EDENTON, NORTH CAROLINA
3 April 1839
Dear Mama,
As you can see, I no how to rite. A skinny stick of a white boy, name of Josiah Collins, is teeching me. He say, Joseph, rite down wurds that mean something to you. You will learn spelling soon enuf.
I meet Josiah this time last spring, round tree-leafing time. We standing on the fishing bridge, me at one end, him at the other.
He call out, Hey! How come you catch three stripey bass, while I only caught one?
Use short little fish for bait, I tell him. Then I give him baby shad from my bucket, and he catch two bass.
Next time I go to the bridge, Josiah show up with a pensul and old ledjer book. He rite alfabet letters in it to get me started. From then on, he been showing me how to turn letters into words and how to make punctuashun. He say it is a trade. I teech him to fish, he teech me to write.
Mama, I figure one fello in this family shood get some lerning. Your brother John can not read, leastways not before he run away from Mister Samuel Sawyer lass year. Great Uncle Mark can not ethur.
A boy is got to have his private thorts sometime. That is why Gran do not know bout this practice book. Only you, Mama, and it is our secrut.
Your good boy,
Joseph
12 May 1839
Dear Mama,
Lass nite I ask Gran again where you gone. She creak to her feet, poke at the coals in her bake oven.
Look in the sky, she say like always. Find the handle of the dipper. Your mama is working her way along that line of stars. They point to New York. To freedum.
And duz she miss me, I ask.
Same as if her right hand cut off, Gran reply.
And my daddy, where he, I ask again.
Stop pestering me, Gran order, or I will send a witch hag after you. Now go fetch a log.
Gran always say this when she want me to shut up. So I stomp outside to the woodshed. Stare up at the Big Dipper and look tord New York. The stars blink back, like they is smiling at such foolishness. I think them stars must be right.
I am nine years of age. That is too old to believe my mama is traveling thru the sky. And too old to believe the ghostie stories Gran tell. They is no such thing as hags, is they, Mama? Or plat-eye monsters?
Your son,
Joseph
3 July 1839
Dear Mama,
Something happen today that burn my bottom. I am walking down Broad Street, going to buy cinmun for Gran. Mister Samuel Sawyer pass by with his wife.
She call to me, What a pretty little negro! Who do you belong to?
I run home fast, tell Gran and Uncle Mark. Say I am a colored boy and do not like a white lady calling me negro. Or little, ethur. I am three and one half feet tall and growing every day.
Gran take her loafs of bread from the oven, slide in a pan of krackers. What folks call you don’t matter, she say. It’s what you answer to that matters.
But Gran, I ask, what the lady mean, who do I belong to?
A secrut look pass between Gran and Mark. The look that growed-up people think children don’t see.
Joseph, she reply, remember when you was a teensy thing, and we have a big party? How we shut the curtains and light the candles?
I try hard, Mama, but nothing come to my mind.
The night we clap and sing, Mark remind me.
Oh, I say, when Lulu and I spin round the room, make ourselfs dizzy?
That’s right, say Gran. That night we celebrate. Cause Sawyer buy you and your sister from Norcom, the man your mama run from.
Sawyer own me and Lulu? I cry. I never knew it!
Mark wrap each loaf in paper and tie it with string. You only five when it happen, he splain. Lulu but two. Both of you too yung to understand.
It don’t make sense, I say. Sister and I, we live here in Gran’s cabin. I am a free boy!
Sawyer is letting me raise you and Lulu, Gran reply, but he ain’t signed your free papers yet. You still belong to him.
Then why don’t Sawyer’s wife know that? I ask. Why don’t he tell her?
Gran lift her apron, dab a dot of sweat from her lip. Mark tell me that is enuf questshuns and leave her alone.
Mama, you need to come get me. I do not want to belong to anybody but you.
Your son,
Joseph
29 August 1839
Dear Mama,
They is bad news in this house today. I meet Josiah on the fishing bridge. When I get back, Gran is sniffling in her rocker. She say a free colored sailur stop by. He work the packet ship between Edenton and Boston, bring a letter from Uncle John. Uncle write that he is going off on a whaling trip.
Whales is giant sea monsters! Gran cry. One might swallow John whole, just like Jonah in the Bible.
But Gran, I ask, didn’t that whale sick up Jonah after three days and nights? And didn’t Jonah come out whole?
She smile a little, wipe her eyes. Yes, she answer, after Jonah pologize to God first. Your Uncle John is quick-tempered all right, but he always been slow to say he sorry.
I almost ask Gran what take Jonah so long. Been me, I’d a pologized right off. Not sit in a dark whale belly for three days first.
And I almost ask how come she know what the letter say. Gran can not read. Did the sailur read it to her? But two questshuns at a time is enuf for Gran, specially when she been crying.
Joseph
December 1839
Dear Mama,
More bad news. This morning I am helping Gran iron her best white tablecloths. She tell me that next year, Mister Sawyer might send Lulu to a place call Brooklyn, New York. She be under the care of his cuzin, James Tredwell, and his wife, Mary.
