Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Гарриет Бичер-Стоу
woman. And all this your laws give him power to do, in spite of God or man. Mr. Wilson, look at it! There isn’t one of all these things, that have broken the hearts of my mother and my sister, and my wife, and myself, but your laws allow, and give every man power to do, in Kentucky, and none can say to him nay! Do you call these the laws of my country? Sir, I haven’t any country, any more than I have any father. But I am going to have one. I don’t want anything of your country, except to be let alone—to go peaceably out of it; and when I get to Canada, where the laws will own me and protect me, that shall be my country, and its laws I will obey. But if any man tries to stop me, let him take care, for I am desperate. I’ll fight for my liberty to the last breath I breathe. You say your fathers did it; if it was right for them, it is right for me!”
This speech, delivered partly while sitting at the table, and partly walking up and down the room—delivered with tears, and flashing eyes, and despairing gestures—was altogether too much for the good-natured old body to whom it was addressed, who had pulled out a great yellow silk pocket-handkerchief, and was mopping up his face with great energy.
“Blast ’em all!” he suddenly broke out. “Haven’t I always said so—the infernal old cusses! I hope I an’t swearing, now. Well! go ahead, George, go ahead; but be careful, my boy; don’t shoot anybody, George, unless—well—you’d better not shoot, I reckon; at least, I wouldn’t hit anybody, you know. Where is your wife, George?” he added, as he nervously rose, and began walking the room.
“Gone, sir, gone, with her child in her arms, the Lord only knows where;—gone after the north star; and when we ever meet, or whether we meet at all in this world, no creature can tell.”
“Is it possible? astonishing! from such a kind family?”
“Kind families get in debt, and the laws of our country allow them to sell the child out of its mother’s bosom to pay its master’s debts,” said George bitterly.
“Well, well,” said the honest old man, fumbling in his pocket. “I s’pose, perhaps, I an’t following my judgment—hang it, I won’t follow my judgment!” he added suddenly; “so here, George,” and, taking out a roll of bills from his pocket-book, he offered them to George.
“No; my kind, good sir!” said George; “you’ve done a great deal for me, and this might get you into trouble. I have money enough, I hope, to take me as far as I need it.”
“No! but you must, George. Money is a great help everywhere; can’t have too much, if you get it honestly. Take it—do take it, now—do, my boy!”
“On condition, sir, that I may repay it at some future time, I will,” said George, taking up the money.
“And now, George, how long are you going to travel in this way?—not long or far, I hope. It’s well carried on, but too bold. And this black fellow—who is he?”
“A true fellow, who went to Canada more than a year ago. He heard, after he got there, that his master was so angry at him for going off, that he had whipped his poor old mother; and he has come all the way back to comfort her, and get a chance to get her away.”
“Has he got her?”
“Not yet; he has been hanging about the place, and found no chance yet. Meanwhile he is going with me as far as Ohio, to put me among friends that helped him, and then he will come back after her.”
“Dangerous, very dangerous,” said the old man.
George drew himself up, and smiled disdainfully.
The old gentleman eyed him from head to foot, with a sort of innocent wonder.
“George, something has brought you out wonderfully. You hold up your head, and speak and move like another man,” said Mr. Wilson.
“Because I’m a freeman!” said George proudly. “Yes, sir; I’ve said mas’r for the last time to any man. I’m free!”
“Take care! You are not sure—you may be taken.”
“All men are free and equal in the grave, if it comes to that, Mr. Wilson,” said George.
“I’m perfectly dumb foundered with your boldness!” said Mr. Wilson—“to come right here to the nearest tavern!”
“Mr. Wilson, it is so bold, and this tavern is so near, that they will never think of it; they will look for me on ahead, and you yourself wouldn’t know me. Jim’s master don’t live in this country; he isn’t known in these parts. Besides, he is given up—nobody is looking after him; and nobody will take me up from the advertisement, I think.”
“But the mark in your hand?”
George drew off his glove, and showed a newly-healed scar in his hand.
“That is a parting proof of Mr. Harris’s regard,” he said scornfully. “A fortnight ago he took it into his head to give it to me, because he said he believed I should try to get away one of these days. Looks interesting, doesn’t it?” he said, drawing his glove on again.
“I declare, my very blood runs cold when I think of it—your condition and your risks!” said Mr. Wilson.
“Mine has run cold a good many years, Mr. Wilson; at present, it’s about up to the boiling point,” said George.
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