Hammer couldn’t forget the humiliation of being whipped in front of Charlie and Ed-Rose and their daddy. I couldn’t forget it either, but I set it aside. I figured there was something more important than a knock to Charlie Simms’ face to put my life on the line for. I told that to Hammer, but he just grunted and said it wasn’t over yet, this thing between him and Charlie Simms.
He was right.
Each day we worked the Simmses’ place, Charlie and Ed-Rose just took a real pleasure in taunting at us, making fun, ordering us around. Like one time when George Melbourne and Dewberry Wallace had come up to the place, Charlie told Hammer and me to come chop some wood with him and Ed-Rose. When we got to the so-called chopping place, we saw a burlap sack hanging from a tree a ways off, and Charlie told Hammer to open the sack and see what was inside. Now this sack, it was stinking something fierce and whatever was inside was still alive because the bag was moving.
“Don’t hafta look inside,” said Hammer. “I can tell what it is from here.”
“You scairt t’ look inside?” asked Ed-Rose. “Thought you was s’pose t’ be so tough.”
“Best you look on in there,” said Dewberry Wallace. “Could be you’ll find yourself hanging from a tree like that yo’self one day.”
“You do hang,” said Charlie, “ain’t gonna be no cuttin’ you down. We gonna make sure you hang there ’til you rot and you stink, jus’ like what’s ever in that bag. Go on, boy! That’s an order! Cut that sack down, open it up, and let’s see what we got!”
“I take my orders from your daddy.” Hammer turned to go.
“You take ’em from us or we’ll see our daddy, not your mama, whip you.”
“It ain’t nothin’, Hammer, but a sack,” I said, trying to lend him some reason. “Come on, I’ll go with ya.”
Hammer’s look stopped me. “I’ll get it my ownself.” He went over to the tree, unknotted the rope that held the sack, and let it fall. Then he opened the sack and looked in. He turned his face away. The white boys laughed, all except George Melbourne.
“Go on, take it out!” called Charlie.
“Yeah, go on, put your hand right on in there and take it out!” taunted Ed-Rose.
Hammer looked cold-eyed at Charlie, then looked into the sack, and to my surprise he reached inside. He pulled out a skunk. The white boys howled with laughter, all except George Melbourne.
“Now, how’d ya like t’ find that floatin’ in that fine well of y’alls?” laughed Ed-Rose.
Hammer walked slowly towards them, holding the skunk by its neck. “Don’t bring it over here!” cried Charlie. “Go find yo’self a place t’ get rid of it.”
“I already know where to get rid of it,” said Hammer, and tossed the skunk right at Charlie’s face. Charlie reached up to ward the skunk off, but it was right then the skunk let go a powerful stream of stink on Charlie. Dewberry Wallace and Ed-Rose standing closest to Charlie got some of it too. All three cursed, but for the moment they were too overcome with stink to do anything, so Hammer just turned and started away, with me at his side. George Melbourne started away too, headed back towards his place. “You a part of this?” asked Hammer.
George looked back at the Simmses and Dewberry Wallace. They were out of hearing range, and too caught up in their own stink, even if they could hear his words. “I ain’t put that skunk in there, that what you askin’.”
“But you know’d it was there.”
“Look,” said George, “maybe some things they do, I wouldn’t do. But don’t you be puttin’ me in this thing ’tween y’all and them. I can’t be takin’ sides with y’all.”
“Yeah,” said Hammer. “Yeah. Just be thinking on that next time you and your daddy come up to get some more of our water.”
Hammer went on through the woods, and I followed fast as I could. I could feel George Melbourne’s eyes on us.
When we got back up towards the Simmses’ house, Charlie and Ed-Rose and Dewberry Wallace came running after us, but Old Mr. McCalister Simms he come out and smelled their stink. “Y’all get on ’way from here and get that stink off!” he yelled before they could lay a hand on us.
“But, Pa!” cried Charlie. “Them little niggers, they—”
“I ain’t wantin’ t’ hear it!” cried Old Man McCalister Simms. “Y’all boys can’t keep a skunk’s stink offa ya while two niggers can, best not come cryin’ t’ me! Now, y’all get that stink on ’way from here! You niggers, y’all come on t’ the fields. There’s work t’ do!”
