Uncle Tom's Cabin
George F. Rowe, for Messrs. Jarrett & Palmer
Printed for Private Circulation Only, 1878



(Garden of St. Clair's house. Marie St. Clair sitting on a lounge surrounded by negresses, quadroons, &c., &c., attending to her officiously.)

  MARIE. That will do. That will do. Don't come too near. You suffocate me. Where's Mammy?

  MAMMY. (Curtseying.) Here I be, Missis.

  MARIE. Fan me. Not that way. How awkward you are! Where's Adolph?

  MAMMY. Gone down to de levee, Missis, to wait for de boat.

  MARIE. Oh, yes. Mr. St. Clair should return to-day.

  MAMMY. And Miss Evy too, Missis. My darling Miss Evy's coming home, too.

  MARIE. Good heavens, Mammy, you speak of my child as if she were your own!

  MAMMY. Yes, Missis. 'Scuse me. But I can't help it. Miss Evy's yours. But I brought her up at my breast when you was too sick to nurse her.

  MARIE. Terrible necessity! And now Eva has the most insane preference for all slaves and colored people. If she ever lives to understand your selfish natures, she'll be as disgusted with you all as I am.

  MAMMY. Don't say that, Missis; don't. I'd lay down my life for Miss Evy.

  MARIE. Oh, of course—and I might expire and you wouldn't stretch out a finger to assist me. You're all alike—selfish and ungrateful.

(A cheer without. Music.)

  MARIE. Good heavens! What is that?

(Enter Adolph, a dandy negro.)

  ADOLPH. I has de honor to announce to Madame, dat Massa St. Clair is at de do!

  MARIE. Good heavens! in pity to my nerves, tell my people to subdue their hilarity.

(Enter St. Clair. He embraces Marie.)

  ST. CLAIR. Ma belle chere—and how are you?

  MARIE. Suffering as you left me, St. Clair. There is no peace for me on this side the grave.

  ST. CLAIR. (Aside.) Nor for me, I think. Come, come Marie, be cheerful for once, to celebrate our return.

  MARIE. Where is Eva? Kissing the slaves I suppose before she embraces her mother. But there, I am used to ingratitude.


  ST. CLAIR. Hush, Marie, and be thankful to one slave at least, or you might never have seen our darling baby again.

  MARIE. (Rising.) Merciful heavens, St Clair! Do you intend to murder me. I am too frail to stand another shock.

  ST. CLAIR. I spoke, Marie, of what might have been.

  MARIE. Where is my child? My Eva? (Sinks back on the couch, music.)

(Enter Eva, followed by servants.)

  EVA. Here, Mamma, here I am! (embracing Marie.)

  MARIE. Alive! Thank heaven! But that will do—kiss me again to-morrow—my head aches, and — (Sinks back languidly.)

  EVA. Where's Mammy—my Mammy?

  MAMMY. Here, Misse Evy, here!

(The old negress embraces, hugs and cries over Eva.)

  MARIE. (Weeps.) No one has any sympathy with me. My husband and my child desert me. I am the victim of selfishness.

  ST. CLAIR. Yes, Marie (pointedly), you are indeed! But where's Ophelia?

  MARIE. Who's Ophelia?

  ST. CLAIR. My cousin, Ophelia St. Clair, whom I've brought all the way from Vermont, to take the cares of life off your shoulders.

  MARIE. Or to add to them. I have no faith in any one; but I must endure her, I suppose, as she is a relative of yours.

(Enter Ophelia, picking up her skirts.)

  OPHE. Mercy on me, St. Clair! You Southern people turn my stomach. Here was Eva kissing these negroes all around, as if they were pleasant; and wherever I walk, I seem to be treading on woolly-headed children. There's no order or regularity anywhere. Nothing but shiftlessness,—shiftlessness. That's the right word.

  ST. CLAIR. Well, dear cousin! You shall infuse your New England thrift into our household. Let me present you to my wife. Marie, our cousin, Ophelia St. Clair. (Marie rises partially.)

  MARIE. How do you do?

  OPHE. Pretty well, I thank you, Ma'am; and how air you? (Very stiffly.)

  MARIE. Not more wretched than usual, thank you.

