 | CHAPTER XX.
TOPSY. Uncle Tom's cabin, or, Life among the lowly |  |
20. CHAPTER XX.
TOPSY.
One morning, while Miss Ophelia was busy in some of her
domestic cares, St. Clare's voice was heard, calling her at the
foot of the stairs.
“Come down here, Cousin; I 've something to show you.”
“What is it?” said Miss Ophelia, coming down, with her
sewing in her hand.
“I 've made a purchase for your department, — see here,”
said St. Clare; and, with the word, he pulled along a little
negro girl, about eight or nine years of age.
She was one of the blackest of her race; and her round,
shining eyes, glittering as glass beads, moved with quick and
restless glances over everything in the room. Her mouth,
half open with astonishment at the wonders of the new Mas'r's
parlor, displayed a white and brilliant set of teeth. Her
woolly hair was braided in sundry little tails, which stuck out
in every direction. The expression of her face was an odd
mixture of shrewdness and cunning, over which was oddly
drawn, like a kind of veil, an expression of the most doleful
gravity and solemnity. She was dressed in a single filthy,
ragged garment, made of bagging; and stood with her hands
demurely folded before her. Altogether, there was something
odd and goblin-like about her appearance, — something,
as Miss Ophelia afterwards said, “so heathenish,” as to inspire
that good lady with utter dismay; and, turning to St.
Clare, she said,
“Augustine, what in the world have you brought that
thing here for?”
“For you to educate, to be sure, and train in the way she
should go. I thought she was rather a funny specimen in
the Jim Crow line. Here, Topsy,” he added, giving a
whistle, as a man would to call the attention of a dog, “give
us a song, now, and show us some of your dancing.”
The black, glassy eyes glittered with a kind of wicked drollery,
and the thing struck up, in a clear shrill voice, an odd
negro melody, to which she kept time with her hands and
feet, spinning round, clapping her hands, knocking her knees
together, in a wild, fantastic sort of time, and producing in
her throat all those odd guttural sounds which distinguish the
native music of her race; and finally, turning a summerset or
two, and giving a prolonged closing note, as odd and unearthly
as that of a steam-whistle, she came suddenly down
on the carpet, and stood with her hands folded, and a most
sanctimonious expression of meekness and solemnity over her
face, only broken by the cunning glances which she shot
askance from the corners of her eyes.
Miss Ophelia stood silent, perfectly paralyzed with amazement.
St. Clare, like a mischievous fellow as he was, appeared to
enjoy her astonishment; and, addressing the child again, said,
“Topsy, this is your new mistress. I 'm going to give
you up to her; see now that you behave yourself.”
“Yes, Mas'r,” said Topsy, with sanctimonious gravity, her
wicked eyes twinkling as she spoke.
“You 're going to be good, Topsy, you understand,” said
St. Clare.
“O yes, Mas'r,” said Topsy, with another twinkle, her
hands still devoutly folded.
“Now, Augustine, what upon earth is this for?” said Miss
Ophelia. “Your house is so full of these little plagues, now,
that a body can't set down their foot without treading on 'em.
I get up in the morning, and find one asleep behind the door,
and see one black head poking out from under the table, one
lying on the door-mat, — and they are mopping and mowing
and grinning between all the railings, and tumbling over the
kitchen floor! What on earth did you want to bring this one
for?”
“For you to educate — did n't I tell you? You 're always
preaching about educating. I thought I would make you a
present of a fresh-caught specimen, and let you try your
hand on her, and bring her up in the way she should go.”
“I don't want her, I am sure; — I have more to do with
'em now than I want to.”
“That 's you Christians, all over! — you 'll get up a society,
and get some poor missionary to spend all his days among
just such heathen. But let me see one of you that would
take one into your house with you, and take the labor of
their conversion on yourselves! No; when it comes to that,
they are dirty and disagreeable, and it 's too much care, and
so on.”
“Augustine, you know I did n't think of it in that light,”
said Miss Ophelia, evidently softening. “Well, it might be
a real missionary work,” said she, looking rather more favorably
on the child.
St. Clare had touched the right string. Miss Ophelia's
conscientiousness was ever on the alert. “But,” she added,
“I really did n't see the need of buying this one; — there are
enough now, in your house, to take all my time and skill.”
