The February morning looked gray and drizzling through the window ofUncle Tom's cabin. It looked on downcast faces, the images of mournfulhearts. The little table stood out before the fire, covered with anironing-cloth; a coarse but clean shirt or two, fresh from the iron,hung on the back of a chair by the fire, and Aunt Chloe had anotherspread out before her on the table. Carefully she rubbed and ironedevery fold and every hem, with the most scrupulous exactness, every nowand then raising her hand to her face to wipe off the tears that werecoursing down her cheeks.

Tom sat by, with his Testament open on his knee, and his head leaningupon his hand;--but neither spoke. It was yet early, and the childrenlay all asleep together in their little rude trundle-bed.

Tom, who had, to the full, the gentle, domestic heart, which woe forthem! has been a peculiar characteristic of his unhappy race, got up andwalked silently to look at his children.

"It's the last time," he said.

Aunt Chloe did not answer, only rubbed away over and over on the coarseshirt, already as smooth as hands could make it; and finally setting heriron suddenly down with a despairing plunge, she sat down to the table,and "lifted up her voice and wept."

"S'pose we must be resigned; but oh Lord! how ken I? If I know'danything whar you 's goin', or how they'd sarve you! Missis says she'lltry and 'deem ye, in a year or two; but Lor! nobody never comes up thatgoes down thar! They kills 'em! I've hearn 'em tell how dey works 'em upon dem ar plantations."

"There'll be the same God there, Chloe, that there is here."

"Well," said Aunt Chloe, "s'pose dere will; but de Lord lets dreffulthings happen, sometimes. I don't seem to get no comfort dat way."

"I'm in the Lord's hands," said Tom; "nothin' can go no furder than helets it;--and thar's _one_ thing I can thank him for. It's _me_that's sold and going down, and not you nur the chil'en. Here you'resafe;--what comes will come only on me; and the Lord, he'll help me,--Iknow he will."

Ah, brave, manly heart,--smothering thine own sorrow, to comfort thybeloved ones! Tom spoke with a thick utterance, and with a bitterchoking in his throat,--but he spoke brave and strong.

"Let's think on our marcies!" he added, tremulously, as if he was quitesure he needed to think on them very hard indeed.

"Marcies!" said Aunt Chloe; "don't see no marcy in 't! 'tan't right!tan't right it should be so! Mas'r never ought ter left it so that ye_could_ be took for his debts. Ye've arnt him all he gets for ye, twiceover. He owed ye yer freedom, and ought ter gin 't to yer years ago.Mebbe he can't help himself now, but I feel it's wrong. Nothing can'tbeat that ar out o' me. Sich a faithful crittur as ye've been,--andallers sot his business 'fore yer own every way,--and reckoned on himmore than yer own wife and chil'en! Them as sells heart's love andheart's blood, to get out thar scrapes, de Lord'll be up to 'em!"

"Chloe! now, if ye love me, ye won't talk so, when perhaps jest the lasttime we'll ever have together! And I'll tell ye, Chloe, it goes agin meto hear one word agin Mas'r. Wan't he put in my arms a baby?--it's naturI should think a heap of him. And he couldn't be spected to think somuch of poor Tom. Mas'rs is used to havin' all these yer things done for'em, and nat'lly they don't think so much on 't. They can't be spectedto, no way. Set him 'longside of other Mas'rs--who's had the treatmentand livin' I've had? And he never would have let this yer come on me, ifhe could have seed it aforehand. I know he wouldn't."

"Wal, any way, thar's wrong about it _somewhar_," said Aunt Chloe, inwhom a stubborn sense of justice was a predominant trait; "I can't jestmake out whar 't is, but thar's wrong somewhar, I'm _clar_ o' that."

"Yer ought ter look up to the Lord above--he's above all--thar don't asparrow fall without him."

"It don't seem to comfort me, but I spect it orter," said Aunt Chloe."But dar's no use talkin'; I'll jes wet up de corn-cake, and get ye onegood breakfast, 'cause nobody knows when you'll get another."

