 | Uncle Tom's Cabin |  |
ACT I
SCENE I
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Plain Chamber. Enter Eliza, meeting George.
Ah! George, is it you? Well, I am so glad you've come. (George
regards her mournfully.)
Why don't you smile, and ask after Harry?
GEORGE:
(Bitterly.)
I wish he'd never been born! I wish I'd never been born
myself!
ELIZA:
(Sinking her head upon his breast and weeping.)
Oh George!
GEORGE:
There now, Eliza, it's too bad for me to make you feel so. Oh! how I
wish you had never seen me—you might have been happy!
ELIZA:
George! George! how can you talk so? What dreadful thing has hap-
pened, or is going to happen? I'm sure we've been very happy till lately.
GEORGE:
So we have, dear. But oh! I wish I'd never seen you, nor you me.
ELIZA:
Oh, George! how can you?
GEORGE:
Yes, Eliza, it's all misery! misery! The very life is burning out of
me! I'm a poor, miserable, forlorn drudge! I shall only drag you down with me,
that's all! What's the use of our trying to do anything—trying to know
anything—trying to be anything? I wish I was dead!
ELIZA:
Oh! now, dear George, that is really wicked. I know how you feel
about losing your place in the factory, and you have a hard master; but pray be
patient—
GEORGE:
Patient! Haven't I been patient? Did I say a word when he came
and took me away—for no earthly reason—from the place where everybody
was kind to me? I'd paid him truly every cent of my earnings, and they all say I
worked well.
ELIZA:
Well, it is dreadful; but, after all, he is your master, you know.
GEORGE:
My master! And who made him my master? That's what I think
of. What right has he to me? I'm as much a man as he is. What right has he to
make a dray-horse of me?—to take me from things I can do better than he can,
and put me to work that any horse can do? He tries to do it; he says he'll bring
me down and humble me, and he puts me to just the hardest, meanest and dir-
tiest work, on purpose.
ELIZA:
Oh, George! George! you frighten me. Why, I never heard you talk
so. I'm afraid you'll do something dreadful. I don't wonder at your feelings at
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GEORGE:
I have been careful, and I have been patient, but it's growing
worse and worse—flesh and blood can't bear it any longer. Every chance he can
get to insult and torment me he takes. He says that though I don't say anything,
he sees that I've got the devil in me, and he means to bring it out; and one of
these days it will come out, in a way that he won't like, or I'm mistaken.
ELIZA:
Well, I always thought that I must obey my master and mistress, or
I couldn't be a Christian.
GEORGE:
There is some sense in it in your case. They have brought you up
like a child—fed you, clothed you and taught you, so that you have a good
education—that is some reason why they should claim you. But I have been
kicked and cuffed and sworn at, and what do I owe? I've paid for all my keeping
a hundred times over. I won't bear it!—no, I won't! Master will find out that
I'm one whipping won't tame. My day will come yet, if he don't look out!
ELIZA:
What are you going to do? Oh! George, don't do anything wicked;
if you only trust in heaven and try to do right, it will deliver you.
GEORGE:
Eliza, my heart's full of bitterness. I can't trust in heaven. Why
does it let things be so?
ELIZA:
Oh, George! we must all have faith. Mistress says that when all
things go wrong to us, we must believe that heaven is doing the very best.
GEORGE:
That's easy for people to say who are sitting on their sofas and
riding in their carriages; but let them be where I am—I guess it would come
some harder. I wish I could be good; but my heart burns and can't be reconcil-
ed. You couldn't, in my place, you can't now, if I tell you all I've got to say; you
don't know the whole yet.
ELIZA:
What do you mean?
GEORGE:
Well, lately my master has been saying that he was a fool to let me
marry off the place—that he hates Mr. Shelby and all his tribe—and he says he
won't let me come here any more, and that I shall take a wife and settle down on
his place.
ELIZA:
But you were married to me by the minister, as much as if you had
been a white man.
GEORGE:
Don't you know I can't hold you for my wife if he chooses to part
us? That is why I wish I'd never seen you—it would have been better for us
both—it would have been better for our poor child if he had never been born.