“Well, then, Cousin,” said St. Clare, drawing her aside,
“I ought to beg your pardon for my good-for-nothing
in them. Why, the fact is, this concern belonged to a couple
of drunken creatures that keep a low restaurant that I have
to pass by every day, and I was tired of hearing her screaming,
and them beating and swearing at her. She looked
bright and funny, too, as if something might be made of her;
— so I bought her, and I 'll give her to you. Try, now, and
give her a good orthodox New England bringing up, and see
what it 'll make of her. You know I haven't any gift that
way; but I'd like you to try.”
“Well, I 'll do what I can,” said Miss Ophelia; and she
approached her new subject very much as a person might be
supposed to approach a black spider, supposing them to have
benevolent designs toward it.
“She 's dreadfully dirty, and half naked,” she said.
“Well, take her down stairs, and make some of them clean
and clothe her up.”
Miss Ophelia carried her to the kitchen regions.
“Don't see what Mas'r St. Clare wants of 'nother nigger!”
said Dinah, surveying the new arrival with no friendly
air. “Won't have her round under my feet, I know!”
“Pah!” said Rosa and Jane, with supreme disgust; “let
her keep out of our way! What in the world Mas'r
wanted another of these low niggers for, I can't see!”
“You go long! No more nigger dan you be, Miss Rosa,”
said Dinah, who felt this last remark a reflection on herself.
“You seem to tink yourself white folks. You an't nerry
one, black nor white. I'd like to be one or turrer.”
Miss Ophelia saw that there was nobody in the camp that
would undertake to oversee the cleansing and dressing of the
new arrival; and so she was forced to do it herself, with some
very ungracious and reluctant assistance from Jane.
It is not for ears polite to hear the particulars of the first
toilet of a neglected, abused child. In fact, in this world,
multitudes must live and die in a state that it would be too
great a shock to the nerves of their fellow-mortals even to
hear described. Miss Ophelia had a good, strong, practical
deal of resolution; and she went through all the disgusting
details with heroic thoroughness, though, it must be confessed,
with no very gracious air, — for endurance was the utmost to
which her principles could bring her. When she saw, on the
back and shoulders of the child, great welts and calloused
spots, ineffaceable marks of the system under which she had
grown up thus far, her heart became pitiful within her.
“See there!” said Jane, pointing to the marks, “don't
that show she's a limb? We'll have fine works with her,
I reckon. I hate these nigger young uns! so disgusting! I
wonder that Mas'r would buy her!”
The “young un” alluded to heard all these comments with
the subdued and doleful air which seemed habitual to her,
only scanning, with a keen and furtive glance of her flickering
eyes, the ornaments which Jane wore in her ears. When
arrayed at last in a suit of decent and whole clothing, her hair
cropped short to her head, Miss Ophelia, with some satisfaction,
said she looked more Christian-like than she did, and in
her own mind began to mature some plans for her instruction.
Sitting down before her, she began to question her.
“How old are you, Topsy?”
“Dun no, Missis,” said the image, with a grin that showed
all her teeth.
“Don't know how old you are? Did n't anybody ever
tell you? Who was your mother?”
“Never had none!” said the child, with another grin.
“Never had any mother? What do you mean? Where
were you born?”
“Never was born!” persisted Topsy, with another grin,
that looked so goblin-like, that, if Miss Ophelia had been at
all nervous, she might have fancied that she had got hold of
some sooty gnome from the land of Diablerie; but Miss
Ophelia was not nervous, but plain and business-like, and she
said, with some sternness,
“You must n't answer me in that way, child; I 'm not
playing with you. Tell me where you were born, and who
your father and mother were.”
“Never was born,” reiterated the creature, more emphatically;
“never had no father nor mother, nor nothin'. I was
raised by a speculator, with lots of others. Old Aunt Sue
used to take car on us.”
The child was evidently sincere; and Jane, breaking into a
short laugh, said,
“Laws, Missis, there 's heaps of 'em. Speculators buys
'em up cheap, when they 's little, and gets 'em raised for
market.”
“How long have you lived with your master and mistress?”
“Dun no, Missis.”
“Is it a year, or more, or less?”
“Dun no, Missis.”
“Laws, Missis, those low negroes, — they can't tell; they
don't know anything about time,” said Jane; “they don't
know what a year is; they don't know their own ages.”
“Have you ever heard anything about God, Topsy?”
The child looked bewildered, but grinned as usual.
“Do you know who made you?”
