The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman (3 page)

“Well, that’s that,” he said.

Then all a sudden somebody hollered, and everybody started singing. Just singing and dancing and clapping. Old people you didn’t think could even walk started hopping round there like game roosters. This what the people was singing:

Just singing and clapping, just singing and clapping. Just talking to each other, just patting each other on the back.

The driver he never got in the celebration him. Everybody else singing and clapping, he just standing there looking up at the master. Then he moved closer to the gallery and said: “Master, if we free to go, where is we to go?”

Before the master could open his mouth, I said: “Where North at? Point to it. I’ll show y’all where to go.”

The driver said: “Shut up. You ain’t nothing but trouble. I ain’t had nothing but trouble out you since you come in that field.”

“If I ain’t nothing but trouble, you ain’t nothing but Nothing,” I said.

And the next thing I knowed, my mouth was numb and I was laying down there on the ground. The master looked at me down there and said: “I can’t do
a thing about it. You free and don’t belong to me no more. Got to fight your own battle best you can.”

I jumped up from there and sunk my teeth in that nigger’s hand. His hand was rough as ’cuda legs. He wrenched his hand out my mouth and numbed the side of my face. This time when I got up I grabbed that hoe I had brought out the field. An old man we all called Unc Isom stepped in front of me.

“Hold,” he said.

“Hold nothing,” I said. “Nigger, say your prayers. Maker, here you come.”

“Didn’t I say hold,” Unc Isom said. “When I say hold, I mean just that: hold.”

I eased the hoe to the ground, but I kept my eyes on the driver all the time. I touched my lips with my hand, but I couldn’t feel a thing. Not bleeding, but numb as it could be.

When Unc Isom seen I wasn’t go’n hit that nigger with that hoe, he turned to the master.

“The papers say we can go or we can stay, Master?” he asked him.

“No, they just say y’all free, Isom,” the master said. “They don’t care what y’all do, where y’all go. I’m the one who saying y’all can stay on if y’all want. If you stay, I got to work you on shares, and you work when you want. You don’t have to work on Sundays less you want. Can go to church and stay there and sing all day if you want. You free as I am, Isom.”

Unc Isom said, “Master, we can gather down the quarters and talk just between us?”

The master said, “What you go’n be talking ’bout down there, Isom?”

“Just if we ought to go or stay, Master,” Unc Isom said.

“Sure, y’all free as I am,” the master said. “Y’all can take all the time y’all want to decide. Long as you ain’t deciding on burning down the place.”

Unc Isom had to grin to himself. “Master, ain’t nothing like that,” he said.

“Give the children some apples before they go,” the mistress said.

“And the men and women cider,” the master said. “Celebrate y’all freedom.”

“Hold,” Unc Isom said. “Apples and cider later. Now, we go in the quarters and talk.”

Unc Isom was a kind of advisor to us there in the quarters. Some people said he had been a witch doctor sometime back. I know he knowed a lot about roots and herbs, and the people was always going to him for something to cure colic or the bots or whatever they had. That’s why they followed him when he spoke. The young people grumbled because they wanted the apples, but the old people followed him without a word. When we came up to his cabin he told everybody to kneel down and thank God for freedom. I didn’t want kneel, I didn’t know too much about the Lord then, but I knelt out of respect. When Unc Isom got through praying he stood up and looked at us again. He was an old man, black black, with long white hair. He could have been in his 80s, he could have been in his 90s—I have no idea how old he was.

“Now, I ask the question,” he said. “What’s we to do?”

“Slavery over, let’s get moving,” somebody said.

“Let’s stay,” somebody else said. “See if old Master go’n act different when it’s freedom.”

“Y’all do like y’all want,” I said. “I’m headed North.” I turned to leave, but I stopped. “Which way North?”

“Before y’all start out here heading anywhere, what y’all go’n eat?” Unc Isom said. “Where y’all go’n sleep? Who go’n protect you from the patrollers?”

“They got Yankees,” I said.

“They got Yankees, they got Yankees,” Unc Isom mocked me. I could see he didn’t have a tooth in his mouth. “Yankee told you your name was Jane; soon as Old Mistress start beating on you, you can’t find Yankee.”

“They can’t beat me no more,” I said. “Them papers say I’m free, free like everybody else.”

“They ain’t go’n just beat you if they catch you, they kill you if they catch you now,” Unc Isom said. “Before now they didn’t kill you because you was somebody chattel. Now you ain’t owned by nobody but fate. Nobody to protect you now, little Ticey.”

