Synopsis
August 20th, 2008 | Uncategorized |Episode Two:
In Episode Two, life gets even harder for Kunta Kinte.
The slaves on the slave ship attempt a revolt that nearly succeeds, but is crushed. About a quarter of the slaves are killed, including The Wrestler.
The ship eventually reaches America, where the slaves are turned over to slave dealers who prepare them to be sold, then put them up for auction. Kunta Kinte, Fanta and the others are all sold like animals. White spectators stand around and make dirty jokes about them.
Kunta Kinte is sold to John Reynolds, a plantation owner from Virginia. Another slave, Fiddler, is given the responsibility of teaching Toby (Kunta Kinte’s new name) how to speak English and how to be a good slave.
Kunta Kinte and Fiddler
Kunta Kinte/Toby swears that he will never give in or stop fighting. He manages to escape for a day or so, but is caught and brought back to the plantation, where he is beaten almost to death. He only saves his life by answering to his new name.
At the end of the episode, Fiddler assures Toby that it doesn’t matter what a bunch of white people call him, he knows who he is. It is a very sad and proud moment.
Remember that your comment should include your name (first name and last initial), the name of the character you are blogging as, and which class you are in. Your comment should be from 250 to 1,000 words long and should talk about how your character felt and what he or she thought. Don’t just give me a list of events that happened in this episode.
I look forward to reading what you have to say.
48 Responses to “Synopsis”
Shadelle
8-1
Mr. Slater
I love my job caring cargo. It is so fun watching them suffer. They scream and look at us funny. I love the looks that the captain Davis gives me when I give him the wenches for a bed wormer. Why does everyone look at me funny? I love hitting the men with wipes to make them move around to get exercise before auction. They don’t think that they feel anything at all. They talk so weird, it is like they are trying to talk to us but we don’t know what they said or what we say to them they don’t know. It is so very funny to have my men pour sea water on them and see them cry. I wonder what they were saying when they were dancing in the circles. Why did they attack the man with the key? I run at them with the wipes hitting them and then the men take the wipes form me and hit us with them. Then they start to unlock their chains I am getting a little afraid of them killing me I wanted to run and keep the captain Davis safe but not wanting them to follow me to him. I go toward the muscular man with a knife going to kill him. But then a cargo says something and he turns around and grabs the knife from me. He stabs me and as the pain grew I thought of only my family as the boy at the cannon shoots the gun, then I die.
[Shadelle - this is a good start. Please take time to check your spelling and grammar; it will make your writing easier to read. I want you to get the respect you deserve for your ideas. - Mr. Fladd]
Jaden D.
8-1
Ship’s Boy – Slave Ship
I am the boy who is on the ship for when the slaves come out for some exercise. the reason why i am on when the slaves come out is because I am the one who has to be at the cannon in case the slaves get out of hand. at one point the slaves planned to attack the next time they came out without us knowing about it. then when they let out the slaves the started to sing something then attacked our crew hand because he had the key then one got me so i couldn’t shoot the cannon and we lost some men and we even lost our leader that bossed us around Mr.Slater.
after i could get back up i got to my cannon and shot it and killed a few slaves but it was so they would stop attacking us. when they were doing all of this all that was running through my mind was that I was going to die. but when i got up and fired that cannon i felt like the luckiest kid in the world to be alive. after the fight was over we put them all back and the shipped them off to america and then sold them for auction. they were a crazy group of slaves I didn’t think in my life on the ship that I would ever see the slaves attack us. our captain Davies is clearly not happy about being the captain of slave ship because he is a christian man that doesn’t like the idea of slaves.
[This is pretty well written. Please be careful of your spelling and grammar - it makes it easier for your readers to give your writing the respect it deserves. - Mr. Fladd]
Jamie N.
8-2
Fiddler
Hi my name is Fiddler; well that is my nick name. The white people call me that, because I play music for them. I was just told by my master that I was in charge of a slave he just purchased. I can’t believe he respects me so much that he lets me raise a slave. I have gained a lot of respect from people since, I was a little boy and now I can sleep inside on their floor. This opportunity is going to be like raising a child for me. I have to teach him our language, his new name and maybe even how to read or write. Whatever I do I know I can’t screw this up at all, like having Toby run away or not teaching him properly. I could lose all my privileges and have to sleep with the rest of the slaves. I hope Kunta Kinte also learns things fast, like his name and what to do and not to do, because both of us will be in trouble. Hopefully Tobey will learn his lessons quickly and he will be good.
I sound like I want to be hard on this kid, but I just want him to learn fast so he doesn’t get into get into more trouble than he is already in. I remember what it is like growing up and realizing that I was going to have to be a slave my whole life. I had no one there to comfort me or teach me, so I want it to be different for this poor kid. Toby can make this experience easy or very hard for both of us. I’m praying for the best.
[Here's the crazy, sick thing. He doesn't have a NICKname - his name is whatever his master wants to call him. Fiddler is is NAME-name. He doesn't even own his own identity. Doesn't that hurt your brain? - Mr. Fladd]
Christopher S.
8-3
Fiddler
Hi my name is Fiddler I’m an African American slave. The reason my name is Fiddler is because I play a mean fiddle. I work for John Reynolds, Master John Reynolds. I’m looking at a slave that we are going to bid on in the auction that is going to occur in a short while. We are going to bid on an African Ginny Man. He will be my responsibility to teach. By that I mean to teach him how to speak English, and how to tend the fields during harvest.
“Ok here we go. We are now going to start the bidding at fifty shillings.” The auctioneer said. “Sold to Mr. Reynolds for one hundred and fifty shillings”
Then we gave our new Ginny Man a new name. His name is “Toby.” He is a great young man to help us all on the plantation. It will be my pleasure to teach him everything that the white men and us Negros do. Master Reynolds gave me till his birthday, which is six months to train the African Ginny Man. I am sure that Master Reynolds will be proud of the results of my ability to train new Negroes.
At the auction earlier when we bought Toby, his chain slipped from my grasp and he made an attempt to escape from us. As he made a great move but there were at least seven white men that were trying to capture him. They eventually managed to get him in the middle of the circle that they had formed. After all that commotion I took him back from the too eager white men. Then I tried to talk to young Toby but I knew that he couldn’t understand me. I do wish that he spoke English because it would make it so much easier but him not speaking English is better. So that I can show Master Reynolds my full potential.
[Your last sentence is intriguing. Why would Fiddler want to show Master Reynolds his potential. I think he might, but explaining WHY would be really, really interesting. - Mr. Fladd]
Katie L.
8-3 S.S.
Child on the plantation who has just seen Kunta Kinte for the first man.
Why is this “Giddy man” here? Why would Mr.Reynolds buy such a wild one? Why couldn’t he have picked a tamer one? It would make all of our lives easier. Fiddler says to leave him alone, but he’s so interesting. Like hes fighting the earge to be brain washed like the rest of us. The only difference is were used to it…he isn’t. He must feel like a fish out of water here. His eyes are wile. You can see they’re burning with rage. I don’t know who at, but I can take a wild guess. These white men really know how to get their way. Beating us if we don’t do what they want. The only difference between us and that wild “Giddy man” is we learn. We learn to do what they want. I can already see from his wild nature hes going to be a whole mess of trouble. He just better learn fast or he’s going to get a good beating from Mr.Reynolds second hand man. But for right now I’m going to keep my difference from Toby like Fiddler says because I don’t to be the one getting a beating. This world is crazy and sometimes it’s just got to be every “Giddy man” for him self and that’s how its going to be.
[Guinea. GUINEA-man. As in from the country of Guinea. "Giddy" is exactly the last word I would choose to describe Kunta Kinte. Goofball. - Mr. Fladd]
[ps - Otherwise, this is good, if a bit short. - JF]
Elizabeth R.
8-3
1-10-11
A slave watching Kunta Kinte getting beaten.
That stupid kid. Doesn’t he know not to run away? What was he thinking?
Our master just called us to watch Toby get whipped. I hate watching people like me get whipped half to death.
Toby’s all tied up now. That means their going to start soon. Our master just told the man with the whip to start. First lash Toby screams really loud. Poor boy. Master says to Toby “What is your name?” “Kunta Kinte.” Toby says. Master signals the whipping man to do another lash. Toby screams again a little louder. “What is your name!?!” Master says. “Kunta Kinte.” He replies “No your name is Toby. You hear?” Another lash across Toby’s back sends him to another gut wrenching scream. This repeats over 15 more times. Finally Toby says his new name. “Toby.” He says. “Say it louder so every one can hear you.” Master said. “Toby. My name is Toby.” He says very weakly. Everyone sighs in relief, happy that it’s over. Master tells someone to cut the rope. He falls onto his back and Fiddler runs towards him as we all start to leave and gently props Toby’s head up and gives him water.
