"Thank you, my little lady," said Tom.
The boat here stopped at a small landing to take in wood, and Eva,hearing her father's voice, bounded nimbly away. Tom rose up, and wentforward to offer his service in wooding, and soon was busy among thehands.
Eva and her father were standing together by the railings to see theboat start from the landing-place; the wheel had made two or threerevolutions in the water, when, by some sudden movement, the little onesuddenly lost her balance, and fell sheer over the side of the boat,into the water. Her father, scarce knowing what he did, was plunging inafter her, but was held back by some behind him, who saw that moreefficient aid had followed his child.
Tom was standing just under her on the lower deck as she fell. He sawher strike the water and sink, and was after her in a moment. Abroad-chested, strong-armed fellow, it was nothing for him to keepafloat in the water, till, in a moment or two, the child rose to thesurface, and he caught her in his arms, and, swimming with her to theboat-side, handed her up, all dripping, to the grasp of hundreds ofhands, which, as if they had all belonged to one man, were stretchedeagerly out to receive her. A few moments more, and her father bore her,dripping and senseless, to the ladies' cabin, where she soon recovered.
Her father was much rejoiced, and Eva took such a liking for Tom, thatshe would not rest till the rich Mr. St. Clair had bought him from thetrader; and the girl hoped that she would one day get her father coaxedto set him free. From that day Tom and Eva were great friends. Thesteamer brought them safely to New Orleans. The trader took all hisslaves away to sell them in that town; and Tom was taken to Mr. St.Clair's fine house, where you see him and Eva. You may also see thedoings of little Topsy, a poor negro child, whom Mr. St. Clair bought,and made a present of to his cousin Miss Feely.
EVA PUTTING A WREATH OF FLOWERS ROUND TOM'S NECK.
Poor Tom is far from his cottage now, From his own good wife, and children three, Where coffee, and rice, and cedars grow, By a wide old river like the sea.
And he has a master rich and kind, With all that his heart can well desire, But homeward still goes the negro's mind, To the curly heads by his cottage fire.
He the gentle Eva's life did save, When over the great ship's side she fell, And brought her up from the drowning wave,-- So Eva had grown to love him well.
She will read to Tom for hours on hours, And sit with him on the grass all day; You see she is wreathing pretty flowers, About his neck, in her pleasant play.
Different in colour and in years Are the negro man and that fair child's face; But a likeness in God's sight appears, For both are the children of his grace.
EVA PUTTING A WREATH OF FLOWERS ROUND TOM'S NECK.
She will read to Tom for hours on hours, And sit with him on the grass all day; You see she is wreathing pretty flowers About his neck, in her pleasant play.]
TOPSY AT THE LOOKING GLASS.
See little Topsy at the glass quite gay, Her mistress has forgot the keys to-day, So she has rummaged every drawer, and dressed Herself out in Miss Feely's very best.
Mark where she stands! the shawl of gorgeous red Wound like a Turk's great turban round her head; A finer shawl far trailing on the floor, Just shews her bare black elbows, and no more.
With what an air she flaunts the ivory fan, And tries to step as stately as she can, Mincing fine words to her own shadow, "Dear! How very ungenteel the folks are here!"
But while that shadow only Topsy sees, Back comes the careful lady for her keys, And finds her in the grandeur all arrayed-- Poor Topsy will be punished, I'm afraid.
Now it is wrong, as every reader knows, To rummage people's drawers, and wear their clothes; But Topsy is a negro child, you see, Who never learned to read like you and me.
A child whom bad men from her mother sold, Whom a harsh mistress used to cuff and scold, Whom no one taught or cared for all her days, No wonder that the girl had naughty ways.
TOPSY AT THE LOOKING-GLASS.
Mark where she stands! the shawl of gorgeous red Wound like a Turk's great turban round her head, A finer shawl for trailing on the floor, Just shows her bare black elbows, and no more.]
No home, no school, no Bible she had seen, How bless'd besides poor Topsy we have been! Yet boys and girls among ourselves, I've known Puffed up with praise for merits not their own.