Old Man McCalister Simms, he turned and stomped off. Hammer and I looked at each other and we followed, and I was thinking it was kind of funny that Old Man McCalister Simms had actually saved us from getting a beating that day. But I ain’t laughed. Neither did Hammer. Hammer had turned the tables on Charlie and Ed-Rose, but neither one of us took any rejoicing in it. Next day, out of sight of Old Man McCalister Simms, Charlie and Ed-Rose and Dewberry caught up with Hammer alone and they beat him. They beat him bad. Old Man McCalister ain’t said a word about it when he saw Hammer, all bloodied up. He ain’t said one word. He just told Hammer to get back to work.
All that putting up with the Simmses wasn’t easy to take, but I took it. My biggest trouble was trying to make sure Hammer took it. Fact of the matter, he did pretty well for awhile, but then Charlie and Ed-Rose, they began to pick on Joe.
Now Joe McCalister worked at the Simmses’ place most days. They ain’t paid him much—they couldn’t afford to pay much—but Joe, he done whatever they said. There was some talk that Joe was somehow kin to the Simmses. It was said that Old Man McCalister Simms’ given name come from his mama’s family name of McCalister. It was said too one of them McCalisters was Joe’s granddaddy. Anyways, whatever the truth of the matter was, Joe was always up at the Simmses’ and Old Man McCalister, he put up with him. Charlie and Ed-Rose, though, they was always making fun of Joe. Joe, he just thought they were being friendly.
“’Ey, Joe!” said Charlie one late afternoon. “Ya know the Reverend Jones ’specting you to open up the church for service tonight ’bout sunset.”
“T’night?” questioned Joe. “Ain’t nobody said nothin’ ’bout no service t’night.” Joe had a right to question since, after all, he was caretaker at the church. He took on that job early and he was good at it. He was proud of it too.
“Well, that’s ’cause it come up on a sudden like,” Charlie went on. “Seems there’s a bunch of sinners done seen the light and they wants t’ join the church. Reverend said he calling a special church meeting just so’s he can get ’em in the House of the Lord soon’s he can. He come by here earlier lookin’ for ya to tell ya to get the church ready for the service, but you was out in the fields so he told us t’ let you know. Now he said no need to ring the bell.”
“Not ring the bell?” asked Joe, and he was sounding mighty disappointed. Joe loved ringing that bell. “Why not? I always rings the bell!”
“Well, I don’t really know, Joe,” said Charlie. “Maybe the reverend’s ’fraid it might scare them sinners and they’ll run off. Anyways, don’t you fret ’bout it. You just be sure you don’t ring it. You go on now, light up the church, and you wait there ’til him and them sinners and the church members show up. Said he was countin’ on ya now. Can ya do it?”
“Yes, suh, Mr. Charlie. Ole Joe, he’ll be right there. The pastor, he know he can count on me.”
“Course he do,” said Ed-Rose.
“Wait, Joe,” said Hammer. “Don’t you see they foolin’ ya? They don’t want you ringing the bell ’cause folks would come if ya did. There’s no church meeting.”
“You callin’ me a lie?” said Charlie.
Hammer ain’t said nothing and Ed-Rose demanded, “’Sides, this your business?”
“I’ll make it my business,” said Hammer.
“And get yo’self whipped?”
“Leave him be,” said Hammer.
“Hammer,” I warned, “leave it alone.”
“Joe! What
you doin’ still standin’ up here?” asked Charlie. “Don’t you let these two smart-talkin’ boys get you in trouble. Now you go on and tend to your business.”
Joe did as he was told and we watched him go, knowing it was most likely one of Charlie’s and Ed-Rose’s tricks; but there was little we could do to stop it. Joe was free to go. We weren’t.
We worked on, and about sunset when we were getting ready to start for home, a wagon pulled up to the Simmses’ place. It was our wagon and Papa was driving. We were two happy boys, Hammer and me. We ran to Papa as fast as we could. We climbed on the wagon and hugged him just as Old Man McCalister Simms came out of his barn. Mr. McCalister Simms squinted at Papa as if trying to make out who it was we were there hugging, and he hesitated as if not quite sure. After all, Papa looked like a white man. He was small built, a bantam weight, had straight brown hair, a fearsome kind of mustache, and cream-colored skin. He was colored, but he could pass for white. That was because Papa’s daddy was a white man.