[Do you think you would have assimilated to slavery as thoroughly as the slave you've written about? - Mr. Fladd]
Cal M.
8-2
Kunta KInte (at the slave auction)
Oh no these dirty white men just won’t let up on us. It smells terrible in this cage. If I could only break through these bars I would. I must escape now. Please lord just let me out; let me be free to adventure on in the rest of my life. I was once a boy, but now I am a man, although I am not wise enough for this. What do they want from me? Where are my family and the river bank? It’s gone, all of it, I want my family back. What are they doing with those women? Why are their teeth being checked out from those ugly old hags? That man is spitting out numbers like a crazy baboon. Oh no, I am next in line, the first man to step up on this wooden structure. What might they do with me now? What is going on? Is this the end of my journey? Oh lord I will fine away out of here. I must I Must; I need to get these heavy shackles off my feet again. I will be free, free again.
What does this mean? I am sold for pounds? To this dirty white man? No, no this can’t happen. I will not do his orders; I am Kunta Kinte and will always be Kunta.
Get your hands off me you white man.
Ahhh, that’s it I am going to make a run for it. And now, they won’t catch me. Come on Kunta think, think. Run like you did back at home when you were chasing that guinea hen. I’m cornered now. Ahhh stop it, stop it. Get off of me. They have me captured again. I guess I am now what they call a slave and will be told what to do from here on. Why? Why me. Mother, father please shine down on me. Save me from this place. I will be free one day and will soon come home.
[Your last paragraph would make a great song lyric. I wonder what would be involved in doing that. - Mr. Fladd]
Chance S
8-2
Fiddler (when Kunta runs away)
When I went into Toby’s shack that night with the food I stole from the Reynolds’s kitchen I was so excited because Toby was coming along well enough and I had stole an excellent dinner for him. But then he showed me what he had done and all the happiness just completely drained out of me, so I slapped him as hard as I could. I put all my fear and anger into that slap. I don’t think he understood how hard I worked to be able to do the kind of things I do, and I don’t think he could understand how bad he was messing things up for me either. And if Mr. Aimes found him we would both be beaten. So I told him to get out of here and make a run for it, at least I can make an excuse if they don’t find him. But then he thanked me for making him free, which really touched me because I was born in America as a slave and I’ve never known anything but the horrible life of a slave and the few privileges I have now. I’m probably going to get in some serious trouble now, but what just happened, just happened and its his fault, right? But he’s gone now and I’ve been wondering about what it means to be free since he’s left. I pray with all my heart that he’s gone and free where the dogs can’t find him and bring him back to this awful place.
[I like that phrase - "all the happiness just completely drained out of me'. Been there. - Mr. Fladd]
Callie B.
8-3
Kunta Kinte, Not-Quite-Settling In at the Reynolds Plantation
It has been a few hours since I have arrived at the master’s house and I can’t take it anymore! The noises, the smells, my mind is racing with everything. I can’t take the constant shouting at me… saying toby? What is that? Is it a type of animal? I’m so lost with the white men.
I have these things hanging on my wrist and things weighing down my ankles. I can’t run! I can’t feel the soft earth gliding underneath my toes, I am stuck. Is anybody listening? I can imagine my eyes right now… swarming with fright. I am mostly anxious, I don’t understand this new life and I’m struggling to grab the reins on it.
Where I sleep I am so confined…but when the Fiddler comes, I can feel that he is trying to help me, he is trying to make me fit in. Fiddler scares me, as he has power over me, but he has more underneath. The earth isn’t even the same here. My hands are not cooled by this earth… more like burned. Kunta Kinte should not have burning hands, Kunta Kinte is a warrior!
I don’t understand why all these black men and woman are staring at me. Why are there so many? How come they have no chains binding them from freedom? One of them reminds me of Fanta. Oh Fanta! She is in the Devil’s grasps as much as me! There are so many questions and no one speaks the same tongue to give me at least the chance to do it right. They never stop shouting Toby! Toby! Toby! Can’t they show me in signs? It is so frustrating, every second of it.
Allah? Allah! Where are you these days? Oh mighty Allah please give me the strength to pull through for the white men, to survive, to understand. No one else speaks of you here besides me, and they are telling me time after time that this thing called Jesus is why they have Christmas and the list goes on and on… I need your help Allah. Will you help me? Can anyone help me…?
[Wow. This is very powerful. I'd like to see this as a song lyric. Or a poem. Or a graphic novel. This is very inspiring. - Mr. Fladd]
Mandus B.
8-1
John Reynolds daughters
John Reynolds owns a big farm, lots of slaves, and land. The slaves do all the work so he can sit and chill all day.
We are the two spoiled daughters of John Reynolds. We are young teens and rich. Our dad goes on long trips and brings us gifts back. He always brings us good stuff back. We were raised to own slaves so we think its okay to treat them bad. We like having slaves so we don’t have to do a lot of work around the house.
Dad just came home from a trip and gave us gifts and brought a new slave home. We think of him as a wild African. Our dad was as proud to bring home slaves as he was to bring home expensive gifts for us. He brought us music, ribbon and a slave.
We believe that we are better than the slaves because that’s what our parents taught us. We are excited about our gifts and we go in the house and use them. We don’t even think about the slave again. We just do our own thing. We stay inside all day and the slaves wait on us because that’s what we do everyday.
[Thank you for diving in and getting this done. I know you weren't crazy about writing as a girl. - Mr. Fladd]
Garrison B.
8-1
Mr. Ames
That slave is strong looking, he has to be 6 foot and has to be 125. He is definitely the best slave I have seen in a long time, he is got to be the best out of all the slaves we have. We know he’s the pick of the pack and I can’t wait to get my hands on that filthy black. That black looks like he will need a lot of work, he doesn’t speak English and looks like he’s got lots of marks on his back filed with something black.
I don’t get why I’m not in charge of the black, he’s got a black watching a black? There is no way he’s better than me and I’m done with this. I will be the one to be in charge of that black, fiddler will make a mistake and I will be the black’s main tooter and I will soon be better in the mind of Mr. Reynolds.
[This is a good start, but I get the feeling that you wrote this quickly and without your usual attention to detail. Please give me your best writing. - Mr. Fladd]
Peyton O.
8-3
Slaves watching Kunta Kinte getting beaten.
I was standing there, watching him get beaten. He was in so much pain, screaming at the top of his lungs. I had to stand there, he made us, but I didn’t want to watch Kunta Kinte get whipped.
“What’s your name? Toby is your name!” Reynolds yells.
No response. A circle gathered around him, of slaves, waiting for him to say his name. He wouldn’t do it though. We all stood there watching him get beaten, and all he needed to say was his new name.
We all were waiting for him to say it, everything was building up. I didn’t know what to do. In my head, I was thinking about telling him to say it, but I knew if anyone had spoken a word, we might be the ones being beaten.
“Give into the white man,” words spoke in my head. I wasn’t the only one thinking that either. Everybody around was just waiting for him to give in. Let Reynolds win or you could die. I didn’t want to watch anymore, it was too tough to see someone being whipped until barley being able to breathe.
I couldn’t make eye contact with anyone else, I couldn’t leave and I couldn’t say anything. I was trapped there just waiting for him to say “Toby.” We wanted it all to stop, the sight, the noises, and the pain. But it was right in front of our eyes. Kunta Kinte really believes in his name and has respect for himself, he didn’t want to give in but he knew he would die if he didn’t.
“Your name is Toby, come on, say it. Toby,” Reynolds yells.
I catch a quick glimpse of Kunta’s eye. He looks at me and I look right back, waiting for the words to come out of his mouth.
“Toby,” he says.
You can see everybody feels a lot better. They take him off the rope as he fights for his life on the ground, Fiddler walks over and makes sure he’s okay putting water on his face.
I walk away from the scene and carry on with my day, still thinking about it. It wouldn’t leave my head. But I knew his name is Kunta, Kunta Kinte.
[I like how you get inside the slaves' heads. Please pick one tense - past or present; an essay can be a bit hard to follow, otherwise. - Mr. Fladd]
Fallyn B
8-1
Anne Reynolds
Yes, my husband finally arrived. The girls will be so excited to see what their father has brought them. He had told us that he had bought a wild nigger; we’ve never had a wild one before. I wonder if they act differently from the others born here.
