University of Virginia Library

35. CHAPTER XXXV.
THE TOKENS.

The sitting-room of Legree's establishment was a large,
long room, with a wide, ample fireplace. It had once
been hung with a showy and expensive paper, which now
hung mouldering, torn and discolored, from the damp walls.
The place had that peculiar sickening, unwholesome smell,
compounded of mingled damp, dirt and decay, which one
often notices in close old houses. The wall-paper was defaced,
in spots, by slops of beer and wine; or garnished with chalk
memorandums, and long sums footed up, as if somebody had
been practising arithmetic there. In the fireplace stood a
brazier full of burning charcoal; for, though the weather was
not cold, the evenings always seemed damp and chilly in that
great room; and Legree, moreover, wanted a place to light
his cigars, and heat his water for punch. The ruddy glare
of the charcoal displayed the confused and unpromising
aspect of the room, — saddles, bridles, several sorts of harness,
riding-whips, overcoats, and various articles of clothing, scattered
up and down the room in confused variety; and the

dogs, of whom we have before spoken, had encamped themselves
among them, to suit their own taste and convenience.

Legree was just mixing himself a tumbler of punch, pouring
his hot water from a cracked and broken-nosed pitcher,
grumbling, as he did so,

“Plague on that Sambo, to kick up this yer row between
me and the new hands! The fellow won't be fit to work for
a week, now, — right in the press of the season!”

“Yes, just like you,” said a voice, behind his chair. It
was the woman Cassy, who had stolen upon his soliloquy.

“Hah! you she-devil! you 've come back, have you?”

“Yes, I have,” she said, coolly; “come to have my own
way, too!”

“You lie, you jade! I 'll be up to my word. Either
behave yourself, or stay down to the quarters, and fare and
work with the rest.”

“I 'd rather, ten thousand times,” said the woman, “live
in the dirtiest hole at the quarters, than be under your
hoof!”

“But you are under my hoof, for all that,” said he,
turning upon her, with a savage grin; “that 's one comfort.
So, sit down here on my knee, my dear, and hear to reason,”
said he, laying hold on her wrist.

“Simon Legree, take care!” said the woman, with a
sharp flash of her eye, a glance so wild and insane in its
light as to be almost appalling. “You 're afraid of me,
Simon,” she said, deliberately; “and you 've reason to be!
But be careful, for I 've got the devil in me!”

The last words she whispered in a hissing tone, close to his
ear.

“Get out! I believe, to my soul, you have!” said Legree,
pushing her from him, and looking uncomfortably at her.

“After all, Cassy,” he said, “why can't you be friends with
me, as you used to?”

“Used to!” said she, bitterly. She stopped short, — a
world of choking feelings, rising in her heart, kept her silent.

Cassy had always kept over Legree the kind of influence
that a strong, impassioned woman can ever keep over the
most brutal man; but, of late, she had grown more and more
irritable and restless, under the hideous yoke of her servitude,
and her irritability, at times, broke out into raving
insanity; and this liability made her a sort of object of dread
to Legree, who had that superstitious horror of insane persons
which is common to coarse and uninstructed minds.
When Legree brought Emmeline to the house, all the smouldering
embers of womanly feeling flashed up in the worn
heart of Cassy, and she took part with the girl; and a fierce
quarrel ensued between her and Legree. Legree, in a fury,
swore she should be put to field service, if she would not be
peaceable. Cassy, with proud scorn, declared she would go
to the field. And she worked there one day, as we have
described, to show how perfectly she scorned the threat.

Legree was secretly uneasy, all day; for Cassy had an influence
over him from which he could not free himself. When
she presented her basket at the scales, he had hoped for some
concession, and addressed her in a sort of half conciliatory,
half scornful tone; and she had answered with the bitterest
contempt.

The outrageous treatment of poor Tom had roused her still
more; and she had followed Legree to the house, with no particular
intention, but to upbraid him for his brutality.

“I wish, Cassy,” said Legree, “you 'd behave yourself
decently.”

“You talk about behaving decently! And what have you

been doing? — you, who have n't even sense enough to keep
from spoiling one of your best hands, right in the most pressing
season, just for your devilish temper!”

