Original subtitles

Last on Roots:

Kizzy, there you are. There you are.

My friend. My dearest friend.

This is a traveling pass.

Noah confessed. It was forged for him by Kizzy.

Noah's been sold off, what's left of him. And Kizzy.

Oh, God, no. No, massa, you can't sell Kizzy too.

Mama! Mama!

- Oh, no! Please don't. - Mama! Mama!

Missy Anne, please, no!

- Come on, I haven't got all night. - Please.

I'll be married in a while.

Well, I know that. I agreed to it, didn't I?

Got me another boot, Kizzy.

- I can't marry you and that's it. - You think you better than I is.

- I didn't say that. - I know Massa Moore was here.

The massa can take my body, but he can't touch my spirit.

I still dream of being a free woman.

You is my main trainer now.

Gamecockers will talk about two names from now on:

Tom Moore and his boy George.

I loves being a cockfighter.

I's proud. I'll make a name for myself.

I'm gonna pick them birds until I can buy myself free.

I hate that puffed-up Squire James.

There's no one I would rather beat.

The winner! The winner! Squire James, do you see the winner?

Only the first.

Thank you, brothers.

What you mean, your last fight? You been sold?

Nope. I'm a nigger what owns a nigger.

I bought my own freedom papers.

Bought yourself? A slave could do that?

All you need...

...is a willing master and the money.

And I got a bill of sale to prove that I own me.

Took me near 20 years. But I done it.

Saved every penny. More than $2000!

I could have bought free sooner if I was just a field hand.

But trainers of fighting chickens, like you and me, George...

...we cost the most.

Your no-account massa, do he ever share the winnings with you?

Then you can do it too.

Save up.

Got my wife, Tildy, Mama Kizzy and two young ones.

Likes to bring them presents. That takes money.

Presents, huh?

And fine clothes for yourself?

Stuff like that?

I'm a sporting man. Now, sporting men got their ways.

Chicken George.

I admire your handling of the white.

It was well-fought, Chicken George. Well-fought.

- Thank you, sir. - Let's go, Marcellus.

Gonna be your own massa.

And that's the best part, George. Being free.

Can't nothing be better than that.

Who'd have thought old Marcellus go and buy himself?

Stand and hold, you murdering black!

Massa Moore.

All right, what do you got in there?

Fighting cocks, sir. Belong to Massa Moore.

He asleep right here. Massa Moore!

- You know a nigger named Nat Turner? - No, boss.

- Massa Moore! - lf you know anything about Turner...

...I'll put this musket in your teeth and pull the trigger. Do you hear?

Yes, sir, I hears you.

Massa Moore!

Hey, now. What's going on around here?

What's your name?

Moore. Tom Moore. What the devil's your name?

You all right, Moore?

Is he your slave?

Of course he's mine.

Tell me, what is going on around here?

We're wasting our time.

This nigger's harmless and this cracker's drunk. Let's go.

What did you call me? What did you call me!

I'm no cracker! I'm Tom Moore...

...and I own my own land, and I don't owe nobody a penny!

And I fight the best string of chickens in Caswell County!

Tom Moore is no cracker!

Another one.

Gentry, aristocrats.

They treated me worse than a nigger my whole life. Still do.

- Tell me something. - Yes, massa.

We've been cockfighting almost 20 years, right?

- That's right. - It don't matter that we got money.

It don't matter.

I know, massa.

It seem like every time we get a new brood of chickens, I says:

"Maybe this one.

Maybe this one's gonna be champion. Gonna beat old Squire James.

Some big fancy fighter, like!"

You and I got the same secret hankering.

In some ways, we are more alike than any white man and nigger ever.

I would die happy, if I could beat him just one time. Once.

And I would be the happiest man in Caswell County.

Massa, you ever hear of a slave named Nat Turner?

No, never heard of him.

Them white men, they looking after him.

He must be a runaway.

Massa Moore? We's home, but there don't appear to be...

You killed him! You killed my Tom, you black heathen!

Miz Moore, he ain't dead, he's...

Look, Miz Moore, I swear, I didn't kill no...

You're with Nat Turner! You killed Tom and you're out to kill me.

Listen to me, I swear...

Stand still!

Stand still, you mealy-mouthed, psalm-singing son of a...

Oh, Lord, you're gonna have to help me.

