"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.