blackarts-literature.org

[Gorgeous clouds, tinted with sunlight. Eva, robed in white, is discovered on the
back of a milk-white dove, with expanded wings, as if just soaring upward. Her
hands are extended in benediction over St. Clare and Uncle Tom who are kneeling
and gazing up to her. Expressive music. Slow curtain.]

END

[Rough Chamber. Enter Legree, followed by Sambo.]

LEGREE:
Go and send Cassy to me.
SAMBO:
Yes, mas’r. [(Exit.)]
LEGREE:
Curse the woman! she’s got a temper worse than the devil; I shall
do her an injury one of these days, if she isn’t careful. [(Re-enter Sambo,
frightened.)]
What’s the matter with you, you black scoundrel?
SAMBO:
S’help me, mas’r, she isn’t dere.
LEGREE:
I suppose she’s about the house somewhere?
SAMBO:
No, she isn’t, mas’r; I’s been all over de house and I can’t find
nothing of her nor Emmeline.
LEGREE:
Bolted, by the Lord! Call out the dogs! saddle my horse. Stop! are
you sure they really have gone?
SAMBO:
Yes, mas’r; I’s been in every room ‘cept the haunted garret and dey
wouldn’t go dere.
LEGREE:
I have it! Now, Sambo, you jest go and walk that Tom up here,
right away! [(Exit Sambo.)]
The old cuss is at the bottom of this yer whole matter;
and I’ll have it out of his infernal black hide, or I’ll know the reason why! I hate him — I hate him! And isn’t he mine? Can’t I do what I like with him? Who’s to
hinder, I wonder? [(Tom is dragged on by Sambo and Quimbo, Legree grimly
confronting Tom.)]
Well, Tom, do you know I’ve made up my mind to kill you?
TOM:
It’s very likely, Mas’r.
LEGREE:
I — have — done — just — that — thing, Tom, unless you’ll tell me what
do you know about these yer gals? [(Tom is silent.)]
D’ye hear? Speak!
TOM:
I han’t got anything to tell, mas’r.
LEGREE:
Do you dare to tell me, you old black rascal, you don’t know?
Speak! Do you know anything?
TOM:
I know, mas’r; but I can’t tell anything. I can die!
LEGREE:
Hark ye, Tom! ye think, ’cause I have let you off before, I don’t mean
what I say; but, this time, I have made up my mind, and counted the cost.
You’ve always stood it out agin me; now, I’ll conquer ye or kill ye! one or
t’other. I’ll count every drop of blood there is in you, and take ‘em, one by one,
’till ye give up!

TOM:
Mas’r, if you was sick, or in trouble, or dying, and I could save you, I’d
give you my heart’s blood; and, if taking every drop of blood in this poor old
body would save your precious soul, I’d give ‘em freely. Do the worst you can,
my troubles will be over soon; but if you don’t repent yours won’t never end.

[(Legree strikes Tom down with the butt of his whip.)]
LEGREE:
How do you like that?
SAMBO:
He’s most gone, mas’r!
TOM:
[(Rises feebly on his hands.)]
There an’t no more you can do. I forgive
you with all my soul. [(Sinks back, and is carried off by Sambo and Quimbo.)]
LEGREE:
I believe he’s done for finally. Well, his mouth is shut up at last –
that’s one comfort. [(Enter George Shelby, Marks and Cute.)]
Strangers! Well
what do you want?
GEORGE:
I understand that you bought in New Orleans a negro named
Tom?
LEGREE:
Yes, I did buy such a fellow, and a devil of a bargain I had of it,
too! I believe he’s trying to die, but I don’t know as he’ll make it out.
GEORGE:
Where is he? Let me see him?
SAMBO:
Dere he is. [(Points to Tom).]
LEGREE:
How dare you speak? [(Drives Sambo and Quimbo off. George exits.)]
CUTE:
Now’s the time to nab him.
MARKS:
How are you, Mr. Legree?
LEGREE:
What the devil brought you here?
MARKS:
This little bit of paper. I arrest you for the murder of Mr. St.
Clare. What do you say to that?
LEGREE:
This is my answer! [(Makes a blow at Marks, who dodges, and Cute
receives the blow — he cries out and runs off, Marks fires at Legree, and follows
Cute.)]
I am hit! — the game’s up! [(Falls dead. Quimbo and Sambo return and
carry him off laughing.)]

[Enter: (George Shelby enters, supporting Tom. Music. They advance to front and Tom
falls.)]
GEORGE:
Oh! dear Uncle Tom! do wake — do speak once more! look up!
Here’s Master George — your own little Master George. Don’t you know me?
TOM:
[(Opening his eyes and speaking in a feeble tone.)]
Mas’r George! Bless de
Lord! it’s all I wanted! They hav’n't forgot me! It warms my soul; it does my old
heart good! Now I shall die content!
GEORGE:
You shan’t die! you mustn’t die, nor think of it. I have come to
buy you, and take you home.
TOM:
Oh, Mas’r George, you’re too late. The Lord has bought me, and is
going to take me home.
GEORGE:
Oh! don’t die. It will kill me — it will break my heart to think what
you have suffered, poor, poor fellow!
TOM:
Don’t call me, poor fellow! I have been poor fellow; but that’s all past and
gone now. I’m right in the door, going into glory! Oh, Mas’r George! Heaven
has come! I’ve got the victory, the Lord has given it to me! Glory be to His
name! [(Dies.)]

[(Solemn music. George covers Uncle Tom with his cloak, and kneels over him.
Clouds work on and conceal them, and then work off.)]