I can't stay awake and they're gonna murder me in my sleep.

- Please help me. - Whatever you say, my dear.

Oh, Tom! Thank God, you're alive!

Of course I'm alive, woman.

I thought Chicken George had killed you.

Chicken George kill me? What kind of blather is that?

What's all that shooting about?

- The niggers are killing white folks. - Are you addled?

What niggers are killing white folks?

Nat Turner. That Nat Turner, he's doing it all.

I heard that name before. Who is this Nat Turner?

Come on, come on.

How long she been like this?

Started about three days ago...

...ever since she heard about what Nat Turner was doing.

Now, you sure this true? Ain't some scaredy tale she heard?

It true, George. It gospel true.

It started in Virginia. In South Hampton County.

A whole gang of blacks went from plantation to plantation...

...killing whole families, even the babies. Even the poor little babies.

And you here all by yourself, poor thing.

I could see it in their faces, see it in their eyes.

They was planning. They was plotting!

Calm down. I'm home now.

Everything's gonna be fine. Don't you fret.

Don't fret?

Here, here. What do you think of that?

Piece of grid or bone or something.

Or ground glass. I found it next to my plate last night.

The niggers are putting glass in our food.

They're trying to kill us, and we gotta do something about it.

Massa Moore gonna smooth her feathers down. You'll see.

You keep talking like she crazy lady.

She ain't the brightest person...

...but the fact is, Turner is killing white folks...

...and that ain't no scaredy tale.

Tildy...

...Massa Moore knows we ain't going out killing no white folks.

He gonna let this woman know.

All that man knows about is cockfighting. That's it.

You know why, Mama? Because I made him somebody.

Made me somebody.

I'm Chicken George!

Don't you ever want nothing else out of life, George?

Got what I want, Mama. I'm a sporting man.

Of course, if I could be a sporting man and...

...my own massa too, I'd be alive, but I'd be in heaven.

Mama, can I be a sporting man?

Eat your supper. You too, Lewis. Time enough to be what you'll be.

And it's true, Mama. Massa been more like a friend than a massa.

Don't you never say that!

He can't be a friend. He's white. Toubob!

I know what I'm saying, George.

Was a time when I thought the bestest friend I had were white.

Missy Anne.

We were the bestest friends in the world.

She teach me how to read and write.

But when I needed her most, Missy Anne, she turned her back on me.

She never lifted a finger to save me.

Your grandpapa was right. You can never trust a toubob.

Massa ain't gonna let nothing happen to me...

...or mine.

He saved me from them patrollers already.

Saving his prize trainer.

Saving his best friend was what he was doing, Mama.

It's all gonna be forgotten in a day or two.

Soon as they catch this Nat Turner...

...white folks stop acting crazy.

I was coming through Washington County with the massa...

...I overheard this fat sheriff tell him:

"The thing we gots to do, Mr. Moore..." Says it like that there.

"...is take the sheets off your beds...

...put them over our heads, like this here.

When the darkies comes...

...he thinks we's ghosts of hell. He'll run for sure.

There's one thing darkies is afraid of...

...and that's ghosts and haunts."

Bedsheets! Sakes alive, whatever gave them that notion?

Hi, George.

You got any ideas about rising up and killing me and my missus...

...you just forget them.

You come near the house...

...I catch you with so much as a sharpened nail on you...

...I'll blast you to kingdom come!

Massa, you can trust us.

Trusting blacks got whole families dead.

I'm sleeping with a shotgun in case you're thinking of breaking in.

- Massa, we... - Matilda!

You bring all the cooking knives to the main house.

You do the same for the cocks' fighting spurs.

Get back. Get back or I'll splatter you to hell.

Get!

There be your fine friendship, George.

No matter who they is...

...they all be toubob.

Well, to do like Marcellus done...

...and buy ourselves...

...you, me, the children and Mama Kizzy...

...it costs...

...near $6000.

How you figure that?

Marcellus paid over $2000 for himself.

Now, I'm a trainer, and younger too, see?

So you gotta allow $2500 for myself.

Tom...

...a slave trader figure he just coming into his good working years...

...so he'd cost a thousand dollars.

- Lewis? - Five hundred.

Too young to know what he's gonna do.

Oh, my God.

Me, George?

Fifteen hundred.

Tildy, honey...

...you still a breeder.

What about your mama?

She old.

