Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe

by Harriet Beecher Stowe

  In a very few days Topsy had learned how to do Miss Ophelia’s room perfectly, for she was very quick and clever. But if Miss Ophelia ever left her to do it by herself there was sure to be dreadful confusion.

  Instead of making the bed, she would amuse herself with pulling off the pillow-cases. Then she would butt her woolly head among the pillows, until it was covered with feathers sticking out in all directions. She would climb the bedpost, and hang head downwards from the top; wave the sheets and covers all over the room; dress the bolster up in Miss Ophelia’s nightgown and act scenes with it, singing, whistling, and making faces at herself in the looking-glass all the time.

  ‘Topsy,’ Miss Ophelia would say, when her patience was at an end, ‘what makes you behave so badly?’

  ‘Dunno, missis — I’spects’ cause I’s so wicked.’

  ‘I don’t know what I shall do with you, Topsy.’

  ‘Laws, missis, you must whip me. My old missis always did. I an’t used to workin’ unless I gets whipped.’

  So Miss Ophelia tried it. Topsy would scream and groan and implore. But half an hour later she would be sitting among the other little niggers belonging to the house, laughing about it. ‘Miss Feely whip!’ she would say, ‘she can’t do it nohow.’

  ‘Law, you niggers,’ she would go on, ‘does you know you’s all sinners? Well, you is; everybody is. White folks is sinners too — Miss Feely says so. But I ‘spects niggers is the biggest ones. But ye an’t any of ye up to me. I’s so awful wicked, there can’t nobody do nothin’ with me. I ‘spects I’s the wickedest crittur in the world.’ Then she would turn a somersault, and come up bright and smiling, evidently quite pleased with herself.

  CHAPTER XV

  EVA AND TOPSY

  Two or three years passed. Uncle Tom was still with Mr. St. Clare, far away from his home. He was not really unhappy. But always in his heart was the aching longing to see his dear ones again.

  Now he began to have a new sorrow. He loved his little mistress Eva very tenderly, and she was ill.

  He saw that she was growing white and thin. She no longer ran and played in the garden for hours together as she used to do. She was always tired now.

  Miss Ophelia noticed it too, and tried to make Mr. St. Clare see it. But he would not. He loved his little Eva so much, that he did not want to believe that anything could be the matter with her.

  Mrs. St. Clare never thought that any one, except herself, could be ill. So Eva grew daily thinner and weaker, and Uncle Tom and Aunt Ophelia more and more sad and anxious.

  But at last she became so unwell, that even Mr. St. Clare had to own that something was wrong, and the doctor was sent for.

  In a week or two she was very much better. Once more she ran about playing and laughing, and her father was delighted. Only Miss Ophelia and the doctor sighed and shook their heads. And little Eva herself knew; but she was not troubled. She knew she was going to God.

  ‘Papa’ she said one day, ‘there are some things I want to say to you. I want to say them now while I am able.’

  She seated herself on his knee, and laid her head on his shoulder.

  ‘It is all no use, papa, to keep it to myself any longer. The time is coming when I am going to leave you. I am going, never to come back’, and Eva sobbed.

  ‘Eva, darling, don’t say such things; you are better you know.’

  ‘No, papa, I am not any better. I know it quite well, and I am going soon.’

  ‘And I want to go,’ she went on, ‘only I don’t want to leave you — it almost breaks my heart.’

  ‘Don’t, Eva, don’t talk so. What makes you so sad?’

  ‘I feel sad for our poor people. I wish, papa, they were all free. Isn’t there any way to have all slaves made free?’

  ‘That is a difficult question, dearest. There is no doubt that this way is a very bad one. A great many people think so. I do myself. I wish there was not a slave in the land. But then, I don’t know what is to be done about it.’

  ‘Papa, you are such a good man, and so noble and kind. Couldn’t you go all around and try and persuade people to do right about this? When I am dead, papa, then you will think of me, and do it for my sake.’

  ‘When you are dead, Eva! Oh, child, don’t talk to me so.’

  ‘Promise me at least, father, that Tom shall have his freedom, as soon as I am gone.’

  ‘Yes, dear, I will do anything you wish. Only don’t talk so.’

  Miss Ophelia and Eva had been to church together. Miss Ophelia had gone to her room to take off her bonnet, while Eva talked to her father.

