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Mark Twain > The Tragedy of Pudd'nhead Wilson > Chapter 16

The Tragedy of Pudd'nhead Wilson

Chapter 16


Sold Down the River


If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous,
he will not bite you. This is the principal difference between a
dog and a man.

--Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar


We all know about the habits of the ant, we know all about
the habits of the bee, but we know nothing at all about the
habits of the oyster. It seems almost certain that we have been
choosing the wrong time for studying the oyster.

--Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar


When Roxana arrived, she found her son in such despair and
misery that her heart was touched and her motherhood rose up
strong in her. He was ruined past hope now; his destruction
would be immediate and sure, and he would be an outcast and friendless.
That was reason enough for a mother to love a child;
so she loved him, and told him so. It made him wince, secretly--
for she was a "nigger." That he was one himself was far from
reconciling him to that despised race.

Roxana poured out endearments upon him, to which he
responded uncomfortably, but as well as he could.
And she tried to comfort him, but that was not possible.
These intimacies quickly became horrible to him, and within the hour
began to try to get up courage enough to tell her so, and require
that they be discontinued or very considerably modified.
But he was afraid of her; and besides, there came a lull now,
for she had begun to think. She was trying to invent a saving plan.
Finally she started up, and said she had found a way out. Tom was almost
suffocated by the joy of this sudden good news. Roxana said:

"Here is de plan, en she'll win, sure. I's a nigger,
en nobody ain't gwine to doubt it dat hears me talk.
I's wuth six hund'd dollahs. Take en sell me,
en pay off dese gamblers."

Tom was dazed. He was not sure he had heard aright.
He was dumb for a moment; then he said:

"Do you mean that you would be sold into slavery to save me?"

"Ain't you my chile? En does you know anything dat a mother
won't do for her chile? Day ain't nothin' a white mother won't
do for her chile. Who made 'em so? De Lord done it.
En who made de niggers? De Lord made 'em. In de inside, mothers is all
de same. De good lord he made 'em so. I's gwine to be sole into
slavery, en in a year you's gwine to buy yo' ole mammy free ag'in.
I'll show you how. Dat's de plan."

Tom's hopes began to rise, and his spirits along with them. He said:

"It's lovely of you, Mammy--it's just--"

"Say it ag'in! En keep on sayin' it! It's all de pay a
body kin want in dis worl', en it's mo' den enough.
Laws bless you, honey, when I's slav' aroun', en dey 'buses me,
if I knows you's a-sayin' dat, 'way off yonder somers,
it'll heal up all de sore places, en I kin stan' 'em."

"I DO say it again, Mammy, and I'll keep on saying it, too.
But how am I going to sell you? You're free, you know."

"Much diff'rence dat make! White folks ain't partic'lar.
De law kin sell me now if dey tell me to leave de state in six
months en I don't go. You draw up a paper--bill o' sale--
en put it 'way off yonder, down in de middle o' Kaintuck somers,
en sign some names to it, en say you'll sell me cheap 'ca'se you's
hard up; you'll find you ain't gwine to have no trouble.
You take me up de country a piece, en sell me on a farm;
dem people ain't gwine to ask no questions if I's a bargain."

Tom forged a bill of sale and sold him mother to an Arkansas
cotton planter for a trifle over six hundred dollars.
He did not want to commit this treachery, but luck threw the man in his way,
and this saved him the necessity of going up-country to hunt up a purchaser,
with the added risk of having to answer a lot of questions,
whereas this planter was so pleased with Roxy that he
asked next to none at all. Besides, the planter insisted that
Roxy wouldn't know where she was, at first, and that by the time
she found out she would already have been contented.

So Tom argued with himself that it was an immense advantaged
for Roxy to have a master who was pleased with her, as this
planter manifestly was. In almost no time his flowing reasonings
carried him to the point of even half believing he was doing Roxy
a splendid surreptitious service in selling her "down the river."
And then he kept diligently saying to himself all the time:
"It's for only a year. In a year I buy her free again;
she'll keep that in mind, and it'll reconcile her." Yes; the little
deception could do no harm, and everything would come out right
and pleasant in the end, anyway. By agreement, the conversation
in Roxy's presence was all about the man's "up-country" farm,
and how pleasant a place it was, and how happy the slaves were there;
so poor Roxy was entirely deceived; and easily, for she was not
dreaming that her own son could be guilty of treason to a mother who,
in voluntarily going into slavery--slavery of any kind,
mild or severe, or of any duration, brief or long--was making a
sacrifice for him compared with which death would have been a
poor and commonplace one. She lavished tears and loving caresses
upon him privately, and then went away with her owner--
went away brokenhearted, and yet proud to do it.

Tom scored his accounts, and resolved to keep to the very
letter of his reform, and never to put that will in jeopardy
again. He had three hundred dollars left. According to his
mother's plan, he was to put that safely away, and add her half
of his pension to it monthly. In one year this fund would buy
her free again.

For a whole week he was not able to sleep well, so much the
villainy which he had played upon his trusting mother preyed upon
his rag of conscience; but after that he began to get comfortable again,
and was presently able to sleep like any other miscreant.

The boat bore Roxy away from St. Louis at four in the afternoon,
and she stood on the lower guard abaft the paddle box
and watched Tom through a blur of tears until he melted into the
throng of people and disappeared; then she looked no more,
but sat there on a coil of cable crying till far into the night.
When she went to her foul steerage bunk at last, between the
clashing engines, it was not to sleep, but only to wait for the
morning, and, waiting, grieve.

It had been imagined that she "would not know," and would
think she was traveling upstream. She! Why, she had been
steamboating for years. At dawn she got up and went listlessly
and sat down on the cable coil again. She passed many a snag
whose "break" could have told her a thing to break her heart,
for it showed a current moving in the same direction that the boat
was going; but her thoughts were elsewhere, and she did not notice.
But at last the roar of a bigger and nearer break than
usual brought her out of her torpor, and she looked up,
and her practiced eye fell upon that telltale rush of water.
For one moment her petrified gaze fixed itself there.
Then her head dropped upon her breast, and she said:

"Oh, de good Lord God have mercy on po' sinful me--
I'S SOLE DOWN DE RIVER!"


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