“Nobody, as I knows on,” said the child, with a short
laugh.
The idea appeared to amuse her considerably; for her eyes
twinkled, and she added,
“I spect I grow'd. Don't think nobody never made me.”
“Do you know how to sew?” said Miss Ophelia, who
thought she would turn her inquiries to something more tangible.
“No, Missis.”
“What can you do? — what did you do for your master and
mistress?”
“Fetch water, and wash dishes, and rub knives, and wait
on folks.”
“Were they good to you?”
“Spect they was,” said the child, scanning Miss Ophelia
cunningly.
Miss Ophelia rose from this encouraging colloquy; St. Clare
was leaning over the back of her chair.
“You find virgin soil there, Cousin; put in your own ideas,
— you won't find many to pull up.”
Miss Ophelia's ideas of education, like all her other ideas,
were very set and definite; and of the kind that prevailed in
New England a century ago, and which are still preserved in
some very retired and unsophisticated parts, where there are
no railroads. As nearly as could be expressed, they could be
comprised in very few words: to teach them to mind when
they were spoken to; to teach them the catechism, sewing,
and reading; and to whip them if they told lies. And
though, of course, in the flood of light that is now poured
on education, these are left far away in the rear, yet it is
an undisputed fact that our grandmothers raised some tolerably
fair men and women under this régime, as many of
knew of nothing else to do; and, therefore, applied her
mind to her heathen with the best diligence she could command.
The child was announced and considered in the family as
Miss Ophelia's girl; and, as she was looked upon with no gracious
eye in the kitchen, Miss Ophelia resolved to confine her
sphere of operation and instruction chiefly to her own chamber.
With a self-sacrifice which some of our readers will
appreciate, she resolved, instead of comfortably making her
own bed, sweeping and dusting her own chamber, — which she
had hitherto done, in utter scorn of all offers of help from the
chambermaid of the establishment, — to condemn herself to the
martyrdom of instructing Topsy to perform these operations,
— ah, woe the day! Did any of our readers ever do the same,
they will appreciate the amount of her self-sacrifice.
Miss Ophelia began with Topsy by taking her into her
chamber, the first morning, and solemnly commencing a
course of instruction in the art and mystery of bed-making.
Behold, then, Topsy, washed and shorn of all the little
braided tails wherein her heart had delighted, arrayed in a
clean gown, with well-starched apron, standing reverently
before Miss Ophelia, with an expression of solemnity well
befitting a funeral.
“Now, Topsy, I 'm going to show you just how my bed is
to be made. I am very particular about my bed. You must
learn exactly how to do it.”
“Yes, ma'am,” says Topsy, with a deep sigh, and a face
of woful earnestness.
“Now, Topsy, look here; — this is the hem of the sheet, —
this is the right side of the sheet, and this is the wrong; —
will you remember?”
“Yes, ma'am,” says Topsy, with another sigh.
“Well, now, the under sheet you must bring over the
bolster, — so, — and tuck it clear down under the mattress
nice and smooth, — so, — do you see?”
“Yes, ma'am,” said Topsy, with profound attention.
“But the upper sheet,” said Miss Ophelia, “must be
brought down in this way, and tucked under firm and smooth
at the foot, — so, — the narrow hem at the foot.”
“Yes, ma'am,” said Topsy, as before; — but we will add,
what Miss Ophelia did not see, that, during the time when
the good lady's back was turned, in the zeal of her manipulations,
the young disciple had contrived to snatch a pair of
gloves and a ribbon, which she had adroitly slipped into her
sleeves, and stood with her hands dutifully folded, as before.
“Now, Topsy, let 's see you do this,” said Miss Ophelia,
pulling off the clothes, and seating herself.
Topsy, with great gravity and adroitness, went through the
exercise completely to Miss Ophelia's satisfaction; smoothing
the sheets, patting out every wrinkle, and exhibiting, through
the whole process, a gravity and seriousness with which her
instructress was greatly edified. By an unlucky slip, however,
a fluttering fragment of the ribbon hung out of one of
her sleeves, just as she was finishing, and caught Miss Ophelia's
attention. Instantly she pounced upon it. “What 's
this? You naughty, wicked child, — you 've been stealing
this!”
The ribbon was pulled out of Topsy's own sleeve, yet was
she not in the least disconcerted; she only looked at it with
an air of the most surprised and unconscious innocence.