In order to appreciate the sufferings of the negroes sold south, itmust be remembered that all the instinctive affections of that race arepeculiarly strong. Their local attachments are very abiding. They arenot naturally daring and enterprising, but home-loving and affectionate.Add to this all the terrors with which ignorance invests the unknown,and add to this, again, that selling to the south is set before thenegro from childhood as the last severity of punishment. The threat thatterrifies more than whipping or torture of any kind is the threat ofbeing sent down river. We have ourselves heard this feeling expressed bythem, and seen the unaffected horror with which they will sit in theirgossipping hours, and tell frightful stories of that "down river," whichto them is

_"That undiscovered country, from whose bourn No traveller returns."_*

* A slightly inaccurate quotation from _Hamlet_, Act III, scene I, lines 369-370.

A missionary figure among the fugitives in Canada told us that many ofthe fugitives confessed themselves to have escaped from comparativelykind masters, and that they were induced to brave the perils of escape,in almost every case, by the desperate horror with which they regardedbeing sold south,--a doom which was hanging either over themselvesor their husbands, their wives or children. This nerves the African,naturally patient, timid and unenterprising, with heroic courage, andleads him to suffer hunger, cold, pain, the perils of the wilderness,and the more dread penalties of recapture.

The simple morning meal now smoked on the table, for Mrs. Shelby hadexcused Aunt Chloe's attendance at the great house that morning.The poor soul had expended all her little energies on this farewellfeast,--had killed and dressed her choicest chicken, and prepared hercorn-cake with scrupulous exactness, just to her husband's taste, andbrought out certain mysterious jars on the mantel-piece, some preservesthat were never produced except on extreme occasions.

"Lor, Pete," said Mose, triumphantly, "han't we got a buster of abreakfast!" at the same time catching at a fragment of the chicken.

Aunt Chloe gave him a sudden box on the ear. "Thar now! crowing over thelast breakfast yer poor daddy's gwine to have to home!"

"O, Chloe!" said Tom, gently.

"Wal, I can't help it," said Aunt Chloe, hiding her face in her apron;"I 's so tossed about it, it makes me act ugly."

The boys stood quite still, looking first at their father and thenat their mother, while the baby, climbing up her clothes, began animperious, commanding cry.

"Thar!" said Aunt Chloe, wiping her eyes and taking up the baby; "nowI's done, I hope,--now do eat something. This yer's my nicest chicken.Thar, boys, ye shall have some, poor critturs! Yer mammy's been cross toyer."

The boys needed no second invitation, and went in with great zeal forthe eatables; and it was well they did so, as otherwise there would havebeen very little performed to any purpose by the party.

"Now," said Aunt Chloe, bustling about after breakfast, "I must putup yer clothes. Jest like as not, he'll take 'em all away. I know tharways--mean as dirt, they is! Wal, now, yer flannels for rhumatis is inthis corner; so be careful, 'cause there won't nobody make ye no more.Then here's yer old shirts, and these yer is new ones. I toed off theseyer stockings last night, and put de ball in 'em to mend with. But Lor!who'll ever mend for ye?" and Aunt Chloe, again overcome, laid her headon the box side, and sobbed. "To think on 't! no crittur to do for ye,sick or well! I don't railly think I ought ter be good now!"

The boys, having eaten everything there was on the breakfast-table,began now to take some thought of the case; and, seeing their mothercrying, and their father looking very sad, began to whimper and puttheir hands to their eyes. Uncle Tom had the baby on his knee, and wasletting her enjoy herself to the utmost extent, scratching his faceand pulling his hair, and occasionally breaking out into clamorousexplosions of delight, evidently arising out of her own internalreflections.