  OPHE. A case of nerves, I see. (Folding her arms.)

  MARIE. Yes, I'm a martyr to nerves; and ever since your arrival there has been such a tumult.

  OPHE. Sick headache, too, no doubt, ma'am; juniper tea is a fine thing for that. At least Deacon Abraham Perry's first wife used to say so, and she was a powerful smart nurse, you may depend.

  ST. CLAIR. But golden days are dawning for you, Marie; our practical Vermont cousin here, shall relieve you in future of all your household responsibilities.


  MARIE. I'm sure she's welcome. But she'll soon find out that we mistresses are the slaves down here.

  ST. CLAIR. And other wonderful things beside, no doubt.

  MARIE. Keeping slaves for our convenience indeed! If we considered that, we had better let them all go.

  EVA. (Coming to Marie.) What do you keep them for then, Mamma?

  MARIE. I don't know, I'm sure, except for a plague. All my ill health is caused by them. There's Mammy, last night, although she knew how anxious I was about your safety, she slept in my room as sound as a top, and my efforts to wake her every ten minutes have given me this terrible headache.

  EVA. Let me sit up and watch by you to-night, Mamma?

  MARIE. Nonsense, child, don't be so absurd.

  ST. CLAIR. Come, come, Marie, you have the blues to-day. Eva, where is the present we have bought for Mamma?

  MARIE. A present! For me? What is it?

  ST. CLAIR. A new coachman.

  EVA. Yes, Mamma; he's called Uncle Tom; he jumped into the river and saved me when I fell off the boat, and I begged papa to buy him for you. Uncle Tom, come here!

(Music. She drags on Tom from the L.)

  EVA. Here he is, Mamma.

  MARIE. He'll get drunk, I suppose.

  TOM. No, Misses, I never drink.

  ST. CLAIR. No, Marie, no. Tom is warranted to be a very hearse for blackness and sobriety, and he'll drive you like a funeral if you prefer it.

  MARIE. Oh, yes; the last coachman said he never drank, too.

  TOM. Then he did something else beside, Missis. He told a lie, and that I never do.

  MARIE. Well, take care I don't find you out in one. We have such a thing here as a whipping-post.

  ST. CLAIR. Marie. (Angrily.)

  EVA. Mamma.

  OPHE. Sakes alive! My blood runs cold.

  ST. CLAIR. Don't be alarmed, cousin, a blow is forbidden in any house where I am called master.

(Eva goes up with Tom and sits on his knee.)

  MARIE. (Rising.) Oh, of course; there are no brutes in the house but myself. But I never complain. Give me my vinaigrette. No one knows what I endure. It's my duty to bear it and be sacrificed to all the black, ungrateful wretches who belong to me. Oh, St. Clair, I hope the day may never come when you'll have cause to remember your brutality. Oh! oh! oh!

(She is borne off by the colored people.)

  ST. CLAIR. The devil! I'm afraid, cousin, the prospect before you is not very inspiring.


  OPHE. Well, I must say you air the most shiftless lot I ever set my two eyes on. Sakes alive! Look at that blessed child sitting on that black man's knee, and pulling his whiskers!

  ST. CLAIR. And why shouldn't she? You'd not complain if she caressed a dog, though his hide were black. I tell you, cousin, your little child is your only democrat; and Tom is a hero in Eva's eyes. As for him ——. Well, what would such as he do without the sympathetic love of childhood to lighten their dull lives!

  OPHE. La sakes! You talk like a professor, cousin.

  ST. CLAIR. Nothing so easy as talking, cousin.

  OPHE. That's true; but doing is my motto, and with such a shiftless set as I see around here; sakes alive! but I shall have a powerful heap o' doing on my hands, mighty quick, I reckon.

(Exit with St. Clair, laughing.)

  EVA. And have you any children, Uncle Tom?

  TOM. Yes, Misse, up there in Kintuck.

  EVA. Little ones, like me?

  TOM. Yes, Misse, on'y a different color—still dey was mine.

  EVA. We can't help our color, Uncle Tom, that's heaven's will.

  TOM. Yes, Misse.

  EVA. You shall be happy here, Uncle Tom, and perhaps some day you may go back to your own house and babies again.

