 | Uncle Tom's Cabin |  |
ACT IV
SCENE I
A street in New Orleans. Enter Gumption Cute, meeting Marks.
How do ye dew?
MARKS:
How are you?
CUTE:
Well, now, squire, it's a fact that I am dead broke and busted up.
MARKS:
You have been speculating, I suppose!
CUTE:
That's just it and nothing shorter.
MARKS:
You have had poor success, you say?
CUTE:
Tarnation bad, now I tell you. You see I came to this part of the
country to make my fortune.
MARKS:
And you did not do it?
CUTE:
Scarcely. The first thing I tried my hand at was keeping school. I
opened an academy for the instruction of youth in the various branches of or-
thography, geography, and other graphies.
MARKS:
Did you succeed in getting any pupils?
CUTE:
Oh, lots on 'em! and a pretty set of dunces they were too. After the
first quarter, I called on the repectable parents of the juveniles, and requested
them to fork over. To which they politely answered—don't you wish you may
get it?
MARKS:
What did you do then?
CUTE:
Well, I kind of pulled up stakes and left those diggins. Well then I
went into Spiritual Rappings for a living. That paid pretty well for a short time,
till I met with an accident.
MARKS:
An accident?
CUTE:
Yes; a tall Yahoo called on me one day, and wanted me to summon
the spirit of his mother—which, of course, I did. He asked me about a dozen
questions which I answered to his satisfaction. At last he wanted to know what
she died of—I said, Cholera. You never did see a critter so riled as he was. `Look
yere, stranger,' said he, `it's my opinion that you're a pesky humbug! for my
mother was blown up in a Steamboat!' with that he left the premises. The next
day the people furnished me with a conveyance, and I rode out of town.
MARKS:
Rode out of town?
CUTE:
Yes; on a rail!
MARKS:
I suppose you gave up the spirits, after that?
[Description: 916EAF. Page 109.]
Well, I reckon I did; it had such an effect on my spirits.
MARKS:
It's a wonder they didn't tar and feather you.
CUTE:
There was some mention made of that, but when they said feathers, I
felt as if I had wings and flew away.
MARKS:
You cut and run?
CUTE:
Yes; I didn't like their company and I cut it. Well, after that I let
myself out as an overseer on a cotton plantation. I made a pretty good thing of
that, though it was dreadful trying to my feelings to flog the darkies; but I got
used to it after a while, and then I used to lather 'em like Jehu. Well, the pro-
prietor got the fever and ague and shook himself out of town. The place and all
the fixings were sold at auction and I found myself adrift once more.
MARKS:
What are you doing at present?
CUTE:
I'm in search of a rich relation of mine.
MARKS:
A rich relation?
CUTE:
Yes, a Miss Ophelia St. Clare. You see, a niece of hers married one
of my second cousins—that's how I came to be a relation of hers. She came on
here from Vermont to be housekeeper to a cousin of hers, of the same name.
MARKS:
I know him well.
CUTE:
The deuce you do!—well, that's lucky.
MARKS:
Yes, he lives in this city.
CUTE:
Say, you just point out the locality, and I'll give him a call.
MARKS:
Stop a bit. Suppose you shouldn't be able to raise the wind in that
quarter, what have you thought of doing?
CUTE:
Well, nothing particular.
MARKS:
How should you like to enter into a nice, profitable business—one
that pays well?
CUTE:
That's just about my measure—it would suit me to a hair. What is
it?
MARKS:
Nigger catching.
CUTE:
Catching niggers! What on airth do you mean?
MARKS:
Why, when there's a large reward offered for a runaway darkey,
we goes after him, catches him, and gets the reward.
CUTE:
Yes, that's all right so far—but s'pose there ain't no reward offered?
MARKS:
Why, then we catches the darkey on our own account, sells him,
and pockets the proceeds.
CUTE:
By chowder, that ain't a bad speculation!
MARKS:
What do you say? I want a partner. You see, I lost my partner
last year, up in Ohio—he was a powerful fellow.
CUTE:
Lost him! How did you lose him?
MARKS:
Well, you see, Tom and I—his name was Tom Loker—Tom and I
were after a mulatto chap, called George Harris, that run away from Kentucky.
