, 't was jist dis yer way. Mas'r Haley, and me, and Andy, we comes up to de little tavern by the river, and I rides a leetle ahead--(I's so zealous to be a cotchin' Lizy, that I could n't hold in, no way)--and when I comes by the tavern winder, sure enough there she was, right in plain sight, and dey diggin' on behind. Wal, I loses off my hat, and sings out nuff to raise the dead. Course Lizy she hars, and she dodges back, when Mas'r Haley he goes past the door; and then, I tell ye, she clared out de side door; she went down de river bank; Mas'r Haley he seed her, and yelled out, and him, and me, and Andy, we took arter. Down she came to the river, and tha r was the current running ten feet wide by the shore, and over t' other side ice a sawin' and a jiggling up and down, kinder as 't were a great island. We come right behind her, and I thought my soul he'd got her sure enough--when she gin sich a screech as I never hearn, and thar she was, clar over t' other side of the current, on the ice, a nd then on she went, a screechin' and a jumpin'--the ice went crack! c'wallop! chunk! and she a boundin' like a buck! Lord, the spring that ar gal's got in her an't common, I'm o' 'pinion.

  Mrs. S. God be praised, she is n't dead! But where is the poor child now?

  Sam. De Lord will pervide. As I've been a sayin', dis yer 's a providence and no mistake, as missis has allers been a instructin' on us. Thar's allers instruments ris up to do de Lord's will. Now, if 't hadn't been for me to-day, she'd a been took a dozen times. Warn't it I started off de hosses, dis yer morning', and kept 'em chasin' till nigh dinner time? And didn't I car Mas'r Haley night five miles out of de road, dis evening? or else he'd a come up with Lizy as easy as a dog arter a coon. These yer's all providences.

  Mr. S. They are the kind of providences that you 'll have to be pretty sparing of, Master Sam. I allow no such practices with gentlemen on my place.

  Sam. Mas'r quite right--quite; it was ugly on me, there's no disputin' that ar; and of course mas'r and missis wouldn't encourage no such works. I'm sensible of dat ar; but a poor nigger like me 's 'mazin' tempted t o act ugly sometimes, when fellers will cut up such shines as dat ar Mas'r Haley; he an't no gen'l'man no way; anybody's been raised as I've been can't help a seein' dat ar.

  Mrs. S. Well, Sam, as you appear to have a proper sense of your errors, you may go now and tell Aunt Chloe she may get you some of that cold ham that was left of dinner to-day. You and Andy must be hungry.

  Sam. Missis is a heap too good for us.

  SCENE IX. SAM and ANDY at Table. AUNT CHLOE and all the negroes surrounding in admiration.

  Sam. [Flourishing a greasy bone.] Yer see, fellow-countrymen, yer see, now, what dis yer chile's up ter, for fendin' yer al,--yes, all on yer. For him as tries to ge
t one o' our people is as good as tryi n' to get all; yer see the principle's de same--dat ar's clar. And any one o' these yer drivers that comes smelling round arter any our people, why, he's got me in his way; I'm the feller he's got to set in with--I'm the feller for yer all to come to, bredren--I'll stand up for yer rights--I'll fend 'em to the last breath!

  Andy. Why, but Sam, yer telled me, only this mornin' that you'd help this yer mas'r fur to cotch Lizy; seems to me yer talk don't hang together, mun.

  Sam. I tell you now, Andy, don't yer be a talkin' 'bout what yer don't know nothin' on; boys like you, Andy, means well, but they can't be 'spected to collusitate the great principles of action. Dat ar was conscience , Andy; when I thought of gwine arter Lizy, I railly spected mas'r was sot dat way. When I found Missis was sot the contrar, dat ar was conscience more yet--cause fellers allers gets more by stickin' to missis' side--so yer see I 's persistent either way, and sticks up to conscience, and holds on to principles. Yes, principles, what's principles good for, if we isn't persistent, I wanter know? Thar, Andy, you may have dat ar bone--tan't picked quite clean. Dis yer matter 'bout persistence, feller-niggers, dis yer 'sistency 's a thing what an't seed into very clar, by most anybody. Now, yer see, when a feller stands up for a thing one day, and right de contrar de next, folks ses (and nat'rally enough dey ses), why he an't persistent--hand me dat ar bit o' corn-cake, Andy. But let's look inter it. I hope the gen'lmen and der fair sex will scuse my usin' an or'nary sort o' 'parison. Here! I'm a trying to get top o' der hay. Wal, I puts up my larder dis yer side; 'tan't no go; den, 'cause I don't try dere no more, but puts my larder right de contrar side, an't I persistent? I'm persistent in wanting to get up which ary side my larder is; don't you see, all on yer?

  Aunt C. It's the only thing ye ever was persistent in, Lord knows. [Aside.]

  Sam. Yes, indeed! Yes, my feller-citizens and ladies of de other sex in general, I has principles, I has--I 'm proud fur to 'oon 'em--they 's perquisite to dese yer times, and ter all times. I has principles, and I sticks to 'em like forty--jest anything that I thinks is principle, I goes in to 't; I would n't mind if dey burnt me 'live, I'd walk right up to de stake, I would, and say, Here I comes to shed my last blood fur my principles, fur my country, fur de gen'l interests of society.