I don’t think having Fiddler teaching the slave is a good Idea; he might give the boy ideas about running away. I would never tell my husband that though, it’s not the place of a woman to be saying such opinions to a man.
I wonder what Fiddler needed to talk to my husband about. I think he has to many privileges in this house. He should work just as hard as the others. I don’t know why, but I don’t trust him.
All of a sudden I heard the most awful sound, then a scream of terror right after. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Then I remember that Toby ran away last night under Fiddler’s watch. It was awful the way they hung him from his hands and whipped him. Just because he wouldn’t answer to the new name we gave him. If only he would just give in and say the name. It didn’t feel right to beat him, but that isn’t my place to say. As I go to walk down the hall. I look out the window and see Fiddler comforting the boy. Then I realize that Fiddler really cares about Toby.
[Does this answer her question about whether slaves have feelings? - Mr. Fladd]
Izzy K
8-3
Aurelia, “Fanta”
After the new slave boy came in that was all that anyone talked about. When I saw him he looked at me and I think he may have even smiled. He acts as if he knows me. He doesn’t know our words or his name and it scares me because he has crazy in his eyes. When I see him he calls me Fanta and reaches out to touch me. Fiddler says that Fanta is a girl he knows from Africa and that I must look like her.
Toby still won’t answer to his name and my momma tells me that he is dangerous and I should stay away from him. I saw him pick up a piece of metal in the fields but I don’t think he knows that I saw. I want to tell him that I saw because maybe then he won’t run away. I think he will because after all that Fiddler has taught him he’s still and chains, after almost four months! I think I might like Toby but I’m not quite sure.
He did it! Toby ran away. Even after I told him that I saw him pick up the metal in the field, and I know that he knew what I was talking about. Fiddler was there! He broke out and I know it. He’s just running now with nowhere to go. I thought Fiddler taught him better then to just run away like that. He is very brave to do something like that, and now I hope he returns.
They found Toby and now there beating him! He says that he isn’t Toby though. That he is Kunta, Kunta Kinte. Please Toby, just answer to your name. Please Toby! I want to yell out to him, help him and stop this. Then again he did run away, and he knew better! This is his own fault. No one else’s, so why should I of all people feel sorry for him? I just can’t make up my mind.
[I think you're right. Aurelia would have felt ambivalent about Kunta Kinte's escape. - Mr. Fladd]
Lacey I.
Social Studies 8-3
Slave Onboard Slave Ship
I’m scared. So much is happening right now it’s unbearable. I seat her down below, lying down, hot, dirty, and it’s such a horrid stench. Few are up above on the deck, all I can here is the men singing and dancing in pain. Their screams and shouts, sickens me. I am full of sorry, no tomorrow life. I heard someone go overboard. Was it a choice? Or had someone gotten killed? I’m not sure anymore. I hear people fighting up above, and sooner following, I hear a cannon gun shot. This has been such a long journey. These people are nothing but white trash. I cry from this pain, making me week. But I know I am strong inside. All of our tribes are coming together; we can make a difference and free ourselves, can’t we? We must all stick together and learn each other’s tribal languages. We can survive, I don’t know who will get hurt, and who will become stronger, but they are not going to boss us around telling us what crap to do. I get so infuriated. This is not life to me. To me, this is living hell. I don’t want my body being used by these disgusting filths. They shall never treat me that way. It brings tears to my eyes. I really do hope that things are going to get better, and turn out for the best. Is this even planet Earth anymore? I’m scared to what America will be like, and what my new life will be like. I can only hope for the best.
[I think you're right - fear would be the main emotion for many of these slaves. - Mr. Fladd]
Tyler C.
8-2
Field Hand, Thinking About Kunta Kinte
The day will not move forward in this heat, blistering sun beating down on us. So sharp like a whip smacking our skin as we work, keeping all of us slaves sweating in the warm stagnant air. Slave a name so down grading but powerful in sense, a name that should not be said nor thought of. A name stamped everywhere on our face as if the white man finds it easier to hide their grief behind faces. As if a name so evil would cause the disapproval in their minds to scream beneath the earth. Above those mournful screams slaves work in prisons surrounded by cornfields and trees. The only friendly faces are the ones which are equal, my fellow prison mates of the wilderness. We look up to the ones who have it better than us. The ones like Fiddler who can breathe clean air when he sleeps and eat meals with real substance, not scum. The rest of us sleep in cold insect infested huts, full of dust that fogs eyes and smells that burns the nose. Right now I am dying of the blazing fire above creating my skin to rain. Each droplet falling into my mouth open for grabbing what air I can. Even though all I can taste is the salty rain and thick humid dust.
Glancing up to stretch my acing neck I spot the new wild one. His name is Toby a dog’s name. So shallow that “Its black in a crowd of white,” obvious a white man engraved a name on him. Chained up between the feet waddling like a duck this Toby is a strong one. I was talking to my sister late last night around the fire. Dark circles under her hazel eyes shouting “help,” so quiet and worn out no one can hear her cry. She tells me in a fatigue attacked voice that Toby might be feared by most of us because he is another one fallen into the never ending hole the white man have dug for us. So we fear him to get to rid of those disturbing thoughts and bring in new ones. I took that incite as I good reminding me of it as tear drops fall from Toby’s eye crashing on the ground. I could tell it was a teardrop because it was not cloudy but clear clean water. A sight so refreshing of one whose feelings has not been shot. Picking up chopped down corn stocks, Toby as timid as my sister waddles back and forth to wagon where we pile the corn stocks. White man calls me Ron a pathetic name which will be instilled until I die. When I die, I will not have a family or my own home, shameful enough I will die behind the whip’s neck.
[Wow. There is a LOT in here. It reads a little like Beat Poetry. It's a little hard to follow; was that on purpose - to make your readers think harder? - Mr. Fladd]
Claire
8-2
Member of the hunting party that captures Kunta Kinte
D *mn n*ger! Barely worked up a sweat for Mr. Reynolds, and he’s already trying to escape! Had he any hope of staying hidden? Did he think we would just let a n!gger that expensive off with a mere warning? That one’s crazy I tell you, Africans usually are. Yet, nevertheless, I would have thought Fiddler would have broken that one in by now. Poor old Reynolds has got his hands full with that one, he won’t even respond to his own name.
The newly fallen snow makes its way into my boots, dampening my wool socks. With each step I take, the melted snow splashes over my foot, making a squish, only to be absorbed into my sock again when the pressure is gone. This never ending process doesn’t help me regain any of the feeling in my foot, nor does it help my mood. There is a chill in the air, but it’s hard to tell. All the running we’ve done has chased away the cold.
Nobody says much during the chase, myself included. We are too focused; we must be on high alert right now, vigilant of every subtle clue. I work on following through with this, when suddenly, our efforts pay off. A blanket lay draped over a hollowed out log. For some reason this really angered me, in exchange for that n*gger’s one night of freedom, I had to trudge through snow trying to find him. Where was the justice! Just as I thought those words, I knew I would soon find out, because imprinted into the bed of snow, where freshly made footprints.
Everything suddenly happened very fast. There where shouts of “follow those tracks!” and “Make sure the dogs aint to rough with him, we want that n*gger alive!” For a second, I was caught up in the commotion, but I quickly gathered my bearings and followed the tracks, making sure not to compromise them.
The dogs caught up to Toby long before us and it got pretty rough. Looked like those hounds where trying to tear the boy in half! Maybe they would’ve, if Reynolds hadn’t stopped them. Once they were separated from Toby, I caught the look on his face. Fear, regret, remorse and honestly a bit shocked. I have been in the n*gger tracking business for quite some time. I’ve seen everything, from fits, to attacks, to tears; but for some reason, that boy’s face caught me off guard. He knew he would be punished, and he knew there was no escape now. He looked helpless.
“Something the matter Johnson?” another of the hunters asked, nudging my arm with his elbow.
“Of course not.” I answered, embarrassed that I hadn’t been able to hide my emotions. “There’s nothing wrong with returning such an expensive n*gger to Mr. Reynolds, is there?” I said the words, but didn’t feel them. For the first time, I felt uncertain about my profession. And yet, that doubt made me hate the boy even more.
On the walk back, I struggled with what I knew was right and what I wanted to be right. I looked over at the boy and was reminded of the look on his face a moment ago. This made choosing what I wanted to be right all the more difficult.
