Kitabı oku: «Uncle Tom's Cabin, Young Folks' Edition», sayfa 7
CHAPTER XVIII
GEORGE AND ELIZA FIND FREEDOM
Tom Loker lay tossing and tumbling in his clean, comfortable bed at the Quaker farmhouse. A pretty, old Quaker lady, with white hair and a kind face, was nursing him. Tom Loker did not like being ill and having to lie in bed. He threw the clothes about, grumbling and using naughty words all the tune.
'I must ask thee, Thomas Loker, not to use such language,' said the nice lady, as she smoothed his sheets, and made his bed comfortable again for him.
'Well, I won't, granny, if I can help it,' he replied; 'but it is enough to make a fellow swear, it is so awfully hot.' He gave another great lunge, and made the sheets and blankets all untidy again.
'I suppose that fellow George and the girl Eliza are here,' he said, in a sulky voice, after a few minutes' silence.
'Yes, they are,' said the old lady.
'They had better get away across the lake,' said Tom Loker, 'the quicker the better.'
'Very likely they will do so,' said the old lady, calmly going on with her knitting.
'But, listen,' said Tom Loker, getting excited, 'there are people who are watching the boats for us. I don't care if I tell now. I hope they will get away, just to spite the others for going and leaving me as they did—the mean puppies, the—'
'Thomas Loker!' said the old lady.
'I tell you, granny, if you bottle a fellow up too tight he'll split,' said Tom Loker. 'But about Eliza—tell them to dress her up some way so as to alter her. We have sent a description of what she looks like to the town where the boats start from. She will be caught yet if she doesn't dress up differently.'
'I thank thee, Thomas Loker,' replied the old lady with her usual calmness. 'We will attend to that. Thank thee.' Then she went to tell George and Eliza what Tom Loker had said.
They were indeed very grateful to him, and very glad that they had not left him, as his own friends had done, to die by the roadside.
So next day Eliza cut off all her beautiful black hair, and dressed herself like a boy.
'Don't I make a pretty young fellow?' she said to George, laughing and blushing at the same time.
'You always will be pretty,' said George gravely, 'do what you will.'
'What makes you so sober?' asked Eliza, kneeling on one knee, and laying her hand on his. 'We are within twenty-four hours of Canada, they say. Only a day and a night on the lake, and then—oh, then!'
'O Eliza,' said George, holding her fast, 'that is just it. To be so near liberty, to be almost in sight of it—and then if we lost it. O Eliza, I should die.'
'Don't fear,' said Eliza hopefully. 'The good Lord would not have brought us so far if He didn't mean to save us. I seem to feel him with us, George.'
So George kissed his wife and took heart again. Then the kind old lady brought Harry in dressed as a little girl. And a very pretty girl he made too. They called him 'Harriet,' as it was so like Harry it was easy to remember.
Harry did not know his mamma, dressed as she was, and clung to the kind lady, feeling rather afraid of the strange young man. That was just as well, as he was too young to understand what this dressing-up and pretending meant, and he might have spoiled it all by calling the nice-looking young man 'Mamma.' So the kind lady was going with them, pretending to be the little girl's aunt.
When everything was ready they got into a cab, and drove to the wharf. The two young men, as they seemed to be, got out, Eliza helping the kind lady and little girl, while George saw to the luggage.
As he was standing at the office, taking the tickets, George overheard two men talking by his side.
'I've watched every one that came on board,' said one, 'and I know they are not on this boat.'
'You would scarcely know the woman from a white one,' said the other. 'The man is very fair too. He has an H burned into the palm of his hand.'
The hand with which George was taking the tickets and change trembled a little, but he turned calmly round, looked straight at the speaker, and then walked slowly away to where Eliza was waiting for him.
It was a terribly anxious time, but at last the bell rang, the boat began to move, and George and Eliza drew long sighs of relief as they saw the shore getting farther and farther away.