  TOM. Dat's too bright a hope to nurse, Miss Eva.

  EVA. Papa may give you your liberty; he promised that he would free all his slaves some day.

  TOM. Did he, Miss Eva? Well, den, I will hope, though it seems kinder ungrateful to get into such a good house and wish to leave it so soon.

  EVA. But you must not leave it yet, perhaps I may go first (solemnly).

  TOM. Where to, Misse?

  EVA. Where do the angels live, Uncle Tom?

  TOM. Up dar, Misse, away far off in de blue sky.

  EVA. Yes, I'm sure of it—in my dreams, I often see the clouds open and lovely faces smiling on me, and beckoning to me from the other world.

  TOM. Don'tee talk dat way, Miss Eva, don'tee, or you'll break dis yar old heart.

  EVA. My mother would not care, perhaps, but papa, he would be very sad—but come, Uncle Tom, I must show you all our house, the stables and the garden, and then we'll find some quiet corner, where we can hide away, and you can sing your songs for me, and I will write home to your wife and children for you; and tell them all we say and do.

  TOM. Will yar, Misse? Dat's de best news I've heard dis side ob de ole home in Kintuck.

(Music. They exeunt as Topsy enters cautiously and peers round.)


  TOPSY. Golly! de Massa and de little Miss is come back. I'se stole out ob de scullery to hab a look at 'em. He! he! If dey ketches dis chile round hyar dey'll pound me into jam. Golly, what flowers! Some ob dem look putty in me hair; I'se jest help meself.

(Enter Ophelia. She stands amazed.)

  OPHE. Sakes alive! Where did you spring from?

  TOPSY. (Falling on knees, and hiding flowers.) I didn't stole 'em! Cut lumps out o' me, and I'll swar I didn't.

  OPHE. Sakes alive! What shiftless critter air you?

  TOPSY. Golly! It's a stranger. Aint afeard of her, no how. (Aside.) He, he, he, he! haw! (Laughing at Ophelia.)

  OPHE. Powers alive! What a mouth! Is the critter human? Who air you, anyhow?

  TOPSY. Dunno, Missis.

  OPHE. What's your name?

  TOPSY. Topsy.

  OPHE. How old air you?

  TOPSY. Dunno, Missis.

  OPHE. Sakes alive! Is it possible! Who was your mother?

  TOPSY. Never had none!

  OPHE. Never had any mother! Where were you born?

  TOPSY. Never was born. (Grins.)

  OPHE. I'm not joking, child. Where were you born?

  TOPSY. Never was born. Never had no fader, mudder, no nuthin'. I was raised by a speculator, wid a lot o' others. Old Sue used to take care on us.

  OPHE. Don't you know who made you?

  TOPSY. What's dat?

  OPHE. Don't you know who made you, I say?

  TOPSY. Me! He, he, haw! Don't think nobody never did make me. I spect I grow'd.

  OPHE. Can there be such benighted critters! What do you do for your Master and Mistress?

  TOPSY. Fetch de water, wash de dishes, clean de knives, scrub de floor, kill de rats and dance de grapevine twist.

(She suddenly dances and strikes attitude.)

  OPHE. Sakes alive! of all the shiftless things in creation this is the shiftlessest I ever saw.

(St. Clair has re-entered and observes, laughing.)

  ST. CLAIR. Ha, ha, ha. How is that for a Southern belle, Cousin Ophelia?

  OPHE. St. Clair, I am horrified! You call yourselves Christians, and yet allow such ignorant savages to grow up in your very midst.


  ST. CLAIR. We are to blame, I suppose, although I rescued this one from a brutal woman, in a restaurant, bought her and turned her loose into our scullery, where at least she is sure of kind treatment. You people who vaunt your Christianity are extremely fond of despatching missionaries—to convert the heathen—into our lands, but bring the thing home—turn missionary yourself—and there's a ready made savage for you to try your hand on. I make her over to you; she's your pupil, Cousin, ha, ha, ha.

(Exit St. Clair.)

  OPHE. (Folding her arms.) Sakes alive! Turn me into a slaveholder! Well, if it must be, I accept the responsibility. I will convert this shiftless critter or perish.

