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at arm’s length； and looking admiringly at her； “you are a pretty little fellow。 That crop of little； short curls； is quite becoming。 Put on your cap。 So—a little to one side。 I never saw you look quite so pretty。 But； it’s almost time for the carriage；—I wonder if Mrs。 Smyth has got Harry rigged？”
The door opened； and a respectable； middle…aged woman entered； leading little Harry； dressed in girl’s clothes。
“What a pretty girl he makes；” said Eliza； turning him round。 “We call him Harriet； you see；—don’t the name come nicely？”
The child stood gravely regarding his mother in her new and strange attire； observing a profound silence； and ocomasionally drawing deep sighs； and peeping at her from under his dark curls。
“Does Harry know mamma？” said Eliza； stretching her hands toward him。
The child clung shyly to the woman。
“Come Eliza； why do you try to coax him； when you know that he has got to be kept away from you？”
“I know it’s foolish；” said Eliza； “yet； I can’t bear to have him turn away from me。 But come；—where’s my cloak？ Here；—how is it men put on cloaks； George？”
“You must wear it so；” said her husband； throwing it over his shoulders。
“So； then；” said Eliza； imitating the motion；—“and I must stamp； and take long steps； and try to look saucy。”
“Don’t exert yourself；” said George。 “There is； now and then； a modest young man； and I think it would be easier for you to act that character。”
“And these gloves！ mercy upon us！” said Eliza； “why； my hands are lost in them。”
“I advise you to keep them on pretty strictly；” said George。 “Your slender paw might bring us all out。 Now； Mrs。 Smyth； you are to go under our charge； and be our aunty；—you mind。”
“I’ve heard；” said Mrs。 Smyth； “that there have been men down； warning all the packet captains against a man and woman； with a little boy。”
“They have！” said George。 “Well； if we see any such people； we can tell them。”
A hack now drove to the door； and the friendly family who had received the fugitives crowded around them with farewell greetings。
The disguises the party had assumed were in acomordance with the hints of Tom Loker。 Mrs。 Smyth； a respectable woman from the settlement in Canada； whither they were fleeing； being fortunately about crossing the lake to return thither； had consented to appear as the aunt of little Harry； and； in order to attach him to her； he had been allowed to remain； the two last days； under her sole charge； and an extra amount of petting； jointed to an indefinite amount of seed…cakes and candy； had cemented a very close attachment on the part of the young gentleman。
The hack drove to the wharf。 The two young men； as they appeared； walked up the plank into the boat； Eliza gallantly giving her arm to Mrs。 Smyth； and George attending to their baggage。
George was standing at the captain’s office； settling for his party； when he overheard two men talking by his side。
“I’ve watched every one that came on board；” said one； “and I know they’re not on this boat。”
The voice was that of the clerk of the boat。 The speaker whom he addressed was our sometime friend Marks； who； with that valuable perservance which characterized him； had come on to Sandusky； seeking whom he might devour。
“You would scarcely know the woman from a white one；” said Marks。 “The man is a very light mulatto； he has a brand in one of his hands。”
The hand with which George was taking the tickets and change trembled a little； but he turned coolly around； fixed an unconcerned glance on the face of the speaker； and walked leisurely toward another part of the boat； where Eliza stood waiting for him。
Mrs。 Smyth； with little Harry； sought the seclusion of the ladies’ cabin； where the dark beauty of the supposed little girl drew many flattering comments from the passengers。
George had the satisfaction； as the bell rang out its farewell peal； to see Marks walk down the plank to the shore； and drew a long sigh of relief； when the boat had put a returnless distance between them。
It was a superb day。 The blue waves of Lake Erie danced； rippling and sparkling； in the sun…light。 A fresh breeze blew from the shore； and the lordly boat ploughed her way right gallantly onward。
O； what an untold world there is in one human heart！ Who thought； as George walked calmly up and down the deck of the steamer； with his shy companion at his side； of all that was burning in his bosom？ The mighty good that seemed approaching seemed too good； too fair； even to be a reality； and he felt a jealous dread； every moment of the day； that something would rise to snatch it from him。
