The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman Read Free Page B

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