“I was a fool, it 's a fact, to let any such brangle come
up,” said Legree; “but, when the boy set up his will, he
had to be broke in.”

“I reckon you won't break him in!”

“Won't I?” said Legree, rising, passionately. “I 'd like
to know if I won't? He 'll be the first nigger that ever came
it round me! I 'll break every bone in his body, but he shall
give up!”

Just then the door opened, and Sambo entered. He came
forward, bowing, and holding out something in a paper.

“What 's that, you dog?” said Legree.

“It 's a witch thing, Mas'r!”

“A what?”

“Something that niggers gets from witches. Keeps 'em
from feelin' when they 's flogged. He had it tied round his
neck, with a black string.”

Legree, like most godless and cruel men, was superstitious.
He took the paper, and opened it uneasily.

There dropped out of it a silver dollar, and a long, shining
curl of fair hair, — hair which, like a living thing, twined
itself round Legree's fingers.

“Damnation!” he screamed, in sudden passion, stamping
on the floor, and pulling furiously at the hair, as if it burned
him. “Where did this come from? Take it off! — burn it
up! — burn it up!” he screamed, tearing it off, and throwing
it into the charcoal. “What did you bring it to me for?”

Sambo stood, with his heavy mouth wide open, and aghast
with wonder; and Cassy, who was preparing to leave the

apartment, stopped, and looked at him in perfect amazement.

“Don't you bring me any more of your devilish things!”
said he, shaking his fist at Sambo, who retreated hastily
towards the door; and, picking up the silver dollar, he sent
it smashing through the window-pane, out into the darkness.

Sambo was glad to make his escape. When he was gone,
Legree seemed a little ashamed of his fit of alarm. He sat
doggedly down in his chair, and began sullenly sipping his
tumbler of punch.

Cassy prepared herself for going out, unobserved by him;
and slipped away to minister to poor Tom, as we have already
related.

And what was the matter with Legree? and what was
there in a simple curl of fair hair to appall that brutal man,
familiar with every form of cruelty? To answer this, we
must carry the reader backward in his history. Hard and
reprobate as the godless man seemed now, there had been a
time when he had been rocked on the bosom of a mother, —
cradled with prayers and pious hymns, — his now seared
brow bedewed with the waters of holy baptism. In early
childhood, a fair-haired woman had led him, at the sound of
Sabbath bell, to worship and to pray. Far in New England
that mother had trained her only son, with long, unwearied
love, and patient prayers. Born of a hard-tempered sire, on
whom that gentle woman had wasted a world of unvalued
love, Legree had followed in the steps of his father. Boisterous,
unruly, and tyrannical, he despised all her counsel,
and would none of her reproof; and, at an early age, broke
from her, to seek his fortunes at sea. He never came home
but once, after; and then, his mother, with the yearning of a
heart that must love something, and has nothing else to love,

clung to him, and sought, with passionate prayers and entreaties,
to win him from a life of sin, to his soul's eternal good.

That was Legree's day of grace; then good angels called
him; then he was almost persuaded, and mercy held him
by the hand. His heart inly relented, — there was a conflict,
— but sin got the victory, and he set all the force of his
rough nature against the conviction of his conscience. He
drank and swore, — was wilder and more brutal than ever.
And, one night, when his mother, in the last agony of her
despair, knelt at his feet, he spurned her from him, — threw
her senseless on the floor, and, with brutal curses, fled to his
ship. The next Legree heard of his mother was, when, one
night, as he was carousing among drunken companions, a
letter was put into his hand. He opened it, and a lock of
long, curling hair fell from it, and twined about his fingers.
The letter told him his mother was dead, and that, dying, she
blest and forgave him.