“My name is Jane, Unc Isom,” I said. “And I’m heading for Ohio. Soon as you point that way.”

“I don’t know too much ’bout Ohio,” Unc Isom said, coming out in the road. “Where it at or where it s’pose to be, I ain’t for sure.” He turned toward the swamps, then he raised his hand and pointed. “North is that way. Sun on your right in the morning, your left in the evening. North Star point the way at night. If you stay in the swamps, the moss is on the north side of the tree root.”

“I’m heading out,” I said. “Soon as I get me few of them apples and my other dress. Anybody else going?”

The young people started moving out in the road, but the old people started crying and holding them back. I didn’t have a mama or a daddy to cry and hold me back. My mama was killed when I was young and I had never knowed my daddy. He belong to another plantation. I never did know his name.

“Hold,” Unc Isom said. He raised both of his hands like he was getting ready to wave us back. “This rejoicing time, not crying time. Ain’t we done seen enough weeping? Ain’t we done seen enough separation? Hold now.”

“You telling us to stay here?” somebody young said.

“Them who want stay, stay, he said. “Then who must go, go. But this no time for weeping. Rejoice now.”

“We leaving put,” somebody young said. “If the old people want stay here, stay. We free, let’s move.”

“Amen,” I said.

“You free from what?” Unc Isom said. “Free to do what—break more hearts?”

“Niggers hearts been broke ever since niggers been in this world,” somebody young said. “I done seen babies jecked from mama titty. That was breaking hearts, too.”

“That couldn’t be helped,” Unc Isom said. “This can be helped.”

“This can’t be helped,” somebody young said. “They got blood on this place, and I done stepped all in it. I done waded in it to my waist. You can mend a broken heart, you can’t wash blood off your body.”

“Hold,” Unc Isom said, raising his hands again. “When you talking ’bout mama and papa’s heart, hold now.”

“Mama and papa’s heart can’t be pained no more than they been pained already,” somebody young said.

“Let’s go,” somebody else said. “All this arguing ain’t putting us no closer North.”

“Hold,” Unc Isom said. “This wisdom I’m speaking from. Hold now.”

“Give your wisdom to the ones staying here with you,” somebody young said. “Rest of us moving out.”

The boy who spoke to Unc Isom like that started up the quarters toward the big house. Unc Isom let him walk a little piece, then he hollered at him to stop. The boy wouldn’t stop. Unc Isom hollered at him again. This time the boy looked back over his shoulder. Unc Isom didn’t say a thing, he just stood there pointing his finger at the boy.

Me and some of the other people started toward the big house to get some apples, and one of the women said Unc Isom had put bad mark on the boy. Another woman said Unc Isom didn’t have power to put bad mark on you no more, he was too old now. I didn’t know how powerful Unc Isom was, so I just listened to the talking and didn’t say nothing.

The master had put a barrel of potatoes side the barrel of apples, and he was sitting on the gallery watching the people coming back in the yard. He asked us what we had decided in the quarters. We told him some of us was going, some of us was staying. We
asked him could the ones going take anything. He wanted to tell us no, but he nodded toward the barrel and told us to take what we needed and get out. We got all the apples and potatoes we could carry, then we went back to the quarters to get our clothes. In slavery you had two dresses and a pair of shoes and a coat. A man had an extra pair of pants and an extra shirt, a pair of shoes and a coat. We tied up the apples and potatoes in our extra clothes and started out.

We didn’t know a thing. We didn’t know where we was going, we didn’t know what we was go’n eat when the apples and potatoes ran out, we didn’t know where we was go’n sleep that night. If we reached the North, we didn’t know if we was go’n stay together or separate. We had never thought about nothing like that, because we had never thought we was go’n ever be free. Yes, we had heard about freedom, we had even talked about freedom, but we never thought we was go’n ever see that day. Even when we knowed the Yankees had come in the State, even when we saw them marching by the gate we still didn’t feel we was go’n ever be free. That’s why we hadn’t got ourself ready. When the word came down that we was free, we dropped everything and started out.

It was hot. Must have been May or June. Probably June—but I’m not sure. We went across the cotton patch toward the swamps. The young men and boys started breaking down cotton stalks just to show Old Master what they thought of him and his old slavery. Somebody hollered that they better use their strength to get some corn, and we all shot out for the corn patch across the field.

Now, when we came up to the swamps nobody wanted to take the lead. Nobody wanted to be the one
blamed for getting everybody else lost. All us just standing there fumbling round, waiting for somebody else to take charge.

