Pictures and Stories from Uncle Tom's Cabin

When the trader was disappointed in catching Harry, he put handcuffs on poor Tom to prevent his escape, and took him away in a waggon to a town, where he bought more slaves – children from their mothers, and husbands from their wives – some of them as black as Tom, and some nearly white, like Harry and his mother. Then he put them all on board of a steamboat going down the great river Mississippi. You will see on the map that it is one of the largest rivers in America. There are many towns on its banks, and steamboats go from one to another carrying goods and passengers; and the trader seeing that Tom was quiet and peaceable, took off the handcuffs, and allowed him to go about the steamboat helping the sailors, for Tom would help anybody. There were many people on board besides the negroes, and among them a rich gentleman called Mr. St. Clair. He was returning home from a visit to his relations, who lived in New England, and had with him his little daughter Eva, and his cousin Miss Feely. Eva had long yellow curls, and a fair, pretty face; better than that, she had the fear of God and the love of all goodness in her heart. Always cheerful, meek, and kindly, everybody loved Eva St. Clair, especially her father, for she was his only daughter. Tom saw her play about the steamboat, for they were days and nights on the voyage. Eva used to come close and look at him, when he sat thinking of Chloe and the children. The little one was shy, notwithstanding all her busy interest in everything going on, and it was not easy to tame her. But at last Tom and she got on quite confidential terms.

"What's little missy's name?" said Tom at last, when he thought matters were ripe to push such an inquiry.

"Evangeline St. Clair," said the little one, "though papa and everybody else call me Eva. Now, what's your name?"

"My name's Tom; the little children used to call me Uncle Tom, away back thar in Kentucky."

"Then, I mean to call you Uncle Tom, because, you see, I like you," said Eva. "So, Uncle Tom, where are you going?"

"I don't know, Miss Eva."

"Don't know?" said Eva.

"No. I am going to be sold to somebody. I don't know who."

"My papa can buy you," said Eva, quickly; "and if he buys you, you will have good times. I mean to ask him to, this very day."

"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 went forward to offer his service in wooding, and soon was busy among the hands.

Eva and her father were standing together by the railings to see the boat start from the landing-place; the wheel had made two or three revolutions in the water, when, by some sudden movement, the little one suddenly lost her balance, and fell sheer over the side of the boat, into the water. Her father, scarce knowing what he did, was plunging in after her, but was held back by some behind him, who saw that more efficient aid had followed his child.

Tom was standing just under her on the lower deck as she fell. He saw her strike the water and sink, and was after her in a moment. A broad-chested, strong-armed fellow, it was nothing for him to keep afloat in the water, till, in a moment or two, the child rose to the surface, and he caught her in his arms, and, swimming with her to the boat-side, handed her up, all dripping, to the grasp of hundreds of hands, which, as if they had all belonged to one man, were stretched eagerly 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, that she would not rest till the rich Mr. St. Clair had bought him from the trader; and the girl hoped that she would one day get her father coaxed to set him free. From that day Tom and Eva were great friends. The steamer brought them safely to New Orleans. The trader took all his slaves 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 the doings 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.
 

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.
 
 
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.