It was a lovely day. The blue waves of Lake Erie danced, rippling and sparkling, in the sunlight. Hour after hour the boat steamed on.
Night came; and in the morning, clear and beautiful before them, rose the shores of Canada.
George and his wife stood arm in arm as the boat came near the little town, where they were going to land. His breath came thick and short; a mist gathered before his eyes; he silently pressed the little hand that lay trembling on his arm.
The bell rang—the boat stopped.
Scarcely seeing what he did, George looked out his luggage, and gathered his little party.
They were landed on the shore, and stood still till the boat had started again.
Then with tears of joy, the husband and wife, with their wondering little boy in their arms, knelt down and lifted up their hearts to God. They were free.
CHAPTER XIX
UNCLE TOM FINDS FREEDOM
The letter which Miss Ophelia wrote to Mrs. Shelby, telling her that Tom was to be sold again, was delayed a long time in the post. When at last it did arrive, Mr. Shelby was very ill, and though Mrs. Shelby felt dreadfully sorry about Uncle Tom, she could do nothing, as her husband was so ill. Soon Mr. Shelby died. Mrs. Shelby was very sad, but in her sorrow she did not forget her promise to Aunt Chloe and Uncle Tom. As soon as she could, she sold some land, and George Shelby, taking the money with him, went off to try to find Uncle Tom and buy him back again.
But by the time George Shelby, came to the place where Mr. St. Clare used to live, Uncle Tom had been sold to Legree, and no one knew where he had gone.
At last, after searching about for months, George Shelby found out where Uncle Tom was, and followed him.
Two days after Legree had been so cruel, George Shelby drove up the avenue and stopped at the door of the old house.
'I hear,' he said to Legree, 'that you bought a slave named Tom. He used to belong to my father. I have come to buy him back again.'
Legree's face grew black with anger. 'Yes, I did buy such a fellow,' he growled in rage. 'And a bad bargain it was, too! The most rebellious, saucy, impudent dog! Set up my niggers to run away. He owned to it, and, when I bid him tell me where they were, he said he knew, but wouldn't tell. He stuck to it, too, though I gave him the very worst beating I ever gave a nigger yet. I believe he is trying to die. I shouldn't wonder if he did.'
'Where is he?' said George. 'Let me see him.' His cheeks were crimson, and his eye flashed fire at the thought that Legree had dared to treat dear Uncle Tom so badly.
'He is in that shed,' said a little fellow who was holding George Shelby's horse.
George, without saying another word, hurried to the place to which the little boy pointed.
As he entered the shed, his head felt giddy and his heart sick.
Uncle Tom lay on a heap of straw on the floor, still and quiet.
'Oh, dear Uncle Tom,' cried George as he knelt beside him, 'dear Uncle Tom, do wake—do speak once more. Here's Mas'r George—your own little Mas'r George. Don't you know me?'
'Mas'r George!' said Tom, opening his eyes, and speaking in a feeble voice. 'Mas'r George? it is—it is. It's all I wanted. They haven't forgot me. It warms my soul; it does my old heart good. Now I shall die content.'
'You shan't die! you mustn't die, nor think of it. I've come to buy you and take you home,' said George, and the tears came into his eyes as he bent over poor Uncle Tom.
'Oh, Mas'r George, ye're too late. The Lord has bought me, and is going to take me home.'
'Oh, don't. It breaks my heart to think of what you've suffered—lying in this old shed, too.'
'You mustn't, now, tell Chloe, poor soul, how ye found me,' said Tom, taking George by the hand. 'It would seem so dreadful to her. Only tell her ye found me going into glory, and that I couldn't stay for no one. And oh, the poor chil'en, and the baby—my old heart's been most broke for them. Tell them to follow me. Give my love to mas'r, and dear, good missis, and everybody in the place. I love them all.'
He closed his eyes, and with a smile he fell asleep. Uncle Tom too was free.