“Laws! why, that ar 's Miss Feely's ribbon, an't it?
How could it a got caught in my sleeve?”
“Topsy, you naughty girl, don't you tell me a lie, — you
stole that ribbon!”
“Missis, I declar for 't, I did n't; — never seed it till dis
yer blessed minnit.”
“Topsy,” said Miss Ophelia, “don't you know it 's
wicked to tell lies?”
“I never tells no lies, Miss Feely,” said Topsy, with
virtuous gravity; “it 's jist the truth I 've been a tellin
now, and an't nothin else.”
“Topsy, I shall have to whip you, if you tell lies so.”
“Laws, Missis, if you 's to whip all day, could n't say no
other way,” said Topsy, beginning to blubber. “I never
seed dat ar, — it must a got caught in my sleeve. Miss
Feely must have left it on the bed, and it got caught in the
clothes, and so got in my sleeve.”
Miss Ophelia was so indignant at the barefaced lie, that
she caught the child and shook her.
“Don't you tell me that again!”
The shake brought the gloves on to the floor, from the
other sleeve.
“There, you!” said Miss Ophelia, “will you tell me now,
you did n't steal the ribbon?”
Topsy now confessed to the gloves, but still persisted in
denying the ribbon.
“Now, Topsy,” said Miss Ophelia, “if you 'll confess all
about it, I won't whip you this time.” Thus adjured, Topsy
confessed to the ribbon and gloves, with woful protestations
of penitence.
“Well, now, tell me. I know you must have taken other
things since you have been in the house, for I let you run
about all day yesterday. Now, tell me if you took anything,
and I shan't whip you.”
“Laws, Missis! I took Miss Eva's red thing she wars on
her neck.”
“You did, you naughty child! — Well, what else?”
“I took Rosa's yer-rings, — them red ones.”
“Go bring them to me this minute, both of 'em.”
“Laws, Missis! I can't, — they 's burnt up!”
“Burnt up! — what a story! Go get 'em, or I 'll whip
you.”
Topsy, with loud protestations, and tears, and groans,
declared that she could not. “They 's burnt up, — they
was.”
“What did you burn 'em up for?” said Miss Ophelia.
“Cause I 's wicked, — I is. I 's mighty wicked, any how.
I can't help it.”
Just at this moment, Eva came innocently into the room,
with the identical coral necklace on her neck.
“Why, Eva, where did you get your necklace?” said
Miss Ophelia.
“Get it? Why, I 've had it on all day,” said Eva.
“Did you have it on yesterday?”
“Yes; and what is funny, Aunty, I had it on all night.
I forgot to take it off when I went to bed.”
Miss Ophelia looked perfectly bewildered; the more so, as
Rosa, at that instant, came into the room, with a basket of
newly-ironed linen poised on her head, and the coral eardrops
shaking in her ears!
“I 'm sure I can't tell anything what to do with such a
child!” she said, in despair. “What in the world did you
tell me you took those things for, Topsy?”
“Why, Missis said I must 'fess; and I could n't think of
nothin' else to 'fess,” said Topsy, rubbing her eyes.
“But, of course, I did n't want you to confess things you
much as the other.”
“Laws, now, is it?” said Topsy, with an air of innocent
wonder.
“La, there an't any such thing as truth in that limb,”
said Rosa, looking indignantly at Topsy. “If I was Mas'r
St. Clare, I 'd whip her till the blood run. I would, — I 'd
let her catch it!”
“No, no, Rosa,” said Eva, with an air of command, which
the child could assume at times; “you must n't talk so,
Rosa. I can't bear to hear it.”
“La sakes! Miss Eva, you 's so good, you don't know
nothing how to get along with niggers. There 's no way but
to cut 'em well up, I tell ye.”
“Rosa!” said Eva, “hush! Don't you say another word
of that sort!” and the eye of the child flashed, and her cheek
deepened its color.
Rosa was cowed in a moment.
“Miss Eva has got the St. Clare blood in her, that 's
plain. She can speak, for all the world, just like her papa,”
she said, as she passed out of the room.
Eva stood looking at Topsy.
There stood the two children, representatives of the two
extremes of society. The fair, high-bred child, with her
golden head, her deep eyes, her spiritual, noble brow,
and prince-like movements; and her black, keen, subtle,
cringing, yet acute neighbor. They stood the representatives
of their races. The Saxon, born of ages of cultivation, command,
education, physical and moral eminence; the Afric,
born of ages of oppression, submission, ignorance, toil, and
vice!