New York! That mean Lulu get to be with you, Mama!
I ask Gran, so Lulu seeing Mama?
Not zactly, Gran answer. Harriet might not be in New York just yet.
But Gran, I cry, Sister be living with strangers! Don’t Sawyer know that her eyes get bad sometimes?
Lulu will be safer, say Gran, tho I wish he’d go on and give her the free papers. That slab of worry been hanging heavy over my head.
What he waiting for? I ask. I wrap a rag around my hand, pull an iron from the bake oven.
Gran spit on the iron, see if it hot enough. Say, I guess Sawyer don’t want . . .
She stop herself, roll on to another subject.
Free papers is only half the problem, she say. Yesterday Dr. Norcom tell Sawyer you both still belong to his daughter. That she not of age when he sell you in her name. He brag that you and Lulu is still in his power.
Gran lay one end of the cloth on the table. I hold up the other end, wonder what she talking bout. She slap the iron down like she squashing bugs. Iron go slap, slap!
Norcom might take his claim to a judge, she say. If the judge rule the sale been illegal, you and Lulu belong to Norcom’s daughter again.
Slap! go that iron. Then Norcom might send you out to his plantashun. Make you cut cornstalks from sun to sun.
Let him try! I holler, dropping the cloth. I will whack him down!
Joseph, Gran reply, we got to bide our time. Unball your fists and leave well enough alone.
But Mama, I hear that Norcom’s overseer ride the fields with a horsehair whip in his meaty hands. He beat any slave who beg for water or try to rest a while. You know what’s the truth? I am skeered.
Joseph
1 June 1840
Dear Mama,
We wait all winter for Norcom to see the judge, try to take me and Lulu back. Gran say he put her in mind of a cottonmouth snake. Hiding in the shallows, waiting to slide up and bite.
And now I got me a new worry. Today I am standing at the street end of Gran’s cabin. I hear a raspy noise coming from over the woodshed. Sound like your cough, Mama. That cannot be true, I tell myself. Cause you is far from here, heading north.
Then I wonder if I am hearing a plat eye. Maybe it is taken the shape of a hunchback hog. Maybe it is in the shed, rooting around for the flesh of a boy!
I do not speak of the noise to Gran. I do not want her thinking she can still scare me with them shape changer stories.
Or Josiah, ethur. In the winter, he at his daddy’s Somerset plantashun across the sound. But it is too buzzy with skeeters over there now. His family spend some of the hot months at their town house here on Edenton Bay.
Josiah a lucky boy. He got two houses. And he get to see his mama every day.
Joseph
15 July 1840
Dear Mama,
Lass night I dream a five-legged cow is running me down. It is a plat eye, with boiling yellow eyes and a long ruff tongue. Just when it catch up, I hear whispering.
Go to sleep, it say, and remember never to tell. I wake up a little, think, that ain’t no plat eye. That is Gran talking to Lulu! Then I wonder if Gran and Lulu is turn into hags during the night. Been flying over the moon on straw brooms.
I make up my mind to ask Lulu about it in the morning. But Sister leave too quick. At dawn, Sawyer’s carriage come to Gran’s cabin. It is carrying him, his wife, their baby, and the baby’s nurse.
Mama, it been a sad thing, watching Mark lift Lulu through the carriage door. She only eight years old. Will that cuzin in New York wipe her eyes when they get red and swollen?
And it make me mad to rite the name of Samuel Sawyer. So what if he a rich congressman? Or got fifty slaves waiting on him at his town house, and lots more on his plantashun? That do not give him the rite to send Sister away to a strange place without free papers.
I will miss Lulu. Miss her chasing me through the woods, calling, Brother, wait up! and her muslin dress astreaming round her legs. Now, you know a boy don’t want his little sister going fishing with him. But the truth is, I am sorry I did not let her come along. Not every time, a course, but at least once or twice.
Your son,
Joseph
Dear Mama,
After the noon meal today, Gran say, Joseph, you ten years old. Big enough to feed the animals, carry the wood, and do your sister’s chores.
Double chores, Mama! It ain’t fair. Well, I slop the hogs like Lulu used to. But I only sweep the front piazza, not the yard. Then I go upstairs and pull my ledjer from under the bed. Practice riting till Gran come plowing after me. When she see the book, she say, what on erth?
Josiah Collins give it to me, I say. He teeching me to rite.
Gran sit on the bed, pluck at the covers. Time you learn the story, Joseph, she say real slow. My youngest son name Joseph too. Your mama name you after him. He a bold boy, too daring for a slave.
Your Josiah’s daddy is Josiah Collins the third, she go on. He own my Joseph and whip him one time. My boy run away, get as far as New York. An Edenton white man spot him, send him back here. Collins chain my pet, lock him in the Edenton jail.
I tell Gran, stop, cause it look like she ready to fall out. But she stumble on through the story, make me listen.