ELIZA:
Oh! but my master is so kind.
GEORGE:
Yes, but who knows?—he may die, and then Harry may be sold
to nobody knows who. What pleasure is it that he is handsome and smart and
bright? I tell you, Eliza, that a sword will pierce through your soul for every
good and pleasant thing your child is or has. It will make him worth too much
for you to keep.
ELIZA:
Heaven forbid!
GEORGE:
So, Eliza, my girl, bear up now, and good by, for I'm going.
ELIZA:
Going, George! Going where?
GEORGE:
To Canada; and when I'm there I'll buy you—that's all the hope
that's left us. You have a kind master, that won't refuse to sell you. I'll buy you
and the boy—heaven helping me, I will!
ELIZA:
Oh, dreadful! If you should be taken?
GEORGE:
I won't be taken, Eliza—I'll die first! I'll be free, or I'll die.
ELIZA:
You will not kill yourself?
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No need of that; they will kill me, fast enough. I will never go
down the river alive.
ELIZA:
Oh, George! for my sake, do be careful. Don't lay hands on
yourself, or anybody else. You are tempted too much, but don't. Go, if you
must, but go carefully, prudently, and pray heaven to help you!
GEORGE:
Well, then Eliza, hear my plan. I'm going home quite resigned,
you understand, as if all was over. I've got some preparations made, and there
are those that will help me; and in the course of a few days I shall be among the
missing. Well, now, good by.
ELIZA:
A moment—our boy.
GEORGE:
(Choked with emotion.)
True, I had forgotten him; one last look,
and then farewell!
ELIZA:
And heaven grant it be not forever! (Exeunt.)
SCENE II
A dining room. Table and chairs. Dessert, wine, etc., on table. Shelby and Haley
discovered at table.
That is the way I should arrange the matter.
HALEY:
I can't make trade that way—I positively can't, Mr. Shelby. (Drinks.)
SHELBY:
Why, the fact is, Haley, Tom is an uncommon fellow! He is cer-
tainly worth that sum anywhere—steady, honest, capable, manages my whole
farm like a clock!
HALEY:
You mean honest, as niggers go. (Fills glass.)
SHELBY:
No; I mean, really, Tom is a good, steady, sensible, pious fellow.
He got religion at a camp-meeting, four years ago, and I believe he really did
get it. I've trusted him since then, with everything I have—money, house,
horses, and let him come and go round the country, and I always found him true
and square in everything.
HALEY:
Some folks don't believe there is pious niggers, Shelby, but I do. I
had a fellow, now, in this yer last lot I took to Orleans—'twas as good as a
meetin' now, really, to hear that critter pray; and he was quite gentle and quiet
like. He fetched me a good sum, too, for I bought him cheap of a man that was
'bliged to sell out, so I realized six hundred on him. Yes, I consider religion a
valeyable thing in a nigger, when it's the genuine article and no mistake.
SHELBY:
Well, Tom's got the real article, if ever a fellow had. Why last fall
I let him go to Cincinnati alone, to do business for me and bring home five hun-
dred dollars. “Tom,” says I to him, “I trust you, because I think you are a Chris-
tian—I know you wouldn't cheat.” Tom comes back sure enough, I knew he
would. Some low fellows, they say, said to him—“Tom, why don't you make
tracks for Canada?” “Ah, master trusted me, and I couldn't,” was his answer.
They told me all about it. I am sorry to part with Tom, I must say. You ought to
let him cover the whole balance of the debt and you would, Haley, if you had
any conscience.
HALEY:
Well, I've got just as much conscience as any man in business can afford
to keep, just a little, you know, to swear by, as twere; and then I'm ready to do
anything in reason to 'blige friends, but this yer, you see, is a leetle too hard on a
fellow—a leetle too hard! (Fills glass again.)
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Well, then, Haley, how will you trade?
HALEY:
Well, haven't you a boy or a girl that you could throw in with
Tom?
SHELBY:
Hum! none that I could well spare; to tell the truth, it's only hard
necessity makes me willing to sell at all. I don't like parting with any of my
hands, that's a fact. (Harry runs in.)