Finally Old Man McCalister, he was sure enough who it was and he gave a grunt. “Paul-Edward,” he said. “Ain’t know’d you was back. Heard you was s’pose t’ be lumberin’ ’long the Natchez Trace.”
Papa gave a nod. “Just got back.” He glanced over at Hammer and me. “Come to get my boys.”
Old Man McCalister Simms grunted again. “They done put in they hours.” Then he turned and went back into his barn. Papa headed the wagon towards home. He answered our many questions about Kevin and Mitchell and the Natchez Trace, then after a quiet had settled in, he said, “Well, I ’spect y’all must be thinking I oughta be putting a stop to this, putting a stop to you boys working over at the Simmses’.”
Hammer and me, we ain’t said nothing. We just waited for Papa to get on with his words.
“Thing is, I most likely couldn’t put a stop to it, even if I wanted to.”
“You mean to tell me,” said Hammer, “you like us working for nothing for these white folks?”
“I say that?” asked Papa.
Hammer got sulky quiet.
“You got thirteen years on you, Hammer. I figure in thirteen years you ought to know me well enough to answer that for yourself. Another thing you ought to be knowing at thirteen is that you don’t lay out a white boy, not down here in Mississippi, not unless you want to find yourself hanging from a tree. Folks down here don’t care if you thirteen or thirty, you do something they don’t like, they’ll hang a black boy soon’s they will a black man ’cause they don’t see no difference. It’s past the time you learned that, Hammer. You too, David. Working for the Simmses might hurt your pride, mine too, but we can put up with that. Better your hurt pride than your life over the likes of Charlie Simms. You boys better start learning how to use your heads, not your fists, when it comes to white folks. You learn to outsmart them, ’cause in the end you can’t outfight them, not with your fists. They got the power, but we got our heads. Y’all understand what I’m saying?”
Well, I could see it. I didn’t like it, but I could see it, and I said so. Hammer, he ain’t said nothing.
Papa gave him a look and waited, I s’pose for Hammer to speak, but course Hammer just sat there, not saying a word. Then Papa said, “Y’all know my daddy was a white man. My sister and me, we were born slaves to him. That’s right, he owned us, just like you’d own a dog. We were slaves because our mama was a slave, and he owned her. Now I ain’t saying he ain’t loved us, because I believe he did. I was just a baby when the war come that was supposed to set us free, but there wasn’t no difference between the way my papa treated us before and after. He set up a house for us, and he come and spent time with us most every day, and everybody knew we was his colored family. He seen to it that my sister and me, we got book learning, got right smart-looking clothing, got whatever he figured we needed.
“Course now, for all that caring he done, he ain’t never let me forget I was a colored boy. There come a time he whipped me into not forgetting it. That was when his boy by his white wife up and hit me and I hit him back, knocked him down. Well, that white boy went and told our daddy, and my daddy come got me and whipped me right in front of that white son of his. I mean he laid into me good with his whipping strap. Said I had to learn that no matter how white I looked, I was still a Negro and a Negro couldn’t go around hitting white folks. Said that whipping was for my own good. Said that I’d better start learning how to use my head, not my fists, if I was going to survive in this white man’s world.
“Now it may sound strange to you, but I’m glad my papa whipped me that day, ’cause it made me come to a realization about myself. I might’ve been a white man’s son, but that didn’t make me white, so I took his advice. I got to be fourteen and I ran off from home, from his place, but I took his advice. I started using my head, ’stead of my fists. I got this land with my head, not my fists. My papa gave me some good advice. I think y’all best be taking it too.”
Papa, he didn’t say nothing more. Hammer and me, we didn’t say nothing either, but I was thinking hard on what Papa had said. I was hoping Hammer was too. If he was, he wasn’t giving any indication of it when he spoke up again. “Papa,” he said, “you mind if we turn this wagon around and go over to the church?”
“The church? What for?” asked Papa.
We told him what Charlie and Ed-Rose had told Joe.