Something, perhaps, of such thoughts struggled through
instincts; and in Eva's noble nature many such were
yearning and working, for which she had no power of utterance.
When Miss Ophelia expatiated on Topsy's naughty,
wicked conduct, the child looked perplexed and sorrowful, but
said, sweetly,
“Poor Topsy, why need you steal? You 're going to be
taken good care of, now. I 'm sure I 'd rather give you anything
of mine, than have you steal it.”
It was the first word of kindness the child had ever heard
in her life; and the sweet tone and manner struck strangely
on the wild, rude heart, and a sparkle of something like a
tear shone in the keen, round, glittering eye; but it was followed
by the short laugh and habitual grin. No! the ear
that has never heard anything but abuse is strangely incredulous
of anything so heavenly as kindness; and Topsy only
thought Eva's speech something funny and inexplicable, —
she did not believe it.
But what was to be done with Topsy? Miss Ophelia
found the case a puzzler; her rules for bringing up did n't
seem to apply. She thought she would take time to think
of it; and, by the way of gaining time, and in hopes of some
indefinite moral virtues supposed to be inherent in dark
closets, Miss Ophelia shut Topsy up in one till she had
arranged her ideas further on the subject.
“I don't see,” said Miss Ophelia to St. Clare, “how I 'm
going to manage that child, without whipping her.”
“Well, whip her, then, to your heart's content; I 'll give
you full power to do what you like.”
“Children always have to be whipped,” said Miss Ophelia;
“I never heard of bringing them up without.”
“O, well, certainly,” said St. Clare; “do as you think
whipped with a poker, knocked down with the shovel or
tongs, whichever came handiest, &c.; and, seeing that she is
used to that style of operation, I think your whippings will
have to be pretty energetic, to make much impression.”
“What is to be done with her, then?” said Miss Ophelia.
“You have started a serious question,” said St. Clare;
“I wish you 'd answer it. What is to be done with a human
being that can be governed only by the lash, — that fails, —
it 's a very common state of things down here!”
“I 'm sure I don't know; I never saw such a child as
this.”
“Such children are very common among us, and such
men and women, too. How are they to be governed?” said
St. Clare.
“I 'm sure it 's more than I can say,” said Miss Ophelia.
“Or I either,” said St. Clare. “The horrid cruelties and
outrages that once and a while find their way into the papers,
— such cases as Prue's, for example, — what do they come
from? In many cases, it is a gradual hardening process on
both sides, — the owner growing more and more cruel, as the
servant more and more callous. Whipping and abuse are like
laudanum; you have to double the dose as the sensibilities
decline. I saw this very early when I became an owner; and
I resolved never to begin, because I did not know when I
should stop, — and I resolved, at least, to protect my own
moral nature. The consequence is, that my servants act like
spoiled children; but I think that better than for us both to
be brutalized together. You have talked a great deal about
our responsibilities in educating, Cousin. I really wanted you
to try with one child, who is a specimen of thousands among
us.”
“It is your system makes such children,” said Miss
Ophelia.
“I know it; but they are made, — they exist, — and what
is to be done with them?”
“Well, I can't say I thank you for the experiment. But,
then, as it appears to be a duty, I shall persevere and try, and
do the best I can,” said Miss Ophelia; and Miss Ophelia,
after this, did labor, with a commendable degree of zeal and
energy, on her new subject. She instituted regular hours
and employments for her, and undertook to teach her to read
and to sew.
In the former art, the child was quick enough. She
learned her letters as if by magic, and was very soon able
to read plain reading; but the sewing was a more difficult
matter. The creature was as lithe as a cat, and as active as
a monkey, and the confinement of sewing was her abomination;
so she broke her needles, threw them slyly out of
windows, or down in chinks of the walls; she tangled, broke,
and dirtied her thread, or, with a sly movement, would
throw a spool away altogether. Her motions were almost
as quick as those of a practised conjurer, and her command
of her face quite as great; and though Miss Ophelia could
not help feeling that so many accidents could not possibly
happen in succession, yet she could not, without a watchfulness
which would leave her no time for anything else, detect
her.
Topsy was soon a noted character in the establishment.