Hulloa! Jim Crow! (Throws a bunch of
raisins towards him.)
Pick that up now! (Harry does so.)
HALEY:
Bravo, little 'un! (Throws an orange, which Harry catches. He sings and
dances around the stage.)
Hurrah! Bravo! What a young 'un! That chap's a case,
I'll promise. Tell you what, Shelby, fling in that chap, and I'll settle the
business. Come, now, if that ain't doing the thing up about the rightest!
(Eliza enters. Starts on beholding Haley, and gazes fearfully at Harry, who runs
and clings to her dress, showing the orange, etc.)
Well, Eliza?
ELIZA:
I was looking for Harry, please, sir.
SHELBY:
Well, take him away, then.
(Eliza grasps the child eagerly in her arms, and casting another glance of apprehen-
sion at Haley, exits hastily.)
By Jupiter! there's an article, now. You might make your fortune on
that ar gal in Orleans any day. I've seen over a thousand in my day, paid down
for gals not a bit handsomer.
SHELBY:
I don't want to make my fortune on her. Another glass of wine.
(Fills the glasses.)
HALEY:
(Drinks and smacks his lips.)
Capital wine—first chop. Come, how will
you trade about the gal? What shall I say for her? What'll you take?
SHELBY:
Mr. Haley, she is not to be sold. My wife wouldn't part with her
for her weight in gold.
HALEY:
Ay, ay! women always say such things, 'cause they hain't no sort of
calculation. Just show 'em how many watches, feathers and trinkets one's
weight in gold would buy, and that alters the case, I reckon.
SHELBY:
I tell you, Haley, this must not be spoken of—I say no, and I
mean no.
HALEY:
Well, you'll let me have the boy tho'; you must own that I have
come down pretty handsomely for him.
SHELBY:
What on earth can you want with the child?
HALEY:
Why, I've got a friend that's going into this yer branch of the
business—wants to buy up handsome boys to raise for the market. Well, what
do you say?
SHELBY:
I'll think the matter over and talk with my wife.
HALEY:
Oh, certainly, by all means; but I'm in a devil of a hurry and shall
want to know as soon as possible, what I may depend on.
(Rises and puts on his overcoat, which hangs on a chair. Takes hat and whip.)
Well, call up this evening, between six and seven, and you shall
have my answer.
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All right. Take care of yourself, old boy! (Exit.)
SHELBY:
If anybody had ever told me that I should sell Tom to those rascal-
ly traders, I should never have believed it. Now it must come for aught I see,
and Eliza's child too. So much for being in debt, heigho! The fellow sees his ad-
vantage and means to push it. (Exit.)
SCENE III
Snowy landscape. Uncle Tom's Cabin. Snow on roof. Practicable door and win-
dow. Dark stage. Music. Enter Eliza hastily, with Harry in her arms.
My poor boy! they have sold you, but your mother will save you yet!
(Goes to Cabin and taps on window. Aunt Chloe appears at window with a large
white night-cap on.)
Good Lord! what's that? My sakes alive if it ain't Lizy! Get on
your clothes, old man, quick! I'm gwine to open the door.
(The door opens and Chloe enters followed by Uncle Tom in his shirt sleeves
holding a tallow candle.)
(Holding the light towards Eliza.)
Lord bless you! I'm skeered to look at ye,
Lizy! Are ye tuck sick, or what's come over ye?
ELIZA:
I'm running away, Uncle Tom and Aunt Chloe, carrying off my
child! Master sold him!
TOM & CHLOE:
Sold him!
ELIZA:
Yes, sold him! I crept into the closet by mistress' door tonight and
heard master tell mistress that he had sold my Harry and you, Uncle Tom, both,
to a trader, and that the man was to take possession to-morrow.
CHLOE:
The good lord have pity on us! Oh! it don't seem as if it was true.
What has he done that master should sell him?
ELIZA:
He hasn't done anything—it isn't for that. Master don't want to
sell, and mistress—she's always good. I heard her plead and beg for us, but he
told her 'twas no use—that he was in this man's debt, and he had got the power
over him, and that if he did not pay him off clear, it would end in his having to
sell the place and all the people and move off.