"Ay, crow away, poor crittur!" said Aunt Chloe; "ye'll have to come toit, too! ye'll live to see yer husband sold, or mebbe be sold yerself;and these yer boys, they's to be sold, I s'pose, too, jest like asnot, when dey gets good for somethin'; an't no use in niggers havin'nothin'!"

Here one of the boys called out, "Thar's Missis a-comin' in!"

"She can't do no good; what's she coming for?" said Aunt Chloe.

Mrs. Shelby entered. Aunt Chloe set a chair for her in a mannerdecidedly gruff and crusty. She did not seem to notice either the actionor the manner. She looked pale and anxious.

"Tom," she said, "I come to--" and stopping suddenly, and regarding thesilent group, she sat down in the chair, and, covering her face with herhandkerchief, began to sob.

"Lor, now, Missis, don't--don't!" said Aunt Chloe, bursting out in herturn; and for a few moments they all wept in company. And in those tearsthey all shed together, the high and the lowly, melted away allthe heart-burnings and anger of the oppressed. O, ye who visit thedistressed, do ye know that everything your money can buy, given with acold, averted face, is not worth one honest tear shed in real sympathy?

"My good fellow," said Mrs. Shelby, "I can't give you anything to doyou any good. If I give you money, it will only be taken from you. ButI tell you solemnly, and before God, that I will keep trace of you,and bring you back as soon as I can command the money;--and, till then,trust in God!"

Here the boys called out that Mas'r Haley was coming, and then anunceremonious kick pushed open the door. Haley stood there in veryill humor, having ridden hard the night before, and being not at allpacified by his ill success in recapturing his prey.

"Come," said he, "ye nigger, ye'r ready? Servant, ma'am!" said he,taking off his hat, as he saw Mrs. Shelby.

Aunt Chloe shut and corded the box, and, getting up, looked gruffly onthe trader, her tears seeming suddenly turned to sparks of fire.

Tom rose up meekly, to follow his new master, and raised up his heavybox on his shoulder. His wife took the baby in her arms to go with himto the wagon, and the children, still crying, trailed on behind.

Mrs. Shelby, walking up to the trader, detained him for a few moments,talking with him in an earnest manner; and while she was thus talking,the whole family party proceeded to a wagon, that stood ready harnessedat the door. A crowd of all the old and young hands on the place stoodgathered around it, to bid farewell to their old associate. Tom had beenlooked up to, both as a head servant and a Christian teacher, by allthe place, and there was much honest sympathy and grief about him,particularly among the women.

"Why, Chloe, you bar it better 'n we do!" said one of the women, who hadbeen weeping freely, noticing the gloomy calmness with which Aunt Chloestood by the wagon.

"I's done _my_ tears!" she said, looking grimly at the trader, who wascoming up. "I does not feel to cry 'fore dat ar old limb, no how!"

"Get in!" said Haley to Tom, as he strode through the crowd of servants,who looked at him with lowering brows.

Tom got in, and Haley, drawing out from under the wagon seat a heavypair of shackles, made them fast around each ankle.

A smothered groan of indignation ran through the whole circle, andMrs. Shelby spoke from the verandah,--"Mr. Haley, I assure you thatprecaution is entirely unnecessary."

"Don' know, ma'am; I've lost one five hundred dollars from this yerplace, and I can't afford to run no more risks."

"What else could she spect on him?" said Aunt Chloe, indignantly,while the two boys, who now seemed to comprehend at once their father'sdestiny, clung to her gown, sobbing and groaning vehemently.

"I'm sorry," said Tom, "that Mas'r George happened to be away."

George had gone to spend two or three days with a companion on aneighboring estate, and having departed early in the morning, beforeTom's misfortune had been made public, had left without hearing of it.

"Give my love to Mas'r George," he said, earnestly.

Haley whipped up the horse, and, with a steady, mournful look, fixed tothe last on the old place, Tom was whirled away.