I was probably just being silly. There n*ggers not people! There no different than cattle! Yet, I couldn’t seem to shake that face out of my mind.
[I like your use of language. It is completely appropriate, given what you were assigned to write about. Well done. - Mr. Fladd]
8-3 Tanner R
S.S. Roots Blog #2
(Boy on ship who fires cannon)
I sit up here on the deck of the ship day by day aside my cannon just waiting for something to go wrong upon the black men. I have not yet been able to fire my cannon off, and I don’t think I’ll ever get the chance. I sometimes believe that my job is pointless, cause I mean the black men are stupid and their locked up in chains. What makes you think they’ll ever get out? I sure didn’t know but Mr. Slater just keeps me up here to keep us white men aboard the ship safe.
Today just another day I have to sit by the cannon because Mr. Slater is bringing the black men up to the deck. To get them their exercise. I watch them carefully as they some what dance to the music. All of a sudden I see two black women scurrying about the deck unable to be caught again. Then a question quickly popped into my head. Should I shoot at them? I stuck with my thoughts and decided not to. The white men finally caught them but still took a hard beating from Mr. Slater. It was a horrible sight to see I would never want to be in his position. So maybe my job isn’t so bad after all but its still not to fun. Until all at once the black men charged at the white man with the key around his neck tackling him to the ground and unlocking as many of their shackles as they could before they started to get whipped. I soon thought to myself this might be my chance, I might actually be able to fire this cannon after all. Until all of a sudden a black man appeared right before my eyes with a club at hand. Ahhhhhhhh I was struck in the face with the club. Blood immediately begin running down my face. I have never felt such staggering pain before, until now. I was down for a while with my eyes shut having no courage to get backup. I could hear gun shots, whips, people screaming to the death and ruckus as the brawl went about the ship. Then right above me I heard a shot go off. I prayed to myself hoping the man who clubbed me was killed. I then got back up with the thought of stopping this fight. Who would of ever thought that the black people would be overtaking our ship? It sure got me confused. I got up to were the cannon was and lit a match holding it to the fuse my heart was pumping rapidly with the thought of getting yelled at for ruining the cargo but their was no holding back now. BOOOOMMMM the cannon went off wiping out the black men and the fighting was stopped at once. I was proud of myself for helping out my captain. I guess all the days I’ve been sitting here really paid off cause I was finally able to light the cannon off.
[You write action scenes well. Good job. - Mr. Fladd]
Ally M.
S.S. 8-2
The sailor who got beaten by Mr. Slater
Oh boy, I sure did get the crap beaten out of me by Mr. Slater.
I meant to catch that women slave, but she was quick and there were too many people on deck to get around. As I was about to get to where she was, she jumped of quicker than a cannon shot. Mr. Slater ran right over, and that’s when the beating began.
I felt so paralyzed. Not being able to take in what was happening to me, between the slave jumping and Mr. Slater beating me like there was no tomorrow. I didn’t understand anything he was saying, most likely I didn’t want to hear anything he was saying. I couldn’t quite feel the gut wrenching pain until after, but Mr. Slater never got out of my sight. I kept a very good eye on him.
Then came the uprising of the slaves. I was still keeping a good eye on Mr. Slater, when I saw him jerk backwards and then I saw the knife sticking out of his chest. A couple people moved, running away, and then I saw a black boy with a happy, but scared look on his face. I knew that he had to be the one who put the knife in Mr. Slater’s chest.
At the auction, I wanted to see if that boy got sold to at least a kind gentleman, he did kill Mr. Slater and to think what would happen if he didn’t kill him, would I be the one dead? When it came to the boys turn I was looking over the crowd, seeing who was eyeballing him. One man caught my eye, he was the one who purchased the boy.
That night I was hoping nothing bad would happen to the boy and one thought got stuck in my mind: was he my hero?
[That's an interesting question. IS Kunta Kinte his hero? Would the sailor see a slave as human enough to BE a hero? - Mr. Fladd]
Jack H.
8-3 Social Studies
Mr. Aims (after Kunta Kinte’s arrival)
Today is the day Fiddler shows me his progress training Toby, or as he would call him “The Guinea man.” The Fiddler has always done great work for me. He is a second generation slave and his father was from Africa. Fiddler never liked his father because he never relaxed and he always had ideas of escaping and going back to Africa. Earlier today, I rode my horse out to where the slaves were working the field. Toby was lying on the ground and Fiddler was yelling at him. That son of a gun, working here can’t be that much harder than working back in Africa. I can’t even muster what his life was like in Africa. He probably was with a tribe running around after buffalo like those redskins do. I thought about going into the slave shipping business. However, Mr. Reynolds brought back word that his friend Mr. Slater was killed during an uprising. He was found with a knife in his ribs. I hope Toby had nothing to do with that or else we have a trouble maker on our hands. Mrs. Reynolds has asked me what I think about teaching Toby to read and write. I don’t like the sound of that because I have a feeling that he is smarter then he looks. Provide him with knowledge, and he will be rebelling and he could be a danger to everyone. But I just smiled and told her, that sounds like a mighty fine idea. I’m not worried though; Mr. Reynolds will put a stop to it. I don’t know what to think about Toby. He is a strong one and he’s healthy too, but Fiddler says he’s always talking about going home. If I was Mr. Reynolds I wouldn’t buy a wild slave. The tobacco crop is growing mighty fine this summer and we’re going to need every slave’s hand come harvesting time.
[I like that you've given Fiddler a back-story. - Mr. Fladd]
Frazer R.
8-1
Slave watching Kunta being whipped.
I heard Mr.Reynolds start yelling something about a whipping I saw others going so I just followed them to middle of camp, I started thinking what is it now I get to the crowd with everyone else and see toby hanging by his arms poor boy has no idea what’s about to happen.
Mr. Reynolds starts yelling your name is Toby. Then Toby won’t respond he gets hit, Toby screams with pain. Mr. Reynolds says what’s your name. Toby pauses and says in a low tone Kunta Kinta. I think to myself just say Toby you have no idea what your gonna go through.
He gets hit even harder Toby yells with anger and pain.
He asks Toby again what’s your name, Tobys silent.
A harder batch of whipping hits him.
By the 8th hit every one in there head is screaming for him to say Toby.
He asks Toby again I pray for that boy just say your name, just say your name Toby. He is silent he gets another batch of whippings.
I almost yell out say your name boy. Mr. Reynolds says one last time whats your name… Silence then a faint voice says Toby, my name is Toby. My heart comes down to a normal beat, they take him down he can’t stand I can see defeat in his eyes. He has finally been broken it took over 5 months to finally break him. He is the most stubborn slave I have ever seen but that stubbornness is gonna start hurting even more I have seen men best to death he is on that path I just hope he can get away.
[This is pretty good, but please be more careful about your spelling and grammar. Your spelling is a little distracting and you use present and past-tense, which is a little hard to follow. - Mr. Fladd]
Megan Mc.
Social Studies 8-3
Kunta Kinte right before escaping
The white man caught me, and I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m lying on the ground while the white man yelled at me. His mean words pounded through my head. I was going to get up, but then I felt something, something hard, so I started digging, but they didn’t see me digging. For a moment, I don’t know why, but I felt like I was digging for hope. Then I found it, a scrap piece of medal. ‘Here is my hope’ I thought. I knew they would take it away when the saw me have it, so I stuffed it in my clothes so they wouldn’t see it. The white man was getting mad, mad because I wasn’t getting up. So Fiddler stepped in, because he was in charge of me, and told me to get up, so I did. Maybe it made a point to the white man too.
‘Perfect. It’s perfect.’ I thought. So then the thought hit me: ‘Escape. Get out of here, go home. Where ever that is now.’ So when I got to my sleeping area, I took the scrap piece of medal and hit it against the chains. ‘I must leave here, I must be free! This could be my only chance!’. So I hit it over and over and over. Then, the chain fell off. My body became frozen, but in my head I was cheering like the boy I used to be…
Then the door opened. ‘No. No. This is NOT happening. Not now.’ I froze. Fiddler walked in. He froze too. Then he looked at me. I noticed that he brought me food, and in repay, I was going to leave him for the white man to beat him. ‘It’s just Fiddler, this is good. He can come with me.’ I thought. But before I could say those words to him, he lunges to me and shoves me against the wall. The food he had in his hands dropped to the floor, because he was using both hands to hold me up. Then he mumbles something to me, but I couldn’t understand. Then SMACK, he hit me right across the face. My face was burning. He told me more things, but I was too worried about my face; or worried if he was going to hit me again.