CHLOE:
Well, old man, why don't you run away, too? Will you wait to be
toted down the river, where they kill niggers with hard work and starving? I'd a
heap rather die than go there, any day! There's time for ye, be off with
Lizy—you've got a pass to come and go any time. Come, bustle up, and I'll get
your things together.
TOM:
No, no—I ain't going. Let Eliza go—it's her right. I wouldn't be the
one to say no—'tain't in natur' for her to stay; but you heard what she said? If I
must be sold, or all the people on the place, and everything go to rack, why, let
me be sold. I s'pose I can bar it as well as any one. Mas'r always found me on the
spot—he always will. I never have broken trust, nor used my pass no ways con-
trary to my word, and I never will. It's better for me to go alone, than to break
up the place and sell all. Mas'r ain't to blame, and he'll take care of you and the
poor little 'uns! (Overcome.)
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Now, old man, what is you gwine to cry for? Does you want to
break this old woman's heart? (Crying.)
ELIZA:
I saw my husband only this afternoon, and I little knew then what
was to come. He told me he was going to run away. Do try, if you can, to get
word to him. Tell him how I went and why I went, and tell him I'm going to try
and find Canada. You must give my love to him, and tell him if I never see him
again on earth, I trust we shall meet in heaven!
TOM:
Dat is right, Lizy, trust in the Lord—he is our best friend—our only
comforter.
ELIZA:
You won't go with me, Uncle Tom?
TOM:
No; time was when I would, but the Lord's given me a work among
these yer poor souls, and I'll stay with 'em and bear my cross with 'em till the
end. It's different with you—it's more'n you could stand, and you'd better go if
you can.
ELIZA:
Uncle Tom, I'll try it!
TOM:
Amen! The lord help ye!
(Exit Eliza and Harry.)
What is you gwine to do, old man! What's to become of you?
TOM:
(Solemnly.)
Him that saved Daniel in the den of lions—that saved the
children in the fiery furnace—Him that walked on the sea and bade the winds
be still—He's alive yet! and I've faith to believe he can deliver me.
CHLOE:
You is right, old man.
TOM:
The Lord is good unto all that trust him, Chloe. (Exeunt into cabin.)
SCENE IV
Room in Tavern by the river side. A large window in flat, through which the river
is seen, filled wth floating ice. Moon light. Table and chairs brought on. Enter
Phineas.
Chaw me up into tobaccy ends! how in the name of all that's onpossible
am I to get across that yer pesky river? It's a reg'lar blockade of ice! I promised
Ruth to meet her to-night, and she'll be into my har if I don't come. (Goes to
window.)
Thar's a conglomerated prospect for a loveyer! What in creation's to
be done? That thar river looks like a permiscuous ice-cream shop come to an
awful state of friz. If I war on the adjacent bank, I wouldn't care a teetotal
atom. Rile up, you old varmit, and shake the ice off your back!
(Enter Eliza and Harry.)
Courage, my boy—we have reached the river. Let it but roll bet-
ween us and our pursuers, and we are safe! (Goes to window.)
Gracious powers!
the river is choked with cakes of ice!
PHINEAS:
Holloa, gal!—what's the matter? You look kind of streaked.
ELIZA:
Is there any ferry or boat that takes people over now?
PHINEAS:
Well, I guess not; the boats have stopped running.
ELIZA:
(In dismay.)
Stopped running?
PHINEAS:
Maybe you're wanting to get over—anybody sick? Ye seem
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ELIZA:
I—I—I've got a child that's very dangerous. I never heard of it till
last night, and I've walked quite a distance to-day, in hopes to get to the ferry.
PHINEAS:
Well, now, that's onlucky; I'm re'lly consarned for ye. Thar's a
man, a piece down here, that's going over with some truck this evening, if he
duss to; he'll be in here to supper to-night, so you'd better set down and wait.
That's a smart little chap. Say, young'un, have a chaw tobaccy? (Takes out a
large plug and a bowie-knife.)
ELIZA:
No, no! not any for him.