  Suddenly Mr. St. Clare and his little girl heard a great noise coming from Miss Ophelia’s room. A minute later she appeared, dragging Topsy behind her.

  ‘Come out here’ she was saying. ‘I will tell your master.’

  ‘What is the matter now?’ asked Mr. St. Clare.

  ‘The matter is that I cannot be plagued with this child any longer’ said Miss Ophelia. ‘It is past all bearing. Here, I locked her up, and gave her a hymn to learn. What does she do, but spy out where I put my key. She has gone to my wardrobe, taken a bonnet-trimming, and cut it all to pieces to make dolls’ jackets! I never saw anything like it in my life.’

  ‘I don’t know what to do’ she went on; ‘I have taught and taught. I have talked till I’m tired. I’ve whipped her. I’ve punished her in every way I can think of, and still she is as naughty as she was at first.’

  ‘Come here, Topsy, you monkey,’ said Mr. St. Clare.

  Topsy came, her hard, round eyes glittering and blinking, half in fear, half in mischief.

  ‘What makes you behave so?’ said Mr. St. Clare, who could not help being amused at her funny expression.

  ‘Spects it’s my wicked heart; Miss Feely says so.’

  ‘Don’t you see how much Miss Ophelia has done for you? She says she has done everything she can think of.’

  ‘Lor’, yes, mas’r! Old missis used to say so, too. She whipped me a heap harder, and used to pull my hair and knock my head agin the door. But it didn’t do me no good. I ‘spect if they is to pull every hair out o’ my head it wouldn’t do no good neither. I’s so wicked. Laws! I’s nothin’ but a nigger noways.’

  ‘I shall have to give her up,’ said Miss Ophelia. ‘I can’t have that trouble any longer.’

  Eva had stood silent, listening. Now she took Topsy by the hand, and led her into a little room close by.

  ‘What makes you so naughty, Topsy?’ she said, with tears in her eyes. ‘Why don’t you try to be good? Don’t you love anybody, Topsy?’

  ‘Dunno nothin’ ‘bout love. I love candy, that’s all.’

  ‘But you love your father and mother?’

  ‘Never had none, ye know. I telled ye that, Miss Eva.’

  ‘Oh, I forgot,’ said Eva sadly. ‘But hadn’t you any brother, or sister or aunt, or—’

  ‘No, none on ‘em. Never had nothin’ nor nobody.’

  ‘But, Topsy, if you would only try to be good you might—’

  ‘Couldn’t never be nothin’ but a nigger, if I was ever so good,’ said Topsy. ‘If I could be skinned, and come white, I’d try then.’

  ‘But people can love you, if you are black, Topsy. Miss Ophelia would love you if you were good.’

  Topsy laughed scornfully.

  ‘Don’t you think so?’ said Eva.

  ‘No. She can’t bear me, ‘cause I’m a nigger. She’d as soon have a toad touch her. There can’t nobody love niggers, and niggers can’t do nothin’. I don’t care,’ and Topsy began whistling to show that she didn’t.

  ‘Oh, Topsy! I love you,’ said Eva, laying her little, thin hand on Topsy’s shoulder. ‘I love you, because you haven’t had any mother, or father, or friends; because you have been a poor, ill-used child. I love you, and I want you to be good. It makes me sorry to have you so naughty. I wish you would try to be good for my sake, because I’m going to die soon. I shan’t be here very long.’

  Topsy’s round
, bright eyes grew suddenly dim with tears. She did believe at last that it was possible for some one to love her. She laid her head down between her knees and wept and sobbed.

  ‘Poor Topsy,’ said Eva gently.

  ‘Oh, Miss Eva, dear Miss Eva,’ cried the poor little black child, ‘I will try, I will try. I never did care nothin’ about it before.’

  CHAPTER XVI

  EVA’S LAST GOOD-BYE

  It soon became quite plain to everybody that Eva was very ill indeed. She never ran about and played now, but spent most of the day lying on the sofa in her own pretty room.

  Every one loved her, and tried to do things for her. Even naughty little Topsy used to bring her flowers, and try to be good for her sake.

