Miriam. “Strong, resilient, rebellious” in Hebrew, sibling to Moses who led the Exodus. Born a slave child somewhere in cotton lands, sold deeper south at five, raped by her master at 16, straw raking the whipping scars across her back, mixed-race child sold before he was off her breast. Forced at 18 to marry the master’s son who beat her every night, escaped at 22, for the old man is a-waitin’ for to carry you to freedom, ran north, ran, ran breathless in the dark, her own exodus, stumbling, baying hounds and armed men on fast horses in crazed pursuit. Waded cold waters, the river bank makes a mighty good road, hid in tangles of thorns, stole apples from orchards’ edges, staggered fatigued up stony streams throwing the dogs off her scent, slept cold in pig sties and chicken coops, given shelter and directions by Friends becoming friends, made her way by the light of the North Star, beckoning light piercing her ocean of darkness, follow the drinkin’ gourd onward, on toward Canada, promised land of liberty, closer now with every barefoot step, every pain-laced knee, every labored breath. Harbored on a Quaker farm, when the sun comes back, and the first quail calls, Quakers who brought her food, clothing, bandages, prayer, silent encouragement, unspoken love, who sped her farther north, hidden under hay, north toward freedom, who dropped her off in woods ten steps from Canada, ten steps from freedom, dead trees will show you the way, grabbed, tackled by strong rifle-toting, black-coated men in bandana masks, wraiths emerging from the dawning woods, bound strong, rebellious, writhing in iron chains and rusted anklets, hoisted, rough hands probing, into a bare farm wagon, careening, jolting south, freedom fast receding out of sight, shackles cutting red into her flesh, lashed to a beam in an empty barn without food or water, lacerations festering, oozing, stinking, died of sepsis at 23, for the old man is a-coming just to carry you . . . Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty she’s free at last. Miriam, strong, resilient, rebellious. Free. . . .
Margrett Nillin was a former slave interviewed by the Federal Writers’ Project in 1937/38 in Fort Worth, Tex. The quote in the piece is from the interview.
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