  TOPSY. He! he! haw! he! (Roars with laughter.)

  OPHE. What air you grinning at? Do you know I'm your new mistress?

  TOPSY. Golly, dat's why I'se a larfin! He! he! haw!

  OPHE. Follow me, you benighted innocent.

  TOPSY. Yes, Missus.

(Ophelia is going. Drops gloves. Topsy picks them up and steals ribbon.)

  OPHE. Where's my 'kerchief? Ah ——

(Misses the ribbon and turns to Topsy, who pretends to be innocent. Ophelia, after searching Topsy, finds the articles.)

  OPHE. You plaguey young thief, what made you steal these?

  TOPSY. Dunno, Missis. Spects it's cos I'se so wicked.

  OPHE. Wicked?

  TOPSY. Yes, I'se awful wicked. Guess I'se de wickedest critter as is, anywhars.

  OPHE. Then you must be whipped.

  TOPSY. Yes, dat's de way; whip me, whip me hard; my old Missus allus whipped me; can't do nuffin if I ain't whipped.

  OPHE. If kindness won't cure you, why ——

  TOPSY. It's no count; whip me, go in, go in, Missis, I'se ready.

  OPHE. You shiftless critter, then I shall.

(Slaps Topsy, who screams and dances with delight.)

  TOPSY. Dat's good! Golly, dat's good! Tickles me lovely, Missus! he, he, haw! Dat are wouldn't kill a 'skeeter.

(She runs round stage, screaming with delight, followed by Ophelia.)


Enter George Harris after speaking without. Placard on the wall.

  GEO. Bring in my valise, boy; I shall only remain five minutes, but I need a few trifles.

(Enter Landlord.)


  LAND. Yes, sir?

  GEO. Have you a private room?

  LAND. Wal, yes; in thar, as private as we ken fix it.

  GEO. Have you any good claret?

  LAND. How's that?

  GEO. I mean any excellent red wine?

  LAND. No. (with contempt.) We don't drink such darned stuff as that round hyar, but, we kin give ye whiskey—real knock me down at twenty yards—if you want to liquor up.

  GEO. Then set some in that room and let me try the effect of it. (Pays money.)

  LAND. Nuf said. (Exit.) Thar's the Southern (horn heard) coach a cumin in. This way, gents, for the ho-tel, that way for the bar. (Exit.)

  GEO. A placard offering four hundred dollars for my capture alive, and the same sum for proof of my death. Coolness, courage and the assumption of a Southern exquisite must be my best safeguard against discovery. Eliza safe, I dare not ask, I dare not think, lest the thought unman me. Strangers —

(George takes out cigar and smokes.)

(Enter Bird and Phineas.)

  BIRD. Phineas, you've bought the buggy from home?

  PHI. Yes, Senator, verily I have, and the old mare.

  BIRD. Talking of home, how was my wife when you left, Phineas? It is four weeks since I saw her.

  PHI. The lady Rachel? She was serene, as per usual, Senator.

  BIRD. And her little handmaid, Ruth?

  PHI. A streak of beauty, as per ditto, too, Senator.

  BIRD. You've a weak eye on that damsel, I fear, Phineas.

  PHI. Yea, verily, Senator, but Ruth says I'm too closely affiliated to the wicked world.

  BIRD. Then cast away its vanities and turn Quaker in earnest, Phineas.

  PHI. I guess I must, Senator, or I shall never win the prettiest piece of flesh that ever sported a poke bonnet.

  BIRD. Ha, ha, ha! Phineas, thou knowest I am not too strict of I should not tolerate thy jests. Go and put the horse in the buggy and let us trot homeward.

  PHI. It shall be done, Senator; yea, verily.

(Exit, Phineas.)

  BIRD. Graceless slip of iniquity. Ha, ha, ha.

  GEO. Good morning, Senator. (Bowing.)

  BIRD. Thou hast the advantage of me, friend.

  GEO. Don't you remember George Harris, of Shelby County, who once worked in your factory, Senator Bird?


  BIRD. My gracious! George Harris, the mulatto, in this disguise! What does this mean?

  GEO. Look at that placard, and guess.

  BIRD. "Four hundred dollars reward for my slave, George Harris, alive or dead!" You are running away, then?