But the boat swept on。 Hours fleeted； and； at last； clear and full rose the blessed English shores； shores charmed by a mighty spell；—with one touch to dissolve every incantation of slavery； no matter in what language pronounced； or by what national power confirmed。
George and his wife stood arm in arm； as the boat neared the small town of Amherstberg； in Canada。 His breath grew thick and short； a mist gathered before his eyes； he silently pressed the little hand that lay trembling on his arm。 The bell rang； the boat stopped。 Scarcely seeing what he did； he looked out his baggage； and gathered his little party。 The little company were landed on the shore。 They stood still till the boat had cleared； and then； with tears and embracings； the husband and wife； with their wondering child in their arms； knelt down and lifted up their hearts to God！
“’T was something like the burst from death to life；
From the grave’s cerements to the robes of heaven；
From sin’s dominion； and from passion’s strife；
To the pure freedom of a soul forgiven；
Where all the bonds of death and hell are riven；
And mortal puts on immortality；
When Mercy’s hand hath turned the golden key；
And Mercy’s voice hath said； Rejoice； thy soul is free。”
The little party were soon guided； by Mrs。 Smyth； to the hospitable abode of a good missionary； whom Christian charity has placed here as a shepherd to the outcast and wandering； who are constantly finding an asylum on this shore。
Who can speak the blessedness of that first day of freedom？ Is not the sense of liberty a higher and a finer one than any of the five？ To move； speak and breathe；—go out and come in unwatched； and free from danger！ Who can speak the blessings of that rest which comes down on the free man’s pillow； under laws which insure to him the rights that God has given to man？ How fair and precious to that mother was that sleeping child’s face； endeared by the memory of a thousand dangers！ How impossible was it to sleep； in the exuberant posession of such blessedness！ And yet； these two had not one acre of ground；—not a roof that they could call their own；—they had spent their all； to the last dollar。 They had nothing more than the birds of the air； or the flowers of the field；—yet they could not sleep for joy。 “O； ye who take freedom from man； with what words shall ye answer it to God？”
1 John Philpot Curran （1750…1817）； Irish orator and judge who worked for Catholic emancipation。
Chapter 38
The Victory
“Thanks be unto God； who giveth us the victory。”1
Have not many of us； in the weary way of life； felt； in some hours； how far easier it were to die than to live？
The martyr； when faced even by a death of bodily anguish and horror； finds in the very terror of his doom a strong stimulant and tonic。 There is a vivid excitement； a thrill and fervor； which may carry through any crisis of suffering that is the birth…hour of eternal glory and rest。
But to live；—to wear on； day after day； of mean； bitter； low； harassing servitude； every nerve dampened and depressed； every power of feeling gradually smothered；—this long and wasting heart…martyrdom； this slow； daily bleeding away of the inward life； drop by drop； hour after hour；—this is the true searching test of what there may be in man or woman。
When Tom stood face to face with his persecutor； and heard his threats； and thought in his very soul that his hour was come； his heart swelled bravely in him； and he thought he could bear torture and fire； bear anything； with the vision of Jesus and heaven but just a step beyond； but； when he was gone； and the present excitement passed off； came back the pain of his bruised and weary limbs；—came back the sense of his utterly degraded； hopeless； forlorn estate； and the day passed wearily enough。
