英语天堂-第107部分

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ile　and　unwholesome　character　of　everything　about　the　place。
“Here；　you　Sambo；”　said　Legree；　“take　these　yer　boys　down　to　the　quarters；　and　here’s　a　gal　I’ve　got　for　you；”　said　he；　as　he　separated　the　mulatto　woman　from　Emmeline；　and　pushed　her　towards　him；—“I　promised　to　bring　you　one；　you　know。”
The　woman　gave　a　start；　and　drawing　back；　said；　suddenly；
“O；　Mas’r！　I　left　my　old　man　in　New　Orleans。”
“What　of　that；　you—；　won’t　you　want　one　here？　None　o’　your　words；—go　long！”　said　Legree；　raising　his　whip。
“Come；　mistress；”　he　said　to　Emmeline；　“you　go　in　here　with　me。”
A　dark；　wild　face　was　seen；　for　a　moment；　to　glance　at　the　window　of　the　house；　and；　as　Legree　opened　the　door；　a　female　voice　said　something；　in　a　quick；　imperative　tone。　Tom；　who　was　looking；　with　anxious　interest；　after　Emmeline；　as　she　went　in；　noticed　this；　and　heard　Legree　answer；　angrily；　“You　may　hold　your　tongue！　I’ll　do　as　I　please；　for　all　you！”
Tom　heard　no　more；　for　he　was　soon　following　Sambo　to　the　quarters。　The　quarters　was　a　little　sort　of　street　of　rude　shanties；　in　a　row；　in　a　part　of　the　plantation；　far　off　from　the　house。　They　had　a　forlorn；　brutal；　forsaken　air。　Tom’s　heart　sunk　when　he　saw　them。　He　had　been　comforting　himself　with　the　thought　of　a　cottage；　rude；　indeed；　but　one　which　he　might　make　neat　and　quiet；　and　where　he　might　have　a　shelf　for　his　Bible；　and　a　place　to　be　alone　out　of　his　laboring　hours。　He　looked　into　several；　they　were　mere　rude　shells；　destitute　of　any　species　of　furniture；　except　a　heap　of　straw；　foul　with　dirt；　spread　confusedly　over　the　floor；　which　was　merely　the　bare　ground；　trodden　hard　by　the　tramping　of　innumerable　feet。
“Which　of　these　will　be　mine？”　said　he；　to　Sambo；　submissively。
“Dunno；　ken　turn　in　here；　I　spose；”　said　Sambo；　“spects　thar’s　room　for　another　thar；　thar’s　a　pretty　smart　heap　o’　niggers　to　each　on　’em；　now；　sure；　I　dunno　what　I　’s　to　do　with　more。”
It　was　late　in　the　evening　when　the　weary　ocomupants　of　the　shanties　came　flocking　home；—men　and　women；　in　soiled　and　tattered　garments；　surly　and　uncomfortable；　and　in　no　mood　to　look　pleasantly　on　new…comers。　The　small　village　was　alive　with　no　inviting　sounds；　hoarse；　guttural　voices　contending　at　the　hand…mills　where　their　morsel　of　hard　corn　was　yet　to　be　ground　into　meal；　to　fit　it　for　the　cake　that　was　to　constitute　their　only　supper。　From　the　earliest　dawn　of　the　day；　they　had　been　in　the　fields；　pressed　to　work　under　the　driving　lash　of　the　overseers；　for　it　was　now　in　the　very　heat　and　hurry　of　the　season；　and　no　means　was　left　untried　to　press　every　one　up　to　the　top　of　their　capabilities。　“True；”　says　the　negligent　lounger；　“picking　cotton　isn’t　hard　work。”　Isn’t　it？　And　it　isn’t　much　inconvenience；　either；　to　have　one　drop　of　water　fall　on　your　head；　yet　the　worst　torture　of　the　inquisition　is　produced　by　drop　after　drop；　drop　after　drop；　falling　moment　after　moment；　with　monotonous　sucomession；　on　the　same　spot；　and　work；　in　itself　not　hard；　becomes　so；　by　being　pressed；　hour　after　hour；　with　unvarying；　unrelenting　sameness；　with　not　even　the　consciousness　of　free…will　to　take　from　its　tediousness。　Tom　looked　in　vain　among　the　gang；　as　they　poured　along；　for　companionable　faces。　He　saw　only　sullen；　scowling；　imbruted　men；　and　feeble；　discouraged　women；　or　women　that　were　not　women；—the　strong　pushing　away　the　weak；—the　gross；　unrestricted　animal　selfishness　of　human　beings；　of　whom　nothing　good　was　expected　and　desired；　and　who；　treated　in　every　way　like　brutes；　had　sunk　as　nearly　to　their　level　as　it　was　possible　for　human　beings　to　do。　To　a　late　hour　in　the　night　the　sound　of　the　grinding　was　protracted；　for　the　mills　were　few　in　number　compared　with　the　grinders；　and　the　weary　and　feeble　ones　were　driven　back　by　the　strong；　and　came　on　last　in　their　turn。