[Street. Enter Marks meeting Cute, who enters dressed in an old faded uniform]

MARKS:
By the land, stranger, but it strikes me that I’ve seen you somewhere
before.
CUTE:
By chowder! do you know now, that’s just what I was a going to say?
MARKS:
Isn’t your name Cute?
CUTE:
You’re right, I calculate. Yours is Marks, I reckon.
MARKS:
Just so.
CUTE:
Well, I swow, I’m glad to see you. [(They shake hands.)]
How’s your
wholesome?
MARKS:
Hearty as ever. Well, who would have thought of ever seeing you
again. Why, I thought you was in Vermont?
CUTE:
Well, so I was. You see I went there after that rich relation of mine –
but the speculation didn’t turn out well.
MARKS:
How so?
CUTE:
Why, you see, she took a shine to an old fellow — Deacon Abraham
Perry — and married him.
MARKS:
Oh, that rather put your nose out of joint in that quarter.
CUTE:
Busted me right up, I tell you. The Deacon did the hand-some thing
though, he said if I would leave the neighborhood and go out South again, he’d
stand the damage. I calculate I didn’t give him much time to change his mind.
and so, you see, here I am again.
MARKS:
What are you doing in that soldier rig?
CUTE:
Oh, this is my sign.
MARKS:
Your sign?
CUTE:
Yes; you see, I’m engaged just at present in an all-fired good
speculation, I’m a Fillibusterow.
MARKS:
A what?
CUTE:
A Fillubusterow! Don’t you know what that is? It’s Spanish for
Cuban Volunteer; and means a chap that goes the whole perker for glory and all
that ere sort of thing.
MARKS:
Oh! you’ve joined the order of the Lone Star!
CUTE:
You’ve hit it. You see I bought this uniform at a second hand
clothing store, I puts it on and goes to a benevolent individual and I says to

him, — appealing to his feelings, — I’m one of the fellows that went to Cuba and
got massacred by the bloody Spaniards. I’m in a destitute condition — give me a
trifle to pay my passage back, so I can whop the tyrannical cusses and avenge
my brave fellow soger what got slewed there.
MARKS:
How pathetic!
CUTE:
I tell you it works up the feelings of benevolent individuals dreadful-
ly. It draws tears from their eyes and money from their pockets. By chowder!
one old chap gave me a hundred dollars to help on the cause.
MARKS:
I admire a genius like yours.
CUTE:
But I say, what are you up to?
MARKS:
I am the traveling companion of a young gentleman by the name
of Shelby, who is going to the plantation of a Mr. Legree of the Red River, to
buy an old darkey who used to belong to his father.
CUTE:
Legree — Legree? Well, now, I calculate I’ve heard that ere name
afore.
MARKS:
Do you remember that man who drew a bowie knife on you in
New Orleans?
CUTE:
By chowder! I remember the circumstance just as well as if it was
yesterday; but I can’t say that I recollect much about the man, for you see I was
in something of a hurry about that time and didn’t stop to take a good look at
him.
MARKS:
Well, that man was this same Mr. Legree.
CUTE:
Do you know, now, I should like to pay that critter off!
MARKS:
Then I’ll give you an opportunity.
CUTE:
Chowder! how will you do that?
MARKS:
Do you remember the gentleman that interfered between you and
Legree?
CUTE:
Yes — well?
MARKS:
He received the blow that was intended for you, and died from
the effects of it. So, you see, Legree is a murderer, and we are only witnesses of
the deed. His life is in our hands.
CUTE:
Let’s have him right up and make him dance on nothing to the tune
of Yandee Doodle!
MARKS:
Stop a bit. Don’t you see a chance for a profitable speculation?
CUTE:
A speculation! Fire away, don’t be bashful, I’m the man for a
speculation.
MARKS:
I have made a deposition to the Governor of the state on all the
particulars of that affair at Orleans.
CUTE:
What did you do that for?
MARKS:
To get a warrant for his arrest.
CUTE:
Oh! and have you got it?
MARKS:
Yes; here it is. [(Takes out paper.)]
CUTE:
Well, now, I don’t see how you are going to make anything by that
bit of paper?
MARKS:
But I do. I shall say to Legree, I have got a warrant against you
for murder; my friend, Mr. Cute, and myself are the only witnesses who can ap-
pear against you. Give us a thousand dollars, and we will tear the warrant and
be silent.
CUTE:
Then Mr. Legree forks over a thousand dollars, and your friend
Cute pockets five hundred of it, is that the calculation?

MARKS:
If you will join me in the undertaking.
CUTE:
I’ll do it, by chowder!
MARKS:
Your hand to bind the bargain.
CUTE:
I’ll stick by you thro’ thick and thin.
MARKS:
Enough said.
CUTE:
Then shake.

[(They shake hands.)]
MARKS:
But I say, Cute, he may be contrary and show fight.
CUTE:
Never mind, we’ve got the law on our side, and we’re bound to stir
him up. If he don’t come down handsomely we’ll present him with a neck-tie
made of hemp!
MARKS:
I declare you’re getting spunky.
CUTE:
Well, I reckon, I am. Let’s go and have something to drink. Tell you
what, Marks, if we don’t get him, we’ll have his hide, by chowder!

[(Exeunt,
arm in arm.)]

[A Rough Chamber. Enter Legree. Sits.]

LEGREE:
Plague on that Sambo, to kick up this yer row between Tom and the new
hands. [(Cassy steals on and stands behind him.)]
The fellow won’t be fit to work
for a week now, right in the press of the season.
CASSY:
Yes, just like you.
LEGREE:
Hah! you she-devil! you’ve come back, have you? [(Rises)]
CASSY:
Yes, I have; come to have my own way, too.
LEGREE:
You lie, you jade! I’ll be up to my word. Either behave yourself
or stay down in the quarters and fare and work with the rest.
CASSY:
I’d rather, ten thousand times, live in the dirtiest hole at the
quarters, than be under your hoof!
LEGREE:
But you are under my hoof, for all that, that’s one comfort; so sit
down here and listen to reason. [(Grasps her wrist.)]
CASSY:
Simon Legree, take care! [(Legree lets go his hold.)]
You’re afraid of me,
Simon, and you’ve reason to be; for I’ve got the Devil in me!
LEGREE:
I believe to my soul you have. After all, Cassy, why can’t you be
friends with me, as you used to?
CASSY:
[(Bitterly.)]
Used to!
LEGREE:
I wish, Cassy, you’d behave yourself decently.
CASSY:
You talk about behaving decently! and what have you been doing?
You haven’t even sense enough to keep from spoiling one of your best hands,
right in the most pressing season, just for your devilish temper.
LEGREE:
I was a fool, it’s fact, to let any such brangle come up. Now when
Tom set up his will he had to be broke in.
CASSY:
You’ll never break him in.
LEGREE:
Won’t I? I’d like to know if I won’t? He’d be the first nigger that
ever come it round me! I’ll break every bone in his body but he shall give up.
[(Enter Sambo, with a paper in his hand, stands bowing.)]
What’s that, you dog?
SAMBO:
It’s a witch thing, mas’r.
LEGREE:
A what?
SAMBO:
Something that niggers gits from witches. Keep ‘em from feeling
when they’s flogged. He had it tied round his neck with a black string.