He calmed down and told me about how I should have listened and been a good slave, he made me feel bad, but not too bad, because I knew this was not the place for me. Then we exchanged some more words and then he told me to leave. I gave him a big hug. I wanted it to last forever. Then without another word, I left, and without Fiddler, I didn’t know whether to feel free or even more trapped.
[This is good. I like it. Make sure you proof-read for spelling and grammar. This piece is written in present and past-tense, which makes it a little hard to follow. - Mr. Fladd]
Justin T.
8-1
Slave watching the auction.
The master picked me to help pick out good working hands for the ranch. I see nothing but a bunch of disease ridden Negroes. The wenches come out first the master bids on the first one and gets it. The wench will be good for picking cotton and for the master to celebrate. The first few to come up must be the best out of the whole cage. In only a few minutes the bidding begins my master and this rich man battle over this young man. I try to convince my master not to even try to buy him he is trouble his will has not been broken he’s going to be a runner. The rich man with the rest of the negroes come out for bidding not much people are taking my opinion these one won’t even make it back to the ranch the backs are covered in tar and they be stumbling all over the place from the brandy. We head home after the biddin and hear commotion. As I turn around I realize that its that negro I told master Williamson not to bid on. He somehow got a whip and giving these white folks a taste of the own medicine. I give it 4 weeks until he runs away from his ranch.
[Do you think watching a slave auction would bring up any painful memories for a slave? How do you think it would affect him? - Mr. Fladd.]
Samara R.
8-1
Slave Auctioneer
Another day, another night for selling slaves that’s my life. It’s that time of year again Mr. Slater has brought in another ship load of slaves. That what I been hearing. It is my time to be making my money for my family, and I aint gonna let no black slave ruin that for me. One way or another I gonna sell as many as I can for as much as I can.
Well the day has come today we is working in Maryland. People have come from all around to buy themselves a good black or two. I has been preparing myself for these kinds of moments. Cause you see, I gotta be able to keep up with all these bids and eager bidders. Today we got some fine black working men and some fine black working ladies. Them rich folk are always looking for good kitchen maids and field workers. Although today was quite different than all the rest. We had some good cargo to be sellin’ today but like any other times, the new livestock always gotta be feisty. This one girl made it hard for all the folk to see her potentials she sold but I could have gotten more if she hadn’t been so stubborn. Then there was this here young black boy. He was always looking like a bird. He barley let us touch him…these things have gotten wilder over time.
I always have wondered what the cargo has thought bout these auctions and I always wonder why cant they just act right and do what whats gotta happen? It aint like they got a choice everyone’s gotta do something . it just so happens they gotta get sold and help us old folk with our homes and farming grounds. Well just as long I get my share in money they’ll get jobs.
[It's a challenge to write with understanding about someone you don't like, isn't it? I like how you push yourself. This is very well done. - Mr. Fladd]
Jack R.
8-3
Anne Reynolds (John Reynolds wife)
It was a bright and sunny morning when I woke up. After all of my morning preparations for the day, I went downstairs to eat breakfast, where I was met with a grisly scene. My husband John (who normally got up really early) was yelling at some slave handlers, Mr. Ames included, with such a racket, that I was shocked I didn’t hear it from upstairs. He was telling them to go find Toby, our newest slave. When he said that, my heart sank, I knew that something was wrong with Toby when I learned that he was still in chains after four months in the plantation. I walked into the room and sat in a corner, not knowing if I should dine to approach my husband when he was so worked up like he was. I patiently sat and waited while the tremendous sound that was coming from my husband quieted down.
“Go…get…him…now!” John was screaming over and over.
“Yes sir, right away sir, right now sir!” Mr. Ames kept stuttering. “I’ll round up the horses, dogs and some slaves to go get him now sir.” He pointed to three slaves that looked like they were meant for running long distances, tackling and subduing run-away slaves. They all left in a hurry, eager to be away from the fury of my husband.
I cautiously approached John and stroked his cheek; suddenly he grabbed my arm and pushed me away from him in a flurry of movement. I fell as I stumbled over my dresses. I couldn’t say anything since I was all of a sudden very scared of him. I left the room like Mr. Ames, in a hurry to be away from John.
Later, when Mr. Ames’s hunting party returned, I gathered up my courage and went back to John’s study.
“John, dear, you must not whip this slave,” I started. “He just ran away because he was scared of what happened to him, being taken from his home and starting a new life like this, it can’t be easy to do.”
He only stared at me, unable to control the look of fury that covered his face like a piece of cloth and he only said one sentence; “Get out, and I never want to hear you defend another slave, even if it is Fiddler.”
Even though he said it in an even tone, his face conveyed what his true meaning was. And with that note, I left the study, fast, but not too fast to show that I wanted to help the slave in any subtle way I could.
[This is extremely well-written. You've really developed her character. I'm not sure that I agree with you, though. I don't think she particularly cares about the slaves, one way or another. Still, this is a top-notch piece of writing. - Mr. Fladd]
Chris C
Captain Davies (after the slave uprising)
8-3
What am I going to do? Mr. Slater was right but now he is dead. The slaves have actually up risen and killed half of my crew. Why didn’t I listen to Mr. Slater? He had more experience with them blacks then I, he knew exactly what he was doing when I did not. I will not be able to sleep with the death of these men hanging over my head like an angry lightning storm. I will not be able to get the picture out of my head. The knife in Mr. Slater’s chest and him lying there all bloody, simply dead. Will I tell his wife the terrible news, that your husband is dead and it is all my fault? He was a good no, make that great, deck hand. He taught me a lot about the blacks and how they work. This was my first voyage with blacks and already I can tell that I am going to have many more voyages that may go bad also. I need to get it together and get my precious cargo to the docks where I can get rid of them. Cross ones fingers, that the buyer like my blacks, he hopefully will tell me that my slaves are in great condition and thus able to sell for a lot. Before the voyage I was strong and optimistic. Know I am beaten down and in sorrow of my great loss of my crew. The sea has taken a toll on my body and my mind. All day just looking at the vast sea seeing not a speck of land. How can other captains keep their composure for so long with the thought of people like him, just a different color skin in the bottom of the ship in horrible conditions? This is my first voyage and I am having second thoughts already about what I am doing. Well I need to try to get some sleep so I can bring the rest of my crew to safety. I pray that I make it home alive and that God forgives me for what I have done.
[I think that you're right - the Captain would have been eaten up with guilt about the deaths of his crew members. I don't think about that much. You've given me something else to think about. - Mr. Fladd]
Samantha L.
Social studies 8-3
Slave Child Seeing Kunta Kinte for the First Time
Today Fiddler brought a new African man home. He’s awkward in a way, but he will learn his way around. I finished the laundry today with mamma. She says I will grow up strong and proud, somehow I believe her, but I don’t know if that will be true. The next morning the African man came up to me and called me fanta. Who is that? Now I feel that there is no hope for this man, nor this plantation. Mr. Ames needs to start concentrating on making that man behave. Though I feel I have heard that name before…I just don’t know where. Sooner or later I know mamma’s going to throw me into that log cabin where I don’t want to know what happens, but from now on I am going to stay away from that evil man. Speaking of Mr. Ames he played an evil act of whipping that poor African boy with a whip until he showed bone. The gross thing is he made us all watch. What a disgusting man I hate his guts and I am sure glad someone tried to stand up to his awful ways. That old fiddler just follows the rules never even second guessing them or standing up for himself. To all white men we are slaves doing all the hard work, day after day. They don’t expect us to try anything stupid. I feel that this whole system isn’t right. Yeah sure the mistress is nice, but very demanding of me. I am not better than everyone else; I just wish I could stand up to them. I want to get away; this work is too hard for me. I want to be free and live life, not work all my life. Why can’t the white men wake up and see that we are equal. At least Toby tried standing up for himself, but the pain proved too great. I just want to be free is that too much to ask?
[For these slaves, yes - it may have been too much to ask. - Mr. Fladd]
Bryce C
8-3
Mr. Slater
I watch on the upper deck as the black men dance. I get pleasure when I see them giving me dirty looks. I chuckle to myself and pat a sailor on the back. In the corner of my eye, I see two black women dashing around the lower deck, yelling gibberish. I scream at the top of my lungs to the crew,
“Get them!!!!”
I see that they’ve trapped one of them, but the other one is still darting around. All the slaves are cheering her on. Immediately after I look away from them, I notice that she is climbing up the netting so I say to the sailors,
“Get that witch!!!”