“Ho　yo！”　said　Sambo；　coming　to　the　mulatto　woman；　and　throwing　down　a　bag　of　corn　before　her；　“what　a　cuss　yo　name？”
“Lucy；”　said　the　woman。
“Wal；　Lucy；　yo　my　woman　now。　Yo　grind　dis　yer　corn；　and　get　my　supper　baked；　ye　har？”
“I　an’t　your　woman；　and　I　won’t　be！”　said　the　woman；　with　the　sharp；　sudden　courage　of　despair；　“you　go　long！”
“I’ll　kick　yo；　then！”　said　Sambo；　raising　his　foot　threateningly。
“Ye　may　kill　me；　if　ye　choose；—the　sooner　the　better！　Wish’t　I　was　dead！”　said　she。
“I　say；　Sambo；　you　go　to　spilin’　the　hands；　I’ll　tell　Mas’r　o’　you；”　said　Quimbo；　who　was　busy　at　the　mill；　from　which　he　had　viciously　driven　two　or　three　tired　women；　who　were　waiting　to　grind　their　corn。
“And；　I’ll　tell　him　ye　won’t　let　the　women　come　to　the　mills；　yo　old　nigger！”　said　Sambo。　“Yo　jes　keep　to　yo　own　row。”
Tom　was　hungry　with　his　day’s　journey；　and　almost　faint　for　want　of　food。
“Thar；　yo！”　said　Quimbo；　throwing　down　a　coarse　bag；　which　contained　a　peck　of　corn；　“thar；　nigger；　grab；　take　car　on　’t；—yo　won’t　get　no　more；　dis　yer　week。”
Tom　waited　till　a　late　hour；　to　get　a　place　at　the　mills；　and　then；　moved　by　the　utter　weariness　of　two　women；　whom　he　saw　trying　to　grind　their　corn　there；　he　ground　for　them；　put　together　the　decaying　brands　of　the　fire；　where　many　had　baked　cakes　before　them；　and　then　went　about　getting　his　own　supper。　It　was　a　new　kind　of　work　there；—a　deed　of　charity；　small　as　it　was；　but　it　woke　an　answering　touch　in　their　hearts；—an　expression　of　womanly　kindness　came　over　their　hard　faces；　they　mixed　his　cake　for　him；　and　tended　its　baking；　and　Tom　sat　down　by　the　light　of　the　fire；　and　drew　out　his　Bible；—for　he　had　need　for　comfort。
“What’s　that？”　said　one　of　the　woman。
“A　Bible；”　said　Tom。
“Good　Lord！　han’t　seen　un　since　I　was　in　Kentuck。”
“Was　you　raised　in　Kentuck？”　said　Tom；　with　interest。
“Yes；　and　well　raised；　too；　never　’spected　to　come　to　dis　yer！”　said　the　woman；　sighing。
“What’s　dat　ar　book；　any　way？”　said　the　other　woman。
“Why；　the　Bible。”
“Laws　a　me！　what’s　dat？”　said　the　woman。
“Do　tell！　you　never　hearn　on　’t？”　said　the　other　woman。　“I　used　to　har　Missis　a　readin’　on　’t；　sometimes；　in　Kentuck；　but；　laws　o’　me！　we　don’t　har　nothin’　here　but　crackin’　and　swarin’。”
“Read　a　piece；　anyways！”　said　the　first　woman；　curiously；　seeing　Tom　attentively　poring　over　it。
Tom　read；—“Come　unto　Me；　all　ye　that　labor　and　are　heavy　laden；　and　I　will　give　you　rest。”
“Them’s　good　words；　enough；”　said　the　woman；　“who　says　’em？”
“The　Lord；”　said　Tom。
“I　jest　wish　I　know’d　whar　to　find　Him；”　said　the　woman。　“I　would　go；　’pears　like　I　never　should　get　rested　again。　My　flesh　is　fairly　sore；　and　I　tremble　all　over；　every　day；　and　Sambo’s　allers　a　jawin’　at　me；　’cause　I　doesn’t　pick　faster；　and　nights　it’s　most　midnight　’fore　I　can　get　my　supper；　and　den　’pears　like　I　don’t　turn　over　and　shut　my　eyes；　’fore　I　hear　de　horn　blow　to　get　up；　and　at　it　agin　in　de　mornin’。　If　I　knew　whar　de　Lor　was；　I’d　tell　him。”