[(Legree takes the paper and opens it. A silver dollar drops on the stage, and a long
curl of light hair twines around his finger.)]
LEGREE:
Damnation. [(Stamping and writhing, as if the hair burned him.)]
Where
did this come from? Take it off! burn it up! [(Throws the curl away.)]

What did you bring it to me for?
SAMBO:
[(Trembling.)]
I beg pardon, mas’r; I thought you would like to see um.
LEGREE:
Don’t you bring me any more of your devilish things. [(Shakes his
fist at Sambo who runs off. Legree kicks the dollar after him.)]
Blast it! where

did he get that? If it didn’t look just like — whoo! I thought I’d forgot that. Curse
me if I think there’s any such thing as forgetting anything, any how.
CASSY:
What is the matter with you, Legree? What is there in a simple curl
of fair hair to appall a man like you — you who are familiar with every form of
cruetly.
LEGREE:
Cassy, to-night the past has been recalled to me — the past that I
have so long and vainly striven to forget.
CASSY:
Has aught on this earth power to move a soul like thine?
LEGREE:
Yes, for hard and reprobate as I now seem, there has been a time
when I have been rocked on the bosom of a mother, cradled with prayers and
pious hymns, my now seared brow bedewed with the waters of holy baptism.
CASSY:
[(Aside.)]
What sweet memories of childhood can thus soften down
that heart of iron?
LEGREE:
In early childhood a fair-haired woman has led me, at the sound
of Sabbath bells, to worship and to pray. Born of a hard-tempered sire, on
whom that gentle woman had wasted a world of unvalued love, I followed in
the steps of my fgather. Boisterous, unruly and tyrannical, I despised all her
counsel, and would have none of her reproof, and, at an early age, broke from
her to seek my fortunes on the sea. I never came home but once after that; and
then my mother, with the yearning of a heart that must love something, and
had nothing else to love, clung to me, and sought with passionate prayers and
entreaties to win me from a life of sin.
CASSY:
That was your day of grace, Legree; then good angels called you,
and mercy held you by the hand.
LEGREE:
My heart inly relented; there was a conflict, but sin got the victory,
and I set all the force of my rough nature against the conviction of my cons-
cience. I drank and swore, was wilder and more brutal than ever. And one
night, when my mother, in the last agony of her despair, knelt at my feet, I
spurned her from me, threw her senseless on the floor, and with brutal curses fl-
ed to my ship.
CASSY:
Then the fiend took thee for his own.
LEGREE:
The next I heard of my mother was one night while I was carous-
ing among drunken companions. A letter was put in my hands. I opened it, and
a lock of long, curling hair fell from it, and twined about my fingers, even as
that lock twined but now. The letter told me that my mother was dead, and that
dying she blest and forgave me! [(Buries his face in his hands.)]
CASSY:
Why did you not even then renounce your evil ways?
LEGREE:
There is a dread, unhallowed necromancy of evil, that turns
things sweetest and holiest to phantoms of horror and afright. That pale, loving
mother, — her dying prayers, her forgiving love, — wrought in my demoniac
heart of sin only as a damning sentence, bringing with it a fearful looking for of
judgment and fiery indignation.
CASSY:
And yet you would not strive to avert the doom that threatened you.
LEGREE:
I burned the lock of hair and I burned the letter; and when I saw
them hissing and crackling in the flame, inly shuddered as I thought of
everlasting fires! I tried to drink and revel, and swear away the memory; but
often in the deep night, whose solemn stillness arraings the soul in forced com-
munion with itself, I have seen that pale mother rising by my bed-side, and felt
the soft twining of that hair around my fingers, ’till the cold sweat would roll
down my face, and I would spring from my bed in horror — horror! [(Falls in]

[chair — After a pause.)]
What the devil ails me? Large drops of sweat stand on
my forehead, and my heart beats heavy and thick with fear. I thought I saw
something white rising and glimmering in the gloom before me, and it seemed
to bear my mother’s face! I know one thing; I’ll let that fellow Tom alone, after
this. What did I want with his cussed paper? I believe I am bewitched sure
enough! I’ve been shivering and sweating ever since! Where did he get that hair?
It couldn’t have been that! I burn’d that up, I know I did! It would be a joke if
hair could rise from the dead! I’ll have Sambo and Quimbo up here to sing and
dance one of their dances, and keep off these horrid notions. Here, Sambo!
Quimbo! [(Exit.)]
CASSY:
Yes, Legree, that golden tress was charmed; each hair had in it a
spell of terror and remorse for thee, and was used by a mightier power to bind
thy cruel hands from inflicting uttermost evil on the helpless! [(Exit.)]

[Street in New Orleans. Enter George Shelby.]

GEORGE:
At length my mission of mercy is nearly finished, I have reached
my journey’s end. I have now but to find the house of Mr. St. Clare, re-purchase
old Uncle Tom, and convey him back to his wife and children, in old Kentucky.
Some one approaches; he may, perhaps, be able to give me the information I re-
quire. I will accost him. [(Enter Marks.)]
Pray, sir, can you tell me where Mr. St.
Clare dwells?
MARKS:
Where I don’t hink you’ll be in a hurry to seek him.
GEORGE:
And where is that?
MARKS:
In the grave!
GEORGE:
Stay, sir! you may be able to give me some information concern-
ing Mr. St. Clare.
MARKS:
I beg pardon, sir, I am a lawyer; I can’t afford to give anything
GEORGE:
But you would have no objections to selling it?
MARKS:
Not the slightest.
GEORGE:
What do you value it at?
MARKS:
Well, say five dollars, that’s reasonable.
GEORGE:
There they are. [(Gives money.)]
Now answer me to the best of your
ability. Has the death of St. Clare caused his slaves to be sold?
MARKS:
It has.
GEORGE:
How were they sold?
MARKS:
At auction — they went dirt cheap.
GEORGE:
How were they bought — all in one lot?
MARKS:
No, they went to different bidders.
GEORGE:
Was you present at the sale?
MARKS:
I was.
GEORGE:
Do you remember seeing a negro among them called Tom?
MARKS:
What, Uncle Tom?
GEORGE:
The same — who bought him?
MARKS:
A Mr. Legree.
GEORGE:
Where is his plantation?
MARKS:
Up in Louisiana, on the Red River; but a man never could find it,
unless he had been there before.
GEORGE:
Who could I get to direct me there?
MARKS:
Well, stranger, I don’t know of any one just at present ‘cept

myself, could find it for you; it’s such an out-of-the-way sort of hole; and if you
are a mind to come down handsomely, why, I’ll do it.
GEORGE:
The reward shall be ample.
MARKS:
Enough said, stranger; let’s take the steamboat at once. [(Exeunt.)]

