UTC
The Christian Slave
Harriet Beecher Stowe
Boston: Phillips, Sampson, 1855

SCENE III.—The Cotton-House and Scales. -- LEGREE, -- QUIMBO and -- SAMBO.


Sambo.

  Dat ar Tom 's gwine to make a powerful deal o' trouble; kept a puttin' into Lucy's basket. One o' these yer dat will get all der niggers to feelin' 'bused, if mas'r don't watch him!


Legree.

  Hey-day! The black cuss! He 'll have to get a breakin' in, won't he, boys?


Quimbo.

  Ay, ay! let Mas'r Legree alone for breakin' in! De debil heself could n't beat mas'r at dat!


Leg.

  Wal, boys, the best way is to give him the flogging to do, till he gets over his notions. Break him in!


Samb.

  Lord, mas'r 'll have hard work to get dat out o' him!


Leg.

  It 'll have to come out of him, though!


Samb.

  Now, dar 's Lucy; de aggravatinest, ugliest wench on de place!


Leg.

  Take care, Sam! I shall begin to think what 's the reason for your spite agin Lucy.


Samb.

  Well, mas'r knows she sot herself up agin mas'r, and would n't have me when he telled her to.


Leg.

  I 'd a flogged her into 't, only there 's such a press of work it don't seem wuth a while to upset her jist now. She 's slender; but these yer slender gals will bear half killin' to get their own way.


Samb.

  Wal, Lucy was reall aggravatin' and lazy, sulkin' round; would n't do nothin'—and Tom he tuck up for her.


Leg.

  He did, eh! Wal, then, Tom shall have the pleasure of flogging her. It 'll be a good practice for him, and he won't put it on to the gals like you devils, neither.


Samb. and Quim.

  Ho, ho! haw! haw! haw!


Samb.

  Wal, but, mas'r, Tom and Misse Cassy, and dey among 'em, filled Lucy's basket. I ruther guess der weight 's in it, mas'r!


Leg.

  I do the weighing! So Misse Cassy did her day's work.


52


Samb.

  She picks like de debil and all his angels!


Leg.

  She 's got 'em all in her, I believe! O, here they come!

Enter UNCLE TOM, and women with baskets.

Leg.

  Come, on here! [Weighs TOM'S basket.] Soh! Ah! Well for you! [TOM places LUCY'S basket on the scales.] What, ye lazy beast! short again? Get away—ye 'll catch it pretty soon!


Lucy. [Groans.]

  O Lor! O Lor!

[Sits.]

Cas.

   [Brings her basket to the scales.]


Leg.

  Well, my beauty! How d' ye like it?


Cas.

  Beaucoup mieux que de vivre avec une bete telle comme vous.

[Exit.]

Leg.

  And now, come here, you Tom! You see, I telled ye I did n't buy ye jest for the common work; I mean to promote ye, and make a driver of ye; and to-night ye may jest as well begin to get yer hand in. Now, ye jest take this yer gal and flog her. Ye 've seen enough on 't to know how.


Uncle T.

  I beg mas'r's pardon; hopes mas'r won't set me at that. It 's what I an't used to; never did; and can't do, no way possible.


Leg.

   Ye 'll larn a pretty smart chance of things ye never did know, before I 've done with ye! [Thrashes TOM with cowhide.] There, now! will ye tell me ye can't do it?


Uncle T.

  Yes, mas'r! I 'm willin' to work, night and day, and work while there 's life and breath in me; but this yer thing I can't feel it right to do; and, mas'r, I never shall do it—never!


Lucy.

  O Lord!


Slaves.

  O! O!


Leg. [Foaming.]

  What! ye blasted black beast! tell me ye don't think it right to to what I tell ye! What have any of you cussed cattle to do with thinking what 's right? I 'll put a stop to it! Why, what do ye think ye are? May be ye think ye 'r a gentleman, master Tom, to be a telling your master what 's right, and what an't! So you pretend it 's wrong to flog the gal.


Uncle T.

  I think so, mas'r; the poor crittur 's sick and feeble; 't would be downright cruel, and it 's what I never will do, nor begin to.


Leg.

  Well, here 's a pious dog, at last set down among us sinners! a saint, a gentleman, and no less, to talk to us sinners about our sins; powerful holy critter he must be! Here, you rascal! you make believe to be so pious—did n't you never hear, out of your Bible, "Servants obey your masters"? An't I your master? Did n't I pay down twelve hundred dollars, cash, for all there is inside yer old cussed black shell? An't yet mine, now, body and soul? Tell me!


Uncle T.

  No, no, no! my soul an't yours, mas'r! You have n't bought it—you can't buy it! It has been bought and paid for by One that 's able to keep it. No matter, no matter, you can't harm me!


Leg.

  I can't! we 'll see! we 'll see! Here Sambo! Quimbo! give this dog such a breakin' in as he won't get over this month!