I jump off the upper deck onto the lower and I watch the black woman jump off the netting, straight down into the ocean. I push the so called “sailors” out of the way and I see a witch treading water behind the ship. I am so furious because we just lost a slave and that means less money. I rotate around, grab the sailor by the collar and ask him,
“What was that witch doing untied?! We just lost a slave because of you!!”
“I don’t know sir.” He responds nervously.
I give him a hard punch to the jaw. Thoughts are flowing through my mind and I can’t control them. I pin him up against a support beam and give him another punch to the jaw. He stumbles toward the side of the ship and hits his head against the floorboards. I threaten to throw him off the side of the ship for what he’s done. I stare at his eyes for a split-second and I give him yet another strike to the jaw. This time, though, he flops to the ground, almost knocked out. He just lays there with blood streaking down his face. I pick that damn sailor off the floor, threaten to kill him and I give him another blow to the head. This time he dropped to the floor, out cold. All I’m thinking in my mind right now is,
“How could you let a slave loose? She was tied up and secure. If that was my job, not one slave would escape from my sight.”
As I zone of thinking, I hear one slave say to the others,
“ATTACKKKKKKK!!!!!!!”
The black men attack the sailors like a giant wolf pack. I dash over to them and start whipping them viciously. I hear gunshots being fired in all directions. This is a total blood bath I think to myself. This gets my adrenaline pumping and I keep whipping the black men, continuously until I see someone. This one black man stares me down like a wolf, and I stop dead in my tracks. I pull out my sawed-off shotgun from my gun holster and aim down the sights towards him. My finger is ready to pull the trigger and I mumble to myself,
“You’re mine.”
All of the sudden, this knife inserts into my rib cage, suffocating me.
I kneel down on my knees, gasp for air and flop like a fish onto the faded, smelly floorboards.
[This is well written, but perhaps focuses a little too much on the events of the movie. Next time, please describe how your character feels and what he thinks. I like the way you use language; your vocabulary is excellent. - Mr. Fladd]
Justin D.
8-1
John Reynolds, talking about his African slave, six months after buying him
Man, half a year already it feels as if I had just bought that monkey last week, I dont know why because it is too much work to teach him our American ways, therefore i would think time would of went by much slower.
Anyway, I am now beginning to wonder if i had made the right decision of buying him, he wont even go by his new name Toby. I have left my other slave Fiddler in charge of training the one I named Toby, but unfortunatly he has failed me by letting Toby break free and escaping for a while, so I had to take charge and gather men and a dozen dogs to find him. He was taken back and whipped, hopefully he learned a lesson or two about running off, he stopped getting whipped after he had responded to his new name Toby, I have yet to come up with a punishment for Fiddler.
I really hope that Toby will eventually learn that this is his new home and that there is no chance to get back to Africa. As of right now he is determined to escape slavery, he is always looking out for loopholes to break free of his situation, so for now I must keep an eye on him and make sure he cant get ahold of any tool or something that could be used as a weapon. He acts very clever, I dont know if i can ever trust this one enough to be left alone.
[You did a good job of capturing John Reynolds' attitude. The offensive way that you referred to Kunta Kinte was EXACTLY how he described him in the movie. Well done. - Mr. Fladd]
Jordan M.
8-1
Fiddler
I’m Fiddler here. When I saw those African men and women behind those bars all I could see was myself. And when I judged them “oh he looks weak”, “he’ll make a good working hand” I was truly judging myself I realized I was in no position to judge people just like me. In all of there faces I could see me many years ago, even though I put on a convincing show I knew inside that I could see that being owned by a white man didn’t seem right to them, and I knew it too. By making eye contact with each and every one of them I was telling them that I know how it feels to be there I know how it is to realize that I am not free, I do not own myself, I know how it feels to be owned by someone. They heard language that meant nothing to them come out of my mouth but they saw a thousand words that meant the world to them on my face.
I told Mr. Reynolds to pick him because I could see myself in his eyes. He was just like me and I was no position to pass that up. Just by looking at the young man I could tell he had a strong soul. “Your name be Toby.” he knew that wasn’t his name. Of all the Africans at the auction I wouldn’t have picked anyone else. “You gonna learn English Toby. I gonna teach ya boy.” he knew what I be say’n but I knew he wasn’t go’n to respond to a name that did not belong to him.
Mr. Reynolds was gonna choose that young woman up on the rising but I told him otherwise. I told him that he was mighty and strong willed. By the marks “covered” on his back I could tell he be a good man, I could tell that he be a strong man.
He can let any white man call him whatever they shall, but I sure as hell know that he know who he be.
[Jordan, I think you're right that Fiddler ended up feeling like this eventually. I think it was an attitude that grew over time, though. I'm pretty sure he wasn't so sympathetic when he first saw Kunta Kinte. This is very well written. - Mr. Fladd]
Megan M
8-1
Kunta Kinte
We have been on this ship for a long time. I thought we could finally overtake the white men. But we have failed. Some hurt and some dead. It was unlike things I have seen. They locked us back down in the dark place. I don’t know how much longer I can take this. My back hurts like a thousand needles going into my back over and over again. When will we be free? When will they finally let us off of this ship? Everyone is in pain and smelling terrible. The white men yell at us as we make too much noise. Who are they to think they can boss us around? We are people too. We had them so perfectly when we overtook the ship. All of us fighting to save our own lives. But the white men seem to powerful. I wish there was a way I could see my mother again. I had such a good life. Until the white men. I wish they would realize that we are also people. I wish they wouldn’t judge by the color of our skin. Why would any person ever think about making another person their own personal server? I was loyal to my village and my people because they respected me back. I will never respect these people like I respected my people. I will never see them as my owner. I will not be treated like a caged animal. Me and my people need to do something about this.
[I like this very much. You capture a mood very well, here. - Mr. Fladd]
Alec G.
8-2
Old slave remembering what slavery used to be like
It’s not like it used to be. Once they at least pretended we were people, that we weren’t just livestock. Way back when, there were no slaves. Indentured servants, and they weren’t even slaves, really. They at least had the knowledge that, eventually, they would be let free to live their lives. Not anymore. They go and get you, haul you over the ocean, you work for your life and then you die, hopefully having enough children to keep your family tree growing on the off chance that we will ever be free again. As if. Now, every day, another shipload of the unluckiest men and women on this God’s planet get sold off and taken to live the rest of their lives, only being seen as objects, as tools for the white man’s use. Soon, I will be free of this life, my biggest regret being not being able to give my children the future they deserve. Some try to resist this unnatural order of men, but eventually even the strongest of men give in. If they don’t? They die. Probably quite painfully. Say what you will about the white men, they are very good at oppressing us and getting us to do what they want us to do. I suppose they’ve had a long time to practice. Ever since I was strong enough to do more work than I grew, I’ve been treated as these men are today. I guess don’t fix what isn’t broke. Then again, they are breaking plenty with these tactics. Someday, hopefully soon, our masters will let us be free and they will see that what they are doing is wrong. Or maybe that’s just the wishful thinking of an old man…
[I'm not 100% sure this is the character you were supposed to write about, but you put some decent thought into this. Be aware though, that slavery and indentured servitude existed together for quite a long time - they weren't mutually exclusive. - Mr. Fladd]
8-1 Will C
S.S. Roots Blog #2
Hunter in the group that catches Kunta Kinte
Wow. I sure got a good bit of coin for catching that black man. Almost made me wonder what he was doing in the woods with a broken chain. Why would his master leave him with something to cut his chain? He was pretty fast with his chain dangling around. He must have cost a fortune. He was no match for our dogs though. They got him in mere minutes. He also seemed to have a few belongings, which we sold to a merchant. There was another black, a one named “Fiddler” that was worried about the other black. We had a good laugh about his name. When we brought him back to John Reynolds he gave the black to someone called “Ames” who was in the search party. My brother saw Ames whip the tar out of the slave. The slave refused to admit that his name was “Toby” and almost died for it. Right as my brother thought he was dead, he finally admitted it and survived. Surprises me what some people will stand up for. It was snowing when we caught him and he seemed to be enjoying the snow. It must not snow where he came from. Wonder what it feels like with no snow? But, anyways, the black seemed to know how to talk. He seemed way too young and wild to talk. Surprises me, how much privileges blacks get. When I was a kid, blacks never knew how to talk. If they couldn’t talk, they couldn’t learn and they couldn’t rebel.