We traced him though the greater part of Ohio, and came up with him near the
Pennsylvania line. He took refuge among some rocks, and showed fight.
CUTE:
Oh! then runaway darkies show fight, do they?
MARKS:
Sometimes. Well, Tom—like a headstrong fool as he was—rushed
up the rocks, and a Quaker chap, who was helping this George Harris, threw
him over the cliff.
CUTE:
Was he killed?
MARKS:
Well, I didn't stop to find out. Seeing that the darkies were
stronger than I thought, I made tracks for a safe place.
[Description: 916EAF. Page 110.]
And what became of this George Harris?
MARKS:
Oh! he and his wife and child got away safe into Canada. You see,
they will get away sometimes though it isn't very often. Now what do you say?
You are just the figure for a fighting partner. Is it a bargain?
CUTE:
Well, I rather calculate our teams won't hitch, no how. By chowder,
I hain't no idea of setting myself up as a target for darkies to fire at—that's a
speculation that don't suit my constitution.
MARKS:
You're afraid, then?
CUTE:
No, I ain't, it's against my principles.
MARKS:
Your principles—how so?
CUTE:
Because my principles are to keep a sharp lookout for No. 1. I
shouldn't feel wholesome if a darkie was to throw me over that cliff to look after
Tom Loker. (Extent arm-in-arm.)
SCENE II
Gothic Chamber. Slow music. St. Clare discovered, seated on sofa. Tom at left.
Oh! Tom, my boy, the whole world is as empty as an egg shell.
TOM:
I know it, mas'r, I know it. But oh! if mas'r could look up—up where our
dear Miss Eva is—
ST. CLARE:
Ah, Tom! I do look up; but the trouble is, I don't see anything when I
do. I wish I could. It seems to be given to children and poor, honest fellows like
you, to see what we cannot. How comes it?
TOM:
Thou hast hid from the wise and prudent, and revealed unto babes; even so,
Father, for so it seemed good in thy sight.
ST. CLARE:
Tom, I don't believe—I've got the habit of doubting—I want to
believe and I cannot.
TOM:
Dear mas'r, pray to the good Lord: “Lord, I believe; help thou my unbelief.”
ST. CLARE:
Who knows anything about anything? Was all that beautiful love and
faith only one of the ever-shifting phases of human feeling, having nothing real
to rest on, passing away with the little breath? And is there no more Eva—
nothing?
TOM:
Oh! dear mas'r, there is. I know it; I'm sure of it. Do, do, dear mas'r, believe
it!
ST. CLARE:
How do you know there is, Tom? You never saw the Lord.
TOM:
Felt Him in my soul, mas'r—feel Him now! Oh, mas'r! when I was sold
away from my old woman and the children, I was jest a'most broken up—I felt
as if there warn't nothing left—and then the Lord stood by me, and He says,
“Fear not, Tom,” and He brings light and joy into a poor fellow's soul—makes
all peace; and I's so happy, and loves everybody, and feels willin' to be jest
where the Lord wants to put me. I know it couldn't come from me, 'cause I's a
poor, complaining creature—it comes from above, and I know He's willin' to do
for mas'r.
ST. CLARE:
(Grasping Tom's hand.)
Tom, you love me!
TOM:
I's willin' to lay down my life this blessed day for you.
ST. CLARE:
(Sadly.)
Poor, foolish fellow! I'm not worth the love of one good,
honest heart like yours.
TOM:
Oh, mas'r! there's more than me loves you—the blessed Saviour
loves you.
[Description: 916EAF. Page 111.]
How do you know that, Tom?
TOM:
The love of the Saviour passeth knowledge.
ST. CLARE:
(Turns away.)
Singular! that the story of a man who lived and
died eighteen hundred years ago can affect people so yet. But He was no man.
(Rises.)
No man ever has such long and living power. Oh! that I could believe
what my mother taught me, and pray as I did when I was a boy! But, Tom, all
this time I have forgotten why I sent for you. I'm going to make a freeman of
you so have your trunk packed, and get ready to set out for Kentucky.
TOM:
(Joyfully.)
Bless the Lord!
ST. CLARE:
Dryly.)
You haven't had such very bad times here, that you
need be in such a rapture, Tom.
TOM:
No, no, mas'r, 'tain't that; it's being a freeman—that's what I'm
joyin' for.