Her talent for every species of drollery, grimace, and mimicry,
— for dancing, tumbling, climbing, singing, whistling,
imitating every sound that hit her fancy, — seemed inexhaustible.
In her play-hours, she invariably had every child in the
establishment at her heels, open-mouthed with admiration
fascinated by her wild diablerie, as a dove is sometimes
charmed by a glittering serpent. Miss Ophelia was uneasy
that Eva should fancy Topsy's society so much, and implored
St. Clare to forbid it.
“Poh! let the child alone,” said St. Clare. “Topsy will
do her good.”
“But so depraved a child, — are you not afraid she will
teach her some mischief?”
“She can't teach her mischief; she might teach it to some
children, but evil rolls off Eva's mind like dew off a cabbage-leaf,
— not a drop sinks in.”
“Don't be too sure,” said Miss Ophelia. “I know I 'd
never let a child of mine play with Topsy.”
“Well, your children need n't,” said St. Clare, “but mine
may; if Eva could have been spoiled, it would have been
done years ago.”
Topsy was at first despised and contemned by the upper
servants. They soon found reason to alter their opinion. It
was very soon discovered that whoever cast an indignity on
Topsy was sure to meet with some inconvenient accident
shortly after; — either a pair of ear-rings or some cherished
trinket would be missing, or an article of dress would be suddenly
found utterly ruined, or the person would stumble
accidentally into a pail of hot water, or a libation of dirty slop
would unaccountably deluge them from above when in full gala
dress; — and on all these occasions, when investigation was
made, there was nobody found to stand sponsor for the
indignity. Topsy was cited, and had up before all the domestic
judicatories, time and again; but always sustained her
examinations with most edifying innocence and gravity of
appearance. Nobody in the world ever doubted who did the
to establish the suppositions, and Miss Ophelia was too just to
feel at liberty to proceed to any lengths without it.
The mischiefs done were always so nicely timed, also,
as further to shelter the aggressor. Thus, the times for
revenge on Rosa and Jane, the two chamber-maids, were
always chosen in those seasons when (as not unfrequently
happened) they were in disgrace with their mistress, when
any complaint from them would of course meet with no sympathy.
In short, Topsy soon made the household understand
the propriety of letting her alone; and she was let alone,
accordingly.
Topsy was smart and energetic in all manual operations,
learning everything that was taught her with surprising
quickness. With a few lessons, she had learned to do the
proprieties of Miss Ophelia's chamber in a way with which
even that particular lady could find no fault. Mortal hands
could not lay spread smoother, adjust pillows more accurately,
sweep and dust and arrange more perfectly, than Topsy, when
she chose, — but she did n't very often choose. If Miss Ophelia,
after three or four days of careful and patient supervision, was
so sanguine as to suppose that Topsy had at last fallen into
her way, could do without overlooking, and so go off and busy
herself about something else, Topsy would hold a perfect carnival
of confusion, for some one or two hours. Instead of
making the bed, she would amuse herself with pulling off the
pillow-cases, butting her woolly head among the pillows, till
it would sometimes be grotesquely ornamented with feathers
sticking out in various directions; she would climb the posts,
and hang head downward from the tops; flourish the sheets
and spreads all over the apartment; dress the bolster up in
Miss Ophelia's night-clothes, and enact various scenic performances
grimaces at herself in the looking-glass; in short, as Miss
Ophelia phrased it, “raising Cain” generally.
On one occasion, Miss Ophelia found Topsy with her very
best scarlet India Canton crape shawl wound round her head
for a turban, going on with her rehearsals before the glass in
great style, — Miss Ophelia having, with carelessness most
unheard-of in her, left the key for once in her drawer.
“Topsy!” she would say, when at the end of all patience,
“what does make you act so?”
“Dunno, Missis, — I spects cause I 's so wicked!”
“I don't know anything what I shall do with you, Topsy.”
“Law, Missis, you must whip me; my old Missis allers
whipped me. I an't used to workin' unless I gets whipped.”
“Why, Topsy, I don't want to whip you. You can do
well, if you 've a mind to; what is the reason you won't?”
“Laws, Missis, I 's used to whippin'; I spects it 's good
for me.”
Miss Ophelia tried the recipe, and Topsy invariably made
a terrible commotion, screaming, groaning and imploring,
though half an hour afterwards, when roosted on some projection
of the balcony, and surrounded by a flock of admiring
“young uns,” she would express the utmost contempt of the
whole affair.