The copy by some clever school-mate penned, The witty saying picked up from a friend, Makes many a miss and master look as fine, As if they coined the words or penned the line.
But none can keep such borrowed plumes as these, For some one still comes back to find the keys, And so they are found out, it comes to pass, Just like poor Topsy at the looking-glass.
TOPSY BRINGING FLOWERS TO EVA.
Poor Topsy, trying to be kind, Has brought a bunch of garden flowers To Eva, when she lies reclined Through the bright summer's sultry hours.
For sickness hangs on Eva now, She can no longer run or play, Her cheek is pale, her voice is low, And there she lies the livelong day.
Yet Eva does not fear to die, She knows a better home remains For her, beyond the great blue sky, Where comes no sickness, tears, or pains.
TOPSY BRINGING FLOWERS TO EVA.
"Oh mother dear, let Topsy stay," Says Eva in her gentle mood, "She brought such pretty flowers to-day, Indeed she's trying to be good."]
For in her happier days of health She read and prized her Bible true, Above this poor world's pride or wealth, And loved her blessed Saviour too.
And she like him was kind to all, And pity on poor Topsy had, Because the rest would scold and call Her names, for being black and bad.
So Eva strove to make her good, And told her, of all tales the best, How Christ came down to shed his blood, That sinners might be saved and blest.
Poor Topsy tried to understand-- None ever taught her so before-- And brought the sweet flowers in her hand,-- The negro girl could do no more.
But Eva's proud mamma comes in With scornful look and frown severe, She cries, "begone, you nasty thing! In all the world what brings you here?"
"Oh mother dear, let Topsy stay," Says Eva in her gentle mood, "She brought such pretty flowers to-day, Indeed she's trying to be good."
"I'm going fast, where there will be No difference, but in sins forgiven, And mother it might chance that we Would bring poor Topsy flowers in heaven."
DEATH OF EVA.
Oh, swift and sad were the tears that fell, As her gifts among them passed, And Tom, he got the first fair curl, And Topsy got the last.]
THE DEATH OF EVA.
There is peace on Eva's wasted brow, And a soft light in her eye; But her father's heart grows hopeless now, For he knows that she must die.
Yet the thought is kind and the trust is true, As she takes him by the hand,-- Dear father I will look for you In the light of God's own land.
"Oh let them cut the long, long curls That flow about my head, And let our poor kind negroes come For a moment round my bed.
/> "They have smoothed and stroked it many a day In their kindly sport, and care, And it may be they will think of me When they see that curling hair."
The negroes loved her, young and old, With a fond and deep regard, For Eva's look was never sour, And her words were never hard.
And her old nurse by the bedside stood, Sore sobbing in her woe, That so many sinners here should stay, And the good and young should go.
"Dear nurse," said Eva, "I go home To the happiest home of all; Where never an evil thing will come, And never a tear will fall.
"And I will hope each one to see, That blessed home within; Where Christ himself will set us free From the bonds of death and sin."
Oh, swift and sad were the tears that fell, As her gifts among them passed, And Tom, he got the first fair curl, And Topsy got the last.
But first and last alike were given, With some words of love and prayer; And it may be, hearts were helped to heaven, By the links of that soft hair.
When Eva was dead and buried, Tom missed her sore, but he knew it wasthe will of God, and tried to comfort his master. Mr. St. Clair intendedto set him free for Eva's sake. He was a kind man, but given to delay,and one day a wicked man stabbed him in a coffee-house, when he wastrying to settle a quarrel. Mrs. St. Clair was a proud, hard-heartedwoman, who cared for nobody but herself. She sold all the negroes, andTom among them, to a cruel cotton planter, called Legree, and you shallsee how he behaved.
LEGREE STRIKING TOM.
Tom's good wife Chloe, far at home, And his boys so blythe and black, Are all working hard, in hopes to win The dollars, to buy him back.
And George, who taught him long ago, Has many a pleasant plan, To pay his price, and set him free. When he comes to be a man.