Then somebody in the back said, “Move out the way.” I looked, and that was Big Laura. She was big just like her name say, and she was tough as any man I ever seen. She could plow, chop wood, cut and load much cane as any man on the place. She had two children. One in her arms, a little girl; and she was leading Ned by the hand. Don’t worry, I’ll come to Ned later. Yes, Lord, I’ll come to him later. But even with them two children she had the biggest bundle out there balanced on her head.

Big Laura took the lead and we started walking again. Walking fast, but staying quiet. Somebody said we ought to get sticks just in case of snakes, so we all hunted for a good green stick. Now everybody had a stick but Big Laura. She leading the way with that little girl in her arms and Ned by the hand. She had found us a good clean path and it was cool under the trees, and everybody was happy. We walked and walked and walked. Almost sundown before we stopped the first time.

“We headed toward Ohio?” I asked.

“You got somebody waiting for you in Ohio?” they asked me.

“Mr. Brown told me look him up,” I said.

Nobody believed Mr. Brown had told me that, but they didn’t say nothing.

“I want go to Ohio,” I said.

“Go on to Ohio,” one of them said. “Nobody holding you back.”

“I don’t know the way,” I said.

“Then shut up,” one of them said.

“Y’all just sorry y’all ain’t got nobody waiting for y’all nowhere,” I said.

Nobody said nothing. I was little, and they didn’t feel they needed to argue with me.

We was in a thicket of sycamore trees, and it was quiet and clean here, and we had a little breeze, because
way up in the top of the trees I could see the limbs sagging just a little. Everybody was tired from the long walk and we just sat there quiet, not saying a thing for a good while. Then somebody said: “My new name Abe Washington. Don’t call me Buck no more.” We must have been two dozens of us there, and now everybody started changing names like you change hats. Nobody was keeping the same name Old Master had gived them. This one would say, “My new name Cam Lincoln.” That one would say, “My new name Ace Freeman.” Another one, “My new name Sherman S. Sherman.” “What that S for?” “My Title.” Another one would say, “My new name Job.” “Job what?” “Just Job.” “Nigger, this ain’t slavery no more. You got to have two names.” “Job Lincoln, then.” “Nigger, you ain’t no kin to me. I’m Lincoln.” “I don’t care. I’m still Job Lincoln. Want fight?” Another one would say, “My name Neremiah King.” Another one standing by a tree would say, “My new name Bill Moses. No more Rufus.”

They went on and on like that. We had one slow-wit fellow there who kept on opening his mouth to say his new name, but before he could get it out somebody else had said a name. He was just opening and closing his mouth like a baby after his mama’s titty. Then all a sudden when he had a little time to speak he said Brown. They had took all the other names from him, so he took Brown. I had been sitting there on the end of a log listening to them squabbling over new names, but I didn’t have to get in the squabbling because I already had a new name. I had had mine for over a year now, and I had put up with a lot of trouble to hold on to it. But when I heard the slow-wit say his name was Brown I was ready to fight. I jumped up off that log and went for him.

“No, you don’t,” I said.

He said, “I, I, I, can be, be, be Brown if I want be, be, be Brown.” He was picking on me because I was small and didn’t have nobody there to stand up for me. “You not the on’, on’, only one ra, ra, round here
that can be, be, be Brown,” he said. “Me’, me’, mess round here wi’, wi’, with me, I ma’, ma’, make you, you, you change your name back to Ti’, Ti’, Ticey.”

“I’ll die first,” I said.

“Go, go, go right on and di’, di’, die,” he said. “Br’, Br’, Brown my name.”

And I tried to crack his head open with that stick. But I didn’t bit more hurt that loon than I would hurt that post at the end of my gallery. He came on me and I swung the stick and backed from him. He kept coming on me, and I kept hitting and backing back. Hitting and backing back. Then he jerked the stick out my hand and swung it away. I tried to get the stick, but I fell, and when I looked up, there he was right over me. He didn’t look like a man now, he didn’t even look like a loon, he looked more like a wild animal. Animal-like greed in his face. He grabbed me and started with me in the bushes. But we hadn’t gone more than three, four steps when I started hearing this noise.
Whup, whup, whup
. I didn’t know what the noise was. I was too busy trying to get away from that loon to think this noise had anything to do with me or him. I heard the noise again:
whup, whup, whup
. Every time it hit now I saw the hurt in the slow-wit’s face. He was still heading with me in the bushes, but every time the noise hit I could see the hurt in his face. Then I saw the stick come down on his shoulder, and this time he swung around. Big Laura had the stick cocked back to hit him again.