Good Lord Bird

Slow guitar music

Mm.

It's a classic.

Just look this way for me.

Straighten up.

I intend to become the most photographed American

of this century.

You want to know why?

Captured likenesses of individuals

will be the great equalizers of our culture.

In the North, they will display the dignity

of the poorest.

- Just have you look over here. - Mm-hmm.

Right that way.

In the South, there are people,

places and institutions that would rather remain

uncovered, unrevealed, unrealized.

This new invention will portray the Black man's humanity

and slavery's inhumanity.

- Let me just... here. - I never smile in my portraits.

I refuse to give the slightest credence

to the Southern caricature of the Negro as happy.

I'm not happy.

I dress well to sit for my portraits

and portray

my "majestic wrath," as some have called it.

Honestly?

I am enamored with the device.

And the device is enamored of me.

Come on, children, let's sing about the goodness

Of the Lord, my Lord

Come on, children, let's shout

All about God's rich reward

Guide our footsteps every day

Keeps us in the narrow way

Come on, children, let's sing

About the goodness of the Lord

Yeah, come on, children, let's sing

About the goodness of the Lord, my Lord

Come on, children, let's shout

All about God's rich reward

Guide our footsteps every day

Keeps us in the narrow way

Come on, children, let's sing

Come on, children, let's shout

How the Lord Almighty has brought us out

There's none like him, without a doubt

Come on, children, let's sing

About the goodness of the Lord

slow banjo music

Whoa.

Old Man had received a sizeable donation to the cause

from the richest Black woman in America,

Elizabeth A. Gloucester,

and sent me and Cook to Harpers Ferry to start hiving the bees.

Whoa, whoa.

That is a lovely sight to see.

What you doing?

Executing our mission, little lady.

Cook was a handsome scoundrel but a chatterbox.

- Morning. - Owen worried

he'd spill our plans all over Virginia.

- What are you up to over here? - But the Old Man was convinced

- he couldn't hurt God's plan. - My name's Cook.

Said no one'd be inclined to believe a blowhard like him.

- Mary. - Mary. Good morning.

I weren't so sure.

Seemed maybe the fair half of God's creation would hear

Cook's butter tongue as gospel truth.

Hop down, Onion, so pretty Mary here can ride.

She says there's a place up the road that's looking to rent.

Hop down?

Can't she walk?

You let your slave sass you such?

You ought to belt her.

She forgets her place sometimes,

on account of I'm such a good master.

- Yeah. - Yeah.

Mary here was kind enough to offer

to barter with the widow Kennedy

who owns yonder farm.

Eh, she's a tight old cuss,

but I think I can get you a good rent.

As long as it's not too close to the road.

Remember, the Old Man said...

Yeah, I-I'm sure whatever you can negotiate will be just fine.

Now, get your Black ass down off that seat,

lest I rip your arm off and beat you with it.

With your permission, of course.

Of course.

The Old Man ain't gonna like this, Cook.

Didn't the Old Man give you a job?

Why don't you go roust the coloreds like you been tasked?

Mary,

my slave here, uh,

is looking for some coloreds with whom to congregate.

There's coloreds everywhere out and about.

Just throw a stone, and you'll hit one.

As I said before,

I'm on a very important mission.

- Oh. - And Onion here

is in need of some coloreds to hive.

Isn't that right, Onion?

Well, there are some high-siddity free Negroes

wandering about town, but they ain't really worth peanuts.

Then there's Colonel Lewis Washington's plantation

- up the road a spell thataway. - Hmm.

Well, what are you waiting for?

Come on.

- Good morning. - Morning.

What's a scrawny boy dressed up as a girl doing

roaming out here?

I'm looking for some friends.

Well, that's none of my business.

Just go on where you came from.

Well, I'm just looking to get the lay of the land.

It lay before you.

I was wondering

if you knowed anybody who wants to know their letters.

Niggers got no cause to read.

Some do.

I don't know nothing about that.

What you doing here?

I said what you doing here, huh?

State your business quick, for you in the thick lard already,

out here prowling Colonel Washington's property

without permission.

Oh, well, I-I's lost.

Uh-huh.

What's the word?

The word?

What song you singing?

Well, I only know Dixie songs, like...

Old Coon Callaway, come on home

What is wrong with you?

Is you a runaway or not?

No. Not exactly.

Them's two answers. Which is it?

- Well... - Is you on the Gospel Train?

I come to town on a wagon.

Not the choo choo train, child.

The Underground Railroad.

I's here to hive the bees.

- Hive the what? - The bees.

Look, I come to warn you,

something's about to kick off down at the Ferry.

Why is you dressed like a sissy?

You look mighty queer, child.

If I was to tell you something big's coming,

would you be akin to rousing the hive?

Gathering the colored folks up.

You weeding a bad hoe for satisfaction, talking that way.

If I was your pa, I'd warm those little cakes with a switch

and send you hooting and hollering down the road.

Now, is you with the cause or not?

I's with John Brown.

Old John Brown is dead in Kansas country.

Got a man in church read it right out the newspaper.

Shot dead in the river.

He ain't dead.

John Brown's alive, and he's coming

to free all the slaves.

You got the lying condition.

I ain't lying. I can prove it.

Like I says to the lady before, I knows my letters.

I could read a letter from John Brown proving he's alive.

That lady you was popping off to about reading, she's my wife.

And she ain't with the Gospel Train.

You talking into the ears of the wrong folks,

lying about Old John Brown is coming.

I-I swear 'fore God, he's coming.

What the devil's wrong with you?

To stand there and lie like that in God's hearing?

You'll get every Negro around here throwed in hot water

talking that way.

You best watch your words.

Stay off Colonel Washington's property.

Get!

Slow, somber music

Excuse me.

Like when any new fool arrives in a prison camp,

word spreads fast.

Excuse me, sir.

And the word on me was not kind.

Scatter thee, varmint.

I ain't got nothing to do with you and your kind.

You gonna get us all murdered.

Read this.

"Dear Rufus,

Please give my coachman Jim four ladles and two spoons

from your store, and make sure

he doesn't eat any more store-bought biscuits from you.

He's fat enough as it is.

Signed, Lewis Washington."

Goddamn that elephant-faced old bugger.

Never done a day's work and feeding me

boiled grits and sour biscuits.

What-what did he expect?

You weren't lying about one thing.

But if what you say is true, if Old John Brown is coming,