“Law, Miss Feely whip! — would n't kill a skeeter, her
whippins. Oughter see how old Mas'r made the flesh fly;
old Mas'r know'd how!”
Topsy always made great capital of her own sins and enormities,
evidently considering them as something peculiarly
distinguishing.
“Law, you niggers,” she would say to some of her auditors,
“does you know you 's all sinners? Well, you is — everybody
I spects niggers is the biggest ones; but lor! ye an't any on ye
up to me. I 's so awful wicked there can't nobody do nothin'
with me. I used to keep old Missis a swarin' at me half de
time. I spects I 's the wickedest critter in the world;” and
Topsy would cut a summerset, and come up brisk and shining
on to a higher perch, and evidently plume herself on the distinction.
Miss Ophelia busied herself very earnestly on Sundays,
teaching Topsy the catechism. Topsy had an uncommon
verbal memory, and committed with a fluency that greatly
encouraged her instructress.
“What good do you expect it is going to do her?” said
St. Clare.
“Why, it always has done children good. It 's what
children always have to learn, you know,” said Miss Ophelia.
“Understand it or not,” said St. Clare.
“O, children never understand it at the time; but, after
they are grown up, it 'll come to them.”
“Mine has n't come to me yet,” said St. Clare, “though
I 'll bear testimony that you put it into me pretty thoroughly
when I was a boy.”
“Ah, you were always good at learning, Augustine. I
used to have great hopes of you,” said Miss Ophelia.
“Well, have n't you now?” said St. Clare.
“I wish you were as good as you were when you were a
boy, Augustine.”
“So do I, that 's a fact, Cousin,” said St. Clare. “Well,
go ahead and catechize Topsy; may be you 'll make out
something yet.”
Topsy, who had stood like a black statue during this discussion,
Miss Ophelia, went on:
“Our first parents, being left to the freedom of their own
will, fell from the state wherein they were created.”
Topsy's eyes twinkled, and she looked inquiringly.
“What is it, Topsy?” said Miss Ophelia.
“Please, Missis, was dat ar state Kintuck?”
“What state, Topsy?”
“Dat state dey fell out of. I used to hear Mas'r tell how
we came down from Kintuck.”
St. Clare laughed.
“You 'll have to give her a meaning, or she 'll make one,”
said he. “There seems to be a theory of emigration suggested
there.”
“O! Augustine, be still,” said Miss Ophelia; “how can
I do anything, if you will be laughing?”
“Well, I won't disturb the exercises again, on my honor;”
and St. Clare took his paper into the parlor, and sat down,
till Topsy had finished her recitations. They were all very
well, only that now and then she would oddly transpose some
important words, and persist in the mistake, in spite of every
effort to the contrary; and St. Clare, after all his promises
of goodness, took a wicked pleasure in these mistakes, calling
Topsy to him whenever he had a mind to amuse himself, and
getting her to repeat the offending passages, in spite of Miss
Ophelia's remonstrances.
“How do you think I can do anything with the child, if
you will go on so, Augustine?” she would say.
“Well, it is too bad, — I won't again; but I do like to hear
the droll little image stumble over those big words!”
“But you confirm her in the wrong way.”
“What 's the odds? One word is as good as another to
her.”
“You wanted me to bring her up right; and you ought to
remember she is a reasonable creature, and be careful of your
influence over her.”
“O, dismal! so I ought; but, as Topsy herself says, `I 's
so wicked!'”
In very much this way Topsy's training proceeded, for a
year or two, — Miss Ophelia worrying herself, from day to
day, with her, as a kind of chronic plague, to whose inflictions
she became, in time, as accustomed, as persons sometimes do
to the neuralgia or sick head-ache.
St. Clare took the same kind of amusement in the child
that a man might in the tricks of a parrot or a pointer.
Topsy, whenever her sins brought her into disgrace in other
quarters, always took refuge behind his chair; and St. Clare,
in one way or other, would make peace for her. From him
she got many a stray picayune, which she laid out in nuts and
candies, and distributed, with careless generosity, to all the
children in the family; for Topsy, to do her justice, was
good-natured and liberal, and only spiteful in self-defence.
She is fairly introduced into our corps de ballet, and will
figure, from time to time, in her turn, with other performers.
| CHAPTER XX.
TOPSY. Uncle Tom's cabin, or, Life among the lowly | |