Beyond the gates of Legree's farm, George had noticed a dry, sandy knoll, shaded by a few trees. There he made Uncle Tom's grave. No stone marks his last resting-place. He needs none. God knows where he lies.
Kneeling there George bent his head, in shame and sorrow. 'Here me, dear God,' he said, 'from this day, I will do what one man can to drive out the curse of slavery from this land.'
CHAPTER XX
GEORGE SHELBY FREES HIS SLAVES
George Shelby wrote a little note to his mother, telling her that he was coming home. He tried to write about Uncle Tom, but he could not; tears blinded him, and sobs choked him.
On the day he was expected every one was in a state of bustle and excitement. Aunt Chloe in a new print dress, and clean white apron walked round the supper-table, making sure that everything was right. Her black face shone with joy at the thought of seeing Uncle Tom again.
'I'm thinking my old man won't know the boys and the baby,' she said.
Mrs. Shelby sighed. Ever since the letter had come from George she had had a very sad heart. She felt sure something must be wrong.
'He won't know the baby, my old man won't,' said Chloe again, 'Why, it's five years since they took him.'
Just then the sound of wheels was heard.
'It's Mas'r George,' cried Aunt Chloe, running to the window in great excitement.
Mrs. Shelby ran to the door. As George met her he put his arms round her, and kissed her tenderly.
Aunt Chloe stood behind anxiously looking out into the darkness.
'Oh, poor Aunt Chloe,' said George, gently taking her hard, black hand between both his own. 'I'd have given all my fortune to have brought Uncle Tom home with me; but he has gone to a better country.' Mrs. Shelby cried out as if she had been hurt, but Aunt Chloe did not make a sound.
In silence they went into the supper-room.
'There,' said Aunt Chloe, holding out her trembling hands to her mistress, 'it's just as I knew it would be. He's been sold and murdered on dem old plantations.'
Then she turned and walked proudly out of the room. Mrs. Shelby followed her softly, took one of her hands, drew her down into a chair, and sat down beside her.
'My poor, good Chloe,' she said gently.
Chloe leaned her head on her mistress's shoulder, and sobbed out, 'Oh, missis, 'scuse me, my heart's broke—dat's all.'
'I know it is,' said Mrs. Shelby, as her tears fell fast, 'and I cannot heal it.'
There was silence for a little as they wept together. Then George sat down beside Aunt Chloe, and took her hand. He talked gently to her, telling her of Uncle Tom's last loving messages. So she was comforted a little.
One morning, about a month after this, George Shelby called all his servants together, telling them he had something to say to them.
They wondered what it could be, and were very much surprised when he appeared, carrying a bundle of papers in his hand.
They were still more astonished when he gave a paper to each one, and told them all that they were free.
With sobs and tears and shouts they pressed round him, thanking and blessing him. But some of them came with anxious faces, begging him to take their free papers back again, and not to send them away.
'We don't want to be any freer than we are,' they said. 'We have always had all we wanted.'
'We don't want to leave the old place, and young mas'r and Missis, and the rest.'
'My good friends,' said George, when he could get silence, 'there will be no need for you to leave me. We want quite as many servants as we did before. But now you are free men and free women. I shall pay you wages for your work, and if I die, or get into debt, you can't be taken away to be sold. That is all the difference. I want you all to stay with me, for I want to teach you how to live as free men and women ought.'
'One thing more,' added George, when the cheering and rejoicing had died away a little. 'You all remember our good old Uncle Tom. You have heard how he died, and how he sent his love to you all. It was on his grave, my friends, that I made up my mind, with God's help, never to own another slave, if it were possible to free him. I resolved that nobody, through my fault, should ever run the risk of being parted from his dear ones, and of dying far from them, as he died.
'So, when you rejoice in your freedom, remember that you owe it to dear old Uncle Tom, and pay it back in kindness to his wife and children. Think of your freedom every time you see Uncle Tom's Cabin; and let it help you to try to live as he did, and be as honest and faithful and Christian as he was.'