I'm thinking massa throw in her freedom as a favor, see.

Five hundred, no more than.

That's $6000.

We ain't got enough to buy us our own baby.

If we's lucky...

...we could save it...

...10 years.

As soon as massa gets right in his head, we start cockfighting again.

Ten years?

Then we's free, Tildy.

We's free, honey.

Oh, Georgie.

My sweet Georgie.

The best trainer in all the county be scratching for mushrooms.

Better than chopping cotton. You could be doing that.

Oh, yeah, ain't I the lucky one?

George?

What...?

Dead.

Shot...

...three, four times.

- Ever seen him before? You know him? - No. But I got my reckoning.

Nat Turner's boys. Trying to get away.

Headed cross the river there.

He cross the river now, George.

Amen.

George...

...how come you figure he be smiling like that?

Chicken George.

Yes, sir, Squire James. Morning, sir.

Morning. I'm on my way to make Mr. Moore a proposition.

If he should accept, would you object to leaving here?

I don't rightly know.

Don't rightly know what a proposition is.

Well, I have a friend arriving within the month from England.

He's bringing 20 of his best fighting cocks.

Together, we shall issue a challenge...

...to fight all comers for a purse of $30,000.

I want to buy you to train and handle my birds.

I'll promise you the usual trainer's share...

...and your freedom in five years.

Massa Moore said there ain't gonna be no more cockfighting...

As long as that bloodthirsty Nat Turner is loose?

Don't worry, that's over and done with.

They caught him three days ago. Hung him. Left his body out to rot.

The rest of the savages scattered.

I understand there were only 80-odd blacks involved.

Not exactly Armageddon.

Well, at any rate, I'll be talking to Mr. Moore this after...

Squire James, sir?

This is Tildy.

My wife. We got us a family and...

Don't worry. I wouldn't split you up.

Wouldn't do to have an unhappy trainer, now, would it?

No, sir! I wouldn't be unhappy!

I'll talk to Tom Moore right now.

I hope it can be worked out.

Yes, sir. I sure hopes you can work something out too.

Damn aristocrat thought he could buy you for $3500.

That's chicken feed.

Massa Moore, you don't need me.

You ain't fighting.

I am now. The troubles are over.

Yes, sir, we are gonna be fighting now for real money.

$30,000 in the purse and side bets starting at $250.

We'll squeeze the last two bits out of James...

...and his Englishman friend.

But he say he set me free.

Ain't for him to say. You're gonna fight my chickens.

You're mine. You are my property, George.

You'll beat the Englishman and anyone else who comes.

It don't matter how much is offered.

It don't matter how much I saves to buy myself free.

You ain't gonna let me go for no reason.

You're my nigger. Can't you get that through your thick skull?

Yes, sir. It got through that time.

I understands it all now.

You ain't got no more use for this. But I sure do!

Don't, George! You can't.

Tildy told me about that dead boy. About the gun.

You can't do what you're thinking on.

I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna kill Massa Moore.

He done the worst thing that a man can do to me.

He took away all my hopes.

What about your family?

They ain't got no hopes so long as he's alive.

Man ain't worth a chicken! He ain't alive.

- Get out my way! - Don't do it! It be the worst sin!

Killing him? It's like killing a dog.

No, damn it, no!

He's your daddy!

I was never gonna tell you.

But you has to know.

When he bought me from the plantation, he brought me here.

I was no more than 16.

He come to my cabin that first night...

...and he forced himself on me.

All I knew was that it hurt.

It hurt so bad.

That don't matter now.

I love you more than anything in this whole world.

But you can't do what you gonna do.

You be damned for your sin forever.

It'd be killing your own flesh and blood.

He is your papa.

You his boy, George. You his boy.

Now, what we gonna do...

...we gonna bury that poor boy and his gun...

...and we'll say some words for him.

Then we going back and we gonna make out the best way we can.

That's what we gonna do.

Yes, Mama.

I just want to know one thing:

Are you my daddy?

Sure am.

How could you do this to me? To your own child?

I got 20 like you spread...

...from Caswell County to Charleston Harbor.

You know me, George. I always liked a fresh nigger gal.

It's hard to believe, but your Mama Kizzy was fresh once.

What you gonna do?

Don't rightly know.

But I know I ain't fighting your chickens.

- You better or... - What you gonna do, sell me?