Long before his wounds were healed； Legree insisted that he should be put to the regular field…work； and then came day after day of pain and weariness； aggravated by every kind of injustice and indignity that the ill…will of a mean and malicious mind could devise。 Whoever； in our circumstances； has made trial of pain； even with all the alleviations which； for us； usually attend it； must know the irritation that comes with it。 Tom no longer wondered at the habitual surliness of his associates； nay； he found the placid； sunny temper； which had been the habitude of his life； broken in on； and sorely strained； by the inroads of the same thing。 He had flattered himself on leisure to read his Bible； but there was no such thing as leisure there。 In the height of the season； Legree did not hesitate to press all his hands through； Sundays and week…days alike。 Why shouldn’t he？—he made more cotton by it； and gained his wager； and if it wore out a few more hands； he could buy better ones。 At first； Tom used to read a verse or two of his Bible； by the flicker of the fire； after he had returned from his daily toil； but； after the cruel treatment he received； he used to come home so exhausted； that his head swam and his eyes failed when he tried to read； and he was fain to stretch himself down； with the others； in utter exhaustion。
Is it strange that the religious peace and trust； which had upborne him hitherto； should give way to tossings of soul and despondent darkness？ The gloomiest problem of this mysterious life was constantly before his eyes；—souls crushed and ruined； evil triumphant； and God silent。 It was weeks and months that Tom wrestled； in his own soul； in darkness and sorrow。 He thought of Miss Ophelia’s letter to his Kentucky friends； and would pray earnestly that God would send him deliverance。 And then he would watch； day after day； in the vague hope of seeing somebody sent to redeem him； and； when nobody came； he would crush back to his soul bitter thoughts；—that it was vain to serve God； that God had forgotten him。 He sometimes saw Cassy； and sometimes； when summoned to the house； caught a glimpse of the dejected form of Emmeline； but held very little communion with either； in fact； there was no time for him to commune with anybody。
One evening； he was sitting； in utter dejection and prostration； by a few decaying brands； where his coarse supper was baking。 He put a few bits of brushwood on the fire； and strove to raise the light； and then drew his worn Bible from his pocket。 There were all the marked passages； which had thrilled his soul so often；—words of patriarchs and seers； poets and sages； who from early time had spoken courage to man；—voices from the great cloud of witnesses who ever surround us in the race of life。 Had the word lost its power； or could the failing eye and weary sense no longer answer to the touch of that mighty inspiration？ Heavily sighing； he put it in his pocket。 A coarse laugh roused him； he looked up；—Legree was standing opposite to him。
“Well； old boy；” he said； “you find your religion don’t work； it seems！ I thought I should get that through your wool； at last！”
The cruel taunt was more than hunger and cold and nakedness。 Tom was silent。
“You were a fool；” said Legree； “for I meant to do well by you； when I bought you。 You might have been better off than Sambo； or Quimbo either； and had easy times； and； instead of getting cut up and thrashed； every day or two； ye might have had liberty to lord it round； and cut up the other niggers； and ye might have had； now and then； a good warming of whiskey punch。 Come； Tom； don’t you think you’d better be reasonable？—heave that ar old pack of trash in the fire； and join my church！”
“The Lord forbid！” said Tom； fervently。
“You see the Lord an’t going to help you； if he had been； he wouldn’t have let me get you！ This yer religion is all a mess of lying trumpery； Tom。 I know all about it。 Ye’d better hold to me； I’m somebody； and can do something！”
“No； Mas’r；” said Tom； “I’ll hold on。 The Lord may help me； or not help； but I’ll hold to him； and believe him to the last！”
“The more fool you！” said Legree； spitting scornfully at him； and spurning him with his foot。 “Never mind； I’ll chase you down； yet； and bring you under；—you’ll see！” and Legree turned away。
When a heavy weight presses the soul to the lowest level at which endurance is possible； there is an instant and desperate effort of every physical and moral nerve to throw off the weight； and hence the heaviest anguish often precedes a return tide of joy and courage。 So was it now with Tom。 The atheistic taunts of his cruel master sunk his before dejected soul to the lowest ebb； and； though the hand of faith still held to the eternal rock； it was a numb； despairing grasp。 Tom sat； like one stunned； at the fire。 Suddenly everything around him seemed to fade； and a vision ro