Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Гарриет Бичер-Стоу

de hosses, dis yer mornin’, and kept ’em chasin’ till nigh dinner-time? And didn’t I car’ Mas’r Haley nigh five miles out of de road, dis evening, or else he’d a come up with Lizy as easy as a dog arter a coon? These yer’s all providences.”

      “They are a kind of providences that you’ll have to be pretty sparing of, Master Sam. I allow no such practices with gentlemen on my place,” said Mr. Shelby, with as much sternness as he could command, under the circumstances.

      Now, there is no more use in making believe be angry with a negro than with a child; both instinctively see the true state of the case, through all attempts to affect the contrary; and Sam was in no wise disheartened by this rebuke, though he assumed an air of doleful gravity, and stood with the corners of his mouth lowered in most penitential style.

      “Mas’r’s quite right—quite; it was ugly on me—there’s no disputin’ that ar; and of course mas’r and missis wouldn’t encourage no such works. I’m sensible of dat ar; but a poor nigger like me’s ‘mazin’ tempted to act ugly sometimes, when fellers will cut up such shines as dat ar Mas’r Haley; he an’t no gen’l’man noway; anybody’s been raised as I’ve been can’t help a seein’ dat ar.”

      “Well, Sam,” said Mrs. Shelby, “as you appear to have a proper sense of your errors, you may go now and tell Aunt Chloe she may get you some of that cold ham that was left of dinner to-day. You and Andy must be hungry.”

      “Missis is a heap too good for us,” said Sam, making his bow with alacrity, and departing.

      It will be perceived, as has been before intimated, that Master Sam had a native talent that might, undoubtedly, have raised him to eminence in political life—a talent of making capital out of everything that turned up, to be invested for his own especial praise and glory; and having done up his piety and humility, as he trusted, to the satisfaction of the parlour, he clapped his palm-leaf on his head with a sort of rakish, free-and-easy air, and proceeded to the dominions of Aunt Chloe, with the intention of flourishing largely in the kitchen.

      “I’ll speechify these yer niggers,” said Sam to himself, “now I’ve got a chance. Lord, I’ll reel it off to make ’em stare!”

      It must be observed that one of Sam’s especial delights had been to ride in attendance on his master to all kinds of political gatherings, where, roosted on some rail fence, or perched aloft in some tree, he would sit watching the orators with the greatest apparent gusto, and then, descending among the various brethren of his own colour, assembled on the same errand, he would edify and delight them with the most ludicrous burlesques and imitations, all delivered with the most imperturbable earnestness and solemnity; and though the auditors immediately about him were generally of his own colour, it not unfrequently happened that they were fringed pretty deeply with those of a fairer complexion, who listened, laughing and winking, to Sam’s great self-congratulation. In fact, Sam considered oratory as his vocation, and never let slip an opportunity of magnifying his office.

      Now, between Sam and Aunt Chloe there had existed, from ancient times, a sort of chronic feud, or rather a decided coolness; but, as Sam was meditating something in the provision department, as the necessary and obvious foundation of his operations, he determined, on the present occasion, to be eminently conciliatory; for he well knew that although “missis’ orders” would undoubtedly be followed to the letter, yet he should gain a considerable deal by enlisting the spirit also. He therefore appeared before Aunt Chloe with a touchingly subdued, resigned expression, like one who has suffered immeasurable hardships in behalf of a persecuted fellow-creature—enlarged upon the fact that missis had directed him to come to Aunt Chloe for whatever might be wanting to make up the balance in his solids and fluids—and thus unequivocally acknowledged her right and supremacy in the cooking department, and all thereto pertaining.