But little does that wicked man, In his angry madness, know, That God himself will take account Of each cruel word and blow.
And children dear, who see him here, At night and morning pray, That you may never have aught like this Laid up for the judgment day!
By the time all these things happened, George Shelby had grown up; butwhen he came to buy back Tom, the pious, kindly negro, had been soill-treated by that cruel planter, because he tried to save the otherslaves from his evil temper, that he lay dying in an old shed; and therewas no law to punish the wicked planter, because Tom was black.
When George entered the shed where Tom lay, he felt his head giddy andhis heart sick.
"Is it possible?" said he, kneeling down by him. "Uncle Tom, my poor,poor old friend!"
Something in the voice penetrated to the ear of the dying. He smiled,and said--
"Jesus can make a dying bed Feel soft as downy pillows are."
Tears fell from the young man's eyes as he bent over his poor friend.
"O, dear Uncle Tom! do wake--do speak once more! Look up. Here's Mas'rGeorge--your own little Mas'r George. Don't you know me?"
"Mas'r George!" said Tom, opening his eyes, and speaking in a feeblevoice--"Mas'r George!" He looked bewildered.
Slowly the idea seemed to fill his soul; and the vacant eye became fixedand brightened, the whole face lighted up, the hard hands clasped, andtears ran down the cheeks.
"Bless the Lord' it is--it is--it's all I wanted! They haven't forgotme. It warms my soul; it does my old heart good! Now I shall diecontent! Bless the Lord, O my soul!"
He began to draw his breath with long, deep aspirations; and his broadchest rose and fell heavily. The expression of his face was that of aconqueror.
"Who--who shall separate us from the love of Christ?" he said, in avoice that contended with mortal weakness; and with a smile he fellasleep.
Beyond the boundaries of the plantation George had noticed a dry, sandyknoll, shaded by a few trees; there they made a grave for poor Tom.
"Shall we take off the cloak, mas'r?" said the negroes, when the gravewas ready.
"No, no; bury it with him. It's all I can give you now, poor Tom, andyou shall have it."
They laid him in; and the men shovelled away silently. They banked itup, and laid green turf over it.
"You may go, boys," said George, slipping a quarter dollar into the handof each. They lingered about, however.
"If young mas'r would please buy us," said one.
"We'd serve him so faithful!" said the other. "Do, mas'r, buy us,please!"
"I can't--I can't," said George, with difficulty, motioning them off;"it's impossible!"
The poor fellows looked dejected, and walked off in silence.
"Witness, eternal God," said George, kneeling on the grave of his poorfriend--"O, witness that, from this hour, I will do _what one man can_to drive out this curse of slavery from my land!"
There is no monument to mark the last resting-place of poor Tom. Heneeds none. His Lord knows where he lies, and will raise him upimmortal, to appear with Him when He shall appear in his glory.
LEGREE STRIKING TOM.
But little does that wicked man, In his angry madness, know, That God himself will take account Of each cruel word and blow.]
LITTLE EVA SONG.
UNCLE TOM'S GUARDIAN ANGEL.
WORDS BY JOHN G. WHITTIER . . . . MUSIC BY MANUEL EMILIO.
Music]
Dry the tears for holy Eva! With the blessed angels leave her; Of the form so sweet and fair, Give to earth the tender care. For the golden locks of Eva, Let the sunny south land give her Flow'ry pillow of repose, Orange bloom and budding rose, Orange bloom and budding rose.
All is light and peace with Eva; There the darkness cometh never; Tears are wiped, and fetters fall, And the Lord is all in all. Weep no more for happy Eva; Wrong and sin no more shall grieve her, Care, and pain, and weariness, Lost in love so measureless!
Gentle Eva, loving Eva, Child confessor, true believer, Listener at the Master's knee, "Suffer such to come to me." O for faith like thine, sweet Eva, Lighting all the solemn river, And the blessing of the poor, Wafting to the heavenly shore.
THE END.
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