“I reckon she will, to her grave,” said Legree.  “But now, Sambo, you look sharp.  If the nigger’s got anything of this sort going, trip him up.”

“Mas’r, let me lone for dat,” said Sambo, “I’ll tree de coon.  Ho, ho, ho!”

This was spoken as Legree was getting on his horse, to go to the neighboring town.  That night, as he was returning, he thought he would turn his horse and ride round the quarters, and see if all was safe.

It was a superb moonlight night, and the shadows of the graceful China trees lay minutely pencilled on the turf below, and there was that transparent stillness in the air which it seems almost unholy to disturb.  Legree was a little distance from the quarters, when he heard the voice of some one singing.  It was not a usual sound there, and he paused to listen.  A musical tenor voice sang,

     “When I can read my title clear
     To mansions in the skies,
     I’ll bid farewell to every fear,
     And wipe my weeping eyes

     “Should earth against my soul engage,
     And hellish darts be hurled,
     Then I can smile at Satan’s rage,
     And face a frowning world.

     “Let cares like a wild deluge come,
     And storms of sorrow fall,
     May I but safely reach my home,
     My god, my Heaven, my All."*

     * “On My Journey Home,” hymn by Isaac Watts, found in many
     of the southern country songbooks of the ante bellum period.

“So ho!” said Legree to himself, “he thinks so, does he?  How I hate these cursed Methodist hymns!  Here, you nigger,” said he, coming suddenly out upon Tom, and raising his riding-whip, “how dare you be gettin’ up this yer row, when you ought to be in bed?  Shut yer old black gash, and get along in with you!”

“Yes, Mas’r,” said Tom, with ready cheerfulness, as he rose to go in.

Legree was provoked beyond measure by Tom’s evident happiness; and riding up to him, belabored him over his head and shoulders.

“There, you dog,” he said, “see if you’ll feel so comfortable, after that!”

But the blows fell now only on the outer man, and not, as before, on the heart.  Tom stood perfectly submissive; and yet Legree could not hide from himself that his power over his bond thrall was somehow gone.  And, as Tom disappeared in his cabin, and he wheeled his horse suddenly round, there passed through his mind one of those vivid flashes that often send the lightning of conscience across the dark and wicked soul.  He understood full well that it was GOD who was standing between him and his victim, and he blasphemed him.  That submissive and silent man, whom taunts, nor threats, nor stripes, nor cruelties, could disturb, roused a voice within him, such as of old his Master roused in the demoniac soul, saying, “What have we to do with thee, thou Jesus of Nazareth?—­art thou come to torment us before the time?”