      The thing took accordingly. No poor, simple, virtuous body was ever cajoled by the attentions of an electioneering politician with more ease than Aunt Chloe was won over by Master Sam’s suavities; and if he had been the prodigal son himself, he could not have been overwhelmed with more maternal bountifulness; and he soon found himself seated, happy and glorious, over a large tin pan containing a sort of olla podrida of all that had appeared on the table for two or three days past. Savoury morsels of ham, golden blocks of corn-cake, fragments of pie of every conceivable mathematical figure, chicken wings, gizzards, and drumsticks, all appeared in picturesque confusion; and Sam, as monarch of all he surveyed, sat with his palm-leaf cocked rejoicingly to one side, and patronising Andy at his right hand.

      The kitchen was full of all his compeers, who had hurried and crowded in, from the various cabins, to hear the termination of the day’s exploits. Now was Sam’s hour of glory. The story of the day was rehearsed with all kinds of ornament and varnishing which might be necessary to heighten its effect; for Sam, like some of our fashionable dilettanti, never allowed a story to lose any of its gilding by passing through his hands. Roars of laughter attended the narration, and were taken up and prolonged by all the smaller fry, who were lying in any quantity about on the floor, or perched in every corner. In the height of the uproar and laughter, Sam, however, preserved an immovable gravity, only from time to time rolling his eyes up, and giving his auditors inexpressibly droll glances, without departing from the sententious elevation of his oratory.

      “Yer see, fellow-countrymen,” said Sam, elevating a turkey’s leg, with energy, “yer see, now, what dis chile’s up ter, for ’fendin’ yer all—yes, all on yer. For him as tries to get one o’ our people is as good as tryin’ to get all; yer see the principle’s de same—dat ar’s clar. And any one o’ these yer drivers that comes smelling round arter any o’ our people, why, he’s got me in his way; I’m the feller he’s got to set in with—I’m the feller for yer all to come to, bredren—I’ll stand up for yer rights—I’ll ’fend ’em to the last breath!”

      “Why, but, Sam, yer telled me, only this mornin’, that you’d help this yer mas’r to cotch Lizy; seems to me yer talk don’t hang together,” said Andy.

      “I tell you now, Andy,” said Sam, with awful superiority, “don’t yer be a talkin’ ’bout what yer don’t know nothin’ on; boys like you, Andy, means well, but they can’t be spected to collusitate the great principles of action.”

      Andy looked rebuked, particularly by the hard word “collusitate,” which most of the youngerly members of the company seemed to consider as a settler in the case, while Sam proceeded.

      “Dat ar was conscience, Andy; when I thought of gwine arter Lizy, I railly spected mas’r was sot dat way. When I found missis was sot the contrar, dat was conscience more yet—’cause fellers allers gets more by stickin’ to missis’ side—so yer see I’s persistent either way, and sticks up to conscience, and holds on to principles. Yes, principles,” said Sam, giving an enthusiastic toss to a chicken’s neck—“what’s principles good for, if we isn’t persistent, I wanter know? Thar, Andy, you may have dat ar bone—’tan’t picked quite clean.”

      Sam’s audience hanging on his words with open mouth, he could but proceed.

      “Dis yer matter ’bout persistence, feller-niggers,” said Sam, with the air of one entering into an abstruse subject, “dis yer ’sistency’s a thing what an’t seed into very clar, by ’most anybody. Now, yer see, when a feller stands up for a thing one day and night, de contrar de next, folks ses (and nat’rally enough dey ses), why, he an’t persistent—hand me dat ar bit o’ corn-cake, Andy. But let’s look inter it. I hope the gen’l’men and der fair sex will scuse my usin’ an or’nary sort o’ ’parison. Here! I’m a-tryin’ to get top o’ der hay. Wal, I puts my larder dis yer side; ’tan’t no go;—den, ’cause I don’t try dere no more, but puts my larder right de contrar side, an’t I persistent? I’m persistent in wantin’ to get up which ary side my larder is; don’t you see, all on yer?”

      “It’s the only thing ye ever was persistent in, Lord knows!” muttered Aunt Chloe, who was getting rather restive; the merriment of the evening being to her somewhat after the Scripture comparison—like “vinegar upon nitre.”