[Dark landscape. An old, roofless shed. Tom is discovered in shed, lying on some
old cotton bagging. Cassy kneels by his side, holding a cup to his lips.]

CASSY:
Drink all ye want. I knew how it would be. It isn’t the first time I’ve been
out in the night, carrying water to such as you.
TOM:
[(Returning cup.)]
Thank you, missis.
CASSY:
Don’t call me missis. I’m a miserable slave like yourself — a lower
one than you can ever be! It’s no use, my poor fellow, this you’ve been trying to
do. You were a brave fellow. You had the right on your side; but it’s all in vain
for you to struggle. You are in the Devil’s hands; he is the strongest, and you
must give up.
TOM:
Oh! how can I give up?
CASSY:
You see you don’t know anything about it; I do. Here you are, on a
lone plantation, ten miles from any other, in the swamps; not a white person
here who could testify, if you were burned alive. There’s no law here that can do
you, or any of us, the least good; and this man! there’s no earthly thing that he is
not bad enough to do. I could make one’s hair rise, and their teeth chatter, if I
should only tell what I’ve seen and been knowing to here; and it’s no use
resisting! Did I want to live with him? Wasn’t I a woman delicately bred? and
he! — Father in Heaven! what was he and is he? And yet I’ve lived with him
these five years, and cursed every moment of my life, night and day.
TOM:
Oh heaven! have you quite forgot us poor critters?
CASSY:
And what are these miserable low dogs you work with, that you
should suffer on their account? Every one of them would turn against you the
first time they get a chance. They are all of them as low and cruel to each other
as they can be; there’s no use in your suffering to keep from hurting them?
TOM:
What made ‘em cruel? If I give out I shall get used to it and grow,
little by little, just like ‘em. No, no, Missis, I’ve lost everything, wife, and
children, and home, and a kind master, and he would have set me free if he’d
only lived a day longer — I’ve lost everything in this world, and now I can’t lose
heaven, too: no I can’t get to be wicked besides all.
CASSY:
But it can’t be that He will lay sin to our account; he won’t charge
it to us when we are forced to it; he’ll charge it to them that drove us to it. Can I

do anything more for you? Shall I give you some more water?
TOM:
Oh missis! I wish you’d go to Him who can give you living waters!
CASSY:
Go to him! Where is he? Who is he?
TOM:
Our Heavenly Father!
CASSY:
I used to see the picture of him, over the altar, when I was a girl but
he isn’t here! there’s nothing here but sin, and long, long despair! There, there,
don’t talk any more, my poor fellow. Try to sleep, if you can. I must hasten
back, lest my absence be noted. Think of me when I am gone, Uncle Tom, and
pray, pray for me.

[(Music. Exit Cassy. Tom sinks back to sleep.)]

[Enter: Plain Chamber. Enter Ophelia, followed by Topsy.]

OPHELIA:
A person inquiring for me, did you say, Topsy?
TOPSY:
Yes, missis.
OPHELIA:
What kind of a looking man is he?
TOPSY:
By golly! he’s very queer looking man, anyway; and den he talks so
dre’ful funny. What does you think? — yah! yah! he wanted to ‘zibite me as de
woolly gal! yah! yah!
OPHELIA:
Oh! I understand. Some cute Yankee, who wants to purchase
you, to make a show of — the heartless wretch!
TOPSY:
Dat’s just him, missis; dat’s just his name. He tole me dat it was
Cute — Mr. Cute Speculashum — dat’s him.
OPHELIA:
What did you say to him, Topsy?
TOPSY:
Well, I didn’t say much, it was brief and to the point — I tole him I
wouldn’t leave you, Miss Feely, no how.
OPHELIA:
That’s right, Topsy; you know you are very comfortable here –
you wouldn’t fare quite so well if you went away among strangers.
TOPSY:
By golly! I know dat; you takes care on me, and makes me good. I
don’t steal any now, and I don’t swar, and I don’t dance breakdowns. Oh! I isn’t
so wicked as I used to was.
OPHELIA:
That’s right, Topsy; now show the gentleman, or whatever he
is, up.
TOPSY:
By golly! I guess he won’t make much out of Miss Feely. [(Crosses
and exits.)]
OPHELIA:
I wonder who this person can be? Perhaps it is some old acquain-
tance, who has heard of my arrival, and who comes on a social visit.

[Enter: (Enter Cute.)]
CUTE:
Aunt, how do ye do? Well, I swan, the sight of you is good for weak
eyes. [(Offers his hand.)]
OPHELIA:
[(Coldly drawing back.)]
Really, sir, I can’t say that I ever had the
pleasure of seeing you before.
CUTE:
Well, it’s a fact that you never did. You see I never happened to be
in your neighborhood afore now. Of course you’ve heard of me? I’m one of the
Cutes — Gumption Cute, the first and only son of Josiah and Maria Cute, of
Oniontown, on the Onion river in the north part of this ere State of Varmount.

