Tom saw enough of abuse and misery in his new life to make him sick and weary; but he toiled on with religious patience, committing himself to Him that judgeth righteously.  Legree took silent note, and rating him as a first-class hand, made up his mind that Tom must be hardened; he had bought him with a view to making him a sort of overseer, so one night he told him to flog one of the women.  Tom begged him not to set him at that.  He could not do it, “no way possible.”  Legree struck him repeatedly with a cowhide.  “There,” said he stopping to rest, “now will ye tell me ye can’t do it?”

“Yes, mas’r,” said Tom, wiping the blood from his face.  “I’m willin’ to work, night and day; but this yer thing I can’t feel it right to do; and mas’r, I never shall do it, never!”

Legree looked stupefied—­Tom was so respectful—­but at last burst forth: 

“What, ye blasted black beast! tell me ye don’t think it right to do what I tell ye.  So ye pretend it’s wrong to flog the girl?”

“I think so, mas’r,” said Tom. “’Twould be downright cruel, the poor critter’s sick and feeble.  Mas’r, if you mean to kill me, kill me; but as to my raising my hand against anyone here, I never will—­I’ll die first.”  Legree shook with anger.  “Here, Sambo!—­Quimbo!” he shouted, “give this dog such a breakin’ in as he won’t get over this month.”

The two seized Tom with fiendish exultation, and dragged him unresistingly from the place.

* * * * *

For weeks and months Tom wrestled, in darkness and sorrow—­crushing back to his soul the bitter thought that God had forgotten him.  One night he sat like one stunned when everything around him seemed to fade, and a vision rose of One crowned with thorns, buffeted and bleeding; and a voice said, “He that overcometh shall sit down with Me on My throne, even as I also overcame, and am set down with My Father upon His throne.”

From this time an inviolable peace filled the lowly heart of the oppressed one; life’s uttermost woes fell from him unharming.

* * * * *

Scenes of blood and cruelty are shocking to our ear and heart.  What man has nerve to do, man has not nerve to hear.

Tom lay dying at last; not suffering, for every nerve was blunted and destroyed; when George Shelby found him, and his voice reached his dying ear.

“Oh, Mas’r George, he ain’t done me any real harm:  only opened the gate of Heaven for me.  Who—­who shall separate us from the love of Christ?” and with a smile he fell asleep.

* * * * *

As George knelt by the grave of his poor friend, “Witness, eternal God,” said he, “Oh, witness that, from this hour, I will do what one man can to drive out the curse of slavery from my land!”

* * * * *

EUGENE SUE