There is a dread, unhallowed necromancy of evil, that turns
things sweetest and holiest to phantoms of horror and affright.
That pale, loving mother, — her dying prayers, her forgiving
love, — wrought in that demoniac heart of sin only as a damning
sentence, bringing with it a fearful looking for of judgment
and fiery indignation. Legree burned the hair, and burned
the letter; and when he saw them hissing and crackling in
the flame, inly shuddered as he thought of everlasting fires.
He tried to drink, and revel, and swear away the memory;
but often, in the deep night, whose solemn stillness arraigns
the bad soul in forced communion with herself, he had seen
that pale mother rising by his bedside, and felt the soft twining
of that hair around his fingers, till the cold sweat would
roll down his face, and he would spring from his bed in horror.
Ye who have wondered to hear, in the same evangel,

that God is love, and that God is a consuming fire, see ye not
how, to the soul resolved in evil, perfect love is the most
fearful torture, the seal and sentence of the direst despair?

“Blast it!” said Legree to himself, as he sipped his liquor;
“where did he get that? If it did n't look just like —
whoo! I thought I 'd forgot that. Curse me, if I think
there 's any such thing as forgetting anything, any how, —
hang it! I 'm lonesome! I mean to call Em. She hates
me — the monkey! I don't care, — I 'll make her come!”

Legree stepped out into a large entry, which went up
stairs, by what had formerly been a superb winding staircase;
but the passage-way was dirty and dreary, encumbered
with boxes and unsightly litter. The stairs, uncarpeted,
seemed winding up, in the gloom, to nobody knew where!
The pale moonlight streamed through a shattered fanlight
over the door; the air was unwholesome and chilly, like that
of a vault.

Legree stopped at the foot of the stairs, and heard a voice
singing. It seemed strange and ghostlike in that dreary old
house, perhaps because of the already tremulous state of his
nerves. Hark! what is it?

A wild, pathetic voice, chants a hymn common among the
slaves:

“Blast the girl!” said Legree. “I 'll choke her. — Em!
Em!” he called, harshly; but only a mocking echo from the
walls answered him. The sweet voice still sung on:

And clear and loud swelled through the empty halls the
refrain,

Legree stopped. He would have been ashamed to tell of
it, but large drops of sweat stood on his forehead, his heart
beat heavy and thick with fear; he even thought he saw
something white rising and glimmering in the gloom before
him, and shuddered to think what if the form of his dead
mother should suddenly appear to him.

“I know one thing,” he said to himself, as he stumbled
back in the sitting-room, and sat down; “I 'll let that fellow
alone, after this! What did I want of his cussed paper? I
b'lieve I am bewitched, sure enough! I 've been shivering
and sweating, ever since! Where did he get that hair? It
could n't have been that! I burnt that up, I know I did!
It would be a joke, if hair could rise from the dead!”

Ah, Legree! that golden tress was charmed; each hair
had in it a spell of terror and remorse for thee, and was used
by a mightier power to bind thy cruel hands from inflicting
uttermost evil on the helpless!

“I say,” said Legree, stamping and whistling to the dogs,
“wake up, some of you, and keep me company!” but the
dogs only opened one eye at him, sleepily, and closed it
again.

“I 'll have Sambo and Quimbo up here, to sing and dance
one of their hell dances, and keep off these horrid notions,”
said Legree; and, putting on his hat, he went on to the
verandah, and blew a horn, with which he commonly summoned
his two sable drivers.

Legree was often wont, when in a gracious humor, to get

these two worthies into his sitting-room, and, after warming
them up with whiskey, amuse himself by setting them to singing,
dancing or fighting, as the humor took him.

It was between one and two o'clock at night, as Cassy was
returning from her ministrations to poor Tom, that she heard
the sound of wild shrieking, whooping, halloing, and singing,
from the sitting-room, mingled with the barking of dogs, and
other symptoms of general uproar.

She came up on the verandah steps, and looked in. Legree
and both the drivers, in a state of furious intoxication, were
singing, whooping, upsetting chairs, and making all manner
of ludicrous and horrid grimaces at each other.

She rested her small, slender hand on the window-blind,
and looked fixedly at them; — there was a world of anguish,
scorn, and fierce bitterness, in her black eyes, as she did so.
“Would it be a sin to rid the world of such a wretch?”
she said to herself.

She turned hurriedly away, and, passing round to a back
door, glided up stairs, and tapped at Emmeline's door.