OPHELIA:
Can’t say I ever heard the name before.
CUTE:
Well then, I calculate your memory must be a little ricketty. I’m a
relation of yours.
OPHELIA:
A relation of mine! Why, I never heard of any Cutes in our fami-
ly.
CUTE:
Well, I shouldn’t wonder if you never did. Don’t you remember
your niece, Mary?
OPHELIA:
Of course I do. What a shiftless question!
CUTES:
Well, you see my second cousin, Abijah Blake, married her. So
you see that makes me a relation of yours.
OPHELIA:
Rather a distant one, I should say.
CUTE:
By chowder! I’m near enough, just at present.
OPHELIA:
Well, you certainly are a sort of connection of mine.
CUTE:
Yes, kind of sort of.
OPHELIA:
And of course you are welcome to my house, as long as you wish
to make it your home.
CUTE:
By chowder! I’m booked for the next six months — this isn’t a bad
speculation.
OPHELIA:
I hope you left all your folks well at home?
CUTE:
Well, yes, they’re pretty comfortably disposed of. Father and
mother’s dead, and Uncle Josh has gone to California. I am the only represen-
tative of the Cutes left.
OPHELIA:
There doesn’t seem to be a great deal of you left. I declare, you
are positively in rags.
CUTE:
Well, you see, the fact is, I’ve been speculating — trying to get bank-
notes — specie-rags, as they say — but I calculate I’ve turned out rags of another
sort.
OPHELIA:
I’m sorry for your ill luck, but I am afraid you have been shiftless.
CUTE:
By chowder! I’ve done all that a fellow could do. You see, somehow,
everything I take hold of kind of bursts up.
OPHELIA:
Well, well, perhaps you’ll do better for the future; make yourself
at home. I have got to see to some house-hold matters, so excuse me for a short
time. [(Aside.)]
Impudent and shiftless. [(Exit.)]
CUTE:
By chowder! I rather guess that this speculation will hitch. She’s a
good-natured old critter; I reckon I’ll be a son to her while she lives, and take
care of her valuables arter she’s a defunct departed. I wonder if they keep the
vittles in this ere room? Guess not. I’ve got extensive accommodations for all
sorts of eatables. I’m a regular vacuum, throughout — pockets and all. I’m chuck
full of emptiness. [(Looks out.)]
Holloa! who’s this elderly individual coming up
stairs? He looks like a compound essence of starch and dignity. I wonder if he
isn’t another relation of mine. I should like a rich old fellow now for an uncle.

[Enter: (Enter Deacon Perry.)]
DEACON:
Ha! a stranger here!
CUTE:
How d’ye do?
DEACON:
You are a friend to Miss Ophelia, I presume?
CUTE:
Well, I rather calculate that I am a leetle more than a friend.
DEACON:
[(Aside.)]
Bless me! what can he mean by those mysterious words?
Can he be her — no I don’t think he can. She said she wasn’t — well, at all events,

it’s very suspicious.
CUTE:
The old fellow seems kind of stuck up.
DEACON:
You are a particular friend to Miss Ophelia, you say?
CUTE:
Well, I calculate I am.
DEACON:
Bound to her by any tender tie?
CUTE:
It’s something more than a tie — it’s a regular double-twisted knot.
DEACON:
Ah! just as I suspected. [(Aside.)]
Might I inquire the nature of that
tie?
CUTE:
Well, it’s the natural tie of relationship.
DEACON:
A relation — what relation?
CUTE:
Why, you see, my second cousin, Abijah Blake, married her niece,
Mary.
DEACON:
Oh! is that all?
CUTE:
By chowder, ain’t that enough?
DEACON:
Then you are not her husband?
CUTE:
To be sure I ain’t. What put that ere idee into your cranium?
DEACON:
[(Shaking him vigorously by the hand.)]
My dear sir, I’m delighted to
see you.
CUTE:
Holloa! you ain’t going slightly insane, are you?
DEACON:
No, no fear of that; I’m only happy, that’s all.
CUTE:
I wonder if he’s been taking a nipper?
DEACON:
As you are a relation of Miss Ophelia’s, I think it proper that I
should make you my confidant; in fact, let you into a little scheme that I have
lately conceived.
CUTE:
Is it a speculation?
DEACON:
Well, it is, just at present; but I trust before many hours to make
it a surety.
CUTE:
By chowder! I hope it won’t serve you the way my speculations have
served me. But fire away, old boy, and give us the prospectus.
DEACON:
Well, then, my young friend, I have been thinking, ever since
Miss Ophelia returned to Vermont, that she was just the person to fill the place
of my lamented Molly.
CUTE:
Say, you, you couldn’t tell us who your lamented Molly was, could
you?
DEACON:
Why, the late Mrs. Perry, to be sure.
CUTE:
Oh! then the lamented Molly was your wife?
DEACON:
She was.
CUTE:
And now you wish to marry Miss Ophelia?
DEACON:
Exactly.
CUTE:
[(Aside.)]
Consarn this old porpoise! if I let him do that he’ll Jew me
out of my living. By chowder! I’ll put a spoke in his wheel.
DEACON:
Well, what do you say? will you intercede for me with your aunt?
CUTE:
No! bust me up if I do!
DEACON:
No?
CUTE:
No, I tell you. I forbid the bans. Now, ain’t you a purty individual,
to talk about getting married, you old superannuated Methuselah specimen of
humanity! Why, you’ve got one foot in etarnity already, and t’other ain’t fit to
stand on. Go home and go to bed! have your head shaved, and send for a lawyer
to make your will, leave your property to your heirs — if you hain’t got any, why
leave it to me — I’ll take care of it, and charge nothing for the trouble.

DEACON:
Really, sir, this language to one of my standing, is highly in-
decorous — it’s more, sir, than I feel willing to endure, sir. I shall expect an ex-
planation, sir.
CUTE:
Now, you see, old gouty toes, you’re losing your temper.
DEACON:
Sir, I’m a deacon; I never lost my temper in all my life, sir.
CUTE:
Now, you see, you’re getting excited; you had better go; we can’t
have a disturbance here!
DEACON:
No, sir! I shall not go, sir! I shall not go until I have seen Miss
Ophelia. I wish to know if she will countenance this insult.
CUTE:
Now keep cool, old stick-in-the-mud! Draw it mild, old timber-toes!
DEACON:
Damn it all, sir, what –
CUTE:
Oh! only think, now, what would people say to hear a deacon
swearing like a trooper?
DEACON:
Sir — I — you — this is too much, sir.
CUTE:
Well, now, I calculate that’s just about my opinion, so we’ll have no
more of it. Get out of this! start your boots, or by chowder! I’ll pitch you from
one end of the stairs to the other.