Mr. Shelby at this time was not at home. He had sold Tom under thespur of a driving necessity, to get out of the power of a man whom hedreaded,--and his first feeling, after the consummation of the bargain,had been that of relief. But his wife's expostulations awoke hishalf-slumbering regrets; and Tom's manly disinterestedness increased theunpleasantness of his feelings. It was in vain that he said to himselfthat he had a _right_ to do it,--that everybody did it,--and that somedid it without even the excuse of necessity;--he could not satisfy hisown feelings; and that he might not witness the unpleasant scenes ofthe consummation, he had gone on a short business tour up the country,hoping that all would be over before he returned.

Tom and Haley rattled on along the dusty road, whirling past every oldfamiliar spot, until the bounds of the estate were fairly passed, andthey found themselves out on the open pike. After they had ridden abouta mile, Haley suddenly drew up at the door of a blacksmith's shop, when,taking out with him a pair of handcuffs, he stepped into the shop, tohave a little alteration in them.

"These yer 's a little too small for his build," said Haley, showing thefetters, and pointing out to Tom.

"Lor! now, if thar an't Shelby's Tom. He han't sold him, now?" said thesmith.

"Yes, he has," said Haley.

"Now, ye don't! well, reely," said the smith, "who'd a thought it! Why,ye needn't go to fetterin' him up this yer way. He's the faithfullest,best crittur--"

"Yes, yes," said Haley; "but your good fellers are just the critturs towant ter run off. Them stupid ones, as doesn't care whar they go, andshifless, drunken ones, as don't care for nothin', they'll stick by,and like as not be rather pleased to be toted round; but these yerprime fellers, they hates it like sin. No way but to fetter 'em; gotlegs,--they'll use 'em,--no mistake."

"Well," said the smith, feeling among his tools, "them plantations downthar, stranger, an't jest the place a Kentuck nigger wants to go to;they dies thar tol'able fast, don't they?"

"Wal, yes, tol'able fast, ther dying is; what with the 'climating andone thing and another, they dies so as to keep the market up prettybrisk," said Haley.

"Wal, now, a feller can't help thinkin' it's a mighty pity to have anice, quiet, likely feller, as good un as Tom is, go down to be fairlyground up on one of them ar sugar plantations."

"Wal, he's got a fa'r chance. I promised to do well by him. I'll gethim in house-servant in some good old family, and then, if he stands thefever and 'climating, he'll have a berth good as any nigger ought terask for."

"He leaves his wife and chil'en up here, s'pose?"

"Yes; but he'll get another thar. Lord, thar's women enough everywhar,"said Haley.

Tom was sitting very mournfully on the outside of the shop while thisconversation was going on. Suddenly he heard the quick, short click ofa horse's hoof behind him; and, before he could fairly awake from hissurprise, young Master George sprang into the wagon, threw his armstumultuously round his neck, and was sobbing and scolding with energy.

"I declare, it's real mean! I don't care what they say, any of 'em! It'sa nasty, mean shame! If I was a man, they shouldn't do it,--they shouldnot, _so_!" said George, with a kind of subdued howl.

"O! Mas'r George! this does me good!" said Tom. "I couldn't bar to gooff without seein' ye! It does me real good, ye can't tell!" Here Tommade some movement of his feet, and George's eye fell on the fetters.

"What a shame!" he exclaimed, lifting his hands. "I'll knock that oldfellow down--I will!"

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

"Well, I won't, then, for your sake; but only to think of it--isn't ita shame? They never sent for me, nor sent me any word, and, if it hadn'tbeen for Tom Lincon, I shouldn't have heard it. I tell you, I blew 'emup well, all of 'em, at home!"

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

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

"O! I couldn't think o' takin' on 't, Mas'r George, no ways in theworld!" said Tom, quite moved.

"But you _shall_ take it!" said George; "look here--I told Aunt ChloeI'd do it, and she advised me just to make a hole in it, and put astring through, so you could hang it round your neck, and keep it out ofsight; else this mean scamp would take it away. I tell ye, Tom, I wantto 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 dollarround Tom's neck; "but there, now, button your coat tight over it, andkeep it, and remember, every time you see it, that I'll come down afteryou, and bring you back. Aunt Chloe and I have been talking about it. Itold 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 'bout yer father!"