[At first, I thought this was a little too short, but you've captured a lot of different ideas in just a few words. I think this works. Well done. - Mr. Fladd]
Kelli P.
8-3
January 11, 2012
Wildcard (I chose Kunta Kinte/Toby’s thoughts while he was getting whipped)
Come on, Kunta. You can do this. Be native to your home land. What is your name? That’s right, it’s Kunta Kinte. Not some stupid white mans name, like Toby. Pft, Toby. Why on Allah’s great land, would they give a rough and tough African teenager like me, a name like Toby?! This just doesn’t make any sense.
There goes the first crack of the whip. Ouch! Those little spikes hurt like hell once they entered my burning flesh. Why does Ames keep asking my name? He thinks it’s Toby. Nope, I am not cracking under this pain. My name is Kunta Kinte. And that is who I always will be.
Another crack of the whip. Be strong, Kunta. You can make it through. You’ll be fine. All it is a little scarring and blood. Nothing you can’t overcome. Allah will help you through this. Just you wait.
Here comes the third whip. “What is your name, son?” asked Ames. I replied, “Kunta, Kunta Kinte.” Boy, he did not like that response. The blood was oozing now. I need strength. I need to pray.
Oh dear Allah,
Please let me live through this torture. I hate it here. It smells of white man all around me. I just want to go back to my homeland. Back in Gambia with my family. Please be kind enough to give me strength to power through this awful beating.
Kunta Kinte
Another whipping. “Alright you helpless nigger, what is your name?” “Kunta.” I’m feeling at my weakest right at this moment. Each whip is draining me. The spikes sinking into my flesh. A crowd of other slaves watches as my skin gets ripped apart. Probably as a warning to them.
The fifth whip smacks up against me so hard, I swear I lose consciousness for a second. “What is your name, nigger?” I can’t be tough any longer. I can’t bear it. “Toby.” “Good nigger. Now stick with that name. We don’t want anymore trouble with you.”
I feel defeated. Ruined almost. Now, I am not only raw and whipped, but now I am also supposed to reply to the name Toby. I am not Toby. I am and always will be, Kunta Kinte.
[This is REALLY GOOD! Your first and final paragraphs capture two different moods very effectively. Well done. - Mr. Fladd]
Isabel T
8-2
Man in crowd who helps subdue Kunta Kinte
I was just leaving the auction when I saw one of the black boys had escaped. I saw other men run over so I didn’t think of doing any thing. So I just kept on walking. I could see the men where having some trouble catching this black boy. I stopped and watched for a moment and started to laugh. It reminded me of a greased pig. When I saw that the black boy almost run off I stepped in. I ran, I tried to catch him as the men and I surrounded him he tried to run out of the circle. I caught him,all I was thinking of is hold on to that black boy. I was wondering who let him go? He was a strong black boy I was thinking why he was trying to run away so hard. He couldn’t do any thing. He had been bought he was no longer free. He belonged to the white men and nothing more. When the other slave came and grabbed his chain I felt sad in a way but I knew I couldn’t let him go. Still I wonder what was going threw that slaves head when he was trying to run. Also I wonder if me and the men didn’t help catch that black boy, would he have gotten away? As I start walking back on my way I happen to get a glance of all the blacks that were in holding. They looked so scared and just wondering what was going to happen to them. If they only knew what was going to happen,that they were going to be slaves and never see there family again. Or if they even knew that they will never again be free,ever. As that thought stayed in my head as I looked at them I looked down and started back on my way.
[Your last few sentences are very powerful. Be careful of your spelling - good spelling helps lend you credibility. - Mr Fladd]
Tyler M.
8-1
Female Slave Waiting to Be Auctioned
I can’t believe it. We’re finally in the homeland of those white men that took us all away. My back hurts and a man is looking at our whole bodies.
Now my back hurts even more. The man that was looking at us put hot, black, goo in all the cuts on my back. Then I got put inside big metal bars with all the other Africans.
There are a lot of white men on the other side of the bars today. Some of them are looking at us like the other man. Oh no. One of the white men is coming over to the bars. He’s taking one of the other Africans to the other side of the bars. She’s getting put on a stand with the men all looking at her. The white men are yelling strange sounds at each other now. They stopped yelling. Why is that girl going with one of the white men? They are so mean to us. Why would she ever go with someone like that?
Oh no. now that man is taking me to the stand. The men are looking at me, pushing me around, and grabbing my head. They are yelling again. Why are they yelling so much? They can’t possibly understand each other. They aren’t even making words. One of the white men is coming over to me. He’s grabbing me. Let me go. Let me go. He has me in chains. O great he’s putting me in another cage.
The white men are back out there. A few of them are coming over to the bars that are between me and them. Let go of me. Let go of me. A white man is taking me away from the other Africans now. I can’t imagine where he’s taking me.
[You are a good writer! I like how you empathized with this girl. Well done. - Mr. Fladd]
Alex U. 8-3
Kunta Kinte- Running Away
I am almost through the chain! I can just imagine being free again. This is my one hope. The one thing that keeps me going. Clink! The chain has broke! I…
“Look what Fiddler brought you tonight! I got you something…” Uh Oh. Slap! Ouch! “What you think you doing, boy! Didn’t you think of Fiddler! Go! Go, now!”
This is my only chance. I must run. I must run until I can’t run anymore. I will be free. The white man will not catch me. I feel like I am alive again. I barely notice the shackles rubbing against my legs. It is only when I stop that I notice the raw, stinging, skin. How I wish I could stop to cut through them. But I do not have the time. The sun is rising! I must run faster. No other thought crosses my mind but to get away. I run until I feel like I’m dying. I have to rest. There! A hollow tree, perfect for sleeping. I fall asleep in an instant.
It is cold. I sit up and open my eyes. It is amazing! This must be what Fiddler calls Snow! It melts in my hands, turning into water. I laugh out loud. It feels like heaven against my sore ankles. I… Bark! WOOF! Yip! GRRRR… I leave my stuff and bolt for the trees. They are gaining! I was free, but now I surely will be caught. I can hear the hounds close behind me. I cannot out run them. Their breath drifts to my face and I almost faint. I am scared. I almost sure they can smell the fear coming off me. I jump over a fallen tree as the beast closes in. I’m thrown to the ground. Suddenly they are everywhere. Ripping and tearing at my flesh. I scream out. The hounds back off as I scramble to my feet. I am surrounded. The white men are everywhere. I now know that it is over. I will never be free. As they string up to the post, I truly feel that my life is at an end. An end by the white man.
[The last couple of sentences are your best - they are sad and almost poetic. I like when you let me know how he feels and what he thinks about. - Mr. Fladd]
Sean F.
8-3
John Reynolds, talking about his African slave, six months after buying him
I thought that Toby had so much potential when I had bought him in Annapolis, but it seems that Fiddler was not able train him well enough. I think that I may have to hand the duty of training Toby over to Mr. Ames. Mr. Ames has broken almost all of my slaves and turned them into good farmhands that do exactly what they are told.
A few days ago Toby had tried to escape during the night. I sent my men and the dogs to hunt him down and bring him back to the plantation. He only lasted a night as a runaway but I knew that it was time for him to be punished. Mr. Ames will be in charge of the punishment. He wants Toby to respond to his name, not what people called him in Africa.
I could hear the whipping from inside my study. It went on for a long time, every time Mr. Ames asked what Toby’s name was, he would respond by yelling ‘Kunta Kinte’. When he finally answered to Toby the punishment was done. That’s when I went over to the window to see how badly he had been beaten. There I saw Toby’s head resting on Fiddler’s lap as he gave Toby water. It’s a shame that Fiddler won’t be living in the main house anymore, he will always come back to play his fiddle at the parties. He may earn his place back in the house but it is going to take a lot of work. As for Toby he better learn very fast or else many more whippings will come.
[I like the way you have John Reynolds thinking about how Fiddler will have to earn privileges; I think he would have thought like that. Use more of that kind of comment next time and a little less strict reporting of the events. - Mr. Fladd]
Brooke L.
8-2 S.S.
Mr. Aims (Meeting Kunta for the first time.)
I was overseeing things when that scum Fiddler dragged that African beast by me.
“Toby, that’s Mr. Aims, the overseer.” Fiddler said. “You may be mine but you better listen to him if you don’t want a beating.” Stupid slave, he probably doesn’t understand a word of what Fiddler is saying.