[Enter: (Enter Ophelia)]
OPHELIA:
Hoity toity! What’s the meaning of all these loud words?
CUTE:
[(Together.)]
Well, you see, Aunt –
DEACON:
Miss Ophelia, I beg –
CUTE:
Now, look here, you just hush your yap! How can I fix up matters if
you keep jabbering?
OPHELIA:
Silence! for shame, Mr. Cute. Is that the way you speak to the
deacon?
CUTE:
Darn the deacon!
OPHELIA:
Deacon Perry, what is all this?
DEACON:
Madam, a few words will explain everything. Hearing from this
person that he was your nephew, I ventured to tell him that I cherished hopes of
making you my wife, where upon he flew into a violent passion, and ordered me
out of the house.
OPHELIA:
Does this house belong to you or me, Mr. Cute?
CUTE:
Well, to you, I reckon.
OPHELIA:
Then how dare you give orders in it?
CUTE:
Well, I calculated that you wouldn’t care about marrying old half
a century there.
OPHELIA:
That’s enough; I will marry him; and as for you, [(Points.)]
get
out.
CUTE:
Get out?
OPHELIA:
Yes; the sooner the better.
CUTE:
Darned if I don’t serve him out first though.

[(Music. Cute makes a dash at Deacon, who gets behind Ophelia. Topsy enters,
with a broom and beats Cute around stage. Ophelia faints in Deacon’s arms. Cute
falls, and Topsy butts him kneeling over him. Quick drop.)]

[A Rude Chamber. Tom is discovered, in old clothes, seated on a stool. He holds in
his hand a paper containing a curl of Eva’s hair. The scene opens to the symphony
of “Old Folds at Home.”]

TOM:
I have come to de dark places; I’s going through de vale of shadows. My
heart sinks at times and feels just like a big lump of lead. Den it gits up in my
throat and chokes me till de tears roll out of my eyes; den I take out dis curl of
little Miss Eva’s hair, and the sight of it brings calm to my mind and I feels
strong again. [(Kisses the curl and puts it in his breast — takes out a silver dollar,
which is suspended around his neck by a string.)]
Dere’s de bright silver dollar
dat Mas’r George Shelby gave me the day I was sold away from old Kentuck,
and I’ve kept it ever since. Mas’r George must have grown to be a man by this
time. I wonder if I shall ever see him again.

[Enter: (Song. “Old Folks at Home.” Enter Legree, Emmeline, Sambo and Quimbo.)]
LEGREE:
Shut up, you black cuss! Did you think I wanted any of your
infernal howling? [(Turns to Emmeline.)]
We’re home. [(Emmeline shrinks from
him. He takes hold of her ear.)]
You didn’t ever wear earrings?
EMMELINE:
[(Trembling.)]
No, master.
LEGREE:
Well, I’ll give you a pair, if you’re a good girl. You needn’t be so
frightened; I don’t mean to make you work very hard. You’ll have fine times
with me and live like a lady; only be a good girl.
EMMELINE:
My soul sickens as his eyes gaze upon me. His touch makes my
very flesh creep.
LEGREE:
[(Turns to Tom, and points to Sambo and Quimbo.)]
Ye see what ye’d get
if ye’d try to run off. These yer boys have been raised to track niggers and they’d
just as soon chaw one on ye up as eat their suppers; so mind yourself. [(To Em-
meline.)]
Come, mistress, you go in here with me. [(Taking Emmeline’s hand,
and leading her off.)]
EMMELINE:
[(Withdrawing her hand, and shrinking back.)]
No, no! let me work
in the fields; I don’t want to be a lady.
LEGREE:
Oh! you’re going to be contrary, are you? I’ll soon take all that
out of you.
EMMELINE:
Kill me, if you will.
LEGREE:
Oh! you want to be killed, do you? Now come here, you Tom,
you see I told you I didn’t buy you jest for the common work; I mean to promote
you and make a driver of you, 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.
TOM:
I beg mas’r’s pardon — hopes mas’r won’t set me at that. It’s what I
a’nt used to — never did, and can’t do — no way possible.
LEGREE:
Ye’ll larn a pretty smart chance of things ye never did know before
I’ve done with ye. [(Strikes Tom with whip, three blows. Music chord each
blow.)]
There! now will ye tell me ye can’t do it?
TOM:
Yes, mas’r! I’m willing to work night and day, and work while
there’s life and breath in me; but his yer thing I can’t feel it right to do, and,
mas’r, I never shall do it, never!
LEGREE:
What! ye black beast! tell me ye don’t think it right to do 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 yer a gentleman,
master Tom, to be telling your master what’s right and what a’nt! So you pre-
tend it’s wrong to flog the gal?
TOM:
I think so, mas’r; ‘twould be downright cruel, and it’s what I never
will do, mas’r. If you mean to kill me, kill me; but as to raising my hand agin
any one here, I never shall — I’ll die first!
LEGREE:
Well, here’s a pious dog at last, let down among us sinners — powerful
holy critter he must be. Here, you rascal! you make believe to be so pious, didn’t
you never read out of your Bible, “Servants, obey your masters”? An’t I your
master? Didn’t I pay twelve hundred dollars, cash, for all there is inside your
cussed old black shell? An’t you mine, body and soul?
TOM:
No, no! My soul a’nt yours, mas’r; you haven’t bought it — ye can’t
buy it; it’s been bought and paid for by one that is able to keep it, and you can’t
harm it!

LEGREE:
I can’t? we’ll see, we’ll see! Here, Sambo! Quimbo! give this dog
such a breaking in as he won’t get over this month!
EMMELINE:
Oh, no! you will not be so cruel — have some mercy! [(Clings to
Tom.)]
LEGREE:
Mercy? you won’t find any in this shop! Away with the black cuss!
Flog him within an inch of his life!

[(Music. Sambo and Quimbo seize Tom and drag him up stage. Legree seizes Em-
meline, and throws her round. She falls on her knees, with her hands lifted in sup-
plication. Legree raises his whip, as if to strike Tom. Picture closed in.)]

[The Garden of Miss Ophelia’s House in Vermont. Enter Ophelia and Deacon
Perry.]