"Lor, Uncle Tom, I don't mean anything bad."

"And now, Mas'r George," said Tom, "ye must be a good boy; 'member howmany hearts is sot on ye. Al'ays keep close to yer mother. Don't begettin' into any of them foolish ways boys has of gettin' too big tomind their mothers. Tell ye what, Mas'r George, the Lord gives good manythings twice over; but he don't give ye a mother but once. Ye'll neversee sich another woman, Mas'r George, if ye live to be a hundred yearsold. 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 theycomes to your age, is wilful, sometimes--it is natur they should be.But real gentlemen, such as I hopes you'll be, never lets fall on wordsthat isn't 'spectful to thar parents. Ye an't 'fended, 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 withhis 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 haseverything,--l'arnin', privileges, readin', writin',--and you'll growup to be a great, learned, good man and all the people on the place andyour mother and father'll be so proud on ye! Be a good Mas'r, like yerfather; and be a Christian, like yer mother. 'Member yer Creator in thedays o' yer youth, Mas'r George."

"I'll be _real_ good, Uncle Tom, I tell you," said George. "I'm going tobe a _first-rater_; and don't you be discouraged. I'll have you back tothe place, yet. As I told Aunt Chloe this morning, I'll build our houseall over, and you shall have a room for a parlor with a carpet on it,when I'm a man. O, you'll have good times yet!"

Haley now came to the door, with the handcuffs in his hands.

"Look here, now, Mister," said George, with an air of great superiority,as he got out, "I shall let father and mother know how you treat UncleTom!"

"You're welcome," said the trader.

"I should think you'd be ashamed to spend all your life buying men andwomen, and chaining them, like cattle! I should think you'd feel mean!"said George.

"So long as your grand folks wants to buy men and women, I'm as goodas they is," said Haley; "'tan't any meaner sellin' on 'em, that 't isbuyin'!"

"I'll never do either, when I'm a man," said George; "I'm ashamed, thisday, that I'm a Kentuckian. I always was proud of it before;" and Georgesat very straight on his horse, and looked round with an air, as if heexpected the state would be impressed with his opinion.

"Well, good-by, Uncle Tom; keep a stiff upper lip," said George.

"Good-by, Mas'r George," said Tom, looking fondly and admiringly at him."God Almighty bless you! Ah! Kentucky han't got many like you!" he said,in the fulness of his heart, as the frank, boyish face was lost to hisview. Away he went, and Tom looked, till the clatter of his horse'sheels died away, the last sound or sight of his home. But over his heartthere seemed to be a warm spot, where those young hands had placed thatprecious dollar. Tom put up his hand, and held it close to his heart.

"Now, I tell ye what, Tom," said Haley, as he came up to the wagon, andthrew in the handcuffs, "I mean to start fa'r with ye, as I gen'ally dowith my niggers; and I'll tell ye now, to begin with, you treat me fa'r,and I'll treat you fa'r; I an't never hard on my niggers. Calculates todo the best for 'em I can. Now, ye see, you'd better jest settle downcomfortable, and not be tryin' no tricks; because nigger's tricks of allsorts I'm up to, and it's no use. If niggers is quiet, and don't try toget off, they has good times with me; and if they don't, why, it's tharfault, and not mine."

Tom assured Haley that he had no present intentions of running off. Infact, the exhortation seemed rather a superfluous one to a man with agreat pair of iron fetters on his feet. But Mr. Haley had got inthe habit of commencing his relations with his stock with littleexhortations of this nature, calculated, as he deemed, to inspirecheerfulness and confidence, and prevent the necessity of any unpleasantscenes.

And here, for the present, we take our leave of Tom, to pursue thefortunes of other characters in our story.