  Uncle Tom was a great deal in Eva’s room. She used to get very restless, and then she liked to be carried about. He was so big and strong that he could do it very easily. He would walk about with her under the orange-trees in the garden, or sitting down on some of their old seats, would sing their favorite hymns.

  He loved to do it, and could not bear to be long away from his little mistress. He gave up sleeping in his bed, and lay all night on the mat outside her door.

  One day Eva made her aunt cut off a lot of her beautiful hair. Then she called all the slaves together, said good-bye to them, and gave them each a curl of her hair as a keepsake. They all cried very much, and said they would never forget her, and would try to be good for her sake.

  A few nights later Miss Ophelia came quickly to Tom, as he lay on the mat outside Eva’s door. ‘Go, Tom,’ she said, ‘go as fast as you can for the doctor.’

  Tom ran. But in the morning little Eva lay on her bed, cold and white, with closed eyes and folded hands.

  She had gone to God.

  Mr. St. Clare was very, very unhappy for a long time after Eva died. He had loved her so much, that now his life seemed quite empty without her.

  He did not forget his promise to her about Tom. He went to his lawyer, and told him to begin writing out the papers that would make Tom free. It took some time to make a slave free.

  ‘Well, Tom,’ said Mr. St. Clare the day after he had spoken to his Lawyer, ‘I’m going to make a free man of you. So have your trunk packed and get ready to set out for home.’

  Joy shone in Uncle Tom’s face. ‘Bless the Lord,’ he said, raising his hands to heaven.

  Mr. St. Clare felt rather hurt. He did not like Tom to be so glad to leave him.

  ‘You haven’t had such a very bad time here that you need be in such rapture, Tom,’ he said.

  ‘No, no, mas’r! tan’t that. It’s bein’ a free man! That’s what I’m joyin’ for.’

  ‘Why, Tom, don’t you think that you are really better off as you are?’

  ‘No, indeed, Mas’r St. Clare,’ said Tom, very decidedly; ‘no, indeed.’

  ‘But, Tom, you couldn’t possibly have earned by your work such clothes and such nice, comfortable rooms and good food as I have given you.’

  ‘I knows all that, Mas’r St. Clare. Mas’r has been too good. But, mas’r, I’d rather have poor clothes, poor house, poor everything, and have ’em mine than have the best, and have ’em any man’s else. I had so, mas’r. I thinks it’s nature, mas’r.’

  ‘I suppose so, Tom. You will be going off and leaving me, in a month or two,’ he said, rather discontentedly. ‘Though why you shouldn’t, I don’t know,’ he added, in a gayer voice.

  ‘Not while mas’r is in trouble,’ said Tom. ‘I’ll stay with mas’r as long as he wants me — so as I can be of any use.’

  ‘Not while I am in trouble, Tom?’ said Mr. St. Clare, looking sadly out of the window. ‘And when will my trouble be over?’ Then half-smiling he turned from the window, and laid his hand on Tom’s shoulder. ‘Ah, Tom, you soft, silly boy,’ he said. ‘I won’t keep you. Go home to your wife and children, and give them all my love.’

  ‘Cousin,’ said Miss Ophelia, coming into the room, ‘I want to speak to you about Topsy.’

  ‘What has she been doing now?’

  ‘Nothing; she is a much better girl than she used to be. But I want to ask you, whose is she — yours or mine?’

  ‘Why yours, of course; I gave her to you,’ said Mr. St. Clare.

  ‘But not by law. There is no use my trying to make this child a Christian, unless I can be quite sure that she will not be sold as a slave again. If you are really willing I should have her, I want you to give me a paper saying she is mine.’

  ‘But you think it is wicked to keep slaves. Now you want to have one of your own. Oh! shocking, cousin,’ said Mr. St. Clare, who loved to tease.

  ‘Nonsense! I only want to have her, so that I can set her free.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Mr. St. Clare, ‘I will write the paper for you.’ Then he sat down and began to read.

  ‘But I want it done now,’ said Miss Ophelia.

  ‘Why are you in such a hurry?’

  ‘Because now is the only time there ever is to do a thing in,’ said Miss Ophelia. ‘want to make sure of it. You may die or lose all your money. Then Topsy would be taken away and sold, in spite of anything I could say.’

  Mr. St. Clare hated being made to do things when he didn’t want to. However, after teasing his cousin a little more, he wrote out the paper, and Topsy belonged to Miss Ophelia. That evening Mr. St. Clare went out for a ride.