ST. CLARE:
Why, Tom, don't you think, for your own part, you've been
better off than to be free?
TOM:
No, indeed, Mas'r St. Clare—no, indeed!
ST. CLARE:
Why, Tom, you couldn't possibly have earned, by your work,
such clothes and such living as I have given you.
TOM:
I know all that, Mas'r St. Clare—mas'r's been too good; but I'd
rather have poor clothes, poor house, poor everything, and have 'em mine, than
have the best, if they belong to somebody else. I had so, mas'r; I think it's natur',
mas'r.
ST. CLARE:
I suppose so, Tom; and you'll be going off and leaving me in a
month or so—though why you shouldn't no mortal knows.
TOM:
Not while mas'r is in trouble. I'll stay with mas'r as long as he wants
me, so as I can be any use.
ST. CLARE:
(Sadly.)
Not while I'm in trouble, Tom? And when will my
trouble be over?
TOM:
When you are a believer.
ST. CLARE:
And you really mean to stay by me till that day comes? (Smiling
and laying his hand on Tom's shoulder.)
Ah, Tom! I won't keep you till that
day. Go home to your wife and children, and give my love to all.
TOM:
I's faith to think that day will come—the Lord has a work for mas'r.
ST. CLARE:
A work, hey? Well, now, Tom, give me your views on what sort
of a work it is—let's hear.
TOM:
Why, even a poor fellow like me has a work; and Mas'r St. Clare,
that has larnin', and riches, and friends, how much he might do for the Lord.
ST. CLARE:
Tom, you seem to think the Lord needs a great deal done for
him.
TOM:
We does for him when we does for his creatures.
ST. CLARE:
Good theology, Tom. Thank you, my boy; I like to hear you
talk. But go now, Tom, and leave me alone. (Exit Tom.)
That faithful fellow's
words have excited a train of thoughts that almost bear me, on the strong tide of
faith and feeling, to the gates of that heaven I so vividly conceive. They seem to
bring me nearer to Eva.
OPHELIA:
(Outside.)
What are you doing there, you limb of Satan? You've
been stealing something, I'll be bound.
(Ophelia drags in Topsy.)
[Description: 916EAF. Page 112.]
You go 'long, Miss Feely, 'tain't none o' your business.
ST. CLARE:
Heyday! what is all this commotion?
OPHELIA:
She's been stealing.
TOPSY:
(Sobbing.)
I hain't neither.
OPHELIA:
What have you got in your bosom?
TOPSY:
I've got my hand dar.
OPHELIA:
But what have you got in your hand?
TOPSY:
Nuffin'.
OPHELIA:
That's a fib, Topsy.
TOPSY:
Well, I 'spects it is.
OPHELIA:
Give it to me, whatever it is.
TOPSY:
It's mine—I hope I may die this bressed minute, if it don't belong
to me.
OPHELIA:
Topsy, I order you to give me that article; don't let me have to
ask you again. (Topsy reluctantly takes the foot of an old stocking from her
bosom and hands it to Ophelia.)
Sakes alive! what is all this? (Takes from it a
lock of hair, and a small book, with a bit of crape twisted around it.)
TOPSY:
Dat's a lock of ha'r dat Miss Eva give me—she cut if from her own
beau'ful head herself.
ST. CLARE:
(Takes book.)
Why did you wrap this (Pointing to crape.)
around
the book?
TOPSY:
'Cause—'cause—'cause 'twas Miss Eva's. Oh! don't take 'em
away, please! (Sits down on stage, and, putting her apron over her head, begins
to sob vehemently.)
OPHELIA:
Come, come, don't cry; you shall have them.
TOPSY:
(Jumps up joyfully and takes them.)
I wants to keep 'em, 'cause dey
makes me good; I ain't half so wicked as I used to was. (Runs off.)
ST. CLARE:
I really think you can make something of that girl. Any mind
that is capable of a real sorrow is capable of good. You must try and do
something with her.
OPHELIA:
The child has improved very much; I have great hopes of her.
ST. CLARE:
I believe I'll go down the street, a few moments, and hear the
news.
OPHELIA:
Shall I call Tom to attend you?
ST. CLARE:
No, I shall be back in an hour. (Exit.)
