Uncle Tom's cabin / Хижина дяди Тома. Книга для чтения на английском языке. Гарриет Бичер-Стоу

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СКАЧАТЬ what’s this?” said the man. “Why, if ’tan’t Shelby’s gal!”

      “My child! – this boy! – he’d sold him! There is his Mas’r,” said she, pointing to the Kentucky shore. “O, Mr. Symmes, you’ve got a little boy!”

      “So I have,” said the man, as he roughly, but kindly, drew her up the steep bank. “Besides, you’re a right brave gal. I like grit, wherever I see it.”

      When they had gained the top of the bank, the man paused.

      “I’d be glad to do something for ye,” said he; “but then there’s nowhar I could take ye. The best I can do is to tell ye to go thar,” said he, pointing to a large white house which stood by itself, off the main street of the village. “Go thar; they’re kind folks. Thar’s no kind o’ danger but they’ll help you, – they’re up to all that sort o’ thing.”

      “The Lord bless you!” said Eliza, earnestly.

      “No ’casion, no ’casion in the world,” said the man. “What I’ve done ’s of no ’count.”

      “And, oh, surely, sir, you won’t tell any one!”

      “Go to thunder, gal! What do you take a feller for? In course not,” said the man. “Come, now, go along like a likely, sensible gal, as you are. You’ve arnt your liberty, and you shall have it, for all me.”

      The woman folded her child to her bosom, and walked firmly and swiftly away. The man stood and looked after her.

      “Shelby, now, mebbe won’t think this yer the most neighborly thing in the world; but what’s a feller to do? If he catches one of my gals in the same fix, he’s welcome to pay back. Somehow I never could see no kind o’ critter a strivin’ and pantin’, and trying to clar theirselves, with the dogs arter ’em, and go agin ’em. Besides, I don’t see no kind of ’casion for me to be hunter and catcher for other folks, neither.”

      So spoke this poor, heathenish Kentuckian, who had not been instructed in his constitutional relations, and consequently was betrayed into acting in a sort of Christianized manner, which, if he had been better situated and more enlightened, he would not have been left to do.

      Haley had stood a perfectly amazed spectator of the scene, till Eliza had disappeared up the bank, when he turned a blank, inquiring look on Sam and Andy.

      “That ar was a tolable fair stroke of business,” said Sam.

      “The gal ’s got seven devils in her, I believe!” said Haley. “How like a wildcat she jumped!”

      “Wal, now,” said Sam, scratching his head, “I hope Mas’r ’ll ’scuse us tryin’ dat ar road. Don’t think I feel spry enough for dat ar, no way!” and Sam gave a hoarse chuckle.

      “You laugh!” said the trader, with a growl.

      “Lord bless you, Mas’r, I could n’t help it, now,” said Sam, giving way to the long pent-up delight of his soul. “She looked so curi’s, a leapin’ and springin’ – ice a crackin’ – and only to hear her, – plump! ker chunk! ker splash! Spring! Lord! how she goes it!” and Sam and Andy laughed till the tears rolled down their cheeks.

      “I’ll make ye laugh t’ other side yer mouths!” said the trader, laying about their heads with his riding-whip.

      Both ducked, and ran shouting up the bank, and were on their horses before he was up.

      “Good-evening, Mas’r!” said Sam, with much gravity. “I berry much spect Missis be anxious ’bout Jerry. Mas’r Haley won’t want us no longer. Missis would n’t hear of our ridin’ the critters over Lizy’s bridge to-night;” and, with a facetious poke into Andy’s ribs, he started off, followed by the latter, at full speed, – their shouts of laughter coming faintly on the wind.

      VIII

      Eliza’s Escape

      Eliza made her desperate retreat across the river just in the dusk of twilight. The gray mist of evening, rising slowly from the river, enveloped her as she disappeared up the bank, and the swollen current and floundering masses of ice presented a hopeless barrier between her and her pursuer. Haley therefore slowly and discontentedly returned to the little tavern, to ponder further what was to be done. The woman opened to him the door of a little parlor, covered with a rag carpet, where stood a table with a very shining black oil-cloth, sundry lank, highbacked wood chairs, with some plaster images in resplendent colors on the mantel-shelf, above a very dimly-smoking grate; a long hard-wood settle extended its uneasy length by the chimney, and here Haley sat him down to meditate on the instability of human hopes and happiness in general.

      “What did I want with the little cuss, now,” he said to himself, “that I should have got myself treed like a coon, as I am, this yer way?” and Haley relieved himself by repeating over a not very select litany of imprecations on himself, which, though there was the best possible reason to consider them as true, we shall, as a matter of taste, omit.

      He was startled by the loud and dissonant voice of a man who was apparently dismounting at the door. He hurried to the window.

      “By the land[29]! if this yer an’t the nearest, now, to what I’ve heard folks call Providence,” said Haley. “I do b’lieve that ar ’s Tom Loker.”

      Haley hastened out. Standing by the bar, in the corner of the room, was a brawny, muscular man, full six feet in height, and broad in proportion. He was dressed in a coat of buffalo-skin, made with the hair outward, which gave him a shaggy and fierce appearance, perfectly in keeping with the whole air of his physiognomy. In the head and face every organ and lineament expressive of brutal and unhesitating violence was in a state of the highest possible development. Indeed, could our readers fancy a bull-dog come unto man’s estate, and walking about in a hat and coat, they would have no unapt idea of the general style and effect of his physique. He was accompanied by a travelling companion, in many respects an exact contrast to himself. He was short and slender, lithe and cat-like in his motions, and had a peering, mousing expression about his keen black eyes, with which every feature of his face seemed sharpened into sympathy; his thin, long nose, ran out as if it was eager to bore into the nature of things in general; his sleek, thin, black hair was stuck eagerly forward, and all his motions and evolutions expressed a dry, cautious acuteness. The great big man poured out a big tumbler half full of raw spirits, and gulped it down without a word. The little man stood tip-toe, and putting his head first to one side and then to the other, and snuffing considerately in the directions of the various bottles, ordered at last a mint julep, in a thin and quivering voice, and with an air of great circumspection. When poured out, he took it and looked at it with a sharp, complacent air, like a man who thinks he has done about the right thing, and hit the nail on the head, and proceeded to dispose of it in short and well-advised sips.

      “Wal, now, who’d a thought this yer luck ’ad come to me? Why, Loker, how are ye?” said Haley, coming forward, and extending his hand to the big man.

      “The devil!” was the civil reply. “What brought you here, Haley?”

      The mousing man, who bore the name of Marks, instantly stopped his sipping, and, poking his head forward, looked shrewdly on the new acquaintance, as a cat sometimes looks at a moving dry leaf, or some other possible object of pursuit.

      “I say, Tom, this yer’s the luckiest thing in the world. I’m in a devil of a hobble, and you must help me out.”

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