DEACON:
Miss Ophelia, allow me to offer you my congratulations upon your safe
arrival in your native place. I hope it is your intention to pass the remainder of
your days with us?
OPHELIA:
Well, Deacon, I have come here with that express purpose.
DEACON:
I presume you were not over-pleased with the South?
OPHELIA:
Well, to tell you the truth, Deacon, I wasn’t; I liked the country very
well, but the people there are so dreadful shiftless.
DEACON:
The result, I presume, of living in a warm climate.
OPHELIA:
Well, Deacon, what is the news among you all here?
DEACON:
Well, we live on in the same even jog-trot pace. Nothing of any conse-
quence has happened — Oh! I forgot. [(Takes out handkerchief.)]
I’ve lost my
wife; my Molly has left me. [(Wipes his eyes.)]
OPHELIA:
Poor soul! I pity you, Deacon.
DEACON:
Thank you. You perceive I bear my loss with resignation.
OPHELIA:
How you must miss her tongue!
DEACON:
Molly certainly was fond of talking. She always would have the
last word — heigho!
OPHELIA:
What was her complaint, Deacon?
DEACON:
A mild and soothing one, Miss Ophelia: she had a severe attack
of the lockjaw.
OPHELIA:
Dreadful!
DEACON:
Wasn’t it? When she found she couldn’t use her tongue, she took
it so much to heart that it struck to her stomach and killed her. Poor dear! Ex-
cuse my handkerchief; she’s been dead only eighteen months.
OPHELIA:
Why, Deacon, by this time you ought to be setting your cap for
another wife.
DEACON:
Do you think so, Miss Ophelia?
OPHELIA:
I don’t see why you shouldn’t — you are still a good-looking man,
Deacon.
DEACON:
Ah! well, I think I do wear well — in fact, I may say remarkably

well. It has been observed to me before.
OPHELIA:
And you are not much over fifty?
DEACON:
Just turned of forty, I assure you.
OPHELIA:
Hale and hearty?
DEACON:
Health excellent — look at my eye! Strong as a lion — look at my
arm!! A No. 1 constitution — look at my leg!!!
OPHELIA:
Have you no thoughts of choosing another partner?
DEACON:
Well, to tell you the truth, I have.
OPHELIA:
Who is she?
DEACON:
She is not far distant. [(Looks at Ophelia in an anguishing manner.)]
I
have her in my eye at this present moment.
OPHELIA:
[(Aside.)]
Really, I believe he’s going to pop. Why, surely,
Deacon, you don’t mean to –
DEACON:
Yes, Miss Ophelia, I do mean; and believe me, when I say –
[(Looking off.)]
The Lord be good to us, but I believe there is the devil coming!

[(Topsy runs on, with bouquet. She is now dressed very neatly.)]
TOPSY:
Miss Feely, here is some flowers dat I hab been gathering for you.
[(Gives bouquet.)]
OPHELIA:
That’s a good child.
DEACON:
Miss Ophelia, who is this young person?
OPHELIA:
She is my daughter.
DEACON:
[(Aside.)]
Her daughter! Then she must have married a colored
man off South. I was not aware that you had been married, Miss Ophelia?
OPHELIA:
Married! Sakes alive! what made you think I had been mar-
ried?
DEACON:
Good gracious, I’m getting confused. Didn’t I understand you to
say that this — somewhat tanned — young lady was your daughter?
OPHELIA:
Only by adoption. She is my adopted daughter.
DEACON:
O — oh! [(Aside.)]
I breathe again.
TOPSY:
By Golly! dat old man’s eyes stick out of ‘um head dre’ful. Guess
he never seed anything like me afore.
OPHELIA:
Deacon, won’t you step into the house and refresh yourself after
your walk?
DEACON:
I accept your polite invitation. [(Offers his arm.)]
Allow me.
OPHELIA:
As gallant as ever, Deacon. I declare, you grow younger every
day.
DEACON:
You can never grow old, madam.
OPHELIA:
Ah, you flatterer! [(Exeunt.)]
TOPSY:
Dar dey go, like an old goose and gander. Guess dat ole
gemblemun feels kind of confectionary — rather sweet on my old missis. By Gol-
ly! she’s been dre’ful kind to me ever since I come away from de South; and I
loves her, I does, ’cause she takes such car’ on me and gives me dese fine clothes.
I tries to be good too, and I’s gettin ‘long ‘mazin’ fast. I’s not so wicked as I used
to was. [(Looks out.)]
Holloa! dar’s some one comin’ here. I wonder what he
wants now. [(Retires, observing.)]

[Enter: (Enter Gumption Cute, very shabby, a small bundle, on a stick, over his shoulder.)]

CUTE:
By chowder, here I am again. Phew, it’s a pretty considerable tall
piece of walking between here and New Orleans, not to mention the wear of
shoe-leather. I guess I’m about done up. If this streak of bad luck lasts much
longer, I’ll borrow sixpence to buy a rope, and hang myself right straight up!
When I went to call on Miss Ophelia, I swow if I didn’t find out that she had left
for Vermont; so I kind of concluded to make tracks in that direction myself and
as I didn’t have any money left, why I had to foot it, and here I am in old Var-
mount once more. They told me Miss Ophelia lived up here. I wonder if she will
remember the relationship. [(Sees Topsy.)]
By chowder, there’s a darkey. Look
here, Charcoal!
TOPSY:
[(Comes forward.)]
My name isn’t Charcoal — it’s Topsy.
CUTE:
Oh! your name is Topsy, is it, you juvenile specimen of Day
& Martin?
TOPSY:
Tell you I don’t know nothin’ ’bout Day & Martin. I’s Topsy and I
belong to Miss Feely St..Clare.
CUTE:
I’m much obleeged to you, you small extract of Japan, for your
information. So Miss Ophelia lives up there in the white house, does she?
TOPSY:
Well, she don’t do nothin’ else.
CUTE:
Well, then, just locomote your pins.
TOPSY:
What — what’s dat?
CUTE:
Walk your chalks!
TOPSY:
By Golly! dere ain’t no chalk ’bout me.
CUTE:
Move your trotters.
TOPSY:
How you does spoke! What you mean by trotters?
CUTE:
Why, your feet, Stove Polish.
TOPSY:
What does you want me to move my feet for?
CUTE:
To tell your mistress, you ebony angel, that a gentleman wishes to
see her.
TOPSY:
Does you call yourself a gentleman! By Golly! you look more like a
scar’crow.
CUTE:
Now look here, you Charcoal, don’t you be sassy. I’m a gentleman
in distress; a done-up speculator; one that has seen better days — long time
ago — and better clothes too, by chowder! My creditors are like my
boots — they’ve no soles. I’m a victim to circumstances. I’ve been through much
and survived it. I’ve taken walking exercise for the benefit of my health; but as I
was trying to live on air at the same time, it was a losing speculation, ’cause it
gave me such a dreadful appetite.
TOPSY:
Golly! you look as if you could eat an ox, horns and all.
CUTE:
Well, I calculate I could, if he was roasted — it’s a speculation I should
like to engage in. I have returned like the fellow that run away in Scripture; and
if anybody’s got a fatted calf they want to kill, all they got to do is to fetch him
along. Do you know, Charcoal, that your mistress is a relation of mine?
TOPSY:
Is she your uncle?
CUTE:
No, no, not quite so near as that. My second cousin married her
niece.
TOPSY:
And does you want to see Miss Feely?
CUTE:
I do. I have come to seek a home beneath her roof, and take care of
all the spare change she don’t want to use.
TOPSY:
Den just you follow me, mas’r.
CUTE:
Stop! By chowder, I’ve got a great idee. Say, you Day & Martin,