No, George. I ain't gonna sell you.

I'll sell your boy.

Or maybe Matilda.

That's what I'm gonna do.

What you gonna do?

I'm gonna fight your chickens...

...massa.

$500! $500 right here on the Englishman's bird. $500.

Hear that, George? $500!

There's gamecockers here from as far as Texas.

Some from Florida. They come a long way to lose to Tom Moore!

Next, the bird of Sir Eric Russell...

...to fight the bird of Tom Moore!

Tom Moore! Tom Moore! Tom Moore!

Tom Moore seems to be the local favorite.

With the county scum.

Five pounds, 15 ounces!

Tom Moore, weigh your bird.

Six pounds even!

We gotta get him all the way back to England!

Get that Britisher, Tom!

Sport of kings? I stand corrected.

He and his friends disqualify it as a gentlemen's sport.

He mighty puffed up! Take him down a peg or two!

I wonder where his red coat is?

I wonder, do he fight foxes too?

Or just run from them!

Let me speak! If I may.

Oh, let him speak! I like that girlie way he talk.

Mr. Moore...

...considering your extra ounce, let's waive...

...any particular limits to our personal siding funds.

That would suit me, sir.

Would $ 10,000 be agreeable?

Or is that beyond your faith in your creature?

Time.

- You hear that? - $ 10,000?

$ 10,000!

Get that Britisher's bird, Tom!

Counting on you, Tom! You're our boy!

Here's to you! Go get him!

Can he do it, George? Can he? You know what I'm asking.

Can I be sure you'll handle him to win?

You might just lose to spite me.

I'd feel a heap easier if I felt you wanted him to win.

Don't know about you, George...

...but I want to win and be champion.

The Speckled Red wins...

...I'll set you free.

- You mean it? - You're my boy, George.

Wouldn't lie to you.

Come on!

Massa Moore's Speckled Red will be the winner!

Bill your birds!

Sir.

Come on!

Get ready to pit!

Pit!

Retrieve the birds!

We're doing fine, just fine. I think we got him.

Free.

We gonna be free.

Make it 20,000.

You, sir, have a bet.

- Let's fight. - Let's have re-pit.

Pit!

The winner!

The bird of Sir Eric Russell!

Well...

...at least you free.

Squire James' bird will fight the next challenger.

About that $20,000...

In all candor, your bird had no right in the same pit as mine.

The charcoal was bred at the cost of 8000 pounds.

Your bird fought admirably. Testament to his handling and training.

Perhaps we can solve your debt in some mutually satisfactory fashion.

All I got is the land and you slaves. Nowheres near the money I bet.

England.

We'll call it square if you go. Just a few years, to train somebody.

I'll set you free when you get back.

Wrote it and signed it. All legal.

Certificate of manumission the law calls it.

And you can have my hand on it.

I'll keep the family together. I swear it.

Bet no darkie from here ever got to England before.

No, I don't want no crying.

None of y'all.

I'm your husband and pappy and I'm telling you.

A few years! That's no time at all.

Be back! You'll see.

I won't say take care of the children...

...because I know you will.

I won't say take care of Mama because you'll do that too.

But I will tell you to take care of you...

...because you're the most important reason I'm coming back.

You take care of you for me.

Come back to me soon, George.

Come back to all of us.

You can count on it sure as the sun rises and sets.

You can all count on Chicken George.

Mama.

Do one thing for me, George, honey.

Tell the children once more before you go.

Don't you never forget who you are.

Your great-granddaddy's name was...

...Kunta Kinte.

Son of Omoro...

...a Mandinka warrior.

Proud. Proud!

You be proud too.

Because that African blood...

...flows through you.

As long as you know you comes from him...

...that we all come from him...

...you know why we be strong.

Why we gonna stay strong.

Why we gonna stay together no matter how far apart we be.

Ma'am, I's afraid I might have took the wrong turn.

That ridge yonder, that north?

You is right. That's north.

- Thank you kindly. - Sure.

Could she have a cup of water? The road be dusty.

Surely.

- Yes? - Begging your lady's pardon, but...

...is your name Missy Anne Reynolds?

Missy.

Nobody's called me Missy for over 1000 years.

But my maiden name was Reynolds, yes.

I'm Kizzy.

I'm sorry, but...

...I don't recollect any darkie by name of Kizzy.

Another cup.