  Tom saw him go, and asked if he should come too. ‘No, my boy,’ said Mr. St. Clare, ‘I shall be back in an hour.’

  Tom sat down on the verandah to wait till his master came home. While he waited, he fell asleep.

  Presently he was awakened by loud knocking, and the sound of voices at the gate.

  He ran to open it.

  Several men were there carrying a load. It was Mr. St. Clare. He had been hurt in an accident, and was dying.

  Very gently they laid him on a sofa. Nothing could be done. In a short time he had gone to join his little Eva.

  CHAPTER XVII

  UNCLE TOM’S NEW MASTER

  There had been great grief in the house when Eva died. Now there was not only sorrow, but gloom and fear.

  The kind master was dead, and the poor slaves asked themselves in despair what would happen to them now.

  They were not long left in doubt. One morning Mrs. St. Clare told them that they were all to be sold. She was going back to her father’s house to live, and would not want them any more.

  Poor Uncle Tom! The news was a dreadful blow to him. For a few days he had been so happy in the thought of going home. Once more, after all these years, he thought he would see his dear wife and little children. Now, at one stroke, he had lost both his kind master and his hope of freedom.

  Instead of going home, he was to be sent farther away than ever from his dear ones. He could not bear it. He tried to say, “Thy will be done”, but bitter tears almost choked the words.

  He had one hope left. He would ask Miss Ophelia to speak to Mrs. St. Clare for him.

  ‘Mas’r St. Clare promised me my freedom, Miss Feely,’ he said. ‘He told me that he had begun to take it out for me. And now, perhaps, if you would be good enough to speak about it to missis, she would feel like going on with it. Seeing it was Mas’r St. Clare’s wish, she might.’

  ‘I’ll speak for you, Tom, and do my best,’ said Miss Ophelia. ‘I haven’t much hope, but I will try.’

  So Miss Ophelia asked Mrs. St. Clare to set Tom free.

  ‘Indeed, I shall do no such thing,’ she replied. ‘Tom is worth more than any of the other slaves. I couldn’t afford to lose so much money. Besides, what does he want with his freedom? He is a great deal better off as he is.’

  ‘But he does want it very much,’ replied Miss Ophelia. ‘And his master promised it to him.’

  ‘I dare say he does want it,’ replied Mrs. St. Clare. ‘They all want it. Just because they are a discontented set, always wanting what they haven’t got.’

  ‘But Tom is so good and gentle, and such a splendid worker. If yo
u sell him there is the chance of his getting a bad master.’

  ‘Oh, I have no fear about that. Most masters are good, in spite of all the talk people make about it,’ replied Mrs. St. Clare.

  ‘Well’, said Miss Ophelia at last, ‘I know it was one of the last wishes of your husband that Tom should have his freedom. He promised dear little Eva that he should have it. I think you ought to do it.’

  Then Mrs. St. Clare began to cry, and say every one was unkind to her, and Miss Ophelia saw it was no use saying anything more. There was only one other thing she could do. She wrote to Mrs. Shelby, telling her that poor Uncle Tom was going to be sold again. She asked her to send money to buy him back, as soon as possible.

  The next day, Uncle Tom and the other slaves belonging to Mr. St. Clare were sent to market to be sold.

  As Uncle Tom stood in the market-place, waiting for some one to buy him, he looked anxiously round. In the crowd of faces, he was trying to find one kind, handsome one, like Mr. St. Clare’s. But there was none.

  Presently a short, broad man, with a coarse, ugly face and dirty hands, came up to Tom. He looked him all over, pulled his mouth open and looked at his teeth, pinched his arms, made him walk and jump, and indeed treated him as he would a horse or cow he had wished to buy.

  Tom knew from the way this man looked and spoke, that he must be bad and cruel. He prayed in his heart that this might not be his new master. But it was. His name was Legree. He bought Uncle Tom, several other men slaves, and two women. One of the women was a pretty young girl, who had never been away from her mother before, and who was very much afraid of her new master. The other was an old woman. The two women were chained together. The men, Uncle Tom among them, had heavy chains put on both hands and feet. Then Legree drove them all on to a boat which was going up the river to his plantation.