  GEO. What else can I do? They have sold my boy, my only son, to a trader—my wife has flown with him, God knows where. What else should a man do but escape, and find them if he can?

  BIRD. George, George, think of the laws.

  GEO. The laws! Who made them? The men who arrogate the right to keep their fellow men in bondage. If the Indians captured you and yours, and kept you hoeing corn, would you think it just or right to obey their Indian laws?

  BIRD. But guess not. But—your country—

  GEO. I have no country, no more than I have a parent. The man who called me son was one of your Kentucky gentlemen, who didn't think enough of me to keep me from being sold with his other live stock when he died. I saw my mother put up at Sheriff's sale with her seven children. They were each sold to separate masters, and I the youngest. My mother knelt before the purchaser, and prayed him, for God's love, to buy me with her, but he kicked her away with his heavy boot. Well, I lived in bondage and grew up. I worked, studied in secret, and in time I met the woman, a slave like myself, and loved her. We were blessed with a boy, and three weeks since, my wife's master sold him. God in heaven, Mr. Bird! is this the land you call my country? and where such deeds are done, sir, can you ask me to obey the laws?

  BIRD. No, no, George, no. Damn 'em both. Did I swear? I hope not. I'm a senator myself. I help to make the laws, but I'm in the minority; so I say, damn the majority that passes such rascally statutes. (Blows his nose.)

  GEO. And you are not ashamed to take my hand, sir?

  BIRD. Ashamed? No, George, no! I care nothing for the world's prejudice. With me, it is not a man's color but his character that shall ever cause me to refuse him mine.

(Voices heard. Barking of dogs.)

  GEO. Hark!

  LEG. (Heard without) Is there a crooked cuss by the name of Marks anywhere around here?

(They exeunt the door in flat.)

(Music. Enter Legree and Landlord.)

  LEG. Say, Landlord, is there a man by the name o' Marks here?

  LAND. A lawyer from down South?

  LEG. That's him! A thin, spider-legged looking thief.

  LAND. That's him.


  LEG. With no more taller round him than you could burn in a night.

  LAND. That's him.

(Marks appears.)

  LEG. As mean as bad whiskey.

  LAND. That's him, and he's in thar!

(Exit Landlord.)

  LEG. Is he, then I'll soon have him out! (Comes to R.)

  MARKS. (Advancing C.) Thank you, Mr. Legree, I am out listening to your compliments.

  LEG. Ha, ha, ha! What, Marks, you thief of the world, give us your paw.

(He seizes Marks' hand, who writhes in his grasp.)

  MARKS.. That'll do, that'll do, I know a little of your first goes a long way.

  LEG. Ha, ha, ha! Look at it, Marks! I reckon a nigger's head's the thickest thing in creation, but I've split them afore now, split 'em with this in two, clean, like a pumpkin!

  MARKS.. Ha, ha, ha! An open verdict! Ha, ha, ha! But what's the news?

  LEG. Bad! Just came from Cincinnati, a man thar, owns a patch o' land next to my plantation on the Red River, and he won't trade off. I am going down South empty handed.

  MARKS.. Always make a mess of it, when you're left to yourself, don't you, Simon? He, he, he.

  LEG. Shut them teeth o' yourn, or I'll knock 'em down your throat.

  MARKS.. No you won't, SImon, for there's something stronger inside o' me than even your fist.

  LEG. What's that, whiskey?

  MARKS.. No, the law, Simon.

  LEG. The law be ——

  MARKS.. Don't abuse the law, Simon; because the law always steps in to help them that can't help themselves.

  LEG. How?

  MARKS.. D'ye see that?

(George appears listening and retires.)

  LEG. "Ran away from the subscriber—mulatto boy George—four hundred for him, alive or dead." I'm done nigger catching now.

  MARKS. So have I, but when there's money to be picked up easy I ain't partickler. Sam Haley was here a few days ago.

  LEG. What was he up to?

  MARKS. Nigger hunting, too.

  LEG. Thunder!

  MARKS. Yes, he bought a handsome boy in the next county, paid eight hundred dollars, but the mother bolted with hyim.

  LEG. Ah!