“We don’t figure there to be a meeting,” said Hammer.
“We figure they’re just funnin’ with Joe,” I said.
“All right,” Papa said, and he turned the wagon back towards the church road. Long before we reached the church, we saw the lantern lights. Joe had lit them all, and we could see them shining as we made our way through the forest. As we drew nearer to the church, we could hear Joe singing, his voice ringing loud and clear. Then we saw Charlie and Ed-Rose and Dewberry Wallace. All three were peeking into a church window and sniggering. They turned when they heard the wagon.
“What y’all doin’ here?” asked Charlie as we got close. Surprise was all ’cross his face.
“Didn’t expect us to show up, didja now?” asked Hammer.
Papa gave Hammer a shut-your-mouth look and stepped down from the wagon. Hammer and I got down too. “We come up to the church for a meeting,” said Papa.
“There ain’t no meeting,” sneered Charlie. “Jus’ that addlebrained fool in there holding a sermon.”
“Then I s’pose the other folks must’ve forgot,” said Papa. “Best we get on in, boys,” he said to us. “We already late.”
Charlie, Ed-Rose, and Dewberry stared at us in pale silence. Papa had taken the fun out of the joke on Joe. As Papa opened the door to the church, they turned and walked away.
“Y’all late!” exclaimed Joe as soon as we entered. He was standing at the altar, the big Bible on top of it, opened, even though he couldn’t read.
Papa took off his hat. “I ’spect we are,” he said.
“I been waitin’ and waitin’ for folks to come, but they ain’t come so I done said the prayer and give the sermon my ownself! Jus’ now done sung the hymn.” He frowned. “Don’t ’spect, though, I can dismiss ’til after all the folks and the reverend come.”
Papa, hat in hand, walked up the aisle towards Joe. Hammer and I followed. “Don’t think you have to worry ’bout that Joe,” Papa said. “Seems the reverend called off the meeting.”
Joe looked surprised. “You sure, Mr. Paul-Edward?”
Papa nodded. “I’m sure.”
Joe continued to frown, then his face brightened. “Then I ’spect we can dismiss!”
“I ’spect so,” Papa said. He stepped into a pew. Hammer and I stepped beside him. “You got a closing song?”
“Yes, suh!” said Joe. “‘Nearer My God to Thee’!” He hesitated. “That be all right?”
Papa nodded. “That’ll be just fine. It’s a fine song.”
Joe smiled with satisfaction and began to sing. Papa, Hammer, and I joined in. We sang the song in full, then Joe s
aid the benediction, dismissed his small congregation, and we all headed for home. Joe’s home was a short ways from the church, heading north. We headed south. Joe walked; we got back on the wagon. On our way home Papa took a side road to the reverend’s house. It was late, the house was dark, but Papa woke the reverend up anyway and told him about Joe and the Simmses. The reverend and Papa, they agreed that the meeting the Simmses had told Joe about was canceled. They agreed that’s what they would tell Joe.
That next morning it was Papa, not Mama, who took us in the wagon up to the Simmses. Old Man McCalister Simms saw Papa and ain’t said a word. Papa ain’t said a word either. “You boys mind yourselves,” Papa said to us. “I’ll be back come sunset.” Then he turned the wagon around and headed back to our land. And that’s the way it was for the months we worked at the Simmses’ place. Every day Papa took us over there. Every day Papa came at sunset and took us home. We put in our months, and Papa and Kevin and Mitchell stayed at home and saw us through it. But we all knew that one day they would have to go back to lumbering again, and that’s what they did. When our working days at the Simmses’ ended, when we were finally free to spend the days on our own land, Papa and my brothers Mitchell and Kevin, they all headed back to the Natchez Trace. One week after they were gone, Hammer made a point of going back to the Simmses’ farm, found Charlie alone, and knocked him down.
Again.
I was with him and not wanting to be. “Now tell that to your daddy,” he said. “Tell him Hammer Logan done knocked you down…again! Tell him I used my fists, nothing else! Tell him that and even if he do come after me, see if you don’t get your ownself whipped this time!” He said that and left Charlie sitting on the ground staring after him. Charlie didn’t move to get up, but he cursed Hammer.
The Well: David's Story Page 5