Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Гарриет Бичер-Стоу

bills of sale toward him, and signed them, like a man that hurries over some disagreeable business, and then pushed them over with the money. Haley produced from a well-worn valise a parchment, which, after looking over it a moment, he handed to Mr. Shelby, who took it with a gesture of suppressed eagerness.

      “Wal, now, the thing’s done!” said the trader, getting up.

      “It’s done!” said Mr. Shelby, in a musing tone; and, fetching a long breath, he repeated, “It’s done!”

      “Yer don’t seem to feel much pleased with it, ’pears to me,” said the trader.

      “Haley,” said Mr. Shelby, “I hope you’ll remember that you promised, on your honour, you wouldn’t sell Tom without knowing what sort of hands he’s going into.”

      “Why, you’ve just done it, sir,” said the trader.

      “Circumstances, you well know, obliged me,” said Shelby haughtily.

      “Wal, you know, they may, ’blige me too,” said the trader.”

      Howsomever, I’ll do the very best I can in gettin’ Tom a good berth; as to my treatin’ on him bad, you needn’t be a grain afeard. If there’s anything that I thank the Lord for, it is that I’m never noways cruel.”

      After the expositions which the trader had previously given of his humane principles, Mr. Shelby did not feel particularly reassured by these declarations; but, as they were the best comfort the case admitted of, he allowed the trader to depart in silence, and betook himself to a solitary cigar.

       CHAPTER 5 Showing the Feelings of Living Property on Changin’ Owners

      Mr. and Mrs. Shelby had retired to their apartment for the night. He was lounging in a large easy-chair, looking over some letters that had come in the afternoon mail, and she was standing before her mirror, brushing out the complicated braids and curls in which Eliza had arranged her hair; for, noticing her pale cheeks and haggard eyes, she had excused her attendance that night, and ordered her to bed. The employment, naturally enough, suggested her conversation with the girl in the morning; and, turning to her husband, she said carelessly:—”

      By the bye, Arthur, who was that low-bred fellow that you lugged in to our dinner table to-day?”

      “Haley is his name,” said Shelby, turning himself rather uneasily in his chair, and continuing with his eyes fixed on a letter.

      “Haley! Who is he, and what may be his business here, pray?”

      “Well, he’s a man that I transacted some business with, last time I was at Natchez,” said Mr. Shelby.

      “And he presumed on it to make himself quite at home, and call and dine here, eh?”

      “Why, I invited him; I had some accounts with him,” said Shelby.

      “Is he a negro-trader?” said Mrs. Shelby, noticing a certain embarrassment in her husband’s manner.

      “Why, my dear, what put that into your head?” said Shelby, looking up.

      “Nothing—only Eliza came in here after dinner, in a great worry, crying and taking on, and said you were talking with a trader, and that she heard him make an offer for her boy—the ridiculous little goose!”

      “She did, hey?” said Mr. Shelby, returning to his paper, which he seemed for a few moments quite intent upon, not perceiving that he was holding it bottom upward.

      “It will have to come out,” said he mentally; “as well now as ever.”

      “I told Eliza,” said Mrs. Shelby, as she continued brushing her hair, “that she was a little fool for her pains, and that you never had anything to do with that sort of persons. Of course, I knew you never meant to sell any of our people—least of all to such a fellow.”

      “Well, Emily,” said her husband, “so I have always felt and said; but the fact is that my business lies so that I cannot get on without. I shall have to sell some of my hands.”

      “To that creature? Impossible! Mr. Shelby, you cannot be serious.”

      “I am sorry to say that I am,” said Mr. Shelby. “I’ve agreed to sell Tom.”

      “What! our Tom?—that good, faithful creature!—been your faithful servant from a boy! Oh, Mr. Shelby!—and you have promised him his freedom, too—you and I have spoken to him a hundred times of it. Well, I can believe anything now—I can believe now that you could sell little Harry, poor Eliza’s only child!” said Mrs. Shelby, in a tone between grief and indignation.

      “Well, since you must know all, it is so. I have agreed to sell Tom and Harry both; and I don’t know why I am to be rated, as if I were a monster, for doing what every one does every day.”

      “But why, of all others, choose these?” said Mrs. Shelby.

      “Why sell them, of all on the place, if you must sell at all?”

      “Because they will bring the highest sum of any—that’s why. I could choose another, if you say so. The fellow made me a high bid on Eliza, if that would suit you any better,” said Mr. Shelby.

      “The wretch!” said Mrs. Shelby vehemently.

      “Well, I didn’t listen to it a moment—out of regard to your feelings, I wouldn’t; so give me some credit.”

      “My dear,” said Mrs. Shelby, recollecting herself, “forgive me. I have been hasty. I was surprised, and entirely unprepared for this; but surely you will allow me to intercede for these poor creatures. Tom is a noble-hearted, faithful fellow, if he is black. I do believe, Mr. Shelby, that if he were put to it, he would lay down his life for you.”

      “I know it—I dare say; but what’s the use of all this? I can’t help myself.”

      “Why not make a pecuniary sacrifice? I’m willing to bear my part of the inconvenience. Oh, Mr. Shelby, I have tried—tried most faithfully, as a Christian woman should—to do my duty to these poor, simple, dependent creatures. I have cared for them, instructed them, watched over them, and known all their little cares and joys, for years; and how can I ever hold up my head again among them, if, for the sake of a little paltry gain, we sell such a faithful, excellent, confiding creature as poor Tom, and tear from him in a moment all we have taught him to love and value? I have taught them the duties of the family, of parent and child, and husband and wife; and how can I bear to have this open acknowledgment that we care for no tie, no duty, no relation, however sacred, compared with money? I have talked with Eliza about her boy—her duty to him as a Christian mother, to watch over him, pray for him, and bring him up in a Christian way; and now what can I say, if you tear him away, and sell him, soul and body, to a profane, unprincipled man just to save a little money? I have told her that one soul is worth more than all the money in the world; and how will she believe me when she sees us turn round and sell her child?—sell him, perhaps to certain ruin of body and soul!”

      “I’m sorry you feel so about it, Emily—indeed I am,” said Mr. Shelby; “and I respect your feelings, too, though I don’t pretend to share them to their full extent; but I tell you now, solemnly, it’s of no use—I can’t help myself. I didn’t mean to tell you this, Emily; but in plain words, there is no choice between selling these two and selling everything. Either they must go, or all must. Haley has come into possession of a mortgage, which, if I don’t clear off with him directly, will take everything before it. I’ve raked, and scraped, and borrowed, and all but begged—and the price of these two was needed to make up the balance, and I had to give them up. Haley fancied the child; he agreed to settle the matter that way and no other. I was in his power, and had to do it. If you feel so to have them sold, would it be any better to have all sold?”

      Mrs. Shelby stood like one stricken. Finally, turning