PHINEAS:
Oh! he don't use it, eh? Hain't come to it yet? Well, I have. (Cuts
off a large piece, and returns the plug and knife to pocket.)
What's the matter
with the young 'un? He looks kind of white in the gills!
ELIZA:
Poor fellow! he is not used to walking, and I've hurried him on so.
PHINEAS:
Tuckered, eh? Well, there's a little room there, with a fire in it.
Take the baby in there, make yourself comfortable till that thar ferryman
shows his countenance—I'll stand the damage.
ELIZA:
How shall I thank you for such kindness to a stranger?
PHINEAS:
Well, if you don't know how, why, don't try; that's the teetotal.
Come, vamose! (Exit, Eliza and Harry.)
Chaw me into sassage meat, if that
ain't a perpendicular fine gal! she's a reg'lar A No. 1 sort of female! How'n
thunder am I to get across this refrigerated stream of water? I can't wait for that
ferryman. (Enter Marks.)
Halloa! what sort of a critter's this? (Advances.)
Say,
stranger, will you have something to drink?
MARKS:
You are excessively kind: I don't care if I do.
PHINEAS:
Ah! he's a human. Holloa, thar! bring us a jug of whisky instan-
taneously, or expect to be teetotally chawed up! Squat yourself, stranger, and go
in for enjoyment. (They sit at table.)
Who are you, and what's your name?
MARKS:
I am a lawyer, and my name is Marks.
PHINEAS:
A land shark, eh? Well, I dont' think no worse on you for that.
The law is a kind of necessary evil; and it breeds lawyers just as an old stump
does fungus. Ah! here's the whisky. (Enter Waiter, with jug and tumblers. Places
them on table.)
Here, you—take that shin-plaster. (Gives bill.)
I don't want any
change—thar's a gal stopping in that room—the balance will pay for her—d'ye
hear?—vamose! (Exit Waiter. Fills glass.)
Take hold, neighbor Marks—don't
shirk the critter. Here's hoping your path of true love may never have an ice-
choked river to cross! (They drink.)
MARKS:
Want to cross the river, eh?
PHINEAS:
Well, I do, stranger. Fact is, I'm in love with the teetotalist pretty girl,
over on the Ohio side, that ever wore a Quaker bonnet. Take another swig,
neighbor. (Fills glasses, and they drink.)
MARKS:
A Quaker, eh?
PHINEAS:
Yes—kind of strange, ain't it? The way of it was this:—I used to
own a grist of niggers—had 'em to work on my plantation, just below here.
Well, stranger, do you know I fell in with that gal—of course I was considerably
smashed—knocked into a pretty conglomerated heap—and I told her so. She
said she wouldn't hear a word from me so long as I owned a nigger!
MARKS:
You sold them, I suppose?
PHINEAS:
You're teetotally wrong, neighbor. I gave them all their freedom,
and told 'em to vamose!
MARKS:
Ah! yes—very noble, I dare say, but rather expensive. This act won
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PHINEAS:
You're off the track again, neighbor. She felt kind of pleased
about it, and smiled, and all that; but she said she could never be mine unless I
turned Quaker! Thunder and earth! what do you think of that? You're a
lawyer—come, now, what's your opinion? Don't you call it a knotty point?
MARKS:
Most decidedly. Of course you refused.
PHINEAS:
Teetotally; but she told me to think better of it, and come to-night
and give her my final conclusion. Chaw me into mince meat, if I haven't made
up my mind to do it!
MARKS:
You astonish me!
PHINEAS:
Well, you see, I can't get along without that gal;—she's sort of
fixed my flint, and I'm sure to hang fire without her. I know I shall make a
queer sort of Quaker, because you see, neighbor, I ain't precisely the kind of
material to make a Quaker out of.
MARKS:
No, not exactly.
PHINEAS:
Well, I can't stop no longer. I must try to get across that can-
daverous river some way. It's getting late—take care of yourself, neighbor
lawyer. I'm a teetotal victim to a pair of black eyes. Chaw me up to feed hogs, if
I'm not in a ruinatious state! (Exit.)