how should you like to enter into a speculation?
TOPSY:
Golly! I doesn’t know what a spec — spec — cu — what-do-you-call-
‘um am.
CUTE:
Well, now, I calculate I’ve hit upon about the right thing. Why
should I degrade the manly dignity of the Cutes by becoming a beggar — expose
myself to the chance of receiving the cold shoulder as a poor relation? By
chowder, my blood biles as I think of it! Topsy, you can make my fortune, and
your own, too. I’ve an idee in my head that is worth a million of dollars.
TOPSY:
Golly! is your head worth dat? Guess you wouldn’t bring dat out
South for de whole of you.
CUTE:
Don’t you be too severe, now, Charcoal; I’m a man of genius. Did
you ever hear of Barnum?
TOPSY:
Barnum! Barnum! Does he live out South?
CUTE:
No, he lives in New York. Do you know how he made his fortin?
TOPSY:
What is him fortin, hey? Is it something he wears?
CUTE:
Chowder, how green you are!
TOPSY:
[(Indignantly.)]
Sar, I hab you to know I’s not green; I’s brack.
CUTE:
To be sure you are, Day & Martin. I calculate, when a person says
another has a fortune, he means he’s got plenty of money, Charcoal.
TOPSY:
And did he make the money?
CUTE:
Sartin sure, and no mistake.
TOPSY:
Golly! now I thought money always growed.
CUTE:
Oh, git out! You are too cute — you are cuterer than I am — and I’m
Cute by name and cute by nature. Well, as I was saying, Barnum made his
money by exhibiting a woolly horse; now wouldn’t it be an all-fired speculation
to show you as the woolly gal?
TOPSY:
You want to make a sight of me?
CUTE:
I’ll give you half the receipts, by chowder!
TOPSY:
Should I have to leave Miss Feely?
CUTE:
To be sure you would.
TOPSY:
Den you hab to get a woolly gal somewhere else, Mas’r Cute. [(Runs
off.)]
CUTE:
There’s another speculation gone to smash, by chowder! [(Exit.)]

[Enter: An Auction Mart. Uncle Tom and Emmeline at back. Adolf, Skeggs, Marks,
Mann, and various spectators discovered. Marks and Mann come forward.]

MARKS:
Hulloa, Alf! what brings you here?
MANN:
Well, I was wanting a valet, and I heard that St. Clare’s valet was
going; I thought I’d just look at them.
MARKS:
Catch me ever buying any of St. Clare’s people. Spoiled niggers
every one — impudent as the devil.
MANN:
Never fear that; if I get ‘em, I’ll soon have their airs out of them –
they’ll soon find that they’ve another kind of master to deal with than St. Clare
‘Pon my word, I’ll buy that fellow — I like the shape of him. [(Pointing to Adolf.)]
MARKS:
You’ll find it’ll take all you’ve got to keep him — he’s deucedly
extravagant.
MANN:
Yes, but my lord will find that he can’t be extravagant with me. Just
let him be sent to the calaboose a few times, and thoroughly dressed down, I’ll
tell you if it don’t bring him to a sense of his ways. Oh! I’ll reform him, up hill
and down, you’ll see. I’ll buy him; that’s flat.

[(Enter Legree, he goes up and looks at Adolf, whose boots are nicely blacked.)]
LEGREE:
A nigger with his boots blacked — bah! [(Spits on them.)]
Holloa, you!
[(To Tom.)]
Let’s see your teeth. [(Seizes Tom by the jaw and opens his mouth.)]
Strip up your sleeve and show your muscle. [(Tom does so.)]
Where was you rais-
ed?
TOM:
In Kintuck, mas’r.
LEGREE:
What have you done?
TOM:
Had care of mas’r’s farm.
LEGREE:
That’s a likely story. [(Turns to Emmeline.)]
You’re a nice-looking
girl enough. How old are you? [(Grasps her arm.)]
EMMELINE:
[(Shrieking.)]
Ah! you hurt me.
SKEGGS:
Stop that, you minx! No whimpering here. The sale is going to
begin. [(Mounts the rostrum.)]
Gentlemen, the next article I shall offer you to-day
is Adolf, late valet to Mr. St. Clare. How much am I offered? [(Various bids are]

[made. Adolf is knocked down to Mann for eight hundred dollars.)]
Gentlemen, I
now offer a prime article — the quadroon girl, Emmeline, only fifteen years of
age, warranted in every respect. [(Business as before. Emmeline is sold to Legree
for one thousand dollars.)]
Now, I shall close to-day’s sale by offering you the
valuable article known as Uncle Tom, the most useful nigger ever raised.
Gentlemen in want of an overseer, now is the time to bid.

[(Business as before. Tom is sold to Legree for twelve hundred dollars.)]
LEGREE:
Now look here, you two belong to me. [(Tom and Emmeline sink on
their knees.)]
TOM:
Heaven help us, then!

[(Music. Legree stands over them exulting. Picture — closed in.)]