OPHELIA:
He's got an excellent heart, but then he's so dreadful shiftless!
(Exit.)
SCENE III
Front Chamber. Enter Topsy.
Dar's somethin' de matter wid me—I isn't a bit like myself. I
haven't done anything wrong since poor Miss Eva went up in de skies and left
us. When I's gwine to do anything wicked, I tinks of her, and somehow I can't
do it. I's getting to be good, dat's a fact. I 'spects when I's dead I shall be turned
into a little brack angel.
(Enter Ophelia.)
[Description: 916EAF. Page 113.]
Topsy, I've been looking for you; I've got something very par-
ticular to say to you.
TOPSY:
Does you want me to say the catechism?
OPHELIA:
No, not now.
TOPSY:
(Aside.)
Golly! dat's one comfort.
OPHELIA:
Now, Topsy, I want you to try and understand what I am going
to say to you.
TOPSY:
Yes, missis, I'll open my ears drefful wide.
OPHELIA:
Mr. St. Clare has given you to me, Topsy.
TOPSY:
Den I b'longs to you, don't I? Golly! I thought I always belong
to you.
OPHELIA:
Not till to-day have I received any authority to call you my
property.
TOPSY:
I's your property, am I? Well, if you say so, I 'spects I am.
OPHELIA:
Topsy, I can give you your liberty.
TOPSY:
My liberty?
OPHELIA:
Yes, Topsy.
TOPSY:
Has you got 'um with you?
OPHELIA:
I have, Topsy.
TOPSY:
Is it clothes or wittles?
OPHELIA:
How shiftless! Don't you know what your liberty is, Topsy?
TOPSY:
How should I know when I never seed 'um?
OPHELIA:
Topsy, I am going to leave this place; I am going many miles
away—to my own home in Vermont.
TOPSY:
Den what's to become of dis chile?
OPHELIA:
If you wish to go, I will take you with me.
TOPSY:
Miss Feely, I doesn't want to leave you no how, I loves you I does.
OPHELIA:
Then you shall share my home for the rest of your days. Come,
Topsy.
TOPSY:
Stop, Miss Feely; does dey hab any oberseers in Varmount?
OPHELIA:
No, Topsy.
TOPSY:
Nor cotton plantations, nor sugar factories, nor darkies, nor
whipping nor nothing?
OPHELIA:
No, Topsy.
TOPSY:
By Golly! de quicker you is gwine de better den.
(Enter Tom, hastily.)
Oh, Miss Feely! Miss Feely!
OPHELIA:
Gracious me, Tom! what's the matter?
TOM:
Oh, Mas'r St. Clare! Mas'r St. Clare!
OPHELIA:
Well, Tom, well?
TOM:
They've just brought him home and I do believe he's killed?
OPHELIA:
Killed?
TOPSY:
Oh dear! what's to become of de poor darkies now?
TOM:
He's dreadful weak. It's just as much as he can do to speak. He
wanted me to call you.
OPHELIA:
My poor cousin! Who would have thought of it? Don't say a
word to his wife, Tom; the danger may not be so great as you think; it would
[Description: 916EAF. Page 114.]
(Exeunt.)
SCENE IV
Handsome Chamber. St. Clare discovered seated on sofa. Ophelia, Tom and Topsy
are clustered around him. Doctor back of sofa feeling his pulse. Scene opens to slow
music.
(Raising himself feebly.)
Tom—poor fellow!
TOM:
Well, mas'r?
ST. CLARE:
I have received my death wound.
TOM:
Oh, no, no, mas'r!
ST. CLARE:
I feel that I am dying—Tom, pray!
TOM:
(Sinking on his knees.)
I do, pray, mas'r! I do pray!
ST. CLARE:
(After a pause.)
Tom, one thing preys upon my mind—I have
forgotten to sign your freedom papers. What will become of you when I am
gone?
TOM:
Don't think of that, mas'r.
ST. CLARE:
I was wrong, Tom, very wrong, to neglect it. I may be the cause
of much suffering to you hereafter. Marie, my wife—she—oh!—
OPHELIA:
His mind is wandering.
ST. CLARE:
(Energetically.)
No! it is coming home at last! (Sinks back.) At last
at last! Eva, I come! (Dies. Music—slow curtain.)
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