I don’t understand why Mr. Reynolds got another slave, especially not a wild eyed one like that. That slave’s got enough spirit to bring the whole plantation down. That will not happen though, not under my watch, worst thing is a few tiny sacrifices. Using Fiddler, Mr. Reynolds must be crazy why does he continue to use Fiddler over me? I’m not a n!@@#r. You don’t use a slave to train another, they start getting ideas and conspiring against you. I guess I must take the situation into my own hands. Well first thing’s first, better go talk to Reynolds. I made my way to the main house. What an awful idea bringing in another black, stupid, stupid, stupid. Ugh! I can’t even hear myself think, appalling crickets, they’re the worst type of pest, they never shut up. Well, maybe they’re not the worst, but they’re only a step above slaves. I knocked on the door and Mrs. Reynolds let me in.
“Any chance I can talk to Mr. Reynolds?” I asked politely.
“I can check.” She replied. Mr. Reynolds agreed to speak with me so I immediately brought up the new slave.
“I see you got a new slave on the farm.”
“Indeed I did,” He replied. “A true African, right off the ship, a fair price too.”
“Do you have anybody handling him, Sir? I’d be obliged to do the job.”
“Oh, I’m sorry I have Fiddler teaching him, I know Fiddler will do a good job with him.”
“Fiddler?” I said. “I don’t mean to counter your opinion, sir, but I wouldn’t be using Fiddler if I was you. You don’t train a n!@@#r with a n!@@#r, they’re the same breed.” But Reynolds stood with his opinion, he was going to have Fiddler teach that African. It doesn’t really matter though, that n!@@#r’s wild. Fiddler will not be able to handle him. I will though. I will whip that slave into shape. He will learn his name, he will be a good farmhand and he will be a good slave.
Toby knows life outside the slave market and he knows his name isn’t Toby. I’m seriously questioning Reynolds’ decisions recently. Why would he buy a wild African? Why would he have a n!@@#r teach it? I mean we have enough farm hands and they seem to breed just fine on their own. Why not buy a female African? At least you can get some action out of them. Toby is just another n!@@#r, I shouldn’t fret over him. I can handle him. That beast knows that his name is Kunta Kinte, I have heard him say it. After I am through with him there will not be a Kunta Kinte, there will only be Toby. All I have to do is wait.
[I like your use of dialog. You have a good way of expressing the personal dynamics of a situation - showing how people's personalities interact with each other. - Mr. Fladd]
Jason E.
8-1
Slave on the Reynolds plantation who see kunta kinte being brought to the plantation.
Hey every one look master is bring a n**** back. He looks like he was hungry tired and pissed off. i don’t think i want to talk to him till her fiddler trains him to not be a wild n****. After fiddler told us to stay away i think i will listen to him it doesn’t look safe to be around him. i heard by every one that fiddler has 6 mouths to teach toby to be a good slave. The next morning i was getting some water and he called me fanta, he started scaring me so i ran off to fiddler and my mom. he had to sleep in the barn until he was trained. i was doing what i always do in the morning and saw toby in the corn field stacking corn with all the other slaves, but he fell for no reason and stayed there, fiddler had to get him up only because he was training him.2 day go by and i heard at night time the n**** ran off and master and a few other people ran off to find him. they finally came back with him and they tied rope around his wrist. they stared wiping him saying your name is toby, kunta kinte (WHIPLASH) your name is toby. (WHIPLASH) what is your name. i know that every one even i was saying in out head JUST FRICKN SAY UR NAME IS TOBY. so toby whats your name toby, what say it loader TOBY. good drop him.
[You did a pretty good job of climbing into this guy's head. Well done. - Mr. Fladd]
Ashley P
8-2
One of Mr Reynold’s daughters
The warm aroma of mom and I’s favorite stew has me speeding toward the kitchen. One of my favorite slaves stops me.
“You’d better not let your mother see you running around this house Miss Reynolds.” She says.
“Oh, yes,” I say. “I was so excited about the stew that I didn’t even realize how fast I was going.” I’m practically talking to myself as she hums and sweeps the floor. I finally reach the kitchen and look into the big pot. “Mmm, delicious,” I whisper to myself. I’m just about to dip the tip of my spoon into the steaming broth when my mother walks in. “Oh, hello mother.”
She puts her hands on her hips, “Were you trying to sneak in a bite before dinner?” She asks calmly. “If you ate some now how could you possibly be hungry later?”
I give her a big grin, “Sorry mother, it just smells so good.” I hear the familiar sound of hooves sinking slightly into the dirt and rocks, followed by the sound of a wooden wheeled wagon carrying trades from the auction. “Daddy’s home!” I run right past mother and out the door.
“Daddy!” I shout as I wrap my arms around him.
“Hi girls,” He says to both me and my sister.
“Did you get me ribbons?” I nearly squeal with excitement.
“Did you get me music?” Mother chimes in, equally excited.
My sister makes her request too, and we all stare at daddy, every second seems like a minute when you really want something bad.
“Sorry girls,”
“Aww,” I walk back towards the door.
“But I did get a new slave, his name is Toby. With him, and the others working I’ll get you the money to buy lots of music and ribbons.”
“Thank you!” I smile and close the door behind me. I run quickly up the stairs and down the hall to my room. I open up a square wooden box and look at all of the beautiful ribbons and bows. I push each one slightly to the right; I must make room for new ones.
[Ashley, this is very good. You've given Miss Reynolds a real personality. Well done. - Mr. Fladd]
Roots
Wait what are you doing with phantom don’t hurt her no stop. All of a sudden I see this whits man open the door and takes me I fight and I fight but its just no use. Than all I hear is 50 60 65….. than I look around and than I hear is sold to the man in the back. We are on our way to his house and filer is a black man that is a slave from this white man and now filter has to teach me my new name tobby but I keep saying my name is kunta. When we finally we get to the mans house filter says to all the little slaves to stay away from me because i’m from Africa .
I am working in this corn field and I fall and I see this sharp thing and I pick it up and everyday when everyone is asleep I try to break the chain and than after and couple days it brakes and than filter come in. he helps me get all my stuff and than i’m off. Than next day I see snow and than I hear dogs its the white men looking four me and I start running and they got me. I am back at the house and they are trying to get me up with rope . They finally get me up and the say that my name is tobby and than they whip me because I say my name is kunta. After a little bit when my back is all bloody I say that my name is kunta.
by. justin E
[Thank you for getting this done so promptly. Yay! - Mr. Fladd]
Cam B.
8-1
Sailor During the Slave Uprising on the Slave Ship
As we were bringing the slaves to the deck to have them dance on of the females ran out of cabin and jumped over the ship. Another female ran out of the cabin and sat on the floor and cried. I was standing with a musket watching the slaves to unsure there’s no trouble. As the female was on the floor a younger boy crawled over to female and they talked that monkey talk. Then the younger male crawled back to the crowed and talked to the tall one. Then it started the slaves charged and punched the sailors.
The blacks attacked us sailors and grabbed our knives and weapons and used them against us. I shot my musket in the crowed and then grabbed a whip and started to whip into the crowed. Mr. Slader was whipping the crowed but then got hit by a throwing knife, he didn’t make it. We beat the slaves and the slaves beat back. They picked there chains and were reeking havoc when the younger sailor grabbed the cannon and shot the crowed, all the blacks dropped to the ground and there was blood everywhere. We
re-shackled the blacks and put them back into the holding bay.
[Cam, this is very short and is basically a list of events. How did your guy FEEL during all this? What did he think? Will this change how he looks at the world? - Mr. Fladd]
Meghan H.
8-1
Fanta (onboard the ship, after the slave uprising)
We have been on this ship for so long I just want to go home. Today was one of the scariest days of my life. We were going on the top deck of the ship to get cleaned up so I was looking out at the beautiful water when I turned my head everyone was screaming. The white men were running around trying to catch the black men. The black men were taking there knives and guns and trying to kill them. When I turned my head back I saw my friend from my home town. She was climbing up the ships rope and when she got as high as she could she jumped off and plunged into the water. Then I started hearing a loud noise, it was a man lighting a big tube then it started shooting out these little beads that shot out. After it shot out the beads they started picking up the black men and putting them back down stairs. I was standing there watching, so scared and petrified then all of a sudden a white man came up behind me grabbed me and pulled me down stairs for the rest of the night. The next day we got to our destination, we had to stay in a cell like building, I am scared and don’t know what will happen to us. I wish I could get out of here and go home where it’s safe.
[I like the way you've captured her fear and confusion. - Mr. Fladd]