“He’s　here；　he’s　everywhere；”　said　Tom。
“Lor；　you　an’t　gwine　to　make　me　believe　dat　ar！　I　know　de　Lord　an’t　here；”　said　the　woman；　“’tan’t　no　use　talking；　though。　I’s　jest　gwine　to　camp　down；　and　sleep　while　I　ken。”
The　women　went　off　to　their　cabins；　and　Tom　sat　alone；　by　the　smouldering　fire；　that　flickered　up　redly　in　his　face。
The　silver；　fair…browed　moon　rose　in　the　purple　sky；　and　looked　down；　calm　and　silent；　as　God　looks　on　the　scene　of　misery　and　oppression；—looked　calmly　on　the　lone　black　man；　as　he　sat；　with　his　arms　folded；　and　his　Bible　on　his　knee。
“Is　God　Here？”　Ah；　how　is　it　possible　for　the　untaught　heart　to　keep　its　faith；　unswerving；　in　the　face　of　dire　misrule；　and　palpable；　unrebuked　injustice？　In　that　simple　heart　waged　a　fierce　conflict；　the　crushing　sense　of　wrong；　the　foreshadowing；　of　a　whole　life　of　future　misery；　the　wreck　of　all　past　hopes；　mournfully　tossing　in　the　soul’s　sight；　like　dead　corpses　of　wife；　and　child；　and　friend；　rising　from　the　dark　wave；　and　surging　in　the　face　of　the　half…drowned　mariner！　Ah；　was　it　easy　here　to　believe　and　hold　fast　the　great　password　of　Christian　faith；　that　“God　IS；　and　is　the　REWARDER　of　them　that　diligently　seek　Him”？
Tom　rose；　disconsolate；　and　stumbled　into　the　cabin　that　had　been　allotted　to　him。　The　floor　was　already　strewn　with　weary　sleepers；　and　the　foul　air　of　the　place　almost　repelled　him；　but　the　heavy　night…dews　were　chill；　and　his　limbs　weary；　and；　wrapping　about　him　a　tattered　blanket；　which　formed　his　only　bed…clothing；　he　stretched　himself　in　the　straw　and　fell　asleep。
In　dreams；　a　gentle　voice　came　over　his　ear；　he　was　sitting　on　the　mossy　seat　in　the　garden　by　Lake　Pontchartrain；　and　Eva；　with　her　serious　eyes　bent　downward；　was　reading　to　him　from　the　Bible；　and　he　heard　her　read。
“When　thou　passest　through　the　waters；　I　will　be　with　thee；　and　the　rivers　they　shall　not　overflow　thee；　when　thou　walkest　through　the　fire；　thou　shalt　not　be　burned；　neither　shall　the　flame　kindle　upon　thee；　for　I　am　the　Lord　thy　God；　the　Holy　One　of　Israel；　thy　Saviour。”
Gradually　the　words　seemed　to　melt　and　fade；　as　in　a　divine　music；　the　child　raised　her　deep　eyes；　and　fixed　them　lovingly　on　him；　and　rays　of　warmth　and　comfort　seemed　to　go　from　them　to　his　heart；　and；　as　if　wafted　on　the　music；　she　seemed　to　rise　on　shining　wings；　from　which　flakes　and　spangles　of　gold　fell　off　like　stars；　and　she　was　gone。
Tom　woke。　Was　it　a　dream？　Let　it　pass　for　one。　But　who　shall　say　that　that　sweet　young　spirit；　which　in　life　so　yearned　to　comfort　and　console　the　distressed；　was　forbidden　of　God　to　assume　this　ministry　after　death？
It　is　a　beautiful　belief；
　　　　That　ever　round　our　head
　　　　Are　hovering；　on　angel　wings；
The　spirits　of　the　dead。
1　Ps。　74：20。
2　“Jerusalem；　my　happy　home；”　anonymous　hymn　dating　from　the　latter　part　of　the　sixteenth　century；　sung　to　the　tune　of　“St。　Stephen。”　Words　derive　from　St。　Augustine’s　Meditations。
Chapter　33
Cassy
“And　behold；　the　tears　of　such　as　were　oppressed；　and　they　had　no　comforter；　and　on　the　side　of　their　oppressors　there　was　power；　but　they　had　no　comforter。”—Ecoml。　4：1
It　took　but　a　short　time　to　familiarize　Tom　with　all　that　was　to　be　hoped　or　feared　in　his　new　way　of　life。　He　was　an　expert　and　efficient　workman　in　whatever　he　undertook；　and　was；