MARKS:
Queer genius, that, very! (Enter Tom Loker.)
So you've come at
last.
LOKER:
Yes. (Looks into jug.)
Empty! Waiter! more whisky!
(Waiter enters, with jug, and removes the empty one. Enter Haley.)
By the land! if this yer ain't the nearest, now, to what I've heard
people call Providence! Why, Loker, how are ye?
LOKER:
The devil! What brought you here, Haley?
HALEY:
(Sitting at table.)
I say, Tom, this yer's the luckiest thing in the world.
I'm in a devil of a hobble, and you must help me out!
LOKER:
Ugh! aw! like enough. A body may be pretty sure of that when
you're glad to see 'em, or can make something off of 'em. What's the blow now?
HALEY:
You've got a friend here—partner, perhaps?
LOKER:
Yes, I have. Here, Marks—here's that ar fellow that I was with in
Natchez.
MARKS:
(Grasping Haley's hand.)
Shall be pleased with his acquaintance.
Mr. Haley, I believe?
HALEY:
The same, sir. The fact is, gentlemen, this morning I bought a
young 'un of Shelby up above here. His mother got wind of it, and what does she
do but cut her lucky with him; and I'm afraid by this time that she has crossed
the river, for I tracked her to this very place.
MARKS:
So, then, ye're fairly sewed up, ain't ye? He! he! he! it's neatly
done, too.
HALEY:
This young 'un business makes lots of trouble in the trade.
MARKS:
Now, Mr. Haley, what is it? Do you want us to undertake to catch
this gal?
HALEY:
The gal's no matter of mine—she's Shelby's—it's only the boy. I
was a fool for buying the monkey.
LOKER:
You're generally a fool!
MARKS:
Come now, Loker, none of your huffs; you see, Mr. Haley's a-puttin' us in
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forte. This yer gal, Mr. Haley—how is she? what is she?
(Eliza appears, with Harry, listening.)
Well, white and handsome—well brought up. I'd have given
Shelby eight hundred or a thousand, and then made well on her.
MARKS:
White and handsome—well brought up! Look here now, Loker, a
beautiful opening. We'll do a business here on our own account. We does the
catchin'; the boy, of course, goes to Mr. Haley—we takes the gal to Orleans to
speculate on. Ain't it beautiful? (They confer together.)
ELIZA:
Powers of mercy, protect me! How shall I escape these human blood-
hounds? Ah! the window—the river of ice! That dark stream lies between
me and liberty! Surely the ice will bear my trifling weight. It is my only chance
of escape—better sink beneath the cold waters, with my child locked in my
arms, than have him torn from me and sold into bondage. He sleeps upon my
breast—Heaven, I put my trust in thee! (Gets out of window.)
MARKS:
Well, Tom Loker, what do you say?
LOKER:
It'll do!
(Strikes his hand violently on the table. Eliza screams. They all start to their feet.
Eliza disappears. Music, chord.)
By the land, there she is now! (They all rush to the window.)
MARKS:
She's making for the river!
LOKER:
Let's after her!
(Music. They all leap through the window. Change.)
SCENE V
Snow. Landscape. Music. Enter Eliza, with Harry, hurriedly.
They press upon my footsteps—the river is my only hope. Heaven
grant me strength to reach it, ere they overtake me! Courage, my child!—we
will be free—or perish! (Rushes off. Music continued.)
(Enter Loker, Haley and Marks.)
We'll catch her yet; the river will stop her!
MARKS:
No, it won't, for look! she has jumped upon the ice! She's brave gal,
anyhow!
LOKER:
She'll be drowned!
HALEY:
Curse that young 'un! I shall lose him, after all.
LOKER:
Come on, Marks, to the ferry!
HALEY:
Aye, to the ferry!—a hundred dollars for a boat!
(Music. They rush off.)
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SCENE VI
The entire depth of stage, representing the Ohio River filled with Floating Ice. Set
bank on right and in front. Eliza appears, with Harry, on a cake of ice, and floats
slowly across to left. Haley, Loker, and Marks, on bank right, observing. Phineas
on opposite shore.
| Uncle Tom's Cabin | |