Three months later, Gran say, Collins the third sell Joseph to a slave trader going to New Orleans. Joseph escape again, and I get word he is leave the country forever. Say he won’t be treated like a dog.
Then Gran order me, stay away from that Collins boy. You see him again, plat eye going to get you!
Aw, Gran, I say. Josiah will not hurt me. He can not even catch a fish unless I help him.
Gran do not answer and go back downstairs. Now her rocker legs is beating against the floor. I know that sound. It mean she is sewing to calm herself. Punching a needle through a tablecloth hem like she boxing with it.
Mama, I can not help it if Josiah decide to meet me on the bridge. Besides, he somebody to laff with. That mean a lot, cause there ain’t been a hangnail’s worth of fun round here since Lulu left. I am terrible sick of worrying about her eyes and wondering if a judge will give us back to Norcom one day.
Anyway, Josiah don’t treat me like a slave. He never would.
Joseph
Dear Mama,
Here is what has happen since last I wrote.
Near as Gran can tell, Norcom is not spoke to a judge yet.
Samuel Sawyer still holding out on my free papers.
I am now eleven years of age and four feet tall.
They is been no more sign of plat eyes or hags in this house.
Gran don’t know I still meet Josiah on the fishing bridge.
Josiah think my spelling improve over the winter. He been teeching me new marks. They look like rabbit ears, go round words people say.
I been to two sociables at Hayes Plantation. One at planting time in April, and one last month when the shad start running. Old Dave Blount at both. He live in the quarter at Hayes. That fella can pluck a gourd banjar like he got four hands.
And what do you think of this? A girl name of Comfort belong to Mr. Hayes. She live in the quarter too, so I see her at both frolics. One minute she grinning at me. Next minute she calling me names like runt and hog bottom.
I tell Josiah about Comfort. He say, “Joseph, she must be sweet on you.”
“Take it back,” I holler, “or I will knock you silly, you chicken-chested sack of fish bones!”
Then Josiah tell me about a girl name of Sallie. She and her family visit Somerset for days at a time. When they have tea, Josiah has to play host. But he hate holding those little bitty cups, and Sallie never open her mouth. She just perch on a chair, giggle the whole time.
Josiah and I, we do not know what girls think is so funny.
Your son,
Joseph
July 1841
Dear Mama,
Bass leaping high this week, like they can’t wait to sizzle in Gran’s fry pan. This afternoon I walk over to the head of Queen Ann’s Crick to catch me a few. Pretty soon Josiah come along with a poplar pole.
He say his family going north, and he want to teach me some new words before he leave. After he write them in the mud, I trace them three times with my fingers. I teach him something back. Tell him not to use poplar for poles, cause it is weak wood and break too easy.
When the sweat start rolling, we strip our shirts, go wading. He put his bare arm next to mine. “Joseph,” he say, “you’re as white as I am!”
“Shoot,” I answer, “you so white, you look blue!”
By late afternoon, the sun is turn us the color of tea. We name ourselves the Brown Joes, cause we got the same skin color, same brown curly hair, and almost the same name. Born in the same year, too. And both short but growing yet.
Mama, some white boys round here is streak with meanness. Act like even they poop is lily white. Josiah, he different.
Your son,
Brown Joe
September 1841
Dear Mama,
Brown Joe back from the north but leaving for Somerset tomorrow. Today we lie on the bank of the crick, wait for a bite. It feel good, being lazy as a cloud. I like how the trees across the way double themselves and turn upside down in the water.
“School is starting soon,” Josiah says with a sigh, “if Papa can find a new tutor.”
“What happen to the old one?” I ask.
“Our twenty-five dogs took care of him.”
“You mean they eat him?” The thought give me a shiver.
Brown Joe laugh. “Naw, my little brothers and I let them have the run of the schoolhouse, just like they’re people. The tutor couldn’t stand the barking another second. He left Somerset back in the spring.”
“Don’t your daddy care that you boys give the teacher a bad time?”
“Oh, Papa is too busy giving supper parties and dances to keep up with us.”
I ponder this some. “Brown Joe, I hear that a long time ago your daddy whip my great-uncle Joseph. Is it true?”
“Well, this is the first I’ve heard of it,” Josiah says. “Our plantation has three hundred slaves. I don’t know the particulars of each one. Anyway, it happened before I was born. It has nothing do with me.”
Josiah tie bait on his line. “Joe,” he say real solemn, “I am sorry about your great-uncle. But I would never hurt you or anyone in your family. I swear it.”
Mama, I look for the truth in Josiah’s eyes while he make that silvery promise. Then I think about Norcom going back on his bill of sale. And Sawyer never giving Lulu or me our free papers. Seem to me white people always say one thing, do the other.
Another chill ripple over my bones, and I pick up a stick. Ask Josiah to write “particulars” in the dirt so I can trace it with my finger. About that time, he get a bite, and there is no more talk of whippings.
Joe