  MARKS. Now this. (pointing to placard) nigger is the father, and he and the lot can't be far off. If we catch 'em there's two thousand in the job.


  LEG. That's 'nuff, you've riz the old grit in me. But first of all, gi' me some food.

  MARKS. But my dear Simon, think of the delay.

  LEG. Dern you, Marks, gi' me some rum anyhow.

  MARKS. (Dragging away off L.) No, no, there's no time to be lost.

  LEG. Well, dern me, but this is the first time I ever saw the law in a hurry.


A Rocky Pass and Waterfall (see model). Music. Enter Eliza from the bushes at back with Harry. The boy cries.

  ELIZA. Hush, Harry. Hush, my baby. You are hungry, I know. A little further and I will beg something for my darling. There are liberal hands about who will give a mother food, if their laws deny us a refuge. Hark! Footsteps! Am I pursued? Oh, God! protect my child! (She runs to the bushes.)

(Enter Bird, George and Phineas, R. S. E.)

  BIRD. Do you know where we are, Phineas?

  PHI. Do I? Yea, verily. I've hunted bars around these woods since I could whistle. Hark! What's that?

  GEO. I heard a smothered cry, as of some one in pain.

(Music. Eliza rushes out and falls on her knees.)

  ELIZA. If you are men give me a crust of bread. My boy is crying with hunger, and I have not a morsel of food for—oh!—

  GEO. Merciful heaven! Eliza, my wife!

  ELIZA. (With a wild cry.) It is George, my husband! Thank God!

  BIRD. Hurrah! Found! Hurrah!

  PHI. Jehosaphat! how lucky I had a corn cake in my pocket. Hug away you two. I'll feed the young 'un.

(Phineas goes to the boy. Bird reconnoiters.)

  ELIZA. Oh, George, my husband! we are together, and I fear nothing now.

  GEO. But we are not safe yet, love, although I can scent the free air afar off.

  BIRD. Hark the voices of men below.

  GEO. In pursuit—they have tracked us!

  BIRD. They will ascend where we left the chaise in the woods.

  PHI. Let 'em! I'll show you a path up the rocks—there—single file—that will puzzle 'em to follow.


  BIRD. Go on then. Lead the way, Phineas, but—don't shoot, George, don't shoot!

  ELIZA. No, George, for my sake—for Harry's.

  GEO. I will attack no man, but I'll fight to the last drop of my blood, ere they shall take us again, love, or part us.

  PHI. That's right, George, don't hit unless you're obligated, but if you do hit, hit hard.

  BIRD. There they are. Run.

(Music. General escape. They ascend the rocks as Legree, Haley, and Marks enter below.)

  HAL. Come on, all of ye!

  LEG. The coons are treed, by thunder!

  MARKS. Jehu! They jump like wild cats!

  HAL. Thar's the gal, and the boy, too.

  LEG. Now, Marks, you represent the law. Speak up!

  MARKS. We want a party of runaway niggers—Eliza Harris, her boy, and her husband, George Harris, of Shelby County.

  GEO. (From the rocks.) I am George Harris, of Shelby County, and a man did once call me his property. But I am now a free man, standing on God's free soil, and my wife and child I claim as mine!

  MARKS. Come, come, young man, that will do. We've got the law on our side; so give in peacefully.

  GEO. I know you've got the law; but I've got nature and justice on mine. If you want us, come and take us; but I warn you that the first who ventures within range of my weapon is a dead man.

  PHI. And the man who comes within range of my fist is booked for a long spell of sickness.

  MARKS. Oh, my eye! Look out, Simon! they'll shoot.

  LEG. Let 'em shoot, and be darned! I was never afeard o' niggers, alive or dead. So here goes.

  GEO. Leap, Eliza! leap for dear life!

  PHI. I'll carry the boy.


(Eliza leaps from one stone to the other across the cataract. Phineas follows, and places the boy in her arms.)

  GEO. (Barring the way.) Now come on!

  PHI. Let 'em have it. Come on you nigger-hunting, crimson-minded thieves.

  LEG. Take that. (Fires.)

  PHI. And you—take that—and that!

(They fire. Legree falls.)

  LEG. Curse you! Curse.

(Marks rolls over. Tableau.)